Resolution

·                    a measure of the amount of detail in an image

·                    the capability of an optical system to distinguish, find, or record details

·                    the level of information on a display device, such as a monitor

·                    the statement which is debated in policy debate

·                    the smallest change a sensor can detect in the quantity that it is measuring

·                    a written motion adopted by a deliberative body

·                    a measure of digital audio quality

·                    in western tonal music theory is the move of a note or chord from dissonance (an unstable sound) to a consonance (a more final or stable sounding one)

·                    a written motion adopted by a deliberative body (law)

·                    a commitment that an individual makes at New Year's Day

·                    a firm decision to do or not to do something

Definition of RESOLUTION

: the act or process of resolving: as

a: the act of analyzing a complex notion into simpler ones

b: the act of answering: solving

c: the act of determining

Isn’t it interesting how the common theme of resolution seems to be about all the things needed to bring about change? It takes thought, measurement, recording details, displaying information, debating, statements, detecting change, deliberating, measuring quality and even tone, and it involves determination and resolve. My favorite is the definition a: the act of analyzing a complex notion into simpler ones. This about sums it up for me. I am out to simplify my life this year. Out to let loose of the extraneous. To shake off the excess. To hold loosely to everything and let the wind take away all the rest from the branches. I am ready for change. Deliberate change. Ready for a resolve. Ready for SOLVING this whole problem of mine forever. And yes, I know it is not going to be by magic. But then again resolution is about measuring, recording, distinguishing, details, motion, debates, moving from an unstable sound to a more final or stable sounding tone. It will take a firm decision to do and not to do things. And here am I. On the brink of 45. I’ve come a long way from just a few years ago when my weight soared out of control as did the rest of my life. I was ready to give up. Ready to quit. Ready to find a way off of this planet not looking back one minute in regret of my leaving. I wanted to die. I felt horrible. I felt like I was a mess. I saw no other way out. Figured I could never change. I just gave up. Until… I went to a concert (newsboys) and watched a man (Peter Furler) just barely older than I am running all over the stage, singing, dancing, JUMPING, playing and singing his heart out for the crowd. And something in my head began to ask…. Why? Why can this man fly all over the stage and around the room as if he’s on strings and I can barely get up out of bed in the morning, crawl to the office, do my work and drag myself home again back into bed? I was YOUNGER than that fellow! What made him different from me? Why was I giving up? Why can he do that and I can’t? And it bugged the bother out of me. I had no answers. Well, ok, the biggest and most obvious answer was, I was FAT and HE was NOT. Ok, and obviously, he’d spent his time up and going and I had given up on things for the last ten years. But something woke up inside me during that concert. Something whispered into my ear, why not try? Why give up? Then and there I began to search for a way to change.

What a long and bumpy road it’s been for the last three years, but I’ve managed to finally lose THIRTY POUNDS this year alone, and I’ve KEPT it off. And it feels great. I feel good. No more feeling terrible all the time. No more crawling into bed when I get home. No more sitting down to watch hour after hour of TV and staring at the computer playing stupid games that only waste my time and keep me coming back for more. I got outside. I saw the green grass and the blue sky and the beautiful mesquite trees with feathery leaves blowing in the breeze. I watched the birds. I laughed at the squirrels. I danced with the dragonflies. I smiled at the roadrunners and ladybugs and bees buzzing around the bright yellow dandelions. I felt the wind on my face softly playing with my hair and I closed my eyes and breathed in LIFE all around me. I started walking. Not fast nor far by any means, but I walked deliberately. I walked for 15 minutes, then another 15. Then I began to walk at my lunchtime too. So much to see. So much to discover. Why had I stayed inside at my wretched desk for so long with all this to go outside and experience? I found life, and it was unfolding in front of me like a new story on the page every time I went outside. So amazing! Every creature became fascinating, from the little ants toiling away foraging for food, to the monarch butterflies migrating south, to the skittish little ground squirrels always playing hide-and-seek in the tall buffalo grass. How could I have stayed inside and missed all of this? I have no idea, but I’m never going back to where I was.

So… with the upcoming new year (the infamous 2012) I am making it my focus, my deliberation, my stable sound, my detailed, measured, finely imaged resolution to get my life back together and lose everything extraneous I don’t need. That means more than just the “body clutter” I’ve accumulated. It also means all the things I’ve held onto a long time, not really needing them, but not able to part with them, like clothes, shoes, books, papers, miscellaneous “stuff” and also habits, self-bashing, attitudes, unbelief, unhealthy thoughts and any other sort of clutter that is keeping me living in a giant dump of unneeded stuff in my life. Enough. Less is more. It’s time to let it all go and sort of declutter my world. I may start with my desk drawers… wow… It looks like I’ve had another person living in my desk. Time to clear it out and start over with a clean slate.

Time to LIVE!

