God, Me & a Cup of Tea

To my husband on Valentine's Day

2012-02-12T00:01:00.003-05:00

Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. – Proverbs 3:3 (NIV)

Sweetie,

When I first set eyes on you 39 years ago, I didn’t know what love was. I thought I did. At 21, on my own for the first time, recovering from a broken engagement, I’d been disappointed in love too many times to chance it again. That first girls night out was the beginning of a new stage in my life—playing the field. No way was I going to get involved in another relationship. I was flying high and free. And that’s the way I wanted it to be.

Then you joined our table.

You stood out from the crowd—but it wasn’t your 6 ft. 4 in. lanky frame or bearded face or wavy hair that fell almost to your shoulders that drew me to you. It was your eyes—blue eyes that twinkled when you smiled. And you smiled a lot that night. You’re the only one I remember dancing with. You and what’s his name.

What’s his name asked me out for Friday night. But the best part of that date—I was playing the field, remember?—was running into you. Suddenly a humdrum evening sparkled like those blue eyes of yours. The next evening we were out with the crowd again, and this time you and I were together. I felt safe with you.

Our first date was one week after my date with what’s his name. You took me to see Deliverance. I hated it. But I loved being with you. After you took me home, we sat on the sofa in my second floor apartment eating White House ice cream. You fed me the cherries from yours.

“That’s the man I’m going to marry,” I announced to myself the next morning. So much for playing the field.

Over the next few weeks, we became an item, and my feelings for you grew so fast it scared me. So I broke up with you.

That was Friday night. By Sunday evening, I knew I’d made a big mistake. That was before the days of cell phones. I didn’t even have your home number. I didn’t even know where you lived, except way out of town in a village called Smithport.

I’d left the window shades up and the lights on all weekend—our signal that I was home—but you didn’t stop by. You didn’t call. So Sunday evening I went looking for you—and found you at a restaurant not far out of town.

“I don’t know how this will end up,” I told you. “But however it does, I know I’d rather have you in my life than spend my days without you. This weekend was horrible.”

Later—years later, after we were married—you told me it was a quirk you were in the restaurant. “It wasn’t a place I usually went on Sunday evening.”

That day was a turning point in my life—I decided to take a chance on love.

And I’m so glad I did.


Thank you, Lord, of the love of a lifetime. Amen.

Dean and me, May 1973

Special-Tea: Read 1Corinthians 13

Hook, line, and sinker

2012-02-05T00:01:00.000-05:00

God is faithful. He will not allow the temptation to be more than you can stand. When you are tempted, he will show you a way out so that you can endure. – 1 Corinthians 10:13 (NLT)


Stupid me. I can’t believe I bit.

When my cell phone rang Wednesday morning, a recorded message from my wireless carrier informed me that I had been chosen to receive a brand new iPad 2. Free.

I should have hung up as soon as I realized it was a recording. But I listened. Mistake number one. Visions of my son’s new iPad flashed through my mind. Grabbing a pencil, I scribbled down the website the recording told me to go to. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out, I thought. Mistake number two.

The problem with these so-called offers is they never tell you up front what you have to do to qualify. They disguise the hook with a big, fat, wriggling worm.

I visited the site, which asked me for my cell phone number. I complied. Mistake number three. Within seconds my cell phone rang. I had a text. It was my PIN so I could get my iPad. So I thought. I entered the PIN on the website. The next thing I knew, I’d inadvertently signed up to be a survey person for a “global survey” company. Then my cell phone rang again. Another text. Somehow I had signed up to receive trivia via text messages daily for $9.99 a month.

I was able to unsubscribe to the trivia texts and the survey thing. You’d think by now I would have wised up and clicked out of the website. But I could see myself using that iPad. I continued filling out the online form, which consisted of offers and more surveys. I just clicked “no” to everything. The more I clicked, the more I wanted that iPad.

Page after page I clicked. Finally I came to the page that asked for my shipping information. I could taste that worm—I mean iPad. All I had to do is select two “Silver” offers. I’ll order the free kitchen knife, I thought. All I had to pay was $8.95 for shipping. But when I read further on the order form, I realized by ordering the “free” knife, I was signing up to receive one knife a month to the tune of $50 to $90. I clicked out of that page in a hurry.

All the other so-called offers were also memberships. But there was more. After I chose two Silver offers, I would have to select two Gold offers and a Platinum offer. My “free” iPad would have cost more in memberships (that are ridiculously hard to cancel) than if I had just purchased the iPad, which, by the way, retails for $500 online.

I clicked on the little blue “No Thanks” box. No iPad for me.

Sin is like that. It first appears like something good, something harmless—something we want—but if we’re not careful, we’re caught, hook, line and sinker.

It’s better just to click “no” in the first place.


When sin drops its juicy temptation in front of my face, Lord, give me wisdom to recognize it for what it is and the strength not to take that first nibble. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read James 1:14-18

Casting the stones

2012-01-29T00:01:00.001-05:00

Let us stop passing judgment on one another. - Romans 14:3 (NIV)


My Uncle Nick on my mother’s side was an alcoholic that hit bottom—and found God. Not that he didn’t know about God. He was raised in a religious home, but that faith didn’t move from his head to his heart until he woke up in a jail cell, ashamed and vowing his life would be different.

It was. He became an ordained Baptist minister and eventually shared his transformation story with relatives. As a result, family members changed their “head faith” to a “heart faith.” Since I, too, had taken this step, I was thrilled to hear the news.

When his brother Ed died, Uncle Nick came home for the funeral. I hadn’t seen him in decades, since he lived in North Carolina and my folks weren’t the traveling kind. So I was looking forward to talking with him and getting his story firsthand. At the funeral dinner my husband and I sat across from him. The conversation was flowing nicely when Uncle Nick—the Reverend Nick—reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit up. I was aghast! Christians didn’t smoke—did they?

I could have called him a hypocrite and let it go at that. But his transformation was real. His faith was real. And I didn’t want to judge him. After all, he was responsible for my precious Aunt Betty and her family becoming believers. Thanks to him, I knew I’d see them in heaven.

Whether he knew it or not, he’d challenged my faith that day. Was faith real when a professed believer smoked? Or consumed alcohol? Or played cards?

It all comes down to judging others, and God’s Word has plenty to say about that: “Do not judge others,” Jesus said. “For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged” (Matthew 7:1, 2). “Let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone,” he told a crowd ready to stone an adulteress (John 8:7).

The first century church faced a dilemma when believers ate meat offered to idols. Wasn’t it wrong? The apostle Paul addressed both sides of the question. To those who ate meat offered to idols, Paul cautioned them not to cause another believer—one who felt it was wrong to eat meat that had been a part of an animal sacrifice to an idol—to stumble in his faith walk (1 Corinthians 8). To the ones who judged the idol-meat eaters, he posed the question, “Who are you to judge someone else’s servant?” (Romans 14:4)

My Uncle Nick was God’s servant. Who was I to judge him?

It’s easy to cast stones when someone is doing something I don’t approve of. Instead of nurturing a prideful smugness, I need to remind myself, “Let he who is without sin cast the first one.”


Forgive me, Lord, for my critical spirit. Remind me only You have the right to judge. Give me the wisdom to do what pleases You so that I do not cause someone else to stumble. Amen.

Special-Tea: read John 8:1-11, Romans 14, and 1 Corinthians 8

Connecting the dots

2012-01-22T00:01:00.000-05:00

Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. - Psalm 139:16 (NLT)


For the past several months, I’ve been supplying the pulpit for a small local congregation between pastors. “Supplying the pulpit” means that I fill the role of the preacher for the Sunday morning services. Through the week, I read and study the given Scripture, prepare the sermon and a five-minute children’s message, and select the hymns, blessing and benediction—and do a lot of praying.

You see, I’m not an ordained minister or even a certified lay preacher. I’m a Christian writer and speaker. I’ve been writing my weekly column since 1997—that’s nearly 15 years. I’ve studied the Bible through group and personal Bible studies, but the years I taught Good News Club (a children’s Bible club) immersed me in Scripture and taught me more than anything I’ve ever done, even teaching Sunday school.

I’d wanted to be a writer since I was in grade school, but I fell in love with teaching on the first day I student taught. Writing went on the back burner while I taught in the local schools and raised a family. It wasn’t until I was in my forties that I began to take writing seriously. I submitted a story to the Guideposts writing contest. “Wisdom from an Old Refrigerator” didn’t win—but it was published. Encouraged, I submitted more of my work and was published in The Upper Room, Teachers in Focus and Home Life. Sometime during those early years of writing, I envisioned a devotional column in the local newspaper. It took a few years for the vision to become a reality. In 2009 God, Me and a Cup of Tea placed second in the Pennsylvania Newspaper Association’s Keystone Press Awards.

In 2000 and 2002, I published Minute Meditations: Meeting God in Everyday Experiences and I Lift up My Eyes, compilations of some of my columns. That’s what led to speaking, which I found I loved as much as teaching. And the speaking led to the call to fill the pulpit.

Who’d a thunk it? I mean, I was the child who was in trouble almost daily in grade school. I misbehaved in church, throwing my best friend’s gloves over the altar rail at Mass in first grade. When Sister had me sit beside her, I’d wait until everyone had their heads bowed and eyes closed in prayer to pull off the shoes of the student kneeling in front of me. I was the one who, when asked by the parish priest why I was failing religion, answered, “I don’t like religion.”

Looking back on my life, it’s like Someone was connecting the dots all those years. You’ve read it here often—God has a plan and purpose for all of our lives. The older I get, the more convinced I am of that.

He calls us. We respond by either being like Jonah and running as far from God as we can or we move forward into His call.

Me? I’m moving forward—because that’s where all the joy and fun are.


Lord, You know me better than I know myself. Thank you for not only connecting the dots of my life, but also for putting them there in the first place. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Psalm 139

God's call

2012-01-16T00:01:00.000-05:00

For God’s gifts and his call can never be withdrawn. - Romans 11:29 (NLT)

Prior to Christmas and Easter, the Catholic grade school I attended took the student body to the adjoining church for the sacrament of confession. I don’t remember what grade I was in when something unusual happened.

I’d just taken my seat in the pew with my class after confession when I sensed a strong pull—a compulsion—to return to the altar rail, where I’d just said my penance—the usual five “Our Fathers” and three “Hail Marys.” Back to the altar I went. I don’t remember what I prayed, but, looking back, it was as though my heart ascended to heaven, my soul infused with fervent devotion and love. I don’t know how long I stayed there on my knees, but when I became aware of my surroundings once again (I say I “came to”), the church was empty. I hadn’t even heard the commotion of my class leaving. And it was a large class, too.

When I returned to the classroom, my teacher said nothing. Which in itself was amazing because I was not the kind of child to be left alone in an empty church. My penchant for fun had gotten me in more than enough trouble through the years. I wasn’t bad, understand—just ornery.

No one asked me why I went back to the altar, and I never told anyone about it. It didn’t seem like anything extraordinary. I didn’t realize the significance of what had occurred. Life went back to normal, and I forgot all about it.

It was during my prayer time one morning about 35 years later that I remembered. I could see myself at that altar rail, my heart ascending to heaven, as though it was happening now. I could feel the devotion, the love. And I finally understood.

God called. I responded.

Through my high school, college, and young adult years, though, I went my own way, not God’s. The choice to follow Him was always mine. It wasn’t until I was a young wife and mother, and life wasn’t turning out the way I’d planned, that I “came to” and returned to the One who had called me so many years earlier.

God didn’t give up on me because I went my own way. He waited patiently until I was ready for all He had planned for me.

These days I live to serve Him in whatever way I can. My life is full. I am abundantly blessed.

Would my life have turned out the way it has if I’d not responded to His call?

I don’t know. But knowing God as I do, I believe He would have kept calling me until I did respond—like He does with everyone.

What about you? Have you responded to God’s call? He’s waiting, you know.

Speak, Lord, for Your servant is listening—finally. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read 1 Samuel 3:1-10

What 2011 taught me

2012-01-12T14:41:00.000-05:00

My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest. - Exodus 33:14 (NIV)

Between Christmas and New Year’s I dreamed that the walls of my home were plastered with 2011 calendars that I was tearing down with a vengeance. It was like I was angry at 2011 and was more than glad it was over.

Repressed emotions? Perhaps.

2011 was a challenging year, but I believe God has a purpose for everything that comes into my life. The challenges were “Michele-shapers” that taught me lessons I couldn’t have learned otherwise.

What did 2011 teach me? Some of the lessons were things I already knew, but the difficulties I experienced deepened their meaning.

1. Being a Christian doesn’t mean I don’t go through difficult times. The rain falls both on the just and the unjust (Matthew 5:45). I live in an imperfect world with other flawed human beings in a body that, like it not, is decaying daily (2 Corinthians 4:7). But I content myself in knowing my Father in heaven has a plan and a purpose for me (Jeremiah 29:11), and that He loves me and will never abandon me (Hebrews 13:-6).

2. My husband is an angel—no, an archangel. I always knew he was one in a million—that’s why I planned the wedding 38 years ago, then told him about it. Although my pain, weakness, disabilities, and restrictions made me feel useless, he took up the slack in housekeeping, cooking, cleaning, laundry—and made me feel loved and cherished. I realized more than ever that he meant it when he vowed “for better, for worse, in sickness and in health.” Our marriage was strengthened in a way that good times cannot do.

3. I learned not only to recognize my limitations, but also to embrace them. Embracing them means I adjust my life and my activities accordingly. I’ve learned to say no. I’ve trimmed my schedule. Some activities, while good, take up the time and energy I need for what God has called me to do. I take naps when I need them and I don’t feel guilty.

4. I don’t have to prove myself. I don’t have to prove my worth. I’m the apple of God’s eye (Psalm 17:8). My husband loves me the way I am, and my children and grandchildren bless me every day. Even though, through the years, they’ve seen me at my worst.

5. I can trust God to set my schedule. I used to worry when I didn’t have enough speaking engagements or writing assignments, but now I realize that God is my agent and manager. My job is to seek Him first, and He will provide all I need—physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.

Christmas season 2011 was one of the best in my life. A year that began with pain and suffering ended with more joy than I could hold.

Thank you, Father, for Your abiding presence, abundant provision, awesome plan and able protection. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Psalm 121

Rest stops

2011-12-31T18:00:00.001-05:00

Then they came to Elim, where there were twelve springs and seventy palm trees, and they camped there by the water. – Exodus 15:22


Since our daughter settled in South Carolina, seven hundred miles away, my husband and I used to make the twelve-hour drive to visit with her and her family two or three times a year. We discovered that. At our age, long trips are easier to take if we make frequent stops to rest and avoid road weariness. These days we book a flight.

Thousands of years ago, the Israelites also had a long trip to make. One million men, women, and children left the bondage of Egyptian slavery and trekked across a barren wilderness where there was little to eat or drink, and where they were exposed to rain, wind, sun, and storms, headed for a land flowing with milk and honey. Along the way, they got tired, thirsty, hungry, and discouraged.

But they were on a faith-growing journey, and the One who led them had many lessons to teach them. They failed test after test. Just when they were in the deepest despair and discouragement, hope dwindling and faith faltering, God intervened—with manna from heaven, water from desert rocks, and an oasis with twelve springs of water and seventy palm trees.

I’m sure the weary travelers would have loved to pitch their tents and stay at that oasis the rest of their lives. But eventually they had to move on. The oasis wasn’t their destination.

The Israelites’ journey through the wilderness is a picture of our journey through life. Once the shackles of our bondage to sin are broken, we begin our journey to the Promised Land—Heaven. We, too, struggle through the wilderness, which—just like the Israelites’ journey so long ago—takes up most of the trip. And we, too, encounter oases sprinkled along the way. But we cannot abide in the rest stops. They are there to provide a temporary respite from the difficulties of life, refresh our minds and spirits, and renew our strength.

Sometimes I’d like to find an oasis and move in permanently. But God calls me to venture into the wilderness on a faith-growing journey. And, just like with the Israelites, He will be with me every step of the way.

Thank You, Lord, for the wilderness that stretches my faith and the oases that refresh me and give me the strength to journey on. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Exodus 15:22-16:1

Following the star

2011-12-24T18:00:00.004-05:00

Once again the star appeared to them, guiding them to Bethlehem. It went ahead of them and stopped over the place where the child was. – Matthew 2:9 (NLT)


When I was a child, Christmas Eve was a magical time. Perhaps it was the air of excitement and anticipation. Perhaps it was the lights on the Christmas tree, casting a soft glow on the darkened living room throughout the long evenings. Perhaps it was the carols we sang. Perhaps it was the Christmas story itself, with all its mystery and awe.

Maybe that’s what made Christmas Eve so magical: I accepted without reservation the Christmas story in its entirety – from a virgin giving birth to the Son of God in a stable, to angels announcing the birth to lowly shepherds, to a bright star leading the Magi to Jesus. I understood that whatever science or nature could not explain, God could. After all, He is the Creator and set the laws of nature in motion. No doubt poisoned Christmas for me.

These days, however, there are those who would remove the reason for the season, who scoff at the miracles and spoil the magic, who reject that which cannot be explained except by the touch of God.

The Magi, learned men from the East, could have scoffed, too. But they didn’t reject what their own eyes saw – a colossal star with a radiance that shone even during the day. These astronomer-mathematicians recognized the importance of this brilliant star that appeared at the time of Jesus’ birth.

But how did these heathen Gentiles, these nonbelievers, know that a Jewish king was born?

Familiar with the prophecies of Daniel, who was an exile in their land hundreds of years earlier, these wise men who studied the heavens knew the Jews were waiting for a Messiah promised by God Himself, someone who would save them and rule them forever.

They knew the Hebrews considered the constellation Pisces as representing their own nation. The planet Saturn, viewed as a wandering star, represented Jerusalem, their capital city. Jupiter, another “wandering star,” denoted royalty.

When Jupiter and Saturn converged in Pisces three times in two months, the wise men knew something big was about to happen. This astronomic event normally occurred only once every 804 years. Then a few months later, Mars joined Jupiter and Saturn in the constellation.

As they puzzled over the meaning of this, they noted the first time this happened was on the Jewish Day of Atonement. Putting all this together, they reasoned that a Hebrew king was about to be born in Judea.

Then, another amazing event occurred: A brilliant new star appeared in the constellation Aquila (the eagle), brighter than anything they’d ever seen, so intense it could be seen in the daytime. To the wise men, this brilliant new star, actually an exploding star called a nova, was the announcement they were waiting for: The King of the Jews had been born.

A king whose birth even the heavens proclaimed was a king they had to see. So they prepared for the long trip to Bethlehem, where they found the infant king. They didn’t doubt when they found the child not in a palace, but in a humble house. They didn’t doubt when they saw how poor his parents were.

They believed what most Jews in that day weren’t even aware of – that this child was both a King and a God. When they presented their costly gifts – gifts denoting royalty – they worshiped Him.

For these astronomical events to come together at the very time Jesus was born, for Gentile magi to recognize the significance of it all, for this star to lead them to the exact location of the child they were seeking – can only be explained by the touch of the Divine – God reaching out and making the impossible happen.

The wise men – nonbelievers – believed the miracle in the sky and followed that star until it led them to the Savior.

What about you? Are you following that star?

Jesus, when the wise men saw the star that led to You, they rejoiced with “exceedingly great joy.” Fill me with this joy every day as I follow the star that leads to You. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Matthew 2:1-12

Joseph's Dilemma

2011-12-18T07:00:00.002-05:00

Your throne will be established forever.- 2 Samuel 7:16 (NIV)


He jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat. The fragrance of freshly cut wood wafted through the darkness from the shop next door.

Joseph, son of David. A fancy title for a poor carpenter from Nazareth.

Don’t be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, for what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.

He grew up with the Scriptures. He knew the prophecies. Someday God would send Israel a Savior. But here? Now? In his family? What did he have to offer God? He wasn’t rich, famous, or powerful, and had no influence with those who were.

She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus.

Jesus – one who saves. Surely the Messiah would be born in a family who had more than he. Why, it was all he could do to prepare a home for Mary. He’d worked so hard, was almost done when she shattered him with the news that she was pregnant.

“NO!” he cried into the darkness. “It can’t be! Not Mary!”

He knew the laws, the punishment for adultery. He had no choice. He had to do what was right. Maybe he could divorce her quietly, save them both the shame, the explanations to prying questions.

Don’t be afraid to take Mary home as your wife.

Could it be? Could it really be? Joseph sat up, the fingers of dawn reaching into the shadows of his heart.

Don’t be afraid.

His sense of justice gave way to the need to believe the impossible. He reached for his robe and sandals. There was much to do. Mary was waiting.

As I light the fourth candle on my Advent wreath, I pray for the strength to respond to Your call, dear God, even when I don’t understand. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Matthew 1: 18-25

Christmas Joy

2011-12-13T12:06:00.001-05:00

Dear Lord, I'm feeling down today,
The bills are stacked up high;

With Christmas just two weeks away,
Our bank account's run dry.

The kids have all presented lists

Of things they want to see;

I hope and pray there's nothing missed

Beneath our Christmas tree.

But I don't have the money for
Expensive clothes and toys;
My credit card can't take much more--
Lord, where's my Christmas joy?

Perhaps it's wrapped up in that hug
My daughter gave this morn,
Or stacked with wood my son did lug
To keep us nice and warm.

Perhaps it's in my oldest's eyes
When he comes home on break,
And sees I've baked those pumpkin pies
He wanted me to make.

Perhaps it's in the tired lines
Around my husband's eyes;
Perhaps in love that's grown with time,
I've found the greater prize.

A friend who gives a hearty smile
And cupboards that aren't bare;

And even if they aren't in style,
I've got some clothes to wear.

A family who believes in me
In all things, great and small.
Dear God, I think I finally see -

I am not poor at all!

For where your treasure is,

there will your heart be also.

~ Matthew 6:21 (RSV)

NOTE: I wrote this poem in 1996, when my children were 20, 17, and 12. It's still my favorite Christmas poem. It was published in two Chicken Soup books under the title of "I Am Not Poor at All."

A Him-possible situation

2011-12-11T07:00:00.002-05:00

The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel. - Isaiah 7:14 (NIV)

“Did it actually happen, or was it all a dream?” Mary wondered, stuffing an extra robe into the basket. Was Elizabeth really pregnant as the messenger had claimed? In her old age? Impossible!

But then he had added, “Nothing is impossible with God.”

This impromptu trip to Jerusalem would clear up any doubts. Then she’d deal with Joseph. She couldn’t imagine what his reaction would be. She already planned what she’d say.

“Joseph, I’m going to have a baby, but don’t worry, I haven’t been unfaithful. God sent an angel to tell me that I’m to be the mother of the Messiah we’ve been waiting for so long!”

Oh, brother, what a mess! Joseph was understanding, more so than most men, but even he’d laugh at something like that.

“Oh, Joseph,” she sighed, remembering when he first asked her father for her hand in marriage. How she rejoiced when he’d given his consent! The dowry paid, she waited, trying to be patient, while Joseph prepared the home they would soon share. And now this.

“Joseph,” she pleaded silently, “please believe me.”

The angel’s words echoed in her mind and sank down into her heart: Nothing is impossible with God.

“Yes, that’s it!” she thought, pulling on the lid of the basket with a flourish and fastening it to the sides. She’d leave the matter with Him.

Like Mary, I, too, often face times when I’m up against it with no way out. That’s when I turn things over to God. What’s impossible for me is possible for Him.


As I light the third candle on my Advent wreath, Father, I am reminded that You are still the God of the impossible. Give me Mary’s simple faith when the winds of doubt blow. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Luke 1:26-38

The Promise

2011-12-05T12:06:00.000-05:00

A shoot will come from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit. ~ Isaiah 11:1 (NIV)


“Bears extra-large, extra-sweet, extra-firm fruit so you enjoy fresh peach flavor…” My mouth was watering already as I ordered two three-foot trees. It would take years of cultivation before that promise could be fulfilled, but never mind: Maybe by the time I had grandchildren, those luscious peaches would be mine.

But it was not to be. The trees never made it past the first year. I thought all hope was lost until one spring day two years later I noticed a small shoot pushing its way up through the grass. The peach tree! It wasn’t dead, after all! Somehow this little branch, defying all odds, sprang up from roots I’d thought were dead.

