Morning Cup

2009-05-11T04:09:00.000-07:00

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Kelly Breece

Grand Slam

2008-05-03T16:44:00.000-07:00

The sun was setting on a March evening leaving a chill in the air. It was the last practice before the first game. A single lamppost shined on each boy at bat. The coaches pitched to each player until they’d had a chance to hit the ball a few times each. All the other teammates had had their turns; now, they stood in the field and watched as Shane stepped up to the plate. Would it be just like the other practices?

The pitch flew… he swung… the second…third…another swing… nothing. Each pitch that sailed past his bat made it harder and harder for him to raise it up to try again. He wanted to lay it down and walk away. He wanted to go home. I stood back, in the dark, with my arms folded, nervously rocking back and forth on my heels, begging God to let him hit the ball at least once tonight. If he couldn’t hit the ball tonight after trying so many times, I didn’t know if he’d try again tomorrow. I wanted to protect him from this disappointment and frustration, but more than that, I wanted to help him push past his fear.

Seeing him standing there, alone, and discouraged, I remembered vividly, standing at home plate, in front of my teammates years ago, feeling as if everyone around me “got it” but me. When we’re young, keeping up is everything. I didn’t know, at that age, that finding my own true passion in life would bring the validity that I was seeking back then. During that season, all I wanted in life was to fit in.

They finally ended the practice that night. The coach sympathetically patted Shane on the shoulder and offered him a few words of encouragement, but Shane didn’t hear him. He just saw me; he dropped his head and drug his bat across the grass to me. He tried to be tough, but when he felt my arms around him, he just sunk into them.

“We’ll get it, Buddy,” I assured him. “Don’t worry.”

Game day rolled around. Bats clanged and cleats scooted across the sand on the concrete floor as the team gathered in the dugout. Crisp “Red Sox” uniforms lined the bench; the boys were eager to get their first game started. Shane nervously swung his legs back and forth beneath the bench seat, timid and insecure. The team’s dugout coach, with his roster in hand, called Shane’s name second. Shane stood, slowly picked up his helmet and bat, and walked shyly out to the batter’s box. I started to ask that through my prayers, God would give him the confidence and the strength he needed to meet this challenge. The first player hit the ball on the first pitch…a strong single. The umpire motioned for Shane to step up to the plate. I sensed that the coach had similar ideas as me as I saw him look deeply into Shane’s eyes as if to send, through that stare, the power to connect with the ball and hit it. The first pitch came... then the second... nothing.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Lord, let him hit it. Please let him hit the ball just once.”

CLING! “Run Shane run!” yelled the coach. I opened my eyes and saw that Shane had hit the ball. He did it! It landed two feet from home plate, but it was the hit that he needed. He made it to first base; and with the next batter, he made it all the way home plate. Two more times that night, Shane hit the ball. I can’t begin to put into words the elation that I felt in that moment.

I looked around and couldn’t help but notice that I was cheering much louder than any of the other parents did when their son successfully hit the ball. They all had comfortable folding chairs. They chatted with each other nonchalantly about where they would eat after the game or how work was that day. To them, the game was no big deal.

To me, God had just moved a mountain! You’d have thought his "hit", barely making it off home plate, was a grand slam. The joy I felt was so incredible, I believe, because it was born of adversity. What a gift!

Since that night, Shane has come to love baseball. I have to admit, that although I’m just as thrilled, I stay in my seat now. There’s no comparison with the joy I felt when he hit the ball for the first time that season.

My prayer is that the next season of frustration or disappointment through which we pass as a family is met with acceptance and assurance that God is simply sharpening our vision so that we may see the true colors and true beauty of the joy that will follow it.

Valeriedictorian

2007-01-10T03:52:00.000-08:00

Valeriedictorian. I nicknamed her that in high school. My dear friend Valerie was a leader throughout all of our years together; she led from a place of meek steadiness. When she reads these words, I’m sure she’ll blush. She never tried to hide her weaknesses, which in turn, just strengthened her strengths, in our eyes. I watched her meet challenges face to face and diminish any trouble ahead of her with quiet, yet unstoppable tenacity. We placed her on a pedestal in school; her intelligence and athletic abilities made her the unquestionable choice to be our class president throughout our upperclassmen years. As her senior year rolled around, so did all the scholarships. With college nearly paid for, Valerie’s momentum never slowed; in fact, she charged ahead towards her next challenges, college, college basketball, and then law school. I have to admit that anything less prestigious would have surprised all of us.

Seemingly effortlessly, at least in our eyes, she became a lawyer. She had made it. She was no longer just Valerie; she was Valerie, the attorney. Looking back now, I don’t think any of us ever saw it necessary to push our thoughts past that title. That title afforded a house in a posh area of town. That title coincided with the incredibly cute red convertible that she drove. That title meant elite and trendy places, elite and trendy people.

One day I went to visit her at work as a colleague of hers was drawing up a will for my husband and me. The building was in the heart of downtown Nashville with an almost magical view of the bustling cityscape. Through this enormous picture window, life was fast and exhilarating with airplanes, trains, barges, busses and cars coming from all directions. As we sat in the perfectly perfect lobby, we watched dapperly dressed attorneys and self-assured assistants coming from all directions, steaming hot Starbucks in hand. This is the life, I thought. From appearances, Val had everything a girl could dream of. I was sure of that.

I was sure, that is, until I heard through some friends that after practicing law for over ten years, she was going to leave the law profession and become a teacher. Not only that, but she was selling her house downtown and moving back to the country.

Surprised and intrigued, I couldn’t wait to talk to her myself. I got the chance at a high school football game one Friday night.She sweetly explained her thoughts to me just as she had explained to countless others who asked the question…
What in the world made you decide to make such a drastic change?

During a time of uncertainty, God had provided an opportunity for her to tutor middle school students through a program at work. Simply put, she found it to be fulfilling, rewarding, and meaningful. This newfound passion inspired her to reevaluate what her purpose was and ultimately what her intention in life was. She told me how important faith was in making her decision.

“Faith was huge!” she said. “I do believe this was a decision that God wanted me to make.”

It took three long and sometimes frustrating years for Valerie to actually get a teaching position. Whenever she found herself discouraged, she asked for a sign from God that she was on the right path.

“I always got one!” She told me. Val enthusiastically shared with me some of the lessons she’s learned through teaching young people. I was particularly moved by a story of a young girl in her class who lived in a foster home. She struggled to balance school with helping to take care of several younger foster siblings every night. The young teen had so much to deal with, yet her only wish was to be adopted by this family or some other family before she turned eighteen. She deeply feared that if that didn’t happen, she would go through life never having a family to come home to. Stories like that one were simple, unmistakable reassurance from God to Valerie that she was in a place where she could make a difference. Back then, she was Valerie the attorney; now, she was Valerie, the teacher.

As I listened to these stories, I realized that Valerie had simply traded developing million dollar deals with developing the lives of countless young people desperately trying to find their own way in this world. In true “Valerie” form, she had quickly climbed the "ladder of success"; then out of the blue, catching everyone off guard, she took her leap of faith from the very top rung!

Do you envision your path to your heart's true fulfillment? Are you hiding your dream because you fear that others will not encourage you? Subject to peace of mind and lots of prayer, take your personal leap of faith no matter what "they" say.

We recently started our fifth season of "Nashville Star", a talent contest for country music hopefuls here in Nashville. I'd like to pass along a quote from one of the contestants this year. He said,

"I've met a lot of people who are trying to make their fortune... and then later, they're going to do what they want to do. I just don't think life is that expensive."

“I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you
with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that
Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith.”

Ephesians 3:16-17

September

2006-09-18T18:38:00.000-07:00

“She won’t see her next birthday”. The thought was piercing inside; that was the message I was almost certain God was sending to me when, in late, late December, my three-year-old son insisted on buying his great grandmother a birthday card. Her birthday wasn’t until September 10th. His pure, open heart was acutely aware of something that the rest of us couldn’t have known. For a few moments, the world seemed to stop. What if she really doesn’t see her next birthday?

Well, a month passed and I had all but forgotten what happened; after all, she had been in perfect health for years and still was. Then one February morning Mom called to tell me that she was very sick. She’d been feeling bad for several days and had gotten so weak that she fell in the floor and wasn’t able to get up to call for help. After she was taken to the hospital, it was discovered that she had pneumonia, along with many other problems. Every day that I saw her, she seemed weaker. Her legs were full of blood clots and they were incredibly swollen. During those early spring months, I often thought about what had happened back December. Although everyone was aware that her time was especially precious by then, I still felt as though I possessed a sad truth that no one else knew.

As days turned to months, my grandmother would temporarily improve only to be disheartened again when something else went wrong. So often, she was plagued by the side effects of the very medicine that was working on her life-threatening illness.

Throughout her illness, she was sent to two hospitals and two nursing homes.

“This hospital has really good chocolate cake, but the nursing home had really good roast beef.” She’d explain. I joked that she should write an article about her “medical facility cuisine tour”. We made light of a lot of things, but it didn’t change what I knew.

September 10th came all too soon. Autumn was beginning to show its signs; the nights were getting much shorter and a bit chilly. My son and I picked out a different card for his great grandmother. 87 birthdays were celebrated on this day for her.
Her 88th was no exception. She made it.

Interestingly, way back before her illness, she said to me once, “Who’d want to be eighty seven years old?” Well, I don’t know about that, but I do know someone who wanted to make it to eighty eight more than anything on earth.

I still know in my heart, that God was speaking to me that day in the store. I interpreted His message the only way that seemed logical at the time, but His love reaches so far beyond anything that I could ever figure out on my own. I know now that it was a simple reminder that no one is guaranteed to see another birthday. Everyday is precious and significant. Everyone is precious and significant.

Who’s to say what the future holds for my grandmother. I do know that everyday of her long life has been lovingly planned and orchestrated by our Heavenly Father. And I know that there will come a day when a date on a calendar and a number on a birthday cake will no longer hold significance to her in her life eternal.

Letters from my Sisters

2006-07-02T22:01:00.000-07:00

“Would anyone like more coffee?” Our gracious host for the evening asked as we sat around the dining room, quite contented from our meal. After a bowl of home cooked soup and a sampling of each of the scrumptious casseroles and salads, a steaming hot cup of coffee seemed to be the only thing left to do before our devotion began.

Later, with a kitchen chair under my arm, I followed the rest of the ladies to the cozy fire lit family room. A soft verse of “Jesus Is Lord” seemed to soothe away the stresses and worries of the day as we settled in. Our speaker for the evening, had prepared a lesson centered on the importance of Christian relationships among women.

After her heartfelt lesson, she stood up and began to hand out pieces of paper, face down, to a few of us women. With a puzzled look, we took them, and one by one, we turned them over to read to the other ladies as she asked us to do. The first letter was from a lady in our congregation, who had suffered the loss of a child. She wrote about her experience and the sadness that often fills her heart. At the end, however, her letter was about inspiration and about the love she feels from her Christian sisters. That love, along with the knowledge that she’ll someday be reunited with her son, comforts her.

Written by another lady in our circle, was a letter about the loss of her husband a few years back. She talked about the support and sustenance that her sisters gave her. There was a letter from my Mother thanking her dear friend for lovingly lifting her spirits when she went through a frightening medical scare last year. Yet another lady told of how the love and support of her church family helped her place things into a whole new perspective, while struggling with difficulties inside her family. We listened intently to emotional outpourings of gratitude and thankfulness these women felt because of their church family and more importantly, their Christian sisters. For a moment, the emotion of each experience was almost as real as it was when it first happened. A few sniffles could be heard underneath the reading of each letter.

As we circled the room, we came upon the last letter of the evening. The tear that I’d been trying to stifle rolled down my cheek when I saw who had written the letter; it was our host for the ladies fellowship. In her home throughout the evening, I had seen walls filled with pictures and other remembrances of her husband, whom she recently lost. I knew this letter was going to get me.

She began by recounting all the times that people brought by food, sent warm wishes, made phone calls, and came by just to visit. Just as everyone’s eyes filled up with tears, the person reading the letter stopped and said…

“And then there was the time, last summer, when I fell off the chair, while hanging wallpaper, and broke my arm. People helped me around the house and brought many hot meals over. And for that I just want to say thanks to all of the women…well…except for one…the one who pushed me out of the chair.”

The expression on her best friend’s face, who was there hanging wallpaper with her, was priceless. In the midst of tears, our group of ladies broke out in much-needed laughter. I couldn’t help but think about how, so often, that describes our experiences in life. Just when we feel that we’re reaching our emotional limit with the sorrows in life, God rescues us with a bit of good ol’ laughter…and so often through our sisters.

Sweet is the voice of a sister in the season of sorrow. ~Benjamin Disraeli

Lady and the Champ

2006-07-02T21:57:00.000-07:00

Our first house… it was haven of glorious, mature, Maple trees. We were just outside of Nashville, but when you drove down our street, you felt as though you had entered the Smokey Mountains of East Tennessee. In the middle of the day, all you could hear out on the front porch was the rustling of leaves and… the occasional barking of one of the neighborhood dogs. There were several, but two little hound dogs, named Lady and Champ, stole my heart the day we moved in. They were like a couple that’d been married for years. Never would you see one without the other trailing closely behind. Even though they belonged to our next-door neighbors, Ronnie and Patty, they spent many cold winter nights curled up together in our basement on a warm blanket. We considered them part of our family and you would’ve thought they had been for years the way they’d come running when they saw us pulling into the drive. At our feet, Champ would drop to the ground and roll his plump self over to generously offer himself to anyone who might want to scratch a sweet auburn-haired beagle’s tummy. They never missed a chance for affection and they never missed a cookout. When we moved, I cried. I had to leave those beautiful trees and I had to leave Lady and Champ asleep on the front porch with no idea that we weren’t coming back.

We’ve been in our new house for over three years now. Just the other day, Mike walked in and said, “Ronnie and Patty moved. Did you know that?”

“No I didn’t.” I replied. When I thought about what he had said I envisioned the house being empty. If Ronnie and Patty had moved, then that meant that Lady and Champ were gone too. Suddenly I felt so sad. They were gone. I would never see those little hound dogs again. My heart sunk.

I thought so much about them that day. As afternoon came around, Shane came bounding down the stairs and asked if we could go outside and play. When we did, I looked around at all the trees that we’ve planted and how, just this year, they were really beginning to blossom. I waved at my neighbor across the yard, who has become a dear, dear friend of ours. And out of nowhere came Cowboy, the rambunctious, but gentle German Shepherd from next door, with whom Shane has become the best of buddies.

As I stood in my yard watching my son play, I realized something very important. I left my last home with the comfort that I could always go back and visit the things I missed most. I had every intention to go back often and see Lady and Champ. When I learned that they were gone, I felt the loss of that comfort…then realized…I hadn’t had it for a long time. Everything that we knew about home had changed, not necessarily a change for the better or for the worse; it just changed. Three years had gone by and not once, had I found the time to go back. Though leaving my two little buddies was sad, it proved to have been a part of God’s plan for our lives. Lady and Champ will always hold a special place in my heart. I know they’re romping around a new place somewhere else with someone else to love them.

Sometimes God chooses to change our paths in much more profound ways than this. Sometimes in order to do that, our life has to come a screeching halt so that we don’t miss our turn. With every change, however, He provides new insights, new goals, new visions, and a newfound strength to let go of our past. He teaches us, through joy and sometimes through pain, to trust in Him and to know that His plan is His perfect way of bringing us, ultimately, back to Him.

