There is something about a flag waving in the wind that always kind of gets to me. Whether it is the red, white and blue fabric sauntering in the gentle breeze of autumn or being flung about in the ferocious gusts of winter, whenever I see the stars and stripes, it causes me to pause and give thanks, even if only for a moment, for the freedom the flag represents and for those who have fought to win that precious freedom. If one flag waving in the wind can bring me such emotion, you can only imagine what it does to my heart when I saw more than 750 flags on a grassy hill next to the interstate as I drove into work yesterday morning. You see, each year, a group of Boy Scouts places the flags on the hill to commemorate Veterans Day, and it's a truly moving display ... a display of freedom, a display of respect, a display of honor, and a display of integrity.
A few years ago, my daughter and I drove from Kansas City to Nashville to attend a send-off ceremony for my nephew who was being deployed to Iraq. I had never been to a military commissioning event, so I had no idea what to expect. As the dignitaries who were the scheduled speakers gathered at the front of the large room, I realized that this was a pretty huge deal ... there were some big names there, including the governor of Tennessee. But it wasn't until the soldiers came marching in that the lump formed in my throat and the tears filled my eyes. I can't begin to tell you how powerful it was to watch those men and women file in, stand at attention, salute, remove their hats and sit in perfect unison. In fact, the entire ceremony was powerful, and there were plenty of tears when the service ended and we had to say our goodbyes to my nephew. On my drive back to KC, I remember praying for Charlie's safety while he was away, and thanking God for soldiers like him who live their lives defending the freedom that I so very often take for granted.
Charlie spent over a year in Iraq, and we were all very grateful when he returned home safe and sound. He is my sister's only son, and I've written about him before. He truly is a man of honor and courage and integrity, and I have a great deal of respect for him on many levels. I don't know if he remembers it or not, but once when I was visiting Chattanooga, he and I had a lengthy conversation one night about what is really important in life. I will forever remember one statement he made that evening concerning his granddad, my daddy. "Granddad taught me about integrity, Terrie ... he taught me what it means to be willing to sacrifice all you have to be a man of character and integrity." Trust me, Charlie ... you learned Daddy's lesson well, young man ... you learned it well.
I don't think it was coincidence that the song that was playing on my iPod this morning as I drove past the flags on the side of the highway talks about honor and integrity and living by example. I know that not all soldiers live by that code of conduct, but I know at least one who does. Thank you, Charlie, for being the man you are ... and thank you to all the men and women who love this country enough to keep it free. God bless you, and God bless America.
"You see, life cannot be measured by
The place you live, the car you drive
The thing that counts the day you die
Is who you are, and what's inside
So tell the truth, don't ever lie
Integrity at any price
Your word's your bond, your highest prize
So guard it close, and live your life
So many things, I learned from you
'Bout life and love and play,
But I learned more by how you lived
Than what I heard you say."
Friday, November 11, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Porcupine Hair
For as long as I can remember, there have been things I didn't like about my body. I'm sure many of my readers who are female can totally relate ... I think maybe it's a woman thing. I've always wished I was taller or thinner or had bigger eyes or less wrinkles or prettier feet or whiter teeth ... or ... or ... or ... I know that you girls get what I'm saying ... you totally get it. And no matter how much other people told me that I was perfect the way I was, there were always things I didn't like about myself. For all the things about my physical appearance I didn't like, however, there was one thing I always prided (key word, prided) myself on ... my hair. I have always had good hair, no matter the cut or the style or even the color, I've always had good hair. Yep, I've always liked my hair.
I've written a great deal in this blog about the ups and downs of having diabetes, and about some of the not-so-fun side effects of the various medications that I must take on a daily basis. Most of them have been manageable, albeit not fun, and usually subside after a few days or weeks. One of those side effects, though, is one that began a year or so ago, isn't going away, and involves my hair ... yep, the one thing I prided (key word, prided) myself on my whole life. The gal who has done my hair for over 15 years was the one who noticed it first, and I think I may always remember her words ... words that knocked the wind out of me. "Your hair is getting really thin in some spots, Terrie, probably because of your medication." And over the last year, my hair has gotten thinner and thinner and thinner in some spots, so thin that my hairdresser finally cut it really short, telling me that was the only way to make me look like I have more hair.
At first it bothered me a bit ... OK ... it bothered me a lot that my hair was thinning and for a while I had nightmares of bald spots and wigs and people staring and pointing at me and my lessening hair. But eventually, I've grown to really like my short, spiky do ... it's super easy to take care of, all I have to do is put this gel stuff in it, run my fingers through it and I'm done. I still worry about going bald, but the short do makes the thinning less noticeable, at least for now anyway. I get a lot of compliments on my hair, both on the cut and the color ... guess it's not every day that people see an older gray-haired gal with such a hip haircut.
Yesterday morning when I got ready to leave for work, I looked in the mirror and said out loud ... "Julie and Ollie, I'm having a really, really good hair day. Yep, my hair is looking fine today!" And remember how I said I always prided myself on my hair? Well, last night was crazy hair night at Awana, and most of the kids had ... well ... they had crazy hair. Some had their hair all spiked up; some had crazy bows and headbands on; some had weird colors sprayed in their hair. A lot of the leaders had their hair crazy, too, including some really funky looking wigs. So I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised by the comments of a couple of little boys when I was helping them with their Bible verses. One of them said, "Cool! You have porcupine hair for crazy hair night!" And before I could say a word, the other little boy said, "No, she doesn't. She always has porcupine hair." So much for priding myself on my hair, huh?
I've thought all day about those two little boys and their matter-of-fact commentary about my spiky hair. And I've thought all day about how open and honest little kids are ... they generally say exactly what they think, without reservation and without filters. And I've thought all day about pride and how even when I think I have completely dealt with the issue of pride in my life, God allows two little boys telling me I have porcupine hair to teach me again that pride can lurk in places within me where I never imagined it could. My dad used to say that when a person thinks they've learned all they can learn about God and how humble He really wants us to be, He finds a way to teach us all over again. Porcupine hair and pride ... I sure didn't see that one coming ... wow, God, wow.
I've written a great deal in this blog about the ups and downs of having diabetes, and about some of the not-so-fun side effects of the various medications that I must take on a daily basis. Most of them have been manageable, albeit not fun, and usually subside after a few days or weeks. One of those side effects, though, is one that began a year or so ago, isn't going away, and involves my hair ... yep, the one thing I prided (key word, prided) myself on my whole life. The gal who has done my hair for over 15 years was the one who noticed it first, and I think I may always remember her words ... words that knocked the wind out of me. "Your hair is getting really thin in some spots, Terrie, probably because of your medication." And over the last year, my hair has gotten thinner and thinner and thinner in some spots, so thin that my hairdresser finally cut it really short, telling me that was the only way to make me look like I have more hair.
