The Right Side of the Bed

Steve’s ankle hurts. Therefore, at some serious urging from me, he is taking the day off from his planned fishing trip and he lies on the couch, foot elevated, watching TV and occasionally whining a bit.

I was unpacking groceries in the kitchen and doing a little Christmas decorating. And I heard a man on Law and Order (a man who was probably a suspect in his wife’s murder) say, “You don’t know how much I love her. She was the reason I got up every morning.”

And I began to think, why do we get up in the morning anyway? I mean aside from the obvious pecan pie on Thanksgiving and excitement of Christmas morning. On an ordinary day, why do we get out of bed? Suspend the whole, “Because, you nut, I have a job that I have to go to” argument. You see, that is no longer a consideration for Steve and for me. Therefore, I can address these thought-provoking, gut level questions.

If you did not have to get up to be at work, consider Saturdays and Sundays and lay aside the “because I have to go to the store to get milk” reasons, what makes your day? I guess I’m asking at the very basic level, what makes you tick?

Why do Steve and I get out of bed, when we finally don’t really have to? Is golf really the reason he gets up every morning? Settle down, sweetie, I’m just joking. But it’s one of those questions that’s not as easy to answer as you would think.

So I started the thought process. Because I live in this beautiful place. Because I love my husband. Because I want to serve my God. All perfectly lovely reasons to get out of bed every morning. When I was more militant, I would have frowned and said, “Because I’m here to glorify God and tell the world about Him!” But is that even it?

I believe, I hope, the reason I face each new day is quite simply because I love my Lord. That’s it. And the amazing thing is that’s all He requires! But the beauty of His plan is that when I go forward to meet with Him, to just love Him every day, He fills my heart and my soul with love, joy and peace. And that makes me love Steve and my family, my friends and this perfect life He’s provided for me. It makes me want to serve Him and to tell the world about Him. Simple, undemanding love. It’s the reason I get up every morning.

Lamentations 3:23-25
Because of the LORD'S great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.” The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him….

Simply Feeling Peaceful

It’s crept up on me again. That emotional, roller-coaster time of year when at one moment life is not only good, but vibrant, exciting, full of promise and – whoops, the next minute is here already and, hang on, I’m plunging down that mudbank of despair. All right, I hear you. Maybe I’m exaggerating a wee bit.

But aren’t the holidays something of a mixed blessing? I blame it all on the grocery stores. Where the Halloween candy sat yesterday, there sits on November 1 a display of canned pumpkin, cranberry sauce, mini marshmallows, nuts and spices. And my blood begins pumping. Not with thoughts of the Thanksgiving food, but everything that goes with it. The harvest decorations, (which for me are the ones I pulled out in late September and are now beginning to look a little tired – my gourds are moldy for goodness sake!), the travel plans, the step onto the holidays merry-go-round.

No, it’s not about the fixins’. It’s about the whole family event. My thoughts race forward to what this year will be like, older adults and the absence of children and grandchildren, and my emotions begin to plunge as I remember past beautiful and ideal Thanksgivings. Wait. We are a normal family – we had no perfect Thanksgivings! But jostling, crowded, table-bulging dinners with too many chairs at one table and children complaining about the lack of chocolate desserts – those we had.

Just indulge me one more quick personal note and you’ll be glad you did. Because, wow, do I have a holiday tip for you! All those lovely Thanksgiving pies and cakes? Our family eats those on Thanksgiving morning for breakfast with the Macy’s parade. C’mon you know you’re too full to really enjoy those after the big meal. And you’ll love them with a big fire in the morning. I know I’m too late this year, but you can remember it for the next.

Hop off the Thanksgiving tilt-a-whirl and get in this long line for the Christmas bone-jarring, brain-rattling roller coaster! Rinse out the last of the Tupperware that held those turkey leftovers because you’ve got only a few short weeks to sample this smorgasbord of ups and downs, this eat stress like candy, this try to catch the spirit of, this why do I hate this holiday I love thrill ride.

We go through it every year, don’t we? It looks like we’d learn. I think it’s because the season, the day, is so important we just want to get it right. We do want to pay tribute to the Savior whose birth we celebrate. But we also want to love our families and honor our friendships and show our appreciation to those we love. We just feel this deep sense of obligation while the child in us screams “Why can’t it be like it used to be! What about my fun?”

All that to say I have no answers for you. But I can reach out my hand and offer you the promise of peace – sweet, quiet, personal peace – in the midst of all the bell-ringing, cash register craziness. And that is no small gift. Don’t misunderstand. It’s not mine to offer. I’m just the messenger.

But imagine this – a small oasis, a sweet smile and an understanding heart that is eager to join yours when the lines get too long or the noise gets too jarring. Jesus is standing right next to you and He understands it all because He’s felt it all – the press of the crowds, the demanding voices, the rejection of family, the failure to please when you’ve offered the perfect gift. He feels your pain and He’s holding out His hand to relieve you of the burden.

Just take a deep breath and go there with Him to that place of quiet rest in the middle of the mall. Personal peace. You’ll still ride the emotional roller coaster. But you’ll ride it with a smile.

Isaiah 26:3; John 14:27
You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

A Porch Is Still a Porch

I wouldn’t even say anything. But it’s about the porch. And I feel like I owe it to you to report. The screens are down. New and improved? I hope so. We have waffled on this decision for some time. We didn’t want to give up the sounds of nature for comfort.

We’re told we will be able to use the porch year-round now, whereas the heat and the sun used to drive us in for about 8 hours a day, 5 months out of the year.

We haven’t spent an entire winter here yet. I’d love to be able to inform you that the snow and the cold drive us in as well. I’m praying for snow but the rest of the community, I believe, is praying the opposite. Time will tell. Regardless, the porch will be both cooled and heated.

I’ve had at least one friend here who groaned when I told her, “Will it still be Penny’s porch?” Oh yeah. Because as far as I’m concerned, a porch is all about attitude. The rockers will be there. And you’ll never hear me call it a sun room, Carolina room, spare room.

However, there will be glass, floor to ceiling. Big windows that I can open and still hear the rain, the wind and the birds. And that’s what it’s all about. We talked to several people and found the most open plan we could find.

So please continue to visit. Coffee maker still works and I have a rocker reserved for you. Y’all come!

God of Wonder

I was listening to the radio Saturday night while driving home and the lyrics caught my attention. “Your baby blues, so full of wonder….” (Plumb) which led, thought-progression-wise, to the upcoming Christmas season and that Gloria Estefan song about seeing Christmas through the eyes of a child.

And I felt a little wistful and nostalgic. Because the holidays were always such an exciting and fun time for me as a child. But I’m not taking you there. We’re going someplace else.

I know God’s desire for me is a childlike faith – complete trust, open-hearted love and a life lived with abandon for Him. I’ve also learned that He often answers my prayers in a positive way when the end result will be my deeper relationship with Him and a life lived to His glory.

