My Prayer

And, O Lord, give us faith. Give us faith in Thee; faith in our sons; faith in each other; faith in our united crusade. Let not the keenness of our spirit ever be dulled. Let not the impacts of temporary events, of temporal matters of but fleeting moment - let not these deter us in our unconquerable purpose.

With Thy blessing, we shall prevail over the unholy forces of our enemy. Help us to conquer the apostles of greed and racial arrogancies. Lead us to the saving of our country, and with our sister nations into a world unity that will spell a sure peace - a peace invulnerable to the schemings of unworthy men. And a peace that will let all of men live in freedom, reaping the just rewards of their honest toil.

Thy will be done, Almighty God.

Amen.

Read more at http://www.christianpost.com/news/seventy-years-on-franklin-d-roosevelts-d-day-prayer-120991/#lvYg6PuCui52tW8F.99

...And, O Lord, give us faith. Give us faith in Thee; faith in our sons; faith in each other; faith in our united crusade. Let not the keenness of our spirit ever be dulled. Let not the impacts of temporary events, of temporal matters of but fleeting moment - let not these deter us in our unconquerable purpose.

With Thy blessing, we shall prevail over the unholy forces of our enemy. Help us to conquer the apostles of greed and racial arrogancies. Lead us to the saving of our country, and with our sister nations into a world unity that will spell a sure peace - a peace invulnerable to the schemings of unworthy men. And a peace that will let all of men live in freedom, reaping the just rewards of their honest toil.

Thy will be done, Almighty God.

Amen.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt - Prayer to/with the American people - Fireside Chat - 12/8/1941

There are four windows, five if you count the back door, facing somewhat west at my house. It's an old farmhouse, and I can't help but think it was situated that way on purpose. Only one tiny window faces North. The big picture window faces the rising sun. Smart. We don't eat breakfast in the dining room and this way, no sun in one's eyes while eating the morning meal. The house, planted on an old, stone foundation, captures the light as it travels, during the day, warming the rooms, first one side, then the other. And those windows are good at directing cross-breezes. They open at the top or the bottom, probably optioned as much for ease in cleaning as manipulation of air.

We live just east of a Great Lake, not written with capitals as commentary, but rather properly, it is one of our five Great Lakes. Clouds, storms, and wind usually come from the West. It makes sense, having a lot to do with temperature and water. Lots of water. Sometimes, we live in our own little weather system. I like it.

I like the unpredictability of the weather here. I like to watch the clouds roll, low on the western horizon, like ocean waves, over the fields and hills, blue sky like punctuation.

I watched them form and roll yesterday, from my upstairs window. The western edge, gray and ragged, beckoned me. I briefly considered taking a drive out to see if the sky beyond was as Arizona-blue as it seemed. Like finding the end of the rainbow, I suppose. But I had promises to keep and places to go, and busy-ness to do.

Next I looked and the clear horizon had been replaced by another edge, another blanket of gray, not spread across the heavens, but rolled up like a rug, pushing toward the east. And then another. Ocean waves of clouds.

This political season. The climate in our nation. Unpredictable. Rolling across us, marching across us, filling our blue skies with clouds.

It has been heart-wrenching to witness: de-humanizing, name-calling, un-friending, mean-spiriting. Wave after wave of darkness and hatred. This season has not brought out the best in us, and I can only describe how I feel as deep sadness. Heart grief.

Yet.

Yet, I choose joy.

Today I will remember that God is sovereign.

Today I will remember that His plans are for us, that He loves us, and that only He can bring light from the void.

Today I will remember that He sent his perfect Son, to die on the cross, in order to redeem me - to redeem us, from our sins. Through Him we are washed clean and made new. I believe this. I believe that he not only washes me, but washes and redeems others. He is so very capable that way.

Only Jesus can bring light from the void of our own darkness. And He can bring light from the void of the darkness of others. A reason to call him Savior.

Today I pray for our leaders; past, present, and future. I pray for our world leaders, and our local leaders, for our church leaders, and for our lay leaders. Today, I pray for all people. For relationship, and community, for understanding. Today I pray for love and I pray for joy. Jesus said His love and His joy are in us - believing in Him. Today I pray for that belief. I pray for His healing hand.

Come, Lord Jesus, come.

Linking with Rosalind, Kristin, and Jenn

The Right Path

I don't like bugs. Creepy, crawly, squishy, leg-gy, no see-ums. Yet I'm kind of fascinated by them. By their industry, their sense of purpose, their amazing super-powers of strength and agility.

So, about mid-summer, before the drought up here in the North Country really hit, I was out by the field taking pictures of the newest plants and colors. Believe it or not, I'd never seen chicory before - bright blue flower on spindly stems, standing tall above the lawn, and popping out of the borders of tall prairie grass.

I bent down low and pulled the camera lens out so I could see through the viewfinder. I wanted to fill the screen with blue. And I did. Filled it with blue and bugs. Two different kinds as far as I could distinguish. Shepherds and sheep, I've been told.

Which brings me to my point.

The Lord is my shepherd; 

I shall not want. 

He makes me lie down in green pastures. 

He leads me beside still waters. 

He restores my soul. 

He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

God reminds us all the time, every day, that He loves us, that He will always care for us, that He has a plan for us, and that His plan is to lead us back to Him; it places us on the right path to Him. 

The things of nature remind me of Him. It's one of the reasons I take pictures. The camera allows me to see the world differently, detailed, color-saturated, and focused. Simple things become beauty, or become metaphor. Beautiful blue flowers in the field remind me of Him. Even when they're filled with bugs - after all, I don't have to understand His purpose for the little critters - for a second they brought to mind one of my favorite scriptures. 

