May 09
Kelli BullardUncategorized
Now that the weather is warming up, I love to throw on a pair of shorts and a tank top, step into my favorite flip-flops and spend the afternoon piddling around the yard. For me, it’s all about comfort – the warmth of the sun on my shoulders, the scent of lilacs and honeysuckle tickling my nose, the companionship of my dog Max as he sniffs out any critters brave enough to be lurking in our bushes.
There are a lot of things I do that are based on my comfort – everything from hitting the snooze button an extra time to plopping down on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn to watch a movie. The funny thing is, most of the time these things don’t make me feel better. And to be honest, they usually make me feel worse. I end up aggravated at myself for oversleeping and running late for work. Or I feel bloated and miserable after devouring the entire bowl of “Extreme Butter,” and I’m disappointed because the movie was just so-so.
When I get honest with myself about what my priorities in life really ought to be, “stay comfortable” should probably rank pretty far down the list. Right behind “practice good dental care” and “organize the junk drawer.”
It seems like I am the most happy, the most fulfilled, when I stop worrying about my comfort and start thinking about someone else’s. That’s why I want to share with you about something I’m really excited about. In response to my last blog, “Lost Kitties and Dented Dreams,” several of you offered some great suggestions about causes to get involved in. I loved all of your ideas, and as I prayed about what to do, an opportunity came my way. I saw an email from Dena Dyer with the Refugee Resettlement Division of Catholic Family Services, asking for help with an upcoming event. So I gave her a call, and she put me right to work!
I’m getting to help promote CFS’s World Bazaar on June 25th, and we are very excited to be hosting it here at Trinity Fellowship. It will be a celebration of the diversity of cultures in our city, and will spotlight the courage, creativity and resilience of former refugees.
I can’t wait to meet refugees like Klu, a Burmese citizen who had to flee his country in 1993 because the government was murdering those in his ethnic group. At one point, he and his family hid in the jungle with no food for 10 days. Even though he has survived a decade and a half on the run – experiencing flooding, attempts on his life, and near-starvation – he calls himself “lucky.”
Wow, talk about the cause of those who are rejected and outcast! I feel privileged to help in a small way and hope to get more involved in this organization as time goes on.
One of Dena’s friends, Kellie Bartley, was recently quoted as saying, “If you’re going to be the hands and feet of Christ, you’ve got to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.” OK, I’ll be the first to admit, the thought of sacrificing my own comfort doesn’t get me real excited. But when I think about what someone like Klu has been through, my heart does a 180. If I can help a refugee family get acclimated to a new life here in the U.S. – far away from the terror of war, genocide and persecution – now that’s an idea I could get comfortable with.
Feb 24
Kelli BullardUncategorized
I’ve always been a sucker for lost animals, so it’s no surprise that strays find their way to my front porch from time to time. A few weeks ago my daughter called to tell me that a white cat was shivering on our doorstep, its pitiful meows
sending our two house cats into fits. The outside temperature was below freezing, and a howling north wind made the predicament all the worse.
When we got home, my husband put the cat in the barn for the night, determined to take it to the animal shelter the next day. But the shelter wouldn’t take it because of a virus that was sweeping through their facility. “Wait a week or so, till we’re sure the virus is gone,” they advised.
In the meantime, we tried to give our two cats, Millie and Lulu, a chance to warm up to the newcomer. One afternoon I put barn kitty in the backyard while Millie watched from a distance. Everything was going fine till our dog decided to join in the game. I whisked up barn kitty to keep him from getting trampled. Instead of being grateful, he proceeded to claw my neck, jump out of my arms and race up the closest tree with Millie in hot pursuit.
Dabbing at my bleeding neck with a tissue, I went inside to ask my husband for help. “I know how to take care of this,” he declared, grabbing our son’s air soft gun on his way out the door. After several shots aimed at Millie’s backside, he finally got her out of the tree. Then he tossed a rock to shoo her further away, and it accidentally smacked her right on the forehead. She disappeared into the bushes, and it took us almost an hour to find her.
After the fiasco, I went to bed thinking that barn kitty would definitely have to find a new home, and soon. But I woke up the next morning with a new resolve to make it work. I’ve always had a tender spot for the outcast, the ones who get shoved aside, neglected, mistreated. Barn kitty needed me, needed us. I just couldn’t give up that easily.
