Jesus Christ – Page 6 – painter's daughter (a work in progress)

The Good Part

September 2, 2015June 25, 2022by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

How best to describe marriage? In my humble opinion, I’d have to say the opening lines of The Tale of Two Cities sums it up best. At least it seems to paint the picture of marriage’s early days. Or perhaps it just describes ours…

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way…” Charles Dickens

Wow. That’s it. See, there’s a reason you vow to take your other half “for better or for worse.” Because believe me, the worst comes. And faster than you think. Oh, at first there’s bliss… all smiles as your stomach dips and dives and flutters. Like here. But see, we weren’t even engaged at this point. And bad days were few and far in between. Likely because I tried to present my good side. All the time. Oh, Jason had a glimpse of the other me. But usually he got the good part. He got the best of me. But then (queue music in the background, please), the ring was slipped on my finger. Next thing you know, this happened…

In the midst of Cozumel, Mexico, on the tail end of our honeymoon, the other side of me made an appearance. The bad part showed up and she’s all over my face. Jason snapped this picture after one of our many heated conversations. Seems he had planned to do something the following weekend, sans newly wedded wife, and I was not about to let that happen. No way, bub.

That was the first time I got my way. Seven days into our marriage, Jason was the first to give in. Because everyone’s heard a happy wife makes for a happy life. Or something like that.

A good woman

This may come across as shocking but when I first entered marriage, I considered divorce to be an option. My thought was if it doesn’t work out, I could just leave. And the truth is when I said, “I do,” I didn’t realize the gravity of what I was doing. As a twenty-five year old, I couldn’t comprehend what marriage really was. Because the word covenant wasn’t part of my vocabulary. A spoken vow nothing more than words. I just had no clue…

Needless to say, we had some rough patches as two young kids came together as one. We both had our ways. Our idiosyncrasies. Our ideas. Thus, there were points of conflict in our merging. A couple incidents stand out vividly. Like the time I walked out without a word for an entire evening because I didn’t agree with Jason’s choice of restaurant for the next day’s outing. I went to see American Beauty and came home to find Jason fast asleep. The next morning, I stayed in my bathrobe till he gave in. I hopped in the shower when he called our friends to change the venue.

A couple years later, I decided there was something I wanted to change about my mate. I believe that was the one time he was just as stubborn as me, though. A cold silence followed for two or three days. I actually caved first and tentatively approached him at his place of work. But He was firm. No, he wasn’t going to change and if I couldn’t accept him as he was, he said I should just leave. I went back home in silence. And tears.

But here we are… seventeen years later. We persevered. We remain as one. And I have to give Jason most of the credit for it. Because truth is, he took on a lot when he took me to be his. Unfortunately, I carried a lot of excess baggage into our lives. Old stuff that would have been best left behind. Yep… when Jason said, “I do,” he didn’t really get the good woman he deserved. Instead, he got me.

Remembering the Salsa

Sunday was one of those days. Ironic in how bad it was (or I was) in light of all my recent writings on the good life. Embracing the good. I think I was just trying to talk myself into it. That if I said it out loud enough times, and read it that much more, my demeanor would change. That I would find myself in a good mood. Instead, Sunday happened.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and there was loudness in our home. All me. Words spoken and looks given and ugly gestures. Again, all me. Finally, with a sigh we all settled into the car for church. Jason said, “Well this has been a lovely Sunday morning.” At church, I pasted on my smile. I nodded and laughed and smiled and played the part. Though my loved ones at home got the worst of me, I tried to give all the others the best. I made more of an effort.

Afterward, we heard a dedication on the radio. Some guy really talked up his mate. It was nice, I guess. But when Jason said, “Now that sounds like a good woman,” I took great offense. I was ready for a fight… “What are you saying, that I’m not a good woman?” I jabbed but he ducked. He didn’t throw a punch as expected.

The grand finale was Big Lots’ parking lot. Miscommunication. I thought he was going to meet me in the store. He thought I was to come outside when I finished. So I struggled with Annabelle who did not want to ride in the cart. I held her and pushed the cart and flung items in the basket. All the while, I was getting more and more heated.

Finally, I looked outside. And there was my husband playing a game on his phone. At ease and relaxed. That’s when it happened. To use my Daddy’s term, I flew mad. I flew right out of that store, Annabelle in arm, and lost it in front of whoever may have been passing. I forcefully jerked the door open and cried, “What are you doing??”

