Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Time for the New Chapter


    The writer had spent exactly 5 months and 23 days, 7 hours, and 42 minutes on the first chapter. It took ten re-writes and a bottle of Tylenol just to get through the first 300 words. But on a cold drizzling morning in early February with a hot cup of coffee and his desk light illuminating the small room he called “the den” he stared at the blank screen. The cursor was blinking at the top left corner as if to say: come on, get going…what happens next?

    It was time for the next chapter but the procrastinating writer didn’t know where to begin. He had spent so much time on chapter one that the blank screen seemed intimidating. I know this feeling well. I can still remember the nervous excitement I had on my first day of Junior High. I had spent days planning my first-day outfit, my first-day make-up, and my first-day “walk.” Hey, if Phil Collins could write a song about it I figured how you walk into the first day of your next chapter must matter.

    I still laugh when I think of our first full day of our marriage. After the wedding, friends, gifts, and lovely dress wear. We were driving to Indiana when Brad’s souped up Cutless broke down on the side of the highway. Trying not to panic and show my new husband the most stressed out form of his new bride I prayed silently as he examined the car. This was back in the 90’s when we didn’t have the luxury of a cell phone. We ultimately decided to walk to a country house out in the middle of nowhere.

    Approaching what appeared to be a communal living house I said, “Hey I think someone lives there.” We spotted at least 5 tents erected and heard the psychedelic sounds of “The Doors” playing in the heavily forest covered property. “I don’t think so.” He said.

    We finally found a house a mile down the highway perched on a large hill. Nervously I hoped we wouldn’t meet a vicious farm dog. With each step, my heart quickened because I didn’t know what lied just beyond our view. Fortunately, an older man answered Brad’s knock and agreed to let use his phone to call AAA roadside service.

    Out of the kindness of his heart, he allowed this young newlywed couple to ride in the back of his pick-up truck the mile and one-half to Brad’s stalled prized hot rod that showed prophetic signs of its reliability.  The sun was hot in the sky on that mid-May day.  

    Oh and I remember that precious midnight gathering of undergarments and a baby outfit into the duffle bag as we rushed off to the hospital after I discovered my water broke. Passing the freshly painted baby’s room we nervously loaded the car as a family of two for the last time. In a rush, my young husband backed out onto the road approaching yet another new chapter of in our lives.

    From then till now many new chapters have been written, but I don’t think that I have quite become comfortable with the cursor blinking at the top of the page. To be honest, the new chapter always seems alluring, mysterious, and attractive in the middle of the previous chapter, but when the last sentenced is typed it is time for the new chapter, period.

    How do we prepare for the new chapter? Hmmm…there is probably a whole shelf of self-help books to aid us in navigating through the new, but to be honest when I really need advice I don’t seem to be attracted to the books with all the answers. Or I read the books that are supposed to help me put the pieces together and I am still in want.

   When the clock strikes four in the morning and tired eyes pop open because anxiety has been making the last two hours a toss and turn I find myself calling out. “God, will you lead me?” I don’t know what I am doing, I don’t know which way to go.”

Back to the writer…

    After washing the dishes he returned to the flashing cursor at the top of the page. And he sat, he tapped his pen on the side of the desk. He stretched out his arms. He decided to answer a text, but each time he returned his concentration to the screen the Chapter was waiting.

     In the frustration of the writing block, he almost shut down his beat up Laptop and gave up for the day. He almost declared this story was over and he might as well have a Chapter one burning, when he paused...He remembered…all the chapters he had lived. All the battles he had won and some he had not, and somewhere deep inside he decided to believe.

    In faith he began to write. With grace toward himself he allowed his pen to speak. Without editing or punishing he allowed his fingers to begin to paint a new picture, a new vision, a new idea for the characters he had created from the ashes of his memories.

    Here is the point: Where you have been lays a foundation for where you will go. We can change, we can improve, but ultimately we will have to step into new chapters not knowing if it will all work out or not. I am thankful that I have faith to lean into at such times. I have a testimony of how God has made a way in the new chapters for me when I couldn’t seem to figure out what I should do.

     Today if you find yourself at the top of a new blank page and anxiety is threatening to steal your breath stop for a moment. Rest for a moment. Remember the road you have already traveled and allow God to enlighten your perspective. He is found in the waiting, pausing, and pondering. Perhaps that is how the next chapter will begin…

I found God in the stillness of before dawn when sleep escapes and light still slumbers… 

    

  

Monday, February 27, 2017

Get Back Up Again


      As a little girl of the eighties in a house full of boys one movie was reenacted more than any other. Only one movie theme song was hummed, chanted, and air-guitared to intensify a brother wrestling match or a backyard race. One character was quoted by GI Joes and echoed by Lego figures so repeatedly that no one needed to sight the source. If you don’t know who I am referring to let me give you some hints.

