Don't Lose Your Song!

It was rather conspicuous actually. I was sitting in a congregation and we were all singing together, “There is Coming A Day”. Suddenly, I found myself singing alone. The attention of everyone else was diverted to something happening in the back of the building and they all stopped mid-song. I was unfazed, continuing on in my lone soprano voice, “what a day, glorious day, that will be.” Everyone turned now to stare at me and chuckle. 

And then my little boy sleeping beside me jabbed into my side as he did a push up and turned to wake me. I realized that my song had only been a dream. 

But as I fed him, I pondered. Sometimes it seems that the whole world is losing their song. (Granted, that’s simply not true and the faithful sing on.) Sometimes we become corporately distracted and our songs of hope and expectation die away mid-chorus as we are caught up in the hullabaloo of what is happening around us. 

Sometimes I lose my song. I stop singing just because I can’t hear those around me singing on. Sometimes I lose focus of what the future really holds for the righteous. I fill up on the messages swirling around me of doom and gloom until there’s no room left for the true saga of indomitable hope. 

But what if people laugh at us because we still sing of The Day that is coming? What if they think we are the weird ones because they stopped singing and we carried on? What if our voices are lone and solitary in their song? What if we are the only ones singing when That Day is suddenly here in all its splendor?

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

Trash At First Sight

What do empty Kleenex boxes, used fruit labels, postage stamps and pebbles have in common?

In my life, they all share one thing: at some point they were precious treasures to me and I found great delight in collecting them. (Somewhat to my current chagrin!)

As a tiny girl, I collected tissue boxes by the dozens under my bed (they were so pretty, didn't cost me anything, and eventually I used them to make a nice house!). I also kept a sticker album for years where I would collect the stickers off of fruit and vegetables. It was of utmost fascination to me to find a new kind of sticker on a banana, apple or avocado and carefully peel it off to store in my exotic little book. I loved counting up how many different countries were represented in the album, and delighting in the interesting colors and pictures featured. Later on in life, I collected stamps for a while. It was so exciting to get mail, and if it was from another country what a bonus! I would store the stamps away like rare treasure. (Because, after all, they were!) When I look back at my life so far I can see a theme hobby of mine: finding treasures in what other people saw as commonplace or even worthless.

Eventually I got rid of pretty much all of my collections. As I grew up, I started desiring to have as few things as possible (call me a minimalist if that makes you happy). I grew a desire to not accumulate too many things, with the prospective future of moving around a lot and living overseas. However, to say I don't collect treasures anymore would be somewhat false. I can’t stop being a treasure-hunter; however, my collections tend to feature ideas that fascinate me, quotes that stir me up, lists of ways I see God in my life, and...pebbles. Ever since I did a few projects where I created pictures using little pebbles, I can no longer walk past an area filled with little rocks without seeing all their creative potential. I must confess that I have several small pebble stashes here and there for future projects.

I drew faces on 30 or so bottle caps to make a new set of toys for Joy

I realized I'm really a huntress at heart, however, when I found myself digging through piles of negative circumstances on the hunt for treasures. I found it to be such a delightful pastime, I thought I would share about it with you all in case there are any other collectors in our midst. The finds below are by no means exhaustive; I'm simply giving you a peek into my latest dig.

Trash Pile:

| an angry man ruining a nice picnic our refugee staff invited us to | no place to hang our portable hammock so I had to put Joy to sleep and spend her nap time with her in the hot van | I got sick with a miserable head cold | Joy got sick with a miserable head cold too | we were "forced" to move into a new apartment when we actually were enjoying the place we had been living in, and weren't wanting to move | the restaurant we decided to join teammates at was terribly expensive, and we spent far more for our meal than we would've if I had made it at home, plus it wasn't all that amazing, and we had to wait until around 8:30pm for it. | a bumbling experience of trying to share Good News with somebody. |

Treasure Pile:

...If we hadn’t been chased away from “our” mountainside grilling site by an angry man, we wouldn’t have been able to come to the sea and enjoy the ocean breeze and splashing in the water. ...If there had been a place by the sea to hang our portable hammock, I wouldn’t have had an excuse for some alone time away from the hubbub of constant cross-cultural ministry that hot Saturday. I wouldn't have slowed down enough to notice the mounds of wild-blueberry-type-bushes giggling all around me as some sort of creatures filled them with ticking chirps.

