Soft Heart Thick Skin

Our River at Sunset

I have a favorite quote written in the back of one of my Bibles. "Maturity is moving from a thin skin and a hard heart, to a thick skin and a soft heart." I remember who said it -- Vince Burke, in a message at CCF back when the church still met at the Valle Verde Country Club, I think. Fifteen years ago. I was 40. This quote so expresses who I want to be, it became a prayer of mine.

I could be called "mature" now. I hit 55 this year. I qualify for the Senior Discounts at Denny's, if indeed, I ever get to a Denny's. I can join the AARP. According to Psalms 90:10, I've got another 15 years left on this earth to age 70, or maybe 25 years, up to age 80, the verse says, "if we have the strength." On the other hand, two classmates from my high school graduating class died in the past few months -- one of cancer, one of a heart attack. Only God knows how much longer any of us will really be here. Our lives are truly in His hands.

As long as I am here, though, I want to live purposefully. I have a horror of becoming old without being mature. You know people like that, grumpy old ladies and grumpy old men. Always complaining, always carping, never content, forever offended by someone or something. Those people have thin skin. I am asking the Lord to help me grow up, to make me more like Christ, to give me a soft heart and thick skin. I want to be tough, when the situation demands toughness. I want to be not easily offended. I want to speak up when I need to speak up. But, then again, I don't ever want to be known as a Tough Old Broad. That would be a person with thick skin, but a hard heart.

A soft heart and thick skin is what Christ had. He was moved by the needs of the people around Him. He cried for his friends. He cried for the multitude who were "like sheep without a shepherd." He touched. He loved. He healed. Yet He boldly stood up to people when the situation demanded it. He took a whip and chased the money changers out of the temple. He knew when to speak up and when to remain silent. He toughly bore all the abuse hurled at him -- He was whipped, He was spat upon, He was insulted. He silently bore it all. He lived a powerful life.

Every so often I sense my heart growing hard. And so I'll ask the Lord to soften my heart. I want Him to speak to me. I want to hear His voice. One of the ways He speaks to me is by touching my heart. So if my heart is hardened, I have difficulty sensing His work in my life. Recently I've been in a couple of situations where I needed to be tough, to speak up, to confront. It wasn't "fun" for me. One way I know my heart isn't hard, is that I don't enjoy those kinds of confrontations. But because God gave me the strength to go ahead and do it, I realized God is answering my prayer to give me a thick skin.

As I continue to mature in years, Lord, please allow me to mature in spirit. Lord, grow my heart softer and my skin thicker.

More Goats, But In Manila

Manila

Posted a blog not too long ago about having to slow down in my driveway, so as not to hit the neighbor's goats. Something about living in a provincial city where the rural and urban sides of life intertwine.

So fast-forward a week. Bill and I are in Manila for a series of meetings. Manila is the 8th largest agglomerate city, with 19,200,000 people. It comes between New York at number 6, and LA at number 9. To give you an idea, my hometown of San Diego is number 134. Manila is also one of the most densely populated cities in the world, with all those people packed into a relatively small land-space. But there are still bits of undeveloped land tucked here and there, within the city limits. After all our meetings were over, Bill and I zoomed around the city picking up a few items we can't buy down in Puerto Princesa. IMPORTANT items, like pinto beans and La Victoria salsa, in case you wanted to know. As our taxi cut through to one of the ubiquitous shopping centers, the driver had to slow down for -- you guessed it -- goats in the road! We were passing by one of those bits of still-undeveloped land, where an enterprising soul grazed a small herd of goats in the weeds. One got loose from his tether and wandered out into the street. As we veered around Mr. Urban Billygoat, I scanned the horizon. I could see high-rises in every direction.

Had to chuckle at the irony of that. Are goats becoming a thematic item in my writing? I think not. But perhaps incongruence is.