The Field

Earlier this evening a dear friend prayed for me and I knelt beneath the comfort and assurance of our place before the throne.  I love being there; what an honor it is to lift one another up to the Lord with our thanks-giving and requests.  Within her words of grace, I was made mindful of the fact as she so sweetly put it, "We do not reap in the season we sow."   I am in a challenging season of field work at present, and it is taking all my energies of time and resources to press devotedly into the task before me.

The photo for this post is taken from the wallpaper currently on my computer.  The scripture is John 16:33.

I have told you these things,
So that in Me you may have peace.
In this world you will have trouble
But take heart!
I HAVE OVERCOME THE WORLD.
He tells me....

I looked intently at the field in this picture tonight.  Light and shadows played against one another, the blades of grain separated into individual stalks with pale golden heads and green blades bent delicately, dark ruts and grey pebbles in the nearby road sharpened into focus.  I am here; I am sowing and sweating, and in due time and season the harvest will be reaped.

I have put off setting aside my blog.  It has been such a personal joy, and sometimes its just plain hard to let go of something we love and find fulfilling.  But the field in which I am currently called to work requires my full attention and holds a higher place of priority and so I have peace.  Not just any peace, but His peace.

Thank you for reading.  This has truly blessed me.

Wedded Bliss

Pardon me my sentimental beginning and brevity.  

Twenty-seven years ago, I married my best friend.  Less than a year later we welcomed our first child.  Last month we saw him wed to one who I am honored to now call daughter.  I am richly blessed.

“He is the half part of a blessed man,

Left to be finished by such as she;

And she a fair divided excellence,

Whose fullness of perfection lies in him. ”

― William Shakespeare *

*Taken from the card that my sister Lana gave to me on my wedding day.  

God bless you, Quentin and Meow.

Give Me This Mountain

On my quest to becoming a passable gardener, I'd begun to routinely come across a suggestion for how to get a boatload of mulch.  It was advised that I contact tree removal services and ask if they would be willing to stop by my house after a job and give me the ground up trees.  After watching the wonderful Back To Eden video, I was convinced that this was the way to go.  However, seeing as we live way back in a cul-de-sac of an extensive neighborhood, we don't exactly fit the bill as a convenient drop-off spot.  We'd actually had some trees of our own cut down a few months back, before I knew enough to keep what we had and so we missed out big time.  You can believe I kicked myself over that one for quite a while.  I've been determined now to make some calls and see what I could accomplish.

Well, what should show up one morning last week but some handy-dandy fellas in bright orange ready to cut down a neighbor's tree and shred it into a zillion little pieces!  If you've never been out here to NC, when I say "a tree" I'm talking about a timber roughly four stories tall.  So I ran out and put a note under the windshield wiper blade of one of the trucks, politely requesting a truckload of their wood chips.  These gentlemen were quite happy to comply - and I was thrilled!  I looked at it and laughed, "Oh yeah... Yes, give me this mountain!"

The choice of words comes from a passage in the Bible.  Many will be familiar with the story of the twelve Israelites being sent in to spy out the land the Lord was going to give them.  Ten of them were scaredy-cat nay-sayers, but the other two (Joshua and Caleb) urged the people to go forward in faith.  It's quite a story, wonderfully told here.  Well, the forty years of desert wandering followed.  And then we come to the point where the people are all gearing up to give entry into this promised land another go.  Caleb is ready!  He recalls the Lord's promise to him, via Moses: 


"The land on which your feet have walked will be your inheritance and that of your children forever, because you have followed the Lord my God wholeheartedly."


Now he requests, "Give me this mountain promised to me that day...."


Well back to our little plot of land in NC... This was our third and final day for my kids to complete their annual standardized tests, so we went back inside and gathered around the dining room table.  They got settled in to start on their last section; I sat down to eat my lunch and check some e-mails in the quiet of test-taking time.  Opening one from a friend, I began reading.  My eyes dragged across words.  My bones turned to water and my stomach began quick, repetitive somersaults.  The trust we'd been building over the past nine months slowly toppled and fell in slow motion with a silent jolt and crash.  Outwardly, I cheerfully started the timer and took a bite of my sandwich, forcing a facade of normalcy to my voice and face.  

Life is like this.  One moment all is normal and right.  With the next phone call, knock on the door, conversation overheard, letter opened, turn taken, decision made - all can be undone and turned topsy-turvy.  We shake and tremble and try to get our bearings as the ground beneath our feet rolls.  And we know - we are not in control.


God is not like this.  He is eternally faithful and reliable, and this is no more important to us than when our own personal world begins to waver and wobble.  He is in control.

My appreciation for the timing of the deliverance of this pile of mulch in my driveway grew to new proportions.  I needed something big and major to occupy my children for a spell so that I could have some time to process and wrestle with this stomach twister.  They alternated shoveling up and rolling back wheelbarrows between the front and back of the house.  Inside, I went to the pages of deep prayer in Valley of Vision and was reminded that my cross is not to be compared to that of Christ's.  At length, I sent the kids inside in to make a simple salad and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner; and I began my own turn at the mountain.  I poured out my anger, feelings of betrayal, outrage, and hurt.  I turned bewildered eyes to Him, not understanding, but trying to.  I petitioned for help; I searched my soul; I returned with confessions; I asked for forgiveness; I returned once again seeking guidance. As I wheeled the shavings and splinters of wood and prayed aloud, I thankfully coined this providential provision "cross therapy."  As the sweat built up, my heart considered others I know who are carrying far greater crosses than my own, bearing serious, serious burdens as well.  This brought perspective to my troubles - not minimizing them, but serving to widen my scope of vision beyond the expanse of my own hardships.


I picked up a piece of the mammoth tree I was shoveling into my wheelbarrow and turned it over, feeling the rough harshness of it.  Not only are the crosses we bear nowhere near approaching the weight and measure of The Cross; they are, quite simply, a small part of His cross.  "My cross" is one of those wood chips, a recognized, fragmentary bit of the whole.

My words earlier in the day had been a somewhat joking reference to Caleb, from Judges 14.  He'd said these same words, referring to a relational promise that the Lord had made at an earlier time.  Caleb had wholly followed the Lord, his God; in response Moses told him, " The land on which your feet have walked will be your inheritance and that of your children forever, because you have followed the Lord my God wholeheartedly."  With the Lord's help, his goal was to take the victory for God's glory.  


May I have a faith to rival that of Caleb, for my own sake as well as that of my children, and for God's glory.  Pushing my wheelbarrow of  "mountain" forward, carrying my cross ... with the Lord's help.


Shared with Titus 2sdays

We Are That Family
Simple Lives Thursday

Seeking Jesus' Version of Rich, Blessed, and Generous?

