“Hello, this is an important message from – Financial regarding your unsecured debt. We can help…” I hung up the phone. It might be an important message if we actually had any debt.
Mom accused me of making her bed again, this morning, but I just shrugged. I hadn’t even been in her room, yet, but a high-watered corner suggested the culprits—Lydia and Lydia. As I cleaned my bathroom, I listened in on Lydia’s dramatic reading from John, rendered perfectly from the Laundry room through the air ducts in the ceiling. Perhaps that’s not quite how I imagine Jesus’ voice, but the Pharisees nasally complaints were right on target. It’s been a bit difficult to feel as though I’m stuck in a broken record—still going through John with Amber, now into it with Lydia, and the family just started in for breakfast the other day. It must be good for me, who likes to finish. Poor Lydia discovered the meaning of anti-climactic after Renee’ and Lydia’s departure this afternoon.
My entertainment for the evening consisted of supervising Josiah’s muffin creation, while fixing supper. No one in my acquaintance uses a spatula quite to the same effect as he. “Look at how soupy it is!” he complained. “Should I add more flour?” I grimaced. “I’d recommend following the recipe.” Josiah’s spatula clattered to the counter. “Since when?” he demanded. Well, I do. Recommend following recipes. For other people.
My way has been level for some time now, and I find my prayers growing cold and stale, along with my heart. Reading the Word is easy. Relatively. Studying it is hardly difficult. But prayer is painful. Deserts always find me in the level places. My mind keeps slipping away to do other things, to busyness, to distractions and leaves me kneeling and vacant on the floor of my bedroom. Other’s words play through my mind: “My eyes are dry, my faith is old, my heart is hard, my prayers are cold”, “I struggle for tears when I pray…but You sweat blood.” Passion meets me in the peaks and valleys, but in the level places—in the deserts—I grumble against the Lord and whine for meat to eat. “Lord,” I cried today, “Just keep me focused on You! Whatever it takes!” In the very next step a pebble broke loose under my feet and went rolling—down.
Perhaps this is the very valley which I have been dreading.
Lord, the mountains give me views,
And yet, the fogs of height confuse
Sometimes it seems my way more clear,
My heart more pure, Thy hand more dear
When I am in the valley.
If this descent is where Thou lead
I’ll follow Thee with joyful tread.
Thou makes my feet like those of hinds
And proves Thyself to be more kind
When I am in the valley.
Lord,
Lead me to the valley.
Daylight Savings! Sunday, March 9, 2008
Nobody told us to Spring forward. My ever-intelligent computer was my first source for the news. Nine o’clock, it boldly announced. Unless my memory fails me (which is completely possible), I’ve never slept ‘till nine in my life! The fact was soon confirmed by Nick’s arrival. “You’re an hour early,” I heard Mom greet him. “Actually,” Nick said in his matter-of-fact tone, “I’m right on time, it’s just that the clocks are all an hour early now.”
“The college guys are nice,” Lydia confided this morning, “but I sure would like to see another, you know, little girl.” Her wish was granted, to her delighted surprise, by the evening arrival of Renee’ and Lydia on a visit from Kansas. I did say Lydia. Two Lydias in the house make for mild confusion and many giggles.
Aside from Josiah’s high-hat cymbal giving out and my distinct inability to clearly strum even simple chords, the day proved very encouraging. Zach has bounced back, and Josh has simply bounced. He ought to be too old to have as much energy as he’s been displaying of late. When he joined us for basketball, late in the afternoon, he decided to bully Taylor, hounding him, fouling him and throwing all kinds of ridiculous belittling comments in his general direction. “You ain’t all this, Big Son!” (swipe, swipe, grab, bear-hug, etc.) Without a word, Taylor dribbled around, underneath, over, upon, beside, between and whatever other prepositions apply, with whatever hands or feet were available to ultimately “lose” the game. Because the first rule in any game is that Josh always wins. By nine o’clock he’d calmed down to nearly adult behavior and he and Josiah and I sat on the floor of Josiah’s room and talked—about what the Lord is doing in each of our lives, how each of us have our defenses up in certain areas, how we can see each other growing. I look at Josh and think, “Wow! Look what God’s doing in him!” Can it be possible that he looks at me and sees growth in me, too? Am I really growing? I see it in others. How encouraging to hear it of myself.
I overheard Papa questioning the guys whether they thought in words or pictures. Following the assumption that thinking takes place, I might as well be a camera. As Papa led us through the first chapter of Paul’s first letter to Timothy, the imagery of shipwrecked faith caught my imagination. He reminded us that Paul had been through shipwrecks, barely surviving with the skin on his back. Josiah chimed in with correlations of how important parts of our faith in the Lord could be “thrown overboard” as we battle the storms of life or are tossed on every wind of doctrine. Do we try to “lighten our load” by tossing out God’s Word, fellowship, prayer, praise, accountability and most importantly, our confident expectation through Jesus Christ—our anchor? I know there are plenty of things in my life that I could cast off and sail more smoothly, but Paul encouraged those on board with him to eat!
Lord, the winds and waves are Thine,
I needn’t match the wind and whine.
Thy hand can calm the raging sea.
‘Tis Thou who made the waves—and me.
The storms, Thou sends, that with each gust
I’d prove Thee faithful and entrust
My soul to Thee, Who holds all time.
Firm Thou remains, and keeps what’s Thine.
“The college guys are nice,” Lydia confided this morning, “but I sure would like to see another, you know, little girl.” Her wish was granted, to her delighted surprise, by the evening arrival of Renee’ and Lydia on a visit from Kansas. I did say Lydia. Two Lydias in the house make for mild confusion and many giggles.
Aside from Josiah’s high-hat cymbal giving out and my distinct inability to clearly strum even simple chords, the day proved very encouraging. Zach has bounced back, and Josh has simply bounced. He ought to be too old to have as much energy as he’s been displaying of late. When he joined us for basketball, late in the afternoon, he decided to bully Taylor, hounding him, fouling him and throwing all kinds of ridiculous belittling comments in his general direction. “You ain’t all this, Big Son!” (swipe, swipe, grab, bear-hug, etc.) Without a word, Taylor dribbled around, underneath, over, upon, beside, between and whatever other prepositions apply, with whatever hands or feet were available to ultimately “lose” the game. Because the first rule in any game is that Josh always wins. By nine o’clock he’d calmed down to nearly adult behavior and he and Josiah and I sat on the floor of Josiah’s room and talked—about what the Lord is doing in each of our lives, how each of us have our defenses up in certain areas, how we can see each other growing. I look at Josh and think, “Wow! Look what God’s doing in him!” Can it be possible that he looks at me and sees growth in me, too? Am I really growing? I see it in others. How encouraging to hear it of myself.
