DEFINING MOMENTS

 

            One of the most powerful influences in my life was my Mother.  Though not well educated or widely traveled, there was a strength about her that helped shape my life and make me the person I am today.

Though she would not have known the term “defining moment,” marrying at the age of seventeen, giving birth to three babies and losing a her young husband and oldest child, all within the span of six years, created within my Mom a strength and determination that served her well throughout life setting an invaluable example for her offspring.

Looking back on her life now, I am sure my Mother would acknowledge that those particular events brought about fundamental changes that defined, to a great degree, the person she became.

A defining moment is a point in your life when you are forced to make a decision that will change everything.  It will change you, your outlook, and your behavior.

Every life is a series of defining moments that shape and change us—moments that have a huge influence on our development and our choices.  These moments aren’t easy to recognize except in hindsight, but they are the moments that determine who we are and will be—the moments that shape everything that matters to us.

Some of these moments are positive, and some are negative, but that doesn’t matter.  The importance lies in how we respond to them.

This morning, I am looking back on some of those defining moments that made me the  gal I am today, and I am remembering the summer of 1968 and a church family camp in Prescott, Arizona.

I had just finished my eighth year as a public school teacher.  I enjoyed teaching, and I was good at it, but when I dared admit it, there was, deep in the recesses of my heart, a disappointment that could not be quelled.

From my earliest days, I knew that God had a plan for my life.  There was something He wanted me to do, but not knowing what it was or how to find out, I just did what I thought best.  I became a teacher.  After all, I might need to make a living for myself.

I loved my long, leisure summer days apart from my fourth graders, but my determined Mother had another idea.  She suggested it would be nice, if I would take her and some of her friends for a few days to family camp.  I couldn’t say “no.”  So off to Prescott we went.

Little did I know that this was one of God’s defining moments—a life changing moment.

I had not really wanted to go to camp, but the first day on the grounds, Jack, a young man in whom I was greatly interested, showed up.  Camp wasn’t a total waste after all.

After taking my Mom and her friends back to the valley I returned to camp.  God used that return trip to soften me up.  Alone in the car, I thought about Jack.

With tears, I demanded, “Why, God?”  I’m lonely.  Why can’t I have a man like Jack?

It is amazing the things and people God uses to bring us to the place where we can hear his voice.

The camp speaker was a man from Montana.  I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me. Many were blessed by his ministry, but I am totally convinced that God sent Reverend Goodman to Prescott, Arizona just for me.  God does things like that, you know.

After his ministry of the Word, I wept at an old fashioned altar.  Not conscious of praying words, my heart, without restraint, flowed out to God.  He knew the longing, the confusion, the disappointment, the doubt, the fear.

Reverend Goodman prayed with me.  At the nudging of the Holy Spirit, he talked with me telling me things about myself that only God and I knew.  He shared his own ministry experiences encouraging me to open my heart and life to others—to become vulnerable.

I left that camp totally changed.  My life was never again the same.  There is no way to explain it.  It was God’s defining moment.

I had already signed a contract, so I taught one more year before launching into full time ministry—a ministry that was as varied as the colors in a rainbow and extended to many parts of the world.

There is an overwhelming joy in my heart as I remember nearly fifty years of ministry experiences and the lives that have been changed, and I think, “what if I had said no?” How different life would have been!

Among all the decisions I have made in my life, two standout—the moment, when as a child, I decided to follow Jesus, and the moment, as an adult, when I said “yes” to God’s call to service.  Those are the moments that defined my life and made me who I am today.

Your life is a composite of all the decisions you make.  It is all but impossible to make the right decision on your own.  Think of the mistakes and hurts you could avoid, if you had the right counsel—divine counsel.

Psalm 37:5 says, “Commit your way unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass.”

Commit yourself and every decision to God.  Let Him define your life.

Remember, the sun will come out tomorrow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TAKING THE WRONG ROAD

Friday was the big day, the day when Cecil would finally ask me to marry him.  He would have asked me much sooner, but I was determined that everything had to be perfect.  No surprises here.  This was an arranged event, so according to plan, we headed for Sedona, where beautiful red sandstone cliffs cast their shadow over that little city, and tourists from around the world come to see.  We were late leaving the valley, but we figured we would be there by the middle of the afternoon.

Sedona was an easy two-hour drive north of Phoenix.  Cecil wanted to propose in a pretty little park and take me to a special dinner at a nice restaurant.  Then happy and satisfied, we would drive back to Mesa, and call everyone in the phone book to share our incredible news.

Cecil drove, and with map in hand, I was the self-appointed navigator, but you will remember that I am also a talker.  Unfortunately, as we neared the turnoff from Highway 17, I was talking instead of navigating.  We missed our road, but instead of turning around, and wasting precious time I found another road that would take us back to Sedona.  We discovered immediately it was unpaved.  However, it was only twelve miles, so that wouldn’t be a problem.  Would it?

