As soon as the man on the other end of the line picked up I started in with my Dial-a-trade spiel. A pause as I wound up, then, “Uh…Ma’am, Dial-a-trade is not on the air today.”
True, that I see deer nearly every time I’m in the woods, and often when I’m not, but the mystery and excitement of spotting wild creatures still lingers. When I saw the shape of a round rump through the trees, I turned abruptly off the path and began creeping through the underbrush, around pines, to see how close I could come. Feeling self-satisfied with my “awareness” as I came within twenty feet of my neighbor, I peered around a tree and found myself staring straight into its wide, brown eyes. With a soft snort, its white tail shot up, and from nearly a dozen thickets around me came answering snorts as a whole herd of deer dashed deeper into the woods. So much for my “awareness”.
A little local color comes fresh from our neighbors down the way. Jeff sits on the edge of his rickety porch, talking eagerly of the Lord’s return through streams of tobacco juice, while his wife, Barb, cuddles a spoiled rat terrier in her fuzzy, pink bath robe. “Have you seen that Alpine Buck?” Jeff asks, ejecting a thin, brown stream. “Alpine buck?” I echo. “Yeah, it’s huge an’ all white. Ya know?” I smile. Albino. Right. “An’ if you hear that ol’ black panther screaming, just walk slowly. Don’t run. He comes through here about March or April of every year.” Duly noted. “You seen any o’ them black bears in your woods?” I shake my head “no”, peering closely to see if he’s just trying to worry me. “Bobcat prints are the biggest I’ve seen,” I offer. He shrugs. “Don’t think they’ll hurt you. ‘Cept that panther might. But he ain’t hurt nobody yet. Just keep an eye out.” I remember how terrified we were after Mom spotted a mountain lion back home one night. Nothing ever came of it. I’ll be watching. I wouldn’t mind seeing a bear or a panther—from a little ways off.
Dathan followed Papa and I home last night and has been quietly doing homework all day. He’s here for the rest of his spring break and to see Donnie, home of furlough. Once upon a time we met him in Arkansas, then he wound up at school in Kansas, and we practically adopted him into our family. Now we’re at home in Arkansas and he’s a resident Kansan. He still feels right at home every time he comes to visit, fitting back in like not a day has passed since he was last here.
The first half of Deuteronomy has detailed Moses’ words to the people before his death, as he recounted to them how the Lord had led them through the wilderness and reminded them of God’s laws. I felt like I was wading through a morass—pointless effort with little reward—until last night when I skimmed back over my own past few months, as detailed in my journal. So often Yahweh performs a miracle before my eyes, yet when the next test comes, I am whining and complaining for fresh water or rebelling against the authority He has put in my life. Each day I can only see a tiny part of His work—His plan—but when I look back on where I have come from, I can see His hand more clearly, His leading defined, His power made evident, every single day. Things that were foggy or confusing, that felt like desert wanderings, begin to take shape. Moses reminds me, “Your own eyes have seen the great work of God, which He did.” At a time like now, when I am beginning to feel parched, dry and far from my destination of perfection, it’s good to be reminded from whence I came and where I am headed and, most importantly, Who it is that leads me.
Lord, I seek Thy promised land
And, guided by Thy awesome hand,
I know that I will come at length,
To paradise, by Thy own strength.
Recount to me what Thou hast done,
Both in the person of Thy Son,
And in my soul since, every day,
That I be strengthened to obey.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
I was sure the weatherman was mistaken for predicting sunshine by noon. The rain pelted me from every side and I huddled under my umbrella, sloshing through puddles and spitting windblown hair out of my mouth. Around me, campus bloomed with colorful mushrooms, milling toward classrooms and dormrooms, sporting neon rainboots or soggy tennis shoes. At the library entrance, the mushrooms were suddenly transformed into students, collapsing umbrellas and shaking off boots before entering.
Tip for the day: a smile can buy you almost any assistance. Perhaps it helps a bit to be a girl. In the past I’ve tested out the possibilities on a whole host of personalities—smile, innocent eyes, ask dumb questions with an apologetic laugh. Whether out of pity, kindness or simple inability to be cruel to a smiling face, folks will almost always cheerfully answer every stupid question. Alternately, you can pretend you know what you’re doing and ask intelligent questions—only if you run into a snag—always with a smile. I settled on the second tactic for the library. My task: check out a DVD Papa’s been wanting for months. Step one: renew my library card. After an excruciating few minutes digging up the information needed for an application, I was handed back my library card and stated my business. “The Internet said pick it up in the music lab?” I questioned. The dear librarian nodded. “You’ll only be able to check it out for four hours though, so you’ll probably just want to watch it in one of the rooms upstairs.” My satisfaction melted into discouragement and puddled up around my toes. Time for an intelligent question. “Can I get a Tech friend to check it out for me?” Affirmative. Behold my reasons for calling Nick and begging to borrow both his person and his ID. Then I dashed up the stairs to the music lab, stated my business and was received with a host of questions. “Is it for a class?” Smile. “No sir.” “I need your ID.” Oh! We check it out here, do we? Smile. “Um…actually, a friend is checking it out for me.” Interject another intelligent question. “Can you hold it for me until he gets here?” Soon Nick arrived, hunkering under his parka like a soggy leprechaun, and I presented both his person and his ID and received a green slip, a white slip and a DVD in return. “Thank you,” with another smile before we made our way downstairs and out the door. That’s when the alarm went off. Somewhere I forgot to ask the intelligent question, “Is that all we have to do?” The answer would have been negative. The green slip was meant for the folks at the front desk. Somehow I muddled my way through the intricate system of checking out a DVD at the college library and survived with movie in tow. I should feel accomplished. At least I smiled.
My parking escapade proved better results. Walk into the campus police office. Smile. Pretend I know what I’m talking about. “Can I get a temporary parking permit?” The officer and the lady at the desk exchanged glances. “Honey,” said the robust lady, “It’s raining today. I can’t give you a permit. Don’t tell anyone, but the computers don’t work when it rains.” My eyebrows conferred together in confusion. “So…um?” We won’t try to pass that off as an intelligent question. The officer chimed in. “Just park wherever you want, darlin’. Ain’t nobody gonna do anything about it today.” That’s a statement even I could understand and I left the office grinning from ear to ear and found a spot by the cafeteria, in the center of campus. Perhaps it will rain more often.
I’ve nearly decided to petition the BCM to install gender signs on the bathroom doors. Emily’s directions of “all the way back to the left” sent me walking into the men’s bathroom. And back out with as much speed as I could muster. By the time I dropped Zach and Emily back off at campus after lunch at the BCM, the weatherman had convinced the sun to peek out from behind his hidey-hole of clouds.
