I found this picture of Stevie Nicks on Facebook yesterday. I dragged it onto my desktop because I liked it. I didn’t know the purpose of keeping it, only, I didn’t want to forget. It seemed monumental somehow. And sure enough by today, it was. Because backlit by Scripture, these words take on new meaning…
And here, at the tail end of my forties, the lines become personalized. Internalized. Just now, as the big 5-0 looms large. Yes, in a handful of days, I’ll be fifty.
Anyhow, the haunting lyrics move me in a way they never did in my twenties and thirties. Not even a few months back when I sang along…
Maybe because Sunday’s a milestone day, I find myself reflecting on the past. Memories of the little girl I was assault me. Some humorous, some endearing, and some not so good. In fact, just yesterday a thought popped into my head as I traveled down old familiar pavement, “This is the road where I began to feel so bad about me.”
And I did. From the time I went forth from the security of my home, I began to see others as better. Greater. That’s because God made me quiet and reserved. And while biding my time in shadows and corners, I deemed myself less. Hiding and blending, those who walked in the light shone. They led and I became the sidekick. Second chair. And without the aid of liquid courage, I couldn’t open my mouth in social settings. Not one word to share.
Anyway, it was a young age when I began setting friends on pedestals they never asked to be placed upon. But the one I put there was always the same. Funny and outgoing. Such personality. Beautiful and bold. And always, she could talk. Oh my goodness, did my friends have something to say. But mostly, I did not. I swear it was one of my greatest weaknesses, the inability to communicate. And it was always “her” greatest strength.
Oh, there was envy and jealousy behind my love. And I hid this ugliness deep in my heart. Never shared how I wished I was just like them. And so, when I left home at nineteen, I tried. And with Stevie Nicks’ voice reverberating in my ear, I see how I built my life around them. Because I attempted to mold myself to their form. Thirty years of adjusting me to them.
But it’s just as Stevie croons…
Time makes you bolder and children get older. And I’m getting older, too. Oh, this moves me as I near fifty. Just a handful of days more. The change I’ve feared, though? It’s becoming me again. This is what I’ve resisted most of my adult life.
“When a strong man keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace.” Luke 11:21
It was Spring and I was seventeen. That’s when I began to not just dislike me, but hate me. I went through a darkness that lasted months. It was so noticeable, a teacher, Mrs. Herman, pulled me aside as she pointed to my photo in the yearbook. “Pam, you see this girl here? She’s gone. Is she ever coming back?”
I looked at my face smiling up at the camera, and shrugged. I didn’t have an answer. But she was right because the girl I’d been had disappeared. She just faded away. It was this particular memory that brought the above verse fully into focus today. And though I never would have described myself as strong, I certainly had some strengths. We all do. Gifts or talents or characteristics particular to us…
But see, my flawed perception viewed another’s “goods” or substance as better. More. Thus, I did a poor job of “keeping,” or guarding, my own. I tell you, I was surprised when I learned palace means himself, herself, own self. And this becomes God’s revelation of the week because I see it’s deeper than me just not wanting to be me when I was young. Now I know I didn’t keep me. In searching for something greater, I let me go. It was my choice.
After thirty years, I look back with such clarity. And God’s word is what brings everything into focus. Because this one verse is just the tip of the iceberg. Through quiet times and hours alone with Him, He took me deeper and deeper into His book. And the turning of those pages brought me closer and closer to the heart of me. Who He created me to be. Indeed, He brought me back to myself.
And here’s the most miraculous thing…
See, that landmark birthday looms. The big 5-0. And it feels just like He’s giving me myself as His gift. The miracle (at least in my eyes) is that the God of all creation kept me all the years I didn’t. And how incredible that He’s been giving parts of me back. For a few years now…
Piece by piece, until I find I am whole once more. Complete restoration.
Yes, my palace is restored, for He kept me. And as my forties come to a close, I find peace and my goods intact.
He did this for me.
I have to come back to Stevie. Oh, I’m sure her lyrics mean something else altogether, but this is how they move me today. It culminates here…
See, I spent thirty years building. A self-made woman, building my life around those I esteemed. My aim was to be just like them. Very vocal and very visible. Because in my eyes, this is what made someone truly great. In fact, loud is one of the definitions of great in the passage below. But I’m not. Not showy. By nature, quiet. And so, I’ve struggled my whole life.
Reconciling what’s great and what’s not. Trying to be great, but not me.
And to be clear and fair, many women are built this way. Bold and loud and visible. They’re usually who I gravitate toward. My opposite. Oh, so fun. But now that I’m nearly grown, I can see our differences are good, not something to strive for. Yes, I can see that now. And different doesn’t mean better. Both forms good because God designs each.
Thus, I’m finding acceptance on the backside of forty, settling into myself as I never did at seventeen.