Gifts of Love

I remember the Christmas when I was 8 or 9 years old... We had just moved to Abilene from another little town. Didn't know hardly anyone yet as we had moved after the school year started. I don't remember if we had a live tree that year... I think it was mom's poor little plastic and wooden artificial one... which looked sadly a lot like Charlie Brown's little project... sparse needles and a crooked trunk in the middle... Anyway, it didn't matter. To three sisters itching to decorate for Christmas with anything they could find, the tree was a source of fun and enjoyment as we laughed and strung lights, tinsel, popcorn, paper chains, handmade ornaments and bright red bows from hankies all over the 4 foot disaster. We smiled in triumph as the paper angel with glitter wings was placed atop our joyful project. Mom smiled and said it was wonderful.
We didn't have much money at all that year. I remember mom hoping we had enough to cover the rent and the bills. So we decided to give one another presents with what we had.
My oldest sister surprised me by making up my bed. I was never an organized bedmaker, nor a tidy space keeper on my half of the bedroom. So dear Pam made the bed and organized all my stuff finding a place for everything. I walked in and saw it and caught my breath. Ohhhhhhhh! Wow! Did you do this? Thank you! It looks great!
My younger sister set out making all of us a snack. We had a huge old pecan tree in the back yard, so she went out and gathered up a little sandbox bucket of pecans. I got the pecan cracker and helped her shell them and made sure they were all clean with no shells left. Amanda got a couple of apples from a basket of fruit somebody had given us and sliced them neatly into bite sized wedges. Then she arranged these on 4 plates so each person would have their own, and we enjoyed that snack more than any other before or since.
I made everyone necklaces out of beads and string. We laughed and wore our silly wild necklaces, snacking on pecans and apple slices, sitting on our beds and then sang Christmas songs around the homely tree feeling very much loved and thankful for times of sharing and caring.
Christmas was never so lovely as when we had so little and learned to share what we had and give something we could make with our hands.
And in all the Christmases since, no presents were ever as lovely nor meaningful than those we made from the little we had on hand and gave of ourselves to each other.
In all our years since my sisters have often talked of that one Christmas with fondest memories.
We shared something that day no money could ever match nor exceed.
Gifts of love.
May you give these this Chistmas.
And may you be returned these as well.
Love to you and yours.
Merry Christmas

Faith, Hope, Love and ...Peas?

I have a story to share with you.

Once upon a time, there lived a family of four. There had once been five, but one day the daddy wasn't with them anymore. The mother had to work long hours to support her three little girls. Sadly her job didn't pay very much. It was a struggle sometimes to pay the bills to keep their small house going.

They very often had little or no money at all.

But they were not poor.

They were rich in other things like faith and hope and most especially love.

They shared and cared and learned how to get by on not very much and how to help one another.

One day, the mother looked into her kitchen cabinets, and she found only one thing left inside.

It was a can of green peas.

Now, she knew that her little girls didn't really like peas very much... not much at all.

So she went into her room, closed the door and said a prayer.

She prayed, Lord, I know my girls don't like peas, but that is all we have right now. Please, help my girls to like peas today. And thank you for providing for us. I know you will always take care of us.

Then a wonderful thing happened.

Mother cooked the peas.

The three little girls came to the table.

Mom served up three bowls of peas and they all sat down together.

And the peas never tasted better than that one time.

Everyone ate them. Not one person didn't like them or said yuck.

And nobody went to bed hungry that night.

Then the very next day....

Somebody put a box full of food on the table inside of their house.

And after that, every so often, just when things would look their worst,

another box or bag of food or something else they really needed would keep showing up at just the right time.

Coupons, gift certificates, cash, clothes, food... whatever they needed, God provided over and over.

God used many different people to give them these things.

Friends, family, relatives, church people, complete strangers.

And the little family never went without what was needed.

A simple can of peas...

It means much more than what it looks like.

It is a symbol of faith, hope and love.

In thinking of that can of peas, I remember God will supply all of our needs (Philippians 4:19).
Have faith.

Have hope.

Be filled with love.

Let these bring you something beyond anything you've known before.

The next time you have peas, remember this story.

And remember the One who has promised to care for you.

Peas to you!

Christmas story

Christmas story

Beautiful song my friend arranged.

The Depths of Love

In the depths of His love is a powerful place to be.
We think of depth in terms of deepness of things like water, or a really deep sink hole, or maybe the vast depths of space beyond our little world.
And we seem to like to measure things a lot down here...
We measure mountains to determine the highest height of each one, and measure all those really deep places to find out just how deep they are after all.
We hold up our measuring sticks to keep track of our kids and their growing progress.
We mark the wall to show how tall they've grown over the years.
And we measure the growth of all things from plants and pets to our circle of friends and our incomes.
Then we measure ourselves against our friends and family and those we meet to make sure we're measuring up to them so we can fit in and be as normal and regular or as different and as extraordinary as possible...
That's a lot of measuring.
We seem to spend our whole lives holding up one after another means of measure to everything and everyone along the way.
But what about the real measure of our lives?
Only God can see and know the contents of our heart, no matter what our tape measure or our scales or our yard stick has to say.
He alone knows if we are measuring up.
And in the end, we shouldn't be trying so hard to measure ourselves up to anyone else except Him.
And there lies the real beauty of it all.
We cannot be perfect. We cannot ever reach it while we walk around on this earth filled with the dust of human kind wearing our earthen suits of clay....
And we know this deep down.
It frustrates us to no end sometimes. We're such a long way from being perfect creations.
Tempers flare, we lose sight of our goal, our joy is stolen away and we lose hope and begin to wonder, why does He even bother with me? I can never be perfect.
Ah, but the answer is just beyond that conclusion.
In our imperfect state, we accept Him as the only answer to our lowly position here.
In our sin, we ask Him to complete us.
In our separation from the Father, Jesus becomes that missing piece (or peace) that makes us whole.
Only in Him are we made perfect.
And in that measure, we have nothing to fear.
We know in Jesus, we can finally measure up.
No more struggling to keep up with the Joneses next door and struggle to make ourselves meet their income, their social stature, or their level of fitness, or their social acceptance...
We have ultimate acceptance in His eyes.
What else counts?
Nothing.
It is the one true measure of all eternity.
And in those depths of grace and mercy, we find His love is deeper than anything we can ever comprehend.
What does infinite mean?
God's love is the definition of infinite.
How can one put a limitation on infinity?
How can there be an end to something that is fathomless?
How can something that is bottomless be filled?
How can we put His love into a box and say to anyone, there is no love in God's heart for you...
when it is not true?
How deep and wide it runs.
It encompasses us on every side.
It is a mighty flood that has escaped out of its shore and is surging beyond every border in pursuit of those who have not yet known His love.
It is a fire that fully consumes anything in its path.
It is so large, it can hold all our universe in the palm of one hand, lift it up to the face of love and smile.
And it is so infinite and intimate His love can hear the smallest whisper of our hearts breathed in a prayer in the middle of the night just before sleep sets in
He knows our deepest secrets, our hidden thoughts, our most disguised painful memories...
every tear drop we've cried he has seen, heard and felt.
In our deepest hidden place where we crawl into and shut out the world behind us... even there He is.
He is closer to each of us than the very air we breathe...
He's more a part of us than our own skin.
He is more intimate to me than my very own thoughts inside my head.
He is more life to me than the pounding of my own heartbeat.
How can I measure this?
There is no measure.
It is without end. Measureless. Fathomless.
Deeper than anything I can begin to comprehend.
In His depths is a very powerful place to be indeed.
I am held more secure there than I know.
And He isn't letting go of me... His love is forever.
No matter what.

