Davalynn Spencer

Romantic at Heart

2012-02-04T07:16:00.000-08:00

I enjoy a good love story with a happy ending.

Some people discredit such tales as unrealistic and irrational. But I’m not talking about ruffles and lace and hearts and flowers and chick-flick movies (though sometimes I like those things too). I’m talking about love and happy endings.

A crusty old fisherman said God is love. He said God was so good at loving that he gave his best gift to those who didn’t deserve it. That doesn’t sound like ruffles and lace to me.

An unknown singer of songs said pretty much the same thing.

“…the earth is full of his unfailing love … ” —Psalm 33:5 (NIV)

I think the God of unfailing love had a happy ending in mind. Otherwise, there would be no eternal home awaiting us, there would be no new heaven and earth, and Jesus would not have said, “I want you to be with Me forever.”

He would not have died.

The Great Author added a surprise twist to his love story: a never-ending. You can read more about it in Psalm 136.

In fact, if you read one verse from that Psalm each day of this month, you'll see there are nearly enough to go around. A lover of love stories might do that, and find that the Great Author was trying to make a point. Twenty-six times.

I’d call that a good love story with a happy ending.

Wouldn’t you?

Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
forever. —Psalm 23:6 (NIV)

Dawn

2012-01-21T07:07:00.001-08:00

My favorite time of day is dawn, especially if I happen to catch a magnificently colorful event. I feel privileged, as if I were among the few to see such splendor.

The beautiful striations and remarkable depth of those sunrises are caused by clouds. They create the show, or rather, the sun around and through them. It has something to do with contrast—light and dark—and the glory lasts only a few minutes. This time of year in winter-wrapped Colorado, the magic moment occurs between quarter to seven and seven.

On mornings that break clear and pristine, the sun merely opens its golden eye upon the land and the horizon brightens. It’s beautiful, yes. An ongoing reminder of God’s faithfulness, but without the pyrotechnic explosion of red and pink and orange.

It doesn’t take my breath away.

I’m disappointed if morning comes to a cloudless sky because I know there won’t be a show. But that’s not the way I view my life. I want no clouds or storms in my daily existence. No show, thank you very much. Just give me easy, calm, windless life … even if the clouds and storms are the very things that magnify the power and light of the Son.

Forgive me, Lord. Shine through the dimensions of my life and display the glory of your power.

Getting from here to there

2012-01-07T07:19:00.000-08:00

“Transition” is not one of my favorite words. It implies hard work, change, letting go of the familiar and heading into the unknown. It takes a person from what was to what will be and often involves pain. Biological mothers everywhere know exactly what I’m talking about.

So do daddies watching daughters glide down the aisle in white dresses, and employees leaving the nest of comfort on the wings of promotion. Transition is everywhere.

As a writer working on a fiction manuscript, I face it in nearly every scene. How does Fernando get from his Ford and into his front room? How does Paula get from dinners for one to picnics in the park? Transition.

And how do last month’s holiday cookie-eaters get from their sweatpants back into their dress pants? They call my son Jake.

Jake is a personal trainer who helps people change. He teaches them how to get from pudgy to perfect, and even uses special exercises called—you guessed it—transitional exercises.

For example, if a client is working muscle set A, and wants to move to muscle set B, Jake takes him from an exercise for set A, into an exercise that uses both set A and B, and then into one that uses only set B. Sounds logical, but it’s hard work.

We can’t get away from transition, and we shouldn’t want to. The push from here to there keeps us moving forward. It squeezes life out of boney winter branches into green spring buds, and builds strength into the flabby muscles of winter revelers.

Transition challenges us, even as we trade in an old, marked-up calendar for a nice new clean one.

Some people worry that 2012 will be the last page in mankind’s datebook. If it is, fine. If not, great. My life doesn’t hang on a round Mayan rock with no room for the future; it hangs on the cross of Jesus Christ who said He’d never let me out of His hand.

Transition is not easy, but we have Someone who promised to get us through it. As we take those first steps into 2012, let’s look to the God who knows what’s coming, and trust Him to take care of us along the way.

Behold, I make all things new. —Rev. 21:5 (NKJ)

What is Your Perfect Gift?

2011-12-24T05:46:00.000-08:00

Tradition teaches us that 2,000 years ago three Eastern kings journeyed to the land of Israel to see the foretold Christ child. But scripture mentions the number of gifts, not the number of kings.

When the Magi found Mary, Joseph, and the young Jesus, “they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh” (Matt. 2:11b NIV). Unusual gifts for a little boy.

Gold was the currency of kings. As a first-century Judean carpenter, Joseph probably had seen very little of it and so prized it accordingly. No doubt it helped finance the family’s flight to Egypt when Joseph was warned to relocate.

Incense, or frankincense, represented the adoration of God’s people. Priests offered it in the temple to symbolize prayer rising to heaven. This costly commodity was harvested by collecting the sap from slashed and bleeding Boswellia trees.

Myrrh is also a fragrant resin obtained from tapping a specific tree, one whose thorns can pose a considerable challenge. It served medicinal purposes, and was used in burial preparations, as when Nicodemus wrapped the crucified body of Christ in linen and myrrh and aloes (John 19:39-40).

These gifts are nothing like those I received for my newborns and toddlers, but they were highly fitting for the Son of God—our King, our Priest, and our Sacrifice.

This Christmas as we open our treasures and consider what to give, we probably won’t find gold, incense and myrrh. But we will find representations of them: faith refined like gold, the sweet savor of worship, and the sacrifice of praise.

Never doubt that you have something of great value to give our Lord. For you bring the one perfect gift He wants above all else, the one which only you can give—yourself.

For Christmas reading: The Other Wiseman by Henry Van Dyke.

Are you full of it?

2011-12-11T06:20:00.000-08:00

Writing assignment: Evaluate yourself as a friend.

I told my students to measure themselves against criteria that defined a good friend, and then write a short essay, supporting their findings with evidence.

Though it was a college composition class, some students had more difficulty with spelling than anything else, and as I read through their papers I noticed an unusual standard listed by one young man: faith fullness.

I knew he meant faithfulness, but the way he wrote it made me see the term differently—perhaps with the significance intended by the word’s originator.

Faith fullness.

I wondered about my own quota. How do I measure fullness of faith? Would it be the same way I measure a glass of water, a tank of gas, a heavy meal of Italian lasagna?

Would it be to say I am full of faith, half full of faith, hardly at all full of faith?

I want to be full, yet Jesus said a mustard seed-sized drop would do.

Whew! I’m so glad.

Sometimes when I look into the glass, a drop is all that’s there.

(Image creator: winnond)

Home alone on Black Friday ... and loving it

2011-11-25T06:06:00.000-08:00

So it’s Black Friday—the day merchants’ ledgers run from red into black as Americans flood sale-sloppy stores for bargain prices on Christmas trappings.

Since I am not most Americans, I stay home on Black Friday. A bustling crowd in my kitchen for Thanksgiving dinner is one thing, but hustling through a crowd of strangers—perfect or otherwise—is quite another. It’s not for me. I’d rather settle into the sofa with a leftover-turkey and cranberry sauce sandwich and a good book.

Merchandizers do a fine job of telling me what I should buy for Christmas, as well as when and where I should buy it. But as my son says, Black Friday isn’t even in December, and Christmas shouldn’t begin until December.

I like that. Why rush things? Valentine’s Day will be here before we know it, and retailers will start reminding us by December 27.

However, my son obviously has not been the Christmas-gift-purchaser over the years, so he has no idea of what it means to spot that perfect something in March or September, and then hide it away for later. Which, of course, is why I don’t have to worry about Black Friday.

I also appreciate the fact that some people plan ahead for The World's Biggest Shopping Day and make it a fun outing with relatives or close friends.

But rebelling against the commercialization of Christmas is my way of occupying the season, and the current season is still Thanksgiving. I plan to stay home and be thankful on the day after I over-stuff myself on stuffed turkey.

Thank God for leftovers.

And a safe refuge of peace on Black Friday.

Life is so unfair

2011-11-12T07:05:00.000-08:00

I recently posted a fill-in-the-blank request on Facebook in the form of a question I’ve heard many times:

“What in the world did I ever do to deserve ____?”

I expected answers like:

a wrecked car
cancer
an unfaithful spouse
getting fired
this ridiculous interest rate

Surprisingly, not one answer was a complaint. No whining. No resentment or grumbling. Instead the answers were:

God’s love and favor!
The perfect children that God blessed me with.
Such a cool and thoughtful Auntie!
My beautiful family.
All the blessings this life has given me.

One respondent said he knew it was a loaded question. That’s good. It means he has already confronted himself with what matters most in the face of life’s unfairness. And it is unfair, you know.

I haven’t done one single thing to deserve the privilege of walking along the river on a clear morning, or marveling at the beauty of a silent snowfall, or coming home to a warm house and a hot cup of coffee. I’ve done nothing to deserve my family and good health, a job I enjoy, faithful friends and God's grace and forgiveness, but I’m thankful for it all.

Yes, life is unfair. And I am extremely glad that I don’t get what I deserve.

Sing to the Lord all the earth!

2011-10-30T05:53:00.000-07:00

“Sing to the Lord, all the earth.” So said the shepherd boy who became king.

But does the earth have a voice other than the sigh of a breeze, a river’s whisper, or the crunch of new snow on the path? Does it sing as it warms to the dawn and birds twitter in the light?

I see the earth’s voice in the changing leaves of a Rocky Mountain fall. Yes, see. Not only can I hear the earth praising its Creator, I see it in the blaze of yellow trees once green, in a cerulean sky, and the brilliance of a billion stars on the darkest night. Even the heavens declare his glory.

A song by Mercy Me invites us: “And all of creation sing with me now / lift up your voice and lay your burden down.”*

That’s an amazing exchange, to lift one thing and lay down another. After all, my burdens are so heavy, I can hardly carry them at all, much less lift them up. Maybe I’m not meant to. Maybe I am supposed to drop them and simply raise my hands.

The earth praises God all around us in the manner, and with the purpose for which it was created. We, the crowning jewel of God’s creativity, choose to praise him.

Will we?

*“All of Creation” from The Generous Mr. Lovewell
1 Chronicles 16:23 NIV

What if God told you to do something weird?

2011-10-15T09:13:00.000-07:00

What if you were in a real tight spot—like the desert with no water, and God told you to dig ditches. Would you do it?

Three men set out across the desert and didn’t prepare for the trip. They ran out of water. One of them suggested they check in with God and get his help. God said, “Dig ditches.”

“But there’s no water!” they could have said. “Why in the world would we dig a ditch?”

~

What if you were about to lose everything—like your children and your home, and God told you to collect jars. Would you do it?

A woman’s husband died and left her up to her eyelashes in debt. Bill collectors were banging on the door, and God said, “Get all the jars you can find.”

“I have nothing to put in those jars and no money to buy anything to put in them,” she could have said. “Why in the world do I need a bunch of empty jars?”

~

In both situations, these people had only one thing left: the capacity to obey.*

What if God told you to dig ditches or collect jars? Would you?

Reason says, “Get real.”
Obedience says, “Okay, Lord,” and starts digging.

Reason says, “You’re kidding, right?”
Obedience says, “Okay, Lord,” and starts gathering.

What is God telling you to do? Are you familiar enough with His voice to recognize it? Do you trust Him enough to do what He says—no matter how peculiar?

Times are tough. What if all we have left is the capacity to obey?

*To find out what happened, read these stories in the Old Testament book of 2 Kings, chapters 3 and 4.

Peace Like a River

2011-10-01T06:31:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my guest blogger last week, you know where I spend most mornings: trotting down the trail along the Arkansas River near our home.

The river is a seasonal host, rushing past in summer, swollen with snow melt and churning red or brown. But now it has laid itself down for autumn and whispers by, laughing only in the rocky shallows or at the bulwark of the bridges.

"We made it,” the waters declare. “We made it over the rocks. They didn't stop us. Praise the Lord!"

If I could truly decipher the voice of nature, would I hear it speak in such a way that praises its creator? What a beautiful declaration—one to which I should add my own voice. But that’s not what usually happens when I’m dashed against a boulder blocking my way.

If you doubt that nature praises Him, read Psalm 148. You can almost hear the water singing.

Maybe that’s the secret to the peace I find at the river—praising God in all things.

Even when I’m pressed against the rocks.

Blue on the River

2011-09-17T08:01:00.000-07:00

Hi, I’m Blue, the guest blogger. You’ve probably heard of me: “Me and you and a dog named Blue,” or something like that.

D’s busy getting ready for what she calls a women’s retreat up in Larkspur, Colorado. She’ll be gone about three days talking a lot. No dogs. Sounds boring.

Anyway, she asked me to do a blog for her about the Arkansas Riverwalk where we take a pull almost every morning. She doesn’t call it a pull, but that’s exactly what it is because she’d never make it without me. I’ve gotta pull her all the way along the river about a mile or so and then pull her all the way back again. I’m either going to have great shoulder muscles or no hair on my neck, one or the other. She gets such a tight grip on the leash that I have to strain to get anywhere.

