A Cinnamon Roll for Your Thoughts

"My life feels impossible," Abby told me. " I know God is good, but I don't seem strong."

Abby has a physically exhausting job on her feet all day. When she gets off work, she helps the children with homework as she fixes dinner. As the older children start laundry and cleaning chores, Abby spends time with her baby and handicapped toddler, giving her elderly mother a break to gather her own strength after a busy day. On a good night, her husband takes a break from his second job to encourage her.

"I know I shouldn't complain. My mother is slow and often ill, but she is able to live with us and help out. We have more money coming in than is going out. We have great kids. But I'm tired of how hard it is. Some days are impossible! I worry that our house of cards will fall apart. I should be grateful for all I have, shouldn't I? I'm supposed to be able to do all things through Christ who gives me strength."

Dare we admit that life can be harsh, barren and too difficult to bear? Even in our impossible we struggle to be independent and not need anyone's help. We want to say all the right words to show we are faithful. We are thankful for the hardships we don't have and the blessings we do have. We want to be a light in a dark world.

Struggle for survival, success and living a good life wears us down. Instead of being encouraged by others, we are drawn to comparison, frustration and disappointment. We tread water until we can sink into our beds for a few hours, distract ourselves on a screen, or dump our frustrations into social media. What else is there to do when life gets impossible?

Abby did not lack a thankful heart. She did not lack faith in the God who specializes in the impossible. She did not lack a quiet time in her day to pray and read the Word. She knew God was able to do more than she could ask or imagine He could do in her life, so every day she got up, trusting that in her weakness He would give strength. Yet here she sat brokenhearted, soul weary and bone tired.

Who is walking alongside you in your faith journey? It's appropriate to ask for what you need. It's necessary to seek out people who can help you. It's okay that you don't know what to do. We all need people to be the hands and feet of Jesus in our lives. We all need encouragement and people to share our burdens, to pray with us and for us, to pull us into green pastures for rest, to prod us on to love and good works.

Abby finished her tea one day and grinned at me. "It means everything to know I'm not alone even when it feels like I am. We all need that someone who will love our children with us. We all need someone who can be trusted to see when we need a date night or need cinnamon rolls or chicken soup or a lunch date. We all need someone who sees our impossible, makes a pot of tea, picks up our baby and offers hope. We all need to be loved right where are struggling."

"Let us not judge one another any more...let us pursue the things that make for peace and the building up of one another." (Romans 14:13, 19)

Consider the Woodpecker

Every morning, a red-headed woodpecker tries to drill a hole in the corner of my house, a house not made of wood.

For over a year I have watched him grow in boldness and diligence, drilling holes in each of our trees. He's beautiful, smart, unique, funny.

Lately, he is determined to change the unchangeable. He is consistent, but he is wrong. No matter how loud or angry he becomes, his efforts are wasted. No matter how much he wants to change his circumstances, his time is wasted.

"Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven." -Matthew 5:16 

Consider your ways. Search your heart.

What hinders you from shining God's light in a dark world? Are you taking every thought captive, every attitude, every habit, and making it obedient to Christ?

Abide in Me and you will bear much fruit.

Running Alongside Samantha

Her world seems small. Face down, giving total focus to each painful step, my neighbor inched her walker along the street.

I was caught slumping wearily in the lawn chair debating whether to go for a run. Was it too hot? Was I too tired? Did I do enough yesterday to give me a pass today?

Samantha. pausing to rest, looked up. Her face glowed from sweat, but she grinned and waved. I smiled and waved back, walking toward her for a short visit.

"Hi, neighbor," she greeted me. "I can't believe I walked this far today. Just had to enjoy the sunshine before I spend my day at rehab."

Freedom. Peace. Joy. We wrongly assume those depend on circumstances. If life looks the way we hoped, joy overflows. I'm so blessed, we say, overcome with a delightful peace. I got the job! I got past my sickness. Good news has come! God has answered my prayer the way I wanted! I'm so grateful!

That's living in a small world, a world where we can see and understand. We feel worthy because we are given what we value. We live gratitude because God offers a season of refreshing ease.

Walking by faith is also sweating from the hard work of inching our way along, face down, focused on each scary step. It's ignoring the excuses and drama and difficulties to view our circumstances through God's eyes. We try to squeeze a big God into our small world, our small, human minds because our life looks too hard.