One of my great finds this year has been an English Standard Version online Bible.  It has a wonderful feature where this gentleman reads the passage of scripture aloud to me - and he is an excellent reader.  Oftentimes, I am rather put off by the read-aloud style of others.  As a Mom who has always loved reading aloud to my children, I truly appreciate the skill it takes to do this job well. When God speaks in scripture, this fellow brings a proper inflection and weight to His voice; villains such as Satan or Pharaoh aren't overdone, but you get a definitive waft of evil intent.  This online bible also has a generous side bar for my note-taking, and offers a variety of ways I can mark up this online bible with various colors of highlighting, underlining, emboldening, or italicizing, etc.

Among this morning's scripture readings was James 5.  Sipping on my rich and creamy cup of coffee, I listened as my gentleman friend read verses one through six.  I paused the sound and read it to myself, sitting with it for a few moments.  I had him read it to me again as I considered the words. These are hard words for me.  My notes:

As I read this, I glance over it for myself.  I move on to easy targets, like -----, and wonder if he were to read this how would it strike him?  My mind flits back to myself; after all, I am always telling the children how rich we are by comparison to much of the rest of the world.  We do live in luxury.  We are rather self-indulgent.  

But as I read through this, it doesn't sound like me, like us.  Does it?  Search my heart, oh God, and reveal to me any wickedness to which I am blind.

This area of wealth, personal responsibility, being my brother's keeper, not having a Savior complex while understanding that I am His servant - this is just one area in which I long for resolution while at the same time feeling I might never truly arrive in this lifetime.  I continue with my readings, jotting notes, praying.  This issue links strongly with yesterday's calling-out sermon Pastor Howard breathed over us.  Showering, the mulling continues.  I'd prefer to abandon this and escape to comfort, but I can't; inwardly, I know I shouldn't.

Hours later, in dealing with other more immediate responsibilities, I go looking through old emails for notes I've gotten regarding standardized testing options.  As often happens, you put in a word like "testing" and among the mail which hits the particular nail on the head of what you are looking for, there are a number of others that for some reason or other happen to have a different sort of connection to your word choice.  So it was that I opened a particular email that I'd passed on reading last month.  Money-Saving-Mom had done a book review on this book:

      

Bam! Right between the eyes.  7: an experimental mutiny against excess.  I've got to get this book. I'm assured it's non-judgmental, humorous, honest, and challenging, sounds like a lot of hand-holding as we walk in the right direction. I asked the Lord to touch my blindness. Looks like He went straight to the spit-mud paste application.

My heart is beating fast at what I will see.

Shared with Titus 2sday, Works For Me Wednesday, and Simple Lives Thursday

Generational Curses

Eventually, given the time and the money most people end up in therapy (or many could at least benefit from it.)  The circumstances warranting it are always available.  I don't know anyone who was raised in a perfectly wholesome home with a problem-less family and grew up to be a dysfunction-free person.  We all have issues, and for the most part I'd say this is with good reason.

Tragedy strikes, bombs blow up, trust is broken, struggles are stuffed, resolutions are abandoned, temptations mislead, life and people fail us; and at some point we fall through for someone else as well.  We cut and bleed.  Our broken-ness hurts, and it all too often nicks and slices at others too.  This is part of the human condition, common to all mankind, at least as old as Cain and Abel.  

I am a proponent of counseling - with a caveat.  I guess counselors fall within the realm of  "them."  By that I mean dentists, doctors, car mechanics, real estate agents, teachers, police officers, politicians, massage therapists, waiters, authors, landscapers, and on and on.  Mankind, basically.  I approach all strangers with a balance of respect and reserve, holding my judgement and trust until I know them better and can decide on whether my confidence will be well-placed with them.  In counseling we deal with our most inner self and how we engage with the rest of the world.  So my caveat is that a submission and honor for the One who made us be foundational within this examination.  I've lived life and done my share of self-reflection and ponderings on both sides of that line.  

Oftentimes, I find that this crucial element (like in prayer) falls through the cracks.  The realm of psychology has led us to greater understanding of ourselves, to be sure; but if we leave behind a grasp of God in whose image we are formed, our healing and self-identity will remain incomplete.  This is not a mistake made by unbelievers alone.  I have heard and read much being made of the subject of generational curses.  What hold is closer than that of family?  On whom do we most depend from our earliest beginnings?  From where and whom do we come?  And from whom could our betrayal cut most deep?

Paul spent a good deal of time with people of all kinds, both Jews and Greeks.  In Acts 17 we find him greatly distressed by the rampant pervasiveness of idolatry in this city, and we also see that this location is a gathering arena for discussing all the latest, newest, most cutting edge thoughts of the day.  The two were thriving rather hand in hand, it seems: the search for answers to all of life's questions and the vast number of theories, reasonings, heroes, and things that we can come up with.  As Paul speaks, he is bringing a concept that is new even to these front-runners of thoughts.  He is explaining to them how this message was not only from The Beginning, but dove-tails perfectly into all their missing slots.  This is the the gospel, and he wants to introduce them to the One for whom they are searching.

I find these words particularly stunning: "For in Him, we live and move and have our being... We are His offspring."  Among this worship circle of things other than Christ, amidst the shiniest thoughts of the moment, between the ties even of blood relation, he illumines our identity as image-bearers of God in whose hands we twist and turn.  

No wound, no wound, not even that made by the betrayal of one who should have loved and cared for you, is beyond the healing power of Jesus.  Far as the curse is found.... as far back, as far forward, as far deep.  Yes, as far as the curse is found.

Oh! What a Savior...

Shared at Simple Lives Thursday, Works For Me Wednesdays, Far Above Rubies

Generational Prayer

I have been a pray-er since before I even knew my Savior.  Something just seemed so right about having a conversation with the One who made me, who knew me, who I could hide nothing from (pretty big for a kid with with major lying issues,) and who I felt understood me better than anyone else could. I trusted Him enough to at least listen, even if I wasn't ready to hand over complete control of my life to Him.  Now I know that during those years, although He listened, His response was always lovingly the same, "when are you going to really come to Me?"  While I scraped and dug at rocky, dry dirt in my one-sided conversations, He held the key to transforming it all into rich, loamy soil.

Since that night when I finally acknowledged Him in surrender, the time I spend praying within any given 24 hour time period has grown proportionally larger by the season.  The comfort and strength that I draw from prayer has grown deeper and richer as my reliance upon this conversation with my Lord overtakes my life with greater pervasiveness.  Not long ago, I came to a fuller, more beautiful understanding of prayer after a very long time of wonderings, askings, contemplation, and discussions with others.

You see, I have three nephews.  They are sons to my sister who has been with the Lord coming on twelve years now.  And although I do not live close to them, I have marveled over the years to what degree I have felt and seen the Lord's covering over them.  How was this?  Why was this?  I mean, their mother has not been there to raise them as Christians for quite some time now, and their lives have been largely void of the active teachings of Christ ever since.


We see in movies and hear in stories this other common belief: "I will always be with you," says the dying person.  And many left behind cling to this thought, creating a sort of love amulet of their memory.  "My (fill in the blank) is watching over me." They attempt to draw strength, hope, comfort, even guidance from this idea that their dear departed remains behind in some form to show them the way.  I'm not discounting our shared love for one another which surpasses even death.  However, sometimes I feel God plays second fiddle to our loved ones' essence.  I know my sister would agree with me in stepping back from so dangerous a mistake.  Still, how and why do I see this covering?