Finding Freedom

Aha.
So that is what imprisons you...
what holds you inside
caged within
unable to escape
unable to move on
held in place by these hard places of the heart
Hard places.
Prison cells.
A place we cannot move beyond.
Not until we are able to unlock these bonds that bind us
and it is in our hands
if only we can realize the key we hold
too stubborn
unwilling to let go of these old hurts
we hang onto them as though they're golden handcuffs
bracelets of beauty
wear them with pride
... or maybe
they're all too familiar to let them go.
Like a wedding ring.
Once it has been in place a while, taking it off leaves the finger feeling naked.
Exposed.
Unprotected.
Is this protection then?
These shackles of unforgiveness?
We harden our hearts a little more
wear our bonds, like armor on our sleeves
fettered feet and hands
until at long last
we're no longer longing to be free
but content to sit in place, restrained,
confined
manacled to the walls
we are in place, not moving about
we feel safe here.
Here, nobody can hurt us.
No one can find us
we hole ourselves up inside our little burrow in the wall
akin to the other cell mates, we relate our bitterness
clattering our chains
counting each link in remembrance of pain
and lament the way we were before our freedom escaped us
If only they hadn't done this or that.
If only, if only.
And yet the keys dangle from our hands
and we see them not
blind
ignorant
unable to move beyond the past and into the future.
I listen to the birds outside my cell window
beyond these bars, they sing.
they fly.
they haven't a care in the world
no grudges to hold
no bitterness to bear
FREE.
I pause and listen to their song

use the key
to be free
you will fly
just like me

find the key
at your wrist
give the lock
one more twist

golden key
hanging there
free yourself
lose your care

thank the one
made the key
he has freed
you and me

let it go
just forgive
do it now
and you'll live

prison doors
won't hold fast
letting go
of the past

keep it not
set it free
your release
you will see

beyond the bars
freedom lingers
try the key
at your fingers



Forgiveness?
Forgiveness...
It was never mine to keep anyway.
Never mine to try and hoard
or keep locked up away from anyone.
Not even those who have hurt me most
It's not mine to say who it belongs to.
It belonged to Him first.

And the really sad and tragic thing here...
is that many who have hurt so much
don't even know they've done it
No idea.
Free conscience.
Not a clue they've done anything wrong at all.
And here I've sat
angry
hurting
brooding
unable to get past the hurt
while they glided along day to day
blissfully unaware
laughing
carrying on
not a care in the world

Who, then, has been hurt by my unforgiveness?
Them?
No.
Me.


I sigh.
Sit on the ground.
Take the key in hand.
Place it in the lock.
Give it a turn.

A turning in my mind.
A turning over of my heart.
A deliberate turning off of my emotional attachment.
The turning over of my own control of this situation to the Eternal Judge.
Out of my own hands, into His.
And with a turn and a click, the heavy metal pieces fall to the floor.
Clanging loudly against the concrete floor.
Heads turn at the sound.
Eyes stare in wonder.

"What are you doing?"
"Leaving."
"How?"
"I've unlocked these things. Use that little key. Just forgive them."
"What?! I can't. It's impossible. You don't know what they've done to me."
"No, I don't know what they did to you. But, do you want out of here?"
"Well, yeah. Of course I do."
"Then let it go. I mean really, really... let it go. You've got to get past that to find the key."
"You're crazy. You are just crazy. It won't work. I'll just be miserable, and they'll get away with it."
"No, you won't. You won't be miserable anymore. And they won't get away with it. Not if you let it go."
"What? How is my forgiving them going to fix things?"
"Because then whatever they've done can't hurt you anymore."
"It still hurts. It hurts me right now."
"Yeah, I know. But it won't get better sitting in here. This place never helps anyone. People come here to die."
"I...uh... I don't want to die here."
"Trust me then. Let go."
"I just can't."
"Look. Look where you are. Inside this cell. This prison. This open sewer. It stinks. It's miserable. Covered with slime and filth. It's not nice in here. You're in hell in this cesspool. Don't you want to get out? Don't you want to walk out of these doors? To be outside again? Wouldn't you like to breathe in some air that didn't smell like a urinal? To feel the wind blowing on your face? To walk in the grass and under the trees and look up into the wide open sky, just staring forever at the clouds and the birds and the sun? And when is the last time you looked at the stars? I mean more than outside that pitiful little crevice they call a window? Don't you want to LIVE? Don't you want to be FREE?!!"
Tears fall. Shoulders shake with silent sobbing anguish.
Desperation and shame trickle down soiled faces.
"Yes. We want to live. We want to be free."
"Then stop being unforgiving. Open up your heart. Let it go."
"But we don't know how. This is all we know. It's all we've got. We don't have anything else to hold on to."
I smile.
"Come to the window. Listen to the birds. Can you hear the words they're singing?"
We stand for a long time.
Listening to the birds and their song.
Then, one at a time, each face lights up.
Each one looks down at their hands and can see the key hanging there.
Surprised, they glance at me, holding the golden key in hand.
I smile. Go ahead.
Turning of the locks. Clanking of the chains.
The prison is noisy with the clattering of metal on concrete.
We stand a moment, rubbing our wrists and ankles.
We squeeze hands and exchange hugs, each person to the other.
Tears of joy.
Hearts and hands trembling in anticipation.
And then, hands clasped together, hearts racing, we walk out.
A chain of people, letting go, holding nothing but one another's hand in our own hands.
No more chains.
No more shackles.
No handcuffs or manacles.
No bonds.
Nothing but freedom holding freedom.
And we get just outside the door, and break into a run.
Sweeping past the prison yard.
Racing over the hills.
Flying down the roads.
Dashing underneath the trees.
Spilling out into the wide open prairie
Clear blue skies overhead
And we stop then and stare up into the sky that stretches on forever
where we dance and twirl around like little kids
and smile like crazy
because we're free.

