“Look,” Josiah pointed to two new holes in the leg of his pants. “I almost got myself.”
I glanced down at the chainsaw in his hands, then back again at the greedy rips near his thigh. “That’s too bad,” I answered, “those were good-looking jeans.”
We both laughed, thankful for the Lord’s protection, remembering the day Papa sliced his leg open with a chainsaw, as well as countless other chainsaw horror stories. Popping our earplugs back in we bent back to work cutting firewood for our every hungry stove.
It never ceases to amaze me how the Israelites can be grateful to God one moment, worshiping Him and singing praises with dancing and timbrels, and testing Him with complaints and demands the next. “God has brought us out to starve in the wilderness!” On the heals of His miraculous parting of the Red Sea. Still, God proved patient and answered the plea of Moses with bread from heaven. Gathered every morning. Jesus taught us that man does not live by bread alone but on every word which proceeds from the mouth of God. Does it seem likely that the concept should hold true: we should spend time gathering the precious nutrients from God’s word every morning? And when the water was bitter, God freshened it. When there was no water, He provided water from a solid stone. If ever the hand of God was clearly demonstrated, it was to the Israelites fleeing Egypt. Yet they ate the manna in the wilderness and perished. They passed on to eternity without ever trusting the great Jehovah. It doesn’t seem possible, but I see the same story repeated today in godly families where the children are inundated with God’s word, yet fail to trust Him. We are not saved by witnesses the work of God. We are not saved by eating the food He provides. We are not saved by following godly leaders. We are saved through seeking refuge in Jesus, the Passover Lamb, slain for the purification of our sins.
Lord, I praise Thee that I am
Purified through Thy own Lamb,
Thou demands a sacrifice—
In response, Thy own Son dies.
Thou art merciful and just
Teach my faltering heart to trust
Thou Who gave Thy Son to bleed
Will fulfill all other needs.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Apparently the bewildered bird yesterday prophesied falsely. It’s freezing today.
Josiah and I had a huge fight this morning. It lasted perhaps five minutes, but the intensity was enough to work out all my restless energy. The fight was entirely my fault. I guess I’m worn down emotionally, tired of making peace, being cheerful, seaking to serve, pleasing everyone, being a gentle, quiet and at-home kind of girl. Everyone else had run to RussVegas and I was filling my sink with soapy, sudsy dishwater while Josiah talked to me when he reached over and pulled out the sprayer nozzle. The next thing I knew, cold water had blasted me in the face. Deep inside I thought it was funny and outwardly I was only mildly annoyed but a little imp of anger tugged at my heart and I began to scold. Josiah was laughing and insisting it was an accident, but I worked myself into a white-hot passion. I wanted to hit him as hard as I could (which is pretty hard). Not because I was really angry, but because a desire for conflict raged inside me, demanding release. I can’t remember the last time I was angry like that—where it actually came out in words and nearly blows, instead of being stifled by studied silence. For the past couple of weeks it has seemed that my emotions had completely shriveled up and died, and I’ve been living my life on pure control. The fight blew over as quickly as it had begun and we stood, washing dishes in sullen silence, tears of repentance mingling with the still un-dried remains of the cold blast and dripping into my steamy dishwater. Finally we both rushed into apologies. Most impressive through the whole situation was Josiah’s self-control. There was a day when his temper flared up at nothing, like a cherry bomb in the presence of fire. Now he could kill me if he wanted to. He never even struck. It’s moments like these when I recognize spiritual warfare and the fact that I am a new creature. Becoming angry was an effort. I chose to be angry, to think up angry things to say and to threaten. I dug up that ugly side from somewhere hidden deep away because I wanted to. I had to work up the passion to continue. In all honesty, I was not in the least overcome by sin, but chose it for the moment because that is what I wanted. It wasn’t too strong for me, I sought it out.
How strange. Why did I do it?
Lord, no sin can ever bind me
No temptation seek or find me
But Thou also dost provide
Thy own grace in which to hide.
I can conquer through Thy power
Evil forms in evil hours.
Before I even cry to Thee
Thou looses bonds and sets me free.
Josiah and I had a huge fight this morning. It lasted perhaps five minutes, but the intensity was enough to work out all my restless energy. The fight was entirely my fault. I guess I’m worn down emotionally, tired of making peace, being cheerful, seaking to serve, pleasing everyone, being a gentle, quiet and at-home kind of girl. Everyone else had run to RussVegas and I was filling my sink with soapy, sudsy dishwater while Josiah talked to me when he reached over and pulled out the sprayer nozzle. The next thing I knew, cold water had blasted me in the face. Deep inside I thought it was funny and outwardly I was only mildly annoyed but a little imp of anger tugged at my heart and I began to scold. Josiah was laughing and insisting it was an accident, but I worked myself into a white-hot passion. I wanted to hit him as hard as I could (which is pretty hard). Not because I was really angry, but because a desire for conflict raged inside me, demanding release. I can’t remember the last time I was angry like that—where it actually came out in words and nearly blows, instead of being stifled by studied silence. For the past couple of weeks it has seemed that my emotions had completely shriveled up and died, and I’ve been living my life on pure control. The fight blew over as quickly as it had begun and we stood, washing dishes in sullen silence, tears of repentance mingling with the still un-dried remains of the cold blast and dripping into my steamy dishwater. Finally we both rushed into apologies. Most impressive through the whole situation was Josiah’s self-control. There was a day when his temper flared up at nothing, like a cherry bomb in the presence of fire. Now he could kill me if he wanted to. He never even struck. It’s moments like these when I recognize spiritual warfare and the fact that I am a new creature. Becoming angry was an effort. I chose to be angry, to think up angry things to say and to threaten. I dug up that ugly side from somewhere hidden deep away because I wanted to. I had to work up the passion to continue. In all honesty, I was not in the least overcome by sin, but chose it for the moment because that is what I wanted. It wasn’t too strong for me, I sought it out.
