Devotional – Page 3 – painter's daughter (a work in progress)

What is good?

August 28, 2015August 28, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

“You speak as a foolish woman speaks,” he told her. “Should we accept only good from God and not adversity?” Job 2:10

What is good? The question plagues me today as I watch my daughter painstakingly pick crumbs from the floor. Despite my setting an array of delicacies before her, bits of fried egg and small squares of buttered toast, she swipes it all away. No, it’s the floor she wants. And as she crawls along, she searches out bits and pieces. For she seems to favor the scraps and crumbs she discovers underneath the table. Or behind the chair leg. And silently I pray… Oh, dear God, may it really be teeny tiny bits of food she gums and not something else.

And so, I muse over her eating habits. How she seems to prefer trash from the floor to the good things I place before her. And it becomes clear. What I think is good and what she thinks is good are two different things. Mind-boggling to say the least.

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever. Psalm 107:1

I’ve given a lot of thought to this. What is good? And after contemplating my baby girl’s eating habits, the answer I come up with is full. To be full is good. Because at life’s basest, isn’t that what we hunger for? Fullness. We want and need to be filled with something. And so it’s that something we seek. It becomes our focus. Our aim. When I have ____, I will be full. I will be happy. Life will be good. And if we don’t have the thing we crave, we deem life is not so good.

At least this is the way I’ve operated most of my life. I want what I do not have and thus, I miss all that I do have. The goodness and fullness of life, and God, passes me by…

A year or so back, I felt something was lacking. So I audaciously prayed. Boldly, I made my petition, “Now, withhold no good thing from me.” And I fully expected to get the good I wanted. Though my words were vague, the request was specific. It was something I yearned for. And I was 100% positive God would answer me favorably. That He would reward me with what I sought. Because I was being good (in my mind). So very good. And isn’t good for good a promise of His… He doesn’t withhold good from those who walk uprightly? Psalm 84:11.

Alas, what I thought would happen didn’t come to pass. And so, I confess, I became bitter. Cynical, even. Filled with doubt as my hope and expectation waned. Simply because I did not get my way. Hollowness presented. I was empty and hungered all the more. Hangry best described me. Because I was most assuredly not full and I was not happy about it. In essence, I remained hungry for the thing I deemed to be good.

And so I’m brought back to my daughter. Annabelle. She gets hangry quite often. A delightful (not) mixture of hunger and anger. I contemplate how she and I see good so differently. But me being mom, I know what she needs. Not crumbs from the floor, she needs sustenance from my hand.

And so I get it. My a-ha moment of the day. I’m just like my daughter. And my heavenly Father being Dad knows exactly what I need. Not crumbs from the floor. No, I need the food from His hand. The goodness He sets before me.

Then God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good… Genesis 1:3

God created light and He deemed it to be good. So He gives me light. He created the land and sea and deemed them to be good. So He gives me earth. He created vegetation and it is good. So He gives me the fruit of the tree. He created the sun and the moon and stars and every creeping, crawling, flying, swimming thing. He deemed it all to be good. So this is what He gives me. And He created man. In His image He made them male and female. And these He deemed to be not only good, but very good. So He gives me fellow man. All this is good. And this is all I need…

Fellowship with God

Relationship with man

Sustenance

And light… the Light

God gives good things like His light. And as I bask in the glory of His illumination, I see truth. That God gives and gives. It’s exactly as His word proclaims: For God so loved, He gave. And just because it appears He’s holding out on me by withholding something I desire, it does not mean He isn’t good. Or that He’s being mean. Or that He’s punishing me. Because how could I ever forget what He ultimately gave… His Son. Or what His Son did. He gave His life. Proof of love.

Oh, but I do forget! Again and again. Forgetting what took place over 2000 years ago, I look to future greener grass beyond the fence line. Just as my daughter does when she peers out over the edge of her high chair. No different than her, I continue to seek out what I don’t have. But what if? Suppose the one thing I think is good may just be a crumb. Nothing more than scraps from the floor.

And so, in light of that, I’m able to take my eyes off what I don’t have so that I can gaze upon what I do have. All the things God has stretched out His hand to give me…

I notice the dappling sunlight upon my dewy grass. And there are sunflowers to rest my eyes upon. And a chicken coop at the edge of our trees.

There are seeds to harvest,

and vibrancy of color…

A comfortable bed to lay my weary head at night,

and hot coffee to stir my senses in the morn.

The coolness of fall hovers on the edge of the horizon as leaves cover the ground,

and there are stars. A million, nighttime stars.

I have children… nine and one.

Annabelle’s Pa-Paw drops by regularly along with other family members.

And last, but for sure not least, I have the love of a good man…

Taste and see that the Lord is good. Psalm 34:8

Yep, this morning, I mused over eating habits. Annabelle’s and mine. And as I take all this inside me, I wonder how I could ever prefer scraps from the floor when God places His goodness before me. And so I ingest clarity. For a table has been set in my honor. And as it slowly comes into focus, I know this is but a small handful of God’s gifts. Comprehension dawns in my soul and hunger abates. Because I realize… I am full. But not of scraps. No, God didn’t allow me, His daughter, to fill up with bits and pieces from the floor. Instead, He gave me the very best. His best. In His omnipotence, my Father filled me up better than I ever could have.

You prepare a table before me
    in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
    my cup overflows.
Surely your goodness and love will follow me
    all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
    forever. Psalm 23:5-6

No, my life may not be filled with everything I’d like to have. But it’s full of other stuff. The good stuff. My cup runneth over indeed, for my heavenly Father stretched out His arm and fed me. Thus, I find the answer to my original question. When I wonder what is good, I say God. God is good. And how well my soul knows it.

God is great, God is good, and we thank Him for our food.

The Good Life

August 27, 2015August 28, 2015by Pam Anderson4 Comments

The king asked me, “Why do you seem sad? Since you aren’t sick, you must have a broken heart! I was very afraid. Nehemiah 2:2

I ran into a lady yesterday who battles cancer. But she wasn’t downcast. On the contrary, she was all smiles. Positive. Hopeful. I’ve also noted several postings on Facebook recently requesting prayer. Yes, the “C” word again. Cancer. Amazingly, though, the common thread amongst these posts is hope. Expectation. And the good to come.

And then, of course, there’s someone special to me. A woman I’ve known for almost twenty years now. Her battle is the same. Cancer. That’s her fight. I think about her often. Just about every time I post a blog, in fact. Because like her, my focus is on internal medicine. And healing. But there’s one major difference… my illness is sickness of heart whereas hers is a disease that threatens to overtake her body. We both need to heal. Just differently. And so with every post, I think about how greatly she suffers. And how my trivial matters pale in comparison to what she endures daily.