I still have a good time, though—there’s so much to smell! D’s not as fond of the bushes as I am, and only occasionally lets me follow my nose. But that’s how I find out who’s been there. Chihuahua, female, 4 years, 5 pounds. (A little chubby, if you ask me.) Collie, 9 months, male, way too excitable. Pit bull, 8 years, male, nonaggressive. And that big white one that makes me nervous. D says not to worry, he’s just poofy. Lots of hair. I could take him, she says. But she sure chokes up on my leash when we pull by.

Some of these fellas look just like the people they’re tugging along the trail. Like that white poofy one. The woman on the end of the leash has white poofy hair too. I’m black and white, a fairly even mix of both. And D.? Well, I think she has a little more white than black. Come to think of it, she … Never mind.

This morning we crossed paths with one of those little mops on a stick. All bark and no bite. Like some cowboys I’ve met: all hat and no cows. I should know; I’m a cow dog, a Queensland blue heeler, though I don’t see too many cows anymore. Lots of deer at the river—skinny, long legs, big ears. I know better than to heel one of them. They’d kick my lips off.

Occasionally I smell a bear. This morning I heard one gruntin’ in the Russian olive shoots along the back water where the bull frogs hide. I don’t think D noticed because she just kept going, mumbling something about “river of life” and “the voice of many waters.” I don’t pay much attention until she says “no.”

Besides, I’m too busy checking out the squirrels that run de-lib-er-ate-ly in front of me and dash under a rock on the river bank or up a tree. You think I get to chase ‘em? Nope. And the Canada geese squat over on the other side of the river, honking and raising my ears. I can’t get at them, either. There’s just no swimming that river; it’s too fast. Sometimes it pushes people along on big plastic floaty things—bunches of ‘em, like they’re all out there on purpose with one guy holding a paddle up front.

Well, that’s all I have to say about the Riverwalk. It’s just about my favorite place to go, except when she makes me jump in the back of the truck to get there. I don’t get enough bacon treats for that trick. I like the car better. It’s closer to the ground for these old bones.

You probably figured out that I can’t spell D‘s whole name. Who has a name with three syllables, anyway? Every self-respecting mammal I know has a short name. Blue, for example. Duke, Red, Jack, Buck, and so forth. Of course there are plenty of others like Lady and Junior and Fluffy, but I don’t hang out with those types if I can help it.

Then there’s Mike. There’s a good, solid name. But that’s another blog.

You are worth the wait

2011-09-03T06:43:00.000-07:00

I just completed another draft of my inspirational romantic-suspense novel and laid it aside to let it simmer. In a few weeks, I will go back to it with fresh eyes and work through it again.

The manuscript is not perfect. I need to grind down a few rough spots, flesh out certain scenes—do the whole nip-and-tuck thing. I will cut away entire sections and breathe life into others. It’s not ready for the publisher, maybe not even for an agent, but I’m not giving up on it. I believe in it.

I believe in the story’s message: that Christ cares about individuals. That He went out of His way to talk to people one-on-one and still does. That He imparts peace through His presence.

Considering the value I placed on this story, I was a bit surprised by the almost parental zeal I felt. And that’s when I realized that God believes in me the same way. I am His work.

I am not perfect. I have rough edges ready for grinding, places that need to be fleshed out, and others than should be surgically removed. But He believes in me. He’s not giving up on me. I am not yet perfect, but by the time He’s finished, I will be.

Someday I’ll be published in paradise. God will say, “Look what I did. Look what My son’s blood bought.”

I am His workmanship created in Christ Jesus.

So are you.

Don’t give up on yourself.

He hasn’t.

Ephesians 2:10

Please, bug me.

2011-08-20T05:38:00.000-07:00

Some people don’t want to be bothered. God is not one of them.

Jesus told his followers of a man who banged on his neighbor’s door in the middle of the night because he needed extra food for an unexpected guest. The neighbor said, “Go away. It’s late, everyone’s in bed, I’m not getting up.” But he did. He got up and gave the man what he needed.

Why? Not because he liked the guy, but because he kept banging on the door.

Do we pray like that? Do we go to God and pound on the door until we get an answer? Jesus said we should. He told us to ask, seek, and knock.

Jesus didn’t speak English, so I don’t think He lined the words up like that so they’d spell out a neat little acrostic. I believe He was showing us three levels of communication—and commitment.

When I worked as a reporter for a mid-size daily newspaper, I used these levels nearly every day.

“Is flagpole one word or two?” I could shoot out a question in the newsroom while sitting at my desk, and hear someone throw back an answer. Asking required very little effort.

Seeking took a little more work. I had to stop what I was doing, pick up the Associated Press Stylebook and look up the answer. It meant searching, hunting, discerning, discovering.

Knocking involved total commitment. If I wanted to see the chief editor or general manager, I had to get out of my chair, go to his office and knock on the door. That was the only way to talk to one of them face to face to get my answer, find direction, lodge a complaint, or pick up an assignment. It took the most effort.

So what kind of prayers do we pray? How much effort do we put into talking to God? Yes, the Lord knows the very thoughts of our hearts, unlike the editor or general manager. But I believe Jesus gave us a bit of vital information when He said to ask, seek and knock.

How badly do we want to hear from God?

Are we pounding on the door?

Luke 11

Catching Up in the World of Not

2011-08-13T06:07:00.000-07:00

I just bought a Nook. I used to think they came with a Cranny, but this one didn’t.

It took one entire afternoon to get the thing powered up, set up, registered, online and everything else because I come from a different world. In my world, people watch TV on their television, not their telephones. They listen to music on stereos not earplugs. But I’m learning: I’m now reading via something that is Not a bOOK.

The most unsettling thing about my Not bOOK is the touch screen. Of course there’s not actually anything on it to touch, and after being told all my childhood years to keep my fingers off the television screen and the windows and the mirrors, I feel like I’m breaking some kind of universal law by touching it in the first place.

It depends, however, on what part I touch. Not that I can feel what I’m touching, like keys on a keyboard or a piano. It’s more like pointing than touching. I point my finger at an icon—a word that used to mean little statues in grottoes—and voila! the screen changes. Touch it for too long, like say, a second or more, and it changes again into something I didn’t want. I aim for nano second—that moment in time that is Not a second.

Another Not with a Not bOOK is the page. They’re called pages but it takes more than one screen’s worth to hold all the words on what was once a page, so when I “turn” one by barely touching the edge of the screen, I may get two or three screens before the used-to-be page number actually changes. So they’re not really pages on my new Not bOOK. Not that I care, mind you.

In a way, it’s fun playing catch-up in the Not world. What I need now is Nice-cream: dessert that does Not have sugar, fat or calories.

F.R.E.T. part 3: Suicide by Stubbornness

2011-07-30T06:01:00.000-07:00

In this final installment on what it means to fret, resentment and envy take center stage. These two were the core of my personal acrostic, bookended nicely by fear and turmoil (see two previous posts).

In those dark days of depression I turned to the book of Job because I wanted to read about someone else who felt beat up, someone with whom I could relate. I was stunned to find my R and E falling from the lips of Job’s friend.

“Resentment kills a fool and envy slays the simple” (Job 5:2 NIV).

The very things I had been clutching were killing me. Suicide by stubbornness?

When I resent someone who has not lived up to my expectations, or resent an unforeseen situation that alters my plans, I fill up a place in my heart with poison. When I envy others who have succeeded at that to which I aspire, I add bile to the mix: a deadly concoction.

Confession broke the vials of resentment and envy; brokenness was the big break I needed.

Do not fret. Do not fear, resent or envy, for turmoil results. It’s a simple directive not easily carried out unless I follow His instructions. And I find them in Psalm 37 where this whole fretful journey began for me. It tells me over and over that God is with me in this struggle, and it tells me what to do. How can I have time—or space in my heart—to fret if I am trusting, doing, delighting, committing, listening and waiting for Him?

For me as a writer, it is a war of words and the battlefield is the mind.

Norman Vincent Peale said, “Change your thoughts and you change your world.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The ancestor of every action is a thought.”

A hard-nosed Jewish lawyer waylaid by the living God said, “… we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (II Corin. 10:5 NIV). That’s the winning catch phrase for me. Because of Jesus and His power, I’m no longer a prisoner fretting my life away. When I fix my mind on Christ, and remind myself what He has said and what He has done, I find freedom.

Thank God, I don’t have to fret.

Fear

2011-07-16T06:14:00.000-07:00

In my personal acrostic of the word “fret,” fear was the first and most obvious element. It took up most of the room, so I had to push it out, make a conscious effort to get rid of it—something I could not do on my own. Of course that realization led to more fear, so I turned and ran straight to God’s word.

The breed of fear I battled was not the kind we read about when we’re told to fear the Lord. And we shouldn’t be surprised to find two different meanings, just as we do when we say we love our spouse and we love lasagna. Not the same thing.

I found wonderful things in the Bible about fear: “God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and sound mind” (I Tim. 1:7); “Perfect love casts out fear” (I John 4:18); “I sought the Lord, and … he delivered me from all my fears” (Ps. 34:4). These tell me God didn’t send the fear, His love will chase it off, and He’ll snatch me from its clutches.

I also read a fabulous novel by J.M. Windle titled Betrayed. I highly recommend it. In the book, the main character hears the biblical story of Sarah and how her husband’s fear landed her in a harem. The character learns that God rescued Sarah, and that she can be like Sarah if she will “do what is right and do(es) not give way to fear” (I Peter 3:6). I won’t say more because it’s a great read and I don’t want to spoil it for you, but did you notice the “do” and “do not”?

The “do” part fills in the vacuum of the “do not.” Psalm 37—where I first discovered “fret”—is full of “do’s.” Trust in the Lord and do good. Dwell, enjoy, delight, commit, be still, wait, refrain—all this in just the first eight verses.

Fear is a paralyzing poison that immobilizes us into doing nothing. Why do you suppose the big cats roar? The intimidation tactic turns their targeted prey into hotdog-on-a-stick.

Franklin D. Roosevelt said we have nothing to fear but fear itself. He may have been thinking of Psalm 34:4. John Wayne said courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyway. Sounds like the first eight verses of Psalm 37.

But Jesus said, Don't be afraid, I'm here.*

In the middle of the night when all I see is darkness and all I hear is the beating of my own heart, what Jesus said wins out over the platitudes of men who once lived.

When I need help, give me the words of the God-man who still lives—the One who will back them up with His presence.

*Mark 6:50; Matt. 14:27; Matt. 28:20

Don’t worry. Chill. Relax.

2011-07-02T07:45:00.000-07:00

The singing King of Israel tells us three times in the 37th Psalm, “Do not fret.” He’s not suggesting we shouldn’t play the guitar—he’s talking about an attitude of the heart and mind.

“Do not fret because of evil men or be envious of those who do wrong … do not fret when men succeed in their ways … do not fret—it leads only to evil” (Psalm 37:1, 7, 8 NIV).

That is exactly the kind of teaching I need: clearly repetitious.

Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary defines the word fret: to cause to suffer emotional strain: VEX. The Hebrew language defines the word with more sensory detail: to glow or grow warm; to blaze up, burn.

The dictionary definition summons images of Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice. The Hebrew version sounds more like me.

The “frets” of this Psalm crystalized for me one day when I went openly to the Lord and confessed my sin. My journal entry that morning read, “I have three bed fellows: fear, resentment, and envy.”

The confession had a cleansing effect, as if the Lord had said to me, “Come clean.” When I did, release began.

Further journal entries examined the objects of my fear, resentment and envy, and as I wrote—a process akin to prayer for me—the recorded words of Jesus spoke in my heart:

“The truth will set you free.”

Only then did I see that the ancient acrostic poem in Psalm 37 had become an acrostic for me: Fear, Resentment, Envy—the first three letters of the word fret. So where was the T?

“Torment” was a possibility, considering the way I felt. But I found what I was looking for in the book of Job, the last two verses of the third chapter:

“What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil.”

That was the word—turmoil. Turmoil and peace cannot coexist in one’s spirit. Turmoil and quietness do not walk hand in hand. Turmoil does not allude to the restful presence of God.

Turmoil roiled in my heart.

If you know what it’s like to heave on the waves of turmoil, join me over the next several weeks and dig deeper into what it means to FRET—and what it doesn’t mean.

What Are You Neglecting?

2011-06-18T07:53:00.000-07:00

If you Google “intentional neglect” you’ll find an array of complex information and discouraging news. It’s not light reading.

However, that phrase lodged in my mind several weeks ago when our pastor encouraged his Sunday-evening congregation to intentionally neglect those things that keep them from their goals and purposes.

He was not talking about neglecting people or responsibilities, but activities that grab hold of our attention and devour our time. Email. Television. Computer games, and other misplaced priorities that aren’t necessarily bad.

He shared the story of a violinist who felt compelled to complete all her household chores before practicing. Her compulsion to clean took precedence over development of her gift. She finally realized that she would never become a virtuoso until she put her gift first.

Though I am not a violinist, I can relate with this woman’s compulsive behavior for tying up loose ends. As I work at my writing, stealing hours and minutes throughout a busy day, I am constantly tempted by uncompleted chores around me—things that should be done.

The “shoulds” are deadly.

In personal application, intentional neglect means that I do only one household chore per day when I am under deadline, check only important email, and click off the Internet before I’m tempted to read the latest headline, gossip or gadget report.

