Before the Close of Day

"He's having horrible nightmares," Jamie told me, concerned about her 6 year old. "We've taken away all of his dragons and soldiers, all his play guns, and all the movies that might be scary. The doctor thought it might help., but so far it hasn't. Then one night, John's daddy lay face down on the floor and prayed, sobbing like I've never heard him do before. John was wide-eyed, but hasn't had a bad dream since then."

Lorraine, an elderly friend in the nursing home, hadn't been sleeping much lately because of bad dreams. She was sure there was an unforgiven sin she had missed in her prayers. "I'm near worn out over it, but I just can't remember anything that ought to keep me from my bed. I've decided to just take that time and pray for other people and, you know, it's been a great help to me. It's relaxing."

"I'm really tired, just exhausted," a piano student explained to me. "I didn't sleep much last night and then I had an exam this morning at school. I fell asleep worried and tossed and turned all night long. I decided I would ask you to pray with me so I sleep better tonight."

"I'm not sure I've had a good night of sleep since I've been here," laughed Carol, one of the prisoners, after our weekly Bible study at the correctional center. "I sleep best when you've been here and prayed over us. You always pray for our hearts to be so close to God that even our dreams our peaceful."

Late one night when my son couldn't relax and sleep, I began to sing a simple, made up lullaby that has now soothed countless children. "Watch over my soul. It's little, You know. Oh, keep my heart tender toward Thee."

When my childhood friend, Sherry, and I had sleepovers we talked until one of us fell asleep. The other of us would be interrupted by the soft, regular breathing of our sleeping friend.

I pray myself to sleep each night. Others have questioned the wisdom of this, declaring it a disrespect for God, but I don't agree. God is never going to be the first one to go to sleep. As His child, He quiets me with His love, sings over me with joy, and I fall asleep, leaving Him to watch over me.

"Oh, what peace we often forfeit," the old hymn says, "Oh, what needless pain we bear. All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer." (What a Friend We Have in Jesus, words by Jospeh Scrivener, Music by Charles Converse, 1868)

We all suffer from fears, aches, worries, disease and brokenness. Sleepless nights and bad dreams can attack anyone. Prayer can be our familiar resting place. Prayer keeps our hearts tenderly tuned in to the Father's song, His quieting love.

To Thee before the close of day,

Creator of the world, we pray

That, with Thy wonted favor,Thou
Wouldst be our Guard and Keeper now.

From all ill dreams defend our sight,

From fears and terrors of the night;

Withhold from us our ghostly foe,

That spot of sin we may not know.

O Father, that we ask be done,

Through Jesus Christ, Thine only Son,

Who, with the Holy Ghost and Thee,

Doth live and reign eternally.

(Unknown Author, 7th Century; 

translated from Latin, John M. Neale, 1852;

Music by William B. Bradbury, 1843)

Words to Live By

Not quite 3 years outside of 60 it surprises me, this joy in getting older. I feel not so much a survivor of life as a person who is on her way.

My granny said that would happen. She was 98 at the time, with nearly a half-decade yet to walk by faith.

"Loving flowers and gardens and children does that," Granny said."Don't just watch, really see what is growing." She was giving me words to live by, watching me grow.

A picture of Granny, my great-grandmother, is etched into my heart. She is standing in her garden out on the farm, her blue bonnet blowing in the morning breeze. Leaning on a hoe, resting, I'm certain she is watching her garden grow.

Cup of coffee in hand, just before sunrise, I visit my rose bushes, columbine, irises and daisies. I walk through the garden and notice significant changes in the vegetables growing.

A rabbit has bruised a flower in full bloom. A deer has chomped a vine. Soil has grown weary and parched. Blooms appear from buds never noticed. Soft, sage green Lamb's Ear sprouts in an impossible to grow area. Cilantro has sprouted among the garden rocks.

My grandma and I left the porch swing where we had been snapping green beans, and stretched in the sunshine. As we picked favorite zinnias for a bouquet, she talked about the boldness of colors, the varied petals. Wiping dust off tiny yellow tomatoes we popped them in our mouths one after the other. She talked about life.

She was teaching me to see what was growing around me. She was giving me words to live  by, watching me grow.

"Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?" my mother would chant in our garden. We would laugh and quote nursery rhymes and poems over and over again. Often she would point to our Guernsey cattle on the hillside. "Aren't they pretty?" she would say. We would sit on the front step drinking iced tea, deciding whether we wanted a bouquet of roses or peonies on the table.

