Tonight's post is going to be a shorter one, as I have a wounded wiener dog that needs my complete love and attention. J.R.'s old back injury has been acting up for a couple of days, and he's a miserable long dog tonight. So, I'm stretched out on the floor typing this entry, and his head is resting on my arm. Poor little guy ... even with cortisone shots and pills, and a substantial dose of puppy valium (which I seriously considered sharing with him!), he is still in significant pain from his hurting back. The vet has said from the very first time his back flared up that he thinks it's an old injury ... from someone twisting him when he was young. And yes, every time I think of someone hurting him, I, well, suffice it to say that I should never ever meet the person who injured my sweet boy dog.
As I headed out for my nightly walk tonight, I was missing J.R. trotting along beside me in a big way. I soon noticed that my stride and gait seemed awkward and that I was struggling to find my pace. Not too long into my stroll, a young couple that I pass most evenings stopped me to ask where my four-legged companion was this evening. I explained to them that his back was hurting, and they said to tell him to feel better. As I made my way along my usual route, one person after another ... people who usually simply say hi or nod a casual greeting ... stopped along the trail to ask where J.R. was, and without fail, each of them said to tell him they hoped he was back on his feet real soon.
Making my way across the last bridge on the path before I turned to head across the grass and head home, my eyes filled with tears as I began to pray that God would touch J.R.'s back and make him well. I'm sure that it's more than OK with my Lord that I prayed for my dog ... after all, He's the one who brought J.R. into my life.
So tonight, and every night ... here's to you, J.R. the wiener dog. Here's to the joy that you bring not only to me, but to all those people we pass each evening as we walk. Feel better, little buddy ... people are missing you.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Don't Go There
When I was young, I used to love to venture into the woods near our home, and I quite frequently went deeper into the woods than the boundary line my mom had set forth as far enough. Each time I left the house to venture to my beloved woods, Mom would always say, "Don't go there, Terrie." She never had to say where "there" was ... I knew she meant not to go past her designated safe line in the woods. I well remember looking over my shoulder to make sure she couldn't see me pushing the limits as I scampered farther and farther into the brush that hovered beneath the towering oak trees.
I don't know why it was so appealing to me to traverse so deeply into the wooded wonderland, but once I arrived wherever I deemed far enough on a particular day, I would simply sit under a tree and read a book or write one of the countless stories that was always swirling around in my head. Perhaps I craved the danger involved in breaking the rules, the solitude offered by being surrounded by nothing but tall trees and blue sky, or the rebellious rush that pumped through my body when I was disobedient to Mom. Whatever the reason, no matter the punishment that was handed out when I returned home, the forbidden excursions continued for many years.
Looking back now, I realize that I've always had a "wild" side ... a part of me that wants to break all the rules, to go beyond the set boundaries, to rebel against others who try to tell me what to do. One would only need to look at some of the choices and decisions I've made down through the years to know that my spirit more closely resembles that of an untamed mountain lion than that of a domesticated house cat.
As I've aged, I've often been given reason to ponder this proclivity I possess for rebellion, this tendency I have to constantly think outside the box, this deep desire to refuse to do as I am told. And in this introspection, it gives me pause to consider how God must view my choices that openly and blatantly go against His will, His way, His Word. While I often view obedience, humility, submission, confession and repentance as envelopes to be pushed, He quietly and consistently says, "Follow Me."
Help me, Lord, to not only understand, but to absorb into my very soul, that when You say, "Don't go there, Terrie," You truly mean, "Don't go there." Take my spirit of rebellion and change it to a spirit that revels in You and Your truth. Take my wayward will and transform it into a will of wanting to be obedient only to You.
Take me, Lord ... all of me ... all I am ... all I have ... take me, Lord, and make me fully Yours.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Puppy Love
I am crazy about both of my dogs, Julie and J.R., as those of you who are regular readers of this blog well know. Julie was originally Brad's dog, but when he went off to college, Julie stayed home with me in lieu of striving to earn a degree at the University of Kansas. She is a yellow lab with golden eyes that speak volumes when she gazes into my ocean blues. J.R. was a rescue dog, coming to live with me last August via a short foster placement with my son Matt and daughter-in-law Becca. He is a tween-size doxie, dark brown in color with deep brown eyes that always look just a touch sad.
