This is what the LORD says: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. Jeremiah 6:16
The kids were bickering this morning. I was so mad. And as my temper rose, my attitude went down. Oh, I was down. The details don’t matter, it was just another tiff. One of hundreds. All I could hear was Annabelle yelling, “Stop! Stop!” So I came out of my bedroom shrieking the same. “STOP IT, STOP IT!” I sounded just like her…
My eight year old.
The drive to the bus stop was dreary and I had a conversation with my teenage son – in my head. I told him a thing or two – in my head. How he should be lifting his little sister up to his level, not sinking down to hers. To a third grade mentality. But by the time I got back through my front door, I knew. God was speaking to me. Words directed at my son – in my head – were pointed right back at me.
“You, Pam, should be lifting your children to your level, not sinking down to theirs. You, Pam, should not regress to the mind of an 8 and 16 year old.” And just now, my husband’s remark from months ago echoes in my ear, “Just who’s the adult here?”
No doubt, God’s the adult. And He calls out, prompting me to rise above all this.
Because experience teaches how the darkness of these mornings can linger. Oh, they can bring me low and I’ve let them. I’ve dwelt there, wallowing in the muck and the mire. Staying low, angry and dark. In years past, I’d stay down for days. Months? Because one morning followed by another and another, filled with the cacophony of everyday life held such power over me. But the truth is, I let it.
Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise. Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light. Micah 7:8
Rise up, God says. Set my mind on things above, not below. His word encourages and nudges, and if I let it, it has the power to lift me to His level. To the heavenlies. Yes, if I allow His word to penetrate, and I do, I find I’m able to rise, transcending this earthly realm that’s had the propensity to floor me. And when I find my footing, I start again.
What occurs to me now, though, in this very moment, is how ironic it all is. Perplexing, even. The fact that God tells me to have the mind of Christ. I’m called to rise above earthly trappings, setting my mind on things above, and to not sink down to a worldly level. And yet, He who was above lowered Himself into it. Jesus, who came down into the muck and the mire, did it for me. For all my darkness and missteps.
He became human-like, made in human likeness so I can become Christ-like. Remade in the image of Him.
This idea causes me wonder this morning. How He came down so I can go up…
But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. Ephesians 2:4-7
I’ll tell you, I’ve not felt like writing for ages. It seems to be seasonal, this period of muteness. And the book of Luke tells me I’m not the only one. Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah, was mute for a year. His silence came after he was told of his wife’s pregnancy. See, he doubted the angel’s message. I surmise it was a lack of faith that shut him up.
Me? Perhaps similar. Because I’ve been living down here in the world. And the bad stuff I’m inundated with rubs off. It has the power to permeate my heart and soul. But this morning, there was a glimmer. God’s word speaks of other believers who opened their mouths. 2 Corinthians 4:13 says “I believed; therefore I have spoken.” Since we have that same spirit of faith, we also believe and therefore speak…
This inspires me today. And if I let myself, I could cry. Because today’s desire to share is a gift from God. He gives a measure of faith. And because I’ve had one too many low mornings, and because my behavior can be contrary to Christ, and because my words don’t always match my actions, I’ve been shut up for a while. Oh, so quiet.
Most especially when my attitude reflects that of an 8 year old. Or a teenager. But I heard Him this morning. He spoke to me through my own words. A message meant for my son was turned toward me. God said to lift my children to my level, not sink down to theirs. I must live higher, though. Heavenly. This morning, I wasn’t. I was a mere child.
But He calls anew. He never lets me stay down. Never. And as I turn toward Him, I hear His tender voice, “Arise, Daughter, You are mine. I didn’t beget you to behave this way. Follow Me, and I will show you a better way to live.”
Thus, once more, I rise and dust off my backside. I thank Him for the hope He gives me. For the flutter that moves my heart. The ember that starts to burn. And I look where He points me. Upward. He calls me to join Him there.
In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” 1 Corinthians 11:25
I drank from my new cup today. I just love it. One, it’s from a dear friend and two, the message is not only timely but inspiring…
Find Your Fire.
I was given the cup just before April. My friend said it was because I inspire others to do it. And once upon a time, prompting women to grab hold of their God-giftedness was my chief passion. To encourage one to just stop. To exit busyness… and not enter it again until they know what their passion is. What ignites them. Fires them up… what causes them to burn. Do more of that!
In the New Testament, the Greek word is charisma. You find it where Paul encouraged his protege, Timothy, to fan into flame the gift of God that was inside him. And in early March, I was all over these passages…
More, I remembered my fire and planned to act on it. However, fiery passion fizzled by the end of the month. Nonetheless, this notion of finding your fire remains one of my life messages. Likely because I’ve struggled with it so. All too often, I neglected the very gifts God graced me with while attempting to take hold of someone else’s. That’s why the message on this cup resonates.
Last week, though, another idea took root…
Because recent findings suggest another layer to finding fire. And through Jesus Christ, the cross, and a Mel Gibson movie, God teaches me that sometimes fire finds me. Even if I don’t want it to…
Dear friends, don’t be surprised at the fiery trials you are going through, as if something strange were happening to you. Instead, be very glad – for these trials make you partners with Christ in His suffering… 1 Peter 4:12-13
Yes, that cup was timely. Because in my estimation, the latter part of March was particularly trying. And though I realize what I’m about to share reveals my weakness, I do so anyway. Because the Apostle Paul shared first. Clearly, though, my “fires” significantly pale in comparison (2 Corinthians 11)…
Nonetheless, I did feel some heat.
It wasn’t from something big, though. No, for me, it’s the layering of small things. One upon another until finally, I felt a sense of despair and darkness. It stemmed from my daughter coming home from school with a high fever followed by my son wiping out on his dirt bike, eliciting a trip to the ER. And because I hurt one of my friend’s feelings just before going to the hospital, tension weighed heavily on my heart. The next day entailed prep for an “adult” test no one wants to do, only to come home and take my daughter to a sick-visit because fever had turned into to a deep cough.
I know, small potatoes. But as I said, I can be so weak. And as I sat on the couch one morning, helping my son to bind his ankle, it was as if my own heart were bound instead. Tied up by the layering of mishaps.
And just when things felt lighter, when ankle swelling lessened and coughs subsided, I found Annabelle covered in some sort of insect bites. Yes, I know, such a little thing. But I swear at that moment, it felt the heaviest of burdens and nearly too much to bear. I actually voiced my discontent….
“God, please, not another thing.”
Today, I realize my heart was begging for mercy. And in my eyes, I knew exactly what that would look like. Alas, the last few weeks have served to teach me a lesson. One I hope to never forget. Because turns out my idea of mercy and God’s don’t always align. Perhaps that’s why He pointed me to His Son and the cross. And for good measure, He spoke through the lines of a movie called Braveheart.
Thus, through the weeks leading up to Passion week and Easter, I’ve been mulling over the lives of those who not only found their fire, but managed to keep it burning when fiery trials found them. Indeed their passion enabled them to live, and die, well.
They endured whatever came their way…
And it’s what God wants of me.
Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time He said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:8-9
March 29th is the day I pulled out my Passion CD. Prompted by a failed morning (I’d slammed the devotion book on the breakfast table about five times trying to get my bickering kids’ attention), I listened to Jessi Colter and Shooter Jennings as they cried out, “Lord, please have mercy… on my troubled soul…” I played it over and over because it fit my dark mood.
And before starting my work day, I pulled out my Bible and immersed myself in passages about Christ’s suffering and how we’re to arm ourselves with the same attitude. And that’s when I was comforted to know that Paul, who did have that mindset, cried out for mercy. But see, God had previously spoken of him, saying I’ll show him how much he must suffer for My name. And that he did. There was a thorn, a messenger of Satan to torment Paul, and he asked God to remove it three times.
God did not.
I then read about my Lord Jesus, and realized even He cried out for mercy. Matthew 26 paints the picture of how His soul was crushed with grief to the point of death. He bowed and prayed, “My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from Me. Yet, I want Your will to be done, not mine.” And again, He prayed, “My Father! If this cup cannot be taken away unless I drink it, Your will be done.” And a third time…
Paul asked and so did Jesus. Three times each. But in the end, they were both armed to suffer. They drank from their cups. They could because they were so inflamed by the fire inside them. Oh, they had passion…
And the two are intertwined. Passion is linked with suffering. Greek definitions in the New Testament prove that. And an online search underscores the meaning of passionate. It means a willingness to suffer for what we love or it describes an activity, goal, or cause we’re willing to suffer for. It’s our hill worth dying on.
And perhaps because it’s nearly Easter, this speaks so loudly. Because that’s what Jesus did. We were His hill worth dying on. He was so passionate about us and for us, He suffered a tormented death on a hill called Calvary.
Christ’s fire, and obedience to God, carried Him through.
“You do not know what you are asking,” Jesus replied. “Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?” “We can,” the brothers answered. “You will indeed drink My cup.” Jesus said. Matthew 20:22-23
I’m so weak. The past few weeks have proven that. Perhaps that’s why I found myself watching Braveheart two times. The first for entertainment purposes and the second because I saw a parallel between God’s Son and the character of William Wallace. The viewing was not accidental, more of a God thing, causing me to pull out my journal and jot down various lines.
