This is the Season

Well, it looks like I've already broken my promise to blog at least once a week. I had really good intentions. Then softball season started, and Allie plays. I love to watch her games--especially when she pitches. So,  we're at the ball park two or three times a week.

And I guess I should mention that yard sale season is also in full swing. Two weeks ago,  I scored the cutest, little two-tiered-round-already-distressed-and-just-the-right-size table for my living room. For only eighteen dollars!

Plus, I've been helping my darlin' hub with some yard work. Okay, okay. You know me too well, sweet girl. Yes, he does ALL of the mowing, weed-eating, and edging. But I HAVE put pine straw in the flower beds and pulled a few weeds. That should at least qualify me as his assistant. Shouldn't it?

Oh, and wrapping of school year is such a stressful time for me. I have timelines to manage and meetings to schedule all before school is over for this term. But I have good news: Summer is almost here. Only sixteen more days!

This summer, I plan to work toward becoming more disciplined and more consistent about blogging.

So for now, let me share a verse with you that a friend sent me yesterday.

"God is not a man that He should lie, or a son of man that He should change His mind. Does He speak, and then not act?" (Numbers 23:19)

Has He spoken a word to you, sweet girl? Maybe a long time ago. Maybe just a few months ago. Maybe yesterday.

Have you seen His word to you become reality? Maybe not yet.

He has spoken a word to me. I haven't seen the manifestation of His word to me. Not yet. And I first heard Him speak about this thing several years ago.

Let's remember that our God is a God who speaks truth. Our God is truth.

Our God does not change His mind. His ways are right, and they are just.

Our God is not a god who speaks but does not act.

If He has spoken a word to you, believe Him.

Our God never lies.

He will make the thing that He spoke to you become more than a dream. More than a fleeting thought.

His word to you will one day become your reality. And the whole world will see. They will see the glory of our living, loving God.

Sweet girl, this is the season to believe.

Straight and Tall

She couldn’t stand up straight and tall. She really, really wanted to. Wanted to more than anything else in the whole world. She asked for healing. Please, God, make me well again.

She believed that He could. That He would.

But He didn’t.

Instead she walked bent over, face toward the ground. Feeling each painful step. In her neck, back, legs. For eighteen years she lived this way.

Crippled body.

Crippled spirit.

Bound.

This is the way things are. This is how they’ll always be.

Maybe she gave up hoping for a miracle. Maybe she got tired of trusting and believing. And maybe she exchanged hope and trust for a lie. A lie that God didn’t care about her. That He cared about others, but not her.

Like the day that she saw Jesus, and He taught at her synagogue, she didn’t ask Him to heal her.

He saw her.

He called her to come to Him.

He said, “… you are freed from your sickness…” (Luke 13: 12 NIV).

After all those years, He set her free. No more pain. No more crippled body. No more crippled anything.

He told her that she was free.

Then He touched her. And instantly, she stood up straight and tall.

The Living Bible describes her response like this: “How she praised God!” (vs. 12).

She got her healing. She got her hope back. I’m happy for her. But the truth is that she didn’t have to lose hope or trust or faith.

We don’t have to lose ours either.

When she thought God didn’t care, He did. When we think God doesn’t care, He does.

He does care.

He does care.

We have to remember this truth: God loves us. God cares. He’ll never stop loving us.

He never stopped loving the crippled woman. He waited to heal her so that His Son could perform the miracle.

Sometimes, He waits to answer our prayers too. But the waiting doesn’t mean that He has stopped caring.

I love how Jesus answered the people who accused Him of breaking Jewish law because He healed someone on the Sabbath.

He said, “…should not this woman…whom Satan has kept bound for eighteen long years be set free on the Sabbath?” (vs. 16).

Did you notice this phrase? “…eighteen long years….”

Jesus knew exactly how long those eighteen years were to that hurting woman. They did not pass by in a flash. They were long and lean. Difficult. Filled with despair and discouragement.

The long years are always like that.

But be encouraged, sweet girl. God sees us during the long, lean years of waiting. God calls us to come closer to Him as we wait for our prayers to be answered. He speaks to us. His Son has the power and the authority to heal us and to set us free.

One day by His great power and grace, we too will stand straight and tall.

Something Beautiful

She walked into the room that night, a vial of extravagantly expensive perfume in her hand. Without hesitating, she broke the bottle open. Exquisite fragrance filled the room. Everyone at the party noticed. Most of them were mortified as she walked to the guest of honor and poured the perfume on His feet and on His head.

I mean, really.

She shouldn’t have gone in there. It was more like a For Men Only Event.

The women were pretty much expected to hang out in the kitchen. Cook. Serve. Wash dishes. Watch the kids. You know, make yourself useful and whatever you do, don’t rock the status quo.

Uh, Mary didn’t get the memo.

And Mary didn’t care.

She was that way. One time her sister, Martha, was waybusy preparing a gourmet meal for their friend Jesus—the guest of honor at this banquet, too. However, Mary didn’t help Martha.

Mary stayed near Jesus.