Julie loves me, of that I have no doubt. But J.R.? J.R. worships me in every sense of the word. I never move that he is not by my side, often licking my legs as I walk. When I sit on the couch, Julie generally lays on the floor in front of me. But J.R.? He snuggles up next to me and lays his head on my arm or leg. Julie sleeps on the bottom of my bed, stretched out lengthwise in her own space. But J.R.? He cuddles up by my head, getting as close as he possibly can to me and usually places his front paws on my hand. Julie loves me for sure. J.R. adores me beyond measure.
Sometimes I must admit that it creeps me out just a bit the way J.R. looks at me and watches me. It's almost as if he is afraid to let me out of his sight, still a bit insecure and concerned that the good life he has could disappear if he blinks or looks away for too long. Out of all the dogs I've owned down through the years, I've never had one who loved me the way J.R. does.
Last night, J.R. and I took our nightly walk late in the night due to the extreme heat and humidity that has blanketed Kansas City for the last few days. Part of our daily walking routine involves J.R. constantly looking up at me while we stroll ... he turns his head to look upward, and, I promise, he smiles at me while doing so. It was very dark by the time we hit the trail last night, and I thought to myself ... we'll see how this goes if he can't see me. Much to my amazement, J.R. still managed to give me his loving gaze simply by the light of the almost full moon. Though he couldn't see me very well, he knew that I was there by his side, right where I was supposed to be.
With each step we took last night, I became more and more aware that God was again burning a great truth into my heart. Even when I'm walking in the dark, when I can't see Him very well, He is there ... where He is supposed to be, right by my side. As J.R. and I made our turn to head home, I thanked my Lord ... over and over ... I praised Him ... over and over ... and I looked toward the heavens ... and I smiled.
Julie loves me, of that I have no doubt. But J.R.? J.R. worships me in every sense of the word. I never move that he is not by my side, often licking my legs as I walk. When I sit on the couch, Julie generally lays on the floor in front of me. But J.R.? He snuggles up next to me and lays his head on my arm or leg. Julie sleeps on the bottom of my bed, stretched out lengthwise in her own space. But J.R.? He cuddles up by my head, getting as close as he possibly can to me and usually places his front paws on my hand. Julie loves me for sure. J.R. adores me beyond measure.
Sometimes I must admit that it creeps me out just a bit the way J.R. looks at me and watches me. It's almost as if he is afraid to let me out of his sight, still a bit insecure and concerned that the good life he has could disappear if he blinks or looks away for too long. Out of all the dogs I've owned down through the years, I've never had one who loved me the way J.R. does.
Last night, J.R. and I took our nightly walk late in the night due to the extreme heat and humidity that has blanketed Kansas City for the last few days. Part of our daily walking routine involves J.R. constantly looking up at me while we stroll ... he turns his head to look upward, and, I promise, he smiles at me while doing so. It was very dark by the time we hit the trail last night, and I thought to myself ... we'll see how this goes if he can't see me. Much to my amazement, J.R. still managed to give me his loving gaze simply by the light of the almost full moon. Though he couldn't see me very well, he knew that I was there by his side, right where I was supposed to be.
With each step we took last night, I became more and more aware that God was again burning a great truth into my heart. Even when I'm walking in the dark, when I can't see Him very well, He is there ... where He is supposed to be, right by my side. As J.R. and I made our turn to head home, I thanked my Lord ... over and over ... I praised Him ... over and over ... and I looked toward the heavens ... and I smiled.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Bring It, Bradley, Bring It
All three of my children are competitive, in a big way, and they each love to win at whatever game they are playing. I well remember some pretty heated competitions when they were young, both between themselves and when they played organized sports. Of the three of them, there is no doubt that Bradley is over the top when it comes to wanting to win and loving to banter.
So today, my sweet son issued me a challenge ... with such intensity that it reminded me of a double dog dare type of challenge from when he was a little boy. Brad is very verbal, and his dare was penned over several paragraphs filled with eloquent language. I couldn't help but smile as I read his argument and defense, and found myself thinking (as I have often done concerning him down through the years) first - that Brad would make an incredible attorney, and second - that he is so very much my son.
I'm not going to share the exact nature of Brad's challenge, but suffice it to say that if you are a regular reader of this blog, you should be able to figure it out over the next few days through my posts. In fact, just to make it a little more interesting, the first 5 people to guess what Brad's challenge to me is will win a copy of my book, Lord, Help! Here Comes Mom! You can email me at terriejohnson401@hotmail.com if you want to make a guess.
