Pollywog Creek

To know it's summer...

2013-05-23T04:00:00.000-04:00

When morning light rises on the horizon north of the misty river...

and black-eyed susans raise their faces to the sun

and 'skeeters in the wet grass nibble at our ankles while lacey-winged dragonflies cling to twigs and branches and along the barb-wire fence and skip across the pond in search of a meal... ...you know it's summer.
As soon as they come out in leaf,
you see for yourselves
and know that the summer is already near.
Luke 21.30

What about you? How do you know it's summer where you live?

By this all people will know...

2013-05-21T08:53:00.000-04:00

I use every resource at my disposal to identify this heron whose image I captured this weekend as he waded in and out of the water and snatched a blue-tipped damsel fly out of the air.

Every bird identification tool I use confirms he's a tricolored heron - from the white plume on his head to his overall contrasting plumage, but that yellow on his chest and abdomen throws me. Every resource I've referenced indicates that plumage should be white, not yellow, yet, he's clearly a tricolored heron.

Years ago, we entered a church where we were warmly greeted by a gentleman wearing a kilt and whose graying hair was fashioned into two long braids that hung down to his waist. It was an introduction to a church and worship service that was foreign to us in many ways.

We recognized elements in this church that were clearly Christian - from the pastor's bible-based message to the music and order of worship, but other characteristics, though not contrary to Scripture, were simply outside our experiences and the Christian worship service mold we knew.

There are a multitude of differences in the ways we, as those who call ourselves Christians, look and work and live and worship that are outside our individual experiences.

I pray that my distinctions still point clearly to a life in Christ and the truths of Scripture as I endeavor to hold onto the very words of Jesus in my relationships with others.

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

John 13:34-35

I {LOVE} Sunday::to know God's all sufficiency...

2013-05-19T06:56:00.001-04:00

And God is able to make all grace abound to you,
so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times,
you may abound in every good work.
2 Corinthians 9:8

No matter what...

2013-05-18T07:42:00.000-04:00

It's not quite 7:00 when I stop at the top of the bridge long enough to capture the sun rising over the misty river.

It's not the first time I've done that - foot on the brake, grab the camera and shoot. Five seconds, tops.

My friend insists that there are signs forbidding it - stopping on the bridge, but I've yet to see one. Fishing and swimming? Clearly prohibited, but not one word about stopping, and so far, I've escaped the bridge tender's attention.

* * *

I crossed the bridge and headed west for a full day of appointments in the city. I'm still recovering. A normal day of activity for most people can feel like a marathon for me. There were moments in the day when I wasn't sure I could take one more step.

By my last stop of the day in the late afternoon, when the radiology tech called me out of the waiting room for a thyroid ultrasound and dexa scan, I'd already had x-rays of my knees, seen an orthopedic surgeon and his excellent nurse practitioner Lizzie (who gives the best knee injections and is overall awesome), spent the rest of the morning at church working on the soon-to-be-released church blog, and shopped for clothes and birthday gifts. I was grateful to lie down on the exam table, get off my feet and close my eyes during the tests.

***

With appointments with my rheumatologist, another knee injection from Lizzie, and the removal of a cyst at the plastic surgeon's office on the calender, next week's schedule appears equally daunting - and, technically, I'll be a whole year older.

I won't tell you how old I was when I woke up this morning, but let you figure it out. Born smack dab in the middle of the last century, on May 18, 1950 and having lived through the turn of the century makes it easy - 50 + the year it is. The older I get, the harder it is to remember or care how old I am and the more I appreciate easy math problems.

God has been good to me these 50 + 13 years, and I know He always will be. Ann Voskamp's God is Always Good and You are Always Loved is written on my blackboard this week as a reminder, and the book Robbi and I have been working on - No Matter What It's a Good Day When - is in the hands of a publisher.

I woke up to fresh coffee and a lovely gift from Louis. A beautiful bouquet of white and dark pink peonies from Emily is on the counter and my daughter-in-love Kristin is cooking dinner for me tonight. The day has just begun and it's already very good.

For the Lord is good;
his steadfast love endures forever,
and his faithfulness to all generations.
Psalm 100.5

Lions and snakes - they're all the same...

