I was recently able to be a contributing writer for lifeseek.org. Please check out the website, a lot of great thoughts by a lot of great writers. Here is the link to my article, I hope you enjoy.
https://lifeseek.org/blog/2017/05/keeping-it-real/
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
Friday, January 27, 2017
Hope...in What?
I was recently talking with a friend over text message about a situation and she mentioned she wanted to be hopeful about it all, but she really wasn't. I knew what she meant as most do when they use that word. I wish what I want to happen happens. I understand the way we use this phrase, but when hope is deferred and your heart is sick (Prov. 13:12), you need to right your mind to the Truth - colloquialisms be damned.
So, in speaking with my friend who was in a tender spot, I wanted to encourage her, but in a way that was real and meaningful. Would I love to say, yes, hope for it, it will happen. Sure, but she and I both know that is just a nice thing to say. Children hope for Santa to bring them what they want. Whether they get what they want or not the hope is always misplaced. Hope in something does not bring it about.
It was with this sensitivity I wanted to give encouragement without dismissing the struggle with a well wishing equivalent of Happy New Year or Merry Christmas. So, I have an excerpt of my response to her below. I've been thinking about it for some time, and it seems this response was an overflowing of the perfect storm of standing with a friend while admitting my own struggle to hope in what is truly worthy of hope.
"I understand the battle to remain hopeful. I'm going to redeem that word in my own mind this year. I'm going to choose hope that God will make it as it should be. That if I hate it, it's still better than what I want because He sees it all. That if these hands are empty all my live long days, my soul will be filled with His presence and that if I seek Him I will find Him, and to know Him more each day is a hope that will be realized if I look for Him. So be hopeful in the right things while praying at times through tears because we don't know what He will do with our desires. It's all normal, He knows..."
Please when you encourage someone, make certain it is founded in what is true and not what you want to be true. I recently told someone, I don't want to hear what I want to hear, I want to hear what I need to know. The same goes for encouragement. Disappointment isn't something to be pushed off for another time. Why do we purposefully postpone healing? Instead, let's be brothers and sisters that help one another develop the skills for life that will be implemented in gladness and sorrow, all the while hoping in Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith (Heb. 12:2).
Stacy Rapp ©
So, in speaking with my friend who was in a tender spot, I wanted to encourage her, but in a way that was real and meaningful. Would I love to say, yes, hope for it, it will happen. Sure, but she and I both know that is just a nice thing to say. Children hope for Santa to bring them what they want. Whether they get what they want or not the hope is always misplaced. Hope in something does not bring it about.
It was with this sensitivity I wanted to give encouragement without dismissing the struggle with a well wishing equivalent of Happy New Year or Merry Christmas. So, I have an excerpt of my response to her below. I've been thinking about it for some time, and it seems this response was an overflowing of the perfect storm of standing with a friend while admitting my own struggle to hope in what is truly worthy of hope.
"I understand the battle to remain hopeful. I'm going to redeem that word in my own mind this year. I'm going to choose hope that God will make it as it should be. That if I hate it, it's still better than what I want because He sees it all. That if these hands are empty all my live long days, my soul will be filled with His presence and that if I seek Him I will find Him, and to know Him more each day is a hope that will be realized if I look for Him. So be hopeful in the right things while praying at times through tears because we don't know what He will do with our desires. It's all normal, He knows..."
Please when you encourage someone, make certain it is founded in what is true and not what you want to be true. I recently told someone, I don't want to hear what I want to hear, I want to hear what I need to know. The same goes for encouragement. Disappointment isn't something to be pushed off for another time. Why do we purposefully postpone healing? Instead, let's be brothers and sisters that help one another develop the skills for life that will be implemented in gladness and sorrow, all the while hoping in Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith (Heb. 12:2).
Stacy Rapp ©
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
What Just Happened Here?
Mark 5:1-20 NIV
5 They went across the lake to the region of the
Gerasenes.[a] 2 When
Jesus got out of the boat, a man with an impure spirit came from the tombs to
meet him. 3 This man lived in the tombs, and no one could bind
him anymore, not even with a chain. 4 For he had often been
chained hand and foot, but he tore the chains apart and broke the irons on his
feet. No one was strong enough to subdue him. 5 Night and day
among the tombs and in the hills he would cry out and cut himself with stones.
