Graceful

There {day two}

2012-02-02T03:00:00.000-06:00

Maybe she heard the crazy in my voice. Or the twinge of despair. Or maybe it was when I mentioned to her on the phone that I'd cried while running on the treadmill that morning (And crying while running on the treadmill is definitive red flag behavior, isn't it?). Whatever the reason, and despite all the work she had to get done, and all the deadlines she had to meet that day, Deidra insisted that I hang out with her at Bagels and Joe where she'd stationed herself for the afternoon. "Bring your laptop," she urged. "We'll just sit here and get our work done together."

So I did.

We sat across from one another at the table by the window, my laptop backed up to hers. And every now and then we'd peek over our screens and chat a bit, and then we’d go back to typing.

I ate turkey, lettuce and tomato with chipotle mayo on an asiago bagel (I'd sworn off bagels just two days before, after I'd watched The Last 10 Pounds Bootcamp, but who cares, because even though I'd cried on the treadmill, I was running while crying, so that counts for something, right?), and she had roasted red pepper soup and salad. We laughed and chatted while we ate, and then we went back to more typing.

Deidra saved me last Friday. She reached out, grabbed my sinking hand and quietly pulled me right back into living again. And she did it simply by being there.

Has anyone quietly reached a hand out to you lately? Or perhaps you know someone who needs a hand right this very minute?

Sharing thoughts about real life community with Bonnie Gray and her Thursday Jam...

29 Days of Quiet {day one}

2012-02-01T03:00:00.000-06:00

I used to dread this time of year: the dark days of mid-winter descending like a heavy fog after the crescendo of the holidays.

But this year is different.

I think it started in December, when we first learned about my father-in-law’s cancer. Just two weeks before Christmas, and suddenly all I wanted to do was curl up under the down comforter. Most of our typical holiday activities screeched to a halt. Instead, we concentrated on the regular routine – just getting through every day was enough.

While Brad was in Minnesota visiting doctors with his dad, I’d put the kids to bed, turn out all the lamps except the tiny white lights on the mantel and the ones wrapped around the bannister and the tree. Then I'd light a vanilla votive in the glass hurricane and lie back on the couch, fleece socks on my feet, comforter pulled up to my chin.

I didn't watch TV. I didn't read or blog or tweet. I simply lay with my head on the striped pillow and was quiet.

"It sounds kind of depressing," Brad said, when he called from Minneapolis and I told him about my nightly ritual.

But it wasn't. It was comforting.

I can’t even tell you what I thought about, or what I prayed, or even if I thought or prayed at all. All I know is that those nights under the comforter, the candle flickering shadows across the coffee table, the house creaking into the silence, those nights were solace for me.

That's when I first thought, why not embrace the quiet for a while?

And so, as we stand at the doorway of February, a leap year February, I invite you not to leap but to step gently into a month of quiet with me. Together let’s embrace this hushed, mid-winter pause. I’m not sure at all where this might lead us, or what this series will look like, or even if I will be able to maintain it uninterrupted for the full 29 days, but I invite you to walk into 29 Days of Quiet with me.

Will you come along?

{a note: I will *try* to post all 29 days of February, but Mondays will still be reserved for the "Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday" community link-up. So please don't hesitate to come on by and link up for that, as noisily as you wish!}

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: For the Times You are Afraid...and Obey Anyway

2012-01-30T00:00:00.000-06:00

The day I knew I would have to say goodbye to my mother-in-law was one of the hardest, most terrifying moments I’ve ever faced. You see, until then, I’d never been around a dying person before. I didn’t know what a dying person looked like. Or how I should act or what I should say. I’d never walked into a “deathbed” scene; I’d never had to say goodbye to someone I loved, knowing I would never see that person again. And I’d never watched my children do the same.

As we drove from Nebraska to Minnesota that Labor Day Weekend, I was gripped by a paralyzing fear, and I scrambled for an excuse that would release me from the dreaded event that lay ahead. Just a mile from his parents’ house, I turned to Brad and blurted, “I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I’m afraid.”

I thought of that moment yesterday morning in church as I listened to the reading from Exodus, about the preparations the Israelites made before they fled Egypt. As I heard God’s solemn words to them, I understood the fear and dread they must have experienced as they heeded his dire instructions:

“Wear your traveling clothes as you eat this meal, as though prepared for a long journey. Wear your sandals, and carry your walking sticks in your hands. Eat the food quickly, for this is the Lord’s Passover. On that night I will pass through the land of Egypt and kill all the firstborn sons and firstborn male animals in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 12:11-12).

Can you imagine the terror the Israelites must have felt? Can you imagine sitting with the knowledge that hundreds of young, first-born children would soon die? Can you imagine the dread? The apprehension?

The Israelites were faithful and obedient, sure, but I suspect they were also deeply afraid.

And the truth is, I think that’s okay.

Most of us assume that fear automatically signals distrust; but I think there are also times in life in which fear can and does go hand-in-hand with obedience. Let’s face it: life offers a lot of experiences we don’t particularly like and plenty of moments we’d prefer to skip.

God gets this. He knows us. He knows when we are weak. He knows when we are afraid. He knows that sometimes we have to force ourselves to obey him even when we’d rather run the other way.

God knows that on some days, dread-filled, fearful, tentative obedience is just about all we can muster, and he accepts it for what it is: not a sign of distrust, but rather, a testament of our faith.

Have you ever been deeply afraid of something, yet still went ahead and did it out of sense of obedience or respect?

