You Will

Monday night I curled up on the couch to watch a little TV and eventually dozed off. I was there keeping Scott company as he had spent the last five days not being able to stand upright without his head exploding, or at least feeling like it was going to.

He has a bit of a freaky medical history and was having some issues. Five days before, he’d had a medical procedure done as a precautionary test to determine if his recent issues were related to his freaky history, or if they were caused by some new ailment. Or, as he and I have come to classify many things, maybe it was all just a result of THE CURSE. You know, the whole Adam and Eve thing and Satan attempting to destroy everything and the complete downfall of man and all.

Anyway, he had been miserable since the medical procedure.

Not only that, we’d also experienced a considerable bit of difficulty trying to get information from the medical facility and all the lovely people that work there about the test results. Scott called every day for five days and no one would return his calls or respond to his pleas that he wasn’t doing too well. That alone is enough to add to the headache.

He even missed church on Sunday. As a minister, you only get 52 chances a year to do that thing you do. If you factor in 2 weeks for vacation and that some people only come on Christmas and Easter, it’s really even less than that. Skip what you have to through the week, but push through it and show up on Sunday morning. For him to miss a Sunday morning because he wasn’t well meant he REALLY wasn’t well. His lips and cheeks were as pale as his backside that never sees the sun. He spent the rest of the day lying on the couch.

He tried to get up and go Monday, but eventually ended up back in the bed again. When I got home from work we had some dinner and both of us went back to the couch. He finally confessed that he couldn’t go on like this so we made plans to get up in the morning and head to the hospital, the ER if necessary. Since we couldn’t get a doctor to call us, we thought making a personal visit might produce at least a few answers. I made a mental list of things to pack in my oversized handbag (i.e., snacks, dental floss, Sudoku puzzle book, cell phone charger). Waiting rooms are awful without these luxuries.

Later I got up from the couch, moved to the bedroom and crawled into bed. It didn’t take but a minute before I was sound asleep. Scott was just a few minutes behind me in coming to bed. I was already asleep but stirred when I felt him sit down on the bed. He laid his head back on the pillow and spoke a few words to me. I realized then that he was in pain, practically in tears and scared to death that something might be seriously wrong with him. I was no longer asleep. I was awake. Wide awake.

I laid there listening to him breathe until he eventually drifted off to sleep. I laid there with my eyes open wondering what in the world to do for him, for me. Thirty minutes or so went by. I was still awake. He seemed to be resting OK. The phone rang once, which is not long enough for the message system to pick up. Post bedtime ringing phones are a sure sign that I’m not going back to sleep anytime soon, especially if I have no idea who it was or why in the world they dialed my number after midnight. I guess it was just meant for me to be awake. Sleepless nights are a part of The Curse too; just another way to destroy me, because I’m useless without my beauty sleep.

Scott was lying on his side facing the edge of the bed. I put my hand on his back and began to pray. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to leave his side and get out of earshot of his breathing noise. I prayed for forgiveness for being stupid, stubborn, neglectful, and lazy. I knew I needed to confess everything so that I could be certain there was nothing blocking the path of my prayers to God. Then I asked God to heal whatever it was that was making Scott feel this way. I did not pray in statements. I did not say, “Oh, God, please heal Scott.”

Instead, I prayed in questions. “Will You please?” “Will You?” After a long time of asking God that same thing over and over, “Will You?”, the words took on a different perspective.

Will. You. Say them over and over. Will. You. Will. You. Will. You. Will. You. Will. You. Will. You.

After a while, it became a little difficult to tell the beginning from the end. You. Will.

You Will.

Of course. You Will.

My prayer then became merely, “Your Will.” Whatever it may be, God, Your Will is what I want. I know You Will, if it is Your Will.

That’s the last thing I remember praying as I drifted off to sleep.

About 3 hours later my alarm went off. I immediately got up and into my getting ready routine. That’s me. Once I have a plan, let’s get busy. No dilly dallying. No lollygagging. Just do it. I packed my snack bag and my puzzle book and was ready to go to the hospital.

Scott was moving a little slower. I tried to be patient. I just wanted to go. He was taking his time. I kept asking him how he felt. Finally, he asked me if I thought you could scare yourself into wellness.

I understood. He went to sleep scared to death; he woke up without the fear of it.

He also woke up without the headache and all the other ickiness that had sent him to the couch for the past week. I think he felt normal, but maybe a little hesitant to believe it.

He called the doctor’s office one more time, just in case. Wouldn’t you know it, they called him back in about 15 minutes. By now it had been 6 days and they hadn’t called, but now they respond in record time. They finally looked at the test results and saw that it was negative; everything was as it should be. Really, by then Scott didn’t need them to tell him that because he was already feeling normal.

I’m convinced that the reason no one had called us about that test before now was because no one had looked at it. I’m also convinced that the reason no one had looked at it before now was because God was waiting on us to get to the “Your Will, whatever” point. None of us knew the test was clear until Scott had already experienced the healing.

Do I think God Photoshopped the scans? Maybe. Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter. At that point Scott was ready to go on about his day as if it was just another Tuesday, and he did. He packed up his things and headed to work.

I took up the vigil on the couch.

I had not told Scott about my prayers. I had not said a word to him about the “Will You?” question or the “Your Will” answer.

I felt as if I had just experienced God’s glory right there in my own home, right there on my own husband, right there in front of me. It paralyzed me.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I could hardly speak. All I could do was just sit there.

I know now why God put Moses in a cleft in the rock when He passed by. It was just too much.

How do I live now after experiencing such a thing?

I did not see God’s face, but I felt it. I see the evidence.

People won’t believe me. They will find ways to reason and rationalize the events. Because of that my tendency is to stay in that rock cleft, hide out until no one suspects anything different; sit on the couch until the awe fades away.

But I have lived through such a thing to be able to tell the story. And I will tell it because I have seen His glory, the glory of the One and Only , who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. It is the One and Only thing that can and Will stop The Curse.

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1:14

And the LORD said, “I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the LORD, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But,” he said, “you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.” Then the LORD said, “There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen.” Exodus 33:19-23

How wide and long and high and deep?

From the archives.

This was originally written on September 11, 2001

God is brokenhearted today.

He is brokenhearted because you and I may have at some time in our lives ignored our call to share Christ and to show His love with one of the peopled killed today. We may have been face to face with them, whether we knew their names or not, and perhaps were afraid to speak up. Now, a different kind of fear is spreading.

Maybe we had just put Christ out of our minds at the time. Just what were we thinking? They may have been watching us from a distance at some interstate rest stop or an amusement park or a shopping mall or some other outlet where our paths may have briefly crossed. Had we taken a vacation from our responsibility to Christ as well?

God is brokenhearted over unique pieces of His creation embracing evil. Oh, the blessings He had in store for them. Sadly, their choices just blew them all away. As much as it may have physically hurt to have a Boeing jet crash into your office and land on your desk, as much as it may have hurt to have the temperature register hot enough to melt steel, God’s hurt is even greater; greater now because some of His precious creations are lost. Not in a pile of rubble and debris, but lost eternally.

God is brokenhearted that any of His creation has to needlessly suffer. He, most of all, knows what it means to suffer. But it is suffering that causes us to trust God for who He is, not what He does. And who He is, is bigger.

God is bigger.

As far as the fall was for those who jumped from the buildings, as far beneath the rubble as some were buried, God’s love will go farther.

As long as it takes to search, as long as it take to recover and rebuild, as long as remembrances of these days will be voiced, God’s love will last longer.

As deep as those pictures are ingrained in our minds, as deep as the hurt is, God’s love will always be deeper.

As far across the earth as the repercussions have been felt, as far as those rescue works and relief effort have increased the boundaries of our generosity, God’s love will stretch even wider.

Our God is bigger than any tragedy.

God is in control.