How strange. Why did I do it?
Lord, no sin can ever bind me
No temptation seek or find me
But Thou also dost provide
Thy own grace in which to hide.
I can conquer through Thy power
Evil forms in evil hours.
Before I even cry to Thee
Thou looses bonds and sets me free.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The sound of a sparrow twittering and singing outside my window, startled me from my quiet time this morning. Is it possible that spring is just around the bend?
A pig is a critter of worth, I am firmly resolved, and will go to great lengths to prove it by rhyme, story or science. I simply wish our internet connection could pick up a little speed to aid me in my research endeavors. Counting the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin while waiting for a page to load gets to be rather a boar. But someday, when I hold in my hands a stiff, new copy of my book, smelling of glue and wet paper, I’m sure I’ll forget the agony and pain involved in the researching process for the joy of finally holding my “baby”. Notice I said “when”, not “if”.
Back in time with Moses and the children of Israel, enslaved in Egypt for four-hundred years, I found myself sucked into the story of the ten plagues which Yahweh sent on the land of captivity. “Pharaoh will harden his heart,” he warned Moses, “And against all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgment—I AM YAHWEH.” One by one He proceeded to challenge, attack and prevail over the primary gods of the Egyptian religion. Did the Nile give life, through the aid of Hapi and Osiris? It was turned to blood, the symbol of life and yet dealing death to the land. Did frog represent good crops, insect control and blessings in the afterlife? Let us enjoy an overabundance of frogs—followed by a place of insects and destroyed crops. As the Lord moved down through each of the ten plagues He showed Himself to be God Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth. The last and final plague was directed at Pharaoh himself, believed to be a god, yet unable to protect his own heir. The Egyptians worshiped so many false gods, depended on everything but Yahweh for their sustenance, and finally crumbled and fell into ruin, no longer a splendid world power as at one time. Why? Because God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble. He opposed the conceited Pharaoh, dragging him through the mud as he foolishly and repeatedly refused the advice of his counselors. Because Pharaoh refused to listen to God, God clouded his judgment so that he couldn’t even think clearly. His heart was hard. What a sober warning to me, to humble myself before the Lord, soften my heart to His word and seek Him while He may be found.
Lord, Thou opposes haughty men,
To trust ourselves is such great sin.
We will find our hearts grown hard
If we turn deaf ears to Thy word.
Teach me, Lord, to count my days
That I will offer all my praise
To Thou who rulest earth and sea
And yet attends Thy ear to me.
A pig is a critter of worth, I am firmly resolved, and will go to great lengths to prove it by rhyme, story or science. I simply wish our internet connection could pick up a little speed to aid me in my research endeavors. Counting the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin while waiting for a page to load gets to be rather a boar. But someday, when I hold in my hands a stiff, new copy of my book, smelling of glue and wet paper, I’m sure I’ll forget the agony and pain involved in the researching process for the joy of finally holding my “baby”. Notice I said “when”, not “if”.
Back in time with Moses and the children of Israel, enslaved in Egypt for four-hundred years, I found myself sucked into the story of the ten plagues which Yahweh sent on the land of captivity. “Pharaoh will harden his heart,” he warned Moses, “And against all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgment—I AM YAHWEH.” One by one He proceeded to challenge, attack and prevail over the primary gods of the Egyptian religion. Did the Nile give life, through the aid of Hapi and Osiris? It was turned to blood, the symbol of life and yet dealing death to the land. Did frog represent good crops, insect control and blessings in the afterlife? Let us enjoy an overabundance of frogs—followed by a place of insects and destroyed crops. As the Lord moved down through each of the ten plagues He showed Himself to be God Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth. The last and final plague was directed at Pharaoh himself, believed to be a god, yet unable to protect his own heir. The Egyptians worshiped so many false gods, depended on everything but Yahweh for their sustenance, and finally crumbled and fell into ruin, no longer a splendid world power as at one time. Why? Because God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble. He opposed the conceited Pharaoh, dragging him through the mud as he foolishly and repeatedly refused the advice of his counselors. Because Pharaoh refused to listen to God, God clouded his judgment so that he couldn’t even think clearly. His heart was hard. What a sober warning to me, to humble myself before the Lord, soften my heart to His word and seek Him while He may be found.
Lord, Thou opposes haughty men,
To trust ourselves is such great sin.
We will find our hearts grown hard
If we turn deaf ears to Thy word.
Teach me, Lord, to count my days
That I will offer all my praise
To Thou who rulest earth and sea
And yet attends Thy ear to me.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
In the darkness of the deserted hallway, but a few moments ago, a shapeless apparition reached out a cold, clammy hand and grabbed me. I yelped (simply because I have forever lost the ability to scream, due to my father’s careful training in the proper usage of decibals). The next instant I realized it was only Lydia, groping her way from the opposite direction with her hands outstretched to prevent bumping into hard blockages—like me.