Her difficulty is marked in my journal. July 21. “She suffers greatly.” Funny thing is you’d never, ever know it though. Because two days after this entry I visited her in the hospital and thought she seemed to be faring well. However when the nurse asked, her pain scale number proved otherwise. But I hadn’t a clue. Other than a number indicator, there was no evidence. Which puts me in mind of the lady I saw yesterday and her smiles. Her positive demeanor. Hopeful expectation of better days to come…

There is an occasion for everything and a time for every activity under heaven… a time to be silent and a time to speak. Ecclesiastes 3:1,7

I’ll tell you the truth, I suffer from foot in mouth disease. If there’s a pause in the conversation, I feel compelled to fill the lull with words. And unfortunately, anything will do. Whatever comes to mind usually makes its to my mouth. Utterance before I can bite my tongue. But you know, I’m coming to understand that sometimes silence is preferable to sound. And there are moments when I should simply bite my tongue. Perhaps until it bleeds if necessary. Because truth is words are not always the best course of action.

Because here it is. I believe one of the worst things we can do to someone who suffers is offer careless words. Empty or false ones. Or worse yet, hopeless ones. Or how about walking on eggshells? Treating someone as if they may break. As if they’re fragile. Speaking to them in a manner that’s condescending. Patting them down like they’re children. And today, after viewing a video of a random woman who fights cancer daily, I worry I’ve been guilty of this very thing. Spouting out something to fill a void. The uncomfortable silence that can sometimes surround the “C” word. Perhaps a voiced encouragement was actually discouragement instead.

Then Job answered: I have heard many things like these. You are all miserable comforters. Is there no end to your empty words? What provokes you that you continue testifying? If you were in my place I could also talk like you. I could string words together against you and shake my head at you, but I wouldn’t. I would encourage you with my mouth, and the consolation from my lips would bring relief. Job 16:2-5

People who suffer greatly have a lot to teach people like me. Like the woman I encountered yesterday morning. So inspiring. She talked of celebrating life. And dancing at a wedding. And a dear friend of mine who lost both her parents way too soon, and who was once at death’s door herself, speaks of this often. She wants to enjoy the life she’s been given. She said someone who has it too good doesn’t appreciate what they have. They can’t even recognize the good life when it’s staring them in the face.

And then there’s my loved one. She’s the one I thought of this morning after watching a video about cancer. See, she told me in July she’s up for the fight. And I believe she really is. Because I swear she’s the strongest woman I know. She’s thankful for each new day. And she’s hopeful for the days to come. Yes, this woman knows better than anyone what the good life really is. I think that’s what “C” word taught her. Cancer.

So my thought today is… what can I possibly say to this woman? My loved one. In light of what life has taught her already, what wisdom can I possibly provide? What feeble words can I offer? In truth, I should just hold my tongue. Because I should be the one listening. To her. To what she says out loud and to what she keeps inside. Because her very life speaks loudly. Yes, it’s true the road she’s traveled has been marked with suffering. But it’s made her wise. So wise. See, she knows very well what the good life is. And most importantly, she embraces it with both arms. It’s those fighting arms of hers. They don’t release their grip. She holds on and looks to better days. To the good life.

This is what my loved one teaches me. Today, she inspires me to close my mouth and open my eyes instead. Because in the silence, I see the truth that stares me in the face. And I recognize it’s the good life I’m looking at. It’s what I choose to embrace today.

Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and nights. No one said a word to Job, for they saw that his suffering was too great for words. Job 2:12-13

https://www.facebook.com/HolleyKitchenCancerLifer/videos

Deep Thoughts

August 17, 2015August 17, 2015by Pam Anderson2 Comments

“A lot of people want intact hearts these days.” Dr. Deborah Nucatola

Years and years (and years) ago, I used to watch Saturday Night Live. And I just loved the deep thoughts portion of the show. Dry, funny quotes written by someone named Jack Handy. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I rolled with laughter. And the crazy thing is, several of those sayings have stuck with me for over two decades now. The one I’ve been pondering lately, though, goes like this…

To me, it’s a good idea to always carry two sacks of something when you walk around. That way, if anybody says, “Hey, can you give me a hand?” You can say, “Sorry, got these sacks.” Jack Handy

At nineteen, I found this to be incredibly funny. But today, I find it a deep thought indeed. In essence, “Sorry, man… got these two sacks. So no, I can’t help you. I’m too busy helping myself.” Yep, this deep thought came to mind at the bus stop the other evening when Levi told me about a fight at school. He said it was scary when the seventh grader hit a sixth grader. Teachers intervened.

But Levi, for future reference, wanted to know what to do in situations like this if an adult isn’t around. He thought he should go and help the one being hit. And shamefully, before I could stop myself, I said you go get someone else to help. Basically, don’t involve yourself, my son. You walk away and find another. I quickly withdrew my rash words but the truth is, I’m really uncertain as to what would be right in that situation. Should my little boy step up and try to stop a fight potentially getting hurt himself? Or run away and find someone better equipped to handle the problem? It’s a thought worth exploring… a deep thought, indeed.

Ironically, the above is in the front of my journal. I jotted it down on July the 15th. Guard your heart… the irony being my heart was ripped in two one short week later. Not just once, but twice. See, that was the week I watched some abortion videos that had surfaced. Oh, the video caught my eye the previous week; however, I simply didn’t have time to watch. I was too darn busy. I was in the midst of planning for a big writing conference, chasing my dream, keeping house and children, working from home, and preparing for a week long road trip. No, there was no time for keeping up with current affairs in early July. So in essence, I was carrying some sacks. My own sacks. And my load seemed heavy enough.

But finally, everything was complete. As I spent the week with my in-laws, time was in my hands instead of baggage. So I finally watched the videos. The thing that hit me hardest was a comment made by Dr. Deborah Nucatola. She said a lot of people want hearts intact these days. And you know, I find that to be a deep thought indeed. I’d have to agree with her statement. Because in my opinion, people want just that today. Intact hearts. Not altered, broken, or impaired. A heart should be uninjured, sound and whole. Untouched and unblemished. Because really, who wants to endure a broken heart? But you know… there’s a tragic end to pursuing an intact heart. We run the risk of becoming unfeeling. Cold and aloof. In trying to keep our heart by keeping it from the world, it can become hard. And callused. Like stone.

Oh, it begins innocently enough. And early on. A heart break. My first was in the fifth grade. There was a boy I liked so much but it was clear. I was not chosen. Another came in eighth grade. And ninth. And eleventh. And twelfth. And at twenty. And twenty-two. And twenty-two. And twenty-two. No, that’s not a typo… sometimes your heart can break many times a year. For various reasons as many things can pierce a heart. And so, in an attempt to protect our hearts, we remove it – and ourselves – from life. Because if we’re reserved, just maybe our hearts will remain intact. Whole. But before we know it, a heart can become a boulder. Immovable. Surrounded by thick walls. Nothing can penetrate the protective barriers…

I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you. I will remove your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. Ezekiel 36:26

I’ve been thinking about that saying… “You can’t get blood from a stone.” It means you can’t extract what isn’t there to begin with. And so I think about the heart of stone. The intact one. And I’d have to agree. No, you can’t get blood from a stone. Not even from a heart of stone. But a true miracle can take place… if only. If only we allow ourselves to reenter life, we’ll find our heart can change. Because what we thought was sound may not be so sound after all. A heart that has the appearance of being whole may actually be shattered. And unexpectedly, what was hard and unmoving comes to life. Real flesh and blood. And when the heart gets cut, it bleeds. I know this to be true because it happened to me.

