2026 devotion

What do we do now?

What do we do now? It was a question without an answer and an answer that reflected more questions. The lake has changed, which happens because of nature, the atmosphere and water levels revealing tree stumps. Years ago when the water came up, the trees died. If I am guessing, the trees fell down eventually and either rotted or were pulled from the water. Or, they could have cut them down for firewood. We don’t know what happened but we have the stumps. They are large stumps. A stump grinder, and skid steers moving dirt haven’t budged them. They have left us, moments of standing beside them asking, what next?
Some day, the remnant of my life will be like a stump. Life will have changed, and what will be left of my existence either by myself moving on to other places or moving on to glory, will be a stump: evidence I had been.
Will my presence, my stump be easy to dig up, or entwined in the banks of where I spent my time, so that others left behind stand by and ask questions about the life left by the evidence of a stump?
Colossians 2:6-7 “Keep your roots deep in him and have your lives built on him. Be strong in the faith, just as you were taught, and always be thankful”
Don’t just have roots, have them go deep! Don’t just grow tall spiritually, have roots that hold the tree of your faith so it easily tip over.
Make people exclaim as they stand next to your legacy, wow, those roots are deep and massive!

Mother’s day thoughts

Mother’s Day: always awkward for me. My mother is not on this earth anymore, the kids are scattered hither and yon- one hither and two yon, and I will speak twice tomorrow about the gift God gave us in mothering and moms, but what makes it awkward is the many friends I have who have mothered so many they didn’t birth. There are a few dorky cards, but not to the honor they deserve. Women mother! It’s an innate part of the way God created us. I love the way little Lucy is already mothering her sister Greta. Lucy isn’t 2 yet: but God made her that way. Then of course she can become a bossy, big sister pretty quickly too!
I want to honor the Bonus moms of my world. The women who poured into me, probably wanted to pull their hair out and lock the door when they saw my car pull up: thanks for not giving up on me. At least I was good entertainment. I find myself, older and slightly wiser, mentoring young gals, enjoying their kids as adopted grands and the circle has come around. I do miss my mother. It’s been 9 years and there are still times I reach for the phone to tell her something. Thankfully, God has allowed me several bonus moms who still answer when they see my name on the caller ID.

The serenity of waiting

“The serenity of waiting!” That’s not something that I would put on a canvas and hang on my wall! I don’t necessarily, wait well. If you fish, you learn to wait. If you catch fish, it’s because you waited. Of course there are people, like my son, who pulls nice Bass in on his first cast. For the rest of the family, it’s casting, waiting, reeling in to cast again or just watch the bobber! It all includes waiting. Serenity, according to Google, is the “state of being calm, peaceful, and completely untroubled. It describes a mental condition free from stress, anxiety, or emotional disturbance, as well as an environment that is quiet and still.” That is very good for fishing: being quiet and still that is. Yet in life, as in fishing , we find ourselves in the “waiting” moments more than we like. How do we find the serenity in waiting, when our human nature leans toward instant gratification? How do we keep ourselves free from stress, anxiety and emotional disturbances when life seems to go faster, push us into its traffic and yells in our ear, now!
Paul, in the book of Acts, nailed it. Several times we find him in prison and he had learned the serenity of waiting: singing! I don’t think Paul was a Guy Penrod, or Perry Como, but he knew the value of taking the moment and finding serenity within the moment rather than the circumstance. Paul didn’t allow his circumstances to steal his joy, he didn’t let the surrounding people, I am pretty sure they were the only ones singing in the cell, lower his heart into the mud!
Music, does something! Yesterday, everyone was out fishing and I had the little one, Harper with me. I was cleaning, she was sweeping with a fly swatter. When she noticed she was without her mommy and daddy, she was starting to quiver at the lip, I turned on music. I put the radio speaker right down on the floor and she danced, wiggled, pushed buttons and giggled. What had changed? Mommy and daddy were still fishing, she was still with Grammy but somewhere along the way, the serenity of waiting became easier.
Acts 16:25 gives us the waiting.
“About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them,”
People are watching us live and listening. I watched Harper dancing, forgetting her momentary “need Mommy” and it made me laugh! It warmed my heart, brought joy and obviously I didn’t have to worry about tears for a bit, from a little girl!
People watch us in our prison cell moments, in our grocery store melt downs and the way we handle our disappointments. Turn on some music and dance! It makes waiting almost fun! It brings serenity to the heart. Eventually, the bobber will let you know you have something on the line! How you wait will let you know you have something even better in your heart!

Step back: perspective

I am not much of a flower person- perennials I can handle !!! I always enjoyed Bleeding hearts, the beautiful plant, and we have them at the lake. Interestingly enough if I only concentrate on the beautiful plant, I miss the lake.
Often the bleeding hearts in our life distract us from seeing what other things God has for us. We are so close to the pain, we don’t see the beauty. Stepping back from our pain doesn’t always minimize its sting but it lets us see a different picture. A picture that includes the pain in our life rather than magnifies it. By getting a broader view, God lets the pain be a part of the beauty rather than obstruct what else he wants for us to see our life was meant to be.

Birds hitting the Patio Window

A few minutes ago, there was a thunk on the patio door beside me. On the deck fell two birds, who were fighting over something, and even the thunk of the collision with the window didn’t stop them from their grip on whatever they were fighting over. They kept flapping, hanging on and tussled till they fell off the side of the deck and flew away, still flapping, and fighting.

Last night I was working through Genesis and the saga in Egypt with Joseph and his brothers. As the story unfolds, they are seemingly still identifying as Leah’s vs Rachel’s boys. Standing in front of the “favored one”, knowing their other “favored brother” was being kept in Egypt, then eventually the fear of going back without Benjamin, they finally became family. Judah offering his life for Benjamin, not simply his father’s other son. Up to this point, it seems they have been fighting like the birds, hitting windows and rolling off decks.

When do we, as believers, put aside the labels, the differences and how we grew up, and just defend our fellow believers because together, we are God children? Yet, we flap our way through life, fighting, hitting patio windows and falling off decks to be right, to be segregated and to be first.

When Joseph sent them back to get his father, he told them, Genesis 45:24, “don’t quarrel on the way.”

I could almost hear Jesus saying, “on this trip called life, with the other believers I have set beside you, don’t quarrel on the way.”

He knows our human tendencies: not much has changed since Genesis 45! It gave me a lot to think about last night.

Memories and friends: mother’s photo albums

It was one of those jobs that must be done! Jim brought three very large, and might I say heavy, boxes of photo albums of Mother and Dicks to our family reunion. When we cleaned out the townhouse after grandpa Dick passed away, we inherited boxes of what our Mother felt was worth taking a picture of. Now remember, most of these were long before cell phones or digital pictures, so she took several pictures of each and printed them all off! Painstakingly she glued them in photo albums and scrapbooks. Some of them, none of us really knew anything about the event. Their trips to TCMI in Austria, mission trips to Mexico, trips they took, we looked and tried to imagine the rest of the story. The fun part was the many pictures she took of us we hadn’t seen in year’s, funny outings and her captions were hysterical, as only our mother would write! We took the photos we wanted, then ceremoniously sent the boxes to their final resting place.