Amber and I tripped out of the apartment for a walk in the warming sunshine and snagged flowers off of a budding tree as we passed, recalling the days of “He loves me, he loves me not.” It’s nice to be reminded that I’ve grown-up at least a little. All afternoon my strength ebbed like the tide. “I’d better go,” I said, an hour earlier than usual, “I’ve got some things to do yet.” “Things” meant a bench at the head of Bona Dea, reading the Psalms for the day. How perfect they were! In spite of laughter, of fun, of joy, I’d been lost in a cloud of confusion, unable to be alone and sort out my thoughts. “Lord, Thou hast searched me and known me, Thou dost understand my thoughts from afar. Search me, O God, and know my heart, try me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there be any wicked way in me and lead me in the everlasting way.” Quiet. At last. Knowing that God understands what even I can’t fathom. Unafraid of His gentle searching, His loving scrutiny, I poured out my heart to Him and then left the empty shell in His hands, to be refilled.
Lord, Thou art my very essence--
To live is to be in Thy presence.
I lay aside all that’s confused
And sit down at Thy feet to muse.
The Lover that I seek is Thee,
Because Thou sought and first loved me.
The only truth that I possess
Is Thou, my King of Righteousness.
Tip for the day: a smile can buy you almost any assistance. Perhaps it helps a bit to be a girl. In the past I’ve tested out the possibilities on a whole host of personalities—smile, innocent eyes, ask dumb questions with an apologetic laugh. Whether out of pity, kindness or simple inability to be cruel to a smiling face, folks will almost always cheerfully answer every stupid question. Alternately, you can pretend you know what you’re doing and ask intelligent questions—only if you run into a snag—always with a smile. I settled on the second tactic for the library. My task: check out a DVD Papa’s been wanting for months. Step one: renew my library card. After an excruciating few minutes digging up the information needed for an application, I was handed back my library card and stated my business. “The Internet said pick it up in the music lab?” I questioned. The dear librarian nodded. “You’ll only be able to check it out for four hours though, so you’ll probably just want to watch it in one of the rooms upstairs.” My satisfaction melted into discouragement and puddled up around my toes. Time for an intelligent question. “Can I get a Tech friend to check it out for me?” Affirmative. Behold my reasons for calling Nick and begging to borrow both his person and his ID. Then I dashed up the stairs to the music lab, stated my business and was received with a host of questions. “Is it for a class?” Smile. “No sir.” “I need your ID.” Oh! We check it out here, do we? Smile. “Um…actually, a friend is checking it out for me.” Interject another intelligent question. “Can you hold it for me until he gets here?” Soon Nick arrived, hunkering under his parka like a soggy leprechaun, and I presented both his person and his ID and received a green slip, a white slip and a DVD in return. “Thank you,” with another smile before we made our way downstairs and out the door. That’s when the alarm went off. Somewhere I forgot to ask the intelligent question, “Is that all we have to do?” The answer would have been negative. The green slip was meant for the folks at the front desk. Somehow I muddled my way through the intricate system of checking out a DVD at the college library and survived with movie in tow. I should feel accomplished. At least I smiled.
My parking escapade proved better results. Walk into the campus police office. Smile. Pretend I know what I’m talking about. “Can I get a temporary parking permit?” The officer and the lady at the desk exchanged glances. “Honey,” said the robust lady, “It’s raining today. I can’t give you a permit. Don’t tell anyone, but the computers don’t work when it rains.” My eyebrows conferred together in confusion. “So…um?” We won’t try to pass that off as an intelligent question. The officer chimed in. “Just park wherever you want, darlin’. Ain’t nobody gonna do anything about it today.” That’s a statement even I could understand and I left the office grinning from ear to ear and found a spot by the cafeteria, in the center of campus. Perhaps it will rain more often.
I’ve nearly decided to petition the BCM to install gender signs on the bathroom doors. Emily’s directions of “all the way back to the left” sent me walking into the men’s bathroom. And back out with as much speed as I could muster. By the time I dropped Zach and Emily back off at campus after lunch at the BCM, the weatherman had convinced the sun to peek out from behind his hidey-hole of clouds.
Amber and I tripped out of the apartment for a walk in the warming sunshine and snagged flowers off of a budding tree as we passed, recalling the days of “He loves me, he loves me not.” It’s nice to be reminded that I’ve grown-up at least a little. All afternoon my strength ebbed like the tide. “I’d better go,” I said, an hour earlier than usual, “I’ve got some things to do yet.” “Things” meant a bench at the head of Bona Dea, reading the Psalms for the day. How perfect they were! In spite of laughter, of fun, of joy, I’d been lost in a cloud of confusion, unable to be alone and sort out my thoughts. “Lord, Thou hast searched me and known me, Thou dost understand my thoughts from afar. Search me, O God, and know my heart, try me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there be any wicked way in me and lead me in the everlasting way.” Quiet. At last. Knowing that God understands what even I can’t fathom. Unafraid of His gentle searching, His loving scrutiny, I poured out my heart to Him and then left the empty shell in His hands, to be refilled.
Lord, Thou art my very essence--
To live is to be in Thy presence.
I lay aside all that’s confused
And sit down at Thy feet to muse.
The Lover that I seek is Thee,
Because Thou sought and first loved me.
The only truth that I possess
Is Thou, my King of Righteousness.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
I’ve seen a few eggs in my time. Blue eggs, green eggs, pink eggs, yellow eggs, brown eggs and white eggs, double yokers, no yokers, developing yokers, oops-it’s-a-chick yokers. We’re not talking about Easter Eggs, but the real-live-laid-by-hen eggs. I’ve never seen any so huge. “These are the small ones,” he commented. “The large ones cost fifty cents more.” I peered around the yard for a glimpse of the chickens, but was disappointed in my scrutiny. The best clue I had as to the appearance of the fine-feathered fowl who laid such monster eggs was a fine white feather, delicately clinging to the crate as I carried it out to the Suburban.
Driving through the hills and valleys on a misty, moisty morning brought my thoughts to life. Fog swirls in the valleys, causing me to slow down, watch carefully, and turn on my lights hoping to be seen. From the hills I can see over the mists to the other side—but I have no clue what might lie in the valley. Always, whether I see it or not, the sun is shining, above the clouds. In fact, the mists are caused by the sun as it sends refreshment to the land.