Likewise, when all seemed hopeless for God’s chosen people, the Israelites, in the darkest night of exile and oppression, He reminded them that He had not deserted them. Even as their homes, their temple, their holy city Jerusalem lay in ruins, God promised someday he would send a Savior to bring hope in the midst of despair, life in the valley of death, and healing to broken hearts and wounded spirits (Isaiah 61:1).

Sometimes the struggles of life get me down. Just when hope seems dead, God reminds me that, just as He was there for the Israelites so long ago, He’s there for me today, even when I can’t sense His presence. Grasping onto that tiny root of hope is all I need to get me through life’s rockiest ground.


Father God, as I light the second Advent candle, I remember the dark nights of my life, when all was lost. Thank you for giving me hope when I had none left. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Isaiah 9:2-7

An age-old problem

2011-11-27T07:00:00.000-05:00

All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. ~ Romans 3:23 (NIV)


Somewhere beneath all that mud and grease was my first-born. I cringed. I didn’t want him even to set foot in my clean house. When he was younger and showed up at the door looking like the mud monster of Smithport, I’d make him strip down to his underwear on the porch before I let him in. My house is my domain, and I alone determine who comes in and under what conditions.

Getting to heaven, God’s home, isn’t any different. So why do we think we can get there on our own terms and ignore God’s? I once thought that if my good deeds outweighed my bad ones, if I did everything my religion told me I had to do, or if I managed to keep from doing wrong, I’d get into heaven.

The problem is no matter how hard I try to be good, I somehow manage to do something that I know displeases God. Sometimes I choose to do wrong on the spur of the moment, like the time in high school when I cheated on a history quiz. Other times I sin without even thinking, like when I swore at the dog after I tripped over him and crashed into the cupboard. Excuses such as “It’s not my fault” or “I couldn’t help it” just don’t wash with a holy God.

On my own, I cannot be good enough to get into heaven. I can do nothing to remove the sin that too frequently stains my soul. Only a perfect sacrifice can do that (Hebrews 9:22). Jesus, God’s Son, was that perfect sacrifice. That’s why He came – to make me clean enough to enter heaven and solve that old sin problem once and for all.


Dear God, as I light the first candle on my Advent wreath, I am reminded once again of why You sent Your Son to earth: to die so that I might live forever with You in heaven. Throughout this busy holiday season, help me not to forget it. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Genesis 3:1-19

Back to square one

2011-11-20T07:00:00.002-05:00

But they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. ~ Isaiah 40:31(RSV)


For the past six weeks, the fatigue that’s plagued me for years has been quietly dissipating. Energy has slowly been reclaiming my body. Not bouncing-off-the walls energy, but an energy that’s been AWOL for far too long. I’ve actually felt like cleaning again! Glory hallelujah! I’m so ready for this health challenging year to be over.

But, alas, on Thursday (I’m writing this on Tuesday), it’ll back to square one as I undergo my third surgery in 11 months. Once again, I’m under doctor’s orders to take it easy for two to three weeks following the procedure. No driving for six weeks. Since I live 12 miles from town and winter’s setting in, I’ll be cooped up indeed.

But I’m not feeling sorry for myself. Honest. I’m thankful for the energy to clean my house and put two weeks’ worth of meals in the freezer so my husband won’t have to come home after an 11-hour day and make supper, like he did prior to and following my first two surgeries.

And on a bookshelf in my bedroom is a reading stack that I plan to devour during this forced downtime. I’ve also downloaded several novels and nonfiction books on my Kindle. Included are writers’ magazines and how-to books, as well as several novels in the genre I’m writing—historical fiction—so I can study and analyze how it’s done. My downtime will be productive time.

I’ve been spending a lot of time praying and thinking about what direction my writing will take after this is all over. I’ve been trimming my schedule, realigning my activities with what I believe is God’s purpose for me. He’s allowed me a glimpse of His plans, and they excite me because it’s something I’ve long desired. It seems as though God is saying, “The time is coming. Be patient. Wait.”

“After the first of the year” has become my mantra. After the first of the year, I can start driving again. After the first of the year, my third and final recovery period will officially be over. After the first of the year I’ll get back to my historical novel, submit more stories and articles for publication, begin outlining themes for women’s retreats.

God has refocused my vision. “Forget the former things,” He’s told me. “Do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! . . . I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland” (Isaiah 43:18?19 NIV).

Although I’m back to square one healthwise, it’s okay. Because whether the future holds sickness or health, prosperity or poverty, I’m in His hands and His plans.

And that’s the best place to be—even if I think it’s square one.


Thank you, God, for the blessed assurance that You, not I, am in control. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Philippians 3:13-14; Habakkuk 2:3b

Not set in stone

2011-11-14T11:09:00.000-05:00

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. ~ I John 1:9 (ESV)


A diehard purist when it comes to the English language, I cringe when I pass one of those stones folks put in their front yards engraved with their last name—for example, “The Smith’s.”

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! It should read “The Smiths” (no apostrophe).

I see it all the time, even from professional writers—the misuse of that confusing little curlicue to denote plural and not using it to denote possession. I have to quell the urge to get the biggest, fattest permanent marker I can find and go around, correcting all these errors, especially the one outside a town’s civic center that reads, “Mayors Office.” But I’d probably be arrested for defacing property.

Words painted on wood can be corrected, but what’s etched in a rock is permanent. Think about it—the mistake is literally set in stone.

I’m thankful the mistakes I make, in God’s eyes, are not set in stone. With God, they’re more like something written in pencil that can be erased.

Really?

Really.

The process goes something like this: I make a mistake—sin, do something I know is wrong. If it’s a sin, God, through the Holy Spirit, calls me on it. If I ignore the nudging, it nags at me until I name it, claim it, and ask forgiveness. God, in 1 John 1:9, promises to expunge it from my record. Note in that verse He doesn’t just forgive—He cleanses me from the sin and its resulting guilt.

If I just plain mess up, with no intention of wrongdoing, God can turn my blunders into something good: “And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purposes for them” (Romans 8:28 NLT).

I’m given a second chance. A clean record.

Don’t believe me? Then read about Jonah, who ran the other way when God called him to go to Nineveh. Or Aaron, Moses’ brother, who led the Israelites in crafting a golden calf to worship while Moses was on Mount Sinai getting the Ten Commandments. Or Paul, who persecuted the early Christians. Or Peter, who denied even knowing Jesus.

Jonah was given a second chance to preach to Nineveh. Aaron was named the first High Priest to head up the Temple service. Paul became a champion for the Christians, starting new churches wherever he could. And Peter became the leader of the first century church, the rock upon which Jesus said He would build His church.

No matter what you’ve done, no matter how deep the hole you find yourself in, know that in God’s eyes, your mistakes are not set in stone. He’s willing and waiting to give you a second chance. All you have to do is ask.


Thank you, Lord, that my gaffes and willful wrongdoings are not set in stone. Thank you for the many second chances You’ve given me. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Jonah 1:1-3, 3: 1-3

On turning 60

2011-11-08T16:54:00.000-05:00

However many years a man may live, let him enjoy them all. ~ Ecclesiastes 11:8


“You’re really making a big deal out of turning sixty,” my husband said last week when I brought up for the umpteenth time how I wanted to celebrate my sixtieth birthday.

“Yes, I am,” I said. “Because it’s a milestone, a watershed.”

It’s a milestone because I’ve made it this far with both sanity and body intact. I’ve been married to the same man for nearly thirty-eight years, and I still thrill at the sight of him. My three children are all productive members of society. Two have given us grandchildren. We own our home free and clear. All but one of our debts is paid off. It’s a milestone because I’ve reached the beginning of my golden years and retirement. I’ve already retired from teaching. I’ll probably write, edit, mentor, and speak until God calls me home—but at a pace I set myself.

My sixtieth birthday is a watershed moment because it marks a turning point in my life. The majority of my life is behind me. I want to spend the time I have left on love—loving life, loving people, doing things I love to do, spending time with the people I love. All my life I’ve been a people-pleaser. That’s what has shaped my schedule, defined who I was, been the beat to which I marched. I’ve said “yes” to things I should have said “no” to. And found myself with more on my plate than I could handle. I’ve been a clock watcher, a do-list checker-offer, because the clock and the do list drove me.

No more. Now I will drive the clock. Or throw it out. I’ve learned to say “no.” My do list is comprised of things I enjoy doing—cooking for my husband, reading, writing, preparing speeches, having lunch with a friend, playing games with my grandchildren, crocheting little afghans for the grandkids’ kitties, playing 500 Rummy with Dean, playing Scrabble with whoever will play me, growing a vegetable garden, watching the deer and the turkeys in the yard.

I still have dreams. I almost gave them up. On my refrigerator is the number 30. That’s the number of months until my husband retires. Well, until I say he retires. He doesn’t believe it. He thinks he’s going to have to work until he drops. But something’s changed. In me. An attitude, a way of thinking. No longer do I say to him, “If you retire.” I say, “When you retire.” I don’t just hope it will happen, I look for ways to make it happen.

At 60, I matter to me, because I know that I matter to God, and I always have mattered to Him. Every moment of my life has a purpose—even, and especially, in my golden years.


For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made . . . All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be” (Psalm 139:13?14, 16 NIV). Thank you, Lord!

Dad's final gift

2011-11-02T00:01:00.001-04:00

A special story in remembrance of my father, Peter Maddock, who died 40 years ago today.

We buried my dad on a peaceful hillside nestled among the river valleys of southwestern Pennsylvania on my twentieth birthday. His battle with cancer was finally over, as was my struggle with the pain of watching him suffer. The lonely valley of grief now stretched before me, and in order to heal, I had to traverse it alone.

How I’d searched for a tangible sign of his good-bye the night he died! A radio mysteriously turned on – anything. I had to know he was only on the other side of an invisible barrier, and all I needed to do was to tune in to some supernatural wavelength, and he’d hear me. I wanted the assurance he’d be there when I needed him, as he’d always been in the past.

All I have left of Dad, I thought sadly, are memories. I remembered when I was six years old and had wanted a brand new tricycle, not my older sister’s dented castoff. Mom’s favorite answer always seemed to be “No,” but Dad’s was “We’ll see.” Then one Saturday a shiny red and white tricycle awaited me on the backyard sidewalk, its matching streamers dancing in the wind, its chrome handlebars gleaming in the morning sun.

Dad always seemed to be able to look into my heart and understand my feelings. I spent hours with him in his carpentry shop, riding many a sawdust trail on wooden horses while the table saw spewed more sawdust for me to sweep up. I still love the smell of freshly cut lumber.

Our backyard became Sherwood Forest after Dad brought home a bow-and-arrow set. He never got angry when I accidentally shot my arrows through the garage window instead of the target tacked on a hay bale beside it. He just chuckled and patched up the window, gently cautioning me to be more careful. I practiced until my arms were sore just to make him proud of me. I lived for his praise.

Then came the day we had our first father-daughter battle. I was in fourth grade and wanted to wear nylons like all the other girls. I rarely saw him angry, but I did then.

“You’re going to wear bobby socks until you’re sixteen years old!” he stormed. Wailing, I rushed upstairs to my room. Mom must have intervened, for I got to wear the nylons. He never said another word about it, but looking back that long, dark night he died, I suddenly understood: The shock of realizing his little girl was growing up had momentarily overwhelmed him.

Then there was the night he slapped me. It was really just a little tap on the cheek, but I felt it deep in my soul. I was late getting home from spending an evening with friends and had neglected to call. Maybe I thought a fifteen-year-old high school junior didn’t have to check in all the time or that my parents wouldn’t worry.

Whatever the reason, it was nearly midnight when I finally got home. Dad met me at the front door, fuming. When I tried to explain, he tapped me on the cheek, silencing me immediately. Once more I stormed up to my room. This was a breach of faith. He’d never raised a hand to me. Until now.

Later I learned that he’d gone out searching the bushes along the route I should have taken home, imagining the worst. It was I who had broken faith, not he. How rich I was to have such a father’s love!

When he took up golf, I followed suit, taking lessons in high school and college, dreaming of the day we’d stroll the links together.

But it was not to be. Dreams die hard when you’re twenty years old and have lost someone you’ve loved all your life.

Although I was relieved his ordeal was over, I couldn’t let him go yet. Surely he’d give me some final good-bye. But my search was in vain, my hopes crushed, when, after two long, grief-filled days and nights, nothing was amiss. Feeling forsaken, I went to bed the night before Dad’s funeral, wrapping myself in a blanket of memories, hoping somehow they’d warm the chilling emptiness in my heart.

Then came the morning – my twentieth birthday. What joy would there be for me in this day? Or in any birthday I’d celebrate after this? But something was different: Grief was gone. In its place was peace, a peace so profound it was present in every molecule of the air around me and in every fiber of my being. Love and joy were almost tangible, as if I could reach out and touch a warm, compassionate being who charged the atmosphere with a velvet-like presence.

It was as if Dad was there, assuring me he was in a place so beautiful, so peaceful, I didn’t need to grieve. See where I am, Babe, I could almost hear him say, I’m free from pain, free from worry. It’s all right. Peace walked with me that day.

In the years that followed, when hope seemed but a whisper in the winds of trial, I’d remember Dad’s final gift – that glimpse of heaven – and I’d find the strength to go on.

I still often return, in my heart, to that quiet hillside where now both Dad and Mom are buried. And another memory stirs in my consciousness: Dad sitting on the side of his bed at night, head bowed, eyes closed, hands folded.

“I am the resurrection and the life,” Jesus says in John 11:25. “He who believes in Me, though he die, yet shall he live.”

And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my earthly father is with my Heavenly One. Only with this Father, there is no invisible barrier separating us. All I have to do is tune in to my heart.

A season of realignment

2011-10-30T07:00:00.004-04:00

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the LORD. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” – Jeremiah 29:11 (NLT)

Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the LORD that will be established.   – Proverbs 19:21 (RSV)

I call my Explorer my klunker. Because it literally klunks when I turn the wheel or drive over a rough section of road. Poor thing. It’s 14 years old, which is getting up in vehicle years.

My husband told me quite some time ago to make an appointment to get it aligned. I did, but the guy told me something was wrong with a tie rod end or something like that, so we cancelled the alignment. Now that hubby’s fixed the tie rod end (or something like that), I still haven’t gotten it aligned. But it’s not too bad—yet. I’m used to driving it. You see, there’s a trick to steering a misaligned vehicle.

When a vehicle is aligned, you can hold the steering wheel straight and the vehicle will go straight. But when it isn’t aligned, you have to hold the steering wheel in a slight turn to keep the vehicle going straight. If you hold it straight, you’ll end up where you don’t want to go, like in the ditch or on the other side of the road. Alignment keeps the steering straight.

Now, these Pennsylvania potholes are hard on vehicles, especially alignment. Hit one too hard, and bingo! your vehicle’s out of alignment. The only way to correct it is to take it to a mechanic, who has the expertise and the tools to realign it properly again. The only thing is I have to wait in a dirty waiting room while it’s done. (Have you ever seen a clean waiting room in an auto service place?) And, besides, I don’t like waiting. But eventually it’ll have to be done.

This whole year has been a season of realignment for me. Health challenges have been like potholes, knocking me out of alignment, slowing me down and even stopping me. I had to resign from teaching, give up my radio program, and trim other activities from my schedule. My life is not what I expected it to be. I’m in a waiting room, where I’m learning to balance my life with work, rest and leisure activities. I’m amazed at how busy I was at things that were good, but no longer God’s purpose for me. I’m abashed at how little time I took for fun. I realize that now. Slowly I’m getting my energy back.

And with it a clearer vision. You see, the master Mechanic is using my fatigue to realign my life with His purposes. To force me to stop, look at where I’m headed, and get my steering straight again.

I thought I would teach forever. I thought I’d do my radio program forever. But God had other plans.

Are you in a season of realignment? Trust the master Mechanic. He knows what He’s doing.


Lord, keep me roadworthy and aligned with Your purposes. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Genesis 12:1-9

Detours for dummies

2011-10-23T07:00:00.003-04:00

Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts. – Hebrews 3:8 (NIV)

Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. – James 1:22 (NIV)


“Through traffic only,” read the sign for the exit ramp. Not wanting to take the detour and drive through New Castle, I flicked on my turn signal. I figured “through traffic” meant me, since my exit to I-376 was coming up. If I had to go through New Castle, I might miss it. I might even get lost. Then how would I get to the airport? (No, I don’t have a GPS.)

Ten minutes and several miles later, I got back on Route 422 the same place I got off. I grumbled all the way through New Castle. I didn’t trust that the detour would be marked well enough for dummies like me who are directionally challenged. Shucks, I could get lost in my hometown. I couldn’t afford to lose any more time. I didn’t want the friend I was picking up to be waiting.

Fortunately the detour was well marked. I got to the airport just as her plane was landing, so she didn’t have to wait. I found a parking space close to the terminal and ended up paying only a dollar for parking, since I was there less than an hour. All’s well that ends well, right?

Not exactly.

You see, I really knew I should have taken the detour in the first place. I’d driven the same route two months earlier and knew there was road construction right where my turnoff to I-376 was. What was I thinking?

I wasn’t. I was being willful and trying to force my own way.

I can be that way with God, too. Rather than follow the way He leads me, I stubbornly go my own way. When I’m forced to take a detour—a way I hadn’t planned that will take more time than I want it to—I grumble and complain the entire time.

Once it took me a whole year before I obeyed what I knew what God was telling me. Oh, I had excuses—I said wanted to make sure it was God directing me and I wasn’t merely looking to follow my own desires. But I knew. Deep down I knew. It wasn’t a good year.

As soon as I got on the route I was supposed to be on, the wrestling match in my heart ceased and the tension in my mind evaporated. The next time it didn’t take a whole year before I obeyed.

God directs us, but we have a choice—to go our own way or His. His way is always best—even when it’s a well-marked detour for dummies like me.


I can be stubborn, Lord. Thank you for your patience as I learn to listen and obey. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Jonah 1:1-3

Cleaning my friends list

2011-10-16T07:00:00.001-04:00

A friend is always loyal. . . . A real friend sticks closer than a brother. - Proverbs 17:17, 18:24 (NLT)


Many of my Facebook friends have been posting the following notice: “I’m cleaning my friends list. Do you want to stay? Let me know.” The choices are yes, no, and not sure. I think one more choice needs to be added: “If you have to ask . . .”

I have close to 500 Facebook friends, some of whom I’ve never met but connect through writers and speakers organizations’ online presence. Some I’ve met a few times; others, such as family members, live far away. Still others live close by, but busy schedules and family commitments leave little time for catching up.

Granted, Facebook can usurp precious time and can be used for ill—some folks use it as a dumping station. But most use it to post positive messages—sayings and cartoons and pictures that perk up my day, make me laugh, make me think. Once I mentioned to a friend, who is also a Facebook friend, that I felt bad about posting my health challenges. Her response? “When I read those, I know how to pray for you.” Wow. Who’d ever think that Facebook would become a prayer net? She’s one friend I want to keep.

Whether in cyberspace or flesh-and-blood life, our friends lists clean themselves out naturally. Those who want to stay, do. They make time for you, no matter how busy they are. They’re there when you’re in a pinch.

Kathie is a friend like that. We met the first day of first grade outside the school building. Apprehensive about walking into that classroom and not knowing a soul, we looked at each other and said, “Let’s be best friends.”

And so we were. In grade school, we spent many hours in her attic playing dress-up. In high school I got in trouble one summer night when I walked her home and neglected to call my parents. College parted us. We settled in different areas of western Pennsylvania. Career and family kept us busy.

She was my maid of honor, the godmother to my firstborn. I was in her wedding. I haven’t been as faithful in sending birthday cards as she has, but our friendship in our retirement years is gaining momentum once again. When we do get together, we pick up where we left off, like no time at all has passed since we last saw each other.

Our friendship has lasted over half a century.

In her book, The 5 Things We Need to Be Happy, and Money Isn’t One of Them, Patricia Lorenz gives an apt description of true friendship: “Friends are mathematical. They multiply the joy, divide the sorrow, subtract the past, add to tomorrow. Friendship is bigger than the sum of all its parts.”

Cleaning my friends list? Nah. With friends like Kathie, I have all I need.


Thank you, Lord, for the wonderful people who have blessed my life with their friendship and love. Help me to be a friend to them—and to others—as they are to me. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read 1 Samuel 20

Kathie and me on my wedding day, Dec. 22, 1973

Following the taillights

2011-10-09T08:00:00.001-04:00

Follow my example as I follow the example of Christ. - 1 Corinthians 11:1 (NIV)


I’ve driven the road between Smithport and Punxsutawney thousands of times over the 31 years we’ve lived here. You’d think I could drive it blindfolded. But I can’t. One rainy Friday night proved that.

Not only was the wet pavement darker and harder to see, but the road had recently been tarred and chipped, so there were no lines painted to indicate where the middle and the edge were. Nothing but a few reflectors in the center, which disappeared in the glare of oncoming vehicles’ headlights. Using my high beams helped, but I had to dim them when a car approached or when someone was in front of me.

Several times after an oncoming car passed, I found myself in the center of the road. When you don’t know where the edge is, you tend to hug the middle. You don’t want to end up in the ditch.

I was about halfway home when I muttered a prayer: “Lord, please—no more oncoming cars. Let me have the road to myself so I can get home safely and with my sanity intact.”

A few minutes later, red taillights appeared in front of me. Oh, great. Now I’d have to keep my low beams on. Forget passing. I don’t like to pass on a four-lane highway in broad daylight, let alone on a dark and rainy night on a two-lane, country road with no lines.

I sighed and paced myself behind the car at a safe distance. After a mile, though, I realized that the taillights ahead were helping me to see which way the road went. I followed until my turnoff into Smithport. Only one car had approached after I had prayed. You can bet I breathed a prayer of thanks when I pulled into my driveway. I felt that God sent that car just for me, to help me find my way home.

Life can be dark and rainy at times, too, leaving us guessing how to stay on the road and out of the ditch. The familiar becomes unfamiliar. We’ve traveled the road before, but not in these circumstances. That’s when God sends someone to guide us. Someone who doesn’t flinch in the glare of oncoming problems. Someone who sees in the dark better than we do. Someone who can follow the twists and turns without the lines.

Oh, I probably would have gotten home safely that night without my “angel.” But it sure was comforting to know I wasn’t alone—that someone went before me, showing me the way home.


Thank you, Lord, for the folks You’ve sent to be guides during the dark and rainy times in my life. Through them, You remind me that I am never alone, that You have not forsaken me. Help me, in turn, to be the taillights for others who are having trouble finding their way. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Psalm 1

Insight Number One

2011-10-05T11:58:00.000-04:00

Write down the revelation and make it plain. - Habakkuk 2:2 (NIV)


Writing helps me to figure things out. In the middle of a page I suddenly understand something better—I see something in a different light. Sometimes that “something” is me. Sometimes it’s a situation or a circumstance. Sometimes it’s another person.

That’s why I keep a spiritual journal. My spiritual journal these days isn’t a dumping station, like my earlier journals were. Rather, it’s a place to record the thoughts and insights that come to me as I spent time with God, reading, praying, meditating, listening for the still, small voice. Time alone with God always gives a fresh perspective. And I want to record it so I remember it.

At the end of the last blog entry, I promised to share some of these insights with you in future columns. Today I’ll share what I call Insight Number One.

I’d long felt guilty about not keeping a job like my husband, who’s worked for one employer now for 27 years. My sister-in-law has worked at the Indiana County Courthouse for 40 years. And here I am. I’ve never had one job for more than five years. I’ve taught full time for both the public school and the Christian school, I’ve subbed both day-to-day and long term for teachers on sabbatical leaves, and I’ve worked part-time and full-time for two different newspapers. All in the 39 years since I graduated from college. Those working stints were really like punctuation points in my life. Comparing myself with my husband and my sister-in-law, I felt selfish, fickle, flighty. Didn’t I stick with anything for the long term?

During my retreat time, God gave me the answer: Yes. My husband. In December we’ll celebrate our thirty-eighth anniversary. I fell in love with him on a cold January night in 1973, and I’m in love with him still. We built a family, a house, and a life together.

