Get Wet

The rain has surely been plentiful in the northeast this June. According to the weather report last night it's the second rainiest June on record, the last being in 1914. I don't like to be caught in the rain. It's wet and I don't like getting wet when I'm supposed to be dry. My husband thinks it's the funniest thing that I don't like to get wet. I only like to get wet when I'm planning on getting wet like diving into a pool or taking a shower. Those are planned moments of drippyness. I don't like it when it's unplanned...like getting caught in a downpour or when the hose is leaking down my arm when I'm just trying to water my plants or wash the car in the driveway. Those times of unplanned wetness means more work for me: changing my clothes, drying and restyling my hair. It's a nuisance and to me, a waste of time.

However, I do like what rain produces when it pours down in consistent and right amounts. It produces mature, healthy, beautiful plants both for beauty and nourishment. I love that I've turned my desk to face the back yard this spring even though most days I've been peering out at rain. At least I've been able to enjoy a birds-eye-view of my flower gardens. It's been the only way to witness the blooming pink blossoms of my fairy roses and the greening of the butterfly and hydrangea bushes. I know that when the sun reappears (and it will) my eyes will be blessed with their full blooming color. My mouth will taste the harvest of flavors from my herbs and vegetables. The rain will have served its purpose to feed the land so that it may be a blessing to us.

Paul says in Hebrews 6:7-8 "Land that drinks in the rain often falling on it and that produces a crop useful to those for whom it is farmed receives the blessing of God. But the land that produces thorns and thistles is worthless and is in danger of being cursed. In the end it will be burned." We are the land that drinks in God's word so that we will be a blessing to those we serve; our family, our neighbors, our co-workers, strangers...anyone that enters our life. The key is that we must drink of the rain that falls. We must swallow (not just taste) a regular dose of God's word in order to produce God's crop of fruitfulness. If we don't drink we become a parched land that will only produce thorns and thistles which are useless in His kingdom.

I met a second grade teacher at an author's meeting last month. She's thinking of writing a book entitled "Are Your Prickles Showing?" or something like that. She tells the story of one of her students who normally is kind and very polite coming to class one day in a very bad mood. He took his mood out on everyone around him so she asked him, "Are your prickles showing today?" I thought what a great illustration of how we are when we take our bad mood out on those around us. It's like everything we say is sharp like a thorn and prickly like a thistle.

Are you a source of beauty and flavor to those around you? Or are your prickles showing? If the latter is true then it's time to get wet in God's word and let His words soak into the soil of your heart.

Duck Feathers

Ahhhh...a sense of accomplishment finally fills the hole anxiety has dug into my stomach these past few weeks. I've written, edited, rewritten and submitted a new children's story for a work-for-hire project. It was a lot of fun once I set my feet firmly under my writing desk and started honing in on the storyline. It was like laying next to my kids making up stories again to help them fall asleep.

Have you ever taken the time to make up your own bedtime stories? I used to think it was a bother some nights because I was so tired. I craved the quiet, alone time with my husband after a long day playing with my kids. But, now I long for all those snugly moments and long good nights. I think of all our bedtime stories and wonder if my kids will tell them to their children some day?

There was one story my son favored about a floating white duck feather. If he wanted me to tell this story I had one rule he had to follow: keep you eyes closed the whole time...no peeking! Of course I'd start out with "Once upon a time..." and continue the story, pretending my hand was the floating white duck feather. At the right time in the story, when the feather was about to land, I'd gently let my fingers fall over his face, down his arms and over his hair. It really helped him to relax and soon he'd be fast asleep. I don't exactly remember the ending. I think it changed every time I told the story. That didn't matter, though. It was a relaxing story that got him to sleep every time.

Ideas for stories are found everywhere. I think I got the idea for the floating feather story from watching the movie "Forest Gump." Remember when Forest is waiting for his school bus? A white feather starts floating down from the sky and lands at his feet when he gets up to walk on the bus. I always thought, "Now there's a story in that feather, somewhere." So I made one up.

When I speak with older students about becoming an author I say, "Writing a book is like telling a story and everyone has a story to tell." I'm not sure how I came up with this quote; if it's mine or someone elses' idea, but I like it. Whenever I find myself with no ideas or writer's block begins to set in, I remember that story ideas are everywhere!

So, what story do you have to tell?

Light

Light. It seems something that's scarce this month. I think this has been the darkest, gloomiest, rainiest June I have ever experienced or that I can recall in recent years. The winter was especially long and stormy and this ol' New Englander is gettin' kinda crabby as the storms keep me housebound a bit longer than usual. It's averaged maybe one day of sunshine a week for the past 4 weeks and trust me those days I've spent outside soaking up any rays of sunshine I could. It didn't matter what was on my schedule, if it was sunny, I canned the plans and sat in the sun to renew my hope that summer is just a few days away!

The Israelites lived for 400 years in spiritual darkness before Christ was born. The prophets were silenced. Their hope for a future, for the promised Messiah seemed lost. God never spoke. Not once until the appointed season when he spoke of sending the Messiah, Jesus to earth. And though Jesus was birthed according to the prophets, announced with the light from the Star of Bethlehem, proclaimed to be the light of the world, people still chose to live in the darkness of unbelief with no hope. They didn't recognize him as their promised hope.

I love how Paul describes God's gift of Jesus in his letter to Titus 3:4-7 "But when the kindness and love of God our Saviour appeared (in Jesus), he saved us...because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior so that...we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life."

When I read that today I couldn't help but picture God's tear drop as it fell from heaven in the scene of the crucifixion in Mel Gibson's, "The Passion of the Christ." It portrayed God's compassion for us and his sadness on his darkest day when he was completely separated by our sins from his only son. And yet, it was the beginning of hope for in a few days, in the light of dawn, the promise of life eternal would be revealed through his resurrection. Light would come again.

We find ourselves waiting for the Light to come again; to pierce the darkness of this stormy life. We might get crabby waiting for it but we do have hope. The Light will come again "at the appointed season", just like He promised.

Immeasurably More

This morning I sit with scattered post-it-notes on my desk, thoughts swirling in my head and deadlines on my calendar. There's inspired thoughts partially formed, typed and saved on my computer, nothing yet complete.My head wants to form the words and string them together into sentences and paragraphs but for some reason there's a struggle. Daily chores, interruptions, relationships that are all important demand my attention, move to the forefront of my mind and heart. Pushed aside are the words that were forming that perfect string of sentences and by days end I seem to have accomplished very little. I crawl into bed, pull up the covers, turn out the light and wonder "Do I really have what it takes?"

Waking early for some peaceful quiet time when the rest of my family is asleep I sneak into my office with coffee cup in hand. I savor every warm, delicious sip as I open up God's word searching for His direction, encouragement for today. My heart pines to know, "Do I really have what it takes, Lord?"

I read this, "I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power...to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge-that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God." (Ephesian 3:16-19).

Paul finishes, "Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations...!" (Ephesians 3: 20-21).

These are Paul's words, his prayer for his friends in Ephesus written thousands of years ago. But today, those are the Holy Spirit's words spoken on my behalf and taken to the throne of God. The Bible says there are times that we do not even know the words to pray and at those times the Holy Spirit is groaning and speaking our hearts' cry before the Father. Wow! What an enormous love God has for us that He has given us a part of himself, a friend who can speak what we cannot form with our own tongues; who is able to do more (immeasurably more) than we could even ask Him to do! This incredible power is actively at work in us!