So I prayed. I asked God to restore to me a sense of wonder. Not in a Disney, computer-animated, wow me kind of way. I want to see God’s creation, His awesomeness through the eyes of a child again.

In her book, “Awakening Your Sense of Wonder”, Janet Chester Bly says that “Wonder is the ability to be amazed or offer sincere respect or count some things as sacred. We grow in wonder when we…allow the attitude of awe and appreciation to rule, rather than skepticism and resentment. Wonder is a moment of enlightenment, a ‘graced moment’ when the humdrum tingles with excitement, when we’re faced with a scene straight out of heaven’s drama or tranquility.”

I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of skepticism, cynicism and pessimism. I need the mind of a child! I want to be wowed all right, but by the small things that I would normally consider mundane. Listen to what Janet Bly goes on to say: “We’re so immersed in the gifts of the ordinary that we can’t see them. The rich jewels of our daily inheritance awaken in us no more wonder than the gold-and-antique-encrusted rooms of a fifty-room palace dazzle a spoiled prince. Appreciation and longing and gratefulness remain unborn until we lack something that we’ve taken for granted.”

So I prayed. I want to notice them now. I want to praise God for His good and perfect gifts this minute. I want to be aware of the world around me and be awed by it.

The next morning, I stood on my driveway waiting for a ride to church. My attention was drawn to a snail making its way across the cement. Its head was fully extended and I could see the shell rolling slightly from side to side as it lumbered forward. I was mesmerized. And my mind began to think of all those creatures that God has given homes and protection on their backs. And how different each one is. I was stopped dead in my thoughts and AWED by the fact that God is indeed awakening a sense of wonder in me again. All I had to do was ask!

Mark 10:14-16
When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” And he took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them.

For Zelma T

“Your sweet little old gray-haired mother.” That’s how she always signed her cards and letters to me. She could well have said “Your sassy, feisty, outspoken, witty little old gray-haired mother.” She died at 83 on October 31, 2003, Halloween. Even in that she got the last laugh. I can just hear her, “Try to forget me now!”

This woman who so influenced my life bore the name of Christian with tenacity, pride and boldness. In her last three years, she became more frail and less able to get out and spend time with people. She had to use a portable oxygen supply. She was greatest grieved by the fact that she could no longer witness. She said she told God He would just have to bring them to her door – and He did! An electrical installer, a county worker – no one would be leaving without hearing the Good News of Jesus Christ. Turns out, in both of those cases, God had brought them to her door for that specific purpose. She left instructions that the occasion of her memorial service be used to give the plan of salvation one more time – her “last chance.”

At 69, she took a home mission assignment to go to the inner city in Buffalo, New York. Loaded up her car, didn’t know a soul, didn’t have a place to live, just trusted God. She served there for six months and rejoiced in it for the rest of her life.

Mother went to early Sunday School. After it was over, she’d run outside and stand in the handicapped parking spot to save it for her sister, who didn’t need it. Supposedly my mom did because she rode home with her and had the oxygen. Frankly I can’t see it. She could almost outrun me.

One day I called her and she sounded very tired. I hung up and worried a bit. So I called her back and asked about it. This is what she said. “A person can’t sound tired? Don’t you worry about me. I still have a lot to do. I still have my list of old ladies I visit." She was 81.

She had a mild heart attack. When the ambulance got to her house, there she sat on her front porch swing with her purse in her lap waiting for them. I went home to Arkansas and sat with her in the hospital and helped her check out and get all her medications. Then we went to Cracker Barrel with my aunt and cousins for dinner.

She was completely comfortable talking about her death. She used to say, “To tell you the truth, I’m a little excited about it.” Do you know what that excitement was? That was the joy of her salvation. When she died, we had a brief graveside service that was a true celebration of thanksgiving for having had her zesty sense of humor and her in-your-face honesty.

The warm November day was full of sunshine and the wind that she loved so tugged at the few remaining leaves on the trees around us. Stories that she wouldn’t allow to be told while she was still with us were shared of her giving to others. My husband and children were with me and we had the closeness that only those intense occasions in life bring. Friends I hadn’t seen in over thirty years were there to lend support. Funerals for successful world-centered citizens are dignified and sad; graveside services for poor God-centered “gray-haired little old ladies” are pure joy.

I realize I’m getting on in years myself. Not only do I no longer understand commercials, most times, I don’t even know what they were for! Pop culture references are lost on me. I watch American Idol and marvel that many of the songs they perform are completely new to me. My grandson had to repeat who he was going to be for Halloween three times and then I had to look him up on the internet to see who he was.

My kids say, “What’s up with her anyway? She doesn’t like to do anything anymore but listen to the birds, talk about God and read the Bible. What’s wrong?” Nothing’s wrong. I'm filled with peace and "I'm a happy soul." I’ve turned into Zelma T.

Be Sweet

It was the mantra of every southern mom, shouted to teenaged daughters on their way out the door. “Be sweet!” It meant so much more – “Remember who you are”, “I’m watching you”, “Don’t get in the car with someone you don’t know.”

And thus encouraged, I slammed the door and ran toward the waiting car with instructions to be the very thing I saw as the kiss of death. As adjectives went, “sweet” and “cute” lurked at the very bottom of my list of desirables. Yet those two words were the ones most often thrown at me and caught like Velcro on the sleeves of my baby blue mohair sweater.

Cute. I longed to bask in words like beautiful, desirable, sexy, foxy (it was the late sixties after all). I had no hope of achieving anything remotely like the patina of poise and polish that surrounded Cheryl Tiegs as she stared out at me from the pages of my Seventeen magazine.

But cute I could live with. Sweet was dull, boring. I had no hope of “dangerous”, no chance at “mysterious”. Why did I rebel against it so? It was the one word that my friends would have used to describe me. Yet it was a word reserved for last ditch efforts at promoting blind dates. It stank of mundane routine, no room for excitement or risk.

Risk looks a lot more promising on that side of twenty than this side of sixty. So now would “sweet” be the term that applies? I am more likely to be called headstrong, opinionated, eccentric (a personal favorite), or intense. Any of those are pleasing to me. I have become someone I rather like.

But I need sweet too. Because my faith is important to me and I want that to show. I looked it up. “Sweet” appears in the NIV twenty-five times and is used to describe water, fruit, drinks, evil, soil, fellowship, words, sleep, longing, honey, wisdom, light, a voice and a scroll. The word itself is not used to describe a righteous, faithful person.

So why have I reversed myself and taken that characteristic as a personal goal? Still a word we use to describe someone who is pleasant to be around, dear, and gracious – someone with whom I would want to spend time – it is more than that. Sweetness indicates a certain generosity of spirit, faithfulness as friend, and a compassion and concern.

Jesus said it in Matthew 19:19, “…love your neighbor as yourself.” Be sweet.

Coming Home

I have tried mentally to write this blog for three days now. I am feeling a responsibility to honor a couple who have gone through a trial with grace and an unfailing witness to the joy they have in Jesus. I am also feeling a need to give a nod to my new community and – at long last I can say it – my new home.