See, they set me to thinking about what mercy really is. And what God really promises. Especially at Easter. How easy it is to focus just on the new life part. Resurrection so much easier to view than the suffering that leads to it. And Mel Gibson’s character reflected this beautifully. I confess, the movie was so violent, I had to turn my head several times. But the speeches he delivered held me riveted…
“What will you do without freedom? Will you fight? Run and you’ll live… at least a while… would you be willing to trade all of this… to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom?”
Freedom was his passion. His hill to die on. Even when nobles tempted him to compromise, he stood firm. He answered that the noble man’s position existed to provide the commoners with freedom. He refused to align with the oppressive king. And when he was finally captured and imprisoned, he refused to give in still. And yet, the beautiful princess begged, “Mercy is to die quickly.”
His response? “If I swear to him (the king), then all that I am is dead already… Every man dies but not every man really lives.” And once left alone, he prayed before his appointment with torture…
“I’m so afraid. Give me the strength to die well.”
And so this fire for freedom carried him through. He was stretched and pulled. He was tempted. “Beg the king’s mercy and you shall have it. Kiss the royal emblem and you will feel no more.” But like Jesus, Wallace didn’t open his mouth before his oppressors. He was silent as they ripped into his flesh. And because he wouldn’t, the crowd finally cried out for him.
“Mercy,” they begged.
But see, the character of William Wallace knew what true mercy was. And he knew that giving in for the sake of ease wasn’t it. And so, when he finally mustered the strength to voice one word, he bellowed out that which carried him through his death. “Freedom,” was his cry.
And it was his fire.
If we die with Him, we will also live with Him. If we endure hardship, we will reign with Him. If we deny Him, He will deny us. 2 Timothy 2:11-12
Though a movie, Braveheart was based on a true story. William Wallace found himself bound, led away, and killed because he did not bow down to an unjust king. So similar to Christ. And therein lies the key to both living and dying. See, Jesus Christ was bound, but not held back. William Wallace, too. Both bound physically, but spiritually free.
But what about me?
See, I have this erroneous notion that my path should be smooth. And when things crop up that hinder and obstruct or weigh me down, I can go dark. Life can feel so heavy. But what does Christ invite? He says if we want to follow Him, we must pick up our cross daily. And I’ve never lifted a cross, but I daresay it weighs a lot.
But this is it. If Jesus Christ, who is my Lord and Savior, suffered hardship, why should I expect my path to be any different? In truth, if I want that Easter resurrection, I better prepare myself for the suffering that leads to it. Because this, too, is a promise from God.
Other voices war with His, though. And the one that confuses me is the same that whispered to Eve in the garden. “Did God really say? You won’t die!” And when Jesus described how He’d suffer and die, the same voice spoke through Peter, saying, “Heaven forbid it! This will never happen to you…”
Do you see it? The prince of this world says we shouldn’t suffer. That we should not die. And his voice lingers in my ear still, “Did God really say that? Shouldn’t things be smooth?” Thus, he offers a false version of mercy to me.
But God did say it. He promised a hard road. And when I begin to cave to this notion that things should always go smoothly, I need to remember Jesus’ response. “Get behind me, Satan.” And may I remember the invitation to pick up my cross and die daily. And when I begin to falter, may I have the courage to utter a prayer like William Wallace…
“Lord, I’m so afraid. Please help me to die well.”
In fact, everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted. 2 Timothy 3:12
God has a way of tying things up. It happened this morning as I feasted on the words of a song, which reminded me of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. These men were literally bound and thrown into a hot furnace because they refused to bow down to a false king. They would not denounce their faith by worshiping another god.
When threatened, they remained confident in God’s deliverance but said…
“But even if he doesn’t…”
That’s it. These men knew God would either deliver them from the fire or through it. But even if he didn’t, they were assured of where they were going. Thus, they refused to compromise. No begging for mercy or kissing the king’s ring. Instead, their inner fire carried them through a fiery trial. That’s when a miracle happened…
Three men were thrown in, but the unjust king saw four. God didn’t leave them. And they were unbound, walking around inside the furnace.
I tell you, I’m no Peter or Paul. I’m not William Wallace and nothing like Christ. But three Old Testament heroes encourage me this day. I comprehend my bindings may be different for there’s no physical restraints. But sometimes I feel them. I’m bound and hindered as obstructions cross my path.
But I see it now. In order to walk freely in the midst of my fires, I have to die well. I do so by dying to self, giving up all my desires and plans to God. That way, the devil has no hold over me. I simply have to lay down my life first, before I’m bound. Because experience teaches me that holding to my life is a slow death. But to die quickly is mercy.
This is how I can pick up my cross and follow Jesus. It’s a mindset and it’s how those who went before me died well.
Only, it’s not that easy to do.
You were running your race so well… who has held you back from following the truth? Galatians 5:7
It occurs to me that Paul often likens our spiritual journey to that of a race. He pushes one to fight the good fight and finish the course. And there are times I think I’m running well.
Not the last few weeks, though. No, they’ve felt heavy. And the devil tempted me to cry out for mercy, or at least my version of it. Thus, I opened my mouth in complaint. I doubted and distrusted. Instead of enduring, I gave in and up by way of a terrible attitude. And when I felt like I couldn’t take one more thing, I asked God to stop it.
Please, not another thing!
I begged for mercy. But you know what? He reminded me He already did. God had mercy and had mercy on me (Jeremiah 31:20). And once upon a time, I hadn’t obtained mercy, but now I have (1 Peter 2:10). Indeed, mercy came through a man named Jesus Christ (Luke 1:78). And God assures me that the path of Jesus is the course I take.
Thus, if our journey is a race, it strikes me how Jesus ran the first leg of the relay. And today, He reaches back and passes on the baton. In reaching forward, I take hold of that for which He took hold of me. And I close my fingers around it…
Only, in getting a good grip, it realize it feels just like a cross. It’s mine to bear. And now, it’s my leg of the race. But to run well means to run in the same manner as He.
Therefore, since God in His mercy has given us this new way… we never give up. 1 Corinthians 4:1
By last week, I thought I was finally getting this lesson down. I even had one of those God moments when I was pointed to Psalm 103:1-2. I savored how God redeems me from death and crowns me with love and tender mercies. The passage stood out because I’d been ruminating on mercy. But hindsight reveals God’s humor for that very night, I broke my crown.
The next day brought an unexpected dental visit. Shots and a temporary crown. And I smiled at the circumstances. Indeed, God crowns me with His mercy, even if through the dentist’s office. Not my plan.
But this week brought new fires. Another fever knocked out church and school. By Tuesday, both kids were home. And by last night, my countenance had fallen. The same old thing. Heavy and dark. Feeling bound. I had to apologize to my husband. I told him, “I didn’t die well.”
And I didn’t. Instead of picking up my cross, I held to my life. It was a slow death. But see, the race isn’t over yet. And the good news is, I can pick up my baton again. Because God assures me His mercies are new every morning.
Thus, I look forward to tomorrow. That’s when I’ll pick up my new coffee cup. I just love it.
And when I contemplate its message, I pray I remember His. And that I’ll be encouraged to not only find my fire, but to keep it burning when fiery trials find me. Yes, I pray my passion will carry me through, enabling me to live, and die, well.
Once upon a time, my oldest child ran away and hid. I was angry at the time because he disobeyed me, so I let him go. However, when it was time to leave my mom’s house, he was nowhere to be found. He didn’t answer his phone and didn’t come when I blew my horn.
Oh, I was furious. Then I worried. And when I finally spied him behind the building, I was mad all over again. I’m sad to say that rather than show compassion, I fussed. I fussed when I found him, I fussed in the car, and then I fussed at home.
Levi later confessed. He told me the reason he hid was because of my anger and he just wanted to be loved. His confession seemed earth shattering. The fact my boy ran away and hid hoping his actions would incite my love.
And as I recently considered this event, a new idea was birthed about an old story.
I thought of something I’d never thought of before…
Because circumstances were similar, I think of Eden and God’s first children. Disobedience would bring God’s anger, thus, Adam and Eve ran and hid. Oh, so familiar.
And though Father God already knew, He called out anyway, “Where are you?”
I always believed they hid because newfound knowledge of nakedness ushered in vulnerability. And of course, there was fear of consequences. I still believe that. I cannot help but wonder, though, if while hiding out in those bushes, a small part of them thought…
If we hide, if He can’t see us, perhaps He’ll worry. He’ll have to come find us. Then, He’ll love us.
I realize this is a fanciful thought and total surmising, but this is where my mind landed in comparing both events. That maybe subconsciously, childishly, Adam and Eve felt hiding would incite God’s love. And to go a step further, don’t we do this today? Even now?
Instead of hiding out in bushes, though, we hide in our grown-up costumes. And hidden in a covering of our own choosing, we hope for not just love, but acceptance and admiration. The immature part of our minds thinking, “If I am this way, I’ll be loved.”
Oh yes, with our most vulnerable parts unseen, we feel shielded. Protected. And in our armor, we think we’ll receive the love we so crave because we present only what’s lovable. I know this to be true because this is the story of my life. It’s what I did. But thanks be to God, He knew what I was doing even when I didn’t. Even as recent as last year. Thus, He called out to me…
“Where are you?”
And these past few months, He helped me to identify my hiding place.
It’s no coincidence I had all these thoughts yesterday because see, it was International Women’s Day. A day for celebrating women’s accomplishments and successes. I must confess, in contemplating the significance of such a day, women who emulate Wonder Woman are who first come to mind.