That's not an altogether bad purpose.

Linking with Kate and the gang at Five-Minute Friday

Beauty and Wonder

Sierra and I went out on the boat this morning to watch the sun rise. The water, thick and satiny, flowed beneath us all the way deep past 200 feet in places. I won't lie. All of the pictures have been adjusted for color and balance. My camera couldn't handle the volume of light. I shoot on automatic, so the aperture and shutter adjusted, making the photos darker automatically.

I see metaphor all around me. The sun rose on the horizon, not in a blaze, not with a saturated sky of rose, and purple. But rather with gilt-edges on distant clouds, like unwrapping a precious gift. 

How often do we adjust automatically to situations that are too intense to handle? Do we shut down the bright, or amp up the darkness? Are we disappointed by gradual light, rather than blazes of glory? Do we stay long enough for the light to work it's magic on the world around us?

My daughter, again, pointed to the sun rising from the calmness of the water, and told me that Jesus was here.

I am sharing my bible reading with these photos from this morning. Coincidence that there was so much mention of the heavens and light? I don't believe in coincidence. 

Praise and worship. 

God is good. 

I hope your morning is full of beauty and wonder. 

to him who alone does great wonders

for his steadfast love endures forever; 

to him who by understanding made the heavens, 

for his steadfast love endures forever; 

to him who spread out the earth above the waters, 

for his steadfast love endures forever; 

to him who made the great lights, 

for his steadfast love endures forever; 

the sun to rule over the day, 

for his steadfast love endures forever; 

the moon and stars to rule over the night, 

for his steadfast love endures forever;

Psalm 136:4-9 (ESV)

For I know that the LORD is great, 

and that our Lord is above all gods. 

Whatever the LORD pleases, he does, 

in heaven and on earth, 

in the seas and all deeps. 

He it is who makes the clouds rise at the end of the earth, 

who makes lightnings for the rain 

and brings forth the wind from his storehouses.

Psalm 135:5-7 (ESV)

Come, bless the LORD, all you servants of the LORD,

who stand by night in the house of the LORD! 

Lift up your hands to the holy place 

and bless the LORD! 

May the LORD bless you from Zion,

he who made heaven and earth!

Psalm 134 (ESV)

I will not give sleep to my eyes 

or slumber to my eyelids, 

until I find a place for the LORD, 

a dwelling place for the Mighty One of Jacob.

Psalm 132:4-5 (ESV) 

Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.

Colossians 3:2 (ESV)

Besides this you know the time, 
that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep. 

For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed.

Romans 13:11 (ESV)

The captain came and said to him, 

“What do you mean, you sleeper? 

Arise, call out to your god! 

Perhaps the god will give a thought to us, 

that we may not perish.”

Jonah 1:6 (ESV)

For, 

Yet a little while, 

and the coming one will come and will not delay;

Hebrews 10:37 (ESV)

Linking with Charlotte at Spiritual Sundays

Real and Present

Behold, he is coming with the clouds, 
and every eye will see him, 

Revelations 1:7 (ESV)

My daughter is talking to me; we're on our way home from Post. She volunteered all day, compiling folders for in-processing troops, making copies, labeling CDs, shredding papers. I've been working with soldiers, interviewing, scheduling, explaining, emailing, polishing resumes, tracking progress, annotating records. Encouraging them in their transition from military to civilian life, listening to them. Ironically, my mind isn't fully on what my daughter saying.

"Janet. It's Jesus; He is coming."

Janet. There it is. She's had to repeat herself. She only uses my first name when she's exhausted any other options. Like 'Mom'. It's not disrespect. It's perseverance, and it makes me smile. I hear her this time. She has my complete attention.

"It's JEsus." (Emphasis on the first syllable...) He is coming." There is a hint of excitement in her voice, anticipation. I feel the hairs raise up on my arms.

"Are you ready?"

This is classic Sierra, my daughter with the extra chromosome, the extra dose of concrete understanding.

I'm driving through fields of future hay, probably waist high, green and gold with flecks of purple and yellow, native grasses and flowering weeds. They ripple and move with each gentle breeze, with each breath of air, like sea anemones in ocean currents, brilliant, sinuous, alive. The fields are alive; the wind is alive. It is a God moment.

Am I ready?

It is not the last time she mentions this casual Jesus to me, this real and very present Jesus, the one who is coming, my daughter of outrageous statements and questions. My daughter who lives in the here and now, like an old reel-to-reel film of never-ending ever-moments.

--------------------

She walks down the stairs, right hand brushing the wall, left hand hugging the rail. Maximum stability.

"Mom, Jesus, He was here."

I'm in the family room and I feel a goose-bump prickle, skin raising along the back of my neck. My thoughts crowd my brain, clamor inside my head. Here? In my house? I look around at the dust gathered along the baseboards, at the wisps of dog hair crouched in the corners of the floor, at the papers and books on the coffee table, at the unfolded pile of clothes on the sofa.

"Maybe we should clean the house," voice purposely flat and expressionless, eyes acknowledging my girl. "Do you think he noticed this dirty house?" Oh, shades of Martha in my reaction!

I sneak a look. She's processing. Eyes forward, hint of a smile; her hands like birds by her waist, lift up, turn at the wrists, down on the lap, up again. This is a habit, probably related to one of the neural pathways in her brain. The movement is my cue that she's concentrating on her words, on her communication, on being understood. It is unconscious and hypnotizing.

"He is coming. Are you ready?"