The answer I found lay in the nature of God and the power of prayer. My nephews once had a praying mother.

God is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  Our concept of time is not His.  He is not limited or confined by the passage of years as we are.  Time simply does not provide boundaries for Him as it does for us.

Prayer is our conversation with Him.  In His tenderness, this is the way in which He has provided for us to connect to Him.  He instructs us to cry out, to call on Him, to confide our secrets, desires, hopes, cares, and longings.  He holds out His hands for us to place it all with Him for safe-keeping. And so, I understood at last.  My sister's prayers, her entrusting of her children's lives to our God, they became of an eternal nature because they were placed in the care of an eternal God.  Those conversations, our prayers, we think of them as something that is happening in the here and now, but when given over to Jesus they are no longer bound by these temporal holds.  Our troubles and concerns are now under the ministrating authority of the One who is I AM.  So the whispers on bent knees of a mother were lovingly consecrated as they flew from her heart to His throne, and they did not die when she did.



So I will plow this life on my knees in prayer all the more. Let this be an encouragement to you to do the same.  There is power in prayer and now I understand more than ever before: truly, truly, from our lips to God's ears....

Linked to Growing Home, Far Above Rubies, We Are That Family, Ramblings of a Christian Mom, and Simple Lives Thursday

The Good Samaritan's Science Retreat

We've had some sizeable things hit the fan around our house lately.   When I begin a post with words like that, so trite but true, I feel tempted to go back and rewrite them later.  I want to say what I mean, but in a way that is both original and more palatable; after all, everyone knows what hits the fan in this American proverb.  But I'm going to let this one stay as is.  Sometimes the cliche works.

Months ago, back in the summer, I'd agreed to attend Greg Landry's "Mom's Science Retreat" with a friend.  When everything of recent was coming to it's most intense pitch within our home, I immediately thought, "I can't go!"  After a few days of dust settling, I uncertainly went to my husband, "Can I still go?"

"When do you leave?" he asked.

I had no idea what to expect, really.  Imagining that my friend and I (of a more emotional, touchy-feeley bent) would have to spend a good deal of our time sitting around listening to a bunch of Mommy Science nerds, S and I headed out on the planned trip.  And so it was that I packed up and escaped for three days of rest, marvel, and distraction from my daily life up in the beauty of autumn in the North Carolina mountains.  We arrived just in time to join the line for dinner, a gathering of forty or so other mothers.  We came singly or in groups of two or more, but we were all clearly so thankful to be there. Some were those moms for whom science is their favorite subject, but there were plenty of others for whom science feels like a foreign language.  We spent the majority of our time over that evening and the next few days learning about atoms and molecules; cells, osmosis, and diffusion; light and chromatography; conducting dissections of cow eyeballs, sheep hearts, lungs, and uteruses. The hands-on experiments we went through were experienced through the filter of God's creative and miraculous design - imagine that!  Even the most un-scientifically minded of us were moved by our Creator's hand and plan in the physical world around and within us.  The taste of Science was sweetened by a focus on our Father.

But as often happens, the best part of my time was the completely unexpected.  After dinner that first evening, Greg addressed us and then prayed for us.  His heart for homeschooling and his love and appreciation for our efforts within our individual families to lead and guide our children was unbelievably honoring.  I know every woman there was moved.  It is not a message we hear very often, and it washed like water over thirsty hearts much in need of encouragement.  He then proceeded to allow us time to introduce ourselves.  Now that could be seen as a very foolish thing to do with a roomful of such a great number of women!  But there was not a hint of rush, or moving us along, a reminder of the time. Our moment was our own.  What simple dignity there was in this.

Although this was a trip with an emphasis on igniting a fire for the revelation of Science, equally present was the purpose for this to be a retreat.  There was all the tea, coffee, and hot chocolate we wanted available to us any hour of the day or night.  The meals were all generous and delicious, and everyone knows women talk as much as they eat during meal times, especially when they are getting to know one another or trying to catch up on things. We were given an ample hour for breakfast, an hour and a half for lunch, and an hour for dinner.  During the various afternoons, I got a nap, a walk, and a hike in as each most benefited me.  The last night we gathered for a pajama party, discussing curriculum, and books, and our lives.  I was most blessed during this time in the mountains by those conversations with other women where we confided portions of the walk we have shared with the Lord.  We ministered to one another with the bonds of sisterhood, empathizing with shared valleys of experience, sympathizing and encouraging one another by trials withstood or currently endured with our Savior's strength.  In vulnerability, hearts were laid bare and probed, and our spiritual lives pulsed and beat in common purpose.

I was reminded of the parable of the good Samaritan.  I've no doubt that there were some within our group who came like me: stripped, beaten, and feeling in great need of succor and strength.  In the eyes, hands, and words of others, I was mercifully cleansed, bandaged, and received healing ointments.  I sought as well to be that good one who glorified the Lord in loving Him with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength, as well as my neighbors at Laurel Ridge.  I know that Greg and the other teachers planned this retreat at least a year ago.  The ladies who came did so either climbing over various obstacles or neatly sliding this slot into their personal schedule.  It doesn't matter. His timing was perfect, and we were all there according to His design and plan.  Jesus' parable was illustrated in full living color this past week, and I am so thankfully refreshed.

Now as Jesus commanded us, let us all go and do likewise.

Amen...

I'm sharing this at Above Rubies, We Are That Family, and Simple Lives Thursday

This is the road I am on right now.  My arms feel like lead weights as I type.  I am a numb cliche'.  I can't help it.

Life is particularly difficult right now.  God is so good.  On Him alone do my hope and trust rest.

I don't have a good camera or the time or talent to know how to take good photos for my posts right now.  But when I look for one on google images after I've written, my mind often searches for familiar ones, like windows and doors, clouds and skies, the world and the road.

 WHEN THE VALLEY IS DEEP, WHEN THE MOUNTAIN IS STEEP, WHEN THE BODY IS WEARY, WHEN WE STUMBLE AND FALL, WHEN THE CHOICES ARE HARD, WHEN WE'RE BATTERED AND SCARRED, WHEN WE'VE SPENT OUR RESOURCES, WHEN WE'VE GIVEN OUR ALL.......IN JESUS NAME, WE PRESS ON.......DEAR LORD, WITH THE PRIZE CLEAR BEFORE OUR EYES, WE FIND THE STRENGTH TO PRESS ON. ~WRITTEN BY DAN BURGESS~

Why I Rise In the Night's Hours

When my kids were younger, I would sometimes find myself in conversation with an older mother who foreshadowed the days ahead with words of warning.  "It only gets harder." "You have no idea the things you will come up against." "This season cannot last." 
And my personal favorite, "You can count on at least one of them breaking your heart."


