The Big 5-0

I found this picture of Stevie Nicks on Facebook yesterday. I dragged it onto my desktop because I liked it. I didn’t know the purpose of keeping it, only, I didn’t want to forget. It seemed monumental somehow. And sure enough by today, it was. Because backlit by Scripture, these words take on new meaning…

And here, at the tail end of my forties, the lines become personalized. Internalized. Just now, as the big 5-0 looms large. Yes, in a handful of days, I’ll be fifty.

Anyhow, the haunting lyrics move me in a way they never did in my twenties and thirties. Not even a few months back when I sang along…

Only now.

Maybe because Sunday’s a milestone day, I find myself reflecting on the past. Memories of the little girl I was assault me. Some humorous, some endearing, and some not so good. In fact, just yesterday a thought popped into my head as I traveled down old familiar pavement, “This is the road where I began to feel so bad about me.”

And I did. From the time I went forth from the security of my home, I began to see others as better. Greater. That’s because God made me quiet and reserved. And while biding my time in shadows and corners, I deemed myself less. Hiding and blending, those who walked in the light shone. They led and I became the sidekick. Second chair. And without the aid of liquid courage, I couldn’t open my mouth in social settings. Not one word to share.

Anyway, it was a young age when I began setting friends on pedestals they never asked to be placed upon. But the one I put there was always the same. Funny and outgoing. Such personality. Beautiful and bold. And always, she could talk. Oh my goodness, did my friends have something to say. But mostly, I did not. I swear it was one of my greatest weaknesses, the inability to communicate. And it was always “her” greatest strength.

Oh, there was envy and jealousy behind my love. And I hid this ugliness deep in my heart. Never shared how I wished I was just like them. And so, when I left home at nineteen, I tried. And with Stevie Nicks’ voice reverberating in my ear, I see how I built my life around them. Because I attempted to mold myself to their form. Thirty years of adjusting me to them.

But it’s just as Stevie croons…

Time makes you bolder and children get older. And I’m getting older, too. Oh, this moves me as I near fifty. Just a handful of days more. The change I’ve feared, though? It’s becoming me again. This is what I’ve resisted most of my adult life.

“When a strong man keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace.” Luke 11:21

It was Spring and I was seventeen. That’s when I began to not just dislike me, but hate me. I went through a darkness that lasted months. It was so noticeable, a teacher, Mrs. Herman, pulled me aside as she pointed to my photo in the yearbook. “Pam, you see this girl here? She’s gone. Is she ever coming back?”

I looked at my face smiling up at the camera, and shrugged. I didn’t have an answer. But she was right because the girl I’d been had disappeared. She just faded away. It was this particular memory that brought the above verse fully into focus today. And though I never would have described myself as strong, I certainly had some strengths. We all do. Gifts or talents or characteristics particular to us…

But see, my flawed perception viewed another’s “goods” or substance as better. More. Thus, I did a poor job of “keeping,” or guarding, my own. I tell you, I was surprised when I learned palace means himself, herself, own self. And this becomes God’s revelation of the week because I see it’s deeper than me just not wanting to be me when I was young. Now I know I didn’t keep me. In searching for something greater, I let me go. It was my choice.

After thirty years, I look back with such clarity. And God’s word is what brings everything into focus. Because this one verse is just the tip of the iceberg. Through quiet times and hours alone with Him, He took me deeper and deeper into His book. And the turning of those pages brought me closer and closer to the heart of me. Who He created me to be. Indeed, He brought me back to myself.

And here’s the most miraculous thing…

See, that landmark birthday looms. The big 5-0. And it feels just like He’s giving me myself as His gift. The miracle (at least in my eyes) is that the God of all creation kept me all the years I didn’t. And how incredible that He’s been giving parts of me back. For a few years now…

Piece by piece, until I find I am whole once more. Complete restoration.

Yes, my palace is restored, for He kept me. And as my forties come to a close, I find peace and my goods intact.

He did this for me.

I have to come back to Stevie. Oh, I’m sure her lyrics mean something else altogether, but this is how they move me today. It culminates here…

See, I spent thirty years building. A self-made woman, building my life around those I esteemed. My aim was to be just like them. Very vocal and very visible. Because in my eyes, this is what made someone truly great. In fact, loud is one of the definitions of great in the passage below. But I’m not. Not showy. By nature, quiet. And so, I’ve struggled my whole life.

Reconciling what’s great and what’s not. Trying to be great, but not me.

And to be clear and fair, many women are built this way. Bold and loud and visible. They’re usually who I gravitate toward. My opposite. Oh, so fun. But now that I’m nearly grown, I can see our differences are good, not something to strive for. Yes, I can see that now. And different doesn’t mean better. Both forms good because God designs each.

Thus, I’m finding acceptance on the backside of forty, settling into myself as I never did at seventeen.

And it’s a good way to be.

… whoever wishes to be great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave. Just as the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give His life as a ransom for many. Matthew 20:26-28.

Oh, I’ve been slow to grasp truth…

But God never gave up. And His word is like a hammer (Jeremiah 23:29). It’s alive and active and pierces like nothing else (Hebrews 4:12). And Jesus? Well, He’s a wrecking ball. Backlit by Stevie’s lyrics, the above passage discloses this truth today.

I discovered ransom comes from a word meaning to loose what is compacted or built together. To break up, demolish. This floors me. More, I comprehend this happened. Because Jesus wrecked me. He’s demolished what I tried to build around others and provided me a true building plan.

Yes, in His upside down way, Jesus reveals true greatness is not what any of us think, anyway.

And this comforts me like nothing else.

I’m sure this all sounds silly. A forty-nine year old woman musing on such. Especially in light of the state of the world and the true problems out there. But see, my birthday is right around the corner. It’s a big one. Perhaps that’s why all these memories assail me.

I’m pleased, though, for I find a boldness I never knew in my twenties and thirties. And as my forties take a bow, I find I have the courage to change. Only, I turn back to the form that fit me best all along…

It’s where I find true joy. In the quiet and reservedness. And here in the shadows, I’ve begun tending to vacant and dormant places. The inner chambers of my palace and everything I house inside. Because after thirty years, He finally broke my bent. In repenting. I turn back to the girl I was meant to be. And who I used to be. Before I left me behind.

Thus, it’s true. God gave me back myself. And how fitting since a landmark birthday nears.

Or should I say a landslide one…

In closing, I ask a favor. Please, if anyone knows Mrs. Herman, my math teacher from eleventh grade, I hope you’d tell her something for me. Because she wanted to know if I was ever coming back. Please tell her quite miraculously, I have.

Just in time for the big 5-0.

A Better Way

This is what the LORD says: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. Jeremiah 6:16

The kids were bickering this morning. I was so mad. And as my temper rose, my attitude went down. Oh, I was down. The details don’t matter, it was just another tiff. One of hundreds. All I could hear was Annabelle yelling, “Stop! Stop!” So I came out of my bedroom shrieking the same. “STOP IT, STOP IT!” I sounded just like her…

My eight year old.

The drive to the bus stop was dreary and I had a conversation with my teenage son – in my head. I told him a thing or two – in my head. How he should be lifting his little sister up to his level, not sinking down to hers. To a third grade mentality. But by the time I got back through my front door, I knew. God was speaking to me. Words directed at my son – in my head – were pointed right back at me.

“You, Pam, should be lifting your children to your level, not sinking down to theirs. You, Pam, should not regress to the mind of an 8 and 16 year old.” And just now, my husband’s remark from months ago echoes in my ear, “Just who’s the adult here?”

No doubt, God’s the adult. And He calls out, prompting me to rise above all this.

Because experience teaches how the darkness of these mornings can linger. Oh, they can bring me low and I’ve let them. I’ve dwelt there, wallowing in the muck and the mire. Staying low, angry and dark. In years past, I’d stay down for days. Months? Because one morning followed by another and another, filled with the cacophony of everyday life held such power over me. But the truth is, I let it.

Do not gloat over me, my enemy!
Though I have fallen, I will rise.
Though I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be my light. Micah 7:8

Rise up, God says. Set my mind on things above, not below. His word encourages and nudges, and if I let it, it has the power to lift me to His level. To the heavenlies. Yes, if I allow His word to penetrate, and I do, I find I’m able to rise, transcending this earthly realm that’s had the propensity to floor me. And when I find my footing, I start again.

What occurs to me now, though, in this very moment, is how ironic it all is. Perplexing, even. The fact that God tells me to have the mind of Christ. I’m called to rise above earthly trappings, setting my mind on things above, and to not sink down to a worldly level. And yet, He who was above lowered Himself into it. Jesus, who came down into the muck and the mire, did it for me. For all my darkness and missteps.

He became human-like, made in human likeness so I can become Christ-like. Remade in the image of Him.

This idea causes me wonder this morning. How He came down so I can go up…

But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. Ephesians 2:4-7

I’ll tell you, I’ve not felt like writing for ages. It seems to be seasonal, this period of muteness. And the book of Luke tells me I’m not the only one. Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah, was mute for a year. His silence came after he was told of his wife’s pregnancy. See, he doubted the angel’s message. I surmise it was a lack of faith that shut him up.

Me? Perhaps similar. Because I’ve been living down here in the world. And the bad stuff I’m inundated with rubs off. It has the power to permeate my heart and soul. But this morning, there was a glimmer. God’s word speaks of other believers who opened their mouths. 2 Corinthians 4:13 says “I believed; therefore I have spoken.” Since we have that same spirit of faith, we also believe and therefore speak…

This inspires me today. And if I let myself, I could cry. Because today’s desire to share is a gift from God. He gives a measure of faith. And because I’ve had one too many low mornings, and because my behavior can be contrary to Christ, and because my words don’t always match my actions, I’ve been shut up for a while. Oh, so quiet.

Most especially when my attitude reflects that of an 8 year old. Or a teenager. But I heard Him this morning. He spoke to me through my own words. A message meant for my son was turned toward me. God said to lift my children to my level, not sink down to theirs. I must live higher, though. Heavenly. This morning, I wasn’t. I was a mere child.

But He calls anew. He never lets me stay down. Never. And as I turn toward Him, I hear His tender voice, “Arise, Daughter, You are mine. I didn’t beget you to behave this way. Follow Me, and I will show you a better way to live.”

Thus, once more, I rise and dust off my backside. I thank Him for the hope He gives me. For the flutter that moves my heart. The ember that starts to burn. And I look where He points me. Upward. He calls me to join Him there.

Jesus Christ, the Cross, and Braveheart

In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” 1 Corinthians 11:25

I drank from my new cup today. I just love it. One, it’s from a dear friend and two, the message is not only timely but inspiring…

Find Your Fire.

I was given the cup just before April. My friend said it was because I inspire others to do it. And once upon a time, prompting women to grab hold of their God-giftedness was my chief passion. To encourage one to just stop. To exit busyness… and not enter it again until they know what their passion is. What ignites them. Fires them up… what causes them to burn. Do more of that!

In the New Testament, the Greek word is charisma. You find it where Paul encouraged his protege, Timothy, to fan into flame the gift of God that was inside him. And in early March, I was all over these passages…

More, I remembered my fire and planned to act on it. However, fiery passion fizzled by the end of the month. Nonetheless, this notion of finding your fire remains one of my life messages. Likely because I’ve struggled with it so. All too often, I neglected the very gifts God graced me with while attempting to take hold of someone else’s. That’s why the message on this cup resonates.

Last week, though, another idea took root…

Because recent findings suggest another layer to finding fire. And through Jesus Christ, the cross, and a Mel Gibson movie, God teaches me that sometimes fire finds me. Even if I don’t want it to…

Dear friends, don’t be surprised at the fiery trials you are going through, as if something strange were happening to you. Instead, be very glad – for these trials make you partners with Christ in His suffering… 1 Peter 4:12-13

Yes, that cup was timely. Because in my estimation, the latter part of March was particularly trying. And though I realize what I’m about to share reveals my weakness, I do so anyway. Because the Apostle Paul shared first. Clearly, though, my “fires” significantly pale in comparison (2 Corinthians 11)…

Nonetheless, I did feel some heat.