At first it bothered me a bit ... OK ... it bothered me a lot that my hair was thinning and for a while I had nightmares of bald spots and wigs and people staring and pointing at me and my lessening hair. But eventually, I've grown to really like my short, spiky do ... it's super easy to take care of, all I have to do is put this gel stuff in it, run my fingers through it and I'm done. I still worry about going bald, but the short do makes the thinning less noticeable, at least for now anyway. I get a lot of compliments on my hair, both on the cut and the color ... guess it's not every day that people see an older gray-haired gal with such a hip haircut.
Yesterday morning when I got ready to leave for work, I looked in the mirror and said out loud ... "Julie and Ollie, I'm having a really, really good hair day. Yep, my hair is looking fine today!" And remember how I said I always prided myself on my hair? Well, last night was crazy hair night at Awana, and most of the kids had ... well ... they had crazy hair. Some had their hair all spiked up; some had crazy bows and headbands on; some had weird colors sprayed in their hair. A lot of the leaders had their hair crazy, too, including some really funky looking wigs. So I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised by the comments of a couple of little boys when I was helping them with their Bible verses. One of them said, "Cool! You have porcupine hair for crazy hair night!" And before I could say a word, the other little boy said, "No, she doesn't. She always has porcupine hair." So much for priding myself on my hair, huh?
I've thought all day about those two little boys and their matter-of-fact commentary about my spiky hair. And I've thought all day about how open and honest little kids are ... they generally say exactly what they think, without reservation and without filters. And I've thought all day about pride and how even when I think I have completely dealt with the issue of pride in my life, God allows two little boys telling me I have porcupine hair to teach me again that pride can lurk in places within me where I never imagined it could. My dad used to say that when a person thinks they've learned all they can learn about God and how humble He really wants us to be, He finds a way to teach us all over again. Porcupine hair and pride ... I sure didn't see that one coming ... wow, God, wow.
"When pride comes, then comes dishonor, but with the humble is wisdom." Proverbs 11:2
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Where You Found Me
As a parent, there are no words to begin to describe the terror that grips your soul when you can't find your child. And as a parent of three kiddos who are close in age, I experienced that feeling more than once during the years when they were young. I don't know if the kids remember those times, but I sure do ... I sure do. One of those instances involved Bradley, and for some reason, that particular time has been on my mind a lot lately. In fact, I've thought about it so much that I could even tell you the clothes that Brad had on the afternoon that it happened. Obviously, the event left a huge imprint on my brain at the time it occurred, and obviously, the fact that God keeps bringing it back to the forefront of my conscious thinking must mean that there's still a lesson for me in it. That's just like God, you know, to bring something back to our hearts and minds that happened a long time ago so that He can teach us another truth or lesson ... that's just like Him.
Brad was the one of my kids who could sleep anywhere when he was little, as long as he had his yellow blanket and his pacie. He could sleep on the floor, in the car, outside in the grass ... you name a spot, and my Bradley could sleep there. So I suppose that what happened that afternoon so many years ago shouldn't have surprised me ... or frightened me to death either. Matt, Brad and Meghann had been playing downstairs in our finished basement, the basement that was the ultimate playroom for little kids. Their dad built them this giant wooden thing that was half little boy-sized fort and half little-girl sized dollhouse. They had one of those big plastic jungle gyms with a slide, and a plastic workshop and plastic kitchen. One whole wall of the basement was lined with shelves to hold all their toys, and they had a little cubby under the stairs that they turned into the Lego room. It really was an awesome place for the kiddos to play, and they spent countless hours in that basement when they were young. It was late afternoon when I went downstairs to take them some snacks and discovered that Brad wasn't in the basement with Matt and Meghann. When I asked them where he was, Matt said that Brad got mad and went upstairs a while ago.
I went upstairs to check in his room ... no Brad. I went from bedroom to bedroom ... no Brad. I went through the family room, office, dining room, laundry room, kitchen, closets and the bathrooms ... no Brad. I went to the garage and out in the yard ... no Brad. By then, the terror and panic began to engulf me as I again went from room to room calling Brad's name ... no Brad. Now the thing about Brad when he was little? He would get mad and pout for a really long time. It would have been so like him to have been hiding somewhere, waiting to jump out and scare me when I walked by. I'm not sure how long it was until I found Brad, but by the time I did, I was frantic ... and actually, it was Matt who discovered him curled up with his blanket in a tiny little space between the wall and the china cabinet in the dining room. My little middle kiddo had simply crawled into what he considered to be a good spot and taken a nap, completely oblivious to my search or my overwhelming fear that some harm had befallen him.
So here's the thing ... in Brad's mind, he was just sleeping ... he wasn't lost at all, he was just mad and tired and sleepy. In this mother's mind, however, my son was missing ... perhaps wounded or frightened, but he was definitely lost. A song on a CD this morning caused me to think once again about the scene with Brad ... when I found him, I scooped him into my arms and carried him into the family room, sat in the recliner, and rocked my little boy found. And as I did, you can be assured that I shed many a tear of gratitude that he was safe within my arms. Now later, I had a stern chat with Brad about telling me before he decided to curl up and snooze somewhere, but at that moment, I was beyond thankful that my lost son had been found.
I think that's the way it is with me and God sometimes ... I don't realize how lost I am. I think I'm simply tired of the trials of life, or I work myself into a tight spot and want to close my eyes, not even attempt to get out and just go to sleep. I wrap myself in my blanket and feel all safe and cozy, and then, before I know it, I'm asleep and have no clue that God has been searching for me and calling out my name. God knows I need to be found, and I don't even recognize that I'm lost because I'm asleep in my little tight spot ... whoa ... there's a powerful lesson there for me ... friends, and maybe for some of you as well.
Brad was the one of my kids who could sleep anywhere when he was little, as long as he had his yellow blanket and his pacie. He could sleep on the floor, in the car, outside in the grass ... you name a spot, and my Bradley could sleep there. So I suppose that what happened that afternoon so many years ago shouldn't have surprised me ... or frightened me to death either. Matt, Brad and Meghann had been playing downstairs in our finished basement, the basement that was the ultimate playroom for little kids. Their dad built them this giant wooden thing that was half little boy-sized fort and half little-girl sized dollhouse. They had one of those big plastic jungle gyms with a slide, and a plastic workshop and plastic kitchen. One whole wall of the basement was lined with shelves to hold all their toys, and they had a little cubby under the stairs that they turned into the Lego room. It really was an awesome place for the kiddos to play, and they spent countless hours in that basement when they were young. It was late afternoon when I went downstairs to take them some snacks and discovered that Brad wasn't in the basement with Matt and Meghann. When I asked them where he was, Matt said that Brad got mad and went upstairs a while ago.