Letting go never tasted so sweet.

It's Good To Be Alive!

Today I am getting back to walking.
And it feels like BLISS!
I have awakened.
No more going back to sleep.
No more blaming others.
No more regrets and beating myself up for past mistakes.
No more being unforgiving to those who have hurt me in the past.
What's done is done, there is no going back.
Every day I am more awake and aware.
I am finding that I'm worth fighting for.
I'm finding that I must go after what I need because nobody is going to bring it to me or see what I need.
It's up to me.
Thank God He woke me up and made me aware of this life He's given me.
It is a waste to live my life just going through the motions.
Life is about making mindful decisions.
It is about not just going with the flow.
I must fight for what I want.
I must change what needs changing.
I cannot be hurt if I don't allow it.
Even when people mean to hurt me, if I don't take it how they mean it, and don't let if affect me, I cannot be hurt.
Oh sure, they can beat me and kick me and even kill me...
But the personal stuff like attitudes and gossip and laughing at me making me feel depressed and sad...
it's my mind and I don't have to allow it to change my emotions.
I am able to determine what I let get to me and what I don't allow.
It's all in my mind.
If I am still alive, it's a good day.
Every day is from God, and everything from God is good.
It's all in our perspective.
And oh, it is GREAT to be ALIVE!!!
=)

My Thankful Story

Every year, about this same time, when the winds begin to blow in the change from summer's holiday to the next season, I am reminded of childhood;

School days spent following my sisters down the road from our little rent house to our neighborhood school,

blustery winds blowing our hair into our eyes and our papers into oblivion,

books tucked into book bags,

soggy sack lunches and the daily frets of homework...

Time when all our little family had to hold it together was God.

Didn't have money, that's for sure.

And I'm reminded much more of how God lived and moved right there among us every single day.

During this time, Mom was the sole provider for our family. Dad was in prison.

So hard times came as natural to us as wind in west Texas.

But it was during those hard times when I found the faithfulness of God to be real and true.

We were hard pressed for money, and yet never went a day without food.

Sometimes there were fresh fruit and vegetables that mysteriously appeared inside our car in bags or boxes or just laid out on the car's seat.

Other times a friendly face would bring them to us in paper bags and leave them on the porch, or hand deliver them to us during church.

My favorite time was when we all came home from church one Wednesday night, and found somebody had opened up a window... to leave us a mountain of food on the table and inside our refrigerator.

Boxes of clothes, bags of coats and shoes and sweaters, endless supplies of just what we needed just when we needed it most... always supplied at the precise moment of our greatest need.

Anonymous gift certificates for back to school shopping would come in the mail.

People would walk up to Mom and just hand her an envelope, give her a hug and a smile and then turn to go.

And we never had to beg. Never had to borrow. Never had to go one time of being without.

Small miracles on every side.

And the love overflowed and washed over us wave after wave.

I remember feeling closer to my sisters right then than I've ever felt since.

And we're still close, even now.

But the closeness during that time, it was so strong... the love of God just absorbed us inside it and clung to us as though we'd been dipped in honey.

I won't say there weren't days of wishing for things.

Our society has taught us materialism to a fault.

But our NEEDS were met. We lacked nothing we needed.

Rent was provided. Meals were had. Clothes were given.

And the blessings it brought on those who gave to our little family were just as great as the blessings they had given to us in our time of need.

I recall in particular one Thanksgiving day.

Mother had worked and saved and paid every bill.

Every utility and the rent, all paid.

But there was nothing left over for anything beyond the basics.

Mother opened the refrigerator and found all we had left was a package of hot-dogs and some bread and some canned vegetables.

Now for a kid in elementary school, hot-dogs are great.

Never a complaint about a hot-dog for any meal.

But for Mom...

well, she was very sad that all we had to eat was only hot-dogs.

But she prayed and thanked God for the food we had, and reminded us the real thing behind Thanksgiving is about the thankfulness, and not the food.

But she wished for at least a chicken or something that would seem a bit more traditional for us to remember.

And then.... the most wonderful thing happened......

Across town, a boy in our church was outside raking the yard.

He was thinking of Thanksgiving, and wondering about what other people who were less fortunate would do for Thanksgiving.

And his mind crossed over the new family with three little girls who had recently come to his church.

So right where he was, he stopped his raking, bowed his head, and said a prayer for them.

At that very moment, he opened his eyes, looked down at his pile of leaves, and there, caught among the the tines of his rake,

he saw a ten dollar bill.

He smiled, looked up and said, "Thank you Lord!" and ran into the house to show his mother.

Then he asked if she would mind going to the store to help him buy a few things for that little family with the three girls who had so very little.

He wanted to buy a turkey and whatever else was needed for a Thanksgiving dinner.

