Adventures in Motherhood

I Will Not Give That Which Costs Me Nothing

2011-07-23T19:57:00.000-07:00

I finished up my journey through II Samuel again this morning, and as always, my heart & mind were attuned, looking for inspiration in the words. I found that inspiration in verse 24, just as the chapter was ending…

II Samuel 24:24 And the king said unto Araunah, “Nay; but I will surely buy it (the threshing floor) at a price: neither will I offer burnt offerings (the oxen Araunah has just offered to give David as a gift) unto the Lord my God of that which doth cost me nothing…”

In a rather self-centered way, I suppose, I began to think about myself and sacrifice. What specifically came to mind was a prayer that I began to pray in earnest in the summer of 2006. That summer, I was a happily (or, at least I thought we were happy) married mother of a four year old daughter, expecting my second child. I was also acutely aware that I wanted something MORE – something beyond what I had attained in God. I wanted to live up to my potential – I wanted to use the gifts He had given me. I wanted MORE. So, I began to pray, asking God to use me, whatever the cost. I asked Him to strip away anything that was hindering me. I asked Him to mold me, so that I could reach others. I had no idea what that request would cost…

Stripping away meant the loss of the family I had wanted. It meant the loss of my health. It meant the loss of security. It meant acknowledging some painful truths that God had mercifully hidden from me for a long time. I lost my marriage, not through my own choice, but through a choice that was made for me. I lost my health, through a series of automobile accidents & a bout with cancer. I lost my sense of belonging, because suddenly as a “single mother,” I didn’t fit into the culture of my community quite so well anymore. And then, when I thought I had been given a second chance at happiness & family, I lost that too. I’ve written enough about the pain of 2010 that I don’t need to rehash the highlights, but I can say this: Four years after praying to be used, I was sitting in a pile of ashes wondering exactly what I had left to give.

See, to be used of God is not elevating to the individual. It doesn’t make you feel like Angelina Jolie on the red carpet. Truth is, being molded by God into a useable vessel – particularly when you have prayed to be used MIGHTILY – hurts. Badly. For a long time. And trust me on this too, when people are observing your situation, they are NOT thinking, “Wow, she is really being used of the Lord! I can’t wait to see her come through this and do something great!” Nope, they are usually thinking something more along the lines of, “Wow, I don’t know what sin she committed that made God so angry, but I guess it just goes to show you that you reap what you sow!”

Yep, to be molded is painful, but I think (maybe, just maybe) I’m finally far enough out of the valley that I can see some landmarks, and reading that verse of scripture today inspired me to go & check out my journals from 2006-2007, written before I knew just how far I was going to fall.

June 24, 2007: Lord, give me the tools to help me work for you. I want to win souls – starting with my kids & expanding to the whole world. Give me what I need to do that.

In 2007, I had never spoken in public beyond my classroom. Testifying in church filled me with fear, and witnessing was something I was always a little too intimidated to do. Four years later, I have addressed church groups & school groups, ranging from 20 people to 250, speaking about faith, endurance, the goodness of the Lord, and other topics from scripture. Through pain, sorrow, & faith, He gave me what I needed to do what I could.

August 16, 2007: Awaken my musical gift. Let it be restored in me.

In 2007, I was really just asking that God make me a better, more anointed singer in my local church. In 2011, He has inspired me to write around 20 songs. Four of them I’ve recorded to Youtube. No, none have been professionally recorded, but they are making their way to churches in other areas. Who knows what the next four years will bring?

September 3, 2007: Lord, deliver me from my fear of the cancer & heal me completely for Your glory.

In 2007, I was awaiting the first round of treatment for cancer. In 2011, I am four years cancer-free, after only ONE round of treatment. He is still a healer.

April 26, 2008: Oh, when will we realize that we are not alone! We are in His hands. Take the step! Deliverance lies just ahead.

I have learned what it is to be truly alone. I know the joy – and the pain – of heading up a family by myself. I know the feeling of a silent & empty home when the children are away. And yet…I have also learned that I am never REALLY alone. Never completely. I know that He completed me long ago-that He has a plan to meet my every need before I ever know that need is there. My job is simple: to trust Him to do just that.

I know what you are wondering, dear readers. If I knew then what I know now, would I have started praying that prayer back in 2006? If I knew the degree of sacrifice & the depths of pain I would have to endure to be molded by Him, to be shaped by Him, to be used of Him… If I knew, would I pray it anyway? I will give you the only answer I have: I’m glad I didn’t know. And I’m glad that His grace has been sufficient, in spite of the pain of sacrifice.

Childless...Waiting on a Promise

2011-06-17T22:19:00.000-07:00

The word “childless” has a certain negative connotation all its own. I have been revisiting II Samuel again (as I do around this time every year), and I noticed, for the first time I think, just how often the condition of childlessness appeared in these early books of the Old Testament. Being “childless” has one inherent meaning: waiting on a promise that has not arrived.

Perhaps the most famous of childless couples is Abram & Sarai. Abram had been promised that his descendants would outnumber the stars, and yet… here he was old, with no child. Sarai was none too young herself, and though she too knew of the promise, she decided that perhaps God was waiting on her to come up with an idea to help out. We all know the result of her brilliant plan – a conflict that rages on so many thousands of years later – but what of her childless state? When the promise finally came – in GOD’S WAY, in HIS time – it was one little boy named Laughter who fathered the nation that would change the world.

Rachel cried out to God in her childless state, voicing her frustrations to her husband. Her waiting finally ended with the arrival of her first son. Joseph represented the hope of Israel, for without his journey through God’s will from the prison to the palace, Israel would have been extinguished by famine. The birth of her second son Benjamin ended her life, and in keeping, Benjamin’s descendants proved to be agents of destruction.

In Judges 13, we learn that Manoah’s wife was barren, until God sent a special boy who carried his power in his obedience to a seemingly arbitrary rule about his hair. Samson, the child of the promise, was a man who was swayed too easily by his emotions (I see more than mere lust in his motives), but in the end, he used his death to bring about destruction upon the enemies of God.

What does all this mean? Well, thus far, we can determine that there is something special about the birth of a child –a promise, if you will – to one who has been declared “childless.”

In I Samuel, we find the story of Hannah, broken before the Lord in a prayer that has no words, crying out to God, begging for her promise. And then, Samuel was born. The first child of the promise was the beginning of the bloodline. The second child of the promise was to protect the chosen people through a time of famine. The third child of the promise was a warrior, who through his weakness and in spite of temptation, rose up to deliver his people from their oppressors. And now, this Samuel, another child of promise, will remind his people of their loyalty to Jehovah and will anoint the first two kings of Israel…

By all rights, the child born of two kings should have reigned, but Michal’s refusal to let go of her bitterness, her refusal to rise above the pain her life had dealt her, left her childless…II Samuel recounts her story, one of the Bible’s saddest. How many do we know like Michal, who have allowed the bitterness of their past to blot out their futures?

Then in II Kings, we find the story of the Shunamite woman, who after waiting her whole life, received her promise by way of the prophet. And when that promise was ripped away from her, she rose up, saddled her donkey, and rode out boldly, proclaiming, my child will NOT die! Her refusal to give in revived the dead promise, and with the prayers of the prophet, the child lived again.

And then the blessed story of Elisabeth, who in the book of Luke, has waited so long for a child that she has given up hope…when the promise arrives. And that promise, John the Baptist, has a very special work to do, for he will announce to the world that the promise embodied within all of scripture, the hope of all mankind, lives and walks among us, if we will only recognize Him. He will prepare the way of Christ.

So what of all this talk of childlessness, of promises unfulfilled? Simple enough. Are you waiting for a promise? Have you waited long enough that hope has started to fade? Do you feel as hopeless as these men and women who longed for the birth of a child, seemingly in vain? The message is there for you in scripture: HOLD ON. For the child that is borne out of childlessness…the promise that is borne from the ashes… is particularly blessed, for it is the very progeny of faith, and its legacy will reverberate throughout the pages of time.

Timing Is Everything...

2011-06-14T20:08:00.000-07:00

Timing really IS everything. I’ve always been fascinated by time. I’ve come to believe it’s a convenience God created with us in mind, to help understand why things are as they are and how our actions have consequences.

But if timing is everything, then how do we know when the time is “right”? I’ve been playing a waiting game with the Lord for a while. It’s been pretty frustrating, honestly. I hate waiting. But looking back, I can see that God has truly used the time to heal my broken places and bind the wounds that life has inflicted. But now that the bones are mended and the cuts have left only faint scars, my mind starts to wonder… When will it be MY time?

When is the “accepted time” to seek Him? The verses referencing an accepted time all have one thing in common. Trouble. Flood waters, the mire, the pit, when people hate you… that is the time when He should be sought. That is the time He may be found. He knows our needs, and He knows our pain. His divine hearing is attuned to our cries, and when we are in the proverbial flooded, miry pit, He will hear, answer and come through. He has certainly done that for me. Now, I’m ready for my song of deliverance.

Yesterday evening, as I was praying (and, in all honesty, maybe, just a little bit…whining to God) about time again, He sat me down for some study time. In looking up verses on “accepted time,” I found all the references to fear and trembling, to rescue and deliverance through times of pain, and I asked God yet again… But when is MY ACCEPTED TIME? I’ve been waiting. How long, Lord?

Patience, my child. A few verses later, I found a gift…the only reference to an “accepted time” in the New Testament. It was in II Corinthians 6:2: “For He saith, I have heard thee in a time accepted, and in the day of salvation have I succored thee: behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.”

Yes, God’s timing is perfect, if you are brave enough to wait… and I believe so strongly that before too many more days have passed, He will whisper in my ear, “Now…”

I Am NOT Irrelevant

2011-05-07T20:19:00.000-07:00

My third revelation of the New Year was the simplest, but it has sparked an amazing amount of momentum within my life. It is simply this: I am not irrelevant. It can often feel just a bit confining to be alone. That perspective is skewed at best, but anyone who has eaten dinner at a restaurant alone, left the sanctuary of their church alone, arrived home to a house that is empty, or spent Valentines’ Day avoiding all retail & media outlets knows what I mean… in a world built for “two,” being “one” makes you feel more like “half.”

One of the greatest shocks I received after becoming a single mother was that I was suddenly an enemy of the movement I had long championed: the “family values” group. Suddenly, I represented everything they were afraid of, everything they hated. I was the woman who had failed at marriage … not once, but twice. I was the single mother whose kids were doomed for felonious misadventure… I was THAT girl…

I learned just how strong that stigma was on a rainy Sunday morning. A married gentleman saw me with my two children – one of whom was not yet walking – and he offered to go get my car and pull it up under the portico so that I wouldn’t have to take the children out in the rain. I gratefully accepted. It wasn’t until he pulled up in my car and handed me back the keys that I caught a glimpse of his wife’s face. She was … unhappy, to say the least. I’m afraid that the poor man probably got a tongue-lashing on the way home, and I probably got labeled as the woman who was trying to steal her husband away. After that incident, I declined all offers of help; it was just simpler that way. Clearly, none of the married couples were going to be asking me out to eat with them anymore either, so I had to set off on a new quest: redefine where I fit as a unicycle in this world that prefers bicycles built for two.