And it’s a good way to be.
… whoever wishes to be great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave. Just as the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give His life as a ransom for many. Matthew 20:26-28.
Oh, I’ve been slow to grasp truth…
But God never gave up. And His word is like a hammer (Jeremiah 23:29). It’s alive and active and pierces like nothing else (Hebrews 4:12). And Jesus? Well, He’s a wrecking ball. Backlit by Stevie’s lyrics, the above passage discloses this truth today.
I discovered ransom comes from a word meaning to loose what is compacted or built together. To break up, demolish. This floors me. More, I comprehend this happened. Because Jesus wrecked me. He’s demolished what I tried to build around others and provided me a true building plan.
Yes, in His upside down way, Jesus reveals true greatness is not what any of us think, anyway.
And this comforts me like nothing else.
I’m sure this all sounds silly. A forty-nine year old woman musing on such. Especially in light of the state of the world and the true problems out there. But see, my birthday is right around the corner. It’s a big one. Perhaps that’s why all these memories assail me.
I’m pleased, though, for I find a boldness I never knew in my twenties and thirties. And as my forties take a bow, I find I have the courage to change. Only, I turn back to the form that fit me best all along…
It’s where I find true joy. In the quiet and reservedness. And here in the shadows, I’ve begun tending to vacant and dormant places. The inner chambers of my palace and everything I house inside. Because after thirty years, He finally broke my bent. In repenting. I turn back to the girl I was meant to be. And who I used to be. Before I left me behind.
Thus, it’s true. God gave me back myself. And how fitting since a landmark birthday nears.
Or should I say a landslide one…
In closing, I ask a favor. Please, if anyone knows Mrs. Herman, my math teacher from eleventh grade, I hope you’d tell her something for me. Because she wanted to know if I was ever coming back. Please tell her quite miraculously, I have.
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 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
At my first defense, no one stood by me, but everyone deserted me. 2 Timothy 4:16
Sheltering in place has allowed for a whole lot of extra around the house. Yes, I’d say the percent of increase has gone through the roof in certain areas. But also, so has the percent of decrease. And I can only attribute the ups and the downs to something I call the COVID-19 factor…
Which in its simplist form, is staying at home.
No doubt, the COVID-19 factor is directly related to all the recent additions and subtractions to my life. As to exact percentages, I can’t say for certain but I can assuredly name the changes…
First, there’s stress, the rate of increase directly proportional to the increased time my children spend in the house. And I know how this can sound… selfish. Ungrateful. But for today, it’s truth. My stress level has gone through the roof and it has to do with the increased level of noise coming from their direction.
If Annabelle shrieks one more time, “I’m serious, stop, stop, stop, I can’t breathe,” I may lose it. And frankly, I’m proud of myself for not having done so already. Which brings to mind another through the roof increase…
The loudness of my voice. Oh, I’ve shrieked myself once or twice but overall, I feel a real sense of accomplishment. See, I’m keeping it level more than I used to. Even when it appears my daughter can’t breathe again because of the kids’ newest game, “Scarers.”
Other shenanigans having the propensity to send my voice into the back reaches of my neighbor’s yard, and into the outer atmosphere, are “Pushers,” “Shovers,” and “King,” all of which involve physicality and knocking each other about.
If my calculations are accurate, the extra noise from the extra time my kids are in the house attributes to at least 32% of the increase in my stress (and my loudness).
The COVID-19 factor (staying at home) means extra. More food consumption, more laundry, more needs only I can address, and more talking. Sometimes both kids talk at the same time, one right over top of the other, which decreases my ability to hear.
And there are other decreases like personal time and space. Yes, Annabelle’s supplies replaced the easel I recently topped the yellow table with in my office and Levi’s work moved my writing binders right off my desk and onto the book shelf.
And though it sounds like I’m complaining (yes, I think I am), I can’t help but contemplate the whole lot of good that’s accompanied this COVID-19 factor. Other increases and decreases…
Coffee dates and occasional lunches are 100% decreased. And though the initial workload for my at-home job skyrocketed, the steady subsequent decline, coupled with additional time at home, has allowed for noticeable progress on the house.
My work productivity has increased exponentially. I washed my car inside and out, cleaned two years of grime off of my windows, and dusted six years of dirt out of those hard to reach areas. And I finally planted a flower garden. I’ve never done that before.
I put an entire downstairs together after our basement finishing project and now, everything in my home has a place. There are no spare heaps or piles. All items are where they need to be, and my home is in order for the first time since we moved in nine years ago.
And the truth is, had we not been forced to sit still, I don’t know how long it would have taken me to accomplish all that I have. I attribute every bit of the increased work productivity to staying at home.
It was because of the COVID-19 factor.