I overheard Papa questioning the guys whether they thought in words or pictures. Following the assumption that thinking takes place, I might as well be a camera. As Papa led us through the first chapter of Paul’s first letter to Timothy, the imagery of shipwrecked faith caught my imagination. He reminded us that Paul had been through shipwrecks, barely surviving with the skin on his back. Josiah chimed in with correlations of how important parts of our faith in the Lord could be “thrown overboard” as we battle the storms of life or are tossed on every wind of doctrine. Do we try to “lighten our load” by tossing out God’s Word, fellowship, prayer, praise, accountability and most importantly, our confident expectation through Jesus Christ—our anchor? I know there are plenty of things in my life that I could cast off and sail more smoothly, but Paul encouraged those on board with him to eat!
Lord, the winds and waves are Thine,
I needn’t match the wind and whine.
Thy hand can calm the raging sea.
‘Tis Thou who made the waves—and me.
The storms, Thou sends, that with each gust
I’d prove Thee faithful and entrust
My soul to Thee, Who holds all time.
Firm Thou remains, and keeps what’s Thine.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
I am exhibiting all the symptoms of genius--restlessness, overabundance of creativity, lack of focus, anti-social behavior, loss of appetite—without the results. “Come jam with me,” Josiah begged after hotwiring his drum-pad for the umpteenth time. “I’d love to,” I responded, “If only I could play something…amazing.” Instead I limped through several odd chord progressions and pounded out boring baselines until my wrists ached. Count your blessings, says the wise hymn, so today I’m thankful no one heard us.
Lydia has always been affectionate—physically, verbally, visually. Now she’s almost smothering. She catches up my hand after we pray at night and kisses is fervently. She clings to me constantly, wanting to cuddle. I have come so far since the time, a few years ago, when I could barely stand to be hugged, but I feel sometimes as if I’m drowning in the depth of her affection. Does love and patience really include being willing to be touched—all the time?
After missing out on our “date” Thursday, Amber’s request to come visit was more than welcome. I hauled my poor friend on a brisk walk, which she cheerfully insisted would help counteract the brownies she’d made.
Calculating the book of Numbers left me skimming along at high speeds, until my progress was arrested by the final tally of the sons of Israel—just the fighting men, disregarding the priestly tribe of Levi: 603, 550. From 70 persons who entered Egypt with Jacob. From one childless, old man, who believed the promise of God, that his descendants would be as great a multitude as the stars in heaven or the sand on the seashore. Four hundred and thirty years later, the child of promise had become a people several thousand strong. Thirty-five hundred years have passed since that time, and the children of Israel have continued to increase. Even more beautiful to me, the promise that all the nations of the earth would be blessed through Abraham—and his seed—has been fulfilled as well. Jesus, the Messiah, seed of Abraham, has come. In Him all the nations of the earth have been blessed, with Abraham the believer. In Him, Abraham’s offspring grew to include all those who believe God and His promises. In Him, Jew and gentile were made into one, and I can claim the godly heritage of my father Abraham. Left breathless for the moment, my mind flew to countless promises. Is He whom Sarah counted faithful to create in her Abraham’s heir, any less able to keep His promises to me?
Lord, Thy promise cannot fail,
Thy Word can and will prevail!
I see Thy faithfulness revealed
From faith to faith, in those Thou sealed.
Thou hast promised I shall be
At last, made to resemble Thee!
What Thou hast promised, Thou wilt do
Because the word Thou speaks is true!
Lydia has always been affectionate—physically, verbally, visually. Now she’s almost smothering. She catches up my hand after we pray at night and kisses is fervently. She clings to me constantly, wanting to cuddle. I have come so far since the time, a few years ago, when I could barely stand to be hugged, but I feel sometimes as if I’m drowning in the depth of her affection. Does love and patience really include being willing to be touched—all the time?
After missing out on our “date” Thursday, Amber’s request to come visit was more than welcome. I hauled my poor friend on a brisk walk, which she cheerfully insisted would help counteract the brownies she’d made.
Calculating the book of Numbers left me skimming along at high speeds, until my progress was arrested by the final tally of the sons of Israel—just the fighting men, disregarding the priestly tribe of Levi: 603, 550. From 70 persons who entered Egypt with Jacob. From one childless, old man, who believed the promise of God, that his descendants would be as great a multitude as the stars in heaven or the sand on the seashore. Four hundred and thirty years later, the child of promise had become a people several thousand strong. Thirty-five hundred years have passed since that time, and the children of Israel have continued to increase. Even more beautiful to me, the promise that all the nations of the earth would be blessed through Abraham—and his seed—has been fulfilled as well. Jesus, the Messiah, seed of Abraham, has come. In Him all the nations of the earth have been blessed, with Abraham the believer. In Him, Abraham’s offspring grew to include all those who believe God and His promises. In Him, Jew and gentile were made into one, and I can claim the godly heritage of my father Abraham. Left breathless for the moment, my mind flew to countless promises. Is He whom Sarah counted faithful to create in her Abraham’s heir, any less able to keep His promises to me?
Lord, Thy promise cannot fail,
Thy Word can and will prevail!
I see Thy faithfulness revealed
From faith to faith, in those Thou sealed.
Thou hast promised I shall be
At last, made to resemble Thee!
What Thou hast promised, Thou wilt do
Because the word Thou speaks is true!
Friday, March 7, 2008
I never denied being a messy cook, as my sweatshirt certainly attested. Beating chicken breasts into humble submission is hardly the cleanest task, but the results were well worth the effort. As soon as I’d finished creating some sort of spinach/cheese/chicken wraps, I escaped the house to run through the woods. Melting snow slid off of pine branches, schlopping and plopping around me at every turn, providing greater amusement in dodging the cold missiles. But two snow days in one week seems a little extravagant. It’s like having three Saturdays spread throughout the week—which might sound nice in theory, but in practicality leaves me feeling inside out and disoriented.
