My mother-in-law, who loves growing her flowers, once asked me what flowers I was growing in my yard. It was hard not to laugh. Gardening has never been my thing.
As a matter of fact, most of my memories of gardening include me trying to find a way to not have to wade through the grass and plants. I do, however, have one delicious memory of my dad growing peanuts when I was about six or seven when I hid at the end of the row to eat those lovely little raw peanuts.
Then two years ago, my husband decided it would be a great idea for us to start a garden. We started small -- pots and a small plot in our backyard. Then our neighbors told us we could use part of their yard to have a larger garden. I managed to avoid the action last year, but this year even I was roped into our family garden.
Now I see that there are some real benefits to gardening. We not only have been able to grow lots of yummy, nutritious, basically free vegetables, but also we have been able to share the wealth with our neighbors around us. Additionally, our kids are learning to develop a work ethic, it's a great science experiment on the life cycle of plants, we get to be outdoors, and we are working together as a family.
Thus, several weeks ago, I found myself in the garden weeding -- NOT my favorite part. (My favorite part is eating the cherry tomatoes right off the plant -- maybe I haven't grown up all that much). In school, I've taught my kids about the way that some species manage to survive in nature. One of those ways is mimicry. And as I was in the garden one morning I noticed how similar some of the weeds were to the plants that we were actually trying to grow. As I studied the leaves to make sure that I wasn't ripping up our precious pea plants, my mind, as usual, began to wander and a very poignant realization came to me.
Our lives are much like the plants growing in a garden. We choose many people and things in which to invest ourselves. Some of these are quality people and important activities that make us grow. Some of these are people and activities that stump our growth and hold us back from our full potential. In order to reach our full potential, we need to remove the weeds from our lives.
Some weeds are easy to spot. The friends that are always negative and bring you down -- weed. Activities that take time away from family or church -- weed. Gossip -- weed. Materialism -- weed. Idleness -- weed.
Some weeds are not so easy to see such as friends that seem to be on the same page as us, but are quietly manipulating us to do things that aren't right or are sucking away energy that we should be investing somewhere else.
Even worse are the weeds in life that mimic goodness. My little ones often pick "flowers" from the yard to bring in for me. The flowers are just weeds that have popped up, but the kids only see their beauty. Some of the activities in which we invest our time look like pretty flowers but may not be anything more than a distraction from our personal growth. You may teach Sunday School every week, but if you aren't stopping to allow God to work in your life or living your life in such a way that people see godliness in you, that teaching is a weed in your life.
If we don't remove the weeds from the garden, they will continue to grow and flourish. They will choke out the good plants and make the rows so overgrown that we cannot get down them. Likewise, when we do not stop the weeds in our life, we get choked out and cannot reach the potential that we are created to have.
Lately, I've been taking stock of some of the things and people in my life. Unfortunately, there are some of both that I have had to move away from being involved with in my everyday life. And this weeding is not always easy. It's hard when there is someone or something in your life that you're used to having around but that you have to move away from for your own benefit.. It's difficult to realize that your help to someone may really just be a crutch for someone else to lean on and that you may actually be working as an enabler, not a helper. It's difficult when activities that you enjoy doing are no longer the activities that are beneficial to you.
I challenge you to stop and think about the things in your life. Are there weeds that are stunting your growth?
"Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers. But his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers." Psalms 1: 1 - 3
Friday, July 26, 2013
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Weathering the Storm
A couple of weeks ago, my family, sans my husband this year, traveled to Missouri for our annual church-building mission trip. I thought myself to be very fortunate because I was the lucky one -- out of the 120 crew members on the trip, my three little kids and I got to skip the agony of sleeping on leaky air mattresses and got to stay in a small camper that one of the local church members had lent out for our use.
And it was good. All the ladies complained of freezing at night -- I controlled my own air. I got to sleep on a real mattress. I did have to traipse inside to take a shower since there was no hot water, but that was no biggie.
Then the last night of the trip came, and with it, a mighty thunderstorm. The gusty wind woke me up about one in the morning, and I lay in the bed watching the lightning flash outside the windows. I listened to the thunder. I felt the wind pushing the trailer's side. I kept hearing this slicing whistle of a wind that really freaked me out --- I later realized it was a train that had stopped on the track just across the street. My three little ones snoozed as I rocked in the wind.
And then, as my mama's mind often does, I started to plot out what to do if things got really bad. I started walking myself through "my plan" of how to get the kids out of the trailer and into the main building. This was a feat that would have forced me to leave little ones alone and get drenched in the process. I couldn't really come up with a great plan and wasn't so sure that I even needed to get us out. I finally decided that since I had to be up at 4:30 to prepare breakfast for everyone, I really needed to just get some sleep.
So I prayed. I told God that I just needed him to give me peace and rest. And he did. The next thing I knew, my alarm was beeping for me to get up, and things were clear outside.
I was never in the danger that I felt I was in. But my control freak tendencies took over, and I started to obsess about the "what if's" like I often do in life. In the dark of the night, when I felt that I didn't have much control at all, it was easy to let go and let God take the reins.
