Tuesday, October 11, 2011
New Blog!
Hey guys the blog has gotten a bit of a facelift and been moved to here please give it a visit.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Appreciation
On Sunday last I ventured to Florence Street. Those closest to me know what that means.
I had a dream about my grandfather a few nights ago, and it prompted me to go and visit, which I need to do far more often. Sunday was the first time I’d seen my grandparents in nearly two months. Shameful, I am aware.
The visit began as my visits to their house often do, with me locked out. I knocked three separate times, the cousin that had accompanied me also knocked, more loudly than I, but to no avail. Finally, I pulled out my cell phone and called their house line, alerting them to the fact that I was indeed on their front porch enjoying the 106-degree heat.
When I entered, things seemed as usual. Oversized portraits of grandchildren decked the walls, flanked on either side by prints of our honorary cousins, John Wayne and Chuck Norris, better known as Walker Texas Ranger. My grandpa greeted me with, “Well, I’ll be,” and a hug. My grandma, however, walked within five feet of me several times without realizing I was in the room. But, when she eventually did, I received a warm embrace, promptly followed by an intense interrogation session that her grandchildren collectively refer to as “100 questions.” In actuality, there are only five questions, but they are repeated 20 times. She forgets and I love her, so I answer them repeatedly with repeated enthusiasm.
After these niceties, we (that being my newly arrived aunt and uncle, and me) pointed out that my grandparent’s 62nd wedding anniversary is this week, to which my grandmother replied, “Big deal.” She’s never quite gotten over the whole bed-of-roses scam that she believes marriage to be. She and my grandpa bicker quite a bit, but I know they love each other. Years ago my grandma was hospitalized with a heart-related issue. On a Sunday morning, my grandpa went into the hospital to check on her before going to church. Upon leaving the hospital he was T-boned and taken right back into the emergency room with a concussion. My grandma found out he was injured, but of course, wasn’t allowed to go and see him. When he was finally released in the early evening, he went straight to the elevators and up to her room. With tears streaming down his face, he walked in, his generally slow and stooped form moving with vigor, went straight to her bedside, where she was also in tears, and kissed her. It was the most precious sight I have ever witnessed. Unrivaled. Period.
Nevertheless, on Sunday, my grandma’s dander was up. No doubt the result of my mischievous uncle agitating her with picture shows, hamburgers and slop buckets, but that’s another blog, and I digress. My sweet grandpa shared the oversized musical Father’s Day card he received from another aunt and uncle. He’s very proud of it, as he is still sharing it in August, and Father’s Day was June 19. I opened it and looked, as did others, and my grandmother watched and waited. Like a spider. Then she said, “ I’ve got something better than that.”
She rose from her rocking chair and disappeared into a bedroom. Conversation continued in her absence and we all forgot her threat, but ten minutes later, she emerged. I know now that she went into that room and spent TEN MINUTES searching for something, anything that would one-up my sweet PawPaw’s musical Father’s Day card. I love her, but she’s ornery. Any of her five children or 14 grandchildren will tell you so.
What she carried in her hands was a framed drawing. She passed it in front of my Aunt Wilma first and stated that somebody named Johnny had given it to her, to which we all responded, more or less, “Who the #$%^ is Johnny?” There is no one in our family named Johnny.
As the art piece made its way around the room and closer to me, I caught a brief glimpse, and familiarity washed over me. My uncle was still trying to figure out who Johnny was, I was trying to remember where I had seen this lovely drawing of a feathered creature before, and my aunt said the magic words, “That has Rachel’s name on it.”
That’s right! I drew that bird in seventh grade, not Johnny! Whoever that is! I staked my claim on the art, backed up by others, but I’m reasonably certain Phantom Johnny will continue to get credit for it in my absence, despite my signature (in fine seventh grade penmanship) being etched along the breast of the bird. Oh well, it momentarily drew attention away from the Father’s Day card, and thus brought my grandmother great pleasure, which was my intention when I gave her the drawing ### years ago. Mission accomplished.
