R is for...

 

‘Angels are never too distant to hear you.’ Author Unknown

 

I have to admit, being human and flawed and all, there are times when I wonder why God chases after me with such relentless passion. I wonder why, in the moments that I fall, when sin pulls me down in the moments goodness should help me to rise, God doesn’t give up. How come He doesn’t simply sigh sadly, shake His head, and say, ‘Well, I sure did try!”

Like most folks, I honestly try to do the right thing. I work hard to step away from circumstances that will draw me onto the devil’s turf. You know, little stuff that builds into big stuff--like impatience with myself, my family, or my colleagues, or maybe allowing myself to be swept into gossip, or the kind of chatter that brings people down instead of lifting them up. I try to avoid overspending, over eating; I try not to approach my world in a selfish way. Sometimes I succeed, a lot of times, I fail.

I recently constructed a few devotionals centered on the redeeming grace of Christ’s blood. The process of exploring redemption left me focused on sin, and its cost. Christ’s blood, the blood of God’s one and only son, was shed each and every one of us, to cover all sin for all time, and to bridge the distance between God and humankind.

Writing the devotionals affirmed to me that nothing stops God from loving us. Nothing stops God from offering full and total redemption. No matter how many times we fall, or how many ways we walk away, when we offer him our authentic love, and repentance, and when we really truly tryto keep ‘fighting the good fight of the faith,’ He will never leave or forsake us. He’s waiting with open arms, and an open heart, ready to receive us as His children.

Wow. Talk about a miracle…

 



Q is for...

 

Isaiah 41:10 fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

 

         With everything happening in the world today, many of us are overwhelmed with the single question...why? 
          My dad was wonderful at answering questions such as this, and a great source of encouragement to me. One day he brought home a poster for me of a hound dog sitting in a wash tub, his head slathered in bubbly water and a frown on his dejected face. The caption read, “Was today really necessary?” In that single sentence, Dad’s wisdom hit home. He told me to be ever mindful that God gives us days, both easy and difficult, for a reason. I should ponder what might be gleaned from each day, from every experience, and make use of it. 

          I hung the poster on my wall and did just that, taking notes and keeping a journal even when difficult situations made me want to run and hide. Later on, when I became a teacher, that poster hung front and center on my classroom wall. It’s displayed there yet today and still has me—and now my students, as well, pondering through life’s struggles and adventures.

          As much as we'd like all of our questions to be answered, some of those answers will be found only in Heaven. In the meantime.....

P is for...

PAIN...'cause that's where I am at the moment. Fibromyalgia raised it's ugly head and made itself at home in my body, as it does now and then. May I say that I PLUMB FORGOT to write a "P" post?

I do apologize for dropping the ball. But rest assured, tomorrow's post from Mary Manners will make up for my lapse in continuity, and we'll be on track again.

O is for...

Even When It's Rough

‘Everyone entrusted with a mission is an angel.’ Moses Maimonides

I try to heed God’s call, and though I am far from being an angel, I never doubt God. I doubt me. I trust God, I don’t trust me. I’m sinful, after all. Fallible. God might be sending me roadmaps to follow and in my unwitting ignorance, I might be passing them right by…

Have you ever seen the movie Bruce Almighty? Bruce, bless his misguided heart, tries desperately to connect with God. He longs to be an angel…on his terms, of course. So, as he’s driving along, praying in abject frustration, he basically says, “God, I’ll do what you want, but I need your guidance! I need to know what you want so I can see it through.’ The poor guy longs to obey God’s call, but what happens? While he prays, God sends literal blockades to slow him down and make him pay attention. Bruce simply becomes irritated by slow moving traffic. Next, God sends directional arrows in the form of blaring street signs:  “Warning!” “Proceed with Caution” “Slippery Road Ahead” “Wrong Way.”

Naturally, Bruce ignores the messages and God’s truest mission. I think, at his deepest core, he’s unreceptive to being obedient because his will doesn’t match God’s.

I can so relate.

I long to be obedient to God’s will in my life, but my stubbornness, a sense that I know what’s best for me, tends to interfere. It’s then, like Bruce, that I miss the signs and a troublesome learning curve tends to happen. But, once God carries me through—as he always does—I look back, sigh at my own folly, and find myself thinking, “God, thank you for tolerating me and loving me in spite of myself!”

Have you ever been there?

N is for...

We've got this gift of love, but love is like a precious plant.

You can't just accept it and leave it in the cupboard

or just think it's going to get on by itself.

You've got to keep watering it.

You've got to really look after it

and nurture it.

—John Lennon

 

Today’s A-Z Blog Challenge word is “NURTURE.” Various sources provide different meanings for the word, but let’s talk about this definition:

 to feed and protect or support and encourage.

My husband loves to garden. I’m not much of a hands-in-the-dirt kind of gal, but I love watching him communicate with the earth when he’s gardening.