It's on, Bradley, so feel free to bring it with all you've got. But I think we need to sweeten the pot a little and put some money, or food, on the table. I propose that the one of us who wins takes the other out for ... oh, say a steak dinner at Outback. And, Birdly ... may the best mom win!
P.S. Missy ... you'll need to keep him honest on this ... how's that for your promised hello in my blog?
So today, my sweet son issued me a challenge ... with such intensity that it reminded me of a double dog dare type of challenge from when he was a little boy. Brad is very verbal, and his dare was penned over several paragraphs filled with eloquent language. I couldn't help but smile as I read his argument and defense, and found myself thinking (as I have often done concerning him down through the years) first - that Brad would make an incredible attorney, and second - that he is so very much my son.
I'm not going to share the exact nature of Brad's challenge, but suffice it to say that if you are a regular reader of this blog, you should be able to figure it out over the next few days through my posts. In fact, just to make it a little more interesting, the first 5 people to guess what Brad's challenge to me is will win a copy of my book, Lord, Help! Here Comes Mom! You can email me at terriejohnson401@hotmail.com if you want to make a guess.
It's on, Bradley, so feel free to bring it with all you've got. But I think we need to sweeten the pot a little and put some money, or food, on the table. I propose that the one of us who wins takes the other out for ... oh, say a steak dinner at Outback. And, Birdly ... may the best mom win!
P.S. Missy ... you'll need to keep him honest on this ... how's that for your promised hello in my blog?
Stripping Me Bare
When I was growing up, there was always one Saturday each summer that I dreaded with everything in me ... corn freezing Saturday. On the appointed day, my dad would rise very early, wake me and tell me to get dressed and get in his truck. We would then travel a little over an hour to a farm where we would spend the next couple of hours picking 30 to 40 dozen ears of sweet corn. Looking back all these years later, I should have treasured that time with Daddy, but as a kid who wanted to do anything except pick corn, I instead whined and complained throughout the whole endeavor.
While the picking of the corn was bad enough to endure, I knew that when we returned home, the day would only get worse as it wore on. The corn then had to be shucked, cleaned, cooked a certain amount of time, some cut off of the cob, and all 30 to 40 dozen ears placed in freezer bags and carried downstairs to the freezer. Trust me ... it was a long day, usually beginning around 5 a.m. and ending around midnight. Daddy always did the shucking outside on the patio, and my niece Sharon and I would carry the corn upstairs into the kitchen. My mom and my sister would wash the corn and pass it back to Sharon and me for a very important part of the preparation process.
Now I need to interject here that my mom had a very real issue when it came to corn silks ... you know, the little stringy things between the kernels that look like a thick thread of silk. It was never enough just to wash the corn under running water or use a brush to lightly scrub away the majority of the silks. Oh, no. Mine and Sharon's job was to take wooden toothpicks and meticulously go between the rows of kernels and remove every last silk, being very careful not to puncture the tender pieces of corn. If there was even a hint of a silk on the ear of corn, Mom would pass it back to us and say, "I want it stripped bare, nothing left ... not even one little piece."
Over the last few months, my life has changed in a big way ... some of the changes have been positive, like losing a bunch of weight and establishing a walking routine. Some changes, however, have been not so much fun and on some fronts, completely unexpected and even unwelcome. And quite honestly, there have been times in the last couple of weeks when I've been pretty frustrated and angry about situations and relationships and health-related events in my life. In fact, I can't remember a time in my life when I have felt that my normally ordered, diligent ... OK, maybe the word is regimented ... life has been so out of my neat and tidy realm of personal control.
Earlier this week, after a particularly wicked blood sugar drop followed rapidly by a soaring blood sugar high, my emotions were running at breakneck speed when a friend called to check on me. My poor friend, bless her heart, got the full force of my loud and angry tirade as I ranted and raved about how much I wanted my life back ... nothing more or less ... I just wanted "me" back. When I finally finished spewing, my friend made a calm and quiet comment that God has used to bring me to my knees multiple times over the last few days.
"Perhaps God is stripping you of everything that you thought you had control over in your life ... stripping you bare, so that you want nothing but Him, so that you realize He is all you need. There was a lot of 'me' and 'I' in what you just said ... a lot of wanting to be back in control, back in charge. Maybe God is stripping you of you to prepare you for something for Him." Wise? Yes. Profound? Yes. Honest? Yes. Hard to hear? Resoundingly yes.