With Jen's Soli Deo Gloria:

Welcome to the "Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday" community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

If you're here for the first time, click here for more information. And if you are a new participant, would you leave me a comment or send me an email to tell me it's your first time here, so I can be sure to stop by and say hello at your place?

Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code over in the sidebar) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in -- thank you!

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Thank you -- I am so grateful to have you here!

Weekend Meditation: Special Possession

2012-01-28T03:00:00.000-06:00

With Deidra...

Life Rolls On

2012-01-27T03:00:00.000-06:00

His voice is raspy and smaller than I remember as I grip the phone to my ear, sun streaming long rectangles on the tile floor. I can tell his throat is parched, his lips dry. It’s only been three weeks since I last saw him, when I hugged him on the threshold that first morning of the New Year. "See you soon!" I'd called out, sliding into the idling mini-van, waving with the window rolled down to frigid Minnesota air.

I didn’t know it would be the last time.

We make small talk, even though it feels like I should say something more. I tell him the boys brought home trophies for “best effort” from the Cub Scouts Pinewood Derby. I mention Rowan’s basketball game, how he ducked beneath the hoop, covering his head with his hands when the ball swished through the net.

He laughs a little. “Life keeps rolling on,” he says, and I nod, even though he can't see me. “That's good,” he says, and I nod again, my throat closed tight.

Later I sit on cold concrete, arms tucked into fleece, January sun warm on my back. The boys leap and prance around an icy trickle of water draining from the culvert. They are working diligently on “clearing the stream,” making a path for the current to flow smoothly into the ditch.

The cuffs of Rowan’s pants are wet, the hem of his jacket, too. He bounces from one side of the rivulet to the other, stopping only to jam red fingers into pockets for a moment before getting back to work, calling gleefully to his brother when he has wrenched another ice clump free. They confer like they are city engineers, planning a new route for the water. It’s important work. I can tell.

I think for a moment about how gross that water is, winter’s grit and decay funneled from streets and alleys and gutters all around town. I should tear them away from it, force them to continue our walk along the path, head for the swings and slides, toward the voices ringing across the brown lawn. But I don’t.

A lady in a red winter hat and matching gloves pedals past. She sits regally on the wide seat, turning to glance down at the boys. “What is it about little boys and water?” she calls to me, and I shrug my shoulders, smiling as I shrug and lift my hands, palms toward the sky.

The breeze picks up, and the sun slips behind the bare maple tree. Chin on my knees, arms hugging shins, I watch the boys play in the dirty water. Noah points at how the trickle has widened, how it now flows unencumbered into the ditch. Rowan wipes gritty hands on his pants, satisfied. They look up at me, awaiting my approval.

{I would be so grateful for your prayers, for my father-in-law, Jon, and for my husband, Brad, and his brother, Cary, as they walk alongside their dad in his final weeks. With love and gratitude, Michelle}

I'm a Slow Loris

2012-01-25T03:00:00.000-06:00

I’m what you might call the slow loris of book publishing.

Are you familiar with the slow loris? I know it sounds like a Dr. Seuss character, but the slow loris is actually a real animal – a tiny primate with big, puppy-dog brown eyes and a round head (so far, nothing in common with me, in case you’re wondering). The slow loris is also described as a slow and deliberate climber.

Yup, that’s me: the slow, deliberate climber.

...I'm writing over at the WordServe Water Cooler today. Will you join me over there to read about what it's like to be a slow loris? {you may be one, too!}

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: The Hard Heart

2012-01-23T00:00:00.000-06:00

Whenever I read Exodus I’m horrified by Pharaoh’s behavior. Pharaoh tells Moses he’ll release the Israelites time and time again, yet when each plague subsides and the threat diminishes, he retracts his promise. Pharaoh chooses to ignore God; he intentionally hardens his heart against God:

“But when the Pharaoh saw that there was a respite, he hardened his heart, and would not listen to them, just as the Lord had said.” (Exodus 8:15)

“What a colossal jerk,” I think to myself. “How can he be so stupid? How can he choose to make the same mistake over and over again?”

It’s taken me years to recognize that I’ve had more than a few Pharaoh moments myself.

Take, for instance, the times in which I intentionally choose not to obey God. It’s true. I have done this. In the heat of the moment -- a moment in which I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am sinning -- I consciously choose to continue my sinful behavior.

It usually plays out like this:

An aggravating situation with my kids snowballs, and before I know it, my voice escalates into the witchy octave, my hair coils into writhing snakes and smoke seeps from my ears. At that moment I have a choice: I can lock myself in the bathroom until my blood pressure normalizes and I am able to discuss the problem rationally with my kids. Or I can proceed in Medusa-mom mode.

I admit, more than once I have chosen Medusa-mom mode. Even when I’ve unmistakably heard God’s voice in my head, there have been times that I have hardened my heart to him and intentionally tumbled toward sin.

I suspect most of us have been there, in the Pharaoh moment. I suspect most of us have chosen to harden our hearts against God more than once in our lives. It’s an ugly place, isn’t it? And it’s a lonely place, too.

The difference between most of us and Pharaoh, of course, is that we don’t stay in that ugly, lonely, stubborn place forever. We relent. We repent. We soften our hearts. And when we come back to God he accepts us with grace, no strings attached.

I suspect he would have done the same for even the colossally jerky Pharaoh, too.

Do you ever see any similarities between yourself and Pharaoh?

Welcome to the "Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday" community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code over in the sidebar) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in -- thank you!

And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

Thank you -- I am so grateful to have you here!