Here in the Bible belt, I ask someone about their spiritual beliefs and they vanish behind a church marquee. Opening up is a breeze. “I noticed you have a lot of religious books,” to the man in the Flea Market. “Do you have any spiritual beliefs?” Quickly he assures me he is Church of Christ—even preached for a few years. The ladies in the bead store explain their membership in the Assembly of God. The Librarians always cheerfully remind me that the invitation to First Baptist is always open. I’ve never had anyone actually share the gospel with me. Usually dragging from them the name Jesus and all it entails feels like wisdom tooth extractions. “You go to the Church of Christ? Really? Neat. So…who is Christ?” It was refreshing to see one man’s eyes light up, “He is the Son of God, the Savior of the world.” Well. Not much else needs said. But how have we become so lost in our denominations that our spiritual beliefs boil down to “I’m Methodist” or “I’m Baptist”. No one is saved by believing in a building or claiming a title. We’re saved through the person and work of Jesus Christ! My heart aches to see how unready we are to give an account for the hope within us—if it is truly a living hope within us.
When the rain started, I hurriedly pulled on my boots and headed out to enjoy the warm shower. Disappointed by the gentleness, I trekked down to the creek instead and fell in. On purpose. The woods grow silent on a rainy day—no one speaking, no one listening. Just the restful drip of God’s fresh filtered rain, sliding from leaf to leaf to water the earth. Really, I was simply enjoying the shifting mists, polishing the woods with vibrant green and red and gold when the urge to jump the creek came on. I jumped it in narrow spots. I skipped over stones through the miniature rapids. I scrambled across fallen logs. A wide, deep pool, clear as crystal, beckoned me. “You can’t jump that,” I whispered to myself. “I know,” I giggled, and backed up for a running start. I hit the bank full speed, threw myself into the air and landed inches from the steep shore on the far side, splattering cold water up to my waist. Sometimes you have to take the risk and fall in to discover it’s no so bad. Thoroughly soggy and thoroughly satisfied, I struck out through the pine trees, headed for home.
“Indescribable, uncontainable...Who has told every lightning bolt where it should go,” crackled over the radio, just before the huge crash shook the house. Like a ball of thunder rolling across the sky and slamming into something—no echo. “Did you see that?” Josiah dashed into my room from outside. “Did you hear that?” I shrugged. “I heard thunder.” Catching his breath, Josiah explained, “This huge bolt of lightning just shot out of the sky and struck one of the trees in the woods. I watched it splinter and fall from the shop. Just when the radio played that song…you know…that one…” We stood by my French door together, staring out into the now pouring rain at the rivulets washing down our yard. Finish the song: You are amazing, Lord.
Lord, Thou art enthroned on high
As King of earth and sea and sky,
And sends as by Thy own decree
Thy storms upon the land or sea.
The power of the elements,
Can only partly represent
The power that is in Thy hand
To make or to destroy all land.
Driving through the hills and valleys on a misty, moisty morning brought my thoughts to life. Fog swirls in the valleys, causing me to slow down, watch carefully, and turn on my lights hoping to be seen. From the hills I can see over the mists to the other side—but I have no clue what might lie in the valley. Always, whether I see it or not, the sun is shining, above the clouds. In fact, the mists are caused by the sun as it sends refreshment to the land.
Here in the Bible belt, I ask someone about their spiritual beliefs and they vanish behind a church marquee. Opening up is a breeze. “I noticed you have a lot of religious books,” to the man in the Flea Market. “Do you have any spiritual beliefs?” Quickly he assures me he is Church of Christ—even preached for a few years. The ladies in the bead store explain their membership in the Assembly of God. The Librarians always cheerfully remind me that the invitation to First Baptist is always open. I’ve never had anyone actually share the gospel with me. Usually dragging from them the name Jesus and all it entails feels like wisdom tooth extractions. “You go to the Church of Christ? Really? Neat. So…who is Christ?” It was refreshing to see one man’s eyes light up, “He is the Son of God, the Savior of the world.” Well. Not much else needs said. But how have we become so lost in our denominations that our spiritual beliefs boil down to “I’m Methodist” or “I’m Baptist”. No one is saved by believing in a building or claiming a title. We’re saved through the person and work of Jesus Christ! My heart aches to see how unready we are to give an account for the hope within us—if it is truly a living hope within us.
When the rain started, I hurriedly pulled on my boots and headed out to enjoy the warm shower. Disappointed by the gentleness, I trekked down to the creek instead and fell in. On purpose. The woods grow silent on a rainy day—no one speaking, no one listening. Just the restful drip of God’s fresh filtered rain, sliding from leaf to leaf to water the earth. Really, I was simply enjoying the shifting mists, polishing the woods with vibrant green and red and gold when the urge to jump the creek came on. I jumped it in narrow spots. I skipped over stones through the miniature rapids. I scrambled across fallen logs. A wide, deep pool, clear as crystal, beckoned me. “You can’t jump that,” I whispered to myself. “I know,” I giggled, and backed up for a running start. I hit the bank full speed, threw myself into the air and landed inches from the steep shore on the far side, splattering cold water up to my waist. Sometimes you have to take the risk and fall in to discover it’s no so bad. Thoroughly soggy and thoroughly satisfied, I struck out through the pine trees, headed for home.
“Indescribable, uncontainable...Who has told every lightning bolt where it should go,” crackled over the radio, just before the huge crash shook the house. Like a ball of thunder rolling across the sky and slamming into something—no echo. “Did you see that?” Josiah dashed into my room from outside. “Did you hear that?” I shrugged. “I heard thunder.” Catching his breath, Josiah explained, “This huge bolt of lightning just shot out of the sky and struck one of the trees in the woods. I watched it splinter and fall from the shop. Just when the radio played that song…you know…that one…” We stood by my French door together, staring out into the now pouring rain at the rivulets washing down our yard. Finish the song: You are amazing, Lord.
Lord, Thou art enthroned on high
As King of earth and sea and sky,
And sends as by Thy own decree
Thy storms upon the land or sea.
The power of the elements,
Can only partly represent
The power that is in Thy hand
To make or to destroy all land.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Amber told me I’m hyper. Hyper for me or hyper for Amber or just hyper in general? Hyper because I called her talking in a weird voice, and when she knew who it was, offered to hang up and try again? Hyper because I followed every comment she made with some wise crack? Hyper because I gave her an elaborate description of my day, complete with endless details on the glories of budgeting? “Together Mom and I labored over the reconciliation.” She misunderstood me. “Reconciliation? Wait. Did you and your mom fight? I don’t believe it.”
So much for the valley. Instead the Lord has been leading me alongside a rim, close enough that sometimes my feet dislodge a pebble and send it clattering to the floor far below, but He has my hand and I am safe on high. I feel as if I’ve been walking on air, gazing down into the valley, but never falling, gazing up into His face and seeing His love spelled out there in great tenderness. Every fear that rises in my heart, every worry or doubt that springs up is melted by His goodness. Each time I think I’ve lost His hold and might tumble, I’ve called His name and He’s been there, upholding me with His righteous right hand.
