Drowning in my tears

• Tears of regret for things I should have done but did not do, for things I did but should not have done, for things I did but could have done better
• Tears of sadness for the state of the world, for the hate and dehumanization I see every day on social media, for lost and damaged friendships, for friends and family who do not love Jesus
• Tears of frustration for my inability to calm myself and my lack of faith when things fall apart
• Tears of resentment towards my sisters who have hurt me and betrayed me,  shunned me, and have no responsibility or even desire to help us, and towards my brother for needing me to help him
• Tears of confusion with today's convoluted bureaucracies in education, health, and social services when those things should be simplified to allow equal access to all
• Tears of anger towards believers who spew hate at those who are different, especially nonbelievers clinging to sin, when instead believers should be loving them instead of pushing them away
• Tears of shame for my actions and words and thoughts that are anything but Christ-like
• Tears of hopelessness when I continue to hit wall after wall 
• Tears of anxiety when faced with more than three things to do a day
• Tears of grief over the loss of our parents, and the loss of my family

But then...

• Tears of thankfulness to my husband for his support and love even through hard times
• Tears of joy when I think of my beautiful daughters and the wonderful women they have become
• Tears of happiness every time one of my granddaughters calls me and wants to talk to me
• Tears of amazement over God's faithfulness in answering my prayers
• Tears of love for my husband as I lay in his arms every night
• Tears of pride for the children I tutor, children who work so hard to overcome their challenges
• Tears of wonder for the beauty and majesty surrounding me 
• Tears of joy for my salvation and assured place with God for eternity

 

 

 

When there is nowhere else to turn...

When you've called everyone you know, and there's nothing else you can do, when you've exhuasted all your resources, and you feel completely defeated and lost, where in the world can you go? Who can you turn to when the world is so dark and no one has any answers or even seems to care? When your house has been destroyed, when your child has cancer, when the bills outpace your ability to pay, when your loved one is in jail, when your church disappoints you, when your grown child no longer wants you in her life, when your family betrays you, when your health gives out, when you are in a hopelessly impossible situation with no way out...WHERE DO YOU GO? WHO DO YOU CALL? 

(and no, the answer is not Ghostbusters.) 

The answer is JESUS, friends. It is, was and always will be Jesus Christ, son of the living God.  He is the light of the world, the way, the truth, the Redeemer, our friend, our Savior, who will never leave nor forsake us. 

Yeah, you knew I was gonna say that, right? And we Christians are always so happy and carefree because we always, ALWAYS give our worries and our cares and our problems to Jesus. We never try to handle those seemingly impossible problems, or climb huge mountains without our Guide, and we never EVER think we are hopelessly stuck with nowhere else to go.  

Right. If you believe that, I'll give you a great deal on some farmland in Antartica.

I know my past sins are wiped clean by the death and resurrection of Jesus. 

I know my future lies in heaven. 

The problem? Like many (most?) believers, I trust my past and my future to Jesus Christ, but I often neglect to trust Him with my present in both good times and hard times. When life is good, when things are going smoothly like butter on a hot skillet, I forget who created me and everything around me. I chalk up my successes to my intelligence, my experiences, and oh yeah, to my wonderful walk with God, wonderful because of all the things I do--going to church, reading my Bible, writing in my journal. Oh yeah, I have the inside track on getting God to help me with my trials and tribulations. And when things are tough, when my life is falling apart, do I turn to God first? No. Again, because I am so intelligent, so creative, and such a real problem solver, I can figure it out myself. Until I can't. Then I turn to Him, ashamed, embarrassed to tell Him I failed, that I need His help. I picture God looking at me, shaking His head, sighing a big sigh, and saying, "C'mon, child, give me your hand, and all your problems and your joys, and I will carry them for you, and I won't ever scold you."  (yes, my paraphrase of Matthew 11:28-29). 

The past 15 months have tried my heart, brought me to the breaking point. Last October, my stepdaughter and her kids told me (while I was in the hospital) they wanted nothing to do with us anymore--I was suddenly the evil stepmom. Three months later, back in the hospital for routine surgery, I nearly died from "surgical complications" and ended up with chest tubes, a lengthy hospital stay, and months of recovery. My oldest daughter and her family are experiencing employment issues overseas, and my youngest daughter is facing a trial of monstrous proportions.  Sure there were happy times intermingled in there...beautiful daughters and granddaughters, taking one of them to fulfill her dream at Universal Studio's worlds of Harry Potter, visiting my oldest and her beauties in Malaysia, and being married to the best husband I could ask for. And just when I thought life couldn't hand me any more challenges, my mentally challenged 73-year old brother had to move back in with us--worsening cognitive decline. And although I have prayed and and prayed and was confident in my faith,  trusting God to help me figure this one out, I hit yet another brick wall of bureacratic red tape. Medicaid. Medicare. RHA. Vaya Health. NCDHHS. DSS. All dead ends. Today I went out to my car in the school parking lot and cried until there were no more tears. And I gave it all back to God...again, for the umpteenth time. 