It wasn’t from something big, though. No, for me, it’s the layering of small things. One upon another until finally, I felt a sense of despair and darkness. It stemmed from my daughter coming home from school with a high fever followed by my son wiping out on his dirt bike, eliciting a trip to the ER. And because I hurt one of my friend’s feelings just before going to the hospital, tension weighed heavily on my heart. The next day entailed prep for an “adult” test no one wants to do, only to come home and take my daughter to a sick-visit because fever had turned into to a deep cough.

I know, small potatoes. But as I said, I can be so weak. And as I sat on the couch one morning, helping my son to bind his ankle, it was as if my own heart were bound instead. Tied up by the layering of mishaps.

And just when things felt lighter, when ankle swelling lessened and coughs subsided, I found Annabelle covered in some sort of insect bites. Yes, I know, such a little thing. But I swear at that moment, it felt the heaviest of burdens and nearly too much to bear. I actually voiced my discontent….

“God, please, not another thing.”

Today, I realize my heart was begging for mercy. And in my eyes, I knew exactly what that would look like. Alas, the last few weeks have served to teach me a lesson. One I hope to never forget. Because turns out my idea of mercy and God’s don’t always align. Perhaps that’s why He pointed me to His Son and the cross. And for good measure, He spoke through the lines of a movie called Braveheart.

Thus, through the weeks leading up to Passion week and Easter, I’ve been mulling over the lives of those who not only found their fire, but managed to keep it burning when fiery trials found them. Indeed their passion enabled them to live, and die, well.

They endured whatever came their way…

And it’s what God wants of me.

Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time He said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:8-9

March 29th is the day I pulled out my Passion CD. Prompted by a failed morning (I’d slammed the devotion book on the breakfast table about five times trying to get my bickering kids’ attention), I listened to Jessi Colter and Shooter Jennings as they cried out, “Lord, please have mercy… on my troubled soul…” I played it over and over because it fit my dark mood.

And before starting my work day, I pulled out my Bible and immersed myself in passages about Christ’s suffering and how we’re to arm ourselves with the same attitude. And that’s when I was comforted to know that Paul, who did have that mindset, cried out for mercy. But see, God had previously spoken of him, saying I’ll show him how much he must suffer for My name. And that he did. There was a thorn, a messenger of Satan to torment Paul, and he asked God to remove it three times.

God did not.

I then read about my Lord Jesus, and realized even He cried out for mercy. Matthew 26 paints the picture of how His soul was crushed with grief to the point of death. He bowed and prayed, “My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from Me. Yet, I want Your will to be done, not mine.” And again, He prayed, “My Father! If this cup cannot be taken away unless I drink it, Your will be done.” And a third time…

Paul asked and so did Jesus. Three times each. But in the end, they were both armed to suffer. They drank from their cups. They could because they were so inflamed by the fire inside them. Oh, they had passion…

And the two are intertwined. Passion is linked with suffering. Greek definitions in the New Testament prove that. And an online search underscores the meaning of passionate. It means a willingness to suffer for what we love or it describes an activity, goal, or cause we’re willing to suffer for. It’s our hill worth dying on.

And perhaps because it’s nearly Easter, this speaks so loudly. Because that’s what Jesus did. We were His hill worth dying on. He was so passionate about us and for us, He suffered a tormented death on a hill called Calvary.

Christ’s fire, and obedience to God, carried Him through.

“You do not know what you are asking,” Jesus replied. “Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?” “We can,” the brothers answered. “You will indeed drink My cup.” Jesus said. Matthew 20:22-23

I’m so weak. The past few weeks have proven that. Perhaps that’s why I found myself watching Braveheart two times. The first for entertainment purposes and the second because I saw a parallel between God’s Son and the character of William Wallace. The viewing was not accidental, more of a God thing, causing me to pull out my journal and jot down various lines.

See, they set me to thinking about what mercy really is. And what God really promises. Especially at Easter. How easy it is to focus just on the new life part. Resurrection so much easier to view than the suffering that leads to it. And Mel Gibson’s character reflected this beautifully. I confess, the movie was so violent, I had to turn my head several times. But the speeches he delivered held me riveted…

“What will you do without freedom? Will you fight? Run and you’ll live… at least a while… would you be willing to trade all of this… to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom?”

Freedom was his passion. His hill to die on. Even when nobles tempted him to compromise, he stood firm. He answered that the noble man’s position existed to provide the commoners with freedom. He refused to align with the oppressive king. And when he was finally captured and imprisoned, he refused to give in still. And yet, the beautiful princess begged, “Mercy is to die quickly.”

His response? “If I swear to him (the king), then all that I am is dead already… Every man dies but not every man really lives.” And once left alone, he prayed before his appointment with torture…

“I’m so afraid. Give me the strength to die well.”

And so this fire for freedom carried him through. He was stretched and pulled. He was tempted. “Beg the king’s mercy and you shall have it. Kiss the royal emblem and you will feel no more.” But like Jesus, Wallace didn’t open his mouth before his oppressors. He was silent as they ripped into his flesh. And because he wouldn’t, the crowd finally cried out for him.

“Mercy,” they begged.

But see, the character of William Wallace knew what true mercy was. And he knew that giving in for the sake of ease wasn’t it. And so, when he finally mustered the strength to voice one word, he bellowed out that which carried him through his death. “Freedom,” was his cry.

And it was his fire.

If we die with Him, we will also live with Him. If we endure hardship, we will reign with Him. If we deny Him, He will deny us. 2 Timothy 2:11-12

Though a movie, Braveheart was based on a true story. William Wallace found himself bound, led away, and killed because he did not bow down to an unjust king. So similar to Christ. And therein lies the key to both living and dying. See, Jesus Christ was bound, but not held back. William Wallace, too. Both bound physically, but spiritually free.

But what about me?

See, I have this erroneous notion that my path should be smooth. And when things crop up that hinder and obstruct or weigh me down, I can go dark. Life can feel so heavy. But what does Christ invite? He says if we want to follow Him, we must pick up our cross daily. And I’ve never lifted a cross, but I daresay it weighs a lot.

But this is it. If Jesus Christ, who is my Lord and Savior, suffered hardship, why should I expect my path to be any different? In truth, if I want that Easter resurrection, I better prepare myself for the suffering that leads to it. Because this, too, is a promise from God.

Other voices war with His, though. And the one that confuses me is the same that whispered to Eve in the garden. “Did God really say? You won’t die!” And when Jesus described how He’d suffer and die, the same voice spoke through Peter, saying, “Heaven forbid it! This will never happen to you…”

Do you see it? The prince of this world says we shouldn’t suffer. That we should not die. And his voice lingers in my ear still, “Did God really say that? Shouldn’t things be smooth?” Thus, he offers a false version of mercy to me.

But God did say it. He promised a hard road. And when I begin to cave to this notion that things should always go smoothly, I need to remember Jesus’ response. “Get behind me, Satan.” And may I remember the invitation to pick up my cross and die daily. And when I begin to falter, may I have the courage to utter a prayer like William Wallace…

“Lord, I’m so afraid. Please help me to die well.”

In fact, everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted. 2 Timothy 3:12

God has a way of tying things up. It happened this morning as I feasted on the words of a song, which reminded me of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. These men were literally bound and thrown into a hot furnace because they refused to bow down to a false king. They would not denounce their faith by worshiping another god.

When threatened, they remained confident in God’s deliverance but said…

“But even if he doesn’t…”

That’s it. These men knew God would either deliver them from the fire or through it. But even if he didn’t, they were assured of where they were going. Thus, they refused to compromise. No begging for mercy or kissing the king’s ring. Instead, their inner fire carried them through a fiery trial. That’s when a miracle happened…

Three men were thrown in, but the unjust king saw four. God didn’t leave them. And they were unbound, walking around inside the furnace.

I tell you, I’m no Peter or Paul. I’m not William Wallace and nothing like Christ. But three Old Testament heroes encourage me this day. I comprehend my bindings may be different for there’s no physical restraints. But sometimes I feel them. I’m bound and hindered as obstructions cross my path.

But I see it now. In order to walk freely in the midst of my fires, I have to die well. I do so by dying to self, giving up all my desires and plans to God. That way, the devil has no hold over me. I simply have to lay down my life first, before I’m bound. Because experience teaches me that holding to my life is a slow death. But to die quickly is mercy.

This is how I can pick up my cross and follow Jesus. It’s a mindset and it’s how those who went before me died well.

Only, it’s not that easy to do.

You were running your race so well… who has held you back from following the truth? Galatians 5:7

It occurs to me that Paul often likens our spiritual journey to that of a race. He pushes one to fight the good fight and finish the course. And there are times I think I’m running well.

Not the last few weeks, though. No, they’ve felt heavy. And the devil tempted me to cry out for mercy, or at least my version of it. Thus, I opened my mouth in complaint. I doubted and distrusted. Instead of enduring, I gave in and up by way of a terrible attitude. And when I felt like I couldn’t take one more thing, I asked God to stop it.

Please, not another thing!

I begged for mercy. But you know what? He reminded me He already did. God had mercy and had mercy on me (Jeremiah 31:20). And once upon a time, I hadn’t obtained mercy, but now I have (1 Peter 2:10). Indeed, mercy came through a man named Jesus Christ (Luke 1:78). And God assures me that the path of Jesus is the course I take.

Thus, if our journey is a race, it strikes me how Jesus ran the first leg of the relay. And today, He reaches back and passes on the baton. In reaching forward, I take hold of that for which He took hold of me. And I close my fingers around it…

My baton.

Only, in getting a good grip, it realize it feels just like a cross. It’s mine to bear. And now, it’s my leg of the race. But to run well means to run in the same manner as He.

Therefore, since God in His mercy has given us this new way… we never give up. 1 Corinthians 4:1

By last week, I thought I was finally getting this lesson down. I even had one of those God moments when I was pointed to Psalm 103:1-2. I savored how God redeems me from death and crowns me with love and tender mercies. The passage stood out because I’d been ruminating on mercy. But hindsight reveals God’s humor for that very night, I broke my crown.

The next day brought an unexpected dental visit. Shots and a temporary crown. And I smiled at the circumstances. Indeed, God crowns me with His mercy, even if through the dentist’s office. Not my plan.

But this week brought new fires. Another fever knocked out church and school. By Tuesday, both kids were home. And by last night, my countenance had fallen. The same old thing. Heavy and dark. Feeling bound. I had to apologize to my husband. I told him, “I didn’t die well.”

And I didn’t. Instead of picking up my cross, I held to my life. It was a slow death. But see, the race isn’t over yet. And the good news is, I can pick up my baton again. Because God assures me His mercies are new every morning.

Thus, I look forward to tomorrow. That’s when I’ll pick up my new coffee cup. I just love it.

And when I contemplate its message, I pray I remember His. And that I’ll be encouraged to not only find my fire, but to keep it burning when fiery trials find me. Yes, I pray my passion will carry me through, enabling me to live, and die, well.

And that I’ll endure whatever comes my way…

For it’s what God wants of me.

Sometimes the devil wins…

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“How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!” Romans 10:15

Christmas happened. December 17 came, and from that moment on, it’s been a mad dash. Preparations and presents and baking and a trip and the aftermath. I don’t know about you, but it usually takes me a week or two to bring order back to my life. It entails an overhaul of each room, removing items no longer needed, and also, movement of furniture.

I emptied closets and cabinets making room for the new. And I had to smile when I realized both my mom and my mom-in-law gave me footcare items. As you can see from the picture, my feet desperately need them. The polish has been on my toes since July and my heels are as rough as 40 grit sandpaper.

I tell you, though, in seeing the lotion and solutions, another thought occurred to me going beyond self-care. It had to do with the above verse… how lovely the feet. That word means belonging to the right hour or season. It means timely.

