Don't mess with me right now. I'm a little on edge.

Frankentoe has now become Frankenfoot. I had surgery June 4 to repair, realign, shorten, you name it. Years of pointing my toe in order to reach the gas pedal (you tall people have no idea what I'm talking about) combined with at least a couple of poorly-healed breaks led to some nerve damage that could no longer be ignored. That plus the fact that I had a toe whose bruising caused me to have to change my polish color to purple to match the constant hue of the nail and one that had to be encased in a nylon sheath every time it was stuffed into a shoe. Yeah, my right foot was, as one medical professional put it: "A hot mess."

So now I am looking at several weeks of not putting any weight on it at all. Several weeks of being extremely dependent on others for...most everything.
Ask me which is bothering me more: enduring pain or being a pain? I'll let you answer that.

"But God is faithful. He will not let you be tempted (in this case, tempted to scream 'I have to get up right now and go drive somewhere and get a shower and carry my own coffee!!') beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted He will also provide a way out (in this case the WHOLE INTERNET) so that you can stand up (or lie down) under it." 1 Corinthians 10:13b

And so, those of you who choose to read my mind online, get ready for a few weeks of reflections, opinions, and laughter. It's my hope that as I share my experiences with you, you will become more aware of the work of the Lord in your life, as I am becoming increasingly aware of His work in mine.

 

 A combination of too much time on my hands, denial that I am really using a walker, and the fact that I never can be satisfied with things that are too generic, led me to decorate my walker. A late Baby Boomer version of Pimp my Ride. There were several ways I could have gone with it, but the style that won out was a cross between Breakfast at Tiffany's and Breakfast at Cracker Barrel. I bought black duct tape and adhesive-backed rhinestones. Then I got busy. The result did exactly what I wanted: it drew attention away from the fact that I am using an appliance for assistance and it made me smile. Hopefully others would smile too.  There was one area that I couldn't really mess with though; a series of hinges which allowed my Sweet Ride to collapse, and the stickers that warned me of eminent danger if I didn't follow directions. Yes, I considered a big old plastic diamond right smack in the middle, but then I thought, "what if it collapses and the insurance company fights my bills because of a plastic diamond?" So the sticker stayed. A week into using the walker I began to think about the wording on the warning label and the way I interpret it.

 

 

As most Church Women, I have taught preschool. Yes, I wear that as a Badge of Honor, because nothing is more intimidating than a group of 3 year olds. Wide eyes, short attention spans, and never-ending curiosity all wrapped up in an adorable 33 pound bundle. As simultaneously precious and scary as a baby leopard, you do not want to let them have the upper hand, mostly because they are covered with fuzz, jelly, play-doh, and dirt.

 

Because these precious tiny hands are constantly moving, I always prepared my kids for prayer by teaching them to close their eyes, put their hands together in their lap, and bow their heads. I tried to eliminate as many distractions as possible so that they could focus on the God that is never distracted from us. I suppose I was ensuring that they were "locked and in place."

 

I would begin to lead then in prayer in a soft, gentle voice, all the time aware of squirms, wiggles, and the occasional "just get up and walk around and play with trucks and kick things." After all, they're three year-olds!!!

 

But what about us? Oh, reader, I am right smack in the middle of being prayed for right now by some of the best. I mean THE BEST. Real prayer warriors if there ever were some. I know these people and I know their hearts and I have been in their company when they pray and they lift up prayers that are the kind that make you a little embarrassed, because it's like you're eavesdropping on a conversation between them and God. Because you are.

 

So again I ask: What about us? How focused are we when we approach the Throne of Grace? Billy Graham once said, "It's not the body's posture, but the heart's attitude that counts when we pray." I know, Rev. Graham. I know.

 

I do now.

 

The little one who was up and about and so active was listening to everything I said and sharing his own precious heart. (The others were probably focused on their own fuzzy, sticky fingers) We can be on our knees or in our car or washing dishes and bring our deepest concerns before our God because He only requires our focus, our hearts, to be locked on Him. We add the casual, "I'll pray for you" or click "like" on Facebook and add "Praying" in the comments and go back to looking at our friend's new puppy pictures. Did we pray? Did we? I mean, PRAY?

 

And then there's the corporate prayer. When we join together as one before the Lord and lift our collective hearts to Him. The Bride of Christ petitioning for His church. How amazing. Unless we are digging through our purse for a mint. Or planning our strategy out of the parking lot and to the restaurant. Or still holding on to bitterness that has no room for grace. Are our prayers focused toward the One we pray to or to the ones who hear us? Are they God-seeking or self-serving? Are they filled with grace and humility? Or are they uttered with an attitude of anger? Be real. But be real with respect. And for the right reasons. And make sure you are locked in and focused, or everything will collapse around you.