I don't know that she understands when she uses tenses. It is one of the language things we work on: yesterday, today, tomorrow. In Signed English, hand positioning designates tense. Throw the hand behind, over the shoulder, means an action occurred in the past. Behind equals the here and now. Push the hand toward the front, the action will occur in the future. In front equals before the here and now. It is a concrete way to perceive time, and we use it.

"Jesus WAS here? (hand over shoulder), or Jesus IS coming? (push to front).

Laughter, giggles. She wraps her sleep-warm arms around me in a good-morning hug. It is our routine. She doesn't answer the 'which'. It may be one of the most difficult thought processes for her. She has to evaluate the better answer.

I let it go.

But the thought haunts me. I share the exchange with my mother, with my husband, with my sister. We have all agreed that Sierra knows God, that she manifests an unusual and direct connection to all things spiritual. Is this prophecy?

I want to be ready.

----------------------

We sit together at the breakfast table. The kitchen door is open, propped by a ceramic vase, screen door stopping the summertime flies. Sierra takes a sip of her coffee and points to the fan of dawn, beginning in the eastern sky. 

"Look, Mom. It is Jesus. He is here."

I see the lighted horizon, rays of sunlight stretching toward clouds with reluctant gray underbellies. Color has begun to bleed into the sky; it promises to be a beautiful sunrise.

"Here?" I ask. "Here in the sky?"

"Yes, Mom. Jesus. He is the sky."

I think about heaven, how I've tried to explain heaven to this daughter, heaven that I don't even entirely understand. The concept of heaven is convenient. God is in heaven. Look to the sky. God is in the sky. 

But she said Jesus IS the sky, not that He is IN the sky. 

I wonder if she's missed a word, or if I've missed a point. I think I may need her to explain heaven to me. He IS the sky. God IS the field, and the wind. Jesus lives. In us. With us. Heaven.

He is coming. 

He is here. 

Are you ready?

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for Sierra and her unique outlook. Thank you for teaching me through her. You are here, always, with us. You will never leave us, nor forsake us; we are yours. I am yours. Thank you for helping me to realize the difference between my convenient explanations, and the very real and present gift of Jesus.

Amen

Linking with Jennifer Dukes Lee #TellHisStory, and
Kelly at RaRaLinkup

Reflect

Welcome to my little corner of the Five-Minute Friday community, where a group of dedicated bloggers link themselves with Kate Motaung and engage with a word prompt for five minutes... Just five. No editing, no revising - just a five-minute thought stream....

Today's prompt is... REFLECT.

GO --

We study light in fifth grade, reflection, refraction, and absorption. It's amazingly mathematical, the movement of light, bouncing off of surfaces at the same angle it bounced on (hmm...can you bounce ON to something?). Transmitting through objects and surfaces; emerging changed in predictable ways. Waves of light, measureable by height, amplitude, and length.  Resonating, vibrating. In synch and absorbed, never to be seen again, and out of synch - changed. There's science here. And numbers. Equations -- open and shut, done and done. Electromagnetic radiation -- those are the lightwaves -- the length determines the frequency which determines visibility. And here's the cool thing. Just because we can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there (yes, double negative intended).

And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light.

Genesis 1:3 (ESV)

Science and math can explain what it is and how it works. And the explanations are logical and satisfying. Opened and closed. Like visible light. Now you see it - it's easy to believe it.

And Jesus cried out and said, “Whoever believes in me, believes not in me but in him who sent me. And whoever sees me sees him who sent me. I have come into the world as light, so that whoever believes in me may not remain in darkness. 

John 12:44-46 (ESV)

Not equation. No numbers. Not open and shut, not done and done.

Jesus as light.

Reflecting from us, in acts of kindness, in compassion, in loving one another as He loves us...

Transmitting through us - our attitudes changed by Him, choosing joy, choosing belief, choosing hope...

Absorbed inside of us - Holy Spirit cocooned in our hearts, never to leave, dependable and steadfast...

Out of the darkness. Jesus.

And today - I leave you with a quote for our world - 

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; 

only light can do that. 

Hate cannot drive out hate; 

only love can do that.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

E-Lationship

We argue, on occasion. True confession. It's a question of expectations and opinions and belief in the right or wrong of a situation. A question of statements, and disagreements, and finding common ground to go on. Never loud; no yelling, not even volume raised, but argument nonetheless.

And my daughter knows. She's sensitive to tone and innuendo, to body language, to abrupt silence. I don't know what goes through her mind. A storm cloud looming? A rocky path? It's ok that she witnesses our disagreements; she needs to know that people have disagreements. Even people she loves. Even her parents. She needs to witness respect in the difference. And resolution. It's ok that she recognizes things are not always hunky-dory. That life goes on. That love goes on.

And that's when I learn from her.

"It's e-lationship, Mom," she tells me. "You and K...., it's e-lationship." She puts her arms around me, the empathy master working on comfort, and all I can do is smile at the Sierra-ism. She skips first letters on her words sometimes, in this case, turning relationship into e-lationship.

But isn't that just like her. To show me the joy?

Elate - the verb means to make someone ecstatically happy. It originated from a combination of two Latin roots: ex -- meaning 'out or from,' and ferre -- meaning 'to bear.'  These became 'effere', which then became 'elat' which means raised - which then travelled over to late Middle English as the verb we now know.

I like that. Relationship and Elationship. We raise up, we bear. From two minds, from two people, out of two hearts -- we raise up.

Love is like that.Relationship is like that.

