A Prisoner of Hope

Why not just give up?

There was nothing they could see that would make them want to keep going. It seemed to them that anything that was worth living for, or worth effort, was in the past. Now their experience was that they planted much, but harvested little. They ate, but never had enough to be satisfied. They would drink to forget, but they never could drink enough to fully block out the pain. They had clothes to wear, but the clothes didn't bring warmth. And though there was money, it was never enough. In fact, it seemed the bag they put it in had a hole in it. So they found themselves with their eyes cast down and their spirits broken. All they wanted to do was to quit.

They needed hope. They needed a vision so they they could see beyond what their physical eyes could see. So God sent His prophets with a message. The message sent from the Lord of Hosts was, "I am with you" (Haggai 1:13).

First of all, I want to pause and look at who this message was from. Who is the Lord of Hosts? "For behold, He who forms mountains and creates the wind and declares to man what are His thoughts, He who makes dawn into darkness and treads on the high places of the earth, the Lord God of hosts is His name" (Amos 4:13). Where can I find Him? "Holy, Holy, Holy, is the Lord of hosts, the whole earth is full of His glory" (Isaiah 6:3).

Ah, but it's so hard to see His glory if your heart is downcast and your eyes are on yourself. If you fill your mind with the depressing message that there is nothing left to live for, it can be hard to hear the voice of God when He says, "Be strong, all you people of the land,"--the Lord's declaration; "Work! For I am with you"--the declaration of the Lord of Hosts. "This is the promise I made to you when you came out of Egypt, and My Spirit is present among you; don't be afraid" (Haggai 2:4).

As I sit here at the turning of the year, I feel within me the ancient struggle. To whom shall I listen? Which way shall I go? Do I let the heavy feelings of my heart dictate the day? Or do I choose to lift my eyes to the Lord of Hosts and let Him lift my heart? Depending on the choice I make, I will either be a prisoner of hope or a prisoner of despair.

As for me, I have my decision--I will heed the voice of the one who forms the mountains and created the wind and yet who has chosen to declare His thoughts to me through His prophets. I will return to my stronghold. I will go to the Rock of my salvation. I choose to trust His promises, and I choose to be a prisoner of hope.

When the Christmas Tree Falls

I confess I'm like a little kid where Christmas trees are concerned. I love to turn on the tree lights first thing in the morning while it's still dark outside. I love to sit and look at the tree all lit up and decorated with ornaments that represent over forty years of Christmas memories. We have handmade ornaments from the first Christmas Steve and I shared as newlyweds; also, those made by my children, grandchildren and friends. Yesterday, my magnificent tree suddenly fell, flinging ornaments everywhere.

This morning when I woke before dawn I noticed that the tree had been propped back up. Its branches were half decorated, the strings of light were no longer carefully placed but instead were sagging down. I decided to go outside and watch the sunrise. Suddenly, being in the house with a fallen, half-decorated tree made me feel depressed. I have always been one to think symbolically, and the fallen Christmas tree felt a little too familiar.  I inhaled the fresh morning air and prayed, "Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom" (Psalm 90:12).

I remember right before my brain surgery, the nurse was reading my charts. She smiled and said, "You might like to hear this. The doctor wrote in your chart, 'Patient appears much younger than her 62 years.'" It made me smile. I had never given much thought to the aging process. Even so, the fact that the doctor had officially made the statement was nice to hear. Then came the surgery and the facial paralysis. After that, every doctor I have seen has mention my age as a factor in the difficulties I am having. I have felt like a Christmas tree that has suddenly fallen across the living room floor, whose lights are unplugged and ornaments scattered everywhere. This experience has caused me to personalize Psalm 90 and to pray, "Teach me to number my days, that I might gain a heart of wisdom."

In the cool of the morning I was encouraging myself in the truth, reminding myself not to give up because, "Though our physical body is becoming older and weaker, our spirit inside us is made new every day" (1 Corinthians 4:16). I have not enjoyed the experience of the last few months as my body has seemed suddenly to become older and weaker. And if that was all that I had experienced, I would be very, very depressed indeed! But I have also known the joy of being like a tree planted by streams of living water. Daily I have sought to delight myself in the Lord. I have been meditating on God's word day and night as I number my days and ask God for wisdom.

It's interesting to me to look at the trees in scripture. In the beginning, "out of the ground the Lord God made to spring up every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food. The tree of life was in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil" (Genesis 2:9). At the end of time there will be a "river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb." On either side of the river there will be "the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit yielding its fruit each season" (Revelation 22:2). So the Christmas tree has fallen, reminding me to number my days. But my heart is full of the wisdom of God that speaks to me of the tree of life.

The Promise and the Blessing

I love what Elizabeth said to Mary when the baby leaped in her womb at the sound of Mary's voice and she was filled the Holy Spirit: "Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord will fulfill his promises to her!" (Luke 1:45)

What a wonderful thing to meditate on today--the truth that God keeps His promises! At the core of God's promises is God Himself, and God is love. However, for now we live in a broken world, so it is necessary to receive the promises by faith. But with faith comes the blessing of joy.

Mary was told not to be afraid when the angel came to her with the message that she had been chosen to conceive and give birth to a son. In answer to her question of, "How can this be, since I'm a virgin?" The angel replied, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the Holy One to be born will be called the Son of God" (Luke 1:35). It was important that Mary believe since the angel didn't make a public announcement. She needed to believe the promise to receive the blessing of joy.

It was important that Mary believe that the Lord would fulfill His promises to her and not to be afraid as the events that led up to this child's birth unfolded. I wonder if she heard the great mourning and the weeping of the mothers in Bethlehem as Herod attempted to destroy the promised messiah. Blessings come only when we anchor our hearts in what we believe and not the things we see or experience.

"Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord will fulfill his promises to her!" This has been a very difficult year for me. However, as I sit here on Christmas Eve reviewing the promises I have received from God, I count myself as one who is blessed. Jesus promised that whoever believed in Him would have eternal life. He promised abundant life--not easy, but abundant. He promised to send the Holy Spirit to abide in those who believe. Jesus said that it was the Father's good pleasure to give us the kingdom. I look around and I see great sorrow and grief that the enemies of God have brought to this world, but I still believe the promises.

When the angel came to Mary to announce the first coming of Jesus, he said, "Do not be afraid!" When Jesus was taken up into the heavens, the angels said," Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up into heaven? This Jesus, who was taken from you into heaven, will come in the same way that you have seen Him going into heaven" (Acts 1:11) I know that in this world there is tribulation, but I believe the promise that has been given. We have been given a Savior whose name is Jesus, and His kingdom will have no end. There is great joy for  those who believe in a God who keeps His promises.

Why I worship at Christmas

The reality is that sometimes in life we go through very difficult times. The truth is that, "The High and Exalted One who lives forever, whose name is Holy says this: 'I live in a high and holy place, and with the oppressed and lowly of spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the oppressed'" (Isaiah 57:15). I see this truth taking place as I celebrate Christmas and this is why I worship.

Christmas represents the fulfillment of the prophecy that "The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in a land of darkness, a light has dawned" (Isaiah 9:2). The only One who has immortality, dwelling in unapproachable light, the sunrise from on high, because of God's tender mercies, has come to us from heaven. I worship at Christmas because Light has overcome the darkness.

When paradise was lost because of sin, the promise of child was given who would come and break the curse. On Christmas I celebrate the fulfillment of Isaiah's prophecy when he said, "a child was born for us;" not only that but, "a son will be born to us." When the angel announced Jesus' birth, he told Mary that this child to be born, this son to be given, was the Son of the Most High. The angel said that he was to be called the Son of God. The promised Messiah was also the Son of Man, born from the seed of a woman, Mary. I believe that this was the same Son of Man that the prophet Daniel saw who was to be given an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and a kingdom that will not be destroyed. Because I see these prophecies fulfilled at Christmas, I worship the God who keeps His promises.

The lie that was believed in the Garden that brought with it the curse of pain, sorrow and death was that we could be our own god. That is a burden that man was never meant to bear. At Christmas I celebrate the Messiah who alone can carry the government upon His shoulders, even as He carried the cross that bought my freedom. He is the Wonderful Counselor. The government of my life and that of my family is not on my weak shoulders but on His, and I can go to Him for counsel. Because of this blessed truth, I worship at Christmas.

At Christmas I am aware of  a Mighty God, "who, existing in the form of God, did not consider equality with God as something to be used for His own advantage. Instead He emptied Himself by assuming the form of a slave, taking on the likeness of men. And when He came as a man in His external form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death -- even death on the cross" (Philippians 2: 6-8). When I consider the love of the Eternal Father who sacrificed His only begotten son so that a sinful world could have a Savior, my only response can be to worship.

At Christmas my mind is filled with wonder. My soul finds it's resting place because the Prince of Peace has come. And my spirit rejoices in Jesus Christ my Savior. The reality is that sometimes life is hard, very hard. But I also know that God is seeking someone who will worship Him in spirit and in truth. I want that to be me, and so I worship my Lord at Christmas.