It was July 24. I thought I was prepared for a writing conference. I thought I was sound. What I didn’t know is I had become callus. Hard. Removed from life. But in reentering the world, my heart became softened. And that night my heart broke right in two. I had to choke back sobs at the dinner table. Afterward, I hurried off to my hotel room and cried like a baby. Just like a newborn. And I couldn’t stop. Tears rolled down my cheeks. And I felt just like I did at twenty-two. And at twenty. I regressed all the way back to that first heartbreak. The time I was not chosen. Unloved. Honestly, I felt just like a little girl. (https://pamandersonblog.com/?s=just+like+a+little+girl ) And before I knew it, two pieces became thousands. A heart splinted. Most definitely not intact.

So here’s what I’m thinking today. What’s the state of our hearts? Are they intact? And if they are, now this is just a thought, maybe they shouldn’t be. The deep thought for today is perhaps a whole heart should be broken. Because how can it not be? If we allow ourselves to venture beyond our boundary lines and immerse ourselves into the world at large, we’ll begin to see such heartache. And suffering. And inevitably, our hearts begin to hurt alongside the hurting.

God will not despise a broken and humble heart. Psalm 51:17

You know, my son coined a deep thought yesterday and he didn’t even know it. It’s what he said about his baby sister. See, she’s almost one and she’s been reaching up. She pulls herself up and holds on to something for stability. But she’s fallen so many times. So many boo-boos, tears rolling down her cheeks. But the thing is, the hurts don’t stop her. She continues to pull herself up. And yesterday morning, the most amazing thing happened.

Annabelle had been holding to the coffee table but she let go. There she stood for a total of five seconds without holding on and without falling. That’s because she grabbed hold of something else she wanted. And because all her attention was focused on a phone, she was able to let go of the other thing. Levi said, “She just had to let go of what she was holding to.” And I thought, yes! So simple but so deep. A deep thought, indeed.

Instantly, I thought of the originator of deep thoughts, Jack Handy. And what he said about sacks. See, Annabelle couldn’t have held that phone with both hands if she continued to hold on to a table. The same thing goes for me. I can’t hold onto something else, or someone else, if I continue holding my own sacks… a/k/a baggage. And that’s just not acceptable. I can’t use the following excuse… “Sorry, my friend, I got these sacks here. I can’t help you.” So today I take Levi’s deep thought to heart. I make a choice. And I let go of what I’ve been holding to. My stuff. And in releasing my load, I find I’m able to take hold of something else. Something better.

The LORD is near the brokenhearted; He saves those crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18

Truth is I have to take my hands – and eyes – off of me and my junk if I want to look to someone else. Because only when I’m not so focused on me will I really notice those around me. The one who suffers. She who is in pain. The griever. Oh, no doubt there’s risk involved. I will likely ache with them. Or I could get hurt in the process. For sure there will be tears. Rolling down my cheeks. And quite possibly, my heart will break. But you know, I think that’s exactly where God wants me. My heart not intact. Broken alongside my neighbors. Broken alongside His.

But when I find myself there, brokenhearted, that’s when I’ll be most useful to Him. Because I’ll be able to connect with the hurting world that surrounds me. And miraculously, that’s when I’ll be closest to God. Because His word assures me… no doubt when I feel like my heart is breaking into a million pieces, He’ll be right there beside me. And that, my friend, is a deep thought worth pondering.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:4

catching my breath

August 12, 2015August 13, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

Let everything that breathes praise the Lord. Hallelujah! Psalm 150:6

_DSC4469

This is me four years ago. It was the end of August. My son’s fifth birthday. And I was full. Full of praise and fully expectant. Fully alive. I was happy. That’s because I had an awakening of sorts. My dim spirit was revived as God lifted me from the mire and the muck and made me new. Formed from the dust of the ground, He breathed the breath of life in my nostrils and I became a living being (Genesis 1:7). And a seed was planted in my heart. A calling. A prompt to write coincided with the fresh wind that filled my lungs.

August of 2011 is when I first felt it. And in the following months, I typed up endless words that surged from my heart and soul. Day and night. My energy was boundless. I wrote and wrote for no less than two years. Then I formed a blog. I wrote and wrote two years more. When He inspired me, I moved. Because it was a dream He gave me. And ultimately, that dream – and God – moved me to a huge writing conference last month. I felt assured I was supposed to be there. And yet, my heart felt dulled. My spirit suppressed. When the other women praised God with wild abandon, I stood there with hands to my side. I mumbled the words of the songs till eventually, my lips stilled altogether. I became lifeless. Breathless. And inexplicably, my heart broke right in two.

The hand of the LORD was on me, and He brought me out by His Spirit and sat me down in the middle of the valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them. There were a great many of them on the surface of the valley, and they were very dry. Then He said to me, “Son of man, can these bones live?” Ezekiel 37:1-3

I began chasing God four years ago. He was my goal. And the wonder is I found Him. And when I did, I came to life. And when His breath entered my dry bones, He awakened me to my purpose. A calling. Writing was a passion buried deep within but I’d forgotten about it. Didn’t know it lie in wait. And so for the very first time in my life, I was full of conviction. I knew the direction I was headed. However, I kind of put God to the backburner as I began chasing the dream instead.

It was the dream that led me to Concord, NC. And it was there, four years after implantation, I thought I should pluck the dream from my life. Because I quit. The writing conference tripped me up. The message I heard was come away and rest. Be alone. Quiet myself. So I thought I should put writing away altogether. You know, take a year off. Perhaps I just needed to catch my breath.

But then I came to this week. I saw something like this on Facebook…

Truth is life will always be busy. There will always be storms of some sort. Some misty, some torrential. The art of life, though, is balance. And nimble feet… learning to dance through the puddles when you encounter them along life’s highway. And so I realize my thinking was faulty. Because putting away the very thing God placed inside me to do is not the answer. I will always have moments in which I need to catch my breath. But the wonder is, He is always there ready to give me air. When I am weak, I become strong. Because He is my strength. My source of life. My renewal.

I will cause breath to enter you, and you will live. Ezekiel 37:5

A loved one said something so dismal yesterday. He said he was discussing life with another family member and they don’t believe the golden years exist. In aging, everyone seems to be either sick or tired or depressed. And that makes me so sad. Because this is my family! And where is their hope? Where is their drive to live? Without God, and His life force, is there purpose at all? Are they really living or simply existing?

See, I believe life is a choice. You have to choose how you’re going to live it. And a piece of me knows just where my loved one is coming from. Because at times I feel sad and depressed, too. Like recent days. Just last week, my husband wanted to know when his wife was coming back. That’s because my demeanor has been reminiscent of my “animated corpse” days. This is how I was described two years ago. ( https://pamandersonblog.com/2015/03/04/a-corpse-bride-2/ ) Back then, I wasn’t living – I purely existed. Just a dry bag of bones. Seems the dryness returned…

This Summer, though, I think I just veered off course. I put away that which makes me feel most alive. And writing makes me alive. Because in this season of my soul, it’s one of my purposes. It’s what God places before me. And denying the thing He has for me to do sucks the life right out of me. And for those times when I feel I just don’t have the time to do the thing… He makes the time. If only I put Him first, He seems to pave the way. Puddles and all.