So, "Do I have what it takes, Lord?" I ask.

"What you cannot do in your own power, I AM doing immeasurably more than you can imagine through you."

It's All In The Fruit

If asked to choose your favorite fruit, which would it be? I would choose the wild blueberry. Not the large type that grow on tall bushes in your back yard or in groves but the kind that grow between the rocks in Maine. They're smaller in size than their bushy relatives and don't need any added sugar to make them sweet. I like them freshly picked, frozen out of the bag, canned, jellied, preserved, baked in muffins, in pancakes, or my most favorite is a fresh-baked blueberry pie! I'd rather a blueberry "birthday pie" than any form of birthday cake ever! Unfortunately, my birthday falls in November when blueberries have passed by. I suppose I should think ahead from August to the fall and squirrel away a few cups as a gift to myself. But alas, I've yet to get them past my mouth and into the freezer!

When needing a blueberry "fix" I don't hop in the car and zip up north to Maine to pick a pint...that wouldn't be cost affective. Nor do I need to plant a bush, cultivate any soil, fertilize or weed, burn off the old dead brush, or rake the berries by hand. I just need to drive to the local produce market and shell out some cash. (However, I don't usually have a the choice of the small, wild, Maine-grown berries around here. I must settle for the larger, bush-grown Jersey or Florida brands. Non-the-less they are blueberries and my taste buds are satisfied). To market a wholesome, tasty berry or any natural food the natural pests and diseases must be controlled, fought-off and destroyed.

Now, isn't that the truth about the fruit of our lives? Paul mentions the natural fruits of our hearts in Galatians 5:19-21 which are: hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy, to name a few. These are the weeds, the pests, the parasites, if you will, that cause disease in our souls. Already I'm not likin' myself as I identify with some of my own behaviors. What God desires is totally opposite of what is in our hearts! Yaowzah! (My coin word for Yikes).

Luckily, Paul does not leave us hopeless but spells out the healthy fruits that can be produced in Galatians 5:22-23 “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.” If our lives produce a harvest of these fruits we know the soil of our hearts and souls have been properly cultivated. But, it’s hard work. It takes discipline because these fruits are not part of our nature. These fruits are transplanted into our hearts as we allow the Holy Spirit to transform us from the inside out.

It's NOT about what WE can do on our own. No matter how many times a week we pluck the weeds from the garden of our hearts, they reappear. It's all about the transformation of the seeds...becoming a new creation. Where do we start? Paul says in Romans 12:2 "Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." It doesn't matter what we look like on the outside or what we do to prove ourselves holy. It's about giving up what comes naturally; laying it down, constantly to God's control so that he can produce the proper fruit.

A Love Affair

Just when I thought I could not love my granddaughter any more than I do she does something to redefine my love limits. It has been an amazing journey this year to watch her grow from newborn to toddler but more amazing has been to witness the love affair between her and my son. There's a sweetness, a special unspoken bond between them that words cannot sufficiently express.

Even though we live close by and visit with them often, it's those video clips they share that catch this love affair so perfectly. Just this week she has learned the art of climbing up and down off the couch independently. To Grams delight (that's me) I watched the clip of this new milestone at least 3 times in 5 minutes! The first time I watched it I was just thrilled to see her master her physical world and giggled at her awkward wiggles as she scooched her legs over they edge of the couch cushion and onto the floor. The second time I viewed it I was focused on what she was focused on...her dad coming home from work. As she was in mid-scooch you could hear my son coming in the back door. My granddaughter immediately sped up her scooches and pumped her little legs to hasten her descent to the floor. I heard my son proudly say in the background, "Can you climb off the couch by yourself now?!" And she answered with an excited, high-pitched squeal, "Dad!" If she could run, I'm sure she would have run into his arms by that time! (P. S. That's the sequel to this video clip)! The third time I played this clip just for pure joy of watching and hearing my son and his daughter love on each other.

Today I was finished reading Paul's second letter to the Corinthians. He ends it with what we call a benediction. It goes like this, "May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all." Normally I wouldn't have thought twice about this little ending. But, today for some reason it got me thinking about how much God loves his children (us). If you think about it our whole journey with God is embodied in this benediction. The relationship with God, our creator, is defined so simply and yet so powerfully.

It is by grace, given through Jesus' earthly life, death and resurrection that we are birthed into relationship with God as pure and holy. It is because of God's love affair with us as Father that we are offered this grace so that we might participate in the fellowship of his Holy Spirit. More simply, that we might love God personally, intimately, continuously now and throughout eternity. God looks forward to that high-pitched squeal of glee from us when he comes in the back door. He desires our affection and devotion as much, if not more, than my son welcomes the same from his daughter.

Groanings For What Is Yet To Be

"Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling...so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come...So we make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it." 2 Corinthians 5:2,4b,5

Talk concerning leaving our earthly bodies is usually reserved for death bed discussions. We comfort ourselves or loved ones with the assurance that our dying brings hope for a future with Christ. We hold to the promise made in Scripture that in heaven there will be no suffering, no pain, no sorrow. We will shed this earthly shell and trade it in for a heavenly body, made whole and perfect in God's sight and for the purpose He intended.

If we are honest with ourselves we don't like to think about it much, let alone talk about leaving the comfort of our earthly "homes." It's what we know. It's what brings us comfort. It's what we've grown accustomed to and love, for the most part.

There's those perfect days that we enjoy the beauty of creation on a summer's day; the birth of a new child or the comfort of our lover's embrace. But what to do on those days that life is not so beautiful or perfect? Are those days the life we're promised forever? Who wants to stay in the midst of crisis or trouble?

We are deceived, even on the good days, to think this world is perfect as it is. It's not as it once was in The Garden or as God intended it to be. When in the midst of trouble our hearts are then pressed to wonder if there's more to life than this?

Paul knows-he is confident-that in the hope of the resurrection of Christ our earthly homes will pass away. These shells we call our own-our bodies we've grown accustomed to-will someday be discarded, returned to dust. Or, perchance we will be fortunate to witness our transformation, in an instant when He returns? So, if we place our hope in Christ these earthly homes we should not love more than the One who will transform them into His likeness; the One who now prepares our eternal homes.

It's hard to put our faith in things we aren't sure about or haven't seen with our own eyes. It's hard to think that on the sweetest days life could get any better. But Scripture says it will. What we see, what we know now is only a foretaste of what is yet to be and for all eternity.

"We live by faith and not by sight...So, we make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it." 2 Corinthians 5:7,9

Renewed Day By Day

"...inwardly we are being renewed day by day."

2 Corinthians 4:16b

Renewed, regenerated, revived. These words create images of life born anew. It was (is) my prayer that the words God inspires me to write would breathe life into the readers' hearts and give them hope that each "New Day" promises.

The entire passages in 2 Corinthians 2-4 Paul is writing to encourage the faith in those he loves in Corinth. He is a prolific (sometimes confusing) writer but a communicator nonetheless and he undoubtedly inspires and humbles me in my passion for words. In these passages he uses communicative words like "speaks" and "writes" which my ears automatically tune into:

"...in Christ we speak before God with sincerity, like men sent from God." (2 Cor. 2:17b)

"...you are a letter from Christ...written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts." (2 Cor. 3:3)

I am humbled as I feel the weight to speak and write responsibly with a heart that has first been searched by God. My words, my opinions, my thoughts are nothing important, but God's Word transforms and renews man's heart. My job is to encourage my readers to look to Him for their renewal...day by day.

"Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Cor 4:16-18)

In the scope of God's sight, the world is a small place. No trouble too overwhelming, or too small; no person too famous or insignificant. Isn't it a humbling thought that we have a God who cares and loves us so intimately when you look at the world from far away? So my encouragement for you today is that wherever you are, whatever you do may you be renewed by seeking God.

Toy Box Memories

It seems when my children leave home for any extended length of time I take the liberty to rummage through their rooms (with permission, of course) change things around, clean things up and get things in order before their return. So, with my daughter on another continent, I chose to rummage through her closet (once belonging to her brother) in search of buried treasure! Through yards of glittered tulle, piles of discarded shoes, pocket books, bunny bedding, childhood games and such, I found it. There it was...a green and white deep, plastic rectangle with a royal blue cover! I'm sure if you bore children in the '80's you'd recognize it in a second! Yup! The "Little Tike's" toy box...buried in the same corner of the closet that it had been sitting in for the last 22 years.

Rearranging the pile o' stuff on the closet floor and struggling just a bit I managed to pull it out and expose its content. I chuckled as I reached in for the yellow drum filled with a host of MacDonald's Happy Meal toys. Oh! I couldn't even get rid of those at a tag sale years ago! Here they were again! Now I couldn't bring myself to throw them away for every toy meant a special memory or celebration with my kids. Next a set of musty, cloth baby blocks hand-made by Grandma. They once were proudly displayed alongside a vase of blue and white carnations on the altar table at church to celebrate my son's first birthday. She always made simple things so special. There was a wooden train trestle and train station stashed in their worn cardboard boxes. Oh how he loved to play with that train set for hours figuring out how to make different traffic patterns with the track pieces. Finally I found his Match Box cars neatly snuggled in their designated parking spots inside two "Hot Wheels" carrying cases.

With my heart full of motherhood reminiscing I emptied that plastic treasure chest and transported each toy carefully to the toys-in-waiting box up in the attic. (That's the box filled with my children's toys I could never part with that I have saved for my grandchildren and great nieces and nephews when they come to visit). Some have made their way back down from the attic in recent years what with all the new babies in the family. Hence, the reason for my treasure hunt to the back of my son's closet. The toys have begun to pile up in the living room, again...so much so that they need to be contained inside a toy box.

This past Sunday we celebrated my granddaughter's first birthday in our back yard. She's my son's first born. When once as his mother I couldn't wait to put toys inside that box at the end of a long day of play I now ache to take them out again. I sit for hours without tiring (well, maybe I tire a little) and watch his daughter play. Now, I leave the dirty dishes in the sink, ignore the buzzing of the dryer, put off folding of the clothes to drink up all the time making new toy box memories with her. Everything and everybody else can wait!

Joyful, Patient, Faithful

"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer." (Romans 12: 12)

Life happens. Circumstances change for the better. Some for the worse. People change. Some for the better. Some for the worse. We change. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes for the worse. Life presents us all with situations that shake us at the core. Everything we knew for certain the day before is now in question.

That day for me was on a humid Saturday in August 1970. I was nine years old. My dad had just finished mowing the lawn and called my two older sisters and me outside, one-by-one for a "talk." What he said was so significant, so life changing that even what he looked like and smelled like is imprinted in my mind to this very day. He sat on the lawn, arms resting on his bent knees staring straight ahead as I took my place on the ground beside him. Then he said the words that would forever change me. "I don't love your mother anymore and I don't love Jesus, either. I'm moving out today."

He moved close-by and I became "Saturday's child." We'd share the day just hanging out or shopping or doing activities that were never considered when he was home, like bowling. Occasionally I'd come home with a new present. One time it was a brand new banana bike! It was lime green with white flowers on the fenders and sported a white woven basket in front. I loved it! Finally, I could replace that old, rusted, hand-me-down bike of my cousins! Well, the joy was replaced with regret as my parents fought over the idea that my dad bought me something new "every week" but never bought my 19 and 16 year old sisters anything new. If I didn't like the bike so much, I'd of given it back just to make the screaming stop!

Seven years passed by. I'd grown out of my lime green banana bike but I was still his "Saturday child." Each night I'd pray that God would somehow fix my parents; bring them back together. All I wanted was a real family again. As each year passed I grew more and more disheartened and angry at my dad for walking out. On one of our Saturday's I'd had enough of this part-time father routine and ordered him to take me home. I'd lost hope that he could ever be a real father to me at all.

Fast forward 36 years. My parents remarried each other 27 years prior. Now it's April 2006. I'm at Mount Manadnock in Jaffrey, New Hampshire for a women's retreat. The topic for the evening is "God as Father (Abba)" and our assignment the next morning was to spend some time writing down all the things we learned from our earthly father that helped us in our relationship with our heavenly Father. My first reaction literally was, "Are you kidding?! I'm not doing this! I learned NOTHING from my dad that has ANYTHING to do with God!" Then I resolved, "Well...if I did learn anything from him, it wasn't much. It won't take long so let's get it over with God!" So I got up the next morning, shut myself alone in the corner of a vacant room, opened my journal and began to write my thoughts.

At first my thoughts were just spouting words of anger that God would put me in such a position to face this painful childhood all over again. And then in my ranting He whispered, "Are you done? Now let me show you what I see in your dad." I wrote for an hour filling pages in my journal with positive lessons I learned from my dad and despite my dad. God allowed me to see what He saw...my forgiven dad not the sinful dad that I was focused on. It was a significant hour of healing for my heart and over the next seven months I was able to forgive my father wholly and completely, face-to-face.

As I reflect on this story in light of Romans 12:12 I understand Paul saying "Be joyful in hope..." The hope of our future as our lives are transformed to what God intended once and for all because of the hope we hold in the death and resurrection of Christ. The word joyful in this text actually mean exuberant! We need to hold onto the hope that the good God sees in someone (including ourselves) will come to fruition someday. What we see through our eyes is not always the truth of what God sees through His.

Be "...patient in affliction..." Trouble comes. That's guaranteed! We can choose to be honed through trouble or become angry, resentful, unforgiving. Trust me, the latter is enslaving. Be patient in knowing God is in control and the best is yet to come.

Be "...faithful in prayer." I am amazed at how much God calls us to pray in scripture. He asks us to pray without stopping. He encourages us to ask Him for everything, even though He knows what we need. He just wants to know we love Him. I've also been startled to know that our prayers, conversations with Him can actually change His mind! Remember Joshua praying for God to stop time so that he could defeat his enemies? He prayed earnestly and God stopped time for him and Joshua claimed his victory. (Joshua 10:13). Over and over again in the recounting of the Kings of Israel, God would listen to the cries of the God-fearing kings and gave them protection, victories, life. I prayed countless nights for my father to return home. God was faithful.

Is it hard to see the good in a hopeless situation? Be joyful (exhuberant) in hope! Are you growing weary of waiting from trouble? Getting angry? Be patient in affliction! Do you feel like your prayers are hitting the ceiling and falling to the ground? Be faithful in prayer!

Beautiful Feet

"How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!" (Romans 10:15)

The sound of some one's footsteps can flood us with many different emotions. Close your eyes, if you will, and imagine the sounds of these feet.

