Devotional – Page 4 – painter's daughter (a work in progress)

A Tale of Two Children (the fruit of my loins)

February 20, 2015February 20, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. Colossians 1:15

My babies are miracles to behold. A little bit of me, a little bit of Jason, and voila… a new creation. My firstborn, a boy child. And from the very start, he captured my heart. My last, a little girl. Equally as captivating. And through these mini me’s… I see my story unfold. By their names, their countenances and attitudes, their upsets and milestones, the real story of God & me comes to life before my eyes. Through them, I see me…

Levi

The Levitical priests—indeed, the whole tribe of Levi—are to have no allotment or inheritance with Israel. They shall live on the food offerings presented to the Lord, for that is their inheritance. They shall have no inheritance among their fellow Israelites; the Lord is their inheritance, as he promised them. Deuteronomy 18:1-2

His name means “joined to.” Or attached. And his very name encapsulates everything about my early journey with God. It began when I said a prayer eighteen years ago and immediately set to work. See, I began working for a God I didn’t know at all. And as the years progressed, I became more and more attached to the outward signs of my sacrifice. For in my mind, it was the visible, the tangible, that validated me. If I worked hard, then I would be rewarded. And my prize would be something I could put my hands on. That was it for me. My hands. Working hands. Proof of how good I was.

And so, I embraced the old covenant whole heartedly. I attached myself to rules and regulations. Bound by law, I joined myself to the church building and all its activities. Tethered more to a religion than to the God who formed me. And so, as time marched on, I marched all the more. I offered up one empty sacrifice after another hoping that one day they would fill me. That one day, I would really be changed. But the harder I worked, the more bitter I became. And the more I judged. Oh, you know what I mean. I think we’ve all heard it… “10% of the people do 100% of the work.” That became my mantra. I wore it on my chest like a badge of honor. Because I was a worker. A hard worker. I made my daily sacrifices at the temple. I was a good Christian. And those who didn’t do what I did, well, they just didn’t measure up. They fell into that 90% category.

And so, the fruit of my labor was fear. Because when Levi came, I thought he was a gift from God. A reward for all that stuff I thought I should be doing. And over time, God gave me a place of my own. My homeland. And because of my actions, I thought for sure He was rewarding me once more. See… I was being such a good girl. At least outwardly. No one could fault me. No sir. My sacrifices were in plain view for all to see. And so, if I slackened my pace, I worried. Would God punish me? If I didn’t work hard enough, would He take what was given?

And so went my life. For the first fifteen years of my Christian journey. Until one night, I had a dream. It was in February of 2013 when I heard God’s word. As I slumbered, Matthew 9:13 settled in my ear: “Go and learn what this means; I desire mercy and not sacrifice.” And as fate, or God, would have it… turns out that’s exactly what I did. I went. And I learned. My children teaching me the most.

Annabelle

Her name is Annabelle. I selected it because it means joy. And in truth, she represents the age of grace that was ushered into my life at the time of her conception. See, I became pregnant at a pivotal moment in time… fertilization occurred after a two-year long in depth spiritual exam. New life in my body in more ways than one. For it was the Fall of 2013 when I felt a sense of peace. Of joy. Of contentment. And closure. And those feelings had everything to do with my past. And everything to do with my future. And the crucial moment that hinged the two.

See, I had clarity for the first time. Just over a year ago, I knew the truth and it set me free. I knew who I was. Then and now. And I knew who He was. Then and forever. I fully comprehended what He had done. For me. It had everything to do with a cross. Nothing at all to do with my sacrifices. And it had everything to do with mercy. And grace. Nothing at all to do with my works. It had everything to do with Jesus. His scarred hands. Not a thing to do with me. And my busy hands.

And so, finally, the cross did a work in my heart. Finally, I understood what He wanted me to know. Mercy and not sacrifice. And that’s when my belongings released their hold on me. Or more accurately, I released my grip on them. Because I was no longer possessed by my possessions. For when the era of mercy graced my life, I found I was attached to this world no more. A stranger in a strange land. Because God Himself became my portion… my inheritance. For the first time I realized He would not give and take away based on a reward system. Fear that God would strike my kids as a form of punishment diminished in the light of His unconditional love. And so finally, after too many years, I came to know my Creator as a loving Father instead of a strict slave master. Finally.

Every generous act and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights; with Him there is no variation or shadow cast by turning. By His own choice, He gave us a new birth by the message of truth so that we would be the firstfruits of His creatures. James 1:17-18

For so long, I wondered why there was no change in me. See, I prayed a prayer in February of 1997. But nothing magic took place. There wasn’t this overnight miracle. Instead, I seemed to get worse. As time wore on, I became increasingly bitter and nasty and resentful. Oh, on the outside, I looked good. But inside… rotten. I festered away.

And so, despite knowing something was incredibly wrong, I kept going. Spurred on by select Bible verses and little knowledge. Misinterpreting Scripture on more than one occasion. Incited by a sermon I heard from more than one pulpit, “You’re known by your fruit!” Well, obviously, I wasn’t producing the right fruit! Surely I wasn’t working hard enough. Because I was the same woman fifteen years later. And so, I lumbered on. I slapped on my badge of honor. Serve! Work! Let your light shine so your works glorify God in heaven! I tried to do all this. And I tried again. I worked so hard. Until one day, I just stopped. I knew there had to be something more. There just had to be. And turns out there was. For it’s just as He says… He desires mercy. Not sacrifice. I just had to learn it.

We are asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of His will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding, so that you may walk worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to Him, bearing fruit in every good work and growing in the knowledge of God. Colossians 1:9-10

It occurs to me today that perhaps we, as Christians, sometimes confuse fruit and works. Because one has to do with the internal while the other has to do with the external. One has to do with the New Covenant… the other the Old. One has to do with mercy… the other sacrifice. In essence, one has to do with life and the other… well, death. Inner and outer. And aren’t we told the outward is perishing anyway? Just like the dead works we’re to turn from…

Doesn’t it stand to reason, then, that if we sit still long enough, an outer work will happen anyway? In time? Surely as God’s fruit develops and ripens within us, it’ll eventually make its way to the surface. To our eyes and mouths, His fruit blossoming and blooming on our very countenances? And yes, fruit yielded through our own hands. But not by our feeble attempts. Or by empty works. Instead, a bounty of fruit that begins deep inside us until it flourishes and heaps over the vessels that we are.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Galatians 5:22-23

Yes, it’s true… my babies are miracles to behold. They teach me so much about myself. And through them, I’ve learned about God. About who He is. And as I stand back and look at the big picture, I am awed at how He put this all together. How through the precious faces of my offspring, the fruit of my loins, He gives me a picture of myself… the fruit of His loins. And through my children, I know without a shadow of a doubt how much He loves me. I know it. See, His firstborn was a Son. He was the firstborn over all creation. And then, He had more children. His firstfruits. As many as the stars. For His offspring is like the dust of the earth… if one could count the dust.

Her sons rise up and call her blessed. Her husband also praises her: “Many women are capable, but you surpass them all!” Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the LORD will be praised. Give her the reward of her labor (the fruit of her hands), and let her works praise her at the city gates. Proverbs 31:28-31

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJWBnqoWabE

Lord Business

February 13, 2015February 13, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

“My Father is still working, and I am working also.” John 5:17

February 8, 2014. That’s the night I saw the Lego movie. I know for certain because that’s the evening I received Annabelle’s middle name. Wynn. Oh, I can recall the details of February 8 very well… the delicious feeling of my secret while at dinner with friends. See, I was pregnant and they didn’t know. And the best part was my girlfriend was expecting her first grandchild at the time. As she sat there delighting over her daughter’s news, I quietly sat delighting in my own. That tidbit made the secret all the more juicy.

And so, after dinner, we watched the Lego movie. Honestly, I was not happy at first. I remember thinking, “I have to sit here for two hours for this?” It just didn’t seem to be my kind of movie. However, God used it to teach me something anyway. I don’t know if I got the lesson then, but I got it a week back when Levi watched the movie here at home. It has to do with Lord Business.

Spoiler alert… if you haven’t seen the movie and plan to, stop reading now. I’m going to divulge some details about a character named President Business a/k/a Lord Business. See, he controlled everything. He was the man in charge. However, the people in Lego land were deceived. They saw him as a business man in a suit but behind closed doors, he showed his true appearance. His pride and controlling nature on full display when he changed into his Lord Business costume. The ensemble came complete with elevated legs/shoes.