Surprise

2006-07-02T21:51:00.000-07:00

“We’ll see you here at 6:15.” I heard my husband say before he hung up the phone. We had traveled back from a business trip earlier that afternoon and had been home only a couple of hours. Speaking through a yawn I raised up from my nap to ask who he was talking to.

“Jeff. We’re going to dinner with he and Michelle.” Still a bit groggy, I slid out of bed after glancing at the late hour on the clock. It seemed strange that he wanted to go out for dinner after having driven for several hours, but I didn’t question him. I did ask, however, if he had made reservations and when he told me that he hadn’t, I decided to call ahead and make some for us. When the hostess answered the phone, I gave her my last name.
“Are you with the large party tonight?” she asked.
“No, there will just be four of us in our party.” I answered without hesitation.

Later on, when we walked into the restaurant, I turned to Mike and explained that I had called ahead and gotten us a reservation. I was sure he would be greatly relieved since the parking lot was packed with cars. He just nodded to me and quickly turned to the hostess. She grinned back.

“Right this way, please.” She said as she motioned for us to follow. She led us down the hall to a room in the back of the restaurant. I could see through the glass that there were at least fifty people standing in the room. When she slowly opened the French doors, I looked in and saw, of all people, my Dad, standing inside the door.

“Daddy? What are you doing…

Immediately I saw that standing next to him was my friend from our first home. Behind her was my cousin and two of my co-workers; there were people with whom I spend holidays and people with whom I spend weekdays all standing together in that room. I felt as if I had entered a dream. Everywhere I turned I saw face after face from my whole life. Mike guided me, dumbfounded, through the crowd. Friends from college were there with their children; they were sharing tables with friends from church as if they’d always known each other. It took the entire evening to make my way around the room and thank everyone who rearranged plans and made a special effort to make this a wonderful surprise birthday party. The only bad part about it was that it ended much too soon.

I’m thankful for that night. I was reminded of the blessing of family and of friendship, but there was something else that’ll stay with me forever. In the surrealism of the first few moments of the party, I kept thinking to myself that that must be what it’s like to enter heaven, when everywhere we look there are loving, familiar faces smiling back at us. Every soul who has ever touched our life will be waiting there to welcome us. We will know one another like we never dreamed possible on earth. We’ll spend endless time reminiscing with those with whom we only briefly encountered while here on earth. We’ll finally get to sit and talk again with grandparents… and the grandparents of their grandparents. Oh what a surprise party it is going to be!

Those who live in the Lord never see each other the last time. German Proverb

His View

2006-07-02T21:45:00.000-07:00

With the still-lingering taste of blueberry hot cakes and freshly brewed coffee served at the mountain lodge, we all headed over towards the trailhead for our day hike inside Glacier National Park. It was estimated that this ten-mile loop would take about eight hours to complete. Briefly calculating that, we made the assumption that the guide must make a lot of stops. With the splendor of the Montana Mountains, there would surely be lots to experience.

Surprisingly, we were met with a group of about twenty other people; more surprisingly, we were among the youngest there. Our mountain guide welcomed us and led us to the opening in the forest. The clicking of our daypack belts as we slid into them temporarily drowned out his safety instructions. How hard can his be? We were as green as the abyss of lush trees into which we entered. They welcomed us. The birdsong replaced the sounds of cars from the roadside. We heard fresh dew dripping off each maple and pine. There was a chill in the morning air, but it was nothing less than refreshing on this July day. The trail, although narrow, remained flat for about the first hour of our hike. Ah, what a relaxing day this is going to be.

While casually conversing with the other hikers, we began to see an opening in the forest. Golden wildflowers saturated by the hot sun covered an endless meadow just ahead. As we neared, the sky opened up and revealed to us…the mountain!

“Here’s the trailhead, folks.” We could feel our guide cut his eyes to us and grin. Without words, we each expressed our reservations among our small group. Then, my friend, with a delicate whisper, reminded the rest of us that we were the youngest in the group. How hard could it be?

Four…hot…sun baked hours into our hike, we had done nothing but slowly…sluggishly trudge upwards. The group, who had once walked with a cheerful cadence, was now vastly spread out. Those who once led the pack had succumbed to the thinness of the mountain air and were forced to take lots of breaks. My ankles began to fiercely ache from the twisting around rocks and roots. Hot sweat stung my eyes. By now, all of our conversation had stopped…well, all of it accept an occasional seethe as the more competitive hikers among my small group passed us with sarcastic observations of our athletic abilities. In the fifth, grueling hour, I started to question this so-called adventure. What could be so great at the top of this mountain that would possibly make all of this worthwhile? Why am I putting myself through this? At this point, I could turn around. The entire trip would be downhill. It would be so easy!

Lost deep in my thoughts of lounging on the cool cabin porch, I was startled by the footsteps of someone pushing past me on the left. It was an older man, possibly in his seventies, walking slowly, but steadily with the aid of his hand carved walking stick. I could almost feel God grinning at me. If this man could keep going, so could I. With the cadence of each step, I chanted a prayer…

“ Show me the top, God, show me the top. I can make it…I know I can. Just show me the top.”

He gave me a final burst of energy and then He answered my prayer. I could hear cheers in the distance. The hikers ahead of me were at the top of the mountain. The moment I moved above the final rise and saw the mountain peak was a moment I will never forget. Turning completely around on my wobbly knees, I could see for hundreds and hundreds of miles in every direction. I saw the deepest canyons and the bluest streams I’d ever seen. Above me there were endless billowy clouds enveloping me in the closest thing to heaven that I had ever experienced. Once again, I could feel God speaking to me. “I told ya it was worth it.” As I rested on a glacier, eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich from my pack, I prayed for these images to embed themselves in my brain so that later, I could return here, if only in my mind. I thanked God for the beauty of it all and even more so, for the journey to the wonderful glimpse of His view. I wanted to cry. I did. It felt so good.

A simple phrase rang through my head throughout the rest of my trip to the mountains of Montana. “God’s got a mountaintop waiting…and it is worth it all.”

Tis the Season

2006-07-02T21:42:00.000-07:00

Gathered around a table full of abundance, we quietly fold our hands and give thanks… on the day set aside for just that…

…then off we go… the next a.m. …to hustle and bustle… hurry and scurry…shop till we drop…and prep till we pop… on the dawning of the Christmas season. Long-familiar jingles propel us through crowded streets and shopping malls, in search of the perfect token of love. Flour blankets our countertops like new-fallen snow as we assemble mounds of scrumptious confections for upcoming festivities. Paper wishes of good tidings pass in the night and fill our boxes of mail at the first post. Lush garlands and velvet bows adorn doorways through which we welcome visitors; there we give gifts of fireside cups of cocoa and hugs. These are the days when all practical sense and disciplines are snugly tucked away and we permit our hearts, with abandon, to give and love and give some more. What a blessing. God has His way of turning an otherwise very cold and bleak time of year into one of glimmery warmth.

“Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.” --Norman Vincent Peale

But alas, as anxiously as we drug out the boxes filled with ornaments and wrapping, we just as anxiously, afterwards, hasten to clear the last cedar tree thistle from the floor; the New Year is drawing near. Yesterday, the season of boundless giving, hands the still-burning candle to today, the season of renewal and of soul cleansing.

“Every man should be born again on the first day of January. Start with a fresh page. Take up one hole more in the buckle if necessary, or let down one, according to circumstances; but on the first of January let every man gird himself once more, with his face to the front, and take no interest in the things that were and are past.” ~Henry Ward Beecher

Just as God sees to it that every season carries its own beauty, so He has provided beauty in every season of our heart. My prayer for you is that there are no tears for the passing of a season; rather there is joy in the coming of new beginnings and a reminder that in Christ, there is no end.

I will renew my covenant with you, and you will know that I am the Lord.
Ezekiel 16

A Prayer for the Holidays

2006-07-02T21:38:00.000-07:00

There is no story this week… just a prayer for the holidays.

I pray that God speaks to you through the man standing outside the grocery store ringing a bell. When you give your child change to place in the bucket and the man says, “God bless you both”… I pray that you take that to heart and know that He will.

I pray that if you’re stuck in holiday shopping traffic this year that you see it as an opportunity to sit quietly and reflect and perhaps say a prayer for the person in the car next to you. You never know… your heartfelt prayer may just be what comforts and sustains him throughout his first holiday without his Dad.

I pray, as we watch our children innocently tear into meticulously wrapped Christmas gifts, that we are reminded that we too are given gifts every day. Sometimes they come beautifully wrapped in fine paper and sometimes they come in something as plain as a paper sack. However God chooses to send our gifts, He delights in watching us tear into them with reckless innocence.

I pray that if this year, the holidays are saddened by the loss of someone you love, that God will quietly enter your home and gently wrap you in His arms. As dear friends and family send blessings to you through their prayers, I pray that your heart is filled with a peaceful reminder of the purest meaning of Christmas and the promise of our eternal life.

May God bless, comfort, and live in your hearts throughout the holidays.

Snowday

2006-07-02T21:34:00.000-07:00

In middle Tennessee a really "good snow" is a rarity. Every few years, however, the stars seem to line up and we are blessed with a couple of magnificent snowfalls. One such winter fell in early 2003. Eager to enjoy our fleeting winter wonderland, we dug out our scarves and hats and headed up the ridge to where the rest of our family lives. By the suggestion of one of our family members, we decided to tour their snow-covered farm in style. We gathered some rope and tied two old sleds to the back of a farm-tractor. Several of us excitedly piled on top of the sleds, including my three-year-old niece, Savannah. This rosy-cheeked gal with blonde ringlets rolling out of her wool hat had seen snow before, of course, but nothing like this.

"Yahoo!" My Mom hollered as the first jolt of the tractor's acceleration nearly threw all of us off into snow. We glided up and down the hills of the farm laughing hysterically at each other trying desperately to keep our sleds flat on the ground. Savannah chimed right in with the rest of us, laughing and cheering for her Grandaddy to drive..."faster... faster".

Well as young children tend to do, Savannah quickly changed her mind about being in the snow. Knowing the fun she was having just minutes earlier, we coaxed her to take one more trip around the field. But her mind was made up and half-way around she began to cry. She said her feet were cold and the snow was beginning to sting her face. With her innocent request, we wound down our "snow day" and retired to the house for a fireside cup of cocoa topped with marshmallows. All of us have a sweet memory of our day in the snow.

Months later, on a hot July afternoon, I was riding in the car with Savannah and I asked her what her favorite season of the year is. She explained with sincere enthusiasm that wintertime was her "very most favorite season of the year".
"It is?" I said with surprise.
"Yes." she exclaimed. "...because then we get to go sledding at Poppa's and go really fast over the hills in the snow."

She never mentioned how cold she was that day. What she remembered was the excitement and the elation of her great winter adventure. In fact, she couldn't wait for winter to roll around so that she could take her younger brother sledding. Isn't life just amazing?! So many times our most memorable adventures are accompanied by cold feet and a little bit of stinging snow in our faces, but they are our best adventures, nonetheless. So, this morning, wrap up in Christ's love and all His promises like a great big wool scarf...then grab hold of the ropes and hold on. God has some wonderful adventures in store for all of us in this life that we wouldn't want to miss.

"The glory of God is a human being fully alive!"Rick Warren from "The Purpose-driven Life"

Christ and Christophers

2006-07-02T21:28:00.000-07:00

“Do you wanna go to the playground?”

“Yea-a-a-a-h” It began as his stock answer to my questions but inside his two-year-old drawl, my question began to sink in. “Swing… slide?” He asked.

“Yep.” We walked into the enclosed city playground, a wonderland of wood and metal, with bars to climb, secret passages to explore, and swings in which to fly high as a bird. Shane ran straight to the first slide he came to and jumped on. Seeing that there was a little boy at the top waiting to go down, I snatched Shane up and redirected him towards the back of the slide.

“I’ll help him up.” Said the boy at the top. “He can go down in front of me.” With that he jumped off the ladder and waited for Shane’s slow and unsteady climb up to the top. They descended the slide, one after the other, over and over until they were both nearly dizzy. With the boy’s suggestion, they bounded over to the swinging bridge where he jumped up and down on one end making Shane spring across, belly laughing all the while.
“His name is Shane. What’s your name?” I asked as I guided Shane across.

“Christopher… and that’s my Dad.” He said in one breath. I looked over to acknowledge the person he was speaking of and to say hello. When I did, my eyes locked with a middle-aged man sitting on the park bench. He stared back at me but did not offer a response. He was dirty with torn clothes and he looked tired and weary. Quickly, I turned back to Christopher and resumed our conversation.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 4. My birthday’s next week.” He replied.

“Oh really, well happy birthday. Will you have a big party?”

“I don’t know… maybe. Nobody will come. Nobody came last year.” He turned his head from me and looked at his Father. Not knowing how to react, I changed the subject and the boys kept playing. Everything that Christopher did, Shane would attempt to imitate. He laughed hysterically when Christopher ran and dove headfirst onto a swing and went sailing through the air. The two short years that separated them was a lifetime in Shane’s eyes. He watched his every move.

As they rounded the corner to head down the slide again, we heard his father’s voice, “Come on son… we gotta go.” Christopher jumped down from the ladder, ran towards the man, and never looked back. I watched as the young boy followed closely behind his father across the long parking lot towards their car. I wondered what kind of “grown-up” worries that little guy must have.

Suddenly Shane came whishing down the slide, grinning ear-to-ear, eager to find his friend for one more trip. He soon realized that he was gone.

“Where Ci-to-per, mama?”

“He had to leave with his Daddy, honey.” I pointed towards the pair in the parking lot. I watched as Shane faintly, almost sadly, waved his sand-covered hand in the air towards his friend. He looked down at the sand and his bottom lip began to slightly protrude. This newfound friendship was special to Shane, but now he was gone. I found the look in his eyes strangely familiar, though this was the first time he’d ever experienced this. In his eyes, I saw myself and the times when someone has walked out of my life not fully knowing how special I thought that person was.

That afternoon, I said a prayer… that God would teach me to convey my true feelings and never let a Christopher leave my life without knowing what he means to me.

About two weeks after that day, ironically, at the playground, my brother and I said the words, “I love you”, for the very first time in our lives. My brother… Chris… and I have always had a tough time communicating. God works in mysterious ways.

Trailing Me

2006-07-02T21:22:00.000-07:00

We had about an hour before the sun went down. That was just enough time for Shane and I to meet up with my Dad and hit the city greenway on our bikes. Strapped in tightly in his seat behind PaPa’s bicycle is the best place to be for an afternoon ride down the cool, wooded bike path. The popular greenway meanders through our small town and intersects city streets in three different places. Dad, Shane, and I rode nearly to the end but stopped short to head back home knowing that nightfall was coming fast.

As we approached an intersection, the oncoming car stopped. The man inside rolled down his window and motioned for our attention. He was winded and spoke with a bit of panic in his voice. He asked if we’d seen a woman and two young girls on the greenway, then he explained that his son had been taken to the hospital following an asthma attack and he was trying to find his wife and two daughters to let them know. With his detailed description, Dad and I realized that we had indeed passed them though we weren’t sure if we’d seen them before or after we turned around. We wanted to help, but we couldn’t tell the man, for sure, which direction they were heading. I assured the man that we’d keep an eye out for them and would let them know he was looking for them.