6 When
he saw Jesus from a distance, he ran and fell on his knees in front of him. 7 He
shouted at the top of his voice, “What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the
Most High God? In God’s name don’t torture me!” 8 For Jesus had
said to him, “Come out of this man, you impure spirit!”
9 Then
Jesus asked him, “What is your name?”
“My name is Legion,” he replied, “for we are many.” 10 And
he begged Jesus again and again not to send them out of the area.
11 A
large herd of pigs was feeding on the nearby hillside. 12 The
demons begged Jesus, “Send us among the pigs; allow us to go into them.” 13 He
gave them permission, and the impure spirits came out and went into the pigs.
The herd, about two thousand in number, rushed down the steep bank into the
lake and were drowned.
14 Those
tending the pigs ran off and reported this in the town and countryside, and the
people went out to see what had happened. 15 When they came to
Jesus, they saw the man who had been possessed by the legion of demons, sitting
there, dressed and in his right mind; and they were afraid. 16 Those
who had seen it told the people what had happened to the demon-possessed
man—and told about the pigs as well. 17 Then the people began
to plead with Jesus to leave their region.
18 As
Jesus was getting into the boat, the man who had been demon-possessed begged to
go with him. 19 Jesus did not let him, but said, “Go home to
your own people and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he
has had mercy on you.” 20 So the man went away and began to
tell in the Decapolis[b] how much
Jesus had done for him. And all the people were amazed.
I read this passage two days ago and
cannot get it out of my mind. It was one
of those times where a story I had heard and read before became new and new
questions surfaced because of it.
When I read the bible I try to
envision it as if I was there or if this was happening to me. I don’t want it to be a story like Little Red
Riding Hood that truly does not affect my life.
These words are eternal Truth and I must purpose to understand it to the
fullest of my ability with the help of the Spirit. So as I read this passage and meditated on it
for two days, here is what I have so far. Good thing you have the scripture
above because there is about to be a whole lot of paraphrasing going on right
here.
In verses 5-13 Jesus is approached by
a man possessed by unclean spirits. This
man was apparently naked or at least not fully clothed, lived among the tombs, cried
out wildly, and cut himself with rocks.
Chains were a feeble attempt to contain him because the possession made
him stronger than humanly possible. Yet,
when he sees Jesus, he runs to Him and falls at His feet, the NKJV says he
worshiped Him. James 2:9 NIV “You believe that
there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that--and shudder.” This is amazing to me. Along with the joy of being a human and
having the possibility of redemption is the possibility to not see Jesus for
who he is. We have a choice. What an unbelievably magnanimous and amazing
privilege. Yet, here is this demon of
whom Jesus asks his name like he didn’t know. Then His new frenemy Legion begs
to be sent to the swine, and Jesus grants him his request and the pigs are
drowned. With a nod, a word, a thought,
a glance of permission the legion of demons is sent to pigs and what chains
could not do was accomplished and the man who housed them was left still and in
his own mind. Most everyone is left there
thinking, did I just see that? This is where you need to pray for me because I’m
thinking there had to be some Aramaic curse words going on about now. Remember, these were real people. And a whole lot of crazy poo just went
down.
Vs.14-17
So now these pig farmers who essentially experienced a market crash, run off
and tell the people in the town this crazy story about how they lost who knows
how much of their livelihood due to some demon and this man Jesus who talks to
demons. I would have told these guys to
stop smoking the maryjane, but apparently the word on the street was some crazy
stuff is going down because of this Jesus guy.
So, everyone from the town comes out and sees that the village demon possessed
guy is no longer naked and totally sane.
To which the response is, Jesus, can you please leave, you are freaking
us out. Interesting because the more I
thought of it, the more it made sense to me.
Sometimes the hell we live with becomes comfortable and we don’t know
what a healthy life is. And when we meet
Jesus and he takes away the swine, and leaves us wondering how we will make our
money and makes it so that we are now looking like the hottest mess in town
instead of No Clothes McGee, well we can’t handle it and we tell him to hit the
bricks. The Truth can be frightening
when we are unwilling to fully let go of the lies.
Vs.
