Fifty Things

"Can you meet me at the Coffee House in the morning? I have something for you."

She is all sweetness in every way. Everyone loves her, who could help but?

I meet her when morning comes and we talk, and talk, and talk. Has it been years since we had a moment like this? No, but it feels like it. Words are deep and meaningful, quickly they shift to light and fluffy talk. Friend Corrie joins our fun. We laugh, really laugh. We are enjoying the richness of fellowship . . . heart to heart . . . and it deepens the unity in us.

Morning flies while we are absorbed in matters of heart, all too soon, it is time to go.

"This is your birthday gift, for you. I'm sorry it is late it took some time to put together," she hands me beautiful bags filled with treasure.

My heart is already blessed to brim. She is a gift to me, and I am so thankful.

She said that she got the idea from Hallmark.

She cut out hearts and wrote sweet messages on them, 50 things that she loves about me. She placed them in this beautiful punch bowl. Red cellophane wrapping brings the bowl to life and deep inside are hearts with messages scripted, just for me, 50 of them.

I don't know when I have ever been given such a precious gift.

I had a birthday a few weeks ago, I am 50 now, so she thought of 50 things.

A long time ago, I decided that this would be my year of jubilee. I made a choice to celebrate what is behind me, and celebrate what is to come, and be happy about it all.

But I must admit to you, it has been a harder one, this birthday. It really has.

The fifty hearts with script from the heart of a friend that brought soothing balm to the space I am in. Her beautiful words brought humility to my very being and I just had to bow down and say, "Thank You Dear God! Thank YOU!"

There was so much to thank Him for, it was completely overwhelming.

Perhaps we have a crowd of witnesses here, not just in heaven (Hebrews 12). Her thoughts make me believe so.

I want to pass this on,  you know, for someone who might need words from a friend. Words of encouragement, words of life, and inspiration. Powerful, beautiful, loving words. There are beautiful ways to love . . .

Thank you, my dear beautiful friend, and sister in the Lord, Christina! The world is better because of YOU!
Loving, grateful blessings! You have given me exemplary example to follow! Much love to you, Cheri

Pondering Seven Branches/Candlestick

"As the incense table was a type of their aspect towards God, as intercessors, so the seven-branched candlestick was a type of their aspect towards the world, as luminaries . . ." F.B.Meyer (referring to the lampstand in the holy of holies). 


Seven-branched candlestick . . . luminaries . . .


let us be light

illuminating where holy is holy

and where life is like night, barren of celestial planets sharing glory with earth

let us "shine like stars in the universe"

and Matthew 25 . . . sleepy virgins with lamps, five ready for journey

five pretending there is time . . .

let us be like the seven-branched candlestick filled

with fresh oil, pressed, clear for burning, fuel for holy fire that strengthens weary soldiers

luminaries 


seven luminaries (my daily prayer), eight, nine, ten, and every branch following

filled and ready to shine . . . for eternity

Mission

"There are all kinds of mission fields," I said looking into his beautiful blue eyes.It was the first thing that came to mind when he told me that he would be joining the Navy. We sow seed as we walk the path of life. 

I dressed him in his first sailor hat and suit when he was 6 months old. His Noah's ark toy was next to him. "Click, flash," his smile was big for the camera. Did the Lord already know then? 

We homeschooled when he was five. He was learning to read and write and memorize scripture and I loved being his mom and teacher and the love of his life . . . at that time. He loved stories, stories about George Washington were his favorite. I found a gorgeous bronze colored porcelain bust of George at a flea market. I decided to decorate Josiah's bedroom with an Americana theme. George was placed on his dresser.

Piece by piece old paper was taken off the walls, piece by itty-bitty piece. Then we painted. I put a border of  vintage American flags near the ceiling. It was beautiful! It was then that I found a wool navy shirt in a flea market. It was beautiful. I hung it up in his bedroom with other pretty decor that I can't even remember now. I will never forget that uniform! Was it seed? I was oblivious.