And so at the end of December, I wondered, is it time now?

How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, “Your God reigns!” Isaiah 52:7

This message rings out from the Old Testament, as well. It resonates in that the definition for “bring good news” can mean to publish. And those who know me best know this is a heart-felt dream of mine. Not only do I hope to complete a book, but I want to publish it. Oh, I’ve been chasing this dream of mine ever since the Fall of 2011.

In fact, that’s what I was vigorously doing up to December 17. Then, I hit pause on my dream and settled into everything else, expecting to get back to it just after the 3rd of January when school started. Alas, snow days bookended the one day my kids went that week. Nonetheless, I found my heart so full of God’s goodness by Friday morning, I wanted to share.

Indeed, it felt like it was time. I wondered… a blog, Instagram, Facebook? Perhaps a card for the two women in my sphere who are dealing with something exceptionally hard?

I needed an outlet for my good news. But because a snow day’s busy with extra, passion waned and life carried on. Ever since, though, I’ve found myself wanting to share at dawn’s first light. Busyness and duties forever eclipse that early morning high, though. And inevitably, good morning news gets overshadowed by the weight of everyday pressures.

It just happened yesterday. My heart so full was black as night by evening. And the woman who stood at the kitchen counter heating up leftovers, barely glancing her husband’s way when he got home, seemed to be the very same one who stood there ten years earlier. Yes, after everything God’s brought me through, it seemed as though I hadn’t changed a bit.

Indeed, the devil won the day. Because not only did I have a terrible attitude, I also gave way to doubt. I thought how can I share good news when my very demeanor seemed to shout, what good news? Thus, I felt disqualified…

And judging by last night, I’d say the time most assuredly had not come.

The Lord speaks; many, many women spread the good news. Psalm 68:11

My grandfather, Eddie, was a Bible thumper. In his day, he was a lay preacher, and later on, he preached from his chair in the living room. And when he lay on his bed reading that old black book, he’d sometimes call for me, asking how to pronounce a difficult word. These were my first tastes of God.

Now, forty years later, I find myself following Eddie’s footsteps. I preach from my driver’s seat and from the living room. To whoever will listen. The dream of publishing plays into this. Yes, when I first felt the prompt to write, I wanted to share what I knew. And hearing Psalm 68:11 for the first time seemed to solidify the call. Because it’s right there in black and white…

See, the King James Version uses the word publish instead of “spread the good news,” and I tell you, I aimed to do it. There was a problem, though. Seems I set out to proclaim the good news before I actually had any. That’s because I hadn’t internalized anything I read from God’s word.

And the woman who stood at my counter last night?

Well, proper perspective assures me she’s an occasional visitor now. But in 2011, and for many years afterward, she was pretty much a permanent fixture. Oh, I was dark. And yet, I believed myself qualified to spread the gospel.

No doubt, I’ve been moody ever since that first snow day. That’s when the darkness outside my window reached inside my heart and took root. And my journal gives evidence of everything I carried to bed with me the night before…

Anger, hardness, brittleness, sharpness. I felt numb and had given way to a feeling of resignation. But I sat in my chair anyway last week. It’s just what I do. And before I even opened my Bible, a phrase came to mind. Hold Fast. It’s something I heard at a Beth Moore conference long ago. “H.O.L.D.F.A.S.T. God has set His love upon me.

And so I sat there and meditated. I knew the reason for my blackness and I knew the way out of it. It has to do with submission. The surrendering to God’s plan. And because I felt so bad, I prayed I would yield to God instead of giving way to the darkness. Nothing extravagant, just a one-line prayer.

And when I noticed the picture I recently placed on my side table, my heart began to shift. Because it seemed God was whispering to me the very words written out by my mother. She gave me a poem for my birthday, twenty-two years back.

A daughter is a precious gift; she shines as silver in the sun, and gleams like gold caught in the moonlight. Fine chains are woven of these two, but stronger still, and holding fast are chains of love that hold us tight. MLC

I saw what God wanted me to. I knew He was telling me that not only do chains of love hold me tight to Mom, but also to Him. I am held fast to God, my heavenly Father. And oh, what treasure I find in the definition for Father: for those who through Christ have been exalted to a specially close and intimate relationship with God, and who no longer dread him as a stern judge of sinners, but revere Him as their reconciled and loving Father.

I had to see this. More, I had to internalize it for real and for good. And had I not moved my room around, I would have missed it. Thus, I comprehend the shifting of furniture wasn’t random. No, a strategically placed poem served to point me to the deepness of my Father’s love. And that’s when I felt a shift.

For a while, in my surrendered state, the blackness dissipated. And the land blanketed by snow seemed to give testimony to the white flag I’d hoisted in my heart.

The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it. Though ye have lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold. Psalm 68:11, 13

Me and God had a moment Wednesday because He reminded me of His Fatherhood. But through my daily Psalm on Thursday, He stressed my daughterhood. For I am His little girl.

And there’s that verse. The one about publishing. This time around, though, I noticed the verse after. And it’s here I find good news highlighted through the word yet.

Though you did (fill in the blank), yet, you will be as silver and gold. The God of all creation was rereading my mom’s poem to me, but this time through His holy word. He confirmed that yes, I did many things in the past. And yes, I continue to do things. Like my bad moods. And yet, I shine like silver caught in the sun and gleam like gold caught in the moonlight.

God confirmed His Fatherhood and my daughterhood. And by Friday, my heart was full of this good news.

And I wanted to share.

“Daughter, your faith (…in Me) has restored you to health; go in peace and be (permanently) healed from your suffering.” Mark 5:34

Just look at that. God, I love this picture. I wanted to share it Friday because it captures the Father’s love and a daughter’s adoration. Alas, busyness set in and I never got to it. Thus, it appears the devil won the day. But you know what? Sunday hadn’t happened yet. And I had to experience Sunday before I could share this message.

Because that was the day I put my own little girl first. I tended to Annabelle’s heart by taking her to church for AWANA…

I tell you, God met me there in a hundred small ways. When we prayed for the two little girls who are so sick, Annabelle’s teacher asked for healing and that God would make them miracles. She had no idea she was voicing the very words I’d read that morning through Psalm 71:7, “I am as a sign and a wonder (miracle) to many.”

And the picture she’d drawn to depict what creation must have been like? Well, it immediately brought to mind the cards I intended to mail on Friday. The ones I never sent to the little girls’ moms.

The biggest encounter came from my conversation with the pastor. I shared with him about Fathers and daughters. Then he shared with me about the woman who had a bleeding issue (Mark 5). He said it was the only time Jesus addressed a woman as Daughter, and I could hardly wait to get home and read it.

Daughter. It means daughter of God, acceptable. Rejoicing in God’s peculiar care and protection. And I tell you, Sunday is when that verse came alive in a way it never has been before. Because I’d just experienced such peculiar care from Him. So intricate in His dealings with me…

And I hope to never forget it.

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I painted the above of me and my Daddy a couple of years back. And this past November I used it at the beginning of the section of something I was writing called Painter’s Daughter. Lo and behold, I found a coat that looked just like it in Annabelle’s size at the thrift store. At the time, I had no doubt God gave it to me. See, He was confirming His Fatherhood then, too.

Which begs the question of why? If He confirmed it in November and confirmed it years before, why did He have to again Friday? I think my answer is found in the bleeding woman’s story. Because her 12-year issue made her unclean, she was unacceptable to the religious leaders of the day. Untouchable…

And yet, Jesus stopped to interact with her. He tenderly called her Daughter, marking her as His own. Though she was unaccepted by the world, she was accepted by Him.

And though it may not be a church leader who sets a high bar of expectation, I am my own worst enemy. I demand perfection, thinking I must be a certain way before delivering God’s message of good news. In my mind, I cannot make mistakes. Like yesterday’s very bad, dark day. In every way. In my mind, I wasn’t fit to share because I just can’t get it right.

I’ve been bleeding out over this issue and it’s hindered me off and on for years. It causes me to shut down and when I do, the devil wins.

But this is contrary to the gospel because I’m basing acceptance on my goodness and what I do. The very, good news, though, is being acceptable to God has everything to do with what Jesus did. That’s it. And no doubt, the devil delighted when He was raised on a cross. How dark it was that Friday…

And it must have seemed like the devil won. But see, Sunday hadn’t happened yet. And when it did, after burying my sin along with the sin of the world, Jesus came up out of that tomb alive. And my faith and belief in Him, and what He did, is what makes Psalm 68:13 true. That though I (fill in the blank), yet, I am as silver and gold.

A little girl, accepted by God, her heavenly Father.

Seems I needed a reminder of that good news. And how like God to make sure I got it this time through the painting below. Yes, I recently moved it. And no longer does it hover over my jewelry box, where I keep all my adornments. Instead, it sits above my quiet time chair. And what a visual…

Because it tells me that in His sight, I am more precious than gold…

Since Friday morning, a couple of invitations or requests have come my way relating to Facebook. And they seemed timely. Doors opened for sharing the gospel on the heels of my elation. But for reasons known to God and me, I declined both. For now, at least.

The second was really tempting, though, because it was an opportunity to share what I’m writing. Since sanctity of life Sunday is coming up, it seemed a good spot to talk about the book because it’s a pro-life message. Or choose-life. And sadly, that’s my story. Because at twenty-two, I did not.

As a young woman, I found myself pregnant and when I first realized my condition, thick snow covered the land. A snow day, if you will. But back then, I wouldn’t be stopped. Nothing hindered me from progressing because I chose me. And therein lies the rub…

Because today, I do get stopped. All the time. And a snow day most specifically halts my plans because I have children. Their wants and needs will always trump mine. That was the battle last week. Surrendering to the day. To God’s will. Thus, God’s word, and the verse Annabelle is learning through AWANA, resonates all the more.

“For God so loved the world, He gave His only begotten Son…”

Yes, God sent a Son to lay down His life for God’s children. And because I’m a follower of Christ, my actions should look the same. God sends me, a daughter, to lay down my life for my living children. That means putting their stuff before mine. Them first. That’s what choosing life looks like for me at forty-eight.

But God help me, I slip up. Darkness descends whenever those selfish mannerisms the younger me possessed present. It happened just last night. But unlike the old me, I don’t dwell there. Light always slices through the dark. That’s why I know…

I have changed. And that, my friend, is good news.

“Little girl, I say to you, get up!” The little girl immediately got up and began to walk… Mark 5:41-42

Indeed, the fifth chapter of Mark is one I won’t forget. The bleeding woman speaks because like her, I’ve got some issues. But if you keep reading, you find another story. This one of a sick little girl. She was at death’s door when Christ took her by the hand. He told her to walk, and she did.

The Greek word for walk intrigues me because it means to make one’s way, progress, make due use of opportunities. And I can’t help but see this in light of the good news. See, feet aren’t just made for walking, they’re used to bring good news. And when you do, they become beautiful.

Even feet sorely in need of a pedicure…

Beautiful. It means timely. Now. No matter what. And so I deem yes, it is time. Because it’s always the right time to bring good news. The key is, you have to have some to give it.

And though the devil won yesterday’s skirmish, he won’t win the war. And though darkness creeps in, it won’t utterly consume the light. I know so because this is my story. It’s my good news. I’m free to share it because it has nothing to do with me and my goodness.

Instead, it has everything to do with His.

Then Peter said, “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” Acts 3:6

A feather or a sign (for my feather buddy)

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I have a friend I don’t see very often. And though I’m a bit older than her, we used to play when we were young. See, our parents were friends way back.

I have great memories of running around her property, riding in the tractor bucket, jumping in their pond, swinging the swings into the high heaven, and singing songs with her and her sister late into the night (Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko-Ko-Bop, Shimmy, Shimmy, Bop)…

Anyway, life hasn’t turned out so smooth for her. And she posted the most beautiful poem today (copied from a friend). After reading it, I was inspired to write her the longest Facebook message ever. But just as I finished typing it up, my computer went black. Some sort of error shut me down.

