A Different Christmas

The wrappings are thrown away and extra ribbons stored for another celebration. Although pearl lights still reflect off my mantel, Christmas has come and gone for 2011. It was a joyous time with family and a wonderful reminder of the baby in the manger who became the Savior on the cross.

But this Christmas was different than any other. For the first time in my life, my mother did not give me any kind of gift. Usually, each of her children receives some money or a roll of stamps or a desk-top calendar – something practical to use throughout the year and remember who it came from every time we use it.

Not this year. Dementia and Alzheimer’s have stolen the traditions of the past. Oh yes, I know that Christmas isn’t really about gifts, and I am truly thankful for all the blessings God has given. But it was so odd to not receive anything from my mother – for the first time in my life. It’s not that she has lost the capability to give or the joy of the season. She simply forgot to buy something for her children. She even forgot what day it was. We had to remind her over and over and then remind her when it was done.

I so hate this disease. I hate how it steals the recent past and the vitality of the present from an active and intelligent person. The far past is still intact as Mom remembers Christmases long ago and the young faces of departed loved ones. But now she has forgotten how to bake peppernuts and where to put the pans we use for cooking. She does not recognize the plate we filled with deviled eggs, although it was given to her just one flip of the calendar before. She may remember the dolls she once bought for my sister or the basketball she wrapped for her young son, but she doesn’t remember December 25th and has to keep looking at the calendar to find out what day it is.

This Christmas, Mom forgot it all. My sister bought the present for Mom’s grandson and wrote her name on the “From” tag. We showed Mom how to make deviled eggs, drove her to the family gathering and reminded her to take her own presents home. This Christmas was different – blessed and joyous – but sad, because it marked another notch in the fatal gun of dementia and underlined the truth that Mom is disappearing day by day.

I hope and pray that my son will never face a Christmas where I forget him. May the Lord of the manger return before that happens and bring true peace to every heart on earth.

Wrapped in Prayer

Ribbons, scotch tape, colorful paper – all these wrappings of the season in my office just waiting for me. One day soon, I’ll pull the Christmas presents out of their hiding places and begin my wrapping routine.

I love to wrap presents and spend time choosing just the right paper for each person, a coordinating ribbon and the proper box. For me, it’s more than just another chore of the Christmas season because I wrap my presents in prayer.

As I choose each box and cut the paper to size, I think about the person who will receive the gift. My niece or her daughter, my son or a friend who lives in Lawrence. Each person has special needs and cares, so I pray as I wrap.

“Thank you, God, for protecting my son through another year and for the clean MRI. No more cancer. Bless him, Lord. Keep him safe and meet all his needs.”

“Be with my great-niece, Lord. Grow her up in you and give her a wonderful Christmas. Help her do well in school and love you at an early age.”

“My friend needs you, Lord. She’s a single mom, too, and life is hard. Give her a wonderful Christmas with her family and meet every need. Thank you, God.”

In no time, the presents are wrapped and under the tree. A Christmas chore has become a special evening of worship. Gifts represent more than ribbons, tape and paper. They are now a pathway to the King of kings – the real reason for Christmas.

Creative Beauty

This morning, I stood at the back door, hoping to see the little finch that sometimes comes to feed. No finch joined the sparrows and jays, but instead – an incredible visual of God’s creative beauty.

Across the back acre stood a hedgeapple tree that suddenly decided to shed its leaves. No wind ruffled the morning stillness, but a bright sunbeam glittered from the tree’s branches.

Then – like a papery rainstorm, the leaves let loose of their tiny limbs and floated in a spontaneous dance to the ground. Silent. Serene.

It was as if God’s alarm had suddenly clicked and the leaves knew they were destined for a move. This was the day, the moment that they dropped and began mulching the autumn ground.

I sighed and thought, so like life. We live from day to day, just breathing, hoping to project God’s beauty in our dark world. Then one day – suddenly it’s time to make our move. To drop from sight, to begin a new ministry, to graduate from earth to heaven.

The timing is unknown yet specific. And we hang on tight until God says, “Now!”

The Encourager

Part of my job description involves encouraging the group leaders and the volunteers that I supervise. So I regularly send out emails and cards to let them know how great they are and how much they are appreciated.

Other encouragements are an important part of my life. Every day, I try to encourage my son and once a week I call my sister to encourage her as she lives with our “memory-challenged” mother. Every couple of weeks, I call my brother to encourage him in the daily stresses of life. Several of the people on my prayer list need encouragement, so I try to be there for them. Last week, I met with a beginning writer and encouraged her in her pursuit of the dream of publication.

But the other night, I hit the wall and wondered, who will encourage me?

As I cried out to the Lord, he answered with Isaiah 41. He reminded me that each of us encourages the other. Neighbors encourage brothers. The craftsman encourages the smelter and he who smooths metal encourages the blacksmith. We lift each other up by kind words and actions – by praying for each other in the dark corners of life.

Encouragement is such an important task in these last days. We all need to be encouraged. But the One we can always count on is the Lord Himself. “Do not fear, for I am with you; do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, surely I will help you, surely I will uphold you with my righteous right hand” (Isa. 41:10).

Then God repeats Himself. Whenever God repeats a message, we need to listen. “Do not fear…I will help you…your Redeemer is the Holy One of Israel” (vs. 14). “I will not forsake you. I, the Lord, will answer” (vs. 17).

Do not fear. Do not be discouraged. The Almighty One holds your hand and upholds you. He encourages you. He is with you. He prays for you.

He is the One who nudges me to encourage others and when I hit the wall, He is the One who lovingly picks me up and holds me close.

If you’re hitting the wall today, let Him hold you.

The Value of Women

Maybe it’s because I’m working for a faith-based women’s center, and I’m seeing more of the struggles. Maybe it’s because of a phone call yesterday – a woman crying on the phone, seeking counsel for her and her boyfriend – domestic violence, pain, fear. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived long enough to wonder why the church is still silent about many women’s issues – even though women represent half the church.

Growing up in a legalistic religion, I heard about submission at least once every calendar quarter. It was drummed into us from the pulpit, in the Sunday school and in every day life. Men are the head of the home. Men should do all the really important jobs in the church. Men are in authority over women – always. Women must submit, even to the point of denying their right to live.