Thus, I have to smile because for five years now, I’ve been planning an event centered on this superhero. And this little toy sits in my drawer so I can see her whenever I grab a sticky or stapler. She serves as a reminder of the event. Today, though, I comprehend truth in answering God’s inquiry.
“Where am I?”
Well, I’ve been hiding out in my costume of her. For it seems I’ve been trying to be this woman, she who is not real, for thirty years now. She’s just a figment of my imagination. A woman crafted through pieces of all the women I ever admired through the years…
There’s a piece of Sarah and a scrap of Carmen. Etc. Etc. She’s bold and courageous. She’s a leader and shares opinions. Oh, so fun and full of laughs. She’s smart and wise and witty and beautiful and strong and kind and relevant and every other good thing I’ve seen in various women. Only, I’ve merged all their attributes into this one ideal. I wanted to be she who is made up of many.
An impossible creation.
The result? In putting on pieces of others, I’ve discarded scraps of me along the way. At nineteen, I began hiding the best of me in favor of what I perceived as better in other women. All these years, shoving and packing me away in corners and closets till I was covered up by someone else entirely. The real me, hidden by a mere costume.
It was my armor.
The goal no different than that of an adolescent boy hiding out behind a building. I hid out in my idea of Wonder Woman, hoping to incite the love of others.
Because the women I knew like her were so incredibly loved.
Yep, this Spring marks five years. That’s when an idea for a ladies event centered on Wonder Woman came to mind. And timing is not coincidental. See, Springtime is the anniversary of old hurts. It’s when my heart was broken the very first time. I share this not to be pitied, but because it explains my actions. Why I subconsciously did what I did.
See, I was left behind by the one who should have loved me most. Forgotten and not missed. My heart assured me it was because of my demeanor. That my quiet and shy ways made me forgettable. So, I lived to counter that. My mind crafted an ideal woman and she’s who I strove to be.
Because the self-made woman is not only unforgettable, she is so lovable.
But God came looking. And though He already knew, He cried out, “Where are you?” Seems I was hiding out behind the persona of this strong woman I so admired.
But today I know truth. I’m not Wonder Woman. I’m me…
I’m quiet and shy and reserved and unobtrusive. This is how God made me. More, He reminded me of all the good things I ever possessed. Everything I’d inadvertently hid away. Through Christmas and birthday gifts, I remembered painting. And through rearrangement of rooms, I found me inside an old green box.
It belonged to my grandparents back in the day. When I was young, it enclosed a five gallon bucket used for pig slop. What wasn’t eaten was scraped inside. I found this treasure in the home place basement, and made it my own years ago. Instead of left-overs, though, I filled it with sentimental items. And last month, I opened it…
My old sketches and handmade cards were hidden amongst photos and dreams. A handwritten prayer, a card from a dear friend. Indeed, I found scraps of me in a box that once housed scraps for pigs. It was the best of me and God helped me find it. To unpack it. To reclaim what’s mine by right.
Everything good He ever gave me.
A prodigal story come to life.
After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything. “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father…. So he got up and went to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. Portions of Luke 15
I heard a country song this morning called “Doin this.” Basically, it’s about a singer fortunate enough to do what he loves for a living. And the gist of it is, that even if he wasn’t successful doing it, he’d still be doing it. And that’s how I feel about writing…
Sharing how God moves in my life fills me in a way that nothing else does. And not only do I not make money doing it, I pay to do so. It costs me money to have this blog. So that song resonated. No doubt, I’d still be doing this for God has given me the desire to share.
He’s also filled me with passion for that ladies’ event called Wonder Woman. Sometimes passion blazes bright while other times, it simmers on the back burner. Nonetheless, it’s still there, jolted to life when something brings it back to the forefront. It just happened when I saw a picture of her in the bathroom stall at Seaworld.
And though it’s five years in the making, I know it’ll happen one day. I’ve joked with my mother-in-law that when the above shirt fits me (it’s a tad snug), I’ll fit the event. And I have hope I’m getting there. Because ultimately, Wonder Woman is about discovering the wonder of who you are underneath it all…
When you come out from under all your cover and when you have the courage to stop hiding behind who you think you should be. Simply because you love yourself. Just as He made you to be.
Like those first days in the garden. God’s first children were naked and unashamed.
Yes, that’s what Wonder Woman has come to mean. It’s accepting how God crafted me. It’s about tapping into God-given gifts (not another woman’s) because therein lies my strength. My superpower. It’s using what’s inherent to me, what He knit into my core, my substance. He’s reminding me of all this…
But oh, it’s taken years to get here. Before hosting it, though, I have to see it. To live it. And I think I’m nearly there. Because I’m learning to love me as me, not her.
And that makes me a real superhero.
I just saw this picture on Facebook and through it, I’m reminded it’s not just about me. It never is. No, Wonder Woman is about them, too. My kids. And like any superhero who has a weakness, indeed, my kryptonite would be them.
Fear for their safety has at times brought me to my knees. Honestly, left unattended, it’s crippled me. And when they bicker, oh, I can go dark. And loud in a bad way. But they can also bring out the good in me. Like the compassion and love they kindle in my heart.
And you know, God’s word describes them as arrows. As their mom, I have power to bring out the best in my kids before shooting them into the world. See, they house so much potential. My job is to help them uncover their God-given strengths. I need to help them unpack their gifting but also, to love how God gifted them.
Oh, that they would love their gifts.
And own them…
Yes, may I teach my children to not hide how God crafted them under a lofty ideal of what’s not real. Or what looks better to them. May they not hide their authentic selves behind what’s false. And may I love them so much, as is, that they never feel the need to.
Oh, that they’d comprehend their value. And discover the wonder of their unique makeup. Because hopefully, if they do, just maybe they’ll love themselves as much as I do. Or better yet, as much as God does. And that’s it right there…
The most powerful force.
The heart of Wonder Woman is that I love me like He does. As is. Because only then, can I teach my children how to do the same. I tell you, that would be the best superhero power to possess.
The good news is, I really think I’m getting there.
I will praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Psalm 139:14
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Matthew 5:4
I’m not going to lie, I can be selfish. So selfish. Sometimes, I just can’t help it. Working from home and spending most of my time here breeds inward focus. And so, not surprisingly, I viewed every word I read last week in context of me. When I found myself in the book of Job and Ecclesiastes, it was for me.
Me, me, me.
However, Friday turned my eyes another direction. And through the gift of God’s Spirit and hindsight, I quickly saw those holy scriptures in reference to someone else. And I comprehended the content wasn’t so much about me after all. No, in the bright light of Saturday mourning, I realize the reading was also for him…
It was for Robert and for his brood. My family.
And for that reason, I offer up the following.
I received word about my aunt this past Friday. She was declining rapidly. And like most, I found myself wanting to do something. But what? My answer was food. Comfort food. I could take a bite to eat and so, I made that my plan.
Thus, I brought a few items and went to see Margie. And I think she heard me. Told her I loved her but deep down, I felt like a hypocrite. Because why does it usually take a time like this to draw family together? What about when life is running smooth and fast. Why not then?
And so, I grieved not only what was happening, but loss of a whole other sort. And sadly, my aunt’s spirit left this earthly realm sometime through the night. When I heard the next morning, every thing I’d read came flooding back to me. Yes, deep verses I’d skimmed over came surging to life through the filter of mourning.
He has made everything beautiful in its time. Ecclesiastes 3:11
I swear, I experienced John 14:26 recently. Because the Comforter, which is the Holy Spirit, came to me. He brought to mind everything He said last week and most poignantly, He reiterated a passage from the third chapter of Ecclesiastes.
I went there a week ago because of our tree that was cut down and uprooted. Unfortunately, we’d planted it too close to our septic system and we needed to address it before it did damage. And Jason tried to save it. Planned to move it, but the root system was so big and his tractor couldn’t do the trick.
That’s what initially sent me to Ecclesiastes 3:1-2. But see, my eyes were fixed on the part about there being a time to plant and a time to uproot. It was important to me, spiritually speaking. And so, my eyes skimmed right over the line preceding it…
There is a time to be born and a time to die.
Lo and behold, my devotional book sent me right back there the next day. Two times within two days, I read those verses. And when a separate source sent me back there again, I still didn’t see what I was supposed to. But today, I do. Every bit of it. See, God knew I’d need those verses. And because I’m a little dense, He had to point it out three times before I got it.
But now that I do, I’m assured there’s a time for everything. A time to be born and a time to die… a time to weep and a time to laugh… a time to mourn and a time to dance. And perhaps most important for today?
Well, maybe it’s the part about a time to keep silent and a time to speak. Because God teaches me there’s a time for both. Perhaps my job, as one who wants to come alongside those who grieve, is to learn which is which.
Thus, I grasp what I’m supposed to…
I’m certain God wants me to learn how to grieve well. He wants me to show good mourning to those who mourn deeply. And because God is God, He shows me how through His word.
I guess I shouldn’t be awed that God sent me to the book of Job on Friday morning, but I am. The morning before I received bad news, I was immersed in the suffering of Job, a man who lost everything. When his friends heard, I’m sure they felt like me. What to do? And like me, they made a plan.