Beyond the humor and the many photos of mother lying down in the snow while cross country skiing, she lay there till Dick got a picture, were the faces which represented relationships of our family. Someone would hold up a photo of a family friend and ask, “does anyone know what happened to these folks?” Then the stories of their mingling with our family would begin to fill the air.

Our mother was a friend. She made friends, she cared for her friends and she loved her friends. That gave us many people with whom we fondly recall making an impact in our life. Most of those hearts, have passed on, yet, their memories stay with us. We laughed as we talked about the one who brought us home after one of the kids threw up in the airplane (yes, we had an airplane at our house growing up) coming home from auntie Lee and Uncle Bob’s. Friends who played, “starlight moonlight, hope to see a ghost tonight” in the back yard at the farm. Friends who drove into the farm and extra plates were quickly set at the table. People who we knew we could count on to walk with us when our father got cancer and died at age 55. Friends who helped my mother traverse widowhood with a 11 year old son. Friends who included Dick as if he had been in our family forever when he married mother.

The photo albums brought back lots of reminders that good friends come into your life and never really leave.

I have a pile of photos I brought back that lie in a basket on the coffee table. Many tattered, evidence of the poor quality of photo paper is the 50’ and 60’s. Though the image may be slightly faded and grainy, there is nothing faded about how much love still leapt out from the glossy 3×5 photo.

I was talking to my son today as I waited for the airplane to take me to Seattle, and then home, and asked him if he remembered the friends I had been visiting? He immediately began telling his wife about the winter we went to their cabin in the mountains and the snow-piles, and the chains you had to buy before going over the pass. Memories are almost always tied to friends. Be the kind of friend that makes memories and takes pictures! Be available, be willing and be fun! Make someone laugh when they pick up the picture of you and make sure there is a good story behind it! God gives us friends: make the best use of them you can!

Brief conversations lead to deep thoughts, waiting for pizza.

I went to pick up the pizza in a small quaint village over the pass east of Seattle. The order had been placed and I was the Door Dash, to get it. The pizzas weren’t ready yet so I stepped back and watched the locals! Two women were standing near me, obviously friends, but engaging in the playful banter of, “you bought last time, it’s my turn.”

You have probably played that game. Your friend offers to pays, or in this case, she took the bottle of pop and Advil out of the friends hand and said, “I got it.” The friend began to argue that she always pays and she doesn’t need to do that. Head swivel to the right, the gal said, “no I don’t, just say thank you” to which the gal on my left, head swivel again, began to say “you never let me,” head swivel to the right, “yea I do, but this time” and that’s when I had to say something.

I have been both of those women. The one always buying and the one arguing that generosity was too much!

I said, “round 2”, to which lady on my left must have felt I was willing to engage in this conversation and she began to tell me how the other lady “always”, and the other gal saying, “it’s not a contest,” to which I said, “quit keeping a tally sheet in your head”, to which the gal on the right laughed and said, “that’s what she’s doing”.

I stood chatting with two total strangers about blessing and allowing ourselves to be blessed. We talked about allowing others to bless us without feeling we have to even the score and keeping up. The pizza still wasn’t done yet and I had been three levels into quite the discussion on blessing. I told the gal on my left how I learned to allow others to bless me and just say thank you, and pass it on to someone else. She then turned to me and said, “then I should pay for your order.” I laughed and said, “I already have someone’s credit card, just be there for someone else.” That was when she turned to me and said, “ I have had my share of loss and people ask me what I need, and I don’t know what to say.”

I smiled at her and said, “you just needed someone to be there.” She nodded, and the young man called out that my pizza was ready.

Who would have thought a pizza needing 5 more minutes to bake could be such an inspired moment for two strangers in Cashmere, Washington! God puts opportunities in our path: sometimes it’s in line waiting at a gas station that sells really good pizza!

Saturday- Intermission

According to Google, “An intermission is a scheduled, brief pause or interval between the parts of a performance, such as acts of a play, opera, or segments of a movie, usually allowing the audience to rest. It is a temporary suspension.”

Saturday, after Good Friday and before Resurrection Sunday, was an intermission.

During a movie, intermission is kind of nice. You go get some popcorn, use the restroom, stretch but mostly anticipate what’s coming next. They never stop the movie before intermission with a blah, ho hum scene, no it’s drama, it’s excitement: it’s the wondering what is going to happen next.

Saturday: an intermission between the cross and the empty grave. We know what’s happens in the second half. The disciples didn’t. Rather than get popcorn, stretch their legs and chit chat, they fled. They hid. They cried. They huddled together wondering what was coming next. Fear, anxiety, perhaps feeling misled, and mostly the drama of the events Friday night were etched into their hearts. There was no “allowing the audience to rest” moment” as Google gives us in the definition. If the guards watching the earthquake were scared to death, the disciples weren’t far much better.

What do we do in the Saturday’s or the intermissions of life? Do we tap the table top and drive people nuts, wring our hands, clean the house, or mow the lawn? What do we do when we have to wait?

For many of us it’s not a time to rest, it’s a time to worry. If we trust the writer of the play, we know the second half resolves the drama or incidents of the first part of the movie. If we trust our creator, the writer is the story of our lives, we know God will resolve the unfinished sentences and the questions but we may have to wait through an intermission.

The women didn’t waste anytime after the Saturday intermission to be ready for the second half! They were at the tomb! They brought what they needed and were ready to go! They utilized the intermission to prepare themselves for the second half. What am I doing when I sense God has paused, or placed an intermission in my life? Do I worry, or perhaps try to solve the drama myself, eat popcorn, rest or do I prepare? How can I, when the curtain comes up, the music starts, be ready for whatever awaits next?

Today, Saturday is the intermission. Tomorrow we celebrate Easter Sunday. As much as we know the outcome of the play of life that every gospel shares, we still wait and wonder what will God do, to bring to us the thrill of the resurrection, the empty tomb and the walk on the way to Emmaus. The intermission still thrills the heart as we anticipate, the rest of the story!

DON’T use the sewing shears

I got an apology from my daughter. It wasn’t for something she did that was horrible; it wasn’t a misunderstanding; it was much deeper than that. I am not sure I even remember the error of her and her siblings’ ways, but she reminded me.

She is married. Introduce husband, who doesn’t understand the importance of rules that he didn’t know existed. He crossed the line and used her sewing scissors. That prompted quite the discussion: scissors are not simply scissors; there are special scissors, and you do NOT use sewing scissors for other things. That brought the apology.