     Each of my brothers from one time or another had a gray hooded sweater shirt that they wore as they jogged around the house or neighborhood. If we happened to go to a government building with a lot of cement steps my brothers had to jog to the top arms pumping and finish with a victory dance at the top of the landing. When one of their GI Joe figures was losing the battle without fail you could guarantee the plastic fellow would yell out, “Adrian…Adrian.” And the top song for many years in our home was “Eye of the Tiger,” beating out both El Shaddai (Amy Grant) and Father Abraham (children’s bible song from antiquity).

     Yes we loved the movie, Rocky. Though I felt squeamish in the fight scenes I still watched the movies with the boys. I cheered for Rocky, but the best scene of each of the movies was when he got hit so hard that he saw visions of his childhood or his precious Adrian while hitting the ground in slow motion. Blood and sweat flew in the air as we all sprang from our seats to encourage him. 

"Get up! Rocky, you aren’t through yet. Stand up!"

    In life I find myself feeling like I did in that tense fight scene when I listen to the stories of many of my friends, family, and fellow believers who are fighting serious battles all around me. I pray for the fighting spirit to come alive in these loved ones and friends that they would not lose heart in the heat of the battle. I find myself chanting, “It isn’t over yet, get back up again.”

    I am reminded daily that life is full of battles, surprise blows, and cheap shots but I feel that deep within us lies the "Rocky" spirit. Rocky was from the other side of the tracks. He was smaller than he should be and it took him determination and training to actualize his dream, but in the storyline, we learn quickly no dream comes without a price. He had enemies, and there was the strain on the love of his life. He had to make a choice just as we do today to fight for the dream.

    In Ephesians 6:11, Paul exhorts us to put on the full armor of God so that we can take our stand against the devil's schemes. I think to get up from the mat we have to first determine in our minds who the real enemy is. If we think that a person is against us or worse yet the whole world is against us we might as well stay down for the count because we have already given up the battle.

    I have to remind myself over and over that I don’t wrestle against flesh and blood but against rulers, against authorities, against powers of this dark world and against spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms (Ephesians 10:12). That means that God is on my side always and that people may stand in the way but there is a way around them. There is a blow to the enemy that he can’t stand up against. There is a technique that is difficult to learn but will take down the enemy for the count.

It is…

         Forgiveness.

    Forgiveness has never been a natural defense move in my skill set. I have been more of a master at keeping records of wrong. Recently as I have decided to write this blog I realize I have a vast memory and hurts are the deepest groves in my recollection. Fortunately there was a day when I decided I had to yield this ancient weapon even if I hated to do it.

    I remember I was sitting on the floor in my bedroom. Something like Gloria Estefan was playing on my new CD player when I realized I couldn’t go on. I had a routine, like I am sure many emotional teenagers do, of trying to unwind after school. My favorite way to do this was to feel sorry for myself. I am not sure why this was my go to habit. Could it be the sad songs I loved to listen to on the radio? I don’t know, but on this particular day I sat by my mirror studying my young face with a frown.

    I didn’t like what I saw and the temptation was to blame others for all the reasons why. As I looked at myself the Lord spoke to me, “Dianne you need to forgive as I forgave you.” 

    What? I thought. Trying again to work up the “life’s not fair” emotions. But something supernatural happened for the first time in my life, I felt the hand of the Lord on my back. The many angry and hostile words I imagined saying to my offenders lost their lure. I had to turn off the radio in this strange moment, because I could tell something was changing deep down in my heart. I was beholding the Lord Jesus the ultimate fighter for forgiveness.

    For a moment I saw his wounded body on the cross as his own people mocked him. I saw the Roman guards who knew nothing of this “King of Jews” standing aloof and hardened as his blood flowed down for them.

“Father forgive them for they know not what they do…”

   Suddenly I was catapulted back to my bedroom. I sat looking at this sixteen year-old girl with brown curly hair and a complicated complexion. “I forgive, I forgive, I forgive,” I said out loud.

    The months to follow are still a shock to me today. I made a list of everyone I was upset at and made a vow to talk to each one of them and apologize for my own rude behavior. I made phone calls, and met with teachers and x-friends. With each awkward confession I felt this new weapon growing in my spiritual arsenal.

    I declared over my life a new way, a life of love. Slowly the change in my attitude became apparent to others. I wish I could say that I never fell into self-pity again, but that wouldn’t be true and I wouldn’t have much material to write about. No, I must remind myself daily who the real enemy is.