On Sept. 12, I wrote in my journal: “Working outside of the home (teaching, writing for the newspapers) has never been a career for me, but rather spaces of service. My career has been to be a wife, mother, now grandmother, and homemaker, and to serve God where I can with the talents and opportunities He’s given me.”

God calls each of us to different things, and He’s gifted us uniquely to serve a unique purpose. Comparing myself with another doesn’t do me—or anyone else—any good.

Time alone with God helped me to see the constants in my life: faith, family, and friends.

What else do I need?


Out of my distress I called to You, Lord. You answered me and set me free. With You on my side, I do not fear. You are my strength and my song. You have become my salvation (Based on Psalm 118:5-6, 14). Amen.

Retreat

2011-09-25T00:01:00.006-04:00

You will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart. - Jeremiah 29:13 (NKJV)


It’s amazing what God tells you when you slow down enough to listen.

If you’ve been following this blog, you know that I retired from teaching school two weeks ago. Health issues, particularly an ongoing, worsening fatigue, and a string of health challenges (two surgeries, two bouts of a lingering virus, one of which kept me down for a week and dragging for a month, and an allergic reaction to a wasp sting which sent me to the ER) forced me to relinquish a job I loved. A 59-year-old body can take only so much.

I’d like to say I feel great, that the fatigue is gone, my energy has returned, my brain fog has cleared up, and I’m sleeping well. But I can’t. While I’m not as exhausted as I was, I’m nowhere near where I want to be. Will I ever be? I wonder.

“I feel beat up in body, mind, and spirit,” I told my husband.

So I decided to spend my mornings in a personal retreat, feeding my dried up spirit, soaking up the Word, reading spiritual help books, and working through a couple of Bible studies.

In her book, Meet Me at the Well, Virelle Kidder tells of when the prophet Elijah needed a retreat. The first time he ended up at the Brook Kerith, exhausted. It was there God sent ravens to bring him bread and meat in the morning and evening. The brook provided the water to drink. The second time Elijah was running scared, his life threatened by a wicked queen. He just wanted to curl up and die.

“I’ve had enough, Lord,” he prayed. “Take my life.” Then he lay down and fell asleep.

Ever feel that way? Me, too.

But God knew what his exhausted prophet needed. A few hours later, someone—an angel—tapped Elijah on the shoulder. “Get up and eat.”

He ate the freshly baked bread, drank from the jar of water, then lay down again. A second time it happened. After that he trekked to Mount Horeb, where he found the perfect retreat—a cave. It was there he learned to listen to the still, small voice of God.

Life before fatigue stopped me in my tracks was too noisy for me to hear the gentle whispers of the God I professed to love and serve—but didn’t take the time to really listen to. My time with Him was more like rushing through a drive-through for a quickie meal than reclining at a table prepared just for me (Psalm 23:5). No wonder my spirit was so dried up!

But, drop by drop, sip by sip, gulp by gulp, I’m drinking from the water of life. And God has not disappointed me. I’ve filled pages and pages in my spiritual journal with notes—insights—of things that God is showing me.* No major life changes, but a clearer perspective.

Virelle writes: “Elijah’s assignment? Just rest, eat, drink, and listen to God. . . . Rest is a certain step toward renewal.”

Right now, at this time in my life, that’s my assignment, too.


O God, You are my God, earnestly I seek You: my soul thirsts for You, my body longs for You, in a dry and wearly land where there is no water (Psalm 63:1). Amen.

*I’ll be sharing these insights with you in future blogs. Stay tuned!

NOTE: Virelle Kidder will be the featured speaker at the 2011 Punxsutawney Christian Women’s Conference, “Meet Me at the Well,” on Saturday, Oct. 1 at the Punxsutawney First Church of God. For more information, email me at punxsycwc@gmail.com or visit the conference blog at http://punxsycwc.blogspot.com .

The hem of His garment

2011-09-18T00:00:00.002-04:00

If only I may touch His clothes, I shall be made well. - Mark 5:28 (NKJV)


For 12 long years she suffered. She tried every recourse available, but nothing worked. “She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet of instead of getting better, she grew worse” (Mark 5:26).

I wonder—Was she beyond desperation, past the point of caring? Had she surrendered to her illness, counting the days until it would finally siphon her last ounce of energy, her last breath? Only then she would have relief.

But then she heard something that stirred up a hope she thought long dead: Jesus of Nazareth was passing through—the man whose reputation as a miracle worker was spreading through the country like a wildfire through the withered wasteland: how He’d healed the leper and the man with the shriveled hand, how he’d driven thousands of demons from the crazy man that lived in Gadarene tombs. Why, word had it He'd even calmed a storm at sea with only a few words! Surely He could help her.

She knew she wasn’t allowed in public in her condition, but maybe, just maybe . . . She wrapped her mantle around her face and stepped out the door.

When she saw the crowds swarming around Him, she despaired. She didn’t have a chance. But something in her emboldened her to push through the throng. She was almost to Him when she heard Jairus’s voice: “My little daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so she will be healed and live.”

She knew the little girl—she was only 12. And here she was, way past her prime. Better to let Him go to the girl and not take the time to bother with an old woman. Besides, Jairus was one of the higher ups in the local synagogue, and who was she? A nobody. She turned to leave, but the swarming crowd pushed her closer to Jesus—close enough to touch Him. Hope flared.

If I just touch His clothes . . .

She reached out. Her fingertips brushed the hem of His garment. Suddenly she felt whole. Healthy. Strong. Healed.

Jesus stopped abruptly and looked around. “Who touched Me?”

In the midst of a jostling crowd, He knew. Terror seized her. Would He be angry? Would her illness return?

Trembling, she fell at His feet and confessed. Love, not condemnation, poured from His eyes.

“Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”

Later she heard that He’d brought Jairus’s daughter back from the dead.

Sometimes I wish that Jesus still walked this earth so I, too, can reach out and touch the hem of His garment. And then I remember—He does: “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20)—and I can: “Call to Me, and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things, which you do not know” (Jeremiah 33:3).

In the morning, O LORD, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation. (Ps. 5:3). Amen.

Feeling God doesn’t care about you? Read Psalm 139.

Special-Tea: Read Mark 5:25-34

Finding the well

2011-09-12T00:01:00.000-04:00

Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest. - Mark 6:31 (NIV)


It took me two days into the new school year to realize I no longer had the energy for the job I loved. I left that Friday overwhelmed, exhausted, and frustrated. Teaching is my passion, but I also love to write, mentor and teach writers, and speak. Throw into the mix church responsibilities, family, and health issues, and you get one burned out soon-to-be senior citizen.

But until that Friday, I refused to admit I had too much on my plate. After neck surgery, I’d rested all summer, following the doctor’s orders. But as soon as the cervical collar came off, I jumped full tilt into a busy schedule. My body protested.

In her book, Meet Me at the Well, Virelle Kidder tells of a time she, too, was trying to do too much: “I only half listened to friends who cautioned me about overload, overwork, too much stress and responsibility. That’s another name for pride.”

The decision wasn’t easy, but it was clear. I resigned from teaching.

In the days that followed, I realized I was exhausted in body, mind and spirit.

“Body, mind, and spirit are one complete package,” Virelle writes. “When one part suffers, the whole person suffers.”

Jesus called His weary disciples aside from a busy ministry schedule to “come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mark 6:31). The King James Version words that verse this way: “Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest awhile.” Modern day translation: If you don’t come apart from the maddening rush of life, you’ll just plain come apart! I almost did.

Jesus calls us to serve, but not to wear ourselves out with more than He’s called us to do. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30).

I have to be careful, though. Too many times streamlining my schedule has been like digging a hole in the sand—the more I scoop out, the more falls right back in. I have to stick with what God wants me to do and say no to everything else.

Friday was my last day teaching school. A good portion of this next week will be spent in time alone with God, watering my dried up spirit. I’ll also give myself permission to rest my weary body. Only when my spirit is revived and my body is rested up, can my mind be renewed.

Jesus invites us: “Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life” (Revelation 22:17).

“I was beyond thirsty,” Virelle concludes. “I was parched. Lifeless, dry as a bone. But not anymore. I found the well.”

How about you? Have you found The Well?


Give me the wisdom, dear Lord, to know what You want me to do—nothing less, nothing more. Amen.

Virelle Kidder will be the featured speaker at the 2 011 Punxsutawney Christian Women’s Conference, “Meet Me at the Well,” on Saturday, Oct. 1 at the Punxsutawney First Church of God. For more information, email me at punxsycwc@gmail.com or visit the conference blog at http://punxsycwc.blogspot.com

In harmony

2011-09-04T00:01:00.000-04:00

Under his direction, the whole body is fitted together perfectly. As each part does its own special work, it helps the other parts grow, so that the whole body is healthy and growing and full of love. – Eph. 4:16 (NLT)


When I first joined the marching band in high school, I was still learning how to play the clarinet. For the most part, I could read music, as I’d been playing piano since I was in elementary school. But I wasn’t a good sight reader and had to work hard, counting out every note in every measure, to play the piece correctly.

Since I was a beginner, the director put me in the third section. The best players were assigned to the first section, while the least accomplished ones played what we called “third clarinet.”

Now, playing third clarinet meant my part generally was not the melody, which I would easily recognize if I knew the song. Then it would have been easy to figure out. No, third clarinets played harmony, an accompaniment with sometimes off-beat, syncopated notes that didn’t sound like anything I recognized.

That’s the way it was for the entire band. Usually only one section played the melody. The rest played different accompaniment parts that, when put together, if we were in tune with each other and following the director’s timing, turned out to be a beautiful song. Diversity, when working properly, created unity.

That’s the way it is with the church. God, the composer and director, has given each member a different part to play. Only a few have the obvious parts, the melody. The rest have parts that accompany the melody, adding to it, expanding it, supporting it, making it more effective.

But all parts are interdependent. If I were to play my third clarinet part alone, listeners would have no clue what I was playing. And I had to play the notes I was given. It wouldn’t do to be a maverick and play what I felt like playing. Even though you can’t hear the individual parts when everyone is playing what they’re supposed to be playing and following the director, just let one person hit a wrong note, be out of tune or get off time, and the whole song was discordant. But I was part of a whole, and if every part did its job well, the result was something beautiful and effective.

God has given us each different gifts to use to build up His church. St. Paul listed them in his letters to the believers in Corinth and Rome: serving, teaching, encouraging, giving, administering, showing mercy, exhorting, comforting. Once we discover our gift, it is our responsibility to develop it so that it can be used in His service, for His purpose. It wouldn’t do for me to show up to band practice or a performance unpracticed and unprepared. I had to work at my part to get it right so that it would blend with the rest.

Sometimes we feel as though we’re off beat and out of step, but if we’re following His direction and His timing, our efforts will blend into the whole, creating the unified, harmonious, beautiful song of God’s love.


Dear God, help me to follow Your direction and timing. Help me to play the notes You have given me. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read 1 Corinthians 12: 12-31; Romans 12:4-8

Meet Me at the Well

2011-09-03T11:11:00.000-04:00

Have you tried to be all things to everyone, only to be left feeling dried up?

Then MEET ME AT THE WELL,

the 2011 Punxsutawney Christian Women's Conference,
Sept. 30 & Oct. 1
at the Punxsutawney First Church of God.

Register by Sept. 15 for a $5 discount on your registration fee.

Download a registration form by clicking here.

Click here for more information.

Blessing or cursing?

2011-08-28T00:01:00.002-04:00

The mouth of the righteous is a fountain of life. – Proverbs 10:11 (NIV)


I never knew his name, but, even now, nearly 30 years later, I can see his shining face, radiant with joy, and hear his words: “The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make His face shine upon you, and be gracious to you; the LORD lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace.”

I didn’t know it then, but that old man, dressed in a Salvation Army uniform, who stood at the entrance to the supermarket, ringing his bell and blessing everyone who put their spare change in the red kettle, had more of an impact on my life than I realized at the time.

At first I classified him as a “religious nut.” But he didn’t stand on street corners with a black leather-bound Bible, preaching doom and gloom for sinners. All he did was smile and bless. His entire face radiated a joy I couldn’t understand. How could he be so happy when all I put in the kettle was a quarter?

Years later, I realized his words were the priestly benediction God told Moses and Aaron to bless Israel with (Numbers 6:24-26). I was being blessed! I went from snickering to feeling embarrassed to coveting his blessing. Now, I find myself repeating his words when I’m standing on a curb at a crosswalk and someone stops so I can cross the street. Or when another driver signals me to go first. Or when the cashier actually smiles and acts as though I’m not an interruption. Whenever someone does something kind for me, I bless them.

I also find myself praying for others who don’t seem so cheerful. Perhaps that tired-looking salesperson was up all night with a sick child. Perhaps that snippy receptionist at the other end of the line is having a bad day. You just don’t know what worries and troubles folks are enduring. It’s easier to condemn and criticize than to show compassion and understanding. It’s more natural to pout than to pray, to curse than to bless.

But that old man showed me just how simple it really is to bless.

“Whatever is in your heart,” Jesus said, “determines what you say. A good person produces words from a good heart, and an evil person produces words from an evil heart” (Matthew 25:34-35). James tells us that blessing and cursing should not come from the same mouth. “Does a spring of water bubble out with both fresh water and bitter water?” (James 3:10)

I still find myself at times wanting to curse rather than bless, especially when someone does something that hurts me. But then I remember that old Salvation Army man, and I smile and begin, “The Lord bless you and keep you . . .”

Because I know, like me, that person needs a special touch from God today.


Dear God, when I find myself wanting to criticize or curse, remind me that prayer and blessing work much better. Amen.

Special-Tea: Matthew 12:33-37

Numbering My Days

2011-08-21T00:01:00.002-04:00

Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. - Psalm 90:12 (NIV)


It was Monday. I blinked. It was Friday.

Where has the week gone? I wondered. Indeed, where has the summer gone? Where have nearly 60 years gone?

Sometimes I get to thinking about the whirlwind we call life. I look at where and what I am now, and reflect on how I came to this point. I’m happy. I’m content.

There’s a difference between happiness and contentment, you know. Happiness comes and goes. Things make us happy (especially new things). Events make us happy. People make us happy. But things get old and in disrepair, and need our continued attention to keep them in usable form. Events come and go, leaving us with nothing more than warm memories (and maybe a new family member). And people—well, we all know people are human, inconsistent, and can disappoint us. We lose people we love—to death, to divorce, to them growing up and moving out, and sometimes to misunderstandings and foolish pride.

Happiness, according to my Children’s Ministry Resource Bible, is “feelings of pleasure or contentment that I have when things are going well” (emphasis mine).

Contentment, on the other hand, is an ongoing thing. It’s deep-seated because it’s deep-rooted. It doesn’t depend on things, events or people to survive. It’s a state of being. My Children’s Ministry Resource Bible defines it as “being quietly satisfied with what I have and what I am; accepting God’s care and provision for me.” The latter part of that definition is the key to the first.

I’ve been blessed, and I can continue to count my blessings, even though our garden is doing horribly this year and we won’t be replacing the redneck porch just yet. Life isn’t perfect. But it’s good.

Moses, who had all kinds of trouble in his 120-year lifetime, asked God to teach him to number his days right, so he would have “a heart of wisdom.”

A heart of wisdom knows what’s important. A heart of wisdom uses each day the best way and squeezes every drop of pleasure from each moment. A heart of wisdom doesn’t complain (too much) about detours, but enjoys the scenery. A heart of wisdom takes the unexpected and turns it into an adventure. A heart of wisdom doesn’t fret over things that can’t be changed.

A heart of wisdom knows happiness is fleeting and contentment is knowing Who is in control—of today, tomorrow and forever.

I like the New Living Translation phrasing of Psalm 90:12: “Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.”

Indeed, my stay on earth is too short to focus on all that’s wrong with my life, with people I know, with the country, with the world, but not nearly long enough to number my blessings.


Satisfy me, Lord, in the morning with Your unfailing love, so I may sing for joy to the end of my earthly life and on throughout eternity (based on Ps. 90:14). Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Psalm 90

Rough patches

2011-08-14T00:01:00.002-04:00

Far be it from me that I should sin against the LORD by failing to pray for you. - 1 Samuel 12:23 (NIV)

The dirt road coming in our lane can get rough. Melting snow, hard rains, and traffic all contribute to potholes and soft sections of the road where the dirt gets washed away. Last winter was so bad that my husband dug a small channel across the lane to divert the runoff from melting snow and ice to the ditch alongside.

Problem was the more runoff and traffic, the deeper the channel got, and the more I had to slow down, nearly stopping. I complained—nicely—to him until he shoveled some gravel in so it wouldn’t be so deep. But the loose gravel eventually succumbed to relentless spring rains and tires dipping in and out, creating a rough patch I can’t avoid.

But rough patches have become a blessing to me. They serve as reminders to pray for others who may be going through a rough patch. And we all have rough patches we go through at one time or another. We all have “stuff” in our lives—stuff we don’t talk about because it’s too personal, too complicated, too embarrassing, too whatever. We all need prayer to get us through the stuff—the rough patches.

We all have needs—spiritual, physical, mental, emotional, financial—we all have relationships that need smoothed out, offenses that need forgiven, bad habits to overcome. We all need someone to sprinkle in the gravel of hope in the rough patches of life.

So when I drive to town, I pray for the people I know who live in the houses I pass. One day I passed the house of a former teaching colleague. Pray for her popped into my mind. So I did—then and every time I passed her house. A few months later she told me that she’d been going through a rough patch.

We are to pray for one another, whether friend or foe, and to pray without ceasing. But you don’t have to pray only during your daily prayer time. You can pray wherever you are, whether you’re at the sink doing dishes, outside mowing grass, or driving to town. God hears you. You don’t have to remember all the prayer requests on lists that get longer by the day. Simply ask God to bring to mind someone who needs prayer. And you don’t have to know the “stuff.”

Next time you have to slow down for a rough patch, don’t grumble—pray!


Thank you, Lord, for the rough patches in the roads I travel. They remind me to pray for others who are going through rough patches in their lives. Amen.


IDEA: Don’t know how to pray for others? Why not pray the blessing in Numbers 6:24-26 or the prayer of Jabez (1 Chronicles 4:89-10) for them?

Special-Tea: Read 1Timothy 2:1-8

Passing muster

2011-08-07T00:01:00.001-04:00

He who hears My word and believes in Him who sent Me has everlasting life, and shall not come into judgment, but has passed from death into life. – John 5:24 (NKJV)


This has been a summer of milestones. Anyone who’s had surgery knows what I mean. I rejoiced when I was able once again to prepare supper, do the dishes, make the bed, do the laundry, drive to town, carry something weighing more than five pounds, and sit at the computer for more than 30 minutes without muscle spasms in my shoulders and upper arms.

So a solo trip to Minneapolis last week was a real test. Now, I don’t like driving through Pittsburgh, so whenever I fly, my husband drops me off at the airport before work. Which means 5:30 a.m. so he can get back through the tunnels by 6. Which means we leave the house at 3:30 a.m.

Since my flight didn’t leave until 12:20 p.m., and I wasn’t too keen on getting up at 3 a.m., I drove to the airport myself. Which meant no help lugging a suitcase, a CPAP machine, my laptop, and a briefcase which doubled as a purse—and you know how heavy a woman’s purse can be. But I divided up the weight and was able to get everything in the Explorer myself without overdoing it.

Then, because I don’t like driving through Pittsburgh and my cervical collar would limit turning my head (driving through Pittsburgh, as you know, requires eyes on every side of your head), I took the longer way down—Route 422 West, then I376 East, instead of Route 22. More miles, but less traffic and anxiety.

After I checked in, I still had my CPAP, laptop, and briefcase to lug to the gate. I made it with no spasms. But when I got to Minneapolis, the walk to baggage claim seemed endless. I had to stop and rest halfway there. But I made it. When my husband texted me to ask how I was doing, I responded, “I passed muster.”

The return flight was a different story. A canceled flight, a delayed flight, and a missed flight brought me home a day later than planned, exhausted but pleased with myself. I’d lugged three bags through three airports and drove three hours one way, and made it home no worse for the wear. I passed muster.

I’ve passed muster in the eyes of God, too. But not through my own efforts. To pass muster means to be judged as acceptable. How can I, who still stumble into sin, be judged as acceptable to a holy God? Not by lugging around a heavy load of sin, but by believing that His Son took away that baggage when He died on the cross. His grace alone saved me.

Passing muster—being judged acceptable by God—means accepting His grace.

Have you passed muster?


Thank You, God, for providing the way for me to pass muster. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Romans 8:1-8

Dealing with bad calls

2011-07-31T00:01:00.000-04:00

But I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on . . . – Philippians 3:13-14 (NLT)

Anyone who knows me knows I’m a diehard Pittsburgh Pirates fan. But did I stay up for Tuesday night’s marathon game against the Braves? Almost. I went to bed after the top of the nineteenth inning. Good thing, too. Because if I’d had seen the umpire’s blown call at home plate during the bottom of that inning, I wouldn’t have gotten any sleep.

Replays show Pirates catcher Michael McKenry tagging runner Julio Lugo at least a foot before Lugo reached the plate. Even Lugo thought he was out—until umpire Jerry Meals called him safe, ending the record-setting long game. Only then did Lugo tag the plate.

Even Meals, after he’d seen the replay said he “might have” blown the call: “It appeared he might have got him on the shin area. I’m guessing he might have got him.”

Come on, ump. Own up to it. What’s wrong with saying, “I made a mistake. I was wrong”? None of this “I’m guessing” or “might have.”

One ESPN writer called it “the new worst call ever.”

Last year a blown call at first base ruined a pitcher’s perfect game. That umpire, after seeing the replays, admitted his error and actually cried about it.

“There’s no doubt he feels bad and terrible,” said the pitcher. “I have a lot of respect for the man. It takes a lot to say you’re sorry and to say in interviews he made a mistake.”

“Sometimes that’s the way it goes,” said Pirates manager Clint Hurdle after Wednesday morning’s fiasco at home plate. “It’s just disappointing . . . We’ll move on. The season is not going to stop.”

Pirates pitching coach Ray Searage was even terser: “Deal with it.”

How we deal with the bad calls we get—and give—in life reveals our character and determines whether the ordeal will weaken or strengthen us.

Take St. Paul, for instance. He was imprisoned on trumped up charges more than once, whipped, beaten with rods, stoned, shipwrecked, and left for dead, yet he continually pressed on, refusing to look back, refusing to let the unfairness of it all embitter him. He refused to play the blame game and allow a grudge to destroy both relationships with others and his own spirit.

So we, too, must deal with the bad calls of life: We allow them to make us either bitter or better. Remember: mercy sweetens; bitterness poisons.

What about when you’re the one who’s made the bad call? You can own up to it, justify it, deny it, ignore it, or circumvent it (aka, “beat around the bush”). It seems to me all but one of those choices keeps things stirred up. Admitting your mistake—and saying you’re sorry—will not only diffuse a volatile situation, but will also win you the respect and perhaps even the friendship of those you’ve wronged. Remember: “A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger” (Proverbs 15:1).

No one’s perfect. We’ve all made bad calls. We’ve all been on the receiving end of bad calls. C’est la vie—such is life.

Deal with it—and move on.

Help me, Lord, to ask forgiveness when I’ve wronged someone, to forgive those who have wronged me, and to move on. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Psalm 37

Forgotten gift

2011-07-24T00:01:00.004-04:00

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith . . . it is the gift of God. – Ephesians 2:8 (NIV)


I sat in the manager’s office as he perused my application for a line of credit. I was 20 years old, had just graduated from college, and moved to Punxsutawney, where I’d gotten my first job. After a couple months of loneliness—I knew no one in the area, and my social life was zilch—I decided it was time to purchase a television. So I went to Grant’s department store in town, chose one I liked, and applied for a line of credit.

That’s where I ran into trouble. I had no credit history. Oh, I was making payments on my car—a '67 Camaro Rally Sport—but my mother had signed the loan papers, so the loan was in her name, as was the credit for my punctual payments. I wouldn’t ask her to sign for me on this. After all, I was on my own now, right?

The manager was doing his best to help me.

“You don’t have any credit cards?” he asked.

I started to shake my head when I remembered—my dad, months before his death, had given me a Texaco credit card. “You might need this sometime,” he’d said. I put it in my wallet and forgot about it. Now I pulled it out and handed it to the manager.

“I’ve never used it, though.”