The pitter-patter of tiny steps, deliberate yet unsure, awkward and uneven; a baby's first steps accompanied by squeals of joy and a parent's clapping hands. At that moment, the baby ceases to be and a toddler is born.

The clomp, clomp, clomping of tiny girl feet fashioning mommy's high heels in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom upstairs.

The scramble-bump, scramble-bump as your sons wrestle each other to the ground.

The quick-paced, short stepping clippety-clop, clippety-clop, clippety-clop of your feared fourth-grade teacher coming down the high polished linoleum hallway.

The quiet tip-toed stocking feet climbing up the stairs of the wee morning hours. You can finally allow sleep to come knowing your teenager is home.

The crunch, crunch of your husbands feet alongside yours on a sandy beach at sunset.

The soft slippered shuffle of Grandma's feet across the carpeted bedroom.

The sound of these footsteps can bring us joy, conjure up fear, elude to romance, bring uncertainty for the future. Some footsteps we dread, like those of our feared fourth-grade teacher. Others we eagerly await like those of our beloved husband or wife and children.

What of the sound of Jesus' feet? We're told of Mary, the sister of Lazarus whom Jesus loved dearly and raised from the dead, twice washed Jesus' feet. The first time was at the Pharisee's home. He was reclining at the table for dinner and the owner of the home had not even offered to wash his feet which was the custom back then to clean the dust off the guests sandled feet. Yet Mary, in an act of unselfish love and repentance washed his feet with her tears, wiped them dry with her hair and poured perfume on them. Jesus recognizing her love as pure said to his appalled host:

"You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little" (Luke 7:44-47).

Again, less than a week before Jesus was crucified, Mary annointed Jesus' feet with expensive perfume at another dinner table with his disciples and her brother. Judas was upset that she would waste such an expensive perfume on Jesus' feet instead of selling the perfume and giving the money to the poor. Jesus explained that we will always have the poor among us but that "...you will not always have me" (John 12:8).

Mary knew the joy of having Jesus near. She treasured the moments at his feet soaking up his wisdom, hearing the truth he spoke and abiding with him while she could. He brought her good news bearing life and not condemnation.

How are your footsteps? When your family hears your footsteps at the door each night do they look forward to greeting you? Do you bring good news that bears life? Do your footsteps bear the image of the One who gives life?

Dancing In Her Passion

My daughter is in Uganda, Africa! It seems so surreal. I've placed her on planes alone with her brother to Florida, with student groups to England twice...but Africa?! What was I thinking?!

Watching her prepare for this trip last week was like watching a young dancer take the spotlight on opening night. She was full of joy and excitement anticipating the days ahead of her despite the hard work and stress of finishing her semester of classes, papers and finals. She was finally center stage, dancing in her passion. The growing pains of waiting for this moment finally subsided and gave birth to her joy of purpose. For the first time in a very long time I saw my daughter come alive and in my heart I knew she was in her element.

She's been drawn to the Ugandan children who suffer as victims of war for at least two years after hearing their story in the documentary called "The Invisible Children." At first I thought her passion for Uganda would fade as she graduated high school and life changed all around her. But as each year passed her heart's cry became louder and louder...never fading. My prayers for her heart's cry became serious as I realized how passionate she was for these children and this country. If this call truly was from God than who was I to question? But, as a mother, I still wanted to protect and I did question. Slowly, I realized that if this was the Holy Spirit speaking to her I could no longer fear for her life. Instead I prayed for God's leading and anointing on her life and her insatiable desire for Uganda's children.

As I sit and reminisce about her as my little girl I realize she has always stood for righteousness, mercy and compassion. She's always taken risks; always been courageous and unwavering in the defence of truth even if it meant going against the crowd. These characteristics harnessed by God's power make for a woman who can travel to distant lands and mirror God's love, compassion and truth in love to those in desperate situations.

Is Uganda her destination? I don't know. Only God can make that determination. I know I may have given birth to this little girl but her heart was birthed for a foreign people, a distant land. This little girl...now a woman...dances in heaven's spot light following the lead of her Father.

Anticipation

When I was a child anticipation use to nearly kill me...especially at Christmas! It was my parents' favorite holiday and they would go to all lengths to build up the excitement in the house every year when we were young. It started with Christmas lists to Santa, spraying "snowflakes in a can"on the windows, playing Christmas carols all day long from Thanksgiving straight through New Years, stringing lights on the tree, placing pretty gift-wrapped presents under the tree (except for Santa's of course), baking cookies and culminated with our Christmas Eve celebration with the extended family. It was a glorious time!

One particular Christmas though, when I was seven years old, my mother delayed placing the presents under the tree for some reason. It was odd because she always loved displaying the wrapped gifts under the tree the whole month of December. In my seven-year-old mind I started to panic. "Will there be any presents under the tree at all on Christmas Eve? Did Mom and Dad forget about us? What about the toys I asked for? Will they show up?" It got to be the second week in December...Christmas was only a week away...and STILL the tree stood in my living room donned embarrassingly with only a skirt and ornaments. There were no packages. There were no bows or ribbons or anything but a dumb old white sheet wrapped around the tree trunk.

In our house 6 p. m. was a sacred hour. That's when my parents' sank down in their chairs in front of the television to listen to the evening news hour anchored by Walter Cronkite! I swear the whole house could be engulfed in flames and my parents would sit and watch Walter, totally engrossed in what he was reporting and ignorant of their own surroundings! They'd only believe it if they saw it on the news! Well, one particular news hour during my despondent Christmas, I took advantage of the 6 p. m. news hour and tip toed into their bedroom. That's where the secret stash of presents was usually kept. How I know this is another Christmas story.

So, there I stood, quiet as a Christmas mouse ready to snatch the cheese, staring at the door handle of their walk-in closet. I breathed a deep breath, held it in and quietly turned the squeaky door knob, praying the noise would not distract them from old Walter. As I opened the door ever so carefully, there before me was a mound of shopping bags! HUGE ones! Filled with presents! Yeah! There WERE going to be presents on Christmas Eve! Whew! What a relief! Now...what were they?! I just couldn't help myself. I'd anticipated way too long and before I could stop myself I was digging into the shopping bags and pulling out a plethora of treasures. There was play dough, coloring books, new crayons, play food for my NEW play kitchen! Oh my...and oh...those metallic gold Hollywood fur-adorned slippers I'd wanted! Oh I had to try those on! And there I was amidst these presents, adorned in metallic gold fur-adorned slippers inside my parents' closet celebrating an early Christmas...all by myself. I popped my head out of the closet and listened for Walter's familiar voice. "And that's the way it is..." he was saying. That meant he was signing off! Oh boy! So, I kicked off my slippers and scurried to put all the presents back in their bags just the way I'd found them. I darted out of the closet, closed the door and dashed across their bedroom into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

For the next week until Christmas, the wrapped packages appeared one-by-one under the tree. Normally, I'd anticipate what might be in those packages but that year there was nothing to anticipate. I'd already seen what my gifts were going to be! What was there to hope for?

Paul reminds me of this anticipation, this hoping in Romans 8: 24b-25 "...But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently."

Of course Paul is not referring to material things like Christmas presents. He's talking about our redeemed life; that life that is without sin by the transformation of the life-giving, risen Christ. It's that life that in the Garden of Eden we gave up and from that point on all of creation has suffered the consequences of our sin but is promised to return when Christ returns. Don't you just groan for that redeemed life? Don't you anticipate the glory of what Paradise was and will be again?