Job 2:11 says they made an appointment together to come and to sympathizewith him and to comforthim. I see three steps, number one being they came. The word means to go in or enter and that’s just what they did for when they saw Job from afar, they lifted their voices in weeping. They entered into his grief.
When they drew near, they simply sat on the ground with Job and for seven days, and no one spoke a word to him because they could see his pain was very great. And how amazing is that? And how very unlike us today. Because maybe we’ve lost the ability to sit in this manner.
I can only speak for myself, but silence is awkward. And as a people, we’re fixers. I am. I want to go and bring some comfort. I want to make things all better with my pot of comfort. But sometimes, that’s not what’s needed. Sometimes, the pain is so great that nothing will help. And sometimes, the best way to come alongside one who grieves is to just give them our silence.
But more, to be a good mourner, we enter into their pain with them. That’s what Jobs’ friends did. And Friday night, I can’t help but wonder if I skipped that vital step.
Because in all reality, a casserole can’t bring comfort to a broken heart.
It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for that is the end of every man and the living will take it to heart and solemnly ponder its meaning… Ecclesiastes 7:2
This is how I like to remember my aunt. Oh she was lively. But this wasn’t who I visited Friday. And as I grieved the impending loss, my heart broke for every one within those walls. Because though Margie was still with us, the house I entered was one of mourning. Saturday afternoon, I opened that screen door once more…
And you know, I was surprised to discover there’s a verse about such a home. I confess, though, I find it hard to take in the words offered through Ecclesiastes 7:2. Nonetheless, I find truth. Because indeed, in facing the loss of a loved one, a person cannot help but contemplate their own life and times.
And how ironic that Spring touches the air. I’ve seen robins on the ground and peepers have already peeped. And it all feels so familiar. Because on the cusp of the season that offers hope and new life, we find loss instead. The same happened ten years back. My cousin passed in the Spring followed by another aunt soon after…
Now my father is left with four sisters and it makes me so sad. And thinking about all this, that’s when I finally cried. Alone in my car, I wept aloud.
Rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep (sharing others’ grief). Romans 12:15
Romans 12 teaches us how to live. There I find instructions for living. We’re admonished to use our gifts. We’re exhorted to live and love. And we’re instructed…. rejoice and weep accordingly. Weep. It means sob, mourn, or lament. And as I prayed this morning for those who grieve, I was halted mid sentence because I remembered such truth…
This is the shortest verse in the Bible and I had to look it up. Because there I find my example. Jesus showed good mourning, for He came to His friends. But then, when He saw their grief, He wept with them. He entered their pain. Oh, it’s true Jesus brought comfort, but He entered into their grieving first.
He came, He grieved, and He comforted, and this is what God shows me today. More, He wants me to grieve as Jesus did. Because me? I like action. A plan. What can I do?
Thus, in all my pondering, I can’t help but wonder. Can it be in our haste to comfort, we skip this most vital step? Oh, we rush to those who mourn and we’re quick to offer food. But do we know how to enter into grief with them? Do we dare enter their pain? And if we don’t, maybe it’s time we learn to.
Again, I’m speaking for myself here.
I hesitate to share this picture because his suffering is great…
His friends know him as Bobby, but he’s Robert to me. And this man poured into me when I was little. He saw I maybe had a little talent and encouraged me at his table. He’d hand me a pencil and a pad and give prompts… “Draw a fox.” Then he’d praise me for it. And when I joined the Air Force, he wouldn’t let me leave until he grilled me the biggest steak you ever saw. I truly love him.
And because I do, I so want to help. But what, I wonder. See, sausage gravy can only go so far. And because I write, that’s what I’m prompted to do. I offer up a message and send up a prayer. I ask God that those who come near would enter his pain. And if they dare lift their voices, may it be in weeping or prayers. Because see, like Job, he’s had such great loss. Let no one speak a word to him until the time is right…
Because as God reveals, there’s a time for everything under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. There’s a time to cry and mourn. And indeed, there’s a time to speak and a time to remain silent. So that’s my prayer.
Lord Jesus, please send good mourners to my uncle Robert. Those who are led by your spirit and know how and when. Send those who embody what we learn through Your word, through the pages of Job and Ecclesiastes.
And for those who’ve read these words, I ask you to please pray the same. Ask God to send people who without having to say a word, can show good mourning to my uncle Robert.
The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD. Job 1:21
In closing, I saw this picture on Facebook yesterday. I think it’s glorious. The love captured there. New life and old. The never ending circle. It causes me to cry. And it makes me think of this verse. Oh, it’s a hard one to swallow, and surprisingly, it was voiced by Job. After he lost everything, this is what he said.
It came to me Saturday morning after hearing about Margie’s passing. Because see, the day before I’d received word of an expected birth. Someone in my sphere was gearing up to have a baby. My thought? While someone’s water is breaking, ushering in new life, another’s heart is breaking, while life recedes.
What a picture this brings.
I told Jason it reminded me of a song by Live called Lightning Crashes. Now, this song is twenty-eight years old and I’ve not heard it on the radio since I was in my early twenties. But don’t you know, it’s exactly what I heard Saturday after leaving my aunt’s house. And though it’s not one I’d typically use in one of my blogs, I think it’s appropriate for this one.
Because after listening to it ten times yesterday, I finally heard what I was supposed to. For over and over, this line is repeated, “I can feel it.”
And I do. I can feel it. I feel their grief. But I think God teaches me this is what good mourners should do. They don’t just go and comfort, they also enter into the house of mourning. They enter into the pain. This is the lesson God wants me to take to heart. And through the book of Job and Ecclesiastes, and an unlikely song, I hear what He’s saying.
And for that, I give thanks.
And like Job, I echo his cry. Blessed be the name of the LORD.
“How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!” Romans 10:15
Christmas happened. December 17 came, and from that moment on, it’s been a mad dash. Preparations and presents and baking and a trip and the aftermath. I don’t know about you, but it usually takes me a week or two to bring order back to my life. It entails an overhaul of each room, removing items no longer needed, and also, movement of furniture.
I emptied closets and cabinets making room for the new. And I had to smile when I realized both my mom and my mom-in-law gave me footcare items. As you can see from the picture, my feet desperately need them. The polish has been on my toes since July and my heels are as rough as 40 grit sandpaper.
I tell you, though, in seeing the lotion and solutions, another thought occurred to me going beyond self-care. It had to do with the above verse… how lovely the feet. That word means belonging to the right hour or season. It means timely.
And so at the end of December, I wondered, is it time now?
How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, “Your God reigns!” Isaiah 52:7
This message rings out from the Old Testament, as well. It resonates in that the definition for “bring good news” can mean to publish. And those who know me best know this is a heart-felt dream of mine. Not only do I hope to complete a book, but I want to publish it. Oh, I’ve been chasing this dream of mine ever since the Fall of 2011.
In fact, that’s what I was vigorously doing up to December 17. Then, I hit pause on my dream and settled into everything else, expecting to get back to it just after the 3rd of January when school started. Alas, snow days bookended the one day my kids went that week. Nonetheless, I found my heart so full of God’s goodness by Friday morning, I wanted to share.
Indeed, it felt like it was time. I wondered… a blog, Instagram, Facebook? Perhaps a card for the two women in my sphere who are dealing with something exceptionally hard?
I needed an outlet for my good news. But because a snow day’s busy with extra, passion waned and life carried on. Ever since, though, I’ve found myself wanting to share at dawn’s first light. Busyness and duties forever eclipse that early morning high, though. And inevitably, good morning news gets overshadowed by the weight of everyday pressures.
It just happened yesterday. My heart so full was black as night by evening. And the woman who stood at the kitchen counter heating up leftovers, barely glancing her husband’s way when he got home, seemed to be the very same one who stood there ten years earlier. Yes, after everything God’s brought me through, it seemed as though I hadn’t changed a bit.
Indeed, the devil won the day. Because not only did I have a terrible attitude, I also gave way to doubt. I thought how can I share good news when my very demeanor seemed to shout, what good news? Thus, I felt disqualified…
And judging by last night, I’d say the time most assuredly had not come.
The Lord speaks; many, many women spread the good news. Psalm 68:11
My grandfather, Eddie, was a Bible thumper. In his day, he was a lay preacher, and later on, he preached from his chair in the living room. And when he lay on his bed reading that old black book, he’d sometimes call for me, asking how to pronounce a difficult word. These were my first tastes of God.
Now, forty years later, I find myself following Eddie’s footsteps. I preach from my driver’s seat and from the living room. To whoever will listen. The dream of publishing plays into this. Yes, when I first felt the prompt to write, I wanted to share what I knew. And hearing Psalm 68:11 for the first time seemed to solidify the call. Because it’s right there in black and white…
See, the King James Version uses the word publish instead of “spread the good news,” and I tell you, I aimed to do it. There was a problem, though. Seems I set out to proclaim the good news before I actually had any. That’s because I hadn’t internalized anything I read from God’s word.
And the woman who stood at my counter last night?
Well, proper perspective assures me she’s an occasional visitor now. But in 2011, and for many years afterward, she was pretty much a permanent fixture. Oh, I was dark. And yet, I believed myself qualified to spread the gospel.
No doubt, I’ve been moody ever since that first snow day. That’s when the darkness outside my window reached inside my heart and took root. And my journal gives evidence of everything I carried to bed with me the night before…
Anger, hardness, brittleness, sharpness. I felt numb and had given way to a feeling of resignation. But I sat in my chair anyway last week. It’s just what I do. And before I even opened my Bible, a phrase came to mind. Hold Fast. It’s something I heard at a Beth Moore conference long ago. “H.O.L.D.F.A.S.T. God has set His love upon me.”