Mary listened to everything He said.

How cool is that.

But, of course, Martha got ticked off and tattled on her to Jesus. “Make Mary help me. I’m knocking myself out, and my sister hasn’t even offered to toss the salad. Don’t you think that she should at least rinse the veggies?”

Well, Jesus is like so totally awesome.

He explained that Mary had made a good choice. She chose Him over distractions and projects and activities. And Jesus talked so sweet to Martha that she stopped being angry with Mary.

But anyway, back to the night Mary crashed the party.

Perfume still in the bottle. Just a little.

People began to criticize her. A lot.

Friends, fans, and family of Jesus, supposedly.

“Woman, what were you thinking? Do you realize that an ordinary working man would have to labor for a whole year to earn enough money to purchase perfume like this?”

Another said, “What a waste. We could have sold the stuff and bought enough food to feed thousands."

And, “Who do you think you are? Don’t you care about starving children?”

Indignant? Sure they were. On behalf of the poor you know.

Now, Mary didn’t mean to be contrary. Didn’t mean to cause confusion.

But Mary broke more than just a bottle of perfume.

She broke out of her comfort zone.

She broke some worn out traditions and expectations.

She broke through barriers.

She was rejected, rebuked, ridiculed. But not by Jesus.

“Leave her alone,” said Jesus. “Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to Me. The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have Me. She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for My burial “ Mark 14:6-8.

Mary did something special for Jesus. Something beautiful. She anointed His precious, holy body for burial. After His crucifixion, several women went to the tomb to prepare His body for a proper burial. Although they arrived before daylight on the first day after the Sabbath, they were too late. He had already risen from the dead. Mary had already done what her friends tried unsuccessfully to do.

Mary saw something beautiful in Jesus. She recognized Him as being the Passover Lamb. The lamb who was slain from the foundation of the world. Sacrificed for the sins of the whole world.

Mine.

Yours.

He did Something Beautiful for us.

What will we do for Him?

Like a Kiss

His words fell on my lips like a lingering kiss. You’re still my girl. I’ll always love you. I keep replaying the entire scene in my mind. How I lay on the couch in our living room, feeling miserable. Looking even worse. Eyes bloodshot and swollen, devoid of color. How he seemed to be blind to my ugly, looked beyond it, and saw beauty instead.

I remember how he took care of me after I had retina re-attachment surgery. Both retinas were detached. The left eye required a very invasive procedure; laser worked on the right eye. Still, I couldn’t see much of anything for quite a while.

I remember that he hated having to put the drops in my eyes. He knew that it hurt for me to open my eye and that the drops burned really bad. But I needed them in order for my eye to heal. Four different kinds—one drop each—left eye only—four times a day. Eight o’clock, twelve, four, and ten turned into torture time for both of us.

I remember that he cooked breakfast for me the morning after I had surgery. My favorite meal: bacon, eggs, and grits. Funny how he did that because he doesn’t like to eat breakfast.

I remember how I was so visually impaired for the first few days following surgery that I had to wake him up during the night to take me to the bathroom. He never complained.

He wouldn’t.

He loves me.

I’m his girl.

I was helpless and needy and unattractive. But none of that changed how he felt about me. Both his words and actions showed his love for me.

And you know what, sweet girl. Our helplessness—our neediness—our ugliness doesn’t change how our loving God feels about us.

He still loves us.

He will always love us.

We’re still His girl.

We’ll always be His girl.

Our circumstances don’t change God’s character. Our current cache of feelings can’t change God’s character either.

Our God is good. Loving. Kind. Compassionate.

He has proven His great love for us.

But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us (Romans 5: 8).

Nothing can change that kind of love. Nothing can change that kind of God.

He has given us the kiss of love. Lingering. Eternal.

Good to be Back

I've been away from this place for a long time--way too long. I've missed being here. I've missed you. A lot has happened.

Some Fun Things

Like last summer, I spending a month in Miami with my darlin' hub. He worked while I relaxed by the pool. Walked to the beach. Shopped a little or more than. Don't feel too sorry for him, I did some work. You should have seen my tan.

Something Major

Then we came back home. Sold our house. Moved to a different town. Downsized. That part was definately not my idea, but he convinced me it was the right thing to do. And it is. We did some renovating. I haven't finished decorating though, and there's enough yard work to keep him busy for years.

Scary Things

We hadn't finished renovating when I had emergency retina reattachment surgery. Both eyes. Have mercy! But now I can see, read, and drive, and I'm so, so thankful.

Disappointing Things

Like a church writing project. Many hours invested. Not a big return.

A big misunderstanding about my dream between me and the one I love most.

A lack of direction in writing.

And just when I thought there was no hope--and no reason to hope--and that my dream was gone--my loving God did an amazing thing. He showed me that there is hope.

He is my hope.

He will always be my hope.

My hope is in Him.

My hope is in His word.

My hope is not in my dream.

My hope is alive.

My God is alive.

And so is my dream.

"But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in You" Psalm 39:7.

