Monday grace – the new year

Jan18

An internet “friend,” Susie Davis, wrote at the beginning of the month: “I‘m still waiting on God to fill in some of the blanks for me for the new year.” Her words ring true. 

After all the fluff and flurry of decorations are tucked away for another eleven months, my days become thoughtful. Endeavoring to go gently into this new space and time, I purposefully scheduled some quiet for myself, to review the past and look toward the future. I wonder what the next 365 days hold for me and mine, for the circle of my family and friends, and even for the world. 

Who can know the future? There will always be predictions, and prognosticators will spout their opinions, but they cannot see into the future. We all walk into the unknown. 

I have today before me, a gift of life given with no promise of tomorrow. Yet, I plan and prepare, hoping to spend the one beautiful life I have in the best possible way. 

The question hangs like holding one’s breath. What is the best use of my life? At this stage and age, how then shall I live? 

As I evaluated 2022, I saw areas I need to adjust. Sometimes I filled my days and weeks too full. Sometimes I needed rest. With responsibilities looming large before me, I almost always have a list of tasks, and I wonder what will happen if I get behind. Would I be able to catch up? The cares of life can consume until I fall into bed at night, wondering what I did all day that made me so tired. 

I’m a keeper of memories as I write and record. I keep track of events, books read, people I love, hoping to observe how I’m spending my days. I notice how much of it has passed. I wonder what is left. Moses words in Psalm 90:12 speak loudly, “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” The New Living Translation says “realize the brevity of life so we can grow in wisdom.” Wisdom is the thing. Get wisdom. 

I ponder what is eternally valuable vs of earthly value. So much of what I do is mundane, repetitive, ordinary. Fix the meals and clear the dishes. Sweep the floor. Wash, dry, fold, and put away the clothes. Pay bills and deal with all the paperwork. It happens daily and weekly. If I didn’t do those things we might starve, wear stinky clothes, have the utilities turned off, get in trouble with the IRS, and drown in Maisie’s hair accumulating on the floor. 

Some of life is simply doing the same things again and again. 

But what of the eternally valuable? How and when am I storing treasures in Heaven that will outlast this skin and bone existence on earth? 

December 2021, standing at the grave site of a beloved family member, Sweet William invited our young cousin-twice-removed to come play guitar with him. And he came, almost weekly, the entire of last year, learning some licks from Sweet William and sharing some of his own. The day he came was often busy for me with piano lesson prep, and sometimes I felt rushed. But I always wanted to feed him, inviting him to eat lunch with us, because special things happen around the table. We shared good conversations, got to know each other better, bonding as family. And we shared Jesus and prayed for him. 

This semester he is off to college, and I missed him last week. I texted him, told him I am praying for him. His response was “Thank you. Thank you.” What a privilege it’s been to love him in Jesus’ name and to share life with him. And I think that this is weighty in Heaven more than so many check-offs in my planner. 

I can’t get away from the daily tasks of an earthly existence. They will be here until the day I take my last breath and leave them behind. Until then, I pray for strength to keep moving, keep thinking, and keep up. But I also pray that when an opportunity arises, when an interruption surprises, when a friend calls or comes unexpectedly to our door, I will see the possibility of God-incidents, an occasion to give grace out of the deep well of grace poured into my own life. 

May we spend our beautiful lives storing treasures in Heaven where moth and rust will not destroy, and where there are no worries of thieves breaking in to steal the things we’ve gathered in houses and barns. Those things will be left behind when I return to dust. The heavenly treasures will await my Homegoing. They will be where Jesus is. 

I want those treasures to be abundant and precious in His sight.

Christmas grace – a prayer

Dec20

Our Father who is in Heaven,

Thank you for the promise You made and the promise You kept.

Your Spirit hovered, Your power overshadowed the womb of a young virgin called Mary, and she conceived.

A man named Joseph dreamed, obeyed, and took Mary as his wife, despite condeming stares of friends and family.

You orchestrated the trip to Bethlehem, the city of David, for this was your prophecy of old.