There were no signs, no warnings, and even the forest rangers, whom we met heading for the highway, only waved without bothering to tell us that the road we were on was impassable for any vehicle and especially so for a passenger car.

The next ninety minutes were spent trying to navigate this wilderness trail—one could hardly call it a road—without tearing out the car’s underpinnings.  I had failed as navigator.  Now all I could do was screech and wail, as Cecil tried to avoid great rocky drop-offs coming ever nearer to the side of the cliffs constantly scraping up against the dry thorny desert brush.  I couldn’t be concerned about the well fare of the car.  I was concerned about preserving our life.  Of course, if you have the courage and the presence of mind to look, that route gives the best view of the world famous red sandstone cliffs.

The day was far spent by the time we arrived in Sedona, and I had learned a valuable lesson.

It is far better to turn around and correct your mistake than to take an unknown, untried route to your destination.

I was born with the wanderlust.  “Going” is in my blood.  I have had the great privilege of visiting thirty-four countries in our world, but there are still one-hundred sixty-three others that I have not yet experienced.  It makes me sad to think that, for the most part, my traveling days around the world are probably over.

However, I am presently engaged in another journey, with which bad knees, sciatica, and needy family members cannot interfere.

Life is a journey designed by God before we were ever born—a journey with big rocks to climb, little ones to trip over, and milestones to mark where we have been.  We all must make this journey no matter how bad the road and accommodations.

It would be great if the path meandered always through grassy meadows dotted with wildflowers and babbling brooks, but for the most part, life’s road winds uphill the whole long day.  It is marked with adversity and seemingly impassable obstacles.

Often, in an effort to evade hardship and suffering, we find ourselves on a tawdry detour we have chosen hoping to find an easier way to our destination.

Detours will never get you there.  They will only take you farther from your goal.  When you find yourself on the wrong road, turn around.  Turn around!  Go back to the fork where you made the bad choice, and start again.

Proverbs 14:12 says, “There is a way that seems right to man, but its end is the way of death.”

In John 14:6, Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life…”

1 Peter 2:21 also tells us, “…Christ suffered for us, leaving us an example, that you should follow His steps.

There are those who tell us to live life on our own terms, go against the grain, take the road less traveled, but God’s word says, “ask for the old paths,” the tried and true paths.

You can choose your own path or you can choose to follow the footsteps of Jesus.

Our world is moving toward one God ordained event, the return of Jesus Christ, when history will be brought to a close, and life’s journey will be complete.  John Peterson wrote:

Someday life’s journey will be o’er and I shall reach that distant shore,

I’ll sing while ent’ring heavens door “Jesus led me all the way.”

Jesus led me all the way, led me step by step each day;

I will tell the saints and angels as I lay my burden down

“Jesus led me all the way.”

Pray this prayer with me.  “Teach me YOUR way, O Lord.”

 

Remember, the sun will come out tomorrow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

A ROCK IN A WEARY LAND

  In summertime, beach cities, in our country and around the world, host a myriad of sandcastle sculpting competitions.

To my amazement, I learned there really are professional sand sculptors, or “Masters of Sand,” as they are called.  They actually make a living playing with sand and water.

Sand sculpting is no easy feat.  Tons of sand must be shoveled and hundreds of gallons of water carried.  In larger competitions sculptors, both professional and amateur, are given four days to complete their masterpiece.  At the end of each day, these uncompleted creations are sprayed with a mixture of water and white glue in an attempt to preserve them.

However, in the end, whether professional or amateur, whether hours or days are invested, these masterpieces or amateur attempts, are not strong enough to withstand the swelling tide or the buffeting winds.  They are swept away.

I’ve never made a sand castle.  I know it must be fun and satisfying to create something spectacular, and in these competitions, there is usually a monetary reward for the best ones, but when I think of the intense effort and time spent knowing my work cannot be preserved, it seems like time wasted.

The main reason these sand sculptures cannot be preserved regardless of having been fortified is that they are built on sand.  When the tide comes in, that underlying sand is swept away and the structure crumbles.  They have no sure foundation.

I was so excited when I bought my first house in August of 2009.  It was brand new, and in my mind, it should have been perfect, but sometime after I took possession, I began to find cracks in the walls.  I learned that the builder had not properly prepared the ground before laying the foundation, so the structure was not adequately supported.

A foundation is a body or ground upon which something is built—an underlying base of support.

Most things need some kind of support.  Women wear foundation undergarments to smooth out the bulges and keep things from jiggling.  Even makeup needs a foundation, and I have discovered that my life must also have a solid foundation if it is to be of any worth.

Last week, Jan came to clean for me.  She was angry and upset because things were not going well with her grandchildren, whom she has raised.  This woman has been in and out of my house for several years.  She knows me well enough to be sassy with me.