But Jason, he’s a good man. He didn’t get loud in return. He calmly took Annabelle into his arms (I’d plopped her onto the passenger seat), and exited the car without returning my ugly gestures. He joined me in the store. That’s what Jason did.

But later, I know my mate was thinking about me and my bad attitude. Because he called to me from where he lay as I performed my kitchen duties. He asked me if I remembered making salsa. Of course I remembered making it. I figured it was something to add to my enormous to-do list. “Do you want me to make salsa?”

But no, that’s not what Jason meant. He reminded me that when I made salsa, it usually meant I was happy. Remember the salsa meant remember your good mood. And so that’s what I did. I remembered the salsa. What led up to it and what came afterward.

The good part

Throughout our years, Jason and I did a lot of entertaining. Enter the salsa. If I were to make salsa, you can be sure company was coming. And I loved it. I lived from one gathering to the next and I loved all the preparations that went along with it. I’d put on music and dance and sing. And I was happy.

But our lives changed when two turned to three. Then three turned to four. And what once seemed like fun turned into nothing more than a chore. Salsa became a job when kids made the scene because I had so many other things to do. This is what I ponder as I consider the salsa.

See, motherhood is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Because you give away parts of yourself 24 hours a day. As soon as your feet hit the ground, you start doling out the pieces. A sliver here and a slice there. And before you know it, you find you’re depleted with nothing left to offer. Nothing but the scowl on your face as you chop veggies at the counter. Like me this past Sunday.

But only one thing is necessary, for Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her. Luke 10:42

Problem is there’s been sickness at our house. Nighttime interruptions and extra tasks. And because my days have been full and sleep has been lacking, I’ve looked for other places to trim the fat. Seems I took out the wrong thing, though. I cut away the good part. Which reminds me of Martha and Mary.

Most of us are familiar with these sisters, I’m sure. But in reading their saga today, I cannot help but think Martha had a flying mad moment. Just like me at Big Lots. She was busy preparing for a party and her sister just sat there doing nothing. Martha even voiced her complaint to Jesus. Tell her to give me a hand! But He said Mary chose the good part. She sat still at his feet. What’s more, she listened.

This is the part I cut away. I’ve not been doing this. Busy with other stuff. Like Martha. And because I haven’t filled up on the good part, there’s not much good in me to pass out. Especially not to my family. Most assuredly, they haven’t been getting the best of me.

A good man

A couple of weeks ago, I had an epiphany. One of those pivotal moments in time that changes how you look at everything. It has to do with my husband. And most importantly, it has to do with how I see God.

You planned evil against me; God planned it for good… Genesis 50:20

See, Jason came into my life when I was at a real low. And it was my bad that propelled me in his direction. However, Jason became a turning point in every way imaginable. Most poignantly, I see that through the meaning of his name: one who will heal.

By the time I got to Jason, this is what I needed. Healing. Because there wasn’t much left of my heart. Simply, I’d given too much of it away. Sadly, this is what I brought to our marriage table.

And so I find it miraculous I met Jason when I did. On the heels of having my heart broken again and again. Because through him, a good man, I found another Good Man. I found God.

Jason’s the reason I met the One who came to bind up the brokenhearted. But the healing of my heart wasn’t, and isn’t, an instant fix. Because at first it wasn’t noticeable. Not to me. Not when there was just two. But then came Levi and Annabelle. And the added stress and responsibility exposed my heart’s faulty cracks.

Annabelle’s her name. She is a living dream. But also… she’s one of the reasons I’ve been at wit’s end lately. Strained. Because she fights every single thing I do. She resists. Clothes and diaper changes and hair brushing. All of it. Everything is a struggle. And like me, she’s loud. Oh, it’s downright exhausting. And yet, I love her through it all.

About a year ago, I thought I’d comprehend God’s love for me through my love for my daughter. But last month, I realized I was wrong. It’s not Annabelle who’ll teach me about God and his unwavering love. Instead, it’ll be the one who’s been at my side for seventeen years now. Even longer.

It’s Jason. It’s always been Jason. One who will heal. When he asked about my past, he didn’t condemn me. Rather, he opened his arms wide and embraced me. He accepted every single thing about me.

And through the years, he’s put up with a lot. Oh, he’s not perfect and has moments of his own. But all in all, he is the one who’s been the most gracious. The most merciful. He is the one who usually relents first. The one who breaks the silence. Who calms the storm. He’s loves me so much better than I love him. Because he’s unconditional.

