Heart Springs

MIGHTY JUNGLE: MIGHTER GOD

2011-09-27T09:00:00.000-05:00

"Through the Lord's mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not."

~ Lamentations 3:22

FRIENDS, I AM SHARING A PIECE OF MY HEART WITH YOU. A POST IS LONG OVERDUE.

"What did you say, Honey?" My husband's voice could not have sounded more gentle. Its soothing kindness humbled me. His tender, compassionate soul captivated mine, yet, searching my fog-ridden mind for an answer was too tiring. Response was so distant. Too far to reach. Words alive seconds before lay dead.

Yet, these dead words and others in my life are not dead so silent. Their powerful influence screams with life.

They are an unyielding, haunting, scrambled voice, an unwelcomed echo that takes no notice of my desire that they be raised.

I plead. I shout. The dormant bundles do not hear. They do not listen.

Doctors tell me it is "brain fog," an inability to recall words or details, a fuzzy sort of feeling in the head. Concentration can be elusive.  And the frustration of it all is hard to reconcile in a body exasperated with pain, exhaustion, and muscle stiffness.

I look for mercy. I hope for reprieve from the other annoyances of reflux, dizziness, depression, tinnitus, and hair loss.

Yet, fibromyalgia has chosen to make its presence known in my life.  It must be heard.  It must be felt.

Fibromyalgia is like a choking vine. It wraps and wraps, trying to mask the person whose life has become its ground and wall. Its job is to suffocate, to criple, to put down.

As I write these words, my "voice" struggles through a mighty jungle.  I am impassioned. Like one who longs to find her secret garden behind sticky thorns, sappy branches and clinging vines, I work to cut down and pull out barriers to imagination.

My strength is inefficient. My work is lacking. My persistence is waning.

I gasp for air, as one being buried in woody mire. The echoes of confinement raise to mock my insufficiency. These echoes are clear, understood words. They work to banish hope, to kill desire, to destroy belief.

These words mean war.

I fight for faith, reach for grace, grasp for knowledge of One Who can smother the brutal echoes, Who can with one word crumble walls and cut vines, Who has strength to bear life and lift from mire, Who has hope to restore loss, Who has grace to soothe pain.  One,...

Who waits for my stillness.

When faced with chronic pain, stillness is not the natural way for most, including me. We want to move. We want to search and find our own way. We go to doctors and physical therapy. We take medication. We scan the web and look for help. We go on special diets. We visit the health food store. We fight to have our life the way we know it should be. The way it used to be.

Such has been my fleshly fight.

And, in the midst of this fleshly fight, I have come face to face with a greater enemy. It is a bigger opponent than pain.

It is a war of a weary soul.  My soul yearns for rest within.  It cries with the need to be still, the need to find deeper grace, the need to know greater personal reality with God, the need to live Paul's words that tell me to be "content in whatever situation I am in" (Philippians 4:11).

Friends, I seek healing, but I also seek something, Someone, greater than healing.

An understanding of the phrases, "Seek the Giver, not the gift; seek the Healer, not the healing," are my reality. And,...

it is precious reality.

Perhaps that sounds foreign to you. But before you judge me, listen to my heart.

I am living with pain allowed by a God so loving, so compassionate, so tender, so I would seek the beauty of sufficient grace. Grace that pours like a river into the life of one who is only and always not enough on her own. Grace that is only found through surrender that calls loudly for more and more of me.

Grace that is not found in the pew of my church. Grace that is not found in a perfectly well body. Grace that is not found in pristine appearance.  Grace that is not found in serving. Grace that is not found in a perfect life.

I seek that grace that is found on the battlefield of my insufficiency and His sufficient place.

I weep. I rejoice. I huddle in pain. I rise in praise. I hurl in rebellion. I crumble in surrender.

I taste depression, yet dance with joy because He is faithful. And, He is my God, Who loves me with everlasting love!

Friends, the Father's grace does not compare with human best. All the times and seasons of our lives are in His nail-scarred hands. I cannot weigh God's goodness on human scales. With every prayer breathed, I ask Him to be my all in all. I pray to let go of my human need to understand, and to let go of any fleshly idea that I have a right to understand.

I work to surrender. To flesh-out my faith. I confess my not enough, and glory in Christ's everything in everything.

Reality stings and sets free, for awesome victory follows surrender!

I hope you hear my heart leaping, as my fingers press my keyboard with promise! I pray you are rejoicing with me as you hear the Vinedresser cutting through a mighty jungle in my life!

I'm alive, and my soul will ever live to give glory to the One and only God and Jesus Christ, my redeemer.

As I close, I am thinking now of so many who suffer much, much more than I do. This day, so many live with devastating words, and so many hearts break and are breaking because of pain that speaks terminal hopelessness. Please pray for these lives and the lives of their loved ones. Please cry out to God for those who face cancer and other severe illnesses and traumatic injuries. Ask God for healing and hope.

Because of His Grace, Through His Love,

When Mountains Won't Move

2011-05-18T13:30:00.005-05:00

Jones Valley, Huntsville, AL

A simple sharing of Psalm 24...

I am surrounded by mountains. In the winter months, their brownish peaks tell of both dormancy and awaiting life. In spring, their leaves of verdant hues fill in empty spaces in my horizon, creating beauty and expanding joy.

Our city is flanked by the foothills of the Appalachians, so their blue-green peaks are ubiquitous. One of my favorite places to tread is Jones Valley. Just eleven years ago, when we first moved to Huntsville, it was only pastureland. Now it is also now a vibrant, growing shopping center.  Most of my buying ambitions are satisfied there. I love to bargain shop! When I come out of Target or Marshall's or Ross (my best places), I am always taken back by the mountains in the distance before me. God's creative force forces praise from my soul. I walk to my car, humbled and thankful that He is my God and that there is no other!

Mountains are a statement of God's power!

Is that the powerful force David discussed in Psalm 24? "Who may climb the mountain of the LORD? Who may stand in his holy place?" The Psalmist continues to write that purity ushers us into God's presence. Purity levels the mountains of separation between us flawed humans and our holy God.

The desperate need of God's presence and power in my life compels me to seek purity. Every day. At morning, noon, evening, and in-between. Each moment, I seek wholeness, so that I will be whole in His presence, so that I will "receive blessing from the LORD and vindication from God" my Savior (v.5).

If I seek purity, I meet with majesty. Yes, God's majesty awaits a sanctified heart.

Yet, sometimes, I must admit, purity seems so far, so unachievable.  Because it is.

It is unachievable in my own strength. Without the cross, without grace, I am hopelessly abandoned to self-will and sin.

So, the seeking of "the mountain of the Lord" and "God's holy place" begins in determined abandonment of my own nature. I am thinking of Mary whose great solace was taking "a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair (John 12:3). I am thinking of Ruth, who told Naomi,  "Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God" (Ruth 1:16). I am thinking of Paul who wrote to the Corinthians,  "I am jealous for you with a godly jealousy. I promised you to one husband, to Christ, so that I might present you as a pure virgin to him (2 Corinthians 11:2).

Inspiring and urging voices lead me to purity. Father, how I need your purity, so the glory of God will be seen in me.

I see the "holy hill" before me now. Yes, it is a long walk and is up a hill. On that hill stands a cross, and below that cross is ground for kneeling....

Scriptures used are from the NIV Bible.

Light in the Heart of Dimness

2011-01-23T18:42:00.000-06:00

From my heart to yours, I thank you for bearing with me as I am draw from the Well of Living Waters and seek his strength. When I last posted in November, I did not expect to be away from blogging for so long. I never planned a break. I just kept clinging to the belief that each day I would feel rested and find strength to post again. That day has not arrived; yet, I am beginning to see light flicker in dimness.

The flurry of bringing our home back together, increasing chronic pain and fatigue, along with caring for my grandchildren and keeping up with church became a bit overwhelming for me. It is not easy to admit weakness, but I recognize pride as a dangerous enemy and a barrier that prevails against overcoming faith. So, I appreciate your prayers, as I seek refreshment that I may again encourage you and give my life more wholly to Jesus.

Isn't God great? Aren't you so thankful to know him and share in the gospel of Jesus Christ? God's faithfulness and mercy astound me each day, and despite my feelings, I awake every morning with joy, knowing that He created our days and nothing surpasses his knowledge or love. Oh, yeah! Lamentations 3:22-24 is one of my favorite passages, and I can't go one day without it!

"Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, 'The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.'”

Hold that one close to your soul, my friend! And let the words of Jeremiah filter through your struggles. He knew his portion. That portion is God himself, "who was and is and is to come" (Revelation 4:8). Never count God out! He always shows up! Bless his holy name!

I love you, sweet friends! Hang with me, please!

P. S. The pic below is from Christmas day. My husband is always by my side, and I love him for his heart that's so huge it would hold the world and for his awesome love for the Lord.

*Bible quotes are from the NIV.

BREATHE ON PURPOSE

2010-11-18T12:24:00.001-06:00

This season lingers with whispers of His grace.

The massive tree ten steps from my picture window has now shed most of its leaves. The tree top is green and gold. The lower part is sparse with golden, withering growth, and as I watch the wind gently blow through the oak's branches, the golds, piece by piece, fall gracefully eastward. The new fallen leaves then waltz in the cool, November air, looking to nest on our ground. They seem to seek for rest from their shady work, while they wait to be cured and carried away.

I love to watch their descent. I love to walk in the dead leaves and enjoy their crunchy texture and think of the hope they give.

Hope?

Yes. My falling and fallen leaves speak of a forward glance. They make me think of Thanksgiving, Christmas, a new year, and even a spring to come. The death of an old season gives me pause, as I anticipate celebration with family and build expectation of new life in a season to be born.

Yes. Fall gives me pause, an intermission, a tarrying, a choice time of lingering, a restful breath, a temporal stay from past activity.

Author Eudora Welty spoke of a pause as a slowing down, "like a merry-go-round after a ride." I can relate to her metaphor. As a child, I loved a merry-go-round, and if given a chance, I would still love to step onto the huge turntable and pick my seat, hoping for a carriage, where I could sit and enjoy riding and watching.

I would hate for the ride to end, but the slowing down before its stop would pull my heart and head into balanced reality.

Balanced reality. Restful waitings. Temporary stays. Intentional breathings.

When placed together, those four phrases sound very enticing. In imagination their ideas resonate with desire. In reality, they are met with resistant pleas.

They are, nonetheless, part of our Father's pattern for Christian existence.

God's word is full of intentional breathings. Thank of Jacob's fourteen year wait for Rachel; Joseph's three year wait in prison; Jonah's three-day stay within the fish's belly; Jesus' three-day wait on Resurrection power; the disciples 120-day wait in the Upper Room, and our Father's sovereign choice to rest one day after His six days of creating the world.

Jesus spoke about the need for restful waits. His words to His disciples when they were weary from ministry anchor my soul. Listen to His authoritative, compassionate plea, as Jesus speaks of the need for pause:

"Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest" (Mark 6:31, ESV).

Receive those words for your life. Not only were they spoken for Jesus' disciples over two thousand years ago, but Jesus speaks them for us now. In my mind, I can hear His compassionate, Shepherd's voice. It is so personal and caring. Its gentleness breaks my soul in pieces. To grasp His loving reach is so humbling.

Yet, I sometimes tire in my grasp. Have you ever prayed with tired arms? "Father, I know you love me. I need you. I can't live without you, but my soul is weighed down with __________________. I long to reach back, to let the power of your love soak my dryness. Help me rest and believe."

The Greek word Jesus uses for rest in Mark 6:31 is anapauo (an-ap-ow-o), which means to cause or permit one to cease from any movement or labor in order to recover and collect his strength; to refresh; to give one’s self rest; to keep quiet; to be calm and have patient expectation.

Some seasons of our lives feel like a movie stuck on pause. Can anyone relate? The seeming suspension of time is frustrating and discouraging. The sense of stillness is unnatural to our flesh and makes us question our purpose and future. The craving for rest is powerful, but seems beyond reach. Isn't it ironic that the simplicity of ceasing can be such a war for us?

The craving of resting in Christ vs. the desire to find our own way is an exhausting fight, and it's a war we cannot win on our own. A lot of things may help, but only One can deliver. Only Jesus' strength is perfected in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Take time for breathing. Yield to Christ's call. Create a place for some restful waiting. Let Jesus' words give life and healing as you choose to be in His presence.

He speaks. He offers rest. He extends renewal.

As falling leaves prepare my tree for a new season, so God's pauses in our lives prepare our souls for fresh grace. Rest is not a delay of God's best. It is part of His best. And, friend, for spiritual wholeness, it's really not an option.

Take His hand and go with Him. By yourself. Find a quiet place and rest your soul in the strong arms of your Father.

Waiting and Expecting,

KEEP TIGHT IN CHRIST

2010-10-22T10:20:00.002-05:00

Patience can be defined as the tolerance of delay.

from thefreedictionary.com

We imagined an easily accomplished afternoon. A visit to the allergist. A visit to the bank. Other errands, and caring for our granddaughters. Our one vehicle requires careful planning of our days. Last Tuesday's needs created opportunity for Jeff and I to juggle a busy schedule.

With two girls in tow, safely attached to their car seats, Jeff would drop me by the doctor; then, he would go the bank, finish the errands, and take the children home. I would call him on my cell when my appointment was done. It seemed so easily managed.

And so it was easy until I walked out of my doctor's office, picked up the phone, dialed home, and received a "cannot complete your call now; please try again later" message. "OK," I thought. "I must not have a good signal inside the building. I'll step outside and call."

Same number. Same message. Same problem. I couldn't get through. I tried again. And, again. And, again.

I scanned my phone for numbers. Maybe someone else could get through. I found my brother's number and gave him a call. He phoned my home number and called me back. "Andrea, I'm getting a busy signal."

I scanned my phone for my son, Steven's, work number. He proved very difficult to reach, but after a long while, I got through to him. He tried to call his dad and got the same "Your call cannot be completed" message. Steven would see what he could do to help me and call me back.

I was stranded for now.

I stood outside the beautiful brick building, its four columns gracing a covered portico, which gave me shade. The afternoon was very warm but not hot, and a light breeze occasionally lifted its gentle presence across my face.

I remembered a hair clip was in my purse, so I dug through the depths of pictures, eyeglasses, papers, book, pens, mints, and everything else and found the clip at the bottom, took it, and put up my hair.

I ignored the looks of the passersby, who were going in and out of the doctors' building.

I waited.

I thought of walking the three miles home. "If only I hadn't worn these shoes with heals. (They were only two inches, but for me may as well been five.)  Why didn't I wear my cushy, black sandals?"

I waited.

I thought of how my patience span was much less elastic than it had been an hour before.

My cell rang. It was Steven, who said he couldn't leave his job at present, but was sending someone to take me home.

I waited. Longer. And longer, still.

A new problem began to grow in my soul. I felt an urgent choice arise within, as on one hand my flesh begged for permission to be angry, and on the other hand my spirit remembered words hidden in my heart.

I breathed, and prayed. "Father my days were all written in your book before I was conceived. Help me, Lord, to hear you here, in this place, in my now. Holy Spirit, help me to rest in you. To be patient. To do what pleases you. To see in you in this frustrating, passing moment."

Minutes later, still alone, my son called with news that my deliverer was lost. I walked in front of the building and found the address number, so he could call my rescuer and give her clearer directions.  Yes, I am one of those people who just might forget to include an address with directions, but please remember my Father loves me anyway.

Several minutes later, a lovely young girl named Stephanie pulled up in front of me. "Are you Steven's mom?"

"Yes!" which was said with a huge, huge, huge sigh of relief.

Realizing my new friend needed gas in her car, I asked her to stop so I could bless her for blessing me.  Afterwards, we spoke of her children and the difficulties of being a young mom.

Stephanie glanced at me. "You're different than I thought you would be. I was afraid you would be mad after waiting all that time, especially when I couldn't find you."

Feeling very humbled by her candor, I told her I was so thankful she could help me and I was in no way mad at her or anyone else.

We parted with a connection and a God-placed nearness. I knew she wasn't a Christian, and though I hadn't won her to Jesus, a seed was planted.

That seed was placed in her soil because the Lord had given me grace to keep tight in Christ. In my weakness, He gave me strength to make the choice to "Be still, and know" that He is God (Psalm 46:10).

I wish I had a picture to share of my dear Jeff's shocked face when he opened the door to find me standing there, my face red from stress and warmth and my hair plopped on my head like mashed potatoes on a plate.

"What in the world?" he asked, as he and Olivia and Ella stood gazing at me in awe.

I explained it all. He picked up the phone to find our service was down. A few phone calls later found us with a new provider for our landline. I love my husband!

And, I love You, Lord! What a wonderful friend and shepherd You are! Because of Your grace, I could keep tight. Because your word was fire in my heart and hope in my soul, Stephanie could wonder why I was not angry and rude.

My son shared the whys with Stephanie when she arrived safely back to her job. And, I pray God will nurture the tiny, tender seed in her heart with His great love.

I wondered later: "Why didn't I call directory assistance and get a taxi?" Sometimes being a little dull around the edges is a useful tool in God's hands. Truly, His grace is functional in everything great and all things small.

Friends, keep tight in Christ,

HE WALKED THE WAY

2010-10-01T13:00:00.002-05:00

Summer is gone! I am not saddened by its disappearance because I do not like hot weather, and I loathe humidity. What a relief it is for this southern girl to awake to crisp, breathable air each morning!

The cool air and colorful strength of fall means more than breathable, physical change. It speaks of a transition time that holds new meaning and purpose. It begins a journey toward celebration of harvest festivals, Thanksgiving, and the birth of Jesus.

This current fall morning, our forward journey includes the continuing story of the November 2009 fire we had in our home. I would have never believed it possible! Who would have known that we would still be in the throes of it all? Yet, God's good has walked with us and will walk with us through fine details that will be completed. Through God's grace, we will finish our climb to the mountain above us and look down at the smoky valley with God-enpowered vision.

What a faithful God we serve! I could not have walked this way without His presence! Sometimes Jeff and I pause to question the process of what seems a year of our lives lost to an explosive second. Yet, God's grace immediately interrupts our pauses, speaking peace, speaking patience, speaking hope, speaking faith, and speaking the reality of what could have been true disaster.

I share a story this fall 2010 morning because of divine intervention. Sweet Olivia, my three year old granddaughter, was spared injury and possible death from the explosion simply because she didn't want to leave Mimi's house an autumn afternoon in 2009. If you're not familiar with the story, you can read about it here: http://aparsonswife.blogspot.com/2009/11/fearful-sound.html

Olivia and her younger sister Ella spent some time with me Tuesday. While a frozen pizza baked in the oven, we all snuggled up on the daybed in our little walk-through bedroom. I love cuddle time with my grands and take advantage of every cuddle opportunity.

I was whispering "I love you" in their wee ears when Olivia suddenly lighted from my arms, walked to the bookshelf, and brought me a book. I saw that it was The Wind in the Willows, a classic that will be fun to share with my grandchildren when they are a little older. Expecting to read a bit from her choice, I was surprised when she said, "I want to read you a story, Mimi." Of course, she cannot read, but as any three year old, she wants to believe she can, and I humored her pretension.

"Okay," I said, with no reservations, yet having no clue that God had shown up with a blessing prepared for us.

Olivia entitled the book He Walked the Way. In hearing those words, I knew our cuddle time was going to be more than our usual grandmother-granddaughters bonding. It would be a bonding session with Jesus. God had chosen to sweeten my current fall morning with a real message about real life and real values. With each of the page, Olivia "read." I'll share with you her story.

"Jesus had a cross....He had a cross. He walked the way....He walked the way for Livvy....He walked the way for Mimi....He walked the way for Ella....He walked the way for Papa....He walked the way for Bubba....He walked the way for Mommy and Daddy....He walked the way. Amen."

Jesus walked the way.  Truth spoken from the lips of one too young to fully grasp her words entwined its beautiful vine around my heart!

Those words are the summation of our faith. Isn't His walking the beginning and ending of all our experiences? Don't the lines in the sandy soil that led to Golgotha's Hill mark every conscious decision of our lives? Don't the images of Jesus' compassion and his sweat and blood and suffering give us faith that makes us stand when our world is rocked or turned upside-down? Doesn't his resurrection give us hope that is not tied to temporal things?  Doesn't the vision he gives us reveal the true meaning of living?

Yes, He walked the way. He walked a way that was scorched with pain of every kind, so I can walk freely in the Spirit.  Thank you, Abba Father, that you sacrificed your only Son for me, for my family, for everyone of us.

Jesus walked the way for our freedom, so that we can have salvation, freedom, joy, peace, leadership, deliverance, healing, and so much more.

Whatever your journey requires, Jesus has surveyed your steps.  He has walked your way. He knows your way. He is the Shepherd that leads you on your way and will carry you when paths are too rough for your treading.

I love passing Olivia's story on to you! Rejoice! You do not have to fear! You are not alone and never will be!  He has walked, is walking, and will walk your way!

Your Shepherd's Calling . . .

2010-08-18T08:40:00.002-05:00

"The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want . . ."  Psalm 23 must have been one of the first scriptures I ever learned because I cannot remember not knowing it. And as long as I've known it, I have loved it. To embrace the impassioned, ocean-deep words of David's soul is comforting. His heart's voice is like a balm, still giving life after 3000 years with God-breathed language.

I have lately been pondering Psalm 23.  Something about a valley walk makes their message even more life-giving. Something about living around shadows, of the need to feast in the presence of trials, of the desperate, exhaustive search for peaceful rest and restoration, lifts Psalm 23 from comforting to miraculous.

Dwelling in the pastures of the 23rd Psalm is drinking from an endless well of calming waters.  Who does not need that today?  I cannot imagine a 21st century Christian who is exempt from the harshness and desert-like terrain of our society. Most of us live on the fringes of a spiritual heat stroke or wilderness dehydration, and sometimes we are so busy caring for others we don't even hear our own soul's pleas for help.

But, if we stop, simply pause, and listen, if we pull aside and face our exhaustion and fears, if we grasp courage and let the Holy Spirit whisper in our ears, we will let go of our busyness for a time and know our need. We will see, with godly vision, our real selves, not just the smoke screen that is created with the environments of life. And seeing with godly vision creates a desire to find the still waters of which David wrote.

In my own seeking, I've been thinking about Elijah. The prolific Old Testament prophet surely walked close to death and lived in the presence of his enemies. He expended himself in gut-wrenching ministry. Elijah prophesied drought for Israel for their embracing of other gods; he ran from the wicked, murderous schemes of Ahab and Jezebel; in obedience to God, he proved to Israel the folly of their idol worship by building a water-drenched altar where Yahweh showed up with His fire and was once again proclaimed the One, true God; Elijah ordered the killing of 450 priests of Baal; he then ran for his life from Jezebel's vow to kill him.  No wonder Elijah became so exhausted that all he could do was sit under a Juniper tree and be nourished by angels.  Empty, exhausted, and depressed, the Prophet needed divine intervention. Regaining strength, Elijah travelled forty days and nights and finally hid in a cave, and perhaps we might think of that lonely, dark, empty place as the cleft of a rock. Yes, a cave carved by our Creator for Elijah's need.

We all know the story well. God showed up again.  This time He was there to prove Himself to Elijah. Yahweh spoke. Not in the wind, an earthquake, or a fire, but in a "still, small voice." The original Hebrew words that describe God's "still, small voice" tell us much about our loving Shepherd. Their meanings are calm, whispering, very thin, light, peaceful.  A heroic, but fragile Elijah needed a tender Shepherd's voice to speak to his wounded, broken, fearful soul.

Sweet friends, aren't you glad that your God knows you through and through and calls you by name? Not only does He call you by name, but God also knows how to call you and from where to call you. He knows the very tone to use and the providential echo that will capture your focus.

The same Shepherd to David and Elijah is your Shepherd this moment. He is where you are. He is what you need. He your NOW God!

Working mom, Jesus is your path to a quiet place. Stay at home mom, His green pastures will feed your soul and give you strength and resources to care for your family. Empty-nester, your lonely spaces will overflow with His joy.  Grandmother, pray in confidence for your children and grandchildren, for you do not have to fear evil. Weary servant, listen for your Lover's voice, as He whispers truth.

In my quiet time this morning, God led me to one of my favorite scriptures: Lamentations 3:22-23. "Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." What a great beginning for this day and everyday of my life and your life!!! To grasp the reality of God's love, compassion, mercy, and faithfulness is everything we need for every circumstance.

Hang onto His truth. Praise Him for all the good He's shows you. Cling to His word and love with all you have, and keep these verses from Lamentations before you, for through their reality in your own world, you will not lack. You will not be in want.

God is good. I am overwhelmed with thankfulness for His merciful nature.  Our Yahweh is a giving God. He is our personal Shepherd, who guides us lovingly through our lives.

Trust in His staff and rod now. Yield to His boundaries. Yield to His complete knowledge. Yield to His hand. Yield to His tender voice.

I love you, friends.

*NIV scripture references

HOME

2010-07-23T08:00:00.002-05:00

Dear Sweet Friends,

I have not left blogging or lost my heart for you. On the contrary, you are always on my heart. My scarceness in the blogging world results from overwhelming tasks and honest exhaustion.  Be assured of my thoughts, prayers, and love for you, as I reestablish my home and try to recover.  I pray Philippians 4:19 for all of you, knowing that our Father God sees you and loves you and longs to be your everything in every situation of your lives.