And so I sat there and meditated. I knew the reason for my blackness and I knew the way out of it. It has to do with submission. The surrendering to God’s plan. And because I felt so bad, I prayed I would yield to God instead of giving way to the darkness. Nothing extravagant, just a one-line prayer.
And when I noticed the picture I recently placed on my side table, my heart began to shift. Because it seemed God was whispering to me the very words written out by my mother. She gave me a poem for my birthday, twenty-two years back.
A daughter is a precious gift; she shines as silver in the sun, and gleams like gold caught in the moonlight. Fine chains are woven of these two, but stronger still, and holding fast are chains of love that hold us tight. MLC
I saw what God wanted me to. I knew He was telling me that not only do chains of love hold me tight to Mom, but also to Him. I am held fast to God, my heavenly Father. And oh, what treasure I find in the definition for Father: for those who through Christ have been exalted to a specially close and intimate relationship with God, and who no longer dread him as a stern judge of sinners, but revere Him as their reconciled and loving Father.
I had to see this. More, I had to internalize it for real and for good. And had I not moved my room around, I would have missed it. Thus, I comprehend the shifting of furniture wasn’t random. No, a strategically placed poem served to point me to the deepness of my Father’s love. And that’s when I felt a shift.
For a while, in my surrendered state, the blackness dissipated. And the land blanketed by snow seemed to give testimony to the white flag I’d hoisted in my heart.
The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it. Though ye have lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold. Psalm 68:11, 13
Me and God had a moment Wednesday because He reminded me of His Fatherhood. But through my daily Psalm on Thursday, He stressed my daughterhood. For I am His little girl.
And there’s that verse. The one about publishing. This time around, though, I noticed the verse after. And it’s here I find good news highlighted through the word yet.
Though you did (fill in the blank), yet, you will be as silver and gold. The God of all creation was rereading my mom’s poem to me, but this time through His holy word. He confirmed that yes, I did many things in the past. And yes, I continue to do things. Like my bad moods. And yet, I shine like silver caught in the sun and gleam like gold caught in the moonlight.
God confirmed His Fatherhood and my daughterhood. And by Friday, my heart was full of this good news.
And I wanted to share.
“Daughter, your faith (…in Me) has restored you to health; go in peace and be (permanently) healed from your suffering.” Mark 5:34
Just look at that. God, I love this picture. I wanted to share it Friday because it captures the Father’s love and a daughter’s adoration. Alas, busyness set in and I never got to it. Thus, it appears the devil won the day. But you know what? Sunday hadn’t happened yet. And I had to experience Sunday before I could share this message.
Because that was the day I put my own little girl first. I tended to Annabelle’s heart by taking her to church for AWANA…
I tell you, God met me there in a hundred small ways. When we prayed for the two little girls who are so sick, Annabelle’s teacher asked for healing and that God would make them miracles. She had no idea she was voicing the very words I’d read that morning through Psalm 71:7, “I am as a sign and a wonder (miracle) to many.”
And the picture she’d drawn to depict what creation must have been like? Well, it immediately brought to mind the cards I intended to mail on Friday. The ones I never sent to the little girls’ moms.
The biggest encounter came from my conversation with the pastor. I shared with him about Fathers and daughters. Then he shared with me about the woman who had a bleeding issue (Mark 5). He said it was the only time Jesus addressed a woman as Daughter, and I could hardly wait to get home and read it.
Daughter. It means daughter of God, acceptable. Rejoicing in God’s peculiar care and protection. And I tell you, Sunday is when that verse came alive in a way it never has been before. Because I’d just experienced such peculiar care from Him. So intricate in His dealings with me…
And I hope to never forget it.
I painted the above of me and my Daddy a couple of years back. And this past November I used it at the beginning of the section of something I was writing called Painter’s Daughter. Lo and behold, I found a coat that looked just like it in Annabelle’s size at the thrift store. At the time, I had no doubt God gave it to me. See, He was confirming His Fatherhood then, too.
Which begs the question of why? If He confirmed it in November and confirmed it years before, why did He have to again Friday? I think my answer is found in the bleeding woman’s story. Because her 12-year issue made her unclean, she was unacceptable to the religious leaders of the day. Untouchable…
And yet, Jesus stopped to interact with her. He tenderly called her Daughter, marking her as His own. Though she was unaccepted by the world, she was accepted by Him.
And though it may not be a church leader who sets a high bar of expectation, I am my own worst enemy. I demand perfection, thinking I must be a certain way before delivering God’s message of good news. In my mind, I cannot make mistakes. Like yesterday’s very bad, dark day. In every way. In my mind, I wasn’t fit to share because I just can’t get it right.
I’ve been bleeding out over this issue and it’s hindered me off and on for years. It causes me to shut down and when I do, the devil wins.
But this is contrary to the gospel because I’m basing acceptance on my goodness and what I do. The very, good news, though, is being acceptable to God has everything to do with what Jesus did. That’s it. And no doubt, the devil delighted when He was raised on a cross. How dark it was that Friday…
And it must have seemed like the devil won. But see, Sunday hadn’t happened yet. And when it did, after burying my sin along with the sin of the world, Jesus came up out of that tomb alive. And my faith and belief in Him, and what He did, is what makes Psalm 68:13 true. That though I (fill in the blank), yet, I am as silver and gold.
A little girl, accepted by God, her heavenly Father.
Seems I needed a reminder of that good news. And how like God to make sure I got it this time through the painting below. Yes, I recently moved it. And no longer does it hover over my jewelry box, where I keep all my adornments. Instead, it sits above my quiet time chair. And what a visual…
Because it tells me that in His sight, I am more precious than gold…
Since Friday morning, a couple of invitations or requests have come my way relating to Facebook. And they seemed timely. Doors opened for sharing the gospel on the heels of my elation. But for reasons known to God and me, I declined both. For now, at least.
The second was really tempting, though, because it was an opportunity to share what I’m writing. Since sanctity of life Sunday is coming up, it seemed a good spot to talk about the book because it’s a pro-life message. Or choose-life. And sadly, that’s my story. Because at twenty-two, I did not.
As a young woman, I found myself pregnant and when I first realized my condition, thick snow covered the land. A snow day, if you will. But back then, I wouldn’t be stopped. Nothing hindered me from progressing because I chose me. And therein lies the rub…
Because today, I do get stopped. All the time. And a snow day most specifically halts my plans because I have children. Their wants and needs will always trump mine. That was the battle last week. Surrendering to the day. To God’s will. Thus, God’s word, and the verse Annabelle is learning through AWANA, resonates all the more.
“For God so loved the world, He gave His only begotten Son…”
Yes, God sent a Son to lay down His life for God’s children. And because I’m a follower of Christ, my actions should look the same. God sends me, a daughter, to lay down my life for my living children. That means putting their stuff before mine. Them first. That’s what choosing life looks like for me at forty-eight.
But God help me, I slip up. Darkness descends whenever those selfish mannerisms the younger me possessed present. It happened just last night. But unlike the old me, I don’t dwell there. Light always slices through the dark. That’s why I know…
I have changed. And that, my friend, is good news.
“Little girl, I say to you, get up!” The little girl immediately got up and began to walk… Mark 5:41-42
Indeed, the fifth chapter of Mark is one I won’t forget. The bleeding woman speaks because like her, I’ve got some issues. But if you keep reading, you find another story. This one of a sick little girl. She was at death’s door when Christ took her by the hand. He told her to walk, and she did.
The Greek word for walk intrigues me because it means to make one’s way, progress, make due use of opportunities. And I can’t help but see this in light of the good news. See, feet aren’t just made for walking, they’re used to bring good news. And when you do, they become beautiful.
Even feet sorely in need of a pedicure…
Beautiful. It means timely. Now. No matter what. And so I deem yes, it is time. Because it’s always the right time to bring good news. The key is, you have to have some to give it.
And though the devil won yesterday’s skirmish, he won’t win the war. And though darkness creeps in, it won’t utterly consume the light. I know so because this is my story. It’s my good news. I’m free to share it because it has nothing to do with me and my goodness.
Instead, it has everything to do with His.
Then Peter said, “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” Acts 3:6
I felt compelled to share last week but delayed. And the stirring, which began on Thursday, was enhanced by Friday afternoon. Maybe even to a fever pitch. However, a busy weekend was followed by even busier days. And by Tuesday night, I was done. Exhausted. Spent. I had nothing left to offer. No more was I inspired to pour out my heart…
That’s why today, I smile at the verse I read first thing this week. Perhaps a mild chastening from my heavenly Father in that John 9:4 exhorted me, “We must quickly carry out the tasks assigned to us by the one who sent us.” Because that’s what the previous week’s compulsion to share felt like. An assignment. But one I neglected to carry out. And because the past few days happened, I no longer wanted to do it. Passion waned as all my creative energy depleted.
I felt empty, not full. Dry, not satiated.
But then, today happened.
And he who waters will himself be watered… Proverbs 11:25
I chose to meet my friend this morning. We were supposed to yesterday but my new job required all of me, so I postponed. We met a day late. God’s word, though, assures me our walking date was right on time. That’s because last night had to come first.