My great epiphany is this… if I want to get an idea of what God is really like, I need to look no further than my other half. My better half. Jason shows me every day what God is like.

It’s through this good man of mine that God has so richly blessed me. And how He will teach me about Himself. Miraculous.

I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, in love and compassion. Hosea 2:19

Crazy thing about women. It’s in our nature to give and give. But sometimes, we end up giving it all to everyone else. By the time the day is through, our family ends up with the leftovers. Table scraps. And this ought not be! So today I try to rectify that.

With me, it’s words. I use them to build others up. But what about that good man of mine? Have I really used this platform to do the same for him? Because this is what I do. So today, I take the opportunity. And it’s timely. See, it’s Jason’s birthday month. And I always have trouble finding a gift. But not this year. My present comes early. It’s good news…

I tell my husband God is working on my heart every single day. And I know what I need to do. I have to fill up on the good part first. That way there will be more of me to give. And one day, when my heart is made whole, it will be all his. Just as the fragments already are.

The best part, though, has to do with our vows. For better or for worse. See, worse is turning to better. And the best of me is yet to come. Soon I’ll be able to reciprocate by giving all of me just as he gives all of himself. And isn’t that what marriage is, anyway? The best of times. The worst of times. And through it all, giving the best we have. But to each other first.

If anyone else has read this far, I ask for a prayer today. For me and for wives everywhere. That we would love our husbands to the utmost of our ability. And that we would give them the best of us. All of us.

Because good men are hard to find. And they’re worth a prayer. And so much more…

Maybe even salsa.

In the same way, older women are to be reverent in behavior, not slanderers, not addicted to much wine. They are to teach what is good, so they may encourage the young women to love their husbands and to love their children, to be self-controlled, pure, homemakers, kind, and submissive to their husbands, so that God’s message will not be slandered. Titus 2:3-5

https://youtu.be/73_DOquGBD4

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.

If it ain’t broke…

August 20, 2015August 26, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

The heart is more deceitful than anything else and desperately sick – who can understand it? Jeremiah 17:9

I saw a random video last week and it startled me. A clip from an HBO show in which three parties took turns responding to college students’ questions. A pretty girl stepped up… “Can you say why America is the greatest country in the world?” There were a few fluffy answers such as diversity and opportunity and freedom. But one guy shocked everyone in the room. He said America is not the greatest country.

The man used statistics and facts to backup his reasoning. He continued by saying he didn’t know what in the f*** people were talking about when they say America is the greatest country. He had my unswerving attention by that point, I can tell you. Thus, his summation was loud and clear, practically reverberating in my ear. The first step in solving any problem is recognizing there is one. Without a doubt, I knew God wanted me to take note of that statement.

On the heels of this video, a question arose in my mind. “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” I learned it’s a philosophical thought experiment that raises questions regarding observation and knowledge of reality (according to Wikipedia). Basically, can something exist without being perceived? For instance, is sound only sound if it’s heard?

An interesting concept in light of the recent America speech I absorbed, so it’s a direction I’m willing to travel this morning. Because I wonder… if a problem isn’t perceived, is there one? Or better yet, rather than contemplating the state of our country and the trees outside my backyard, how about focusing inward instead. To matters of the heart. Because therein I find a new question… If a woman doesn’t perceive her own heart is broken, is it broken at all? And if the bearer of said heart never heard the clanging of it’s shattering pieces, did it make a sound at all?

I was fine a month ago. Ready to take on the world. Confident, expectant, and excited. I had just finished all my preparation for a writing conference… a book proposal and a one sheet. It was all consuming, but a necessary step. See, I think there’s a book inside me. One that will help other women who need healing. Women who battle feelings of inferiority and insignificance. Because that’s my story. And one month ago, I thought I’d overcome it all.

But after meeting with an editor, my confidence waned. And by the time mid-afternoon rolled around, I felt like the air had been let out of my tire. Most assuredly, I was not looking forward to dinner and the evening session. Alas, I’d already dropped a big chunk of change on the trip so I had to go. I was late to dinner so every table was pretty full and I had to find a place amidst a sea of strangers. I asked if anyone was sitting in a seat and though the person seemed reluctant, it was offered.

Minutes later, a pretty, thin woman sat next to me and I realized she’d been saving my seat for someone else. But she was gracious. And as we chatted, I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly laid back and utterly relaxed she was. Ultra cool and nerves didn’t seem to touch her. In contrast to my publisher’s meeting, hers went well. Very well. In fact, she planned to blow off the evening session so she could polish off her book proposal. Yes, her editor wanted to see hers. Not only that, the conference was kind of an afterthought. She decided to check it out while she was home for a visit. Not so with me. I put a great deal of thought into it… should I or shouldn’t I?

