Sharing My Heart

THE WORD IS...

2012-01-11T08:16:00.002-06:00

While reading the posts on the American Christian Fiction Writers loop the past week, I read that several people plan to forgo the traditional making of resolutions and instead opt to embrace one word, and have that word steer the way they live for the next year. Words like hope, joy, persevere, serve, peace, renew, kindness, and excellence were listed just to name a few. This caused me to think about past resolutions I’ve made and how I failed miserably at most of them. So the adoption of a single word to be applied to my daily walk spurred great interest. After a week of asking God to impress upon my heart the word He would have me use, His whisper was very clear: the word is CHOOSE.

Every day throws new choices at us, from what to wear and what to eat, to checking off a list of priorities. Most of the time we aren’t even consciously aware of the choices we make. If we were, I believe some of those choices would be made more prayerfully. The privilege of making our own choices is very freeing on the surface, unless one first weighs the consequences of the choice.

Joshua 24:14 says, “Choose you this day whom you will serve…” So my choices will reflect my devotion either to God or to myself. In the book of Luke, chapter ten, Jesus was visiting with his good friends. While He sat and spoke, one of the sisters, Mary, sat at His feet and soaked up His teaching while her sister Martha scurried around the kitchen, cooking and serving. When she complained to Jesus, He said to her: “Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part…” Luke 10:42. Yes, we have obligations we must meet, but if we choose the serving over the worship, the choice is flawed.

Jesus set the example for us. In the gospel of John, as He often did, He illustrated His point by first telling His disciples the difference between a servant and a friend—a friend being one who knows the mind and heart of another friend. By this illustration, He encourages us to know His heart and His will. “You did not choose Me, but I chose you…” John 15:16. His choice was determined for the purpose of teaching His disciples to bear fruit. Jesus made a choice, and by doing so He showed us not only how to choose, but also the spirit in which the choices should be made.

An exhaustive word study seeking the word choose and its derivatives brings to light a list of scriptures to contemplate. I expect it will require most of the year to study them all.

What choices will I make this year? I can choose to be forgiving or choose to cling to anger. I can choose to be cheerful or choose to be sullen. I can choose to be a servant or choose to be selfish. In whatever decisions I make, I must first choose to be in God’s will.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

AND THE WINNER IS....

2011-12-31T16:06:00.002-06:00

... drumroll please ...
Jalana Franklin of Loretto, Tennessee is the winner of my Home To Willow Creek series for naming all 20 of the Christmas Carols correctly. Actually there were several who named them all correctly, so all those names got put in a basket and my hubby drew a name.

Jalana, be watching for your shipment of books.

I pray everyone has a Blessed New Year!!

THE GIFT OF WORDS

2011-12-06T15:10:00.002-06:00

In the book of Hosea there is a verse (okay, so it’s just part of a verse) that says Take words with you. As a writer, words are my tools, but they can also be toys. Here is a game geared for anyone who loves to play with words.

Email me the answers at connie@conniestevenswrites.com I will collect all the names (be sure to include your email address) of those who name each one correctly, and enter them in a drawing for THREE FREE BOOKS—my Willow Creek series. Have fun.

NAME THAT CHRISTMAS CAROL

1. Quadruped with Crimson Proboscis
2. Eight PM to Six AM Without Noise
3. Miniscule Hamlet In The Near East
4. Jocular Ancient Venerable Benefactor
5. Exuberance Directed To The Planet
6. Listen, Aerial Spirits Announcing
7. Trio Of Monarchs
8. Yonder In The Hay Rack
9. Cherubim Audited From Aloft
10. Assemble, Everyone Who Believes
11. Hallowed Post Meridian
12. Fantasia Of A Colorless December 25
13. A Dozen Twenty-four Hour Yule Periods
14. Befell During The Transparent Bewitching Hour
15. Homo Sapian Of Crystallized Vapor
16. Desire A Pair Of Incisors On December 25
17. I Spied My Maternal Parent Greet With Smooch
18. Amble Through December Solstice Fantasy
19. Adorn The Vestibule
20. Clattering Tintinnabulums

Words can be a lot of fun, especially when one uses them to craft a story. Words can also be a lifeline to minister to a hurting heart or communicate the gospel with someone who needs to hear God’s truth. Words can soothe and words can inflict pain. It’s the choice of every person who utters them how those words will be used. I encourage you to make your words a Christmas gift to someone this year.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

WHERE DID MY COMFORT ZONE GO?

2011-10-22T21:40:00.003-05:00

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we are comforted by God.” 2nd Corinthians 1:3-4
Earlier this year, I received some news I didn’t want to hear. The publishing house with whom I am published announced they were planning on closing down the line for which I was writing. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I’d proposed a three-book series in February and was notified that they wanted all three books. A contract for the first book soon arrived. With the first book of the series finished and sent, I had begun researching for the second book when I got the unwelcomed news. So I put aside my notes and tentative synopsis for book two, and focused my attention on a different project—writing a novella with a group of three other writers, and all four stories would be connected. Sounded like fun, and I dove in. However, I needed to think beyond the novella and develop another story idea for a new proposal.

With the encouragement of my writing partners and my agent, I stepped out of my comfort zone and worked on a story idea that could be developed into trade-length fiction (80,000 words) It was a scary step because I was comfortable writing the shorter length stories, but it seemed God was nudging me to try my wings.

In September, I traveled to St. Louis to attend the annual conference of the American Christian Fiction Writers, planning on pitching this longer story idea to the editor of Barbour. To my great surprise, I received an email from this same editor the day before the conference kicked off, telling me they had decided to keep the line going for which I had been writing, and she was requesting the manuscript for book two. And she needed it as soon as possible.

Book two? It wasn’t written yet. All I had was a tentative synopsis. And she wanted it when? Can you spell P-A-N-I-C? My writing partners and my agent all encouraged me to go for it. But did they truly realize what this meant? I wasn’t just stepping outside my comfort zone. I was being launched out of it. My comfort zone was a nice, tidy, little box with predictable boundaries.

* I would never put myself under a tight deadline, because I can’t write under stress.
* I don’t write fast. One chapter a week is my max.
* I never could understand how some writers could juggle more than one story at a time.
* Write an entire book in a month? Preposterous!!
* I’ve always tried to make sure my home is neat and clean, meals are ready on time, laundry is done, errands are run, and the oil in the car gets changed on schedule.

Well, God pretty much blew up my comfort zone and put me in a place where I had to zing out a chapter a day for the first week, and then a chapter every other day in order to meet this deadline. In addition, I’ve still had to balance the novella project and keep the longer story idea on the back burner so it doesn’t get cold. Can’t remember the last time my floors saw a Swiffer. Dinner? Um, leftovers again. What do you mean you’re out of clean underwear? Last but not least, I am writing an entire book in one month. Comfort zone? What comfort zone?

But here I am almost thirty days later, one chapter away from completion. How did I do that? . . . . I didn’t. God did. He knew He had to take away everything I viewed as a cushion until I had no other recourse but to fully trust Him to do what I considered impossible.

Two days ago, I got a sweet Facebook message from a dear friend. She’s working on her contracted debut novel, and she’s getting discouraged because she’s found herself in a place that frightens her. She afraid she’ll discover she can’t do what is expected of her, and she asked me for advice. What she really needed was her comfort zone, but once an author becomes contracted, the definition of the comfort zone changes. She needed someone she loved and trusted to encourage her along this crazy writing journey. Since I’ve had several encouragers along the way, I was thrilled and humbled to step into the role of encourager—and in this case, comforter.

I read something the other day that made such an impact on me, I printed it out and stuck it on the cabinet above my desk where I can see it every day. It made me realize where our real comfort zone is. It’s not the neat, predictable schedules where everything goes as planned. It’s not remaining stagnant, and it’s not hiding under a rock praying you’ll never be asked to do something you never dreamed possible. True comfort exists only when we fully trust God for every breath and heartbeat.

God does not comfort us to make us comfortable. He comforts us to make us comforters.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

JESUS WAS A STORYTELLER

2011-09-19T08:46:00.004-05:00

There are fifty-six separate accounts* in the Gospels where Jesus used parables to get His point across. We think of Jesus as a great orator proclaiming the love of God from the temple or a hillside as He preached to thousands. But the people to whom He spoke weren’t always the wise and learned. More often than not, Jesus spoke to ordinary people—shepherds, fishermen, those working in the vineyards or the marketplace, and townspeople. He used the art of storytelling—that’s what a parable is—to illustrate the attributes of God and explain how God forgives sin in a way common folks could understand and apply to their own lives. In doing so, Jesus set the example for today’s writers of Christian fiction.

This week I’m traveling to St. Louis to attend the annual American Christian Fiction Writers conference. The offering of classes and workshop is as diverse as the various genres available from the local bookstores, and there is something for every level of the writing journey. Beginners and veterans alike will have the opportunity to hone their craft and become better storytellers. One thing stands out—no matter if an author writes suspense or romance, westerns or fantasy, women’s fiction or young adult. Every author attending the conference desires to write the best story he or she can for God.

Jesus valued the art of storytelling. He used word illustrations to paint mental pictures for those listening, and by doing so, He removed the veil of confusion and oppression from those who were under bondage to sin, false gods, and legalism. As writers of Christian fiction, we want to take back what the world stole and reclaim it to honor and glorify the One Who placed the gift of words within us. For if Jesus used the vehicle of storytelling to reach the masses, how can we do any less?

I am humbled when I think of how God has allowed me to pursue my dream, only to remember He was the One Who instilled the dream in my heart in the first place. God won’t start something in my life that He does not intend to finish. Attending a conference like ACFW means equipping myself to follow the path in which God has directed me. If God can use my words to minister to a hurting heart or open the eyes to one in bondage, then I will be a very blessed storyteller.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

*There are thirty-nine parables—some are accounted two or three times in different Gospels.

DEEP WATER

2011-08-25T21:06:00.001-05:00

A few days ago, a friend of mine described this point in my writing career as “dipping my toes in the deep water”. I chuckled and reminded her that I can’t swim. But I must admit her comment made me think.

For the past year and a half I’ve been blessed with four contracts with Heartsong Presents division of Barbour Publishing. This year I had the privilege of seeing my first three books released and thrilled hold each one in my hands. My critique partners, my agent, and my Heartsong editor all told me they thought I was ready to start writing longer, trade length fiction. The very idea struck fear in my heart. I wasn’t ready to dive into the deep end of that pool. My plan was to get a few more Heartsongs listed under my name, and then maybe in another year—or two—I might think about full length fiction.

Did I mention that was MY plan? God has a way of raising His eyebrows and smiling whenever I tell Him my plans.

Last month, I received the news that Barbour had made the difficult decision to close the Heartsong Presents line at the end of this year. My “plans” were toast. So for the past few weeks, I’ve been rethinking the plan—not MY plan, but God’s. Pursuing my own agenda is an exercise in futility, and without God’s breath of encouragement, I could have given up in despair.

Am I ready to attempt longer fiction? People whose opinion I respect seem to think I am. Dipping my toes in the deep water means stepping out into unfamiliar territory. Should I wade in? Am I strong enough to withstand the current? I have the heart and the will; God has placed within me the determination and perseverance. But the deep water carries with it the possibility of drowning.

When I tried to sort out the reasons why MY plans crumbled, God just gave me this patient answer from His Word:

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways,” says the Lord. “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and My thoughts than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55: 8~9

With this verse on my lips, I’m preparing a proposal to take to the ACFW conference in September. Am I ready to dip my toes in the deep water, as my friend suggests? I don’t know. My job is to use what God has given me to the best of my ability. The outcome is up to Him.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

IS IT REAL OR AN IMPOSTER?

2011-07-22T09:10:00.002-05:00

"These things indeed have an appearance of wisdom . . . but are of no value--" Colossians 2:23

I was perusing in Internet looking for a good rate on an airline ticket. Over on the left side of the screen, I noticed a box that proclaimed the airlines had just lowered their prices to the very city to which I wanted to go. Yippee, I thought I’d found myself a bargain!

Clicking on the unknown on the Internet is never a good idea. Within two minutes, my computer was slammed with a nasty Trojan horse virus that, among other things, disabled my real antivirus software. Then this insidious malware proceeded to take on the appearance of something else, using well-known logos and acting as though it was warning me of the attack. All I had to do, it said, was click on this security tab and register for their protection and they would insure my computer would be safe. In fact, clicking on their registry would have given them access to all my personal information, bank accounts, credit cards, bill pay information, account numbers . . .

It looked like something it was not. It stole the logos and language of a company I trusted, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and snuck into my computer under the guise of false promises. It was an imposter.

When my computer-guru husband got home, it took him almost five hours to outsmart this thing and eradicate it from my machine. I was so thankful that my husband had the knowledge and computer skills that I lack, and was able to do what I couldn’t.

In the book of Colossians, the apostle Paul addressed the people who were confused about the rules and legalities. They were trying to follow all the man-made decrees and commands, thinking their conformity would be looked upon by God as something good. These mandates were disguised as sanctification, but it was a lie. Paul pointed out that all their good appearances were worthless because Christ was the One who forgave their sin, having wiped out the handwriting of requirements that was against us, and He has taken it out of the way, having nailed it to the cross. (Colossians 2:13-14)
Christ disarmed those principalities and powers, and triumphed over them. He did what we could not do for ourselves.

Becoming so immersed in legalities instead the substance of true holiness robs us of the peace and joy of trusting wholly in Christ and His shed blood. When we try to add to what Christ has already done, it’s like telling Him His death on the cross wasn’t enough.

So many things in this world have the appearance of being good, or noble, or praiseworthy. Many pursuits appear innocent, but anything that suctions life from us is not of God.

That computer virus tried to make me believe it was safe by using the disguise of something I trusted. But someone smarter than me had the power to disarm and disable it.

Sometimes good works are disguised as a pathway to holiness. Good works are fine as long as they aren’t used as a substitute for what only Christ can do. Works don’t make us holy or ensure us a place in heaven. If that were true, then Christ died in vain. God help us to learn to be discerning—knowing the difference between true salvation and the imposters.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

A Place Where Magic Happens

2011-07-06T20:59:00.005-05:00

Anticipation of the annual American Christian Fiction Writers conference begins for me around January. I could name a host of reasons why I go to the ACFW conference, but many have already been mentioned by other bloggers. Here are just a few of mine:

* It’s encouraging to be surrounded by people who don’t look at me oddly when I talk about my characters like they are real live people.
* When I volunteer to help out, it gives me an opportunity to give back to the organization that has done so much for me.
* The classes and workshops are occasions to celebrate what we do as authors and fill our energy tanks.

But one of my favorite parts of the ACFW conferences has always been the awarding of the first-time contract by Barbour Publishing. The expression of utter joy on the author’s face and squeals from the critique partners make me want to do the happy Snoopy dance right along with them. I think as members of ACFW, whether published or not, we can relate to that exquisite kind of thrill after years of working and waiting. The anticipation of the dream coming true is what drives us to persevere.

Four months before the Denver conference in 2009, my finger hovered over the mouse and I clicked “Send”, winging my proposal off to my agent who in turn would send it to JoAnne Simmons at Heartsong Presents. Six weeks later, I received a phone call from my agent, Tamela Murray. We chatted briefly and then she said, “Someone was asking me if you were planning on going to the ACFW conference this year.” I told her I was and we talked for a few more minutes. After we hung up, I thought, Who would be asking Tamela if I was going to the conference? The question drove me nuts for about three days, and then I just forgot about it.

At the opening session of the 2009 conference, I sat with my critique partners as Brandilyn’s traditional “Helloooo ACFW!!” rang out over the auditorium to kick off the proceedings. Just before the session closed, Becky Germany and JoAnne Simmons of Barbour Publishing took the stage. I twisted in my chair and said to my crit partners, “I just love it when they do this.” Becky announced the name of the first time contract for a novella, and we all cheered for Rachael Phillips. JoAnne took the microphone and made a couple of comments about the manuscript she was about to contract. I couldn’t wait to see that joy on the face of the recipient.
Then JoAnne announced the title of the book she was contracting: LEAVE ME NEVER. My first reaction was, “Oh man! Now I’m going to have to think of a new title!” --because someone else was obviously using my title. I didn’t hear JoAnne announce my name because my crit partners were all screaming. So my second thought was, “Why are they screaming?” It was like a delayed reaction in comedic slow motion. I sat there dumbfounded with my mouth hanging open. Kim Sawyer pushed me from my chair and said, “Connie, it’s YOU.”

Some unseen force carried me to the stage where JoAnne placed an envelope in my trembling hands. I think I said something stupid like, “I need to go call my husband!” But whatever I said, it must have been at least halfway appropriate because JoAnne and Becky were both smiling.

At the time it didn’t occur to me to thank Barbour, or ACFW, or my agent, or my crit partners, although I do remember “Thank You, Jesus” running through my head as I found my way back to my seat amid more hugs and tears, more squeals and congratulations. I did call my husband and woke him up, but with everyone’s excited screams, he couldn’t understand what I was saying, so I held the phone out to my crit partners and they all chorused, “Connie got a contract!!” Poor guy still didn’t know what was going on.

Later that evening and in the days to follow, reality began to seep in. Understanding of how vital ACFW’s influence was in my writing journey began to flood my awareness. Gratitude filled me as I thought of the way my agent and crit partners (whom I met through ACFW) pushed me to improve my writing and refused to let me give up. God used the Barbour editors to make my dream come true.

The morning of the third day of the conference, we were singing “While I’m Waiting” in the praise and worship session. It occurred to me that somewhere in that room of 500+ people there was a person who felt the same way I had the year before. “Is this truly God’s will? Am I supposed to be pursuing publication, or am I just following my own agenda? Will my time ever come?” That person’s “time” was next year, but he/she didn’t know it yet, so I started praying for that unknown person.

My prayer continued the next day, and the day after that, and after I went home. I discovered praying for this person whose name I did not know was a sweet privilege. For an entire year, I prayed for the recipients of “next year’s contracts” without knowing their identity. At the opening session of the 2010 conference, I cried when one of those contracts went to my dear friend, Rose McCauley. When I told her I’d been praying for her for an entire year without knowing it was her, she pounced on the idea. Rose has been praying for the recipients of the 2011 contracts since last year’s conference.

Whether our prayer is one of anticipation or gratitude, or even a petition for an unknown person, communication with our heavenly Father is the GPS that guides us on this crazy journey we refer to as publishing. Right now, there is an ACFW member who has clicked “Send” and is wondering, “When will happen for me?” Maybe this year is their time.

I’m counting the days till the 2011 conference. I’m asking God to let me learn and grow as a writer, and to give me the opportunity to serve in some way. I pray He places someone in my path to whom I can be an encouragement. What a privilege it is to play a small part in this organization that has been so instrumental in my writing journey.

Oh, how He loves . . .

2011-07-04T11:44:00.003-05:00

"In this the love of God was manifested toward us..." 1st John 4:9

I was feeling a bit down yesterday. Everyone has moments in which they wish circumstances were different. I knew this event was coming up, and like every year for the past twenty or so, I was NOT looking forward to it, I didn’t want to acknowledge it, nor did I want anyone else to even know about it.

Yesterday, I turned sixty-one. I think I must have misplaced a decade somewhere because I’m not supposed to be this old. Every year I threaten my husband not to make a big deal about my birthday. He always asks me what I want for my birthday and I tell him I don’t want a fuss made. I don’t want to go out to dinner. I don’t want a bunch of people announcing “Happy Birthday” with silly grins. This year, because my birthday fell on a Sunday and our church was having a fellowship dinner after the service, I held my breath, hoping no one would know. (My husband knew better than to tell a soul!!) What I wanted was for the day to pass unnoticed.

The night before, I lay awake grumbling in my spirit about not wanting to celebrate another birthday. Despite my complaining, God whispered to my heart that He created me, He loved me, and whether I liked it or not, HE was going to celebrate my birth. I mumbled, “Okay, God, You can celebrate. But don’t tell anybody.” Can you imagine what God thought about that?

Switching gears for a minute:

I enjoy bird watching. There are several species that I delight in, but my all-time favorite has to be the goldfinch.
Such a bright, sunny little bird with a perky attitude. Unfortunately, the only time I see goldfinches in Georgia is very late autumn, winter, and early spring. In the winter, their plumage changes to a dull yellowish green. In the spring, their yellow feathers re-emerge and I love watching them flit around the backyard for a week or so. Then they all migrate north and my heart grieves a little, knowing they won’t come around again for seven or eight months and I’ll miss my sunny little friends.

Switching gears back to the birthday thing again:

Yesterday morning, I was sitting in the sunroom, sipping my coffee, when a flash of yellow happened to zip past the window. I leaned forward to catch a better look, and there, perched on a tall stem of my cosmos flowers, was a bright yellow goldfinch. I caught my breath. Surely I was seeing things. A goldfinch in Georgia in July? But there he was, pecking away at the cosmos blossoms. He was joined a moment later by his mate. As I stood at the window staring, open-mouthed at this unexpected sight, it hit me. God was celebrating my birthday by giving me a gift He knew would be a sweet blessing, but nobody else would know. Unless I chose to tell them.

And how could I not share such a precious mercydrop from God? My friend calls things like this a God-kiss. I think she might be right. God gave me a goldfinch for my birthday.

Many of us can list a thousand ways God demonstrates His love for us—the greatest of all being sending His Son to die for us. But how many little, seemingly insignificant ways, does God show us how much He loves us? Do we take the time to notice? Do we even acknowledge that such little things are intimate blessings from God’s heart to ours? Like a goldfinch . . . in Georgia in July . . . in my backyard.

Thank You, God. I love You, too.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

HOME SWEET HOME

2011-06-24T10:45:00.008-05:00

The beloved of the Lord shall dwell in safety by Him, Who shelters him all the day long, and he shall dwell between His shoulders. Blessed of the Lord is his land, with the precious things of heaven..." Deuteronomy 33:12-13

I’ve been a gad-about for the past several weeks, taking a research trip to the mountains in north Georgia in May. The setting for the three book series I’m currently working on is the north Georgia mountains. I saturated myself in the history and feasted my eyes on the vistas. Trying to capture the beauty with a camera doesn’t quite to justice to the real thing, but the panoramas are etched in my mind and when I close my eyes, I can see my characters surrounded by the mountain panorama.

In early June, I flew out to Kansas for a writer’s retreat. The Kansas trip is something I look forward to every year. Getting together with the ladies from my critique group (we’re really more like a support group!!) is therapeutic and inspiring. We brainstorm each other’s stories and visit museums, pulling story ideas from the charming sights. We laugh a lot too!!