“I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them, My people, and lead you… You will know that I am the LORD, My people, when I open your graves and bring you up from them. I will put My Spirit in you and you will live…” Ezekiel 37:12-13

You know, when I attended that writing conference last month, I was beat. Absolutely worn out. Dry. My time with God all but withered away so busy was I chasing my dream. And when I found myself surrounded by 800 women, singing and praising God, I just couldn’t bring myself to join in. It felt false to me. Like I was a fraud or something. After that conference, there was a retreat to plan for. Then a three day family vacation to the lake. By the time the above picture was snapped, I was utterly exhausted. And time with God was severely lacking.

But this week, I renewed my focus. And my aim. My direction became more clear when a certain Scripture captured my full attention yesterday morning. It was Psalm 42. As a deer pants for the water, so my soul longs for you. The words of a Psalmist. Deeply distressed. Disturbed. Downright depressed. However, in the midst of his trouble – or puddle – he said he would yet praise God. In other words, he would praise God anyway. No matter the circumstances.

This is my lesson. No matter the storm, or how deep the puddle, I should do the same. Oh, I may have a bad day or two. But you know, I will praise Him yet. It’s my purpose. It’s what I’m supposed to do. And if I don’t do it, His word assures me even the stones will cry out. That which doesn’t have breath will sing His praises. And here I am, full of breath but at times silent. Hands and arms stilled. But today I know the truth. I am breathing. And that in itself is worth praising. It’s just as Psalm 150 says… “Let everything that has breath praise His name.” And so, in writing, that’s what I aim to do. I praise His name. Hallelujah!

Jesus was a Handyman

June 14, 2015June 14, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

I‘ve been working on a flyer for a ladies’ retreat my friend and I are planning. It’ll be a half day event for women. A little time for revival. Refreshment. Reflection. And rest. Maybe rest more than anything. It seems to be what my heart yearns for more than anything here lately. Peace and quiet. Anyway, inspiration for the occasion struck six months ago after watching a video. “A Day with Beth Moore.” Someone suggested I mention who she is on the flyer, though. So I did what I usually do. I went to Wikipedia. And for some reason, I was surprised to find the word evangelist. Author. Yes. Bible teacher. For sure. But evangelist? I’d just never seen Beth Moore in that light before. So I opted to leave evangelist out of the description.

If I want to be truthful, I’d have to say evangelist is a word I shy away from. And to be blunt, it can sometimes leave a bad taste in my mouth. Evangelist. Probably because I can put a face with the name. An oily one with slicked back hair. Or I can recall a Bible thumper who thumped me on the head just a little too hard. And frankly, there have been some television evangelists who’ve inspired me to turn the TV right off. So I didn’t want the word to deter any potential attendees from the event. Nope. I decided to leave off evangelist. Author and Bible teacher seemed safer.

However, the word came back to me today. More than once. Evangelist. So I wanted to find out if it’s in the Bible or if it’s a title we later created. But it’s there. Turns out it’s not such a bad word after all. Used twice in the New Testament. It means “a bringer of good tidings. the name given to heralds of salvation through Christ who are not apostles.” So that’s not so bad. An evangelist is simply one who brings a message. Good news. According to dictionary.com, a herald formerly referred to a royal messenger. Especially one representing a monarch in an ambassadorial capacity during wartime. And I just loved that. Because I couldn’t help but think of Jesus. Who He was. Royalty. And who He came to represent. God. And the condition of our land. War. And the words He spoke in His ambassadorship…

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted… Isaiah 61:1

Though Jesus technically wasn’t an evangelist, He evangelized nonetheless. Because He brought good news. Moreover, He was the good news. But it was another portion of Isaiah 61 that resonated most. Something I heard echoed by James Taylor today. When the familiar intro to Handyman filled my living room, I just wanted to savor the words. More so today than ever. So I told my son to hush (perhaps not so nicely – patience running thin). And in the listening, it was almost as if Jesus called out to me. He said, I fix broken hearts, I know I really can. And it connected. All the dots. Jesus being a carpenter. His coming to bind up the brokenhearted. Revelation dawned. Seems that Jesus was a Handyman. A fixer of broken things.

I just have to say, I may be in need of a little fixing right now. I’m feeling a little broken down. Because I’m tired. I’ve been burning both ends of the candle for weeks and weeks and weeks. Staying busy till close to midnight most nights. My son out of school and awake till at least 10:30 or 11:00. My infant daughter waking through the night (again). Up by 6:15 and as soon as my feet hit the floor, I iron clothes because the basket is full and the closet is empty. So I’m missing something I used to have. Because with the end of school, routine has gone out the window. Along with peace and quiet. And I miss it. Or more specifically, I miss Him. And the time we used to have.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

I couldn’t help but notice all the moms at church this morning. Several stuck out in particular. Mainly the ones with the toddlers and babies. “Littles” as my cousin calls them. One looked exhausted, one harried, one continually on the move. And me. I spent most of the morning pushing Annabelle back and forth in her stroller. And it was a good morning because she let me do it. But it’s these mothers I think of today. I wonder if they feel broken down like me. Worn thin. Stretched tight. Pulled too many directions. Perhaps their hearts are in need of repair, too.

Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?” They came out of the town and made their way toward him. John:4:28-30

Yeah, I’m preparing for this women’s event. There’s the video. Food and drinks. Decorations. And music. So in the planning, it was “Come to the Well” by Casting Crowns that came to me last night. Or was it the night before? Honestly, I can’t say for certain. Time blurs together now. But the song put me in mind of the Samaritan woman. And Jesus’ interaction with her. See, she was broken, too. She needed some fixing. Basically, He came to her. He brought good news. And offered living water. Refreshment. A picture of evangelism.

Afterward, the woman left her jar. Her worries and her busyness. She went and said, “Come see.” And I just can’t help but think this woman had to be one of the first evangelists. Because she went to tell about a Man she met. His name was Jesus. She became a herald of good news. And because she did, many came to meet Him.

But you, keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry. 2 Timothy 4:5

I think about this event. About Beth Moore being an evangelist. And now I know that’s exactly what she is. Because basically, she brings good tidings. Seems that long ago, her heart needed mending. But there was a Man named Jesus. A Handyman who came to bind up the broken hearted. And after her heart was repaired, she told others about Him. About how He healed her. And after He’d whisper sweet truths in her ear, she’d share what she learned. And all her friends came running. To Him. It’s like the song by James Taylor. And like Jesus’ words in Isaiah. A Handyman.

So I second guess the flyer. Perhaps I should have left evangelist in the description. Because that’s what Beth Moore is. And what the Samaritan woman was. And really, I guess I am, too. Because though I may be going through a rough patch, stretched a little thin, I did meet a Man. My heart was broken and He fixed it. And He’ll mend it again. As often as I need it. That’s just what He does. See, He’s busy 24 hours a day. And this women’s event is really my way of sharing that good news. Seems that I’m doing the work of an evangelist after all. Telling all my friends about a Man who knew everything about me. And healed me. A man named Jesus who came to bind up the broken hearted.