He is always there, and although He would love to have us turn to Him first, He will always be there, when there is nowhere else to turn. 

Joy

Having joy is so much more than happiness. Happiness is fleeting, situational, fickle, and temporary. I used to search for happiness, for things and people and relationships to make me happy, and if I was not happy, I blamed it on circumstances or my past or the events of the day or whoever I was with, what side of the bed I got up on, how much I weighed, whether my hair was behaving, if I could pay all my bills on time, etc. In other words, happiness was a measure of meeting the world’s standards of success. Then I discovered Jesus, and formed an intimate relationship with Him, and I discovered how empty happiness is. I discovered joy. Joy in the midst of suffering, in the midst of pain, in the midst of loss, in the midst of, yes, betrayal. Joy during and after struggles. I was not always happy during these times, and still, believe it or not, there are many times I am not happy.  But I am joyful, FULL OF JOY, joy of the Lord, joy in my salvation, joy in knowing my future home is with Him, that I have a place with Him, that He has forgiven me, paid my debts, and gives me more grace. 

Am I always the perfect picture of a joyful Christian, focused forward on my Jesus, and not looking on my struggles? No, I am not. Sometimes I get wrapped up in that tunnel of self, and the trap of being a victim, the Eyore attitude of “woe is me, woe is me,” and I bemoan all my faults and struggles and pains and losses. Luckily though I have my husband and my friends in Christ and my church who snap me out of that, and my God who I go to daily, to remind me and to refocus me on my joy. My everlasting joy. 

Yesterday we drove to Pigeon Forge and drove through some tunnels on I-40, long tunnels, and the sign before the tunnel warns drivers to turn on headlights and remove sunglasses. Why? So they can see better in the darkness. But you are still driving in a dark tunnel closed in by concrete walls, and if it is a long tunnel you cannot even see the light at the end of it; I don’t know about you, but I hate tunnels and get claustrophobic in them and worry another car or truck is gong to hit the wall and ricochet into me, or I will never get out of the tunnel. I cannot see the end of it, the reality outside the tunnel. That is how I feel when I get trapped inside the tunnel vision of looking inward onto my hurts and struggles and pain—trapped, confused, no sense of direction. Even though I have lights on and have tried to clear my vision. 

The answer? Stay out of the tunnels. But if you do find yourself in one, and your feel yourself being sucked into that self-pity mode, smack yourself on the back of the head, open your bible, fall on your knees, and focus on Jesus. He is our everlasting joy. We are no good to others when we are wallowing in a tunnel of self-flagellation. But, when others see our joy in Christ, despite our trials, they will want all the more to find out what makes us so joyful, so they too can experience it. 

I have suffered from serious clinical depression nearly my entire life, yet I still have more joy than I can explain. Am I sad at times? Yes. Depressed? Yes. Unhappy? Yes. But, I am full of joy.

"Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation." Habakkuk 3:17-18

On Prayer

Prayer--that honor and privilege of having a two-way communication with our Creator, a means in which man can not only talk to God, but also listen. Prayer is the means by which His supernatural grace flows to us--powerful grace, saving grace. Prayer is how we acknowledge and adore God, confess our sins, thank Him for everything, and ask for what we need. In short, prayer is talking to and listening to our heavenly Father. Thousands of books have been written about prayer--how to pray, when to pray, why to pray. There are prescribed prayers for every situation, every career field (the lawyer's prayer, the teacher's prayer). There is the serenity prayer. Prayer altars. Prayer cloths and blankets. Beads. Crystals. Mantras. There is no shortage of guidance and instructions and accouterments for prayer. All faiths have some sort of prayer built into their rituals and traditions. 

Christians are great at talking about prayer, but let's face it: few people, me included, have a robust prayer life. Sure, I pray before meals, say quick prayers of intercession, and offer to pray for people who are concerned about some trouble in their lives. Sadly, though, my prayer life is seriously wanting; more often than not, when confronted with a problem, pain, illness, frustration, or a challenge, I still yearn to be in control, to fix it myself, to seek out the answers. Recently I suffered a horrible tooth abscess, and was in excruciating pain. My first reaction? Google it, complain about it, take pills, call the ER; only AFTER all those things did I realize, or even think about, praying about it. 