I have two favorite Bible verses:
Jeremiah 29:11 > "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
and
Philippians 4:13 > "I can do everything through Him who give me strength."
These are my life rafts. When life veers out of control, and I can't see the upside, I cling to these words to remember that God is with me. Just as He was in that tiny camper. But not only is He with me, He was there before I ever get myself into sticky messes, and if I allow His plan to come to fruition (rather than trying to change it myself), He will walk me through it on a path that will make me a stronger person.
But what about when the storms of life become more figurative?
What about when there is conflict that I just don't know how to solve?
What about when I can't quiet my mind to stop and listen to what God is trying to tell me to do?
The winds of these storms are blowing in me now. There are some things that I have been praying fervently for all summer, but now that I see how God's will is panning out, I don't know if I'm strong enough to accept His will.
I've been here before... I prayed and prayed for something, those prayers were answered, and the path that the answers came on were slippery at best. I remember kneeling on my son's floor and crying out, "Really God? THIS is how you answered me?"
So there's this knot in my chest. This "something" that won't release me. I have spent hours on the phone or huddled in the hallway at church with several of my dear friends trying to find the light at the end of the foggy tunnel. And I'm split. I know what I think I should do, but it's becoming pretty clear to me, that what I think I should do may not be what God is telling me to do. And for me, this is where the thunder and lightning strike up. I very well believe that God may be about to make me walk on a slick, messy, muddy path that is going to make me quite uncomfortable.
And I wonder.... will I weather this storm?
And it was good. All the ladies complained of freezing at night -- I controlled my own air. I got to sleep on a real mattress. I did have to traipse inside to take a shower since there was no hot water, but that was no biggie.
Then the last night of the trip came, and with it, a mighty thunderstorm. The gusty wind woke me up about one in the morning, and I lay in the bed watching the lightning flash outside the windows. I listened to the thunder. I felt the wind pushing the trailer's side. I kept hearing this slicing whistle of a wind that really freaked me out --- I later realized it was a train that had stopped on the track just across the street. My three little ones snoozed as I rocked in the wind.
And then, as my mama's mind often does, I started to plot out what to do if things got really bad. I started walking myself through "my plan" of how to get the kids out of the trailer and into the main building. This was a feat that would have forced me to leave little ones alone and get drenched in the process. I couldn't really come up with a great plan and wasn't so sure that I even needed to get us out. I finally decided that since I had to be up at 4:30 to prepare breakfast for everyone, I really needed to just get some sleep.
So I prayed. I told God that I just needed him to give me peace and rest. And he did. The next thing I knew, my alarm was beeping for me to get up, and things were clear outside.
I was never in the danger that I felt I was in. But my control freak tendencies took over, and I started to obsess about the "what if's" like I often do in life. In the dark of the night, when I felt that I didn't have much control at all, it was easy to let go and let God take the reins.
I have two favorite Bible verses:
Jeremiah 29:11 > "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
and
Philippians 4:13 > "I can do everything through Him who give me strength."
These are my life rafts. When life veers out of control, and I can't see the upside, I cling to these words to remember that God is with me. Just as He was in that tiny camper. But not only is He with me, He was there before I ever get myself into sticky messes, and if I allow His plan to come to fruition (rather than trying to change it myself), He will walk me through it on a path that will make me a stronger person.
But what about when the storms of life become more figurative?
What about when there is conflict that I just don't know how to solve?
What about when I can't quiet my mind to stop and listen to what God is trying to tell me to do?
The winds of these storms are blowing in me now. There are some things that I have been praying fervently for all summer, but now that I see how God's will is panning out, I don't know if I'm strong enough to accept His will.
I've been here before... I prayed and prayed for something, those prayers were answered, and the path that the answers came on were slippery at best. I remember kneeling on my son's floor and crying out, "Really God? THIS is how you answered me?"
So there's this knot in my chest. This "something" that won't release me. I have spent hours on the phone or huddled in the hallway at church with several of my dear friends trying to find the light at the end of the foggy tunnel. And I'm split. I know what I think I should do, but it's becoming pretty clear to me, that what I think I should do may not be what God is telling me to do. And for me, this is where the thunder and lightning strike up. I very well believe that God may be about to make me walk on a slick, messy, muddy path that is going to make me quite uncomfortable.
And I wonder.... will I weather this storm?
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Healing Prayers & Salvation
About eight years ago, I went to my obstetrician for a routine ultrasound. It turned out to be anything but ordinary. The technician found calcifications under the baby's diaphragm and near her bladder. I then went on to see a specialist and found myself in a room with a genetic counselor telling me that my baby might have toxioplasmosis, or she might have "meslisfdjalsjidsafj" (Yeah, I never did learn what that one was.), or she might have Down's Syndrome. The general consensus became that was going to have Down's.