When I rebooted, I hoped the message would still be there. That I could send it. When I saw it wasn’t, in frustration, I gave up. I wondered if the computer glitching was a sign to not send anything.

Then, I looked to God and said, you’ll have to send me a sign today if I’m supposed to send that message.

About six hours later, I received the above feather. A totally unexpected gift from my cousin. Well, to me, this is God’s sign. Reach out to my friend and tell her what I’d been thinking…

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I’m six days into this devotion. Because of that, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be a strong woman…

I’ve told my friend more than once that she’s the strongest woman I know. And if you know who I’m talking about, you know why. See, she takes care of her kids. They need her. More so than other kids need their mama’s.

I ended up printing that poem she shared for my journal. I have her name on it, with a note, “Wonder Woman?” See, I’ve asked her before if she’d be willing to share her story with some women…

How God’s helped her through life.

Today, I wondered again if she’d be willing to. One day. God willing. Maybe via video… because her life is just too up and down to commit to anything outside the home. It was the following from the poem that made me think it again:

“A little one fighting for their life – And you, strong beside them in perfect stride.” Again, “More strength than you had ever known. A faith in God and Him alone.” Again, “You’ll fight and give up and fight some more. You won’t be stopped by seemingly closed doors.” And finally, “Your motherhood was not the way you planned. But today you love more – and stronger you stand.” 

Wow.

This describes my friend perfectly. And what stands out the most is that part about faith in God. Him alone. See, my friend has a faith in God that runs deeper than most and she’s very vocal about it. No matter how rough things get, she continues to praise Him. To thank Him. Never losing hope…

And because of a conversation we had recently (via messenger), I think I understand why…

He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. Psalm 91:4

My friend had posted a picture of a feather. I had to ask why because feathers recently took on new meaning to me. I just love the image of God covering us with His and even wrote about it a few months back. Lo and behold, after finishing the piece on feathers, I caught one in mid-air. Out of the blue.

It felt like a miracle.

One month later, I received another feather. This one was deep, down in my purse. I found it the day the state shut down. My second feather coincided with the shelter in place.

Well, after my friend posted the picture of feathers, I learned she loves Psalm 91:4, too. More, I discovered she also receives feathers. Hers being way more dramatic and way more amazing than my finds but that’s not my story to tell…

The point being, because we bonded over feathers, I believe God nudges me to send that message I started earlier. That golden feather inspires me, too.

What I find amazing, though, is that my message would have been incomplete had it gone out earlier. Because I hadn’t read what I did tonight…

And I can’t help but wonder if the timely shut down of my computer was so I’d have the following to pass on first.

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As I said, I’m reading a book called STRONG. Because of that, I’ve really dug into the definitions of strong and weak and meek. The above find provided me with a picture of the younger me. Man, was I meek. But also, I was weak and I hated that about me. Oh, I despised my timid and mousy demeanor.

Not surprisingly, my friends were always the opposite. Bold and secure and strong and confident and all that went with the package. And because I admired them, I made this my aim. I wanted to emulate the strong woman, not the weak.

Because strong women are admirable.

But see, God’s taken me to task over this the past few years. It’s been quite a process. Basically, though, I now comprehend I was trying to be strong according to the world’s standards. More, I was trying to be strong and confident and the whole package through my own power.

But what I want to share here, is that I believe my friend emulates not just the world’s model of a strong woman, but also God’s. I think she is strong because God is within her. I think He equips her and empowers her and I think that’s true because Psalm 91:4 is her verse. “He will cover you with his feathers.”

But I think the key to her strength is found in the first verses of the Psalm…

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High

will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.” Psalm 91:1-2

There’s a lot to do with dwelling and resting and abiding in here. And I think my friend does this. She stays with God. She remains with him. She has to. But because she does, she can state the following and really mean it:

“My God, in whom I trust.”

Honestly, before this past year, I couldn’t say that in all sincerity. I still placed my trust in too many other things. And when those things gave way, there went my confidence. When everything I hoped in was shaken, I was left shaking. Insecurity abounded.

Here’s my big revelation of the evening, though. I find it in the definition for trust. Among other things, it means: confidence, secure, confident, bold, sure, to have confidence, to be bold, to be secure, to feel safe.

Wow. This is my definition of a strong woman. It’s everything I ever wanted to be. But I realize if I want to be this kind of woman, I have to dwell in the shadow of His wings. If I want to be bold, I have to remain with God. If I want to be confident, I have to stay with Him.

And I have to tell you, this really kind of rocked my world tonight. Because it feels just like God handed me the blueprint for becoming a strong woman…

Nestled right here in the verses I’ve been meditating on for months and months. Tonight He showed me exactly what a woman who trusts God looks like. She looks just like a strong woman. And she looks just like my friend…

Because when a woman has that kind of faith, it shows. The world can’t help but notice her sureness. An inner strength.

This describes my feather buddy. Because no matter how hard life can be, no matter how difficult, and no matter how crushing, she always displays strength. But I now know, her strength stems from trusting God.

The end result is the strong woman she is.

I want her to know that I’m not the only one who sees her strength. One born not only of struggle, but also, born of God. That’s what I want her to know…

Strength. It’s her feather.

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I realize I could have sent a private letter. Or a whopping personal message. Instead, I opted to post this blog. There’s a reason for that…

See, when my feather buddy and I talked about feathers, she told me it was time to receive another. Well, I’m putting this out there because I’m hopeful it will feel just like she found one…

Because that golden feather given to me out of the blue today? I can’t help but think it was right on time. A nudge from God for me to tell her just what I just did. Thus, I have no doubt in my mind…

That one was just for her.

Because indeed, God covers her with His feathers.

 

Kindergarten Math and the COVID-19 Factor

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At my first defense, no one stood by me, but everyone deserted me. 2 Timothy 4:16

Sheltering in place has allowed for a whole lot of extra around the house. Yes, I’d say the percent of increase has gone through the roof in certain areas. But also, so has the percent of decrease. And I can only attribute the ups and the downs to something I call the COVID-19 factor…

Which in its simplist form, is staying at home.

No doubt, the COVID-19 factor is directly related to all the recent additions and subtractions to my life. As to exact percentages, I can’t say for certain but I can assuredly name the changes…

First, there’s stress, the rate of increase directly proportional to the increased time my children spend in the house. And I know how this can sound… selfish. Ungrateful. But for today, it’s truth. My stress level has gone through the roof and it has to do with the increased level of noise coming from their direction.

If Annabelle shrieks one more time, “I’m serious, stop, stop, stop, I can’t breathe,” I may lose it. And frankly, I’m proud of myself for not having done so already. Which brings to mind another through the roof increase…

The loudness of my voice. Oh, I’ve shrieked myself once or twice but overall, I feel a real sense of accomplishment. See, I’m keeping it level more than I used to. Even when it appears my daughter can’t breathe again because of the kids’ newest game, “Scarers.”

Other shenanigans having the propensity to send my voice into the back reaches of my neighbor’s yard, and into the outer atmosphere, are “Pushers,” “Shovers,” and “King,” all of which involve physicality and knocking each other about.

If my calculations are accurate, the extra noise from the extra time my kids are in the house attributes to at least 32% of the increase in my stress (and my loudness).

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The COVID-19 factor (staying at home) means extra. More food consumption, more laundry, more needs only I can address, and more talking. Sometimes both kids talk at the same time, one right over top of the other, which decreases my ability to hear.

And there are other decreases like personal time and space. Yes, Annabelle’s supplies replaced the easel I recently topped the yellow table with in my office and Levi’s work moved my writing binders right off my desk and onto the book shelf.

And though it sounds like I’m complaining (yes, I think I am), I can’t help but contemplate the whole lot of good that’s accompanied this COVID-19 factor. Other increases and decreases…

Coffee dates and occasional lunches are 100% decreased. And though the initial workload for my at-home job skyrocketed, the steady subsequent decline, coupled with additional time at home, has allowed for noticeable progress on the house.

My work productivity has increased exponentially. I washed my car inside and out, cleaned two years of grime off of my windows, and dusted six years of dirt out of those hard to reach areas. And I finally planted a flower garden. I’ve never done that before.

I put an entire downstairs together after our basement finishing project and now, everything in my home has a place. There are no spare heaps or piles. All items are where they need to be, and my home is in order for the first time since we moved in nine years ago.

And the truth is, had we not been forced to sit still, I don’t know how long it would have taken me to accomplish all that I have. I attribute every bit of the increased work productivity to staying at home.

It was because of the COVID-19 factor.

Yes, the COVID-19 factor (staying at home), has changed everything. There’s been additons and deletions. And with all outside distractions cut off, including people, everything that needed to be tended to on the inside has been tended to. And I’m not just talking about work and house-hold projects.

I’m also talking about my heart. Because although there’s someone here with me all the time, an isolated and lonely feeling appeared anyway. It happened as March closed out and April made her entrance.

Without fail, a sense of rejection and abandonment assails my soul with a regularity I can count on. Spring ushers in this low period and because it coincided with the shut-in, home projects and homeschool, I experienced something new that soothed me more than anything ever had.

Or ever will.

It was the discovery of the COVID-19 equation, which I’ll get to later. And because of it, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. Ever.

At least I hope not.

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I tell you, I don’t know who’s learned more through Kindergarten math, me or Annabelle. Because though she’s been learning simple addition and subtraction, the titles of her worksheets have been speaking to my heart. Especially this one here…

Take away stories.

If I were to put a name to my story, perhaps there wouldn’t be a better title. Because if I had to put a name to my wound, the one that never healed, this would be it. Take-away.  Because once upone a time when I was young, something was taken away from me. It happened when I was left behind.

More than once, those who should have loved me the most decided to take someone else the the party of the year. Someone else was deemed more fun, and I was left at home, alone, at sixteen and again at seventeen. And though this sounds petty in light of the plight of the land, this is what happened to me. It’s what damaged my heart in an irreversible way and I swear, it damaged me all the way up. Till April.

A mere month ago.

It was the second time that really did it for it was a double whammy. The details aren’t important, but suffice it to say, I felt utterly forsaken. Left behind and left alone because the one I depended on left me hanging. She didn’t stand by me when I needed her to and it broke my heart.

For Annabelle’s math purposes, the take away story is simple. Two take away one is one. But my heart tells another story. It says when one leaves another behind, you have one left… A left over.

That was my incurable wound. Because of it, any little bit of confidence and security I might have possessed was stripped away. This is what Annabelle’s math homework brought to mind when I saw particular words highlighted at the top of the pages.

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I’m thankful to God because the past few weeks of homeschooling have allowed me to put a name to my hurt. God helped me dissect it in such a manner that I can name it, define it, and see it for what it really was and is.

And more, He healed my heart through the very wound itself. Honestly, I don’t know if I can find the words to describe just how God used the very thing that hurt me to heal me…

It was the COVID-19 factor. Staying at home. The only reason I found healing is because I stayed home

But see, for so long it was the place I avoided. I’ll tell you why. If I was home, it meant I was unwanted. Home meant I was left behind because there was someone better to go out with. Being home implied I was not “fun” like those my beloveds chose. Yes, staying at home meant I was not loveable.

Thus, at eighteen, I made being the life of the party my aim. I figured if I could be as fun as the chosen ones, I would be, too. The girl who made everyone laugh and knew how to party was the one who received love.

And so, if I could help it, I went out. At nineteen and as a young twenty-something, I never stayed home. Because as long as I was out, I was “chosen.” And as long as I was out, I didn’t feel the hurt.

Only when I stayed home, did the ache return. And only when I was alone. Or lonely…

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I spent a year in Korea when I was in my early twenties. The best part was never being alone. I had a group of ready-made friends through work and my living quarters and oh, how I loved my girlfriends…

And though there were lots of parties (one every night if you wanted), what I loved best was the girl time. Drinking coffee and shopping at the commissary and laying out in the sun on the far reaches of base in the most secluded spot and going to the gym. The list goes on…

I loved being a part of a crew and knowing they loved me and I them. I felt confident and secure as long as we were together. Surrounded by my new friends, I started to feel loveable.