The moment we returned to the front entrance of the trail, we passed the woman and her daughters. Trying not to upset them, I slowly explained the situation to her. Knowing that by this time, her husband was on the other end of town, I decided to call my brother and ask him to come over and drive this lady and her two daughters to where her husband was. In the meantime, Dad volunteered to head back down the trail on his bike to look for the man in case they weren’t able to catch him. Dad knew this family needed help, so off he went. Shane and I waited behind knowing that Dad could ride much faster without us. Making good time was essential because by now it was nearly dark and there were no lights on the trail.

Twenty minutes passed, then forty. My brother returned after having successfully reunited the family, but there was no sign of Dad.
"Did you see Dad on the other side of the trail?" I asked my brother.
"No, I thought sure he’d be back here with you guys by now. He must still be looking for the man."
"Well we have to go find him. What if something’s happened to him in the dark? He should’ve been back by now." I said, beginning to feel very unnerved. I had told him that Shane and I would stay right there and wait for him, but I couldn’t wait. I put Shane in his car seat and my brother quickly tried finagling the bicycle into the back of my Jeep.
"It’s not gonna fit. The back wheel is hanging out."
"Don’t worry. I’ll sit in the back seat and hold onto it." I jumped in and we drove away as I held a death grip on the cold metal frame. As we approached the other end of town, my phone rang.

"Well, he’s here. Come on back home." Mom said.
When I walked in the door, Dad asked me with a grin, “Were you two the ones I saw pulling out of the parking lot with the bicycle hanging out the back?”

“Yep.” It turns out that after all that waiting, Dad was about thirty seconds behind us. And such is life.

Our bike trail adventure made me think of all the times in life that God’s perfect plan is trailing our plan by thirty seconds and if we would only stop and listen, we could hear the sound of his tires rolling up.

‘

Have it His Way

2006-07-02T21:18:00.000-07:00

“What can I get for you this morning, darlin’?” She asked in her sweet southern drawl over the intercom.

“I’ll have an egg and cheese biscuit and a small cup of coffee, please.”

“All right, sweetheart, anything else… just pull around to the first window please, Hun.”

Every morning that I go to work, I stop off at the fast food restaurant just before hopping onto the interstate. And every morning, the lady at the window greets me; this greeting is not the kind that someone was asked to do by the manager because it’s in the employee guidelines. She greets me as if I was a member of her family who had just walked into her kitchen to sit down and have breakfast with her. The moment I see her, no matter how the morning started out, I catch her contagious smile. I feel happier and more eager to begin another day.

That particular morning as I sat and waited in line for my turn to move forward, I watched the hustle and hurry of this typical morning commute. Behind me, in line, there was a middle-aged man, in a suit and tie, frequently checking his wristwatch. Behind him, there was a Mom, pressing her luck, to get a quick cup of coffee and a kid’s meal, before dropping her child off at school and getting to work herself. There were sounds of sirens and cars and trucks zooming by, but in all of this, up ahead of me, the lady greeted a young man, on his way to work, with her warm smile and his steaming cup of coffee.

“How are you doing this beautiful morning?” she asked him.

I began to wonder just how many people, sitting in this line, morning after morning, have already been touched and possibly changed by her simple, yet unwavering kindness and her genuine, spirit-filled heart. It’s unlikely that her job will bring her wealth, fame, or prestige. I don’t believe that’s why she chose what she did. I believe that she knows that God has a special purpose for her. She’s allowing Him to reach His children through her, one “good morning” at a time.

It became clear to me, in that moment that she was placed at a stop along my journey, to remind me of the wonderful ways that God can use all of us to broaden the realm of Christianity. No matter where we find ourselves, we can rest assured that God came there before us. He had already decided that it would be the perfect place for us to fulfill His plan.

“I sure hope you have a wonderful day, okay honey.”
“Ma’am, I hope you do too.”

We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.
-- Winston Churchill

Trust Him

2006-07-02T21:13:00.000-07:00

It was a cool day in August, an oddity to say the least. The temperature was only to reach about seventy-seven. I couldn’t wait to get outside. As I hurried through the house, straightening up, I raised a window in the living room just high enough to feel the air.I did this with hesitancy because I've always been taught not to; flies get in that way.I did it anyway. The morning was perfect; the humidity seemed to have vanished and in its place was a brilliantly clear sky with billowy clouds.

Later on that afternoon, after my housework was done and Shane was contentedly playing in his playroom, I decided to walk out the back door and water the flowers. The fine mist from the hose fell on sunrays and created a glorious little rainbow right in front of me. I actually felt a chill as the tiny drops of water hit my arm. What a welcome surprise that day was.

I wrapped up the hose and started to head back in as I knew that Shane would soon notice that I wasn’t in the house. Trotting up the stairs, I reached for the doorknob on the back porch and quickly realized that the door was locked. I stepped off the porch, my knees weakening with every step, and walked towards another door, all the while thinking about the night before. Since my husband was out of town on business, I’d been extra careful to make sure that all of the doors at our home were locked. The only people close by with a key were my next-door neighbors; they, too, were out of town.

What was I going to do? All I could think about was my little boy being in the house, alone. A chill far colder than the one from the water raced up my spine as I hurried around the house looking for a door that I might have unknowingly unlocked. As I circled back around to the porch, I saw the sweetest sight… the window that I had opened earlier that morning. I had forgotten all about it.

“Thank you, Lord, for making me walk over and open that window this morning! Thank you.” Slowly I raised it and slipped in the house. He never knew I was gone.

After that morning, I’ve often thought of all the numerous times that I had unknowingly been lead by God to open my own window, even when it made no sense, that I might have a way out… or a way back in when I found myself in a bad situation.

Every time you trust God's wisdom and do whatever he says, even when you don't understand it, you deepen your friendship with God.
-- Rick Warren in "The Purpose Driven Life"

A Little Faith

2006-07-02T21:08:00.000-07:00

“I just feel kind of depressed today. I don’t really know why.” My husband said as we drove to church one Sunday morning.

“Well, I guess we just know a lot of people who are going through a lot of stuff right now.” I replied. For days it seemed that everyone we spoke with was dealing with a personal heartache, whether it was the loss of someone they loved or the threat of a serious illness. Even though the sun was shining brightly that morning, we both sat silently for the rest of the ride, staring out the window. Would we hear of even more sadness when we got to church?

After getting Shane settled in the nursery, I entered the auditorium and saw our song leader briefly explaining the arrangement of a song we were about to sing. Underneath his voice, thunder began rumbling outside the window. Trees began swaying swiftly in the wind on a backdrop of rain clouds that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. In a matter of minutes our sunny morning slipped to a dark but strangely comforting darkness as a summer storm rolled in.

The congregation began the first verse very slowly and softly… “Someday, someday, someday, some…day…” The tender voices of the women sweetly filled the air as they broke away in the second verse and sang…”Peace and joy and happiness… no more sorrow… some…day”. Resonate baritones confidently joined in, singing, “Gotta be ready when He calls my name… gotta be ready when He calls my name… someday… some…day”.

In that moment, as I listened to the words, I could almost physically feel my soul becoming lighter and lighter. Gazing at the rows around me, I could see one or two teary-eyed faces, also moved by the simple, yet profoundly spiritual lyrics. There was one face, however, that especially captured my attention…a baby girl, in her mother’s arms, facing me. Her name is Faith, perfectly named, because that is what she personifies every day of her life. I watched her through my own welled-up tears as she clapped her tiny hands and laughed all throughout the song. She was born with spina bifida. Faith’s parents were told that she would probably never be able to walk and do a lot of other things that other little girls will do. That morning, however, as I looked into her angelic little face, and watched her cheerfully waving at people around her, I saw something in her much more powerful than the ability to walk. In her I could see and feel the true meaning of the words that were singing.

I’ve heard the song many times, but that morning it rang louder and truer. No matter how broken we may feel in this world, we can know and enjoy “peace and joy and happiness”, because we all have the promise of “no more sorrow… some…day”. And there is no problem on this earth that will ever prove to be bigger than that promise.

“Our present troubles are quite small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us an immeasurably great glory that will last forever! 2 Corinthians 4:17

Baggage Claim

2006-07-02T21:04:00.000-07:00

“Southwest! There it is. Pull in quick before someone else gets it!” I said. We were late…very late. After unwillingly throwing ourselves into the early morning surge of commuters, we arrived at the airport without a minute to spare. Before getting our boarding passes, we knew we had to turn in all eleven of our television production gear cases to baggage claim services. Hastily, with clammy palms, we slung our tickets and licenses onto the counter, hoping that the agent would hear our urgency. The slow, sluggish clicking on the keyboard let us know, however, that he did not share our distress. The tilt of his bifocals and the look in his eyes spoke to me saying…my morning coffee break is four minutes away whether you board this flight or not. We stood silently and watched. We feared any distraction from us would cost us precious seconds. I began to think that we were not going to make our flight.

“And… eleven. That’s it. Yo-o-o-u’re set.” Before he could finish his sentence, we were off the curb and back into the car. We still had to park the car, ride a shuttle bus back to the concourse, make it through security, find our gate, and get our boarding pass. Three rows down from the bus stop we slipped into what appeared to be the last parking space left in the airport. While dragging two computer bags, my purse, and my jacket, I prayed that a shuttle bus would come soon. What if we just missed it?

Just as I lowered the heaviest bag from my aching shoulder to take a breath, I heard the bus rounding the corner. Without hesitation, back on the shoulder the bag went; and up the steps we trudged, mentally focusing on not tumbling backwards underneath all of our bags. We made it. Our next step was checking in and getting through security. Would this be the day that they decide to search all of our bags? I shuttered. Don’t think about it. Just focus. We might still make it… we might.

After successfully making it through the security gate, we bounded to the nearest departure board and began to line up airlines with cities, cities with times, and times with gate numbers. Just as the slightest glimpse of hope began to creep into my mind, I came to our gate number…29. Out of 32 gates, our flight was leaving from gate 29!

“We’ve made it this far, we have to try,” my husband said half-heartedly. With my jacket draped over my rolling bag, I threw the other bag onto my shoulder, in an effort to relieve the blood-red indentions I had made in my hands. Every time we saw a clearing in the crowd, we’d dart ahead through the endless corridor…12…13…19…20. We were getting closer. We have a chance…might just make it now!

“There’s the crew. They’re waving. They’re waiting on us.” Even though they were at the very end of the long corridor, we knew we were safe. We made it after all.
Panting, sweating, and by now, laughing, we reached the gate. I reached down to pull out my ticket…and…what…no…where’s my…my…purse? My purse was gone! The shuttle bus…the security gate…somewhere in the corridor…it could be anywhere! I stopped. Filling with tears, I closed my eyes as my bag fell to the floor.

“Ma’am…is this yours?” I looked up to see a middle-age man, just as out-of-breath as we, holding my purse high up in the air as he sprinted towards me. “You left this on the shuttle bus. Just wanted to make sure you got it back.”

Knowing that everyone on the plane was waiting on us, all I could do was express a simple “thank you” to the man. I never saw him again. I asked myself that day…would I have run all the way to the other end of an airport to help a complete stranger the way he did? If I had been in this situation, would I have claimed it as my responsibility or would I have dismissed it as someone else’s? I can only hope that someday I’ll be given the chance to answer “yes” to that question, just as he did.

“The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. Galations 5:6

In His Time

2006-07-02T20:59:00.000-07:00

Barely able to stand on all four legs, she would slip and slide through the kitchen following me wherever I went. The summer of my 13th year brought “Pris”, a six-week-old spaniel and poodle mix. Her coal-black fur was like silk and she had a tiny white spot on the tip of her chin, as if she’d just dribbled milk. Instantly we were best friends.

Nearly sixteen summers came and went. And although most of those years were filled with playfully chasing rabbits in the backyard and chasing kids in the house, her age had finally become very apparent. Among other ailments, Pris had lost her eyesight. Very slowly, she walked through the house so as not to run into anything too hard. It was very painful to see her change so quickly. With each visit home, she seemed to be a little worse. My heart was breaking.

“What she needs is a seeing-eye-dog”, my Dad joked one day, trying to lighten the feeling we all had.

A few weeks passed and Mom called me one afternoon. She sounded different and as we talked I heard strange little sounds in the background. There was a different dog barking. Mom began to tell me that they had found a tiny stray Yorkie. She had obviously been mistreated as she was malnourished and covered in fleas. She needed a home and a family to love her… all 2 lbs. of her.

Pris wasn’t thrilled to have this young, spry gal running circles around her. I’ll have to admit, I had a bit of resentment myself. This house and this family had belonged to Pris for sixteen years. They named her “Molly”, short for Molecule. I called her “Scrappy”.

It took several days, but one morning Dad walked in and they were curled up in the same doggie bed, back to back. We knew this was Molly’s new home. From that time on, in fact, we referred to them as sisters. Everywhere Pris went, Molly would be close behind.
Pris started her slow saunter through the kitchen towards her bowl of food one evening. She slipped from one side and then to the other as her arthritic legs had become quite unsteady. As always, Molly jumped to her feet and followed, waiting behind patiently. As Pris neared the cabinet door, Molly saw that she was about to run into it, so she ran around and barked her tiny little bark, and then she raised her nose high in the air and nudged Pris’s face away from the door just in time. She had gotten her “seeing eye dog”. The love that Molly had for Pris no doubt prolonged her life and made it sweeter.

In the days after Pris passed away, we noticed that Molly seemed to have lost her spark. She wasn’t eating well and had very little energy. Although Dad had vowed that Pris would be the last dog they would ever have, he was the one who decided to find Molly a friend. He mentioned it to a neighbor and within days, the friend told him of a young, rambunctious “Hein's 57” living down the road with an older couple who just wasn’t able to keep up with him. His name was Moses…named so because he’d been brought to them in a basket. We took one look at his “rough and tumble” little face and shortened it to “Moe”. Molly gave Moe her approval just as Pris had done for her. Within days, his high-spirited demeanor seemed to bring Molly back to life. Often they slept back to back. Although they look completely different in the face, their back half is almost identical. It’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

In watching how the lives of these three little dogs unfolded, God illustrated to our family yet another truth. At just the right time, Pris, Molly, and Moe found friendship with one another; that friendship sustained them and brought fruitfulness back to their life. If God will so beautifully orchestrate the lives of little creatures like this, imagine what He has in store for us.

When looking back over my life, I’ve lost count of the many, many times that God has brought a blessing of comfort and joy just in the nick of time…just in His perfect time.

Say a Prayer for Me

2006-07-02T20:55:00.000-07:00

“Are you all from America?” asked the passerby. I sheepishly looked around for support from the other ten or so people behind me in line. This native, walking past the customs line in the airport, shook his head in annoyance. Obviously this familiar sight wasn’t a welcome one to him.

“Next!” the customs agent barked. Nervously I fumbled around gathering my bags and my heavy winter coat, consciously keeping an eye on my passport and work visa information, so as not to drop them. There was no room for error. Stay focused, I reminded myself.