I'm watching for Him. I'm waiting for Him. My hope was there all along. Jesus Christ is my Hope. He will never, ever--ever leave me.

He's way cool like that.

It's good to be back, sweet girl. Way good.

Sweet dreams,

Deb

What Things?

“What things?” He asked. Incognito. Innocently. As if He were out of the loop and not the link between what had occurred in the first Garden and the things that had just transpired.

As if He were not the link between our last breath and our eternity.

The two men with whom He walked were incredulous that He asked, “What things?” Even a visitor couldn't possibly be that uninformed. Or so they thought.

He gave no indication that He had prior knowledge of or involvement in the things they discussed.

Not at first.

But He did know.

Had known since before time began what would one day go down in Jerusalem.

A garden there—Gethsemane. Betrayed by a friend's kiss.

Arrested.

Accused. The verdict? Guilty. The truth? Innocent. Blameless. Holy. Jesus. Abandoned by those who knew You best.

A circle of three friends. Most intimate. You nicknamed one of them “the Rock.” He declared his devotion to You.

Only a few hours later, under pressure. Strong cord broken. He capitulated. Denied knowing You.

You knew that he would.

Told him so.

Yet You prayed for him.

Your friend went away from You. Wept. Tasted salt. Tasted bile.

I, too, know that flavor. Bitterness of words and actions. I would give anything to take back—to undo.

“What things?”

Humiliation.

Ridicule.

Their spit ran down... ... Your sweet face.... ...Your beard plucked.

How could they? How could I?

A vine of thorns crowned the head of the Baby who once lay in a manger.

Called You names.

Made fun of You.

The Holy One of God.

Son of God. One and Only. Son of Man.

Tempted like I am tempted.

You resisted.

But not me. Not always.

“What things?”

Undeserved.

Slapped. Scratched. Scourged.

Suffering. Unbearable.

Flesh cut to the bone.

Hands and feet nailed to wood.

You who hung the moon and the stars in place.

Hung on a cross. Hurting. Holy.

Wanting Your Father. Needing Him. Crying, “Daddy!”

Forsaken by Him.

For me.

Undeserved.

“What things?”

Your death.

Your burial. No time to hold a funeral. No need either.

Your resurrection!

Victory over sin—over the grave.

The fulfillment of centuries' old prophecies.

Reunited with the Father. Praying for us. Preparing a place for us. Planning to return for those who know You as Savior.

“What things?” He asked (Luke 24:19). “You are witnesses of these things” (Luke 24:48).

Aren't we?

Hide n' Seek

Six-years-old. About to graduate from kindergarten. Tired of wearing hairbows. Tired of ruffles adorning her attire. Tired of looking like a baby. Now she wants cool clothes that sparkle and glitter.

But one thing remains the same: Her favorite game is hide n' seek.

And her most secret hiding place? The bottom of the built-in linen cabinet in our hall.

She dictates the rules of the game as we play. When it's our turn to hide, she peeks. We know that she's peeking, and we tell her not to peek. "Cover your eyes, Korie." She does, but we know she's still looking.

Anyway, we count to ten while she hides.

We don't have to peek.

We search all over the house for her. But if we take too long to discover her, she gives us helpful hints regarding her whereabouts.

She'll say, "I'm in here, Nonnie. In the caffenet. Come find me."

We don't know why she gives up her hideout so easily and so quickly. She'll pick that same place five times in a row.

Guess the fun for her is in being found!

There have been times when I've felt like God was playing hide n' seek with me. Times that He seemed far away from me and unconcerned about my circumstances. Times that He appeared to be hiding from my hurt--my problems--my pain.

I've asked, "Where are You?"

I'm learning that God never hides from us. I'm learning that He wants me to look for Him because He wants me to find Him.

I love those who love Me, and those who seek Me find Me (Proverbs: 8:17).

When we look for God, we will find Him.

Our loving God is so good that He allows Himself to be found by those who aren't searching for Him.

"I revealed Myself to those who did not ask for Me; I was found by those who did not seek Me. To a nation that did not call on My name, I said, 'Here am I, here am I'" (Isaiah 65:1).

God's nature is to reveal Himself to us. His desire is that we find Him.

Even when, for whatever reason, we blow Him off and do our own thing.

Maybe we think we've asked way too many times already, and we feel guilty about adding one more time to the number. Maybe we think that we're too far away from His perfect plan for our lives.

We haven't.

We're not.

No matter where we've been. No matter where we are now.

We can count on Him. We can call on Him.

He wants us to find Him.

Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten...ready or not, here I come!

What Easter Means to Me

Jesus accepted the punishment for my sins. He took my shame. Was beaten and bruised for me. Wore a crown of thorns on His sweet head. Walked up a mountain with my cross on His shoulders.

He was crucified for me.

He was crucified for the whole world.

He loved us enough to die for us, sweet girl.

He loved us then, and He loves us now.

He is not dead. God the Father raised His One and Only Son from that tomb. My Jesus is alive.

His resurrection means that I can have a relationship with Him--my living, loving Savior.