Your Heart-Partner in Jesus,

Andrea

With a deep breath, and unabashed thanksgiving, I can proclaim that we have returned to our home.  Yes, after eight months of separation from our own small piece of earth and earthly possessions, Jeff and I have crossed one major hurdle in this current race. I never expected our extended itineration from personal property. Yet, God in his sovereignty, knew and chose that we have that separation and return.

And, as you know, anything God allows, anything He touches, He makes good. For, "we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28, NKJV). Years ago, I heard Elisabeth Elliot, with her precious voice of humility, talk about the "good" in that verse. She said that it is not a particular state of happiness spawned by circumstances. The good, Elisabeth said in her wise way, is that God, with omniscient, Fatherly vision, does what is for our best. Our best is that which is for our eternal good, whatever draws us nearer to God's heart, whatever conforms us to the image of Jesus Christ.

His desire for our good is the condition behind all our personal trials. God views and weighs the pain, the process, and results: physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, and eternal.

In light of God's complete vision, He ordains and allows the events of our lives, for He knows what will purge us, renew us, and conform us to the image of Jesus. Because of God's grace and his Fatherly good, I can work through all the moments of November 8, 2009, the process of the fire, and the outcome, which is yet to be known.

Speaking truthfully, it has been very difficult to deal with the memories of the fire: watching my home in flames and my grandchildren scream in panic and cry with fear.  The aftermath of petroleum fumes hovering in our home and attaching to our things continues to linger, and the pain of not knowing the final results of our insurance claim, along with the sting of anger for insurance adjusters and contractors makes me lean the harder on God and His grace. I stand in His grace and by faith alone as I try to grasp the idea of loss and what ifs, and deal with many other issues that are always attached to trauma and major life events.

Attached to everything are true feelings that are very human. But there is a divine issue greater than my human comprehension and fleshly experiences.  To find peace in all things earthly, in all things humanly spoken, I must complete my thoughts with two words: but God.

But, God!

I have always loved that two-word phrase that grammatically unqualifies as a sentence, but supernaturally qualifies as victory. But, God made, makes, and is making all things new and all things good. And just what the good of our experience is will be fully revealed in eternity, though yet even with my darkly glassed vision (1 Corinthians 13:12), some details are already tangible.

As I write, there remains a lot of physicality to our situation.  Don't mistake me.  I am thankful, ever so thankful for all God has done and brought us through. My thankfulness, however, doesn't change the leftovers we now face. Much is left to sort through. If I fix my vision on the leftovers and see only the mess of it all, I will miss the miracle of God's ability to multiply His grace and provision.

God is the faithful One, and One particular mighty provision lies amongst the chaotic condition of our home. It is powerful and eternal. It is exact and undeniable. The voice of God, with the power of all His names, speaks through current disorder and pain. Reigning above earthly mystery of things lost, piles of dishes, clothes, books, papers, pictures, and other residuals is the presence of my Shepherd.  He speaks peace in this confusion. I therefore do not just see eight months of pain and more months of stress and work, I hear the mind of One most holy, who alone understands and knows me and searches my heart and is working on my will and vision.

Thus far, my Father has chosen to share a few truths that have captivated my heart.  God has faced me down with all of them. His words are very easy to accept in my mind, but my spirit is weak and battles, though self will not win, for I am locking in on that divine voice of reason.

One truth I will share with you now. Perhaps it is the most prolific and the sum of all God's teaching sessions.

That mighty truth is new eternal perspective.  Whatever my eyes see or my mind conceives is being framed with words that can comfort and heal, shatter and cleanse, or shake and refocus.

A chair is a chair. It has a purpose. It provides a place for one to sit. If it is a beautiful piece, then I am thankful for its aesthetic gift, but its form and presence are a very simple part of my life and have nothing to do with my joy or quality of living. Only God can give me joy.

And I may choose to receive joy in my life through things or through God. If I receive joy through things, my life is based on what is only earthly valuable. That choice makes for shaky faith and contentment that is very timid.

If I choose, however, to receive joy from my walk with God, my life is based on what is heavenly valuable. What is heavenly valuable will never depreciate. It will remain forever. I therefore have no fear of loss, and my faith has firm foundation.

Eternal perspective: seeing through eyes that look for eternal purpose in all things, in all situations, in all trials, in all relationships, in all joys, in all of life. It is a framing of grace only God can give, and I am finding it a process, not a photostatic change.

Thank you, Father God, for your patience. It is your longsuffering that pilots us to our knees. It is your grace that guides us so faithfully to eternal vision, for You know without it our conformity to Your Son is limited by our fleshly dreams.

I love you, friends!

Mud Pies and Straw Castles

2010-06-13T00:01:00.002-05:00

With hands stained orange from Georgia clay, I clasped rich soil. The sweet ground most always was tough at first. But my sand bucket, shovel, old serving spoon, and outside spigot meant no problem. Adding water to a little well dug in the earth, I knelt and plunged heart and hands into the mix.

Dirty knees did not matter, much less little hands, bare feet, and nails all grimy due to digging and designing. I could not have cared less of summer heat then. Besides, I was shaded by dense wood that I thought reached the sky.

Taking curved fingers, I reached, scooped, held, turned, and shaped til the softened earth became round. I then flattened into little pies that made me proud and happy.

It was hard work for a young girl who found escape and childhood dreams in a backyard filled with great shade, climbing trees, pine straw, footpaths, and sounds of nature and neighbors near. It was deliverance from summer boredom. It was discovery. I felt I owned that yard of Georgia soil.

It was really my father's dirt, not mine. And yet, it did belong to me, for my dad always told me that what belonged to him and my mother was also mine. And my delight in our land brought great joy to Daddy and Mama. They would watch from open windows and enjoy my imagination and their quiet.

My imagination never seemed to tire. When dusk settled in over Georgia sky, I heard my name and knew to leave my outdoor world and go to the spigot and wash. Later, a cast-iron tub, ivory soap, inside water, and prissy pajamas removed leftover play and welcomed my nights to paper dolls, books, and more pretend. Before I went to bed, Daddy would sometimes have to dig splinters from beneath my tender fingers that had used pine straw for imaginary walls in imaginary homes. I fell asleep with thoughts of old ground and new plans for the soil and make-believe world I so loved.

The soil never changed. It was old ground that was always waiting on me. Even if I returned to it today and searched my childhood home, that old dirt would still be there. The earthy smell would remain as it did in the 1960's. I could probably find the same spigot, take a little water, get on hands and knees, and dig my childhood well and make mud pies and feel the red clay soften and conform to my desire.

And if I returned to my childhood yard and made mud pies again or built a straw house, I would most likely look around and ask the proverbial question, "Where did time go?" At my new age of fifty-one, it is a question I ask often. Wondering how years can fade so fast is the one not-so-soothing thought that, as my grandma used to say, reminds us most "things never stay the same." Things are always changing.

Now, at this point in my life, my questions of time are changing. Accepting the uncontrollable, my thoughts now veer from "Where has time gone?" to "What has time done?" "How has it changed me?" "What has experience done to my person, my walk with God, my relationships, my life?" "Am I a better person?" "Have I made my dirt conformable to the hands of my Digger-of-Wells?" "Is God really my Potter?"

"Do I let Him change my dirt to His desire?" "Who has designed my plans and my dreams?" "Are they His?" "Or am I still busy with my own mud pies and straw castles?"

It's a hard thing to leave your own life alone, to give all you have to Jesus. From an early age, we're used to making do and making up as we go along. We're taught the importance of potential. Of dreams. Of purpose. Of lending ear to self. Of living up to ideal best. Of setting sail to the world's winds. We are told by educators that we are the masters of our destinies.

For a Christian, the worldly philosophy of mastering one's own destiny brings conflict to the soul. That conflict can even be war between the flesh and the spirit, as we strive against humanism and voices that plead for the salvation of personal choice over letting go and surrendering to God. Perhaps the natural inner conflict of letting go of our own lives is one reason the Apostle Paul wrote 1 Corinthians 13:11-12.

"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

As a child, Paul said he spent his time in childish things: his own imaginings, desires, designs, childlike behavior, talk, and dreams. But, when he became a man, a Spirit-filled, Christian man, Paul said he gave them all up for a greater cause. The greatest cause.

Paul did something that few of us accomplish as thoroughly as he did. He surrendered completely. He totally relinquished everything to Jesus Christ, the Savior, our Redeemer, our Rock, our Deliverer, the Lord of all. His life was absolutely centered in His Savior. Paul's only cause and his reason for living was Jesus. Christ was the Apostle's motivation for planning, for dreaming, for loving, and for losing.

Holding nothing back, he solidly proclaimed, "For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain" (Philippians 1:21).

I like to envision this mighty warrior of God as he penned that bold truth about self death to the Philippians from his prison cell in Rome. As I try to grasp this great statesman of faith, I remember another proclamation of Paul's pen:

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you (2 Corinthians 4:8-9).

What does it take for death of self? I believe there is much individuality in the answer. We all have our own particulars that God sees - those things that are spoken between Abba Father and us. But, regardless of the details, dying to self so that we can live in Christ is a process of pain and denial, one that requires God-supplied grace.

As the heat of summer 2010 burns its way into my real, now world, I yearn for God-supplied grace. I need denial. I need surrender. I need death. I want to forget about my "straw castles" and "mud pies" and let my Potter and Master Carpenter take my hands, my feet, my eyes, my ears, my lips, my world and form and shape them for His glory.

His holy hands are never far away. They are always reaching, touching the depths of our hearts and far corners of our souls. They find things we didn't know before. His hands crush, dig, and make a well in our souls that only He can fill. He pours water, works, and shapes. And though it may not all seem pleasant now, God's handiwork promises a forever bright future. And, here is how we know that truth:

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future" (Jeremiah 29:11).

Let's live that promise today! Take it personally! It is yours! Though the Potter's hands may challenge the world's view of living, and though at times we may feel pain, his hands will never harm. His hands are always for our good, and we can and must rejoice in that fact!!!

Seeking death and life in Jesus,

DAYBREAK

2010-05-28T13:15:00.002-05:00

"We live by faith, not by sight."

2 Corinthians 5:7, NIV

Provincial: adj. Of or relating to a province; limited in perspective.

The hardwoods in my home are being refinished. My choice of stain color is called provincial. It is a medium shade and the sample looks so right when placed by the fresh, neutral walls and white trim. Imagining the contrast of the walls and floors and focusing on the look, feel, and smell of new is now turning impatience to anticipation. I hope provincial and all preceding choices will bring out the best in our home.

When all the work in our home is complete, our little 1941 cottage will be quite a different kind of comfort than it was before the fire, which was last November. You may read about it here.

What was once a quaint, crowded, space full of vintage finds will be a cheery home of light and life. Soft colors of beige, cream, yellow, ivory, and white now grace the walls. Happy hues are a turn from the bright gold, rose, and deep taupe we had before. I chose light colors because my heart cried for anything that would lighten our life and lend oxygen for a new beginning.

The shock of the sudden, involuntary transition the fire caused for Jeff and me still bears on our souls as the final, remaining reparations come to a close and we look toward returning home. In the midst of it all, we are and have been in awe of God's faithful handiwork and peaceful presence. God is amazing in his detailed weaving of our life threads. What began seven months ago as shock is growing into surrender. Seven months of struggle becomes weary. Seven months of stress-survival tells truth. Seven months of waiting sizes up a lifetime of seeing. Seven months of seized self moves once thought needs to the only desired compartment of the soul.

In biblical terms, scholars often say that seven is God's number of completion. "By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work" (Genesis 2:2, NIV). "And the words of the LORD are flawless, like silver refined in a furnace of clay, purified seven times" (Psalm 12:6, NIV). Seven, in God's terms, can represent perfection. The complete work of Adonai, God, who is flawless authority.

By any measure, as a Christian, I am not flawless. If I told you I felt like refined silver, I would be lying. In truth, I will not be perfected until my journey on this fallen sod we share is over. I can rest in that fact, however, knowing God will continue his work of grace in every place he leads. He has planned this earthly journey for me, and he owns its map and my provision.

During this short, seven-month season of my journey, God has provided moments of solitude. Time is a gift. And time alone, when tied in small sprigs, is like delicate baby's breath. Fragile, elegant, and gracious.

These small sprigs of solitude were only the outer wrapping of God's gift. The real blessedness of this seven-month season has been an awareness of God's presence and his peace that passes understanding.

As we draw closer to closure of shock and aftershocks, God's mark on this unstable season becomes clearer and clearer. His holy hand has left its imprint on the whole landscape. And seeing his seal in the picture reminds me of my limited and God's unlimited. The two are incomparable. I, Andrea, very human, frail, full of questions, and short on vision versus God Almighty, omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, complete in love and vision, infallible Savior.

Yet, I wrestle. . .

trying to find answers, to grasp rest, to see light on a dark path, to know how, to explain pain, to envision the finished work of grace and bear the rebuilding of our lives.

My own struggling has caused me to search the book of Genesis with wonder about Jacob and how he felt as he sent his family and all his possessions across the Jabbok River, while he stayed the night alone in darkness and wrestled with God until daybreak.

"So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob's hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man" (Genesis 32: 24-25).

Jacob, the man who always took the initiative, who always made a way for himself, who always felt strong, who always created solutions, was, in his lonely, empty place of struggle, made helpless by God. God dislocated Jacob's hip joint, which was the very strength of Jacob's ability to wrestle. Jacob was then forced to face his human futility. As he limped away, however, he was not dismayed. Why? He was blessed and had a new name for his new life that awaited him when he returned to his homeland.  Jacob had been touched by God.  Eternally challenged and eternally changed.

"Then the man said, 'Let me go, for it is daybreak.' But Jacob replied, 'I will not let you go unless you bless me.'  The man asked him, 'What is your name?' 'Jacob,' he answered.  Then the man said, 'Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with men and have overcome' (Genesis 32:26-28, NIV).

"You have struggled with God and with men and have overcome."

"You have struggled" and you "have overcome."

"Yes!" God says to all who wrestle til daybreak for blessing, "You have overcome."

Struggling means I am human. Wrestling means I intend to conquer. Wrestling til daybreak means fighting for a forever-changed moment. It is holding on for a dawn of hope. It is hanging in there for an appearance of light, and it is denying fatigue and accepting brokenness. Wrestling til soft light is seen at a distant space means I have, in that night, overcome self. Overcoming self means Jesus reigns greater in me now than he did in a time past.

I have a very long path of daybreaks behind me, and a very long path of perfecting processes ahead of me. I will leave these seven months changed and a little more surrendered. I hope to leave the provincial vision of my pre-fire life and reach to embrace new vision as we return to our home.

As future testing seasons approach, I, hopefully, will not see them with dim, limited, provincial vision. I pray to see them with God's unlimited vision.  Yes, my eyes can see what he visions when I submit absolutely to God's creative voice and will.

I am merely human and within my own power, so limited.   We, who all originated from dusty earth, who depend on God Almighty to hold our world together, who trust his word for the air we breathe, can share the vision of our Creator!  Through Christ, we can have faith-vision, and faith-vision is what overcomes the world.   "For whatever is born of God overcomes the world; and this is the victory that has overcome the world - our faith" (1John 5:4, NASB).

Friend, we may have no answers. No details. No professional title. No human help. Little worldly stuff.

But, . . . we can have the eyes of Jesus.

His seeing is not provincial. His perspective is complete. His focus is flawless. His eyes are pure.

Just lean back in his arms and rest your weary head and allow Christ's victory to strengthen you and be your strength. You will soon find faith vision, and all sight will be new.

Praying you this day,

God's Stones

2010-05-13T14:35:00.003-05:00

When I was a child, we had a bucket of rocks on our fireplace hearth. They were the weights that held up my mother's artificial green tree and kept it from toppling. The bucket of beauties came from rivers in the Smoky Mountains, where we sometimes vacationed. The stones' surfaces often caused me to run my small fingers over their outer character. I well remember feeling their somewhat sandy texture.

My interest in my mother's stones inspired backyard rock-hunting. My family was blessed with a lot filled with Georgia red clay that was carpeted in Bermuda grass, and filled with tall, Longleaf pines, Dogwoods, Maples, and Oaks. The shaded, hilly land provided many hours for jumping in piles of pine straw and digging for rocks. I loved finding God's stones. Their various textures, colors, and weights of captured my childlike curiosity.

My favorite find was white marble. (I did not then know its name.) Determined, I would dig until I noticed it's white glitter peering up at me through the fiery soil. I would pry it from the earth with my stick-shovel and caress it with curiosity. It looked so beautiful and made me think of purity and diamonds. My eight year old lips proclaimed it "crystal," and I loved holding it and watching it sparkle. Every time I found a "crystal" rock, I washed the red clay from it and saved it, thinking it really was something special.

My eight year old imagination did not comprehend how close to truth I was. I recently learned white marble forms when very pure limestone rock is buried deeply and exposed to high heat and great pressure. I now understand what I could not get then:  anything that goes through a lot of heat and pressure is special because of the deep, undisturbed process used in its formation.  "Crystal" is a marvel because of its forming. It is also a marvel because it begins in a very pure state of limestone.

It is pure in its beginning, yet, incomplete. It is formed through specific circumstances that change its nature.

Purifying. Burying. Working. Changing. Forming. Becoming. Being.

White marble and God's unlimited capacity for analogies provide our limited understanding with more than a lesson in geology. The way of white stone is a study in soul truth.

God's loving heart works purity in our lives, and He chooses to place our sanctified souls in the fire and vice of testing.  The Father's omniscient eyes anticipate the coming crystal result that will sparkle with divine, diamond-like specks.  Snips and shards of Christ's character that combine to create God's special stones. His keepsakes. Worthy of washing and holding and loving and marvelling. Stones of life. God's treasured collection. His own.

With this truth planted in my own soul's soil, I today cling to Jesus Christ, the Rock of my salvation. And I long to learn of His character and search and dig for more of His truth.

In the process of seeking and digging, however, I often become frustrated. Time limitations, daily duties, and physical hindrances get in my way.  My "arms" tire. My will grows weary. It feels that I have little of me left to unearth the treasures I crave. I wish for instant success in my search. I want to see more now. Know more now. Love more now. Be more now.

But the understanding character of Father God has patience with my way and likewise speaks stillness to my restless heart. As I grow weary with the process, He says, "Be still, Andrea.  Know that I am God" (Psalm 46:10, NIV).

Be still. Like white marble. Unmoved in waiting. Unshaken in surrounding storms. Yet, changeable with God-designed elements that will one day make me glitter in the sun.

While waiting for the glittering reflection of Jesus, I pray for abandoned surrender, and sometimes I must search for it just as I search for Christ's reflection. I not only need surrender to the final formation, but also surrender to the process that will get me there.

And prayer, with whole heart, will keep me in His earth, planted in the place He has destined for design, so that I will get there and find Jesus' reflection.

We can all find rest in His destined place. We find that rest when we relax and let the process of Christ's forming work within us.

It sounds so simple. Not!

When I was in labor with my sons, I well remember the words of the nurses. They would gather close to me and strongly encourage. "Don't fight the pains, Andrea." I struggled with their counsel. It was hard to let go. My own nature wanted to fight against the intensity I felt in my body.

As well, my carnal nature fights against the intensity of God's process, but as I stand on Philippians 4:13, I am able to do what is unnatural. "I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me."

We are all in a formation process. And prayer is one important element that guides our transformation. Friend, would you join me in prayer? Would you mind if I approached the throne of grace for you today? This very moment, as I write these words, I sense our Father's enormous love for you. You, one very special stone, who are His child.

Dear Father God, I seek you with a heart of praise for your processes. It is your love, Oh, Lord, that buries us in the hot, dry, weighty places. It is your eyes of love, Oh, Lord, that comprehend the glittering reflection of your Son that is and will be in each of us.

I pray for my friends. Each one is a choice offering. Each life is so individual. Each need is so particular.

Yet, you know, Oh, Lord. Yes, you know each one.

I ask You to fill your beloved with peace, with grace, with comfort, with trust, with faith, with joy. Jesus, let us experience the power of Your holy presence that lifts us from our ache to our knees and to our feet. May we all be overwhelmed with the realness of Who You are and the power of divine love that we have yet to know fully.

I ask You, Jesus, Who suffered for our liberty and healing, to strengthen, edify, and encourage each one who was destined to read here today. Yes, Lord, You have set your love on her or him. You care so much more than we can now know. You care about things that seem small and things that are great, and nothing is too hard for You.

Lord, You are good. Your mercies do not fail. They are new to us each day. And we thank you for them, for Your merciful nature gives us hope in every circumstance. Your grace, Father, gives us patience with the process, and please let it be so in all our lives.

In the name that is above every other name and with faith in His name,

Amen.

Thank you for the honor of praying for you, and thank you for being here with me and for me. You are precious in the sight of God.

Shining Together with You as His Living Stones,

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On River's Bank

2010-04-28T00:47:00.002-05:00

Swimming in cool, rushing waters, . . .

I move gracefully toward a goal, feeling the freedom of flowing currents, knowing power over depth. My arms move effortlessly, without fatigue or pain. My legs are straight behind me giving me strength. My head stays above the flood; my eyes focus on destiny.

Such describes my dreams of rivers.

Yet, much irony lies in those dreams. In my real life, I cannot swim and have a deep respect for bodies of water. I do not like water in my eyes or ears. And two near-drowning incidents have left their marks on my mind.

Still, I love rivers. Particularly those mountain streams that move with life and air and sky and wind.

I easily remember special places where such rivers live. There is an old country store with a grist mill in the North Georgia mountains, and behind that store is a wooden walkway where one can watch the turning of the wheel and trout swim in the currents. The rushing waters cascade with perfect harmony. Their music echos in my soul. It is a God-created tonic. I have stood there several times drinking its peace.

Yet, greater still is drinking in the peace of another river. It is that "river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells" (Psalm 46:4, NIV). It is a river I do not fear, even in my real life. It is a river more pure than any other river. It is a real river of relief. It is a river that thunders with praise of divine power. It is a river for tasting, drinking, wading, and plunging, and for walking of its banks.

It is my river. And, it is your river.

To be honest with you, friends, I need a drink from that river. I need to stand on its bank and wade into its effervescence. To be affected by its persuasive authority. To be guided into its healing falls.

For, all channels that rill from its presence make glad the sacred places of my life. All streams from its Source make glad the scarred places in my heart.

"Glad" in original Hebrew means to rejoice or cheer up.

So, placing my own heart-spin on Psalm 46:4, I perceive that river as the Holy Spirit and paraphrase the following:

When my heart is in need, when my life feels broken, when I reach my endpoint, I can fall on my face and seek my Creator of rivers. He will send His Holy Spirit to fill my emptiness and heal my hurts. His sacred presence will change my mourning into dancing, my pain to praise, my endpoint to a new point.

The past several months have been a tiring swim. I am slightly stretched. I miss my home and my familiar surroundings. Our church is suffering need. Physically, my health is daily challenging. And, other needs unspoken now, press and weigh. Yet, like David, "I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living" (Psalm 27:13, NIV).

In the New King James Version, that scripture reads, "I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living." And verse 14 ends the psalm with some of the most encouraging words in scripture: "Wait on the LORD; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the LORD!"

Sometimes we have to wait to wade, to venture out into and drink His living water. We sit on the bank so thirsty and fatigued, yet so hopeful because of faith's vision.

Turning to the Word in those dry, dessertlike seasons is our refuge. Because. . .

We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you (2 Corinthians 4:7-12).

My suffering does not compare to Paul's or so many others; yet, it is working my death and His life in me. I guess what I'm saying, dear friend, is that His grace is enough. And, though sometimes it seems all we have, we stand unshaken because it really is all we need. And, I believe. No, I know future glory will reveal that truth in all of us.

Unyielding, I vision His water! Unshaken, I proclaim that God is in control! Unmoved, I stand by grace!

On His River's Bank,

FAILED LETTERS

2010-04-17T10:56:00.001-05:00

Like crumbled crackers, broken words are scattered into thousands of dusty pieces. Only God can take their dry, brittle, breaking moments and reshape them for His glory. With His handling, fatally spoken words and broken promises will no longer be death letters.

A hot pink brush I bought at the beauty supply store was wrapped in plastic, printed with promising words. They were clear: the brush would soften skin. "May even use on hands and elbows." I bought the barlike scrubber, took it home, unwrapped it, and placed it by my bathroom sink.

I wanted softer hands, so before walking away, I could not resist an immediate trial. I soaped up with silky expectations and began to scrub.

"Owww!" I gasped, startled. The very touch of its harsh nature against my sensitive knuckles hurt!  I tried again, with a much gentler touch. No way! Its sandpaper texture was hopelessly painful.  My hands were quickly reddened even by light scrubbing.

I wondered if I had picked up the wrong package. No, I absolutely remembered the writing on the wrapper.

The words were a broken promise, and all I could do was feel regret. I could not change the nature of the scrubber's gritty, pink sand. It was what it was. Disappointed, I placed the pumice in a container with my pedicure brushes.

