The weight of holiday

My December 25 had a few hiccups.  Conversation was good.  Tamales and queso were good.  Laughter was plentiful and good.  But there were some moments when temptation pulled me back.  Glimpses of past sin ran amok.  On the outside, I smiled, and I truly loved every minute I spent with my daughters.  On the inside, doubt began to brew.  Doubt as to whether I had a right to any ounce of goodness in this world.  Doubt as to whether joy and laughter with my kids should be mine to experience at all.  Thoughts flitted and swirled and sucked me into a hurricane of guilt.  Slowly I sank underneath the weight of divorce.  But right there, the Lord came to my rescue.  He led me to Psalm 103:12, which says, “as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.”  And His voice rang like a trumpet loud and clear.  The air became clean and crisp, and I could breathe.  The Lord won.  My sin would not steal my joy.  And this year how wonderful was Christmas Day to know the Lord’s love.

Cheated by a wife

“Ever since my wife cheated on me . . .”  That’s what this guy said yesterday as he entered the bus.  The guy stepped inside, paid his fare, and finished telling his buddy the story.  He made no attempt to gloss over the fact that life holds pain.  And hearing him talk made me think.  What do we do with our pain?  Even children on a playground don’t like to be cheated.  Somebody overstays their turn on the monkey bars, and the kids in line race off for a teacher to plead their case.  It’s like playing Monopoly and realizing the banker isn’t honest.  We scream, stomp, throw, and pitch fits, but in the end, where are we?  Psalm 68:19 says, “Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.”  God actually invites us to lay our burdens upon Him.  Hand our pain to Him, and let Him carry the weight.  Even if my eyes shed buckets of tears in the process, I want to ask Him to cleanse me.  In fact, crying does wonders to soothe tension.  And if a hangnail can nag me into being mad at the cat and grouchy at my husband, then I can afford no room to harbor big pain, small pain, or anything.  Please know, dear reader, how I prayed for you today to find refreshment in knowing Jesus Christ in a new way.  May this Christmas be wonderful because we experience His power to heal.

Traversing the ice

This past Saturday, I closed my eyes as we drove into Winter Storm Dion.  At 20 mph, maybe 30, the quiet helped my husband to drive, and I hoped to shut out anything that would make me gasp.  We checked weather reports via radio and TV and online, though it was worse than we foresaw.  Traveling 35W to Fort Worth, we met bridges untreated with sand or salt, and the first time the car slid, we knew we were in for an anxious ride.  My desperation led to prayer, as all we could see was a white horizon strewn with stranded vehicles.  Will there be less ice on the next bridge?  Should we exit the highway, but what if the access road is worse?  I asked the Lord to take hold of our steering wheel and guide all the miles ahead.  Just when Hemphill Street looked promising, we found thicker ice downtown and wondered if we’d ever escape colliding with all the parked cars and pedestrians.  For hours and hours afterward, I still felt rattled.  All I knew was to call upon the Lord.  All my moments feeling out of control were accurately just that.  Life became simpler, less complicated, and God was my sole intent.  It’s one way I’ve seen Him bring good out of bad.  Never knew how happy I’d be when the sun shone on Sunday.

Linked to curriculum

What task do you dread?  For me, it's often paperwork.  The job application.  The philosophy statement.  With music, it’s the charting of songs.  I can be glad to organize something, but the sight of too much paperwork leaves me exhausted before I ever begin.  Recently a friend asked me about writing curriculum.  Curriculum implies teaching, and teaching is fun.  But curriculum also means paperwork, and suddenly my celebratory balloon loses its air.  Would I have to sort through all the rigmarole of education guidelines?  The answer was no.  But still writing can be laborious, and I wanted to ask the Lord.  Weeks passed, and doubt crept in, haunting me with my inexperience and heaviness of task.  Yet with prayer, I found myself eager to write.  I dived in deep.  I determined to submit Lesson 1 to my friend and let her judge whether good or bad, but I wasn’t on the fence anymore.  Tuesday came, and my friend asked, “Did you get my text last night?”  I answered, “No.  I don’t have text.  But I brought you something.”  She queried, “What is it?  My text last night was to ask you if you had a chance to write the first lesson.  I have a girl coming in today, and we might give your lesson a trial run.”  And on that note, my heart leaped.  I took a deep breath and handed her my paper.  “I felt compelled to write this.  We didn't talk details, and there’s lots of room for change.  It's simply a rough draft.”  My friend read through the lesson and exclaimed, “This is exactly it!  You even put the Bible verse in it!”  I smiled to think of how the Lord matched our thought processes without the text ever delivering.  And that was only the first link in a chain of blessings that afternoon.  The Lord gave opportunity to pray amongst a new group of friends.  He gave me opportunity to speak Spanish and comfort someone.  Later He even answered my plea for a birthday gift idea.  The entire day was so sweet, having seen Him convert dread all the way into tears of joy and more.  And to remember blesses my soul still now.