Bob and Sue. We had met them when we came down to visit as nonresidents. But we began to really know them after we moved here in April. Steve had golfed with Bob, who was diagnosed with cancer about three years ago and given only months to live. God had other ideas.

Sue leads the community Bible study I have become a part of. I watched her over the past several months, and then weeks, respond to the demands of illness and the loss of a life partner with courage, absolutely, but so much more than that. Her ever-present smile is genuine, yet she has been open about the ordeal – her frustrations and her failings. She has carried her burden with grace and eyes always on God, intent on giving Him glory.

Bob passed on Wednesday, October 14, 2009 and this community will miss his good humor, “sweet golf swing”, strong faith and, above all, his gentle spirit. Sue will mourn him in her time and in her way, but for now, there’s that smile, reminding us all she really believes it when someone says to her, “He’s in a better place.”

Today as I watched the Baptist church fill while waiting for the memorial service to begin, I realized how many faces I knew. And still they came, filling all the seats, the choir loft and folding chairs that were added. I saw faces I had casually met, friendly faces, open and encouraging faces. And I was struck by how many faces I saw of people I love. And I realized I saw friends, honest-to-goodness friends who would be there for me, as they were for Bob and Sue.

Wyboo is a unique community. Sheltered from the “real world” by distance from town, the location is an idyllic setting on a South Carolina lake. There is fishing and golf, as well as a short driving distance to the familiar vacation spots: Hilton Head, Charleston, Savannah, and Myrtle Beach. I should have been excited to come.

Three years ago when we decided this would be our retirement home, I was prepared to leave Virginia kicking and screaming. God knew this. He knew I needed time and He gave me two years. When He finally said, “It’s time,” He said so with circumstances that could not be any clearer.

I have struggled some, of course. I miss my family and my former church. But to be honest, it’s hard to be unhappy around these people! It is a community where folks could easily be “all about me.” I have found it to be at the other end of the spectrum entirely. These people really care about one another and about the community outside the gates. This is not lip service. There have been more instances than I can relate of honest-to-goodness sacrifice for others – the kind that requires time and getting off your bottom and working for someone.

So I sat in the little church, listening to a mournful, yet beautiful Amazing Grace from the bagpipe, and I felt closed in by community. I belong to these giving, caring people. I was surrounded by friendly faces that will go into the rest of these years with Steve and me. They will love us and support us and we will do the same for them. I am home.

Steeped in God's Goodness

I have discovered Rosamunde Pilcher. I should probably say rediscovered because “Winter Solstice” is just about my favorite novel and I’ve read it more than once. I found such pleasure in that one that I read “September” and enjoyed it enough to pick up “Coming Home”.

That one is a little daunting at almost 1,000 pages. It owes its length to character development and long descriptive passages. Not a lot of "on camera" action here but wonderful everyday life. And, though I’m not always a fan of long descriptive passages, I love hers because she describes Cornwall and Scotland and there always seems to be lots of “weather” going on. Beautiful sea vistas, craggy cliffs and lots of wind and rain.

Because Pilcher’s characters are British, tea is the answer for everything. It is a cure-all, pick-me-up, and everyday part of every life, whether working class or aristocracy. And it struck me that it’s a fitting parallel for what our time with God offers.

It is restorative. Time after time characters that are weak, upset, depressed, or tired are given cups of strong, hot tea that calms nerves, gives hope and enables them to see more clearly. “He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul….” (Psalm 23: 2, 3b)

It is always available. None of these characters’ households would ever be found lacking in tea. It is a necessary part of life. “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22, 23)

It is a scheduled part of life. These people count on and look forward to the rituals of their teatime. It is a part of life that is not neglected. “Blessed is the man who listens to me, watching daily at my doors, waiting at my doorway.” (Proverbs 8:34)

It is often extravagant and abundant. I love reading the descriptions of the little sandwiches and cakes that come with the afternoon tea serving. It is something to be looked forward to and anticipated daily. Our God is also extravagant in the ways He reveals Himself and speaks to us. “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.” (Revelation 3:20)

Jesus, Bring the Rain

Mercy Me sings the lyrics; that wonderful song reflects the beauty of living a life that has Jesus at its center, regardless of the circumstances. It also echoes conventional wisdom that rain can represent the dark times in life, e.g. save for a rainy day.

Let me just say it up front and we’ll get it out of the way. My brain is wired a little differently. I prefer eccentric; some would say weird. Bring out the cool, gray day with a steady rain and I am gleeful, bundled up and rocking on the back porch. Add in some wind or lightening for effect and I’ll positively dance – especially if the lightening gets too close.

That’s where I am this morning. The rain is falling at a steady pace, quickening just enough to give the sound some interest, sort of like waves at the ocean. The day has a cool edge so that I’m wearing snuggly, comfortable clothes and still considering putting on another layer. The wind is blowing enough to add to the sound, but not enough to drive me inside for a coat.

God is blessing me this morning. He knows how I love this. Don’t get me wrong; this is not arrogance. I’m not foolish enough to think He’s doing it just for me, but I know that He is aware that I do love it so.

Rain is important to us in South Carolina because we have been, off and on during the last couple of years, in a drought situation. Not only do our plants need it, but the lake as well. The water level has been rising and falling dramatically and this rain will help.

And as I rocked and listened, Steve walked out and said, “This is good. The plants need it and you do too, right?” And I realized that, just as this rain is providing nourishment for every living green thing, it feeds me as well. It blesses me and makes me content and thankful. God speaks to me so many times through nature and weather; this day draws me closer to Him. Jesus, bring the rain!

Psalm 147:7, 8, 11
Sing to the LORD with thanksgiving; make music to our God on the harp. He covers the sky with clouds; he supplies the earth with rain and makes grass grow on the hills…the LORD delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love.

Round Two from Adventureland

The wildlife is restless this morning. The mullet are, no doubt, having some kinds of athletic games going on – I never heard so much splashing. They make me laugh, the silliest and most fun fish of all. And Steve, so patient, stood for a really long time trying to get a picture for me. What he ended up with is the fish from a weird perspective – you can barely see him above the water. But the picture definitely tells the story: the rings left in the water are his footprints, like a big stone being skipped across.

In the middle of all the shrieking, calling and splashing, we heard a strange “thwack, thwack.” What on earth? There is an old dead tree at the edge of the lake just down from our balcony. A big black cormorant sits there for hours every morning and afternoon. His special spot.

This morning a great blue heron decided it looked appealing. After much posturing and attempted size-intimidation by the heron,

the two decided to have a go at it, beak to beak. Very noisy and exciting. We watched for a good little while, snapping pictures and praying that the camera battery would hold. Finally they managed an uneasy truce with neither of them in total relaxation mode.

Suddenly from just above our heads another heron swept down upon the tree and the two of them flew off across the lagoon. It was majestic and breath-taking. And I was struck that if we had just stopped and looked around a bit, we would have snapped an incredible picture of the heron just above us in the tree.

