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.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
LOOK AT THAT GRAY-HEADED OLD BAT...
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.
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.
Friday, January 14, 2011
RUNNING ON EMPTY
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.
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.
Monday, December 27, 2010
I CAN'T DO THIS!
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.
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.
Monday, December 13, 2010
GIFT GIVING
"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.
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.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Changing...
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Trace It Back To The Source
“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.
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.
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