{apologies, apologies for forgetting to put the linky up till late this morning! Monday morning, jeepers!}

Weekend Meditation: Spider's Web

2012-01-21T03:00:00.000-06:00

With Deidra's Sunday community:

A Case of the Cold Pricklies

2012-01-20T03:00:00.000-06:00

The prickle instigator. I've said it before: thank goodness he's so cute.

Distracted by the conversation and a table-full of friends who had gathered for the First Annual Neighborhood Dessert Buffet, I didn’t pay much attention to the ruckus emanating from upstairs. “Oh, just ignore that,” I actually said to the neighbor who had raised an eyebrow in concern. “This is just the way it is with boys.”

Famous last words.

Apparently, while I’d been enjoying my second slice of peach pie, The Great Cactus Chase was unfolding upstairs, a game which to the best of my knowledge involved much dashing, as well as a fair number of succulents, in particular the beavertail cactus.

Suffice to say, Rowan ended up with two palms full of prickles. And not just any old prickles, mind you, but microscopic prickles undiscernable to the naked eye.

Hundreds of them.

In each hand.

Let me save you some trouble, should for some reason a Great Cactus Chase ever take place in your home. Don’t bother trying to remove the prickles with tweezers. Or soap and water. Or packing tape.

Glue, it turns out, is the most viable prickle-removal solution.

As I reclined blissfully ignorant and sugar-stupefied at the table, Brad was at the computer Googling “cactus prickle removal.” This is how he learned about the glue method, which works as such:

Placate sniffling, prickle-infested boy with lollypop.
Pour Elmer’s Glue over prickle-infested zone.
Encourage sniffling, lollypopped boy to hold hands steadily out in front of him and away from all fabric furniture and clothing for 15 minutes.
Remind boy once every 6.3 seconds that his hands are in fact covered in a layer of glue and therefore he should not touch fabric furniture or clothing.
Remind boy once every 9.5 seconds that his hands are in fact covered in a layer of glue and that he should also refrain from touching hair, mouth, nose, ears and nether regions.
When glue has properly dried, gently peel thin layers from palms and deposit into trash can.
Repeat.

For the record, embedded microscopic beaver tail cactus prickles hurt like heck. I know this because while the second glue treatment was drying on Rowan’s hands, I tidied up the boys’ rooms … which, turns out, were infested with cactus prickles.

[Insert cursing here]

I refused the glue treatment {do I really have the time to sit around with gluey hands all night?}, but I shouldn’t have. Because let me tell you this: once beavertail cactus prickles get attached, they’re going nowhere fast. A week later, we’re still pulling prickles out of our skin.

[And while this post has nothing to do with faith except perhaps to note that God did very well indeed when he created prickles as the defense mechanism for cactus, there is a moral to this story: Parents, do not let your children play with cactus].

Have you ever had a run-in with a cactus or another similarly weird situation?

The Idol

2012-01-18T03:00:00.000-06:00

I've got an idol.

This comes as a surprise. I thought I was done with idols. I know I used to have an idol -- her name was Shopping, and I kicked her to the curb during my year-long Shop-Not Project. And even though I'm back to shopping now, it doesn't have the allure it once did. "What a relief," I thought to myself a couple of months ago. "I'm idol-free!"

{insert happy idol-less dance here}

And...not so fast Miss Fancy Idol-less Dancing Pants.

My first inkling that a new idol had joined the party occurred back in November when I wrote this post about jealousy. The fact that I was jealous of other writers should have been a red flag, but I'm not quick like that. Instead, I got to thinking about it when one of the commenters mentioned that jealousy is usually a symptom of a deeper underlying issue.

I was not pleased to read that observation. Like being jealous isn’t bad enough – now I have to deal with the bigger problem driving the jealousy, too? Could I be more of a complete wreck?

Turns out, the thing that’s driving the jealousy is my new idol: The Writer's Life.

My dream of being a published writer and living a "real" Writer's Life is fueling my jealousy of other published writers who seem to have the life I desire. In fact, I have allowed my dream of the Writer's Life to morph into a bigger, scarier, more powerful idol than shopping ever was.

Writer's Life Idol is to Shopping Idol like Freddy Krueger is to Bowser Junior.

It hit me one day as I sat in the car in my office parking lot. Just as I was about to turn the ignition key, I was jolted by a thought: what if my Writer's Life dream, the way I have it all formulated and mapped out, isn't God's Writer's Life plan for me?

What if his plan is different from my plan?

You see, I've got it all worked out nicely, thank you very much. I will get my book published and quit my part-time job, and earn enough money to continue on as a real writer. I simply want to do what I love to do all day, every day.

Not just on Fridays.

Not just for an hour after the kids go to bed.

Not just squeezed into two hours Wednesday mornings.

Every day. Five days a week. I want writing to be my only job (besides mothering, of course). I love writing so much, I reason, don't I deserve to be able to do it more? Don't I deserve to have the career I love?

This is where God comes in.

The problem is that I don’t exactly know what God wants. Perhaps God wants me to stay at Nebraska public broadcasting. Maybe he sees a role for me there that I don't see. Maybe he wants me to write and work. Maybe he's got a publishing deal for me 10 years from now. Or maybe not at all.

Maybe the Writer's Life that I've imagined for myself isn't the Writer's Life God has designed for me.

There are a lot of options, and I really don't have any idea what his plan is for me, aside from the writing part. I'm pretty confident that writing is involved, but that's about all I know for sure. That's the tricky part about God -- he's hard to pin down and figure out.

Frankly, that kind of irritates me.

But that hard-to-figure-out nature of God is also exactly what's helped me realize that I need to let go. The more I obsess over fulfilling my publishing dream in order to attain my definition of a real Writer's Life, the more that dream takes priority in my life -- over my husband, my children, my friends and even my God.