While some of the teaching was indeed biblical, no mention was made of the serious issues of abuse – physical, emotional or spiritual. Not once did I hear a sermon about mutual submission as recorded in Ephesians 5:21. No one ever explained why it was okay for Abraham to force Sarah to lie about their marriage, because he was afraid. The leadership of the church seemed to negate that example by pounding into my feminine brain once again that my own gifts of leadership were not acceptable in the male-dominated world of church. I wondered then and still wonder – are the sons of Abraham still afraid? Do they not know how to deal with women who might balance out their gifts, females who might be able to deal with women’s issues and exercise leadership?

Many of us women who were called to serve ended up in parachurch ministries where our abilities and gifts were acceptable and welcomed. Some of us, myself included, who wanted to attend seminary and earn a Master’s of Divinity swallowed our dreams and bowed to the authority of the traditional male model. Many of us still wonder – what if?

Last week, I read a novel where the main character was an Episcopal minister – a woman minister. In considering her call, she said, “Christ had nothing against women; he knew their value. He liked having them around.”

Of all the religious leaders in the world, Jesus Christ was the only one who truly valued women and respected their giftings. He let Mary sit at his feet when it was culturally unacceptable for a woman to learn. He inspired Aquila and Priscilla to serve with Paul and possibly (?) co-write the book of Hebrews. Jesus called Rachel Saint and Anne Graham Lotz and Joyce Meyer to teach the Gospel to anyone who would listen – male or female. And today, this Savior of the world, this Jesus reminds us that time is short and in the last days – men and women will prophecy.

I do believe that Jesus values me and likes having me around. I honor Jesus as my Husband and Maker. I find purpose in hearing him whisper, “Don’t be afraid. You are one of my chosen women. I have given you the right to serve me.”

In the Bible Study Magazine, Tod Twist writes, “We all have skewed ideas about how our lives should look so that we can do what God wants us to do.”

I think he’s right. Sometimes I am certain that God wants me to suffer unabashedly for my faith and be willing to face the martyr’s blade (always hoping it won’t hurt too much). More often, I would very much like to hole up in a cabin somewhere and write incredible words that would influence the world. The pen-mightier-than-the-sword type of words.

Rarely do I consider the fact that each day and each moment might be a special calling for what God wants me to do – a service of the seemingly mundane. Washing dishes and carefully stacking them so that they’ll drip dry – at the same time, praising God for the hot water that cleanses plates and bowls.

Or answering the phone and listening – really listening – to a frantic voice on the other end, then praying with that person about a specific trauma so she can hope again.

Or kissing my son goodnight and telling him once again, “I love you.” That seems like such a normal service, yet surely God is pleased whenever we love others as we love ourselves.

This weekend as we celebrate the tenth anniversary of 9-11 and the horrible tragedy of that day, we will be reminded of all the ordinary moments those people lived. Boarding an airplane and turning into a hero over the plains of Pennsylvania. Going to work in a diner and later helping a debris-covered man phone his wife with the news, “I’m alive.” Watching the news over and over that day and holding our children close. All types of service that surely pleased the heart of God.

What does God really want us to do? Just live and love. In all the normalcies of each day, without the skewed attitude that we must be in the pulpit or on the mission field or listed as church staff in order to be accepted by God. Just live and love. Be God’s people in the everyday moments of life. And be grateful.

Vision vs. Memories

Recently, I heard a wonderful explanation about the importance of vision. Do you know why the windshield of a car is so much larger than the rearview mirror? Because vision is more important than memories.

So many times we get caught in the pain and confusion of memories. Therapists make a living on our memories. Our journals contain page after page that relates to the past while our memoirs make sense out of the years we have lived.

We can learn much from the past, especially how to avoid repeating it. But if the past and its experiences create strongholds that hold us back from being all God created us to be – then we are in actuality traveling backwards. Our rearview mirrors have exchanged places with our windshields.

Psalm 71:17-18 reminds us to keep looking forward and keeping reaching out to the next group of memory-makers. “O God, you have taught me from my youth, and I still declare your wondrous deeds. Even when I am old and gray, O God, do not forsake me, until I declare your strength to this generation, your power to all who are to come.”

In order to reach the next generation with the power of Christ’s love, we have to have vision. We may be old and gray, but as long as God gives us breath – we can share the truth in love. We can still use our spiritual gifts, because God does not stamp them with an expiration date. We can experiment with new ways to reach out and not let tradition trap us in that rearview mirror.

Memories can be sweet, but vision propels us forward. And ultimately, it is vision that brings produces hope.

My Tree is Gone

After an Oklahoma-style hurricane: 96mph winds, straight-line force and no warning; the country paradise where I grew up has been decimated. The roof of the house has been lifted and transported to various sections of the pasture. Outbuildings which protected valuable machinery lie in tatters while the lovely trees are now a brush pile waiting for the farmer’s torch.

It is a time of loss for my family that involves days of sweat under the August heat, experts in appraisals and insurance as well as questions that begin with “What now?” I grieve for the disruption of all that was good in a place where I grew up with sunsets, fresh air and the freedom of childhood.

For me, the greatest loss is the felling of my special tree. This particular elm was created for climbing. With a giant knothole just the right height for boosting one’s adolescent self upward and another branch for hanging on – it took only minutes to vault from the ground into the security of upper limbs. On a quiet day – admittedly, that rarely happens in northwestern Oklahoma where the wind comes sweeping down the plains – I could hide within the still boughs of my tree and pretend I did not have to learn to wear a bra or start my period or deal with one more math quiz. In the solace of my tree, I cried out to God to rescue me from the hormonal rages I did not understand and the zits that dotted my face. That tree heard about my first boyfriend and my first heartache, about the prize I won at the county fair for my rock collection, about the first rejection from the words I sent to a New York publisher.

The tree represented safety when fear of the unknown gripped me – when I grew more and more serious about a particular boy in college and when I applied for a short-term missions trip and read the acceptance letter. Even before I walked down the aisle to marry another Okie, I spent an evening in my tree – reminiscing about childhood, knowing I would never again have the opportunity to whisper secrets therein.