I was home just long enough to do my laundry and re-pack and head north for a visit
with my sister and her family in Pennsylvania. Hanging out with my sister who never fails to make me laugh – [we were playing a hilarious board game with her grandkids and one of the cards Pam drew instructed her to smell the feet of the person next to her!! I laughed till I cried!] -- and nephews who know how to barbeque killer baby-back ribs – [Mmmm, the aroma made my mouth water. Best ribs I ever ate!] – and simply enjoying watching the young’uns play enabled me to make some sweet memories.

We took a side trip to Ohio Amish country and stayed in a gorgeous bed and breakfast—The Charm Country View Inn in Charm, Ohio http://www.charmcountryviewinn.com. This is the view of the Amish farm across the road from the bed and breakfast. What a serene setting. Hearing nothing but birdsong and the clip clop of horse-drawn buggies. We had a wonderful time and picked up some lovely Amish and Mennonite-made crafts to bring home.

But no matter how much I enjoy going, I think I enjoy coming home more. There is something about being home that draws me. Maybe it’s the promise of the HOME we will one day see where we will bow at Jesus’ feet and reunite with our loved ones who have gone before us. When I grow restless and itchy to travel and see friends and family, I can buy an airline ticket or jump in the car and go. But sometimes the restlessness is deeper. It can’t be appeased with an airline ticket or packing a suitcase. It’s a longing to step beyond the bonds of this earth and be welcomed into a Home I’ll never have to leave.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

TIME WITH THE POSSE

2011-06-10T15:46:00.008-05:00

"For this is the message that you heard from the beginning, that we should love one another." 1st John 3:11

There is nothing like hanging out with a bunch of writers—people who understand the passion for taking pretend characters and turning them into warm-blooded, breathing beings on the page. When I talk about the hero in my story like he is a personal friend, they don’t look at me strangely and threaten to call 911.

I had the privilege of hanging out with a few of my favorite people this week. We brainstormed stories and prowled around museums, cheated on our diets, snuggled with kitties, harassed our hostess’s hubby, and laughed way more than is probably legal.

How blessed I am to be part of the best critique group on the planet—THE POSSE!!!

Kim Vogel Sawyer opened her home and entertained us with her never-ending tang-tungled expressions.

Eileen Key (otherwise known as Biker Babe) proved this Nana is not so sedate that she won’t go for a new adventure.

Margie Vawter, alias The Cat Whisperer, offered insight and possiblities into what makes my characters tick (Margie, I still need another conflict thread between my H & H.)

I can’t divulge EVERYTHING that happened, because as our shirts so colorfully state: What happens with the Posse stays with the Posse. It’s girlfriend/sister time at its best.

I thank God for the privilege of sharing my heart with these ladies.

NOT ONE IS MISSING

2011-05-23T16:19:00.002-05:00

I’ll admit it—I hate clutter, I hate disorder, and I hate confusion. Four different calendars—each one dedicated to a specific part of my life—keep me on schedule. I feel like one of those folks who stand up in a meeting and acknowledge their weakness. My name is Connie and I’m an organizer.

Recently I decided to reorganize the closet in my office. The space was no longer functional or efficient so I headed to my favorite toy store—Staples—and stocked up on dividers,, sectioned organizers, plastic bins that pulled out like drawers, canisters to hold all manner of small items, bookends, and tiered trays. Then, of course I needed a variety of mailers, labels, envelopes, folders, and binders. For the next twenty-four hours I was in organizer’s bliss. I cleaned out and discarded stuff I didn’t need, purged files, I grouped things into categories, and planned the most efficient use of my space. I made labels for everything. I was as happy as a flea on a hound dog.

Some of you are rolling your eyes. You think I’m unbalanced to enjoy a task like that. If you only knew how different I am now from the way I was as a kid.

In my early years, I shared a room with my older sister. She was a neatnik (still is!) and I was a slob. We were like the odd couple—She was Felix and I was Oscar. I drove her nuts. She used to draw a line down the center of our room and kick all my sloppy mess over on my side of the line. I couldn’t have cared less if my side of the room was a wreck. But people change . . .

When I got older and could never find things or forgot about things, couldn’t finish what I started and let stuff fall through the cracks, I didn’t like the way that made me feel. I knew I had to do something but I didn’t know where to begin. Then, when I was still a newlywed, I attended a workshop about the virtuous wife, or the infamous Proverbs Thirty-one Woman.

Yikes!!! That woman scared the beejeebers out of me. There was no way I could live up to an example like that. So I avoided reading Proverbs thirty-one. Just pretended that woman didn’t exist. Because she didn’t—at least not in my house. But I found other verses that caught my attention.

“Commit your works to the Lord, and your thoughts will be established.” Proverbs 16:3
“A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” Proverbs 16:9
Now that was something I could do. Commit my hands and my energy to God and let Him make order out of my chaos. Approaching the organizational tasks from that perspective took the pressure off me because God was the one in charge.

But when I read Isaiah 40:25-26 I was in awe of the way God “organizes” His universe. “To whom then will you liken Me, or to whom shall I be equal?” says the Holy One. Lift up your eyes on high, and see who has created these things, who brings out their host (stars) BY NUMBER; HE CALLS THEM ALL BY NAME, by the greatness of His might, and the strength of His power; NOT ONE IS MISSING.”
I’m not even a grain of sand in God’s grand scheme of things. I can’t number the stars and I certainly can’t call each one by name. But I can ask God to bless the work of my hands and help me do things decently and in order. I can give God my best—and if my best is cleaning out a drawer or a closet, if doing my best means organizing files or keeping track of important documents, I can do that. God expects me to do the best I can with the abilities He has given me, but the result isn’t up to me.

Yeah, sometimes I get a little obsessive about having everything in its place, but I’ve already experienced what will happen if I don’t stay organized. I don’t want to go back to the days of Felix and Oscar.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

TENDING THE GARDEN

2011-04-11T11:38:00.004-05:00

"The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever." Isaiah 40:8

I couldn’t wait to plant my garden this year. I was so tired of looking out the window and seeing brown—bare dirt, leftover autumn leaves (not the pretty ones, just the brown ones), brown grass, bare tree limbs. I wanted to see color!

Early spring teased me with a few crocuses and daffodils, but I longed to see an entire palette of color splashed across my backyard. So I bought some seeds and sowed them in strategic spots in the garden where the hot pink cosmos, royal blue morning glories, and burnt orange nasturtiums would greet me every morning. The pictures on the front of the seed packets were gorgeous, but you know, those seeds don’t look anything like the promised blossoms. Seeds are ugly, shriveled little things, and once I planted them, they were covered with dirt—brown dirt.

I looked at the calendar. It really was too early to be putting in bedding plants, but my heart was hungry for beauty in my yard. So I thought, “I’ll just get a couple of plants and stick them in.”

Yeah, right!!

Anyone who has ever followed me around in a nursery knows very well I’m not going to leave there with just a couple of plants. The folks at Home Depot love to see me coming. The sun fell warm and gentle on my face as I took a flat bed wagon and loaded up a tray of coreopsis, two trays of zinnias, two trays of petunias, two trays of dianthus, two trays of marigolds, a tray of African daisies, four large pots of geraniums, pots of columbine….you get the idea.

Since we live surrounded by woods, I’ve learned that deer—beautiful though they are—are a real nuisance to gardeners. Certain flowers are to deer what a plate of barbeque is to my husband, so there are several species that I don’t plant because I’d just be creating a buffet for the deer. Then I read that if you plant aromatic herbs in and around your garden, it deters the deer. Herbs are attractive to look at even if you don’t use them for cooking, so I also purchased pots of rosemary, lemon balm, thyme, and basil.

I loaded the trunk, and had to fold down the back seat and park a couple of trays and pots on the floor up front. But Jarhead (my car) was filled with COLOR. I spent a whole day cleaning out dead leaves, adding Miracle Grow Garden Soil and peat moss to my garden. Then, like a new mother, I started tucking these baby plants into the sun-warmed soil. Pinks, whites, creams, purples, yellows, blues, reds—my garden looked like a rainbow hiccupped. I mixed granulated Bloom Booster fertilizer and carefully watered each plant.

Every day I went out to survey my work. I watered. I fertilized. I gently pushed rich soil around each plant. The seeds hadn’t sprouted yet, so those areas were still just brown dirt. Only a few days after I’d cleared out the garden in preparation for planting, I found…..WEEDS!! The little rascals popped their heads up in defiance and stuck their tongues out at me. I yanked them out by their roots. “Ha! Take that!!”

Then one morning I looked closely, and saw…..DEER TRACKS!! Without any sense of propriety or respect, they tromped right through my garden. And the beasts had even chowed down on one of my columbine plants. ~~sigh~~

About ten days after I’d planted the seeds I went out to visit my garden and was greeted by tiny little sprouts, not even a quarter inch high. Their appearance made my heart sing. Those infant seedlings were a joy to behold. But danger lurked.

Later that same day, the evil weatherman dared to say the F-word. Yes, you guessed it . . . FROST was in the forecast. Right after supper that evening, my husband and I took every sheet in the house and carefully arranged them over my budding, colorful nursery. As soon as the sun was up the following morning, I hurried out to see how my babies had fared. I pulled back the sheets to find pink, yellow, blue, white, purple and red faces smiling up at me.

Every gardener who has ever planted a seed or tucked a plant into the earth has done so with hopeful expectation. But in order for those plants to grow and thrive, the gardener must become a nurturer. Left to itself, a garden will become overgrown and choked with weeds, it will wither and die without the right amount of water, the plants will become anemic without fertilizer to enrich the soil, and the garden can become the target of thieves if the gardener doesn’t take measures to deter trespassers and predators.

That description of the work of a gardener can be applied to almost anything in this life. It’s the way we strive to educate and equip ourselves to do our jobs, maintain our homes and our marriages, raise our families, and be stewards of what God has given us. Most importantly, it’s the way we should nurture our personal relationship with God. We must feed on His word (John 6:48), drink the living water (John 4:10), be watchful to pull the weeds of pride, selfishness, critical spirit, or ungodliness (Romans 6:12-14), and guard our heart against those things that would rob us of the blessings God wants to give us (Phil 4:7).

In the Gospels, Jesus refers to Himself as the Bread of life, the Door, the Living Water, the Good Shepherd, and the Savior. He is King of kings, Lord of lords, chief Cornerstone, our Rock, our Deliverer, Emmanuel, Lamb of God, Messiah, Wonderful Counselor, and Prince of Peace. But He is one more thing: He is the Tender of our garden—that garden that grows within us for the purpose of glorifying God and drawing others to Him.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

IT'S ALL BECAUSE OF HIS AMAZING GRACE

2011-03-17T08:32:00.003-05:00

O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up; You understand my thoughts afar off. You comprehend my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways. For there is not a word on my tongue but behold, O Lord, You know it altogether. Psalm 139:1-4

Have you ever asked God to forgive you for something over and over and over again? Many will raise an eyebrow at that question, thinking perhaps my faith needs a tune-up. I don’t know about you, but I sometimes struggle with the issue of forgiveness. Please don’t misunderstand, I KNOW—I have sweet assurance—that God has forgiven me. But have gone through times of struggling to forgive myself for various things in my past. I finally came to grips with a particularly ugly demon with which I wrestled for about four years. I’ll not go into all the details here because that particular topic isn’t the theme of this post. In short, that issue was something far beyond my control, but I blamed myself anyway…(it’s a mother thing.) But last year I finally realized how offensive it is to Jesus when I refuse to forgive myself. If He shed His blood and gave His very life so that I might have forgiveness, then my refusal to forgive myself was like saying to Him, “Your blood and Your life wasn’t good enough.” I finally acknowledged how wrong I was to cling to that misplaced guilt and I allowed Him to free me, completely and forever.

So why do vivid memories of things I did years ago still parade through my mind and haunt me with regret? When these pictures manifest themselves in my mind’s eyes, I cringe within my spirit. I couldn’t shake those thoughts off. I KNEW God had forgiven me, and I’d released the guilt I’d been dragging around. So why would those memories not leave? I prayed, and asked God to please take those ugly pictures out of my head and wipe them from my memory. Then, maybe a week or two later, I’d remember something else, and think, “Why was I such a jerk? Why did I behave that way? Why did I lose my temper like that?” And those regretful things would rise up in my mind again.

Finally, this morning I was having my devotions—I use Sarah Young’s daily devotional book, Jesus Calling, side by side with my Bible. There I read a statement that so captured my heart, tears poured down my face. It said, “Trust Me (Jesus) enough to accept the full forgiveness that I offer you continually.” I read it again, and again. And then I squeezed my eyes shut and said, “But Father, why don’t those pictures go away? Why do the memories of those things for which You have already forgiven me keep coming back to me?”

No, I didn’t hear God’s audible voice speaking, but I felt Him whisper so clearly to my spirit, “Look child. Look at all those things I’ve forgiven. Look at all the grace I’ve bestowed on you. Every single one of these past regrets, as you call them, were opportunities for my Son’s cleansing blood to wash away the guilt forever. I don’t want you to take on the guilt and regret again when you remember these things. I want to show you how much you’ve been forgiven and how much I love you.”
God’s grace leaves me breathless. When He created me with a memory, it wasn’t so I can continually berate myself. It was so I could continually remember His awesome grace.

"The Lord will perfect that which concerns me. Your mercy, O Lord, endures forever; do not forsake the works of Your hands." Psalm 138:8

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

LOOK AT THAT GRAY-HEADED OLD BAT...

2011-02-01T09:47:00.005-06:00

Getting old isn’t for wimps. Many of us take measures to prevent others from detecting our age. We are an obsessed nation living in a state of denial. I hear from old friends whose children I taught in Bible club fifteen years ago and I’m shocked to hear that those same children are married and have two kids.

Years ago I remember my mother making statements about women’s clothing, saying a certain style was “timeless” or “classic”. I now realize what she meant was “matronly”. Despite our advancing years, we try to dress in current fashions, but the new “baby doll” style that came out a year or so ago is a line I cannot cross. I’m sorry, but those things look like maternity tops to me, especially since I’m carrying around more pounds than I want to admit. Can you imagine what people would think seeing me with all my gray hair sporting a maternity top?

Some women I know color their hair. I used to but I had to schedule it on my calendar so I wouldn’t forget to do it. I schedule all sorts of things on my calendar because I know if I don’t, I’ll forget. Like making dinner. And speaking of forgetting…

When I was a young whippersnapper, I’d roll my eyes at the women who wandered aimlessly around the Walmart parking lot looking for their cars. How pathetic is that. You park the car, shop for an hour, and forget where you left the car? Really? That will NEVER happen to me! Or so I thought. I’ll never forget the first time it happened. There I was with my loaded cart, sending out a frantic GPS signal from my brain to my car, praying that God would honk the horn or something. I kept thinking, Those people are staring at me pushing this stupid cart in and out of the parking spaces, and they are all thinking how pathetic I am. What goes around comes around.

After that happened, I developed my own little secret plan. Every time I pull into the parking lot of some place that I frequent, I always park in the same row or at least in the same general area so I always know where my car is. I’ve maintained this practice for a few years now, and it has served me well. Until yesterday.

I went to the grocery store, and there weren’t any available parking spaces in the row where I generally park—Row 5. But there was one in Row 4 directly across from where I normally park. Close enough.

I was in the store for about a half hour. Upon exiting, I headed toward Row 5 like a homing pigeon, trotting down the row looking for my trusty Jarhead (my car’s name). Since Jarhead isn’t a large car, sometimes those big SUVs and vans conceal him. So I kept pushing my cart farther and farther until I was almost to the end of the row—you know, almost to the street! No Jarhead.

Somebody has stolen Jarhead! Had I remembered to lock him? Good heavens, why would anyone want to steal a 13-year-old car that has 176,000 miles on it?
Jarhead is easy to pick out in a crowded parking lot because of all the Marine Corps stuff he wears. I’ve often said I can spot a Marine Corps insignia at a thousand yards. But there was no doubt about it, Jarhead was MIA.

I turned around and started back toward the store, pushing the cart in and out of Row 5, thinking perhaps I’d parked on the OTHER side of Row 5. I know people had to be staring at me. After all, who pushes a loaded cart from the street side of the parking lot toward the store? Most loaded carts are pushed AWAY from the store, that is unless they are being pushed by a gray-headed old bat like myself, in which case they are being pushed every which way.

I used to think that parking lot was level, but now I am quite certain it is uphill going toward the store. The cart was growing heavier by the minute, the panic in my heart was getting thicker, and the embarrassment….well, we won’t talk about that. Suffice to say, more than one person pointed and snickered. Just keep walking and pretend they aren’t laughing at you. And pray you don’t know any of them.I had almost reached the front end of the parking lot and I was fishing in my purse for my cell phone to report my stolen car. I heard a car approaching from behind me so I moved over in back of a parked car to my right (Row 4) to let the car pass. After it went by, I started to angle my cart to proceed back toward the store. That’s when I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye—a Marine Corps insignia--not a thousand yards across the parking lot, but right next to me.

With a stealthy glance to the right and left, I hurriedly unlocked the back door, shoved my groceries inside, and turned Jarhead toward home. If I could have sold tickets to all those people who were pointing and laughing, I could have made enough to pay for my groceries.

Thanks for letting me share my gray-headed heart.

RUNNING ON EMPTY

2011-01-14T11:18:00.004-06:00

We’ve all been there. Bumper to bumper traffic, we’re running late, and the gas gauge needle is hovering dangerously close to the E. We tighten our grip on the steering wheel and pray that we can make it to the next available gas station and not be stranded on the side of the road. The engine sputters. Why didn’t we take time to stop and fill up earlier? Why didn’t we pay closer attention to the gauge? Other motorists are honking at us to get out of their way as we steer toward the shoulder as the engine dies all together. Now we’re at the mercy of whomever might stop to “rescue” us. Not a fun place to be.

Have you ever read those scriptures that describe being filled with God’s Spirit or filled with joy, and thought, “Wow! That’s the way I want to be.” One of my favorite scriptures is Ephesians 3:17-19. When I first read and pondered those words – “…that you may be filled with all the fullness of God” my mind staggered. How can we be filled with all of God’s fullness here on earth where we are bombarded with distractions and carnal influences? Trading worldly chaff for the treasure of God’s presence is the desire of most Christians. So why is it that we find it such a struggle?

Emptiness is traditionally associated with despair. Humanly speaking, we tend to think that being empty carries the connotation of being poor, broke, hopeless, unloved, forgotten, and alone. Emptiness indicates weakness and vulnerability. But in God’s eyes, being empty is an optimal condition.

Carrying around emotional baggage means our hands and hearts are too full to receive. A vessel that is already full of some substance can’t be used to contain anything else—it’s already full. In the book of 2nd Kings, the prophet Elisha encountered a widow in despair. All she had left in the house was a small jar of oil. Elisha’s instructions probably raised the widow’s eyebrows. Elisha directed her to gather all the vessels she could find—EMPTY vessels—and he admonished her, “Do not gather just a few.” Then he told her to take that small amount of oil that she had left and begin pouring it out into all the empty vessels she had collected. What? That doesn’t make any sense. But she complied and began pouring out all that she had and God filled every single vessel. But the blessing didn’t happen until she was willing to pour out what she had.

If we desire to be filled with joy, filled with the Spirit, and filled with all the fullness of God, we must first be emptied. Pour out the worthless things—your strength, your pride, your position, your status, your pretense—and offer up your emptiness to God. Being empty isn’t a shameful thing. Emptiness means availability,
for if we are emptied of ourselves, only then can we be filled to overflowing with those things that God desires to pour out for us. His blessings can never be contained. So as you empty yourself, gather all the vessels you can, and don’t gather just a few. God is waiting to fill you with all the fullness of Himself.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

I CAN'T DO THIS!

2010-12-27T12:46:00.003-06:00

So I have looked for You in the sanctuary, to see Your power and glory.” Psalm 63: 2

As a struggling writer, I’ve often asked myself, “Why did I ever think I could do this? Whatever possessed me to try to write a book? What was I thinking?” No doubt the same questions most writers have asked themselves at some point in their writing journey.

Somewhere along the way I learned perseverance. Other writers came alongside my sinking hope and threw me a life line. Workshop teachers pounded the lesson home until my brain convinced my heart that I shouldn’t give up. Every time I entreated God for direction, He whispered the same thing: Keep on working. Don’t quit. Endure. Endurance drives determination. Determination fuels stamina. Stamina encourages diligence. Diligence nurtures perseverance. Perseverance builds character. That list sounds ominously similar to what we try to teach our children. >>Light bulb moment<< That’s what my heavenly Father was trying to teach me. Keep trying, keep learning, keep honing your craft, don’t quit.

With this realization, I understood where those questions were coming from. I was afraid of my own weakness. But God tells us in His word our weakness is a pedestal to display His power and glory. If we strive to stay close to God so that we recognize His voice and persevere along the path on which He directs us, we can expect to witness His hand at work in our lives.

Once I “got” the perseverance thing, God asked me to take another step. He called it surrender. This was much easier than learning perseverance. Lifting up my writing to God each day was a concept I relished. More than anything else, I want to please Him with what I write. In all I do and all I write, honoring God takes first priority. When I get stuck or my plot line lacks energy, when my characters don’t cooperate or I uncover a tidbit in research that throws me a curve, I look to the Lord and ask Him what I should do. Where does He want this story to go? How can this character demonstrate honoring God? What does He want me to communicate to a reader? What I learned was so sweet and so exciting—every time I strive to surrender my writing to Him, He never lets my questions go unanswered.

I always thought it would take a miracle to get published. Like Martha in the book of John, chapter eleven, I told the Lord, “I can’t do this.” Jesus said to Martha, “Did I not say to you that if you would believe you would see the glory of God?” And God said to me, “All I have asked you to do is persevere, and by doing so to look for Me to show my power and glory.” So, fortified by God’s strength, I kept on.

Miracles do happen. Within the next three weeks, thousands of Heartsong Presents book club members (http://www.heartsongpresents.com) will hold my debut novel in their hands. I stand in awe of the way God has carried me—and is continuing to carry me—along this writing journey. Only He knows what direction we will take next. Steering isn’t my job. I’m a passenger on this journey, and the scenery along the way is magnificent.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

GIFT GIVING

2010-12-13T09:24:00.003-06:00

"The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your soul in drought, and strengthen your bones. You shall be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water whose waters do not fail." Isaiah 58:11

Like many of you, I regard Christmas as a special, holy time. It is indeed a time of giving. God gave on that first Christmas more than two thousand years ago. Of course, with the help of television ads, retail and online merchants, and junk mail that overstuffs our mailboxes, the whole concept of “giving” at Christmas time has gotten skewed way out of proportion. We sometimes hear a report on the news how different charities are collecting toys to give to needy children or some group is calling for volunteers to help feed the homeless during this season—and those are wonderful things to do. But in the effort to roll back the clutter and cacophony of the commercialism, I try to set aside a specific block of time every day to simply be quiet before God. It was during one of these times recently that my heart was especially stricken with the desire to give Jesus a gift.
Granted, it’s not a unique idea. Christians over the centuries have proclaimed the message of giving a gift to Jesus on His birthday. Likewise, we’ve all heard it said we can’t out-give God. But I was determined to discover what I could give Jesus.

