The Lit Path

I was helping a family member clean their garage and she gave the lamp in the picture to me. There were two of them. I brought them home and began using them on my screened porch.

Light. Seems to be a theme for me. I love candles and any other piece of decor that lights up. Light is crucial to my sense of well-being. But light is much more than that to the collective human race. When I get up in the morning, the first thing I do is turn on a light somewhere so that I can get my coffee going. Then I flip the switch in my study/prayer room so that the lamp I read by will illuminate the space where I sit. Without light we don't know where we are going. We can't see where we've been. We cannot do much of anything. Sure, we could feel along in the dark. We could make things work somehow without light. I guess we could make do in a dim setting. But darkness. How penetrating is darkness? I'll tell you how.

When I went into a cavern here in East Tennessee, they turned off the lights. We were bathed in a darkness that could be felt, like that of the Egyptian plague of darkness. It was mightily palpable. I didn't like it a bit. 

Darkness like that is awfully helpful for sleeping, though. I'm a light sleeper. The darker, the better for me (if my husband is nearby for protection). Same is true for our spiritual lives. I have posted this disclaimer many, many, many times. If you are reading this and you've watched me struggle (or just give in to) sin, I will not back up from your assertions. I have sinned and, sadly will sin again. I've decided, however, that for the rest of my life I'll use my time and abilities, however weak they may be, to glorify God and to encourage others to seek Him with all that they have within them. To know Him and to enjoy Him. To draw strength and courage from the light of His glorious love and fellowship. I'm sure I'll be told I'm not worthy. I'm ready for that. 

"Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever, Amen." Jude 1:24-25, KJV.

 

Rainy Days, Coffee and Jesus

Well, it's official. I've become one of those cheesy people who wear t-shirts with the Lord's name on them. A person who titles a blog post as I just did. Age changes ya. You don't judge. You can't anymore.

That's not what this post is about, mom and husband Gary (the two people who always read my posts, my only fully consistent audience-Gary because it's foisted upon him via text and he has to sit next to me at dinner and will be asked why he did not respond). Survival and all. 

This post is about seeking and seeking and falling and seeking and falling again. Lately I've been super-sick of me. I want sanctified speech, but I want to complain and "vent" (AKA gossip, fault-find, lambast) about as much as I want a honeybun (which is around the clock). While all of the rest of you are enjoying the beauty of heaven, perhaps exploring new colors and textures, looking for loved ones, racing to hug Jesus, I'll spend the first little bit breathing sigh of relief after sigh of relief that I cannot sin anymore. I cannot make myself sick anymore. What a freedom that will be! I can see myself, bent at the waist, hands on thighs, blowing out and breathing in that holy air. 

Today I was particularly desperate. I had lain in the bed for hours scrolling social media and shopping online. Hollowed out by that craziness and a little sore from a short fall on a hard ground yesterday, I remembered that 1) I've got a screened porch and 2) I've got lots of scented candles. I grabbed my bible and headed out there. I spent a few minutes in the book of Matthew and a few details stood out. The wise men followed the star to Jesus. A star. How beautiful is that illustration? God has always revealed Himself in nature. He always will. The bible says they were overjoyed to see that star. Somewhere in my reading Jesus was said to be the one who would shepherd Israel. He is MY shepherd. Yes, yes, yes. He is my shepherd.

What does that mean on this rainy spring afternoon? I don't have to go anywhere without His guidance. I get to choose. I. Get. To. Choose. And you know what the best part is? When I lose my way, the bible says he will search me out and bring me home. He knows the sound of my cry, even when that cry sounds like overeating or over-scrolling. Praise God!

 

What A Difference

 

What a difference two-and-a-half years makes! I've done so much...and failed to do even more. I am giddy with the memories of talking to so many about their faith in the Christian store where I've worked part-time the last ten months. I'm still awed by the miracles I've heard recounted as I ghost-wrote testimonies for a drug-and-alcohol-rehabilitation-related ministry. The restoration of lives from the ground up by a gentle, loving Savior who longs to be good to us all shored up my faith in ways I can't fully articulate.