That answer did not come easily. Truthfully, no one else knew where I was supposed to go either. In my church, I tended (and still tend) to get shuffled between the youth group (clearly, at almost 36, I’m a little too old for that) and the elderly widows (love those ladies, but they have great-grandchildren that are older than my kids). Since I didn’t really fit, I chose option C – fade into the background. Worked pretty well, for the most part, but I didn’t feel connected with my church. Didn’t feel connected anywhere. There was a very real part of me that wanted to seek out a new relationship just so that I felt like I belonged in a church, at a grocery store, or just generally on the planet. That would be a really bad reason to pursue a relationship, so I needed another direction.

On that New Year’s Eve-Day dawning, God had already told me that my dream wasn’t dead. He had already told me that my home was not broken. The final revelation was where I “fit.” In those early hours, I saw that while I was alone, He was personally molding me, making me into who He wanted me to become. And just as He was shaping me, He was shaping my place in the world. I was right about one thing – I didn’t fit…yet. Both my place and my character were still in formation, under His guidance.

As my eyes were opened, I began to see was just how many people were rocking along in the same boat that I inhabited. There were a LOT of us. We were just invisible. I began to reach out to others, sharing my story, listening to theirs. What I learned is that many wounded people leave the very place they need to be – the church – because they feel isolated and out of place.

The statistics on marriage and divorce are rather staggering. When you add in widowhood and those who never marry, there is a very large percentage of the population that isn’t in a traditional family. It is completely unreasonable that those people – such a huge number – should all feel inconsequential to the body of Christ. This is particularly true when you look at one glaring fact: the author of the vast majority of the New Testament was a single man. If Paul could be that effective on his own, well, why not me too?

So my quest in this year is not to find “the one.” I’m not looking for anybody to “complete me.” Jesus did that. I’m looking for every opportunity that I can to spread the gospel, to magnify & glorify the name of Christ, to reach the unreachable & touch the untouchable. I’m putting “hands & feet” on my faith. I am not irrelevant to the body of Christ. In fact, I’m pretty relevant all around, and I’m moving forward. Anybody want to come along?

My Home is NOT Broken

2011-04-17T14:53:00.000-07:00

Time for the second “truth” I came to know on New Year’s Eve 2010. 

From the time my parents divorced when I was 13, I had to live with a label: I was from a “broken home.” Words cannot express to you how much I came to hate that label.

At 14, I went to my first (and only) youth camp as a resident of the dormitory. I will grant you that I was not the easiest teenager. My favorite thing to do in any discussion, whether it was scriptural or social, was to ask, “Why?” and “On what authority do you base that?” Most of that was just my nature. I still ask those questions pretty regularly, and they have made me a better human being. To paraphrase one of my favorite plays (The Miracle Worker), “Obedience without understand is a kind of blindness, too.” For every regulation placed before me, I wanted to know WHY I was expected to obey.

One night, after we were supposed to be sleeping, I was lying there staring at the ceiling when I overheard a conversation between two of the counselors: “You really just have to excuse Alesha. She’s from a broken home, you know.” The end of my stay at that youth camp is part of family legend now and doesn’t really matter for purposes of this story, but the bottom line is that I was very deeply wounded by that conversation. They had labeled me defective, and there wasn’t much I could do to redeem myself.

When I married, I was determined that my home would NOT be broken. My family was NOT going to be defective, but as I wrote about last time, some prayers aren’t answered the way we want . . .

So, when it became clear that the traditional nuclear family was not going to be what I would have, I went looking for help at (where else?) the Christian bookstore. There were several shelves about “praying for your marriage” and “making a better marriage” and “healthy homes start with healthy marriages”… where were the books on what to do when you were on your own? I found them, though I didn’t buy them. There was one-third of a shelf (on the bottom, in the corner) dedicated to single parents. The covers depicted mostly women, looking like they were facing death, dismemberment and worse. I wanted hope. I got the message from skimming the contents: survival should be your hope. You won’t thrive. Things will be bad, terrible even. But eventually the kids will grow up and if you don’t mess it up any worse, maybe they won’t be cursed with their own broken home. That is, if they don’t follow the statistics and go to jail by age 9.

I am exaggerating, of course, but the material available WAS pretty bleak. I did finally get a good book to help (thanks Sis Mary Lynn Warren!!!!), but it was from a friend, because it had long been out of print. I didn’t want to survive. I wanted to THRIVE!!! But how to do that in a “broken home”?

I had rebuilding for a while on New Year’s Eve, and for the most part I was feeling pretty positive, but I was still wrestling with the idea of my “broken”, defective home. I HATED it. Why should my home be broken and defective? Why should my kids wear that label I had hated so much? It wasn’t fair.

And that’s when that still small voice came with the simplest answer: “Your home is NOT broken. I am there.” Wow, what a revelation! As often happens when God speaks into my spirit, I was speechless. So there came the voice again: “Go ahead. Say it, ‘My home is NOT broken.’” Again, I was dumbfounded. It couldn’t really be that simple, could it?

But yes, yes it really could. I said it quietly, sort of embarrassed. Since then, I’ve been saying a lot more loudly. Just because I’m a divorced mother does NOT MEAN MY HOME IS BROKEN. My children and I have built a very happy, loving home. We have fun. We laugh. We are very close. They aren’t statistics; they are happy, thriving children.

So why is this important? Because I think it’s time we stop accepting the lie that divorce is a death sentence for a family. It’s time to stop accepting the lie that children are doomed to failure because their parents’ marriages failed. We are not broken homes. We are families. We might look a little different, but we are NOT BROKEN.

As a child, I didn’t know what to say to those camp counselors. As an adult, I know what I might say. “I didn’t ask, ‘Why?’ because my home was broken. I asked it because I wanted to understand why I live as I do. Why I believe as I do. I needed you to give me answers, and while you didn’t, I found someone who did. And by the way, my home – the one I had with my Mom, my sister, and my grandmother – it wasn’t broken either. If you want to see the proof, look what I have become… MY HOME IS NOT BROKEN.”

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Living Another Kind of Dream

2011-04-12T19:42:00.000-07:00

I began 2011 in Gatlinburg, Tennessee on vacation with my favorite people – my kids and my parents. Those who know me well know just how difficult 2010 was for me. It represented the death of a dream and a massive sense of failure, along with another really public betrayal. I spent most of the year thinking, “Haven’t I done this once already? Wasn’t that enough? Really, again?” But, the year was ending well, and while the rest of my family was sleeping shortly after the New Year dawned, I was up, asking the Lord about a thing or two. There were three very important truths I learned that night, and I’m ready to write about the first one.

I was 13 when my parents’ strained marriage finally unraveled completely. I was devastated on many levels, but the primary reason was because I had prayed so long and hard that God would save my family. I had begged and pleaded with God to turn my Dad around, cause him to change his life, change his mind, to MAKE him want to be part of our family again. I listened intently to every minister, read every Bible story, and I tried everything I could, from special offerings to Gideon-style fleeces. I bargained with God in my 13 year old wisdom. I promised to be a VERY good girl, if He would only save my family.

He didn’t.

From age 13 until adulthood, I was brought up by my mom, a hard-working, dedicated and wonderful single mother who gave me the best I could have needed. She worked very hard to give my sister and I every advantage, and she dedicated herself to building a happy home. We weren’t unhappy, but within myself, I knew that I wanted a REAL family, with a Dad. I wanted a Dad who would show up for my piano recitals, and my high school graduation. I wanted a Dad who would be proud of me, not from a distance, but right up close. I wanted a REAL family, not a single-parent one. I’d also taken to listening to Dr. Laura on the radio, and she was very fond of saying that you got two chances at the family relationship: the one you are born into, and the one you build. So I decided right then that I was going to build a REAL family – one that wasn’t a single-parent disappointment. And nothing would stop me or stand in my way. I was pretty convinced that my will-power alone could keep it together no matter what.

It couldn’t.

Flash-forward a whole lot of years and two divorces. The dream of a REAL family felt pretty dead. I’d tried building that twice, and both times, I just apparently wasn’t enough. Because I am an eternal optimist, staying depressed just wasn’t in my nature, so I kept putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward. Finding Nemo (Just keep swimming! Just keep swimming!) was sort of a motto and a battle cry, and I kept moving forward. I spent months rebuilding my self esteem so that I could look in the mirror and see an image of God’s child and not an image of the insults that had been thrown at me. It was a lot of hard work to find healing, but I did, and I could see myself truthfully again.

But it was that night – the very first hours of New Year’s Day – that God began to deal with me about that dead dream, the one I jokingly called a nightmare. The family I’d wanted – two parents, kids, dog, fence, me being the stay-at-home Mom who loves my babies and waits anxiously for the Dad who loves me and the kids to come through the door – was not the dream I’d gotten.

No, I don’t have the dream I wanted. I spend my days working so that we can have a place to live, food to eat, some comforts of life. Once the three of us walk through the door, there isn’t any point in waiting around. No one else is coming home. But I did get a dream. It just wasn’t the one I was expecting. Tonight, after my two mile walk with my mom, Noelle, David, and I came home, put together a puzzle, sang songs, read a story, and at the end of the story, I tucked the two most precious gifts any mother has ever received into bed. Oh yes, I am living a dream, and even if it wasn’t the one I wanted, I would not trade this life – this dream – for ANYTHING.

The Right to Be Bitter. The Power to Let Go.

2010-12-03T14:38:00.001-08:00

My first exposure to the story of Michal, daughter of Saul, wife of David, was in a Sunday school class. I don’t remember much about the lesson, but I do remember the poster-art that was presented with the lesson. A beautiful woman, dressed in royal clothing stands at a window, watching a parade scene on the street below. A man, wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist, is center-stage, mid-leap-and-spin. But what I remember most is the expression on the beautiful woman’s face; in contrast to her beauty and the richness of her clothing and the very room she stands in, her face is contorted into a horribly ugly grimace. Truthfully, I found the picture disturbing, so disturbing that I missed the lesson. The impression I got was that Michal was an evil, wicked woman who hated David, hated God, and hated worship. It was years before I got a fuller picture of who this woman was, and who she was not.

The story of Michal and David really reads more like an epic love story than anything else. She was the daughter of the king of Israel; he was her brother’s best friend, and oh, there was that little matter of being a giant-killer and the next anointed king of Israel. She loved him, and when she heard that her father was going to give one of his daughter’s to David as a wife, she volunteered enthusiastically. She loved him. Did she know that her father, King Saul, was using her as a pawn in a political game, the ultimate goal of which was David’s death? Did she know that ultimately David would use her as a political pawn as well? There is no way to know that with certainty, but with what I know about young girls . . . no. She just loved David, and she believed that love was enough.

Must have been a grand wedding, this match of a palace favorite and beautiful King’s daughter. Like Kate Middleton and Prince William, they would have been a golden couple, but what of Saul? He saw how much God loved David. He saw how much Michal loved David, and he got scared, and he determined then and there that David had to die.

The newlyweds didn’t have long to celebrate. In a Romeo & Juliet like encounter, they are alone in their bedroom when Michal warns her beloved husband that her father the King wants him dead. He doesn’t believe it at first – after all, even Jonathan doesn’t know for sure about Saul’s plot – but she tells him urgently, you must go. If you don’t, you will die. Can you imagine those last moments? The promises – I’ll wait for you. I’ll send for you. Young and in love, Michal would have promised him everything, and David would have wanted to be her hero. They made vows, and then he climbed down the wall and was gone, and she left behind to explain.

David moved on. He was on the run for a while, eluding Saul’s henchmen at every turn. And while running, he fell in love again. Twice. Two wives for the future king, plus loads of adventure and intrigue. And where was Michal? She’d been “pawned” off again, this time to Phaltiel. Ripped away from her first love, David, she had been given to a man she had never met to be his wife. It’s a really ugly end to any love story, but . . .