   Jesus fought the enemy of our souls that day on the cross with forgiveness. And though he gave his life on the cross the miracle came on the third day when he rose again from the grave. The devil had thrown the final punch and was doing his victory dance as heaven counted 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9…

    At the first beam of the light at dawn on the third day there was a rattle in the borrowed tomb. Angels came to witness the “King of Jews” arise from the tomb no longer defeated. Right before the referee could declare 10- he broke through death, hell, and the grave. Shining like the sun he made a way for us. At that moment He won our freedom to live in this new way of forgiveness regardless of the circumstances we will face.

    So today if you are down for the count I am standing at the side lines shouting “Get up Champ!” The battle is not over yet. Don’t give up. Get that old “Eye of the Tiger” theme song in your heart and put on the gray hoody and start fighting your real enemy.  I declare over you, “Be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power.” (Ephesians 6:10)  Remember the devil started the fight with the Son of God before he turned his sights on you. Though the fight might be fierce God has given you the power to give the Knock-out punch!

"Father, Forgive them for they know not what they do…" Luke 23:34

Dear Friend,

Get back up again.
    


Saturday, February 25, 2017

There is Room at The Well

   
     Most preschoolers learn a little rhyme about a girl and boy named Jack and Jill. They are on a mission to climb a hill to fetch a pail of water from the Well. That sounds easy enough especially for the little energetic children reciting this story. But like most memorable stories, something goes wrong at the top of the hill with the pail full of water.

    Did the water splash on the grass to create a slick spot that caused Jack to slip? Did he step in a rabbit hole that caused the fall? Why did Jill come tumbling after? The poor couple had been so close to accomplishing their goal when it all went wrong.

    There is another well I learned about through flannel graph stories. As the Bible story began my Sunday school teacher in a corduroy plum colored skirt and lavender pearl buttoned silk blouse smiled at us. Her brown nyloned legs crossed at the ankle as she sat in her big blue teacher’s chair next to the easel holding the flannel graph board. With brown feathered hair that framed her pastel painted face, she held the unnamed Samaritan woman in her hand.

    The paper figure in a white and cranberry stripe dress held a tall jar on her shoulder but her brown curly hair was left uncovered because she was a “bad” woman. I watched spellbound as the teacher placed the slender figure on the blue flannel graph board.

    Next our proper teacher placed a Well next to the woman. I had already learned that in the “bible days” there was always a Well. In fact this paper well, was worn on the edges from its repeated use. We had learned a few weeks before that Abraham had to move away from his nephew Lot, because their servants were fighting over the same well. Then the week before, Isaac had to dig three wells before the Philistines would allow him to settle in the land.

    Now Jesus was coming to the Well. The same well this Samaritan woman was standing by with her sun dried clay jar. She was a lone figure at the common biblical location. I could relate to the need for water. I felt thirsty and I was quietly hoping for a snack of saltine crackers and a Dixie cup of water as we sat in the little chairs around the bean shaped almond finished kindergarten table.

    Next to me, Art Detmer, my distant cousin was playing with his brown clip-on tie. He saw me looking at him and quickly stuck his tongue out at me. I wondered again why we had to be related. Fortunately, our devoted teacher’s voice captured my attention again.

“And the Samaritan woman was alone because she was a sinful woman. Sin separates us from the life we really want…but Jesus spoke to her.”

“May I have a drink of water?” he said.

Next, the teacher with powder pink fingernails placed a vibrant sun above the Well.

“In the heat of the day Jesus came to the Well, and so did the Samaritan woman because she knew no one else would be there at that time due to the heat. She came alone because she didn’t have any friends.”

I leaned in as if I could see the perspiration on their foreheads. Jesus pursued this lonely woman at the Well, but why? I wondered.

     Looking at my patient teacher I spoke, “Was Jesus thirsty, because I am.”
The teacher with lovely feathered hair smiled at me but continued the lesson.  She took the Samaritan woman down and replaced her with a second image of the woman’s profile with arms out imploringly toward the Well.

“You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan why would you talk to me, let alone ask for a drink of water? The woman asked.

    She replaced the tall composed Jesus with a leaning forward Jesus standing on the other side of the Well with one arm extended toward the woman and the other toward the water.

“If you knew who asked you for this water you would ask for living water that never runs dry. You would drink it and never thirst again.”

Did I see the Samaritan woman inch closer?

Our well-dressed teacher paused. She fidgeted with her string of pearls while finding her place again in the bible lesson she was reading to us.

I continued to wonder:

Could Jesus really satisfy her thirst?

What kind of water filled this flannel graph well?

Finding her place, the lavender silk arm placed a paper jar at Jesus’ feet.

“This is the Well of our Father Jacob, but it is said that when the Holy one comes He will lead us into all truth.” The Samaritan woman said.

Jesus replied, “I am He, do you believe?”

From that moment my little hands felt sweaty as I thought I saw the one dimensional Samaritan jump up and down.

“Yes, I do believe.”