There’s a first time for everything, they say. Whoever “they” are. I was in and out of the campus library several times today without every so much as catching a glimpse of Taylor. And I never once saw Zach on campus, though we passed him on the way into town. We weren’t positive it was him, though the evidence stacked up--pink scribbles on the back window, beat up truck with a toolbox, hulking shape with no hair (to speak of)—until Papa’s phone went off and he was demanding to know why we weren’t waving back. After an hour with Jacinda in the library, winking over the tops of our respective computers, we immerged into the daylight, away from the annoyingly immature gaggle of girls and silly, stalking boys. “Is it just me,” I asked, “Or do all the students…” “…look like babies?” she finished before answering a resounding “yes”. It’s hard to believe that, had I gone to college, I’d probably have been slated for graduation in May. Another surprise awaited me at lunch when I discovered I am even older than Oly—by an outstanding twenty-two days.
The day itself seemed rather inside-out and upside down. I barely saw Lauryn in passing, work-worn and headed to donate the gift of life—blood. The majority of the day was spent with April, catching lunch, scrambling around campus to run errands and finally flopping onto the pink and green futon in the Sweetest Suite for some heart-to-heart. She asked about Amber and I started to answer before she interrupted hurriedly with “If she wouldn’t mind you telling me this.” Impressed by her desire not to be a gossip, I’ve been meditating on my “sharing” habits. Things charged to me in secrecy remain with me. But what about those things mentioned to me in simple private conversation? How much of that am I at liberty to divulge? Does what I share honor the Lord or His son or daughter? I need to evaluate my motives and my words. I need to protect my brothers and sisters in the Lord from embarrassment or dishonor and so protect His name.
Lord, guard my heart and mouth and mind
From thoughts and words and deeds unkind
From telling secrets not my own
That rumor weeds may not be sown.
May I bring before Thy feet
The whispers I would fain repeat
And speak of none to aught but Thee
That I might guard their dignity.
There’s a first time for everything, they say. Whoever “they” are. I was in and out of the campus library several times today without every so much as catching a glimpse of Taylor. And I never once saw Zach on campus, though we passed him on the way into town. We weren’t positive it was him, though the evidence stacked up--pink scribbles on the back window, beat up truck with a toolbox, hulking shape with no hair (to speak of)—until Papa’s phone went off and he was demanding to know why we weren’t waving back. After an hour with Jacinda in the library, winking over the tops of our respective computers, we immerged into the daylight, away from the annoyingly immature gaggle of girls and silly, stalking boys. “Is it just me,” I asked, “Or do all the students…” “…look like babies?” she finished before answering a resounding “yes”. It’s hard to believe that, had I gone to college, I’d probably have been slated for graduation in May. Another surprise awaited me at lunch when I discovered I am even older than Oly—by an outstanding twenty-two days.
The day itself seemed rather inside-out and upside down. I barely saw Lauryn in passing, work-worn and headed to donate the gift of life—blood. The majority of the day was spent with April, catching lunch, scrambling around campus to run errands and finally flopping onto the pink and green futon in the Sweetest Suite for some heart-to-heart. She asked about Amber and I started to answer before she interrupted hurriedly with “If she wouldn’t mind you telling me this.” Impressed by her desire not to be a gossip, I’ve been meditating on my “sharing” habits. Things charged to me in secrecy remain with me. But what about those things mentioned to me in simple private conversation? How much of that am I at liberty to divulge? Does what I share honor the Lord or His son or daughter? I need to evaluate my motives and my words. I need to protect my brothers and sisters in the Lord from embarrassment or dishonor and so protect His name.
Lord, guard my heart and mouth and mind
From thoughts and words and deeds unkind
From telling secrets not my own
That rumor weeds may not be sown.
May I bring before Thy feet
The whispers I would fain repeat
And speak of none to aught but Thee
That I might guard their dignity.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
“Abigail,” Mom called from the other room where she was talking with the milkman. “Are you twenty-one?” I think my heart slammed through my ribs and hit the floor with a bounce, about the same time my jaw did. Sheesh, I thought. I’m not old.
Also of note, I devised labels for my newest business venture—selling Grinola: “cereal that makes you smile”. Cheesy, I know. Sadly, my poor mind is overtaken by marketing schemes—the slogan “mares eat oats and does eat oats and you each oats” marches neatly across the backdrop of my creativity. Unless I can control and limit myself to a very simple style, I’ll soon have erected a website with the same background, my Grinola logo splashed across the top, nutrition fact panels, arguments for the consumption of oats and an e-mail contact form. That’s a rough draft, at least. By the way, oats are super good for you: full of fiber, great for your heart, low on carbohydrates and tasty to boot.
The book of Genesis has given way to the Exodus from Egypt—or at least the prelude to it. Moses has been born a “good” baby, rescued and finally run off into the wilderness where God called to him from a burning bush. It being the middle of winter I can imagine Moses’ surprise when the bush burns…and burns…and burns. Here’s what claimed most of my thoughts for today: Moses’ repeated begging that Yahweh send someone else. “Who am I to go?” he objected first. Did it really matter? He whom God sends is empowered of God—it is God who is worthy, not Moses or anyone else. And it is God who chooses and sends. Three more objections follow, which God patiently works with, providing Moses with adequate equipage for the task. “I made your mouth,” says Yahweh, “I’ll teach it what to say.” Finally, fresh out of excuses, Moses says, “Please Lord, send the message by whoever You will—whoever else, that is.” I read it and shook my head, rolling my eyes toward heaven. He just doesn’t get it, does he? Then the Holy Spirit stirred in my heart. Only Moses? How often does the Lord give me a message and I make excuses. I don’t know what to say, Lord! I’m no good at talking! I hardly know them! They’ve already rejected me! As surely as God took a wandering shepherd, not quite belonging to Egypt, Israel or Midian, to command Pharaoh to release the captives, He can use me to demand that Satan release those in slavery to sin. I need only say, “Here am I.”