As we shared our tales, she made a remark about certain type of women with their large jewelry and loud ways. And there I sat, from the very same region, with my very large earrings dangling. Her ears and wrists were bare and she donned a simple necklace. In contrast, I felt like a big oaf. Frumpy. Old. Foolish. And as she slid away from me to interact with another person at our table, I felt it all. Sharply. My heart was pierced. I was rejected in favor of another. Unwanted. Not chosen. And this was the point I regressed to a ten year old. Smiling when I felt like crying. Trying to look like it didn’t matter when it mattered more than anything else.

Finally the infernal dinner was over and it was time for the evening session. And can you believe it? They opened with “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” by Cindi Lauper. This being a hit from my fifth grade year. I swear it was 1983 all over again. Only this time, I wasn’t in the cafeteria surrounded by cooler kids. I was sitting in a nice banquet room surrounded by women way more competent than me. More appealing. That’s when tears singed my eyes. My lashes concealed them and the smile faded from my face. I stood there, stone faced, while 800 women danced and sang and laughed.

Oh, blessed relief when we sat down for business. And the speaker was good. Inspiring. And incredibly, she brought a smile to my face. A laugh from deep within. But then she got serious. She recounted a story of a friend’s heartfelt prayer. The woman cried out, “God, remember me?” And that’s when my insides fissured. That was the moment I knew my heart was broken indeed. Moreover, it had been broken for a long, long time. Ever since 1983. In reality, I wasn’t fine like I thought I was. Never had been. I was not the woman I depicted in my one sheet. And rather than being in a position to help women heal, I found myself in need of healing.

Sticks and stones…

We’ve all heard it, right? Sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt me. What a lie that is. For sure sticks and stones break bones but words are so powerful. Because they break your insides. And careless words from another can haunt you for the rest of your life. At least if you allow them to. It appears that’s what I did.

You know, my husband is so good to me. He’s always trying to build me up and pays me compliments pretty often. But the thing is I never believe him. I always shrug them off. No, you’re just saying that. No I’m not, I look awful. This is what comes out of my mouth because it’s how I think. Self-worth eroded by years of derogatory statements.

The first fell in the fifth grade. And another negative comment was layered on that one, and then another and another. Things like, “Why’d you say that, Pam, that was stupid?” And “Is that what you’re wearing to dinner?” And there’s the one who changed the lyrics of a song to, “Pam’s a loser, baby…” And the one who said, “I’m not going to blow smoke up your rear,” when I said I’d lost weight. And when I shared the news of my engagement, a loved one said, “We didn’t think he’d take you!” All these piled up, one by one, till they simply covered me. I was buried under a mountain of criticisms. And underneath them all, I felt like a big nothing. A loser. Insignificant and small. Invisible in a sea of lovely ladies.

That’s how I felt the night I discovered my broken heart. Invisible to everyone. And then, a speaker voiced my inner cry. She said, “Remember me, God?” I came undone as my shattered heart was revealed. And I was stunned.

I bought the above book the day after my heart split wide open. Just this morning I read, “Honey, sometimes God lets you remember for a reason.” It spoke to me. Because He let me remember my pain. Why? Perhaps so I’d remember the power of words and their effect on me. And so I’d use them to build up the women surrounding me rather than tearing them down. Or perhaps it was so I’d know truth. That my heart was broken and I didn’t even know it.

But how could I know my heart was broken? See, it didn’t happen all at once. No huge traumatic event to tip me off. It simply happened over the course of many years. Gradually worn down. No, it wasn’t violence or tragedy or death that broke my heart. Just one sharp jab after another.

So today I see clearly. And though the bulk of those belittling comments are from the past, quite obviously they’re part of my present. Because after all these years, harsh words still have the power to diminish me. Rather than listening to God’s voice, I’ve been listening to the voices of years gone by. Words that broke my heart. I’ve been deceived. And in a sense, my heart is the victim of fraud. Conned into believing I’m worthless.