 

 

There are two other little stickers, one in each corner, that read "PUSH TO RELEASE." Remember, I told you I'm a little on edge.

 

All it takes is a little push...

 

 

 

 





When God's People Hurt...Each Other

Pain. It's something we are all familiar with to some extent. From paper cuts to broken toes to childbirth or kidney stones-- when something hurts we don't like it and we want it to stop. Now, in hospitals and doctor's offices all across the land there is this "pain chart." Sort of a timeline concept. They ask you to rate the level of your pain on the "timeline" with one end, the 0, being a happy face and the end, the 10, being all red and crying and sad. "That should just about sum it up," someone said in a board meeting. "Zero to ten and happy vs. sad. Next: let's rate hospital food from 'mildly disgusting' to 'put the cover back on the tray before I puke.'"

 

I TOTALLY understand why this chart is needed. When the medical professional needs to know how bad you are hurting, you can look at this chart through your tears and point with the unbroken hand at the "HURTS WHOLE LOT" face and he or she can know that you need the Big Pain Meds. And a cookie.

I can never really rely on myself and my own judgment with that pain chart though. For one thing, I can actually handle a lot of pain. I have a few things wrong that cause me to hurt. Most of the time. Another reason it's hard for me is that I know there always has to be some pain out there somewhere that is worse than what I am experiencing right now, so therefore I at least have to reserve 10 for that. Like if I were to lose a limb or be burned or something. Right there would be the 10. So my foot issue is about a 2 compared to that. Until the doctor looks at it and tells me that I should have had surgery 15 years ago.
Applying my pain to a laminated chart of smileys is just a throw of the dice.

Pain is relative. If it hurts and is only pain, then I'm good. I can put it in its cubbyhole of nagging and annoying and keep going. But when it's pain that is not physical; when it comes from deep within and is the kind of pain that brings grief and anguish, I tend to get serious about it.

I have found, in my time here on the planet, that Christians tend to handle emotional pain fairly well. We have a way of putting things in perspective, for we know our time here is temporary and that something more wonderful than we can imagine awaits us. So how bad can it be? Romans 8:31 reminds us that "If God is for us, then who can stand against us?" And when Chris Tomlin tells me that "the God of angel armies is always on my side" I fairly well rejoice myself right out of the car! I want to play that when I'm cut off while driving. Play it when I am having to interrupt the oh-so-important conversation between the eye-rolling teenage girls at Starbucks in order to get them to make me an over-priced iced tea. Play it loud and clear for those who talk about me behind my back. Kind of like a lingering perfume that wafts gently over to them and intrudes on their whispers long enough to help them remember that Jesus is listening and His angel army is on my side. Then maybe they sneeze.

Yes, we Christians know we will be talked about. Laughed at. Persecuted. The Bible warns us and promises us a blessing: "Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me." (Matthew 5:11) We stand ready for that. What we aren't ready for, what we are always surprised at, is when it comes from our sisters and brothers. Yes, they are human and they sin.

But they know better.

We know it's wrong to cause pain. We know it because we are loved by a God who never, ever, caused anyone to hurt. My God never gossiped, He never deceived, He never intimidated. So when we are confronted by the sins of our own, OUR OWN, we are stunned. How could she treat me this way? Why is he being so mean? Our heart breaks because we thought, we really thought, we were family and we were special. We try to analyze the action. There had to be a reason for this behavior. It has to be something I did or said or didn't do or say...it gives us a feeling of dread and fatigue. This isn't at all what fellowship in the family of faith is supposed to be like. We wanted, we expected, the Love of Christ. What we got was the sin of the world. From a brother. From a sister. We feel pain, confusion, hurt. And we want it to stop.

But we have to forgive.

 

Funny thing, though, about forgiveness. It's easy to forgive the sins of the unsaved, the ones who don't know the Jesus that is ready to forgive them. The One and Only Who died so that they don't have to be trapped by this sin.

They don't know better.

So we can count that as our witness project and be Love and be Forgiveness. We can point the way and not shake a fist. It's the ones who know Him who make it hard. We have to forgive them, too. But we must also look to 2 Timothy and "correct, rebuke, and encourage-with great patience and careful instruction." You see, it does no good to suffer the hurt, get offended, and retreat away from the brother or sister. We must draw nearer and instruct, so their sin won't continue. That, my friends, is hard. But it's what you would want if you had been the one who caused the hurt.

Pray hard. Reach out. Correct. Rebuke. Encourage. GENTLY. And love.

 

Because we know better. 

One time I dreamed...

One time I dreamed I was at the crucifixion.

How's that for an opening sentence? But it's true. It was the most realistic, pivotal, and unforgettable dream that I have ever had in my 55 years of life on this planet.

