Monthly Archives: July 2013

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You've heard it said, "I took the road less-traveled".   The bold traveler choosing it's path must be up for adventure.  The one on the road less-traveled seizes newness and finds opportunity for growth.  There's often glory found on the road less-traveled.

You don't hear so much about the road much-traveled.

Some would say that the road that's traveled everyday is a road with lined with ruts. It's a  path of drudgery. It might be said that the road much-traveled lacks luster in its old, familiar path.photo (7)

Maybe.

I say the road much-traveled, when well-traveled, is faithful.

It's surely a road you travel in prayer.

Maybe you've prayed for a devastated friend for weeks; "Lord, help her get up in the morning.  Help her rest.  Help her know you're near."  Your words, tired-sounding, come out nearly just the same on Friday as they did on Tuesday, but they're sincere.

A prayer may be long spoken for your children.  Just like yesterday, and years before, you pray that your children would grow in their love for God.  Your prayer firm, you ask again and again that he would draw them near.

Like an unrelenting child you pray for help, for those things with which you struggle, fear or a bad attitude.  You pray honestly that God would help you to be unselfish and that you're love for His word would grow.

Keep walking your prayer road.  Be thankful when its scenery is beautiful evidence of answered prayer. And be hopeful for those things which are yet to be seen.

Walk the road of prayer even when you don't feel faithful, for its destination is better than what we presently see.

Whether I run, or slow to a crawl, I will carry on down this well-traveled path knowing-

....your steadfast love is before my eyes, and I walk in your faithfulness. Psalm 26:3

 

 

 

 

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imageI've heard Jason tell several people I was leaving him.  That's only partly true.  Summer is the only time I have the opportunity to see all of our family for more than a quick hello.  The kids and I have spent pretty much the whole summer touring central Texas.

At the beginning of this week we even got the opportunity to visit Ace.  He's my niece's busy all-over-the-place dog/kid.  He's partial to Jessica, my niece, his mom.  He runs around in a tizzy, then goes and checks in with Jessica (his master).

Funny thing happened this visit.  Jessica was kind enough to share some of her duds with Hallie and I.  I was able to squeeze into a pair of her jeans which I was quite happy about.  I must mention that Jessica and I are similar.  We've been told on numerous occasions that we look alike and that we have the same mannerisms (which also makes me proud-She's awesome!).

Well...... After one of Ace's dizzying spells, he runs up and jumps on the back of my legs, all "I love you, pick-me-up-like".  I turn around to scoop him up and he "crawdad crazy crawls" backward in fast motion. Confused, and a little let-down, I went about my business. 

But Ace did it again. Several times he approached me only to retreat as quickly as possible. Here's the only thing I can figure.

I'm in Jessica's house.  I'm where she's supposed to be.

I look a little like Jessica, maybe his eyes are partly blocked by maltipoo fur.

Wearing her jeans, I probably even somewhat smell like her.

It's only when Ace got close that he recognized that I wasn't Jessica.

The little guy has made me think of how we humans often mistakenly approach a wrong master.  Sometimes being financially secure or having a squeaky-clean image is our master.  We'll make success and acceptance our master.  

Being the "woman of God" that I am, I make every effort not to chase after those false Gods. Though I sometimes live for earthly things, I typically don't fool my saintly self into believing they're of God.  While that's all well and good, it leads me to a problem I believe we Christians encounter.

Sometimes we wrongly run at anything that looks or smells like God.

Having an "Ace moment", we approach something that "looks like Him".  Maybe we volunteer for some service project.  Possibly we're involved in twelve different ministries at the church- the more God-seeming things you do, the closer to God, right? I have the decorative crosses adorning my wall and I have drawers full of church shirts.  I listen to "the right music" (at least on Sundays).

Please don't misunderstand.  It's not that there's anything wrong with going through the motions.  The motions are often acts of worship; intimate time with God.  Our church shirts and cross necklaces can be emboldened displays of a God we live for.

But don't be satisfied with anything that merely, on its own, serves as a substitute for time with the One and Only. Don't settle, believing Christian songs and t-shirts, bible studies and perfect church attendance are by themselves the "real deal"; be like Ace.

You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all of your heart.  I will be found by you, declares the Lord.  Jeremiah 29:13,14 

 ace and real

 

 

 

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imageGo Ahead and Dust

I avoid dusting. It was one of my jobs growing up. I was supposed to dust the shelves in the living room once a week. I was as dramatic then as I am now so you can imagine my dismay every week come dusting time. If my mom didn't remind me, you better bet dusting didn't happen. Of the times I did dust, I cheated half. I dusted around the five dozen music boxes and trinkets that lined the shelves. I skipped the corners and the shelves that were too tall to meet the eyes. I had better things to do.

