18 Jun
I got a postcard at work today!
What a neat surprise! It was from my new friend, Joe. How encouraging he is! On Palm Sunday of this year, Joe and I had the pleasure of meeting at lunchtime in a local restaurant . What a blessing! Joe sent this postcard from Wisconsin.
“Thank you, Jesus, for our paths crossing. Please continue to bless my friend, my brother, on his continued journey, with a quenched thirst only Your Living Water can provide. Amen.”
4 Jun
Today marks 276 days since my oldest son left home.
Left this country.
That’s roughly 39 weeks.
We just had an hour long conversation about his life over there, our life over here, and sunflower seeds.
I am so full of joy and happiness!
We talked, I mean, really talked. It has been a very long time since we connected this way. Many of our phone calls/emails are business in nature, or they are short due to the time difference and activities there or here. Sometimes the connection is just plain terrible, and it’s frustrating to try and decipher the broken speech. But today, we connected, and it was almost like sitting on the couch together exchanging the normal comings and goings of our lives. YAY!
He wasn’t even aware of the gift he was handing to me through his stories of travels and people met.
First of all, he was telling me of his plans to “clean his house”. Clean! He has friends coming over tomorrow, and wants his place to be clean and tidy for his guests.
All those years of chores, and teaching him how to straighten things, dust, vacuum…..
Second, he told me of his excitement over receiving American sunflower seeds in the last package I sent his way.
All those years of Little League Baseball and packs of David’s Sunflower Seeds…
All those years of fussing about the spent sunflower seed shells I would find in the washing
machine and dryer…
Third, he told me of meeting a business man who, upon learning he was American, asked if he liked sauces and subsequently loaded him down with sweet chili sauce, teriyaki sauce, etc.
All those years of getting extra packets of Polynesian and honey mustard at Chic-Fila…
Covering his french fries with mustard…
His love for Italian Dressing on just about everything else…
And fourth, he shared his plan to get a Cherry Tree to nurture and plant before he comes home. He told me of the fresh herbs he finds there growing naturally, “just like the ones that grow outside our front door back home, ma!” He shared how beautiful the countryside is where he was driving last week, and how it reminded him of the United States, of Tennessee.
All those years of teaching him about growing herbs, flowers, and vegetables…
All those years of mowing the grass and climbing trees…
All those years of enjoying the outdoors together…
Today, he gave me the best gift of all. He showed me that the things impressed upon him years ago, part of our everyday for so many years, are surfacing in his new life a world away, and reminding him “home” is a part of who he is, no matter where he is. I think that’s a big fear that parents have when the children “leave the nest”, that the kids will somehow forget all the little things along the way. I’ve always tried to make the normal, everyday things special within our family, in hopes that one day, my sons will look back with appreciation and find comfort in these same things. Little did I know how much comfort I would receive upon seeing these things resurface in their own lives. Pure. Joy.
Yep. Big, big smiles on this 276th day.
2 Jun
Yep, he did it again! Evidence of Christ in my life is so thick, but sometimes, He just smacks me in the face with a big ole’ smile, and like a little kid, I’m giddy over seeing Him at work.
First day of June.
Thinking about a delicious cup of coffee from Krispy Kreme.
As I wait at an intersection, about 20 minutes away from my destination, I get the command:
“Buy the coffee of the person behind you in line.”
This is not an unusual directive.
I’ve done this before.
I don’t do it for recognition, and as soon as I pay and get my order, I scoot away from the store quickly.
But this time, I question:
“Lord, you have me do this sometimes, but I don’t have a card or note or anything that I leave. Is this ministry really working without a note of some sort?”
Look at that! I doubted him!
Immediately, I was reminded of prayer cards I keep in my wallet.
A couple of years ago, when I was going through a little trial, I composed a prayer and printed it on cards, smaller than a business card.
I put these cards in my wallet, in case there were ever times I could share some uplifting words of comfort with someone else.
I’ve never used them that way, though I have referenced this prayer myself many times since.
“But Lord, (note to self: If I start a statement to God with ‘but’, I probably shouldn’t continue) that prayer is one of protection, for peace, and for Your arms to envelope with mercy. What if that’s not what the person behind me needs to hear?”
