State of the Union

Katherynn, with hands on her hips, marches regally to the top of my stairs and turns to face her royal subjects, John and Ben.  "I'm the girl so I'm the queen," she explains. "And I'm the boss."

John puzzles thoughtfully over this ruling before he speaks.  "Okay. You're the queen." He moves down a few steps, then adds, "I'm not as high up as the queen, but I can tell the queen what to do."

Katherynn adjusts her invisible crown and smooths her ruffled feathers.  "Hmmm, " she considers.  "Okay.  That will work! Now, what should we tell Prince Ben to do?"

In my office some of the children are playing "Lord of the Rings".  Jesse is explaining to younger Liam, Ethan and Eli the importance of choosing a strong army and using strategy in battle. "We are going to fight hard but we aren't going to really be mean."

In my bedroom, Nathanael and Caleb are doubled over, laughing about their game, "Stratego". A secret plot has been devised to fight to the finish.  I'm not sure who won, but I'm sure that they're playing peacefully.

I smile. Partly because having a house filled with a dozen children is so much fun and partly because the grownups in my living room are discussing peace, wisdom and being brave...and concerns over parenting.

"The children are doing okay, don't you think, Father?" I pray silently. "Make them peacemakers who are wise and strong and brave."

As I wind my way downstairs through the land of five year olds, I hear Ben announce, "I am Prince Ben and I am in charge."

Katherynn and John agree that this is a sensible solution and John tells me, "Katherynn and me are the bosses but Ben is in charge of everything."

The State of the Union is in pretty good shape.

The wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy. The fruit of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace."   ~James 3:17

Where the Heart Howls

"I don't think I love God," Ally confessed softly, drawing me aside in the prison chapel.  "He has forgiven me, but now what? I'm such a mess. My heart is black inside."

Regrets linger to taunt us. Heart howls still echo in the forgiven chambers. Forgiveness does not erase memory. It gives it value, but it does not erase it.

Be honest. Sort through heart rubble with an eye for lessons to learn, restitution to be made, sins to tackle with elbow grease.  When you seek Him you will find Him. When you draw near to Him, He draws near to you.

Be brave. You may have to endure consequences. You may need new activities and habits. Our hearts are daunting, scary places. Ask someone who is familiar with God's Word to help you clear through your wilderness. 

Be gentle.  It takes a lifetime to gain a strong, healthy, godly heart.  God is not in a hurry.  He meets you where you are in this moment.  He has a plan for your welfare and not your calamity. He knows the plans He has for you to give you a future and a hope.  Baby steps matter. Learn to love Him one day at a time, one lesson at a time. 

Be still.  In the habit of stillness, in the quiet place, continue to pour out your thoughts and hurts to Him. It is God who removes the rubble as far as the east is from the west.  It is God who inwardly renews and refreshes your heart day by day. He is the Father who sings over you. Let Him quiet your heart howls with His love.  

What Did You Say?

You're living your dream. Maybe you're working to make a new dream come true. You might be cleaning up a broken dream.  Then your words get in the way.

"I hate Mondays."  "I hate this cold weather."  "People are so stupid." "My house is such a disaster." "My boss is a jerk." "Never gonna happen." "My children fight constantly."

In grade school my friend Micky did not like Sloppy Joe sandwiches. I could count on dramatic whining from her every Friday. Decades later that's the only solid memory of her that remains. I no longer remember her face, but I remember her words, "I absolutely hate Sloppy Joes. I hate them."  She liked every ingredient in that sandwich.  She simply chose to be negative.

God is the giver of every good and perfect gift.  He offers a clear vision for His people.  He has a plan for our welfare and not our calamity, plans to give us a future and a hope.

Examine your words. You're building a dream and what you speak over your life, your home, your boss, your children, will become reality. Choosing to be negative will make the burdens heavier.  Praise will lighten your load.

Living an excellent life requires speaking intentionally. Let your speech be seasoned with salt and full of grace. We set the tone of our day by our words.  We write our lifesong by our words, our thoughts, our choices.

What if every irritant, every hardship, every change were considered a gift? What if we faced each day with courage, diligence and faith? Nothing is wasted if it contributes to the person you are becoming.

Hide and Seek

"Hi, Nana," a little voice whispers from the back of my closet.

"Hey, buddy. How's Nana's boy?"

"I hiding," Ben answers.

"We've been looking for you," I say, picking up the three year old. "Why are you hiding?"

"So I know where I am," he tells me.

Is there a woman alive who hasn't wanted to hide away in the closet just to know where she is?

"And early in the morning, Jesus went away to a quiet place..." Did He, too, need to escape tiresome crowds and bickering voices? Was He overwhelmed by the endless demands of His disciples?