...If I hadn’t gotten sick with a miserable head cold I wouldn’t have been pressed to ask the Lord if there’s anything He’s trying to say. If I hadn’t asked? He wouldn’t have been able (as easily at least) to show me some ugly pride and get it out of the way. If Joy hadn’t gotten sick, I wouldn’t have been able as easily to take time off from Oasis work to stay at home and settle in after moving to a new apartment. I wouldn’t have had the  time to find places for everything and make the new apartment feel like home within the first week here. If the apartment didn’t really feel like home for several weeks, that would doubtless have affected the rest of our time here.

...If we hadn’t been “forced” to move into a different apartment halfway through our stay here, we wouldn’t have gotten to have a balcony that overlooks the beauty of the rippling sea. We wouldn't have gotten a chance to live beside a seaside restaurant and where octopus legs hang in the sun to dry outside our window.

...If we hadn't decided to go to the restaurant with the team here, we would have missed the moments of hilarity as we enjoyed the reaction of one of the guys when he realized he had mistakenly ordered raw fish. (In case you're wondering, the merriment continued as he did in fact eat it, defying the rude suggestions that it was still squirming and not yet completely deceased. I tried some too, and it was good.)

...If I wouldn't try to share the Good News, I would never get better at it. And the person I shared with when I verbally stumbled around so much actually continued to be interested and went home with living Bread in her bag!

In parting, may we all have the faith today to believe that there are treasures hiding in the circumstances of our lives, no matter how ordinary or how trashy they may seem.

The Wonder of You

To: God

An hour ago I was standing in between the rocks and pines on a mountaintop, overlooking the wideness of the bay. Something magical happened to me there...I was swept off my feet by the wonder of You. It's not that it never happened before; but I'm so enthralled that it happened again. You've captured my heart, my eyes, my emotions, my mind. I'm filled with wonder, because You are Wonderful. I really think You are! I wanted to tell You that I'm slowing down, to enjoy the wonder of You.

Photo: thanks to Pixabay

You keep surprising me; like a boyfriend pulling roses from behind a tree, chocolates from beneath the table, bending down on one knee. You’ve been wooing me, and my eyes are open. You’ve been sending me packages, and - I’m chiding myself for the sad times I forget to even wonder where they came from, forget to look for the sender’s address and treasure the exotic stamp. But You've got my attention now.

Now...now I’m slowing, I’m pausing. I’m stopping to wonder. I’m letting my heart go. I’m releasing my soul to be curious and childlike, to fill with awe. Releasing my soul to enthrall...in You.

Oh, that I may never leave Your gifts out in the rain to go limp and pass away silently from my neglect.

I’m stopping to treasure You. 

I’m slowing and I just want to say “Thank You”. 

And tonight this wonder that fills my soul, it's all about You. You fascinate me. For so many reasons, but how can I keep from mentioning how utterly enchanting of Your idea to create the nose? From Your imagination, I can smell...

The scent of pine trees, pulsing in the air, like someone wanted to have a party and decked out the venue with extravagant perfume - I can't help but gasp. That was You...

The scent of the ocean, caught up and delivered to the threshold of my senses, exploding in free delight on the nerves of my nose. Salty, wild and fishy, yet delightful all the same. My lungs fill with this luxurious air, deeply. And that breath, too, was from You.

And the scent of sweat and cologne, nearness and intimacy; I can't get over how You dreamed up the personality of a man like Jonathan who fits me so perfectly. The man I get to love and get to live my days with. This too is a gift from You - one that I dreamed of and imagined and made guesses about - and now every day I unwrap the gift a little bit more.