From the beginning, I felt that God put her in my pathway for a reason.  I have often talked to her about the Lord being very frank concerning the truth of the gospel.  Jan always seemed to appreciate our conversations, but she has never taken that crucial step of faith.

Why can’t I ever get a break,” she wailed.

We sat on the sofa, and I said, “You know, Jan, you want God’s blessings and answers to your problems, but you have never given Him your trust.  You have never given Him anything.”

“Why should I?” she demanded.  “He has never done anything for me.”

“No?” I asked.  “Two thousand years ago He gave His life for you, but you won’t even give Him the time of day.”

She left angry refusing the hug I offered.

Jan has no foundation.  She has no one to call on in time of need.  She has no one to lean upon when she is weak.  She has nothing steadfast upon which to depend.

She is like the foolish man in Matthew 7, who built his house upon the sand: and when the floods came and the winds blew, the house fell, and great was its fall.

Matthew 7:24 also tells us about a wise man, who built his house upon a rock, and when the rains came and the wind blew, the house stood firm.

Matthew likens the wise man to one who makes Christ his foundation, his rock, and lives in obedience.   He also likens the foolish man to one who refuses Christ and will not obey Him.

In 1 Corinthians 3:11, the Apostle Paul says, “For no other foundation can anyone lay than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ.”

In the 1800’s, songwriter, Edward Mote wrote:

My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.

I dare not trust the sweetest frame but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

On Christ the solid rock I stand.

All other ground is sinking sand.

All other ground is sinking sand.

You may be worn out with the problems you face today.  A flood may be threatening and a gale blowing.  Make Jesus your foundation.  He will be your “Rock” in this weary land.

Remember the sun will come out tomorrow!

THAT’S MY GIRL!

  When Cecil was diagnosed with an inoperable aortic hematoma and told that he would die, the sunshine went out of my life.  I couldn’t believe it.  I wouldn’t believe it.  Consequently, talking about it became almost impossible.

One morning, after arising, Cecil crawled back into bed with me, and said, “We need to talk.”

There was an immediate avalanche of tears.  He talked and I listened.

Finally, struggling to control my emotions, I said, “Cecil, if you die, I am not going to rant and rail against God.  I am just going to believe this is God’s time to take you home.”

I can still hear the warm approval in his voice as he drew me closer, and said with a deep sigh, “THAT’S MY GIRL!”

“THAT’S MY GIRL” was his seal of approval.

Every person on the planet shares certain core needs.  There are the physical needs such as food, water, and air, but there are also emotional needs.  Every man strives for a sense of physical and emotional security.  Feeling approved of makes us feel good about who we are meeting that common need.  Whether we admit it or not, the desire for validation is one of the strongest needs known to man.  When we are no longer met with approval, our sense of security is threatened.

I spent a good deal of my early life longing for people to like me trying to be what I thought they wanted me to be.  I found myself saying “Yes,” when I really wanted to say “No,” agreeing when I didn’t, telling people what they wanted to hear, cooing over things I hated, sucking up to strangers for a bit of approval, and trying to be impressive.

I robbed myself of ME, and the approval of others was, at the most, fleeting.

Of course, the approval of others is desirable, but not at the expense of losing who you really are—not at the expense of sacrificing your own dreams and desires.

Aristotle said, “Criticism is something you can easily avoid by saying nothing, doing nothing and being nothing.”

God created no clones.  When He made you, He did not intend that you morph into some Hollywood star, some supermodel, a well-known athlete or even an admired friend.  He made you a unique, special being, unlike any other of His creation.  Even Identical twins are not truly identical.  No two sets of figure prints are the same.  DNA is particular to each individual.

In my favorite Psalm 139:14-15, David said, “…I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are your works…When I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth, Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed…”

The Psalmist is simply saying the structure and functions of a human body are beyond imagining.  The body is wonderful!  It is awesome and mysterious!  In the womb, it was skillfully made—the parts embroidered and woven together with threads of various colors.  So, also, is the soul awesome and wonderful in its intellect—in its imagination, affections, judgment, conscience, and will.

Every individual is a bundle of possibilities, but no one has precisely the same possibilities as anyone else.  Each man can be what nobody else can be.  Each man can do what nobody else can do.

Oscar Wilde is quoted as saying, “Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.”

Yes, I wanted approval, but I soon learned that I could not “say nothing, do nothing, or be nothing.  I needed to be me—the girl God made.  By the way, I like that girl!

When Cecil first began to show interest, I warned him not to get serious.  I told him that I am Selfish and stubborn, terribly opinionated, and I talk too much.  He declared that those were some of the things he had always admired about me.  Funny man!

I wanted very much to please my sweet husband.  I wanted and needed his approval, but we did not always agree on everything.  Rather than quarrel, we were open and honest about our differences, and I knew there were some things about which we would never see eye to eye.

