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Sunday grace – for the fathers

Jun19

Abba Father,

I am blessed to call you Father, to be welcomed into Your presence, the holy place of Your essence. You called my name and claimed me for your very own child. I am loved. This is a high privilege and I give You thanks.

I thank you for the men who influenced my life and showed me what You are like, especially my grandfather and my dear dad. I am grateful for patriarchs of my family and for men in my life who walked in the faith, were strong and gentle, treated me with respect and honor, protected and provided for me, bent low to serve and held me up with their prayers. I am blessed to know Your sons. I married one of them, and he is my life’s companion.

I pray for the fathers of this generation. How we need them to be steadfast and sure, standing true in the battle for souls, leading with firm resolve and gentle grace. They need guidance from the Holy Spirit and the power of love. Clothe them in Your righteousness and Your holy armor, for the battle is hard. Infuse Your Word into their minds to remind them what is at stake. Speak to them as You did to the warriors of old, “Be strong and very courageous.” Remind them this is Your battle and You are always with them.

I ask that You purify their hearts. Turn them from evil, the deceitfulness of riches, and the cares of life. Give them eyes to see the beauty of a precious child, the tenderness of a woman’s heart, the reward of being a servant to those in their keeping. Remind them that words can wound or words can heal and build up. Help them choose their words wisely.

Abba Father, I ask that they look to You as their only source, that the unwavering Truth is etched into their minds, that they seek to be more like Jesus every day, that they live to please You above all and be filled continually with the Holy Spirit. May You shine in them and through them as Image Bearers of God the Father.

I ask these things in the name of Your Son and my Savior Jesus Christ.

Amen

Sunday grace.

Reposted from June 2021

Sunday grace for the fathers

Jun20

Abba Father,

I am blessed to call you Father, to be welcomed into Your presence, the holy place of Your essence. You called my name and claimed me for your very own child. This is a high privilege and I am loved.

I thank you for the men who influenced my life and showed me what You are like, especially my grandfather and my dear dad. I am grateful for patriarchs of my family and for men in my life who walked in the faith, were strong and gentle, treated me with respect and honor, protected and provided for me, bent low to serve and held me up with their prayers. I am blessed to know your sons.

I pray for the fathers of this generation. How we need them to be steadfast and sure, standing true in the battle for souls, leading with firm resolve and gentle grace. They need guidance from the Holy Spirit and the power of love. Clothe them in Your righteousness and Your holy armor, for the battle is hard. Infuse Your Word into their minds to remind them what is at stake. Speak to them as you did to the warriors of old, “Be strong and very courageous.” Remind them this is Your battle and You are always with them.

I ask that you purify their hearts. Turn them from evil, the deceitfulness of riches, and the cares of life. Give them eyes to see the beauty of a precious child, the tenderness of a woman’s heart, the reward of being a servant to those in their keeping. Remind them that words can wound or words can heal and build up. Help them choose their words wisely.

Abba Father, I ask that they look to You as their only source, that they seek to be more like Jesus every day, that they live to please You above all and be filled continually with the Holy Spirit. May You shine in them and through them as Image Bearers of God the Father.

I ask these things in the name of Your Son and my Savior Jesus.

Amen

Sunday grace.

Sunday grace

Sep20

I never want to wish my life away, but I wanted the week to be over.

Come the morning, and I waken to newness. It is fresh, untainted. Even my journal pages are still neat without the scribbles of changed plans, check offs, and scratch-through tasks I deem unnecessary.

Just for today then . . .

I simply want to know I am loved.

I need to hear I am accepted as I am.

I long to be called, “My child.”

I must believe I am forgiven.

I hunger for the comfort of the Kinsmen Redeemer.

Hurriedly dressing for early band practice at church, I grab my music bag and purse. In the car I turn on the radio and hear love songs on the Christian station I’m tuned to. I take them as a gift, an embrace from my Savior who hears the prayers from such as I.