Your holy, sinless Offspring  was born.  They called Him Jesus, just as Your messenger pronounced.

Your expressed Yourself by a living, breathing Word that sounded like a baby’s cry.

This Word became flesh and blood and bone and sinew.

He lived with us in the dust and dirt, the muck and the mire of our humanity.

He was life and light and purity and love.  He pointed us to life eternal. He offered it to us all, anyone who will receive.

He showed us what you are like, the expression of Your essence.

He opened the way and invited us to come, into the Holiest Place of Your presence.

How precious did that Grace appear.

Thank you!

Amen

Christmas grace – about Hope

Dec15

On a rainy day in December, the wren sings defiant at the dawning of day. I hear him and am glad for his song.

The holidays of Thanksgiving and Christmas bring all the emotions. Sweet memories of days gone by brighten the corner where I am. Anniversaries and rembrances of other days can bring a tear. I feel things deeply. I carry burdens of friends and family along with my personal baggage. Sometimes it gets too heavy, and I remind myself that Jesus is the one who bears the weight of the world, not I.

I look for joy, peace, hope. I cling to the promises and hold them close to my heart. Are they not the gifts of this season? Are they not given to us by the Father of lights, who lavishes His grace on us without measure?

There have been days I fought for joy. Because joy is worth the struggle. I counted gifts with determination, sometimes writing the word, “I’m breathing in and breathing out.” It was all I could write. I set JOY before my eyes, hanging from window latches, resting on tables, reminders to battle on.

Christmas is joy, and cards in the mail reiterate the songs, their sparkly designs a visual rejoicing. I receive them and I mail them, thankful for people we call friends. They are gifts from the Living Lord.

And I know joy and sorrow are parallel tracks of a train.

There are lonely souls in crowds and broken bodies in hospital beds bearing the weight of heartache even while the world hangs ornaments and lights on a tree. The homeless in my home town shuffle toward a back alley on the cold night. People suffer while the music blasts “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas.”

As I read the Advent scriptures, I am confronted with truth. Jesus came in the harsh reality of a people sad, sick, and scratching out a living. They were looking for consolation, the hope of Israel, a redeemer and savior to take away all the suffering and oppression.

Mary and Joseph felt the heaviness too. The babe bearing down in Mary’s womb. The responsibility bearing down on Joseph’s shoulders. Hurrying to Bethlehem, they hoped for a warm room with a bit privacy for the coming of a child.

Instead, there was a crowded city, houses full with no room for a pregnant woman needing a birthing place and a midwife. Maybe they wondered if they’d taken a wrong turn, wondered if they’d understood the angel’s message, wondered what in the world God was doing?

I have wondered the same.

In a night of deep slumber, I awaken to words spoken to my spirit, “Hope in God.” Through my sleepiness, I recall the verse and in the morning I turn to Psalm 42 and 43 where the composer repeats this: “Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; For I shall yet praise Him, The help of my countenance and my God.”

The Word is familiar, words I learned as a child, rehearsed in my growing, and cling to now. I encourage myself in the Lord like David, the sweet singer of Israel.

At the little thrift store I frequent, there on the top shelf, is the sign for sale in large letters, “HOPE.” I pick it up, hold it to me, purchase it, and set it before me as a reminder. It is an Ebenezer stone.

The hope written in the book of Hebrews is not a penny thrown in the wishing well. It is an anchor for my soul, a sure proclamation cast into the Holy of holies where Jesus, my High Priest, intercedes for me.

” . . . we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be greatly encouraged. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever . . . ” Hebrews 6:18-20 NIV

Hope is my memorial stone in this season. I set it and mark it and repeat it to myself. I cling to its message. Hope in God.

Luke tells us of an old man named Simeon, who went to the temple as was his custom, and he saw the common young couple with the newborn baby. He knew, felt the quickening of his spirit – this child was the promise, the Consolation of Israel. He took the infant Jesus in his arms and blessed the God who is our hope, whose promises are true and will come to us. He has come to us, He is with us – Immanuel

Though the night lengthens, though the heart is heavy, though the body weakens and trembles, though our prayers appear unanswered, there is a hope, an anchor. There is a Savior who came to us. He came for us.