For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Ephesians 3:14-19

Hello, my name is...

C'mon, admit it. I know you've done it.

It's not a bad thing, really. Depending on your motives.

In fact, the Best Buy Geek Squad probably recommends that you do it occasionally just to be sure there is nothing suspicious out there with your moniker on it.

So, go ahead. Google your own name.

What'd you come up with? Anything interesting?

Recently I Googled images for my name.

A lot of pictures of this lady came up. Her fame came with a different last name, but before she married a president, her last name was Davis. No introductions needed. Here's Nancy Davis Reagan:

The second most popular entry on my Google search results page was for this woman:Maybe she looks familiar to you, maybe not. She made the news circuit back in January 2011 when she was shot and killed in Mexico by drug dealers. Nancy and her husband, Sam, were missionaries in Mexico. They were gunned down at an illegal roadblock set up by drug dealers. The dealers were after the Davis' pick up truck. A bullet came through the rear window of the truck cab, struck Nancy in the head and killed her. Sam survived.

Not far behind her on my search results page was this woman. Again, meet Nancy Davis.Apparently she is a well known philanthropist. Unless your bank account is large and your financial contribution record phenomenal, you likely haven't heard of her. Most of the pictures had celebrities surrounding her. She always seems to be dressed in a formal gown and attends lots of elite social events.

I also found another Nancy Davis.
Isn't she lovely? The link for this picture was on one of those genealogy research sites. I don't think she's related to me in any way, but she looks so much like my dad that it's almost creepy.

Sidebar here...I did a little online research on my family history. I found that my great, great, great, great, grandmother's name was also Nancy Davis. She lived in the same county I live in --which is weird because none of my living family even lives in the same state that I do (I'm the one who moved away). Also, she lived to be 104. Wow.

Back to my google image search page. There were several versions of this too:
Funny thing. Not one single solitary picture of me came up in my Google search.

Oh, Google, where is the real Nancy Davis and what have you done with her??

So often when life gets tough and it gets hard to find the happy, I look around and wonder who's life am I living anyway? I mean, I thought I was doing all the right things and working very hard to avoid all the drama, all the struggles, all the setbacks, all the do-overs. Where did this life I have come from? How did I end up here? With this??

Honestly, what I really think is...who in the world is living the life I'm supposed to have?!

Where's my Presidential china?

Who is wearing my orange designer ball gown?

Why isn't there a framed picture of Paris Hilton on my mantle?

Where is the book written about my heroic martyr's death?

Oh, wait a minute. I'm not dead yet.

Well, then. I have no idea.

I can only hope that 100 years years from now when my own grave marker is overgrown and covered with dirt and mold that somebody finds my picture on a genealogy website and thinks I look like their dad.

I suppose looking like the Father is not such a bad thing.

I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But Those who love their life in this world will lose it. Those who care nothing for their life in this world will keep it for eternity. Anyone who wants to be my disciple must follow me, because my servants must be where I am. And the Father will honor anyone who serves me. John 12:24-26

I'm not a total wreck thanks to Mom

Scott and I have recently been dealing with some vehicle issues. About 3 weeks ago, a weird set of circumstances one particular day had us all out of sorts and the culmination of the day was a car wreck. No one was hurt. The other car was fine. Our 15-year old paid-in-full and still nice car, however, was considered a total loss by the insurance company. So, we’ve had the car shopping demon hanging over our heads for several days now as we wait for a check from the insurance company.

I wasn’t in the car when it happened. Scott was by himself. I have been in my share of bump-ups, however.

Several years ago Scott and I were headed south on I-95 one New Year’s Day. Traffic was bumper to bumper with all the college bowl game traffic. It was stop and go traffic. Some stopped, we didn’t. No one was hurt, but the car had to be towed. It was an I-told-you-so opportunity about following too close, but I never said it. Scott felt guilty enough without it.

Longer ago than that, Scott was driving me back to work after a midday appointment we had together. Another car ran a red light and smashed into the driver’s side of our car. Scott was bruised but OK. At the scene, I tried to be a nice person and offer the offending driver use of Scott’s cell phone. When the cops showed up, she denied running the red light. I wasn’t hurt, but I was angry. Our car was totaled.

With the money from my first job out of college I bought a red Ford Mustang. I was driving through a parking lot at a slow speed when a younger-than-I student backed out of a parking space with the gas pedal all the way to the floor. She smashed the passenger side of my cute little car. I wasn’t hurt, but it did make me sick.

My most memorable wreck happened when I was a preschooler. My Aunt Alma was driving. Technically she is a cousin, not an Aunt, but she was the grandmotherly type and for all practical purposes my nanny until I finished the 3rd grade. Calling her “Aunt” just felt more right because she seemed closer than a cousin.

I was riding in the front seat on the passenger side of her sedan. Aunt Alma’s adult daughter Rosalou was sitting in the back seat holding her own newborn infant in her arms. This was before the days of child safety seats and seat belt laws.

It was a sunny day in Florida, but it was cold. I was wearing my favorite red coat. I had my head turned, looking out the passenger window. I was barely tall enough to see out of it.

A drunk driver coming from the opposite direction swerved over into our lane and crashed into us head on. I remember hearing tires screech and some other loud noise. I can still feel my head bouncing back and forth several times off of the window I’d been peering out of. Then I remember a crowd of people and a lot of yelling.

The wreck happened near an intersection of a four land road. On one of the corners of that intersection was a gas station. It was long enough ago that it was still a full service gas station; one where they actually worked on cars. Somebody from that station handed me a greasy red rag filled with ice and told me to hold it on my right eye and not let go. The gasoline smell of the greasy red rag almost took my breath away. Still today, every time I smell gasoline I think of that greasy red ice filled rag.

I remember Aunt Alma standing around telling everyone she was OK, but that her glasses had flown off her face with the impact. Could somebody please help her find her glasses? Rosalou seemed to be OK too and her baby, who had had somehow ended up on the floorboard by her feet, seemed unphased.

I don’t remember how I got to the hospital. If I road in an ambulance, I don’t remember it. I do remember that once we got there, there was not a single familiar face anywhere to be seen. Alma had gone to tend to Rosalou and the baby, who was also brought to the hospital for evaluation. My mom and dad were at work; my sisters were both at school. I was surrounded by a bunch of nice but unknown scurrying strangers. They made me lie down on a cold table and then they put my head in a green foam form so that it would be immobile for the x-rays or scans or whatever it was they were going to do to me.

Once they determined I was OK except for the busted up eyebrow and a swollen, black eye, they put me up on a high table or counter out near the reception area. It seemed like the top shelf of a very high cabinet. It might not have actually been that high, but to my 4 year old legs dangling over the edge, the floor seemed like a long way down. Way too far to jump. I sat there for what seemed like a long time not saying anything to anyone; just waiting.

From my perch I could see automatic glass doors which must have been the public entrance to the ER. The bright sunshine was beaming from outside through those doors. They kept swishing open and I could feel the cold air sweeping in. People were going in and out of those doors but because the sun was so bright outside and the lighting was dim inside I saw only dark silhouettes. I couldn’t really see any faces or physical details.

Like the top shelf I was sitting on, I’m sure my 4 year old brain exaggerated the length of that lonely wait too. It felt like forty forevers that I sat there by myself, speechless, in my favorite red coat, with my legs dangling over, still smelling the gasoline scent, waiting on someone to help me down and tell me what to do next.

I eventually saw a familiar shape coming through the bright light of the swishing automatic doors. I didn’t have to see her face. I recognized my mother simply by the shadowed shape of her hair and hips as she ran towards me.

I don’t remember anything else about that day. Mom showed up, scooped me up off that high counter and that was all. It was over. Everything was OK. Nothing that had happened in the previous few hours mattered any more.

That happened 40 years ago. I remember those details more vividly than I remember what I ate for lunch yesterday.