"Do you have time to walk me home?" Samantha asked. "It would really be a gift to me. I'm tired. The road didn't look this far when I started out. I'm afraid I might not make it home without falling. It won't seem as far if you're encouraging me."

Walking by faith is knowing our life journey can be harder than expected. We may not make it home without falling. We may view our circumstances as failure, but it's in the brokenness that our world grows larger, our eyes see more clearly what God values.

The journey for someone else won't seem as far if we are alongside to encourage. We can proclaim freedom to those in prison. We can bring joy to those that mourn and peace to those who are afraid.

"Thanks!" Samantha yelled as I jogged away, looking forward to my run. "You got this!"

Commit your works to the King, soldier-princess, and your plans, will be established. Your God is bigger than you think.

Comfort Zone

The elderly man paused in the aisle of the market. Leaning on his cane, he spoke into his cell phone, English phrases, Chinese phrases. He was obviously weary and confused.

Our eyes met and we both left our comfort zones to smile. How hard it can be to cross barriers of gender, nationality, language and cultures. It's so much more natural to ignore a stranger than to risk embarrassment saying the wrong thing.

"Good morning," he said. "I have problem."

"I am a Christian," I said encouragingly. "I will help you. What is the problem?"

"Jesus-person? Yes?"

I smiled, relaxing, back in my comfort zone. "Yes. I am Jesus-person."

"Not Jesus-person," he replied. "Old person. Lost old person."

I helped him find his way to the front of the store where he could rest on a bench while he phoned his son for a ride home. He was back in his comfort zone, back in the familiar.

I shared a little bit about Jesus, but the barriers were too wide. There wasn't enough time, enough common language, enough opportunity to introduce him to Jesus.

While we were still lost, when we were "not Jesus-people", Jesus died for us. Now we are Jesus-people, and we find our comfort zone in His presence, singing and shouting our praises.

Shouldn't talking about Jesus with those who are still lost be our comfort zone?

Leaving this man in his lost state of "not a Jesus-person" was more uncomfortable than it ever could be to leave my comfort zone and say hello to a stranger.

Show Up

Whether it was a concert, a new restaurant or a trip to the hospital to visit the sick, my dad used to say it was always worth the trip. He knew people regret more the things they didn't do than the things they did do.

You may show up for an adventure and be disappointed, but something valuable can always be achieved. Sometimes we win by being delighted in our adventure.  Sometimes we win by learning a lesson. Either way, when we show up, we move forward in life.

A soldier-princess shows up every morning to take on whatever new adventure of mercy the King has promised for today. She shows up to represent Him along the way, to be His hands and feet, His voice and heart.

Show up every day to walk alongside Jesus in rhythms of grace. Watch Him to see what He does when He shows up to love the brokenhearted and weary. See a need, meet the need. The soldier-princess who refreshes others, will herself be refreshed.

"I have loved you with an everlasting love," the King says to the soldier-princess. "I satisfy the weary ones and refresh everyone who languishes."

We don't always want to satisfy the weary ones and refresh others. Quite often we would prefer to stay in our pajama pants and an old tee-shirt. We want extra coffee and more donuts. We want to let our work slide, doing just enough to get by. We prefer to languish. We prefer to not show up. 

Prepare your mind for battle and your heart for action, soldier-princess. It's always worth the trip.

What does showing up to love in your life look like?

Hoarding and the Inmate

"There's so much to clean out of this house. Truckloads!" Shelby moaned. "I'm not exaggerating. How can we move? How will we ever get past the piles of...stuff?"

Hoarders. We see them on the television and our eyes widen. How do they live like that? How can they not see their clutter is holding them back from a well lived life?

I have a neighbor who cleans out her garage about once a month. She says she is determined to live a better life. She pulls everything out of her garage, rearranges it, then returns nearly all of it to the garage. If something doesn't fit her new arrangement, she piles it by her front door or has a garage sale. Most of it slowly returns to the garage until the next time.

In prison you don't have a lot of stuff. There may be a few possessions you have collected during your stay, but, your job income of 75 cents an hour in the prison only allows for  necessities.

Hoarding is still a problem. Even in the prison. Not the hoarding of physical stuff, but the hoarding of sins.

Inmates do not have the luxury of ignoring their sins. They are offenders and their sins must be punished. A prisoner who longs for a better life must not only do the time, but redeem the time. Change that results from sorting through the clutter of sin is their only hope.

