Author: loriaboyle

“A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path; it was trampled on, and the birds ate it up. Some fell on rocky ground, and when it came up, the plants withered because they had no moisture. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up with it and choked the plants. Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up and yielded a crop, a hundred times more than was sown.” Luke 8:5

It’s Fall. Multi-colored leaves lie on the ground in witness, rustling underfoot as I (and my new rottweiler puppy Rocco) walk by. Harvest time. Bringing to my remembrance years gone by, when I lived another life. I was married then, my children were small and I had a garden. It was my first garden ever and a wonderful accomplishment, full of tomatoes, peppers and squash. I planted string beans and cucumbers, and watched them climb up against my chain link fence as they grew. I even tried my hand at mustard and collard greens but that didn’t turn out so well, lol! I accidentally threw out the baby mustards and picked the collards too soon but on the whole, I thought my garden was a rousing success. Especially considering, I never had what you would call a “green thumb.”

Before my garden, I couldn’t get anything to grow. Not even a Chia herb garden. I killed every plant I owned. Me, the descendant of farmers, couldn’t get anything to grow. My mother and grandmother could coax life from a plant that was seemingly dead. I had no such luck. That skill set completely passed me by. Until one day, my sister-in-law gave me a plant that she was sure that I could not kill: a cactus. I was dubious, knowing my track record. Nurturing plant life just wasn’t my thing. Up until that time, I had never even mowed a lawn. I was given an exotic plant once before, a “shy plant,” by a family friend. It grew leaves that would open in the light of the sun and close at night. And although it provided some entertainment for my family and friends – the leaves would contract and fold at the slightest touch – it, too, died. I even managed to stunt the growth of those bamboo shoots that (usually) curve so beautifully. It may as well have been dead because it did not grow. So a cactus? Well, we would see.

As it turned out, the cactus was the perfect plant for me. It required very little water or attention. Every time I pulled my kitchen curtain aside to peer at it, normally after months of neglect, it was taller than I’d last seen. At last! A plant that I could not kill. From that, I was encouraged to try my hand at growing a few seedlings inside my home, just to see if I could. Wondrously, they began to grow! And I was completely satisfied with this, my meager progress, until I spoke with my late Uncle Pap, a retired farmer. He looked at my tray of seedlings and said something I’ve never forgotten: “If you put those in the ground, they’ll take off!” Huh? But they were already in the ground, so to speak. Well, they were resting in little peat pots of dirt. Plus, I’d consulted the seed packets; they had to be planted on a certain schedule, in a specific month. I was skeptical. “Isn’t it too late for that, Pap?” I asked of him, feeling sad then because I’d missed my opportunity. “It’s not too late,” he immediately replied and repeated what has become a stock phrase for me: Put it in the ground and it’ll take off.

His words came to mind recently, as I was contemplating the recent release of my book. For so long, I let fear of what could happen paralyze me to do nothing. Until one day, I looked up and time had passed. Time and opportunity that I, looking back, should have capitalized on. Pap’s words come back to me, resonating in my spirit – it’s not too late. In other words, take your dream out of the safety pot of your mind. Plant it so that it can grow for everyone to see. Give your book the chance to take off. And so I did. Now, I’m praying to the God of increase that this seed will yield a bountiful harvest, even one hundred fold.

Be blessed,

Loria

 

In typical womanly fashion, I have remained at a playful “39 and holding” state for quite some time. Indeed, for some, my actual age may come as a surprise. But it’s the best surprise and has been the most fun to pull off – what woman wouldn’t want to pass for younger? So while I’ve enjoyed my time of shaving off a decade, I thought that now would be a good time to retire from the game. Besides, my main reason for not turning over – not having a big 40th celebration because I was in the throes of divorce – is no longer valid. My children, bless them, managed to make that dream a reality by arranging a beautiful, intimate dinner with close friends. Even still, I was not yet ready to make that leap, until I determined I would repackage the event to make the transition easier. I’ve decided to think of myself as being upgraded instead of getting older. A newer, better version of myself has been uploaded. Loria 5.0 (five point oh)! I do like the sound of that!

And it’s true, for right now I am the very best version of myself. I’m pursuing my dreams in a way I never have before. I’m living a life, at last, which is true to my calling and gifts. My relationship with, and my dependence on God grows daily, as does my peace. And although, at times, my life seems like it is in a constant state of upheaval, it feels now like I’m settling into it. It’s resting easier on my shoulders. Like I’ve truly grown up after all this time. I feel matured and seasoned. Tried and tested. Built to handle more than the previous, flawed versions of myself. Past errors have been taken into account, creating a version that is stronger and more resilient. The resulting version is learning to love and accept herself; to be beautiful and accomplished in the skin that she is in and not wait for “one day” anymore. That day is now here. Finally.