At the collision shop

Last week the collision shop called to say my car was ready.  I thought, “Yippee!”  We’d been hoping and waiting for the car to be repaired, ever since that sad day when I hit the deer.  So Monday I picked up the car, but less than a mile down the road, the red airbag light suddenly shone on the dashboard.  “Oh, man!”  The mechanics had worked most all of last week to solve that very problem.  It’s a crucial safety issue, so I made a u-turn back to the collision shop.  They ordered a different seat belt part this time.  Tuesday morning I picked up the car again and drove home without any glitches.  Wednesday morning that red airbag light re-appeared.  I took a deep breath and drove back to the collision shop.  The estimator and manager both apologized, and the mechanics hopped right to task.  Taking a chair in the lobby, I decided I might as well clean out my big bag of a purse.  But amongst all the gum wrappers and scraps of paper at the bottom of my bag, something unexpected happened.  With the week's car frustrations bubbling to the surface, I prayed, “Lord, may you reveal the true problem with this car.  Whatever might have been hidden or overlooked, may You reveal the cause of the problem to these mechanics.”  Humbled quickly, I realized how the Lord had changed my thought pattern.  And when the estimator came to tell me the car was ready, I thanked him and smiled and explained about my prayer.  He responded only to shrug his shoulders and crumple his lips.  He explained about the seat belt, and I pondered what my reaction would have been if I were in his shoes.  Maybe the idea of prayer was new for him.  Maybe he thought prayer didn’t belong in a collision shop.  Whatever the reason, the Lord gave such pleasure to me in offering these quick words about prayer.  Since then, I've remembered something else that happened the first time I picked up the car.  I noticed a Bible sitting on the back seat, and I recognized it as the one usually underneath our driver’s seat.  One of the mechanics must have put it there.  I wondered how the Lord might have blessed the one who found it.  I wondered too if the Lord might have even connected the discovery of the Bible with the prayer He prompted in me in the lobby.  And I stand humbled on many occasions to realize how intricate and far-reaching are the Lord’s ways.  Proverbs 3:5 says, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”  That “yippee” I exclaimed earlier in the week really did apply, yet now it held deeper meaning, for all this time spent at the collision shop had been for more than just car repair.

For nail-biters & hair-twirlers

Do you have any fingernail-biters in your house?  Any hair-twirlers?  You know anybody who opens a bag of chips at the slightest hint of stress?  This week the Lord gave me new perspective on nervousness.  It seems our hands tend to toil when we’re uneasy.  We start to fidget.  We make ourselves busy to mask the tension.  Yet there’s remedy in simply separating the hands.  Those schoolteachers who tell their students to sit on their hands aren’t altogether wrong.  And hence the posture of prayer and worship.  When I’m prostrate, my hands don’t touch.  Hands cannot twist and twirl hair.  Hands can’t pop knuckles either.  When hands raise in worship of the Lord, hands are apart.  Thumbs can’t twiddle themselves into knots.  Hands can’t open the pantry door to search out the Oreos.  To find rest is to finally quit stirring.  To find rest is to quit biting fingernails, quit trying to fix everything on our own, and quit avoiding being still with the Lord.  With hands apart, we eliminate some of those worrisome energy-wasters.  And I thank the Lord for teaching this week with simple pictures.

FM 3009

“Did that really just happen?  That animal’s body was BIG, with a whole rack of antlers!  Where did he come from?”  It took me a minute to realize I had hit him.  FM 3009 is a dark road that fells lots of deer, and at 5:30 AM, this buck suddenly stood square in front of me.  Abruptly he was there, and abruptly he wasn’t.  And a deluge of thoughts flooded my head.  (1) Do I continue driving or stop?  For several reasons, I opted to continue.  (2) I was sad for the deer.  (3) I was amazed at how the Lord protected me.  For the next couple of days, in almost disbelief, I kept staring at the clump of deer hair stuck at the crumpled part of the car hood.  Friends told me stories of how the collision could’ve caused severe injury if the deer had slid into the windshield or punctured the side window, yet in actuality he didn’t.  The Lord had guided me into prayer the night before and even in the moments immediately prior to the deer, and I felt keenly aware of the Lord with me.  I pondered the idea of how death for one could connect to any kind of wondrous experience for another, but then I thought of how God’s sacrifice of Jesus brought new and wondrous life for us.  The way the Lord brings good out of bad is a mystery, really.  And now each day that I put the key in my rent car while the collision shop repairs my Honda, I consider again the vast mysteries of the Lord.  I consider the greatness of His power and the depth of His love.  The mystery of godliness is great (1 Timothy 3:16). 

My lost Nehemiah book

Jesus came to this earth to save the lost, and usually we’re talking about people.  Me, you, and everyone.  But just as the parable in Luke 15 mentions a lost coin, this past Sunday my lost item was my Nehemiah book.  I asked the Lord to reveal it in order for me to teach from it.  Days passed, I didn’t know where it was, and I began to wonder if indeed the Lord was leading me to teach about Nehemiah, then perhaps I didn’t need this same book because He would supply me new perspective.  The next day I remembered this particular Nehemiah study was part of a 3-section book.  The following day I remembered it was one of the smaller-sized Precept books.  This past Sunday I thought to look again on the bedroom shelves.  We drove home from church, and there it was.  Bit by bit, the Lord had revealed my book.  To paraphrase Luke 15:9, I say now, “Rejoice with me; I found my lost book!”  And may the Lord bless you today in whatever way you’re feeling something’s lost.  The title of my Nehemiah book is Overcoming Fear and Discouragement.  Certainly the Lord offers encouragement for us all.