Alas, I found myself pregnant. It was the Spring of 1995. A heartbeat had been added to mine, and yet, I decided no. I didn’t want the child and aborted. Why? Honestly, I didn’t think twice. When asked, I said no to a sonogram. I rushed ahead in my decision and allowed the doctors to take away the little one whose heart beat inside me…

It was a true take away story. Two minus one equals one left alone.

Afterward, a friend told me to go home and lie down. She said I should rest. You know what? I never, ever did. Because there was no way anyone could make me stay home. To me, it was a punishment. Home meant everything it meant at sixteen and seventeen. Unwanted and unloved.

And if I stayed home, alone, while everyone else was out, the ache returned. That lonely rejected feeling I suppressed over and over. So, I kept moving. For years and years and years.

Oh, I made sure to keep myself busy. One, to keep the hurt at bay. And two, I had to be out. Out, out, out. Because only when I was out, could I be loved. Even after I was fully grown, with a family of my own. Those feelings remained…

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The COVID-19 factor (being forced to stay at home), has truly allowed for a whole lot of extra. Like understanding. Yeah, I’d say that’s increased 100%.  And hindsight. It is the year 2020, and hindsight surely is that. Because I can see now.

I was co-dependent. At five and eleven and sixteen and nineteen and twenty-two and all the years after. I needed a friend to love me to make me feel worthy. And if I didn’t have that person, well, I felt so bad about me.

But after reading the story of Martha and Mary at least 20 times, I saw something this past week for the very first time that moved me to the core. It was how Martha spoke to Jesus and the hurt revealed in her words. She said, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me all alone to serve…”

I’d always focused on the serving part before. But perhaps the reason she was so busy is found right there in the preceding words. She was left alone. It’s the wound I sustained at an early age and carried into my adult life…

Left meaning to abandon, to have remaining, to forsake, leave behind, to be left. Alone meaning remaining, sole or single, mere, without a companion, forsaken, destitute of help, merely.

My wound spelled out through the definitions of these two words. I was forsaken because I was merely. Not enough. I was left alone without a companion because other companions were deemed more worthy. Thus, I was compelled to act a certain way. In my early twenties, I partied hard. In my early thirties, I served hard. And for years afterward. All in hope of receiving the same reward.

Love.

And I can’t help but wonder if Martha’s obsessive serving was born out of a wound, like mine, that hadn’t healed. Lord, my sister left me alone…

The Lord has promised that he will not leave us or desert us. Hebrews 13:5

Yeah, God spoke to me through Martha’s take away story. But also, He spoke through another woman who was left alone. She’s the adulterous woman mentioned in John 8…

Some religious men brought her into the center of court to put her on display and to demand an answer of Jesus. “The law says we stone her!” They demanded, “What do you say?” Jesus ignored them and simply stooped down, writing in the dust.

When they persisted, Jesus straightened and said the one without sin could throw the first stone. After He stooped again, they all left…

Until Jesus was left alone with the woman.

She standing before Him in the center of court. And that’s when Jesus stood up again. When He was left alone with her. Or when she was left alone with Him. And I’m not surprised to find the very same meanings for the very same words in this woman’s life. Those that were in Martha’s and in mine…

Three women left behind. Remaining, forsaken, abandoned, and caused to be left over. Alone, sole, single, and mere. And who knows. Perhaps this is why the adulterous woman felt compelled to sleep around.

Maybe she’d been wounded, and left to her own devices, she sought the love and warmth in the circle of another man’s arms. And in the end, after her wound and sin was exposed to the world, that’s exactly what she found…

Because left alone with Jesus, Him standing by her side, she encountered love instead of condemnation. He simply said, “Go, and sin no more.”

Oh, how that speaks to me this day. Because this is exactly what He did with me last month. It was April, the time of my season. But also, it’s an anniversary. The month of what I did at twenty-two. I was so very low. Overwhelmed by that cyclical sense of rejection and loneliness. No doubt, exacerbated by being at the house. For I was home, the place that accuses me of being mere and unwanted.

And unloved.

It was here the voice of my accuser found me, when all other sources of comfort and distraction and dependency were taken away. But this turned out to be my salvation. The very best of take away stories…

Because when the devil reminded me of my past and what I had done, I found I was not by myself this time. Though it seemed I was alone, deserted and forsaken, there was another standing by my side. And He answered for me. I didn’t even have to open my mouth.

But see, it had to happen just this way. When every bit of extra was removed. That way, I’d understand. Healing wasn’t from any outside source of comfort. No other person, no other thing, just Jesus. My healing came only through Him.

And had it not been for the COVID-19 factor, staying at home, I wouldn’t have discovered the beauty of the COVID-19 equation, which is adding one. See, His name is Jesus and He is the +1 we should always add.

Because He is right here with us in the midst of it all. As for me, though, I had to be at home to comprehend it…

I had to be alone.

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“Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.” Luke 7:47

For so long, I avoided home because it allowed the hurt place in me to rise. But how like God to heal me here, at home, where I first sustained injury. Not at church or at a friend’s house or on a coffee date or in a counseling session…

It happened at home. Just the two of us.

But you know, He’s been trying to get me to sit still here for years. Hindsight tells me it goes all the way back to 2010 when I first came back home. And when I first began to sense what He was saying, I tell you, it felt like punishment. Like I was being disciplined.

But I had it so wrong. It wasn’t that at all. No, the truth is, God simply wanted to love me. He wanted me to receive what He was offering, lavishing me with His love…

But me? I could only bring myself to accept His mercy. It was January 31, 2014 when I found forgiveness for the abortions of my past (there were two). I had no doubt.  Through Jeremiah 31:20, God assured me, “I will surely have mercy on you.”

The word surely and mercy are the same. It’s mercy squared. Mercy + Mercy. Double mercy for my double abortions. Later that day, a bracelet I’d worn while in Korea disappeared from my arm, never to be seen again, proving my past was gone. And later, I heard my daughter’s heartbeat at her first sonogram. Proof of my future…

I was forgiven and I knew it. And yet, somehow, I missed the first part of the definition of the word. In addition to mercy, it means to love, love deeply… to have tender affection. It means to fondle. This is what God wanted to do in my life.

But see, after so many years of being beat down, life teaches women like me (and Martha and the adulterer), that we don’t deserve love. No, we have to work for it. Serve for it. Perform for it.

And that’s why God’s love didn’t touch me. I missed it because I kept striving for it. Proving myself loveable. On the outside. Out, out, out. Never at home.

So God tried. For a whole decade, He tried to still me. Finally, the virus attacking our land forced me into staying home. And while homeschooling my children, I find He’s been homeschooling me. Thus, after sitting at Jesus’ feet and listening to His teaching, I comprehend truth.

I realize I have to sit before I can stand. But more, I know He’ll stand with me when I do. And only through the support of His love can I move forward. This is how I overcome the voice of my accuser (Rev 12:10-11). Through God’s love, and His take away story…

For God so loved, He gave the life of His Son for mine.

And by the blood of the lamb and by the word of my testimony, I have victory.

Yet another take away story, for the power of my past no longer has a hold on me. It no longer remains and I am free.

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Yes, the COVID-19 factor sure has caused a lot of extra around here. Extra stress, extra noise, extra projects, but also, there’s a whole lot of extra love. In every capactity. Percent of increase through the roof…

And sure, my kids have pushed my buttons many times. And the schoolwork, if I’m being honest, has caused me angst more than once. But through me teaching them, He teaches me. I’ve learned so very much.

But I’m not the only one who’s understanding has increased. My little girl suprised me a month back when we talked about prayer…

“Where two or more are gathered, there I am with you.” I asked Annabelle how many people were at the table and she said four. I said no, because there was me + Levi + her. Immediately afterward, though, I smiled and told her she was right…

See, she got it. Even before I did. At five years of age, she understood to apply the COVID-19 equation, which is +1.

You always add one for Jesus.

As I said, I learn so much through teaching them. Even in March, God was showing me then. He is with me always. I am never alone…

But the Lord stood with me and gave me strength… 2 Timothy 4:17

Jesus didn’t have a senior superlative

…Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God. 1 Corinthians 1:24

It’s cyclical with me. Spring is my season of rejection and I feel it acutely. Piercingly. A sense of loneliness and abandonment fueled by underlying feelings of unwantedness. And underneath it all, there’s a hint of betrayal. Invariably, these notions plague me when flowers begin to bloom and trees begin to leaf.

At Springtime.

This year, the feelings began circling towards the end of March. And by the first of April, the darkest of thoughts eclipsed all sound judgment and mind.

Quite aptly, it was April Fool’s Day and no doubt, I was a real April fool.

The unwanted feelings peaked as I unpacked umpteen boxes that had been stored for nearly two years. That’s when I unearthed a journal dated 1989. I was sixteen and what struck me is my present-day mindset uncannily echoed that of the younger me. At least it did that particular day…

As I said, these feelings are cyclical. Seasonal.

And Spring happens to be my time…

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So from now on we regard no one from a human point of view (according to worldly standards and values). 2 Corinthians 5:16

Words penned thirty-one years ago were full of self-loathing. And strangely, despite how far God has brought me, a similar refrain thrummed through my heart and mind last week. The unending chorus wore me down…

“You’re not wise, you’re foolish. Not strong, weak. You’re dull and boring. You’re insignificant, overlooked, and less than everyone else. Second choice by far, unloved, and nothing at all.”

Believe me. I know how silly this is. And immature. And in the throes of Corona Virus, I debated sharing at all. How petty compared to the worldwide crisis. And yet, perhaps my faulty thinking was a by-product of this shelter-in-place. At home with nowhere to go, inward eyes and too much self-focus can be a slippery slope.

I’m too embarrassed to mention what led to last week’s line of thinking. However, that’s where I ended up on April 1, 2020. A full-blown pity party for one all because I allowed myself to entertain a sixteen-year-old mindset. The same outlook (and inlook) I housed a number of Springs in which my heart sustained directed hurts I never really forgot.

As I said, the balmy months are my time. 

And because I wallowed in cyclical feelings of lowness, I wasn’t inspired to make dinner. Instead, I asked Jason to bring home take-out and I’m so glad I did. Because God used a Chinese fortune to snap me out of my momentary lapse of reason.

And by the time April 2 dawned, I was ready to shut down the self-pitying thoughts I’d nursed the day before.

The very good news is this year, my “season” lasted the shortest of whiles. And with each passing year, I find there’s more progress. Better yet, I suspect in a year or two, these seasonal feelings of mine may pass me by altogether.

In fact, I’m sure of it.

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Let no one deceive himself. If anyone among you seems to be wise in this age, let him become a fool that he may become wise.  For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. 1 Corinthians 3:18-19

If Spring is a season of sadness, what I know now is March is my time of “coming out.” Multiple occasions this past decade, I sensed God’s leading to sit still or come out of activity (and out of view) during the third month.

And I’ve tried. Halted my doings for a short while only to go back to what I’d been doing before, and all the more. But I really thought this year would be different. Believed I’d learned all my lessons and that there would be no stopping me in 2020.

But then COVID-19 happened. And is happening.

And because this virus has shut down nearly everyone and everything, I find I’m obeying God’s cyclical command to “come out” in March without meaning to. In a sense, my hand’s been forced…

to stop.

Like many, I’m shut-in and life has drastically changed. No doubt, this sickness terrorizing the land has interrupted many a plan, including mine. But you know, I’m thankful for the pause. No, not thankful for the disease, mind you. I wish it had never come. But in the midst of madness, I find gratitude for the delay has changed my focus.

See, I was on a set course in February, eyes locked onto one thing. And with schools closing, that one thing went out the window. Way out. But then it was like a lightbulb came on. Illumination allowed me to recall the very few goals I set at the New Year. One or two things well, most specifically, my children.