Many of us are in prisons of our own making. We make an effort to get rid of sins, to clean out the garage of the heart. But sin clutter mostly gets moved around, hidden behind walls or disguised with pretty words.  If we can laugh about the sin, we lessen its importance. In the end, like my neighbor in her garage ,most sins receive a little more time to continue cluttering our lives.

It's easier to consider sin by the truckload. "I'm just out of shape" is somehow acceptable clutter so that we don't have to exercise or take good care of the body, God's dwelling place. Hiding anger, pride or laziness behind words like "I'm just tired" or "All moms yell sometimes" somehow makes it easier to walk past the sins rather than removing them.

Some hoarders recognize the problem, but, like my neighbor, merely rearrange their possessions. The possessions look valuable, helpful. It makes them feel prepared for a future day.

Pride can seem valuable. Greed can seem helpful. Selfishness can make us feel prepared for a future day. The rich young ruler walked away sad because he had many possessions. His "stuff" kept him from living by faith not sight. He had much but did not live well because his choices kept him from giving God first place in his heart.

Less of me and my stuff opens up room for more of Him.

"Just tell me what to do and where to start," a young prisoner said to me. She has seven children and one on the way. She's a new Christian and ready to rid herself of piles of sin clutter. We start the same way I unload my own truckload of junk. One sin at a time.

The Gift of Change

Eight years ago I began choosing one yearly resolution. The first one took a full year of focus and practice, but was worth every effort. "Ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life." Life is nothing without challenge, right? It became a life resolution and spurred me on toward love and good works in following years.

I tried an easier resolution the next year. "Learn to make excellent cookies." It turned into a year of opportunitites to meet children, elderly people, strangers and neighbors as I sought taste-testers for my cookies. I don't know when I've had so much fun learning in the kitchen as I did that year!

"Have more tea parties." This resolution was successful in a way I never could have expected. It was the catalyst for this blog and subsequently for Tuesday night Titus 2 Tea parties in my home. God took my resolve for change and with it opened the door of my heart and my home to people around the world.

Lights twinkle on the tree by our front window and stockings are hung by the chimney with care. Recipes are scattered across the counter and "White Christmas" is playing in the background. It's the season of ThanksGiving and Celebration, endings and beginnings.

I am learning, by focusing on one thing at a time, that there is always enough grace for even me. When I awaken every morning, I know God is not disappointed to discover the need for more refining in my life. From glory to glory He's changing me  - just as He promised.

 The opportunity to change one thing at a time is one of God's greatest gifts.

Deep Fried Prison Ministry

They came every year to our church camp. A green pick up truck pulled up to the mess hall, giant black iron kettles were unloaded and men donned white aprons. Every Thursday of camp, year after year, they deep fried chicken under the hot summer skies all morning. That fried chicken was a highlight in the summer of every kid and volunteer at camp. Their presence changed our world, but I don't even know their names.

Lucille Chamberlain is remembered for her years of work in a school kitchen, but I remember her for being our cook at church camp. She could have had her summers free, but instead she worked hard in the hot summer camp kitchen. The scent of freshly baked melt-in-your-mouth cinnamon rolls filled the air welcoming us to a new day of learning about God's love.

Every Sunday, nestled in the back corner of our church, you will find Mary and Shirley and Cynthia and Peggy. They are our cookie ladies.  Every year at Vacation Bible School they show up to pass out little cups of Kool-aid and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. For decades, they have greeted little children and for some of those children, they have been not only a highlight of VBS, but the only grandmotherly women some of the children know.

The contributions these Christians, and people just like them, have given to children change the world every day. Love seeds and deed seeds scattered on rocky soil sometimes take root and begin to grow long after they have been forgotten.

What you do for Jesus matters. It matters very much. Just ask any group of prisoners in our weekly services at the prison chapel. Most of them visited a church camp, a Vacation Bible School or a Sunday School at least once. Someone gave them an oatmeal cookie, a piece of fried chicken or a cinnamon roll along with a hug or a kind word.

In the prison, Lila looked at me and smiled, remembering a kind lady who once taught her in Sunday School. "I was so naughty and she was so patient with me. I wish I could thank her. It's so horrible being pushed to the ground and hand cuffed. I felt like my life was over when I came to prison. Then I remembered that lady teaching me the song, "This little light of mine", and I kept thinking about it. And I came to chapel because I wondered if maybe I still have some light in me somewhere. Maybe she could see it. Do you think so?"

