Tag Archives: christian blog

Merry Christmas! You are Special to Us…

To Family and Friends,

 

My Christmas confession:

Every year I apologize for not sending cards. I want to be better at that, I do. I love receiving cards, even secretly look forward to them. So, why don’t I reciprocate? After deep pondering, this is my reason…

If I send you a card, I don’t want to just sign it or tag it with a chosen mantra for the season. I want to tell you what you mean to me. Remind you of the times your smile, generosity and free gifts of kindness have blessed me. I’m mushy that way. So, when I think about sitting down and letting each of you know my heart for you, I get overwhelmed. I know you would be more than happy to have a card with our best wishes and signature, but I don’t know how to keep it simple.

So, this is it, our card to you.

Whether you are a blog follower, life long friend or a blood relative, we care deeply and thank God for you daily. Our prayer for you is that you and yours will walk in all the goodness God has intended for you. That you will be blessed with the ability to look upward and march forward in hope, grace and gratitude. That you will know your worth in Christ and bask daily in His love. That the abundance of  His love will continue to spill upon those in your circle. And, that you will know people like us, appreciate your unique God given qualities.

Merry Christmas from Us… Sandy and Deb Palmer

Power in the Hands of Church Dudes – Godly Men Rock!

Godly men rock

Their locker room prattle may not hold you spellbound, but it will not insult. Godly men. The ones that do the next right thing. Fathers, husbands, grampas, brothers, sons, grandsons, friends, even strangers. Powerful men who unknowingly serve as an antidote for a menagerie of hurts. Godly Men Rock

I love the men of my church. The church dudes. Through them I have witnessed healing, straight from God’s heart. Strong men who use their strengths for good. Heroes to those who witness their kindness, like… Godly Men Rock

The brow beaten widow, who lives with hurtful words. A lurking, haunting inheritance.

The invisible, fatherless son shadowed in a hoody, desperate for attention, acceptance…words imagined from a caring dad.

The guy, in the back pew, face cradled in palms who believes he’s less than. Godly Men Rock

The twenty-something beauty with a history of predator beaus.

The mother whose grown son, no longer calls.

The recovering alcoholic who’s burned all bridges leading anywhere else, but here.

And so on. People hurt by men from the past, present and the potential future. Godly Men Rock

Before I go on, here’s my disclaimer: Godly Men Rock

You might find a lone turkey in the woods, but the gang is hanging at the turkey farm.  Likewise, it’s more likely to find a healthy flock of good men at church. Just saying. You’re welcome to put on your Elmer Fudd hat and hunt elsewhere. Also, I’m aware of men in churches who do more harm than good. Sadly, they have power as well. But they are not whom I choose to celebrate.

As I was saying… Godly Men Rockromans 5:4 character

Kind men… good men… hold mighty tools in their righteous hands. When they give time to a lonely child, speak softly to a down- trodden woman, or place a gentle arm around their wife’s shoulders. When they fix the widow’s fence, stand up for a bullied boy, or encourage the shy to shine. When they lift hands to praise and bend knees to pray. Even when they tell a goofy joke, laugh like goons, and repeat. 1 Corinthians 16:13 Be courageous

I’m watching. You’re watching. And if we’ve been hurt by past ill-examples of good character, we experience healing.  I know I do. They’re not the men we avoid on the corner, or the internet, or the big mouths spouting demeaning tales. They are different, set apart, special. Not just on Sundays, but 24/7.

A few months back I wrote “The Ladies who Church,” determining, church is a verb. I realize now, men “church” as well. They are action figures with Bibles instead of capes. In closing I ask that you tell a good man in your circle how  much you appreciate their character. These men deserve our praise.

Church Ladies… Hot Flashes and Faith

What are the Desires of your Heart? Need a Motive Check?

     Psalm 37:4 Delight thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.        Do you ever catch a glimpse of your faith–that wee mustard seed, dwarfed in the palm of God’s hand? Recently, a peek at my faith meter, raised a question: Do I truly believe God longs to give me the desires of my heart? Continue reading What are the Desires of your Heart? Need a Motive Check?

Is Sobriety a Gift or an Albatross?