2013-05-15T08:00:00.001-04:00

Come later this summer, the delicate pale pink blooms of the beautyberry will develop into tight clusters of glossy, iridescent purple berries that give this native beauty its name.

Beautyberry grows wild in the moist thickets along Pollywog Creek - often entangled in grapevines and hidden by rusty lyonia and the heart-shaped leaves of potato vines - except for this one we transplanted to the backyard along the chain-link fence where it doesn't compete for space and nutrients, and we can more fully appreciate its colorful beauty long after spring and the azaleas have stopped blooming.

Delightfully cool mornings have drawn me and my work out to the backyard swing this week - where I can not only enjoy the beautyberry, but the cardinal family that still visits the feeders and a fox squirrel who's been sneaking in to raid those same feeders.

One morning I was comfortable on the swing - with my laptop, basket of cameras, and a fresh cup of coffee - and focused on an assignment when a long black snake slithered right past my feet and raced into the azaleas. I nearly had a heart attack.

Darn snakes - they've been ruining our day from the very beginning.

It was suggested that I put my feet up on the swing, but there was no room, so I concluded I'd just have to remain on alert - and there's a lesson in that, I'm sure.

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

I Peter 5.8

Snakes. Lions. They're pretty much all the same.

I have a choice...

2013-05-14T08:40:00.000-04:00

Every day I have a choice – to choose despair or delight, grumbling or gratitude, pugnaciousness or peace – despite my circumstances.

I'm at Bible Dude this morning...won't you come on over and tell me what you think?

I'd like to know - when has affliction been grace for you?

What I already know...

2013-05-10T20:55:00.000-04:00

I'm greeted by a delightfully cool morning breeze and a chorus of chirps as I slide open the doors to the back porch.

A small grey squirrel munches on feed that's spilled out of the bird feeder and onto the ground, and an adult male cardinal and his brood of fledglings have arrived for breakfast.

As far as I can tell, there are 4 little ones - two on the branches of the scrub oak that shades the dog pen, one on the chain-link fence, and another one in the sweetgum tree over the feeders.

I've always been captivated by the beautiful crimson plumage of the male cardinal and the attention he gives to his mistress - how he tenderly feeds, watches over, chases after, and calls out to his less attractive bride. I've told my grandsons that it's a glimpse of how God expects a man to provide and care for the woman he marries - just like their daddy does for their mommy - and how God wants them to one day love and care for the woman they will one day marry. It's a bit over their little heads, but maybe if I keep telling them, they'll remember when it counts.

This morning, the female cardinal is nowhere to be found and the male gives the fruit of their breeding and nesting his full attention.

Despite their ability to leave the nest, it's obvious the fledglings expect their father to feed them. He calls out to them with sharp, staccato tweets as he carries seed from the feeder to the fence, back to the feeder, to one of the trees, and back to the feeder again and again and again - while the fledglings open their beaks and beg with constant chirps and ruffled feathers until he feeds them.

When Jesus taught His disciples about the Kingdom of God, he often used what they already knew in nature - storms and fig trees, wheat and fish, and sparrows and flowers.

And He teaches me that way, too.

So when I watch the male cardinal's faithful attention to his feathered bride and brood of fledglings, I'm reminded of what I already know - that the LORD loves, feeds, watches, chases after, calls to and cares for me.

Where life is a bowl of gardenias...

2013-05-07T04:00:00.000-04:00

Pollywog Creek flourishes green from recent early summer rains, and as I rest on the banks of the pond this sabbath afternoon, I soak in the goodness of the day.

I do love Sundays - from waking to the aroma of fresh coffee and Louis frying bacon for the Sunday morning pancake breakfast he's faithfully prepared for over thirty years, to the lazy late afternoon and everything in between.

Monday morning I breathe in the intoxicating sweetness of gardenias I've arranged in the etched glass bowl on the counter next to the jar of roses. Could there be anything better than gardenias that says, I live in the south?

From just south of the Georgia state line to our handful of acres here on Pollywog Creek - all the days of my life have passed on Florida's sandy-soil where living is seldom in a hurry.

Come summer you'll understand why life in the south moves slow and easy, my husband is fond of informing newcomers and snowbirds.