“What is the purpose of your visit?” she asked. In a soft but firm voice I answered all of her questions, breathing slightly easier with each one that I was able to sufficiently answer. The stoic, expressionless woman then gathered up all of my paperwork, and without a word, stood and walked away. It appeared that I had passed the test and was going to be allowed to enter the country. While waiting for the final word, I couldn’t help but overhear the man standing next to me, separated only by a frosted glass petition.

“Sir, you don’t have the proper paperwork. I cannot allow you to enter the country without it,” his agent declared. The man’s voice began to tremble as he desperately tried to plead his case. Nothing he said seemed to faze the agent. The man was not at all arrogant. He held no pretense. He simply had come to this country to do some work as a computer programmer and was now faced with the possibility that he wouldn’t be allowed in. Explaining to the agent that he would most likely lose his job if he were not able to complete his assignment seemed useless.

I started to pray for him. I asked God to guide him through this situation and to somehow help him get past the obstacle he was facing. After having prayed all morning that my own trip be safe and without problems, I became vividly aware that this man, whom I had never seen before, and would most likely never see again, needed a sincere prayer to be offered on his behalf. As I was talking to God, I noticed a change in the voice of the agent. She seemed to be softening her tone a bit. Within a few minutes, she firmly explained that she would not allow the man in next time without proper documentation, but that this time she would. A sigh of relief washed over the man as he thanked her for helping him. And I thanked God for helping him.

That morning reminded me of a special memory from years earlier. It was a time of great uncertainty with my career. Many people around me had lost their job, and I was faced with the likelihood that I would be next. One night, while at work, I began chatting with a person, whom I merely considered to be an acquaintance. We worked in completely different departments and rarely saw one another. As we talked about the situation at work, I nonchalantly said, “Well, say a prayer for me, I’ll probably be next.” I didn’t expect to get a response, at least nothing more than a simple, “Sure I’ll do that.” Instead, he looked up at me and softly said,

“I already did.”

I realized at that moment that even though my own faith had become weak, God was hearing prayers offered for me. I wasn’t alone.

I did lose my job, and now, nearly six years later, after having started my own business, I still thank God everyday that I did.

I would never say that my prayer caused the customs agent at the airport to change her mind about letting this man enter the country. I could never be so bold to think that I possess any power like that. I do know that we, as Christians, can pray with assurance, that God will surround another with comfort and love…love that will break through that person’s own weakened faith.

“The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. Galations 5:6

Leap of Faith

2006-07-02T20:52:00.000-07:00

“Look around and decide what you want to have, because I’m only taking a few things with me wherever I go,” my Grandmother announced to all us as we sat around the dinner table. As the family discussed her plans, I looked around at the house. Granddaddy had transformed the dining room, where we were sitting, from a garage back in the sixties. Throughout the years, scores of wonderful home cooked-meals crowned this dining table. Looking into the living room, I saw Granddaddy’s favorite chair; I imagined him reading the morning newspaper there like he did for so many years. Unlike our family, each room, with solid-wood pieces of history, had managed to resist the changes brought by time. Outside the window on that spring evening, I stared at my grandmother’s magnificent azaleas, still in bloom. I wondered if they could sense that their loving caretaker, who had called this place home for over sixty years, was about to change her life.

Tangible things… her majestic dogwoods in the front yard, her mother’s dishes, and this spacious home…had brought her years of joy. Now, after having raised and nurtured her family, having organized countless holiday celebrations, and having maintained this home meticulously… she looked forward to simplicity. The very things that had defined her life were now confining her. The home that had brought her security and stability for so long, presented vulnerability that she didn’t feel before Granddaddy passed away. She had spent her fair share of days weeding the garden, cleaning the floors, and sweeping the porch. It was time for her to find another piece of solid ground… in another place.

What wasn’t distributed among the family was sold. The house was sold. I wasn’t there the day she walked out the door for the very last time, but I can only imagine what must have been going through her mind. Sixty years of her life were inside those walls. She quietly tucked away her past and walked, with faith, to an unknown place. We moved her living room suite and one bed into her new one-room apartment.

Nowadays, my grandmother doesn’t cook. I’m delighted to say that we “do lunch” in the elegant dining room downstairs. Yes, she gave up her garden, but she enjoys the professionally arranged flowers on every floor of “Park Place”… on a table that she doesn’t have to dust. She doesn’t have the large porch on which to sit and drink morning and afternoon coffee; her days usually begin with morning aerobics classes and often wind down with a good game of bridge with her new friends. There are so many new friends that I have to concentrate on remembering all of their names, in fact.

Though she never showed it, I know that it was one of the hardest things she’s ever done. Even though I’m sure she has a day here and there where she still misses the old house, I think she’d tell you that it turned out to be the best thing she ever did. There was a renewed spirit and a new zest for life in her. She took her leap of faith. And again, she found solid ground…even if it is on the second floor of “Park Place.”

...but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not growweary, they will walk and not be faint.Isaiah 40:31,

Small Town Parade

2006-07-02T20:47:00.000-07:00

As I stepped through the door of the funeral home, I was welcomed by sweet faces from the past, each with just a few new lines of experience, but just as sweet nonetheless. Emotion welled inside all of us as we talked and reminisced. The loss of one dear friend had bitter sweetly brought many lost friends back together on this day, to fulfill one purpose. We wanted to honor and celebrate a man who had been a precious and loved member of this little country town in Tennessee for many, many years. As I neared the casket and approached his wife, I silently prayed for the right words, if there were any, to say. When she stretched out her arms for a tearful hug, I said the first thing that came to my heart.

"I'll always remember him carrying all of us kids in the parade in that big white pickup truck of his...and how he always took care of us."

I just wanted her to know that he, and his undying hometown spirit, was part of a wonderful collection of memories for a lot of us who were lucky enough to grow up here. Coincidentally, on this chilly December day, just across town, people were gathering to take their place in line for the annual Christmas parade. I questioned the appropriateness of leaving the funeral home and heading over to a celebration. It was bothersome knowing that, at the funeral home, they would probably hear the bands playing. Part of me wanted to go someplace very quiet and solemn and spend the day just thinking about my friend. It seemed like the right thing to do. To do that, however, I would take away the chance for my young son to experience his very first Christmas parade and to "ooh and ahh" at all of the excitement. We arrived across town, (which only took a couple of minutes), just in time to claim an ideal spot on the side of the road.

Just as we got our blanket spread, we looked up and saw the county fire engine slowly cruising towards us. My son's eyes widened with surprise as the sirens blared and the men inside waved and tossed candy right to him. Spectators on both sides of the road, bundled up in scarves and hats, watched joyfully, as the Christmas season officially began for all of us. Beautifully decorated floats with winter queens and her courts glided past us. Funny clowns, with homemade vehicles zigzagged and honked bicycle horns as they passed each bright-eyed child. Following the Church of Christ float, farmers drove vintage John Deere tractors past the newly renovated bank. I could see Dads explaining to their kids how things "used to be".

As the high school band marched passed, their bass drum's pounding, their arms swinging within inches of us, I felt chills as I vividly remembered my days of being a part of that parade. Our friend, whom we had lost, was the Dad of one of the football players for whom I cheered all through school. This husky, but gentle man, who loved the sport, would lift each one of us up into the back of his big white Chevy pickup, all decked out with glittery signs and streamers. We were so small that all the football players and cheerleaders fit with room to spare. I'll never forget the elation, partly from the chill of winter, but mostly from the incredible sense of pride, even at that early age, of being a part of the story of our town. My tiny son pointed at the youngest generation of Jr. Pro football players, as they approached us. I couldn't control my tears as I thought about all the years that had flown by. I was thankful that I remembered to wear my sunglasses. I hid behind them and cried as I relished all the precious memories that were flooding my mind.

The kids wished us a "Merry Christmas" and I answered back as best I could, while gathering up the candy that they sweetly tossed to my son. That moment I realized that during this Christmas season, God had given us a precious gift. The events of this day were no coincidence. Our memories of past years had come to life. This Christmas parade was the most appropriate, most fitting way to celebrate and honor our friend and all the friends who've come and gone throughout the years. They have all been a beautiful part of the rich story of this little "out of the way" country town in Tennessee, of which I am so proud. As precious as this day was, I think of the grandest of all parades that we look forward to in our future. Imagine the pride that we'll feel, on that day, as we march behind a band of angels, down the golden streets of heaven.

Snow from Above

2006-07-02T20:43:00.000-07:00

“I wish we could just catch a glimpse of what’s going on in heaven right now. That would just make everything okay, you know?” my good friend said while standing in line with me. We made our way into a crowded room filled with fresh flowers and fresh tears as people gathered to say goodbye to a friend. He went home early Easter Sunday morning, one day following his 60th birthday.

The next morning rolled around and with it came cold, pouring rain. I questioned God’s plan. It seemed so incredibly sad that this already mournful day be darkened further by this dreary weather. I had hoped that the family would at least have sunshine to help comfort them during what was probably going to be the hardest moment of all. As the funeral service came to an end, however, so did the rain. Then, in God’s majestic and peaceful silence, it began to snow. For this small southern town, snow on any day is somewhat of a rarity; the day after Easter, it is unheard of. In my mind, I searched for symbolism and meaning for all that our friend went through. In our hearts, we know that he and all of the others who have gone before him are in a wonderful place. Even so, we long for our Heavenly Father to personally hand us unmistakable proof of that.

“I wish we could just catch a glimpse of what’s going on in heaven right now.”
My friend’s words stayed with me all throughout that day, as I watched the snow falling outside. Peacefully mesmerized by the silent flakes, I could almost feel God smiling when a soft realization came to me.

This may very well be our glimpse of heaven. The snow seemed symbolic of Billy’s new home…a place where nothing is impossible…a place where peace softly falls all around just like that pure snow. And he met our Heavenly Father, for the first time, on the grandest of all days… Easter Sunday. For us, this is the day we set aside to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ. There is no doubt that Billy left our earthly holiday and entered a celebration to end all celebrations… and one that never ends.

"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him."
1 Corinthians 2 (I think I love this Bible verse best!)

Stirring Up Emotions

2006-07-02T20:38:00.000-07:00

“I’ll be praying for you.” I told my neighbor. As the words came out of my mouth, they seemed hollow. She had just shared with us that their son had received some really bad news, following a medical test. On any other warm spring afternoon such as this, we’d congregate in the yard, amid lawn mowers and garden gloves. Her heart was much too heavy today, however, to talk about what a glorious day it was. Undoubtedly, praying for their family would be the most important, most helpful thing I could do, but, still, I felt helpless. I did pray for them and I prayed that God would show me some way to express my love for them.

“I could at least bake them a pie… maybe a little comfort food would help.” I told my husband. After flipping through a few recipe books, I came to the cookbook that she, herself, had recently published. It was put together in memory of her Mother. In it, there was a recipe for a chocolate meringue pie that looked scrumptious.

After mixing together the flour and cocoa and sugar with the scalded milk in my pan, I placed it on the stove and began to stir it while it cooked. While waiting for the mixture to properly thicken, I began to thumb through the cookbook. There was “Granny Emma’s Banana Nut Bread” and “Grace’s Apple Butter Bars”. Just saying the words was delicious. As I read through, I found that amidst pages of homemade peach and apple pie recipes were precious memories of home, put on paper by my friend. She told about playing on her Granddad’s front porch and hearing her Grandmother’s giggles. After painstakingly researching her family’s genealogy, she shared priceless information about their history all the way back to the Civil War.

As I sat at the kitchen table, waiting for my pie to bake, I found myself engrossed in this book…

“Mary informed her mother, “I wouldn’t marry any man alive who wouldn’t buy me a cook stove!” The boarder overheard her and asked her if she would marry him if he would buy her one. Her answer, “Course I would.”

Later I found “Elizabeth’s Fruit Cake Cookies” recipe. Elizabeth was Mary’s daughter.
That afternoon, my son and I walked across the yard to deliver the pie to Miss Pam. Before, baking a pie felt insignificant. It felt meaningless in the grand scheme of all that was happening in my dear friend’s life. After experiencing her heartfelt account of all of her family memories, however, I realized that God had a hand in this. I really think He knew that tasting the sweetness of a chocolate meringue pie that’s been in her family for years, would bring her a few moments of much needed comfort. Perhaps, while eating it, she thought of her Mother. Perhaps her Mother was thinking of her.

“Guided by my heritage of a love of beauty and respect for strength- in search of my mother’s garden, I found my own.”
Alice Walker

Spared

2006-07-02T20:36:00.000-07:00

“There is no cancer.”

The most unpleasant word had now become part of the sweetest sentence I had ever heard. The news poured sweetly from my Mom’s heart through her slightly shaking voice. She was almost afraid to say the words.

She had earlier been told that she had a malignancy in her breast. In fact, 10 days earlier that word made our world stop. And even though life was going right along without us, we all were taken to a place void of comfort. Dispiriting uncertainty made us question everything in life that once felt so secure.

As I drove away, after hearing the wonderful news, the words came over and over, incessantly, some to myself, some out loud, “ Thank you God. Thank you for sparing my Mom from this. Thank you for sparing my Mom. Thank you God!” I tasted a freedom like I had never known before. For the first time in two weeks, I took a deep breath, a long peaceful breath. All the sounds and smells of this otherwise ordinary day enraptured my soul with pure sweetness. Driving in and out of soft dapples of the autumn sun, I soaked in every wonderful minute of that day. For a few fleeting moments, I was disentangled and floating above every problem I had ever known of this world. For a time, that day, I was completely liberated from all worry and fear.

As days passed by and fell to weeks, we all began to settle back into the normalcy of our lives. It was a bit sad to feel the elation begin to fade. Although I was no less thankful that my Mom did not have cancer, I couldn’t help but think of all of those who have not received positive news like we did. One afternoon, as I struggled for some sort of understanding about God’s reason for such suffering, I came across an excerpt from Rebecca Bentley Gay, a 5-time breast cancer survivor. She wrote…

"You know the more I think about Heaven and how wonderful the feeling of
total and complete love all of the time must feel, it makes death just a
natural part of living and not so bad."

In reading those words, I felt my eternal vision becoming clearer. Every time we open up our Bibles, we are reminded that everyone who loves the Lord and accepts Him HAS BEEN SPARED! Because God wants us in Heaven with Him and loves us so much, He spared us all of the fatal affects of sin. So go ahead… take a deep breath and soak in every wonderful minute of this life. You can do that with the assurance that God has it all taken care of.

“Whoever accepts and trusts the Son gets in on everything, life complete and forever!” John 3:36

“And we know, know it in our bones, that one day we’ll be thrilled beyond words that God brought “trouble” into our lives. We’ll see the change - the glad, wonderful, glorious change - he has worked in us, and if someone should ask if it has been worth all the trouble, we’ll say, “What trouble?” Jim McGuiggan from “The God of the Towel”.

Two Tickets to Toronto

2006-07-02T20:32:00.000-07:00

“I know it’s late notice, but, could you fly out on Sunday? They need you there early Monday morning to set up and begin rehearsals,” said John, who operates teleprompter for many of the major television shows out on the west coast. It was late Thursday evening and he’d just received word that his partner had injured his leg and wouldn’t be able to fly to Toronto for one of his scheduled shows. He was calling to see if I could do it.