"At that season Jesus answered and said, I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou didst hide these things from the wise and understanding, and didst reveal them unto babes: yea, Father, for so it was well-pleasing in thy sight. All things have been delivered unto me of my Father: and no one knoweth the Son, save the Father; neither doth any know the Father, save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son willeth to reveal him.

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Matthew 11:25-30 (ERV) 

Five-Minute Friday and the prompt is Season. It is the beginning of Advent and the sometimes crazy Christmas season is upon us. In looking for an anchor for this post -- a scriptural anchor -- I came upon this passage from Matthew. In every translation except English Revised, season translates as time. As in - in that time... Curious. 

I tend to do this thing - this choosing of the 'underdog', so to speak. This choosing of a scriptural anchor that only uses season in one translation. When the whole prompt is season.

Hmmm....

I'm sure it's because of the reference to children -- to the wisdom of children. Because I am a witness to this through my daughter. My 24-year old daughter who is not a child, yet, because of her unique capabilities and differences, perhaps because of her extra chromosome, shows me a different perspective.

In Matthew, Jesus was most likely at his wit's end (if you can imagine), revealing himself through supernatural means -- miracle upon miracle -- over and over, in cities and towns far and wide, yet realizing that the people he came to redeem still did not see or believe his true nature. How frustrating. So, instead of ranting and raving at those people, he turned the situation around and thanked his Father for the children - children without the burden of worldly knowledge - who believed through heart rather than head.

It reminds me of my daughter - who believes through heart rather than head. 

"It's e-lationship, Mom."

Of all the seasons of the year, it seems to me that this is the one where we need to stress the elationship in our relationships. 

Love is patient and kind; 

love does not envy or boast; 

it is not arrogant or rude. 

It does not insist on its own way; 

it is not irritable or resentful; 

it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, 

but rejoices with the truth. 

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

1 Corinthians 13:4-7 (ESV)

I Am Scared

Anyone who sets himself up as “religious” by talking a good game is self-deceived. 

This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. 

Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: 

Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, 

and guard against corruption from the godless world.

James 1:26-27 (Message)

"There's a situation, sir, across the sea..."

The man looked up from his computer screen, eyes tired behind the horn-rimmed glasses, the ones his wife insisted he wear. He rubbed them wearily.

"What situation?"

"People, sir. They're washing up."

"Washing up? What do you mean, washing up? Washing clothes? Quitting their jobs? Cleaning themselves?"

"No, sir, they're coming onto shore in boats and rafts. Even innertubes, sir. They have no papers. They have no money. Mostly women and children, sir. They have no food."

The man took the glasses off, holding them carefully by the expensive frame, and sat back in his chair to get a better view of his visitor.

"Across the sea, you say? How is this our business?" He was annoyed. So many issues, so little time. Interruptions and distractions. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose where the glasses usually rested, his eye caught movement on the television screen in the waiting room outside of his office. Past his visitor. Rude of him, really, to look past the other man, but the image, in focus now, compelled him. Ragged people, eyes too big for their heads, tent camps and fences. Refugees. 

The news agencies were all over the situation. The one across the sea. Not here. Funny to be told about it and see it, almost simultaneously. Not here. Not our problem.

"How is this our business?" He asked the question again, but even as he asked, he waved his hand dismissively at the screen in the other room. His visitor blinked at the gesture and turned to see the news report. A long moment passed before he turned back, tears in his eyes.

"We should help, sir. They need..."

Interrupting, the man behind the computer replaced his glasses and looked back at the screen.

"Not today. Not our problem. Not our mess."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

Tuesday school, her daughter jokingly called it. Tuesday morning Women's Bible Study class. They were studying the Old Testament - all of the good kings and bad kings - all of the judges and heroes. They were at the years of captivity, Babylon, and the worshipping of idols and the killing of babies. Horrible things. Unbelievable things. 

But the conversation today was not about scripture; it was about the terrible events on the news. Shootings. Bombings. Terror. And the refugee crisis in Syria, home of ISIS, the worst of the offenders. Horrible things. Unbelievable things. Scary things.

"Did you hear the President's speech? About Syria and the refugees? He wants to let 10,000 more come over here."

"Ten thousand? That's more than our whole town! We only top out at a little over seven. Thousand. And that's counting every, single man, woman, and child. And probably a few hound dogs..." With a little smile. To lighten up the situation. "Aren't we already doing enough? Remember when we started the backpack program for the kids? Twenty. We wanted to feed twenty. Now it's up over three hundred."

"And the Peace meals. Don't forget those."

"Ten thousand. Imagine. I read about it on Facebook the other day - one of those newsfeed articles. There are millions coming over the borders over there. With just the clothes on their backs. Because their homes are gone - they've been bombed. And the men are coming in - taking girls, taking women, taking boys." Tears threatened to overflow the dam of eyelash and mascara.

"I say we need to take care of our own. Right here. I mean, what if some of those terrorists sneaks into the group the President is talking about? It's just not smart to take that kind of chance - like inviting those people right into our own backyard... It scares me.

"Me too."

_________________________________________________

"What do you see?"

"I see postings, left and right, for and against, controversy and agreement. Heated, argumentative, pleading, and divisive."

"Good. Social media is an excellent tool for stirring up. What do you hear?"

"Fear. Whispers in the dark, heads in the sand, voices of avoidance. I hear thoughts: not me, not here, and let someone else."

"Ah... wonderful. Our plan is working. Can you feel it?"

"I feel terror."

"Yes. Can you smell it?"

"I smell Death."

"Yes. The end is near - our long-awaited victory. Yes."