Yes, I’ve been planning this 1/2 day event. And it’s the moms I watched this morning. And countless others out there. They’re who I think about. Who I hope to see. Because I can tell. They’ve been so busy. Tired. Stretched thin. And maybe their hearts need a little mending today. A few minor repairs for fixing. Like mine. Good news is, I found this great Handyman. I’ve seen His work. And He does wonders.

Dandelions Abound

April 17, 2015June 8, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

I can’t believe I’m doing this right now. It’s 8:30, my dad will be here in just a couple of hours and I’m not ready. Beds unmade, dishes strewn across the counter, baby toys underfoot as I walk, and me clad in pajamas. But here I sit… compelled to write. About dandelions of all things. See, I was surprised to see them yesterday.

This is what happens to the woman who works from home. And raises a baby at home. Things take her by surprise. Because she’s so wrapped up in her small world, all she sees is what’s right in front of her. Her mess. Her face in the mirror. Her unending to-do list. She easily slips into a selfish existence… because she is all she sees. Meanwhile, real life passes by on the outside as she obsesses over the unreal that takes place on the inside. Or more accurately, inside her head. Everything beyond her walls goes unnoticed. Like the appearance of dandelions.

Had bare cupboards not forced me to leave my dwelling yesterday, I wouldn’t have seen them. Dandelions everywhere. How surprised I was to discover hundreds of them alongside the road. Almost as if they popped out overnight. Of course, they could have been there for a week and I wouldn’t have noticed. And they were pretty… little dots of yellow all along the highway. This morning, though, I see them in a different light. They seem almost competitive, interspersed among the jonquils. Oh, daffodils may tower above the dandelions as they reach upwards to the sun, but I’d say dandelions won the fight. See, there were so many of them. Taraxacum easily outnumbered the jonquil…

Dandelions. Do you know why they’re called that? I had to look it up yesterday because for the first time I wondered why lion makes up part of its name. And according to the great world wide web, the English name, dandelion, is a corruption of the French dent de lion meaning “lion’s tooth”. It refers to the coarsely toothed leaves. Hmm… I never knew that. But in taking a closer look at the dandelion, I do see teeth. Similar to a lions…

Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. 1 Peter 5:8

So, here’s what I’m thinking. All these dandelions are pretty at first. But you know what? They’re really just weeds. Weeds that will take over your yard. As the lovely yellow petals fade, they become shriveled and dried. Eventually, they become this sphere of seeds that blow in the wind… spreading all over. And before you know it, your grass is filled with weeds. Big ole tufts of fully rooted, coarse leaves. Resembling the mouth of a lion, of all things.

And you know… these dandelions seem to be a picture of what’s taking place all around me right now. Threatening in a way. Just as yellow dots overtake our yard and brush our feet, I feel as if they’re a picture of the hounds of hell popping up everywhere… nipping at my heels. Little lions roaring about seeking what they can devour. The devil’s minions blowing their seeds across my path. And in my brain. As I said earlier, too much self. Too much of my little world. Too much me. Oh, nothing big. Nothing serious. Just minor aggravations. And because I’m all I’ve been taking notice of, I’ve allowed the weeds of life to overrun my spiritual garden. Just because I let them.

Yes, dandelions are pretty at first. Easy on the eye. But what’s left behind is ugly. And this is how the enemy works. He puts something in our path. In our mind. He takes a good thing and twists it. Something may be one thing, but in the hands of the master of deception, it appears to be something else. Especially when we interject a little too much self into the picture. We can’t see the good thing clearly anymore… taking things out of context, reality is distorted. Over analysis makes our brains foggy. At least this is what happens to me. And before I know it, bad thoughts leave me shriveled and dry. Words of life overrun by shrill complaint. And before I realize what I’ve done, I’ve blown seeds of malcontent in whatever direction my mouth faced. Spreading weeds. Resembling lions teeth. Seeking what they could devour. Killing, stealing and destroying good grass. And oh, so subtly, I become the devil’s pawn. And today, this is what really takes me by surprise. Just like the dandelions on the side of the road.

Thankfully, I know the truth. I know that dandelions are just weeds. And as for the wiles of the devil… just weeds. I know that in the end, he loses the battle. Oh, I may allow him to gain ground in my life occasionally. But when my eyes are open, and they are, I can fight back. And the great thing is, I don’t have to do it alone. For there’s Someone who has my back. He’s a Lion, no less. The Lion of Judah fights for me. And as for the enemy, someone I care about once pointed out that he’s only like a lion. Not a real one at all. He just pretends. And schemes. And deceives. Appearance is his weapon of choice, for that’s always been of great import to him. Yes, he’s a dandy prancing about acting like a lion. He can be roaring and loud. Or subtle and smooth. Really, he’s just a dandy-lion that just needs to be pulled out of my spiritual garden. Uprooted. Or crushed underfoot…

But I want you to be wise about what is good, and innocent about what is evil. The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet. The grace of our Lord Jesus be with you. Romans 16:19-20

Today I have hope. Thanks to the dandelions, my eyes have been opened. To good and bad. See, I learned those weeds can actually be useful. Harvested, even. They’re edible and have healing properties. Though merely weeds, they have purpose. And so can my own weeds. My own bad, in God’s hands, have purpose. These minor aggravations can be harvested and used for the good of mankind. Somehow. Someway. He’ll use them. I just have to let Him. To begin with, I need to turn around. I need to be more aware. I need to notice what’s going on in the real world. I need to get out of my head and into reality. That way, I won’t be taken by surprise. Like I was yesterday… amazed at how many dandelions had popped up. The ones on the side of the road. And yes, even the ones inside my head.

As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today. Genesis 50:20

Like a Lamb

March 31, 2015March 31, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

My son, do not take the Lord’s discipline lightly, or faint when you are reproved by Him; for the Lord disciplines the one He loves, and punishes every son whom He receives. No discipline seems enjoyable at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it yields the fruit of peace and righteousness to those who have been trained by it. Hebrews 12:5-6,11

I had a dream the other night. It was as if I could hear God say, “Come out!” And I’ve been mulling over that command… come out. What could He mean? Of course writing is the first thing that comes to mind because I decided to put it aside a mere twenty-two days ago. Oh, I had good reasons. The blog became too big for me. All consuming. Everything else was taking a back-seat. Namely, my household responsibilities. And more importantly, the issue of disciplining my child. Or shall I say lack of discipline. My firstborn. That’s when I felt a bit of discipline myself at the hand of my Heavenly Father. My journal proof of the errant child I was by my jotting down, “I feel grounded.” And perhaps that’s just what He did. Grounded me. God put me in time-out. A little sit down till I could regain perspective. And so, maybe, just maybe… my time is at hand. Because I heard Him clearly the other night. My Father said, “Come out!”

Be Sober! Be on the alert! Your adversary the Devil is prowling around like a roaring lion, looking for anyone he can devour. 1 Peter 5:8

Nature and timing provide the perfect backdrop to this season of my life. See, the last thing I wrote aligned with Daylight Saving Time. Afterward, I thought I was poised to spring forward along with my clock. And yet, here I sit. Stalled. Stilled. And delayed. Instead of moving forward, I find myself in a period of discipline and change. But today I know why. It has to do with the month all things. Because I’ve heard it said that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. And the imagery of March illuminates this wayward daughter’s actions.