I can talk to Him and listen to Him and read His word and come into His holy presence. I can give Him thanks and praise. I confess my sins, and He forgives me.

He's coming back for me, and I will live with Him forever!

Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in Me. In My Father's house are many rooms, if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with Me that you also may be where I am (John 14: 1-3).

I want more of Him. More, more of Him.

What does Easter mean to you?

In My Dreams

In my dreams, I am a writer. I write gently. Beautiful words and truthful. I don't know exactly what I write: devotions, articles, or Bible lessons. That part remains illusive. But I know that I write, and it pleases Him.

In my reality, I'm more of a scribbler than I am a writer. My repertoire consists mostly of journals. I write my heart out on the pages of spiral-bound notebooks. They can attest to the fact that I lay it all on the line. Hopes--dreams--disappointments--sins--confessions--my daily struggle to walk by faith and not by my feelings.

In my dreams, I am a writer. A good writer. Effective. Compelling. Those who read my words want to get into Jesus more, and they want to get into His word more. I accomplish my goal. God is good. Life is good.

In my reality, I tell God that I'm tired of following this dream. It's too difficult. Too much waiting. I ask Him to make my not-so-magnificient obsession go away. Give me my life back. I want to go somewhere else. Any place besides this nightmare.

In my dreams, I am a writer. I stay focused. God guides my steps. I take one at a time. I get there.

In my reality, I realize that I have a long way to go. I feel so alone. Does anyone understand?

In my dreams, I am a writer....

A longing fulfilled is sweet to the soul (Proverbs 19a).

Bragging Rights

Southerners are serious about some things--sweet tea, grits, and college football. Especially football. My family and I are no exception. We sport crimson and white tee shirts year round and feel quite stylish wearing them. We prefer a black and white hounds-tooth check over any other pattern. Alabama memorabilia shows up on our mailbox, on our vehicles, and in my den.

In or out, we love the Tide!

This past season, our Tide would occasionally go out at halftime and experience some difficulty coming back in for the last two quarters of the game. Like when we played our arch rival.

The sports authorities said that Bama couldn't beat our number-one ranked opponent. I don't think that anyone expected the Tide to get off to such a great start, but we did. Our defense hit hard. Took the smirk off of the orange-shirted quarterback's face. So sweet! Plus, our offense put points on the board.

At halftime, the scoreboard showed numbers in our favor: 24 to 7. Who would have thought?

We were so excited. Had to resist the temptation to trash text our friends who wear orange and blue.

I'm so glad that we didn't act rashly. We only scored three points in the second half, and our opponent came back to beat us.

After losing that game, I felt that we had lost our bragging rights too. My son changed my mind.

He explained it this way: We lost a few games, and we sure don't like to lose. But we still have the right to be proud of our team because you don't just look at one game or at one season. You look at what the team has accomplished in the past. You consider their overall record. And winning thirteen national championships is a pretty good record to hold.

Now, I know that some people would disagree with this position, and that's fine. However, I do have some bragging rights that are incontrovertible.

In God we make our boast all day long, and we will praise Your name forever (Psalm 44:8).

No one can dispute that God is worthy of our boasting. Look at all of His accomplishments. Consider His stats.

He is the One and Only God.

He is the Creator. Sustainer. Provider.

He sent His only Son to die for us because He loves us like that.

He forgives our sins. He saves us.

He heals us.

He binds our wounds. He comforts the brokenhearted and those who are sad.

He shows compassion. He shows mercy. He gives grace.

No other religions can make these claims. The gods of other religions don't hold the kind of record that the One, True, and Living God holds.

Our God has all power and all authority and all wisdom.

Even if we're having a losing season, our opponent can't take these rights away from us.

Our God is the champion of love and forgiveness and salvation.

He has given us bragging rights!

Just Fix It

"Poppa, come get me!" she yelled. "No, Korie, I'm busy. You can get down by yourself." "Come get me, Poppa!" my granddaughter insisted. No way was she going to make that treacherous trip down the steps of the storage shed by herself.

After hearing the third plea for help, my darlin' husband stopped trimming the shrubbery and walked over to rescue her.

Now, what was so dangerous about a six-year-old walking down some steps?

Nothing.

It's what she saw that scared her. When she got tired of playing inside the shed and started to leave, she noticed that there was a two- or three-inch gap between the top step and the floor of the building.

She saw this slight separation, and she must have imagined herself crossing the threshhold and falling and getting hurt really bad, and then she would be scarred forever and ever.

She wouldn't have gotten a scar for life or been hurt or taken a bad fall. There wasn't enough room for her to fall.

Her Poppa tried to tell her that. He knew she would be fine. "Come on, Korie. Don't look at the step--look at me."

"Please, Pop."

He coaxed her again. She nodded no.

Exasperated she said, "Poppa, just fix this so I won't have to deal with it."

That's exactly what he did. He swooped her up in his strong arms and set her safely on the ground.

Wouldn't it be great to have God solve all of our problems that way? Often, He does rush to our rescue.