Apparently, she was the kind of girl who could make the best of a bad situation. While the Bible is silent about the details of Michal’s life with Phaltiel, the emotional connection between Michal and her new husband cannot be doubted. We know that because of what happened next.

When he is approached by Abner’s representatives, David sees the benefit of a political alliance, and he also knew how to seal that political alliance – bring back wife number 1. Again, the Bible is silent in anything but cold facts. Not once is it mentioned that David “loves” Michal, only that he wants the wife he earned as a prize in battle.

Back to Bahurim, Michal’s new home. The messengers arrive, and by the royal decree of Israel’s current ruler, she must leave her life and her husband for a second time. Not at the mercy of her father the King, but at the mercy of the husband who had forgotten her. Her new husband, Phaltiel, follows the procession all the way to its destination, crying and weeping behind her. Can you imagine the feeling? The forgotten woman, watching the man who loves her weeping and walking behind her, begging her captors to return her, and then at a single sentence, he must leave, and she must take her place as one of David’s wives. Not a person with feelings. She’s like property, or at least that’s the way he’s treated her. And that’s where the bitterness begins . . .

I know how Michal feels. She got dealt a really bad hand in life – it wasn’t fair. And yet in spite of all the bad stuff, she built a pretty good life for herself. She became content in exile, and she created happiness in captivity. Then, just when she works hard enough to build herself a safe place, up shows the “man after God’s own heart” to drag her back to a place she really doesn’t want to return to, and best of all, she gets to be one of his three wives. David’s not asking for her out of love and longing, and she knows it. She’s watched love and longing follow her all the way from Bahurim, and she saw it dismissed without a thought.

And then comes that famous moment at the window. She’s dressed in the clothes of the palace. She beautiful, but she’s also incredibly alone. And seared in her memory is Phaltiel, weeping with an outstretched hand. Down below on the street? Well, there’s the one who caused it all. Leaping and dancing for the Lord as if he’d never done a thing wrong. Well, what about what he’s done to HER? To Phaltiel? Don’t they matter? How can he worship like that – how can people believe in his sincerity – when they have all seen what he did to her?

2Sa 6:16 It was so, as the ark of Yahweh came into the city of David, that Michal the daughter of Saul looked out at the window, and saw king David leaping and dancing before Yahweh; and she despised him in her heart.

I’ve read all the commentaries, and I know that conventional wisdom says that she despised worship in general, but I want to offer an alternative. My question isn’t why she’s bitter, but rather, who wouldn’t be? Can anyone really doubt the fact that Michal had every right to be BOTH angry AND bitter? I don’t. She had every right. What David did to her wasn’t fair. Her entire life was unfair. She was a human being with feelings, with a heart that had been broken many times, with dreams and ambitions that had all been beaten down to nothing. I would be angry. Wouldn’t you?

Haven’t we all been there? Life’s been unfair, but we’ve rebuilt. We’ve worked hard to make the best out of bad situations, and then, we see them. The very people that hurt us so badly, and they are prospering. Others that we admire congratulate them on their good works and good fortune, and somewhere in our minds, we say it too: “How can they congratulate him? Don’t they know what he did to me? How can he lift his hands and worship like that in church? Don’t they remember how badly he hurt me?” It’s our moment at the window, when, like Michal, we are looking down on the parade below. Then we have a choice: To be bitter, like Michal, or to let it go.

Yes, Michal had the right to be bitter, but in the end her bitterness destroyed her. Her anger boiled over, and she went on the offensive:

2Sa 6:20 Then David returned to bless his household. Michal the daughter of Saul came out to meet David, and said, How glorious was the king of Israel today, who uncovered himself today in the eyes of the handmaids of his servants, as one of the vain fellows shamelessly uncovers himself!

2Sa 6:21 David said to Michal, [It was] before Yahweh, who chose me above your father, and above all his house, to appoint me prince over the people of Yahweh, over Israel: therefore will I play before Yahweh.

2Sa 6:22 I will be yet more vile than this, and will be base in my own sight: but of the handmaids of whom you have spoken, they shall honor me.

2Sa 6:23 Michal the daughter of Saul had no child to the day of her death.

Worse than a death sentence for a woman of her time, having no children and no legacy was the worst thing that could happen to Michal. The Bible only mentions Michal once more, in connection with Rizpah. Michal had made another attempt to rebuild – she’s raised five sons not her own. They were executed by a ruler as part of a political game. Once again, Michal’s attempt to love was destroyed.

So, back to the basic statement: Michal had the right to be bitter. You probably do to. But what did bitterness do for Michal? It destroyed her. What will you do with your bitterness?

Here’s the ugly truth about bitterness: it feels good for a moment. In the moment of anger and pain, it is so incredibly satisfying to lash out and to show everyone that you were wronged. To reach for revenge is sweet, but only for a moment. The fallout of bitterness is so very costly. It costs you everything. You cannot love and be bitter. You cannot move forward and be bitter. Bitterness gets you stuck in the pain, unable to get out. Oh, my friend, you have the right to be bitter, but you have the power to let it go.

Close your eyes for a moment. Are you like Michal, standing at the window watching those who have hurt you prosper? Can you relate to that pain? I can. I know what it is to have someone treat me in a way that no human being should ever be treated and walk away with no consequences, only congratulations. I know how it feels to want to lash out and wallow in the bitterness and pain. But I have also learned that there is a better choice. Turning that pain inward makes you bitter. Turning the bitterness outward destroys you. That means there is only one place to put the pain – in His hands.

If you are like Michal, choose to give Him your pain. He will take it, and I know from experience that He will redeem your life. You have the right to be bitter, but there is a better choice. You can choose to give your pain to God and move on.

Thanksgiving is a state of mind . . .

2010-11-24T16:37:00.000-08:00

It's been an interesting kaleidoscope of a week for me. For those who know me, you know that dates are pretty important to me. I count forward and backward quite a bit: "This time last year, I was . . . "   For that reason, while I have been completely enjoying my present, as sun sets and the kids are asleep and the house becomes quiet, the old "date-counter" kicks in and I start to think about where I've been.

Four years ago . . . I was expecting a baby, I knew that something was desperately wrong in my home, and I had no idea what the future might hold. I spent lots of time in prayer, trying in a true Rapunzel-like fashion, to weave fear and worry into faith.

Three years ago . . . I was a single mother, working really hard to bring up my two children and help them enjoy the holiday. I was one month cancer-free and celebrating the fact that God had brought healing into my life.

Two years ago . . . I was settling into a new life, thinking that God had come in and sealed my future. At the same time, I felt some "cracks" around the edges and was wondering why my miracle felt a little less than perfect. Back to the Rapunzel-like spinning . . .

Today . . . I am celebrating where I am. I am a confident mother of two gorgeous, exceptional children who make my life beautiful and full.  While I don't know the details of the future God has planned, I KNOW that He has a definite, complete plan for my life, and I am walking confidently toward it, focusing on Him.  (The spinning finally worked.)

Over the past four years, I've taken a journey of Thanksgiving. I've learned to life the truth of the verse:  In whatsoever state you are, be therefore content, for this is the will of God concerning your life. Things aren't perfect. They aren't even easy. But I'm not alone - He's with me! And I am thankful that He is holding my hand.

Hurry Up and Wait . . .

2010-11-23T07:37:00.000-08:00

So much of my life has been about waiting - seems like I attend everyone else's life -events while patiently (and okay, sometimes not so patiently) waiting for my own. Waiting is tiresome. It is wearying. It will wear you down. And it is so much a part of what we must do as Christians.

The Bible has a long track record of people waiting. Matter of fact, it seems to be a requirement for anyone who wants to serve Him. First instruction: Leave where you're comfortable. Second instruction: Go where you aren't comfortable. Third instruction: Obey. Fourth instruction: Wait. A lot. Why all the waiting? What purpose could there possibly by? Why not just go ahead and move forward?

This morning, I was reading in James and came across this verse:

Be patient, therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the Lord, Behold the husbandman waiteth for the precious fruit of the earth, and hath long patience for it, until he receive the early and latter rain. - James 5:7

Living for God IS like a race, but it's also a lot like growing precious fruit. It takes time. So often, what we want we aren't quite ready for. What we need we wouldn't accept if it were presented to us . . . yet. We see the early rain, and we jump - "Finally, this is the CHANCE!" Instead of jumping, we should be waiting - for that latter rain.  It's not just the first blush of excitement and hope. It's the promise of the fulfillment of something more: latter rain.

While I know the overall verse is talking about the ultimate return of Christ, I think it applies to our lives and everyday situations as well: whatever our current situation, we must "wait for the coming of the Lord." Attempting to modify, change, fix, or otherwise alter our position without His guidance and help will result in abysmal failure. We MUST learn to WAIT on Him.

So, like the husbandman, we wait, we pray for the rain of His presence to wash over us, we endure until the time that he comes through.   Waiting isn't just part of living for the Lord, it is part of growing and maturing into the person He wants us to become.   So, learn the lesson so you won't have to keep repeating the class: wait with joy.

The Revival Satan Allows

2010-07-06T11:03:00.000-07:00

As someone who has been on a Pentecostal pew since birth or so, I've seen a lot of “revivals.” I grew up attending the church pastored by Bro. Jerry Dillon, which meant that at least two weeks out of the month, you would be attending revival services. It was a great way to live, and it taught me a thing or two about what revival really is – I lived it, saw it, and witnessed the changing power of God flow out on many lives. As a result, I think I am also familiar with what revival is NOT. There are some “revivals” that Satan won't stop – in fact he will encourage them – because they fit quite nicely within his purpose: keeping the Church as a body from reaching the lost.

“My what a service we had!”

“Did the power of God fall?”

“That was an awesome move of the Holy Ghost!”

“You weren't even IN church if you weren't at MY church last night.”

OK, so we've all said those things. And most of the time they are meant to convey that the presence of the Lord was in a service. What concerns me, however, is a growing tendency I've seen among some churches. As long as there are “good services” where “God moves” and people “feel the power”, they think everything is great in their assemblies. And yet . . . hearts are not changed, the lost are not won; outward appearances may line up, but there is no true victory in the lives of the people who are attending these regularly “powerful” services. They attended Holy Ghost blow-out after Holy Ghost hoe-down, and yet when the smallest problem came into their life, they were distraught and giving up on God. And their lives are not impacting the lives of the lost and the hurting around them. I asked myself, “What is going on?” That didn't do much good, so I asked God. And this is what I got.

Satan doesn't care about our “powerful services” . . . he doesn't care if we “shout the walls down” . . . he doesn't care if you can't see the carpet for the hairpins . . . IF those powerful services are just that. If they don't lead us to greater dedication, deeper commitment, a more burning desire to help others. If we are unchanged, if we don't impact our world, Satan is perfectly content to let us dance all over church on Sunday, because he knows that when we leave the building, it's over.

You've seen these churches. You've probably been envious when they've talked about how the power falls. Especially when you compare their experiences to your own (not a good idea, but difficult to avoid) – their lives don't experience much trouble, and yet it is a Pentecostal Power Hour every time they show up. What gives?

Simply this: it is possible to bask in the presence of the Lord, enjoy the “feel good” that His anointing allows, and leave completely and utterly unchanged. A lot of people like a church like that. They feel good while they are there, but they feel absolutely no compunction to change anything about their lives or share Jesus with others. They simply use God's presence as an anti-depressant – they get just enough of a “fix” to make it to the next service – but they don't allow the changing power of His spirit to penetrate their hearts and lives. As a result, they cannot handle difficulties, and they don't reach out to the lost.