In the cruel moments of one afternoon, a microburst reached down its powerful fist and toppled my tree. Nothing is left except the memories of a young girl who grew up on the plains of Oklahoma and found a solid foundation in the arms of an elm. How I wish I could climb there now.

Where are we Hiding?

Such a curious scripture. Adam and Eve knew they had sinned. They bit into the forbidden fruit and disappointed Creator God. They forgot how he provided for all their needs and how they enjoyed those long talks with him each evening. One bite was enough to send them into panic mode. They looked for a giant bush and hid.

God walked in the garden, longing to talk with his favorite creation and asked, “Where are you?”

How strange that the One who painted dots on lady bugs and stripes on zebras asked that question. Obviously, the one true God who knew how to position planets so they wouldn’t slam into each other also knew where this fearful man and his wife were hiding.

But he asked, “Where are you?”

God asks the same of us. When he wants us to slow down our frantic pace and listen for his soft baritone – where are you? When we’re afraid to approach him because we’ve disappointed the only One who loves us completely, he knows we’re hiding from repentance. Where are you? When we’re angry because he took someone away from us or allowed us to lose jobs or didn’t rescue us from that dreadful diagnosis, he reminds us that he has a bigger plan. Where are you?

Of all the phrases in the Bible, this may be the most poignant. The question of a loving God who cares so much for our frail substance that he constantly searches. The Almighty who is lonely for his loved ones and just wants a few moments of uninterrupted conversation. The longing heart of divine intimacy, searching and pleading and always knowing the answer.

Where are you?

Hiding from God delays His loving arms wrapped around us and His whispered, “I love you.” But only for an instant. He will always find us, because He already knows where we are.

We are where we have always been – in need of Him.

Private Pain

Recently, I was given a free pass to a fitness center. What a blessing to walk around a spongey track in an air-conditioned facility during one of the hottest times of the year.

As I circled the track, trying to increase my speed, I noticed the other people working out. Most of them were alone, plugged in to their MP3 players or some sort of encouragement tape to keep them going. One lady read her Kindle while bicycling. Another man measured his heart rate every few miles. Their faces grimaced as they tried another weight or increased the speed of the machine. They fought through the pain – alone.

We were never meant to bear our pain alone. Even walking around the track is more enjoyable with another person. And certainly, the struggles and burdens of life are easier to bear when shared with someone else. We need accountability partners and cell groups and mentors to help us talk through things and figure out how to deal with life, how to pray, how to learn more about trust.

Even Jesus felt uncomfortable bearing his pain alone. “Couldn’t you stay with me?” he asked his disciples. “Why have you forsaken me?” he cried out to his Father.

Whether we struggle to get our bodies into shape or work on soul-stretching, it helps to have another human being beside us. Isolation digs a rut that makes the pain worse and deepens the aggravation. But sharing life with another Christ-follower lightens the load. We sense relief in the struggle.

Then we find hope as we work out life together.

Sensory Connections

In the writing class I’m teaching, we’re studying sensory connections – those incredible five senses God has given us to enrich our lives. Where would we be without the sight of a blooming red hibiscus or the powder-fresh smell of our babies or the juicy taste of summer watermelon or the soft-as-a-lamb’s-ear rose petal or the majesty of a 500 member male chorus belting out the Hallelujah Chorus? How bland our lives would be without the five senses!

Yet there is another sense that we sometimes neglect and that is the spiritual sensory connection that God so longs to have with us. In his book Taste and See, Tim Dearborn writes, “Sensory spirituality restores passion to the spiritual life…we constantly seek signs of God’s presence, the sounds of God’s voice in everything that surrounds us.”

During so much of our 24-hour opportunities, we suffer from TMI Disease (Too Much Information). This invasion of our senses blasts from television screens, from radios on the daily commute, from the IPad and the phone apps and the PCs we automatically set to retrieve our “Favorites.” Some of this invasion descends from the necessary plots of life, the workforce and the electric baby-sitter and the “need” to keep up with what’s going on.

But I wonder how lonely God is – for the sound of his children spending valuable minutes in conversation with him, for the precious sight of his sons and daughters on our knees with our heads in his lap. Chained by TMI, we cannot discern the divine whisper nor feel the spiritual electricity of the Spirit’s companionship. We miss the aroma of a thousand angels posting guard at our babies’ cribs, and we wonder at our own loneliness.

My monthly planner fills up quickly, but I have challenged myself to schedule time for more sensory connections with my Maker. I was created for more than just information. To glorify God and enjoy Him forever, I promise to spend more time – reveling in the sensory connection of grace.

Readings

Lately, I’ve been reading a couple of books that deal with the giftings of women. Hidden in Plain View by Jacqueline Tobin and Raymond Dobard describes how the women of the 1860’s used quilts to help the slaves who were using the Underground Railroad. The different patterns on the quilts signified which direction to go toward freedom or which house might provide safety. The women hung quilts on their front fences or folded them and took them inside, depending on the signals they needed to give. These creative women pointed black people toward liberty by using design and color, disguised as a quilt.

The other book, Half the Church, by Carolyn Custis James uses insights and experiences to point out another type of slavery. James reminds us that sex trafficking and abuse occur all over the world – including the squalid jungles of our American cities. Young girls are sold into bondage to be used and abused by the lust of men and the greedy cravings of their owners. As Christian women, we spiritual warriors must put on our armor and do whatever is necessary to stop this tragedy.

James also reminds us that as women, we have many giftings and should not hide our gifts behind the cement walls of submission. Although Biblically, we should submit to leadership when a difference of opinion occurs, that does not mean we should accept a spirit of apathy about our gifts – especially when we might be able to save a life.

At first glance, these books might seem vastly different. One deals with a subject pertinent to the Civil War while the other involves our present 21st century. But in actuality, both books shout the same theme – human rights. Freedom for captives of race and gender deserves the attention of all God’s children, and we women can rally to meet the need.

Since God has gifted us with compassion and creativity, we have a responsibility to use our giftings to help others. We, the female portion of the dust people, must continue to hang our quilts to point captives toward freedom – whether that means a physical or a spiritual liberty. We, the female half of the church, must also loosen the bonds of spiritual abuse within the Church so that we can develop programs and work beside our brothers.