I refused to have an amniocentesis. At the time, the miscarriage risk was 1 in 100, and I was just coming off of two miscarriages. I was not risking another one. The specialist made the mistake of telling me that if I did not have the amnio, I would not be able to terminate as I was already at 20 weeks. I went off on a tirade and will not disgrace myself by repeating the things that I said since they were, er, a little less than nice. The gist of it was, God gave me this baby and only God would take her away from me.
So I set out of that doctor's appointment determined to learn what I could about Down's and how to care for a child with Down's to help her live as fulfilling a life as possible. I always thought that I could not have a special needs child -- I didn't think I had the patience; I didn't have the strength. I had even convinced myself that I had lost my two other babies because there was something wrong with them, and God knew I couldn't handle it. But immediately, this attitude changed. I was determined that I would find the patience and strength to raise this baby as well.
During my first two pregnancies, I would talk to the babies all of the time. Jayla would flip when she head me talk -- even when I was reading aloud to my classes which made my students watch my stomach more than they listened to me. This time, though, I could not talk to the baby. Every time I would try to tell her about the things we were going to do or about her big brother and sister, I would find myself praying over her. I had an hour commute to work, so for two hours a day I would pray over the baby -- every day. I did get some strange looks from other drivers because I was "talking to myself" but that was irrelevant. I pleaded with God that He would heal my baby, or if that was not His will, that He would give me the strength, knowledge, and patience to be the best mother to her that I could be. My main prayer was that I did not want her to suffer physically, emotionally, mentally, or socially. I knew the cruel world she was being born into, and even in utero, I desperately wanted to protect her.
Close to the end of my pregnancy, my doctor told me that it looked as if everything was going to be okay. And on August 11, 2005, Emma Grace was born... perfect. When our pediatrician came in and told me all of her Apgar scores and details, I timidly asked, "What about Down's?". Dr. Klein looked at me startled and said, "There's no sign of Down's. Why would you ask that?"
I believe with all my heart that God healed my baby. I saw the ultrasound. I saw the marks that weren't supposed to be there. I also saw the changes in her ultrasound as we progressed in the pregnancy. And I certainly saw her perfect little baby girl body when she was born.
I promised God that I would to my best to honor Him and His healing blessings by raising my little girl with the superior goal of introducing her to His kingdom. I even gave her the middle name Grace because it is by His grace that we have her. I dedicated her at our church and I set out on a path to introduce to her God and His mighty powers.
This past Sunday, Emma told me that she thought she was ready to ask Jesus into her heart. We went into her room and sat on her bed and I walked through the plan of salvation with her again. Then she prayed and asked Jesus to forgive her of her sins, to be her Savior, and to give her eternal life. I then prayed over my little girl and tearfully thanked God that He had called her to Him.
Next week, Emma will be baptized in the same church that I was baptized in when I was 7. Thirty years after my salvation was made public, Emma's will be as well.
Yet, i'm not done. Actually, I'm just starting over again because I am now tasked with teaching this sweet one how to follow Jesus and live a life for Him in a world that is NOT about Jesus or His kingdom. Thank goodness God is always by my side.
I refused to have an amniocentesis. At the time, the miscarriage risk was 1 in 100, and I was just coming off of two miscarriages. I was not risking another one. The specialist made the mistake of telling me that if I did not have the amnio, I would not be able to terminate as I was already at 20 weeks. I went off on a tirade and will not disgrace myself by repeating the things that I said since they were, er, a little less than nice. The gist of it was, God gave me this baby and only God would take her away from me.
So I set out of that doctor's appointment determined to learn what I could about Down's and how to care for a child with Down's to help her live as fulfilling a life as possible. I always thought that I could not have a special needs child -- I didn't think I had the patience; I didn't have the strength. I had even convinced myself that I had lost my two other babies because there was something wrong with them, and God knew I couldn't handle it. But immediately, this attitude changed. I was determined that I would find the patience and strength to raise this baby as well.
During my first two pregnancies, I would talk to the babies all of the time. Jayla would flip when she head me talk -- even when I was reading aloud to my classes which made my students watch my stomach more than they listened to me. This time, though, I could not talk to the baby. Every time I would try to tell her about the things we were going to do or about her big brother and sister, I would find myself praying over her. I had an hour commute to work, so for two hours a day I would pray over the baby -- every day. I did get some strange looks from other drivers because I was "talking to myself" but that was irrelevant. I pleaded with God that He would heal my baby, or if that was not His will, that He would give me the strength, knowledge, and patience to be the best mother to her that I could be. My main prayer was that I did not want her to suffer physically, emotionally, mentally, or socially. I knew the cruel world she was being born into, and even in utero, I desperately wanted to protect her.
Close to the end of my pregnancy, my doctor told me that it looked as if everything was going to be okay. And on August 11, 2005, Emma Grace was born... perfect. When our pediatrician came in and told me all of her Apgar scores and details, I timidly asked, "What about Down's?". Dr. Klein looked at me startled and said, "There's no sign of Down's. Why would you ask that?"
I believe with all my heart that God healed my baby. I saw the ultrasound. I saw the marks that weren't supposed to be there. I also saw the changes in her ultrasound as we progressed in the pregnancy. And I certainly saw her perfect little baby girl body when she was born.