His mother said of course, and in less than an hour they were delivering a box full of food across town.

Doesn't God move in the most awesome and mysterious ways?

Doesn't He just amaze you with His faithfulness?

He sure amazes me... to think of using a kid across town and putting a ten dollar bill into a rake...

Now that was a miracle in my life.

There are many more.

But every autumn, when the leaves begin to fall, it always brings to mind

the faithfulness and wonder of our Heavenly Father....
ever reminding me to be thankful in all things.
=)

Like Little Children

Had the weirdest thought hit my head the other day...
I was standing there thinking of how as we pray, we enter into the presence of the Father. We close our eyes, then come before Him and stand right there where He alone sees us....
But what struck me was, how He sees us.
We see ourselves as adults. Career women and men. Moms and dads, uncles and aunts, sisters and brothers. We look at that face every day in the mirror, and to us, that is who we are.
But what God is looking on is the heart. He sees us as we really, really are down inside.
Inside each one of us, we're more than the clothes on the outside. We're something more than just flesh and bones and hair and makeup and what we do up every day to make ourselves presentable to others.
Inside, we're all just children.
Children of God.
So as we stand before Him, do we stand as children?
I got a sort of mental picture that came to view of a group of people standing before the throne, at first as adults.
Then we closed our eyes, lifted our hands and as suddenly as we really got into the worship and prayers and praise of Him, the outside of each of us began to sort of unzip and then fall off like an oversized character suit worn by a person (sort of like those at Disney World or other theme parks).
And out of each suit stepped a child.
Wearing typical kid clothes. Shorts, pants, dresses, t-shirts, just a bunch of kids.
Like we'd been playing dress up as adults and suddenly we stepped out of those too big dress up clothes and they just laid there on the ground while we stepped outside of them.
And as we looked around in wide-eyed wonder, we saw one another as children.
Smiles began to spread over our faces.
Then we laughed and hopped and skipped around and danced and ran circles like kids do, and enjoyed a wonderful time in His presence.
The old stuff just dropped off of us. No more tired muscles. No aching backs or hurt shoulders or stiff knees or arthritis or bad eyes or loss of hearing...
nothing holding us back.
No hurts. No pain. No old age.
Just giddy child-like happiness and joy as we danced as children before the Father.
And I do think that is how He sees us.
Not as these aging creatures so stiff and bent and ravaged by time, but as the children He created us to be.
Able to run, dance, skip, hop, jump and twirl around before Him in joy and freedom.
Freedom.
In Him, we find freedom and joy and laughter and love and life abundant... just as He meant it to be.
In His presence, as we enter there, trusting and hoping and joyful, just as little children, we find there what we're so hungry for.
To be in His presence, worshipping in freedom and real joy.
Trusting in Him with faith as a little child.
For if we become as little children, we look at things from that perspective. We really believe He can do all things.
We trust that He loves us and will take care of everything.
And we know everything He says is truth because that's what our Father is all about.
So let's drop these drab and heavy old clothes.
All our dress up games of being adults who carry the heavy world on our shoulders...
Let's lay them aside, leave 'em lying on the floor.
And let's dance as the little children we really are inside.
No self conscious peering around to see who is watching us.
No feeling as if we don't know the right moves.
God is watching, nobody else matters.
Let us kick off those heavy shoes and lay aside our heavy hearts and close our eyes to see only Him...
and dance.
Twirling.
Prancing.
Jumping.
Leaping.
Dancing and running and laughing...
Free as the children we really are inside.
No bullies.
No cares.
No worries.
Just us and God, sharing the moment together.
Flying with our feet in sheer joy for the Life He's given us.
Let's run and play with the Lord!


Matthew 18
1 At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?

2 And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them,

3 And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.

4 Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

Thankful In All Things

Now thankful IN all things doesn't mean the same thing as thankful FOR all things....
There is a difference.
But, I had to share this little story with you that I found to be very interesting... especially since we are flying into Thanksgiving in the next few days.
Sometimes it is hard for me to remember to be thankful when frustrations run high.
But this story kind of puts things into a different light.
I hope you see what I mean....

Thankful for the Fleas

The barracks where Corrie ten Boom and her sister Betsy were kept in the Nazi concentration camp Ravensbruck were terribly overcrowded and flea-infested.

They had been able to miraculously smuggle a Bible into the camp, and in that Bible they had read that in all things there were to give thanks, and that God can use anything for good.

Corrie’s sister Betsy decided that this meant thanking God for the fleas.

This was too much for Corrie, who said she could do no such thing. Betsy insisted, so Corrie gave in and prayed to God, thanking Him even for the fleas.

Over the next several months a wonderful, but curious, thing happened. They found that the guards never entered their barracks. This meant that women were not assaulted. It also meant that they were able to do the unthinkable, which was to hold open Bible studies and prayer meetings in the heart of a Nazi concentration camp.

Through this, countless numbers of women came to faith in Christ.

Only at the end did they discover why the guards had left them alone and would not enter into their barracks.

It was because of the fleas.


Kind of makes me say, what on earth am I complaining about?
Point taken...
Much to be thankful for, even in the big and little frustrations that seem to fill our lives every day.
Maybe the next time I get a little bite from a flea, it will make me remember this story.

Let us keep our hearts full of Thanksgiving every single day.

Love Is Written On His Arms

Actions speak louder than words...


Who knows this better than those who have needed help and found somebody there right in the nick of time? A helping hand in our time of desperation is more precious than a box full of treasure. How many of us have been stranded as the car ran out of gas, or just stopped running for some reason and left us totally unprepared and at the mercy of anyone willing to stop and help? Or how about getting up to the check out at the grocery store and realizing you've left your money at the house which is a half hour or more away? Or how about being in a quiet panic knowing what you've been paid isn't going to cover all the bills, and you're wondering how on earth you'll make it through the month?
There are many more emergencies and dire situations we've all experienced. We’ve all needed some help, big or small, to make it through a hard time. And what a relief and a surprise it was when somebody stepped up and came forward to offer you assistance when it was most needed in your life.