18-20 Here is the part that really bothered me for a bit. Jesus gets in a boat to leave because His
type of healing and favors are clearly not wanted in that town. The man who is healed from the possession is
there begging to go with Jesus. Jesus
says no, go home and tell people what I’ve done for you. What? So, Legion gets his request and the
dude formerly known as naked guy gets a no?! It could have even been for his
own safety he wanted to leave, I don’t know.
I wonder if there was some misplaced anger toward that man. “Hey if you didn’t go and get yourself all
hopped up on demons, my pigs would be here and I’d still have a job!” Instead,
Jesus says stay here and spread the word.
Can you imagine the next forty of that man’s life? Little kids staring, “Yeah kid, it’s me. I used to be the naked guy.” More so, we don’t even know what this man’s
name is. We know the name of the demon,
and not the man who was delivered from him? So I take step back from my hot
blooded oh no He didn’t, to think about it.
What I know is this. Jesus was in
the right or I have no business believing anything else He said. We don’t know that man’s name because his
story is all we need to know and the whole of it points to Jesus. The fact that Jesus grants a demons request
or anyone else’s and you still have a deep burdened request that He has not been
granted is for Jesus to decide and for us to praise Him through it. Whatever our stories are, wherever we find
ourselves, if it points to Jesus, we are blessed and we have a story to
tell. So tell your story about the
demons Jesus sent away from you. Contrast
the lie the devil told you with the Truth Jesus gave you. And the next time you eat bacon, remember,
you’ve won.
Stacy Rapp ©
Stacy Rapp ©
The Finality of Sacrifice
The story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac has been a theme in my mind for years. If you look over older posts and Facebook statuses, you will see, I think about this often. So often, people must think me morbid, or unable to correlate my life to anything else. To those who would say I need another analogy, I would say, the Truth of the Word is healing my spirit in the land in which I find myself. In that land are many mountains with many alters. Some represent a dream, a person, a status, etc.
I am a deep thinker, I ruminate on ideas, I want to learn, I remember, I see where I need more help. I see where I need to revisit the Truth and let the Spirit teach me in the whispers of the written Word.
Recently I've been thinking about many tangible things I need to be willing to sacrifice. In doing so, in naming things, people, dreams, etc., I realized that in thinking about the story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac, I didn't take the sacrifice to its full end. Instead, I placed my prize on the alter, secured it, and walked away from it. Sometimes I'd get all the way down the mountain before the urge to check on it got so strong, I'd go running back. Upon finding the item, I'd often secure it even tighter.
I have so many alters with so many living things strapped to them. Because they are alive, I must check on them. I check on them so often they aren't even left to die. Instead I'm giving them water and food each time I see if they are still there, secure as the day I "left" them. So, my imagery changed from Abraham walking up a mountain, knowing in faith God would keep His promise, to me-some crazed version of myself more like the woman from Misery or the creeper from Silence of The Lambs.
A sacrifice is only sacrificed once it is killed. I haven't been willing to kill any of mine. I've kept them all alive, waiting for God to give the okay to untie them. Sure, that is how it worked in Abraham's case. And the good thing here is that the killing of my sacrifices is in analogy only. But the faith is the same. Until the faith that God can raise up and restore that sacrifice is so overpowering and causes my faith to take action, well, God cannot raise what isn't put down.
I see now that I need to hand over the desires that may or may not be given back to me. But each time I sacrifice whatever it is on an alter, God will give another opportunity to raise an ebenezer. And that is truly the beauty God can bring from ashes.
Stacy Rapp ©
I am a deep thinker, I ruminate on ideas, I want to learn, I remember, I see where I need more help. I see where I need to revisit the Truth and let the Spirit teach me in the whispers of the written Word.
Recently I've been thinking about many tangible things I need to be willing to sacrifice. In doing so, in naming things, people, dreams, etc., I realized that in thinking about the story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac, I didn't take the sacrifice to its full end. Instead, I placed my prize on the alter, secured it, and walked away from it. Sometimes I'd get all the way down the mountain before the urge to check on it got so strong, I'd go running back. Upon finding the item, I'd often secure it even tighter.