So, I’m brought back to my initial question. If a woman doesn’t perceive her own heart is broken, is it really broken? Yes. YES. Just as I couldn’t perceive my own reality, it didn’t make it any less real. Could this be another woman’s reality? Yes. YES. Because like me, she may not know. Camouflaged by numbness or a melancholy demeanor, the heart may appear to be intact. See, the slow process of erosion blinds a woman to what’s taking place inside her. There’s no huge clanging sound as it happens. Nothing to alert her. No, sometimes a breaking heart doesn’t make a sound. Not to us.

However, imperceptible to human ears, the crack of a human heart resounds in God’s own. He hears it and acts. Because one day, He jars the woman loose. That’s what He did for me a month ago. He cut through layers of numbness so I’d remember my pain. And when I perceived it, I knew I had a problem. That’s step one. Because the first step in solving any problem is recognizing there is one. See, if it ain’t broke, you can’t fix it. But when you know it’s broke, you have no choice but to do something about it. And when you realize you don’t have the power to fix it on your own, you find yourself turning in a new direction. Inevitably, your broken heart points you to the One who can fix it. To the One who can fix you.

He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted.” Isaiah 61:1

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

Springing Forward

March 9, 2015March 9, 2015by Pam Anderson2 Comments

Therefore we do not give up; even though our outer person is being destroyed, our inner person is being renewed day by day. For our momentary light affliction is producing for us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory. 2 Corinthians 4:16-17

Annabelle has already reached some major milestones in her short life. From the very start, she began moving forward. Progressing. Developing. It began when she first latched on taking in the nourishment of my milk. Soon after, her little eyes caught mine and followed me as I crossed the room. Her gaze fixed upon me. Within a couple of months, she started to use her little hands, grabbing hold to whatever was placed before her. Delighting in her newfound ability. Now, she can sit up a little. And before long, she’ll be able to stand.

See, Annabelle has been exercising her legs… applying pressure to them. Testing her chunky little stumps. She slowly sways back and forth in her Johnny Jump Up only to quickly spring into action by jumping up and down as the spirit moves her. And right now, it’s easy for her. For she has the support of something. It holds her upright. But before long, it’ll be time for her to try standing on her own. Within a matter of months, Annabelle will have to move from the security of her apparatus in favor of her own shaky legs. No doubt, she’ll stumble and fall many, many times. But I know she’ll get right back up. She’ll try and try again until she gets that walking thing right. And in no time, she’ll be ready to spring forward.

Annabelle just had her six month appointment. Coincidentally, it fell on the two year anniversary of this blog. And as always, I could not help but notice the correlation of Annabelle’s development with mine. Her progression a picture of my own. Hers depicted by a chart, mine by this blog. And though growth will continue for both of us, I believe my progress chart (the blog) has served its purpose. At least for now. Because just over a week ago, it became clear I was to put this aside. For I have work to do. It has to do with raising my kids. And my sitting here in front of this computer screen conflicts with that responsibility. So I chose the better part. My offspring. But I did mourn the loss of this blog Saturday. There were some tears. Because this blog has been a big part of me. But as for today, I give one final performance. I close with my swan song.

We love because He first loved us… 1 John 4:19

The truth about God & me… it wasn’t love at first sight. Love did not come first. Instead, it began with a taste of His glory. I dared utter a prayer, “Please show me your glory.” And He did. He placed me in the cleft of a rock. He covered me with His hand. He walked by me. God in my midst. Or me in His. And I was astounded that the God of all creation would reveal Himself to me. And so, I wanted to share. I wanted other women to delight in His presence as I did. Thus, the formation of the blog.

And through the progression of blogging, more and more of me diminished. More and more of Him swelled. However, a piece of me remained. Held fast in the deepest recesses of my soul, the little girl I always was stood her ground. In truth, she wanted to share in God’s glory. She wanted a piece of shine for herself. And so, the purity of the writing became tarnished. And because the little girl in me stood fast on the foundation of her pride, she fell. I fell. My wobbly legs unable to sustain my weight. I crumbled under the strain of affliction.

Look, I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tested you in the furnace of affliction. Isaiah 43:10

This is where I’ve been for months now. Affliction. Minimal it may be, but affliction nonetheless. See that little girl up there? Oh, she brings me delight. Such joy. But also, there’s been some pain. Because babies are hard work. The biggest struggle? Sleepless nights. I have been sleep deprived for months and months now. She gets up more times than I can count. She wants to eat but she doesn’t need to. See, I was told at Annabelle’s six month check-up that her weight is average for a seventeen or eighteen month old. And so, in steps the hard part. I have to cut her off…

Trying to wean my baby girl from nighttime feedings is exhausting. It makes for even longer nights. I lose count of my waking moments because I’m up and down so often. They’re so frequent, I’ve been sleeping on the couch. It’s just easier to stumble into the nursery from there. Yes, sleep has been minimal. And under the strain, the clay jar that I am has begun to crack. In steps my most recent revelation. Clay.

