Tag Archives: God

When E.F. Hutton talks, people listen. When God speaks…

God Speaks to Those who seek His wisdomWho remembers the 1970’s E.F. Hutton commercials? My favorite shows two men on a plane conversing across the aisle while disinterested bystanders sleep, read, gaze out the windows. That is, until the name E.F. Hutton drops, causing a collective hush, among the eager eavesdroppers. The ad ends with the famous, unforgettable tag line: “When E.F. Hutton talks, people listen.”

What about when God speaks? Do we lean in, hand cupped over ear, holding our breath in anticipation of His words? Speaking personally, I can say He knows how to get my attention. I’m not talking about an audible voice booming down from heaven saying stuff like “Deb, stop that!… you know better.” No, that’s more likely my own busy-body mind intruding on my peace: named “guilt.” I’m referring to a distinct voice in my head, a message arriving in an envelope of peace, reassurance, and clarity. A voice heard through the ears of my heart… or the lips of a friend… quite possibly a stranger. A voice that’s visible, seen not heard, through the staggering power of the ocean, or the knee buckling tenderness of a child’s love. Scripture, previously known, now alive, renewed. Words on a page, a billboard, a T-shirt… highlighted, back-lit, subliminally underlined.

No matter what the medium, when God speaks, there’s no confusion of authorship. You know, that you know, that you know. You just do. Even so, it’s hard to grasp that God dropped everything to send me a seemingly trivial, but deeply intimate message. However, once we stop denying His signature on the message, the essence of His ever powerful love for us is boldly evident. Yes, our God is mighty, capable of whispering sweet nothings in our ears, all while moving mountains, healing the sick and charging command over legions of heavenly angels. Yes, He is an exquisite multi-tasker.

One clear example, occurred two years ago when my husband, Sandy attended a men’s retreat in Canby, Oregon. He kissed me goodbye, grumbling that he’d rather stay home. He left discouraged, disgruntled, dis-everything (not a word, I know). In his own words, the troublesome “dis” was, “I’m tired of asking God for direction and hearing nothing.”

For months, we, meaning me and our entire church body, had been praying for him to receive words and encouragement. Some of us might admit to growing weary of the redundant prayer. Yet, we all knew Sandy’s deep desire to hear from God, promised an answer.

“I try, but I don’t hear anything. God doesn’t speak to me,” he’d say in response to our “keep seeking nudges.”

Seated among the 300 or so men who’d travelled from Vineyard churches across the northwest, he regretted saying yes to the invitation. If he’d stayed home, he could be working on the never ending projects on his ever growing list of “to-dos.” Staying busy seems to dull the pain.

While tapping his foot, waiting out the remaining 10 minutes before “getting on with it,” two men approached.

“We felt like you might need prayer. What’s going on with you?”

Sandy shared his frustrations, a familiar script, flowing off his tongue like an old song, the melody being “I don’t think God hears me.”

The men listened, praying a facsimile of the prayers sent over the past months of discontent. The prayer ended, just as the worship service started. Through worship, Sandy continued praying, seeking, yet convinced it was a one-way communication.

“Please, Father… I want to know you.”

When the key note speaker began, Sandy chuckled sarcastically at the topic – “Receiving Words from God.” When the audience was asked to participate, he prepared to go through the motions, expecting that others would receive wondrous, life changing, intimate messages from God, as he wallowed, on an island of quiet nothingness.

“There are thousands of words floating around this room right now. Please turn to someone you don’t know and introduce yourself. Then let’s spend some quiet time asking God for a word for each other.”

“My name’s Sandy… nice to meet you.”

Shaking hands, the stranger stated his name, which Sandy instantly forgot.

During the five minutes of quiet, disguised as three days of noisy head clatter, Sandy tried, in vain, to hear from God. When the time was up, he shared what he calls, generic fortune cookie stuff, derived from his own head.

“Something good is going to happen… there’s going to be a change…”

When it was the other man’s turn, he looked blank, then said.

“Philip. Right? Your name is Philip. He knows your name. That’s what I felt God wanted you to know.”

There it was… in perfect timing. Weak kneed, laughing… crying… laughing… no doubt God speaks… no doubt God hears… no doubt God knows him by name. You see, there was no way the stranger could have known that Sandy’s real name is Philip. A name spared only for legal documents. A name God shared through a stranger, knowing Sandy would hear it, An undeniable message of the His love.

That night, a phone call interrupted my sleep.