Disappointment is the natural product of broken promises. The broken words on the wrapper of the pink pumice only cost me a little pain and $1.10. It was a simple, frivilous experience.  But other broken words, sincere-seeming, heart-spoken letters of promise, cost so much more. Their pain is real and deep; they are complex and drastic.

We have all known the deep pain of failed letters.  We have all experienced life's climatic changes of broken words. Words undone. The unravelling of language delcared with assurance. Such seasons cast clouds over our souls. They wound to our spirit's core. Our hearts are cut by their vanity and meaningless shards. Their faithless nature rocks our world and our faith in those who spoke them, and it can threaten our faith in God.

As a pastor's wife, I have seen many suffer with the sting from promises failed. Words spoken were first apples of gold. Their eventual intangibility turned them rotten and bitter. The spouse who promised to never cheat again; the repentant father who drank again; the children who said they would never do drugs again; the mother who promised she wouldn't leave anymore; the parents who pledged prayer with their children but were always too busy; the boss who said he would understand missed days but never did; the insurance company who said they would pay medical costs but blamed someone for not reading a clause; the family who in great disbelief realized the hopeless words of a doctor who had said everything would be OK; the teenager who married to honor her parents and later dealt with deep betrayal of her new husband. And, you can think of so many you know who are victims of words unfitly spoken.

Words unfitly spoken are the opposite of those Solomon spoke, when in Proverbs he said words fitly spoken are like "apples of gold in pictures of silver" (Proverbs 25:11). Appropriate words are beauty. As perfect and ripe as the most lucious apples in the most exquistie setting is the language of love. Fit words are appealing, and their appeal is appetizing. Their taste is sweet. Their gift, comforting and nourishing.

Yet, "unfit" words are unhealthy, unappetizing, inappropriate, and incompetent. They, contrary to golden apple in pictures of silver, are rotten fruit in a moldy basket. They are voices of vice, meant for destruction. Sour. Bitter. Unedible. Indigestible. Such is a picture of broken promises, or malicious daggers.

Perhaps you have encountered the dagger of unfit words. Someone you held in esteem told you something that created a chasm in your relationship, or someone misled you, either intentionally or not intentionally, which brought a sea of grief to your life.

I have encountered unfit words. Plainly, it is pain at its worst.  It bruises the soul and scars the heart. It creates bondage and breeds rejection. YET, touched with God's healing balm, the worst wounding words become beauty. Like a sweet butterfly, they join enjoy transformation from a stale, embryonic state to winged life. The ugly, vile, vain language no longer holds captive but is captured by the Creator and remade into God's glory.

Transformation is possible, friend! It is God's gift for all His wounded warriors.  In many points of dark crises of my soul, God has spoken light into my nightmares. Illuminated with Jesus' love, I have had to cling to shimmers of hope until Christ casts His cross in my waters and healed me. Each time, it was a marvellous miracle in my life! It still is. I am comforted so much to know God hears every spoken word and wayward thought. I can, with promise, share the joy of God's grace that is only found in a healing Jesus. And, I will forever praise Him for His pure words that were and are a curing, comforting balm.

If you have received unfit words, please now receive the following unbreakable promises. Set their purity and holiness and perfect fit above your painful memories.

The "words of the LORD are flawless, like silver refined in a furnace of clay, purified seven times" (Psalm 12:6).
"All your words are true; all your righteous laws are eternal" (Psalm 119:160).
"The eyes of the LORD keep watch over knowledge, but he frustrates the words of the unfaithful" (Proverbs 22:12).
"So is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it" (Isaiah 55:11).
"'My Spirit, who is on you, and my words that I have put in your mouth will not depart from your mouth, or from the mouths of your children, or from the mouths of their descendants from this time on and forever,' says the LORD" (Isaiah 59:21).
"Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away" (Matthew 24:35).
"If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you" (John 15:7).

Dear friend, God is faithful, loving, merciful, and healing. He loves you with zeal and passion. He covers you with that love because you are His child. His very own. And He watches over you and yours.

Take heart this very day and give all broken words to Him. Jesus will speak to every letter the enemy has lodged in your soul. He will reach into that secret place of your spirit and pick up all broken promises.   He will handle them. Reshape them. Breathe on them. Give them new purpose.

With His handling, fatally spoken words and broken promises will no longer be death letters. They will be language of life and living.  What once caused refluxive bitterness will become promise and peace.

God heals. . . . He's reaching now toward your worst word wounds.

Glorifying His Transforming Power,

List your own scripture that edifies God's word in your life. Meditate on its reassuring truth and be prepared to use it during temptations and discouraging times.

All scripture is from the NIV.
Definitions from http://www.thefreedictionary.com/

EASTER WINGS

2010-04-03T12:23:00.006-05:00

Tiny yellow wings flapped in my pint-sized hands.  The chick's little feet felt sticky and scratchy, as she pranced around on my palm, trying to dig her baby claws into new ground.   I wanted to caress her, and I wanted to let her go. I wanted to stroke her fuzzy coat, and I wanted to give her back to the old chicken farmer.  As a child, I was always intimidated by what I did not know, and forty years ago, a special visit with my grandfather to see one of his farmer friends was my first time to hold a baby chick and my first look into a chicken house.

The woods of North Georgia are full of chicken houses and chicken farmers. And except for their undeniable, diffusive, distinctive smell, chicken houses were an enigma to me until that warm day when I rode with my grandpa in his beat-up pick-up to visit a friend who had bunches of new chicks.

It was a bumpy, breezy ride of expectation and intimidation. I was going to hold a baby chicken! The anticipation seemed beyond bearable, as I sat in that old Ford that smelled two parts vinyl, one part oil, and one part Brylcreem. I wondered how it would feel to have cotton fluff rub against my hand. And I wondered if my fear of God's sweet creatures would deprive me of the possibility of loving one little bird.

Papa and I got out and greeted the kind, rugged gentlemen. He showed us one of his chicken houses, which was flooded with waves of golden color and sounds of peeps that echoed from the tin roof. The farmer took one of the maizey wee ones in his giant, sun-damaged hands, and we all walked down to a grassy spot and stood.

My chance to hold the chirping chick had arrived. I stiffened my arms and reached, as she was given to my care.  War was on the minute her soft, wee self was placed in my palm.  I tried to not be afraid, but all I could think of was the strangeness of her twiglike feet and razor beak. My grandfather's patriarchal voice kept saying, "That little chicken can't hurt you, Andrea. Let her walk around in your hand. Dont' be scared."

But, I was "scared." And the tiny yellow being grasped my awed heart.  She was not happy and wanted out, so the old chicken farmer reached over me and gently took her back, while freedom and guilt covered me like a cold rain.

I left in disappointment. So much for fear-blinding love. My ten-year old heart felt failure. You might say I did not earn my Easter wings.

Today, forty years after my visit to the chicken farm, I have Easter wings; yet, they are not earned.  They are not able to be earned. They are not earthly symbols. They are divine substance. They are truth.  They are real.

My Easter wings are freedom, love, hope, faith, peace, mercy, and more.  I received them through grace, God's unmerited favor. Jesus earned them for me. He paid for my wings, my eternal freedom. With His own life's blood, I am redeemed. I was purchased with such a high price, though I am such an unworthy one.

Jesus paid for my Easter wings with thirty-nine flogs from the cruel cat of nine tails; a crown of thorns that ever so painfully pierced through His submitted scalp; many abusive voices of prejudice, ridicule, and violence against His innocence; soldiers' saliva on His divine face; bruising blows that beat His humble body beyond identity; a heavy, half-mile walk of stones, spit, and dreaded death; six hours of unimaginable pain from six-inch nails, profuse blood loss, and slow suffocation; and six hours of dark chasm between Himself and His Father that finally ended in Christ's sacrificial death, as He cried, "It is finished" (John 19:30, NIV).

Christ's completed His sacrifice, then, hope was realized and fulfilled, when three days after Jesus' divine offering, our destiny was forever changed.

Divine life and light poured from heavenly dimension into Christ's cavelike tomb and into His mortal body.

With power and victory and truth, Jesus rose from death to forever defeat its hold on us.

Now, failure no longer means failed, fear no longer means defeat, sin no longer means sure condemnation, and dying no longer means death!

Because of Jesus' life, His blood offering, His sacrifice, His obedience to the Father, and His victory over death, I have Easter wings.

"Wings" are a way of flight or ascent, and my Easter wings are my source for soaring with Jesus. Abundant life now. Victory forever. And one special, God-chosen day, my Easter wings will fly me home and right into His arms.

Praying for you, dear friend, as you soar with Christ through Easter and the week ahead,

Sources: www.thefreedictionary.com, www.biblegateway.com, and wikipedia.

Hot Coffee

2010-03-27T10:17:00.003-05:00

"Our Saviour kneels down and gazes upon the darkest acts of our lives. But rather than recoil in horror, he reaches out in kindness and says, 'I can clean that if you want.' And from the basin of his grace, he scoops a palm full of mercy and washes our sin."

Max Lucado

I grasped the smooth ivory handle, picked up the cup, and placed it to my chapped lips that craved comfort from a cold, damp, windy night. Feeling the not-warm mug press against my mouth, I sipped, then, wanted to spit.  It was lukewarm, which didn't meet my great expectations.

Needing to catch the attention of our waitress, Jeff and I looked her way and politely motioned to her. "I'm sorry, but my coffee isn't hot."  She sweetly apologized and returned minutes later with another cup and plenty, even more than I could drink, of fresh, steaming decaf. Seeing the waves rise from my mug, I was relieved, and ready to move ahead and share some lovely moments with my love.

Lukewarm coffee would have diminished our date. It was a late rainy Monday night, and my husband and I had just attended a beautiful revival service. We wanted to share our souls and bask in the afterglow of God's blessings. A quiet booth in a warm cafe with cups of coffee seemed the perfect capstone. Lukewarm coffee just wouldn't have got it done.

Lukewarm is perfect for a baby's bath, but not for coffee. It makes it stale and steals it pretty aroma. And, it makes a clear statement of "I am not the best" and "I could be hours old."

For coffee lovers, a cup of hot brew summons the senses. The sight of steam dancing over a cup is alone bliss. The coming warmth is calming. The idea of the approaching flavor prepares the taste buds for unreserved, heartfelt sipping. Which is why you do not see signs advertising "Cool Coffee Served," or "Fresh Roasted Lukewarm Java."

But cool coffee helps me understand, . . . to inhale and drink in, . . .

the God-breathed analogy in Revelation that rivets me to its text and shakes me to my soles.

“I know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot. I could wish you were cold or hot. So then, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will vomit you out of My mouth" (Revelation 3:15-16, NKJV).

The Lord cares about our passion for Him. He takes it personally and checks it with His own sovereign thermometer. He tries our savor to taste and see if we're a worthy drink offering.  Our temperature reading measures the worth of our worship.

God desires we are red-hot, on-fire, passionate worshipers and disciples. He had even rather find us cold than lukewarm.

Why would God rather we be cold than room temp?

If we are cold, we know it. We shiver in our sin. We see uncovered goosebumps climb our barren arms. And we sense the approaching agony of a frost-bitten heart. We know our desperate need to find a warm place by God's flame.  We envy those fellow saints who pass us, doing their Father's business, while bundled in fleecy wools and cozy leathers.

If we are lukewarm, however, we do not feel. We are not concerned. We are not moved. The fire we see in others does nothing to our need. Their godly coverings do not make us jealous. We do not desire to find a fire and warm our flesh.

"Lukewarm" means lacking enthusiasm or conviction; to be indifferent; unconcerned; uninterested; apathetic; Laodicean.*

Laodicea was one of the seven churches Christ addressed in the book of Revelation. They believed they had no spiritual need. They did not see their need for covering. Christ therefore counseled them, "buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see" (Revelation 3:18, NIV).

Jesus wanted to give the Laodiceans a new beginnning and fresh vision. He wanted them to have their own personal revelation of Him. He pleaded and said, "Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest, and repent. Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me" (3:19-20).

Christ wanted the Laodiceans to be close to Him. To sit down with Him and dine. To have an intimate meal with Him and know Him. To know He loved them.

Jesus wants the same for me and you.

He wants us to see. He wants us to have personal need awareness. He wants to give us His gold in exchange for our perceived wealth.  He wants us to experience the pain of spiritual blindness, so we can realize the poverty of self-life.

Jesus wants us to be honest with ourselves and encounter His word, which is Christ Himself. He desires that we know Him, not just serve Him, and not just know of Him.

Do you know Him? Do you dine with Him? Do you sit down with Him? Do you gaze at His beauty as He sits across the table? Do you let His eyes slice your darkness?

My coffee was lukewarm that chilly, Monday night. It was not acceptable to me. It's lackluster presence could have dulled the beauty of a blessed evening.

I had to confess my need. I had to bring the problem to the server, so she could fix it for me. It wouldn't have been right to do it myself. It wasn't my place.

Jesus wants to be your server and fix things for you. Do you taste the bitter water of indifference? Are you struggling to choke down staleness?

Let Jesus fix things for you. Call Him to your table and tell Him your need. Give Him your lukewarm chalice.  Jesus' own hands will take your cup, bring you a new, clean, empty vessel, and pour into it warmth, healing, life, and love.  You will not be disappointed. You will no longer live alone from worldy wealth. You will not want your old cup back.

Do not be afraid to let it go. Do not be afraid to give up you lukewarm drink. Do not be afraid of His transformational presence at your table. Do not fear His humble hands.

Great expectations wait to warm your soul.

Because He First Loved Us,



*Definitinon is from www.thefreedictionary.com.

Running Risks

2010-03-16T22:53:00.000-05:00

Last week was filled with days of dappled clouds; some of them poured rain with profuse drops.  The coincidental cool air created perfect moments for curling on the sofa with a fleecy throw, a cup of Earl Grey, a passionate devotional, and ears to hear water drizzle and God's voice whisper.

A lone, misty afternoon in the center of the week gave me that opportunity. I thought I would use the clammy weather and quiet time to read, pray, and ponder.

Before I could make a nest on my sofa, my plans changed. Faint squeals broke through my God thoughts. I peered through the blinds of my backdoor.  Four little feet were running up the walk. Four little eyes were fixed on their goal, looking for their mimi to help them over their final hurdle.

When I opened the door, Olivia, my three year old granddaughter was drifting behind her twenty-one month old sister, Ella.  Olivia was running. Ella was racing.

I have never seen a baby hyperventilate, but I thought Ella just might provide my first opportunity. I could hear and see her breathing. Her vast brown eyes on her sweet, small face were looking up and straight into me. Her thin, brown pigtails were bouncing. Her tiny baby teeth were shining. Her rosy cheeks showed baby bliss.

Ella's passion bubbled over. Yet, she was running too quickly, and stumbled, and fell. Her tiny, less than two-year old legs could not support her massive zeal.

Before I could move out the door to pick her up, Ella had picked herself up, rushed, and jumped into my arms.

She had no bumps, no scratches, no bruises. Only smiles and hugs and kisses and an innocent, loving look that poured purely into my soul and melted my grandmother heart.

That passion of my brave little granddaughter has now become my personal desire of imitation. Her quick little steps convict me of soul neglect and remind me of the joy of the One Who always waits for me.

God waits. Jehovah-Shammah, The Lord is There, anticipates my running to Him. He longs for my unreserved rush into His always open arms.

And, I should, in kind, anticipate the arms of my Father God and race toward Him, undaunted, with whole attention, gazing upward and inward into His holy countenance.  My soul should long for His embrace with uncontainable excitement and leaping faith that does not care about the dangers of the hard ground beneath my feet. The risks of bumps, bruises, scratches, and skins should mean much less to me than missing my Father's arms.

God's open arms must mean more to me than the bruising language of another who had rather I just "work" for Jesus than sit as His feet. His waiting presence must mean more to me than the scratchy experience of being misunderstood by those who see my God-moments as a waste of time. God's courts must mean more to me than the jabbing voices within my own fleshly self that mourn for more television and extra personal pampering, and God's receiving of me must mean more to me than ideas of others who think I overspiritualize life and frown on my desire that God see me as His pure lover.

As Ella ran up the merciless, ashen pavement, I am quite sure she knew she could fall. She is a smart little lamb. Her senses are very keen. Her mocha eyes miss little. Yet, her mimi's arms were worth the risks to her.

My Father's arms of love are worth all possible risks. Risks must lose every persuasion on my soul. I must bow my being, every fiber of me, before the God of the universe, my God, the Lover of my life, and allow His light to permeate my self-consciousness and fill me with God-consciousness.

Let's let go of our risks. . . .

Let go of all risks. Grasp courage.  Allow God's glory to diminish any thoughts of painful reaching for His love. Embrace the gritty texture of danger and run boldly and fearlessly on the coarse concrete ground below. Clasp in your heart contented dreams of leaping into your Father's arms.

Grasping, Clasping, Running, Leaping,

"My lover spoke and said to me, "Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me" (Song of Solomon 2:10, NIV).

HOPE IN HIS HAND

2010-03-08T09:35:00.002-06:00

"God will mend a broken heart if you give Him all the pieces."

-Aesop

Every beat of your heart is one, lonely cadence of force that shares a part in your life. You will experience about three billion heartbeats in your life, and if something goes wrong with your heart's rhythm, you will likely notice. You may then say that your heart flutters, or skips, or races, or hurts. And though you may not know what is wrong, you know something isn't right.

Your spiritual heart is much the same.  When something is wrong, you know. You may feel afraid, angry, betrayed, bruised, confused, desperate, depressed, dissatisfied, empty, helpless, homesick, hurt, lonely, useless, or worried. . . . Emotional "rhythm" seems not quite together. You may not realize the depths of your feelings, but you know something isn't right.

Endless possibilities may have provoked your "heart pain":  a best friend betrayed your confidence; you had some bad news about someone you love; you worked and gave up time for yourself and your family for a career that now makes you bored and empty; you were applauded for a unique accomplishment but now feel only useless and unworthy; guilt seems to spoil every chance of happiness; envy for the lives of others eats away what contentment you have; you are tired and just want to be appreciated for what you do; you wonder why certain people who matter to you ignore you or treat you with contempt; you wonder why life is not fair.

Your "heart pain" may even be from casual indifference and neglect. "I'll get around to God when life slows down." "It's soccer season." "I'm working overtime; I just can't think of the Lord right now." "I'm too stressed to read my Bible everyday."

Or, your heart may have "damage" from many mistakes, regrets, or traumas. It's been so much easier to shut down the pain than deal with it. Now, maybe you are numb . . . emotionless . . . passionless. You wonder what it would be like to feel again.

In any case, you want freedom from heart misery.  You want a heart that beats with perfect, rhythmic, contented forces of purpose. You want the "something just isn't right" ache to go away.

My friend, you are not alone in your pain. Everyone has personal history of an imperfect heart. And everyone has only One door to deliverance.

Salvation of our souls is found in Jesus. He is the only way to our Father.  Likewise, salvation from a wounded heart is also only found in yielding to God.

I can testify of God as the only way to wholeness because He is my healer and deliverer. He is my Creator, Elohim, Who loves me as I am, so much that He will not leave me as He sees me. He understands all of me, and He formed all of me, including my heart, the abyss of my hopes, hurts, and thoughts.  God knows me. He gets the mysteries of my soul that blind me.  He comprehends me completely.  My complex personality and all its baggage and wired connections make sense to Him.

And, my pain does not shock Jesus. He is not one bit intimidated to look at my gross, oozing wounds and place His holy hands in my bloody sores. He sees them all for what they are and empathizes with my weaknesses. And yours.

He sees your hurt through His eyes of personal experience, His own sacrifice and suffering that surpass all other griefs. Jesus knows pain so fully. While on this earth, He was intimate with sorrow, torture, and loneliness. And Jesus' remembrance of His suffering allows Him to embrace your feelings as no one else can. You cannot possibly hurt apart from His empathy.

In tandem with His intimate sense of your hurting heart, Jesus has all the love of Father God.  So, when Christ senses your hurt and sees your suffering, He knows you from both the perspective of unfathomable love and unprecedented pain.

Jesus is affected. Compassioned.  Moved.  He hears your heart beat. He hears your heart speak.  He lives to take it in His hands and hold it and heal its brokenness.

Yes, Jesus lives to heal your heart. His healing for you is personally and beautifully designed. It is whole, godly wisdom. It is a balm made just for you. It is His best. It is the incomparable best.

Christ ALWAYS knows best. And, He knows the why of every what in your life - all those deep answers and mysteries of dark glass that you really want to know now. And, rather than giving you answers, He often chooses to give you healing and rest.  His rest is your gift to receive. His rest is the joy of laying down the weight that slows you down to molasses' pace or knocks you to a cold, hard ground or kicks you into a pale pit. His rest is the peace of feeling chains break and later looking behind to see them left at the altar you wisely prepared for you and your God.  His rest is a fresh, smooth road for running grace.

Running grace!  Freedom to keep your eyes on Christ and give Him all you have! And the liberty of running grace comes with a bonus! Don't you love a bonus? I do. I am always excited to open an extra gift box and see what's in it.

Jesus' bonus gifts are the best of all worlds! And His running grace comes with a powerful side item: hope. Why is hope such a big deal?  Hope gives life.  It lets us breathe. Hope for that special something we can't see with our natural eyes causes us to hang in there when we want to quit. We believe, we know, God is faithful and that His word is true. We therefore believe and know He is in control and that things will get better.

So, we do not give up. We do not give in. We keep running.  And waiting.

And while waiting, we allow Jesus to do surgery on our hearts. We yield, and let Him work. We know that any pain from his doctor hands will be worth it, for Christ only has our good in His perfect heart, and with His perfect touch from a perfect heart, our wholeness begins.

When, at last, Christ completes a layer of wholeness in our hearts, we soar. Our yielding, trusting, believing, and enduring give God glory. Healed, we rise above grief, fear, anxiety, and regret. The carnal world with its demanding ways and seducing voices no longer anchor us down to a permenant sinking state because Jesus' scarred hands have handled our hurt.

As we soar, we find raw truth in our stillness.  It is a truth only found in surviving the providence of pain. It is a truth only found in running grace:  Feelings and circumstances do not determine your destiny. God's divine hand does.

Clinging to God's Healing Truth,

Real Renewing

2010-02-20T21:19:00.006-06:00

Please absorb this awesome truth! God has been dealing with me on the importance of our minds being renewed, and in that light, I share these words with you.

Renewing the mind is a little like refinishing furniture. It is a two-stage process. It involves taking off the old and replacing it with the new. The old is the lies you have learned to tell or were taught by those around you; it is the attitudes and ideas that have become a part of your thinking but do not reflect reality. The new is the truth. To renew your mind is to involve yourself in the process of allowing God to bring to the surface the lies you have mistakenly accepted and replace them with truth. To the degree that you do this, your behavior will be transformed.

Charles Stanley

So often, I have run ahead of God, and in my zeal for a transformed mind, layered over the old. May the Lord, in His wisdom and strength and through His anointed word, break all lies apart, piece by piece, giving us a smooth layer on which to build His truth!

Thank you for the extra notes of encouragement left on the last post. We all need encouragement, and your thoughts mean so much to me! I had intended on spending more time on a post, but had a sudden interruption in my plans with a short hospitalization.

I'm doing fine now, and I arrived home this afternoon after a two-day stay, having had some problems with low blood pressure. Thank you for praying, for I know you will! God has everything right in the palm of His mighty hand! HE IS FOREVER FAITHFUL!!!

Much love to all,

LIFE WITHOUT BORDERS

2010-02-03T17:17:00.006-06:00

"In the rush and noise of life, as you have intervals, step home within yourselves and be still. Wait upon God, and feel His good presence; this will carry you evenly through your day's business."

- William Penn

We all live in the land of ordinary. Our days begin the same. Our sun arises, and we awake. Our morning routine begins. Our thoughts churn with the needs waiting for our hands, feet, and lips of clay.

The needs around us, waiting for the imprint of our lives, press us to our own need, often sending us to our knees, bringing us to the reality of our human hearts and will. We know we are flesh. Imperfect. Flawed. Limited. Sometimes broken.

And in brokenness and limitation, we turn to the cross, and lift our minds to its reality: grace, redemption, peace, restoration, healing, joy, life, possibility. For all humanity, the cross works with its power. For us, the truth of that power invades our mortal souls and kills excuse to cling to our limited flesh.

Our flesh can be His glory.  Our weakness can be His strength. Our strongholds can be His deliverance.

Our unknowing can know God's omniscience. Our pride can know Christ's humility. Our need can know His grace.

Our limited can be God's unlimited!

Christ never lived in the ordinary. Yes, He was a man as well as the Son of God. Yes, he walked, talked, breathed, lived, suffered, and died as a human being. But, Jesus never viewed His life as ordinary.

He could not. He would not. For His life was not His own. It belonged to His Father, and Jesus only lived to please Him.

What He did, everything Christ did, He did not do for Himself. Jesus magnifed God the Father in all.

And, His desire for us is the same.  If "anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward" (Matthew 10:42, NIV). Even a drink of water is not mundane to Jesus. He looks at our hearts while we do the great and small.