It wasn't during the Easter season or even Spring when I had this dream. Actually it was in October, I think. I hadn't been studying any particular part of Scripture that was lingering with me when I went to bed. I think that's one reason it weighed so heavily on my mind- it took me totally by surprise. That and the fact that I was at the crucifixion.

I was lying on the ground. It was a grassy hill and I was on my stomach. I was wearing black and I had my head covered; I was looking ahead at three crosses. The sky was light pink and green and yellow- like a twilight sky, but it wasn't twilight and the colors were not bright. Very pale. The crosses looked black against the sky. The air was cool and still.

As I looked at the crosses I knew there were men on each of them. And I knew the one in the center was Jesus. He was in agony. I must have known Him because my heart was so heavy with despair. I knew He was dying and there was nothing I could do.

In the dream I knew I had been there for some time. Hours. I had crawled along the hill to be as close as I dared to go. I was filled with more desperation as I heard him cry "'Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?" I couldn't understand something. Things felt odd and confusing. Why would God be forsaking Him? I didn't know then that Jesus could not be One with the Father because He had taken on my sin. There could be no sin in the presence of God. I knew that I deserved this kind of death, not The Sinless One. There was stirring at the cross, the guards doing something. Clanging of metal armor and coins.

Then I heard Him say "It is finished." I understood the meaning behind the phrase; that His work on Earth was completed. He had done what He was intended to do.

I lay as still as I could lay. My hands were gripping the ground with every bit of strength I had. I could smell the earth beneath me, I could feel the blades of grass between my fingers. A layer of gray covered the sky behind the crosses. The hillside shook. I was shaking as well.

Then I woke up.

My heart was racing. I looked around my room. I knew I would never be the same. Even today, as I write this, I can still smell the moist grass and I can still feel the ground beneath me. And I can still look upon that cross with amazement. But I feel no despair as I did in my dream. I feel no confusion. For I know that my sin was paid for on that hill and that my promise of everlasting life was fulfilled when Jesus left the tomb. My hope lies in an empty grave.

I know that, at the time of my dream, I was enduring some pretty heavy issues. I remember that life was difficult at work. I was facing conflicts and doubts and deception. That dream left me quaking but confident in the simplicity of my faith. No matter what troubles surround me. No matter the stress. No matter the hurt. No matter the insult. No matter...what. It all pales in the shadow of the cross and there is no room for doubt in that empty grave.

I didn't really speak of my dream for a while. I told my husband, but no one else for some time. As you can imagine, it was quite disturbing. The events throughout the day seemed so trivial. Oh, the printer out of ink and we have the wrong cartridge? Guess what? I dreamed of Golgotha- I'm kind of preoccupied right now. To have been allowed some kind of emotional glimpse into the most important part of my faith, to be unconsciously there...but wait.

Wasn't I there? Weren't we all, really? Our sins were. They were right there on His heart and mind when He was being brutalized, suffering, and dying.

So as I contemplate the events of this Good Friday I do so with a different perspective now.

You see, I was there.



When was the last time someone showed you compassion? I mean the real, honest, selfless kind of compassion. Want a really good definition of compassion? Try: suffering alongside. Doesn't that just say it all? Drawing near, near enough to be alongside, then suffering right there with someone. Not just saying how sorry you are. Suffering- feeling the pain. Close-up, alongside. Maybe someone suffered alongside you with a phone call.  A gentle conversation that was mostly filled with silent listening. Or they asked you if you were ok and they really meant it. They had time to listen because they already knew you weren't ok. And they were there to "pray you through." Maybe they sent a touching card or stopped by to offer you...themselves. And time together with the Savior.

Prayer.

 

Wasn't it amazing? Wasn't it just The Best Thing? Maybe they spoke some helpful words that comforted or they offered to go into the Word and seek the Father's help. Sometimes just coming alongside us, sitting with us in the middle of our mess, and understanding. We don't have to have had the Bad Thing,  whatever it was, happen to us in order to feel someone's pain. In fact, we don't even have to agree with the person in order to exhibit compassion. If you love someone, their pain is your pain. You ache right there with them.

Because wounds are wounds, no matter if they are self-inflicted, accidental, or intentional. Do doctors only treat patients who have been hurt accidentally? And haven't all parents had a sense of compassion and tenderness for a child in the middle of meting out discipline? It doesn't mean we change things or that we disagree with the situation, it simply means we care. 

As Christians, we are to be compassionate people. John 13:34-35 tells us to love each other. Simple as that. There are really no strings attached to this one, nor is there room to question.  

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

Note that there is no reference to whether you agree, whether your friends agree, or whether you will benefit. "YOU MUST." It's a commandment. Love. Simply love. For I do not believe you can love and not have compassion.

So now let's look at the reverse side of this compassion thing.

When was the last time you were compassionate to someone?

Wasn't THAT just the Very Best Thing?