Did I really just ask that? Our Father KNOWS what the needs are, we don’t. Why did I feel like I needed to remind him of what the prayer said? Just as quick as I thought it, I decided that I would just do what I had been asked to do. And I didn’t think about it anymore until I got to the drive-through.
A small, red SUV pulled up behind me, stopping quickly. A glance in my rear view mirror told me that this young woman was not in a place where she probably needed the prayer I had been asked to share. She was playing music, happily applying some last minute touches to her make-up. She seemed to be glowing and bubbly.
A small silver car pulled up behind her. I only caught a quick peek at the driver, but was instantly filled with the desire to treat THAT person to coffee, not the one behind me.
“Oh, Father, I can’t pay for the car behind the car behind me. That would be too confusing for the Krispy Kreme ladies. But I really feel like the lady in the silver car is the one in need of your touch today.”
As I pulled up to the window, I decided that I just needed to do what was asked of me in the first place. I handed the card and the money to the lady at the register, and proceeded to pay for the young woman behind me. It was “National Donut Day”, so I had ordered a box of glazed donuts to share at the office. Because I needed to wait on “hot ones”, I was asked to pull up a little and wait for them to bring them out.
Oh no! So much for “scooting away” like I normally do. I pulled forward, but could still see the drive-thru window. The woman behind me in the red SUV, upon being handed the card and told that her coffee was paid for, smiled and paid for the lady in the silver car behind her.
Did you hear that? The woman whom I felt strongly needed the blessing, got her coffee paid for!
I could have done cartwheels of joy right there!
As the red SUV girl drove past me, she gave a thumbs up and a big, happy smile.
What an awesome morning at the drive-thru!
God’s plan is ALWAYS perfect. I’m so thankful for His humor, His patience, and His tender ways of teaching us, all the time. Teaching me all the time. Through obedience this morning, I was able to see how God’s plan included the two other women. I was able to again see how my own doubt creeps in there, and has the potential to steal one of God’s blessings from me.
Praise His name, His glorious, perfect name! Make me and mold me, Oh Lord!
13 May
This week I learned that “traffic calming device” is just a fancy way of saying SPEED BUMP.
Isn’t that funny?
The words “traffic” and “calming” seem like polar opposite things. Traffic makes me think of high stress, long, slow moving lines of cars, trucks, people, ants……and Calming makes me think of scented candles, relaxing music and whatever the opposite of high stress is (I don’t believe I’ve ever reached that end of the spectrum).
It’s so interesting to think about speed bumps, and what exactly their purpose is. They slow us down (by us, I mean me). They are placed to bring protection to not only the driver, but people nearby. Often, they bring protection to the roadway itself, and the environment.
In my younger days, I viewed them as bothersome and “in the way”, and did my best to get as many of my car’s tires around the obstacles as possible. I’ve tried hitting them fast, thinking the quick bump would be less annoying than the slow, yet body jolting, bumpity bumpity as the tires crawl over one by one. It’s not. I’ve even taken longer routes to get from point A to point B, just to avoid a short stretch of speed bump laden roadway.
I’m older now and have found an appreciation for them. Now that I have kids who like to ride their bikes in the neighborhood and throw football to each other across the street, I’ve even thought about secretly installing them in front of my house to slow down our neighbors with lead feet. I realized that although they used to seem annoying, they really serve an important purpose at getting everyone to slow down and use caution – to become more aware of what’s around.
There have been many speed bumps in my spiritual pathway. In the beginning, they caused me to stray off course easily. I would do anything to avoid them. But then there were other times when I hit them so hard, I had to deal with the damaging repercussions as a result. I wasn’t expecting them, or I didn’t see them because my focus was not on the road in front of me. Most of the time, I would throw a hissy fit and all out temper tantrum at the placement of those speed bumps. “Why, why, WHY!!!???”