I went upstairs to check in his room ... no Brad. I went from bedroom to bedroom ... no Brad. I went through the family room, office, dining room, laundry room, kitchen, closets and the bathrooms ... no Brad. I went to the garage and out in the yard ... no Brad. By then, the terror and panic began to engulf me as I again went from room to room calling Brad's name ... no Brad. Now the thing about Brad when he was little? He would get mad and pout for a really long time. It would have been so like him to have been hiding somewhere, waiting to jump out and scare me when I walked by. I'm not sure how long it was until I found Brad, but by the time I did, I was frantic ... and actually, it was Matt who discovered him curled up with his blanket in a tiny little space between the wall and the china cabinet in the dining room. My little middle kiddo had simply crawled into what he considered to be a good spot and taken a nap, completely oblivious to my search or my overwhelming fear that some harm had befallen him.
So here's the thing ... in Brad's mind, he was just sleeping ... he wasn't lost at all, he was just mad and tired and sleepy. In this mother's mind, however, my son was missing ... perhaps wounded or frightened, but he was definitely lost. A song on a CD this morning caused me to think once again about the scene with Brad ... when I found him, I scooped him into my arms and carried him into the family room, sat in the recliner, and rocked my little boy found. And as I did, you can be assured that I shed many a tear of gratitude that he was safe within my arms. Now later, I had a stern chat with Brad about telling me before he decided to curl up and snooze somewhere, but at that moment, I was beyond thankful that my lost son had been found.
I think that's the way it is with me and God sometimes ... I don't realize how lost I am. I think I'm simply tired of the trials of life, or I work myself into a tight spot and want to close my eyes, not even attempt to get out and just go to sleep. I wrap myself in my blanket and feel all safe and cozy, and then, before I know it, I'm asleep and have no clue that God has been searching for me and calling out my name. God knows I need to be found, and I don't even recognize that I'm lost because I'm asleep in my little tight spot ... whoa ... there's a powerful lesson there for me ... friends, and maybe for some of you as well.
"Lost is where You found me
Shattered and frail
But You love me still
Trouble may surround me
My heart may fail
But You never will
You never will.
Shattered and frail
But You love me still
Trouble may surround me
My heart may fail
But You never will
You never will.
You lifted me out
You lifted me out
And set me dancing, dancing
Free, now I am free
Your love rescued me
Now it's the anthem I'm singing."
You lifted me out
And set me dancing, dancing
Free, now I am free
Your love rescued me
Now it's the anthem I'm singing."
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
One of Us
When I began writing this blog back in 2008, I did so because the guy who created the website for my speaking ministry told me I needed to write a blog. I was really half-hearted about it, though, and only posted 36 entries for the entire first two years. Then one of my doctors last year asked me to blog twice a week and he asked me to be extremely real and transparent in my posts, saying that it would be "good therapy" for me in my struggle with depression. So in 2010, I penned 100 posts. I never anticipated that this blog would resonate with so many people, or that God had such a purpose and plan for the words He places on my heart to share ... seems I so very often underestimate Him. Today's post is number 221 for 2011 to date, and God graciously continues to provide ideas and words for several posts each week. Even more, however, God uses this blog to cause me to be open, honest, real and transparent ... I quite often share things that I've kept hidden for years, locked away behind the walls of fear or pride or shame. I've felt God's prodding and urging on many occasions to speak out on certain issues or to reveal my own personal battles.
I know this may surprise many of you, but when I was young, I was an introvert in the truest sense of the word. I was never one of the popular kids ... never. In fact, I was one of those kids the other kids made fun of and teased because I had a speech problem. It wasn't until the early years of junior high school that I was able to speak clearly, but by then the wounds that were inflicted by my peers caused me to be withdrawn and afraid to trust anyone. It was several years before I ventured out of my protective shell and began to be included in groups and activities, and I can remember like it was yesterday lying in my bed wishing so badly to belong. Perhaps I remember those feelings like they were yesterday because, as I've previously written, I am acutely aware that I don't fit or belong anywhere anymore. A woman who attended the retreat last weekend asked me to pray for her ... she told me of some physical issues she has, saying, "No one wants to be around me anymore. I understand why, but it hurts all the same to be so alone." If you're reading this blog, dear one, please know that I am praying for you and that I truly do understand how you feel.
It's not a coincidence that God called a gal who had a hard time speaking in front of anyone to eventually become a speaker ... nothing He does is ever a coincidence but part of His much greater plan for my life. Nor was it a coincidence that when the women gathered around me last Sunday morning to pray as I knelt sobbing before them that one of the ladies uttered some words that have had a huge impact on me this week. A young woman led the prayer time, asking God to strengthen and bless me, and I heard the other women agreeing with her requests on my behalf. And then ... then I heard one of the ladies say, "She is one of us, Lord, she is one of us." Once again, I heard the other women speaking in agreement, "Yes, Lord, she is one of us."
I haven't been able to get those words out of my mind or my heart, and every time I think of them, tears spring to my eyes. I am certain the dear woman who uttered those words had no idea that God was using her to touch the depths of my soul in such a mighty and powerful way or how much I appreciated what she said. I am sure that she didn't know how often I feel so alone now, how much I miss the relationships I once had, how much I don't belong. The more I've thought about the words of this sister in the Lord, the more I realize how important they really are. "She is one of us" ... shouldn't that be the cry of all who are believers? Shouldn't we all be included and loved and accepted and welcomed and treasured and cared for and encouraged and lifted up? Shouldn't we obey the command in God's Word to love one another as He loves us? Seriously ... shouldn't we?
"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: if either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12
I know this may surprise many of you, but when I was young, I was an introvert in the truest sense of the word. I was never one of the popular kids ... never. In fact, I was one of those kids the other kids made fun of and teased because I had a speech problem. It wasn't until the early years of junior high school that I was able to speak clearly, but by then the wounds that were inflicted by my peers caused me to be withdrawn and afraid to trust anyone. It was several years before I ventured out of my protective shell and began to be included in groups and activities, and I can remember like it was yesterday lying in my bed wishing so badly to belong. Perhaps I remember those feelings like they were yesterday because, as I've previously written, I am acutely aware that I don't fit or belong anywhere anymore. A woman who attended the retreat last weekend asked me to pray for her ... she told me of some physical issues she has, saying, "No one wants to be around me anymore. I understand why, but it hurts all the same to be so alone." If you're reading this blog, dear one, please know that I am praying for you and that I truly do understand how you feel.
It's not a coincidence that God called a gal who had a hard time speaking in front of anyone to eventually become a speaker ... nothing He does is ever a coincidence but part of His much greater plan for my life. Nor was it a coincidence that when the women gathered around me last Sunday morning to pray as I knelt sobbing before them that one of the ladies uttered some words that have had a huge impact on me this week. A young woman led the prayer time, asking God to strengthen and bless me, and I heard the other women agreeing with her requests on my behalf. And then ... then I heard one of the ladies say, "She is one of us, Lord, she is one of us." Once again, I heard the other women speaking in agreement, "Yes, Lord, she is one of us."