I had a dream about my grandfather a few nights ago, and it prompted me to go and visit, which I need to do far more often. Sunday was the first time I’d seen my grandparents in nearly two months. Shameful, I am aware.
The visit began as my visits to their house often do, with me locked out. I knocked three separate times, the cousin that had accompanied me also knocked, more loudly than I, but to no avail. Finally, I pulled out my cell phone and called their house line, alerting them to the fact that I was indeed on their front porch enjoying the 106-degree heat.
When I entered, things seemed as usual. Oversized portraits of grandchildren decked the walls, flanked on either side by prints of our honorary cousins, John Wayne and Chuck Norris, better known as Walker Texas Ranger. My grandpa greeted me with, “Well, I’ll be,” and a hug. My grandma, however, walked within five feet of me several times without realizing I was in the room. But, when she eventually did, I received a warm embrace, promptly followed by an intense interrogation session that her grandchildren collectively refer to as “100 questions.” In actuality, there are only five questions, but they are repeated 20 times. She forgets and I love her, so I answer them repeatedly with repeated enthusiasm.
After these niceties, we (that being my newly arrived aunt and uncle, and me) pointed out that my grandparent’s 62nd wedding anniversary is this week, to which my grandmother replied, “Big deal.” She’s never quite gotten over the whole bed-of-roses scam that she believes marriage to be. She and my grandpa bicker quite a bit, but I know they love each other. Years ago my grandma was hospitalized with a heart-related issue. On a Sunday morning, my grandpa went into the hospital to check on her before going to church. Upon leaving the hospital he was T-boned and taken right back into the emergency room with a concussion. My grandma found out he was injured, but of course, wasn’t allowed to go and see him. When he was finally released in the early evening, he went straight to the elevators and up to her room. With tears streaming down his face, he walked in, his generally slow and stooped form moving with vigor, went straight to her bedside, where she was also in tears, and kissed her. It was the most precious sight I have ever witnessed. Unrivaled. Period.
Nevertheless, on Sunday, my grandma’s dander was up. No doubt the result of my mischievous uncle agitating her with picture shows, hamburgers and slop buckets, but that’s another blog, and I digress. My sweet grandpa shared the oversized musical Father’s Day card he received from another aunt and uncle. He’s very proud of it, as he is still sharing it in August, and Father’s Day was June 19. I opened it and looked, as did others, and my grandmother watched and waited. Like a spider. Then she said, “ I’ve got something better than that.”
She rose from her rocking chair and disappeared into a bedroom. Conversation continued in her absence and we all forgot her threat, but ten minutes later, she emerged. I know now that she went into that room and spent TEN MINUTES searching for something, anything that would one-up my sweet PawPaw’s musical Father’s Day card. I love her, but she’s ornery. Any of her five children or 14 grandchildren will tell you so.
What she carried in her hands was a framed drawing. She passed it in front of my Aunt Wilma first and stated that somebody named Johnny had given it to her, to which we all responded, more or less, “Who the #$%^ is Johnny?” There is no one in our family named Johnny.
As the art piece made its way around the room and closer to me, I caught a brief glimpse, and familiarity washed over me. My uncle was still trying to figure out who Johnny was, I was trying to remember where I had seen this lovely drawing of a feathered creature before, and my aunt said the magic words, “That has Rachel’s name on it.”
That’s right! I drew that bird in seventh grade, not Johnny! Whoever that is! I staked my claim on the art, backed up by others, but I’m reasonably certain Phantom Johnny will continue to get credit for it in my absence, despite my signature (in fine seventh grade penmanship) being etched along the breast of the bird. Oh well, it momentarily drew attention away from the Father’s Day card, and thus brought my grandmother great pleasure, which was my intention when I gave her the drawing ### years ago. Mission accomplished.
Friday, August 5, 2011
In my wise old age ...