Our pastor biblically encouraged us through Nehemiah 6, a chapter which outlines the distractions Nehemiah faced when trying to rebuild the wall of Jerusalem in the 400s BC. He had many detractors, yet he maintained his focus. How?

“But I prayed.”*

Nehemiah’s constant contact with the Lord kept him on target. He knew he was called, he knew his purpose, and he knew the source of his strength.
We have this same access to the God of creation, repair, and redemption. Do we use it?

We all neglect something because it is impossible to do everything. The question is, are we neglecting the right things?

*(Neh. 6:9b NIV)

Thank you, Pastor Brian Withrow.

You Never Know

2011-06-05T06:30:00.000-07:00

It’s a puny planet, a wee world.

A limited venue.

Okay, okay—so much for trying to avoid the “small world” cliché. But it is so true.

We meet unexpected people in the most unexpected places. Coincidence? Hardly.

As in my recent acquaintance with a deceptively soft-spoken woman named Joy.

I say deceptively soft-spoken because she is a warrior. As author of the book Identifying the Hierarchy of Satan: A Handbook for Wrestling to Win! Joy A. Schneider is not to be underestimated.

Joy was one of my roommates at the Colorado Christian Writer’s Conference in Estes Park last month. I was there hoping to interest an agent or publisher in my proposed devotional book, Sometimes Life’s a Rodeo. In the process, I learned more about how rodeo has impacted people who have nothing to do with the cowboy world.

Like Joy.

One Sunday morning 35 years ago, Joy turned on a televised broadcast from Calvary Chapel in Denver, Colorado and heard the testimony of a man with a painted face, baggy pants, striped shirt and red suspenders. No, he was not the preacher, nor was he with the circus. He was rodeo clown Wilbur Plaugher, co-founder of the Cowboy Chapter of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, today known as the Fellowship of Christian Cowboys.

Joy trusted Christ as her savior that morning, right there in front of the television set and the rodeo clown. She has not been the same since.

So you see, you never know. You never know who may be listening to your life on this spinning speck, weighing your words and changing their course.

Regardless of how heavy your makeup and mismatched your clothes.

For more information on the Fellowship of Christian Cowboys, see http://www.christiancowboys.com/

Not Today

2011-05-21T13:28:00.000-07:00

Some are touting today as The Last Day.

I do not believe that today will mark the end of the world, the rapture (departure) of Christians, or the return of Jesus. I believe all of these events will take place, but not today.

If I am wrong, cool. I'm ready. If you live near me (and are not a believer) you may take my piano, guitar, car and anything else left behind.

If I am right, I still plan on being ready. Isn’t that the bottom line?

The Bible tells us that we won’t know the exact date of the above mentioned events, because they will come “as a thief in the night,” and as in the days of Noah—when no one is expecting anything out of the ordinary.

We do not know how many days we have left—individually or collectively. But we can know if we are ready to meet our creator and savior.

Are you?

Like Mother, Like Son

2011-05-07T06:08:00.000-07:00

Easter was two weeks ago. Already, it’s Mother’s Day.

I don’t recall Easter ever falling so close to Mother’s Day, but the confluence of the two is wider than merely this year’s calendar.

Consider Mary, the mother of Christ. She never experienced our American custom of maternal recognition. She didn’t even know anything about Christmas, the season that usually brings her to our western minds. Easter? Nope. But she is intricately connected to all three observances.

This year, as I ponder the influence of mothers on their children, I wonder if the mother of Christ somehow helped prepare him for his calling as the sacrificial Lamb of God.

On the night of his blood-sweating prayer and ultimate betrayal, as all creation held its breath, did Jesus remember something he had heard at his mother’s knee? Did he consider what she had told him about a choice she made as a young woman? Did her words from three decades earlier influence him when he said, “Not my will but yours be done”?

Mary, in essence, had said the same thing. When she heard that God had chosen her to bear his son in human flesh, she said, “Okay.” Did she consider the cost? Had she known what she would face – the whispers, the wagging heads, the possible threats to her very life?

What does it cost to say, “Not my will, but yours be done”?

Obedience is a rare and precious gift that we can present to our Lord. But we can also give it to our children as we demonstrate our faith in God. Without the faith to obey, Jesus might have turned from the cross, and Mary might have said, “Not me.”

For both of them, obedience brought the miracle.

I wonder: What miracle will spring from my obedience, if any?

Jesus: Dead or Alive

2011-04-22T05:04:00.000-07:00

Slip out of time with me and consider:
Jesus is dead.

Crucifixion will do that.

But it was just his body that died.

Just?

I don’t know too many people who aren’t doing everything they can to protect their bodies from death. Most of us try to avoid it at all cost, sometimes at great cost.

Jesus did not. He gave his body.

But all things are possible, right? Isn’t that what the angel told Jesus' mother 33 years earlier? She proved it to be true when she believed the message, conceived the word, and bore a child.

Imagine how thrilled she must have been when her boy made water jars pour out wine, and blind men see the light, and crippled children dance. She must have thought Yes! when he rode into town through cheering crowds. All things are indeed possible!

Yet what did she think at Golgotha where a cross bore her babe and his hands poured out blood and the demons danced? O God, this can’t be possible!

Was his death the finale of her faith?

What of the promise?

What of the miracles?

What of that great, cheering crowd?

Yet, don’t we respond the same way during our darkest days of entombment?

“Everything was going so well.”

“I was so close to victory!”

“What happened?”

“Did I miss God?”

And then the third day dawned. Morning and men found the tomb empty. Jesus’ body was gone - walking gone. Instilled anew with life.

Indeed, all things are possible.

And we, like his mother and others across the ages, cry, “Jesus is alive!”

TMI!

2011-04-09T11:28:00.000-07:00

Too much information. The clamor is killing me!

I want to run screaming from my computer and all the visual noise of earthquakes, floods, budgets, celebrity divorces and over-paid athletes. Will it never end?

As a matter of fact, it will. As soon as I turn off the Internet, the television and the radio, and put down the newspaper.

So this morning I picked up my Bible and began reading Psalm 46.

“God is our refuge and strength ...” Ah, yes, this is what I need. But soon the turmoil came: the earth gave way, mountains fell into the sea, the waters roared and foamed, mountains quaked with the surging.

Oh my gosh, Japan! And every other place that has ever been racked by earthquakes.

I kept reading, and for a brief interlude saw a peaceful river flowing through the City of God before things churned up again. Destruction brought images of Libya, Sudan, Egypt and Afghanistan, but God stepped in to break the bow and shatter the spear, and burn the shields with fire.

And there was the answer: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

Could this be what I need, to simply still my heart and the noise in my life? Could these old, old words apply even to my modern life?

Regardless of what nature sends, regardless of how men and nations boast and threaten and stage themselves, God is still God.

He is still there.

Still waiting for me.

Still.

And when I still myself, I hear him.

Sometimes life’s a rodeo: Expect the unexpected

2011-03-26T11:59:00.000-07:00

Have you ever felt like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, about to be pummeled through no fault of your own? Have you ever asked, What did I do to deserve this?

An Old Testament king named Hezekiah looked through his window one day and saw the Assyrian army camped outside. The biblical account says, “After all that Hezekiah had so faithfully done, Sennacherib king of Assyria came and invaded Judah” (II Chronicles 32:1 NIV).

Seems unfair, doesn’t it? Hezekiah had been so faithful. How could God let the enemy get so close? What had Hezekiah done wrong, that such a large, seemingly unbeatable force could close in around him?

Hezekiah fell on his face before God and said, “If you don’t save us, it’s all over.”

I’ve seen the same thing at a rodeo.

When my husband was a barrel man, he often went head to head with a big lanky bull called The Grizz. This long-legged monster could step right over Mike’s red and white striped clown barrel and camp on the bullfighter behind it. Or isolate him in the middle of the arena.

One particular day everything stopped, even The Grizz. The bullfighter, down on one knee, looked Grizz in the eye and the crowd knew what to expect.

The big bovine swished his tail to one side, snorted, blinked … and walked off toward the out gate.

The bullfighter leaped to his feet and dashed for the fence, and with one collective breath, the astounded audience cheered.

Maybe ol’ Grizz saw an angel behind the kneeling clown.

That's what happened with Hezekiah: the Lord sent an angel to annihilate the Assyrian soldiers and their king withdrew.

Adverse circumstances can make us doubt that God is paying attention. However, he still intervenes today in the lives of his people - and more important than that is his presence in the lives of his people on an even deeper level than Hezekiah experienced.

The Lord is with us in everything we face and has promised, “I will never leave you nor forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5 NKJV).

The next time we ask, Where are the blessings and benefits? Where are the good times and abundance? How can God let bad things happen? let’s remember that the Lord himself walks with us.

Even though our challenges may be bigger than we can handle, they are never bigger than our God.

“The Lord answered Job out of the storm.”

2011-03-19T07:22:00.000-07:00

Wouldn’t you rather hear from God in church, where it’s safe and dry and predictable? Or from your sofa while you’re relaxing after a long day.

How about when everything is going you way? Wouldn’t that be a great time to hear the voice of God?

I’ll admit there have been times like these when I heard the Lord speak to my heart. Those moments of the still small voice have filled me with comfort and hope.

But when God speaks to me out of the storm, there is no doubt about who’s doing the talking.

No other voice can reach me above the roar of the crashing waves. No one else can find me in the debris, or lift me from the fallen facades of my life.

No one else can calm the fear and bring peace.

He is bigger than the storm.

Who's at the end of your rope?

2011-03-12T06:35:00.000-08:00

Praise is the rope by which
the Lord lifts me from the
dark pit.

His hands grip one end,
strong to pull me up
as I cling to the other.
His face grows closer
as I rise
and I see his smile.

Clean me off, Lord.
Set me on a sure and solid place.
Show me which way to go.

And Lord,
may I sing for you
this new song in my heart?

Psalm 40:1-3

Tomorrow: By the time you get there it's today

2011-03-05T06:31:00.000-08:00

After driving our pickup home on icy roads with snow blowing sideways and a semi bearing down on me, I had a much deeper appreciation for the phrase “white-knuckling it.” I was just grateful to make it to our driveway without sliding off the highway or adorning the hood of the semi.

My husband calls snow the Great Equalizer. It slows everyone, covers everyone. All of us are the same: travelers struggling to make it safely to our destinations, whether in semis or pickups.

As much as I love the beauty of the falling flakes, I’ll admit I groused about dashing through them from the parking lot to the grocery store that day. “My hair will frizz as soon as it dries,” I whined.

My world is so immediate. I took the pickup that morning without much thought of a snowy day. Didn’t take a muffler. No umbrella. No extra coat in the back seat.

This is Colorado; I knew better.

Remember when your mother said, “Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today”? People credit Thomas Jefferson with those words, but I don’t believe it. It had to be someone from Colorado where the weather can drop 30 degrees in 10 minutes and you can use sun tan oil and snow boots on the same day. It had to be someone like me who put off taking her broken glasses into town on Saturday because she was going on Sunday so she’d do it then and save a trip.

Ha! Not here. Not when a winter blizzard can blow in hours before it’s predicted, clog your driveway with snow and coat the highways in sheet ice.

Guess who spent three days trying to read and work at the computer in a white-out?

Procrastination cost me a lot, but it also gave me something in return: blurred vision and a killer headache.

Some people put off going to the doctor. Others put off saving money, exercising, eating right or talking to God.

Snow isn’t the only equalizer, so it time. We don’t get tomorrow. We think we do, but by the time we get there, it’s today.

Whatever it is you need to do, from saving money to talking to God, do it today. It’s really the only time you have.

Out of Control

2011-02-26T06:08:00.000-08:00

A small natural disaster created a major inconvenience here the other day. On national radar it was a blip; locally it was a rockslide.

Literally.

Seven thousand tons of rock slipped off the mountain and across U.S. Highway 50 like a string of broken beads. The 20-foot swath closed the two-lane road west of Canon City for nearly a week. Commuters, tourists and delivery trucks had to reroute more than 100 miles out of their way.

Twenty feet doesn’t seem like much, roughly the length of a modern living room. But when individual boulders are themselves 20 feet across, there’s no getting around the issue.

Road crews broke, blasted and drilled the boulders into more manageable pieces before loading them into trucks. Three hundred truck loads, by the way, to clear the main artery that flows through Colorado’s Arkansas River canyon.

It doesn’t take much to stop our forward progress: a big rock, downsizing, a disabled refrigerator, a disabling illness, rumors of war, death.

How startling to discover that we are not in control.

How dare those rocks slide into our path. How dare our boss fire us. How dare we get sick now, when we’re so busy.

How dare the carefully threaded beads of my life come tumbling down around my feet and roll away.

And how glad I am - truly - that it’s not all up to me after all.

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (I Peter 5:7).

They've Come!

2011-02-19T06:12:00.000-08:00

At last, the finches and sparrows have come to my feeder. It took a foot of snow, freezing temperatures and chilling wind, but they came.

The feeder hung outside my living room window for months while the birds skittered and scratched around beneath it, ignoring its luscious fare. Finally, when they couldn’t work things out on their own, couldn’t find enough to eat, couldn’t reach through 12 inches of snow with their twig-like legs, they looked up and there it was. Full and easily accessible.