So I have surrendered.

I'm putting the plan back into God's hands and rolling with it. Or at least I'm surrendering and rolling with it as best as I can, because I'm not a great surrenderer-roller. It's more of a bumpity humpity bangity bungling rolling right now. What this looks like in reality is that I'm still writing, obsessing a little less and telling myself over and over, "It will all work out. It will all work out. Whatever the Plan is, it will all work out."

But you know what? Even bumpity rolling feels better than not rolling at all.

{I just need to say here that my blogger friend, Sarah, asked her blogger friend Melanie to make this One Word graphic for me when she read my One Word post last week -- isn't that the sweetest?! Thank you, Sarah and Melanie!}

Have you ever battled a big, bad Freddy Krueger-style idol in your life?

Sharing with Ann Voskamp's Walk with Him Wednesday series, as we write about how we are embracing and practicing new habits:

And with Jennifer at Getting Down with Jesus, because that moment that I pondered all this while parked in the office lot in my mini-van? That was a God moment...

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: Gift after Gift after Gift

2012-01-16T00:00:00.000-06:00

I would often lament in the early days of my new faith that God didn’t present himself to me like he seemed to for others. Or that he didn’t speak to me like he seemed to speak to other believers. My faith felt vague. Impersonal. I knew God was there, technically speaking, but I didn’t see him with my own eyes. I yearned for the burning bush – something dramatic and obvious. Something I could see and know; a sign that would prove without any doubt that I was in the presence of God.

After a while I gave up complaining. I concluded that I was destined for a general kind of faith, and I tried to be satisfied with that.

Last March I read Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts. I read it twice actually – the first time because I simply couldn’t put it down; I had to swallow it whole and all at once. And the second time slowly and thoughtfully, with a pen in hand so I could underline text and jot notes in the margins. When I was finished, nearly the entire book was underlined.

The day I closed the book for the second time I began my own list. I bought a cheap notebook at Walgreen’s, laid it open to the first page on the kitchen counter and began to list gifts.

That was the day my faith began to change. That was the day I began the journey toward a real, tangible, specific faith. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was the day I began to know God and see that he was an active, personal presence in my everyday.

Ten months later, I’ve reached number 862 on the gift list as I inch closer and closer to 1,000. I don’t list gifts every single day. Sometimes two or three days pass in which the notebook sits untouched and the pencil lays still. Other days I list three or four or even six or seven gifts at once. Sometimes the kids help, reminding me of what we’ve glimpsed in our comings and goings. Noah will often suggest, “Hey, you should put that in the gift list,” when we’ve spotted something particularly exciting, like the red belly woodpecker at the suet feeder or the tender pink bud on the Christmas cactus.

What I’ve learned in these ten months is that the burning bush I searched for so long, the one I yearned to see – it’s been there all along. That holy ground that Moses stood on? I stand on it every day – in my backyard, in my kitchen, at the office, on the walkway leading to my kids’ school.

In winter light falling on puzzle pieces…

In the magic of humid emerald as frigid wind whips…

In candlelight flickering in the hush of late night…

In the joyful trumpet of amaryllis in first light…

Sure, the God-sightings aren’t always dramatic – I’m not going to argue that a woodpecker is as powerful as a talking bush engulfed in roaring flames. But just because they are small or undramatic doesn’t make them insignificant or any less of a gift.

Honestly, the greatest gift for me in this is just as awesome as a burning bush. After all, who would have guessed that a cheap notebook and a pencil would pave the way to see? Who would have guessed that God, the great I AM, would present himself so consistently and generously in my life, moment after moment, day after day, gift after gift after gift?

God, it seems, has caught my attention after all.

With Ann Voskamp...

855. Noah sipping tea on the back patio.

856. Stopping to pet the soft dog.

857. Geese plunking through the ice.

858. Falcon in the backyard.

859. Saving a ladybug in the kitchen sink.

860. A potato in the shape of a perfect pear.

861. New shiny red tea pot.

862. Care package from mom.

Jen and the Soli De o Gloria Sisters...

And Laura at Playdates with God...

Welcome to the "Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday" community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code over in the sidebar) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in -- thank you!

And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

Thank you -- I am so grateful to have you here!

Weekend Meditation: Rejoice

2012-01-14T03:00:00.000-06:00

With Deidra's Sunday community:

Love Starts with Duty

2012-01-13T08:31:00.000-06:00

“I don't really feel like doing this," I whisper to my husband, Brad, as he pulls the mini-van into a parking space. The lot at the Center for People in Need is jammed with cars. The wind bites through our jackets as we scuttle toward the double doors of the warehouse.

Brad, our two boys and I have signed up to distribute food to the hundreds of people who will come through the line that night. But I don’t really want to be there. I’d rather be at home propped in front of HGTV with a glass of red wine and a box of Cheez-Its.

The only reason I’m about to volunteer a few hours of my time is that I feel obligated.

...will you join me over at the Lincoln Journal Star to read about my family's experience volunteering at a local food distribution center recently?

One Word {Better Late than Never}

2012-01-11T07:32:00.000-06:00

I love resolutions. I love the promise of a fresh start, the chance at a new beginning. I typically make eight resolutions at the start of each new year and divide my goals into four categories, two resolutions for each category: physical fitness/health; family life/relationships; spirituality; and writing. You're wondering if I actually keep any of my resolutions, aren't you? The fact is, I manage to keep most of them...or at least half of them every year. I'm Triple Type A, what can I say?