“Uh… yeah…I guess I could.” The call happened so fast I hardly had time to think about what it was he was asking. After hanging up the phone, I stood, leaning on the kitchen counter waiting for my heart rate to slow back down. I was going to Toronto, Canada for a week, to work on one of the most well known “talk-shows” on television. Did I just say yes?! Of course I did…I couldn’t possibly say no to such an opportunity; I was certain of that until I turned around… and saw Shane. In his six short months on this earth, I had spent only a few hours at a time away from him. He sat in his carrier on the kitchen table, cooing and waving his newly discovered hands in the air. It was then that the harsh reality of being away from him for eleven days and nights began to sink in. Before Shane, my business was everything. I wondered if and when an opportunity like this one would come along, but for those last six months, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I was in my new comfort zone and, that evening, I was being asked to step outside of it…way outside of it. During Shane’s first winter, I hadn’t often left the house, much less the country.

Sunday rolled around much sooner than I’d hoped it would. Since Mike was already out of town on business, I sat alone and held Shane all morning, trying to memorize enough about him to last me for a week. Tearfully, I handed him to my Mom when she came over to pick him up. I prayed all morning that God would somehow give me strength when it was time for them to leave. He did.

Taking a deep breath, I began to gather my bags, all the while, taking a final inventory of all the equipment that I would need. What if my teleprompter system doesn’t work when I get there? What if the script is much more involved than what I’m used to? What if I make a complete fool of myself on prime time television?! With a heavy bag in each hand, I could feel my spirit breaking; I dropped to my knees on the kitchen floor and started praying that God would just get me through the week.
He did.

Every night I called home and heard the sweet voice of my son on the other end. Every morning began with a quiet breakfast and a conversation with God about the upcoming day. He was right by my side for every moment of every one of those days in Toronto. I can’t remember another time where I had felt that more. The show went exceptionally well. The crew, though they were all from New York, welcomed the little southern belle from Nashville, and didn’t even make too much fun of my accent. All in all, it was one of the most fulfilling experiences of my career.

Sitting in the airport terminal on the last day, looking at my new “Late Night” t-shirt, I saw a young girl, slightly out of breath, walk up and nearly collapse into the seat next to me. I said hello to her.

“Is this the plane to Nashville? I was so afraid I was going to miss it. I got lost in the airport. This is my first time out of Canada and I’m just scared to death.”

With a confident grin and an outstretched hand, I said to her, “You’re gonna be just fine.” As we were boarding our plane, I motioned for her to get in line ahead of me. To myself, I said a little prayer that God would watch over her on her journey to Nashville. I’m sure… He did.

I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me" Philippians 4:13

Ahead of My Time

2006-07-02T20:28:00.000-07:00

After the last button was fastened on my cardigan, I grabbed my perfume bottle for a hurried mist, and while glancing at the clock, raked things from the counter into the drawer. As always, I gave myself one hour to get to the other side of town. With three minutes to spare, I decided to go back for one more kiss from Shane, who had crawled into bed with Daddy after getting his first cup of milk.

“Boy, I took longer than I thought.” I said to myself as I climbed into the car. It was already fifteen minutes after the hour and beginning to rain, but I knew that if traffic wasn’t bad then I could still make it to work with one or two minutes left. With every commute to work comes a decision; I can choose to take the interstate and risk being tied up behind a wreck or I can choose to take the side roads and risk hitting every red light from here to town. Two minutes after making my choice, I suddenly wished I had made the other. As the red break lights multiplied rapidly up ahead, I heard on the radio that a four-car crash had just been reported.

“Just two seconds…if I’d heard that just two seconds earlier I would be sailing down the side roads right now.”

My heavily perspiring palms nearly slipped off the wheel when I found my first chance to change lanes and exit the interstate. A momentary sigh of relief came as I broke free from the sluggish traffic and whisked onto the side road. I knew just which way to go; unfortunately, everyone else had already ingeniously decided to do the same thing. Everyone coming into town from the north was now sitting still. I thought to myself…if I had only planned better…if I hadn’t gone back in…if only I had given myself an hour and ten minutes. There’s no way I’ll make it on time now. This will surely affect the whole day. This is going to be a long…

Before I could finish my thought, the escalating rain shower drowned it out. After what seemed like hours, I pulled into the parking lot. The clock said 8:10. I pulled underneath an awning and swallowed hard as the producer of the project walked briskly over to my car.

“I am sorry for being late. The traffic was horrendous. I’m just so sor…” I smattered.

“You’re not late. It is five minutes before eight. You’re the first person here. And besides, our client’s plane was delayed because of all the rain. You might want to check your clock.”

I looked down and suddenly remembered that I had intentionally set my car clock for fifteen minutes fast so that I would never feel anxious going to work!

That afternoon, after a good day at work, I walked in the door, grabbed a cold glass of iced tea, and plopped down on the couch with the most confident intention of taking a relaxing, cozy nap. For the first time in months I gave myself permission to let go and simply “spend time”. It was wonderful.

I awoke to my surprised toddler standing in front of me, nose to nose. He wasn’t sure what to think of Mom not rushing around the house in the afternoon.

“Whatcha doin’ Mama?”

“Just restin’, honey.” Quickly I realized what he’d been doing when I raised up and found his tennis shoe Velcro-ed to my hair. Hands to his face, he giggled, “I gotchoo.”

That day God got me too. I was reminded just how much we need Him in every little thing that we do and just how much He does guide us in spite of ourselves. We try to depend on our ability to “beat the clock” and “beat the system”. In the process, we just beat ourselves up.

Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? Matthew 6:26-27

Are You Even There?

2006-07-02T20:24:00.000-07:00

Of all the stories that I’ve shared there is no other that holds a more personal place in my heart. I think if we’re breathing we’ve prayed a prayer to God, at one time in our lives, over and over… and over… and finally concluded that He was not listening. I sure did.

One late spring evening, after leaving work, it suddenly hit me that I just couldn’t go home… so I drove. I didn’t have a clue where I was going; I just drove. As I neared the lake, outside of town, I decided to pull up to a boat ramp. After all, on such a wonderful day, I was sure there would be some boats to watch. To my surprise, I was the only one there. I got out of the car, sat on a small ledge next to the water, and watched as the sun began to set.

“God…” I whispered. “I need you. Just when I feel like things are turning around, they seem to fall in on me. Are you even there? I keep asking for help and I feel nothing in return.” I sat silently…. waiting… for something. There was a weight in my heart that became a lump in my throat and for the first time in quite some time, I completely let go. “You’re just not listening.” I said through tears.

Walking back up the hill towards the car, anger welled up inside of me. I marched back to the ledge and sat down again.

“Okay, God. I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do. I’ve surrendered my feelings to you. I’ve prayed and prayed about this everyday. I don’t know what else to do! If you are indeed God and if you are really up there, I need a sign, right here, right now.” With a sarcastic snicker, I challenged, “I’ve never found a four-leaf clover. If you’re really there, put one right by my toe.”

That was years ago.

On the day I was married, my husband and I stood in a courtyard, overlooking a different lake. Just before I gave my vows, the minister, with whom I had shared this story, took my hand and in it, placed a gold-plated four-leaf clover pendant.

It was just like the one that I found next to my toe that afternoon years earlier.

On that day, God had given me the gift of a tangible sign that I had no reason not to trust. He was there in my presence and was undoubtedly going to take care of me. I could feel His voice in my heart saying,

“I’m right here. You just had to open up your heart wide enough to see that.”

God is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even dream of … infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts or hopes. Ephesians 3:20

That’s the Ticket

2006-07-02T20:20:00.000-07:00

”Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this, says the Lord Almighty, and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room enough for it.'" (Malachi 3:10)

“Test me on this…” God says. Go ahead and tithe and then just sit back and watch as God proves His existence, His power, His mercy, His resourcefulness, His cleverness and even His humor sometimes.

That verse reminded me of a moment that God did just that. During my college years, money was tight, to say the least. My weekend job provided just enough money to keep gas in my car and a week’s supply of cereal and macaroni and cheese in the cabinet (just the staples, you know). I felt that I was surely being excused of tithing. God couldn’t possibly expect me to give money in church on Sunday when I barely had enough to get by. He knew how tough college was. He knew that I was planning to give back as soon as I got out of school and was able to get a good-paying job. He wouldn’t want me not to have enough money to buy food because I gave it all to church. That would be absurd, right?

One Sunday, as I listened to the minister’s message on this very subject, the people around me seemed to disappear; I felt God tugging at my heart. Even then, I tried to explain,
“God, I know I need to give, but any week but this week. On top of everything else, I’ve got a speeding ticket to pay for and I don’t get paid this week!” All during the church service, God never let up. I felt moved to relinquish my worries and give back to Him. When I felt myself repeating a number, I laughed as I realized that He was even specifying the amount. I wrote a check for $60, the same amount of the speeding ticket. I knew that He was challenging me to challenge Him.

Vividly, I remember thinking as I quietly tore the check from the book, “Okay, here goes nothing. It’s all Yours. Now You know that I don’t have anything left.” As if God didn’t know, I still felt the need to state my case.
The service came to an end and I walked out to the crosswalk towards the car. The patrolman, standing on the opposite side of the busy road, held up his left hand motioning for the traffic to stop as people gathered outside the church. As the cars came to a stop, a large group of us safely crossed the road. The closer I got to the patrolman, the more he began to grin; he raised his right hand and motioned for me to come to him. Grinning back inquisitively, I reluctantly walked towards him.

“So,” he said as he wrapped his husky arm around me. “Your Dad told me you’ve had a little trouble with the law this week.” he said, unable to keep a straight face. “Do you have the ticket with you?” he asked and I nodded sheepishly. “Give it to me. I’ll see if I can take care of it since it’s your first one.” Excitedly I dug through my bag and handed him the paper and thanked him with a hug.

“Now get out of here before you get run over. And slow down!!”

As I trotted off to the car, I just laughed. God had not even let me get to my car before He proved to me that He would take care of me; and of all the ways He could have done it, He chose to utilize my own mistake. Not only had He tenderly proved that I could trust Him, but He threw in a little mercy to boot.

Now just as I would not intentionally speed, foolishly thinking that my friend would tear up all my tickets, so I will not intentionally spend all of my money, foolishly thinking that God will just replenish it for the asking. I’m still amazed, however, at the perfect moments in life that He chooses to teach priceless lessons about His love for us.

What a Day

2006-07-02T20:13:00.000-07:00

Eighty-eight degrees today! What a day for the air to go out on my Jeep. It would be several days before I had time to leave it overnight to be fixed. It was yet another item to add to the “to-do” heap. It was going to be a long, hot week.

The first afternoon in my “open-air” truck turned out to be milder than most. The deep blue sky made known the coming summer shower, a respite from a lengthy run of dry and sweltry June days. As I drove through the back roads, up and down the Tennessee hills, I could smell and feel the soft, cool breeze as it gained strength. The first few drops of rain fell softly on my arm. It was invigorating and refreshing. I asked myself why I usually avoid this. The shower was short; it was sweet and I couldn’t remember ever seeing things look so vividly green, dotted with bright orange daylilies hanging off the hillsides. The trees and the grass soaked in their cool drink of water. I soaked in the beauty of this summer afternoon.

The sun nudged its way back out and peaked at me through the trees. It was then that I remembered back in the deepest part of winter that I looked at these trees when they were gray and bare. I had ached to see them come back to life. Back then, spring seemed so far away. Today they were so weighted down with lush, green leaves and leftover drops of rain that I could almost reach out and touch them from my open window as I drove past.

In those raw winter days the thought of getting near the creek close to home was unimaginable. It would’ve been cold enough to burn my skin. Today, the creek was gentle and soothing. Water meandered effortlessly over rocks as it formed tiny whitecaps all along the way. Just days prior, my son and I waded in that creek one afternoon. With the sound of the water rushing by, I remembered the feeling of mud between my toes and how much fun it was for him. It’s funny; I never payed attention to the creek when my windows were up.

Later that week, driving those roads long after dusk, the sound of crickets filled the warm summer night air. Summer camp hayrides from years ago came to my mind. From the back of the haywagon, I remember watching the head counselors for the boy's and girl's holding hands. I told myself then that one day I would find my soul mate and fall in love just like them. A few years later, on a night just like that one, I did.

During that week, I thanked God for withholding things from me now and then in order to teach me to dream; and I thanked Him for gently reminding me of when I’m actually living inside those dreams.

That weekend my husband asked me, “Have you still not taken your car to get your air fixed?”
“Um...next week.” I told him.

And patience, experience; and experience, hope:
Romans 5:4

Just Get Me Through It

2006-07-02T20:12:00.000-07:00

“What if I can’t handle the added pressure? What if my computer equipment crashes? For weeks, every possible scenario rolled over and over in my head. Although I’d been in television for over a decade, and had worked a few awards shows through other companies, my considerably smaller company had never been specifically requested to do a show of this caliber. It was a wonderful opportunity, yet very frightening.

In the days prior to the show, I wasn’t certain that my newly purchased computers would be ready, after having had problems with them that we couldn’t seem to figure out. On many occasions I sat silently and asked God to “just get me through this”. I asked Him for the wisdom to address my technical problems and the faith to overpower the doubt I had in myself.

Just prior to the show, after having gotten through setup and a full day of rehearsal, there was a surprising sense of peace in my heart. My Heavenly Father was watching over me. For the first time in nearly three days, I looked up from my computer; I saw thousands of people filling the auditorium. The excitement of the night was building and in that moment, I realized what an amazing opportunity God had given me.

The show came and went like a flash and it couldn’t have gone better. While packing up my gear that night, I couldn’t hide the elation I felt knowing that it was a success. Over and over, the words “thank you God” rolled through my head. I remember thinking, however, that my words didn’t seem to be as sincere as my feelings. Did God know how much I appreciated how He carried me through this? A simple “thank you” seemed so inadequate.

Sitting in church the following Sunday morning, I pulled out my checkbook and began to reflect over the past week’s pay. Ten percent of what I had made would be the biggest check I had ever written for a weekly tithe. As I wrote the numbers and signed my name, I felt a little weak in my knees and then… I realized that God was giving me a chance to say “thank you” for my blessings… straight from my heart. Even the elation of the show that night couldn’t top the feeling of letting go of the check as I dropped it into the basket in front of me. By doing it, God gave me a sense of oneness with Him. I thought to myself, “What an amazing business partner I have!”

There is no way that our Heavenly Father will ever receive a justifiable return based on the investment that He has made in all of us, and yet, all He asks of us is that we simply love Him.

Submit to God and be at peace with him; in this way prosperity will come to you. Job 22:20-22

You Choose the What-He’ll Choose the Way

2006-07-02T20:09:00.001-07:00

In our online book club with a few members of our church, we read ”The Purpose Driven Life”, by Rick Warren. In it, we studied about using the gifts that God has given us to glorify Him. I threw in a challenge to the group one day… to make a list of things we felt we are good at. I suggested that we keep those lists and refer to them when a need arose that matched a gift of one of our members. The next Sunday, I was approached to speak at our Women’s Fellowship meeting. This person reminded me that I had mentioned in my list, that I had done some public speaking back in college.

“Well are you ready?” she asked, slightly sarcastically.
“Ready for what? “ I replied sheepishly.
“To use your gifts.” She explained.

Couldn’t I have just stayed quiet? Wasn’t it enough to just read the book? I just had to come up with some silly idea to make lists. If I had only known that someone would actually use it, I wouldn’t have listed so many things so confidently.