I might complain about those slow summer days of stifling heat and oppressive humidity, but I'm grateful that the LORD chose to plant my feet in this southern soil - where no, ma'am and yes,sir are signs of respect, sweet ice tea is a major food group, and a bowl of fresh gardenias graces the table.

Have you ever smelled a gardenia?

A morning prayer...

2013-05-04T04:00:00.000-04:00

Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love,
for I have put my trust in You.
Show me the way I should go,
for to You I entrust my life.
Psalms 143:8

The look you've always wanted...

2013-05-03T05:00:00.000-04:00

I'm back in the plastic surgeon's office, fumble with my phone and post this status on my facebook page:

I always feel like a country bumpkin when I have an appointment with my plastic surgeon in her up-scale office.

My wise friend Dawn challenges my faulty perspective by immediately responding:

Is she the daughter of the King of the Universe?!

Touché, Dawn. I needed that.

All the while I'm working on an article about being comfortable in our own skin.

Oh, the irony and humility of it all.

I'm here for the same reason I saw the plastic surgeon the last time - well over a year ago, she tells me as she examines this new cyst on my cheek.

It's probably obvious, but I'm not inclined to be overly concerned with my appearance - not since I was a teenager. My make-up routine takes less than a minute - a little powder, a wee bit of color brushed across my cheeks, a light coat of lipstick and I call it done. I'm here because I trust the removal of these cysts on my face to a surgeon with the skills to minimize scarring, but I can't help but wonder if she looks at me and thinks that I could use more of her skills - under my chin, around my eyes...

I wrote about my first experience in this plastic surgeon's office and the same awkward out-of-my-comfort-zone feelings I still fight, but I also wrote about my irritation with the artificial beauty standards our culture promotes that contribute to our beliefs that we aren't beautiful enough without the help of plastic surgery. This seems like a good opportunity to post it again.

* * *

The waiting room resembles an upscale department store more than it does a doctor's office. Make-up and skin care products line display case shelves and the furniture is upholstered and elegant. I feel terribly under-dressed and out of place in my blue jeans, gray hair, and wrinkles.

It's my first experience with a plastic surgeon and an eye-opening one at that. My other doctors have pamphlets on cholesterol and diabetes and high blood pressure in their examination rooms - not liposuction, tummy tucks, and face lifts.

On the wall near the check-out desk I see a poster for Care Credit. Now you can have the look you've always wanted, the poster promises - in just 6 monthly payments.

There are a variety of needs for plastic surgery, of course. Needs that benefit from a plastic surgeon's skills in minimizing scaring and restoration and reconstruction after burns, facial injuries and mastectomies, for example.

But the look you've always wanted?

I like my doctor. She's kind and compassionate and does nothing to make me and my wrinkles and untucked tummy feel out of place in her office, but I'm irritated at a specialty that appears to exploit the need we have to feel beautiful and the temptation they dangle before us to borrow money in the hopes of achieving the look we've always wanted.

I'm sad for my girlfriends who've believed the lies that the physical adornments and features a fashion and entertainment industry promotes are the standard for beauty, and the lengths they will go to achieve those false and artificial standards.

In the book of Isaiah, God's people are encouraged with the prophecy that the desolation of Jerusalem will one day be restored with the coming Messiah, and they are reminded of the source of all beauty...

You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the LORD, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God.

Isaiah 62:3 (emphasis mine)

It is not in the skilled hands of a plastic surgeon that you and I are made beautiful, but in the tender loving hands of an all powerful God Who makes "a crown of beauty" for ashes and in Whose image we have been created perfectly new.

The most beautiful girls I know are girlfriends, like you, who shine radiant in the light of Christ.

* * *

In the hand of the LORD was originally published here.

What I learn from the ugly duckling...

2013-05-02T05:00:00.000-04:00

In my wanderings about lately, I've given up pushing past momentary difficulties - choosing instead to simply sit on the ground and rest where ever I happen to be when the energy and effort to take one more step escapes me.

I've come to appreciate this ground-level perspective - especially when surrounded by wildflowers in the thick pasture grass or near the cypress knees at the sloping edges of our Pollywog Creek pond. It's where you're most likely to find me these days - in the cool of morning and late afternoon.