To Thine Own Self Be Tru Unity Service Recovery XXIIIRecently I came across a video, boasting the health benefits from eating fermented vegetation, a euphemism for rotten veggies. For 20 minutes I watch some skinny gal shred buckets of cabbage, carrots, golden beets, and celery, pressing  the compost-like mixture  into Mason jars. sobriety

As she’s twisting the lids onto the jars, I wise up. sobriety

          “Wait, I’m not eating that!”

Not ready to give up, I think up an alternative I can stomach… sauerkraut. I like it, sort of.  Next, I turn to google, searching for a home-cured recipe. As I scroll through dozens of choices, I remember my husband’s remarks the last time I ate sauerkraut. sobriety

            “Oh, (gag), that’s nasty stuff. Can’t you eat that outside?”

Next, a perfectly timed pop-up ad appeared on my screen. It happened to be a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon (my old favorite), with flashing red font, claiming the same heart-healthy benefits as rotten veggies. This should be an easy choice. I mean come on… a bowl of sauerkraut or a glass of Sauvignon? sobrietyglass of red wine

Right?

Problem is, next month I will celebrate 24 years of sobriety. That makes choosing a tad more difficult. The big picture question becomes two-fold:

            Part 1: Could I have a single glass of wine every day?

And  …

          Part 2:  What size glass are we talking about?

Seriously, after more than two decades abstaining from alcohol, I can’t help wondering if the alcoholic label has expired.  After all, I’m a new person. The loud mouth woman, slurring words and falling down is behind me. sobriety

Or is she? sobriety

What if she’s lurking in my soul, smacking her dry lips, day dreaming of a 36-ounce tumbler of Cabernet Sauvignon?

Frankly, I believe God put my old self on a bus, out of my heart, years ago. With caution, I confess, I don’t think having a single glass of wine would cause me a problem today. I’m not certain I want just one glass, but with God in my life, I believe it’s possible.

So, why would I choose sauerkraut over red wine?

For starters, gratitude. Sobriety is the gift that keeps on giving. Why would I stand in the return/exchange line for a refund? I certainly don’t want back what I paid for it. That’s a scary thought.

“Here you go, ma’am… 24 bags full of heartbreak, disaster, and shame.”

Am I saying a sober life is a life of sauerkraut? No! That’s just how these ponderings began. Quite the contrary, sobriety for me means:

I see… hear… taste… smell… feel… love. I have character, maybe even integrity, from which relationships thrive with God, my husband, children, grandchildren, friends.

My life means something today. I stand for things. Such as an alternative lifestyle, one  lacking representation and prominence in this world. Too many of us have modeled the American dream, boasting age 21, as a time to receive our prized first drink. Our children see us glorify liquor, resembling the proverbial rabbit chasing the carrot. They hear us say things like “I NEED a drink,” or  “I’ll drink to that.” We honor our time spent with booze by giving it pet names like Miller Time, Beer-thirty and Happy Hour. We even warn the end is near with Last Call. Then, when our children prematurely race for their first drink, we have little tolerance. Yet, we’ve dangled it in their face, adding allure, by tagging it taboo.

God help me!  I imagine by now you’re picturing me banging my tambourine, like one of those prudish Victorian women from the Liquor Prohibition Temperance Movement. Banning alcohol Liquor Sobriety Funny Photoconsumption is not my intent. I envy families who’ve modeled drinking as a choice no more exciting than peas and carrots. I am asking that we quit portraying drinking as a glamorous rite of passage. Certainly the media does not need our help brainwashing youth to believe college equals parties, problems are solved by drinking, and bars and clubs are the only venues for good times.

What I realized contemplating sauerkraut versus wine, is that I like and appreciate my sober life. I’m proud to represent a lifestyle option that I hope reflects contentment, joy and excitement, without the need for additives. sobriety

See below to read a sample chapter of our book in progress.

New Christian Author Preview Chapter: In Spite of Us – Stalked by a Loving God

Wait on the Lord…but in the Meantime

Psalm 27:14 Wait on the LordAt times, my husband, Sandy, grows weary of my writing process. Wait on the Lord…but in the MeantimeWait on the Lord

Morning Convo:

ME: “I’m stuck. I don’t know where to go from here. It’s  all gobbledygook!”

SANDY: “God always shows you. Don’t worry about it.”

Afternoon Convo:

ME: You won’t believe what God showed me. Remember that guy, the drunk? I had to pick his false teeth up off the sidewalk? It’s the perfect lead-in for where we need to go. Right? I’m so happy.” Wait on the Lord

SANDY:  “Me too.”