A storyteller's first step

Follow Jesus?  How do you do that?  This past Friday was key for me.  I’ve held this notion for a long time that my bus stories might be part of some storytelling.  Having once played sound effects on piano for a theater group, I’ve looked forward for years to incorporating piano alongside the bus stories, though still not knowing when.  My bus book has sat atop our piano, and I've reread the stories and jotted down tidbits of thought occasionally, though it's been only theory to this point.  Certainly prayer has been a part.  Then this past Friday afternoon the whole notion of piano resurfaced with a new momentum.  The piano bench compelled me to sit and pull together a set of TV and movie themes to play at the coffeehouse that night.  First it was “Heigh-Ho” from Snow White, then the theme from the game show Jeopardy! and the theme from Mission: Impossible.  The list went on and on, but still with only a loose image in my head of how the tunes might fit together.  The clock hit 7:15, which meant time to drive to the coffeehouse, and my eyes and my heart stood hopeful toward finding the Lord there working the details ahead of me.  We set up sound equipment and proceeded through several songs, but piano wasn't seeming to fit in the lineup.  After about an hour, I said to my husband, “I might play a little piano here.”  Yet even in that moment, I still didn’t know exactly what I would play, though I sat and started talking with the audience.  As conversation led, I inserted some piano tunes.  What developed was a very fun time of people getting to know each other.  Not quite bus stories, but rather a first step toward storytelling.  The show tunes ended up being background for talking about everybody’s workday.  Kind of a way to relax and chuckle and even include the children and the youth and their happenings from school.  Largely unrehearsed, it became sort of an interactive door for our coffeehouse crowd.  The Lord worked a whole bundle of blessings that night through guitar, oboe, and voice, and most certainly through piano.  My job was to trust Him to guide me and keep my feet from slipping, just as Psalm 121 says.  And I did gather a glimpse of how Me and the Lord on the Bus might become part of some future storytelling.  Perhaps this calls for a celebratory white chocolate latte.

Off-stage with the cashier

Last week I walked into a restaurant and heard some disturbing words.  “I’m going to hell,” the cashier laughed.  But I didn’t laugh.  Hell is too terrible a place, and it lasts forever.  I wanted to be sure the cashier knew she had a choice.  Did I take her comment too seriously?  I’ve met people who say “go to hell” so casually, as if the idea is harmless, as if it’s not real.  I’ve met people who don’t recognize the name of Jesus as the one who can save them from hell.  I’ve asked the Lord to give me His love for people that I may genuinely reach out.  For dinner, our waitress placed some scrumptious chicken and cornbread on the table, but nothing swayed me from hoping to talk to the cashier again, and I asked the Lord for an open door.  Time came to pay our bill, and sure enough, I see the same cashier still on duty.  I paid my tab, and lo and behold, I hear my voice aloud, “I kept thinking about what you said when we walked in tonight.  I’m so thankful Jesus saved me.  And because no one has to go to hell [meaning we all have a choice], do you know Jesus? ”  She smiled to answer, “Yes.  I know I shouldn’t be saying what I did.  It’s just that I did something bad.”  And as she spoke, my heart sighed to know that deep down she did know the Lord.  What relief.  And how blessed I always feel to speak the Lord’s name into public air.  Throughout the week the Lord set me in the middle of several similar interactions.  All happening 6 hours from home on a theater trip.  All woven amidst my usual theater nervousness and my usual lack of sleep.  All this impossible if I had chosen not to follow the Lord into this realm of theater that’s new for me.  But when the Lord orchestrates, my attention turns, and my nervousness dissipates.  I love to see Him at work.

Out of theater's nervousness

Theater rehearsals make me nervous.  Shakiness enters my chest.  My focus struggles.  It’s difficult to sit still, and I hardly sleep.  This past Tuesday was no different.  I hopped in the car before 6 AM and drove to my director’s house.  Remembering lines and trying to blend all the critique, I needed just to keep moving.  No time for asking why this or why that.  Just handle the music cues and the props and stay at it.  Rehearsal finished, and as I’d seen our various roles fitting into place, I knew the Lord had been rehearsing right there with me.  In my chest where I used to feel shaky I now felt warmth and fullness.  Yet still a wider door of wonder was about to open.  My mom told me she had prayed for me to find joy in the midst of rehearsal.  Actually her words stunned me a bit.  I had prayed more about the mechanics of rehearsal whereas she had considered the spirit of it all.  And so I pondered with new perspective and quickly smiled to remember our laughter during rehearsal.  The Lord had given me gracious friends who let my brain relax enough to just enjoy everyday life and everyday talk.  He had led the way for this tightly-woven bundle of nerves to loosen and unwind and see Him at work.  I experienced Him walking alongside through another segment of this theater path that seems scary at times, but He faithfully keeps pointing the flashlight to guide my next step.  There’s a lot of on-the-job training in this Christian walk.  But He constantly delivers joy into the lives of those who love Him (Romans 8:28 adapted).

A duet of three

A new harmony rang out.  The new sound was all the more sweet because of how harried our road had been.  Parenting problems.  Piano logistics problems.  Computer problems.  The list went on and on, and suffice it to say, we were strapped in stress.  My friend stood at the piano, and I sat to play, and somewhere in the mix of our singing, this new harmony blossomed, and we savored it from the very first moment.  Without stopping to acknowledge it, we found nourishment in it and cleansing.  “Lord, I need You, oh I need You.  Every hour I need You.”  How perfectly the lyrics fit our depth of fatigue, and so we sang and sang more and repeated and repeated again.  When the song quit singing, the piano kept playing.  When the piano quit playing, the Spirit still hovered, almost as if my sustain pedal on the piano sustained the Holy Spirit’s presence.  My friend and I stayed motionless and realized our streams and rivers of tears.  Beyond musical pitches, beyond any great set of lyrics, in a different realm our duet had become a trio, and we didn't want the experience to release.  In this flourish of harmony, blessing had entered the air, and we simply delighted to breathe.