This sounds an awful lot like my personal journey with God. Does he, in his infinite wisdom, see the storm coming and know it will work something good in my life? Does he use deep distress, frozen circumstances and chilly relationships to show me he has a better way?

Does he know that when I can’t make things work on my own, I show up at his window sill?

He’s always there, waiting there for me.

Why don’t I just go to him in the first place?

Got a bullish problem in your life?

2011-02-12T06:11:00.000-08:00

Do not be afraid of their faces,
for I am with you to deliver you says the Lord
(Jeremiah 1:8 NKJV).

Jeremiah was a biblical prophet called by God to preach to his backsliding countrymen - not exactly a coveted career. He argued that he was just a kid, prophetically speaking, not a public orator. He might have said, “Look at these people, God. They’ll never listen to someone like me!”

But God told Jeremiah not to be moved by what he saw, not to be intimidated by the scowls, frowns and threatening looks. He encouraged Jeremiah to focus on what he didn’t see.

“I am with you,” God said.

That’s a promise we can count on today - whether we’re facing down a mob of opposition or an ocean of apathy.

Cowboys often stand around before the rodeo studying the horse or bull they’ve drawn to ride, asking others who have ridden the animal how it moves, which way it turns. Does it cut back, spin, kick? Animals, like people, are creatures of habit. They usually follow a pattern, and riders feel better prepared if they know what’s coming.

But a rider can psych himself out by focusing too much on his opponent. It’s easy to look a bull in the eye, watch it paw the ground, and let its reputation rip you apart. It’s better if a cowboy is prepared, geared up and outfitted properly with his head on straight. Then he’ll have an opportunity to ride for the full eight seconds and get off safely.

It’s the same in life’s other arenas. Where is our focus? Is it on the opposition, or our support system? Is it on the evils and accidents of this world, or our loving Creator and Defender.

Instead of allowing what we see to frighten us into a stupor, let’s remember that God is still with us today. And he is bigger than anything we may face.

The Rest of the Story

2011-02-05T06:53:00.000-08:00

“Rest. O God, I need rest.”

I’ll give you rest.

“Really?”

You’re tired, overloaded.

“No kidding.”

Come to me.

“Okay.”

Here, put this on.

“Wait a minute--“

It’s mine; try it.

“But this is a …”

Learn from me.

“Learn what?”

Undemanding gentleness and humility.

“But doesn’t this mean more work?”

It is soul-rest.

“I could use that.”

Put in on; I’ll be right next to you.

“But it’s a yoke.”

My burden is light.

“Light?”

I am the Light of the world.

“I see.”

You will.

Matthew 11:28-30

Only the Clean and Unbroken

2011-01-29T06:41:00.000-08:00

I drove past the local flower shop, and cringed when I read the sign.

“Only the Clean and Unbroken.”

I knew the store owner was recycling floral vases and encouraging people to bring them in rather than throw them away. I knew the sign referred to the inexpensive glass containers used to deliver bouquets and rosebuds.

But somehow the words felt like a personal indictment: I was anything but clean and unbroken.

“Oh, God,” I thought. “What if you required me to be unsoiled and whole before coming to you? What would I do with the stained and broken pieces of my life?

Israel’s great shepherd-king wrote, “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psalm 51:17 NIV).

The Message version puts it this way: “Heart-shattered lives ready for love don’t for a moment escape God’s notice.”

King David cried out in Psalm 51 as a broken and sin-stained man. He had not only stolen another man’s wife, but also had that man killed. As a result, an innocent child died. Not exactly a pristine situation.

Yet David knew he could run to his God in spite of the blood on his hands and the blackness of his heart. He knew the Lord would look on his brokenness and repentance and forgive him, wash him, and make him whole again.

Centuries later when Jesus was accused by religious leaders of hanging out with the riff-raff, he replied, “Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? I’m here inviting the sin-sick, not the spiritually-fit.” (Mark 2:17 The Message).

God is in the recycling business, but unlike the local florist, he restores and recycles human wreckage.

Yes, he wants to use us again, but first he will do what we cannot: put us back together and wash us with the sin-cleansing blood of Jesus.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

2011-01-22T07:27:00.001-08:00

There is a spot between a rock and a hard place
called a cleft: a crack, crevice or fissure.

I’ve been there. Have you?
It’s not so bad. In fact, it’s rather secure and protective.
Nothing can reach me there.
Nothing but the hand of God.

That’s where Moses was when desperation backed him up against the mountain.

He was arguing with God because everything he had worked for so long and hard had shattered around his feet.

He was arguing with God because things weren’t going the way he planned. People had disappointed him. He had disappointed himself. Life was not good.

“You said you’d go with me -- where are you?” he shouted.

Had he forgotten the Red Sea?

“I am with you,” God said.

“Prove it. Show yourself.”

A death wish? No one sees the face of God and lives to tell about it.

Have you been that desperate? So desperate that death seems better than what you’re going through?

I have.

But God said,

“There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock.”

And he hid Moses in the hard place - the cleft - and covered him with his hand.
The hand that held a man of clay,
and held back the sea,
and would one day hold the nails.

And as he passed by, Moses peeked out and saw the back of God.

Have you been that close to God?
In the hard place?
Where fear and fatalism die?

It is the sweetest place I know.

So why do I wait for pain to push me into his presence?
When I can choose to be in that place

near God.
Standing.
On a rock.

“And I will … cover you with my hand.”

O God, cover me.

Exodus 33:21,22

***

Ever feel like you’re missing the performance because you’re stuck under the bleachers?

2011-01-15T09:58:00.000-08:00

When Mike was rodeoing, our first Fourth of July run into Montana took us to Red Lodge - an Old West type of town tucked up against the mighty Bear Tooth Mountains. As was our custom, we parked our rig back of the holding pens and unloaded our menagerie: Mike’s clown mule Ike, our border collie Bobbie, four guinea hens, two chickens, and a little pound-found mop of a dog we called Fifi.

Busy with our routine of making camp, we failed to notice the meandering mule work itself underneath the aluminum bleachers bordering the backside of the arena. We didn’t see how Ike had gotten in there, but when we noticed his predicament, we knew it wouldn’t be easy getting him out.

Ike’s hankering for the tender mountain grass lured his muzzle and the rest of him over and under the aluminum crossbeam supports. Leading a horse to water is one thing, but leading a mule through a maze of metal proved to be something else altogether.

It took most of the afternoon, a bucket full of grain and a strong lead rope to drag that mule back out from under those bleachers. Mike and couple of cowboys would coax it down on its knees and pull it under one beam, then it would jump to its feet and they’d have to start all over again. It was a lot harder on Ike coming out than it had been going in.

I can relate to Ike.

It’s a lot more fun getting into trouble than getting out.

Most of us don’t notice where temptation is leading, especially when we’re just taking one little curious step at a time. But when we finally stop and look around, we see we’re trapped, just like that mule, with no way of getting out of our predicament on our own.

Our good Lord never leads us in the wrong way. But when we wander off, if we ask for his help, he’ll sure get us back on the right path - even if the going might be a little rough.

James 1:13

Follow through on that good idea

2011-01-08T06:19:00.000-08:00

“I’m drawing a blank,” said the caption beneath the girl’s empty cartoon frame. She smiled up at me. “Funny, huh?”

I had to admit it was funny, but a cop-out, too.

“The assignment is to draw a cartoon: single frame with caption below, or four-frame strip with bubbled dialogue inside.”

What a great class, I thought as I strolled through the seventh-graders, reading over their shoulders, encouraging their creativity. As a substitute teacher I’ve seen just about everything, including an eighth grader launching a calculator across the room at her ex-boyfriend. He ducked and it shattered on the linoleum. It was the teacher’s calculator.

So comics were cake, as far as I was concerned. And a viable means of communication as well. Did I, myself, not turn first to the political cartoon in the daily newspaper? And what about my collection of B.C. comic strips? A lot can be said with stick figures and a witty remark.

A group of boys at one table came up with the idea of cereal killers and they snickered over murderous spoons and poisonous milk. They loved the play on words, or homophones as those in pedagogical circles call them, but one bemoaned the pun as too obvious.

“Someone else has probably already thought of it,” he said.

Yes, I told him. There are very few truly unique ideas. Most of what we cook up has already been contemplated by someone else.

“There are a lot of ideas, but not everyone acts on them,” I said. “Do something about it. Be different.”

I once heard a literary agent tell a group of aspiring writers that ideas were a dime a dozen. (The worn cliché surprised and disappointed me, but then again, we are all susceptible on the spur of the moment.)

“Write the book,” she said. “Don’t just send me a paragraph with a great idea; write the book.”

In other words, act on it. Follow through. Be different. And so I continue to pound away at my keyboard when I’m not teaching, wrapping bone and sinew and muscle around my ideas to make them into some thing, some thing that is more than just some idea.

What ideas do you have yet to act upon? Move on them. Take action! Follow through and create as others before you have done - those to whom we owe buckets of gratitude.

Consider the zipper. Microwave. Sticky notes. Toilet paper. All ideas that someone - probably many someones - had, that some one acted upon.

In the words of one of those seventh-grade, commercial-savvy cartoonists, “What’s in your head?”

The trees are raining

2011-01-01T05:49:00.000-08:00

Diamonds wink
from every branch
and at the touch of sunlight,
spill
in liquid crystal.

I hear it
beneath blue morning sky
where moments before all
glistened
in silent frost.

Sun breath
melts the glaze
into a dripping,
singing
rain.

Just like my
cold
and hardened heart
beneath the breath
of God.

What is a Cowboy Christmas?

2010-12-24T08:18:00.000-08:00

Mike’s old team roping rope on the door with a big red bow.

Boots by the fire instead of stockings.

Barbed-wire stars and rusty lanterns.

Pine bough perfume …

and a stable for the babe.

That’s right - God’s boy was born in a barn! He slept in the hay, wrapped in the warmth and comfort of livestock.

No palace for this King. No mansion or rampart or tower, but a stable where even one as simple as I could enter.

Have you noticed? He left the door wide open.

How else would the rest of us find our way home?

“…I am the door …” - Jesus (John 10:9)

What are you scratching for?

2010-12-18T07:36:00.000-08:00

We live in an area called “Hardscrabble.” The name arrived with gold seekers and ranchers scrabbling to make a living off this pebbly patch of Rocky Mountain soil. That scrabble even shows between the sparse blades of winter grass in my side yard, where sparrows peck and scratch for God-knows-what.

I noticed them a few days ago, scraping at the barren, wind-blown ground, and in answer to their tireless quest I hung a new cedar bird feeder filled to the brim with wild bird food and sunflower seeds.

They ignored it.

No birds alighted the next day either, but I assured myself that like the hummingbirds homing in on their favorite nectar, so would the sparrows. Give them a day, I told myself. They will find it.

On the third day, there were still no birds at the feeder. From my window I watched them scratch the bare earth, heads down, flushing away when the dog bounded round the corner and into their foraging grounds.

And this morning they were at it again, busily scraping with their frail little feet, heads bent, pecking at imaginary seeds. I could almost hear their frantic thoughts: “There has to be something to eat in here somewhere!”

While above them hangs my feeder, still full to the brim of the choicest of fowl fare.

Will they never notice my care for them? I’ve had feeders at every home, and always the birds have found them and filled their gullets on my gifts.

It isn’t hard to see that I am much like these Hardscrabble sparrows, bent on my own way of providing what I need, unwilling to look up to another who waits close by, provision in hand. How often do I flit past my Bible, too busy to stop and feed on its life-giving words? How often do I pursue God-knows-what in my quest for sustenance?

And that is just the point: God knows what. He knows what I need and has provided it.

Why do I seek my own way instead of His?

“Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:31).

Over the phone and through the mail

2010-12-11T08:30:00.000-08:00

This Christmas finds our family spread across the country from Colorado to California. How can we continue our tradition of exchanging names when few of us will be together for the holidays?

We just won’t, I decided. It wouldn’t be the same. Besides, it would be wise in this economy to save the expense of giving and mailing. We’ll just pass this year.

No! said our eldest from across two mountain ranges. It’s being part of a family, he said, knowing that you’ve put thought and effort and love into the gifts chosen for your designated member.

“You choose,” he said over the telephone. “You and Dad put all our names in a basket, then choose for each of us and let us know.”

I thought about his words, his insistence that we should pursue the tradition regardless of position. So I wrote our names on slips of paper, eight in all including parents and children and spouses. We tossed them in a cup, picked out one at a time and sent the chosen names to each.

“I got you!,” texted one spouse to our daughter. “What do you want?” The excitement had spread already, unhindered by miles and mountain ranges.

It grew in my own spirit as I considered the one I’d chosen and what specific gift would touch that loved one’s heart. And I realized that distance had not mattered to the first Giver. How far away mankind was from the perfection and love of God! Yet He gave. Across the miles and mountains and galaxies, He sent a specifically selected and perfect gift to His chosen recipients.

Jesus: His love, our life. His living, our hope.

Merry miles-away Christmas to you this year. May you know His perfect Gift.

Heaven scent?

2010-11-25T14:43:00.000-08:00

Roasting turkey, fresh pumpkin bread, and cinnamon-scented candles lace our home with a Thanksgiving Day perfume. It pleases me, soothes me, and fills me with a sense of well-being.