I assured her the teacher did see a spark of light in her as a child. Every Monday at the prison I continue to fan into flames the hope a Sunday School teacher planted in Lila's heart. Lila will spend many years in prison, but her chains are gone. She's been set free.

Every time you love a child you participate in prison ministry. The child you love today will need hope on a dark, ugly day when they're pushed to the ground by sin and shackled by a heavy burden. Tuck a spark of hope in the pocket of their jacket to light their way.

Saddle Up

"Please pray for me," Andie said softly. "I'm not okay. I'm so scared. I hurt so bad."

Recently released from suicide watch for the second time, desperate for someone to walk alongside her, this sweet wounded soldier came to me for counsel in the state prison.

Medical attention in the prison can be slow moving, overcrowded. Enduring pain in the wait can become excruciating, terrifying. Death seems preferable when fear overwhelms a broken heart and a body wracked with suffering.

Life hasn't always been this rough for Andie. But when comfort is hard to find, when a person is wounded and broken, a future and a hope grows dim. I heard her silently begging for help as she limped her way toward me, her arms reaching, her hands trembling.

Come for me. I've lost my way. I'm wounded and bleeding, come for me.

"I feel like I'm going down for the count," Andie shared. "Like I will never be happy again. I can deal with my stomach pain, but the pain in my gut, this fear...I'm a mess. I can't fight it any more."

Crisis in a dying world has become commonplace. Reports of bad things happening to good people is a mere tweet away. We turn from the brokenness and pain, escaping into our own interests, into that which is easier to endure. But, our Savior came to seek and save the lost. We need to consider the interests of others, the needs of others, before our own.

My mission as a soldier is not complicated. It's not gray. It's black and white. Good versus evil. The God of angel armies gave His marching orders. He designed the rescue mission and sent us to bind up the brokenhearted, the wounded who lay dying alone, face down, bleeding out on the battlefield.

Storms of life are raging, blinding us to one another. This is enemy territory. Do you hear the faint whimper on the wind?

Come for me. I've lost my way. I'm wounded and bleeding, come for me.

Choose a side and saddle up. Ride deep into the battlefield or ride away.

Soldier-Princess: Marching Orders

To my fellow soldier princesses, wherever you are, near or far:

Live an excellent life wherever God leads you.

Focus on your calling, going into the world to share the good news. Develop your special gifts, talents and character so you will change the world as you go where He sends you. Shine like the stars of the universe as God unfolds the way before you.

Whether we are an ocean apart or together in my kitchen does not dictate whether we are together in spirit. We are one body, one hope, one calling, one mind, one purpose. We are soldier-princesses chosen and united in this generation by the God who is able to do more than we ask or even imagine He can do.

We have been given favor, blessing and princess privileges not merely by believing, but by suffering for His sake, living excellently in every circumstance, the good and the bad, the easy and the difficult.

He will do what He says He will do through us, in us, for us and with us. He will give us the will, the power and the maturity to achieve His purposes. He is the Author and Finisher of our faith, the Commander who never fails, who always finishes what He starts, always creates excellence, always is mighty to save.

A grace-saturated life carries us even into enemy territory with Spirit power and competence.  A soldier-princess is never surprised to find herself in a battle with the enemy who seeks to devour her. Stay awake in the presence of God, alert and trained for battle.

This is the battle I fought and still fight as a soldier-princess - to walk alongside of Him always trusting, always bold and confident, always joyful. The battle is the Lord's and we are connected directly to the Commander of angel armies and to one another.

A soldier-princess never quits, never gives up, no matter where her marching orders take her.

The encouragement and reassuring love, the friendly company and compassion of Jesus makes my joy complete and will make your joy complete, too.

The God Who Whispers

"It's impossible to know for sure if there's a God, and even if there is, I'd be a fool to think I could figure out what he wanted me to do or to be," Kristin tells me.

She is serious, this dear friend. Dead wrong and dead serious.

People who doubt God's presence tend to be ones who want a shout of proof from God, bold evidence of his presence and purpose.

Living life in a whirlwind of activity and fray will produce weariness, even desperation, but not assurance of God's presence and will. God does not shout over the whirlwind. He whispers in the silence.