During my quiet times with Him, I asked Him to lay on my heart what He wanted from me: more dedication? More love? Greater faithfulness? Boldness in witnessing? Should I step up my service? Everything that crossed my mind seemed pitifully anemic. Don’t misunderstand me, the time spent in His presence wasn’t anemic, but what I discovered wasn’t what I asked or expected. During those times of quiet communication, He led me through some memories that evoked smiles of remembrance. It was like He was whispering, “Do you remember this?” “Remember the time you were strangling on your fear?” “Remember when you felt so alone?” “Remember when your heart was so broken, you believed it would never be whole again?” How did my prayer turn from a time of me asking Jesus what He wanted from me to a time of Him drawing from our well of memories?

And so we continued, Jesus speaking in loving tones and me wiping away sweet tears of recollection. Those times to which He gently turned my mind were difficult journeys. They were times I entered feeling I was a strong Christian, ready to tackle anything the world threw at me. But I soon discovered my glaring weakness, my pitiful neediness in the midst of the desert through which I found myself traveling. I remembered those desolate places—places in which I thought I was so isolated.

“But Lord, I want You to tell me what I can give You for Your birthday. How can I serve You better?”

I felt His warm smile in my heart and He simply kept reminding me of the many times I felt lost or afraid or tempted or hurt. In every instance, it was His closeness that carried me through the difficult time. Gradually, understanding dawned within me. I’d long grasped the concept of hard times and difficult journeys deepening my level of trust and faith. But a new enlightenment emerged. During those times when I was utterly alone or drained empty or completely helpless, I learned how to NEED Him, and I now realize that needing Him is the key to KNOWING Him. Intimate communion with Jesus is such a priceless gift. Now I understood His purpose in our time of remembrance. The gift He has given me has birthed the gift He wants from me: continuing communication, praise, gratitude, trust…and love. Never-ending love.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Changing...

2010-11-18T20:38:00.002-06:00

Autumn is a time of change, the most obvious of which of course, is the foliage. During the years that I lived in Florida, I grievously missed watching the leaves change color in the fall. In the years since we’ve been in Georgia, I impatiently peer out my window and anxiously await the shorter days, the crisper temperatures, the pungent, spicy aroma of the woods, and the feast for the eyes as the verdant green leaves wave farewell to summer and cloak themselves in the vivid hues of autumn.

The turning of the calendar pages brings with it other seasonal changes—sweaters and jeans replace t-shirts and capris. The fireplace stands waiting for that first chilly evening, ready to cast its warm glow over the living room. I smile in anticipation of that first steaming mug of hot cider or hot chocolate.

Autumn brought another change this year. Every year, I journey to a special place in the north Georgia mountains. It’s a roadside scenic overlook that I visited five years ago with my son while he was undergoing cancer treatment. That day has become such a sweet memory for me, I return to that place every year and celebrate the life of my son, and thank God for the twenty-eight years He loaned Jonathan to us. My husband and I call the day “Sweet November”.

Last year, I was so disappointed when I pulled into that scenic overlook. The fence was broken down in several places, the weeds had taken over, the grass hadn’t seen a mower in months, there was trash strewn everywhere, and graffiti marred the lone bench. It broke my heart to see this special place so neglected. When I got home, I wrote a letter to the state agency whose responsibility it is to oversee the maintenance of the place. I included photos I’d taken, and I explained why this place is so special to me.

This year, as the time was nearing for me to make my annual Sweet November drive to the mountains, trepidation filled me. If the place looked so bad last year, how much worse would it be this year? Would it be closed down altogether? I asked God to prepare my heart in case my worst fears were realized. As I drove around the bend in the road and pulled into the parking area, tears filled my eyes—not because the place was unkempt or closed, but because it was beautiful.

The fence had been repaired and rebuilt, weeds were cut down, the grass was mowed, trash was picked up, and two new benches offered a place to sit and enjoy the mountain view. The golds, scarlets, and oranges dappled the mountainside with a patchwork of color—a tapestry background for the mercydrop God had prepared for me. How sweet to stand there and lift my hands in worship, thanking God for the change that had taken place.

When God came into my life forty-four years ago, He made a change. He cut away the weeds of self-sufficiency, repaired and adjusted the parameters in my life establishing Himself at the focal point. He cleaned away the trash and turned me around to show me the view from the mountaintop. Over the years, changes too numerous to count have come my way. Some of them have been joyous. Others have been painful. Some happened without warning. Others seemed to take forever to manifest. All have helped me grow.

When God comes in and changes a person’s heart, He isn’t finished. God will continue to orchestrate changes in His child’s life, stretching and tuning and molding that person, cutting back the weeds and renewing the beauty. It’s sweet to know that God will never leave me alone, but instead allow changes to reflect His goodness and mercy.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Trace It Back To The Source

2010-10-12T09:45:00.004-05:00

“Most assuredly, I say to you that you will weep and lament…and you will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will be turned into joy.” John 16:20

I’ve been contemplating a question lately—a question to which, as a Christian, I already know the answer. However, I’m puzzled. Why is it that I sometimes allow my focus to become distracted and before I know it, people and things of this world have usurped the position that rightfully belongs to God?

The question is: What is the source of my joy? God showers us abundantly with things that bring joy—family, our life mate, our children, friends, interests, accomplishments, beauty, serenity—all have the potential to give us a measure of joy. But where the joy itself come from?

It’s impossible to count the things that make us smile, but for a moment, narrow your focus on one or two things. For you, it might be your children, or spending time with an aging parent or grandparent. Perhaps it’s sweet memories, or a day spent with a dear friend, or maybe a goal you set for yourself that you finally reached. Whatever comes to mind, close your eyes and think about the joy that wells within you as you immerse yourself in the gladness. Listen as you recall the laughter. Invite the sweet memory of the kinship or the exquisite attraction to something so beautiful it evokes tears.

Where does that joy come from? Is it really of our own making? Does it depend on circumstances? If circumstances change, does that mean your joy dissolves? Since we are finite creatures, any joy of our own making is equally finite.

As a writer, I’m often caught up in research surrounding my setting or my characters. Digging into the past often uncovers facts or records that dictate I must change my story line. Even though I write fiction, if the story is to be accurate and realistic, I must base it on truth. Otherwise, the foundation is weak and cannot support the weight of the message I’m trying to convey to the reader. If the reader is to take something of eternal value away from the story, I cannot build it on a temporal substructure.

With this mindset, I asked myself the question: What is the SOURCE of my joy? Those things that bring joy and laughter, memories and solace, must have their origin in truth. They are God-given. Whether my joy is found in my spouse or the memories I have of my son, the laughter I share with my sisters, the pure delight I experience with my nieces and nephews, or attaining a mile marker in my life, all of them come from the same source. Without God’s hand on my life, without His blessing, His strength, His protection, His peace, His faithfulness, none of these joyful things would exist. Every one is a priceless gift, given from the One who is the ultimate source of all joy.

If one of these things is taken away, does that mean my joy is extinguished? Grief is a very real emotion. Loss can sometimes knock us breathless. But if my source of peace and joy begins with who I am in Christ, then that is a foundation that will never crumble, regardless of what or who is removed from my life.

Jesus said, “Therefore you now have sorrow; but I WILL SEE YOU AGAIN, and your heart will rejoice, and your joy no one will take from you.” John 16:22

The solidity and permanence of my joy depends upon its source. If that source is the unmovable, unshakable rock of my refuge (Psalm 94:22) then my joy is just as unmovable. Jesus says no earthly thing can take that joy away from me.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

"What if..."

2010-09-23T10:09:00.002-05:00

If you're reading this blog and you're not a writer, you may scratch your head and think I've gone over the edge. Rest assured, this is the way writers think. My husband repeatedly reminds me that my characters "aren't real", but he doesn't realize they are to me. When writers are putting a story together, they step into the skin of their character and try to think like the character thinks.

I love brainstorming with my critique partners. They’ll toss out a story idea and I’ll grab it and run with it and play the “what if” game. It’s such fun to take someone else’s idea and throw in some twists and turns, and think of ways to complicate the lives of the characters. For some reason, however, I’ve always had a hard time brainstorming my own ideas. So it was with a bit of consternation that I had a “conversation” yesterday with one of my own characters. I’m wrapping up the final chapter of this book, and suddenly my main character, Everett, decides to offer some “what if” suggestions.

Everett: Hey, what if you gave me a reason to leave Willow Creek?

Me: That’s not included in my chapter x chapter synopsis.

Everett: But what if there was a distinct possibility that I might leave? How do you think that would affect Tillie?

Me: I don’t know, Everett. Now get back on the page where you belong.

Everett: I know I tried to make Tillie see how she’d be better off with Ben, but it’s a lot tougher than I thought it would be, watching the two of them together.

Me: Well, you knew it wasn’t going to be easy. This was your decision.

Everett: But if I had a reason to leave, I wouldn’t have to watch them fall in love with each other.

Me: That’s not included in my chapter x chapter synopsis.

Everett: Well, how would you feel if someone you loved fell in love with someone else? Wouldn’t that make you want to run away?

Me: That’s not included in my chapter x chapter synopsis.

Everett: You know I never planned to stay in Willow Creek anyway. What if there was a way I could return to Baltimore?

Me: Everett!! You’re not listening. The chapter x chapter synopsis I sent to my editor does not include you leaving Willow Creek.

Everett: But what are you going to do about this letter?

Me: What letter?

Everett: The letter I received from Grandfather’s attorney.

Me: Huh?

Everett: This job offer in Baltimore is pretty tempting.

Me: What are you talking about? What job offer?

Everett: Great opportunity, great pay, and I could sit behind closed doors and nobody would ever stare at me again.

Me: Everett, I don’t like the sound of this. Do you realize what you’re suggesting? I’m almost finished with this story. In order to include this letter you’re talking about, I’d have to go back to earlier chapters and weave in this new thread.

Everett: So why are you just sitting there? Get busy.

Me: Let me see that letter.

Everett: You have to write the letter.

Me: You know if you were going to make this suggestion, it might have been nice if you’d done so earlier.

Everett: Hey, what do you want from me? (He tosses out his uplifted palms and shrugs) I could take the stage to Dubuque and board the eastbound train there.

Me: Now just wait a minute. I’m the author. You’re supposed to do what I say.

Everett: (tucking the letter into his vest pocket) I’m off to talk to my father about this letter. I need his advice.

Me: And there he goes, and I must hasten after him, for I am the author….I think.

Thanks for letting me share my character, and my heart.

ANTICIPATION... it's making me wait

2010-09-10T10:33:00.004-05:00

Anticipation…can be sweet, can be nerve-wracking. In less than a week, I’ll be traveling to the ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) national conference. The excitement has been building for weeks. The prospect of seeing friends we only get to see once a year tickles my innards until I’m virtually dancing with the thought of fellowshipping with hundreds of writers. >>Oh, what a delicious thought! Hundreds of writers all together in one place. People who understand that my characters really do exist, because they talk to their characters too. People who think it’s perfectly natural to cry when my character hurts or experience shortness of breath when my character is in danger. They get it!! YES!!

The ACFW online loop has been posting daily prayers for every aspect of the conference to go smoothly and be God-honoring. We’ve prayed for everything from the sound system and technicians, to the faculty members as they teach, to the staff at the hotel, and the finalists in the contests. There are two more people that I’ve added to my ACFW prayer list: the winners of the first-time contracts.

Every year, one of my favorite parts of the conference is the awarding of a first-time book contract to an unsuspecting author—a writer who has struggled to learn the craft, strived to improve, felt the sting of rejections and has persevered. I love watching the reaction as the person’s name is called. Last year, as the two editors made their way to the platform, I turned to my critique partners with whom I was sitting and said, “I just love it when they do this!”

The next thing I know, the title of my book is being announced and my critique partners are all screaming at me. The flurry of excitement and uncontained joy that followed will always remain one of the high points of my life. My husband said he really hated that he missed it, because it’s the only time in my life I’ve ever been speechless.

So this year, as I’m preparing to go the conference again, I’m wondering for whom God has prepared that contract. Who will feel that jolt of exhilaration and experience the thrill of seeing their persistence and perseverance come to fruition? I’m praying for those two people. They are about to set out on an extraordinary journey, filled with peaks and valleys, fears and doubts, and over the top happiness. When the title of their book is announced and they numbly find their way to the stage in shock, I pray they will relish every heart-pounding moment, every smile, every congratulatory hug, every tear, and every step they take two feet off the ground for the remainder of the conference. I’m praying they will always cherish the moment they receive the contract in the mail and affix their signature to it.

Anticipation…it’s delicious.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

God's Art Gallery

2010-09-04T13:11:00.002-05:00

“I will bless the Lord at all times…” Psalm 34:1
“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name.” Psalm 103:1

Mothers do it every day. Her little one comes running up to her, waving a piece of paper on which he or she has drawn a masterpiece. Who cares if the art critics in the most elite galleries consider it childish drivel? To mom, it’s the most brilliant work of art that has ever been produced. What does she do? First, she hugs her child and exclaims over his skill, tells him what an extraordinary job he did, and declares she has never seen anything so beautiful. She then posts this magnificent example of artistic talent on the refrigerator door for the entire family to admire and enjoy.

This is the concept that comes to mind every time I read the verses that exhort God’s children to BLESS the Lord. Psalm 103 is only twenty-two verses, but it instructs us seven times to bless the Lord.

I have to admit, I’ve scratched my head over this more than once. When God blesses us, He does so with omnipotent power and glory. The entire world came into existence with His simple spoken word. He has moved mountains, held back the waters for the Israelites, fed them daily in the desert, stopped the sun in its tracks, and abundantly met every need. Through His immeasurable love, He provided a way for our salvation by sacrificing His only Son. He paid our way to heaven even though we were unworthy. He surrounds us and fills us with His mighty love, protection, comfort, provision, and care.

How are we to reciprocate and bless God? When we bless God, we do so through our love, worship, and praise. But in our frail humanness, our best efforts are paltry. We want to express our gratitude from a heart filled with love and praise for Him, but even when we produce our best masterpiece of praise, I can’t help but wonder how far short it falls in the light of all God has done for us.

It’s like the child who gives mommy the best picture he ever drew. The child doesn’t keep it for himself. He gives it to the person who loves him and cares for him—the one who would do anything for him, the one who would give her life for him. The mother’s heart is blessed to overflowing over something the world considers of no value. The picture shown here was drawn by my son twenty-seven years ago. I wouldn’t take a million dollars for it. It’s priceless, because he gave it to me.

God the Father reacts in much the same way. He loves our efforts to bless Him, and He smiles when we express our love for Him. When His children bring Him their best, His heart celebrates. Instead of keeping His love to ourselves, we proclaim it back to Him in worship.

I wonder if He posts it on the refrigerator door.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Overcoming

2010-08-26T09:05:00.003-05:00

Sometimes as Christians, we get the idea that everything our world should be well-ordered and smooth, and when circumstances arise that create turmoil, this somehow surprises us. It shouldn’t. The Bible states repeatedly that this world is not our home and the people around us are humanly flawed.

When Jesus was preparing His disciples for the time He would be taken from them, He spoke clearly of the dangers of seeking comfort and peace from things of this world. This preparation is for the purpose of creating a longing within us for heaven as much as it is a warning against putting our trust in things that are temporal.

“These things I have spoken to you that you should not be made to stumble.” John 16:1

“Most assuredly I say to you that you will weep and lament . . . you will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will be turned into joy.” John 16:20

“Therefore you now have sorrow, but I will see you again and your heart will rejoice and your joy no one will take from you.” John 16:22

Mark it down: people will disappoint you. People you thought you could trust will let you down. Circumstances will shift. Places you once felt at home will become strange and uncomfortable. Why? Because those people, circumstances, and places are not our source of peace.

Currently there is a situation that is grieving my heart. My spirit has groaned, my heart aches, and I’ve shed more than a few tears. I suppose that in my humanness, I want everything within my comfort zone to remain the same, and when things occur that cause upheaval, I am somehow taken by surprise. But God is never taken by surprise. He isn’t standing up there in heaven wringing His hands and agonizing over what to do. He knows the end from the beginning, which is why He gave us these scriptures. He knows about the hurtful things people will speak and the uncaring attitudes they will display. He knows about the rejection and feelings of betrayal. So He reminds us: your sorrow will be turned into joy.

Do not fool yourself into thinking people or places on this earth make up your comfort zone. Sharpen your awareness of the presence of God in you and your earthly attachments dim. Our joy and peace are in Jesus, and remembering that He is closer than our own breath washes that peace over us again.

"These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer. I have overcome the world." John 16:33

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

God Uses The Strangest Things Sometimes...

2010-08-05T14:25:00.004-05:00

We could learn a thing or two from cats. Wait… all you folks who don’t like cats, don’t click the X yet. God really has used my cat to teach me a few things. It’s kind of like when your third grade teacher used visual aids to get your attention so she could impart some small tidbit of wisdom to you.

Sweet Pea came into my life as a tiny kitten—still too young really to be away from her mother. We weren’t sure she’d survive, but the tenacity she demonstrated as a baby formed her personality—er, that is, her CATitude. Her feistiness has mellowed a little bit over the past few years, but she still has her own special way of getting her message across.

1) She wants my undivided attention. When Sweet Pea is sitting with me at the computer and she catches me looking at the screen instead of looking at her, she bats my face with her paw. Makes me wonder sometimes if God would like to bat my face and remind me to pay attention and listen to Him instead of doing things my way.
2) She navigates all the clutter on my desk to get to me. Impressive really, she’s like a tight-rope walker as she threads her way around my laptop, my PC, mouse pads, notebooks, research books, dictionary, external hard drive, Post-It Notes, calendar, coffee cup, picture frames, telephone, tape dispenser, stapler—you name it—to come and sit directly in front of me and stare at me with an air of expectation. She doesn’t let anything get in her way. Then she gives me her undivided attention. Don’t you suppose we should do the same with our cluttered lives and hectic schedules, and find our way through the chaos to sit at Jesus’ feet?
3) She flees from “evil” – in this case, the vacuum cleaner, Jaws. All I have to do is drag Jaws out from his lair. He’s not plugged in yet, he hasn’t roared to life, he’s not even heading in her direction. But the moment she lays eyes on Jaws, she runs for cover, usually into the bedroom closet. I wonder if God wishes we would be so diligent to flee from anything that can damage our testimony, or interfere with our Christian walk, or come between us and Him. God’s word says to abstain from the very appearance of evil.
4) She hides when she needs to be alone. Sweet Pea has several hiding places in the house, most of which I’ve found. But sometimes I’ll check all her favorite places and I can’t find her. She comes out when she’s ready, or when it’s suppertime, whichever comes first. Sometimes the din of the world—the confusion, the busy-ness, out of control emotions, the clamor, the demands, the distractions—closes in on us and we need an escape. How can we hear God’s voice above the cacophony if we don’t take time to separate ourselves from the world, and just be quiet?

5) She knows how to REST. It’s true, cats normally sleep anywhere from 14-18 hours per day. When Sweet Pea wants to nap, anywhere is a good place. She’ll sleep on my desk, on the back of my chair, under a table, buried in a blankie, just wherever and whenever she pleases. Don’t you wish you could learn to TRUST the same way a cat rests? Anywhere, everywhere, anytime, all the time, if we rest on God, we’ll discover a deeper level of trust than we ever believed possible.
6) She’s jealous. Some cats live in a multi-cat or multi-pet family. Not Sweet Pea. She is the Queen and wants no other cats before her. She’s an indoor kitty, so when the neighbor’s cats come calling, she hisses at them through the window screens and scowls at me if I dare to go out and pet them. She wants me to adore her, and only her. When God gave Moses the ten commandments, He said, You shall not have any other gods before Me. There are a multitude of things that we put before God or assign a higher level of importance than God. Whether it’s something that steals our time, attention, money, or priority, it needs to be weighed in the balance with God.
7) She clings to me for protection. When we go to the vet, Sweet Pea rides in a carrier. She usually yowls in the car all the way there. But the moment we arrive and set foot inside the door, she hears the dogs barking and goes into panic mode. Once in the exam room, she wants to climb up on my shoulders and cling to me. She believes that I will protect her from whatever she perceives as danger. God never promised us a life free of adversity, but He did provide His special comfort and sanctuary for His children. When troubles come (and they surely will), cling to God for protection and comfort. Lift us your arms to Him and ask Him to hold you.

Excuse me, I have to go now. Sweet Pea says it’s time for her Yummies.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

THE ACQUITTAL

2010-07-19T10:07:00.003-05:00

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me, because the Lord has anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, . . . to comfort all who mourn, to console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.” Isaiah 61:1-3

Several months ago a friend of mine sent me a devotional book entitled, JESUS CALLING. What makes this book different from other devotionals is that it’s written from Jesus’ point of view. It reads like Jesus Himself is speaking to you in quiet, personal, intimate conversation between friends. Opening this book every morning is like sitting down across from my Best Friend and listening to Him tell me those things He wants me to know.

I know . . . the Bible tells us everything He wants us to know, and please understand, I’m not discounting God’s word in any way. Sometimes, however, when I read a blog or an article or a devotional or even the words to a hymn written with God’s word as its basis or theme, it speaks to me from a different angle, a different point of view. Using scriptures I’ve read a hundred times before, this devotional book shapes them in such a way, my heart “hears” them with fresh ears.

Thus it was on July 3. It just so happened that it was my birthday, and when I went into my office and pulled out my Bible and devotional book, I asked God to give me something I really needed. The entry for July 3 grabbed my heart and shook me. For years I’ve struggled with the issue of forgiveness—not forgiving others--forgiving myself. The old adage that says we can’t turn the clock or the calendar back and do things over has been a millstone around my neck. Life doesn’t give us do-overs, and I nurtured a guilt that I intended to carry for the rest of my life. I knew God forgave me, but that’s because He’s God and in His omnipotent love—a love we can’t wrap our mind around—He forgives completely and absolutely. But I’d told myself I'm human, and in that humanness, I can’t forgive that way. So I took on a burden God never intended for me to carry, and it weighed me down and began affecting other areas of my life as well.