This year, though, I didn't make a single resolution. I simply wasn’t in the mood. It’s hard to embrace the new year when you know right from the get-go that it’s going to be a difficult one. This New Year's Eve and Day were the hardest I've ever faced, knowing that 2012 will not be easy.

I’d rather not know what’s ahead. Ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes. Just four weeks ago my biggest concern was whether to purchase Bop-It or Bop-It Xtreme as a Christmas gift for Rowan. Then we got the news of my father-in-law’s illness, and our world turned upside down. Suddenly everything that caused me angst, as well as everything that brought me joy, vanished under the weight of grief.

The future is always unknown, right? But that's exactly what I forget when life is rolling along just fine.

The day before we learned of Jon's illness, I thought I had everything figured out and all under control. I was wrong, of course...but I would have been wrong regardless of the bad news that came our way.

We never know what the future holds - not next year, next month, tomorrow or the next hour. It can all change in the span of a single breath. The future is not mine to know; it is determined by a power much greater than I.

In light of that realization, and the fact that what I really want to change can't be changed by me, I resolve this year to surrender. I guess you could say that's my one word for 2012: surrender.

Don't get me wrong. To surrender doesn't mean I give up, throw in the towel, bury my head in the sand. It simply means that I yield. I relinquish. I step back.

I don’t embrace surrender lightly or willingly – it goes against my nature. Yet I can’t think of anything I need to do more right now.

I surrender to God's will on this long and circuitous publishing journey. I put my book, this blog and my words in his hands and yield to his will.

I surrender to God’s will in the everyday – in both the frustrating, irritating moments and the ones that brim with joy and peace. They are all his, each and every one.

And most of all I surrender this arduous journey through illness and suffering to God’s will. I put my hope, fears and prayers in God's hands and yield to him.

Ultimately, I know that God holds my father-in-law Jon and all of us in the palm of his hand. And with that, I surrender.

Do you have a "one word" to guide you through 2012?

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: The Big Picture

2012-01-09T00:00:00.000-06:00

As I listened to yesterday’s reading about the birth of Moses (Exodus 2:1-10), I worried that I didn’t have anything to say about it. “Nice story, good to know for background, but how is it relevant to me, today?” I thought to myself as I sat in the pew.

The more I pondered the reading, though, the more I began to realize its relevance. You see, on the surface, the story of Moses’ birth seems like a story of marvelous coincidence. A desperate mother places her three-month infant in a woven basket nestled into the reeds at the edge of the Nile. Along comes the Pharaoh's daughter to bathe in the exact spot along the river where Moses is hidden. She stumbles on the baby and is moved to compassion. Out pops Moses’ sister from the reeds, who volunteers the services of a “Hebrew woman” to nurse the baby, so Moses is returned to his birth mother until he is old enough to be handed over to Pharaoh’s daughter to be raised by her. In the end, not only does Moses survive and thrive in a time when most male Hebrew infants were mercilessly killed by the Pharaoh, he triumphs as one of God’s most faithful and renowned servants.

What are the chances?

That’s just it, of course. It’s no chance. It’s no coincidence that Moses is discovered by the Pharaoh’s daughter herself and is later raised by her in the Pharaoh’s own residence. It’s all part of the greater plan that God has for Moses and his people.

And I believe that God works the same way in my life, too.

Moses’ mother must have been terrified to place her tiny infant in a flimsy basket and set him next to the flowing Nile River. She was desperate to save him, and that was the only possible solution available to her at the time. She might have hoped for a positive outcome, but she couldn’t have known for sure what would happen to her beloved child. She couldn’t see the big picture. She didn’t know how triumphantly the story would end.

I admit, I often can’t see the big picture either. Sometimes I doubt that God is involved in my day-to-day at all. I wonder where he is as I stumble through difficult circumstances. I can’t for the life of me see how it will all turn out, or how it can possibly turn out well.

The story of Moses’ birth reminds me that God is indeed present and active in the day-to-day circumstances of my life. What seems random, what looks like coincidence, may in fact be just one in a series of small steps, all part of an unfolding plan for good.

Like Moses’ mother, I must simply trust. I must trust that God's plan for me is unfolding as it should, and that he has my best interest at heart. God wants to use even the smallest moments of my life for his greater good. The question is, will I trust him enough to let him?

"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)

Welcome to the "Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday" community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code over in the sidebar) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in -- thank you!

And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

Thank you -- I am so grateful to have you here!

* A note: I've decided to forego the weekly Hear It, Use It Round-Up that I've been posting on Thursdays. The thing is, there are some weeks in which I can't read all, or even most, of the linked posts, so it was becoming increasingly difficult to do the Round-Up on Thursdays. The good news, though, is that I will continue to tweet and facebook about your posts every week, so please, let's keep connected that way, too? Thank you for your understanding!!

Weekend Meditation: For Its Own Time

2012-01-07T04:00:00.000-06:00

Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time.
He has placed eternity in the human heart, but even so,
people cannot see the whole scope of God's work
from beginning to end.
(Ecclesiastes 3:11, NLT)

With Deidra...

Just in Case You're Wondering...

2012-01-04T21:37:00.002-06:00

I am indeed still alive {actually, a couple of my beloved relatives called my mom to ask what happened to me - it's nice to know I've been missed...and yeah, missed by relatives counts too!}.

Anyway, we're just back from hanging with our rock-star niece and nephew and soaking up the Minnesota balminess. Seriously, it was freaky-warm up there. Now I'm settling back into work, clearing the house of Christmas decor (does it make me a bad person to admit that taking down the Christmas clutter, I mean decorations, makes me happy?) and generally enjoying the respite from writing.

