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...

The Perfect Home

If a word can get ahold of a human heart and flood it with a feeling, that’s the alluring wistfulness the word "home" is having for me.  

More than just enjoying the word, I enjoy having a home. A nest. A place that is a haven, a bit of heaven, a safe, cozy nook where I can relax and rest. I love the feeling I get when I’ve been gone for a long time, and walk again through the door into my home!

Speaking of returning home, recently one of my brothers came back from being in Africa for almost 2 years. What intensity of emotions the whole caboodle of us shared like static electricity between each other as we awaited the anticipated brother’s arrival from the airport. Given the fact that it was after 12a.m. amped it all up several notches! Then there he was. Happy shouts and hugs galore filled the cold night as banners were held high and sparklers lit, flashing and glittering in the darkness. What a spirit of joy abounded, as the beloved son and brother was welcomed home again!

But where is my home? That’s what I wonder when I wander around our apartment these days. In roughly two months the Lord willing we plan to leave the country for several months. When we do, we also plan to leave our apartment that has become “home” to us for close to four years (minus the 9 months we lived out of the country). Is it surprising then that I’m thinking a lot about home?

I’ve done a lot of wondering about what makes a place a home, since I’m surrendering my current home and preparing to transplant in other places. Is it the special, carefully-picked-out things in the house that make it feel like “home”? They certainly do make their contribution, but I’m convinced the nostalgia of “home” goes much deeper than that. Is it the memories made within a building’s four outer walls that finally pile up high enough to give the honorable title of “home” to a house? Memories certainly do have their part in the process. The people who share the home play another big part. When I think of going “home” to my family’s place, it wouldn’t be the same without the family!

I’ve been to Ghana three times and enjoyed watching the interesting progression of when the compound goes from feeling like a strange place in a strange country to “home” for the folks who come on the three months teams. Invariably it’s after they’ve been away from the compound, out experiencing life in the village for a few days. They come back and are intrigued to realize that THIS feels like home. This strange place that they have only been living in for a few weeks suddenly is no longer just some concrete square in the great big world out there; it’s the place to come back to and be relaxed. I love watching that happen.

There’s something about getting in touch with what isn’t home that makes you realize where home is.

I wonder what “home” will be like in the future for me. There’s a chance that the next few years will consist of living in a lot of different places for fleeting segments of time. I have known this prospect was imminent all of our married life as I follow my amazing, visionary man. This is what comes along with the life I always wanted to live!

But I do like home.

I like creating a space that is cozy and beautiful, a haven from the outside world, a nook where we can feel at home. When I think about that pleasure in creating a “homey” place for my family, I feel a sense of wonder. A sense that I’m walking on holy ground. That what I’m doing is like a child who is “playing house” while her mother is doing the real thing.

Jesus is working on preparing a place for me in Heaven! Given my understanding that this place will be mine for ever and ever and ever, my own little corner, that’s oh! So exciting! Gives me goosebumps. With how much He knows about and loves me, I am very sure that my room (or mansion, or whatever kind of dwelling it will be!) is being prepared in just the perfect way to make me feel at home. (John 14:2) With the doleful feeling of knowing that my own little home on Laurel Street will be reduced to boxes and many things dispersed to family or friends, my thoughts are daily entangled in the fact that maybe why I don’t feel home here is because I’m actually not home yet!

When my brother arrived back from Africa, everyone in the family got together to welcome him back. Talk about the joy of homecoming! My heart certainly throbbed with the joy of it amidst the laughter, sibling-banter, and chatter.  Yet amidst the happiness was an inescapable ache, as I felt deeply that someone special was missing. My sister beside me gave a knowing look and whispered, “Everyone’s here except Seth.”

Grief told me that fact is purely sad. A little boy who would’ve loved the joy of that night wasn’t with us. Hope quietly waited her turn to whisper that the truth is, Seth is the only one of us who has been welcomed home for real.

I wonder what Seth is doing today, alive and well in the place my faith declares is my Home but where I’ve never been. I’m so excited about going Home! I don’t even need to pack my bags; I’m already sending provisions and treasures for my life there on ahead and I will feel so lightweight and free to fly when the time comes! I wonder what it will feel like to wrap my son in my arms at some point after I arrive and to actually see him again…

Oh, how my heart longs for home. Home. I long to be in the Place where all of us, every one of us with our individual histories and stories, will be 100% free to thrive. A place where there is no more curse, a place where there is no more death, where there is absolutely nothing to make anyone afraid. A place where we always, every moment, can see our Heavenly Papa’s smile of delight in and over us. Where our older Brother Jesus is the Light. Really. He is such a Light that we won't even need sunshine! That sounds so spectacular to me!