My friend Sonja, from http://www.bitsandpieces-sonja.blogspot.com/, sent me a beautiful biography about her father, Armin Gesswein, who was a mighty prayer warrior and man of God. In that book, Everything by Prayer, the author, Fred Hartley, speaks of the way we often disconnect the mundane of our lives from the spiritual. He tells that everything we do is spiritual when we are living as a servant. Even cleaning up your child's vomit is serving God when you love Him with your whole heart.

Be encouraged. In the great and small of your life, God is beside you. With you. In you.

Look for God's limitless in your ordinary. Expect His power in your walk with Him. Search for His hand in all you do. Listen for Jesus, even when you are changing a diaper, digging up weeds, wiping a dish, or waiting for one so dear.

Live your life without borders. Live your life with His heart.  Live your life in God's unlimited!

Thank you for you patience in my limited posting! I am diligently working on a slight change of scenery on my blog, per direction of the Holy Spirit. Change begets change, and the life of the fire we had back in November has begun death of the ordinary in my heart. With all things new, I so want to be a channel God can use. Thanks again, and much love to all.

DREAM DELIVERER

2010-01-20T18:06:00.004-06:00

How did I ever pass college statistics? Its intricate details of mathematical equations amazed and perplexed me. Its formulas and problems seemed so infinite, so mysterious, so distanced.

I am not a math person, and with much intimidation, I took the class twelve years ago, only to satisfy degree requirements. Today, I am still in awe of its challenges and gladly admit that only by God's grace did I overcome them and pass the course.

Only by His grace did I deal with the samplings, variables, and probabilities.  God is good and merciful!

I respect disciplines that deal with numbers. I understand them little, but appreciate those who do and use their knowledge to help others.

I have very limited knowledge of algebraic equations, statistical probabilites, etc. But one thing I truly comprehend: Such equations and probabilites, their designs, and their designers do not compare to the wisdom, depth, ways, and mystery of God. He designed our world and its capabilites to yield to mathematical equations. God's ways pass all human understanding.  His thoughts, His creation, transcend, perplex, and overwhelm the greatest statisticians.

God is infinite. God is the Master Designer of all good things. God is wisdom. God is holy. God is truth. And, God is personal.

Our Father God, with His personal application, has His Own way of showing us His ways. He has given us His holy word and the Holy Spirit to teach us and lead us in every area of our lives. I often remind myself of the Psalmist's revelation that even our steps are planned by our heavenly Father. So, why should we ever glance from the Lord's especial prepared path or question His limitless, interpersonal wisdom?  In our humanness, we all seem to have a weakness for stumbling through life's fog and wanting to find our own way.

"If I can just make this change in my life, things will be easier." "If I can somehow make this idea work, my relationships will be smoother." If I could just have God's blessings in this area of my life, I know I would be happy."

If. . . .If I had a hundred dollars for every time I tried on my own to improve my life and find a better way to do things, I would be a very rich woman by now; i.e., my own pride and ignorance have escorted me into the valley of pain many times, the sum of which has equaled a very accurate dose of humility and an unpleasant adjustment of my attitude.

God is so faithful! If you are a regular reader of my posts, you know I marvel at His faithfulness, and I hope not to sound like a broken record, but the patience and longsuffering of God simply amazes me, and I have a hard time withholding praise for the personal meaning of that truth!

God is faitfhul. He is the One Who speaks in your life, even when you have made that wrong turn, even when your wrong turn has sent you in circles or routed you into a ditch.

God is faithful. Through His loving Spirit, He speaks very intimately to us when we carelessly find ourselves on a dead end drive. He is the One Who interrupts our own well-meant, but delirious plans.

God is faithful.  He is the fire sent from heaven that suddenly licks its flame into your dearest dreams and destroys the "I" in them all.  He is the still, small voice that wrecks your direction and changes your life.  He is the Author of your faith, Who at will turns your pages to write His own lines, so your story will end the way He wrote it ages ago.

Yes, precious one, God is faithful.

Were it not for the patience and longsuffering of God I would be in the middle of the Mojave by now without water, food, or shelter.

He knows my frame. My heavenly Father knows my good intentions, though very unworthy, have always been pursued with a dusty, fragile, imperfect fleshly temple that reasoned and dreamed its way into a dizzy drama.

As a young wife and mother of twenty-four years old, I reasoned my way into nursing school. "We need financial stability."  "The ministry is so hard." "A nursing career will bring peace to our home." "I can help others and help my family at the same time."

I mused myself into a mess. I talked myself into near tragedy. I ignored the precious, still small voice that told me something was wrong with the whole idea and to let it go.

I enrolled in school. Little I did prospered. God refused to bless my plan. My little ones suffered. My husband suffered. I suffered. Yet, I persevered, being the stubborn girl I can be.

Finally, I awoke one morning violently ill. I vomited almost incessantly and was rushed to the hospital, where I was diagnosed with severe dehydration and dangerously low blood pressure.

It took one month of recovery, which required my withdrawal from school. I knew the Lord had had His way, and though repentent, I had a small fragment of hope of returning to my dream. The fleshly, selfish nature of Andrea still did not want to let go.

One afternoon, I sat on my sofa, questioning if I should go back. I started planning to call the school and reenter. My fleshly reasoning was hemming me back into the corner of disobedience.

Suddenly, in the midst of my daydreams, I heard my little sons crying out from our hallway. I ran as quickly as I could to find they had found my blood pressure cuff, and in playing with it, had it wrapped around Chris's arm. It was cutting off his circulation and was so tightly fixed and tangled I couldn't get it off. I cried out to the Lord for help, and with God's intervention, His wisdom, I was able to free Chris from the product of my own rebellious nature.

I held and clung to my children and thanked God for His deliverance. Later, I called the school. I spoke with the secretary in the nursing department and told her I had some books and equipment I wanted to sell. And I never once looked back.

Friends, we do not understand the reason behind God's voice. But we really do not need to understand. We only need obedience and trust in His will. His will is always His best.

Not His better. His best.  What a perfect "selah moment!"  Stop, and calmly think about it. Rest in that truth. Absorb the reality of your possibilities with God's best.

Your Designer, your Architect, your Provider holds your best in His hands.

Dear, precious one, if you are struggling today with your own dreams, if you know in your heart you are hearing God's voice, as the Apostle Paul did, when the Lord asked Paul why he insisted on going against the grain (Acts 26:14, The Message), then take a few quiet moments to drink in the Lord's unconditional love for you and contemplate how through that divine love He gives you all good things.

If through struggle and conflict you are weary from keeping a genuine divine dream alive, take heart of that same love, knowing the One who birthed in you His desire will most surely bring it to fulfillment. You have had realization in your spirit. And, God, Who planted the vision, will pour the oil and wine in His season.

Perhaps you have broken dreams. You heard God's voice in the past.  His vision for your life has now become a road invisible, filled with fog. The enemy somehow foiled the Lord's plans for you through sin or discourgement or other devices. Satan uses those broken dreams to bring you to further discouragement and make you feel like a failure, but I assure you, dear friend, that the Lord is your healer and restorer.  Jehovah, the sovereign Lord, can "put breath into you and make you live again!" (Ezekiel 37:5, NLT). Call His name! Forget your past! Forgive yourself! Have new hope!

Receive God's best for you today. He loves you so.

DUST DIVINE

2010-01-07T22:12:00.003-06:00

"All who call on God in true faith, earnestly from the heart, will certainly be heard, and will receive what they have asked and desired."

Martin Luther

It was up to my knees! My four year old feet, donned in little girl boots, struggled to keep up with my dad as we made our way to the basement of our Atlanta, Georgia, home, looking for a shovel. The grounds of our little Cape-Cod cottage on a hill were covered in snow, and with each step, I felt a candylike crunch beneath my feet.  I had to pull my petite self along through the frozen slush. It must have been one of those Southern snows that is first a lovely, fluffy white but then becomes a nightmarish, slilppery, four-inch-thick cake, iced with sheer ice.

The cold and the wet white did not delight me then. I had not yet learned the blessing it could be. I wanted to be in the warmth of my cozy, lavender bedroom, surrounded by my dolls and tea sets and other toys. Why in the world I was helping Daddy look for a shovel I do not know.  All I know is that tiny snippet of shovel-searching is my first snow memory.

Many snow memories have followed, and all of them have been joyful events, including the newest one, which occured today here in northern Alabama. If I gazed out the window once today, I did so about thirty times, and by now, I know my friends who live in a proverbial blanket of white each winter must be laughing or shaking their heads in disbelief.

But a snow day in the Deep South is a gift of true luxury. Children, of all ages, pray for it and wait for it each winter with great expectations, and when the sparkling specks of white begin to drift from the heavens and cling to the earth, we are overcome with joy and thankfulness for a few days of snowbound life if we're twice blessed.

You see, the rarity of our white blessing does not justify the purchase by our cities and counties for enough trucks and plows and whatever it takes to clear the roads and keep them safe. Henceforth, when snow accumulates, roads, schools, and most businesses close, and you hope you have been to the grocery store, for, short of an emergency, you may be homebound until temperatures climb above freezing.  A day that begins in normality suddenly turns into a new beginning of a blissful mini-vacation, as you are tucked within your home, nestled wtih family, food, and fun.

And, if you happen to have an empty nest, you have a lot of time of think. Today was opportunity.

I am a constant analyser and assessor of self.  I observe my own motives. Listen to my own voice. Search my own soul. Hear my own heart.

It is not easy. It hurts. It is exhausting. It is costly.

For part of my morning devotional today, the Lord led me to Psalm 51. It is David's offering of repentance after his sin of adultry with Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah.

What impresses me most with the Psalm, are David's brokenness and honesty. His words are woven with grief and watered with remorse. His desire for God's grace and mercy rings with desperate appeal. "Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow" (7, NKJV).

I imagine David's painful prayer. I see him walk and raise his voice to heaven. I see him lie in dust and declare his demise. I see him, in despair, rue the day of his birth. I see him sink in sorrow, his face drowned by hot tears.

I hear David cry and beg for God's mercy, and I hear the King weep and wail for his sin.

David's guilt and pain gripped his life and tortured his soul.

Through his own guilt, through the painful suffering of personal remorse, David discovers the true values of God. As the psalmist experiences the reality of his own sin, as David faces his own failure and looks at that sin and failure through the eyes of His Redeemer, David has an incredible moment of truth.  "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart - these, O God, You will not despise" (17, NKJV).

What an awesome moment of revelation! What an awesome moment of relief! God does not desire burnt offering for the sake of the offering. God desires brokenness. Humility. Our own realization of our own spiritual helplessness. God desires remorse. Real repentence. Deep sorrow that makes you want to change your life and never be the same again.

David found that humility and repentance for his crisis of sin. We can find it, too, for any and every moment in our lives, even though what troubles us may seem so small.

How can we find brokenness, humility? How can we experience great depth of sorrow for our sins, faults, failures, and needs? How can we grow into the reality of our weaknesses? How can we have Holy Spirit transformation in our lives? How can we change?

As David did - only through God's creation. What emotion the psalmist must have felt as he wrote, "Create in me a clean (pure, holy, free from corruption) heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me" (10, NKJV).

Listen, friends! The Hebrew word David uses for create is the same one used in Genesis 1:1! The psalmist confessed his inability! The psalmist proclaimed God's ability!

David's answer, our answer, is the creative voice of God spoken into our lives. The same voice that said, "Let there be light" (Genesis 1:3), is more than able to speak His power into our lives and give us whatever we need, including a new heart.

A new heart! It's what I'm seeking this year. I want a heart like Jesus' heart. Honestly, it intimidates me to pray for it. I know it will not come cheaply. In fact, I am very sure it has great cost. I hope I am ready to pay the price for a new heart! To sacrifice for God's miraculous moving with power!

Will you please join me in this journey? If not, will you please pray for me? Ask the Lord to give me the tenacity and faith to allow Him to speak His creative word and do His creative work, so I will be a vessel that pleases God.

The Lord is so good! He has prepared our steps!  Each part of our day was planned and written in His book before our very conception (Psalm 139:16).

Today was the day that snow would have new symbolism for me. When I awoke this morning, I had no idea God would bring such a prolific metaphor into my life! The clean, white dust from heaven tells of a merciful God who purifies and renews and speaks creative miracles into my life and your life. Falling snow is new hope. New hope is new creation. New creation is new life. New life means a new heart.  Praise His name, Elohim, the God Who creates!

NEW YEAR, NEW HOPE, NEW HEART

2010-01-01T16:51:00.002-06:00

NEW!!! Fresh! Different from the former or old! Not previously experienced or encountered is our 2010! It is novel! It is now! It is tomorrow and its 364 days! And it is opportunity for new discoveries in our life with Christ!

The Greek word for new is Kainos, which means unprecedented, uncommon, and novel. Kainos is used forty-four times in the New Testament, and the Word of God speaks, boldly proclaims, "if anyone is in Christ, he is a NEW creation; the old has gone, the NEW has come! (2 Corinthians 5:17, NIV).

Our new has come! And you, dear friend, today, in this fresh beginning, in this new year, are novel. No one else is like you. You are God's choice servant, and you are a new creation in Christ Jesus, an unprecedented work of His grace!

And, what God has for you is kainos! His new! God is always at work in your life. He is a 24/7 God! And His handiwork in your life in 2010 will be a new thing not even considered by you before God brings it to pass in your life. Yes, that is your 2010! That is your new year! A gift of the unworn, unused, unprecedented, uncommon! Behold, it is here, and what God opens, no person has power to close. Praise His name!

Rejoice! Be glad! Proclaim God as your God of your new year!

Expect!  Receive, day by day, God's kainos for you!

Name!  Pray the word of God into those areas of your life that need His new!

Exalt! Lift up Jesus, bring Him glory, in everything you say and do in 2010!

Wait! Be still and know that He is God this very moment and in every moment of your new year!

Escape! Avoid any snare the enemy has for you by finding safety in your Strong Tower and His truth!

Determine! Trust in the arms of your Shepherd, Who loves you and guides your steps! He cannot fail you!

Blessings to all of you! Thank you for your thoughts and prayers! I admit I was not very sad to say, "Goodbye" to 2009!  I am looking forward to God's moving and His giving of His best for 2010!

Dear Father God, how great your are! You are the One, the only, true God, and I praise you for our Rock, Jesus Christ, the Savior of the world, and His name that is above every other name! Oh, Lord, help us all to seek Your glory for this new year! When we get ahead of You, please bring us back to your side with your Shepherd's staff and rod. And, dear Father, help us to trust Your work in our lives and to believe and see Your glory. We give you and will give you praise and honor forever! Amen!

I love you all, dearest friends!!!

CHRISTMAS BEAUTY

2009-12-24T18:01:00.002-06:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

"I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year."

Charles Dickens

She came toward me bearing the beauty. It was an amaryllis in full bloom that looked like a bowl of peppermint lolipops, with its tall stalks and bright red and white flowers. "I just didn't know what to buy you," she said. "I sure hope you and your husband enjoy it. I thought it was so pretty."

That precious one's joy in giving melted my heart.  Christmas gifts always dig deep into my soul's soil, for during the holidays, everyone has so many other people to think about and so much to do.  Boxes of candy, gift cards, loaves of banana bread, homemade cookies, ties for my husband, necklaces for me, tins of popcorn, flowers, candles, cash, and anything and everything are received into our lives with a lot of loving thoughts. To us, each remembrance is a sweet sacrifice of self and finance.

We received the gift of the aforementioned Christmas amaryllis several years ago, and it remains very special to me, not only because of the lady whose grace and love gave the gift, but also, for its symbolism and its continual living message.

This very day, this very moment as I write, the pretty peppermint-like flower lives and speaks because of its symbolic nature. What was once a present of gratitude and fondness now means more to me than it ever has. The tall, pristine winter flower symbolizes pride and beauty, just as a rose symbolizes love. That message of the amaryllis is personal and moves my spirit. My own amaryllis became a symbol of my personal testimony of  the spiritual conflict of true beauty and pride.

When I first learned about the amaryllis and discovered that it represents pride and beauty, the two ideas sounded worldly and humanistic, like a theme from a short story whose heroic, self-sufficient character teaches the value of human strength. But God refreshed my thoughts and gave me a personal message of Christ's strength and His hope for my own need.

Pure loveliness is Christ Himself. Jesus is beauty incarnate, and His beauty reaches far beyond our frail, worldly concept of outward appearance. Christ, in complete humility and sacrifice, divested himself of the glory of heaven, became a baby, grew up in a small, common village, and as a man and the Son of God, gave his life for our salvation by dying shamefully on a cross, then rose again for our justification, and now lives, sitting at the right hand of God, our Father, praying for us, always interceding on our behalves.

Jesus is true beauty. He is pure.  He is noble. He is real.  He is incomparable.

Pride is the opposite of true beautfy. It is anything raised above the knowledge of Jesus; i.e., whatever longs to function and/or achieve on its own. Pride is not pretty. It grieves the heart of God and makes me amazingly unattractive to Him. In heaven, Christ intercedes for me. And I know He prays that I will lose my miserable pride and gain His glorious beauty.

In constant awareness of my own need and humanity, I search continually in my heart for the loss of pride and the real image of Christmas, the King's beauty. Jesus, King of kings and Lord of lords, was born into this world, as a baby in a self-imposed state of utter humility, just for my need, my deliverance, and my redemption.

My search for inner beauty often leaves me disappointed. Oh, yes, Jesus lives in my heart. He is my life. My All in all. But my imperfect state of being yearns for the selfless love and giving up of self that comes with a deeper walk and a greater faith.

On my own I am hopelessly selfish. But, with His love, God has enlightened my thoughts and has given me a new gift of the hope of a holy life in which God will be pleased: the letting go of my own self and the reaching forward to Christmas beauty.

Christmas day, not only will I share joy and blessing and comfort with my family, but also, I will share with the Lord an awareness of Himself and His glory in light of Who He is alone and in light of who I am compared to Him and His almighty power and endless love.

And in God's endless love, together, we can all wholly rejoice. We can celebrate Christmas, the birthday of the one and only Savior of the world and of ourselves, despite whatever weakness or problem or burden we have. Yes, we rejoice because of Who Jesus is and His great love for us! May we all be overwhelmed by that amazing love and enjoy God's gift of life.  Praise Him! Edify Him! Exalt His name! He is worthy of it, and He intends Christmas beauty and joy for you.

Regardless of pain, regardless of imperfection, regardless of situation, Christ is who He says He is. He is our Christmas beauty for all days and all times. And His love is always present with us. Soak in His comfort and peace. Breath in His love for you. Whisper His name with a grateful heart. And study His beauty, His loveliness, that was first revealed to us in the form of a tiny baby that was humbly born in an animals' stall.

"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him" (ICorinthians 2:9, NIV).

Christmas hath a darkness;

Brighter than the blazing noon;

Christmas hath a chillness

Warmer than the heat of June,

Christmas hath a beauty

Lovelier than the world can show:

For Christmas bringeth Jesus,

Brought for us so low.

Christina Rosetti

OF STARLIGHT

2009-12-05T19:50:00.001-06:00

I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses.

Taylor Caldwell

When I was growing up, our family had a red tree topper. It was a tall spire with an open globe stuffed with angel hair.  Each year we would find it packed away in our little attic. We always took it from hibernation, and put it in its proper place atop our prickly tree. Finding the red swirly object was not my favorite part of tree-trimming. I was never too happy with the spire. Not that it wasn't pretty; it was truly quite elegant, but it just never said "Christmas" to me. I wanted a star. In my childlike faith, a star said "Jesus."

One Christmas season, my parents noticed the red spire's beauty waning. Its angel hair had thinned, its plastic had begun to crack, and its paint was chipping. A new topper for our tree was added to our shopping list, and it was decided that we would buy a star. So, we went star-shopping and brought home a lovely five-point symbol made of gold tinsel and colored lights.

I could not wait to see it crown our little artificial Scotch Pine tree. At last, when I did see the gllittery star settle on the tip-top branch, I was elated to see it glow brightly with joy of Christ's birth.

Several weeks ago, when we had the fire incident, we lost our Christmas decorations. I have thankfully been able to salvage the sentimental items. I do not know if they can be cleaned and used again, but they will be kept! I could never let go of paper snowmen made in a kindergarten class, a little handprint engraved with "Steven," a clothespin angel with "Chris" written on its back, and homemade felt frames and clear, acryllic-shaped trees sprinkled with glittery images of my sons within. No Way!!! Though they are sooty and smoky, they will at least be stored with our most precious family belongings.

Included in our sooty collection of Christmases past is a tree topper.  It is not a star. It is a lighted angel dressed in ivory tafetta with beautiful white wings edged with gold glitter.  As a family, we always enjoyed the angel atop the tree. It reminded us of the proclaming of Christ's birth to the shepherds and the rejoicing of the heavenly beings as they recited, "Glory to God in the highest."

With the loss of our angel topper and other Christmas ornaments, my husband and I decided that a shopping trip was in order. We knew our temporary apartment home would never feel like Christmas without a tree and trimmings, so Jeff  and I ventured to Walmart Thursday night and bought an inexpensive pre-lit tree, gold and red glass balls, sparkling snowflakes, and twinkling crosses, and tiny little angels.

And, yes, we bought a star to place atop our new tree. It seems made of iron and is covered in gold with clear lights embedded within.  It will glow with joy, just as the tree topper did in my childhood Christmases.

After buying our new Christmas decor, we meandered around our city. I noticed no stars visible in the heavens. It was quite overcast here in northern Alabama, and fog had settled into the Tennessee Valley. Surveying the starless sky led my thoughts to the star, the shining heavenly ornament that graced the heavens and announced the birth of our Savior over 2000 years ago.

The real star of Bethlehem was an amazing sight! It brought awe and "exceeding great joy" (Matthew 2:10) to the wise men and other seekers when they beheld its glory in the heavens over Judea. That stunning celestial body proclaimed the path to a king, the King of all kings, Jesus, the Messiah. Though much speculation is made about its cosmic components, the nitty gritty of its make-up matters little. What really matters is the spiritual significance of the star. It is beautifully powerful.  Its prophetic praises move my soul.

For those in ancient Judea, its shining was a testimony of the One, real Light Who had come into a dark, depraved world.  Our Savior, the Son of God, the sinless One, came to sinful earth to suffer, to be our Redeemer, and to rescue us from evil and death.

Our personal, kinsman Redeemer, Jesus, the Holy and Anointed One, the Son of the living God was then proclaimed, is now proclaimed, and will forever be proclaimed Savior of the world.

The Greek word for Savior is Soter, and the Greek word for save is sozo, which means to protect, heal, preserve, to make whole.

Christ came to save you, and He came to do even so much more. Being saved is only the beginning, and the depth of the Greek word sozo reveals God's dynamic plan for your abundant life.

We are saved by grace through faith. We are saved, delivered from our sin and brought to the kingdom of God's light. We no longer have to fear dying and going to hell. We are no longer slaves to sin. We no longer have to settle for isolation, intimidation, and incompletion. God, in His sovereignty, is in control of our lives.

He gives us great promise for our earthly journey. He gives us a pathway to an abundant life of healing. Jesus delivers from turmoil and leads us to peace and wholeness.

"To make whole" is not only to be delivered from sin, but also it is to be brought to completeness. Jesus came to this world not just to purchase our souls, but to heal our lives, to mend our broken hearts, to give us a sound mind, to give us abundant living:  Love. Joy.  Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control. *

The star, the heavenly symbol placed in the heavens to give divine proclamation of the birth of the King, also glowed with the greatness of God, illuminating lives in ancient Judea, and it remains today in our hearts, leading us to the truth and riches of God's kingdom.

Yes, today, the star of Bethlehem shines. The star is still ours to behold. It remains visible in our souls. It glows unhidden, uncloaked by our Creator. Shining forth, giving light, and telling truth to all who will look upon Him. Jesus Christ, Emmanuel, the Light of the World, our Savior, is present with us to bless, to heal, to deliver, to make whole.

Yet not everyone looks upon the Star. Many refuse to see Him at all. And not everyone who does look upon Him believes. Not everyone who sees Jesus sees a Savior. Some see Him as an interuption in their busy holiday plans. Some see Him as a controversial icon.  Some see Him as a wise teacher worthy of quoting. Some see Hin as a simple carpenter wtih great ambition. Some see Him as a madman. Some see Him only as a man who somehow made history.

How do you see Him today?  When you see a Star adorn a tree, when you look into the heavens, when you hear "Jesus" spoken, when you read His words, when you hear, "Merry CHRISTmas," What do you really hear? Whom do you really see? Do you see Him for the King He is? Or do you see Him in obscurity, unsure of His power, beauty, and grace?

As a Christian what does your soul bear? What do you want from Jesus? What thoughts make your heart burn with burden? What is lodged in your spirit like a seed in your tooth? What mountain holds you back from shining as God's child?

Does peace seem impossible? Does exceeding joy seem elusive? Does holy vision seem blurred? Does something feel broken? Do you need, dear friend, "to be whole"?

Jesus is the Star who eternally shines with healing power! And, . . . healing love!

Reach out to Him and grasp the love He has for you this season in your life.  Christ's love will make a miracle out of the mountain that stands in your way. You can remember this Christmas as the time your life changed forever.