Then there is the matter of intercessory prayer--friends and families confide some worry or concern to me, I tell them "I'll pray for you," but really, do I? Or is it just some automatic, knee jerk response, something I am expected (as a Christian) to say? And if I do pray for that person, how sincere am I? Do I really talk to God about it as I would talk to my earthly father or mentors or pastor about it? Oh, and yeah, do I actually listen? Or do I just rattle off some "please help (insert name) with (insert problem)," and then move on the next item on the list?

Seriously, by this point in my life I should be more practiced in this area; I mean, I have been a self-professed Christian for over 50 years, and since prayer is integral to the life of a believing Christian, one would assume I would be better at it than I am, that with any challenge, my first reaction would be to fall to my knees and pray.  

Maybe my prayers need to start with "Help me, teach me, to pray." 

The older I get, the farther along I am on this journey of sanctification, growing in grace, the more I realize (painfully) how I do not deserve His grace.  

Hidden Idols

Close your eyes, think of the word "idol," and what do you see? Statues? Golden calf? A tv program? Charleton Heston as Moses in The Ten Commandments? Possibly you can think a bit more abstractly, and, expanding the definition of the word, you think of beauty, sex, the internet, cell phones, food, work. But what really is an idol? Webster defines idolatry as "the worship of or excessive devotion to, or reverence for, some person or thing (the idol).” Biblically, at its core, an idol is anything that replaces God as a central point in our lives. 

I've smugly thought I have no idols...I don't put bowls of rice in front of wooden statues, or worship trees. I read my Bible, pray, support missions, and go to church, and am making a concerted effort in growing my faith, using His Word as a blueprint for my life, my choices, my thoughts, my values. I know I am a sinner, and I am painfully aware every single day how much I do not deserve heaven, that only by God's infinite and merciful grace through the sacrifice of His Son will I make it there. I don't see myself as secular or worldly--idols are what those people have, not me! Ha! Right! Read on...

I opened my bookcase this weekend and perused the titles on the shelves, especially the plethora of books I bought at a women's conference I attended this spring (all with the good intention of reading them as soon as I got home). One title grabbed my attention; I pulled it partially out, then hesitated, pushing it back in place. The title, "Idols of the Heart," made me uncomfortable--that little prick from the Holy Spirit, I guess--so I picked it up and began reading. Seriously, though, the last thing I wanted was to delve into something that would identify yet another list of inadequacies and failures as a Christian. But, no pain, no gain, right? 

Within the first few pages, I knew I made the right choice; the author, Elyse Fitzpatrick, is brutally honest concerning her own idols, and relates her own journey to identifying them. What I expected was another book bemoaning the evils of cell phones, reality TV, and the internet, all things I could easily dismiss as not really a problem for me; I'm well aware of the potential for these distractions to interfere with my relationship with God. What I got was far more; by the third page of the first chapter I realized that I, like Elyse, put my trust in things other than God. Not in the obvious twenty-first century conveniences and time savers (or is it wasters?), and not in material things, financial security, physical image, or fitness. Not in my family--children, grandkids, or even my spouse; although I do love them all very much, and cherish every memory, every moment with them all, God is definitely first in my heart. 

Or so I thought.

What is first in my heart, even when I try to hide it, to pretend it’s not there, is the almost obsessive need to be accepted, to be understood. That desire (and the inability to fulfill it, to achieve acceptance and understanding) has caused countless sleepless nights, oceans of tears, bouts of uncontrollable anger and self deprecation, depression, and confusion. Confusion and pain when my motives are misread, when I never get the opportunity to make them see (God make them SEE!) they are wrong about me, that my actions stem from the heart, my intentions blameless.  Whenever I meet someone new, I wonder what they think of me, if they like me, did I say anything inappropriate. At times I am so focused on proving I am right, on pursuing acceptance from the world, and on garnering understanding, and therefore, love, I allow my love of God to come in second. I forget about His grace, and put the approval of the world above His approval. 

I can recount innumerable examples, and often the misunderstanding is the result of speaking before thinking, blurting out some casual remark that to me seemed funny and innocent. When my sister was planning her wedding, we were picking out bridesmaids' dresses, and, shocked at the high cost of the dresses, I mumbled I'd return my dress for a refund after the wedding. And, to make matters worse, I had just had my long blonde hair permed (it was the 70s, okay?), and I jokingly said it made me look like a cocaine queen (again, the 70s). Neither of those comments were taken well; in fact, fearing I would ruin her big day, my sister told me I was no longer in the wedding. Over 40 years ago, and I still want to fix that misunderstanding, to get her to understand what I really meant. Other times it is my failure to communicate my intentions, and the reasoning behind those intentions, that results in a painful misunderstanding. Case in point, I developed a friendship with the realtor who found us our Tampa home; five years later, we were moving out of Florida, and hired her to sell our house. But, when after 90 days there was no sale, we decided to go with a different realtor; while I did break the news to her, it was via email, not in person. She felt rebuffed, and betrayed, and she broke off all communication with me. Again...misunderstood. 