I finished Numbers. (“Can you count now?” Amber demanded, in her best Abigail imitation.) As He sent them into the promised land under the leadership of Moses’ prodigy, Joshua, God warned His people that if they failed to completely destroy the wicked nations living in the land and wipe out their heathen religions, He would have to rain down their punishment on the Israelites. I see that in our homes and our churches—if we embrace the idols of the world, we are likely to bear their shame and consequences with them. “Come out and be separate,” says Yahweh. “Touch no unclean thing.”
When Israel conquered a foreign kingdom, Yahweh told them how to redeem the plunder. “Pass everything that can stand fire through fire, then purify it with water, and whatever cannot stand fire, pass through the water, and it shall be purified.” Later, Yahweh spoke through the prophet Isaiah, using the same beautiful symbolism to describe how He would buy back His people from captivity. “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you, I have called you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame burn you. For I am Yahweh, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” To me, the words ring out with hope—I have been redeemed from the world, bought by the Savior and made holy through His precious blood. When He leads through testing or trials—fire and water—He will be with me, as He leads me in the path to purification. I will never be overwhelmed. Only cleansed. Made holy. Like Yahweh.
Lord, when fiery ways I trod,
Beside me, Thou, the Son of God,
The fiery furnace Thou wilt bear
And always show me Thou art there.
And when my way lies through the water,
Thou reminds this frightened daughter,
Once Thou parted such a sea
And safely o’er Thou’ll carry me.
So much for the valley. Instead the Lord has been leading me alongside a rim, close enough that sometimes my feet dislodge a pebble and send it clattering to the floor far below, but He has my hand and I am safe on high. I feel as if I’ve been walking on air, gazing down into the valley, but never falling, gazing up into His face and seeing His love spelled out there in great tenderness. Every fear that rises in my heart, every worry or doubt that springs up is melted by His goodness. Each time I think I’ve lost His hold and might tumble, I’ve called His name and He’s been there, upholding me with His righteous right hand.
I finished Numbers. (“Can you count now?” Amber demanded, in her best Abigail imitation.) As He sent them into the promised land under the leadership of Moses’ prodigy, Joshua, God warned His people that if they failed to completely destroy the wicked nations living in the land and wipe out their heathen religions, He would have to rain down their punishment on the Israelites. I see that in our homes and our churches—if we embrace the idols of the world, we are likely to bear their shame and consequences with them. “Come out and be separate,” says Yahweh. “Touch no unclean thing.”
When Israel conquered a foreign kingdom, Yahweh told them how to redeem the plunder. “Pass everything that can stand fire through fire, then purify it with water, and whatever cannot stand fire, pass through the water, and it shall be purified.” Later, Yahweh spoke through the prophet Isaiah, using the same beautiful symbolism to describe how He would buy back His people from captivity. “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you, I have called you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame burn you. For I am Yahweh, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” To me, the words ring out with hope—I have been redeemed from the world, bought by the Savior and made holy through His precious blood. When He leads through testing or trials—fire and water—He will be with me, as He leads me in the path to purification. I will never be overwhelmed. Only cleansed. Made holy. Like Yahweh.
Lord, when fiery ways I trod,
Beside me, Thou, the Son of God,
The fiery furnace Thou wilt bear
And always show me Thou art there.
And when my way lies through the water,
Thou reminds this frightened daughter,
Once Thou parted such a sea
And safely o’er Thou’ll carry me.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Current events are becoming interesting. California has practically banned home education. Obama and Hillary are fighting it out at the polls, and might even run together in the general election. Nationally, we are a welfare state in a recession, worse than anything we’ve seen since the Great Depression. A man is standing trial for preaching the gospel in Salem, Mass. Who else feels the oppression, the iron curtain beginning to slide closed on our freedoms? Is persecution just around the corner?
In all my wondering, I wonder what the view is from heaven—how the Lord sees my life, day by day, worrying, anxious, fearful, praying, while He’s already given answers in His infinite timing. How often does He shake His head, whispering, “Abigail, be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted in the earth.”
During church, Papa read a sermon by Charles Spurgeon from First Timothy chapter two: Does God really desire ALL men to be saved? Once upon a time our family read this man’s life story, his dedication to preaching the truth—whatever He found in the scriptures. His words, though quaint, were rich and uplifting, filled with the perfection of the gospel.
Josh and Josiah had just dived into First John when I joined them. We took the whole book in a sitting, watching Josh discover the tests, the commands (to believe in Jesus and love the brethren) and the beauty. “I like that,” he’d say, marking the passage with a purple twist-up crayon. “Oooh, I don’t like that,” and he’d mark it, too, knowing it was good. Again and again I am amazed to see the Lord’s hand in his life and heart, the Holy Spirit’s working, leading him into truth and obedience. After the other guys had left, we discovered Josh had been patiently waiting his turn. “Okay, Lane,” he said to my dad, after eagerly accepting an invitation for supper. “Can we have some me time? I’ve got some questions for you.”
Meanwhile, Josiah and I slipped quietly outside and out into the woods, rambling through the green briar, underbrush and falling darkness, crossing the stream on slippery stones and talking about whatever concerned us. Muddy and windblown and full of thorns, we trouped into his room and tumbled to the floor. “Do you want to pray?” I asked. Together we both answered, “For everyone.” We started, sharing back and forth, but suddenly he took off, pouring out his heart for anyone and everyone the Lord brought to his mind, pleading for salvation, asking for peace. When he said my name, a little shiver passed through my body and slipped out my toes, leaving me warm behind it. Not so long ago he was shy to pray aloud with anyone else. Tears slid from my eyes as I prayed for him—with thanksgiving.
Lord, the greatest blessings Thou dost give,
Aside from Thy own grace to live,
Are those who love to seek Thy face
And so reveal Thy matchless grace.
My heart is full of what Thou dost
In teaching sinful man to trust
In standing to receive our prayer.
Where two are gathered, Thou art there.
In all my wondering, I wonder what the view is from heaven—how the Lord sees my life, day by day, worrying, anxious, fearful, praying, while He’s already given answers in His infinite timing. How often does He shake His head, whispering, “Abigail, be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted in the earth.”
During church, Papa read a sermon by Charles Spurgeon from First Timothy chapter two: Does God really desire ALL men to be saved? Once upon a time our family read this man’s life story, his dedication to preaching the truth—whatever He found in the scriptures. His words, though quaint, were rich and uplifting, filled with the perfection of the gospel.