Lord, the message that I have is Thine.
The words are truth, the power divine.
Thou, my mouth has formed and filled
May my anxious heart be stilled
To trust in Thee to speak and move
To fill me with Thy perfect love.
On holy ground, I stand, unshod,
Be Thou my strength, Almighty God.
Also of note, I devised labels for my newest business venture—selling Grinola: “cereal that makes you smile”. Cheesy, I know. Sadly, my poor mind is overtaken by marketing schemes—the slogan “mares eat oats and does eat oats and you each oats” marches neatly across the backdrop of my creativity. Unless I can control and limit myself to a very simple style, I’ll soon have erected a website with the same background, my Grinola logo splashed across the top, nutrition fact panels, arguments for the consumption of oats and an e-mail contact form. That’s a rough draft, at least. By the way, oats are super good for you: full of fiber, great for your heart, low on carbohydrates and tasty to boot.
The book of Genesis has given way to the Exodus from Egypt—or at least the prelude to it. Moses has been born a “good” baby, rescued and finally run off into the wilderness where God called to him from a burning bush. It being the middle of winter I can imagine Moses’ surprise when the bush burns…and burns…and burns. Here’s what claimed most of my thoughts for today: Moses’ repeated begging that Yahweh send someone else. “Who am I to go?” he objected first. Did it really matter? He whom God sends is empowered of God—it is God who is worthy, not Moses or anyone else. And it is God who chooses and sends. Three more objections follow, which God patiently works with, providing Moses with adequate equipage for the task. “I made your mouth,” says Yahweh, “I’ll teach it what to say.” Finally, fresh out of excuses, Moses says, “Please Lord, send the message by whoever You will—whoever else, that is.” I read it and shook my head, rolling my eyes toward heaven. He just doesn’t get it, does he? Then the Holy Spirit stirred in my heart. Only Moses? How often does the Lord give me a message and I make excuses. I don’t know what to say, Lord! I’m no good at talking! I hardly know them! They’ve already rejected me! As surely as God took a wandering shepherd, not quite belonging to Egypt, Israel or Midian, to command Pharaoh to release the captives, He can use me to demand that Satan release those in slavery to sin. I need only say, “Here am I.”
Lord, the message that I have is Thine.
The words are truth, the power divine.
Thou, my mouth has formed and filled
May my anxious heart be stilled
To trust in Thee to speak and move
To fill me with Thy perfect love.
On holy ground, I stand, unshod,
Be Thou my strength, Almighty God.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
My eyes and mind conspired together to deceive me. Somehow, through my haze of grogginess I thought the clock said six-thirty and clambered out of bed to go shower. Returned with soggy hair and poised to wake Jacinda, I discovered an interesting phenomenon. I’d gone back in time. It now said five-forty-five. Shivering, I gathered my Bible into my arms and spent the next hour and a half closeted in my warm, steamy bathroom, reading.
For all our earliness, and sitting-around-waiting to go-ness, we walked into Sunday School, at First Baptist, to find the rest of the college class completely immersed in First Timothy. From there we filled up a pew with Lindsey and her host family for the regular meeting. Halfway through announcements, with Brother Jeff sharing how the Lord was providing for Hall down in California he interrupted himself to announce, “Well, there’s Becki now!” Sure enough, there was Becki, trying to creep in unnoticed from the back door. “By the way,” Brother Jeff announced, as she made her way up the rows of curious eyes, “Becki and Hall are now engaged!” She finally gained her seat and cuddled in with Lindsey amidst a shower of applause.
Jacinda treated us all to spaghetti for lunch—at our house. She and Meagan came over, and pretty soon Zach showed up, too. When Taylor texted him asking if he could join us as well, I deferred my power of ruling adult and asked that he call Papa, who readily granted permission. After lunch we all crowded around to play “ImagineIff”. “ImagineIff Zach were a sports penalty…” we all dissolve in laughter that only grew louder when we reached the last option—which turned out to be the unanimous vote. He would be “excessive celebration”. “ImagineIff Taylor were a form of communication…if Lydia were a piece of furniture…if Josiah were a cartoon character…if Abigail were a donut…” and finally “Imagine if Jacinda were a room…she would be the kitchen.”
By midafternoon the sunshine had crawled under my skin beckoning me outside. Since everyone else played the wimp, complaining that it was too cold, I bundled myself up and ran full-speed down the woodland path and returned endowed with exuberance and energy. Daring the chill of my room, Jacinda and I vanished for the finishing touches to our “getting back in touch” and were still deep in conversation when Mom and Papa arrived home, signaling the end of the weekend.
I polished of Genesis today, finishing up with the inspiring life of Joseph. Each step along the way it seemed that something was going wrong. “Why do bad things happen to good people?” Joseph was a man of great understanding, and filled with God’s holy spirit and he answered the question eloquently. “You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good.” Ultimately, God knew exactly what was happening and had everything under control. The very thing Joseph’s brothers thought would put an end to his dream, brought about the fulfillment of it. And the very thing by which they caused their father the most grief turned out to work for the salvation of the lives of the whole family, as well as those of many across the whole world. God does not cause all things, but He causes all things to work together for good to those who love Him.