These are just two of countless instances that my intentions were misunderstood; each time I would keep focusing on the incident, wondering how I could make it better, how I could gain their approval. And often, sadly, in the midst of it I didn't even stop and ask God how to handle it, or seek His counsel, or search His Word--I struggled with it all alone, trusting my own instincts. How misguided I often am to think that how others see me (other sinners like me) matters more than how God sees me.  This idol of my heart, the yearning for understanding, has not yet been thrown out or broken; it still vies for attention, and tries to usurp God’s rightful place in my heart. But hey…I know it’s there now, I’m wise to its ways, so when it tries to sneak back in, to make me believe I don’t matter without the approval of others, I fall on my knees, open the Word, and place God back where he rightfully belongs: in that God-shaped hole in my heart that can only be filled by Him. A well-known, oft quoted prayer by St Francis of Assisi says it quite well:

Lord, make me a channel of thy peace,

that where there is hatred, I may bring love;

that where there is wrong,

 I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;

that where there is discord, I may bring harmony;

that where there is error, I may bring truth;

that where there is doubt, I may bring faith;

that where there is despair, I may bring hope;

that where there are shadows, I may bring light;

that where there is sadness, I may bring joy.

Lord, grant that I may seek rather to 

comfort than to be comforted;

to understand, than to be understood;

to love, than to be loved.

For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.

It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.

It is by dying that one awakens to Eternal Life.

But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—(Ephesians 2:4-5)

On Discipleship

disciple” (noun): someone who adheres to the teachings of another. It is a follower or a learner. It refers to someone who takes up the ways of someone else. Applied to Jesus, a disciple is someone who learns from him to live like him — someone who, because of God’s awakening grace, conforms his or her words and ways to the words and ways of Jesus. (Jonathan Parnell, Desiring God)

A little over two weeks ago (seems like a year ago), my daughter and I attended The Gospel Coalition (TGC) Women's conference, something she encouraged me to do, and then, when she asked if I would like her to join me, I ecstatically concurred. Leading up to the event, I was excited, anxious, nervous, albeit sometimes a bit nauseated, at the prospect of being in a convention center with thousands of women, women whose objective was to learn more about their faith, about Jesus, about God. And despite having attended countless work-related conferences, heck, I even taught at quite a few of them, I had no idea of what to expect; military and government conferences are a far cry from spiritual ones. My daughter on the other hand was an old pro at this sort of event, so I gladly latched on to her coattails and off we went. My expectations were nebulous--at the very least, though, I was thrilled about some mother-daughter alone time. Ha. That's hilarious. Alone time. In a convention center filled with women from all over the globe, most of whom seemed to know my daughter. 

Remember me? The introverted, highly sensitive person? What was I thinking? I was not equipped for this experience! We hit the ground the day before the conference began, and the next morning we embarked on a 72 hour kaleidoscope of breakout sessions, keynote speakers, a bookstore with over 60 vendors, and yes, tons of women. Old, young, middle-aged women. Single women, married women. Nursing moms. Moms with baby carriers and strollers. Women of every shape, size, color, and denomination. The speakers were fervent, knowledgeable, articulate, and the breakout sessions I had signed up for (at my daughter's recommendation) were germane and on point. I bought more books that weekend than I have in the past 10 years (most of which still sit on my bookshelf waiting to be opened). By Saturday evening, I was exhausted--emotionally, spiritually, physically, and mentally--overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information and prayer and a very obviously active Holy Spirit. I even ventured out of my comfort zone and joined Mandy and her friends for dinner on at least two occasions. During the conference, though, I would look around the giant arena, and I felt very alone. At one point I wrote in my journal: 

Here at this conference with my daughter and 3500 other Christian women this weekend, I am simultaneously thrilled, inspired, awed, and humbled. I listen to the talks and read the words and sing the songs and worship our God, and I excitedly buy books to help me and guide me on journey through sanctification. I take  notes and pray and grow, and internalize all the beauty and pain and sorrow and joy around me, but despite being surrounded by other believers and sisters in Christ, and believing the same things, I feel alone and alien and unworthy to be here. It’s as if I’m counterfeit, a distorted reflection or pixilated version of these Godly women. I cannot match their fervor or relate to their gospel soaked lifestyles, and my sinful past and lack of a Christian upbringing are glaringly obvious and crippling handicaps.  My daughter and her friends and, let’s be honest, most of the attendees, are so far ahead of me in their growth and their sanctification that I feel I will never catch them. Inside I feel what they feel, and my brain and my heart are there, but I cannot even begin to relate intellectually on their spiritual level. It’s as if I’m in a different dimension, on another plane. I’m alone and different and I don’t belong. Oh but how I wish, I yearn, I ache to be in their sphere, to be a part of their group, a member of this elite club, and to be seen as one of them.