A small badelynge of muscovy ducks spends most of every day in and around the pond. I've never see them flying in with enough time to grab a camera and focus, so capturing these large and heavy ducks' big-splash landings has thus far eluded me.

With a reputation for being a messy nuisance and a red-warty face that only a mother duck could love, there's no denying that the muscovy lacks the painted bunting's photogenic appeal.

Even so, I'm entertained by their antics as they float around the pond, waddle about on their large webbed feet, and rest and preen in the shade of the cypress trees, but their appetite for the mosquitoes and lavae that multiply in legions in our tropical south is what I appreciate the most.

But here's what I've noticed about these ugly ducklings - when sunlight falls on their backs they are beautiful - their feathers shining iridescent green and purple - and I forget about their mess and red-warty faces.

And I think about the ugly sin and mess in our lives that is hidden by who we are in Christ as the light of the gospel shines on you and me.

The Lord is God,
and he has made his light to shine upon us.

Psalm 118.27

I recently updated my Free For Bloggers Set on Flickr with new photos. No strings attached - you can link them to me, or not. Those photos are my gift to you.

Christian hands never clasp and He doesn't give gifts for gain...a gift can never stop being a gift - it is always meant to be given.

― Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts

{Photos - around my Pollywog Creek pond}

As beloved children...

2013-04-27T17:02:00.000-04:00

Therefore be imitators of God,
as beloved children.
And walk in love,
as Christ loved us
and gave himself up for us,
a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.
Ephesians 5.1-2

It's what I love...

2013-04-24T10:30:00.001-04:00

I'm hard-pressed to call much of anything I do "work" - not since my nursing career days, when I could deposit a nice paycheck in the bank every other week.

Don't misunderstand me - women {and men, for that matter} who don't work outside the home work hard. Very hard - often without the satisfaction that comes from a job well-done, because the work never ends, and seldom receive much honor or respect from those who think that a paycheck is what validates our work.

It's just that I love what I do.

I loved staying home with my children. I loved the pace and challenge of homeschooling and the opportunity to learn what I failed to learn when I was a student. Those years at home with my children full-time are a memory I treasure and hold close.

I loved caring for my bedridden mother - washing the feet of the saint who I loved more than any other woman and who did so much more for me than I could ever do for her. I loved washing her face, giving her a bath, rubbing lotion into her back and feet, brushing her hair, getting her dressed, changing her diapers, holding her hand - it was hard work, but I loved my mother and counted the opportunity to care for her in our home a gift.

I have loved being available to help {play with} my children by caring for my grandchildren, as well as the years I was healthy enough to help an elderly friend with bathing and minor chores once a week.

I love writing, whether I'm paid for it or not. So much so, that I keep forgetting to submit an invoice for my monthly ghost-writing gig. And no. We are not wealthy - far from it - more like lower middle-class. I've never had a housekeeper, a massage {though I was once given a certificate for one - thank you Nick and Kristin}, or had my nails done, but I love our small and modest home - a hodge-podge of hand-me-downs and thrifty finds - and because my beloved husband has been a faithful and wise manager of our income, it's a home we own outright.

I love photography and the challenge to improve my skills, and I love being able to share my photographs freely with others. As Ann Voskamp says, a gift is always a gift and never stops giving.

I love having the time to read good books and to dig deep into the study of God's Word. It's one of the greatest benefits of being a stay-at-home-mom {and mimi}. Even during the years that little ones were at our feet, my friend Barbara and I would meet weekly to pray and study while our children played around us. We'd stop momentarily to change a diaper or settle a squabble, and we even stopped once to take Nick to the ER for stitches, when he fell on a shard of glass in the empty lot next door where the older boys were playing. But we never stopped meeting - to encourage and spur each other on to the love and good deeds to which we have been called.

I love being available now to live out the call to be a Titus 2 woman in even small ways. With a few other women my age, I'm available to lead a group of young mothers in study while their children play around us - sometimes interrupting us with their needs. What a gift these women and their children are to me.

I love the Body of Christ everywhere and leading lifegroups with my husband in our church - as we crack open our own broken redeemed lives that we might comfort others with the comfort with which we have been comforted, and guide them in opening up the Word in fellowship and communion - that we might all grow more to love and live like Jesus.