Lord, I see Thy mighty hand
Stretched out to bring about Thy plan.
That which seems our deepest woe
Thou can work to overthrow
Or Thou can work to use instead,
To give our souls and spirits bread
To save us from a worser fate
And show the world that Thou art great.
For all our earliness, and sitting-around-waiting to go-ness, we walked into Sunday School, at First Baptist, to find the rest of the college class completely immersed in First Timothy. From there we filled up a pew with Lindsey and her host family for the regular meeting. Halfway through announcements, with Brother Jeff sharing how the Lord was providing for Hall down in California he interrupted himself to announce, “Well, there’s Becki now!” Sure enough, there was Becki, trying to creep in unnoticed from the back door. “By the way,” Brother Jeff announced, as she made her way up the rows of curious eyes, “Becki and Hall are now engaged!” She finally gained her seat and cuddled in with Lindsey amidst a shower of applause.
Jacinda treated us all to spaghetti for lunch—at our house. She and Meagan came over, and pretty soon Zach showed up, too. When Taylor texted him asking if he could join us as well, I deferred my power of ruling adult and asked that he call Papa, who readily granted permission. After lunch we all crowded around to play “ImagineIff”. “ImagineIff Zach were a sports penalty…” we all dissolve in laughter that only grew louder when we reached the last option—which turned out to be the unanimous vote. He would be “excessive celebration”. “ImagineIff Taylor were a form of communication…if Lydia were a piece of furniture…if Josiah were a cartoon character…if Abigail were a donut…” and finally “Imagine if Jacinda were a room…she would be the kitchen.”
By midafternoon the sunshine had crawled under my skin beckoning me outside. Since everyone else played the wimp, complaining that it was too cold, I bundled myself up and ran full-speed down the woodland path and returned endowed with exuberance and energy. Daring the chill of my room, Jacinda and I vanished for the finishing touches to our “getting back in touch” and were still deep in conversation when Mom and Papa arrived home, signaling the end of the weekend.
I polished of Genesis today, finishing up with the inspiring life of Joseph. Each step along the way it seemed that something was going wrong. “Why do bad things happen to good people?” Joseph was a man of great understanding, and filled with God’s holy spirit and he answered the question eloquently. “You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good.” Ultimately, God knew exactly what was happening and had everything under control. The very thing Joseph’s brothers thought would put an end to his dream, brought about the fulfillment of it. And the very thing by which they caused their father the most grief turned out to work for the salvation of the lives of the whole family, as well as those of many across the whole world. God does not cause all things, but He causes all things to work together for good to those who love Him.
Lord, I see Thy mighty hand
Stretched out to bring about Thy plan.
That which seems our deepest woe
Thou can work to overthrow
Or Thou can work to use instead,
To give our souls and spirits bread
To save us from a worser fate
And show the world that Thou art great.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
I don’t make a habit of reading until nearly two o’clock. AM, that is. Last night I was like the person who ties up the guard dog so the mailman can visit and then is burglarized in the middle of the night because she forgot to untie it. Thanks to the ongoing hostility between the internet device and my alarm clock, I’d unplugged the latter and gone to bed timeless. Surprisingly, I bounced out of bed, feeling refreshed before seven and danced around the house getting breakfast and waking the kids.
Our favorite babysitter arrived around supper time. It’s a rare care when a twenty-year-old hires her own babysitter, but with me and Jacinda, it’s become a common occurrence. “I don’t care where we sleep,” she told me over the phone, “as long as it’s warm!” Easier said than done, but with Mom and Papa out of town, their cozy suite lay open before us—provided we kept the fireplace running. I started a fire shortly before she arrived and must admit to a great deal of excitement in the prospect of sleeping warmly.
We spent several hours jamming. Sometimes with Jacinda on piano, sometimes yours truly, sometimes both and sometimes I fooled around on my improvised snare while Josiah pounded out the real beat. To put it bluntly, Jacinda is a much better pianist than I am. And Josiah is a much better drummer.
Among the patriarchs I’ve been studying, I could distinguish definite points of salvation in the lives of Abraham and Jacob. In the lives of Isaac and Joseph, I see only consistency, it seems. Trust from early on. At first I was nearly disappointed, since I’d set my heart to discover the story of each one’s faith in God. But as I meditated on it longer, I found myself encouraged. In my own life I can place my finger on no one point where I decided to trust the Lord, except for a prayer I prayed when I was three. Mostly my life has been a slow building up to the present. I believe God. Isn’t that all that matters? The truth of this statement is clear in the book of Genesis—each of the patriarchs—Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph—believed God, as evidenced through their obedience to Him. Has the “plan” of salvation changed? Not at all. As it says elsewhere, God passed over the sins previously committed, reckoning righteousness through faith in Him and His promises. Jesus’ blood was atonement for all sins of all those who trust God. What about the poor heathen in Africa who has never heard the name of Jesus? Can he look around and see God’s creation? Does he recognize his helplessness? Can he cry out to the Creator for mercy? Then he can be saved. And when God introduces him to Jesus, he will fall on his face and worship him as the Son of God.
Lord, Thou changest not, I see
That humankind, the same as me
Are rescued from Thy righteous wrath
By choosing that one narrow path:
Submission to Thy will and word
Where’er the words of each are heard.