I remember feeling pretty in my favorite red coat.
I remember seeing and squinting at the brightness of the sun.
I remember hearing Alma’s voice as she kept asking for her glasses.
I remember smelling the gasoline rag.

What’s interesting is what I don’t remember. I have absolutely no recollection of pain. None. I know I must have ended up with one heck of a headache, but the only physical feeling I remember is finally having my mother’s arms around me.

There have been other kinds of wrecks in my life, not having anything to do with cars or roadways. A good many of those were my own fault. Even when it was my own fault, my mother never said so. Even if we were living miles apart, I somehow still knew her arms were around me.

Mom has had a rough time lately. The shatters and smashes she’s fallen into are merely the results of living on this earth 80 years. She is brave. She is strong. She is full of grace.

Mom, I don’t know if my hugs will ever mean to you what yours mean to me. I can’t be with you on Mother’s Day, but I want you to know my arms are stretched as far as they can be reaching for you.

I love you.

He will feed his flock like a shepherd. He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young. Isaiah 40:11

A lot details about a day in the life of....some sweet tea

Saturday, a week ago I got up earlier than I usually do for a Saturday. I had several things I wanted to accomplish before I hit the road. I did a few things around the house and then had a couple of stops to make before I was finally headed south on I-95 a little after 9 AM.

I was on the way to see my parents. They live three hours south of here in Georgia. This was the third trip I made down there this month. I must say based on my observations of traffic on those combined 18 hours of traveling I-95 that I think they must have closed Canada. The number of license plates from Quebec was far and above any other single state other than the one I was traveling in. Weird, eh?

Almost three weeks ago, my mom fell in the parking lot of Huddle House, a favorite dining place of my mom and dad. The ambulance took her to the hospital from there. She suffered a couple of fractures, lots of bruises, and a great amount of confusion because her head, face, and nose took the brunt of her fall. After a little over two weeks in the hospital, it became clear that she needed more daily help than any of us could give her. Just two days before this recent Saturday trip there, my mother was moved into her new assisted living home. My planned overnight stay at my parents’ house was to delay, just one more day, my dad having to stay at home by himself at night.

About two hours down the road I began to get the sickly feeling that surely I must have forgotten something. I called Scott at home back in South Carolina and asked him if he had put my suitcase in the car for me.

Um. No. Oops. I was going to have to make a WalMart run later.

When I arrived suitcaseless at my dad’s house, he and my sister were sitting at the kitchen table eating a sandwich. I sat down with them and poured myself a glass of iced tea. One thing we can always count on at my parents’ house is two pitchers of tea in the fridge. That’s so when one pitcher is empty, there is still a cold one ready while more tea is made to refill the empty one. We are one ceaseless iced tea drinking family.

After we visited my mom in her new home and the WalMart excursion with my sister, my dad and I went to the Huddle House to eat dinner. It was the first time he’d been back there since Mom fell. He showed me where she fell and told me all about it. The waitress asked about Mom. Several other HH customers asked about Mom too. Dad was very brave. And he must have finally been hungry because he ate shrimp, fried squash, and hash browns. We both drank a lot of iced tea. It was the most I’d seen him eat in a long time.

Back at Dad’s house, I gathered up the new toothbrush and travel size toiletries purchased at WalMart and got myself ready for bed. My dad keeps the heat in his house on HIGH. All the time. Even a cold-natured person like me gets WARM in his house. I did what we all do when we spend the night there. I closed the door the bedroom I was sleeping in. I closed the air vent in the ceiling. I opened up both windows. I tried to sleep. All night long I kept feeling like my throat and nasal passages were drying up and were scratchy and irritated. At first I thought it was just all the dry, hot air. Later I realized it was all the pollen outside coming in through the open windows.

Sunday morning Dad and I listened to his church service on the radio, which is always a treat because one, I don’t get that kind of preaching and singing at home, and two, I get to sit in the recliner instead of an uncomfortable pew. Afterwards, Dad and I went to the Sunday brunch buffet at the Holiday Inn. Just the two of us again.

Dad put a piece of fried chicken, a serving of club steak, and a slice of roast beef on his plate along with everything else. Yes, his appetite is back after all the chemo, radiation, and shingles troubles. The waitress put a pitcher of tea on the table for the two of us. I think Dad had 2 glasses. I drank the rest of the pitcher myself. I ate navy beans and cornbread. Yum, yum, and yum. I’ve never seen navy beans on a public buffet before. It’s just one of those things you usually get at home. Nobody goes “out” to eat navy beans. We had a lot of navy beans at home growing up. Actually, a lot of things about this meal reminded me of when I was younger.

I was one of those people who moved back home after I graduated from college. I lived there 4 years, just my mom and dad and me (6 years if you count my last 2 years in high school). And no, I wasn’t the freeloader kind, not totally anyway. I had a job and made a car payment. I paid for my car insurance, all my health a beauty needs, and a few groceries every now and then. I just needed a place to put my stuff and someplace to refill my iced tea glass. Anyway, during those years, my dad and I did a lot of stuff together that involved food and/or meals. Mostly it was going to get stuff he would cook. Sometimes we would go and get some kind of take out. Anyway, just sitting across from him at the Holiday Inn made me think about all that and smile.

When Dad and I finished up at the Holiday Inn buffet, we came back to the house and I packed up my stuff in a WalMart plastic bag. We went to visit Mom again at her assisted living home, then I got back on the road to home.

I was again surrounded by Quebecians on the 3 hour ride up I-95. My mucus membranes began to compensate for the scratchy throat and nasal passages and soon they were coated with that icky, slimy substance. Congestion, ugh. I finally arrived at home.

Monday morning I went to work but only lasted until about noon, then went home and slept the afternoon away on the couch in between all the sniffling, blowing, and coughing. All day long I craved an iced tea with crushed iced. It was all I wanted. It was the only thing that could bring me comfort, not only for my raw throat, but also for my sentimental soul that had been recently been taken back to the time when my cold, sweet, iced tea dependency was formed in Mom & Dad’s refrigerator.

When Scott got home and was looking for dinner, I convinced him to go to Zaxby’s with me because they have crushed ice and good sweet tea. I ordered the chicken fingers with the hot, hot, buffalo sauce because I thought at least that would be something I might be able to actually taste through my congestion-dulled taste buds. I also got a really big sweet tea with crushed ice. I refilled it once or twice while we were there and then refilled it again before we walked out the door. Ahhhhh.

Oh, I just wanted to get back home, put on my pajamas, sip my sweet tea, suck on the crushed ice, and nurse my congestion. We arrived at home, I gathered up my purse and jumbo cup of tea from the car and headed for the front door. There are two steps up to the porch. Somehow, I missed both of them. Both of my feet went out from under me and I fell flat on the porch. I lost both my shoes and ripped one of my socks so that all five toes where protruding out. Then, almost as if in slow motion, I saw my jumbo cup of crushed ice and sweet tea leave my hand and bounce on the concrete, busting out the bottom of the cup and spilling all that precious comfort all over the porch.

I just sat there and cried. I had a little bit of a skinned knee, but that was all. I wasn’t hurt. Nothing broken. Nothing bleeding. But my tea, my sweet, sweet tea. My sweet tea and crushed ice spilled all over the porch. My comfort was seeping through the cracks in the concrete and over the edge of the porch, leaving nothing but a sticky mess behind.

No, I couldn’t go back to the few minutes before I fell and do it over, differently. I couldn’t scoop up the spilled tea and put back in another cup. I can’t go back to the time when one of the two pitchers of tea in Mom & Dad’s fridge was a gallon jug because all 3 of us were living in the house and drinking it heavily. I can’t go back to the days my dad and I went out to get BBQ or fried chicken for the three of us for dinner. I can’t go back to the day before my mom fell in the parking lot of Huddle House and changed all of our lives forever.