And as we anticipate Paradise Paul says "...the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express" (Romans 8:26).

That Christmas I had nothing to hope for. It was one of my last Christmas snooping expeditions. I learned to wait patiently for what I hoped for. Each year I knew that the emptiness under the tree would soon be filled with gloriously adorned gifts. I just had to wait. So too with our longing and groaning for Paradise. I know that what I lack now, what I can't see will be transformed by God's crowning glory. I hope for what I can't yet see!

An Unknown God

Worship happens. It's what we were created to do. It's the loving someone or something so much that you can't live without "it" and need to spend as much time with "it" as you possibly can. It's the act of loving, adoring, paying homage to the object being worshiped. You don't even have to be particularly religious to participate in worship. It just happens. It's part of how we are made.

During a plane trip from Buffalo, NY to Portland, ME in the mid 80's I had a conversation about this with a man from Texas. It was an intriguing conversation and one that's stayed in my memory for over 25 years. We were exchanging the basic niceties about ourselves and at the time I was serving as a youth pastor with my husband in a church in Jamestown, NY. Well, with that job title the conversation went in one of two ways. It either shut down to uncomfortable silence or it opened up into a full blown theological discussion about God. This Texan was ready for the full blown discussion. After seeing my job title on my business card he asks, "So, according to God, what's our reason for being here?" (or something small like that)!

What blows my mind even today as I recall this conversation is the simple language God put on my tongue. My reply, "Simply? To worship Him."

"That's it?" the Texan retorted.

"Basically, yea" I replied. Now of course the Texan was intrigued and asked more questions that took the short flight to answer. The answers didn't result in him saying any prayer or vowing to love God with all his heart for the rest of his life. I've wondered many times if that conversation had any impact on his life and whether or not he came to know and love God for himself. What I am sure of, however, is that he was introduced to God. A known God.

In reading Acts 17 today, Paul was walking around Athens, Greece and noticed something about their worship. First, that they worshiped! They had built altars and statues of man-made gods with all different names. But, one god in particular stuck out to him. He noticed an altar with no image that held this inscription at the base: "To An Unknown God." How bizarre!

Theologians have two theories on this: one theory is that in 6 BC their land was so plagued with disease that they called on a prophet Epimenides to drive out the disease. His remedy, according to the commentaries, was to drive a herd of black and white sheep away from the area and sacrifice them to whatever god "lived" there. When the epidemic subsided, they attributed it to this sheep sacrifice and built an alter of "the unknown God" to pay homage. Another theory is that these altars show up all over the land at ancient burial sites in order to appease any evil spirits that may "live" there.

Paul was so astonished that these "intelligent" people would worship in ignorance. They worshiped anything and anyone including an "unknown god." In essence Paul was asking them why they put so much credibility in some god that doesn't even have a name? Paul then points out the living God by whom "we live and move and have our being" (Acts 17:28). God the living Creator who made man Paul concludes that "From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth...God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us" (Acts 17: 26-27). In other words, if the Greeks were worshipers, why not worship the one true, living God who seeks to meet you when you worship?

Simply, God created us so that we would seek him and find him. That's worship. It's what we were created to do.

My Chosen Instrument

When I speak to an older audience on the subject of writing, I will say, "Writing a book is as easy as telling a story and everyone has a story to tell." For those of us who like to write we use words to create a picture in the imaginations of our readers. Authors are known as word-smiths. We manipulate a sentence, create a paragraph, even make up our own vocabulary at times to evoke a certain emotion. Musicians do the same with sound. They choose a pattern of sound to create a melody, harmony and rhythm that when strung together communicate emotions and create a story in the imagination of their listeners. They use various instruments including the human voice to play these parts that when performed correctly utter the beauty the composer intended.

I have always loved music. My first memories of music come from Sunday church services where all the hymns were accompanied by piano or organ. I loved the sound of the piano. There was something about it that would just create a burn inside of me. I could sit and listen to someone play the piano for hours. I still can. I remember sitting forward in my pew while everyone else stood to sing and I would "play" the hymnal rack as though it were my piano keyboard. How I wanted to be a pianist whose fingers could glide across those ivory keys and move people's souls. Forty-seven years have passed and I'm still moved by the sound of a piano. I don't know how to play even though there is one sitting in my living room but it's on my "bucket list" of things to do before I leave this earth.

God looks at us as his instruments. He created us in various shapes, forms, colors and sound that when put to the task his beautiful composition is performed and souls are moved to worship Him. In Acts 9:15 Luke records God's conversation with Ananias regarding Paul, "Go! This man is my chosen instrument to carry my name before the Gentiles and their kings and before the people of Israel." Paul was the most unlikely person the disciples would have imagined to bring a witness of Christ to anyone! He was the persecutor of the first Christians. He put them to death! But Jesus met him and spoke the truth of God's purpose for his life on the road to Damascus. He took Paul's passion for God, leadership and boldness and used it for his purpose to bring the rest of the world to God through his personal encounter with Jesus.

God has created you to be his perfect, chosen instrument in the composition of his Kingdom. Which instrument are you? Have you asked him what part he wants you to play?

New Perspective

I sit today in a newly remodeled office surrounded by windows on three sides and a wall of books behind me. My view is of my back yard (and that of four of my neighbors) richly shaded in hues of green and a scant of purple from wild violets growing in my lawn. I'm saturated in bright sunlight and a cool spring breeze blows in through one opened window giving me a bit of a chill.

It's an inspiring place to sit and think, to read and finally to write. It's my space. A place where I can shut the whole world out and talk quietly to my Creator or simply share a thought or two with you.

It was a long, long winter filled with stormy, snowy days. The ice backed up into this office after the first thaw in January and did immeasurable damage to the walls and floor. This space of mine was in such disarray I thought I'd never have it to myself again. I searched all winter for the right spot to think and be inspired. My books, my writings, marketing materials and the contents of my desk were in various places all over the house for three months. My mind and my heart don't do well in chaos. I did manage to jot out a few thoughts in my journal and on this blog site. Marketing for "Auntie's House" has gone well and on time despite the boxed-up supplies all over the house.

But, today marks the first day my heart, my head and my desk are all together in the same spot! I literally have a new perspective from where I sit and my heart is full of joy! The ideas for writing more books that have been locked between the pages of my journal or in a folder in a box can now be more creatively unleashed and organized into comprehensible works of art. I look forward to many a day in my space.

It's like this sometimes with our spiritual lives isn't it? We get caught up in the disarray of life. We look for God but can't quite find him in the midst of our mess. We manage to squeak out a few good days with him when everything feels right but it's not the same as when life was normal. In fact the messiness of our situation can begin to feel more normal than when it was neat and tidy. Finally, when the messes get cleaned up and life returns to a low hum instead of a screaming locomotive we find a new perspective; better than the one we had previous to the mess.

So, if you're life is in disarray right now take heart. Escape into God's presence for a few minutes and let Him know He's got your attention. Admit you don't understand what's going on but you're willing to be taught. When life returns to "normal" again, look for the new perspective, breathe in the cool air and enjoy!

Here's to a new perspective!

Bunny

In the busyness of everyday life we tend to lose sight of things. Things like our car keys, our wallet, our cell phone, our shoes. These are important things that without them all of life stops. At those times, everyone in the house comes to a halt, puts down what they're doing and the hunt begins.