Yes, the COVID-19 factor (staying at home), has changed everything. There’s been additons and deletions. And with all outside distractions cut off, including people, everything that needed to be tended to on the inside has been tended to. And I’m not just talking about work and house-hold projects.
I’m also talking about my heart. Because although there’s someone here with me all the time, an isolated and lonely feeling appeared anyway. It happened as March closed out and April made her entrance.
Without fail, a sense of rejection and abandonment assails my soul with a regularity I can count on. Spring ushers in this low period and because it coincided with the shut-in, home projects and homeschool, I experienced something new that soothed me more than anything ever had.
Or ever will.
It was the discovery of the COVID-19 equation, which I’ll get to later. And because of it, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. Ever.
At least I hope not.
I tell you, I don’t know who’s learned more through Kindergarten math, me or Annabelle. Because though she’s been learning simple addition and subtraction, the titles of her worksheets have been speaking to my heart. Especially this one here…
Take away stories.
If I were to put a name to my story, perhaps there wouldn’t be a better title. Because if I had to put a name to my wound, the one that never healed, this would be it. Take-away. Because once upone a time when I was young, something was taken away from me. It happened when I was left behind.
More than once, those who should have loved me the most decided to take someone else the the party of the year. Someone else was deemed more fun, and I was left at home, alone, at sixteen and again at seventeen. And though this sounds petty in light of the plight of the land, this is what happened to me. It’s what damaged my heart in an irreversible way and I swear, it damaged me all the way up. Till April.
A mere month ago.
It was the second time that really did it for it was a double whammy. The details aren’t important, but suffice it to say, I felt utterly forsaken. Left behind and left alone because the one I depended on left me hanging. She didn’t stand by me when I needed her to and it broke my heart.
For Annabelle’s math purposes, the take away story is simple. Two take away one is one. But my heart tells another story. It says when one leaves another behind, you have one left… A left over.
That was my incurable wound. Because of it, any little bit of confidence and security I might have possessed was stripped away. This is what Annabelle’s math homework brought to mind when I saw particular words highlighted at the top of the pages.
I’m thankful to God because the past few weeks of homeschooling have allowed me to put a name to my hurt. God helped me dissect it in such a manner that I can name it, define it, and see it for what it really was and is.
And more, He healed my heart through the very wound itself. Honestly, I don’t know if I can find the words to describe just how God used the very thing that hurt me to heal me…
It was the COVID-19 factor. Staying at home. The only reason I found healing is because I stayed home.
But see, for so long it was the place I avoided. I’ll tell you why. If I was home, it meant I was unwanted. Home meant I was left behind because there was someone better to go out with. Being home implied I was not “fun” like those my beloveds chose. Yes, staying at home meant I was not loveable.
Thus, at eighteen, I made being the life of the party my aim. I figured if I could be as fun as the chosen ones, I would be, too. The girl who made everyone laugh and knew how to party was the one who received love.
And so, if I could help it, I went out. At nineteen and as a young twenty-something, I never stayed home. Because as long as I was out, I was “chosen.” And as long as I was out, I didn’t feel the hurt.
Only when I stayed home, did the ache return. And only when I was alone. Or lonely…
I spent a year in Korea when I was in my early twenties. The best part was never being alone. I had a group of ready-made friends through work and my living quarters and oh, how I loved my girlfriends…
And though there were lots of parties (one every night if you wanted), what I loved best was the girl time. Drinking coffee and shopping at the commissary and laying out in the sun on the far reaches of base in the most secluded spot and going to the gym. The list goes on…
I loved being a part of a crew and knowing they loved me and I them. I felt confident and secure as long as we were together. Surrounded by my new friends, I started to feel loveable.
Alas, I found myself pregnant. It was the Spring of 1995. A heartbeat had been added to mine, and yet, I decided no. I didn’t want the child and aborted. Why? Honestly, I didn’t think twice. When asked, I said no to a sonogram. I rushed ahead in my decision and allowed the doctors to take away the little one whose heart beat inside me…
It was a true take away story. Two minus one equals one left alone.
Afterward, a friend told me to go home and lie down. She said I should rest. You know what? I never, ever did. Because there was no way anyone could make me stay home. To me, it was a punishment. Home meant everything it meant at sixteen and seventeen. Unwanted and unloved.
And if I stayed home, alone, while everyone else was out, the ache returned. That lonely rejected feeling I suppressed over and over. So, I kept moving. For years and years and years.
Oh, I made sure to keep myself busy. One, to keep the hurt at bay. And two, I had to be out. Out, out, out. Because only when I was out, could I be loved. Even after I was fully grown, with a family of my own. Those feelings remained…
The COVID-19 factor (being forced to stay at home), has truly allowed for a whole lot of extra. Like understanding. Yeah, I’d say that’s increased 100%. And hindsight. It is the year 2020, and hindsight surely is that. Because I can see now.