Jesus, the Hope of the world. He is my hope, my anchor and my sure foundation. I will stand on this.

Christmas grace – prepare Him room

Dec2

It’s December and I’m not ready.

Recently, I spoke at a women’s event, and my words come back and preach to me. Receive Christmas instead of Do Christmas. With Thanksgiving barely a memory, I feel the approach of the next season rushing like a fast moving locomotive.

The holidays are a season of fullness: schedules, parties, shopping, decorating, food and on and on. Looking at my planner and my list, I feel overwhelmed with too much.  Likewise, the holidays can be filled with heartache, grief and uncertainty. The turning of the calendar page does not turn aside the burdens we carry with us.

With all the fullness of the days ahead, how do I make room for Christ? How do I make sure all the things, the good and the hard, don’t crowd out the Savior who came to fill me with Himself and give me the abundant life?

Here are some ideas I am speaking to myself.

Spend time in His presence daily. How can I reflect Jesus if I don’t talk to Him and don’t listen to His Words of Scripture? There might be something I desperately need to hear before the rush of the day begins, and I really must cast my cares on the One who cares for me.

Tap into the Holy Spirit’s power by reflecting that He is ever with me, guiding and teaching and showing me the way.

Sing and make melody in my heart. Tuning into the old carols of Christmas brings forth a song. I know those words, and they draw me in to the message of hope. Newer songs are just as joyful. Music has the power to turn my thoughts heavenward.

Determine to overlook potential offences. They are inevitable as people rush about, overworked, tired and frustrated. Scripture says, Love hardly notices when others do it wrong. Respond with patience instead of reacting with irritation.

Remember to be grateful. Giving thanks is not just for November. It’s a daily practice, reminding me how blessed I am.

Be generous with love and patience and kindness and gentleness, the delicious fruit of the Spirit that feeds any hungry heart.

I want the peace of Jesus Christ to fill my soul and be reflected in my countenance. I want His joy overflowing in my heart as I move through my days. I want to experience the wonder of God coming to us, to be like us, and to walk with us in all the places.

This will not happen by accident. I must decide to seek Him for the desires of my heart. If the people I interact with each day are to see Jesus in me – whether they be the shopkeepers, the drivers on the road, the teen at McDonald’s drive-through, my neighbors and family, and my own Sweet William – I must give Christ place in me. Daily. On purpose. I make this a prayer.

Let every heart prepare Him room.

Christmas grace

Tuesday grace – a grateful heart

Nov22

As the To-Do’s swirl in my head and are reviewed in my bullet journal, I add to and I check off. This is my week to make Thanksgiving happen at the Wright House.

I can set the tables, bring out extra chairs, cook food and light candles, but can I make thanksgiving happen in a heart?

Only in mine.

I take paper and pen and begin to count my blessings, one by one. They are many, because God has been especially good to me. Yet, the memories linger of last year when sickness grabbed Sweet William and me, and we missed my favorite family meal. Covid spread from one to another, until one of us was taken from this earth, and we were left wanting and wondering what in the world had happened. Grief settled on us like a thundercloud.

I think of it all this early morning, as I sit in my rocker and make my list.

I think of others in my circle of people, missing one at the table of grace this year. Somehow, we will muster the determination to make the special recipes and bring ourselves, with a heart of thanks that we can be together once more, while remembering there is one less plate to set. And I feel the longing deep inside me.

It will be different this year at our house and at houses of friends and family, here and across the miles.

I needed a Psalm of Thanksgiving, and I turn to chapter 34. I begins with “I will extol the Lord at all times; His praise will always be on my lips.” It is less of a command and more an encouragement from a fellow sojourner who knew his own share of heartache.