Apparently our popularity is dwindling. Taylor was the lone occupant of our eight-foot pew. Of late he’d seemed lost and weighed down in a cloud of thought, but the cloud must have dissipated, leaving him at his ease tonight. If people are books, Taylor is hard to read past the title page and rarely gives the chance for study. As Zach says, “Dude! I never know what the guy is thinking.” Zach wears his heart on his sleeve. Josh is transparent. Nick comes with a commentary, by the author himself. And the girls—well, even Jacinderella simply lays it out to me in modern English. But Taylor is an enigma--quiet enough to study everyone else at his leisure.
Papa shared some insights to answer a question I’d come across in Psalm sixty-six yesterday—on the topic of Yahweh’s enemies feigning obedience. He took us through several passages about the millennial reign of Jesus, when all the earth will be subject to Him as the divine ruler, for a thousand years, while Satan is bound in the bottomless pit. Fascinating is the reminder that obedience is only for real when it springs from the heart. During this time, there will be those who can see the Lord, who know Him from a distance, but do not know Him intimately. How anyone could rebel against the Creator escapes my understanding, but even greater, how they could rebel against the perfect judge, while He reigns on earth. Some day every knee will bow, and every tongue will confess that Jesus is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. I’m delighted I’ve been privileged to worship Him now. How awesome are His works!
Lord, Thou blesses all with light,
And understanding wrong and right,
Thou blesses all alike with rain.
But I have heard Thee call my name
And hearing, have been blessed to bow
And worship at Thy throne room now.
I wait the day when all will join me
Praising Thee, on bended knee.
Apparently our popularity is dwindling. Taylor was the lone occupant of our eight-foot pew. Of late he’d seemed lost and weighed down in a cloud of thought, but the cloud must have dissipated, leaving him at his ease tonight. If people are books, Taylor is hard to read past the title page and rarely gives the chance for study. As Zach says, “Dude! I never know what the guy is thinking.” Zach wears his heart on his sleeve. Josh is transparent. Nick comes with a commentary, by the author himself. And the girls—well, even Jacinderella simply lays it out to me in modern English. But Taylor is an enigma--quiet enough to study everyone else at his leisure.
Papa shared some insights to answer a question I’d come across in Psalm sixty-six yesterday—on the topic of Yahweh’s enemies feigning obedience. He took us through several passages about the millennial reign of Jesus, when all the earth will be subject to Him as the divine ruler, for a thousand years, while Satan is bound in the bottomless pit. Fascinating is the reminder that obedience is only for real when it springs from the heart. During this time, there will be those who can see the Lord, who know Him from a distance, but do not know Him intimately. How anyone could rebel against the Creator escapes my understanding, but even greater, how they could rebel against the perfect judge, while He reigns on earth. Some day every knee will bow, and every tongue will confess that Jesus is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. I’m delighted I’ve been privileged to worship Him now. How awesome are His works!
Lord, Thou blesses all with light,
And understanding wrong and right,
Thou blesses all alike with rain.
But I have heard Thee call my name
And hearing, have been blessed to bow
And worship at Thy throne room now.
I wait the day when all will join me
Praising Thee, on bended knee.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Who started it, I’m not sure, but each member of the family has picked up the tune and the words to “I’m a little teapot”. Lydia is still whistling it as she folds her laundry. Perhaps we all identify a little too closely with the “short and stout” part.
I thought Spring was here, but apparently my thoughts have yet to become scientific laws. As I scurried in and out of stores, running errands for Mom and Papa and finally managed to meet Lauryn for lunch, the dreary weather turned first to a drizzle, from a drizzle to a sleet and from a sleet to a blustery snow. Jacinda escorted me back to my car with an umbrella.
Spying a drum set in the window of the Valley Piano store, I popped in to see if I might sneak a play, only to discover they were hardly set up for playing. Instead, I swapped piano pieces with the store owner and soon found myself asking if he knew the Lord. Having managed to gear up for a good conversation, I found myself in for a rare treat sharing and hearing what the Lord was doing in a brother’s life. Amazing the bond of encouragement found throughout the body of the Lord.
I was melting with impatience behind a huge traffic jam when Papa called, asking me to come back to the clinic. Weather conditions were getting nasty and the clinic was closing up as quickly as possible. Managing to slip between traffic and get into a side road, I skirted the issue—a pretty nasty looking wreck in a main intersection.
Having wrapped up Leviticus, I find myself looking back on it through the perspective of Romans—the Law is our tutor to lead us to Christ. “You are to be holy as I am holy,” Yahweh says, over and over again. But who can be holy like the Lord? The foreshadowing is beautiful—in a painful sort of way. Bloody sacrifices offered year by year, animals without defect, to cover over the sins of omission and commission, reminder of how short we fall from the standard of the Living God. Hebrews offered perfect parallels (imagine that) as I read through the Law of sin and death. Now, Christ, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world has been slain. His blood is sufficient to cleanse every sin ever committed or that ever will be committed. Once again I am reminded how, in His death, He tore the curtain that separated us from the Holy of Holies and opened up the mercy seat of God, to all who enter having been sprinkled with His pure blood.
It sounds grotesque, perhaps. The life is in the blood, God’s law said, forbidding the eating of blood. Truly, the life is in the blood—the blood of Jesus.
Lord! Only Thy blood can suffice
To cleanse me of both guilt and vice.
The sacrifices Thou dost seek
Are in a soul and heart shown weak
Through gazing at Thy holy law.
And falling on my face in awe,
I recognize I am unworthy--
Yet Thou hast made me pure and holy.
I thought Spring was here, but apparently my thoughts have yet to become scientific laws. As I scurried in and out of stores, running errands for Mom and Papa and finally managed to meet Lauryn for lunch, the dreary weather turned first to a drizzle, from a drizzle to a sleet and from a sleet to a blustery snow. Jacinda escorted me back to my car with an umbrella.
Spying a drum set in the window of the Valley Piano store, I popped in to see if I might sneak a play, only to discover they were hardly set up for playing. Instead, I swapped piano pieces with the store owner and soon found myself asking if he knew the Lord. Having managed to gear up for a good conversation, I found myself in for a rare treat sharing and hearing what the Lord was doing in a brother’s life. Amazing the bond of encouragement found throughout the body of the Lord.
I was melting with impatience behind a huge traffic jam when Papa called, asking me to come back to the clinic. Weather conditions were getting nasty and the clinic was closing up as quickly as possible. Managing to slip between traffic and get into a side road, I skirted the issue—a pretty nasty looking wreck in a main intersection.