Evening Convo:

SANDY: “What’s wrong? You look upset?” Wait on the Lord

ME: “I don’t know what to do. There’s nowhere to go from here. It’s all garbled.”

SANDY: God always gives you direction. It will be okay.”

He has a point (“sigh”). And, (long “sigh”), he’s right. Our book is built; word by word, paragraph by paragraph, chapter by chapter, page by page, one prayer at a time. I know that. Wait on the Lord

But then…

At 10,000 words, I start to pray for the ending to our story. The big finish. Where do you place a period in God’s story? After all, He’s still writing. My thoughts wander… What if I drop dead, mid-sentence, without ever finishing our story? Wait on the Lord

Wait…

Trust. Wait on the Lord. Remember, if this book is meant to be, I won’t fall face-first onto the keyboard before it’s complete. Keep clicking away at the keys, trusting His signs and landmarks. Listen and follow God’s GPS signals. Wait for Him to whisper: “You have reached your destination.”

But then… Wait on the Lord

At 40,000 words, WORRY creeps back in alongside its buddy DOUBT.  I feel like I’m writing with a big rubber plunger, attempting to unclog the words, retrieving merely a hairball destined for the trash. Striving reaps one reward; pressing me to my knees, head raised in fervent prayer. The result? Words gushing forth, and hubby dear echoing his beloved, “I told you so.” Wait on the Lord

Scrolling the pages, through 80,000 words, I’m grateful for each character, and hope for reaching the “THE END,” is flashing like a beacon from that clichéd tunnel. God has provided; the means; time, content, energy, patience, hope, drive, perseverance, wisdom. Yet the prayer, requesting a stop sign, remains unanswered. I feel the journey’s climax, but I’ve no clue of the destination.

I picture my petition in heaven’s inbox, buried under a mound of others, awaiting attention. Before long, I slip into that lonely seat behind the control panel. I’ll just get things rolling while I wait on God. Help out with the creative process. It seems the book needs a big finish to compete with other popular books. Like surviving a bloody shark attack! And we should save hordes of souls! Proof we deserve all He has done for us. Wait on the Lord

Oh, but wait…

This is non-fiction. And we, nor anyone, deserve the Sacrifice made for us. That’s the whole point of our story! We are the ordinary, the mundane everyday sinners, trudging through the ant farm tunnels. We are the least of the least. Yet He loves us, through it all.

Back to prayer.

 “Lord please show me how best to bring glory to You.”

Meanwhile, back at the pages….

I often write in the car on my laptop while Sandy evaluates the driving skills of all within his range. Clicking away at the keys keeps me occupied and, therefore, both of us happy. On the way to the beach, for a two-day needed get-away, I finish the first draft of the second to the last chapter of our book. It leads the reader straight to the sweet spot begging satisfaction.

“Sandy, we’re at the end. I still don’t know how…”

“(Groan) Wait for it. He’ll give you the end. You know it.”

In prayerful memory, I took time recognizing His faithfulness thus far. Closing the lid on my laptop, I let go. I walked…snuggled… read…prayed… worshiped… listened. The book with no end took a seat in the back of the brain bus.

Wearing headlights atop our hooded sweatshirts, we took a late night walk on the beach, savoring the mist, the waves, and each other. Nearly 25 years ago, we strolled this same beach, as honeymooners.

To our right, we eye a seagull confidently holding its spot on the beach. Nodding agreement, we rush the bird, in honor of our deceased 110-pound lab, Gabe. His mantra? Never let a gull go unchased. Thoughts of Gabe, stir a nest of memories. In the midst of recollecting tears and guffaws, I realize we  are performing the end of our book. God is showing me, providing a detailed script, a live scene, like I’m watching a play.

I wrote the end, in the form of an epilogue on the drive home, like a court reporter transcribing a trial. It’s the easiest writing session I’ve ever experienced. I won’t be a spoiler, telling more of the end. I will say, although the book ends on the beach, there are no sharks in our story. Even so, lives are saved and the Hero wins.

God was not late in giving his answer… he was perfect.

See below to read a sample chapter of our book in progress.

New Christian Author Preview Chapter: In Spite of Us – Stalked by a Loving God

A Season of Grief… Loss… Mourning… God, Where are You?