His face erupted into a huge grin. “It doesn’t matter. It’s in your name. It’ll work.”

I got my TV.

Sometimes we receive a gift we don’t think we need. We put it away for “someday” or recycle it—give it to someone who might use it. In the case of the forgotten credit card, I never planned to use it. But my father knew someday I might have an emergency and he wouldn’t be around. Without a lecture (Mom would have given me one), he quietly slipped me something I didn’t know at the time I would need.

My Father in heaven is the same. He, too, knows what I need before I ask (Matthew 6:8). Like salvation. Nearly two thousand years before I was born, He sent His Son to pay the penalty for my sins—and the sins of everyone who ever lived. He did this so I could spend eternity with Him. Salvation—being saved from the penalty of my sin, from the power of sin, and someday from the presence of sin—is a gift. I cannot earn it.

But how many do with the gift of salvation what I did with that credit card—put it away for someday and forget about it?

But someday always comes. Someday, in fact, is today (2 Corinthians 6:2).

Have you used the gift God has given you?


Thank You, Father, for patiently waiting for me to realize that I needed You—and the salvation You give through Your Son Jesus Christ. Amen.

Special-Tea: Acts 16:25-31; Ephesians 2:8-9

Extra “Tea”: Romans 3:23-24; Romans 6:23; John 3:16; John 3:36; John 14:6; 1 John 5:11-12

My rock-and-roll kitty

2011-07-17T00:01:00.003-04:00

As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul longs for you, O God. - Psalm 42:1 (NIV)


One day about two years ago my neighbor appeared at my door, with a soft, white and gray kitten. “It just showed up,” she said.

I held out my arms.

I named her “Rascal,” because, well, she was such a rascal—hiding under the bed when I made it, scooting out and swatting my foot with her sharp claws, then scooting back to safety, like she was playing a game of hide and tag. She had other lurking places, too.

Rascal must have been taken from her mother too soon, because she seems to adopted me for the role. She likes to be close to me. Sometimes too close. She hops up on the bed at night—or whenever I lie down—and snuggles up next to my leg. When I’m watching TV or reading, I find her nestled my lap. She often curls up at my feet when I’m working at the computer or having my devotions. Once I forgot she was there and moved my desk chair, which has rollers on the bottom—and rolled over some part of her. My quiet time chair—an antique rocking chair—isn’t any safer. She lies so close that, if I’m not careful, I rock on her. Hence I call her my rock-and-roll kitty.

But my rocking and rolling on her hasn’t stopped her from wanting to be close to me.

Just like Rascal wants to be close to me, so God wants us to want to be close to Him. He wants us to want Him more than anything else—to desire the Giver more than the gift, the One who answers prayer more than the answer, His presence more than His provision.

He wants us to have a heart like David’s, whom God called “a man after my own heart” (1 Samuel 13:14, Acts 13:22). David’s was a heart that wanted God above all else:

“Better is a day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere” (Psalm 84:10).
“My soul finds rest in God alone” (Psalm 62:1)
“As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul longs for you” (Psalm 42:1).
“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” (Psalm 63:1).

I wish I could say that’s where I’m at—wanting God more than anything. I know that’s where I should be. The only time I really want God the way He wants to be wanted is when I need something only He can provide. Unanswered prayer, impossible problems, feelings of helplessness, all drive me to Him.

I need to be like my rock-and-roll kitty, who just wants to be close to me.

And so I pray . . .

Dear God, I want to want You more than anything, but I’ve got a long way to go. Too many other wants crowd You out. Place the desire for You alone in my heart, so I can pray with sincerity: 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. Amen.

Scrabble Schemes

2011-07-10T00:01:00.002-04:00

Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. – Ephesians 6:9 (NIV)


I love to play Scrabble. When the kids were with us, the only one who’d play Scrabble with me was my youngest, David. A competitor to the bone, he’d make up words and insist they were legitimate. So I bought a Scrabble dictionary. If the word wasn’t in there, no go.

In time, I considered myself lucky to lose to David by only 50 points. Then he went to college, and the only time I got to play Scrabble was when he came home. Then he graduated, got a real job—and a life—and home visits are few and far between. So, no more Scrabble.

Then he bought me a Kindle for Christmas. I downloaded the Scrabble game almost immediately and now play “AL,” short for “Electronic Arts, Inc.” AL is really AI--Arts, Inc.--but it looks like AL, so I that's what I named my electronic opponent, which is basically a computer.

In my Scrabble games with David, I learned to use the bonus squares. But playing against a computer, that’s not enough. I had to learn to block my opponent—take away AL's chance of using the bonus squares and anticipate his moves, even if it means I have to put in a word with a lower score.

In real life, I have an opponent for whom it’s not a game and who's smarter than a computer. He’s not only out to steal my soul, but also works hard to discredit me—turn the good I do into bad, destroy my reputation and credibility as a Christian, make my efforts for God futile. Spiritual battles are hard to fight because the enemy is unseen, crafty, powerful, and can disguise himself as an angel of light (2 Corinthians 11:14). Like in the game of Scrabble, I’ve had to learn to block his moves.

But God doesn’t leave me defenseless in the biggest battle of my existence—the fight for my eternal life.

First, He gives me Himself: “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5).

Second, He gives me the strength to flee: “But God keeps His promise: He will not allow you to be tempted beyond what your power to resist; at the time you are tempted, he will give you the strength to endure it, and so provide you with a way out” (1 Corinthians 10:13 TEV).

And third, just like I have a Scrabble dictionary to refer to, I have the Word of God, which Paul calls “the sword of the Spirit (Ephesians 6:17): “How can a young man keep his way pure? By living according to Your word” (Psalm 119:9, see also verses 11 and 105, and 2 Timothy 3:16).

If I want to win in Scrabble, I have to block my opponent’s moves. Don’t be defenseless against the enemy. Block his moves with the bonus squares of God’s presence, strength, and Word.


Your Word, O Lord, is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path (Psalm 119:105). Remind me to use it. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Ephesians 6:10-18

Selah

2011-07-03T00:01:00.000-04:00

       He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul. – Psalm 23:2?3 (NIV)

       Have you ever noticed the little word Selah that appears frequently in the book of Psalms? Ever wonder what it means? Or maybe, like me, you skip over it. After all, it’s one little word, set apart from the rest of the text. How important could it be?
       I never gave Selah much thought, especially after I learned that the word’s meaning is uncertain. Then I got a Kindle for Christmas and downloaded the Amplified Bible, which explains the meanings of words as they were understood in their original language. When I came across the word Selah, the explanation inside the brackets read “pause, and calmly think of that!”
       That was something I knew I should do—and often tried to do—but was usually in a hurry to get my daily devotions done so I could plunge into my full schedule.
       Then on June 6 I had surgery to repair three herniated neck disks. I prepared myself as best as I could. I walked daily to build up my stamina, got my reading stash in order, submitted my June columns and radio programs ahead of time, and cleared my summer schedule. I had no idea how long recovery would take. One lady who’d had the same operation told me she was back to work three and a half weeks after the surgery. Others also told me they rebounded within weeks.
       The surgery was successful. I’ve had no pain—at all. After seven months of sometimes debilitating pain, that alone is enough to make me want to plunge right back into a full schedule. But I was given strict restrictions: no BLTS—no bending, lifting, twisting, or sitting for more than 30 minutes at a time—I wasn’t allowed to do anything but rest until my follow-up appointment two weeks after I was discharged. “If you’re not bored,” I was told, “you’re doing something wrong.”
       I wanted to get my life back, so I adhered to the doctor’s orders—and found that I enjoyed the down time. Rather than be bored, I was relaxed. I even let the reading stack go. Naps were more important.
       By the day of my follow-up appointment, though, I knew I still wouldn’t be running any marathons. As I viewed the X-rays in the doctor’s office, I counted eight screws holding the plate in place in my neck. I literally have my head screwed on, I thought. So I wasn’t surprised when the doctor told me I would trade the hard cervical collar for a soft one—which I’ll wear for six weeks “because you had multiple layers (more than one disk) done.”
       I’m gradually increasing my activity—walking short distances every other day, resting when I feel tired, working at the computer until my shoulders tell me “enough!” And today I’ll drive for the first time in a month. But for the rest of the summer I’ll take it easy—take the time to Selah and not feel guilty.
       Selah—such a little word. How important can it be?

       Sometimes, Lord, You have to stop me in my tracks to get me to slow down and Selah. Remind me not to skip over it again. Amen.

Pickings without paying

2011-06-26T00:01:00.000-04:00

You shall not steal. – Exodus 20:15

One summer day when I was a child, my sister and I decided to pick some cherries. So we hiked to the nearest tree and spent the afternoon in its lofty, laden branches, filling our containers with delicious, sweet cherries. The problem was the tree was in a neighbor’s yard.

“Where did these cherries come from?” my mother asked when she spied the fruit of our labor.

We told her.

“Did you ask permission first?”

“No. We thought since she lives alone, and there were more cherries on the tree than she could ever use, we’d just take some. She wouldn’t miss them.”

“Taking something that belongs to someone else without asking permission is wrong,” my mother explained. “You’ll have to go and tell her what you’ve done and pay for what you took.”

Fortunately, the neighbor was understanding and let us keep our pickings without paying.

Stealing infiltrates our daily lives without us even realizing it. We’ve been programmed to take what we think we deserve. We come up with a thousand reasons why we should have what we want. We justify wrong by convincing ourselves that it’s right. We redefine terms to our own selfish advantage.

But whitewashing it doesn’t change it. Stealing – no matter the reason, no matter that what we stole was, in our opinion, “insignificant” – is sin, and sin is an impenetrable wall that separates us from God.

“But I just ‘borrowed’ it. I was planning to return it,” we reason. Borrowing is fine if we ask permission first. While we’re borrowing it, we’re robbing the owner of the opportunity to use what is his. What happens if what we borrow gets lost, stolen, or broken? Then it’s our responsibility to fix it, replace it or pay for it. And we’re not to be cheap in making restitution, either.

In the Old Testament, if a man let his livestock stray into another man’s field or vineyard, then he was to make restitution from the best of his own field or vineyard. If a man stole one animal, he was to pay the owner back with five (Exodus 22:1).

In the New Testament, the rich tax collector Zaccheaus told Jesus, “If I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount” (Luke 19:8). We are not to be cheap in making restitution. We are to repay with generosity and quality, even if it means we must sacrifice.

Material possessions and money aren’t the only things we can pilfer. We can purloin another person’s time, ideas and words.

Stealing not only means taking something that doesn’t belong to us, it also means not giving someone what is due him. We rob God when we don’t give Him back a tenth of what He’s given us (Malachi 3:8-10). We steal from the government when we don’t report all our income on our tax returns. We steal from merchants when we don’t return the extra change we’ve received by mistake. We steal from nonprofit organizations when we don’t honor our pledges.

But stealing is a symptom of something more serious. It is an outward manifestation of an inward ailment, and we can’t fix the symptoms until we cure the cause. In order to stop our thievery, then, we need to examine our hearts and ask God to remove the reasons, which include selfishness, greed, discontent, covetousness and envy (Matthew 15:19). And then ask Him to give us a generous and contented heart, for as we think in our hearts, so are we (Proverbs 23:7; Philippians 4:8).


Give me neither poverty nor riches. Give me just enough to satisfy my needs. For, if I grow rich, I may become content without You. And if I am too poor, I may steal, and thus insult Your holy name. Amen. (Based on Proverbs 30:8-9 LB)

Special-Tea: Exodus 22:1-15; Psalm 119:112-128

A Father's Day Tribute to My Dad

2011-06-19T11:10:00.001-04:00


Peter Maddock, US Army, WWII

Dad, my Dad, where have you gone?

I once walked by your side.

My two small steps could never match

Your slow, but gentle stride.

My small hand in yours would rest;

You were a giant then.

But yet so patient, yet so kind--

My hero among men.

Dad, my Dad, where have you gone?

Your lap was once my throne;

Your hair a crown of grizzled black,

To gray when I had grown.

Dad, you shouldn't work so hard,

You're getting much too thin.

Go out and shoot a round of golf,

Take me--for sure, you'll win.

Father, dear, I'm far away,

I need a loving hand

To slip me change when I go broke

And gently reprimand.

Dad, my Dad, where have you gone?

My son walks by my side;

His two small steps will never match

Your slow, but gentle stride.

I wrote this poem in the college library the summer of my freshman year. Dad died a little over two years later, a semester before I graduated, and was buried on my twentieth birthday. Dad, you're still my hero. I love you, and I miss you.

My Father's Lap

2011-06-19T00:01:00.000-04:00

In the shadow of thy wings I will take refuge, till the storms of destruction pass by. – Psalm 57:1 (RSV)


When I was growing up, there was only one place where I could escape my mother’s wrath—my father’s lap. I was an impulsive child, and my mother wasn’t blessed with patience, so when our wills clashed, sparks flew.

Mom was the firestorm; Dad the quiet stream. I loved them both, but it was to Dad I turned when I needed a listening ear or when I just needed cuddled. Curled up in his lap, resting my head on his shoulder, feeling his arms around me, was the safest place in the world.

Fast forward forty years. I am now a mother, still a bit impulsive, fiery when I get going. My husband is like my father—a soothing balm to my blistering heat. One of my children has impulsively done something that could cast a dark shadow over the future. I am so furious, I shake. I feel heat radiating from my face.

“How could you do this?” I shout. “When we get home, you will tell your father what you’ve done.”

But the scene doesn’t turn out as I expect. There, curled up in my husband’s lap, is our errant, remorseful child.

Fast forward eight more years. I am now a grandmother. As my family has multiplied, so have my love and concern. I pray for my children and grandchildren every day, but still I worry. I am at the age where I realize how fragile life really is and how dangerous a place the world is. I have much more to lose now.

As I sit in the family room, my head rests on the wing of the love seat where I’m curled up. Eyes closed, I imagine myself sitting in my heavenly Father’s lap, resting my head on His shoulder, feeling His arms around me.

I speak no words, but peace, like a placid stream, gently seeps into my soul. I am in the safest place in the world.


Abba, Father, thank You for Your unconditional love. Amen.

Special-Tea: Psalm 57

The better bone

2011-06-12T00:01:00.000-04:00

A heart at peace gives life to the body, but envy rots the bones. – Proverbs 14:30 (NIV)

One morning years ago I gave each of our dogs, Bobby and Charlie, a big, juicy venison bone before I sat down for my devotions.

There, I thought smugly as they settled on the living room carpet about six feet from each other, that’ll keep them quiet and occupied for awhile.

I sank down into the love seat and opened my Bible to the day’s meditation. After a few minutes, Bobby got up, dropped his bone on the carpet at my feet, and stood over Charlie until she let go of hers. Quickly, he snapped it up and scooted behind the love seat. Charlie was too surprised to growl.

I didn’t want a dog fight in the middle of my living room, so I picked up Bobby’s bone and gave it to Charlie. It wasn’t long before Bobby sneaked out from behind the love seat and, once again, snatched the bone Charlie was chomping on. I took the bone that Bobby had left and dropped it in front of Charlie. Catching on to Bobby’s thievery, Charlie left the bone I gave her and went after Bobby’s.

On and on the swapping went, each dog acting as though the other had the better bone. What I thought would make for peace, instead became a source of envy and caused trouble.

I, too, battle envy. When a friend drives by in a new vehicle, suddenly my 1997 Explorer looks rustier and rattles (more like klunks) more loudly. After I’ve visited with someone who has a nicer house than I have, it seems as though the furniture and carpeting in my house have gotten shabbier overnight. And it’s all too easy to find fault with those who I feel are smarter, thinner or more talented.

Nine of the Ten Commandments deal with our actions; the tenth deals with our inner desires: “You must not be envious of your neighbor’s house, or want to sleep with his wife, or want to own his slaves, oxen, donkeys, or anything else he has” (Exodus 20:17 LB).

Like an acid, envy eats away at my peace of mind, my inner joy and contentment, and my relationships with others. No wonder God tells us to rid ourselves of envy (1 Peter 2:1). He knows what I’m still learning – that love, not envy, is the better bone.

When I feel that tug of envy on my heart, O Lord, help me to be satisfied with what I have, for everything I have is a gift from You. Amen.

Special-Tea: Matthew 6:19-33; Psalm 119:145-160

For further study: Hebrews 13:5; Philippians 4:11-13; James 1:17; Psalm 145:14-21; 1Timothy 6:9-11; Colossians 3:5; Matthew 15:19-20.

Murder by mouth

2011-06-05T00:01:00.004-04:00

You shall not murder. – Exodus 20:13(NIV)

When I was in college, my friends and I planned a surprise birthday party on our dormitory floor for our friend “PV.” Since we had to wait for her to return from some contrived errand, I decided to spend a few quiet moments with my boyfriend in the downstairs social room.

About the time PV was to have come back, Tammy, one of the party planners, approached me.

“PV isn’t back yet,” she said, “but I’ll let you know as soon as she comes.”

Then she went upstairs and told the girls, including PV, who had returned, that I said I didn’t want to come. After that I had no friends.

Murder by mouth. With her lie, Tammy destroyed precious friendships, my reputation, and what little joy I found in college.

The tongue, James wrote, “is a small thing, but what enormous damage it can do. . . It is full of wickedness that can ruin your whole life. . . It is an uncontrollable evil, full of deadly poison.”

The tongue is sharper than any knife, slicing into the aorta of someone’s character with malicious gossip and causing a reputation to bleed to death. Maybe that story we’re repeating is true, however unkind. But does it build up or tear down?

“With his mouth,” the writer of Proverbs notes, “the godless destroys his neighbor” (Proverbs 11:9).

But lies, slander and gossip aren’t the only ways we murder with our mouths. We are adept at destroying dreams, too.

We tell our kids to “aim for the stars,” then shoot them down when they do. A high school athlete dreams of being a major league ballplayer. A young girl aspires to be an astronaut. A want-to-be writer wrestles with putting a sentence together. A learning- disabled student dreams of becoming a teacher. Do we support them in their pursuits, unlikely as their dreams may seem to us? Or do we “bring them down to reality” with words that are meant to “soften the landing”?

Who knows, maybe that aspiring ballplayer will be the one in 10,000 who will make it to the big leagues. Perhaps that young woman will walk on the moon someday – or discover another star. Or that aspiring writer will win a Pulitzer Prize. And the student who struggles will become the best teacher because he understands and knows how to help.

Words can kill joy, too. Have you ever said something to someone and watched the light die out of their eyes? Maybe your husband did the laundry and you complain that the clothes aren’t folded right. Or perhaps your daughter cleaned the kitchen or your son washed your car, and instead of telling them you appreciate their efforts, you find the places they missed. Or maybe your wife went out of her way and took time, in spite of a busy schedule, to cook your favorite meal and you comment that the meat is a “little tough.”

“Do to others what you would have them do to you,” Jesus commanded us (Matthew 7:12). That includes our speech: “Say to others what you would have them say to you.” Framing our words in a positive manner means applying the Philippians 4:8 rule to our speech: Say only the words that are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy.

Words can bring death or life. The choice is ours.

Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them. – Ephesians 4:29 (NLT)

Let me always be an encourager, Lord. Amen.

Taking inventory

2011-06-03T17:56:00.000-04:00

Make every effort to add to your faith goodness, and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, love. – 2 Peter 1:5-7 (NIV)

Of all the end-of-the-school-year jobs I have, I dread taking inventory the most. But knowing what I have and what I don’t have will make things easier when the new school year rolls around.

Taking spiritual inventory regularly is important, too. God’s Word tells me what I should have on my spiritual shelves:

Faith, believing that God exists and what He says in His Word is true, is most important. Without faith, nothing else on my shelves has meaning. Faith is “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see” (Hebrews 11:1). I have faith that I have a home in heaven when I leave this earth. I have faith that God is with me at all times, living in me in the form of His Holy Spirit.

Another important item is goodness. On my own, I can’t be good. I trip over my faults daily. The goodness St. Peter wrote about is God’s goodness. The New King James Version uses the word “virtue” – or “excellence in character and conduct.” Through the Holy Spirit’s power, I can live a life worthy of the price God paid for me on Calvary.

Knowledge of God is another item I need to keep in stock. How can a finite, limited human being ever begin to know the infinite, unlimited God? By reading and believing His Word. By talking to Him as though He were right beside you every moment of the day – He is, you know – and listening to Him when He speaks to you.

I tend to run out of self-control quickly because I use it frequently. Keeping guard of my thoughts, words and actions isn’t easy. I need to remember to stop and think before I act or speak. I need to open a package of “What Would Jesus Do?” daily.

Perseverance is sticking with something no matter how hard it gets. I’m not a good fighter. When the going gets tough, I’d rather turn tail and run. Discouragement and despair rule the day. Sometimes God sends a package of perseverance in the form of an encouraging friend.

If being good on my own is hard, then being godly is near impossible. Godliness – living my life so that I reflect God’s character – can be achieved by studying and meditating on Scripture, letting it soak into every fiber of my being. If I am to reflect God to the world, like a mirror reflects the sun, then I must turn my face to His Son.

Brotherly kindness and love go hand in hand. Sometimes it’s hard to love others, to be kind to those who are unkind. But I can practice kindness by choosing to treat others with respect, the way I want to be treated. By answering softly, and sometimes, biting my tongue and not answering at all. By refusing to dwell on the things that others say and do that irk me. By focusing on the rose and not the thorn in another’s personality.

And, finally, I need to keep a good supply of love on hand. Not human love because it’s used up too quickly, but divine love – letting God love others through me. Calvary tells me that everyone has worth in God’s eyes. Love with a tag of “sacrifice” on it is the kind of love God wants me to have for others.

Help me, Lord, to keep my shelves stocked with You. Amen.

Special-Tea: 2 Peter 1:5-11

What kind of flower are you?

2011-05-22T14:11:00.000-04:00

Let your hope keep you joyful, be patient in your troubles, and pray at all times. – Romans 12:12 (TEV)


My husband and I were at our church’s annual sweetheart dinner, and the men were taking a how-well-do-you-know-your-wife quiz. “What is your wife’s favorite flower?” was one of the questions. He wrote “roses.”

Roses are nice, I thought, but they’re not my favorite flower. I tried to come up with an answer, but the truth was I didn’t have a favorite flower. I didn’t know I was supposed to. I liked all flowers, especially wild ones.

That was years ago. I didn’t give the favorite-flower question much thought until recently.

“I just love lilacs,” I told my husband one day as we sat at the dining room table, the fragrance of lilacs filling the room. “They’re my favorite flower.”

But I had to qualify that.

“For fragrance, that is,” I added quickly. “I like carnations because you can put them in water, and they last for weeks. And I like daisies because they are such a happy flower.”

“You know,” I said, looking at my husband, “I want to be like those three flowers: fragrant like the lilacs, hardy like the carnation and happy like the daisy.”

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that those three flowers also symbolize my faith.

The lilac symbolizes my prayer life. Just as the lilac’s soft fragrance continually fills the air around it, so should my prayers ascend to God, like the Old Testament sacrifices that were described as a “pleasing aroma,” a “sweet-smelling savor,” or a “fragrant offering” to the Lord. As I love to stand next to my lilac bush when it’s covered with blossoms, inhaling the heady scent, so I imagine God inhaling the sweet scent of my prayer offerings to Him.

The carnation symbolizes endurance. Hardy, even for black-thumbed me, the carnation doesn’t need babied. But too often I’m like the rose – I want to be beautiful for God, but I have to be pampered if I am to last. When life’s circumstances heat up, I whine, I pout, I wilt. But the Christian life isn’t a flower shop, where perfect conditions are cultivated for the flowers to thrive. It’s more like the world outside, where weather conditions can change in a moment, and endurance is necessary if I am to thrive for God.

Finally, the daisy symbolizes, to me, the joy that comes from hope. Such a little word, and so often dwarfed next to its giant big brother faith, hope is my song in the night. It’s what keeps me going in the tough times, what keeps me putting one step in front of the other on this long, hard journey called life. Hope in my heart is what puts the smile on my face. Hope is knowing that although there may be tears in the night, joy will come with the morning light. And morning always comes.

Lord, help me to be fragrant like the lilac, hardy like the carnation, and happy like the daisy. Amen.

Special-tea: Read Romans 12

It's lilac time!