I had no choice but to agree to her request. She proceeded to explain the topic of the meeting. I, along with two other women would be speaking on, of all things, using your God-given gifts.

“We’ll need you to speak for about 8-10 minutes.” My knees weakened as I listened intently to her overview.

Throughout the coming weeks, my research on this subject turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. I realized, during that time, that in order to speak about a given subject, it is not necessary to know all there is to know about it. I simply read everything that I could about God’s view of our gifts and talents; from that reading, I gained life-changing insight and I couldn’t wait to share these new thoughts and explanations with the other women.

The night of the meeting came and when I walked into the room, my nerves calmed and I felt surprisingly peaceful. I was excited and passionate about sharing this message; God had taught me to recognize my gifts, accept them, and develop them. The irony of it was that by sharing this knowledge, I was doing just that.

I ended my speech with a piece that I had written some weeks before. Having recently become a Mother, I had very often been inspired to write about the things that God has taught me through my son, Shane. I felt that a particular short story of mind illustrated the overall message that I wanted to convey. At the end of the fellowship meeting, my minister’s wife asked me to share my writing with her husband. He took home with him my copy of the speech. A few days later, he surprised me with a phone call, asking me to send more writing to him. He encouraged me to write a weekly devotional and send it out on the Internet. I did it. I call it “Morning Cup”.

“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with they might.” Ecclesiastes 9:10

Parade of Homes

2006-07-02T20:09:00.000-07:00

As we entered the door, the attendant reminded us to remove our shoes. We took them off alongside the others crowded at the door, carefully trying not to lose our balance and start a giant game of dominoes down the sidewalk.

“Whew,” my friend sighed as we finally entered this magnificent home featured on this year’s “Parade of Homes”. We looked forward to this every year… a chance to see how the “other half” lives and try to emulate as many ideas in our own home décor as we could.

Straight in front of us, the ceiling opened up to reveal an elegant crystal chandelier. Its sparkle was echoed on the mahogany sideboard with an exquisite collection of crystal vases very stately lined up according to height. Layers of crimson napkins cushioned the formal china place settings on the dining table, which was standing ready for any dignitaries who just might stop over for a gourmet dinner. I cringed when I suddenly visualized a tiny hand pulling the fine linen tablecloth off and sending all that was on top crashing to the hardwood floor. With a slight shiver, I passed through to the “family” room. Wall-to-wall bookcases exhibited, to this mesmerized group of onlookers, precious artifacts from world travels and copies of rare books. As the tour progressed, we saw the master bedroom suite with silk throw pillows piled so high on the bed, that it would take half the morning to restore it after a night’s sleep. Or perhaps, I thought, “Maybe they all just sleep somewhere else, to save the trouble.” I stifled my laugh as we continued. My friend and I thoroughly enjoyed our afternoon that day. I realized something very precious, however, as we compared our homes to this one.

I thought about those tiny little hands again and how he’s decorated our home over the last year and a half. Instead of a collection of exotic spices lining the kitchen countertops, we have a collection of our favorite “sippy cups”. In the living room, you won’t find a beautiful white sofa like the one on the tour. Instead there’s an experienced stain-resistant one accented with someone’s favorite “blanky” and teddy bear left from last night’s movie. Custom-designed silk bathroom shower curtains you’ll probably never find. They’re much too tempting for little hands that love to tug. What you will find in our home is a tub filled with brightly colored tugboats, a beach ball, and a magnetic alphabet placed on the back wall just in case someone needs to write a message.

It’s true that as long as there are handprints on the fridge and a sock or two in the floor, after someone amazingly walked out of them, we’ll probably not be asked to be a part of the “Parade of Homes”. As long as wooden gates block off entire sections of the house and toy trucks are lined up on the stairs, we’ll most likely not get calls to schedule a tour. That’s okay, though, because when we walk in from a long day at work, and that little guy runs from his Mimi’s arms to ours, grinning from ear to ear, I know in my heart, that only the “Master” interior designer could create that kind of feeling in any home.

As for the rich in this world, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on uncertain riches but on God who richly furnishes us with everything to enjoy. 1 Timothy 6:17

College Daze

2006-07-02T20:07:00.000-07:00

“An afternoon at my old college campus…that’ll be interesting.” I said to a co-worker when he told me where we’d be working that week. When we hung up, I began to imagine what it would look like now. Without a doubt, since spring is just right around the corner, the campus would be buzzing with kids dying to be out in the sun. There would be a sea of bright collegiate t-shirts, some expressing proud school spirit, others displaying allegiance to exclusive clubs. Everyone lucky enough to own a convertible would by cruising campus, packed with carefree kids under college ball caps. Frisbees flying through the air would pass bicyclers enjoying the lazy, sunny afternoon. A game of touch football would surely be going on with zealous spectators lined up along the open fields. As I remembered those scenes, I thought of the freedom that was synonymous with college. Part of me worried that being back there might by difficult. Would it make me feel old? Would I be jealous?

The once sunny weather forecast had changed quite dramatically by the time that day rolled around. The afternoon that we arrived the clouds had begun to roll in and the winter chill had found its way back. Students were bundled up, clutching their books, trudging to and from classes. The atmosphere was far different from what I had imagined. In fact, as I looked at the students around me, I noticed an almost solemn expression on most of their faces. In their eyes there were a million questions racing around. “Am I measuring up? What will my future bring? Will this pay off? Can I take three more years of this studying? Is this field really what I want to do for the rest of my life? Will I ever even get a job?”. In my mind, I was back in college again, racing down those sidewalks, trying desperately to get answers to those same questions. It’s funny how we tend only to remember the good things.

That afternoon I walked much slower down those sidewalks and was beginning to soak it all in when my cell phone rang. It was my husband asking me if I would be able to break away for lunch. In the background I could hear my little boy saying, “Mama…Mama”. I got the strangest feeling as I stood there on my old college campus, after completing a job that I love, talking to my husband and child. If only I could’ve peaked into the future and seen this moment, I wouldn’t have wasted all those days worrying.

Oprah Winfrey calls these “aha moments”. I just think it was God bringing His little girl back to the very place where she asked all those questions a decade earlier. Standing there, hearing the sweet voices of my family, I realized that I had been given all of the answers to all of those questions. God had taken care of everything…just like He promised. I walked away that afternoon feeling younger and freer than I had in ten years.

Hitched Without a Hitch?

2006-07-02T20:02:00.000-07:00

Oh how perfect it would be! We would have an intimate ceremony outside in the Cumberland Mountains. Classical music and the warm morning sun would create a mood of peacefulness and reflection. We would say our vows under golden October trees in this quiet courtyard overlooking the glistening lake below. We would be surrounded by an intimate group of family and friends and they would join us later for a delicious lunch in the private dining room of the lodge. A fireside room in the cabin would be set aside for a quaint reception complete with a simple cake adorned with delicate chrysanthemums, in celebration of the glorious presence of autumn. This would be no glamorous production, by any means. It would be, however, a dream come true to marry Mike here. This state park in the east Tennessee mountains had been a personal refuge for me for over 20 years. It was going to be perfect!

The sun came up on the morning of the wedding, and not a moment too soon. Sudden anxiety about the day had stolen any chance I had for sleep. On the Thursday before, I had heard a report of a cold front rolling in, but I tried to dismiss the possibility of bad weather, as this weekend in October had always been perfectly mild on the past trips here with my family. But as hard as I tried, I could not deny the sound of howling wind outside our cabin that morning. "45 degrees will be the high!" the television weatherman reported. I believe it was a record low for such an early day in October.

My grandmother, with whom I had shared a room in our family’s cabin, saw that I was awake. As she crossed the room to gather her slippers, she stopped and quietly sat on the side of my bed. She knew what I was thinking. This day wasn’t going to be perfect after all. She took my hand and held it in hers. She didn’t say a word to me. She did, however, talk to God. She prayed that He would bless this day and especially bless Mike and me. She prayed that God would always be the center of our marriage and that we would always look to Him for guidance and comfort throughout our life together. Behind a tear that had slipped down my cheek, I thanked her. She gently kissed my hand and got up to leave. I thought it odd, just for a moment that she hadn’t prayed for the weather to improve. We all knew. But somehow, suddenly, I knew that everything would be okay no matter what. Somehow, through my grandmother’s faithful prayer, God had given me an all-encompassing feeling of peace, almost to the point of giddiness. “I’m getting married today.” I whispered as I rolled out of bed and reached for my long johns… yes, I said long johns.

As I started to get ready, I saw that my new ivory leather heels were as slick as glass on the bottom, so, remembering some advice I'd been given as a young girl, I went outside to scuff up the soles. So there I was, outside of the cabin, with huge rollers in my hair, wearing nothing but my long underwear and a garter, doing the twist on the front sidewalk, when I looked up and saw the preacher arriving...early. "So far, so good", I snickered under my breath. He asked if he was at the right place. It was tempting to tell him, “Yes, but the bride isn’t here yet.”

Within the hour, the many buttons on my vintage-style crepe gown were all fastened; and the final touches were done on my hair after having placed on my head, the band of silk roses that my Mother made. Thankfully, my Mom had also packed a nice ivory sweater with her things. It was a far better way to keep warm on my wedding day than with the denim jacket that I had brought. With my bouquet in hand, Mom and I drove the short distance to the lodge where I would wait for the wedding ceremony to begin. On the drive down the hill, I could vividly see myself many years earlier… a tomboy racing down that hill on a purple bike, my ringlet curls flung back, desperately trying to catch up with my older brother and my cousin.

We felt that arriving twenty-five minutes before the ceremony would give us plenty of time to take a couple of pictures of me with our wedding party. The wedding party consisted of my two-year-old cousin and Mike’s four-year-old niece. They arrived within minutes of us and as we all approached the front door, I saw something that hadn’t been there the afternoon before… a lock. Mom bolted to the car and drove to the office where she scrambled up some park employees with keys. By the time she got back, we had just minutes to spare before everyone else arrived.
At precisely 11:00 am, my friend began the music. I took off my sweater at the last possible moment and took a deep breath, trying to subside my shivering, I sure didn’t want my teeth to chatter as I walked down the aisle. We sent my niece and my cousin ahead. They walked slowly and deliberately to the classical music that could be heard in-between gusts of wind. I felt relief, however, that the ceremony had finally begun and it looked like things were going to go really smoothly.

Suddenly, my 2-year-old cousin spotted his Dad, dropped his pillow, and ran towards him. His Dad is my first cousin, with whom I'd grown up; he was determined to get his son back in line with the ceremony. He took his hand and slowly walked with him. By this time, the song to which I was to walk down the aisle had already begun to play. So there we were… walking only about 6 steps behind my little cousin and his Dad up the aisle. There at the alter, we all arrived at the same time; and we all just laughed.

The minister read beautiful scriptures and talked of the Godly union of two people in marriage. I held my soon-to-be husband’s hand. I looked into his dreamy eyes. Then I turned and looked into my Dad’s eyes; his eyes were simply… puzzled. We were almost three-quarters of the way through the ceremony and the preacher still had not dismissed my Dad to sit down. I thought to myself…they make t-shirts about girls who accidentally marry their Daddy in East Tennessee… don’t they? With a few nods from us, the preacher finally worked his way back to asking who was giving this bride away.

After Dad sat down, I joined hands with Mike. Very sincerely, I said my vows and the preacher turned to Mike to offer his. Mike took a deep breath and started to repeat the sacred words, when suddenly from the back of the courtyard came a giant, "whoosh". Out of the corner of my eye, I looked back to see a tour bus pull up, throw on his air-brakes, rev up the engine to its idling position and commence to unload fifty five senior citizens into the lodge for lunch, each of whom were compelled to stop and gawk at the crazy people getting married on this freezing cold day. The videotape revealed later, that our guests saw nothing but moving lips from that moment on. The roar of the diesel engine filled the courtyard.

Loy, a friend of our family's for years, suddenly jumped from her seat and sprinted down the aisle towards the intruder and begged him to shut off the bus engine. I don’t think he heard her though...must have been too loud. Again...we all just laughed.

Following the ceremony, I suggested that we all head in to our private dining room for lunch. Finally we could all relax and warm up by the fire. My Mom sheepishly motioned for me to look up and when I did, I saw that the restaurant management had just given our lovely reserved dining room, overlooking the courtyard, to the busload of senior citizens. Again...all I could do… was laugh.

I tucked my bouquet under my arm and went through the buffet line with all the other campers… silk wedding gown and all. All of us snickered the whole way through. That day was certainly living proof that sometimes it isn't in God's plan for things to go the way we plan. That evening, Mike and I quietly sat by the fire in our “honeymoon cabin”. We reminisced and laughed about all the wacky things that happened that day. But it was when we began to talk about all that our family had done for us, that I remembered to tell Mike about the prayer that my Grandmother prayed for us that morning. And it was at that moment that I realized that amidst all the imperfection, God had done something extraordinary that morning that would far outlast and outshine anything that we, as humans, could ever plan. From His perspective, everything with eternal value had indeed come off without a "hitch". On that beautiful October day, I became "one" with the love of my life. On that day a new family began.

Breakfast is Served

2006-07-02T15:26:00.000-07:00

Four different Christmas carols rang throughout the house as Shane frantically rushed from button to button. His goal was to have all of Mimi’s battery-operated snowmen singing at one time. Our family Christmas celebration was especially fun this year, because our son had reached the age where he truly enjoyed all of the wondrous things about the holidays. He was bursting with excitement as he tore into each gift that he received…as well as the gifts that his Mommy and Daddy received. Somehow, though, it was immensely more fun to watch him experience the joy of tearing paper, throwing bows in the air, and discovering what was revealed inside each box. He and his two cousins literally jumped from toy to toy after all of the gifts had been unwrapped. The number one toy of the evening was a set of remote control cars that the kids got from their grandparents; the ever-graceful Savannah got a pink convertible, ideal for her new Barbie dolls, and the rough-and-tumble boys got shiny red trucks. They raced the cars around and around, through the house, until all of them nearly fell over from exhaustion. Once our little guy finally gave in to his sleepiness, my husband and I sluggishly packed up all of his new treasures and loaded them into my car. Having gone to visit a sick friend earlier, my husband was driving his own car, so Shane and I were on our own. After saying our goodbyes, we bundled up our little munchkin and headed for home.

The highway between my parents' home and ours seemed especially dark tonight. It was late though, and there were very few people still out. As we got within a mile of our house, I felt myself getting more and more sleepy. All of the holiday festivities were finally beginning to catch up with me. I did, however, have the presence of mind to remember the rule that my husband and I set into place years ago when in this situation. The rule is… that if we begin to get sleepy while driving, we are to wake the other up or, if we aren't together, we are to call the other, no matter what. I remembered the rule, but unfortunately, I didn't remember to pack my cell phone.

Plan B… I decided to do what any sensible person would do in late December… I rolled down the window! Surely that would do the trick. This cold winter night would wake anyone up, right? Well, as I quickly rolled up the window, I concluded that the only thing worse than being really sleepy, was being really sleepy and really cold!

I prayed as intently as my failing attention span would allow, that God would carry my son and me home safely. The last stretch of road seemed to stretch longer and longer as I drove. I blinked feverishly trying to stay alert for the couple of minutes that would get us home.
Then suddenly, POW!