I love the Lord, because he has heard
my voice and my pleas for mercy.
Because he inclined his ear to me,
therefore I will call on him as long as I live.
Gracious is the Lord, and righteous;
our God is merciful.
Psalm 116.1-2, 5

In the good and the bad - we're bound together {book review}...

2013-04-22T11:46:00.001-04:00

The principle of the rope is what underlies the good news of the gospel, namely, that if we are roped to Christ, we are so bound to him that nothing -- not even the rope that ties us to Adam -- can ever separate us from his love.

~ Chris Brauns Bound Together

When I began blogging years ago, I enthusiastically embraced the opportunities to read (free) books in exchange for an honest review, but after receiving and reading several non-fiction books for which writing a positive review would have been dishonest, I concluded that these opportunities were not for me.

I'm not a professional reviewer. If I was going to read and publicly review a book, I wanted it to be an opportunity to encourage, not embarrass, the author and to inspire others to read a book that would be worth their time, money and effort. So for the most part, I began choosing these opportunities with greater discretion by limiting them to those authors with which I was already familiar and would likely be able to recommend to my Pollywog Creek readers.

Such is the case with Chris Brauns' newest release, Bound Together - How We Are Tied To Others in Good and Bad Choices. I began reading his blog and getting to know him and his lovely wife Jamie before his first book Unpacking Forgiveness: Biblical Answers for Complex Questions and Deep Wounds was published in 2008 - a book I still reflect on and share with others. I was delighted to find his same easy-to-read and engaging style and winsome approach to rich gospel-centered and thought-provoking content in Bound Together.

One of Chris' strengths is in storytelling, and that is how he begins chapter 1 - telling us a story from his childhood that most of us can relate to - a story of alcohol abuse that seems be a characteristic that's manifested in certain families. Chris continues to flesh out other examples in scripture and throughout history that illustrate what he calls "the principle of the rope" - "a picture of the invisible connections that exist between human beings" that bind us together for good and for bad.

Despite our claims to be independent of the actions of others, the truth is that from the very beginning of humanity (for example, The Flood), we have suffered from the consequences of the bad and evil decisions and actions of others. The proof can be seen clearly in the events of last week, which brings us to the stumbling block that all of us have encountered and Chris addresses: "how often innocent people, particularly young children, suffered because of the decisions made by someone else."

The first few chapters are not comfortable reading as Chris explains how we are tied to the bad in being "roped to Adam" as he unpacks the Original Sin, and that "the problem we face as Adam's descendants is not that we are sinners because we sin; rather, we sin because we are sinners." But before we become discouraged, Chris points to our hope and devotes a chapter to "The Rope That is Stronger."

When confronted with the reality of evil, the death of innocent children and suffering that we cannot explain or even comprehend, the most important thing we can do in response is fly as quickly as possible to the good news of our union with Christ.

~ Chris Brauns, Bound Together

The remaining chapters are devoted to the practical application of "The Principle of the Rope" for joy, in our marriage, for hurting families, for those facing death, and in our country and culture - with an emphasis on biblical community.

I give Bound Together 5 stars. Like Unpacking Forgiveness, I'll refer to it often and highly recommend it to others.

I was provided with a complementary copy of Bound Together by Zondervan and Cross Focused Reviews in exchange for my honest review. The painted bunting - at least for now - lives on Pollywog Creek.

Whatever is lovely...

2013-04-20T05:30:00.000-04:00

Finally, brothers {and sisters} whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

Philippians 4:8, ESV

When beauty seems like a slap in the face...

2013-04-19T04:00:00.000-04:00

How sunlight pierced the cloudless cerulean sky and mockingbirds serenaded from sweetgum trees bursting with new growth and wildflowers danced in the breeze on carpets of green while butterflies drank in the bloom's sweet nectar.

I remember like it was yesterday - that afternoon in April twelve years ago today that was my momma's time to die.

The beauty of spring - it seemed like a slap in the face.

I stood outside the room, where I'd bathed and washed and fed my beautiful momma the last year and a half of her life, as morticians moved her lifeless body onto their cold steel gurney - and I was mad.

Mad that on that day in April, the sun would dare to shine and grass grow thick and green and birds would serenade praise from the top of flourishing trees and butterflies could drink in the goodness of blooms dancing wild and free and alive.