Every single day was alike for the citizens off Lego land. They woke up and went through the motions of the day religiously. Nothing ever changed. And they liked it that way. They sang, “Everything is awesome…” Monotonous. Tedious. Boring. One day after another… exactly how President Business wanted it. What the people didn’t know is that he was actually Lord Business and he had an evil plan. He had something called the Kragle (Krazy Glue with some of the letters missing) and he was going to glue everything in sight. He was going to cement all the pieces in a perfect way. According to his pattern. He was delighted for it would be beautiful to behold. And nothing would ever change. Everything would stay the same forever… no movement.

I have glorified You on the earth by completing the work You gave Me to do. John 17:4

So what does this Lego movie have to do with the spiritual life I try to write about? To sum up… everything. Simply, everything. It’s what this blog has been leading me to this whole time. Freedom. But to tell, I have to go to the beginning… to the garden where God created man in His own image. Male and female. He formed man out of the dust of the ground and breathed the breath of life in his nostrils. Man became a living soul. And on the seventh day, God completed HIs work. He rested on the seventh day from all His work that He had done. He blessed the seventh day and declared it holy, for on it He rested from His work of creation (Genesis 2:2-3).

And there’s my lesson right there. For I count the word work three times in that passage. And us, the work of His creation, do the same. We create. We work. And He wants us to work. However, today I question some of the work we do. What is it we actually accomplish in all our busyness? Is the work of our hands inspired by Him, or have we gotten caught in a rut? Do we move and perform by the Spirit’s inspiration? Or is our service perfunctory? Do we find ourselves in the same circumstances the citizens of Lego land found themselves? In danger of being stuck? Cemented to something God doesn’t even want us to be affixed to? Or do our actions bring Him glory as all our works should? And if they don’t, could it be our actions cause us to bow down to Lord Business instead… all our work glorifying the business of church rather than God Himself? Do we marvel at the work of our hands rather than the God of all creation? Delighting in our earthly sacrifices and not in Him? And if that’s where we find ourselves, how can we unstick ourselves?

And God said to them, “Be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth…” Genesis 1:28

God said to fill the earth. He didn’t tell His creation to stay in one locale, for He wanted His people to spread out. But in the eleventh chapter of Genesis, something else occurred. For His creation said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the sky.” And their motivation is clear… “Let us make a name for ourselves; otherwise, we will be scattered over the face of the whole earth.” The people didn’t want to move. Or to change. In fact, they wanted to stay right where they were. Kragled to a specific locale. So they decided to build. And not only that, it had to be tall. Up to the sky. Everyone would know who they were. Pride elevated their goals… their intentions as lofty as the legs President Business put himself into when he became Lord Business.

Flash forward to a new scene. Jesus and the disciples. And Peter had just had the mother of all revelations. He knew the truth… “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” And this is when Jesus said, “I also say to you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build My church…” The next thing you know is Jesus took the inner three along with Him up a mountain. Peter, James and John were alone with Jesus when something amazing happened. He was transformed before them as His face shone like the sun. Even His clothes became as white as the light. Then suddenly, Moses and Elijah were with Him talking.

Always outspoken, Peter was inspired to voice his lofty aspirations. “Lord, it’s good for us to be here! If You want, I will make three tabernacles here.” Peter beheld Jesus in all His glory and so he wanted to do something. He wanted to create. To build. “Let us make…” But before he could even formulate his thoughts and plans and put them into action, a bright cloud covered them. There was a voice: “This is My beloved Son. I take delight in Him. Listen to Him!” And so the work Peter wanted to do was halted in its tracks. It’s not what God wanted.

The Word became flesh and took up residence among us. We observed His glory, the glory as the One and Only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1:14

What Peter wanted to do wasn’t bad. And if I had been in shoes, I’d probably have wanted to do the same. I’d want to build and create something tangible to give credence to the event. I’d have wanted to run down that mountain and tell everyone… “Guess what happened!” But Peter couldn’t do that. Because Jesus told his disciples to keep quiet. About the revelation of all revelations… Jesus Christ, Son of God. And also about the glory witnessed by the inner three. What a secret to keep.

Today, I wonder about Peter’s motivation. And me being me, I think I have an idea of what he may have been feeling. Because I know how I would have felt. Perhaps a bit lofty? Special, even? Maybe even as high as Lord Business when he placed himself in those elevated legs. Maybe that’s what prompted Peter to begin with. He wanted to erect a building. He wanted to get busy working. Because God had just revealed something huge. What a revelation. Not only that, Jesus gave him a new name… Peter, which means rock. He was told the church would be built on “this rock.” Built on a revelation. On a person… the person of Jesus Christ. And Peter’s natural inclination was to get busy. To work. To create. And why wouldn’t he? He, like us, is made in God’s image. A creator. A builder. A worker.

She had a sister named Mary, who also sat at the Lord’s feet and was listening to what He said. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks, and she came up and asked, “Lord, don’t You care that my sister has left me to serve alone? So tell her to give me a hand.” The Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has made the right choice, and it will not be taken away from her.” Luke 11:39-41

Here’s what I’m thinking. Yes it’s true there’s work to be done while we walk God’s earth. Because the fields are white, we must pray the Lord to send laborers. Those who will work and serve God. However, before we can do the work of God, a work must take place in us first. It has to. If the inner doesn’t happen, the outer means nothing. If the inner doesn’t occur, then we may end up like Martha. Bitter and resentful. Serving out of compulsion. Working because we feel like we have to. Bowing down to Lord Business instead of glorifying God above. Laboring as a slave, and not serving out of love. I know because this is what happened to me.

For you are called to freedom, brothers; only don’t use this freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but serve one another through love. Galatians 5:13

The inner must happen. And that happens only when we sit still at the feet of Jesus. It’s what God told Peter. It’s what He tells me. “This is My Son. I delight in Him. Listen to Him!” But this takes time. It’s secret and quiet… as secret as a baby knit together in her mother’s womb. Naked to the eyes of those around you, a story of you and Jesus unfolds within your own heart. A miracle takes place inside. And it’s delicious. You hear His voice. And as you listen intently, you begin to transform. Over time, your face becomes as bright as the sun. And as your heart melds with God’s, you stop trying to find satisfaction and delight by the work of your hands. Instead, you delight yourself in Him. Only Him. And without even trying, His work becomes your work. Naturally. Without lifting a finger, you begin His work. And it has nothing to do with business, or busyness, at all.

At least that’s the way it happened with this working girl. A slave become a daughter. And perhaps the best way to describe how that feels is the Lego movie theme song. Because it’s true…

“Everything is awesome
Everything is cool when you’re part of a team
Everything is awesome when we’re living our dream…”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqdnVeeMPR8

Proof of Life

February 11, 2015February 11, 2015by Pam Anderson6 Comments

I used to be Pro-Choice. Pro-Abortion. And to follow up with words that are sure to offend many, I chalk that up to ignorance. I chose not to know. I was uniformed and chose to stay that way. I made a decision that would affect the rest of my life without investigating what was actually taking place inside my body. But today, because I’ve birthed two babies, I know something significant about the 18th day. For that’s when the heart beats. And by 21 days, blood whose type is different from that of the mother’s, is pumped through a closed circulatory system (J.M. Tanner, G. R. Taylor, and the Editors of Time-Life Books, Growth, New York: Life Science Library, 1965). That baby has its own blood type. Individual from the mother. That baby has a heartbeat… isn’t that proof of life?

And because it’s February, I ponder another sort of heartbeat today. See, this month is significant for it’s the month of my birth. Spiritually speaking, I turn eighteen this year. I suppose that means I should technically be an adult in God’s kingdom by now. Because in the winter of 1997, I became His child. Eighteen years ago. But for so long after becoming His, I doubted I actually was. Today, I chalk that up to ignorance. Because I chose not to know what was actually taking place inside my body. And in my spirit. And in my heart. I chose to stay uniformed. For years and years.

But after 12 years of wavering and doubting, something happened. I felt a thudding in my chest. It was my heart. But this was a new heart beat… a pounding so hard, I could feel it throbbing through my ears. And inexplicably, I was moved to act. Prompted by God, this heartbeat was followed by movement. Physically. Just like the babies that grew within in my womb, I did the same. The miracle, though, is this happened outside the womb. Proof of life. Proof that I was actually His. Proof I was alive in Him.