Something as big as my fist slammed into our windshield! My son, who had slipped into his peaceful dreamland just moments earlier in his car seat, jumped from the scare and immediately began to cry. Needless to say, with this giant splat and a very discontented baby, I was way more than wide-awake! Without a doubt, we would now make it home safely. But what was that?! This unexplainable substance was now slowly beginning to slide down the windshield. I frantically flipped on the windshield wipers and sprayed as much wiper fluid as I could in an attempt to wash it off. "Oh I just want to get home," I whimpered. What still remained in front of us was the size of a bird, but it certainly didn't look like a bird. I was thankful for that. It resembled much more closely, however, what a bird would leave behind… if you know what I mean. But if that were the case, I shuttered to think of how big that bird must have been! We pulled into the garage, still a bit shaken and still trying desperately to wash away the white mystery with my wipers. My husband, who had been just ahead of us in his car, met us in the garage to help gather our things from the car.
"What in the world happened to you?" he asked with surprise, as he leaned down and closely examined the front of the truck. I skittishly stepped out of the car and walked around to join him, afraid of what I was about to see.

"I guess it was some kind of bird! We were driving along and suddenly… BAM… there it was… out of nowhere! I can't imagine what else could've been flying through the air that fast." I exclaimed.

"Well," he paused with an ear-to-ear grin, "if it was, then I think I know what he had for breakfast," he said as he pulled from the front grill, a large piece of bacon! "This is no bird." I stared at him without expression. This was still making no sense to me. "This is…well was… a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit. Someone from an oncoming car must have thrown it out the window as you passed him on the road." Mike and I laughed while cleaning cheddar cheese and soggy biscuit parts from the front windshield.

As I jokingly retold the story the following day to my parents, an important thing dawned on me. I had been praying that God would take care of us and keep me from falling asleep while I was driving. God is good… and man, does He have a sense of humor.

As I look back on my life, I've learned not to count out God's hand in even the most bizarre experiences in life. He's there. He sees our needs. He meets our needs. Sometimes our prayers are answered in very clear and obvious ways. And sometimes "breakfast is served".

Be Still

2006-06-29T21:20:00.000-07:00

It was December 1994 and I raced down the interstate -- with my eyes glued to the road in search of an opening in the traffic. Traffic...on a Saturday afternoon? Why today? It wasn't the ideal setting, but I snickered with surprise, as I learned just how much "get-up-and-go" my brand new red Mustang had. I had had my dream car for 5 days and I was driving it to my college graduation ceremony. In fact, even though I was a few minutes late, I was "riding on air".... literally.... "riding on air". I was mere minutes away from my exit when the car began to putter.... stutter.... and finally quit. Easing the wheel towards the shoulder of the road, I sat there in a long, cold silence and stunned disbelief. I thought I had plenty of gas to make it to graduation.... obviously that wasn’t the case. What if I don't make it? Four years of college and it comes down to this!

When I finally did look up, I saw that, thankfully, I was within walking distance of a gas station; though still in a panic, I was able to go there and fill up a container to bring back to my stranded car. A tenderhearted gentleman stopped to help the "damsel in distress" and laughed when I nervously fumbled around looking for the gas cap release button. I explained that I had only had the car for a few days. He grinned as he reached over and… opened the gas tank door on the side of the car. "Did you plan to just drive the car until it ran out of gas and then park it?”

"Maybe!" I answered sarcastically. I started to laugh with him. I was relieved. I was going to make it after all; then, as I brushed the back of my skirt, getting back into the car, I realized that in my bound from the car towards the gas station, I had split my long skirt clear up to the top of my legs!

“Oh no! You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me! This is not happening.” I had just minutes to get to the auditorium.

Amazingly, when I got there I found that I had only missed a short rehearsal. Backing into a corner, I took off my coat and replaced it with my graduation gown, so as not to reveal my newly "tailored" skirt. I found my seat and no one ever knew a thing, including my family who was just then entering the building. Suddenly, I was calm… like I can’t remember ever having been before.

"I made it. Thank you God.... thank you....thank you," I whispered to myself. I realized right then that the last thirty minutes of my life had been a summary, in a way, of the last four years of college. The ceremony could've been a blur, but instead, it was real and momentous and profound. Tears fell uncontrollably as my eyes opened wide to what was happening. As my personal pandemonium subsided, God brought me to a very quiet, peaceful place. Not only was I thanking Him for getting me to graduation safely, but more importantly, I was truly thanking Him for guiding me through four years of college and allowing me to reach a goal. He used the experience, that afternoon, to remind me that no matter how chaotic life had gotten, He was bringing me in for a safe landing, through faith in Him. Now that God has entrusted me with the Christian walk of a child, I pray that I can teach him to live by faith and learn to
sometimes simply…”be still” and listen.

"Be still, and know that I am God..." (Psalm 46:10)

Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me; your right hand will hold me fast.
Psalm 139:7-1

September Wishes in December

2006-06-29T21:16:00.000-07:00

With the beginning of a new year, comes renewed hope for positive change in our lives. Closing a chapter…letting go of past mistakes and past regrets just always feels so cleansing and liberating. For some reason, it’s easier this week than in all the others. And then on our clean slate, we can write what we’d like to be in the year to come. My personal prayer was that God would never let me pass up another opportunity to tell someone how much I care for him or her.

Shane and I, along with his new baby sister, Saylor, were doing our weekly grocery shopping just after the Christmas holidays. As any mother of a three-year-old knows, you have to get creative when you’re shopping. I would point at an item on the grocery shelf, make my request, then Shane would proudly reach for it and toss it into our shopping cart as if he were “shooting hoops”. At times it can get a bit “clang-y” when cans of green beans smack into cans of corn… but hey, “clang-y” is better than “cranky” in my book any day. He was in a “getting” mood that afternoon, but as I soon learned, he was in a “giving” mood too.

As we checked items off our list, we circled the corner of the greeting card aisle. Without hesitation, Shane grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the wall.

“Mama, can we buy Memaw a card?” he asked as he pointed to the birthday section.

“Memaw? Her birthday is in September, honey.” I explained with my motherly wisdom. Just as I was about to assure him that buying a birthday card right now for Memaw didn’t make sense, I was reminded of the prayer that I had made earlier about never missing an opportunity. God never lets me down. Straight from a tender three-year-old heart came a simple but wonderful idea to brighten someone’s day. What seemed impractical at first, suddenly seemed like the most perfect idea.

“Of course we can send Memaw a card. Go ahead and pick out a really pretty one for her.”

Shane went straight to a beautiful card with pink and yellow roses. A tiny bluebird was flying next to the message inside. Ironically, I’m sure it would’ve been the one that she’d have picked if she were there.

“Sometimes life gets so busy and we tend to let things go…Though we think of certain people, we so seldom let them know…So this just comes to tell you now that your birthday’s here You’re thought of in the warmest way so many days of the year. Happy Birthday.”

So, happy birthday… in December, Memaw.

Great opportunities may come once in a lifetime, but small opportunities surround us every day. “The Purpose Driven Life” Rick Warren

I guide you in the way of wisdom and lead you along straightpaths. Proverbs 4:11

It Never Left

2006-06-29T21:14:00.000-07:00

“How’d ya like that movie, Shane?” I asked my sleepy little guy as we walked towards our car.
“Moon, Mama. There’s the moon. See?” he exclaimed with sudden energy.
“No, the movie…” I quickly saw that something much grander had captured his attention. It was full and bright and though I’m sure he’d seen it the night before, Shane greeted the moon like a long-lost friend. As I carried him towards the car, he twisted and turned in every direction, never losing sight of his enchantment. “Yes, I see the moon.” I said. After tucking him into the car and pulling away, I heard him begin to cry.

“Where did moon go?” Trying to comfort him, I drove the car around the parking lot, hoping to position us properly for another glimpse. Even when I was sure he could see it, however, the roof of the car still blocked his view. In a tired, defeated whimper, he said, “Good night moon.” In and out of sleep, he softly cried.

Throughout the drive home, I scanned outside all of our windows, stretched forward, peering through the windshield, trying to spot it for him. And though it was a chilly November night, I even opened the sunroof for a couple of seconds, hoping to see it just above our heads. No luck. We simply couldn’t see it from inside our car.

Once we arrived home, I pulled him from his car seat, and quietly pointed up towards the star-filled sky. He raised his sleepy head, opened his eyes wide and said, “Ah-w-w, there it is.”
“It never left, honey; we just couldn’t see it. No matter where you go at night, the moon’s always there. Even though you might not be able to see it because of a cloud or even the top of our car, it’s still up in the sky. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah…” he answered half-heartedly as he lowered his head to my shoulder. There was a familiarity in the words I used to teach my son something new that night. There was familiarity in Shane’s despair when he thought the moon was gone. I realized this wasn’t as much a teaching moment for Shane, as it was a teaching moment for me.

Christ, our light in the darkness, is always, always there. If I’m in the comfort of my home or in the uncertainty of a far-away land, He’s there shining down on me. If a cloud of despair separates me from Him, He’s right there awaiting its dissipation. Even when, through my self-proclaimed self-sufficiency, I interrupt His light and cause a total lunar eclipse, He still waits for me, patiently, in His steadfast position.

I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone O Lord, make me dwell in safety.
Psalm
4:8

Safe with Dad

2006-06-29T21:12:00.000-07:00

Winding down a sun-drenched afternoon of boating, we tied up at the marina for dinner on the pier with our good friends and their kids. As we waited for our dinner to arrive, the balmy summer afternoon slipped loosely to a cool dusk and the lake calmly absorbed what was left of the bright crimson sunset. The small boys on our crew became fascinated with watching ducks and fish flocking to the side of the pier searching for food. Other kids at the marina were throwing in table scraps and they watched as the ducks raced to each piece as if magnetized by it. As we fully expected, the two older boys hurried through their dinner so that they could join the other kids. With a stern command to stay away from the edge of the pier, their Mom hesitantly let them go. After all, they were only a couple of feet away.

As we reminisced over the fun of the day, we looked up and saw the oldest of the boys walking back to us. “Where’s your brother? His mother asked almost frantically as she envisioned her five-year-old falling into the deep lake. Without waiting for an answer, she instinctively jumped from the table and rounded the corner. We could hear her sigh of relief when she saw that he was safely holding his Daddy’s hand, watching the fish swimming below. She knew that everything was okay. His Dad had been right there beside him all along.

It was a simple occurrence, yet a profound visual reminder to me, for just the next day, as I talked to a dear friend, I saw God’s message. For weeks, we have helplessly watched as she and her family have experienced the deepest struggle of their lives. With all the cards and books and phone calls that we can possibly send them, we all still feel powerless. Do they still feel alone?

God showed me what He longs for us to know. Through her deeply rooted faith and her hope in the Lord, I was reminded and can easily see now that our Heavenly Father is standing right beside her throughout her trials. He’s been there since the beginning and He always will be, making sure that his precious child is safe and protected.

Our Father is in our past, wiping away our past mistakes. He’s in our future, placing stepping-stones on our path. He’s in our present, walking however slowly we might need to walk today, holding our hand all the way.

“I will never leave you or forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5)

Night Night Moon

2006-06-29T21:08:00.000-07:00

“Pull the weeds out of the flower garden, wash the car, and wash the windows...” Each item on my to-do-list had its own number and timeframe in which to do it. Since our son, Shane, came along, it had become necessary to schedule certain things during his naptime. The moment I knew he was asleep in the safety of his playpen, I could grab his baby monitor, and race outside. If nothing disturbed him, I was sure to have an hour to finish weeding the garden and maybe even knock out the next item on the list.

Late one afternoon, just after Shane dozed off, I tiptoed past his playpen towards the back door. I was within two feet when the floor creaked.

“Mama. Out.” With his hands in the air, he grinned and repeated his request over and over until I reached down and picked him up. “Walk,” he said as he grabbed my hand and lead me across the room. With one chubby finger, while still holding my hand with the other, he matter-of-factly pointed to the floor. “Right there,” he commanded with a grin. I sat in the floor and watched as he demonstrated. On all fours, he hopped as best he could, and then pointed at me to do the same.

“Rid-it, rid-it…” (Shane-ese for “ribbit”). The next thing I knew, I too, was on the floor hopping around the living room like a frog. I never did get around to pulling weeds that day. Instead Shane went to the front door and asked to “walk”. There was a summer shower heading our way that evening, but I figured we still had a few minutes. The sky, though steel blue, heading towards nightfall, felt calm and serene. There was a fresh, sweet scent in the air and a gentle breeze picking up momentum. As we walked down the driveway, Shane looked up and saw the moon peaking in and out of the rain clouds.

“Night-night moon,” he said as he waved high above his head. As we walked along, we said “night-night” to the birdies, then to his favorite doggie, to the clouds, and finally to a bug by his shoe. Suddenly, I felt the raindrops so we walked quickly back towards the house. As I stepped up on the front porch, the shower unleashed.
“Come on Shaner, we gotta get in quick or we’ll get all wet.” I turned around to grab his hand and saw that he had stopped in the middle of the yard. He was looking straight up into the sky with raindrops rolling off his cheeks; he gathered them in his tiny outstretched arms and laughed hysterically.

“Oh bo-o-oy…rain!” He shouted.

I probably should have gotten him in out of the rain, but I just stood there and watched. Let me tell you…there’s no sweeter sight, than a two-year-old little boy truly feeling a wonderful summer rain shower for the first time. And I can’t think of a sweeter reminder from God to stop… and soak up all of this beauty that surrounds us everyday.

Because I have a son, I have to have a set schedule. Because I have a son, I’ve learned to sometimes throw that schedule right out the window…yeah, the window with the fingerprints all over it.

Warm Blankets

2006-06-29T21:03:00.000-07:00

I saw my first daffodil bloom peaking its way out that morning. It was surrounded by small patches of vibrant green grass, brought on by several days in a row of mild weather. Spring was so close I could taste it. As I closed the blinds to block out the light on this beautifully sunny morning, I thought, well, we’ve waited this long for spring I guess we can wait a couple more days. Early that morning, you see, we realized that my 19-month-old was one of the lucky recipients of a bad tummy “bug”.

There was fear in his eyes from the onset. He’d never experienced anything like this before and neither had I, as a Mom. It seemed to help him that I was by his side and that was good, because I wasn’t about to leave him. Thankfully there was no place I had to be that day. That was the day’s first blessing. Lying next to him, watching him sleep when he could, I talked to God, praying that He would take care of my little guy and help this “bug” to pass quickly. While I was there with him in that dark, quiet room, talking to God about him, a soft sense of peace seemed to blanket the both of us. I hadn’t felt that in a long time.

In between naps, when he felt up to it, we watched his favorite cartoons and nibbled on Saltines and Popsicles. His shows are very often background noise to me on a normal day. Today, however, I got to know his favorite characters. And that “Patty-Cake” we’d worked on for months… well we had time to perfect it today.

The warm softness of the freshly washed sheets I pulled out of the dryer that afternoon took me back to my own childhood. I remembered how wonderful it felt to lie back down under my warm sheets and blankets that my Mom washed for me when I was sick. And just like Mom would do, I rolled up a cool cloth and gently held it on his forehead to make him more comfortable. And I was reminded that day, that although a child can pull the covers up around himself with very little effort even when he’s sick, its just better when Mom does it.