I’ve been traveling this road for a while now, and am becoming a driver who is more aware of the speed bumps that lie ahead. Some still catch me off guard, but I don’t see them as annoyances anymore. I understand that they are placed in my pathway for a reason, and that makes the slowed pace easier to handle and opens my eyes to see more of what’s around at those times. I know that there will always be speed bumps, and have actually become thankful for them in recent years. I may not always understand the reason for their placement at the time, but usually down the road a ways, I can look back and see how perfectly they were positioned.
Traffic calming devices? Yeah, I can see that now. But I sure didn’t understand it in the beginning.
Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.
James 1:2-3
1 May
“Because, okay? I just know these things, so you should trust me.”
We read.
We read a lot.
Our kids cannot not remember getting new books to add to their reading collection.
And what’s the first thing you do to your new book, before heading out the door to school with it?
You brand it.
Yep, put your moniker right on it, big and bold enough for all passersby to know it belongs to you.
The challenge came as no surprise by the time our third son joined the party.
“Why, mommy?”
“Because, you have to use this pen so your name will not rub off.”
“But I want to use my purple marker.”
“You can’t use your markers, because they’ll just smear. You need to use the black Sharpie.”
“But I can just write my name with this pencil.”
“No, you cannot. It won’t show up good enough.”
“What about this purple crayon?”
“Honey, no, you cannot use crayon, it might rub off, too. Just use the Sharpie.”
After exhausting all other options, he sat down at the kitchen table, picked up the Sharpie and started to write his name on the cover of his new book. I felt satisfied in this win, even though I felt like I was having this same exchange every time he got a new book. After flipping through the mail and putting up a few groceries, I noticed that he had switched the Sharpie for the purple marker when I wasn’t looking.
“No! See how it smears when you rub your hand across it? I told you to use the Sharpie!”
There are things we teach our children. There are things we’ve experienced, things we’ve learned through our own successes and mistakes. There are things we want to keep our kids from having to go through. So this particular time, the lesson is not a big deal. Eventually, through trial and error, he would have figured out why it’s best to use a Sharpie for marking ownership of the book. Actually, he did. See, even though I tried to get him to trust me on this one, and just use the Sharpie in the first place, his inquiring mind wanted to figure out the “why” part all by himself. He’s now ten years old. His brothers are 14 and 19. Do they listen to me all the time? No. But they know that they can trust my advice, and guidance, and that I would not tell them anything to cause them harm. There are some things in life that they just have to figure out on their own, regardless of my parental coaching.
I’m pledging today, and writing it with a Sharpie, that I will not use the phrase, “I told you so”. 🙂
1 Apr
Today in prayer, I asked for my Heavenly Father to cleanse me of my sinful nature, to forgive me, to take away my quick judgement of others, to help me specifically in listening to and obeying His will for my life. I prayed for Him to empty my house and fill me up so that I could share His love the way He desires.
After church service, I asked my 9 year old where he would like to eat for lunch. Since it was just going to be the two of us, I thought it would be a nice treat to let him decide. Understand, I was prepared for my least favorite dining establishments to surface as his die-hard top choice. Any of you out there with children or grandchildren, or even younger siblings, know where I’m going with this. My idea of a yummy Sunday dinner does not include places where you can fill up your truck with diesel, buy that roll of paper towels you’ve been needing at home for 3 days and sit down to a dinner of chicken fried steak before picking up your dessert candy bar on the way to the check out register. It also doesn’t include places with sticky tables, 74 flavors of pancake syrups and a row of “drop your quarter here to win” machines. So when he said, ‘CiCi’s Pizza!”, I quickly agreed. It might not be a restaurant in my top ten list, but it was in his, and a far better choice than some of the other places that share a position in that same list. The fact that I only had $13 dollars in cash in my purse also made it easy to say “yes” to CiCi’s.
You might think that’s the blessing I’m getting to. But it’s not. I was, however, very thankful.
11:15am – we arrived. I must say, if you’re going to CiCi’s on a Sunday after church, it’s good to get there early if you can. We were the first patrons there, and it was a very different, wonderfully pleasant, experience than what I’ve had there before. The floors and tables were all shiny and clean. The food, all fresh and hot. As a matter of fact, upon entrance, we were asked if we wanted any particular types of pizzas, because they would be happy to prepare them for us. Customer service at it’s best! We ate like royalty, selecting from a number of pizzas that seemed to be cooked “just for us”. It was quiet. It was peaceful. Words I’ve never before used to describe this restaurant. It had been years since I had last been there to eat, but I must confess now, I look forward to going back with the whole family one Sunday after church.