 

 

To know that you have been a part of the real Big Picture in life- well there just isn't anything that gets any better than that. You have been obedient to the Lord. You have shown the closest thing to His love that we can get on this planet. You have loved selflessly, you've come alongside and mourned, wept, questioned, talked, been still, offered advice, prayed, and then you stood up, dusted your compassionate knees off, and continued on the path set before you. You have not done this in vain, dear sister. If you have offered a word from the Word, it will not return void and you will be rewarded. (Isaiah 55:11, 1 Corinthians 3:7-9) Not that we do any of this for a reward-- no, not at all. But to know that we are pleasing our Father is enough to bring us right back on our dusty old knees and praise Him for His love shown toward us!

 

And then there's the Third Side of this compassion triangle. The side we don't like very much. There's the side that is not pretty or rewarding or pleasing.

 

When was the last time you had an opportunity to show compassion and you ignored it?

 

Wasn't that just...the very worst thing.

 

 

You know you've done it. We all have. Or maybe I'm the ONLY GUILTY ONE and this blog is totally meant to beat me up and, if so, that's ok too. For I am guilty of not showing the love and compassion and suffering that I want to show to so many who are hurting and needy and sad and trapped and abused. How dare I not show them that I get it? That I know.

 

 

It must be pride. It must be. Even though I don't want to admit it. Maybe I don't want other people seeing me identify with the... "less fortunate." Maybe they will "Think Things About Me." Or maybe they will not think other things.

When Jesus was presented with the woman caught in adultery, how did He react? This is one of my favorite passages, for it shows the meekness yet the immeasurable power of my Savior.

John 8

Holman Christian Standard Bible (HCSB)

8 ¹ But Jesus went to the Mount of Olives.

An Adulteress Forgiven

² At dawn He went to the temple complex again, and all the people were coming to Him. He sat down and began to teach them.
³ Then the scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman caught in adultery, making her stand in the center. ⁴ “Teacher,” they said to Him, “this woman was caught in the act of committing adultery. ⁵ In the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do You say?” ⁶ They asked this to trap Him, in order that they might have evidence to accuse Him.
Jesus stooped down and started writing on the ground with His finger. ⁷ When they persisted in questioning Him, He stood up and said to them, “The one without sin among you should be the first to throw a stone at her.”
⁸ Then He stooped down again and continued writing on the ground. ⁹ When they heard this, they left one by one, starting with the older men. Only He was left, with the woman in the center. ¹⁰ When Jesus stood up, He said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”
¹¹ “No one, Lord,”^[a] she answered.
“Neither do I condemn you,” said Jesus. “Go, and from now on do not sin anymore.”

 

They tried to entrap Jesus. They thought, they really thought, they could "outsmart" the King of Kings. He was teaching. He was doing what He loved to do and they chose that time to actually imagine that He would have His guard down. I can only imagine how that conversation went. It would be like Moe, Larry, and Curly standing behind a temple curtain plotting to come upon Him when JESUS least expected it.

HE'S JESUS!

 

 



It's fascinating to me that He didn't choose this time to get angry. He was angered at the swindlers misusing and abusing the Temple, but here all He needed to do was to write something in the sand. Something so powerful that the crowd disassembled, starting with the older (and presumably wiser) men.

Have you ever witnessed God work this way in your life? Events orchestrated so that those who try to do you harm are actually blocked from doing so? The evil just retreats because it is no match for the power of God in the life of His children. I have stood amazed. So must that woman have been...amazed.

Wonder what He wrote...


I will show compassion. And I will tremble at the thought of what Jesus would write in the sand about me.  

 

 



 

 

I can work through headaches. I can deal with sore feet. I have the usual aches and pains of a middle aged woman, but there are two things that completely undo me: a sore throat and when I get Something In My Eye.

When I get something in my eye I go just a little CrAzY.

Whatever it is. Soap. Mascara. Eyelash. I really CAN NOT function. My thought process becomes totally devoted to the fact THAT SOMETHING IS IN MY EYE. I start trying to find it- first pulling my lid down and sticking my finger in it (like putting more things in there is actually going to help). I try not to rub it, which is what everyone tells you not to do, but is the very thing you want to do so badly. It's all I can think about. I am obsessed with the feeling that there is something most certainly where it should not be. Do not talk to me. Don't ask me any questions. I can't think. I won't be listening. I have something IN MY EYE!!!

What we are told to do when we have something in our eye is to close the eye and let our own tears take care of getting it out. I first learned this important nugget of first-aid in third grade when I got playground sand in my eye and the school nurse used a wet, grainy, brown paper towel to get it out and thus scratched my cornea. I had to wear an eye patch for weeks. (By the way, there is a statute of limitations as to how long you can tell a little blonde girl to pretend she is a pirate and not have her permanently damaged). Which is probably why I freak out when I get a THING in my eye. I don't want to be a pirate again.