It’s a process…and not an easy one. He begins by clearing the garden area of rocks, weeds, roots—anything that could choke out the seeds he plants and prevent their growth. Then he works the soil with a tiller, making it soft and loose, so sprouting plants won’t have such a hard time pushing through it. When it’s time, he plants the seeds, giving careful thought to placement and space between plants. Then begins the process of keeping the area hydrated. This takes thought and planning, because while the plants must have water to survive, too much water will kill them as surely as failure to water at all. And those weeds he cleared out before planting want to come back, especially as the ground becomes enriched with water, fertilizer, and pesticides. He keeps at it, battling the bad and encouraging the good. And then one day, there it is…the first sign of growth.
 

Now he can relax a bit, right?
 

Wrong. Those burgeoning sprouts renew hubby’s excitement, spurring him to pay even closer attention to the garden, which now

M is for...

God ~ A Loving Messenger

‘Ever felt an angel’s breath in the gentle breeze?

A teardrop in the falling rain? Hear a whisper amongst the rustle of leaves?

Or been kissed by a lone snowflake?

Nature is an angel’s favorite hiding place.’ Terri Guillemets

Years ago, my mom and I strolled along a secluded, white sand beach in Pensacola, Florida. The temperature was pleasingly mild, the breeze was a gentle and salt-kissed delight. Evening rode in on white-capped waves burnished by the sun as it sank beneath the horizon, illuminating a sky layered by light, sporadic cloud cover. Every pastel hue imaginable seemed to be painted across the heavens that night. Mom and I didn’t say a word. We didn’t have to. God spoke loud and clear enough for both us in a clear and radiant message of His love and majesty.

Once we made our way back to my parent’s condo, both of us still enthralled by the breathtaking moment of that perfect sunset, my mom finally spoke up. “How can anyone experience beauty like that and doubt God’s existence? How can they doubt God is talking when He gives us a sunset like that?”

The same kind of hushed but eloquent beauty can be applied to another spot where I always feel God speaking to me. Northern Michigan. The pine forests are ancient. The creaking branches of the birch trees, the skittering animals, the cobalt sky all speak to me a message of God’s masterful creation, of the love and beauty He longs to share. Snowflake kisses, the cool drumbeat of a spring rain, an endless expanse of ocean. God sends His heart to us in ways that draw me in and lift me up no matter what my mood or outward circumstances.

God— a direct and very personal messenger of love and grace. The idea fills me with amazement and awe. He loves us so much He makes Himself present in ways large and small.

How does God speak to you? What ‘messengers’ does He use to touch chords in your spirit?

L is for...

Light

 

(Christmas Lights)  

You are my lamp, oh Lord, the Lord that turns my darkness into light.

                                                                                                ~2 Samuel 22:29(NIV)

Send forth your light and your truth, let them guide me; let them bring me to your holy mountain, to the place where you dwell.

                                                                                                ~Psalm 43:3(NIV)

Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.

                                                                                                ~Psalm 119:105(NIV)

When the subject of Christmas gifts comes up, most people think of packages wrapped in colorful paper and shimmery bows, sitting under the Christmas tree, just waiting to be opened.

When I think of Christmas gifts, I think of my dad, who passed away eleven years ago this holiday season. He was a man of many gifts, including the joy he shared for the traditions of Christmas.

Dad loved light—especially the light that brightened a fresh-cut pine tree in honor of the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Each December first, like clockwork, Dad piled his family—all seven of us—into our Chevy station wagon and drove us to the tree lot where, shivering in the Chicago-winter cold, we oohed and aahed over each and every tree until we found the perfect one.

Once home, with the tree safely arranged in a metal stand and watered, Dad climbed the ladder to our attic (a mysterious place, indeed) where the Christmas lights were stored. He’d lower the battered cardboard box (re-used, season after season) to the floor below and dust it off.

Then my brother and sisters—five of us—gathered ’round him in the living room and waited, eyes huge with wonder, as he carefully unraveled the strands of lights and tested each one. No matter how stubborn the bulbs, dad always managed to get them working.

Beautiful, vibrant colors turned the room to a kaleidoscope, dancing over walls and windows with the feel of winter magic. One by one, my siblings and I each took the place of honor beside Dad, helping him to adorn the tree with light. Pine sap clung to our tiny fingers, but we didn’t care. All the while, our hearts soared with happiness and child-like wonder.

Finally, Dad gently gathered the Christmas star from the box. Hushed with awe, we waited while Dad chose one of us to hoist to his shoulders for the greatest thrill—placing the treasured beacon of light—the Baby Jesus Star—atop the highest limb. Somehow, Dad always sensed who needed that extra touch of attention, and there was never any argument.

With the lights in place (just in time for nightfall—always) we circled the tree and held hands to sing Silent Night. In the earliest years, the tune didn’t always carry and the words were sometimes off, but Dad didn’t mind. He knew we understood what the tree—and especially the lights—symbolized…the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus. The most wonderful gift of all!