After praying about these feelings, I vocalized some of this to my daughter, and she reassured me that this was normal, and a lot of it was a combination of being new to faith conferences and an introvert. And don't get me wrong: I loved every minute of the conference, and am still listening to sessions I did not have a chance to attend. The real kicker though? We had some fairly frank dinner conversations about spiritual growth; one in particular stands out during which my daughter unceremoniously announced my urgent need for discipleship...to which her friends nodded. Such a humbling experience. I mean, my daughters, both of them, have taught me things and broadened my knowledge base in many areas, and I am not foolish enough or vain enough to think that, just because I am older and "the mom" that I cannot be taught. But being informed you are in need of mentoring and discipleship, by younger women, especially one you gave birth to, is quite a different item than advice on baking bread, fundraising, or gardening. Again, humbling. With a capital H. But the more I contemplated it, thought about it, turned the idea over in my mind, the more sense it made, the more I wanted to act on it. Book recommendation received (Growing Together" by one of the keynote speakers), and subsequently ordered on Amazon (the bookstore, by the way, was completely sold out...a good sign). And a few days after I returned home, I reached out to my pastor's wife...a young woman at least 25 years my junior...and asked if she would be willing to disciple me, to mentor me, and to work through the afore-mentioned book; I even ordered her a copy as well. 

So, here I am, less than 24 hours after our first "session," and I am at once (again) excited, nervous, anxious, and yes, a bit queasy at the prospect of learning and growing and sharing with this younger woman. Our first meeting, intended to be "about an hour" at a local coffee place, lasted nearly four hours, and did not even cover the entire introductory chapters. And, like after the conference two weeks ago, I am overwhelmed and awed at how God works in my life, brings people into my life, and gently puts my feet on the path He has designed for me. 

THANK you Mandy, Cheryl, Amy, Blaire, and especially, thank you Melissa for agreeing to go on this crazy trip with me. This is definitely going to be a bumpy ride!

Afflicted but not crushed

The past three years have been particularly brutal for us, especially 2018--hardly a banner year.   Financial hardships, legal battles, broken family relationships, medical challenges, and several deaths in our family have brought me to my knees more times than I can count.  It has been an extremely hard year...so much so that Alex and I have made a habit of announcing how we cannot wait for this year to be over, to move into 2019, to get past all the heartache and trials and tribulations we've experienced.  The funny thing is, though, that after I say that, I think how false that sounds.  Because, despite sorrow and sadness and loss and betrayal, I do not look back and regret anything that happened.  It sounds really strange, I know, to say that, and it is harder still to try to explain such a feeling; the closest I can come to an explanation is to say I feel a peace of acceptance.   Not resignation, not depression, not hopelessness, and certainly not anger (although I have felt all of those emotions and many more over the past 36 months)--but just a sweet sense of "hey everything really is going to be okay because God does work all things for good...for those who love God."  And most of all, I feel changed and improved and aware and thankful to be experiencing, first-hand, this beautiful process of sanctification.  It's as if God is painting this really awesome portrait of how he sees me and what I will eventually become, and that all of the colors and shapes and lines and edges of this painting work together to make me into who I am ultimately to become.

And while it is easy to see happy, pleasant, and fortunate happenings work toward my good, it is particularly hard to explain to myself, let alone to others, how sad and horrible and unfortunate and unpleasant events work together for that same good.  Our human tendency is to ascribe good feelings to good outcomes, especially those outcomes we can see immediately, while we view pain and sorrow and misfortune as "bad" unless we experience something "good" out of those circumstances in our lifetimes. In the Christian vernacular, good things are "blessings" and merit "praise reports;" talk about illnesses or depression or struggles evoke "oh honey I'll pray for you," as if events in our lives fall into two distinct categories of "good" and "awful."  That is where I was for most of my life--the circumstances and events and my state of mind were weathervanes for how I felt, how I viewed God, and how I viewed myself.  In my selfish, myopic view of life, I was convinced I was cursed, that I would never be happy, that God was punishing me for past sins.  I felt plenty sorry for myself too.  In a weird, reverse kind of way, I had bought into the babble of the prosperity gospel preachers--but instead of believing I was divinely entitled to health and wealth and happiness by being a believer, I was convinced I was being denied those things because I just wasn't doing it right.  Too many Christians subscribe to the prosperity teachings, i.e. "love God and He will bless you and everything will be just hunky dory for the rest of your life."  But there is nothing Biblical in those claims--throughout Scripture we are told we will suffer, we will have hardships, and we will all eventually die.  Even Jesus, the Son of God, suffered and died--sinless and blameless, yes, but he suffered nonetheless.