Having wrapped up Leviticus, I find myself looking back on it through the perspective of Romans—the Law is our tutor to lead us to Christ. “You are to be holy as I am holy,” Yahweh says, over and over again. But who can be holy like the Lord? The foreshadowing is beautiful—in a painful sort of way. Bloody sacrifices offered year by year, animals without defect, to cover over the sins of omission and commission, reminder of how short we fall from the standard of the Living God. Hebrews offered perfect parallels (imagine that) as I read through the Law of sin and death. Now, Christ, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world has been slain. His blood is sufficient to cleanse every sin ever committed or that ever will be committed. Once again I am reminded how, in His death, He tore the curtain that separated us from the Holy of Holies and opened up the mercy seat of God, to all who enter having been sprinkled with His pure blood.
It sounds grotesque, perhaps. The life is in the blood, God’s law said, forbidding the eating of blood. Truly, the life is in the blood—the blood of Jesus.
Lord! Only Thy blood can suffice
To cleanse me of both guilt and vice.
The sacrifices Thou dost seek
Are in a soul and heart shown weak
Through gazing at Thy holy law.
And falling on my face in awe,
I recognize I am unworthy--
Yet Thou hast made me pure and holy.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
I was delighted to discover I’d finally managed to evade a certain grocery store worker, but my satisfaction was short-lived. The new carry-out, a strapping highschool-age guy, peered over the cashier’s shoulder as she looked over my selected apples. “They’re Jonogolds,” I offered, helpfully. “Huh,” my carry-out said, shaking his head. “I coulda sworn they was apples.” I caught my smile as it exploded across my face and tucked it into my pocket for later before explaining: “Jonogolds are a type of apple.” He grinned, sheepishly, and tossed his longish hair out of his eyes. “Well, I guess I feel pretty stupid about now.” Then he elaborately pushed the cart out of his way and gathered all of my sacks into one hand. Oh, I was very impressed, I assure you. Almost as impressed as when random guys I’ve never seen before and never will see again spin their tires or rev their engines. The suburban seemed to impress him. “Well, that’s quite a lot of car for such a little, bitty thang like yourself.” Yuck! Get it off me! Thang? I mumbled something about big families needing plenty of room and shoved my hands in my pockets hoping he’d jump to all kinds of interesting assumptions. For years I’ve scurried around corners, dived down aisles, side-stepped comments and coated my whole person with as much oblivion as I can muster. In situations like these, I still haven’t figured out what’s the right thang to do.
The whole amazing past week came rushing past as I tried to update Tabitha during our weekly phone call/scripture quotation. Everyone should have a Tabitha in their life. Daily she prays scripture over me: that the eyes of my heart would be enlightened so that I might know what is the hope of my calling, the riches of the glory of His inheritance and what is the surpassing greatness of His power toward me. And on and on and on and on. Just knowing that she is fighting beside me, even from so far away, lends strength to my step and determination to my heart. I offer thanks every time I pray for her. Even more importantly, I should be a Tabitha, as well, faithfully praying for all those I know.
In the whole excitement of the past several days, I’ve neglected to be taking special note of my Leviticus readings. Several items that have caught my attention: spelled out on the turban worn by the priests were the words “Holy to the Lord”. Revelation speaks of those with the seal of God on their foreheads—the new priesthood of believers? Why the words plastered across the forehead? Visibility! There was no doubt in anyone’s mind to who those priests belonged. As a member of the new priesthood, believers, sanctified and set apart by God to serve Him, I should live my life so radically that I might as well have the words “Holy to the Lord” plastered across my forehead. I also found the laws for lepers fascinating. It was the priest’s responsibility to pronounce a person “clean” or “unclean” based on the infection. When Jesus came as our Great High Priest, he reached out, touched and unclean leper and pronounced him clean—and by virtue of the fact that Jesus couldn’t be made unclean, the leper was healed! Of course, in the midst of the various and sundry laws, we find a very comforting verse. “The man who loses his hair on the top or sides of his head is bald. He is clean.” Never fear, our balding brothers. Yahweh holds it not against you.
Lord, Thy priests are labeled “holy”:
Sanctified both by and for Thee
Set apart so all may see
They serve a living Deity.
Once Thy priests need offer daily
Sacrifice of blood, to please Thee.
Now they draw near through the curtain,
Acceptance, through Thy Son, made certain.
The whole amazing past week came rushing past as I tried to update Tabitha during our weekly phone call/scripture quotation. Everyone should have a Tabitha in their life. Daily she prays scripture over me: that the eyes of my heart would be enlightened so that I might know what is the hope of my calling, the riches of the glory of His inheritance and what is the surpassing greatness of His power toward me. And on and on and on and on. Just knowing that she is fighting beside me, even from so far away, lends strength to my step and determination to my heart. I offer thanks every time I pray for her. Even more importantly, I should be a Tabitha, as well, faithfully praying for all those I know.
In the whole excitement of the past several days, I’ve neglected to be taking special note of my Leviticus readings. Several items that have caught my attention: spelled out on the turban worn by the priests were the words “Holy to the Lord”. Revelation speaks of those with the seal of God on their foreheads—the new priesthood of believers? Why the words plastered across the forehead? Visibility! There was no doubt in anyone’s mind to who those priests belonged. As a member of the new priesthood, believers, sanctified and set apart by God to serve Him, I should live my life so radically that I might as well have the words “Holy to the Lord” plastered across my forehead. I also found the laws for lepers fascinating. It was the priest’s responsibility to pronounce a person “clean” or “unclean” based on the infection. When Jesus came as our Great High Priest, he reached out, touched and unclean leper and pronounced him clean—and by virtue of the fact that Jesus couldn’t be made unclean, the leper was healed! Of course, in the midst of the various and sundry laws, we find a very comforting verse. “The man who loses his hair on the top or sides of his head is bald. He is clean.” Never fear, our balding brothers. Yahweh holds it not against you.
Lord, Thy priests are labeled “holy”:
Sanctified both by and for Thee
Set apart so all may see
They serve a living Deity.
Once Thy priests need offer daily
Sacrifice of blood, to please Thee.
Now they draw near through the curtain,
Acceptance, through Thy Son, made certain.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Walking through the dining room just before six this morning on my way to fix breakfast, I stopped in my tracks and stared outside at a layer of snow. Not a measly Arkansas powdered sugar dusting, either, but a serious birthday cake layer of pure, white, cold, wet snow. Eleven inches, the news channels all insisted, though I don’t believe I saw more than half that amount. With a little friendly persuasion from Zach, we all abandoned our regular activities to tromp through this winter wonderland in search of Narnia or the North Pole. Josiah and I got the bright idea to deck ourselves in summer outfits and discard our shoes for a “white” themed picture. By the time we made the mad dash back to the house, I couldn’t even feel my toes, but a few minutes inside soon left them burning with the heat of returning circulation.