God & Vistaprint

Did you know God works with Vistaprint?  You know that website with all the coupons for business cards?  Last night He proofed my order.  Right after I hit the Submit button, I thought twice that I should’ve allowed more margin on the right-hand side.  I ordered some magnets and checked and rechecked the format but then suddenly wondered, “What if the printing machine cuts the cards just a little too close?  Oh, man!”  And I loved the final design with the laid-back green and some soft shades of blue and the Parisian font that I hadn't used before.  In my mind, I was already smiling to hand them to friends and use them as gift tags.  But now the order was already sent.  Trying to change it would be such a hassle.  So I prayed, “Lord, may you oversee the production of these magnets that they would print in whole.  May they have no letters cut off the edges.”  Then before quitting the computer, I checked my email.  What?  Four emails from Vistaprint?  The last one says, “Whilst in the process of reviewing your order placed on September 20, 2013, it was discovered that portions of the text on the Small Magnet had a likely chance of being cut off when the product is printed.  An adjustment was made to the Magnet and it was replaced to ensure that it would be printed perfectly.”  Well, how interesting is that!  How sweet that the Lord would handle my order.  A simple blessing to know He oversees all our happenings and that He's available for the big, the small, and the in-between.  James 1:17 reads, “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”

It's Egg Day!

It's the simplest of things.  Eggs.  Who eats eggs for breakfast?  Probably the whole world does.  Having 2 fried eggs in the morning would be a huge highlight for my husband.  And for me to cook the eggs would be even more hugely a surprise!  As my sweet friend so casually talked about washing all the breakfast dishes at her house, my heart started to sink.  I asked, “How often do you cook breakfast?”  Answer:  “Every day.”  And I promptly paused.  And I paused still more.  All these years I’ve cooked breakfast such a small percentage of the time.  But now my weekday schedule is different.  Sometimes I have an out-of-town trip and leave in the morning by 4:30 or occasionally 6:00, but often I don’t have a strict timeframe anymore.  Raisin Bran, Mini-Wheats, and Lucky Charms no longer need to predominate our home menu.  And the motivation behind the change is what’s important.  It’s kindness.  In 2 Samuel 9, kindness is no small thing.  King David seeks to offer kindness to anyone in Saul's family.  Soon David meets Mephibosheth, who is Saul's grandson.  David explains he wants to restore land to Mephibosheth and offer him a lifelong invitation to eat at the family table.  David's kindness is abundant, and when considering the fact that Saul tried to kill David repeatedly, the depth of David’s kindness is all the more remarkable.  He demonstrates a kindness that's neither fluffy nor cute nor superficial.  It's kindness with real meat.  Real hearty chunks of character, all for the sake of Jonathan, who was Saul’s son and David’s covenant friend.  Here in the Old Testament, with all its many battles, we see kindness.  God's kindness.  And now in real life for me, I have nothing even close to anybody trying to kill me.  My gesture to cook 2 eggs for breakfast should be comparatively quite simple.  And I'm happy to say our kitchen now serves eggs at least once a week.  It's a slow change, yet the smile on my husband’s face beams across the room.  And I hereby testify to the Lord's ability to transform a very committed non-cook into someone now giddily happy to pull out the old skillet and fry up some eggs.  I gladly pronounce, “It’s Egg Day!”

Battleground: deer, water, bones

My bones hurt.  I'm on edge.  I leave the room because the noise of the TV stirs my stomach.  The other day I was close to crying just driving down the road.  I’ve wondered about arthritis and fibromyalgia, but even more so I’ve considered these aches to evidence the throes of spiritual battle.  Certainly the story of Job shows that faith can lead us to encounter physical pain.  Now in recent weeks I have called on the Lord to carry me through.  And then came last Sunday.  I simply walked into church and heard 3 particular words.  Deer.  Water.  Bones.  Each spoke uniquely to me.  Our pastor talked of his trip to Montana and his view of some deer walking up to the water.  That water, he said, was a fountain of life for these animals.  That water led to a whole experience of replenishment.  Much more than a short sip of anything wet, that water nourished the depth of the animal’s whole existence.  Yet when the pastor initially uttered deer and water in the same sentence, my brain froze because I first thought of a song.  I'd been rehearsing some music with a friend, and one set of our lyrics sings, “As the deer panteth for the water, so my soul longeth after Thee.”  Our road to rehearsing this music had encountered a very steep uphill climb.  It was a battle, it had been painful, pressure was tight, and so this Sunday in church my ears stood desperately attentive.  Next came the pastor saying, “The Lord can be health to our bones.”  And therein sat my third word.  God was using the pastor to speak into the aches of my body that felt more loudly pronounced every day.  All morning I kept hearing people speak words and ideas that I identified with.  River.  Thirst.  Running water that flows even where the land is parched.  With each new mention, I felt refreshed and immensely loved by the Lord that He would speak so specifically into my circumstances and let me know He knew what I was enduring and that He was with me.  This pain I withstood was of a different realm.  A different category.  People tell me I have a high tolerance for pain, yet my usual large doses of ibuprofen wouldn’t touch this.  The tension began to cleanse through my eyes, saturating one Kleenex after another to realize how each new conversation added into the blessing.  Jesus says in John 7:38, “Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.”  This was my real life and my real streams of tears flowing.  And by the time I heard my Spanish friend say the word alfarero, which only a couple days prior I had learned means “potter,” I could picture the Lord molding me at the potter’s wheel, moistening the clay along the way to stretch, reshape, and smooth out my edges.  And as my tears released, my fragility faded.  Though the pain would return later in the week, this Sunday the Lord had relieved and replenished to the depths of my soul.  Where I had struggled for words to explain to my husband, the Lord had reassured that He knew all the ins and outs of every inch of my pain.  Satan could fight all he wanted, but the Lord had given me rest and had held up the fight on my behalf.  To know Him in these moments was sufficient for me.  The Lord is enough.

