When you are refined by loneliness...

My earliest memories involve feelings of loneliness and longing. Born with a highly sensitive personality, my little spirit was continually bombarded with all the feelings of life in our sin broken family. Even when I was too young to actually know and understand the facts of what was happening under our roof, I felt it. I sensed it. 

Mama was busy with all of the needs and cares and work of having seven children. She didn’t have the time, nor perhaps the ability, to delve into the deeps of her own emotions, much less mine. Daddy, while perhaps a bit more in tune with my flights of fancy and imagination than my practical mama, found someone that took him away from mama and us kids. 

The combination of my sensitive spirit and the secrets that lived in our house and in my little heart reinforced my feelings of isolation, loneliness and longing to be really heard, really seen, really known, really understood. I didn’t know who to turn to and so I’d lay in bed at night and talk to Jesus about it all. He was the one to whom I poured out all of my little girl worries, fears, longings, hopes and dreams.  (I'm privileged to be guest posting at Lyli Dunbar's and would love for you to join me for the complete post HERE.)

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My times are in Your hand...

When I was conceived and formed in my mother's womb, Lord,

my times were in Your hand.

When I was born to my father and my mother, the sixth child in a family of seven children,

my times were in Your hand.

When I was nine years old and had to visit my mama in the state mental hospital, 

my times were in Your hand.

When Daddy sat us kids down and told us he was leaving Mama,

my times were in Your hand.

When You gave Mama the strength to get out there and get a good job and take good care of us,

my times were in Your hand.

When Mama took us to a little brown church that was instrumental in loving us back into wholeness,

my times were in Your hand.

When I was a naive teenager with no parental dating boundaries, You protected me.

My times were in Your hand.

When a young woman from church mailed me a life-changing note about God's plan and purpose for me,

my times were in Your hand.

When scholarships and grants and money I'd saved paid for my first year of college with $50 to spare,

my times were in Your hand.

When two young lovers who had no idea the challenges life would bring got married,

my times were in Your hand.

When this young wife and mama cried out to you, "God help me!  I don't know how to be a good wife and mother",

my times were in Your hand.

When we pastored little churches and barely got paid, You always provided.

My times were in Your hand.

When parenting challenges arose, when wisdom was needed, when I begged you to help us not screw up these three beautiful daughters You had blessed us with,

my times were in Your hand.

When one by one they left the nest, went off to college, got married, when we didn't know how we'd pay for any of it,

my times were in Your hand.

When I saw them suffer hope deferred, infertility, miscarriage, dreams dashed, 

my times, (and their times), were in Your hand.

When I saw, one by one, You give them the desires of their hearts in Your perfect way and timing,

my times, (and their times), were in Your hand.

When the grandbabies came, whether by adoption or by birth, and the enormity of grandparent love overwhelmed me,

my times were in Your hand.

When you opened doors of opportunity beyond my expectation and closed other doors, even when I didn't understand what You were up to,

my times were in Your hand.

Through four decades of marriage highs and lows and in-betweens, and ministry highs and lows and in-betweens, and family, and financial, and health, and relational highs and lows and in-betweens,

my times were in Your hand.

And now, in a few short months I will be sixty years old, and sometimes the thought of growing old and the unknown of it all scares me.  So, I remind myself of this constant, unchangeable truth,

my times are in Your hand. 

Always and forever.

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What to do when you've made a mess of things...

Good grief! You'd think that since I'm knocking on the door of age sixty that I'd have left my toddler tendencies behind at least five and a half decades ago. Yet, last week I gave in to two very toddler-like character traits, and let's just say, it didn't turn out so well.  Impulsivity combined with an attitude of "I'll do it myself" was my undoing.

I've been going to the same hairstylist for years and years.  When we moved from Portland, Oregon to Vancouver, Washington two years ago, I kept going to my hairstylist who works in a salon east of Portland. The half hour drive, (if the traffic cooperates), usually works out fine, since I only need a cut and color every two months. However, for some crazy reason, last week I decided that I could put my appointment off even farther if I just "did it myself" and gave myself a little trim.  How hard could it be?  I watched a YouTube video and it made it look as easy as pie.  A pair of scissors and a few minutes later and I had made an embarrassing mess of my hair. I had bangs and short layers of hair around my face that I didn't used to have and the back of my hair didn't seem to be any shorter.  That YouTube video led me astray! Trimming my own hair wasn't easy and it didn't turn out looking like the lady on the video at all!

Thank God that I only had to live with it two days before my hairstylist was able to squeeze me in for an appointment.  Graciously, she didn't shame me or scold me. She just smiled and went to work, chatting away with me as she worked just like always.  She cut a couple of inches off the back of my hair, trimmed the new bangs and the layers around my face properly and freshened up the color of my hair.  You'd never know that this slightly new and different look wasn't preplanned!

I wish I could say that I've never been foolish and impulsive or acted like a toddler with my "do it myself" attitude in other areas of my life much more important than a superficial thing like my hair.  I wish I could tell you that I've never been influenced or led astray from sound judgement by something or someone.  The truth is, I have.  Yet, like my hairstylist, God doesn't shame me, make fun or me, or reject me when I run to Him with the mess I've made.  He just goes to work cleaning me up and getting me back on the right path.  And, like my new haircut, I've seen God take the mess I've made and work it out for good when I relinquish the situation to Him.