But in other situations, He doesn't swoop us up. Instead, He chooses to teach us lessons to help us grow in Him.

Like the one about focus.

Obviously, my granddaughter experienced a few focusing problems, but so have I. I'm learning that sometimes I focus too much on me. I fixate on my circumstances and my wants and my needs. I see only what's right in front of me--the gap between where I'm standing and the place where I want to go.

The longer I look, the greater the gap seems to grow. Fear sets in. I could fall or fail and get hurt really, really bad, and get some scars too.

Or I can change my focus.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what it unseen is eternal (2 Corinthians 4: 18).

If we adjust our focus from it's all about me to it's all about loving God and sharing Him and obeying Him and being with Him for all of eternity, then, sweet girl, we can do anything. We can bridge the gap between where we are and where He wants to take us.

We can walk down a set of uneven steps and not fall.

Sometimes as we fix our focus, we realize that we don't need to be rescued. We discover that with His help, we can deal with it after all.

Cute Shoes

I saw the black, high-heel shoes in the store. So stylish. I tried them on--oh my goodness! They were way cute, way expensive, and way uncomfortable. Know what I did? I bought them anyway.

Cute wins out over cost and comfort any day, don't you agree?

Besides, my dear daughter-in-law said, " I think you should get them. They'll make you look taller."

Well, that's all I needed to hear. Because if you look taller, then you'll look smaller. Right? And everyone knows that thin is in.

Buying new shoes sounded like a good strategy to me.

I wore my way cute shoes to church the next day. I slipped them off before early service ended--my feet hurt already. I put them on during Sunday school since I teach a class. I took them off again as soon as I got into the car.

When I mentioned this little episode to my daughter-in-law, she said, "Oh, no problem. This is the kind of shoe that you have to break in."

Break in? Now, would that be like taming a wild horse? Looking back, I realize that I may have been more successful with a pair of horses than I was with these shoes.

Do you know how long it takes to "break in" a pair of two-inch, high arch, peek-a-boo-toe shoes by Liz?

A long time.

The shoes left red indentions on both feet, sometimes made my legs ache, and scraped the nail polish off of my big toe on my left foot. I'm serious.

But I had no intention of giving up on wearing those shoes. Because, remember, skinny is pretty; even if it's only an illusion.

And I so wanted to look pretty even if it hurt. Now, how crazy is that? Pretty crazy I'm thinking. And you are too, probably.

Imagine how silly I felt after studying these verses last week so that I could teach them on Sunday.

Your beauty should not consist of outward things like elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold ornaments or fine clothes. Instead, it should consist of what is inside the heart with the imperishble quality of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very valuable in God's eyes ( 1 Peter 3: 3-4).

We're women. We want to look and to feel pretty. That's normal. Sometimes, though, we allow our culture to confuse us about the true definition of beauty.

According to today's culture we should strive to look like movie stars and super-skinny, super models.

However, God doesn't require these things. He defines beauty based on what we have in our heart. He looks for gentleness and sweetness and patience and love and compassion. These qualities are important to Him and make us beautiful in His eyes.

He doesn't place much value in our hairstyles, our clothes, or our jewelry.

But I still like to think that He smiles when we find a pair of way cute shoes!

It Takes More Than Two to Tango

I tried to tango with an antique radio cabinet; however, things did not turn out the way I had envisioned them. See, I was excited about getting this non-working antique. It was free, and free is always good when you're decorating on a budget. And I knew that a little white paint would transform the tired and ugly old thing into something worth having.

Nevertheless, the poor piece sat in my kitchen for about two years untouched.

Finally, last summer, inspiration and motivation hit me hard, and I knew what had to be done. I went to the laundry room in search of white spray paint. Great! Found three cans of the miracle-working potion. My mission was getting off to a successful start.

But because the seemingly, one-ton radio was still attached to the inside of the cabinet and because no one was at home to help me, I had to figure out how to move the monster by myself.

Did I hear a little voice inside me telling me not to proceed with this project and that probably I should wait for my darlin' hub to get home so that he could help me? Yes, I heard that voice, and yes, I ignored it. And puhpuhleeze, sweet girl, don't tell me that you would have listened.

You see, inspiration and motivation lead to creativity, and I just couldn't stop. Could I?

So, I took two pairs of socks and put one sock on each leg of the cabinet. Then I turned and twisted and tangoed, and I managed to slide the cabinet across the hardwood floors from the kitchen through the dining room right up to the French doors that open to the deck. Problem solved!

Right? Wrong.

By picking up one corner of the cabinet at a time, I did get it over the doorsill and onto the deck. But even with the socks, I couldn't move the cabinet across the rough planks. I took the socks off. Still stuck. Plus, I realized there was no way possible that I maneuver the piece down the steps and into the yard so that I could paint it.

But I had made it this far and was unwilling to admit defeat. I retrieved a drop cloth aka old sheet and spread it out on the deck.

Then I began to paint. Looking good so far. The sun went down. I wasn't finished so I turned on the porch light. Left the cabinet outside to dry overnight. The next morning, I walked outside to check my handiwork. Not bad. But as I picked up the sheet, I saw something horrifying.