When I think of Cecil now, I hear again his tender voice saying, “THAT’S MY GIRL,” and I know, in spite of everything, he approved of me.

However, I realize that ultimately, the approval I most need to be concerned about is that of Almighty God.  I am living and longing for the day when I stand before Him and hear Him say, “…Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things.  Enter into the joy of your lord.” Matthew 25:21.

That will be His seal of approval upon the life I have lived.

Remember, the sun will come out tomorrow!

GUTSY GAL

I wish you could have known my incredibly spunky little mother.  In 1947, when I was twelve years old, my Mom underwent a radical mastectomy where surgeons removed her right breast and the lymph nodes under her right arm.  That was in the days before lumpectomies and reconstructive surgery.  Mama was left with a long, red, jagged scar which extended from just below the shoulder almost to her belly button.

I knew my Mom had cancer.  We had prayed—everyone had prayed that the fearful knot in her breast would be just that, and life would go on as usual.  We prayed that surgery would not be necessary, but the day came when Mama was whisked off to the hospital, and my sister and I were left behind.

Late in the afternoon Daddy found us playing on the wash porch when he returned with the news that Mama’s breast had been removed, and she was all right, but in his sadness, he did little to reassure us.  We went to bed with heavy hearts that night longing for the day our beloved mother would come home and things would get back to normal.

What a glad day it was, when she returned.  The doctors had told her, because the lymph nodes had been removed, she might never again be able to use her right arm.

“Well,” she replied, “That’s ridiculous!  I still have two little girls at home who need me, and I need my right arm.”

I can still see the little spongy, blue ball mama held in her right fist, as she squeezed it over and over in an effort to strengthen the muscles in that arm.  The doctor’s verdict didn’t stop her for a moment.  In fact, her first chore when she returned was to do the ironing.  Between her trips back to the hospital for radiation—at that time, chemo therapy was only in the experimental stage—she carried on as though nothing enormous had happened.  She made sure that life for us was as it had always been.

If there was pain, she never spoke of it.  If she wept, she wept alone.  My mother was not a whiner.  Only in later years did she tell me how that surgery had made her feel so much less a woman.  She never used a prosthetic.  She just stuffed a clean soft cloth in the empty side of her bra and went on with life.

You might say that my Mama had a lot of “Intestinal Fortitude,” that she had “Guts.”  There are many ways to say that she was courageous and determined.  She faced life with a “fighting spirit,” always committed to making bad things better—to going on without giving up.

There was a sort of dichotomy in all of this.  For while my Mom was tough and tenacious under fire, she remained the sweet, kind, and godly woman we had always known.

How did she do it?  She was a little thing not extremely strong physically.  She was not what we would call “well educated,” not even “well read.”  She had not traveled the globe or rubbed shoulders with the great.   Yet she knew who she was.

She was the child of an old time shoe cobbler, but she was also a “Child of the King.”  At the age of fifteen, in a Methodist, “school house” revival, Mama gave her heart and life to Jesus.  After that, nothing was ever the same.  She was faithful to God for the next three-quarters of a century never turning back for a moment regardless of the circumstances.  There is a picture tucked away in my heart of my Mom sitting quietly with her Bible open on her lap.  She was my example.

I am like my Mother.  I am strong, and my strength comes from the very same source.

DNA might have a bit to do with it, but actually Mama drew her tenacity and toughness from her relationship with God, for she knew He is a God who does not fail even in the worst of times.

The promise in Isaiah 40:29-31 assures us, “He gives power to the weak, and to those who have no might He increases strength…those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up on wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”

Philippians 4:13 says, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

Don’t be tempted to turn back when the going gets rough, but rather, call upon the Lord until your strength is renewed.  He will not fail.

My Mom never cast aside her confidence, and her cancer never returned.  She lived with a jagged scar for forty-two years—a reminder of God’s faithfulness.  In eternity, she will have a new body with no reminder of the sufferings of this life.

Be encouraged!  GOD IS THE OMNIPOTENT ONE!  He has enough strength for both of you.

The sun will come out tomorrow!

 

 

UNEXPECTED TREASURE

During my college days I was as poor as Job’s Turkey.  After High School graduation, I worked for a year for seventy-five cents an hour saving one thousand dollars.  Only then could I think about continuing my education.  With my money safely in the bank, I packed my trunk, boarded a Grey Hound bus, and took off for Waxahachie, Texas site of one of our Bible Colleges.  That was back in the day when college tuition was not extravagantly expensive.  Still, I knew I must work, for my savings would only go so far.

Working on campus meant that my income was automatically applied to my school bill.  I never saw a nickel of it.  I tell you, “I was poor!”

My Mom wrote faithfully each week.  After reading her letters, I stuffed them in my top bureau drawer.  Cleaning out that drawer one day, I found one of her letters that had never been opened.  You can imagine my glee, when upon opening the envelope, I found a crisp five dollar bill tucked between the pages.  I thought I had died and gone to Fort Knox.