If my olfactory nerves were all I had for enjoying Your gifts, I would be rich indeed. But it doesn't stop here! Not only can I can smell the the popping corn, fragrant on the fire; I can hear it! Oh, the musical sound of kernels in a kettle over fire, magically blithesome. I chuckle at the very idea of it! Shiny, tiny, and impossibly hard; suddenly transforming into delicious puffs of flavor. Who but You would’ve ever thought of this delight! I can't get over these subtle, enthralling glimpses into Who You Are. The more I get to know You, the more I want to get to know You more. You are fascinating in Your power, the quiet wisdom of Your mind, the thunder of Your majesty. You are fascinating in Your love.

Photo: Thanks To Pixabay

Your imagination is so entrancingly above my own, and although I've known You for years I want You to know that once again I am falling...in love. 

You cupped my face in Your hands tonight, and You enticed my eyes upwards, away from the dirt. I followed Your wooing just in time, and the jaw of my heart hung low as I saw You toss a star across the blackness. Just for me? I saw it, God, I caught Your gift.

I wonder, will You tell me someday? How did You make the stars? Different colors; different places in the universe. And the moon! She's not a star; Your creativity made a nightlight so we could sleep in the dark, yet feel cozy and safe in the glow. The moon: never boring, yet steady and predictable; the perfect balance of wild and safe. That’s just like You! I see You in the moon.

Speaking of you, You brought me here, and I looked around, and there were gifts everywhere. I’ve come back to thank You. 

No, You are not the gifts; I love You for oh, so much more than what You give to me. But tonight You used Your gifts to woo my heart. Sometimes You woo me by Your presence in my pain. Sometimes You woo me with an umbrella in the rain. Other times we get wet together. And today, You opened my eyes and there were gifts everywhere.

Thank You for who You are. Thank You for showing me when You tossed that star. Thank You for the gift of the wild scented air. For kettles of popcorn and wind in my hair. The way light floats on the sea, the way You take time...for me.

I’m treasuring your gifts. Clasping them to my heart. Receiving with awe. 

I wonder...and I never want to stop wondering...over You. 

Goodbyes, an Irritable Clerk, & Me

I could feel the slowing motion as our little car rolled to a stop. My eyelids peeled open to see that we had arrived at AAA. Sitting up, I managed to get my hair into presentable condition. My mini nap while waiting for Jonathan to get out of Home Depot had barely taken me several feet out of my pit of tiredness, no matter how grateful I was for it.

The cumulative pile of tasks of the day trailed along  behind me in my thoughts as we walked into AAA. The last (last...last...last...last...) visit to our apartment of four years had gone well, although I had dreaded it so much. We had the final meeting with the landlord, and with a jingle all our copies of the house keys were in his hands. Hurrying up the stairs before he could have a chance to get there first, we stood in the bedroom which was once our beautiful nest, remembering so many happy times. "Goodbye, bedroom." We whispered softly. With a sigh, I felt a sense of completion in that "good" goodbye. Although I really don't like goodbyes.

After we finished up at the house, we also said goodbye to some of our dear neighbors whom we hadn't gotten a chance to say goodbye to on the moving day. That, too, I had been dreading. I will miss being neighbors. Oh, so many good memories. Goodbye, neighborhood.

Now this trip to AAA (where we aren't members, they like to remind us) was the 10th stop of the day. I was tired. 

Pulling open the heavy glass doors to AAA, we stepped in and went to the front desk. "We are here to get my wife's International Drivers Permit." Jonathan set Joy's heavy car seat down in front of the lady at the front desk. Blinking my bleary, sleepy eyes, I pulled out my drivers license to verify my identity, then sat down to wait.

Minutes later my name was called. After innocently starting to follow the lady who came for me into the administrative office area, I lugged Joy and her car seat to the correct cubicle. "Show me what you've got." The lady's tone was flat and intimidating, and I tried to keep my eyes open as I pulled out my license and two passport photos for her inspection.

“These don’t look like the same person.” Her eyes darted from photo to photo as I stifled a snort and peered over to join her inspection. "They don't look like the same person," She insisted. "Well, they are. They're both me." It was my turn to put a flat tone into my voice. What nonsense. They both look like me to me! True, both photos were taken on different days, and one looked a little more beautiful. I had to snicker to imagine her comparing the beautiful picture to the sleepy, half-grouchy me standing in front of her. I could just hear her thinking, "Where did that smile go?" 