I have so many alters with so many living things strapped to them. Because they are alive, I must check on them. I check on them so often they aren't even left to die. Instead I'm giving them water and food each time I see if they are still there, secure as the day I "left" them. So, my imagery changed from Abraham walking up a mountain, knowing in faith God would keep His promise, to me-some crazed version of myself more like the woman from Misery or the creeper from Silence of The Lambs.
A sacrifice is only sacrificed once it is killed. I haven't been willing to kill any of mine. I've kept them all alive, waiting for God to give the okay to untie them. Sure, that is how it worked in Abraham's case. And the good thing here is that the killing of my sacrifices is in analogy only. But the faith is the same. Until the faith that God can raise up and restore that sacrifice is so overpowering and causes my faith to take action, well, God cannot raise what isn't put down.
I see now that I need to hand over the desires that may or may not be given back to me. But each time I sacrifice whatever it is on an alter, God will give another opportunity to raise an ebenezer. And that is truly the beauty God can bring from ashes.
Stacy Rapp ©
Tuesday, February 16, 2016
Adele Dance Party and Christian Liberty
My niece Kaela is a fierce mass of kinetic energy. I often tease her with a game I call, Be Completely Still. I'll hold her while she lays across my lap, eyes closed tightly-constantly twitching while her hands and feet wiggle at the ends of otherwise still appendages. She cannot be still, unless she's sleeping.
I have come to love this about her and honestly, the day she is able to play and win Be Completely Still, I'll have a twinge of sadness for the end of her exuberant youth. Hopefully by then, all the jitters will be replaced with vibrant conversation.
Earlier this month we got together as extended family to celebrate my dad's birthday. After dinner and dessert we sat around the living room while the kids played. In a short time we were being treated to a singing rendition of Adele's Hello from McKenna and an interpretive dance from Kaela.
Now, McKenna can sing. She can hold a note, she is on pitch, she even has a vibrato. She's a singer. Knowing the vulnerability of singing, I listen, I smile, and I applaud.
Kaela can sing, but her forte is dancing. She is unabashed, free spirited, and high intensity. It was during this song that she was twirling with a vengeance and then went into the highest velocity windmill arm wind up I have ever seen. I can picture this kid knocking some other kid out with a wild fast pitch softball in her future.
It was this move that struck my funny bone and I laughed. I laughed with a loud boisterous raucous laughter. The kind of laugh you cherish as they seem to be few and far between. She was so blasted adorable with her determined little face, arm blending into the scenery around her for moving so fast.
One moment I was looking at her, the next, she disappeared. Before I knew what happened she was on the floor crying. Her father picked her up and he held her. I was sitting directly across from her. It was getting late, and I was told she gets sensitive when she is tired, but I needed to make it right.
I asked her to come over to me and she did. I asked if I hurt her feelings, she said yes. I asked if she thought I was laughing at her to make fun of her, she said yes. I apologized and said I was laughing because sometimes I laugh when something is so cute because I don't know what else to do. She said, "You could have done this" as she held her tiny hand up to her mouth as to pantomime hiding laughter. See...adorable.
I told her I was sorry and that I was not laughing at her, that I was laughing because she was funny. Talk about memories. I was that child. I remember not understanding the difference. I really thought my parents and older siblings were lying with that one. Even as I said it, I knew it was a losing nuance on the limited experienced mind of a five year old. I know she will grow to learn the difference, but right now, she doesn't give a hoot about it.
And so, I apologized again, and asked if she would dance for us a second time. She said no. I promised not to laugh. She said, but everyone else will laugh. I assured her, they would not. My hope was that she would give me another chance, but more so that she would not let my laughter keep her from doing what she loved.
Before long, she got up, turned on the song and danced. My goodness, what a strong little spirit. She is an example to me, she has no clue what a spitfire she is and how much I want to be like her. I smiled through the whole thing, but didn't laugh. It wasn't funny to me anymore. This time, it was beautiful.
On the way home I thought about the situation. I was disappointed with myself for laughing so loudly, I should have known better. Then I thought about other times she did similar things, and the laughter didn't bother her. On the other hand, she's older now, she's going to school, she has many more messages coming at her constantly and that self awareness, that double edged sword, that blasted and glorious self awareness is very real to her now. She's still learning it.