Yes, March and all its elements come in like a roaring lion, seeking what it can devour. March is loud in its entrance of blustery winds and frigid temperatures. Ice and pelting sleet. Storms. March’s extreme weather seems to have conquered all leaving behind only bleak land. However, quiet miracles take place underneath. For overnight, yellow jonquils defy the odds jutting through frozen earth anyway. And by the time the end of the month rolls around, once bare branches are adorned with lime green and brilliant red. And oh, the blessed sound of peeping peepers and chirping birds. Before we know it, Winter has transitioned to Spring. Cold turns to warm and barren turns to flowering. Blustery winds replaced by mild and balmy. What once seemed dead comes alive with color and sound.

And so today, I gain perspective. I see clearly for March is a picture of me. Because at the onset of this writing venture, I came in like a lion. Loud. Forceful. Unyielding and rigid. Cold and hard. And prideful. A lion’s pride… I am woman, hear me roar! Thus, my time-out. My grounding. My stillness. See, just as Spring undergoes the miracle of transformation, God expects no less of me. His child. But the change has to happen on the inside first. Before beauty and color is seen on the outside, a quiet miracle must take place deep down.

You should clothe yourselves instead with the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God. 1 Peter 3:4

When I came home four and a half years ago, I was a big mouth. I had an opinion about everything and was eager to share it. Because in my mind, I was right. I even developed a terrible habit of talking right over people. See, for the first time I had something to say. I thought I had something to offer. Such a change from the young girl who left at nineteen. The one who had nothing to say.

As time progressed, I became loud. Dare I say shouting? Yes, shouting. At home. When I completely lost my cool, I’d raise my voice. Time constraint is what brought on the pressure. And it was my little boy who endured the brunt of my loudness. You know what jolted me awake? Isaiah 42:2-3. It says Christ did not cry out or shout or make His voice heard in the streets. He did not break a bruised reed or put out a smoldering wick. It was this passage that helped me comprehend how utterly anti-Christ I’ve been in this manner. The total opposite of Him, who was quiet and gentle.

He was oppressed and afflicted, and yet He did not open His mouth. Like a lamb led to the slaughter and like a sheep silent before her shearers, He did not open His mouth. Isaiah 53:7

And so, I was put in time-out. He wanted me to be still so I could see clearly. And so that inner things could happen. And in the quiet, I find my life begins to mirror the Spring that occurs outside my windows. My inside transforms alongside the outdoors. I came in like a lion. But loudness and forcefulness are transitioning to quietness. Pride is replaced by humility. And an unyielding spirit morphs to a malleable one… all this happening as Winter submits to Spring. As I submit to Him.

And God is impeccable in His timing. For today is the last day of March. Easter will be here in just a few days. And I think for the first time in my whole life, Easter will really rise in my heart this time. Because I can’t help but have this feeling I’m on the cusp of something big. Something new. For Easter will usher in a new age for me. It will be the era of the Lamb.

Behold, the lamb of God… John 1:29

Funny thing about my recent time-out. I thought it commenced on March 9 when I put this blog aside. But today, I realize it goes back further. In fact, to the very beginnings of this writing venture. It has to do with my actions just before. And something I said. I even know the date… February 10, 2013. That’s when I dared utter something so haughtily. So arrogantly. So forcefully. And loud. “I can’t just sit here for two years…” No, in my mind I had too much self-import. But today, just over two years later, I know the truth about God. And me. Only in hindsight is it crystal clear. It’s almost like He said, “Yes you will, little girl. If I say you’ll sit in time-out for two years, that’s exactly what you’ll do.” And it appears I did.

But see, I have hope. For today is March 31. The month is pretty much over. Oh, it came in like a lion. Just like me. But it proves to be going out like a lamb. And me? Well, I’m pretty sure I heard my Father say, “Come out!” I think my chastening is over. At least for now. The real test, though, will be how I exit my time-out. Will I leave the same way I entered, like a lion? Or will I come out changed? Like a lamb…

Then one of the elders said to me, “Stop crying. Look! The Lion of the tribe of Judah, the root of David, has been victorious so that He may open the scroll or even to look at it.” Then I saw one like a slaughtered lamb… Revelation 5:5-6

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qw5ma4rfIw

A Corpse Bride

March 4, 2015March 4, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

Will the fast I choose be like this:
A day for a person to deny himself,
to bow his head like a reed,
and to spread out sackcloth and ashes?
Will you call this a fast
and a day acceptable to the Lord? Isaiah 58:5

I just couldn’t sell it… the thousands of words that poured forth from my heart and soul in the Fall of 2011. No, something wasn’t quite right. So I revised the whole thing in the Summer of 2012. I gave it a new title… My True Deliverance. However, the story remained the same. And the truth is the title was a lie. Because my story was a lie. For at that point in my life, I hadn’t been delivered. From anything. The words put forth were false… only what I wanted to be true.

However, my eyes were opened in September of 2012. The frank words of my husband jolted me. “Can you do me a favor? Can you go just one day without telling a lie? Because when you say you’re fine and you’re not, it’s a lie.” This came on the heels of his flowery description of me. An animated corpse. Oh, don’t think too harshly of him. He was just concerned. He wanted his wife back. The one from earlier days. And had he not spoken truth, perhaps I wouldn’t be where I am today. Perhaps I’d still be his corpse bride.

After this lovely conversation with my husband, my eyes were opened wider within days. For I heard a Bible teacher speak. She said He wants us to have our own story. With Him. She talked of riding other people’s coattails. And though I didn’t realize it then, today I know that’s just what I had been doing. Riding the coattails of other people’s faith. Living off other people’s stories. Trying to breathe the breath of resurrected lives all around me. Having no spiritual breath of my own.

Funny thing is I just knew that book was going to get published. The untrue one. It seemed to be His will. Like the very hand of God directed me to write it. And I believe He did. However, I know it to be a stepping stone today. Because the story written over three years ago was the wrong one. It was the story of a good girl who worked hard. And because she did all the right things, something good happened. For God gave her what she desired most… her homeland. The promised land. But the reality is God didn’t bring me home as a reward. No, He brought me home to die. And that first book, my story, proved to lead to my fall.

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. John 15:13

I’ve been pondering the story lately. For months actually and just in general. And in watching a few great movies, I realize the best part is the fall. Because if there isn’t a fall, the hero or heroine can’t rise from the ashes. And isn’t that the most hopeful part of someone’s story? Don’t we find resurrected lives to be inspirational? I do. And so, it’s with awe that I find myself on the cusp of Easter today. In this season of my life, as I ponder the story, I find we’re about to celebrate the greatest story. The death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

In a nutshell, this is what my story lacked for so long. My life was missing Easter. My life was missing Him. Thus, my life contained no life. I was a corpse bride. Just as my husband described. And every single day, I died a little more. For I was chasing a dream. Holding to my life. My rights. My glory. I just didn’t know what was causing my death. See, when I came home I thought it to be my triumphant entry. I rode in on my high horse and came back ready to overcome the world. And when I began to write, I just knew it was going to give me the life I so desired. My passion burned within. In truth, it consumed me till there was nothing left. Life snuffed out. Thus, I walked around in sackcloth and ashes not comprehending that’s what I was doing. My demeanor was my mourning robe. A dim spirit shrouded me. Ashes on the ground.