So in the middle of this week in April, I sit in the pasture chasing butterflies through the lens of my camera and imagine how maddening my delight would be for those whose lives have exploded by the unspeakable, and how could I dare to share life that goes on and frame beauty around me in pictures.

The truth is that every day - not just the days evil plants bombs and blasts level communities - someone grieves a life that has blown up and been ripped apart by the sins and injustices of this fallen world.

Maybe that's one of the reasons we are given artistic gifts - why I'm compelled to push pain and grief for the losses of others aside that I might sit with a camera and soak in and capture glimpses of the goodness of God in a broken and hurting world - to be reminded that a time for singing is coming, and our Redeemer, who endured the most cruel injustice of all, lives and comforts and heals and saves and makes everything beautiful in its time.

See the angels?

2013-04-15T06:04:00.000-04:00

We lose our ability to see angels as we grow older, and that is a tragic loss.

~ Madeleine L'Engle, Walking on Water, p.10

Can a sixty-something wannabe psalmist with a camera be an artist? I consider the question often - my nose buried in a growing stack of books for artistic encouragement and enlightenment.

Most kindergartners have drawing and painting skills more advanced than mine, my family begs me not to sing, and though I once dreamed of being a concert pianist, I never possessed the skills to play beyond my living room.

Yet, there's something about how I see through the lens of a camera that captures wonder and frames beauty - or so I'm told, even if my adult children do roll their eyes. So I keep asking the question - looking for answers, for light in the words of honest-to-goodness artists, like Madeleine L'Engle and Makoto Fujimura.

That's when I read L'Engle's quote about angels. She's right, I think - or so my experiences tell me. Experiences like the one that begins with these excerpts from a *short story I wrote two years ago:

We found Daddy asleep, slumped to one side of his wheelchair in the hall outside his room. He was a mess. In desperate need of a haircut and shave, his rumpled clothes hung loosely on his tall, bony frame. Both arms were covered with bruises and a bandage was wrapped around his right forearm. He’d bitten into one of his medications and the reddish-brown remains mixed with drool ran down the creases of his chin.

Waking him gently, I wheeled him back to his room, washed his face and showed him the bag of Christmas decorations we brought to decorate his side of the room. I removed the decorations from the bag and placed them on Daddy’s bed. His bed, a bedside table, a small closet of drab, baggy clothes, and his wheelchair were all he had to show for the years he had worked—long past retirement age—to provide for his family.

I’d never known Daddy to be anything but gentle except for the time he punched mother’s roommate when she wouldn’t let him through the door to see his wife. It was totally out of character for him to destroy the Christmas tree I put it on the table next to him.

“Daddy! Why did you do that?” I cried, prying his fingers off the now ruined centerpiece, but he only groaned and stared over my shoulder.

I called for the nurses. Though they didn’t want to, I convinced them to put Daddy back in bed. “Maybe he just needs to rest,” I told them as they removed his shoes and tucked the covers around his frail, lanky frame.

* * *

It was the worst Christmas ever. Without waking up again, Daddy died two days after we left him that day, and mother forgot how to brush her teeth.

Daddy was admitted to the hospital the night after I left him to rest. I was by his side, with my nephew Michael, as he took his last breath. When Michael told the rest of the family in the waiting room, his 4 year old daughter asked, "Did you see the angels?"

Mason and Gavin were only 3 years old the day I took this photo while they played outside. All week, Gavin talked about seeing angels. Lots of them. Everywhere. And he was serious. "See the angels?" he asked Mason, pointing up into the cloudless blue sky. "They are all over!"

I'm pretty sure I've seen angel wings in some of the photos I've downloaded from my camera.

Maybe I am an artist - and one who's not so old after all.

{*The Worst Christmas Ever was published in the anthology Show Off, compiled and edited by Joe Bunting, writer and creator of the award-winning The Write Practice.}

For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.

Psalm 91.11

For they shall see...

2013-04-13T10:50:00.000-04:00

“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God."

Matthew 5:7-9, ESV

To be useful in affliction...

2013-04-12T08:56:00.004-04:00

The chronic pain of RAD, with it's unpredictable tidal waves of intensity, has opened my eyes to the deceptive power of addiction - and for that I am grateful. It's all too easy to condemn what I do not understand or cannot see.