2011-05-15T00:01:00.004-04:00

Our lives are a fragrance presented by Christ to God. –2 Corinthians 2:15 (NLT)

When we first moved to the country, my mother-in-law gave me a small lilac bush, an offshoot of one that grew in her yard. I planted it in the ground at the front corner of the house, upwind, so the soft spring breezes would carry the heady fragrance of the flowers through open windows. After being closed up all winter, I reasoned, the house would smell fresh and clean.

It didn’t quite work out that way. The first few years, the bush grew, but not the flowers. The transplant needed to take to the soil and grow a strong root system before it would blossom.

Then there were the years an early spell of warm, summer-like weather coaxed the buds out, but then a heavy frost would freeze the blossoms. We still got flowers, just not as many.

Each year, the bush grew taller and fuller. Each year I’d open my windows, but somehow the sweet scent of lilacs didn’t fill the house as I’d envisioned – until 25 years after I planted it. Perhaps the bush needed time to mature. Fragrant purple blossoms now cover the bush, which is nearly 20 feet high and 10 feet across, dominating that corner of the yard. And the sweet smell of lilacs fills my home day and night. At last.

My lilac bush and I are alike. When I first became a Christian, I wanted to set the world on fire for Christ. I was bold, enthusiastic, hungry for God-knowledge, and wanting to share what I had with everyone around me. I had dreams of packing up my guitar on going on the road, singing the songs I wrote and telling audiences about God. Didn’t Jesus tell command us to go into all the world and tell others about Him?

But things didn’t work out the way I’d envisioned. Three months after I told God I’d do anything for Him, I was pregnant with our third child. No going into all the world for me. My guitar would have to idle in a forgotten corner, my music on a dusty shelf, while my fingers busied themselves, not with plucking strings, but diapers, dishes, dust rags and dirty clothes.

But those were good years – in hindsight, the best years of my life. I spent a lot of time in the Word and on my knees. Like the lilac bush, I needed time to mature, to grow my roots deep in Him, to weather the extremes of life. Funny, but now that my children are grown and I have the time and opportunity to do what I dreamed of so many years ago, I find myself wanting not to go into the world, but to stay home.

But God has spent decades getting this lilac bush ready to do what He called me to do (and it’s not singing), and I must obey His call. It’s lilac time.

Dear God, let my life be a sweet-smelling fragrance to the world around me. Amen.

Special-Tea: 2 Corinthians 2:14-17

A mother's prayer

2011-05-08T00:01:00.000-04:00


Mother's Day bouquet from Jaime.

And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men. – Luke 2:52 NIV


My children are all grown, now, Lord. I don’t hear their voices every day. I don’t have to cook for them, pick up after them, or remind them to clean their rooms, take out the garbage, do their homework, or be home by curfew.

No more do I scrutinize report cards, or attend teacher conferences, holiday programs, and piano and ballet recitals. No schedules deck my refrigerator. I don’t have to answer “why” questions or make sure I have the right change for lunch money or explain why I don’t want another dog. My day no longer centers around them. They are all on their own. I sure hope I’ve done a good job.

But, Lord, my job is far from over. Now I get to parent from my knees. Now I get to practice heartfelt, persistent prayer. I pray that they would be RICH – not in the worldly sense, but in the character traits that will bring them success and satisfaction as human beings:

R
Respect: That they would respect themselves, others, and You. That they would command the respect of others by their behavior and beliefs.

Responsible: That they would fulfill their commitments and duties without whining or complaining. That they would be accountable for their own foul-ups and not look for excuses or try to place the blame on circumstances or others.

I
Integrity: That they would be persons who keep their word and do the right thing, even if they must stand alone and go against the flow. That they would be fair and just.

Industry: That they would not be afraid of good, old-fashioned hard work, and not be ashamed to get their hands dirty doing it.

C
Character: That they would have high standards for their behavior and speech, and find the inner strength to do what is right through a personal relationship with You.

Compassion: That they would look out for the other guy, be their brothers’ keepers, help the helpless and fight for the underdog. That they would nurture an unselfish spirit. That they would know that kindness is not weakness, but strength.

H
Honor: That they would always tell the truth and do what is right, and strive to be the person described in Psalm 1.

Humility: That they would not think themselves better than anyone else and not treat others as their servants.


Guide them in the problems they face and in the decisions they make. Bless them and keep them, Lord, and make Your face shine upon them. Show them Your grace and favor and give them peace (Numbers 6:24-26). And may they be Psalm 1 men and women. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Psalm 1

Refining rocks

2011-05-01T00:01:00.000-04:00

See, I have refined you . . . I have tested you in the furnace of affliction. – Isaiah 48:10 (NIV)

When we first moved to the country, we chose a section of the hayfield near our house to transform into a garden. Before we could plant any seeds, though, we had to prepare the ground. Besides making the soil loose and soft, working it with a plow, harrow, and tiller also brought the rocks to the surface.

Rocks make it harder for roots to grow. And without a root network that reaches deep into the ground, where water can be found, young plants cannot withstand long, dry spells. I wanted a bountiful, tasty harvest, so I spent hours, often under a hot sun, picking rocks.

When I was done, the garden looked great—until we tilled it again or until it rained.

“Where are those rocks coming from?” I asked my husband one day after a hard rain. “I thought I got all of them yesterday.”

“The rain brings the rocks to the surface,” he explained. “The harder the rain, the more rocks.”

We planted a garden on that plot of ground for 17 years and never ran out of rocks.

God works with me the same way. I am the soil. My faults, weaknesses and imperfections are the rocks that must be removed if my life is to be productive. Some of those rocks are easily seen, but others are buried deep and need the storms of life to bring them to the surface. Stubborn rocks of impatience, anger, envy, selfishness and bitterness seem to surface over and over again.

If I leave them there, they’ll stunt my growth and limit the harvest I long for. Removing them refines the soil of my soul so that when the long, hot, dry spells come, as they inevitably do, my spirit will not wither. Instead, nourished by roots grown deep and unhindered, I’ll continue to reach for the Son.


Thank you, God, for the storms of life that reveal the rocks that must be removed if I an to be fruitful for You. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Mark 4:3-20

Sacrifice of Pain

2011-04-24T00:01:00.003-04:00

Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise—the fruit of lips that confess His name. – Hebrews 13:15 (NIV)

On Monday, June 6, I will undergo surgery to repair three herniated disks in my neck.

But the pain isn’t what one would expect at this point.

It all started in November when my left arm started going numb. In December, I had carpal tunnel surgery, but the pain only got worse—much worse. It was constant, debilitating. It felt as though a knife was stuck in my left shoulder. Christmas and January passed in a blur of pain. I taught school in the mornings, then spent my afternoons on the love seat with a heating pad on my back, waiting for the Tylenol with codeine to take effect. Many evenings my husband had to make supper.

One afternoon in February as I was plopped on the love seat, waiting for the pain to subside, I imagined Jesus hanging on the cross. My pain, I realized, as bad as it was, wasn’t even a fraction of what He suffered. A phrase from Hebrews 13:15 popped into my mind: “sacrifice of praise.” I’d often wondered how praise could be a sacrifice. Now I understood. I could praise God in my pain, which would be a reminder of what Jesus did for me. I’d offer a sacrifice of pain.

And so I prayed, “Lord, let this pain be a reminder of what You did for me. I offer it up to You as a sacrifice.”

A week later the pain was gone.

I didn’t expect that. I expected the pain to continue. I looked forward to having something to offer God. I didn’t ask for healing. I didn’t ask for the pain to be taken away.

Oh, I still pay the price when I overdo, but I haven’t had the knife-in-the-shoulder pain since. And I’ve been able to do more, like make supper and clean up after.

Why didn’t He heal my disks? I don’t know. And I don’t wonder. What I do know is that I am in the palm of His Hand (Isaiah 49:16), and that He is in control of everything that touches me, that enters my life. Whether it be joy, sorrow, pain, suffering, He has allowed it for a reason.

I can honestly say the words of the Habakkuk:

“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior” (Habakkuk 3:17-18).

O LORD my God, I cried to thee for help, and thou hast healed me (Psalm 30:2). Thank You! Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Psalm 30

Jesus' Cross

2011-04-22T13:16:00.001-04:00

Even in the darkest night,
When I just turn and toss,
When all seems hopeless, nothing’s right,
I remember Jesus’ cross.

That beam of lumber cut to size,
Too heavy to be borne
By One who stepped to Calvary’s call
Beaten, mocked, and scorned.

In the shadow of that cross,
How can I complain?
I have not sweat great drops of blood,
I’ve not endured such pain.

I’ve had no nails pierce tender flesh,
And no one’s spit on me.
No soldier’s opened up my back,
Nor stabbed my side with glee.

No jeering crowd shouts, “Crucify!”
Such loneliness I can’t feel.
Yet love for me was the reason why
He bled, and I was healed.
And by His stripes we are healed. – Isaiah 53:5 (NKJV)

Special-Tea: Read Isaiah 53

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son,

that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.

–John 3:16 (NKJV)

Wasp woes

2011-04-17T00:01:00.002-04:00

O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting? For sin is the sting that results in death . . . But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.” ? 1 Corinthians 15:55?56 (NLT).


One afternoon three weeks ago, I settled in the bedroom recliner to do some reading in the afternoon sunshine. A sharp sting on my neck had me out of my chair lickety-split. A wasp! The day’s warmth had awoken one of the wasps that had taken up dormant residence in our attic over the winter. By evening, the site of the sting was red and itchy and the size of a quarter.

Wasps – 1, Michele – 0.

Last week—Monday night, to be precise—I’d just snuggled in bed for a few minutes of leisure reading before lights out when I got stung again—twice. The thing stung me on my arm just below my shoulder, then crawled up to my elbow and got me again.

By Wedn
esday my arm was itchy, bright red and warm to touch from shoulder to elbow.

“We’d better go the emergency room,” I told my husband. “I think I’m having an allergic reaction.”

After two shots and a prescription for prednisone and an antihistamine, I was on my way home.

Wasps – 3, Michele – 0.

The following Thursday night I couldn’t sleep. So around 2 a.m. I decided to get up and work on my column. In the dark, I reached up to the shelf above the bed for my glasses—and got stung again, this time at the base of my ring finger. The blame thing was on my eyeglass frames. It just so happened that day at school someone told me to put ammonia on a sting.

Immediately I sprayed Windex on it, then wrapped a paper towel saturated with pure ammonia around my finger. Lo and behold, no redness or itching. (Seems the father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding had something, after all.) I couldn’t even see where it got me. But it didn’t improve the score.

Wasps – 4, Michele – 0.

Those wasps are just like sin—hiding until the heat of temptation stirs it up. And sin leads to spiritual death—separation from a holy God who wants us to spend eternity with Him in heaven. But God took care of the wasps of sin—by sending His Son to pay sin’s penalty—death.

On Good Friday we will remember the price He paid for us by dying in our place. And because of Easter, when He came back to life, sin and death no longer have power over the Christian. Yes, our bodies will die, unless Jesus returns first, but physical death for the child of God is simply leaving this world and being ushered into the Presence of God.

Then it will be Wasps – 0, Michele – Eternity.


"Thank You for the cross, Lord. Thank You for the price You paid, bearing all my sin and shame, in love You came and gave amazing grace. Thank You for this love, Lord. Thank You for the nail-pierced hands washed me in Your cleansing flow, so all I know Your forgiveness and embrace" (from “Worthy Is the Lamb” by Darlene Zschech). Amen.

Special-Tea: Read 1 Corinthians 15

The end . . . or not?

2011-04-10T16:52:00.000-04:00

But of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. – Mark 13:32 (NKJV)


You’ve seen the signs—billboards proclaiming Judgment Day is as close as May 21, 2011. “King Jesus Returns,” others proclaim. One newspaper even did a front page feature when a local man painted his car with the dire warning and parked it along the main street of town.

This particular movement seems to have taken the country by storm. We all know the world is coming to an end—that Judgment Day is coming. Doomsdayers have been saying that for centuries. But with all the recent wars and rumors of wars, the earthquakes, famines, and other natural disasters worldwide, folks are paying attention.

This is good. We need to be aware that Jesus is coming again—that He could come at any moment. Even Jesus’ disciples wanted to know when. “Tell us,” they asked Him. “When will this happen, and what will be the sign of Your coming and of the end of the age?” (Matthew 24:3)

Ever since, we humans have been trying to pinpoint a date.

I can remember as a new Christian being fascinated with the end times. I was a young wife and mother who wanted to see her children grow up and finish building her house. Back then the book The Late Great Planet Earth by Hal Lindsey was the rage. In it Lindsey suggested 1988 would be the year. In a sequel, The 1980s: Countdown to Armageddon, Lindsey predicted that “the decade of the 1980s could very well be the last decade of history as we know it.”

Remember Y2K? According to “The Doomsday List,” an online list of 40 Judgment Day predictions in the past 10 years, over half pinpointed dates in 2000. Then there’s “The Bible Code.” According to this theory, secret codes written into the Bible predict doomsday as Dec. 21, 2012. An ancient Mayan calendar also foretells the end of world on that date. Scientists have added to the intrigue by predicting that a comet will crash into the earth about that time, annihilating life as we know it on Dec. 21, 2012.

The problem with all these theories, as fascinating as they seem, is that an exact date is predicted for Jesus’ return. The head of the movement that purports May 21, 2011, will be the day predicted in 1992 that Jesus would return in 1994.

No wonder folks are confused. No wonder they don’t pay attention. Too many doomsdayers have been wrong. In fact, all of the doomsdayers to date have been wrong.

So whom do you believe?

Why not the Person who will return? Jesus Himself said, “But of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Mark 13:32).

Jesus said it. I believe it. That settles it for me. So I don’t fret over when Judgment Day will be, whether May 21 or some other day. The date doesn’t matter. I know that day will come eventually. I have nothing to fear. I know where I’ll be—with Him.

Until then, I’ll watch, wait, and work.

What about you?


Help me, O Lord, to keep my eyes fixed on You, my mind stayed on Your Word, and my heart faithful to Your call. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Matthew 24; Mark 13:1-37; Luke 21:5-36

The angel of His presence

2011-04-03T00:01:00.000-04:00

In all their distress he too was distressed, and the angel of his presence saved them. In his love and mercy he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old. – Isaiah 63:9 (NIV)

A woman recently approached my pastor’s wife. “I have such a burden for you,” she said, “you being a pastor’s wife and all.”

Jolanda didn’t understand at first. As she related the story to me, she said, “I’ve been a pastor’s wife for more than 25 years, and I have never felt a burden because of it. In fact, over the years, other people have told me they had a burden for me.”

Her eyes lit up. “I get it now. I never felt the burden because other people were carrying it for me!”

With all their ministry and family responsibilities, with all that’s expected of them, living their lives within “walls of glass,” my pastor and his wife—with their three sons—have fulfilled their responsibilities over and above the so-called requirements. They are a godly couple who set an example on how to live the Christian life, how to balance life’s responsibilities, and how to not only “keep the faith,” but grow in it. Now I know why: God has appointed others to help carry the burden of shepherding and feeding God’s people and to hold them up in prayer.

When the Israelites were engaged in a fierce battle with the Amalekites on the way to the Promised Land, Moses stood with Aaron and Hur on the top of a hill overlooking the fight. As long as his arms were raised, the Israelites were winning. But when his arms grew tired and fell, the tide turned. So Aaron and Hur had Moses sit on a rock, and then they each held up Moses’ arms. The Israelites won. That day Aaron and Hur were the “angels of His presence” for Moses, just as Moses was the “angel of His presence” for the men fighting the battle.

That’s what the church is all about—holding up each others’ arms when they are too weak and weary, carrying each other’s burdens, standing in the gap and praying when someone is too sick or too busy or too down to pray. A church isn’t a building; it’s a body. I like how one man put it: “I don’t just go to church. I am the church.”

Just as God carried the Israelites across the wilderness, so we are to carry one another. Have you ever felt burdened for someone, even when, by all outward appearances, everything seemed fine? Has someone’s name ever popped into your mind at odd moments? Have you ever awoken from a sound sleep with the urge to pray for someone in particular? That’s God’s Holy Spirit calling you to be the “angel of His presence” for someone else.


Thank you, Lord, for the people who have carried my burdens, prayed for me, and been the “angel of Your presence” in my life. Help me to be an angel of Your presence for someone today. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Exodus 17:8-13

A work in progress

2011-03-27T21:57:00.000-04:00

We are being transformed into his likeness. – 2 Corinthians 3:18 (NIV)


I was pregnant with our second child when we began our house in the fall of 1979. Since we were building on the pay-as-you-go, do-it-yourself plan, we knew it would be years before it would be completed. But never did I dream it would take more than 30 years!

We started by digging a hole in the side of the hill, pouring a footer and laying a concrete block foundation. The following spring, my husband and I packed up our four-year-old son and three-month-old daughter, and began to transform that basement into our home. We worked in the cold, damp spring and through the humid, stormy summer, sleeping on a dirt floor or in the back of our pickup truck and eating packed meals on a sawhorse table.

In November, even though our basement home wasn’t quite ready, we moved in, insulating the walls and ceiling, putting up paneling and trim boards as we had the money.

Three years later, in 1983, we constructed the framework for the second floor, and began to work on the upstairs, room by room. We covered the exterior walls with black tar paper. With only one income, we knew it would be years before we could even think about siding.

The stairway almost done in the fall of 1984, when, nine months pregnant with our third child, I decided to move the bedrooms upstairs. I used a kitchen chair to get from the landing to the second floor. But by the time David was born on Dec. 26, the stairway was done – well, almost. It didn’t get carpeted until 1990, when we bought carpeting for the downstairs.

Over the years, we added a bathroom upstairs, installed windows, interior doors and flooring as we had the money – and time. By now our children were active in school and sports, and our time and money were invested in them.

I wanted the house finished by the time David, our youngest, started college. I felt that if it wasn’t done by then, it would never be, because college is a big expense, and we weren’t getting any younger. It didn’t work out as planned. But does it ever?

David has been graduated from college nearly three years, and we are just now planning to put on the front and back decks this summer.

I, too, am a work-in-progress. I became a Christian about the same time we began the house. Spiritually, I, too, had to begin with a foundation, removing dirt accumulated with years of living my own way, to make room for the solid foundation of Jesus Christ (1 Cor. 3:11). Over the years, God transformed me, room by room, working from the inside out (2 Cor. 5:17, Romans 12:2).

Just like my house, God won’t be done with me until I see Him face-to-face (Phil. 1:6). But until then, He’ll continue to work on me, finishing what He began more than 30 years ago.

When I become impatient with myself and others, Lord, remind me that we are still works-in-progress. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read 2 Corinthians 3

After winter

2011-03-20T18:09:00.000-04:00

See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come. – Song of Songs 2:11-12 (NIV)


My winter of pain has left me weary in body, mind, and spirit. Distracted, unfocused, I have little energy, enthusiasm and motivation. Things that gave me pleasure are now ho-hum. Depressed? Probably. But somehow I muddle through each day, trying to squeeze out joy where I can.

And it’s been a winter like no other in my life. Not only was it filled with physical pain, it also was draped with bitter disappointment after projects I’d poured my heart and soul into came to nothing.

I was shaking out the kitchen throw rugs on the back porch last Thursday after supper when I saw them—little white flowers poking up through the ground at the woods line behind the house.

Although the grass is still brown, the trees bare, the temperatures cool and the scenery drab, those little flowers gave me something I sore needed—a shot of hope. They tell me that soon the grass will be turning green, buds will appear on the trees and shrubs, the mud will dry up and maybe, just maybe, a song will plant itself in my heart. And, oh, how I need a song!

St. Paul understood seasons of pain and disappointment, too.

“We now have this light shining in our hearts,” he wrote the believers at Corinth, “but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. . . .

“That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever” (2 Corinthians 4:7, 8-9, 16-18 NLT).

Slowly, the dawn will wash the night from the morning sky earlier and earlier, and the sun will hang over the horizon longer in the evenings after supper—which is why I was able to see those little white flowers.

Life is the same way. We brave our way through the winter, waiting, knowing, no matter how bad winter is, it will give way to spring. And spring will give way to summer. The grass will not always be brown. The lane will not remain muddy. The pain will pass, the disappointment will give way to hope.

Ah, spring! The mop-up-after-winter season. The season of flowers. The season of hope.


Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in You, God! I will praise You again—my Savior and my God! (adapted from Psalm 42:5 NLT). Amen.

Special-Tea: Read 2 Corinthians 4:7-18

When I first spied the snowdrops, there were more than one, but the hungry country critters found them. (sigh)

Keeping the faith

2011-03-13T00:01:00.002-05:00

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. – 2 Timothy 4:6 (RSV)

I attended a small, private high school that struggled to compete athletically. When you have only a few students to choose from, your teams went in each game as the underdog each time. Then one year we got a new football coach. I remember the first pep rally. The entire student body cheered as the coach stepped to the microphone. On the wall behind him was a banner with a new slogan: “Keep the faith.” To me that meant believing this team would eventually emerge the winners. I don’t remember whether they did or not, but I never forgot the slogan.

But what does “keep the faith” mean?

First, let’s look at the word “keep,” which can mean to hang onto something, not lose it or give it back; for example, “keep the change.” It can also mean to take care of or guard. A housekeeper, for example, takes care of the house, a zookeeper takes care of the zoo, a gatekeeper guards the gates.

Next, let’s look at the word “faith.” Hebrews 11, of course, is the famous “Hall of Faith” chapter of the Bible. The writer defines faith in the very first verse: “What is faith? It is the confident assurance that what we hope for is going to happen. It is the evidence of things we cannot yet see” (NLT).

Faith, then, is more than a system of beliefs. Faith is more than the doctrine you believe in and adhere to. Faith is personal. It’s believing, first of all, that God exists and is all the Bible says He is, even if you don’t understand everything perfectly. Second, faith is taking God at His word and believing His promises.

But let’s bring that word a little closer to home: What does faith mean to you? How has it added value to your life? Our pastor asked that very question one Sunday morning during his sermon, then took a microphone around the congregation. Here are some of the answers:

It gives me a sense of purpose.
It gives me emotional stability.
It opens my eyes to the truth.
It helps me to face the storms of life and not be afraid.
It gives me hope for the future.
It helps me to cope with change and face the uncertainties of life.
It gives me a reason to live.

Faith, then, gives us purpose, stability, understanding, courage and hope. A lot like the two builders in Jesus’ parable: When the storms came, the house built on the rock withstood the tempests, while the one built on sand collapsed, “and great was the fall of it” (Matthew 7:27 RSV).

As Mother Teresa once said, “Faith keeps the person who keeps the faith.”

Are you keeping the faith?

Help me, Lord, to keep the faith, because with it, I cannot please You. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Matthew 7:24-27

Stretching time

2011-03-06T00:01:00.000-05:00

We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us. – Romans 5:3-5


Have you ever been stretched? I mean literally.

I have—and am.

One of the treatments my doctor prescribed for the herniated disc in my neck is cervical neck traction. I lay on a treatment table, my neck in a vise-like device, a strap around my forehead, while the traction machine gently stretches my neck, creating more room between my vertebrae so the nerve isn’t being pinched.

My first treatment was at the end of January. The therapist set the machine to 20 pounds, which was too much at the time, as the muscles in my shoulder, neck, and arm were too tender and painful to tolerate mechanical traction. So she resorted to manual traction for a few sessions. When she felt I was ready, she put me back on the traction machine, starting at a lower setting (16). This week the setting was increased to 17.

I feel it. Although my pain has decreased considerably and my range of motion has increased, after my PT session, I feel as though I’ve been stretched on one of those racks my grandmother used to re-stretch woolen blankets and afghans after laundering. But these are good aches—they mean I’m making progress.

And after four months of pain, I need to see some light on the horizon. I’m ready to be 100 percent. But that will take time. My neck isn’t the only thing being stretched—my patience is, too.

So is my empathy. Before this all started I had little understanding of what those who suffer chronic pain have to deal with day in and day out.

I’m learning to take life one day at a time. Before this, that phrase was just a nice-sounding bit of wisdom that I knew in my head, but not in my heart.

I’m learning better to prioritize, as my productive time has been cut considerably and I must use my pain-free, loopy-free hours doing what’s most important. Everything else must wait—or go.