Meanwhile, the cormorant smoothed out his ruffled feathers, looked around to see if anyone was watching and settled in for his nap.

Have You Ever Seen a Mullet Dance?

The water reflects the Spanish moss, magnolias and palm trees and it is smooth as glass. The surface breaks and a fish comes flying straight up and completes a leap of about ten feet in length. Another one jumps a smaller height and length and immediately reenters the water to jump again and again like a stone being skipped across the surface.

South Carolina is Adventureland for those who love nature. Steve and I are in Hilton Head this week and we're sitting on the balcony of our condo. In the space of less than ten minutes, we saw mullet jumping, turtles and an eight-foot alligator cruising from one end of the lagoon to the other. He was actually moving pretty quickly, gliding on top so that we could see his eyes above the water and the full length of his body. He moved quickly enough that, as he approached the end of the pond where the golf course was, several startled golfers stood watching him with raised clubs. Honest.

We also saw a long-necked cormorant coming toward us across the water. For a crazy minute we thought he was a snake halfway out of the water with a fish in his mouth. We saw only a long, black neck with a fish. His body was completely under the water.

All of this was going on to the accompaniment of the flapping sound of mullet hitting the water. The next flapping sound was of me hitting the internet to try to find out why they jump. There was the entertaining (and wrong) answer that they see where they are going by jumping. Some said that they are plant eaters but they jump to flee predators and they have the strength to jump as many times as they need to in order to escape. There were other explanations about their being able to absorb oxygen and such, but I was getting bored and went back out to watch the show. Wondering why I haven't posted a picture? Because they're so fast, you basically have to set your camera on an area of water and wait. Frankly, I didn't want the picture that badly.

We have seen great blue herons and a rookery where over fifty white egrets come to roost every night with much squawking. The rookery is at the edge of a lagoon with, you guessed it, more mullet. So there is much flapping and squawking and jumping and splashing. Adventureland. Come on down!

Beware of Branding

I am me, no more, no less. No reason to apologize; no excuse for arrogance. Of myself, I am nobody. But I belong to the King of Kings and that changes everything.

Branding is defined as a kind, grade or make of thing. It is generally recognized by a slogan, trademark or logo.

You think you know where this one is going. Let’s go somewhere else. We could talk about Christian branding - slogans, symbols, whatever. I want to talk about who I think I am.

In the past I have been wife, mother, daughter, accountant, financial analyst, writer, speaker and leader. I still am some of those things. But this is the point: there was a time when I identified myself as each of those things. The title became who I was. My life revolved around nourishing that image and protecting that name for myself.

Several years ago I decided that I deeply desired to follow God’s will and nothing else. And He chose some things for me that took me out of the comfortable confines of my life. I was willing and so He blessed me with gifts and the Holy Spirit to help me to do everything He asked of me.

But as I so often do, I took up the title and began to believe my own press. I became what I was doing for God. And when that happened, my pride got involved. I found myself doing what I still believe He wanted me to do, but balancing that between service and pride.

I have moved on to a new place in my life, both physically and mentally. I spent wonderful getaway time with some Christian sisters this weekend and, with their support and guidance and a lot of prayer, I came to a powerful conclusion. I believe God is no longer asking me to step out of my comfort zone. I think He has given me this beautiful place to write and study and just be me.

So what is my brand for now? I am a servant. That will take the form of writer sometimes, prayer at others, encourager, studier, reader, even “be still” thinker. I will try not to assume that what I am doing is who I am. I am, pure and simple, someone who is available to serve and to do whatever it is that God is calling me to do.

I Peter 4:10
"Each one should use whatever gift he has received to help others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.”

God Knows My Name

I was driving home from a visit to Northern Virginia where I had led a workshop and attended the wedding of a dear friend. I was awash in that sense of one foot in one state and the other somewhere farther south – both places still partially home, neither completely.

Facing the possibility of a sappy and overemotional drive home, I knew I had a long way to go. While I do love a Starbucks buzz, it will take you only so far. So I had turned on the radio and was switching channels between the “Radar Love” that was urging me to drive too fast and the contemporary Christian music that I usually listen to.

I hit the preset button one more time and heard the familiar lyrics: “Who am I that the Lord of all the earth would care to know my name, would care to feel my hurt?” And I came undone.

Because I have gone, and am still continuing to go through that process that all new people go through – that uncomfortable time when everyone knows your name and you are still trying to place faces. I have a new church and a new community and I am struggling with names.

And I am nobody.

Logic tells me that I should be doing better and that the “Lord of all the earth”, the Creator of the entire universe, should not only not know my name, but that He shouldn’t care anything at all about what’s going on in my life.

Yet here I sit, in this bubble of His complete care and love. Not only does He know my name, but He knew me before He “knit me together in my mother’s womb.” He chose my parents, my place of birth, my time of birth, and – amazing love – He has created good works in advance for me to do! He cares to keep my sun and moon and earth on their daily journeys. But He also cares that my personal needs - physical, emotional and spiritual - are met. He sent His only Son to die for my sins and to ensure that I will spend eternity in His presence.

I believe I will concentrate a little harder on this process of getting to know my new neighbors and friends at church.

The Kindness of Time

Sometimes the past jumps up and bites you – it’s surprising, painful and regrettable. But sometimes it washes over you with a kindness that comes with the passing of time. It covers your vision with a nostalgic patina viewed through experience and the hard-earned wisdom, finally, of what’s really important after all.

Anyone who has had a close family member or friend die will tell you that the first few weeks of grief are raw and invasive. You feel the need to remember as a measure of respect, but the memories are just too painful. As time grinds down the tender, hard edges, the softer memories come creeping in one-by-one. And after enough time, you are left with sweetness – those few select memories that you are willing to hold close and examine.

My young friends have for some time been urging me to open a Facebook account. I refused to give in for so long. But, to steal an appropriate line from my friend Donna, resistance is futile. Part of the reason I held off for so long is that I know my personality and I knew (and I was right) that it would become a major time sponge. But the flip side is that I can be online with my friends from Northern Virginia that I so miss and I can pretend that I will once again see them in church on Sunday morning. The other great pleasure has been in rediscovering friends from my past. I made just such a connection today and I am carrying that glow of nostalgia – my past looked at through eyes that know what’s really important.

Because in truth, we simply cannot deny the importance of the details of our growing up. They are in us, deep, and we can ignore them or pretend they never happened but they have helped to shape who we became.

Take hounds for instance. I was raised with beagles, lots of them. My daddy was a hunter and he kept a pack of beagles. I didn’t see much of them because they stayed in a pen down in the back, but I did have a beagle that was my pet in the house. When she died, I got a bassett hound. Hounds were always there for me to wrap my arms around and exult with or cry to.

My fondest memory of my daddy is of one Sunday morning when he got me out of Sunday School and we sneaked back home during church. Understand, we never missed church and this added to the spirit of adventure. One of the beagles had puppies and they were being weened. He needed to feed them and we gave them several saucers of milk. They knocked them over, lapped up the milk and began to lick the extra off each other’s faces. We laughed until we cried.