I promised God that I would to my best to honor Him and His healing blessings by raising my little girl with the superior goal of introducing her to His kingdom. I even gave her the middle name Grace because it is by His grace that we have her. I dedicated her at our church and I set out on a path to introduce to her God and His mighty powers.
This past Sunday, Emma told me that she thought she was ready to ask Jesus into her heart. We went into her room and sat on her bed and I walked through the plan of salvation with her again. Then she prayed and asked Jesus to forgive her of her sins, to be her Savior, and to give her eternal life. I then prayed over my little girl and tearfully thanked God that He had called her to Him.
Next week, Emma will be baptized in the same church that I was baptized in when I was 7. Thirty years after my salvation was made public, Emma's will be as well.
Yet, i'm not done. Actually, I'm just starting over again because I am now tasked with teaching this sweet one how to follow Jesus and live a life for Him in a world that is NOT about Jesus or His kingdom. Thank goodness God is always by my side.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Changing Dialogue
Four months ago, we made a big change in our household: we kicked our addiction to drugs out the door. No, not the illicit kind. We haven't been smoking pot or crack, and the only coke in our house comes in a red can (and yes, I know, I should kick that too). The drugs we were addicted to were the ones on the counter: the cough syrups, ibuprofen, naproxen, and loads and loads of sinus and allergy medications that were taking over our space. It was a radical change, but one that has made an incredible difference in our lifestyle and our dialogue around home.
It all started with my freaky friend Melissa (who gets the nickname only because I love her so dearly she merits getting a nickname) who has been using homepoathic treatments in her family forever and had been trying to get me to do the same. If you know me at all, you know that I do NOT go with the flow. I am not a follower, and I am not going to try something just because you say it works. I have to see it to believe it. And I've done just that.
In September, we made a trip back to our beloved Pensacola and stayed with Melissa. My five year old, Sean, had had a cough for months that we were treating with a honey cough syrup but that just would not go away. Melissa used one of her natural essential oils on him, a blend called RC, and it worked! He stopped coughing. So I decided, upon her suggestion, to try using lavender oil for my allergies. Understand... you say plant, and I start to sneeze and my eyes start to water. I have taken just about every prescription known to man and almost every OTC sinus medication as well. Some worked, some didn't. Some worked but left me feeling too groggy to accomplish anything. I began using the lavender and noticed an immediate change - not just in my allergy symptoms, but also with the headaches that I had been having all of the time. I have gone from taking allergy medicine two or three times a day to not taking it at all. I have not had one pill since the day I started using the lavender.
Western medicine has its place. I am not going into surgery without it. And sometimes we do have infections and such that need an antibiotic. But how many times are we pumping ourselves with synthetic substances that are not truly making us well? They are just masking our symptoms and often making us dependent on the drugs.
So, I've fallen. Hook... line... sinker. I am a convert. So much so, that I am not only now using sixteen different oils, but I am also working as an independent consultant for Young Living, a company that prides itself in using the highest quality plants and processes to extract the purest oils to promote healthy living. These are the substances that were used in Biblical times when ancient doctors couldn't give you a prescription for Zyrtec or hydrocodone but could use the natural substances that God created for healing. In his creation, God gave us EVERYTHING we need for life -- that includes the plants and fruits that we can use to stay healthy.
I guess I have even become "freaky" myself. I've begun to introduce Young Living products to the people around me. I have a dear friend with asthma that was out of options medicinally. I gave her RC and she is chugging through this winter healthier than she has been in years. She's beginning to stock up her cabinet with essential oils -- though she tells people that I've given her snake oil. I deserve it... it's tit for tat for calling Melissa freaky for so long. You know, what goes around comes around.
In any case, the dialogue in our family has changed radically.
Have a headache? Grab some peppermint.
Muscles cramping after a hard day at work? Grab some marjoram.
Shouldn't have eaten that fried food? Grab the peppermint (again).
Want to play outside but not WITH the bugs? Rub on some citronella.
Stressed out? Love the lavender.
Want the kids to calm down? Grab the cedarwood. (Except with my 3-year-old Abbie-- for whom this seems to have the REVERSE effect because she is a special, joyful child in her own right and must always go against the flow and do her own thing.)
The most signficant thing to me is that I am no longer putting crap in my kids' bodies to try to make them feel better. No more ingredients that I can't pronounce in our medication. We are using a dialogue that makes us feel better than we have in a long time and it's all natural.
And the cutest thing is anytime anyone complains about any hurt, ailment, etc., Abbie says, "You need mell-a-loo-ka."
If you're interested in changing your medical dialogue, check out Youngliving.com or contact me for more information. Here's hoping everyone can feel as great as we do!
It all started with my freaky friend Melissa (who gets the nickname only because I love her so dearly she merits getting a nickname) who has been using homepoathic treatments in her family forever and had been trying to get me to do the same. If you know me at all, you know that I do NOT go with the flow. I am not a follower, and I am not going to try something just because you say it works. I have to see it to believe it. And I've done just that.
