Over the year I collected together the things I feel I am failing...and here they are for me to, by God's grace, grow in this year.
Resolved to try:
To put my whole mind into whatever I am doing, as an act of worship to God. Therefore to be careful that whatever I am doing may be done whole-heartedly as worship to God.
To seek the Lord in quietness and solitude first thing every morning, that being with Him may color my outlook on life.
To refrain from speaking any ill of anyone not present and to confront only that person if there truly is an issue of character or obedience.
To keep a careful account of the Lord’s dealings with me and all that I learn of Him and to share His goodness with all who will listen.
To keep continually in mind God’s grace, truth and beauty in order to keep uglier things from dwelling there.
To learn as much as I can of God’s creation and praise Him for it.
To employ both time and money in seeking souls for the Lord.
To be bold to offer mercy, to speak of God, to speak truth, to love as Christ, but innocent of any evil or selfish ambition.
To be slow to promise, but swift to deliver, slow to speak, but swift to hear, slow to affirm or correct, but swift to love, slow to judge, but swift to forgive.
To consult the Lord and His wisdom constantly and to seek His answer fervently and without giving up.
To praise character, encourage holiness, focus on God’s grace as being the means of true beauty.
To rejoice always, pray unceasingly and always give thanks.
To never regard circumstances except in the light of God’s wisdom and Word.
To never be satisfied with anything less than perfection in myself, yet eager to regard attempt in others.
To never grow weary in doing what is right or compare myself to the world with envy or self-satisfaction.
To offer love and service without regard to “fair treatment,” “personal rights” or return of either.
To keep in mind the cross as my own just end and the picture of God’s wrath from which I am delivered and God’s love which paid the price. And to remember that, in the cross, I am delivered from God’s wrath and God’s justice is satisfied, therefore all that befalls me—even discipline which seems unpleasant for the moement--flows from His mercy, grace and love, lavished on a daughter.
To accept weakness as a tool of God’s strength and to be willing to be wholly dependent on Him.
To do what is right, regardless of results, rumors, rewards, remarks or revilings.
To keep perspective that God, the powerful Creator, Who alone is imperishable and dwells in unapproachable light, has granted me confident access to His throne of grace, that I might receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need, and to make full use of this access.
To never suggest, by my words or actions or thoughts, that I might be more righteous than God. For He does what is right and this is what I must trust, when He does what is different than I expect or wish.
Showing posts with label priorities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label priorities. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
I’m an idiot because it’s midnight and I have my alarm set for 5 o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ve been skimming through my old journals, staring at the pages of time passed, wondering how it is that I was so much more focused, in love with the Lord and mature—three years ago. So much for the perseverance of the saints. How can I make these important things happen? Bible study, worship and journaling. I need them. They keep me spiritually vital. But when?
My heart has forgotten how to worship.
How did it happen? I don’t pour out praise, my mind is here now, poetry is long forgotten, music whispers in past history, my meditations are trying to sort out my deathly emotions. Where is God? Where is my passion? How can the two meet again?
Where, my heart, is worship hiding?
Hast thou left it by the way?
Now thou sleepest due to sorrow,
When thou shouldst wake, watch and pray.
Dare to plead again with Jesus,
Dare to wear thyself with praise
Dare to lose thy mind in worship
Dare to waste thy precious days
Seeking, groping, searching duly
For the Ancient One of Days.
My heart has forgotten how to worship.
How did it happen? I don’t pour out praise, my mind is here now, poetry is long forgotten, music whispers in past history, my meditations are trying to sort out my deathly emotions. Where is God? Where is my passion? How can the two meet again?
Where, my heart, is worship hiding?
Hast thou left it by the way?
Now thou sleepest due to sorrow,
When thou shouldst wake, watch and pray.
Dare to plead again with Jesus,
Dare to wear thyself with praise
Dare to lose thy mind in worship
Dare to waste thy precious days
Seeking, groping, searching duly
For the Ancient One of Days.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Papa shared his opinion on the issue of Eli’s sons. He pointed out that as those in leadership, representing Yahweh, they incurred a stricter judgment. He also reminded me that Yahweh gives those whose hearts are hard over to their sin, as in Romans chapter one, and also to the wages of sin—death.
Yahweh’s call to Samuel, and Samuel’s quick answer was encouraging. I hope I am always as quick to answer the Lord, “Speak Lord, Thy servant listens.” It must have been distressing to Samuel to hear God’s judgment on Eli and his sons. I was struck through the story with the view of God’s sovereignty. At the time, the capture of the ark and the death of the priests—all of them—must have seemed like Yahweh forsaking His people! Instead, it was judgment on the wicked priests and Eli, who allowed their wickedness, as well as a reminder to the people that the ark was not a good luck charm. Yahweh is with his people when they are obedient and seek Him. But His plan was even larger than teaching the Israelites an important lesson—still He would not allow His name to be blasphemed among the Philistines. They thought they had triumphed over Him, but soon discovered that even their god Dagon must fall on his face in worship of Yahweh. When plagues swept through their cities, they knew it was the hand of Yahweh—and His hand continued to work in guiding the cows, bellowing all the way for their calves, to carry the ark home. Who had everything under control? Yahweh. Who got the glory? Yahweh. He is worthy!
Lord, Thou over rules our plans,
To show us Thou art not a man,
And though we do not understand
Thou still maintains control.
With circumstances that appear
To harm Thy purpose, Thou makes clear
That Thou redeemest, year by year,
Both circumstance and soul.
Yahweh’s call to Samuel, and Samuel’s quick answer was encouraging. I hope I am always as quick to answer the Lord, “Speak Lord, Thy servant listens.” It must have been distressing to Samuel to hear God’s judgment on Eli and his sons. I was struck through the story with the view of God’s sovereignty. At the time, the capture of the ark and the death of the priests—all of them—must have seemed like Yahweh forsaking His people! Instead, it was judgment on the wicked priests and Eli, who allowed their wickedness, as well as a reminder to the people that the ark was not a good luck charm. Yahweh is with his people when they are obedient and seek Him. But His plan was even larger than teaching the Israelites an important lesson—still He would not allow His name to be blasphemed among the Philistines. They thought they had triumphed over Him, but soon discovered that even their god Dagon must fall on his face in worship of Yahweh. When plagues swept through their cities, they knew it was the hand of Yahweh—and His hand continued to work in guiding the cows, bellowing all the way for their calves, to carry the ark home. Who had everything under control? Yahweh. Who got the glory? Yahweh. He is worthy!
Lord, Thou over rules our plans,
To show us Thou art not a man,
And though we do not understand
Thou still maintains control.
With circumstances that appear
To harm Thy purpose, Thou makes clear
That Thou redeemest, year by year,
Both circumstance and soul.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
My hands and arms still tingle and my throat is prickling like a porcupine with his coat on inside out from fiberglass insulation in the attic. Old age comes quickly for those who spend hours under houses. Or in the attic. Tabitha and I crawled out of our sleeping bags this morning barely able to turn our necks from side to side and stiffly dressed to sit on the front porch and talk and pray while the rest of the house slumbered on.
Miss Lin N, fourth grade teacher, arrived in time to finish off the last two breakfast muffins. Looking fresh and springy in a green dress, she was toting her cap and gown and a huge smile for her senior pictures. It’s been a while since I’ve shot professionally and I’ll readily admit to lacking creativity. Hopefully her charm will make up for whatever falls short in me.
We finally finished insulating the attic and patching the hole in the ceiling where Ezra fell through in time to vanish into the woods for a tramp across the property. “It’s gorgeous,” the Willis kids all gushed. Before we’d thought much farther than enjoying the sunshine, we were down at the creek, pulling off shoes and socks and wading knee-deep into the icy water. Even with the laughter, the splashing and the joking, the peacefulness of the creek is undisturbed. I wish I could tuck my favorite woodland haunts into a leather wallet to keep safely in my pocket for the rest of my life. Then, sometime down the road, when stress or sorrow or trouble find me in the world of men, I could whip one out, climb into the serene scene and be quiet with God and His creation.
Last in line to shower tonight, the water gave out as I waited (patiently, of course) my turn. Laughter at Josiah’s crazy antics floated into my bedroom, as I sat, bathrobe clad, my facial wash drying on my skin. They didn’t seem to be missing me too terribly and the Lord reminded me that He was. Would to God I were like Daniel, who in spite of the affairs of a kingdom and the threats of a king, set his heart to please Yahweh and sought his room three times a day to pray to Yahweh. Lord, it’s been a busy day. My mind is full, my energy level is empty. You know all my thoughts. You know what dreams bind me, what thoughts capture me, what worries trouble me. You know what sins distract me, what devils plague me, what desires delude me. Capture my mind and bring it into obedience to You, disciplined to serve You, to delight in You, to worship You.
Lord, Thou hast called my soul Thy own,
And promised me a royal home,
Call my heart Thy own, as well
And teach my lips Thy praise to tell.
Capture my will with Thy own,
That I may bow before Thy throne,
Delighted as Thy humble slave
Since Thou, my soul and heart, doth save.
Miss Lin N, fourth grade teacher, arrived in time to finish off the last two breakfast muffins. Looking fresh and springy in a green dress, she was toting her cap and gown and a huge smile for her senior pictures. It’s been a while since I’ve shot professionally and I’ll readily admit to lacking creativity. Hopefully her charm will make up for whatever falls short in me.
We finally finished insulating the attic and patching the hole in the ceiling where Ezra fell through in time to vanish into the woods for a tramp across the property. “It’s gorgeous,” the Willis kids all gushed. Before we’d thought much farther than enjoying the sunshine, we were down at the creek, pulling off shoes and socks and wading knee-deep into the icy water. Even with the laughter, the splashing and the joking, the peacefulness of the creek is undisturbed. I wish I could tuck my favorite woodland haunts into a leather wallet to keep safely in my pocket for the rest of my life. Then, sometime down the road, when stress or sorrow or trouble find me in the world of men, I could whip one out, climb into the serene scene and be quiet with God and His creation.