I was co-dependent. At five and eleven and sixteen and nineteen and twenty-two and all the years after. I needed a friend to love me to make me feel worthy. And if I didn’t have that person, well, I felt so bad about me.
But after reading the story of Martha and Mary at least 20 times, I saw something this past week for the very first time that moved me to the core. It was how Martha spoke to Jesus and the hurt revealed in her words. She said, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me all alone to serve…”
I’d always focused on the serving part before. But perhaps the reason she was so busy is found right there in the preceding words. She was left alone. It’s the wound I sustained at an early age and carried into my adult life…
Left meaning to abandon, to have remaining, to forsake, leave behind, to be left. Alone meaning remaining, sole or single, mere, without a companion, forsaken, destitute of help, merely.
My wound spelled out through the definitions of these two words. I was forsaken because I was merely. Not enough. I was left alone without a companion because other companions were deemed more worthy. Thus, I was compelled to act a certain way. In my early twenties, I partied hard. In my early thirties, I served hard. And for years afterward. All in hope of receiving the same reward.
And I can’t help but wonder if Martha’s obsessive serving was born out of a wound, like mine, that hadn’t healed. Lord, my sister left me alone…
The Lord has promised that he will not leave us or desert us. Hebrews 13:5
Yeah, God spoke to me through Martha’s take away story. But also, He spoke through another woman who was left alone. She’s the adulterous woman mentioned in John 8…
Some religious men brought her into the center of court to put her on display and to demand an answer of Jesus. “The law says we stone her!” They demanded, “What do you say?” Jesus ignored them and simply stooped down, writing in the dust.
When they persisted, Jesus straightened and said the one without sin could throw the first stone. After He stooped again, they all left…
Until Jesus was left alone with the woman.
She standing before Him in the center of court. And that’s when Jesus stood up again. When He was left alone with her. Or when she was left alone with Him. And I’m not surprised to find the very same meanings for the very same words in this woman’s life. Those that were in Martha’s and in mine…
Three women left behind. Remaining, forsaken, abandoned, and caused to be left over. Alone, sole, single, and mere. And who knows. Perhaps this is why the adulterous woman felt compelled to sleep around.
Maybe she’d been wounded, and left to her own devices, she sought the love and warmth in the circle of another man’s arms. And in the end, after her wound and sin was exposed to the world, that’s exactly what she found…
Because left alone with Jesus, Him standing by her side, she encountered love instead of condemnation. He simply said, “Go, and sin no more.”
Oh, how that speaks to me this day. Because this is exactly what He did with me last month. It was April, the time of my season. But also, it’s an anniversary. The month of what I did at twenty-two. I was so very low. Overwhelmed by that cyclical sense of rejection and loneliness. No doubt, exacerbated by being at the house. For I was home, the place that accuses me of being mere and unwanted.
It was here the voice of my accuser found me, when all other sources of comfort and distraction and dependency were taken away. But this turned out to be my salvation. The very best of take away stories…
Because when the devil reminded me of my past and what I had done, I found I was not by myself this time. Though it seemed I was alone, deserted and forsaken, there was another standing by my side. And He answered for me. I didn’t even have to open my mouth.
But see, it had to happen just this way. When every bit of extra was removed. That way, I’d understand. Healing wasn’t from any outside source of comfort. No other person, no other thing, just Jesus. My healing came only through Him.
And had it not been for the COVID-19 factor, staying at home, I wouldn’t have discovered the beauty of the COVID-19 equation, which is adding one. See, His name is Jesus and He is the +1 we should always add.
Because He is right here with us in the midst of it all. As for me, though, I had to be at home to comprehend it…
I had to be alone.
“Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.” Luke 7:47
For so long, I avoided home because it allowed the hurt place in me to rise. But how like God to heal me here, at home, where I first sustained injury. Not at church or at a friend’s house or on a coffee date or in a counseling session…
It happened at home. Just the two of us.
But you know, He’s been trying to get me to sit still here for years. Hindsight tells me it goes all the way back to 2010 when I first came back home. And when I first began to sense what He was saying, I tell you, it felt like punishment. Like I was being disciplined.
But I had it so wrong. It wasn’t that at all. No, the truth is, God simply wanted to love me. He wanted me to receive what He was offering, lavishing me with His love…
But me? I could only bring myself to accept His mercy. It was January 31, 2014 when I found forgiveness for the abortions of my past (there were two). I had no doubt. Through Jeremiah 31:20, God assured me, “I will surely have mercy on you.”