The moral of this story?  Don't try to cut your own hair.  Don't believe every tutorial you find on YouTube.  Most of all, when you've made a mess of something in your life, run to God for help.  He's a pro at making something beautiful out of messy lives.

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The Power of Purpose.

After Daddy left Mama and us kids, Mama had no choice but to get a license, somehow obtain a beat up old car and get a job. She had a focused purpose. That purpose was to provide for and raise those of her brood of seven kids that were still at home. She was focused on her purpose and she sacrificed her own needs and desires to make it happen. When she wasn’t at work, she was home with us kids. Because of her choices, we lived a peaceful, secure and fairly drama free life in our single parent family.

I think that once we were grown and out of the nest and Mama retired, she lost her sense of purpose and never found a new one. 

(For the rest of this post join me today at The Consilium! Click here.)

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Abiding in peace...

I lost my writing rhythm sometime last fall and haven't succeeded in getting fully back into my usual flow since.  Some of the reasons are positive ones, a busier schedule with church and family, the grandkids in particular.  I don't regret the time missed sitting at the computer to write when it means I'm investing more in people's lives.  Some of the reasons are not so positive.  The current atmosphere of division and strife on social media, including misunderstandings and hurt and disappointment among writing friends that I've made since I began blogging has been difficult to work though and process. I have felt the sting of intolerance while being told I need to be more tolerant. I have wrestled with the knowledge that when I stand firmly in the pro-life camp, the women who read my words who have experienced abortion feel hurt and judged.  I have been confused by the lack of logic of those who use verses from Leviticus to support their view on one current issue and then say that other verses in Leviticus against another hot button issue are inadmissible because they come from the Old Testament.  I have felt overwhelmed and stretched thin from it all.  And this, the safe place where I express what God is doing in me and speaking to me, where I write about the things I see, feel and think, hasn't felt like such a safe place anymore.  

And yet, this is the year that I am supposed to be abiding.  Abiding in the shadow and shelter of the One Who is my Refuge and Fortress.  I am supposed to be abiding in His love for me and being a conduit of His love for others.  I'm supposed to be abiding in peace, and yet I sense the tension in the atmosphere, the war going on for the very life of what I hold dear and true.  I'm supposed to be abiding in Him, yet in my flesh I feel like I suddenly have spiritual ADD and get so easily distracted by who is saying what and what is happening now and what is going to happen and current events capture my attention more than He does all too often.

But then He reminds me of two little words, "let the".  "And let the peace (soul harmony which comes) from Christ rule (act as umpire continually) in your hearts [deciding and settling with finality all questions that arise in your minds, in that peaceful state] to which as [members of Christ’s] one body you were also called [to live]. And be thankful (appreciative), [giving praise to God always]." Colossians 3:15 Amplified Bible, Classic Edition I am reminded that it's my choice what I let rule my thoughts, mind and heart.  It's my choice where I abide and the atmosphere that I abide in.  It's my choice not to step into the current cultural fray unless instructed to by God.  If He tells me to speak up, then it's His approval alone that I must seek and I must not fear the disapproval of people.  It's my choice to reject the desire to make sure my voice is heard and to submit to His voice alone. It's my choice to abide in His peace and to let His peace abide and to rule in me.  

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Thoughts on abiding in God's love...

There are just a few evidences of the recent winter snow and ice storm remaining.  Occasionally I still see a small pile of snow in the yards I pass by on my walk.  That is less surprising then the already evident signs that, in a few short weeks, spring is coming.  Buds are already appearing on the ends of naked tree branches. The hellebore in my front yard is already blooming.  All around me signs of life are exposed that were buried under the snow less than two weeks ago. Buried under the snow, the trees, the flowers, the plants roots were still doing their work, still drawing life and sustenance from the soil.

If I've seen it once, I've seen it hundreds of times.  The storms of life expose how deeply rooted we are in Christ. Specifically, hard times expose how deeply rooted, how confident we are in His love.  If we are abiding in God's love, if we are deeply rooted in His love, then we do not easily fall prey to satan's lies that come when we face hard times.  During those times of vulnerability, satan whispers, "God must not love you or He would not be allowing this to happen." Those thoughts will inevitably come, fueled by the one who wants to separate you from the very source of life that will help you to survive the storm.  satan's whole motivation is to steal, kill and destroy.  he doesn't want you to survive the winter seasons of your soul.  

In my own life, I've had to saturate my mind with the truth of how much God loves and delights in me.  Especially in times of trial and testing I continually have to renew my mind with the promises of His never-ending love, care and faithfulness.  I have also found that keeping a written journal of His blessings in my life has helped me to see that even in my worst of times, His love and care have been evident.  My point? I've found that abiding in God's love has a whole lot to do with where I let my mind and thoughts dwell. I don't have to listen to the thoughts of the enemy, or even to the tangled up web of my own emotions. I can, by an act of my will, choose to plant the truth in my mind and to dwell on that.  Abiding in truth and abiding in God's love are inseparable in my opinion. That is the good soil I want my roots to be planted in.

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