When I was a child I can remember feeling sad that Mom had to give up her day to take care of me when I was sick. She tried many times over the years to explain to me why a Mom does what she does, but I just didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand until God decided it was the right time for me to get to be the “Mom”.

No one's smile has ever warmed my heart like yours does; no one's laughter fills my heart with delight as quickly as yours can. No one's hugs feel as sweet, and no one's dreams mean as much to me as yours do.
Author Unknown

I'll Never Leave You

2006-06-29T21:00:00.000-07:00

“Make sure to cover his head good”, I instructed my husband, with all the cautiousness of a new mother. Our August baby hadn’t yet been exposed to cold weather. And that year, neither had I, come to think of it. The late summer temperatures seemed perfectly fine for our tiny little boy, but now that there was a definite chill in the air, my motherly instinct was to stay in. I couldn’t stand the thought of him getting sick. He was my number one priority, even if it meant suffering from a touch of “cabin fever” throughout the winter.

Every day brought a new and wonderful thing that he learned to do. My husband figured out just what to do to make him “belly laugh”. I don’t remember feeling more entertained than when I heard that precious sound for the first time… and for the half an hour following, that we spent making funny faces in hopes that he’d do it again. Who needed to go out when we had this amazing stuff going on right in our living room? Then he began to discover his own hands and how they worked. He would wave them in front of his face and sweetly giggle; I’m sure he thought they belonged to someone else. Watching him grow and develop was so much more amazing that we ever imagined. The days slipped into weeks. We got our first glimpse of just how quickly time was going to fly when we saw on our calendar that it was already time for his 3-month checkup with his pediatrician. I dressed him in a brand new outfit that had been too big until now; then we bundled him in a warm fleece blanket to protect him from the chilly November breeze.

We walked into the brightly lit, very cheerfully decorated doctor’s office. Shane had fallen asleep on the drive over so my husband held him in a quiet corner while I signed us in. Date… November 19th. Name… K-e-l-l… Before I could finish, the receptionist stopped me.

“We need your son’s name.” She said with a giggle.

“Oh, of course,” I said, feeling quite embarrassed. It was my first realization that my son was his own little person. He had physically been a part of me for nine months. And for the first three months that he’d been here, he hadn’t been away from me for more than an hour. I once heard someone say that a mother has to let go of a child a million times throughout his childhood. I guess God does that so we don’t completely lose it when he drives away to college. No one warned me that those moments would happen this early though.

“Shane?” the nurse called from the door. By now he was just beginning to wake up. We gathered the carrier, the bag, the blanket, and the baby and entered the doctor’s room.
Our little boy was, by far, my favorite subject; I was excited about sharing with his doctor all the amazing things he was already doing. The doctor patiently listened to our account of Shane’s development and didn’t even laugh when we pulled out our long list of “new-parent” questions. Shane, who was wide-eyed by now, relished the attention of the doctor during the exam, as he talked to him and tickled his tummy.

“He’s in outstanding health,” the doctor concluded as he wrapped his stethoscope around his neck. My husband quietly sighed in relief.

“I’ll see you in three months.” As he left for his next appointment, the nurse passed him in the doorway. “It’s time for his first three shots.”

She quietly prepared the needles then turned to me and asked that I hold both of his legs so that he wouldn’t move when she administered them. Did I want him to associate me with this pain he was going to feel? After all, there would be several more visits where he would have to have shots. If I stepped to the other side of the room, however, would he feel that I had abandoned him? I looked down into his eyes, still giddy from all the attention, and I knew that I couldn’t possibly leave my little boy.

The first shot was given. His grin coldly and instantly turned to shock as the stinging needle penetrated his skin. Enormous tears filled his eyes. Blood rushed to his cheeks and he screamed in pain. The fear in his face pierced my heart. I could hear him saying, “Mommy, why are you letting this happen?” My heart was breaking. The second shot was given. The cries turned to wails. I felt so helpless, but I knew that this had to be done to ensure his health. After the third shot was given, the nurse said,

“That’s it. That’s the last one.”

I scooped him into my arms and held him tightly as I fought back my own tears. “No more shots. It’s all over. Mommy’s here. I love you.” I assured him over and over.
The shock and the pain of his first round of vaccinations lingered for just a few minutes. I sat quietly in the doctor’s office and held him until he began to calm down. I will admit… I hadn’t prepared myself for the first moment that my son felt real pain and real fear. I learned just how deeply my love for him was that day.

I learned something else that day too… from our Heavenly Father. He illustrated to me the deep love He has for us. I knew, as a parent, that those painful shots were absolutely necessary to make my son strong and resilient against disease. Although it was difficult to stand still and not intervene, the assurance that there was a loving purpose for this pain made it okay. God reminded me that He also has a purpose for my pain. He knows that sometimes I will have to endure excruciating pain for a time in order to make me a stronger, more resilient Christian. And even though I sometimes feel completely alone, He has never left my side. He holds my hand and loves me through my toughest times. And when my storms subside, He’s there to wrap me in His arms, all the while saying, “It’s all over. I’m right here. I love you.”

"…never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." Hebrews 13:5

Lights Out

2006-06-29T20:59:00.000-07:00

“Turn the light off and stop playing with the switch!” I scolded my 16-month-old. The biggest part of my afternoon had been spent saying those words to my toddler, who, oblivious to the consequences, insisted on flipping the kitchen light on… and off…on… and off. I just knew he would burn up the light bulb with the surges of electricity, not to mention, fall off the step where he stood tippy-toed, and hit the hard tile floor.

“Okay, buddy, this is for your own good. Mommy’s told you 100 times to stop and you’ve ignored me. Now, you’re going to your room by yourself!” I said in my sternest voice, so as to convey my authority. I swept him off the step and he yelped like a little puppy being snatched up by the dogcatcher. As I whisked him through the house and up the stairs, he began to sob uncontrollably. He knew by my abruptness that whatever was about to happen to him could not be good. We rounded the corner to his bedroom and swung open the door. It seemed different. It’s amazing just how incredibly dark and cold a powder blue room with sailboats on the wall can seem at moments like these. I hoisted him over the railing of the crib as he screamed at the top of his lungs. He knew, then, what was about to happen. He was going to be left alone… in the dark… alone.

“I can’t do this,” I told God as I closed the door on my terrified little boy and pushed myself down the hallway. I had always prided myself on the knowledge that I would not have a problem with disciplining my children. That self-assurance was crumbling before my eyes. I never imagined that it could feel this bad. “I am his Mommy. I’m supposed to be his “safe-haven” and his security. How can I be those things, and at the same time, be the one who leaves him in a dark, frightening room and walks away as if I don’t care?”

I went back downstairs to the kitchen and resumed cooking dinner. I had to turn off the baby monitor because I couldn’t bear to hear him cry. All the while, I prayed for God’s assurance that I was handling this the right way and that He would comfort my little boy. I prayed that our son would understand soon what discipline was and that his Mommy and Daddy did it because they love him so much, and for no other reason.

When dinner was done I asked my husband if he would go to Shane’s room and get him for dinner. I was so anxious to relieve him of his punishment. I hoped it would also help to know that we were having macaroni-n-cheese with dinner. My husband came back down the stairs empty-handed.

“He’s sound asleep.” He said.

“You’re kidding,” I laughed. “All this time I’ve worried about how traumatic this has been for such a tiny little boy and… he’s asleep”.

Once again, I realized that God, in His beautiful sufficiency, answered my heartfelt prayer. Not only did he reassure me that I was doing the right thing, but He also heard my prayer for my son’s comfort and God lovingly calmed him right to sleep.
Oh to be as accepting of God’s authority and His love, as my son was of my authority and my love. I believe that we both learned, that night, that those two things can be one and the same, just as it is with our Heavenly Father.

When he did wake up, I wrapped him up in my arms and kissed his face over and over. He clung to me tighter than usual. He needed a hug from Mommy as badly as I needed one from him. Isn’t it just like God, I thought, to illustrate to us, something as powerful as His unfailing love for us, with something as simple to grasp as a kitchen light switch.

… "Lord God of Israel, there is no god like you in heaven above or on earth below! You keep your covenant with your people and show them your love when they live in wholehearted obedience to you. 1Kings 8:23

Eternal Gifts

2006-06-29T20:58:00.000-07:00

Throughout the weeks prior to our child’s birth, friends and family showered us with gifts. Time after time I stood in the nursery, daydreaming, as I looked at tiny outfits and tried so hard to imagine what he would look like in each one. There was a pair of red fleece Christmas pajamas with matching booties and a stocking cap and the yellow seersucker jumper with a miniature duckling on the front all dressed up for Easter. I held each one up and some against my face imagining his face next to me.

Hanging very neatly on a satin covered hanger, I came across an outfit with special significance. A few months earlier when we found out that we were having a little boy, a dear friend began hand-making this lovely gift. It was an elegant, yet handsome powder blue crocheted coat with matching crocheted hat and booties. It was delicately trimmed with buttons in the shape of sailboats, as that was our nursery theme.

Shane was born in the first week of August. I knew it would be a few months before he would wear the jacket, so I hung it on a shelf-hook in his bedroom so that I could enjoy looking at it, until the weather was appropriate. The months flew by us, just as everyone warned they would with a new baby; when the first cold Sunday came, I remembered the jacket hanging on the wall. But when I put it on him, it was obvious that he had long since outgrown it. It was so small on him that the sleeves slid to his elbows when he placed his arms inside. The tiny booties would barely cover his toes and the hat would cover only the top of his head and go no further. It broke my heart to think that we never got to use the outfit that our friend had put so much time and hard work into.

As many more months passed by, I packed away many more tiny outfits that Shane had outgrown. We put away the Christmas pajamas and then the Easter outfit, though he only wore them once. He grew so fast that the box of outgrown clothes overflowed. Through this ritual, however, I grew, as well. It was painful, at first, to let go of my “baby”. The first year proved to be an intense challenge. (Heaven help us when he starts school). I had to let go of all the precious things that come with a new baby, and pack them away to make room for “little boy” things. What I get to keep forever, though, are all the “firsts” that we experienced together.

Often with clenched fists, we cling to things of the world that are temporal. God teaches that if we will just loosen our grip and free our hands, He’ll place in them, little bits of heaven. The hand-made jacket was as temporary as it was beautiful. What was eternal was the love that our dear friend expressed to our family. The jacket, though it was never actually worn, reminds me of that love and thoughtfulness that I get to keep forever.

Someday

2006-06-29T20:53:00.000-07:00

What a picture of blissfulness. In his car seat, he had turned his chubby cheeks to the window to let the spring sunshine warm face. With his favorite stuffed dolphin cushioning his head, and a baby-blue teddy bear in his arms, he sweetly slipped into a tranquil nap. In his sleep, however, from time to time, we heard tiny little giggles and when we looked back at him, we’d catch a glimpse of a smile for just a second, although never opening his eyes. My husband and I laughed quietly as we watched our little boy in his slumber, completely unaware of anything but this peaceful dreamland that he had entered.

We turned back around and sat quietly in our thoughts on this beautiful April drive through the country. Then my husband asked me, “What do you think he’s dreaming about?” We joked that he had to be dreaming about his next bottle of milk. The truth is, I really began to ponder that question. What could an 8-month old little boy dream about? After all, he’s been in this world for less than a year. His world consists of cartoons in the morning, naps in the afternoon, and playing with his stuffed animals and toys. So far, that’s all. The spectrum of his thoughts is narrow. He’s very limited on what he could dream about based on what he knows.

He’s yet to experience the crash of ocean waves and sand between his toes. He’s never seen a sunset through mountaintops in the west. He doesn’t know what it’s like to pick an apple straight from a tree and taste its pure sweetness. He’s never fallen in love with a beautiful girl or held a newborn puppy in his arms. But…I know he will someday. I suddenly felt peace at that moment and I realized that our Heavenly Father had just revealed something precious to me.

When I dream at night, He has the same peace, knowing that there is so much that I haven’t experienced yet. But…He knows that I will someday. I’ll know things that I couldn’t possibly dream about today because my spectrum of thoughts is so very narrow on this earth. I can’t even write about them…I don’t know the words yet. But I will. You will. He promised.

Heart's Content

2006-06-29T20:26:00.000-07:00

“Hey guys, it’s time for Shane to open presents… so come on over here.” I kindly instructed the kids. His first birthday party was a raving success as cousins, church friends, and neighbors relayed from the inflated trampoline in the backyard to the tricycle races in the driveway, and back to the table of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Once we had all the children settled under the shade of the carport, I pointed Shane towards the glorious heap of gift bags and boxes. With a bit of hesitation, he sauntered over, shifting his eyes back to me once or twice, for further approval. The magnificent colors, intriguing shapes, and alluring pictures fascinated him; little did he know there were actually toys inside. I nudged him closer and closer. Finally after seeing that he would be allowed and even encouraged, he began to tear into each package.
The kids around him relished in his obvious delight; little faces gushed with pride when I read aloud their personalized birthday cards. And when Shane dove into each package with abandon, there was nearly as much anticipation on each face around him as was on his. It was pure joy to watch Shane and the other kids relish in this special day.

The next afternoon, after the trampoline was deflated, the tricycles parked, and the decorations dismantled, we decided to assemble all of the toys Shane had received. As a Mom, I didn’t want the excitement of his first birthday to end just yet...for either of us. As I cut plastic ties, peeled off tape, and snapped pieces together, what once was just a cardboard box with great pictures was evolving into a great toy, with little animals that made wonderful noises. The bird sang. The bear roared. The walrus barked. He loved it. I must have heard the music that accompanied that toy 30 times in the hour that we played with it. It was wonderful to watch my son discover and enjoy and develop his skill in making the bear roar in sync with the music. The true purpose of this gift was being seen and felt.

Lost in thought, sitting in the floor with Shane, I felt my Heavenly Father revealing something wonderful to me. In watching Shane discover new treasures in each carefully wrapped birthday gift, I had experienced joy in the purest sense; it must be what God feels when we open a gift specially chosen by Him.
The question is…are we enjoying the gifts that God gives us? Do we see the beauty in the magnificent wrapping of each one? Do we allow ourselves the excitement of tearing into them when they are handed to us?

Or…do we take the gift, still in the wrapping paper, and place it on a shelf?
“I feel undeserving. Taking the gift makes me feel guilty. Taking the gift will surely make me a bad person.”

No. That’s not the way God wants us to feel. Our Heavenly Father wants us to wholeheartedly receive the gifts that He’s designed specially for us; they all have a purpose and a meaning. Not only can they bring us immense joy, but they can also be used to glorify Him.

Just as I found delight in seeing my son play that song over and over to his heart’s content, so God must enjoy watching us relish in the gifts that He so lovingly gives to us.
Can’t you just hear God saying, “That passion you have…yeah…that one’s from me. Go ahead…take the time to read the directions…figure it out... and develop it. Use it to help Me…then enjoy all the happiness from it that you can stand.” I see Him lovingly putting His hand on my shoulder and giving me a wink.

Rick Warren put it this way…
“Everything created by God reflects his glory in some way.” (The Purpose Driven Life)

James, the brother of Jesus, says it even more eloquently… Every good and faithful gift is from the Father above, who created all heaven’s lights. Unlike them, he never changes or casts shifting shadows. In His goodness, he chose to make us his own children by giving us his true word. And we, out of all creation, became his choice possession. (James 1:17-18).