How? By five simple steps: 1) look up to Him as the shining Savior; 2) humble yourself before Him, proclaiming Christ as Lord over all your life; 3) pour out your heart to Him, telling the Lord your deepest thoughts, fears, and needs; 4) praise God for His great love for you and personal intervention in your life; and 5) stand in faith, waiting patiently for His work, coninuing in an attitude of praise.

As Christians, we feel the conflict of perfection and carnality. In our hearts, we long to please God; yet, being human, living in a fleshly temple, we make mistakes. We mess up. We sin. We go through depression. We get discouraged. We deal with imperfect thoughts. We feel alone.

But, we are not alone because we all go through these struggles.

Yet, we do not give up!!! We turn to Jesus!

Look on Jesus today! See His Star that proclaims truth to all nations and to all people and to you! By believing Him, through trust in His name, by following the path that proclaims Him Lord of All, you, too, will be like those of ancient Judea and everyone who calls on His name. As you receive His abundant life and allow His authority to rule your heart, you, dear friend, you will rejoice with hope and "exceeding great joy"!

*The fruits of the Holy Spirit, Galatians 5:22
Research is from e-sword.

BOUNTIFUL

2009-11-25T00:08:00.002-06:00

Thou hast given so much to me,

Give one thing more, - a grateful heart;

Not thankful when it pleaseth me,

As if Thy blessings had spare days,

But such a heart whose pulse may be Thy praise.

George Herbert

1593 - 1633

Bountiful. . . giving freely and generously; liberal; marked by abundance; plentiful; lavish; princely; munificent. The nature of the one who gives bountifully is loving, caring, giving, kind, sincere, and selfless. That description defies the root of human nature. But not God's. Our God is bountiful.

He pours into our lives and world liberal abundance. He spiritually gives us everything we need to surge with growth in Jesus Christ. And truly, God gave His only Son, Jesus Christ, God's most bountiful gift, freely to us.

So who can give legitimate argument to the goodness of God? Who is so blind that God's handiwork is invisible or vague? Who can stand against God's testimonies? Who can deny His holiness? Who is like our bountiful God?

No one can compare to Him!  He created the world and all life, and set eternity in order.  He framed creation with His lovingkindness, and He daily reveals His presence. With each sunrise, God's voice announces His mercy. With each sunset, our heavenly Father lovingly kisses the night with promise of tomorrow.

Nature is a testimony of our Creator's sovereignty. The beauty of the earth, the majesty of the heavens, the nobility of the eagle, the graceful stance of the deer, the sustenance of the seed, the yielding of bread from wheat and rye, the opening of the dogwood bloom in the spring, the closing of the evening primrose in the day, the fabric of DNA that gives form and distinction to our mortal bodies, and all other existence tell of God's glory!

Consider the breath of God. His own breath is our channel of life. The Hebrews referred to it as nâphach, meaning to inflate, blow hard, scatter, kindle. God's breath makes us living souls, weak humans who must have the life of God within to kindle them and make them spiritually alive.  The "LORD God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being" (Genesis 2:7).  God's own breath began human life. Not just once in the beginning of creation, but later, too, with a new existence.

Jesus Christ, God in the flesh, breathed on his disciples so they would receive the Holy Spirit, our Comforter, our Compass, our Counselor. Jesus "breathed on them and said, 'Receive the Holy Spirit'" (John 20:22). In his commentary notes, Matthew Henry states that during creation, Almighty God gave life to man, which began the old world. And that when our Savior breathed on his disciples, He signified new life for a new world.

God created breath as a channel for life, both physically and spiritually.

God created living mortal beings of flesh and blood and weakness to demonstrate His Almighty glory!

God created the splendor of the seas, the majesty of mountains, the terror of tides, and the complex abilities of human beings combined with the possibilities of His earth's sources to point to God's greatness and goodness.

The intricate complexities of life and every living thing and the order of the universe speaks.  Whispers. Proclaims. Declares. SHOUTS the truth of His name.

He is El Shaddai, The All-Powerful God. He is Elohim, The Creator, our Master Designer. He is The Everlasting God, El Olam, our Eternal God.  He is the only God! He is the only One, true God!

And our loving Creator of our world and our lives is not a clockmaker, who designed, created, and wound just to watch His creation work. NO!!! Our God is the Ancient of Days, active in past, present, and future, and He is Yahweh Rohi, The LORD is my Shepherd, who gives daily bread, holy compassion, and loving leadership, and divine provision to those Whom He loves, His own.

Praise Him! Remember His Name! Call on Him! Believe in His Word! Don't be fearful of speaking His truth and proclaiming Him as God!

Declare Thanksgiving, 2009 your time to give your God glory and praise and honor. Friends, He is our Source of all things! All thanks we have to give, whether for family, friends, finances, church, country, health, home, and so many other blessings, are from our heavenly Father, Who delights in pouring good into our lives!

As you prepare your Thanksgiving meal, as you gaze upon your family and friends, as you go to your place at the table, remember your Lord of mercy. Keep His goodness before you, and let an attitude of praise reign in your heart. In doing so, your Thanksgiving holiday will be mightily blessed and remain as a testimony in your life each day.  Letting praise reign is a seed of a mighty tree that will, if watered and fed, grow and show abundant fruit.

One small seed of determined worship is a beginning. One small seed of praise can be the beginning of a great harvest. Praise is the planting of bounty. Let the seed of thanksgiving rule your heart and mind. May this thankful time be the start of a new season of worship in you! Your life will be spiritually bountiful, abundant, plentiful, for the only, true bountiful One will live and reign in you as true thanksgiving for Him lives in your heart and flows from your lips.

Scripture is from the NIV Bible.

Definition from thefreedictionary.com.
All research is from e-sword resources.

A FEARFUL SOUND!

2009-11-14T20:28:00.006-06:00

"So surely as the stars are fashioned by His hands, and their orbits fixed by Him, so surely are our trials allotted to us: He has ordained their season and their place, their intensity and the effect they shall have upon us."
Charles Haddon Spurgeon

"'That fearful sound of "fire" and "fire,"/Let no man know is my Desire.'" Her richly spoken words are numbing reality. How well I remember first hearing those poetic phrases penned by Anne Bradstreet, initially learning them in a college classroom. I sat amazed as a non-traditional student who was in ignorance at the depth, honesty, intensity, and persuasion of a Puritan poet, whose out of abundance language brought life to page and truth to the journey of Christian living.

America's first woman poet poured many lyrical prayers and meditations of surrender and sacrifice. In 1666, she lost all her material possessions to a devastating fire. In 2000, one year after graduating from college, I had the privilege of reading and teaching her poetic verses of those losses to tenth graders. I felt passionate about Anne's experience. I wanted my students to share my passion and relate to her pain, to travel three centuries back with me to Anne's new world and connect with the soul-searching saga of one woman and her God. To hear this woman's heartbeat and understand her godly affection and her influence in 17th century Amercia and our 21st century American life.

In hearing her voice and heart, Anne Bradstreet became my heroine because of her faith in God and scriptural priorities. Anne's courageous conclusion of "Upon the Burning of Our House" leaves me speechless each time I read it. Breathless praise stills my soul when I walk with her on her voyage of private pain and sentiment to her letting-go of futility and grasping of holy, raw truth. Anne's godly take on life and loss bears hard in my soul, and it witnesses the fact of God's grace. It is a grace for all us; yes, sweet friends, it is just as real now, in 2009, as it was in 1666.

God is immutable. He doesn't change. His promises, his passions, his pleas for us are the same yesterday, today, and forever. Thus, Anne's words remain. Their urgency and appeal still move us. They are timeless. They speak truth. They know love. They give hope.

"The world no longer let me Love, My hope and Treasure lyes Above."

I have read those last lines so many times, yet I never imagined they would have their own particular part in my life.

Last Sunday afternoon, November 8, I kept Olivia and Ella, two of my grandchildren. Both my son, Steven, and his wife had to work, and I savored the opportunity to have a little grandma time with the two little sweethearts, whom we call Baby Doll and Ella-Bella. Their mom arrived about 5:00 pm to take them home. Raychelle, my daughter-in-law, and I and the babies were in my den. Mommy and I were getting babies ready to go when suddenly we heard a terribly loud sound, like a gun or explosion.

We immediately and quickly moved toward the back door, opened it, and inhaled a noxious fume that had already saturated our screened porch and carport, where Raychelle had parked her car. Her engine had exploded, and flames were already licking their way toward our roof. We dared not approach our porch, which was engulfed with dense smoke. Rather, we grabbed the babies and the phone and quickly ran toward the opposite end of the house and out our front door.

Countless calls, copious words of comfort, two crying babies, and five fire trucks later, the drama ended. And its ending began a new adventure of awestruck, broken gratefulness to God for sparing the lives of Raychelle, Olivia, and Ella. The imaginations and discussions with family and friends have centered around God's mercy and grace. Two minutes later, Raychelle, Olivia, and Ella would have been in the car on their way home. My spirit is shaken with thoughts of those possibilities, but my spirit soars with gratitude for God's lovingkindness that spared our grief, and please believe me, words are really, really inadequate, but their inadequacy has not stopped my effortless giving of thanks.

Just as the explosive BOOM travelled beyond our home to surrounding neighbors, bringing sudden jolt and concern to all of us, I have been symbolically exploded from normal, day-to-day living into a sudden, compulsory journey of soul-moving praise and soul-searching surrender!

We have had some losses. I count them now as nothing. They are replacable. Just things made out of elements of this unholy earth that God will one day fold like a garment.

What is a carport, a porch, stuff in an attic, insulation, smoke-damaged sofas and chairs and curtains and linens, and water-damaged wood? What are sooty-smelling clothes, quilts, books, lampshades, and carpet? Really, what are they?

What is it to be a little discomforted and inconvenienced? What is to stand with your family and feel the shock of now and the wonder of tomorrow? What is it to seek temporary stay? What is a real home?

And what does it mean to be real and give everything we own to Jesus? To put into perspective worldy elements that are at one momen material gifts from God and the next moment worthless gifts to Him? What is annoying about picking up a lace garment so delicately formed, and tediously woven, one of many that was freshly laundered with particular care, but now reeks with toxic fumes and an oily pine scent meant to mask nasty smoke?

By God's grace alone, his unmerited favor, his worthy, divine intervention for our unworthy, weak, fleshy abilities, everything, all of it, means rejoicing for what is new. The passing, departing, of one frame of reference to a new point of vision. A welcomed opportunity for a more certain path of this Christian life that can be obscurely bright - i.e., dim of understanding, yet oh so light with promise. A possibility of looking behind at less and looking forward to grasp more. A newer appreciation of God's mercy and grace, which I must have in volumes every moment of every day of my pilgrim life.

From the perspective of limited loss (things could be much, much, worse), it feels pretty good to be inadequate, and though I'm living in the neighborhood of faith versus reason, my spirit is striving to soar with the uncomplicated truth that not understanding my entire life is absolutely OK. What freedom there is in that one Biblical truth!

Do I need prayer? Sure, I do. Always! But, please rejoice with me, too, for out of darkness comes light! What Satan means for our discouragement and demise, God means for our good in Christ. Hallelujah! Friends, that is shouting ground!

Sunday night after Steven, Raychelle, and babies were safe at home and Jeff and I were safe in a hotel, I went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. For a few moments, the significance of everything rushed in like a flood. The tears flowed as I thought of God's salvation and our unworthiness of his gift. To be honest, my immediate reaction to the trauma had been quiet. I was speechless and just did not want to talk. But the awareness of God's hand could not quench my praise and the knowledge of our near true losses were overwhelming to realize.

Thank God for his deliverance and salvation! Thank God for his divine intervention! Thank God for his provision and power! And thank God for you, and I pray that as you ponder these words, he will move in and through your life with his mighty anointing and the reality of his love and lordship! So many of you have been through and are going through hardships. As I write, I am moved by your courage and victory as you face illness, family difficulites, lost loved ones, financial discouragements, depression, fear, death, and on and on.

Please hear my heart. God loves you. And, he is at work to prove what is good and holy and acceptable in your relationship with him. Jesus reigns!!! Not just in heaven. No, Christ reigns in your heart and life! Within you is his kingdom!

And he hears your heart today. He Who formed your heart knows the depths of it. He Who formed your life knows the purpose of it. The Lord, our omniscient Creator, knows your way. And if that way is too narrow, or steep, or rocky, or unstable, or dark, or whatever, our God will deliver you and set your free! Beloved, may God bless you and reveal to you now and forever his everlasting love for you.

"Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness" (Lamentations 3:22-23, NIV).

Below are images of God's divine intervention from last Sunday.

THE LONG, SOUGHT-AFTER

2009-11-11T19:25:00.003-06:00

"Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul."

Henry Ward Beecher

"Tha-nk yooou." Southern charm slipped through her lips like sweet tea through a sieve. The beautiful inflections in her little lady's voice were rich with heritage. I listened closely, as her dear, expressive style traveled two doors down the hospital hallway to my room, where I was waiting for outpatient surgery. Time seems suspended when expecting that trip down hospital corridors into the bright, cold, sterile operating room. The pause not only seems slow, but is slow, and the need for diversion moves one to find it wherever it's available.

An early spring day, five years ago, my husband and I found diversion in the elegance of an elderly Southern lady and her gentleman husband, who kept passing by our door, making trip after trip to please his little wife, who was also awaiting a medical procedure, with phone calls to family and questions for the nurses.

Though I could not see her, the precious belle made me smile and occupied my interest, and such occupation was much more enlivening than lying in an antiseptic environment, surveying ceiling tiles and equipment that I did not know about and did not want to know about.

What amused me most was not her accent, though. It was a very deep Southern drawl, which is not nearly as common in the modern South as it once was in past generations. And being born and raised in Georgia, it wasn't the first time I had heard long, drawn-out vowels, and, moreover I have been known to draw-out a vowel or two or three myself.

What impressed me was her perfected Southern charm and her insistence on showing tremendous appreciation for all things, whether simple or slightly stunning. She had me convinced that we were in the best hospital in the world with the best nurses and doctors to be found anywhere on earth right there in our very presence. And her silky, smooth, complementary nature was only surpassed by her courage and calm.

Two hours of listening and absorbing her heart and demeanor left me inspired. I hoped for such charm and genteelness. She was a for real steel magnolia! I didn't want to waste an opportunity to learn from a genuine Melanie Wilkes.

Now reflection has its true place in our lives. And with eventual hindsight, I had to get real! I was inspired by my memories of her spirit and poise, and though I would never forget her amazing likeness to gentle southern belles from old classic movies, I realized my thoughts had to run deeper than the grasping of a demeanor or the outward beauty of kindness or gracious, grateful living.

As a child of God, my grasping must reach toward a higher goal. A life of sincere thankfulness and merciful expression to God and others must be my deliberate hope and intentional prayer. The necessity of a pure, total, thorough, vocal, surrendered life of sincere gratitude for God, i.e. a heart of worship, must be my focused goal in life, for, as Jesus said, those who worship in spirit and truth are "the kind of worshipers the Father seeks" (John 4:23).

Let that truth sink in! God seeks worshipers! He is seeking worshipers who are for real. He wants our praise to be forthright, honest, sincere, and faithful. His Spirit seeks out those who honor Him and aren't ashamed to show it. Such was the case one day as Jesus walked the sandy soil toward Jerusalem, determined to pass through Samaria and Galilee.

The omniscient Christ knew He had an appointment in a tiny Samaritan village along the way. He knew ten needs awaited Him there. He had beheld their poverty. He had heard their calls. He was drawn to them by holy compassion.

But the dusty road seemed surely hopeless to the ten, whose weak bodies and inferiorities brought them daily wander, agony, and shame. Roaming around for relief and pity only brought the men taunting, humiliation, pain, and fatigue. The disease was dreadful. The separation from society unbearable. The strain of their voices reasonable, as the ten tired from crying, "Unclean, . . . unclean, . . . unclean." The lepers were cast-offs, rejects, failures. They stood as symbols of sin and not real men.

Nearing the village, Jesus saw their needy, snowy forms. And, . . . the ten saw Him. They knew His name. They knew of His power. They had heard of His miracles. He had healed the lame. Delivered from demons. Restored souls. Spoke divine authority. Raised the dead. Created new wine.

Now was their day. Now was their hour. Now was their moment of hope.

As Jesus drew nearer, the ten kept far away. They dared not approach. Yet, belief stayed in their spirits, surged through their souls, and finally, faith gave way to uplifted voices. They could hold their cries no longer. "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!"

Christ looked at them. Spoke to them. Brought divine authority to them. Christ voiced the lepers' deliverance. "Go, show yourselves to the priests."

Then, . . . hope became visible. For as the men made their way to the priests, all were cleansed. Healed, by the Word and by their faith.

Ten faces fixed like granite toward their ordered destination, focused on their flawless forms.

Suddenly, one stopped in his way. He turned. The lone healed man perceived his wholeness. Eyed his transformation. He felt the freedom from pain past. He knew faith made new life. Knew "unclean" was no longer his name.

With loud praise, with voice of triumph, with legs of strength, with flawless, pure skin, the Samaritan ran to Jesus. And falling, casting himself at Christ's feet, that one raised his voice in glorious adoration, and thanked Jesus, Whose mercy gave him new complexion, Whose spoken words released an outcast from bondage, abandon, and torment.

Looking at the grateful man, Jesus simply replied, "Were there not ten cleansed? But where are the nine? Were there not any* found who returned to give glory to God except this foreigner?. . . Arise, go your way. Your faith has made you well."

I do not know what happened to this grateful man, whose thanksgiving even now compels 21st century hearts to praise. Surely he showed himself to the priests. Then, perhaps, with a soul overwhelmed by God's glory, with new life, he forever testified of the Lord's mercy and the healing power of Jesus Christ. For, the grateful, healed man had a heart of worship, and his heart of worship led him to a personal encounter with the Lord. The one who stayed to give glory to God received a closer look at the Anointed One. His heart of worship and compulsion to praise brought him face to face with Jesus. How could he ever be the same again, when forever he remembered Jesus' piercing eyes of love and the Lord's personal notice of his heart of worship?

God loves a thankful heart! When you have a heart of thankfulness, God moves in your life and changes who you are. Why? Because a thankful heart moves the hand of God. Your honest praise reaches His heart. And your focus on His glory and adoration of Who He is, overcomes the fleshly focus of self and the world.

And as your thanksgiving increases, as your heart of worship grows, perspective of God and life deepens. What is truly important comes to light. You soon see that those little things you thought you needed really aren't so great after all. You soon know the truth of God's Own priorities for your life! And with His priorities in place, everything is new. His peace that passes human understanding becomes reality in you. Through your sincere praise, God escorts you to a walk of perfect peace.

Think for a moment about worshiping in spirit and truth (John 4:24). How can defeat overcome a heart of worship? It is impossible because a heart of worship, real worship, heartfelt thanksgiving, is a state of faith. Glorifying God with you words and with your life allows Him to reign within you. His ruling presence becomes your life's reality! And defeat and despair are incapable of standing in Christ's ruling presence!

"I love you, Lord. I praise you, Jesus, for Who you are and for how you are moving in my life. You are the only, one, true God! And, I thank you for being the great I Am and moving with power in my life."

Jesus sought the lepers to give them mercy and to show us His desire that we glorify Him, at all times, in all things. Dear friend, in every moment of your life "give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you" (I Thessalonians 5:18). God hungers to hear your praise!

Will you be that one who stops in the way, wonders at God's work, turns, falls at His feet, and gives glory and honor to Jesus? Will you be that one who takes the extra effort to find intimacy with Him is so worth the trip? Will you be that one to place worshiping God and having a grateful spirit above getting on with your life? Will you be that one who loves Him first and clings to Him most? Will you be that one to whom Jesus says, "Arise"?

*emphasis mine

The cleansing of the ten lepers is found in Luke 17:11-19.

All scripture is from NKJV and NIV.

HEAVENLY DELIGHT

2009-10-27T22:41:00.077-05:00

"A house needs a grandma in it."

Louisa May Alcott

A southern summer's day was a sweet dream when I was ten years old and in my favorite place. My grandma was blessed to live in an antique-filled Victorian home in a quaint old town, just a short hour's drive from Atlanta, where I lived. What a perfect place her home seemed! An oval beveled glass door led from an old-fashioned, roomy front porch to a living room filled with a glorious staircase, an old coal fireplace with a mahogany mantle, and stained-glass windows that reached so high, almost, it seemed to the soaring ceiling.

I wanted to call it mine, but was so happy to be there in brief. Just blessed to be with my Grandma and spend days with her. Those humid days passed so quickly, yet while there I clung to Grandma like honey on a buttermilk biscuit.

I was her shadow. And she never seemed to mind. She seemed happy to have a frolicking granddaughter beside her night and day for a "spell."

She taught me much. Quality and quantity. Partly because I fiercely questioned her about anything and everything that visited my ten year old brain. But mostly, Grandma taught me because of love. Her love was unique. It went beyond instruction and gravitated to discipleship.

I specifically remember one quiet day when, as customary, I followed her from room to room. She told me she had some "sprayin'" to do and she had to be alone. Most naturally, I assumed inquisition.

"What's sprayin', Grandma?" My ten year old mind just couldn't wrap around the idea of spraying being so important. And what in the world was she talking about anyway?

I watched the back of my little gray-haired Mom's Mom walk away from me, but she quickly turned, and with her eyes, cauterized a hole through my skinny, dangly figure, adding distress to my confusion. "Andrea, don't you know what sprayin' is?"

"No, mam." I started to feel defensive. I didn't understand the big deal. But I knew my simple curiosity had led me to trouble. I sort of felt I had come in from a sandbox and needed a bath.

Grandma turned again and walked. I followed. We stopped in her makeshift closet, which was really a large hallway in the back of her aged home. Surrounded by clothes and shoes and scarfs and coats and whatever else fancied her, we stood and stared at each other, and though she was under five feet tall, her presence seemed as mighty as a red oak.

"Grandma, what's sprayin?" My stubborn curiosity was not deterred, for I knew my grandmother's strong heart of discipline could be melted by her compelling, loving leadership. As expected, my young ignorance was too much for her to resist.

"Andrea, do you mean to tell me you don't know what sprayin' is?"

"Nooooo," I slowly answered with hope of subduing dissatisfaction.

"You've never heard of it? Don't your mama spray?"

Interest was now eating me alive. I thought I had stumbled onto a family secret. Or maybe spraying was something grown women had to do to stay clean.

"Andrea I can't believe you don't know about prayin'!"

"I thought you said sprayin', Grandma!" I was at once relieved and disappointed. Happy to be out of the woods. Sad that I was now devoid of a divulged secret.

"I know what prayin' means. And my mama does pray."

How my sweet grandma and I ever had such a misunderstanding I do not know! It looks like one of us would have sooner known the difference between a p and an s. Nonetheless, she was satisfied and relieved, and refocused, my gray-haired companion told me it was her time for prayer. Grandma remained in her closet, while I made my way into her nearby bedroom, and lingered there to listen to a melodious voice speak to God for each and every one of her children and grandchildren. It was like hearing an angel. So sincere, so pure, so heavenly, so selfless, so vibrant and alive, so true, and so unforgettable. It was spoken words showing unseen power.

As Grandma lifted her voice to the Lord, I would occasionally sneak a peek from around the bedroom corner. And with increased courage, I finally made my way into her closet to stand behind her and watch. Grandma's back was toward me, and she was on her knees, weeping, crying out, lost in a heavenly world of praising and asking and receiving. Her head even swayed in rhythm with her resounding words.

Etched in memory as a faithful portrait, those sterling moments on a sultry, summer Georgia day changed my life. If ever I had doubted what prayer was, the mystery was solved. Surely, Grandma had taught me to pray.

She had given me a foundation, a beginning point from which God could build prayer truths later in my life. And today, many years later, I am still learning truths, still searching for a deeper well, still grasping for greater power in prayer.

In our omnipotent God can I only find power in prayer. God is infinite. Limitless. And I am human and fully aware of my many limitations. And yet, those limitations should not bring me a dab of discouragement. FOR, Christ has given a promise! "[W]hatever you ask the Father in my name He will give you. Until now, you have asked nothing in my name. Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full" (John 16:23-24).

ASK! GIVE! RECEIVE! Action verbs! And some of Jesus' final words to His disciples before His passion began. And the message in that scripture from John is greater still, as it reveals His and the Father's heart. THEY WANT US TO PRAY! THEY WANT OUR JOY TO BE FULL!!! Christ has shown us the key to prayer and joy! It begins with a gift of contract left to us from God the Father and God the Son. We can use the name of Jesus to implore our Father to respond to our needs!

And our needs, all of them, God knows all about and fully understands. "For your Father knows the things you have need of before you ask Him" (Matthew 6:8).

Before. Not just when. Before. God knows. He Sees.

El Roi is one of my favorite names of God. Its Hebrew meaning is The-God-Who-Sees and is described in The Woman's Study Bible as The Responder to needs!

Hallelujah! Oh, how the Lord loves us!!! He looks! He sees! He knows! That prayer truth fills my soul with unspeakable, bubbling joy!

God is so amazing! He loves us so! He longs for us to pray!

He watches us! Examines our needs with His divine eyes. Looks for us to look to Him! Wants to share life with us! All of life! To have communion with us!