She began by saying, “Mom, I am sorry for using your sewing scissors when we were kids. Andrew used my sewing shears. Now, I know how you felt when we kids took your sewing scissors.”

Poor Andrew, he didn’t have a clue how important sewing scissors are to a seamstress. When you cut other things with them, for example, my kids used to take them and cut duct tape, the residue gets on the scissor blade, and not only sticks to them, but then dulls the blades. And even if they snuck the scissors, one always knows when there is cardboard hanging off the end, or they weren’t quite where you left them, or worse yet, they don’t bring them back.

I had forgotten about the many times my scissors went awol and returned changed. The lessons we learn in life aren’t always deep or theological; sometimes they are extremely simple. It didn’t matter to my kids when they were kids. Now, it matters. It’s amazing how things change when we grow up, and others do unto us what we have done to them in our younger, more innocent, but slightly youthful years!

My mother isn’t living anymore, but there are probably a few things I should apologize for. Like sneaking chocolate chips, and when it came time to make cookies, there might not be enough, but then again, I had siblings who helped me do that also. There could be a few more: I am glad I have a short memory!!!

Wrong feet… no problem.

Sometimes, I find myself asking questions that have obvious answers and the one I am asking the question to, is oblivious to anything possibly being awry.

An adult, I might expect a cognitive answer. Some reason, some excuse, or perhaps something deeply philosophical which might make me check my sanity in asking the question. However, I asked an almost four year old, why are you wearing your boots backwards? He looked at me, he looked down at the boots, and kept on going in his awkward stride as if it was the normal. It wasn’t worth the argument to put the boots on the right feet. It wasn’t worth the breath to explain how the arches don’t work right if the left boot had a right foot in it. He had worn them wrong for so long he thought it was normal. He couldn’t move fast without falling down, and yet he seemed totally okay with awkward and limited. Without the proper foot in the proper boot, all the science put into arch supports, proper sizing or function was out the window.

I know some people who have lived most of their faith life with their spiritual boots on the wrong feet. They have adapted for so long they don’t realize the feet are in the wrong position. They walk crooked, they trip over their own feet but because they have convinced themselves that it’s normal, they don’t see anything odd about it. Meanwhile if anyone tries to tell them, check your feet, they act like the four year old, and throw a fit. Of course it’s a spiritual fit, with a few Bible verses used out of context but it’s still a fit. Usually, it ends in someone getting their feelings hurt because they would rather walk with their feet in the wrong boots than step back and take a look at the way they are leaving footprints in the sand.

This also reminds us that we need to make sure we have our shoes on the right feet before we go telling others about their shoes!

Matthew 7:5 (NIV): “You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye”.

I actually, wanted to go to church

I wanted to go to church. There are days I don’t want to go. Even driving to town to lead worship, there are moments where my heart doesn’t want to turn right at the corner. Today, I wanted to go to church. I have been away from home for three weeks, and it will be a week before I drive over the Mississippi in La Crosse, and head up the hill. I needed and wanted to go to church

Today, I headed into town with Lucy, Addlea’s 20-month-old. I have done it before, not a problem. We had our little backpack with diapers, wipes, and an extra set of clothes. We did it last week, and we both had a wonderful time.She was in the children’s ministry, and I in church. As we began to walk downstairs at the church, someone stopped me. “It’s family day today,” he cheerfully quipped. That was the end of the cheerful. The children’s minister handed me a plastic bag of maybe good ideas for a 4-year-old, but not for a 2-year-old.

We made it through worship. The songs were awesome, and she even clapped with the music. I am still a bit limited on my right arm weight limit, but I perched her on my left hip, and we sang. Communion time began the amusement. I carried her up with me, took the cup and the bread, holding them together in my right hand, trying to disguise what I was holding. I sat down, and put it under the seat to my right, hoping to hide it. That didn’t work. She kept walking to my right and looking under the chair. The elder residing at the communion table, wasn’t helping me out either; he was talking slowly. Finally, we could take the bread. I did it. I broke off a small bit and gave her, hoping to keep her distracted. She asked for more, a bit louder than I wanted. Luckily, I had saved a small bit of the bread. By this time I was holding the communion cup of juice in my left hand, leaning my arm farther and farther toward the elderly couple beside me. There were two chairs between us, but I was leaning as far as I could as she climbed on my lap and slowly worked her way across the chairs. Oh yes, I was also wearing a white shirt. The man and the lady had lost all their spiritual focus on communion. The man whispered, “she is determined to get it.” I nodded my head yes, as the directions were given to drink the juice. I took a sip, then had no choice but let the toddler have a sip. I then finished off the cup to which she loudly said, “more”. I gave her the cup. She looked at me with utter disgust. She was licking the inside of the cup and then I heard a crack. I took the cracked cup, shoved it in my purse about the time she grabbed my hand and headed for the aisle. I gathered my purse, the diaper bag, left the elderly couple chuckling and we headed out the back of the sanctuary.

Remember, I wanted to go to church. To rescue the morning, we walked upstairs to the Moses room. The Moses room is for moms and babies; we used to call it a cry room. The service was live streamed, and I thought I could at least listen to the sermon. Instantly I knew that wasn’t going to work. There was already someone in the room, needing the quietness of the room more than us, and Lucy was not going to stay. However, before we walked out of the room, she did the unthinkable. In the corner of the room, there was a pretend water and rocks (supposedly the Nile), and a baby Moses was lying in a basket. There was a sign that said, “Do not touch baby Moses.” Without blinking, she reached down, grabbed baby Moses, and took off out of the room. After all, she can’t read, so she can’t be held accountable, right? We ended up walking around the church for a bit, but didn’t find any other options. I told her we would go to the park, and she walked baby Moses back to the pretend Nile and basket, and we headed for the park.

Before we got to the park, I needed some caffeine, so I stopped at a local Casey’s. The lady at the desk asked, “So, how is your day going?” I have said “Fine” way too many times, so I told her I wanted to be in church, and this darling little girl holding my hand wasn’t having any of it, so we were heading for the park.

I don’t know what she believes, or where her faith is, but I do know that her answer slapped me right in the face. She simply said, “I think God meets us when we need him, not always where we look for him.” I picked up my Diet Coke. What more could I say? Watching a little girl swing, laugh, climb the ladder, and giggle down the slide, maybe that’s what God wanted me to be a part of. I will leave this week, and I can go to church whenever I want. I won’t have the chance to push Lucy on a swing and catch her at the bottom of the slide. Maybe that’s where God was meeting me this morning: at the dinosaur park in St. Jo, Illinois.