Ah - aromatherapy. Not a new concept. Asian cultures have used incense for millennia. And today we can choose fragrance in everything from coffee and candles to shampoo and detergent.

However, as a country wife I’ve had a few unpleasant aromas waft through my house, like organically generated fertilizer or the pungent perfume of a little black and white mammal - definitely the stronger of the two.

Skunks let you know when they’re in the vicinity. And they acquire a real attitude when startled or threatened - an attitude that lingers long after their departure.

Typically, I don’t think much about scent unless it pleases or displeases me; it’s the extremes that grab my attention.

Our lives have the same affect. Appreciation filters out and touches the people closest to us. It clings to those we encounter at home, at work or in rush hour traffic. So does discontent. It leaves a bitter taste in the mouths of those around us, and has a way of transferring from one person to the next. It sticks like skunk.

The ancient Hebrews worshipped God with aroma, giving burnt offerings as a show of thanksgiving. The Psalm writer said, “May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice” (Psalm 141:2 NIV).

“Outdoor barbecue,” declared a friend of mine after moving her family to a southern state. Comparing those altars of old to her summertime pastime, “Heaven must smell like Texas,” she said.

It all makes me wonder what I smell like today: attitude or gratitude?

Cs save

2010-11-01T08:36:00.001-07:00

Click here to view this photo book larger

Sometimes Life's a Rodeo!

2010-10-31T17:12:00.000-07:00

Thanks for checking out my recently posted photobook (see previous post), "Sometimes Life's a Rodeo." To actually READ what it says, under options check full screen, single-page view and you will be able to see the text.

This is a preview of the new devotional book I'm working on.

Thanks for reading.

My Photo Book Oct 29 2010

2010-10-31T13:59:00.001-07:00

Click here to view this photo book larger

Today started out great.

2010-10-13T07:20:00.000-07:00

The earth stilled just before dawn, holding its breath as if waiting to hear the sunrise – and then everything went downhill from there.

Honestly, it had nothing to do with the day and everything to do with me.

How can I blame “the day,” labeling it good or bad based upon whether I get what I want when I want it? Like the CD my computer ate (and is still chewing on) long after a beautiful sunrise.

Prior to the CD incident I was curled up on the couch with my Bible, “listening” to what the creator of that sunrise had to say. Life interrupted, I broke my own personal rule of not turning on the computer until after my morning quiet time, and I was instantly yanked from peace and stillness into technological, information-highway road rage.

Now the dilemma: do I return to the sofa from where I can see the eastern horizon, open my Bible to the words of Jesus and let them settle into my agitated soul? Or do I pick up where I left off yesterday on a seemingly self-perpetuating stack of paperwork that HAS TO BE DONE?

The quality of my day depends upon this decision. My attitude will be affected by this decision, which will in turn affect my family and the effectiveness of my work.

I’m heading for the couch.

I recently read an intriguing novel titled Retribution ...

2010-10-09T17:37:00.000-07:00

... by one of my favorite authors, Randy Ingermanson. A thread running through it repeats this premise: “Great sacrifice releases great power.”

Interesting concept. Could it be true? Could it be a Life Truth?

I believe it’s worthy of the test.

Psalm 50:23 says, “He who sacrifices thank offerings honors Me, and he prepares the way so that I may show him the salvation of God.”

Saying “thank you” can be a sacrifice if we’re having a hard time at the moment.

And wouldn’t the salvation – deliverance, help, intervention – of God be a pretty good representation of great power?

I didn’t know I could prepare the way for God to work in my life. I didn’t know that my sacrifices of “thank you” would open the door for His power.

Wow. There's more to gratitude than I thought - especially in the wake of defeat, discouragement, illness, tragedy.

I’m not waiting until Thanksgiving.

What about you?

Instead of the website I expected ...

2010-09-18T12:23:00.000-07:00

... after clicking an online link, a white screen appeared with these words:

Server is too busy.

For a moment I considered what that phrase meant just a few years ago. It could have been the comment of a dinner partner explaining why the waiter hadn’t brought me another iced tea.

The phrase could also have referred to my tennis opponent preoccupied with tying her shoe, or the man delivering legal process notices who was distracted by a call on his cell phone.

But those weren’t the problem of the moment. My Internet server – the unseen something somewhere that brings me what I order from the information highway corner café – was busy.

Doing what?

Was it disoriented by the workings of my squirrel-in-a-wheel computer? Had I asked for too many things at once and its wires crossed? Were there too many customers on the list ahead of me?

Whatever the case, I had to wait to be served. I couldn’t even get up and get it myself.

The word “server” comes from an old Anglo-French word that defined a person who brought food to the master of the house.

When I Googled “server” the first 100 listings had nothing to say about food and drink, but I did see quite a bit about being dedicated.

That seemed to fit; a dedicated server would be a good thing.

And now I wonder: to what or whom am I dedicated to serve?

Am I ever too busy?

Would Jesus have a Facebook page?

2010-09-11T09:16:00.000-07:00

I believe he did.

In first-century Palestine, Jesus participated in the social medium of the day: itinerant teaching. From hillsides, roadsides, tables and wells. He met the people where they were, where they were looking, and where they needed him. Face to face.

Were there other traveling teachers doing the same thing, from perhaps less than the purest of motives? Of course. There have always been counterfeits, knock-offs and wannabes, but they have never kept the Real Deal from being the Real Deal.

From the Road to Emmaus to the Information Highway, Jesus is there. He still has truth to give to those who are hungry, thirsty and looking. He is that truth.

Log on. He’d love to meet you.

For more information on Jesus, who he is and who he could be to you, see a little book in the New Testament called John, chapter 7, verses 37 and 38.

Burning the Quran

2010-09-08T10:49:00.000-07:00

Burning the Quran? Now there’s a way to win converts. Let’s show Muslims the love of Christ by burning their holy book. Won’t that make everyone of Islamic faith want to turn immediately to the God of the Christian Bible? Won’t that just warm their hearts with the love and compassion Jesus told His followers to exemplify?

Florida minister Terry Jones of Dove World Outreach Center certainly has the world’s attention with his planned Quran-burning set for Sept. 11. And that may be all he’s after: attention. It says “World Outreach” on the front of Jones’ center, but World Outrage is what he will reap if he goes through with the barbecue.

Government and military officials warn that if carried out, Jones’ pyromaniacal act could incite violence against Americans around the world. It’s the hit-back mentality we see among small children, and Jones is ramping up the fervor. In Afghanistan, a parliamentary candidate for their Sept. 18 election has been quoted as saying, “wherever Americans are seen, they will be killed” if the Qurans are burned.

Wow. Many dying for the sins of one. And that’s part of the tragedy. I’m an American, and I’m a Christian, but I don’t agree at all with what Jones is doing. Yet I – and countless American soldiers and civilians in Afghanistan and other Islamic countries – could taste retribution for his act.

There’s not much I can do about Jones’ misguided rampage – one that could happen only in a country as free as America – but, thanks to that same freedom, I can at least voice my opinion. And I can pray.

I can pray that God’s people will step back from such acts and turn instead to the teachings of the Jesus they profess who said to love our enemies and pray for those who curse us.

Does that mean that there is never a time to stand up and fight for what we believe? Not at all. But Jones’ threat is not a fight; it’s a childish insult.

Yes, the tragedy of 9-11 should be remembered. Yes, it was a despicable, murderous, terroristic act perpetrated by Islamic extremists. But does torching a stack of Qurans really show national or religious pride?

No. It simply shows one more example of unclear thinking, and in-your-face radicalism.

Maybe Jones should remove “Dove” from his center’s name and replace it not with "hawk," but "vulture." Better yet, in my disgust of his proposed actions, and as a statement of how much I despise what he intends to do, I think I’ll collect all the doves I can find, and burn them on a symbolic pyre. That’ll show him I mean business.

Take that, Jones, and that!

Watch your step ... or not?

2010-08-08T15:41:00.000-07:00

The boxes blocked my view, stacked up in my arms three-high. They weren’t heavy, just awkward, but I didn’t want to carry them up from the basement one at a time. I should be able to do this, I thought.

Trouble is, I’ve never been very good at stairs when I can’t see them. I’ve always admired people in movies – or real life – who could go tripping up and down a staircase, light on their feet, a smile on their face. Oh, I could trip all right, just not lightly or with a smile. I simply had to keep my eyes on the next step so I wouldn’t lose my balance and fall on my face.

So, challenged with the old concrete basement stairs, I gripped the boxes tighter, tried to think perpendicularly, and planted my foot soundly on the first step. Next, the other foot, same method. Following this approach, I realized something I’d not visually noticed before: the steps were shallower than the length of my foot. My tendency was to over-step them and jam my foot against the next one. I had to slow down, shorten my step and concentrate on one at a time.

Since I couldn’t see where I was going, I had to do this by faith, so to speak. Sounded like a spiritual metaphor I’d read somewhere.

Walking by faith is definitely harder than dashing ahead, and not nearly as fun. I like dashing ahead, running along my life path, glancing over my shoulder from time to time and yelling confidently, “Come on, Jesus. This way!”

But I don’t like falling flat on my face and waiting for Him to stop and help me up – which He always does.

Hmm. Maybe I’d have more success if I slowed down and let Him lead me, just one, short foot step at a time.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight” II Corinthians 5:7

Ready or not!

2010-07-23T09:54:00.000-07:00

Remember playing Hide and Seek - running away from the seeker who, with covered eyes, counted to 10 while you squeezed under any little bush or board you could find?

“Ready or not, here I come!”

Life is like that. Most of us think we are well hidden. Truth is, we’re not.

Those six little words of warning do not fade away with our childhood. They hang around in the shadows and pop out at the most unexpected moments:

College entrance exams.
Driver’s license test.
Childbirth.
Root canals.
Moving.

Some things find us whether we are ready for them or not.

I was reminded of this truth when we totaled our car on a rainy, midnight highway. All of my so-called preparation of blanket, jacket, umbrella and flashlight meant little. Crawling out of the wreck and groping in the backseat for glasses that were moments before resting comfortably on my face – and then groping some more for a new cell phone that had flown from my purse – I forgot all about the water, blanket and flashlight in the trunk.

My husband and I survived the crash, the airbags, the insurance delays and the purchase of another car, but since then my emergency kit has expanded to include first aid, a toothbrush, comb and deodorant – those niceties we take for granted until holed up overnight in a roadside motel without them. Fortunately, I get another go at “ready or not.”

But we don’t get a second go at eternity. It’s a one shot deal and there’s only one exit.

I am happy to say that we were spiritually ready that night, for we are both hidden and found in Jesus, because He came to find and save the lost (Luke 19:10).

My rescue is based on what He has done, not on what I’ve done. All my good deeds and donations to charities and the church are mere afterthoughts compared to His mercy. Those are wonderful things, and certainly I strive toward them, but when I look into forever, they will be only as good as water and blankets and flashlights.

How about you? Have you found your life in Jesus? Better yet, have you found Him?

He isn’t lost, and He’s not hiding. But He is waiting for you to say, “Ready or not, here I come.”

I'd rather be dependent than independent

2010-07-04T11:32:00.000-07:00

On this day of independence celebration, I celebrate my utter dependence upon a God who saves and delivers.

Friday morning I read Psalm 31 in which Israel’s shepherd-king David wrote, “My times are in your hands.” That night just before midnight as my husband and I drove into a sudden downpour on Monument Hill just north of Colorado Springs, those words came back to me again.

Forward movement on a watery roadway can result in hydroplaning which can lead to fish-tailing that can throw a moving vehicle into a vicious spin – much like the tea-cup ride at the carnival, but without the connecting support.

“My times are in Your hands.”

What else but the hands of God could have kept us secure as we spun across I-25, took out a sign post and shot through an opening that just happened to be right there in the guard rail? What else could have sent us into the median rather than off the embankment on the edge of the highway? What else could have kept us from colliding with other cars on the interstate, and helped us out of our own, shaken but safe when it was totaled?

“My times are in Your hands.”

There is peace in the true, unfailing Word of God.

But had we opened our eyes to look into the face of Jesus – a thought I carried with me as we spun – we would have known even more than we know now the truth of His unfailing love.

Thank God that I can depend upon a savior who saves. Thank God for His faithfulness and help and healing. Thank God that I am not alone on a highway in the middle of a rainy night, for He is with me.

My times are in His hands.

Is Moving Across Country Ever Easy?

2010-06-30T12:20:00.000-07:00

Which is more painful: a writer separated from pen and paper or one separated from toothbrush and toothpaste?

I guess it depends on how close the writer is to other people.

During our recent move from California to Colorado, I spent two days in the cab of a U-Haul with my husband Mike and our Queensland heeler, Blue. I think Mike would choose the toothbrush. Thank the Lord for convenience stores.

With no paper – and as one of the few diehards who does not own a laptop – I spent the first several hundred miles trying to remember where I put my journal. Either I or dear family members and neighbors who came to my relocation rescue packed it in a feverish rush the afternoon prior to our departure. It must have gone into the same box as my toothbrush.

However, several names and sites along the way were unforgettable:

We crossed Holy Moses Wash in Kingman, Arizona, and in New Mexico passed road signs for Eagle’s Nest, Red River, and Angle Fire. On Colorado’s I-25 a flashing sign warned, “Watch for Wildlife on Roadway.” Not your typical notifications found in the San Joaquin Valley.