Under the hot sun, this woman found the refreshment her soul needed. In my little 5-year-old heart I too whispered, “I believe.”

    Like Jack and Jill I fetched my pail of living water that day, but as the years of my young life unfolded I found myself tumbling down the hill spilling the living water on the ground and injuring my soul in the process. But I am thankful that by God’s grace He helped me back up again.

     My faith had many one-dimensional moments of narrowed focus. I went to church (period). Then I lived my life how I wanted. Still the living water drew me back to the well again and again.
This living water still draws me back to the well in the heat of the day when I wish to see no one. Jesus is there willing to talk, willing to listen, and willing to revive. I have learned by such great love that there is room at the well for me and for you. All it takes to be refreshed is the simple act of believing.

“Come see the One who has told me everything I have ever done. Could this be the Christ?” The Samaritan Woman (John 4:29)






Friday, February 24, 2017

Historically Speaking

   
    I have always liked to study history. I enjoy reading documentaries about famous people that have gone before. I even like to hear the eulogies at funerals because it gives me a keener picture of the life one has lived in the world I have inherited from them.

     It was the first warm spring day we had experienced in the new season. We walked on the boardwalk passing a little yard where a sheep and two ewe lambs were sitting in the long green grass beside the 19th Century home. Across the way, the drug store stood to beckon from a different time and a different age. People in period clothing crossed the dirt road as a wagon passed by with a little boy in suspenders buttoned to brown pants over a white button-up shirt and clad in a blue hat. He waved from his perch in the back of the wagon between two bags of grain.  As we neared the corner we saw the local doctor’s home, the bank, and the mercantile. Like the old plunky sound of an antique upright piano, the air was filled with the sound of the ancient.

     My children looked around the historical farm community in wonder. Once Upon a time, there lived a group of people gathered in a community to live in harmony and support of one another. As we crossed the street to step into the drug store the clerk greeted us at the door. Walking in on to the wooden floor our feet scuffed across the dimly lit room. Bolts of fabric lined one wall, pharmaceuticals lined the opposite wall and barrels of necessities were gathered in the middle.

    I tried to think of the last time I had baked fresh bread. What did a loaf taste like at this time in history before gluten allergies were a worry? I walked by a washboard used to clean clothing by hand. The clerk explained how most families only had two changes of clothes. “Everyday” clothes and “Sunday” best. I thought of the many times my hands grew raw after scrubbing baby messes out of little outfits, and wondered at the job the women of my ancestry must have had to perform daily.

     Life it seems is like the fluff of a seeding dandelion in spring. It is light and hard to hold on to. Once one feels they have a hold of it the wind blows scattering all our plans to the wind. Did the ancients feel the uncertainty I feel as I hold little hands and wonder if my parenting will bring about responsibly grown children?

    As I looked through the many old things that once were new I wondered at the frailty of life. Like sands through the hourglass, time is constantly slipping away, but I rarely notice. It is only in old photos I realize how much my children have grown, how my own face has changed.

    On the other side of this lingering anxiety, I felt hope with this thought: This is all I have, this moment. So I wish to live it fully alive. I wish to live it with a heart fully engaged. When my time has come and gone, I hope that something will be left behind more valuable than a pair of lightly used shoes or a fancy purse. I hope that the love I have planted endures.

    The question is…have I planted love? Or have I been too busy chasing my own way to stop and look at the community around me? This community of family, friends, neighbors, and people I have yet to meet that surround me. I hope to live fully awake, fully aware, and fully awestruck at the blessing of life.

    Placing a nickel in each of my children’s hands I give them permission to purchase a lemon drop. With excited smiles they each hand the clerk their money in exchange for the sweet confection. After the purchase, we leave the quiet space of the little store to again embrace the warm breeze of the spring day. It is time to go live, love, and enjoy the simplicity of this day.  

  

Monday, February 20, 2017

Heaven Touching Earth


I still believe even when life is tough and the skies are gray. Even when the things I trust in become shaken and the ones closest to me are discouraged. When I am tired and I can't see the breakthrough I believe is coming. I still believe...

I was listening to a song today that began to stir a fire in my bones. The stirring started somewhere near the center of my being and moved out to my extremities. "Lord, can you revive me again? In a raspy voice, the singer evoked my heart.

"Our Father, all of Heaven knows your name 
Sing louder, let this place erupt with praise. 
Can you hear it the sound of heaven touching earth…?"

   In the beginning, the Spirit hovered over the waters with mighty wings of mercy. The essence of love swept over the unformed child, the apple of the Father’s eye. When the voice of creation spoke and the darkness transformed into pure resplendent light He was there. When the seas were formed and the land took shape when the green beauty of plant life sprung up like little hands clapping at the magnitude of their Creator He was there.  When the eye of the Father formed all the creatures of earth and sea He felt the absence of his own reflection and so he knelt down in the dirt to form man.