It's tempting to ask God to speak loudly from the heavens and make Himself known to doubters. Perhaps open up the sky and show the throne room or say again: This is My Beloved Son and I am pleased with Him. Or maybe send down a fireball to light up a water-logged altar. Shake people in their boots a bit.

Until the final day when the trumpets sound, the clouds part and Jesus returns victorious, there is nothing left to prove, nothing left for God to shout.

He has much that He wants to whisper.

Come, I will give you rest.  

My yoke is easy and My burdens are light.  

I know the plans I have for you, plans to give you a future and a hope.

He has much that He wants to say to us.

Call to Me. 

I will tell you wonderful things that you do not know.

He has much that He wants to sing.

My everlasting love is deeper than the sea.

God is not going to shout over the whirlwind so that Kristin believes that He is real and has a plan for her. He is whispering to her, though.

Be still and know that I am God.

I ache in prayer for Kristin. God is there and He is not silent.

A lost lamb does not hear the voice of the shepherd over the noise of the storm, but in the devastating aftermath, exhausted and wounded, comforting words whisper into the silence

When all else fails we are more likely to look up, to see clearly, to listen. I pray it doesn't take a calamity for Kristin to be still and listen to the God who waits to rescue her.

I know My sheep and My sheep hear My voice and they follow Me.

A Pie for Lynette

One of my earliest memories is making pies alongside my mother. I stood on a chair rolling dough to fit two little aluminum pans, one for my brother, Larry, and one for me. My pies were lopsided, unlike the excellent pies my mother could make.

My pies are still lopsided. My sisters, Kathy and Nancy, both make beautiful pies. I could eat a piece of Nancy's raspberry pie every day. Heaven on a plate.

It isn't the recipe. I have been given four no-fail pie crust recipes. What makes a blue ribbon pie for someone else is always lopsided for me.

My cousin Laura, like my mom, says the secret of pie excellence is using lard. She laughed at my frown, knowing I didn't want to put lard in my clean arteries. "But pie is a special treat," Laura explained. "How often does a person eat pie?"

So I tried. But it's not the ingredients. I've tried them all.

I called my aging friend Lynette on the phone one morning to encourage her during her long terminal illness. I offered to deliver dinner, clean her house, do some laundry or bake cookies.

"Oh, I can't think of anything you need to do," Lynette assured me.

"Is there something I could cook for you that sounds good? Maybe one of those favorite recipes you've cooked a thousand times," I suggested, wanting to make anything that would give comfort and cheer.

"A piece of pie would taste good. Any kind of pie," she admitted softly.

I laughed, lifted my eyes to heaven, shaking my head. "Sure," I told Lynette. "I'd love to make you a pie! What kind sounds good?"

"Butterscotch pie?"

Butterscotch pie. Butterscotch pie?

After she ate my pie,  Lynette asked, "How in the world do you make your pie crust? What's your secret? It was excellent, so flaky! Best butterscotch pie I ever ate. It tasted wonderful!"

My secret? Pillsbury pie crust. I knew how to make meringue so I put it together as best I could. Turns out meringue evens out a lopsided pie quite well.

It's not the gift we place in a weary soul's hands that matters so much. It's the love we place in a heart that changes the world. We offer a little bit of who we are and what we can do.  Out of our little, God creates much.

I didn't get a chance to bake a pie for Jesus when He was weary and worn, but I made a lopsided one for Lynette and God blessed it.

During my last conversation with her she squeezed my hand and whispered weakly, "You keep on making pie. Doesn't matter how it turns out. Matters that you made it."

One of Lynette's favorite verses was Psalm 121:1

I will lift up my eyes to the hills from whence cometh my help. My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. 

To make a pie alongside God is to have the greatest of all Makers helping me.

Sleeping with the Enemy

"I'm starting to believe God doesn't care about me. I pray and pray, beg and beg and my prayers just aren't getting through, Why would he keep saying 'no' over and over to me when I'm so miserable?" a friend asked me.

"You aren't miserable all the time," I said gently. "Sometimes you're enjoying your life.  This new guy friend, for example."

"True. He's so mature and caring. I really do like him. But I mean the big things in my life. Any attention from God would be better than this...nothing."

I paused to talk silently with the God who is there, but sometimes turns away from his children.

"Just say it," she urged, shaking her head. "You obviously know something I don't."