When I am done losing my mind over The Thing, or when I am just plain exhausted, I often ask someone (usually and always my husband) if he sees anything in my eye. His answer is usually and always "no" and is also followed by "just close your eyes and let the tears take care of it." Such a wise man.

The closing of the eyes. The tears. The waiting. It takes time, patience, and trust. I give the body that God designed exactly what it needs: time to do its thing. I am a patient person (except when a Mack truck has parked itself over my iris). I can do this. All I have to do is pray- because that's how I have learned to trust. When I pray, I give every concern, every fear, every frustration to the only One Who can make all of them vanish in the wind. As surely as He flooded the earth He can rinse out my annoying little speck. I try my best in these times to focus only on Him. Because I am miserable.

I know I am not alone in this (maybe the entire freak out part); no one likes to have something in her eye. And I do believe women suffer more from this than men, unless the man works in a place with lots of cinders and sand and such. And, by the way, hats off to you, contact lens wearers, for you must be able to endure anything if you can function with something rolling around in your eye/head/lids. Wow.

So that's one reason why Matthew 7:3 really hits me. I can't imagine looking for anything in anyone else's eye when I have something in mine! Remember, I am in a state of non-functioning right about now. I am consumed with my own issues. I am in no position to deal with anyone else's mess when I am so messed up myself!

 “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?"

Yes, I understand this is about much more than a lesson in human behavior when struggling with a foreign object. This parable is, in fact, an old one. So old that the Pharisees would have recognized it. So old that it would have caught their attention and it would have caused them to take notice of the One speaking it. Yet so new and fresh in its application that today the verse hits me right between my plank-filled eyes. I have no right to be critical. I have no right to be judgmental. Certainly a right to be prayerful and cautious and concerned- that can lead to productive conversations--and hopefully changed hearts and circumstances. But there is no place for prejudice in the Kingdom of God. And, dear readers, unless we are engaged in dialogue with the ones we are being so judgmental of, and unless we are building relationships that can bridge these gaps, we are doing Christ an injustice and we are judging others simply based on what we see. With our eyes. That are full of "junk."

I also love the exaggeration used in this passage. I just do! For all of His patience, all of His longsuffering, Jesus seems to be totally exasperated here, and once again uses His wit to make such a profound point, all without being hurtful or rude. He didn't - and doesn't- need to belittle or hurt anyone to make a point. He never did. He never will. Certainly Jesus' words stir us and convict us, or at least they should. But His words never, ever mock or boast or exploit. For that is not the Heart of a Savior. Not the heart of my Savior.

For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him.   John 3:17



So as I go through these days of specks and spots and planks, I take the advice given. I close my eyes, let the tears come- and along with them, the prayers- and I wait for the foreign object, the thing that does not belong, the misery to go away.

My Superhero

If I were a superhero, my weapon of choice would be the bullwhip.

I know what you're thinking. You are probably thinking that a superhero wouldn't need a weapon, right? Because, since superheroes have super powers already, why the need for arms? You may be also be wondering whether a bullwhip is the wisest choice, what with all the ray guns and lasers and bomby things that a world-class Defender would have at his, or in this case, HER, disposal. We'll get to my reasons in a bit. Right now I have to deal with the rest of you who think it odd that I would even be thinking this way. Get over it. I'm me and I'm who God created and He allows my imagination to go places that make me think and smile and appreciate Him in even the smallest things.

 

So for now, we are going to think about superheroes. And bullwhips.

The first characteristic that comes to mind when I think of a superhero is fearlessness. My hero would never flinch at the thought of pain or peril or failure. There is not a bug big enough or a snake slithery enough to shake my hero. Brave. Courageous. Fearless. No room for fear when so much is at stake. Fear creates doubt and second-guessing. Yes, caution is always prudent, but cowardice has no place in the life of a superhero. We are not meant to live in a spirit of fear, according to 2 Timothy 1:7. I had a personal lesson in that this time last year.

My superhero would also have to be strong. Not just physically, but mentally and spiritually and emotionally. Not necessarily the strongest human alive, but with the right power within her, strong enough for the task. Just strong enough so as not to boast or be over-confident. That way my hero remains humble. She knows where and from Whom her power comes  and seeks to only use it for good. Always and only for good.

A superhero uses good judgment and exhibits wisdom. She is slow to speak and is a good listener. She is patient, waiting until just the right moment to act. But when the time comes, she is a force to be reckoned with. Because she has been promised over and over again in Scripture, because she believes, she has the power of God in her pursuit of righteousness.

And she has this...bullwhip.

 

After all, the One Who cleared the temple fashioned a whip out of cords. Scripture doesn't say a whole lot about His temperament or rage; it doesn't need to. The God of Love and Compassion was seeing God's house used and abused and mocked. He had no choice but to act. To turn away would have meant that He condoned such behavior. It would have meant that the church and sacrifice and offering didn't matter.