I'll be back for good on Saturday though, with a photo and verse to link up with Deidra's community. And then on Monday when the Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday community resumes.

I've missed you all! Catch you soon...

Christmas Greetings

2011-12-23T08:12:00.001-06:00

Christmas greetings to you! I wanted to let you know that I will be taking a two-week blogging hiatus (the first time in more than two years that I've taken a break from blogging - it's about time, right?! please don't abandon me!). I'll be back January 9 for sure (if not a day or two sooner). And the Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday community will resume on Monday, January 9, too.

I wish you all a joyful, peaceful Christmas with your loved ones. And today and always, I am thanking God for each one of you!

Love,
Michelle

The Hear It, Use It Weekly Round-Up: Light in Darkness

2011-12-22T00:30:00.000-06:00

I can't thank you enough for shining joy and light into my life this week. I'm not going to lie...these last couple of weeks have been hard. But your words of encouragement -- both in emails and comments and in your own blog posts -- have kept me afloat and helped me see God in the midst of it all. You are beautiful!

Here are the Hear It, Use It picks for this week:

"My Visit to a Hmong Village in Thailand" at A Pause in the Path -- Shanda takes us to visit Lesah, an 89-year-old widow of five children, all deceased. Lesah makes her living as a weaver, and I have to say, this glimpse into her modest life offered me some much-needed perspective.

"King of Kings" at Finding Me in You -- As I've struggled with some idols in my life recently (read: publishing, the writing life) these words from Monique ring so true: "We create gods for ourselves, giving out the devotion that rightfully belongs to the True King. We find out identity in people, and other tangible, earthly gods...At times that which is seen blinds us from the beauty of beholding that which is unseen."

"Behold the Handmaiden" at Tuning My Heart -- I wrote about Mary in my "Hear It, Use It" post on Monday, so Roseann's reflections that dig more deeply into the story behind Mary's resolve really resonated with me: "This yes was not a momentary yes...this was not a short-term act of obedience...this yes was a yes to a lifetime of obedience...this yes would completely alter her life...This makes me ponder...what is He asking of me? Am I willing to say a life-altering yes?"

"Why I'm Following the Children" at Redemption's Beauty -- The power and grace of seeing Jesus reflected in the eyes of a fellow human being...Shelly's story, and her honest telling of it, gave me the chills.

"If I were Mary" at Jennifer V. Davis -- Another post about Mary, and Jennifer made me laugh with her honest reflection on what she might have thought if she'd been in Mary's shoes: "If I were Mary lying on that bed of hay, I would doubt. God, where are you? Why didn’t you plan for the birth of your Son?" Yup, I can sure relate to the role of the doubter! Seriously, though, there is SO much to ponder in this lovely post.

...Thanks for stopping by...talk to you all tomorrow...

The Hard Work of Christmas: A Guest Post by Nancy Franson

2011-12-21T03:00:00.000-06:00

Each year I make traditional Swedish Pepparkakor for Christmas, and each year doing so is one of my least favorite tasks. Working from a family recipe handwritten by my sister-in-law, I roll and cut out nearly a hundred thin ginger cookies; a job which keeps me on my feet for several hours. I wish I could cut the recipe in half and make fewer cookies, but it calls for only a single egg and I have yet to figure out how to cut a raw egg in half. Although I enjoy them, Pepparkakor are hardly my favorite cookie. The dough is dry, crumbly, and hard to work with. The older I get, and the more excess weight I carry on my hips, the more my joints object to the hours I spend standing at the counter rolling out crumbly dough.

So why do it? Although I love preparing for Christmas, I can allow the work to become exhausting. If I dare to tell myself the truth, I know that behind all the effort, energy, and expense I invest in my Christmas celebrations, I’m really just trying to create an experience and make happy memories. Somehow I must think I can recapture those “happy golden days of yore.” I imagine my efforts might be able to create an atmosphere of “peace on earth and goodwill toward men” among those in my home and gathered around my table.

The problem is, I’m not sure there ever were happy golden days of yore. As I think back to Christmases past, I remember the year my baby daughter was inconsolable because she was cutting teeth. Another year we had to evacuate our home, leaving behind newly unwrapped gifts, because our furnace was belching black smoke. And one Christmas, just as my family gathered around the table for dinner, we received word of the death of my husband’s grandmother.

No matter how much work I put into the celebration of Christmas, I am incapable of creating a merry one.

And although the song tells us, “There’s no place like home for the holidays,” home can also be a place where unresolved conflicts and lingering tensions reside. This year as I wait for my adult children to come home for Christmas, I am keenly aware that our family dynamics mirror those which are a staple of holiday-themed sitcoms and movies. I fear I could easily slip into old patterns of nagging, criticizing, and preaching; treating my adult children as if they were still children. Patterns of behavior and family dynamics change slowly, if at all, apart from the work of transforming grace.

For me, the tasks of of trimming the tree, shopping for gifts and, yes, even baking the Christmas Pepparkakor aren’t the difficult work of celebrating the holiday. The hard labor of Christmas comes in daring to believe the truth of the story, that the incarnation of God makes things like love, forgiveness, healing, and reconciliation possible and real. The hard work of Christmas asks me to live in the reality that Christ came as a baby, offering the gift of transforming grace.

Actually, this hard work of Christmas isn’t really hard at all. It’s impossible. “Apart from me,” said Christ, “you can do nothing.” So when I attempt this hard work of incarnating the incarnation, of living the love of Christ and loving those around me well, and as I fail as I am so prone to do; Christ calls me to receive his gift anew. He reminds me that I am able to love only because He came, demonstrating that He loved me first. He invites me to believe that His forgiveness and transforming grace are real and available to my family and to me. He dares me to believe I don’t live in a holiday movie or sitcom. I live with imperfect people in a fallen world plagued by heartache and sin; a world into which a baby was born in order to make all things new.