My Rock

Because He loved them, He had called them out of Egypt as His children. It was God who led them with cords of human kindness, and with bonds of love. It was the Lord God who cared for the children of Israel all along the way as they traveled through the wilderness, just as a father cares for his child. But they were like ignorant rebellious children who did not understand the love of their father. When their pathway led through a dry and barren land, they raised their fists to the heavens in anger and cried, "Is the Lord among us or not?"

God did not destroy them when they complained against Him and challenged His love. From the beginning His plans were not for their calamity but to give them a future and a hope. Moses feared for his life because of the great anger the thirst had caused in God's people. The Lord told Moses, "I am going to stand there in front of you on the rock at Horeb; when you hit the rock, water will come out of it and the people will drink" ( Exodus 17:6). But if the Lord was standing in front of the rock the rock was not the only thing that was struck.

These are not just stories of antiquity. "Everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through the endurance taught in the Scriptures and the encouragement they provide we might have hope" (Romans 15:4). And what is hope for a Christian? It is a confident expectation of good based on the promises and person of Jesus Christ. Hope that is seen is not hope at all. Because hope is based on faith, a confidence in things unseen.

The name of the rock in the wilderness was Horeb. It means, "to dry up, be in ruins, lay waste." But there was a spiritual rock that stood before that dried up, ruined, wasted place, His name is Jesus.The children of Israel all drank from the same spiritual rock that traveled with them, and that rock was Christ (1 Corinthians 10:4).

Jesus came to a woman who had been laid waste and ruined by life, and offered her living water. He said to her that whoever would drink of the water He gave would never be thirsty again. "The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life" (John 4:14). Jesus also told this woman that the Father was seeking those who would worship Him in spirit and in truth.

Lord Jesus, I have tasted the living water that you give, and I know that even if the path I'm on today seems desolate, it is the one You've chosen and will lead me home. The greatest desire of my heart is to worship You in Spirit and in truth and not to rebel in ignorance against You.

My Resting Place

They were led by a cloud during the day and by a pillar of fire at night so it was not by chance they found themselves at Rephidim. But what they did not find was water, so they rebelled against God and tested the Lord by saying, "Is the Lord among us or not?"

I have been thinking about this story all week. Recovering from brain surgery has been very difficult. My heart sank when I found out I was going to need more surgery on my eye since it will no longer close properly. I had determined in my heart before I went into surgery that I would not complain, and yet I have found that to be a difficult resolve to keep. So I continually pray, "Lord, let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer" (Psalm 19:14).

In the book of Hebrews I see the story of Rephidim in a different light. I also find instruction for what I am going through in my life. "Therefore, as the Holy Spirit says, 'Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion, on the day of testing in the wilderness, where your fathers put me to the test and saw my works for forty years. Therefore I was provoked with that generation, and said, 'They always go astray in their hearts: they have not known my ways.' As I swore in my wrath, 'They shall not enter my rest'"(Hebrews 3:7-11).

I have been studying this not to gain knowledge but because I want to learn from what happened in the wilderness. The word Rephidim means "resting place" and yet because of the disbelief of the children of Israel the name was changed to Massah and Meribah. Massah mean "to test" and Meribah means "strife." Because of lack of faith the place that God had intended to be a place of rest became a place of strife. Rephidim was a place where the hardness of their hearts was exposed.

Oh Lord, I do not want to strive against You! I come to you, my rock and my redeemer. In You my thirst and the deepest longing of my heart is quenched. In you I find rest for my soul.

Imperishable Beauty

I went to the funeral of an elderly lady I had known all my adult life. In one room the family had a DVD playing that showed pictures of Mrs Robertson throughout her lifetime. I was amazed at how exquisitely beautiful she was. I had always considered Mrs. Robertson attractive, but standing there watching the flickering images before me, I realized there was a beauty I had seen in her that had never faded throughout her over ninety years. Even now as I sit here writing I remember the imperishable beauty of her gentle and quiet spirit.

J. Knox Chamblin defined gentleness as, "Sensitivity of disposition and kindness of behavior, founded on strength and prompted by love." The strength gentleness is based on doesn't come from a life of ease. When we are weary and burdened we have an invitation to come to Jesus and find rest. True gentleness is learned from Jesus who was gentle and lowly in heart. In the midst of a stressful life, union with Him produces a quiet spirit and allows us to find rest for our souls.

A woman's beauty has been appreciated since ancient times. In the book of Esther, King Ahasuerus sent out a decree that a search be made for the most beautiful young virgins in his kingdom. Even after these young women were found, they had to have twelve months of preparation. They were to have six months with the oil of myrrh and six months with the spices and ointments for women. Only after all this would the woman be allowed to go to the king. If the king delighted in her, she would be summoned by name to come to him; otherwise he would never see her again. Even if she was chosen, in time her beauty would fade.

How very different it is with Jesus; He humbled Himself and came to us. Then He invited us to come to Him just as we are, We come broken and weary and He invites us to find rest in Him. He doesn't require that we come with a gentle and quiet spirit; He invites us to come just as we are so that we can learn what we need to know from Him. This unfading beauty is a gift we receive from Him, not a gift we give to Him.

We are told to let our gentleness be seen by all because the Lord is near. Mrs. Robertson did that, and she was and is precious in the sight of God. Now when I think about her, I remember, and my mind is filled with her imperishable beauty.

Prayers in the Darkness

I put my eye mask in the microwave to warm it for a few seconds so I could get some relief from the pain in my eye. My back had gone out the day before, but I couldn't take anything for it because I'd be having surgery done on my eye the next day. So instead I went to the freezer to get an ice pack. That's when I heard the loud pop coming from the microwave. I had put the eye mask in the microwave for too long and it had exploded.

I sat down in my chair on the porch. I put the ice bag on my sore back and held my warm coffee mug to my eye. As I reached over to turn the lamp on with my one free hand I saw a few sparks fly; that's when I realized that the dog had chewed through the cord. I settled down in the darkness and began to pray.

My prayer wasn't eloquent; in fact, I didn't say anything at all. I just sat in the darkness facing East and waited for the Sun to rise. Since I had risen well before the Sun, I knew it would take a while. The darkness dominated the sky except for a few small pinpricks of light. The light coming from the handful of stars seemed cold and distant. It was dark, but still I kept my eyes on the eastern sky.

I've lost track of how many sunrises I've seen. But I know this for a fact: the Sun always rises whether I see it or not. The coldness of the air around me that morning was matched by the coldness I felt in my heart. But my faith isn't based on my feelings any more than the rising of the Sun is based on if I see it or not. I sat in the darkness praying, without feeling, but with faith.

Faith is to be sure of what you hope for and confident about what you don't see. Sometimes faith means you sit in the darkness praying and encouraging yourself with God's word. "Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" (Psalm 27:14) So I pray in response to His word, "Lord, you are my only source of strength and courage. I wait for you."

Slowly the light began to overtake the darkness. First, I only saw a few of the dark shadows flee. Next I noticed that the black and grey around me was exchanged for color. As the Sun rose higher and higher in the sky I closed my eyes and let its warmth bathe my face in the same way that I had let the light of God's word bathe my spirit while I prayed in the darkness.

The Temporal in Light of the Eternal

After my ophthalmologist finished his examination he said, "We need to do something to save the vision in your right eye." Since my brain surgery in September and the resulting paralysis on the right side of my face, I have been unable to blink my eye. The doctor suggested two things: stitch my upper and lower eye lids together; and he wanted to put a gold weight in my eyelid to assist my eye in blinking. Then he added, "I'm afraid this will cause your eye to look really strange. Growing older is hard isn't it?" All I could think was, "How much stranger am I going to look than I do now? And am I just on a downward spiral?"

Times like these are heartbreaking. But I know Someone who heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. I felt like I had been given a forecast for my future that was dark and bleak--including blindness, deafness and the loss of all facial identity. So I called on Someone greater than I am. I called to the Lord, who is great and abundant in power; I know that His understanding is beyond measure.

When the temporal seems unbearable I turn to the eternal. I turn to "the One who is high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy; 'I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly, and to revive the heart of the contrite'" (Isaiah 57:15). I gain perspective as I see the One who determines the number of the stars. The same God who has given each star it's name knows mine as well.

I have made it my choice to rejoice in hope. This isn't something I can do in my own power. Left to myself I'd just curl up in a fetal position and cry. I do cry, however, but I cry out to the God who has given me hope and has poured out His love to me through His Holy Spirit. In answer to my prayer for help I find that the God of hope also fills me with all joy and peace in believing. It is then that I experience the power of the Holy Spirit, causing me to abound in hope in spite of my circumstances.

There are several reasons I write. One is simply that I need to encourage myself. I write to remind myself of what I believe--and in the process I begin to experience again the joy and peace that comes from the Spirit of God. Secondly, I want to comfort others with the comfort I am receiving from God.
But, to be honest, it's the third reason that is my real goal: I found in God's word that He doesn't take pleasure in the strength of man, "but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him, in those who hope in his steadfast love" (Psalm 147:11).  This is really my goal in life, to be someone the Lord takes pleasure in.