Truth is, my comfort is not back there. My comfort is in what lies ahead. I’m looking forward to the day we’ll never thirst again.

All of us must die eventually. Our lives are like water spilled out on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again. But God does not just sweep life away; instead, he devises ways to bring us back when we have been separated from him. 2 Samuel 14:14 The Message

It's December 28 and I'm ready for Christmas

Yesterday on the drive to church (Sunday, December 27) I saw a Christmas tree already tossed out on the sidewalk for the refuse workers to pick up. The pick-up schedule for yard waste is bright and early Monday morning. I suppose the tree owners had had enough of that tree and just couldn’t take it for one more day, let alone another week until the next pick-up.

It made me sigh a little to see that naked tree lying on the sidewalk. I just wasn’t ready for Christmas to be over yet.

Actually, I never achieved the “fully prepared” level before Christmas. We stayed busy doing all the things we do for the Christmas season. You know. Eating meals with groups of people we don’t normally eat meals with because special occasions dictate we need to have party.

Musical programs. Oh, the musical programs. There’s a separate one for every age group. I love them, but they do fill up the calendar, especially with all those extra rehearsals.

There’s decorating (Is it just me or was there an inordinate amount of glitter in all the decorations and cards this year? ) Oh, yes, the cards, and the packing and the shipping and all the other postal necessities.

Shopping, which I didn’t do much of this year.

Wrapping. Not much of that either.

And travelling. I honestly can’t remember the last time I woke up on Christmas morning (having to stay in town on Christmas Eve for the communion service at church) and didn’t have to travel several hours to get to any family. Christmas day means we get in the car and go somewhere else.

It’s all fun and I love the Christmas season.

Much of the preparations are so meaningful. I went caroling a couple of times and each time my heart was moved by how the people we sang to expressed their appreciation for our visits. The program the children presented at church was a clear offering of the gospel and was blessed by God like never before. I was so overwhelmed by it I hardly had any words afterwards. I received several Christmas cards with pictures of families I don’t ever get to see in person. I love those because for a few minutes I feel connected to all my long distance friends.

But does it have to be over so soon? We spend at least a good, solid month getting ready for Christmas. I think we should spend another month just enjoying it.

Or maybe we have it backwards. Maybe we should spend less time in preparation and more time just soaking it all in. After all that’s what the shepherds and the wise men did on the first Christmas. They didn’t spend a lot of time getting ready. They received an invitation and went straight to the Savior. They didn’t plan a party or send a card. They just went to see the Savior.

We were reminded of this yesterday in Sunday School:

After they had heard the king, they went on their way, and the star they had seen in the east went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were overjoyed. On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Matthew 2:9-11

They worshiped him.

I just want to do that little bit longer. I don’t want to be “getting ready” to do that. I just want to worship Him.

He’s coming again and when He does, I don’t want to be caught up in any excessive preparations. I want to save my energy and efforts for the praise and worship that will take place when He does come. All it takes to get ready is a prayer:

I know I’m a sinner and that I need a Savior. I believe You, Jesus, are the one and only born into this world to die for my sins and for that reason, I want You to be Lord of my life.

That’s all. No decorated trees that will be discarded to the sidewalk . No glitter. No extra rehearsals.

Get ready now. Then, O, Come, let us adore Him. Today.

Even if it is 3 days after, or 362 days until Christmas again.

When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. Luke 2:17-18

Go Hatters!

A week or so ago I heard the Director of Missions for our county mention the local Baptist Association’s new website. Several days later, I finally remembered it when I was actually sitting in front of a computer so I clicked on over to check it out.

I clicked on several pages, read his blog, looked at some pictures, then I went to their calendar events. The very first thing listed for March was:

“Stetson University Mission Group in CBA”

What??!! How did I not know about this? Have I been on a long winter’s nap or something?

I set about making phone calls and sending emails for more information and learned that they were to arrive on Sunday. It was Thursday when I found out about it. Three days!!!

What I found out from my inquisition was that it was the Stetson University Baptist Collegiate Mission group (BCM) and this is their spring break mission trip. They planned to do some repair and renovation work on the Christian Women’s Job Corp (CWJC) building. Which, I might add, is in desperate need of a re-working.

Well blow me down. The CWJC building is on the property of the church that I attend (where my husband is employed, for goodness sakes). Scott and I actually lived in that little building for a month or two back in 1997 when we first moved here and the builders weren’t quite finished with our house. The front door of that building is just a few yards from the door of the church kitchen.

I’m a graduate of Stetson and was what we called at that time, a BCMer. I felt like my own family was coming to town.

I’m not entirely sure how the Stetson BCM group from Florida got hooked up with our tiny little rural South Carolina county and it would probably be too long to list all the associations here, but I do not think it was coincidence. I’m just grateful and blessed and feel privileged that God made all those connections in my neighborhood.

This is Margie. She was on the BCM staff when I was in school. She didn’t have the title then, but she was still the one in charge. Now, she has the title. She is the director. At least until December when she retires.

I know I said it’s rural SC, and this does give the impression of an outhouse (without walls, no less), which may or may not be typical for our area. It was, however, the toilet they removed from the building so they could replace the rotten bathroom floor.

Here’s Margie again. That’s me on the left (I am the one who does not look like I belong in the picture. The oddball). The other two kids? Well, they are children of people that I went to school with. Troy’s daughter and Debbie’s son. I couldn’t believe it when I was introduced to them. That’s why I had to have a picture made with them, so I could go back later for a second look. I am so old. Funny. In some ways, I still think of myself as one of them. Maybe I should consider therapy.

Here’s the entire group.

And some more of their work.

I’ve spent lunch breaks with them the last two days. Being around them and involved in their conversations has reminded me what the brains and hearts of college people (students AND their leaders!) are really like.

They are thinkers. They are learners. They are doers. They are passionate.

They reminded me that I have gotten away from some of that. And I want it back.

Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. James 1:22.

This pilgrim's progress

Meet the Pilgrims:

These little guys are salt & pepper shakers. Several years ago my mom gave me and my sisters each a set of these. (we also each have a set of the Mr. & Mrs. Claus ones, and the Snowman ones too).

They came from Publix. There used to be the cutest TV commercial featuring this pair coming alive but trying not to be noticed by any human being sitting at the table. There was winking involved and something about mashed potatoes. I can't really remember it all. (note to self: Google it later to see if you can find it).

Given my love of all things Publix, I love these little people. They're cute, and, well, they came from Publix. That love of Publix started years ago as a young teenager when a shopping trip there was deemed a family entertainment outing. We all love the Publix.

That's why these little Pilgrims make me think of my family.

Because of where we live and because it' s just the two of us, Scott and I spend many holidays traveling long distances to the houses of other family members. Sometimes our circumstances won't allow us the opportunity to get away and go. When that happens, it's OK because I can always count on the Pilgrims to be at my table every Thanksgiving. If I can't have my family at my table, I can at least have these little shakers there that remind me of them.

On this Thanksgiving, thank you, God, for pilgrims and for families, the likes of which I am a both.

God, teach me lessons for living so I can stay the course. Give me insight so I can do what you tell me— my whole life one long, obedient response. Guide me down the road of your commandments; I love traveling this freeway! Give me a bent for your words of wisdom, and not for piling up loot. Divert my eyes from toys and trinkets, invigorate me on the pilgrim way. Affirm your promises to me— promises made to all who fear you. Deflect the harsh words of my critics— but what you say is always so good. See how hungry I am for your counsel; preserve my life through your righteous ways! Psalm 119:32-34 The Message

Identity Theft Insurance

One of my Bible study groups just finished Gripped by the Greatness of God by James MacDonald. It was one of those very thought-provoking kinds of studies.