Mom delivered the phone to me and I mouthed, “Who is it?” She shrugged. “Maybe a Japanese girl?” Quickly I greeted the caller. A familiar voice, but I couldn’t quite seem to place it. Finally I said, “I have no clue who you are,” and she alleviated my confusion with her name: Sarahlita. That certainly put a different spin on matters and soon we were chatting away again like the childhood bosom companions that we are. Funny how it is: no matter how long we’ve been apart, we always come back together able to pick up where we left off and always finding that the Lord is teaching us the same things. Even though she’s married now with a six-month-old son. As we talked, she kept probing, “So…nothing else you need to tell me?...Anything else big going on?...What exciting things are happening with you?...Anything specific you need prayer for?” and finally wrapping up with, “Well, if anything important does happen, do call me, or e-mail—or even if there’s something important you need me to pray about.” I enjoyed a giggling spell after we hung up without even a hint of guilt. There’s honestly nothing to tell.
“Tonight is going to be fun,” Lydia informed me, as she tucked her Bible onto her bookshelf. I raised my eyebrows. “What’s happening tonight?” She grinned. “I just finished John chapter two and I have tons of questions for you!”
At the supper table, I nudged her and whisper-asked if she was ready to tell Mom and Papa. She reached under the table and held my hand so tightly that my ring left indents on the insides of my fingers before she finally nodded. We launched out together on the story and watched our parent’s delighted faces. When Josiah came in a few minutes later, Lydia had to go through the retelling—by herself this time. The rest of the evening we all gushed, she called Nathaniel and Lauren, both grandmas and Josh Potts (since his testimony Sunday had driven her to want salvation for sure). Then the family met outside while Papa baptized her in the hot tub. I must admit, a hot tub does make the perfect baptismal on a snowy evening.
Every single day seems to get sweeter and better, and I know the Lord’s lovingkindnesses are new every day, for His compassions never cease. But I’m bracing myself—every mountaintop overlooks a valley. Soon I will have to make the treacherous descent. I find myself clinging to every single second, each one seeming a precious blessing, especially those with my family. I want to have each moment treasured in my heart for the day when a sword may pierce my soul. I want to cling to what God is doing now for the day when darkness and discouragement become too friendly, or when change looms up as a frightening obstacle.
I want to store up the seven fat years for the years of famine that are as sure to come as the spring rain.
Lord, Thy blessings always prove
The vast unmeasured of Thy love,
But teach my heart to yet discern
The mountain world-view I should learn.
For though some days are filled with pleasure,
Thou alone are my true treasure.
Happenstance may turn appalling
Still Thou art Love—my Love--enthralling.
Mom delivered the phone to me and I mouthed, “Who is it?” She shrugged. “Maybe a Japanese girl?” Quickly I greeted the caller. A familiar voice, but I couldn’t quite seem to place it. Finally I said, “I have no clue who you are,” and she alleviated my confusion with her name: Sarahlita. That certainly put a different spin on matters and soon we were chatting away again like the childhood bosom companions that we are. Funny how it is: no matter how long we’ve been apart, we always come back together able to pick up where we left off and always finding that the Lord is teaching us the same things. Even though she’s married now with a six-month-old son. As we talked, she kept probing, “So…nothing else you need to tell me?...Anything else big going on?...What exciting things are happening with you?...Anything specific you need prayer for?” and finally wrapping up with, “Well, if anything important does happen, do call me, or e-mail—or even if there’s something important you need me to pray about.” I enjoyed a giggling spell after we hung up without even a hint of guilt. There’s honestly nothing to tell.
“Tonight is going to be fun,” Lydia informed me, as she tucked her Bible onto her bookshelf. I raised my eyebrows. “What’s happening tonight?” She grinned. “I just finished John chapter two and I have tons of questions for you!”
At the supper table, I nudged her and whisper-asked if she was ready to tell Mom and Papa. She reached under the table and held my hand so tightly that my ring left indents on the insides of my fingers before she finally nodded. We launched out together on the story and watched our parent’s delighted faces. When Josiah came in a few minutes later, Lydia had to go through the retelling—by herself this time. The rest of the evening we all gushed, she called Nathaniel and Lauren, both grandmas and Josh Potts (since his testimony Sunday had driven her to want salvation for sure). Then the family met outside while Papa baptized her in the hot tub. I must admit, a hot tub does make the perfect baptismal on a snowy evening.
Every single day seems to get sweeter and better, and I know the Lord’s lovingkindnesses are new every day, for His compassions never cease. But I’m bracing myself—every mountaintop overlooks a valley. Soon I will have to make the treacherous descent. I find myself clinging to every single second, each one seeming a precious blessing, especially those with my family. I want to have each moment treasured in my heart for the day when a sword may pierce my soul. I want to cling to what God is doing now for the day when darkness and discouragement become too friendly, or when change looms up as a frightening obstacle.
I want to store up the seven fat years for the years of famine that are as sure to come as the spring rain.
Lord, Thy blessings always prove
The vast unmeasured of Thy love,
But teach my heart to yet discern
The mountain world-view I should learn.
For though some days are filled with pleasure,
Thou alone are my true treasure.
Happenstance may turn appalling
Still Thou art Love—my Love--enthralling.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Every day He outdoes Himself. I can’t even imagine what tomorrow might hold.
When I sat down to write, it seemed as if it had been a rough day—nearly heartbreaking. Overwhelmed with to-dos and a noisy household, I found myself abbreviating my time with the Lord. Then I dove right into all the hard e-mails I’d needed to write for the last several weeks. Tough love, some call it. Isn’t all love tough? I’d barely finished when the mail produced a wedding invitation—from a friend to whom I’d already written explaining why I couldn’t support her marriage. I staggered, recoiling from this slap in the face. Then the Lord began to lift me back up, starting with a phone call to Amber, who proved very encouraging.
I’d just begun to reminisce on the day when Lydia emerged from the shower, steamed and cleaned and I looked up. “Don’t look at me like that,” she giggled. “It feels like you can look right through me.” Playing back, I began to explain how I could see through her to the wall beyond. “I meant that sometimes I think you can see right into my heart,” she said, softly.