And, oh, I relish the quiet hours I spend alone in the evening. After all my people go down, I either watch an old sitcom or immerse myself in my current mystery novel. But last night, I didn’t want to read my “Cat who…” book. Instead, I just sat there staring into the not so distant dark outside my window. Eventually, my tired hand reached for the living words housed inside my Bible. I just really wanted to hear from Him because the preceding days felt so heavy…
There’s the world. The chaos and the discord. Tragic events left and right, afar and within reach. Sicknesses and divisions too close for comfort and too close to home. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
So I opened my favorite Book and the pages fell to Jeremiah 31 . At first, I honed in on a favorite passage. But then I glimpsed a phrase that moved my parched spirit…
“For I (fully) satisfy the weary soul, and I replenish every languishing and sorrowful person.” Jeremiah 31:25
I needed to hear this last night. I savored the definitions of satisfy (saturated, take one’s fill, slake thirst, satiated). And I meditated over the meanings of replenish (to fill, be full, be full of). And before I knew it, one verse pointed to another, and to another, leading me straight to the truth of my situation.
I was empty because I chose to be. I expended myself, neglecting to pause and fill on the most necessary thing. And it’s cyclical. Summer, always pressing, is followed by the first days of school and followed by birthdays. Excess busyness. And the extra causes me to make cuts in other areas. Like late nights infringing on my mornings with God. Later and later I stay up, lessening and lessening those precious moments in His word. With Him…
The pattern ends with me hitting a wall because I keep hitting the ground running. I start pouring out before pouring in. I attempt to fill needs from an empty vessel. Empty bowls and empty cups and empty backpacks and empty stomachs and empty closets. Then there are things that need emptying, like full inboxes and full hampers and full dishwashers. Endless emptying and filling, filling and emptying.
And yet, filling on the one thing that can truly fill me is minimized.
By last night, my innermost being echoed the psalmist’s sentiment, “I pour out my soul to God, and I remember how I used to… ” Yes, not so long ago, I used to wake when it was still dark and fill on His word. But for days, I had not. And my soul was left parched. But He reminded me last night. He told me how He fully satisfies dried out beings. And how He replenishes thirsty souls.
And it happened. It’s absolutely true that God poured out His Spirit into my empty one last night. And for today, I am refreshed. Replenished. And my friend’s actions during our seemingly one day late date seemed to underscore everything He revealed. Because without asking, she brought me a full glass of water. She knew what I needed and refreshed me.
But you know, my replenishment had more to do with our time together than it did with the contents of that cobalt vessel.
And one who gives others plenty of water will himself be given plenty. Proverbs 11:25
Last week, before losing my oomph, I wanted to write about Rebekah jars. After reading Genesis 24, I had all these thoughts swirling around about how I should be filled with God’s spirit, but how hard that is when I’m full of myself. Yes, I admit, I have a problem with pride. And yet, I was moved by Rebekah’s actions when asked for a drink…
She quickly lowered her jar and offered its contents. The aha moment being that I’mthe jar. A clay vessel formed by God’s hand, to be filled with good things for the outpouring onto others. However, I must be full to accomplish that. And more, I must be lowered. Humble. The best example I find is in Philippians 2, which tells how Jesus lowered and emptied Himself. And further, how He gave His very life for us. His blood poured out…
But during His time on earth, even Jesus took breaks. Solitary moments alone with His Father. A time for filling to equip Him for His time of emptying.
And as to Rebekah, her lowering prompted me to look into wells during biblical times. Seems young women typically had the daily chore of drawing water from wells. Not only would they gather water for their families into earthen vessels, but the time was also used for socializing. For meeting people. Talking. In my eyes, ancient wells were the equivalent of a modern day watering hole.
And so, what strikes me today as a forty-eight year old woman, is that a young woman’s need for female companionship was tended to while she took care of her family responsibilities. And what was important then is no less important today…
The lesson is that while I take care of my family duties, filling and watering my people, I must also tend to my own needs. And one of those, in addition to time with God, is time with friends. In fact, I’ve discovered this particular need is essential to my well-being.
Because after quality time with a dear friend, I walk away feeling full. Satisfied.
More, I am inspired.
We have this precious treasure in earthen vessels… 2 Corinthians 4:7
I realize I’m fortunate. I work from home, so flexible hours allow me time to schedule a walk or occasional lunch. Like this past Friday, when I met two of my girlfriends. One reached out seeking counsel and thoughts, wanting to pick our brains. Though I didn’t have much to offer verbally that day, I’ve had time to ruminate since.
And the advice I now offer to my dear friend, the who stands at a crossroads…
Do what fills you. Do what’s fulfilling. Don’t add one thing to your calendar that empties and leaves you feeling dry.
Yes, that’s what I’d tell my friend who is facing something really hard. Now I know, some tasks women face are unavoidable. There are unwanted things we have do in life every day. But the reality is there are some things we don’t. In fact, a lot of what we do, we don’t have to. And too much unnecessary doing leads to excessive emptying.
This is what life, and especially the last few days, have taught me. That if I want to add something to my calendar, in addition to my responsibilities, then it must be life-giving. Fulfilling.
It should be something that fills me in a way that’s beneficial to me and to those I’m surrounded by.
Funny thing we talked about Friday was women’s work vs. men’s work. Perhaps that’s why one of the definitions for vessel in 2 Corinthians 4:7 really stands out today: specially, a wife as contributing to the usefulness of the husband.
Well, we all had our thoughts on that issue. And a few differences of opinion as we each lead different lives. Accordingly, our roles and responsibilities on the home front vary. But you know, after this past week of meditating on jars and wells and filling and emptying, I’ve come to the conclusion there’s one task that applies for all of us women.
And no, it’s not ironing or cleaning or cooking. It’s that of collecting water. Living water. That type of women’s work affords the most benefit to our husband. Because no doubt, women are vessels made for filling. And we will be, whether good or bad. And inevitably, what’s inside comes out because that’s what women do… we pour out. We empty ourselves from the moment our feet hit the ground.
That’s why we must be filled…
With things that make us happy. With fun things, like time with friends. Coffee dates and lunches and walks. But also, with things He calls us to do. Because assuredly, an assignment from God is fulfilling.
First and foremost, though, we must spend time in His word. Time with God. Because that’s where the filling starts. The good kind. Yes, this task is essential in order for a woman to accomplish all she must do.
This is what God reminded me of last night. And what He reiterated through my friend this morning. He wants to fill me with good things, but it’s a daily filling. Because I can’t continue pouring from an empty vessel. Thus, I choose to fill up on Him. In doing so, I find the replenishment I need…
And I am satisfyingly full.
“But whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” John 4:14
I learned a new word on Friday. It’s the Greek word “ischyo” and it means to have force, to be able, avail, can do, could, to be strong, to have power, wield power, to be a force, to be serviceable. And there’s more but basically, it’s one of those words a woman wants to “be.” I want to be all of this. I’d like it to be said about me, “Pam is able. Pam has force and is a force. Pam can and could and did. Pam is strong and has power.”
Yep, that would be nice.
Truth be known, I’ve tried to harness this word. I’ve tried to do it all and to be it all. And sometimes, unknowingly, like with the recent job I applied for. It sounded so great. A true opportunity. And because my current job will be completed by the end of the year, I thought the time to move was now.
I didn’t take into account the kids being home for Summer. I didn’t think about all I would NOT be able to do in taking on a second job. Instead, I convinced myself a 2nd job was God’s plan. And so, the day I had the interview, I wore the two bracelets in the photo. “You’ve got this,” I thought. Yes! I can do this…
I’ve got this because God’s got me, chorused through my brain.
Sure enough, I did get it. I got that 2nd job and put all my energy into it. I worked so hard. There, I did. But when I came home, I was pretty much depleted. And because little energy was left over, I couldn’t do. At home, I couldn’t. No force or strength or power to wield there. Thus, I quickly deduced, I cannot do it all. Because I could not be everything to all persons.
In the trying, I immediately felt the strain and pressure. And I cracked. The floodgates opened up one night and I let it all out on my husband. The man I’ve been married to 23 years this coming weekend.
Yes, I broke just like my beaded bracelet. The one I wore to that job interview. Within days, the threads came loose dropping beads all over the place. And had I been more alert, I would have noticed the picture it provided sooner. Prophetic, almost.
“This man began to build and was not able to finish.” Luke 14:30
I like that word I found. Ischyo. It’s what I want to be. Able and capable and strong. And I was disappointed when I didn’t encapsulate the meanings. Sad I couldn’t finish what I started. I felt I let people down because I gave my notice after three weeks. But you know, I’m not the only one who cannot do it all. Interestingly, I found quite a few examples in God’s word where others could notdo, either.
At times, His disciples could not. And there were people who could not answer. One man could not dig and others were not able to bear. The story that really grabbed me, and taught me the most, was about some traveling Jewish exorcists. They saw Paul preaching and performing mighty deeds and so, they attempted to cast out demons in the name of Jesus, whom Paul preached.
I surmise they attempted to do something beyond what they were called to do. The demon said, “I know Jesus and I know Paul, but who are you?” That’s when the possessed man leapt onto the exorcists. He subdued and overpowered them, prevailing against those who attempted to do, leaving the doers naked and wounded and running. If anything good came out of it, it’s that everyone heard and the name of the Lord was magnified…
And the word of the Lord grew greatly and prevailed. At first, evil prevailed against those who attempted too much but in the end, God’s word prevailed.