This path to blessed eternity,
Is only found by trusting Thee.
Our favorite babysitter arrived around supper time. It’s a rare care when a twenty-year-old hires her own babysitter, but with me and Jacinda, it’s become a common occurrence. “I don’t care where we sleep,” she told me over the phone, “as long as it’s warm!” Easier said than done, but with Mom and Papa out of town, their cozy suite lay open before us—provided we kept the fireplace running. I started a fire shortly before she arrived and must admit to a great deal of excitement in the prospect of sleeping warmly.
We spent several hours jamming. Sometimes with Jacinda on piano, sometimes yours truly, sometimes both and sometimes I fooled around on my improvised snare while Josiah pounded out the real beat. To put it bluntly, Jacinda is a much better pianist than I am. And Josiah is a much better drummer.
Among the patriarchs I’ve been studying, I could distinguish definite points of salvation in the lives of Abraham and Jacob. In the lives of Isaac and Joseph, I see only consistency, it seems. Trust from early on. At first I was nearly disappointed, since I’d set my heart to discover the story of each one’s faith in God. But as I meditated on it longer, I found myself encouraged. In my own life I can place my finger on no one point where I decided to trust the Lord, except for a prayer I prayed when I was three. Mostly my life has been a slow building up to the present. I believe God. Isn’t that all that matters? The truth of this statement is clear in the book of Genesis—each of the patriarchs—Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph—believed God, as evidenced through their obedience to Him. Has the “plan” of salvation changed? Not at all. As it says elsewhere, God passed over the sins previously committed, reckoning righteousness through faith in Him and His promises. Jesus’ blood was atonement for all sins of all those who trust God. What about the poor heathen in Africa who has never heard the name of Jesus? Can he look around and see God’s creation? Does he recognize his helplessness? Can he cry out to the Creator for mercy? Then he can be saved. And when God introduces him to Jesus, he will fall on his face and worship him as the Son of God.
Lord, Thou changest not, I see
That humankind, the same as me
Are rescued from Thy righteous wrath
By choosing that one narrow path:
Submission to Thy will and word
Where’er the words of each are heard.
This path to blessed eternity,
Is only found by trusting Thee.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Today I took scissors to both Mom and Lydia’s hair. Or hairs, if we want to get technical. Josiah promised to cut his own Sunday morning.
Mom and Papa pulled out of here around two headed for Horseshoe Canyon Dude Ranch and a weekend to themselves to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Thirty years. What a time stamp.
I would smash my biological clock with a sledgehammer, were it possible. Every time we receive another wedding invitation that annoying, little love-bird pops out cuckooing at the top of his lungs and making me feel left out. Left out of what, I’d like to know? The rest of the day I drooped like a weeping willow—at least inwardly. Lydia read me a story about horses and I started sniveling. It seems everyone is going through the same struggle at the same time. Or maybe we’re just always struggling with this little imp we'll call the “wish for wifery”. What is it about being married that captures the entire desire system of a young woman and prevents her from functioning in a disinterested or content frame of mind?
I can’t say that I greatly admire Jacob. I mean, the man had the nerve to wrestle with God, to demand that God bless him before he would let Him go. How irreverent must he be? God could have slain Jacob. He didn’t have to bless him. Why did Yahweh Almighty, God of Hostss, allow a weak, disobedient man to wrestle with Him—and prevail? In those early dawn hours, while Jacob wrestled with God for his very soul, God reached out and marked Jacob His own. The limp that Jacob, now named “One who strives with God”, would carry to his grave would remind him of that night he saw God face to face and his life had been preserved. Mercifully. One touch put his hip out of place. How helpless he truly was in the hands of Almighty God! God delights for us to wrestle with Him, our will and His struggling so that when we demand He bless us, we can see how completely helpless we are. Everything we have is a blessing. Every step we take that we do not limp is a mercy of the Lord’s. The very fact that our life has been preserved is Yahweh’s compassion and long suffering.
Lord, when I wrestle Thee I find
That Thou dost show Thyself more kind
For Thou could crush and Thou could kill
Yet Thou preserves and keeps me still.
To come to Thee should bring my end
Yet Thou hast chosen me Thy friend
And wrestling with Thee only proves
How powerful Thy saving love.
Mom and Papa pulled out of here around two headed for Horseshoe Canyon Dude Ranch and a weekend to themselves to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Thirty years. What a time stamp.
I would smash my biological clock with a sledgehammer, were it possible. Every time we receive another wedding invitation that annoying, little love-bird pops out cuckooing at the top of his lungs and making me feel left out. Left out of what, I’d like to know? The rest of the day I drooped like a weeping willow—at least inwardly. Lydia read me a story about horses and I started sniveling. It seems everyone is going through the same struggle at the same time. Or maybe we’re just always struggling with this little imp we'll call the “wish for wifery”. What is it about being married that captures the entire desire system of a young woman and prevents her from functioning in a disinterested or content frame of mind?
I can’t say that I greatly admire Jacob. I mean, the man had the nerve to wrestle with God, to demand that God bless him before he would let Him go. How irreverent must he be? God could have slain Jacob. He didn’t have to bless him. Why did Yahweh Almighty, God of Hostss, allow a weak, disobedient man to wrestle with Him—and prevail? In those early dawn hours, while Jacob wrestled with God for his very soul, God reached out and marked Jacob His own. The limp that Jacob, now named “One who strives with God”, would carry to his grave would remind him of that night he saw God face to face and his life had been preserved. Mercifully. One touch put his hip out of place. How helpless he truly was in the hands of Almighty God! God delights for us to wrestle with Him, our will and His struggling so that when we demand He bless us, we can see how completely helpless we are. Everything we have is a blessing. Every step we take that we do not limp is a mercy of the Lord’s. The very fact that our life has been preserved is Yahweh’s compassion and long suffering.