Viewing life's circumstances as "bad" or "good," "lucky" or "unlucky," "blessings" or "needs" presumes we have some sort of crystal ball with which we can see the future, and how these events shape our lives.  This also dangerously tricks us into thinking we are responsible for our own fate--follow the prescription for happy lives, go to heaven; if bad things keep happening, well, we need to try harder, pray more, do something--anything--to get on the good side of God and get those blessings, as if prayer is a tool to push God's favor toward us.

And, no, I have no secret decoder ring or magic formula to acceptance or peace or love.  Every day I miss my Dad and my mother-in-law.  Every day, I feel a twinge of sadness over the loss of my family because of lies and deceit.  Every day, I struggle with pain and migraines and insecurity and depression and anger.  But every day I have on this earth in this wonderful, messy, painful, hysterical, struggle of a life is fulfilling the plans God has had for me since time immemorial.  And while I may never, at least in this lifetime, get to see how God will weave all of these events and moments in my life into something beautiful and wonderful, and then take my little life and weave THAT into His beautiful, glorious purpose...

Well, I know He has the wheel.

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair, persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies...So we do not lose heart.  Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.  For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.  (2 Cor 4:8-10, 16, 17)

One More Day

In one more day, it will be Christmas...so much excitement, baking cookies and our traditional candy cane bread, wrapping gifts and filling stockings that are all hung by the chimney with care.  Excited anticipation as to what the next 24 hours will bring.  All of the preparation--the shopping, wrapping, decorating, dressing up, pulling things out of the attic, rearranging the living room, making sure the Christmas tree has enough water--all will come to fruition in one more day.  

In one more day, my youngest granddaughter will come up the stairs, open the door, and will behold a beautiful, magical sight--the entire living room transformed into a winter wonderland, complete with twinkling lights, snowflakes, tinsel, garland, ribbon, and "snow."  And she will gaze on it with childlike wonder, and then the melee will begin!  Sophie will wake up from her big girl bed to a wonderful Christmas with her Mommy and Daddy, her Grandma and Grandpa, and her Uncle David, in one more day.

In one more day, carefully wrapped gifts will be excitedly and hurriedly unwrapped, paper and tags going every which way; bags will be filled with wrapping paper and boxes and plastic, and David will separate recyclables into the appropriate outside bins.  Candy cane cake will be sliced and eaten with a delicious, hot cup of coffee, and I will manage to not eat any, or any other sugar, for just one more day.

In one more day, we will all call our families and friends, near and far, who cannot celebrate with us this year.  We will wish them Merry Christmas, compare Christmas morning gift bonanzas, tell them we loved what they got us, chit chat for a few moments, and then quickly end that call and make the next one.  Yes, there are fewer calls to make this year--both of Alex's parents, my dad, a few friends--all dead and gone.  We will pick up the phone, look at a photo, an ornament, or perhaps even a gift that brings their memory painfully clear for just one more day.

In one more day, we will celebrate, not just commemorate, the birth of a tiny child who came to save us all from sin and death.  And hopefully, we will realize, that in one more day,

It is not

Just one more day.

God's Perfect Timing

So much on my mind tonight.  Joy, sadness, and awe.  

Joy for the precious grandchildren God has blessed us with, most recently Raina and Darrin--my eyes fill with tears as the house is finally full of my husband's laughter and the children's giggles. We have waited for over 10 years for this moment, there were times, I confess, we thought it would never arrive, but God works on His schedule, not ours. And the joy is all the sweeter, because it happened when God designed it to happen.

Sadness and yet anticipation for the wonders God will work for so many friends and neighbors struggling with illnesses, with legal issues, with financial woes. Two friends are at the end of their earthly lives, their loved ones praying by their side, waiting for their God and savior to take them to their Home.  Another person, whom I have never met, is right now fighting death, as hundreds of prayer warriors entreat God to work one of His wondrous miracles, and to heal his cancer-ridden body. And two dear friends are facing emotionally exhausting legal battles, due to no fault of their own, and God holds them in His capable hands.  