In September, we made a trip back to our beloved Pensacola and stayed with Melissa. My five year old, Sean, had had a cough for months that we were treating with a honey cough syrup but that just would not go away. Melissa used one of her natural essential oils on him, a blend called RC, and it worked! He stopped coughing. So I decided, upon her suggestion, to try using lavender oil for my allergies. Understand... you say plant, and I start to sneeze and my eyes start to water. I have taken just about every prescription known to man and almost every OTC sinus medication as well. Some worked, some didn't. Some worked but left me feeling too groggy to accomplish anything. I began using the lavender and noticed an immediate change - not just in my allergy symptoms, but also with the headaches that I had been having all of the time. I have gone from taking allergy medicine two or three times a day to not taking it at all. I have not had one pill since the day I started using the lavender.
Western medicine has its place. I am not going into surgery without it. And sometimes we do have infections and such that need an antibiotic. But how many times are we pumping ourselves with synthetic substances that are not truly making us well? They are just masking our symptoms and often making us dependent on the drugs.
So, I've fallen. Hook... line... sinker. I am a convert. So much so, that I am not only now using sixteen different oils, but I am also working as an independent consultant for Young Living, a company that prides itself in using the highest quality plants and processes to extract the purest oils to promote healthy living. These are the substances that were used in Biblical times when ancient doctors couldn't give you a prescription for Zyrtec or hydrocodone but could use the natural substances that God created for healing. In his creation, God gave us EVERYTHING we need for life -- that includes the plants and fruits that we can use to stay healthy.
I guess I have even become "freaky" myself. I've begun to introduce Young Living products to the people around me. I have a dear friend with asthma that was out of options medicinally. I gave her RC and she is chugging through this winter healthier than she has been in years. She's beginning to stock up her cabinet with essential oils -- though she tells people that I've given her snake oil. I deserve it... it's tit for tat for calling Melissa freaky for so long. You know, what goes around comes around.
In any case, the dialogue in our family has changed radically.
Have a headache? Grab some peppermint.
Muscles cramping after a hard day at work? Grab some marjoram.
Shouldn't have eaten that fried food? Grab the peppermint (again).
Want to play outside but not WITH the bugs? Rub on some citronella.
Stressed out? Love the lavender.
Want the kids to calm down? Grab the cedarwood. (Except with my 3-year-old Abbie-- for whom this seems to have the REVERSE effect because she is a special, joyful child in her own right and must always go against the flow and do her own thing.)
The most signficant thing to me is that I am no longer putting crap in my kids' bodies to try to make them feel better. No more ingredients that I can't pronounce in our medication. We are using a dialogue that makes us feel better than we have in a long time and it's all natural.
And the cutest thing is anytime anyone complains about any hurt, ailment, etc., Abbie says, "You need mell-a-loo-ka."
If you're interested in changing your medical dialogue, check out Youngliving.com or contact me for more information. Here's hoping everyone can feel as great as we do!
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Contemplating Creation
Last week, we set out on our annual Mississippi Nailbenders mission trip. We traveled a little lighter this year allowing our older two to ride on the bus with the rest of the group while we tucked the three little ones into the backseat of my dad's car and set out on a road trip. And this indeed was a road trip. It was by far the longest drive I have ever made. Stephen, the "little kids," and I drove the first day to Stephen's mom's house in north Mississippi and then 12 hours the next day to destination Strasburg, Virginia.
I have traveled in the mountains before. I have thought that the mountains were very pretty. I have appreciated that God created the mountains. But the enormity of it all struck me this trip.
Early on Saturday, we drove through Huntsville, Alabama, and saw the rockets at the space center. Stephen commented about how amazing it is that man created something that could shoot into space, have half of it burn away, and another half that would later come back to earth. I agreed -- there were some people a lot smarter than me that put all that together.
We spent the whole day traveling through the mountains of north Alabama, Chattanooga, Gatlinburg, and into Virginia. At some point -- probably with our fiftieth comment or so on how beautiful each mountain was, I had a new awakening.
(between Strasburg, Virginia and Washington D.C.)
I have known the story of creation from Genesis forever. Certainly those stories were told to me as early as preschool days. And I've always thought, "Wow, that's neat. God created everything in six days." But think about what he really did.
As we drove over one particular hill, the sun shone on the tops of several other mountains, the clouds rested serenely on the tops, and the trees bathed the side in green. And I had an "ah-ha" moment. Stephen had commented on the rockets and how amazing it was that man had come up with that technology. And it is amazing. But how long did that take? At least several thousands of years after creation. But how long did it take God to create space and earth and everything within it? Six little days.
Six little days in which He spoke and things happened. "Let there be light" and this complex ball of burning gases took form in the sky to create the sun that gives us light and warmth. "Let there be water," and this complex system of freshwater and salt water combined and separated worldwide. "Let there be land," and in a moment a complex division of deserts and mountains and flat plains just appeared. "Let there be man." and a complex system of organs and blood circulation and communication to the whole body by one little brain just happened. It just happened because He spoke with His mighty voice and it was done.