"You're sleeping with the enemy," I answered. "Everywhere you go, the Holy Spirit goes with you. Every minute you spend sleeping with a man who is not your husband, the Holy Spirit, Jesus, is with you in that bed. Perhaps He isn't enjoying it as much as you are."

"Gross! Don't say that!" she argued, covering her face, but I continued.

"Take My yoke upon you. That's what Jesus offered. Come to Me if you are weary and I will give you rest. My burden is light. I am gentle, humble of heart. It's truth, but it doesn't mean His love is blind."

"My burden isn't so light these days," she said. "But I really like this guy. I don't want to give him up. Besides, maybe he'll become a Christian and maybe the future will work out okay."

"You are choosing an unequal yoke with an unbeliever, a yoke of slavery to the evil one, even though Jesus set you free. Could it be that God has grown weary of sleeping with the enemy? He is faithful even when you are faithless, but you can't blame Him for turning His face away, for not wanting to watch.

It's tempting to play around with the enemy, my darling. I play around with the enemy, too. I sometimes eat foods that are bad for me, hurting my body and making me miserable. Picnicking with the enemy.

I play with the enemy, nursing my grudges and disappointments even though it hardens my heart. Chatting with the enemy.

The evil one offers a yoke of slavery. You can weigh yourself down with more than one yoke at a time, tied to Jesus with one arm and hooked up to the evil one at the same time."

Know the truth. It will set you free. The rich young ruler turned away from Jesus because of his riches, that one thing that he would not give up. It may be fun to sleep with the enemy. It may even be a delicious escape from temporary troubles.

Do not be deceived. God is not mocked. Whatever you sow, that you will also reap. You cannot serve both God and the evil one. Do not be unequally yoked.

Prisoners of War

"I only have 2 more weeks to go," Jill told me. "Prison has been the best thing that ever happened to me, but I can't wait to go home."

We pray to be spared hardships and trouble. We want abundance and freedom, not brokenness and prison.

I have an imaginary prison cell in my mind. Jesus paid my ransom and opened wide the steel door. I am free to leave my prison cell.

I can remember what it was like to be in bondage to the evil one, to believe his lies and accusations. My chains are gone and I am free, but it doesn't mean I'll never face pain and brokenness again. My freedom does not spare me from hardship or being taken captive by the evil one.

Job didn't sit in a prison of grief and loss because he was sinful or because God was harsh.

Prisoners of war suffer even though they are trained, courageous soldiers.

"I just want to go home," Jill continued. "I'm so tired of living with joy in the storm, being free inside these prison walls."

In a prison, locked into the ugliness, the weakness, pain and brokenness can be overwhelming. Held captive, the taunts and accusations of the evil one shatter hope and manipulate thoughts.

We all find ourselves beaten down, in prisons of our own. Maybe you are in a prison of financial hardships or terminal illness. Perhaps you're locked in a difficult marriage or have a life that is harsh and unfair.

Some prisons we enter because of a bad choice and some are prisons we enter through no fault of our own.

Prison is a dark, ugly place to be, regardless of the reason you're there. Even freed from guilt, living each day with joy, the dark night of the soul is exhausting. It takes everything you've got to endure. You just want to go home.

But being in prison is the best thing that ever happens to us. It is in our brokenness that we are healed, in our weakness that God becomes strong. No one is as grateful for water as he who is thirsty.

Jesus came to set the captive free.

It's not true that time heals all wounds, but it is true that there is a God who sees and is able to bring you out of your prison. He knows and meets you where you are in your brokenness. It doesn't matter to him how you got there, only that you need to be rescued.

All About with Blaine

"It would be a good idea for us to write a song together," I suggested to my five year old student as we finished up his piano lesson books for the day. "What could you write about?"

Blaine puckered his lips and frowned as he considered my suggestion. "Well, I think I could write a song about black and white because I'm all about black and white."

"That's a really creative and fun idea! Tell me about black and white."

"Penguins are black and white...and a panda. Oh! And piano keys are black and white!"

"Let's do this," he said, beginning to put his song into words and music. "All about black and white."

What are you all about?

When Jesus was twelve his parents, Mary and Joseph, discovered he had gone missing from the group of people traveling together. They back tracked until they found young Jesus in the temple talking to the elders and teachers.