Each week focused on a different aspect of God: greatness, holiness, awesomeness, sovereignty, works, and worship. I learned something new in every week of this study. It’s that good.

The last week was about our, my, identity in God. The scripture reference for the week was Isaiah 43:1-21, which starts with:

Thus says the Lord, your Creator, O Jacob, and He who formed you, O Israel, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine!”

That one verse alone certainly says a lot about my identity God. Because of God I’ve been redeemed, I don’t need to fear anything, He claims me as His own and He does it by using my name.

"Hey, Nancy, pay attention! You are Mine!"

I believe all of those things. Really, I do. I just forget sometimes that God really gets that personal and intimate with me. Sometimes I treat God just like I treat the rest of my family. I love them and I know they love me, but I don’t talk to them every day because they live in other states and time zones.

The awesomeness and holiness of God calls for something better than that from me.

God spoke and there was light. He raised His voice again and there was sky and land. He said, “let there be plants and animals,” and there were plants and animals. He did all that without lifting a finger.

But when it came to me, he didn’t just speak, He formed me. The picture that puts in my head is a physical one. God used His hands. It involved His touch. And if He used the dust of the ground, His hands were dirty afterwards.

I don't now about you, but I spend a lot of time every day trying to avoid getting my hands dirty and keeping them germ free. I'm a little selective about what I touch, and if I'm going to to so far as to actually get my hands dirty, it has to be because I'm really committed to what I'm about to stick my hands in.

I am here because of His touch. I am who I am because of His touch. Now that’s personal.

I can’t quote exactly, but James MacDonald said something like…Everything the Bible reveals about God is to show us how to have a right understanding of who we are in relationship to Him. God doesn’t tell us things about Himself just for the fun of it, just so we will be informed and knowledgeable. He tells us things about Himself so we can realize who we are.

I am well aware that the Enemy, Satan, works hard every day to convince me otherwise. Satan likes to talk about some of the sorry circumstances of my life to get me to think differently about that personal touch from God.

But when my identity is based solely on my relationship to God, nothing can change it. Especially not Satan. That’s one lesson from this study I pray I never forget.

I will never forget your precepts, for by them you have preserved my life. Save me, for I am yours; I have sought out your precepts. The wicked are waiting to destroy me, but I will ponder your statutes. Psalm 119: 93-95

It's a small world after all, even for gators and dogs

My parents grew up in Georgia. They moved to Florida as very young adults. I was born in Florida. As a young adult, I left them in Florida and moved to Georgia. Then as a not quite so young adult I moved to South Carolina. Once I settled in South Carolina, my parents moved from Florida back to Georgia. Along the way, one sister also moved from Florida to Georgia. The other sister returned back to Florida after stints in Georgia and Germany.

Confused? Well, just know that the rest of my family lives in Florida and Georgia; I live in South Carolina.

For the first 10 years of my life, we all lived in Jacksonville, Florida.

Jacksonville is the neutral location for the annual Florida vs. Georgia college football game. It was, and still is, a big deal the weekend all those crazy fans came to town. We always tried to avoid the stadium area. Except for the one year that I actually went to the game, but that's another story.

I did not attend the Unveristy of Florida or the University Georgia. Neither did anyone in my family. As a matter of fact, one sister even went to rival FSU.

I married a man who is an alumnus of Furman University (thus, my South Carolina connection. Plus, you know the former UF coach Spurrier is now at Uunivesity of SC. Small world, huh?). We were both living in Florida when we met and married and, at the time, I had no idea what a UF fan my husband would turn out to be. And he IS a fan.

Needless to say, he was quite happy with the score last weekend.

Now, I truly could not care less about football. But if UF wins, my husband is happy and that makes me happy. It's just bad news if they lose. So, I cheer for the gators to try and maintain and atmosphere peace and tranquility in ye olde household.

However, I saw this video this week, and even though it really has nothing to do with football, I found myself saying, "Go Dawgs!"

I'm not a regular ESPN viewer, so maybe you have already seen it. If so, it's worth watching the replay.

And if you haven't seen it, you can rest easy and watch it now because it has nothing to do with football.

I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. John 14:18

And I thank you for your support

The year I was born was a presidential election year. I don’t remember it. I was only two and half months old.

The first presidential election after I was finally old enough to vote came during my junior year in college. I was 20. I was in school two hours away from home but I didn’t want anything to do with an absentee ballot. I wanted my first vote for an American president to be cast is person. I wanted the experience of being at the polls on Election Day. I wanted to step behind the curtain and put my hands on the lever (that’s the way it was done way back then).

I had only early classes that day, so I figured I could leave after the last one, make the two hour trip and be there in time to cast my vote. I could get up early the next morning and make it back to school before my next class. That was pushing it, but I thought it was worth all the effort.

Too bad that on the way there my car broke down on I-95 about an hour from home. Thankfully, it was near an open weigh station. A state trooper there was very kind and let me wait inside for my mom and dad to come and get me. It was, of course, before the days of cell phones but, again, thankfully there was a pay phone in the weigh station. It took a couple of hours for my parents to coordinate their vehicles and work schedules and make it down to where I was waiting. Then it took some time for my dad to make a few mechanical adjustments to my car to get it at least cranked again. And then another hour to get home.

Needless to say, I did not get to vote that year.

As disappointing as that year was, it was not nearly as traumatic as the presidential election campaign that took place when I was in the third grade. It was a school-wide event. All six grade levels at the elementary school I attended were involved. On a set day, everyone had the same assignment. Use your white kraft paper and the red and blue crayons to make paper hats, buttons, signs, and whatever else you could think of to campaign for the presidential candidate of your choice. Then, when it was time to go to the cafeteria for lunch, we were to wear our hats and buttons and carry our signs. Everyone one in the entire school came to the cafeteria donning self-made campaign gear.

It all sounds like fun and even educational. I think they still do stuff like that in elementary schools today. But I was traumatized. The problem was that before I could make any kind of campaign hat, I had to choose a candidate. I had no idea which candidate to select. Even though I was only 8 years old (and two and half months), I knew my choice would only be a guess because I didn’t really know anything about either of the candidates. It bothered me that I felt forced into making a personal commitment but was clueless about exactly what it was that I was committing too. I felt like I was taking a pop quiz and didn’t know any of the answers. I felt like I, personally, was about to fail. Did I mention that I was only 8 years old?

At the encouragement of my teacher, I walked around our classroom as the campaign collaterals were being created and studied what others were doing and which candidate they had selected. I finally just picked the candidate that already had his name on the most hats in my classroom. I made my own hat, hurriedly by that point because I spent too much time deliberating my choice, and I wore it to the cafeteria that day but I was never comfortable in it. I followed the crowd instead of my own convictions. I did that because I didn’t have any personal convictions yet.

Turns out my guy lost the real election. Big time.

Lesson learned.

Every four years when we get ready to elect a president I think about that day in the cafeteria. It’s one of those memories that just won’t go away. I still don’t want to ever be in that position again. The position of not being well-informed enough to make a firm commitment and a wise choice.

This year, thanks to life and times in this media driven age, I have way more information than I need to make a qualified choice. Thank goodness. I live within walking distance of my voting precinct polling place. I’m going early so I won’t miss work. And I’m not going to the cafeteria to eat until AFTER I vote.

See you at the polls.

"Now fear the Lord and serve him with all faithfulness. Throw away the gods your forefathers worshiped beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the Lord. But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your forefathers served beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you are living. But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord." Joshua 24:14-15

Can you hear me now?

Dear God:

For several days I have tried to articulate this but I just can’t seem to get the words out.

I know that you know.

I know that I don’t have to say a word and that you are already aware of what’s on my mind and in my heart. But I haven’t been able to really rest because there is the something inside of me that needs to be released.

The reason I’ve just got to spit it out is because of what you’ve impressed on me lately about my voice and your words.