You have to understand, in those days, for me, five dollars was a lot of money.  I could walk to the end of Sycamore Avenue to Carl’s Café and buy a full meal including chicken fried steak, salad, vegetables, sweet potato pie and iced tea for sixty cents.  I spent Mama’s five dollars sparingly making it last a long time.  Talk about unexpected treasure!

Irish mythology tells us there is a leprechaun with a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow.  Problem is you’ve got to catch that wily little creature before you possess the gold.

Men have been fascinated with the thought of treasure, chasing that proverbial “pot of gold” since time immemorial risking life and limb resorting to thievery and mayhem.

Fort Knox, the US Bullion Depository, which houses 5,000 metric tons of gold worth one hundred billion dollars, maybe the only treasury in history that has not been successfully burgled.  Of course, the twenty-ton door would be a little daunting.

Think of the Pirates, who plied the high seas during the 17th and 18th centuries wreaking havoc, sinking ships, taking lives, disrupting world trade, and making off with rich cargo.

From 1848 – 1852, 300,000 people, from the U.S. and around the world, rushed to California literally searching for the “Pot of Gold.”  There was instant wealth to be had in the twinkling of an eye.  A few did gain great riches, but many returned home having less than they started with.

Then there are those who take their risks in the stock market putting their faith in this or that commodity hoping the Dow Jones will not fail them.

These days salvage companies make a business of searching for sunken ships that were known to carry great riches.

A Spanish Galleon, The San Jose, was sunk, off the Columbian Caribbean coast, by the British Navy in 1708, with what may be the world’s largest sunken treasure—eleven million gold coins and jewels from Spanish controlled colonies.  This treasure is valued at four to seventeen billion dollars.

An American salvage company claims to have found the sunken wreck in the 1980s, and the Columbian government makes the same claim.  You can believe there is an all out war going on over who will gain the spoils.  Though they may profess interest for archeological purposes, treasure hunting is primarily motivated by potential profit.

On a much smaller scale, thousands of people make their way everyday to Casinos, in places like Las Vegas or Atlantic City, hoping to strike it rich, and even more head for the nearest convenience store to buy Scratch Offs and Lottery tickets.

Sadly, on the almost non-existent chance of an instant fortune, many, if not most of these, can ill afford the money, money needed for essentials.

To me the word “treasure” is relative.  It doesn’t always refer to monetary wealth.  Two of my most treasured possessions are my Mother’s needlepoint tapestry of an English Garden, and the little glass dog my Daddy gave me when I was seven.  Mama did the needlework, and the little dog probably didn’t cost more than fifteen cents.  Still, to me, these items are priceless.

Whether you are raising sunken ships, chasing leprechauns, or waiting with bated breath for the lottery drawing, any way you look at it, treasure hunting is a risky business rarely producing the longed for results.

There does exist, however, a “no risk, high dividend” investment possibility for your future, in which everyone is invited to participate.

Consider the “no fail” offer made in Matthew 6:19-21.  “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for your selves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

How, in this world, do I lay up treasures in heaven?

I give Christ my heart—committing all that I am and all that I have to Him understanding that every prayer I pray, every dollar I give to His work, every moment I spend in service to Him, every act of obedience, and every word I speak as a witness to His grace are treasures deposited to my account in heaven.

Don’t kill yourself trying to accumulate the riches of this world.  Stockpile treasure in heaven, where it is safe from moth and rust and burglars.  You may never be rich in worldly goods, but imagine the riches of heaven.

 

Remember, the sun will come out tomorrow!

 

 

 

 

THAT NEBULOUS SOMEWHERE

One of the most intriguing undergraduate courses I ever took in college was a course in Geography.  I chose it as one of my humanity courses because I thought it would be about faraway places, and it was.  It was about things that take place in the universe far above us.  It was about what goes on in the heavens.  I learned a lot about clouds.   It was fascinating.

When I moved into this house, I chose the front bedroom as my office.  It looks out on the street, and as I work, I have a clear view of the sky and the clouds drifting by.  Of course, in my part of the world, more often than not the sky is an uninterrupted canvas of blue without a single cloud in sight.

This morning, as I watched the lacey white clouds skittering along, I heard in my mind, the voice of Judy Garland singing the number one song of the twentieth century, “Somewhere over the Rainbow.”  As I sang along, I decided this song is either one of the saddest or the most hopeful songs ever written.  Remember it?

“Somewhere over the rainbow way up high,

There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.

Somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue,

And the dreams that I dare to dream really will come true.

 

Someday I’ll wish upon a star.

And wake where the clouds are far behind me,

Where troubles melt like lemon drops,

Away above the chimney tops.

That’s where you’ll find me.