Gecko at the door

This morning I awoke to a gecko dangling at the door.  We have oodles of those little pink guys, and they scurry into even the skinniest crevice.  Somehow this one didn’t quite make it over to the other side.  Used to be that our cat would chase down geckos, but he's 20 now and has long lost his urgency to embark upon too many chases.  This time I was on my own.  This gecko had shimmied into the doorjamb, and I had 2 black beady eyes staring at me, with 2 helpless front legs dangling from about 6 feet high on the door.  I could feel my heart softening for this creature that I normally wouldn’t want anywhere near me.  Was he alive?  If I pulled the door, could he loosen and squirm away?  I peered a bit closer for any signs of life.  He showed slight color in his head, though with salmon-colored skin, a little color is hardly anything.  It was the tremor in one of his legs that led me to want to loosen him from the door.  He was harmless, and though he has plenty of companions who make me squeal sometimes, I didn't want him to suffer needlessly.  I sidestepped behind and grabbed the doorknob and pulled back, and he dropped all the way down.  For a couple of moments, he lay motionless, maybe stunned, and then he ran.  For him having been so helpless a few seconds ago, looking so tortured and desperate, he seemed to regain life and energy in an instant.  Just like us.  One decision can leave us jammed.  Temptation slithers around, and if we consent to it, we might open the door to a huge, long line of consequences, and suddenly we're panicked.  Just one sloppy move.  But I don’t want to go there.  The Lord can surely rescue us, but I don’t want to grieve Him.  I don't enjoy feeling my heart race in fear, and I don’t want to hinder anyone else with that same feeling.  I don’t want to be that gecko jammed in the door.  And I pray to the Lord, who is our greatest protector, that He may free us up and make us ready and willing to move when He calls.  He loves us so completely that my body aches to consider the thought of grieving Him.  First Corinthians 10:13 reads, “No temptation has seized you except what is common to man.  And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.  But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.” 

Unwonted invitation

Do you ever hesitate to invite someone in fear they’ll decline?  I mean, how disappointing would it be to invite a new friend for coffee, or how embarrassing could it be to try to gather a group together, but in the end no one comes?  I’m hoping this week’s story encourages you.  A couple of weeks ago, I invited some friends to my house to study.  I hadn’t seen these friends this summer, and I was eager to brew my new pack of Community Coffee and laugh with these girls and seriously study all at the same time.  But one by one, their emails replied no, can’t come, not this time.  The first said, “Sorry, Linda, but I’m going on vacation.”  The next one said, “Yes, I’ll be there,” but in the end she didn’t come because her children were sick.  Still another friend wrote, “I’m intending to come, Linda, but I’m waiting for a certain phone call that will determine whether I can or not,” and evidently her phone call didn’t allow her to come.  All the while, I held to my lesson plan, hoping for even just one friend to be available, as I had prayed before ever emailing the invitation and didn’t want to abandon the date and topic I felt the Lord gave me.  Thursday night I stayed up late to fine-tune some teaching points on 2 Samuel 9.  Friday morning came, it was 10:30, and no one arrived.  The clock hit 11 AM, and still no one.  The house surely felt empty.  My heart felt a little hollow too.  Yet there was no point in sitting around just being sad.  And then around 11:15, an interesting thing happened.  The phone rang, and I noticed it was a friend from church.  Often he asks me to substitute-teach, and so my brain started to race in excitement, though I didn’t want to get too excited too soon.  This friend explained he had been sick with allergies, and would I teach his class on Sunday?  Almost jumping through the phone, I exclaimed, “Yes, I’ll be happy to teach!”  And in reality my heart had already leaped its first tall building in a single bound.  I had this freshly unused lesson so eager to be taught.  I felt the corners of my mouth stretching into the hugest of smiles to realize 2 Samuel had just found its new time and place.  And come Sunday, our lesson proved wonderfully fruitful.  All the way through, the Lord kept giving insightful discussion across the class.   Afterward I pondered the whole sequence of events.  Why did the Lord lead me to invite the Friday group in the first place?  He could have bypassed that invitation, given that none of them attended anyway.  In staring at my calendar, I realized He timed things perfectly to have me stay up late Thursday to study because Friday and Saturday already held music commitments.  Certainly He knew the schedule of things.  Perhaps I invited the Friday group because someone there felt lonely.  Maybe the Lord blessed them through the invitation to know they were thought of and included and loved, even though they couldn't come.  I do know I was blessed in the thrill of seeing the Lord connect multiple dots along a road that seemed to meander here and there.  Isaiah 55 talks about the Lord’s word never returning void, and so all the more reason we have to proceed when He leads us to offer invitations.  Regardless of any outcome visible or invisible to us, He speaks with large-scale purpose, bringing to fruition as He sees fit.

The toil of eulogy

Recently I wrote a eulogy.  Really the point of a eulogy is to highlight the good in someone’s life, though the task of writing one always seems unpleasant.  Subconsciously our brain applies the old Transitive Property from middle school math, which says, if eulogy = death, and death = sadness, then eulogy = sadness.  And we don't like sadness because of its emotional upheaval, so suddenly nobody looks forward to writing and delivering a eulogy.  And that’s what happened to me.  My mom asked me to write this eulogy.  She said, “Well, Linda, you like to write.”  And she’s right.  I do.  Sometimes.  But not this time.  I debated between notebook paper and computer.  I love yellow No. 2 pencils and plain old paper, but somehow I opened a Word document this time.  Actually the computer proved to be a good move, as I edited for 2-3 days.  When my brain was tired, the task meant lots of thesaurus work because slight distinctions in words can ease anxiety before it ever stirs.  The nuances of words, especially when people feel fragile already, can enable a heart to be willing to consider some genuine food for thought.  And it has been within these word choices that still now, 2 weeks later, I have realized the Lord surely guided those hours and days I toiled.  For moments that could have been painful, He gave gentle yet honest wording that He veiled in love.  For this whole occasion that no one enjoyed, simply because it dealt with death and all kinds of sadness, the Lord brought blessing.  In fact, His blessings were multilevel because I had not foreseen He would grow my writing for the sake of a eulogy.  Some say a writer’s goal should be book sales and money, but here I see how great is an opportunity to write someone’s eulogy.  We slow down, we turn off the TV, we think and rethink and seek the Lord.