The word surely and mercy are the same. It’s mercy squared. Mercy + Mercy. Double mercy for my double abortions. Later that day, a bracelet I’d worn while in Korea disappeared from my arm, never to be seen again, proving my past was gone. And later, I heard my daughter’s heartbeat at her first sonogram. Proof of my future…
I was forgiven and I knew it. And yet, somehow, I missed the first part of the definition of the word. In addition to mercy, it means to love, love deeply… to have tender affection. It means to fondle. This is what God wanted to do in my life.
But see, after so many years of being beat down, life teaches women like me (and Martha and the adulterer), that we don’t deserve love. No, we have to work for it. Serve for it. Perform for it.
And that’s why God’s love didn’t touch me. I missed it because I kept striving for it. Proving myself loveable. On the outside. Out, out, out. Never at home.
So God tried. For a whole decade, He tried to still me. Finally, the virus attacking our land forced me into staying home. And while homeschooling my children, I find He’s been homeschooling me. Thus, after sitting at Jesus’ feet and listening to His teaching, I comprehend truth.
I realize I have to sit before I can stand. But more, I know He’ll stand with me when I do. And only through the support of His love can I move forward. This is how I overcome the voice of my accuser (Rev 12:10-11). Through God’s love, and His take away story…
For God so loved, He gave the life of His Son for mine.
And by the blood of the lamb and by the word of my testimony, I have victory.
Yet another take away story, for the power of my past no longer has a hold on me. It no longer remains and I am free.
Yes, the COVID-19 factor sure has caused a lot of extra around here. Extra stress, extra noise, extra projects, but also, there’s a whole lot of extra love. In every capactity. Percent of increase through the roof…
And sure, my kids have pushed my buttons many times. And the schoolwork, if I’m being honest, has caused me angst more than once. But through me teaching them, He teaches me. I’ve learned so very much.
But I’m not the only one who’s understanding has increased. My little girl suprised me a month back when we talked about prayer…
“Where two or more are gathered, there I am with you.” I asked Annabelle how many people were at the table and she said four. I said no, because there was me + Levi + her. Immediately afterward, though, I smiled and told her she was right…
See, she got it. Even before I did. At five years of age, she understood to apply the COVID-19 equation, which is +1.
You always add one for Jesus.
As I said, I learn so much through teaching them. Even in March, God was showing me then. He is with me always. I am never alone…
But the Lord stood with me and gave me strength… 2 Timothy 4:17
Beautiful words stir my heart. I will recite a lovely poem about the king, for my tongue is like the pen of a skillful poet. Psalm 45:1
Every now and then my heart is so filled, I can’t contain what’s inside. Today is one of those times. Because I realize how very blessed I am. And how good God has been to me…
It started this morning. I got a late start. Slept in a bit too late. And I felt miffed because my son rose at 2:30 a.m. and stayed awake till I rose at 6:00. The reason? He drank about a liter of Mountain Dew yesterday evening. And all I could think before school was how tired he’s going to be today.
But he didn’t complain. Happy to go to school. And when we had morning prayer, his words were so sweet and so sincere, I nearly cried.
After dropping Levi at the high school, I took hold of my little girl and breathed in her essence. I squeezed her tight as I lifted her to the ground and grasped her little hand. “Mommy, walk with me today.” And I gladly did, sending her off with a kiss.
Afterward, I needed to grab a couple of items for a ladies’ group meeting in my home. I had nothing to offer which necessitated the long way home, so I could come across a particular store. And as I cruised down the country roads of my youth, my heart soared higher and higher with every curve.
Then I arrived at my destination…
I just love this place. So eclectic. So country. And man, it stirs a longing within me. Both the store and the roads remind me of a calling God placed within me at least six years ago. I seemed to have heard Him whisper, “Sit on the porch.” I even voiced it to my husband, “I think God wants me to sit on the porch.”
I’m sad to say, I didn’t heed His call. Instead, I entered the busiest period of my existence. No doubt, 2013 through 2017 brought me full calendars each month. I heard God again in the Summer of 2017. “Rest,” was the urge. And I tried. But in all honesty, I kept my toe in the pond. I couldn’t come to a complete standstill despite my best efforts.
And here I am today. It seems I’ve heard Him whisper yet again. As I traveled along a country road passing by various houses that prompted the sweetest of memories… Jack’s house, and Kathy’s and Sarah’s. Yes, I visited all those places when I was young. But not now. No more visits because there’s never enough time.
And so I hear God’s words fresh. The message? Be still. Quiet down. Take your time. Smell the roses. Watch the sunsets. Enjoy life. Lavish your family with love. Sit a spell. Go visiting. Practice hospitality.
Oh, my heart stirs this morning as I remember what He told me so long ago. And with gladness, I plan acquiesce to His prompting.
As I said, I love that store. Laurel Mills, for those of you who are wondering. I love everything about it… how the tables on the porch invite you to sit a spell. A shelf offering books for the lover of words. A church pew for meditation. And praising.