I keep pondering. I intentionally sowed seeds of faith into my children's lives. I purposefully sowed love and compassion for the lost, broken, and needy. I meant for them to learn patriotism and tenderness for others from me . . . but I did not intentionally sow seeds that would inspire a desire for serving our country into the heart of my son. 

I am too selfish. I realized this when he pulled out his dog tag, saying, "Mom, I want you to see this."

There was his name, and other pertinent information, then I saw it, what he wanted me to see. Stamped in silver it said, "Christian" across the bottom of the dog tag.  "They put this there so that if anything happens to me . . . " I cut in, "I know." I hug him. He doesn't see my tears. I am proud and honestly, I am scared, so I pray all kinds of prayers, big prayers, whispered prayers, tearful and happy prayers. 

The most important prayer is that his work will be done here as the Lord would will it. That he would have the integrity of Uriah, the tenacity of David, the obedience of Gideon, the courage of Joshua, and the armor of Ephesians 6, because

there are all kinds of mission fields. I want him to hear the Lord say someday, "Well done, sailor, welcome into your rest," after he has lived about 100 earth years.

Sharing Birthdays

We shared a special day.

I was born fifteen minutes before midnight. My mother had been in labor for many, many hours (she reminds me) and finally I emerged from birth waters into the arms of the doctor just a few short minutes before the turn of the day. Therefore, I was brought into the world on my grandmother's 42nd birthday, her first grandchild of seven. Whew! I barely made it!

Being born on her birthday was one of the greatest gifts that the Lord ever bestowed on both of us.

January was always a lean month, especially when I was a child. Christmas gift giving and extra food for holiday celebrations had usually squeezed all of the extra out of spending and most of my birthday gifts were insignificant. In fact, I don't remember any of the gifts that I received on my birthday. Well, I do remember a beautiful winter coat that I received the year I was in middle school. I had drooled over the picture of it in the Sears catalogue for hours and hours. I couldn't believe it when I found it hanging in my bedroom. That beautiful warm coat was an exception. My mother was very conscious of our lack and always fretted about my gifts being small, but I never thought of it that way. Grandma, one of my favorite people in the whole world, shared my birthday and that was a wonderful gift to me.

She died when I was 42 years old on a very hot summer day. Days before her death, she had a vision that she was dancing with Jesus. "Right there," she pointed her long finger to a spot on the floor at the end of her hospital bed, "we were right there dancing, He and I. Surely someone saw us." My grandma was not demented in her final days. I always believed her story and I treasure the memory of her tale.

I turned fifty last week, this is my year of Jubilee. It has been eight years since Grandma left with her dancing shoes on.  Every year I feel the ache of her absence as my  life goes on and I keep having birthdays without her.

January 20th is a day that is usually extremely cold, someone is usually sick, and everyone's pockets are nearly empty, but I wouldn't want any other day to be my birthday. One of these days, when I stop celebrating my birthdays here, I will witness with my own eyes, Grandma dancing with Jesus. Reunited, we will celebrate our born again birthday together with all the hosts of heaven because that is the birthday that really matters.

"Your days for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." Psalm 139:16

Patience

I folded the hem on the scrap of cloth just so. I folded it at least ten times before she was satisfied.

"Now make tiny stitches, like so, in and out, in and out. Here, you try."

Grandma was teaching me to sew on a 9x9 scrap of cloth that would be nothing. It wasn't even a pretty piece of cloth. What a waste, I thought.

I wanted to sew like her. I wanted to be able to look at a picture of a really cute dress, make a pattern out of paper, pin it to a favorite fabric, cut it out and sew one for myself. She thought it a great idea to teach me.

She wouldn't let me begin my sewing hobby by making a dress. I was impatient with her method of small beginnings.

My ten year old mind did not enjoy the mundane and I totally lacked the vision for where this rediculous
task might take me. As a result, I am not the gifted seamstress my grandmother was.