After another thirty seconds or so of deliberation she had made up her mind. "We can get you two pictures that look alike for you for $14.99," she said. Thankfully, I didn't snort or even roll my bleary eyes. "Ah, I think I will take care of that myself and come back." I decided. <<For $0.25 at Walmart, too!>>

On the way back out to the car, I am ashamed to say that I wanted to fume furiously to myself about the cranky lady who wouldn't accept my precious two mostly-identical photos and who made my already complicated life one step more complicated yet. However, I became contemplative instead.

Transition can do funny things to you. To me, anyway. The more I thought about the two photos, the  more I thought that yes, the one photo looked more youthful and happy and the other one looked more tired and mediocre. And me, today? A look into the visor window was less than flattering.

I had to ask myself: what kind of person do I want to be right now?

If I were my daughter, what would I like my mom to be like? 

tender; spunky; interested in me; full of life
OR
cranky; irritable; selfish.

If I were my husband, what would I like my wife to be like right now?

caring for my needs; humble; willing to do anything with me
OR
grumpy; proud; full of self; draggy.

Yes, it can be easy to use the excuse: "I'm in a time of deep transition. Don't expect too much from me." However, as I look at myself in the mirror, I sense that God is enticing me to receive MORE of Him. More of His grace. More of His life and sustaining power.

Sometimes you need to stop and realize that what's coming out of you is the wrong kind of fruit. Sometimes you realize your need for the Holy Spirit extra much. Sometimes you find yourself being grateful for an inconveniently difficult stranger who helped you get back on track.

 Sometimes you find Grace in unexpected places.

This post is a linkup with velvetashes.com “The Grove” with this week’s topic of "leaving".

By Being You

I'm sitting here with my baby asleep on my lap as I type. Flowers sit on the counter as a reminder of yesterday, the day mothers are celebrated and honored. How does Mother's Day make you feel?

I wonder if you find yourself feeling, like me, that you don't feel your efforts as a mother and woman are all that amazing. In fact, it's all too easy to look at all the things that I didn't get done (dirty laundry piled in the basement), the good things that other women do and I don't (make my own yogurt and cheese - from only the best raw Jersey milk), and the things I wish I am doing (freeze ahead homemade baby food for my baby). As I put one foot ahead of the other today, just doing what's in front of me and (hopefully) letting the supernatural life of Christ come out, am I fulfilling my God-given role as a mother? 

What if I am playing a part in a drama that extends far beyond the walls of my little home? What if today I can be joining in with thousands of other women and mothers like you who are also embracing their womanhood and displaying the glory of God.

Take a deep breath. Take a look at yourself, my friend. What if today, this very day, you are playing a part in the big picture of God's glory? What if an aspect of His glory shines, not in the things you're doing so much as by your reveling in who He has made you to be, and walking in faithfulness to that calling?

I believe that there are ways we women reveal God's nature by simply being who God made us to be.

I am seeing with fresh perspective the way that in my female tendencies and weaknesses, beauty shyly shines; I fit into a picture that is bigger than just me. Whether in my relationship with my husband, children, or the Lord, I can glory in the way I am made to be.

For example, my husband needs me to need him. Deep in his psyche he has the God-given desire to protect, be strong, be a hero. We are a perfect fit. My weakness accentuates his strength. His strength, channeled in an honoring and caring way, meets me in my weakness and shows me love in a way that without weakness could not be.

If this wasn’t me, that couldn’t be him. If I wasn’t lost sometimes, his bravery couldn’t shine while grabbing a lifeboat and wading out into the rolling ocean of emotion to my rescue. If I wasn’t weaker than him, his strength wouldn’t have a stage to perform upon.

If this sometimes fragile, emotional person wasn’t me, that strong, stable hero couldn’t be there for me.

I take it as an honor to get to represent the church while my husband represents the hero, Jesus.