But why did Jesus create a whip? I mean, He had His army of angels at His disposal.

 

 Just think of what He could have done.

 

 

Why did He take the time to fashion a weapon? Many scholars refer to the pieces of cord on the ground (used when leading the animals to the temple for sacrifice)  as our own sins that degrade the temple and keep us from fellowship with God if it were not for Jesus, while others look at them as a harbinger of the scourge that Christ Himself was to endure on our behalf. No scholar myself, I tend to be a little more simple and I see the example as one showing us that we all have to fashion our own whip and use it to clear our own temples from time to time, as God leads us to. My own superhero, backed into a corner, must do The Right Thing. We have to have our bullwhips ready. 



And last Saturday, had she been in the Yankee Candle Store, she would have wielded her whip all over the man who was being mean to a little child. For you see, my superhero loves to defend the hurt. The rage that builds within her when she sees that kind of behavior is the only thing that really scares her. She cannot simply "do nothing," for that would be the same as condoning, allowing, and seeming like it didn't matter. She defends the oppressed. The weak and wounded. She would have also used it on the drug dealers down the road and on the vandals who tore up the church lawn and on behalf of people in nursing homes and orphanages who are mistreated. And on the false prophets and the deceivers who are only out for personal gain and who thrive on intimidation and bullying. The politicians and leaders who hold no regard for what is sacred. All the evil.

There is a Superhero in all of us. All of us who know the true and living God. For Christ alone is my ultimate Superhero. And, laying His bullwhip down, He picked up my cross and carried it for me. No fear. Only love. And the power of God.

  

Grace. It's something we talk about. We all admire it when we see it in others. We are all supposed to strive to exhibit it. But we often, so very often, fall very, very short.

I have been burdened by this ever since I answered a poll recently that an author posted asking what topic her readers would like to see her explore. I answered it: Grace. I want to know as much as I can about the elusive gift that, as a follower of the Author of Grace, is mine to claim. I want to own it. I want to embrace it. And I want to show it in every circumstance in every moment of every day. I want people to wonder what it is about me that makes me have this grace, so that they can KNOW it's JESUS!

John 1:16-17 Indeed, we have all received grace after grace from His fullness, for the law was given through Moses, but grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.

But it is hard.

It's hard when we are surrounded by a world that has fallen so deeply away from anything resembling "grace." This world we are in is filled with people who want only to glorify themselves and to gain attention and a following, no matter how shallow or fleeting. And no matter the cost.

Recently I observed someone receive a gift from a person whom she had just treated very badly. The grace in that moment brought tears to my eyes, for the giver never acknowledged the wrong done to her, but neither did the recipient of the gift- the one who had been so cruel. What's wrong with us, sisters? What is happening to us? Are we really so concerned with how much we weigh and what we wear and who our friends are that we are cold and bitter to those who don't meet our "Requirement of the Month?" How dare we treat others with disrespect? How dare we treat others less than we would want to be treated? How dare we?

After I finished fuming, the Holy Spirit began to work on me. I thought about my own gift of salvation and how I have been so guilty of taking that gift as though I deserved it. I thought about how Christ must feel watching me take Him for granted. I ached at the thought. How dare I?

Even now, as I write, I fear that my words will not be received in the way they are intended. I want so badly to touch lives in a way that points people toward the One Who can guide them to grace and peace and love and joy and all of the rewards of heaven. I do not want to distance myself from people I care about, but I must answer to my Lord and I must, in some manner, share the thoughts that He leads me to develop. Even if it is a little cowardly, sitting in front of a computer in my family room.

I try so hard to remember to use "social media" in proper and appropriate ways. I try to take the advice that another admired author suggested and to write and then walk away. Let it rest. Let the Spirit work on my heart and then go back and re-read the words I have written.

 Do they glorify Him?

Do they hurt anyone?

Are they His?

This advice has caused me to practically wear out my Delete and Backspace buttons. I have at least five drafts in my blog queue waiting to be edited or deleted, written in haste and not quite ready for reading.

It's useful, too, this waiting and examining, in our simple posts and tweets, and picture postings. Today I saw a viral video of a child simply being... a Child. But because of the circumstance, people were laughing at her. Laughing. Who offered this to national media? No one. Someone simply posted it on YouTube and it no longer became their property. It belonged to everyone now, so this little girl is going to be embarrassed and laughed at by millions of people when all she was doing was...being free.

We take to social media when we are hurt, angry, frustrated. It's one thing when we do it and an adult is the victim; it's a whole different thing when it's a child. Where is the grace in that? What if Jesus (and this may get me in some trouble here) were to go on Facebook and complain to everyone about how we treat Him? What if He were to post pictures of the things we have done that have hurt Him? After all, He gave His life for us and we have not behaved the way He has instructed us to.
 