As I read the highlighted and marked verses, they are anciently familiar and like fresh warm bread at the same time. “I sought the Lord, and He answered me; He delivered me from all my fears.” I am not alone.

“This poor man called, and the Lord heard him; He saved him out of all his troubles.” This promise – that the Lord hears me – I cling to it as a life preserver. I am heard, I am known, I am loved. I am part of His plan.

“The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and His ears are attentive to their cry.” Tiny bottles grace the window sills of the upstairs dormer windows, sparkling in the sunlight, a reminder that my tears are noticed by the Living God. How is it that I am important to the Almighty? I don’t understand it, but I believe.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” I’ve turned to this verse often through the years. It is my own comfort and comfort to share with others needing an assurance of Immanuel – God with us.

I pray for my people, the ones on a list and the ones who come to mind throughout the day. They are many. I know the Heavenly Father is aware of each need and how He plans to use it to grow us into who we are meant to be, how it will bring Him glory, how we will eventually see beauty rise from the ashes, how we will share the testimony of God’s grace and goodness.

My circumstances might not change, though I want them to or I pray for something else. But trusting in a good God is the beginning of turning my heart from questions and despair to joy and thanksgiving. His thoughts are higher than mine. I cannot comprehend the greater purpose in what He does. But I can run into the Father’s arms, let Him catch my tears, and hear His words of assurance, “Do not be afraid. I am with you always.”

We approach the season of Advent, looking forward with anticipation to the Nativity of Christ at Christmas time. He came as the Light of the world. He came to dispel the shadows and walk with us into the unknown and the unanswered.

“In this world you will have trouble,” Jesus told His friends, “but take heart. I have overcome the world.”

Jesus is the Overcoming One and Only, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. I desperately need the never-ending wellspring of His mercy and grace. His indwelling Holy Spirit helps me walk with courage in this world. His presence is promised to me. That is what I need most.

There is hope in a shadowed world. He is the Light at the end of my tunnel. I will give thanks to the Lord. He has been especially good to me.

Thanksgiving grace.

Monday grace

Nov14

As the temperatures suddenly turn from unusually warm autumn days to our first light snow, I sense the coming holiday season. If I am not careful, anxiety can blow in like a cold wind.

We are hosting Thanksgiving at the Wright House this year, Sweet William and I. It’s my very first year. Expectations of perfection can kill the joy of anticipation.

As an only child, I am continually thankful for my cousins and extended family. When I was a child, we went to my aunt and uncle’s house because they had more room for us to spread out. As life changed, the way it always does, we moved our Thanksgiving dinner to my cousin’s house, where it became a two-day event. She and her husband loved having people gather in their home, and they were such welcoming hosts. Their house became party central through the years, with any event an opportunity for food, family, friends, and good times.

But she died last December.

Our family struggled to make a decision about our November gathering this year. Then a couple of weeks ago, Sweet William and I were suddenly on the same wave length, and the decision was made. Now lists run through my head, are spoken into my Notes app on my cell, and eventually land in my bullet journal. My head swirls.

There is much to do before I begin to even think about grocery shopping or preparing food.  While we often have people around our table for food and conversation, a group the size of my family and the menu items we prepare take additional planning.

Recently I visited in a beautifully decorated home with wide open spaces, a coffee bar and room to spread out. I enjoyed the lovely atmosphere and hospitable ambiance. When I came back to our humble abode and began to look around at all the old things clustered in its rooms, I began to compare. Dissatisfaction started to sneak into my heart.

During fifty years of marriage, we have gathered things and been happy to live among them. But we don’t have a newly remodeled kitchen, an open concept floor plan or the latest trending decor minimally sitting on a few surfaces.

Comparison kills joy. I once heard someone say, you can compare or you can connect, but you cannot do both.

There’s truth in that statement. When I compare with another’s home, clothes, ministry, or gifts, it begins to divides us. We cannot connect as friends. When I look with eyes of envy, I miss the blessings of my own life. How can I cheer and encourage you when I’m secretly measuring myself as if it is a competition?  