Last in line to shower tonight, the water gave out as I waited (patiently, of course) my turn. Laughter at Josiah’s crazy antics floated into my bedroom, as I sat, bathrobe clad, my facial wash drying on my skin. They didn’t seem to be missing me too terribly and the Lord reminded me that He was. Would to God I were like Daniel, who in spite of the affairs of a kingdom and the threats of a king, set his heart to please Yahweh and sought his room three times a day to pray to Yahweh. Lord, it’s been a busy day. My mind is full, my energy level is empty. You know all my thoughts. You know what dreams bind me, what thoughts capture me, what worries trouble me. You know what sins distract me, what devils plague me, what desires delude me. Capture my mind and bring it into obedience to You, disciplined to serve You, to delight in You, to worship You.
Lord, Thou hast called my soul Thy own,
And promised me a royal home,
Call my heart Thy own, as well
And teach my lips Thy praise to tell.
Capture my will with Thy own,
That I may bow before Thy throne,
Delighted as Thy humble slave
Since Thou, my soul and heart, doth save.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Some things are simply not to be. Apparently my internet connection is one of those things. Following its mysterious death on Friday, I called AT&T today and, wonder of all wonders, got the same technical assistant. With the warranty still good until November, we have a new one on the way. In the mean time, I’m wirelessless again.
I was almost embarrassed when Amber discovered my blog, along with the post about her. “It was a God thing,” she told me over the phone. “It was so encouraging.” Now she’s joined me with a blog of her own, posting notes from her late night Bible study.
Sated with yummy squash casserole, the family dragged out new spiral-bound notebooks and folded them back for the first night listening to our new Bible of MP3. Our task is to listen each night, for half an hour, make notes, scribble questions, comments or thoughts and discuss them the next morning at breakfast. At the rate we’re going, we just might run right over me in my personal study. I’d argue that I’ve search high and low, far and near for some alone time to keep moving through Judges, but since I haven’t found it, I’m forced to conclude I haven’t searched hard enough. Priorities, my dear self. Priorities. I open my Bible, flip to the Psalms and read, then turn to Judges and stare blankly until the words on the page jumble together and slide off into my lap. I hate Judges. I hate relativity. Moral demise. I hate the way my heart turns from fire to ashes as I read, seeing the same apathy in myself and my country as I see in Israel. Which of the Judges can I look to as a hero? Barak was a coward. Gideon couldn’t believe the plain command of the Lord. Jephthah was rash. Samson was a philanderer. Let’s not talk about what I am. But I’m missing the point. The point is not the failed people. People fail. Past, present and future. The point is Yahweh: His faithfulness to the covenant, both to punish and to deliver. The point is the battles He fought, the deeds He did, the miracles He worked—in spite of people.
Lord, Thou art the judge of all!
Hear and answer when I call,
When I beg Thy favor, Lord,
That Thy name might be adored.
Everything Thou dost is good,
Though often I misunderstood,
The world, nor I am not the theme.
Thou art the hero, King of Kings!
I was almost embarrassed when Amber discovered my blog, along with the post about her. “It was a God thing,” she told me over the phone. “It was so encouraging.” Now she’s joined me with a blog of her own, posting notes from her late night Bible study.
Sated with yummy squash casserole, the family dragged out new spiral-bound notebooks and folded them back for the first night listening to our new Bible of MP3. Our task is to listen each night, for half an hour, make notes, scribble questions, comments or thoughts and discuss them the next morning at breakfast. At the rate we’re going, we just might run right over me in my personal study. I’d argue that I’ve search high and low, far and near for some alone time to keep moving through Judges, but since I haven’t found it, I’m forced to conclude I haven’t searched hard enough. Priorities, my dear self. Priorities. I open my Bible, flip to the Psalms and read, then turn to Judges and stare blankly until the words on the page jumble together and slide off into my lap. I hate Judges. I hate relativity. Moral demise. I hate the way my heart turns from fire to ashes as I read, seeing the same apathy in myself and my country as I see in Israel. Which of the Judges can I look to as a hero? Barak was a coward. Gideon couldn’t believe the plain command of the Lord. Jephthah was rash. Samson was a philanderer. Let’s not talk about what I am. But I’m missing the point. The point is not the failed people. People fail. Past, present and future. The point is Yahweh: His faithfulness to the covenant, both to punish and to deliver. The point is the battles He fought, the deeds He did, the miracles He worked—in spite of people.
Lord, Thou art the judge of all!
Hear and answer when I call,
When I beg Thy favor, Lord,
That Thy name might be adored.
Everything Thou dost is good,
Though often I misunderstood,
The world, nor I am not the theme.
Thou art the hero, King of Kings!
Friday, April 4, 2008
Mom and Grandma Sandy asked me to join them in a game of “Old Maid.” It might be appropriate, but I’m not finding the invitation very tempting tonight. I’ve perfected the art of the shrug. It’s a necessity, considering the fact that I’m the only unmarried and eligible grandchild on both sides of the family. But my extended family has such short-sighted goals. Don’t they realize that if I get married any time in the next few years, they’ll be out someone to pester? Both grandmas are on the verge of losing a wager with Josiah—something about me being either married or engaged by age twenty-one. At T-minus two months and one day, Josiah’s triumph is nearly secure. Considering that both of them were barely eighteen when they married, I probably am beginning to seem like an old maid. *Shrug*
Today the trip to the Sunflower State took us a little farther north than our old stomping grounds—for a friend’s wedding and to visit Mom’s side of the family. Six hours is a long time to sit still, crowded into the back seat of the Camry with Josiah and Lydia. I shifted from proper car-sitting form to cross-legged, to Indian style, to my knees, and invented a few new positions of my own. When the first sign for Kansas City announced 174 miles, I thought I’d explode with impatience. Finally arrived at Grandma’s apartment, Josiah and I escaped on a lengthy tromp through housing developments and apartment complexes. Mentally, I was measuring the lawns, figuring the best patterns for mowing and trimming the edges. Who’d have thought I’d be so anxious to get back to yardwork?
Aunt Janny, Uncle Ed and I crowded into the back side of the dinner table and swapped smart-alec comments as we ate. Correction, Uncle Ed and I swapped comments. Aunt Janny attempted to converse in an intelligent manner. Grandma tossed in a few wise-cracks of her own from across the table, while Josiah and Papa interspersed witticisms from both ends. Lydia silently ate three platefuls and went back for seconds on dessert. I remember the days when I could out eat any three healthy adults and still run laps afterwards. Grown old enough to suffer from a much slower metabolism, I learned that the dinner table must also contain conversation to give us something less fattening to chew on. As the evening progressed, Papa got Uncle Ed talking about his experiences in Vietnam. Once he was dropped into the jungle on a scouting mission to find a Vietnamese supply trail. He found it and lost his squad. Holed up in a cave, he didn’t even dare use his radio as he watched the “ingenious little soldiers” wheel supplies by on bicycles all night long. The next night when he was able to make it back to the regular pick-up spot, he discovered he’d been chalked down as Missing In Action.
Busyness is smothering me—not that I don’t enjoy being busy, but my spirit is wilting and withering, thirsting for Yahweh. And my thoughts are so full and my body so tired, that when I have a chance to be with Him, I turn away and whisper, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll find time to be with You.” That’s the sum total of my selfish part in this relationship. He never says the same to me.
Lord, Thy faithfulness is firmly planted,
Thou art He for whom I’ve panted,
Thirsting for Thy living water,
Here I stand, Thy wand’ring daughter.
Take me in Thy arms and teach me,
Where distractions cannot reach me.
Make me steadfast, as Thou art,
Bound to Thee in mind and heart.
Today the trip to the Sunflower State took us a little farther north than our old stomping grounds—for a friend’s wedding and to visit Mom’s side of the family. Six hours is a long time to sit still, crowded into the back seat of the Camry with Josiah and Lydia. I shifted from proper car-sitting form to cross-legged, to Indian style, to my knees, and invented a few new positions of my own. When the first sign for Kansas City announced 174 miles, I thought I’d explode with impatience. Finally arrived at Grandma’s apartment, Josiah and I escaped on a lengthy tromp through housing developments and apartment complexes. Mentally, I was measuring the lawns, figuring the best patterns for mowing and trimming the edges. Who’d have thought I’d be so anxious to get back to yardwork?
Aunt Janny, Uncle Ed and I crowded into the back side of the dinner table and swapped smart-alec comments as we ate. Correction, Uncle Ed and I swapped comments. Aunt Janny attempted to converse in an intelligent manner. Grandma tossed in a few wise-cracks of her own from across the table, while Josiah and Papa interspersed witticisms from both ends. Lydia silently ate three platefuls and went back for seconds on dessert. I remember the days when I could out eat any three healthy adults and still run laps afterwards. Grown old enough to suffer from a much slower metabolism, I learned that the dinner table must also contain conversation to give us something less fattening to chew on. As the evening progressed, Papa got Uncle Ed talking about his experiences in Vietnam. Once he was dropped into the jungle on a scouting mission to find a Vietnamese supply trail. He found it and lost his squad. Holed up in a cave, he didn’t even dare use his radio as he watched the “ingenious little soldiers” wheel supplies by on bicycles all night long. The next night when he was able to make it back to the regular pick-up spot, he discovered he’d been chalked down as Missing In Action.
Busyness is smothering me—not that I don’t enjoy being busy, but my spirit is wilting and withering, thirsting for Yahweh. And my thoughts are so full and my body so tired, that when I have a chance to be with Him, I turn away and whisper, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll find time to be with You.” That’s the sum total of my selfish part in this relationship. He never says the same to me.
Lord, Thy faithfulness is firmly planted,
Thou art He for whom I’ve panted,
Thirsting for Thy living water,
Here I stand, Thy wand’ring daughter.
Take me in Thy arms and teach me,
Where distractions cannot reach me.