Bubbles

They were $1 each at Dollar General! I grabbed two. We sat down in front of the opened back door in the tiny house. I carefully opened the tops and the fun began. The fun was blowing bubbles! We had pink and blue wands to make bubbles so we were happy. Bubbles are confusing to toddlers. Well, perhaps they are confusing to all of us. You dip your wand, pull it out and if the wind is blowing your bubbles could be gone in the wind before you blink. If we could have chased the bubbles, we would have been running through the backfields of eastern Illinois. If we could have caught a bubble, when our fingers touched the bubble, all would have been for naught. Quickly, the entertainment of bubbles would have become tears.

James 4:14 reminds me of bubbles in the wind. “what is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.”

Many of us grab the $1 deals in life and expect more than bubbles tossed about in the wind. James reminds us that life appears, just like the bubbles. Yet, the more we try to tighten our grasp, the quicker it seems to pop our bubble or the mist slips through our fingers.

About the time we were getting the hang of the blowing bubbles, someone spilled the bubbles. No, it wasn’t me, but I ended up with bubble solution soaked pants!

Yet, it was worth the look on the kids face as we watched the bubbles fly into the air. Worth $1? Oh yes! Worth having soggy pants for while? Yes! Worth the almost 4 year old telling everyone Grammy has a wet behind and it’s bubble stuff? Yes.

Life is worth living, and it doesn’t have to cost alot! Life is worth having stuff spilled all over your lap. Life is worth a lot whether it’s a bubble flying off into the wind, or popping as it left the wand. . It’s up to you to decide if you are crying over the bubbles flying away, or seeing the beauty of the blowing bubbles float toward the heavens.

In the Blink of an eye

The blink of an eye. Just a second. Don’t look away you will miss it. The bookends of life happen so quickly. It seems to take forever to get there, and it’s over! In the blink of an eye, it’s over, or in the blink of an eye it’s just begun.

Last night, I heard the blink of an eye! I have been in Illinois at my daughters waiting to welcome a new grandbaby. This little one was pushing us all to the limits of patience, especially the mom carrying this little one who was well past her due date. But last night, the one end of the bookend happened in the blink of an eye. The beauty of creation, the incredible miracle of birth and God moving one more soul to begin life. I listened to the blink. I heard the cries, the encouragement by the midwife and doula, and then the cry of the newborn beginning life. For the mom who had been in labor, it wasn’t in the blink of an eye. It seemed like an eternity carrying the child for over 9 months, enduring the pangs of labor then pushing, in the blink of an eye, a miracle out to begin life!

For me, one of the many marvels of pregnancy, was that moment with the child living within, then in that blink of an eye, that newborn is wide eyed, crying and gasping for the air that will be what carries them forward. It has never ceased to make my heart cry.

As I sat rocking this beautiful little blessing today, my heart asked God many questions. God hasn’t answered them but eventually he will. They weren’t questions of great inquiry about the intelligence of man, or the great knowledge of books or even the scientific solutions to things that this earth struggles with. They were much deeper questions. Questions liked “ God why did you love me so much to have given me children, who have given me children?” “Lord, why does love make me cry?” “Lord, do you love me as much as I love this gift of life?” Perhaps the greatest question of all, “Lord, how will you protect this innocent heart?”

Her eyes looked at mine as if to ask, who are you? Her fingers gently grasped mine. Perfection wrapped in a sleeper, with a blanket swaddled around her, looked at me as if to say, “God thinks you can handle me.” My eyes started leaking today. I don’t think I will ever be the same again.

Worship has no genre

It’s been an issue since time began: preferences and opinions. Isaac preferred the hunter in Easu and Rebekah leaned toward the homebody, Jacob. It’s not just about hunters and homebodies but harmonies! Yes, I brought up music but only because of church this morning. I will be the first to say I don’t care for most contemporary music! But I am also a musician and music speaks to the heart. Because I have this drive to worship, wherever I am, I find a church to worship on Sundays. Because of that heart need, we have found ourselves in some rather interesting situations, I mean churches. Regardless of where I am, I watch people and how they worship.
Today, the music started out with what I would call a bit of rock n roll. My eyes scanned the church and I saw more grey, white hair or heads without any hair, than I did younger heads with lots of hair and a variety of colors both natural and hairdresser helped!
What kept my eyes returning to the left side of the church was four older ladies. By older, I mean, older than me by probably two decades. One lady never stood up, the other two stood for awhile and then sat down. That wasn’t what I noticed- they had their hands lifted high, singing. The music changed, they kept singing. The young men in front of me were quite stoic compared to the other side of the aisle. Why the difference? I am not sure. It didn’t seem to matter that the music was loud, drums slightly loud compared to the other instruments and the singer sounded like he was singing in a barrel. What mattered was the heart came to worship. When the heart focuses, opinions, preferences and harmonies become secondary. Perhaps life has taught the heart that Jesus is more important than genre. Maybe the heart was more in tune to forgiveness than the pages in a hymnal or the words on PowerPoint.
It gave me much to think about this morning as we walked up to take communion. Many of the people were taking multiple communion and cups and taking them back to those who remained seated. Worship isn’t just about how you relate to God, but how you serve others. I drove away feeling blessed by the worship of ladies who didn’t seem to care they were singing 2026 contemporary: they just seemed to care they were singing to an amazing magnificent God!

Pout pout fish

If I told you I was reading a map you would conclude I was traveling, or my gps didn’t work. If I were reading a textbook, you may conclude I am in a class or studying for one. If I shared a Bible verse, you may surmise I was in church or Bible study. If I told you I was reading Pout, Pout fish, (for the millionth time) you would know I am with grandbabies. I almost have the book memorized. The three year old finishes the pages for me. Pout pout fish has a pout pout face and he spreads dreary wearies all over the place. He makes excuses why he can’t be happy. He is a downer, unhappy, grumpy and no one can make him smile. Then, someone kisses him! The unthinkable! Who wants to kiss a gloomy Gus, a sad Sally or a critical Carrie. (sorry to the nice Gus’s, Sally’s and Carrie’s). We usually avoid the grumpy, ornery, critical and unhappy hearts in the world. The challenges of life are enough without people to pop our hopes, squish our dreams and make us sad when we are around them!
But the kiss: that changes everything! Rather than a pout pout fish, suddenly he becomes a
“I’m a kiss-kiss fish, With a kiss-kiss face, and I spread cheerie- Cheerios all over the place.”
Oh, if only it were so easy to get people to change, or to change ourselves. Perhaps the answers are as simple as loving people to change their hearts!

Prayer meeting

As we climbed into the old truck I asked Jim when was the last time we were at that kind of a prayer meeting? Neither one of us could remember. Prayer meetings aren’t necessarily the first thing on the calendar each month. It’s where we go when pressed for answers and they are none. It’s where we turn when earthly answers don’t fit the questions.
What a moving time of praying out loud with others. We prayed for nothing, and for everything. For no one, yet for everyone. And, as life would have happen, someone’s cell phone went off. It’s those moments when you forget to turn off the ringer, that you can’t get into the purse or the pocket quick enough. We laughed: yes during a prayer meeting we laughed. Then we kept on praying.
If only God would have a ring tone that we would recognize as his call. If only it would break through the noise of our world and make us scramble for it. If only we would be seeking him and he rings us just to remind is he is listening

Not ready for the time to end.