I grew up and moved on to cats and cocker spaniels. Over the last few years, though, I found myself yearning for a hound. When Chloe, my coonhound, came up on the rescue website, I was lost. I fell instantly in love with her because she so reconnected me with my past.

I guess the beauty of rediscovered past for me is that I see family and friends through different eyes. We’ve all grown older, some chubbier, some thinner, some balder; but I see them through gentler eyes. I see fewer defects, idiosyncrasies and flaws because I see the good things I remember and I know the other stuff just doesn’t matter. Time mellows.

Family Unplugged

I’ve been thinking a lot about family lately. Our son, Cory, and our grandkids, Jacob and Claire, just left after a brief stay – first time at our South Carolina home. Steve and I live in a golf community on the lake and it is essentially a retirement community. The nearest small town, Manning, is about 11 miles away. You will not find a Starbucks, a movie complex, Outback Steakhouse, Borders books or Target store. Best Buy does not occupy mall space nor does Laser Quest, Chuck E Cheese nor Red Robin.

How would our technology-craving, fast-moving, entertainment-centered kids (including our grown son) take to our new and very quiet life style? I will tell you that when they got into the car and drove away, I was as exhausted as I ever am after a stay. But what a sweet kind of fatigue this was!

The twilight of the night before had found us standing on our dock, tossing food to the turtles and fishing. We listened to Canadian geese passing overhead and watched heat lightning in the clouds on the horizon, “Southern lights”. I marveled at how very much it felt like my summer vacations of the 1950’s. No technology, just nature and family.

We played board games and sat on the back porch and rocked. My grandson and I shared stories and spent long companionable silences simply rocking and basking in our shared company. My granddaughter told me about her wishes and dreams and asked me about mine. We played bingo at the community center and set off fireworks.

Steve and I had been looking for a pontoon boat for some time and it just so happened that we found the one we felt we were supposed to buy only days before our family arrived. Steve and Jacob brought it home for the first time together. A milestone frozen in time that seemed monumental – that we will remember and we hope he does too.

Late at night, when the kids were in bed, the adults sat in the dark on the porch and listened to the crickets, cicadas and discussed the dearth of fireflies compared to my childhood. We too shared our dreams, disappointments, and hopes. We communicated. Without wires and without wireless. Just quiet voices wrapped in love.

Cookies for Me

School started this week here in South Carolina. The beginning of the routine, the mad dash for school supplies, the busses running again, it always makes me remember...

First day of kindergarten. In Hawaii. My son walked away from me and onto the bus and I stood there struggling with all the emotions I was hoping I’d escaped – the sense that he was on the path to adulthood, the quiet lonely kitchen I was returning to, middle school, high school graduation, college, marriage – it all came crashing into my tear-filled eyes.

I walked home with my baby girl in the stroller and took the first of countless glances I would take at the clock that day. I paced. I told myself that I needed the extra time to spend with only my daughter. Then the answer occurred to me! He loved chocolate chip cookies. I would pull a batch out of the oven just in time for his bus. We could come home and talk about his day over cookies and cold milk! And, true enough, our time together that day was sweet.

The next year as he was entering first grade, we were a world away from that beautiful place. Steve was in the Army and we found ourselves on the east coast in New Jersey. I felt a small twinge of worry as I dropped him off at school – new school, new state, new friends. How would he adjust? However, my mind quickly eased because I already had my bag of chocolate chips in the pantry.

As each school year approached, my emotions changed. I was again torn when my daughter started kindergarten. But as my kids got older, I didn’t mind those first days of school. Can we be honest here? I’ll confess I began to look forward to those days and the peace and quiet in my house before the after-school piano lessons started.

And there were always the cookies. Every year. My own gift to my kids. My way of welcoming them home from their first day of school.

As they began to get older, I noticed that sometimes they would grab a handful and head out the kitchen door. Gone were the days of family circles around the table with cookies and milk and talk about teachers and new friends. Soon they forgot to thank me for the cookies. Then one day, they were out with friends after that first day of school and the cookies sat untouched until after dinner.

Here’s the funny thing – this story is not nearly as depressing as it sounds. We still shared our lives but in different ways. I realized during those last few years that the cookies were for me – my way of marking time, of setting tradition, of providing a stabilizing influence. Who knew the tradition, the encouragement was for me?

How many times do we take issues, worries about someone to God? We try to “fix them”. We pray for them – surely if I pray enough, he’ll change, she’s got to know she’s wrong in this. And we go to God’s Word to prove our point, to be able to show that we are right. And the more we read, the more God says, “Are you listening? This is about you and I’ve been teaching you.”

So now my kids are grown and gone. But do you know what’s amazing? I never approach the Tuesday after Labor Day without a moment of wistful remembering. And I’ve been known to bake a cookie or two.

Full Circle with a Samaritan

I could have fallen in love with Steve’s dark eyes and hair. Or his big burgundy Mercury Marquis with the 8-track player. He was the only boy I had ever known that wore jeans and a corduroy blazer to class…in the 70’s – just wasn’t done but it was very sexy. I was attracted to all those things about him.

But the deal clincher happened the night of our first date. We were going out for a coke and a movie. We drove to the Tastee Freeze and sat for a bit and then started the short drive back to the little town movie theater to see Funny Girl. Along the way we passed a man with car trouble on the side of the road by Henderson College. Henderson was across the street from Ouachita where we both attended classes.

We pulled into a parking place downtown and walked to the theater. When we were almost at the ticket booth, he turned to me and said, “It may make us late, but would you mind too much if we drove back to help that man out with his car?” I told him that would be fine and we drove back. Thirty-nine years have passed and I can’t remember whether we were in fact late or even whether the man was still there and we helped him. But Steve’s concern so struck me that I called my mom that night and told her I had met the man I was going to marry.

Tonight we drove the golf cart to the community center to attend a benefit dinner. The skies were darkening the way they do so many early evenings here, but we didn’t care. We just figured we’d stay through the storm that would no doubt blow through quickly. Or we’d try to outrun it. Or, what fun, just drive home in it.

Sure enough the storm hit hard and fast as we were finishing our peach cobbler. We sat and visited for a bit; then Steve got antsy to get home and I was ready to sit on the back porch for the duration.

We went out to the front porch and I started laughing. Usually when we go to some affair or other at the center, there are at least 30 or so golf carts lined up in a row and a few cars scattered around. Tonight every parking space was filled with a car and there sat our soggy little cart alone on the grass – a testament to our being community newcomers.

The rain was pouring, the lightning was flashing, the seats were wet and the water was already standing in several-inch-deep puddles. Steve told me to stay put and he bolted across the sloppy lawn to get the cart for me. They are wonderfully adaptable little machines and he made a big circle around the lot and across the grass and pulled up onto the front porch to get me. There were several amused looks as Steve and I flew off into the rain, wet and laughing.