Lord, when I wrestle Thee I find
That Thou dost show Thyself more kind
For Thou could crush and Thou could kill
Yet Thou preserves and keeps me still.
To come to Thee should bring my end
Yet Thou hast chosen me Thy friend
And wrestling with Thee only proves
How powerful Thy saving love.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Discussion around the supper table turned to matters of behavior. “You can dress a chimpanzee in a three piece suit,” Papa adamantly insisted, “But it won’t make a gentleman out of him.” I held my face straight for as long as possible—approximately two minutes before my breath wheezed out in a sort of giggle snort. Thankfully, Mom and Josiah had done the same. Mastering our giggles, we continued listening intently for another couple of minutes before the humorous mental images overtook us a second time, resulting in a second round of laughter. “Are you getting a picture of that?” Papa asked, a distant twinkle in his eye. “The worst part is,” I said, “That it keeps popping up—in different ways!” We all melted into laughter, each of us imagining a hairy chimp sporting a three piece suit and waltzing about pretending to be a gentleman. Perhaps it was one of those things you had to be their to appreciate.
I rode into RussVegas with Papa today for a very important occasion. The poor, beat-up Tempo is finally being replaced with a suave ’98 Toyota Camry. To copy the words of the oh-so-important voicemail I left Lauryn: It drives beautifully, but it sure stinks. Probably the previous owner was a smoker and somehow we managed to forget the smell-tests while test driving it.
Several interesting “nevers” to note: First, I’ve never been on campus a single day that I didn’t see Zach. This morning, walking from the parking lot behind the library to Summit and back again I managed to run into him. Second, I’ve never gone into the library without passing Taylor on his way out. He must spend his days going in an out of Ross Pendergraft’s special building. Third, I’ve never received a parking ticket, although I’ve never successfully located any visitor parking and simply park in one of the large parking lots regardless. Fourth, I’ve never called for an escort in Summit, always managing to tag a resident in and ride the elevator up to the fifth floor where I waltz into the Sweetest Suite. This morning I arrived early enough to catch the girls in their PJs and took a mental walk down memory lane, chatting with them as they got dressed and each headed out to class.
Amber begged to take me to lunch at Whattaburger. Just hearing that name sends my mind scurrying through an interesting host of memories. Amber’s not been very faithful to finish the Bible study notes I gave her, and I’ve not been very faithful to check up on her. She asked if we not continue them now that school’s started, “so that I won’t feel pressured to do it.” I’m really struggling. I know I really need to lay it out straight for her and talk to her about how vital it is that she be in the word daily. We’ve talked about it, and she knows it. I’m just so tired. So worn-out. So faithless when it comes to keeping her accountable. But I love her and I want to see her walking with the Lord. She’s just got so far to go—even the basics seem to elude her—and I simply don’t know how to get her from point A to point B. How do I make someone read God’s word? After lunch I took her to class and when I came back out of the library to leave campus several hours later I found a sweet note from her. I decided to drop by to see Dr. Roberts, the history professor whose class I so cheerfully disrupted a year ago with Lauren. He was gone to lunch, but I left a sticky note, signed “Girl”. “Do you think he’ll remember you?” Amber demanded. “By name?” I just grinned. “He’ll know.” She read my note over my shoulder. “Girl?! How in the world is he supposed to know who that is?” “He’ll know,” I said again.
Moving on to things of more eternal benefit. Along with behavior, we were discussing “a gentle and quiet spirit” and all the ins and outs of being gentle and quiet—whether it means lowering the decibals, making a habit of mumbling or simply rolling over and playing dead. What adorns a godly woman? Perhaps the secret is in the Holy Spirit and His fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control. It is the characteristics that will make me beautiful before men and God long after my youth and health have faded. When I am old and weathered, the lines creasing my forehead, crinkling me eyes and hugging my mouth should not be lines of worry, wastefulness, anger or despondency.
Lord, teach me to be beautiful
In Thy Spirit, heart and soul
For Thou can set the plainest face
Aglow with Thy own saving grace.
May my face a mirror be
Of Thou, my glorious deity
That Thou might look on me, perfected
Because Thou sees Thyself reflected.
I rode into RussVegas with Papa today for a very important occasion. The poor, beat-up Tempo is finally being replaced with a suave ’98 Toyota Camry. To copy the words of the oh-so-important voicemail I left Lauryn: It drives beautifully, but it sure stinks. Probably the previous owner was a smoker and somehow we managed to forget the smell-tests while test driving it.
Several interesting “nevers” to note: First, I’ve never been on campus a single day that I didn’t see Zach. This morning, walking from the parking lot behind the library to Summit and back again I managed to run into him. Second, I’ve never gone into the library without passing Taylor on his way out. He must spend his days going in an out of Ross Pendergraft’s special building. Third, I’ve never received a parking ticket, although I’ve never successfully located any visitor parking and simply park in one of the large parking lots regardless. Fourth, I’ve never called for an escort in Summit, always managing to tag a resident in and ride the elevator up to the fifth floor where I waltz into the Sweetest Suite. This morning I arrived early enough to catch the girls in their PJs and took a mental walk down memory lane, chatting with them as they got dressed and each headed out to class.