Make me steadfast, as Thou art,
Bound to Thee in mind and heart.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Grandma’s house is a place to grow fat. She always makes enough food to feed an army of hippos and insists we eat it. “No one’s going anywhere until that vegetable soup is gone.” “I made a huge cake! I expect to see it eaten.” I was delighted we had Nick along to help our endeavor.
And Mandy was another welcome addition. “I’m at my Grandma’s,” I told her over the phone. “Are you busy this afternoon?” As a matter of fact she wasn’t. And she was coming to town anyway for a game night at Abigail and Shane’s. After an amazing lunch of chicken enchiladas, eaten fashionably late (at three o’clock), the whole family packed out in the suburban and headed into their house for a tour and a glimpse of little Miss Sofia Grace. A few months ago I’d figured I’d be spending my days holding Abigail’s baby and hanging out with Mandy. This is the first time I’ve held Sofia, and I’ve not seen Mandy in six months. Seems like I keep being reminded how the Lord changes things—quickly sometimes. I always look ahead, when the change is still misty and unknown and grow frightened, but each change is simply the rerouting of a channel. The flow is never stopped—just redirected. Never as dangerous as my overactive imagination deems possible.
Grandma’s house is also a wealth of distractions. “I’ll have plenty of time to finish Joshua,” I cheerfully tell myself, but instead I sit through the entire KU game, keeping track of the players almost as avidly as Grandma herself. As if I care who makes it into the top four. As if it has any benefit or bearing on my life or the path the Lord would have me walk. As if watching these poor deluded souls grasping at a fading crown will somehow spur me on toward my own eternal crown.
“The Prayer of Jabez” lay quietly by on the coffee table, so I picked it up and started reading. More out of curiosity, since I’d seen more “prayer of Jabez” paraphernalia than I ever cared to see. Creating study Bibles named after one verse seems a bit of overkill to me. However, I soon found myself engrossed in the truths and principles shared in this original pocket-sized book—many of which the Lord has been bringing forth in my life already. Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, “Oh that Thou wouldst bless me indeed, and enlarge my border, and that Thy hand might be with me, and that Thou wouldst keep me from evil, that it may not bring pain to me.” A simple prayer, it seems, and perhaps a little self-serving. In my self-righteousness, I tend to reprimand myself for praying for “me” all the time. But David, the man after God’s own heart prayed and pleaded for himself constantly. Yahweh wants us to seek Him for ourselves, to seek His blessings for ourselves, and to seek His protection for ourselves. This little booklet broke down Jabez’s prayer into four parts: A plea for God’s blessing, a plea for increased influence, a plea for God’s empowering and a plea to be kept from temptation. When we ask for God to bless what we do, we must understand that His blessings point to Him, that He blesses what brings glory to Him, that His blessings include pruning, disciplining and guidance. When we ask that he increase our influence, we are asking for more ministry—sometimes beyond what we can handle! I’ve seen this over and over again in my life, especially in the past few months. But having more than we can handle is simply the perfect situation for Yahweh to work—if we humbly entreat His hand to be with us, His Spirit to empower us, His wisdom to guide us. There is no question then about Who did the work. The more we seek to do for the Lord, the larger a target we make ourselves to Satan. To pray to be kept from temptation—“lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil,” Jesus taught His disciples to pray. Beg the Lord, not only for strength to endure, to resist and to come safely through temptation, but pray in advance that He would remove temptation, that He would keep our feet on a level path. What could glorify God more than to bless us as we seek to serve Him, by His power and to implore His protection from even the temptation to sin? Chronicles tell us, God answered the prayer of Jabez.
As I read, my mind kept coming back to Caleb, the man I read about this morning. Of the generation that rebelled against Yahweh and fearfully refused to take the land, only Joshua and Caleb lived to enter the land—the two spies who remained faithful to Yahweh. Incidentally, Caleb’s name means faithful. At age eighty-five, when he finally entered the land and took his possession, he came to Joshua saying, “I’m still strong! There’s still so much to do! Give me more land (enlarge my boundaries) so I can drive out the Lord’s enemies.” What a delight Caleb must have been to Yahweh, in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, he shone like a light, praising Yahweh for giving him health, desiring more room to use God’s blessings to further God’s name.
Lord, bless me! Bless my soul indeed
Fulfill my deeply rooted need
To be with Thee and to be Thine,
And turn my water into wine
That it may bring Thy joy to all,
And hear my prayer whene’er I call.
May Thy hand be swift to guide me
And from every evil hide me.
And Mandy was another welcome addition. “I’m at my Grandma’s,” I told her over the phone. “Are you busy this afternoon?” As a matter of fact she wasn’t. And she was coming to town anyway for a game night at Abigail and Shane’s. After an amazing lunch of chicken enchiladas, eaten fashionably late (at three o’clock), the whole family packed out in the suburban and headed into their house for a tour and a glimpse of little Miss Sofia Grace. A few months ago I’d figured I’d be spending my days holding Abigail’s baby and hanging out with Mandy. This is the first time I’ve held Sofia, and I’ve not seen Mandy in six months. Seems like I keep being reminded how the Lord changes things—quickly sometimes. I always look ahead, when the change is still misty and unknown and grow frightened, but each change is simply the rerouting of a channel. The flow is never stopped—just redirected. Never as dangerous as my overactive imagination deems possible.
Grandma’s house is also a wealth of distractions. “I’ll have plenty of time to finish Joshua,” I cheerfully tell myself, but instead I sit through the entire KU game, keeping track of the players almost as avidly as Grandma herself. As if I care who makes it into the top four. As if it has any benefit or bearing on my life or the path the Lord would have me walk. As if watching these poor deluded souls grasping at a fading crown will somehow spur me on toward my own eternal crown.
“The Prayer of Jabez” lay quietly by on the coffee table, so I picked it up and started reading. More out of curiosity, since I’d seen more “prayer of Jabez” paraphernalia than I ever cared to see. Creating study Bibles named after one verse seems a bit of overkill to me. However, I soon found myself engrossed in the truths and principles shared in this original pocket-sized book—many of which the Lord has been bringing forth in my life already. Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, “Oh that Thou wouldst bless me indeed, and enlarge my border, and that Thy hand might be with me, and that Thou wouldst keep me from evil, that it may not bring pain to me.” A simple prayer, it seems, and perhaps a little self-serving. In my self-righteousness, I tend to reprimand myself for praying for “me” all the time. But David, the man after God’s own heart prayed and pleaded for himself constantly. Yahweh wants us to seek Him for ourselves, to seek His blessings for ourselves, and to seek His protection for ourselves. This little booklet broke down Jabez’s prayer into four parts: A plea for God’s blessing, a plea for increased influence, a plea for God’s empowering and a plea to be kept from temptation. When we ask for God to bless what we do, we must understand that His blessings point to Him, that He blesses what brings glory to Him, that His blessings include pruning, disciplining and guidance. When we ask that he increase our influence, we are asking for more ministry—sometimes beyond what we can handle! I’ve seen this over and over again in my life, especially in the past few months. But having more than we can handle is simply the perfect situation for Yahweh to work—if we humbly entreat His hand to be with us, His Spirit to empower us, His wisdom to guide us. There is no question then about Who did the work. The more we seek to do for the Lord, the larger a target we make ourselves to Satan. To pray to be kept from temptation—“lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil,” Jesus taught His disciples to pray. Beg the Lord, not only for strength to endure, to resist and to come safely through temptation, but pray in advance that He would remove temptation, that He would keep our feet on a level path. What could glorify God more than to bless us as we seek to serve Him, by His power and to implore His protection from even the temptation to sin? Chronicles tell us, God answered the prayer of Jabez.
As I read, my mind kept coming back to Caleb, the man I read about this morning. Of the generation that rebelled against Yahweh and fearfully refused to take the land, only Joshua and Caleb lived to enter the land—the two spies who remained faithful to Yahweh. Incidentally, Caleb’s name means faithful. At age eighty-five, when he finally entered the land and took his possession, he came to Joshua saying, “I’m still strong! There’s still so much to do! Give me more land (enlarge my boundaries) so I can drive out the Lord’s enemies.” What a delight Caleb must have been to Yahweh, in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, he shone like a light, praising Yahweh for giving him health, desiring more room to use God’s blessings to further God’s name.
Lord, bless me! Bless my soul indeed
Fulfill my deeply rooted need
To be with Thee and to be Thine,
And turn my water into wine
That it may bring Thy joy to all,
And hear my prayer whene’er I call.
May Thy hand be swift to guide me
And from every evil hide me.
Thursday, March 17, 2008
Travis put us all in stitches, describing the plight of his dentures. Tricky things to make, are dentures, and take hours of intense labor, as I’ve discovered from being in the lab with Papa. It’s hard to convince the wayward teeth to stay in one’s mouth, as poor Travis has discovered. “Super glue works for many things,” Mom offered, jokingly, but Travis only shuddered. “It doesn’t work for this! I tried it!” Out pop his teeth, before he continues, “I go to eat oatmeal with a big spoon and wind up putting my food on top of my teeth instead of between them. The first day I got them, I was driving down the highway with my windows rolled down and I sneezed. I barely caught my teeth on their way out the window. Just the other day I coughed and they went flying across the floor. ‘Mary!’ I yelled. ‘Get me my dentures, would you?’ She says, ‘I ain’t touching them!’” Then there’s the time he lost them in a movie theatre. He’d taken them out to eat popcorn and rolled them into his sweatshirt, then gotten up to move, forgetting about them. Soon he and the manager were crawling around in the dark with a flashlight, poking under people’s feet, more entertaining than the movie, as they searched for the missing mouthpiece. Travis knows we’re believers. We talk with him frequently. But none of us has yet shared the gospel. Why is it that those who live so near us, who give us so many opportunities, seem the most frightening? As if sharing the best news on earth would somehow hamper our relationship.
I think I made a million phone calls today, and received a million more. I can’t even remember why. I know I wasn’t selling vinyl siding. Thankfully, they weren’t either.