However we only got as far as the end of the community center street when he stopped and turned to me and said, “There’s a man back there whose wife is disabled and I think he’s struggling in this rain. Would you mind if we went back and gave him a hand?” I said of course not and we went back and Steve used the cart to transport her to the front porch. And I held back nostalgic tears of pride and gratitude that God had given me this good Samaritan of a man whose heart is so very tender.

Certainly we have had years of anger and frustration. There have been years when we have been strangers to one another. But we have endured. And tonight I felt like we came full circle at this most happy time of our lives together. I praise God for giving me this good and perfect gift of a man who cares about people.

Shiny, New and Ready to Fill

A gleaming new refrigerator sits in my kitchen ready to serve. The inside is sparkling clean and ready to fill with good things. The luminous silver of the outside attracts the eye. Can you see that I’m excited about my new kitchen appliance? That’s because it was a long road getting into its proper place…

We found the side-by-side at the local appliance store. Because we live in a small town, we like to support the local businesses whenever we can and, being last year’s model, this refrigerator was priced right! And it had all the bells and whistles we were looking for.

So this morning, with the kitchen sink and a cooler full of cold and frozen food, we waited for the men to come and slide the new model into the space. They arrived. We were all in a great mood. Until we heard those words you never want to hear from a doctor or an appliance delivery man… “Uhoh. We have a problem.”

Turns out the new monster (my attitude about the refrigerator was beginning to change) was about an inch too large for the space. First and easiest adjustment – remove the quarter-round at the bottom of the wall. Done. Still too big. Next and most useless exercise, we all took turns measuring the refrigerator and the hole, over and over, as if we could change the dimensions if we just kept measuring.

Finally the man said, “As I see it, you have two options: call someone in to shave an inch off your countertop or get a smaller refrigerator.” Perhaps I should mention at this point that I was sitting at the kitchen counter praying intently – not that the size of the refrigerator would change but that I would have a sweet pliable nature. It’s not as if I had one of those to begin with but could I please just have one this morning?

I wasn’t ready yet to admit the defeat of returning to find another refrigerator. Yet contractors are hard to come by in Manning, SC, especially on a Saturday morning. So I looked at the delivery guy who had impressed me as really capable. “Okay, here’s the deal…we’re going to be replacing these countertops in a year or so. Any chance you could shave off the inch?”

Have I remarked about what a champ the guy was? He discovered that there was an inch facing under the edge of the counter on the refrigerator side. He popped it off and cut the top and, finally! slid the new side-by-side into place.

So here she sits. And I have to think about my daily process of coming before God – old, useless, messy. And I confess my sins and I think I’m ready to be filled. But sometimes the space and I are at odds. A quarter-round of attitude still needs to be taken care of. An inch of rebelliousness needs to be shaved off. He shows me what I need to deal with and then He presents me to the world – new, shiny, ready to be filled with His good things – love, joy and peace.

Jeremiah 33:8; Romans 15:13; Job 8:21; Psalm 119:171
I will cleanse them from all the sin they have committed against me and will forgive all their sins of rebellion against me…May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit…He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy…May my lips overflow with praise, for you teach me your decrees.

Well-watered

For some of us, the sound satisfies. The undulating roar of the waves as they break and finish their foamy roll. The gurgle of a brook on a mountain hiking path. Even the man-made ripple of a fountain in the yard.

We visited Estes Park, Colorado. The overwhelming grandeur of the Rockies, the magnificence and humor of elk roaming the streets and hanging out on porches, the blinding sun off the snow-capped peaks all took our breath away. But the impression that stays with me most was the smallest and least imposing detail of our visit. A tiny brook bubbled its way from the mountains and the park, down through the streets of the little town and on into the canyons that lead away from that village-bowl that is set in the mountains. I sat on a bench next to the murmuring brook and just listened, lost in the wonder that God would use such a tiny feature to speak to me.

The sight draws some of us to return to a place again and again. Broad ocean vistas where the horizon melts away and the sky and sea blend into one. A mountain lake with an exact duplicate reflection on glass-smooth water, a blinding slab of silver when the sun hits it just so. Waterfalls so far away that they look like fluttering white ribbons as they crash onto the rocks and rivers below. The water always pulls us back.

I spent long summer hours in front of my grandmother’s old black and white television set watching classic movies, a great many of them westerns. While I lived for the cattle stampedes – exciting stuff – the picture that stays with me still is of the cowboy lost in the desert, on his knees clawing in the sand, frantic for water.

A healthy intake of water daily consists of 64 ounces. We are made up of anywhere between 55 and 75 percent water. We need it for properly lubricated internal organs and joints, beautiful skin, healthy eyes, efficient metabolism, movement of oxygen to cells, and regulation of body temperature. Plus when we’re really, really thirsty, it’s just what satisfies best.

A search in Scripture for the word “water” yields 436 results in the NIV. God gave us a desire for it because it is so necessary for life, both current physical and eternal. Jesus said, “but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:14) Once we accept this life-saving and continually life-giving gift, we are no longer crawling in the desert. It continues to bubble up into our daily lives, available for us to drink of the love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control that it offers. (Galatians 5:22, 23a)

Come and listen to the inviting sound of a bubbling spring. And drink freely!

Ps 63:1; John 7:38
O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.”

Life in the Wild

Life pounds with excitement here at the ranch. I receive some tough family news on Wednesday. So I'm already fragile and teary. And Chloe is driving me crazy, will not shut up and will not leave the wall unit, where the books are, alone. Finally I’ve had it. Refuse to cry anymore – might as well play some Nintendo. I go over to the corner and reach down to pick up my Nintendo by the wall unit. I catch a flash of something long and slithery. I'm thinking RATS, it’s a snake. So I jump up and see this lizard about 8 inches long just as he darts back behind the wall unit.

Steve gets home from golf and I’m crying again and blubbering something about lizards. He calms me down and we call the exterminator who says there’s nothing we can do but get a broom and chase him out. Or we could go to Walmart and get some of those glue trays and trap him. So we go to Walmart.

When we get back, there he stands by the back door. I get rid of the dogs and Steve sneaks around and opens the back door via the porch. Then he comes in with a broom and says “I’m going to scare him outside.” I’m saying “NO! What if he just runs across the room and then he’s got access to the bedroom!” I park myself on a stool to watch him and Steve says, “Okay then. I’m going to the pool.” (I KNOW, right?)

He goes to the pool and for the next 2 hours the dogs and I chase the lizard all over the house. By this time I’m feeling sorry for the little guy because Chloe is...well...big! And I’m not about to glue his little feet to a trap. So Steve comes home and, you guessed it, I’m sobbing again – this time because I’m feelin’ it for the lizard. He’s trapped in the dining room and he’s too tired to even get up on the bookcase. Long story short (I know, too late) we get some big empty plastic boxes and eventually corral him and put the top on and I release him into the wild. At the time, I never thought I’d laugh about it. But I have to say, now I wish I had a video.