So today, I ponder the importance of February. A month of more than one birthday. Or anniversary. For it begins with the conception of my new life in Christ 18 years ago. Followed up 12 years later by a heartbeat. His heartbeat inside me. Proof of life. And then after another four years, this blog was birthed in February. Two years ago, I began to pour out my heart for all to see. Some things written can only be explained by God. Because it was stuff I had covered up for so long. Old stuff. Despite my intentions of keeping some things hidden, they bubbled up to the surface anyway. Unexpectedly. Prompted by Him. God. My Creator. My muse.

And so, here I am today. It’s my spiritual birthday and I ruminate over all these things. And you know… it occurs to me that this blog has been kind of like a sonogram. Because for two years now, it’s monitored my spiritual movement. Everything’s recorded. My ups and downs. My progress. My heartbeat. Time spent developing in His womb. I can observe the labor… when pangs came closer and closer together. That was the time of my delivery. See, it was just over a year ago when I was delivered from my past. I felt reborn. Shiny and bright. A new creation.

So then, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; what is old has passed away–look, what is new has come! 2 Corinthians 5:17

So here I am in the month of my spiritual birth, and I consider my life up to this point. And what I do. And why I do it. And the blog is one of those things considered. Why write? Two years ago, it seemed clear to me. And I marvel at my words and my conviction…

Yes, I am a regular woman called many things. But the most important title I have? Child of God. I am His child. And although I became His sixteen years ago, I am just now learning what this means. And that’s the whole purpose of this blog. Because if I am just now figuring out the basics so many years later, I just have to wonder… are there others like me? Ordinary we may think ourselves, but I am starting to see, life does not have to be that way. Our lives can be extraordinary, and yes, interesting. Because God is in our midst! February 2013

God in our midst! I wanted others to know what I did. To experience God like I had. To feel what I felt. God in our midst. But today, I see things a bit different. See, rather than Him being in my midst, I feel as if I’ve been in His midst. I’ve been in Him. In Christ. In His womb. He’s been making me this whole time. A new creation.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:14

Yesterday I came across a picture. As always, Facebook is a fount of information. But I have to say, this picture stopped me in my tracks. It was breathtaking. Well, at least to me. In truth, some will be offended by the following image. But I find it beautiful. Stunning. Because it is the picture of new life.

Photo by Christian Berthelot

This picture shows truth. New life is messy for a baby doesn’t come out of the womb all clean and smelling like powder. And the thing is, it’s the very same with us spiritually. For God’s children don’t come out of His womb all clean and smelling like a rose. In fact, they come out quite messy. They need cleaning up. And the process can be lengthy. For some, it can take years. Like with me. See, I was His child for seventeen years before I felt new. And clean. Shiny and bright. The making of me took place over a prolonged period of time. And in fact, He’s still making me…

It’s through these February musings, I understand what a gift my daughter Annabelle is. In more ways than one. See, her middle name is significant. In fact, I’m quite sure God’s the One who blessed her with the name of Wynn, which means holy, blessed reconciliation; joy and peace; fair, pure. And in blessing Annabelle with this lovely name, He in turn blessed me. Eight days after hearing her heartbeat. Eight days after encountering His grace with regard to my past, I received a new name through the daughter I carried in my womb. Annabelle Wynn. Blessed reconciliation. She became my proof of life. Confirmation that I am in truth His baby girl. Just as much as she is my own. I carried her in my womb and He carried me in His. God in my midst? No, for it seems as if I were in His midst instead. For He’s been all around me this whole time. Encompassing me. Making me over. The created by the Creator. A new creation.

Today, I’m pro-life. But not just with regard to abortion. See, I’m pro-life for Christian babies, too. The ones who are still developing in His womb. See, the process can take some time. Labor can be such a prolonged effort. And as for me… His eighteen year old daughter who has grown at least a little since first becoming His… well, it’s my job to be patient. To be kind. To be encouraging. While others are waiting for their proof of life, I must not judge. And point fingers. Because if I’m not careful, I could kill a developing babe by my thoughtless words. Without realizing it, I could snuff out the new life He’s creating in the person right next to me. Because His babies take time to develop. And just as God continues to make me, He continues to make them. His creations. Because that’s what He does… He creates.

Six days it took God to create the earth and all that’s in it. On the seventh, He rested from His work. And then, there’s the eighth day. The eighth day is significant for me. It happened last February. That’s when He confirmed I was His baby girl. It’s when He gave me a new name. And He used my own baby girl to do so. Annabelle Wynn became proof of life for me.

See, we’re His children… beautiful in our wonderful mess. For in time, He cleans us up. And before we know it, we’re made new. Shiny and bright. Glorious. Reborn in His image.

So God created man in His own image;
He created him in the image of God;
He created them male and female.

God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth… Genesis 1:27-28

http://www.godtube.com/watch/?v=7G7PD7NX

Birthing Babies

January 28, 2015January 28, 2015by Pam Anderson5 Comments

He was born in the summer of his 27th year

Coming home to a place he’d never been before.

He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again

You might say he found a key for every door… John Denver

Up till a couple of years ago, the above lyrics wouldn’t have meant much to me. But now, I identify with John Denver’s song. My heart echoes his refrain… a Rocky Mountain High, Colorado. However, the song of my heart sounds a little different. “She was born in the winter of her 41st year, coming home to a place she’d been before. She left her yesterday behind her, you might say she was born again. She found a key for every door… a Blue Ridge Mountain High, Virginia.”

John Denver used the term born again. That’s an expression I would have avoided up till a couple of years ago. Because despite my claiming to be a born-again Christian, I don’t think I had any understanding of that title. Not till recent years. Not till recent revelations. Recent mountain high experiences. And this past August, the birth of my baby girl gave a vivid picture of being born-again. New birth. But not just hers… mine.

At first, Annabelle was just a thought. A whisper of God. Hidden and formed in the dark. Quiet and still. And as my body provided what she needed, she grew. She flourished inside me. And the miracle is, no one could really see what was happening. All this went unnoticed. Aside from my growing belly, Annabelle’s progress was unseen to the naked eye. A real person grew inside me. It’s truly awe-inspiring. A miracle.

As the time of her delivery drew near, there were contractions. Small and irregular at first, but with more frequency towards the end. And then the big day arrived… it was time. When my water broke, it was more significant to me than my own baptism which occurred seventeen years earlier. No, this was a picture of cleansing. Of healing. For as I was pierced, water and blood escaped. A dramatic picture of what took place upon a cross some two thousand years ago…

But one of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and at once there came out blood and water. John 19:34

And then came labor. Before long, a little discomfort morphed to full scale pain. It hurt. For hours. It was work. See, making babies comes easy… but birthing babies is a different story. It’s not an easy process. It took hours. My husband and mother-in-law were with me the whole time. And there was a screen we could watch… it monitored Annabelle’s progress. Every contraction was recorded. Every twinge I felt was reflected on that screen…

Susan, my in-law, took great interest in that screen. Because we could see other readouts, too. She’d study them… “Oh, there’s one… she’s getting ready to deliver.” And sure enough, we’d hear a baby cry. Then again, “Oh, this one will be soon…” And again, another baby cry. All around me, babies birthed left and right.

Me and Annabelle? We took a bit more time. Though we arrived early in the morning, and my water broke at lunchtime, delivery didn’t come till later in the evening. And even then, they had to take her out of me. She wasn’t budging. Such a picture of my own spiritual journey.

Funny thing about those screens, though. I looked at one yesterday and what I saw about floored me. Those labor pains, well, they look like a mountain range. Up and down. Once more, the act of having a baby imitating one’s spiritual trek. Up and down. Ascending the mountain and descending the mountain…

If you look at the mountain of a labor pain, you’ll notice the baby’s heartbeat slows with each contraction. And the higher the contraction reads, the more pain is involved. As delivery progresses, the contractions are more frequent. Longer. I find this to be true in my journey today. Well, with life in general.

See, we’re busy creatures. It’s our default. We hit the ground running. And our spiritual heartbeat becomes more frantic and erratic with our hectic pace. Before we know it, we feel some pain. Something may slow us down. A forced sit-still, if you will. That’s the contraction. It squeezes us and as we stand still, our spiritual heartbeat slows. But before long, something beautiful occurs. Our heart begins to beat alongside His… slow and unrushed. A holy hush. And this happens at the peak of the contraction. At the tip of the mountain. And it’s there lasting change happens. It’s there, the internal is reached. When you’re quiet. And still.