The nights when I can’t fall asleep and he stays awake to listen to my heart, we are a picture of Jesus and His Bride.

The times when, weary and overwhelmed, I am met by the strength and love of my husband, we glow with the beauty of Jesus caring for His Church.

I find fulfillment in who God made me to be, as I see the part I have to play in the big picture of God's glory.

By simply being myself, I represent part of an eternal picture God is painting. Just me. Wonderfully emotional, exquisitely fragile, preciously weak me.

As a mother I also am a picture of God’s heart for His children. When I get up in the middle of the night (again...and then again, stuck on repeat night after night) to feed and comfort my child, I am a picture although flawed of the unconditional love and tenderness of God to His children in the night hours of our lives. When I wipe little teary eyes and care about what feels big to a seven-month-old, I am a picture of the way God does just the same with His people. He tenderly cares about what overwhelms us, perfect and different though His perspective may be from ours.

The days when I give of myself over and over and over for our child with a heart naturally filled with love, I am reflecting a bigger Love from a perfect Parent...One Who loves us from before we ever were.

There are times when the picture of who I am is nothing like who God is. That’s because I am just a fuzzy photo taken with a shaky hand, a dim little snapshot trying to capture just a bit of His beauty and perfection. I am delighted to be who I am.

I am a woman.

I am a tiny little part in a picture much bigger than me. I feel so secure here.

My Sister...next time you think you didn’t do anything today, or feel bad about what you didn’t get done, maybe you can remember this: perhaps you have played a part in a drama much bigger than yourself by just being you. Perhaps your simple faithfulness has been playing an amazing part in God's Story that we will only fully see in the future.

Continue on, my dear friends, in loving those around you and being faithful in the little things. By being you, you are beautiful.

Photo from Pexels.com

And I Come

An enchanting Spring breeze waves at us through the bobbing window blind strings as we enjoy the evening city noises in our living room. Joy is sitting in the corner midst a pile of toys she's managed to tumble from the toy basket in all her babyish curiosity. “It never ceases to amaze me how she can sit there enjoying her toys for so long!” The thinker-me says to the writer-me, as my aqua blue pen scrawls line after welcoming line in my beloved diary.

“Aaaa!” I glance up. Clearly, the attention of my daughter has suddenly turned fully upon me and the distance between her and I. “Aaaaaaa!” The communication is more insistent this time. Like mommas specialize in doing, I interpret “Aaaaaa” as a perfectly eloquent way of saying, “Mama, I’m done with my toys, and I’m longing for you and you alone, please, Mama!” 

Laying aside my notebook and pen, I stretch my mama arms in her direction. “Come to Mama!” Her eyes light up with eager expectation, her body rocking her forwards onto her hands and knees. But she can go no farther. Stuck between the sitting and crawling stage, she has the will to go and part of the ability, but so far the best of her efforts always end with a collapse onto the softness of her belly. Heaving a gigantic baby sigh, she pleads longingly once again, “Aaaah! Ggaaaa!” Her large blue eyes fill with all the depths of emotion which a seven month old can contain, and stick their gaze to me like superglue. “Come to Mama!” I beckon, giving her an opportunity to exercise her crawling skills. 

Suddenly however, my mother-heart explodes with longing to cuddle my child. Jumping up, I descend to where she sits, her arms outstretched towards me. “Come to Mama!” 

Now close enough that it's actually possible for her baby-leg-surges to propel her into my lap, she comes to me with all the love she can possibly contain.

Rocking her gently in my arms, a beautiful picture develops in my mind, like a Polaroid instant print, except that it's a motion picture. Full of color, feeling, and life.

I am that tiny girl sitting in the corner, longing for the presence of my Abba. Feeling lonely and sad, I am missing Him. I am tired, oh so tired; such as only life knows how to make a human being. I am longing for closeness, for comfort, for Him. When I turn my face towards Him, I hear Him calling gently: “Come! Come to Abba!” Calling with anticipation: “You, sweetie, who are so weary and burdened; I will give you rest! Come sit in my lap!” 