The high school choir at church just got back from a trip to the Houston area where they went to help fix up some areas that had been affected by the recent hurricane. They scraped and primed and painted, mowed and raked and picked up garbage, cut down and pulled up and hauled away trees, branches and bramble of all sorts. And at the end of every day, after working long hours in the 100+ temperatures, these kids would still find the energy to shower and change clothes to look nice and put on another concert every night. And people say teenagers are a lost cause... I beg to differ.
When my son came back from this ten day trip, I was there to greet the bus as soon as it pulled in. He was still in his hoodie from the trip home. It has long sleeves for those who get a little chilled under the air conditioning. So there he was, busy grabbing luggage from beneath the bus, acting as though he was a one man loading crew...
Anyway, I watched and smiled to myself remembering all the times he's done this before. Three previous years of high school band, not including this last one, and three prior high school church choir trips... which all combined makes for a lot of unloading busses. Finally he had dragged the last of the bags from beneath the vehicle and located his own suitcase and began to walk back toward the car. In the heat of unloading, he had pushed up his sleeves. Then I suddenly saw his arms. I gasped! What on earth???


He laughed and joked about it. I couldn't believe how scratched up they looked. His arms looked as though he'd been in a fight with a weed whacker, or a cage full of psychotic cats. They were scratched from the wrist to the elbow and had little clear blistery sores scattered around between all the scratches.
"What on earth happened to your arms?"


After his joking about it for several minutes, he finally told me.
He had been helping to clean up this one house, and they had a lot of overgrowth that needed to be cleared away. So he and the others had been hacking at trees and branches and bramble and all sorts of fence line plants and shrubs and carrying it off. And he hadn't really noticed it much with the scratches, with bramble you're going to get scratched even with your best efforts to avoid it. But then he got into some fire ants.

When he was done with that, his arms were red and swollen and pretty painful. But he took it all in stride. He's just like that. It's no big deal, he will say, and won't admit to feeling any pain.


But to me it's painful to look at.


And seeing his arms brought to memory a song I'd heard.
Here are the lyrics:
**********************************************************

The boy only wanted to give Mother something
And all of her roses had bloomed
Looking at her as he came rushing in with them
Knowing her roses were doomed
All she could see were some thorns buried deep
And the tears that he cried as she tended his wounds

And she knew it was love
It was one she could understand
He was showing his love
And that's how he hurt his hands

He still remembers that night as child
On his mother's knee
She held him close and she opened her bible
And quietly started to read
And seeing a picture of Jesus he cried out
"Momma, he's got some scars just like me."

And he knew it was love
It was one he could understand
He was showing his love
And that's how he hurt his hands

Now the boy's grown and moved out on his own
When Uncle Sam comes along
A foreign affair, but our young men were there
And luck had his number drawn
It wasn't that long till our hero was gone
He gave to a friend what he learned from the cross

But they knew it was love
It was one they could understand
He was showing his love
And that's how he hurt his hands

It was one they could understand
He was showing his love
And that's how he hurt his hands
**********************************************
And it struck me.
His arms aren't just covered with nasty painful scratches and fiery blisters...
These are the wounds of love.
Not gushy flowery words that tickle the ear and blow away in the winds of time...
but real, hard-working love given from one person to another.
A helping hand.
Ready and willing to give until it hurts.
I'm so glad he did the work.
I know it helped somebody who desperately needed other people to intervene.
And even as he gave something precious and real to the owner of the home he worked on,
he brought back something priceless to me as well.
God uses such personal ways to teach us things, doesn't he?

Point taken.
Powerful lesson at the hands of a group of teenagers.
Blessed are the scars of love.
His passion, his love is written right there on his arms for all to see.
Sometimes scars hold a powerful meaning.

Remember the scars of the only One who could save us are still there for all to see when we finally meet Him face to face.
Let us wear our scars without shame for they tell a story everyone in the whole world needs to hear.

Let us look at our own scars and let them help us to remember a love so powerful and deep and real that we would give anything and everything we have to share it.

Let love be written on our arms, our legs, our hands, our feet, our entire being.

And above all, let love be written on our hearts

“I have engraved you on the palms of my hands. Your walls are always in my presence.”

            -Isaiah 49:16

UP

Little seeds, planted in the ground...

they come alive from their sleepy pods and begin to grow.

Up they go. Always up.

Growing up is what we do.

I am small. A little tree.

Sprung from an acorn no bigger than a thumb.

I get older and what do I do?

I grow. I grow to the sky.

Reaching ever upwards.

Growing Up.

Always, always growing UP.

Little children.

arms and hands and fingers reaching high

Up to the sky like I'm a tree

Branching toward heaven

I'm growing up

Up, up, up.

Can you see me growing?

I'm a mother

learning what it means to be mommy

Still growing ever inside.

Where do I grow?

How best to expand my thoughts, my desires,

my hopes and dreams?

Up.

Grow your dreams to the sky.

Grow them to the heavens above.

Look up, there you find the answer.

Growing up to see the Son.

Stretch your arms wide

your heart to the whole sky above.

From above comes your peace, your hopes, your LIFE.

Grow UP.

Fruit of the spirit

bloom in my life

cause me to grow

keep my eyes on what is above

and not what lies beneath

Help me learn what it means to grow up.

Up into what I've been created to be.

Up above all things mortal

above what is unclean

Up to the giver of life

rising above all things

We grow older

the end of our days here grows nearer

what awaits us?

We have grown to know where it is.

Up.

Heaven lies above our heads.