“He knows me by name!”

“What? Who?”

“God knows my name is Philip! He knows me…”

He shared the story with me, pausing for frequent voice cracking breaks, his demeanor and mannerisms out of character… chatty, fired up, super charged. To this day, he shares this story with anyone who’ll listen, never able to say “He knows me by name,” without tears. He left home with an acute case of “diseverything,” returning a changed man.

I suspect God is speaking all the time, and we are the lackeys with plugged ears. He’s a gentleman, who won’t yell over the top of the other noise in our life, and doesn’t need to. He knows exactly what it will take to get our attention, being our Creator and all.

Before my mom died, in 2002, I sat with her every day in the hospital, reading the Bible aloud, praying her seemingly sleeping mind could hear God’s word. I begged God to give me a sign that she would be in heaven… at peace and free of pain. My expectations were that she would awaken and say something reassuring, like “Jesus told me to tell you, it’s all good, you can pray about other stuff now.” That didn’t happen. Instead, moments before mom died, my sister and I walked into her room, finding her wide awake, smiling, gazing straight ahead. Whatever she was looking at, was beyond our understanding. One thing was clear, Whomever she looked upon blinded her to all else, satisfied her every need and filled her with joy. Then, she left the room, or at least in spirit. The nurses told us we could stay with her as long as we wanted. But why? She left, leaving only the parcel she rented space in, behind.

That day, God spoke, giving me everything I needed to never doubt. Like Thomas, who needed to stick his finger in the hole in Jesus’ side, I needed to see Jesus through my mother’s eyes. Nothing else would have sufficed. He knows us well. Yes, indeed.

Five Reaction Styles to Fear: When the Boogey Man Knocks does Faith Answer?

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Imagine this: After enduring Walmart, you walk to your car, slip the key in the ignition and some guy hops in next to you demanding your cash or he’ll shoot. What would you do?

The 92 year old woman in this newscast simply says no – three times. Next she tells the intruder why his plan is not a good idea.

“ I’ll go to heaven and you’ll go to hell.”

With calm assurance she points out that Jesus is with her, even now in the car. The grace-shocked, would-be assailant tears up, kisses her cheek, and goes home to pray. He did take all her money, $10, that is after she insisted on giving it to him. No wonder Jesus hangs out with her. What a woman.

Her story got me thinking. How would I respond to such a threat? A look at my past reactions to fear revealed five styles.

  • Survival
  • Self Righteous Stupidity
  • Exaggerated startle response
  • Frankly Scarlett, I don’t give a hoot.
  • Faith

 

                Survival

The Depot Café was known around town for knife fights, lewd behavior and a popular after hours cocktail, kept under the counter for special patrons. I worked weekend graveyard shifts, raking in hefty tips and wild stories to boast about Monday mornings at school. It was exciting, like entering the pages of a Dicken’s novel alongside seamy, colorful characters. There was Zeke, a soft spoken Native American guy, notorious for fighting, failing nightly at convincing his challengers he no longer wanted to compete. And Sam, sometimes lucid with tales of better times, but most often blitzed and forlorn. One night seated next to my dad at the counter, he plops face first into his bowl of chili.

“See? This is not a good job,” said Dad shaking his head.

Had Dad been in yesterday, Sam was on the same stool alongside his granddaughter, eating ice cream and giggling.

Granted, not ALL the characters were charming… like creepy Chuck. One night he flashed his pistol from inside his jacket pocket, slurring hostile obscenities at me. My boss, a walking cliché for a movie mobster, motioned for Zeke and they escorted him out the door. An hour later, my shift ended. I lived four blocks away in a studio apartment above a pet store. Within half a block from the diner, I sense creepy Chuck behind me. He’s that Boris Karloff type whose presence is accompanied by horror movie background music. My reaction was simply one of survival when adrenaline revs up and you do whatever it takes. In this case, I ran. Weaving left and right, dazing my wasted stalker, I was able to slip unnoticed under a parked car. The sound of my breathing echoed through the greasy engine above, until finally, daylight talked me out from under the car.

Self Righteous Stupidity

This reaction to fear is simply pride run amok. Just picture a Chihuahua yapping at the heels of evil. Thankfully, most my examples come from my drinking days, but not all. Recently I felt it rising up when a group of gang bangers or wannabes came across my path. The smallest of the three must have practiced his look in the mirror that morning because he had it down. With one look he ordered me to look away, cower, and flee like a frantic quail. Instead, I counter with my best mean mom look with the unsaid message of “where’s your mother young man? I’m not saying I should’ve responded with fear, but my motive, my heart behind this reaction, was neither noble nor courageous. Fortunately, they had paint cans stuffed down their pants ready to mark territory up ahead with no time to deal with an “I’m telling your mother type threat.”