As usual, I’d disconnected the wireless device after checking my e-mail and attempted to reconnect it to Papa’s computer. Nothing. No recognition. Uh. What? I checked the USB cables, tried several other ports and then tried reconnecting to my laptop. Power, yes. Data, no. Oh great. That meant a hardware issue. I quickly dug out our latest bill and called AT&T. Emily, my very kind AT&T representative walked me through several troubleshooting processes (again) and deduced the same thing. Here’s where I found her impressive: instead of simply transferring me over to the warranty department and leaving me on my own to explain myself and my data, she went on hold with me—even disconnected me, so I wouldn’t have to wait, and then called me back when she finally got through to a representative, where she introduced us, passed on the problem and I soon had my issue resolved. Well, at least as well as I could hope for. The upshot is that we’re expecting a new device Monday. Until then, we shall be entirely cut off from the electronic world. Funny how dependent we’ve become on e-mail and internet that a few days without that option seems like a hardship.
I’ve been lingering in the word bridge between Deuteronomy and Joshua, captured by one theme: “Have I not commanded you, be strong and courageous! Do not be terrified or discouraged, for Yahweh is with you.” Could there be a more appropriate time for this command, when it seems a few giants are undefined giants are facing us? Fascinating is the wording. Not, “you can do it” or “you’re big enough for this” or “you’re the man!” as the world would tell us—falsely. A command: be strong and courageous. Make the choice: don’t be terrified or discouraged. Why? Because Yahweh is with you. Us. Me. Forty years before, Joshua’s generation had trembled, had feared, had become discouraged, forgetting the mighty deeds Yahweh had done on their behalf. Now, as an eighty-year-old man, come again to the edge of the promised land, God reminds him over and over again to be brave! To fight with might for the right. Because Yahweh Himself is with him, fighting for the sake of His name.
Be strong in Yahweh and in the strength of His might. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against rulers and principalities of darkness. We’re not battling idolatrous Canaanites, but the very bloodthirsty darkness that controlled them. Therefore, we should gird ourselves with the armor of God, that we may stand firm. Clothed with truth, guarded by righteousness, walking in peace, shielded by faith, protected by salvation and doing battle with God’s word and through the far-reaching power of prayer.
And pray for what? For boldness. “Have I not commanded you be strong and courageous!” Because the Creator and Sustainer of all life is with me wherever I go. Because the battle is not mine, it’s His. Because He has already won the victory and ensured that I will receive the unfading wreath of eternal life.
The story of Jericho’s downfall seems overly familiar at times, but the command for silence set me to thinking. Why would God command silence as His people paraded around the walls of Jericho? In a dearth of words, I find myself growing thoughtful, pondering, meditating. No doubt the men of Israel found themselves recalling how Yahweh had piled up the water of the Jordan so they could cross, how He had brought them so far, they could see the ark in front of them, leading the way, remember the beautiful object lessons it contained, think on God’s promises kept and this new one: that the walls would come crashing down when they obeyed. Jericho was a battle won through worship—unquestioningly obeying God’s commands. Silently, so as to focus on Yahweh and His power. Then the shout—the cry of faith that the victory was won and the answering rumbling that sent the massive walls into piles of dust and debris. As I buckle on my armor for spiritual battle, I am reminded that God does the fighting—our part is to worship, to obey, to shout the cry of victory.
Lord, Thou bids me take my sword,
And in the true strength of Thy word,
The courage which Thy presence lends,
The power which Thy spirit sends,
To take the battlefield and fight,
Against the strongholds of the night,
Tear down discouragement and fear,
And so the devil’s strongholds here.
I think I made a million phone calls today, and received a million more. I can’t even remember why. I know I wasn’t selling vinyl siding. Thankfully, they weren’t either.
As usual, I’d disconnected the wireless device after checking my e-mail and attempted to reconnect it to Papa’s computer. Nothing. No recognition. Uh. What? I checked the USB cables, tried several other ports and then tried reconnecting to my laptop. Power, yes. Data, no. Oh great. That meant a hardware issue. I quickly dug out our latest bill and called AT&T. Emily, my very kind AT&T representative walked me through several troubleshooting processes (again) and deduced the same thing. Here’s where I found her impressive: instead of simply transferring me over to the warranty department and leaving me on my own to explain myself and my data, she went on hold with me—even disconnected me, so I wouldn’t have to wait, and then called me back when she finally got through to a representative, where she introduced us, passed on the problem and I soon had my issue resolved. Well, at least as well as I could hope for. The upshot is that we’re expecting a new device Monday. Until then, we shall be entirely cut off from the electronic world. Funny how dependent we’ve become on e-mail and internet that a few days without that option seems like a hardship.
I’ve been lingering in the word bridge between Deuteronomy and Joshua, captured by one theme: “Have I not commanded you, be strong and courageous! Do not be terrified or discouraged, for Yahweh is with you.” Could there be a more appropriate time for this command, when it seems a few giants are undefined giants are facing us? Fascinating is the wording. Not, “you can do it” or “you’re big enough for this” or “you’re the man!” as the world would tell us—falsely. A command: be strong and courageous. Make the choice: don’t be terrified or discouraged. Why? Because Yahweh is with you. Us. Me. Forty years before, Joshua’s generation had trembled, had feared, had become discouraged, forgetting the mighty deeds Yahweh had done on their behalf. Now, as an eighty-year-old man, come again to the edge of the promised land, God reminds him over and over again to be brave! To fight with might for the right. Because Yahweh Himself is with him, fighting for the sake of His name.
Be strong in Yahweh and in the strength of His might. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against rulers and principalities of darkness. We’re not battling idolatrous Canaanites, but the very bloodthirsty darkness that controlled them. Therefore, we should gird ourselves with the armor of God, that we may stand firm. Clothed with truth, guarded by righteousness, walking in peace, shielded by faith, protected by salvation and doing battle with God’s word and through the far-reaching power of prayer.
And pray for what? For boldness. “Have I not commanded you be strong and courageous!” Because the Creator and Sustainer of all life is with me wherever I go. Because the battle is not mine, it’s His. Because He has already won the victory and ensured that I will receive the unfading wreath of eternal life.
The story of Jericho’s downfall seems overly familiar at times, but the command for silence set me to thinking. Why would God command silence as His people paraded around the walls of Jericho? In a dearth of words, I find myself growing thoughtful, pondering, meditating. No doubt the men of Israel found themselves recalling how Yahweh had piled up the water of the Jordan so they could cross, how He had brought them so far, they could see the ark in front of them, leading the way, remember the beautiful object lessons it contained, think on God’s promises kept and this new one: that the walls would come crashing down when they obeyed. Jericho was a battle won through worship—unquestioningly obeying God’s commands. Silently, so as to focus on Yahweh and His power. Then the shout—the cry of faith that the victory was won and the answering rumbling that sent the massive walls into piles of dust and debris. As I buckle on my armor for spiritual battle, I am reminded that God does the fighting—our part is to worship, to obey, to shout the cry of victory.
Lord, Thou bids me take my sword,
And in the true strength of Thy word,
The courage which Thy presence lends,
The power which Thy spirit sends,
To take the battlefield and fight,
Against the strongholds of the night,
Tear down discouragement and fear,
And so the devil’s strongholds here.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Back in the day, speech judges suggested I consider a career in TV or Radio broadcasting. Humorous, since I rarely pay attention to either. Nick had a brilliant idea for a new voice mail message for his cell phone—an important news flash about an escaped maniacal penguin which interrupted his usual greeting. Most entertaining were the friends who thought my voice was an actual automated recording.
I’d been attempting to play some rag-time when Sleeper arrived, guitar in tow, hoping for a jam session. It’s been too long since I’d played with a guitar. Leaning back in his chair, his feet propped on the piano bench, he dragged inspiration out of me with misinformed statements like: “You know what you’re doing. Just play!” Just when Sleeper’d be getting the hang of my chord progression, I’d change it up or throw in some off chord, just to see what he’d do. “If I ever record a CD,” he said, shaking his head at one point, “You’re playing piano.” To hear some real piano, he should play with Bruce. What he doesn’t realize is that I’ve never played like that before in my life and likely never will again. Perhaps that maniacal penguin has rubbed off on me.
My brother is a good man. His e-mail reply this morning tied up one issue in a neat little package to put away in my china cabinet for later. Lauren finished the task with a phone call in the afternoon. I know I over evaluate, and wind up only wrestling myself—a losing situation, it seems. Conversely, God’s grace can turn it on end for a win-win. Lauren even tossed out the possibility of co-authoring a book, or even a blog, devoted to exploring issues for godly women from both sides of the fence: singleness and marriage.
“They” say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. “They” have never learned the secret of contentment—I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Today I am the Lord’s single woman, living under my father’s protection, headship and guidance. Today I re-evaluated my life in light of honoring him and discovered it severely lacking as wish after wish, goal after goal of his came to mind that I had left incomplete or marked unimportant. If I want to embrace the Lord’s will, I must embrace my father’s ministry and do what I can to further it by serving him. The temptation to simply “try to do better” was strong, but the conviction that I should confess my negligence to him won out. To mentally decide to surrender is not to lay down one’s sword. Embarrassing it is that my dad and I communicate best through e-mails—but we are both visual. Write it out for us and we’ll get it. I wrote out for him how the Lord had used his teaching Sunday to convict me and then listed the things I could think of that I’d not finished, asking for his direction in them. His reply was a gracious and kind acknowledgement. Details will follow shortly.
The rest of the day I tried to bring closure to several dragging tasks he’d asked me to do. Every step of the way I ran headlong into brick walls. Someone needed me for this. Could I do that? Phone calls wouldn’t go through, customer service certainly didn’t seem interested in helping the customer. How am I supposed to fulfill my great aspirations of serving my dad if the rest of the universe doesn’t share them? Sit still and the day is calm, but start running and you’ll feel the wind tugging against you. But at the end of the day, it’s the one who ran into the wind who sleeps the soundest.