I am assured . . . that I am lavishly loved, accepted in the Beloved, called to be part of the family, forgiven of all my sins, redeemed with shed blood, and rescued with an outstretched arm.

Thank you, Father.

Sunday grace.

Sunday grace

Jun21

Father’s Day was quiet at the Wright House. I fed Sweet William well, and he did as he pleased. No suggestions or agendas from me. He said it’s been a good day.

I remember my own sweet dad, now gone from this life many years. I miss him today. I think of two friends spending their first Father’s Day without their dads. I know it is hard.

I thanked God for the man who influenced me so much. God meant for children to have loving fathers in the home. Our culture is missing out if we negate that fact.

I honor fathers and those who walk in the role of fathers. You are important to the world. This is my tribute to you.

To the fathers who walk crying babies at night so mommas can get a little sleep,
To the fathers who are brave enough to change a diaper, change their work schedule, and change their ways for their children,
To the fathers who run alongside kids on bikes without training wheels, who sit on hard bleachers while the game goes on, who take their children to music lessons and sit through recitals and keep giving encouragement along the way,
To the fathers who teach math and science in the evenings and who teach life by their actions more than their words,
To the fathers who show their boys how to treat women with respect by doing the same for their wives,
To the fathers who show their little girls how precious and beautiful they are and that they are worth waiting for,
To the fathers who protect and fight for and provide for their families, 
To the fathers who pray for their children, who take them to church, who read the Bible in front of them,
To the fathers who are faithful to their children’s mother and treat her like she is a precious treasure,
To the fathers who offer grace when their kids mess up,
To the fathers who make mistakes, fall down even, ask for forgiveness, and pray to be more like Jesus every day,
To the fathers who love and care for other men’s children like their own,
To the fathers who become grandfathers, stooped and aging, yet still standing tall in spirit, offering wisdom born of years,
To the fathers who show their sons how to be men and dance with their daughters, 
We need you to be strong.  We need you to be men.  We need you to show us what it’s like to be loved in a small measure by God the Father.
On this Father’s Day, I pray God’s blessings on you as you stand tall and walk brave in this world.

Grace, mercy and peace to all of you from God the Father and from His Son, Jesus Christ.

Sunday grace.

Sunday grace

Aug4

I made a couple trips down our lane to pray last week. I stopped at the place where a fence post used to stand, a place where my father prayed when he was alive. I felt anguished for God to hear me and there is something about that spot of earth that called me.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

The old post is long gone so I stopped where I could remember it standing. Then I took off my shoes for this was holy ground. God hallows any place where He meets us, and this was my rendezvous with Him.

Before long I was on my knees, face toward the ground, tears streaming down, words uttered out loud. And I wondered what my neighbors might think if they saw me. It didn’t matter.

After a time of pouring out my heart, I arose and knew I was heard. God was near and gave me peace for a simple act of obedience.

I ponder prayer. Is it about me while at the same time being very much about God? Is the mere act of praying a way of Him drawing me to Himself? Does He encourage me to pray so I will seek Him and find Him because He is always seeking me? Do problems come our way to draw our attention away from things that matter little to focus on things eternal? Does prayer bring me to a point of total surrender when I’ve run out of my own options and have no strength left?

After years of praying, I’m still figuring out prayer, its diamond-like facets bringing color and beauty to my life. Just when I think I might have it figured out, the light changes, and I’m left in wonder again.

Like a parent who sees her child in distress and says, “Come tell me what’s wrong,” my Father bids me come and pour out my heart. I know He hears and I know He cares about what weighs me down. I lay my burdens on Him because they are too heavy for me. I trust Him to do what is right. I trust Him to love me and to love those I pray for. I trust Him to be strong and good. And that is enough.

At the place of the old post, I rose from my knees, put on my shoes and walked home, feeling lighter. I gave my concerns to the One who knows what to do with them. I prayed. My God heard. I know He is working whether I can see the intricate details of His plan or not. He is always working on behalf of His children.