You will not be scorched when you walk through the fire, and the flame will not burn you. Isaiah 43:2

You know, before clay can be serviceable it has to be fired. In a kiln. And today I know that’s where I’ve been. For a year now, I’ve been under fire. The furnace of affliction. It’s been a trial. A test. And for the most part, I’ve failed. But today, I see light at the end of the tunnel. I find a glimmer of hope through the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. They underwent fire, too.

There was a king who made this big gold stature. Of himself. You could say he was a bit of a glory hound. And he wanted everyone to bow down to it. To pay homage to him. For he was a king. But there were these three guys who refused. Reason being, it would not honor God. Despite the threat of being thrown into fire, they stood firm on their faith in God. “If the God we serve exists, then He can rescue us from the power of you, the king. But even if He does not rescue us, we want you as king to know that we will not serve your gods or worship the gold statue you set up.” The king was blazing hot. He ordered the furnace to be heated seven times hotter.

And so they fell, bound, into the furnace of blazing fire. Three men in the raging flames. But then, a miracle happened. The king yelled out, “Look! I see four men, not tied, walking around in the fire unharmed; and the fourth looks like a son of the gods.” And then the king said it… “Come out!” The three men who stood firm on their faith in God came out of the fire. Unharmed. Not a hair on their heads was singed, their robes were unaffected, and there was no smell of fire on them. And God received the glory for it.

Take away the dross from the silver and there shall come forth a vessel for the finer. Proverbs 25:4

And there I am… back at glory. You know, something monumental occurred on January 31, 2014. You could say it was a major milestone day. That was the day Jesus met me right where I was. In the sanctuary of my bedroom. That was the day I heard Annabelle’s heartbeat for the first time… hers beating right alongside my own revived spiritual heart. And I lost a bracelet. It was a thin silver band I had worn for the better part of twenty years. At the time, it seemed significant in that my past was over and done with. Gone just like the bracelet that disappeared from my arm. But today, the removal of that bracelet says so much more.

For you know that you were redeemed from your empty way of life inherited from the fathers, not with perishable things, like silver and gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without defect or blemish. 1 Peter 1:18

You see, as a young girl I didn’t have jewelry. Silver and gold was something I didn’t possess. I can count the number of pieces I received on one hand. My friend was another story, though. See, she had tons of silver. And I wanted it. I coveted her full closet and dresser strewn with perfumes and expensive make up. I wanted to adorn myself just as she… rings on my fingers and bells on my toes. But I couldn’t. And then one day, I left home. Within a year I made a new friend and she gave me the slim, silver band. A piece of shine all my own. But it was more than a bracelet to me. It stood for everything I ever wanted in life. Material possessions. Yes, I wanted silver. Glitz. Shine. I wanted glory.

When I lost that bracelet a year ago, I thought I was poised to walk forward in love. His love. But here I am. Still writing. Still staring at this computer screen. But today I know why. See, He’s been refining me. I’ve been doing time in the furnace of affliction… dross being burned from my soul. No different than the purification of silver, He’s been purifying me. Me. But see, the time has come. I faintly hear Him calling. Just as the king called to Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, my King calls me. He yells, “Come out!” And miraculously, I find I can. I’m ready. My glory becomes a passing fancy. Because it’s no longer silver and gold I desire. For you see, I find that as long as I remain in His hand, I am the silver. A band of shine. But not for my glory. No. In His hands, the jewelry that I am shines and shimmers. But this time around, I shine for Him.

Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD shines over you. For look, darkness covers the earth, and total darkness the peoples; but the LORD will shine over you, and His glory will appear over you. Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your radiance. Isaiah 60:1-3

Yep, Annabelle’s reached some major milestones in her short life. And the truth is, so have I. See, from the very start I began moving forward. Progressing. Developing. It began when I first latched on to His word, taking in the nourishment I so desperately needed. Soon after, my eyes caught sight of Him. His glory captivated me and my gaze stayed fixed on Him as He moved. I’m now discovering how to make use of my hands. I grab hold of what He places before me. Today, it’s my children. And I delight in this newfound ability. I am awash with thanksgiving. And before long, I’ll be able to stand.