I can remember one bedtime when my daughter was about five years old. The routine was going smoothly. Her bath was done, jammies were on, bedtime snack was over and she even helped herself to a drink from the frig. I went ahead upstairs to her room, turned down her covers and got ready for story time. She proudly marched up after me and put her drink next to the bed and climbed under the covers. We snuggled a bit while I tried hard to stay awake reading a chapter from "Little House on the Prairie." Finally, it was time for her kiss goodnight and lights out. As I leaned over a look of panic and heartbreak rolled over her little face. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"My bunny! Bunny is gone!" she cried with big tears rolling down her little pink cheeks.

"Oh dear" I thought. "Where did you put her?"

"I don't know. She's just gone!" she sobbed. And so, the frantic search began.

We looked everywhere: the bathroom, under the bed, in her closet, in her dresser drawers, in the laundry room, the living room, behind the couch, under the couch, in the garbage...I mean EVERYWHERE! I think the search lasted for more than a half hour and still no bunny emerged. Finally, I asked her "Can you remember the last place you had Bunny?" She thought a minute, wiping her tears and retracing all her steps before bed through the heartbreaking sniffs and hiccuping sobs. All the while I'm praying, "Oh dear God please help us find Bunny! Please!"

"I had Bunny all night long except when I came to bed" she finally said.

"Did you have Bunny when you got a drink out of the frig all by yourself?" I asked.

She thought and shook her head "yes."

"Ah Ha!" It's a long shot...but stranger things have happened I thought. "I'll be right back" I reassured her and skipped downstairs to the kitchen. I optimistically opened the refrigerator door and there next to the pitcher of juice was a cool bunny! I imagined Bunny saying something like, "Thhhhaaaannnkkkssss fffor fffffiinddding mmmmmeeee! Ittt wwwwaassss ggggeettting a bbbbit nnnnippy in thhhhere!" Quickly, I snatched her off the chilly shelf and ran back upstairs to my anxious daughter. "Here she is!" I pronounced. "Do you know where I found her?!" I asked. "In the frig, the silly little bunny! You must have set her down on the shelf when you got your drink!" She grabbed her beloved bunny gave her a great big hug and kiss and was well on her way to slumber when I slipped out of her room.

This is one of my fondest memories as a mother for two reasons. First, God showed me that nothing is too small a concern. If it's important to us it's important to him. I can remember being so desperate in our search for Bunny that night that I really did pray for God to show us where she was. It meant security and comfort for my daughter and she would not have been able to sleep without her. I knew this bunny was valuable to her and we couldn't find it without help. I thought it ridiculous at first to bother God with such a silly or foolish prayer but it was a desperate moment. We were talking about Bunny, here!

Secondly, I found God present and living in our lives that night. Although we may have lost sight of something important, God didn't. He was living with us, present and attentive to the details.

Like so many other situations in our lives we can even lose sight of God, himself. But, he's there even if our attention isn't on him. He's concerned about what's important to us. He's active in our lives, paying attention to the details and ready to assist when we call on his name.

Trust Is Risky Business

God trusts us more than we trust him! He entrusts us with His kingdom but we struggle to even trust Him for our daily needs.

This is a paraphrase of the ending thought to a sermon I heard yesterday. This idea that God trusts us more than we trust Him, even with our daily needs struck a chord in me. I'd never given a thought to the fact that God trusted me with anything. When I really thought about it, who am I that God should trust me with anything let alone with helping Him to usher in His kingdom!?!

It's risky business to trust someone~man to man~but for trust to occur between God and man... that's risky business! God risked everything to trust us. He trusted man because he created us in his own image with purpose. First, the purpose of relationship with him. Secondly for managing/ruling over the earth. He not only gave man a purpose but he also gave him the gift of free will. This way God did not demand our love and trust but offered it freely. We had to choose to accept him or reject him. If man chose to accept him he lived within his favor and opened himself to relationship with him. However, man chose to reject him and separated himself from relationship with him. Paradise was lost.

Throughout the history of Scriptures, God continued to restore relationship with man until finally he risked it all through the ultimate sacrifice of his son, Jesus. Why would God do this? To restore Paradise lost. Jesus said "I make all things new." He came to restore God's kingdom to the way it was meant to be. Furthermore, Jesus entrusted us to continue his work of restoration by making disciples until he returns. "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I will be with you always, to the very end of the age." Matthew 28:18-20.

If God trusts us to help him usher in his kingdom and if he gives us the authority to continue Christ's work on earth, then why is it so difficult to trust Him even with our daily needs? We risk NOTHING to trust God compared to what He risks to trust us.

Oh Lord that you might restore our sight that we might see what you are doing. Open our ears that we might hear where you are calling. Open our minds to your understanding so that we may truly continue Christ's work in your kingdom. Oh that we might trust you as much as you trust us!

Purpose

I love children! They are such a source of truth and inspiration. Life comes into focus when I watch them busily accomplishing the simplest of tasks. I so understand Christ's love for them and telling us to be like them.

My husband's niece keeps the family updated with her creative blogging and photography of her two boys. She's quite creative in her writing and captures great moments in word and on "film." Today, wanting to just catch up on their lives, I opened her blog and watched her youngest proudly displaying his walking skills. From the initial viewing and by the title of the blog you would think that's all he was doing...walking. But, as the video progressed you realized he wasn't just showing off his walking skills. He was walking with a purpose.

The video opened with him shuffling his little feet from the dining room through the hallway down to his bedroom all the while holding a crumpled piece of paper and saying "cheese...cheese...cheese" 'cause he knew he was "on camera!" If that wasn't cute enough, he stopped in front of an empty box, pulled back the lid and dropped the crumpled paper inside. He then shuffled his way back to the dining room, picked up another random piece of paper and repeat his journey two more times! He wasn't just walking. He was walking with the purpose of throwing away the random pieces of paper.

It was a little task. Nothing profound to us but to a little 15 month old boy, it was a great accomplishment! He had a purpose! It actually brought tears to my eyes because I felt compelled, inspired to write. My purpose.

We all have a purpose. We all have little things and big things to accomplish but some days (like my yesterday) we may feel that all we do in life is meaningless. At times like that we need to go back to the One who gives us meaning and a purpose. We need to open the dialogue with Christ again and allow His truth and purpose to be spoken back into our lives.

Circumstances may either paralyze us or catapult us onto the next step of our journey God has laid before us. Don't spend too much time being paralyzed. Seek for the Truth. Listen for his directions and go forth according to His plans. Walk with a purpose!

Bread

Bread. It has a sustaining power to satisfy our hunger. It gives life. It quiets the pains and grumblings of our emptiness ~ for a little while. When bread is baking it has a sweet, sensational aroma that causes our mouths to water. It's irresistible! We crave it! We can't stand to wait for it. When it's cooled enough to eat we even fight over who gets the first piece. Oh what a treat to bite into a warm, freshly baked piece of bread with soft butter slathered all over it! We just can't get enough!

At the end of Matthew 6, the disciples are asking Jesus how to pray and there we find what we have titled "The Lord's Prayer." In the middle of the prayer Jesus says we should ask for our daily bread (v. 11) "Give us this day our daily bread." Is this talking about our physical needs for the basics of food & shelter? I think it's more. I think Jesus is alluding to himself as our daily bread.