It is not so very far away.

Just another little jump.

Like the tiny seeds that fly from a pod

on fluff light as dandelion's down

rising to the heavens

growing ever
up.

In Memory of Dee

Riding on thoughts today... head is filled with memories of a cousin who passed six years ago today.
He was a cowboy with every fiber of his being from hat to boots and everything in-between.
Dee was a rowdy one.
My mother remembered a little nephew who would rope a stuffed toy and wrestle with all his cousins til they had more than they could stand. Never still for very long. She told of how he'd gotten hold of a bottle of baby aspirin as a child and chewed up the whole bottle full... then as grandmother tried to rake the pills out of his mouth, he bit her finger. They had to give him some epicac syrup to get the aspirin back up. Poor fellow. He was a boisterous little handful when he was little.
I remember him as an older cousin of mine. He and his brother Bob were always doing something.
I don't recall him ever being inside too much... except for meal time.
Then he'd be back out on horseback, or in his pick-up, or running the greyhounds chasing rabbits, or doing one of a hundred jobs that the ranch needed done.
Always in motion.
His skin was forever tanned, his hands calloused and rough, and he wore jeans, boots, hat and a shirt usually covered with whatever he was working on that day.
He had sort of sleepy looking eyes, dark hair and thick black eyelashes to the envy of every girl.
Usually he was smoking with a cigarette casually hanging from his mouth.
It was all just part of who he was.
I recall a few times when he'd stay in the house with all the little cousins.
He played a few games of checkers with grandpa and maybe watch a little football on TV.
But mostly, he was outside.
I think Dee was most in his element there.
Under the wide Texas skies, wind in his hair, riding his horse chasing after a calf or steer with a rope in hand.
Highly skilled in roping. I remember as a kid when I used to go and visit my grandparents, he would be there and would rope me as I walked through the living room.
Never missed, much to my disappointment.
I sure miss him.
Odd how you miss a person a little more with each passing year.
Somehow I thought as time passed, it would lessen the missing, but it seems to have gone the opposite direction.
I remember the funeral as if it was only a month ago.
We drove to Silverton on Friday night and got there to see my daughter Kimberly playing in the band with a little group of college kids who came from Texas Tech in Lubbock to watch the Silverton Owls take on the Kress Kangaroos. The whole town was buzzing with the Goin' Band coming to their game.
At grandmother's house we saw cousins and relatives from everywhere.
My cousin Bob, Dee's brother, had not slept in days.
The two of them had always been buddies... never too far away from each other.
And now...
The two Sons of Thunder had been separated.
No more rodeos or riding together, or swimming or practicing roping... no more anything.
Dee was always quiet in a crowd, but put him on a horse, and he was poetry in motion.
He and Bob had been around horses and cattle all their lives.
Probably put in a saddle before they could walk.
I can't remember how many summers my sisters and I spent up there on that ranch just watching the two of them rope and ride.
How I loved them for all they could do.
I was some uncoordinated city kid just standing at the fence amazed.
But somehow, they loved me as the greenhorn I was.
I was hesitant to go back at first. I'd grown fat and older...
And yet as I walked into the room with all my relatives, I was overwhelmed by all the warm hugs and hearty hellos and a dozen people gathered around me waiting to catch up.
How foolish I was to forget the love there just waiting for me to walk in the door.
I didn't want to leave.
But finally it was very late, and I would not take a bed away from the family members who were more closely related to my cousin.
So we drove over to Plainview and stayed in a hotel.
We got up the next day and drove back to Silverton to be at the Baptist church at noon.
The church was full of Dee's relatives from both sides of the family. It was hard to tell who was family and who was not related, but one of his friends. All looked so close to the same. As natural as cousins on every side.
I saw my uncle Walter there, Dee's dad. He looked nearly untouched by time.
Maybe a little more silver in the hair he had left, maybe a couple more wrinkles, but the same smile and quiet gentlemanly manners I'd always known. A little older. A little more tired.
He wore an older, gray, western-cut suit which seemed to be almost a part of him.
Walter was born in the old house out there on the ranch. He said his mother died there. Said he guessed he's be there until he died too.
The service started and it was simple and beautiful.
There were flowers arranged with Dee's saddle and horse blanket and a lariat on top of the casket.
Seemed to be sleeping there among us, thick eyelashes closed forever in rest.
His har was still dark as a raven, but bits of it had lightened due to all the years under the sun.
His resemblence to Walter was striking. Older. More aged.
His typical black cowboy hat was on top of his hands.
At the bottom of the casket were his boots surrounded by more flowers.
Beside him sort of sticking up at an angle from the side was his fishing pole with flowers and vines all twined around it.
It was beautiful, but seemed out of place to see him lying there so still and quiet.
The service began with one fellow doing the eulogy.
It was pretty good, but he was kind of new and nervous.
A second fellow came up after the first, and he seemed to know everyone better.
He talked about Dee's life with his mom and dad and his brother and sisters and grandmother.
He said, it's not natural to lose your son, brother, nephew or grandson like this... but then he spoke of the comfort we find beyond what this life has to offer us.
Very fitting. Dee was never one to try and live beyond the rustic cowboy he was inside.
Nothing fancy. Nothing dressed up. Plain and simple.
Lastly, an older cowboy gentleman stepped up with a guitar in hand.
He sang
And then he sang Beulah Land
Simple.
Guitar and song.
Nothing else.
Just like it was supposed to be... the way Dee would have wanted it to be.
Just like him. Simple, plain cowboy.
And as he was singing it was thundering and raining too.
Nearly seemed as if it was planned the way the thunder would sound just after the preacher said something fitting, and how the rain stopped as the casket was loaded and while we went to the grave site.
And just as we'd gathered around with the last words, it began to sprinkle again.
During the talking it would thunder now and again and I'd smile thinking of Dee riding by us all again on his new horse in the clouds with lightning in the skies... hooves thundering past us as he rode on the wind.
It was less a good-bye, and more a see-you-later.
I can hardly wait.
Miss you Dee.
Ride on.