As I sat in my quiet place this early morning, praying and thinking of what lies ahead of me in the coming weeks, a thought emerged. What I want for this home is the presence and peace that come from Jesus Christ. And that will only be available if His presence and peace reside in me. A house is just brick and mortar, wood and shingles. People who abide in them create the atmosphere of love, acceptance, and welcome. And that is what I want to give my family as they open the door and say, “We’re here.”

This week, I will be making my annual Thanksgiving List, a ritual that has become important and necessary for me. I need to remember all the good in my life, the multiplied blessings coming from the Heavenly Father’s gracious hand, because I can be forgetful. I will be thankful for this sturdy house, for chairs and tables where my loved ones can sit and eat and laugh and love. We will be warm and well fed. And we will be together.

I am blessed beyond measure. I will give thanks in all things.

Monday grace.

Monday grace – get wisdom

Oct24

As I watch, the trees spread a golden carpet on the front lawn. Autumn marches forward as I try to treasure each beautiful day. Because, “Isn’t the present moment worth celebrating?” (Christy Purifoy)

In early August, as somewhat of a parting gift, she handed me the package, this friend who was moving miles away. Though different in vocation and ministry, we were kindred spirits almost from the beginning. We liked the same books, we cooked and made home for family and others, we loved the color blue, we shared a deep faith, and our conversation was easy.

Her token was a small journal with her handwritten note that read, “I encourage you to gift the world with your godly wisdom . . . you have much to share . . . “

And I wondered at the moment, as I still do, what do I have to share, what do I offer, what words linger after they are spoken?

I remember wisdom coming from the lips and lives of mentors in my younger life, my dear mother, my aunt, my grandmother whose words came second hand because she died when I was two, and a former school teacher, who nurtured me long and encouraged me each time I left with the words, “You’re a good girl.”

Wisdom came to me through authors and teachers and the study of the Word of Truth. It has come through experiences, falling down and getting up, success and failure, learning to say “I’m sorry,” and “I forgive you.” It comes by hearing another speak, evaluating the message and grasping the truth.

At first glance at my friend’s words, I could not think of any particular wisdom I have. The wise words I hold are from other sources so how can I claim to possess them as my own? I suppose I offer what was once held out to me, not forced upon me but gently presented, to accept or not.

Perhaps that is the first wisdom to recall and record in the small blue journal.

The weeks passed and my friend is settled into her home in another state. I keep the journal on my desk where I can record my thoughts, because if she thinks I am wise, then let me rise to that occasion.

I bestow a handful of the entries here.

  • Wisdom can be offered but not forced upon another, as it should be. We examine what another says to see if the Holy Spirit quickens it to us, if it resonates with what He is already speaking to the heart and if it lines up with the Word of God.
  • I am never sorry I showed up for someone, whether it be a celebration or a grief. No words are needed. My presence is sufficient.
  • Listening is a super power. More of us should learn and practice it.
  • If I think I’m becoming more humble, then maybe I’m not.
  • Words matter. Which ones I choose and how I use them make an impact. Profanity is a rustic crutch to express an opinion or thought. There are more creative words that can relay my meaning and relay it better. Use a Thesaurus.
  • Beauty is always present in a smile and a joyful countenance.
  • Practicing empathy has an immense ability to promote understanding.
  • I don’t want to become a grumpy old woman. The ‘old’ I can’t change, but the ‘grumpy’ is a choice.
  • Generally, people don’t really want my advice. They simply want to be heard and for me to try to understand.

Today, as I sat in the booth across from a young mom, steaming coffee and a pumpkin muffin enticing me, I listened as intently as I could. Her experiences were important to her, and so they were important to me. I could identify with things she was saying, because life has a way of teaching us if we are willing to learn. And I want to learn from every joyful and every painful event I endure.

We parted with me having offered little in advice or counsel, but I think she felt heard and understood, and that carries weight for both of us. I continue to learn the art of listening. It is a gift when people share their lives with me. May I never take that lightly. May I hold it tenderly and in confidence.