    With one mighty breath the first son of man awoke. This reflection of God formed a little lower than the angels arose. On shaky legs, Adam beheld his new playground. Not as some type of ape-man but as the very reflection of his Abba Father he looked around. Intelligent and strong he met the creatures walking on earth and swimming in the sea. He walked among the fruited trees yet even in all the beauty and wonder his heart felt lonely.

    The Lord knew Adam’s desire to be known. Even in the newness of creation man could not find his equal in all the vibrant majesty of his organic home. In the sweetest sleep, Adam lay so that God could perform the first surgery. Removing one of two ribs designed to protect the man’s lungs, his breath supply, the Creator gently covered the vacancy with flesh.  

   In a moment Adam was healed by the touch of the Great Physician. As he lay in slumber on lush carpets of grass and nectar scented flowers his wife was being formed from rib and dust, light and the breath of God.

“He makes beautiful things from the dust.”

He awoke to see a beautiful she creature lying next to him. “Adam,” the Voice of many Waters spoke, “Behold your wife.”

   With tears, he arose to study the woman over curves and smooth skin. As he stirred she too awoke. Taking her hand they ran through the garden of God to celebrate their new life together. All around them the animals uttered and the birds sang in the wonder of man and woman, husband and wife, Father and Mother and keepers of the earth.  As the man and woman walked in the garden they praised the only Father they had ever known.

   Of course, there is more to the story than the perfect beginning. Soon perfection unraveled with the trick of a snake and the lure of a piece of fruit. Still, there is a longing God placed in each one of us to be known and to again be invited to walk in the garden of God’s presence. Such a hope is only found through the acknowledgment of one name. The name of the one who was there in the beginning when Heaven touched Earth, when light pierced the darkness, when emptiness became full of life.

I hear my own voice join in with the singer's

"King Jesus, you’re the name we are lifting high,
Your glory shaking up the earth and skies,
 Revival we want to see your kingdom here.
We want to see your kingdom."

I still believe…



Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Dream Catcher

   

    What good is a dream if you don’t have someone to share it with? It is like going to the ice cream stand to indulge in a frozen treat or riding a rollercoaster that thrills your socks off all by yourself. Such adventures beckon a companion to share in the encounter.

    That makes sense I would say, but I am not sure what my dream even is. I know I had a lot of them as a kid. I wanted to be an actress, a lawyer, and a choreographer and that was all in my fifth-grade year, but lately…I have been trying to figure out what is “the dream.”

    Maybe I lost it because I have lived a little too long.  Am I too old to dream? It seems sometimes that it is unrealistic to look beyond the responsibility of family life. Maybe I have been so overwhelmed with the to-do list that I forgot to take a minute to ask: what is it that I would love to do anyway?

   Sometimes I think dreams have been over-rated. I used to dream of getting married and having a family. Now I have one and I have learned no dream comes without a price. Right now the price is…tween mood swings and being the screen police. So maybe I am discouraged.

    Whatever the excuse I can come up with it doesn’t change the fact that I need to dream, you need to dream. We were made to dream. In the dreaming we have hope that what we see today doesn’t have to be what we live tomorrow and the next day and so on.

    I love to hear stories of unlikely dream pursuers. My husband’s grandmother had always dreamed of finishing high school, so in her sixties, she got her diploma. I recently met a woman that at 91 still goes snow skiing weekly. I have a dear friend that decided to become a missionary to India in her retirement and has spent her time hugging children and helping families in India ever since. Such stories inspire me to stop making excuses and start taking the time to dream.

    We limit ourselves with all the reasons why we can’t dream without uttering a word to anyone else, but what if we started to share our dream?  What if your hope could ignite someone else’s? Who knows how your dream might just set off a chain reaction in the lives of your friends and family.

    In reality, life is complicated and at any moment we can list a lot of reasons why it is better just to drudge on, but I want to encourage us to let the little child dream from within us. That little one that believes we can be anything we put our minds to. Now that we are older we have a better grasp of what it is that really excites us. That thing that makes you and I come alive. What if that thing was tailor made for us to pursue?


Maybe I am just dreaming here, but I invite you to come along for the ride.     

Saturday, February 11, 2017

The God Who Sees

   
    Finally, home from a weekend with teenagers I quickly change into fuzzy Pajamas, cozy slippers, and pop in a pink piece of bubble gum to get ready to write. Lately, each day has felt full yet I have struggled with a sense of feeling empty of words. This happens when I really have something to say, but I am afraid to let it out. Instead, I have soaked in my favorite Netflix saga, or I have tried to dig into a novel to divert my mind from the pressing questions lingering just beyond the tip of my tongue.