And, awestruck by His perfect timing. For last night, as I was taking my granddaughter, Raina, to the store to buy a couple of things for dinner, a guy on a scooter ran off our country road into a ditch. I almost thought he was just going off-roading, it happened so fast; I stopped the car, and it took me almost a minute to see where he went!  Had we not been there right at that moment, he would never have been found. You couldn't even see him from the road for all the leaves and the bridge and the sharp curve. He was laying in the leaves, his leg all twisted in a weird way, and he was moaning.  I called my husband, then 911, and waited for the EMS to come by. Meanwhile, I tried to keep him warm with my Clemson fleece jacket, and keep him calm, and prayed. The rescue squads came, they got that young man out of the ditch, and Lord willing, he is doing okay 

So many "coincidences." So yes, I trust Him to work all things out to His glory. He's done pretty good so far.   😉

Corban

It never ceases to amaze me how God's Word speaks to me every day, and that, no matter how often I read His Word, or hear His Word, there is always something new, some phrase or even a single word that speaks to my heart. Such was the case last Sunday, when Andy preached on the Gospel of Mark, specifically Mark 7:1-23.  In this passage, the Pharisees are again challenging the disciples, and indirectly, Jesus Himself, on their adherence to God's commandments. Over the centuries, the Hebrews had constructed a system of tradition, traditions based on God's law handed down through Moses, traditions meant to remind God's people of God's laws and commandments. One of these traditions was the ceremonial cleansing of hands and items used in food preparation, a cleansing meant to represent setting aside a sacrifice for God alone. But like all traditions that come from the heart of man, this strictly human tradition had become distorted, the true purpose forgotten. No longer were the Pharisees concerned with how to keep their hearts clean and set aside for God. They were more concerned with the appearance of cleanliness, not in the keeping of God's commandments.

Of course, Jesus turned the tables on them, focusing their attention on how another human tradition was in direct violation of God's law:

8 You leave the commandment of God and hold to the tradition of men.” And he said to them, “You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to establish your tradition! 10 For Moses said, ‘Honor your father and your mother’; and, ‘Whoever reviles father or mother must surely die.’ 11 But you say, ‘If a man tells his father or his mother, “Whatever you would have gained from me is Corban”’ (that is, given to God)— 12 then you no longer permit him to do anything for his father or mother, 13 thus making void the word of God by your tradition that you have handed down. And many such things you do.” (Mark 7:8-13)

I had never heard or read that word "Corban" before, or if I had, I skimmed right past it. Andy explained the term, and I did a little research after church as well.  According to prevailing tradition of the time, one could designate his financial resources  as "corban," which was a way of tagging them, or marking them, as set aside for God, unable to use for personal reasons. There is even an illustration in Jewish historical records that the temple treasury was "corban" and could not be used for secular purposes, e.g. city improvements such as building an aqueduct.  The Pharisees had manipulated this tradition to serve their own selfish, covetous desires, even to the point of flouting God's commandment to honor their parents. If they marked their financial resources as Corban, they were exempt/excused from supporting their parents.  

In all that we are going through these past few months, God knew I needed to hear this. It is not easy to follow God's commandments, because we are sinful, selfish creatures. We are all too willing to find excuses to circumvent God's law, to follow empty traditions that have long since ceased to have a purpose.  Having grown up in the Catholic Church, I was surrounded, no inundated, in traditions. Traditions that became more important than the Word, traditions that took on a life of their own and no longer resembled anything Biblical. I, too, was like those Pharisees. I felt justified in keeping with those traditions.  

Like I have said before, Alex and I feel called by God to obey this commandment, to honor our parents in their poor health, their frailty, their old age. It isn't easy. Many times over the past several weeks, I have been tempted to doubt what God is telling us to do, to listen to others who tell me to take care of myself. At times, I selfishly resent our parents for needing us so much, even to the point of being angry at them. I feel sorry for myself because my husband is not here with me, or because my life is not as I pictured it would be. I want to guard my time, my money, my schedule, to set it all aside as "corban" so it cannot be touched. I try to justify my selfishness, but I cannot. God's commandment is clear.  

Honor they father and thy mother.  

God's law trumps tradition every time.  

Miracles

I believe in miracles... not luck or happenstance, or even coincidence. But true, honest to goodness miracles. Brought about by prayers and the faith of a secret prayer warrior, perhaps even someone I have never met. In the past two months, I have personally experienced two miracles. Events with no other explanation other than God answering prayer and holding me in His loving Hands.