Are you following my point???

 



The very ones WE would give OUR lives for are not safe when they have "mouthed off" or have let a chore slide or have had a meltdown within range of a smartphone. Here's some free advice: blowing off steam about your teenager may get you a lot of "likes,' but it won't get you any closer to your kid. If you wouldn't post it about your boss or your mom or yourself, don't post it about your child. That's just not fair.

So yeah, this may lose me some friends or maybe get some negative feedback. That's ok. I can take it. I'm a grown up. And hopefully I'll handle it with grace.

Be mine.

 

Be mine. It's the simplest valentine there is. Asking someone to belong to you, to be yours. And for you to belong to him or her.

We all want to belong. From the moment we are very small, we want and need and crave acceptance and approval, which all lead to a sense of belonging.  As we grow, we create little secrets with our friends, whispered words shared quietly, creating a lasting bond of friendship through trust.

In young adulthood, we continue to join clubs and organizations and to strive to be invited to be a part of something. We want to belong. We want to know that we are important to someone. We try desperately to create and maintain relationships so that we...are someone's.

Belonging works both ways. As we belong to someone, they - we hope - belong to us. We care, we nurture, we love. By claiming that they are "mine" I pledge my loyalty, my energy, and my honor to them. I am not only mine any more; I am theirs and I owe it to them to be everything I should be. After all, they want me to be theirs.

Be Mine.

Isn't that exactly what Jesus is saying to us? Didn't He give us the greatest Valentine of all? After all, He sacrificed His own life so that we could...be His.

He personally carried our sins
    in his body on the cross
so that we can be dead to sin
    and live for what is right.
By his wounds
    you are healed.

1 Peter 2:24 NLT

When we belong to Christ we experience a love that cannot be compared to any other on earth. Because it is the only True Love. And nothing can ever, ever separate us from Him and His love.

 And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love.  No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

Yet on Valentine's Day, a day that is now so far removed from its original meaning, we find ourselves rushing and fretting all the way to the card store to purchase someone else's expression of love. For $3.00. We try to express our love through boxes of candy, bouquets of flowers, and heart-shaped EVERYTHING.  Not that I am knocking those items as kind gestures, but I just think there can be so much more to a day that is set aside to show...Love.

In John 13:34-35 we read the words of Jesus: 

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”       

He wants, even commands us, to be His. His disciples. His students. His voice. His Love. He wants us to...Be Mine.



I like to "do" events. I enjoy the planning and preparation, but I mostly enjoy watching memories being made. I have been "doing" events since I was in my teens. School dances, talent shows, a high-school homecoming parade that actually shut down streets (with city permission). Now it's parties, auctions, banquets, weddings.  I looked back at some of the things I helped to organize and develop and I finally came to the conclusion that doing these events is a result of my spiritual gift of administration, not hospitality.

Because if it were hospitality I think I would be smiling at them more than I am. When the thing is underway, whatever it is, I am usually making my rounds to ensure that there is plenty of food and the beverage containers are full, trash is picked up, and no one is trapped by some of the complicated decorations (which happened once at a western event with prop fences and rope). I am also making sure that the amazing people - mostly my husband - who are there to help me haven't abandoned me, finally being pushed over the edge at the request of "can this table go away?" or, even worse, " I need that table back!"

Most recently I was part of planning and hosting a birthday party for a friend. A friend who also plans events. No pressure there. The party wasn't going to be a surprise, but I wanted to add something that would bring a smile to her face; something that would cause her to know that I had given her event an extra touch. Since the theme was "Winter Wonderland" I decided to throw in a white chocolate fountain. Fruit, cake, pretzels all coated in smooth, creamy white chocolate cascading down and landing in a pool surrounded by strawberries. Yum.

Now let me say that I have a true love/hate relationship with the chocolate fountain that our ministry has. It takes forever to warm up, has user-unfriendly buttons, and is...very functional-looking. But anything that streams melted chocolate can't be all bad.

Or can it?

At the appropriate time I constructed the beast and placed it in the center of the table that was solely dedicated to it. Featured, even. I added the chocolate pieces and tried to remember which button to press to heat the warmer. This machine, in addition to having non-descript buttons, also has a mechanism that causes them to blink. The trick is to remember whether they are blinking because they are READY or because they are NOT. Or because it is about to blow chocolate all over the table. That happens too. Really.

Now you may be thinking that I should just refer to the instructions. I would had they not been discarded years ago. Years.

I went about my business of preparing the treats to dip, checking the other food items I was responsible for, and enjoying the company of the ladies who had worked harder than I had and had decorated the room beautifully. We were very busy and time was racing by.