Exaggerated Startle Response

This diagnosis comes from my ever-lurking husband. He doesn’t get why finding him behind a door in a dark hall causes me to spring through the air ninja style, followed by a full throttle wail alerting the neighbors, that yes, he’s finally murdered his wife. This reaction is sudden, like projectile vomiting – the body is in motion faster than my thoughts, saying, “hey, it’s just your husband lurking again.”

Frankly Scarlett, I don’t give a hoot

I hope you can’t relate to this reaction to fear, but suspect there are some who do. It’s when a serious threat is rolling towards you and you don’t care enough to step out of the way. It’s the pit of depression, well below the core amongst the burning embers. All you can do is stare up at hope, thinking it’s beyond your reach.

Faith

Crawling out of the pit mentioned above comes only from reacting to fear in faith. I wish I could tell you a tale equal to our 92 year old hero in the video. Not happening. I can only hope someday to be more like her. My faith moments usually sound like this “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, help me, Jesus.” What can I say? It works. Calling on His name, knowing He is always there.

I know we’re called to “fear not,” but for others like me, that’s a calling we pray into fruition. Remember, we’re in great company like King David-

Psalm 34:4 New International Version (NIV)

I sought the Lord, and he answered me;
he delivered me from all my fears.

 

Psalm 55:4-5New International Version (NIV)

My heart is in anguish within me;
the terrors of death have fallen on me.
Fear and trembling have beset me;
horror has overwhelmed me.

Are Your Expectations Dimming God’s Power?

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Every day he’d march through the historic windy town of Ellensburg, turning right onto Main, passing by my store with the flapping Antiques flag. His warning blasted a block away, allowing time to move inside or duck behind something. Potential customers, eyeing the sidewalk display of old iron beds and steamer trunks, would follow me as I’d slip through the door. From a safe distance, we’d cringe at the sound of his angry words. As the clamor of the one man parade blew by, they’d look to me, eyes wide, faces begging for solace and comfort.

“Blankety blankety blank blank blanking blank blank!” he’d scream, shaking a fist at the invisible tyrant walking next to him.

          “It’s okay. He’s harmless, “ I’d say, peeking out from behind a gargantuan 19th century wardrobe. “It’s a form of Tourette’s Syndrome.” Noting their distrust, I’d add, “ Really. Nothing to worry about.”

One day, while on a ladder washing my store front windows, I hear the cursing turn the corner. There’s no time to scurry down the ladder, so I stay put, pretending oblivion to his noisy presence. I feel guilt and shame for being afraid. How can I shun a human being as if he’s invisible? It’s wrong.

Town talk claims he’s not violent, yet everyone seems to avoid him, and store owners complain that he runs off customers. My feelings of wrong doing linger, leading to eventual prayer and resulting in a sense of conviction. Befriending the cursing crusader became my mission. For starters, a simple greeting… Hmmm… Hello? … Good morning? … Howdy? … How ya doin’?

Every day, as the obscenities drew near, I’d pose in the door, ready to shout a cheer filled greeting. But as the angry banter closed in, I’d panic, stepping back through the door, breathing as if I’d just ditched a serial killer. This went on for days,… okay weeks… and some of that time I failed to even attempt communication.

Then, one day courage arrives (TA-DA!), like a late dinner guest I’d almost given up on. I was ready. When the string of expletives shadowed my door, I stood tall shouting above the swearing.

“Good morning!”

Glancing my way he replies.

“Blankety blankety blank blank blanking blank blank!”

What? I was shaken and confused. This is not what I expected. I did what I felt God would want me to do, and… and… he yelled at me!

I’ll get back to this story, there’s more, but let’s pause a moment.

Am I the only one who does this? Plays let’s make a deal with God? Spouts sentences, whether verbal or in thought like, “If I do this then you’ll do that. Right God? “If I’m good you’ll reward me and it will look like _______________ “ (fill in the blank).

His word says:  Matthew 7:9 NIV: “Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Of course he doesn’t specify whether that bread will be white, dark, buckwheat or cinnamon toast. How many times have I thought God was not listening to my petitions, only to find out later that the answer was in front of me all along, just not as I’d pictured it. Worse yet, not the answer I wanted. God was not following the script I had prepared for him.