And so I thought that though it wasn't wrong to laugh, it hurt someone I care about. To protect someone I love, I happily gave up my right to laugh based on the fact that she thought it was malicious. Her thinking it was malicious didn't make it wrong, it made it hurtful. I am free to laugh, I am free not to laugh. I am free to dance, free not to dance. Free to drink alcohol because Jesus drank wine not grape juice (stop lying to people), free not to drink alcohol. Being right isn't as important as being protective or showing love.
Who knew an obnoxious laugh and an adorable determined dancer could lead to such a revelation? Well, I guess that is just another example of how God can redeem anything.
Peace
© 2016 Stacy Rapp
I have come to love this about her and honestly, the day she is able to play and win Be Completely Still, I'll have a twinge of sadness for the end of her exuberant youth. Hopefully by then, all the jitters will be replaced with vibrant conversation.
Earlier this month we got together as extended family to celebrate my dad's birthday. After dinner and dessert we sat around the living room while the kids played. In a short time we were being treated to a singing rendition of Adele's Hello from McKenna and an interpretive dance from Kaela.
Now, McKenna can sing. She can hold a note, she is on pitch, she even has a vibrato. She's a singer. Knowing the vulnerability of singing, I listen, I smile, and I applaud.
Kaela can sing, but her forte is dancing. She is unabashed, free spirited, and high intensity. It was during this song that she was twirling with a vengeance and then went into the highest velocity windmill arm wind up I have ever seen. I can picture this kid knocking some other kid out with a wild fast pitch softball in her future.
It was this move that struck my funny bone and I laughed. I laughed with a loud boisterous raucous laughter. The kind of laugh you cherish as they seem to be few and far between. She was so blasted adorable with her determined little face, arm blending into the scenery around her for moving so fast.
One moment I was looking at her, the next, she disappeared. Before I knew what happened she was on the floor crying. Her father picked her up and he held her. I was sitting directly across from her. It was getting late, and I was told she gets sensitive when she is tired, but I needed to make it right.
I asked her to come over to me and she did. I asked if I hurt her feelings, she said yes. I asked if she thought I was laughing at her to make fun of her, she said yes. I apologized and said I was laughing because sometimes I laugh when something is so cute because I don't know what else to do. She said, "You could have done this" as she held her tiny hand up to her mouth as to pantomime hiding laughter. See...adorable.
I told her I was sorry and that I was not laughing at her, that I was laughing because she was funny. Talk about memories. I was that child. I remember not understanding the difference. I really thought my parents and older siblings were lying with that one. Even as I said it, I knew it was a losing nuance on the limited experienced mind of a five year old. I know she will grow to learn the difference, but right now, she doesn't give a hoot about it.
And so, I apologized again, and asked if she would dance for us a second time. She said no. I promised not to laugh. She said, but everyone else will laugh. I assured her, they would not. My hope was that she would give me another chance, but more so that she would not let my laughter keep her from doing what she loved.
Before long, she got up, turned on the song and danced. My goodness, what a strong little spirit. She is an example to me, she has no clue what a spitfire she is and how much I want to be like her. I smiled through the whole thing, but didn't laugh. It wasn't funny to me anymore. This time, it was beautiful.
On the way home I thought about the situation. I was disappointed with myself for laughing so loudly, I should have known better. Then I thought about other times she did similar things, and the laughter didn't bother her. On the other hand, she's older now, she's going to school, she has many more messages coming at her constantly and that self awareness, that double edged sword, that blasted and glorious self awareness is very real to her now. She's still learning it.
And so I thought that though it wasn't wrong to laugh, it hurt someone I care about. To protect someone I love, I happily gave up my right to laugh based on the fact that she thought it was malicious. Her thinking it was malicious didn't make it wrong, it made it hurtful. I am free to laugh, I am free not to laugh. I am free to dance, free not to dance. Free to drink alcohol because Jesus drank wine not grape juice (stop lying to people), free not to drink alcohol. Being right isn't as important as being protective or showing love.
Who knew an obnoxious laugh and an adorable determined dancer could lead to such a revelation? Well, I guess that is just another example of how God can redeem anything.