The first night I marveled that I could see the stars all the way down to the horizon. And the next morning leading Blue out for relief behind the motel, I watched a Native American couple walk with great dignity from a nearby vacant building, side by side, heads high, their sleeping pad rolled up over his shoulder, her hand in his.

How little I knew of the moving of others.

During the weeks and months of packing, I had thought, “This is hard.” It was hard, but not as hard as it is for some, and I often felt like one of my whinier sixth-graders who always complained of assignments, “This is too hard.”

Unloading and sorting and moving in to our new home were also hard, but I had recently read David’s declaration that God was his helper. “For by You I can run against a troop, and by my God I can leap over a wall” (Psalm 18:29).

Exhausted each night from heavy lifting, and unfamiliar shifting and shoving, I indeed felt like I had run against a troop and leapt over a wall – but all with God’s unfailing help and the friends He sent our way.

And so I settle into a routine again, gazing out my window across the Arkansas River Valley to the mighty Pike’s Peak and Cheyenne Mountain that brood over Colorado Springs.

Thank you, everyone who helped us and wished us well. We may have moved away, but you remain in our thoughts and in our hearts.

Three rules and 10 things you can get rid of before you move

2010-05-30T15:05:00.000-07:00

We are moving to Colorado in two weeks and I’ve come up with three rules for sorting stuff before packing:

1. Do I use it?
2. If not, will I use it in a year?
3. If not, is the sentimental value worth moving it?

This eliminates:
1. jeans that once fit
2. single socks with no mate
3. old phone books
4. makeup that is two shades too dark but cost so much you don’t want to waste money by throwing it away
5. the fourth casserole dish with serving basket
6. old towels kept for rags
(Wait – don’t throw those away. They’re great for wrapping glassware, and can be tossed after the move.)
7. old formals that your grownup daughter never wore and your granddaughter won’t either
8. the two-pint containers of turkey drippings saved from Thanksgiving for soup someday
9. padlocks that have no keys
10. dried up ink pens from Disneyland

Some of these items can be recycled through thrift stores or sold on Ebay, but probably not the turkey drippings.

I know I’m not the only American who has kept things that should have been tossed or given away long ago, so if you have anything to add to the list, I’d love to hear from you.

Mom-care

2010-05-08T09:22:00.000-07:00

What is it about a mother that makes her do things for her kids all the time? Even when no one’s looking? Even when no one knows? Especially her children.

I believe it is the God-gene in her – not in a scientific, physiological sense, but in a spirit sense. God’s fingerprint is on his creation. He breathed the breath of life into Adam, from whom he created a woman, and Adam named her Eve because she was the mother of all living.

Of course it is a God thing.

Who else would go through pain for our deliverance?

Who else would give without thanks and then give again anyway?

Who else would say, “I’ll take care of you,” and then do it even when we’re not looking?

Psalm 121:7 says,

The Lord will keep you from all harm –
he will watch over your life.

Yesterday, when the Toyota service department technician called me out to my car to see the split rubber on the inside of the left front tire, I remembered that verse.

It was the tire closest to oncoming traffic. All the other tires were in good shape. There’s an imbalance somewhere, a misalignment. The fix is easy, but the damages could have been horrific.

This is not the first time the Lord has watched over my life, nor will it be the last. Psalm 121:8 makes that clear:

the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

There’s a little bit of Mom-care there, just like the little bit of God-care in the mother I remember.

Thank you, Lord.

Thanks, Mom.

Spiritual Backbone

2010-04-24T12:46:00.000-07:00

When I last visited the chiropractor, he demonstrated for me the reason many people suffer back pain and stiffness. It’s all about posture.

I thought I knew what he was going to say, because I’ve heard it since I was a kid: “Sit up straight.”

But the chiropractor surprised me with a more vivid application. Sitting on the edge of a chair, he curled into himself, drooped his arms and shoulders forward, hunched his back, and dropped his head.

“This is how people sit,” he said. “And this is how they should sit.”

With that, he raised his head, extended his back and lifted both arms as if opening himself up to the world. It was the perfect position of praise.

Even in the physical world, we see a picture of a healthier spiritual posture: open, looking upward, arms wide to receive the blessings of God.

This little display made me wonder how my spirit looks to the Mender of my soul. Am I turned in upon myself, or am I open, looking upward, and praising him for all he’s done?

Perhaps a little more praise and gratitude will improve my gaze and attitude, and give me the strong spiritual backbone that I need.

The Tomb

2010-04-04T06:06:00.000-07:00

Dead.

Dead and gone.

Gone where? Gone?

He is not here, but is risen!

Alive!

John and Peter saw the evidence – grave clothes without a body in them.

Mary saw him alive and thought he was someone else – until he spoke her name.

And later he spoke to all the disciples. They saw the wounds of nail and spear, felt his smile, breathed his peace, and realized he had conquered death.

They would not have risked their reputations for a hoax.

They would not have risked their lives for a fable.

They could not have risked the faith of their Jewish forefathers for anything less than the promised Messiah, the risen savior of all who believe.

Jesus lives and so can we. Death is not the final word. Death does not win!

If.

If we take Jesus at his word.

If we believe him.

Believe and live.

Live!

John 20:1-20, The Holy Bible

Good Friday. Good-bye.

2010-04-02T15:57:00.000-07:00

We call it Good Friday. Is that because we get off work early to pack for a weekend away at the lake or the beach or the mountains if it’s warm enough?

More than 2000 years ago, a handful of Jewish leaders in Roman-occupied Jerusalem considered this a good day because it meant they were getting rid of a troublemaker. “Good riddance,” they might have quipped in Hebrew to the man who had turned their world upside down.

However, Good Friday was intended to commemorate the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth on a Roman cross. He hung there, the Bible tells us, in our place. He took our mistakes and failures and sins upon himself and paid for them with his very blood. He died there. His friends retrieved his body, wrapped it in linen strips and laid it in a stone tomb.

That day the Passover holiday was upon them and they had to get Jesus out of the way. It was their tradition – not an uncaring ritual, but one that dictated immediate burial of the dead.

So they did.

And that should make it good.

I know that without his death I would die, but I still find it hard to call this day Good Friday. Crucifixion is anything but good. I’d rather call it Black Friday – a day when the Light of Life went out and Satan sang in triumph. But “Black Friday” is taken. It’s the day after Thanksgiving when American retailers raise their profits out of the red pit of loss – another misguided moniker.

Maybe it’s easier for modern man to consider this a good day because we know the rest of the story. But Jesus’ family and followers did not. He was gone. Dead. Buried. They were alone. They didn’t know he was the ultimate Passover Lamb sacrificed in their place. Nor did they know he would live again.

Tonight and tomorrow imagine what it would have been like to have everything you believed in destroyed. Imagine finding the answer to life only to have it ripped from your fingers and nailed to a cross. Imagine turning your back on the stone-cold tomb and walking away wondering if you would be next.

Imagine.

A must-read book for moms

2010-03-07T20:56:00.000-08:00

Few people would deny that we live in a shaky world. From earthquakes and tsunamis, to soul-rattling emotional tremors, our families face unsettling circumstances on every side. We need a strong foundation and author Judy Scharfenberg couldn’t agree more. In her new book, Secure Families in a Shaky World, she outlines six simple action steps for building and maintaining that foundation.

Scharfenberg encourages mothers of all ages through her delightful candor as she shares from a lifetime of experience. As a Christian speaker, wife, mother, grandmother and retired school librarian, she knows what it means to be busy, hurried, pressed and overwhelmed. But she also knows how important it is to hold the family together – especially today – and she doesn’t mind sharing what works and what won’t.

From personal success stories, recipes and meal planning tips, to a simple how-to for exercise or prayer, Scharfenberg weaves her tapestry of health and hope with timeless scriptures that speak to the need of the moment.

Do you need joy in the middle of your day? In Chapter 4, Scharfenberg shares her Checklist for Joy. Here are just a few items from that list, things that even the busiest mom can handle:
· Mend a quarrel; apologize; ask for forgiveness.
· Seek out a forgotten friend.
· Hug someone tightly and whisper, “I love you.”
· Make or bake something for someone anonymously.
· Listen. Smile.
· Speak kindly to a stranger.
· Turn off the TV and talk (my personal favorite!).
· Encourage an older person.

This book is a must-read for women seeking spiritual and physical health and balance in their homes from one who truly understands that you are “the heartbeat of your family.”

Secure Families in a Shaky World can be purchased through Amazon, Christianbooks.com, and Pleasantwordbooks.com.

Storing the Light

2010-02-13T08:53:00.000-08:00

We installed a solar porch light last month. On sunny days, it stores enough light to cast a moon-like glow beneath the pergola at night, lighting a pathway to our front door.

However, if the day is overcast, rainy or foggy, the solar cell collects nothing and remains dark the following night.

It’s just like me.

If I’m not collecting the hope and wisdom and comfort of God from His word, darkness washes in around me during the night of my struggles. It’s Son Light I need – and the more I store up, the brighter my own light shines.

Darkness is the absence of light. But even the smallest glow flickers against the blackest void. It cannot be hidden – it shines. And no matter how feeble it may be, it offers life to those who are searching for a spark of hope.

How about you? Is your soul cell charged with the Son Light of God? Open His word today and fill up with His life-giving light.

Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house (Matt. 5:15 NIV).

Do You Hear It?

2010-01-30T12:52:00.000-08:00

Oscar Hammerstein II said the hills were alive with the sound of music. Where I live, that music plays against verdant pastures and brilliantly green hillsides. Angus cow-calf pairs dot the scene like quarter notes on a musical score. Each cow has a calf at her side, and she paces her stride to match its own faltering steps.

The calves are so fresh and new that they shine like onyx in the morning sun, dark against the grass their mothers graze. There is a tenderness in it all, in the grass, in the animals – a moment set against the rush of time when nothing matters but the protection and nurturing of a young life.

I drive through this landscape every morning on my way to school. And in the late afternoon I return on the same road to see long shadows thrown across the pastures by the grazing cattle.

Yesterday it was warmer; the temperature had climbed into the high 60s, and the cows had turned their eyes away from the sun, their backs to the west. As I slowed to watch them, I wondered what there was of God out in that pasture. I knew there was something there, something He would say to me if I paused in my hurry home, and searched for His message.

The cow closest to the fence line along the road stood at an odd angle, sideways to the sunlight. Her shadow stretched wide across the grass, and several feet away lay her resting calf, tucked exactly within the edges of her cool shade, sheltered from the heat of the day.

She knew.

She knew exactly how to stand to shade her calf, and she stayed there until the glare of the sun had passed.

“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty” (Psalm 91:1 NIV).

Our God knows, too. He knows exactly what we need, and He is there to let us rest in the shadow of His comfort.

And if we still our hearts, we may even hear the music of His love around us.

Your Oxygen

2010-01-16T13:33:00.000-08:00

On my return flight from Colorado this past holiday season, I listened to the familiar emergency survival instructions as the plane taxied out to the runway.

If the cabin lost pressure, the stewardess said, an oxygen mask would release from the overhead compartment directly above each passenger. Using a demonstration mask, she showed us how to slip the elastic band over the back of our heads, secure the mask over nose and mouth, and breathe normally.

Then she cautioned that in the event of such an emergency, we were to put on our own masks before we tried to help the person seated next to us – even if that person was a child.

At first, this seemed like a harsh statement, but it soon made sense. How could I help anyone else if I were about to lose consciousness myself?

This practical, life-saving advice applies to other areas of our lives, as well, yet too often we fail to consider its logic. Instead, we offer advice to our friends in difficult situations when we don’t have a solid grip on our own challenges. We try to give them answers, when we’re not even certain of the questions.

It all comes down to preparation. Are we prepared? Are we grounded in the Word of God? Do we know where our lifeline is – our emotional and spiritual oxygen mask – in case of depressurization?

Sadly, many of us don’t. We don’t spend time every day reading the promises and assurances of God. We don’t fill ourselves with the confidence of His faithfulness. Therefore, when the air gets thin, we start to panic. What good will we be to anyone else in that condition, much less to ourselves?

Jesus said, “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Matt. 19:19). Do you really love yourself in the way God wants you to, or do you ignore His grace and belittle yourself for not measuring up? Do you love yourself enough to get the spiritual nourishment you need?

Start today by opening God’s word and taking a deep breath of His life-giving wisdom. Be prepared so you’ll be able to help others near you who may be gasping for air.

Window Watching

2010-01-02T07:28:00.000-08:00

Elvis Presley once described television as a box with a window in it – a one-way window with people looking in but no one looking out.

He was right.

I have one of those windows in my living room, and another very similar window on my desk. In fact, I have many windows on my desk via a computer system of the same name that allows me to see more than one place at one time.

However, I prefer the window above my desk through which I can see a portion of the living world where greening hills cradle a glassy pond, and still-gold cottonwoods flame up from the valley floor like torches.

Sometimes I sit for long uninterrupted moments taking in the view, exploring from a distance the sheer rocky brow of a neighboring hillside, or the rippling breath of dawn as it brushes across the pond lighting the water and waking geese and ducks and egrets. It’s the constancy of life that draws my gaze outside, and it calms me during otherwise tedious hours of chasing black words across the white window of my computer screen. And it calms me immeasurably more than whatever happens to be on the television in the other room.