I challenge all of us to do whatever necessary – even if it means a march against the status quo – to use our creativity and our intelligence to be an equal half of the Church, to rescue those in slavery, to follow the radical social justice outlined in Micah 6:8.

Since Jesus risked it all to save us, can we do any less to save others?

Signature of God

Recently, a friend gave me some information about geese. I had told her about a previous blog post and the lessons I learned from geese. She relayed an internet site which helped me learn more about these graceful and gracious creatures.

It seems that when geese fly in a V, they are using aerodynamic principles. No surprise there. But when they honk, they’re not just announcing to the world that they’re flying past us, they are encouraging each other to continue – to push past the fatigue and persevere. When one goose tires or is injured, two or three others will land and stay with him until he is well again and able to travel.

The spiritual analogies seem clear. We Christians need to keep encouraging each other to persevere – even when the world makes fun of us, even when we can’t find anything decent to watch on TV, even when the solid values of family and hard work and the inerrancy of scripture are being redefined. Honk – encourage each other to remain true and strong and faithful.

If one of us should fall, that is not a time for self-righteous judgment nor should we leave our brothers and sisters behind. Our role then is to come alongside, to actually be with each other in the middle of the mess, to grieve with each other until we are restored and can journey on.

How I love these lessons from nature that teach us Biblical and common sense principles. The nature of geese is to follow their instincts, to fly but always to endure the flight together. As we do the same, our very lives will bear the signature of God.

Planted in Place

During a wildflower tour in the abundant Flint Hills of Kansas, I learned about the various grasses and plants that live there. God, in one of his creative jaunts, planted wild strawberries, coneflowers and goldenrod in the tallgrass prairie. Many of the wildflowers and grasses contain essential nutrients to feed and heal animals as well as human beings. But driving through the Flint Hills, we may fail to see the beauty of the prairie or to appreciate the way God planned it.

If we were to find some of those wildflowers and grasses in our well-manicured lawns, we would pull them. “A weed – yuck – grab the chemicals and destroy the roots.” But as our tour guide told us, “A weed is simply a plant out of place.”

God places us in particular places during particular seasons of life. Whether we think geographically or within the broader scope of life’s experiences, we are planted for a reason. God wants us to be spiritually nourished with the Word, with His presence, with music and nature and friends. He longs for us to grow closer to Him, to find our strength within the joy of His being and then share that joy with others. He wants us to produce and reproduce and praise the Master Gardener. He has designed us with particular gifts and talents so that we can bear His good news of love to a hungry world.

If we follow what He has told us to do and give our all to growth, then we will see the results of a bountiful harvest. We’ll flourish like the wildflowers and grasses of the prairie, reflecting the beauty of sunsets and the glory of thunderstorms.

But if we let every wind of change and every nudge of the flesh move us from the place God put us, we’ll become weak and useless – producing nothing but empty pods of legalism and strife. In the proper place, with the best God has to offer, we produce fruit. But planted out of place in the trails of rebellion, we become weeds.

I long to bear fruit. What about you?

Memorials

Several years ago, we toured Washington DC and discovered the difference between a memorial and a monument. Structures such as the Washington Monument stand as beautiful reminders of American history and are named for famous people or events.

But memorials, such as the Lincoln Memorial and the Jefferson Memorial, actually house the statue of the person for whom the memorial is named. I stood in front of the granite likeness of Abraham Lincoln and marveled at the inscribed words of the Gettysburg Address that surrounded him. As I remembered all that Lincoln did to help our nation survive the Civil War, I prayed a prayer of agreement with him, that “this government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

On this Memorial Day, we honor the heroes of our nation – men and women who have left homes and families to fulfill their duty. Some of them returned to this land they fought for. Some are buried in foreign countries, remembered by their loved ones and a grateful nation.

I’m also grateful for the missionaries who leave home and family so that they can present the spiritual freedom we have in Christ to a hungry world. They live with modest incomes, rent tiny apartments and depend on the goodness of others to support them. These people are not listed on granite walls, but they are inscribed in the heart of God and someday will receive special rewards.

Missionaries are more than just monuments, human structures that designate a piece of history. They are memorials to the truth as they carry within them the image and power of Jesus. Today I honor these heroes and heroines of faith. They know what real freedom is all about.

The Personality of the House

Throughout my lifetime, I have lived in various houses and have found that each one has a personality. From the farmhouse where I grew up to my current duplex, I have experienced the unique pleasure of memories, colored by the personality of the house.

The adobe apartment in Honduras kept me warm during the rainy season yet cool during the hotter months. It brought me joy when my students camped inside for Bible study or knocked on the door, asking me if they could dissect frogs. The downside of that apartment was the giant tarantulas that crept into my bedroom until one of the men designed a special trapdoor to keep them out. Relief was the emotion that lived there.

My bachelorette house stood near the school where I taught in a small Oklahoma town. With two bedrooms and a cozy eat-in kitchen, I had everything I needed. My house had the only basement in the area, so when the wind twisted through tornado alley – the neighbors came running. We huddled together until the all-clear sounded. Safety was the watchword of that house.

The big two-story where my son was born sported four bedrooms, a gigantic dining room, a parlor off the stairway and a smaller living room. I re-decorated every room of that house, learning how to do stencils and wallpaper, plus scraping the nasty rubber stuff from under the carpet so that we could install tile. That was the house where my son learned to walk, where he said his first word (“kitty”) and where he came running into the kitchen to help me bake bread. We lived longest in that house, and I loved it. Security seemed to ooze from every corner.

The split level in Lawrence had everything I had ever wanted in a house. I didn’t need to re-decorate and loved looking out from the kitchen sink onto the expansive back yard. The wildflowers I planted waved in the Kansas wind. But that became the divorce house. I labeled it sorrow.

A beautiful townhome was next, provided by a wonderful couple who wanted to serve God by helping single moms. The townhome was where I learned more about trusting God than ever before. My son and I bonded as we worked through the pain. That was my healing house.

The current duplex where we now live started out as an idea – to move forward in life and eventually flip it as an investment. But the recession deleted that idea and my son was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. My cat died, and then I lost my job. Our dog died. It seemed this house would become another structure where sadness reigned.