Josh and Josiah had just dived into First John when I joined them. We took the whole book in a sitting, watching Josh discover the tests, the commands (to believe in Jesus and love the brethren) and the beauty. “I like that,” he’d say, marking the passage with a purple twist-up crayon. “Oooh, I don’t like that,” and he’d mark it, too, knowing it was good. Again and again I am amazed to see the Lord’s hand in his life and heart, the Holy Spirit’s working, leading him into truth and obedience. After the other guys had left, we discovered Josh had been patiently waiting his turn. “Okay, Lane,” he said to my dad, after eagerly accepting an invitation for supper. “Can we have some me time? I’ve got some questions for you.”
Meanwhile, Josiah and I slipped quietly outside and out into the woods, rambling through the green briar, underbrush and falling darkness, crossing the stream on slippery stones and talking about whatever concerned us. Muddy and windblown and full of thorns, we trouped into his room and tumbled to the floor. “Do you want to pray?” I asked. Together we both answered, “For everyone.” We started, sharing back and forth, but suddenly he took off, pouring out his heart for anyone and everyone the Lord brought to his mind, pleading for salvation, asking for peace. When he said my name, a little shiver passed through my body and slipped out my toes, leaving me warm behind it. Not so long ago he was shy to pray aloud with anyone else. Tears slid from my eyes as I prayed for him—with thanksgiving.
Lord, the greatest blessings Thou dost give,
Aside from Thy own grace to live,
Are those who love to seek Thy face
And so reveal Thy matchless grace.
My heart is full of what Thou dost
In teaching sinful man to trust
In standing to receive our prayer.
Where two are gathered, Thou art there.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Today was a perfect day. Because it was.
Josiah and I trooped back from sawing wood to discover the basketball goal, lying prone like Goliath himself, slain by a mischievous gale, the backboard shattered underneath. Our skills will be needing improvement to swoosh our balls without the benefit of the backboard.
Lauryn breezed in briefly, like the personification of summer herself—golden sunlight hair and a sky blue shirt to match her eyes. It’s hard to believe she’s not been out since Christmas break, but her presence was more than welcome. As always. I’ve missed the days from last semester, when we spent so much time together and spilled out everything the Lord was teaching us or every way we felt the pruning sheers.
Balaam brought home a powerful point. Not such an exemplary character, this Balaam fellow, who would have eagerly cursed the Israelites for a price, had not the Lord prevented him—through the intervention of his donkey. Instead, he blessed them and delivered beautiful promises of the future Messiah. Self-assured, self-righteous and self-confident, I imagine myself special because perhaps sometimes the Lord speaks or works through me. Well, doesn’t He? Well, didn’t He also speak through Balaam’s donkey? I sat still for several minutes (which is quite the accomplishment for me) trying to wrap my mind around the truth. God used a donkey to convince a shady character to bless His people. Who am I to boast of being a tool? Is it amazing that a shovel would be used to dig a hole? That a bucket would be used to water flowers? Do we honor the shovel or the bucket for being used? Neither does the Lord’s work in me bear any honor for me, but only more honor for the Lord, that He could stoop and find a use for such a worthless vessel as I am. But I will not always be so broken, leaky and dirty.
Once again I am reminded how frail I am and how big the Lord is. How capable He is of protecting me, upholding me and of working things out. I trust He is working out His perfect will in me. Making me perfect.
Perfect days might seem evasive, but I’m looking back on twenty years of them. Perfect in the light of God’s handiwork, His timing, His plans and what He’s been doing. Perfect because He has remained Lord over all creation.
Lord, Thou art enthroned in splendor,
Yet to this child of dust art tender.
Year by year, here’s what I see:
That Thy perfection touches me.
Thy creation: seas and woods,
Thou said all were “very good”,
But Thou hast promised, when life’s done
I’ll be perfect, like Thy Son.
Josiah and I trooped back from sawing wood to discover the basketball goal, lying prone like Goliath himself, slain by a mischievous gale, the backboard shattered underneath. Our skills will be needing improvement to swoosh our balls without the benefit of the backboard.
Lauryn breezed in briefly, like the personification of summer herself—golden sunlight hair and a sky blue shirt to match her eyes. It’s hard to believe she’s not been out since Christmas break, but her presence was more than welcome. As always. I’ve missed the days from last semester, when we spent so much time together and spilled out everything the Lord was teaching us or every way we felt the pruning sheers.
Balaam brought home a powerful point. Not such an exemplary character, this Balaam fellow, who would have eagerly cursed the Israelites for a price, had not the Lord prevented him—through the intervention of his donkey. Instead, he blessed them and delivered beautiful promises of the future Messiah. Self-assured, self-righteous and self-confident, I imagine myself special because perhaps sometimes the Lord speaks or works through me. Well, doesn’t He? Well, didn’t He also speak through Balaam’s donkey? I sat still for several minutes (which is quite the accomplishment for me) trying to wrap my mind around the truth. God used a donkey to convince a shady character to bless His people. Who am I to boast of being a tool? Is it amazing that a shovel would be used to dig a hole? That a bucket would be used to water flowers? Do we honor the shovel or the bucket for being used? Neither does the Lord’s work in me bear any honor for me, but only more honor for the Lord, that He could stoop and find a use for such a worthless vessel as I am. But I will not always be so broken, leaky and dirty.
Once again I am reminded how frail I am and how big the Lord is. How capable He is of protecting me, upholding me and of working things out. I trust He is working out His perfect will in me. Making me perfect.
Perfect days might seem evasive, but I’m looking back on twenty years of them. Perfect in the light of God’s handiwork, His timing, His plans and what He’s been doing. Perfect because He has remained Lord over all creation.
Lord, Thou art enthroned in splendor,
Yet to this child of dust art tender.
Year by year, here’s what I see:
That Thy perfection touches me.
Thy creation: seas and woods,
Thou said all were “very good”,
But Thou hast promised, when life’s done
I’ll be perfect, like Thy Son.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Morning found Lydia and I the sole occupants of our roomy home. No doubt the quiet served her well, since she finished her math early and came to me, asking to play some games Mom had heard of on the internet. I hooked her up to the Hallmark site and settled in for my Bible study, but a few technical difficulties made me rethink. Ultimately, the game allowed her to interact with other kids in a “safe” environment, chatting with prepared comments and playing interactive games. Harmless, no? My mind flitted to those I knew who had become addicted to internet gaming, some even finding outlets through these games for worse addictions. Harmless, perhaps. Safe, possibly. But when do the grey areas turn black? Where do we learn to love that which can later lead us down paths of pain or impurity? A story from the ancient readers I slogged through in my early years rose before me: the young boy whose father gave him sugar with a drop of alcohol. Once he drank it for the sugar, later it became a habit he could not break, and he died in a drunken stupor in a gutter. I know I have an overactive imagination. I know I might be blowing things out of proportion, “But Lydia,” I said. “I don’t think I want you playing this game. I don’t think it’s a good habit to start.” Smiling cheerfully at me, she said, “Okay. Do you have any other ideas?”