For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
    when I was made in the secret place,
    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Psalm 139:13-15

You’re regenerated. You’re refreshed. Made new by the Creator Himself. But eventually, life sets in once more. You have to descend the mountain and reenter reality. And before you know it, your pace picks up. You become busy yet again. And life rushes by until… you have a contraction. A forced sit. But again, something beautiful happens inside. Unnoticed by those on the outside. Unseen to the naked eye… you’re changed. You develop. As you grow up spiritually, the contractions may come with increased frequency. But as you progress, your heart begins to recognize more quickly when it’s not beating in sync with His. That’s when you stop. You listen. And when your heartbeat aligns with His, you’re ready to move on. Once more.

See, she was born in the winter of her 41st year. At first, she was just a thought. A whisper of God. Hidden and formed in the dark. Quiet and still. And as He gave her what she needed, she grew. She flourished with Him inside her. And the miracle is, no one could really see what was happening. All this went unnoticed. Her progress was unseen to the naked eye. But she was made over.. a new creation. It’s truly awe-inspiring. A miracle. For she who was born was born again. On a Blue Ridge mountain high… Virginia. That’s my song.

Jesus replied, “Very truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again.” “How can someone be born when they are old?” Nicodemus asked. “Surely they cannot enter a second time into their mother’s womb to be born!” John 3:3-4

http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=rocky+mountain+high&qpvt=rocky+mountain+high&FORM=VDRE#view=detail&mid=9A4F4D285E73C45574479A4F4D285E73C4557447

An Average Woman

January 20, 2015January 20, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

So, yesterday was Martin Luther King day. And honestly, other than noticing how busy it was in town and that my son was out of school, I didn’t give it much thought. In truth, it’s just another day on the calendar for me. A holiday that’s observed, and by observed I mean Federal agencies and various offices are closed. In the fullness of yesterday, that’s the only thought that came to my mind regarding the holiday… busyness and closings.

See, I’m a busy woman. And yesterday, my son was home. So I hit the ground running. I had places to go, people to see, groceries to get, work emails to answer, dinner to cook, and aerobics to attend. And after all that, I had a baby to tend to. She was a bit fussy yesterday evening and her sleep was not sound. So, I slept on the sofa with her by my side in her bouncy chair. I wanted to be close…

That brings me to this morning. And that’s when revelation struck… Yesterday was Martin Luther King day. But what does that mean? Or more specifically, what should it mean to someone like me… your average woman. Overloaded and overwhelmed by duty and tasks. See, at the basest, I know what the day represents. I’ve heard all about this significant man. And he had a dream. And he had a purpose. And he gave his life, literally, for that dream.

But you know, there’s a song that sheds light on something more about Martin Luther King, Jr. It’s called Up to the Mountain (MLK song). And from a video, I learned that Dr. King’s last speech was the inspiration for the song. And I believe anyone who hears the lyrics will be moved. Moved to go up to the mountain… just like he did.

This morning, God reminded me of another man who went up to the mountain. Just like Dr. King. His name was Moses. And in Exodus 34, Moses’ instructions were clear. They were simple. Be prepared, come up, and stand before Me on the mountaintop. But God also said, “No one may go up with you.” And that stirs me this cold day. See, there are just some places you have to go alone. For some journeys are meant for only two… God and the individual. At least that’s what I gleaned from my reading this morning.

Moses, indeed, trekked up that mountain. Alone. And you know what happened? The LORD came down. God stood there with him. And God proclaimed His name to Moses. Moses received revelation, for He glimpsed God’s glory. And there he stayed for forty days and forty nights. In the presence of God… basking in His glory. Just God and him.

And so, I ponder Martin Luther King, Jr. And the MLK song. See, he went up to the mountain because God asked him to. I’m sure he prepared. And he stood before God. And most assuredly, I think he went alone. At least that first time. See, some journeys are meant for only two… And you know what I think happened? God came down. Dr. King received revelation. And a dream. And most assuredly, He glimpsed God’s glory. Just God and him.

But what does that mean to me? An average woman. Because going up to the mountain seems so lofty. See, I’m no Moses and I’m certainly no Martin Luther King. But does that mean God’s invitation went forth to only men like them? Or is it for me, too? A tired, harried, disheveled 41 year old woman. What in the world would that look like… going up to the mountain?

You know what? I can tell you. Because this morning, it happened. Amidst the chaos of my home, I heard God’s call. He told me to come up, and I did. But that meant I had to leave some things behind…

Look at my house. Anyone who knows me knows how unhinged I can be when clutter abounds. But you know, I couldn’t do both. I couldn’t ascend the mountain dragging my stuff with me. So I left my duties and chores behind. The dust on my surfaces and the laundry in the basket and the emails in my inbox? They remained at the base of the mountain. And so, I prepared for my ascent in that I didn’t prepare my face. Or my hair…

And I went up and stood before the LORD in my Spirit. All by myself. Face and soul bared. And the most remarkable thing happened…for He came down. He met with me. And I received revelation. A received a fresh glimpse of God’s glory. And there I basked in His presence. Just me… a tired, middle-aged, average woman. And God. A journey for two. And this… this is what going up the mountain looks like in my home.

You know, this stained glass piece has been hanging in my window. But today, it means so much more to me than a simple decoration. It seems significant. For it’s a reminder of God’s invitation. But see, I can’t have it all. I can’t do it all. And so, every day hereafter, I’ll have a choice. I can stay at the foot of the mountain dusting and decluttering and accomplishing my lengthy to do list. Or, I can leave all that behind seeking something greater. Something more. Seeking God. The choice is mine. And today, I’m so glad I made the right choice. Because had I not, I would have missed God.

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:41-42

So yesterday was Martin Luther King day. And it’s true he was a great man. He stood for what he believed in. He fought and gave his life for what mattered. See, he had a dream. And you know what… so do I. This average woman has a dream, too. It’s from God. It’s His purpose for me. It’s what I’m to stand and fight for. But you know… I could have so easily missed it. If I was too busy to hear His call, I would have missed His revelation. It’s so easy to do. We’re so incredibly busy… the average woman has such a full plate.

But hush now… quiet your busy mind. Can you hear Him? He speaks softly and His invitation is for you, “Come up to the mountain,” He says. Because there He’ll meet with you. But you must go alone. See, some journeys are meant for only two. God and you. Because He has a dream. And a purpose. Just for you. An average woman.

And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. 1 Kings 19:11-12

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Behold! Annabelle’s lamb!

December 19, 2014December 19, 2014by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

“Blessed is she who believed, for there will be a fulfillment of those things which were told her from the Lord.” Luke 1:45

A year ago, I was in a completely different place. Spiritually, that is. See, December 2, 2013 was a bad night for it was the night I decorated the tree. And what should have been blissful proved to be stressful instead. However, that fateful night pointed me in a new direction. The right direction. For it was at that point, I decided to seek a true Christmas heart. And so for weeks, I paused at the Christmas story. I pondered it all… Joseph, Mary, the stable, the angels, the shepherds, the Christ child and more. So much more. The end result? I found a true Christmas heart. And then a miracle took place. For the day after Christmas, I discovered I was with child.

Mary had a little lamb…

And so here I am one year later. And the one thing I decided I would do, I haven’t. See, I realized the importance of Christmas cards last year. Of the myriad things we do, how wonderful it is to the take the time to send forth His message. And so, at the end of last season, I bought beautiful cards. I fully intended to mail them out to loved ones this year. But here I am at December 19, and only one card has gone forth. And chances of the rest of them being mailed out are slim. For it’s 10:09 and my aunt is coming at 11:00. And then, my son is out of school for the holidays beginning at 12:30 today. So it appears I have run out of time.

And so, rather than pick up my completely cluttered house which is what I’d normally do when I know I have company coming, I choose to do this instead. It’s my Christmas card, and I send it to whosoever chooses to read these words…

The card says “Behold…” That means to perceive through sight or apprehension. It means to gaze upon… to observe. And in keeping with the way God speaks to me, He gave me a vivid picture of myself and Christ through my baby girl. See, she has this little lamb. And oh, she loves it so. She grabs it. She nuzzles it. She shoves it in her mouth. She turns to it. And most recently, I noticed she struggles with it. I was in another room and heard her grunting and exerting herself. When I looked in and gazed upon her, I observed that lamb had completely covered her face. She couldn’t see. And no matter how much she flailed about, the lamb stayed put. The covering remained.