A radio blessing

Have you ever hosted a guest who stirred up some tension?  I don’t mean something negative necessarily, but just as conversation progresses, suddenly it’s time to address an issue.  Recently I invited a friend to stay at our house for a few days, hoping to offer her a respite from her heavy family situation.  My husband consented to the idea, and truly we were delighted to help.  We had fun cooking dinner together.  We talked; we laughed.  In this case, our guest didn’t say anything hurtful or keep us up too late at night.  Neither did she offend any neighbor or pester our cat.  In fact, she was quite respectful, and we love her dearly to this day.  But tension arose in realizing how she lives at her house.  As the tension grew, I sensed the Lord drawing me to address the issue.  I asked Him, “Lord, how do I handle this?”  My friend’s family was not my family.  I had no ground of exact circumstances.  I didn’t want any words to appear uncaring or even possibly construed as a reprimand.  The next morning I awoke and read through my inbox of emails.  There sat the day’s program listing for KSLR, which is a local Christian radio station.  Joni Eareckson Tada would be talking today about not letting circumstances rule daily life.  My heart fluttered to realize that this could be the Lord’s answer to my plea.  Joni speaks from circumstances similar to my friend’s, and certainly if the Lord was leading me to share this radio program, He knows it’s the perfect thing to do.  But would my friend be awake in time to hear this message on the radio?  I prayed again, “Lord, if this is You leading me, I’m asking You to set the timing here.”  And soon my friend walked into the living room, and the Lord guided our conversation so we could listen to Joni on KSLR.  The tension had been uncomfortable, and I had hoped for more of a carefree pajama party than any kind of instructional time, but that’s not what the Lord called into play.  His plan brought greater depth to this respite for my sweet friend, and I love Him for that.  In John 16:13, Jesus says, “But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all truth.  He will not speak on his own; he will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come.”

Parachutes & paracaidas

Parachutes and Bibles.  How do they relate?  It’s an exciting story.  In March, I attended a Voice of the Martyrs event that told about Bibles being delivered into Colombian jungles via parachute.  I came home to research the idea a bit and came across info for crafting these parachutes.  Matthew 28 and Mark 16 both talk about us taking the Gospel to all nations, the latter giving the words of Jesus in verse 15, “Go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation.”  That includes the guerrillas in the Colombian jungles.  That’s why we’re talking parachutes, because sometimes you can hardly reach an area by any other means.  And in this case, there happens to be a tangible way for us all to help in the effort.  A kit of materials for making 10 parachutes is available from VOM, and this past Friday our church group was immensely blessed to construct our first set of 10.  Even for people like me who aren’t too craftsy, it’s quite a manageable task, and having the camaraderie of friends makes it altogether fun.  A pilot named Russell drops these parachutes from his airplane, and each parachute carries a Bible and other Christian literature and a solar-powered radio that tunes to either of 2 Christian stations, one being music and the other being the spoken word.  If the parachute catches in the trees on the way down, a station on the radio will trigger, and the sound will attract the people.  The canopy on these paracaidas (Spanish for parachutes) reads “Dios es amor,” which translates “God is love.”  Perhaps Russell will speak at a Voice of the Martyrs event near you; maybe check the speaker schedule at persecution.com.  Thank you, Lord, for giving the ingenuity to devise these paracaidas, and may Your light shine through them.

A Luke 14 pizza feast

Put the Food Network and HGTV together, and you’ve got a pretty good set of ideas for your home.  They talk about meals and events I’ve never thought of before, and they make DIY tasks look possible and even fun.  But I’m unaware of them ever telling how to host a feast quite like Luke 14 does.  In this chapter, verses 12-14 in particular, Jesus says, “When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid.  But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed...”  In verse 13 where the NIV says banquet, the KJV says feast, which is how I first read it last week.  The verses rang in my ear for several days, and I figured the Lord had a feast in mind for me.  But how do I do this?  Whom do I invite?  On Sunday, I sat in church with these verses still floating in my head, and the idea hit me to invite a guy who was sitting across the aisle.  I explained to my husband about Luke 14 this week and ran the lunch idea by him.  I offered the invitation to our church-mate on the aisle and was so happy for him to accept, but then I wondered, “Lord, is this a feast for just the 3 of us?”  I walked into the hallway and found my husband talking to someone, whom he promptly told me he had invited to lunch as well.  Now our feast was for 4.  And so we agreed upon pizza and proceeded in our separate cars to the nearby Pizza Hut.  My husband drove, and my heart danced the whole way to recount how this occasion was developing.  It was a case of literally living out the Bible.  Blessings poured amidst our afternoon conversation, and we learned about some business concerns for our first guest.  Time to pray with him fit wonderfully atop our empty Meat Lover’s Pizza tray.  We had the added blessing too of looking forward to seeing our new friends again the next week.  It was as if watching each separate link, each separate event, adding one by one into God's perfect chain of events.  Almost effortless on my part it seemed, having simply begun one ordinary day while sitting on an ordinary couch to open the pages of the Bible, which is forever extraordinary. 