See, I’ve been exercising my legs. Pressure’s been applied here and there and they’ve proven to be a bit wobbly. In truth, I’ve stumbled more times than I can count. But I get back up again. And with each rise, I gain more strength. I find I’m able to stand not by my own strength, but by His. And before long, He bids me to come forward. He holds His hands out to me like any other Daddy does with His little girl. He beckons me. And I find that I can. I spring forward, lunging toward Him. And He catches me in His embrace.

Therefore, whoever thinks he stands must be careful not to fall. 1 Corinthians 10:12

You know, I started to write here two years ago. Simply, I wanted to help women stand. Like I thought I was. But before long, I fell. Once. Twice. Again and again. But through the writing, it all became so clear. It’s as if my heavenly Father said to me, “Little girl, if you want to talk the talk, you have to walk the walk.” But the thing is, you have to stand before you can walk. That’s step one right there. Standing on His foundation. Standing on His truth. And then, before you know it, you’ll be ready to spring forward. Walking in love. His love. At least that’s the way it happened for me. Right here at Daylight Savings Time. Springing forward along with the clocks in my home.

And so today, as I move forward on shaky legs, I walk for them. I begin with my kids. See. Levi just said he wished I were a cook. That I knew recipes and would make desserts. And there I find my first act of love. Perhaps I’ll surprise him with a little something this afternoon. That’s what I have on my agenda today…

And so, with much adieu, I sign off for now. I leave you with my swan song. See, the blog has served its purpose and the time has come. For He said, “Come out!” And so, this venture comes to an end. And all this, the writing and thousands of words spanning two years time, well… it’s been the truth about God & me. My hope was to encourage others to stand. And walk. In His love. Instead, I find that I’m able to. I hope you can, too.

But Peter said, “I have no silver or gold, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, stand up and walk!.” Acts 3:6

Set Up

March 5, 2015March 5, 2015by Pam AndersonLeave a Comment

It’s about Levi. Right now, it’s all about him. Let me explain. See that toilet paper roll? This is a pretty common sight in my home. But not because of the men in my life. No, this is something I’ve done on more than one occasion in recent days. It’s because I’m so preoccupied. I think, I’ll get to it later. But I rush from one task to another and forget about it. And so, I set someone up. At least that’s the term used by the usual fall guy. Jason will tell me I set him up. And I just love him. One reason being his great sense of humor. Like the morning I went to the potty and found his precise handwriting in red on the cardboard roll. His message, “Thank you!” My husband made his point very well.

Yes, this is one of my shortcomings lately. I forget to do things. Little things, but important nonetheless. Even yesterday. I thought to myself, put toilet paper in Levi’s bathroom! But I had already walked out the door. I thought, do it when you get home! But time was rushed. And by the end of the night, there was still none in my son’s bathroom. And only a smidge in ours. After feeding my baby at 3:00 a.m. this morning, I hurriedly scrawled a note for my hubby. I left it by the coffee maker “there’s no toilet paper in the bathroom, I didn’t want to set you up.” I guess I could have stumbled downstairs to grab a roll, but the note just seemed easier in my groggy state…

And so, there’s Levi. I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me to find a little something from him a month or so back. A precious thank you note from my boy. An imitation of his father. Right down to the red ink.

I couldn’t help but laugh. But today, I wonder if it’s a laughing matter. See, Levi’s a little bit of Jason and a little bit of me. He learns from us. And my sobering realization last week was that I’m not doing so great. In fact, I don’t think I’ve poured myself into my little boy as I should. Because I’ve been so preoccupied.

In the same hour the fingers of a man’s hand appeared and wrote opposite the lampstand on the plaster of the wall of the king’s palace; and the king saw the part of the hand that wrote. Daniel 5:5

Yep, the handwriting’s on the wall. Or on the cardboard roll. And the message is clear. I’ve been weighed in the balances and found wanting. As usual, my pride lies at the heart of it. And dream chasing. And a faulty foundation laid at childhood, cemented in place over years and years. Problem is, I’ve been using the world’s set of scales, not God’s. And by the world’s standards, I’d say my worth is pretty low. And so my entire life I’ve fought this feeling of unworthiness. Shame of who I was and am… a house painter’s daughter. Shame of things I’d done. All along, I’ve been trying to be more than. I wanted to prove I was worthy.

And so, I chased a dream. Because if it came true, I’d then be able to prove to the world I’m really somebody. The dream realized would validate me. It would mean I have value.