A simple personal example: My husband and I asked God to give us a sign if it was time to close our 16 year old antiques business. We’d asked this before when stress was high and sales were low. Each time, something obvious would happen that turned the business back around. So this time we were expecting something similar. Maybe that designer from Montana will show up with his big truck again, or the gals who bought out my entire line of estate jewelry will come back for more.

The morning after our prayer, news came that our last subcontractor was moving out. That meant we were losing money, not gaining. We should have thought immediately, “Oh, okay God, thanks for the prompt and clear response.” Instead, we scrambled, searching for ways to keep the doors open. Thank God, in the middle of a discussion to take on a hefty loan, we heard what He was saying.

 

Please know… I AM NOT saying we should shrink our expectations of God’s almighty power and desire to bless us. That’s not the point at all. He wants to bless our socks off. But, we, or at least I, don’t always recognize the blessing because it is not what I thought it should look like.

The timing was perfect for closing the business. Once we crawled out from under this burden, we could see the stress… the desperation. We’d been frantically bailing with a holey bucket, trying to keep afloat, safe from the sharks of failure. Little did we know God had a plan for us. Much better than our script… more creative… written by the Author of Happy Endings. Today we enjoy our home business, still dealing in antiques, but leisurely, with no overhead and stress free.

 

Back to the story…

I continued to greet the entrepreneurial cussing master. Days, weeks, months my exuberant greetings reaped only creative profanities. Then on a day no different than any other, it happened… after a simple “Hello.”

He stopped… motioned for the invisible antagonist on his left to wait, looked me in the eye and said, “Good Morning.”

Then he went back to yelling at his invisible debate partner.

4th of July – A Time to Celebrate Our Freedom to …brag on Grandchildren

gboys2
Smitten image of Grandpa … watching a rocket soar.

With NO apologies, I’m using this blog post as a virtual wallet to show off our Grandsons. You’re welcome to counter with your own Grandchild boasts. Go ahead… it’s not a competition but rather a testimony of God’s grand crop of good fruit.

This weekend our five stunning grandsons will be together in our home to celebrate the 4th of July… that means blowing stuff up with Grandpa! I could go on about their many accomplishments in academics, sports, drama, blah –blah –blah. That’s all super, but I’m more enamored by their hearts, character, ability to love and their quirky senses of humor.gboys7

gboys9
Last year’s safety talk before the fireworks begin.

God promises good fruit for trees that stand firm. Celebrations like this prove His promise is alive and well. You see it in their eyes – hear it in their giggles. “Hey Na-Na … hey Na-Na … Na-Na? … Grandpa said it’s okay to spray you with the hose.” You feel it in the hugs. You question it during the tattling and mischievous acts. And, when the apologies, forgiveness and moving on occur, you cherish it. God’s promise shining in all they do.

Ryder, six, our youngest, is a sprite determined to do whatever the older boys do, plus one more. He steals hearts using an effective kindergarten version of Clark Gable’s grin. He’s half and half – love/stinker. His smile could light the ocean if ever the moonlight ceased.

Next comes ten year old Ty. Look out world! Wise AND willing to do whatever it takes to “get ‘er done.” We’ll find out what that means later. I just know it will be amazing. One of my favorite things about Ty, is that he’s always shown gratitude for God’s beauty – trees, sky, wildlife.

Of all our grandsons, Jarod, eight, is the one I’ve butted heads with the most. Why? He’s a  genius and knows how to use it. If something blocks the way to what he wants, before you can say “no” he’s built a bridge across the obstacle and is standing on the other side – smiling. He doesn’t know it, but I’m writing a guide for his future wife entitled “Jarod’s Bag of Tricks.” She’ll need this to counter his SUPER CHARMS.

Mathew, eleven, studies life … quietly, carefully. I don’t think he misses much. He has so many talents and gifts he could easily entertain himself with self-amusement, but instead he looks around. Wise, beyond his years. He’s our King Solomon, the one with the thoughtful answers.

Our eldest, Evan, at sixteen stands at the cusp of manhood, a young man of God. It feels like yesterday we were giggling at a tiny sparrow flapping its wings and now here stands an eagle… powerful… mighty… capable. The coolest thing about Evan is that he seeks after God, after righteousness. He wants to do what is right. He’s a humble eagle with a big heart.gboys3

All our Grandboys stand, proof of God’s amazing creativity. Each different… yet perfect in love.