She was teaching me to see what was growing around me. She was giving me words to live by, watching me grow.

Set up signposts to mark your trip home.
Get a good map.
Study the road conditions.
The road out is the road back.
Come back, dear virgin Israel,
come back to your hometowns.
How long will you flit here and there, indecisive?
How long before you make up your fickle mind?
God will create a new thing in this land:
A transformed woman will embrace the transforming God!

A Message from Israel’s God-of-the-Angel-Armies:
'When I’ve turned everything around and brought my people back,
the old expressions will be heard on the streets:
‘God bless you!’ . . . ‘O True Home!’ . . . ‘O Holy Mountain!’
All Judah’s people, whether in town or country,
will get along just fine with each other.

I’ll refresh tired bodies;
I’ll restore tired souls.

Just then I woke up and looked around—
what a pleasant and satisfying sleep! 

The Message, Jeremiah 31:21-26

God is teaching me to see what is growing around me. He is giving me words to live by, watching me grow.

I know the sun is not really waking up, stretching itself into view as I watch the sun rise. Mrs. Lee, my third grade teacher, explained the science of rotating planets around a stationary sun. I'm just not sure I ever believed her. Nearly every morning I watch the spring sun peep over the horizon and touch each flower head bringing it to full glory.

Time is coming. Time is not going.

Follow the old ways. Look around.

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.

Look! A Hero!

"You're one of my heroes," I say, knowing Marjorie will burst into loud, infectious laughter.

She's a plain woman, stooped from nearly a century of hard work and disappointment. Though sometimes she appears at my doorstep looking a bit odd,  gray hair straggling about,  sans glasses and teeth she often misplaces, she is always a welcome sight.

"Good morning, my dear one. How are you today?" she always greets me, collapsing  into a chair, ready for her piano lesson.  She hands me her books and begins to play an old hymn. Arthritis and age have twisted and gnarled her hands, but the music comes from her heart.  Her fingers become a part of the instrument as sweet music fills my home..

"I love those old hymns. Never forget them." she laughs, after a hymn or two played by ear. "Alright, Girl! Now, teach me how to play this piano right. I've spent hours in practice. You're going to be so very proud of me."  

She studies diligently, learning  the names of the notes she has been playing by ear for well over half a century. It's her way to rest from work. For a couple of hours each afternoon she plays her assignments over and over again.

Most of her days are spent raising a grandson and caring for an elderly neighbor who is twenty years younger than Marjorie. She studies the Word of God long past midnight, preparing sermons for her church on Sunday.  Besides cleaning her house, mowing her yard and working with people who live in poverty and weariness, she visits a prison every week.

"I don't have a real big ministry," she explains. "I just go around seeking out the lost and seems like I always find some. I just encourage folks. That's all."

It is common to believe we must have an opinion on every issue and tragedy in our news focused world. People complain about the world around us, about the weather, the cost of food and gas, or how often we all complain rather than give thanks. 

When we stop wasting time wondering where the heroes have all gone, we find them. And, more importantly, we are inspired and motivated by them. 

A Litany for Children

In an old hymnal that I discovered among my Great Aunt Sis's treasures, I found a lovely gem calling me to love the children and bless them, and in so doing, to become like them.

Jesus, from thy throne on high,
Far above the bright blue sky,
Look on us with loving eye:
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

Little children need not fear,
When they know that thou art near:
Thou dost love us, Saviour dear:
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

Little hearts may love thee well,
Little lips thy love may tell,
Little hymns thy praises swell:
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

Little lives may be divine,
Little deeds of love may shine,
Little ones be wholly thine:
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

Jesus, once an infant small,
Cradled in the oxen's stall,
Though the God and Lord of all:
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

Jesus, thou dost love us still,
And it is thy holy will
That we should be safe from ill
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

Be thou with us every day,
In our work and in our play,
When we learn and when we pray:
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

Make us brave without a fear,
Make us happy, full of cheer,
Sure that thou art always near:
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

May we prize our Christian name,
May we guard it free from blame,
Fearing all that causes shame:
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

May we grow from day to day,
Glad to learn each holy way,
Ever ready to obey,
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

Jesus, Son of God most high,
Who didst in a manger lie,
Who upon the cross didst die:
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

Jesus, from thy heavenly throne,
Watching o'er each little one,
Til our life on earth is done:
Hear us, Holy Jesus.