And rest, so important for healing of body, mind, and spirit (all of which have taken a beating from the chronic pain) is something I can no longer put off. With rest, I do better during the productive time I do have. I’ve learned I don’t have to cram every minute of every day with something to do.

I’m being stretched in more ways than one, and being stretched is painful. But it’s a good kind of pain—a pain that means progress, however slow.

“When troubles come your way,” writes James, “consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow” (James 1:2-3 NLT).

Are you being stretched? Take heart. God, your own personal therapist, knows how much you can take and has adjusted your program to produce the best results.

Dear God, thank you for the lessons I’m learning during this stretching time. Amen.

Special-Tea: James 1:2-4, 12

A roller coaster week

2011-02-26T20:10:00.000-05:00

Surely God is my help; the Lord is the one who sustains me. – Psalm 54:4 (NIV)

What a week it’s been!

On Monday I enjoyed an unexpected snow day. I caught up on school and freelance work, made chili and spaghetti sauce--and cleaned up the kitchen. Yep, it was a good day. Thank you, God, for snow days, even if we got more of the dreaded freezing rain. And thank you that the pain I’ve been dealing with for four months has abated.

Tuesday I chipped off one-half inch of ice from my Explorer. Hubby had already swept off the nine inches of snow. The roads were plowed nice and wide, the sky was blue, the sun smiled, and I made chicken Parmesan for supper. Thank you, God, that I was well enough to tackle that ice. It wouldn’t have been good for a chunk of it to break off while I was driving and hit the vehicle behind me.

Wednesday I felt the pain from the ice-chipping. After physical therapy, I came home and headed for the love seat and the heating pad, and was thankful for leftovers. And Tylenol with codeine. I also received news that my pastor and his wife, who is also the administrator of the school where I teach, had accepted a call from a church in Illinois. Sigh. I really don’t want them to go, Lord, but I understand we must follow Your call.

On Thursday morning I remembered my brother had had a consultation with a heart specialist the day before, my daughter was having surgery that morning 700 miles away, and a hollow feeling welled up in the pit of my stomach when I thought about losing a pastor and a boss, both whom I respect, admire, and love. God, can’t You call them back here?

At 1:00 I remembered my 12:30 hair appointment. But physical therapy was good. My pain level was down to 1 or 2 (9 being the highest). I realized that the pain in my shoulder was gone and the muscles were no longer tense. I’m no longer walking hunched over, I’m popping fewer pain pills, and I have more range of motion. I’ve turned a corner.

By supper time I was back on the love seat, heating pad on my back, digesting only one pain pill. My daughter was home resting after a successful surgery, my brother doesn’t need the heart procedure we thought he might need, and I was exhausted. Thank you, Lord, that I made enough on Monday that we could have leftovers again. And thank You for taking care of my loved ones.

Yes, it’s been a roller coaster week. But that’s life. I may be screaming around sharp turns feeling as though the car I’m in is out of control, or chugging up steep climbs wondering if I’m going to make it to the top, but I know that my God is in control. And because of Him, I’m going to make it.


My soul finds rest in You alone, O God. Thank you for being my rock, my refuge, my fortress, my salvation. Amen.

Special-Tea: Psalm 62

Jesus in my boat

2011-02-20T00:01:00.000-05:00

“Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.” – John 16:33 (NLT)


I love a good thunderstorm! Thunder booming so loud it makes me jump, lightning slashing across the sky and wind swooshing through bowing trees, intrigues me, draws me.

But the storm that arose suddenly while Jesus and His disciples were crossing the Sea of Galilee was ferocious enough the instill fear even in these seasoned fishermen. Situated in a basin surrounded by mountains, the Sea of Galilee can be deceptively peaceful. Cool air from the east funneling down through the narrow mountain passes clashes with the hot, humid air over the lake, causing violent winds that stir up waves 10 feet high.

Where was Jesus while the disciples were being flung from side to side in the water-filled boat, wondering if the next wave would be their last? Sleeping!

Shaking Him awake, they admonished Him. After all, He was the one who got them into this mess.

“Let us go over to the other side,” He’d said after a long day of ministering to the crowds following Him, working miracle after miracle. They were simply obeying, and now they were caught in this sudden, furious squall.

“Don’t you even care that we’re going to drown?” they shouted.

So the Creator of the universe woke up and commanded the wind and the waves, “Quiet! Be still!”

Immediately the wind died down and the sea became calm. Jesus turned to His still-frightened friends.

“Why are you so afraid?” He asked them. “Do you still not have faith in me?”

It’s hard to have faith when you’re hanging on, being beaten and battered by wave after wave of life’s storms. You forget about the miracles that preceded the tempest. Even if we have Jesus in our boats, even when we’re obeying His commands, life’s sudden squalls will threaten us. Who can blame the disciples for waking Him and accusing Him of not caring? Don’t we do the same?

Did Jesus even have to calm the storm? His presence in the boat guaranteed them a safe passage, even through the worst of it. Perhaps the “Peace! Be still,” was not just for the wind and the waves, but was meant for the disciples, too – to calm their fear, to build their faith.

But He doesn’t always calm the storms in my life. Sometimes I have to ride it out. “Are You sleeping, Lord? Don’t You care? I’ve prayed and prayed. I don’t want to pray about this anymore. You aren’t answering.”

Daryl Scott, the father of Columbine victim Rachel Joy Scott, said when that happens to him, he just says, “I know You’re there, God.”

I, too, need to do the same – remind myself that the One who watches over me is ever present (Psalm 46:1), that He will neither slumber nor sleep (Psalm 121:4), even though He may choose to be silent. He’s watching and waiting, while I bail out the troubled waters, bucket by bucket; while I fight my fear with my weak faith; while that weak faith is being strengthened.

Someday I’ll get to the other side. But until then, through storm or calm, I’ll remind myself that Jesus IS in my boat.


Father God, in Your silence, let me hear Your presence. Amen.

Special-Tea: Mark 4:35-41

How does he love me?

2011-02-13T20:56:00.000-05:00

Rejoice in the wife of your youth. – Proverbs 5:18 (RSV)

How does he love me? Let me count the ways.

He makes breakfast on Saturday mornings (and Sundays) and cleans up the kitchen, which has usually been neglected for a couple of days, so I can have time to write.

He makes supper after working a 12-hour day when the pain from my herniated disc has bound me to the loveseat with a heating pad on my back. (Which is almost every weekday now.)

He makes my tea just the way I like it.

He brings in the firewood so we can conserve heating oil and I don’t have to be cold. He knows I hate being cold.

He repairs my ’97 Explorer in the freezing rain, blowing snow, and frigid temperatures because we need a second vehicle and can’t afford a payment on a new one just yet. And because I can’t drive the truck anymore—it aggravates my pain.

He spends two hours blowing snow from the lane after supper, in the dark, when he’d rather be working on an inside project or cozied up on the couch watching NCIS reruns with me, so I can get out in the morning.

He watches NCIS reruns for the nth time because it’s my favorite program, even if there’s something else he’s interested in watching (unless it’s an elk-hunting show).

He puts down a new floor in the kitchen and kick plates on the cabinets, in the evenings after work.

He listens with patience when I whine (or maybe he’s just pretending to listen).

He drives me to a speaking engagement near Pittsburgh, a two-plus hour drive one way, on a Monday evening, waits in the Ranger while I speak, then drives me home in still another snowstorm.

He gets up at 5 a.m. and goes to work the next day, even though we got home after midnight.

He texts me at work to make sure I got there safely.

He doesn’t complain when we have leftover leftovers.

He eats everything I make, even when it doesn’t turn out. (He once told me, “I was in the service. I can eat anything.” Thirty-eight years later, the statement is still true.)

He doesn’t mind the dust, even when it’s been around awhile (like a month or more).

He vacuums the floor because running the vacuum hurts my back.

He packs his lunch every morning because I don’t do lunch buckets. (Besides, every time I do, I get something wrong.)

He supports me in every decision I make, whether or not he agrees with it.

I know it sounds like he’s perfect. He’s not. But he’s perfect for me. He’s the Valentine of Valentines, a daily gift from God, my life partner in every sense of the word.


Live happily with the woman you love through all the . . . days of life that God has given you under the sun. The wife God gives you is your reward for your earthly toil (Ecclesiastes 9:9 NLT).


Dear God, thank You for my husband. He is the most unselfish person I know. Help me to be the wife he needs, the wife he deserves. Bless him as he has been a blessing to me—exceedingly abundantly above all he can ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20). Amen.

Special-Tea: Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

When I hurt

2011-02-06T00:01:00.000-05:00

“My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” - 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NLT)

Physical therapy was not on my bucket list—you know, the list of things I want to do before I kick the bucket. But after three months of pain, I’ll take the prescription—three days a week, for four to five weeks. I didn’t know what to expect. It didn’t help when a friend jokingly told me “PT” stands for “pain and torture.” I had my doubts, too. How could PT make more room in my neck, where a herniated disc and bone spur take up too much space, resulting in inflammation, a pinched nerve and muscle spasms?

Three therapies had been prescribed: electrical stimulation, ultrasound, and traction. During electrical stimulation therapy, which is used to treat muscle pain and spasms, pads with electrodes are placed over my neck and left shoulder blade. This is my favorite one of the three. The moist heating pad beneath my spine, along with the current, which feels like electrical massage, is relaxing.

The ultrasound goes deeper into the muscle to treat inflammation.

Traction isn’t as bad as it sounds. I lay on a cushioned table, my neck in a padded, vise-like device, a strap around my forehead. For 15 minutes the machine gently pulls my head and stretches my neck.

My first PT session was mostly evaluation to check my range of motion and confirm that the herniated disc between the C6 and C7 vertebrae was the main source of my pain. The electrical stimulation therapy followed. The ultrasound machine wasn’t working, and my therapist didn’t want to do traction at my first session. That was fine with me. She did warn me, however, that even what little we did would make me sore.

She was right. The day after, I went to work hurting. I felt every bump in the winter washtub road during the 12-mile drive. By the time I got to school, I was holding back tears of pain. As I signed in, I wondered how I would survive until noon. I couldn’t take my prescription pain medicine, as it made me drowsy and I had to drive. I should have stayed home, I thought as I slowly made my way to my classroom.

But when I flipped the page of my daily desk calendar to the day’s Scripture reading, I had to smile: "My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is strongest when you are weak."

Isn't that just like God? To remind me He is there in my pain, working His will. Unlike Paul, I haven’t asked Him to take away this thorn in my flesh. Long ago I turned my life over to God. He’s in control. So when He allows pain, I know He has a purpose for it.

But just when I got to the place where I didn’t think I could go on, He reminded me of His presence and His provision.

I’d wondered how I would fulfill my calling with an ongoing health issue. But He reminded me that I don't need to be in top shape. I just need to be willing to do the work He has for me.


Dear God, thank You for Your grace. For when I am weak, through You I am strong. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read 2 Corinthians 12:8-10

Pain in the neck

2011-01-30T17:39:00.000-05:00

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” –St. Paul, First Century A.D. (2 Timothy 4:7 NIV)

I had it all planned when I went back to teaching last fall: I’d teach in the morning and have all afternoon to write and work on my freelance projects. But, as John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens while you’re making other plans.”

On the heels of carpal tunnel surgery in December was an inflamed nerve root in my neck. I spent the evening of our thirty-seventh anniversary on the love seat, fighting excruciating pain while Dean unloaded and put away the groceries I’d left in the truck hours earlier, then made supper. Christmas vacation passed in a blur of pain. After a six-day course of a prescription anti-inflammatory medicine, X-rays and an MRI revealed the problem: Of six discs in my neck, four are bad, one of which is herniated. Add to that bone spurs and a pinched nerve.

So I come home from teaching, take Tylenol with codeine, then plop on the love seat for the afternoon, barely keeping up with paying the bills and meeting freelance deadlines.

In the midst of all this, the doors to speaking and teaching are opening again—after a years-long, dry spell during which I wondered if I was all washed up. When two requests to speak in as many days came, I considered turning one down. But two friends advised me to accept the invitation—and trust God. One—another speaker and writer—chastised me. “How can you even think of turning down something God sends?” she said.

But pain has a way of skewing one’s thinking. I had my “thanks but no thanks” email all ready to send.

“I can’t drive the pickup all the way to Pittsburgh,” I complained to my husband that evening. “Shifting the gears aggravates the pain.”

“If it’s in the evening, I can drive you,” he suggested.

“I doubt it,” I said. “Most of these women’s teas are in the afternoon. It’ll be a two-hour ride one way. My neck just can’t take the bouncing around in that old truck for that long. It just isn’t fair.”

He cut short my self-pity tirade with a single question: “Did you think it was going to be easy?”

I thought of the apostle Paul, who was beaten, shipwrecked, jailed, stoned and left for dead, flogged, and run out of just about every town he preached in. While gathering firewood after being shipwrecked on an island, he was bitten by a snake. Imagine that! Here he was, being a help, serving, and what does he get for it?

I thought of Jesus’ apostles. All but one met a martyr’s death. I thought of all who’ve been persecuted and have died for their faith from the first century to today. And here I was complaining about a pain in my neck.

Did you think it was going to be easy?

I’d forgotten that when I became a child of God, I acquired a powerful enemy. I’d forgotten that when I stepped up my service to Him, I also stepped up closer to the front lines of the battle that has been waging ever since Lucifer attempted to usurp God’s throne (Isaiah 14:12-15).

Did you think it was going to be easy?

I’d forgotten that where God calls, He provides. I deleted the “thanks but no thanks” email and sent an acceptance instead. Imagine my surprise (I really shouldn’t have been, though) when I found out that the tea was, indeed, in the evening.


Forgive me, Lord, for my lack of faith. Help me to be a faithful, worthy soldier. Amen.

Special-Tea: 2 Corinthians 11:23-33

The worst day of my life

2011-01-23T00:01:00.002-05:00

You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. –Psalm 139:16 (NLT)

“What was the worst day of your life?” one of my students asked me one day last week.

I thought for a few moments. What was the worst day of my life? The day I received the phone call that my father was dying? I was a 20-year-old college senior taking 19 credits that semester. When my sister died suddenly at the age of 55? I’d planned to visit her after she recovered from cancer surgery, but a blood clot lodged in her lung and robbed me of the chance to even say goodbye. The day I called my brother, sobbing, and asked him if I could live with him? I was 45 and everything that meant anything to me was slipping away. I wanted to run away from it all and start a new life by myself far, far away.

But as bad as those times were, I didn’t feel any of them was the worst day of my life.

Then I remembered.

“The day my fiancé walked out on me,” I said.

I’d just graduated from college and gotten my first job. He’d helped me move into my apartment. I don’t even remember what he said. But I can still see him driving away, taking my heart, my dreams—my very life—with him.

I looked at my students and smiled. “But what I thought was the worst day of my life actually turned out to be the best day of my life.”

“How so?” they asked.

“Because five months later, I met the real love of my life,” I said, “And I’ve been married to him for 37 years.”

Perhaps they saw it as a sweet, happily-ever-after love story. But it’s more. Much more.

It’s about a God who knew me before I was born, who had a plan and purpose for my life, which included a man He created just for me—not a perfect man, but perfect for me.

Perhaps you’re sorting through the fallout after what you believe was the worst day your life. You’re trying to put the pieces back together, but they’ve changed shape and no longer fit together the way they once did. Wait. Let God do His work His way in His time.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” He tells us in His Word. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope” (Jeremiah 29:11 NLT).


Dear God, sometimes circumstances force me in a direction I don’t want to go. Remind me that You are the one in control, and that what I think is the worst, in Your hands, may turn out to be the best. Amen.

Special-Tea: Psalm 139:1-18

For further thought:

Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the LORD that will be established. (Proverbs 19:21)

The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me. (Psalm 138:8)

And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them. (Romans 8:28)

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning. (Lamentations 3:21-23)

My prayer chair

2011-01-16T00:01:00.002-05:00

Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. -- James 4:8 (NJKV)

As with every New Year, I started 2011 with a list of things I want to accomplish. But of all the goals, one takes precedence: to keep my daily appointment with God, reading His Word and talking with Him in prayer.

During the last two months of 2010 my quiet time was usurped first by NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), then by weariness. Instead of getting up each morning and heading to my prayer chair, cup of tea in hand, I headed for my computer to tap out my word count for the day. I’d wanted to write 50,000 words in my historical novel, but I petered out mid-month at 16,308. I’m not sure what happened—a flare-up of my carpal tunnel syndrome, the holidays, the inflamed nerve root in my neck, fatigue, discouragement, all of the above—but by December 31, I felt far from God. And I knew that He hadn’t moved (Hebrews 13:5).

I’d come to the place where the psalmist cried out, “As the deer longs for streams of water, so I long for You, O God” (Psalm 42:1NLT).

So since Jan. 1, I’ve been following a “Read the Bible in One Year” schedule, reading one chapter a day in the New Testament and two to three in the Old Testament. I’ve been keeping a SOAP (Scripture, Observation, Application, Prayer) journal, writing down a Scripture verse to meditate on, noting my observations (what it says) and how it applies to me, and scripting a brief prayer. I read the New Testament chapter in the morning before work and the Old Testament reading when I come home.

It helps that I work half days. It also helps that by the time I come home, the pain caused by the inflamed nerve root in my neck drives me to the love seat for the rest of the afternoon. What better way to spend that “be still” time than to “be still and know that He is God” (Psalm 46:10)? The stillness allows both body and soul to heal.

On Jan. 2, I noted Genesis 6:8,9 in my SOAP Journal: “But Noah found grace [favor] in the eyes of the Lord . . . Noah was a just and righteous man, blameless in his [evil] generation; Noah walked [in habitual fellowship] with God” (Amplified).

I saw a connection: Noah found favor with God because he made a habit of spending time with Him. He made fellowship with God a priority, which helped him to become righteous and blameless even though the world around him was rampant with evil.

We, too, live in a time when evil is rampant. How important is your prayer chair?

O God, You are my God; Early will I seek You; My souls thirsts for You; My flesh longs for You In a dry and weary land where there is no water” (Psalm 61:1 NKJV).

Special-Tea: Read Genesis 6:8,9

No quick fix

2011-01-09T20:31:00.000-05:00

Forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal . . . – Philippians 3:13?14 NKJV)

My body, at 59, is like an old car: Get one thing fixed, and something else breaks.

Carpal tunnel surgery last month fixed a pinched nerve in my wrist, but an inflamed nerve root in my neck has me spending my afternoons dealing with pain. I teach in the mornings, and my afternoons are supposed to be for writing, not sitting in the recliner with ice on the back of my shoulders and neck, waiting for the Tylenol with codeine to take effect.

After my doctor, whose has a “wait and see” approach, advised me to take ibuprophen for two weeks to reduce the inflammation, I researched the condition online. It’s sciatica of the upper body, in particular, the neck, shoulder, and arm—wherever the nerve pathway goes, there’s pain. And there’s no quick fix. “If nerve inflammation is reduced and irritating movements and positions are avoided,” one site told me, “you should expect slow, steady recovery in 6-8 weeks.”

Six to eight weeks? My max for putting up with being sick or injured is three.

I spent most of Christmas vacation in a recliner with an ice gel pack on my upper back and neck to calm down the screaming nerve. There’s no pain if I’m just sitting. But vacations end, and real life resumes. Pain or no pain, I’ve a job, a house, a husband—in short, responsibilities. I have to find ways to tend to my duties without making my condition worse. I’ve got to work my way through the pain.

Just like life. We’d prefer to stay on the recliner, avoiding the pain that living in this world brings. But we can’t avoid it. And sometimes there are no quick fixes. We have no choice but to work our way through the pain, the setbacks, the slow progress, careful not to make matters worse. Sometimes life changes and we can never go back to where and what we were before.

In his book, 90 Minutes in Heaven, Don Piper describes the traffic accident that changed his life, forcing him to deal with constant, chronic pain.

“Some things happen to us from which we never recover, and they disrupt the normalcy of our lives,” he writes. “That’s how life is. Human nature has a tendency to reconstruct old ways and pick up where we left off. If we’re wise, we won’t continue to go back to the way things were (we can’t anyway). We must instead forget the old standard and accept a ‘new normal.’”

I once read a prayer that addresses normalcy. Although I’ve lost the written words, I still remember the first line: “Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, savor you . . .”

I’ve forgotten the rest. But it’s a good reminder that life changes. Sometimes things go back to normal. Sometimes we have to learn to accept a new normal.

Dear God, thank you for being the one constant in my life. Thank you for Your promise that You will never leave me or forsake me (Hebrews 13:5). Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Psalm 139

The backpack

2011-01-01T00:01:00.001-05:00

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. – Matthew 11:28 (NIV)


I belong to an online prayer group comprised of women in the speaking and writing ministry. After I submitted a prayer request for our monthly day of prayer last month, I received a phone call from one of the members.

“Michele, I want to pray with you,” she said.

I was surprised and humbled. I didn’t think my request warranted a long distance call from a busy woman who I was sure had better things to do. But what could I say?

Afterward, she told me that while we prayed, she had a vision of a backpack that I’d been carrying for a long time. In her vision, Jesus took the backpack from me and put it on Himself. Then He carried it with Him to Calvary, then to the grave. He still had it when He emerged from the tomb, alive on Easter morning, when He opened it.

“Out came all sorts of beautiful things—butterflies, a loaf of bread,” she said. “I don’t know if that means anything to you.”

It wasn’t until later that I understood.

You see, I do carry a backpack—not a physical backpack but a spiritual one. Every time I feel a sliver of envy, a spark of anger or a flicker of discouragement, and deny it, I add another stone to my backpack. Because the stones are so small—and because I don’t dwell on these negative things—they seem too insignificant to confess to God. But after awhile the stones begin to add up and take up space. Eventually the backpack becomes cumbersome and slows me down. But when I confess the stones of envy, anger and lack of faith, I give them to Jesus, who is waiting to take my load from me.

How heavy a backpack I’d been lugging around! It was time to face my failings and relinquish the load.

A few days later I emailed my friend: “How can I thank you enough for obeying the nudging of the Holy Spirit and phoning me to pray the other day? I realized after I spoke and prayed with you that I put on such a good face that I don’t realize there are hidden hurts buried deep inside. Unanswered prayers. Disappointments. Discouragement. Instead of taking them to God at the first sign, I shove them into the backpack because at that point they are so small, so light, I don’t think they’re important enough to take to God. And envy. Oh, my. A lot of ugly stuff in that backpack. What a beautiful vision of what Jesus does—takes that backpack crammed with all the ugly stuff that, put all together, is far heavier than I’d realized, and transforms it into something beautiful.”

What’s in your backpack? Why not give it to Jesus and start the New Year off unencumbered by the past? Only He can turn your stones into bread.

Dear God, help me to throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily weighs me down, and run with perseverance the race that You have marked out for me” (adapted from Hebrews 12:1). Amen.

Special-Tea: Matthew 11:28-30

What God has joined together

2010-12-19T00:01:00.007-05:00

For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh. – Genesis 1:24 (NIV)

It remained on my finger for almost 37 years. Sometime between the second the third babies I couldn’t get it off. Blame it on swollen fingers, weight gain, larger knuckles, or all three, but the gold band my husband slipped on my finger on a wintery December Saturday in 1973 refused to get past my knuckle.

When I had baby number three, the nurse prepping me for the C-section wrapped surgical tape around it. That wasn’t an option last week when I had carpal tunnel surgery on my left wrist. A week earlier, the physician’s assistant conducting pre-op preparations tried the “string trick” twice to no avail. The ring had to come off, and the only alternative was to have it cut off. Sometimes life doesn’t give us choices. If I opted not to have surgery, the pain would only get worse. It was, after all, only a ring.

Only a ring? you gasp. That was your wedding ring!

True. But my wedding ring isn’t what makes me married. Standing in church in front of a priest and exchanging vows didn’t make us married. The promises and the ceremony were only the beginning.

That day I heard “for better, for richer, in health,” but it was the “for worse, for poorer, and in sickness” that made us truly married. Through the poor years, the disappointments, the crises, ours became a marriage not only of our hearts, but also of our minds and souls. We finish each other’s sentences. We know, for the most part, what each other is thinking.