As we were finishing up, a homeless man walked in. Well, I assumed he was homeless. It didn’t take me a split second to judge him based on his clothing and the items he carried with him. There I was judging – something I specifically prayed about an hour earlier. I need to quit that. He wore a long-sleeved green shirt (it was 78 degrees outside!), a ragged straw hat, and carried a sleeping bag, several jackets, and a guitar with him. I watched closely as he placed his things at a table diagonally across from us. He seemed tired. I looked at his face, searching for some sign of something opposite from what I was assuming him to be. I didn’t see anything. No smile. His eyes were covered by the brim of his hat. When he walked past me to get a plate of food, I was encouraged:
Go talk to him.
What? I know you don’t want me to talk to this man!
Go talk to him.
Father! How can I go talk to him? You know that’s not something I’m comfortable doing.
I continued to sit at my table, as my son voraciously plowed through his dessert rolls and brownies. He was clueless as to the battle I was having. I wondered, “Could that be the Holy Spirit nudging me?”.
Go talk to him.
What would I say? Father, how could I be a blessing to this man? Look at him. He’s wearing
his shirt inside out. How do I know if he even speaks english? What if he’s not a Christian?
How can I just go talk to him?
Another 5 minutes went by, with me trying to convince myself that I should not go talk to this man who clearly the Holy Spirit wanted me to engage with.
Go talk to him.
Look, he doesn’t want any company. See how he keeps his hat on, pulled down over his
forehead? How do I know he’s not a serial killer? I’m here with my young son, why should I
put us in potential jeopardy by talking to this stranger? He is strange, Lord. I mean, look
at him! He’s not even taking his hat off at the table. That’s so disrespectful.
At that very moment, the man removed his hat, and held it down in front of his face as he blessed the meal before him.
It was undeniable now – I was definitely being told to go to this man, and it was not an option for me not to do just that. My Heavenly Father gave me a directive, and shot down my excuses when he allowed me to witness this. LOUD AND CLEAR, I was given the command again.
Go talk to him.
Okay, Father, I will. But help me here. What in the world can I do to be a blessing to this
man? He’s already paid for his meal, because you do that when you come in, so I can’t buy his
food. You know, Father, that I don’t have any cash to give him. I just spent that last 13 dollars
in cash I have, plus the 5 cents I dug out of the bottom of my purse. What am I supposed to do?
As I waited for directions, I watched as the man very carefully cut into his salad. Was he as solemn as he appeared now, or was he lonely? What was his story? Why was he homeless?
You haven’t answered me, Father. Oh, I got a pack of flower seeds today at church, and was
told to share them with someone and invite them to church. You know, planting seeds. Do
you want me to invite him to church? Father, that seems silly. Why would I give a homeless
man a pack of flower seeds?
No answer came. No directives. No clear instructions were offered on what I was to do or say to this man. Nothing. My son was enjoying far too much root beer. We were beyond finished with our dinner. It was time for me to obey, or time for us to leave.
Okay, Lord, I’m going. I’m going. I don’t know how I can bless this man, but I’m trusting you
to help me.
I told my son to stay at the table and that I would be right back.
Me: Sir, do you mind if I join you for a minute?
The man: No, no, just move my things over there and have a seat.
As the man looked up at me, I instantly saw his cleanliness. His eyes, sparkly and blue, conveyed a warmth that I hadn’t seen beneath the brim of his hat earlier. This man whom I had thought of as unkempt and dirty, now looked refreshed, well-groomed, and so kind.
Me: I saw you when you came in, and I just wanted to tell you what a blessing seeing you has
been to me. You are an apparent traveler, and you have a guitar. I have a son who is a
traveler, and he carries his guitar, too.
The man: (as he touched my hand) Praise the Lord!