The brilliant pinks and purples and oranges of a sunset, the gentle rolling of waves upon a beach, the endless stretch of dunes in the desert sand, the simplicity of a rainbow, the brilliant hues of autumn leaves, the tiny features on a newborn's face. It all was created by a spoken word.
We serve such a mighty God. I think about all the struggles and discomforts that I face and all the mole hills that I can turn into mountains, and I wonder, why don't I just turn all of that over to God. If He can create our whole existence with the beauty and complexities that He did, can He not handle all of the messes and ridiculousness that we create in our lives?
I walk away from this trip realzing that not only is His creation awesome and inspiring, it is a reminder that He is in control of everything.
I have traveled in the mountains before. I have thought that the mountains were very pretty. I have appreciated that God created the mountains. But the enormity of it all struck me this trip.
Early on Saturday, we drove through Huntsville, Alabama, and saw the rockets at the space center. Stephen commented about how amazing it is that man created something that could shoot into space, have half of it burn away, and another half that would later come back to earth. I agreed -- there were some people a lot smarter than me that put all that together.
We spent the whole day traveling through the mountains of north Alabama, Chattanooga, Gatlinburg, and into Virginia. At some point -- probably with our fiftieth comment or so on how beautiful each mountain was, I had a new awakening.
I have known the story of creation from Genesis forever. Certainly those stories were told to me as early as preschool days. And I've always thought, "Wow, that's neat. God created everything in six days." But think about what he really did.
As we drove over one particular hill, the sun shone on the tops of several other mountains, the clouds rested serenely on the tops, and the trees bathed the side in green. And I had an "ah-ha" moment. Stephen had commented on the rockets and how amazing it was that man had come up with that technology. And it is amazing. But how long did that take? At least several thousands of years after creation. But how long did it take God to create space and earth and everything within it? Six little days.
Six little days in which He spoke and things happened. "Let there be light" and this complex ball of burning gases took form in the sky to create the sun that gives us light and warmth. "Let there be water," and this complex system of freshwater and salt water combined and separated worldwide. "Let there be land," and in a moment a complex division of deserts and mountains and flat plains just appeared. "Let there be man." and a complex system of organs and blood circulation and communication to the whole body by one little brain just happened. It just happened because He spoke with His mighty voice and it was done.
The brilliant pinks and purples and oranges of a sunset, the gentle rolling of waves upon a beach, the endless stretch of dunes in the desert sand, the simplicity of a rainbow, the brilliant hues of autumn leaves, the tiny features on a newborn's face. It all was created by a spoken word.
We serve such a mighty God. I think about all the struggles and discomforts that I face and all the mole hills that I can turn into mountains, and I wonder, why don't I just turn all of that over to God. If He can create our whole existence with the beauty and complexities that He did, can He not handle all of the messes and ridiculousness that we create in our lives?
I walk away from this trip realzing that not only is His creation awesome and inspiring, it is a reminder that He is in control of everything.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Prayer
After a weeklong church building mission trip in Illinois, the little kids and I were following my dad Saturday night to drop off the bus that we had used from the trip. From the back seat of the van, Sean, who is 3, pipes up and asks me,
"Mom, what are those words that we say before we say Aaaa-men."
"A prayer," I ask.
"Yes, but what are the words?" he asked.
I proceeded to explain to him that we can say anything we want to God. Our prayers can be aloud or in our mind, and we can talk to God just as we talk to any person. He always hears us. Sean, the ever literalist, then began a monologue on the back seat.
"We're riding in the van. Aaaa-men."
"There are trees outside the window. Aaaa-men."
"My name is Sean. Aaaa-men."
It was so precious to see him take an interest in prayer, and to hear him question what prayer is all about. The awakenings of a ripened soul. I so hope that one day, I'll be with him when he says, "Jesus, forgive me and live in my heart. Aaaa-men."
I think so often I take prayer, and its power, for granted. We start out with our rote prayers of "Now I lay me down to sleep..." and "God is great, God is good." We call out the words though our childlike minds may not grasp the concept of an intangible God.
Then we move on to simple blessings and requests. I remember when my son Jared was about 5, we had to evacuate our home for Hurricane Dennis. My parents came to get us because I was very pregnant and could not drive, and my husband had to stay behind. I called home to see how preparations for the storm were going and related to my husband that Jared had prayed for all of his toys to be safe. It was such a simple, self-centered request -- typical of a five-year-old. It seemed at the time, that everything Jared said he had prayed for had come to pass, so Stephen put one of his toys in each room of the house so that Jared's request would not keep just his room and the playroom safe, but the entire house. And mercifully, the house was fine.
And then, as we grow in Christ, we begin to have deep conversations with him. I remember my pregnancies with my first two babies were filled with me talking to them conversing about what the world would be like and how I was excited for them to be born. But when my third, Emma, came along, I was fresh off two miscarriages and was told that there was something wrong with her. For a time, we did not know exactly what her problems would be, but we knew that things did not look right on her ultrasound. And then the doctors told me she would have Down's Syndrome. As I would rub my tummy and try to talk to her, I was incapable of carrying on my one-sided conversation. Instead, I would bathe her in prayer. I would beg and plead that God would make her well, that she would not have to suffer, and that she would have the chance to have a healthy life. In His mercy, she was born perfectly well.