Heavenly Father, 

I can only imagine the power for good 

that would be released into this world if 

we followed your Son - 

Love the Lord, your God, and Love one another. 

Help us to be united in these two. 

Grant us wisdom to see through curtains of controversy - strengthen us to glorify you. 

And Father, walk beside the homeless, the hungry, and the broken - 

comfort them, heal them, give them hope,
And help us to help them. 

In the holy name of your Son, Jesus, 

Amen.



Linking with Unite, #TellHisStory

Old School - Dwell

It's Five-Minute Friday - when a community of writers take on a one-word prompt, set a timer, and go for broke. Kate has given us the word "dwell".  The link will take you to the link-up where you are invited to read and comment -- 

GO:

He looked up from the table with one of those smiles of his, flash of white teeth that lit up the room. How could I be offended at the question; sincerity combined with a devilish sense of humor --

"What's the difference, M'am, between old-fashioned, old-school, and traditional?"

I have to say, the M'am gets me. Even though I realize it's a sign of respect, it makes me feel old. M'am. Ergh... I AM old - compared to this soldier. Compared to this young man from the Ivory Coast who is attending class to become more fluent in English. Already highly educated, his question makes me smile.

Guilty. Some of our class discussions have been about education, and politics, and language in general. Comparative discussions -- country to country and era to era. I've mentioned being old-fashioned and now I'm being held accountable.

"What do you think the difference is?"

"Old fashioned is outdated. Old school is wanting things to be the way they were. And traditional is how it was always done. M'am." Eyes crinkled at the corners with the smile.

Bingo! My smile as wide as his, I acknowledge the differences. Small and huge. And we agree that when I call myself old-fashioned, what I really mean is old-school. Truth, I like that. I like that he understands the difference - his language skills are on point. And I like the idea of being old school. It makes me feel like I've matured. Like I can still accept change, but evaluated change. Like there's hope for this old lady yet...

Dwell feels old-school to me. It's rarely used in common language - street language - casual conversation. It's more formal. Like M'am. Respectful. And biblical, Old-Testament biblical.

AND STOP -- But I can't finish without the rest of the story....

According to the International Standard Bible Encyclopedia, the word 'dwell' is found 474 times in Bible. Over 400 are found in the Old Testament translated from nine Hebrew verbs. Old school. Abide. Sit. Live. Inhabit.

And now, one of my favorite verses from Psalm 23. See, after David travels to green pastures and still waters, after he walks through the Valley of the Shadow of Death with his God, after he is presented with favor in the face of his enemies, he gushes...

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, 

and I shall dwell in the House of the Lord forever." Psalm 23:6 (ESV)

And now, here's my old-school thinking... There are letters within the verse that allow substitution. I like the options (see - I'm not old-fashioned, I really CAN handle variety...) 

"Only goodness and steadfast love shall follow me all the days of my life, 

and I shall return to dwell in the House of the Lord for length of days."

Heavenly Father, 

Grant that I return to dwell in your House 

where only goodness and steadfast love reign. 

Always and forever, 

for length of days.

In Jesus name,

Amen

Untie the Love

As the Father has loved me, 

so have I loved you. Abide in my love. 

If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, 

just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.

These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, 

and that your joy may be full.

John 15:9-11 (ESV)

"How do you take the prayers out?" Little fingers winding in and through the knots. Never still, head tilted, eyes wide with wonder, Charli had just heard the story of this quilt, this prayer quilt, of how the knots were tied with prayers.

Knots tied with love. Old, gnarled fingers on hands stiff with arthritis and ropy with veins. Young, supple fingers on smooth-skinned hands. Working hands, hard with callouses tied knots. Surgeon's hands, pastor's hands, teachers and musicians. The congregation gathered around this quilt, praying over the knots. Praying for the man who would receive it. Praying strength and comfort, praying forgiveness and grace, praying wisdom. For him, for his family, for his doctors and the medical team.

To little Charli Grace, it must seem like a wonderful gift - each knot a prayer - like a wish, a blanketful of wishes, like lighting advent candles, like opening a series of birthday presents, like Christmas morning - all of these prayers tied up in the quilt, all of these prayers laying over her Grandpa's lap.

Sweet smile, innocence in blond curls and china-blue eyes. "How do you take the prayers out of the knots?"

Because she realizes the prayers are the important part. The part to be unwrapped. The gift. Precious and holy.

I want to take the prayers out of the knots in all of the prayer quilts of this world.

I want the prayers for comfort and healing and strength and wisdom, for forgiveness and grace, for families and doctors and medical teams to stretch from here to Paris, from Paris to Syria, and Kenya, to Russia, to North Korea, to India. To the United States.

I want the prayers to grow like a vine, a wild, beautiful vine, that winds around and upholds the lost, the hopeless, the grief-stricken, the desperate, the lonely. 

I want the prayers to rain down on hubris and greed, on fear and ashamed, on selfish, on self-loathing. Rain down and melt down. Healing rain.

I want the prayers to heal the sick, help the poor, adopt the orphans, build houses for the homeless, find homes for refugees. 

I want to unknot peace, and kindness in this broken world.

I want.

Jesus said "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

Love and pray.

Love and pray. Precious and holy.

I want to untie the love in this world - the action of love - of loving one another as Jesus loved us. He died for us. 

Can't we untie the love?

Linking with #TellHisStory, and Three Word Wednesday

Peace in the Valley

Well, I'm tired and weary
But I must toil on

I held my uncle's hand across the top of his bedsheets. His fingernails, still slightly long, cut square across the tips of yellowed, papery-skin fingers. Cool to the touch in the half-light of his room.