“There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal”
I know it well. I have read this chapter, memorized most of the first part, spoke about it, sang about it thanks to the song “Turn, Turn, Turn”. Pete Seeger wrote it ironically the same year I was born but most of us remember the Byrds making it famous in 1965.
As much as the writer of Ecclesiastes 3 gives us the time to and times not to, he missed one. Saturday about 2:10 in the afternoon, I added another one.
Saturday was Truman’s celebration service. I had just finished playing the prelude and several hundred people were singing: a beautiful tribute to a man well loved. I had a chair set aside in the front, ironically right beside Trumans open fiddle case.
It just didn’t feel right. I have carried that fiddle, put it in the backseat of my car along with a walker, after I got Truman in the front many times. I have watched the fidddle being held on the front row and then magically Truman would start playing during a song! Seeing the fiddle lie quiet, added a new verse to Ecc. 3. “A time to fiddle and a time to refrain from fiddling.” Everything within me cried out, I am not ready for this time to end.
Unfortunately we don’t have an option when God decides the “time to” or “time to refrain”.
All of us have a fiddle in the case that will someday be still. What Truman did was keep playing until his hands couldn’t anymore. Even then, the fiddle was in the corner waiting for one of us to come in and pick it up to fill in the music that was missing.
Many people put their fiddle in the case and quit. The excuses are many and the reasons are feeble. Somewhere I heard the phrase, “an excuse is the skin of a reason stuffed with a lie.” There is no excuse for not living while time gives you life. Our humanity likes to decide the “time to” and the “time not to.” It allows us to be lazy with our faith and our love for others.
I sat the entire celebration service listening to the violin case talk to my heart. I know it was God, disguised as a violin but it worked. There will be a time I can’t play or sing but while I have breath, while my hands can move, I will play. As long as there is someone to listen, I will make music. I spent time with Truman enough to know that he believed playing and singing move the heart, but he also knew that listening moves the soul. Time is precious: waste it wisely!

Grandma didn’t tell me the truth!

I always thought my grandma, Eva Campbell, could do no wrong. Of course I didn’t mean she was perfect, but just about. I have learned lately that my Grandma didn’t tell me a lot of things she should have. She taught me to knit, crochet, make scones, be honest, kill snakes (aka garden hoses), prune and trim in her garden and memorize scripture. She loved people, listened to us kids and let us have cookies even though we both knew mom said no cookies before lunch. She lived to be almost 98 and although she has been gone since 2000, the blatant omissions are big and growing every day. Since there are so many, I will only share ten. Ten is a biblical number and grandma was all about the Bible.

10. Cookies don’t ruin your appetite. Might ruin your self control but not the appetite.
11. Sitting quietly on the deck doesn’t calm a child. It might have calmed grandma but it made me slightly irritable. I tried it on my granddaughter and she had the same reaction I did except she shook her head no. We would have never told grandma no.
12. Cake pans with magnets somehow were ok in the 60’s, but they don’t work as well entertaining children on long trips. We, however, were enamored! We were also dorks.
13. Money doesn’t grow on trees. At Christmas the walnuts hanging on her tiny christmas tree, had money in them. We haven’t had such luck buying walnuts with anything more than walnuts in the shell.
14. My brothers still pick on me. No one picked on me when grandma was around. I kind of miss grandma’s interference.
15. Grandma lived on our farm. We were blessed. Grandma never explained how some kids didn’t have someone to conduct a funeral for the stray cat or the fish we didn’t really want, that died. She was always there and always ready to perform, try to resuscitate or hide the evidence if nothing could be done.
16. Fast forward a few decades, grandma spent alot of time at our house, even had her own bedroom, because that was the only way my kids would know her. We drug her to T- ballgames, and concerts. She never told me how important it was to her heart, to watch “little me’s”, my kids grow up. As she watched my kids, she relived us kids growing up all over again. She didn’t tell me how hard it was for her to know she would never see them grow much older than the tender years.
17. Grandma never let me know how hurt she was when I didn’t come visit. Her comment was always, come when you can. My can, should have been more often.
18. Grandma never told me how much she prayed for me. Oh I know she prayed for me, but now that I have grandbabies, I know it was never a math equation, but a daily vigil.
19. The biggest thing grandma never told me is how much her heart changed when I was born. I find myself rocking a grandchild to sleep or holding them while they are sleeping, and my heart explodes. Grandma never told me how much love changed when grandkids showed up on earth.

Dead Sea

I have never been to its shores. I haven’t looked down from the heights and seen people floating. I haven’t experienced the smell nor touched my toes in its densely mineral filled waters. Yet, I can relate!
According to Google the Dead Sea is a “landlocked salt lake in Asia, bordered by Jordan, Israel, and the West Bank, famous for being the lowest point on Earth’s land surface (over 400m below sea level). Its extremely high salt and mineral content (around 10 times saltier than the ocean) makes it impossible for most life to survive, hence the name, but allows people to float effortlessly.” (Google)
Yet even with the “dead” definition in its name there are some great qualities. It is extra rich in minerals such as magnesium, calcium, potassium, and bromine. Because of these benefits, it isn’t simply useless or for our entertainment as we float aimlessly, it helps skin issues such as psoriasis, eczema, relieves joint pain from arthritis, and reduces stress.
There have been “Dead Sea” moments in my life. For even though the Dead Sea has great qualities, because of the salt content, it cannot support life.
I have been in the Dead Sea moments, wondering what good could ever come of the lowest time in my life, where nothing seems to live, where I can’t swim but I can’t drown. I feel lower than I have ever felt, not in depression but not dancing in the streets. Yet, just like the good in the Dead Sea has, I hold the moments in my hand that the Mount Sinai’s can’t give. There is something about looking up when you feel you can’t go any lower and seeing hope. On top of Mt Sinai, the only way to go is down.
The Dead Sea moments of my heart is where I taste and see God is good. I find within the Dead Sea places, the richness of the moment, like the richness in the minerals the lowest place on earth possesses. God lets me experience the Dead Sea moments just as he does the mountains tops. If I only see what I think is the negative, I will miss the richness of his touch, and the tenderness of his leading. My spiritual arthritis can find fault with the smell, the floating or the unknown, or I can feel the healing, while I rest suspended and held securely by a God who is always one step ahead of where we will be.