First, my youngest daughter, Becky, announced she is pregnant, expecting our next grandchild in February. Notwithstanding that conception is a miracle by itself....this news was even more awe-inspiring because Becky had leukemia at the age of 12--and her little body was exposed to 3 years of chemotherapy and radiation. And by all rights, her reproductive system was probably too scarred to conceive. Yet, the child God gave me, is now carrying her first child.

Then, last week I was driving to an appointment in Asheville, it was raining, I had a migraine, and traffic was horrible.  No, I was not texting, on the phone, or otherwise distracted. I changed lanes to the left, but didn't see the vehicle in my blind spot.  He swerved, but I felt the impact as our vehicles side-swiped each other...my driver's side to his passenger front door.  Shaking, I pulled into the next available parking lot, he followed, and we both got out of our cars--me apologizing and crying, and him looking frustrated and irritated, even though we were thankful we avoided oncoming traffic. We then each looked at our cars...not a single scratch.  Not even a brush, a chip, rubbed area on tires...nothing. There was no damage. We were incredulous. We both kept saying "I felt the impact." No damage, no accident, nothing. We hugged, in the rain, thanking Jesus out loud. Then we both went about our day, continuing our normal daily lives, but we were both forever changed by this brief event.

How many times do I tell someone I will keep them in my prayers, but I only give it a lukewarm effort? How often do I forget to follow through with my prayers until weeks later when I see that person again? And yes, I know God hears them regardless of how imperfect my prayers. He knows the needs, the desires, I get that. 

But, what if my one imperfect prayer could result in a miracle?

Thank you, secret prayer warriors.

Thank you God

We serve an awesome God!

No place like home...

Last year Alex retired and we finally (FINALLY) moved to our beautiful home in Pisgah Forest, North Carolina. However, we were so busy with 90th birthday parties, new granddaughters being born, visiting with family, and just moving in we did not really get to enjoy it much. Then, we drove our RV to Florida in October, and lived in central Florida for the next 5 months (two adults and three dogs in 400 sq feet...yikes!), and in February we did some globetrotting--Belgium, India (of course), Crete, and Germany. When we got back to the good old USA, we left for our first cross country RV trip.

Living in an RV full time is definitely not my thing, but traveling cross country was sure fun....and we saw so much of God's beautiful creation, rekindled old friendships, recemented family ties, and had a great time. In actual numbers, here is how we spent our spring:

- Six weeks

- 6049 miles

- Fifteen states

- 135 new birds to add to my "Big Year"

- One indoor skydiving

- Two broken RV windshields

- One inoperative microwave

- Ten crockpot dinners

- Four nights of dry camping (no power, water, or sewage hookups)

- 26 friends and family members visited

- One scare with the Lexus not starting

- Countless county, state, and national parks visited

- Over 400 photos

And through it all, holding us all together in His divine providence and grace...

ONE AMAZING GOD!

Aliens in this world

We are on a trek across the US in our RV, taking our time, enjoying ourselves, and relaxing...well, I am relaxing as much as I can since I am a schedule loving, type A person.  Anyway, one of the places my husband wanted to, no, insisted on, visiting, was Roswell, New Mexico.  He wanted to "set up a lawn chair and watch the night sky" and he also wanted to see all the alien paraphernalia around the town.  Well, we spent two nights there--no UFOs, and only a few green statues in front of businesses, and some tongue in cheek slogans on store fronts.  Just a small town in the middle of nowhere.  Still fun, though.  

Then today I read the following in my verse of the day: 

 "Dear friends, I urge you, as aliens and strangers in the world, to abstain from sinful desires, which war against your soul." — 1 Peter 2:11

Aliens, strangers....that is what we are.  More to the point, that is what I am...an alien and a stranger in the world.  And Peter's warning could not be more convicting, more condemning, for today, as most days, I did succumb to sinful desires...the desire to only think of myself.  It wasn't pretty, it wasn't nice, it wasn't loving.  

Little green men in silver spaceships we are not...but we are aliens in this earthly world, and the world does wage war against my soul every day.

Getting my attention

I've read the story of Moses and the burning bush hundreds of times but today one verse in Exodus made me stop and actually made me smile. "When The Lord saw that He had caught Moses attention God called to him from the bush, 'Moses, Moses!'"  Like He was saying, "Hey, you...hellooooo!  Finally!  Do I have your attention now?"

How many times has God set a burning bush before me and I just ignored it in favor of something I thought was more important.  What is my burning bush?  Well, depends on the time of day, the week, the year, the decade.  Right now it's this illness or condition or whatever we are calling it today.  You have my attention, Lord.  I am focusing completely on you.