It seems I’ll be 28 soon. At least that’s what mathematical logic tells me, as I was born in August of 1983. Fear of aging sneaks up on you and smacks you in the back of the head. I never worried about it until I turned 25, and only then because SOMEBODY, SOMEWHERE, decided it would be a great idea to write an article, which I read, stating that 25 is a defining year for a woman. To summarize, the author purported that goals not met by age 25 might never be reached. Preposterous as it was, that pseudo-factoid stuck.
Paying too much attention to the opinions and lives of others holds the power to ruin perfectly good situations.
It is easy, tempting even, to stack our shortcomings and disappointments against the accomplishments and blessings of others. In fact, when we foolishly do so, we develop justification to stop trying and an excuse for our sloth.
In her book “The True Measure of a Woman” Lisa Bevere talks about our visual of God’s storehouse of blessings and states that we often see the blessings of others as a decrease in God’s ability to bless us in similar fashion. She uses a personal example of her young family of six being in desperate need of a new vehicle. While she prayed about it, a family in her church with only one child was blessed with a larger vehicle. Lisa simply didn’t understand why her family was not blessed in the same way. They had more children AND worked in more ministries than that family! In consequence she became bitter, envious and angry.
“He is the Rock, his works are perfect, and all his ways are just. A faithful God who does no wrong, upright and just is he.” Deuteronomy 32:4
How often have I failed to apply that scripture to my life? When we focus only on the negative, we are blind to the positive. That’s why we are commanded to praise God through our circumstances. If we focus on all He has already done, we are able to see what He is doing. I don’t believe God answers every prayer with a silver bullet. Sometimes He does, but most often He uses a process. God’s a multi-tasker. As He works in one area of our lives, why not challenge us, and consequently develop a strength or skill that we are in need of for the future?
In relation to focusing on the blessings of others instead of our own, just remember, we are commanded to love. At all times. Period.
“Rejoice with those who rejoice. Mourn with those who mourn.” Romans 12:15
Paying too much attention to the opinions and lives of others holds the power to ruin perfectly good situations.
It is easy, tempting even, to stack our shortcomings and disappointments against the accomplishments and blessings of others. In fact, when we foolishly do so, we develop justification to stop trying and an excuse for our sloth.
In her book “The True Measure of a Woman” Lisa Bevere talks about our visual of God’s storehouse of blessings and states that we often see the blessings of others as a decrease in God’s ability to bless us in similar fashion. She uses a personal example of her young family of six being in desperate need of a new vehicle. While she prayed about it, a family in her church with only one child was blessed with a larger vehicle. Lisa simply didn’t understand why her family was not blessed in the same way. They had more children AND worked in more ministries than that family! In consequence she became bitter, envious and angry.
“He is the Rock, his works are perfect, and all his ways are just. A faithful God who does no wrong, upright and just is he.” Deuteronomy 32:4
How often have I failed to apply that scripture to my life? When we focus only on the negative, we are blind to the positive. That’s why we are commanded to praise God through our circumstances. If we focus on all He has already done, we are able to see what He is doing. I don’t believe God answers every prayer with a silver bullet. Sometimes He does, but most often He uses a process. God’s a multi-tasker. As He works in one area of our lives, why not challenge us, and consequently develop a strength or skill that we are in need of for the future?
In relation to focusing on the blessings of others instead of our own, just remember, we are commanded to love. At all times. Period.
“Rejoice with those who rejoice. Mourn with those who mourn.” Romans 12:15
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Smell your way
Smell is the strongest sense tied to memory. I’ve written before about opening storage containers or trinket boxes, breathing in, and instantly being transported to a time or event in my past, good and bad. Quite possibly, my very favorite sensation is waking up during the night before Thanksgiving and smelling the roasting turkey. Even in semi-consciousness that smell always reaffirms that something wonderful is to come, and I’m certain I fall back to sleep with a smile on my face. Memories of this are present throughout my childhood, as my mom almost always did the turkey for family Thanksgivings. The smell of the turkey comforts me. It means I’m at home, surrounded by the people I love most. Home from college at Thanksgiving, it was a reminder that I was home. An added treat was hearing the soft footsteps of my mother at various times throughout the night as she went into the kitchen to baste. Now I cook the turkey at Thanksgiving, which some might argue I do just so I can wake up and smell it cooking.