The juror's stunning phone call

Most people dread jury duty.  Most of us dread going to court.  To defend a traffic ticket or even to prosecute, it’s a hassle.  It’s tense.  But last Sunday I heard an inspiring story about a juror.  This would be someone who didn’t wriggle out of her civic duty.  It was a custody case involving a mom, her ex-husband, and their 2 children.  The mom told the story, and she’s a friend for whom I have been blessed to pray.  I had seen her in agony through the ups and downs of this trial, and now almost a year after its conclusion, my friend receives a stunning phone call.  It’s a weekday, the phone rings at work, any number of co-workers could have answered, but curiously she’s the one who reaches for this call.  The caller had seen the name of my friend’s company on a vehicle just driving around town.  She didn’t remember my friend’s name, but she remembered the company name from being mentioned in court, and she chanced the call.  She explained her role as a juror and how the Lord compelled her to pray throughout the trial and even into the months that followed.  She wanted my friend to know she was prayed for.  Often people change jobs in a year’s time, or companies are so big or privacy issues so tight that there’s no way of figuring out who somebody is.  Yet the Lord connected these 2 people.  He gave uninterrupted time amidst a busy office to convey some huge encouragement, and today we sat in awe to hear about it.  It was evidence of the Lord's love having no limit.  That's for you, for me, and for each of His children.  May you be encouraged.

Flags of the world

I love seeing the flags of the world.  Sometimes it’s at theme parks or at historical sites where they’re flying in the wind.  Sometimes it’s in a sanctuary where they hang neatly from the ceiling or they’re carried on poles in a processional.  They remind me of how small I am in this world and yet how intimately God loves His creations.  We can be the lone ranger on the remotest of islands, and God knows our exact spot.  We can be one in a million in the most crowded of cities, and He reaches us with ease.  I visited San Francisco one time and saw how every nook and cranny had someone living in it.  Deep into one building, past the apartments visible to the outside, I realized there were layers and layers of living spaces more obscure.  How does a realtor even know what’s available to rent when they’re layered so densely?  But no matter our surroundings, God is there.  And so for the sake of our different territories, we call to God and wait on Him and thank Him for saving us from our own human nature.  To the many in 19 different countries who visited this blog since May, I welcome you.  Matthew 28:19-20 says, “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.  And surely I am with you always to the very end of the age.”  To Argentina, Australia, Canada, China, Colombia, Finland, France, Germany, Hungary, Indonesia, Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Russia, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, USA, Vietnam—we are in this together.  May you know the Lord's presence today within the uniqueness of where you serve. 

Chronicle of an inexperienced tiler

I had never tiled a floor.  The idea was close to defeating me emotionally, and I saw no real reason for it to be that way.  Over the weekend, we laid out the whole roomful of tiles, including the specially-cut ones to fit around the tub and the toilet and up against the walls.  Next would be the messy part with the mortar.  Should I wait for my husband or go it alone?  I prayed.  And I prayed.  And I prayed.  “Lord, am I supposed to tile this bathroom?”  I gathered supplies:  sponge, bucket, rubber mallet, gloves.  I double-checked my Youtube sites, and momentum was gaining.  I figured if I read the instructions carefully for mixing the mortar, that would be the very same thing my husband would do, so why not proceed on my own?  Surely I could calculate proportions for liquid and dry, though I couldn’t stop imagining the magnitude of gloppy, gooey gunk this could be if I measured wrong.  I found the dolly to carry my 50-lb. bag to the back porch.  I took the bathroom scale out there to weigh everything for mixing since I wouldn’t use the 50 lbs. all at once.  I grabbed an old wooden fork for stirring; it was one I could throw away afterward.  Momentum continued to build, and I was ready to mix my first batch of mortar.  Hours passed, and certainly it was sticky work.  By the time my husband came home, I had a good case of leg pain from all the squatting and kneeling and standing back up, but it all seemed to be working.  The Slowest Tiler in the West appeared to actually be putting together a tile floor.  At 10 PM, we closed up shop.  Experienced friends who spurred us onward and a friend who loaned us his wet saw had all taken part, and we had made it.  But this isn't just a DIY how-to story, because beyond Home Depot videos and beyond Lowe’s, it was the Lord who kept me in the game.  He answered my continuous prayers and kept me from panic and fear and wanting to quit.  This tiling became a confidence-builder for me.  And I thank the Lord for His presence, for when we experience Him in one place, we grow to rely on Him for the next.  In Isaiah 41:10, the Lord says, "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

Halfway Herbert & the lady at New Life

“Do you know if Brady Boyd’s new book is out?”  I replied to her, “I’m sorry I don’t.”  My husband and I had entered New Life that Sunday as visitors.  Not knowing exactly what was behind any of the many doors from the parking lot, we found ourselves at the church bookstore.  The word discount on a sign pulled me across the room, and 10 minutes of extra time allowed me to start scanning the front table.  The lady who asked about the book explained that Brady Boyd is a pastor who walked alongside New Life in their years of healing from scandal.  I thought of the shootings in Columbine and Aurora and last year’s grass fires and a whole depth of injury that Colorado has endured.  She asked, “Where are you from?”  “San Antonio,” I said.  I spent a minute sharing about blessings that have come in visiting churches and witnessing the Lord at work away from home.  In fact, a large part of today’s blessings came through this new friend at the book table.  She was my first acquaintance with New Life and the welcoming voice of the church for me.  She was the personal connection that stepped out from the large congregation.  Her casual conversation spoke of real-life Christianity that let me see again how Jesus-followers are scattered all throughout our world, and the Lord uses us to encourage each other.  Yet many yearn for a church home, and I think of friends who've become disenchanted by the imperfections of the people inside the churches, and I pondered what it is actually we seek on Sunday mornings.  If we don’t identify with the pastor, that’s not necessarily bad.  If we don’t connect with every song, that doesn’t have to be reason to leave.  Maybe there’s a book table where we’re supposed to stand and talk with visitors about Christ and how He delivers us from the trials of everyday life.  I didn't sense the role of the book lady was even a formal role, as she simply was a book scanner like me, yet she was ready to share life with whomever.  This Sunday the teaching from the pulpit proved to be thought-provoking and wonderful, as did the music, though it was through the gentle manner of my friend at the table that the Lord first ushered blessing.  The fact that I had fun in finding a half-price copy of Halfway Herbert for my nephew was a bonus.  May the Lord give us joy for the circumstances He creates.