 

Somewhere over the rainbow

Blue birds fly.

Birds fly over the rainbow.

Why then, O why can’t I?”

 

Yip Harburg wrote this song in 1938, when the clouds of war were darkening the skies over Europe, and his fellow Jews were suffering suppression, oppression and violence at the hand of the Nazis.  We really don’t know whether or not the threat of war in Europe influenced this composition, but I can hear the pathos and longing in this composers voice as he hopes for better days—days free from storm clouds—blue sky days.

 

Just coming away from Resurrection Sunday, and the hope it brings to my heart, I am gripped by these sad, hopeful words, and I recognize there are billions of people in this world who have no real hope.  Still, they dream of a place of peace and rest and safety and joy.  They wish upon a star or some iconic object, or pray to a god, who neither sees, or hears, or answers.

“Somewhere,” somewhere there’s a place where skies are blue.  Somewhere there’s a place where my dreams will come true.  Somewhere there’s a place of unclouded skies and untroubled days.  Somewhere there’s a place of peace.  Somewhere!

Often clouds are a portent of an encroaching storm.  We no sooner dig ourselves out of the debris and clean up the mess until storm clouds gather again, and troubles?  They just seem to multiply—there’s never an end.

Where do we find shelter from the storm and solace from the troubles?  That “Somewhere” is such a nebulous expression.

The word nebulous means “in the form of a cloud.”  It means “hazy, indistinct, indefinite, unclear, ill-defined, unformed, and uncertain.”  Somewhere!

Where is that uncertain place?  Where can it be found?

Please hear me.  No matter how we hope for it, there is no such place, for shelter and peace are not found in a location, but in a person.

Jesus, our Lord and Savior, is our shelter from the storm, our refuge in time of trouble.

Mark 4:37 – 39 tells us, “And a great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that it was already filling…Then He arose (Jesus) and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace be still!”  And the wind ceased and there was a great calm.”

Surely, if Jesus can calm the elements, He can calm the storm in my life.  Doesn’t mean the storm clouds won’t come.  It does mean, however, that in the middle of the storm, we will hear His “Peace Be Still!”  The troubles will not melt like lemon drops, but He will keep you during the troublous times, and cause you to triumph.

If a storm is brewing on your horizon, or perhaps you are already in the big middle of it, I encourage you to crawl into the strong arms of Jesus and let Him be your refuge.

Maybe you have just happened onto this blog not knowing what to expect, but you recognize yourself as one of those who has been looking and longing for that indefinite, unclear, and uncertain “Somewhere.” You need a place of peace and rest.

            TRY JESUS!

John 3:16 says, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.”

Jesus died and resurrected for you.  He is your shelter in the time of storm.  He is your peace.

 

Remember, the sun will come out tomorrow!

 

 

 

 

THE FINAL EASTER PARADE

 

When I was in the fifth grade, I actually marched in a parade, fat little kid that I was, and played the snare drum.  It was a rodeo parade.  I can’t imagine it!  If you know me, you know that I am the furthest possible from being a cowgirl.  That’s why, I guess, I have tried to blot it out of my memory.  I have no recollection of the snare drum before or since that parade, but I guess I was a member of our drum and bugle corp.  It’s weird what kids will do!

Parades can be fun and exciting and spectacular.  I usually watch a few minutes of the Rose Bowl Parade each year, but it is beyond me to sit on the sofa or stand on a street corner for hours and watch nine million beautiful floats passing by.  Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade is amazing, but a dozen oversized cartoon balloons are enough to last me for a good while.

It’s the unusual, maybe “once in a lifetime” parade that I best remember.

At Christmas time, in Lodi, where I used to live, fire engines festooned with colored lights, holiday music blaring, drove down our residential streets tossing goodies to adults and children alike who gathered on the sidewalks to shout “Merry Christmas.” What a dazzling parade.

As a child, I remember seeing thousands of American Soldiers marching in triumph down New York’s Fifth Avenue, following the end of World War II.  The confetti and ticker tape filled the air, as people welcomed them home.  Now, that was a parade!

Of course, Easter processions or parades, often including special dress, have been part of Christian culture since earliest beginnings.

The Bible records two such processions during the first Holy Week.  On what is now called Palm Sunday, Jesus, seated on a donkey, rode into Jerusalem as an adoring throng waved palm branches and shouted, “Hosanna…blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.”

On Friday, a few days later, this same Jesus, carrying his cross, led another parade up Calvary’s Mountain.

Authorities attribute the introduction of new Easter clothes and personal finery to the Roman Emperor, Constantine, who ordered his subjects to dress in their finest and parade in honor of Christ’s resurrection.