The girls and I are at my parents house for the week. I plan on visiting my Meme who I never see. Saturday will be my class reunion. I'll travel twenty years back to poofy hair where we all existed in caricature form. I'm going to store up mom and pop, sibling, niece and nephew time because soon the school year schedule will hold us hostage again.
Mom had day surgery today. I decided to spruce up the house a bit before she got back. I swept and mopped and ran a load of dishes. I straightened pillows. I opened the curtains feeling rather pleased.

Sunlight revealed shelves lined with dust urging my attention.

Rather than ignore what had been exposed, I grabbed the bottle of Old English dabbing drops of lemon oil onto my rag getting set for my work.
After cheating on an entire shelf I decided to do right. I began to pick up every trinket swiping underneath. I dusted under the wooden church music box with the broken cross steeple (a result of my dusting). I was reminded of our many trips to the San Francisco Music Box Company to pick out something for mom for Christmas.
Beyond the dust-lined shelves are memories like the one of my dad crawling, with me on his back, to my room at bedtime. And that memory leads to thoughts of how thirsty I always seemed to be when I got into bed, "I need a drink of water!".

Working through the dust was heart-filling; so much so that I dusted the Grand Piano. It stands firm on large carved legs; a familiar backdrop to pictures growing up.

On it, I dusted little faces captured just a year or two ago of a new generation. I was struck by the hard fact that time pays no heed to my wish that my kids remain kids.

Today I didn't forget to dust. Mom didn't have to remind me. And I didn't cheat. I removed all the dust and went back to the place where I was formed; a place I love. I let waves of sweet and sad wash over me.

As I hold tight to these uncovered memories, I know that busyness and the dust will return.

Still, I'll take the time,no shortcuts, to dust again. Because sometimes there's nothing better to do, than remember.

Sometimes, he sighed, "I think the things I remember are more real than the things I see." -Arthur Golden

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Occasionally comes a conversation I may wish the next day didn't exist.
Just had lunch with a spunky-hearted friend.  I love seeing her at church on Wednesdays, Sundays and on social media. We pass each other in the hallway by the sanctuary with hearty hellos.  In the Facebook world we give each other the "little blue thumbs up" in agreement with the other's post. We don't, however, agree on everything.
We caught a glimpse of the infamous George Zimmerman trial today while sharing chips and salsa.
Blast!

photo (6)

I told myself I wasn't going to mention it, but I knew immediately I was lying.  It came out something like "I'm going crazy watching this trial".  The response included a request for my thoughts on the case.  I knew I was treading on shaky ground.  The George Zimmerman trial is so emotionally charged.  If you've watched it or read about it for a few minutes, you probably have an opinion. I have, (though I promised myself I wouldn't) read every article written about the case.  I have watched much of the trial live.  I shout at the TV and shake my head in disagreement.  I growl and Google information to prove a reporter's information incomplete or erroneous.

I care so much I tell myself.  I'm passionate and intense.

There are causes and issues that often times steal my heart. 

 Abortion? (I can barely type the word it's so emotionally weighted).

Alcohol abuse-How much alcohol is ok?

Homosexuality-Do people living the lifestyle belong in boy scouts?  Should they be allowed to marry?

Racism/Reverse Discrimination- Does everyone discriminate to an extent?

Child Abuse -What constitutes Child Abuse?  Is it ok to spank your kid?

I read the news. I read the Bible.  And I think.  I consider both sides of an issue, turn it into black and white, and I make my stand.

I find the bottom line; the line that's toed by people who stand for goodness (in my holy opinion). 

It's good to know right from wrong; surely everyone thinks they do.

It's good to know the bottom line.

But behind every bottom line there are people; some on my side and some that aren't.

My facts and figures wound tight in my emotions make that bottom line so large in my vision that the people behind the bottom line become hard to see.

More important than facts I can easily recall from forensic experts in the Zimmerman trial, are the broken families.  Both sides.  Behind the bottom line, you have one family who has lost their son, and one family who fears, no matter the verdict, that their son will, in a sense, be lost too.

Right is right.  And wrong is wrong.  But aren't people who are, in our mind,  wrong, more important than our being right?

If people don't know that we love them, nothing we have to say matters.

23 ........ don’t get involved in foolish, ignorant arguments that only start fights. 24 A servant of the Lord must not quarrel but must be kind to everyone, be able to teach, and be patient with difficult people. 25 Gently instruct those who oppose the truth. Perhaps God will change those people’s hearts, and they will learn the truth. 2 Timothy 2:23-26

"Gently instruct" comes finally after  Don't get involved. Don't quarrel.   Be kind.  Be able to teach. Be patient.

I genuinely love people, but there have been times they have come after the bottom line.

Lord help us to remember that there are people behind the bottom line.  Help us to understand that, really, people are the bottom line.

We pray that our helping people to know you, and trust you, will always be more important than anything we know.