My legs feel like they are stuck to the floor like cheese sticks to pizza. I feel unsure. The distance seems insurmountable. I want to come, but feel somehow that I can’t. Suddenly, my Father descends, bounding down to meet me right where I am. And I can come. I do come. Just as I am. The distance between us which befuddled me, He takes right in stride. He gives me the desire to come, He calls me to come, and He makes it possible to come. He delights to see me leap forwards to Him with the biggest little leap I can do. He is delighted with all of my love.

Rocking my daughter in my lap, her soft head buried into my chest, the beautiful picture comes alive in my being. 

And He comes...and I come.

Little One

Little One, Little One?
I see your tears.
I feel your fears,
with you

Look in My eyes;
I will surprise
You with My love,
My Love.

Little One, Little One
Life is too big,
Too big and hard
it's true
Put now your hand,
Your little hand,
in Mine...
I'm Here.

Little One, Little One,
Look Up to Me
I AM so BIG
I AM so Here,
for you
Let go of self,
Let pride deflate
And dance a jig
with Me

Little One, Little One
I'll set you free,
I'll give you grace
As you look long
Into My face,
so calm.

Little One, Little One,
You're loved.






I like when God calls me "Little One". : )

This was written in 2015.

In Which We Flip A Switch

Do you remember when you learned what happens when you flip a light switch on and off?

Joy has experienced complete wonderment lately as I have been teaching her the great mystery of optical revolution which a little flick of the switch can do. I will take her little finger and touch the cool plastic switch on the wall, then help her give it a downwards ride. Instantly the room in plunged into darkness. I can't see the look on her face, and I wonder what she might be thinking. I imagine her baby thoughts..."Where am I now? What is that dark shape over there? Oh, good, I still feel Mama's arm here. So what is this tiny little switch that makes everything change?"

To be honest, sometimes I wish I could discover a tiny little switch that could make everything change in my life for the better.

Sometimes I think I have found one.

A little choice that transforms my life from undesirable to a gift.

Perhaps I can illustrate my thoughts the best through a little story:

<< The alarm rings in the morning. Woman rolls over, gets out of bed. >> 

"Oh dear, I have to get up now. That night was so short! It seems they all are these days. Baby just isn't sleeping well right now. <<pulls at bed covers with a sigh>> I have to make the bed by myself because my husband is busy with his morning. Like always. And now I have to decide what to make for breakfast. It seems like I have to do that every last day of the week, every last week of the month, every last month of the year! Day without end! Sigh. I'm sick and tired of eggs but I have to have protein. I guess that's what we have to eat today because I didn't get a meal list made this week..." (The story continues but this is where I will stop polluting the screen.)

If you ask me, that sounds like a nasty day. A nasty person to spend a day with, in fact. Could somebody turn on the light?

<< The alarm rings. Roll over, give the world a grin, get out of bed. >> 

"Wow, it's a new day! I've been looking forward to a new day ever since I went to bed last night! I'm alive! My husband and daughter are as well. What a wonderful day this will be. I'm so glad that I can take care of my daughter. How well I remember the days when I didn't have a baby to take care of; oh, how I longed for a little one to spend night hours with! What a precious season of life I am in. And it's so wonderful how God has such an endless supply of grace for these days of not sleeping very much. Wow. <<pulls the blankets up on the bed>> Husband is so funny with how his long legs un-tuck the sheets on his side every single night! I'm so glad to get to keep the house for such a sweet man. Let's see, what should we eat for breakfast? I'm tired of deciding. But I guess it's actually quite something to even have various options of what to eat for breakfast! I'm so glad we don't eat the same thing every single day. And wow, there are such options for protein in this country for people who need it in the morning like me. Thank You, God, for this luxury that I don't deserve..." et cetera, et cetera.

The situation is exactly the same. The person is the same. The day is the same.

What changed?

Somebody flipped the switch. It's the attitude. Have to? FLIP. Get to! 

Is it really that easy? You may wonder. Wouldn't it be so handy if there were a little attitude switch on the wall by the doorway in my house! Some people use another kind of "switch" for these purposes, but that is certainly another discussion for another day. I'm thinking, What if I would make a quick attitude check my habit whenever I flip a light switch? What if I would choose to turn the "Yay! Get-To" attitude on, and the "Sigh. Have-To" attitude off?