I know you have been trying to show me how to let those two things be the same thing.

You started this lesson back in February when you spoke to me through a visiting minister at a local revival. It was the message from Acts 2 when the Holy Spirit came with what appeared to be tongues of fire and somehow broke the language barrier so that the your gospel message could be shared to everyone there. The minister said it was kind of like eating jalapeno peppers. Your eyes water and you can’t help but say out loud to everyone around just how hot and powerful it really is.

Out loud.

A couple of months ago you put some more of your Words in front of me that made me take notice again. It wasn’t from a workbook or anything I had been studying. You surprised me out of the blue with a message from a speaker on TV. I haven’t heard too many messages from 2 Chronicles, and especially not on TV. Well, you’ll do anything to get me to listen, won’t you? That whole story about Jehoshaphat leading Judah and Jerusalem to defeat a vast enemy army by using their voices as their only weapon, and I believe you said they used LOUD voices, well, it has been ringing loudly in my head ever since.

Loud voices.

And you know me so well. You know I have to read and re-read and study and stew and steep on things. So you brought that visiting minister back to town this week to speak at a different location, had him preach that same sermon from Acts 2, and made sure I was there to hear it again. You certainly are thorough, aren’t you? I think you must really want me to get the message about the tongues of fire and about saying out loud whatever words you put in my mouth.

Tongues of fire.

And you didn’t stop there. I turned on the TV this morning and heard another message about words. The broadcast was a re-run. I had seen and heard this one before too, but you knew it would fit the theme of what you’re trying to get across to me right now, so you played it again too. You know the story, the one from Acts 16 where a possessed woman was speaking the right words but they were coming from the wrong source and being used for the wrong purpose. Paul and Silas ended up getting thrown in jail because they used your name to cut off her evil source and power. And then Paul and Silas spoke up. In prison, they prayed and sang out loud and the others listened. And lives were changed.

People are listening.

The thing is, I’m more comfortable with the listening part. You know better than anyone that I’m basically a quiet person. I am a bit noise intolerant. I don’t like the volume level on the TV very loud and I don’t like my music loud. I don’t do a lot of talking. Silence doesn’t bother me. You know all that. My ears are my dominant sensory organ. So why do you keep bringing up the issue with my mouth?

You don’t seem to want to let me forget what happened a couple of weeks ago when there were extra people at my house. They brought a significant amount of their own personal drama with them. I tried to do what I thought was the best thing by keeping my mouth shut and just listening as they all worked through their issues that were really none of my business anyway.

You know better than any of us that they were struggling with a decision that would affect several lives. You and I had several conversations about them and I asked you to show up in their lives and speak to them so that they could hear and respond.

They were in a vulnerable state and I didn’t want to inappropriately influence any decision they might make. You knew that too. I tried very hard to look for the positives in it all and to speak only those things or else just be quiet.

But after about the second day, something happened. We sat through an entire meal without me saying a word. Then, the control was no longer mine and you took over. Words started coming out of my mouth that had not been processed through my read and re-read schedule yet. The words were not planned or premeditated even though I’d had a couple of days to mull it over. They just came out.

They were words of hope when there seems to be no hope. They were words about how much Jesus loved us to sacrifice his life for us. They were words of your awesomeness beyond our comprehension. They were words about your covenant love.

I have no idea what I said. I just know that it was you and not me.

You used me. You used me because I let you take over. I see now that that is what you are after. It thrills me that you can do something so amazingly loud with my quiet-natured self.

I want that every day. It scares me to death, but I want it.

There.

I said it.

Out loud.

I want it. All the time. I want it.

To your praise and glory. Amen.

How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can they preach unless they are sent? As it is written, "How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!" Romans 10:14-15

Squirrels, snakes, hawks, and heaven

Aarrrggghh. Enough with life lessons from the wildlife and wandering in the wilderness! I told you, I’m a city girl! I prefer classrooms made of concrete, surrounded by lots of roads and traffic and all the pretty lights.

Yes, more stories from the animal planet, aka my yard.

Yesterday, I pulled my car into my driveway and parked. The driveway at our hose curves left, so when the car is parked in the driveway, it is parallel to the street. There is only a few feet of dirt between the parallel driveway and street. I say dirt and not grass because there are two huge oak trees growing in that little plot of land. Big trees and lots of shade mean no sun and no grass. The mailbox at the edge of the yard is directly underneath one of the trees.

I got out of the car and stepped toward the mailbox to get the mail. My cat, Marbles, as she usually does, bounced out of the rocker on the front porch and began to waddle out to me.

This awful screaming started wailing through the air. I froze. Marbles ran under my car and crouched behind a tire. I could tell the scream came from an animal, not a human. I could also tell it was close by. I was still about three steps away from the front of the mailbox. My feet didn’t move, but I looked all around. I realized it was coming from somewhere over my head.

I looked up. In among the oak tree’s high limbs and leaves I saw something that did not seem like it belonged there. At first, it looked like a large piece of crumpled-up, vanilla-colored craft paper (the kind professional movers use to wrap your china in). It was wrapped in and around some of the smaller branches. The screaming was coming from there.

There was lots of noise, but no movement.

As I focused more clearly, I realized that what I thought was wrinkled paper was actually feathers. More specifically, hawk feathers. It was the underside of its full wing span spread out. And then I saw a little fuzzy squirrel tail hanging from the mix of feathers and branches. It was the source of all the noise.

The crying and screaming finally stopped. After several long, silent seconds the hawk took flight with the little squirrel in its clutches.

I stood there feeling helpless. I wanted to cry for the squirrel. I wanted to scoop my cat up so the hawk wouldn’t get her.

I know this kind of thing happens every day.

I know that just a couple of days ago, we were responsible for snuffing out a snake.

I know this has to happen for life to go on. I know all about the circle of life and death and the food chain and all.

I just don’t like to witness it personally. The killing seems so evil.

A year ago, maybe two, I read Randy Alcorn’s book HEAVEN. It permanently influenced the way I think about death. Every time I’m faced with death now, whether it is human, plant, or animal, I think about heaven.

Alcorn’s HEAVEN is a 500-page book and very textbook-like, so I won’t try to recap it here. But I will say that he makes a very convincing case about what the Bible says about not only human death, but the death of plants and animals too. All death.

Mostly, to summarize it, there will be no more death once we get to heaven.

That’s what is says in Revelation.

Just think about it for a minute. If there is no death, the food chain as we know it is gone. There will be no killing for food. Plants won’t die. We’ll have perpetually producing crops.

I won’t need to fear poisonous snakes. I won’t have to cry over helpless little squirrels.

I am so-o-o-o looking forward to it. I just have to face my own death to get there. I thank God that I have faced it and settled it before some shovel wielding man or a sharp-clawed hawk comes after me.

I pray the same for you.

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true." Revelation 21:4-5

Indy, why does the floor move?

City folk. That’s what we are.

We have lived in the rural, swampy lowcountry for almost 12 years and I am still not at home with the forces of nature here. It’s never more apparent that when we have to interact with the wildlife in our yard.

Our cat, Marbles, always knows when our cars are coming down the street. By the time we pull into the driveway, she has bounded down from her perch in the porch rocker or bounced her way back from the back yard. She usually comes out to greet us and either walks all around our legs or just lies at our feet waiting for a stroke. Then she remembers she is not a dog. Her true cat self calls to her and reminds her she should be ignoring us, which she then promptly does.

Last night when we got home Marbles was nowhere to be found. Scott called and called and paced the yard. Nothing. It was not typical behavior for Marbles. We went inside but kept watching the door for her.

She did finally show up later, but it was obvious she had her mind on other things.