The book of Proverbs holds a treasure of wisdom, and it says, “. . . the tongue of the wise brings healing,” (12:18).

I continue to write in my blue journal as I discern something recordable, something that may be deep with meaning. Herein lies something of great importantance: “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding,” (Proverbs 9:10).

As leaves fall from trees, wisdom falls all around us, as well as a lot of information that lacks truth, validity, and authenticity.

The choices and practices of my life should be weighed carefully with a heart of wisdom. They form me. They impact those around me. Wisdom is prime. Get wisdom.

Monday grace.

Sunday grace

Oct2

October startles me with its coming. How did September slip by so fast, so lovely, so delightfully fall-ish? I wanted it to last a little longer.

I had garden tasks to complete, projects that needed to be checked off the list, and alas, they remain undone. What am I to do but look around and see the beauty of summer past and welcome autumn in all its glory. I want to put on a pot of pinto beans. I want to make vegetable soup. I want to make pumpkin pie, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin everything.

A volunteer vine grew in the flower bed by the back deck and I love surprises. Watching and wondering what might grow from the big yellow blooms was pure anticipation. Lo and behold (such an old and beloved expression), by summer there were small greenish gourd-like fruits scattered on the lawn as the vine traveled unhindered. The lawn mower graciously cut around, giving it room to thrive. Last week I picked nine small pumpkins, fruit from the birds’ labor and not mine.

Even now the trees are showing signs, leaves tinging toward gold. The sycamore in the side yard shows off its large brown leaves, some already fallen to the ground. I feel it in the air when Maisie and I walk. The clouds look different to me. The smell of chimney smoke and fire pits creates a longing for roasted marshmallows and hot dogs.

I’ve looked forward to Autumn. It is putting away the harvest season, sharpening garden tools, opening windows as fresh air fills the house. I prepare to bring in tender plants to over-winter in the garage and exchange light summer clothes for snuggly ones with boots.

As I pull out flannel PJs from storage, extra blankets and a warm sweater, summer’s passing settles. There are projects still undone in the gardens, dangling on lists in my bullet journal. That bothers me, the one who wants to complete the task and give it a flourishing check mark. Trying to catch up last week, I labored long outside and felt the ache in my body.

Then I let this thought take root: I cannot get it all done. Some of it will have to wait for next year, next spring. And Lord willing, it will begin anew once more. All is well.

Thoughts of the coming season can weigh heavy too. When I talked with my cousin this week, she felt it. Memories of death and loved ones we held dear, holidays approaching where a place setting will be empty, and we wonder how to walk forward with our heavy hearts, remembering the joy of their lives mingled with ours while we miss them terribly.

We live and love while it is day, as the Lord gives opportunity. At least I hope I do. Responsibility and tasks can drain time, as we fill our lives with more. More stuff to care for, more devices to take our attention, more places to go, more events to attend. More is not always a blessing.

I think of my younger self when life seemed simpler. We sat on porches and broke green beans or shelled peas. We watched our children play in the yard with their cousins. We lingered long in conversations over cups of hot coffee or iced sweet tea and home-cooked meals. We talked, in person, face to face.

Sweet William and I are blessed with friends of all ages, and I am always amazed that they want to spend time with us. I thank God for this gift. In light of eternity, time spent with people is of more value than what I can accomplish, my to-do tasks, or things that show up on my lists. The check marks are worth little in comparison.

Our gracious Father gives us all the same number of hours each day, and there is always time to do His will. Jesus is my example of One who used His short span on the earth to finish the assignment He was given, making the most of every encounter with another. Choosing rightly becomes the challenge for a task-oriented person like me. Listening to the Spirit’s direction and prompting, saying yes to an opportunity to serve, accepting an interruption as a God-appointment, and laying aside my agenda for a higher purpose – that is my calling.

I will leave this earth with tasks uncompleted. I may have a list to my dying day. The house will need repairs, the gardens will still be in progress. The things I wanted to accomplish will wait. And Lord willing, there will be a Spring Eternal where life, real life, will begin anew.