But then May 12th happened (note the previous post) and the Keller Williams team changed everything. Now I drive up to a freshly-painted exterior. My fireplace has been rebuilt. I walk around the backyard and smile at the abundant plants and flowers that raise their colorful heads to God’s sky. I plan exotic meals with flavors from my new herb garden. And I marvel that the personality of this house has changed. From the house of struggle, it now wears a new name tag – one I thought I might never again experience. Joy. This is my house of restored joy.

Before We Ask

Like ambassadors of kindness, the Keller Williams teams poured out of their cars and onto my yard. Wearing red T-shirts that sported their motto, “Give Where You Live,” they quickly transported tools and plants to the back yard, carried ladders to the front porch and popped paint rollers together. Under the leadership of construction foreman, Kenny, teams took control of cleaning out flower beds, sawing new lumber and painting faded wood.

Somehow, through the kindness of a friend and the grace of God, I had been chosen as the recipient for the annual Keller Williams “Red” Day. On May 12th, these realtors honor the birthday of one of their founders by doing a service project – a good deed that helps the entire community and also blesses some lucky people.

This year, my son and I were the lucky ones. Throughout the long and tedious day, these realtors climbed up and down ladders, perched on my roof, redesigned my fireplace, replaced rotted wood and painted my house the beautiful new colors I had chosen. They also provided lunch, refurbished the landscaping, added mulch to all the flower beds and encouraged Caleb and me with friendly conversation. Working for 10 hours, these folks gave of their time, their muscles and their energy to make our house so much safer and absolutely beautiful.

The odd thing is that I hadn’t even prayed specifically for any of this. I knew the house needed to be painted, but I wasn’t sure how or when that would happen. In the deepest recesses of my soul, I wanted my flower beds to glorify the Creator and be a place of beauty where I could pray and rest and journal my thoughts. But I hadn’t asked God to provide new plants or mulch or paint or lumber. He just knew.

Like a loving Husband and Maker, holy God put together the circumstances of this blessing. Before I could even ask Him, He made sure that one of my friends told a realtor about the need. Before I could imagine how wonderful May 12th would be, God rearranged the cloud cover so there would be no threatening storms. Before the wood rot and the hidden ants’ nest destroyed the fireplace, my Heavenly Father made sure that several men would find the problem and fix it. Before I asked, God did it.

The morning after, I woke up to so much joy and praised God over and over for all the goodness of the day before. When I drove up to my house after work, I thanked God for all the good people who truly gave where they lived, who put up with sore muscles and paint under their fingernails and cuts on their hands so that Caleb and I could enjoy this blessing.

We didn’t ask for this, but it happened. Grace upon joy upon blessing from the heart of a loving God and people who wanted to do a good thing – even before we asked.

Valiant Men

In Sunday school, we’ve been working through the books of I and II Samuel. So many of the stories are about David and Saul, Jonathan and the Israelites. Rich stories about trusting the God who looks not on the outward appearance, but on the heart.

Last Sunday, we looked at 2 Samuel 23 which lists the 30 valiant men who followed David and fought for him. These were brave men who were willing to fight against the enemy but who were also courageous enough to go against Saul, the current king. They believed in David and in the God he loved. They lived in caves and in tents, not knowing when they might have to face the king’s army, yet willing to defend the man they believed would one day be the king of Israel.

We often scan over lists of names in the Bible, because they’re difficult to pronounce and we have no idea where places such as Anathoth or Pirathon or Carmel really are. Yet these men were real, living, flesh and blood warriors. Men such as Asahel and Zalmon and Benaiah – men who left their homes and their security to wander through the pasturelands on a quest with the next king.

The Bible describes these men as valiant – an adjective we don’t often use in the 21st century. Yet because they were part of the history of Israel and the journey of King David, they are listed – all 30 of them – in a prominent book of the Old Testament. Valiant men. Courageous men. Men who dared to fight against the status quo and believe in something better.

I wonder – where are the valiant men and women today? Are we hiding, because it’s too scary to venture into the world and be warriors for King Jesus? Or are we working and praying and fighting, but no one seems to notice.

God knows, and He is making His own list of the valiant ones who serve the King.

Royalty

Like many Americans, I set my alarm for 3 am on April 29th and watched the wedding of William and Catherine. The English garden theme, the dress and the music thrilled me as I rejoiced with this young couple. It was a beautiful ceremony, laced with tradition and history that the royals do so successfully.

Everything about the day seemed perfect. Even the weather cooperated with the first sunbeams poking through cloudy London, just as Kate stepped onto the red carpet. After the ceremony, the royal family waved from gleaming carriages and greeted the crowds on their way to Buckingham Palace. The pageantry and excitement seemed palpable – even in my Kansas living room.

As thousands of people thronged forward to greet the couple on the balcony of the palace, I thought of a future day and excitement unmatched in human history. Someday, all of mankind will cheer for the King of kings and the Lord of lords. It will be an awesome display of humility as we bow at his feet and acknowledge Jesus Christ as Lord of all. Far greater than any human royalty, Jesus will receive the respect and worship of all people for his creativity, his surpassing glory and the sacrifice he made for us all.

As much as I enjoyed watching William and Catherine make their vows, I will so much more enjoy the moment that I see true royalty in the face and bearing of my Savior, Jesus.

Forsake Me Not

She devoted the major part of 15 years caring for my dad. As he slipped into the silent world of dementia and then Alzheimer’s, Mom sat on his lap and spoon fed him. She sipped from their joint coffee cup, then shared some of the brew with the love of her life. Every day, every 36-hour day, she fed him, turned him, bathed him and asked God to heal him. Then her prayer concluded with one selah, “Oh, God. Please don’t let me get Alzheimer’s, too.”

After we buried Dad, she had about five years respite before her memory started slipping. We noticed it in segments – the same questions asked over and over, the loss of time and space, the forgetting of familiar faces. Incredibly, the same diagnosis hounded us. How could it be that both parents would be afflicted with this tragic disease? Was it because of the farm chemicals we used to ensure a harvest year after year? Was it nutrition – too many carbs and not enough fresh veggies? Or was it just the roll of the die and some part of God’s plan for the genetics of our family?