Not that our marriage is perfect. Far from it. Right now, I’m more than a little miffed that he didn’t get the Christmas decorations from the attic when I asked him—more than once—right after Thanksgiving. And I’m sure there are things that I say and do (or don’t do) that annoy him. I don’t keep score. And I’m glad he doesn’t.

Years ago, he stopped wearing his wedding ring when it wore down so much the edges became knife-sharp. So for our anniversary that year, I bought him a new one. But he turned up his nose at the shiny gold band.

“It’s not the one,” he said.

I returned it.

When I got mine cut off last week, he suggested we get new ones.

I shook my head. “It won’t be the one,” I said.

I didn’t say that to be a smart alec (OK, just a little). I had a better idea: I’d take the two rings, have them melted down together, then recast into two new rings.

He isn’t too keen on the idea, but I love the symbolism: Two broken, worn-down rings, two hearts, two lives—no longer separate, but melded together so well they are no longer two, but one.

Isn’t that what God had planned all along?

As I light the third Advent candle, Lord, I’m reminded of promises—promises made and promises kept. I am so blessed. Thank you. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Genesis 2:18–24

In a fix

2010-12-12T00:01:00.008-05:00

Let your hope keep you joyful, be patient in your troubles, and pray at all times. – Romans 12:12 (TEV)

When one thing breaks, everything else thinks it’s OK to break too. Well, not everything. But it sure seems that way.

Two weeks ago the emergency brake on the Ranger stuck. I backed into the turnaround, but when I tried to go forward, the motor stalled out. I tried again. The truck wouldn’t budge—except to go backward. After three or four attempts, I figured it was the emergency brake. It had been acting up for months, the dash light coming on while I was driving, even though the brake wasn’t on. This time, however, the dash light wasn’t on, but the brake was. The problem turned out to be a cable, which hubby replaced.

But when he came into the house that evening after fixing the emergency brake, I knew something was wrong. After being married to the man for 37 years, I can tell he’s upset by the set of his mouth.

“The four-wheel-drive’s out,” he said.

“That’s no surprise,” I said. “It’s been acting up for months.”

I always knew when he’d had the truck in four-wheel-drive because it stayed on—kind of—even though the knob on the dash was turned to two-wheel-drive and there was no light on the dash indicating it was on. I felt it in the steering and the way it rumbled going down the road.

The next day the lake effect snow machine decided to crank up and stay cranked up. Lake effect snow means not only snow flying sideways, but wind-caused drifts. I got stuck twice this week. The first time I got myself out. The second time my son had to pull the truck out. But not to worry. After two days the wind died down and the lane was ripe for the snow blower. Except it broke, too.

So here we are, between two snowstorms, with no four-wheel-drive and no snow blower. But I did get a song out of it, to the tune of “Jungle Bells.”

Dashing through the snow in a broken four-wheel-drive.

Through the drifts we go, sliding side to side.

Skidding 'round the turn gave me such a fright;

It’s no fun to navigate these icy roads tonight!

Oh, slip and slide, slip and slide, tires spinning 'round—

Up the hill, around the curve, all the way to town.

Oh! Slip and slide, slip and slide, it’s a scary ride.

All I want for Christmas is a brand new four-wheel-drive!

I sing it all the time. It keeps my spirits up and reminds me good things are often born of difficulty. At the edge of discouragement, on the brink of despair, I found inspiration.

A new four-wheel-drive this year for us is a financial impossibility. But next year . . . I can always hope—right?

As I light the third Advent candle, Father, I think of the many things in life that need fixed. You sent Your Son to make the biggest fix of all—to fix a broken relationship between You and us. Thank you. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Isaiah 61:1-2; Matthew 11:4-5

When darkness comes

2010-12-05T00:01:00.004-05:00

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light. – Isaiah 9:2 (NIV)

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. –John 1:5 (RSV)

I have no idea what I’m going to write this week. I’m tired. I’m too busy. I can’t focus. My arm hurts. I haven’t had a decent, consistent prayer time in over a month. I’m disappointed—with myself for not finishing the 50K words for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month—I did 16,304) and with the fact that after all the hype and hope when I met with a book editor from a big publishing house in September, I didn’t get a book contract. A month after the meeting, the all-important “committee” that decides what gets published turned down my book proposal.

And my arm. About a month ago my left arm started buzzing. It’s gotten worse. The fingers on my left hand are tingly, numb, and itchy. It’s hard to type. The entire arm goes numb, then aches. Oh, how it aches! Sometimes I just want to groan. Sometimes I do. So I’ll have the surgery that was postponed last year at this time because my carpal tunnel syndrome had improved. I hope it’s soon—before Christmas so I can use the Christmas break to recuperate. Then I won’t have to miss any school. I’m having too much fun. OK, that’s one good thing I’ve written. But it’s hard to concentrate when your arm feels like a hive of angry bees is buzzing around in it.

Wednesday I did the 2011 budget. If we’re careful, we could get the credit card debt paid off by September, then the credit union loan by the end of 2011. Now, that excites me! Getting out of debt will mean we’ll be able to replace the 27-year-old roof that we’ve been talking about replacing for several years, and our two aging (1997 and 1999) vehicles. It means no more cramped, redneck porch, no more unusable door hanging on the front of the house, because when we put the roof on, we’ll also build front and back decks. Then, down the road, in the foreseeable future, new carpeting through the whole house and new living room furniture to replace what we bought in 1991. Or was it 1990?

The five-year plan I developed a couple of years ago to prepare us for retirement looks like it’s coming together. Please, Lord, let it.

Speaking of the Lord—remember my “Baker’s Dozen”? The list of 13 things I’d been praying about for years? Exactly one year later after writing that list, seven out of 13 have been answered. The deck, the roof, the new vehicle, the furniture and carpeting are in the foreseeable future. Forget the book contract.

There. I’ve reached my word limit. And here I didn’t know what I was going to write about. But what have I said?

I started with discouragement, disappointment, pain, even nigglings of despair. Somewhere along the way, the negative gave way to the positive, the discouragement and disappointment to hope.

And that’s why Jesus came: to give us hope in a hopeless world.

As I light the second Advent candle, Father God, I am reminded that the light of Hope, flickering at first, has dispelled my darkness. Thank you. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Isaiah 9:1-7

Do you have a "Baker's Dozen" List? If not, why not list 13 things you've been praying for in a prayer journal. Open the journal and list them on the left side (the back of a page). Then, on the right side (on a fresh page), number 1 through 13, and on the top write "When and how God provided -- Jehovah Jireh. Then, write the date God answered that prayer and how. He will astound, amaze, and awe you with His answers. And make sure to let me know about it.

Sick of Santa

2010-11-28T00:01:00.004-05:00

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. – Proverbs 13:12 (NIV)

My husband and I love to watch movies, especially romantic comedies. This time of year, most of the movies are about Santa, Santa’s daughter or Santa’s son, Santa this, Santa that, Santa ad nauseam. The stories are basically the same—something’s happened to Santa and somebody has to save Christmas.

Save Christmas? Give me a break. Christmas doesn’t need saved—we do. And I’m sick of Santa—specifically what Santa has become. Christmas isn’t about Santa Claus.

Lest I be branded a Grinch, let me explain.

Growing up, I believed in Santa Claus. Christmas Eve in the Maddock home began with a supper of sauerkraut soup, bobalky (Slovak Christmas bread), and oplatky, a Christmas wafer embossed with religious Christmas images. I hated the soup and refused to eat it, but my mother made it every year because my father liked it and because it was the traditional Slovak Christmas Eve fare. So all I ate was the oplatky, which was served with honey. I didn’t like honey, either.

But I wasn’t hungry anyway. It was Christmas Eve and Santa was coming! Because we attended Mass on Christmas morning, my parents avoided the battle of prying us away from our new toys by arranging for Santa to come right after supper on Christmas Eve. So as the dishes were cleared away, we three kids took our baths and donned our pajamas. No dallying around that night. We were all nestled and snug in our beds by the time the dishes were done.

We weren’t sleeping, of course—only pretending to be. I remember listening for sleigh bells and hooves on the roof, and wondering what I got. Once my parents had put our presents under the tree, they called up the stairs, “You can come down now. Santa came.”

Looking back, I don’t remember much of what I received. One year I got a purse. Another year I got a doll—not the Barbie I wanted, but a doll nonetheless. She had black hair and blue eyes, was much bigger than Barbie, and I named her “Rebecca.” One year I got a stuffed gray squirrel that I named “Alvin”—never mind that Alvin was a chipmunk. City girl that I was, I didn’t know the difference. One year my brother got a self-propelled robot (did they have battery-operated toys in the 1950s?) that terrified me.

What I remember most, though, are hope and holiness: the hope I felt on Christmas Eve that I would get what I wanted, and the holiness of the church service on Christmas morning that reminded me of the reason for the season.

Christmas is about something far more magical than how Santa slips down and up chimneys and visits every home on the planet in one night in a sleigh powered by flying reindeer. It’s about something higher and deeper and wider and longer. Something that ignites when we are children and flares at Christmastime when we are adults.

It’s about Hope.

Dear God, as I light the first Advent candle, I am reminded of the hope You gave us through Your Son Jesus—hope for now and eternity. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Matthew 1:18-23

Thanksgiving

2010-11-26T10:25:00.000-05:00

Huey family, 1986

Here's a poem I wrote one day when the kids were little and I was sitting at the dining room table, looking at the mess around me:

THANKSGIVING

I’m thankful for the muddy floor that greets me everyday;
I’m thankful for the dirty socks that on the floor doth lay.

I’m thankful for the fingerprints that deck both chair and wall.
I’m thankful for the daily dust that on the desk doth fall.

I’m thankful for my kitchen sink that hides the dirty dish;
I’m thankful for the splattered wall from when I fried the fish.

I’m thankful for the Cheerios,™ Playdoh,™ and other yuk;
And all the stones and crayons that plug my sweeper up.

I’m thankful for the toothpaste smeared on the bathroom door;
I’m thankful for the wad of gum stuck to the kitchen floor.

I’m thankful for the scattered toys that often pierce my feet
when I must run to get the phone before I've time to sweep.

I’m thankful for the mending I love so much to do
That I hide it in the corner and buy them something new.

I’m thankful for the unmade beds that mean I’m not alone;
I’m thankful for so many things that make our house a home.

For I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.
- Philippians 4:11 (NIV)

The boxes on the porch

2010-11-21T00:01:00.000-05:00

. . . as a matter of equality your abundance at the present time should supply their want, so that their abundance may supply your want . . . – 2 Corinthians 8:14 (RSV)

It was during our poor years that God taught me the formula for giving and receiving. God’s lessons, I find, often come when circumstances are lowest and there seems to be no way out – when I feel as though I’m at the bottom of a deep hole – and someone throws in a shovel.

The incident I am about to relate was during one of those “deep hole” times.

When I had my first child, I chose to be a stay-at-home mom and resigned from my full-time teaching job, giving up all that came with it – a healthy paycheck, benefits, seniority, job security. Although I knew it would be difficult financially, I believed that if we were doing the right thing, God would provide. I was clueless as to exactly how difficult it would really be.

After trying to live on one income – one that often provided a meager $100 a week for a family of three – my husband and I were exploring alternate sources of income that would allow me to stay home. At the time we were attempting to build a retail business that involved both selling product and recruiting others to sell.

Our cupboards were bare – literally. Our son ate “ketchup bread” – ketchup smeared sparingly on a slice of bread – as a snack. Peanut butter and jelly were luxuries we couldn’t afford. Meatless meals were standard fare, and chicken soup was on the menu more often than my husband cared for.

One Saturday evening the phone rang.

“You left something on your porch,” a voice told me before the line went dead.

I looked at my husband, puzzled.

“Did you leave anything on the porch?” I asked him.

“I don’t think so,” he responded.

We went downstairs – we had a second floor apartment at the time – and there on the porch, were three boxes of food! Among the cans and boxes were several packages of meat – Oh, blessed meat! I wanted to cry. I felt happy, relieved, grateful – and humbled.

That night was a turning point. We vowed that we would someday be in a position to help others. The following spring we planted a vegetable garden. I picked berries and learned to can and preserve food. Babysitting supplemented my husband’s income while allowing me to stay home with my son. Circumstances gradually improved. My husband eventually got a better-paying job. When the kids started school, I began to substitute teach.

Our three children are all grown and gone now, and we’re in the position to be the givers. It’s wonderful place to be, but I’ve learned that it’s just as important to be good receivers, too, accepting with humility and gratitude what is given in love.

We never found out who put the boxes on the porch that night, but they left us with more than a gift of food. They gave us hope and the desire to do for others what had been done for us – and that’s a gift money can’t buy.

Thank you, Lord, that I was needy and “less fortunate”— because through my need You taught me how to give. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read 2 Corinthians 8:1-15

A kick in the pants

2010-11-14T00:01:00.003-05:00

Let us throw off everything that hinders . . . and run with perseverance the race marked out for us. – Hebrews 12:1 (NIV)

For the second time in my writing career, I’ve taken on the NaNoWriMo challenge. Every November, fiction writers across the land hole up for the purpose of cranking out a 50,000-word novel. It took me a year to write each of my two completed novels. Well, two. One year to stop being scared of the project and another year to actually write it. NaNoWriMo is the kick in the pants I need to get past the fear and into the writing.

To produce 50K words in one month, we all but shut ourselves off from the rest of the world. A hunter getting ready for deer season is nothing compared to a fiction writer getting ready for NaNoWriMo. Some writers turn off their phones, disconnect their Internet, and cancel their cable or satellite service. Me, I’m not that extreme. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t get my NCIS fix.

Quality doesn’t matter. Quantity does. It’s all about numbers. So they say. Me? I can’t restrain the editor/English teacher in me long enough to write the 1,667 words per day I need to get 50K done by Dec. 1. I can’t resist going back and tweaking the last page I wrote, or revisiting a previously written chapter to work in a scene to set up something that will happen later. But I’ve learned that keeping a separate document for “things to research” helps me to keep pushing forward.

Fifty thousand words scares me, but not 1,667. As I write this, at 4:49 p.m. Thursday, Nov. 11, I’m at 12,086 words. That counts chapter titles and notations in the text about what I need to add, change, verify or research. But I have to be careful because we writers are notorious procrastinators, and are afflicted with ADD. Anything—and I mean anything—can get us derailed.

I could have gotten derailed from the get-go. My husband came home from a two-week hunting trip to Colorado on Nov. 2, with 290 pictures and 290 stories—and a pile of laundry as big as a Rocky Mountain. My youngest son, whom we see very little even though he lives in Johnstown, came home for a day. Nov. 1 marked the end of the first nine weeks at school, meaning grades were due. Yada, yada, yada. But I didn’t give up. I simply refigured how many words I needed to write a day to reach 50K by Dec. 1. I can do this.

And so it is with anything in life. Sometimes the mountains we face are daunting, the problems overwhelming, the journey too long. We get derailed or need to tend to things with a higher priority. But we don’t give up. We fix our eyes on the goal, readjust, realign, reconsider—knowing that one step forward is one step closer.

Dear God, heaven is a long way off, and I can’t be good the whole journey. I lose my patience, my temper and my poise too often and get derailed. Remind me when I feel overwhelmed by the world to readjust, realign, and keep moving forward. And when I need it, Lord, give me a kick in the pants. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Hebrews 12:1–2

Goose bumps and God things

2010-11-07T00:01:00.001-04:00

Ask, and it will be given to you. – Matthew 7:7 (NIV)

About a year ago a small group of women began praying for a Christian women’s conference in Punxsutawney. The following spring I learned about licensed marriage and family therapist Deborah Dunn’s Southern Christian Women speaking ministry. Her vision to reach out to women in small towns who had neither time nor finances to attend a bigger conference resonated in my soul. I contacted her. Would she be available in the fall?

“The only date I have open this fall is Oct. 16,” she told me.

“Pencil me in,” I said.

Somewhere in the exchange of emails, she mentioned that she keeps her speaking fees low not only so more women could afford to attend, but also to help the sponsoring organization raise money for a worthy cause. I thought of the Punxsutawney Christian School, a cause close to my heart. The recession, I knew, was taking a toll on the school. Maybe this was a way I could help.

I think this is when I first got conference-related goose bumps—and they weren’t caused by fear or cold, but a keen awareness that Someone other than I was orchestrating this, and I was being allowed the privilege of being a small part of a God thing. And it was evident from the beginning, from the way folks jumped on board, offering help, that this was indeed a God thing. Renowned Christian author Karen Kingsbury donated an autographed book for a silent auction. Artist Dianna Moretti painted four posters, each depicting a season. These, too, were auctioned off. The sound techs at the church we used donated their services for the day.

I have neither time nor space to relate all that gave me goose bumps from April until Oct. 16, but let me tell you about the hankies.

I had 100 bookmarks printed with a poem I’d written that went with the conference “Seasons of Life” theme—“Mama’s Hankie.” My plan was to attach ladies’ hankies and use them as appreciation gifts for donations to the school. But where would I get 100 women’s hankies—preferably old hankies?

While we prayed and searched, I began to fret. I wanted to give a healthy donation to the school—but, with slow ticket sales, would we bring in enough to break even? We sent out a request to PCS parents for hankies. We spread the word. One of the planning team gals, Sue, hunted for hankies everywhere she went—and became our “hankie lady.”

One week before the conference, I counted exactly 100 hankies to be washed, ironed and tied to the bookmarks. About four were stained and couldn’t be used. But wouldn’t you know—exactly four more hankies came in that week.

My doubts and fears vanished in another bout of goose bumps: A God who cares enough to provide 100 hankies would surely see that our financial obligations were met.

They were—and we gave a healthy donation to the school.

When You call me to serve, Lord, and fear and doubt begin to assail, remind me—with goose bumps if You have to—that You are in control. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Matthew 7:7-11

Treasures in jars of clay

2010-10-31T00:01:00.003-04:00

NOTE: This is the final installment of a seven-part series on AGING WITH GRACE.

So we have this treasure in jars of clay. – 2 Corinthians 4:7 (NIV)

Every day we’re urged to be one of the “beautiful people.” TV ads advise us to purchase expensive exercise equipment. Ever notice that the men and women demonstrating how easy it is to lose weight don’t have to? Look at the covers of women’s magazines as you stand in line at the checkout counter, and you’ll see the titles of the articles inside deal with basically the same topics: “Watch those pounds melt off” (yeah, right) or “Eat all the chocolate you want and still lose weight” (in your dreams) or “Beauty Makeovers” (why does it never happen to me?).

If having an attractive, sleek body is what being beautiful is all about, how, then, can you be beautiful in your senior years, when your body is slowly, as Paul put it two millennia ago, “wasting away”? When this “jar of clay” lets you down. When your energy wanes, and you can’t do as much as you used to. When reading glasses are a necessary part of your wardrobe. When you have to watch what you eat because certain foods will haunt you in the middle of the night. When every year you not only celebrate your birthday, but you mark the breakdown of one more part of you.

Or is beauty something deeper – an inner radiance that shows on your face and in your behavior and attitude? A zest for life that can’t be quenched.

People who possess this quality energize everyone they meet. I once knew a man who went deep sea fishing when he was in his 90s. He lived full tilt, gardening, canning, baking bread, selling homegrown blueberries and locally produced chocolate candy. I used to tease him that he thought the speed limit was his age. But he loved people and he loved life. His body was aging, but his spirit was beautiful.

This,then, is the fifth secret to aging with grace: Enthusiasm – possessing a spirit of excitement that enables you to face each day, each thing you do, with eagerness, interest and energy.

While we have little, if any, control over the aging process, enthusiasm is something we can cultivate. The word itself comes from a Greek word that means to be “inspired” and “possessed by a god.” The Bible tells us to be enthusiastic all that we do: “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might” (Ecclesiastes 9:10). “Whatever you do, work at with all your heart” (Colossians 3:23).

The key to having enthusiasm is to give yourself daily to the one and only God. His Spirit living within you gives you eternal life, inspires you, and fills you with eagerness, excitement and energy. The Spirit of God is the treasure you carry in your jar of clay.

Thank you, God, for those people I meet that brighten my day with their enthusiasm. Fill me with Your Spirit so that my excitement for living will energize and encourage those around me. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read 2 Corinthians 4:7-5:6

This too shall pass

2010-10-24T00:01:00.002-04:00

NOTE: This is the sixth of a seven-part series on AGING WITH GRACE.

Be content with what you have, because God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” – Hebrews 13:5 (NIV)

Thirty years ago we moved from an apartment to an unfinished basement 13 miles from town. The money we paid for rent, we reasoned, would be better spent on the house we were building. Our oldest child was four and our baby daughter was 11 months old. Boxes, clothes and toys cluttered every square foot of that concrete cubicle. The furnace needed repair. It was mid-November, and winter was closing in fast. A constant fire in the woodstove did little to warm up the concrete surrounding us. Insulating the place was still on our to-do list. I wore long underwear, a toboggan hat and layers of clothing indoors.

The plumbing was still unfinished, so we hooked up a garden hose to the water tank and fed it through a hole in the wall above the bathtub. Lugging pots of hot water from the kitchen, I flooded the bathroom floor twice. My back ached from sleeping on an old, lumpy sofa bed mattress. Our comfortable queen-size bed was stored in the wagon shed until we made room for it.

“Why can’t I have nice things the easy way like everyone else?” I grumbled after three days of disorganization, interruptions and things gone wrong. “Why am I always a ‘have-not’ and never a ‘have’?”

My husband tried to cheer me up. “It’s only temporary,” he said.

Then, before the first week was up, an early snowstorm dumped six inches on the countryside overnight. Every two hours I bundled up even more and shoveled swirling drifts away from the only door. Flinging wet, heavy snow over my shoulder, I gave in to self-pity.

“Temporary, temporary,” I fumed. “Is everything temporary?”

The answer came immediately: Even if you had everything exactly the way you wanted, it would still be temporary.

This is the fifth secret to aging with grace: Being content in your circumstances because you know that whatever your earthly condition, it’s only temporary. Contentment is the antidote to unhappiness, envy, worry, fear, discontentment, grumbling and bitterness.

That’s not to say I don’t feel envy and discontent at times. But I fight it by focusing, not on the things I can see, but on the things I can’t, because “what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:18). Why get all stirred up about something that isn’t going to last? I’ve learned that with God’s help, I can make it through anything by fixing my eyes on what is permanent: God, His Word, His promises, His presence, His protection, His provision, His love, His gifts of eternal life and a home in Heaven with Him forever.

With God, I have everything.

Lord, help me to remember that whatever my earthly condition – whether rich, poor, or in between – is only temporary. Remind me daily what’s really important. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Straight A's in aging

2010-10-17T00:01:00.001-04:00

This is the fifth of a seven-part series on AGING WITH GRACE.

For I have learned, in whatever state I am, to be content. – Philippians 4:11 (NKJV)

In preparation for an upcoming speakers’ seminar, I completed a personality profile. The strengths section was fairly easy. Determining my weaknesses, though, was a different story. None of the four choices for each of the 20 lines seemed to fit me. I’d think, “I used to be this way, but I’m not anymore.”

My personality type? The “perfect melancholy.”

Schedule-oriented, orderly and organized, the perfect melancholy is a detail person, persistent, thorough, accurate, and sincere. PMs are good with planning, explaining the facts, and keeping the records straight, but can get lost in the details and become too easily distracted and critical.

My husband, on the other hand, is a “peaceful phlegmatic.” A support person, this personality type is good at staying calm and functional amid chaos, and not overreacting to a negative situation. While the perfect melancholy needs order and understanding, the peaceful phlegmatic craves rest and quiet.

Imagine someone who wants everything perfect living with someone for whom the details don’t matter. The uptight living with the easygoing. I run late because I have to fold the quilt on the sofa, fluff the throw pillows, take the hanger off the bed, empty the dehumidifier and put everything in its place. I want to walk into a perfect house when I come home. Hubby, though, doesn’t care what the place looks like when he comes in (just have supper ready, please) but wants to be on time for things.

Knowing my personality type has helped me to accept myself the way God created me. And recognizing my husband’s personality type has given me insight into what makes him tick. Our marriage has lasted 37 years because we’ve learned to adapt to each other and to circumstances.

This is the fourth secret to aging with grace: accepting yourself and others the way you were created and adapting to situations that come into your life, especially ones that cannot be changed.