As I read the words of that short devotional on July 3, a new clarity dawned. The entry said that Jesus is the only capable Judge, and He has acquitted me through His blood. I have been acquitted—declared not guilty. And since my acquittal came at the price of Jesus’ sacrifice, who am I to refuse to forgive myself when Jesus has declared me innocent? The scriptures listed in the devotional were ones I’d read a hundred times or more. I’d believed them and used them in talking to others about the Lord. I had claimed His forgiveness for my salvation and praised Him for His demonstration of love. I’ve known His forgiveness for many years. So why did I nail guilt over this one issue to my soul? How could I say I claimed his forgiveness of all my sins . . . except this one?

Most of us who have lived for any length of time have known regrets or wish we’d done something differently. But when I finally understood how offensive my refusal to forgive myself was to Jesus, I was able to let it go. Romans 8:1 says there is no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus. Instead of walking through the rest of this life dragging a chain of condemnation, I can now run with a freedom I’ve not allowed myself for several years. Because when Jesus gave His blood as a sacrifice for me, it was all-inclusive, and I’m forgiven.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Connections

2010-07-03T12:37:00.008-05:00

“So, affectionately longing for you, we were well pleased to impart to you not only the gospel of God, but also our own lives, because you had become dear to us.” I Thessalonians 2:8

For the past two months, I’ve been fretting about my lack of time and opportunity to post a blog. I was afraid those folks who told me they read and enjoyed my blog might think I’d abandoned them. But not so.

Since April, I’ve been occupied with creating dude ranch decorations for our church’s Vacation Bible School. While designing a herd of comical-looking horses, cardboard fences, and a stage backdrop 24 feet long and 8 feet tall is fun, it does take an enormous amount of time. In addition, I attended the BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS CHRISTIAN WRITERS CONFERENCE in May, followed by a writers retreat in Hutchinson, Kansas with my awesome critique partners. I arrived home on June 7, put up the VBS stage set on June 8th, and wrapped up a few loose ends. I took a day to do laundry and re-pack my suitcase in preparation to leave two days later for Pennsylvania where I spent two glorious weeks with my sister and her family.

When I finally arrived home last week, exhausted but contented, I reflected on that contentment and why reconnecting with dear friends and family is so satisfying. Our relationships are one of the gifts God gives us. As a writer, I’ve had the privilege of making friends with other writers all over the country, many of whom I only see once a year. Email keeps us connected in between times, but it’s not the same as a real, live, in-person hug. Spending time brainstorming, working, laughing, and a little goofing off with my incredible critique partners is such a joy (although this year we were saddened because we were incomplete—missed you, Eileen).

God gifts us with special friendships—those people with whom we can be completely transparent and not have to worry about condemnation or rejection. Just when I realize that God has blessed me way more abundantly than I deserve, He adds something extra—a sweet touch of grace. We get to worship together. That connection we have with those dear friends whom we rarely get to see is enhanced by the gathering together and connecting with God in a spirit of praise.

The family visit was even sweeter. My niece decided to plan a birthday surprise for her mother—my sister, Pam, and I enthusiastically went along with her plan. What fun to spend time watching my great-niece and great-nephew win their championships with their softball and baseball teams, and sit around the table with family members that live way too many miles away. Then my sister and I drove across the state, back to her home where more delightful times with more family members awaited. My two nephews are the handsomest guys, and their wives and kids are such fun. I’m sure my nephews grew tired of this old lady hugging them every time they turned around, but hugging those guys feels just like hugging my son. Did I mention they’re handsome?

There were several dozen times during the hugging, laughing, and “reunion-izing” that I felt a wee bit guilty about neglecting my blog (especially after the marketing classes I took at the writer’s conference in May!). But I believe God gives us connections for specific reasons. I’m not talking about the connections one makes marketing or promoting their work. That’s called networking, and it has nothing to do with the nurturing of friendships or cherishing of family members. As children of God, we have a responsibility to make sure those people who are the most important in our lives are assured of that special place they hold in our hearts. God gave me the opportunity to reconnect with great-nieces and great-nephews, all of whom are growing up way too fast, a dear niece who reminds me of my mother, and two nephews (did I mention they’re handsome?) who remind me of my son. And my sister… oh my goodness, the time we spent laughing and hugging. Who needs a therapist when you have sisters?

Let me mention here that this is only one half of the family. The other half lives in Florida, and I intend to spend time “reunion-izing” and catching up with my Florida sister, Chris, and her family just as soon as God works out the details. The most awesome thing about these connections? God is in the midst. Pick the phone or jump in the car today, and go tell someone how important they are to you.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Miracles

2010-05-12T16:06:00.005-05:00

And in that day you will say, “Praise the Lord, call upon His name, declare His deeds among the peoples, make mention that His name is exalted. Sing to the Lord, for He has done excellent things.” Isaiah 12:3-5

God still works miracles. They are all around us and many times they go unnoticed. The work of His hand can be seemingly insignificant, like a tenacious little flower pushing it’s way up between the proverbial rock and a hard place. We might consider anything that grows as a miracle. It’s almost inconceivable to take a seed—a tiny portion of a dead, withered plant—and bury it in the dirt, only to have it spring forth with new-found life. Only God can bring life from something that was dead.

My white rose bush did it again this year. Last year I was astounded to find a half dozen red blossoms on my white rose bush. This year there have already been almost two dozen red roses. How does it do that? I’m not a rose horticulturist, so I have no idea how a white rose bush can produce red blooms. I like to think it’s a sweet mercydrop from God, telling me He isn’t finished performing miracles yet.

How many times have we stared in awe into the face of a newborn baby, marveling at the intricacies of the human body and God’s creation? Is there anything sweeter than hearing your baby’s first cry, or holding that precious little one in your arms? Yes, there is something sweeter...

Five years ago this Saturday, May 15th, I got the miracle for which I’d prayed for eleven years. My son Jonathan, who had wandered far from God, returned to the Savior he once loved and fell at His feet in repentance and faith. Oh, the sweet joy of that day! Was it better than the day I held him for the first time? Looking back, I had prayed for a child for five years when Jonathan was born. But I prayed for eleven years for him to come back to the Lord, so in many ways, yes, seeing this miracle for which I’d prayed so long was even sweeter than the day he was born. The longer we pray and hope for something to come to pass, the sweeter it is when it happens. Which brings me to one more miracle…

For the past thirty-seven years, my husband and I have been praying for his mother to trust Christ. For thirty-seven years she has refused to listen, hardened her heart, and rejected every witness we tried to present. For the past few years she has been coming to church with us, but it was more for the purpose of being with her son--my husband--than to learn about Jesus. So when she expressed interest in talking about salvation with my husband last week, we were ecstatic. I can’t find the words to describe my husband’s joy at leading his own 80-year-old mother to Christ last Thursday, May 6th. Mrs. Mary Stevens is a brand new child of God. Hallelujah!!

Some miracles are tiny, like a little flower struggling to grow. Some are commonplace, like the birth of a baby. But regardless of how many babies are born every day, the one you hold in your arms is a miracle. Then some miracles are answers to prayers over which we have agonized for years.

Take the time to look for the miracles around you. Don’t overlook them. You’ll miss an incredible blessing if you do.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

If You Want To Make God Laugh...make a plan

2010-04-22T07:42:00.004-05:00

Some years ago, I made a staggering discovery: I'm not the one in control! I have to admit, I was taken aback by this revelation, always having thought that my penchant for planning and organizing was a "spiritual gift". It wasn't until I had the rug jerked out from under me that I finally became aware of just how insignificant MY plans were in the light of God's plan. Oh, it wasn't like I was thumbing my nose at God and defiantly plowing ahead, demanding my own way. I just wasn't listening. I read articles and heard sermons and attended women's Christian workshops that spoke of "following God's leading", and I thought that's what I was doing.

When God finally placed me in the position of having to be still and listen (I had no other choice), the whisper of His voice penetrated my soul, and I saw my plans for what they were--an attempt to usurp God's authority in my life. I didn't do it on purpose. But the realization caused me to rethink some things, not the least of which was asking God to sharpen my awareness of His presence and His voice.

Don't misunderstand--I still believe the best way to accomplish things decently and in order, "Let all things be done decently and in order" 1st Corinthians 14:40 is to plan accordingly. We've all heard the admonitions: Failure to plan on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part and If we fail to plan, then we plan to fail. Planning is a prudent thing to do. But any prudent practice done to excess, including careful planning, is like trying to micro-manage God. So even though I still exercise my "gift" for planning, I go about a different way.

My reasons for planning have changed. Instead of making control an idol, I established new goals. If I desire God's will to guide my steps, then my steps have to lead somewhere. That place is a sanctuary in His presence. When I am aware of God's presence, I can hear His voice better and pay closer attention to His leading. With this goal in mind, I re-set the way I plan.

1) Plan prayerfully. As I am jotting things down on my calendar or my To Do list, I talk with God. I tell Him, "Father, if any of this stuff isn't what You want me to do today, change my plans. I'm listening."
2) Remain in constant communion with God while you are carrying out your plan. Ask Him continually to walk with you, and rearrange the plan as He sees fit.
3) Adjust your plan according to God's leading, even if it seems inconvenient or impossible at the time. If God is in it, He'll make it happen. If His will is to change you, He'll show you. Stay flexible and teachable.
4) Yield your will to His scrutiny. Ask God to examine your motives and reveal anything to you that goes against His will.

As any of my friends can tell you, I'm still a planner, an organizer. I like to know exactly what I'm doing and stay ahead of schedule. Planning is the best way to get things done, as long as I P-R-A-Y first, and make certain that my goal isn't to be in control, but rather to be in God's will and give Him glory.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Have They Not Known?

2010-04-17T11:10:00.002-05:00

“Have you not known? Have you not heard? Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood from the foundations of the earth? It is HE who sits above the circle of the earth, and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers, Who stretches out the heavens like a curtain, and spreads them out like a tent to dwell in. He brings the princes to nothing; He makes the judges of the earth useless.” Isaiah 40: 21-23

We’ve all heard on the news in the past day or two how the courts have decided that the National Day Of Prayer is “unconstitutional”. Now, it has never been my desire to turn this blog into a platform for making political statements, and I don’t intend to start now. Whether or not I agree with the judges or the Supreme Court or the current Administration’s assessment is not the issue. My opinion isn’t the one that is important.

It occurred to me that our founding fathers didn’t have a National Day Of Prayer, but they prayed. Godly people pray—it’s as simple as that. If we are in the habit of praying, praising, and lifting up the name of Jesus Christ, no court edict is going to stop us from doing so. But what about those who only pray sporadically? The say grace over their food, they bow their heads at church when the pastor prays, and they may or may not mumble a “thank You for this day” as they lay their head down at night. They are in the practice of waiting for a certain event that tells them it’s time to pray—an event like the National Day Of Prayer. Will those people pray regardless of what the courts say?

Those who fall into that category will be faced with a choice. They can either re-examine their own hearts and determine to become a vessel of prayer, or not. Perhaps some will find this court decision outrageous and grow a good crop of indignity over it, determining they WILL pray, not only on the first Thursday in May (May 6th) but daily. Perhaps the taking away of this national observance will motivate them to be more faithful in prayer.

The fact is nobody can stop us from praying. Whether or not we are permitted to do so in a public gathering that bears a title indicating it is sanctioned by our law-makers is in question. But if we, as children of God, determine that we are going to pray on whatever day we choose, no law or court decision can stop us.

In the book of Exodus, Moses raised up his hands to pray from the top of a hill while a battle took place in the valley below. He stood there all day and prayed, and his arms became tired. Did he stop praying? Did he give up? Did he say, “Oh well, I did my best and that’s all I can do”? No. Two men, one of them Moses’ own brother, positioned themselves on either side of him and held his arms up and helped him pray. They prayed corporately, steadfastly, until the going down of the sun, and God blessed their effort.

The above verses from the book of Isaiah, paint a picture of our nation today. It’s mind-boggling how many in our government set themselves in positions of authority that they THINK transcend God’s authority. Verse 23 of Isaiah chapter 40 declared that God will “bring the princes to nothing, and make the judges of the earth useless.” I think that pretty well sums up God’s opinion of any court decision regarding the National Day Of Prayer.

God said, “If my people, who are called by My name, will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, THEN will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and HEAL THEIR LAND.” 2nd Chronicles 7:14

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Let Everything That Has Breath Praise Him

2010-04-06T11:00:00.005-05:00

“Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea roar and all its fullness; let the field be joyful and all that is in it. Then all the trees of the woods will rejoice before the Lord: for HE IS COMING…” Psalm 96: 11-13

Every year around this time, my husband and I enjoy watching the woods around our house go through a metamorphosis ~ the long sleep of winter is over, and the bare tree limbs yawn and stretch their arms toward heaven, ready for their new spring finery. As the temperatures warm and the days grow longer, we are entertained by the daily rebirth. The different species of trees offer a variegation of green as the buds burst open and the infant leaves unfurl and begin practicing for their solstice dance.

All except for one tree…

Every year my husband says the same thing: “I think that tree is dead. All the other trees are leafing out except that one.” And he starts speculating about getting out his chain saw and turning the latent tree into firewood for next winter. It’s almost like the tree is on a different timetable, a different calendar, from all the others, waiting until it knows there won’t be any more chilly nights before it’s willing to turn its leaves loose.

Sometimes God’s people are like that tree. We sit back and watch those around us working, serving, praying, praising, and lifting their hands in pure worship. There is a YouTube video of Michael W Smith in concert singing Agnus Dei. I tried to insert the link here, but it wouldn't work. If you type Agnus Dei into your search box, then click on Michael W Smith, you will hear and witness pure, unadulterated, spontaneous worship. It's an incredible video. Watch as the artist and musicians quietly stop playing and singing, and the audience lifts up their hands and hearts in worship.

I look at the tardy tree in our woods and wonder what it’s waiting for. The scripture in Psalm 96 says the heavens are rejoicing, the earth is glad, the sea is roaring, the fields and everything that grows or lives there is joyful. THEN all the trees of the woods will rejoice. Why? Because HE IS COMING!

Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, is coming. Why do we hold back our praise and anticipation of the glory we will behold? Others around us are awakening to the opportunities to worship—not only with word or song, but with hands and feet, with talents and skills, with energies and heart. If we stand back and neglect to utilize the time God has given us to give Him glory, it’s time we can never get back. We stand in danger of being found idle when Jesus comes.

Every spring my husband eyes that tree and threatens to firewood out of it until I point out the tiny, unopened buds way up on the highest branches. Sure enough, about two weeks after all the other trees have leafed out, this tree will finally let go and show signs of life.

If ever there was a time for us to show signs of life in our worship of God, it’s springtime. Don't wait. He's coming.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

He Showed Them His Hands

2010-03-31T11:01:00.003-05:00

What is it about this time of year that excites you the most? Is it the shopping--going out and finding that perfect outfit, with coordinating shoes and accessories? What about purchasing all the goodies to fill the Easter baskets? Do you snitch the jelly beans or nibble the ears off the chocolate bunnies when no one is looking? Are those Cadbury eggs irresistible? Does the sight of daffodils and tulips blooming make your heart dance? No doubt most folks are ready for the warmer temperatures.

When we consider what we like the best about the different holidays, Christmas usually comes out on top with a long list of favorite songs, recipes, and family traditions. But if we didn’t have an Easter, Christmas would be nothing more than an opportunity for family get-togethers. Yes, the virgin birth is miraculous, but the Resurrection is what makes the Christian faith different from any other religion. Many religions have a leader who died a martyr’s death, but no other faith rests on a Savior who rose from the dead.

If ever there was a time for us to examine the depth of our faith, it is at Easter. So many of us deal with tribulation on a daily basis. It can tend to take over our thoughts and attention if we let it. Work-related stress, family problems, money woes, illness or physical affliction, hurtful personal relationships can all overshadow our walk with God. Sometimes God’s blessings come to us wrapped in a disguise of pain or trouble. If we are attentive to the touch of God’s hand or the whisper of His voice, we can see His finger of grace. If we cling to His hand and stay beneath the shadow of His wing, our trust deepens to a level greater than our adversity. The Resurrection proves God’s love for us to such an extent, how can we not cling to Him in full and contented trust?

Consider this: Christ’s apostles were in hiding after the crucifixion. They were confused and fearful—their circumstances seemed to overwhelm them.

“Then, the same day, at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews, JESUS CAME and stood in the midst, and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’ When He had said this, He showed them His hands and His side. Then the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord.” John 20:19-20

We don’t have to understand everything we are going through. In fact, God doesn’t ask us to understand. He doesn’t expect or call us to understand. He only calls us to trust. If God loves us so much that He sent His Son to die for us, if Jesus is so powerful that the grave couldn’t hold Him, how can we not trust a Savior like that?

This year, look past the eggs and Easter baskets and chocolate bunnies and jelly beans. Set aside the new outfit and shoes. Appreciate the warmer temperatures and spring blooms, but concentrate on the Giver of life. He is the One in whom you can place your full trust and rest contentedly in His arms regardless of your circumstances.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Be Still And Know...

2010-03-22T10:46:00.005-05:00

I was taken aback the other night when I was flipping through the TV channels and happened upon a program about hoarders—people who never throw anything away and slowly become swallowed by mountains of trash in their own homes. The obsessive organizer in me shuddered at the appalling conditions in which these people lived, and it was really difficult for me to understand how they could let their lives get so out of control. But then it occurred to me that physical and material trash isn’t the only thing that can litter my life.

Our pastor has been encouraging us recently to spend time being silent before God. While the concept of spending as much prayer time being quiet and listening as I do making my requests known isn’t new, it’s something I tend to forget when my schedule becomes cluttered with things I deem important. In the past few weeks, I’ve asked God to sharpen my awareness of His voice. I want to be certain that it’s Him I’m hearing and not my own selfish desires or my agenda.

Jesus said in John 8:43, “Why do you not understand my speech? Because you are not able to listen to My word.” How can I understand when God speaks if I’m not familiar with His voice? I can pick out my husband’s voice in a crowd because I know his voice, I love his voice. But thirty-seven years ago, I had to learn every subtle tone and intensity of his voice during our personal times together—just the two of us—before I could detect his voice in the midst of a noisy world.

God invites us over and over in His word to “incline your ear, and come to Me.” Yes, he repeatedly instructs us to heed his Word and listen to Him, but to “incline your ear” means to listen for Him as well. I believe this is what our pastor had in mind when he exhorted us to be silent before God.

Isaiah 55:2 says to listen carefully to God, to eat from His table, to satisfy my thirst from His cup, to delight my soul in His abundance, to listen for Him and come to Him, to hear… and then He adds this promise: "and your soul shall live. I will make an everlasting covenant with you.” A promise that precious takes my breath away—to even imagine that He wants to spend time with me leaves me in awe.

But first I must clear away the clutter, the worries, the fears, the “to do” list, the self-imposed schedules and demands—all those things that heap up around us like trash in a hoarder’s house—and incline my ear to seek God’s voice. My desire is to draw close to Him, to stay within His shadow, and to become so acclimatized to the sound of His voice, that I can pick it out from the cacophony of the world. When God says, “Therefore My people shall know My name; therefore they shall know in that day that I am He who speaks; behold it is I.” (Isaiah 52:6), it is the desire of my heart to instantly recognize God’s voice.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Making It Real

2010-03-11T11:49:00.003-06:00

“Let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith…Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering…And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works.” Hebrews 10:22-24

Have you ever been embarrassed to admit that you didn’t make something from scratch? We women tend to be proud of our culinary accomplishments, especially when it comes to church fellowships. We have this secret desire that people will pronounce our dish the most amazing they have ever tasted, scarf it down, and beg us for the recipe. Almost every woman alive has made something from a mix and immediately buried the empty box in the bottom of the trash can, especially when company comes for dinner.

So it wasn’t without chagrin that I had to admit that I’d used a boxed potato casserole and pre-made, frozen meatballs when some friends came for dinner recently. Our new pastor and his wife are sweet people and we were delighted to have them over. It just so happens that some of my never-fail “recipes” are very quick and easy, and include the above-mentioned items. When they complimented the dishes, I had to come clean and tell them I’d used “ingredients” that I had not prepared myself. We laughed about it, and to be honest, I wasn’t really embarrassed because of the relationship we have with this dear couple. They aren’t just our pastor and his wife, and they aren’t company anymore. They’re family.

But how many times have we tried to be artificial and pass ourselves off as something we aren’t? When scripture encourages us to draw near to God with a true heart, I have to laugh. There’s no other way to draw near to God. He knows my heart anyway, so even if I try to pull the wool over His eyes, it’s not going to work. He knows me completely. But being part of fellowship of faith means, as the verse in Hebrews says, we should consider one another to stir up love and good works. I believe God is telling us here to be real with each other, and being real means to open your heart and allow people into your life. For some of us, that’s a long step away from our comfort zone. For several years, I allowed old wounds to keep me separated from God’s people. I didn’t want to be real in their presence. I didn’t want them to know the real me because that would mean allowing myself to be vulnerable again.

Gradually, God began to loosen the bricks in the wall I’d erected around myself. He worked through a few very special friends to heal those old hurts, and He showed me I needn’t fear being real with these people. In order for me to allow these people to stir up love and good works in me, I had to let down my guard. If I expected God to use me, it had to be on His terms, not mine. Being real is scary until we realize it’s God who makes us who we are. Not only is He the One we are called upon to trust and obey, He is the One with whom we seek sanctuary. He provides the shelter and comfort. We aren’t alone. He never intended for us to sequester ourselves from others, thinking we’d be safe in our own little shells. At some point, if we desire to be used of God to minister to someone else’s hurting heart, the wall has to come down and we have to be real.

I don’t believe our pastor and his wife felt slighted when I told them I’d used frozen meatballs or Betty Crocker potatoes. God has already used this precious couple to minister to my heart, and I hope we are as dear to them as they are to us. But doggone it, next time they come, I swear I’m going to cook everything from scratch!!

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

The Parable Of The Lost Ring

2010-03-01T14:30:00.002-06:00

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a blog entitled, Why I Write What I Write. In that post I pointed out that Jesus used parables when he taught, because sometimes a story connects more readily and people can relate to the characters or the circumstances in the story. One such parable appears in Luke chapter fifteen.

Jesus was teaching the people who had drawn near to hear Him, and He said, “What woman, having ten silver coins, if she loses one coin, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? And when she has found it, she calls her friends and neighbors together, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the piece which I lost!’”