When asked what he was doing, he replied, "Did you not know, I must be about my father's business?"

The phrase literally means, "Did you not know I must be all about my father?"

What are you all about? When people spend time with you, do they find that you are all about your job? Your worries and complaints? Maybe you're all about knitting, reading or football.

When people describe you, what would they say you're all about?

Blaine sighed with contentment as he played his finished composition. "It's wonderful. Can I play it at the recital? Nobody has ever heard it before. They don't know that I'm all about black and white yet. I'm the only one who is going to tell them."

You are unique and there will never be another life just like yours. The lifesong you choose is your legacy. Are you all about the Father?

Hailey, Chris and the Penny

During church Sunday morning Hailey learned to count to five with her grandma. She held hands with her daddy, memorizing his smile and each of his fingers. She sang like her mom who was on stage helping to lead our worship songs.

With a pile of pennies tucked into her chubby little fist, Hailey patiently waited to give them to God. As she was dropping them in the offering plate one at a time, a single penny went wayward across her chair, rolling to the floor and out of reach.

Chris, an elder who was passing the offering plate, loves Hailey. He has been watching her grow and praying for her heart to be tender toward God since she was born. Hailey is growing up in the church.


My husband and I spend our Monday nights in a state women's prison loving people to Jesus. Frequently we ask the group of women if they went to Sunday School, Vacation Bible School or church camp. I get a rush of joy every time I see all the hands going up.

"My grandma took me to church every Sunday. We always sat on the second row. I still know those songs."

"We had a neighbor that took us to Vacation Bible School. It was the only time all summer I would get cookies and Kool-aid. I loved the crafts we made."

"I never went to church on Sundays, but I always went to church camp with my best friend. Every year."


Chris got on his knees and chased the penny under the chair. He picked it up and gave it to Hailey so that she could put it into the offering plate. Hailey beamed up at him with delight and pride in getting to be a part of the worship of giving.

Chris won't remember that he did that for Hailey. Hailey won't remember giving God that penny. None of us will remember that particular Sunday.

But such moments have eternal value, even though forgotten.

Hailey has been loved in our church. She has not only love, but faith tucked into her jacket as she journeys into life. Her heart is tender toward God, ready for him to mold someday when hope is illusive and peace gets shattered.

Look around you for the little ones. Who might like a ride to church this Sunday if only you would ask?

The Work at Hand

Michael looked up at me with widening blue eyes as I continued to tumble wooden blocks from the crate to the floor. To a three year old, it must have seemed like an endless supply.

"Oh, wow!" he breathed, tossing his red curls as he shook his head. With a soft groan of confusion, even dismay, he sat down beside the blocks, took a big breath and slowly released it, simply sitting there looking at the mountain of blocks.

As he acquainted himself with the various shapes and sizes, he began to sort piles of blue squares, red rectangles and yellow triangles. Every few minutes he would bring me tall cylinders, dowel rods and half circles.

He began to build with sure fingers and focused brow. This boy had a definite plan in mind and was working diligently to bring his vision to reality. When his project would crash, Michael would focus on the problem and rebuild.

Sometimes life can look like a mountain with it's seemingly endless supply of challenges and hard knocks.

I'm glad for my paycheck, but I don't know if I can keep working at this pace. I'm grateful for my children, but I don't know how to get through the clutter in my kitchen. The wow moments are often groan moments.

"Michael," I said, drawing away his focus. "What do you want me to do with the blocks you brought to me?"

He grinned. "You can have them. I don't know what to do with those. They're too big."

Michael evaluated what he had, considered what he knew how to do. The blocks he wasn't ready for or didn't know how to use were placed out of sight, out of mind. Through failures and successes, he intentionally continued to build and rebuild, to learn from the problems and make changes.

What do you want to create in your life? A healthier body? A happier work place? An uncluttered home?

We need a definite plan, a vision for building our best life. We need to focus and work diligently until our project is done. The overwhelm and chaos leave our minds when we focus on the work at hand.

Michael stood up, placed his hands on his hips and viewed the finished project. My smile drew him to me and he sat silently, peacefully in my lap. I rocked the chair back and forth as we viewed his completed project.

"Well," Michael said, "I did it. I created the best castle ever in this whole city."

"Well done, my good and faithful servant, you have been approved to receive the keys to the city," I told him. "Diligent work shall be rewarded. I decree cookies and milk with the king. What say you?"