Some Things Just Take Time

Some things just take time. But it's so hard not to become weary or fainthearted when that thing involves suffering.

I confess, I've been struggling lately. It's not just the physical, mental and emotional struggles I've been having, but it's all the garbage these struggles have exposed in me. Since I've been uncomfortable on so many levels, I have found myself revisiting old wounds. People and situations I thought I was finished dealing with long ago have risen up like specters to haunt me. I pray the only prayer I know to pray: "Create in me a clean heart, oh Lord; and renew a right spirit within me" (Psalm 51:10).

Even as I breathe this prayer I see my Heavenly Father sitting close by me. He is like one who refines and purifies gold and silver. He knows how intense the flame must be to separate the dross from the molten pure metal. I know His goal is not to destroy me, but still the flames hurt. Once more I cry out, "Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts" (Psalm 139:23)! Confident in His love for me, I know that what He is looking for is His reflection in me. Some things just take time.

This kind of discipline or training is similar to the discipline I received when I was a child. My father loved me very much, and because I was his child he had very high standards for me. Because I knew my father's discipline was a result of his love for me, even though I really didn't like it at the time, it caused me to respect him. My father disciplined me according to his human wisdom and I respected him. How much more should I respect and submit to my Heavenly Father's discipline?

When my heart becomes weary I hear the voice of the Spirit speak to me, "My son, do not despise the Lord's discipline or be weary of his reproof, for the Lord reproves him whom he loves, as a father the son in whom he delights" (Proverbs 3:11,12). What is the end result of suffering, of endurance? It is proven character. My Heavenly Father's goal in the painful process of discipline is for my good, so that I might share in His holiness.

Some things just take time. But it's so hard not to become weary or fainthearted when that thing involves suffering. However, the peaceable fruit of righteousness that it yields is worth it.

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What I Learned from Greyfriars Bobby and Hachiko

I was in Edinburgh, Scotland, several years ago when I noticed a statue of a little dog. Beside the statue and the small fountain, my sister Rose and I read about the Skye Terrier, Bobby. Bobby had belonged to John Gray who worked for the Edinburgh police as a night watchman. When John Gray died he was buried in Greyfriars Kirk. Bobby was so loyal to his master that he spent the rest of his life sitting on his master's grave. Sir William Chambers was so impressed by the faithful love that Bobby had for his master that he provided Bobby with a licence and the people of the town made sure the little terrier was fed.

There is another statue in Tokyo, Japan, that is a monument to this kind of faithful love. At the Shibuya Train station in Japan you will find a statue of Hachiko waiting for his master Professor Hidesaburo Ueno to step off the train. Hachiko was only a six-month-old puppy when he began waiting for the Professor's train at five minutes until three every afternoon. The professor would find his faithful companion waiting. But after only one year of this routine the professor died of a heart attack. Hachiko, however, continued to wait at the station at five until three every afternoon for the next ten years. Hachiko was watching expectantly, rejoicing in hope, believing that one day he would be reunited with his beloved master.

I can't think about these two stories, or the monuments erected in their honor, without thinking about what I have read in the fifth chapter of Romans. "We rejoice in hope of the glory of God." Biblical hope is a confident expectation of good based on the person and the promises of God. The hope that kept Bobby sitting on his master's grave and Hachiko waiting every afternoon at five until three for the train to return was based on a loyal dog's trust in his human master.

Romans 5 goes on to say, "Not only that, but we rejoice in our suffering, knowing that suffering produces endurance." What does endurance look like? How would you describe patience? I am sure both Bobby and Hachiko encountered both rain and snow as they waited for their masters. But their focus wasn't on the rain or snow; they were focused on their master's return and waited patiently. How do I know that? Bobby sat waiting for fourteen years and Hachiko waited for ten. You don't wait like that if you're watching the weather. The promise we have--that our sufferings are not wasted, and that we don't suffer in vain--has been given to us by God. This is the same God who said, "I have loved with an ever lasting love." (Jeremiah 31:3). And yet I find it so easy to watch the weather and not look into the eyes of the God who loves me.

Thinking about these two monuments, I wonder, what were they memorializing? The relationship between a dog and his master? Did they want to use these dogs as a symbol of patience and endurance? Or could it possibly be that these storied are a picture of what 1 Corinthians 13:4 means when it says, "Love is patient"?

You are here

I was standing at the entrance to Walmart when the elderly man came up to me and said in surprise, "Oh, I thought you were wearing a really good Halloween mask! I didn't realize that was your face." I simply smiled my crooked smile in response.

I am learning how to respond to the guileless way young children and the elderly react when they see my misshaped face. At first children are afraid, but given enough time they adjust. The elderly often speak without a filter, but when they see the hurt in my eyes they usually reach out an understanding hand to pat my trembling one.

Many well intentioned friends reassure me that my face doesn't really look that bad. I smile and accept the comfort they are trying to give. However, deep inside my heart is crying, "This isn't my face. My face never caused children to be afraid or strangers to think I was wearing a Halloween mask. There's been some mistake! This isn't my face!"

I've been back to Vanderbilt for my post op visit with both my Neurologist and my Neurosurgeon. Both of them have told me that there is a strong possibility that my face will return to normal. They are hoping that the paralysis is not permanent. This is their hope--but of course they can't guarantee that it won't be permanent.

I have often been reassured when I've gotten turned around at the Mall and found a map that had an arrow followed by the words "You are here" on it. I have sought for that same reassurance during this strange journey I've been on. There is an emotional suffering that I've experience when I haven't been able to recognized my own reflection in the mirror. So, looking at the map of my life, I see an arrow pointing to the word suffering followed by the words, "You are here."

My doctors have offered me a hope that doesn't come with a guarantee. But when I look for direction in God's word I find a different kind of hope and it even has to do with suffering. "We rejoice in hope in the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings" (Romans 5:2,3) The hope that God gives is the ability to look at the sufferings of this life through the lens of eternity. No only that, but God's hope comes with the promise that our sufferings have a purpose, that God Himself uses our suffering to transform us so that we can reflect to the hurting world around us the love of our Savoir.

When I look at the map of my life and I see the arrow pointing to the word suffering followed by the  words "You are here," I am not afraid. I know that the hope I have will never put me to shame, because God's love has been poured out into my heart through the Holy Spirit who has been given to me.

Clay Jars and Torn Gift-Wrap

One of the things I loved to do when my children were all at home with me was to purposely make memories. So you can imagine how excited I was when my oldest daughter, Faith, was getting ready to leave home and told me that she wanted to make a special memory with her siblings.

Faith had invited her brother and sisters to join her in what she had learned when she had gone with her dad to a folk art school. She took them to the lake on the farm and there they dug up good old Georgia red clay. Next, she showed them how to make jars from the clay. Then she built a wood fire kiln like she had done at a folk art school. All night they kept vigil watching the clay be fired.To be honest, I don't know what happened to the the red Georgia clay jars, but I'm quite sure the memories they made that night with dirt under their fingernails watching the fire blaze are in a very safe place.

I've been thinking a lot lately about clay jars. Last week so many special people died. I was so very frustrated! I wanted to go to the funerals, but my own clay jar wouldn't let me. I wanted to put my arms around the brother who lost his sister. I wanted to weep with the brothers as they grieved the loss of their younger brother. But again the treasure I desperately wanted to share with them was in a broken clay jar. So I cried at home for them and prayed that the God of all comfort would wrap them in His loving arms.

We are told in 2 Corinthians that we have the light of the glory of Jesus Christ in a clay jar. Why? So that the extraordinary power of God's glory would be seen not coming from us but from Him. And what happens down here to my clay pot? It is under severe pressure every day, but it's not crushed. Sometimes I just get so confused, and yet I am not in despair. Sometimes I feel mistreated, but I know that I am never abandoned. Recovering from brain surgery has made me at times feel like I've been struck down, but I am not destroyed! My deepest prayer is that Christ would be seen through the cracks of this somewhat broken clay jar.

Today I was visited by three adorable children. They walked into my home and brought with them sunshine. They had been prepared for how I would look. But children have no guile; they are simply honest. So it was with these precious little ones. So I decided to make a memory with them. I showed them the ninety-two year old Wanda B. Goins saying the poem she wrote, The Gift-Wrap & The Jewel. I used this opportunity to share with them that the treasure in clay jars is just like a jewel wrapped in gift wrap.

The Gift-Wrap & The Jewel. By Wanda B. Goines

Lord, I am willing.

I woke up a second time in the recovery room. Once more I felt like I was observing a passage in the book of John chapter five. There were crowds of sick people. Some were blind, some were lame and paralyzed. There was the smell of sickness in the air; there was the noise of moaning. Then I saw Him. It was Jesus.

Although there was a multitude of sick people, Jesus was walking towards one particular man laying on his bedroll. This man appeared to have staked a claim on his spot and it was obvious he had been there a long time. Jesus asked him, "Do you want to get well?" It was a question the man didn't answer. Everyone faded, and it was just me and Jesus. This time I was the one He was asking; this time I was the one who didn't answer.