Valentine Memory

There are times as I get older that the past seems to fade into a deep abyss and I cannot remember. Then, there are days like today, Valentine’s Day, that some memories I cannot forget. It was usually prompted by the teacher sending a note home in our folder, reminding our parents of the Valentine party. I always hoped my mother would be a “room parent” that day so I wouldn’t have to ride the bus home. But either way, we got out of an afternoon of school but with it came to Valentine gift exchange. I would go in the closet and find the shoe boxes our mother always saved. If there wasn’t a shoebox, we had to make one. I was always a bit embarrassed as that meant we didn’t have new shoes. Then we got out the constructn paper and laid it all out on the table. We cut pieces of paper and glued them to the box making sure we had a slit on the top of the box for the cards to go in. We made sure it was big enough as some kids in class taped suckers or candy to their valentine so we needed the slit to be big enough. Of all the things in life that would make me worry, at the age of a fourth graders was who to give what Valentine to whom. My mother bought us kids a box of an assortment of Valentines. Girls weren’t a problem. “ Be Mine”, “You have my heart”, or other sayings that a fourth grader would think was mushy were okay for a girls but the boys? That threw me under the struggle bus. I didn’t want to be unkind, but I didn’t want to lie. “Be my Valentine”, or “I kove you”, wasn’t the one to give to the boy who smelled, or always kicked me under the chair. Stressed, because of love! Well, perhaps stressed because of a day to have to express love that perhaps we didn’t feel. The teacher made sure we understood that everyone should be given a valentine. Such a predicament for a fourth grader.
Today, my approach to Valentine’s Day is a bit different. Rather than give valentines I have learned to be a Valentine. Love with feet, moves the heart. Love in action, however, sometimes doesn’t fit the slits we have made in our box. The candy sweethearts that we used to enjoy chewing on, now would say different things rather than, “be mine”, “cutie pie”, “true love” or “kiss me”. If I were to put words on the little sweet candies today, they would say, “ I will listen”, “I care”, “let me walk with you” or “I will love you even if.”
Now, past the fourth rader self, I am willing to give Valentine’s to the ones who don’t have one to put in my box, ones who smell a bit or their eyes are red from crying. I have learned the art of giving love that meets needs, and yes, it is an art to be learned.
So this little walk down memory lane may be different than your walk, but it reminds me that love, in words give us hope and changes the moment. Love, in action, is hope, and changes the world for a lifetime.

Ad Hoc?

It was just a word, well, actually it was two words. I read it on a document I was supposed to agree with. I had no idea what it meant. I had a couple options. Just send a note back and say fine. But, that phrase, those two words might change the meaning of what I thought I knew.
Many years ago, about 48 to be exact, I used a word that I thought sounded important. It was important all right, but it wasn’t what I thought.
I pondered the situation for a few minutes then googled the meaning. After I read the meaning, I sent a note back saying I agreed. It was much easier to agree with something I knew what it meant.
Words, they open up worlds of color or they embarrass us. It all depends on our pride or rather our willingness to admit we don’t know the meaning.
Maybe you are a walking dictionary, but I am not. Perhaps you know what the word lypophrenia, petrichor or ad hoc mean. I didn’t!
Jesus expects us to know his word. He expects our obedience but like the Ethiopian said in Acts, “how can I know unless someone tells me.”
In our culture our pride keeps us from admitting we have NO clue. Jesus wants our heart to be willing to accept honestly, that there are times we have no clue and like the Ethiopian in Acts 8, we need someone to explain to us its meaning.
We need to be an Ethiopian, willing to admit we are clueless and we need to be a Phillip, willing to take the time to explain. Sometimes even knowing what a word means, still needs someone putting the word into action the word to change our life.
I now what ad hoc means. And I have learned, sadness that is unexplainable is Lyprophrenia and the fresh air after a rain is the word petrichor! I am not sure how I will work them into a conversation, but now I know!

Compassion, Credit Cards, and making yourself at home

It bothered me then, and it still does. Several years ago, in a Women’s Bible Study, someone brought up a prayer request. We prayed about it. After all, that is what you are supposed to do. It’s almost like a “get out of jail” card. We pray, and that’s the end of the journey.

It bothered me all night and well into the next day. I was playing a concert, and before I went into the church. I made a phone call. I called the woman who had shared the request. The original call, thus prompting the prayer request, came from a friend of hers who found herself in a pickle and needed some help.

I like pickles. In fact, when I was a kid, they called me “Gigi Pickle.” This isn’t a sweet, dill, or any other kind of pickle; this was someone who needed something. Something that involved more than people hundreds of miles away praying, then going about their lives. I told my friend, let’s get her out of the pickle jar. Fly her to Minnesota, and she can stay with us. Yes, I did ask Jim. We both felt, which I attribute to the Holy Spirit, that God was calling us to do something.

But often doing something has a cost! I did the unthinkable. I gave this friend my credit card number and said, “Fly her up to Minnesota.” Within 48 hours, we had met a new friend, and God somehow arranged the numbers, and the credit card didn’t blink. In the next few months, we came to love and cherish this pickle jar blessing.

I learned something, actually, I learned a lot from my uncomfortable 24 hours of the Holy Spirit prodding my heart. Prayer is a good way to talk to God, but often it means doing something. God could have magically gotten her out of the pickle jar, but he used “us” as the tongs. Being used as tongs might change your life. It certainly changed ours. Compassion teaches us about the deep part of our hearts that are snuggled under blankets and how selfish we can be. Compassion often is used as a noun rather than a verb. Compassion needs wheels and must be moving. Compassion puts me in the situation and asks, “What would I want someone to do for me?”

Today it’s that “blessing we helped get out of the pickle jar’s” birthday. Tomorrow I will take her shopping. She is blossoming, out of the pickle jar and in cold Minnesota, and has a ministry in her apartment nearby.

Don’t just pray, be willing to be one of the many “tongs” that Jesus will use to bless others. You may get pickle juice on you, but it’s living out the Bible verse, “Do unto others as you would want them to do to you.”

And if you know Miss Francis, wish her a happy birthday!!!

Who do I guard?

Proverbs 4:23 “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”

‭‭This verse has always challenged me. How do I guard? With what do I gather to guard with? Do I guard alone or gather me a regiment?

I know how to guard things. We lock up, put a fence around, security cameras and “ do not touch “ signs. But the heart, how do I guard my heart?

Back when the kids played upwards basketball, two boys I taught in school were playing on a court near where I sat. I turned so I could watch them. Someone explained what guarding in basketball was. Their interpretation was quite interesting. They were friends, but now on different teams. Their coaches must have instilled in them, watch them every second. Don’t let them out of your arms length. Put your hands up and look them in the eyes. I am sure that’s what the coaches said, probably not meant to be taken literally. The amusing part of the moment, was that the basketball was down on the other side of the court. The game was going on without them. But, they were doing just what the coaches said, with each other, on the end of the court where nothing was happening. Eyes locked, arms up, chasing each other, totally meaningless because the basketball and the action was taking place somewhere else.