Yet, in the midst of my plan, I had forgotten they were the plan. My kids. But COVID-19 helped me remember. How could I not because they were looking to me every, single day for guidance.

Thus, I formed a daily schedule. In setting up morning time for God and prayer, I remembered a binder I put together months before. It contains focus words for Levi, one per month.

Needless to say, none had been contemplated. Not one. Instead, the notebook sat dusty on a shelf. But the new shut-in itinerary compelled me to resurrect it from the ashes and I thought we’d go in order. However, in a roundabout way, we landed half-way through the book. Wisdom is where God planted us…

I thought it was all about my son. Alas, due to recent childish actions, I quickly understood God’s word choice had more to do with me than Levi. And that’s why the Chinese fortune resonated.

Because it speaks of wisdom. Or lack thereof. And that little piece of paper brought to mind one of the most comforting passages of Scripture I ever read. One I tucked away in my heart many years back.

Through it, God soothed my soul anew. But mostly, He snapped me out of my foolishness.

Remember, dear brothers and sisters, that few of you were wise in the world’s eyes or powerful or wealthy when God called you. Instead, God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise. And he chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful. God chose things despised by the world, things counted as nothing at all, and used them to bring to nothing what the world considers important. As a result, no one can ever boast in the presence of God. 1 Corinthians 1:26-29

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I studied Genesis 3 yesterday morning. I contemplated how the serpent deceived Eve when he told her, “You will be like God.” This statement caused the first woman to look harder at a tree she’d been commanded not to partake of. And because she realized the fruit could make her wise, she gave in to the temptation and scarfed it down.

In studying, I found a nugget of truth hidden within the definition of God. The devil said she could be like Him, so the word means just that – the Supreme God. But also, it can mean rulers, judges, divine ones, gods, and goddesses. Perhaps this was part of the temptation.

But most intriguing, I find this particular word can be used as a superlative, passages describing things to be great, mighty or exceeding.

Superlative stood out because in recent unpacking, I came across my keepsake box. Letters and pictures and yearbooks and such. I thought about how I didn’t receive a senior superlative. Oh, I’m not the only one and I know it’s not important. Not really. But at eighteen, it sure felt that way. Especially because our graduating class was so small. 63, I think.

Anyway, superlative means the highest quality or degree. It means surpassing all others. And perhaps that’s what stung so when I was young. I didn’t surpass anyone in anything. At least not in anyone’s eyes. And maybe that’s what can sting a bit now…

I can’t help but wonder if this was the first true temptation for the first true woman. And surely it’s tempted millions and millions who’ve followed her. I know it’s what tempts me…

Yes, I’m convinced the devil deluded Eve by enticing her to be more. That fruit could make her great and mighty and exceeding, surpassing all others. And when you get down to the meat of it, the implication is that you should be more than you are. That’s what the devil was really saying…

In a sense, he proclaimed Eve to be less than in telling her she could be more than. It was a lie used in the garden, a deception that’s endured through the ages, and what he continues to use today.

The fruit still dangles.

“You should be more,” he whispers. However, today’s tempting fruit doesn’t promise wisdom. Quite the opposite, really. And this particular temptation made me an April Fool last week. 

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We do not have the audacity to put ourselves in the same class or compare ourselves with some who (supply testimonials to) commend themselves. When they measure themselves by themselves and compare themselves with themselves, they lack wisdom and behave like fools. 2 Corinthians 10:12

I fell for it last week. The serpent beguiled me. Fooled me into the comparison trap. And like Eve who covered up her nakedness, I felt like doing the same. Wanted to cover up everything I disdained about me…

But that’s when I remembered the most beautiful lesson from Genesis 3. See, Adam and Eve hid away after sampling forbidden fruit. They didn’t want God to see them. And though they were ultimately banished from the garden, there’s tenderness in God’s question…

He asked, “Who told you you were naked?”

You know, I think He asks the same today. We can fill in the blank. “Who told you you were __________.” We all have a word we can put in there, my list consisting of everything I mentioned at the beginning of this post.

As to who told me? Well, it was the world. The world told me all the days of my life I wasn’t enough. And if I let it, it still speaks loudly.

It began when I was small. “So and so can do that but you can’t.” Or, “Just because your best friends are popular that doesn’t mean you are.” I can still see her little eyes boring into mine.

That’s where it began. The world entered and I heard every shout. “Pam can’t and Pam’s not.” Negative statement layered upon negative statement. And there were good things, too. Only, the bad far outweighed anything good I ever heard.

Five years back, this all came to the surface. Back then, I didn’t even know it was in me. But March came about and it was like Jesus said, “Come out!” I heard Him in a dream. The only problem is I misunderstood. He meant to come out of everything (activity, view, my head, the world), but I went all the way in. And within months, everything inside came spewing out. A journal entry said it all…

“I hate me.”

And I did. Oh, I despised me. It was July 2015. When I told my mother-in-law, she said I should ask forgiveness. At the time, I didn’t understand. But today, I do. I get it now. Because in hating me, I hated God’s creation. In rejecting me, I rejected His plan for me.

But more, what I’ve come to comprehend in recent days is that hating me is no different than hating Jesus. Because everything I ever disliked about me happens to be some of His qualities…

What I hated about me, and what I’m still tempted to hate, is what the world hated in Him first.

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For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.  For it is written: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, And bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent.”

1 Corinthians 1:18-19

I already gave you my list.  I always felt second. Less than my peers. But when all those feelings are stripped away, I find the very way God crafted me contributes to those lowly feelings.

Because I’m quiet by nature. Deep down, I’m really quite reserved. Submissive and mild mannered. That’s the real me. But most of my adult life, I tried to be other than that. More than how God designed me.

See, the world just doesn’t seem to admire reserved. And meek people often come across as weak people, going unnoticed. This is what I hated about me for so many years.

Today, though, I know the disdained attributes are those that make me most like Christ. And if I hate them in me, that means I hate them in Him. In rejecting what I dislike about me, I end up rejecting Him,  making the words of Isaiah ring true in my life today.

And for this, I ask forgiveness…

He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
    nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.
He was despised and rejected by mankind,
    a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
    he was despised, and we held him in low esteem. Isaiah 53:2-3

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God comforts me with 1 Corinthians 1:26-29. And within, I find the similarity to Isaiah 53:2-3. Most particularly, I note that God chooses things despised by the world. Things considered worthless. Because that’s exactly what Jesus was deemed.

And though He was God in human form, the devil came to Jesus just like he appeared to Eve. Yes, Jesus was tempted just as we are.

I can’t help but wonder if it was Spring with Him, too. And I speculate about Jesus’ fill in the blank list, if He had one. Because the world told Him He was a liar. It accused Him of having a demon, of being a foreigner, a drunkard and crazy. The world said, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

No doubt, the world had a low opinion of this Man who was God’s chosen. And I can’t help but think if Nazareth High had a Senior Superlative page, Jesus wouldn’t have made it to the list. He just wasn’t all that impressive. Not to the world, He wasn’t.

Because this God-Man was humble and submissive, gentle and mild. He came to serve and not be served and the world hated Him for it. Because the world esteems otherwise. The world looks up to rulers and leaders and gods and goddesses. The formula’s just different.

At the heart of it, the world seeks to be God-like, not Christ-like. This is the tempation the devil dangled before Eve, before Jesus and what He still puts before our eyes.

I know this to be true because it tempts me. I want to have a superlative ascribed to me, too. Deep down, I want to be surpassing and great and mighty. Because the world loves all that…

Thus, Jesus cautions. He warns us. He tells us that if the world hates us, and it does, to remember it hated Him first.

But who in the world wants to be hated.

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You didn’t choose me. I chose you. John 15:16

On the mount of transfiguration, God had something to say about the One the world rejected. He said, “This is My Son whom I have chosen. Listen to Him!”

And that’s what I’m really trying to do. Because for too long, I listened to the wrong people. The ones who spoke loudest and usually, it was the world. But Jesus is different. He doesn’t raise His voice and isn’t pushy. He won’t force Himself on us.

And so last week, I had to decide which voices I’d allow into my shut-in state. And I think I chose wisely because I chose to shut up the world. More, I also shut me up and finally, I could hear what Jesus had to say.

The first had to do with being hated. The definition means to “love less,” and oh, how that causes an inward groan. Because this is the deepest of wounds, feeling less loved. Loveless…

Unloved.

But Jesus also had something to say about love. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Greater means stronger or more and this is what He’s been trying to tell me for so long.

This is the reason He’s been calling me out and calling me out, March after March. For my protection. He knew April and May loomed and He knew my vulnerability. Thus, He wanted me to know how He feels about me…

Indeed, I’ve suffered some hurts and rejections. And I may sustain a few more before my days are done. However, when those times come, from here on out I can stand on truth. His.

And I can remember this particular Spring, a season in which His voice overrode all others. A time comprehension dawned and I just knew…

See, the world may love me less, but Jesus loves me more.

And if there were a yearbook for forty-seven-year olds, you’d find me on the superlative page. Yes, you’d find my name beside, “most likely to be loved.”

Because that’s what I am.

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“It is finished.” John 19:30

This Spring’s been pretty significant. We finished our basement project, unloaded a building full of boxes, and this past Saturday, our final home improvement project was completed.

It was finished…

This coincided with my season, the balmy months being my time. A cyclical sadness. But you know, it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. Because cycles are made to be broken. And I’m optimistic this year’s different…

Deep in my core, I believe it. And I think the morel mushrooms my hubby found this past weekend are symbolic of April 2020.

See, Spring is also the time of Easter. A cyclical time for miracles and I believe one happened this year. The shelter-in-place lended itself to the process and because of it, I see the meaning of the day then, and the significance of it now. 

He faced such accusations before the cross. The world said Jesus did this and that… He was this and wasn’t that. And after dying on a cross, He was placed in an inky tomb. But what transpired was miraculous. The tomb became a womb, giving way to resurrected life. He came out fully alive.

Being shut in at home can be like that for me, too. I went in one way but can come out different on the other side. And I think I will. God help me, when all this is over, to be wiser.

Because I went in foolishly. I listened to the accusations and believed them. Pam can’t and isn’t. And if I chose to live worldly, those statements just might be true.

In following Jesus’ pattern, though, I decide to live other-worldly. I despise the shame, paying little attention to cyclical thoughts. Instead, I bury them in the blackness of my tomb.

Oh, death, where is thy sting?

By putting a sixteen-year-old mindset and worldly thoughts to death, I find the tomb gives way to a womb-like environment. And here, I find such tenderness. Such love. And within, I come fully alive. Resurrected life.

It’s why He gave His Son to begin with. For God so loved the world, He provided a cross, and whosoever shall believe will have everlasting life. New life…

Yes, at the cross, I know I am loved. Thus, at a cross which is foolishness to the world, I become a fool for Him. Because I chose to no longer believe as the world does. Instead, I believe like Him.

And I know the danger. The world may hate me and think me a fool. But you know, this is the kind of April Fool I want to be.

And that makes me so wise…

We are fools for Christ… 1 Corinthians 4:10

Something Beautiful

IMG_2988He has made everything beautiful and appropriate in its time. Ecclesiastes 3:11

I’m about to say something I may regret. Because I know how awful it will sound. Oh, I’ll sound like a whiny baby. And ungrateful. And God knows I don’t want to appear that way. Because appearances matter so much in the world we live…

Thus, seeking the world’s approval, I desire to come across as joyful. Stable. Content and oh, so spiritual. Overflowing with goodness and kindness, love and all things beautiful. Yes, I want to appear a certain way. That way…

Not as I really am. That’s why I chose to not use the above picture when I updated my Facebook profile pic. Because to me, I look too sad.

Indeed, I wanted to capture the moment and I think I did just that. Because the photo above accurately depicts me in that moment in time. For Facebook, though, I decided to lift up the corners of my mouth just a bit more. That perhaps an upturned mouth would add a hint of happiness to my eyes.