   Learning to allow me the freedom to speak, express, and unlock the thoughts, feelings, and story from within has been both freeing and terrifying. To find my voice is to find a missing piece to the puzzle of my own identity, but it also challenges me to keep going, discovering, and speaking what I learn along the way.

    As I sit here feeling comfortable, relaxed, and free to write I shut my eyes for a moment. The gritty cloud of the sands of time seems to blow around me as I see the topic rising from the pages of the old book. A short phrase seems to lift off the page from the ancient Canaan lands, “Beer Lahai Roi.”

    In the distance, I can see a young woman walking in the blowing sand. The sweltering heat beating down as the sun stands high in the sky. As I squint in the glare trying to make my hands a visor over my eyes I can see that the weary girl is expecting a child but seems to be without strength as she crumbles under a tree.  Thankfully near the tree, there appears to be a small well of water. As the hot wind blows the fabric covering her face I can see that she is in torment.

    As I sit in this chair six months along I have to readjust my position as a sharp pain shoots down the left side of my neck and shoulder blade. From my distant position, I can’t imagine the journey this expectant mother must have traveled. Suddenly a voice like a gust of wind speaks to her. The tree branches do not move nor the desert grasses rustle at the sound of the words.

“Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?”

   Looking around the troubled girl grows frightened. The voice like the wind is all around her, but everything else grows still. Her arms and legs tingled as the hair stands up like gooseflesh in the eerie presence.

“Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from where are you going?” the voice pursues.

The girl continues to look around, who could know who she was or why she was here?

“Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where…” The voice comes a third time.

“I’m running away from my mistress Sarai,” she says both ashamed and overwhelmed at the predicament she has found herself in.

    It was Sarai’s idea for her to become Abram’s second wife. As a slave girl, she had no say in such matters. Her mistress was well advanced in years and had given up the hope of having her own child with her husband, so why not throw her servant girl at him? When Hagar found that she was pregnant she did feel proud, it felt justified until now under this tree with the voice of the Holy one, the God of the Hebrews, enveloping her. Suddenly she felt regret for the haughtiness she had portrayed in front of her mistress. She remembered the tears of jealousy she saw flickering in her mistress’ barren eyes.

   The voice speaks again, “Go back to your mistress and submit to her.” As these words fill the air around her a peace comes to rest upon her like a gentle hand. In that moment the anger and frustration ebb away as if she had been refreshed by the water from the well.

“You are now with child and you will have a son. You shall name him Ishmael, for the Lord, has heard of your misery.”

    Again a wave of peace comes over her like a second hand upon her head. For a moment she remembers the soft touch of her mother’s hand smoothing her black hair away from her little face. She had loved her own mother’s eyes dark as night, but tender. She had put such memories as far away from herself as the distance she was forced to travel from the land of her birth, Egypt. The land she hoped to reach in her flight. Such a memory filled her eyes with tears, tears that splashed at the feet of a man.

With head bowed she gazes at the beautiful feet of the One true God, the God of the Hebrews Abram had spoken of, standing in front of her.

“You are the God who see me,” she whispers brokenly. As she lifts her head slowly to behold him he suddenly disappears. 

“I have now seen the One who sees me.”

    Looking around, the oasis is quiet as the wind returns. Standing to her feet with renewed strength she walks to the well pulling at the rope to retrieve the water below. Holding the bucket in her hands she splashes the refreshing liquid on her hot skin. She quietly drinks deeply of the cool sweet water. Feeling refreshed at last she utters the words looking to the heavens, “Beer Lahai Roi” The Well of the Living One who sees me.

“Hagar! Hagar!” her named is called from the top of the nearby hill. There stands Abram’s head servant, Eliezar with a camel at hand.

“I have been searching for you, Abram my master is worried for you and the child.” He says as he approaches.

    As she stands by the well she whispers again to her soul, “You are the God who sees me.”
From my desk peering as if through the pages of Genesis I see her brave young face as she agrees to go back with Eliezer not on foot but from the mount of a camel. I see the power of an encounter with the Lord changes the weariest of hearts. I see a girl that not only returns but tries harder to honor her elderly mistress even when she sees the jealousy etched in the deep lines on her face.

   Hagar does not live a perfect life but God cares to pursue her in her despair. He is near the broken hearted. He has plans for us even when we have given up on any plans for ourselves.

   In the end, Hagar returns to the desert with her thirteen year-old son, no longer a slave but free.  The journey back to the desert is filled with heartache, but God again pursues her in her greatest need. He continues to prove that He is the God who sees.

    


  

     

Monday, February 6, 2017

Spring is Coming

   

    In a flurry of magnificent color, the grass was dotted with wildflowers. The fragrance of spring filled the air gently blowing the blooms in a joyful cadence of new life, new hope, and new opportunity. The dirt path was still moist from the winter thaw. A rustling sound in a nearby bush revealed the curious eyes of a squirrel before it disappeared up a large oak tree.