Visiting time had been extended for us. For the family who flew, who drove, who came to be with him.

"He doesn't have much time."

Till the Lord, comes and calls me,
Calls me away, oh yeah.

His lips moved with the lyrics. No voice. The voice that used to call me in from fishing, that used to tease about card-playing, that used to tell stories of the old days -- that voice was buried somewhere in the pneumonia that gripped his chest. But his lips moved with the lyrics. And I felt him squeeze my hand.

Where the morning is bright
And the lamb is the light
And the night, 
The night is as fair as the day.

Family was gathered around his bedside. Gathered to offer strength and comfort. To pray. To visit with this, the oldest brother of seven. Some waited in the harsh light of the reception area. Some were on their knees in the chapel. I felt the closeness and company of all of them, and wished I could have come sooner.

There will be peace in the valley
For me, some day
There will be peace in the valley
For me, Oh Lord, I pray

No more sadness
No sorrow
Oh Lordy, no troubles, I see
There will be peace, in the valley, for me.

Tears. Mine silently sliding and falling at the side of his bed.  His shone like still waters on his cheeks, head propped on the pillow. His eyes were closed, but the lips kept moving. Kept singing. Kept yearning. I could feel the yearning.

No Valley of the Shadow of Death - this, but the Valley of Green Pastures and Still Waters. A Valley of Peace.

Come, everyone who thirsts,

come to the waters;

and he who has no money,

come, buy and eat!

Come, buy wine and milk

without money and without price.

Isaiah 55:1 (ESV)

My Uncle Norman died December 25, 2002. A son, a brother, a husband, father, grandfather and great-grandfather, he received the best Christmas present ever and entered heaven to be with Jesus. Today is Five-Minute Friday. The prompt is 'weary'.

Side Note: I wrote this story in a much longer version a couple of years ago - I think it does my Uncle more justice than the five minutes here. If you're interested, the link is Peace in the Valley.

Dance

Sierra, showing off some dance moves....

...praise his name with dancing

and make music to him with timbrel and harp.

For the Lord takes delight in his people;

Psalm 149:3-4 (NIV)

Maybe it's part of being a mom. I'm just not as interested in my own affairs, as I am in figuring out and enjoying my daughter. Or my husband. Or my dogs. Or just about anyone else who wanders into the orbits of our family solar system... yes, it's Five-Minute Friday and whatever comes into my brain is getting typed and sent out. Eeek!

It's true, though. I honestly am finding other people to be oh-so-fascinating. Maybe it's not motherhood, just a level of maturity... Yes, I can discuss an endless list of 'doings' and 'activities' - but they only touch the surface of this dance we call life.

Dance - it's the word of the day. It makes me smile. Images of my daughter, faithfully executing dance moves in front of the Wii - controller in hand, or tucked inside her zumba belt, riding out the dance on her hips. "It's my favorite", she laughs, as she follows song after song.

They are all her favorite. I've said it before - she's an equal-opportunity-type girl and this is a lesson she's taught me. It's not necessary to prioritize. How freeing is that? When everything brings joy?

I remember thinking of love as an unquantifiable. If you love, you love completely. You can't give just a little bit of love. It's an all or nothing kind of thing. Untouchable. Abstract.

Until you see it in action.

"Remain in my love." 

"I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete."

"My peace I give you."

What wonderful gifts!

What a life we live!

David danced his joy in front of God and his people. He danced out of sheer exuberance and into praise. I don't know how coordinated he actually was - my husband is also a warrior who doesn't necessarily 'dance' - my inclination is that David, dancing with all his might, probably looked a little awkward - at least in Michal's eyes. Michal who judged, right?

"Make a joyful noise to the Lord!" I was given the gift of grace when trying to keep up with a first reading of new music in the middle of a choir of music majors. Ergh! Notes, rhythm, words. How in the world did they get all three on the first go-round? The book says 'make a joyful noise - it doesn't say you have to sing it perfectly' - Grace. From the gentleman sitting next to me.

The point? I believe we were made to celebrate. To celebrate God, to celebrate life, to celebrate each other. We have options. We can stand on the sidelines and judge, or we can participate.

Wholeheartedly. Whole body - whole voice - with complete love, complete joy, and complete peace.

Everything can be our favorite.

Bacon Bacon Bacon

Today, I am excited to join a community of writers. A one-word prompt and five minutes. Now, what in the world to do with this:  BACON!

I read the word 'bacon' on the page and my mind goes right to that commercial with the low-camera following a dog on his way through a spotless, gleaming kitchen.

"I smell bacon..." The voiceover is an adolescent, voice-just-changed, emphasis-on-the-BAcon. And the dog's front paws slide out sideways as his rear end tries to keep up with the nose in the air and the tail wag. Excitement on both ends.

"Bacon, bacon, BAcon...." Voiceover enthusiasm intensifies until he finally gets his treat. His bacon-flavored treat. From loving hands in that gleaming kitchen.

Yup! Our family does the commercial every time we cook up some bacon. Which really isn't very often, but special, just the same. I'm smiling just thinking about my daughter, with her little bit of a Down syndrome accent...

"Mom! Bacon bacon BAcon!!" And she literally breaks into peals of laughter.

"It's my favorite."  Yup. Of course it is. Because EVERYTHING is her favorite!

Ya know, I wondered how this would work. Five minutes and bacon. How the words could somehow turn a 'pig's ear' into a silk purse....  (you know....)

Well, maybe it's not a silk purse, but I'm smiling, and it's early early. And these moments, these simple things, these uncomplicated memories are precious.