Don't say that! I shouted in my head as I looked back into eyes that seemed to possess a knowing that I could not completely discount.  Their story need NOT be mine.  They didn't know all of this as a fact.  And even if it were to be (and I wasn't convinced of this,) I did not want to 'go there' until that day came.  


I am here to tell you with all gentleness and love.  It is true.


It does get harder.  How little did I appreciate the fullness held within my own feeble frame to soothe a tired child, being able to run my hand up and down a back receptive to my ministrations, the proverbial kiss and band-aid that was able to speed the healing of all things.  I thought I did, at least; but oh how much more there was in those small things.  I wish to wring out every drop of sweetness in even one of those precious moments and sip of it again.  The days pass, weaving intricate complexities and variations into our children's once unadulterated character while they learn to navigate the entanglements and convolutions of this world we walk in.


You will not be able to predict or envision all you will come up against in the days to come.  While we all begin our roles in parenting as babes ourselves, eyes wide with surprise or bleary from lack of sleep, we enter this realm with a definitive upper hand.  We at least come prepared with the experiences of our childhoods to draw from in a not-so-distant past.  And with the passing of years, our confidence and hopefully wisdom grows with steadily acquired familiarity. That is a good thing, because you will need it in order to navigate the wilds that no other person knows - only that there will be these uncharted wilds.


This season of story books and nursery rhymes, strollers and wagons, jump ropes and jacks, simple adding and subtracting of gummy bears and grapes, dishing out plates and teaching them to clean up after themselves,  listening to the simple wisdom and foolishness of a child, knowing that you hold the keys to so, so much and are their doorway to it all.  This can not last forever. You know the fleetingness of it even as you hold them in your arms, but you can not know how it will feel for it to actually be 'the past'; even as you know it will be.  This is a bittersweet truth.  I know you know this one probably more than all the others, but still - treasure it while it is the day.  If you do so, another deeper season can arise to replace it.


That last one, yes, it is true as well.  I attest to you that if you love them well, each and every one of them will break your heart.  If you share in their burdens and sorrows, their struggles and failures, their learning to reconcile their childhood hopes and dreams with the realities of a life and death struggle on the mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual plane we call adulthood - your heart will be broken and you will know your powerlessness in a way that you never knew it before.  However, you will also know your Savior in a way that only comes through this long-suffering passage of time and trust.  


You can still be the one who whispers words of assurance and consolation, sharing tears of pain and applying succor for healing.  As portended devils and calamities strike, you can meet them with the confidence that comes from knowing the One to whom they could never sneak up on unawares, and who assures with confidence that His strength is mightier than any monster. Your season can be one of valiant courage whereby every drop of your knee in stumbling helpless aid results in prayer, and rising comes by a strength greater than that you fell with.  You will know the broken-heartedness of those who love with eternal hope.


For some time now, He has woken me in the night's hours to deepen my experience of this season.  I rise to spend time with my Lord, Master, King, Provider, Guide, Enabler, Comforter, Teacher, Example, Lover, Savior, Redeemer.  I join Him in a quiet hour or so, doing battle for, pouring my heart out for, and loving my children: in this harder, unpredictable season of heartbreaking love.  Yesterday we sang these words of an old song, and I'd like to share them with you.  All the warnings the mothers gave are true; but I am here to tell you - He's here and true as well.

1. Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer!
   The joys I feel, the bliss I share,
   Of those whose anxious spirits burn
   With strong desires for thy return!
   With such I hasten to the place
   Where God my Savior shows His face,
   And gladly take my station there,
   And wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer!
2. Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer!
   Thy wings shall my petition bear
   To Him whose truth and faithfulness
   Engage the waiting soul to bless.
   And since He bids me seek His face,
   Believe His Word and trust His grace,
   I’ll cast on Him my every care,
   And wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer!

Shared at Above Rubies  We Are That Family and Simple Lives Thursday

Lessons in Prayer: The Table

I had an evening out with some fellow Homeschool-Mamas recently.  The purpose was to evaluate the past year and prepare for the one that lies ahead.  We meet as a group on a monthly basis, mothers and daughters, to encourage one another in our relationships with eachother, to have fellowship, and to grow deeper in our walk.  We come from different places, have different family dynamics, and are facing different challenges.  What we have in common is a deep and intense desire to do right by our kids in the full light of our God.

It was an enjoyable evening of stories, commiserating, laughing, and caring.  Don't we all need that?  I always wind up coming away from times like these with a variety of "special somethings."  This time there was an expression that one of the Moms shared of something she has with her family on a regular basis.  They have an evening called, "Bring It To The Table."  I just love that!  It's a time set aside most especially for sharing those things that might easily never see the light of day, let alone our family - confessions and confidences given within the safety of the circle of the home's heart.

At the table eyes meet, conversation begins, we are nourished and refreshed.  From across our tables conflicts are resolved, accords are agreed upon, issues are debated, lives are knit together.

It made me think of prayer.  When you come before God in prayer, do you do this?  As I see it, there are two distinct counterparts to the balance of prayer.  One is this open, honest, pull it ALL out aspect of our time spent with Him.  Really, what is the point of communing with the Almighty if you're just going to play mind games with Him?  He already knows what you're hiding behind your back, or tucked away in a drawer, or shoved deep, deep, deep away in a cabinet somewhere so far away that you're not even sure you did it.  You did, and He knows. Say the words. Cover your own eyes if you must.  But drag it forth and plunk it down.  Bring it.

The correlation is the time given to listening.  A preliminary caution: if what you hear often sounds very like you, be careful.  It probably is.  What He has to say will always line up with His word, and many times you will find what He has to say right within its pages!  (yes, a little bit of sarcasm there ;D)

Some things we just seem to take eternity to really get, don't we?  I don't know how many moments there have been where I have prevailed upon Him with this same routine.  (He is so patient.)  I come with all my dark worries and troubles, like smashed toys and tattered clothes - I am one of those children who has very little hesitation in spilling all my broken-ness before my Abba.  With regret, I unwillingly admit to Him what comes with all this publication of my problems.  What is there within these pages that will speak to this mess?  I don't really think its there, not this time.

But with a tiny sliver of hope, I turn through the thin sheets, allowing my eyes to fall upon His words to me. And He speaks; in amazing, thrilling directness He responds to me.  He knew it all before I even laid it down, and this is what He has to say.  I am truly astonished every time.  A grateful smile spreads across my face as the knots loosen, replaced by the comfort and assurance I was so hoping would be there despite my doubts.

Don't you know He smiles too.

Shared with Works For Me Wednesdays, Simple Lives Thursday and Far Above Rubies

Self-Fulfilling Prophet

In our home, much is made of attitudes.  It seems we deal with them so often, especially in the area of parenting, teaching, and training.  Sometimes I am sure that my kids, especially the younger ones, think that their Mom and Pop do not even struggle with moods and the wayward lure of a mind trip down a dark road.  While it is true that our life's experiences have served as tools of conformity to His likeness, we still have much work to do with our remaining years.