As it turns out, Joe is indeed a traveler, but he is not homeless. He left his home back in California in January of this year. Joe is on a journey. One he says has taken him years to begin. Joe is 68 years old, and in obedience, is walking from “sea to shining sea”. Yep! He’s walking from California to our side of the country, and up the coast. In doing so, he’s relying on God to direct his paths to people he can share the love of Christ with.
Joe and I only talked for a few minutes, but during that time, we shared as brother and sister, we prayed a prayer of thanksgiving, and encouraged each other to continue in our walks for Christ, no matter how difficult it may be at times. And we delighted in the joy that comes from obedience. My youngest son didn’t do as I had asked, and after seeing me engaging in conversation with Joe, came over to introduce himself. It was a real gift to be able to share this experience with my son.
I prayed this morning for my Heavenly Father to cleanse me, to forgive me, to help where I am weak and to lead me in how to be obedient to His will for my life.
Praise God, My Father heard me, and he answered me!
All this time I didn’t understand how I could bless this “homeless man”…and as it turned out, Joe was to be a blessing for me. I’m so happy I was obedient today, because when we are obedient, we don’t miss the blessings God has planned for us. And, oh boy, does He have blessings lined up for us all!
14 Mar
Last Monday morning, after the kids had been dropped off at school, I turned the radio off and enjoyed a quiet “conversation” with my Savior. We do that a lot – “talk” in the car. After praises and prayers, I turned the radio back on and cranked it up loud, enjoying “The Voice of Truth”, by Casting Crowns. During an instrumental part, a thought came to me as quick as lightening.
I’m going to start keeping a prayer journal.
As quickly as I thought that, I was interrupted by a negative.
That’s dumb, I can’t possibly write down everything I need to pray about – there’s so much I pray about throughout a day! I might forget to write down something important!
If there’s one big thing that I have to work on, it’s definitely the self-doubt. I doubt everything, at some point, and I do not like that. Not. One. Bit.
The welcomed distraction of the lyrics came flowing back to focus and I didn’t think about the journal idea again…until…
At home that evening, as I was working in the kitchen and our youngest son was at the table studying for his spelling test, he said to me out of the blue, “Mom, you know that new Moleskine dad gave me this week? I made it into a prayer journal.”
———— Wait for it.
——————-Wait for it.
————————–Wait for it.
In an instant, I knew that my Savior was confirming His presence with me earlier that morning and showing me that I don’t have to think twice about that silly self-doubt. He liked my idea!
So I did the same thing – I told my son what a neat idea that was and how happy I know God is over his choosing to use his new Star Wars Moleskine that way.
8 Mar
Don’t know about your neck of the woods, but over here in ours, the stomach virus (aka “Throw Up Bug”) has arrived and wants everyone to know it. It’s here. And it’s not pretty.
That little pest is finished with our youngest son, but now our middle son is struggling to get rid of it. That’s how this usually proceeds through our family. It starts with the youngest, and ends with the oldest. I guess I could base that on size, instead of age, since the two are proportionate in our family. I remember one time when that bug was trying to leave our house after we all had a turn being sick, the dog showed us she could catch it. The dog! That was not pretty, either.
Between the two of us last night, neither the middle son nor myself got much sleep. His trips to the bathroom could be counted by the sound of the toilet seat lid smacking the back of the porcelain tank. Like contractions, shortly after every crack of that toilet seat, I knew there would follow a good 20 minutes of peace. 5:30am this morning was at the beginning of one of those stretches. I opened my computer and began the emails to alert the school, work, and church of the middle son’s illness, since he and I would both be absent from our obligations for the day. I noticed that our oldest son, who is in another country right now, was online. I sent him a brief note, through instant messaging, asking him to pray for his brother as he battles the bug.
After I hit the send button, I smiled to myself quickly, thinking, “Oh, you lucky boy! You are not in our house right now to take your turn with the bug.”
Our oldest replied:
“When I was writing in my journal earlier, I had a stomach pain. It came and left quickly, but I felt that I needed to pray for someone who was having pain.”
Wow. Still connected, across the seas.
Then he asked me to put my hands on his brother and pray over him for healing.