Hark the herald angels sing…

Last year, it was a Christmas clock that inspired a lot of my musings… see, I paused so I could observe the words of the carols we sing. And today, it’s Hark the herald angels sing that falls on my ear. And that word hark… it means to pay close attention. To listen. And so, I do today…

See, a week or so back a wise woman spoke words of truth. She said, “A journey in the wrong direction for an extended stay.” And those words settled in my ear. And then they burrowed deep in my heart. And I realize… I’ve done exactly that. A year ago, I sought a Christmas heart. And I found it! Then, there was a promise of new life. And not only within my womb, but within me. Spiritually… new life. And after January, I was ready to move forward. But you know, I ended up going backward instead. I began to struggle with God yet one more time. But why? Why should I struggle?

See, it’s true. Mary had a little lamb and His fleece was white as snow. And just like Annabelle has a lamb, I realize Mary’s Lamb is mine. Annabelle has her lovey, and I have one, too. And through my walk, I grab onto Him. I nuzzle Him. I shove Him in my mouth by feasting on His word. I turn to Him. And most recently, I realized I struggle with Him. But it’s an old struggle. And it’s one I should have released a year ago.

But behold! God gave me a picture. See, Annabelle struggled with her lamb. But the thing is, it didn’t go anywhere. And that’s the same thing for me. No matter how much I struggle, the covering of the Lamb won’t budge. It covers me from head to toe. Annabelle tried to get that lamb off, but she couldn’t. And how comforting that it’s the same with me… My Lovey is going nowhere. Try as I might, the Lamb stays put.

And so, this Christmas, I exclaim… Behold! Annabelle’s lamb! For it’s a picture of our own Lamb. It’s the reason for Christmas. He came as a baby… the Lamb of God… for us. God and sinners reconciled. Born to give us second birth. Hark, for that’s what the angels sing…

And so today, this Christmas, we have a gift. We have that covering. See, the Lamb of God is spotless… fleece as white as snow. And because of Him, we can be, too. Cleansed… as white as snow. And so, I echo Peter’s words this morning… I say, not just my feet but my hands and my head as well! (John 13:9) I say, cover me, Lord! And He does. It’s His gift. To us. And not just as Christmas, but every day thereafter. And the miracle is… it stays put. His covering doesn’t budge. Even if we struggle…

…knowing that you were not redeemed with corruptible things, like silver or gold, from your aimless conduct received by tradition from your fathers, but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot.

1 Peter 1:18-19

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The Prodigal Daughter

December 5, 2014by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

And in those moments when it seems I have nothing, there’s always a light to lead me home. Lauren Eline, Facebook

I know what He wants for Christmas. I’ve discovered the perfect gift for the One who already gave perfection. And it’s so simple. It was something on Facebook that clued me in. See, He leaves breadcrumbs for His children all the time. Little drops of light to lead us to where He desires us to go. And that’s how I know what He wants for I followed His breadcrumbs. I’ve been leaping from one ray of light to the next and so now, I see. They’ve been leading me home. To my Father’s house. And that’s it. All He wants for Christmas is me, and all His children, to come home. That’s what He’s been trying to tell me. And isn’t this what every parent desires? To have their kids home for the holidays?

Every generous act and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights; with Him there is no variation or shadow cast by turning. James 1:17

I am slow. So slow. Because it appears God has to show me something again and again before I get it (and again). Because we just went through something a year ago. It’s this fear thing. But His word is clear… perfect love casts out fear because fear involves punishment. And so, if I believe God loves me as His word says, should I fear? Should I expect punishment from God? And yet, I find myself going back there again and again. Just waiting for God to drop the ax. Like an errant child, I await my punishment. Most recently, the birth of my new baby set me down this path. It goes back to guilt I hold. I feel guilty for being discontent. And because I don’t think I fully appreciate what God has given, I agonize. Namely, over my children. Because if I can’t appreciate them as much as I should, then perhaps God will decide to just take them away. This irrational thought came to me a few years back…

For to the one who has, it will be given, and from the one who does not have, even what he has will be taken away. Mark 4:25

For a long time I thought that verse referred to things we have. Possessions. Like my kids. All that God has given. And it caused me to fear the worst. And isn’t that a crazy thought? Why should I think God wants to take away what He’s given. Why would the One who gave everything desire to take away? But thankfully, I finally realized what the writer is talking about for the passage of Scripture refers to using your light. And my life gives evidence as to how one can lose her light. See, I’m a worrier. And the more I worry, the dimmer the light becomes. And the more anxious I am, the more that light ebbs away. And when I fear, the light is nearly extinguished. Before I know it, I live in the shadow lands. I dwell in darkness because I can barely see the light. But then, I find a breadcrumb. There’s a beam of light and it beckons. Like the one I saw on Facebook last night.

The people who live in darkness
have seen a great light,
and for those living in the shadowland of death,
light has dawned. Matthew 4:16

This morning I realized I am just like the prodigal son I read about in Luke 15. He asked his father for his share of the estate and his father gave it. Me? I ask my Father for His love and He gives it. And like the son who went off and spent all his father gave him, I do the same. God assures me He loves me (again and again), but I squander away His precious words. For some reason, I remain insecure despite His very clear words to me. Oh, so clear. In fact, in early November God couldn’t have spoken more directly. He was personal and intimate. And He used someone who barely knows me to convey His message. It was quite remarkable. But rather than rest in those words, I remain the prodigal daughter. I still roam blindly in the dark.

But thankfully, I have the prodigal son to look to. Oh, how surprised he must have been for He lost everything. He had nothing and dwelled with the pigs he fed. He was starving. But finally, he came to his senses. Finally. He thought he’d return to his father and confess. He decided he’d ask to be made a hired hand… he would work for his father in order to live. But when he came to his home country, his father saw him from afar and came running. Running with open arms to greet his lost son. Dad fell upon his neck and kissed him again and again. All his son could get out was, “I’m not worthy to be called your son.” He didn’t even get out the part about working before a robe and a ring and sandals were placed upon him. He was warmly welcomed into his father’s house with a great feast… music and dancing. His father was just so happy. For his lost son had been found. His son who was dead was now alive.

And then there’s me. The prodigal daughter. I’ve been living in the shadow land of death. That’s what fear will do to you. But God, my Father, my Daddy… He told me most clearly and tenderly in November that He loves me. He said He loves my children so much more than I ever could. And He chose me to raise them. He said to not fear His will. He said I’ve been distracted by the noise around me – noise from fears compounded onto fears – worries of a 1,000 what if’s. He said I should learn to quiet myself and focus on His voice… the voice of my Daddy. The God of all creation said that’s what He is to me… a Daddy. He said when I love my children, I am most like Him. When Annabelle and Levi cry for me, in pain or in joy, I should multiply that feeling by 1,000 and I’ll begin to see how He feels for me. This is what my Daddy said. Clearly. So then, why should I fear? Because the way I felt yesterday when I kissed my daughter a thousand times is exactly what He feels for me. When I exclaimed over her little smiling face, I love you, I love you, I love you, I am most like Him. So why do I squander away His precious words of assurance? And so today, I choose not to. It’s as if I have finally come to my senses. Finally. Because Daddy told me He loves me. And today, He tells me to come home for Christmas.

Then Jesus spoke to them again: “I am the light of the world. Anyone who follows Me will never walk in the darkness but will have the light of life.” John 8:12

He leaves breadcrumbs. Drops of light. On that first Christmas long ago, He sent His Son as a light to the world. And He’s the One who knows the way to our Father’s house. We can follow Him. And we don’t have to fear if we lose sight of our big Brother. For those times we lag behind, we have another light to follow. Because God also gave us His Spirit. Just as it hovered over the watery depths at the beginning of creation, it hovers over our fickle hearts. For those times we wander… when worry draws us down a darkened path or when anxiety leads us astray or when fear blinds our eyes… there is a flame. It’s a candle that never goes out and it sits in the window of our darkened soul. It beckons us home. And as we draw near and peer inside, we see the house is fully lit. Warm light draws us to open the door and when we do, Daddy throws His arms open wide. He pulls us close and kisses our face a thousand times. He says, I love you, I love you, I love you! He’s so happy because the daughter who was lost is now found. The daughter who was dead, who trod the valley of the shadow of death, is now alive. She finally made it. And when she does, He says welcome home…. that He’d been waiting for her.