The other night during my prayer vigil, I began reading the book of Jude.  I was struck by how he begins this letter.  After loving greetings, he shares that his intentions had originally been to speak about the salvation they share; however his thoughts have taken a turn and he now feels passionately led to encourage them as defenders of the faith.  I appreciated how this displayed an openness to what the Lord would have. Have you ever been there?  Had an idea, a plan, a course set - and then you found that the Lord had other plans?

One of the areas in my life where I find this happens routinely is in my prayers, especially those middle of the night hours when I come before the Lord with my deepest matters of the heart.  Some years ago I had a meaningful experience with how this often works.  My heart was heavy as I prepared to unburden myself before Him.  I had so many fears for a particular child of mine.  The struggles we were having gave my agitated imagination plenty to work with as I looked into the years ahead; and the more I allowed them to tumble around in my mind, the greater their solidity grew and the stronger the element of reality they took on.  But I began with a time of thanks and praise, as much to calm myself as anything else, I'm afraid.  I have to admit that because of the heaviness of my concerns, I was less than fully engaged in this preamble to the 'main event'.

Coming up to the my crossover point where we could truly get to the matter at hand, I transitioned with, "... and Lord, I know that You have given me five wonderful children who I love so very dearly and I know love me..."

"Yes, I did," He interrupted me.

And I stopped right there, my entire path switched tracks as I got a sharp dose of what was actual reality.

The frightful inevitability of future horrors was all a concoction of my own thoughts.  And I realized suddenly that I had been working in tandem with my own worst enemy as an accomplice to terrifying self-fulfilling prophesy.  Not only had I gotten my stomach all twisted up in knots over this, I'd done my child no small disservice.  In every way, I was obstructing what good the Lord had planned, all because of my fears.  Maybe its not fears that do it for you.  Sometimes its the disillusionment of dreams gone awry, or discouragement in the journey, or simple dissatisfaction with the life you find yourself living. Any of these emotions can lead you quickly down a dusty road of ruts and wrong turns.  You can become your own prophet of doom and destruction, filling your heart and mind with barriers to His plans for you.

At that point of realization , I truly thanked God for what He'd given me, and I apologized for my wayward wandering into paths He had not called me to.  All that I'd planned on pouring out evaporated into thin air, and I committed the days ahead to His directing, this child to His safe keeping, and asked for the help I still so very much needed.  And He gave me a word for this child, "Draw her to yourself, and by this she may know Me."  Spun me around by my head and plunked me on my butt - and I couldn't have been happier.

This taught me a lesson in the danger of allowing my fears to govern my decisions and actions, one I sincerely hope to not soon forget.  So when your worries and anxieties threaten to overwhelm, go to Him; but be quiet enough that you can hear Him.  He probably has something to say as well, quite different than what you had in mind.

"Imagination frames events unknown, In wild, fantastic shapes of hideous ruin, And what it fears, creates."

Hannah More

God's peace alone...

Shared with Far Above Rubies, Momma Made It Look Easy, Works For Me Wednesdays, Growing Home, and Simple Lives Thursday.

Ex Nihilo

Some months back a Mom in our Legacy Girls Group focused her devotion on the time we spend with the Lord in His word.  She handed out some wonderful sheets designed to help us track our reading - unique in that they had little bubbles for us to fill in as we completed a chapter, book by book.  This served as a fun inspiration for motivating my daughters; and rather than fizzling out after the initial initial sparkle, they have proven to be the foundation of a very willing investment of their attentions.

If we get a bit off-track, these charts serve as a motivator for them to remind me and ask that we make sure to provide time to read our bibles.  How priceless is that?

I do morning devotions with them, teaching and asking questions and showing them some of what lies within His word, but this morning I decided to see if they were ready to take that next step, sharing something with us about what they'd read on their own.  After a while of listening, my hands flew out and clapped the table in appreciation.  The ways in which the wheels were turning in their minds and what they'd noticed and picked up on was purely delightful.  Dear Lord, continue to whisper.

We fumble in this world looking for meaning and answers, in simple words we are on a pursuit and quest for Truth.  He spoke the world into existence, He called from a burning bush, He announced His pleasure in His Son, He whispered after the windstorm, fire, and earthquake.

Over and over again within the past two weeks or so a Latin expression I first heard in a Dr. Grant class keeps showing up, first in my thoughts, then surprising me with its appearance in what I was reading, and then even astonishingly coming from another in conversation.  Not the kind of thing you hear every day: Ex Nihilo - out of nothing.  Why is it that we so often have to come to the end of ourselves with nothing left to self-satisfy?  I hope that is not what it takes, but if it does He is there. I know this.  My prayer for those I love is that they find His word, His voice, His declaration. When there is nothing else, He is there still.  Dear Lord, keep on whispering.

* * Still Small Voice by Elizabeth Polfus

I have shared this at:

http://thelegacyofhome.blogspot.com/

http://jasmine-aboverubies.blogspot.com/

http://gnowfglins.com/

http://wearethatfamily.com/

Pinocchio

Pinocchio has always been one of my all time favorite children's stories.  Time and time again, my children have heard me begin a little lecture or moral with, "It's just like in Pinocchio when .... "  The oh so true-to-life tale of those desires to do what is right, repeatedly being derailed by the temptations of self-gratifications and our harkening to the deceptive falseness of the quick and easy way.  And yet the duplicitous dangers that await one within Pleasure Island, and the weight of guilt as our sins enwrap and entangle the lives of those we love who seek to warn and aid us.  It is a story of us.

Not long ago, I was sharing something with my youngest daughter that tied in with the story of Thumbelina.  She looked blankly at me in response, and I realized that my daughters were growing up without the fanciful fodder of some of my favorite fairy tales.  Having brought my girls home at the ages of 6 and 8, we had missed out on the investment of oh so many tales and yarns by which kids learn many integral truths in life - with excitement and fun wrapped up in the telling.  I've done some of that, but not enough I was afraid.  A few more could certainly be tucked in still.  What was done could be undone quite easily, and I resolved to fill in these childhood gaps more fully.  Quickly, I flew to my computer to track and reserve a few double editions of some classics, supplying us with several to choose from.  You never know how the story will be told or illustrated, and I wanted full flavored stories and pictures to excite and inspire their imaginations.  My girls?  They began by humoring me, but were soon swept in.

I wound up using two books for every telling, and after reading from one, we would fill in our inner eye's visions with the beautiful drawings and paintings of both artists.  We began with the perils of Thumbelina, beginning life as an answer to prayers, narrowly escaping undesirable matrimonial matches, dealing with the jealousy of others, and being warmed by the kindness of strangers.  The sisters Snow White and Rose Red encouraged us as they forbearingly presented a united front of forgiveness and trust.  Babushka, occupied by the cares and concerns of life missed the invitation to see the Christ Child, and now spreads her love and longing for him to children everywhere as she relentlessly pursues the traveling wise men.  The clever Puss in Boots used his wit and wiles as the servant/benefactor of the poor youngest son, who trusted and followed his conciliere to a better life for all (except the proud tyrant of a giant, of course.)