Then today Chloe just snaps right out of her collar chasing a rabbit. Steve’s yelling out the back, “Chloe’s loose! I’ll get the golf cart!” Understand, when she got loose in Woodbridge, I was desperate. But here? It’s more funny than anything. Steve goes charging across lawns in the golf cart yelling, “Chloe! Get in the house!” And he’s literally herding her with the golf cart from side to side. She can outrun Steve but she knows she can't outrun the cart. I’m standing in the yard thinking, I should be concerned about this but I can’t concentrate for the theme from Rawhide that’s playing in my brain. Yeehaw!

Real Heat

No devotional today. And no, this is not my opinion on gun control. These July days remind me of my growing up years in Arkansas. Hot, wet, pray-for-rain-to-cool-things-off days. As a quick aside, I have to be honest and give my Arkansas cousins their due. They're enduring heat right now that puts ours in South Carolina in the shade. (I know. It's my mother in me. ) I'm talking about heat that rises on squiggly lines off the road in front of you, leaving a water oasis that disappears as you near.

I remember sleeping on an old iron bed in the front room at my grandma's house when I was growing up. Big attic fan roaring. A slight breeze from the open window would blow the curtains inward. Life was safer then and we had nothing to fear.

Here in South Carolina, our blinds stay closed on days like this, leaving a dark house that reminds me of the big old southern houses in the movies that were always dark in the heat of the day. Old bloodhounds or coonhounds passed out from the heat on the front porch. Tall glasses filled with ice and something exotic to drink topped with a mint leaf or two.

Late afternoon the clouds seem thicker and we go out into the yard and stare up. Are they getting darker or is that just wishful thinking? Sometimes the storms start with no warning, simply huge raindrops that appear. Usually though, it's the wind that we hear first. I run for my rocker on the back porch and settle in - excitement comes easily in South Carolina.

Our porch is screened across the back and the left sides which leaves easy access for the wind to moan through. The wind chimes hide in the corner; so even a hard wind brings only a low tone or two. A post shows me how quickly the clouds are racing. I watch the darkest part of the sky for the lightening.

Flashes satisfy me but I get up and pace for streaks. My mother willed me an interesting attitude about lightening. She loved the stuff. Before I was born, my dad would take her to our little hometown airport that had a hill and they would sit and watch lightening storms. On the other hand she raised me with respect and fear - the whole package - stay away from the windows, don't use the phone, don't take a shower. Basically what she left me was a desire to experience something that I awe and respect. (Yes, I'm resisting the urge to turn this into a devotional after all. But isn't that the way faith is?)

So I pace and rock and watch the show for as long as I can stand it, until the fear kicks in and I race for the inside. By this point the rain is usually coming in sheets and the porch is half-wet anyway.

Once the storm blows over, we head out in the golf cart to enjoy the cleanness of it all, until the heat and humidity take over and start the whole process again. I love South Carolina.

Nose to the Ground

Walking our treeing walker coonhound, Chloe, exercises our persistence and patience. We must keep her head up and looking forward. Only then will she move at a reasonable pace. If we allow her to put nose to the ground, our forward progress stops. We can spend several minutes in one spot while she sniffs love letters from other dogs, promises from rabbits and messages left from who knows how many wild things that may have crossed the path over the previous hours.

Scenthounds are gorgeous creatures because of those beautiful sad eyes and the large droopy ears and jowls. Those of you who love hounds know what I’m talking about. Those of you scratching your heads, or shaking them in disagreement just need to trust me. A sweeter class of dog simply doesn’t exist. True, they are woefully stubborn, but their loyalty and personality make up for it.

Specializing in following a smell, the hound has droopy ears and extra folds of skin that help collect scent from the air and keep it near the dog's face and nose. Most of these breeds have deep, booming voices and they are entertaining to hear…for a while. They do not have to be as fast as sighthounds but they must be able to stick with a scent and follow it wherever it leads.

While my ears are normal size, I do tend to resemble my coonhound in seeking the way God intends for me to go. I proceed nose to the ground, searching, searching. I’m moving slowly forward – reading and highlighting my Bible, going to Bible study, going to church – always busy. I fret because I’m concerned that I’m on the wrong path, that I may miss what He has for me to do, just like Chloe who has been known to miss spotting a rabbit because she is obsessing over a patch of weeds.

I’m studying “Discerning the Voice of God” by Priscilla Shirer. Listen to what she says:

“We look around every corner to discover God’s will. We often carry a load of responsibility because we wonder if our decisions are in God’s will. Desiring and doing His will is not our responsibility to discover; it’s His responsibility to reveal…No longer do I frantically search for God’s will; I frantically search for God. I trust that it is His responsibility to show me what He wants me to do and how to do it by speaking through the Holy Spirit and the Word of God.”[1]

Often believers who are experiencing what I am going through refer to “being in the desert.” I was active, productive and involved in Northern Virginia. I find myself now in a holding pattern. It is ludicrous for me to call my situation a desert one. God chose what is surely one of the most beautiful places on the East Coast to relocate me. And my spiritual life, my relationship with God, feels anything but dry. My time with Him is full, lush and well-watered.

My sense of direction is simply confused. But I have learned to take my nose off the ground and look up. I believe God is telling me to just dwell in Him these days. And so many times in my life, He has given me a time of rest to prepare for what is coming. Because when He gets busy, I have to run, head up. No time to stop and sniff!

Philippians 3:13b, 14
But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.




[1] Priscilla Shirer, Discerning the Voice of God (Lifeway Press, 2006) 41-42

Southern Turtles

I’ve come full circle in so many ways since moving back to the South. Take turtles, for instance. I grew up in Arkansas where turtles always ambled across the streets and highways. I had forgotten them until I took a trip home to visit my relatives. I was following Steve’s folks home from dinner when I lagged behind because I stopped to pick up a turtle and move him across the street.

You don’t see many turtles in northern Virginia. They’re either very smart or very dead. One look at a road there will tell them it isn’t safe. The dangers are obvious and many. The swamps and woods offer the best protection.

In South Carolina turtles generally approach the edge of the road and see a clear way, though I’m fairly sure they don’t check both directions. They step out, slowly…always…and begin the long journey to the other side.

Dangers approach without warning on rural Carolina roads. Cars that are coming are coming fast. And yet the turtle has rarely calculated his odds before stepping out. Either I help him across, the next driver swerves or the turtle is airborne. (I prefer not to address the other scenario.)

We often sidestep sin rather easily by avoiding the road with the vehicles flying by. The signs flash a warning. To go that way is obviously dangerous; it’s easy to bypass. It’s when the highway seems most clear, when we are drifting along without any concern or thought of wrong – considering ourselves relatively flawless and feeling smug about the fact – that we are most likely to get hit.

It’s when I’m feeling pious and holy that I’m most likely to lash out in impatience or say something snippy. When my guard is down, my pride is usually up. Doors to gossip, judging, and hypocrisy slide open. And wham! My mouth gets me in trouble. Oops, did I say that out loud? I look at someone in the store and form a wayward opinion. I treat someone in a shabby way. Bottom line…I find that I’m not at all that person I thought I was. My mom was right when she told me to look both ways.