If I hear the Living Lord say, “You did what I asked. You loved those I sent your way,” it will be enough. All will be well.

Sunday grace.

Monday grace

Sep12

The easy-breezy summer days I enjoyed in June and July morphed into August schedules, appointments and an effort to be on time, always a struggle for me. September arrived without the flourish I might have wished to give it.

I anticipated changing a few things in the house to reflect the season of Autumn, the mat on the front porch, the door wreath, a spicy candle on the hall table.  But responsibility takes precedence over such thoughtful tasks. People come first, or at least they should. Those who come and those who live with me, aka Sweet William, do not care about the current décor of the house. They care about the love they feel within it. They notice if they are being heard. If I fill their tummies with good food and welcome them with an open heart, that is what really matters.

The gardens became a jungle in the summer heat and rain. And yet there are flowers blooming continually. The sunflowers growing in view of the kitchen window attracted butterflies and goldfinches. The Texas Star hibiscus came up randomly near the back sidewalk. The bloom only lasts a day, and I will take its short-lived extravagance. In the front garden, the tall wispy stems of tiny yellow flowers whisper fall, drawing my eye to the swing where my cousin Candi and I sat often last year, talking about anything and nothing at all.

I feel her absence from my life. Her house on my lane, a short walk away, is changing, little things I notice, evidence she is not living there any longer. Sometimes I want to tell her something that only she would understand, discussions we had that made us think or laugh. It leaves a lump in my throat and a heaviness in my heart. Who else would understand what I’m talking about. Who else would care?

Death leaves a hole that is never truly filled. I attended too many funerals this year, heard of too many deaths. It is the age and stage of life where I am, I suppose. My generation is moving on. I think about it without being morbid. It is a fact of life, and I experience the loss, the changes, and the adjusting it takes to keep walking forward. I’m thankful for the life and health I have, but I know it is temporary. My body is a tent on earth, and it’s becoming a little more tattered each year, the laugh lines on my face deepening.

On a day of musings, I heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit. How do I know it was the Holy Spirit? Because I don’t say the kind of things to myself that He does. His message was one of ancient wisdom: Count it all joy.

They are familiar words, and I let them linger through the day, acknowledging I do not count the hard and hurtful things as joy.

What does that really mean, then? I went to the letter of James and studied its original text, feebly I might add. I am no Greek scholar, only relying on others’ studies instead. The word ‘count’ or ‘consider’ as it is in NIV is an accounting term. In essence, it means to evaluate, let it lead to a thought. I begin to get a picture.

Counting it joy means to consider how the temptations and trials in my life are having an effect on the outcome of my daily living. Are they reenforcing truth or a lesson? Are they turning me where I need to change direction? Are they teaching me compassion for someone in a similar situation? Are they showing me my weakness, leading me to my Savior’s strength? Are they sending me running to the Father’s arms? Are they maturing me and preparing me for what is next?

In my Bible I wrote a quote from Nancy Demoss Wolgemuth: “Anything that makes you need God is a blessing.”

Selah – I pause and think about that.

As a child of the Living God, I have to believe these hard places are not random or without purpose for me. Is anything of God ever wasted? He means to bring good from the experiences that come my way. While it may be harsh, intense, long, even painful, yet in the hands of a loving Father, it can be useful, even beautiful for someone else or for me in a way I could never imagine.

I am the woman who still deeply loves Jesus and wants to follow where He leads in this season, with my slowing gait and aching bones. Whatever comes, I want to learn to consider that my experiences will bring joy eventually, all of them. They are common to all people and lessons God is using to teach me, to grow me and make me stronger,

This counting it all joy is a work in progress for me, as is my entire existence. I believe I am held close to a loving Father’s heart, that He understands my hurts and struggles, and most importantly, that He is with me through each one.

His presence is promised in and through all of my days. I hold to that like an anchor when the water is choppy and my boat is tossed about in a stormy sea. He reminds me, “Don’t be afraid. I am with you.”