Prevailed. This is the Greek word “ischyo.” It’s the one I’m so fond of. The one I wish to encapsulate. And this story? I kind of see me in there. I attempted to do something beyond what God called me to do. I worked hard and the result was defeat. I found myself whooped and on the ground.
However, I find myself stirred to write this. To share. Thus, God’s word goes forth. It may be true busyness prevailed against me but in the end, God’s word prevails. And His word doesn’t return void.
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Philippians 4:13
Ischyo. It’s a great word. It means “can do” as we see in the above verse. And what a lesson for me. Yes, I can do all things through Christ, but the question is, did He call me to do it? If not, none of the jewelry I wear touting encouraging quotes means a thing. If God didn’t call me to it, then I don’t got this.
Oh, I may think I’ve got it. Till I don’t. Till I crack under the pressure of too many irons in the fire and unload on those I love best. Till the evidence of my life proves I most certainly don’t got this. That’s when I know some things are just not mine to do. Not now.
But some things are. Like the belief He calls me to. If I can believe, all things are possible. So says His word. And He calls me to put on the whole armor of God, so I may be able to stand and able to withstand. He calls me to pick up the shield of faith so I will be able to quench fiery darts. He calls me to receive with meekness the engrafted word, which is able to save my soul. Yes, the word of grace, is able to build me up. And He calls me to prayer, which avails much.
Avail. There’s that word again. Ischyo. It means to have force, to be able, avail, can do, could, to be strong. All the things I’d like to be. But now, I know. Not by my might, but by His. For God is able and He is strong (Eph 3:20). And no man is able to pluck me from His hand. Yes, my God is able and He did.
God already did it it all.
I saw a commercial I despise over the weekend. I probably shouldn’t but I feel it’s part of the problem women face in society. This particular woman can do everything. She makes sourdough bread, from start to finish. She prints t-shirts, paints her house and changes out car parts. She does it all. She is the picture of the can-do woman and she is who we aspire to be.
What I noticed, though, is there are no children in the home. Maybe because she’s older. But also, there isn’t a man. And she doesn’t seem to need one. As I said, she can do it all, and does so well.
I can’t stand this commercial because it’s not true to life. At least not to mine. Because experience teaches that though we might be able to do it all, we can’t do it all at once. Not very well. And when (not if) we try, some things are left undone. Because God does not call us to do everything. That’s why I love the amplified version of Philippians 4:13:
I can do all things [which He has called me to do] through Him who strengthens and empowers me [to fulfill His purpose—I am self-sufficient in Christ’s sufficiency; I am ready for anything and equal to anything through Him who infuses me with inner strength and confident peace.]
I can do all things God calls me to through Christ. That’s when I’ve got it because He’s got me…
In May and early June, I thought I did. Till I didn’t. I didn’t consider the cost of all my “can doing”. And in the end, I became a product of my own productivity. My life produced a stressful, brittle woman who snapped. And within weeks, I realized the best thing I could do (for myself and my loved ones) was to become a little less productive. To be still and to let God produce in me what He wanted to.
I am convinced and confident that He who began a good work in you will (continue to) perfect and complete it until the day of Christ Jesus… Philippians 1:6
The parable of the builder has meant more to me than ever these past months. One, because of my recent experience. I didn’t consider the cost of what I was building. I didn’t calculate properly and was unable to finish what I’d begun. But two, I think I was building the wrong thing. It’s quite possible I was living under the shadow of words spoken over me when I was so young…
A little boy said, “Nah, you can’t do it. She can, but you can’t.” I’ve never forgotten how that made me feel. So incapable. So weak and ineffective. Thus, from 19 years on, I’ve been trying to prove to the world that I can. I can, too. And I can do it all at once. That’s when I overextend, though, because my budget’s not big enough for what I’m trying to build. And it never will be.
No, I’m not rich enough to construct myself into the form the world admires. But see, I don’t have to. More, God’s doesn’t call me to. Because He already built me the way He wanted. More, He had to consider the cost. And this is the main reason the parable of the builder has come to mean so much.
See, God considered the cost in making me and determined I was worth the price. And it was oh, so costly, for it cost Him His Son. That’s the price God paid to finish me. That’s what He paid for me and it’s why I don’t have to do it all.
Thus, if I ever find my do-it-all, can-do behavior has anything to do with the building or finishing of me, it’s an empty work. One I’m not called to do. A work I cannot do. Because I’ve already been finished by God.
For in Christ, I am complete.
For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. Ephesians 2:10
Something happened this morning. I was doing my last-minute inspection before rushing out to the car when I heard a loud thump outside the door. And though there was no scream or shriek, I knew without looking. I knew it was my little girl. Annabelle. See, the deck is slick from frost and I didn’t think to warn her as she went out…
I took a quick glance at the stove once more – off, off, off, off, off – just to be sure the house wouldn’t be set to fire by gas burners while I was away. Then I went out to see.
Though she was down on those wooden steps, she wasn’t crying out, which somehow made it worse… she just silently writhed while grabbing hold of her back. It broke my heart. When I got to her, a quiet moan escaped, and her face revealed pain. Yet, she held back. Since she held her tears in, I gathered her into my arms and cried for her. And I held tight as long as I could. Alas, it was 7:03 a.m. Time for carpool and I had two boys to get to our designated spot.
On the way to drop off, I kept glancing in the mirror to check on Annabelle. While she was silent as a mouse, I had to choke back sobs. And I wondered why the emotion. Because my crying seemed disproportionate to what actually occurred.
Thus, I deduced my tears had as much to do with my own tumble as with Annabelle’s. And because of His mercy and grace, I think God gave me a glimpse into His own heart, and how He felt when I went down…
As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you, and you will be comforted in Jerusalem… when you see this, your heart will rejoice and your bones will flourish like new grass. Isaiah 66:13-14
Some years back, I sensed God calling me out of everything. Most specifically, the light. He wanted me to come out of view of the watching world and yet, I resisted. I wanted to stay right where I was in the midst of it all. Incredibly visible.
But see, God knew what was coming my way. Like Humpty Dumpty, He knew I was headed for a great, fall. A spiritual and emotional one. In my mind, God was calling me out of view because I was being chastened. Punished, if you will. But this past year, I came to comprehend the truth of it all. It had more to do with God’s surpassing love for me…
He was trying to protect me so people wouldn’t witness my downfall. See, it may be true a fall can hurt physically. But if someone sees you take a nosedive, the inside pain can be almost as unbearable.
I think that’s what happened with my little girl. Oh, so sensitive she is. And that’s why I cried this morning. Because I knew her humiliation. She fell hard and someone else saw it happen.
How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were unwilling. Matthew 23:37
I could hardly wait to be alone with Annabelle. I wanted to talk to her about what happened. She confirmed she was embarrassed but smiled so big at me. I think she was happy I understood. And as soon as we got to her school, I pulled her onto my lap and held on. I told her over and over, “I love you so much.”
And oh, I do. More than I could ever imagine. So much so, it hurts. That’s what loving someone can do. It opens you up to pain.
I knew Annabelle was okay by the time I left her at the school door, though, because she was already discussing recess activities and how she might not be able to play tag… if others touched her where she bruised, it could hurt again.
I told my precious daughter it was a good idea to sit out. Because I saw the bruise. I know how bad it hurt. And I have to say, as I left her at the door, that purple stain from her back was emblazoned on my own heart. And when I got home, I cried as if I’d taken a beating myself.
Surely He has borne our griefs And carried our sorrows; Yet we esteemed Him stricken,
Smitten by God, and afflicted. But He was woundedfor our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, And by His stripes we are healed. Isaiah 53:4-5
Something happened this morning. However, it goes deeper than my little girl falling on the steps. It has to do with the pain I felt inside my own heart. I cried till I was hoarse. And as I quieted, I had to ask God, why? Why was I so affected by it all…
Then a verse came to me. It has to do with Jesus and the beating He took for us all. That’s when God revealed truth. See, every bruise I ever received by this cold, world (both inside and out) was emblazoned upon the body of God’s own Son just before He was raised up on a wooden cross. He took all my pain. Jesus felt it.
More, God felt every bit of it, too.
And in contemplation of what took place at Calvary, I have to believe God cried. Because that’s what I did. How could He not for His Child was in pain?
And no doubt, the beating Jesus endured caused both kinds of pain, inside and out. Oh, how the rejection must have scored His heart just as deeply as the cords cut His skin. And because I’m a mother, made in the image of God, that’s how I know God cried, too.
Oh, how He must have wept. Maybe even till He was hoarse.
You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56:8
I tell you, being a mom is so hard. It opens you to so much pain. Because who wants to see their child suffer?
And this morning, I realize just how God feels when I hurt. Oh, how it must have grieved Him to see me cry all those times. Oh, how He wanted to gather me under His wings to protect me, just like a mother Hen. And oh, how He wanted to draw me onto His lap for comfort.
He feels just as I do when I see my own children hurt.
God loves me so very much, He takes note of every tear I shed. And when He wipes away those salty drops, He places them in a bottle.
As for me, I can’t collect the tears of my children. No, Levi’s and Annabelle’s salty drops evaporate. But I sure do feel them. And I sure can love them through the pain. Because that’s what God created me to do… I am a mother.