I’m on a half-vegan kick with my amazing new roommate right now. (Make no mistake, there will be turkey at Thanksgiving. I haven’t lost my mind.) I made slow-cooker oatmeal last night with fresh strawberries, coconut milk and almond extract. All night I woke to this unfamiliar, but sweet aroma, and when I remembered what it was, I think I may have giggled in excitement a little before closing my eyes again.
Over the years, I’ve gone to bed at night afraid, worried, stressed, doubting … I’m sure we have all spent a sleepless night or two experiencing one or more of these emotions. I pray before I sleep, especially when I am experiencing any of the above. But, as any mature believer will tell you, sometimes the peace, the resolve, the answer, doesn’t come before I slip into a strained and troubled sleep.
“Know therefore that the Lord your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commands.” Deuteronomy 7:9
Many times, my prayers have immediately brought peace, restful sleep, and a clear direction to take the next morning. Other times my questions go unanswered.
Nevertheless, I serve a faithful God. The answer may not come when I want it, and certainly not when I feel I need it the most, but it’s always right on time, because it comes on His schedule, not mine.
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” James 1:2-4
For several weeks, maybe longer, I’ve been plagued with a trial. It has appeared in many forms and has involved many different people. I haven’t even known what to call it. How do you pray about something you can’t define?
I spent time with friends last night, had some good laughs, started my slow-cooker oatmeal, and went to bed. Somewhere in the night, I didn’t look at the clock, I woke feeling a question or some form of dread associated with this trial. I tossed and turned for a few minutes and mulled the circumstance over. I looked for a way around the problem it presented, because I’ve tried for weeks to go over the mountain and get it under my feet and haven’t been able to. As I worked to calculate my own solution, God finally whispered in my ear. Just a few words put it all in perspective so simply.
I woke up one or twice more last night before getting up for oatmeal and church this morning. Each time I did, I remembered those few words. How comforting it was to have a plan and a definition, to have guidance from the author and finisher of my faith. It was better than the aroma of a roasting turkey, or slow-cooker oatmeal.
I’m on a half-vegan kick with my amazing new roommate right now. (Make no mistake, there will be turkey at Thanksgiving. I haven’t lost my mind.) I made slow-cooker oatmeal last night with fresh strawberries, coconut milk and almond extract. All night I woke to this unfamiliar, but sweet aroma, and when I remembered what it was, I think I may have giggled in excitement a little before closing my eyes again.
Over the years, I’ve gone to bed at night afraid, worried, stressed, doubting … I’m sure we have all spent a sleepless night or two experiencing one or more of these emotions. I pray before I sleep, especially when I am experiencing any of the above. But, as any mature believer will tell you, sometimes the peace, the resolve, the answer, doesn’t come before I slip into a strained and troubled sleep.
“Know therefore that the Lord your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commands.” Deuteronomy 7:9
Many times, my prayers have immediately brought peace, restful sleep, and a clear direction to take the next morning. Other times my questions go unanswered.
Nevertheless, I serve a faithful God. The answer may not come when I want it, and certainly not when I feel I need it the most, but it’s always right on time, because it comes on His schedule, not mine.
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” James 1:2-4
For several weeks, maybe longer, I’ve been plagued with a trial. It has appeared in many forms and has involved many different people. I haven’t even known what to call it. How do you pray about something you can’t define?
I spent time with friends last night, had some good laughs, started my slow-cooker oatmeal, and went to bed. Somewhere in the night, I didn’t look at the clock, I woke feeling a question or some form of dread associated with this trial. I tossed and turned for a few minutes and mulled the circumstance over. I looked for a way around the problem it presented, because I’ve tried for weeks to go over the mountain and get it under my feet and haven’t been able to. As I worked to calculate my own solution, God finally whispered in my ear. Just a few words put it all in perspective so simply.