When we’re young we dream dreams of who and what we want to be. I can’t say I remember wishing to be a Na-Na and yet this role has been the best blessing ever. Thanks God.

Okay… all done for now. Please feel FREE to share your own Grandchildren boasts.

HAVE YOU MET WITH JESUS AT THE WELL?

well imageThe Samaritan woman? You know, the one from the Jesus at the well story? We could be great friends. I picture us meeting at Starbucks…

Hurried, face flushed, she places her Venti nonfat caramel macchiato on the table where I’ve been waiting, wondering why she’s late.

“You’ll never guess what happened to me this morning,” she’d say. “I met a man who knew everything about me. I can’t explain it. He knew the details of my past and present without me saying a word. He spoke and I walked away changed.”

“Yes, I know Who you’re talking about. I know Him too,” I’d say.
We’d be great friends. And boy, would we have some stories to swap. Yes, indeed. No, not the bourgeois ugly stories of our past. Why bore each other with those? Instead, we would share that glorious encounter with Jesus.  Like how she felt when Jesus spoke and asked her for a drink. A lowly woman, Samaritan at that. Not worthy to be near this man at the well, let alone serve Him a drink. Then, this stranger engages conversation revealing that He knows … her darkest secrets.
So similar is my encounter with Jesus. Alone, ashamed and broken. He beckons for me to approach. He points to a mirror reflecting all, even what no one else could know. Shifting my eyes from the mirror to Jesus, I stand awaiting shame, condemnation, certain death by smite. Instead in His eyes, I see something unfamiliar, new and life giving. I see GRACE.
If He had not revealed the soiled reflection in the mirror, would His love have worth? If He loved me only because He did not really know me, would that love matter? The power of my grace encounter comes from knowing that even with secrets revealed, He loves me. He silenced the nagging, gnawing words in my head that scream “you are unlovable!”
Like the woman at the well, I’m told to go and sin no more. And like her, my heart’s desire is to do as He says. Will I succeed? Yes, sometimes. Will I fail, yes, too often. But, when I do, Jesus will be there, at the well, asking for a drink. My prayer is that I will always be willing to serve Him, whatever He may ask of me. My gratitude for His Grace is undying.

 

John 4
Jesus Talks With a Samaritan Woman
Now Jesus learned that the Pharisees had heard that he was gaining and baptizing more disciples than John— 2 although in fact it was not Jesus who baptized, but his disciples. 3 So he left Judea and went back once more to Galilee.
4 Now he had to go through Samaria. 5 So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. 6 Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon.
7 When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” 8 (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)
9 The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.[a])
10 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”
11 “Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? 12 Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?”
13 Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, 14 but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
15 The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”
16 He told her, “Go, call your husband and come back.”
17 “I have no husband,” she replied.
Jesus said to her, “You are right when you say you have no husband. 18 The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”
19 “Sir,” the woman said, “I can see that you are a prophet. 20 Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.”
21 “Woman,” Jesus replied, “believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. 22 You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. 23 Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. 24 God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth.”
25 The woman said, “I know that Messiah” (called Christ) “is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”
26 Then Jesus declared, “I, the one speaking to you—I am he.”

TOP TEN LIST – WHY I LOVE MY HUSBAND

Loved by many ...
Loved by many

As a single mom, divorced, bitter and broken, I made a list of “MUST HAVES,” vowing to flee from any man who couldn’t swear by them all. Thank God, I broke that promise.

Today, after 22 years of marriage, I celebrate Valentines Day, grateful for the Godly characteristics my Father in heaven instilled in my husband – most of which never made my original list of qualifications.

Here is my TOP TEN list today.  My prayer is for all, single or not,  to realize the wondrous plan God has for your life. I know the best is yet to come.

10. I love the way he loves his daughters. He speaks sweetly of them. Respects  who they are. It’s truly beautiful.
9. He brings me a cup of hot tea when I’m sick.
8. He treats other women like sisters, moms, friends. He shows them respect and genuine brotherly love.
7. He reads the Bible, hungry for more of God, eager for righteousness.
6. He prays.
5. He listens, even when I’m whining.
4. He loves my daughter and son and he is the best co-grandparent imaginable.
3. He cries. He weeps. He sobs. He laughs.
2. He loves me.
1. He loves God more than me.  By putting God first, he keeps our life  ship afloat.

The point is – give God a stab at choosing what’s best, you might just find out that He knows you better than you know yourself.