God has graced me with a cheerful disposition; I was shocked when my doctor once asked if I was depressed. Chronic pain does that to you, you know, she added, and I had to admit that she was right. Not that I was clinically or chronically depressed, but that there have been moments when unrelenting pain wears down my resolve and dark clouds circle overhead. I begin adding up the lifestyle changes I've been forced to accept, the ways my disability has affected my relationships with those I love, and a way out begins to look attractive. Consequences are overshadowed by the promise of relief. Only the sovereign grace of God, the will to persevere, to lean into Christ and push through pain, keeps me from falling into a trap where the grasp of addiction would be beyond my physical or emotional strength to escape.

So I throw no stones. No. Stones. I understand your pain. Take my hand and we'll hold onto Christ, for though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him—a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

I was grieved for my friend, a young mother and sister in Christ, when she messaged me last week to say she's been diagnosed with RAD, but she was relieved to know that someone understands what she is going through and encouraged that I will walk through this with her. To know that my suffering is useful - that though I'm not able to do what I've done in the past - there is a purpose that brings me joy.

I thought of this yesterday as I read Piper's No Blessing Like Health — With the Exception of Sickness. Piper identifies suffering as something that in God's sovereignty pastors must endure to be useful to their people, but I believe it's true for each of us - and to be useful in my affliction is grace. It brings joy and cheerfulness that strengthens my resolve and keeps those dark clouds away.

{Photos: this week from my swing under the sweetgum trees in my Pollywog Creek backyard}

All I have seen...

2013-04-09T07:10:00.001-04:00

I'm sharing brief thoughts and a few photos at Bible Dude this morning. Won't you come visit me there?

I {LOVE} Sunday::For how great is his goodness...

2013-04-07T04:30:00.000-04:00

On that day the Lord their God will save them,
as the flock of his people;
for like the jewels of a crown
they shall shine on his land.
For how great is his goodness,
and how great his beauty!

Zechariah 9.16,17

In every condition...

2013-04-04T05:00:00.000-04:00

Christian contentment is that sweet, inward, quiet, gracious frame of spirit, which freely submits to and delights in God's wise and fatherly disposal in every condition.

Jeremiah Burroughs

It's only a hundred feet or so to the pasture, but the air weighs heavy like a wet blanket and the distance feels like miles.

I will myself to put one swollen foot in front of the other, and when I reach the back of the pasture near the fence parallel to the creek, I sit right down in the grass. It would be just as easy to climb a mountain as it would be to return to the house for a towel. The wet soaks right through to my skin.

I wonder how long I sit here before neighbors worry that I've fallen, but it's far more likely that no one will even notice, and I laugh at myself - a grown woman still in her pajamas sitting outside on the dew-soaked ground like a child without a care.

It's not in my nature to have wandered out here these days, and I question my reasoning and sanity. No backyard swing, sweetgum trees or painted buntings. Not even the small patches of wildflowers along the fence to the east entice me to move. I'm left sitting in the shadows cast by the long-needle pines towering above, and for some strange reason, it's more than enough.

It's your Father's good pleasure...

2013-04-01T07:55:00.000-04:00

I tell it often, this story. Here, at retreats, in small groups and bible studies. Forgive me if you've heard it before. It's quite possible that I'm the one who needs to hear it again - this day after Easter when it was our Father's good pleasure to give us the Kingdom.

Several years ago, Emily and I interviewed Rebecca St. James for publication. It was a unique and perfectly delightful experience. Rebecca's publicist provided books and posters and music, well in advance of the interview, and though we were familiar with Rebecca and her music, we did our research anyway - preparing ourselves to ask intelligent and relevant questions.

Our previous interviews with recording artists had been face to face - in the excitement and energy of a concert venue, but rather than fitting an interview into an already hectic performance night schedule, Rebecca conducted interviews by phone on a day she was traveling between concerts.

Waiting at home for her call was a little nerve-wracking, but Rebecca quickly put us at ease with comfortable and unhurried introductions. She patiently waited while we double checked our recording devices, prayed for all three of us before we began, and gave us her brother Joel's phone number so we could call him for concert passes to meet her and her family and take photos for the magazine.