IMG_2984You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead… Matthew 23:27

Truth is the above depicts me in every way. A woman who not only desires something beautiful, but also, she wants to be something beautiful. I’m not just talking about my outsides, though. No, mainly it’s my insides. Because by the time I reached this magnificent overlook, I was totally spent. Exhausted and ugly to the core.

But I don’t want to be this way. Not at all. Thus, I’m filled with deep longing. I desperately long to be beautiful, only, from the inside out…

And yet, Summertime tends to have the opposite effect on me. And if I want to be totally transparent (and I do), I’ll just say it. I hate Summer. I hate all the extra it brings. But mostly, I hate what I allow it to do to me. 

Why do you spend money for that which is not bread and your earnings for what does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me and eat what is good and let your soul delight in abundance. Isaiah 55:2

This is where I’ll sound ungrateful. Because I live a life many would envy. I work from home and raise my children at home. I can be with them through the Summer and go on vacations. Yes, God has blessed me with time.

The problem is what I do with that time. Somehow it gets crammed full. And in the fullness, I become drained and empty. So much so, I don’t feel as if I have any good left inside to offer. Honestly, by the time July rolls around, it’s as if all life has been sucked out of me.

Today, though, I know it comes down to choice. Because we choose what we want to do. We can opt for life giving or life draining activities.

Me? I usually choose badly. I give in to self during the Summer. Since my days are filled with the kids, I desire alone time. That means later nights. But rather than fill my nights with good things, I lay on the couch like a slug watching Law & Order SVU reruns. But as we all know, too much of anything can be bad. Especially mass quantities of sexually based crime drama. I won’t even tell you about the dreams (NIGHTMARES) that have peppered my nights.

Then there’s food. If I lay on the couch watching bad-for-me TV, my habit is to ply myself with carb laden snacks. Chips being my vice.

That’s how I end my very busy Summer days. Late nights of violence-filled TV and binge eating. By morning, I am tired. I sleep in. My quiet time with God diminished by multiple swipes of the snooze button. And that means, I hit the ground running. Up and at em before I have any quality time alone with my Lord.

In the end, filling up on extras leave me an empty vessel. Dry as a bone. But I know it’s my own choice. It always has been. It’s what I end up doing in the Summer. A terrible pattern rutted out through the years.

Days of fullness leaving a soul of emptiness…

Let the one who is thirsty come and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life. Revelation 22:17

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This past weekend consisted of a weekend get-away with family. There was pool time and lake time and hiking alongside a waterfall. But the irony is glaring. Me surrounded by water on all fronts and yet, parched inside.

A picture I snapped while while visiting the falls provides me with insight, though. My son and his cousin tried to stop the flow. They futilely placed rocks in a crevice. Alas, it didn’t work. Nothing could stop that raging water.

However, my epiphany is that “rocks” can surely hinder the flow in my life.

From His innermost being will flow continually rivers of living water… But He was speaking of the Holy Spirit… John 7:38-39

According to this passage, I’m promised rivers of living water. Supposedly, it’s to flow from my inner being. Notes in my Amplified Bible say there will be a river of water coming out of those who believe in Christ – not only will they be satisfied themselves, but they will also become a river so that others may drink and be satisfied.

But I swear, that’s just not true at this moment in time. I don’t feel anything good overflowing from me.  No, those living waters have dwindled to a mere trickle and for today, I’m left feeling dry.

Oh, so thirsty. Thus, my soul pants for the living God (Psalm 42). 

Thankfully, despite my current state of heart, I know truth. I know the river is there. It’s always available. Only, it’s what I previously stated. Summer. My bad choices. The rocks that dam the flow. And even though I plan time for good, I tend to give in to self. 

Like this weekend. I planned time with God and yet, I didn’t open up my “bag” once. The one I brought filled with my Bible, devotional and journal. No, I went days without opening His word and I tell you, I really feel the effects of my choices. 

More, I think my family does, too.

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… but be filled with the Holy Spirit and constantly guided by Him. Ephesians 5:18

I read the above this morning and it resonated. The first part says to not be drunk or over-indulge in wine. It’s speaking of excess. Instead, we’re admonished to be filled with the Holy Spirit. This is the living water God’s word refers to…

The Spirit.

And yet, God’s Spirit – His Holy Spirit – can be quenched by not just the excess of drink. It can be snuffed out by the excess of numerous things. Mass quantities of violence-filled TV. Large-sized bags of potato chips causing a carb-induced lethargy. And an incredibly full calendar leaving little room for the filling of His Spirit…

The end result is the Spirit’s fruit is snuffed out… love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23). You know, all things beautiful we want to present to the world at large. All the things I want to present…

It’s how I want to appear to the world. But more, it’s the way I really want to be. Beautiful from the inside out. Rivers of living water flowing from me…

But the reality is, I have to choose it. I have to stop making the bad choices I tend to make in Summer. I’m the one who dams up the flow.

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He opened the rock and water flowed out. It ran in the dry places like a river. Psalm 105:41

It’s true, I’ve been dry. But I’ve been here before. As I said, it’s a pattern. Cyclical. Summer time dries me. It’s the same in the Winter. Holidays can sure fill the calendar.

However, I have great hope. Because just like the Israelites who wandered in the desert knew, I know where to go for water, too. For they drank from the same spiritual drink. It was a spiritual rock which followed them, the rock being Christ (1 Corinthians 10:3-4).

And this is where I can go to be watered.

And it may be true I feel ugly inside. Mean, even. And yet my hope remains great. Because my heart has been stony before. And what Scripture and the past teaches me is that God can bring forth water from a stone. He did it in the desert and He did it with Christ. For when one of the soldiers pierced His side with a spear, blood and water flowed out (John 19:34).

Water from a stone, that rock being Christ.

This is what My God will do for me. I know it because He’s done it before. It’s not His will for me to remain in dry places. Instead, He makes living waters flow from a heart of stone. And inevitably, the hardness is softened by His waters which never, utterly go dry…

And I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart. Ezekiel 36:26

Oh, God is something. He speaks in hundreds of ways. Most recent being the replacement of our water pipes. This is what I helped Jason with on Friday before our trip. He had to turn the water off for the task.

And I could laugh at that now. Water cut off in the house coinciding with the drying of His living waters in my soul. However, my husband left our weekend early in order to complete the task. He wanted to get home ahead of us, his family, so we’d have water.

This is my plan, too. I’m home now and I plan to get the water back on. For my people. And I know where to go and I know what to do. No different than before, I’ll drink deeply. But first, I have to remove the rocks. All the hindrances that dammed up the flow to begin with.

See, it’s the excess. TV that’s not good for me along with food that depletes. All the life-draining forces will be removed allowing room for life sustaining efforts. This is where I start. This is where I begin anew. And this is where I get drenched. For with Him is the fountain of life.

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In closing, I don’t doubt. I know God will fully satisfy my soul with His abundance. With His goodness (Jeremiah 31:14). Because He’s not failed me yet.

And what a treasure He gives me with that word. Goodness. Oh, it means just what you think it does. But also, it means beauty in select passages. How remarkable that God will satiate me with His beauty.

Thus, what I know to be true today is that it’s all about God’s goodness. This is the something beautiful I’ve been longing for this Summer. Indeed, it’s the only something beautiful that will fill me.

In the end, though, God’s goodness will flow from me. And how beautiful I’ll be. From the inside out. Which is all I really want to be, anyway…

Something beautiful.

And the LORD will continually guide you and satisfy your soul in scorched and dry places and give you strength to your bones. And you will be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water whose waters do not fail. Isaiah 58:11

If you build it, they will come…

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A friend of mine posted the above picture today on Facebook. I was going to send her a private note to tell her what it meant to me… however, I decided to post for all to see.

Lindsey included a message…

“Have an amazing week my friends. Whatever you are working on- don’t stop.” And today, I really needed to hear that. See, I can easily become discouraged. And more, I become overly distracted. I let busyness derail me from the one thing I know God called me to do. I let unnecessary tasks keep me from the one thing that would fulfill all my purpose.

“May he give you what your heart desires and fulfill your whole purpose.” Psalm 20:4 (CSB)

This morning’s post prompted me to remember something I’d written down in my journal. It was April 21. My handwriting was shaky and urgent, “You have all the materials… all the support your task will require. Now get started.”

Which brings me back to Lindsey’s post. “Whatever you are working on, don’t stop.” Noah didn’t. He fulfilled his whole purpose in making an ark. God said, “this is the way you are to make it.” So Noah did it, according to all that God commanded him. That’s what Noah did…

The word for “make” and “did” means to do or make, to produce or be busy. Which brings me to King David. He set his heart on building, too. His cause was a house for God. That’s what he wanted to be busy about doing however, God said no. It wasn’t David’s task. Instead, it was for his son, Solomon, to do.

So David ordered Solomon to build a house for the Lord. He exhorted him, “For the Lord has chosen you to build a house for the sanctuary. Be courageous and strong and do it!”

Then David gave his son the plans… plans for the porch, the buildings, the upper chambers, etc. “All this,” said David, “The Lord made me understand in writing by His hand upon me, all the work and details (to be done) according to this plan.” 1 Chronicles 28:19

He then encouraged Solomon, “Be strong and courageous and take action; do not fear nor be dismayed for the LORD God, my God, is with you…”

So here’s what strikes me. There’s a million things we can each one do. A million ways we can take action, all being good. Worthwhile and noble. David chose one… He wanted to build a house for God but He was not allowed to.

This resonates. See, we all want to build. We all want do do something worthwhile. But we have to ask ourselves if it’s the thing God wants for us to do. Is it our plan or God’s? Is it for my purpose or His?

Different versions of 1 Chronicles 22:16 show building or making in several ways, “Arise and be doing,” or “Arise and do.” My favorite? “Now begin the work…”

The most important question we can consider is what work? What is the one thing God would have us to do specifically… what would fulfill our whole purpose?

I think deep down, we all know what it is. It’s the thing that brings us joy and passion and purpose. It’s the thing that keeps us up at night and rolls around in our brain. And when we actually “arise and be doing” it, we feel like we’re walking on air.

Oh, it’s the thing we may have started and stopped a million times but never finished. I know I sure have… a million starts and not one completion.

However, I am reminded today with perfect clarity. I know without a doubt what God has called me to do. Further, I am exhorted (no commanded) to not get distracted again. Not one more needless task, until I finish it. For He is the one who called me to build “it.”

I remembered thanks to an encouraging post from my friend. And I hope this inspires you to remember your purpose, too… So that what God commanded you to build, you’ll keep on building it. And more, that you won’t stop building until it’s done. Because in the end, it’s His plan, not yours.

May he grant your heart’s desires and make all your plans succeed. Psalm 20:4 (NLT)

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Now to Him who is able to [carry out His purpose and] do superabundantly more than all that we dare ask or think [infinitely beyond our greatest prayers, hopes, or dreams], according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations forever and ever. Amen. Ephesians 3:20-21

He gives me words. A word for the New Year. And what a gift the next one is. For it touches and fills and covers the deepest of wounds. It’s the old injury of feeling “less than.”

That’s been my hurt. The one I carried with me for years. The one that never healed…

I felt it as a youngster when I lived on the backside of a store, pavement and cow pasture as my playground. I felt it when I entered school. Always less than the ones who surrounded me (in my eyes). Materially, physically, mentally and any other way you can name. Me equaled less.

The feeling was compounded at seventeen. It was a double rejection and I came out on the other side feeling so inadequate. So unwanted and subpar. That’s when I experienced my first depression. It was deep. I stopped caring. Stopped taking care of myself. Hair unkempt and lips unstained. Till one day, I felt better. Time soothed the wound. And when I picked up my girlfriend for school, she exclaimed over me.