Hebrews 13:5 Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you. griefSadness… melancholy… no apparent reason, yet suspicions come to mind; the gray sky, the stillness after the snow fall, the chill. Possibly staring out my office window, waiting for the sharp edged icicles to drip, is the cause. More likely, it’s the time of year. The expectant looking back, so we can move forward… out with the old, in with the new. Grief

Like that sappy old haunting song, Auld Lang Syne, I miss the people who are no longer here. Around this time last year, I wrote about my dad, and the year before that, my mom. It’s true, I’m sad they’re gone, but forever grateful for God’s plan for them. With that said, watching them transition from this world, is difficult. grief

For me, the most painful bon voyage of all is my brother, Danny, taken by cancer, at age 52. Dark, sad, painful, and yet, a blessed time of completion, spiritual healing and deep love. Talking, or writing, about how it feels, is not easy. Even so, I’m driven to share, because the hurt is merely a speck in comparison to the bounty of peace and comfort that showered down from heaven, like a glorious refreshing rain. grief Grief

            (Deep breath) 

My Gehenna arrived, with a phone call.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Driving to work. What’s up?”

“I have cancer, and it’s really bad.”

Certain he’s playing one of his boundless practical jokes, I respond in anger. Mourning

“That’s not funny… I’m hanging up!”

“Debbie, it’s true,” he said, voice cracking.

Was it outlandish to think he was joking? No. This is the guy who carries a tube of Oragel in his pocket, ready to swipe the rim of a loved one’s coffee mug, then sit back and laugh while they gasp through numb lips, “call 911 I’m having a stroke!” The guy with an array of voices, who calls from random friends’ phones, pretending to be one of his unlimited annoying characters. grief

His favorite? grief

A man with a really bad Asian accent, wanting to buy your cat for his upcoming dinner party. I’m sorry. I didn’t say he’s always politically correct, or sensitive. So, I ask, who wouldn’t have thought he was playing the cancer card as just another poor taste joke? grief

Lifestyle changes, like my sobriety, and proclaiming new found Christianity, (admittedly not always with grace), had distanced our relationship. But with the passing of our mom, six years prior, forgiveness washed away our petty bickering. Any lingering resentments hiding in the corner of our hearts, were flushed away with the news of cancer. grief

Budding health concerns set Danny’s life in turbo, as if someone yelled “fire!” An appointment to drain liquid collected around his heart, turned into major surgery to remove the sack surrounding it. That’s when the alarms went off with the news of cancer invading his lymph nodes. Change ran amok. His ex-wife, Astrida, forever and always best friend, and only person trusted to liquidate his car lot business, moved from Florida to Seattle to help.

Before long Hospice called and paid him a visit.

“You should have seen the woman they sent,” he said during one of our daily phone conversations. “She has zero sense of humor. She just sits there, asking questions… if she smiled, her face would crack. ”

“Did you get out your Orajel?”

“Hmpf! Why bother? Anyway, I told Hospice on the phone, I don’t need someone taking care of me. The thing is… I need you to sign papers saying you’ll be my caretaker. But, I don’t need or want you here. They act like it’s over and done. I’m not!”

Looking back at the whirlwind, I can see the perfection in God’s timing. I’m reminded of God’s steady hand through it all. He used my baby Christian status to not only minister to my little brother, but also to heal the broken pieces in my own heart. I knew, the world knew, certainly God knew, I was ill-equipped to fix Danny. But God knew my lack of skill, absence of wisdom and zilch experience, qualified me for the job He had in mind.

I was left with one choice: Cling to Jesus, trust He has a plan. And, He did. His plan, way beyond human imaginings, incorporated our history, our personalities. He used what he knows like no one else, our DNA, our snowflake differences.

We were the younger two, of the four McFarland children. Even back then, four children were a tall order for a truck driving dad and a stay at home mom. Five years my junior, Danny perfected the art of pesky little brotherhood. Even so, he was my brat brother, and I loved him. With busy parents and older siblings failing to see our cool side, we entertained each other. Mostly, we played cards. Not fluffy games of Fish or Old Maid, we self-weaned off those, pre-kindergarten. We dealt pinochle, poker, gin rummy, war, blackjack, spades, hearts and quadruple deck Canasta. Hours on end, we bonded between shuffles, promising before kings, queens and jacks, to take care of each other, no matter what.