I haven't been able to get those words out of my mind or my heart, and every time I think of them, tears spring to my eyes. I am certain the dear woman who uttered those words had no idea that God was using her to touch the depths of my soul in such a mighty and powerful way or how much I appreciated what she said. I am sure that she didn't know how often I feel so alone now, how much I miss the relationships I once had, how much I don't belong. The more I've thought about the words of this sister in the Lord, the more I realize how important they really are. "She is one of us" ... shouldn't that be the cry of all who are believers? Shouldn't we all be included and loved and accepted and welcomed and treasured and cared for and encouraged and lifted up? Shouldn't we obey the command in God's Word to love one another as He loves us? Seriously ... shouldn't we?
"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: if either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12
Monday, November 7, 2011
All Abuzz
Most of the time, I don't have the opportunity to meet any of the ladies involved in planning an event where I am asked to speak, mainly because of logistics ... we live too far apart to pop into a coffee shop for a meet and greet. Many of the women contact me through one of the speakers' websites that I am a member of or through the recommendation of another group for which I've spoken. But occasionally, I have the opportunity to sit down and chat with one or more of the women in charge of organizing the retreat or brunch or luncheon. Such was the case a few weeks ago when I had the true blessing of meeting the gals who planned the retreat that took place in Branson last weekend. We met at a restaurant not far from my house after work one evening for dinner ... well, they ate dinner and I watched and talked.
I had just returned from the weekend I spent in Edna, Kansas ... those of you who are faithful readers will remember that on my drive home from Edna, a gigantic, enormous, monster-sized black and yellow bee flew into my car and stung me on the forehead. For those of you who missed that post, it's titled Crossing the Line and it recounts my traumatic experience with said bee. Perhaps because the encounter was still so vivid in my mind (and on my forehead) the night I met the gals for dinner, I shared with the ladies what had happened to me. And ... I made sure to tell them how gigantically enormously monster-sized the bee was, complete with "the bee was this big!" measurements with my hands. We had a good laugh together about the bee incident, and they teased me about how the bee would grow in size each time I told the story.
When I arrived at the lodge on Friday afternoon, I went inside to make sure I was at the right place. The ladies from the planning team greeted me with smiles and hugs, and then they unloaded my car ... yep, I didn't have to lift a finger because they carried everything in for me. One of the gals gave me a tour of the top floor while another told me I couldn't see my room just yet. Eventually, they took me to my room and as I stepped in the door, a camera flashed and caught my expression as I saw a gigantic, enormous, monster-sized bee attached to the light above my bed ... what an incredibly fun way to begin my weekend with this group of ladies! I was told that when they left the restaurant the night I met them for dinner, they all decided that there must be a bee waiting for me when I came to the retreat. One of the gals found a dog's bee Halloween costume, stuffed it and stitched it together and added a head with eyes, antennae and a scary mouth ... creative and absolutely hilarious. "Bumbles the Giagantic, Enormous, Monster-sized Bee" rode back to Kansas City with me tucked securely into Ollie's doggie car seat, and I've decided that Bumbles will be accompanying me to many of my speaking events in the future.
In my last post, I wrote about how God moved last weekend, not only in the hearts of the women attending, but in my own heart as well. Needless to say, I've had the events of the retreat on my mind all day today, and it was as I was driving home this evening in the rain (and the darkness since the time changed last weekend) that another truth presented itself to me. Those ladies listened to me that night at dinner, but they did more than just listen ... they heard my heart, and they understood my earnest desire for their retreat to be richly blessed by God. They felt my longing to serve our Lord together, and they embraced my passion for women's ministry. They even appreciated my unusual sense of humor ... come on ... they made and hung a giant bee from the ceiling for me. And to prove that God has a sense of humor as well, right after I shared the bee story at the beginning of Saturday evening's session with the ladies who were attending the retreat, a moth flew by the side of my head and scared the daylights out of me ... a gigantic, enormous, monster-sized moth.
Here's the thing ... those sweet ladies got it that night at dinner ... they listened and heard and got it. As I pulled into the garage this evening, I thought ... I would do well to learn from those gals, Lord, I would do well indeed. So here's to gigantic, enormous, monster-sized bees ... here's to smiles and laughter and fun ... here's to new friends ... here's to serving an awesome God Who brings the right people to the right place at the right time. Perfection, Lord ... You are true perfection.
I had just returned from the weekend I spent in Edna, Kansas ... those of you who are faithful readers will remember that on my drive home from Edna, a gigantic, enormous, monster-sized black and yellow bee flew into my car and stung me on the forehead. For those of you who missed that post, it's titled Crossing the Line and it recounts my traumatic experience with said bee. Perhaps because the encounter was still so vivid in my mind (and on my forehead) the night I met the gals for dinner, I shared with the ladies what had happened to me. And ... I made sure to tell them how gigantically enormously monster-sized the bee was, complete with "the bee was this big!" measurements with my hands. We had a good laugh together about the bee incident, and they teased me about how the bee would grow in size each time I told the story.
When I arrived at the lodge on Friday afternoon, I went inside to make sure I was at the right place. The ladies from the planning team greeted me with smiles and hugs, and then they unloaded my car ... yep, I didn't have to lift a finger because they carried everything in for me. One of the gals gave me a tour of the top floor while another told me I couldn't see my room just yet. Eventually, they took me to my room and as I stepped in the door, a camera flashed and caught my expression as I saw a gigantic, enormous, monster-sized bee attached to the light above my bed ... what an incredibly fun way to begin my weekend with this group of ladies! I was told that when they left the restaurant the night I met them for dinner, they all decided that there must be a bee waiting for me when I came to the retreat. One of the gals found a dog's bee Halloween costume, stuffed it and stitched it together and added a head with eyes, antennae and a scary mouth ... creative and absolutely hilarious. "Bumbles the Giagantic, Enormous, Monster-sized Bee" rode back to Kansas City with me tucked securely into Ollie's doggie car seat, and I've decided that Bumbles will be accompanying me to many of my speaking events in the future.
In my last post, I wrote about how God moved last weekend, not only in the hearts of the women attending, but in my own heart as well. Needless to say, I've had the events of the retreat on my mind all day today, and it was as I was driving home this evening in the rain (and the darkness since the time changed last weekend) that another truth presented itself to me. Those ladies listened to me that night at dinner, but they did more than just listen ... they heard my heart, and they understood my earnest desire for their retreat to be richly blessed by God. They felt my longing to serve our Lord together, and they embraced my passion for women's ministry. They even appreciated my unusual sense of humor ... come on ... they made and hung a giant bee from the ceiling for me. And to prove that God has a sense of humor as well, right after I shared the bee story at the beginning of Saturday evening's session with the ladies who were attending the retreat, a moth flew by the side of my head and scared the daylights out of me ... a gigantic, enormous, monster-sized moth.