It was three years ago that I found out I had a brain tumor. I am embarrassed to say that my first reaction was that this would make me special. You see, the lie that was planted when I was just a little child was always looking for the chance to ensnare me. That old familiar voice whispered the same old lie but in a different way. "If you have a brain tumor that will make you special. That will make you somebody."

I struggled against the lie. I knew that my identity wasn't in having a brain tumor but in belonging to Jesus. When people prayed for me they would ask if I believed that Jesus could heal me. "Yes," I would always say, "Yes." Yet, always, deep inside me, there was a struggle. And a question I wrestled with. "Did I really want to be well?" Was I willing to let go of being special, of being somebody?

I was in Neuro ICU for two days. I seemed to be in and out of consciousness. During that time I entered into another chapter of John. This time it was the ninth chapter. It seemed I was there as the disciples were walking past the man born blind. I heard them ask Jesus, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" I felt embarrassed for the man, but then I realized he'd lived with that question all his life. Jesus told them it was neither his parents' sin nor was it his sin that had caused his blindness. He said that this blindness was so that God's glory could be seen in his life.

Suddenly, the scene faded. Once again it was only me and Jesus. I heard Him say, "If you are willing, Sarah, I can make you well. If you let me, I will pull that weed, roots and all, out of your heart. If you let me, I will take your hurts and sorrows and they will become instead a place where the  glory of God can be seen." I only had enough strength to whisper, "Lord, I am willing." But a whisper was all that was needed.

I AM Somebody's Girl!

By the time I was four years old my family had settled into our new house at 610 Georgia Avenue. My first memory of being at my new home was that of sweeping the sidewalk. Nanny had taught me to sweep when I lived at her house. Sweeping made me feel like a big girl even though I was only moving the dust from one side of the sidewalk to another. Still, I was showing that dust who was boss.

I was lost in my four-year-old thoughts when suddenly I stopped sweeping. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk and let the gentle wind embrace me. I breathed in the sweet odors of nature, the earth warmed by the Sun, the grass with the wildflowers scattered in it. I felt a stirring of an awakening in my spirit. I became aware of something I could neither see nor touch nor taste nor hear.

It was then I said my first prayer. I spoke to the One who I believed was speaking to me. "God, I forgot about you for a while, but I don't ever want to not think about you again." Even though I was only a child I knew that I had been heard. Now, so many decades past, I know that I was heard because He granted my request.

It seemed as if the enemy had come into the garden of my heart when I was very young and planted a weed--the weed of doubt; the weed of lies. The doubt that anyone cared about me; the lie that I was nobody's girl. But now there was another seed that had been planted. This seed was to grow into a beautiful flower, the flower of truth, in time filling my garden with the fragrance of the love of God.

The weed and the flower grew together in the soil of my heart. Sometime the weed seemed to choke out the flower, filling my mind with ideas of how I could make myself known. My desperation to find my own significance overwhelmed at times the gentle fragrance of God's love. Then once again the gentle breeze would stir in me the memory that I was loved--not because of what I could do or because of what I didn't do; no, I was loved because the Creator who took the primeval dust of the world and formed it into a man had chosen to love me.

Still, the weed and the flower grew together in the garden of my heart. They grew together until I woke the second time in the Recovery Room after my brain surgery. That was when I saw the second vision in the Recovery Room. I saw Jesus and He was asking me, "Sarah, do you want to be well?"

I'll tell you more tomorrow,,,

Jason Gray - Remind Me Who I Am

Nobody's Girl

When someone is deceived they do not know that they are deceived because they are deceived. This is a story about how I was deceived and how the truth set me free.

When I made my grand entrance onto planet earth my family already seemed kind of crowded. My twenty-eight-year-old mother and thirty-year-old father already had two sons, Nicky and Freddy. Freddy came on the scene when Nicky was only eleven months old. At least I had waited till Freddy was fourteen months old before I showed up. But no one seemed to appreciated it. In fact, all that any one did in the house after I went to all the trouble of getting there was to cough and cough and cough. I think I heard that everyone in the family, including my mother, had something called bronchitis.

The first lie that was whispered into my freshly opened ears was, "Nobody cares about you," Mother  took me to the doctor for a check up. While we were there she told the doctor that she was worried that something was wrong with me because I didn't cry. The doctor simply told her that I was too good for my own good. I didn't cry because I already had begun to believe the lie, "Don't bother to cry because nobody cares."

We lived with Aunt Sit and Uncle George in the Colonel Cooke family home. Since mother was so busy with the boys I spent most of my time with Aunt Sit and Uncle George. Uncle George lived in his bed and sometimes I'd cuddle with him. He was sad and I wanted to try to make him smile. Aunt Sit made wonderful brown bread.When she was baking her bread the whole house smelled like happiness. Even though I spend most of my time with Aunt Sit and Uncle George, I slept in a crib near my mother and my father. At least I did until one day when every thing changed.

On that day I got tired. I was only fifteen months, and I wanted to lie down in my crib. I went into my room and then I went to my crib. That was when my mother said, "Sarah, don't wake the baby!"
I remember thinking, "I thought I was the baby!" That same year my Aunt Sit's only son gave his mother a granddaughter. Aunt Sit was elated! I, however, was no longer her special little girl. I had been replaced. The liar spoke to me again, "You are NOBODY's girl"

A couple of months later my mother and father found out they were expecting another baby. They decided to move up to Signal Mountain and stay with my grandparents until they could find a house of their own. I still remember all the commotion and getting ready to go. I was excited, but I didn't understand why. The next thing I remember was watching my family drive away. Mom and Dad, Nicky, Freddy, and Racie--the new baby who had replaced me. They all left without me. I don't know if I cried or not, I just remember hearing the liar whisper to my heart, "Nobody cares about you. You are nobody's girl. Nobody wants you." And so the seeds of deception were planted deeply into this little girl's heart. I was deceived; but I didn't know I was deceived because I was deceived.

This is how my story began. This was when I first began to try to understand how I could make someone care about me. I began to try to figure out how to become somebody's girl. I deeply wanted someone to want me. This is how the story began, but the story ended in the recovery room. I saw a vision that night that exposed the lie I had lived with all my life. When I saw Jesus that night, He told me who I really am. He told me the truth and it set me free.

I share more with you tomorrow.

Jason Gray - Remind Me Who I Am

When Tears are Transformed

Did you know that the Bible tells us that God has put all of our tears in a bottle? Have you ever wondered why? Not only does Psalm 56 say that He's storing our tears, it also says that He's keeping a record of all our sleepless nights. He pays attention to the nights His children toss and turn. Like any good parent He is aware of His children's grief. He keeps accurate records of His children's pain; none of it has ever gone unnoticed.

I have always thought that some things are best not remembered. I have often told myself to smile and say, "I'm okay." In fact, I first learned to do that when I was an inmate at the state mental hospital. I was eighteen and someone asked me how I was doing, so I proceeded to tell her. After I finished she walked away shaking her head. A fellow inmate pulled me aside and said, "Just because they ask doesn't mean they want to know." That was totally new information for me, and after that I tried to adjust my response to what the one asking really wanted to hear.

But not where my Heavenly Father was concerned. Sometimes my response to Him is simply to weep long with bitter tears. Some grief cannot be spoken in any language except that of weeping and wailing. And how does my Heavenly Father respond? He bottles up my tears because they are precious to Him. He keeps a record of my sorrow because He not only notices my pain, He keeps track of it.

But why? Why doesn't He just fix everything now! Surely the Sovereign God of the Universe could just make things right! Can't He? And if He can, why won't He, if He cares so much! Why must there be graves and weeping mothers and fathers? Why must children know the taste of tears when a parent dies? Why must brothers and sisters be parted so soon? There was so much left unsaid; there was still so much left to say.

And why didn't Jesus come sooner to Lazarus' grave? And why did He stand outside the grave weeping with Lazarus' sister when He could have healed him, if He had only come when they asked Him to? Lazarus would have never died and there would be no need for the taste of tears.

We cannot always understand why, even if we are told. We are children of the Eternal One, yet we live confined by time. My own dear children often didn't understand the limitations I had put on them. Often my heart was grieved when I needed to allow them to experience pain even though I knew their pain would one day be redeemed. I knew that one day they they would be adults and understand what they could not understand as children. Still, I was always grieved when they were grieved.

I think this is one of the reasons I like Carrie Newcomer's song Geodes. In her song she says, "Some say geodes are made from the pocket of tears, trapped away in small places for year upon years. Pressed down and transformed, 'till the true self was born, and the old world moved on like the notes of a song."

I can't tell you exactly why God is saving our tears in a bottle or keeping a record of our sleepless nights because I'm still on this side of eternity. However, I'm positive it has something to do with redemption. I believe that when He Himself wipes the last tears from our eyes that it will be then that He shows transformed tears and sleepless night. At that moment weeping and sorrow will flee away.