But the window that gives something in return, even more than the pastoral setting of our surroundings, is God’s word. When I look into that window I find out who I am and where I’m going. I see the one who loves me like no other can; I see a pathway ahead that, should I choose it, will take me into God’s very presence. And I find deeper peace than even the most beautiful of earthly settings can offer.

Not everyone has a breath-taking view out a picture window. Many do, yet they rarely take the time to drink it in. But everyone can get a copy of the Bible today, whether in print or online. This year, regardless of your situation, make the choice to look through the window of God’s word to find your way. Unlike the people on television, He is there looking back at you, waiting for you to join Him.

The Perfect Christmas Gift

2009-12-19T09:12:00.000-08:00

If you were God, how would you introduce yourself to your creation?

I’d be 27 years old, a perfect size 8 with flawless complexion, no white hair and an IQ of 145.

I would not show up as a baby, completely helpless and totally dependent upon two people who arrived in town after all the motel rooms were taken and had to sleep in a lean-to. Or a cave.

Good thing I’m not God.

But why a baby?

It’s simple, really. God wanted to become a human, and there is only one way to become a human and that is to be born.

Humans can’t get away from sin. It’s an inherited trait – in the blood, so to speak. God chose to become a human so he could stop the endless cycle by paying man’s long-overdue sin account himself.

So He played by the rules and was born. But he bypassed the blood-born pathogen of sin through birth by a virgin – the virgin who conceived through the seed of God, not sin-filled man. The embryo she carried developed its own blood system, as do all human embryos, and since the mother’s blood does not mix with her baby’s, the baby inherited no sin.

A perfect human.

This god-man lived a sinless life, so when he was killed, his sin-less blood was undeserving of death, and in the eyes of God, that blood paid the penalty of sin and washed away mankind’s debt.

A perfect sacrifice.

Only God could come up with a plan like that.

But He didn’t just pay and run. He conquered death and lived again to walk beside us in our own life-living.

So, you see, Christmas is really all about sacrifice. Maybe that’s why red and green are such prominent seasonal colors: the blood-red ribbons that flow from our evergreen boughs remind of us the Perfect Life that gives the rest of us eternal, ever-life.

If we accept the gift.

And who could refuse a gift like that?

Unanswered prayer

2009-12-05T08:15:00.000-08:00

Have you ever prayed for something so long that when it finally showed up you didn’t believe it?

Zechariah did. He was a Jewish priest in 1st-century Judea who prayed for years that he and his wife Elizabeth would have a child.

This man knew the miraculous stories of barren women giving birth to such giants of the faith as Isaac and Samuel. But they had lived decades earlier, not in the modern times of the Roman Empire, and so far, no tiny fingers had ever grasped his own.

Maybe he just quit praying. Or quit believing. Or maybe he figured that God’s answer was “no.”

And maybe that had something to do with his reaction when an angel stepped up and took his breath away with news that Elizabeth was going to have a baby boy.

I wonder what I would say to an angel like that – if I could get the words out. If I didn’t pass out. Hopefully I wouldn’t say what Zechariah said: “How can I be sure of this?” (Luke 1:18 NIV)

Hopefully the sudden and inexplicable appearance of an unusual figure telling me about something no one knew but God would, in itself, make a believer out of me.

But for whatever reason, Zechariah doubted, and because of that doubt he ended up speechless.

A few months later the same angel told a teenage girl that she would bear the Messiah for whom Israel waited. This girl Mary said what the more experienced and well-versed priest should have said: “OK. I am the Lord’s servant.”

Young Mary had a question, yes, but it wasn’t one of faith, it was a point of understanding. She knew how children were conceived and she knew she was still a virgin. And when the angel explained, Mary said, “OK.”

I want to be like Mary. I want to say, “OK, God,” when He sends an unbelievable event my way. I don’t want to recite every reasonable obstacle to my faith and say, “I don’t know about this, God.”

I want to say, “I’m your servant, Lord. Whatever you say.”

But the truth is, I’m more often like Zechariah – knowing God’s faithfulness and still wondering how He will do the impossible. And that’s why I’m encouraged by God’s choice of this man, the man whose first spoken words after months of silence were praise to a faithful God.

Yes, he knew the history of his people; yes, he had grown weary in his faith. But God had not given up on him, and He knew that Zechariah was the one to teach this child of “the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins” (Luke 1:77 NIV).

God gives all of us opportunities to say, “yes,” whether sooner or later. What will your choice be this Christmas season?

What will you say?

No second-hand days

2009-11-21T09:16:00.000-08:00

I love a good bargain. And I love finding surprises in unexpected places like thrift stores and garage sales. Those discoveries make me feel like the Proverbs 31 woman who brings her treasures from afar.

But when I looked out the window above my desk this morning, I realized that God isn’t always that thrifty. Sure, I saw the same old cottonwoods glittering in their autumn gold, and the ridge tops wore their familiar oak silhouette, but the day itself was unique.

“A brand new day,” I thought. “God has done it again; He’s given us a brand new, never-been-used-before morning.”

There are no second-hand days with God.

If the Creator'd had only one day to give us, I believe He would have. I base that judgment upon how He’s handled other valuable gifts, particularly His son.

God has one perfect son, Jesus, and He gave Him for our imperfect lives. Do we even begin to understand the depth of that giving?

Not only do we have brand new lives because of Jesus, we have a sparkling, new hope because of Him.

And we have never-been-used-before mornings for which to praise Him, every single day.

Now there’s something to be thankful for.

Veterans of a different battle

2009-11-07T08:07:00.000-08:00

After two days of excruciating pain and two more of mind-numbing drugs, I learned several things.

1. It is not wise to ignore new, inexplicable pain – it’s trying to tell you something.
2. I can walk and work more slowly and the world will not fall off its axis.
3. Breakfast in bed is not all it’s cracked up to be.
4. And if that bed is “in the depths,” God is still there (Psalm 139:8b).

As I wrote in my last posting, many of us do more than we should, and need to cut back.
But more recently I learned that everything can be cut back, and life does not come to an end.

Sickness was not part of my plan last week, but as hour after hour stacked up more and more unfinished tasks and beautifully orchestrated expectations, I was forced to let go of each and every one, lie back in the arms of the Lord, and let Him carry me.

I found, again, that He is there. And I remembered that He is a veteran of pain.

As we look this week to our military veterans who have offered and often laid down their lives for our freedom, let us also consider the silent suffering by those of whom we may not be aware. They, too, are veterans – veterans of knowing that God is there, even when they don’t understand the why’s of their situations.

I have heard the dear mother of one such sufferer say with deep conviction, “O our God … We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon You” (II Chronicles 20:12b).

Indeed, Lord. Our eyes are upon You

When Enough is More Than Enough

2009-10-24T07:39:00.000-07:00

“I’m exhausted,” a friend said, collapsing into a chair. She was considering cutting back on some of her activities.

“You can’t do everything,” I offered.

In no way was I preaching to her; I was simply repeating my own personal mantra: I can’t do it all.

The old anti-drug slogan, “Just say no!” is hard for me to apply to a worthy cause. My friend had the same problem. There are so many worthwhile activities that need our participation, not to mention all the work required to keep our homes up and running.

When my children were small, I read a wonderful little booklet titled, Tyranny of the Urgent. I learned that urgent tasks are not the same as important tasks. Urgent tasks may scream at me to be completed, but they are things that I wouldn’t mind having someone else do, like clean house, shampoo the carpet, or wash the car.

But important things are those that I would not let someone else do: read bedtime stories, make brownies for a family picnic, or care for a sick loved one.

The urgent can usually wait; the truly important cannot.

But what about all those important things outside my home that vie for my limited time? How do I choose?

Jesus told the parable of 10 young women who waited for a traditional wedding celebration to begin. They waited all night. Five were prepared with extra oil for their lamps, and five were not. When the call rang out at midnight, all ten got up, and the five without enough oil asked the others to share.

Jesus said the five with extra oil did not share with the others. Gently, but wisely, they said, “No.”

The point of the parable was to be prepared. But I believe the Lord was also trying to show us something about personal boundaries. Sometimes we have to say no rather than use up everything we have and then be caught short.

I believe that applies to our energy, time and emotional strength as well as oil.

Will the world come to a premature end if I don’t attend that workshop? Do I really need to serve on another committee? Will anyone care if my floor isn’t mopped today?

Psalm 16:5, 6 says, “Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; … The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; …”

That portion and those boundary lines denote limits for our blessing and for our good. Life without limits can be dangerous.

So what do we do as Christians who want to do the right thing? Do we give up all our charitable efforts?

Absolutely not.

Instead, we pray about the demands and requests on our time, and ask God what His priorities are for our lives.

After we know for certain, we “just say no” to everything else. The Bible tells us to speak the truth in love. That would include a gentle “no” without impatience or hatefulness.

And finally, we must not let guilt rob us of our rest. The Lord tells us, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matt.11:28).

If you end up with an extra afternoon and “nothing” to do, spend some time outside enjoying the cooler weather and fall sunshine. Go for a walk, or just talk to the Lord, praising him for leading you in your decisions.

And be sure to thank him for helping you to “just say no.”

What Rocks Your World

2009-10-11T09:01:00.000-07:00

It started with an antique tea canister in the kitchen and the tinny tune it played as it rattled back and forth.

Why was it moving?

Soon, other canisters joined in the song, then the cupboard doors, the framed pictures on a shelf, and a deep rumbling beneath my feet. Earthquake.

Within 20 minutes, two smaller temblors struck, shaking our hilltop home, reminding me that this world is on shaky footing at best. However, the hands that hold it are steady as a rock.

“The Lord is my rock,” wrote the Psalmist. “Who is the Rock, except our God?” (Psalm 18:2,31b).

It’s difficult to picture a rock as comforting, but frequently scripture uses the metaphor to help us understand a spiritual principle.

Isaiah wrote of “the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land” (Isaiah 32:2b) I can’t help but envision a treeless plain with no refuge in sight – until a weary soul stumbles upon a rock big enough to offer shade from a blazing sun or shelter from a blistering windstorm.

Again, the Psalmist wrote, “Lead me to the rock that is higher than I” (Psalm 61:2b) That is exactly what I need when I am in need – something, Someone bigger than myself.

When Moses asked to see the glory of God, the Almighty said to him, “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 (Ex. 33:21,22).

That’s where I want to be – a place near God where I can stand on a rock while He hides me with His hand. How grateful I am that He is that close, that He is the shade that protects me from the heat of oppression and the wind of torment.

Jesus is the Rock of my salvation. He is the sure foundation upon which I base my trust, my life, my hope. Whether earthquake or soul-quaking news, when my world is rocked, thank God He is the Rock that is higher than I.

Walking in the Light

2009-09-26T08:26:00.000-07:00

When my husband and I were first married, we had a two-in-one flashlight. It was equipped with the standard high-beam light that shone from one end like most models, but it also had a softer, more radiant light that spread from a second bulb along the top.

One evening I took the flashlight outside for a trek to the barn. The standard beam lit the path ahead, punching through the dark toward my destination. I switched to the second light and it illuminated my steps and the area right around me, spreading into the shadows on either side. But I couldn’t have both lights on at the same time; I had to choose one or the other.

As I walked, the Psalmist’s prayer came to mind: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path” (Psalm 119:105). Suddenly, I understood the metaphor. God’s wisdom shows me the path ahead as well as the ground beneath my feet. But unlike my hand-held flashlight that required an either-or choice, His word sheds the light of understanding in both ways at the same time. His word is indeed a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.

The Psalmist also wrote, “You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light” (Psalm 18:28).

And that’s exactly what I need in life – a never-failing power source that faithfully shows me the way to go and how to get there. The Lord’s light cuts through my darkness, and the lamp of His love envelops me with the comfort of His presence.

Grandparents Day

2009-09-12T10:40:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is Grandparents Day. Mine are long since gone, but I’ve taken their place. And it’s still a wonder to me when I recognize one of my children peeking out through the eyes of their offspring.

As a teacher, I meet a lot of grandparents, those who have picked up where their sons and daughters left off. Sometimes the family has fallen apart, and one young parent is in jail, in hiding or incapacitated. Often, grandparents help out with babysitting when both parents must work to meet financial responsibilities.

And sometimes they are just interested. They like being involved in the extended lives of their children and grandchildren.

I know of a boy named Tim who had a grandmother like that. She helped steer him into the right path when he was a youngster, and taught him that God was faithful and could be trusted.

Tim never forgot her words, and he grew up to be a leader among men and the close companion of a mighty man of God. The Apostle Paul encouraged young Timothy, writing, “I have been reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice” (2 Timothy 1:5 NIV).

As a grandparent, you never know what influence you may have on a child – even those not of your family. Your patience, your joy, and your faith can stabilize a young life and point to the Savior.

It’s never too late to begin, for “today is the day of salvation,” not yesterday or tomorrow. Ask God to show you how to share His love with the little ones around you – even if they’ve grown up and have little ones of their own.

Where Are You Looking?