We laughed! They didn’t get it! It was several minutes before the ball and the others came back down to their end. They were oblivious!

Sometimes I am just like a first grader. guessing how to guard my heart. Jesus explained it, but somehow I think it’s an outward game being played. I go through motions, gestures and antics, thinking I am guarding my heart. Meanwhile, inside my heart, the game is being played a different way. There are things I need to put into practice outwardly to guard my heart. Choose where to go, choose the people who speak into my heart and choose what my eyes see. But then there are times when the heart seems to be playing different game. I find that I am at the other end of the court going through some odd motions that I think look like what Jesus said. Maybe I make it too complicated. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul and strength. Could it really be as simple as that?

The dash- live your dash well!

It’s my birthday. I won’t say my age, but it’s a slight bit over 30. It’s hard to imagine I am turning 31, when all three of my children will be older than their mother! As a kid, our birthdays were never a big event; in fact, I don’t think I had a birthday party until I was well into my adult years. We did, however, get to choose our own cake. Mine was chocolate with white fluffy frosting between the two round layers, with chocolate drizzled on top. My birthday has been amid interesting events. Being stalled in Kansas, knowing no one, breaking my foot on my birthday, being sick, seeing friends, my father passing,  and the year I turned the same age that my father was when he died was sobering. Why should this year be any different? I spent the morning caressing the arm of a dear friend, and praying before I left, thanking God for the 41 years I have been honored to be a friend, and asking God to take him home. If God allows him to leave this earth today, the 27^th of January, that would be a wonderful gift, albeit not without a few tears.

The dash. We see it everywhere in the cemetery.  The name, the year they were born, the dash, and the year they died. The dash. Such a short little line, and yet it contains so much. What we do with our dash, the many birthdays we celebrate in this world, cannot be understood by simply looking at the dash.

I held my friend’s hand today, knowing what was in 41 years of his dash. I know in my 31 (I am not 31 if you need me to tell the truth) years of “dashing”, God has done so many things, and if God wills, I will have a few more before the date is entered, ending my dashing.

Jesus lived 33 years. In his dash, Peter describes how Jesus lived.

“how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power, and how Jesus went around doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, because God was with Him.” Acts10:38We know more about the “doing good” and the “dashing”. Healed the blind, raised the dead, made the lame to walk, the deaf to hear, and cast out demons. Jesus turned water into wine, fish and bread into a buffet, and made a simple statement that turned a mob who came to kill a woman, into quietly dispersing.  Jesus taught a bunch of men to listen and see beyond the obvious, look before they leapt, or in Peter’s case, look before he drew his sword, and turned a bunch of back-wood hicks into orators.

We don’t know much about the 30 years before, but we do know about the three years of dashing, and it’s quite the rap sheet.

How do I dash well? How do I take advantage of every moment, every breath, every opportunity to live so my dash has value, shares my faith, and makes a difference in someone else’s life?  

I might have, perhaps, been slightly hyperventilating over this birthday number. It’s not a magical number, and it doesn’t end in a 0 or a 5, but it reminded me that I am getting older. Have I made a difference? What else can I do to be effective? Retirement, I don’t want to be retired, I want to be moving, and to do so, I have to be reshod, or retreaded?  But I also don’t want to be busy, frantic to feel I have been effective, and to rate my dash on my earthly focus. That seems to be a problem with us, humanity. We need to see success, or at least positivity, now. Eternity is where I will truly understand better how effective my dash was. Now is the only time I have to be intentional and fruitful. Just one day at a time. Just one prayer at a time. Just spending time with one another at a time. Just one meal with a friend. Just one supper delivered to people whose life is in chaos. Just one donation to a worthy cause. Just one… Just one thing at a time. I don’t mean to use the word merely as a label, as if it were insignificant.Back in the day, Michael Jordon and Nike made famous the quote, “Just do it.”  Instead of making excuses why I can’t, I need to “just do it,” Just do something. Jesus looked and saw and did. He went about doing good. He went out of his way to do good. He saw the teary eyes and did good. He heard the stomachs growling and did good. He listened to the crowd, and rather than react, he just went about doing good.

I look at the cards I got in the mail, see the birthday notices online and in texts, and I smile. I smile because so many of them are relationships, because I did something, and God turned it into something good. Paul reminds me not to get caught up in getting tired of “just doing it” because he knows we get caught up in not seeing our “dashing” from heaven’s eyes.  

Galatians 6:9 “And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.“I won’t have chocolate cake tonight, the tradition, but I will enjoy family, have a great supper, and laugh. After all, when we talk about someone’s living in their “dash”, often that’s what we remember. The times we enjoyed together, ate meals, and laughed. My challenge is to keep living, keep “dashing” so that my testimony outlasts my life, however long God has determined for me.

But I don’t want to be in this room- the honesty of a child

Normally, I don’t laugh in church. Today, I couldn’t help it! During worship, a boy and his mom entered church near us. What we don’t know, was what happened before they walked through the door. What we did know was his face showed he wasn’t happy. His facial expressions, were followed by his body language. He did not want to come into the worship center. His mom moved him into a row, in front of where the rest of the family was sitting. It was then, we began to giggle. He loudly proclaimed to his mom, “but I don’t want to be in this room.” I smothered a laugh. Several around me, couldn’t hide the giggles either. Eventually, his mom moved him out of the row, along side the aisle and headed for the back of the church. As he walked by our row, his face was adorably darling and ornery at the same time. His mom handled the 40 pound attitude with elegance.

There was no mistaking by his face what was in his heart.

As we, grow up, we learn to fake it! We smile and say we are fine. We look people in the eye and politely say what they want to hear, not what’s in our heart. We learn it, somewhere between forty pounds and adulthood! Give me little Marcus anytime and his honesty. Because truthfully there are many days I don’t want to be where I am either! I just wouldn’t look as cute as him spouting off my true feelings. Yet, God wants us to be real and honest.

Matthew 5:8

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God”

So if I think about it, the little fit Marcus threw, was refreshing to God because it came from a pure heart. I pretend that I “want to be in the room”, while my heart is far from where I am. God loves the honesty of a child. I pray that I becomes more like Marcus with my faith: living life with a pure heart. And maybe someday I can be just as cute!

Verbs- action!

“Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do;” John 14:12

I have never been good at English. I did enjoy Mrs. Olson and her attempts to teach me. I enjoyed diagramming sentences. I think the reason was primarily because I knew the difference between a noun and a verb. A noun is a person place or thing. A verb means action.

As a Christian, I should do what Jesus did. Jesus specialized in verbs! Verbs are the life blood of the soul.