“Pam!” Surprised at my red lips and hair brushed back into a ponytail. And that’s what I thought of today as I looked into the mirror. Because my lips were rouged. And truth is, I’ve been feeling a whole lot better than I have been. Like the spiritual fog is lifting.

The word God granted me has a lot to do with that. For He tells me 2019 will be a year of abundance. But it has nothing to do with acquiring anything new or getting more than I have. Rather, it has everything to do with comprehending what I have already. And who I am already.

Yes, abundant is my word for the New Year.

And I find proper perspective is the key that will usher in this new season of my life…

The thief comes only in order to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have and enjoy life, and have it in abundance [to the full, till it overflows]. John 10:10

I watched several Christmas movies this past week and two reduced me to tears. Well, it was more like bawling, actually. I even had to cover my face with a blanket to muffle my sobs. A Christmas Carol (1999 version) is the one that caused the most emotion.

It was the dinner scene at the Cratchit household. So unlike any dinners in my own home. First, the kids were helpful. Completely. And thankful. And there was much excitement awaiting their dad’s arrival. And when he finally came, the goose was exclaimed over. Yes, Bob thoroughly praised his wife for the meal. That’s when the tears began…

However, it was the dessert that got me. When I watched Bob’s wife bring out the Christmas pudding and witnessed her hand nearly shaking as she oh, so carefully cut the first piece for her husband, noise erupted from my constricted airway. I was moved in the deepest of ways and had to choke back sobs.

In musing over my reaction, I believe it’s because I’ve never served my family in this way. Ever. But also, I’ve never appreciated a meal like that, either. Ever. I ration it’s because of the abundance in my life. Abundance of food and drink. Abundance of clothing and luxury…

Yes, abundance.

At this point in my life, my true needs are limited. And I believe this has limited my heart’s ability to serve in the same capacity as Mrs. Cratchit. For her heart was full of servitude and gratitude. And more, her precious son was seriously ill and her husband worked for a tyrant of a man. Circumstances seemed bleak, indeed, and yet, she was contented with her lot in life.

And this one scene paints the picture for what I hope to attain in 2019. If I have any resolution at all, may it be this. A heart full of…

  1. Servitude
  2. Gratitude
  3. Contentment

In truth, though, I believe there’s only one way I can achieve this. Proper perspective. Like the one George Bailey gained in It’s a Wonderful Life.

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“Get me back… get me back to my wife and kids. I want to live again. I want to live again. I want to live again. Please God, let me live again!”

George Bailey spoke the above words on a frigid night while atop a bridge. But hours earlier he seriously considered the unthinkable at that very spot. He wanted to end his life. The reason? He thought he was worth more dead than alive. At least dead, he’d bring in $15,000.00.

Living? He owed $8,000.00. It was a huge amount and money he didn’t have. A mistake. Funds misplaced. And this catastrophe drove him to the brink of destruction. But also, the crisis brought him to a place of new perspective. It’s what prompted his heartfelt prayer. Because he came to a place in which he no longer wanted to die.

No, George Bailey wanted to live.

And this brings me to my true New Year’s resolution. For I want to live life fully. Abundantly. It’s quality of life I seek. And just like George, I want to live.

Again…

Perhaps tears sprung forth during this movie because George uttered the inward cry of my heart. Weeping because he voiced an unspoken prayer.

“Please God, let me live again!”

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“I don’t want to get to the end of my life and find that I have just lived the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well.” Diane Ackerman

I can’t pinpoint when it happened… when life began to feel like drudgery. I can’t say when the days began to feel like nothing more than one big to-do list. All I know is one day, life stop being fun.

But where did the excitement go? When did serving those I love most begin to feel like a job and not a privilege? Just when did I enter the tomb? Because somewhere along the line, that’s exactly where I went.

A tomb.

For I became lifeless. And I think George Bailey did, too. See, he had big plans. He worked in the family business four years after he finished high school. He did his time and the time came for college. However, his father had a stroke and died. Circumstances called for him to stay home. Instead, his brother went to school. His brother made a name for himself.

And George. He just continued making his plans. He’d go away later…

But later never came. He ended up marrying and working. But deep down, I don’t think the want ever left him. The want of something more. The want of being more. This is what killed George Bailey long before he even contemplated suicide.

And experience teaches me this is my killer, too. Want is the fruit of feeling less than and the longing to be more. Want is the thief that comes to steal, kill and destroy. And this is what stifles the abundant life Jesus promises.

Because want, my enemy, causes me to strive by taking on extra. And all that extra? Well, it saps my strength. And all the extra ends up covering me. Obscuring my view and dimming my proper perspective. In the end, all the extra covers me up. Like a burial mound.

My eyes go dim and light is diminished under the crush of all my striving. All because of want.

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“The Son of Man has come to seek and save that which was lost.”  Luke 19:10

God’s in the business of raising the dead. And often, a proper perspective can precede the resurrection. With George Bailey, it was a crisis. With me, it was a couple of hospital stays.

First, Annabelle had Kawasaki Disease. That was October and November. Then, Levi had appendicitis. That was December. These two instances served to thin out all the extra, though. Because all else came second to my babies when they were sick. And you can bet my perspective was properly adjusted.

But this all happened on the heels of an amazing time with God. See, something happened in early October that was life-changing. And life-giving. For God tended to that old wound of mine in a way I’d never experienced. He did so through revealing Jesus Christ as the Good Shepherd. In encountering the Lord in this way, that old wound of rejection was soothed. More, it was healed. I was assured of this…

“I am a keeper.” Worth keeping. Not a throw away or a reject as my early years seemed to imply for the Shepherd keeps the sheep. And goes after them.

I’ve been given such a gift, though, in receiving my word for 2019. For I realize the tending of that old wound goes even deeper than I realized. That’s because I’m told 2019 will be a year of abundance.

My word is abundant. 

And proper perspective allows me to see what an abundant life I already have. My family and friends. My possessions. My health…

However, my new word helps me to realize who I am. I comprehend what I am. And abundant tells me I am “more than.”

The thing I’ve always strived to be.

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It’s hard to explain this epiphany. See, back in October (before meeting the Good Shepherd), my revelation was I was lost. I’d really lost my way. This happened because I’d been so busy “saving” myself. I was the picture of Matthew 16:25 in that I was trying to save myself, but in the end, I lost my life.

There was no quality of life…

To put it as plain as I can, saving myself looked like holding back pieces of me or my time in order to use it where I deemed most important. This is how I established my value. My significance. I’d save me in order to use me where I thought I’d make the most impact. Usually in visible ways to the outside world. This made me “more than.” And this constituted all the “extra” in my life…

And this is what snuffed out my life altogether. Abundant life nonexistent because I spent myself in all the wrong places.

But see, life is meant to be spent, not saved. Only, spend it where it counts. For me, it’s my family. I realize this now. Thus, I choose to spend “me” there. But for so long, I didn’t do this. Instead, I saved bits of me. I held back and withheld and in the end, lost myself…

But today brought a new thought. One I’d never had before. I realize He came to seek and save that which is lost. Jesus saved me already. And because He saved me, I don’t have to save myself. In this, I am free to lose myself. To give my life for my people.

It’s just like George Bailey said, “I’m worth more dead than alive.” Me, too. I’m worth more dead (as a living sacrifice) than I am alive (as one who holds/saves her life). Then I really am dead…

But in losing my life, I find the abundant life I so crave.

And so, I find I can spend myself. Expend myself. Pour myself out as an offering for my family. Just like Mrs. Cratchit in A Christmas Carol. The woman who had a true servant’s heart. She was a picture of Matthew 20:26-28:

It is not this way among you, but whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your [willing and humble] slave; just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many

See that word great? That’s what I tried to do in being “more than.” The word means big, exceeding, high, large, loud. It’s a word referring to measurement, stature, number or quantity. It means abundant.

Yes, I spent most of my life trying to be abundant. Striving for abundance. But today God assured me I never, ever have to do that again. Because He’s already that for me…

He is my abundance.

He is your life (your good life, your abundant life, your fulfillment)… and the length of your days… that you may live. Deuteronomy 30:20

Not long ago, my little girl made two piles – one big and one small – and asked me, “Which one is morer?” It was so cute. So in Annabelle’s terms, I see God is “morer.”

He is my abundance. He is my more than. For Romans 5 tells me God’s love has been abundantly poured out in my heart. There is abundance in His grace. His grace is more than my sin. And 1 John 4 tells me His Spirit lives in me and His spirit is greater than he who is in the world.

And Jesus is my abundance. He came that I may have life and have it more abundantly. That word means: superabundant (in quantity) or superior (in quality), excessive, exceedingly, beyond measure, superfluous, exceeding some number or measure or rank… over and above… more than is necessary… something further, much more than all.

This is the life Jesus offers me. This is the life I already have. I just need the proper perspective to see it.  And this proper perspective, comprehending what’s mine already, ushers in a sense of contentment. And contentment leads to gratitude, which leads to servitude…

All the things I hope to attain in 2019.

My resolutions, if I have any.

I can do all things [which He has called me to do] through Him who strengthens and empowers me [to fulfill His purpose—I am self-sufficient in Christ’s sufficiency; I am ready for anything and equal to anything through Him who infuses me with inner strength and confident peace.] Philippians 4:13-14

In truth, I’ve never been a contented soul. I’ve always been ruled by want of more. But October happened. And then November and December. My perspective has been adjusted.

And if I ever feel myself slipping, I can read the 4th chapter of Philippians. Paul knew how to live in all circumstances. He new what it was like to live abased and to abound. He knew what it was to suffer need. But through it all, he was content. It was Christ who equipped Him with this contentment. 

And it’s Christ who equips me, too. Through Him, I find I am ready for anything and equal to anything.

Through Him.

I love the amplified version of these verses. It says equal to. Not less than. Never less than again. It’s the oldest wound I carried. But in October, that wound was tended to. And now, on the eve of January, God shows me just who I am.

In Christ.

More than enough for what He’s called me to do. Which is to take care of my family.

And [I pray] that the eyes of your heart [the very center and core of your being] may be enlightened [flooded with light by the Holy Spirit], so that you will know… the riches of His glorious inheritance in the saints (God’s people), and [so that you will begin to know] what the immeasurable and unlimited and surpassing greatness of His [active, spiritual] power is in us who believe. These are in accordance with the working of His mighty strength which He produced in Christ when He raised Him from the dead… Ephesians 1:18-20

It’s true… God gives me words. And my next is abundant. It’s not that I’ll get more, though. It’s that I’ll realize what I have already. And the above passage tells me I have riches. The word meaning abundance, wealth, fullness, plenitude.

Puts me in mind of George Bailey once more. His brother toasted him in the end. The richest man in Bedford Falls, he said. This is where I nearly lost it in the movie. Hidden tears and cries when George finally got perspective. For when he wanted to live again, he returned to his family and life, welcomed with hugs and kisses…

The best part? Friends and neighbors rallied. One after another came bringing him gifts. Money. In his deepest need, they rushed to his aid. It wasn’t the money that made him rich, though. It was what he gave. He gave his life. He sacrificed his greatness so that others could be great. He was a true servant.

This is what made George Bailey rich. And this is what will make me rich, too. Making others great. For generosity ushers in abundance (Proverbs 11:24).

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Strength and dignity are her clothing, And she smiles at the future. Proverbs 31:25

Yes, He gives me words. And He answers prayers. And He resurrects the dead. I know because He’s brought me back to life.

But for so long, I felt death pangs. Never-ending drudgery. However, just as He bid Lazarus to exit the tomb, I heard Him call my name. It was in October. He said, “Come out!”

So I did…

And in telling me I’m already more than enough, He unbinds my hands and feet from the endless to-do’s and extra’s I’ve tied myself to. And as striving ceases, the burial cloth is removed from my face. I am free once more to color my lips, red being my choice. Just like I did at seventeen.

In doing so, I smile at my face. Because I see life there. And Jesus? He exclaims over me. He says…

“Pam!”

And He smiles back.