Jesus, whom we hope to see
Calling us in heaven to be
Happy evermore with thee:
Hear us, Holy Jesus.  Amen.

~Thomas Pollock, 1871

Wake up, Mr. Harris!

Elyce Feliz, photo

"I'm glad you stopped by," the man said, attempting a welcoming smile. "I didn't want to get out of bed this morning."

Shuffling over to the stove, he put the kettle on for some tea. I moved aside old mail and papers to place a vase of fresh lilacs on his table. His skin was pale, dry and translucent. The raggedy sweatshirt emphasized his worn, stooped shoulders. 

We sat on a bench under his mulberry tree and he told me his troubles with sleeping, depression and boredom with life. The fresh air was a treat after the stale odors of the house.

I had suggested on my last visit that he go to church and out to a restaurant during the weekend. 

"I decided to have a quiet weekend," he explained.  "It was a bad decision. I got pretty down and disappointed in myself. It doesn't take a whole weekend to rest up from doing nothing. I'll go out next weekend and find something interesting to do."

"Next weekend?" I objected. "Do something today."

He chuckled reluctantly. "Like what?"

Our neighborhood was waking up around us. We were entertained by children playing at the bus stop. Birdsong filled the air in the tree above us and squirrels were scampering up and down the trees. The sun was beginning to shine and the gray clouds were rolling away.

"Wake up, Mr. Harris," I urged as he followed me back into the kitchen. "God gave you today for a reason. Don't you want to find out what it is?"

I opened his windows to let fresh spring breezes waft in while he put on his walking shoes and combed his hair.

Walking through the neighborhood, he started a grocery list. He had once enjoyed cooking and would make a favorite recipe. "Oh, and I will pick up some of that newfangled almond milk I saw advertised. Craziest thing I ever heard. Must come from nutty cows," he laughed.

His dusty bread machine came off the shelf in his garage. A list of books he might enjoy from the library was jotted down on a note pad. He debated between Oreos and Fig Newtons, then decided he would bake his own cookies."

As I was leaving, he saluted me with his bottle of water and zipped up the front steps to "shower, shave and do a bit of spiffing". 

I know 'tis but a Dream, yet feel more anguish

Than if 'twere Truth. It has often been so:

Must I die under it?  Is no one near?

Will no one hear these stifled groans and wake me?

           ~Samuel Taylor Coleridge 

The Old Rose

My Valentine's Day flowers are perky with life. Fresh stems stand tall, blossoming flowers drink in moisture and gradually bloom. Buds are gently nestled, slowly awakening to purpose. The bright colors and aroma offer a colorful welcome to passers by.

Photo by Sandra flickr.com

While arranging the flowers in a vase I discovered a small dying rose. It was wilted, broken, starting to decay. After the unexpected, unsettling find, I began to enjoy the old rose.

There is poignancy and power to beauty nearly spent. A remnant of what once was flourishing has a faded grandeur to it. The rose flowers with beauty and purpose, but it must go to seed and die to bloom again.

Life rises from death. Youth passes us by, but we are so often blind to what we are gaining. God offers beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, a mantle of praise for the spirit of heaviness.

One of my childhood friends left earth this week to live with Jesus. I have wrestled with the pain and disappointment her loss brings to the world. She shined brightly like the stars of the universe. Her faith walk made a difference in the lives around her.

We see death as an enemy, and so it is, but there is beauty in her victory. She leaves a blessing of grace as her legacy. She flourished in life, planting seeds of gentle reminders and loving people to Jesus. So also in death, she leaves seeds of gentle reminders and continues to love people to Jesus.

There is regal purpose in her victory. Beauty rises from ashes. Pain stirs memories and causes us to seek hope. Loss awakens determined endurance. Grief gives opportunity for growth and wisdom. God's comfort spurs us on to compassion.

Life rises from death. Beauty rises from ashes. Youth passes us by, but we are so often blind to what we are gaining. Open my eyes. Let faith arise.

Run a Negative Split

Photo by Sally Rae
(flickr.com)

I had kept a slow and steady pace, but was more tired than expected at the end of five miles. This was my first attempt at a negative split.  This means running the second half of the miles faster, stronger, than in the beginning.