And just look at that doorway. Thousands upon thousands must have traveled across the threshold. The wood deeply grooved by feet of all sizes. How it moves me. The passing of feet and the passing of time.
And that’s what really moves me to speak this day. Particularly, how my feet have passed through the days…
The Lord speaks; many, many women spread the good news. Psalm 68:11
This verse first popped out 7 years ago. What a turning point in my life. It was September of 2012. That was the true beginning of my spiritual journey with God, no doubt. Because what a journey He’s taken me on.
However, I digress. That Scripture. Many women spread the good news. But what good news? Well, how about the first part of the verse. The Lord speaks. That right there is plenty good news. Indeed, God speaks.
The first time I heard Him, through His holy word, was nine years ago through the the prophet Jeremiah. “I will bring you back to the place I deported you from.” My heart soared then. I knew God would bring me back to my hometown and these country roads. And He did. God fulfilled His promise.
This is what causes my heart to overflow now, though. One, the beauty of this land I live in. I’ve traveled around and lived in many places. I just have to say, though, there’s not many like this county of mine. My homeland is stunning. The pastures and livestock and cornfields and trees and skyline. I don’t have enough words to capture it.
But the best part? I was raised here. Lived here till I was nineteen years old. Born and raised. And when God brought me back home at thirty-seven, I was a spiritual infant. Nothing more than a baby. I didn’t realize that, though…
And that’s what brings me to my knees in gratitude and praise of my God this day. That He saw fit to bring me back for my second raising. Raised twice in the most beautiful place I can imagine.
I thank Him for that today. That the second time around, He raised me up. A daughter of God. For truly, I am His girl. As precious to Him as my children are to me.
And even more.
Yes, I traveled multiple country roads this morning. And I visited a store that brings longing to my heart. It makes me yearn for a simpler life.
I ache for the days of my youth. How we’d just jump in the car and go to my aunt’s house. No call necessary, you just went. Endless Summer nights of playing in the fields. No agenda and no plans and no busyness. Nothing but time on our hands. Visiting. People. Life’s just not like that anymore.
No, the world clamors for our attention. Do more. No, do more, more, more. But God calls me to do less. Do less, less, less. He urges me to be with Him more. More, more, more. Like when I travel country roads. And oh, He was with me as I drove. And He was with me when I bought the pumpkin nut bread and half and half. Yes, God walked with me over that worn threshold. And He was with me when I brought my stuff out to the car.
That’s when I noticed the Bibles. One on each child’s seat. That’s because Levi will go to youth tonight. And Annabelle? Well, she saw us reading one this morning and decided to take one to school.
So my heart yearns for this. More of this. More of God’s word. Yes to more, more, more. I want more time with God and more time for teaching my children His ways. So they’ll learn to hear Him when He speaks.
For indeed, He does. And that is such good news. The Lord speaks in many places…
Often, for me, it’s as I travel down solitary country roads. When my body is stilled and my mind is free.
So I listen to Him today. And I throw off the world’s expectations of me and place all my expectation on Him. And I expectantly wait for the next word He will speak to me.
September happened. It was a big month in our household. There was Labor Day, Jason’s birthday, me and a friend hosted a ladies’ event called Something Beautiful followed up by a beach trip. This all made for incredibly packed days. Oh, so busy.
Also, I chipped this cup. My hurried state caused me to carelessly unload the dishwasher. It’s the family rules mug. The thing is, when it happened I wondered if perhaps more than a piece of Porcelain was broken. Common earthenware. I wondered if just maybe, the rules themselves had been broken…
Covenant vows, even. Alas, the notion was a a passing flicker and quickly faded.
Yes, September happened. This photo showed up in my Facebook feed along with it. I can’t help but wonder if God wanted me to see it. Because I stared when I saw it. I just looked so different then. My smile reached my eyes. I looked happy. And thin. And I can hardly believe it… I had only one chin.
And I know this may come across as vain, but I think I look pretty then. Beautiful, even? Because youth has a way of making one shine. And six years ago, I was younger. I’d just turned forty.
In reflecting on the me of 2013, I know I was younger, bolder, and confident. I had something to say and wanted to be heard. More, I wanted to be seen. I wanted to insert me into the world because I’d taken up a platform. It had to do with the woman’s role. And it had to do with being on the outside. Way beyond my walls..
Yes, in my smiling eyes, everything important happened out there. Where one could be seen.
Funny thing about being seen. As I planned that ladies’ event, Something Beautiful, I recognized the irony of it. I knew I’d never felt more un-beautiful in my life. And also, I did not want to be seen. Mostly because of my outward appearance.