Why would Satan object? As long as he lets them be comfortable, complacent – sleeping, really – he has little to worry about. They'll continue feeling good in church. But they won't spread the word. (Somebody might sit on their pew or, God forbid, take their solo.) They'll show up faithfully to every service. But they will leave unchanged. (That would require sacrifice and searching themselves for sins that are not quite as obvious as others.) It's a quarantined virus, in Satan's eyes, and I'm convinced he allows it, encourages it, and hopes other churches will emulate it. Gives him freedom to take the rest of the city to hell while that congregation of 30, 50, or 150 gets their “fix” and moves on to another week. And then later, when they don't expect it, he can hit them with a big problem, and it will destroy what faith they have. This kind of revival is a win-win for him.

Think I'm talking out of school? Check God's word:

²⁰ But he that received the seed into stony places, the same is he that heareth the word, and anon with joy receiveth it; ²¹ Yet hath he not root in himself, but dureth for a while: for when tribulation or persecution ariseth because of the word, by and by he is offended.

Matthew 13:20-21

¹² And he sighed deeply in his spirit, and saith, Why doth this generation seek after a sign? verily I say unto you, There shall no sign be given unto this generation. ^{. . .} And when Jesus knew it, he saith unto them, Why reason ye, because ye have no bread? perceive ye not yet, neither understand? have ye your heart yet hardened? ¹⁸ Having eyes, see ye not? and having ears, hear ye not? and do ye not remember? ¹⁹ When I brake the five loaves among five thousand, how many baskets full of fragments took ye up? They say unto him, Twelve. ²⁰ And when the seven among four thousand, how many baskets full of fragments took ye up? And they said, Seven. ²¹ And he said unto them, How is it that ye do not understand?
Mark 8:10-21

¹ This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. ² For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, ³ Without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, ⁴ Traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; ⁵ Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away. ⁶ For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive silly women laden with sins, led away with divers lusts, ⁷ Ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth. ⁸ Now as Jannes and Jambres withstood Moses, so do these also resist the truth: men of corrupt minds, reprobate concerning the faith. ⁹ But they shall proceed no further: for their folly shall be manifest unto all men, as theirs also was.

II Timothy 3:1-9

²² But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves. ²³ For if any be a hearer of the word, and not a doer, he is like unto a man beholding his natural face in a glass: ²⁴ For he beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he was.

James 1: 22-24

It is vital that we understand that we must have a relationship with Christ that goes beyond feeling good, shouting, and worshiping. Those things are good; they are vital. But if you are not seeing the fruit of the spirit in your church, in your life – it's time for an inventory. You are either a weapon in the kingdom, or you have been given your pacifier (Hebrews 5:12-13). Good services where you feel the power are not enough. If souls are not being born into the kingdom, are you really fulfilling your purpose? If not, whose purpose are you fulfilling? Dangerous question, if you dare to ask it.

Doing Time on the C-List

2010-06-02T21:01:00.000-07:00

(This starts a little slowly, but I promise it gets to the point.) Last winter, I was in the midst of a really nasty divorce, so I packed my bags and moved myself and my kids in with my parents to recuperate. The move wasn't THAT big a deal, since it was just up the driveway, but it gave me some peace of mind. Over the course of a month or so, however, quarters started getting a little tight at mom and dad's, so I knew the time had come to go back to IT – my house. But the thought of going back into the same house looking the same way it had before, well that was more than I could bear. Suddenly, the proverbial light bulb went off: I could sell the furniture. But how? Craigslist, of course. I had heard a lot about it. No time like the present to give it a try.

(Stay with me. I promise we are getting there.) So, I wrote up my ad, complete with the heading “Divorce Sale Extravaganza”, and started posting everything that wasn't nailed down. Over three weekends, I sold the entire contents of my 4 bedroom house AND refurnished it. All on Craigslist! But that isn't why I'm writing. The truth is that I learned a whole lot about what I HADN'T been doing to reach the lost from my time on the C-list. And THAT'S why I'm writing here.

First Things First: Being open wins people over.

Simply put, my divorce was an excrutiatingly public experience that brought me to depths of humiliation I had never previously fathomed. By the time I was blithely listing my furniture for sale, I figured I had nothing to lose by telling the three people in the entire county who hadn't heard about the whole thing. So, I put it right out there. “If you are wondering why I am offering this fabulous deal, it's because I'm in the middle of a divorce. My loss can literally be your gain.” What happened in return? People were really open with me. Suddenly, their guard was down. If this total stranger was throwing her life out there, what could they possibly have to lose? Mark and Lisa arrived to pick up my sofa and began to tell me that they were hoping to get married that weekend. Lisa had a two year old daughter, and Mark was stepping in to be a “dad.” Before they left, Lisa pulled me to the side and said, “I can tell you are one of those, oh you know, religious people. Can you pray for me? I want to build the right kind of home for my baby, but I don't know how.”

Second Helpings: Listen, and listen actively.

People are aching for an opportunity to open up. Tanya called me about a couple of bedroom sets. Mine were priced right. She had recently separated from her husband and was starting over from scratch. Could I hold them until the weekend? She and her dad arrived on Saturday morning, and while her Dad and mine took the beds apart and loaded the truck, she just looked like she had something to say, so I asked a few questions. And Tanya began to cry, revealing a story of being abandoned and betrayed. I shared a little of my story, and she looked at me stunned, “Your story is probably worse than mine. And you are standing here smiling at me, comforting ME. I ought to be comforting you. What's the secret? How can you SMILE?” It felt so much like a made-for-tv moment that I almost looked for cameras. Instead, I shared the gospel. Tanya is a hungry soul, and I'm determined to show her where real strength comes from – Christ.

Three Strikes and You're Out: My One Negative Experience.

One afternoon a young apostolic couple showed up to buy my monstrous dining room set. I was pretty excited when I saw them – people of like faith! I greeted them enthusiastically, asking where they were from and making a few “churchy” comments that we apostolics like to exchange. They shut me down pretty quickly. My elbows were showing (egads!), and since I was in the middle of a D-vorce, we were clearly not of like faith. Wasn't much to say but, “ok”. They took the table, but only after trying to get me to discount it into regions unheard of and convincing me that they were completely incapable of humor on any level. (Ever heard the phrase, “His face would crack if he smiled”? It would fit these two.) Lesson learned – Be aware of how you present yourself. If I ran into this couple, I definitely wouldn't want what they had. It looked more like a disease than the Holy Ghost.

Go Fourth: Washing Machines and Sharing the Good News.

Corinne called me at 10:18 pm on a Tuesday night. She started by apologizing profusely for calling so late, but she didn't want to chance missing out on the washer and dryer I had listed. See, her son was in desperate need and this looked like a good set they could afford. I said that the call wasn't any trouble and asked if she had any questions about the set. She didn't, but it turned out she needed to talk. She told me about the bad luck that seemed to follow her son around, about how he was starting over with his kids, and how she felt so inadequate to help him. Well, I saw an opening I couldn't resist. I shared my story, and how God was helping ME. With Him, it did get better and joy came again. Corinne started crying. Her grandma had that kind of faith, but she went to the crazy church where people swung from chandeliers and such. Most of the family thought Granny was a little crazy, but they knew to call her for prayer. I told Corinne that while no one has swung from our chandelier lately, I attend one of those “crazy” churches, and I'd be more than happy to pray for her family.

She showed up a few days later to pick up the washer and dryer, and with a bunch of questions about what her Granny used to tell her. I've got answers, and she asked for my number. I'm hoping that will be a Home Bible Study in the making.

Fifth Wheels – What's the point?

I've barely scratched the surface of my Craigslist encounters, but do you see the trend? It's simple – once I started reaching out, I found hungry people searching for answers. As apostolics, we have become so wound up in our culture that we have forgotten the words of the Great Commission.

It is, “Go ye, therefore . . .”, not “If you build it, they will come.”

We aren't going. We are passing out flyers. We aren't listening. We are talking about our “great services” where the “power of God moves.” Those words are fine, but someone who is lost has no idea what that means. If we are going to reach this world, we must be bold. We must be open. We must allow ourselves to be vulnerable. And we must go to where they are. Even if that is Craigslist . . . now, I must return to the storage shed. There's some more stuff out there that I think I can sell.

Hiding Behind the Baggage

2010-06-01T09:34:00.000-07:00

Hiding Behind the Baggage

Alesha Leveritt

In reading I Samuel this morning, I was a little disappointed. I always count on my morning scripture reading for inspiration and an “idea” that sparks my mind for the rest of the day. And this morning, I just didn't get it – at least not at first.

The scriptures were I Samuel 9-12: the story of Saul's selection as king. Interesting passages, but nothing jumped out at me until I started writing out some prayer and reflection about my own life. I was talking (whining, really) to God about the fact that I would never achieve what I wanted to in my walk with Christ because of all my baggage. And then suddenly, my memory triggered back to this:

I Samuel 10:20-22 (NIV)

When Samuel gathered all the tribes of Israel, the tribe of Benjamin was picked.
Samuel had them pass by in family groups, and Matri's family was picked. Then he had each man of Matri's family pass by, and Saul son of Kish was picked. But when they looked for Saul, they could not find him.
They asked the Lord, “Has Saul come here yet?”
The Lord said, “Yes. He's hiding behind the baggage.”

Yep, there it was. Perhaps the greatest excuse for lost Christian potential. The BAGGAGE. We all have it. Of course, some of our baggage is prettier than others. You may have floral baggage with filigrees (something beautiful that you have a hard time leaving behind). My baggage looks a little more like the gym bag that got left in the back of the pick up truck in the rain (story for another time, but trust me, it's UGLY). I have it. You have it. He has it. She has it. We've all got BAGGAGE! And it creates a very convenient little place to hide when we are afraid of what God is calling us to do.

Saul didn't think he could be king. He'd started out that day searching for Daddy's lost donkeys. Donkey-hunter to king is a pretty big leap for anybody, much less with no preparation. Yes, Saul had prophesied, but only once. Yes, his heart had been changed, but that did NOT mean an absence of fear. Here was Saul, donkey-hunter, tall to the point of being awkward, and after one training session, he was to be king? Saul counted every failure he had ever experienced, every time he had made the wrong choice, every time he had spoken too soon and appeared foolish, every time someone had told him he wouldn't amount to much. He packed them in some bags and camped out behind them. The baggage was real, but more importantly, so was Saul's fear. He used the baggage to build a wall to keep him away from the destiny God had planned.

How many of us are guilty of that same thing? God calls you to do something, and you say, “Oh, no Lord. I can't possibly do that. I'm a failure. I've messed up too many times. Nobody will give me any credibility. I'm an ex-con. I'm divorced. I'm not well-educated. I'm too educated. I can't speak well. My mother dressed me funny. No, not me. These bags here will hold me back. Just move on and find someone who doesn't have all this . . . this . . . STUFF.” Do any of us realize (preaching to myself again) that when we do that, we are placing our baggage in front of God's greatness? We are basically making the statement that GOD who created heaven and earth pales in comparison to STUFF , BAGGAGE?

Today, stop hiding behind your past failures. Stop hiding behind your insecurities. Take the step of faith. Step out from behind the baggage and into the future God has promised you!