Sunday grace.

Sunday grace

Jun17

How many times did he tell me he was praying for me? A zillion it seems.

Every time we spoke on the phone, every time I saw him, he told me once more, “I have thousands of prayers stored up for you, little girl.”

I believed him. I knew he prayed for me. One of my first memories as a child is my dad kneeling beside my bed early in the morning. While it was still dark outside and I was tucked under the covers, my dad was dressed and ready for work. One of his last habits of the morning was to lay his hand on me and pray before leaving the house.

I found comfort in that as an adult, remembering how my dad loved me enough to consistently pray for me.

He believed he stored prayers in heaven, and Revelation 5:8 and 8:4 say the prayers of the saints are stored in golden vessels in Heaven. And so my dad prayed much. His prayer ministry was known by those in his circle of influence. He was a disciplined man in his commitment to kneel before the throne of grace and call out multiple names day after day.

dad and coffee

After his death, I had stacks of papers, listing prayer requests people had given him. He kept them in orderly piles near a chair in the basement of his home, a chair where he knelt at least twice every day while he was able.

Sweet William and I talk about my dad often, the way he loved his coffee and how he slurped it loudly showing his pleasure in it. He dispensed kindness and encouraging words regularly. He could tell a great story and it got even bigger and better when he had an audience. And if he got the joke on you, it was his delight.

He laughed with everything in him, his mouth wide open, sometimes slapping his knee from pure jubilation. He loved people, especially his family, and he would go to the ends of his earth to take care of any one of us.

He was a wonderful father. He knew how to show me the Heavenly Father’s love. The foundation he laid for me as a child helped me stand when the winds of tribulation have threatened to blow me away.

I knew my dad loved me. I knew he was there if I called him. I knew he prayed for me consistently.

My dad is with Jesus now. I miss him especially today, on Father’s Day. I would love to fix a plate of sausage gravy and biscuits for him and hear him say, as he always did, that it was the best I’d ever made. I’d like to hear the army stories he told until I had memorized them. I’d like to hear him laugh one more time. I’d like to hear him pray for me once more.

Dad in the army

I believe his prayers are still alive, kept in heavenly golden containers, and there is a large one with my name on it. Those stored prayers still come before God’s throne, intercessions on my behalf.

A good and godly father is a treasure above wealth this world can give. I am a rich woman because of it.

Sunday grace.

102

 

Our Father

May22
 

{This is my monthly book review.  Thanks for allowing me to share my thoughts.}

 

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

We say the words almost on autopilot. Sometimes we speak them without thought.

We learned them as a child, memorized by rote, and quoted them weekly at Sunday school. Perhaps they have become less to us because we have used them so much.

But I hope not.

We call it the Lord’s Prayer, taught by our Lord Jesus Christ to His disciples in  the gospels of Matthew and Luke.

See the source image

When We Say Father, Unlocking the Power of the Lord’s Prayer is a sermon of its own.

“Adrian Rogers’ last written manuscript before his passing in 2005 has been edited and brought together by his son Steve, as a final joint work. When We Say Father takes the Lord’s Prayer and breaks it down to its most basic components for readers to easily learn how to pray from the ultimate source, Jesus himself.”

When We Say Father

As I read the book, I could almost hear Adrian Rogers preaching from the pulpit. It is not a cleaned-up, edited, watered-down version but purely from the heart of a man who knew His God and wanted others to know Him.

The writing is more conversational than precise and particular. I felt like I was listening to Rogers as much as I was reading his words.

Rogers takes each portion of the Lord’s Prayer and talks it through with homespun illustrations, teaching the basics so we can understand.