An eerie, milky film covered part of the deck. I had ruined the beautiful deck that my darlin' hub had just a month before power washed and restained.

I felt so bad about what I did. Why didn't I wait for someone to help me? I dreaded telling him what I had done. I dreaded his response.

When he got home, I showed him the deck and explained what happened. I expected to hear him say What were you thinking? You know you shouldn't have attempted this project by yourself. I worked so hard on this deck and look at what you've done.

That's what I deserved to hear.

But that's not what he said. Instead, he looked at the deck. Then he looked at me, and he had the sweetest expression on his face. Kind. Compassionate. Forgiving.

He said, "It'll be all right until it's time to stain again." He took my hand, and we walked back into the house.

Now, my man is certainly not perfect, but to me he sure seemed to be close that evening. He chose kindness over harshness and forgiveness over anger.

And you know, He's never mentioned my mistake. He's never reminded me that it takes more than two to tango, especially if one of your partners is an antique radio cabinet.

Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you (Ephesians 4:32).

Sweet dreams,

Deb

I Flunked Blogging 101

I flunked Blogging 101. You've probably figured that out since it's been forever since I last posted or visited any blogs.

Well, I'm not accustomed to getting F's, and I don't like to quit. And I'm tired of being an on again off again blogger. So last night, I decided to stop blogging altogether and just publish one final post to bring closure to my feeble attempts at writing.

And then this morning before I left for work, I read some verses from Psalm 52:

I trust in God's unfailing love for ever and ever. I will praise you forever for what You have done; in Your name I will hope, for Your name is good (8b-9a).

Did you read the part about trusting in God's unfailing love--His really amazing love--that never disappoints us--never leaves us? Did you notice the part about hoping in His name--His good name--His sweet name?

I did.

And while I don't understand why writing is so hard for me right now, I'm not going to ditch this dream.

I'm going to hang on because I really do trust in His unfailing love. I have put my hope in His name. Savior. Prince of Peace. King of Kings. Lord of Lords. Jesus. Giver of Dreams.

Why Didn't God Just Send O?

Well, the Christmas holidays are over. During the last two weeks, I stayed up way past my bedtime and slept late almost every morning. I shopped a lot, hoping to find just the right gifts for my family. I went to a few parties--ate way, way too much--and exercised not at all. We took the tree down and put it and all of the ornaments and decorations in the attic.

Christmas has come and gone.

A new year is here. I have proof:

I stepped on the scale this morning. Oh, my goodness! That hurt.

I went back to work today--resumed my normal routine, but I'm still dwelling in Christmas past. I keep wondering if Christmas was really necessary. Did Jesus have to be born?

Was there another way?

Why didn't God just send O? Surely, she could meet most of our needs, and all of our problems would disappear--right?

For example, I'm thinking that if I had a little more money, life would be so much easier, and I would be a happier person. How about you? Would a bit of exra cash make things moe manageable at your casa? Well, O is a phenomenal philanthropist. She could contribute generously to my bank account and maybe deposit some in yours. And, wahlah! We could do the happy dance.

But possibly money isn't the answer that will make life work for us. Maybe we simply want to feel better about ourselves. We want excitement, adventure, success . Most importantly, we want to justify getting whatever it is that we want. Not a problem. O is one of the most popular philosophers in our country. Millions of people watch her show and purchase her magazine. And if she doesn't have the answer that you're looking for, one of the psychologists or counselors or whoever else she may feature on her show will certainly point you in the direction that you desire to take.

Ok, I'm listening. So feeling good about ourselves may not be the solution to our problems either. What if all that's necessary is to change the way that we look? If we could only have a few procedures done--like nip, tuck, lift--then we would look super-model cool. But how could O help? She's not a physician. No, but she could send us to the best surgeon in the world and pay for all expenses. I'm thinking that a shopping spree would be in order too.

Sweet girl, you know I'm kidding with you about God sending O.

God had to send Jesus. O and people like her may do good deeds, but they cannot address our real problems and needs.

See, our real problem is sin. I'm a sinner. You're a sinner. Our real need is for a Savior. We are sinners, and we need a Savior who can take care of our sin problem.

"For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord" (Luke 2:11).

Jesus Christ is that Savior!

Philanthropists, philosophers, and physicians can't save us. Only Jesus can do that.

And that's why God sent Jesus. And that's why we need Christmas.

We need a Savior.

God knew that no one else would do.

Not even O.

In 2011

Hi, Happy New Year! I want to thank you for sticking with me in 2010. When I stopped blogging for a few months, you continued to leave comments and to send E-mails. You prayed for me, and I so appreciate all of the prayers and the encouraging words.

I read a verse this morning that I'm offering as prayer for you.

It goes like this:

The LORD will fulfill His purpose for me; Your love, O LORD, endures forever--do not abandon the works of Your hands (Psalm 138:8).