Peace
© 2016 Stacy Rapp
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Puzzles, Rivers, White Socks, And A Dirty Mouth
Last week I took a few vacation days and headed up to Albany, NY. Quite honestly, Albany has never been on my bucket list, but I recently heard about the tulip festival they have in Washington Park. The big brouhaha is Mother's Day weekend, but I figured a few days after the festivities, the flowers should be just as beautiful. Plus, I saw on Facebook a post about a bakery called Puzzles in Schenectady. This bakery employs adults with developmental disabilities. I love a mission like that, and I thought I'd go check it out and see the flowers to boot.
So, I head up on a Tuesday and check in to my room and go back out to explore. Unfortunately, by the time I got to the park to take pictures of the tulips, the rain said hello. The last thing I wanted to do was walk around in the rain with my camera, so I headed over to the bakery.
The bakery was beautiful inside. Not just the building, but the young man behind the counter was kind, professional, and full of purpose, I dare say excitement. If we all attacked our work with the realization of purpose this young man had, this world would be a wonderful place.
Armed with my oatmeal raisin cookie, I decided to go to the riverfront park the owner of Puzzles had told me about during my chat with her. Thankfully the rain had ended and I could stroll about. That is the idea I had in my head anyway.
Once I got to the park, I saw that it was very sparsely populated, down a shady looking street, and the walking path was right along the river. If there were many people there, maybe I wouldn't have been freaked out. My park mates consisted of one teen swinging on a swing set much to young for him, a burly many with a pit bull, and a meandering couple. The sum total of my surroundings and the fact that I was traveling alone made my Criminal Minds first girl killed radar go into a tizzy. I decided no cookie eating river stroll is worth the possibility of being pushed into the river by some meandering psycho dog walking swinger. I got the freak out of there.
The next day I got back to the park with the tulips. Once I was at the flower beds I pulled out my camera from my bag and realized my wallet was missing. Panic quickly subsided when I realized I must have left it in the car when I took just my wallet in the cafe to get coffee. When will I learn to always return my wallet and my keys to the same place - every time?!
I reassure myself, the wallet is 90% definitely in my car, and that my car would not be broken into and I would not be stranded in Albany. I start taking pictures. The flowers were beautiful. I imagine myself in Holland. Children play in a large wooden shoe replica and I swear I hear them speaking Dutch to one another. A bucolic respite amidst the hubbub of Albany.
Now, I realize to some traveling alone is their worst nightmare. I have to say, I find an over night trip of exploring a different place really interesting. Any longer than a day there and back and I feel strange because the only conversations are with people serving you. The hotel workers, food servers, ticket takers, etc. The occasional chat with a stranger is fine, but no real deep meaningful connection there.
I also realize that to the family with the small children playing in the wooden shoe, they might be wondering why someone is alone with a camera, taking pictures that may or may not have their children captured in the background. Being mindful of the composition of my shots and the direction I am facing, I find the task of getting any wide angle shots nearly impossible. That is nearly impossible without looking like a creeper. So, I get some close flower shots and take in the beauty for a moment, and start walking back to my car.
Moments after I leave Holland, I see a man cutting across the grass walking toward me. I think he is a landscaper at first, but I quickly realize he is homeless. He approaches having pulled out two of the longest and whitest tube socks I have ever seen. For a quick second I think to myself, he is going to strangle you with those. Then he puts them neatly away in his pockets.
"Ma'am, can I ask you a question?" (Note he called me ma'am! Et tu homeless guy?!!!!)
"What's Up?" making sure I am keeping my distance.
"I gotta get out of this city."
I say, "Okay..."
"Yeah, I gotta get out of Albany, I feel like the devil is keeping me here, you know?"
"Okay, what is your question?" Sometimes I am literal to a fault.
"I just gotta get out of here man." I wish for ma'am.
Finally realizing, "Oh, I don't have my wallet with me."
He looks at me with the disappointment of someone hurt by the actions of another with whom they actually have a relationship.
"Isn't that convenient for you, you know, you just summed up what the whole problem is with Albany."
"I honestly don't have my wallet with me. Are there places that can help you?"
"Oh, people like you love to bring that up don't you? Let someone else take care of the problem. You never helped a person a day in your life!"
"Honestly Sir, you don't know me." I begin to walk away.