All of my prayers have not been so amicably answered. There have been times when I have prayed for God's intervention only to find that God's solution and my solution were not the same. Not so long ago, I prayed that God would make changes in our family that would allow us to make family a priority and that would pull us together as a unit. Then He moved us from Florida back to my hometown in Mississippi. And I said, "Really, God? This is what you want?" I had to accept that this is the place He wants us in this season of our lives. I cannot say that I am overjoyed to be here (I miss my Floridian life), but there have been things that have happened, resolutions, healed relationships, understanding, and an end to long-held hostilities that have given me peace.
And really, I think that peace is the ultimate request that I can petition from God. I may not be in control of a situation (which is tough because I am a control freak) or be able to change any of the forces around me. But I can ask for peace. And amazingly (or not), when this is my petition, I can almost feel the peace run through my veins and my apprehension will go away. I have to be accepting to His will instead of my own plans. Interestingly enough, if many of my prayers had been answered "my way" with my self-centered intentions in place, things around me would be a hugomongous mess.
Last night, Stephen and I watched The Passion of Christ. I know the movie is several years old, but this was the first opportunity I have had to watch it. As I watched the portrayal of Jesus in Gethsemane praying, I was struck by the thought of how crucial prayer is. Even Jesus prayed. Why would any lowly, earthly being assume that we can make it through life without asking for God's blessings on the things we do. In Matthew 26:39, Jesus petitioned, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will." His prayer was not answered with relief from His destiny. He had to be arrested; He had to be beaten; He had to be massacred on a cross like a common thief. It wasn't what His earthly body wanted, but praise God, He succumbed to God's will and endured that pain and torment that we may have everlasting life when we trust in Him.
"Be joyful always; pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." I Thessalonians 5:17
"Mom, what are those words that we say before we say Aaaa-men."
"A prayer," I ask.
"Yes, but what are the words?" he asked.
I proceeded to explain to him that we can say anything we want to God. Our prayers can be aloud or in our mind, and we can talk to God just as we talk to any person. He always hears us. Sean, the ever literalist, then began a monologue on the back seat.
"We're riding in the van. Aaaa-men."
"There are trees outside the window. Aaaa-men."
"My name is Sean. Aaaa-men."
It was so precious to see him take an interest in prayer, and to hear him question what prayer is all about. The awakenings of a ripened soul. I so hope that one day, I'll be with him when he says, "Jesus, forgive me and live in my heart. Aaaa-men."
I think so often I take prayer, and its power, for granted. We start out with our rote prayers of "Now I lay me down to sleep..." and "God is great, God is good." We call out the words though our childlike minds may not grasp the concept of an intangible God.
Then we move on to simple blessings and requests. I remember when my son Jared was about 5, we had to evacuate our home for Hurricane Dennis. My parents came to get us because I was very pregnant and could not drive, and my husband had to stay behind. I called home to see how preparations for the storm were going and related to my husband that Jared had prayed for all of his toys to be safe. It was such a simple, self-centered request -- typical of a five-year-old. It seemed at the time, that everything Jared said he had prayed for had come to pass, so Stephen put one of his toys in each room of the house so that Jared's request would not keep just his room and the playroom safe, but the entire house. And mercifully, the house was fine.
And then, as we grow in Christ, we begin to have deep conversations with him. I remember my pregnancies with my first two babies were filled with me talking to them conversing about what the world would be like and how I was excited for them to be born. But when my third, Emma, came along, I was fresh off two miscarriages and was told that there was something wrong with her. For a time, we did not know exactly what her problems would be, but we knew that things did not look right on her ultrasound. And then the doctors told me she would have Down's Syndrome. As I would rub my tummy and try to talk to her, I was incapable of carrying on my one-sided conversation. Instead, I would bathe her in prayer. I would beg and plead that God would make her well, that she would not have to suffer, and that she would have the chance to have a healthy life. In His mercy, she was born perfectly well.
All of my prayers have not been so amicably answered. There have been times when I have prayed for God's intervention only to find that God's solution and my solution were not the same. Not so long ago, I prayed that God would make changes in our family that would allow us to make family a priority and that would pull us together as a unit. Then He moved us from Florida back to my hometown in Mississippi. And I said, "Really, God? This is what you want?" I had to accept that this is the place He wants us in this season of our lives. I cannot say that I am overjoyed to be here (I miss my Floridian life), but there have been things that have happened, resolutions, healed relationships, understanding, and an end to long-held hostilities that have given me peace.
And really, I think that peace is the ultimate request that I can petition from God. I may not be in control of a situation (which is tough because I am a control freak) or be able to change any of the forces around me. But I can ask for peace. And amazingly (or not), when this is my petition, I can almost feel the peace run through my veins and my apprehension will go away. I have to be accepting to His will instead of my own plans. Interestingly enough, if many of my prayers had been answered "my way" with my self-centered intentions in place, things around me would be a hugomongous mess.