Our evening group was still on the puny side, but we’d gained back Nathan. Who can pattern our conversations? Tonight we turned to childhood stories. For my part, my parents told my embarrassing events—how I’d repeatedly gotten in trouble for gorging on candy. Apparently their wisdom broke me of it. It’s a rare day that any form of candy tempts me now. What a sneaky little girl I was. I wonder, am I still so devious?
Reading of the Israelites incessant grumbling in the wilderness always prickles me. Poor Moses, saddled with the responsibility of leading such a stubborn, rebellious people. And held to such high expectations himself! I come to the Meribah with him and behold his frustration as he brings water from a solid stone, but this time he was commanded to speak to the stone. Instead, he rebuked the people and struck the stone. The water gushed forth, but the Lord was displeased. “You have not believed in Me,” he said, “to treat Me as holy in the site of Israel. You will not enter the land.” God is serious about His word. He is serious about His people’s obedience, especially that of the leaders. It’s sobering to realize that God, in His power, can still offer fresh water to others through our failings, but the consequences may still keep us from enjoying His blessings. We serve the Lord, not through making up “worship” schemes of our own, but through obedience.
Today, most powerfully, I know the Lord is good and does good.
Lord, Thou art good and doeth good,
Whate’er my mind misunderstood.
The plans Thou hast are made to last
And guard the future as the past.
Since Thou hast saved my soul from hell
Thou will withhold no good, as well.
I trust Thou knowest what is best,
And in Thy promise find my rest.
Our evening group was still on the puny side, but we’d gained back Nathan. Who can pattern our conversations? Tonight we turned to childhood stories. For my part, my parents told my embarrassing events—how I’d repeatedly gotten in trouble for gorging on candy. Apparently their wisdom broke me of it. It’s a rare day that any form of candy tempts me now. What a sneaky little girl I was. I wonder, am I still so devious?
Reading of the Israelites incessant grumbling in the wilderness always prickles me. Poor Moses, saddled with the responsibility of leading such a stubborn, rebellious people. And held to such high expectations himself! I come to the Meribah with him and behold his frustration as he brings water from a solid stone, but this time he was commanded to speak to the stone. Instead, he rebuked the people and struck the stone. The water gushed forth, but the Lord was displeased. “You have not believed in Me,” he said, “to treat Me as holy in the site of Israel. You will not enter the land.” God is serious about His word. He is serious about His people’s obedience, especially that of the leaders. It’s sobering to realize that God, in His power, can still offer fresh water to others through our failings, but the consequences may still keep us from enjoying His blessings. We serve the Lord, not through making up “worship” schemes of our own, but through obedience.
Today, most powerfully, I know the Lord is good and does good.
Lord, Thou art good and doeth good,
Whate’er my mind misunderstood.
The plans Thou hast are made to last
And guard the future as the past.
Since Thou hast saved my soul from hell
Thou will withhold no good, as well.
I trust Thou knowest what is best,
And in Thy promise find my rest.
March 13, 2008
Not only am I absent-minded enough to close one hand in a door and another in the dishwasher, but I also completely forgot about it until I stood in the garden spot, shovel in hand, wondering why in the world my hands were complaining about the work. Ah, but life gets better. Five o’clock rolled around and Lydia poked her head in to ask why I hadn’t started supper yet. Completely forgetting I’d traded days with Mom, I was sorting through papers in my desk, because nothing else needed cleaned. With a mad dash to the freezer, I produced the very thing: an extra meal I’d frozen for just such an accident and whisked supper on barely ten minutes late. Thank You, Lord! That was after managing to close my skirt in the refrigerator. I sat down to supper and my ponytail tangled with the fancy back of my chair. I think the kitchen has conspired against me.
The woods are even worse. On the warning of a jaybird, I glanced around to see several camouflaged spies, covertly watching me from the tangled shadows of underbrush. As soon as they’d detected that they’d been detected they bounded away, waving white tails as they ran. I chose to accept that as surrender and held off on pursuit.
Even my own family is secretly planning my downfall. What business is it of anyone else’s if I only sit on the very edge of my desk chair? Josiah took the situation in at a glance, decided I was on poor terms with the chair and chose to help out by separating the two of us--rather quickly. I scolded him roundly, insisting he’d hurt my elbow in a way I wouldn’t forget for the next five minutes, but he heard me giggle on his way out the door. “I knew it!” he exclaimed in triumph. “You thought it was funny!” Well, of course I thought it was funny, but as long as he knows that he’ll keep doing it. I didn’t find it funny enough to ask for an instant replay.
Perhaps the fact that I’ve spent half the day on the phone will account for my odd mood. I enjoyed pleasant conversations with several different automated voices on the Sears line. Unfortunately, computers don’t get my wisecracks. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” Finally transferred to the proper store, I was politely informed that the office was closed. Dial-a-trade gets old quickly, too, so I entertain myself by trying different tones and accents when I call in. Sadly, many of my “important” calls hardly allowed for such games. The phone is hardly my favorite household appliance. I do what I can to make encounters with this beast slightly more pleasant.
Every year I try to convince Mom that planting a garden in charity to the starving insects of the world is hardly her calling in life, but every year she bravely sets out to feed our six-legged neighbors. Every year I help her dig up the ground and weed and water and pick. It’s one of those traditions that simply can’t be broken. If I ever suggested planting a garden, she’d think I’d lost my senses, and if she ever decided to let it lie fallow, I’d be checking her temperature. Today as I shoveled, chopped and did other various sorts of tilling—without the aid of a tiller—the verses about breaking up the fallow ground started buzzing through my mind like mosquitoes. Thus says Yahweh, “Break up your fallow ground and don’t sow among thorns…” Put away your idols, dedicate your hearts to Me and speak truth. Searching my heart, seeking out the idols that sit on dusty shelves in hidden places, rooting out the seeds of deceit and begging the Lord to wash my heart from all evil—breaking up the fallow ground in my heart, I hope I may bear fruit in keeping with righteousness. What a project He has taken on!
Lord, this heart is hard and dry,
Filled with roots of bitter pride.
Yoked with Thee, I pray Thou lead;
To plow this heart is what I need.
Idols ashes Thou must scatter
Soil of selfish rocks, please shatter
Send Thyself, as springtime’s rain
To sprout in me Thy Spirit’s grain.