So, God ... here's the deal. I don't like losing control, and I sure don't like asking for help. But, truth is, I think I'm ready for You to use your toothpick, Lord, to clean away every tiny thread that shouldn't be in me ... for You to take away everything I need to let go of. Strip me bare, Lord ... strip me clean, Lord ... come in and fill me up ... leave me wanting nothing but You.
While the picking of the corn was bad enough to endure, I knew that when we returned home, the day would only get worse as it wore on. The corn then had to be shucked, cleaned, cooked a certain amount of time, some cut off of the cob, and all 30 to 40 dozen ears placed in freezer bags and carried downstairs to the freezer. Trust me ... it was a long day, usually beginning around 5 a.m. and ending around midnight. Daddy always did the shucking outside on the patio, and my niece Sharon and I would carry the corn upstairs into the kitchen. My mom and my sister would wash the corn and pass it back to Sharon and me for a very important part of the preparation process.
Now I need to interject here that my mom had a very real issue when it came to corn silks ... you know, the little stringy things between the kernels that look like a thick thread of silk. It was never enough just to wash the corn under running water or use a brush to lightly scrub away the majority of the silks. Oh, no. Mine and Sharon's job was to take wooden toothpicks and meticulously go between the rows of kernels and remove every last silk, being very careful not to puncture the tender pieces of corn. If there was even a hint of a silk on the ear of corn, Mom would pass it back to us and say, "I want it stripped bare, nothing left ... not even one little piece."
Over the last few months, my life has changed in a big way ... some of the changes have been positive, like losing a bunch of weight and establishing a walking routine. Some changes, however, have been not so much fun and on some fronts, completely unexpected and even unwelcome. And quite honestly, there have been times in the last couple of weeks when I've been pretty frustrated and angry about situations and relationships and health-related events in my life. In fact, I can't remember a time in my life when I have felt that my normally ordered, diligent ... OK, maybe the word is regimented ... life has been so out of my neat and tidy realm of personal control.
Earlier this week, after a particularly wicked blood sugar drop followed rapidly by a soaring blood sugar high, my emotions were running at breakneck speed when a friend called to check on me. My poor friend, bless her heart, got the full force of my loud and angry tirade as I ranted and raved about how much I wanted my life back ... nothing more or less ... I just wanted "me" back. When I finally finished spewing, my friend made a calm and quiet comment that God has used to bring me to my knees multiple times over the last few days.
"Perhaps God is stripping you of everything that you thought you had control over in your life ... stripping you bare, so that you want nothing but Him, so that you realize He is all you need. There was a lot of 'me' and 'I' in what you just said ... a lot of wanting to be back in control, back in charge. Maybe God is stripping you of you to prepare you for something for Him." Wise? Yes. Profound? Yes. Honest? Yes. Hard to hear? Resoundingly yes.
So, God ... here's the deal. I don't like losing control, and I sure don't like asking for help. But, truth is, I think I'm ready for You to use your toothpick, Lord, to clean away every tiny thread that shouldn't be in me ... for You to take away everything I need to let go of. Strip me bare, Lord ... strip me clean, Lord ... come in and fill me up ... leave me wanting nothing but You.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Not Finished Loving You Yet
I've decided that sleeping is overrated. Or sleeping has decided it's overrated. I'm not sure which one is more true, but either way, I don't sleep much right now. It's a good night if I sleep six hours ... and I'm not talking about sleeping six hours straight through, but six hours all night. And the odd thing is, I rarely get tired even though I'm not sleeping nearly as much as I used to.
One night last weekend during a sleepless time, I turned on the TV (which I rarely do now) and stumbled across a medical drama dealing with two young people who were engaged to be married, and both had cancer. Before I knew it, I was totally engrossed in the show and ended up spending the next hour glued to the television. Though I fully expected a happy ending to resolve the storyline, the young man died during the surgery to remove the tumor in his brain. As the show ended, I sat on my couch weeping with the young woman who was left behind to face her own uncertain future without the man she loved so dearly ... without the one that she had planned to do life together with, whatever that life may have held.
It wasn't so much the fact that the young man died, though that was very sad, that touched me on such a deeply emotional level. It was one line ... one sentence ... one set of words that moved me to the very core of my being. Before the young man was taken to surgery, he was talking with the young woman who expressed her concern over what she would do if something were to happen to him. He looked deeply into her eyes and gently touched her face and said, "I'm not going anywhere because I'm not finished loving you yet."