Here's the thing ... those sweet ladies got it that night at dinner ... they listened and heard and got it. As I pulled into the garage this evening, I thought ... I would do well to learn from those gals, Lord, I would do well indeed. So here's to gigantic, enormous, monster-sized bees ... here's to smiles and laughter and fun ... here's to new friends ... here's to serving an awesome God Who brings the right people to the right place at the right time. Perfection, Lord ... You are true perfection.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Let Faith Arise
I have no idea how many women's events I've spoken at over the last 12 years, but I do know that some of those events hold a very special place in my heart. I've met so many women through the years, so many precious and unique women. I've listened to their stories ... some that caused me to smile and laugh, and some that caused me to cry like a baby. I often say that I'm the one who comes away from the events with the greatest blessing ... those ladies don't know how much God uses them to touch me, they just don't know. The event that I spoke at this weekend in Branson was one of the most special retreats I've ever attended. I've got some funny stories to share in upcoming posts, not the least of which involves another giant bee. But this post, this post is about the amazing things I saw God do this weekend.
The purpose of the retreat was to help kick off a women's ministry in a church that hasn't really had any organized women's activities for several years. I was contacted by the gal who heads up the new women's planning team ... a group of seven ladies who most definitely are of one accord when it comes to having a heart for the needs of the women in their church. They worked tirelessly to pull the retreat together, and their efforts were obvious in every little detail ... candles on our pillows, ceramic coffee mugs with each woman's name written on them, beautifully decorated boxes filled with all kinds of things from bandaids to shampoo to tissues to candy and snacks, an outdoor scavenger hunt, lovingly prepared meals, fresh cut flowers in each bedroom, journals for taking notes ... they thought of everything, and they did an incredible job of making each woman feel welcome and special.
From the moment I stepped across the threshold of the lodge on Friday evening, I felt God's presence ... as I unpacked my things, I wondered just what God had in store for the weekend. After a sweet time of prayer with the planning team, I went ahead and ate dinner before most of the women arrived so that I could take my meds and keep my blood sugar level. As the women ate dinner, I wandered from table to table introducing myself and chatting with them. By the time the main session began, I was anxious to see where God would lead the evening. The worship time was such a blessing ... it always moves me to listen as women lift their voices in praise to the Lord, and when that praise is accompanied by the lifting of hands and the sounds of prayer, it's a powerful experience. Our first session was about friendship, and the ladies listened attentively as I spoke. As happens so often to me now, tears filled my eyes more than once and the women passed boxes of Kleenex around the room as their own tears fell as well. When the session was over, the women scattered throughout the lodge ... some eating snacks, some playing games, some talking, some praying. As I turned in for the night, I thanked God for the relationships He was already beginning to build among the women.
Saturday morning began with a long walk for me and a time of prayer and preparation for the day's sessions. Our first session was about service, and my tears returned as I told the story of Russell ... the homeless war veteran I wrote about in the post I Met a Man. After lunch was the scavenger hunt outdoors in the beautiful fall sunshine that filled the woods around the lodge, and then several of the women headed into Branson for some shopping. I spent most of the afternoon sitting outside on the deck chatting with some women from the planning team. It did my heart good to see the passion in their hearts as they talked about their desire for creating a ministry that would touch the lives of the women in their church. The evening session's topic concerned what the women would do when they returned home and how they would follow God's call on their lives to minister to one another and to others. I stayed up way too late playing a really fun game that one of the women had created, laughing and eating peanuts ... really good peanuts.
I've written a great deal over the last year about how God has humbled me, about how much He has broken me and how I've come to understand His desire that I surrender all of me to His will, that there be nothing that comes before Him in my life. The ladies of the planning team had asked that I give a short devotion this morning before we shared in communion and the retreat concluded. As I stood listening to the ladies lift their voices in song, waves of emotion washed over me and tears began streaming down my cheeks. I was completely overwhelmed with the presence of God in the room ... I could feel His spirit ... I could hear Him speaking to me ... I could see Him working in the hearts of other women. The sweet gal standing next to me placed her hand on my back and began to pray for me, and as she did, God's voice sounded loudly in my heart. "Remember you are mine, Terrie, remember my sacrifice for you. Remember that I'm holding you in the palm of my hand, my child, remember. I called you for this purpose, and that call remains. Speak to them of My love ... speak to them of My redeeming grace ... speak to them of Me. I am your strength ... I am your voice ... I am your Savior and your Lord. Trust me, Terrie ... have faith ... humble yourself and have faith in Me ... humble yourself before Me ... humble yourself."
When it was time for me to speak, I struggled to regain my composure but my efforts were in vain as I turned my back toward the women and my tears continued to fall. And then one of the women asked if they could pray for me and asked me to step into the middle of the group. As I walked toward them, I heard Him ... "Kneel before Me. Kneel in My presence." I dropped down on my knee as the women placed their hands on my shoulders, back and head and lifted me before God's throne. When they finished praying, I stood before them, humbled and weeping still, and spoke the devotion that God had placed upon my heart. As I moved from woman to woman serving communion, I understood at least in part the purpose of God's humbling ... my heart needed to be humbled and broken in order for me to serve the bread and the wine that symbolizes the death of my Lord. To further cement His lesson of humility to me, one of the ladies took a tissue and wiped my dripping nose as I served communion.
Thank you, ladies, for including me this weekend ... thank you for allowing God to use you to bless me. And thank You, Lord, for Your grace extended to me, a sinner so unworthy ... let my faith arise, Father, let my faith arise.
The purpose of the retreat was to help kick off a women's ministry in a church that hasn't really had any organized women's activities for several years. I was contacted by the gal who heads up the new women's planning team ... a group of seven ladies who most definitely are of one accord when it comes to having a heart for the needs of the women in their church. They worked tirelessly to pull the retreat together, and their efforts were obvious in every little detail ... candles on our pillows, ceramic coffee mugs with each woman's name written on them, beautifully decorated boxes filled with all kinds of things from bandaids to shampoo to tissues to candy and snacks, an outdoor scavenger hunt, lovingly prepared meals, fresh cut flowers in each bedroom, journals for taking notes ... they thought of everything, and they did an incredible job of making each woman feel welcome and special.
From the moment I stepped across the threshold of the lodge on Friday evening, I felt God's presence ... as I unpacked my things, I wondered just what God had in store for the weekend. After a sweet time of prayer with the planning team, I went ahead and ate dinner before most of the women arrived so that I could take my meds and keep my blood sugar level. As the women ate dinner, I wandered from table to table introducing myself and chatting with them. By the time the main session began, I was anxious to see where God would lead the evening. The worship time was such a blessing ... it always moves me to listen as women lift their voices in praise to the Lord, and when that praise is accompanied by the lifting of hands and the sounds of prayer, it's a powerful experience. Our first session was about friendship, and the ladies listened attentively as I spoke. As happens so often to me now, tears filled my eyes more than once and the women passed boxes of Kleenex around the room as their own tears fell as well. When the session was over, the women scattered throughout the lodge ... some eating snacks, some playing games, some talking, some praying. As I turned in for the night, I thanked God for the relationships He was already beginning to build among the women.