I long for Home. The place where we can hear, with our own ears (our resurrected ears which will be capable of capturing all the awesome nuances of the music) our Daddy-God singing over us! The place where we can remember together the beautiful stories of God involved in our lives on earth. The place where we will be safe. Nothing and no one to terrorize us. We will feel safe, in part because we will see God like He really is. We will feel safe too, because just imagine. What would life without the curse be like? Mankind has not known that freedom for thousands of years! I want to go home, where there will be perfect humility, everywhere. I can hardly wait to experience relationships free from the gooey, stinky tentacles of pride. And we will be so changed because we will actually see Him like He is! I can hardly wait to be in the great celebration as all of us who have been living by faith in the shadows here finally arrive Home.

If you don’t feel at home here, maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Our unfulfilled longings for a perfect home are likely something our Heavenly Daddy wants to use to draw us towards Heaven and towards Him!

I’m on my way Home, just a wondering wanderer here. There are a lot of things in life right now that are keeping me in touch with where home isn’t, and where it is.  

And that’s a good thing. I have a flawless home being prepared for me, which unlike the difficulties in this life will last forever.

Those Little Things

I was feeling pretty happy about a lot of things in general when some little things began to happen. Little things began to happen into my kitchen. Creep, in fact. At first they were very small, manageable, and yet creepy notwithstanding. Although when I was standing above them with a yell and a totally imaginary weapon wishing to dash them to pieces they would usually be standing for a second as they ascertained the threat of my presence before starting the high-legged scamper out of my way.

It got worse when the small things with legs were joined by bigger things with legs and tiny little paws and squeaks. My personal squeaks started to get louder as the days went by. Who, I declare, said you little things could partake in enjoying the warmth and pleasure of residence in my apartment?!

The little things would mostly come out when my husband was hours away at a distant job (well maybe just one hour) or when he was sound asleep in bed and I was up with hunger and a baby. For a while I tolerated the little things (after all, they are in fact little things!) but it got worse.

The little things got bigger. That was the hideous nature of these little things. Bigger became the little things, and bigger became my hatred for their presence.

They say, you know, “enjoy the little things in life.” They must’ve not known about these little things.

One day I decided I must, for my precious sanity, be able to find something to be thankful for about the presence of the skittering little things. 

My list looked like this...

1. There aren’t more of them 

2.

Now, even if I did not have the emotional capacity to enjoy these little things, surely my thank-er could do better than that. 

“Lord,” I pled as I sat in the dimness of a night with a nursing baby, “can you show me why you let these annoying little things become a part of my life! I’m so fed up with them, but starting to wonder if maybe you sent them to me with a message...if so, would you please open my eyes?” 

My list started getting longer. 

1. There aren’t more of them. 

2. I don’t have reason anymore to look down on people who are living with houses full of cockroaches and mice. 

3. Walmart probably has more traps in stock by now, to add to our growing collection. And anyway, we could be in a remote area with no Walmart! 

4. I’ve never stepped on one of these creatures in the dark, like my imagination has suggested could happen. 

5. Our roaches (eew!) are smaller things than those three inch ones I’ve seen in pictures or the zoo! 

6. The mice aren’t very smart. They haven’t eaten things in my pantry so far 

7. They haven’t invaded our bedroom to my knowledge - like in Ghana where I would find droppings by our pillows on our bed inside our mosquito net.

8. My husband has joined me on the no-more-mice campaign!! (After being scared himself by a mouse in the bathroom in the middle of the night)

9. I have a new incentive to sweep my floors and wash my dishes! 

Well. I found nine things to be thankful for, but I still haven’t found myself enjoying these little things. When they make their appearance I think of evil embodied. Not very inspiring.

Therefore, maybe I will just leave you with the challenge: are there any little things that have crept into your life that need taken care of? Maybe it’s a little resentment towards your husband, or a little self pity about the part of your story that God is walking you through right now. Perhaps a little selfishness or a little pride.