If you look in John 6, Jesus pronounces himself as the bread of life. The bread that sustains us throughout our lives and to eternity. He is the bread that fills us so that we should never hunger for anything more. How much more should we react to Jesus the way we do to a silly loaf of bread? Bread is baked, broken, eaten and gone. Then we demand more, make more, bake more, eat more. Bread only satisfies for a short time. He says in John 6:27 "Do not work for food that spoils but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. (v.33) For the bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world. (v.38) For I have come down from heaven not to do my will but to do the will of him who sent me. (v. 40) For my Father's will is that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. (v47) I tell you the truth, he who believes has everlasting life. I AM THE BREAD OF LIFE."

Oh, that we would take the time to smell the sweet aroma of the presence of Christ that fills the whole house when we invite him in. "Give us this day our daily bread." Then sup with him on the bread of heaven, his Word (spoken and written). Then, we are truly satisfied.

We Are Pagans

I was drawn to a conversation Friday between two young mothers whom I thought were oddly drawn together. On one hand there was a commonality. Both were immigrants to America. Both were mothers of toddlers. On the other hand the oddity was their topic of conversation. One mother was most apparently a Middle Eastern Muslim and the other an Ecuadorian Catholic. I don't use these descriptions rudely or with prejudice but only repeat how they described themselves in appearance and conversation. For the most part I politely ignored their small talk, not wanting to intrude or appear rude. But my heart was quickened as the Ecuadorian mother spoke of Holy Week.

"What is this Easter Bunny that 'they' (Americans) talk about? I don't understand. We don't have that in Ecuador. We are all catholic and our Holy Week is religious. Do you celebrate a Holy Week in your country?" Not waiting for an answer from her Muslim friend she continues. "I asked my husband, 'Do you know what this Easter Bunny is all about?' He says it's just commercialism. All commercialism. Holy week, in my country is holy, not commercial!"

The Muslim shook her head in agreement with the comment on commercialism but made no comment on Holy Week. And then the conversation was interrupted by the hustle and bustle of children and mothers getting out of class.

My head was swirling. It was an "Ah ha!" moment for me. It awoke in me an awareness of how numb my heart had become to all the commercialism surrounding Holy Week. As Americans we are irreverent to what is holy! My heart sank. This immigrant woman was right! We have watered down the most sacred, holy week of our Christian faith-the death and resurrection of Christ-our source of salvation and eternal life with God-and made it about the pagan celebration of fertility all wrapped up in the cute, fuzzy bunny! What self-indulgent greed! No wonder the world looks at Americans with disgust! We hold NOTHING sacred, especially God!

I've always allowed some of the fun of the "pagan" commercialism but balanced it with the truth of the holiday. My parents always taught the difference between pretending and truth. I've done the same with my children. But, what of those who don't teach with balance? It must be so confusing, insignificant hinging on the ridiculous!

For a country that was founded on Christian principles, freedom to worship God as we chose and to place God in his rightful place above all else, we have veered so far off the road. For the first time I could understand why foreign countries hate Americans. We represent nothing sacred, holy or reverent. We are laughable! We stand for nothing because we have tolerated everything!

Are we truly infringing on someones religious freedom when we begin to water down our own faith for the sake of tolerance for those with no faith or a different faith? We are. We are infringing on our own religious freedom. The freedom to speak the truth from God's Word and to celebrate the sacred, Judeao-Christian holidays freely without apologies! Shall I dare say we are pagans to those from around the world who do hold their faith and God in sacred reverence?

Moon Dance

Friday was a beautiful spring day! The sky was blue with wispy clouds. It was sunny, warm in the low 60's and the smell of new earth was in the air. What made this particular day so memorable was it's evening. The night air was still warm and beckoned us to come outside. So, after dinner Peter & I slipped on our walking shoes and headed into town for a cup of coffee.

I love our town. The old Victorian homes line both sides of the main street amidst the manicured, budding trees. Historical houses donn the names of early settlers and original town buildings, newly restored, remain active with business life. The downtown bustled with restaurant patrons seeking to reconnect with friends and loved ones. The scents of grilled steak and fries, Italian cuisine and the sound of clinking of glasses of wine all filled the air at once as we walked into the Half Moon Cafe. We weren't the least bit hungry but the brilliant presentation of colors on the plates passing by made us think, "maybe." However, not wanting to be shut up inside, we ordered our Jamaican Blue decaf coffee to "go" and headed back outside.

As the voices of the restaurant crowd diminished we took the first sips of our coffee and quoted one of our favorite jazz tunes, "What a marvelous night for a moon dance...!" And we danced our way to a seclude park bench on the town green. We sat together, sipping coffee and whistling "Moon Dance" to each other while the pressures of the week slipped away. We had one of those conversations when you spend time dreaming of the future with no limits and reminiscing of good times from the past. It was a perfect moment in time; a moment you wish you could replay over and over again.

I think of this as my father lays in a hospital bed in isolation awaiting a diagnosis unknown. I think of my mother whose strength is depleted both physically and emotionally because of him. I thinks of this as I witness the not-so-golden years of my in-laws and visit my lonely widowed aunt who struggles with kidney disease. Do they have a moon dance moment to hang onto? All of these thoughts slip into my mind today as I sit in awe of my husband whom I've loved for almost 3 decades. I pray that if there be a day in the future when one of us must sit in isolation or struggle with life, that we can hold onto the memory of our moon dance and know life is still good even when it comes time to moon dance at the banquet of the Groom.

Inspiration

Inspiration. It's the thing, the person, the act that incites you to action. What inspires you? What is it the moves you deeply enough to do what it is you were designed to do?

We think of inspiration when it comes to the arts. We assume the artist is inspired by the object of their masterpiece; the muscian inspired by the subject of their composition; the writer by the main character of their book. Having addressed the question "What inspired you to write?" often since February 1st I know, for me, inspiration runs deeper than the subject.

When I think about writing, I fail at creativity. I start to outline and methodically, logically sculpt a topic. It's empty. Void of emotion. A report. Dull. Uninspiring. It has everything to do with the subject but nothing to do with inspiration.

My inspiration is worship. Worship runs higher than my thoughts and deeper than my emotions. Worship speaks to my heart, my innermost being. It touches the core of who I am and triggers me to move into my passion. It moves the focus off myself and onto Christ. It insights me to express my love for God through music and words. It causes me to listen to the Creator who then inspires me with words.

Tonight, writing is much too methodical. I need to worship.

Patient Endurance

Running. I don't like it much. The constant pounding of my feet on hard pavement, rocks in my sneakers, sweat covered skin, pain in my sides, in my shins, heavy breathing, frantic, heart pounding aggravation is not something I want to feel. (You can tell I'm not in shape).

I do like walking, though. It's more pleasant. It's a slower pace. There's time to take in the scenery, have a conversation with a companion or just simply think. The steps are kinder to the body and there's less focus on pain. Although I may not reach my destination as quickly, I can endure the distance and pain more easily than if I were running.

In either case, running or walking, to go the distance means I have to build up my stamina, my endurance. I cannot expect to run or walk a 5k race if I've not built up my body to go that distance. It takes time and diligence to condition my body and build up the strength to endure. That takes patience as well. Patience to wait for your muscles to tone, build muscles; for your lung capacity to build up and for your mental capacity to mature to push through the pain. But, eventually your body responds and the distance is mastered and your endurance is strengthened.