At one point Scott stepped out on the front porch to check on her. He saw the shadow of little cat ears peaking around the corner of the house. Marbles does that occasionally if there are strangers around, but not usually with us. It was dark, and Scott couldn’t tell if was Marbles or not (there are several neighborhood cats around). I stepped outside to take a look myself. If that was her, I wanted to see what was spooking her.

While Scott was busy trying to coax the cat shadow from around the corner of the house, I looked the other way and saw Marbles in the yard beyond the porch. She was mighty intent on something else in the grass.

Scott turns his attention to Marbles, steps closer to her, and then he sees the object of distress for all three of us (four if you count the other cat peaking around the corner). A snake. In my yard. Ugh. Granted, it was a small, young snake. But still. Ugh. I can’t help it, I think they are Satan.

The snake was snapping at Marbles. Marbles was swatting at it. Scott started barking commands to both Marbles and me. “Get away from it.” “Turn on the porch light.” “Get something to hit it with.” “Bring the flashlight.”

Now, I know cats are snake predators, and Marbles was probably just having a little fun. But I have heard too many stories from people around here about them finding copperheads and rattlesnakes in their yards. While I have no idea what a copperhead or rattlesnake looks like up close and personal, Scott and I agreed that this little snake looked poisonous. It WAS Satan and it had to go.

I scooped Marbles up, took her in the house, picked up the flashlight, got the keys to the storage building out back, went out there and got the shovel (the first thing I could find in the dark), all the while stepping gingerly to avoid any other native critters in the grass.

Scott did a very good job of disabling and then disposing of the snake so that Marbles wouldn’t find it and continue to play with it. Although, once it doesn’t wiggle any more, she loses interest anyway.

I don’t really know what time it was that all that took place, but I do know it was late. Before all the commotion, I was pretty much ready for bed. Not so much afterwards. I was wide awake, afraid to close my eyes for fear of slithering nightmares. So, today I am sleepy.

This morning Marbles was nestled back in her front porch rocker, but staring blindly at the spot where it all took place last night. I’m not sure if she was just wishfully thinking or if she was actually staring at something else squirming (because we all know that where there is one, especially young ones, there are more!). It must be so tempting for her – all the thrill of danger, excitement, the adrenalin rush, and maybe even in the end, a little snack.

I told her to resist the devil today.

Now, if only I can practice what I preach.

Test everything. Hold on to the good. Avoid every kind of evil. 1 Thessalonians 5:21-22

Vili Grem and North Korea

I know I’ve said this before, but because it happens so often, I’m going to repeat it: God uses themes with me. Maybe it’s more like chapters. What I mean is that something or someone keeps popping up in my life. Something about it/them comes to my attention on several occasions within a short amount of time.

Or, maybe it is just a manifestation of the second and third chances He offers me so that I can finally catch on to what He’s trying to show me.

Although it can be, it is not usually a major life changing thing that God’s trying to show me. Often it is just something that heightens my sensitivity and enhances my relationship with Him or someone else.

It has happened again of the last couple of weeks. This time it’s Billy Graham and his family with a sub-plot of North Korea.

Last week on our not-quite-a-vacation, we took a day trip up from Pop’s to the Billy Graham Library in Charlotte, North Carolina. Pop had previously been with the senior adults from his church. He enjoyed it enough to want to go again and he wanted us to experience it too.

The grounds and gardens are beautiful. The displays and presentations are very well done. It was all so informative and interesting. You can read more about it if you click here.

I bet that most people, even those who do not profess to be Christians, when asked what they know about Billy Graham, would answer that he had some pastoral association with all of the United States Presidents since Harry Truman(I think it went back that far). That seems to be a well photo-documented and publicized tidbit.

What I discovered beyond that at the BG Library and what I found so amazing was his connection and relationship with so many leaders of foreign countries. There were a couple of photos that really struck me to the point that I just had to stop and stare. One was of Billy Graham with North Korean former dictator Kim Il Sung. How in the world did they ever have occasion to meet?

The second picture that had me riveted was of Billy Graham and Golda Meir. I don’t know much about the details of her life but I am so intrigued. How did a woman educated in the US get to be Prime Minister of Israel in the 1960s? I need to find a good biography on her!

The whole international phenomenon was unbelievable. In one of the displays there were envelopes of letters to Billy Graham that had very incomplete addresses. Some were from other countries. Somehow, they all found their way to the right place. Here’s my favorite:




One of the presentations was dedicated to his wife Ruth. If I knew it before, I had forgotten that her parents were missionaries and she was raised in China. My ears perked up as the audio/video described her early years. The narrator said she went to boarding school in Pyongyang, North Korea. My eyes widened and I snapped my head around to smile at Scott. Pyongyang?! Really?! We have some dear, sweet friends who are working in Pyongyang today because they have dedicated their lives to God and to higher education and peace and unification - - on many different levels. It reminded me of them and my great need to pray regularly for them and their work. It’s that North Korean thing again.

OK, so fast forward a few days. We’re back at work and getting back into our normal routine. I have lunch with my friend Ginger and I tell her about our visit to the BG Library. She tells me there’s a TV special about Ruth Bell Graham coming on soon. I check the listings when I get home and whaddaya know, it was scheduled to air the very next night. (Thanks for the heads up, Ginger!). There goes God again beckoning me to pay attention!

The next evening we tuned in and watched the program. By the time it was over, Scott and I both were in tears. One interview on the program was with a man who came to the US as a desperate refugee and was struggling to survive with his family. He didn’t know it until much later, but Ruth made the down payment on a house for them. In another interview (a musician, I can’t remember his name), there was a story of the interaction between Ruth and a little orphan girl whose face had been badly burned; Ruth going on about how precious the child was. All Ruth’s children were on the program and spoke of how loving and selfless and silly she was. It was just one of those programs that made you think about your own mama; and your heavenly father.

God still wasn’t done with this chapter yet.

Did you see the news in the last week? North Korea made the headlines. It seems there is a lot of speculation about the health of the current North Korean dictator Kim Jong Il. And, apparently there is no groomed successor if indeed he is close to death. All of which would have heavy impact on, well, North Korea, South Korea, China, the US, my friends there, on and on and on…

Oh, and, next week there just happens to be a Franklin Graham Festival about an hour from here. That’s pretty close to home.

So, Pop led us to Billy Graham, which pointed me to Ruth, both of which led me to North Korea, which brought me to the feet of Jesus in prayer for my friends there. And then North Korea shows up on the headlines of my personal computer, and Franklin Graham comes to my area. All in about two week’s time.

What started out as a not-quite-a-vacation ended up taking me halfway across the world and brought me right back to my own little world. Isn’t it amazing what God can do?!

Sing to the Lord, for he has done glorious things; let this be known to all the world. Isaiah 12:5

Not exactly the makeover I was looking for

A couple of years ago Scott and I went through Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University class. If you’ve ever been through it you know that it is very enlightening and very convicting. We did pretty well following the principles, for a while anyway.

This weekend, the Dave Ramsey Total Money Makeover Live event was held at the coliseum. There were a couple of others from church interested in going, and we certainly needed a refresher course, so we all went.

To be honest, the week prior to the event I wasn’t really that excited about going. It was a timing thing. If it had been some other weekend I might have gotten more excited about it. This weekend, however, was the one nearest my birthday and I wanted to spend some money on myself, not hear about how I should be saving every penny I have.

The event was 5 hours long and I stayed interested pretty much the whole time, even in those uncomfortable seats. The basic principles and even most of the examples haven’t changed much since the we first took the class, but it is still, dare I say it, right on the money. And of course, Dave still has that charisma.

One of the key scriptures Dave uses and bases his financial philosophy on is Proverbs 6:1-5.

My son, if you have put up security for your neighbor, if you have struck hands in pledge for another, if you have been trapped by what you said, ensnared by the words of your mouth, then do this, my son, to free yourself, since you have fallen into your neighbor's hands: Go and humble yourself; press your plea with your neighbor! Allow no sleep to your eyes, no slumber to your eyelids. Free yourself, like a gazelle from the hand of the hunter, like a bird from the snare of the fowler.