Aren't they?

My heart is not proud, Lord,

my eyes are not haughty;

I do not concern myself with great matters

or things too wonderful for me.

But I have calmed and quieted myself,

I am like a weaned child with its mother;

like a weaned child I am content.

Israel, put your hope in the Lord

both now and forevermore.

Psalm 131 (NIV)

So thank you, Five-Minute Friday community. Thank you for choosing this yummy word today.

I Have a Theory

Today is Friday; it is the day a community of writers set a timer, take a prompt and write. It is an opportunity to spill unedited thoughts across the blogosphere for better or worse. I'm working toward that five-minute limit; I can't seem to corral my thoughts before the timer dings. But I know this is a community of grace and encouragement, and blessed fellowship. The Five-Minute Friday links can be found here. They are always worth the time to read. Today's prompt? Green.

I have a theory about Fall color.

No, it isn't scientific. It isn't provable or quantifiable. It doesn't lend itself to experimentation. It really doesn't sit well in a world of measurement and precision.

In fact, it kind of leans toward the romantic. As in Romanticism. As in the art and literary movement of the first half of the nineteenth century -- with its emphasis on imagination and emotion as opposed to the Enlightenment values of reason and order. Yes, I had to look up the definition - thank you very much to the Metropolitan Museum of Art...

I adore the colors of Fall. I love to watch as the leaves turn, day by day, from deep, summer green to frosted tips of bright yellow and orange, to full-on sunbursts across the spectrum of warm - red, pink, neon brilliance. Just like Paris has it's fashion parades, the trees have theirs; and God, the designer outdoes himself. Season after season. Year after year.

Did you know that the colors we see are actually the reflection of the colors in an object? Light comes in waves. Objects either absorb or reflect those waves. The lightwaves that are reflected back to our eyes, are the colors we see. So when we call a leaf green, we are actually calling it by the color it does NOT contain, by the color it has reflected.

Interesting, right?

So, here's my theory about Fall color. We see green leaves all summer because the leaves are busy absorbing all of the warmth of the summer sun. Not just the warmth, but the warm colors. The reds, the oranges, the yellows. These are being banked, like a savings account, for the future.

And the future is Fall. These amazing colors we see, this cacophony of show-off brilliance, is that savings account.

It is the trees giving back the sunlight of summer.

But what if the future wasn't Fall, but was the future of God's Kingdom. The one Isaiah spoke about: the Glory of Zion? What if Fall color is God's promise to us, like the rainbow, of our future with him? God made the light. He made the trees. He designed the colors of Fall. Why not remind us of the day when He will be our everlasting light and glory.

The sun will no more be your light by day,

nor will the brightness of the moon shine on you,

for the Lord will be your everlasting light,

and your God will be your glory.

Isaiah 60:19 (NIV)

Out the Window

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. 

When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 

1 Corinthians 13:11 (NIV)

It is raining and the sky is grim and gray. Fall colors lay muted on the windowpane, smudged and running in rivulets down the glass. Joy in the rain. Joy in the clouds. Joy for the promise of growing, of life. Joy for the vision of sunlight beaming from heavy clouds like a crown for glory. Joy in rainbows to come. Joy in the colors of October like an artist's palette of warm sunlight -- a masterpiece in fluttering leaves of gold and orange and red.

Your eye is the lamp of your body. When your eyes are healthy, your whole body also is full of light. But when they are unhealthy, your body also is full of darkness. See to it, then, that the light within you is not darkness. Therefore, if your whole body is full of light, and no part of it dark, it will be just as full of light as when a lamp shines its light on you.                                                                      Luke 11:34-36  (NIV)

I think about finding joy, about choosing joy. Sometimes it's about as clear as mud, this joy thing. James wrote to consider it pure joy to face trials.  Paul wrote that joy is a fruit of the spirit. Jesus said his joy is in us. That through his words, he would make our joy complete. He said our grief would turn to joy. That no one will be able to take our joy away. Joy walks hand in hand with peace, with salvation, with trust, and with hope. Joy is found in the presence of love. Joy is found in the presence of God.

Words. Part of Christian-speak, like code between believers, like a magic spell, an abra-ca-dabra. It's in there. In Scripture. Listed 422 times, according to my concordance. Four-hundred and twenty-two times - stolen joy, given joy, filled with joy, be a joy, go out in joy, pure joy, complete joy, receive with joy, jump with joy. Four hundred and twenty-two times.

Truth.

More than happiness. More than circumstance. Then versus now, of this world and in this world, choosing good over evil, His will over ours.

Choose joy. Find joy. It's not just Pollyanna glasses. It's a conscious effort to see the cup as half full, to find the positive, to honor, to respect, to love -- even the unlovely. It's letting go of fear and giving in to trust. Trust in a good and holy God. It's belief that Jesus is real -- as alive and caring in 2015 as when his sandals, covered in the dust and dirt of everyday, carried him, carried his love in the year 30.  It's faith in what can't be touched, or seen, or heard. Faith in the Holy Spirit who sparks our thoughts and actions, who speaks for us when we no longer have words.

Choosing joy is not a Christian 'thing', not an add-on, not an accessory. Not a secret membership or password. It isn't jargon. It's a way to understand, to honor, to love. It is a way to live In Christ. Always in Him. Those who have eyes, let them see.

What do you choose to see? What do you choose to believe? How will you choose to feel? What will you find? How will you understand? What discoveries will you make?

Do you see in light, or in darkness?

Who will you find?

