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?

One For the Road

My alarm went off at 4:30a.m. We pulled out of the driveway by five, heading to Miami for the second time this summer. A long, hard drive for sure. Naturally, I took a little something for the road.

In addition to traveling with my darlin' husband and my sweet son, I held a special companion in my hands. Yeah, I had a little Peace for the Journey--Elaine Olsen style. And I so needed peace on this journey.

About six hours into the trip, the air conditioner in the truck stopped working! We spent the next four hours--and, no, I'm not exaggerating about the time either--in a dealership waiting room while mechanics installed a new compressor.

And guess what I did during those four hours? That's right, sweet girl, I read Peace for the Journey.

Elaine writes about having peace in our lives wherever we are along life's hot, dusty road. Even in a dealership waiting room. Or in a hospital waiting room. We can have peace if we know Jesus Christ because He paid the price for our peace.

Elaine teaches from lessons that she learned through her own seasons of suffering and struggling. She inspires us to walk closer to our Savior than we've ever before walked. She prays for us.

Most importantly, Elaine challenges believers to reject the easy road and to walk down the path of a higher level of obedience to our loving God. She writes, "Some of the best work we will ever do with God will be fleshed out upon the sands of a heated obedience."

Elaine doesn't claim that this kind of whole-hearted obedience will be easy. The fleshing out of our obedience is never easy, but the reward of complete devotion and obedience can't be surpassed.

The reward "of a heated obedience" is peace.

Everlasting peace.

And Jesus Christ, Prince of Peace.

For He Himself is our peace (Ephesians 2:14a).

How about you? Do you need a some peace and encouragement for the road you're traveling? If you aren't already following Elaine's blog, why don't you check it out?

On my last post, I promised to give away a copy of Peace for the Journey. And the winner is mchristiangirl!

This book is definately one for the road.

Sweet dreams,

Deb

I Got What I Wanted...Didn't I?

A nice, big office! New desk and chair. I don't have to share this space with anyone else. Sounds like a tremendous improvement over sharing offices with everyone from the cookware salesman to parent volunteers. I got what I asked for, I think.

Umm, maybe not.

See, my new office isn't located at either of the two schools that I serve. Last year two other facilitators moved to off-campus offices, and I thought it would be way cool to do that. I've only been back at work four days, and have quickly discovered that this change may not be so cool at all.

Actually, I'm thinking my job is going to be more difficult because I won't have a work space at my schools.

Guess I got what I wanted. Didn't I?

Why do I keep doing this? I see what someone else has, and I want what they have. Or, I think that I know exactly what I need. Sometimes, I even tell God what will work for me.

But I want to be content with what He has already provided. I want to trust Him to meet my needs and wants and dreams according to His amazing love and grace.

For your Father knows what you need before you ask him (Matthew 6: 8b).

Don't you love this verse? Our great God knows everything about us. He knows our heart. Where we hurt. Why we hurt. He knows how to heal our pain.

He knows what we need before we ever tell Him. And He has the power to meet both our needs and wants. He is prepared to take care of us from the big things down to the smallest detail.

And this office situation? Well, I got what I thought I wanted.

But everything will work out all right.

My Father knows me better than I know me.

Now, that is way cool!

P.S. I've got a wonderful book to give away. It's Peace for the Journey by Elaine Olsen! I'll be sharing some insights from her book a little later this week. All you have to do to win is to leave a comment or shoot me an E-mail.

More Than Wishful Thinking

Last week I had hope. Last week God gave me a verse about how He delights in those who put their hope in His unfailing love (Psalm 147:10). Last week I prayed and lived with expectation that God will do all that He has promised. But this week, I'm wondering if it was nothing more than wishful thinking.

So, what's changed?

Well, some old acquaintances have reappeared: Conflict. Challenge. Comparison. Cares (of the world). Contentment (a lack of).

They've left me feeling hopeless and helpless, and I'm questioning the truth of God's word.

I mean, does this sound familiar? Have you been there?

Like God gave me this writing dream thing. I stepped out in faith to start a blog. Now, I've made plenty of mistakes--spent too much time trying to grow the blog--and in the process, I neglected some important people. People who love me, and I love them too--more than anything in the world.

I realized that some days I spent more time visiting other blogs than I spent with my loving God. And He's the reason that I write. Now, that's way wrong.

I had to make some changes.

I read my Bible before I read anything on the computer. If my darlin' husband is at home, I don't blog. If the little girls who call me Nonna are here, I don't blog.

As you can see, I haven't blogged much in the past few months. My blog isn't growing. My writing is limited to my journals.

How will I ever become a writer?

This dream seems hopeless, sweet girl, like wishing on a star.

But then I read what a guy named Paul wrote about a guy named Abraham.

Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, "So shall your offspring be" (Romans 4:18).

See God made a promise to Abraham. Abraham dreamed of the day when he would see the promise fulfilled. He waited and waited. Still, no promised son. Abraham's dream began to seem hopeless to him.

Just like my dream seems to me. Like maybe your dream or situation seems to you.

But look at these words: against all hope.

I love this message! When we think that there's no reason to hope--that hope is gone--we are wrong.

Sweet girl, we will always have hope.

Against all hope, we can hope.

In spite of the conflicts and challenges that we face--in spite of how we sometimes focus too much on the cares of the world--what we're going to eat, drink, and wear--and in spite of feeling an occasional lack of contentment, we still have hope.

Our hope is based on more than mere wishful thinking; our hope is a person. His name is Jesus Christ, and He loves us with an unfailing love. A love that will never, ever disappoint or disappear.

Abraham put his hope in God.

Against all hope.

May we do the same.