Go here to read the top ten Bible scriptures on love. heartbeat2

http://voices.yahoo.com/10-inspirational-bible-verses-love-3332686.html

STAR DUST FROM OUR HEAVENLY FATHER

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Mom

One tear sways a stream, as the perpetual Seattle mist merges into a downpour.  I pull off  Highway 412, just past Greenwater, feeding  a CD to the slot. A doe and her fawn remain close by under an umbrella of pines, even after I open the windows to share Nat King Cole singing my Mom’s favorite song, “Star Dust.”  The hyper-alert doe keeps watch. As the rain sprays through the window, mixing with my tears, I say goodbye to my Mom.

Januarys end with her birthday, and this month more than any, she is on my mind. She left memories all over the place, like a child scattering toys around for the rest of us to trip over. The slightest tickle from any sense – an image, a voice, an aroma. A whiff of southern fried chicken and she’s before me wearing a crinoline apron in high heels, laughing at Dad, impatiently waiting on a drumstick.

That surreal, misty fog of a “say goodbye day,” married two polar feelings – pain and joy. Earlier that day, the doctor flipped the switch from on to off, as my sister and I kept vigil, witnesses to the air-brake hiss of the machines last breath.

The doctor said it might be hours, or even days before she passed. I don’t know how either of us would have remained standing had we not had our belief in a loving God. Even so, we were reduced from grown women to helpless, lost, scared children. Months of prayers, hand holding, tear dabbing. Hours of Bible reading to a silent Mom whose eyes never open. We have faith, but right now, it resembles that nagging mustard seed. Sisters wanting to be strong for each other, we keep our desperate prayer a secret – the one begging God to let us know that our Mommy will be okay.

A cup of  tea might stop the clock, at least for a moment. Shaken, we start down the hall toward the cafeteria when we realize we’ve both forgotten our purses back in the room. We opened the door to find Mom, smiling… eyes, not only open but seeking. Instinctively we turn, looking for what she sees. Our eyes fail to see more than a white wall, but through her eyes… joyous anticipation – promises fulfilled  – kingdom majesty.

Moments later, she stopped breathing and left the room. A lights out feeling… yet, there we stood, my sister and I, smiling, giggling, rejoicing. Oh, what a loving God indeed.

Enjoy listening to Star Dust at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DjU6ZjrQulc

STAR DUST LYRICS

And now the purple dusk of twilight time
Steals across the meadows of my heart
High up in the sky the little stars climb
Always reminding me that were apart

You wander down the lane and far away
Leaving me a song that will not die
Love is now the stardust of yesterday
The music of the years gone by

Sometimes I wonder why I spend
The lonely night dreaming of a song
The melody haunts my reverie
And I am once again with you
When our love was new
And each kiss an inspiration
But that was long ago
Now my consolation
Is in the stardust of a song

Beside a garden wall
When stars are bright
You are in my arms
The nightingale tells his fairy tale
A paradise where roses bloom
Though I dream in vain
In my heart it will remain
My stardust melody
The memory of love’s refrain

WHAT MY DOG TOLD ME ABOUT GOD

My dog worships God, does yours?

Picture this–

Husband, Sandy, is downstream skillfully casting his line, content. Meanwhile, further upstream, I’m fighting to untangle my line, irritated with the bush that grabbed it from behind me – (don’t ask). A mere ten minutes since we arrived at our favorite fishing hole, I dare not ask for help, not yet. Waving and smiling downstream, masquerading as competent and relaxed, I shield the frazzled scene with my back,  tackling the lassoed bush. Victorious, line free,  I check for snakes (a common ritual), and select a log, facing the TARGET fishing hole.

Slipping on rubber gloves, thinking of Sophie’s Choice, I select the unlucky worm, destined for surgery by hook. Scoping my cast target, I notice Gabe, our yellow lab, standing midstream up to his belly, gazing purposely, nose upward. Through his big brown eyes, I see the magnificence of the rock striations, the wonder of the trees, the brilliance of the sun’s light show, and the splendor of the breeze tickling his ears. Even the birds chirp praise while circling above him, nearly a halo, fearlessly aware that this Kingdom moment overshadows his desire to chase.

My eyes wide open, I join in worship, watching Gabe wag his tail for God’s sake… literally. I know the many faces of my dog –  a special face for hungry, lonely, playful and the distinct look of shame when guilty… but this look? Praise to God almighty.

Isaiah 11:6   The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.