“O God, from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come.” Psalm 71:17-18

Be blessed,

Loria

 

“Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through. A man was there by the name of Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was wealthy. He wanted to see who Jesus was, but because he was short he could not see over the crowd. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree to see him, since Jesus was coming that way. When Jesus reached the spot, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.” So he came down at once and welcomed him gladly.” Luke 19: 1-6

I woke up this morning thinking about short people for some reason. I ran with it, thinking that God must have something to say to me on the subject. I recalled the story of Zacchaeus, a physically short man, who was elevated in social stature when Jesus called to him. I’m sure he must have felt physically taller because the Master singled him out. I imagine him swelling up with pride and his chest sticking out as he straightened his posture and raised himself a few inches. But by the end of the passage, Zacchaeus had been raised spiritually, as well. His height had increased. He was no longer short.

I had a dream once, of a short man of my acquaintance. I didn’t know why I dreamed of him, for at the time, there was no love lost between us. He was not one of my favorite people. In the dream, I heard a voice say, “He is short.” And I woke up wondering about the dream and thinking to myself – well, that’s no great revelation! Everyone knew that he was short. But then, the realization came to me: he was not just short – he was SHORT. Not just diminutive physically, he was a man who had fallen prey to small thinking. He didn’t see the big picture and how his actions impacted others or even, his own future. He couldn’t fulfill the full potential in his position of influence because he failed to grow. Although he was a man resentful of his height, he didn’t see that he had opportunities to increase in other areas. The problem was not his physical appearance. He wasn’t just short, he was short sighted. He had fallen short of his potential.

I thought of that man today, as my thoughts dwelt on Zacchaeus. When the Master lifted Zacchaeus, he realized that here was his opportunity to not live as a short man any longer. He jumped at the opportunity – seizing that moment to declare: “Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.” (Luke 19:8) When Jesus called Zacchaeus down from that tree, he was calling him back from that life of greed that caused him to live a dishonest life. Sometimes when we feel like we have been shortchanged – in whatever area, be it height, weight, looks, money, position, etc., – we feel a sense of entitlement. Like life owes us something and so we are justified in taking what does not rightfully belong to us. Likely Zacchaeus had been using his position of influence to harm people financially. He was in a short place, mentally, physically and spiritually.

Then Jesus came on the scene and gave Zacchaeus a chance at being a different person, to live a different life, regardless of his stature. He offered forgiveness and a way to start over afresh. Anew. The people who were witness began to mutter against Jesus. They wanted to keep Zacchaeus in that short place and bind him there forever, a prisoner to his past. (I’m sure we all know people like this, well-meaning religious folks. But don’t look too far – it could be you, LOL!) That Jesus, a prophet and man of God, would reach out to someone so despicable, so deplorable, so obviously a sinner was unimaginable. But Jesus responded with this: “Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” (Luke 19:9-10) Salvation was for Zacchaeus, too. It was especially for him, and for all of us who once were, and still now are lost. Especially for us.

The call to Zacchaeus is the same for us. Increase! Grow! Rise! God is calling us. He’s saying don’t become stagnant spiritually and stay in that same place. Go beyond what you have become. Don’t let our physical limitations define us because that is not who, what or even all that we are. Don’t let our mental squatness continue to stunt our spiritual growth. Let those of us who are short in stature, spiritually and mentally, those of us who have fallen short, got the short end, or just plain come up short, learn and grow and rise to the full heights of the destiny to which we were called. And while we’re at it, reach out and encourage others to do the same.

Be blessed,

Loria

All this happened to King Nebuchadnezzar. Twelve months later, as the king was walking on the roof of the royal palace of Babylon, he said, “Is not this the great Babylon I have built as the royal residence, by my mighty power and for the glory of my majesty?” Daniel 4:28-30

“Good thing you’re staying humble,” my friends have remarked to me since the release of my book, Touched. But I think to myself, “How could I be otherwise?” The success of this book has little to do with me. It’s kind of on autopilot. Every time I think I’m done, another opportunity arises, another door opens. As far as the debut of my book goes, I have all that a brand new author could wish to have. Except pride.