Nothing is Wasted if You Have a Redeemer (Part 1)

Link to: Jason Gray - "Nothing is Wasted"

In my spirit I saw Him, the Creator, coming in the cool of the day. Coming to enjoy the closing of the day with those in whom He delighted. Those of whom He said, "This is not only good, this is very good." And so, in the cool of the evening just as the Sabbath day was beginning, He went to invite the crown of His creation to enter into His rest.

I do not for a moment believe that the Sovereign God of the Universe was surprised by what He found. In fact, I believe what the Almighty's enemy did to mar the eternal plans of the Great Eternal One only established them. All things are servants to the King of Kings whether they know it or not. I believe that God was seeking fellowship not only with the crown of His creation, but I also believe that He was seeking to transform His creation into His children.

How did He choose to do this? He chose for His creation to experience not one but two births. The first one was a physical birth. The second was to be a spiritual birth.

I believe that this spiritual birth took place on the cross when the Son of Man took the curse of our sins upon Himself, just as God the Father prophesied in Genesis chapter three when He cursed the serpent. He said, "He (the offspring of the woman) would bruise you head, and you will bruise his heel."*

On the cross Jesus wore a crown of thrones. I believe He did this because of the curse that was given to Adam. The man's curse dealt with his assigned labor. From now on the ground would never produce crops without thorns. Pain and frustration had been introduced into the perfect garden. Adam and Eve had now received the curse that came with their rebellion. So they had to be sent away from Paradise lest they eat from the Tree of Life and remain forever cursed.Now, in their new home, the only way that Adam could accomplish the purpose for which he had been created was to struggle against the thorns.

Jesus too had to labor to accomplish the work His Father had assigned for Him to do. The labor of love His father sent Him to accomplish was to break the curse and the power of death. It also evolved thorns. The thorns took shape in the form of a crown. The crown our Redeemer wore on the cross.

And so you see nothing is wasted if you have a Redeemer, not even thorns.

*Death on the cross involves the bruising of the heel. The only way the condemned man could get a breath was to push up with his heels, lifting the weight of is body on his heels and thus bruising them.

Failure is NOT an Option

On the Sunday before my surgery God gave me a song. It was a song that put into words the deepest yearning of my heart. When I heard it being sung by a woman’s voice I began to sing along using her voice to sing my song of surrender. I felt that this was so very dear of my Savior since following my surgery half my face became paralyzed and for a while I lost my ability to communicate. When I sang Oceans (where feet may fail) I was no longer alone. I was part of a chorus, part of the body of Christ whom the Lord had called out to go on a journey. A journey into the wildness to learn the lesson of trust, the lesson of compete surrender. The song Oceans (where feet my fail) became my song of surrender.

I felt that the Lord had not only given me a song of surrender but also the understanding that He was going to take me on a journey through difficult times. I understood that I was going on a journey to a place in my life where I would have no control. He showed me that it would be similar to when He called the Children of Israel out of Egypt. Out of bondage and into a wilderness. 

My instructions were very clear: “Do not murmur or complain!” To murmur or complain would be to rebel against the journey He had chosen to take me on. My response was to say, “My Lord, it is the deepest desire of my heart to walk with You in humble obedience. I want Your will more than I want my will. I know my flesh is weak and that I have a tendency, if not to complain out loud, still to murmur under my breath. I also know that in my own strength it would be impossible for me to do as You ask. But I know You, and I know that You are not asking me to do this in my strength but Yours. May it be done unto me according to Your will.”

And, after all, isn’t that what God was doing in the wilderness? Stripping Egypt from out of His children’s hearts by taking them to a place where they were utterly helpless; inviting His children to stop trying to be in control and to instead rest in the reality that only He is really in control. So why rebel like tiny children against a loving Father? Why not just surrender our will and let Him teach us to trust Him? Yes, I said teach. Because trust can only be taught in the wilderness. And we can never trust Him unless He teaches us how, because we lost that ability in the garden when man decided that they didn’t want to trust God, but instead they wanted to be God. And since they would not learn the lesson of trust in the garden, our longsuffering God took His children to the wilderness to teach them the lesson of trust.

And so with a song of surrender in my heart I followed where my Shepherd was leading. Along with so many others who have gone before I went into the wilderness where I may fail, but He will never fail. I know that in the end I will learn to trust. And by His grace I will receive this discipline with humble gratitude, neither grumbling nor complaining.

Link to the YouTube video for “Oceans (where feet may fail)”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dy9nwe9_xzw

  

Evidence of Humility

One of my favorite things to do as a mother is to share the stories that Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote. In her books she told about her families' adventures as pioneers journeying westward. I can't remember exactly how many books were in the "Little House" series, but I loved every one of them and so did my children. However, one of the books was difficult to read. That was The Long Winter. It was difficult because by the time we got to that book Laura and her family had become dear friends. The book paints a grim picture. It shows a desperate struggle for survival. The Long Winter spoke of the sickness that nearly took their lives and the winter they almost starved to death. Laura's family were pioneers. They were on a journey that held many adventures both good and bad.

In sharing Laura's stories I wanted to help my children begin to understand that their life in many ways was a journey, one on which they would encounter many adventures. I also wanted them to understand that some of these adventures would be difficult; very difficult. Because of the difficulty of the journey l wanted my children to understand and embrace two of the companions and gifts that God gives us to help us along the way, laughter and weeping.

Although laughter and weeping are gifts, not everybody wants them. These gifts are often misunderstood. Let me start with the gift of a laughter. At first glance you might say to me, "But, Sarah, everyone wants the gift of laughter!" Are you sure? Think about it for a minute. Some people have gone through such horrific things that the light has been extinguished from their eyes.

They are afraid that laughter would take away the dignity of the pain that they feel; that somehow it would cheapen the grief that they carry. They are afraid to laugh; they are afraid to experience joy.

In order to walk with laughter in the dark night of the soul, you must humble yourself; you must let go of believing that you are responsible to show to the world how great your pain is. Proverbs tells us that laughter is like a medicine.

Weeping, on the other hand, seems far more acceptable than laughter during times of great stress. Weeping seems to be the appropriate response to pain. Some become addicted to the taste of their own tears. They become prisoners in a seemingly never-ending cycle of crying in the night. Perhaps that is why some refuse to take the extended hand of weeping. They do not want to be one who is imprisoned by their tears. They want to be strong. And although their heart is broken, they will themselves to pull their shoulders back, walk with chest forward and head up. Oftentimes they use a little trick in hopes of keeping the flow from coming down their cheeks--they tilt their head up with their eyes open in an attempt to check the tears.

Weeping, like laughter, must be accessed through humility. Humility means to cast all your cares upon God, knowing that God cares about everything concerning you. God invites us to lay down our false strength. He invites us to give to Him what we were never meant to carry on our own. He invites us to find healing from the world that we encounter in this pilgrimage. He invites us to wash the wounds with the healing properties of salt water.

I call these travel companions--who God has given to walk along side of us during the most treacherous part of our journey--the twin sisters. One is to walk on each side of us, each holding one of our hands. Our Father tenderly watches over His children during this part of the journey.

One of the dangers that might be encountered is a loss of balance, and so He gave to walk on either side of us laughter and  weeping . Some opt for laughter and others are more comfortable with weeping. But it is very important, in order to remain balanced, that we humbly embrace both laughter and weeping.

How is your cat?

When I was coming out of the haze in neuro ICU I heard a nurse say, "Honey, you won't be able to go see your mother until you can stop crying." I though they were talking to my daughter Elisabeth. Suddenly, nothing was more important to me than comforting my child.

Concern for my precious daughter Elisabeth filled my heart and mind with an overwhelming passion to bring her comfort. I was desperate to ease the pain in my little girl's heart. My world became completely focused on finding a way to comfort her and so I waited for her to come to me.

The rest of the family came in first. I felt that Elisabeth was in the hallway tying to compose herself. I wanted to share with my family the visions I had seen in recovery. I was stunned at the effort it took to simply find the words and the energy to express myself. I had seen a mystery and did my best to share to share it.

I had a different message for my weeping child. I didn't want to tell her something I wanted to give her something. Comfort. When she was finally able to come to me I drew on my the last ounce of my strength and but could only whisper before drifting into unconsciousness, "How is you heart?" I have no memory of her response because every thing went blank.

First consciousness after brain surgery is an interesting time. Since your brain has been traumatize and is also swollen things are not always what they seem, which I found out when I got home and the family told me what was really happening in the hallway. The voice I heard in the hallway wasn't that of a nurse it was Elisabeth's voice. She was talking to her big sister Faith and I'm sure didn't call her honey. My girls don't talk to each other like that. She was. however, trying to comfort Faith so that she could stop crying and come see me. The reason Elisabeth waited to come in last was because she felt Faith needed to see me first. No one had a clue about what the vision and profound mystery was that I had tried so desperately to share with them. And as for Elisabeth, she was the only one who was pondering the profound question I had asked her. For on that night when I was desperately seeking to give her comfort what she heard was, "How is your cat?" and she couldn't figure out why she had been singled out for such a weird question. But then the Bible says, "Laughter does good like a medicine."