And God wants us all to recognize our need for Him! To see our needs in light of Who He is! God wants to fill a void in us that cannot be filled any other way but by prayer. God wants us to see Him as our Father. And from our parental relationship with Him, God wants to meet our needs, to answer our prayers. And our answers will come as you and I see God as El Roi, as our very own Father in heaven, Who loves and cares for us, Who sees, and Who wants us to connect with Him through the name of His only Son, Jesus Christ.

Let's take a quick but closer look at John 16:24. Notice again the reason for answered prayer is "that your joy may be full." The Greek word John used for joy is chara, which means calm delight, the cause or occasion for joy, or exceeding gladness. It emphasizes the abiding permanence of joy.

Pleroo, the Greek word for full, means to fill to the full; to make complete in every way; to bring to realization; to cause God's will and promises to receive fulfillment. Pleroo is also found in John 15:11 and I John 1:4.

Consider also that the Greek word for ask implies a continuous state of asking! And remember that Jesus, in John 15, had just revealed our necessary state of abiding in Him, a living, constant, unbroken relationship where we remain fixed in Christ. Through union with Him, we take our needs to God, those needs that our Father already sees and understands, and we ask for divine intervention in the name of Jesus.

And the God Who sees us and the God Who hears us is the God Who answers us. He answers that we remain in a constant condition of calm contentment. He answers that in the middle of a mess, in the context of need, we can have delight, contentment, peace, joy. Our imperfect, fleshly life can have perfected joy through the Holy Spirit.

Joy is ours to realize. It is ours to ask. Christ is ours for abiding. Yes, simply asking, just pouring out our hearts to our Savior, to our God, will bring us joy complete. For our asking is our faith in action when Jesus is our vine and we one with Him.

As I close this post, I am asking myself, "Andrea, why in this world would you ever doubt The-God-Who-Sees? Why should you ever use God as a spare tire(please see quote at post's end)? Why do you sometimes delay asking when God desires you have delight?"

My friend, God longs for the melodious sound of your voice. Yes, your cry to Him is like my grandma's were to me. Sweet harmony. Yours is the voice of His beloved. And your rejoicing is the overflowing completeness of His kingdom revealed in you. Right now, God's hands are extended to you. In them he holds your joy.

JUST FOR US TO PONDER. . .

All of us have a measure of faith given to us by God. How much faith does it take to receive not only salvation, but the fulfillment of joy?

How do you, in your walk with God, reach a level of prayer that leads to completion of joy?

What specific times in your life do you remember abiding joy?

Hagar said that the Lord was to her ""the God Who sees me" (Genesis 16:13). Have you ever experienced such helplessness as Hagar did and in your despair, been blessed by the presence and intervention of El Roi?

"Is God your steering wheel or your spare tire?"

Corrie Ten Boom
Research is from e-sword.

COLLISION!

2009-10-20T08:58:00.066-05:00

"Faith isn't the ability to believe long and far into the misty future. It's simply taking God at His Word and taking the next step."

Joni Eareckson Tada

Just ten days ago, my husband and I returned from Springfield, Missouri, where we spent several days with our younger son, Chris, who was hospitalized. A late afternoon phone call had turned a typical Wednesday into flurry. The following morning, we rushed to Missouri, not knowing what illness had gripped Chris's life. His symptoms were intense and confusing to us and the doctors. And for some time, the culprit remained a mystery. Accordingly, the enemy worked his work of fear, speaking untruths to our minds.

Many stormed heaven on Chris's behalf! The prayers of saints poured into the throne room! God's people prayed! And Chris improved. Glory to God!!! (The doctors told Chris just two days ago he tested positive for salmonella. More tests are pending, and we believe, know, Chris will be 100% healthy!)

We left Springfield once Chris was home and stabilized. As we travelled back to Alabama, we were met by a car that swerved into our lane. Jeff and I gasped, inhaled, spoke the name of Jesus. My husband had just enough room and time to move to the right, avoiding a tragedy for our family.

Arriving home about 10:00 Monday evening, I unpacked our suitcases, while Jeff went to Ruby Tuesday's to get us a salad. We ate, watched a little television, and got ready for bed. Our phone rang early Tuesday morning. You've had those phone calls. The ones that feel important when you hear the first ring. I had just awakened, but was still in bed. Jeff was in the kitchen making coffee, and he answered the phone. Five minutes later he came into the bedroom and announced that a dear friend had, in the night, left his mortal body to join the Lord. It was sudden death. Unexpected. A shock.
Danny's death was a blow to his family and all who knew him. He was a vibrant, fifty-seven year old man, who made everyone who knew him feel a little more special after leaving his presence. My husband and I stood in line at the funeral home two hours before we were able to greet the family. Danny was much loved.
Ten minutes after arriving home from the visitation, my phone rang. Seeing it was my sister, and knowing a late evening phone call from her was rare, I answered with concern and immediately heard the stress in her voice. "I hit a deer on my way home from work tonight. I think my car is totaled."
My sister, Nancy, was OK, but the pressing thought of a near-missed tragedy bore its truth through my heart like a laser. Later, we learned Nancy's life was spared because the deer did not go through her windshield. Our family praises God, and deems my sister's survival a miracle. Angels were near, and saved us from overwhelming grief. My dear friends, I am not sharing these incidents out of fear. I am not sharing out of depression or anxiety about the future. I am certainly not sharing to gain pity or to manipulate emotions. I am sharing because of reality. The reality of our faith! The reality of our lives! That our fleshly tabernacles are simply housing our souls, which can depart this world in a matter of seconds. With no warning. With no control of ours or others. With no choice of life or death.

And such stark reality brings home a collision of faith and flesh. Recent circumstances have brought me face to face with self. I have looked. Searched. Questioned. Pondered and wondered my faith, its strength and its weakness. Looked in the eyes of uncertainty and realized the shaky state it can bring. Realized the only certain situation in this mortal life is uncertainty itself.

Collision of faith and flesh is stunning. It is gritty reality right in your face. It can be quite rude and ugly. Its abruptness raises personal inspection, a microscopic look of survival faith, that part of your life in God that is left when living gives you less than best, or worse that worst.

A simple knowledge of God, dear friends, is not breath enough for survival faith. No, survival faith, the shattered remains from collision of faith and flesh, must have something more. Deep roots, fertile soil, good water, tender care. A divine taproot that glues faith fibers together, so that no tugging, pulling, or digging can transplant or destroy our life in God.

Greater than physical life and greater than human emotions, survival faith is staying strength. Our lives are fragile. Tender. Always changing. In a moment's notice or less, our world can turn upside down. Stability turn to chaos. Joy become sorrow. Love lead to loss.
But for the taproot of Jesus Christ, our faith would be vague in those moments. Without Him, we would stumble in our darkened rooms for faith's failing glow.
Yet, there is no stumbling, when our taproot is strong. Jesus is divine light and strength. He is our intercessor. He is our peace. Our comforter. Deliverer. Friend. The I Am Who is more sure, more certain, than every uncertainty. The Faithful, Changeless One Who remains in our faithless, vague moments.

I desire divine light and life. I am praying God will purify my faith. To be honest, it's an intimidating prayer. I fear what testing it may bring, but the silent alternative will only give stagnation: a state of inactivity; still waters, without current or circulation. What an unbearable thought of compromised Christianity! No, I must choose to venture into deep waters with God.

I don't want to be stale, my dear friends. I want, need, must have living water that mightily flows through my spirit. I crave a river of God that sanctifies and changes who I am. Not only for myself, but for my husband, my children, grandchildren, family, church, and friends. And most of all, for the glory of God! That God would be glorified in my life in all things! That in everything I do others would see less of me and more of Jesus!
Many have chosen deep waters. So many saints have had devastating, life-changing collisions, not just potential traumas, with faith and flesh. So many servants of God have given all they have for the kingdom. Their stamina of faith puts me to shame! Their lives of victory challenge my life of less! Their belief in God for great things proves my life simple. Their joy in trials gives me hope, however, for pure faith!

May the Lord give us grace to allow Him to take survival faith and multiply its seed. With joy, let's pray to grasp Christ's hand and trust Him as He leads to deep waters, though their isolation and profoundness overwhelm us. May every challenge in life send us to the mirror; to see reality of flesh; to face the truth of human inability; to turn to a limitless God; to hope in the Hope of our salvation; to trust in His name, El Roi, the Responder to needs; to take Christ's hand and believe His leadership as best, even if He guides to deep waters. Even if faith and flesh collide!

Heavenly Father, please help me to learn complete trust in you. It is a process, dear Lord, and I must yield to its work in my life. May I, in faith, take your hand, in all situations, and walk with you to deep waters. In Jesus' name, Amen.

*When thinking of those whose faith has survived truly amazing challenges, I am reminded of Paul, Abraham, Joseph, Daniel, and so many others in the Bible. I also think of Elisabeth Elliot, Corrie Ten Boom, and Catherine Marshal, and Amy Carmichael. And then there are those so closely connected, whose everyday personal lives are overwhelmed with the need for survival faith. I have seen many here on blogger, whose lives are beautiful testimonies of God's amazing grace and His ability to carry us when faith and flesh collide.

When you think of survival faith, whose life most influences you? Perhaps it is one from God's word, or another saint from history, a contemporary individual, even someone you personally know.

*Research and scripture are from www.thefreedictionary.com and www.biblegateway.com

SWEET SHOP

2009-10-15T00:08:00.045-05:00

"Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us."

Oscar Wilde, "The Importance of Being Earnest"

Pressing my nose against the glass, I glared at the plenty. Their presence was within arm's reach, yet untouchable through the clear, clean shield. Chocolates, pastries, cakes, candies, pies, rolls. All looked divinely created. The scent, undaunted by the glass case, seemed from heaven. The dream of taking home such sweets surged through my eight year old imagination. Jubilation!

As I peered through the glass, my heart pounded for the passing pleasure of a chocolate eclair. My favorite. And my father's. Thankfully. So, anytime a shopping trip to Rich's department store in Atlanta was deemed by my mother as a definite Saturday diversion, I knew my father would, just before leaving, stop by the store bakery and reward us for our patience and fortitude.

I loved inhaling that distinct scent that wafted through the white bakery box. I could not wait to get home, where Daddy and I would sit and enjoy our eclairs together. The taste of the chocolate icing and the flaky, fresh crust is now lodged in my temporal lobe. It seems unforgettable. Which explains my undeniable weakness for pastries, which I must presently curb, when possible.

We all have those special sweet shop memories. The delights of dining, feasting, on our favorite confection. Their tacky presence in our brains brings us blessing when we ponder their unique flavor and unforgettable smell.

We are designed, wired, by our Creator, to remember. To not forget. To absorb our experiences. To take in our perceptions. To have them unite and form in our fleshly tabernacles attitude and purpose.

Attitude of self. Of life. Of others. Of God.

Purpose. Of being. Of belonging. Of reason.

Attitude and purpose. Joined together. Come from a lifetime of moments.

Here it is that our personal "what if's" begin. What if our memories, unlike those from the Rich's bakery, are not so sweet? What if our memories are full of pain, sorrow, suffering, confusion, hurt, abuse? What if our memories hold armfuls of choice words that still echo, making us cringe, condemned, holding us prisoner in a cataclysmic state? What if our memories are our own private world of pain?

In Biblical history, one suffered such a private world. His life was an epitome of Jewish zeal and perfection. A Pharisee of Pharisees. A leader of leaders. A man setting the example for God's chosen people.

Until, . . . that bright and shining moment shocked suddenly, and his world was struck down. And destroyed. Completely vanished. Everything. Except the memories.

The Apostle Paul was never the same after his trip on the Damascus Road. He had seen Jesus. Heard Him. Believed Him. Knew the Lord's forgiveness.

And the greatest persecutor of the church of the living God was never the same again. Saul turned. Walked away. Became Paul. And our world has never been the same again.

What great doctrine, what inspired words of the Holy Spirit spoke through Paul, as he penned most of the books of the New Testament.

Yet, in Paul's still moments, agony collided with joy. Memories clung. Past sin collided with present grace. The sights and sounds of stonings, tortures, floggings of the innocent remained. Echoed. Resounded. Stood.

And were it not for Paul's great walk with God, the Apostle could have crumbled under the stress of his past.

But, . . .

God had not only saved Paul's life from sin and chaos, but also, Christ had brought healing to his harrowed mind. And though Satan longed to hold Paul in condemnation and suppress his new voice, a voice that proclaimed the gospel of Jesus Christ, Paul, through grace, found victory. Vicious memories the enemy meant for death, God used for life.

In Romans 8:1-2 Paul wrote, "So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus. And because you belong to him, the power of the life-giving Spirit has freed you from the power of sin that leads to death." Paul knew the sanctifying power of salvation. Utter cleansing. Total healing. Real life.

And though the struggle and power of distressing memories were troubling, the power of Christ stood greater against their chained voices, giving Paul the liberty to proclaim, "Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us" (Philippians 3:13-14).

Sour became sweet. Grief turned peace. For Paul. For us. For we, too, deal with anguish. With the not-so-nice thoughts of our pasts. Whether we have a few unpleasant experiences, or whether our lives were, or perhaps are, full of chaos and abuse, God is able, my dear friends, to heal. The Prince of Peace can reach your heart today, right where you are, and give you joy despite the many sorrows you carry.

I have carried sorrows. My own dear father, with whom I shared eclairs, who taught me to tie my shoes, who took me to church, whose arms made me safe, whose love I knew, passed away when I was twelve. My loss sent me into a spiral of confusion and pain.

Dear friends, I am nothing but a product of God's grace. Of Christ's life-giving, nail-scarred hand that reaches down to the deepest grief and need and pulls the undeserving out of a vicious pit. How thankful I am to know Jesus! I can write not because of personal resilience. No, I write because of the work of Christ in my life!

And if today you are carrying sorrow, aching memories; if now your soul is troubled by past sin, old grief, recurring regrets, know this: God does not respect one person above another. What He has done for me and so many others, He will most surely do for you. The grace God gave to the Apostle Paul can also be yours. "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever" (Hebrews 13:8).

Turn your eyes to Christ. Give your whole self to Him. Let God be the God of your past, present, and future. You, my dear friend, will never be the same again.

GOD HAS A TREE

2009-10-07T09:13:00.061-05:00

“God will not permit any troubles to come upon us, unless He has a specific plan by which great blessing can come out of the difficulty.”

Peter MarshallThe soft glow of light came through a single window. Though faintly seen, it gave relief. I was tired and eager for a soft bed, but my heart leaped with excitement to see the gleam of a lamp through the panes. A rush of anticipation seized my thoughts. To walk to the door. To tap on its hard wood. To hear its familiar creak as it widely opened. To see my mother's small frame standing in her tiny kitchen. To hug her neck and see her rejoice as she held her our little sons. To walk in and inhale the purity of a place that alone could feel so safe and smell so unmistakably distinct. To be home.

Through our early years of long distance living, the same scenario played again and again. Jeff and I would plan the day. We would set a leaving time, a particular hour, and anxiously await departure like two wrens perched two minutes from dawn.

It was a joyful time of forward thinking and living! The hope of soon-to-come distilled our loneliness and added life to our lives. Yes, we had our own sweet nest, which we so loved. And our call to the ministry was without regret. The sacrifice of nearness of extended family was ours to make, and we did so willingly, by God's grace, with joy, and in peace.

But how grateful we were for those few moments of the special soothing presence of mothers, grandmothers, brothers, and sisters and others. It was ease and removal of pain for two young lives who had come to know the grief and stress of bearing God's call; for while our baptism of ministry fire had brought new mothers, and brothers, and sisters, it had also brought new knowledge of the ways and means and labor in God's vineyard. That some well-meaning or not so well-meaning people say and do hurtful things.

We soon came to realize that such was part of our sacrifice. That if God so allowed bitter words, He was only using them for a sweet purpose. And that the cross was our only hope for removing the stinging acid that could eat away our souls.

No one enjoys the thought of drinking from Marah. God's chosen people were dismayed and murmured against Moses when a three-day journey in the desert brought them to that bitter place. Thirsty, dry, exhausted, they discovered waters that seemed an oasis but were quickly declared sour. It may have seemed to them a cruel gesture. They must have hastily remembered the sweet waters of the Nile, widely known for its pleasant, smooth taste.

And the Israelites didn't waste a moment. Their complaints about Moses' leadership were vociferous. "'What are we going to drink?' they demanded."

He didn't know. Didn't have a clue. But, Moses turned to God. He realized his helplessness. The wilderness life was new to him, too. And Moses knew the company was too tired to continue. There was no other source. BUT GOD!

In response, in faith, Moses, lifted his voice to the Lord, and God heard him and showed him a piece of wood, a tree. Moses threw the wood into the water, and the molecules of the bitter were altered. It became sweet, drinkable liquid, perfect H2O. And their thirsty, parched bodies were satisfied.

Now, I have to confess to you that I can feel no judgement toward the Israelites when I read Exodus chapter 15. I am not sure I would have responded any other way than they. No, it's not very spiritual, but had I and my family been without water in a vast nomad's land for three days, my patience would have been thin. In my thirst and desperation, I, too, would probably have cried and complained. I can only hope and pray that I would have ultimately lifted my soul to God as my source.

A sermon by Charles Haddon Spurgeon speaks to our need to always realize God as our source. And, within that sermon, his remarks about Marah are so timely for us. He talks about the humanness of the Israelites and their struggle with the flesh, their failure to have faith in Him who had just delivered them from the power of the Red Sea.

Yet, Spurgeon also speaks of our deeper need for grace in trials. For the necessary of sweet in bitter. The voice of wisdom while waiting. The lifted hands of faith in a dry place. The source of hope that turns troubled waters into palatable drink.

We must have a flow of the living liquid of life. We must all spiritually survive. But when bitterness challenges us, when words of others pierce our hearts; when we have financial loss; when there's little money for the doctor and nothing in our bank account for medicine; when we see the tread showing on our tires and our children need new shoes; when God in silence dwells; when drained from ministry; when a sudden shock wave collapses the world around us; it is at these points of testing we most need the cross of Jesus. We must cry to God to show us sweet wood.

As I read the thoughts of Spurgeon about Marah, I found his words so compelling. "As soon as we have a prayer God has a remedy. The remedy is near at hand; but we do not perceive it till it is shown us. 'The Lord showed [Moses] a tree.' The tree had been growing for years on purpose to be used. God has a remedy for all our troubles before they happen to us."

Praise God! Rejoice in those words! They are not just for his 1871 listeners, but they are for you today! God has grown wood for you, dear friend. Its sweetness is there, and your faith, your precious voice lifted to Him in prayer will reveal its place and purpose.

That God would so plan our steps amazes me! We have a heavenly Father who allows our trials and in His omniscience sees our future desert places. In seeing, God plans. Makes our ways of escape. Personally, in forethought, God plans our paths of deliverance. He plants the seeds for our pieces of wood. God, dear ones, crafts our destiny.

It is all set in order. And when our Marah moments come, our desperate disposition leads us to choice. Die from despair, drink the bitter before us, or cry to God with every ounce of energy and faith we have and wait for his tree.

Be encouraged today, dear friends. If a vast, dry desert has led you to Marah, do not give up. Do not despair. Do not give in. God has a tree. He grew it for you. For this time. For His purpose. For your good. Accept it. Place it in your bitter water. Then drink its life. It will heal your soul. Dry your tears. Soothe your weary voice. And make alive your desert place, so your way is perfect.

Quote from C.H. Spurgeon from biblebb.com

Scripture reference in Exodus 15 is from NLT.

Dead Wood

2009-09-18T10:30:00.004-05:00

"The life of the branch in the Vine is a life of never-ceasing growth. The abiding . . . is in our reach, for He lives to give it us. Let us be ready to count all things loss . . . ."

Andrew Murray

Dangling from our big shade tree in the side yard, the chunky branch hung, caught between live limbs and leaves. How long had it been there, showing its blatant death and causing our concern to seem slack? It looked sort of pitiful. All hollow and black, its bark chipped away, its texture worn, its life gone.

My husband and I concurred its final blow must have come with a passing storm several nights ago. Its ultimate demise was not to be avoided even with gentle winds and rain. Once Jeff and I discovered its spooky, lifeless form, he made his way to the tree, brought it down with little effort, and cast it onto the curb, where it awaited pick-up on Tuesday.

That was that. But that was not the first time we have had dead limbs about after a storm. At other times, after other storms, much of the dead wood was unseen by passersby. It could be neglected until our desire and time. Not now. Our little cottage, our now home, sits quaintly on a corner lot, where many pass each day. Which explains our prompt response.

Who wants to see dead wood? Its rotten presence is a often a turn-off. Its charred look and hollowness bring ideas of spiders and termites. Little pesky, unwanted creatures that use the useless piece to feed and nest.

A few years ago, Jeff and I thought we had found the perfect home. Driving down a quiet city street scattered with sweet old houses, we spotted a sign that read "For Sale." The little cottage on a hill looked so lovely. It was worn and sad. It needed TLC. But in its imperfection, we saw grace. We drove by it many days. . . and nights. We couldn't wait to see its inward promise.

Finally, our realtor took us through the home. As we expected, years of neglect proved obvious. Yet, we were still charmed by its possibilities. What potential we saw in its cozy little sunroom with a bay window, the lovely hall staircase made of hardwood, antique doors, living room fireplace, attic bedrooms, and open family room. I thought I had finally found my dream home.

But it was not to be. When we entered the backyard, a large stack of old fire logs warned us as if they had been ablaze with noisy heat. Creeping, crawling, moving amongst the dead wood, were dozens of termites. We returned to our car, disappointed by cold reality.

Our realtor shared stories of termites and their horrors with homes. Sometimes the little nasty creatures are easily seen, but often, they remain hidden and can destroy even the most beautifully presented houses.

So, when I think of dead wood, I remember the possibilities of its presence.

And I also think of the spiritual possibilities of its realities.

Admit or not, dear friends, we all have it or have had it. Somewhere. Stashed away in our own private temples, in our own secret walks with God, dead wood can exist. And its effects are just as destructive for us as termites are for our homes.

If not cast away, thrown to the curb, called out of hiding, the hollow, hopeless, useless branches will bring us misery. They may at first appear as nothing. They may at first seem so minor. They may at first be thought of as ridiculous concern. But their neglected states will draw destructive forces that feed off their lifelessness. And the nagging influences will spread like wind, even eating the good wood that clings to the live vine.

Listen to the words of the Savior as He reveals vine truth. His words were so tender, yet so sober, so filled with warning and love, as he spoke to his disciples on that Passover evening after they had left the Upper Room. You know the story well. Their walk toward Gethsemane led them through a vineyard.

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples."

Praise God! Dear friends, God does not want us to have dead wood. He wants us to be fruitful. He wants us to bring Him glory. To be beings of light and life. To be free of the old dead things in our lives that drain our spiritual vitality.

Please do not be dismayed at our Father's pruning process. God is love. And he wants to keep us chaste and holy. His desire is that you prosper and live without the dead weight of lifeless limbs. Useless wood that is heavy and tiresome and is a harbor for destruction.

Such wood can be so many things. Some of these things are outright sin that must be dealt with; some are simply junk that needs to be thrown to the curb. And some are weights around our ankles. Unforgiveness, worry, fear, indulgence, neglect of God-time, jealousy, condemnation, regret, unbelief, ignoring God's word, poor self-esteem, pride, and on and on, but God gives more grace!!! Praise His name forever!

We can lose our dead wood. God can cast it to the curb and move us own to fruitful abiding. In His mighty hands are pruning shears. He lovingly takes them up and searches our hearts and removes what is death to us so that we can have abundant life in Christ.

I had quite another post in mind, but I have saved it in my heart for another time. God spoke this word to me, and with all my heart, I have felt its burden.

I love you all and have written with that love. My heart yearns that we all will grow into the likeness of Jesus. May the Lord bless you ever so richly, and may your abiding life in Him bring you great peace and contentment.

Do not forget. He is "able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us" (Ephesians 3:20). It does not matter what your dead wood is or what it is not; what does matter is God's power to work and remove its influence and weight from your life. What does matter is that He can set you free and make you fruitful! What does matter is His unfailing love for you! What does matter is His glory and His desire for your life.

God has a special plan for you. He has designed a beautiful vineyard with you in mind. He has walked the path toward you today, and now, the Gardener waits at your door.

*All scripture is from the NIV translation.

THIRST

2009-09-11T10:00:00.005-05:00

Our misery is that we thirst so little for these sublime things, and so much for the mocking trifles of time and space.

Charles H. Spurgeon
A recent sinus infection required antibiotics. I had developed a cold that performed its usual cruelty. Lingering congestion that sent me to the doctor.

After a few days of medicine, I felt better, but was parched and never seemed satisfied, regardless of forced fluids. I drank water, juice, decaf tea, even ate ice; still, my lips chapped, and my throat felt like I had swallowed a piece of sharp tin. It seemed I had reached into my cotton jar, grabbed a dozen white balls, and stuffed them in my mouth.

How relieved I was when I was well and no longer had to take the Keflex. I was happy to breathe fully, and I welcomed a full night's sleep. My severe thirst, too, was gone. My parched throat, mouth, and lips soothed, healed. The hapless cold was over and soon forgotten.