Yahweh, Thou art great and kind,
Thou will not leave my soul behind
When Thou dost gather those Thou loves
To carry us to Thee, above.
Yahweh, teach me to rejoice
And lift an ever thankful voice
To Thee, for Thou hast heard my prayers
And hushed and stilled all of my cares.
I’d been attempting to play some rag-time when Sleeper arrived, guitar in tow, hoping for a jam session. It’s been too long since I’d played with a guitar. Leaning back in his chair, his feet propped on the piano bench, he dragged inspiration out of me with misinformed statements like: “You know what you’re doing. Just play!” Just when Sleeper’d be getting the hang of my chord progression, I’d change it up or throw in some off chord, just to see what he’d do. “If I ever record a CD,” he said, shaking his head at one point, “You’re playing piano.” To hear some real piano, he should play with Bruce. What he doesn’t realize is that I’ve never played like that before in my life and likely never will again. Perhaps that maniacal penguin has rubbed off on me.
My brother is a good man. His e-mail reply this morning tied up one issue in a neat little package to put away in my china cabinet for later. Lauren finished the task with a phone call in the afternoon. I know I over evaluate, and wind up only wrestling myself—a losing situation, it seems. Conversely, God’s grace can turn it on end for a win-win. Lauren even tossed out the possibility of co-authoring a book, or even a blog, devoted to exploring issues for godly women from both sides of the fence: singleness and marriage.
“They” say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. “They” have never learned the secret of contentment—I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Today I am the Lord’s single woman, living under my father’s protection, headship and guidance. Today I re-evaluated my life in light of honoring him and discovered it severely lacking as wish after wish, goal after goal of his came to mind that I had left incomplete or marked unimportant. If I want to embrace the Lord’s will, I must embrace my father’s ministry and do what I can to further it by serving him. The temptation to simply “try to do better” was strong, but the conviction that I should confess my negligence to him won out. To mentally decide to surrender is not to lay down one’s sword. Embarrassing it is that my dad and I communicate best through e-mails—but we are both visual. Write it out for us and we’ll get it. I wrote out for him how the Lord had used his teaching Sunday to convict me and then listed the things I could think of that I’d not finished, asking for his direction in them. His reply was a gracious and kind acknowledgement. Details will follow shortly.
The rest of the day I tried to bring closure to several dragging tasks he’d asked me to do. Every step of the way I ran headlong into brick walls. Someone needed me for this. Could I do that? Phone calls wouldn’t go through, customer service certainly didn’t seem interested in helping the customer. How am I supposed to fulfill my great aspirations of serving my dad if the rest of the universe doesn’t share them? Sit still and the day is calm, but start running and you’ll feel the wind tugging against you. But at the end of the day, it’s the one who ran into the wind who sleeps the soundest.
Yahweh, Thou art great and kind,
Thou will not leave my soul behind
When Thou dost gather those Thou loves
To carry us to Thee, above.
Yahweh, teach me to rejoice
And lift an ever thankful voice
To Thee, for Thou hast heard my prayers
And hushed and stilled all of my cares.
Resurrection Sunday, March 23, 2008
System overload!
Just as I was sitting down to write, AmCam showed up, and whoopdie-doo! She’s a great girl, but I was ready to wind down and call it a night. “You always make me feel so welcome,” she hugged me on her way out the door. Little Hypocrite Abigail stood by smiling, eager to dash back to the safe haven of her bedroom. But if love is action, is it wrong to hide my own desires to make someone feel welcome? Is that hypocrisy or love?
Lydia rose this morning with skin as smooth as a new born baby’s. Praise the Lord!
Our home was brimming over with activity as we got ready for our meeting this morning. In addition to Dathan and Nick, Bruce, Lauren and Nathaniel all pulled in late last night and Josh joined us after the Sunrise Service at First Baptist. As we reflected on Christ’s death and resurrection, Josh’s questions brought to light some beautiful details: how Christ’s sufferings were greater than any sinner will ever face in hell, because in those three hours on the cross he was forsaken by God, His own Holy Father; how, even God’s grace in the shining of the sun was blotted out while Jesus hung on the cross paying the penalty for the world’s sin; how death could not hold him—in three hours time He had paid for every sin ever committed or that ever would be committed and was able to commit His spirit to God; how, while His body lay in the grave, He went and preached triumph to the souls in sheol, and when he ascended back to God, He led forth those who had been waiting on the credit of faith in God for the Messiah who would free them from their sins; how we know He was heard because of His piety, in that God raised Him again! In this is our confident hope, that as Jesus conquered death and rose again to the glory of the Father, so we too may walk in newness of life, confident that we shall be raised into the likeness of His perfection one day. This is God: both just and the justifier.
From there Papa turned to teach from First Timothy chapter two—about prayer in the assembly, by the males, and the females redirection to a role in the home. It’s hard to shake ourselves loose of the cultural concept that women should be “liberated” and should be independent. When all of us learn to be truly independent individuals, society will crumble. Interdependence is what holds a family, a marriage, a community together. God’s plan for separate roles—where each person performs a special part that only they can do well. Like the spider is important to the earth’s ecosystem in her ability to build webs and trap insects like no other creature, so the woman’s importance is not in her ability to compete with men, but in her ability to bear children—something no man can do. Strange it is, that women have “liberated” themselves from the freedom of enjoying what they were created to be, and have enslaved themselves in the rat-race that is corporate life—little realizing how much that second income is actually costing them: second car/insurance/expense/wear and tear, wardrobe, daycare, eating out or pre-made food, to mention nothing of medical bills due to stress and strain at work and home. The femanazis of our day have embraced a double curse—was it not enough to have pain in child-birth, but that they also must work the ground by the sweat of their brow? How blessed I am to have been raised in a family who sought to function under God’s plan, and has reaped so many of the blessings He reserves for those who seek His ways. As we studied, I was struck by the concept that a godly woman is not an independent entity. The headship passage in First Corinthians eleven began to gel with me. God is the head. Even Jesus said He could do nothing on His own initiative—He was only an ambassador of God. Each man is an ambassador of Christ and each woman, an ambassador of her man—husband or, in my case, father. It’s not a weighty chain of command, it’s a layered umbrella of protection. The godly woman adorns herself with modesty and good works, as an ambassador of her man. I found myself slipping into a brown study, reevaluating my life, my activities, my attitudes. Am I pleasing my father? Am I seeking to further his ministry? Am I blessing him? As an expression of my love for Christ.
Lauren and Nathaniel shared with me what they've been learning from "Created to be His Helpmeet"—girls tend to think themselves spiritual because they talk on and on about how God leads them, in every little thing. Guys are carnal, of course, because they don’t have the same subjective, emotional reactions. So how does God lead? Can we look back and see His leading in the past? I’m sure, as I read back through my journals, that I can see God’s hand, see His leading. I set up Ebenezer stones, saying “Thus far has the Lord brought me”. Is that mistaken? Emotional? Shallow?
How am I ever going to sort out the scrambled mess my mind and heart have reached?
I think I’ll go to bed. In the morning I will defragment.
Lord, my heart seems bruised and shattered,
Swirling winds of doubt have scattered.
Lost within the storm, I stand
Wishing I could understand.
What’s a girl to do? I wonder.
Confused by flashes, peals of thunder,
Pelted by the boiling rain—
Unite my heart to fear Thy name.
Just as I was sitting down to write, AmCam showed up, and whoopdie-doo! She’s a great girl, but I was ready to wind down and call it a night. “You always make me feel so welcome,” she hugged me on her way out the door. Little Hypocrite Abigail stood by smiling, eager to dash back to the safe haven of her bedroom. But if love is action, is it wrong to hide my own desires to make someone feel welcome? Is that hypocrisy or love?
Lydia rose this morning with skin as smooth as a new born baby’s. Praise the Lord!
Our home was brimming over with activity as we got ready for our meeting this morning. In addition to Dathan and Nick, Bruce, Lauren and Nathaniel all pulled in late last night and Josh joined us after the Sunrise Service at First Baptist. As we reflected on Christ’s death and resurrection, Josh’s questions brought to light some beautiful details: how Christ’s sufferings were greater than any sinner will ever face in hell, because in those three hours on the cross he was forsaken by God, His own Holy Father; how, even God’s grace in the shining of the sun was blotted out while Jesus hung on the cross paying the penalty for the world’s sin; how death could not hold him—in three hours time He had paid for every sin ever committed or that ever would be committed and was able to commit His spirit to God; how, while His body lay in the grave, He went and preached triumph to the souls in sheol, and when he ascended back to God, He led forth those who had been waiting on the credit of faith in God for the Messiah who would free them from their sins; how we know He was heard because of His piety, in that God raised Him again! In this is our confident hope, that as Jesus conquered death and rose again to the glory of the Father, so we too may walk in newness of life, confident that we shall be raised into the likeness of His perfection one day. This is God: both just and the justifier.
From there Papa turned to teach from First Timothy chapter two—about prayer in the assembly, by the males, and the females redirection to a role in the home. It’s hard to shake ourselves loose of the cultural concept that women should be “liberated” and should be independent. When all of us learn to be truly independent individuals, society will crumble. Interdependence is what holds a family, a marriage, a community together. God’s plan for separate roles—where each person performs a special part that only they can do well. Like the spider is important to the earth’s ecosystem in her ability to build webs and trap insects like no other creature, so the woman’s importance is not in her ability to compete with men, but in her ability to bear children—something no man can do. Strange it is, that women have “liberated” themselves from the freedom of enjoying what they were created to be, and have enslaved themselves in the rat-race that is corporate life—little realizing how much that second income is actually costing them: second car/insurance/expense/wear and tear, wardrobe, daycare, eating out or pre-made food, to mention nothing of medical bills due to stress and strain at work and home. The femanazis of our day have embraced a double curse—was it not enough to have pain in child-birth, but that they also must work the ground by the sweat of their brow? How blessed I am to have been raised in a family who sought to function under God’s plan, and has reaped so many of the blessings He reserves for those who seek His ways. As we studied, I was struck by the concept that a godly woman is not an independent entity. The headship passage in First Corinthians eleven began to gel with me. God is the head. Even Jesus said He could do nothing on His own initiative—He was only an ambassador of God. Each man is an ambassador of Christ and each woman, an ambassador of her man—husband or, in my case, father. It’s not a weighty chain of command, it’s a layered umbrella of protection. The godly woman adorns herself with modesty and good works, as an ambassador of her man. I found myself slipping into a brown study, reevaluating my life, my activities, my attitudes. Am I pleasing my father? Am I seeking to further his ministry? Am I blessing him? As an expression of my love for Christ.