Silence. “What is in there that I might see?”
“A lot of things.”
“Good or bad?.”
She turned her face away from me. “Some of both.”
“Is Jesus in there?” I asked, the Lord reminding me how I’d been wanting to talk to her for a while, to probe her spiritually.
She hesitated. “Um, yes.” Then she sat down at the foot of the bed. I began to question her about the gospel, salvation and herself. Jesus died on a cross for her sins, she told me. “Because I am wicked and unworthy.” How did that help her? It should have been her, she affirmed. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved,” she quoted the verse, with a little prompting and John three sixteen followed. Then we both grew quiet.
“Go over to her,” the Holy Spirit whispered to my spirit, and for one of the few times in my entire life of mistakes, I obeyed. I slithered down onto the floor beside her and wrapped my arm around her shoulders. Immediately she buried her head in my lap. Amid muffled sobs she whispered, “Abigail, I don’t think I’m saved, but I don’t know how to be. I’ve been wanting to ask you about this for a long time, but I was too afraid.”
How do you tell your precious little sister how to believe?
Slowly, feeling lost and dazed, I went back over the gospel with her. She was broken over her sinfulness—I didn’t even need to convict. “I’ve done so many bad things,” she admitted, easily.
“The Bible says you must believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He died in your place so you could be with Him forever. Is that something you want to do?”
Still hiding in my lap, she answered “yes.”
Where could I go from there? She held the key. She stood before the gate. Helplessly, I began to pray that the Lord would open her heart. I poured out to Him how she was standing at His gate, pleading admittance. “Please reach down Your hand and open the way to her.” I only remember those words, because when I finished, she lifted her head and whispered, “When you said those words, ‘Reach down Your hand and open the way,’ He did. I know He did it.”
We sat still again for a while. “Do you want to thank Him?” I prompted and she nodded her head. What made her seem so small and fragile, helpless and weak?
Then she began to pray. “Dear Lord, thank You for being good. Thank You for sending Jesus to die. Thank you for all the people You’ve saved—especially me. I love you.” She looked up at me through her tears. “Why are you crying?”
I snorted. “Because I’m happy.”
We sat quietly for a while before she asked, all in a rush. “What should I read?”
Eleven years she’s lived in a home, inundated by the Word, but suddenly she wants to know it herself. I could read hunger in her eyes as I answered, “John. About Jesus. Want me to read it with you?”
“Please,” she answered. “I started reading it the other day and am a couple of chapters in. But I’d like to start over.”
So we made a date. Eight fifteen every night, we’ll read together and she can ask all the questions she wants. She’s full of them. Eight fifteen because she said, “I want it in my head so I can sleep over it all night.” All evening her hands were shaking and she seemed nervous until we vanished into our room to read and pray. So fragile. Trembling. Eager. Like a newborn baby.
Once upon a time, when I was younger than she is now, I prayed for a baby sister, and the Lord heard my prayer and was pleased to answer—far above all that I could ask or think.
Lord, I come before Thy altar,
Words, aloud and thought, both falter.
Once I asked, and Thou once gave,
Now I begged that Thou wouldst save.
And Lord, I trust Thou wilt complete.
I linger at Thy mercy seat,
To offer worship, prayer and praise
To Thee, Thou Ancient One of Days.
When I sat down to write, it seemed as if it had been a rough day—nearly heartbreaking. Overwhelmed with to-dos and a noisy household, I found myself abbreviating my time with the Lord. Then I dove right into all the hard e-mails I’d needed to write for the last several weeks. Tough love, some call it. Isn’t all love tough? I’d barely finished when the mail produced a wedding invitation—from a friend to whom I’d already written explaining why I couldn’t support her marriage. I staggered, recoiling from this slap in the face. Then the Lord began to lift me back up, starting with a phone call to Amber, who proved very encouraging.
I’d just begun to reminisce on the day when Lydia emerged from the shower, steamed and cleaned and I looked up. “Don’t look at me like that,” she giggled. “It feels like you can look right through me.” Playing back, I began to explain how I could see through her to the wall beyond. “I meant that sometimes I think you can see right into my heart,” she said, softly.
Silence. “What is in there that I might see?”
“A lot of things.”
“Good or bad?.”
She turned her face away from me. “Some of both.”
“Is Jesus in there?” I asked, the Lord reminding me how I’d been wanting to talk to her for a while, to probe her spiritually.
She hesitated. “Um, yes.” Then she sat down at the foot of the bed. I began to question her about the gospel, salvation and herself. Jesus died on a cross for her sins, she told me. “Because I am wicked and unworthy.” How did that help her? It should have been her, she affirmed. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved,” she quoted the verse, with a little prompting and John three sixteen followed. Then we both grew quiet.
“Go over to her,” the Holy Spirit whispered to my spirit, and for one of the few times in my entire life of mistakes, I obeyed. I slithered down onto the floor beside her and wrapped my arm around her shoulders. Immediately she buried her head in my lap. Amid muffled sobs she whispered, “Abigail, I don’t think I’m saved, but I don’t know how to be. I’ve been wanting to ask you about this for a long time, but I was too afraid.”
How do you tell your precious little sister how to believe?
Slowly, feeling lost and dazed, I went back over the gospel with her. She was broken over her sinfulness—I didn’t even need to convict. “I’ve done so many bad things,” she admitted, easily.
“The Bible says you must believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He died in your place so you could be with Him forever. Is that something you want to do?”
Still hiding in my lap, she answered “yes.”
Where could I go from there? She held the key. She stood before the gate. Helplessly, I began to pray that the Lord would open her heart. I poured out to Him how she was standing at His gate, pleading admittance. “Please reach down Your hand and open the way to her.” I only remember those words, because when I finished, she lifted her head and whispered, “When you said those words, ‘Reach down Your hand and open the way,’ He did. I know He did it.”
We sat still again for a while. “Do you want to thank Him?” I prompted and she nodded her head. What made her seem so small and fragile, helpless and weak?
Then she began to pray. “Dear Lord, thank You for being good. Thank You for sending Jesus to die. Thank you for all the people You’ve saved—especially me. I love you.” She looked up at me through her tears. “Why are you crying?”
I snorted. “Because I’m happy.”
We sat quietly for a while before she asked, all in a rush. “What should I read?”