I’ve wondered if King David’s parents disappeared into the shadows. Psalm 27:10 records a sad lament from the sensitive heart of the giant-killer, “Although my father and my mother have forsaken me, yet the Lord will take me up (adopt me as his child).”

Forsaken, forgotten, cached back in time to some memory before the present. That is the scrapbook my mother now lives – the same book that my father lived. We children who swelled her belly and slithered from her womb are becoming the enemy. She doesn’t understand that we want to help her by taking away the car keys and the wallet and the trusting heart that opens the door to every stranger. She forgets when I call and throws away my notes, then tells the neighbors that I no longer care. She has forsaken me, just as my father did – though neither of them wanted to.

As I watch Mom disappear into this horrendous valley, my only comfort is that Jesus understands. He was forsaken, too, one horrible moment on the cross. His father God turned away from the sin that surrounded the beloved son; my sin, your sin, the world’s sin. Christ knew what it felt like to be rejected and forgotten – if only for a period of time. He understands how I feel at the gradual loss of my mother – this wretched forsaking.

The best part of Easter week is knowing that Christ will never forget who I am.

In the Garden

‘Tis the season for getting on my knees, pulling on the garden gloves and planting this year’s crop of flowers. Like Monet, I must always have flowers. Most of my plantings are perennials which cheer me each year when they survive the winter and poke through the mulch. But sometimes, I plant a few annuals – the violas and pansies, the bright orange marigolds and the colorful zinnias.

My idea of heaven is my own little cottage, surrounded by a garden. No dandelions grow there and no chickweeds; just a plethora – carefully designed by God – of my favorite plants. A prayer bench or two and some funky yard art, maybe a plaster garden angel and lots of wildflowers.

I’ve often wondered what it must have been like for Adam and Eve to live in the Garden of Eden – before they chose to sin. To walk and to talk with God every day in the midst of the beauty He had created. I can’t imagine anything more wonderful.

In fact, when stress or trials attempt to steal my joy, I just close my eyes and imagine God and me in my garden. He puts his arm around me, and I thank Him for Jesus. Never once do I mention anything that I’m struggling with. The garden is just for being – for walking with God and conversing with the Lover of my soul. My garden is for worship and enjoyment.

As I work in my earthly plots, I imagine the beauty they will bring and the joy I will feel as the various colors and textures grow and spread. But I also think about the eternity to come, my heavenly cottage surrounded by a garden, filled with the glory of God.

Pursuing the Dream

After a discouraging month of writing books and receiving rejections, I wondered if God actually wanted me to quit writing. What good is it, I reasoned, if no one publishes my work? No one out there is growing in faith because I write. If publishers won’t print my words, what’s the point?

Then I went to a writers’ conference where the keynote speech was about pursuing the dream. “Why do you write?” the speaker asked. “Is it for the glory of God or for yourself?”

When I returned home, I journaled for a while and asked myself why I write. Is it truly for the glory of God or for my own acknowledgement? Am I wanting the book signings and the publicity and my name listed on the best-seller lists or do I just want to please God with the words He breathes into me?

Honestly, it’s a little of both. Yes, I want to please God, and I am thrilled when people tell me my books or my articles have nudged them just a little closer to the Divine heart. But also, the human side of me enjoys book signings and speaking and meeting more people who might want to read the words that spew out of me.

I write because I can’t NOT write. I tried to quit once, maybe twice; but couldn’t. After a week or so of resting my eyes and my fingers, I turned on the computer once again and picked up the journal and carried a legal pad to the coffee shop and let the words pour out of me as quickly as the lattes on the menu.

For some reason, God has placed this desire in my heart – this overwhelming passion to put words on the page and hope they mean something to someone. If I never make the best-seller lists, so be it. But I like to think that sometimes an angel is peeking over my shoulder and giggling at my novel or that Jesus is smiling at the latest nonfiction article. I hope that the great crowd of witnesses is cheering me on so that if my name appears on the best-seller lists, people who feel lost and depressed might buy one of my books and find hope in Jesus.

I hope that when I write, God is pleased. He gave me the ability and planted the desperate urge in me to put sentences together and blurt out stories. What He does with my sentences and the ultimate result, is up to Him. But as long as I can, I want to keep stringing words together and hopefully make a difference – either in this world or in the eternities of the people who read my blog and my stories and my articles.

So I keep pursuing the dream of being published, the desire of my heart to play out this passion throughout my lifetime and to someday meet someone who says, “Thank you for writing. It made a difference.”

In All Things

One of the books I’ve been reading lately is One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. The premise is to give thanks for all the little things we rarely notice so that we can become people of gratitude. Some of the items Ann gives thanks for are the rainbows that form in dishwater suds, clean clothes hanging on the line and the smile of her baby.

As I’ve read her incredible writing and thought more about giving thanks, I’ve noticed more of life’s details to praise God for. The robins who keep determining that it is spring, in spite of our snowy weather. The fact that whenever I turn my key in the ignition, my car’s motor roars to life. The internet connection that helps me do research.

It’s easy to thank God for the days that are sunny and the circumstances that are comfortable, but staying in an attitude of thanksgiving helps broaden our faith when life is hard. I tried this practice the other day while sitting in the dentist’s chair with my mouth wide open and the squeal of the drill setting my remaining teeth on edge.

“Thank you, God, for the technology we have so that this filling can be fixed. Thank you for quality dental care here in the U.S. Thank you for the COBRA insurance that will help pay for this bill.”

Instead of praying for help while in the dentist’s chair, thanking God for the blessings of the moment made it a more worthwhile and even worshipful time. As Voscamp explains, “Eucharisteo (giving thanks) always precedes the miracle.”

Maybe the real miracle is the transformation of our hearts as we give thanks in all things.

A Few Days Respite

Last weekend, I experienced three glorious days of respite. No bills were due and none came in the mail. No major appliances broke, and the car continued to take me where I needed to go. Although my son had a slight cold, we didn’t have to go to the doctor. OTC drugs took care of it – and God’s healing power.