At age 16 Danny fell into the popular sport of drugs and alcohol, and lost. Newly married, and an official adult, at age 21, I was the best choice to parent a troubled teen. What I lacked in experience I made up for in “know-it-all-ness.” So, I convinced my parents and new husband, to move Danny across the state and live with me. Shortly after, we drank and drugged together, keeping mayhem at bay, since I signed the notes for teachers and principals.

After graduation, he got a job, and moved out, but, he hung out at our house, whenever he could. That’s when the gambling began. Even at the start, the stakes were sweaty palm high– lose three hands, wash dishes for three minutes. Eventually, the ante escalated, reaching high roller status…

“I’ll raise your 15 minutes of washing dishes for 15 minutes of vacuuming…” to “I’m all in for the toilet scrubbing, with a flush.”

I’m telling you this so you’ll truly understand the breadth and depth of God’s sweetness. The absolute intimacy of: “Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered (Luke 12:7). The assurance of: Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows (Matthew 10:31). The realization of: For you created my inmost being;  you knit me together in my mother’s womb (Psalm 139:13). Yes, God had a plan. Not a cookie cutter plan he whipped out for whomever, but a specifically designed plan for Danny and me.

Before the morphine took over, we were given a last season together. Of course he played his stupid jokes. His new favorite? Pretending to be dead when I checked on him in the morning. ERRRRR! He thought that was really funny. Instead of cards, we played lots of scrabble. But here’s the sweet spot: Sitting side by side, we read the Bible and prayed together. Danny trusted me, asking me questions because he knew I didn’t have all the answers. God, trusted me, maybe for the same reason. We taped his favorite scriptures on the wall by the hospital bed Hospice had delivered. We laughed a bunch and cried even more. It felt familiar, brother and sister, hanging out. Instead of making promises we could not keep, we reminded each other of God’s promises. God used many people over the years and especially during this end time of Danny’s life, to bring him into His kingdom. My task was more a maintenance or hand holding position.

His last months on earth, were emotionally brutal, but he remained, miraculously, pain free. One minute he talked about being ready, the next he cried out in fear. One day up, one day down. A day of faith, a day of fear, a day of anger, a day of peace. The daily increase of morphine, blurred reality, tainted truths and wreaked havoc on safety. He chain smoked while using his oxygen tank. He stopped eating. And, I became the bad guy, along with the rest of the family he had shut the door on. Then, he sent me away. I’m thankful he could still trust and count on Astrida, who took over care taking, until he was placed in a care facility. God

God could have healed my brother. But he did not. I trust His decision. He knows the big picture. He knows the right time. It’s not as if God was sitting on His hands doing nothing. He was at work, changing hearts, healing hurts, increasing faith, proving His love and securing salvation.

I miss my brother. Yes, even the off color jokes and practical stunts. I have no doubt, where he is. I thank God for His patience and willingness to let us take care of each other before he took him. Danny’s death is beyond sad. Yet, I’m left with a smile and a warm heart whenever I think of him. I will be forever grateful for those times, side by side… two children, talking and getting to know their Father.

New Christian Author Preview Chapter: In Spite of Us – Stalked by a Loving God

What Gift Will You Give Jesus for Christmas?

psalm 86:12 Praise God Glory to the Lord Jesus

Jesus I didn’t know what to give my husband for Christmas this year. He’s difficult to buy for. I wanted it to be something special, not the usual patron saint T-shirt with Bullwinkle or The Muppets. How many does one closet need? There’s always the shirt with a spiritual message, but again, we’ve just about covered the Bible through his wardrobe. Alas, by chance a miracle, that Craftsman has invented a new tool, that he will not think is silly or doesn’t already have. Jesus

Each year, the problem increases. Even if I had extra money for a trip to some race track, or a Harley Davidson (old style, of course), the gesture is “meh,” compared to what he deserves. This is the man who continues to love me, right where I’m at. He loves me when I’m right. He loves me when I’m wrong. He loves me when I think I’m right, but might be… well, you get the drift. Jesus

I can’t say what I ended up buying, because he will read this before he opens the package. I will say, it’s just as unremarkable as any other year. Short of ripping my heart out and slapping a red bow on it, I don’t know how to express my love for him. Jesus

And that’s when I get to thinking… Jesus

As much as I love my husband, and God knows I do, I love Jesus twenty gazillion times more. My heart often aches to give Him a gift, exemplifying gratitude, for all He has done. Truth is, my all, is about as lame as handing Jesus a Bullwinkle T-shirt and saying thanks. Thus, the daily lesson in humility.  s

I’m leaving this post short. Pressing in, taking time to breathe in the season, bask in His love. s

Merry Christmas to you and your family.