Those words have permeated my mind and my heart for the last few days, seared themselves into my consciousness and caused me to think deeply about the people in my own life ... people whom I love so dearly ... people whom I'm not finished loving yet. My children ... my sister and brother ... my nieces and nephews and great nieces and nephews ... my friends. And for as much as I've thought about the people who are dear to me, I've thought even more about God over the last few days ... about how He continues to work in my life, molding and shaping and humbling and breaking me ... about how grateful I am that He isn't finished loving me yet.
Tonight's prayer? That I would have a heart filled with thanks and gratitude for each new day that God gives me ... that the people I love will know I love them ... that I won't waste one more second dwelling on things I can't change ... that I will live every moment that God gives me loving Him, praising Him, focusing on Him and Him alone.
Because ... you see ... He's not finished loving me yet, and the truth is, He never will be.
One night last weekend during a sleepless time, I turned on the TV (which I rarely do now) and stumbled across a medical drama dealing with two young people who were engaged to be married, and both had cancer. Before I knew it, I was totally engrossed in the show and ended up spending the next hour glued to the television. Though I fully expected a happy ending to resolve the storyline, the young man died during the surgery to remove the tumor in his brain. As the show ended, I sat on my couch weeping with the young woman who was left behind to face her own uncertain future without the man she loved so dearly ... without the one that she had planned to do life together with, whatever that life may have held.
It wasn't so much the fact that the young man died, though that was very sad, that touched me on such a deeply emotional level. It was one line ... one sentence ... one set of words that moved me to the very core of my being. Before the young man was taken to surgery, he was talking with the young woman who expressed her concern over what she would do if something were to happen to him. He looked deeply into her eyes and gently touched her face and said, "I'm not going anywhere because I'm not finished loving you yet."
Those words have permeated my mind and my heart for the last few days, seared themselves into my consciousness and caused me to think deeply about the people in my own life ... people whom I love so dearly ... people whom I'm not finished loving yet. My children ... my sister and brother ... my nieces and nephews and great nieces and nephews ... my friends. And for as much as I've thought about the people who are dear to me, I've thought even more about God over the last few days ... about how He continues to work in my life, molding and shaping and humbling and breaking me ... about how grateful I am that He isn't finished loving me yet.
Tonight's prayer? That I would have a heart filled with thanks and gratitude for each new day that God gives me ... that the people I love will know I love them ... that I won't waste one more second dwelling on things I can't change ... that I will live every moment that God gives me loving Him, praising Him, focusing on Him and Him alone.
Because ... you see ... He's not finished loving me yet, and the truth is, He never will be.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Huge Little Blessings
This morning, I went grocery shopping with a friend and three of her children. And, I might add, the experience brought to mind some sweet memories of Walmart runs with my own three children when they were young. Though it took more time than I normally spend at Walmart on a Saturday, I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of the outing and wouldn't trade one second for the countless moments of joy I received.
As fate, or more appropriately ... God, would have it, one of my bags of groceries ended up staying in my friend's car rather than making its way into my house. And, as God would have it, when my friend and her children came to drop off said stray bag this evening, I was in the midst of yet another low blood sugar episode (which have been the rule rather than the exception for a couple of weeks now). I had cooked dinner and was struggling to get some food into my stomach to raise my sugar level to an acceptable place and curtail the shaking. My dear friend has experienced me in this condition enough times that she immediately took charge, filled my plate, helped me sit and started aiding me with my food.
As I've said before in my posts, it is very humbling to have someone else feed me, hold my drink or stick my finger to check my blood sugar when I am trembling. Let me say that again ... it is very humbling for someone who is as stubborn and independent as I have been for 50 years to be relegated to the position of opening my mouth like a child to be fed, having to drink from a straw that someone else places between my lips, or extending my hand for a needle stick and blood draw that another person must execute for me.
When I find myself in the position of needing this type of help, one set of thoughts dominates my mind and consumes my attention ... "This is so embarrassing and humiliating; I wish this would just end. I'm supposed to be the strong one, the person who takes care of my family and friends. It shouldn't be the other way around ... I shouldn't be the one who needs help." As I lifted my shaking fork to my mouth, my eyes closed in concentration, losing half the food on the way, I felt someone take the fork from my hand and place the food gently in my mouth. I opened my eyes and saw a little boy, six years old, carefully feeding his 50-year-old friend. He softly said, "Terrie, you're shaking." I then looked to my right and saw his 10-year-old sister holding a fork filled with blueberries, quietly and calmly waiting to give me a bite, smiling sweetly at me.