    The sun gleamed with yellow beams making the green leaves glow majestically to the happy song of the robins crafting their spring nests. In the warm afternoon sun new dreams began to stir. Walking in the solitude of the wooded path this girl was not limited by the face she scrutinized in the mirror, or the opinions of her classmates for this little dash of time she was free.

    As she looked around at the natural scene of beauty she wished she could pen the feelings that came to mind. She wished she could sketch the purity of the air and the loveliness of the dotted pasture. Somehow life seemed bigger than her present eleventh grade year.

    Thinking about Algebra II filled her with anxiety. Unlike the careless whimsical beauty of the nature walk her world was structured and linear. If she didn’t take the right classes, and earn the right grades, she wouldn’t make it to college, and she wouldn’t be able to reach any of her goals.

    She had a dream to paint the world. Maybe with a brush stroke of theater or a splash of song details still seemed unclear, but with the crimson color of redemption, she was determined to paint a picture of hope. She wanted everyone to see the greatest beauty she had ever encountered, simply Jesus.

    Oh she did wish to be beautiful which her complexion presently didn’t seem to support. She wanted to be smart and eloquent, but lately her words seemed to get scrambled instead of flowing smoothly. If only she could be free like the little rabbits limberly hopping in the distance of the meadow. Why did life feel so heavy, hard, and humbling?

    She watched her friends seem to adjust to having part time jobs, driving, and getting good grades in school as if it didn’t take all their concentration? Why couldn’t it feel easy to her too? And boys…it is not that she wanted a boyfriend, but it would be nice to be noticed. 

   As the thoughts built up inside she shut her eyes tightly.  Then after a long moment, she let out a sigh. Looking up into the perfect blue sky peeking through the canopy of trees she lifted her arms in surrender.

“I am not alone,” she whispered. “I can do this because God is with me.”

    Such a statement of faith washed the anxiety away. For this moment she was able to embrace the gift of a spring day. A gift that welcomed her admiration without charging admission. In fact, the dirt path welcomed anyone young or old to explore it’s wonder, but today she had taken the time.

    Life is like that. No matter who is waking up each day beckons a new opportunity for hope. Sometimes it takes getting away from the normal, the expected, the structured to see that life holds more opportunity than we can fathom if we will just take the time.

As the teenage girl continued to walk she let go of the pressures of her life to breathe in the fresh new hope of spring.  

   

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Tales of a Sleepless Night

   
    A sleepless night, I should have known would come after an energy drink and a coffee refill, but that was in the morning on a gray Saturday. The temptation to have just one more cup of warm coffee to go with the Gluten Free Banana bread as I soaked in the pleasant conversation with a friend seemed irresistible. But at 2 AM, 2:15 AM, 3:03 AM, 4:00 AM it seemed more foolish than ever.

    As I lay in bed trying to get comfortable, trying to shut off the mental list of to-do’s I thought of you. Me? You might think, and of course, it comes as a surprise I know. And though I tried to shake it, there you were. I prayed that God might help you, strengthen you, and give you hope.

    Life is so often full of curve balls, disappointments, and challenging circumstances but my prayer is that you will not give up. We have all heard sad stories of those who just gave in, but you my Dear are so special that God put you on my heart last night, or this morning, hang on.

    When we are at the point of wanting to throw in the towel, what holds us back? Certainly, there are people who care for us in the world, but in despair, it is hard to make a list of who they may be. I think if we would quiet our souls for a moment we would hear a still gentle voice. A voice that is somehow familiar yet profoundly unknown. That voice is the inflection of your destiny, it is the sound of rain and the crackle of a fire, it is the sound of a mighty wind, and clatter of thunder. It is the voice of our Creator God.

     Even when we would want to turn the other way His arms are wide open. His love is like a mountain of mercies He promises are new every morning. In the middle of the night when sleep eludes the morning seems far off, but His love is never distant.

    To make his love more clear the Creator God sent his son in our likeness. He gave this son an assignment to live on earth, to experience our pain, and to make a way for us to be free. This son is named Jesus Christ.

      There is a story found in the gospel of Mark chapter 9 about a Father who had a very troubled son. The story goes that the son was possessed by demons and would become violent and roll himself into the fire. As the last hope, his Father brought him to Jesus. As a crowd gathered to see what would happen Jesus asked the man what was wrong.

    The man explained the long history of trauma and added, “If you are able to help please have compassion and do something for him.”

Jesus look at him, “If I can? Everything is possible for him who believes”

    Brokenly the Father exclaimed, “ Lord I do believe, help me overcome my unbelief.”   