A Review of *Boy Meets Girl" by Joshua Harris

2010-04-20T07:32:00.000-07:00

Review of Boy Meets Girl by Joshua Harris

As a reader in my mid-thirties, I really wasn't sure what this book would have to offer. I never really intended to read it, but since I missed the book I was aiming for on the shelf as I dashed out of my classroom heading to a doctor's appointment, I was stuck.

Looking at the waiting room, I knew there would be a two or three hour wait, at least, so I could either read a Food and Family magazine (circa 2004), or I could dive into this book that had very little to offer me, the twice divorced single mother of two.

I can now admit that I was wrong. While the intended audience of this book is in the 20-something age bracket looking for a "forever spouse", it has much to offer for those of us who are a little more . . . ahem . . . mature, and scarred as well.

Specifically, I was able to identify patterns that would have sent a "red flat alert" that something was wrong in my previous courtships. I was also able to unload a great deal of shame. Some of the very hurtful claims others had made against me were refuted by the author through scripture AND practical examples.

Finally, as I find myself single again, the book offers very practical advice about what to do to protect yourself from disaster. It is never too late to learn how NOT to make a mistake.

I highly recommend this book to anyone, of any age, who is single, or single again. While it is most useful to that target audience, there is rich material there for all of us, no matter what mistakes we have already made.

What It Takes to Be Called - Part 3

2010-04-15T19:01:00.001-07:00

Part III – The cleansing of the lips

So far, there has been a terrible loss, the foundation of the temple has been shaken, and Isaiah has realized that he is undone and bereft in his sin. What more could be required? Well, this is the part of the story we all know – a cleansing by fire.

That realization comes to us all at some point. We are undone; we are “unclean”. Sometimes that's a result of things that we DO actively. Other times that feeling is a result of the actions of those who surround our lives.; their bad decisions affect us, and though we are not guilty, we still feel the burden of shame. Purification comes, but always at a cost.

Isaiah 6:6 – Then flew on of the seraphims unto me, having a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with the tongs from off the altar: (7) And he laid it upon my mouth and said, “Lo, this hath touched thy lips; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin is purged.”

Simple truth: burning hurts. Bad. I remember being around 10 and walking into the kitchen. I could smell the fresh cornbread in the air, and just as I expected, there it sat, on the stove. In the cast iron skillet, looking so inviting and ready for me to cut into. Since I was a short 10, I thought it would be a great idea to move it to the table, so that I could more easily reach and cut the cornbread. So, I reached out and grabbed the handle of the cast iron skillet with a firm grip . . . you can guess the rest. It had been out of the oven for barely a minute, and my hand was COOKED. Many memories will fade, but the pain of that burn on my right hand? Not any time soon. Pain like that you remember – pain from a burn.

The purification of the called is like that. It hurts. There is a modern myth that when you bring your sins to Christ and begin to follow Him, things will go smoothly. Life will be kind. The birds will sing with you as you do housework and little mice will appear to help you with your chores. I know that sounds a lot like Cinderella, but truthfully that's how a lot of Christians think. “Hey, I love God now. He will make my life easy.” No dice. If you are going to work for Him, you will suffer. He will cleanse you for free, but moving forward into deeper waters of purification for service? That doesn't come without paying the price.

Before you pray for God to use you as never before, to open the doors of opportunity and help you to grow into your abilities, be sure that you have counted the cost. Looking back through my journals, I started praying that prayer six years ago. These past five years have been Job-like in the intensity of suffering and loss. Am I sorry I prayed the prayer? No, not at all. But I'm very glad that I did not know six years ago how much I would have to sacrifice, how much I would have to lose, the price I would have to pay, the burning of purification that I would have to endure. I'm not sure that, knowing what would come, I would have been brave enough to take the plunge.

Somewhere within the last few weeks, I've come to this realization about myself: I have been refined by fire. I am ready to be used, for the first time in my life. I am ready to step into the place He wants me to go. Where is that? At this point, your guess is as good as mine. But I'm ready to go. Just waiting on the marching instructions. Of course, if they are like Isaiah's . . . but hey, that's the next entry . . .

What It Takes to be Called - Part 2

2010-04-15T18:57:00.000-07:00

Part II: Then Comes the Glory, but It Doesn't Seem Too Glorious . . .

The break has been a longer than expected due to Project Reclamation (which included such smaller gems as Operation Bunkbeds, Operation Keyboard, Operation Bye-Bye Teal . . .), but as I was puttering around the house this evening, the Lord said that it was once again time to write. So here I am . . .

The last part of the examination of Isaiah's calling was about what had to happen first – the death of the King. What came next was the glory. We like that word a lot, at least I did growing up. I can distinctly remember a sappy, sugary Peter Cetera song about “The Glory of Love” . . . “I am a man who will fight for your honor, I'll be the hero you've been dreaming of. We'll live forever knowing together that we did it all for the glory of love.” Sweet song, and that was my concept of glory – feels good, looks good, is nice to snuggle up with and cuddle. That, folks, is NOT Biblical glory. Not even a little bit.

My first glimpse of what Biblical glory was really about came through one of Tommy Tenney's Godchaser books. He said (to paraphrase) that modern Christians confuse the anointing and the glory of the Lord. The anointing puts you in the zone, feels warm and wonderful, and generally just makes the world feel right. The glory, though, knocks you on your face. That's just what happened to Isaiah.

Isaiah 6:3 – And one cried unto another, and said, “Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory.

The glory of the Lord has arrived at Isaiah's doorstep. His train is filling the temple. Watch what happens next:

Isaiah 6:4 And the posts of the door moved at the voice of him that cried, and the house was filled with smoke.

I don't know about you, but that doesn't sound really warm and wonderful to me – more like an earthquake combined with a tornado. The very foundations of the temple trembled; it became difficult to see clearly. There was a haze about the place that blended with Isaiah's grief. And what was Isaiah thinking about?

Isaiah 6:5 – Then said I, “Woe is me! For I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts.

In the midst of this majestic and quite frankly terrifying display of power, in the midst of his intense grief over loss, Isaiah realizes that he, who has faithfully worked for the kingdom, is still woefully unworthy to be in the presence of a holy God. He realizes that he is part of a people with unclean lips living in a fallen condition, still undeserving. Even now. How humbling for him that must have been. And to have seen the King – to want to approach Him so badly – and to know that you were completely undone in His presence.

Thus far, we know this, if you want to be called,
You will experience great loss as things that are not compatible with the promise are stripped away.
You will experience a tearing and a shaking in your life, as the very foundations of your faith are shaken, just as the foundations of the temple were shaken in Isaiah's time.
You will become aware that you are NOT who you need to be . . . yet.

Have you seen your foundation shaken? Have you felt your world tremble in doubt as you faced a loss? Have you been left unable to see the direction that you need to take? Does your world seem hazy and full of pain? Do you feel unworthy to do what God has called you to do because of these things? Then look up, God may be calling . . .

There is a cleansing that must take place if you are going to fulfill His call. And that cleansing may just lead to more pain. Makes you wonder, when someone says that they want to be used of God, do they really understand what that means? And as for the pain, more on that later . . .

What It Takes to be Called - Part 1

2010-03-18T08:04:00.000-07:00

Growing up in a Pentecostal church, there was something that appeared so - magical – about ministers. They arrived at church in a nice suit, with a well-dressed wife who played at least one instrument while coordinating the nursery, the ladies committee and the dinner on the ground at the same time. (Or like Sis. Dillon, they would play the organ with one hand and write down names of anybody who wasn't in service with the other!) They were so . . . together. And it all seemed glamorous in a way.

But as all children learn, appearances are very deceiving. There is little glamor in the life of those who carry the gospel to the world. In fact, preparing to preach, minister, or carry the gospel in any form requires a process that is anything but glamorous. A process outlined in Isaiah 6.

Isaiah 6:1 In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple.

The obvious reason for including “In the year king Uzziah died . . .” is to date Isaiah's vision in time, and that is what I found in most of the commentaries. However, I wondered if there might be something more significant – something beyond just the equivalent of “In the year that Ronald Reagan died . . .” So, I looked up Uzziah.

Apparently, Uzziah was a very successful king. He had a lengthy reign, he ushered in a period of great success for Israel, he fortified towers, his name was “spread abroad.” He was a man called of God, and influenced by Godly men (Zechariah). (II Chronicles 26; II Kings 15:3) But all that success – the fact that God was using him mightily – led Uzziah to become proud. And in his pride, he stepped beyond the reaches of his authority.

II Chronicles 26:16 – But when he was strong, his heart was lifted up to his destruction: for he transgressed against the Lord his God, and went into the temple of the Lord to burn incense upon the altar of incense.

Our ever present adversary – pride – got the better of Uzziah, and it led to a long slow destruction. He went into the temple determined to offer incense. A group of priests stood against him, telling him that it was wrong. He became angry (How dare THEY tell ME what to do . . . God has used ME, not them.), and in the heat of his anger, he was stricken with leprosy. The historian Flavius reports that this occurred at the same time as a great earthquake that caused damage to the temple. So, the great king – the promise of Israel, he whose name had been told even unto Egypt – lived out 11 years in a leper's house, apart from the kingdom until his painful end.

Looking at that, there is certainly a lesson about pride to be learned from Uzziah, but the purpose here is to examine it in the context of what is happening to Isaiah, who is being called.

Imagine for a moment that you ARE this guy. He has been calling out to the people about their waywardness. Jotham, who is governing along with Uzziah (still the defacto “head of state”, even as a leper) isn't all bad, but he's no Uzziah, and he steers completely clear of the temple. Things weren't all bad, but the glory days of Israel had lost their sheen and the people were behaving like heathens. I imagine it was similar to the American yearning for “Camelot” in the wake of the Kennedy assassination, only perhaps worse because the King – the one that was so unbelievably awesome – lived on in a pathetic condition.

And then the day comes that the King – and the dream – finally dies. Must have been a dark day. I'm sure that there were some that hoped for the miraculous restoration of Uzziah. Isaiah was longing for a miraculous restoration of God within his people. And then all of it – died. Just died. Put a lid on it. Put a fork in it. Put a period at the end of it. It's done.

Haven't we all experienced that moment – the moment when something that we have prayed for, hoped for, fasted for – has just died. That terrible, awful moment when we realize that the picture perfect miracle we have constructed in our minds is just not going to happen? I know I've been there. Recently. Not so long ago, I had to bury a dream that was my miraculous second chance. And as I stared at the figurative grave of my hope, I spent weeks wondering where exactly the Lord was. I can only imagine that Isaiah felt something like that. And probably asked the same question: Lord, are you there? And if you are, where?

And yet, the loss had to come. Uzziah had to die if God was going to call Isaiah. Might it have been different if Uzziah hadn't gotten so arrogant over the offering of incense? Maybe. But arrogance in human beings always leads to destruction. And for the message to go forth, Uzziah had to die.

And that is the first principle of the calling: we must lose anything that is not compatible with the message. If you are going to seek the calling of God in your life, prepare yourself. You WILL experience a loss. The Lord will have to tear some things away from you that keep you from going, being, saying, and doing what He wants. In my own life, I have begun to see the outlines of what He might want me to do in the wake of the death of my personal “king.” I've wondered – if I knew what it was going to require, would I have prayed to be used this way? Honestly, I don't know. If I knew the price, I might not have wanted to pay it. Guess there are definite advantages to NOT knowing the future.

Seeking to be used of Him is dangerous for that reason: salvation is free. But to carry the message? That requires a cross.

And after the cross comes the glory, but in reading Isaiah, the glory might not be what you think! More on that later!