Made in the image of Him who loves me.
In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. Genesis 1:27
This morning, I read all about God as the Potter and the Maker. And I thought about how Jesus called His first disciples, “Follow Me and I will make you…”
New Testament readings jumped from Mark 3:13-14 to John 15:12-19 to Matthew 17:4-5. I was all over the place but there was a consistent theme… the making.
The making goes back to the Old Testament and the tower of Babel. “Let us make bricks and let us make a tower to reach the heavens. Let us make a name for ourselves.” It’s a picture of people making themselves.
In the very next chapter, though, God appears to Abraham and tells him, “I will make you a great nation. I will make your name great…”
I’d say this is the human condition. Deep down, we want to make something of ourselves. But God wants to make us something else altogether.
I see that in the story of Jesus calling those He wanted. At first, He simply wanted them to be with Him. He called, appointed, and ordained and interestingly, the word appointed (Mar 3:13-14) means to make. When Jesus calls, He wants to make us. The key, though, is we have to sit with Him first. We simply need to spend time with Him.
This has been my constant struggle. From the time I left home at nineteen, I wanted to make something of me. Something big and grand. Mostly, I just wanted to be more than who I was. So I set out to make me the way I thought I should be. But the more I tried making me, the busier I became.
In fact, I was busy about the making right before Corona hit. Friday the 13th halted all my plans but today, I’m thankful for the pause. Because today I saw something beautiful in the story about the Potter (Jeremiah 18).
Verse three says, “Behold, he wrought a work on the wheels.” Turns out, the vessel was spoiled by the potter’s hand so he made it over, reworking it and making it into another pot. A pot that seemed good to him. God said, “Look carefully, as the clay is in the potter’s hand, so are you in My hand.”
Wow. Just what I need to hear. See, I keep trying to make myself into something that seems good to me. I repeat, good to me. But sometimes, my ideas of good don’t mesh with God’s. I’m spoiled in His hand.
But if I let Him, He can rework me into something really good. I have to let go of my plans, though. I have to let go of everything that keeps me busily jumping out of His hand. Seems I’ve had trouble staying there through the course of my life…
Up till recent days, really.
Corona Virus kind of forced the issue though. It forced my hand to cease from working (and making) and caused me to settle into His working Hand. The Potter’s hand. And there, I find He can make me into what He wants.
Jeremiah 18 mentions the potter’s wheel. It’s exactly what you think but here’s the surprise…
The word also means bearing stool, midwife’s stool. The wheel, God’s hand, is the seat where something new is birthed. He doesn’t just want to make us into something, He wants to birth something inside us. He wants to make us new.
That’s what caused me to pause in wonder this morning.
It’s something I wanted to share with my people amidst all this craziness and all that we see happening in the world. Yesterday, I felt a little desperate. And down. Despair that it seems we can’t move forward.
However, today I can’t help but think I am exactly where I’m supposed to be. Directly in the center of the Potter’s wheel, letting Him make me. And for that, I’m so grateful.
Because though it seems like I can’t get anything done, I know God is doing just what needs to be. He’s working and He’s making. And in that, I find peace.
Oh, my dear children! I feel as if I’m going through labor pains for you again, and they will continue until Christ is fully developed in your lives. Gal 4:19
I have a friend I don’t see very often. And though I’m a bit older than her, we used to play when we were young. See, our parents were friends way back.
I have great memories of running around her property, riding in the tractor bucket, jumping in their pond, swinging the swings into the high heaven, and singing songs with her and her sister late into the night (Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko-Ko-Bop, Shimmy, Shimmy, Bop)…
Anyway, life hasn’t turned out so smooth for her. And she posted the most beautiful poem today (copied from a friend). After reading it, I was inspired to write her the longest Facebook message ever. But just as I finished typing it up, my computer went black. Some sort of error shut me down.
When I rebooted, I hoped the message would still be there. That I could send it. When I saw it wasn’t, in frustration, I gave up. I wondered if the computer glitching was a sign to not send anything.
Then, I looked to God and said, you’ll have to send me a sign today if I’m supposed to send that message.
About six hours later, I received the above feather. A totally unexpected gift from my cousin. Well, to me, this is God’s sign. Reach out to my friend and tell her what I’d been thinking…
I’m six days into this devotion. Because of that, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be a strong woman…
I’ve told my friend more than once that she’s the strongest woman I know. And if you know who I’m talking about, you know why. See, she takes care of her kids. They need her. More so than other kids need their mama’s.
I ended up printing that poem she shared for my journal. I have her name on it, with a note, “Wonder Woman?” See, I’ve asked her before if she’d be willing to share her story with some women…
How God’s helped her through life.
Today, I wondered again if she’d be willing to. One day. God willing. Maybe via video… because her life is just too up and down to commit to anything outside the home. It was the following from the poem that made me think it again:
“A little one fighting for their life – And you, strong beside them in perfect stride.” Again, “More strength than you had ever known. A faith in God and Him alone.” Again, “You’ll fight and give up and fight some more. You won’t be stopped by seemingly closed doors.” And finally, “Your motherhood was not the way you planned. But today you love more – and stronger you stand.”
This describes my friend perfectly. And what stands out the most is that part about faith in God. Him alone. See, my friend has a faith in God that runs deeper than most and she’s very vocal about it. No matter how rough things get, she continues to praise Him. To thank Him. Never losing hope…
And because of a conversation we had recently (via messenger), I think I understand why…
He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. Psalm 91:4
My friend had posted a picture of a feather. I had to ask why because feathers recently took on new meaning to me. I just love the image of God covering us with His and even wrote about it a few months back. Lo and behold, after finishing the piece on feathers, I caught one in mid-air. Out of the blue.
It felt like a miracle.
One month later, I received another feather. This one was deep, down in my purse. I found it the day the state shut down. My second feather coincided with the shelter in place.
Well, after my friend posted the picture of feathers, I learned she loves Psalm 91:4, too. More, I discovered she also receives feathers. Hers being way more dramatic and way more amazing than my finds but that’s not my story to tell…
The point being, because we bonded over feathers, I believe God nudges me to send that message I started earlier. That golden feather inspires me, too.
What I find amazing, though, is that my message would have been incomplete had it gone out earlier. Because I hadn’t read what I did tonight…
And I can’t help but wonder if the timely shut down of my computer was so I’d have the following to pass on first.
As I said, I’m reading a book called STRONG. Because of that, I’ve really dug into the definitions of strong and weak and meek. The above find provided me with a picture of the younger me. Man, was I meek. But also, I was weak and I hated that about me. Oh, I despised my timid and mousy demeanor.
Not surprisingly, my friends were always the opposite. Bold and secure and strong and confident and all that went with the package. And because I admired them, I made this my aim. I wanted to emulate the strong woman, not the weak.
Because strong women are admirable.
But see, God’s taken me to task over this the past few years. It’s been quite a process. Basically, though, I now comprehend I was trying to be strong according to the world’s standards. More, I was trying to be strong and confident and the whole package through my own power.
But what I want to share here, is that I believe my friend emulates not just the world’s model of a strong woman, but also God’s. I think she is strong because God is within her. I think He equips her and empowers her and I think that’s true because Psalm 91:4 is her verse. “He will cover you with his feathers.”
But I think the key to her strength is found in the first verses of the Psalm…
Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.” Psalm 91:1-2
There’s a lot to do with dwelling and resting and abiding in here. And I think my friend does this. She stays with God. She remains with him. She has to. But because she does, she can state the following and really mean it:
“My God, in whom I trust.”
Honestly, before this past year, I couldn’t say that in all sincerity. I still placed my trust in too many other things. And when those things gave way, there went my confidence. When everything I hoped in was shaken, I was left shaking. Insecurity abounded.
Here’s my big revelation of the evening, though. I find it in the definition for trust. Among other things, it means: confidence, secure, confident, bold, sure, to have confidence, to be bold, to be secure, to feel safe.
Wow. This is my definition of a strong woman. It’s everything I ever wanted to be. But I realize if I want to be this kind of woman, I have to dwell in the shadow of His wings. If I want to be bold, I have to remain with God. If I want to be confident, I have to stay with Him.
And I have to tell you, this really kind of rocked my world tonight. Because it feels just like God handed me the blueprint for becoming a strong woman…
Nestled right here in the verses I’ve been meditating on for months and months. Tonight He showed me exactly what a woman who trusts God looks like. She looks just like a strong woman. And she looks just like my friend…
Because when a woman has that kind of faith, it shows. The world can’t help but notice her sureness. An inner strength.
This describes my feather buddy. Because no matter how hard life can be, no matter how difficult, and no matter how crushing, she always displays strength. But I now know, her strength stems from trusting God.
The end result is the strong woman she is.
I want her to know that I’m not the only one who sees her strength. One born not only of struggle, but also, born of God. That’s what I want her to know…
Strength. It’s her feather.
I realize I could have sent a private letter. Or a whopping personal message. Instead, I opted to post this blog. There’s a reason for that…
See, when my feather buddy and I talked about feathers, she told me it was time to receive another. Well, I’m putting this out there because I’m hopeful it will feel just like she found one…
Because that golden feather given to me out of the blue today? I can’t help but think it was right on time. A nudge from God for me to tell her just what I just did. Thus, I have no doubt in my mind…