Chapter titles include:

  • Our Father – “The Person of the Prayer”
  • First Things First – “The Priority of the Prayer”
  • Our Daily Bread – “The Provision of the Prayer”
  • The Freedom of Forgiveness – “The Pardon of the Prayer”
  • Deliver Us From Evil – “The Protection of the Prayer”
  • Thine is the Glory – “The Praise of the Prayer”
  • Ask, Seek, Knock – “The Promise of the Prayer”

If we want to understand the depth of the meaning of Jesus’ words, then we need to dig deep, like one exploring for treasure. The Heavenly Father invites us to know Him, and that is an astounding realization.  But we have to make an effort. Learning to pray like Jesus is a way to know God, Jesus’ example becoming our own.

“When we say Father, we express His nature. . . . When we say Father, we expect His nurture. . . . And when we say Father, we ought to exalt His name.”    — Adrian Rogers

See the source image

NOTE:   I received a copy of When We Say Father, Unlocking the Power of the Lord’s Prayer by Adrian Rogers and Steve Rogers, provided by B&H Publishing, for an honest review.  The book was free.  The words are my very own.

Sunday grace

Jun18

 

Dear Father and God of all, thank you for the men in my life who showed me Your love, who were strong and protective, who loved purely and acted faithfully.

Dear Father of all creation, give grace to the fathers you have put on the earth and in our lives. Give them tender hearts and strong faith. Help them see their need for You and not live as if they can do it all by themselves.

Dear Father of humanity, give endurance to the fathers who walk hard roads, who fight battles for their families, who bow low in prayer and intercede for loved ones.

Dear Father of light, shine your saving light into the hearts of fathers. May they know salvation through Jesus Christ and bear His fruit in their lives.

Dear Father of mercy, show the fathers how to live compassionately, how to forgive and ask for forgiveness. Help them to hold their tongues and tempers and let love be the language of their lives.

Dear Father and fount of all blessings, let your grace fall lavishly on the fathers. Their task is great and they need you.

Sunday grace.

101_1081

 

 

To the fathers

Jun18

To the fathers who make a life-long commitment to the mother of their children and don’t walk away when it gets hard,

To the fathers who rock crying babies at night so mommas can get a little sleep,

To the fathers who change diapers, change their work schedule, and change their ways for their children,

To the fathers who run along side kids on bikes without training wheels, who shout encouragement, and then keep on encouraging with each new challenge.

To the fathers who help with math and science in the evenings and who teach life by their actions more than their words,

To the fathers who show their boys how to treat women with respect by doing the same for their wives,

To the fathers who show their daughters how precious and beautiful they are and that they are worth waiting for,

To the fathers who protect and fight for and provide for their families,

To the fathers who pray for their children, take them to church, and read the Bible in front of them,

To the fathers who are faithful to their children’s mother and treat her like a lady,

To the fathers who offer grace when their kids mess up,

To the fathers who are not ashamed to cry or think it is unmanly to be vulnerable,

To the fathers who make mistakes, fall down, ask for forgiveness, and pray to be more like Jesus every day,

To the fathers who love and care for other men’s children like their own,

To the fathers who become grandfathers, stooped and aging, yet still stand tall in spirit,

To the fathers on Father’s Day and every day.

We need you to be strong. We need you to be faithful. We need you to be men.

We need you to show us our Heavenly Father.

three men

gramps and ethan~ story tellin'

gramps and travis

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Revised and re-posted from June 2015

 

 

So this is life?

Feb26

009The call came early, before the first pot of coffee was emptied.  “Your dad is on the way to the emergency room.”

I ask a few questions, assume auto pilot to get myself dressed and to the hospital.  It will be the first time Dad has ever been in the hospital.  Ever.  It must be bad for him to submit to an ambulance, to poking and prodding, to needles and hospital beds.

Blood is drawn from small veins.  Tape attaches to paper-thin skin.  IV needles invade his body in too many places.  He looks uncomfortable yet submissive and compliant.  He cries out in pain, grimaces. And is there a gentle procedure in a hospital?