I would get to the end of the "hem" I was sewing on my little square of cloth then present it to the judge, the gifted one, grandma. She would examine it, much like a jeweler inspects a precious stone. The verdict was the same every time, for ten times or more.

"Okay, honey, rip it out now and do it again. Your stitches need to  . . ."

It took a lot of patience to learn from her. She was excellent at everything! Originally, I thought she was born that way, but looking back on her method of teaching, I think she taught like she had learned, practice, practice, practice.

Until this moment, I never really considered the patience that it took for her to work with me. Selah moment.

Practice takes patience. Practicing the mundane can lead you to some great places! I wish now that I had stuck with it and let her teach me, but I gave up too soon, and now I live with the result of my impatience.

I would never choose to write on patience, but it seems to be the word that the Lord has stuck in my heart right now.

Love is patient.

Yesterday, someone said to me, "You should never pray for patience!"

They had no idea what has been stewing in my heart.

"Well, I won't! Thank you for reminding me!" I thought.

But the truth is, patience can get you places that impatience cannot. And I want to go to some places; with people, with accomplishments, with God that will take a lot of patience. I desperately need it.

I may not ask God for patience, but I am praying. I am asking Him to fill me with His Spirit. And His Spirit is patient and if He is in me, I will have it when I need it. Thank you, God.

"But let patience have its perfect work; that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing." James 1:4 NKJV

Love Is

1Corinthians 13

Love IS . . .


The verses aren't about rules or reasons.


They are descriptions 


Love Is  . . .


meeting us at the threshold is 


patience . . . 


preceding all others, the genesis of qualities, the captain that 


the others follow . . .


patience, the arbor that kindness, humility, and forgiveness  must pass through . . .




"the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect, complete, lacking nothing." James 1:3-4


When patience has its perfect work ... kindness, humility, and forgiveness are released from a well of living water within . . . an uncapped well that becomes a fountain and all who drink from it are refreshed. 


Patience . . . the benevolence of God. 


God is LOVE and LOVE is PATIENT and He is faithful to give us the fruit of Spirit . . . patience.

Under Construction

"End of Construction ... thank you for your patience." (as written on Ruth Bell Graham's tombstone you can see below)

http://www.flickr.com/photos/doxieone/5152341596/?reg=1&src=fave

She is gone but she has left a message, an unconventional sermon, which was so Ruth! 

I stood over her tombstone pondering her gratitude, her wit, her grace. 

Ruth Bell Graham, the wife of world renown evangelist, Billy Graham, ministered to me that day. That was four years ago and her words still speak to my soul.

I love new beginnings. I love that January causes so many to reflect on the past, and look on the present as opportunity to redirect and pursue new goals. I have been in that rank for many years.

This year is different for me. I feel like I am under construction.

"Aren't we always?"  you might ask.

Yes, we are, and Ruth would agree. But this year is different. The work I need is major!

I feel like an old, broken down homestead that is in much need of repair. Windows are broken, floors are sagging, doors lean against walls or cover holes in floors instead of hanging securely in place, plumbing and electricity need repair or replaced and ... the list is endless.

However, I have really good news. The Lord is not going to tear down the house. He is in the process of reconstructing as I write.

I am doing some things to help Him with the process, but I must tell you, that, mostly, I am letting Him do the  work.

Some of the construction is moving right along. He has helped me to get some garbage out. There is some woodwork that has been restored. The stripping came first, then the stain. Some of it is tedious requiring patience for both of us.

There was a heaping pile of pride, so, so large,  He has removed dump truckloads at a time. Just when I think He has gotten it all, the truck comes around the corner for another load! 

How I despise the smelly stuff!!!

 So, I am committed to taking one day at a time. I am listening. Following the lead of the Master Craftsman.

I join my grateful heart with Ruth's in saying, "thank you for your patience."