Each year I bake traditional Swedish Pepparkakor for Christmas, but not out of duty or obligation. I bake them because my mother enjoys them, and I love my mother. It’s a small gesture, a simple gift offered in love. But the labor of rolling out crumbling cookie dough becomes, for me, an affirmation of faith. Through a simple gift of ginger cookies I am privileged, in a small way, to incarnate the love of Christ; affirming that I believe the story is true.

Nancy, thank you for gracing us with this reflection today -- I am so very grateful for your friendship!

Please visit Nancy at her blog, Out of My Alleged Mind, and follow her on Twitter. You will certainly be glad you did!!

{that's Nancy, on the right, with Deidra and me at the Relevant 2011 conference! She was just as wonderfully zany in person as she is online!}

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: The Hard Calling

2011-12-19T00:00:00.000-06:00

I intentionally didn’t get up for church yesterday morning. The kids aren’t sick. I didn’t oversleep. I simply didn’t want to go. The hard truth is that in light of the news that’s weighing on our hearts like a concrete block, I didn’t want to celebrate God or the birth of Jesus. I didn’t want to sing Joy to the World or Hark the Herald Angels Sing.

I was holding a grudge.

Shortly before 8 a.m. Brad came into the bedroom. He was wearing a tie. I was still in bed. “I’ll take the kids,” he said. “You stay here. Someone at least has to go to give out the Sunday School teacher gifts.”

I threw back the covers, got dressed, pulled my hair into a ponytail and put on lipstick and blush. Fifteen minutes later I sat in the passenger seat, travel mug of coffee in my hand.

Not surprisingly, we read from Luke yesterday – the story of the angel Gabriel’s visit to Mary:

“Greetings, favored woman! The Lord is with you!” Gabriel says to a terrified and bewildered Mary. “Don’t be frightened, Mary, for God has decided to bless you!” (Luke 1:30)

It sounds like good news, doesn’t it? God has decided to bless young Mary. She will bear the Christ child; she will serve as the mother of the world’s savior – what could possibly be wrong with that?

Yet as Pastor Greg mentioned in his sermon, the reality of this situation may not have looked like a blessing to Mary. The fact is, as a very young, unmarried, pregnant Orthodox Jew, Mary would have been ostracized by her community. She might have faced the very real possibility of stoning for her transgression, and at the very least would likely have been abandoned by most everyone she knew. Pastor Greg suggested that on the inside, Mary may not, in fact, have welcomed Gabriel’s news.

Despite all this – despite the fear, doubt and anxiety Mary undoubtedly felt – she responds to Gabriel, and to God, with the utmost faith, obedience and trust:

“I am the Lord’s servant, and I am willing to accept whatever he wants.” (Luke 1:38).

Mary may have been afraid. She may have been unsure about the future and her role as the mother of the savior. But she trusts God and is obedient and faithful to his plan.

Like Mary, I know what God is calling me to do right now. Like Mary, I am overwhelmed, frightened and anxious. But unlike Mary, so far I have not responded in trust and faith.

On Saturday I cried on and off for most of the day. I was short-tempered with my kids and my husband. I slammed the oven door hard when the pork loin burned. I snapped at Noah when he dropped the brand-new package of light bulbs on the driveway, and I unwillingly played Uno with Rowan, sighing through most of the four rounds.

I was, in short, not steadfast in my faith. I was not a rock of support for my husband and children in this difficult time. I did not shine the light of Jesus. I spread sorrow and angst instead of joy and hope.

Despite all that, I’m grateful that I dragged myself to church yesterday, because the reading and message were meant for me.

Mary was called by God to do something extraordinary, something seemingly beyond her understanding and even beyond her capability. And God is asking the same of me.

I know God is asking me to be strong and faithful in this time of crisis. I know that he is asking me to exude joy and gratitude, even in the face of sadness and fear. I know that he is asking me to trust him.

I know that nothing is impossible with God. I am the Lord’s servant, and I am willing to accept whatever he wants.

What about you? Is God calling you to do a hard thing today? How will you answer his call?

Grateful for Mary, full of grace, leading me to accept in this hard Advent...

The winner of Billy Coffey's book from Friday's giveaway is Jean Wise!! Jean - please email me your mailing address so I can send you the book. Congratulations -- and thank you to everyone who commented and friended my Facebook Writer page!

Welcome to the "Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday" community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code over in the sidebar) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in -- thank you!

And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

Thank you -- I am so grateful to have you here!

Please Note: "Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday" will take a two-week hiatus for the holidays. The link-up will return on Monday, January 9 -- thank you for the gift of this respite!!

Weekend Meditation: Before and After

2011-12-17T05:00:00.000-06:00

You go before me and follow me.

Psalm 139:5

Paper Angels: A Review and Giveaway

2011-12-16T03:00:00.000-06:00

If you’ve ever been to Bill Coffey’s blog and read one or two of his posts, you know right off the bat that he is a master storyteller. He writes about everyday life – a meal at a local diner, a conversation with his young son, pumping gas in the rain, watching a boy build a rickety bike ramp. Yet the key to Billy’s writing and his genius is that beneath those observations of the ordinary lay extraordinary insights, wisdom and truth.