I wish I could say that I am totally humble and holy and that my first thought was one of gratitude and thanks. The real truth is that my first thought was, "This is what I've become ... little kids are feeding me." And then ... then I looked into these children's eyes. The care and compassion and love that I saw in their young eyes paled in comparison to what I saw in their hearts. Here were two young kids who didn't see a shaking, sick old lady ... they saw a person they loved who needed help and they stepped up to do just that. No judgment, no fear, no worry ... just pure and simple love and a strong desire to help me get better. Their older sister got in on the act, too, by retrieving my blood sugar testing kit and holding my drink to my lips.
So here I type tonight, humbled once again, but not humiliated. And my prayer? That when God sends even the smallest ministers to help me, my soul will sing with the thought, "Thank you, Lord, for these blessings ... these huge little blessings ... these young friends with such big hearts. Make me worthy, Lord, of You ... and worthy of them."
As fate, or more appropriately ... God, would have it, one of my bags of groceries ended up staying in my friend's car rather than making its way into my house. And, as God would have it, when my friend and her children came to drop off said stray bag this evening, I was in the midst of yet another low blood sugar episode (which have been the rule rather than the exception for a couple of weeks now). I had cooked dinner and was struggling to get some food into my stomach to raise my sugar level to an acceptable place and curtail the shaking. My dear friend has experienced me in this condition enough times that she immediately took charge, filled my plate, helped me sit and started aiding me with my food.
As I've said before in my posts, it is very humbling to have someone else feed me, hold my drink or stick my finger to check my blood sugar when I am trembling. Let me say that again ... it is very humbling for someone who is as stubborn and independent as I have been for 50 years to be relegated to the position of opening my mouth like a child to be fed, having to drink from a straw that someone else places between my lips, or extending my hand for a needle stick and blood draw that another person must execute for me.
When I find myself in the position of needing this type of help, one set of thoughts dominates my mind and consumes my attention ... "This is so embarrassing and humiliating; I wish this would just end. I'm supposed to be the strong one, the person who takes care of my family and friends. It shouldn't be the other way around ... I shouldn't be the one who needs help." As I lifted my shaking fork to my mouth, my eyes closed in concentration, losing half the food on the way, I felt someone take the fork from my hand and place the food gently in my mouth. I opened my eyes and saw a little boy, six years old, carefully feeding his 50-year-old friend. He softly said, "Terrie, you're shaking." I then looked to my right and saw his 10-year-old sister holding a fork filled with blueberries, quietly and calmly waiting to give me a bite, smiling sweetly at me.
I wish I could say that I am totally humble and holy and that my first thought was one of gratitude and thanks. The real truth is that my first thought was, "This is what I've become ... little kids are feeding me." And then ... then I looked into these children's eyes. The care and compassion and love that I saw in their young eyes paled in comparison to what I saw in their hearts. Here were two young kids who didn't see a shaking, sick old lady ... they saw a person they loved who needed help and they stepped up to do just that. No judgment, no fear, no worry ... just pure and simple love and a strong desire to help me get better. Their older sister got in on the act, too, by retrieving my blood sugar testing kit and holding my drink to my lips.
So here I type tonight, humbled once again, but not humiliated. And my prayer? That when God sends even the smallest ministers to help me, my soul will sing with the thought, "Thank you, Lord, for these blessings ... these huge little blessings ... these young friends with such big hearts. Make me worthy, Lord, of You ... and worthy of them."
Friday, June 18, 2010
Provision and Protection
I do not like snakes, not even a little bit. And I think that dislike comes from many, many years ago when I stepped on one as my dad and I were walking on the rocks along the edge of a creek. We were collecting stones for an art project that I had been assigned at school. It was a beautiful fall day in Tennessee ... blue skies and cool temperatures ... and I had just commented to Daddy that it was the perfect day and that we were in the perfect place.
And that's when it happened ... I stepped on a snake, and it was a most horrible experience, one that I obviously have never forgotten. As the hideous creature wound itself around my pants leg, I screamed loudly and tried desperately to shake the writhing beast off, which of course only served to make it wrap itself tighter. When Daddy saw my predicament, he came running across the rocks, calmly reached down and grabbed the snake behind its head and removed it, flinging it out into the flowing water. Daddy then gathered my sobbing and shaking body into his arms and carried me to the car, speaking words of comfort and love into my ear with every step.