Bald and Unmasked We Come to Worship

It's been two weeks from today since I had my brain surgery. For the last two weeks I have enjoyed a time of sweet worship between myself and my Lord. I have felt his tender presence with me always assuring me of his steadfast, unfailing love. I have experienced his tender mercies every morning and have rested in his faithfulness at the close of every day. I have sung to him my love songs but I want more. I want to join my church family in corporate worship. The multiplied joy of multiplied voices coming together as one before the throne of God. Yes, I want to go to church but I am a woman and I feel insecure about how I look.

It is also time for me to look in the mirror. I have been avoiding this. I have glanced but I have not had the courage to take the time to examine my altered expression. This might be due to the fact that the night I first saw a stranger staring back at me from my face I was horrified. Possibly due to all the pain medicine I've been given I actually thought momentarily that I'd been transformed into a monster. But two weeks is long enough to avoid facts. It was time to look.

I decided I would not only look but also examine the face in the mirror, after all it did belong to me. I started with my forehead. It really was kind of interesting how I could almost see where the paralyses began. The left half of my face had all the familiar wrinkles. The wrinkles seemed to me like friends who shared a memory. The left side of my forehead was smooth and I wondered if it would have looked like this if I'd had a Botox shot. Next the eye. I think this might be one of the more interesting changes. It was the eye that scared me that first night. I was curious about the eyebrow. It looked different on the paralyzed side and that didn't make since to me. I decided that perhaps the change in the eyebrow was a result of residue left behind by the tape I've been using to keep it closed. As I stared at the reflection of the unblinking eye I thought how much it looked like it should belong to someone else. I could see nothing about it that was familiar. Perhaps it was because both the lid and lash of that eye were not visible and the lower lid looked as if it had just given up trying to hold on and hung loosely beneath the eyeball exposing a whitish valley below. When I smiled it pulled my nose slightly to the left and I realized that I no longer had the straight nose I was familiar with. Now to the cheek or the lack there of. There is an expression called the apple of your cheek it could easily been seen on the left side of my face and I have to admit I found it pretty. On the right side it appeared that the apple must have been slightly rotten because it wasn't round but somewhat indented. Finally, I come to my mouth. Only the right lips could smile the left lips drooped in a perpetual frown. For the first week I had been unable to make my jaws fit together which caused me agony when trying to chew. When they finally began to meet together I was so excited that I didn't use caution while chewing and discover at the end of the day that, no, the food had not been more salty I had simply been biting my own lips, tongue and cheek. OUCH! My examination was complete. I felt vulnerable joining my church family with a face that didn't really feel like it belong to me anymore.

I thought about the mask Eric wore in the Phantom of the Opera. I wondered if he'd let me borrow it to go to church. I only wanted to hide half my face surly there was nothing wrong with that was there? That's when the Lord brought to my mind Rachael Kulick. Rachael has Alopecia. Alopecia is a type of hair loss that occurs when you immune systems mistakenly attacks your hair follicles. I didn't know Rachael was bald when I first met her but I didn't know it because she never left her home without a wig, That is until one hot Summer day when she found that she just couldn't stand the sensation of wearing a fur hat on her head any longer. So she took off her wig and flung it into the seat beside her. She then proceeded to open her car door and go into the bank. This caused her little girl to panic because Chrissy believed that if her mommy went into the bank without her wig on the people would not love her and Chrissy's tender little heart could not bear the thought that anyone might not love her mommy. That was the last time Rachael ever wore a wig. She realized that she had a job to do as a mother to teach her daughter what real beauty looks like.

My heavenly Father knew that I like Rachael's daughter Chrissy desperately needed the example of her strength and courage to help me walk into the church for the first time with my altered face. But this is what takes place it corporate worship we join someone in their struggles so that together we might enter into His gates with thanksgiving and into his courts with praise. So with a crocked smile I turn to Rachael and say, "Come on. Let's go the house of the Lord together!" This Sunday Rachael and I will be worshiping together. She's the one without a wig and I'm the one without a mask.

Here's Rachael's blog where she writes about her experience:

https://mylifewrittenhysterically.wordpress.com/2015/01/30/in-regards-to-being-a-bald-white-woman/

The Offering

In the year 1986 I was thirty three years old and in the prime of my life. I lived on a family farm in Chickamauga, Georgia. Grandma Belle and Papa lived up on the hill. And my husband Steve, seven year old Faith and two year old Andrew occupied the double wide trailer at the front of the property. We had a rather long drive way that was lined on either side with fruit trees. We had a variety of apple trees, several peach, pear and plum trees and way at the very end there was an absolutely lovely apricot tree. As you can imagine, during autumn I was crazy busy preparing homemade jelly, jam, and preserves. And you know if your going to be making all that sweet goodness it would be a sin to put it on old store brought bread! But remember now, I told you that it was a family farm. Papa was a master gardener and he liked to show off his skills a little and make our garden the size of a football field. Guess who was in charge of picking and canning and freezing? You're right, Grandma Belle and yours truly. As if that list weren't long enough add to it the fact that my husband was the interim preacher for the church he grew up in.

The church had hired a young woman named Karen Shrock as the church organist. Her husband Randy would sit on the back pew with little three month old Rachel on his lap. Karen's responsibility was to play the organ for our church service and then to return in the evening for choir practice. It bothered my kindhearted husband that they would have to make the trip back and forth from Chattanooga to Chickamauga twice a day and particularity with a three month old strapped into the
car-seat. He came up with what he thought was the perfect solution.

"Sarah, I think we should have the Shrock's spend their Sunday afternoons with us on the farm so they don't have to keep going back to Chattanooga." I think I screamed at the man. No wait a minute I'm very sure I screamed at the man. You see, I believed in keeping the Sabbath and what that looked like to me was that after I had worshiped the Lord and fed everybody I wanted my husband to leave me alone and I wanted my children to leave me alone. I believed that Sunday was a holy day of rest and I warned my children that once I went into my bedroom and closed that door they were to leave me alone or there would be consequences to pay because Mama needed her holy rest! So, as you can see the thought of entertaining company on my Sabbath rest was not a welcome one.

"Sarah, would you at least pray about it?" There are some things in this life that I just do not want to pray about and this was one of them. But I did pray and it sounded a little like this, "Dear God I don't want to do this! You know everything I'm doing. Can't I just get a break every now and then? All I really want to do on Sunday is just to be left alone. Oh, wait a minute, that didn't sound too right did it? But I guess to be honest it's true, you're not really part of my Sundays at all are you? I'm sorry, I'll make it right. I guess this was what you really had in mind all along wasn't it? You want me to live a sacrificial life and I've become self-focused and very selfish. Well, I guess I can use the words Jesus taught me and say,"Not my will, but thine be done." Please forgive me. Starting right now I am making the choice to surrender my Sunday afternoons to you. They are my offering."

I made that great sacrifice twenty nine years ago, let me bring you up to date. Karen and Randy now live in Indianan their three children have now grown up and have left home. In May when I told Karen that I was going to have brain surgery she immediately contacted the counseling service she works for and told them that she would need time off from work. Karen arranged to be at Vanderbilt by 5:15 am. That would be the only time I would see her till I got home. Her mission at Vanderbilt was to comfort my family during the twelve hour surgery where each harbored their own private fear that they might never see their mother or wife again. Karen has the spiritual gift of mercy as well as being a trained counselor she gave of herself freely. She had worked it out with another friend in Nashville to provide a wonderful comforting meal that nourished not only body but soul. I saw her hand Steve an envelop with money so at some point they could all go out to eat when the ordeal was over. Karen ministered to them tirelessly until at last they received word I was in recovery. She left then for the farm. It wasn't long after she arrived that the truth became evident my house had a flea infestation! She got right to action and arranged for an exterminator to come to the house with the added burden that while taking intense care of me she also was vacuuming the whole house every day. She organized all my medicine. She was  my gentle companion day and night. Only her gentle touch could coax my eye to relax enough to close. Having written all this I know without a doubt that I have left something out.

Had I not been willing to be self sacrificing giving God "the offering" of my Sunday afternoon I would have missed so much. I would have missed one of the most genuine spiritual transformation in the person of Karen's husband Randy. I would have missed watching Rachel crawl and then take her first steps in my living room and then finally becoming a kind and gracious woman like her mother. Rachel is nine month pregnant, moving from Knoxville to Nashville and gave her blessing for Karen to spend this time taking care of me not her. Only months before Jonathan's birth my own baby had died how comforting it was for my empty arms to be filled again. Sarah Schrock is named after me. It is an honor that humbles me to the core. I stand in amazement of this woman.

But perhaps, the greatest thing I have received is a deeper understanding of the heart of God. I had brought my offering to Him because I believed that He wanted me to be self sacrificing but I think I had it wrong. Now, I believe He wanted me to bring Him my offering so that He could place me in just the right place so that when He opened up the flood gates of blessing I'd be hit with them full force!

The Humility of Grief

Two doe-eyed darlings came to visit me yesterday, two little sisters I have delighted in since their birth. I search for their pictures on Facebook, entertain myself with their art work, and smile as they interpret the world around them through the lens of a most delightful and vivid imagination. But sometimes a child's imagination can trouble them, and that's what happened yesterday.