Lauren and Nathaniel shared with me what they've been learning from "Created to be His Helpmeet"—girls tend to think themselves spiritual because they talk on and on about how God leads them, in every little thing. Guys are carnal, of course, because they don’t have the same subjective, emotional reactions. So how does God lead? Can we look back and see His leading in the past? I’m sure, as I read back through my journals, that I can see God’s hand, see His leading. I set up Ebenezer stones, saying “Thus far has the Lord brought me”. Is that mistaken? Emotional? Shallow?
How am I ever going to sort out the scrambled mess my mind and heart have reached?
I think I’ll go to bed. In the morning I will defragment.
Lord, my heart seems bruised and shattered,
Swirling winds of doubt have scattered.
Lost within the storm, I stand
Wishing I could understand.
What’s a girl to do? I wonder.
Confused by flashes, peals of thunder,
Pelted by the boiling rain—
Unite my heart to fear Thy name.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
I hung up my toothbrush, wiped my hands and opened the bathroom door, at last free to sit down and just be alone. A pale, blue figure stood forlornly outside, squinting at the light. “Abigail,” came Lydia’s sleepy voice. “I think I have a bunch of chigger bites on my back. They itch. Can you do something for me?” It’s pretty early for chiggers. I pulled her into the bathroom, slid her shirt over her head and gasped. Her little back was mottled and blistered with a nasty rash. “What did you eat today?” I demanded. “What did you do outside?” The mountain ranges were crawling up her neck and arms, across her belly and down her whole backside. Half an hour, several antihistamines, a body rub of ant-itch cream and clean clothes later, I am finally sitting down in the quiet. It’s already past ten-thirty.
This in flight fueling just doesn’t seem to work for me.
Unthought thoughts seem to pile up in my arms, like a load of firewood, needing only one thing: to be laid on Yahweh’s altar as a pleasing sacrifice to Him.
I thought I could wish Him good-morning while fixing breakfast, but others trickled in, greeting, laughing, asking questions. As soon as we’d finished breakfast, I clambered outside and wrangled our poor, dilapidated weed eater to the floor, to fill it with fuel and attempt starting it. “Homelite” I read over again and again as I futily cranked it. “Simply reliable.” Reliable would not have been my word of choice, considering the polished wood string head (Josiah’s creative craftsmanship), the shuddering blade ensemble (held together by bolts and electrical tape) or the fact that I had opened up the side and pulled out the air filter so I could manually choke the engine, while spraying in starter fluid. Finally she roared to life and managed to rattle every bone in my body as we attacked the brush crowding out the back lane. Just as I finished up, ol’ Homelite gave a shudder, parted ways with her muffler and went out sounding like a motorcycle on a respirator. But I finished the job. Barely in time to snatch a quick shower and head out the door with Nathaniel and Lauren in an attempt to find Lauren some new dresses. “You’re my favorite person to shop with,” she confided. Shopping might not be my most favoritist activity in the world, but if it’s the only one in which I surpass Nathaniel, I will seek to be the best fashion consultant/shopper helper the world has ever known. Our hurried spree came to an end in time to see us arriving “fashionably late” (so Lauren said) and Donnie’s open house. Open houses are painfully awkward creatures. I arrived, I said “hi”, I joined the volleyball game, I ate, I had snatches of numerous conversations with numerous people. Listening over a dull roar is a talent I do not possess. Making small talk is another. Spiking a volleyball is a third. But the important thing is that Donnie enjoyed the event, felt special because I was there (well, me and a few others) and proved to be a master in serving volleyball.
For the fifteen miles home, my mind reached blindly for the “alone time” I was promising myself. Because my plans are so important. Because I am so important. Home arrived with a new set of demands. Make supper. Wash dishes. Clean the house. Get ready for more company. Fix food for tomorrow. My outer shell smiled as I spooned jell-o into a pan and chopped a crop of dusty pototatoes. My inner being wept. Slicing the turkey, Mom asked for prayer about several things weighing on her mind. I slammed a butterfly net over my wandering mind and put it in a jar on the counter in front of me, hoping to hold it present to listen to her. “Lord!” I plead, “I just wanted to be alone!”
“I know the feeling.”
Made in the likeness of sinful flesh. A priest who can sympathize with our weaknesses. Often Jesus tried to creep away with His disciples, to be alone, to pray, to talk to His father, but the clamorous multitudes hunted Him out, seeking only to eat the loaves and be filled. One day He fed five thousand, spent the night in prayer, crossed the sea on foot through a storm only to be greeted on the other side by those He’d hoped to evade. At last, those same men and women who had so eagerly sought Him before, turned against Him and demanded His death. Hardly a chance to be alone that night, as He faced the most terrible agony possible—paving the way for me to come to Him.
Now that I’m finally alone in the dark and quiet, my head droops. “I’m too tired, Lord. I’m exhausted. I just need to go to sleep.”
The disciples were too tired to watch and pray by the side of their Lord. Too tired to savor those last few moments with Him before He was betrayed. Too tired to seek their comfort, solace and strength from Him—the only strength that could save them from falling into temptation, that could strengthen their willing spirits.
Some things should never be left for tomorrow.
Tomorrow never comes.
Lord, when I think sleep is better
Than to be alone with Thee,
Bind me with Thy love’s strong fetter,
That my heart, enchained will be.
I dare not sleep without first seeking
Thou, Who art my source of power.
I hear the Savior softly speaking,
“Watch and pray throughout this hour.”
This in flight fueling just doesn’t seem to work for me.
Unthought thoughts seem to pile up in my arms, like a load of firewood, needing only one thing: to be laid on Yahweh’s altar as a pleasing sacrifice to Him.
I thought I could wish Him good-morning while fixing breakfast, but others trickled in, greeting, laughing, asking questions. As soon as we’d finished breakfast, I clambered outside and wrangled our poor, dilapidated weed eater to the floor, to fill it with fuel and attempt starting it. “Homelite” I read over again and again as I futily cranked it. “Simply reliable.” Reliable would not have been my word of choice, considering the polished wood string head (Josiah’s creative craftsmanship), the shuddering blade ensemble (held together by bolts and electrical tape) or the fact that I had opened up the side and pulled out the air filter so I could manually choke the engine, while spraying in starter fluid. Finally she roared to life and managed to rattle every bone in my body as we attacked the brush crowding out the back lane. Just as I finished up, ol’ Homelite gave a shudder, parted ways with her muffler and went out sounding like a motorcycle on a respirator. But I finished the job. Barely in time to snatch a quick shower and head out the door with Nathaniel and Lauren in an attempt to find Lauren some new dresses. “You’re my favorite person to shop with,” she confided. Shopping might not be my most favoritist activity in the world, but if it’s the only one in which I surpass Nathaniel, I will seek to be the best fashion consultant/shopper helper the world has ever known. Our hurried spree came to an end in time to see us arriving “fashionably late” (so Lauren said) and Donnie’s open house. Open houses are painfully awkward creatures. I arrived, I said “hi”, I joined the volleyball game, I ate, I had snatches of numerous conversations with numerous people. Listening over a dull roar is a talent I do not possess. Making small talk is another. Spiking a volleyball is a third. But the important thing is that Donnie enjoyed the event, felt special because I was there (well, me and a few others) and proved to be a master in serving volleyball.
For the fifteen miles home, my mind reached blindly for the “alone time” I was promising myself. Because my plans are so important. Because I am so important. Home arrived with a new set of demands. Make supper. Wash dishes. Clean the house. Get ready for more company. Fix food for tomorrow. My outer shell smiled as I spooned jell-o into a pan and chopped a crop of dusty pototatoes. My inner being wept. Slicing the turkey, Mom asked for prayer about several things weighing on her mind. I slammed a butterfly net over my wandering mind and put it in a jar on the counter in front of me, hoping to hold it present to listen to her. “Lord!” I plead, “I just wanted to be alone!”
“I know the feeling.”
Made in the likeness of sinful flesh. A priest who can sympathize with our weaknesses. Often Jesus tried to creep away with His disciples, to be alone, to pray, to talk to His father, but the clamorous multitudes hunted Him out, seeking only to eat the loaves and be filled. One day He fed five thousand, spent the night in prayer, crossed the sea on foot through a storm only to be greeted on the other side by those He’d hoped to evade. At last, those same men and women who had so eagerly sought Him before, turned against Him and demanded His death. Hardly a chance to be alone that night, as He faced the most terrible agony possible—paving the way for me to come to Him.
Now that I’m finally alone in the dark and quiet, my head droops. “I’m too tired, Lord. I’m exhausted. I just need to go to sleep.”
The disciples were too tired to watch and pray by the side of their Lord. Too tired to savor those last few moments with Him before He was betrayed. Too tired to seek their comfort, solace and strength from Him—the only strength that could save them from falling into temptation, that could strengthen their willing spirits.
Some things should never be left for tomorrow.
Tomorrow never comes.
Lord, when I think sleep is better
Than to be alone with Thee,
Bind me with Thy love’s strong fetter,
That my heart, enchained will be.
I dare not sleep without first seeking
Thou, Who art my source of power.
I hear the Savior softly speaking,
“Watch and pray throughout this hour.”