Hurricanes of Santo Domingo

Did I hear her right?  “I can handle hurricanes,” she said.  But is that possible?  I looked back over my shoulder to watch her lips reiterate the words.  In my mind, hurricanes are these ominously powerful things that only God can tame.  Yet my friend explained her childhood in the Dominican Republic.  Pointing midway up on the calf of her leg, she talked about the water level in her house.  Such was common occurrence after hurricanes in her city of Santo Domingo.  She remembers making paper boats with her brother and floating them inside the house, as her parents engaged the children in games to stave off any fear.  And it was at that point in her story that my brain froze because I couldn’t fathom playing games in the midst of a hurricane.  How would the emotions relax enough to actually play a game?  But then the idea translated in my head, and I remembered how the Lord calmed me one day in the midst of a dangerously heated argument.  Witnessing the abusive nature of one particular person, my body began to tremble, yet the Lord directed me and gave presence of mind to lead people away from the danger.  Though I trembled, I didn’t fear.  So perhaps I can imagine games and toys after all.  My friend said hurricanes come with warning, whereas tornadoes may not, and that's why she can “handle” hurricanes.  She's familiar with their approach and the aftermath for those living in concrete houses.  Still for me, I contemplated issues of contentment in this world.  In Philippians 4:12-13, Paul correlates contentment with finding strength in the Lord, regardless of situation, whether hungry or well-fed, whether living in plenty or in want.  Given Paul’s many shipwrecks and imprisonments and all the stones, rods, and lashings he withstood, surely he knows about finding strength in the Lord.  And I ask the Lord to give you peace today, that in contentment we may float paper boats amidst our storms.

Abandoned, but not by God

Wrong again.  Actually glad again.  I’ve had an unusual patch of negativity lately, and I was happy to be dissuaded.  Sundays have been a long-time source of inspiration, yet lately the aura of a certain 2-hour span has infected my thinking to the point of dread.  And directly into the core of this dread on one particular morning, the Lord inserted a wonderful dose of inspiration.  His creativity was in full bloom.  He walked my feet into what’s becoming my favorite breakfast nook, and there sat a friend with whom I hadn’t talked in a while.  My friend mentioned recently praying in a new way for his family, including for his wife who abandoned him.  In his mind, he and his wife are still married, though she took their daughters and has been moving them from house to house, all across town, staying with different people often far away.  My friend’s been exhausted in the constant effort to track them down and stay in touch, and in desperation he threw his hands up, pleading for the Lord to show him what to do.  And blessing did come.  News arrived that his wife had found yet another house, and to his amazement, this one appeared to be longer-term, and it was near him and near the church.  No longer would he drive all the miles that had stretched him even beyond the city limits.  Perhaps no longer would his daughters cry to think of him far away.  In the telling of the story, I witnessed his eyes moistening to talk of the magnitude of the blessing and the depth of his gratitude to the Lord.  The story triggered memories of mountaintop experiences the Lord has graciously granted me, even after I’ve felt on the brink of some deep despair that I stirred up myself.  This Sunday morning, the Lord reminded me to never dread because He can always breathe life into what seems dead and gone.  I ask you as the reader today, “Are you like me?  Do you have something you’re dreading?  Something setting you up for a negative attitude?”  Ephesians 2:4 says, “But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.”  And may you and I both remember to ask Him to lift us out of the muck and mire. 

Pizza & the man alone

Pizza is good.  The buffet at Double Dave’s is craaaaaazy good!  The particular location near us seems to flourish, and it must have something to do with the guy who bakes the cinnamon sticks.  His mix of cinnamon, sugar, and butter ranks way high in my book.  Put that next to Dave’s salad bar, and anytime my husband consents to going, I’m fast into the car.  The salad bar has sunflower seeds, boiled eggs, ham, green peppers, and lots more, and we have all those ingredients at home, but it tastes different at Dave’s and it’s fun.  The cashier asks if we want a certain type of pizza, and with great glee I request the barbecue chicken that quickly appears on the buffet line.  And to top it all off, they post a 2-for-1 coupon where you can buy 2 buffets and 2 drinks for $11 total.  For San Antonio prices, that’s pretty good.  Yet as fabulous as Dave’s is, something I witnessed there a couple of weeks ago bears greater praise than all their good food.  Dave’s hosts lots of baseball parties and all kinds of team events, and on this Saturday a young girls’ team entered.  One of the dads chose an empty table next to ours while most of the girls stayed to themselves.  For maybe 5 minutes, this dad sat alone and quiet until another dad asked, “May I join you here?”  The first dad looked up, seeming refreshed and quite open to the idea of company.  I'd seen the second dad change his mind on where to sit after noticing the first dad sitting solo.  It was a simple gesture yielding the grandest effect, and suddenly a memory triggered for me.  I’ve sat in that same seat of loneliness.  I remember how it can creep in and exhaust and debilitate without warning.  Even today as my husband and I sat at the kitchen table to sort through some papers, we saw an ad for an ice cream social and entertained the idea of attending until we realized we might not know anyone there.  Yet I thought of the dads at Double Dave's and have asked the Lord to lead us as to whether we should go after all to this event and share some ice cream and some conversation.  Perhaps He will connect us with someone in need, just as He has rescued me in my loneliness and desperation many times.  According to 2 Corinthians 1:4, the Lord is the one “who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God."