I'm stilled to the bone with thanksgiving at the thought that God Himself came down and pulled my youngest child (aged 23) back from the grave and restored him fully. I'm stunned that he sent a friend to remind me of all that's He's always reminded me of...and to an unlikely place, too! Who am I to receive such favor? Who am I to be so blessed? Who. Am. I?

I have recently watched in deep sorrow as another family member has come to the end of his long life, wavering in that shadowland between life and death. I grieved, only to be shocked into emotional stability as my husband exclaimed, "This is not the end! It's only the beginning!" He then asked me if I really believed the Bible. Of course I do. I just needed reminding of how short this life is and how long eternity is. I'll never fully understand it. At least not on this side of the veil. The Bible says He has set eternity in our hearts, and that I know full well, because I constantly yearn for home. I think all of the time I spend on Realtor.com and in research of faraway places to retire is merely an extension of yearning for my true home. That longing will find its satisfaction in JESUS one day when I am physically in His glorious presence.

Since my last post so many months ago I went to the life celebration of a friend who had lost her way spiritually. Such a beautiful, intelligent and sensitive soul. She was crushed by the realities of life on this earth and, though she wavered from the anchor she had always had in Christ, she never completely lost hold of His hand. I feel sure that she is enjoying the glories of heaven and that I will see her radiant face again. Though I was broken by the way she was taken, I know that she wouldn't come back to this tattered earth for anything at all. She is whole, she is at peace, she knows true joy.

In short, the last couple of years have made me want to count the years. How can I better serve Jesus? How can I better love others? How can I worship more fully? How can I? How will He work in me? I want to be who He wants me to be. If you've seen me actively not representing Him well, I am very sorry. However, He's infinitely more faithful than me. He's completely trustworthy. That's how I know I can trust Him to get me where I'm supposed to be going. Oh, Lord Jesus, help me to use my time as the precious treasure that it is! I love you!

A Spreading Fragrance

 

Many of you know that I've been working on a novel for a couple of years. Today I was pecking away at the story in the study where I love to do all things contemplative. I light a candle nearly any time I set foot in here. The one gracing this space right now has amber notes in it. It's strong, the way I like them and intoxicatingly fragrant in the best possible way.

For the first time since I purchased this wonderful candle, I smelled the one from the kitchen wafting over its glorious brass band tones. This wouldn't be particularly noteworthy except that the one in the kitchen is a leftover from last fall that really disappointed me. I had a terrible time smelling it. I remember thinking it was just heavenly, as long as I was willing to nearly set my nose on fire. In fact, I ordered it again this year, but in the two-wick version in the hopes that a deeper wax pool would strengthen the scent throw. The one muscling past my amber candle is not the new, but the old, weak candle. Why is it suddenly running amok in the house, doing what I had so deeply desired for it to do last year?

The best possible answer is that, as it burned today, the flame hit a level in the candle where the scent oils had concentrated. I don't know if that is even possible, but it's the only thing that makes sense to me. Same house, same nose (mine), same candle. Ever more powerful scent.

I'm praying that God, in all of his sovereign ability, majesty and might, would take my efforts, the concoction that is me, and use me differently in this season of my life. I hope that I would somehow, through the influence of years and urgency of the grave rushing up to me, become something, someone He can use in new and better ways. I don't want to burn out, but rather burn up, my last gasp of air on this earth a prayer to Him. Only God can do this!

A Little Light

 

My toxic trait is that I live in, camp out around the edges of, dredge up and swim in the past. It's exhausting for my loved ones. They'd like to, oh, I don't know, MOVE ON? I am utterly fabulous at encouraging others to live for today, but my past is always knocking at my door. I am, to my everlasting discredit, always answering. 