The tendency is to go out too fast in the beginning of a race when strong and rested, then slow significantly as fatigue sets in. It takes a lot of discipline and practice to achieve a negative split. I wanted to try it this morning because the idea intrigues me, not only as a physical discipline, but as a spiritual discipline.

I have loved the hymn "Last Mile of the Way" since Carl Blacketer sang it in my home church years ago. The words challenged me even as a young child to begin looking at my life as a journey.

But I am a late bloomer, a slow-to-get-it sort of person. I have so far to go before I become the person God wants me to be! I will probably be like one of those flowers that lives a lifetime, blooms for an hour and dies. I think I might learn to be holy for about an hour when I'm 100, then God will say, "Okay, you are finally finished. C'mon in."

But, I want to live my life in a negative split. Remembering the first half of my journey tires me with lessons slowly learned, stumbling on unnecessary detours in the darkness, my lack of concern for others running the race alongside me.

I can go the last miles of life's journey racing with the energy and focus I held back. I can train harder to finish victorious and strong.  I can renew my focus on the goal and keep determination steady. And, I can race in a way that encourages and sharpens those who run, stumble or wobble alongside me.

Are you running the race to win? Do you hear the crowd of witnesses in the stands cheering us on? Faithful is He who calls you and He will bring it to pass if you do not give up.

Under Construction

Walls are crooked and need repair. Paint colors are being chosen. I am unsure, insecure, about change. Finding focus in the blur of activity drains energy. Creative ideas spin around my head.  Fears and doubts about even writing a blog are as loud as a jack hammer. Like my life, my blog is under construction.

Discipline and change for the purpose of godliness make the difference in success or failure. In the middle of the confusion and doubt, pick up the instruction manual, your Bible, and begin. Take a step toward change.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your path." -Proverbs 3:5, 6

Take God at His word and begin. Guidance comes while you're walking by faith.  A still small voice will speak to you gently in your heart. "This is the right direction" or "This is a wrong step!".  Follow through with your God-directed decision. Trust Him to keep His word.  He will work harder to finish your faith, than you will! Psalm 32 promises that He will "counsel you with His eye on you".

His word is a light for our path. Step by step He leads us through any darkness, any wilderness, any confusion, any grief, any exhaustion, any fear. He knows the way. Follow Him. Take a step. Ignite hope. Live courage.

Martin Luther King, Jr. knew about building a dream. He said, "Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase." He knew about walking faith down a dark road.  He trusted God to keep His Word so he took a step. He lived courage and ignited the hope of an entire nation.

A Christmas to Remember



Photo by SuperL
(flickr.com)

All through the years, Mary collected her memories of Jesus...and pondered them in her heart...

"I had ridden the donkey into Bethlehem," Mary recalls. "I was so tired, so thirsty. Oh, Joseph, how you struggled to settle me into that stable before the baby came. You were so gentle, so full of love." 

Joseph laughs. "I was so young, you mean. And nervous and scared."

Mary shakes her head, remembering it all. She laughs and adds, "That crazy hungry donkey braying, drowning out my cries of pain. And the star so very bright, as if it were the sun shining at midnight." 

Joseph nods, remembering with her and adds, "I was so concerned about getting the manure brushed off the manger. I couldn't lay Jesus down anywhere and I needed to help you clean yourself. And we were trying so hard to do everything just right."

Mary smiles and whispers, "The dawn of redeeming grace, the long expected Messiah."

"Immanuel," Joseph says tenderly. "God on earth in our little baby boy. And you kissed His face and counted His toes and fingers. And you sang. I remember how you sang."

"We both sang. And then you cried. Remember, Joseph? I can still see the tears streaming down your dusty cheeks." She reaches over and takes his hand. 

And he swallows the lump forming in his throat as he remembers the joy, the complete joy, of holding the Messiah, his little Jesus, in awkward, calloused hands. 

Walking with Granny

When my Great-Granny Sutton was 89 I asked her when she first realized that she was old. Her eyes crinkled a million wise wrinkles as she squinted at me, reading my innermost thoughts. With the experience that raised 8 farm children, buried most of them and survived a dozen lifetimes in one, she snorted. Then she burst into laughter.

She shook her head at me and said, "I never did. Truth is sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror and nearly scare myself to death a wonderin' why in the world is there some old woman in my bathroom! I still see a young girl when I look at myself." She took my hand. "We live forever. It takes a forever to get old. I'll get there. Then you will."