Amber begged to take me to lunch at Whattaburger. Just hearing that name sends my mind scurrying through an interesting host of memories. Amber’s not been very faithful to finish the Bible study notes I gave her, and I’ve not been very faithful to check up on her. She asked if we not continue them now that school’s started, “so that I won’t feel pressured to do it.” I’m really struggling. I know I really need to lay it out straight for her and talk to her about how vital it is that she be in the word daily. We’ve talked about it, and she knows it. I’m just so tired. So worn-out. So faithless when it comes to keeping her accountable. But I love her and I want to see her walking with the Lord. She’s just got so far to go—even the basics seem to elude her—and I simply don’t know how to get her from point A to point B. How do I make someone read God’s word? After lunch I took her to class and when I came back out of the library to leave campus several hours later I found a sweet note from her. I decided to drop by to see Dr. Roberts, the history professor whose class I so cheerfully disrupted a year ago with Lauren. He was gone to lunch, but I left a sticky note, signed “Girl”. “Do you think he’ll remember you?” Amber demanded. “By name?” I just grinned. “He’ll know.” She read my note over my shoulder. “Girl?! How in the world is he supposed to know who that is?” “He’ll know,” I said again.
Moving on to things of more eternal benefit. Along with behavior, we were discussing “a gentle and quiet spirit” and all the ins and outs of being gentle and quiet—whether it means lowering the decibals, making a habit of mumbling or simply rolling over and playing dead. What adorns a godly woman? Perhaps the secret is in the Holy Spirit and His fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control. It is the characteristics that will make me beautiful before men and God long after my youth and health have faded. When I am old and weathered, the lines creasing my forehead, crinkling me eyes and hugging my mouth should not be lines of worry, wastefulness, anger or despondency.
Lord, teach me to be beautiful
In Thy Spirit, heart and soul
For Thou can set the plainest face
Aglow with Thy own saving grace.
May my face a mirror be
Of Thou, my glorious deity
That Thou might look on me, perfected
Because Thou sees Thyself reflected.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
When the weather station says there’s a thirty percent chance of precipitation today and it’s currently raining outside, does that mean there’s a thirty percent chance that it will continue to rain or am I simply a victim of outdated news services?
And when my muse digresses into discussion of the weather, does that mean the weather has become intensely interesting or that absolutely nothing of great interest has taken place today?
“There were tears when Lydia and I arrived without you,” Mom informed me over the phone from the S Family’s house. “Here’s someone who would like to talk to you.” “Hi Agigail,” comes the sweet, little voice from the other end. “Hello Miss S…this is S, isn’t it?” Silence. Then I hear voices in the background. “She’s vigorously nodding,” I hear Miss J giggle. S’s voice again, “You doin’ good?” I could see her earnest little eyes as she talked over play phones to me the last time I babysat and feel her warm little hand tug at my sleeve when she handed me a picture. Plain and simple it goes like this: I miss the them.
I’ve come to an important revelation. I don’t pray enough. Pray without ceasing is the command I’ve received. I pray intermittently. Infrequently. Once in a while. When something bothers me. Usually for myself. In God’s Word I keep coming across instances of intercession. God reveals something He is about to do to one of His friends—we’ll say it’s Abraham and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, this time. And what is His friend’s reaction? Immediately to plead with God, according to His character and will. God has revealed so much to me, through the pages of His Word. Soon He will destroy the whole world and judge righteousness. How often do I pray for those who still live in rebellion to Him? Every day, you think? Perhaps if I did, I might be esteemed of God, even as Daniel was.
Lord, Thou sit as King of all
Thy ears are open to my call,
The curtain has been torn asunder
It must cause Thy soul to wonder
Why I linger long without
And keep myself busied about
So that my thoughts are never free
To waft as prayers up to Thee.
And when my muse digresses into discussion of the weather, does that mean the weather has become intensely interesting or that absolutely nothing of great interest has taken place today?
“There were tears when Lydia and I arrived without you,” Mom informed me over the phone from the S Family’s house. “Here’s someone who would like to talk to you.” “Hi Agigail,” comes the sweet, little voice from the other end. “Hello Miss S…this is S, isn’t it?” Silence. Then I hear voices in the background. “She’s vigorously nodding,” I hear Miss J giggle. S’s voice again, “You doin’ good?” I could see her earnest little eyes as she talked over play phones to me the last time I babysat and feel her warm little hand tug at my sleeve when she handed me a picture. Plain and simple it goes like this: I miss the them.
I’ve come to an important revelation. I don’t pray enough. Pray without ceasing is the command I’ve received. I pray intermittently. Infrequently. Once in a while. When something bothers me. Usually for myself. In God’s Word I keep coming across instances of intercession. God reveals something He is about to do to one of His friends—we’ll say it’s Abraham and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, this time. And what is His friend’s reaction? Immediately to plead with God, according to His character and will. God has revealed so much to me, through the pages of His Word. Soon He will destroy the whole world and judge righteousness. How often do I pray for those who still live in rebellion to Him? Every day, you think? Perhaps if I did, I might be esteemed of God, even as Daniel was.
Lord, Thou sit as King of all
Thy ears are open to my call,
The curtain has been torn asunder
It must cause Thy soul to wonder
Why I linger long without
And keep myself busied about
So that my thoughts are never free
To waft as prayers up to Thee.