I'm not going to tackle all the ins and outs of attitudes and what causes them and the times when that "light switch" feels heavy as a watermelon on your fingertip.

But I will say, that there is something called Repentance, and there is something called your Will; and when activated in conjunction with the Holy Spirit there is a possibility of the inner switch getting flipped and the Negatives disappearing into Positives.

God IS ABLE to change your attitude towards life! He can do lots of wonderful things with your yielded heart.

I find myself somehow living in the dimness of my ratty attitude fairly often and suddenly awakened to the longing for some light in the situation. What will I choose? Have-To? Or Get-To? Negative? Or Positive? Flip, flip. Sometimes it's a simple choice. Sometimes I need to cry out to God to help me because the switch feels far too heavy for me to flip by myself.

Whining and Complaining?
Or Gratitude.

Perfectionism and Failure?
Or Grace.

Cynicism and Ingratitude?
Or Faith.

This rainy Monday, I wonder if there's anybody out there who God would like to take to the doorway and teach a lesson on perspective transformation. I actually know in fact there's one person.

Me.

Free light switch image sourced from Pexels.com

A New Perspective

It was as though the city was hushed by the quieting presence of cold whiteness. Tiny flakes of Winter were sailing through the sky and coming all the way down to touch our cheeks, as we trudged in the fallen heaps of its white glory, just for fun. I giggled, as I saw two large bushes that had turned into mushroom shapes overnight, with gigantic white tops rounding elegantly. They looked like the perfect place for the child-version of me to make a house and spend an afternoon of play.

Thoughts of life as a child led me down a lane of memory to the first snowstorm that I have a lot of memories of. I was just a week into being 5 years old when the skies astounded everyone by dumping 30" of snow on our world in one memorable day. 

This is the snowstorm as it appeared to my little five-year-old self:

I woke up one morning to the troubling fact that we couldn't open our front door. Snow was almost up to the top of the porch! Papa had to go out another way and shovel a pathway through the snow mountain so we could even get out of the house. I felt the excitement my parents exhibited, as they strapped on their skis and went cross-country skiing literally OVER fields and fences both. They missed the snows of Colorado, and this was a day to delight in! Eventually it was my turn to get to take a walk out in the white world. The white brightness of sun-on-snow hurt my eyes, as I clunked in my snow boots over the snowy path my Papa had shoveled out. Eagerness to experience this snowy wonderland filled my little heart. Traces of concern nudged at the eagerness, however, as I realized that my world had just dramatically changed. Nothing looked like it had before.

Wearing my little cozy Winter boots, I tried to keep up with the long steps of my parents. "Hurry!" I thought to myself. Just then a dramatic, terrible thing happened. My left leg sank down, down, down, past the top crust of the snow! Quickly, I jerked my leg upwards, but to my horror, it was bootless! My foot in its wet sock was helplessly dangling midair. In cold surprise, I ascertained that my precious boot was about as far down as I was tall! "Mama! Mama! My boot!" I screamed. I was sure it was gone, and I would need to be carried, which would be embarrassing and NOT fun. I figured I might never see that boot again. 

That's pretty much where the memory ends, although I'm positively sure my mom came to my rescue and pulled my boot out of its cold hole for me. As I trudged along yesterday, purposefully walking in snow over my boots, I wondered how much of my little five-year-old horror at losing a boot would've melted away if I had known the snow wasn't as permanent as it seemed. I think I actually didn't realize that the mountains of snow would eventually melt away! I don't think I comprehended that the white that covered my little world was only temporary and would disappear altogether. Neither did I think about it that my Papa could dig that boot right out for me. I only thought about the crisis in light of my limited capabilities and perspective.

As I purposefully kicked through the snow drifts yesterday I pulled a charming little lesson out of that dusty memory.

Sometimes when in a panic all seems lost, the biggest thing I need to find is a new perspective. 