Hmmm. I have spent the last 3 days Lysoling anything that doesn’t move and bleaching towels. I have cleaned up mess. I have Clorox-wiped every solid surface over and over again. But I had not done this. I had not put my hands on my children in prayer. They were full of germs! I thought about wiping them down with a disinfectant sponge, but that thought left quickly, since I figured the chemicals would probably not be good for their skin (you can laugh, I wouldn’t really have done that!).
Four minutes later, I replied to our oldest son with this message:
“Done!”
In the remaining 12 minutes of peace, I thought about Jesus and how he laid his hands on hundreds of people, healing them. My heart was convicted, because here I had been “not touching” my children, who are of my own flesh and blood, because I was a little germ-scared. Believe me, my hands and fingers are wrinkled, as if I have been in a swimming pool for hours, from the amount of cleaning solvents I’ve been using. No germ is going to want me if it has to touch my hands first. I was convicted because I knew that outside of my protective hedge, I would not think of laying my hands on the filthy. The unclean. Yet, this is what I should be willing to do, because my Saviour has done so for me.
Wow, indeed.
At 1:15 pm today, in the midst of a peaceful slumber, it appears that the bug is finished with family member number two. Will it leave our house, or will it find me, I wonder. I take a few minutes to sit down and read a little in a bible study book. The passage before me reads:
“Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up.” ~James 5: 14-15
Father, thank you for showing me where I am weak, and for my convicted heart. I long to reflect the love of your son, Jesus Christ, in my everyday, and every way, whether it’s within the confines of my home, or outside of my comfort zone. When I am weak, Father, you are strong, I am confident that you are the strength I need to overcome my weaknesses. I thank you for your love, and for your faithfulness, and for all the times you reach down and touch me when I am filthy, unclean, and unworthy.
1 Mar
As I passed the Post Office early this morning, I noticed three Federal employees standing out by the flag pole. The American flag at the top of the pole whipped back and forth in the wind, against the promise of a beautiful, new day.
Then I noticed something. Something that gave way to sadness.
One of the employees had, crumpled up in his arms, a flag. It looked to be an older one, but I couldn’t be sure. Regardless, Old Glory was in a heap, parts of her spilling over his forearm as he shifted his weight from one leg to the next. The three men stood there for a bit, smiling and carrying on conversation.
Then the light ahead of me turned green. As I accelerated slowly toward work, I carried a bit of that sadness with me.
29 Feb
My Father’s words came quickly.
Unexpectedly.
Sharply.
Weeks earlier, the woman I care most about in this world, my momma, became angry at me. The reason is not important. But in her anger, she said some things that were intended to hurt me, or cause a reaction. Her final words to me were “do not call me”, as she headed out the door.
So you know what I did?
I didn’t call her. In my head, I was convinced that I was doing what she asked. I had her grandsons call to check on her. I sent her instant messages though Skype every now and then. But I did not ring her up on the phone. Why not? Because she told me not to.
Yes, my Father’s words came quickly.
Unexpectedly.
Sharply.
He said, “When did you ever listen to your mother before?”
Nail on the head. Convicted. I am guilty.
I recalled my teenage years, when I was rebellious. I recalled decisions I made that were in direct opposition to her wishes when I was younger. I recalled recent comments my momma made regarding…well…anything from recipe suggestions to furniture arrangement in our den, and from taking my kids out on “date night” to feeding the pets.
Why had I chosen to “obey” this one little thing my mother said to me in anger?
Because in doing so, I didn’t have to face the hurtful things she said, or own up to my part in what made her angry in the first place. It was easier to forget about any of that and just “not call her”, because that was her final demand.
I’m so thankful for my Heavenly Father who grants me mercy and forgiveness. His question to me was spot on and required that I really examine the fruits (or lack of them) that were resulting from the distance between my mom and I. Just as God forgives me on a continual basis, I am supposed to do the same thing. Thank goodness, God doesn’t take days and weeks to forgive me.
Father, I want to reflect you in all that I do, even when and especially when faced with things that cause hurt and anger. Just as you love me, in spite of myself, Father, help me show that same love to others. I want them to see You in all that I do.
the toenail 