For three glorious days, nothing happened to try to steal my joy. I roamed through a couple of home décor stores, just enjoying the textures and colors of pillows and bedding. At a local coffee place, I used a free coupon for a cup of hot tea. I spent time out on my deck, reading a good book and praising God for spring.

Before the fourth day flipped over on the calendar, I praised God for three days free of worry and care. It gave me a foretaste of what heaven will be like: no bills, no stress, no illness and none of the tendencies we have toward sin. Just pure peace and joy and the raptures of God’s love all around us.

After those three days of respite, life kicked in again. I was spiritually attacked, my desktop computer died, and no more support came in for my job. Discouragement tried to visit me, but God urged me to read Psalm 52 and concentrate on verses 8-9, “I am like an olive tree, flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love forever and ever. I will praise you forever for what you have done; in your name I will hope, for your name is good. I will praise you in the presence of your saints.”

Blessed Insurance

For the past two weeks, I’ve been searching for health insurance. I’ve looked at numerous websites and spoken to several insurance reps. These are helpful people whom I appreciate, because they help me muddle through the paperwork. So far, I have not found affordable insurance that a part-time-raising-funds-and-hoping-to-be-full-time job can support. It’s one of those conundrums of life: insurance – can’t live with it or without it.

So I come back to the only One who gives me any type of real and lasting insurance – Jesus Christ. He reminds me of the words penned by his servant David, “Do not fret; it leads only to evil” (Psalm 37:8b).

What is the evil that can result from fretting about insurance? Worry that keeps me from sleeping at night and getting the rest that my body needs. Worry that I might have a terrible accident and have no insurance to cover it. Worry that I might end up bankrupt and foreclosed on, because the medical bills took everything. Worry that I might lose everything anyway, because the cost of the insurance is prohibitive. Fret = worry = the evil of a life not in trust.

All I can do is try to work with the reps and find the best plan for me, then trust God with the rest of life. He is faithful to keep me healthy, to protect me from accident and to provide the funds necessary to be a good steward. He is faithful when life doesn’t work out the way it should. He is faithful when we don’t know which path to choose. He is faithful enough that we can trust him.

So we’re back to the issue of trust again – and staying in the hope that trust brings.

Signs of Spring

A week after the paralyzing blizzard of 2011, I looked outside my front window. Cloudy skies reflected brief rays of sunshine. Piles of icy snow blocked areas of my cul-de-sac like giant icebergs. Ice melt formed tiny puddles of frigid water.

But in my redbud tree, scores of robins perched on the winter-brown limbs. I had never seen so many robins in one place, let alone in my own front yard. Though the calendar read the middle of February, this cadre of robins announced the coming of spring.

“Thank you, God. I so needed the encouragement of those robins. Thank you for sending them to my redbud tree.”

After this year of unemployment and weeks of godly discipline, my soul needed to be reminded that spring was peeking out from the next calendar page. The robins were a sign that the long siege had ended, and God was sending a refreshing change. During 2010, God had poked at me from his word and prodded me to seek him rather than the security of a job. He asked me to love him again with all my heart, soul, mind and strength – to enjoy his presence more than the presence of a paycheck. He wanted me to covet the divine whisper rather than the things of this world.

With my soul in raw tatters, I repented of worldly attitudes and felt once again the warmth of spiritual healing. Each day brought more strength and a renewed sense of gratitude for all God had taught me.

Now – the robins promised spring – just as God provided a fresh healing in my soul.

When Silence Answers

So many times, we pray and God sends an answer. He heals, he provides and he protects. We depend on God to guide us through the journeys of life and help us find direction. He often surprises us with miracles and with his divine whisper. His answers help us feel loved and secure in the knowledge that he will never leave us.

But what about those times when he doesn’t answer? I had that experience this week. After more than a year when God provided for us financially – often through miraculous means – suddenly this month, we ran out of money. I prayed, I fasted, I expected another check to arrive in the mail. But even the publishers who owed me money didn’t come through. Nothing happened to prevent the checking account landing on the negative side.

When silence answers, I believe God is still at work. He still heals, protects and provides. He still cares about us and wants to send a joy-filled miracle. But he also has reasons for not coming through with a concrete answer. That’s when he sends us back to Psalm 63:8, “My soul clings to you. Your right hand upholds me.”

Silence is not the same as absence. God is still there. He is working behind the scenes to craft a miracle in our souls and push us toward a deeper trust. He has not forgotten how to provide nor has he refused to care. He is just doing a more important work. Caring for the soul and fashioning it to be more like His Son is more vital than placing a check in the mailbox.

When silence answers – cling to God even more tightly. Let him uphold you with His powerful right hand. Let Him love you until the answer comes.

Hope in the Unknown

Every time I turn on the television, pictures are being broadcast from the Middle East. After the revolution in Egypt, other nations surrounding Israel are in the midst of chaos and protest. It seems that volatile region again is embroiled in controversy and instability.

I have never pretended to be a scholar of prophecy, but every time something happens in that region of the world, I wonder…is this another sign of the end times? Is the anti-Christ on the verge of being revealed? Is it time for Christ to return and take his children home?

The Bible reminds us that no man knows the hour when the Son of Man returns, but we can be wise and fervent in our prayers. While we live each day here, our hearts yearn for the safety and security of those heavenly streets – the place where we will be free of all suffering, all despair and all sin.

But at the same time, our hearts break for the thousands of people who do not yet understand their need for a Savior:for those 20 Somethings who are just beginning their careers with hope and determination - yet without God, for those teenagers who are active in school and sports - but not actively seeking the Lord, for those farther along in age who have lived their entire lives without the peace of the Holy Spirit. These are the souls that should be most concerned about the situations in the Middle East.

Whether or not Christ comes back today, we who belong to him live in hope. But we must also live with the mindset of our mission – to make disciples of Jesus Christ and to share His love with the masses. The future is unknown, but our task is not. We must pray and work and live with that focus in mind. The clock is always ticking.

Planted

Who among us can truly understand the mysterious and wonderful workings of God? After all these months, praying and searching and waiting – God suddenly speaks the word and everything falls into place.