I looked up from my walker when they came in and smiled with delight at the sight of them; well, at least the half of my face that isn't sliding off my skull smiled. Unfortunately, my renegade eye had refused to close yesterday without being taped, and that was not a welcoming sight to these little ones. I tried to speak softly to them, to reassure them, but then there's this other problem, a paralyzed face makes one sound slightly like a witch. I could only imagine; they probably felt they had encountered the hag from Snow White, and at any moment I'd offer them an apple. These precious little girls are so kind and well behaved.  They just stood there enduring this fright and trying desperately to understand how they were to respond.



By eight o'clock I was exhausted and in pain, so I took a whole pain pill and crawled into bed. Two hours later I was jolted awake by an ache in my heart. But there are some hurts that are not cured by pills, and this was one of those. Sometimes the correct response to a situation is to simply grieve. To grieve is to be humble, to be real, to accept both the gifts of joy and sorrow.



Part of the humility of grief is to admit that you need help. I didn't cry alone. I asked my husband to sit with me. My friend, Karen, who took two weeks off to come from Indiana to take care of me, gently wept beside me. I am also very blessed to have four brothers and four sisters, so I sent them a group text and asked if they would walk with me through this valley of tears.



There are things in life that can only be understood through the lens of eternity. And there is a special blessing that God gives to those whose heart is set on pilgrimage, the understanding that we are not home yet. We live in a broken and hurting world. But because of God's great love He sent His very own Son in the person of Jesus to be the Savior and Redeemer to this broken world. Jesus came with an invitation to His Kingdom where sorrow and weeping will be no more.



My prayer, as I sojourn through the valley of weeping, is that God would transform this place of tears into a place of refreshment for those who are following behind me on this journey home. I am so looking forward to the promise my Heavenly Father gave me, "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."(Revelation 21:4) But until that day I'll journey on, pausing every now and then along the way to shed a tear.

The Vision

I had arrived at the hospital at 5:30 that morning; all the preliminaries had been accomplished, they handed me a pen and showed me where to sign my name, stating I understood that the final result of what was being done could cause my death. With the pen I signed my name; with my spirit I relinquished control and silently sang, "Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders!" I was then placed on a gurney and taken to the operating room.

The room was full of lights and people, and when I was transferred onto the operating table I felt so small and vulnerable. The anesthesiologist, speaking with the voice of authority, had those assisting him hold my head and shoulders firmly in place while a mask was pressed down, covering my nose and mouth. I felt sheer terror welling up within me, and the fear of being suffocated began to overwhelm me as my head was twisted downward, and I was instructed to inhale deeply.  I cried out in silent prayer, "Sweet Jesus, I surrender! Let Your Spirit lead me to a place where trust has no boundaries!" Then consciousness slipped away.

Suddenly, I saw a piercing light and felt excruciating, exquisite pain as if my skull had been crushed!  I was in recovery; the brain surgery was over. But this is where my story really begins, because this is when I had the vision.

The vision I saw was familiar to me, since I had read the story in the seventh chapter of John many times.  What made it different was that I was not reading it; I was experiencing it.  I was there in person, saw Jesus stand up, heard Him cry out, "If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scriptures have said, 'Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.'" He was looking at me! Suddenly, I felt bursting from within me the Spirit of God bringing with Him comfort, a deep sense of being loved, and peace I have never before known.

Since that night in recovery, it is as if I have been on a raft of light, being both filled and at the same time bathed in the river of living water. I think it might take a lifetime to share the blessings that I have received, but I want to start by sharing this one small insight about being led by the Spirit to a place where trust has no boundaries. Trusting Jesus, believing in Him, means to be set free from the bondage of fear. Truly, it is an invitation to come to Jesus and find rest for your soul.  I'm so glad I accepted His invitation!

A Cry of Terror Became a Song of Praise

Time is often measured by moments, hours, days and weeks but I am finding that I must measure my nights by seasons. This can be a challenge because sometimes there is a pestilence that stalks in the darkness. I encountered it last night.

When I left the hospital after surgery my doctors cautioned me about several things. One of the main cautions had to do with preventing a rupture of the membrane that holds my Cerebrospinal fluids. This is a clear, colorless body fluid that helps to cushion or buffer the brain's cortex. Because of my surgery I was told for example not to blow my nose for two weeks because it could cause a rupture of the membranes that contain this fluid possibly causing an infection of the fluids resulting in Meningitis. 

I believe in a similar way our Heavenly Father designed our soul and our spirit to be bathed continually by the peace of Christ. The arrows I encountered in the nighttime was fear but I sought shelter of the Most High and I chose to abide in the shadow of the Almighty. The membrane was not ruptured by fear because when I cried out He delivered me from the fowlers snare. In His presence my scream of terror was transformed into a song of praise.

The night was long but my soul and spirit had found its resting place in the love of my Savior. I spent the rest of the night in worship. I sang love songs to my Lord. "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life of whom shall I be afraid." (Psalm 27:1)

I have learned in life that while weeping may abide in the night joy will always come in the morning. Just look to the East the Sun will always rise. Because of the tender mercy of our God, we have been visited by the sunrise from on high and He, Himself has given light to those who once sat in darkness and in the shadow of death. Jesus guides our feet into a way of peace where the dark pestilence cannot follow.

The Kindness of Strangers

It was a week ago today I was checking into Vanderbilt for brain surgery. I am writing this at five in the morning after a long night, but I'm writing from my own home and deeply aware of the many kindnesses that have been shown me. I've been thinking about this all night and wanted to record what is on my heart before the memories begin to fade.

I wish I could honor by name each of the kind and compassionate people who blessed me during my stay at Vanderbilt.  I remember when I was a little girl in school, I would sit in class and wonder what it would be like to be one of the smart students. Well, I never did get to find out, but now so many years later I do know what it's like to be the patient of brilliant capable kind strangers. There were so many on the team that morning helping me, and they all introduced themselves to me.  I looked into their kind eyes and found comfort.

I have many very wonderful friends who are nurses. It is a special calling, a demanding calling. My surgery began last week at seven-thirty in the morning, and I was put in NeuroICU at ten-thirty that night. All night long it seemed as if I was being attended to by ministering angels. I was aware of intense thirst and a night that seemed unending, but I was intensely comforted by the efficiency of those who never left my side. The young red headed nurse, whose name I do not know but who seemed to understand my unspoken needs, stayed with me all night and then took me to have an MRI at five that morning. Hers was the last face I saw before the cage was put over my face and I was slowly inserted into the capsule.  Her presence gave me courage, since she seemed to have never left my side during that first eternal night.

The last day of my stay there was a gentle tap at the door and the room was quietly filled the kind presence of the cleaning lady. I could only follow her with my eyes; I was aware of her diligence.  I thanked her and told how comforting it was for me to be so beautifully care for.  She smiled and said that was her true goal, not just to clean the room, but to bring me comfort. It was hard not to cry, as before she left the room, she came to my bed and said, "Honey, God loves you. He's watching over you and you're going to be all right."  Looking into her eyes I realized I was no longer in the presence of a stranger. I saw the reflection of Jesus in her eyes.

When the Hidden is Revealed

It was in the twilight of post surgery that my daughter told me what the surgical team had explained to my family while I was in recovery. One out of seventy acoustic neuromas present themselves primarily on the facial nerve; when this happens the surgical team, in order to keep from severing that nerve, will leave a microscopic portion of the tumor. The predawn MRI confirmed that I still have a portion of the tumor that could grow to replace the one removed.

I have to confess, I cried last night when I saw the stranger staring at me with that paralyzed face in the mirror. My eye refuses to close, so I used tape to keep it closed, but my eye was so stubborn that it was peering back at me at an odd slant through the gauze. I tried to encourage myself by smiling at my odd refection, but only half my face smiled back. In the middle of the night that is not comforting!

I slowly and painfully climbed back into bed and the tears began to flow freely, at least from one of my eyes. Before my surgery I had asked Jesus to give me a gift. I asked Him to give me the gift of worship. I had no idea what a glorious wonderful thing I had asked for or how it would transform water, even salt water, into joy.

My spirit began to sing a hymn of praise and I asked that again my Lord would visit me and allow my soul to magnify Him. He heard me and my spirit rejoiced in God my Savior. Bathed in holy light, I knew that my Jesus had regarded the lowliness of His handmaid.

Outer beauty fades but there is a hidden beauty I have asked for. I have asked for an gentle and quiet spirit. Before surgery, as they clamped the mask over my nose and mouth, I felt terror welling up but called out to my Savior and asked Him to take my hand and lead me where trust knows no boundary. I found not only trust, but the with the gift of worship, I also received peace and joy.

Where Worship Leads

It began when I was a very young child. I became aware that there was more than my physical eyes could see. I watched as my parents and grandparents worshiped. Surrounded by music, surrounded by song I began to recognize that I was in the presence of One who was clothed in majesty and splendor. I listened as the words of His holy book were read to me and in my spirit I saw Him. The One who wraps Himself in light as if it were a robe, spreading out the sky like a canopy, laying the beams of His palace on the waters above, making the clouds His chariot, walking on the wings of the wind, and making the winds His messengers, flames of fire His servants. (Psalm 104)  This was the One who invited me to come and worship.