Today, however, I am reminded of the dry agony. I again feel great thirst. It is unquenchable, almost unbearable. Yet, no tap water will satisfy. No bottled water helps. No juice or other liquid relieves. For I speak of a need of unearthly water. A fountain that only flows from Jesus Christ.

I relate to the writer of Psalm 42, who spoke of his own deep need for real experience with God. "My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?" He cried. He plead. His soul panted with thirst and need. Just as a deer desires a water brook, the psalmist craved God's presence. Weeping, yearning, his voice must have grown faint. "Oh, Lord, just let me feel you. I long to see your face, to know you are near me. With me."

But, the season was dry. The psalmist looked up to the heavens for rain, and his eyes filled with dust. His pain drove him to seek, to search, to survey his own soul, to suffer the sting of emptiness of heart and distance from his Creator. How he wanted the cleansing water of One so holy to wash the sifted, sandy soil from his life and fill his thirsty self with joyful relief.

He strained to see, to be filled, to be holy, to behold the living God. And with faith, the psalmist bore the affliction of his enemies and his separation from God's presence. And through faith, the psalmist proclaimed future outpouring that would be his. "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God" (v.11).

Little is known of this thirsty one who penned Psalm 42. But it does not matter that we do not know. What matters is what his words teach us about our walk with God. What matter is our ability to be one with him. What matters is our remembering Jesus' words that everyone who has deep longing for righteousness will be satisfied (Matthew 5:6). What matters is that each one of us knows God actually creates thirst and hunger in our souls.

For, how can we pour out our hearts to Him if we blindly think we are full? And how can Jesus increase in us if we do not desire more of Him?

I have not always felt thirst for Him or desired more of Him as I should. There was a time in my life when I looked to a career, education, things, even ministry to fill my empty soul. I could not experience deep hunger and thirst for righteousness because I was already full of material, worldly stuff. Not evil things, not necessarily sinful things, but earthly things.

Yet, just like my failing attempts to quench my parched, antibiotic-filled body, I failed at filling my soul with ambition, impression, accomplishment, and knowledge.

Dear, dear friends, only Jesus can truly meet our needs for security, for peace, for wholeness, for identity, for acceptance, for longing to be loved. Only He who so completely understands the designs of our hearts can heal them and fill them.

Looking backward, I wonder at my silly strivings to find peace, joy, fulfillment with my own designs.

Looking inward, I now welcome the hunger and thirst that sends me to my knees and makes me cry, "Holy, holy, holy are you Lord. Do with me as you will. I am your servant. Yours alone, dear Jesus."

Looking forward, I long to open my heart, mind, soul, body, and spirit to the voice of Christ. To hear Him. To know Him. To obey Him. To do His will. To please Him. To honor and glorify Jesus' name!

Looking clearly and definitely, a closer look at physical thirst reveals its relation to spiritual need. Thirst is a God-created desire. It is a warning of a body's need. Thirst is an insistent drive, a yearning, a craving; an intense need for drink. Thirst is a God-given sign for fluid balance in our bodies. God designed our brains to detect our needs for fluid to protect us from dehydration, which left unchecked, leads to organ damage and, eventually, death.

How blessed we are to have a heavenly Father Who is so good! And this same, awesome God Who so miraculously designed our earthly bodies also designed our spiritual needs. Our thirst for Him, an intense desire to seek God's face, is our soul's way of crying out for His touch. It is the human spirit's cry and confession of the vanity of self-preservation.

And when we thrist for God, all we must do is yield. Like the hart, follow the sound of the waters. Drink in and be filled. Offer ourselves as a sacrifice of praise. Believe. Know. Lavish the satisfaction of a quenched soul..

We may not always understand the needs of our own hearts. But God does. And so, when He stirs our spirits with thirsts, our yielding is in faith and results in His satisfying presence. As we find contentment in Christ, our faith grows. As our faith grows, we please God. When God is pleased, we are blessed by Him and remembered by Him. We find life. Abundant life. And with author John Piper, we may proclaim, "God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him."

Praise God for His holy presence! Praise Him for caring and meeting our needs!

May we all continue to seek the Lord and call upon Him! He is true salvation and true liberty! Jesus Christ is my security, my peace, my hope, my identity, my acceptance, my everything.

He offered living water to a Samaritan woman over 2000 years ago. And Jesus has not changed. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. And He wants to give us all His fountain of life and everlasting, abundant, life-changing joy.

If you are thirsty, seek Christ's face. You will find His heart and your own heart's desire.

"IN HIS PRESENCE IS FULLNESS OF JOY; AT HIS RIGHT HAND ARE PLEASURES FOREVERMORE" (PSALM 16:11).

All scripture references are from the NIV Bible.

THE LAST ROSES OF SUMMER

2009-09-03T10:00:00.003-05:00

When summer gathers up her robes of glory,And, like a dream, glides away.

Sarah Helen Whitman

Some quaint streets of my city awaited me yesterday. Their beauty held me captive, as my dear husband, sweet aunt, and I nestled into our old Mazda 626 and headed for drives filled with old cottage homes, southern charm, overhanging elms, oaks, and maples, and the lasting blooms of summer.

Driving slowly, we nearly strained our necks as we soaked in storybook views. We absorbed sights of old architecture. Were amazed at abundant ivy growing up old fireplaces. Even stopped to peek in windows of a neglected English cottage, starved for new owners. Then, witnessed the care of late summer gardens that were at once stunning and intimidating.

Our awe was eclipsed again and again. The rare grace of Jackson Vine moved me to follow where I could not go. Colorful lawns filled with lasting impatiens, lingering lilies, and other lovelies brought pause.

But, we did not see many roses. Scattered sweetly, yet scarcely about, we observed only a few.

Not many are now left to warm our hearts and fill our eyes with season's beauty. Once symbols of a new beginning, of long, lazy, hot days, and sultry nights with air full of lightening bugs and sounds of children, their beauty now begs one last look at a time past.

I do not see sadness in their meager disposition. Only forward joy. For what was once will again be, and the future, crisp fall will bring its own beauty and color and vision and promise. The last roses of summer are reminders of God's goodness and hope. The final blooms of this season are simply telling us to walk through our fall and winter with promise, to find treasure in chilly days, falling leaves, freezing nights, plains of snow, and trees of ice.

Seeing the final blooms of summer is remembrance for me. The few summer roses now left make me think of my favorites from spring. They were an anniversary surprise. Twelve long stems and lovely flowers. They were much more than material. Those precious roses were love. Real. Lasting. Love.

Their soft, ruby red petals begged my stooping over to whiff about ninety times each day. When they finally began to droop and fade, I separated them into two bunches, placed rubber bands around the stems, slipped the bands over a wire coat hanger, and hung them upside down in the tiny little closet in our guest room.
To me, the perfect dozen still lives. Now dried, their crinkly petals can fill a crystal vase and whisper, "You will never forget."
Perhaps you think me a sappy sentimentalist, but please remember I'm thinking good and thanking God for good. For roses, for a wonderful husband, for family, for friends, for a full season. For you. Because "every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows" (James 1:17, NIV).
This Labor Day weekend, as we realize another summer past, let's treat God's wonder with amazement. Let's stand in awe of His beauty and truth. Let's beckon His deep workings of the Holy Spirit in our lives. Let's prepare ourselves for a special season of autumn and winter. Let's look forward to new days of Bible study, prayer, sharing, and giving. Let's determine to fall on our faces and confess our unworthiness and our need for Him.
God bless each of you mightily! Through the power of His Holy Spirit may He give you exactly what you need today! And why not allow this Labor Day weekend to be unforgettable? Somehow, somewhere, get alone with Jesus. Pour your heart out to Him and ask Him to whisper His voice to you. To prepare your heart for His special blessing. To open your life to new abundance. New harvest. New joy.
You will be pleasantly surprised at His loving answer. Oh, how he longs to hear you! Oh, how He will answer!
In His Grace,

Thank you, Lidj, my dear friend, who loves the Lord so fully, for graciously passing the following awards on to me. I am very grateful and humbled, and I appreciate her kindness. Please visit her at http://mla-crownofglory.blogspot.com/. You will be uplifted and inspired by her testimony and passion for Jesus Christ.

In kind, I want to extend these awards to all my followers. Your faithfulness and friendship are invaluable to me. Your lives, your love for God, and love for one another, and sincerity are testimonies of grace and truth.

Please accept these awards and unhesitatingly post them. I love and appreciate you all!

Crossing the Line

2009-08-26T08:53:00.001-05:00

The beautiful thing about this adventure called faith is that we can count on Him never to lead us astray.

Chuck Swindoll

Swimming. It is an expression of capability in the water. A word I write with regard and ambition.

I have never learned. I do not have the positive pleasure of using the word for personal description. I only can say, "I do not go swimming." and "I am not swimming."

When my doctor sent me to pool therapy, I knew a challenge lay before me. I nevertheless obliged, for I needed the prescribed care. Put wellness ahead of my fear. Pushed my comfort zone behind me while I waited weeks for an appointment. Dreaded the future proclamation I must make to anyone concerned.

When "the day" finally arrived, all my mentally rehearsed "can't swim" explanations were in vain. I did not have to wait for a proper moment to tell Andie, the physical therapist, about my shameful inability. She asked. I told. She replied that many who came to her did not either.

I felt better. But still looked at the vast body of water before me with a bit of angst and awe.

Andie calmed my fear. Reassured my safety. I accepted her words and felt relieved.

I entered the waters, at once filled with timidity and bliss. The pool was warm, waters a pale, greenish blue. The quiet surroundings, the soft background music, and jacuzzi bubbles gave me pause to wonder at anxiety I now thought silly. I felt embarrassed at my fear and lack of trust.

With floaters around my head and under my knees and legs, Andie guided me to water's surface. I was shy, but knew I was safe. "I won't let you sink," she said. I believed her, and so complied and focused on relaxation.

And therein found a historical precedent for myself at fifty years old, as I rested upon the top of water for the first time in my life. I was floating. Swirling about and hearing soft splashes surrounding.

What followed were days of therapy that challenged my fear, gave healing to my muscles, alleviated pain, and brought peace upon the water.

A door had opened. I knew a new world. Looked forward to each opportunity to face my opponent, the aqua, foamy sea.

But one day I did not remember a warning. Just simply forgot Andie's words, spoken on the first day of therapy. "Don't go past the blue line."

My fifth session had ended, and with time to spare, I decided to sit near the jacuzzi and enjoy its powerful warmth on my back. I walked across the pool, my eyes fixed on the prized place.

And then, it happened. I crossed the line. And dropped.

The drop was small. But I quickly found myself in water that almost covered my head.

I realized the power of tip toes, and used them to keep my nose and mouth above while I made my way back to my newly found comfort zone.

Resting at the jacuzzi, I heard inquiring voices. "Are you OK?" "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm OK. I just forgot. I forgot about the line."

Enough said. I sat a few moments, regained composure, and soaked in the swirling waters.

And thought about the line. Wondered how I could forget such significant symbolism. In disbelief, I pondered my inability to see its bright blueness until it was too late.

The nearness of the safe mark made it invisible to me. Distraction drew my eyes away from danger. A present goal hid the purpose of a planned point.

And so it can be with lines. Even spiritual lines. Those lines put in our lives by God for our own good that for one reason or another are forgotten, ignored, or momentarily unseen.

God's lines are for our good. They are laid with purpose. They are points of demarcation. Progresses of movement. Courses determined for a specific reason. Sequences of related events that lead to a certain ending. *

God limits. Marks. Makes boundaries.

God draws our lines. They are very personal. Divinely His, and distinctively ours. Always thinking of our best, our heavenly Father carefully binds our borders and sets them in order.

Yet, when we fail to see them, deny them honor, desire greater distance, we challenge the Father's love that so carefully made these perimeters. Lines set to keep us safe, sound, unmoved from His will. Lines deliberately designed to dissuade fears, give liberty for worship, for service, for living the life of Christ, for walking His way, for sacrificing our hearts, for giving pure offerings. Holy, acceptable, works of love that are acceptable in His sight.

Offerings that overcome the ease of wood, hay, and stubble. Offerings that prove our testimony. Sweet sacrifices that speak a pure heart and fervent love for Jesus.

We are all guilty of crossing lines. From drawing too close to them to clearly see truth. From careless self-pursuits, from blind ignorance, from weak faith, from failed vision, from confusion, from fear, from egocentricity.

I have crossed the line many times in my life. I cannot return. Recross. Go back. Undo. See the uncrossed back then life.

BUT, I can see Jesus now. Listen closely for His voice. Wait for His ways. Worship Whom I have believed. Honor His wise words. Look for His lines today.

Lines of His Holy word. Lines of His lovely still, small voice. Lines of providence. Lines that close doors I must not open. Lines that open doors I must not close. Lines that lead me in the paths of righteousness. Lines that lead on lonely roads. Lines that bring me to high places. Lines that give me light in darkness. Lines of hope. Lines of peace. Lines of love. Lines that let me see Jesus. Keep my sight on His face. Keep my toes on the ground.

And, dear friends, please hear me now. We clearly know those lines that separate us from God. Lines that if crossed lead to sin. God has made brilliantly clear boundaries between good and evil.

How those must always in all situations be honored. But today I write of tailored lines. Those lines given us in our individual lives. Drawn just for us. Personally. Intimately. Lovingly. Written by God's finger in the sand of our own soul.

Several years ago, God warned me about an upcoming ear surgery. (It was not a life or death issue; the doctor suggested it to improve my quality of life.) I did not feel peace. Yet, I allowed my intellect, my own reason, to cry out and drown the voice of the Holy Spirit.

What followed was two months of misery and a reversed surgery. But God, in His sovereign teaching, in His mercy, through His lovingkindness, has used that situation many times to whisper the importance of hearing Him.

Oh, to always hear my God! To "Hear Him!" In Greek, "hear" means Akouo, to understand, to attend to, to consider what is said. And it appears 402 times in the New Testament! Allow that emphatic retelling echo through your soul!

To consider Christ's voice! To understand His will! To attend to His words! To see His lines!

To see Christ's lines that we may ever obey Jesus, knowing that the desire of our Shepherd is for our good and will always lead us to a certain end. His perfect goal. His best place. Made just for me. For you. Because Jesus cares. And loves us so.

Follow His line today, friend. It is a straight path to peace. It is a clear way of life that gives fullness of joy (Psalm 16:11). Now. Today. Forever.

*Taken from definition of "line," found in The American Heritage College Dictionary

Greek terminology is from e-sword

Thank you, dear friends, for your thoughts and prayers for my mother. The surgery was a great success! Glory to God! I thank Him for His close presence and healing touch. She continues to do well. I also thank Him for safe traveling to Georgia and back again and for allowing my dear aunt to return with me for a visit. The Lord is good!

To Please My God

2009-08-19T08:52:00.011-05:00

I awoke this morning to a busy schedule and a full heart. After lunch, my dear husband and I will be leaving for Georgia. My mother is having eye surgery, and we are going to help her out a couple of days.

I had a post almost done. But when I began to edit it to finish and publish, an inner voice said, "No, not today."

My cups runs over. God is so good! Yet, I long to know God's love more deeply and hear His voice more profoundly. It is sometimes painful to yearn for Him, but God knows the work He longs to do in our lives and has a reason for each process.

While shopping at a variety store a few days ago, I saw this small book wedged between many others. I grasped it and pulled its bright green cover toward me.

"Heart Breathings," the title read. I knew I had a find when I saw the author's name: Leonard Ravenhill.

A profoundly deep, inspiring author he is. One who mixes no words. You definitely hear the man's heart when you read his books.

This particular one is a small collection of poetry and prose. In the forward of "Heart Breathings," I even found beauty.

"These poems are the roarings and sightings and longings of the inarticulate soul trying to create a substance through which to transmit its feelings to others."

I want to share just one, simple part of Leonard Ravenhill's "inarticulate soul" with you today. I pray it will bless you, give you pause, and stir your longing for the deep waters of our Father's love.

To Please My God
I ask no bliss
But this,
To know Thy will,
And it fulfill,
In every part
So that my heart,
Without alloy,
May know the joy
By peace
Or rod
To please
My God.

If you have opportunity, please pray for our safety, and remember my mom.

Much love to each of you. I appreciate your friendships beyond words.

I pray our dear, precious heavenly Father will be with you and guide each part of your day. May He give you peace and keep you in His tender loving care. May God give you joy! A full heart of His fullness! Oh, just to know Jesus!

In Him,

Andrea

Summer's Bitter and Sweet

2009-08-12T18:00:00.009-05:00

Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.

Russel Baker

I imagine the cold sweet. "Drink" the bitter edge that brings delight to a dry throat. "Savor" fleshy bits that burst in the mouth and tell a sultry season, an airy porch, gathered loved ones, childhood innocence, and tall tales.

I have not made lemonade all summer. A first for me. No lemons in the house all season. Not even a mix. And the now steamy days of a southern August are begging for a cold pitcherful of the sweet and sour that loves to quench thirst here in our humble home.

Such neglect speaks of simple chaos. Almost three months of wonder, wander, waiting, and worry. The latter is painful to speak. But one health scare after another with my husband finally pressed me to fear, yet stopped short of sheer panic and anxiety.

I knew the nearness of God's presence. I did not want for the staff of my Shepherd. With His staff, He pulled me near to His pierced side. Drew me close. So I could hear.

I knew the voice of my Beloved. He whispered. I listened. Closely. And words spoken were so gentle. Their soft strength stays now.

"Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted."

With a new season soon to be in the making, and a difficult season behind, I crave fresh. The crisp and cool of a soon-to-come fall comforts my own dislike for summer's heat. Yet, part of me dares to dote for the impossible. To win back days lost to dread. To return with 20/20 vision and walk with hind's feet, climb with greater faith. Breathe pure air of only belief. Stand only bold. See only good. Speak only joy.

Part of me desires such reliving. Only a part. A small part. The greater part speaks louder, and sees God in the 20/20 now and the obscurity of then.

Rests with new vision. With comfort of a trial done. With hindsight of personal need. With humility that looked in the mirror and saw insufficient. Realized the lack of self-ability. Accepted the uncontrollable. Faced doubt. Looked in. Looked around. Looked up. Looked beyond. To this now moment taught us by Paul in 1 Corinthians 10:13. The ultimate time in a trial when we have escape from adversity.

Thank God for his enduring of my doubt and fear and His understanding of my humanness. For bringing me to my knees and causing my soul to reach deeply and dig steadily for faith most precious. For giving opportunity of holding, clinging, trusting found treasures of our Creator's testimonies.

When I was teaching tenth grade, a short story's theme opened a door of reality. Through that story, a personal journey of a truth from God's treasures began. It was not a major literary work. Just a simple side story that told of a boy hero who faced fear. In his awe, he did not turn but held fast and proved himself brave. The little hero conquered fear by acting boldly despite his feelings.

I don't remember the title of the story, the name of characters, or plot development.

What I do remember is the theme. I memorized it. And have never forgotten.

"Courage is the willingness to do something even though you are afraid."

I have clung to these words because of my Christian faith, not because of a mystical, buried human strength that ends in self-gratification and egotism.

So often, we feel we have failed when we have fear. Maybe it is only my personal experience, but I feel rather sure there are others who have felt the nagging pain of guilt and defeat from anxiety, fear, stress, or trauma. We long to be among the super godly who are unaffected by life's jolts, stabs, and bruises.

God's word, however, does not demean our fear or distress. Rather, scriptures reveal a compassionate heavenly Father who greatly exhorts our faith and lovingly encourages us to take heart, regardless of past, present, or future pain. We are compelled to overcome. To cast fear away and hope and believe in God's saving power.

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go" (Joshua 1:9).

"The LORD is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid?" (Psalm 27:1).

"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world" (John 16:33).

"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline" (2 Timothy 1:7).

We can take heart because of His promises. And without fear of failure, admit our need. God is for us just as He was for Abraham; for the widow of Zarephath; for Daniel; the wedding company without wine; the woman who hemorrhaged for twelve years; Mary, Martha, and Lazarus; the 120 in the Upper Room; the Apostle Paul.

We live by faith. Not by sight. Not by what we wish. Not by material things. Not by abilities or tangibilities. As Christians, sons and daughters of the Most High, we live because Christ lives in us and through us.

But we can find ourselves locked in a dark room with only the unknown around and His word in our hearts. We then make a choice. Succumb to doubt or hold to His word hidden within. When we choose to stand on scripture, God honors our faith! We yet wait. We may yet feel fear. We may not yet know deliverance or have an answer. We may yet battle worry. We may yet stumble. We may yet even fall.

And if we do fall, we get up again. We stand, straighten our path, and prove God true. We may be propped up with strength, but we stand. We may cry with pain, but we stand. We may feel alone, but we stand. We have no place to turn, be confused, but we stand.

Even in weakness, we stand and are strong. Why? Our faith, that faith given to us and developed in us by God himself, is greater than our fear. For the One Whose word gave us our faith is greater than our weakness, failure, falling, disappointment, emptiness, sadness, guilt, hurt, pain, illness, or death.

Though in fear, we can stand in faith. Can choose God's word. Can trust His hand. Can know His presence.

We remember His mighty acts. We run to His testimonies. We grasp raw truth. We take courage.

Do you need courage? You're human. Are you afraid? God is near. Do others mock your fear? So what? Do you feel like a failure because you cave? Realize the source of your guilt and throw it away like a piece of trash.

God, dear one, understands your feelings, and He has divine remedy for all. Place your hand in His, go to His well, lean on His arm. Trust His name even though you are afraid. Believe, believe, believe in the Father's love.

Place. Lean. Trust. Believe. That, my friend, is courage.

Let's give the tenth grade literary theme a twist of Christian persuasion.

Courage is yielding to God's word and trusting in His love no matter what we feel, think, or see. It is choosing to ignore our fear and lean on what we know from His word. It is staying hope that is not swayed by our emotions. Courage remains and may even co-exist with fear for a time, but courage is God-given, through His word, and overcomes our circumstances and will always ultimately defeat fear.

As I write, I realize I could face another challenge before this day has ended. In fact, the enemy is already trying to stir fear in my heart as my son and his wife make plans for a missions trip to what can be a dangerous area of Africa.

More and more, I am realizing that our entire Christian lives are a walk of faith versus fear. We hear about it from so many preachers, teachers, speakers, writers, etc. They all speak encouragement into our lives. We leave their words feeling ready to tackle the enemy. Praise God for such ministry! But the personal realizing and living of it can quickly change "Amen" and praise to sweaty palms and trembling hearts that overwhelm and subdue belief when the phone rings, or a knock is heard, and fear says, "Hello, again."

Remember the basis of 1 Corinthians 13. The three lasting, remaining, elements of our Christian life are faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of the three is love! Also, remember 1 John 4: 18 tells us that perfect love drives out fear. "Perfect" here means mature, complete, and refers to labor and growth of moral character - i.e., our relationship with God. And "drives out" or "casts out" means to strike, throw down.

Dear friends, perhaps I am wrong, but I see from these scriptures one answer to our battle with fear and intimidation. It is not found in scripture alone, but in our walk with God. The more maturity we have in Him and the closer our hearts are to His, the greater our power to stand against the enemy.

"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us" (Ephesians 3:20). In this scripture, "power" refers to ability, abundance, strength, might; "within" refers to a fixed state; for the sake of, to give self wholly to.

May we grasp the fullness of these simple truths in our hearts. The closer we are to our Beloved, the stronger our standing. As we fall deeper and deeper in love with Christ, fear will have less and less influence on us. As fear loses its power in our lives, our faith will grow, and God's power and His word will blossom in our hearts.

A.W. Tozer sums it up far better than I can. His words can be taken in and bring nourishment and revelation to our hearts and souls:

The love of Christ both wounds and heals, it fascinates and frightens, it kills and makes alive, it draws and repulses. There can be nothing more terrible or wonderful than to be stricken with love for Christ so deeply that the whole being goes out in a pained adoration of His person, an adoration that disturbs and disconcerts while it purges and satisfies and relaxes the deep inner heart.

Praise God for such love! I am looking for the purging, satisfying love of Christ that will transform my heart and my faith. I am not looking for a "pie in the sky" God who gives me everything I want and always expects perfect faith . But I am so thankful for a heavenly Father whose daughter I am. Who cares. About every need. And wants me to develop hind's feet and eagle's wings. May my heart and hope hang in there and wait before Him all the days of my life.

May you go in the grace of God today and find His love at every turn.

All scripture is from NIV Bible.

Research is from e-sword.

*We will have lemonade in our cottage ere summer ends.

*Please forgive this lengthy post.

"Pristine"

2009-08-05T19:57:00.001-05:00

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.

Thornton Wilder

Dear, Dear Friends,

I am full of joy and yet feel so broken. My heart is overwhelmed with thankfulness for God's mercy and love that is so undeserved. What peace there is in God's unmerited favor! He is so good!

I am able to give a glowing praise report! I have felt without words today! I don't seem to have adequate phrases to praise God and thank you for your love, support, and prayers.

To the wonder of all, the heart cath was completely normal! The doctor said all was "pristine!"

We stand amazed at the work of our heavenly Father and Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!