This is what God, our Father of lights, wants for Christmas. And His call is not just for me. Because He wants all his sons and daughters of light to come home. He’s placed a candle in the windows of our soul. It’s there to light our way. We just need to look for it…

Jesus answered, “The light will be with you only a little longer. Walk while you have the light so that darkness doesn’t overtake you. The one who walks in darkness doesn’t know where he’s going. While you have the light, believe in the light so that you may become sons of light.” John 12:35-36

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Unto her…

December 4, 2014December 21, 2015by Pam Anderson1 Comment

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given… Isaiah 9:6

“You have to decide… do you think God is a giver or a taker?” That was a question posed to thousands of women on September 15, 2012. And on that day, if I were to have answered honestly, I would have said taker. Despite all I had ever read about God, and all I had experienced of God, in the darkest recesses of my heart I believed the worst. I believed He was a taker. I just didn’t realize that’s what I believed.

And in truth, I continue to process that thought even now. Two and a half years later. That deep down irrational notion that God, who is the creator of all life, could be a taker of life. And that thinking brings me directly to the heart of Christmas today.

Yes, I’m brought to the inner chambers of God’s heart by the above verse I’ve heard at least a hundred times before. It’s a verse that adorns Christmas cards every year. But today, it’s new to me. Because I read it as if it’s written directly to me…

For unto me, a child is born.

Unto me, a son is given.

By God. The ultimate Christmas gift. And so today I see truth. I’ve been illuminated and find He’s a giver after all.

In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it. John 1:4-5

It’s December 4th and Christmas is a mere three weeks away. And for the first time I feel utterly unprepared. And furthermore, I feel uninspired. In fact, I feel downright cynical. I even told my husband this week… my heart is as black as night.

See, over packed stores turn my stomach and I find holiday ads to be revolting. Especially the one that shows a gadget you can attach to your sink called a sponge bath. A $40.00 contraption adorns shelves nationwide for the one who has everything under the sun.

This would be the ultimate gift, no? A device one can use to bathe their kitchen sponge. Translation… we have so much and everyone else has so much, new devices must be thought up. New gift ideas created yearly so that the uninspired shopper may be so inspired. Yes! This is what I can give. Surely my mother doesn’t have one of these! A sponge bath.

To me, well, a gift like that says I have no earthly clue what to give you so I just picked up this thing. And in truth, I’d rather give nothing at all. Like I said, I feel cynical. Nasty. And surely, I’ve insulted someone by this. To the one who likes the idea of a sponge bath (for it does kill bacteria), I really am sorry. I am. Me? I’m just feeling ugly.

And why should that be? It’s Christmas time. Why do I have the blues? And why do they call them the blues anyway? Because if you were to gauge by my feelings, I’d say they should be called the blacks. For that’s how I feel. As I said… my heart is black as night.

And so, I evaluate. Know what I come up with? Guilt. I am consumed with guilt because I have no earthly right to feel the way I do. Anyone will tell me I have it made for I have so much. I am truly blessed. In fact, I’m hesitant to write this because I’ve been taken down a notch or two at least once before. In addressing my darkness (I am a moody girl, it’s true), I have been exhorted by others.

Or reprimanded.

Oh, I’ve been chastened by the well-meaning soul. Basically, open your eyes. See what you have. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. And that’s why the ensuing guilt.

Oh, that God would help me to see truth. Oh that He would help me overcome the darkness. Because I know…

I know I have so very much.

And so today, I write. For despite today’s dark demeanor, I have to say this year has been one of the most wonderful yet. Because just about a year ago, I found out I was pregnant.

Unto me, a child was given.

She lived inside me for forty weeks until finally, she made her way into my arms. And God help me, despite this sweet, precious gift… I still get the blues. Or the blacks. And I know why.

It’s called loneliness.

It first presented when I had my son eight years ago. I became home-bound, isolated, and lonely. Depression descended like a shroud. And I find myself here again but this time, I have a daughter. Home-bound once more. Isolated and lonely. And those times, I’m most vulnerable. When I have too much alone time, it’s just not healthy.

And so in evaluation of today’s black mood, I wonder to myself… why write? For it’s Christmas. Why mention the darkness at all? And I choose to do so now because of One reason. I know the truth.

I know there is a Light.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. This man came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all through him might believe. He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light. That was the true Light which gives light to every many who comes into the world. John 1:6-9

Sadly, if I were to pose the question I heard over two years ago, there would be someone else. If I asked do you think God is a giver or a taker, there would be another. Because I can’t be the only one who’s gone down that road of thinking.

So I write for her today. The isolated, lonely soul. My words are for the one who deep down believes God is a taker. Oh, she’s out there somewhere and she may not even realize she thinks that way. All she knows is she’s bitter. Or resentful. Or fearful. Or maybe just plain old melancholy.

No difference for it all fuels the guilt… I know.

So amidst the hustle and bustle of this season, I pray she pauses to ponder. Why? And if she does, maybe she’d discover what lie in the deepest, darkest chambers of her heart.

Oh if she’d just take just a moment to analyze her guilt and uncover the truth. That she’d come to realize the guilt is not from God. For He doesn’t give guilt.

Yeah… my hope this year, at Christmas time, is that the woman who needs to know the truth will know it. That fear and guilt is rooted in a lie. I pray she comprehends darkness does not have to be her truth any longer. For God is a giver of light. And life.

For He gave the ultimate Christmas gift over two thousand years ago when He gave His one and only Son.

May the woman who walks in darkness realize this most amazing truth…

For unto her, a child is born.

Unto her, a Son is given.

Unto her! God gave it all. May she grasp the gift that was given on her behalf and finally, finally, get it. No, God is not a taker, after all. He is a giver. And because He gives, she can, too.

Oh, may she get it. And may I get it, too. Finally. Because not only do I write for her, but I write for myself.

Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good; and God divided the light from the darkness. Genesis 1:3-4

Yes, I’m hesitant to touch on darkness because I feel guilty. I know in my heart of hearts I shouldn’t feel black as night. Not now. Not ever. For God has given so much.

And my cynicism of the season in no way reflects the truth of the season. See, a sponge bath cannot convey in the least what lie at the heart of Christmas… or what lie at the center of God’s heart. In truth, there’s nothing I can buy off a shelf that compares to God’s gift.

Because Christmas is all about His gift. No present measures up to that. For unto us, a Son was given…

And when the light of that truth sinks into a cold, dark heart, life is given. So instead of all the other pretty packages, maybe this year we can unwrap His gift. It’s the One wrapped in light.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of darkness, a light has dawned. Isaiah 9:2

This Christmas, may we overcome the darkness that sometimes pervades the season. May we push those blues (or blacks) right out the door. Oh, that we would overlook all the trappings and recover the heart of Christmas. May we all really get it. Finally.

For God is a giver.

He gives and gives. May that inspire us more than anything else this Christmas. And may that be the One reason we give.

The Lesson of Rocky Raccoon

October 24, 2014by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

“Rocky Raccoon, Rocky Raccoon, he was a fool unto himself. And he would not swallow his foolish pride…” Paul McCartney

I’ve been thinking about something quite a bit lately. Or more accurately, I’ve been thinking about someone. And through ruminations of her, the tune of Rocky Raccoon came to mind. This morning, though, I realized I didn’t even know the lyrics. So I googled it. And after watching a video of the Beatles, I just about fell over. Well, I would have fallen over if I hadn’t already been down. See, I’ve been feeling pretty low. And therein lies the significance of this song. At least to me. In my eyes, the lesson of Rocky Raccoon is how he fell down… pride going before his fall. But more importantly, it’s how Rocky would manage to get back on his feet. See, there was a man named Dan, who stole Rocky’s woman. But rather than swallow his pride by letting things go, Rocky planned to shoot his rival. However, he’s the one who ended up on the floor. Rocky collapsed. And the thing that could restore his life? Why, it was a Bible left by Gideon. The Bible would help with Rocky’s revival.

Your word is a lamp for my feet and a light on my path. Psalm 119:105

I actually have a Gideon’s Bible. And though I didn’t open the cover of a Bible for years, eventually I did. And as time wore on, I began to love the words inside. The above verse is one of my favorites, comforting in that God’s word is a lamp and a light for my feet. And ironically, I just wrote about my son finding his feet. But not long after, I discovered it’s not my son’s feet I need to worry about after all. In reality, it’s my own feet that need help. For Levi’s not the one who stumbled, I have. I’ve fallen down and it seems I can’t get up. And though it may be true God’s word lights my path, the thing is I have to choose to go the way He directs. But for some time now, I’ve refused. As always, pride took precedence and preceded my fall. Like Rocky, I just didn’t want to swallow it down. I even voiced aloud, “I don’t want to take the high road.” And so, belligerently, I didn’t.