As a child, I remember watching Shirley Temple dance across our little screen and thinking, “I’d love to do that!” Years later, I watched Janet Jackson on Diff’rent Strokes, recalling when she was little Penny on Good Times and thought, “Man! Wish I could do that!” Then there was Fame, the movie AND the television series – dancing in the streets, bursting into song at any given moment, living the dream of running towards greatness. YEAH! I wanted that to be me.

But along the way, I watched as child actors crashed and burned. I read about singers who forgot their lowly start and began to have tantrums and make outrageous demands – Cristal champagne in their dressing rooms, $100 bottles of water and such. The tabloids became full of reports on actors who publicly imploded under the pressure. Wow. I began to dread that type of success for fear of what it would do to me. I couldn’t trust that I wouldn’t lose control. I no longer sought fame and fortune. Lord, I prayed, don’t let it happen until I can handle it. Until I know it won’t change me.

Nebuchadnezzar. Now, there’s a mouthful. The jury is still out on how it’s pronounced. I’ve heard a few versions, putting more emphasis here or there, alternating between the ch and a hard k sound. But the most familiar and most fun way to say it is how I remember it as a child: Nebah-ka-nezzah. Say that a few times and see if I’m right! Fun, huh? The prophet Daniel served under King Nebuchadnezzar while Israel (really only a remnant of the tribes of Judah, Benjamin and Levi) was exiled in Babylon. The king had a disturbing dream and Daniel delivered the interpretation: one day, you’re gonna lose it! BIG TIME! I mean, completely lose your mind! Eating grass in the field like a beast, lose it! Daniel urged the king to turn from his sin and suggested he treat the poor well in order to buy himself more time. In other words, this was a certain thing. God had already determined it.

Nebuchadnezzar was a great king, but even more so in his own mind. I tend to think it was because God had given the king charge over His people. He blessed the ruler and in doing so, also blessed the remnant of Israel. But Nebuchadnezzar saw his accomplishments, his achievements as his own. He became proud. A year after Daniel’s prophecy, he looked around and took credit for everything, leaving no room (and thus, no glory) for God. Doom followed immediately thereafter. The same God that elevated him to king debased him, took his mental faculties and left him to wander as a beast in the field for seven years. That’s a long time to be lost. I’m sure Robert Downey, Jr. and many other celebrities can attest to the long road back from madness to sobriety. When the king recovered, he was careful to give God the glory. He admitted that all power came from God, who had the ability to exalt, as well as abase.

“Are you ready?” A friend asked after reading my book. I nodded with surety. “Really ready?” She prodded, again. This time I gulped and widened my eyes in response. The old fear of success and what it could bring crept in. “You’d better get ready!” Was I ready? Truly ready? Could I withstand the pressure? Would it cause me to fail? Would I exalt myself and think more highly of myself than I ought? Could I do this? My prayer from so long ago came to mind. I relaxed as the thought occurred to me: You asked God to make sure you could handle it before it came to you. And so he will. And so he has.

At the end of the day, I realize, like little Max in Maurice Sendak’s beloved children’s tale, Where the Wild Things Are, I choose to return home. Not only to the familiarity of my comfortable bed and a hot, home cooked meal, but to who I am truly, at my core. Even though, like Max, I might be king elsewhere, I’ll go back to where my family and friends can keep me grounded so that I don’t lose myself. True, my friends and family celebrate me, but it is just that celebration which keeps me humble because I realize they don’t have to. Every blessing, even the support of family and friends, is not something that I take for granted. No one owes me their support. So I am grateful and I give God all the credit. All of the glory. It’s the only way I can make it through this. It’s the only way I can accept any accolade. I know that it comes from Him. So I no longer fear the wild thing I could become. I choose to remain me.

Be blessed,

Loria

 

“And the Lord appeared unto him in the plains of Mamre: and he sat in the tent door in the heat of the day; And he lift up his eyes and looked, and, lo, three men stood by him: and when he saw them, he ran to meet them from the tent door, and bowed himself toward the ground,” 

Genesis 18:1-2

As I recall, he had a twinkle in his eye. Seriously. He didn’t see me watching him. His expression was full of joy over the simple occasion of drinking a cup of coffee. His features had a cherubic quality, angelic even, as his face was lit up from within. A small smile crossed his lips every time he raised the cup to his lip and took a small draw. It was the sweetest smile, the sweetest expression you could ever imagine – it just moved me. He reminded me of my mother, or going back further, my grandmother. His wrinkled brown skin creased in delight with each sip. Whose father or grandfather, I wondered, was he?