News travels.  Channels of information run quickly to family and friends.  Facebook posts prayer requests.  Responses simply say “praying.”  And praying is always more than just a simple response.

People come to sit with my step-mother and me, to share our angst, to whisper silent prayers.  To tell their stories of my father.  Stories that reveal a compassionate heart, a tender concern, a promise made to pray and a promise kept.  And lives are changed by the power of the almighty God my father serves.

Tests reveal infection.  Pneumonia.  Internal problems.  The heart beats regularly, not strong but true and faithful.

Dad is frail and thin, a mere wisp of the man he was when I was a child.

He was a builder by trade and craft, a carpenter, like Jesus, with strong muscular chest and arms.  I felt safe with him.  He was always busy building.  Houses, churches, businesses, play houses for his little girl, dog houses for her pets.

When he was in the prime of his life, the Lord called him to build people.  He exchanged his nail apron for a towel and wash basin, the garb of a servant.  He visited, counseled, encouraged, taught, and built up the kingdom.  His materials were the eternal kind, not the wood and stubble used to build the kingdoms of this world.

010

He lies still, breathing regularly but not full and deep.  He has few teeth now and his mouth hangs slightly open.  His hairs are white and fine, barely covering his scalp. His face is sunken, showing the outline of the skull, fine wrinkles on skin that covers but just barely.

I stand in the doorway gazing at the ravages of sickness, the strong hold of a sin-cursed world on these earthly bodies to the very end, even those who are sanctuaries to the very presence of the Almighty.

And I ask myself, so this is life?  Is this how a life ends?

He was once a sturdy man, strong and capable, working long hours and toiling hard.  It seems he has always taken care of others.  He marched off to war to help defend his country.  He stayed at the task until it was done no matter the cost to himself.    Now he can barely lift his hand.  Unable to speak clearly, unable to chew food, unable to hear the conversation, unable to hold a glass of water to his parched lips.

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I’ve seen this happen before.  I’ve watched this same struggle as other loved ones came to stand at Jordan’s stormy banks, casting a wishful eye to the other side.

So this is life?

The days of sitting in the hospital give me time, time to think and remember.  Time to hear how my Dad’s life and prayers and teaching the Word and loving people are living on.  His life, the one lived for his Lord, is not lying in a hospital bed languishing between white sheets.  It was cast upon the waters of service, and it has not returned void.

The breath of life may be slipping away in the body that holds my dad’s spirit and soul.  But the life he lived in Christ lives on in me.  In others.

I hear it from their own lips, the fruit of his labors bearing fruit in their own lives.  Prison ministry.  Wisdom to raise a child in the fear and admonition of the Lord.  Deliverance from an addiction to pornography.  Marriages salvaged.  Demons cast out.  Broken hearts mended.  Encouragement to keep pressing on.  Proclaiming the Lord’s return and people get ready!

Jesus said, “. . . whoever loses his life because of Me will find it.”  Dad wore himself out in his servant’s role.

And I see that THIS IS LIFE!  This is how to live.

It is not in gaining the world but in giving oneself away.  This is life!  Proclaiming to any who will listen the goodness of God and the salvation He provided.  This is life!  To visit the widows and care for the orphans and the lonely and the unlovable.  This is life!  The way it was meant to be lived and used up and wasted away for the sake of the Gospel.

This is a man who spent himself on others.  Even now in mere whispers, he  prays for those visiting him in his shadowy hospital room.

In the stillness of the evening, I hear him say it softly.  “Praise You God.  Praise You God.”  The Father knows this man’s voice.  He has heard it countless times as he  daily knelt by his chair to pray, as he prayer-walked every night for how many years (?) as long as he was able.  His voice has called out my name in prayer countless times, and I see that I have been left an amazing heritage.

A life lived this way has no fear of what is left of it or how it will end or what lies beyond when he breathes his last.  His times are in His Father’s hand.

So this is life and the way it should be lived?  Yes, it is!  Of this I am sure.