"I'm kind of homesick for a country

to which I've never been before.

No sad good-byes will there be spoken,

and time won't matter anymore.

Chorus:

Beulah Land, I'm longing for you

And some day on thee I'll stand.

There my home shall be eternal.

Beulah Land... sweet Beulah Land.

I'm looking now across that river

to where my faith is gonna end in sight.

There's just a few more days to labor,

then I'll take my heavenly flight.

Chorus."

"Oh the place where I worship is the wide open spaces,

built by the hand of the Lord.

Where the trees of the forest are the pipes of an organ,

and the breeze play an amen chord.

Oh the stars are the candles and they light up the mountains;

mountains are altars of God.

Oh the place where I worship is the wide open spaces

built by the hand of the Lord.

There's a carpet of green and a sky blue roof above

And I'm welcome there alone or with the one I love

In your heart take a good look; if you follow the good book.

You're sure to find your reward

Oh the place where I worship is the wide open spaces

built by the hand of the Lord."

Visitation

Back seat travel

sitting next to my sister

watching the trees fly by outside my window

like a forest going by on a very fast train.

Sleepy thoughts floating in and out

between daydreams and reason.

Huntsville.

An eternity away to nine year old me.

I watch the window

stare up into the sky

and wish I could fly

Free and happier than anything

to taste the clouds

and feel the wind blowing against my face

while smiling like crazy

because

I can fly.

I wake up and we're almost there.

The car stops at another red light.

I'm a little scared of whatever is up ahead

We pull into the drive and I wish I could shrink away inside my seat

until I'm invisible.

Guards stand watching in towers higher than the trees in my neighborhood.

Arms folded.

Eyes searching everything.

I can see their rifles shining in the hot afternoon sun

My heart beats so hard I'm afraid they can hear it.

The fence in front of me stands taller than my house.

Great loops of barbed wire give a cruel looking razor sharp, man-eating shine.

I look away quickly, and hope they won't ever tangle me

The guard we talk to speaks like he's a part of the fence.

He's like the wall.

No smiling in his eyes.

No nonsense in his voice.

He looks at me like he's reading another empty chapter

in a very long and hard book

that he wants to put down

and stop reading.

I'm too afraid to give him a smile or a wave.

So I just look back at him with a very wide-eyed, wondering look

trying not to do anything wrong.

We park a long way out.

It takes a long time to walk across the hot black parking lot toward the building.

Like the fence and the guards,

it looks enormous.

It stands like a giant brick box against the sky

as if it's trying to keep us all out

even the sunshine and the air.

Holding mom's hand tight as we start up the sidewalk

imposing

the doors don't want to let us in

the walls and bars don't want to let anyone out

I hold my breath as I walk inside.

Faces...

mean ones

tired ones

sad ones

angry ones

hungry ones

they all turn and look at me

Eyes tell me a story behind each person

some are sad

some are old

some full of hate

and others are only very tired

they look to see who the door let in

inside of their caged in world

made of glass, wire and steel

Fences and walls

inside of the giant box filled with guards

I feel small and afraid

and I wonder why we have to come here to see my Daddy

My sister is braver

She walks tall and unafraid

She acts like she can't see them looking

walking straight past the lady with the stroller

following mom like she's another grown up.

I look at the floor and keep up with her tennis shoes

I don't want to look up anymore.

Hard folding chairs line the room

with a counter full of little windows made of screen wire and glass

separating the whole room down the middle

groups of men sit on the other side of the windows

sitting and talking with us on the outside

guards stand at each side of the wall

and one sits in the middle between the two separated window aisles

He watches the men with folded arms

and stares at them, and us, all the while.

Daddy is behind the glass.

I see him come from outside of the hallway.

He looks different

but he has his same smile.

His eyes smile at me

and look tired around the edges.

He tries not to show it.

But I think his eyes are sad too.

He sits in front of the window.

And puts his hand on the glass.

It's like a game.

I put my little hand up to the glass too.

His hand is much bigger.

I smile and for a moment

I'm not afraid.

My sister talks first to Daddy.

She's older than I am and she's got a lot more to say.

School, the new house, new church, new friends...

Daddy smiles and then says to wait just a minute.

He goes up and gives the guard some change

and buys us sodas.

Puts them on the little ledge at the guard's post.

Then tells us to go and pick them up.

They are for us.

We walk down and wait, afraid to ask.

The guard stops being a wall for a half a minute

as he smiles and hands us the sodas.

Then goes back to his folded arms

and staring like a watchdog.

We play small games

whatever we can

on either side of the glass between us

Watching Mama and Daddy

they talk and smile some

and wipe away tears and talk some more.

It's not as good as a hug,

but the guards and the wall won't let him past.

So we put our hands again on the glass

and press them together there as long as we can.

Too soon, another guard calls time.

He stares like a wolf ready to bite somebody.

Daddy says he loves us, be good, listen to Mama.

And then he says good-bye

I think there were tears in his eyes.

Mama tries hard not to cry.

She watches as he leaves the little room

going down the hall

behind the caged-in bars.

Then we all turn away and leave for home.

I sleep nearly all the way there

waking now and then to stare up at the moon

wondering and staring

waiting for an answer to be spelled out in the stars.

The forest turns black and the sky to dark blue velvet.

while the trees fly silently past the window

like giant black bars made of iron.

I fall asleep and dream of flying over the big brick box

past the guards and razor wire

until I find my Daddy

where we both fly away together

soaring over the prison like a bird

and smiling like crazy

because we're free.