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Above the perfect line of floral wallpaper border, the clear, blue sky gaped in at me, as I stood, pouring hot coffee for a tornado refugee. I can still hardly believe the terrible damages I saw and heard. Fatalities, something very rare back in Tornado Alley, where I was born and grew up. Incidentally, we’d all had basements or storm shelters. Here a woman showed me her tiny, windowless bathroom, the only room still intact, and the blessed haven of seven bodies through the tornadoes that swept away so many homes Tuesday. I rejoiced to discover that she also had a more secure haven for her soul.
I’d barely finished running Mom’s errands when I answered a phone call from Audrey, asking if I could come help with Salvation Army relief out in the tornado zone. A short time later we were also joined by Mom, Josiah and Lydia and trooped out to the disaster area, laden with soup, cinnamon rolls and hot coffee and chocolate. If I’d known before-hand I’d have come decked out in worker-girl clothes and dived in to help clean-up. Instead I shuffled down debris crusted streets, offering food and drinks to refugees and workers alike. Since I don’t work for the Salvation Army, I feel at liberty to confide that I would have much rather walked in as a nobody and gotten dirty helping, than in an enormous logo-encrusted polo shirt, dancing around for publicity shots and trying to toss in that phrase “Salvation Army” so folks would know who their Good Samaritan was while toting luke-warm coffee and hot chocolate to folks who’ve already had lunch. And I found myself shying away from the half a dozen TV crews and newspaper reporters who were there only for the story. Caleb, one of my gradeschool-age accomplices was snagged by KARK 4 for a live interview. “Hold up your donuts like you’re proud of them!” the exuberant reporter instructed him. Then he wiped the enthusiasm from his face, replacing it with a feigned sympathy for the poor, poor people who had lost so much. He’d even duded himself up in waders for the occasion—didn’t he just look the part? What a lot of good was hampered by those rat-sniffing media moguls and competing charities. That’s right: competing charities. Well-meaning charities who help people so that people would see what they’re doing and give them more money so they can go help more people. We’ve fallen so short of the left hand unaware of the right hand’s doing.
Lord, teach me to serve and give,
To take my life and truly live
In sacrifice before Thy throne
That Thou might claim my deeds Thine own.
Teach my lips to speak, my eyes
To shed the tears Thy Spirit cries.
Thou loved the world through Thy Son.
Love through me, O Holy One.
I’d barely finished running Mom’s errands when I answered a phone call from Audrey, asking if I could come help with Salvation Army relief out in the tornado zone. A short time later we were also joined by Mom, Josiah and Lydia and trooped out to the disaster area, laden with soup, cinnamon rolls and hot coffee and chocolate. If I’d known before-hand I’d have come decked out in worker-girl clothes and dived in to help clean-up. Instead I shuffled down debris crusted streets, offering food and drinks to refugees and workers alike. Since I don’t work for the Salvation Army, I feel at liberty to confide that I would have much rather walked in as a nobody and gotten dirty helping, than in an enormous logo-encrusted polo shirt, dancing around for publicity shots and trying to toss in that phrase “Salvation Army” so folks would know who their Good Samaritan was while toting luke-warm coffee and hot chocolate to folks who’ve already had lunch. And I found myself shying away from the half a dozen TV crews and newspaper reporters who were there only for the story. Caleb, one of my gradeschool-age accomplices was snagged by KARK 4 for a live interview. “Hold up your donuts like you’re proud of them!” the exuberant reporter instructed him. Then he wiped the enthusiasm from his face, replacing it with a feigned sympathy for the poor, poor people who had lost so much. He’d even duded himself up in waders for the occasion—didn’t he just look the part? What a lot of good was hampered by those rat-sniffing media moguls and competing charities. That’s right: competing charities. Well-meaning charities who help people so that people would see what they’re doing and give them more money so they can go help more people. We’ve fallen so short of the left hand unaware of the right hand’s doing.
Lord, teach me to serve and give,
To take my life and truly live
In sacrifice before Thy throne
That Thou might claim my deeds Thine own.
Teach my lips to speak, my eyes
To shed the tears Thy Spirit cries.
Thou loved the world through Thy Son.
Love through me, O Holy One.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
My consciousness reached awareness by five in the morning, but hardly passed that point the rest of the day. I wish being tired were simply an emotion I could wrap up inside one enormous rejoice in the Lord and tuck away under my pillow. Like the restlessness I am busily coating with contentment. It’s a never-ending cycle. Clawing its way through my shroud of contentment, this unnamed restlessness is bound and determined to gnaw my bones and set my teeth on edge. What do I want? I don’t know. An adventure of some sort. A mountain to climb. A wall to scale. A river to ford. So that I can quit with the drama and focus on simply surviving.
I accomplished to find success empty. I pursued recreation to find boredom. I slept to waken tired. I walked the house as in a dream—a forgotten dream.
My discontentment stems, not from a lack, but from an overabundance. Distractions. Temptations. Hindrances. Other things. I have enough of everything but the Lord.
Lord, Thy bounty is increased
And yet my want is not released
But wanders, restless, by Thy stream
And feeds a wild, elusive dream.
But everything I seek is dry
And can not please my lustful eye.
Naught in this world can seek or save,
Thou art the One my spirit craves.
I accomplished to find success empty. I pursued recreation to find boredom. I slept to waken tired. I walked the house as in a dream—a forgotten dream.
My discontentment stems, not from a lack, but from an overabundance. Distractions. Temptations. Hindrances. Other things. I have enough of everything but the Lord.
Lord, Thy bounty is increased
And yet my want is not released
But wanders, restless, by Thy stream
And feeds a wild, elusive dream.
But everything I seek is dry
And can not please my lustful eye.
Naught in this world can seek or save,
Thou art the One my spirit craves.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
If I were to try on the word overwhelmed for size, I believe it would simply overwhelm me. There are so many thoughts, emotions, desires and, yes, fears swirling through my mind right now, that I’m hardly sure how to sort them out.
I didn’t get up until six this morning, and rushed right out to fix breakfast. I barely read my Bible this morning. I barely prayed. After breakfast I took a shower, dawdled around several tasks, and wrote my very first attempt at a rap background piece. I was just beginning to feel penitent for allowing so much time to pile up with nothing important accomplished, when we all headed out the door to our dentist appointments.
Papa’d told me that about half of the extra Free Day patients would be in today to get worked on by Don, and asked if I’d come help him talk to them. Somehow, it wasn’t getting to my heart. Not really. I was reading a book in the waiting room when he appeared and asked me to come with him to talk to a young lady.
Her name was Juana, she was twenty-three, and she looked at least as much Romanian as her heritage proved. Papa opened the conversation and then asked me to take over. Her eyes never left my face, she remained completely matter-of-fact as she answered my questions. When I asked if she wanted to repent and become right with God, she answered unhesitatingly, “yes”. I felt sick inside. Maybe it was the fluoride. Maybe it was spiritual warfare. Maybe I was just baffled and confused. Again? Since when did people start trusting Jesus like this? Since when was leading a sinner to the Savior so easy? I exchanged e-mail and phone numbers with her, left her with a Bible and highlighter and vanished from the room.
I spent some time in prayer, in the back room and then sat and talked with Papa while he ate his lunch—very late. We emerged from the office to find that several more patients were ready to be talked to. I’d seen the schedule and noticed an Ashley scheduled to come in. Somehow I wanted to talk with her. As we peeked into the two rooms at the two ladies still waiting for the dentist, my heart was drawn a thin, young lady in a blue turtle neck. “That’s Ashley,” I thought, took a deep breath, and went in.
I introduced myself, and she returned the favor. Her name was “Ashley”. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, and she shrugged her shoulders up near her chin as she told me she was nervous about getting numbed up. “Childlike” floated through my mind as I looked into her blue eyes and began to ask about her religious beliefs. Her eyes stayed on my face the whole time we spoke—of God’s holiness, of sin and the ten commandments, of eternal damnation and finally, of Jesus sacrifice on our behalf. When I opened the path to eternal life she took one look and eagerly stepped inside. We prayed, I discovered she lives in D-town, only a couple of miles from me, so we drew each other maps and exchanged phone numbers. I left her reading the gospel of John.
All afternoon I’ve been awash in a mixture of unworthiness, joy, guilt, confusion, amazement and fear. An explosive concoction, I confess.
Fear because I now have three baby believers to try to keep in touch with, and what can I offer them? I know so little. I can hardly keep myself well fed. How in the world will I feed three new believers? Ellen and Juana, I don’t even know much about their current lives. Ashley has a live in boyfriend and a one-year-old son. That needs to be dealt with right away. I don’t even know where to start. My only hope is in the simple realization that I did not save them. Obviously, I did so little. And if God can save them, even speaking through someone as broken and frail as I, then He is able to keep them and to nurture them, even through someone as broken and frail as I.
The spiritual warfare has begun. I am convinced that my adversary is doing his level best to keep me from Ellen, and to discourage both of us by doing so. Only the Lord can win this victory. Only the Lord who already knows the outcome. And only the Lord can orchestrate my relationship with these two girls I met today, since only He could have brought them here and given them new life.
There is no rest in this battle for souls. There is no time to say, “Lord, I am so tired. I just want to relax and read a fun book. I just want to get away and enjoy myself.” It’s all work, struggle, blood and battle. Weakness, sickness, hunger. I am weak with sorrow at my own sin, at my own neglect of the Lord and His Word, His commands, His lost sheep. I am sick with fear of my own inability to be all that I need to be. I am hungry, so hungry for Him, for His Word, for perfection. My heart bleeds. My eyes weep. My soul is distressed.
How, in the name of Heaven, did Jesus bear it?
Lord, this blessing is too weighty
I am neither brave nor mighty.
In the flesh, Thou sweated blood.
I’m only flesh, with nothing good.
Yes, flesh I am, and yet with good
For Thou hast made it understood
That Thou my portion ever art.