Pinocchio proved the greatest treasure yet.  Written by Carlo Collodi back in the mid 1800's, it is like many stories that are familiar to us today - it is far different in it's original form, surprising us with twists and turns all the more so because we think we know just what to expect.  I found I preferred reading from this version, but we were wowed by the illustrations of Roberto Innocenti in this one.  Innocenti's perspective compellingly invites and draws us in to the minute details as well as the wide encompassing scope of a scene.  He truly creates a time and place and world for the reality of Pinocchio and Geppetto and the Fairy with the Blue Hair; I would readily display most any of his depictions on the walls of my own home.  I found my library carries a number of his other books, and I will utilize them to expand our appreciation for this dedicated and talented artist.

However, as we came to the close of the story I noticed something in the other book, the one we'd originally preferred to a lesser degree.  As Pinocchio was about to be swallowed by the shark, there was in the illustration an inconsequential turtle on the rock.... holding a small picture.  We all leaned in closer and looked to see what it was;  it appeared to be Jesus in a boat with the disciples at the time when they came to him in the storm.  Then we noticed a bit further on - a small picture floating in the water at Geppetto's feet when Pinocchio finds him - I believe it is of Jesus and John the Baptist and the dove descending.  We went back and began noticing with excitement other small finds hidden here and there, biblical correlations to events in the story, like a crown of thorns barely seen when Pinocchio is chained to a doghouse.

Quite remarkably, there is no mention of this anywhere, and it could very well be missed.  But I invite you to find this book and read it - to yourself or your children - and look.  Iassen Ghiuselev's quiet testimony of One who knows how we are formed because He was the one who created us, realizes we are but "sawdust", who knows and understands our each and every weakness, who forgives and forgives and forgives, who offers us a hope that does not disappoint, speaks eloquently in its silent testimony.  I am sitting here in quiet wonder.  My favorite fairy tale surprised me. In the language of love, it spoke enduringly of my need for my Savior, and there He was.

Not All Those Who Wander

Several times during my hours of reading within this past year, I have asked myself, "Why are you reading this stuff?"

No, I am not secreting off to indulge in novellas or any other kind of taboo genre that might leap to mind.  I suppose I began this trail by doggedly slogging through Escape From Reason, one of the books assigned to my boys in their high school years which had always intrigued me.  I then moved on to the still meaty but more manageable Modern Art and the Death of a Culture, and continued with a cultural assessment of the standing of the Church in UnChristian.  Hold On To Your Kids impressed upon me even more the vital need for parents to know and hold their place in their children's lives.  I have since pored over the fantastically current and honest The Narcissism Epidemic, and the lesser Generation Me.  

If I can bring myself to do so, I have one more book to review and consider and that is How Evil Works.  Lest you mistake me for a doom and gloom disaster-monger, let me share with you the closing paragraph on this book's jacket which invites me to enter within its pages.

Here's the good news: Once we really understand 'how evil works' - not just in the disasters and mega-crimes that dominate the headlines, but in our own lives as well - evil actually loses much of its power over us, and the way out becomes more clear.  Thus, How Evil Works bears a powerful message of genuine hope.

I have conscientiously raised my children, and continue to do so, in a manner that seeks to turn their hearts and minds always to the truth of Christ in the midst of all circumstances.  And yet I find that to be "in this world and not of it" is a challenge of the most daunting proportions today. It no longer matters to me to make the point of whether this battle is comparatively worse than at any other time in the history of mankind.  Now is the day when my family is living, and the waves both subtle and crashing that wash over and toss us end over ear are relentless.

As I go through these books my head nods, and my stomach knots, and my Lord wakes me in the night hours to pray.  It is tempting to become the proverbial ostrich with my head in the sand, but these moments are very like the point in John 6 when Jesus turns to His disciples and asks if they want to leave him as others are choosing to do.  Like Peter, I can only respond,* “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.”

So, why do I read these books, and why do I encourage you to as well?  Because this is the day the Lord has given to us, and further, He has told us how we are to rightly respond.  It is not as though nothing can touch us, because the insidious creep has it's way of slipping in through every crack and crevice. It is not to pretend that all is blissfully well, because we live in a world where truth and reality are not always self-evident and we need to be given eyes to see and discern.  And it is not to become overwhelmed and to sink in despair, because we have One who knows and will equip us for the task if we go to Him.

   **“Wake up, sleeper, 

       rise from the dead,
       and Christ will shine on you.”
Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil."


For your sake and for the sake of your children, wake up.  Not all those who wander are lost.


*John 6:68-69
**Ephesians 5:14-16

The Siren's Call of the Unappreciated

Now, I Know It’s Not Just Me…

The other night I lay in bed, wondering how things had spiraled out of control so quickly.  We’d pulled into the garage, tired but satisfied with the day.  It really had been full and wonderful and we were all plain tuckered out and ready to hit the hay.  Then somehow the day veered off course and words collided with sharp and jagged edges, hearts hardened and harsh words were exchanged, and now our hearts beat bruised and forlorn.  Sometimes, I’m afraid we do allow the sun to go down without resolving our conflicts, hoping that the night’s rest will cool tempers and refresh our better natures.  I tried talking it through, but eventually just gave up.  After kisses goodnight, cool and distant, I retreated to my waiting tub.  Discouraged, frustrated, and put out, I slid into my bath to vent some steam to my Comforter.  With one wailing thought I began my lament.  “God, I don’t deserve this.”  

Following close behind came the others, easily coupling with my dispirited soul.  I had provided so much, sacrificed and lavishly shared, thought of others first, spent myself on their behalf, lifted them up, stepped up, reached out, given, given, and given some more. 

I-do-not-deserve-this.

Even been there?  Of course you have; every single one of us has.  We all know exactly what we have done “out of the generosity, goodness, and the huge expanse of our ever-lovin-hearts,” don’t we?  We are quite aware of how we have faithfully and tirelessly served our husbands, children, family, friends, perhaps co-workers, and probably even strangers.  We know the slights and stumbles of others that we have stoically born and allowed to pass by without a murmur or complaint – each and every one.  The world’s got your back with messages that tell you you’re “worth it”, you “deserve a break today”, don’t buy a “lame” car, “follow your heart”, and “it’s all about me.”  Honestly, Generation Me is as old as Cain and Abel... older.

How many myriads of relationships have been dashed upon the siren’s rocks of The Unappreciated?  Marriages torn apart because of irreconcilable differences, grudges nursed and fed for years, prejudices fortified into fortress-like stature, unforgiveness nourished and kept alive in all its fullness, all because we cannot bear to let go and lose.  Yet how is it possible that we can all be that person who lived the day so saint-like, and yet our little worlds feel so banged up by everyone else sometimes?  How indeed? 

By the time I climbed up into bed, I’d been dealt with.  Lying on my back, I relaxed my hands and held them open.  “He is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep, to gain that which he cannot lose.”  Jim Elliot, my brother, whispered in my ear this sweet reminder.