Let me just warn you: little things have a way of breeding more little things. You don’t want Jonathan to come into your house to move your table only to have a leg fall out with illions of little things pouring out, hitting the ground running and waving their antennae. (Real happening. Just not at my house. Shudder.) Little things have a way of becoming big things. You don’t want to go there.

Ask God what is the best way to go about eradicating such pesky little things that may sneak into your life.

If you don’t have mice at your house, or cockroaches, or any other common ground with me, congratulations. 

To all: may the little things in your life come with easy-to-find reasons to be grateful for them and may your pesks be few.

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!”

Thankful

I haven't found myself very inspired this week. (That unfortunate state inspired me to work on my document called “What Do You Do When Inspiration Leaves You?”; maybe sometime I’ll decide it’s edifying enough to share and I’ll get a chance to hear YOUR tips! Or you could give them in prelude too if you like.) I decided that one good way out of my bleary, not-very-inspired-fog would be to write down things I’m really grateful about tonight as a note to God. If you want to know what some of those things are, go ahead and read; if not, you could always write one of your own, and that might be even better! ;)

• The way that bitter and sweet complement each other (in my steamy evening cup of Dandy Blend as well as in life in general)

• That men’s retreat isn’t every month (my hubby is gone for the weekend)

• My neighbor-friend not being able to find any other ride to an appointment yesterday, which forced me outdoors and into a gorgeous day I thought was cold and wintry

• A lovely time connecting with my friend that I wouldn't have otherwise had

• Joy’s joy...her infectious smiles that make me unable to keep from smiling back!

• Delight after sorrow - the way God’s Kingdom works, that when you plant in sorrow you reap in joy.

• Friends who pray for me - what a treasure! 

• That God is a God of solutions

• A new niece born safely this week! Ah, thank You Lord.

• The mental space and physical ability (an app that started working again) for studying Arabic every day this week! (Cue cheering)

• That in the Tower of Who God Is, I am SAFE. (Been meditating on Proverbs 18:10) What an awesome thing that safety is.

• The delightful feeling of anticipation; I'm planning to spend time with my family tomorrow!

• The special time of life I'm in right now. I have reminisced several times this week on previous seasons of life and thought, "Wow, sometime I'll look back on this season in a really sentimental, nostalgic kind of way! I should see how much I can enjoy these moments as they're happening 'live'!"

Training my Parrot

The days were filled with an unutterable amount of things to do. Being in the oldest part of a large family whose schedule was filled with touching lives outside our tribe as well as within was a delightfully, crazily busy season of life! In fact, my memories of our schedule could resemble a jelly filled cookie. The dry cookie part was the schedule and the jelly was all the miscellaneous things that stuck in all the cracks and made life rich and FULL! I loved it. But sometimes I was tired.

Way back then, the big thing on the proverbial horizon was a three month trip to Africa. Folks, it looked huge. How was I going to be able to do this? Part of the culprit behind the I have since learned that my imagination is like a beautiful parrot that I am in the process of trying to train (it can be a really wonderful part of life, but it can also lie to me about the future and be quite annoying). However, I wasn’t fully aware about the snares of my imagination back then and it went flying about my mind, chattering and chittering about all kinds of possible events in the future. For example, 

“You’re lying on a one-inch mattress in an unbearably hot room, so weak that you can’t even walk to the bathroom. You’re unutterably embarrassed by this, because what if the most intimidating of the people who will be over there is the one who will care for you? And you’ll be so sick you can’t eat and they’ll have to take you to the hospital to get an IV; imagine how that will feel! You never got one of those before, so that makes it Scary. Then you might get so sick you almost die, and prayer chains will be starting for you back in the states, and you will start losing consciousness...imagine how that will feel!” - at which point I would shudder and try my best to change the subject, or evade the topic; for the immensity of how that might feel was too horrible to consider!

Or the “parrot” might say, 

“You won’t be able to handle the food over there. They say it’s horrible...think compost. You know, the slimy rotting goo in the bucket that didn’t get cleaned? Yeah, you know they say the food is fermented, so it’s possibly like that. How will you ever get that down your throat?! You’re already underweight, so this could be really dangerous to your health. Unless they force you to eat it. You’ve heard they do that, haven’t you! That would be another story in its own -“

Photo by Philip MacKenzie

And so forth, on and on the Imagination would chatter about the Future and how on earth will I ever be able to handle it? 