Pride is surely one of my pitfalls. And when I think back to the shy girl I once was, I’m amazed I can be that way now. So arrogant. So self-righteous. And that’s how I felt Monday. See, after writing, I always feel good. Purposeful. And after meeting with a ladies group Tuesday evening, I felt even higher. However, my demeanor changed within hours of returning home. And by Wednesday morning, darkness fully set in. One, my writing didn’t elicit the response I expected. In fact, someone quite close to me called to advise me. Or shall I say counsel me. And later, I was led to Hagar of the Old Testament. Her story so much like mine in that she was prideful for she looked down on someone. And when she ran away from home, the Angel of the LORD asked her two questions as she journeyed through the desert… Where have you come from and Where are you going? I felt God asked the same of me. My reply? Pride. As always, coming from pride, and more importantly… I wasn’t going anywhere. Because pride tripped me up, I was stalled in my journey.

Oh, there’s more to Hagar’s story. See, she trod the desert once more. The second time with her son, only he was in trouble. Ishmael lay dying under a tree but Hagar had nothing to offer him. She herself was low. At her most desperate hour, God appeared to her. He said, “Get up, help the boy up, and sustain him…” And so yesterday, I heard God loudly. Clearly. And He was firm. He told me to get up! Because as long as I remained down, I couldn’t help myself. Much less anyone else. And my medicine? The thing that would restore my health? Pride was my pill. Unless I choked it down, I would never be able to stand. And if I couldn’t stand, how in the world could I help another to?

Therefore confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, so that you may be healed. James 5:16

You know, I call this blog the Truth about God & me. And I hope to do just that… be truthful. And though I write hoping to lift up others, most of the time I think the words are for my own benefit. For I see the truth through writing. But today, I can’t help but wonder if there can be too much truth. Because I’m going to write about that someone I’ve been thinking about. She’s someone I love. Fact is, I just love women. I want to be around them and I want to help them. Honestly, I fancy God will use me in women’s ministry someday. I believe He’s the One who placed the desire within me. In fact, it’s why I felt so good Tuesday night. Because I’m leading a women’s Bible study, I felt like I was finally moving forward with God… that someday was in reach. And yet within hours of returning home, darkness blinded me. Today I know why. See, it’s that woman I love. Because despite our building up a rock solid friendship through the course of many years, it seems the foundation has been shaken. And though we shared everything for so long, now, we hardly speak at all. The weird thing is, neither of us has said anything or acknowledged a conflict. And yet, it’s there. I feel it… tension. Is it real? Or is the wall that separates us imaginary and constructed only in my mind? So, for me – a woman who desires to be used by God in women’s ministry – this just doesn’t make sense. Even more so, it makes me hypocritical. Because if I have such love for women, why not her? Why can’t I just pick up the phone…

“But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell. “Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift.” Matthew 5:22-24

Fact is, I’ve refused to budge. In fact, I’ve closed my heart to her over something silly. I feel justified in something I did even though I’m pretty sure it hurt her feelings. But is that ever okay? And rather than acknowledge it and talk about it, a wall was erected. That’s why I said… I don’t want to take the high road. No, instead, I chose pride. I trod the dark path. And so, I fell. But there is a lamp. God’s light seeps through and I see what I’ve done. I tried to serve Him Monday and Tuesday, but today I know that I can’t do that. I can’t offer Him a gift when there’s something between me and my friend. And so, the verses above light my path. He shows me the way I have to travel if I want to move forward. It’s my choice. I can take the high road, which leads to life. Or the low road, which leads to death. For that’s exactly what my prideful path is leading to… the death of a friendship. Something, or someone, has got to change… And today I know that’s me. Today the hardness of my heart has been breached and light spills in. And I so I swallow my pill. And more than anything, I want to be reconciled to my sister. I long for harmony in our friendship once more.

For He is our peace, who made both groups one and tore down the dividing wall of hostility. Ephesians 2:14

Illumination began this week. It started with my son. And consistent with how God teaches me, He led me through my children. First, Levi’s little feet led to my own stumbling size nines. And then, there’s my baby girl… Annabelle. Today I thought how happy she is when she spends time on the back side of the house. See, that’s where the morning light streams in. Oh, how she loves to lay on our bed or on her changing table cooing and smiling in the bright sun. But on the front half of the house, where we spend most of our time, it’s dark. So much so, there’s always a lamp or two on. In fact, Levi so loves lamplight, he’ll turn on three or four when he’s home. And finally, between the dark and the light of my home is a wall… a load bearing wall. And this particular wall seemed a revelation to me this morning. It leads me back to Rocky Raccoon.

You know, the woman I’ve written about likes Rocky Raccoon. Years ago, she picked it for us to sing at karaoke. Back then, we stood side by side. Arm in arm. We were best of friends. But recently, it feels as if there’s a wall between us. And all this? Well, it’s my attempt to knock it down. I want to replace a wall of hostility with another kind of wall… a load bearing wall. One we can construct around the two of us as we stand side by side once more. A wall we can build together strong enough to bear the heavy weight of life. And a wall that will keep her and I in the light of God’s word, while keeping darkness at bay.

And so, may I apply the lesson of Rocky Raccoon. It’s true he fell, but he had Gideon’s Bible. God’s word would bring about his revival. And there’s hope in that word. For revive means to come back to life. To live again. To be quickened. To be restored to health. And though my pride knocked me down for a time, I won’t stay there. And though I’ve been clinging to the dark, light beckons me forward. Because today, I want to live. I want to be healthy. And in order for that to happen, our friendship must be restored. It must be revived. It has to! And so, I choose life and swallow my pill… I choke down pride. And that’s when it happens. I’m able to rise to my feet. That’s when I ask for her forgiveness. Because I want healing. And you know what? I think she does, too.

Oh, the ways of God. And oh, how He illuminates what He wants me to see. From my children. To His word. And yes, even through Rocky Raccoon… that man who was a fool unto himself. But see, Rocky had hope. For he had Gideon’s Bible.

My son, pay attention to my words;
listen closely to my sayings.
Don’t lose sight of them;
keep them within your heart.
For they are life to those who find them,
and health to one’s whole body.
Guard your heart above all else,
for it is the source of life. Proverbs 4:20-23

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Who’s the bad guy?

August 21, 2014August 29, 2014by Pam Anderson3 Comments

I feel heavy. This morning when I woke, my head ached and my legs were leaden. No wonder as I’m heavy with child, this coming Monday to be 40 weeks. That is if she hangs in there till then. But with the progression of morning, rather than sleepy aches and pains diminishing, I found the heaviness to escalate. So much so, it eventually made its way to my heart. Thus, I find today I’m not only heavy with child, but also heavy of heart. And when I tried to pray, I could do nothing but weep…

They said to me, “The survivors in the province, who returned from the exile, are in great trouble and disgrace. Jerusalem’s wall has been broken down, and its gates have been burned down.” When I heard these words, I sat down and wept. I mourned… Nehemiah 1:3-4

Nehemiah wept, too, when he finally heard the news. See, he was the King’s cupbearer and must have been somewhat isolated from everything that was happening in his homeland. He had to have been in a bit of a protective bubble from the outside world as he resided with the King of Persia. For he had a pretty cushy job in comfortable surroundings. But in the course of time, his brother arrived and Nehemiah asked. How’s it going? And when he heard of the broken down state of his homeland, he cried. Nehemiah was heavy of heart. So much so, his face reflected it. The king even asked, “Why are you sad, when you aren’t sick? This is nothing but sadness of heart.” That’s when Nehemiah found the courage to speak up. He said, “Why should I not be sad when the city where my ancestors are buried lies in ruins and its gates have been destroyed by fire?” He was braver still when he made a request, “Send me to Judah and to the city where my ancestors are buried, so that I may rebuild it.”

And here, I see the similarity between me and Nehemiah. Because we cry for the same reason. When I finally heard the news of my homeland, I could do nothing but weep. See, I’ve been in a protective bubble. I have a cushy job as I work from home. My contact with the outside world has been minimal. And I’ve been so busy. And so preoccupied preparing for my joyful arrival, who is imminent any day. I’ve been living in my own world… until this past week, that is. Finally, I was caught up, all preparations complete. And finally, I was laid up as I reached maximum physical capacity, all energy sapped. So this week, I rested. There’s been a lot of couch time. And with what’s happening in our country today, in addition to what’s going on globally, naturally the news has become the focus of my attention this past week. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Last night, I dreamt of protests. No wonder as Ferguson is flooding the news. I’ve been feasting on what the networks feed me, and I found that I made up my mind. I made a decision based on the media. I decided who the good guy is. I judged who the bad guy is. This past week, I’ve become so upset and stirred up and self-righteous that I lost sight of the most important thing. There is a mother. And there was a son. I saw her picture on the internet first thing today, and my heart broke. For her. She lost her son. And no matter what happens in Ferguson, she will live with the loss of the boy she loved. And so, I was halted. By her tears. And mine.