I was reminded of that today as I tooled around one of my favorite thrift stores. I love remembering our oh-so-simple lives before the mind-altering, spirit-controlling firestorm that is the internet. A thrift store is the ideal place to bathe in those memories. I might run my hand along couches that saw the eighties come and go, pick up dusty cookbooks (the actual, physical kind), and smile as I note the decades-old pattern in a comforter proudly displayed on a bed that is also for sale. It's nostalgia for sale at great prices! As I troll the aisles for more treasures to stuff in my own home, I am taken back to so many nearly forgotten places in time. I remember neighbors and grandparents and at-home multi-level marketing parties. My own childhood homes swam before me today as I noted a bowl I believe we had. I was back at the table with my siblings. A lot of these memories are really fond. They make me happy.

It's a great thing to have great memories. Everyone has SOME. But it is not healthy to spend inordinate amounts of time in those memories if the purpose of the trip is to bemoan today, or to look upon the future with dread. The fact is, the good old days were not so good, after all. They were fraught with challenge, heartache, loss. Just like today. I think I live a bit too much in the past, especially my early married days. I long for the years when the biggest worry I had was my kids' scraped knees or a fever that seemed a little high for the moment. When I could keep everyone safe and make homemade soup if I felt a little sad, dousing it with cheese and baking cookies later for everyone to enjoy.

Living for the Lord is not like living for ourselves. Sure, we will still nurture our families, love our friends. Make homemade soup. But we've got another calling, one that requires focus, dedication to prayer and bible study, and a steadfast determination to live in the joy and peace of the Lord. I have learned that the world, the flesh and the devil are set against my having those two life-altering commodities. The enemy of my soul is always looking for an opening. With me, the easy door, the one that needs a permanent seal, is that of my past sins. I have decided to start thanking the Lord for everything I can think of when I am assailed with such memories. We are commanded in scripture to keep our minds on good things, because our feelings follow our thoughts and our actions follow our sustained feelings.

This post has meandered, and it's not nearly as artful as I'd hoped. So I'll close with the image I've attached at the top. I combed the store stem to stern and the only things I wanted to buy were the cross in the picture and two coffee cups. When I got the cross home and put a tealight inside, I have to admit, the candlelight did not illuminate the cross as beautifully and fully as I thought it would. I knew there was a message in that, somehow. I had been crying on the way home, begging the Lord to fully restore me spiritually. I haven't felt as connected to Him and to my life's purpose as I did as a younger person. With those tears still in my eyes, I happened upon a lady whose car had overheated. She was just inside my neighborhood but she was headed elsewhere. I went home and got my husband, who came back with me to help. As I sit here I see that, even though my light burns low at times, if it is steady, like the light at the bottom of the cross, it has value, just like my simple offer of water for an overheated car. A light is a light.

Audience

 Any public speaker worth his or her salt knows that understanding the audience is key to success behind the podium. If I'm addressing a kindergarten class, I'll get down on the floor and sit cross-legged as I encourage them to gather close. I'll be physically animated. My voice will be charged with energy. I'll put on something of a show, just for them. There may even be puppets. A live bunny. I'm pretty creative. I'd find a draw of some kind. You can bet your bottom dollar there would be audience participation.

Now suppose I were tasked with addressing a group of older ladies at a genealogy conference. The room is filled with the somber faces of those who have dedicated nearly all of their free time to tracing their family history. Some are wearing the family crest, embroidered with care upon their blouses or computer bags. Others have dressed in the garb of their native lands, albeit several generations removed. While I might start my presentation with a joke or two (this is me, after all, in this hypothetical scene), I'd pretty quickly get down to business with solid information designed to help them pursue their passion with greater precision. There wouldn't be any floor time, unless someone fell fast asleep.

Suffice it to say, I understand the principle of playing to the crowd. I might have been a decent marketer, had I chosen to pursue a career other than that of failed housewife (I don't like to clean and my cooking is sub-par). I would argue, however, that social media has made excellent marketers of us all. 