It’s at times like this that a scene from my childhood replays in my head. I’m standing in the grocery store with my mom while she peruses the shelves of canned goods. I see the rows of perfect cans – green beans, corn, mixed vegetables. And then I see the other cans – the ones that are dented and scraped, their labels torn or missing – and I know that no one is going to buy them. I have this overwhelming urge to beg my mom to put them in her basket, but I know what she’ll say. “They’re damaged, honey, and they’re not safe.” I fight back the tears, my heart breaking for these poor cans that will never have a home.
It seems almost laughable now, but I remember clearly the sorrow I felt because of those dented, unwanted cans. And I vowed that when I grew up, I was going to buy ALL the damaged cans in the store and take them home with me. I told this story to a good friend not long ago, and she made me promise I wouldn’t. “They’re not safe to eat, you know,” she reminded me (which made me laugh, but you’ve gotta love her for caring!).
As silly as this memory may seem, I think it means something. I don’t believe it’s an accident that God gave me a heart of compassion for those who are neglected and unwanted. And I’m on a mission to figure out what to do about it. Lately we’ve heard teachings at church about finding our dream and pursuing our passion. I have to believe that mine has something to do with rescuing the lost, the rejected, the outcast. I’m ready to step out and DO something, so I’d love to hear your ideas about organizations that serve others in this capacity.
Nov 10
Kelli BullardUncategorized
“I have news,” my 19-year-old son, JP, said at dinner the other night. My mind raced through the possibilities. A new girlfriend? Aced his exam? Won the lottery? (A mom can dream, right?)
“I think I want to move home, if it’s ok with you.”
My initial reaction surprised me. I felt a weird mixture of emotions: Happy. Scared. Nervous. Elated. Anxious. Overjoyed. All at the same time. Quite an intense response to such a simple statement, but let me explain.
Six months ago, JP moved into an apartment across town with one of his friends. They chose Mother’s Day weekend to make the move (not sure I’ve completely forgiven him for that). I didn’t cry as much as I thought I would, but it was definitely an emotional event. The day your youngest child leaves home is one you won’t soon forget.
It took me weeks to go through the stuff he left behind. Little by little, I boxed it all up and labeled the contents – basketball trophies, school memorabilia, video gaming systems. But even after his bedroom was emptied of all his things, I’d walk through the door and still feel him. It was hard to believe he was really gone.
As time went by, I adjusted. Weekly family dinners were my chance to see him and catch up on what was happening in his life. And if I needed a JP fix during the week, I could always drop by and see him at work. We would go by his apartment on occasion, but his tiny living room was usually packed with friends watching TV or just hanging out.
Six months passed quickly, and now he and his roommate have decided not to renew their apartment lease. He wants to move home and save money to prepare for next fall when he transfers to a university. Which brings me to our dinner conversation the other night. And the reason I’m in such turmoil.
Would I like to have my son home so I could see him more often? Absolutely. Does his night-owl schedule bother me? Not so much. Would I enjoy having a reason to cook meals again? Sure.
Then what’s the issue?
Well……if you have to know, it’s his closet. The one where he used to keep all his stuff. I’ve sort of taken it over. Ok, to be completely honest, I’ve packed it FULL OF MY STUFF. And I’m not sure I want to give it back.
So if you have a spare closet at your house, be sure to let me know. And if you’re one of those crazy friends who loves to help people move heavy furniture from a second-floor apartment building, have I got a job for you!
Other than the closet issue, everything is good. How could I not be happy? My son is coming home.
Oct 26
Kelli BullardUncategorized
“Do you ever sense creation’s restlessness? Do you hear groaning in the cold night wind? Do you feel the forest’s loneliness, the ocean’s agitation? ” (Randy Alcorn, Heaven, © 2004 Eternal Perspective Ministries).
A pair of deer clip-clopped across the path in front of me, as I set out on an afternoon hike in Palo Duro Canyon State Park. The wind whispered through the leaves of the cottonwood trees, and birds trilled from the tangled thicket. Based on my experience with nature this past weekend, I would have to disagree with Randy Alcorn. I found the condition of God’s creation to be more peaceful than restless— serene rather than troubled.