Oh, this week I’ve been full of tirades and speeches. I’ve ranted about what’s just and fair. I’ve been full of what’s right and wrong. For I thought I knew. This one’s the bad guy and this one’s the good guy. And isn’t that the basic question? Isn’t that the reason for the protest. The world has already decided. This one’s good and this one’s bad. This one’s right and this one’s wrong. And it doesn’t stop with only the two persons involved. It’s ever more far reaching than that. More questions arise. And so, lines are drawn. Anger is fueled. Love is taken out of the equation and hate is perpetuated. And the whole world focuses on this. Ferguson, Missouri. The whole world forms an opinion. Each person is right in his own mind. Each one knows what is just. And fair. Every single one of us knows. We all think we know who the good guy is. And who the bad guy is. And we draw our lines, form our opinions and walk in the way we think is right.

The way of Cain…

On August 15, I penned in my journal the following question, “Who’s the Bad Guy?” And I contemplated all the following: Jihad and Hamas, ISIS and Israel, and of course, Michael Brown and Darren Wilson. And so, I went to my frame of reference. My guiding light. My moral compass. I sought God’s word. Through Hebrews I meditated on pursue peace with everyone and let brotherly love continue. And there, I realized God gives warning about two particular souls… He gives us examples of who not to follow. For in reading about brotherly love, the words of Cain echoed in the chambers of my heart, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” And so, I pause at Cain… the firstborn murderer. The first bad guy.

1 John 3:12 says, “We should love one another, unlike Cain, who was of the evil one and murdered his brother. And why did he murder him? Because his works were evil…” Cain murdered because he was angry. Furious. And it was there, right where fury originated, that God cautioned Cain. Sin is crouching at the door and its desire is for you, but you must master it. But Cain didn’t. He must have fed on that fury. He must have fueled that fire for he led his brother into the field. He attacked him. And then, he then killed him.

“What have you done? Your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground!” Genesis 4:10

God called out to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” though He already knew. Abel’s blood had already cried foul and God heard it. So I’m not sure why God asked where Abel was. Perhaps He posed the question in order to prick Cain’s conscience. Maybe He simply wanted Cain to realize the gravity of what he had done. Where is he… the one you killed? Or, was God giving Cain the opportunity to take responsibility for his actions? But I don’t think Cain did. Because I find his response to be kind of flippant. “I don’t know… Am I my brother’s keeper? Am I his guardian?”

And so, Cain is a bad guy in my book. Obviously. He was a cold-blooded murderer and God says to not be like him. But wait. Just. One. Second. It’s there in 1 John 3. Yes, God’s warning. God’s words. “Everyone who hates his brother is a murderer.” And so, the way of Cain is a little less clear to me. It’s not so black and white. Not so easy to discern. For God says hate is as bad as murder. And isn’t there a time to hate? Can’t hate be justified?

Bitter Stew…

On August 15, I began in Hebrews. That’s where another bad guy was illuminated through the pages of Scripture. His name was Esau. God’s words are clear, “See to it that no one falls short of the grace of God and that no root of bitterness springs up, causing trouble by it, defiling many. And see that there isn’t any immoral and irreverent person like Esau who sold his birthright in exchange for one meal.” What made Esau so bad? He’s called godless. And honestly, I can empathize with him through his story. I felt sorry for him. It began with stew.

He worked in the fields one day and so, when he came home he was hungry. He asked for some of his brother’s stew, but rather than just graciously serving him, Jacob wanted something in return. Give me your birthright. And Esau did. A foolish thing to do, but Jacob isn’t so innocent in this scene. And later, Jacob tricked their father into giving him Esau’s blessing, too. Jacob got Esau’s birthright and blessing. Oh, the injustice. How unfair! When I read about Esau crying to his father, I cried, too. But see, here’s the thing. Esau stewed over what was done to him. He nursed a grudge. He comforted himself thinking about the day he would murder Jacob. And though we read about the brothers later meeting and reconciling, I don’t think Esau ever let go of what Jacob did to him. It’s in Hebrews. Esau never repented. Meaning, he never changed his mind, or heart, about the way he felt when he lost his blessing. He wanted to murder Jacob. And perhaps over time, furious thoughts of murder ebbed to a slow flow of simmering, bubbling hate. But the fact is, the spark ignited the day Esau feasted on Jacob’s stew never went out. Oh, the flames may have lost their intensity over time. But time just made the coals burn hotter. Hate is what Esau passed on to his offspring.

The proof? Obadiah’s prophecies against Edom, Esau’s line. Destruction because of the violence done to his brother, Jacob. See, Esau’s line stood aloof when Jerusalem fell. They didn’t help when strangers captured the city. God said they were just like the forces who attacked. For they gloated over Jerusalem’s calamity and fall. They rejoiced. Because in their minds, wasn’t this justice? Remember what Jacob did to Esau. He tricked and stole. And so, when Jacob’s descendants went down, Esau’s lineage felt justification. The sweetness of Jerusalem’s fall went down smoother than the bitter stew Edom feasted on. That hateful concoction… it simmered on low and never went out. That old, old issue never fully went away. The one that flooded their hearts and mind again and again through the years.

Yep, it’s clear. Just as Cain is a bad guy in God’s book, so is Esau and his lineage. There’s no denying it… we’re not to follow their ways. And so, again, I ask the question, “Who’s the bad guy?” For today, with everything that’s going on in the world, who exactly is the bad guy? Can I glean enough knowledge and insight and discernment from God’s word to judge on my own?

The way of Pam…

Truth is, I’m the bad guy. Because I’ve smugly sat here in my comfortable home and judged the entire world by simply listening to biased reports. I hear one thing, and think one way. I hear another, and am steered the other way. All the while, my rage has been fueled. I’ve been feasting on pots of bitterness that have been simmering for way too long. I have been so irate over the unfairness of the situations I’ve seen. I’ve been angry. And yes, there has been hate in my heart. Hate. For love has been snuffed out through my self-righteous attitude. And God says if you have hate for your brother, you’re no different than a murderer. I’ve been walking in the way of Cain feasting on Esau’s stew this past week. And from a week’s worth of broadcasting, I think I know. Right and wrong. Just and fair. But I don’t. I don’t know everything about what’s happening. And because I live in a small, secluded, safe town, there is no way I can possibly fathom the reality of what those on the outside are dealing with. I haven’t a clue.

There is a war today. It’s right here on our home soil. Our walls are broken down. And this morning, I cried as if I had lost a loved one. It was the picture of a mother. Her tears. It was a reality check. See, in the heatedness of recent activities, I lost sight of what really happened. A woman lost her son. What of her?

And so, my eyes are opened. I see the real war begins right here in my home. It begins with me. It’s the battle that rages in my heart. It’s the one of love vs. hate. And sometimes, hate wins. As it advances through the chambers of my heart, love is diminished. Until there’s none left. And the hate makes me a murderer. It makes me divisive. I draw lines and project all the things I stand against, rather than the things I really stand for. Like peace… blessed are the peacemakers. I rant about the bad guys or the enemies, but this itself makes me one of them! And what does God say, but to love your enemies and pray for those who hurt you. And so, He calls us to love. For love covers a multitude of sins. Especially the sin of hate.

Yes, this morning I felt heavy. So heavy. Now I know it was the hate. For I had been feasting on divisiveness. But it was the eyes of a mother who brought me to my senses. It was her heartache that made me realize the truth. I’m the bad guy. And so tears that began over the state of my nation turned to tears for me. And a wordless prayer for my country turned to prayer for me, the enemy. The persecutor. For in my own way, I had been murdering and pillaging. Though I had no words to offer God, He knew. And afterward, it was as if He said, “Where is your brother?” And in truth, my brother is everywhere. He is Michael Brown. And he is Darren Wilson. I am my brother’s keeper. And that means, I am to love them both. God help me.

When they heard these things, they were enraged in their hearts and gnashed their teeth at him. Then they screamed at the top of their voices, stopped their ears, and rushed together against him. They threw him out of the city and began to stone him. They were stoning Stephen as he called out: “Lord, do not charge them with this sin!” Acts 7

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