I think that God must owe me a resurrection

2010-02-09T19:29:00.000-08:00

Anybody who knows me knows that my identity is pretty bound up in three things: faith, family, and literature. Pretty much in that order.

In my English I classes (which are pretty lively as a general rule), I am going to finish up Romeo & Juliet in the next few weeks. We've had so much fun with it! But it is not time to begin to turn my planning attention to another one of my favorite plays of all time: The Miracle Worker by William Gibson.

The first year I taught high school, my daughter was just learning to talk, and Gibson's play fascinated me because it showed me such a window into the way that we human beings learn language. I instantly fell in love with Helen, Annie, and the dedication of one young woman to work a miracle in the life of another. The story was captivating, in so many ways, and truthfully, each year I look forward to going back over the old ground. And each year, I learn something new.

There is a point in the play where Annie, haunted by the voice of her long dead brother, squares her shoulders and faces down her benefactor with the title line: "I think that God must owe me a resurrection . . ." He instantly takes her as being impardonably sacrilegious. I on the other hand find her statement one of unrestrained faith. She, while perhaps not devout, understood some of the principles that God holds so dear. And one of them is this - He has promised us a resurrection in His word.

I don't just mean the resurrection at the end of this walk of life, but a resurrection of our souls each and every time we look to Him in the midst of a trial. He says it, over and over. Bro. Allen preached tonight from James - Draw nigh to God and He will draw nigh unto you. It is that "resurrection" of hope, of faith, of joy, that we can cling to in dark times.

Like, Annie, I too feel like making a bold statement of faith. God owes me a resurrection too. Not because I deserve it. Not because I've done anything to earn it. Because His word promised it, and the Word cannot lie.

So, I will wait on the Lord, knowing that my help comes from Him, and if I hold on, He will rebuild for me. He will resurrect, and He will redeem.

2010-02-07T11:21:00.000-08:00

In my quest not to bury myself in the hole and hide, I was praying earlier this week for 'something' constructive to do this weekend while my kids were away. Honestly the prayer was tinged with just a little desperation. The thought of having to face an empty weekend was a little more than I could handle.

And what do you know? In the mailbox, there is a card announcing a Vicki Yohe concert. I actually attended one of her concerts before - 20 years ago to be exact, in Carthage, Mississippi. I called my friend Kim, for whom this was also going to be a difficult weekend, and she agreed to go with me. Not exactly a party, but it sure beats being at home alone.

Not sure what I was expecting - a few songs. A night out. But in the midst of the concert, the Lord truly spoke something to my heart. As Vicki Yohe was singing, she also made a statement about prayer - instead of begging God, speak your desires into existence.

Now, I know that is not a novel concept, and I'm quite sure that in 34 years of church attendance, I've heard it many times. But what I realized was that for the longest time, that's not been the way I pray. I have groveled, begged, and gotten frustrated because God didn't give me the blue lollipop instead of the red one. (You know what I mean . . . )

So I left the concert with a whole new attitude. I want a different kind of life than the one I have lived for the past 16 years. I want the Lord to use my gifts for His glory. I want to develop friendships. I want a strong family. And, in a very practical sense, I need my current house to sell so that I can start over. If I truly want those things (and groveling hasn't worked), perhaps I had best try praying the prayer of faith and speaking those desires into existence.

It's time for faith - not just begging God for something to happen, but believing that HE WILL DO IT. Anyone want to join me?

In a Reading Kind of Mood

2009-12-23T20:05:00.001-08:00

This is the beautiful book that I just couldn't bear to finish. It is quite easy to understand why this book was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. The language is beautiful - overwhelming in places, and the preservation of the multiple points of view of this family concerning their husband/father/family member's death is absolutely heart-wrenching. It is a literary masterpiece that takes you to places both dark and poignant. Which is where my problem lay, honestly. The story of a father's death still resonates a little too strongly with me, even so many years after Daddy has been gone. Reading the story - from Mary's, Rufus', Catherine's points of view - was overwhelming in many ways. I found myself so entranced with their emotions, feelings, and experience that their emotional turmoil became my own. I was inexplicably depressed here at Christmastime, mourning a man who, had he lived on from his death by accident, would have been naturally deceased years before my birth. And yet, that isn't particularly true. It wasn't his death. It was the impact upon the lives of those who loved him. It was the lasting hole, the festering wound, and the painful scar that is undoubtedly, indelibly left upon this family after the closing pages of the novel. It rocks all but the most grounded faiths. It brings no absolution, no peace. Only the certainty that one must move on from loss. My first sentence is true. I didn't finish it completely. I made it to page 285 of my edition and honestly could bear no more. The cruelty of the priest round about the page 260 mark about pushed me over the edge. But ultimately, it was the pain of the children. Too honest. Too intense. Too real. Perhaps one day I will return and finish the last few pages of this book. But, whether I do or do not return, one thing is certain. It has passed what is my own personal "test of great literature" - I will be thinking about this book for many years to come with that unsatisfied, aching feeling. A book that does not stop speaking with it's last page - THAT is the mark of great literature, and *A Death in the Family* certainly qualifies.

Faith is knowing that you don't take this journey alone

2009-07-31T06:17:00.001-07:00

Yep. I’m in the Old Testament again. Something about it being in the beginning I guess. Another round of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob . . .

Today, I was reading about Abraham’s question to find a suitable wife for his son. The scripture seems to indicate that there wasn’t any real hurry for Isaac to marry, until his mother Sarah dies - then suddenly Abraham realizes that time is a-wastin’, and he better get that boy married off if he has any hope of grandchildren. But who to choose? Not a Canaanite woman for Isaac. So he calls in his faithful servant and sends him on an impossible mission: bring back the perfect woman. Understandably, the servant is skeptical - perfect woman? And what if I can’t even find your family? What if I find Ms. Perfect but she won’t come with me? What then? What if the camel has a flat in the desert?

Abraham makes a statement both simple and profound at once. “The Lord with whom I have walked, will send his angel with you and make your journey a success, so that you can get a wife for my son from my own clan and from my father’s family. Then, when you go to my clan, you will be released from my oath even if they refuse to give her to you - you will be released from my oath.” Abraham essentially tells his servant, “Have faith, you aren’t going alone - there’s an angel that’s going to help you out with the negotiations. And you’re still worried that she won’t agree to travel with you? Fine. You just go. That’s all. I have enough faith that God has already taken care of the problem. Just go. And it will be enough.”

The father of the faithful is best seen in this light - trusting calmly in the promise. How I wish my faith was to that level. It seems that most of the time I want to assist the Lord in bringing about His promises, and then I get frustrated when I can’t. To quote Priscilla McGruder, “Today I

face a mountain that alone I cannot climb.” I’m 34 and have lived for God my whole life. I should know better. I should have great faith. I should trust. And yet - I still want overall approval of the plan before I sign off on it . . .

Today, my prayer is that my faith will be built. That I will trust that God has already taken care of the problem before me. That he has sent his angels along to prepare my way, just because I asked Him too. My responsibility? To go and do the work set before me, trusting that He will do the rest.

The Lord given, and He taketh away . . . blessed be

2009-07-30T12:12:00.000-07:00

What if God gave you everything you ever wanted, and then said, “Give it back”? Sounds cruel, right? Like some kind of twisted game small children play? Back in a less politically correct age, you would have been subjected to a perjorative term like “Indian-giver.” Even as a mature believer - one who counts her servitude as a blessing - I occasionally look at the circumstances of life - simple (a fight with a family member) or complex (the death of a young person) and come to the place of questioning? What sort of God gives and then requires the return of the gift?

Sometimes I wonder if it isn’t in the hands of the receiver. Abraham spent 100 years trusting God for everything. His only hope was God - if God did not deliver an heir, the promise would be without hope! And perhaps God began to wonder, years after Isaac had been given, years after watching the light in Abraham’s eyes each time he viewed his son, years after the promise was re-born in Abraham’s heart in a million different ways - perhaps then God began to wonder . . . does Abraham still trust me, or has he given his heart, his faith, away? Has he transferred his belief to the gift, rather than the giver? So God tested Abraham. Abraham passed.

Other Biblical figures did not pass every test. Moses impatiently struck the rock. Solomon worshiped his wisdom to distraction. Peter got so caught up in rules about what to eat that God had to give him a vision to get him back on track. What does it all mean? Why does God put this . . . stuff . . . in our way, knowing the whole time that it will “trip us up”. Why does he place our very weaknesses right before us as a challenge? Why bother to give us anything? Surely He who is all knowing already knows if we will pass the test or not. So, if He knows, what's the point?

Complicated question. Simple answer. Because He wants to check us. Because allowing us to have truly free will requires that He let go of the reins of control. He lets us mess up. He frees us to fail, if that's what we want. Why? To make sure that our priorities are exactly where they should be. The day that we begin to worship the gift more than the giver is the day that the spirit of Lot has overtaken us all. Distracted by the blessings, we will be unable to worship in spirit, and in truth. We will be imprisoned by the very thing meant to bless us.

I love what God has given me - my friends, my family, my home, the second chance at a life I thought I had forfeited. But if He should require it of me today, I hope that I could stand and give Him praise knowing that He who gave will not require more than I can bear. That He loves me, His child, and the gift more than I can imagine. While I may never fully understand why God chooses to give and take as He does, I know this: I love the Giver more than anything else. Anything. It is enough.

Back to the Basics

2009-02-15T06:44:00.000-08:00

There is no doubt that we are living in times of DOUBT! At least once every 5 minutes, someone is proclaiming that the end of the world is near and the sky is certainly about to fall. Lots of people are losing everything - my family has been touched by the loss of material things, too. And it is only human at those instances to ask the universal, timeless question: Why? Why me? Why this? Why now? Why?

Now after the fabulous set-up, the reader automatically expects an answer - sorry to disappoint, but I don't have one. I'm not sure why the economy is faltering, why it is affecting good people, why it can't be short-lived, why it is happening now, or why it has to happen. But, I will tell you a little secret - I'm hopeful. Hopeful because in times where life is not quite easy and people face tough choices, they remember where their strength truly lies: not in the economy, politics, government programs, or even church activities - but in God alone.

There are many promises in the Bible concerning His faithfulness in times of need. The one that I came across this morning is in Deuteronomy 30:9-10.

9) And the Lord thy God will make thee plenteous in every work of thine hand, in the fruit of thy body, and in the fruit of thy cattle, and in the fruit of thy land, for good: for the Lord will again rejoice over thee for good, as he rejoiced over thy fathers:

10) If thou shalt hearken unto the voice of the Lord thy God, to keep his commandments and his statutes which are written in the book of the law, and if thou turn unto the Lord thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul.

I grew up in the Apostolic Pentecostal church (and I'm still there!) hearing about the great revivals that had occurred shortly before my birth. The early 70s. And, honestly, I've been waiting since then to see something on that scale again - more than a good "revival" set of services, more than a good night of worship, but a real calling to the people: dedicate, commit, live for Me, sacrifice. I've seen many a powerful church service, but, honestly again, I've seen very little personal dedication, and as a consequence, very little "follow-up" to that fabulous service. It's time for that to change.

The promise is there - if we will dedicate ourselves, He will respond as He has since time began. He will be faithful. Our finances will improve, our jobs become sound, and our toys return to their home in the garage. But those are just side effects to the whole: we will be of one purpose with Him. We will see souls not just saved, but irrevocably changed into WHOLENESS. Not just HEALED, but made WHOLE.

I hear the whisper of His words. The question for the reader is simple: do you?