Weeks ago doctors thought my dear husband likely had a blockage. Just one week ago, Jeff sat in a pulmonologist's office, the leading and most respected one in our city, and was told after extensive tests he had congestive heart failure. His heart was enlarged, and all tests pointed to the diagnosis, which was expected to be confirmed by the heart cath.

But yesterday was a new day! The cardiologist declared everything totally normal!

I am so relieved, contented, thankful, joyful, and appreciative. I write with tears and peace.

To God be the glory! His name is to be praised forever! I don't understand everything, but I am full of thanksgiving, knowing God prepared this season for our lives for His purpose.

It has been a challenging time, but one not without hope. And I hope you will hear the sincerity in my heart and voice as I tell you how I am so appreciative of you all! I THANK GOD FOR YOU! My dear husband and I have both been enriched and encircled by your prayers and thoughts. And, that dear ones, is invaluable! May God bless you a hundredfold!!!

I have felt your strength and support as I stood in waiting. God's presence was so near yesterday as we anticipated word from the doctor.

In expressing these thanks, I can only hope I would have remained as faithful and true had we received a different word. They were prepared to transport Jeff to surgery for a stent or by-pass. Had such bad news awaited us, God's love and faithfulness would have remained, for He never changes!

And though it is an easy thing to speak so in hindsight, I know God is on the throne of our lives and will never fail us regardless of life's hardships.

On a closing note, I must dwell a moment on the word used by the doctor yesterday. "Pristine."

It is defined by the dictionary as something pure, uncorrupted, free from contamination, such as pure gold.

Oh, that my faith would be pristine! To receive a glowing report from God on that divine day when I see Jesus face to face! To hear the Holy Spirit whisper in earthly labor, "Andrea, your faith was pristine in this moment, like pure gold. Go, and remain so. "

Yet, for the accomplishing and remaining of pristine I am powerless without Christ. Pristine is His work, not my work! My work is to hear, to obey, to praise, to be faithful. Yet, it is solely the excellency of Jesus that refines my faith. Makes me pure. Keeps me still. Causes me comfort. Cleans my heart. Creates contentment. Makes all new.

Praise God! And thank you, thank you, again, for your part in this praise report! I love you all so very much!

In the Grace of Jesus,

A Feast of Light

2009-08-02T00:01:00.007-05:00

"Hail, holy light! offspring of heaven firstborn!"

John Milton, Paradise LostStillness and solitude settled in our quaint cottage. A quiet somber mood created perfection for reading, relaxing, reflecting. Sorely needed self-time was set. I looked forward to a few rare, valuable moments. I was going to read by the fire and bask in its soft glow as I waited for friends to arrive.

It was a late fall evening. Crisp and cool. Just right. I had made vanilla coffee and sprinkled in a touch of cinnamon. Arranged white china cups and saucers, all lined with silver and brushed with delicate blooms of green, on the counter. Placed vanilla scented candles in the kitchen. Warmed the guest bath with french soap, sweet towels, and lavender mist .

Then tired by the preparing, I looked at the little toile wing chair by my fireplace. It indeed beckoned. "Get a book and rest with me a while. You have a half hour before the doorbell rings."

I quickly found my nearest read. To sit, clear my mind, rest, and relish inspiring words would be tonic.

Two minutes later darkness fell. Suddenly. Lights went out. All shut down. And quiet and solitude turned to a little knot within, as I grasped through pitch to find candles, remembering my only phone was dead.

God had planned a different way for me. Knowing my steps were ordered by him, I made do. Lit wicks, set candles about, pulled lace panels back to let a vague glow from a near street light stream into my living room, and waited.

One hour later lights were on. Friends arrived. Coffee made. Again. Candles still shining upon the mantle and scattered throughout my living and dining rooms, soft lamps glowing, and a chandelier burning created light within light. It was a feast of light. And the radiance of all spoke comfort. It was as if darkness never happened.

I have never liked darkness. I love no light when sleeping, but so welcome early morning sun pouring through bedroom windows and soft lamps that cast sweet glows through our little rooms in evening hours.

Light is a gift. The first earthly creation of our heavenly Father. "Let there be light." God called, commanded to darkness, and formed day. Illumination came to earth. A channel for realization. Clear vision. For the purpose of seeing. For the purpose of revealing. That He is good. That He alone can give light. Is light.

The Apostle John spoke of this seeing. ". . . the life was the light of men," he said, speaking of Jesus, Who was "phos," the Greek word John used to tell that Jesus was God's divine light. God in the flesh. God's rays. Real illumination.

Jesus, this divine light, told us Himself that He is the light of the world. He met a blind man one Sabbath day. A man whose only hope was begging for mercy and money from people who passed his way.

Christ's disciples just had to know. "Why is this man blind? What did he do that was so bad God struck him with darkness? Or, did the man's parents do something to cause it? What happened?" *

Do you hear 21st century voices in the disciples' questions? Begging to know? Longing to be let in on the secret? Denying restrained curiosity? Trying to shake out the truth.? The story behind the story? Isn't that just like us? We want details. To understand. Perceive. Know.

Jesus knew sincerity. They wanted to understand, and He understood. He answered. ". . . this happened that the work of God might be displayed in his life. . . . While I am in the world, I am the light of the world."

Jesus then began to heal the blind man. Christ spit on the ground. Made mud for man. Again. Put it on his eyes. Told him to go. To wash.

And the blind man did. He went. He washed. Returned. Healed. Saw. Believed.

When they were informed of the healing, quite a controversy erupted among the Jews. Their Pharisaical hearts could not bear such light. Jesus could not be from God because he healed on the Sabbath! Voices raged! Words flew! The healed man was cast out of the synagogue.

He then turned, and followed the Light. The Light of the World. The Son of Man who left heavenly dominion to bring judgment to earth, so that the blind would see and those who see would be blind.

The healed one's spiritual journey began.

Seeing Jesus also begins our spiritual journey. To behold Christ's glory. To hold His beauty in our hearts. To follow His light. To believe, pisteuo, as the Greek says, to entrust our lives to Him and commit to His name.

How can we see Him? How can we know Him? Right here, right now?

Listen. . .
Jesus ascended a high hill. Sat among so many, all were hungry to hear. Thirsty to know. Craved real. Had to have Truth.

Christ spoke. Taught. The truth. Jesus told the only way. "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God."

And the original Greek meanings of these few holy words tell much. Promise great.

Pure is to be sanctified by fire; cleansed, like a vine pruned and fit to bear fruit.
Heart means of will or character; the seat of thoughts, desires, purposes, endeavors.
See is to gaze at something remarkable with wide-opened eyes; to know by experience.
The word "see" in Greek seems to work at many levels. It seems to speak to layers of vision. It speaks of our earthly walk with God. What we can have right here and now! And it tells of our possibilities for depth in the Christian life. Lovingly, Jesus left us with a map for seeing.

Process. . .
Through God's refining fire, His painful, but needful pruning process, everything about us, our hopes, dreams, plans, thoughts, desires, personalities, all are affected. We are changed. Like the blind man, we are healed. Transformed. Delivered. Visioned.

When allowing Jesus full reign in us, He uses any process He wants, even if it means we don't like it, don't understand it, and think it's painful, makes no sense, and is a bad choice.

We hear His words. We obey His voice. We go. We're cleansed. And filled. And healed. Changed. Forever.

Our hearts are pure. We are never the same! And we see God!

We return from our obedience, our washing, seeing Jesus. Able to behold Who He Is. The Son of the Living God.

We are transformed. The old ways mean nothing anymore.

We no longer crave the usual! We must have Jesus! We must follow the Light!

And this beautiful process God works in us time and again, changing us from "glory to glory" through His Spirit.

Layer upon layer. Design upon design. He moves. Works. Renews. Transforms.

Our vision grows clearer and clearer. We see Jesus more and more. Our faith grows stronger and stronger. Our love for Christ grows deeper and deeper.

Like an account of high-paying interest that multiples funds, like a small tree that once planted grows great, so is our faith in Christ! It grows and accumulates heavenly treasure and earthly fruit.

We feast upon His light. Know vision by His radiance. Perceive reality through His love . Our eyes behold manifest glory.

We see Jesus! And we are never the same again, again, and again!

Scripture is from St. John chapter 9; Matthew 5:8; 2 Corinthians 3:18.

Greek resources are from e-sword.

*My paraphrase.

My Dear, Dear Sweet Friends,

I so apologize for my recent lack of posting and commenting. Our lives have been a bit overrun lately with things beyond our control.

My husband will have a heart catherization Tuesday morning. His mother will join us today, and will be able to spend a week with us. She is a wonderful Christian and a sweet, loving woman! It will be a great blessing to have her near. We are hoping and praying for a good report, and I appreciate your thoughts and prayers very much.

God has been and is so good to us. Jesus never fails! I thank Him for His saving grace and strength.

I want to say a prayer for you this Lord's Day. You are all so special to me, and how I appreciate your faith, love, and support. Have a blessed Sunday and joy-filled week!

Dear Jesus, I thank you for each one of my blogging friends. You know their hearts, their needs, their hopes, their dreams. You see all. You care for all. Oh, Lord, You Who formed us know us best!

I pray for encouragement. I ask You, dear Father, to keep them all. To give them physical strength and joy in their hearts.

God, You cannot fail us. You said You would never leave us or forsake us. You are here. Right now. May we all sense and know your presence and peace that passes all understanding.

May we look to You. May we seek You. May our eyes be opened and You give us greater and greater vision to see Jesus.

In Christ's Name, Amen.

PRAISE GOD FROM WHOM ALL BLESSINGS FLOW!

2009-07-24T08:07:00.008-05:00

My mouth shall speak the praise of the Lord; and let all flesh bless his holy name for ever and ever.

from Psalm 145

Being out of town today and in quite a rush to leave for home, I'm short of time and creativity. BUT, not short of thanks! Of praises! Of glory to God, from Whom all blessings do flow!

Jeff spoke with the doctor's office over the phone late yesterday. The biopsy results were in!

There is NO cancer! The suspicious cells previously seen in another biopsy were not even there!

The joy, the relief, the thanksgiving we share in our hearts is all for God's glory! Praise Him!

We have a couple of miles yet to go, with some other tests and a heart cath. BUT, our Redeemer lives and stands faithful and will continue to go with us in grace!

Thank you, dear, dear friends for your oh so precious prayers and words of encouragement! All gave me such strength and courage! All are invaluable to me! How precious you are to God and to all!

I pray your day and weekend are filled with the grace of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I pray you and your family are blessed abundantly. I pray the peace that passes all understanding will guard your lives and hearts today (Philippians 4:13).

Much Love To All,

Andrea

DENYING CHOCOLATE

2009-07-15T16:20:00.004-05:00

"Pain is God's megaphone."

C. S. Lewis

Its lovely, luscious look was expected. Its frothy cream topping anticipated. So silky, so covered with toasty pecans. So bound by its beautiful, baked crust of white flour and real butter, elevated to rapturous delight by a dash of sweet and a heaping of more nuts.

Two fillings in said dish lured one to place hand on the convenient spoon, scoop, and heap onto one's plate, making scarcely sure not to cross the line of self-reproach. One filling held soft cream cheese, fresh whipped cream, and my delight, confectioner's sugar.

And the other filling. My dreamed-of confection. My irresistible beloved. My epicurean addiction shared with my dear late father, who so too loved its taste. My material nightmare!

Contained in the layer just above a divine crust was a silky, creamy dessert all its own. One that turned said dish from a delightful creation of comfort to a heavenly chocolate concoction. And the glassy, dark filling was too much for resistance.

I beheld. I desired. I succumbed. I rebelled. I resisted wise words spoken only days before.

"Its most likely chocolate," his kind voice almost dreaded the bidding. We had thoroughly discussed. He had questioned. I willingly, yet timidly complied. He thought. Examined. Thought. And gave his professional, always faithful, medical opinion.

"You may just have to give it up. It's probably the source of your migraines. Chocolate can even cause headaches days after you eat it, so you might want to stay away from it and see if they go away."

"OK." I obliged. With much respect. Much grief. And much internal conflict.

Chocolate has been my known adversary for quite some time. I have ignored its stings and arrows for its rich flavor and momentary bliss for years. I have passed opportunity for greater health for the seemingly sinful pleasure of sweet, dark, "fruit" that slowly softens in my mouth.

Insomnia, palpitations, irritability, misery have most often followed my yielding. The migraines now seem God's great megaphone shouting, "Do NOT eat! Do NOT touch!"

Yet, even after my dear doctor's emphatic words, my historical symptomatic responses, and what concerned me as providential Voice, I was still complicit with my enemy, when, on Sunday, we had a beautiful meal after church, and I was, at the end of the serving line, met by forbidden fruit.

I ate with guilt. I left with guilt. I dealt with guilt. Denied reality. Said to self, "It may not be chocolate causing your headaches, Andrea. It's only a chance. Probably just a coincidence. They'll most likely just go away."

And at 5:00 a.m. Tuesday morning my hard head was throbbing, begging my stillness and room's darkness. Most concerned, my dear husband made his way to our little cottage kitchen and brought me cola in a clear glass and medicine in his gentle hand. I thanked him for such lovingkindness that is his dear way, and slooowly lay down and oh, so carefully turned on my side, hoping to sleep and awake relieved.

On arising, I realized improvement and thanked my Jeff once again. Then, when all was quiet, alone with God, faced my stubborn denial and thanked God for his patient grace that loves me so completely and understands my frame. Who waits with His wisdom to shape my life to His desired form. Who has this day given fresh truth and new desire. A soul determination to hear God's voice, to listen, to apply His word! To e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g!

God knows our downsitting, our uprising, our distant thoughts, our hearts, our lungs, our ears, our heads, our hands, our bellies, our emotions, our hurts, our ills, our stubborn ways, our failures, our successes, our slippery dreams. Even knows our whys and hows!

He made our genetic code! Yes, your double helix was put together with meticulous thought and care by the Master Designer Himself. And dear friend, God chose to make us all with imperfections and weaknesses.

Does that seem strange to you? Such a wonderful, loving, perfect Heavenly Father creating his vessels with flaws, with shortcomings, with compromising qualities, with weak fragments, with questionable strengths, with damaging desires, with eyes that need lens, with ears that need aids, with bodies that grow tired, with minds that forget, and wills that faint?

What appears odd to me or you was perfect sense to the Apostle Paul. The mightiest warrior for Christ suffered agony. He was persecuted. Experienced hunger, pain, frailty, affliction, confusion, prison, beatings. All for Christ. And his great, faithful walk with God brought many heavenly visions. Unspeakable spiritual revelations.

Then, God permitted an unnamed "thorn" to torment him. It was a fleshly battle. Painful. The Greek word Paul uses to describe the experience means "to rap with the fist." An over and over ache. Increasing pain. And the exact what of the blow does not really matter. But the why does.

Paul sought relief. "My grace is all you need," God spoke. "My power works best in weakness." And Paul, whose life was not his own, whose life was lived in Christ alone, when hearing God's voice, knowing pain would remain, said, "I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me."

Hurt, pain, denial, limitations, heartache, illness. Whether great, small, or so-so, all teach and prove. God chooses to use our frailties for His glory when we let Him. NO DOUBT, there are times of deliverance and healing. Such miracles bring glory to God and may at any moment be part of His plan.

But, one way or another, God allows our physical or emotional pain to reveal Himself in our lives. Pain is a trumpet resounding in our ears. An awakening. An alarm. A cry. A siren of sorts. A voice, whether softly spoken in background noise, shouted above every other sound, or fixed with perfect, personal decibel.

And above all, it is for our good. Remember Romans 8:28? Using Greek meanings, we might paraphrase, "When we clearly see, we understand that all individual things, and the whole of our lives, work together, as an entire process, for our benefit, to each one of you who loves God and is, with God's intention, called by Him to show His glory."

Knowing His good is at work, we are ready to listen, to look, to yield even what seems to us a minor problem. We are set on a direct path to find God's glory for our lives. With spiritual ears set to hear, with volume turned-up, we are on the edge of our seats, our hearts waiting for His truth to speak. Our souls ready to bear God's intention, our hearts longing to glory, as Paul did, in the cross of Christ.

If by some means denying chocolate can bring Him more glory in my life, then let it be so done! I have, says my dear husband and my doctors, a habit of not taking care of self as I ought. Perhaps the Lord has, in His love, spoken with His megaphone. "Do you finally get it?" Do you really understand the importance of being a good steward of your body? Can you now clearly see how hearing my voice is for your good? Even if it means sacrificing small things? Do you still despise the small things? Do you see my love even here? Andrea, do you know I love you in all things?"

"Yes, Lord, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. . . . And, oh, dear Father, I love you so, because you first loved me."

Scripture references are from 2 Corinthians 12.

Quoted scripture is from the NLT.

Greek information is from e-sword.

Tomorrow, Jeff is scheduled for a biopsy, but we won't know results for one week, perhaps two because we will be out-of-town next week and Jeff's doctor will be gone the week following that. We are trying to arrange a phone call with his doctor to avoid the agony of the unknown. If it is not possible, then, with the Psalmist, may the Lord help us to say, "I wait for you, O LORD; you will answer, O Lord my God" (38:15).

Thank you for your continued prayers and words of encouragement. God's is so good, so faithful, and His grace truly sufficient. And I have no doubt that your prayers are holding us up as we wait.
I would like to pray for each one of you today. May the Lord, Jesus Christ, in the fullness of His grace, meet all your needs.
Oh, dear Lord, bless my precious friends at each turn in their lives. I ask, heavenly Father, for your guidance for them in all things. You hold each one in the palm of your hand. And, oh, how you care for them! Oh, how you love each one!

You know their names. You know their anxieties. You know their cares. You know their fears. You see their plans. You know their dreams. And your eye is always aware of their every move and each cry of their hearts.

Thank you, Father, for the inspiring lives they live for you. Bless them abundantly for their love and compassion for others. And, in all things, Lord, may they know you and see your moving in every part of their lives.

And I pray each one will feel your presence near in a special way.

In Jesus Name, Amen.

Please Remember. . .

2009-07-08T09:50:00.095-05:00

"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past. . . "

-William Shakespeare
A maize sun settled straight above. Surrounded by white, downy clouds, it gave warmth. Not sultry heat. Just balmy comfort. It was a salve. An ointment of peace to bathe, with its soothing smoothness, all around. It was complete, eclipsed all bars, purged each object in its path with purity for its honest lustre and perfect poise.

Silky sands had soaked in its rays. Using my fingers as a sieve, I moved the fine white grains. Remembered God's promise to His friend. "I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore" (Genesis 22:17). Amazed, I felt the strength of one tiny crumb of the sugar white. Poured through my hands the pieces whose shade likened to Easter lilies or cow's milk.

My children ran with their father. Enlivened by the cold, splashy waves of the gulf, my then young family danced. Leapt in the tides. Rejoiced in the freedom of a blessed moment of simple presence.

I can still picture my eight year old Chris and his surprise at the force of waves and their foamy diffusion over his body, in his sky blue eyes, up his nose, in his ears, and across his fair face. His brother Steven, two years his senior, barely noticed. Caught up in the power of the breakers and the majestic, unfurling waters, Steven with his olive skin and deep brown eyes, simply desired to make haste with the chance for fun and sun. My dear husband stood near, too immersed in frosty salt waves. As I noticed him notice and saw his smile, I found an impressed image, one that would never pass.

Our little visit to the sea became a snug memory keenly etched and stored in a tidy corner of our minds, there to abide among other family albums. These are brought in and browsed through on special occasions. Like tapered vanilla candles and an ivory damask cloth, dear moments so fixed in motion give beauty, light, and scent to our family table.

When alone, I have feasted from their manna. In my quiet, I remember. At times, my dear husband and I bring out these treasures and feed upon their goodness, relish in their own meaning with thirty-two perspective years. When sitting by the fire, drifting off to sleep, or driving down a reaching road, they are often our companions, giving joy, muse, thanks, sweet seasons.

Created once. Recreated. Again. Again. Again. Returned to shelf. Taken. Reread. Relived. Again and again. Always with heartened animation.

Our memories are alive with wings and settle within our nests, lighting with love upon our fleshly tables. They glow. Are bright to share, to wonder, to teach, to grieve, to change, to feel, to impart, to rest, to joy, to handle, to know again, to pass to others, to regift as though new.

Such passing, this regifting, I have now begun to experience with my own sons and grandchildren. Just the way my dear grandparents and parents did for me, I am finding it ever tempting to tell, to ask.

"Would you like to hear about Mimi when she was a little girl?"

"Whes, whes!" A little head shaking so encourages the telling.

Exquisite. Wondrous. Miraculous. Like the loaves and fishes, memories multiply. Like the widow's cruse of oil, they remain. Like Joseph's store, they bless in famine. Remembering. Sharing. Telling. Giving. Blessing. . . . And compelling.

"And don't you remember?" was Christ's compelling to his disciples. The question was not expected. His words pierced. Cut. Made them think. Gave them fear. Caused them wonder.

Why would He ask about the past at a time like this? They were tired, hungry. Flustered, floundering, with failed memories; they had foraged through the boat and realized they had only one loaf of bread.

Jesus' words pressed their hearts. Stirred instability. Charged ignorance. Challenged faith. Yet, empty stomachs stopped the ears of deep hearing. That real hearing that listens with heart and soul, not ears alone.

Jesus asked them: "Why are you talking about having no bread? Do you still not see or understand? Are your hearts hardened? Do you have eyes but fail to see, and ears but fail to hear? And don't you remember? When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many basketfuls of pieces did you pick up?" "Twelve," they replied. "And when I broke the seven loaves for the four thousand, how many basketfuls of pieces did you pick up?" They answered, Seven." He said to them, "Do you still not understand?"

Can you hear it? The desperation in our Savior's voice? The longing in His heart, propelling Him to compel, to plead, to extract belief from His disciples? Can you feel the sting in Jesus' heart as with passion He cries, "Do you still not understand?"

Christ had turned water into wine, healed the sick, restored sight, raised the dead, delivered from demons, revealed His deity, delivered the Truth, walked on water, taught them trust, shown them faith, spoken to a storm, given hope, fed five thousand, fed four thousand.

And still they struggled. They struggled with belief in Him. They struggled with remembering His works. The disciples were still leaning on their fleshly hearts, their practical minds that limited God's response to personal needs.

Eyes had seen. Ears had heard. Still, they did not get it. The worker of these works they had witnessed was "The Anointed One." Jesus Christ was their Messiah, the Son of the Living God, Who can and will do more than imaginable.

Christ's response to their faint hearts was "After all you have seen, after all you have heard, after spending time in My presence, after walking with Me, talking with Me, seeing Me in the flesh, face to face, knowing My name, watching My faith, noting My love, finding My peace, marking My steps, eyeing My hand extended, do you not really know Who I Am?"

And surely He asks me too today. "Andrea, do you really know Who I Am? Do you not remember My word? Are you not reminded of My works? Do you not believe My voice? Are you not confident in My care? Will you not remember Me?"

Remember. I must remember. You must remember. We must remember Who Jesus is. And Whom we serve.

My friends, we do not serve a wimpy God. We do not serve a clockmaker who created a world to let it orbit and live on its own. We do not serve a senseless God who could not care less. We do not serve one who forgets us.

No, He has written Your name on the palm of His hand! He is touched with the feelings of your infirmities! Jesus understands all we suffer, for He has been there. All our pain and sorrow are known by Him! And He remembers us and knows the plans He has for us, plans to give us hope and a future!

But, we must choose to remember. The Greek word for "remember" in Mark 8:18 means to exercise memory, to rehearse, to be mindful. A passive act? What? No! A "mindful" one with intention to rehearse, review, remember. . .until we know. Until we trust. Until our faint hearts are full of faith, ready to render all to Jesus.

Life events have lately challenged me to remember. To recall the mighty acts of our God. To relive His past moments of kindness and care for my family. To feed on His faithfulness. To once again place my feeble hand in His, Who will never lead me away from His grace and love. To Remember His hope. To remember His love. To remember His truth. To remember.

My dear husband will have a biopsy next Thursday. This problem I have not before mentioned, but it could be a serious one. Yet, we both have peace. I trust in His name.

After all results are in from the biopsy, Jeff will have a heart cath to rule out all suspicions of a blockage.

He is doing better today, for which I am indescribably thankful. And, oh, how much I appreciate your prayers! Your love and concern and uplifted voices to our heavenly Father are such a precious sacrifice. Thank you, dear friends, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Scriptures are from NIV Bible

Scripture references include Mark 8:14-21; Isaiah 49:16; Hebrews 4:15; Jeremiah 29:11

Greek Word Study is from e-sword

I want to give a special thank you to Rebecca of A Gathering Place, whom you will find at her beautiful site at http://www.gatheryeroses.com/. Rebecca is a wonderful woman of God, and she is one of the most talented and creative people I have ever met. Rebecca has been a great inspiration to me and a dear friend.

She had a give-away a little while back, and how excited I was when I found out I had won!!! Pictured below is the lovely handmade sachet. It is beautiful and is filled with a heavenly lavender scent. It found a perfect place in my home, where it hangs on my bedroom door.

Thank you, Rebecca, for having the give-away, and for always sharing your heart with others.