May our loving God work in your life each day of this new year to bring His plan and His purpose for you into reality. I pray that as He works, you will experience His holy presence, His peace, and His power. I pray that you will know the truth: You are the work of His hands. No matter what has happened in the past. No matter what 2011 brings. He will never abandon you. Will never leave you.

Here's to more of Him in our lives in 2011!

Make Some Noise

I heard the story of two men--one Jewish and one not Jewish. They sat in the living room of the Jewish man's house. The friends heard the sounds of singing and music coming from a church across the street.

The Jewish man's friend asked, "Doesn't this singing and music annoy you? I mean you're Jewish and they're Christians. Don't you wish that they would stop making so much noise?"

The Jewish man pondered the question for a moment before answering.

He said, "No. The singing and the music don't annoy me. I don't want them to stop. You see, they believe that their Messiah has come, and they're worshipping him. And if I thought that my Messiah had come, there's no power on earth that could make me stop."

Oh, I've got good news: Messiah has come!

After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, "Where is the One who has been born king of the Jews? We saw His star in the east and have come to worship Him" (Matthew 2:1-2).

The Messiah's name is Jesus, God's Son. He is the Promised One. The Anointed One. God with us.

He is the Savior of both Jews and Gentiles.

He is worthy of our love and our devotion.

Let's worship Him today and everyday, and may no power on earth stop us.

Let's make some noise!

Merry Christmas, sweet girl.

Khaki Makes Me Happy

Recently, I made an important discovery: Khaki makes me happy. See, we've lived in our current house for eight years, and we've painted the dining room four times. First, we painted the walls a soft shade of off-white. Not bad, but still the room seemed underdressed, like wearing a flimsy dress without a slip.

Not that I've ever worn a flimsy dress without a slip. And not that I think you have either. I'm just trying to describe my dining room so that you can see how it lacked something.

So, about a year later, we--ok, actually I--decided that we needed to repaint. I chose a gorgeous, traditional red. I loved the color! The room was transformed into a warm, inviting, and dramatic space. I determined then that I would always have a red room in my house.

But of course, you know how that kind of thing goes....

Yeah, after a few years, I changed my mind about the red.

For some reason, the color grew dark and overwhelming. Definately claustrophobic. Now, I can deal with a lot of things, but a depressing room isn't one of them. The only cure that I could think of involved painting again.

Don't you agree with this remedy, sweet girl? Because, like, all of the decorators say that the cheapest and quickest way to change the look of a room is to paint. Right?

Well, my darlin' husband didn't exactly agree with us. He said something about how he didn't care what the decorators say. Paint is not cheap, and there's no such thing as a quick fix, he said. Painting is hard work, makes a mess, and takes time. Then you have to touch up the trim.

Besides, he didn't see anything wrong with the room the way it was--manic red and all.

However...

... because he indulges me way more than he should, we painted. Don't you love a man like that? I so love mine.

We painted once more. Now, since it was summer, I was displaying my seashells--some sand dollars and starfish--and we had been to Miami, even drove down to Key West--so, I was definately in a beach state of mind.

Maybe that's why I chose blue.

Or, maybe it's because I saw a picture of a blue room in a magazine and thought it was way cool.

Plus, blue is my favorite color.

In retrospect, I'm really not sure why I chose blue.

My darlin' even asked are you sure you want blue?

Yes, I said. I'm sure I want blue.

Well, we went blue.

Oh, my goodness! How could I have known? Blue is a t-r-i-c-k-y c-o-l-o-r. I mean red is deceitful--I knew from past experience to beware of red--but blue? Innocent blue. No, not at all. Blue is like way tricky. The trickiest color ever.

It looked so awful that during Thanksgiving week, my darlin' hub suggested that we go to the paint store.

This time, with my man's blessing, I selected khaki. Sound. Solid. Soothing. The black furniture pops. The white trim pops. The color works. He's satisfied.

And, I'm loving the room.

Seems that all it took to make us both happy was a simple color like khaki.

Kinda sad that I had to learn the hard way that it's the simple things that bring true happiness. Simple colors. Simple things. Like spending time with my family. Watching two little girls' first dance recital. Cleaning my house.

Yes, I know the last phrase sounds crazy, but cleaning and organizing really do make me happy.

Reading God's word also makes me happy.

So, I'd like to share this verse with you:

The law of the LORD is perfect, reviving the soul. The statutes of the LORD are trustworthy, making wise the simple (Psalm 19: 7-8b).

May the simplicity of His word bring wisdom and happiness and joy to you, sweet girl, during this Christmas season.

It's Our Choice

She stumbled out of the doctor's office that day, feeling like she had just received a death sentence. See, Leigh's dad died of a heart attack when he was only thirty five, and she was about that age when she got diagnosed with high blood pressure. The doctor wrote her a prescription and said she would be fine as long as she took the medication--probably for the rest of her life.

She felt the sting.

My friend could have let that diagnosis cripple her, but she didn't. Her mother said, "Leigh, you can sit around the house worrying about this, or you can live and have fun and love your family. It's your choice."