Both Joseph and Paul found themselves in prison, not because of anything they’d done wrong but because of what they did right. To survive, they learned to accept and adapt. The key to accepting, adapting, and learning to be content with what you hadn’t planned and didn’t want, is knowing that you are not the one in control – God is.

When I took the personality profile, I realized how much God had been working in my life, changing me. I hadn’t thought I’d changed at all. But God used hard times, unchanging circumstances, and difficult people to change me. Iron sharpening iron. Painful – but productive.

Lord, give me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen. (From “The Prayer of Serenity”)

Special-Tea: Read Philippians 4:11-13

Tickle your funny bone

2010-10-10T00:01:00.001-04:00

How to Age with Grace, Part 4

However many years a man may live, let him enjoy them all. – Ecclesiastes 11:8 (NIV)

I was a fun-loving child. I created ridiculous skits to make others laugh, played impractical jokes and looked for ways to make everything I did fun. Once I put salt in the sugar bowl and sugar in the salt shaker, then crouched under the table to enjoy the reaction of my unsuspecting victim – which happened to be my mother, and her reaction was enough to convince me not to do that again!

I even found ways to make church fun – for me, anyway. I attended a Catholic grade school, and we started the day with Mass every morning. We first graders sat right up front, close to the statue of Mary. The statue, I thought, made a great target for my best friend’s mittens. After a couple mitten-tossing episodes, Sister Bertrille, my teacher, decided it would be better if I sat beside her. But when eyes were closed and heads were bent in prayer, I’d reach under the pew and pull off the shoes of the person kneeling in front of me. Back then, paddling was acceptable, and I made many trips to the supply room, where such discipline was administered. For me the fun and laughter were worth the risk of a sore bottom.

Although my way of finding fun was often impractical and annoying, I inherently knew the secret to surviving life: Find the fun in everything. A healthy sense of humor is life’s best shock absorber.

This is the third secret to aging with grace: Finding joy in every day, in every circumstance. Joy is a choice.

Studies have shown that healthy laughter affects our bodies in positive ways: It stimulates the “feel good” chemicals in our brains, burns calories, gives our faces a healthy glow (from the increased blood flow), reduces symptoms of stress, boosts our immune system, increases the oxygen flowing through our systems, helps to keep glucose levels in check, reduces clotting and inflammation in the blood vessels, increases our tolerance for pain and, with all the muscles engaged when we laugh, acts as good exercise. Convalescing patients who watch funny movies or shows, such as “The Three Stooges” or “I Love Lucy,” and spend time engaging in good, belly-shaking, tear-producing laughter, recuperate more quickly than those who do not.

The Bible tells us that “a cheerful heart is good medicine” (Proverbs 17:22), “a happy heart makes the face cheerful (Proverbs 15:13), and “the cheerful heart has a continual feast” (Proverbs 15:15).

So choose joy. Choose to think positive thoughts, to say encouraging words, to laugh instead of get angry. Choose to look for fun.

Go ahead--tickle your funny bone!

“There are souls in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere and leaving it behind them when they go” (Frederick Faber). Lord, may I be such a soul! Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Philippians 4:4-9

Join me at the Seasons of Life Christian Women’s Conference at the Punxsutawney First Church of God on Oct.16, from 9 a.m.-3 p.m. Tickets, which are $20, include lunch and must be purchased by Oct. 11. Benefits Punxsutawney Christian School. For tickets, call PCS at 814-938-2295 or email me at michelehuey@yahoo.com For more information, visit the conference blog at http://seasonsoflifecwc.blogspot.com

Hush hour

2010-10-03T00:01:00.001-04:00

Part 3 of my "Aging with Grace" series

Special-Tea: John 15:5-8

Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you. – Isaiah 46:4 (NIV)

One of the things I like about teaching school is summer vacation. It isn’t so much that I get to sleep in because I try to keep the same wake-sleep schedule as I have during the school year. It’s the expanded quiet time for devotions that I most enjoy.

From September to June I’m lucky to have a half an hour a day to read my Bible and pray, let alone delve into spiritual growth books, work through an in-depth Bible study and keep a spiritual journal. I don’t even think about those “read the Bible in one year” schedules. I simply don’t have the time. My prayers are usually said during the half-hour drive to work. And I just don’t have the energy?mentally or physically ?in the evening to attend Bible study, as much as I want to.

During the summer, however, I have no reason to get out the door at a certain time. Taking at least two hours for devotions, for me, is the next thing to heaven. Perhaps that’s one reason I feel so good during the summer?I’m not so fatigued or stressed. Blanketing the day with prayer and plunging deeply into the Word help me to cope when life comes at me fast.

In their book The Graying of America, Donald H. and Barry C. Kauser note that people with faith tend to live longer: “Does religion actually serve to improve the health of elderly people? Over 10 years of studies at various universities have indicated that … people who have a deep religious faith seem to get sick less often and get better faster when they do get sick than people with much less religious faith. Those with a strong religious faith have also been found to have lower rates of heart disease, stroke and cancer.”

Scientific studies are showing that prayer can be a great healer, reducing stress and boosting the immune system. One study of AIDS patients found that the frequency of prayer was significantly related to longer survival.

“It seemed that people for whom religion had played a major role throughout their lives were aging better than those who weren’t religious,” one researcher noted.

Aging with grace, then, involves not only keeping active mentally and physically, but also taking your relationship with God to a higher and deeper level through prayer, and reading, studying and meditating on Scripture.

Retirement for me is still a ways off, but I sure look forward to the day when rush hour becomes hush hour.

Lord, no matter how busy I am, remind me to spend time with You every day. Amen.

Join me at the Seasons of Life Christian Women’s Conference at the Punxsutawney First Church of God on Oct.16, from 9 a.m.-3 p.m. Tickets, which are $20, include lunch and must be purchased by Oct. 11. Benefits Punxsutawney Christian School. For tickets, call PCS at 814-938-2295 or email me at michelehuey@yahoo.com For more information, visit the conference blog at http://seasonsoflifecwc.blogspot.com

Growing new wood

2010-09-27T00:01:00.000-04:00

Part 2 of my "Aging with Grace" series

They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green. – Psalm 92:14 (NIV)

“I will not make age an issue,” the late Ronald Reagan said in 1984, when, at age 73, he was running for the US Presidency. “I am not going to exploit for political purposes my opponent’s youth and inexperience.”

His opponent was 56.

Life doesn’t end at 60 or 62 or 65, or whatever age the government or company you work for says you must retire. You can still produce in the autumn and winter seasons of life.

Vanderbilt increased his fortune by $100 million between the ages of 70 and 83. When he was 74, Verdi composed his masterpiece, Othello; when he was 80, Falstaff; and when he was 85, the Ave Maria. Cato began to study Greek when he was 80, the same age that Goethe wrote Faust. At 83 Tennyson penned his renowned poem, “Crossing the Bar.” And at 98, Titian created his historic painting, “The Battle of Lepanto.”

Productivity in the golden years isn’t only for the ancients, either. I knew a man who went deep sea fishing when he was 91.

What’s the secret to aging with grace? The first secret is to keep growing. Anything that isn’t growing is dead.

“That tree is very old, but I never saw prettier blossoms on it than it now bears,” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once wrote. “That tree grows new wood every year. Like that apple tree, I try to grow a little new wood every year.”

We, too, need to grow a little new wood each year. The Bible tells us that “Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man” (Luke 2:52). That means He grew mentally, physically, spiritually and socially. So should we, no matter what our age.

“Be transformed by the renewing of your mind,” Paul wrote (Romans 12:2). Grow mentally by keeping your mind active. Learn something new. Read something that requires effort, thought and concentration, such as classic literature. Take a continuing education course. Write your memoirs, research your genealogy and family history. Do crossword puzzles or solve brain teasers. Play games that require thinking, such as Scrabble or Scattergories.

Physically, our bodies are no longer growing as they did when we were young, but they still need upkeep. I call it “temple keeping” because God’s Word tells me my body is a temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 3:16-17, 6:19-20). So I take care of this temple by eating right, getting the proper amount of rest and exercising regularly (well, I try). It’s important to know my limits and pay attention to what my temple is telling me. Taking care of health issues immediately will save me a lot of grief and hassle down the road. And I keep up appearances because if I look good, I feel good, and if I feel good, I do good.

The famous comic strip artist Harry Hershfield lived a fruitful life until his death in 1974 at the age of 89.

“I wake up every morning at 8 a.m. and reach for the morning paper,” he once said. “Then I look at the obituary page. If my name’s not in it, I GET UP!”

Lord, show me ways I can grow a little new wood every day. Amen.

Join me at the Seasons of Life Christian Women’s Conference at the Punxsutawney First Church of God on Oct.16, from 9 a.m.—3 p.m. Tickets, which are $20, include lunch and must be purchased in advance. Benefits Punxsutawney Christian School. For tickets, call PCS at 814-938-2295 or email me at michelehuey@yahoo.com

For more information, visit the conference blog at http://seasonsoflifecwc.blogspot.com

The girl in the picture

2010-09-26T18:06:00.000-04:00

Here's the "girl in the picture" that I wrote about in my last blog.My husband has kept this picture in his wallet for nearly 37 years. It was taken on October 20, 1973, the day we got engaged.

The girl in the picture

2010-09-19T00:01:00.001-04:00

So we do not lose heart. Though our outward nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed every day. – 2 Corinthians 4:16 (RSV)

Every year my husband and I attend a holiday dinner given by his employers. Years ago, when the children were still at home and the job list longer than the day (and my energy supply), the dinner was held at a fashionable, classy country club. No longer was I the slim, young thing pictured in a snapshot my husband keeps in his wallet. The years had brought with them a few more pounds, and put a dent in the youthful self esteem exuding from the photo I sometimes wished he’d stop showing to everybody.

There were other changes, too: The long, silky chestnut hair that cascaded over the bare shoulders of the girl in the picture, taken on the day she got engaged, was now cropped short. With a husband, three children and a house to take care of, she no longer had the time for herself.

That evening, however, I’d taken extra care getting dressed, and, when I came down the stairs, I was compliment-ready. But my spouse only glanced at the clock and said, “We’d better get going. I don’t want to be late.”

He said little on the one-hour drive in the swirling snow to the country club, but I was feeling too good to let his silence ruin my mood. Besides, the evening was still young.

When we arrived at the country club, we turned up the long, curved driveway that led to the hilltop restaurant. As we neared the portico, he asked, in an attempt to be thoughtful, “Do you want me to drop you off here?”

“Sure,” I said, opening the car door.

At that moment, the headlights illuminated a large sign: “BAG DROP.”

We’re all growing older. We’re changing physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Shifts occur in our social life, too, as the people we associate with change, move away, experience life-altering health problems or pass away. Some of the changes we’ve looked forward to, but others, such as weight gain and health issues, are more difficult to deal with. I don’t want to turn into a crotchety, bitter old person. I’d rather age with grace. With all the changes, wanted and unwanted, that getting older brings, how DO we age with grace?

Aging with grace just doesn’t happen on its own. Like everything else worthwhile in life, it must achieved through planning and conscientious effort.

The girl in the picture still exists – deep down in the heart of a pushing-60 grandmother—who’s learned the secret to a happy life despite the aches and pains that age brings: “Though our outward nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed every day” (2 Corinthians 4:16).

Someone once wrote, “You can take no credit for beauty at 16. But if you are beautiful at 60, it will be your soul’s own doing.”

Lord, help me to be beautiful on the inside, where it really counts. Amen.

Special-Tea: 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Canning partner

2010-09-12T00:01:00.002-04:00

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work.

– Ecclesiastes 4:9 (NIV)

When we planted our garden in the spring, we had no idea of the harvest we’d get. Last year we lost all our tomato plants—four dozen—to blight. We managed to harvest some potatoes, even though the blight killed the plants before the tubers were done growing. The peppers, on the other hand, did great. They were plentiful and enormous.

This year was the other way around. The peppers were scarce and small, and the tomatoes—well, let’s just say the Lord has restored what the locust (last year’s blight) had eaten. To date, we’ve canned 20 pints of green beans, 27 quarts and 10 pints of pickled beets, three pints of relish, 21 quarts of pears, 31 quarts of tomatoes, and 32 pints of tomato juice. To that add green beans, peas, and corn we’ve put in the freezer. More tomatoes are ripening, but after we can 11 pints of whole tomatoes for chicken soup, we're done.

Notice I wrote “we.” Not “I.” Up until this year, I’ve done all the canning. But when the regular English teacher at the Christian school resigned two weeks before school started, I was asked to fill in until a permanent teacher could be found. How could I say no? The school is near and dear to me. I was involved in getting it established in 1997, served on the board of directors for four years, then taught English for five years. Two of my grandchildren now attend.

So the first day of school found me in a classroom instead of in my writing room writing or in the kitchen canning.

But I’ve got the most wonderful husband in the world. He’s always supported me in anything I’ve ever done. He hasn’t just helped me to can. He’s learned how to do it himself.

Last Saturday while I went to town for groceries (stores, I learned, are great places to shop at 6:30 a.m.), he dug up, cleaned, and prepared beets for cooking. Then, under my instruction, he skinned, quartered, and packed them in jars that he’d washed while I paid the bills and balanced the household budget. I then prepared the pickling solution, which I added to the seven quarts and 10 pints he had ready, and put on the lids and bands.

We had two canners going at the same time: the water bath canner outside on the burner on the grill and the pressure canner on the range in the kitchen. Then we canned 13 quarts of tomatoes. He was going to leave that job to me—I always take a whiff of the tomato when I cut it to check for rot, and he wasn’t sure about that part of the process. But he ended up doing the tomatoes, too. All I did was add the sugar and salt, and put on the lids and bands. On Monday we did pears.

OK, I admit, I was a little territorial at first. I mean, the kitchen has always been my domain. But I had too much on my plate not to accept his help. Turns out he became more than a helper—he became my canning partner.

And isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?

Dear God, thank you for the life partner You’ve given me. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Genesis 2:18-24

Air purifier

2010-09-05T00:01:00.001-04:00

How can a young man keep his way pure? By guarding it according to thy word. – Psalm 119:9 (RSV)

After my classroom was moved to the second floor of the front of the school building—right along the main street of town, a major artery for heavy truck traffic—I developed puzzling symptoms that came and went. Fatigue. Congestion. Watery eyes. Dry throat. Itchy, red spots on my skin. Mild numbness in my left arm. Difficulty concentrating. Occasional dizziness. Feeling as though I had a mild case of the flu.

Since no one else at school complained about the symptoms I was experiencing, I blamed them on getting older. By the end of that school year, though, I felt just awful. I attributed it to burnout and determined to spend the summer regaining my health. I went on a three-day, blood-purifying juice fast. I bought a water purifier for drinking water and a filter for the water system. I began to feel better. I had energy. I slept well. I could think again. All those baffling symptoms disappeared.

Then August came. The difference in my health within a week after I returned to school was abrupt and left no room for doubt. I suspected the black, soot-like dust that blanketed everything in my classroom—residue from the exhausts of trucks with diesel engines that changed gears right in front of the windows of my classroom. I’d been breathing that stuff for seven hours a day, five days a week, for three years.    The administration and I got busy. We sealed up every place where we suspected exhaust fumes could get in. A bigger, more efficient air purifier was purchased to complement the smaller one I’d been using. I replaced the air filter in the small air purifier, which was caked with soot. My symptoms abated.

Purity is hard to come by these days. Despite controls that limit the pollutants and environmental toxins that are byproducts of progress, the air we breathe and the water we drink are not as pure as they were in pre-industry times. That’s why bottled water and air and water purifiers have become so popular.

Spiritual purity is hard to come by, too. Just living in this sin-polluted world leaves a residue of sin-soot on us all. How do we attain and maintain the spiritual purity God requires?

By using the filter of God’s Word. We attain spiritual purity, the removal of all the sin dirt we’ve accumulated over the years, by asking Jesus, the Son of God, to be our Savior and accepting His death on Calvary’s cross for what it was: punishment for our sins: “The blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin” (1 John 1:7).

We maintain spiritual purity by reading, meditating on and obeying God’s Word, which brings revival, wisdom, joy and enlightenment (Psalm 19:7-8).

In an unstable, imperfect, sin-polluted world, God’s Word is the only filter that works.

Father, help me to recognize when sin is polluting and poisoning my soul. Help me to deal with it before its debilitating effects ruin my life. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Psalm 19:7-10

NOTE: This occurred several years ago. I've since resigned from teaching to write full time.

Hacked!

2010-08-29T00:01:00.002-04:00

The LORD is my light and my salvation? whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life?of whom shall I be afraid? – Psalm 27:1 (NIV)

I knew something was up when I logged into my HughesNet account Tuesday morning and read an email from Yahoo that I’d reset my password. I thought for a moment, trying to recall anything I may have done that would have inadvertently changed it. No, nothing. “If you didn’t authorize this change,” Yahoo wrote, “click here.” I clicked.

Not only had my password been reset, but 200-plus emails that had been in my Inbox were gone, as were all the emails that had been in the Sent box. Not good. Then someone forwarded me an email that I supposedly sent, asking me, “What’s up?” The subject line read, “SAD NEWS from MICHELE HUEY.” The next thing I knew, emails were flowing in, all wondering the same thing, all with the same forwarded message: I’d been robbed at gunpoint in Spain and needed money to get home.

Now, the fact that the email I supposedly sent was one long, run-on sentence; the grammar, punctuation and other mechanics were horrendous; and the syntax atrocious, should have been a dead giveaway. Surely I’m a better writer than that. Which is why I received no less than a dozen phone calls and at least two dozen emails about it.

Nosing around further, I discovered that another email account had been set up, supposedly mine, but misspelling my name. My profile had been changed (I am now a 22-year-old New York City gal), and my address book was empty.

I’d been hacked. Everyone whose email address had been in that address book received the same damsel-in-distress email.

There went my plans for the day, as I spent it changing passwords, answering phone calls and emails, and ignoring a demanding, intimidating do-list. At one point, I felt desperation and frustration sinking their claws into my spirit. I’d had emails regarding financial matters in there. What if the hacker had gotten sensitive information and my accounts were now compromised?

Now, I’m not one to see the devil behind every tree, but when things start flying in left and right, I know ol’ Beelzebub is cranking up the heat. There had been several crisis points over the past few months, but this one was a real doozy. I must be doing something right.

As my panic mushroomed, a Scripture verse popped into my mind. I grabbed my Bible and opened it to Psalm 46 and read—prayed—nice and loud so the enemy would know where I stood: “God is my refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore I will NOT fear . . .”

The panic abated. It would be all right. I knew Who was in control.

Folks who know me know that had I really been robbed at gunpoint—in Spain or elsewhere—I wouldn’t ask for money. I’d ask for prayer. It is, after all, along with the Holy Spirit and the Word of God, the strongest power on earth, in cyberspace—and everywhere else.

Dear God, when things come flying in left and right, and the panic begins to rise, remind me to be still and know that You are God. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Psalm 46

Hacked!

2010-08-24T10:50:00.000-04:00

I've been hacked! Someone hacked into my Yahoo account, changed the password, added another email account, and sent a hoax message to everyone in my address book. I'm not in Spain. I haven't been robbed at gunpoint. I'm home safe and sound. I apologize if you received the hoax email. Gee--don't some people have anything better to do?

Voices and fleeces

2010-08-22T00:01:00.004-04:00

In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps. – Proverbs 16:9 (NIV)

It was 33 years ago that I heard His voice.

I was a new mother, a recent “retiree” (I’d resigned from teaching to be a stay-at-home mom), and a spanking-new Christian with a vision. I’d heard Christian singer Sammy Hall in concert and wanted to bring him to Punxsutawney. I just knew area teens would love his music and respond to God’s invitation like I had.

I’d already secured a concert date with Sammy Hall Ministries. Now I was figuring out a way to pay for it. My idea was to create an interfaith youth group comprised of teens from local churches to raise the funds. I ordered boxes of candy from a fundraising agency. The next step was to contact area churches, and for this, I needed a name for the youth group.

I was on my knees praying when I heard it—“Youth for Christ.” Not audible, but loud and clear and sure. I knew I’d heard the voice of God. So I sent out letters to local churches explaining my vision and inviting their youth leaders to a planning meeting for the Sammy Hall concert. I signed my name, followed by “Punxsutawney Youth for Christ.”

Besides my own, only two or three other churches sent someone to find out what this was all about. At the meeting, a pastor asked me if this was connected to “Youth for Christ.” My blank look told him I had no clue what he was talking about. So after the meeting, he enlightened me. Youth for Christ, I learned, is an international organization dedicated to reaching the youth of the world with the Gospel and teaching them how the Bible directs us to live.

Hmmm, I thought. Does God want me to bring Sammy Hall to Punxsy or establish a YFC chapter here? The latter was a much bigger venture—bigger than me, bigger than the vision I’d had—bigger, wider, and further reaching. Back to my knees I went. But God was silent. So I asked my associate pastor for his advice.

“There’s good, there’s better, and there’s best,” he said. “Sometimes we have to determine which is good and which is best.”

“But how do I know?”

“You don’t,” he said. “But God does.”

That’s when I learned about putting out a fleece (Judges 6: 36-40).

“Lord,” I prayed, “if You want me to establish a Youth for Christ chapter in Punxsutawney—if that’s the direction You want me to go and not have the concert—have something come up that Sammy Hall can’t come.”

When I called Sammy Hall Ministries to confirm the date of the concert, the manager told me they couldn’t make it on that date and he’d get back to me (which he never did). The Punxsutawney chapter of YFCI (Campus Life) began a few months later and ministered to area youth for more than 20 years.

Dear God, thank You for the many ways You direct my steps. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Judges 6:36-40

My Baker's Dozen

2010-08-15T00:01:00.001-04:00

Your Father knows what you need before you ask him. – Matthew 6:8 (NIV)

I call it my “Baker’s Dozen.”

Back in December, I’d grown weary of praying for the same things—some for years—over and over and hearing not even a whisper of an answer. What was I supposed to do? Keep praying? Give up? I felt stuck in the Valley of Wait.

It wasn’t like I was asking for a million dollars. Things were getting old and needed replaced—like the roof, the pickup (our only vehicle), and the redneck porch—I mean, how many times can we build a deck using wooden pallets? The heating oil was getting low, I needed a new winter coat, and the paint on the kitchen floor, actually the subfloor, was chipped and stained and hard to keep clean. The throw rugs I used to cover it were showing their age (37 years). I didn’t even want to think about the aging equipment in my writing room.

So one morning during my quiet time I decided to take God at His Word. After all, doesn’t He tell us in His Word that He’ll supply all our needs? Don’t get me into the wants vs. needs debate. I refuse to analyze to death a simple thing like a prayer request. Either God is Who He says He is or He isn’t. Either His Word is true or it isn’t. I choose to believe the former, in both cases.

So I opened my journal and printed across the top of a blank left page, “Needs.” Then I listed all that I’d been praying for. The list numbered 13. On some of the items I gave God a deadline. On the opposite page, I wrote “When and How God Provided” and numbered the lines from 1 to 13. This was my Jehovah Jireh page (see Genesis 22:14). Jehovah Jireh, or YHWH Yireh, translates “The LORD Will Provide” and means “God who will provide all of your needs.”

I rewrote the list on a sheet of paper, folded it up, put it in a glass candle dish, and set a match to it. No, I wasn’t throwing a hissy fit. In the Bible, things that were given, or dedicated, to God, were burned.

Then I waited. I refused to fret. I had put the list in God’s hands, and He would take care of it. Period.

Eight months later, six of the requests have been answered. But God gives what we don’t ask for, too, and provides for needs we don’t even know we have. It just so happened that the payment I received for a writing assignment in May was enough to purchase a new laptop, printer, and an external hard drive. No sooner had I copied all my files from the old laptop to the external hard drive when the old laptop gave up the ghost. In December I hadn’t a clue. But God knew.

As far as the unanswered half of the Baker’s Dozen list, I have no doubt that those blanks will be filled, too.

Jehovah Jireh, thank you for meeting all my needs. Amen.

Special-Tea: Matthew 7:7-11

More tea: Philippians 4:19, 2 Corinthians 9:6–11, Matthew 6:25–34, Luke 18:1, Malachi 3:10