Eleven years she’s lived in a home, inundated by the Word, but suddenly she wants to know it herself. I could read hunger in her eyes as I answered, “John. About Jesus. Want me to read it with you?”
“Please,” she answered. “I started reading it the other day and am a couple of chapters in. But I’d like to start over.”
So we made a date. Eight fifteen every night, we’ll read together and she can ask all the questions she wants. She’s full of them. Eight fifteen because she said, “I want it in my head so I can sleep over it all night.” All evening her hands were shaking and she seemed nervous until we vanished into our room to read and pray. So fragile. Trembling. Eager. Like a newborn baby.
Once upon a time, when I was younger than she is now, I prayed for a baby sister, and the Lord heard my prayer and was pleased to answer—far above all that I could ask or think.
Lord, I come before Thy altar,
Words, aloud and thought, both falter.
Once I asked, and Thou once gave,
Now I begged that Thou wouldst save.
And Lord, I trust Thou wilt complete.
I linger at Thy mercy seat,
To offer worship, prayer and praise
To Thee, Thou Ancient One of Days.
The Lord’s Day, March 2, 2008
I’m completely exhausted, but I can’t imagine how I’ll ever go to sleep tonight. I can only pray that Yahweh will open eyes across the world to see Him working as I’ve been blessed to witness today.
Glenn and his boys arrived from Illinois last night, to begin looking for houses in this area, so our meeting this morning was packed with wisdom and insight from John, First John and First Timothy. The men were still going strong, encouraging, exhorting and discussing, when our lunch-time extras began to trickle in. Papa asked Glenn for his testimony, and from there, our guests began to share how the Lord had brought each of them to His mercy seat, repentant and believing that He had the power to save them. After listening to the others, Josh slowly opened up and began to pour out his story: how, as a boy of seven, he’d walked the aisle and made a profession of faith—and meant it. Really. But he’d never been given much truth to believe, simply told that Christians live a certain lifestyle, which he followed until his sister’s tragic death when he was twenty. “I hated God,” he earnestly insisted. “I was told that God protected Christians and nothing would hurt them. God had lied to me.” From there he turned his back on the Lord and lived in rebellion for seven years, spiraling deeper and deeper into depravity and death, enslaved to sin, forever trying to cover it over with momentary highs. “I got to the point where I looked at my addictions and said, ‘I’m not going to do this anymore! I don’t have to do this anymore!’ and they laughed in my face and said ‘Yes, you do.’” Terrified, Josh was determined to find the truth—but he wasn’t going to be any easy sell. When he started going to Wes and Audrey’s Bible study, he had no intention of letting anyone pull the wool over his eyes. Slowly, the sincerity of the believers drew him closer until he couldn’t stay away. It was a frightening weekend when he realized he’d overdosed on Meth and called Nathaniel and Bruce. Immediately they came to be with him, talking with him, forcing him to flush the rest of the drugs down the toilet, and quoting scripture to him. “I could have killed them,” he confided, “when they got between me and the door. They just kept saying scripture to me. I couldn’t flush the stuff. Then they made me say ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me’ and I dropped it in. Nathaniel flushed the toilet. Then Bruce started walking me to make me sweat. I didn’t die.” The next week, he was high again and Nathaniel simply told him he was coming over to spend the night. Josh just kept repeating, “I was terrified. I was on the edge of a cliff. All the things I’d been using to stay alive—I needed to let them go to God, but I was terrified that if I did, I’d fall over the cliff and He wouldn’t be real to save me after all.” In this depth of despair, he realized that he had two choices, die and be lost, or cast Himself on Jesus as the only possible hope. “I jumped off that cliff.” He and Nathaniel studied through half of the book of Romans as Josh came down of that dangerous high. Just about exactly a year ago. He’s been clean ever since. Doctor’s say it’s impossible to kick Meth. Can anyone echo “nothing is impossible with God”? I’ve known Josh about exactly a year. The change in him is miraculous—literally. “I should be dead,” he said over and over again. “I about died.” His words are no exaggeration. He should be dead. Instead, he has passed from death to life, through the divine intervention, the atoning sacrifice of Jesus and the power of His resurrection. To those searching for answers to the question of religion, the issue of God and the concept of eternity, God has offered proof in the metamorphosis of those at enmity with Him into those who love Him and serve Him because of the His hand in their life. I wish I could spell out Josh’s story, exactly as it poured from his heart and brought tears to our eyes. Later he felt foolish for sharing it. Well? Hasn’t God chosen the foolish of the world to shame the wise? The weak and despised things, the things that are nothing that He might make nothing the things that are? Only Yahweh can accomplish what has been done in Josh's life. As he's begun to say, "It's all about Jesus, isn't it?"
I couldn’t focus on anything the rest of the day.
Tonight, my heart is too full to even sort it out into four lines by four lines which could never even touch the beauty or magnitude of God’s power and His working in our lives. Tonight I fall silent and let His own Word speak for Himself—He does it so eloquently.
Not to us, O Yahweh, not to us,
but to Thy name give glory
Because of Thy lovingknindness, because of Thy truth.
Why should the nations say,
“Where, now, is their God?”
But our God is in the heavens;
He does whatever He pleases…
You who fear Yahweh, trust in Yahweh;
He is their help and their shield.
Yahweh has been mindful of us; He will bless us;
He will bless those who reverence Yahweh,
The small together with the great.
The heavens are the heavens of Yahweh
But the earth He has given to the sons of men.
The dead do not praise Yahweh,
Nor do any who go down into silence.
But as for us, we will bless Yahweh
From this time forth and forever!
Praise Yahweh!