The snow will disappear.
I can't get the boot, but I know someone who can.
Even if the snow could have claimed my boot, the snow will go when the sun comes out.
It won't hurt my foot to get snow on it.
Someday I won't even need these boots anymore because I will outgrow them.
The air is clean, the sky is bright blue, and the world is gorgeous.
Being carried could be fun...

You Did It, You Did It

Evening commuters already had their headlights on as they sped past the house while the afternoon exchanged prominence with the evening. Upstairs in Big Sister’s room, Tiny Brother settled happily in front of an old cassette tape, CD and radio player all-in-one. Oh, how he enjoyed when Big Sister would put in some music and he could sit there, enjoying the sounds and feelings of the music rolling out into the room.

His favorite part, however, was to get his hands on the little knobs and buttons of the old black music player. As the music played, a smile of delight would spread over his face. He, himself, little though he was, would make the music crescendo to a room-filling boom and then suddenly disappear entirely, only to come back in another gaudy crescendo moments later as he turned the volume button.

This time, however, was different. 

There was no music playing. He figured he could take care of that, as he began to punch, twist, and turn all kinds of buttons and knobs. He popped a tape out, then slammed it back in. Twist, twist. No crescendo. Popped a CD out and back into its little thin alcove. Twist, twist. Not a sound. 

Puzzled, he began pushing and turning every button or possible option he could see, becoming more frustrated every moment. 

I watched, perched on my bed, as Tiny Brother’s puzzled demeanor began to turn into frustration. (For “Big Sister” was me.) Quiet as a leaf falling, I snuck up behind him, knowing precisely the source of his problems. I slipped my hand around the side to the hidden button labeled “power” and gave it a tap. Suddenly, the frantic twisting of the volume buttons produced a swell of glorious music! Sheer delight flooded Tiny Brother’s face. He looked up at me with profound pride. “I did it!” He shouted triumphantly, “I did it, I did it!”

Sometimes I might just be like Tiny Brother in this memory of mine that resurfaced recently. 

How many times do I do an inner adult version of the “I did it, I did it” dance, when really anything I did was done because of Someone outside myself? By God’s grace, I am becoming quicker at catching my sneaky thoughts and sending the mental accolades back to Him. But how many times do we toil with frustration, attempting to do something beautiful, but when God turns on the “power” we try to take the credit? I wonder how that makes Him feel!

Perhaps a more fitting celebration would be an enthusiastic, “You did it! We did it!” as we look into our Father’s face.

So little of the credit for the things that we humans accomplish rightfully goes to us.

For example, should I take credit for the things I write here? I don’t think so. (Unless, of course, my content is theologically incorrect or boring!) First of all, God is the original inspiration of anything and everything that turns out good, I am sure. He is the one who stirs in my heart and makes me even want to share the things He is doing. He is the one who chose to give me ability to enjoy writing and the gift of having fun with words and thoughts. Moreover, He is the one who decided to put me in a family where I received a good education and encouragement to write. Additionally, if there is any way in which the things I write bless someone or inspire them, that is just because GOD touched His “power button”, not because of me!

I have been reading a book about humility recently, and realizing that my pride must be pretty much the biggest reason for the stresses I find in my life. There is rest in a place of knowing how truly small I am and how this life isn’t about me. At all. In that place, I seem to find I don’t have anything to lose; whether in reputation, agenda, rights, status and so forth. I find a new freedom to try, to make mistakes, to be wrong, to let go, to surrender; I am OK to be broken if I break, and out of the picture when I’m out of the picture. Jesus offers rest for the weary when we come to Him and learn to have His gentle, humble heart. (See Matthew 11:28,29) I think that could be also said, He offers rest for those who stop fruitless efforts and turn their expectant hearts to Him, saying “The music isn’t playing and I don’t have access to the Power button. Can You help me?”

Next time I say I was stressed out, perhaps you could ask me if I’ve been twisting and turning the volume buttons  without the Power.

Next time things are getting frustrating and overwhelming, I’m asking God to remind me to come to Him for power. And then I can celebrate with Him, “You did it! We did it! You did it!”