Joining with RaRaLinkup and TellHisStory today.

Trust

Another week, another Five Minute Friday. Thank you, Kate, for the prompt today. Trust. I didn't write for five minutes. It was definitely longer. October, among others, is Down Syndrome Awareness month. If you are curious, or are doing your own research for your own reasons, I have a page linking to posts about life and learning with my daughter. Who happens to have Down Syndrome. I love her beyond the moon.

The Lord bless you and keep you;

the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you;

the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

Numbers 6:24-26 (NIV)

"You'll spoil her."

"No, Mom. Spoiling is what happens to rotten fruit. I'm teaching her to trust me."

I bent down to scoop my daughter off the floor where she lay in a puddle of sunshine, soaking up essential light. The hospital people said it was good for her; it would combat the little bit of excess bilirubin still in her bloodstream, those sloughed off red blood cells causing a faint yellow tinge to her skin. Better that she was home with me than under the lights of the chamber in the hospital. They also said to feed her more often. If I could.

Four weeks ago. My world turned inside out. Down Syndrome. Heart murmur. Jaundice. Premature. My daughter was born weighing five pounds, two ounces, a tiny, fighting, scrap of a baby, filling the operating room with the sound of her cries.

I remembered sewing all night with my watch next to me on the table, timing the contractions, sending my husband to work, and finally calling the doctor. I didn't want to be sent home and this baby was at least five weeks early.

"Come in."

My neighbors drove me the 25 miles.

I was admitted and hooked up to the machines that indicate strength of contractions and heartbeats. I could have told them, but they had to read numbers. They said the baby was in distress, something about the cord, and had me change my position. Knee/chest they called it. I called it (excuse the visual...) butt in the air.

My doctor came in. I could see his feet. Shoes, no socks, he had been called from swimming laps.

"We may have to do a C-section," he said. "But it would be better for the baby if you can deliver without surgery."

Baby. My only thought. I'm going to have a baby.

They wheeled me into an operating room with a surgical team standing by. Just in case. I pushed my girl into this sterile, echo-y room. My girl with the purple face, the plastered hair, the grasping fingers, and the cry. Between cries, the pouty lips. She rested a moment on my chest and then she was whisked away.

I was released the next day.

"We'll have to keep her here for awhile. We need to settle this thing in her blood. If the numbers don't go down, we may need to do a transfusion."

They sewed me up down there. The stitches were still tender when I drove to the hospital to see my girl, when I sat beside her, talked to her, sang to her. They had her in a special crib - enclosed - with little rubber tunnels so I could reach in and touch her. She wore a doctor's surgical mask like a string bikini, soaking up light to help break down those extra red blood cells.

I timed myself to her feeding schedule, pumping breastmilk in the middle of the night. I said yes to counting chromosomes. It's called a karyotype.

She stayed in the hospital for a week.

The test results came back, telling me what I already knew. Sierra, my beautiful, fighting girl, had Down Syndrome. I spent the next two weeks researching, calling, contacting, loving.

Four weeks. My parents visit. We had finally broken the hospital habit of bottle feeding. Sierra was gaining weight - loose-limbed - pick her up like a broken doll - questions, references, love.

I think my mother was teasing. "You'll spoil her, giving her all that attention."

Smiling, holding my beautiful daughter, "No, mom. Spoiled is rotten fruit. I'm teaching her to trust."

We are children of God. 

Nothing can separate us from his love.

His childbirth was creation.

It was his Son on the cross.

Imagine. 

We have his full attention. 

He is good. 

He is faithful. 

He is sovereign. 

In him, we can trust.

Don't Be Afraid

They followed his instructions, laying on the ground in the classroom.

Then one at a time, he called them to stand. "Are you a Christian?"

My husband says to never show a gun unless you intend to use it.

Twenty-six years old. What could entice him to use the gun he held -- to pull a trigger that sent a bullet thudding into vulnerable flesh -- Christian flesh. The body of Christ. Family.

My sister and brother-in-law drove out of our driveway on Tuesday. Just Tuesday of this last week. After spending four and a half wonderful days visiting. We talked and laughed. We visited and caught up. We talked about family, and God, and being a Christian. We loved on each other. It was special.

And then I watch the news.

Why?

Why, why, and why?

I hear words.

Reeling. Shocked. Anger. Prayer. Heroes. Gun control. Sickened.

There have been 45 school shootings in the United States this year, according to The Independent and the Huffington Post.

Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
Matthew 10:27-31

Linking with Kate and the wonderful family at Five Minute Friday 

Oh Celebration!

Today is Friday - Oh Celebration! - the day we join Kate for 5-Minute Friday. A one-word prompt, five minutes, and GO....

Oh Celebration!

My dog is snoring, 

laid out on the carpet, 

taking up all of the walking space

in the living room

As well he should

My daughter calls out the news

From her Facebook feed

Her legs tucked under her dress

At her spot

On the corner of the sofa

I smile at her joy

My husband

Stopped by after PT

For breakfast

He ran 10 miles

Stopping to read the years

On the gravestones of an old cemetery

Daylight broke early

Calm and clear

As I labored over a drawing

Of the second floor

In the house we are buying

Home at last

My sister is coming

For a visit next week

Plans include Niagara Falls

Boating on the river

And fall-color hunting

In the Adirondacks

Oh Celebration!

I rejoice in your name all day long;

I celebrate your righteousness.

For you are my glory and strength,

and by your favor you exalt my dignity

Indeed, my shield belongs to the Lord,

To the Holy One of Israel.

Psalm 89:16-18 (NIV with slight changes)