Promises, promises . . .

2009-01-06T04:07:00.000-08:00

Genesis 11 was quite personal to me today. God speaks to Abram and tells him to GO. Abram GOES. God makes promises:

Genesis 11:7 And the Lord appeared unto Abram, and said, "Unto thy seed will I give this land:" and there builded he an altar unto the LORD, who appeared unto him.

If I were Abram, I would be so excited. I would be waking up every morning and looking around for all the great - stuff - that God was promising. I can almost hear Abram waking up and singing - This land is my land! This land is my land! God said it's my land! The land of Canaan! And for a childless man - that his children would have the land? WOW.

And then . . . nothing. Crickets chirped. Famine ensued. And, yep, still no children for Abram and Sarai. Interesting incidents with Abram asking Sarai to lie about being his sister, but no land was his land. And even if it were, there weren't any children to give it to.

Abram believed in the promise, but it gets harder to believe when you wait and wait and wait and wait - and it still doesn't happen. God kept renewing the promise and blessing Abram in other ways, but still no son. Not for a long time. And no land to call his own. For the majority of his life, Abra(ha)m was a nomad.

Most of us would love for God to promise us something, but we would have the fortitude to wait on it the way that Abraham did? Would our faith grow faint in waiting? God has promised me some things, and I often find myself getting frustrated because it is taking SO LONG to get there. Why can't God just hurry up, or at least give me a peek at the blueprints so that I will know what to expect?

God made some promises to me a few months back. And life has been good, but not without challenges, especially for my fabulous husband. He's had to adjust to life in a new area, and God has been making serious changes to who he is becoming. Gone is the BMW, the high-octane job, the freedom and money to take endless vacations. And he's had to learn to cook, because he can't stand anything I make. I have no doubht that he's looked up several times and wondered exactly what he's gotten into and wondered where the promise is. But, like Abraham, he's a faithful man. And God is going to be faithful to him. And since I'm along for the ride too, I guess that means that eventually it will all make sense.

I guess the answer is that God always delivers on His promises, but not necessarily in our time frame. Not necessarily the way we want to see it. Not necessarily in the manner that we expect. But He delivers. Abraham kept believing, in spite of the waiting and in spite of his "mess ups". I'm trying hard to learn to do the same thing. I'd still like to see those blueprints, though?

2008-08-15T10:21:00.000-07:00

A Tale of Two Trees

2008-06-16T11:53:00.000-07:00

I have found through my life that God speaks to me through images. Sometimes they are profound, other times simple. And sometimes they just help me clarify the way that I am feeling at a given moment. This morning was one of those.

I was driving from the farm (where my kids are while I'm working - that's a story for another time) to my office this morning, and I saw the strangest and most beautiful tree. It was fascinating! It had two different types of leaves, two different textures of branches! I was so amazed that I slowed down to take a better look.

And that's when I realized that I was actually looking at two trees, grown so closely together that they had intertwined to form a single 'tree'. From a distance, you saw a beautiful, fascinating sculpture. Up close, you saw the intricacy of nature at work. Two separate trunks, about 3 feet apart, that had grown into a massive and beautifully combined structure. An evergreen and a deciduous tree, in perfect harmony. And as I looked at it, I marvelled at God's creation once again, and I realized something very important about myself.

I married very young, and in the haste of what was once called puppy love. By the one-week anniversary of the union, I regretted the choice. But I viewed (and still view) the vow as sacred, and I did my best to make the marriage work. It was never happy, and I never found the comfort in the relationship that I heard other people describe; but, there was contentment in obedience to God's word. I would never have ended the marriage of my own accord - simply because it went against my principles - but when the dust settled from my rather humiliating abandonment, I found myself keeping company with an emotion that would be considered odd for an abandoned woman: relief. Home became a refuge - a place of peace, rather than strife. Yes, I was relieved and thankful. Growing alone - an independent tree - was much better than being joined to a kudzu vine, so determined to dominate that it would choke the life out of its host without thought or compunction.

But back to the trees . . .

What I realized in that moment was that - should God ever will that singleness is not the state He wishes me to occupy - I want to be like those trees. An independent soul, with my own identity, who finds a way to perfectly meld, mesh and intertwine the aspects of my life with that of another. Not to lose who I am - but to fully and completely complement someone else in such a way that we together are more than we were apart. From a distance, a wondrous and lovely entity. Up close, two distinct identities formed together by the hands of a Creator who is never far away. Cooperative. Cohesive. Beautiful. Whole.

Sound like a fairy tale? Maybe. But wasn't it God who formed man from dust and woman from a rib? Seems like He specializes in fairy tales. And until then? I stand thankful that He takes care of His own.

I Woke Up This Morning With My Mind . . . Stayed on Jesus

2008-05-06T20:09:00.001-07:00

Anyone who has ever been a parent - or just been around a child for any length of time - will tell you that they teach you far more than you will ever teach them . . .

A couple of weeks ago, my son - the smartest, handsomest, cutest, happiest and most loving little boy on the planet (Who me, biased?) - learned a new "trick". He's 14 months old, and new tricks are a specialty with him. He's very talented, and one his most amazing abilities involves his skill as a human alarm clock . . .

Promptly at 4:45 am, he woke up his Mama. As I dragged myself bleary-eyed to a sitting position, he began a very odd ritual. He clapped his hands, threw them up into the air and began to yell "Day-zoo! Day-zoo! Day-zoo!"

Day zoo. ?

My mind started working overtime. Since Pimsleur languages has yet to offer a course in toddler, I was on my own trying to translate this bit of communication. Well, he'd been to the zoo recently. Did he want to spend the day at the zoo?

So, brightly and happily, Mama says, "Oh yes, David Earl. One day soon we will spend a day at the zoo."

Blank stare.

Ok, I'll try again. "Day at the zoo! Monkeys - screech, ooh-ooh, ah-ah. Day at the zoo!"

He's laughing at me, thinking, silly woman. You are SO wrong.

So, I pick him up and we do our daily hug-and-kiss fest before his six year old sister comes in and gets jealous. And I forget about Day-zoo, in more ways than one.

The ritual repeats itself over the next several mornings. Clap-clap-clap. Wave-wave-wave. "Day-zoo! Day-zoo! Day-zoo!" And I am still utterly clueless. Until Sunday morning.

We go to church, drop Noelle off at Sunday school and take our usual pew. I put him down beside me. And then I see it.

Clap-clap-clap. Wave-wave-wave. And with the biggest grin I have EVER seen . . . "Day-zoo! Day-zoo! Day-zoo!" My, my. How foolish am I? Day-zoo is toddler for Je-Sus. And I laughed. And others laughed. And we all thought it was cute. And I missed the point for yet another morning.

Until Monday. 4:45 a.m. I'm still asleep, but I hear it. Clap-clap-clap. Wave-wave-wave. "Day-zoo! Day-zoo! Day-zoo!" And then the Lord speaks to me in that strange way that He will sometimes. The old song began to play in my mind:

I woke up this morning with my mind . . . staid on Jesus
I woke up this morning with my mind . .. staid on Jesus

And as the melody played on in my brain, this question came with it: How many times have you sung that song? Did you ever REALLY mean it? Did you ever REALLY wake up and think of Me?

And as I watched my sweet baby son, I realized he is a whole lot smarter than I am. He's still a baby who needs assistance to do . . . everything . . . but he's learned the most important lesson of all. Where his first priority should be.

Clap-clap-clap. Wave-wave-wave. Day-zoo! Day-zoo!

I may be a slow-learner, but I know when the Master is teaching me a lesson. So I lifted my hands, and joined my son.

Clap-clap-clap. Wave-wave-wave. Day-zoo! Jesus! THIS is the way to start the day!

Four hands, two voices. One Father, watching over us both. Thank you, my son. You have this day made your mother proud, and wiser too.

Of Human Bondage . . . and Tahitian Pork Roast

2008-04-30T08:05:00.000-07:00

We are all bound by our expectations. We anticipate that things will go a certain way, and when they don't - we become frustrated and angry. We expect God to answer our prayers OUR way, and when He doesn't . . .

I purchase food through a food co-op - you pay for a box, and they fill it up. In that box are many things - things that must be cooked. And things that offer occasions for frustration.

So - I'm sure you're wondering where this is going - in the box of food, there was a pork roast. Very nice cut. Just perfect for one can of mushroom soup, some potatoes and some carrots. Traditional meat and potatoes. I was SO ready to get it going and then . . .

I checked the cupboards. No soup. No regular potatoes. Just a can of pineapple chunks in juice and a sweet potato. It was catastrophe. It was horror. It was unimaginable. OH THE HUMANITY . . . Roast can't be cooked any other way, can it?

Hardly realizing what I was doing, I opened the pineapples and dumped them in. Well, I was committed, might as well finish it . . . I peeled the potato, chopped it and put it in there too. And then the frenzy began. What other strange things could I put in with that roast? Two oranges, an onion, the left-overs of a bottle of barbeque sauce, honey, lemon pepper, spices, salt, pepper . . .

Well, I had done it - but how would it taste? I decided that, if I liked it, I'd name it Tahitian Pork Roast, and if I didn't, I'd tell myself that the pineapples just FELL in there. Eight hours later, my kids and I ate the best pork roast that has ever been prepared within the walls of my kitchen. Tahitian Pork Roast. Which led me to the question . . .

What do we miss when we are bound up in our expectations? When we as so caught up in our expectations of what SHOULD BE, do we miss what COULD BE if only we would let go of the reins - just a little?

I suppose I could have re-wrapped that pork roast and saved it for another day. I'm sure it would have been a good pork roast in the traditional sense. But I'm glad I didn't wait. I'm glad I took the plunge.

We aren't always promised and safe and smooth voyage. And we are not always promised that we will have the ending we expect. Sometimes, you just have to take the plunge.

Tahitian Pork Roast, anyone?

Ending One Dream . . . and Beginning Another

2008-04-24T10:34:00.000-07:00

I can distinctly remember the day 3 years and 11 months ago that I signed the papers purchasing my home. It was sunny, and I knew there was a busy afternoon of moving ahead of us. I had just completed my first year of full-time teaching. My daughter was 2. And I was idly dreaming - with every box packed, with every wall painted - of the life we would build within those walls.

Fast forward - 3 years and 11 months later . . .

Those dreams are gone. They have been mourned. But it is time to move on. To new dreams . . .

Today, I signed the papers for my house again. The weather is just as sunny, but there is no busy moving ahead (though I do need to clean up the toys in the living room and call the plumber to work on the back bathroom). I now work as a paralegal part-time and a teacher part-time. My teaching contract has renewed! My daughter is 6, and my son is 13 months. And I'm idly dreaming again, but much differently this time . . .

I know that I'm expected to feel sadness - or at the least, melancholy - about this event. I know that because each time I share my news, people tell me how sorry they are - and I'm taken aback a moment before I respond to their sympathy. I know why they are acknowledging the sadness in the moment, but I'm not feeling sadness. Or bitterness or anger, or melancholy.

Instead, I'm relieved. I'm hopeful. I'm happy. When the world fell apart, I didn't believe that there was any way my children and I would still have a home when the dust settled - but look what God has done! It's a miracle! When the world fell apart, God was STILL THERE! And I just cannot honestly say that it leaves me with anything but . . . wonder, joy and hope. It's the ultimate miracle - the one that Christ performs in every life - when He takes the broken things and makes them better than they were before they were broken! And I rejoice at what He has done!