Saturday morning began with a long walk for me and a time of prayer and preparation for the day's sessions. Our first session was about service, and my tears returned as I told the story of Russell ... the homeless war veteran I wrote about in the post I Met a Man. After lunch was the scavenger hunt outdoors in the beautiful fall sunshine that filled the woods around the lodge, and then several of the women headed into Branson for some shopping. I spent most of the afternoon sitting outside on the deck chatting with some women from the planning team. It did my heart good to see the passion in their hearts as they talked about their desire for creating a ministry that would touch the lives of the women in their church. The evening session's topic concerned what the women would do when they returned home and how they would follow God's call on their lives to minister to one another and to others. I stayed up way too late playing a really fun game that one of the women had created, laughing and eating peanuts ... really good peanuts.
I've written a great deal over the last year about how God has humbled me, about how much He has broken me and how I've come to understand His desire that I surrender all of me to His will, that there be nothing that comes before Him in my life. The ladies of the planning team had asked that I give a short devotion this morning before we shared in communion and the retreat concluded. As I stood listening to the ladies lift their voices in song, waves of emotion washed over me and tears began streaming down my cheeks. I was completely overwhelmed with the presence of God in the room ... I could feel His spirit ... I could hear Him speaking to me ... I could see Him working in the hearts of other women. The sweet gal standing next to me placed her hand on my back and began to pray for me, and as she did, God's voice sounded loudly in my heart. "Remember you are mine, Terrie, remember my sacrifice for you. Remember that I'm holding you in the palm of my hand, my child, remember. I called you for this purpose, and that call remains. Speak to them of My love ... speak to them of My redeeming grace ... speak to them of Me. I am your strength ... I am your voice ... I am your Savior and your Lord. Trust me, Terrie ... have faith ... humble yourself and have faith in Me ... humble yourself before Me ... humble yourself."
When it was time for me to speak, I struggled to regain my composure but my efforts were in vain as I turned my back toward the women and my tears continued to fall. And then one of the women asked if they could pray for me and asked me to step into the middle of the group. As I walked toward them, I heard Him ... "Kneel before Me. Kneel in My presence." I dropped down on my knee as the women placed their hands on my shoulders, back and head and lifted me before God's throne. When they finished praying, I stood before them, humbled and weeping still, and spoke the devotion that God had placed upon my heart. As I moved from woman to woman serving communion, I understood at least in part the purpose of God's humbling ... my heart needed to be humbled and broken in order for me to serve the bread and the wine that symbolizes the death of my Lord. To further cement His lesson of humility to me, one of the ladies took a tissue and wiped my dripping nose as I served communion.
Thank you, ladies, for including me this weekend ... thank you for allowing God to use you to bless me. And thank You, Lord, for Your grace extended to me, a sinner so unworthy ... let my faith arise, Father, let my faith arise.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Branson Bound
Even though I live within a few hours of Branson, Missouri, I've been there one time in all the 21 years I've lived in Kansas City. And it's probably been 10 or more years since I made that trip along with my artist friend and her son Tommy and my son Matt. We traveled to Silver Dollar City to spend the day signing the poetry/art prints that Becky and I created together. The boys spent the day eating and riding the rides in the park, checking in with us every hour or so. It was a very fun trip ... it was in late October, and the weather was incredible that day. We met a ton of people as we signed prints, and the manager of the park treated us like rock stars ... we had a blast.
I'm heading back to Branson today to speak at a women's retreat for the weekend. The group of gals rented a lodge that resides on a 500-acre ranch ... sounds like my kind of place for sure. I'm looking forward to getting away for a couple of days ... to hanging out in the country, to listening to what God has to say, to jumping off the grind of daily life for a bit.
So ... have a good weekend, friends ... I'm quite sure that if I decide to come back to the real world, I'll return with some stories to share. You know me ... I hear stories on every corner, and I'm thinking there's a good chance I'll hear some in the woods over the next couple of days.
I'm heading back to Branson today to speak at a women's retreat for the weekend. The group of gals rented a lodge that resides on a 500-acre ranch ... sounds like my kind of place for sure. I'm looking forward to getting away for a couple of days ... to hanging out in the country, to listening to what God has to say, to jumping off the grind of daily life for a bit.
So ... have a good weekend, friends ... I'm quite sure that if I decide to come back to the real world, I'll return with some stories to share. You know me ... I hear stories on every corner, and I'm thinking there's a good chance I'll hear some in the woods over the next couple of days.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Playing With Fire
Over the nine years that I've worked at my current job, occasionally I've needed to help out with tasks other than copy editing. Some of them I didn't enjoy at all, others I learned to develop a certain level of appreciation for, and a few I completely loved doing ... like building a fire in the wood-burning fireplace on cold wintry days. I'm good at building fires, too, which may be why I've been dubbed "Master Firebuilder" by some folks in my office. There's an art to creating a raging fire ... laying the wood the correct way, using enough kindling, placing the newspaper in the most strategic areas ... everything has to be just right in order for the wood to ignite and create a roaring blaze.
This morning, I was freezing when I walked into my office from the parking lot, so after dropping off my things at my desk I immediately headed downstairs to build a fire. And after building the fire, I sat on the hearth in front of it trying to get warm. That's another side effect of my diabetes ... I've lost so much weight that I'm cold to the bone when the temps drop outside, and I have a really hard time getting warm. It wasn't long until the fire was blazing, and as I used the fireplace utensils to stoke it up even more and throw on a couple more logs, one of the owners of my company walked up and said, "You certainly love playing with that fire, don't you?" I smiled and replied, "You bet I do!" And every hour or so throughout the day, I would head back downstairs and add more wood to the fire.
I've been thinking all day about the owner's words this morning ... about how much I love playing with the fire at the office. And, of course, in pondering the literal fireplace, I started thinking about how many times in life I've had the following words spoken to me ... "You're playing with fire, Terrie," concerning certain situations I've gotten involved in or people I've associated with throughout the course of my life. Sometimes, the warning was given in love and was appropriate and needed to keep me from getting burned by the flames of sin. But at other times, the warning was spoken with a critical spirit and from a place of judgment and only served to wound me or produce an unwarranted sense of guilt or despair.
As I drove home this evening, I couldn't help but think that for all the times I've played with the fire at work, not once have I ever gotten burned. I haven't gotten burned because I don't ever stick my hand in the fire ... I don't ever sit too close to the fire ... I don't ever get near the fire without the protection of the heavy woven curtain securely in place. And yet in life, there are times when I jump right into the fire ... forget sticking my hand in or sitting too close or having a strong covering in front of the fire ... I jump right into the middle of the flames. Just like the roaring fire in the fireplace at my office beckons me on a cold day, there are times when the fires of sin and disobedience try their best to draw me in. It's an interesting beast ... temptation ... I can rationalize and justify and make excuses all day long when I get too close to that fire, but when it's all said and done, if I give in and get into the fire, I still get burned.