I woke up one or twice more last night before getting up for oatmeal and church this morning. Each time I did, I remembered those few words. How comforting it was to have a plan and a definition, to have guidance from the author and finisher of my faith. It was better than the aroma of a roasting turkey, or slow-cooker oatmeal.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
The Four P's
It’s April, and therefore graduation planning is under way. I find myself with an all-female senior class of young ladies who are very smart and very promising. (And I’m not just saying that because my little sister is one of them.) I have secured our keynote speaker, and this morning while drying my hair, found myself mentally writing her address. Of course, this very capable person will be writing and delivering her own speech, but I figured I’d blog my ideas anyway, send them into the universe for someone else to be (hopefully) inspired, and then remember to graft some of them into my introduction of the speaker in June.
Purpose. Perseverance. Patience. Progress. These four words have more in common than their first letter. The last is rarely achieved without the application of the former three. As graduates stepping into the adult world, the following will be good advice to follow. Planning a future is not simple, and neither is taking on the challenges (and there will be many) that will bring your plans to fruition.
I detest an ambiguous task. Nevertheless, when faced with one that I just can’t seem to get my head or arms around, it is always best to sit back and think of the desired end result and try to get a feel for the big picture. After all, if you don’t know where you’re going, how do you expect to get there? Purpose. Determine it.
However, the end objective is often intimidating, and seems unattainable. That is why once the purpose is determined, logical steps to fulfill it must be outlined. Then that outline must be acted upon even if it is an uphill battle the entire way. Perseverance.
Certainly the order you try to keep these steps in will be tossed, and the schedule in which you wish to achieve them will not be kept. People get in the way. Life gets in the way. We get in the way of ourselves. Plans change. Cheese gets moved. There are few great things in life that don’t require some form of waiting. Patience. I hear it’s a virtue.
Finally, progress. The funny thing about this one is that we never realize when it occurs. It’s only when you look back that you realize you’ve achieved it. An added reward is that the hard work and victories won have made you a better and stronger individual, one ready to grab the next challenge by the horns and start all over, but with earned confidence.
Accompanying all of these steps is the most important advice I can leave with a graduate, or anyone, including myself. Remember it is all in God’s hands – if you put it there. When you can’t see the light at the end of whatever tunnel you’re in, look up at the Light. Knowing this is simple enough, living and walking in it is slightly more difficult. I have to remind myself to do so approximately once an hour.
With that said, we can boldly take on the circumstances life throws at us, whether they are professional or personal. We don’t have to be intimidated by any perceived limitation or ceiling, except the starry one we sit under at night, and only then because we are humbled by the mystery and wonder of its Creator.
If you’re reading this and plan to attend Calvary Way’s commencement exercises, I suppose you can plug your ears when I take the podium to introduce the speaker and present the graduates, because these thoughts will be represented again. But, I promise I’ll phrase it differently, throw in a cheesy joke, and you’ll witness the added spectacle of me tearfully handing an Honor’s Diploma to my baby sister.
Purpose. Perseverance. Patience. Progress. These four words have more in common than their first letter. The last is rarely achieved without the application of the former three. As graduates stepping into the adult world, the following will be good advice to follow. Planning a future is not simple, and neither is taking on the challenges (and there will be many) that will bring your plans to fruition.
I detest an ambiguous task. Nevertheless, when faced with one that I just can’t seem to get my head or arms around, it is always best to sit back and think of the desired end result and try to get a feel for the big picture. After all, if you don’t know where you’re going, how do you expect to get there? Purpose. Determine it.
However, the end objective is often intimidating, and seems unattainable. That is why once the purpose is determined, logical steps to fulfill it must be outlined. Then that outline must be acted upon even if it is an uphill battle the entire way. Perseverance.
Certainly the order you try to keep these steps in will be tossed, and the schedule in which you wish to achieve them will not be kept. People get in the way. Life gets in the way. We get in the way of ourselves. Plans change. Cheese gets moved. There are few great things in life that don’t require some form of waiting. Patience. I hear it’s a virtue.