Romans 7:15, 17-20, 24; 8:1-2
I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do…As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it…What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death.

One Nation Under God

I have felt it all week. This tug. This “you should write something patriotic for the fourth”. I am patriotic. I stand, hand over heart, when the flag passes and we sing the national anthem. I pray for our country and our troops. I feel it more this time of year though. This week I do a lot of praying for our country, usually in some meeting or other when I'm called on to pray.

The rest of the year, it’s business as usual. I get riled up when I receive another email with yet one more instance of God’s being removed from our lives. We’ve all seen them. A phrase left off this memorial; words cut out or taken down in that court building. I feel strongly for ten minutes or so and then righteous anger gives way to helplessness – no way I can make a difference. So I pick up my swiffer, my Nintendo or head for Walmart.

This country was founded on a belief in religious freedom. It was also founded on a belief in God. He can be seen in so many places in our nation’s capital. For now, at least. We as a country live with His blessing and by His grace. We usually quote 2 Chronicles 7:14, “if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.”

We need to remember that it’s all His anyway. He’s entrusted it to us, blessed us with this place of our birth. This needs to be my “if only we could keep Christmas every day of the year”. I will continue to pray, next week, and the week after. To pray for an entire country seems futile. But I believe God listens.

Psalm 95:1-7
Come, let us sing for joy to the Lord; let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation. Let us come before him with thanksgiving and extol him with music and song. For the Lord is the great God, the great King above all gods. In his hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to him. The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land. Come, let us bow down in worship, let us kneel before the Lord our Maker; for he is our God and we are the people of his pasture, the flock under his care.

The Music of Sound

Is silence golden? You bet. It can be, anyway. When I need to get quiet in my spirit, I need quiet in my ears. When I want to feel the full brunt of anger or self-pity, I'm better off in silence. If there is no noise, no music to encourage my downward spiral, God will quickly draw me out and up.

Most of the time, music has filled my life. From "Glow Little Glow-Worm" and "Mr. Sandman" when I was a small child to Elvis, the Beatles, Otis Redding and Carla Thomas, Led Zeppelin, Jefferson Airplane, on and on. Rock fueled my teen-aged rebellion. It was an embarrassingly mild one - music's being the only form it took. I didn't even have a driver's license! But while my peers were driving fast, testing alcohol, breaking curfew, I turned up the volume behind my bedroom door.

With the piano lessons came a love of classical music and an appreciation for the precision and analytical mind of J.S. Bach. His was truly inspired creation. 60's soul warred with the Beatles for my time. As a young adult, I moved to CSN&Y, Fleetwood Mac, Cat Stevens. Disco came and eventually gave way to another rebellion at forty. I discovered Pink Floyd, the Cure, and Van Halen. Over the years my kids introduced me to Pearl Jam, Squirrel Nut Zippers, Jane's Addiction and Fiona Apple.

And through it all, every October through December Christmas rang throughout the house. Traditional, pop, country - it didn't matter. For me the message was the same.

Then I lost my Mom. Sounds strange that it should so affect my life, but I became someone else. The music stopped. But the faith set in.

On a trip South with my friend, Michelle, I tentatively pulled out my Cure and Pure Funk CDs. Out came her collection of contemporary Christian and I was hooked. It dominates my listening time now.

But in the morning and at sunset, when I rock on the porch, it's the sounds that make my music. Away from the white noise of suburban life and sirens and trash trucks, it starts as silence. My ears begin to notice new music - the short chirp of a cardinal, the whistling, whirring noise of the wings of startled mourning doves as they take flight, the plaintive honks of geese overhead. A wind bringing rain sounds wild; the breeze after the storm signals peace. I've heard the roar of an alligator and the springing sound of tree toads - like children jumping on old mattresses. South Carolina music.

Clear a Path to the Mug

Can I just switch sides? I'm a night person. My Steve is a "get-up-early-get-the-day-moving" kind of guy. He hops out of bed at 6:30 with bright eyes and a grin for the dogs. I slog out as late as I can get away with and feel my way into the kitchen for a mug.

Coffee opens my eyes but only barely. We troop with the dogs out to the back porch to enjoy the shade before the South Carolina sun begins to climb. Steve is eager to talk about our day; I prefer to wrap my hands around my cup and ruminate on my coffee. After 39 years, he has learned to let me ease my way into the day.

How do I collect this garbage in my brain that makes my morning outlook so sour? For my writing I'm supposed to, first thing, get up and write three pages of "brain dump", stream-of-consciousness onto paper. This usually ends up being mostly about my dreams which are consistently vivid and usually weird. I do gripe a bit and I write a lot about my to do list. I pray some and I worry some.

The best way for me to start my day is with a cup of coffee, my Bible and my back porch. I slip out and find God waiting for me, just us with a breeze and no sounds but birds. (South Carolina birds seem to like to sleep a little later so I can still enjoy them by the time I'm settled in the rocker.)

So how to start the day for a night person who's a morning grump? When I can remember to greet God first and give Him my day, my spirit is eased a bit. I'm still slow but I'm on the best side.

Psalm 118:24, Romans 12:1b
This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. ...Offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God - this is your spiritual act of worship.

Narrowing My Focus

When my kids were young and watching TV, they lost themselves in what they were watching - tunnel vision. If I needed to get their attention, I would call them by name and say, "Look at me in my eyes." Otherwise, my chances were slim of their hearing more than every fourth word or so.

Lately I've been bothered by the opposite condition. We retired and moved to South Carolina the first of April 2009. We have since traveled, been to the pool, ridden in the golf cart, lazed, eaten fried food, ridden bikes and walked the dogs. I have studied my Bible. I have prayed and I have attended church.

What I have not done is write my family and friends back home. I have not started a new writing project. What I have not done is successfully focus my attention on what God has planned for me next.

I believe He means for me to rest for a while. But over the last few weeks, I have become increasingly aware of the responsibility of this time, in huge chunks, that has been made available to me. I know God has plans for me, works that He has prepared for me to carry out. But I also realize that accomplishing all the things I am carrying in my mind is impossible for me, for now at least. How can I complete a project when I continue to look in so many directions?

Don't you just love it when God taps you on the shoulder and says, "here's your answer!" I am taking a Bible study with a group of new friends, "Discerning the Voice of God" by Priscilla Shirer. I was sitting in our discussion group on Friday and God whispered to my spirit, "Get your pen and write down everything that you know is in my will for you to be doing right now. Then make another column and write down what I want you to do later."

I wrote the lists and there was my answer! He's given me more than enough to do for right now. My time, His will for me, is full. So I have shelved the other projects and I once again have tunnel vision for those things that I am supposed to be doing today. As I thanked Him for clarifying my purpose, He added, "But you didn't list the blog. It's time to do the blog."

So here we are! I hope you will join me as I begin this new phase of my life. I miss you all in northern Virginia and you will be hearing from me soon. (That was on the list!)

Romans 12:2.
Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is —his good, pleasing and perfect will.