     As I write this you may be saying, I know about Jesus. Tell me something I don’t know. As I laid in bed I heard the word “Belief.”  If we just say we believe but we don’t really let it change our lives the thing we would say we know is nothing more than a beautiful green leaf that turns brown and falls to the ground when the bitter winds blow. Such thought is more “Be-leafing” than believing.

    As I thought of you I began to pray, Oh Lord help our unbelief. Sometimes we say we know something but it doesn’t really mean we believe it in a way that changes anything in our lives. So I thought if I were to switch the letters around to read “Be-life” I think this is a better way to picture a believing that turns the situation around.

The fact is fear keeps us back from truly believing that God has a plan for our lives. It holds us back from experiencing freedom through faith in Jesus Christ. But fear no longer has to have a hold on you.

As you awake this morning open up the curtains. Let the sun shine in, and welcome God into your day. Dear friend, know that during my sleepless night I was thinking and praying for you. You can do this thing! Don’t give up. Challenge yourself to believe God really is for you.



Thursday, February 2, 2017

Parental Advisory Suggested

  

   It was a cold February day when Brad my strong man husband decided to volunteer in our youngest daughter, Lydia’s pre-school class. All the children were seated around their mini tables sitting on mini chairs. The two teachers and Brad the strong Dad were trying to cram their adult bodies into the mini chairs at the mini tables.

   Lydia and her friends looked up at Brad in wonder. He seemed so large. His hands could gather up ten of them at the same time. It was always the most fun when Dad’s came to volunteer. They seemed less aware of the rules and gave smiles that made each kid feel extra big.

    As the bowls were passed around for lunch, served family style, the little eyes watched the big man scoop green beans on his plate. Little girls laughed as Lydia put her little arms around her Dad’s elbow. With pride this move declared that he was her special daddy.

    Next came the bowl of peaches. Giggles filled the table as each child tried to slop the peaches in the allotted square on their plastic trays. When Brad missed his square they all laughed loudly. The quiet corrective voice of their kind but firm teacher Miss Carly reigned them all in.

    Next a little boy passed out the milks. Everyone had the choice of chocolate or white. So Brad naturally chose chocolate as any cool kid would. Before he could open it the little girl sitting beside him offered to open his milk. Because she looked so confident in her four years and because she didn’t wait for a response he let her put her fingers in his milk carton. Without a seconds thought she wiped her nose in the process. Looking up with big blue eyes she said, “It's ok I have a cold.”

   Needless to say, Brad no longer found the chocolate milk to be cool or appetizing. But the story still makes us laugh as we think about the sweet but messy ways of children.

   Someone recently asked, why do parents wish their kids would just grow up already when they are babies and then cry when they are grown because they miss the little years? It seems a crazy oxymoron, but I have found myself feeling both emotional extremes.

    It is hard to take in moments as they come without wishing away the mess. Little ones are sweet… that is until they hit you in the face with a large plastic toy. Little boys are fun until you answer their call in the middle of the night and walk over scattered Legos barefooted. Little girls are a blast until they take your high heels and feed them to the dog, or stain your favorite shirt with red lipstick they smashed as they tried to dress up like mommy.

    Little ones take patience, a trait I was sure I had in great quantities until I became a parent. On the flip side now my children are approaching the teen years at rapid speed. At this time I feel inadequate in my understanding. Yes, I was a teenager once, but it doesn’t make the mood swings or the awkward silence more bearable. We are entering into an emotionally messy time and I have suddenly gained a revelation that maybe the toddler years weren’t the hardest after all.

    So why do Parents say such things? Why do they wish for a different stage than the present with their children? Why can’t they be content?  Well…because it is messy.

    I am feel thankful as I pause to think about a Heavenly Father that is not afraid of "messy." In fact, he couldn’t bear the brokenness of the world full of lost children. Sitting on his thrown he turned to his son and asked, "would you make the way for these children to come to me?”

    As the story goes, the son came to earth making his dwelling among us. He spoke of the Father’s love but the world did not understand him. They did the worst of crimes to the only one who had the power to save them, they took his life. A life he freely gave up for them. It turns out God the Father wasn’t afraid of our mess. God the Son freely gave His life to break the curse that was on all the children of the world so we could be free.

    He broke the curse not in death but in the resurrection. His coming back to life again. Sometimes I think that I can do this parenting thing on my own, but I realize again as I write this blog that I need my Father God’s help. I often think I am helping him out by working really hard in my own strength, but I am actually like the little four- year-old girl opening the carton of milk with her dirty little fingers saying, “It's ok I have a cold.”

    God’s grace is a gift to the messy, the needy, the broken, and the parent. If you have been overwhelmed lately try God. He’s been around awhile and might just have the answer you are looking for.