Remember the Child God Created You To Be

innoncent child redheaded girl 1950s child God Child Children Children God God's Children God Created         I  knew a little girl, with frizzy red hair, knobby knees and a gap between her two front teeth. To the world she appeared gawky, gangly and awkward, but she never questioned her beauty and magnificent design.  Remember Child God Created Creation faith inspiration

          Eyes wide, she greeted the flowers, the sunshine and colors of each moment, with gratitude. To her, miracles were expected, like turning the crank on the Jack in the Box, certain it’s coming, exhilarated by when. Nothing too small, or taken for granted. All creation grand, worthy of great attention and delight. Remember Child God Created Creation faith inspiration

          Hyper-alert, nothing missed, or unseen… the twinkle in another child’s eye, or the void of hope, lurking in a stranger’s soul. She recognized the need for a smile, a kind word, a touch, a simple pat on the hand. And, without question or hesitation, she filled the need. Courageous. Fearless. Forever listening to the still, small voice, speaking through the ears of her heart. Remember Child God Created Creation faith inspiration

              I remember her tears. Cries for Marilyn, dragged to the front of the class, spanked and shamed by the teacher, while wide eyed 1st graders, sat writhed in helplessness. Sweet tears, wept over the graves of babies, buried in an overgrown cemetery, near her house. Sobs of empathy, for the poor, ill-treated, and abused… the boy next door with the mean dad, the upside down gold fish, the woman scarred from burns on her face, and Quasimodo, the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

           I remember her well. Those who loved her, cautioned, along with the rest of the world,”You’re too thin skinned, toughen up. Chin up child!”

        Defining labels began to stick. Remember Child God Created Creation faith inspiration

       You’re too:

Sensitive…  Soft hearted… Emotional

       The equation became:

Sensitive + Soft hearted + Emotional = Weak & Stupid.

       Soon the clanging noise of the world, muffled the still, small voice amplified from her heart. Cynicism replaced trust. Bitterness squelched goodwill. Hatred and resentment silenced love. The world held up a mirror, ordering,

     “Take a good look. You are not beautiful. Just look around you.”

     So, she looked, compared, measured and judged.

     Through this child, I met a woman; broken, bitter, “so over it.” Weary from turning over stones, finding no satisfaction. No questions asked or answered, soothed her pain. I remember her tears, as well. Tears from the well of brokenness, sorrow, darkness, loss of hope.

     One day, in the deepest, darkest pit of dismay, she listened for the familiar still small voice, that even to deaf ears, kept speaking. She heard Him.

     He’d never left.

     As you’ve probably guessed, I’m the child, and the woman. God created me with certain traits, some of which may not suit this world. Sadly, vows were made to fit into this world, like “toughen up,” and stop being a “bleeding heart.” Once as a young woman, an employer asked me to seek a favor from the big boss, saying, “Everyone is nice to dumb animals and Debbies.” Just words… maybe. But the hurt from them fueled a fierce vendetta. No one would ever think of me as dumb again. I would get my “shrewd” on. Trust not, care not, love not. See no good, hear no good, speak no good.

     It’s been a long, bumpy journey looking for the woman God created me to be. I have a longing to return to the pure loving heart, I was created with. I wish I could tell you I’m all fixed now.

     I’m not.

     Every day, I trust, care and love, a little more. I see, hear and speak His good. I call on His name and I fight to hear His voice. I pray He will “Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. “ Psalm 51:10

     Think on this:

     The nagging voice, growling up from the bowels of this world, knows us not. That’s why the lies often don’t even make sense, fired for effect, hoping one might penetrate our hearts, take us down… one more bites the dust.

     Contrarily, the truth comes from the One who knows everything about us. The One who designed us after Himself, created us, and loves us beyond our wildest imaginations.

     Who should we be listening to? Remember Child God Created Creation faith inspiration

Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Luke 12:7

Which Bible Character Are You?