--From Psalm 115
Glenn and his boys arrived from Illinois last night, to begin looking for houses in this area, so our meeting this morning was packed with wisdom and insight from John, First John and First Timothy. The men were still going strong, encouraging, exhorting and discussing, when our lunch-time extras began to trickle in. Papa asked Glenn for his testimony, and from there, our guests began to share how the Lord had brought each of them to His mercy seat, repentant and believing that He had the power to save them. After listening to the others, Josh slowly opened up and began to pour out his story: how, as a boy of seven, he’d walked the aisle and made a profession of faith—and meant it. Really. But he’d never been given much truth to believe, simply told that Christians live a certain lifestyle, which he followed until his sister’s tragic death when he was twenty. “I hated God,” he earnestly insisted. “I was told that God protected Christians and nothing would hurt them. God had lied to me.” From there he turned his back on the Lord and lived in rebellion for seven years, spiraling deeper and deeper into depravity and death, enslaved to sin, forever trying to cover it over with momentary highs. “I got to the point where I looked at my addictions and said, ‘I’m not going to do this anymore! I don’t have to do this anymore!’ and they laughed in my face and said ‘Yes, you do.’” Terrified, Josh was determined to find the truth—but he wasn’t going to be any easy sell. When he started going to Wes and Audrey’s Bible study, he had no intention of letting anyone pull the wool over his eyes. Slowly, the sincerity of the believers drew him closer until he couldn’t stay away. It was a frightening weekend when he realized he’d overdosed on Meth and called Nathaniel and Bruce. Immediately they came to be with him, talking with him, forcing him to flush the rest of the drugs down the toilet, and quoting scripture to him. “I could have killed them,” he confided, “when they got between me and the door. They just kept saying scripture to me. I couldn’t flush the stuff. Then they made me say ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me’ and I dropped it in. Nathaniel flushed the toilet. Then Bruce started walking me to make me sweat. I didn’t die.” The next week, he was high again and Nathaniel simply told him he was coming over to spend the night. Josh just kept repeating, “I was terrified. I was on the edge of a cliff. All the things I’d been using to stay alive—I needed to let them go to God, but I was terrified that if I did, I’d fall over the cliff and He wouldn’t be real to save me after all.” In this depth of despair, he realized that he had two choices, die and be lost, or cast Himself on Jesus as the only possible hope. “I jumped off that cliff.” He and Nathaniel studied through half of the book of Romans as Josh came down of that dangerous high. Just about exactly a year ago. He’s been clean ever since. Doctor’s say it’s impossible to kick Meth. Can anyone echo “nothing is impossible with God”? I’ve known Josh about exactly a year. The change in him is miraculous—literally. “I should be dead,” he said over and over again. “I about died.” His words are no exaggeration. He should be dead. Instead, he has passed from death to life, through the divine intervention, the atoning sacrifice of Jesus and the power of His resurrection. To those searching for answers to the question of religion, the issue of God and the concept of eternity, God has offered proof in the metamorphosis of those at enmity with Him into those who love Him and serve Him because of the His hand in their life. I wish I could spell out Josh’s story, exactly as it poured from his heart and brought tears to our eyes. Later he felt foolish for sharing it. Well? Hasn’t God chosen the foolish of the world to shame the wise? The weak and despised things, the things that are nothing that He might make nothing the things that are? Only Yahweh can accomplish what has been done in Josh's life. As he's begun to say, "It's all about Jesus, isn't it?"
I couldn’t focus on anything the rest of the day.
Tonight, my heart is too full to even sort it out into four lines by four lines which could never even touch the beauty or magnitude of God’s power and His working in our lives. Tonight I fall silent and let His own Word speak for Himself—He does it so eloquently.
Not to us, O Yahweh, not to us,
but to Thy name give glory
Because of Thy lovingknindness, because of Thy truth.
Why should the nations say,
“Where, now, is their God?”
But our God is in the heavens;
He does whatever He pleases…
You who fear Yahweh, trust in Yahweh;
He is their help and their shield.
Yahweh has been mindful of us; He will bless us;
He will bless those who reverence Yahweh,
The small together with the great.
The heavens are the heavens of Yahweh
But the earth He has given to the sons of men.
The dead do not praise Yahweh,
Nor do any who go down into silence.
But as for us, we will bless Yahweh
From this time forth and forever!
Praise Yahweh!
--From Psalm 115
Leap Year! Friday, February 29, 2008
I’d barely gone to sleep last night when the phone rang. Twice. A harsher sound, I can hardly imagine. Soon I discovered that, while I was refocusing and refueling with the Creator of the Universe, He was handling some important business I’d left undone elsewhere—perfectly. As always. What an amazing multi-tasker He is. He wrapped up the rest of the issue today with beauty, precision and the ease of One Who knows what He is about.
Random observation for the day: I rediscovered why I never use recipes anymore. Mom left me with a pile of new recipes to use for weekend preparation and, to my deepest distress, the process cost me at least twice as much time.
Our “profitable discourse” (as John Bunyan would have it) tonight brought us to the question of eternity and rewards. I could barely keep from wriggling with delight, since Amber had just plied me with questions about eternity, rewards and punishments for believers a few days ago. But my joy quickly turned to horror and sorrow as we turned to Jesus’ words about practicing righteousness before men, to be seen by them—and the praise of men that is the only reward for such actions. Precious Master, I convince myself that I desire only Your praise, only Your delight, and yet I “serve” You with my head turned over my should to know if anyone saw. “Did anyone notice that wonderful thing I did?” or “The Lord allowed me to share with so-and-so today,” I confide, secretly wondering if my listener can see the halo above my head. Perhaps they also see the craft wire holding up my façade.
Wretched girl that I am, how can I be free to serve the Lord, not in pretense, but in truth?
Lord, within my heart dwells pride
Which I try desperately to hide,
But Thou who searchest heart and mind
This wicked guest will always find.
I beg Thee, Lord, to search my soul
And anywhere Thou finds a hole
By which his entrance he might make,
I beg Thee, Lord, that place to break.
Random observation for the day: I rediscovered why I never use recipes anymore. Mom left me with a pile of new recipes to use for weekend preparation and, to my deepest distress, the process cost me at least twice as much time.
Our “profitable discourse” (as John Bunyan would have it) tonight brought us to the question of eternity and rewards. I could barely keep from wriggling with delight, since Amber had just plied me with questions about eternity, rewards and punishments for believers a few days ago. But my joy quickly turned to horror and sorrow as we turned to Jesus’ words about practicing righteousness before men, to be seen by them—and the praise of men that is the only reward for such actions. Precious Master, I convince myself that I desire only Your praise, only Your delight, and yet I “serve” You with my head turned over my should to know if anyone saw. “Did anyone notice that wonderful thing I did?” or “The Lord allowed me to share with so-and-so today,” I confide, secretly wondering if my listener can see the halo above my head. Perhaps they also see the craft wire holding up my façade.
Wretched girl that I am, how can I be free to serve the Lord, not in pretense, but in truth?
Lord, within my heart dwells pride
Which I try desperately to hide,
But Thou who searchest heart and mind
This wicked guest will always find.
I beg Thee, Lord, to search my soul
And anywhere Thou finds a hole
By which his entrance he might make,
I beg Thee, Lord, that place to break.