The woods are even worse. On the warning of a jaybird, I glanced around to see several camouflaged spies, covertly watching me from the tangled shadows of underbrush. As soon as they’d detected that they’d been detected they bounded away, waving white tails as they ran. I chose to accept that as surrender and held off on pursuit.
Even my own family is secretly planning my downfall. What business is it of anyone else’s if I only sit on the very edge of my desk chair? Josiah took the situation in at a glance, decided I was on poor terms with the chair and chose to help out by separating the two of us--rather quickly. I scolded him roundly, insisting he’d hurt my elbow in a way I wouldn’t forget for the next five minutes, but he heard me giggle on his way out the door. “I knew it!” he exclaimed in triumph. “You thought it was funny!” Well, of course I thought it was funny, but as long as he knows that he’ll keep doing it. I didn’t find it funny enough to ask for an instant replay.
Perhaps the fact that I’ve spent half the day on the phone will account for my odd mood. I enjoyed pleasant conversations with several different automated voices on the Sears line. Unfortunately, computers don’t get my wisecracks. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” Finally transferred to the proper store, I was politely informed that the office was closed. Dial-a-trade gets old quickly, too, so I entertain myself by trying different tones and accents when I call in. Sadly, many of my “important” calls hardly allowed for such games. The phone is hardly my favorite household appliance. I do what I can to make encounters with this beast slightly more pleasant.
Every year I try to convince Mom that planting a garden in charity to the starving insects of the world is hardly her calling in life, but every year she bravely sets out to feed our six-legged neighbors. Every year I help her dig up the ground and weed and water and pick. It’s one of those traditions that simply can’t be broken. If I ever suggested planting a garden, she’d think I’d lost my senses, and if she ever decided to let it lie fallow, I’d be checking her temperature. Today as I shoveled, chopped and did other various sorts of tilling—without the aid of a tiller—the verses about breaking up the fallow ground started buzzing through my mind like mosquitoes. Thus says Yahweh, “Break up your fallow ground and don’t sow among thorns…” Put away your idols, dedicate your hearts to Me and speak truth. Searching my heart, seeking out the idols that sit on dusty shelves in hidden places, rooting out the seeds of deceit and begging the Lord to wash my heart from all evil—breaking up the fallow ground in my heart, I hope I may bear fruit in keeping with righteousness. What a project He has taken on!
Lord, this heart is hard and dry,
Filled with roots of bitter pride.
Yoked with Thee, I pray Thou lead;
To plow this heart is what I need.
Idols ashes Thou must scatter
Soil of selfish rocks, please shatter
Send Thyself, as springtime’s rain
To sprout in me Thy Spirit’s grain.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
“It must be Wednesday,” Jacinderella always sings when she sees my number on her phone. Muffins comprised my special delivery for her today, much to her amusement. Muffins from Josiah. I’d promised Emily I would wait and eat with her and Jacinderella, devoid of class for the day, lingered with us. She refused to believe my pudding was more than edible. “Whenever anyone says something in the Caf is good, I’m always spectacle.” Too much Spanish has mixed up her English vocabulary. I’ve yet to see Jacinderella make much of a spectacle—unless we’re counting that one. Roving over campus in the tingling sunshine, after lunch, sent us all into waves of nostalgia, remembering how different it was last year in the Spring when I assumed I’d never be back. Now Jacinda’s the one leaving. In two months.
Amber’s house turned out to be a hubbub of activity. When I arrived, the maintenance men were putting in a new outlet. Or trying to. My mind raced back to all the outlets I’d wired in, under Tabitha’s careful supervision, trying to remember which wire matched with each connection. Hopeless, I’m afraid. When an older preacher-man and his wife arrived, I was embarrassed to suddenly become the center of attention when Amber began explaining why I carry such a huge purse. I suppose refusing to be without my Bible, headcovering or knife marks me as peculiar, as does not dating, homeschooling and meeting at home, which she added as a bonus. But gracious Dave had no intention of challenging or disdaining and turned out to be an encouraging man of God. I dragged Amber outside to the picnic table to read and pray. John eleven—in which Jesus loved Martha, Mary and Lazarus so much that He stayed away instead of coming and healing Lazarus. Why? Because He wanted to reveal to them the glory of God—if they believed. When God seems to tarry in His actions, perhaps it is for a similar purpose—out of love He would reveal to me the glory of God, if I believe.
“Now the man Moses was very humble, more humble than any man who was on the face of the earth.” I think I just lost my identifying connection with Moses. It was this humility that prompted him to say, completely devoid of jealousy, “Would that all Yahweh’s people were prophets that Yahweh would put His Spirit upon them!” The same humility prevented him from offering resistance when his brother and sister complained that God had also spoken through them—what was so special about him? In his silence, God defended him. “Prophets,” Yahweh said, “I speak to them in dreams and visions. My servant Moses, I speak with mouth to mouth.” Forgiving and merciful, Moses pleaded with Yahweh to heal Miriam’s leprosy and reminded the Lord that wiping out the nation of Israel would bring a reproach on His Holy name. Moses thought not of himself—but only of Yahweh. It was all about God.
Lord, when I feel lost and dazed,
Remind me it is Thou Who saves.
When my quill falls from my hand
'Tis Thou who fillest my inkstand.
When I want to run and hide
Remind me of Thy power inside.
Remind me Thou art ever near:
Thy perfect love casts out my fear.
Amber’s house turned out to be a hubbub of activity. When I arrived, the maintenance men were putting in a new outlet. Or trying to. My mind raced back to all the outlets I’d wired in, under Tabitha’s careful supervision, trying to remember which wire matched with each connection. Hopeless, I’m afraid. When an older preacher-man and his wife arrived, I was embarrassed to suddenly become the center of attention when Amber began explaining why I carry such a huge purse. I suppose refusing to be without my Bible, headcovering or knife marks me as peculiar, as does not dating, homeschooling and meeting at home, which she added as a bonus. But gracious Dave had no intention of challenging or disdaining and turned out to be an encouraging man of God. I dragged Amber outside to the picnic table to read and pray. John eleven—in which Jesus loved Martha, Mary and Lazarus so much that He stayed away instead of coming and healing Lazarus. Why? Because He wanted to reveal to them the glory of God—if they believed. When God seems to tarry in His actions, perhaps it is for a similar purpose—out of love He would reveal to me the glory of God, if I believe.
“Now the man Moses was very humble, more humble than any man who was on the face of the earth.” I think I just lost my identifying connection with Moses. It was this humility that prompted him to say, completely devoid of jealousy, “Would that all Yahweh’s people were prophets that Yahweh would put His Spirit upon them!” The same humility prevented him from offering resistance when his brother and sister complained that God had also spoken through them—what was so special about him? In his silence, God defended him. “Prophets,” Yahweh said, “I speak to them in dreams and visions. My servant Moses, I speak with mouth to mouth.” Forgiving and merciful, Moses pleaded with Yahweh to heal Miriam’s leprosy and reminded the Lord that wiping out the nation of Israel would bring a reproach on His Holy name. Moses thought not of himself—but only of Yahweh. It was all about God.