I hear him shouting as he walks the other direction, "Your parents raised you this way. You @&*$*%& @%#$&, you don't care about anyone but yourself!"
I am walking to my car more quickly now, muttering to myself how fascist this guy is. I sat in my car, looked for my wallet, it was there. I looked to see where the man was. He was far away from me now. I scour the landscape for the ever elusive John Quinones, once again, he is not there.
Driving away, I begin thinking about the strange experience and how funny it is that I wasn't scared. I mean, once he put the socks away I didn't think he would harm me, even though he was angry. And then I thought it was strange that I wasn't angry. He said I didn't help people, yada, yada, yada, how dare he? He doesn't know me. Really, he was just mad he didn't get what he wanted. If it wasn't me, it would have been anyone else.
And then I remembered what he said about the devil keeping him in Albany. The devil does try to keep us in places we don't want to be. He tries to accuse us of things that at one time, may have been true about us. He tries to remind us of past wrongs we've done or the good things we should have done. He uses whatever he can use to get us focused on ourselves, then we are rendered useless to do good.
At one time, it would have been true I didn't help people and I only cared about myself. And truthfully, sometimes that is still true. But there is a beautiful picture of rest that comes in knowing who you are, knowing whose you are, and knowing accusations don't prove guilt. There is rest in knowing any dirt the devil wants to sling at me, isn't mine to deal with anymore. I gave it to Jesus, and He's taken care of it all. The devil is just mad he doesn't get what he wants. And when he gets angry and starts to yell at me, and accuse me of things that may or may not be true, all I can do is say, honestly sir, you don't know me, and walk away. All the while knowing I am robbed in whitest white courtesy of the blood of Jesus.
Rev. 12:1-12
10 Then I heard a loud voice in heaven say:
© 2015 Stacy Rapp
So, I head up on a Tuesday and check in to my room and go back out to explore. Unfortunately, by the time I got to the park to take pictures of the tulips, the rain said hello. The last thing I wanted to do was walk around in the rain with my camera, so I headed over to the bakery.
The bakery was beautiful inside. Not just the building, but the young man behind the counter was kind, professional, and full of purpose, I dare say excitement. If we all attacked our work with the realization of purpose this young man had, this world would be a wonderful place.
Armed with my oatmeal raisin cookie, I decided to go to the riverfront park the owner of Puzzles had told me about during my chat with her. Thankfully the rain had ended and I could stroll about. That is the idea I had in my head anyway.
Once I got to the park, I saw that it was very sparsely populated, down a shady looking street, and the walking path was right along the river. If there were many people there, maybe I wouldn't have been freaked out. My park mates consisted of one teen swinging on a swing set much to young for him, a burly many with a pit bull, and a meandering couple. The sum total of my surroundings and the fact that I was traveling alone made my Criminal Minds first girl killed radar go into a tizzy. I decided no cookie eating river stroll is worth the possibility of being pushed into the river by some meandering psycho dog walking swinger. I got the freak out of there.
The next day I got back to the park with the tulips. Once I was at the flower beds I pulled out my camera from my bag and realized my wallet was missing. Panic quickly subsided when I realized I must have left it in the car when I took just my wallet in the cafe to get coffee. When will I learn to always return my wallet and my keys to the same place - every time?!
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I reassure myself, the wallet is 90% definitely in my car, and that my car would not be broken into and I would not be stranded in Albany. I start taking pictures. The flowers were beautiful. I imagine myself in Holland. Children play in a large wooden shoe replica and I swear I hear them speaking Dutch to one another. A bucolic respite amidst the hubbub of Albany.
Now, I realize to some traveling alone is their worst nightmare. I have to say, I find an over night trip of exploring a different place really interesting. Any longer than a day there and back and I feel strange because the only conversations are with people serving you. The hotel workers, food servers, ticket takers, etc. The occasional chat with a stranger is fine, but no real deep meaningful connection there.
I also realize that to the family with the small children playing in the wooden shoe, they might be wondering why someone is alone with a camera, taking pictures that may or may not have their children captured in the background. Being mindful of the composition of my shots and the direction I am facing, I find the task of getting any wide angle shots nearly impossible. That is nearly impossible without looking like a creeper. So, I get some close flower shots and take in the beauty for a moment, and start walking back to my car.