After my divorce, I worked three jobs for a while until I finally landed a job as an editor that paid well enough for me to work only one job. I remember well the stuggles that were involved those first few years as a single mother to three young children. In order to keep a roof over our heads and food on our table, I worked many long hours to provide for my family. My children's needs always came before my own, and I have never regretted for one minute my decision to view life in that order. I never resented the necessary and often difficult sacrifices that were required of me to be able to care for my kids. Though at times I grew weary and I often worried about how to make ends meet, I look at my children now as young adults and know beyond the shadow of any doubt that it was worth it all.
As surely as my dad protected me on that day beside the creek, and as surely as I worked hard to provide for my children, I've come to realize that God my heavenly Father showers me with both protection and provision even when I don't ask Him to do so and most certainly when I don't deserve His tender care. Looking back, there have been countless times when He has seen the danger ahead of me ... even when I was rushing headlong into that very danger ... and carefully protected me by steering me in a different direction. There have been so many situations that I've knowingly and willingly walked into when He in His wisdom and mercy provided me a way out ... even though I had been openly disobedient in my pursuit of the wrong path.
So tonight, once again, I'm reminded that my God truly is an awesome God. Protection ... keeping me from danger ... provision ... offering me a way out ... what an awesome God indeed.
And that's when it happened ... I stepped on a snake, and it was a most horrible experience, one that I obviously have never forgotten. As the hideous creature wound itself around my pants leg, I screamed loudly and tried desperately to shake the writhing beast off, which of course only served to make it wrap itself tighter. When Daddy saw my predicament, he came running across the rocks, calmly reached down and grabbed the snake behind its head and removed it, flinging it out into the flowing water. Daddy then gathered my sobbing and shaking body into his arms and carried me to the car, speaking words of comfort and love into my ear with every step.
After my divorce, I worked three jobs for a while until I finally landed a job as an editor that paid well enough for me to work only one job. I remember well the stuggles that were involved those first few years as a single mother to three young children. In order to keep a roof over our heads and food on our table, I worked many long hours to provide for my family. My children's needs always came before my own, and I have never regretted for one minute my decision to view life in that order. I never resented the necessary and often difficult sacrifices that were required of me to be able to care for my kids. Though at times I grew weary and I often worried about how to make ends meet, I look at my children now as young adults and know beyond the shadow of any doubt that it was worth it all.
As surely as my dad protected me on that day beside the creek, and as surely as I worked hard to provide for my children, I've come to realize that God my heavenly Father showers me with both protection and provision even when I don't ask Him to do so and most certainly when I don't deserve His tender care. Looking back, there have been countless times when He has seen the danger ahead of me ... even when I was rushing headlong into that very danger ... and carefully protected me by steering me in a different direction. There have been so many situations that I've knowingly and willingly walked into when He in His wisdom and mercy provided me a way out ... even though I had been openly disobedient in my pursuit of the wrong path.
So tonight, once again, I'm reminded that my God truly is an awesome God. Protection ... keeping me from danger ... provision ... offering me a way out ... what an awesome God indeed.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Elephant Eating
When my children were young, they loved to go to the circus. Each one of them had their favorites at the circus ... Meghann loved the clowns; Matt loved the monkeys, and Brad loved the elephants. They would sit in quiet amazement as the performers and the animals displayed their talents for the crowd.
On one particular visit to the circus, we were treated to a surprise up close encounter with the elephants outside of the arena where the show was being held. As we stood near the animal handlers, I was overwhelmed by the size and stature of the massive creatures as they swung their trunks and raised first one foot and then another in response to the commands of their trainers. Seeing them from a faraway seat inside was altogether different than standing on the ground next to them and gazing up at their enormous bodies close enough that we could reach out and touch them.
A couple of days ago, something a dear friend said to me many years ago came back to me and has caused me to think about the elephants that are present in my life. She said, "You can't eat an elephant in one bite, but you can eat an elephant one bite at a time. With God, all things are possible."
How many times do I look at the issues in my life and see them as impossible or too huge to overcome? How many times do I focus on the giant sin that is present in me and think that it can never be brought under control? How many times do I think that my mind or heart can never be trained to follow God's will rather than my own?
Teach me, Lord, that with You all things are possible and that nothing is ever too big for You. Nothing too wide that You can't cross. Nothing too small for You to care about. Nothing too high for you to climb. And no one too sinful for You to love ... no one ... not even me.