This week, I accepted a part-time position at a Christian nonprofit ministry (Check out www.gatewayofhopeministries.org). Gateway of Hope is a place of serenity, of seeking God’s wholeness for women who have been abused or women who just need to rest. The ministries include counseling, healing prayer, mini-retreats and support groups. We provide interesting workshops, a beautiful and peaceful setting and a gathering place where women can find encouragement. I will be the Program Director, working to implement the retreats and groups, managing the communications and helping to grow the organization. I will have the privilege of raising support and trusting God each month to provide the finances my son and I need in order to survive. What an awesome and humbling opportunity.

Because this is a part-time position, I will have time to continue writing and editing. With time, the Gateway position may include more hours, depending on the donations that come in. I am so grateful for all the lessons of faith God has taught me – how to trust him when the circumstances seem bleak, how to praise him when the answer is silence, how to believe that his love for me never ceases.

Isaiah wrote it well, “A planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor” (Isa. 61:3b). God has planted me. May I display his splendor.

Plunder

When the Israelites left Egypt, they asked for gold, silver and jewelry. The Egyptians complied, grateful to be free of those pesky Israelites and their leader, Moses. So God’s people plundered the enemy. Later, in the book of Exodus, the plunder was offered to help build the Tabernacle.

What is the plunder that I have taken away from this time of unemployment? A greater sense of God’s care as he continues to provide for us, a deeper understanding of what trusting God really means, a cadre of people who have prayed for us and sent gifts to sustain us, a purified and honed spirit, plus - published words that hopefully glorify God.

As we march forward, I hope to use this plunder to refurbish another tabernacle – to be an example of the presence of God, alive and active in our world. Perhaps I can encourage someone else who is going through unemployment and help that person to learn more about trust. Certainly, I can praise God for all the people who have prayed and supported us and ask God to bless them in return. I hope to carry with me that purified spirit that stays humble and obedient, always ready to give an answer for the hope that grows within me. My published words? Who knows what will happen there. This blog will continue as we all need to find hope, no matter what trials we are wading through. Someday, a book may tie it all together. Surely the seeds of faith that have germinated via this media will grow.

The best plunder will be shown at a future date when I walk toward my Savior in paradise and revel in his embrace. Hopefully, he will show me how this experience kicked Satan back a few notches and moved the kingdom of Christ forward. Maybe he will tell me why it has taken so long to find an answer, or maybe he will just let me trust his heart for that timeline.

I pray that my dear Jesus will be pleased with the outcome, and I that I will continue to glorify him as I stay in hope. If that happens, then the plunder will be worth it all.

His Benefits

While searching for a job, one of the areas I want to consider is benefits. I’ve lived without health insurance before and hope I never have to again. Scary! But this week, I considered another type of benefits, those described in Psalm 103.

He forgives all our sins. Sometimes I think we forget to thank God for sending Jesus. As we live from day to day as busy people, we tend to take our salvation for granted. Then one covetous thought or one gluttonous meal or one word of gossip reminds us we need to be forgiven again. We benefit greatly from God’s grace.

He heals our diseases. Certainly, I can testify to the healing of my son’s disease. Check out carnival4caleb.blogspot.com, and God has allowed me to be the recipient of several healings. Although we don’t always think about it, God is still the Healer even when we don’t see the healing in this lifetime or in the timing we pray for. He ultimately heals the diseases of our souls and then wipes out every disease in the hallways of heaven.

He redeems our lives from the pit. From the pit of hell, from the pit of destructive strongholds, from the pit of addictive behaviors, from the pit of discouragement, from the pit of all the craziness in our world, from all the pits we can fall into.

He crowns us with love and compassion. When I’m discouraged here at the house, I put on my tiara. It reminds me I am a princess, a daughter of the King, greatly valued and loved with all the compassion of the gentle Savior’s heart.

He satisfies our desires with good things. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, and here I am – tapping out words for this blog. This morning, I wondered how we would buy groceries next week. I reached into the mailbox and pulled out a HyVee gift card from a friend. Last week, I needed copy paper. A friend’s husband used his coupon at Office Depot for a box of paper – for me – to satisfy that desire when he didn’t even know it was a need.

These are only some of the benefits we enjoy because we are God’s children – benefits that expand far beyond the puny benefits of a job.

Heavenly UPS

As God called me this morning to fast and pray for an upcoming interview, I opened my Bible to Psalm 57. Several verses there gave me hope and fodder for my prayers.
“I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfills His purpose for me.”

The job I need is not only one that utilizes my skills and experience, but especially – the one that fulfills God’s purpose for me. He has called me to be His servant, to glorify Him with my writing and to further His kingdom on this earth. But most job descriptions aren’t written in biblical language or with a Christian worldview. I must continue to seek God’s purpose and direction.

“He will send from heaven to save me…my God will send forth his unfailing love and faithfulness.”

Like a heavenly UPS, God continues to send me packages of love and faithfulness. Direction for how to pray, courage for interviews, financial assistance for those constant bills and peace to replace the fear. I depend on Him to meet every practical and emotional need, to keep me in faith and to surround me with his love.

That is the faithfulness of God – meeting every need, even the deepest ones we can barely discern and pouring out His grace each moment. I need His package today and depend on His ability to deliver.

My 2011 Verse

Every new year, I ask God to give me a Bible verse to focus on throughout the next 12 months. Many years, the verse has included something about growing in my faith or being strengthened by the Holy Spirit. Sometimes, the verses include something about trusting in God, about not giving in to fear.

Usually, I start praying about the new verse at the end of the previous year and after several weeks, God points me toward His selected passage. But this year was different.

During the worship service at my church, the week before Christmas, I casually asked God, “Oh, yeah – it’s almost time for the new year’s verse. Please let me know, Lord, which verse to focus on in 2011.”

Immediately, the divine whisper settled in my soul, “Jeremiah 29:11.” I gasped with the intensity of the answer and the promise I knew lived in that passage. At home, I read the verse in every version I had and settled on the English Standard Version.
“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for wholeness and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.”

I like the idea of God planning my wholeness, as well as his promise for hope and a future. My verse for 2011 is a memo sent by my loving Father, to keep me in hope and remind me that his plans are always for the best. So I march into this new year, holding the hand of my Savior and believing that the things I have learned in 2010 will be a springboard for wholeness in 2011.