Schemes or Dreams

"Is it okay to live together before we get married? You know, just for awhile to see if we're compatible and to share expenses."

"Why is it good for some to marry and not others? I don't want to land in a divorce with a broken heart. The odds are stacked against me."

"I'm scared to get married. Especially to the wrong guy. How can I ever find someone to trust?"

As dating online, gender confusion, active sexuality and divorce statistics rise, questions and fears are increasing in every age group from preteens to senior citizens.

A thousand years from now what legacy will you leave behind to the generations that follow? Will peace rule your heart if you seek after selfish gains? Are you serious about dying to self and living God's best dream for your life?

Set your mind on things above, not on earthly things. Run this life race keeping in step with the Spirit, training for the calling God has given you. Then look beside you to see who is running alongside, encouraging you, challenging you, prodding you toward faithfulness in finishing your race.

The only reason to marry or to stay single is because you are able to more efficiently and passionately take heed of your calling from God, to complete it.

So what is it you are called to do? What is the legacy you want to leave? Stop scheming to achieve self focused goals. You can begin today to achieve the adventure, freedom and God-focused calling given uniquely to you!

My Grandma and the President

My friend recently returned home from a foreign country. While at her local market she was reminded that American workers have a cheerful welcome, a kind greeting and helpful smiles. It's not like that where she lived across the ocean.

Yesterday during an hour of errands, I was asked for help from people who spoke with accents from four different countries. They were hard to understand because they were new in America.

They asked me for help and it was an honor. They trusted that I would be helpful, patient and aware so they were comfortable approaching me. It's what we do in America. We help one another, even strangers.

I like living in a country where people say, "Happy ThanksGiving!" and "Happy Turkey Day!"

I like it that people can go to work and earn an income or go shopping with family on the holiday. I like it when people stay home to watch football and eat pizza together instead of shopping.

And I like it that families can choose to neither shop or watch football, instead boycotting those choices they disapprove.

I like living in a country where people say "God bless you, ma'am" and "Merry Christmas!". A place where people can say "Happy Holidays" and celebrate the season even if they don't believe the Messiah has come.

I like living in a country where I can eat watermelon in July, caramel apples in Autumn and candy canes in December.

I like living in a country where people stop at a stop sign in the middle of the night even when nobody else is watching,.

I like living in a country where people pay their taxes because they would never cheat millions of fellow citizens. I like living in a country where I can respect and trust my government, my judicial system and decide for myself if I want to vote. I can hang my flag whenever or wherever I choose.

As a child, I once repeated something unkind I had heard about the president.

My gentle Christian grandma, who did not upset easily, said with snapping angry eyes and tense voice, "He is your president and he has been elected by the people of America. Whether you agree with him or not, you do not speak disrespectfully of the President of the United States. You are an American. You will respect the office of the president even if you don't respect something a president does."

She felt so strongly because she was honored to be a citizen of the United States of America. She liked living here. So do I.

Maisy and the Ragamuffin

Luna, Maisy's doll, has bright blue eyes in a clean, polished face. She is sturdy and easy to hold, ready to travel through life with Maisy.

"Can I play with Rockitty Ann?" asks two year old Maisy.

Raggedy Ann has been with me since childhood. The decades have crippled her, left her with stains and scars. She is neither pretty to look at nor easy to hold. Printed over her heart are the words "I Love You" and to a little girl, this gives her great value.

Maisy is cautious and gentle when she plays with Raggedy Ann. A special name is given and Maisy sings over her with love and kisses the limp doll's boo-boos.

We are created by a loving, versatile God. He gives each of us a knapsack of gifts, prints "I Love You" on our hearts and sends us on our life journey.

Nobody but me can see the rough moments my ragamuffin doll has survived. I am the one who first saw her heart. I am the one who walked alongside her through the years. She was a gift in my knapsack and that gives her value.

Who are the ragamuffins in your life?

Raggedy Ann children with annoying habits. Raggedy Ann teenagers with rebellious attitudes. Raggedy Ann workers with boasts and complaints. Raggedy Ann elderly with urine smells and boring words.

You are poor if you do not spend time with ragamuffins. Find one and give her a special name. Sing over her with love and kiss away her boo-boos.

You may be the first one to read "I Love You" on her heart. God put it there for you to discover.

Seek and you will find.