Thou art the good within my heart.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
By the time the phone rang the third time, I figured that the responsibility of answering it had fallen squarely on my shoulders and reached to pick it up. What greeted my ears was the sound of Lydia cheerfully saying, “Hello, you have reached the S--s. This is Abigail—I mean, Lydia.” I can’t imagine where she picked up such noteworthy phone answering skills.
It seems that height was not all I was a bit short on today. The only respite I had from my own awkward irritation was the couple of hours I spent studying Psalm 37. This Psalm was an amazing call to trust Yahweh because He has everything under control. As those who have been made blameless through Christ, we are to trust in Yahweh. Trust is a heart condition, where our hearts are quiet, not stressed or anxious or fretful, waiting on Yahweh to work. It plays itself out in our lives through obedience.
*We make God our first thought every morning, our last thought at night, and the smile that lights our face in between and He gives us dreams, goals and desires that please Him.
*We turn our plans over to God. This doesn’t mean we don’t make plans. It means we keep our hearts, minds and lives fixed on Him and His word and He’ll give us good judgment. Then we make plans to our best understanding of His goals and desires and hold them loosely, allowing Him to change, shape or end any of them at any moment. And when a plan comes to fruition, we recognize that it is by God’s power, not our own.
*We seek humility and wisdom, by studying God’s law.
*We order our finances in such a way that God may bless us, by not borrowing or cheating, but instead giving and lending. And when we have little or when we have abundance, we are delighted in it, recognizing it as the care of the Father in Heaven, whose heirs we are.
*We get up again, when we stumble, through God’s grace, and continue in the path He has shown us, regardless how many times we have strayed from it.
The sad thing is, I stumbled as soon as I was called away from my studying. I hate being called away before I am finished, and there was no joy in my obedience. Nor any patience in my heart as I waited for Mom to finally prioritize making the grocery list so I could go shopping. By the time she’d gotten to it, it was eleven-thirty, and I wound up missing lunch. When I got home, the only thing left to eat was a jar of tomato soup. Honestly, it wasn’t half bad, and was more than half good. As I handed Mom the landscaping books she asked me to pick up she commented, “Goody, goody. Something more for me to do.” I wish I didn’t empathize half so well. Josiah and I headed outside shortly after to work on cleaning up the east side of the barn. We finished up after five and I dragged myself in, looking forward to a shower and clean clothes, only to be informed that Papa had called on his way home, wanting me to listen through the Jonathan Lindvall tapes and find the part about sports—tonight. Before he got home, ideally.
Supper was amazing, and I ate plateful after plateful, only to leave the table still hungry. My metabolism has finally come back to life. It was past eight when I finally found the brief section on sports—at the very end of the six tape seminar. I marked it, dragged myself up from the floor and went to take a shower.
A basket of laundry still sitting in the middle of my floor means a fifty cent fine from Mom tomorrow.
Lord, why does Thy word seem dead
Like empty rattles in my head
When I have studied, cried and read
It should be active—live—instead.
Who is the morbid enemy
That stands between Thy word and me?
I pray Thy truth would set me free
To walk in joyful trust of Thee.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Sometimes I feel so young. Many of my friends are over twenty by some, and here I am, with months to go before I hit twenty-one. And yet, with twenty years lived, what do I have to show for it? I have done so very little for the cause of Christ, so very little to bring glory to the name of Yahweh. I want to do so much more. In as little time as possible.
Josiah and I took the curves at a decent speed today, in the pickup on the way to the S Family's house. I’m beginning to be used to Arkansas driving and don’t ride the clutch nearly so often. We loaded up chainsaws, pole saws and ladders to go cut down a dead limb which Zach insisted was in eminent danger of crushing the new fence. The prospect didn’t seem so bleak when we arrived, but now there is no longer any danger of such a thing. Miss J always seems ready to see us, as are the kiddos. She told me sternly that I was fired. Last night, in Taco Bell, we saw them going through the drive through and waved and made faces. She informed me that JP whined for me for half an hour afterwards. Flattering, I confess.
Returned home, Josiah and I set to work on the pickup bumper and installed the shiny, new one. It’s a relief to have that finished and looking good again—even better than it did before.
I’m acting up, but feeling down.
Lord, my circumstances don’t project
Thy joy upon my intellect
But what have I to mourn or whine?
Except I give Thee little time.
If Thou be banished from my mind
Dissatisfaction’s what I find.
And how is it that I could be
Content without my rest in Thee?
Saturday, November 3, 2007
On my list were a few big projects—paint my bathroom, varnish my bed and weed the back of the house.
I leapt into the sanding of my bathroom walls with eagerness, vitality and innocence. Soon I discovered what a heavy duty I had assigned myself. It was after my right hand was sore, and my index finger was oozing that Josiah pointed out the wisdom of using a power sander. Even then, my walls were far from smooth when I gave up, wiped them down and began painting. A very brilliant green. Think lime sherbet. Sadly, the walls took on a “texture” of their own, thanks to the old layer of peeling paint that I had worked so hard to sand smooth. After two coats I gave up and decided I’d hold out for a good mudding job. Guess what. That means more sanding.
Between sanding, coats of lime sherbet and drinks of water I managed to get three layers of varnish on the front side of the bed. It looks beautiful, but the back is still unfinished.
By mid-afternoon, Josiah was kind enough to do my weeding for me.
So, by the end of the day, I had finished not a one of my three tasks. Not a one.
Either I am overambitious, or overabundant in snags.
I hurriedly painted the last coat of varnish and washed my lime paint roller and brushes in the early evening and bundled up so we could rush down the road to the “Williams Family Jamboree”. A hootinannie (however that wonderful Ozarkan word is spelled) of sorts, complete with a stage full of jamming bluegrass musicians. Not too shabby, in retrospect, and a very good glimpse of the culture.
A fading culture.
Up on stage, side by side, were the bear-greased, suspender sportin’, ya’ll yellin’ grandpa’s and grannies, pickin’ and grinnin’ with their shag sportin’, letterman jacket wearin’ grandsons. It was like the Beverly Hillbillies meet Highschool Musical.
Nathaniel and Lauren pulled in late, received a tour of the house, admired and were admired and went to bed. I am very thankful tomorrow is Fall Back Daylight Savings.
Lord, when others crowd my mind
Teach me how to seek and find
Thee amid the business
That I may, Thy bounty, bless.
Indwell my heart with thoughts of Thee
Captivate entirely
My will, emotions and my dreams
With all that thrills Thee, Savior, King.
Monday, October 29, 2007
I spent hours in the library, putting alternate feet to sleep because I can’t seem to sit on my bottom instead of my ankles, researching spa care, bumper buying, Canon owning and trying to order Jonathan Lindvall’s Bold Christian Youth Seminar. We’re planning to open up our home on Friday nights for an all-new, improved listen-through of these tapes.
After I got home I refilled Papa’s printer cartridge, installed the program he couldn’t find on his computer, tested both and got supper on early. Buying back his love is a nasty phrase to tack on my very productive day, but it’s certainly the best description I can think of. Maybe not his love, since I know, somewhere inside the cavern of my subconscious mind, that he still loves me, but it’s certainly an appeal to be reinstated in his favor. I hope I found a bumper that will satisfy, for a little less money than I’d feared, though my stomach still does nervous little flip-flops when I think of the lovely little whirlpool of a drain this will make on my finances. And just when I was hoping to make some purchases.
So I catch myself blaming Papa and justifying myself and thinking all sorts of logical things. Like, when you work for an employer, and you brake something on the job, the employer expects to replace it. So this is the same concept: I had no choice. I was doing a job he assigned me, as he assigned it to be done, and I broke the bumper. I shouldn’t have to pay to replace it. Especially since I really have no money since he won’t let me work for another employer.
Basically, it boils down to an issue of trust. I’ve decided I know what’s best for me and for all concerned. For someone else to handle my problem and let me off the hook so that I can buy the camera I want.
How childish.
Why do I have a sneaking suspicion that I really haven’t learned anything about responsibility? Who is whispering in my ear that the only good outcome of this situation has been an increases sensitivity to people with migraine headaches? Where did that dreadful fear that I might do the same stupid thing again come from?
What are my priorities? I think they are the Lord, Papa, others then me. Could it be that I’m really first, and serving the others is just might sneaky way of benefiting myself?
Lord, my heart is so deceptive.
When I claim it’s grown receptive
It is only that I’m fearing
Another, harder spanking’s nearing.
When will I become mature?
No more clouded or obscure
Motives leading me to linger--
Evade Thy disciplining finger.
Friday, October 26, 2007
I think I’m pretty much as low as I’ve been in a very long time. I’ve tried on about every emotion for size, and finally settled with discouragement. Not because it’s the most flattering, or the most comfortable, but because it simply seems to fit the best at the moment.
My priorities are about as warped as a beveled glass, and not half as attractive. It should be the Lord first, Papa second, others third, me last. Usually I have that nicely turned on end, and just when I was beginning to pat myself on the back thinking I’d gotten this little life thing figured out, I discover that I wasn’t really prioritizing Papa. Sure, I was doing plenty of things for him—whatever he asked—but I wasn’t thinking like him.
So that bumper on the pick-up that I smashed is still smashed. And I’ve caught up my facebook twice and never managed to find a new bumper (to the tune of $300. my dearly beloved pocket-book). And I heard about it today at lunch, just before I was supposed to call Jacinda and firm in details about Emily’s party, just before I was supposed to pack for a camping trip I don’t even want to go on.
Tears seem the only remedy for a heart that feels at once guilty, defensive, wounded, repentant, angry, humbled and broken into a million pieces. How is it that I always disappoint him? How can I be so childish?
Of course I should have realized his bumper was a priority.
Lord, when Thou seemed fully worthy
Of my every moment’s duty
True obedience eluded
Through my negligence excluded.
Honor Father, Thy command
I have failed to understand,
Then I claimed it “single minded”.
Thou did well, when Thou, me, chided.