That means, my life should have verbs in my faith walk. After all, its called a faith walk, not a faith sit. That leads me to take a look at my bio in comparison to Jesus bio. Am I living verbs? Am I reasoning, teaching, forgiving, loving, silencing storms, feeding, listening, walking, drawing in the sand, and serving? Of course Jesus did a few other dramatic verbs like healing, and raising the dead,but the bigger question is, do my verbs match the verbs of Jesus? I just wish I could figure out how to fish like Jesus. Worms are rather expensive!!!!

Cold Fire

We were anticipating a warmer Tennessee. We must have brought the cold air with us. In our villa is a very large fireplace: a beautiful fireplace. We almost giggled with anticipation. Then the abrupt realization: it was useless. It was a light behind some metal looking logs! The granddaughter named it appropriately, a cold fire! It was pretty, it gave off light and it slightly resembled fire, but the cold air was coming down the chimney removing any anticipation of there being anything more than a “cold fire”.

Looks are deceiving! That has been a part of life as long as I can remember. Often, I tend to stay at the scene of the deception and argue with myself or perhaps try to understand the oxymoronic situation. It looks, but it’s not. It resembles but it’s the opposite. What basic need it could have provided, cannot be met. Many times I see cold fires. People who pretend, but don’t even pretend well. What they want to be, they can’t. What they lead others to think they are, is not the truth, and often has no chance of being even close enough to truth to pretend it could be.

Luke 8:17 “For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open.”

If I were to rephrase the verse “Eventually, fake’s will be found out !”

It didn’t take us long to realize we were not going to sit by the fire and warm up! It didn’t take us long to realize Tennessee wasn’t any happier than we were with the cold snap. But what the “cold fire” made me aware of, is being real! Being who I was created to be and not try to be someone else, something else or be discontented with by perception of myself. It was a reminder to be me. And it was also a reminder to being all our warm clothes when we come to Tennessee!

Less is More

Less is more. In case you didn’t know you had the desire to know this tidbit of into, according to Google, here is what you wanted to know. “We all know this saying, first popularized by minimalist architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, which has been transformed into a platitude by advertisers, TV shows, and even corporate America as it right-sizes people out of their livelihoods (“We’ll have to learn to do more with less around here.””

So, what does that mean to me? Less is more, which means a 500-piece puzzle is more satisfying! My love for puzzles started 26 years ago when I didn’t feel well for a long time, and doing puzzles was about my limit. Sit in the chair, pick up a piece, get frustrated, put the piece down, pick up another piece, etc. But now, I have discovered that less is more satisfying, more enjoyable, and has more puzzles to do rather than sit and look at the random 45 pieces that seem to NOT fit, yet somehow, in the end, after another 6 weeks, they fit.

It goes back to when I was a kid. We didn’t have a TV, but we did have puzzles. I mean, to be honest, I think there were 8 pieces, they were heavy cardboard, and they were pretty quickly satisfied that we “finished the puzzle.”

So, I am done with the 1000-piece puzzles. I mean, I will accept them and put them on my shelf, but I will get teary-eyed and emotional if I see the top of the box says “500-piece puzzle” and the words “BIG PIECES” beside it.

How do I spiritualize this great bit of learning? Perhaps a cup of cold water in his name. Walking along the road to Emmaus with total strangers, rather than running a marathon. Finding contentment in the quiet night when the storm blows, so the internet is static, and the rain is coming in torrential downpours. Finding satisfaction in having a bowl of cereal for supper, and not a five-course meal. Sorry, for those of you who eat cereal for supper anyway! Less is more when I am content to be less of me and more of Jesus. Less of what I think is the “right thing”, and more of listening to another angle on the solution. Less is more when I just listen, with my eyes wide open and my mouth shut tight. Less is more, when God is in the more and I am in the less.

I’m a Hoarder!

I am a hoarder! There I said it. If confession is good for the soul, then I am good. But it’s not stuff that I filled myself up to the gills with yesterday, although I was tempted. In the normal definition of hoarder”, I was at Hobby Lobby and Target, when they put 90% off on Christmas stuff! A hoarder would have filled the cart with nonsense just because it was so cheap. I resisted- I only bought ten boxes of Christmas lights, which we do need. We have an urchin in our house who lives in the Christmas box and kills the lights that worked when we took them off the tree, but when we get them out the following year are totally dead! I resisted the urge to buy things I didn’t need, so that’s not what I hoard.

I hoard opportunities! Opportunities where God shows up, and hands me the desires of my heart, that make my soul sing. The hoarding that God allowed this week were moments of pure joy. Pure joy in knowing he is in control, the ball in the court is the right one for the game and my prayers left the room. My prayers most of the time leave the room but seem to boomerang to Peru. Yesterday, they came back to my heart and were what I needed, have longed for and filled my cup. Years ago, I would have grabbed more stuff to fill my cart, my cup, because my boomerang prayers were not coming back to me. Maybe it’s growing up, maybe it’s understanding God better, but I resisted more stuff to replace the empty hole. I waited for God to fill my cart and not just because something was available, grab it and make it work! I am hoarding the “this is going to be good” moment not even really knowing what it will be but hoarding the “knowing” that God pulled a few strings and moved a few pens that will give me joy that no shopping cart full of 90% off junk ever could. Okay, it’s not all junk at Target and Hobby Lobby, but compared to the promises of God, they fail miserably. Because eventually those ten boxes of “new” lights, will quit working. I am so grateful Gods promises never do!!!

What I have I give thee…

Acts: that is my chosen book for the year. I don’t necessarily read the Bible through in a year, I choose a book of the a Bible, and intentionally peruse, meditate slowly, chew it up, think about it and let it ruminate in my heart. Today I read Peter and John in Acts 3. In verse 6 Peter says, “Silver and gold I do not have but what I have I give you.”

So often we open our wallets before we open our hearts. It’s perhaps easier to give money than our time, our energy, or our emotion’s. I don’t know what’s it’s like to beg. I have no reference on having to sit, totally at the mercy of others, and beg for my daily needs. A begger, appropriately perhaps, thinks they need money. I drive by them on the corner in the city. What Peter said was a refocus on the backstory. Jesus did that all the time: sounds like Peter caught on!

Basically he said, “what you need is to be healed not be helped.”

How often do we look beyond the first thing we see, the begging, to the heart. It takes more time to see the heart. It’s sometimes harder to handle the heart than open the billfold. I look around and try to focus on what people need that is what I have. I have a home, open it to others. I have time: go drive a friend to appointments. I have musical ability: go teach kids to play ukuleles. I have an ear: I can listen. It’s not always about what I have, but what I have, is the name of Jesus and that opens up Pandora’s box! Jesus will give me the wisdom to know, that what he has given me as my gifts, is what others need! Silver and gold have I none- but I have the name of Jesus which has changed me and it’s what I can use to make a difference in others lives