From 1870 through the 1950s, New York’s Easter Parade was the main cultural expression of Easter in our country.  By the 1880s the Easter Parade had become a vast spectacle of fashion and religious observance.  It was actually an after-church cultural event for the well-to-do.  Decked out in new and fashionable clothing, they would stroll down Fifth Avenue from their own church to others to see the impressive decorations and to be seen by their fellow strollers.  People from the poorer and middle classes would observe the parade to learn the latest trends in fashion.  It was not unusual for a million or more people to turn out for this parade.

By the mid 20th century, the parade’s religious aspects had faded and it was mostly seen as a demonstration of American riches.  What had begun in 1870 as a parade of refinement and religious display had become an ostentatious frolic.

Sadly, for most people today, Easter has little to do with Jesus Christ and His resurrection.  The Easter Bunny and chocolate eggs have stolen the show.

I will never walk down Fifth Avenue on Easter Sunday dressed in my finest, but I will, once again one day, participate in a parade.  It will be the parade to end all parades.

Revelation 19:11 – 16 speaks of this parade.  John, the writer, tells us, “Now I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse.  And He who sat on him was called Faithful and True.  And the armies in heaven, clothed in fine linen, white and clean, followed Him on white horses.  And He has on His robe and on His thigh a name written:  KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.”

One day, we don’t know when Jesus is coming back to this sad sinful world.  He will be the Grand Marshall of the grandest parade.  He will ascend from heaven on a white horse followed by the redeemed of all ages.  Those, who have loved and served Him, will be dressed in fine white garments also riding upon white horses.

I would like to think this will take place on some future Easter Sunday, but regardless of the day, our KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS, the one who was born for us, died for us, and was resurrected for us, will once again take control of this world wiping out all evil setting up His Kingdom where He will rule and reign forever.

That’s what Easter is all about—our Resurrected Christ, faithful and True, coming again.

MAY YOUR EASTER BE BLESSED!

 REMEMBER, THE SUN WILL COME OUT TOMORROW!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Birthday Momma

Age is just a number, right?  At least, that’s what I have always declared.  I love birthdays, that of mine or anyone else.  Birthdays are a celebration of life and anticipation of another year, no matter what it brings.

I had an attractive friend who cried the whole day on her fortieth birthday.  She looked in the mirror and said, “Blah!  Forty!”  She salted her scrambled eggs with her tears, and wailed, “Forty!” She even wept at the party her friends threw for her.  For Sandy, turning forty was a tragedy.  I wanted to remind her that she was only one day older than yesterday.  I don’t think there is a way to skip from thirty-nine to forty-one.  There is no alternative to becoming forty.  It is forty or nothing.

I have never minded growing older, believing that age has to do with attitude and mind and heart.  However, though I don’t mind being older, I’ve discovered I do mind feeling older.  All of a sudden, my body can no longer keep up with mind, my wishes, and desires.  I am mad!  I feel betrayed!  I had such marvelous plans for this season of life.  Those plans are no longer feasible, at least for the moment.

My Mom was a feisty little thing always on the go.  With a twinkle in her eye and laughter in her voice, she announced that she was going to live to be one hundred.   She didn’t, but the days she did live, she lived with purpose and joy setting an example for those of us who loved her.  I have an image of Mama indelibly stamp on my heart.  She sits on the side of her bed, early in the morning, dressed in her soft pink robe, her white hair mussed from sleep, her Bible open her lap.  What an example!

Mama lived with me the last few months of her life.  She was fragile, but she had a mind of her own.  I tried my best to take good care of her making sure that she was clean and comfortable and had nutritious meals, but if she didn’t want it, she didn’t want it.  She hated oatmeal, sometimes hiding it in a paper towel in her robe pocket.  She detested the handful of pills that were forced upon her each day, and shower water pelting down on her was worse than death.

Finally, her little body just wore out.  When it was clear that she was dying, with broken heart, I reminded her of her promise to live to be one-hundred.  She squeezed my hand and said, “That’s one promise I cannot keep.”

Tomorrow, March 23rd, will have been my Mother’s 118th birthday.  She was born in 1900 to Mary Ballentine and John Fullerton, in Whitewright, Texas.  She was the eighth in a family of nine children.  They named her Maggie Lou.  She would forever detest her name saying, she would rather be called “Doggie.”

After her death, we took Mama home to Arizona and buried her between Daddy and our brother, Henry.  At the end of the service, after family and friends had paid their respects, my four siblings and I stood by the coffin to say our last “good-byes.”

“Happy Birthday, Mama,” Lincoln said tenderly.

It was March 23rd, Mama’s eighty-ninth birthday, and though we sorrowed and the tears flowed, I suspect, for Mama, it was the happiest of birthdays.  No more pills, no more showers, no more oatmeal, and best of all, after a journey spanning almost a century, she was finally home.

So, what do I do?  Do I give up, because my body betrays me?  Do I lie on the sofa all day with novel in hand munching on bonbons?  At the age of eighty-two, I suppose I have the right.