When our son died a little over four years ago, I took his Marine Corps ring to a jeweler and had it sized so my husband could honor our son by wearing it in his memory. Then, a little over a year ago, my husband lost some weight, which made the ring a little bit loose. He was always careful to take the ring off and put it on his dresser. One day about six weeks ago, the ring disappeared. Like the woman in the fifteenth chapter of Luke, we turned the house upside down looking for that ring. We moved furniture, searched corners on our hands and knees, shined a flashlight in closets—there wasn’t a square inch of this house that we didn’t search. No ring.

After several days, we could only assume that the ring had been accidentally knocked off the dresser into the waste basket, which was emptied into the garbage. By the time we realized the ring was missing, the garbage man had already picked up the trash. My husband and I were both heart-sick. That ring meant so much to us.

Sunday evening, my husband was filling visitor gift bags at church when he reached into a box to get some little cookie packages. And there was our son’s ring. Joyous tears flowed. (Our poor pastor probably thought we’d both lost our minds.)

The woman in Luke fifteen rejoiced because what was lost to her had been restored. Our son’s Marine Corps ring probably isn’t worth much to anyone else except us, but to my husband and me, it’s irreplaceable.

That’s exactly what we are to God—irreplaceable. How much more does God rejoice when a person comes to know Him in a personal way, asking Him to forgive sins? Why else would God sacrifice His own Son to provide a means for us to get to heaven? Because we are His creation and He loves us so much. Why would God go to such lengths to give us a sweet mercydrop and let my husband find the ring? For the same reason—He loves us so much.

Rejoice with us, for we have found the ring that was lost, just as God rejoices over us, his children, when we come to Him.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

I Need My Sister Time

2010-02-25T09:54:00.002-06:00

“Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another; not lagging in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord; rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing steadfastly in prayer…” Romans 12: 10-12

I am supposed to be in Florida right now—at least according to MY plans. When you have two sisters that you love dearly, you go to any lengths to spend quality “sister time” together. Every year for the past four years, I’ve been going
to see my Florida sister in February, and my Pennsylvania sister in June. I praise God for allowing us this sister time. The above scripture defines the relationship the three of us have. When I read it, I sometimes substitute the word sisterly where it says brotherly, and the meaning remains intact.

But God and Jarhead had other plans this year. (Jarhead is my car.) I left on schedule, but by the time Jarhead and I had traveled about one-third of the way there, I knew the jerky hesitation and surging motion from the car indicated a real problem. So I turned around and coaxed Jarhead home, praying all the way that we’d get there. I realize if I’d kept going I might have reached my sister’s house, and yes, I know they have mechanics in Florida. But they don’t have Mr. Ken, Jarhead’s doctor, the world’s best automotive specialist. (Hensley Automotive, Hoschton, GA) He is the only one I want taking care of this car. I guess the “patient in tribulation” part of the scripture could include unexpected car repairs that interrupt my sister time.

So here I sit, waiting for Jarhead to be fixed so I can be on my way to spend time laughing, hugging, crying, giggling, praying, shopping, talking, cooking, solving all the world’s problems, and relaxing with my sister. Sisters can be a pain sometimes while you’re growing up, but in adulthood, sisters are one of the most precious relationships a woman can have. Since both of mine live far away, God has made sure I have substitute sisters here in Georgia—friends who are as close as sisters, and I am grateful for their friendship when I need a sisterly hug.

Since I have time to reflect, I’ve been thinking about the many times I’ve heard people talk about their siblings in a negative way—brothers and sisters who don’t speak to one another because of some petty disagreement. Don’t they realize what they’re squandering? God instructs us to honor each other, prefer the company of each other, and be diligent toward one another. What would I do if I didn’t have my sisters to rejoice with me, hope with me, and pray with me? How it must grieve God’s heart when His children bicker amongst themselves and nurture bitterness toward one another. What a waste of precious time they can never reclaim.

I need my sister time, and as soon as Mr. Ken fixes whatever is wrong with Jarhead, we’ll be on our way once again. Chrissie, make sure we have plenty of our favorite snacks (she makes the most amazing home-made humus) and I’ll get there as soon as I can. Have a hug ready for me.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Has God Ever Put You In Time-Out?

2010-02-18T08:25:00.003-06:00

A while back, my friend, Susan broke her foot. She was engaged in creating an artistic backdrop for a musical program at church. So it seemed (to me, anyway) that for her to suffer this injury while expending her energies and using her talents for the Lord was a bit unfair. After all, it wasn't like she was doing something foolish or sinful.

For six weeks, she hobbled around on a cast, and when she finally got the cast off, tenderness in the area where the break occurred limited her activity, as well as her choice of shoes. Patient in her nature, she endured it without complaint. I marvelled at her quiet acceptance of the boundaries God had placed around her, however temporary. God used Susan's quiet and gentle spirit to teach me something.

I wish I could say I have always endured periods in my life when God has put in a position of having to be still with grace. Unfortunately, I've probably had to spend more time waiting for God to finish His work in me because of my chafing impatience to jump back into action. If I would regard these periods in God's waiting room as a time of learning and growth, I'd likely develop a better attitude toward them. I admit I've said on more than one occasion, "I hope I hurry up and learn whatever it is God is trying to teach me so I can see the end of this trial." I can almost see God shaking His head at my impatience.

When the lesson is finally learned and the growth complete, I can anticipate God's nod of approval, releasing me from the season of waiting. But I've learned that if I sprint away from that precious place of instruction without taking the newly acquired knowledge or wisdom with me, He will bring me back to repeat what I neglected to learn the first time.

"The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the soul who seeks Him. It is good that one should hope and wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord." Lamentations 3: 25-26

Scripture admonishes us repeatedly to take one step at a time and place our trust in God in every circumstance, especially when we don't understand His purpose. I don't suppose Susan was expecting to break her foot in the middle of the holidays when she had a long "to do" list. Even though we might consider a broken bone an infirmity, God views it from an entirely different point of view. Psalm 91 says He will give His angels charge over us, keeping us in all our ways. We presume that scripture means the angels will keep us safe and never allow harm to come to us. But perhaps there is a broader meaning of this Psalm. That word KEEP is an interesting word. It means to confine, contain, and control. It also means to delay and hold.

If God is keeping us with the purpose of instruction, we can be certain it's a good thing. When this happens, we have a choice. We can fret about the "inconvenience", or like my friend Susan, submit to the hand of God as He constructs something beautful in His child. We don't have the privilege of knowing the outcome beforehand, but we have the blessing of watching God's workmanship unfold. I doubt that Susan realized what God was teaching me through her.

By the way, that word KEEP? It also means to fulfill, preserve, guard, and tend, much like a Shepherd cares for the sheep. Comforting, isn't it?

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Why Do I Write What I Write?

2010-02-08T09:29:00.004-06:00

As soon as people find out that I'm a writer, one of the first questions they ask is, "What do you write?" Over the years, I've learned to be a bit cautious with my answer, depending on the person with whom I am talking. Within the Christian community, there are those who hold to the idea that a Christian should only read the Bible and those non-fiction books that aid a Christian to grow in their walk with God. Once, when I told a man in our former church that I write Christian fiction, he immediately snorted and declared that there is no such thing. His reasoning was that "Fiction is a made up story, which means it's a lie. Therefore, you cannot attach the word 'Christian' to it, because Christianity is not a lie." (Yes, he actually said that to me.)

I tried, to no avail, to explain to him that Christian writers strive to take back what the world stole and reclaim it for God. The world took romance--the pure love between a man and woman resulting in a union with God at the center--and turned it into smut. Our stories depict realistic characters who struggle with real problems and real weaknesses, but cry out to God for their strength and healing, then determine to live for God with His help. Isn't this a description of our lives? Unless we have somehow attained sinless perfection on this earth, (that's never gonna happen!!) we live the same imperfect lives as the characters we write about, and we can put ourselves in the picture, learning a biblical truth along with the fictional characters.

It might shock this man to realize that the Inventor of romantic love was God. Ever read The Song Of Solomon? Or the Book of Hosea? God created romantic love between and man and a woman, but He intended that love to be untainted. The world sullied the idea of romance into something dirty. Writers of Christian fiction create stories that show romance the way God intended it.

I think we can all agree that Jesus is the example we are to follow. Well, with that in mind, Christian fiction writers are following His example. Throughout the gospels, Jesus spoke and taught in parables: STORIES. Because most of the time He wasn't speaking to theologians, He was speaking to normal, everyday folks--farmers, fishermen, shepherds, laborers, families--people who would relate better to a story than they would to a deep, theological sermon. Jesus met the people where they were, in their everyday lives, and drew their attention to the kingdom of God by telling them a story. At least thirty-nine parables of Jesus are documented in the gospel accounts. If Jesus reached people through story-telling, shouldn't we as writers in the 21st century do the same?

How many times have we picked up a book and become so involved with a character, that we felt what they felt, and hurt when they hurt? We can identify with their predjudices and weaknesses because we struggle with the same issues, whether or not we admit it to anyone, even ourselves. How many times have we felt a twinge of conviction or wiped away a tear because we have walked in the same footsteps as the character about whom we are reading? That is the same way Jesus touched the hearts of the people to whom He ministered.

That fellow from our former church? I doubt he will ever see past his own narrow-mindedness, and that's sad. He likely doesn't realize he is discounting one of the most effective tools Jesus Himself used. I pray that as I write I will stay in lock-step with God and let Him direct my fingers on the keyboard. My goal is to paint vivid story-pictures to draw a reader into the very shoes of my characters, and in doing so, grasp a better understanding of becoming a vessel fit for the Father's use.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things

2010-02-01T21:12:00.003-06:00

My friend, Jalana, sent me a challenge. Seems a friend of hers had honored her with the Happy 101 Award, meaning that she had to post a list of ten of her favorite things. Now don't ask me why it's called the Happy 101 Award if I only have to post a list of ten. I'm just glad I don't have to think of 101 things. So, here we go...ten of my most favorite things:

1) Knowing Jesus

2) My wonderful husband, John

3) Knowing I'll see my son in heaven

4) My sisters

5) Friends who are as close as sisters

6) Writing

7) Books / Reading

8) Quilting

9) Teddy bears

10) My Sweet Pea kitty

Like Jalana, I found it was really difficult to stop at ten. I could go on...I love my country, my church, the United States Marine Corps, my 13-year-old car, my sunroom, my roses, ivy, dark chocolate, hot spiced cider, chai tea lattes, book stores, antiques, listening to southern gospel music, ....Hmmm, maybe it wouldn't have been so hard to list 101 things after all. How blessed we are to be able have so many favorite things.

Thanks for letting me share my heart, and my favorite things.

Trusting God In The Dark

2010-01-26T20:35:00.003-06:00

I was in a fabric store shopping for material for a special quilt. I found a print I especially liked, but when it was rolled out on the cutting counter, the clerk said there were tiny holes in it. I squinted my eyes and stared but the print camouflaged the holes. (At least that seemed like a good excuse to me. The truth is that once one passes the age of 50-something and wears bi-focals, detecting tiny flaws in fabric is best left to those with younger eyes. But I digress.)

The clerk--who was at least 30 years younger than me!--unfolded the material and held it up to the light. From that vantage point, I was able to see pinholes of light shining through, showing every flaw. Had she not shown the light on that material, I might not have noticed those holes and may well have used the fabric to make the quilt, unaware of the imperfections.

Last week I read a devotional that challenged me to ask God to reveal areas in my life that I haven't fully entrusted to Him. At first I thought, "No way. I trust God completely with every detail of my life." But did I really? So I took the challenge. I asked God to show me where I needed to trust Him more. His faithful demonstration of loving instruction was eye-opening, to say the least.

I found a verse in the fourth chapter of First Corinthians that described what I was asking God to do. "Therefore judge nothing before time, until the Lord comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness and reveal the counsels (motives) of the heart." 1st Cor 4:5 I was asking God to unfold my life and hold it up to His light, thereby showing me the holes--my weaknesses, my failings, my shortcomings, and my vulnerability.

It's easy to trust God when everything is going my way. There's no pressure, no risk. But when the darkness of adversity closes in, those untended weaknesses that I've ignored can threaten to cripple me. The truth of God--His light--enables me to see how He fills those holes with His strength for my weakness, His forgiveness for my shortcomings, His glory for my failings, and His omnipotence for my vulnerability.

"For it is the God who commanded light to shine out of darkness, who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." 2nd Cor 4:6

Through this exercise, I discovered it's not hard at all to trust God in the dark, because when I yield my weakness to Him, He give me His strength and I become stronger through Him than I ever could be alone. His strength is made perfect in my weakness (2nd Cor 12:9).

When I saw the flaws in the fabric, I chose a different piece of fabric. When God shows us our flaws, He doesn't discard us. He fills the flaws with Himself and uses us for His glory.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

He Knows Me By Name

2010-01-16T10:19:00.004-06:00

Have you ever been confronted with a task or a mission of such enormity, all you could do was quake in your shoes and gasp, "What??" What if a situation fell into your lap that you had to deal with, and you had no clue what to do?

Moses had a close relationship with God. Exodus 33:11 states that the Lord spoke to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend. If you read the preceding verses, God had quite a lot to tell Moses, and while the Lord asked a great deal of His servant, He also promised Moses He would send His angel before him to drive out their enemies. But Moses didn't know the way. God was asking him to lead the children of Israel into a land where they'd never been. What do you suppose Moses's answer was?

Moses didn't exactly beat around the bush. He told God,"See, You're telling me to bring these people up to the promised land, but You haven't told me who You're sending with me. You've said You know me by name and I've found grace in Your sight. So, now I'm asking this of You: If I have found grace in Your sight, show me Your way that I might know You." Bold? Perhaps, but also very wise. The smartest thing Moses did was ask God to show him the way, because Moses wanted to know God better. Then Moses added, "If Your Presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here."

21st century translation? God, if You aren't going, I don't want to go either.

God promised His Presence because He knew Moses by name (Ex 33:17). I find that exceedingly comforting. When God asks something staggering of me, He doesn't expect me to do it alone. He promises His presence because He knows me by name. It doesn't matter if I don't have a clue about where to go or how to perform the task, or even the purpose of the mission. God is going with me, so it's safe for me to go. He knows me by name, He knows who I am, He knows my weaknesses. Therefore, He will equip me with whatever I need for the journey.

When our son was diagnosed with cancer and I became his caregiver, I didn't know anything about cancer treatment. Besides being stricken in my heart with fear for my son, I was bewildered by the arduous aspects of the cancer journey. Dealing with treatment options, drugs, insurance, prescriptions, special diets, side effects, sorting out the different doctors, conflicting information...it was enough to render me breathless. But God knew my name, and He promised to accompany us on this journey.

When God knows your name, you can rest in the promise of His Presence.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Making Praise My Legacy

2010-01-09T20:41:00.003-06:00

For the past week or two, I’ve asked God by what earmark should my life be known in 2010. What is the one thing He wants me to do so that He might fill me and use me? The recurring one-word answer I kept hearing in my heart was PRAISE. If praise is to be the theme of my life in the coming months, I need to grasp an understanding of why I need to praise Him.

We are His workmanship, and He created us to praise Him, but that isn’t the only reason my life should revolve around praise in 2010. If I praise Him only out of obedience, I'm missing half the point. God is still God whether I praise Him or not, so His existence doesn’t depend on my praise.

God doesn't need our praise, but He knows we need to praise Him. Does that sound like a contradiction? Perhaps, so let me explain. Praise is for our benefit, not His. Humanly speaking, when we praise another person, we lift them up, encourage them, validate them, reassure them, make them happy, give them reason to keep on. But that’s not why we praise God. Of course, we praise Him because we love Him, but the purpose goes beyond that. The safest and most joyful place we can be as Christians is in His presence, and Psalm 22:3 states that God inhabits the praise of His people.

Being a writer, I like to pick words apart, to analyze their meaning. That word, inhabit means to dwell, to occupy, to take up residence. It doesn’t mean to drop by for a visit, it’s not a fleeting glimpse, it’s not temporary. In biblical times, to inhabit a place meant to drive your tent stakes in deep, dig a well, and raise up the next generation in that place. So if God inhabits my praise, He intends to stay. The more I praise Him, the closer He is. It’s like throwing the door open in excitement. My praise welcomes His presence.

When I find myself walking through circumstances that are disappointing or frightening, the power of praise is my most potent weapon. I’ve learned I cannot battle fear or discouragement in my own strength. I am humanly fallible, and I have not the strength or the faith to battle through life’s strangleholds on my own. The only way to defeat these oppressions is through praise, because God inhabits, He indwells, He occupies, He takes up residence within my praise. Praise is an invitation asking God to join me where I am. And where God is, oppression has to flee.

I noticed another thing about praise. God’s word instructs us to praise Him now. Psalm 146:1-2 is not only an admonition, it is a joyous shout. “Praise the Lord, O my soul! While I live I will praise the Lord, I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.” If we wait until we get to heaven to praise Him, we will miss an extraordinary blessing. In 2010, I want to fill my life with praise to God while I still walk on this earth.

My son had the opportunity to speak and give his testimony at a church about six weeks before God took him Home. He used Psalm 66 as his text and proclaimed, “Come and see the works of God. He is awesome in His doings…Come and hear…and I will declare what He has done for my soul.” Sweet praise fell from his lips, praise for the Savior he loved. His testimony is still remembered by many who heard him that night. His legacy was praise.

Throughout 2010, I’m certain God will show me new and exciting things about praise, and the anticipation of the journey fills me with a desire to know Jesus better in 2010 than I did in 2009. My prayer is that I, too, will leave a legacy of praise.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

**In loving memory of Sgt. Jonathan Stevens USMC 6-22-77 ~ 1-10-06**

Roses In December

2009-12-30T08:45:00.003-06:00

When God created roses, He did so with both beautiful blossoms and thorns. The past several days have been very thorny ones for me. In spite of the joy of the Christmas season, a heaviness weighs in my heart. Yes, I rejoice in praising God for the matchless gift of His Son. I love hearing the Christmas carols sung by the choir and over the PA system in the stores. Christmas movies on TV are fun to watch again and again. Wrapping gifts and praying for the recipient is a joy. Baking cookies fills the house with festive aromas.

But memories lurk in the midst of all the holiday cheer. Everyone has memories of Christmases past, but there is one I wish I could forget. The memories are so painful, I believe my heart bleeds every time the pictures manifest themselves in my mind. The ache is so real I can well imagine it showing up on an x-ray. Knowing the countdown to these horrible memories is drawing near makes enjoying the holidays a challenge.

Seeking solace from the pain, I took myself away for a day to a place of sanctuary—a place where I could hear God’s whisper. But God did more than whisper, He sang.

There is a quote I remember hearing one time. Some attribute it to Sir James Barrie, a British playwright, and others to Italo Sveno, an Italian novelist. Whoever said it first isn’t important. The words slipped through my mind like a song that echoes and repeats.

“God gave us memories so that we might have roses in December.”

At first I didn’t understand the correlation. Whatever blossoms dare to remain on the bushes in December are ugly. The roses in my backyard have all wilted from the freezing temperatures. There is nothing pretty about a rose whose petals are browned and crumpling. They are almost as ugly as the memories I’m trying to blot out. I told God I didn’t want the memories that so haunted me from that December four years earlier any more than I’d want to pluck a bouquet from my frozen rosebush.

Tenderly, as though He were singing a lullaby, He reminded me of the beauty. The roses of summer rival every other flower in the garden with their delicate radiance. The memory of those roses resembles the treasury of promises He’s kept and prayers He’s answered in His way--miraculous ways. Sometimes our greatest blessings, the most complete healing, can happen because of prayers that weren’t answered the way we wanted. Glory began seeping into my soul and I stood in awe of His goodness. How could I have forgotten? How could I have allowed the harshness of the climb to eradicate the exquisite sweetness of the view?

Then He showed me one more promise. A tiny, unopened rosebud…in December. He isn’t finished yet. There is more to come; more beauty to anticipate; more glory to grasp. Roses in December.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Let Every Heart Prepare Him Room

2009-12-22T07:24:00.004-06:00

At this time of year, our "To Do" list can be longer than some of the lines we find ourselves standing in. So many things to do, gifts to buy and wrap, boxes to ship, decorations to hang, events to attend, special dishes to make, menus to plan, and envelopes to address, our fear (and many times our focus) is trying not to forget anyone or anything. At night we collapse in our bed, exhausted, only to lie awake thinking of all we still need to do.

If this is an accurate description of you, don't feel guilty. Our fast-paced, 21st century lives have done this to us. We've simply been sucked up into the rush by virtue of the fact that have families and friends, and we're involved in church. Those are all good things. But if we aren't careful, they can be the very things to exhaust us in the midst of a time when we should be quietly examining our hearts, clearing out the clutter to ensure Jesus has center stage.

I'm certainly not advocating foregoing family celebrations or church events. No, we need that corporate worship time together, bonding as one in grateful praise for the Baby who came to die for us. Taking time to focus on the coming of Jesus in our family celebrations can teach our children to understand that Jesus is more important than Santa Claus. I am reminded of the Christmas story we read every year. The words are so familiar, we sometimes blur over them without stopping to study their full meaning or consider the depth of the circumstances.

Take, for instance, the innkeeper in the 2nd chapter of Luke. Nothing is actually said about him. We assume he was a gruff sort who waved Mary and Joseph away, growling that there was "No room in the inn". I've often wondered if that man ever knew Who he turned away. He had no way of knowing Mary carried the very Savior who could save him from his sins. Did he ever find out later? Did he regret not making room for them? Could he have given up his own bed?

Now, put on the garb of the innkeeper. The city is all a-bustle with people coming for the census. Crowds are pressing, tired children are cranky, people are weary and their feet hurt from standing in line, they're hungry and trying to find a place to eat, and they all have an agenda. Sound familiar? And here you are, the innkeeper. Your stress level is at the breaking point, you're exhausted from serving these demanding people, and late at night you hear another knock on your door. You heave a sigh. No, go away, there's no more room.

Fast forward to the 21st century. You have more shopping to do, if you don't get this box shipped today you're going to have to pay through the nose to get it delivered on time, your Sunday School classes is having a party and you have to bring two dishes, your in-laws are coming for dinner and you still haven't cleaned the house, you have to run to a different store because your regular store was out of an ingredient that you must have, one of the strings of lights on the tree has quit working, you just found out you're supposed to bring an exchange gift to that Sunday School party, the Toys For Tots commercial on TV pinches you with guilt, the Salvation Army guy ringing the bell looks at you expectantly and you don't have any cash, you just remembered you forgot to get a gift for a certain person who will be offended if you don't give them anything...and there's a knock at the door. Not the front door of your home, the door of your heart.

Joy to the world, the LORD has come, let earth (us) receive her KING.
LET EVERY HEART PREPARE HIM ROOM...