"No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, so that you will be able to endure it." 1 Corinthians 10:13
This morning, I was freezing when I walked into my office from the parking lot, so after dropping off my things at my desk I immediately headed downstairs to build a fire. And after building the fire, I sat on the hearth in front of it trying to get warm. That's another side effect of my diabetes ... I've lost so much weight that I'm cold to the bone when the temps drop outside, and I have a really hard time getting warm. It wasn't long until the fire was blazing, and as I used the fireplace utensils to stoke it up even more and throw on a couple more logs, one of the owners of my company walked up and said, "You certainly love playing with that fire, don't you?" I smiled and replied, "You bet I do!" And every hour or so throughout the day, I would head back downstairs and add more wood to the fire.
I've been thinking all day about the owner's words this morning ... about how much I love playing with the fire at the office. And, of course, in pondering the literal fireplace, I started thinking about how many times in life I've had the following words spoken to me ... "You're playing with fire, Terrie," concerning certain situations I've gotten involved in or people I've associated with throughout the course of my life. Sometimes, the warning was given in love and was appropriate and needed to keep me from getting burned by the flames of sin. But at other times, the warning was spoken with a critical spirit and from a place of judgment and only served to wound me or produce an unwarranted sense of guilt or despair.
As I drove home this evening, I couldn't help but think that for all the times I've played with the fire at work, not once have I ever gotten burned. I haven't gotten burned because I don't ever stick my hand in the fire ... I don't ever sit too close to the fire ... I don't ever get near the fire without the protection of the heavy woven curtain securely in place. And yet in life, there are times when I jump right into the fire ... forget sticking my hand in or sitting too close or having a strong covering in front of the fire ... I jump right into the middle of the flames. Just like the roaring fire in the fireplace at my office beckons me on a cold day, there are times when the fires of sin and disobedience try their best to draw me in. It's an interesting beast ... temptation ... I can rationalize and justify and make excuses all day long when I get too close to that fire, but when it's all said and done, if I give in and get into the fire, I still get burned.
"No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, so that you will be able to endure it." 1 Corinthians 10:13
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Take Off My Shoes
My mom loved shoes. When my brother and sister cleaned out her house when it sold, they discovered that Mom had hundreds of pairs of shoes tucked away in every closet in the house. She had every kind of shoe you can imagine ... from old, pointed-toe dress shoes to athletic shoes in every style known to mankind to house slippers in a wide array of colors to work shoes to sandals ... literally every kind and color of shoe you can think of, Mom had them. I didn't inherit Mom's love for shoes ... I've never cared much about shoes at all. As long as they fit and didn't have holes in them, that was all that mattered to me. Well, until a couple of years ago.
One of the side effects I have from years of having undiagnosed diabetes is that my feet hurt and tingle from neuropathy ... a lot ... so now I pay a great deal more attention to the shoes that I place on my feet. I probably bought 10 different pairs of athletic shoes before a shoe salesman told me I needed to purchase trail shoes to wear for my nightly walks. I have several pairs of dress shoes ... only because sometimes I am forced to wear them for certain occasions. That was a quest in and of itself ... finding dress shoes that didn't cause my feet to ache and throb to the point that I could barely stand to walk. I don't like that I have to think so much about shoes now, and I miss the days when I could just wear any old pair and be just fine. But every once in a while, I see a glimmer of Mom in me as I discover a pair of shoes that brings pure delight to my soul. Such was the case a week or so ago when I decided that I needed a pair of old-fashioned Converse tennis shoes.
I had a 30% coupon combined with some Kohl's cash (translated, that means I spent a significant amount of money at Kohl's the weekend before on clothes and received Kohl's cash for every $50 I spent), so I opted to go shoe shopping. I was a bit overwhelmed when I quickly discovered upon my arrival to the shoe department that Converse tennis shoes now come in a vast array of colors and styles. I spent over an hour trying on shoes ... an hour, friends, which is a long time for me to shop for anything. I finally narrowed my choice down to two pair of Converse ... one the traditional black and white, and one a light gray with frayed edges and pastel colors as accents. I ultimately decided it was an impossible choice between the two, so I bought them both. And I absolutely love, love, love, love, love those shoes ... they are unbelievably comfortable, and they are quite stylish as well. The problem now is that I don't want to wear any other kind of shoes ... I want to wear my Converse tennies all the time.
This morning as I drove to work, I was tapping my foot (in my Converse shoes, of course) to a song that came on during my iPod shuffle, when the words gave me pause to think about my strong connection to my newly purchased shoes. It's by Philips Craig & Dean, and it's titled "Spirit of God." The following lines struck me, completely struck me, as I headed down the highway.
"Take off your shoes and stand in awe
Bow our hearts to the mighty God
He is near, the spirit of God is here."
So here's the thing ... I really, really, really love my Converse shoes, and I don't want to take them off. But there are times when I have to remove them, when it's not appropriate for me to have them on. As I walked into my office, my brain was pulsing with the lesson, with the truth that God wanted me to absorb today. It was almost as if I could hear Him speaking the words from Exodus 3 directly to me, cautioning me to pay attention to where I am standing. And all day, I've been wondering if I don't pay attention to Him ... if I don't see Him ... if I don't hear Him ... if I don't honor Him ... if I don't trust Him because I'm standing in a place where I don't want to take off my shoes, a place where I don't want to stand on holy ground, a place where I don't want to bow my heart, a place where I don't want to feel His spirit. My prayer tonight? That God would lead me to holy ground and that I would take off my shoes and stand in His presence.
“'Do not come any closer,' God said. 'Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.' Then He said, 'I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.'" Exodus 3:5-6
One of the side effects I have from years of having undiagnosed diabetes is that my feet hurt and tingle from neuropathy ... a lot ... so now I pay a great deal more attention to the shoes that I place on my feet. I probably bought 10 different pairs of athletic shoes before a shoe salesman told me I needed to purchase trail shoes to wear for my nightly walks. I have several pairs of dress shoes ... only because sometimes I am forced to wear them for certain occasions. That was a quest in and of itself ... finding dress shoes that didn't cause my feet to ache and throb to the point that I could barely stand to walk. I don't like that I have to think so much about shoes now, and I miss the days when I could just wear any old pair and be just fine. But every once in a while, I see a glimmer of Mom in me as I discover a pair of shoes that brings pure delight to my soul. Such was the case a week or so ago when I decided that I needed a pair of old-fashioned Converse tennis shoes.