But Jesus? When He made His triumphant entry, He rode into town on a donkey. And He knew what He came to do. For He came to die. He came as a living sacrifice for us. But He knew the truth. That before He could be resurrected into glory, His death was required. Because only by His death, and life, can we hope for the same. This is Easter. This is the greatest story ever told. And until this becomes reality in our own hearts, we remain dead in our tracks. Lifeless. Animated corpses.

Jesus replied, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. John 12:23-25

God never, ever ceases to amaze me. Over four years ago I thought He was rewarding me for good behavior. That He brought me home as a pat on the back. That was my story. But today I know truth. See, He brought me home to die. Here is where my self-awareness was birthed, and here is where my self-seeking must die. For self-seeking brought nothing but heartache. And spiritual death. It caused me to fall. Hard. Nothing left of me but a heap of ashes on the ground. But today, I choose sacrifice instead. I willingly give my life for the lives of my children. So they may have abundant life. And this act revives me. For I find I’m able to rise from the ashes. Because His word is true… in losing your life, you’ll find it. This is the very thing God brought me home for. Easter becomes real in my heart.

Isn’t the fast I choose:
To break the chains of wickedness,
to untie the ropes of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free,
and to tear off every yoke? Isaiah 58:6

Last week was a week of epiphanies. One having to do with me losing my life in order to gain my life. It had to do with putting my dream on the back-burner while I tended to what’s most important… my children. My family. And I’m good with that. I really am. I realized my need to sacrifice something I greatly desire so that I could be a better mother to them. And a better wife to my husband. Because this dream of mine burns me up. When I hold to it, it causes me to die. A little bit each day. Before I know it, I’m like the walking dead. No life within me. A corpse bride. So, I release it. At least for now. I give it up…

Funny thing is, I find this act coincides with Lent. And Ash Wednesday. Though I’ve never practiced these traditions knowingly, I find I am this year. Unwittingly. This is where God has led me. Through my limited knowledge, I understand Lent to be a time when God’s people sacrifice something for a number of days. Me? I’m led to sacrifice my life. The revelation is heightened by Ash Wednesday… a time when ashes are ceremonially placed on heads of Christians usually accompanied by the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Me? From experience I’ve surely known what it’s like to have ashes in my life. But not just on my head, all over. The whole of me being burned up by overwhelming desire of something greater. But this will prove to be the best part of my story. For from the ashes, I rise. Resurrected life. Easter in my heart. A replica of the greatest story ever told. His. A corpse bride rises from the grave…

He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives
and freedom to the prisoners;
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor,
and the day of our God’s vengeance;
to comfort all who mourn,
to provide for those who mourn in Zion;
to give them a crown of beauty instead of ashes,
festive oil instead of mourning,
and splendid clothes instead of despair. Isaiah 61:1-3

Funny how God works. Amazing how He puts it all together. See, I began writing my story in 2011. Thing is, my words simply weren’t true. I wrote what I wanted to be. My True Deliverance. But now… deliverance is mine. He delivered me from my tomb. And most recently, He delivers me from myself. For it was my heart that held me captive. And my flesh has been my prison. But He led me to lay down my life. And thus, I find life. And as Easter rises in my heart, I find that I do, too. And in truth, this is the part of my story that’s truly great. Christ. In me. Finally, I don’t have to ride another’s coattails. For I have my own story. In Him. And to me, this is the essence of Easter. From death to life. And till death do us part. A corpse bride no more.

Then the LORD God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being. Genesis 2:7

A Corpse Bride

March 4, 2015March 4, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. John 15:13

Isn’t the fast I choose:
To break the chains of wickedness,
to untie the ropes of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free,
and to tear off every yoke? Isaiah 58:6

Then the LORD God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being. Genesis 2:7

Riding Coattails

February 23, 2015February 23, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

I watched the story of Johnny Cash recently. Walk the Line. And I was mesmerized by a conversation between Johnny (nick-named JR) and his brother, Jack, when they were children:

“Jack”

“Um-hmm?”

“How come you’re so good?”

“I ain’t”

“You pick 5 times more than me.”

“Well, I’m bigger than you.”

“You know every story in Scripture.”

“You know every song in Mama’s hymnal.”

“Songs are easy.”

“Not for me.”

“There’s more words in the Bible than Heavenly Highway Hymns.”

“Look, JR. If I’m going to be a preacher one day, I gotta know the Bible front to back. I mean, you can’t help nobody if you can’t tell em the right story.”

It was that line right there… “you can’t help nobody if you can’t tell em the right story.” And of course, that led me to thinking of my own story and what Jack said. About one being helpful. See, supposing my story is shallow… would it be worth telling anyway? Just suppose the biggest hurdle I’ve had to clear in life is simply myself. That being the case, would it even be worth the breath required to utter the tale? Because in light of the very real struggles, tragedies and pain so many undergo, my minor upheavals in life seem inconsequential. Trivial and small. So then, does my story have any redeeming value? Could it possibly be helpful? And so again, I ponder, is it worth the telling…

Look to the rock from which you were cut and to the quarry from which you were hewn; Isaiah 51:1

Look at that little girl. Oh, I can recall how she felt all too well. Awkward. Shy. A wall-flower that blended into the background. I was scared of my own shadow. And I just knew everyone was talking about me. Negatively, of course. And why wouldn’t they be. My clothing was usually second-hand. My home was the back-side of a store. My front yard? Mainly a cow-pasture while the back consisted of a parking lot complete with gas pumps. The grey pavement of highway stretching out beyond. This was my playground. I ran free through the fields like a wild thing. But when forced to interact with civilization, I turned inside myself.

Early on, I developed an inferiority complex. I just didn’t think I measured up. Materially, physically, or intellectually. Through the duration of my youth and early adulthood, I felt minimal. Small. And forever second best. It seemed as if I were destined to stand in the shadows cast by the bright light of my friends. Perhaps those substandard feelings I housed went all the way back to my infancy…

See, Mom tells of a time I slipped through the crack of the bed and the wall. Maybe it was the very bed in the photo above. I was laying there as she walked down to the mailbox. However upon her return, she found I was crying out… trapped between bed and wall. And my infant cousin? He was being bounced upon my grandma’s lap. Oh, an aunt was there trying to get me out. But just maybe it started there. The root of insignificance birthed when I literally slipped through the crack unnoticed by the one I wanted to notice me. And ultimately, that fear has chased me my whole life. Scared I’d slip through the cracks unnoticed. And those that mattered the most caring the least. In essence, me mattering naught.

I wanted to be noticed. And so, early on it was the material that mattered to me. The tangible. The outer. In my eyes, things would make me special and image was of utmost importance. Like in the photo above. I was pleased and it’s obvious. For I felt pretty here. Can’t you see it on my face? Mama (that’s what I called her then) had fixed my hair. And because I liked the way my hair looked, I liked me. If only for a day. As I said, image mattered. And in truth, I thought clothing would fix me right up. If I just had nicer clothes. New clothes. And perhaps a new coat?