Last night, Stephen and I watched The Passion of Christ. I know the movie is several years old, but this was the first opportunity I have had to watch it. As I watched the portrayal of Jesus in Gethsemane praying, I was struck by the thought of how crucial prayer is. Even Jesus prayed. Why would any lowly, earthly being assume that we can make it through life without asking for God's blessings on the things we do. In Matthew 26:39, Jesus petitioned, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will." His prayer was not answered with relief from His destiny. He had to be arrested; He had to be beaten; He had to be massacred on a cross like a common thief. It wasn't what His earthly body wanted, but praise God, He succumbed to God's will and endured that pain and torment that we may have everlasting life when we trust in Him.
"Be joyful always; pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." I Thessalonians 5:17
Friday, April 22, 2011
Dyeing Eggs
In my house, we don't believe in the Easter Bunny or Santa or the Tooth Fairy. But... we do try to let our kids experience all of the brou-ha-ha that goes along with holidays. I have fond memories of waking up really early to see what was in my stocking or basket, and one rather disturbing memory of my mom "flittering" into my room to replace a tooth with money. I want my kids to have these memories too. More importantly, I want to make sure they can make connections with the real meanings of the holidays we celebrate. (And yes, I realize there is not a Tooth Fairy holiday.)
So today, we set forth with plans of dyeing eggs. Sean, my 3-year-old was confused and asked this morning if it was time to kill the eggs. He heard us say "dye" and thought "die." Once we cleared that confusion, I set my two oldest on a mission -- with $5.00 in the mix. Whoever could write the best explanatory correlation between dyeing eggs and either becoming a Christian or Jesus's ressurection would win.
SPOILER -- Jared, my 10-year-old, is a spoil-sport, and never wrote anything down. Jayla, 12, won by default.
Even still, her explanations were pretty good and led to some really meaty discussion about Jesus's first coming, his resurrection, and (my favorite part) when he's coming back to get us. My sweet, sweet Emma was so excited when she could add details to our story of Jesus dying on the cross and not being in the tomb. The Lord is so ripening her precious heart.
Jayla came up with three basic connections:
1) Jesus died like an ordinary man just as ordinary eggs are white. But his ressurection was extraordinary like the beautiful eggs we end up with.
2) The egg resembles our heart -- blank and dull without Jesus; colorful and vibrant with Him.
3) We start out lost, but once we accept Jesus and are baptized, we are washed in his blood (the dye) to live anew.
$5.00 richer, Jayla and spoil-sport Jared helped their little sisters and brother dye their eggs. Their mission this year was to have no two eggs just alike, and so we mixed dye and changed the length of time each one soaked until we came up with 16 very special one-of-a-kind eggs.
I hope they'll remember this Easter with our egg dyeing (not killing, dear Sean), and egg hunting, and even some egg eating. But most of all, I hope they remember that Jesus died that we may all be forgiven for all of the shameful, dastardly things that we have done and live eternally with him as bright and vibrant as our Easter eggs. I hope, too, thay you realize Jesus died for YOU!
Happy Easter, my friends!
So today, we set forth with plans of dyeing eggs. Sean, my 3-year-old was confused and asked this morning if it was time to kill the eggs. He heard us say "dye" and thought "die." Once we cleared that confusion, I set my two oldest on a mission -- with $5.00 in the mix. Whoever could write the best explanatory correlation between dyeing eggs and either becoming a Christian or Jesus's ressurection would win.
SPOILER -- Jared, my 10-year-old, is a spoil-sport, and never wrote anything down. Jayla, 12, won by default.
Even still, her explanations were pretty good and led to some really meaty discussion about Jesus's first coming, his resurrection, and (my favorite part) when he's coming back to get us. My sweet, sweet Emma was so excited when she could add details to our story of Jesus dying on the cross and not being in the tomb. The Lord is so ripening her precious heart.
Jayla came up with three basic connections:
1) Jesus died like an ordinary man just as ordinary eggs are white. But his ressurection was extraordinary like the beautiful eggs we end up with.
2) The egg resembles our heart -- blank and dull without Jesus; colorful and vibrant with Him.
3) We start out lost, but once we accept Jesus and are baptized, we are washed in his blood (the dye) to live anew.
$5.00 richer, Jayla and spoil-sport Jared helped their little sisters and brother dye their eggs. Their mission this year was to have no two eggs just alike, and so we mixed dye and changed the length of time each one soaked until we came up with 16 very special one-of-a-kind eggs.
I hope they'll remember this Easter with our egg dyeing (not killing, dear Sean), and egg hunting, and even some egg eating. But most of all, I hope they remember that Jesus died that we may all be forgiven for all of the shameful, dastardly things that we have done and live eternally with him as bright and vibrant as our Easter eggs. I hope, too, thay you realize Jesus died for YOU!
Happy Easter, my friends!
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