I had a 30% coupon combined with some Kohl's cash (translated, that means I spent a significant amount of money at Kohl's the weekend before on clothes and received Kohl's cash for every $50 I spent), so I opted to go shoe shopping. I was a bit overwhelmed when I quickly discovered upon my arrival to the shoe department that Converse tennis shoes now come in a vast array of colors and styles. I spent over an hour trying on shoes ... an hour, friends, which is a long time for me to shop for anything. I finally narrowed my choice down to two pair of Converse ... one the traditional black and white, and one a light gray with frayed edges and pastel colors as accents. I ultimately decided it was an impossible choice between the two, so I bought them both. And I absolutely love, love, love, love, love those shoes ... they are unbelievably comfortable, and they are quite stylish as well. The problem now is that I don't want to wear any other kind of shoes ... I want to wear my Converse tennies all the time.
This morning as I drove to work, I was tapping my foot (in my Converse shoes, of course) to a song that came on during my iPod shuffle, when the words gave me pause to think about my strong connection to my newly purchased shoes. It's by Philips Craig & Dean, and it's titled "Spirit of God." The following lines struck me, completely struck me, as I headed down the highway.
"Take off your shoes and stand in awe
Bow our hearts to the mighty God
He is near, the spirit of God is here."
So here's the thing ... I really, really, really love my Converse shoes, and I don't want to take them off. But there are times when I have to remove them, when it's not appropriate for me to have them on. As I walked into my office, my brain was pulsing with the lesson, with the truth that God wanted me to absorb today. It was almost as if I could hear Him speaking the words from Exodus 3 directly to me, cautioning me to pay attention to where I am standing. And all day, I've been wondering if I don't pay attention to Him ... if I don't see Him ... if I don't hear Him ... if I don't honor Him ... if I don't trust Him because I'm standing in a place where I don't want to take off my shoes, a place where I don't want to stand on holy ground, a place where I don't want to bow my heart, a place where I don't want to feel His spirit. My prayer tonight? That God would lead me to holy ground and that I would take off my shoes and stand in His presence.
“'Do not come any closer,' God said. 'Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.' Then He said, 'I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.'" Exodus 3:5-6
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Reach Out Ranch
When I was in junior high, I had a major crush on a boy named Matt ... obviously I loved the name as much as the boy, because Matt is my oldest son's name. I was completely infatuated with the Matt from my youth ... he had eyes so brown they were almost black, and long hair that he always pushed away from his face. He was what my mom would have called "lanky" ... tall and thin, and he kind of sauntered along when he walked. Yep, I had a thing for that boy for sure that lasted into my high school years. It was only natural that when someone invited me to go to a Bible study that Matt attended on a regular basis, I jumped at the chance ... not because I cared even a little bit about studying the Bible, but because I saw it as an opportunity to be near the young man who was the object of my desire.
The place where the Bible study was held was called Reach Out Ranch, and we met in an old barn that the owners of the ranch had cleaned out and fixed up for the specific purpose of having Bible studies there. The study was on Tuesday nights, and several of us took turns driving since the ranch was on the other side of town from where we all lived. There were a couple of different people who alternated teaching the lesson each week, and I couldn't even begin to tell you what we studied. I do remember, though, that the lady who most often led the study had a different approach to studying the Bible than any I had experienced before. She talked about how God's Word needed to be studied word by word and precept upon precept. I remember being fascinated with the way she would tie the stories in the Bible together and show how they all built upon one another ... it was amazing to me the way the whole Bible came alive when she taught, and how it all seemed to fit together ... word by word, precept upon precept.
Sometimes I don't see the forest for the trees ... and that part of my personality was present when I was young as well. Each week I went to that Bible study and had no clue of the powerful teaching I was being exposed to ... you see, Reach Out Ranch went on to become Precept Ministries International, and the lady who taught those Bible studies was Kay Arthur. For those of you who don't know about Precept or who Kay Arthur is ... buzz over to Google and find out ... there's way too much stuff to put in this post. I sat there in that renovated barn for several years listening to one of the greatest Bible scholars and teachers of all time ... and I missed it ... I completely and totally missed it.
As I drove home tonight, I couldn't stop thinking about Reach Out Ranch, and I realized that not only did I miss the significance of attending a Bible study led by Kay Arthur in my youth, I also missed the deep meaning behind the original name of Precept Ministries ... Reach Out Ranch. The Arthurs bought the property in 1970 and began the ministry to reach out ... first to youth, then to adults ... to reach out and share the truths of God's Word in a relevant and life-changing way. I couldn't help but think about the people in my life over the years who reached out to me, who wouldn't let me go, who wanted desperately for me to have a relationship with Jesus Christ. And I couldn't help but think about all those who are lonely or wounded or sick or desperate or lost and need someone to reach out to them.
Thank You, Lord, for sending people to reach out to me ... thank You for sowing the seed of Your Word in my heart all those years ago ... thank You for holding me and keeping me and saving me ... thank You, Lord ... thank You.
The place where the Bible study was held was called Reach Out Ranch, and we met in an old barn that the owners of the ranch had cleaned out and fixed up for the specific purpose of having Bible studies there. The study was on Tuesday nights, and several of us took turns driving since the ranch was on the other side of town from where we all lived. There were a couple of different people who alternated teaching the lesson each week, and I couldn't even begin to tell you what we studied. I do remember, though, that the lady who most often led the study had a different approach to studying the Bible than any I had experienced before. She talked about how God's Word needed to be studied word by word and precept upon precept. I remember being fascinated with the way she would tie the stories in the Bible together and show how they all built upon one another ... it was amazing to me the way the whole Bible came alive when she taught, and how it all seemed to fit together ... word by word, precept upon precept.
Sometimes I don't see the forest for the trees ... and that part of my personality was present when I was young as well. Each week I went to that Bible study and had no clue of the powerful teaching I was being exposed to ... you see, Reach Out Ranch went on to become Precept Ministries International, and the lady who taught those Bible studies was Kay Arthur. For those of you who don't know about Precept or who Kay Arthur is ... buzz over to Google and find out ... there's way too much stuff to put in this post. I sat there in that renovated barn for several years listening to one of the greatest Bible scholars and teachers of all time ... and I missed it ... I completely and totally missed it.
As I drove home tonight, I couldn't stop thinking about Reach Out Ranch, and I realized that not only did I miss the significance of attending a Bible study led by Kay Arthur in my youth, I also missed the deep meaning behind the original name of Precept Ministries ... Reach Out Ranch. The Arthurs bought the property in 1970 and began the ministry to reach out ... first to youth, then to adults ... to reach out and share the truths of God's Word in a relevant and life-changing way. I couldn't help but think about the people in my life over the years who reached out to me, who wouldn't let me go, who wanted desperately for me to have a relationship with Jesus Christ. And I couldn't help but think about all those who are lonely or wounded or sick or desperate or lost and need someone to reach out to them.
Thank You, Lord, for sending people to reach out to me ... thank You for sowing the seed of Your Word in my heart all those years ago ... thank You for holding me and keeping me and saving me ... thank You, Lord ... thank You.
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