And therein lies my foundation. I was a little girl who felt ugly most of the time. And small. Plain and dumb. And unimportant. And what happens when this type of foundation gets laid, is a girl begins to ride coattails without even knowing that’s what she’s doing. Like me. See, my thoughts just weren’t that important. So I began to absorb my friends’ thoughts. Their mindsets became my mindset. And what they liked was better than what I liked. And what they wore was better than what I wore. And so, I tried to be like them. Before I knew it, I didn’t have an original thought. Or idea. Or opinion. And while they stood in the spotlight, I hid in the shadows. Trying my best to be just like them. Living vicariously through them.

And when a girl feels less than, if she discovers there’s something she’s actually good at, she clings to it. She tries to excel in the one thing that makes her feel the tiniest bit special. And she begins to crave the words of affirmation it can bring her. This one area is where she finds her value. And she feasts on the praise it brings her way.

Naturally, I became one who strives. I’d say since the fourth grade. I think that’s when I decided deep down that I wanted to be the best. The greatest. I know for certain that’s when I wanted to be famous because of a little notebook I saved all these years. My name scribbled all over it where I practiced my autograph. That little lime green memo pad is quite telling in that it’s also filled with pictures of women drawn by me. Complete with notes and poems of what I wanted to look like when I was all grown up.

And these were my beginnings. Like I said, my story is shallow. For I was shallow. Because image ruled and appearances mattered the most. The outside was all I cared about. And so, I became an adult. At least that’s what my age indicated. And because I had no ambition of my own other than to be pretty, to be known, and to be liked, I ended up doing what my friend’s mother suggested we do. I joined the U.S. Air Force. And I was excited. Hopeful even. For I thought in leaving my hometown behind, I’d leave the little girl I was behind, too. I thought in leaving, I’d actually become someone new. And exciting. And worthwhile. Maybe for once, I’d be able to grab a little light of my own… And so I tied on my Air Force Blue Raincoat and hoped for the best.

But as for you, do you seek great things for yourself? Stop seeking! Jeremiah 45:5

At nineteen, I left home. And in four short years, I made some of the biggest mistakes of my life. I tried to be everything I thought I always wanted to be. I thought I’d be happy. I shed riding others’ coattails in favor of trying on my own coat. And while donning my new attire, I worked at being pretty. I tried my best to be likeable. And popular. And fun. It was exhausting. And truth is, trying to have a coat of my own led to my demise. Because I’ll tell you, if a young woman sets out to get known, she will be noticed. And when she hears someone call out her name followed by “You’re famous!” Well, that’s really not such a good thing. Oh, I at last found myself in the spotlight I always sought. It’s just that once I was there, I found it wasn’t such a nice place to be after all. And ironically, once I was there, I really just wanted to be elsewhere. I wanted to be seen in a different light.

Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars for ever and ever. Daniel 12:3

Today, I think about JR and Jack and their conversation about stories. You know, had Jack lived and I ran into him, I think he would have used the story of Joseph with me. That’s because of his coat of many colors. See, I think it’s quite possible that Joseph wanted to be the best, too. See, he was one of the youngest and I think he wanted to prove himself to his big brothers. For whenever he had a God given dream, he’d tell it. And he was a tattle-tale, eager to cast himself in a better light. And because Daddy gave him this great colorful coat, he’d wear it for everyday. Like the time he was told to go out and check on his brothers. Why, they must have seen him coming from a mile away. And they hated him for his showy coat. Because truth is, it was proof that Joseph was the favored child.

So there was Joseph with his colorful coat. But what good did it do him? In fact, his coat may have hastened his demise. Because first, he was thrown into a pit. And then, he was thrown into a prison. His outerwear couldn’t keep him from harm. Being the best in Daddy’s eyes didn’t soften his fall. But ultimately, Joseph learned a lesson. For he was humbled. And he learned how to lead. In the end, he became great. Truly great.

Make your own attitude that of Christ Jesus, who, existing in the form of God, did not consider equality with God as something to be used for His own advantage. Instead He emptied Himself by assuming the form of a slave, taking on the likeness of men. And when He had come as a man in His external form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death— even to death on a cross. Philippians 2:5-8

You’d think I’d learn from Joseph’s story. That his fall would serve as warning to me. Because doesn’t pride come before the fall? Like with Joseph. Well, actually, he was thrown down, but it was a fall nonetheless. But every now and then, rather than heed the caution of Joseph’s saga, I throw caution to the wind instead. Because deep, deep, deep down, I still want it. Honestly, I want glory. My glory. Deep, deep, deep down there’s a piece of that little girl inside who grew up feeling small. And she wants to feel big. Larger than life. So she constructs her tower and hopes it will reach the sky. For she wants to be the best. The greatest. At everything. And not only that, she wants everyone in sight to know she’s the best. God help me, this is the truth. Despite how far I’ve come and all I’ve learned, I still struggle with the inferiority complex.

As God’s child, this is what I’ve been cutting my teeth on. See, what I’ve strived so hard for sets me up in direct opposition to Christ. For His teaching is totally opposite of what I’ve been trying to accomplish my whole life. I find we’re at cross purposes. A war within my heart. Me wanting to be more. His wanting me to be less. Me wanting to hold to my life. And His telling me to lose mine. Me wanting it to be all about me. His proclamation that it be all about Him. It’s been a standoff. Right here in my hometown.

See, God brought me back here as a grown woman. He wanted me to see the truth. That despite everything, I was still the little girl I was. My foundation hadn’t changed. The material still mattered to me. The tangible. The outer. In my eyes, things would make me special and image was of utmost importance. And despite a closet full of clothes, I was still seeking a new coat. One that says I’m special. Favored. Valuable. And yes, full of color. Perhaps like Joseph’s…

Lord my God, you are very great; you are clothed with splendor and majesty. The Lord wraps himself in light as with a garment; Psalm 104:1-2

So what do I do now? Well, what else can I do but shed my tired old coat. Because really, it’s time for a new one. But before donning a new frock of my own, maybe it would be okay if I just rode someone else’s coattails for a while. See, I’m tired. So tired. As such, maybe God would just let me ride His. And you know the great thing about His cloak, right? It’s light. And when light is refracted through a prism, well, you can see all the colors of a rainbow. In essence, God’s light is made up of all the colors. And so, it seems to me that if I simply ride His coattails for a while, well, I’ll find myself surrounded by a coat of many colors, after all. And isn’t that what I’ve been striving for my entire life anyway?

Yes, I think I’ll start there. I’ll ride God’s coattails. And in doing so, I’ll begin to see myself in a new light. His light. Red and yellow, blue and green. It’ll be like a rainbow…

I am the LORD, that is My name; I will not give My glory to another… Isaiah 42:8

Back to Jack. Had he lived, I wonder if he’d have thought my story was worth the telling? Could it actually help someone? Well, I think that will have to do with how my saga ends. Whether it turns out being all about His glory. Or about mine. See, if I let it become about His glory, and His light, it may well be worth the breath required to utter it after all.