Well, one day I had a good realization interrupt that parrot. “Maybe you should talk back.” It said. “Tell your imagination what to think. Write it down, so you don’t forget it: 

‘I wonder what His grace will feel like, then?’”

So I started trying it out. It really did help. I believe I even wrote it on a sticky note and put it where I would see it every day. I started entering those future moments in my mind with a curiosity that actually helped: 

“What would it feel like to be surrounded by GRACE in that moment?! I never felt that amount of grace before! That would be incredible!”

Since I have already lived through those three months by now, I can tell you that they went absolutely wonderfully. I was sick only one day, and I received such a good attitude to go with the sickness that I laughed more than usual and didn’t feel overwhelmed in the least! The food was rarely a challenge for me, and when it was, I enjoyed rising to meet it with a spirit of adventure. The people who intimidated me became good friends and in short everything I feared fell flat before the goodness and grace of the Lord.

It’s good for me to remember those days.

Since that time, I’ve had both easier and rougher seasons of life. Some of the seasons I felt like the negative things the parrot said were true. But there was always grace. Sometimes I chose to breathe in the fumes of self-pity, and THOSE were the toughest times.

Naturally, there are new things in front of me now that my inescapable parroting imagination chatters about. It’s a timely reminder to me to spend some time training my "parrot" to trade asking me “how awful would that feel?” for

“I wonder what God’s grace would feel like THEN!”

Valley of the Blind

They tell me there’s a valley

The people there are blind.

No eyes have they, no sight, no light;

They grope, their way to find.

Sadly enough, they can’t conceive

Of sight, or seeing eyes

Of color, sunrise – they will laugh!

And say, “You’re telling lies”.

One day, they say, a seeing man

Walked in and found this valley

He saw their plight and sightless blight

And cried, “Oh folks, do listen to me!

“The sunrise, it’s like gold today!

It’s streaked with red, pink, yellow!”
But all the blind thought he’d lost his mind

Crying, “Ho! You crazy fellow!”

“But oh, it’s true!” he cried aloud

“You’d know, if you’d have eyes!”

But still they jeered, and laughed and leered

And said, “You’re telling lies.”

The man with eyes thought, “I must stay,

“For all these folks must know

The wonders and the safety that

A pair of eyes bestow!”

So he moved in. And every day

He walked from street to street

He truly tried, the blind to guide

But it was no small feat!

“Hey, these are EYES,” he’d say and then

He’d let them feel his own

But his heart was torn as they would scorn

And say, “Pshaw! You’re so alone.

“Why would we want to have these ‘eyes’?!
We feel we’ve all we need.

Two little spheres that run with tears?

We need them? No indeed!”

Others would simply walk away,

Waving their sticks all around

Humming a song, they’d go along,

Stumbling along valley ground.

Sometimes he’d try to help them out

When he’d see some egg on a beard

Or a rip on a dress, or one’s hair all a mess;

Their response? “This fellow is weird!”

The weeks went by, and the seeing man,

He saw a young maiden fair

True, she couldn’t see, but her eyes he’d be-

He decided it then and there.

She loved him too, and ‘twas a match

They started to plan their life

But her family heard, saying, “That’s absurd!

“You can’t take her as your wife!”

“Give up your eyes!” they ordered him

“Then we’ll reconsider your plan.

“Your sight makes us queasy and feel all uneasy

“Your eyes make you crazy, old man.”

He pondered it long. For he loved the blind girl

And he loved all the folks in the valley

“But could I despise the sight of my eyes?-

Though I love her, ‘n’ all of her fam’ly?!”

His love finally won, and the day quickly came

By the evening his sight would be over.

He steadied his soul and he studied his girl,

The one who had made him a lover.

But a moment of truth, light came to his soul,

He groaned, and he moaned, and recanted.

“Why, I’d be a fool to give such a jewel,

I’m taking my seeing for granted!”

“I can’t do this, folks, I’m sorry,” he said

And he slowly walked home to his cottage

“To trade in the light for the darkness of night

Is exchanging a birthright for pottage.”

______

And others there are, in a world of the blind

Who have eyes, but are mocked for their seeing

“What globe are you from?! Your worldview is dumb!

Are you sure you’re a real human being?”

They certainly are, and wiser by far,

Than the folks who can’t see the Eternal

They have a reward which in heaven is stored

And by faith they receive the supernal.