Hours before the concert, Joel met us at the back door with our "all access" passes. He assumed we knew what we were doing and quickly excused himself to continue setting up the stage. We wanted to look and act professional, but we were "all-access" novices without a clue what we should do. We talked to people from the local Christian radio station we knew, watched the crews set up the stage and listened to sound-checks.

After a while, we joined the bands for supper and pre-concert devotions led by Rebecca’s dad. We mingled during the meet and greet that followed, where I was thrilled to meet Evie Tornquist, one of Rebecca's mentors in the recording arts industry.

Our tickets were for seats close to the stage, but a stage extension had eliminated several rows of seats, and by the time we left the pre-concert meet and greet, the only place left close enough to take photos was on the floor in front of the stage. It was one of the longest and most painful concerts my fifty-something body has ever endured.

Several days later, we realized our failure to understand and appreciate the access we’d been given. A friend who had worked the concert asked how we enjoyed the experience. When I told her how hard it was to sit for hours on the floor in front of the stage, she asked, “Why didn’t you go backstage to take photos?”

“We could do that?” I asked.

“You could go anywhere you wanted to with those all-access passes."

All-access meant just that. With the exception of the stage during the performances and the private dressing rooms, we'd been given permission to go anywhere we wanted to at any time.

And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit. And behold, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And the earth shook, and the rocks were split.

~ Matthew 27.50-51

At the moment of Christ's death on the cross, the curtain in the temple that had separated God’s people from His presence was torn from top to bottom, and an “all-access” pass to a relationship with the Father was written with the blood of Christ and offered to each of us.

Our "all access" passes to Rebecca's concert were inexpensive laminated cardstock clipped to a lanyard. When the evening with Rebecca was over, we returned them to Joel, and our access to Rebecca and the Smallbone family came to an end. The opportunity for interviews and photos was over. By the end of Rebecca's concert tour, those passes were useless.

But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.

~ Ephesians 2.13

But because of Christ Jesus, our "all access" pass to the Father is priceless - bought with the blood of Christ, it has been sealed by the Holy Spirit for all eternity without expiration. Our opportunity to an intimate relationship with the Father will never come to an end

Photos: Rebecca St.James and Emily at an event in Tampa, Emily with her all-access pass the night of the concert, and "all-access" passes I made for those who attended a retreat where I told this story a few years ago.

All the trees of the field shall clap their hands...

2013-03-31T09:01:00.000-04:00

For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace:
the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing,
and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
Isaiah 55.12 KJV

HE IS GOD! He cannot stay dead.
HE IS ALIVE.
The true Glory of God shines in the world.
The Light has won!
The Eternal Light!
The Bright Morning Star!
The Light of the World!
from Lenten Lights ~ Noel Piper

Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection, not in books alone,
but in every leaf in spring-time.
~ Martin Luther

The Lord is risen!
The Lord is risen, indeed!

Almost time to party...

2013-03-28T06:30:00.001-04:00

I need to clear up the confusion - there's been no disagreement with anyone that I'm aware of, although I must admit that I'm a bit of an airhead and might have had a disagreement that I've simply forgotten.

It's a trend not a person that's caused me grief, and there's more than enough fabulous, God-honoring, people-loving posting out there to make up for what lays heavy on my heart and drags me down.

So I'm picking up the work God has given me to do, along with my camera, of course, and I'm moving on. Those of you who have stuck with me this week are breathing a sigh of relief, I'm sure.

We're driving east this morning to snatch Mason, Austin and Wyatt - three grandlittles I haven't seen in much too long. We're bringing them home to stay with us until Saturday.

I'm grateful beyond words for my beautiful Emily {with 10 month old Tyler a couple of weeks ago} who has taken time off from work at the preschool to help me with the boys. But who am I kidding - she will do most of the work. I can manage one or two grands at a time by myself, and even three of them for short periods of time, but three at once for two whole days and nights, and one of them still a baby? I need help, and I'm more than blessed that it's Emily. Kristin, Tyler's mom, says Emily is our family's Nanny 911, and I think she's right. We're all in awe of her natural bent for entertaining and disciplining her neice and nephews.

I will be sad to take those energetic, funny and adorable boys home on Saturday, but the good news is that it will be almost time to party.