On the surface Billy Coffey’s latest book, Paper Angels, is the story of Andy Sommerville, an ordinary fellow who lands in the hospital, the victim of a terrible crime. But like so much of what Billy writes, layer upon layer of story percolate just below the surface of the ordinary.

While recovering from his injuries Andy talks with Elizabeth, a counselor, and together they sort through Andy’s keepsake box, a simple wooden container holding 12 ordinary items collected over the years on the advice of the “Old Man,” Andy’s personal angel. The box contains a baseball hat, some pine needles, a letter to Santa Claus, a wooden cross, a human fingernail, a golf tee, some Dairy Queen paper napkins and other seemingly mundane items.

The mementos themselves may be ordinary, but each one holds an extraordinary story and a deeper truth about Andy’s past, present and future. As Andy and Elizabeth pick one item after the other from the box, a memory spills from each one, recollections separate and distinct from one another, yet woven together to comprise the fabric of Andy’s entire life.

Paper Angels is a spiritual book for sure, but it’s also a book about story, about how each incident, person and place in our lives, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, contributes to who we are and what our purpose is on this Earth.

“We take one thing with us – the narrative of our lives,” Elizabeth tells Andy as she sits next to his hospital bed. “You’re not flesh and bone as much as you are a story, a first chapter and a last and everything in between. In the end, Andy, your story is all you have. And that’s why it needs to be told.”

I loved Paper Angels simply because it’s a well-crafted, page-turning read. But even more, I’m grateful for Andy Sommerville and Billy Coffey for reminding me that no detail in the story of my own life is too small to go unnoticed.

“He said that everything means something, no matter how small it is. The familiar is just the extraordinary that’s happened over and over.” – from Billy Coffey’s Paper Angels.

To read more of Billy Coffey's writing visit his blog, What I Learned Today. You can also follow him on Twitter and Facebook. And please consider buying Paper Angels for someone special on your Christmas list this year. This book would make a perfect gift (click here to purchase).

The Hear It, Use It Weekly Round-Up...and a Note of Gratitude

2011-12-15T03:00:00.000-06:00

As Christmas draws closer I am soaking in your warm words. Thank you for bringing me closer to God this week with your thoughts and beautiful posts.

Some picks for this week:

"If You Don't Want to Lack Everything" at Satisfied by Love -- I am grateful to Emily for reminding me during a difficult time for our family that it is still possible to rejoice in God. Perhaps because I am wandering a bit these days, these lines struck me in particular: "The Israelites are still wandering. Taken out of a familiar land to roam the wilderness and eat unfamiliar food. And yet God says they are to "rejoice in all the good that the Lord your God has given to you..."

"Ask Away" at Once Upon a Truth -- When Brenda wrote about realizing that she doesn't often pray for herself, I realized that I neglect to do the same thing. Yet as she points out: "God delights in my asking." Truthfully I never really thought of it quite that way. {I love the artwork in Brenda's header, too -- so cute!}

"Gifts for the King" at Beholding Glory -- Laura reflects on the fact that our generation is the first that will have less than our parents, and I echoed a resounding Amen! as she prayed this: "Oh that we would be a generation that had less because we gave." Wouldn't the world be an incredibly different place if that were really so?

"When Life and Christmas Collide" at Redemptions Beauty -- Shelly writes so honestly about real-life Christmas, she made me want to both smile and weep as I read this post. In the end, I was left remembering and rejoicing in the God who saves us from our own great big mess!

"The God Given Good Life" at Walnut Acre -- I appreciate that Rose points out that many of us tend to focus on God's laws and rules, his hard teachings and forget about all the life-enriching good. As a glass-half-empty girl, this is Good News for me! I also love how concise Rose's post is -- she gets right to the point and drives it home.

: :

As a side note to today's Round-Up post, I'd also like to thank you for the flood of comments, emails, prayers and encouragement following my cryptic mention of "bad news" in Monday's post.

My father-in-law, Jon, was diagnosed with lung cancer this week, and although we are deeply saddened that the prognosis is not a positive one, we are also heartened by the outpouring of love and support we've received in the last few days.

I've mentioned here before that I originally launched this blog as a means to build a platform to support a book I hoped to publish. What I didn't know at the time was that this place, YOU, would become a real community and a lifeline for me, breathing the love and comfort of the Holy Spirit right into my heart just when I needed it most. I cannot begin to thank you enough for that. Please simply know that my family and I are deeply appreciative and grateful for your prayers, love, encouragement and support during this difficult time.

::
Will you come back here tomorrow for a giveaway? I'm delighted to be able to offer one of my favorite reads this year!

Wrapping My Heart around Christmas

2011-12-14T05:00:00.000-06:00

Over the years my family has carved out a number of holiday traditions, from baking mini pumpkin chocolate-chip loaves for the kids’ teachers to belting Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer ad nauseum. By far, though, my favorite tradition is wrapping gifts for City Impact.

Each year in December, City Impact organizes what’s called the Gifts of Love Store in the basement of First Baptist Church in downtown Lincoln. They collect hundreds of donated items, dramatically mark down the retail price, and then open the store to allow low-income families to shop for the holidays. My husband, two boys and I volunteer one night every December to help the kids wrap the gifts they’ve chosen for their parents, grandparents and siblings.

We roll up our sleeves, lay out scissors, paper, ribbon, bows, gift bags and tags at each wrapping station, and not long after, they start to come.

...I'm delighted to be writing about one of my family's holiday traditions over at Chelsey's place, as part of her 25 Days of Christmas Traditions series. Will you click over to read about our wrapping adventure?

And while you're here, tell me: what's your favorite holiday tradition? [oh, and be sure to come back here Friday for a giveaway!]