What if, just for one day, only God saw what we did? How would we dress? What would we do? It's an interesting concept, one that cannot be carried out in its purest form because most days involve interactions with others. Those are, however, the days that would count the most in such an experiment. Let's say that, although we would be interacting with others as usual, God was the only person really taking note of what we said and did. For just that day, we would have an audience of one. That day, if any act of kindness was done, it would have to be done in secret, with not even the recipient knowing we did it, if possible. If any moral decision was made, the masses would not know. Just God. 

The truth of the matter is that in order to follow God with the abandon it takes to be complete in Him, we do have to live exactly like that. Just exactly like that. "What Would Jesus Do," the adage in question form  that took hold years ago and spawned millions of rubber bracelets is, in all actuality, the crux of the crucified Christian life. If today you have done lots of things for the applause of men, I'm sorry. I wish I could give you a hug, because you must be utterly exhausted. I know I am, because I spent the day at home but under the depressing mantle of failure in the eyes of others, both in my spiritual life and in every other aspect, to my way of thinking. 

We have bibles. Let's open them and do what God tells us to. Regardless of what others think. In spite of what others think. Most importantly, with NO motive to make them think. I'm preaching to myself here. Glad you came along.

Motion

 

The bicycle planter pictured above stands on my front porch. Every time I pass it I am reminded of the good friend who gave it to me. My favorite images for decorating include bicycles with flowers, pathways and houses. Bicycles reminds me of the freedom of my early childhood, when I rode my beloved second-hand bike all over the neighborhood, as free as a robin on the Iowa summer breeze. Because I was so small and so young, it seemed as if the neighborhood went on forever.  Bicycle images are forever attached to the joy of summertime in my heart.

Images of houses remind me of the safety and security of home. I have been a housewife for two-and-a-half decades. The only exceptions during that period has been three part-time jobs, the longest lasting less than a year-and-a-half.  Most of my time has been spent at home, where I have felt and do feel the most secure. My husband is a quiet person. If I want to light scented candles and move from room to room silently, stopping in one room to read, going to another to stitch, lighting in the bonus room for a movie, this place is a virtual heaven-on-earth. It is truly a haven in the storms of life.

Pathways intrigue me for many reasons. I think the mystery as to just where the road that is pictured in an art print or photo might lead is part of the draw. Images of pathways in the forest remind me of the serenity of nature. Perhaps, layered somewhere under my conscious mind is the idea that a pathway indicates a way forward. Movement. I am very, very, very easily bored. So much so that at times I feel as if it is almost a curse. In truth, how we are wired is a gift. This gift keeps me creating, writing, stitching, talking, learning.

I've gone an awfully long way around the point today. The picture was, in fact, my theme. That bicycle, while lovely and adorned with living plants, is completely stationary. Utterly so. It has to be picked up and carried to be moved. While, since it is largely formed in the image of a bicycle, the sight of the planter evokes the idea of motion, there is no motion in the item itself, nor any potential for it to carry anyone anywhere. It doesn't have any wheels!

For dreams to be carried out, a vision has to be plotted. The vision adds wheels to the mission. The forward motion is supplied by hard work. Some of this work, I have learned, is done in the dark, with only the light of faith to show the way. When my faith bulb is dim, I have to cry out to my Creator for help. Today I read the parable of the talents in the New Testament. If I fail in my mission to use my gifts for His glory, let it not be because I did not exhaust myself, wringing myself completely out of pride, laziness and selfish ambition in the process. Let it also not be because I stopped believing that I could hear from God. There is a direct line from my prayer room to the throne room. God's word, the Bible, makes this very clear.

I'm writing a novel, which I hope to have a rough draft of by my fifty-fourth birthday next month. It is my first strong effort in many years to push the envelope in using my writing gift, which God affirmed in me as a young person when I was awarded a Manship Fellowship to LSU's school of journalism. Though I have been published many times in print when my kids were small and on the internet, I have not primed the pump of God's plans for my life, even though I have lived a good deal of it. I like to think of the next part of my life as that path heading into the mysterious forest. There will be days when I break into the open sunshine and others when I will enjoy the mystery of the deep woods, God's hand in mine. What an adventure life is meant to be!