Instead of declaring quiet time impossible, women get creative. Bible Words get posted in the car, on the mirrors, over the sinks. Children get rocked to sleep listening to sermons and the Bible read aloud.  Overwhelmed women read the Word at each meal or recite scripture aloud to encourage and calm through a crisis. They sing songs that keep their minds stayed on the Father's love and care.

Oh, what a wise and compassionate Father He is! He calls moments of prayer and reading His Words our daily bread. Time alone with Him to know where you are, to remember you are grasped tightly in the palm of His hand where no one can snatch you away.

Uncle Paul's Barn

Beyond the Sunset

Uncle Paul's barn was a big place. When a farmer has a trail of little girls and a dog running alongside to help him, he needs a big place.

I thought I knew a lot about farming back then. I knew how to milk a cow by hand or by machine. How to turn milk into butter. How to bathe a cow. And I knew how to coax Princess out of the barn when we all became too much help at sunset. There are a lot of rules on a farm and life taught most of them.

Decades later, I stood in the old barn with my cousin, both of us grandmothers now.  In our memories the farm is forever alive. Freshly mowed clover hay filling the senses. Wet tongue tickles as newborn calf sucks little girl fingers. Rich, dark soil sliding over palms and under finger nails.

"It used to be bigger, didn't it?"

Did Laura say it first? Did I? We shared the thought, the moment, the memories. We had grown, changed, lived ourselves out of the farm and into the city.

I love getting older and seeing my life unfold. We are here on earth for such a short moment. But someday, beyond the sunset, I will view my life more clearly. I will smile and remember when I thought I knew so much, understood the rules of life here.

"It used to be bigger, didn't it?"

I don't know if Laura will say it first or if I will, but we will both know it. We will have lived ourselves out of the world and into The City.

Live Courage

Andrea timidly raises a small hand to share her darkness. Soft blond curls frame her stark blue eyes. Her voice is soft, feminine, tired.

 "I did so many drugs.  I was afraid of everything. I thought every car coming down the street was going to run me over. There were always hidden things in the dark. I would sit curled up on the blankets, so afraid that there was someone under my bed."

A life not yet 20. A blur of no hope. An abyss of fear.

I touch her and she stiffens, sighs, tries to form a weak smile. Her eyes apologize for lack of trust, cautious hesitation. My heart breaks for this woman-child who is so terrified of life, of people, yet so eager to learn how to live courage.

"I'm proud of you for coming," I whisper to her in the prison chapel. "Coming was difficult for you. It's easier to give up, to hide under the covers."

She nods. Like the other prisoners, she knows about hard things, about giving up. "God took away a lot of the fear," she tells me. "I know He's there."

"The fear of the Lord leads to life, so that one may sleep satisfied, untouched by evil."  It is truth from Proverbs 19:23 that she is learning.  It is truth she has needed to know for a long time.

A long line of others wait to talk to me. I want to hold my breath, to hold on to this moment. To say something just for her, something to provide courage for the week, for the lifetime.

Another woman-child takes my hand. I know Janie. Have loved her in these prison walls. Monday after Monday, I walk alongside on hard days. Her husband has married another and taken her children far away. Janie is broken, facing serious surgery alone. Her mother is dying of the same cancer that is killing her young son. Tears trail down her face. She squeezes my hand, soaks up strength from my faith to keep walking strong.

Janie smiles at Andrea. Understands howling heart pain. Chokes back self tears to live courage, to be Jesus in a dark place. "Can I walk with you?" she asks the newcomer.  "We're all so glad you came. My name is Janie. You're not alone."

When God Says No

Little fingers pull at my bracelet, trying to remove it from my arm.  "No, Maisy," I say, "Not right now."

Maisy, who frequently plays with my bracelets, tries again. "No," I repeat gently, "No, please."

Maisy places her right fist in the palm of her left hand and lifts it to sign "help". When I repeat my answer the third time, she signs "help" more urgently. This is repeated again and again before her interest moves from the bracelet.

Sometimes we think it works the same way with God.  If I ask often enough, urgently enough, He will grant my request. Maybe if I use the right words.  Maybe if I have enough people agreeing with me.  Maybe if I ask louder or with more tears.

I seldom tell Maisy "no".  I love her. I enjoy blessing her and meeting her needs. Sometimes, as on this day, the timing is simply wrong. Because I know what is best for her, my love determines my answer.

I place my hands over Maisy's fingers to stop her from signing "help" again. "I know you want me to help you, "I explain. "I understand. And I am saying no."

God sees my helplessness and frustration, my disappointment.  He says no from a heart of love, eyes full of compassion. It's not that He doesn't listen, not that He doesn't care. He understands there is a greater good, a greater blessing, a protecting action. His love determines His answer.