I know what I truly don’t deserve, and what I’ve been given – the saving knowledge and grace of the redeemed.  When the Lord called me to our girls, it just so happened that I was away on a weekend Women’s Retreat with ladies from my church.  In very creative fashion, He used a number of scriptures concerning both adoption and feet to speak to me, and then pursued me in an extremely direct and personal way to know His will for us to be family.  In Romans 10 He says, “How then will they call on Him in Whom they have not believed?  And how are they to believe in Him of whom they have never heard?  And how are they to hear without someone preaching?  And how are they to preach unless they are sent?  As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the Good News!’

As His child, I am one who is sent to preach the Good News.  Willingly lashed to the mast, may the song of my heart, mind, soul, and lips be one that drowns out that of both my selfish nature and the world. In humility and thanks, and only then, can I possibly sing.

The Call of Simplicity

Although my parents weren't born early enough to experience the challenges of the Great Depression, I guess their parents' forebearance was strong enough to press a deep imprint which carried through to their grandchildren.  At least, I've always attributed my frugal elementary tendencies at least in part to that period in my family's history.  My mother, raising six children born within a nine year span, and on a military salary, taught us to live by the tried and true maxim of 'waste not - want not,'  My father had grown up on a farm in South Dakota, and no doubt the hard scrapping that had to be done were experiences that indelibly marked him as a man and a father.  His years in the service added to the follow-up of sayings stamped upon my consciousness, 'shape up or ship out' and 'almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.'

My list of books I am currently reading (and boy am I way in over my head, tackling at least a dozen right now), hold titles and subject matter that reflect my strident search and reach for finding simplicity within the hours of my days.  It isn't that my life is all that hectic and crazy; I consciously work at maintaining a balance and deliberately choosing what we add to our schedule.  So I'm not that classic overachiever who has so many plates spinning and falls into bed exhausted, only to get up and do it again the next day.  Mentally, I can hear my family laughing over that misperception that anyone might every have of me.  My search for simplicity is born of something else.

Recently a friend asked me what kind of simplicity it is I am drawn to.  I'm afraid I wasn't able to respond with a clear or, for lack of a better word, 'simple' answer.  I have since spent time considering just what is it that I am looking and longing for.

It is the color white?  Or cooking from scratch?  Canning my own food?  Throwing out what I haven't used in the past six months?  Or whatever I have double of?  Is it stockpiling up on deals with coupons? Meditating or finding my inner voice?  Is it an as yet undiscovered secret longing that will fulfill me?  Is it only buying classic clothes that can be easily mixed and matched?  Organic food, cosmetics, or home cleaning products? Hanging out laundry to dry on a clothesline?  Cutting out the junk?  Eliminating toxins?  Turning off the television, the computer, and even the radio?  Making time for me?  For others? Adding in gardening, subtracting driving? Routine visits to an isolated monastery?

The smile that is on my face as I've made this list reflects the humor I find in some of its items, and the pleasure that others evoke in considering... particularly that secluded monastery.

Simplicity is paring down to what is most honest, true, and glorifying.  It's holding on tenderly and thankfully to my blessings, yet with a loose grip.  It's fighting fiercely with noble and godly purity when called to, whether that is with my wayward self, the seduction of sin, or the one who seeks to devour. It's remembering that the days slide by as through an hourglass, and I cannot get them back.  It's turning back in repentance when I've blown it, and doing my best to make it right.  It's recognizing what is not mine.  It's giving up what does not matter.  It's pouring myself out over and over and over again. It's living fully as if this moment might be my last.  It's taking care of what I am given while I still have it.  

And it's being truly ready when I breathe my last breath.

Oh God, lead me in the paths of simple righteousness for Your name's sake.

Led to a Window

I have often said, I am not a very good sheep.  I don't tend to go with the flow, or the crowd, or the fad, or the in-thing.  And normally, when everyone is doing whatever it is my response to stalwartly set my face in the other direction and start walking.  It's a bit of a point of pride I confess, with no intent to boast - more of a confession.

So when the author of one of my favorite blogs, Holy Experience, recently published a book, my natural instinct was to not buy the book.  Would I appreciate that, myself, were I to get such a sweet deal?  Of course not, and I knew it was a petty and immature response.  So when a friend invited me to join her in getting the book and meeting to discuss it, I put away my small-minded conceit and said yes.  It has been a joy.

We have spent time discussing the Lord, His character and ways, our own lives, and Ann's craft and style of writing. She has a way of putting things down on paper that is like needlework.  The slim, silver point goes in at one point with a stream of blue following through, and then it resurfaces further down the pages with the brightness of connection showing up again.  And she does this with different threads throughout the chapter in varying colors of floss.  As a writer I marvel and envy her talent; as a sister in Christ I consider and ponder how these flashes and shades interweave with the story He braids from my own life.

Last week we were in chapter three.  On page 59 I came across something that struck me with a luminosity of understanding.

   "This thanks for the minute, this is to say the prayer of the most blessed of women about to participate in one of the most transformative events the world has ever known. Mary, with embryonic God Himself filling her womb, exalts in quiet ways:  "My soul doth magnify the Lord." (Luke 1:46 KJV)...
   So might I; yes, and even here.
   Something always comes to fill the empty places.  And when I give thanks for the seemingly microscopic, I make a place for God to grow within me.  This, this, makes me full, and I "magnify Him with thanksgiving."  (Psalm 69:30 KJV),....   I say thanks, and I swell with Him, and I swell the world and He stirs me, joy all afoot."

I grasped at this novel hue.

I have always been leery of anything smacking of Mary worship (again, my skeptical nature showing up), so at mention of her I took a step backward.  Yet as I read these reflections, I was struck not so much by Mary, but by God, and what He chose to do with a mere woman.  I'm not certain my former pastor, Alan Hawkins, was the originator of this quote, but he once said, "the natural demonstrates the spiritual."  The way Ann describes Mary being blessed to carry the Christ opened my eyes to a new layer of understanding of what God was doing in the incarnation.

I know what it is like to be with child, the miracle it is to carry the life of another within my body.  I further know what it is like to have the Holy Spirit dwell within me.  I know the triune nature of God in the trinity.  But for the first time it clicked within my heart and mind what was being illustrated in the immaculate conception - Not only God with us, but God in us - His Holy Spirit,

We read, 'The angel answered (Mary), "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.  So the Holy One to be born will be called the Son of God." Luke 1:35 (NIV)

And, "But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be My witness in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth." Acts 1:8 (NIV)

Sometimes revelation comes like a window opening up to reveal a new view of color and wonder I've just never seen before.  This gives me a deeper appreciation for this amazingly creative God we are blessed to call 'Abba,'  who leads with cords of loving kindness even headstrong little sheep like myself.