Will you clear a space? Will you find room? Will you give up your own place? Is Jesus more important than Santa Claus, menus, shopping, or agendas? Maybe the innkeeper didn't know Who he was turning away, but we do.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

God's Dashboard Light

2009-12-10T09:57:00.004-06:00

I just returned home from our trusty mechanic, Mr. Ken, to find out why Jarhead's (that's my car's name) "check engine" light keeps coming on. At first Mr. Ken thought it was just a loose gas cap, but now it turns out that it's something in the emissions system that is going to cost $500. Oh, goody... I can think of lots of ways to spend $500 that would be a lot more fun or practical.

The good news is that Mr. Ken assured me that I don't need to do this immediately. It won't cause the car to quit or leave me stranded on the side of the road. He told me I could wait until after the holidays to have this work done and it wouldn't hurt anything. It's just that annoying light on the dash--my gaze keeps glancing down to look at it, as if staring at it will make it go away. Then I thought of a way to fix it for a whole lot less than $500.

I gathered a few tools: a screwdriver, snips, tape measure, electrical tape. I've never been mechanically inclined, but I was fairly certain I could perform this task. Sucking in a deep breath and with confidence building, I gathered my tools and marched to the garage. I could do this.

First, I extracted the tape measure and ran it across the space on the dashboard to calculate the measurement. Then, with the screwdriver, I poked a hole in the cellophane packaging around the electrical tape and pulled it off. So far, so good. Carefully transferring the measurement I'd taken earlier to the electrical tape, I snipped off a precise piece of black tape. I took another deep breath to steady my nerves--I'd never attempted this before... Finally, I lined up the tape and placed it strategically on the dash, covering the "check engine" light. Problem solved. I felt like a mechanical genius.

There have been many times in my life that I knew God was trying to tell me something. Sometimes I listened, but other times I ignored Him or offered a flimsy excuse for not heeding His counsel. Brushing aside God's nudging is like covering the "check engine" light with electrical tape. I can't see it, but it's still there. Hiding it won't make it go away, just like ignoring God's direction won't render it non-existent.

Instead of disregarding the touch of God's finger on my heart, I can see it as a comfort that God won't leave me alone. If I peel back that black electrical tape, that silly dash light is still there and it will continue to remind me that I need to address this problem. God's Holy Spirit stays with me, whispering to my soul until I follow His leading. I may think I've effectly blocked out His voice, but His love can never be silenced. I know this because He continually sends me little mercydrops to demonstrate His everlasting presence in my life.

At some point, I will have to decide to have Jarhead's problem fixed. I know this. When God speaks, I have a choice. I can say "Yes, Lord, I'm listening" and then obey what He is telling me to do. Or, I can say, "Not now, I'm too busy, ask someone else to do that." It's my choice. Following God in obedience always results in a blessing. Making a poor choice, like ignoring God's nudging, might not leave me stranded on the side of the road, but it does mean loss of fellowship with Him--something that grieves me as much as it does God. Knowing He is always as close as my breath and my very heartbeat is a comfort beyond description.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Snuggle Time With God

2009-11-19T10:31:00.004-06:00

My cat is mis-named Sweet Pea. In hindsight, I should have waited to name her until I learned her personality. Had I done so, I might have named her Tasmanian Devil. Oh well, she does have a sweet side when she feels like showing it. One of her "sweet" habits is jumping up on my desk and putting her paws on my shoulder, meowing and begging to be held and petted. She demands her snuggle time, but it's usually while I'm trying to write. For some reason, she thinks my writing chair is the only place snuggling should take place. She meows until I pick her up and lean back in the chair, at which point she lays on my chest and kneads her paws into my neck. It's really hard to type in this position. She even takes her paw and gently bats my face if I try to look at the computer screen instead of her. She wants ALL my attention.

Isn't this what we do with God sometimes? When circumstances aren't what we hoped, or adversity surrounds us, we cry out to God and demand His attention to our problem. And this is a good thing--God wants us to bring our burdens to Him. But what about the other times? What about trudging through every day dealing with the mundane or routine? What about those busy days when we have more to accomplish than time allows? How about those unexpected distractions that jerk the rug out from under us and we feel we have to scramble to address them?

This morning as I was trying to work through some revisions on my latest chapter, Sweet Pea kept insisting on some one-on-one time and wouldn't take no for an answer. She wasn't in distress or pain. She didn't have an earth-shattering problem for me to solve. She simply wanted to be with me, face to face. She wanted to know that I saw her, I loved her, and she wanted to snuggle. And I realized something this silly cat was teaching me, however unknowingly. God wants the same thing from me. He wants me to stop what I'm doing and just spend time loving Him. I need the same kind of "snuggle time" with God as Sweet Pea was seeking with me. He doesn't want me to be distracted with other things. He wants ALL my attention, my love, my adoration, my praise, my worship.

I realized something else. It's somehow easier to brush God aside than it is to brush the cat aside. The cat is insistent. God is patient. The cat meows in my face. God whispers to my heart. How sad it must make Him when I allow the things of this world to take center stage and I neglect to spend snuggle time with Him.

I think I'll log off Facebook and email, and set aside this chapter I'm working on for a while, and just climb up in God's lap and love Him.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Questions You Want To Ask God

2009-11-06T08:47:00.003-06:00

Recently I was sitting in the waiting area at Jarhead's doctor's office. (Jarhead is my car, and he needed an oil change.) Jarhead's doctor, (my mechanic) is a wonderful Christian man, so we were chatting about different things God was doing in our lives. He mentioned to me that he had posed this question to his Sunday School class: If you could ask God one question, what would it be?

I grinned and replied, "I'd be willing to bet 98% of those questions began with the word "Why". He chuckled and admitted that, yes, most of them did.

God created us with an insatiable sense of curiosity. By the time a toddler is three years old, their favorite word is "why", not because they necessarily want to know the reason for something, but because they have learned asking why will generally result in a parent communicating with them. That same desire is inherent in us as we grow in our faith. Yes, we love it when God communicates with us, but that curiosity has deepened by the time we reach adolescence, resulting in an unquenched thirst to understand things beyond our grasp.

Over the past five years, I've asked God more than my share of WHY questions. When we walk through a difficult valley, WHY hovers overhead like a stalking vulture, and the accompanying frustration of not receiving the answers to our questions makes us ripe for buzzard bait. So, not wishing to remain vulnerable, I simply asked God to speak to me. I wish I could say I never demanded answers from God, but that would be a lie.

When exhaustion spent my demands, I was finally ready to listen. What God communicated to me was enlightening to say the least. He gently told me that He doesn't owe me an explanation. (blink) Well, no, of course He doesn't. But then He spilled out His grace and mercy over me, and I realized something else. In my humanness, I don't have, nor will I ever have this side of heaven, the ability to wrap my mind around God's reasons. My finite mind isn't capable of comprehending all that God comprehends. (lightbulb moment) Oh, so that's why He doesn't consult with me before allowing circumstances into my life!!

Since God created me as a finite creature, He knows I could never understand the answers to the WHY questions. That's why He doesn't expect me to understand, He doesn't call me to understand. I am not required to understand all that God does in order to have fellowship with Him. Now that is something I CAN wrap my mind around.

The questions were still there, but the frustration of not knowing the answers dissipated, because when it dawned on me that I didn't HAVE TO understand, that realization was so freeing, and NOT understanding became okay. The fellowship I enjoyed with God was sweeter, and my time with Him was uncluttered.

My demands were swept away and I was able to see more clearly what God did require of me. He may not call me to understand, but He does call me to trust. I can do that. As a finite, sinful, broken person, I can trust, because it takes all the responsibility off my shoulders and allows me to roll it onto God.

So my questions to God have changed. I want to know WHEN--When will I go to see You, Father? When will You come back?--And His answer tarries in my heart: Not yet. Wait. Okay, I'll wait. I can do that, because the joy of God communicating with me makes the wait bearable.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Sticking My Neck Out

2009-10-09T09:19:00.004-05:00

When something incredible happens, some deep desire of our hearts for which we've worked and prayed, words often fail us. Such an event occurred three weeks ago that so blessed my socks off, I'm still blinking in awe of God's unfathomable grace. I've tried to describe the joy--the pure exhilaration--and fallen short. It's all about God's fingerprint on my life, but it was a very mundane scene the other day that drew it all into perspective for me.

Now, some of you who live in sprawling urban areas might not "get" this analogy, but try to hang with me. I live in a rural county in north Georgia where there are probably as many horses and cows as there are people. A few days ago as I drove down one of our country roads, I noticed three or four cows with their heads stuck through the barbed wire, munching on grass on the outside of the fence. With all the rain we've had lately, the pasture grass was thick, green, and lush. But these cows wanted something they considered better, and were willing to endure discomfort to obtain it. Wouldn't you think the barbed wire sticking into their necks would discourage their greediness?

In the book of Hebrews, the writer (probably Paul, but we don't know for sure) points out the promise God made to Abraham, saying, "Surely blessing I will bless you, and multiplying I will multiply you." And so, after he had patiently endured, he obtained the promise. Hebrews 6:14-15

Now I'm not implying that the cows patiently endured to obtain the promise of better grass, but the sight of them with their necks stuck out made me smile. As writers, sometimes we have to stick our necks out and become vulnerable to rejection, criticism, and disappointment in order to achieve our goals. All the while, we endure. As one wise counsel once told me, if God has called you to write, don't you dare quit. So, even though I sometimes questioned my own motives, not to mention my own sanity, I stayed the course, not knowing if the gratification of having my work accepted would ever happen. But I wanted to "obtain the promise", so I stuck my neck out trying to grasp all that God had for me, keeping in mind another scripture, also written by Paul: "...this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I PRESS TOWARD THE GOAL for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus." Philippians 3:13-14

Last month, while attending the national conference of American Christian Fiction Writers, God blessed me when I least expected it. I was awarded a book contract with Barbour Publishing. Even now I am in awe of God's goodness, because it's all about Him. He simply allowed me to go along for the ride. Yes, writing is hard work, but every word I write belongs to HIM, not me.

For several years I have "grazed" in green pastures, continuing along the path where God led, until at some point, I stuck my neck through the fence wanting all that God had for me. However, there is one more critter analogy to present. Along the way, I've entered my writing in contests and picked up a few awards. I allow myself a minute or two to bask in the glow and admire the certificate, and then I stick it in my Dumb Donkey file. And what exactly is a Dumb Donkey file, you may ask? When Jesus rode into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, and all the people shouted praises to Him and threw palm branches and garments down in front of Him as a demonstration of honor and worship--wouldn't it have been ridiculous for the donkey to think all the shouts of praise were for him? Lord, never let me forget I am just the dumb donkey You have chosen to carry the message.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Peeking Around The Curtain

2009-09-07T19:41:00.003-05:00

When my sisters and I were children, my parents had a tradition of waiting until we went to bed on Christmas Eve before they put the presents under the tree. Then they hung a sheet across the doorway that led to the living room, so when we came downstairs in the morning, we still couldn't see what was under the tree. My mother insisted we eat breakfast first before she finally said it was time to enter the living room. Sitting at the dining room table, too excited to swallow, but knowing we couldn't go into the living room until we'd eaten was almost more than a 6-year-old could bear. We usually would try to peek around the edge of the sheet when Mom wasn't looking, trying to catch a glimpse of the presents. The anticipation of knowing there was something in there that was mine was beyond delicious. Having to wait a little longer to possess it was excruciating.

Jesus is speaking in the gospel of John, chapter 16, verse 15. He says, "All things that the Father has are Mine. Therefore I said that He will take of Mine and declare it to you." The concept is too precious, too sweet, too glorious to say out loud. I feel like I need to whisper it. Jesus is taking what is His and declaring it to be mine--His strength, His love, His heaven, His eternal life. Oh, the anticipation of knowing it's mine! I just have to wait a little longer before the promise becomes manifest and God allows me to step into glory.

God gives us lots of practice waiting. One of my earliest recollections as child is having to wait my turn at the bathroom door. As we grow we learn to wait for birthdays and Christmas, family vacations, or an much anticipated outing. We wait for our first date, first car, first kiss; wait for the promise of a life mate, and the birth of a first child. I'll never forget waiting for the doctor to make the announcement, "You have a son." I remember the impatience of waiting for the closing on our first house. We've waited for answers to prayer and petitions for God to lead us in the way He wants us to go.

But sometimes the waiting isn't so sweet--waiting with dread for a phone call you know is coming with news you don't want to hear, or waiting by the bedside of a loved one, knowing their final breath will be soon. I've spent time in those kinds of waiting rooms, and every time, I was held in God's loving arms. I was able to walk through those difficult times because of those gifts God has already given to me. Jesus declares that what is His, He gives to me--His provision, His peace, His mercy, His hope, His love, His inheritance. All are gifts I enjoy now. But His ultimate gift--His Home, is one for which I must patiently wait.

We can peek around the edge of the curtain for a far-off look at all that He has for us in glory. But for now, He simply wants us to feast at His table while we wait until it's time to pull away the curtain and enter into all that He has promised. Knowing there is something in heaven that is mine is too awesome for words. Waiting to possess it makes it all the more precious.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Uh Oh, She's Awake

2009-08-09T15:41:00.003-05:00

I often receive emails geared to inspire or uplift, or designed to challenge the reader to greater heights of faithfulness. There's nothing wrong with this type of email--the message gives me something to think about and encourages me to persevere in my daily walk with Jesus.

Occasionally, I open my inbox to find one of those emails that tells me I must forward this email to at least ten people and something good will happen to me in 24 hours. Or if I don't hit forward, it infers that I don't love Jesus. I hate those. Maybe it's the stubbornness in me, but I never forward them because I refuse to be manipulated. If people don't know that I love Jesus by the reflection of my life, then telling them in a forwarded email is a pretty pathetic way to communicate it.

I read one this morning however that made me want to pass it on--at least one of the sentences. After several statements about what satan cannot do, because he isn't as powerful as God, there was a word picture at the end that made me sit up and take notice. It said, "Live your life in such a way that every morning when your feet hit the floor, satan says, "Uh oh, she's awake."

This morning, an announcement was made at church that a dear, sweet saint of God went to heaven just a couple of hours earlier. Her name isn't important. What was important about this lady was her quiet faith and her incredible power as a prayer warrior. There are few people on this planet who spent as much time in prayer as she did. She also had a ministry of letter writing. Old-fashioned? Maybe. But when I opened a card from her, sweet blessing washed over me with the knowledge that this dear lady prayed for me. When I heard the news about her Home-going this morning, it made me wonder who is going to take up the slack.

I'll never be a charismatic speaker or inspire great multitudes with the wisdom of my words. Millions of people won't know my name, and I'll never make history in the Christian annuls of time. The only power I possess is the power God gives me through His word, His promises, and His Spirit. So if I want to be one of those people who makes a mark worth remembering, I need to put my heart and soul into learning to be a prayer warrior. Millions of people still won't know my name, and that's okay. I still won't make history, and that's fine. But if I can give satan a bad day because I've learned to pray like a warrior, then praise God. When I get to the point where my fingers can't type out the words of a manuscript, I can no longer work behind the scenes at church, and the strength to do the things I used to do for the Lord has slipped away, I can still use my waking hours to pray. Oh, that God will fill me with His power through prayer, and when my feet hit the floor in the morning, satan will be annoyed and say, "Uh oh, she's awake."

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Remembering. . .

2009-07-07T19:30:00.002-05:00

I've wrestled with my thoughts for over three weeks, wanting to publish a special post dedicated to my mom, but struggling over exactly what I wanted to say. Last month, I traveled to Pennsylvania to visit my sister and her family, and to see my mother--one last time.

For the past three years, every time I visit, I've wondered if Mom would remember who I am. Alzheimer's is an insidious disease--stealing tiny pieces of a loved one a little bit at a time. When our son was diagnosed with cancer in 2005, we decided not to tell Mom, because it would have been too difficult for her to remember who Jonathan was. So every time I visited, I stepped into her room at the nursing facility with a bit of trepidation, wondering if this would be the visit when she wouldn't know me. Early in June, the visit that I dreaded happened. No recognition lit her eyes. The disease had robbed her of her speech. A veil seemed to be drawn between us.

My sisters and I spent our visits with Mom talking about "the old days". "Mom, remember the time we went to the beach and we buried Daddy in the sand?" "Remember the time Pam told me to drink vanilla extract because it smelled good?" "Mom, remember the time you tried to fry eggs on the grill and they all slid off?" "Remember the snow coaster slide Daddy built for us, and you rode down the slide with the dog in your lap?" Laughter and tears punctuated our time together. Memory after memory carressed my heart as I shared them with the woman who helped make them. As I knelt by her wheelchair, I started to remember some precious times of my own.

My mother was never idle. When there was work to be done, she plunged into each task with energy. Her smile was given readily. She loved to laugh. Endless patience defined her as she gently guided me through the process of learning to be woman. But I think most of all, I remember my mother's hands--work-worn, gnarled by time, and twisted by arthritis, her hands held mine when I was afraid, they hugged me to celebrate joyous events, held me to soothe away my tears, and applauded for me when she felt I'd accomplished something significant. My mother's hands, by example, taught me how to pray. Those memories are forever etched into my soul. The sweet times we once enjoyed can never be lost--not even to Alzheimer's. All that we love deeply becomes a part of who we are.

Three weeks ago, as I knelt beside her, my mother's fingers wrapped around mine and wouldn't let me go. Did she know who I was? Did she know I was there? I couldn't be sure. But on my last day there, before I left, Mom grasped my hand and pulled my fingers up to her lips. Was she trying to say goodbye? Did she know it was the last time we see each other this side of heaven?

Almost two weeks ago, June 25th, my mother took her last breath and stepped into glory. Oh, how I wish I could have peeked into heaven to witness the reunion with people she loved: my father, her parents and grandparents, her sister, my son.

The tears I've shed haven't been ones of sorrow. Yes, I miss my mother, but I've been missing her--the person she was, the person we've been in the process of losing--for more than five years. Our prayers for my mother were answered exactly as we prayed them. God reached down and gently, sweetly took Mom home. My tears were a demonstration of gratitude, relief, and joy. I'll see her again soon. And the next time I see her, she'll know who I am.

I love you, Mom.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Looking For A Miracle

2009-05-13T11:46:00.003-05:00

I could hardly believe my eyes. The other morning, I went out to do some weeding around my roses. My one and only white rose bush (Iceburg) was covered with buds and glorious opening blooms. Every year since I planted it, it's been my most prolific bloomer with clusters of snowy white blossoms cascading over the fence. But this year, I was amazed to see blood red blooms on my white Iceburg rose bush.

Not being an expert on rose horticulture, all I can do is surmise that the bees cross-pollinated my white rose bush from the red ones nearby. Or maybe God just leaned down and kissed those roses to give me a sweet mercydrop.

* * *
Have you ever prayed for a miracle? A specific, God-breathed occurrence so bound in your heart that every prayer you uttered included a petition to see that miracle take place? I did. For eleven years, I prayed that I would see my son come back to Jesus after he turned his back on God and his faith. He'd so hardened his heart, I knew it would take a miraculous touch from God to turn him around. So for eleven years, I begged God to let me live long enough to see "my miracle". Four years ago this week, May 15, 2005, God granted my prayer and I saw my miracle. The joy that burst forth from my heart defies description.

Ephesians 2:13 says, "But now in Christ Jesus you who were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ." That's what happened. That was my miracle. My son was far off, but Jesus, in His astonishing and unending love, paid the ransom with His own blood and drew Jonathan back. My praise will never be the same. Seeing the miracle for which I'd begged God for so long changed forever the way I praise and sing to my Lord.

Something that is miraculous to us is not a staggering event to God. No sweat moistens His brow, no complicated logistics cause Him a headache. He doesn't wring His hands with worry over the details. He breathes His miracles into existence.

So the other morning when I saw red roses blooming on my white rose bush, I was astounded, but only for a moment. God can do anything He likes.

Thanks for letting my share my heart.

Open Your Mouth In His Name

2009-04-22T08:58:00.002-05:00

As children of God, we are meant to be encouragers. One of the joys of adoption into His family is fellowship with other Christians, as well as the opportunity to reach out to those who've not yet experienced the bonding of their soul with the Savior.

Such an opportunity arose a few days ago. A friend--a wonderful Christian lady-- posted an email, and I could hear her pain and confusion, I could feel the tears that tightened her throat. She was asking some of the same questions I asked when our son, Jonathan was diagnosed with cancer. "Why?" "How can this be?" Back in 2005, I couldn't understand it all when the doctor made his diagnosis, and I asked "Why, God? I don't understand what You're doing. How can it be that my strong, handsome, healthy son is inexplicably stricken with cancer?" At that time, God sent a special friend to minister to my heart and show me God's incredible mercy. Throughout our cancer journey, God taught me new dimensions of His grace that I might not have learned this side of heaven had the doctor's diagnosis been different.

When I read my friend's email, I wanted to be an encourager to her, especially since I'd asked the same kinds of questions she was asking. When Jonathan was faced with his own mortality, he had a great need for healing--not just of his cancer, but of some deep scars on his heart and soul. We asked God for a miracle for Jonathan.

What we didn't understand at the time was God has many ways of healing. When God grants His healing touch, it is absolute. Jonathan was healed of some deep mental and emotional scars that had created roadblocks in his walk with God. We celebrated the breaking of that bondage he was under, but his physical healing was different. In our humanness, we have a finite understanding of the definition of healing. We believe it is freedom from a particular disease or disability. Well, that IS the kind of healing Jonathan received. He is forever free of cancer. He is not in remission. He doesn't have to fear the cancer coming back or resurging somewhere else. He doesn't have to undergo any precautionary treatments. He is HEALED for all eternity. It was an understanding of true healing that we couldn't grasp at first. But I finally realized that none of us are ever truly healed until we step into glory.

God sometimes grants us gifts of earthly healing so we can continue to be used of Him free of the encumbrance or limitations of a disease or disability. Other times, our prayers for healing take a different turn. Sometimes it's God's plan to use the vehicle of disease to work miracles beyond our realm of understanding. In Jonathan's case, God used his cancer to draw people to the same Jesus Jonathan loved. Every time Jonathan opened his mouth in Jesus' name, God was glorified. And God continued to use Jonathan's testimony even after he died.

Every time we open our mouths in His name, we fulfill God's desire for us to be encouragers. Psalm 63 says, "My lips shall praise You, thus will I bless You while I live; I will lift up my hands in Your name...and my mouth shall praise You with joyful lips." This is what Jonathan did. He praised God while he lived, he lifted up his hands and his voice in Jesus' name. And he did it with joy regardless of the disease.