Finally, progress. The funny thing about this one is that we never realize when it occurs. It’s only when you look back that you realize you’ve achieved it. An added reward is that the hard work and victories won have made you a better and stronger individual, one ready to grab the next challenge by the horns and start all over, but with earned confidence.
Accompanying all of these steps is the most important advice I can leave with a graduate, or anyone, including myself. Remember it is all in God’s hands – if you put it there. When you can’t see the light at the end of whatever tunnel you’re in, look up at the Light. Knowing this is simple enough, living and walking in it is slightly more difficult. I have to remind myself to do so approximately once an hour.
With that said, we can boldly take on the circumstances life throws at us, whether they are professional or personal. We don’t have to be intimidated by any perceived limitation or ceiling, except the starry one we sit under at night, and only then because we are humbled by the mystery and wonder of its Creator.
If you’re reading this and plan to attend Calvary Way’s commencement exercises, I suppose you can plug your ears when I take the podium to introduce the speaker and present the graduates, because these thoughts will be represented again. But, I promise I’ll phrase it differently, throw in a cheesy joke, and you’ll witness the added spectacle of me tearfully handing an Honor’s Diploma to my baby sister.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Recycled post ... sort of
I haven't been blogging. I'm sure you've noticed. The truth is, I haven't slowed down long enough to ponder my thoughts. Tonight, I finally did. I was playing a song before Bible Study began. It's one I play often, and it was definitely on my heart. Everything went fine, until the final note. I just played the wrong chord altogether. It made me laugh, it made me think of the post I have reposted below, and then it almost made me cry. I'll tell you why in a minute.
--- Originally posted on August 6, 2010 --- Major Minors
At times, when goals still seem so far from being met, it's easy to think you haven't accomplished much. I'm not talking about a pity party, although I still have those. It's more of a drill sergeant-type self lecture: "Allen! You have got to pick it up!" or "Do not make this mistake again!"
Fortunately, when I have those moments, it's never too long before some positive little memory from the past floats to the surface. I may run across someone who brings it to mind, I may be going through student records and recall an occurrence, or it may just come to me in a silent moment. It's not important how it arrives, but that it does.
Our church is small. Our ministries are big. We aren't a Latin-instructing preschool, or an Ivy League preparatory high school, but we do change lives for the better - always with His help.
A memory came to mind today while I was thinking about needing new floors in the commons area, and tricking myself into believing that my students are somehow disadvantaged by the mustard shade of linoleum that is there at present. Suddenly, I remembered a single mother who was at a crossroads I hope I never stand at. She was on her own with a 10-month-old, and she had to be honest about something in order to enroll her child in our day care center. I could tell she was cringing inside because she was expecting to be judged.
I believe God allows each and every one of us to experience things for the express purpose of having the right mindset to handle some event in the future. I am so grateful He did that for me. Otherwise, today I would cringe at how I handled that woman's confession. Instead, because of what His grace did for me, I was able to look her in the eye and offer reassurance, and care for her baby while she earned a living. Our facilities might not be as shiny and new as my human self would like them to be, but that day God was able to use our day care ministry to make a difference in two lives.
Since having that remembrance early this morning, my day has been peppered with recollections. Some have made me laugh, and some have brought tears to my eyes. All of them have shown me that my God is a composer, a weaver, a master artist.
I love music that incorporates minor chords. The sharp change from a bright, full chord, to the one that seems slightly incomplete gives me chills. When I play, I love to hold out a suspended chord. Even though I'm seemingly in control of what I'm creating, my ear waits at point for the resolve.
When we step off track. When we lose our way completely. When we take something complete and full and choose to change it. In those instances, I believe God just sees that He's going to have a little more interesting finished piece. He'll use the minor chords of our own creation to do something beautiful and unexpected further down the road.
------------------------------------------------------------------
... and back to present day.
It is so easy to lose sight of our purpose. I fear I've gotten off track as of late, I've felt that way for a while. I've been praying about it, God knows what's up and I trust Him to make the crooked ways straight. Tonight, He once again, in an awesome but gentle way, showed me that He has heard. He reminded me that He uses the foolish things to confound the wise, and that in my weakness, He is strong. My wrong note is still music to His ears, so long as it is played for the right reasons. Therefore, I know my life still has purpose in His kingdom, as long as it is lived in a way that points to Him.