While he was consumed with his task, I took in the whole sight of him. He wore a cap with flaps on the sides that were pulled down over his ears, winter gloves and a jacket. Unlike me, he did not take his winter gear off as he sat enjoying his coffee at McDonald’s. I realized then that his clothes were part of him – not just his ensemble. He was homeless. That’s why he could enjoy the ritual of drinking coffee in such a fashion. His smile was for the warmth the beverage provided. It meant, he could come in out of the cold for a while and be visible, instead of invisible. He could be one of us, just a fella drinking a cup of coffee. For a time, I imagined, he felt quite human, again. Broke my heart, though. And I was moved to give him something. Not just something – money. A lot of it. I thought of how much I had on me (funny thing is, I almost never carry cash) and wondered how much would be enough. Fifty? One hundred? Really, Loria? He’s homeless! What would he do with such a sum? And what if someone were to steal it from him? What if YOU’RE WRONG and he’s not even homeless? He’d be insulted.

I turned my back on him as I debated my choices. Finally, I opted to give him enough money to buy a breakfast sandwich to go with his coffee. I figured it was the least I could do. I fished a few dollars out of my purse and handed it to him. He looked up at me with a beatific expression and thanked me. He went back to drinking his coffee, as before, completely enraptured.

“And there came two angels to Sodom at even; and Lot sat in the gate of Sodom: and Lot seeing them rose up to meet them; and he bowed himself with his face toward the ground; And he said, Behold now, my lords, turn in, I pray you, into your servant’s house, and tarry all night, and wash your feet, and ye shall rise up early, and go on your ways.” Genesis 19:1-2 

I left the restaurant and wondered what had come over me. Why had he affected me so? Then, I recalled the stories from the Bible that detailed the accounts of Abraham, and then Lot, hosting angels. Was he, this homeless man, an angel? I compared my incident to theirs: Abraham seemed to know, immediately, that he was looking at no ordinary men. He pressed them to stay for a meal. He wanted to take care of them, to do something for them. As if he was compelled. Lot’s reaction was pretty much the same when he saw the same men. Come, stay with me at my home tonight, he pleaded. He knew the townspeople he lived among could be ruthless. Let me take care of you, honor you, keep you from harm, he urged. Hmmm.

Was it just coincidence that these stories occurred to me after my encounter with the homeless man? Maybe not. I had such a strong reaction to him; I would have gladly given him all the money in my purse. And if you knew me, you would know THAT is a feat! I still thought of him on my way home and wondered. Was he just an ordinary man? I wished I had been brave enough to do more. (I wanted to take him home with me!) I know, sadly, there will be other chances to give to the homeless. For the poor, as Jesus said, will be with us always. I’ve made my peace with that truth, feeling that they become opportunities for us to do good to our fellow man. To show the love of God and let it be shed abroad, in our hearts and in our actions. That the world would see the hands of Jesus in our ministering hands. Yep. All that sounds really good. But still, there was something about that man.

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Hebrews 13:2

Months later, all I could remember about that day was that man. Even though I was downtown for a very important reason, he stuck with me. I needed to appear in court as a potential witness for the state against the driver of the car that struck my car and totaled it. I was apprehensive, to say the least. I felt harassed and harried about the whole procedure. Why did this have to happen to me? It couldn’t have come at a worse time. I was finishing the final edits on my book and anticipating its release. I worried about how the young man would plead – would he make it easier or harder to pursue restitution? That accident set me back physically, as well as, financially. I just wanted it to be over with, all of it – therapy, doctor’s visits, bills, recovery, used car drama – so that I could get back to my life. To being me again. These were the thoughts most prominent in my mind on that day, until I saw him and he captured my attention. Suddenly, I wasn’t so overwhelmed by my pending court case because my spirit had been buoyed by my encounter. But was he an angel? A scripture came to mind recently which further lent credence to my fanciful leanings:

“And the angel of the Lord came again the second time, and touched him and said, “Arise and eat, because the journey is too great for thee.” 1 Kings 19:7

An embattled prophet Elijah was on the run from Jezebel after destroying her false prophets. He was discouraged. He whined about all he had done and given in his service to the Lord. He felt like he was being punished (instead of rewarded) for doing what God had called him to do. He ran until he got so tired that he stopped to rest and fell asleep underneath a tree. The angel woke him twice, providing sustenance and encouragement, to fortify him for the journey ahead. And so it is with us. I don’t think God ever intended for us to make this journey alone, without encouragement. I believe he intends to shore us up along the way, so that we don’t lose hope and give up. He sends beings, like my homeless friend, to give us strength for the journey ahead. So that we can go just a little further.

Be blessed,

Loria