Moments after I leave Holland, I see a man cutting across the grass walking toward me. I think he is a landscaper at first, but I quickly realize he is homeless. He approaches having pulled out two of the longest and whitest tube socks I have ever seen. For a quick second I think to myself, he is going to strangle you with those. Then he puts them neatly away in his pockets.
"Ma'am, can I ask you a question?" (Note he called me ma'am! Et tu homeless guy?!!!!)
"What's Up?" making sure I am keeping my distance.
"I gotta get out of this city."
I say, "Okay..."
"Yeah, I gotta get out of Albany, I feel like the devil is keeping me here, you know?"
"Okay, what is your question?" Sometimes I am literal to a fault.
"I just gotta get out of here man." I wish for ma'am.
Finally realizing, "Oh, I don't have my wallet with me."
He looks at me with the disappointment of someone hurt by the actions of another with whom they actually have a relationship.
"Isn't that convenient for you, you know, you just summed up what the whole problem is with Albany."
"I honestly don't have my wallet with me. Are there places that can help you?"
"Oh, people like you love to bring that up don't you? Let someone else take care of the problem. You never helped a person a day in your life!"
"Honestly Sir, you don't know me." I begin to walk away.
I hear him shouting as he walks the other direction, "Your parents raised you this way. You @&*$*%& @%#$&, you don't care about anyone but yourself!"
I am walking to my car more quickly now, muttering to myself how fascist this guy is. I sat in my car, looked for my wallet, it was there. I looked to see where the man was. He was far away from me now. I scour the landscape for the ever elusive John Quinones, once again, he is not there.
Driving away, I begin thinking about the strange experience and how funny it is that I wasn't scared. I mean, once he put the socks away I didn't think he would harm me, even though he was angry. And then I thought it was strange that I wasn't angry. He said I didn't help people, yada, yada, yada, how dare he? He doesn't know me. Really, he was just mad he didn't get what he wanted. If it wasn't me, it would have been anyone else.
And then I remembered what he said about the devil keeping him in Albany. The devil does try to keep us in places we don't want to be. He tries to accuse us of things that at one time, may have been true about us. He tries to remind us of past wrongs we've done or the good things we should have done. He uses whatever he can use to get us focused on ourselves, then we are rendered useless to do good.
At one time, it would have been true I didn't help people and I only cared about myself. And truthfully, sometimes that is still true. But there is a beautiful picture of rest that comes in knowing who you are, knowing whose you are, and knowing accusations don't prove guilt. There is rest in knowing any dirt the devil wants to sling at me, isn't mine to deal with anymore. I gave it to Jesus, and He's taken care of it all. The devil is just mad he doesn't get what he wants. And when he gets angry and starts to yell at me, and accuse me of things that may or may not be true, all I can do is say, honestly sir, you don't know me, and walk away. All the while knowing I am robbed in whitest white courtesy of the blood of Jesus.
Rev. 12:1-12
10 Then I heard a loud voice in heaven say:
“Now have come the salvation and the power
and the kingdom of our God,
and the authority of his Messiah.
For the accuser of our brothers and sisters,
who accuses them before our God day and night,
has been hurled down.
11 They triumphed over him
by the blood of the Lamb
and by the word of their testimony;
they did not love their lives so much
as to shrink from death.
12 Therefore rejoice, you heavens
and you who dwell in them!
But woe to the earth and the sea,
because the devil has gone down to you!
He is filled with fury,
because he knows that his time is short.”
and the kingdom of our God,
and the authority of his Messiah.
For the accuser of our brothers and sisters,
who accuses them before our God day and night,
has been hurled down.
11 They triumphed over him
by the blood of the Lamb
and by the word of their testimony;
they did not love their lives so much
as to shrink from death.
12 Therefore rejoice, you heavens
and you who dwell in them!
But woe to the earth and the sea,
because the devil has gone down to you!
He is filled with fury,
because he knows that his time is short.”
If you ever get to Albany, I hope you enjoy the flowers and the beautiful capitol. And if you should hap upon a homeless man with the whitest tube socks this side of the Mississippi, please tell him I say hey, my parents are well, thank you.
© 2015 Stacy Rapp
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