Though Granny left me a hundred memories and a thousand words when she died at 102 1/2 (a half year matters, don't you know?) it is her outlook on aging that has woven itself into the fiber of my being and continued to bounce around in my heart. 

I am me. I am gonna be me...forever. 

Put me in a group of people and I immediately start to notice all the ways I am not like them. Life can be a challenge because I am not a joiner and I am spastically self-conscious.  I ramble on much too generously yet crave the words of others to soothe and bolster me. The young girl inside me is still desperately struggling to become the best version of herself.

I hit the pause button on that thought in January to study it. By September I am beginning to understand. There just might be unseen value in something as eternal and unique as me. 

It's a forever road I'm traveling. God knit me together in my mother's womb and decades later He is still working on me. My God always finishes what He starts. I am the apple of His eye and, while some of the refining and knitting may hurt a little bit, what He creates is always good. It just takes a little time sometimes. But, He's a forever God and we aren't pressed for time.

The Bride and the Missouri Boy

After growing up in Germany, Inga met her beau, an American soldier. She describes life as "traveling the world together with love and the Air Force". He calls their life "decades of delight and duty". Now in their last years, she and her Missouri boy have "settled in to homing" in my neighborhood. She grows flowers, watches turtles on the lake and stretches her mind. She laughed, then added, "And it takes a lot of time and work keeping my Missouri boy out of trouble! He's a rascal."

Blue eyes in his tan face sparkle with zest for life as she talks. A mischievous grin is partially hidden underneath his white mustache."My bride's a wild thing," he tells me, adding to their story. "But she keeps up with me ever' where I go. She always has. I s'pect she will for the whole way."

They were laughing together over some shared secret as I watched them climb into their car and drive away.  Two hours later, I am still smiling. Without a word of advice, they reminded me of the happiness that living with someone for a lifetime can bring.

It's harder than you think it will be. Most things are harder than you expect them to be. It takes longer than you think it will to build a strong enduring friendship. Most things take longer than you expect. It costs more than you expect in time and effort as well as dollars and that also is true of most things. 

"Growing old together" is still a good way to travel through the world. Walking alongside someone, working through the hard stuff and being a witness to someone's life is still a valid, valuable choice.

"I like being with him," Inga told me simply. "He's a handful and so am I, but we've made a difference in the world. And we did life better because we had one another to hang on to through thick and through thin."

Coffee Lubricant

Whenever folks rub against each other some sort of lubricant seems to help things along, an' nothin' lubricates like a good cup of coffee.  Coffee takes the chill out of old bones, it warms the heart, an' it even loosens the tongue a mite - not too much like some other drinks I could mention.

I can't say I ever tasted coffee  that was really bad, but goodness knows there's all kinds, from the thick black quinine stuff they serve in places like New Orleans to the muddy brew that comes from the grimy pot of my bachelor friend Ivar Olson who used the same coffee grounds for a whole week.  Restaurant coffee is a good deal better now than it uster be on account of they got scientific coffee machines.

But I reckon the best coffee a man can drink is what his wife pours him at breakfast, or in the middle of the afternoon when you feel like you need a little extry something to see you thru the day.  There's a lot of talk about different brands of coffee, but my favorite is Wifebrand.  It seems to carry a little extry something to warm an' sustain you.

Paul C. Johnson (1947-1970)
"John Turnipseed's Almanac"
Prairie Farmer Magazine

May God Bless You

May God bless you today and always.

May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships so that you may live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and the exploitation of people so that you may work for justice and freedom and peace.

May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain and rejection and starvation and war so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain into joy.

And may God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you, yes you, can make a difference in this world so that you can do for Christ what others claim cannot be done.

May God bless you with a heart that breaks for the things that break his heart.

May God bless you with a divine tenderness.

May God give you an ear that hears his voice.

May God increase the anointing upon your life, for you have been filled with the same Spirit that raised Christ from the grave.

In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”

Franciscan Prayer (from the blog of Jon Weece)

Unfinished Faith

Father,

It hurts to have a prodigal child. We dream such big dreams for our children.

How, I wonder, did Monica, the mother of Augustine, feel among her friends during those years when her brilliant young son, a leader in the heretical "Manichees", lived in open defiance of You?