The scripture was printed in the worksheet booklet they handed out at the event. When Dave read it out loud, he emphasized a couple of words by reading them slowly and repeating them. I circled them on the worksheet because they struck me as if I had never read them before. Dave was using the NKJV; it says “deliver yourself.” My NIV says “free yourself.” Free yourself. Free yourself.

There is a qualifier in it. This scripture is specifically talking about when you get yourself into a fix. And, even more specifically, when you get yourself into a mess because of things you said. Oh, my.

How many times have I agreed to do something that I wasn’t entirely sure I could follow through on, and then when I failed went crying to God to get me out of the mess? Too many to count.

Yes, I believe that God has all the strength and power to get me out of any circumstance I find myself in. But it looks like to me His Word says that as a responsible human being, I AM responsible. I am responsible for my actions; responsible for my words. I am responsible for working it out and getting myself out of the mess.

And the Word says the first instruction to getting out of the mess is to humble yourself.

It’s quite simple, really. But not always easy.

Kind of like those Dave Ramsey Financial Peace principles.

You're not going out in THAT, are you?

We loved the Sears and JCPenney catalogs when we were little girls. We enjoyed the colorful pages all year long, not just at Christmas when the Wish Book came out.

My sister and I would play the game of “if you could pick only one item on this page, which one thing would it be.” We would take turns picking first because, of course, you couldn’t pick an item if the other one had already chosen it. We then would turn to the next double page spread and start over, all the way through the clothes, shoes, and jewelry sections.

I don’t remember that our mother ever actually ordered any apparel for us from those catalogs. The only time I ever remember getting something that came in the mail wrapped in plastic was a dress my Grandmama Martin ordered for me. I was in the second or third grade. It was a made of heavy, thick, synthetic fabric. It was gold with brown and rust colored trim. I wore it to have my school picture made that year. I was so proud of that mail-order dress.

Most of the other clothes my sisters and I wore, our mother made on her sewing machine. She made a lot of short sets, pant suits, and dresses for us to wear to school. And if ever there was a special occasion, it most definitely called for a dress handmade with that extra touch of love. We spent almost as much time looking at Butterick pattern books as we did the department store catalogs.

My two sisters and I still like to study fashion catalogs as if we’re preparing for the bar exam. We thumb slowly through the same 25 pages over and over again, memorizing colors and styles, turning down page corners, creating wish lists, and circling potential purchases.

But somewhere along the way, it all got lost in translation for me.

I have not been able to make the transition to shopping in real life.

The recent shopping trip with my sisters has confirmed that for me. If I ever had any fashion sense, I realize now that it has been lying dormant somewhere in the back of my closet full of clothes I never should have bought in the first place.

I do not own a single pair of capri pants. This is partly because I do not like to wear shoes without some kind of sock/hose. My feet get cold very easily without socks, and when they do I am miserable. The other reason I don’t own a pair of capris is because they do not look good on EVERY body type. Ahem.

I own only one sleeveless top. It is a white tank top that I wear underneath things, never by itself.

I have issues with flip flops. Flop rhymes with slop, and that’s what they make me think. Sloppy. And there’s that annoying slapping noise when you walk. I do own one pair. I bought them after some coaxing from my husband that I needed a “treat” (his word for something you wouldn’t normally buy for yourself). They are metallic and beaded, so they are not quite so sloppy, but they still slap. They are fun, but I don’t wear them that much.

And, I don’t see anything wrong with pantyhose. Except that no one else is wearing them.

See. I AM a fashion weirdo.

I know that the last 10 years living an hour away from a mall, and four hours away from a GOOD one has had something to do with it. And then there’s always the budget too. Ugh. Somewhere along the way my fashion confidence got left behind.

But I’m ready for a new do-over challenge, so, last night I took everything, yes everything, out of my closet. I loaded up yes-sir-yes-sir-three-bags-full of “what was I thinking?” shirts, skirts, pants, and shoes.

And of course, all the things that were two sizes too small got tossed as well. No sense keeping those things one minute longer.

The things I put back in my closet were things that have a glimmer of hope. I still have plenty of clothes, but I also have some work to do. I think it has more to do with my attitude - - learning to believe that it is OK to step outside the narrow safety zone. Don’t worry so much about it. Take some risks.

I don’t think I’ll ever make it to the fast lane, but hopefully I will at least find my way into the current traffic/fashion pattern.

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Matthew 6:24-25

Say what?

OK, so I'm still having a hard time getting back into the swing of things since my little mini-vacation to visit my sisters. Usually I can stay pretty focused. That is, if I've got something to focus on. But the past few days I've found that I'd rather think about laughing with my sisters and all my pretty, new clothes. Never mind the pile of work on my desk.

My distraction has also spilled over into my blog time.

Most people update their blogs every day. Imagine that (maybe one day I'll get there!). And, I usually read them every day. In trying to catch up on some of the posts I missed while I was away playing, I read this All Access post.

In my state of distraction, I was intrigued by the picture at the bottom of the post there.

Here it is:



You can click on the image and it will open a larger version so you can get a good look.

It was created at Wordle. Again, being so easily led astray lately, I just had to go there myself and create my own.

I typed the the URL of my blog. It takes the top 150 words in the blog and the more often a word is used, the larger it shows up in the picture. Here's what my blog is saying about me today:




I had no idea I could be summed up like that. Hmmm.


Guard your steps when you go to the house of God. Go near to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools, who do not know that they do wrong. Do not be quick with your mouth, do not be hasty in your heart to utter anything before God. God is in heaven and you are on earth, so let your words be few. As a dream comes when there are many cares, so the speech of a fool when there are many words. Ecclesiastes 5: 1-3

The empowered's new clothes

I am really having a hard time getting back into the swing of things since I returned from my little mini vacation. Yesterday Scott called me at work. He asked how things were going. I think Scott was having difficulty too. His father had just left after a 2 week visit here (he came before I left on my sisters trip, so it was just the two of them here for a while). Scott was trying to get back into his own routine, one that didn't include his father and did include me.

I answered his question by grumping about it being a true Monday and about how much work I had to do. However, I told him I was wearing a brand new outfit so everything was going to be ok.

Y'all. Let me tell you about my new clothes.

Before I do that, let me remind you of two things. One, just in case you didn't know this about me, anything that costs over $25 is considered a major purchase and involves trauma (you can read the details of that idiosyncrasy HERE ). Two, I mentioned in my previous post that my sisters know how to shop. I knew Sister #2 was quite adept, but I really didn't know Sister #1 was so skilled at it too. With both of them together, it was quite an adventure for me. I guess I hadn't realized how much I just don't shop for clothes any more, (all the reasons why are a story for another day).

Anyway, Sister#1 took us to a mall and introduced me (thank you, thank you!) to Christopher & Banks. All the pretty colors drew me in and I spent $100. On clothes. Oh my. I can't remember the last time I did that. But the kicker is, I got three jackets and two pair of pants. That's five items for $100. The way I overcame my major purchase trauma was to average it out in my head - $100 for 5 items made each piece $20. Of course, all 5 pieces were marked down so none of it was regular price. That's under my $25 mental limit. I was on vacation. Whoo hooo.

Wearing my new clothes yesterday made me feel all fresh and new. I felt younger and thinner. I felt smarter. I felt empowered to accomplish more. It helped change my attitude about what I faced that day.

I felt different on the inside because of what I wore on the outside. I don't know if anyone else noticed.

It's made me think about another way I'm covered outwardly and affected inwardly. My heart is changed because my sins have been covered. I hope and pray others notice. Thank you, Jesus.

I delight greatly in the LORD; my soul rejoices in my God. For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. Isaiah 61:10