And the chocolate was actually melting! I had pressed the right button- Winter Wonderland indeed! The next step was to press another button to allow the chocolate to...flow up. Nothing happened. I stirred, melted more, did some pre-melting, added a little oil. Nothing. No flow. No matter what I did, I could not make the chocolate come up from deep inside the machine and emerge at the top, to flow down the sides. It was, most certainly, NOT going to be the lovely focal point of the room. Instead of oohs and aahs  this area was now just another food station.

Not to let the idea become a total failure (for no other reason than to NEVER WASTE CHOCOLATE),  I used a spare crock pot (yes, I had a spare crock pot) and it became the White Chocolate Fondue Experience. It was...okay. It served a purpose and it was still, after all, melted chocolate. But the effect was just not the same and I doubted it would bring a smile to her face and be the blessing I was hoping for.

During the cleanup process, and packing the beast back up, I noticed a false bottom in the box. There, under the cardboard was a long, gray piece of spiral-shaped plastic. The coil. The coil! THE COIL!!!!!

I had forgotten to put the one piece in the center that made the chocolate go from the very bottom of the pan to the top of the fountain. Without this key center piece, the solid that had now become moldable, pourable liquid could not perform how it was expected to. It had to be pulled upward in order to flow down. In order to be what it was supposed to be, the very center had to be just right.

So it is with us, dear friends. When we do not have Christ as our center, our core, we cannot flourish. Even as prepared and ready and moldable as we are, we cannot "pour out" until He is central and is pulling us upward.

Make sure you are completely constructed in Him and then be ready for His love to cascade down around you in a sweet, warm, and glorious way.

Just this morning, in my quiet time, I was contemplating the vast importance of the cross. How everything else pales when compared to the promise of eternal life in the presence of God. The things that annoy, hurt, even terrify us are nothing when placed within the shadow of the cross where Jesus gave His life for ours.

I was led to think about the 23rd Psalm and the fact that He is my Shepherd. He guides me, leading and prodding, and gives me rest and comfort when I need it most. Ultimately I will rest with Him forever. So what could possibly cause me any concern-- real concern?

Then the phone rang. News from a sister in Christ that made a chill run down my spine and brought me to my knees. Seeking His Face and looking for His purpose, I glanced across the room. The pre-snowstorm sun shining through the family room window sent a glorious message to me.

 

"I'm here, child." Never far away. Always within reach. Always reaching out to me, calling me. Offering love, comfort, protection.

 

Bring the chilling news. Bring the trouble, the warfare. It all pales in the shadow of the cross.

 

 

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

 

John 14:27

 

 

 

The Lord is my light and my salvation— whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life— of whom shall I be afraid?

 

Psalm 27:1







 

 



The other day, when I was packing up the Christmas decorations, I broke an ornament. It was one of the ones I bought when we were first married, at a place that is no longer in business. Let me be clear- this was not an expensive ornament, by any means. But it was old. And even though I always take care to cushion them in tissue and re-pack them in their original box, some accidents are inevitable. It is the way of life, and this was just a thing. But it still made me sad and it still made me think.

We take care to store some of our favorite decorations in "downstairs storage" (that's what I am calling the junk room, just so you know) so that they don't endure the extreme heat and cold of the attic. But for all of us the years take their toll.

When it was new, the ornament, I mean, it was shiny and strong and it had all its glitter and the hanger was clean and snug-- but it was new, so I really didn't think about it as I hung it up on the living room tree. I mainly just wanted it to hang there and look pretty. It was there to reflect the light from the tree and the other decorations in the room.

As the years wore on, some of the glitter wore off and the shiny-ness began to fade. It was still a lovely ornament, though. It had a purpose: to fill the empty spots on the tree and to add a little color.

It the later years, I began to look forward to putting it, and the others like it, on. I chose them first, and I used them near the new ones to give a contrast between the new and the old. The new ones were pretty, but the older ones were the anchors that made the tree something really special and that paid tribute to a life together that has now seen 30 Christmases.

When we are young, we are strong and energetic and...glittery. We make a nice appearance, but we haven't had the experience we need to really shine.

As the years pass, and we become externally fragile, we begin to grow so much stronger inside, down deep in our core. We become able now to serve our true purpose: to reflect Christ's Light and to fill the empty spots in this world that has so very many empty spots. We add much-needed color to the complexion of our families, our workplace, our community.

Our hope is that those new "ornaments" that come along behind us will value us and will look to our inner strength, even though we may look frail and delicate. We are stronger than you know-- stronger, indeed, than you are. You need us. You need to come alongside and allow us to be the anchor that fills and reflects and provides a contrast and perspective.

In my haste to clean, I tossed the ornament in the trash. Now I wish I had kept it. I wish I could look at it to remind myself that, even broken, especially broken, we all have worth.