Still, I have never lived like that.  I can’t begin now.  Surely God has a plan for the rest of my days, and He does.

Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV), “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.”

My future may not be as I imagined it, but God, our creator, has not run out of ideas, and His are so much better than mine.

At this point, I have no idea what the future holds, but I’m kind of excited.  I will not be idle.  Will there be rough patches?  I am certain of it!  How will I handle the bad times?

Deuteronomy 33:25 says, “…As your days, so shall your strength be.”

2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

These scriptures assure me God will give me supernatural strength for whatever comes my way, both the good and the bad.  I am weak, but He is strong.

Therefore, I am looking forward to growing older, celebrating more birthdays, and living out God’s good plan with hope for the future.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAMA!

REMEMBER, THE SUN WILL COME OUT TOMORROW!

HEIR TO THE KINGDOM

When I was a child, this “Valley of the Sun,” where I live, was dotted with little towns separated by miles of cactus decorated desert.  Now, the valley has grown into a conglomerate– a city stretching for many miles in every direction crisscrossed with great highways that get you there in a matter of minutes.  The little towns have been swallowed up.

All those years ago, a twenty mile trip to Phoenix was a rare but greatly anticipated journey.  We drove through two towns and miles of desert before arriving at our destination, but for me and my siblings, the wonders we saw along the way were far more exciting than the city itself.

The giant Hayden Flour Mill was on the right-hand side of the road on the north edge of Tempe.  It was owned by the family of our very own, longtime Arizona senator, Carl Hayden.  We were impressed, but the Mill Avenue Bridge over the Salt River was even more intriguing.  Of course, the river was dry.  It had been dry since the dams were built upstream in the 1940’s but that didn’t spoil our fun.

However, the sight we most looked forward to was THE CASTLE!  Right out in the middle of the Arizona desert surrounded by Saguaros and rattlesnakes was a real castle—The Tovrea Castle.  It looked like a three-tiered wedding cake—it still looks like a three-tiered wedding cake, but to a child who had never seen a castle, it was magnificent.   I could dream for hours about what it was like to live in such a place.  Did a king live there?  I imagined myself a princess in that castle.

Perhaps that was the beginning of my interest in and fascination with royalty.

In the supermarket or at the beauty shop I am attracted by magazine covers portraying William and Kate and their babies, and Prince Harry and his soon to be bride.  I can’t help but be interested in what’s going on in their life.

I still remember Princess Elizabeth’s wedding and the birth of Bonny Prince Charlie, and the pomp and circumstance of her coronation, as the Arch Bishop of Canterbury placed the crown upon her head.

Why is it that Americans are so intrigued with royalty?  We, who fought to escape the rule of King George III, now follow faithfully the escapades of the Royal House of Windsor.

Our little girls play at being princesses.  Our Newspapers and magazines are filled with royal stories.  We stand with faces pressed against the wrought iron fence surrounding Buckingham Palace just hoping to catch the appearance of some royal personage.

It has been said that, after his success with the Revolutionary War, George Washington, had he so desired, could have been “King of America.”  His supposed reply to that idea was, “I didn’t fight George the III to become George I.

Still, we are possessed with this inordinate interest in the royals.  I have tried to understand the reason.  Though I know, at the core, a royal is just another person like I am.  He suffers the same sin and sorrow that I suffer.  Yet, he seems so far above the maddening crowd—untouchable by the dinginess and tawdriness of this life.

I don’t think it is the riches or the adulation we are longing for.  Perhaps our preoccupation with royalty is an innate desire for something more—something better—a higher sphere of life.  This world has become a base, ugly place.  Lurking in every corner is hatred and strife, disappointment and danger.  Factions are constantly gnawing away at each other attempting to destroy our equilibrium.

We long to escape the vexation of this world.

Remember Queen Esther?  She was an orphaned Jewess, a captive in ancient Persia, exiled from her homeland.   When King Ahasuerus looked for a new wife, as unlikely as it seemed, he chose Esther.

Esther 2:16-17 tells us, “So Esther was taken…into his royal palace…The king loved Esther more than all the other women…so he set the royal crown upon her head and made her queen…”

Somehow I identify with Esther more easily than with Queen Elizabeth or Kate, for I was also an orphan estranged from God.

According to Romans 8:15-17, I have “…received the Spirit of adoption…The Spirit bears witness…that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ…”

I have been adopted into the family of God.  He is my Father.  I am his heir—recipient of His love—His goodness—His bounty, and all the glories of heaven.  Furthermore, I am joint heir with His Son, Jesus Christ.  Jesus, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, is my big brother.  That makes me a princess royal.  Kate has nothing on me!

James 2:5 tells us “…Has God not chosen the poor of this world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom which He promised to those who love Him?”

I AM HEIR TO THE KINGDOM!

 

REMEMBER, THE SUN WILL COME OUT TOMORROW!