That was two years ago. Leigh took her mom's advice. She made some good choices about exercise and nutrition and discipline. Leigh no longer needs medication because she no longer has high blood pressure.

I wonder if you've ever felt the sting of a death sentence. Maybe the sting came, like Leigh's did, in the form of a dreaded diagnosis. Or, maybe, you experienced the sting of death in a relationship. A marriage. A career. Or a dream.

I've sure felt that kind of sting before. Well, truthfully, I'm feeling it pretty strong right now. But you know, we're not the only ones who have dealt with a death sentence.

This guy named Paul can so relate to us. I mean he went through some bad stuff. Like being shipwrecked and beaten up and put in prison a few times.

He suffered so much that he thought there was no hope and no way out and no way through. He wrote these words: Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death (2 Corinthians 1:9a).

Yeah, I think if Paul were alive today, he might commiserate with us a little bit because he's been there and done that. And I think that he would remind us of a promise that he chose to believe. Paul penned these words:

But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and He will continue to deliver us. On Him we have set our hope that He will continue to deliver us (2 Corinthians 1: 9b - 10).

Paul chose to remember how God had delivered him in the past. He chose to believe that God would deliver him again. He chose hope over helplessness.

Sweet girl, we can learn from Paul. He didn't sit around the house worrying and fretting and getting in a tizzy about his situation. I don't think that we should either. Yes, it's tempting to shut others out--to shut down. A sting hurts.

The sting of a death sentence hurts real bad.

But our loving God has promised to deliver us from death's sting. He sent His only Son, the Promised One, as proof that He could deliver the promise in full.

It's our choice. We can choose to live and have fun and love our families and believe. And have hope. [And write]. Or we can choose to let our spirit and our heart atrophy.

I so love these words:

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful (Hebrews 10: 23).

Paul, the guy who felt the sting of a death sentence in his heart, wrote this verse. Don't you love it? The One who made the promise keeps His promise. Always. Always, sweet girl. I wish that I could sit beside you, and we would read over and over He who promised is faithful. He who promised is faithful.

He who promised is faithful.

And while we may still feel the sting, together we would choose to believe and to hope.

And we would say we will hold unswervingly to the hope we profess.

Because He who promised is faithful.

Our loving God.

He promised.

And He is faithful.

Flour on My French Toast

Breakfast on a school morning? Well, usually, I eat a protein bar or instant oatmeal after I get to work. And I have been known to get a pack of crackers out of the snack machine. But not this morning.

No way. Today, I cooked French Toast for the two little girls who hold my heart in their hands. As I stood in the kitchen one of them said, "Umm, I don't want flour on mine...cause last time the flour made it taste awful...and I couldn't eat it...ok, Nonna?"

You may be wondering why anyone would sprinkle flour on French Toast. I mean syrup or jelly, sure. Honey or molasses, maybe. But flour?

Definately dumb.

So, let me explain what happened the "last time" I made that delectable dish.

I dipped the bread into the egg and milk mixture. Put butter in skillet. Transferred bread from bowl into skillet. Cooked bread. Removed bread. Got clear canister containing white powder out of pantry. Sprinkled white powder onto my Perfectly Prepared French Toast.

Left my PPFT on counter to cool.

Went upstairs for something. Don't remember what.

Returned to kitchen.

Darlin' husband asks, "Why did you put flour on your FT?"

I give him a certain look. You know that kind of look, don't you, sweet girl?

The kind that says: You Have So Lost Your Mind If You Think That I Would Ever In A Million Years Put Flour On My Perfectly Prepared French Toast.

But I simply reply, "Why do you think there's flour on my PPFT?"

Darlin' hub ignoring the fact that I'm glaring at him--I mean giving him that certain look--says: "Well, I know there's flour on your FT."

Me, smugly. Because I know I absolutely Did Not put flour on my PPFT ask him: "And how do you know that?"

Darlin' says: Because I tasted it when you walked upstairs. And you put flour on your FT."

So then, I tasted my PPFT.

And it did taste awful. Because I had sprinkled flour on my PPFT. But it wasn't supposed to be flour. That white powder in the clear, unmarked canister with the blue lid looked like sugar. It should have been sugar. I thought it was powdered sugar.

But I was way wrong.

And I was way annoyed. I looked around the room to find the culprit responsible for ruining my PPFT.

I demand: "Who put flour in that clear canister with the blue lid?"

Darlin' hub vehemently denies the deed. The four-year-old and the ten-year-old reply in unison, "Not me."

Only one person remained. She was way too proud to admit that she had sabotaged her own PPFT. So she put it in a ziplock bag. Took it to work. Microwaved it. And ate the ruined, nevertheless, PPFT anyway.

And the moral of this story? Well, there are two of them.

The first comes from a guy named Micah.

He [God] has shown you, O man [and us sweet girls, too], what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God (6:8).

And the second moral is this: Either label your canister, or keep your powdered sugar in the box.

Following these guidelines should make swallowing our PPFT and our pride a little easier.

Sweet dreams,

Deb

p.s. Have you ever thought you were oh so right only to discover that you were way wrong?