I have been disappointed in myself that I cannot write except on Fridays for five minutes. If I can make myself do it on Friday why not everyday? Or any day? Or once in a while? Or ever again on my own; unprompted. It's easy to think worships happens on Sunday, before the preaching, or at a women's meeting, or even in the car with the radio basting. But worship isn't about singing or raising hands or shouting hallelujah. Though I love all those things. I love to shout 'cause I don't sing to good. I know though worship is in the day by day. The little stuff. The living of life akin to the Spirit. Choosing kind words over harsh. Ignoring an offense. Overlooking a child's disobedience (just once in a while). Giving thanks when I want to whine and complain. Not unloading my WHOLE day on my weary husband. Living life with reckless abandon to God's Goodness and Faithfulness. Knowing my every breath, every inhale and exhale of every one of my children, their children, and my beautiful daughter in laws is under the care and watch of the Creator of all the universe. Like my grandson below. Jumping off. Jumping in. Over his head. Complete joy. Unhindered. Unrestricted. Fearless. Hallelujah. Praise Jehovah.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Saturday, August 24, 2013
The last thing he said to me, "Fine. I'm going to bed." A heavy sigh slips through my tense pursed lips. The tall offended teenager lumbers down the hall in a huff. Angry words are the last I hear and his heart believes my last words to him tonight were critical and harsh. Seems like words fly around loose unbound by civility or respect. I won't claim my words weren't stern; I was trying to press a point. Though I still believe the intent of my heart was legitimate; I am sad that these last words before sleep caused angst and tension. Parenting is such an uphill climb sometimes. Pursuing the offended would I know from experience, only exacerbate the problem. Because this is the youngest of five sons I know that these last words will be redeemed and tonight is not the end....Jesus, Alpha and Omega, beginning and the end...the First and the Last; remain in my home and continue your work. Help us all to guard our hearts and tongues so that last words will more often be good words.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
I am small. I want to be smaller. I want God to be huge in my life. Great big grand huge. I am sad to say I fall short of small. making me and my not so important stuff huge; and God and His plan. His ways. His people, not big enough in my life. Tonight I sit here a day late for Five Minute Friday and years behind in my growth and spiritual pursuits. My love is lacking, my self interest, self preservation, self seeking soul ways all growing like the Rumor weed if I am not on my guard.
I am tired, the week ends finishing up the local county fair. My son, my live in grand babies, my husband all provided me with ample opportunities to serve big by making myself small... I served. I did my duties. Kids got where they needed to be. I covered my teen's home and barn chores, took small ones to see the ponies and eat a fair hotdog. But grumbling, internal whining, a few external sharp replies took the edge off my desire to be small and allowed my reflection of self to grow large. Instead of little me and Big God, I made me big and God small.
Grateful for grace and that much of my hugeness remained internal... I rejoice once more in the Hugeness of the Cross and and the Mighty Work accomplished there. Sweet Jesus, shrink me, make me small, that the You in me may grow large and evident and Love out loud.
Friday, August 09, 2013
Third attempt...hoping my technical ineptness does not constitute cheating in regards to the five minute time limit. If so, I am, cheating. If not here we go again.
I slipped the plastic "key" card into the slot, BINGO, the little green light flashes on; I correctly navigated technology and I am I the right room. Tossing my overnight on the rack thingy, I unload the remaining armload of belongings on the desk. Eyeing the wine, I hunt for a ice bucket. Alone, at last yes all by myself. Strangely at peace. A styrofoam cup unwrapped serves nicely as a wine glass. The red wine chilling; I know should be served room temperature, what a rebel I am. Alone is not lonely for me. Without the pursuit of God given pursuing me always friends, and of course my huge family, three men children and a husband at home, I would willingly become a recluse. Not good for my soul, but amazing for my fallen flesh. Always have struggled with loneliness in a crowd, a crowd being anyplace where there are more folks that just me. God has created each of us uniquely personal, individual, well different. Some thrive on activity, bustle, and chaos. Not me. I am thankful for weekends such as this where God allows me a break from the work of stretching He is doing in my heart an spirit.
In then day to day, decisions must be made, husbands and kids cared for, grand babies and their parents made time for and loved on. (All of these bring me great joy and gladness with out question), but the feeling than i am never doing enough, or doing it right, or like so and so, leaves me often frustrated, defeated, and LONELY. Cause of course everyone is getting right...Right?
Thank you Jesus for continually putting people in my life and good words written in love before me. I am reminded that I am uniquely called to my life and my family for Your purpose and good works. With best intent and all of Grace I continue on, often lonely in my journey, but never alone In my walk.
Saturday, August 03, 2013
Story, really; a story... Like I don't have hundreds. Five sons, seven grandchildren, two on the way. Two grandchildren, permanent members of my almost empty empty nest. The nest my husband and I painstakingly constructed, through a professional contractor, four and a half years ago. Painstakingly constructed as a retirement home...one that would meet our physical,mental, spiritual needs well into our golden years, now occupied my an almost grown teen and two small boys kindergarten and first grade with a high school graduation date some where into our late 60's...very late...do I have stories? Of course, the hind quarters of a chipmunk in my washing machine. The recent trip to inner Ontario Canadan, first one with both small boys; including the 10" cut deep into the leather of the third seat of my Ford Expedition. No one knows anything about it. Stories, yep I have stories. For sure the only one that matters or posses any real meaning is the story of why my life is not my own and that the happily ever after of my story begins and ends at the Cross and in the Love of my Resurrected Jesus. Apart from Him even my most entertaining story wound be void of excitement, humor, or even a snicker. Jesus gets me up in the morning and tucks me in secure at the end of each day. I smile now as I think back over a weeks worth of stories...a week in a Canadian river valley could fill the Britannica...but I am content to to thank Jesus and smile myself to sleep.