You have to be brave to parent a prodigal child, Father. It's a hard thing to face the eyes of other parents, good parents, who had good children while you have a wandering one. Oh, they don't mean to be smug or to judge. It's just that they don't understand.

I know.

You do know, don't You? Sometimes You are disappointed in Your children, too.

Do not grow weary in doing good for you will reap a harvest if you do not give up.

You are the God who is able to do more than a parent asks or imagines that You can do in the life of a child.

I am the God of Abram, Isaac and Jacob. I am the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End.

You are the Author and the Finisher of our faith.

Keep in step with the Spirit. Not ahead. Not behind. Walk in My ways.

Little Black Lamb

Fleeing from You
nothing he sees
of Your going before him
as he flees.

Choosing his own paths
how could he know
Your hand directs where he shall go?

Thinking himself free
-free at last-
unaware Your right hand
holds him fast.

Waiting for darkness
to hide in sight,
not knowing, with you
dark is light.

Poor prodigal!
seeking a "where" from "whence"...
how does one escape
Omnipotence?

~Ruth Bell Graham

My Mother's Daughter

My mom saw weaknesses, strengths, talents and interests in her daughters as a gift from God.

Intrigued by our differences, she was quick to say that something was a strength or weakness and to share how she was strong or weak in that way, too. She would point out excellence in one, but encourage change in another. In areas of weakness or desire to be like the world, she was very firm, very plain, in what was right or wrong. She wanted us to know the areas where Satan can catch us up, to be wise and alert.

There is a different flow of life at each stage of a daughter's life. Mom used the time she had with us to love us and listen to us. I got much more time with her alone during my younger years, but by age 12 I seldom was alone with her. My youngest sister was seldom alone with her during her younger years, but after the rest of us left home, she had some "only child" years.

You train a child as you walk along. Scheduled times are a blessing. I would have loved more regularity of those individual times, but looking from adult eyes, I'm not sure where it would have fit into daily life in an ongoing way. More frequently it was long talks here and there, little talks along the way and questions answered as they came up.

Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God, the LORD is one! You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. These words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your sons and daughters. You shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates. (from Deuteronomy 6)

Channel of Thy Peace

Lord, make me a channel of Thy peace,
That where there is hatred I may bring love;
That where there is wrong I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;
That where there is discord I may bring harmony;
That where there is error I may bring truth;
That where there is doubt I may bring faith;
That where there is despair I may bring hope;
And where there are shadows I may bring Thy light;
That where there is sadness I may bring joy;

Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than be comforted,
To understand than be understood,
To love than be loved;

For it is by giving that one receives,
It is by self-forgetting that one finds,
It is by forgiving that one is forgiven,
It is by dying that one awakens to eternal life.

~St. Francis of Assisi

Voice of One Who Wept

Missions is taking the whole gospel to the whole world by the whole church. Many of us will never reach the mission field on our feet, but we can reach them on our knees.

Today I heard the voice of one
Who wept in far-off lands
Because of sin and misery,
and begged with outstretched hands
For one small lamp to light his dark.

Now fain I would have slept,
So stopped my ears, but in my heart
That sobbing voice still wept.

And then I heard the voice of One who counted not the cost,
But left His ivory palaces to seek and save the lost.
He said, "The sound of one who weeps is coming up to Me.
Dost thou forget that last command which I gave unto thee,

"To preach My Word to all the world?"
...O bitter be our shame!
Still hopeless millions walk the earth
who never heard His name,

And still the world spends lavishly in every crowded mart,
And still the voice of Him who wept is sobbing in my heart!

~Martha Snell Nicholson

http://www.mercydrops.com/Snell.htm

Love in the Darkness

"Corrie," Father ten Boom began, "Do you know what hurts so very much? It's love. Love is the strongest force in the world, and when it is blocked that means pain.

"There are two things we can do when this happens. We can kill the love so that it stops hurting. But then of course part of us dies, too. Or, Corrie, we can ask God to open up another route for that love to travel.

"God loves Karel--even more than you do--and if you ask Him, He will give you His love for this man, a love nothing can prevent, nothing destroy. Whenever we cannot love in the old, human way, Corrie, God can give us His perfect way."

I did not know, as I listened to Father's footsteps winding back down the stairs, that he had given me more than the key to this hard moment. I did not know that he had put into my hands the secret that would open far darker rooms than this--places where there was not, on a human level, anything to love at all."

— Corrie ten Boom (The Hiding Place)