Then came Monday morning, and “restlessness” became the understatement of the century. A weather front hit our area with a vengeance, and the wind played havoc with my morning routine. I found myself plastered against the car door by fifty-mile-an-hour gusts; all I could do was clutch my purse and coffee mug for dear life while trying to pry myself away from the car and stagger toward the front door.
For those of you who don’t live in Amarillo, this may seem like an exaggeration, but if you are a resident of West Texas you know exactly what I’m talking about. As I leaned into the wind and pushed my way up the sidewalk, all I could think of was this passage I had just read in Randy Alcorn’s book. “Restlessness and agitation, baloney!” I thought. “This is an all-out assault.”
According to Alcorn, the restlessness of creation is the result of one thing: a yearning for, a fevered expectation of, the glorious event known as resurrection. Romans chapter 8 describes how all of creation waits eagerly for the redemption of our bodies, a time when believers in Christ will be unveiled as God’s image-bearers. We will dwell in the new heavens and new earth referred to in Isaiah 65-66 and Revelation 21, proof that God is in the business of redeeming His original creation rather than destroying it.
I’m no theologian so I can’t speak to the complete accuracy of all Alcorn’s views, but he backs them up with plenty of Scripture. If nothing else, Heaven accomplishes its intended purpose. The book paints an intriguing picture of heaven as a real place where we will live one day. And the more he describes it, the more exciting it gets!
You will definitely enjoy this book if you have ever asked questions like, Will there be animals in heaven? What will we do with our time? Will we eat and drink? Create art and music and culture? What will our relationships with people be like?
Randy Alcorn is speaking at a Writers Workshop I will be attending later this week, so I’m excited to meet him and hear what he has to say. I do have one suggestion for him, though. Next time the publisher reprints Heaven, I think he needs to find a better word than “restlessness” to describe the state of creation. “Hostility,” maybe. Or “brutality.” If he wants to put it in more everyday terms, he could just say “crazy psychopathic tendencies to annihilate all living creatures from the face of the earth.”
And if he thinks that’s a little extreme, I’ll just invite him to Amarillo next time a weather front visits our area.
Oct 20
Kelli BullardUncategorized
“Look, I just want to have one day that doesn’t depend on how everyone else’s day goes” (Tina Fey as Claire Foster in the movie Date Night)
Aaaahhh, now that’s a statement I can totally relate to.
As a wife and mother, I spent many years riding a roller coaster of emotions based on how everyone else’s world was going. If the kids had a good day at school, hubby’s job was keeping him busy and happy, then all was well on the home front. But if the kids came home upset —“the teacher hates me for no reason!” or “the coach said I wasn’t good enough to make the team”— my world would be in disarray.
So I did what any well-meaning mother would do. I became a “fixer.” Faced with any situation that could affect my family’s (and therefore my) happiness and well-being, I’d put on my “Mrs. Fix-it” tool belt and get busy.
When my daughter and her classmates wanted to play volleyball but there was no one to coach, I stepped in and coached (and I use that term very loosely—“organized the team” is probably more accurate). I served on the PTA board, organized class parties, and volunteered for anything and everything that came along. I was room mom, team mom, club mom —you name it, chances are I did it.
I think my intentions were good, but there were times my “fix-it” fever got a little out of control. Like the time I got in a heated argument with an official at a track meet. My son was competing in the long jump, and the official yelled “scratch” and then changed his mind while my son was in mid-jump. I argued that the official’s mistake caused my son to hold back and kept him from placing. They let him redo the jump, but I caused a scene and embarrassed my son. Not one of my finer moments.
Well, after years of working overtime to fix everyone’s problems and keep their world together, I’ve finally come to a startling conclusion: It never was my job in the first place! Now don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade my room-mom, team-mom, all-around-mom days for anything; they were some of the best years of my life. But I’m just saying, it wasn’t up to me to fix every situation and every problem my kids encountered. As well-meaning as my efforts were, sometimes they did more harm than good (like the track meet incident—ugh, don’t remind me).
So kids, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. And Mr. Track Official that I chewed out, I’m really sorry. And all you girls from the 5th grade volleyball team, I’m really really sorry because I know absolutely nothing about coaching volleyball (pretty sure you figured that out).
Well, I’m feeling better now. I guess it’s true, a little confession is good for the soul. I feel lighter and freer already. Maybe it has something to do with shucking that 40-pound tool belt.
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