I saw my grandfather kiss the book that spoke about the love of God. Although he had never learned to read he taught me reverence for the Word of God. My father invited me to kneel beside him as he prayed and on my knees I was transported beyond the temporal world into an eternal world. In my memory I can still hear the passion in my grandmother's voice as she read to me about a God who inhabits the praises of His people.

Through worship I learned about the grandeur of God but I also learned about the love of God. I learned that the Word had become flesh and had taken up residence among those whom He had created. I saw that the Ancient of Days had sent His only begotten Son to be the gentle healer offering eternal life to those who would believe. He, Himself became the sacrifice to take away the sins of the world.

To learn to fear God is also to learn there is nothing else you need to fear. In worship I have learned to hear the voice of the One who created me, the One who formed me in my mother's womb. "Do not fear, for I have redeemed you: I have called you by your name; you are Mine. I will be with you when you pass through the waters." (Isaiah 43:1,2) When Jesus walked on the water He invited Peter to join Him.

"Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders, let me walk upon the waters where You would call me. Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander, so that my faith will be made stronger, in the presence of my Savior." Hillsong This is the destination of worship.

"

When I am Afraid...

I have always enjoyed the humor of Chonda Pierce so when I heard that her first movie was coming out I decided to check out the trailer. I hadn't realized that her husband had died last year during brain surgery. Seeing that the week before my own brain surgery made it hard for me to sleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night and thought about how Chonda Pierce's husband had died and then I reminded myself of the verse, "When I am afraid I will put my trust in You."(Psalm 56:3) To be honest I don't like to admit when I'm afraid but I think that's just my pride. I find that in the night it is easier for me to be humble and to admit that I need help. This verse comforts me because it reminds me that I'm not alone the psalmist was afraid sometimes too.

"Trust - Hebrew batah. The word means the sense of well-being and security that results from having something or someone in whom to place confidence...It means to live at ease because of confidence in God."(Skip Moen) I lay in bed asking God to help me find this sense of well-being and security; I asked Him to help me turn my mind to Him and not to the thing that was causing me to be afraid.

I thought about how He established the earth and fixed its dimensions. I put my confidence in the God who laid the cornerstone of the earth while the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy. I bathed my mind with thoughts of the One who knows the road to the home of light but who also knows where darkness lives. And who but He can bring out the constellations in their seasons?  The dark clouds of fear had to yield their hold on me as I began to meditate on the One who is adorned with majesty and splendor, clothed with honor and glory. How can it be that such a God like this would care for me?

Meditating on God's glory brought with it a sense of security but when I remembered the words of Jesus I felt not only security but comfort. I thought about how Jesus confronted His disciples anxiety by reminding them of the Heavenly Father's care for His creation. "Aren't two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father's consent. But even the hairs of your head have all been counted. Don't be afraid therefore; you are worth more than many sparrows." (Matthew 10:29-31)

Yes, I was afraid last night until I put my trust in the God who loves me.

He Holds my Hand

"Child of my love, fear not the unknown morrow, dread not the new demand life makes of thee; thy ignorance doth hold no cause for sorrow, for what thou knowest not is known to me." This is the first line to a poem by Arthur C. Ritchie I was given when I was about to leave home for the first time. I found deep comfort in these words because I did feel ignorant and unsure of what lay ahead.

When I was on the threshold of being an adult I took great comfort in the words of Psalm 37:23,24 "A man's steps are established by the LORD, and He takes pleasure in his ways. Though he falls, he will not be overwhelmed, because the LORD holds his hand." Looking back over the years I realize that sometimes the night would seem to be so dark that I would be afraid of loosing my way. I could easily have been overwhelmed had it not been for the promise that even though I might loose my grip on God the LORD would never loose His grip on me.

Often in life I have not understood the direction in which the LORD was leading. The meaning of my life was hidden, yet from the beginning I knew that I had been invited to walk by faith and not by sight. An invitation to learn how to rest in the promises of God. I was never given a map but instead a promise that the God of all eternity had lavished His love on me and called me His child. The promise that He Himself would go with me step by step.

There is a mystery to the will of God. God is exalted beyond my understanding. And yet I find this promise in His word, "For the High and Exalted One who lives forever, whose name is Holy says this: 'I live in a high and holy place, and with the oppressed and lowly of spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly and revive the heart of the oppressed.'" (Isaiah 56:15) Not only does God live a high and a holy place He also lives with and in those who humbly reach out for His hand.

I have lived my life believing that one step was far enough for faith to see. I have found comfort not only in the promise that my hand was being held but that I had a good shepherd who was leading me. It has been many years since I was a young person leaving home for the first time, yet I still cling to the promises I found in that poem from long ago. "Wherefore go gladly to the task assigned thee. Having my promise, needing nothing more, than just to know, where'ere the future finds thee, in all thy journeying I go before."

There is a Choice

"Mimi, you were right! I tried what you said and it worked!" There was laughter in his voice and a joy in my heart that was inexpressible. What a contrast to the conversation we had had earlier that day when he had first awoken. He woke up in a bad mood with a list of chores that he didn't want to do.

What had brought about the change in his attitude? What was it I had said that he tried and found to be true? It all began several days ago when Jack and his family were having dinner with me. After dinner something had happened that set him off into a fit of rage. Jack is twelve and sometimes it's hard for him to keep his temper. And like all of us there are many things in his life that are frustrating and can easily lead to outbursts of anger.

That night I had waited for things to settle down and then I took Jack aside and talked to him about the choices we have because we are Christians. I told him that as Christians we have the Holy Spirit inside us and we can choose to walk in the Spirit or in the flesh. I explained to him that it is much easier to walk in the flesh than in the Spirit because responding in the flesh comes naturally but walking in the Spirit involves denying yourself, denying what comes naturally, taking up your cross and following Jesus.

I took him to the book of Galatians and showed him what the flesh looks like, "sexual immorality, moral impurity, promiscuity, idolatry, sorcery, hatreds, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, selfish ambitions, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and anything similar." Some of these things he was very familiar with and I explained the others as best I could. Jack will be thirteen next month and I know he will be faced at some point with everything on this list.

I told Jack about my own struggle. I explained that the stress of my situation caused me to want to lash out in anger and that I understood the struggle that he was faced with. We talked about how Jesus had given us and invitation to be his disciples but it involved a daily decision to deny yourself to take up your cross and to be like him. I told him that crucifixion was a slow death and sometimes it took a while for a sin to die.

I explained that when we chose to walk in the Spirit instead of the flesh our lives would show it. Just as it is obvious that someone is walking in the flesh because of their actions it is also obvious when someone is walking in the Spirit. A person who is walking in the Spirit will show the fruit of the Spirit,"love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faith, gentleness, self-control." This fruit isn't produced by the circumstances a person is faced with but instead his choice to walk in the flesh or in the Spirit.

"Jack, I'm so proud of you for making the decision to walk in the Spirit and not the flesh!" Jack didn't miss a beat, "Mimi, I'm proud of you too for making that decision." I thought my heart would burst. I know that it is a daily choice that it is an ongoing walk of faith but what a joy that I get to be on this pilgrimage with my grandson and that we can encourage each other along the way.

Sometimes it's Hard to Find Balance

"I wanted to tell you that it's okay to be scared. To be frightened. Because you are loved." This is an excerpt from a letter I received from my son. One of my goals in life is to be humble and real when going through difficult times. Yet, at the same time resting in the grace and the promises I find in God's word.

Finding my balance between an honest struggle and the peace of Christ has been hard this week. Although I feel like my spirit is at peace my body seems to be telling another story. Yesterday I was diagnosed shingles. I have waited a long time to have my brain surgery and now it's only a little over two weeks away. That is unless the hospital reschedules because of the shingles.

Just as light shines out of darkness I'm praying that somehow the light of God's glory will shine through my broken humanity. I am reminded of the truth that I hold this treasure in a clay jar. My clay jar doesn't seem to be doing very well right now but I'm keenly aware of His promises. I'm aware of them because this has been so hard that I've had to be very intentional about what I focus on.

I have been praying for spiritual strength even as I have felt physically weak. I have bathed my mind with the riches of his glory and asked that that I might be strengthen with power through his Spirit. I have asked that I might be rooted and grounded in his love. I have asked for the privilege to meditate on breadth and height and length and depth of the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge. It seems like a lot to ask but since I found it in his word I went on to ask that I might be filled with all the fullness of God.

I don't think that to go through difficult times and admit that they are difficult or even admitting it's scary is the same as having the spirit of fear. I think walking humbly before God and man sometimes means that you reach out and take the hand that is offered to you. Even while choosing to focus not on what is temporal but on what is eternal sometimes it's just comforting to have a son who comes along side me and says, "I wanted you to know that it's okay to be scared. To be frighted. Because you are loved."