Lord, when I feel lost and dazed,
Remind me it is Thou Who saves.
When my quill falls from my hand
'Tis Thou who fillest my inkstand.
When I want to run and hide
Remind me of Thy power inside.
Remind me Thou art ever near:
Thy perfect love casts out my fear.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Our backyard resembles a topographical map. In an effort to refrain from exaggeration, I’ve given the ranges such appropriate names as the Himalayan and Andes Mole Hills. Either our neighborly rodents have become archeologists or they should cut down on the caffeine.
Winter must have finally given in and curled up for hibernation. While raking leaves from the front of the house, I kept popping into the house to gulp some water—some golden water, I might add. The ground is still soggy enough to leave our well-water slightly colorful, even after draining through our Burkey filter. Hauling logs over rivulets that danced through the woods brought on the first tingle of being hot.
It seems to my vivid imagination that somehow Papa is holding my hand tighter and even lingering over it during meal-time prayers and his blue eyes shine with a greater tenderness. Has something about me changed? Or is it him? Our relationship has come full circle, through toil and tears, awkwardness and confusion, back to the trust I had when I was my father’s source of joy.
When Rib-eye and Hamburger, excuse me, Lin N and Emily, read Lydia’s testimony they decided on immediate action. A short time later they burst into our house laden with roses, smiles and congratulations. Lindsey hasn’t been here since before Christmas break, due to teacherly studies, but it was just like old times, watching them write an elaborate story in the guestbook, while they giggled and whispered behind their hands. Something about Emily brings out the giggles in everyone I know. Including me.
Becoming irritated with the Israelite’s grumbling invariably guides me into repentance for my own grumbling. “Give us meat to eat!” they whined, “All we have is this bread…this heavenly food. We’re tired of it.” Jesus is the bread that came down from heaven, but I often whine to the Lord, “Look at all the entertainment I had back in Egypt, now it’s just Your word. And these books of Moses, Lord, they’re boring!” Only boring because the eyes of my heart lack depth-perception. Again the Lord revealed His power and His faithfulness when he gave them meat to eat. “Where will you find food for all these people?” Moses demanded, much like the disciples did when Jesus broke the loaves and fish. Yahweh’s answer: “Is My power limited? Now you shall see whether My word will come true or not.” He provided so abundantly that the people ate greedily and many died from a plague.
Today the Lord led me through green pastures and quiet waters, bidding me lie down and wait in peace, sending abundant promises on the wings of hope. I’d rather be up running around in circles, tripping in mole-hills, dancing in the sunshine—anything rather than sitting still. I run to the woods and keep running, when I should stop, drop and pray. He put my life back in perspective as I sped along, reminding me of those without hope, those in other countries where every day merely living is a hazard, and then of His Son, who suffered more in anticipation in the garden than I could ever fear suffering. Why am I afraid? Why do I insist, “I can’t handle this!” when the Lord is faithful to keep all His promises? “All things work together for good to those who love God.” Do I love God? As purely as a broken and confused little girl can. I’ll enjoy the moments of quiet refreshing now, reflecting on the Lord’s faithfulness to those before me, instead of allowing myself to dread all those future things I don’t understand.
Indeed, my heritage is beautiful.
Lord, I will rejoice in Thee
For Thou wilt not abandon me!
An orphan I shall never be—
Thou wills to me, Thyself.
So, when Thou heard my mournful cry
Thou sent Thy only heir to die
To execute Thy will, and I
Inherited Thyself.
Winter must have finally given in and curled up for hibernation. While raking leaves from the front of the house, I kept popping into the house to gulp some water—some golden water, I might add. The ground is still soggy enough to leave our well-water slightly colorful, even after draining through our Burkey filter. Hauling logs over rivulets that danced through the woods brought on the first tingle of being hot.
It seems to my vivid imagination that somehow Papa is holding my hand tighter and even lingering over it during meal-time prayers and his blue eyes shine with a greater tenderness. Has something about me changed? Or is it him? Our relationship has come full circle, through toil and tears, awkwardness and confusion, back to the trust I had when I was my father’s source of joy.
When Rib-eye and Hamburger, excuse me, Lin N and Emily, read Lydia’s testimony they decided on immediate action. A short time later they burst into our house laden with roses, smiles and congratulations. Lindsey hasn’t been here since before Christmas break, due to teacherly studies, but it was just like old times, watching them write an elaborate story in the guestbook, while they giggled and whispered behind their hands. Something about Emily brings out the giggles in everyone I know. Including me.
Becoming irritated with the Israelite’s grumbling invariably guides me into repentance for my own grumbling. “Give us meat to eat!” they whined, “All we have is this bread…this heavenly food. We’re tired of it.” Jesus is the bread that came down from heaven, but I often whine to the Lord, “Look at all the entertainment I had back in Egypt, now it’s just Your word. And these books of Moses, Lord, they’re boring!” Only boring because the eyes of my heart lack depth-perception. Again the Lord revealed His power and His faithfulness when he gave them meat to eat. “Where will you find food for all these people?” Moses demanded, much like the disciples did when Jesus broke the loaves and fish. Yahweh’s answer: “Is My power limited? Now you shall see whether My word will come true or not.” He provided so abundantly that the people ate greedily and many died from a plague.
Today the Lord led me through green pastures and quiet waters, bidding me lie down and wait in peace, sending abundant promises on the wings of hope. I’d rather be up running around in circles, tripping in mole-hills, dancing in the sunshine—anything rather than sitting still. I run to the woods and keep running, when I should stop, drop and pray. He put my life back in perspective as I sped along, reminding me of those without hope, those in other countries where every day merely living is a hazard, and then of His Son, who suffered more in anticipation in the garden than I could ever fear suffering. Why am I afraid? Why do I insist, “I can’t handle this!” when the Lord is faithful to keep all His promises? “All things work together for good to those who love God.” Do I love God? As purely as a broken and confused little girl can. I’ll enjoy the moments of quiet refreshing now, reflecting on the Lord’s faithfulness to those before me, instead of allowing myself to dread all those future things I don’t understand.
Indeed, my heritage is beautiful.
Lord, I will rejoice in Thee
For Thou wilt not abandon me!
An orphan I shall never be—
Thou wills to me, Thyself.
So, when Thou heard my mournful cry
Thou sent Thy only heir to die
To execute Thy will, and I
Inherited Thyself.