"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.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
A Place Where Magic Happens
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.
* 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.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Oh, how He loves . . .
"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.
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.
Friday, June 24, 2011
HOME SWEET HOME
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.
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.
Friday, June 10, 2011
TIME WITH THE POSSE
"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.
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.
Monday, May 23, 2011
NOT ONE IS MISSING
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.
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.
Monday, April 11, 2011
TENDING THE GARDEN
"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.
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.
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