If He has ordered my steps through the minefield of the past few years, what more do I have to fear? He will order my steps through everything else as well. And I can be nothing but thankful for the new dreams - and the plans that He has for me.

So my daydreaming this time is much more general, because I have no idea what God has planned. I only know that He is good and will walk with me through every plan He has made. Whatever they might be . . .

A Mississippi Interfaith Prayer Meeting

2008-04-16T07:15:00.000-07:00

My daughter attends the same school I teach at. It's a secular private school that is based on Christian principals. That basically means that prayer is okay within the class, they have devotionals, and faith can be discussed openly. But it's not corporate. And there are a good many non-Christian students.

Noelle is in K5, and her best buddies are Navarn and Tanya, children of Indian immigrants, and Wondeful, a Chinese immigrant. They are Hindu and Buddhist respectively. We were having a discussion this morning on prayer, and Noelle informed me that she, Wondeful, Navarn and Tanya had a prayer meeting on the playground yesterday, and that they have prayer every day at lunch. I was curious and asked her to explain:

At lunch, Noelle apparently blesses her food every day and ends her prayer with the phrase, "and don't let me throw up in Jesus name." Her friends have noticed the prayer, and since she has never thrown up after lunch, they decided to pray it too. (I have no idea why any of them expect to throw up.)

They gained such faith by the evidence of not throwing up after lunch, that when a caterpillar crisis erupted yesterday on the playground, they had a plan. One of the other children, Thomas Daniel, had thrown a handful of caterpillars he had collected into a puddle, and said caterpillars were struggling for survival. Noelle and her friends "rescued" them from the puddle, but apparently, they thought the caterpillars were still in distress. So, Noelle led them in prayer for the lives of the caterpillars - she pled the blood of Jesus over the puddle-drenched caterpillars. And pretty soon, Nevarn, Tanya and Wondeful were pleading the blood of Jesus too.

I had to try really hard, but I didn't laugh when my daughter told this story, because she was wonderfully serious about the whole thing. The caterpillars survived, and she's convinced it was the blood of Jesus that did it. I'm not sure if Jesus' blood literally saved the caterpillars, but I know that it left an impression on four little girls praying on the playground.

And for one moment in the world, in Central Mississippi, there was a prayer meeting of one Apostolic, one Buddhist and two Hindus where all four were pleading the blood of Jesus. My own prayer? That it will be a seed in the hearts of those children that God will nurture into something bigger than we can imagine.

Sometimes God can use foolish things to confound we who feel so wise . . .

2008-04-05T09:08:00.000-07:00

Dear Lord,

I received that call again today - the one that has come one time too many. My sister, your child, is still on the path of the prodigal, and she's found herself in the pigpen again. Lord, I don't have the strength to walk this path.

I've learned the hard way that I can fix it. I've tried. I've failed miserably. I've learned the hard way that my humanity fails every time. As much as I love her, I cannot 'fix' it. I can do nothing. I am powerless, and I don't like that feeling.

You are an all-seeing, all-powerful God. You see exactly where she is this morning, and you will know her steps this evening. Several months ago, I took this situation, and I placed it on the altar of faith. I began to trust that YOU were the author and finisher of my faith, even on this most difficult path. And now God, as I am tempted to grab my telephone and start making futile attempts to "fix" it, I will instead remind myself that this is no longer my problem. It is YOURS.

Into Your capable hands, I commended her soul, and her life. And I will renew that again this moment - today, this day, I once again hand this mess over to You. Take my mustard seed of faith and multiply as only You can!

She was dedicated to you as a baby. She has experienced the power of Your Holy Spirit taking hold of her life. You know how to draw her near, though I do not. You are an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent Father, and You know just what it will take to bring her back to the Father's house. I trust You to do it.

Two thousand years ago, there was another dark moment when hope died. The Messiah lay in a tomb, and Hell rejoiced. But how wrong they were! Peter's faith collapsed. I can't blame him - mine probably would have too. But he simply couldn't see your plan - it felt like failure because it didn't look like he thought it should. BUT YOU WERE STILL GOD. YOU WERE STILL IN CONTROL. And Hell had to take a step back just a few days later, when deliverance arrived in a most unexpected way! You conquered death and the grave. And you did it for me. And you did it for my sister.

And as doubt whispers in my ear that I need to get up and fight the battle, I know that the battle was over long ago. I can't say that I see or understand Your plan in all of this, but I know what the end will be! The victory is mine - and hers - if I will just get out of the way. Satan can rage - he is defeated anyway. Tempest in a teapot . . .

So in this dark moment, I will rejoice. I will sing your praises. Here in my living room, I will dance before you. For victory is mine. Though I can't yet see the plan, You can. And that's enough. You are in the pigpen with her, and You know the way out.

So I will praise your name. You are God. You are good. I choose to trust. It is enough.

Amen

On the Road One Morning . . .

2008-04-02T19:50:00.000-07:00

On my way to work this morning, my mind was wandering . . . always a dangerous thing! I've been employed by the same law firm for almost 10 years. It's a 1 mile commute from my home, and I am, shall we say, intimately familiar with the route.

Not much has changed in 10 years. Sure a few houses have changed ownership, new plants have been planted - but I have basically been waving at the same people on my "commute" for the past ten years.

Graduating college, through my pregnancies, the births of my children, buying a new home, the collapse of my marriage, turning 30, so many important milestones, marked right here, on this road . . .

Then my mind proceeded into sci-fi mode (told you that it was dangerous when my mind wanders), and I began to wonder what would happen if time itself dissolved, and I could meet myself on this same road 10 years ago. What would I say to myself? What wisdom would I impart? Would I warn myself about impending doom? Would I remind myself that I should take joy in EVERY moment?

And the answer came, sweet and soft. There is only one message that I would need to give my old "self", should sci-fi world ever come to pass. For all the "flights of fancy" advice I can think of, there is only ONE piece of wisdom that I would give a younger me:

Jesus is everything. Keep your eyes on Him. And don't worry, He is in control.

Sitting here at my keyboard, I am reminded that He has been SO faithful to me. I am safe and secure and am providing a safe and stable home for my children. I am a member of a loving family and church family. I am now 9 months cancer-free. He is SO GOOD. I would change nothing - not one thing - for He has walked with me, carrying me through it all. And I have learned after 32 years what it means to rest in the shadow of his wings.

I've been humming the old hymn I Know Who Holds Tomorrow all day. If I have Him, what else could I possibly need? What more could I possibly wish to know? It's ALL in Him.

Many things about tomorrow
I don't seem to understand
But I know who holds tomorrow
AND I KNOW HE HOLDS MY HAND

Thank you, Father, for holding my hand through it all.

Dear God, How Do I Answer Her Questions?

2008-03-31T19:44:00.000-07:00

This has just been one of those days. Everyday I wake up thankful to be alive, but then there are those moments . . .

My daughter is 6. She's what was once called precocious. This week, she's been telling people that she is suffering from summer pollen. Thursday, she looked at me and said, in the most somber voice, "Momma, is Nationwide really on our side?" She tells her brother (he's a year old) on a daily basis that he needs to grow up, but not too fast. Normally, it's just great entertainment to listen to what she comes up with, but tonight in the bath tub she blindsided me.

"Momma, I want to make sure I pick the right husband when I grow up."

I was not quite sure where she was going with that. So I replied, "Sweetie, if you talk to Jesus about it, and always remember to seek Him first no matter what, I'm sure that won't be a problem." End of discussion - I hoped. Wrong.

"Momma, was Daddy the right husband for you?"

Yikes. Difficult, but not impossible. "Yes, sweetie, I think God brought us together. He gave us you and David, and we both love you."

"If Daddy was the right husband, why doesn't he live here anymore? Why doesn't he love you? Momma, I'm just so sad."

There are no right answers then. Only pain in a tiny heart. Only pain in my heart too. How do I tell her that I prayed every day, for many years, that God would change her Daddy's heart. How can I tell her that I was SO SURE I was in His plan, but sometimes now I wonder? I don't want her to know what Daddy has done. I want . . . so many things. But now, God, I need an answer, because she's waiting for me to give her one.

So, since I didn't have one, we prayed. Yep, with her in the bathtub, and David saying, "Duck . . .quack" in baby voice. There was no revelation, but she eventually stopped crying and we went to watch an episode of *Little House on the Prairie*. I'm still waiting for the lightning and thunder - the answer to her question.

Because I want the answer too.

I don't know the answers or the reasons why. I only know that He who made heaven and earth is looking after us both. For me, it's enough. For her, I think it will be too. He is faithful, even when others are not. He is God. He took away the pain in my heart when I asked Him to, instantly. I pray that He will do the same for my baby. Please Jesus, heal her heart.

Death of a Marriage: May 21, 1994 - March 20, 2008

2008-03-21T19:01:00.000-07:00

The call came at around 2:00 this afternoon. The judge had signed my final divorce decree, and my marriage was over. Thirteen years, 9 months, 29 days from the day it began, it was over.

I wasn't quite sure how I would feel when it was final - oh, I had ideas, but nothing definite. Having had approximately nine hours to reflect, this is as good as it gets:

1) I am relieved. My marriage became a lie a long time before I was willing to admit it. I was working, giving, loving, and trying, while my partner - my husband who had promised to love and cherish me - was constantly pursuing his own interests and excluding the family we had created. My custody order is in place. I have primary custody of my children, and I am able to make most decisions concerning their care.

2) I am sad. It is a death. I had many dreams on the day I married. I had many dreams, not even very long ago, about what marriage meant. The dreams are officially dead today. And I'm okay with that. It was time. Yet I am still sad.

There are benchmark moments in this life. Our births are celebrated each year. Later anniversaries. We know exactly where we were the moment we found out our first child was coming into the world. We remember the moment we looked into that tiny face and saw the mystery of creation and the glory of God reflected in this tiny human face. Everyone remembers where they were when they heard the towers had been hit by airplanes. We remember our wedding day . . .

And I will choose to remember this day as the end of the beginning of my life. I am no longer naive. No longer a child. I know who I am, why I am on this planet, and what I must do. I will walk forward and do it.

And never again will I settle for anything less than everything that I deserve from someone who claims to love me. This is the lesson I have learned.

Noelle - Green Thumb, thanks to Pawpaw

2007-03-27T20:35:00.000-07:00

Noelle has been helping Mim and Pawpaw in the yard a LOT. I think they have been letting her help mainly as a way to give me a break. It also gives her a little freedom from her baby brother's crying.

Not that he's a bad baby. He's just confused about nights and days. He seems to sleep like a champ during the day and then stay up all night. I'm longing for sleep, but it doesn't seem forthcoming.

Noelle got terribly upset yesterday because she dropped a caterpillar. She got another one today, but I made her put it on a tree before we left school. She was okay once I reminded her that Pawpaw had promised that he would find a caterpillar for her soon.

David is getting more alert as days go on. He's actually paying attention to me when I talk now. It's going to be fun watching him grow and develop.

On our walk tonight, we ran in to Danny, Allison and the kids outside in their yard. FUnny how our kids are so close in age. Noelle enjoyed playing with Starr. We may have to set up a play date some time soon.

Just getting started!

2007-03-24T21:32:00.000-07:00

Well, kicking and screaming, I guess I have officially entered the digital age. The main reason for this blog is to keep up with pictures and happenings about the kids. Lots of family members want to keep up with us, and this is an easy way to do it!

Hopefully, I'll be able to add journaling to each of the posts and keep everyone updated on my fabulous family - after all, I do have the best two kids on the planet.