On one particular visit to the circus, we were treated to a surprise up close encounter with the elephants outside of the arena where the show was being held. As we stood near the animal handlers, I was overwhelmed by the size and stature of the massive creatures as they swung their trunks and raised first one foot and then another in response to the commands of their trainers. Seeing them from a faraway seat inside was altogether different than standing on the ground next to them and gazing up at their enormous bodies close enough that we could reach out and touch them.
A couple of days ago, something a dear friend said to me many years ago came back to me and has caused me to think about the elephants that are present in my life. She said, "You can't eat an elephant in one bite, but you can eat an elephant one bite at a time. With God, all things are possible."
How many times do I look at the issues in my life and see them as impossible or too huge to overcome? How many times do I focus on the giant sin that is present in me and think that it can never be brought under control? How many times do I think that my mind or heart can never be trained to follow God's will rather than my own?
Teach me, Lord, that with You all things are possible and that nothing is ever too big for You. Nothing too wide that You can't cross. Nothing too small for You to care about. Nothing too high for you to climb. And no one too sinful for You to love ... no one ... not even me.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Running Away
More than once when I was young, I thought about running away from home. I would get angry or hurt over something (most of the time it was because I was receiving some well-deserved punishment for my less than stellar behavior), and I would pack my things and tell myself I was going to hit the road in search of greener pastures. And each time, I would get as far as the end of the driveway or the end of my street, realize that I didn't really have it so bad and turn around and head back home.
As I've aged, I recognize that the desire to pack everything up and run away when things get tough is one that has stayed with me for all of my 50 years of life. There are situations and events and circumstances that cause my mind to immediately leap to thoughts of selling out, packing up and running away. I can't explain why, but the desire to flee ... to drive until I find a place to land, to start over in a new place where no one knows me, to tell no one where I'm going ... is very strong at times. Don't get me wrong ... I have family and friends whom I love and cherish and treasure, whom I can't imagine life without. And yet, at the same time, sometimes I simply want to run away and never look back.
I'm in runaway mode right now ... wishing I could take off and go find a quiet place to hide until the storm blows over and the skies clear. A place off the beaten path of life where my weary soul can rest and begin to heal. A place by a stream that will wash and cleanse me. A place where tall pine trees tower and give shade to my aching heart. A place where majestic mountains wrap around my tired and racing mind, comforting and cradling me in their glowing warmth.
I can't help but wonder how God feels when I slip into "gotta run" gear and start looking for a way out, a different road, a less rocky path. I can't help but wonder if it hurts His heart when my trust in Him flows relentlessly into a river filled with lack of faith. I can't help but wonder if it grieves His spirit when my hope caves into hopelessness. I can't help but wonder if His soul is wounded each time I duck and cover rather than stand and fight.
Stop me from running away. No more running, Lord, just resting. Help me to stay, God ... just to stay .... every single day. Tied to You, trusting in You, standing in You.
As I've aged, I recognize that the desire to pack everything up and run away when things get tough is one that has stayed with me for all of my 50 years of life. There are situations and events and circumstances that cause my mind to immediately leap to thoughts of selling out, packing up and running away. I can't explain why, but the desire to flee ... to drive until I find a place to land, to start over in a new place where no one knows me, to tell no one where I'm going ... is very strong at times. Don't get me wrong ... I have family and friends whom I love and cherish and treasure, whom I can't imagine life without. And yet, at the same time, sometimes I simply want to run away and never look back.
I'm in runaway mode right now ... wishing I could take off and go find a quiet place to hide until the storm blows over and the skies clear. A place off the beaten path of life where my weary soul can rest and begin to heal. A place by a stream that will wash and cleanse me. A place where tall pine trees tower and give shade to my aching heart. A place where majestic mountains wrap around my tired and racing mind, comforting and cradling me in their glowing warmth.
I can't help but wonder how God feels when I slip into "gotta run" gear and start looking for a way out, a different road, a less rocky path. I can't help but wonder if it hurts His heart when my trust in Him flows relentlessly into a river filled with lack of faith. I can't help but wonder if it grieves His spirit when my hope caves into hopelessness. I can't help but wonder if His soul is wounded each time I duck and cover rather than stand and fight.
Stop me from running away. No more running, Lord, just resting. Help me to stay, God ... just to stay .... every single day. Tied to You, trusting in You, standing in You.
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