2009-08-23T13:54:00.000-07:00

Rodeo again? you ask. Absolutely. How can I resist the irony of a bull rider landing face first in the arena dirt as an announcer yells, “Where you look is where you go!”

Following your eyes is a pile-driving concept well known to those who wrap their courage, rope and legs around a bucking Brahma crossbred for eight seconds.

But a first century fisherman knew it too.

As one who rode the waves of the Middle East Sea of Galilee, Peter was likely the equivalent of a modern rodeo cowboy. He met life head on, wore blisters on his hands and creases into his face. And then he met the Tempest Tamer.

While drifting on a familiar but stormy sea, Peter watched that man walk across the water toward his boat. “If it’s really you, call me to you,” he yelled at what his companions believed to be an apparition.

“Come.”

Peter climbed over the edge, locked his eyes on the one who called, and stepped onto the water. No one else had the courage to even try it, much less get out of the boat. Imagine defying the laws of nature and walking on the roiling, dark sea known so well to those whose living was found beneath it.

And then Peter looked away.

He looked away from the one who called him and gazed into the crashing waves. Fear sucked him down into what he beheld, and but for the outstretched hand of the Water Walker, Peter would have drowned in that fear.

Can we relate to that? We who neither ride bulls nor fish for a living? Might we know what it feels like to glance toward our fear and fall into the choking waves of loneliness, abandonment, or depression?

The Water Walker still walks today. He who tamed the tempest calms the storms of our heart. “Come to me, all you who are weary,” he says. “I will never leave you or forsake you.”

Set your heart on Him. Lock your eyes and your hopes on Jesus. He will lift you with his outstretched hands, and never let you down.

Matthew 14:22-33

Think about it: Did Jesus carry Peter back to the boat, or did they walk back together?

Mom Arms

2009-08-09T20:48:00.000-07:00

I have Mom Arms. You know – those upper limbs that come complete with built-in bat wings. I’m beginning to understand why my mother never wore sleeveless shirts in public.

As a writer, I do more heavy sitting than heavy lifting and my biceps and triceps have atrophied. Not the skin surrounding them, however.

I know exercise is important for a balanced life, but I detest going to the gym. I just can’t bring myself to drive 17 miles to town so I can work up a sweat in a big former Safeway supermarket with people I don’t know, slinging dead weight around and trying to hold my stomach in at the same time.

So I walk. Most mornings before sunrise, I tramp out a two-mile hike down the road and back again. But that doesn’t help my arms.

This morning My Son The Body-Builder put together a home-front workout regimen for me based on his own weight-lifting exercises. Since I don’t have to attach 100-pound weights to my lifting, a gallon of water or a loaded laundry basket will do just fine, he said.

“Resistance is what you want,” he explained. Demonstrating with a long rubber jump rope I bought years ago from Avon, he stood on the band, a handle from each end in each hand, and effortlessly stretched his arms above his head.

“Keep your elbows close to your head, and push slowly upward.”

I‘m good at slowly. I barely moved, so he showed me how to reduce the resistance for now and how to increase it later as my strength grows.

I don’t enjoy this resistance-pressure thing, but I know what little strength I have left will fade even more if I don’t do it. God knows it too, and He uses the human body as a great object lesson for the human spirit.

“You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors,” says The Message. “Don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way” (James 1:2-4)

Well-developed: that’s how I want my Mom Arms to look. I guess it’s going to take a little workout.

R.O.D.E.O.

2009-07-26T14:24:00.000-07:00

What’s RODEO got to do with the Faith Walk?

Plenty.

When my husband was a rodeo clown and bullfighter, faith was the main course for every meal. Along with extra helpings of prayer and trust.

During those exciting years of crisscrossing the country from one rodeo arena to the next, we had faith that God was taking care of us as we traveled and worked. We prayed for His protection over our children, our vehicle, our animals and ourselves. And we trusted that He would lead us in the direction of His choosing.

A rodeo bullfighter is a great metaphor for Christ: he puts his life on the line to rescue the bull rider from certain injury or death. He is the “savior” who pulls the rider’s hand free from a twisted rope, or throws himself between a fallen cowboy and a charging bull.

“It’s my job,” my husband Mike once told a grateful rider who nearly had his bell rung.

“But there’s someone else who’s done a whole lot more for you,” Mike continued. “Jesus died to save you and give you eternal life.”

Today we no longer rodeo, so what could it possibly have to do with our life when there’s no more bullfighting, no more arenas, no more all-night, red-eye drives from one state to another?

Everything.

Rodeo reminds me how to face the bucking, twisting circumstances that often charge into my otherwise orderly life. Rodeo reminds me that I’m not in control, but God is. And rodeo helps me keep my concentration where it needs to be:

Rely
On
Divine
Energy
Only

Putting my faith in God means trusting Him to give me the strength I need.

So, saddle up!

II Corin. 4:8,9

www.davalynnspencer.com

A favorite verse

2009-07-14T21:28:00.000-07:00

Due to a family member's upcoming surgery, I will not be posting this week. However, as a thank-you for stopping by my blog, I'd like to offer you one of my favorite verses:

Because You are my help,
I sing in the shadow of Your wings. (Psalm 63:7)

What a great comfort!

Do you hear it?

2009-06-30T11:01:00.000-07:00

Just before the sun climbs Hatchet Peak behind our house, songbirds announce the pending dawn and cows call their calves from grassy beds.

Such a chorus greets me each morning that I walk. It’s an hour unlike any other – cool, for one thing, not yet drenched in the greater San Joaquin’s triple-digit heat.

Campbell Creek meanders through the lower ranchland, past massive oaks and shady willows. Bullfrogs bay from their pond-side hideaways, and I imagine the unusual cacophony as a chorus of praise, wondering if God understands the language of His creation better than we do.

“Give thanks to the Lord,” trills the high-pitched voice of a red-winged blackbird.

“His love endures for ever,” drums a deep-throated bullfrog.

Could it be that we humans don’t take time to listen to the song of nature around us?

Could it be that we are missing out on creation’s ultimate worship music?

But what if you live in the city? What if you can’t walk where there is no traffic to clutter your eyes and ears and lungs? What if all you hear is the noise of people and their busy-ness?

Then find a place.

Find a place in the bedroom with the door closed and no sounds coming through. Find a place on the living room sofa while the kids are outside playing.

Go to the park, sit in the backyard in the shade, drive to the country in the evening after sunset, but wherever you go, quiet yourself and listen. And see if you can hear an anthem of praise, whether it is the voice of nature, the song of silence, or the simple offering of your own grateful heart.

Worship Him, and let His presence surround you.

Too busy to hear

2009-06-20T18:48:00.000-07:00

He wasn’t exactly the type of employee I expected to see at the neighborhood nursery – a tattooed giant in dark glasses and a big straw hat – but he seemed to know all about ice plant and aptenia and what drought-resistant groundcover would work best for my hillside landscaping project.

He also had great hearing.

While I pointed out which flats I wanted, a young boy peddled down the lattice-covered patio path and stopped next to us. The man greeted him cheerfully while continuing to wait on me, the paying customer.

“Look at the new bike seat my dad bought me,” the boy said proudly. He followed us to the cash register where the man took a moment to admire the gray and white camouflage-patterned seat and comment approvingly. Then he pointed out a bottle of anti-pet spray that might keep my dogs and cats out of the new plantings.

I hadn’t expected this giant of a man to be so gentle, thoughtful or adept at multi-tasking. He didn’t hurry me through the shopping process, nor did he brush off the child or speak to him in a harsh leave-me-alone-can’t-you-see-I’m-busy tone. The little boy was so at ease around him, I began to wonder if riding into the nursery was a daily ritual.

I like to think of myself as a caring, child-friendly person. After all, I’m a schoolteacher and – oh, yes – a Christian. However, my demeanor isn’t always what it should be and I know for a fact that I would have been more inclined to tell the little boy to come back later when I’m wasn’t busy with a customer.

I might not have heard his heart.

The disciples of Jesus, in their sincerest efforts to provide their leader with a break from the pressing crowds, scolded parents trying to get closer with their clinging toddlers and wailing infants.

“Go away,” they said. “Can’t you see he’s busy?”

Jesus also had a keen sense of hearing, not to mention impeccable timing. “Don’t prevent them from coming to me,” he said. “God’s kingdom is made up of people like these” (Matthew 19:14 The Message).

I need better hearing. I need to stop and listen to those who call out for attention, affirmation or affection. I need to be more like Jesus when others intrude on my hurried life – whether they are my own children or my spouse or a stranger who just needs a friendly greeting.

I need to be more like the tattooed man who wasn’t too busy to let a child know he was just as important as a paying customer.

Managing stress without stressing

2009-06-11T06:45:00.000-07:00

“I don’t know how you did it,” she said. “With everything you had going on, I never saw you stress out.”

My friend was referring to the biggest event of my life in the past few months – my daughter Amanda’s May wedding – planned and carried out in tandem with a full time teaching job, full time position on our church’s worship team, full time calling as wife and mother, and on-the-side writing career.

Wonder Woman I am not, but I had a strategy for stress that saw me through those busy days.

Begin before the beginning

It started with a plan. As a teacher, I’m a binder freak when it comes to organization, so creating a tab-divided binder for the wedding was cake.

As soon as groom-to-be-Brandon ringed Amanda’s finger in diamond and silver, I printed out full-page calendars for each of the next five months. On the calendars, I notated all major steps leading up to and including the wedding, such as, “Order Invitations,” “Bridal Shower,” “Meet Photographer,” etc.

Tab dividers for Flowers, Food, Rentals, Site, and other items helped me record information in easily retrievable fashion, and pockets on the front and back cover held every single receipt for every single penny spent. I can tell you exactly what it all cost, but I won’t. Let me just say, don’t be dismayed by the national average of what “experts” say a wedding should cost, because it doesn’t have to be even close to that.

However, this column isn’t about planning a wedding; it’s about not stressing under stress. Having a frame in which to work helped me keep mishaps to a minimum and, at the same time, see where I was going.

Balance - it's not an act

It’s easy to let something take priority in your life, especially if it’s a very important event. But there’s a critical difference between a priority and an important event. Our priorities are important, but not every important thing should be a priority.

Having a workbook let me see where I was headed, but keeping my priorities in line helped me keep my balance. And for me personally, a time of quiet and prayer every morning is a priority.

Not everyone is a morning person. Not everyone craves quiet as much as I. But I have identified quiet morning time with the Lord as a critical part of my day. It helps remind me that regardless of what is going on in my life, God is still in control. And I’m encouraged by learning of others in similar situations who let God work things out for the better.

Ever read in the Bible of the parent who invited party guests that didn’t show up? Or of the wedding in Canaan without enough wine? What about the great feast called the Marriage Supper of the Lamb? By looking into all of these, I kept my balance by realizing that God cares about such events – even my daughter’s.

Escape

And finally, my escape. Immature? Irresponsible, you say? Childish to run away in the face of overwhelming responsibilities?

Absolutely not, if the escape takes you closer to the One who gives balance.

I am a fan of award-winning novelist Lauraine Snelling. She has written more than 50 books, fiction and nonfiction, but I am particularly fond of her historical novels dealing with the Red River Valley of Dakota Territory in the 19th century. Every evening after a day of teaching and an afternoon of shopping – whether on the web or at the mall – I retreated into a Lauraine Snelling story. For an hour or so, I escaped to the golden prairies of the north, the challenges of my favorite character, Ingeborg Bjorklund, the sites and smells of food prepared on a wood-burning stove, and her hard but simple life lived without electricity and television.

The books are not Snelling’s most recent releases, but they are dear to me for how they provided a critical mental escape during a stress-filled time. Amanda read them also, and we discussed plots and characters and surprises. I even gave her Ingeborg Bjorklund’s Red River Cookbook, and tucked it into the big crockery bowl I passed on to her at the bridal shower.

But it wasn’t just the escape to a different landscape and a different set of problems; it was how Snelling’s characters faced those problems, how the women in those books looked to the Lord in a matter-of-fact way for their strength and protection – their balance.

Mornings in the Lord’s presence with his word, and evenings relaxing with a Snelling novel gave me the mental and physical relief I needed to think clearly when it came time to pick up the binder. I was tempted to believe that I didn’t have time to spend praying and reading, but thank God, I didn’t fall for that lie this time.

As it turned out, I didn’t have time not to.

Learn more about Lauraine Snelling’s books at http://www.laurainesnelling.com and
http://www.blessingnd.com.

2008-01-15T21:11:00.000-08:00

At last - I've joined the 21st century with a blog. What a word - blog. A few years ago it meant nothing, yet today, millions of people know exactly what it means. Words are funny like that. They are my favorite tools and toys. In fact, though they can be ever new and changing, they are also some of the oldest things around: "In the beginning was the Word ... "

So, I try to keep in touch with those words, and maintain my focus by keeping my eyes on my Leader so I know where I'm headed. How do I manage this? By keeping Him always before me - up front where I can see Him.

Yet He is also beside me, close enough to whisper in my ear or catch me if I'm falling.

How can this be? How can someone be two places at the same time?

"I have set the Lord always before me; because He is at my right hand, I shall not be moved" (Psalm 16:8 NKJV).

My Leader can be two places at the same time because He is the Lord. I'm so glad He's the one who is leading.