I can't say I've the ambition to master such a discipline for running or even walking a great distance for any reason. But, I do know that there's a journey of life I'm on that without endurance training of the heart, would be miserable. Endurance training of the heart comes by walking in God's Word often. Take the time to sit quietly, read scripture and invite God's Holy Spirit to speak to your heart. I'd love to say daily because I know that's necessary. Is it a reality for me? Not yet. But, I am working on that. Walk in constant prayer. That doesn't mean to walk with your head in the clouds but in your busyness interrupt your thoughts with prayer for everything. Don't reserve your conversations to times of rest and meditation but pray constantly especially in your busyness. Walk with a companion. My husband's favorite quote is from Winnie the Pooh, "It's always more friendly with two." It's the same in our life's journey. We were created for relationship with God and with others. Wether you are going through the best or worst times of life, open your heart to friendships with those who can lift you up, encourage you and speak truth in love when needed and always point you to Christ.

Over time these few disciplines will build patient endurance to weather the joys, the pains and distances of our journeys as we look toward the goal...Christ's return.

"Prayer Works!"

Each trip to the orthopaedic doc brings a shiver of doubt into Peter's conscience. After two weeks of therapy on his once broken wrist, the therapist accompanied Peter to the orthopaedic's office this morning to witness the miracle she's seen. She too cannot believe a break (actually a crushing) like his has healed without surgery. Again, knowing in his mind and seeing with his eyes the great healing God has performed Peter still questions: "Has God truly healed my wrist? Is He still present in this process? Have I done any damage to it in my therapy process?"

Peter and the therapist sit in the examining room awaiting the newest xrays to arrive. The doc comes in placing the xrays on the lighted board and says, "Unbelievable!" The doc explains that bone has already begun to grow where it needed to be replaced. New, healthy bone tissue is forming miraculously in places that surgery should have held bones together.

He then asks for Peter to show him the range of motion in his wrist and to flex it in all different directions. "Unbelievable!" he says, again. "You shouldn't be able to do that!" The movement and strength are beyond the docs expectations! Praise God!

As he shakes his head, with nothing much more to say, the doc gives precautionary warnings and proceeds to tell him that he will certainly have arthritis in his wrist. Peter replies with boldness, "No I won't. Prayer works!" The doc is taken off guard, chuckles and resolves, "You're right. Prayer does work!" The end.

"Being Sifted?"

The language of cooking has always amused me. Words like braise, scald, blanche, pouche, fold, cream, sift. They're strange words but they define an exact procedure that when done correctly creates delectible flavors, textures or degrees of done-ness that make you ask for a second helping. I can recall trying to follow recipes when I was first married and skipping over the step of sifting the flour because I didn't have a sifter. In the end the baked goods were delicious so what did it matter if I sifted or not? I finally inherited a small sifter from a family member 10 years ago. That Christmas while making my famous ginger snaps I decided to pull it out of the cupboard and sift my dry ingredients like the recipe had always called for. Not only did the recipe call for sifting but it required that I sift twice. "Wow! Picky!" I thought to myself. "What's so important that you have to sift these ingredients twice?" Well, I decided to sift...twice. The texture of the dry ingredients were finer, lighter and the sugar-topped ginger snaps cracked more evenly and nicely in the end. They tasted about the same (delicious) but I must admit they were lighter.

I ran across the imagery of sifting yesterday in my quiet time. Like 22:31 Jesus is celebrating Passover in the upper room (The Last Supper) with his disciples. Jesus has just admonished them for arguing (again) over who will be known as the greatest in God's kingdom. He stresses the point that the ones who are the least, the ones who serve will be considered the greatest just as He has come to earth to serve and not be served. Then, almost abrubtly, Jesus turns to Peter (Simon) and informs him "Satan has asked to sift you as wheat." The footnote on "you" says the Greek meant the plural form of "you." In other words, all of the disciples will be sifted. Furthermore, Jesus has prayed specifically for Peter and asked that once he has gone through the sifting process that his faith wouldn't fail and that it would be used to strengthen the other disciples.

Above is a photo of a native woman from Kenya, Africa sifting wheat. In ancient times this type of sifter was used to separate the good kernals of wheat from what is called the chaff or the impurities, the waste. What remained was the pure wheat kernal, ready for milling, grinding into flour for baking. In today's terms, prior to stainless steel millers or grinders, (in the days of stone mills) impurities were still present sometimes in the finished product. That's one of the reasons recipes call for sifting; to get rid of the imperfect chaff, impurities. Sifting, I've read, also takes out clumps from the flour settling in storage and also adds air to produce lighter cakes and pastries.

So, when Satan is asking to sift Peter (or us for that fact) I don't think he means for the good to remain. I think he is hoping we get irritated with the process and lose our faith. Jesus, however, allows the sifting of His disciples (including us) for the opposite; to shake us up, loosen the impurities from our lives so that the strong, faithful, wholesome, pure hearts remain. In return, Jesus urges us (as he did Peter) to encourage and strengthen the community of His disciples around us.

Is sifting necessary? In one cooking article I read they say no, it's not necessary BUT it does add quality to your baked goods. Hmmm...how telling! Is the sifting of our lives necessary to Jesus, to His kingdom? No, not really. But, the end result will add quality to our lives. It will remove the clumps from settling too long in our pews and will lighten our hearts from the impurities we tend to collect and hold onto over the course of our daily lives.

"Always Pray and Never Give Up"

Why is it that something so simple is the last thing we want to do? We spend more time pacing the floors, wringing our hands, giving more mental energy to worry and concern over things than we do to praying. When I think of how many hours I spend talking about a problem and trying to figure out a solution I am ashamed. Even now as I write this blog entry, I should be praying and not writing. Maybe this is my form of prayer? I don't know.

I think we justify conversations with others, even mental deliberations about our problems as a way to free ourselves from the problem for awhile. I think we even convince ourselves that we may find a solution if we talk things out with others. Sometimes we do find a solution that is agreeable to us and go with it. But, is it the right solution? Is it what God would choose?

Do we seek the counel of others because we simply don't trust God to pay attention to our issues? Do we think God won't answer us in time? Do we think God won't provide for all our needs? Are we skirting around discipline? Are we refusing to hear God name our sin? It's all of that sometimes. But, for the most part, I think we're lazy. I think we'd rather yap and complain about the injustice, unfairness, ill timing of our problems than to take the time to bring it all before the One who can give us the right perspective on it all.

It takes effort, discipline to get alone with God. The conversation seems pointless, one-way (at least that's what we assume) so we convince ourselves it's useless to even begin. But, once we shut out the distractions, close the door to the world around us and begin the conversation with God, we learn He does listen. We learn that God does "talk back" to us when we stop long enough to be silent and peaceful before Him. When we humble our hearts and give Him a chance to say something, He does.

Luke 18:1-8 is the story of a widow who kept going to the judge in town to complain about her injustice. The judge was not a godly man nor did he care for people very much (sounds like some bosses I've had)! Anyway, this judge gets so annoyed with the widow's daily visits that he grants her justice just to stop her from visiting. Jesus then says, "Listen to what this unjust judge says. And will not god bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and QUICKLY."

Luke introduces the purpose of this story in verse 1 saying, "...Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them they should ALWAYS PRAY AND NOT GIVE UP." We could save ourselves so much time and usher in God's power and glory into our lives more quickly if we would just go to him first all the time and never give up in asking for justice.