God, grant me the opportunity to open my mouth in Your name today.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Making The Old New Again

2009-03-05T13:56:00.003-06:00

A friend of mine is in the process of purchasing a 100-year-old house. This thing has three stories and eight bedrooms, and eventually will have something I've always wanted--a gazebo. She sent photos showing the intricate woodwork, unique window casements, and quaint claw-foot bathtubs. There is even a "maid's room" that she has already claimed as her office. My friend has picked out wallpaper and paint colors, and has planned renovations and restorations that will enhance the historical ambiance of this century-old treasure. Making the old new again, but clinging to the history.

What if we treasured the things we learned over the years the way we value antique architecture? When we see a wonderful work of craftsmanship tooled into a house, we admire not only its beauty, but also the skill of the carpenter. Aren't the nuggets of wisdom and experience taught by God's patient hand worthy of praise? These lessons aren't easily caught. Many times God has to carve them into our being, like a craftsman honing a piece of art. God's masterpiece is the life and heart of a servant designed and reclaimed for His glory. Much like my friend's 100-year-old house.

She excitedly emailed her friends and family with pictures of the place, but included descriptions of what needed to be torn out, rebuilt, added on, and changed to make the house what she and her husband want it to be. There are plumbing problems and missing trim work, and the layout of some of the rooms needs to be altered. But the planned repairs and renovations have not dampened her enthusiasm. She is looking forward to plunging into the work.

Along our Christian walk, we sometimes get side-tracked or lazy. Disappointments or wounded feelings can make us bitter, attitudes can become ascerbic or cynical. Disagreements can weight us down and hang baggage around our neck. Sometimes work is substituted for worship, with the inevitable burn-out to follow. We can find ourselves like my friend found this house: old, tired, in need of a loving hand to make the old new again. God desires the same thing for us. He sees the rust and the corrosion from years of wear, ugly attitudes or distractions we've used as excuses to justify straying from our first love--worship and praise offered to our Savior. But before we can return to that first love, God has some repairs and renovations to perform. He tears down the ugly, the worn out, and the ill-constructed additions we've installed. He uses the sandpaper of repentance to uncover the original work He did, then uses His mercy and grace to polish and refine what was once a masterpiece designed by His hand. But he also preserves those experiences we used in a wrong way.

This same friend who is buying the old house once told me that God never wastes a circumstance. God chisels those lessons we misused into the mantle of our lives, but He doesn't intend for us to hold on to the hurt or the inappropriate feelings. Once we give those things over to Him, he sculpts them into an art called wisdom. It would be a sad thing indeed to forget those things we've learned by experience, especially if we repeated the same mistakes. God never assumed we would go through life without making mistakes. His mercy and grace repairs and rennovates the time-worn places and makes them new again, ready to be used.

I hope I can have a small hand in helping my friend make her new, old house bloom into a gentle look over her shoulder into the past. It would be fun to find out who lived in the house and filled those walls with the joys and sorrows of their lives. But wouldn't it be even more precious to look back and see God's hand using the circumstances of out lives to carve His masterpiece?

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Handfuls Of Mercydrops

2009-02-13T18:49:00.004-06:00

Sometimes it's so easy to forget God's goodness. When times are tough and the future is uncertain, fear and doubt can loom large--like a hulking shadow or circling buzzards. We fight against the tide of tangible things--unemployment, unpaid bills, broken relationships, health issues, elusive goals. But the intangible can be even more frightening. Loneliness, grief, feelings of inferiority, and disappointment attack the most vulnerable places in our hearts, especially if once-faithful sources of strength and encouragement evaporate like morning mist. We cry out like the psalmist, "How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever? How long will You hide Your face from me?" (Psalm 13:1)

A few months ago, my husband was laid off. Given today's economy and the unemployment numbers, it wasn't exactly unexpected. Like thousands of others, the jobless status walked into our lives. We just threw ourselves at the foot of the Throne of God and trusted Him to carry us through a difficult time. What we didn't expect, however, was a new job in less than a month. God gave us a miracle, and we were staggered by His goodness, handfuls of mercydrops raining down upon us, each droplet a kiss from God saying, "I know your need. I've not forgotten you."

About three weeks ago, my car started making a very expensive-sounding noise. The ominous clunking sound grated on my nerves every time I turned the key, and all I could think was--this engine is going to blow, it's going to throw a rod. If that was the case, we were faced with a decision, and we only had three choices: have the engine rebuilt ($$$), have a new engine installed ($$$$) or buy a new car ($$$$$$).

I drive a 1997 Toyota Rav4. It has 159,886 miles on it. Was it financially prudent to invest so much money either rebuilding or replacing the engine, especially since the cost of the repairs would most assuredly exceed the resale value of the car? But there is one more thing I didn't mention about this car. It's not really MY car. It was my son's car. When he died, I started driving it. So it's really Jonathan's car. I'm just taking care of it for him. I affectionately named the car "Jarhead" since Jonathan was a Marine. How could I even consider trading his car in and getting something else to drive? Every time I slide in behind the wheel, I can almost catch a whiff of Jonathan's aftershave.

So it wasn't with just a little apprehension I took the car to our favorite mechanic, "Jarhead's doctor", Mr. Ken. I described the noise and left the car in Mr. Ken's capable hands. One the way home, I talked with God. "God?" I said. "Jonathan's car has a problem. I'm not really sure what it is, but You know what I'm afraid it is. You also know how special that car is to me. If it turns out to be the worst case scenario, please help us to find the means to fix it so we can keep Jonathan's car." I needed a mercydrop. No, I needed a whole handful of mercydrops.

Mr. Ken kept the car for two days. When he called me yesterday, he told me he was positive it wasn't a rod, it wasn't anything internal in the engine. In fact, he was fairly certain it was just a spring on the starting motor. Mercydrops began showering down. I raised my face toward heaven and let the droplets splash over me. How good God is to give us exceedingly, abundantly beyond what we ask!

Jarhead is sitting out in the garage with a clean bill of health, a tangible witness of God's goodness and mercy. In the times of drought, when tears fall unbidden, loneliness is my companion, and disappointment shadows my steps, I have only to lift up my head toward heaven. As the prophet Elijah declared in 1st Kings 18:41-- "...there is the sound of abundance of rain." Handfuls of mercydrops, each droplet a kiss from God, saying, "I'm here. I know your need. You are not alone. I'll not forget you or forsake you. It is my delight to bless you."

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Connie

I've Never Seen Tomorrow

2009-01-07T08:53:00.002-06:00

I’ve never seen tomorrow. I only have today.

Why is it when our loved ones are gone, we never think "I wish I’d spent more time worrying about tomorrow, or next week, or next year." "If only I’d stressed more about my job." "I wish I'd thrown myself into more activities outside the home." Inevitably, we wish we’d spent more time loving and laughing with that person we miss.

Planning for the future is a wise thing to do. We open savings accounts and 401Ks, we make sure our insurance coverage is adequate and our wills are up to date. We consider where we’d like to be a year from now or five years from now. We consider our spiritual growth and what God desires for our lives. We educate ourselves and our children so we might be successful in whatever unfolds in God’s plan.
As prudent as it is to plan, prepare, and organize, if the planning takes your focus off the things that are most important—family & friends—then I need to take another look at my motives.

I’m a planner, an organizer, a list maker. People roll their eyes at me when I tell them how far in advance I plan for holidays or events. They think I’m obsessive compulsive when I describe how I organize the small details. They’ve even made unkind remarks behind my back about how they think I’m showing off.

But they miss my point altogether.

Throwing myself blindly into the activity of planning or organizing is not my goal. The goal is to unclutter my schedule so I can take time to hold hands with my husband, pet the cat, sit back and gaze at a picture of my son, and reminisce. I can take a day to drive up to the mountains and lean against the same tree my son leaned against and appreciate the view he loved. If the youth group needs a batch of cookies, I can make them. My friend wants to meet for lunch, I’m there. My sister in Christ has a heart-wrenching prayer request? I’m on my knees. I have time. Tomorrow will never be as important as today.

I’ve never seen tomorrow and neither has anyone else. By the time tomorrow arrives, it’s today. So why do we focus so much attention on tomorrow? Take care of today, because tomorrow isn’t a promise. If resolutions are in the making, make this one:
Let all your plans and all your work for tomorrow have one goal: to unclutter tomorrow so you can make a precious memory today.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

(In memory of my son, Sgt. Jonathan Paul Stevens, USMC; 6-22-77 ~ 1-10-06)

Losing Heart, But For The Goodness Of God

2008-12-10T19:44:00.004-06:00

Three and a half weeks ago, my husband called me from the office with the words so many people are hearing these days: "I've been laid off."

My first thoughts were, "We've been through worse than this. God carried us through turmoil and grief in the past. We have no reason to believe He won't do the same now."

I'm reminded of a couple of verses in Psalm 27: 13-14. "I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord; Be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; Wait, I say, on the Lord!"

How many folks have been handed a pink slip in the past few months? The news reports are full of troubling numbers and dismal predictions. We watch and listen, shaking our heads over some the decisions made by our elected officials and praying that those unemployment statistics don't come knocking on our door. When it happens, you regard the news reports with a different viewpoint. In our humanness, we wonder how we'll pay the bills and provide for our family. If we take our eyes off the One who has taken care of us through every trial, every tragedy, every hardship, we can indeed lose heart.

Life sometimes has a way of knocking our feet out from under us. It reminds me of the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote cartoons. Remember those? No matter how hard Mr. Coyote tried, the Roadrunner always managed to slip away. You'd think the poor coyote would have given up and thrown in the towel. "Forget it. This is too hard. I'm tired of trying and failing. I give up. I'll never succeed." And he drags his tail off into the sunset, never to pursue the Roadrunner again. He's lost heart. That's how a lot of people feel these days. That's how we could have felt, too, except for God.

When adversity comes to your house univited, you have two choices. You can give in to fear or bitterness, or you can take Mr. Coyote's approach and never give up. The day my husband came home unemployed, we just looked at each other and said almost simultaneously, "God will get us through this. He's always taken care of us before. He will again."

So we determined to trust God with this current circumstance. Within two weeks, my husband got an interview, and ten days later was employed with a new company. Given today's economy, the grim unemployment statistics, and the depressing news reports on TV, getting a new job in less than a month is nothing short of miraculous.

Before anyone thinks I'm bragging, let me tell you--yes, I am. I'm bragging on God, because He is the One to whom all praise is due.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

The Lost Holiday

2008-10-31T13:30:00.000-05:00

Let me make one thing clear right up front--I love Christmas. I'm a Christmas freak. I'm one of those annoying people who actually enjoys seeing all the Christmas decorations in the stores in September. They make me smile. They call to me and invite me to pick then up, handle them, turn them over and look at the price tag. Yes, I love everything about the Christmas season, from the decorating to the music, the wrapping of presents and the baking, the holiday specials on TV and the programs at church. I love the idea of hearing Christmas carols--songs about our Lord and Savior-- being played for six to eight weeks on the PA systems in the mall. (Ever hear Easter music being played? Or Labor Day music? Fourth Of July music?) There is something distinctly special about Christmas. Even though the retailers try to commercialize it, the reason we observe the holiday still manages to come through.

That said--I must say there is a disturbing lack of focus on another important holiday: Thanksgiving. Yes, there are decorations in the stores, miniature pilgrims and lovely cornucopias, fake autumn leaves and pumkins, pretty autumn tablecloths and napkins, and giant platters large enough to hold a turkey on steroids. But what I long to see and hear are people excited about Thanksgiving, not just because Grandma is making her special cornbread dressing or Mom is planning on making a pumpkin pie from scratch, but rather because the holiday is an opportunity to focus on what God has done for us.

My son, Jonathan, back when he was battling cancer, uncovered a few verses in Psalms and latched on to them: Psalm 66 verse 5 and verse 16. He proclaimed God's goodness and mercy for him to anyone who would listen. "Come and see" he declared. "See the works of God--He is awesome! Come and hear, and I will tell you what God has done for me." For Jonathan, every day was Thanksgiving. His heart's desire was to communicate to young people, teenagers and young adults alike, and urge them not to waste a day. He wanted them to understand that their youth doesn't guarantee that they still have many years down the road, years when they can love and serve God AFTER they've done the things they want to do. Jonathan desired for people to wrap their minds around the concept of the awesome gifts God gives us every day, and exercise a spirit of deep thankfulness. Nobody is promised tomorrow.

God desires our praise every day. In Jeremiah, chapter 33, God says, "Again there shall be heard in this place--the voice of joy and the voice of gladness--Praise the Lord of hosts, for the Lord is good, for His mercy endures forever--bring the sacrifice of praise into the house of the Lord." This kind of praise, this voice of joy and gladness, is generated from a heart of GRATITUDE.

So often we get bogged down in the stress and preparation of the day. Did I remember to buy crecsent rolls? Should I make that same green bean casserole again? How should I arrange the seating around the table, because cousin Mildred doesn't like Uncle Harry so I can't have them sitting next to each other. I have to make sure dinner is over by 3:00 because that's when the big game comes on. Thanksgiving is more than turkey and dressing, or football games, and Thanksgiving is more than the kick-off for the Christmas shopping season.

This year, let's celebrate Thanksgiving like Jonathan did. Search deep in your heart and allow God to reveal reasons to be grateful for all the things He's done for you. Bring praise into the house and worship God for who He is and what He's done. Give yourself to a spirit of thankfulness for your every breath and heartbeat, for blessings that we barely acknowledge on a daily basis, for the grace He offers to carry us through adversity and the mercy He pours out when our circumstances threaten to drown us. Lay your heart open and ask God to fill it the voice of joy and gladness. Use the holiday of Thanksgiving to develop a fresh awareness of gratitude.

Christmas is a precious time as we reflect on the coming of our Lord Jesus to this earth. But let's guard against allowing the excitement and planning of the Christmas season to overshadow the spirit of praise and thankfulness of Thanksgiving.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

How To Become Invisible

2008-09-16T08:12:00.003-05:00

How many times have you wished you were invisible? The time the elastic in the waistband of my slip decided it was never going to work for me again stands out in my memory. Or the time I was singing at a friend's wedding and forgot the words. I've wished the floor would swallow me more times than I can count.

But how about the times you've bent over backward, knocking yourself out for the people most important to you? What about the days you've neglected to do what you wanted to do and did without something you desired so you could meet the needs of your family? Did they notice? Not likely. When was the last time your spouse or your children showed their gratitude for clean laundry in their closet or a nice meal on the table? Feel invisible?

I watched a Youtube video recently by a motivational speaker. What she said really opened my eyes. Watch and listen for yourself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YU0aNAHXP0

There have been numerous times in my life when I felt invisible. Most of those times, I whined to God about it, complaining that I was unappreciated, and stupid for allowing people to take advantage of me. "Doormat" was my middle name. The people I loved the most were the worst offenders. I grumbled under my breath, muttering that these people wouldn't be able to function if it weren't for me.

When the threads of my life began to form what I saw as a hopelessly tangled mess, I accused myself of not doing my job as wife and mother properly. I pointed the same blame at myself that I'd leveled at my family--if it weren't for me. . .

If it weren't for me failing as a wife, maybe my husband wouldn't have lost his job or maybe we wouldn't have had that arguement. If it weren't for me failing as a mother, maybe my son wouldn't have strayed from God. If it weren't for me failing as a Christian, maybe a particular friendship wouldn't have crumbled.

When my son, Jonathan, got sick and I became his caregiver, I accused myself almost daily. I wasn't just his caregiver, I was his mother. I was supposed to be able to fix him, but I couldn't. There were many days that I felt invisible and ineffective in the face of his disease. I didn't care what the statistics were, I didn't care what the doctors told us, I should have been able to do something to turn around this evil monster called cancer.

It wasn't until I spent an agonizing night of crisis at Jonathan's bedside that God explained something to me. His finger pressed squarely in the middle of my heart as He pointed out to me that I must think a great deal of myself if I thought I could change the course of my son's illness by being some kind of super-mom. I was taking on burdens that weren't mine to carry, and my knees were buckling under the load. But like any good mother, I took a deep breath and pushed on, determined that my efforts, my care, my hands, my sleepless nights, my sacrifice would culminate in my son's healing.

But that one sleepless night at my son's bedside swept the scales away from my eyes, and I saw that my hands were broken, my efforts were impotent, and my sacrifice was dust. This wasn't about me, and it wasn't even about my son. This was about God and the way He carried and comforted me, about the way He worked in me, for me, and through me. It was about His masterpiece: the breathtaking beauty of a heart that God has reclaimed for His kingdom. God took all the prayers, all the tears, and all the little invisible things I did, and sprinkled them over Jonathan's heart. Then He scooped up the prayers of hundreds of other people and layered them around Jonathan like bubble wrap. Finally, he nudged the servant's heart of one man whom He used to speak the words to which Jonathan listened. If any of those ingredients had been missing, the end result might have been different. When God revealed this truth to my heart, I was so grateful that He allowed me to perform all those little invisible tasks. In the end, God was glorified.

In our humanness, we sometimes complain that nobody appreciates all we do, who we are, or our importance in the grand scheme of things. It's not until we put everthing in the right order and see ourselves as God sees us, that we understand the priority. The role of a parent, spouse, sibling, friend, neighbor, coworker, or church member is not given to us so we can be put on a pedestal. The speaker in the Youtube video makes an enlightening point. If you do your job right, nobody will notice except God, and He's the only One who matters.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Connie

What Legacy Of Faith?

2008-07-14T08:57:00.002-05:00

I heard something recently that gave me pause.

>This moment will never come again.<

Not exactly earth-shaking. It's a fact of science. You can never reclaim lost time. Parents, teachers and preachers have used this statement for generations to encourage and motivate others to greater achievement. But then I heard something else not long ago that, when coupled with the above truth, can define the very shape of our faith.

>We pray that God will use us until He takes us Home, because after that, it's too late.<

I had to disagree with that to some degree. Whether or not God uses us is really up to us. We can allow God to use us, or not. But if our life is given over to Him as a vessel for Him to fill and pour out, He can continue to refill that vessel long after we leave this earth. Once God takes us Home, we no longer have the opportunity to commit acts of service or obedience, but that doesn't mean God won't continue to use our testimony.

Think of some godly person who's already gone, who left a legacy of faith behind for others to follow. Every time we remember that person, we remember their faith, their depth of trust, their degree of hope and their faithfulness. We remember how much they loved God, and their testimony becomes a roadmap for us to follow, encouragement to persevere in the midst of adversity, and a pattern to trace when we falter. God can continue to use our testimony even after He's taken us to heaven. But it all depends on what we choose to do with this moment that will never come again.

When the sun shines on an object, its shadow is cast in the same shape. Looking at the shadow, we know what the object is without looking at the actual object itself. After God takes one of His children home, the legacy left behind is much like a shadow. There's no need to see the person to understand their testimony. We can trace the shape of their faith by simply remembering how they loved God and how they served Him.

Every day is a new opportunity to do something for God. But one doesn't need to stand in the pulpit and preach to thousands, or go to the mission field and suffer hardship to reach the lost in order to be used of God. As wonderful as those callings are, an act of service or a tiny step of obedience can also be something as small as smiling at a child, comforting a grieving friend, responding in kindness to someone who lashed out at us, or giving the proverbial cup of cold water to a thirsty soul. Allowing Jesus to live through us, those fleeting moments become part of our shadow.

What legacy of faith am I leaving behind? While it may be the desire of my heart for God to use whatever feeble efforts I give as an offering in this finite body, what I leave behind is far more important. If my family and loved ones are going to know what defined my faith after I'm gone, it is vital that I leave a roadmap--a shadow shaped like Jesus--for them to follow. In that way, God can continue to use me after He's taken me home to heaven. Oh how I pray I don't squander the moments.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Choosing A Birthday Gift

2008-06-19T12:59:00.003-05:00

When we become parents, we tend to measure time by our children. When we think of a certain date or event, we pinpoint in our timeline by remembering how old our children were at the time, or what phase of their development or spiritual growth they were in. I still do that. Birthdays are especially significant.

I remember two years ago when my son's birthday was coming up--June 22, 2006. It was the first birthday we spent without him. He would have been 29 years old. I considered spending the day like a hermit, closed off away from the world. But that wasn't Jonathan's way, so neither would it be mine. I didn't want to slink back under the covers and pretend the day didn't exist. So I decided to face his birthday in a positive way.

In the days leading up to this milestone, I thought long and hard about what I might have given him for his birthday had he still been with us. Clothes? Electronics? Something for his apartment? But those things all seemed so shallow and trivial. I wanted to give him something with more lasting value--something for which he did not need a receipt so he could return it.

So I pushed my mind outside the box of traditional thinking. If Jonathan could be here for one more birthday, I'd want to give him . . . laughter and joy, peace, and . . . time.

But as I pondered each "gift", I came face to face with my own human fallibility. Yes, perhaps I could have done something for him to make him laugh or give him joy. Then I remembered a dream I had not long after he died. I dreamed I heard Jonathan laughing. The pure sound of it was an incredible, exquisite, joy-filled laugh, and I simply had to know what it was that had brought my son such joy. So in my dream I followed the sound of his laughter until I found him. He was on his face before Jesus, bathing Jesus' feet with joyous tears and kissing the nailprints. How could I ever expect to give my son a gift of laughter or joy that exceeded the joy he was already experiencing with Jesus?

My worldly gift of peacefulness also shriveled in the light of restful serenity that only comes from God. His peace is not like any other, certainly not like the peace the world gives. Our concept of peace is that of calmness and quiet feeling of satisfaction. In my humaness, any element of peace I might have given Jonathan would have been inconsequential, temporal, and superficial.

My last intended gift, the gift of time, surely must have had the angels in heaven scratching their heads and wondering, "What is she thinking?" How preposterous! Why would I want to give my son more time on this earth after he has tasted heaven? Then I realized this gift was not for Jonathan. It was for me. I wanted more time with my son. My motive was purely selfish.

James 4:14 says that our life is but a vapor that appears for a brief moment, no longer than a single heartbeat, and then it vanishes. But the stretch of time called eternity has no end. Jonathan is enjoying laughter, and joy, and peace--for timeless eternity.

These gifts I wanted to give my son for his birthday--gifts that sounded so noble and lofty coming from my lips--fell worthless into the dust of this earth. Jesus has already given each of these gifts to Jonathan. "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above..." James 1:17. The gifts Jesus gives are permanent, eternal, rooted and grounded in God's love. And Jonathan doesn't need a receipt so he can exchange them for something else.

Happy birthday, son. I pray you will have the most joyous birthday ever.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

The Miracle Of The Oil

2008-05-15T18:31:00.002-05:00

There are numerous accounts of miracles in the Bible: a blind was made to see, a lame man walked, the sun stood still in the Book of Joshua, Lazarus was raised from the dead in the Gospel accounts, 5000 people were fed from five loaves and two fishes, and Jesus rebuked the storm and said, "Peace, be still", and it was so.