Peace be still. Open your eyes and see. Count every blessing. Consider how all things lead to the Savior. Joy is all around.

Monday grace.

Sunday grace – the body of Christ

Jul18

 

How wonderful it is, how pleasant, for God’s people to live together in harmony! Psalm 133:1

Arriving home late afternoon yesterday, my body felt drained from a long day, but my heart had been filled. 

Sweet William and I attended the visitation and funeral of a long-time friend. Our lives intertwined with his family when we were teens, and while we’ve not frequented the same circles regularly, the friendship remained precious. He and his wife married the same year as us. Their first born arrived the same year as ours. She is an only child, like me. We were intermingled by in-laws, church community, and a long history of loving Jesus. 

His service was beautiful, touching, bringing tears to my eyes as three ministers spoke of his life, his joy, and his faith. I hummed the old songs along with the soloists. 

As anticipated, there were people from the home church where I basically grew up. I was only about 13 years old when I was first asked to play the organ for services, my knees literally knocking at times, the anxiety of wanting to play perfectly without really knowing what I was doing. Several people at the visitation reminded me I had played for their weddings five decades past. I smiled, remembering what a novice I was and what confidence they put in me for their momentous day.  

I saw many of the church family who grew up with me. It was there we matured into young adults, married and had babies. The year our son was born, it seemed there was a baby shower every three months. I reminisced about the spirit-filled services, the powerful sermons, the youth choir that grew into an adult choir because no one wanted to leave. I remember the difficult musical arrangements that forced me to practice and become a better musician. The hours of music Sweet William and I played to prepare and serve added to good years and good memories. 

These are the people who saw me, knew when I messed up, heard the words that should have been inside thoughts, and they still love me.  

We are the older generation now, the ones with grey/balding/dyed heads, wrinkled and sometimes a bit wobbly, talking about our surgeries and the pills we take each morning to get us moving. We have pictures of grandchildren and a few great-grandchildren on our cell phones. We have buried parents and siblings. We have known joy and grief.   

This is the church, the body of Christ, the family of God. It is imperfect and flawed because the people in it are imperfect and flawed, sinners who were saved by grace and are still learning to walk as faithful pilgims. We have lived and experienced life. We made mistakes, fell down and got up again, often with the aid of a fellow sojourner. We’ve grown wiser and deeper in our faith because we have seen God in the living and the dying, in the pain and in the celebration, in answered prayers and those we still wait and hope for. We know in Whom we believe as we wait for our imperfection to be made perfect one heavenly day by the grace of God. 

It seems the church is suffering from bad PR these days. No doubt, people have suffered at the hands of individual church people. That does not make the Church of Jesus Christ a sham or fake. It is made up of broken people, redeemed by the blood of Christ, walking by faith and limping our way Home.  

As I rested on this lazy Sunday afternoon, I began to clean up old text messages on my phone. The process stalled as I read texts from the ending of 2021, when Sweet William and I had covid, when my cousin died in December, when I fractured my ankle on Christmas Day. Contained in those typed missives were comforting words, promised prayers, and love that came through the key strokes. It was the church ministering to us and we were strengthened by their devotion and concern. 

Countless times the church has come to our aid, bringing food, helping with household tasks, visiting and praying, even cleaning refrigerators and an overgrown yard. The church I know is going about the Father’s work, being the hands and feet of Jesus to such as I, again and again. 

The church will one day bury me, as it did our friend yesterday, transferring his church membership to Heaven. They will bring food and their presence, sing the songs and speak the Word. They will offer comfort to family left to grieve and remember. They will be at my ending like they were at my earliest childhood. 

In His closing remarks to His disciples, Jesus prayed that they might be one as He and the Father are one. It is a lofty goal among all of us who are so different and opinionated and sometimes even a little contrary. But the love Jesus gives, the love that fills us and binds us together, will make the prayer a little more of a reality.  

On days like yesterday, we are one. 

Photo by pixels.com