Bible sheep redheaded sheep 99 sheep

Honestly?

I’d love to say I’m like Paul. But I’m not. Or, Peter, or Deborah, or Ruth. Truth said, when asked which Bible character I am most like… I think of that sheep, you know the one that wandered off from the others?

Yep, that’s me, the rogue sheep.

“Baaaaaaaa!”

My 99 friends, grabbing cell phones to call and advise me against bad mouthing myself, don’t bother. I’m good with being that sheep.

Think about it. Who did the shepherd go after?

You see, I face that sheep every morning, post prayer, pre-shower. That’s my time to write on our book, working title being, “In Spite of Us… Stalked by a Loving God.” Clicking the keyboard, shaking my head in dismay, I record the rebellious acts, stupid choices and messy consequences of a redheaded vagrant sheep. Said sheep may share my name and DNA, but beyond hair follicles and spit, today, nothing much else matches. Thank God.

Thus my patience wans, writing scenes doomed for sorrow and discontent. Even knowing that the Hero (Jesus) is coming to save the day, it’s tough to keep writing. I want to say “Don’t open that door. Really? Again? Stop! Look!.. Look up dummy!”

I wish I could skip to the stage of our story where a spiritual metamorphosis is apparent. If I did fast forward, leaving out all the muck and mire, the glory deserved by the Hero of the saga would be significantly diluted. It’d be like saying, “well, we were handling things okay on our own, without God, but he deserves credit for improving on our situation.”

What a joke!

The second half of the “we” in the story is my husband, Sandy, another sheep with beard goateefugitive sheep. In his defense, at least he showed up with a map, but staying on the straight and narrow path? Too much of a challenge. Therefore, the sheep duet, wandered around the jagged cliffs, blind and deaf to the Shepherd’s persistent calls. We were dying, drowning in a pit of self-inflicted, excruciating pain… hopeless, with no sign of relief. Picture two sheep at the bottom of a ravine, on their backs like turtles struggling to get up, bleating, “Baaaaaa!” The Shepherd should have said, “serves you right” or at least jabbed us with an “I told you so.” Instead, He kept at us, gently coaxing for us to stand up, climb back up the cliff, and follow the directions on the map.sheep on back legs in air

You can laugh, I have. Still, I’m honored to be that vagabond sheep. Grateful beyond explanation. I turned my tail to the other 99 sheep, booing their blatherings. Worse, I felt no need of a Shepherd. I had it handled. That is until I was floundering at the bottom of the gorge. At last, willing to call for help.

“Baaaaaaaa!”

And the Shepherd answered.

An accurate description of his response is written perfectly in the 23rd Psalm.

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’ sake.

 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.

 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.

— KJV

Yeah, I’m “THAT” sheep. The one the shepherd pursued, foraged for. That makes me special, of worth, loved. Grace given, undeserved. If you’ve ever been forgiven by someone you’ve turned your back on, you know what I’m saying. It’s humbling.

If you have not experienced this Grace, let’s talk. I know a Good Shepherd, I can introduce you to.

 

Coming in 2016 – In Spite of Us – Stalked by a Loving GodIn Spite of Us - Chapter Preview

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Church Ladies… Hot Flashes and Faith

Church lady appearing to be gossiping in wide brim flowered hat and gloves.

            The other day in church, my attention turned to the pews, a Divine tap on the shoulder. I looked around, noting the faithful bobbing heads of our congregation, worshipping to the song, “I’m a Lover of Your Presence.” My heart stirred as my imagination drew a line above the heads of all the women, connecting them like a graph. I understood, resting for a moment, knowing, I, too, am a dot on this chart. Church Ladies 

Then I laughed. Church Ladies 

“Oh dear God, I’m one of those “church ladies!”

My past connotations of church ladies are both sweet and bitter. A picture of wide brim hats bursting with silk flowers, gathered like a bouquet, under which tongues wag gossip and white gloves point fingers. A gaggle of pinched nosed ladies, pecking rumors, slipping smooth smiles as innocent victims pass by their coup. Still dear, the image of gloves and big hats, it’s the gossip and finger pointing that tastes like vinegar. No better is the stereotypical “church mouse,” staring at the floor, incapable of squeaking one word without an apology. Neither of these portrayals are women I want to model. Church Ladies  Continue reading Church Ladies… Hot Flashes and Faith