In the book of 2nd Kings, there was a widow woman who had no money, and her creditor was coming to take her sons to be his slaves as payment of the debt. She needed a miracle, and she sought God on behalf of her sons. Elisha, the prophet of God, asked her what she had in the house. All she had of any value was a small jar of oil. Elisha's instructions were to gather up as many vessels as she could find, and he admonished her, "Do not gather just a few." Then he told her to begin pouring out the oil from the small jar into all the larger vessels. So she poured out the oil until every vessel was filled and she said, "There are no more vessels." And the oil ceased. God gave her a miracle to save her sons. I wonder if she had gathered dozens, or hundreds more vessels, would God have filled them all? Yes, I think He would.

For eleven years, I prayed for "my miracle". My son, Jonathan had turned his back on God and denied the Savior he once loved. In anguish, I pleaded with God for Jonathan to come back and kneel at Jesus' feet once again. The deepest desire of my heart--my miracle--was for my son to return to the Lord. Sometimes I grew weary in well-doing, and God asked me, in essence, what did I have in the house. There was nothing I could do in my own strength to change Jonathan's heart. Everything I had fell away--worthless. Only in the power of the Holy Spirit of God would my miracle be possible. So I began gathering vessels in preparation for the oil to pour out, and I kept on praying for my miracle.

Then, in April of 2005, Jonathan was diagnosed with cancer.

Faced with his own mortality, he heeded the whisper of God's voice. A dear friend, Brother Tim Butler, drove several hours to come and spend time with Jonathan and talk to him about his relationship with God. The oil began pouring out into the vessels, and I kept on praying for my miracle.

On May 15th, the phone rang. Jonathan called to tell us he had kept a divine appointment with God. Weary of running and powerless to change his life, he fell at Jesus' feet in repentance and faith. He cried out to God like a drowning man, and God restored the fellowship between Himself and my son. And the oil did not cease.

Jonathan did not try to "make a deal" with God, promising to serve Him in exchange for healing. No, he determined to praise God regardless of what happened with his cancer. The oil overflowed onto everyone who knew Jonathan or came in contact with him. Jonathan's life reflected the Savior, and my miracle was a reality.

In January of 2006, Jesus came and carried Jonathan Home. I miss him more than I can describe, but the pure joy of my miracle springs up within me and spills over my being. The miracle of reconcilliation and restoration is a promise from God, and because of that miracle, I will see Jonathan again--when God calls me Home.

Miracles happen. Mine happened on May 15, 2005. Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Come Away With Me

2008-04-23T15:21:00.002-05:00

Last week was my husband's birthday. I wanted to surprise him with something special (other than the new laser-guided mitre saw I gave him--so many power tools, so little time!) so I made reservations at a lovely hotel in the North Carolina mountains. When he arrived home from work on Friday, I said, "Get in the car, we're going somewhere." He had no idea where we were going and tried to guess a time or two, but eventually I could see the stress lines on his face begin to smooth out as he leaned back and enjoyed the ride. When we arrived at the hotel, we were delighted to find our beautiful room featured its own private balcony that overlooked the river. We slept that night with the balcony window open so we could listen to the soothing rush of the water over the rocks. Sometimes getting away from the daily pressures and tension is the best medicine.

Jesus says in Mark 6:31, "Come aside by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while . . ." When life becomes brutal, a temporary reprieve for a breath of fresh air offers the opportunity to seek out the sanctuary of God's grace. We've all heard it said that God won't ever put more on us than we can bear. If God brings you to it, He'll bring you through it. After a while those statements begin to sound like over-used cliches to the one going through the difficulty. When we find ourselves drowning in stress, we don't need cliches. All we want to hear is the whisper of God's voice telling us to come away for a while, rest in the comfort of His sanctuary, refresh our spirit and renew ourselves in His presence.

During the months I was caring for our son during his cancer battle, I was "on call" 24/7. Taking a physical vacation was out of the question. No force on earth could have torn me away from him. But I still sought the rest and sanctuary of God's presence. In the midst of the the ravages of my son's disease, the long hours, the sleepless nights, the grim faces of the doctors, and the intimidating side effects of my son's treatment, I could stay within God's sanctuary. He walked with me through every aspect of the disease, and as long as I didn't run ahead of Him, I could remain in His shadow. Only if I strayed would I be vulnerable.

When my strength and endurance fails, I have an advocate. His is my refuge and rock. He is my shelter and strong tower. When I feel like running away from home, I run to Him. The best news is, I don't have to make reservations or an appointment, I don't have to fill out insurance forms or sit in a waiting room, and nobody will ask me for my credit card number. He is near, closer than my own breath. When I am confronted by fear, weariness, dispair, or just plain day to day stress, where else would I go but to my God? He is calling to me to come away with Him for a season--a respite of renewal, a safe place in the shadow of His wings.

Thanks for letting my share my heart.

Constructive Convalescing

2008-03-01T09:39:00.003-06:00

Experiencing hurtful circumstances is like going through surgery. There is pain, fear, and a tense time of waiting, but there is also reassurance from the surgeon, comfort from the nurses, and get-well wishes from friends. Sitting in a waiting room while surgery is performed on someone we love can be just as painful, sometimes more so, than undergoing the procedure ourselves. Afterward, there may be physical therapy along with a period of slow healing. The eventual outcome is a healthier person.

Spiritual surgery isn't too much different from the physical type, except the roles are played by Someone we can't see. The Surgeon who cuts away the harmful or destroyed tissue doesn't have an MD next to His name. He is higher and greater than any physician on earth, and His name is Jehovah-Ropheka, the Lord our healer. The role of the nurse who administers physical comfort is now taken over by the Holy Spirit, the One whom Jesus sent after Himself to be our Comforter. As we submit ourselves to the ministrations of God, we can expect a transformation, but it's rarely a season of ease. Most often, this operation is an ordeal of painful consequence, but one of necessity. The spiritual waiting room can be lonely and frightening unless we allow God to shed His light around us.

God has brought to my attention recently, something of which we are all aware, but often lose sight of. It's easy to forget that others are struggling through difficult circumstances when our own situation looms as a daunting mountain. All around us are people who have lost loved ones, perhaps they are fighting to keep their head above troubled financial waters, watching disturbing events unfold in their lives and having no power to change them, or experiencing the ache of watching a child make unwise, and potentially disasterous choices.

When God allows us to walk through a dark and frightening valley, of course we can rejoice in the comfort of knowing He is as close to us as our very breath. There are others around us, traveling through similar pain, but our focus is on ourselves, our loved ones, our situation, and hopefully our God. If I've learned nothing else in the past three years, it's that God never wastes a hurt, and nothing takes Him by surprise.

During our time of healing, the blinders fall away from our eyes, and we become aware of those hurting people around us. Their situation may not be exactly like ours, but their pain is just as real. As our surgical scars begin to heal and God brings renewed strength, we are confronted with opportunities to be a blessing to others. It might be a ministry we didn't desire or choose, but one for which God prepared us through our own journey through pain.

Those who struggle around us take on a new importance. We are given a fresh look at the pain of others. Because we've been there ourselves, compassion loans us insight into their struggle. Allowing God to use us to minister to these is akin to working side by side with the Holy Spirit as He pours out comfort, mercy, and grace.

When we enter into a time of spiritual surgery, we need do so with a watchful heart. No doubt God is preparing us to be a vessel for His use. It's up to us whether or not we allow God to fill us and use us. What a waste it would be if we discarded all that pain and heartache we encountered and let the memories of God's comfort and mercy crumble into dust.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

I can't, but HE can

2008-02-16T14:53:00.002-06:00

Have you ever been faced with a monumental task and thought, "I can't do this!" Sometimes God asks things of us that we view as arduous or intimidating, but which He intends as an opportunity. A situation that is far beyond the safe confines of our comfort zone can stretch our faith and strain our capacity to trust to a tenuous degree.

When we find ourselves in this position, we have a variety of choices. The easiest choice is to simply refuse delivery. But saying "no" has its consequenses, the least of which is loss of a blessing and the most grievious being loss of fellowship with God.

We could step tentatively along, agreeing to follow God's leading, until the pressure becomes too intense, at which time we find, or invent, an excuse to discontinue participation. But that, too, would fracture our intimacy with God.

What if the request is someting about which you feel passionate, but the circumstances to fulfill the task cause you to quake in your shoes?

I was reminded this week by a dear friend that when God directed Moses to confront Pharaoh and be a voice for the people of Israel, Moses responded with an excuse. He told God he wasn't a good speaker and didn't know what to say. So God asked him, "Who made your mouth? Was it not Me, the Lord?" Then God directed Moses to go, and He would tell him what to say.

This week I was asked to appear at the Georgia State Capitol and speak to the Senate Sub-Committee regarding an issue about which I feel passionate. The Cancer Treatment Centers Of America asked me to testify to the members of this committee about the incredible treatment my son received at their Tulsa facility. While I was elated at the prospect of Cancer Treatment Centers Of America locating a new facility in Georgia, the very thought of speaking to senators and congressmen filled me with such a dread, I nearly forgot how to breathe. But I said "yes" wondering at the time if perhaps I'd lost my mind.

When the day arrived, I thanked God that one of my best friends volunteered to drive me to downtown Atlanta, because she knows of my phobia of Atlanta traffic. (Thanks, Suze!) One prayer answered! Then, because the sub-committe's docket was so full, they limited the number of people who could speak. So I was asked to go down to the offices of the senators in our district and speak to them one on one.

"God, I can't do this!" I repeated it silently every step of the way down the stairs and the hallway. "God, I can't do this! You know how I stutter and stammer when I'm nervous. These senators will think I'm nothing but a blathering idiot. That won't do CTCA any good. They need someone who is eloquent and articulate. I can't do this!"

And God said, "I made your mouth. Now go. I will tell you what to say."

And I said, "But God, I can't do this!"

And God said, "I know, but I can."

At the end of the day, the vote was taken and the sub-committee voted 9-5 in CTCA's favor. I was thrilled, but the vote wasn't the reason why. God allowed me to do something I never believed I could do. By clinging desperately to His hand and trusting in His power, for the first time since my son's initial diagnosis, I felt like I was doing something important to help defeat this evil and brutal disease. But it wasn't me who did it. God just used my mouth, and my heart, to speak to these men and women, to somehow convince them how much we need a facility like CTCA here in Georgia.

It wasn't me, it was Him. And a special thanks goes to Josh, my son's best friend, for reminding me Who God is, and who I am. Thanks Josh. I owe you the best dinner I know how to make. Your choice.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Extreme Makeover--HEART Edition

2008-01-27T13:42:00.000-06:00

I love the show Extreme Makeover--Home Edition. The Makeover team arrives at someone's house and calls them outside and tells them the good news: they're going to get a beautiful, brand new home, and while it's being built the family goes on vacation. Many of the stories submitted by the families are heart wrenching to say the least.

After the family leaves, the demolition begins. The family watches via video camera, as their old house is torn down in a matter a few minutes. Sometimes the expressions on their faces range from joy and excitement to pain or sorrow or even regret depending on the memories the old house holds. But the tearing down must take place before the building up of the new house can happen.

When God views our old heart, I wonder what He sees. Decay and crumbling structure due to sin? Weak, vulnerable places due to neglect? Broken places due to sorrow and heartache? He sees all that and more. He also sees a heart with possibilities. He looks beyond the present and conceives a dynamic heart filled with joy and praise, a heart of worship linked to a life lived for Him. He sees past the ruin and waste, past the tears and brokenness to a heart that can be renovated, rebuilt and restored. But the tearing down of the old must take place first before God can renew the heart.

God's Makeover Team consists of Himself, His Son, and the Holy Spirit. Together they do what no man can do. God can intervene in a life regardless of the condition of the heart, and create a beautiful new heart--one that beats in synchronization with His. Sometimes the demolition process is painful. Bitter memories are cut away. Regrets are torn down. Anguish and disappointment are raked away. Grief and mourning are burned off. Then, in the midst of the ashes and debris, there emerges the new. A new-found joy, a new song, new praise, and new mercy. New glory rains down, new strength rises up, and new comfort sustains.

For the TV show, each family must make a video and send it in along with hundreds of recommendation letters written by other people declaring support for the family. To receive God's makeover, all one must do is ask, believing He will keep His promises. There are no screaming team members or huge crowds. But I'd be willing to bet the angels in heaven are doing some serious rejoicing. When God takes an old heart and makes it new again, that's what I call an Extreme Makeover--Heart Edition.

Thanks for letting me share my (madeover) heart.

Homecoming Day

2008-01-09T12:43:00.000-06:00

I was going through a box of photographs yesterday and found a picture of my son, Jonathan, and his date, all dressed up for homecoming. The photo was taken in 1995. Handsome rascal that he was, his heart-melting grin warmed me as I gazed at the picture. Back then, homecoming meant pep rallies and week-long festivities, football games, topped off by the homecoming celebration held in the school gymnasium with the kids dressed to the nines.

Homecoming means something else entirely now. January 10, 2006 was Homecoming Day for Jonathan. God reached down and cradled my son in His arms and took him Home. Jonathan left behind the pain and brutality of cancer and took up residence in heaven. He's home, he's safe, he's whole, he's cancer-free.

While he lingered on this earth, his days centered around medications, treatments, doctors and hospitals, side effects, and pain. Now his days are filled with singing and praising the One who died so he could have life. The place we call heaven, my son calls home.

When I am out and about, people sometimes comment about the Marine Corps shirts I often wear. They ask if I have a son in the Corps, and I tell them yes. Then the next question is always, "Where is he?" When I tell them he is in heaven, they always say how sorry they are. I tell them, "Don't be sorry. I know where he is, and I know I will see him again some day. 2nd Samuel 12:23 says that my son cannot come to where I am, but I will go to where he is."

We try to imagine what heaven will be like through scripture. We talk about streets of gold and gates of pearl, a land where there is no night because Jesus is the Light that illumines heaven. We try to picture heaven in our mind, but I don't think we can truly know until we get there ourselves.

I'm anxious to go. God has blessed me beyond measure on this earth, but I can't wait to go Home. I want to see Jonathan again. I want to be where he is. I want to laugh with him again. But most of all, I want to be where Jesus is. I want to fall down and worship Him. I want to sing His praise and kiss the nailprints in His feet. Who can imagine the glory of Homecoming Day?

My son is living it.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

My God Is An Awsome God

2008-01-03T10:47:00.000-06:00

Recently on Fox News, the hosts of the morning show Fox & Friends read a list of words or phrases certain intellectuals have requested no longer be used by talk show hosts. While I agreed with a few, some bordered on the ridiculous. However, it reminded me about the words and phrases I hear on a regular basis, that I wish I didn't.

For example, how many times do we hear the word LIKE in casual conversation? "That outfit is like, so like, 20th century. Like, I mean, like where does she shop? Like, at a thrift store?"

Okay, like that might be a like poor example, but like you get my drift. Doesn't it just make you want to grab the person by the shoulders and shake them till their teeth rattle. Or better yet, doesn't it make you want to run out and buy them a thesaurus?

Another phrase I hear regularly that I wish I didn't is the use of God's name as an exclamation. If someone desires to cry out to God in a time of crisis, then using "Oh! My God!" might be appropriate. Is it a heartfelt plea for God's help and presence in a time of danger or dispair? Is God's name used in an attitude of reverence and awe? If not, then perhaps this person too, is in need of a thesaurus.

One of the most over-used and mis-used words today is AWESOME. There is little on this earth that I see as truly awe-inspiring. Our English language is loaded with superlatives that are much better choices when discribing a performance, something we have read or heard, a song, a friend, or any material item. A car is not awesome. A house is not awesome. They might be amazing, grand, unsurpassed, beautifully designed, or breathtaking. A song or a performance might be entertaining, energizing, soothing, stirring, or majestic. A book might be inspiring, well-written, hilarious, or bold. A friend can be described as treasured, esteemed, or a soul-mate. But awesome? Do we truly understand the concept of awe?

When I come before God in all my human frailty and attempt to wrap my mind around the wonder of His greatness, then I can truthfully say I am in awe. I stand in awe of a God whose power, knowledge, wisdom, and presence is beyond my comprehension. I stand in awe of a God who holds me in the palm of His hand. I stand in awe of a God who loves me despite all my shortcomings.

Let the words of my heart be filled with praise for the Holy God who knows the beginning from the end, who created the world and all that is in it with a spoken word, and yet still pours out caring and comfort to my wounded soul. There is only One who fills my heart with awe. We truly serve an AWESOME God.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Wise Men Always Seek Jesus

2007-12-24T08:03:00.000-06:00

"Daddy! Daddy, I'm gonna be a Wise Guy!"

I can still hear my son's delight like it was yesterday. He couldn't wait to tell his daddy that he had the most important role in the Christmas program at his preschool. Of course, he didn't know that all the children who weren't Mary or Joseph, or the angel, were assigned roles as shepherds and wise men. At four years old, Jonathan was simply ecstatic to participate in his first Christmas play. His vernacular reference to the role might have been less than dignified, but his joy was contagious.

At such a tender age, he probably didn't have much of a grip on the concept of wisdom, but he'd heard it spoken often enough in Sunday School and at home to know that it was something worth attaining. He likely thought he automatically became wise simply by his teacher assigning him the role.

I was grateful for the example of a wise man that our son had in his father. More often than not, Jonathan could see godly wisdom demonstrated in my husband's life. Their close relationship offered many opportunities for John to teach Jonathan the excellence of wisdom.

Through his adolescent years, wisdom was a virtue that slipped through his fingers more often than it stayed, but bit by bit he gleaned precious nuggets, if by no other means, through experience. Countless times, his choices fell under the heading of foolish rather than wise. His Christian upbringing remained hidden in his heart, however, and emerged in unexpected ways. Occasionally he would quote a scripture or declare "the Bible says . . ." in opposition to something he saw on TV or a statement made by one of his professors in college. We never failed to be amused by these occurrences. Despite his rebellion, God's word was embedded in his heart, and there was nothing he could do about it.

So when he was confronted with the brutal monster called cancer, wisdom kicked in. After choosing to turn his back on his faith for many years, Jonathan finally bowed his knee and his heart to Jesus. Truly his was the reaction of a wise man.

The 2007 Christmas program was nearly upon us, and rehearsals were in full swing. I knew there were going to be dramas connected with it, but since I was only involved in the music portion, I didn't pay much attention to the preparations for the drama. That is until my husband announced on the way home from church, "I'm gonna be a Wise Guy."

Should I tell him he already is?

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

2007-11-17T14:42:00.000-06:00

I've been following the posts and updates on Kristy Dykes' website and blog.

http://www.christianlovestories.blogspot.com/

Kristy is an incredible lady with a heart for God. She is a multi-published author of Christian fiction and a fellow member of American Christian Fiction Writers. Kristy was diagnosed a couple of weeks ago with a malignant brain tumor. Her surgery was Thursday, Nov. 15.

The good news was that she came through the surgery well. The devastating news is that the primary tumor that the doctors removed has spread to the other side of her brain. The prognosis is grim.

When our son was diagnosed with cancer, I well remember the emotional roller coaster. I remember telling God, "Father, I just don't understand." I'm sure Kristy's family is wondering the same thing. For many months those thoughts circled overhead like vultures, trying to rob me of my peace and attacking me with fiery darts of fear. Then Jonathan went through a crisis that brought him to the brink of eternity. I sat by his bedside, praying for God to make His presence known to me. Finally, I remembered something a preacher friend told me-- God inhabits the praise of His people. I needed to know God was close enough to touch. So I began to praise Him. I sang praise choruses and praised Him for who He is. Peace was drawn over me like a warm blanket.

Faith is not the weapon of choice when we are battling fear. I am humanly fallible, and my faith is weak at best. I cannot conjure up enough faith in my own strength to defeat fear. But when I praise God, I am welcoming His presence, and where God is, fear has to flee.

Afterward, I thought again about those vultures. I told God once more, "Father, I don't understand. I don't understand my son's disease, or his pain, or my fear, or why he has be chosen for this cancer journey." But when I remembered His peace with which He embraced me that night at Jonathan's bedside, I realized something. God does not call us to understand. He simply calls us to trust Him. It's not just a matter of not understanding. I can't. And I don't have to. His ways are far above my ways, and His plan is far beyong my understanding. So I will just trust Him.

My heart aches for the Dykes family. I know the pain they are going through. My prayer is that they would know the same peace with which God comforted me. God's love, and mercy, and peace are so far-reaching, and so complete, we cannot measure the width, the length, the height or the depth. God grant this all-consuming love to Kristy and her family.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Welcome to my Site!

2007-11-01T10:42:00.000-05:00

Writing is such a lonely business. Cyberspace is the means by which we stay in touch with fellow writers and keep up to date on their writing struggles and successes, but it is hardly a substitute for face to face working relationships. The only face to face conversation I have during the day is with the cat when she jumps up on my desk, gets in my face, and demands my attention. Quite often I have nobody with whom I can toss around an idea or debate pros and cons. If I have a brain freeze, the cat can't help me work through it.

I sometimes wonder what it's like to work in a busy office with people coming and going and the boss looking over your shoulder. Office politics come into play when dealing with various personalities, positions, and egos. A certain hierarchy is in place—a distinct pecking order, if you will, and company policies must be followed. While people who work in an office have co-workers with whom they can interact, I have my husband. Unfortunately, he is a "normal" (a non-writer). When a writer tries to talk about writing with a normal, the responses range from puzzled frowns to patronizing smiles. They just don't get it.

On the other hand, my "boss" is the Lord. I don't punch a time clock, nor must I dress in the latest designer originals. Sometimes I work in my pajamas, and He doesn't mind. We do have "business luncheons"—usually a peanut butter sandwich and a diet Coke—during which He outlines His plans for my work, or gently critiques something I’ve written. He often asks me to work late, but He is always generous and patient with my flexible hours. Perhaps the most unique aspect of this business is that a Christian writer never "punches out and goes home." God and I can be discussing "business" in the kitchen while I'm cooking supper, or while I'm folding laundry, or even after I climb into bed.

The hierarchy is two-steps—God first, and everything else second. God's company policy is pretty simple: trust and obey. Yes, I'm always "on call", but then I can look forward to those glamorous luncheons. And I am grateful that God is looking over my shoulder. How many blunders would I make without His constant presence? How lonely would I be were it not for His companionship? The best part? God is not a normal. I can talk to Him about a writing project, and He understands!

Yes, I believe I am blessed with the best "boss" in the world—or in heaven.

Thanks for letting me share my heart,
Connie