…for they loved human praise more than praise from God. John 12:43

In plain speak, this is what chasing the dream looks like in my house. It looks like an empty roll of toilet paper. It looks like me emptying a milk carton yesterday that went out of date on January 27! It looks like me finally getting rid of kale and brussels sprouts that have sat in my fridge for a month! It looks like my husband asking for clean underwear and me looking incredulously in his drawer. I was sure there were more. But no, the drawer was empty. It looks like me telling my son that we can’t play a game because I have work emails to answer. Reason being because I was chasing the dream when I could have worked. It looks like me carving out slots of time for me when I could be carving out slots of time my family. And why? Because I chase a dream that would prove I have a purpose and place in this world. That I have value. Basically, chasing a dream has kept me preoccupied.

And then there’s Levi. See, his foundation is being laid now. And my actions will cement into place feelings he will carry with him the rest of his life. What I do now, and how I interact with him is crucial. And me telling him I have other things to do sends the message that he’s not as important as my work. Or as my writing. Or whatever else it is I’m doing. Me saying I’m too tired to read a story tells him I don’t care enough… Me putting everything else first tells him he’s second. Less than. And without even knowing I’m doing it, I’m minimizing his worth. Devaluing him by my careless actions. Before I know it, he’s absorbed what I don’t want him to. Evidenced by a cardboard roll. Evidenced by sucking in his tummy as much as he can while staring in the mirror. “I want to be this skinny,” he said. Yes, a little bit of Jason. A little bit of me. Well, quite a bit of me. But the little bit I’ve poured into him seems to be faulty. The foundation shaky. For he’s using the wrong set of scales… the world’s.

Good news is, God opened my eyes. It was Saturday at 4:00 a.m. when Levi began vomiting. It was pretty bad. All he wanted to do was lay on the bathroom floor. I asked if he wanted me to lay beside him. And so, amidst blankets and pillows and a cold tile floor, I lay by my son’s side. I held him. And it was there I found my purpose. My value. For I. Am. A. Mother. No greater responsibility do I hold.

God’s blessed me with children. They’re not a chore, they’re a gift. A privilege. And if I simply do what I’m supposed to by training up my child, by teaching him to love the Lord God with all his heart and soul, by teaching Him to be like Christ, then I am doing everything I need to. This is my place in the world. This. See, it’s not about me, it’s about Levi. My children. And I have the opportunity to give them the right foundation. Valued because they are God’s. Not because the world says so.

Yep, it’s about Levi. See, I fear I’ve set him up. Because as I said, he’s a little bit of me and a little bit of Jason. And my foundation has been unstable. And inadvertently, I’ve been pouring the wrong foundation into my boy. Funny thing, though. Several times this year I’ve had a thought. There are moments I feel like God set me up for a fall. That sounds terrible, I know, but He knows my heart. He knows where I’m coming from. And that’s the point. Where I’m coming from. My humble beginnings. It’s because of where I began. In my eyes, from a low station. It’s a place I feel I should rise above. And so, pride set up in my heart. And so goes the story… a fall.

Esther 4:14 is stirring to me. See, it’s about purpose. For such a time as this… In passing, I’d think, Yes! God has this grand plan for me. Something big in His kingdom. But now I know. The biggest thing I can do is my kids. My for such a time moment is here. In my home. And yes, on my bathroom floor. Because in truth, charity begins at home. Ministry within my walls. Church here. Building up the little people He gave me.

Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” Esther 4:14

You know, I feel I started from a low position. Humble origins. But coming full circle, I see this is right where I should be. Humility my garment and a servant’s heart instead of pride. Like Christ. Because here, from my lowly position I can see Him. I can look up to my Father. And there, in my Daddy’s eyes, I realize I am valuable. That He has great purpose for me. I fulfill it when I’m crouched down. On my knees. Bringing myself to Levi’s level. Looking him in the eye. For when I give my son all of me, I find I give him value. Worth. Importance. And in my eyes, he’ll see it.

Yes, today, I have hope for my boy. See, the cement of Levi’s foundation hasn’t been set up yet. It’s still pliable. There’s time to instill truth into him. God’s truth. This is what will set him up for success. And just because the world’s set of faulty scales has been mine, it doesn’t mean they have to be Levi’s. So that’s the job that lies before me today. Setting up my boy’s foundation. There’s my purpose.

Pride comes before destruction, and an arrogant spirit before a fall. Proverbs 16:8

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