See, my contours have changed. I’m not as angular as the 40 year-old me. I have wrinkles and bags under my eyes while my waist heaps over my pants. I have bulges where I never did before. Oh, there are lines in unsightly places and veins mar my legs.
So this past Sunday, shamefully, I skipped church. One, September had taken its toll. The busyness left me so tired. And honestly, thinking about what I could pour my body into was too much to bear. So I drank coffee instead.
Later, I motivated myself to stuff my rolls into clothing and rolled into town. There was a baby shower and I had to finish off the gift. That’s when I found a beautiful box of stationary. And I bless God for this gift. Because it serves as a reminder.
See, Ecclesiastes 3:11 was the theme verse for the ladies’ event. Something Beautiful had a lot to do with being beautiful, but from the inside out. Letting your outer match your inner. And this box was God’s gentle way of reminding me of what’s truly important. Goes back to the broken vows I mentioned earlier. And my insides…
Not my heart, though. What’s inside my walls.
Stand by Your Man…
She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life. Proverbs 31:12
September is always a big month. A seasonal time of reflection. More often than not, I find myself melancholy and enter a period of repentance. This is what September means to me.
Thus, I can’t help but reflect on a particular verse. Because in two days time, it’ll be the anniversary of Jason’s proposal to me. It happened October 4th, 1997. Yes, this man of mine got down on one knee and asked me to be his.
And that’s not surprising, really. Because back then, I would have moved heaven and earth for him. I revolved around Jason. I’d follow him to the moon and back and pretty much did. Yes, I bent over backwards to please him. I was a woman who stood by her man. At least I did, then.
But the truth is, I don’t do that anymore. No, somewhere along the line, it became more important to do all the back-bending and flips out there in the public forum. That’s where all the credit is. And to be completely frank, I’ve given more time and energy to those on the outside than to those on the inside. I easily turn down a request from my loved ones but no rarely escapes my lips when someone from out there asks.
Yes, as I slide into the back side of forty, this is where God leads me. He has me seriously consider Proverbs 31:12. Particularly that word good. The bigness of it being it’s the same used in part of the ladies’ event. And it means just what you think… good, pleasant, agreeable, welfare, etc. But also, it can mean beautiful. Two times in Scripture, the word is used to describe a woman’s appearance.
She does him good. She does him beautiful. She is agreeable and pleasant. But in September, I did not emulate this verse. And Jason called me on it.
That’s because no one knows better than Jason how I bent over backward for the ladies’ event. And please don’t mistake me, I’m glad I did. However, I let everything get upended at home. I had so much to uncover from afterward, it left me feeling pressured.
Thus, I cracked when Jason requested something extra of me. Oh, I didn’t say no but I let him know how inconvenienced I was. Not in words, mind you. Just my demeanor. Coldness. Silence.
Not at all like the woman I was way back when. And most assuredly, I was not beautiful inside or out at that moment. Sadly, my actions nearly nullified everything about the event… Something Beautiful. Almost.
And so, as I close in on my forty-seventh year, I comprehend what God wants…
He wants me to bend over backwards at home. Like I did when I first met Jason. He wants me to stand by him and support him. He wants me to treat those I love the most like the ones I treat on the outside.
The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down. Proverbs 14:1
Look at us. I knew I’d see my friend this past Sunday and I wanted another photo of us side by side. Because we were beautiful in our younger days. But God, He tells me we’re even more beautiful now. In a hundred ways….
And though I can’t speak for Carolyn and what she’s learned through the years, I can speak about her heart. Because in the words of Willie and Waylon, she’s a good hearted woman. Life’s thrown her curve balls and stumbling points but those seasons have created a softness inside. She always sees the best in people. She sees the best in me.
And when I think of our outer shells, I can’t help but wonder if our not-so-firm skin and less-than-angular contours mimic the softness inside. Our hearts being more tender than they were…
Because I think I am. Six years have made me older and wiser. And softer. Because I’m more pliable. And when I make a mistake, I realize it and own it quicker than I once did. Like the day Jason asked me to do something and I resisted. I apologized for my actions within an hour. The old me would have held to my rights and plans for days allowing the coldness to shroud our home. Plucking down my walls with my own hands.
But the new me? The older me?
Basically, I’ve come to comprehend I was nothing more than a self-made woman back then. I put all my effort into making me into what I wanted to be. Something more. And there’s nothing wrong with striving and goals.
However, all my goals had to do with what I considered the big things. Important things. All being outside my walls. Oh, I struggled with my maker for years and years, asking Him “why have you made me thus?” (Romans 9:20) I resisted His purpose for me, which is mainly domestic. At least for now. Because ultimately, that’s what He built me to do…
Yes, sometime in the past year, I submitted to God’s design. Instead of being a self-made woman, I became a God-made woman. And there’s relief in that.