These folks see the Light of Eternity Bright,

As they live in the smile of their Father

They scorn all the joys of this world’s passing toys,

Choosing rather than pleasure, to suffer.

They see what’s invisible, what can’t be seen

By our physical eyes which deceive us

(For those eyes think they see complete reality

And from the real truth they bereave us.)

 But some grasp in faith God’s invisible things

And they stand on the Word God has given

They choose to believe that they will receive

Great rewards when they come into Heaven.

Yes, they will be mocked, as they live in this vale

Where the blind say what’s ‘real’ and what’s ‘actual’

But shall blind hold the sway,

when they can’t see their way

And they don’t know what’s actually factual?!

Oh, dear Seeing Christians, don’t poke out your eyes

For the love of a temporal pleasure

For that would be trading the bright for the fading,

The passing, for eternal treasure.

The world needs your faith to show clearly the way

That they can find peace and know Jesus

For it’s by faith in Him that this world becomes dim

And He, from our sightlessness frees us.

By faith you can help others see the Eternal

And bring them into Jesus’ Kingdom

They’ll find that the Light brings more thrill than the Night

And that Seeing is marvelous Freedom!

1/2/2016 HNR

I wrote this after a time of feeling the pull of earthly things very strongly. God showed me just how blind I had nearly become to what is really REAL, that is, heavenly treasures and an exciting life in eternity where we will be alive in the fullest sense. When someone shared the story about the man who discovered the fictional "valley of the blind" with me, this poem flowed out of my pen.

The 5-Worded Thought

On days that are so cold and frozen stiff like the ones that tend to string through January, I find it very pleasant to think about things that are vibrant and warm and alive.

So one day when a Five-Worded-Thought sidled up to my mind, I gave it a silent shriek of delight and welcomed it right in. I held onto it, so it wouldn’t easily be able to go. 

In Indonesia, where my husband lived for five years, you always serve tea to company. Sweet, fragrant, scalding-hot tea. What you as a newcomer might not realize when you take that first boiling sip, however, is that the tea says something about your stay. It says, “Welcome! Obviously, you can’t handle drinking me quickly, so relax and stay awhile. We don’t want you to leave too fast.”

If that Five-Worded-Thought was visiting me in Indonesia, I would’ve made the hottest tea possible to ensure a lengthy duration of its stay.

I almost think you’re joining me in my mind by now. I hope so. I hope you’re making some hot tea to enjoy with that wonderful Thought and me... 

But how could you enjoy the Thought if I don’t tell you more about it? Let me try. It goes like this: 

God Is Alive In Me. (Pause and repeat, emphasizing each individual word.)

Sometimes the inside of me feels pretty dead. Alone. Shriveled and ugly. Have you ever felt that way? I hope not. But I’m going to guess that most of us have. But oh! -

I am desperate for that Five-Worded-Thought to stick around because it is the truth, coming from the very Word of God. Even on the worst days, if I go all the way down the spiraling staircase of my soul, right in the core of who I am, God is there. He is dwelling within me. He’s alive! He’s doing great! He is All-Power, All-Authority, All-Wisdom, All-Wonderful-GOD. I am full of wonder.

From a song he wrote, I can tell Mr Whittle was delighted by the thought of this Life inside of us when he looked at a pine cone. Those swirling, tough chips of woodiness held within each of them the potential for an entire seventy-foot tree. How could that be? How could something that looks so beautiful and yet so dead, become an actual living, growing tree? 

He also stopped in awe at a flower seed; in my imagination it will be a nasturtium. One of those tiny, roundish, wrinkly, pale specimens held within it life; life which has all potential to become bobbing green leaves and colorfully orange flowers! 

“As lives the flower within the seed

As in the cone, the tree

So praise the God of truth and grace!

His Spirit dwelleth in me.” -D. Whittle

So while I entertain this Five-Worded-Thought, I’m going to pop all of us a question: 

Since the most Living of living possibilities is inside me, what needs to happen for me to let His possibilities explode into all their potential within me?

If any wonderful Thoughts sidle up at your home beside my Question, I would be so delighted to get invited over. We could even make some tea.

P.S. You might want to check out Galatians 2:20, Colossians 3:3 and John 17:23.

