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.

Enough Time

Tears of frustration pooled in Mattie's eyes. Lifting her small hands off the piano keys to cover her face, she said in a muffled voice, "I can't do it, Teacher. It's too hard."

"But you love this song and you want to learn it," I reminded her. "You will definitely be able to play this song when you are 80 years old."

She moved her hands to smile at me. "I'm only eight."

"Then we have enough time to learn it little bit by little bit, don't we?"

God says, "Be holy as I am holy" and "Forgive one another as I have forgiven you" and "Love one another as I have loved you". If we don't hear the mercy of a Savior and the patience of a Father in His voice, we can be frustrated to tears.

"I can't do it, God. It's too hard."

Nothing happens as fast as we think it will so we need not be disheartened. To God a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years is like a day. The Author of our faith sees all the way to the end result.

Mattie first learns to love the song. The rules of technique and skill are learned little bit by little bit through practice, but her motivation is loving the song.

Our motivation for spiritual growth comes with peace, hope and delight when we read the Bible to know and love the heart of God. We can trust Him because He has a plan and a vision for teaching us.

Reading the Bible as a set of rules to follow will bring heartbreak and discouragement. The skills and techniques of a mature Christian are learned through practice, little bit by little bit.

My days are numbered by Him. My times are in His hands. The Author and Finisher of my faith is not pressured for time.

Ethan's Treasure

The door opened and closed so quietly that I wasn't even certain someone had entered the house.

Eight year old Ethan sat on the couch mesmerized by something in his hand. I paused, surprised, not because he was on my couch, but because he usually comes to me in a run, with a bang and a shout.

Life is an ongoing party for Ethan and it's one of my favorite things about him, but this time he was very still. When he looked up, his eyes were full of joy and wonder.

"Oh, Nana," he tells me, opening his hand to reveal a shiny black arrowhead. "Look what Carolanne gave me!"

I am amazed by the magnitude of Carolanne's generosity, wondering if it really should be seen as a gift. Ethan immediately senses my question.

"Really. She gave it to me. She said I will keep it," he whispers. "I need to draw it."

Working methodically through the disappointment and pain of my life with rheumatoid arthritis, a new appreciation is unfolding. I find myself awestruck with wonder at this gift, this treasure, this opportunity held in my hands. God is listening to me just as I listened to Ethan.

"Oh, Father. Look what You have given me. You said I will keep it. I need to capture my gift on paper, study it from different angles, appreciate it with gratitude.

"You can have the drawing, Nana," Ethan said, hanging it on the refrigerator. "I don't need it. I have my treasure."

He tucked the arrowhead in his pocket and hugged me even tighter and faster than usual. "Bye, Nana! Thanks!" he yelled, leaving the door to bang loudly behind him.

And I have a treasure, too. I have been given an opportunity to live fully awake to God's presence in every moment, every circumstance, to discover grace even in disappointment, even in pain.

It makes my life an ongoing party. I have a treasure that makes me want to create something colorful to give away...and maybe hang on the world's refrigerator.

In the Whole World

Delicate toddler arms reach wide. Maisy's hands open and close as if to grasp the whole wonderful world in her arms.

"I love you in the WHOLE WORLD!" She laughs as she runs and jumps into my hug, giving me a tight squeeze.

Maisy lives life wide awake to the joy of being in the world.

With little girl innocence, she expects goodness and generosity, beauty and happiness. Having the freedom to simply be who she is in the moment gives her a delight in life that is fresh, enchanting and original.

She is neither too busy nor too insecure to seize new opportunities to learn and express herself. There is always enough time to offer a hug, a helping hand, a pat of encouragement.

She needs no permission to be herself. She needs no self-promoting. Nobody has to convince her she is wonderfully made. She simply shows up for life hopeful, grateful and joyful.

Why do we think we need permission or approval to simply be ourselves, alive in His grace?

I'm an original and I get one chance at life in the whole world. No one can show up to live it but me.

Let's Sing Loud!

Elyce Feliz Photo

"Let's sing loud," Katherynn, age four, whispers passionately.  "Let's sing really REALLY LOUD!"

She is learning to weed in my flower bed. Since not even the flowers are asleep, we sing so loudly that we are soon laughing and working harder.

We are still sweaty, blistered, hot and tired, but we are refreshed. Singing loudly has brought the joy necessary for motivation and strength to finish our work.

What does your life song sing? Is it a joyous melody? An encouraging song? What are you singing into a world of turmoil, grief and disappointment?

During the last three days I have heard life songs that say: "I'm so bored." "My life is falling apart."  "I hate Mondays." "The President is a Joke." "Look how gorgeous I am!"

We need to wake up! If you sing louder you will hear what your life song is saying. It helps to drown out the voices that distract, the words that discourage and the songs that speak weariness.

 "Anyone can sing when the sun is shining bright," the old hymn promises, "But you can have a song in your heart at night." 

How lovely on the mountains are the songs of those who sing good news, who announce peace and proclaim joy! Awake, my soul, and sing! For Christ has died for me!

Let's sing loud. Let's sing really REALLY LOUD!

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 Visit with Miss Kitty

A Time to Rest

As a child, I never could understand how our neighbor, retired from teaching in a one room school house, knew I was coming to visit. Miss Kitty watched for me out of longing, out of love, out of a watchful heart. At the time I only knew I would be welcomed with her toothless grin, a giant molasses cookie and a glass of milk made cold by her ice box.

"Come, child, sit a spell," Miss Kitty would greet me, wiping arthritic hands on her faded gingham apron. "My work is all but plumb done up."  She would sit down to rock in her life-scarred rocking chair while I munched cookies and rested.We talked about everything and nothing, just enjoying one another's presence.

The book of Hebrews tells us that when Jesus finished bringing salvation to the world, He sat down at the right hand of God to wait for his enemies to be His footstool. His work was plumb done up on earth and He could sit in the Father's presence now that it was finished.

Do you find yourself living for the weekends when your work is done and you're finally able to relax? Do you sometimes feel like a hamster in a cage as a young mom because when weekend arrives, there is still more work than you could possibly get done? 

Sabbath rest is a gift from God even though our work is not done. Sabbath rest is a gift the Father gives to His child because the work of Jesus is done. Jesus is alive, sitting on His throne, victorious.  He brought salvation to a dying world and now it is finished.

All week long we are generous with our time, going the extra miles of doing good to others, working heartily as unto the Lord, taking heed to fulfill our callings.  Christians are points of light in a dark place, salt that flavors the world around us, soft places for the brokenhearted to find healing.  

We are able to endure, to run our race strong, because of the rest of God. The essence of a Sabbath heart is paying attention, living wide awake to the presence of God in every moment. Jesus sits on His throne, longing for you, watching for you to arrive for a visit. Come, child, sit a spell. My work is plumb done up. 

The wealthy, the famous, the elite, the educated, the proud often miss this quiet enjoyment of the presence of God.  Their eyes grow weary from paying attention to their work and personal victories. Seekers of grace, shepherds, children, the poor, the sick, the imprisoned...the least of us...more easily accept the call to the rest of God. 

"Come to Me, all you who are weary and carry heavy burdens.  I will give you rest," Jesus offers His people. We are invited to sit a spell, to rest in His presence. It is up to us to pay attention.