Reading, Reading, Reading... and Finally a Wee Bit of Writing

I have been on an absolutely delicious book binge, and I'm not done yet.  I just picked up eleven more books at my beloved library, and promptly got a recording that same afternoon that I now have four more waiting for me.  Ok, I have to admit I am feeling a bit out of control at this point.  I have been spending my holiday off from homeschooling in the utter indulgence of reading; I know my regular life will soon resume and forcibly put an end to my wild feast of literati.  But I still have a few days left.

My last thoughts at night as I close a book are often a fervent wish that I might have another twelve more hours added to this day in which to fill my eyes, mind, and heart with more words.  So, couple this indulgent spree to the other blessings of time spent with family and friends and there you have my explanation for my blogging absence.  I have desperately missed blogging as well, however, so this evening is as good a time as any to return.  I have come across a few other bloggers that have posted a piece containing the contents of a list; the author's various items or subject matter that they'd not gotten to post on in the past year of 2010, but wanted to make some sort of note of.  I liked that idea very well.  I don't know if I'll get back to these, but here were a few things that I have spent a good deal of  ruminating time with under the ol' thinking cap - but did not find the time I felt necessary to devote to them.  In scattered order...

1) Sierra Leone' nine years after her civil war.  On my way to meeting a friend for coffee back in November, I listened to part of a piece done by BBC World Service.  I have to admit, the tragedy in my own life at around the same time overshadowed what was happening in this far away country almost a decade ago.  Listening to the people being interviewed was mesmerizing, and I was truly touched.  The thoughts, confessions, and reflections on the past drew me in with irresistible cords, but it was the closing conclusions that most struck me and remain something still that I will undoubtedly come back to write about.  For that time, I will save this here:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p00c2gmq

2) Posole'.  I have a killer recipe for posole'.  I had no camera battery when I made this last, so I just wouldn't blog and share without a photo.  It will be here at a later date.

3) The value of writing by hand.  I heard this excellent piece on the value of writing by hand vs. using the computer.  If I can ever find it online, I would be oh so grateful.  Here's a good alternative site for a springboard, which tells itself in the title: http://www.pittsreport.com/2010/12/how-writing-by-hand-makes-kids-smarter/   And could also be good: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=100731603  Frustrating.  I wish I'd made note of the one that birthed the desire for this particular post, but I'm coming up empty.  Here's another that might be for me to read when I'm ready, although I'm not sure if it's about handwriting or simply writing: http://www.helium.com/items/414608-reflecting-on-the-value-of-writing 

4)  The prayers of a righteous man availeth much, from James 5:16.  This was an area of deeper and sweet understanding that I had opened to me in the closing of the year.

My hopes and prayers for you are that you are greeting this New Year with anticipation, peace, and thankful hearts.  I know I sure am.  The Lord's loving faithfulness sustains me.  May you find in Him the rest and strength your souls need.

God bless you all.

Rate of Exchange

When we brought our daughters home, we tried to think ahead as much as possible.  Prior to bringing them to church, M and I discussed how certain things would go.  Who knows why some things come to your mind, while others never enter into discussion until they present themselves in the course of our days and then we must decide ‘what to do now?’  One of those things we considered prior-to was whether or not we would have the girls join in communion.  We’d let our boys participate as soon as they were able.  But like many things, upon reflection, we realized we simply did so because “everybody” seemed to.  We didn’t have quite the understanding of it as we came to later on – like a good many things.  So we decided that in order to be clear about what communion is, we would hold on allowing the girls to take it until the day when they understood it and had accepted Christ as their personal Lord and Savior.  We were a bit taken aback when those in our small church dedicated the sacrament of communion to our girls that first Sunday we brought them with us.  It was a dear act meant in love, and we allowed them to join in, of course.  However, since that time we have not.

Such a decision leads to so many other considerations and clarifications for us to redefine and crystallize what we understand these things to mean to us.   Salvation became one of those items  - when and how does this come about exactly?  We needed to be able to put it in a very clear way for our girls so that they could best grasp what goes on in a person’s life with respect to Jesus.  The way I came to explain it is that it is an exchange.  Jesus has given His life for me, and when I came to this realization, in gratitude and love I responded by accepting that gift of sacrifice; in turn I gave him my little life to change, transform, and use as He wills from that day foreward. 

This morning I considered this question – how much do we want of Jesus?  I was always an introspective child, and I knew from early on and for many years that I had two particular battles that needed to be fought regarding Jesus.  The first’s focus was, just who was He?  Was I really going to buy into the claims made about Him?  Could I truly believe with all my heart?  ‘Cause I knew, of course, that He would know if I were faking it.  The second came to this issue, how much was I willing to give Him?  This duo played King of the Mountain in my heart and mind for years. 

At times trust and doubt vied for supremacy when it came to the matter of faith; many other moments were spent wrestling with the fact that I knew I just wasn’t ready to cash in my ALL.  There was simply too much I still wanted to do without someone else meddling with it by giving me any confining boundaries of which I should not pass.  I knew Jesus had plenty of those waiting for me, and I also knew full well I wasn’t ready to submit to them – or Him either. 

As often  seems to have to happen, life-shaking crisis came into my life.  I did not turn to the Lord with uncertain hope.  In all my muddlings, I knew that it was me who was having to do the sorting and figuring out of things.  God was not confused.  He knew exactly who He was.  I turned to Him and asked for the filling in of faith where my swiss cheese belief fell short, trusting that He could and would do it – and He did.  The first battle was over and done.  The Ruler of Creation loved me and took me in, and I was all amazement and thanks giving.

The remaining challenge, how much of myself I brought to this exchange, was less clearly decided.  I can honestly say I thought I gave everything to Him that day.  But as one day rolled into another, it became clear that I was amazingly deceitful.  Little bits of this and that were tucked away here and there, and I would find a snatch of the Old Me now and then.  Years of intimacy had established a nonchalance among my sins so that they’d just stroll on up and swing an arm over my shoulders like an old boyfriend, giving me a familiar squeeze and a wink.  However, with my life given over to the rule of my King now, I found He would not so easily allow ‘gluttony, lust, gossip, spitefulness, etc.’ (you know the gang), to play with me and my life anymore.   “Who is this?” he would ask with all the fullness of His love and truth.  Sometimes I tried to avoid His gaze, but eventually our eyes would lock, and one way or another my sin would be sent on his way post-haste.

Ultimately, it can be no other way in The Great Exchange.  With the passing years there have been a mounting number of times that my Savior has had to respond to the unannounced arrival of the unwelcome, uninvited, and unwanted imposters that try to lay claim to my heart, mind, and character.  With each skirmish, more of this little life is brought out in humbling fiery sacrifice.  Changed, transformed, and used.  What I didn’t know before The Exchange was this.  All that I held onto in comfort and self-gratifying love that I now lay before him and see go up in flames, it is never what is best, or for my good, or of any lasting value.  And what He does with those sacrifices is beyond what I could ever do or create or experience on my own.   This is real living.

I pray for a day of The Great Exchange in my girls’ lives.  But for those of us who have already had that momentous day, I just have to ask, “So, how much of Jesus do you really want?”   I think it’s a good question to greet the moment with, don’t you?