You Belong...With Me

The fascinating Baby Game started minutes after Joy Johanna made her entrance into our home. Studying the newly created, soft little human, the game began: “Who does she look like?” and, “I think Joy has Jonathan’s nose.” Since then, it has continued: “I just can’t get over how much she looks like her Grandma Lloyd!” “Do you think she looks more like you or her dad?” “I just can’t figure out who she looks like!” “Her mouth is definitely her Daddy’s.” 

Mama and Daughter

Amidst the delightful quest which The Baby Game offers of trying to figure out who our daughter resembles, we know one thing for sure: she belongs to us. 

And the older she gets, the more she starts to look like us. Soon, I’m sure, she will begin to act like us too! (The parts we like as well as the parts we don’t appreciate seeing replicated, no doubt!)

On Sunday I looked across the church auditorium and caught sight of a very familiar little person whom my Mama was holding. In one feasting glance I took in her little round face and big blue eyes peeking over chubby fists wedged in between her gums. A thrill of ownership went through me involuntarily. Because she’s MINE! 

I see myself in her. I see my husband in her. When we look at her we know she’s “ours”. She belongs to us, to our family. What fierce love a mother-heart can contain as she beholds her child!

I wonder...if this is how God feels about us.

I wonder what He thinks and feels as His eyes scan across the rooms, the counties, the countries of the spinning earth. He looks, and then His eyes stop. This one. “This one belongs to ME.” I wonder what He feels, as He sees His own children, one by one. His offspring. I wonder if He plays the “game” we like to play, looking for ourselves in our young. I can imagine Him exclaiming, “She’s got My love!” “Oh, look at him. His eyes. They see what I see!” “Wow, she just did what I would do.” “Look at the way he spoke the truth in love. Ahh! Just like Me.”

From Pixabay

To me, that’s a pretty special imagination.

He sees me and He claims me as His own child! The more I grow spiritually, the more He sees Himself in me!

As I look at the glory of the Lord, guess what? I start to look like Him! “But we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.” (2 Cor. 3:18, KJV)

He loves us and He loves to watch us grow. He likes when He sees Himself in us.

I belong in His family.

The sun is fading in the sky as I hold a picture of my daughter beside a picture of me as a baby. Evening twilight is a good time for reflection. It’s a good time to belong. Scooping up my daughter, I kiss her little cheeks. “Joy Johanna. You belong...with me.”

Payday

If you would've been able to enter a dream I dreamt the other night, this is what you would've seen:

I was climbing a steep mountain road. Suddenly some friends of mine came rolling past in their car. Seeing me walking beside the road, their jolly faces popped out of the windows as they yelled, “Hey! You wanna ride with us!?” I hopped in quite gratefully, and soon we were zooming away together towards their home. When we arrived at their house, I was surprised to see evidences of a big celebration everywhere, including friends, food, and colorful decorations. My friends were throwing a big party! Many of their friends were there too, so I asked what this was all about. 

“Payday"! They exclaimed. “We are celebrating payday!” The dream ended with me taking in my surroundings in perplexity, knowing inherently that these people were celebrating a payday which was, strangely, yet to come.

When I awoke, I remembered that I had asked God for an encouraging dream the night before. Was there anything He wanted to say through this wild dream of my party-crazy friends? 

Then realization came rolling up to my consciousness like Friday comes after Thursday. Payday! Has the real Payday, the one that will stunningly excel all other paydays, happened yet? No! But it’s definitely coming up. Our Master, the Boss, is coming soon and His reward will be with Him! What if He's trying to encourage me to celebrate this coming day now, by throwing a spiritual "party" in my heart as I go about my labors for Him?

When Payday dawns, what kind of remuneration do you expect? Is it something worth celebrating about now? If not, it is definitely be a good idea to start putting in some joyful hours!

He Himself says that He will reward the servants who are ready. Both the one who plants and the one who waters will be rewarded. He is coming soon, bringing His reward with Him, to repay all people according to what they’ve done! (See Lk 12:38, 1Cor 3:8, Rev 22:12; slightly paraphrased from the NLT for better flow. Check the verses out for yourself!)

Why not have a celebratory, enthusiastic attitude as though already seeing our hours listed on the pay stub? Heavenly accounts are adding up; let’s celebrate the Payday which is yet to come by more enthusiastically lavishing our lives upon those around us with joyous love of Jesus!

“Payday” is coming soon!