Dedicated to my brother; my favorite person to argue with.

 

 

 

 

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“He found him in a desert land and in the wasteland, a howling wilderness; He encircled him, He instructed him, He kept him as the apple of His eye.” -Deuteronomy 32:10 NKJV

Rylie has a wish and it's no secret wish.  She's shared it in front of her brother and sister rather matter of fact.  She wishes she were an only child.  Surprisingly this wish has not come up when Hayden is taunting her mercilessly.  Nor has she mentioned wanting to be an only child when she and Hallie are arguing about a towel left in the bathroom floor or whose turn it is to watch a show on TV.  So reason leads me to believe that her feelings about her siblings have nothing to do with her desire to be "the only one".photo (5)

She's so fun to play with that I often find myself doing just that; playing into her delusions .  Not long ago Hayden and Hallie were gone with friends for the night so Jason and I pretended that she was it; our only child.  If the name Hayden was mentioned Jason responded "Who's Hayden"?  Last Thursday I woke her up early for an "only child" date.  Riding in the car there was no waiting for Hallie to finish talking; Rylie had the floor.  It was just us two.

Jason and I periodically take one of the kids out on a date for some one-on-one time.  "Only Child" dates have become important in a family where you forget what you were going to say before it's your turn to talk or you may even speak without being heard.

I'm good with having 'brother and sister' time.

I'm an obvious fan of corporate worship. I love listening to that preacher man. And I couldn't do without the Sunday morning greeting-time or the post-worship catch-up time with church friends. I'm in awe of the reverence and intimacy felt in a room where hundreds of heads are bowed in silence one moment and then voices swell the next, in sweet harmony.

I have a special group of friends that I instantly text when I need prayer help, which is often.  I adore my Mom's In Touch group and there's nothing like Bible Study on Sunday mornings and weekday evenings.  I love that God is present in the sanctuary and in group texts.  I'm happy God's in my group.  I'm glad He's God of the multitude.

But He knows when, like Rylie, I'm a needy child.  There can be ninety-nine other  'sheep' and yet it's as if I'm the only one.  He's ever ready for some Him and me time; no being penciled in on the calendar.  He's never in a hurry and His attention is undivided.

We go on "only child" dates and have moments where I'm the only one- and He's the only one too.

He walks with me

(I'm found; encircled)

and He talks with me

(He instructs me)

and He tells me I am His own

(and I am kept)

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever known

(I am the apple of his eye)

-In the Garden

Time with God isn't always meant to be shared.

I'm thinking Rylie is on to something.

 

 

 

 

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I've had a banner morning.  I only had two mismatched socks in my folded laundry pile.  That never happens.  I normally have a handful of socks that go to the Island of Mismatch Socks, a basket in the laundry room.  I collect them I guess.  I let them mount up; kind of like my registry of troubles and my thoughts of unattainable dreams.

Considering all of the nice-fitting, fresh-smelling sock pairs we have in my family you'd think I wouldn't worry about the pairs we don't have.  Sure there are long-lost socks under beds and in the small crevice that divides the washer from the dryer.  But why worry when we have enough socks for today?  We've never had a day when we didn't have socks to wear.  There have been days I've squeezed my toes into Rylie's psychedelic zebra-stripe  socks.  Other days I've watched as the girls have made their way down our sidewalk to the car wearing two different socks. Does it matter?  Despite the ones we're missing, we'll always have socks.  I'm certain of it.photo (4)

Worry for people consumes me. How will she make it alone? Does he know that God loves him? Will she ever be able to get past her fear?

Small trouble of my own mounts up.  I mentioned in another post, my fluff problem.  Then there's the well-being of my kids that troubles my heart.  Will they be successful next school year? Will they find good spouses, be good spouses?

And my unattainable dreams?  I want long hair, not short. But there's the knowledge that it wouldn't be silky like the hair in Pantene commercials.  I have a dream of getting new couches; ones that don't expose the white fluff that pokes from the seams.  The new couches would have cushions that you don't have to shove back in with your knees every time you walk by.  Couches and long hair? I realize I dream small, but I dream; a lot.

I spend my life buried in the basket of missing socks. I'm covered with random worries and stuck in my thoughts of what I don't have.

I've hardly anything missing from life.

I have friends with real trouble.  I know people in real pain.  How can I help them while stuck in the bin of lost socks and unrealized dreams?

Worrying and wanting are weaknesses to be shed.

Be strong in the Lord.....with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. -Ephesians 6:10,15

The gospel of peace.  I want to wear it.

Always be ready to give answer to everyone who asks you for the reason for the hope that you have. 1 Peter 3:15

Wearing the gospel of peace requires "I get over myself". It requires me knowing my Hope.  I need to know more of He who gives it.  I need him to teach me what really matters.  It's time to stop focusing on missing socks; I have more than plenty.