--- Originally posted on August 6, 2010 --- Major Minors
At times, when goals still seem so far from being met, it's easy to think you haven't accomplished much. I'm not talking about a pity party, although I still have those. It's more of a drill sergeant-type self lecture: "Allen! You have got to pick it up!" or "Do not make this mistake again!"
Fortunately, when I have those moments, it's never too long before some positive little memory from the past floats to the surface. I may run across someone who brings it to mind, I may be going through student records and recall an occurrence, or it may just come to me in a silent moment. It's not important how it arrives, but that it does.
Our church is small. Our ministries are big. We aren't a Latin-instructing preschool, or an Ivy League preparatory high school, but we do change lives for the better - always with His help.
A memory came to mind today while I was thinking about needing new floors in the commons area, and tricking myself into believing that my students are somehow disadvantaged by the mustard shade of linoleum that is there at present. Suddenly, I remembered a single mother who was at a crossroads I hope I never stand at. She was on her own with a 10-month-old, and she had to be honest about something in order to enroll her child in our day care center. I could tell she was cringing inside because she was expecting to be judged.
I believe God allows each and every one of us to experience things for the express purpose of having the right mindset to handle some event in the future. I am so grateful He did that for me. Otherwise, today I would cringe at how I handled that woman's confession. Instead, because of what His grace did for me, I was able to look her in the eye and offer reassurance, and care for her baby while she earned a living. Our facilities might not be as shiny and new as my human self would like them to be, but that day God was able to use our day care ministry to make a difference in two lives.
Since having that remembrance early this morning, my day has been peppered with recollections. Some have made me laugh, and some have brought tears to my eyes. All of them have shown me that my God is a composer, a weaver, a master artist.
I love music that incorporates minor chords. The sharp change from a bright, full chord, to the one that seems slightly incomplete gives me chills. When I play, I love to hold out a suspended chord. Even though I'm seemingly in control of what I'm creating, my ear waits at point for the resolve.
When we step off track. When we lose our way completely. When we take something complete and full and choose to change it. In those instances, I believe God just sees that He's going to have a little more interesting finished piece. He'll use the minor chords of our own creation to do something beautiful and unexpected further down the road.
------------------------------------------------------------------
... and back to present day.
It is so easy to lose sight of our purpose. I fear I've gotten off track as of late, I've felt that way for a while. I've been praying about it, God knows what's up and I trust Him to make the crooked ways straight. Tonight, He once again, in an awesome but gentle way, showed me that He has heard. He reminded me that He uses the foolish things to confound the wise, and that in my weakness, He is strong. My wrong note is still music to His ears, so long as it is played for the right reasons. Therefore, I know my life still has purpose in His kingdom, as long as it is lived in a way that points to Him.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Snow Notes
It's a good day to be a writer. I am sitting before my patio door and staring out at a snow-covered landscape (see it above). My laptop is open, an article was just edited, and I have a cup of Starbuck's Salted Caramel Cocoa within arm's reach. Coffee and a crackling fire would raise the day to a level of historic perfection, nigh nirvana, but alas, I must sleep tonight, and I don't think the fireplace in this house has been used or cleaned in over a decade.
East Texas had two legitimate snow days last winter, so I didn't dare hope that it could happen again this year, but it has. Too often, I allow preconceived notions of the possible and impossible to dash my hopes. I forget to keep those Disney-inspired aspirations alive.
"God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us." Ephesians 3:20-21 (The Message)
I think we all hear and live under the "don't get your hopes up" line too much. While I know life is not always a bed of roses, it's nice to look out the window and know that all the naysayers (also known as snow haters) are eating their words.
Today's wintry beauty is just a small reminder that God likes to surprise us every now and then. We are His children, and He does love us immeasurably, so why wouldn't He pull out all the stops just to make us smile?
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