“It is not good for man to be alone. I will make him a helper (one who balances him – a counterpart who is) suitable and complementary for him.” Genesis 2:20
I love how Scripture fits together. Take Proverbs 14:1 for instance. The wise woman builds her house. The word build is also used in Genesis when God made woman. He built a woman for the purpose of helping the man. Yes, God built me to help my husband.
Help meaning to aid or succour (assistance in times of hardship or distress). It comes from another word meaning to surround and this speaks to my heart today. Surround him…
A woman will encompass (tenderly love) a man. Jeremiah 31:22
Because once upon a time, I surrounded Jason. My life revolved around his. I’d have done anything for him and I did. But then we got married. And that’s when I began to struggle. Jason’s time against mine. His plans against mine. All my plans being those that made me into what I wanted to be. A self-made woman all the way…
All leading to something outside my walls.
Ultimately, my plans conflicted with God’s. Thus, years and years of struggle with my Maker. But finally, this year came about. I raised my white flag in surrender and submitted to His will and to what He makes me…
Which is a wife and mother. These first. Above all else.
This is what God made me to be. It’s what He created me to do. He wants me to back-bend and roll over and surround those He’s entrusted to me. Joyfully and with all my heart.
There’s a country song that’s been rolling around in my head. Read some of the lyrics…
Older women, are beautiful lovers Older women, they understand I’ve been around some, and I have discovered That older women know just how to please a man.
Everybody seems to love those younger women From eighteen on up to twenty-five Well I love ’em too, but I’m tellin’ you Learnin’ how to really love, takes a little time.
So baby don’t you worry about growin’ older Those young girls ain’t got nothin’ on you ‘Cause it takes some livin’, to get good at givin’ And givin’ love is just where you could teach them a thing or two.
Call me weird, but I see Scripture in that song. It’s a bit like portions of the Titus 2 woman…
Older women… teach what is good and right… encourage young women to tenderly love their husbands and children.
A few years ago, I thought this verse was odd. Why would older women have to teach the younger to love their husbands and children? Well, now I know. And I believe the me of 2019 can speak wisdom into the me of 2013.
Because back then, I did not love my family as good as I could. I couldn’t because I gave too much of me to the outside leaving leftovers for those inside my walls. And that’s what much of Titus 2 touches on…
The younger woman is encouraged to be a maker of a home. It comes from a word meaning house/build. The maker of a home is domestically inclined and works at home. This is how a wise woman can build her house and love her family. It doesn’t mean she can’t go out or work outside the home. But I think it means a woman makes home a priority.
For years, I did not. What a hard truth to learn. And how many years it’s taken me to realize it.
But since I do now, I feel like my life somewhat resembles that country song. It’s taken some livin’ to get good at givn’ love. And I’m really getting there. And this is where I could teach them younger women a thing or two…
So what are my words of wisdom? You give the best of you to those inside your walls. Love them first. Then, after you love them good and well, go beyond your walls and love the others.
That’s what I’d say to younger women. And in truth, this is what makes us women truly beautiful inside and out. When we’re just as lovely inside our homes as we are on the outside. At least, this is what God has been teaching me these past few years.
I have to wonder. Is it too late? My broken rules and vows? Is it too late to do my husband good all the days of my life?
Though I cannot go back and change what’s been, I can surely change what’s to come. And I can surely do him good all the rest of the days of my life. I can. And the past few days give me hope it’s all true.
First, take a look at my little girl. This was Sunday (the day I skipped church because I felt so hideous). Well, she had on a t-shirt and shorts. After she saw me, she went back to her room and came out with the white blouse on top. She imitated me and truly, imitation is the greatest form of flattery. How precious that she wanted to look as I did.
Afterward, my son told me I look nice (he never does that). And then I found two sets of stationary with the messages “He has made everything beautiful in its time,” and “Beautiful inside and out.”
I praise God for that. I do. Because despite my mess-ups (namely the one immediately following that ladies’ event with my hubby), He assures me a hundred ways I’m beautiful.
The best way, though, was through the lips of Annabelle. When I told her she was beautiful the other night, she quipped, “I know.” When I asked how, she said it’s because I love her. But she also said, “Because God made me.”
And ultimately, this is how I know I am beautiful. For I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14). God-made. Built to love my children. Built to love my man.
You know, I’ve come to this conclusion again and again. This isn’t the first time I’ve written about all things domestic. And experience teaches me the last thing my husband wants is another blah, blah, blog. Words not backed by action.
So this time, as a belated birthday and early anniversary gift (of sorts), I plan to give Jason my life as a country song…
In deed, I hope to be a good-hearted woman standing by my man all the rest of my days as an older woman. Because as the song goes, we make beautiful lovers. This is my vow to my husband. Till death do us part.