A reminder for the times we're in...

I use every resource at my disposal to identify this heron whose image I captured as he waded in and out of the water and snatched a blue-tipped damselfly out of the air.

Every bird identification tool I use confirms he's a tricolored heron -- from the white plume on his head to his overall contrasting plumage, but that yellow on his chest and abdomen throws me. Every resource I've referenced indicates that plumage should be white, not yellow, yet, he's clearly a tricolored heron.

Several years ago, we visited a church where we were warmly greeted by a gentleman wearing a kilt and whose graying hair was fashioned into two long braids that hung down to his waist. It was an introduction to a church and worship service that was foreign to us in many ways.

We recognized elements in this church that were clearly Christian - from the pastor's gospel-centered message to the music and order of worship, but other characteristics, though not contrary to Scripture, were simply outside our experiences and the Christian worship service form we knew. 

There are a multitude of differences in how Christians dress and work and live and worship that are outside our individual experiences, but there's one distinction that should set me apart and by which I should be known.  

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

John 13:34-35

[A dusted off re-post]

Love::Fourth Sunday:Advent

See what kind of love the Father has given to us,
that we should be called children of God; and so we are.
1 John 3:1

Still Saturday::more than the wide sea's sand...

GRACIOUS LORD

Thy name is love,     
in love receive my prayer.

My sins are more than the wide sea's sand,     
but where sin abounds, there is grace more abundant.

Look to the cross of they beloved Son,     
and view the preciousness of his atoning blood;

Listen to his never-failing intercession,     
and whisper to my heart,
"Thy sins are forgiven,
be of good cheer, lie down in peace."

Grace cataracts from heaven and flows for ever,     
and mercy never wearies in bestowing benefits.

Grant me more and more to prize the privilege of prayer;

to come to thee as a sin-soiled sinner, 

to find pardon in thee, 

to converse with thee; to know thee in prayer as

the path in which my feet tread, 

the latch upon the door of my lips, 

the light that shines through my eyes, 

the music of my ears,

the marrow of my understanding, 

the strength of my will, 

the power of my affection, 

the sweetness of my memory.

May the matter of my prayer be always wise, humble, submissive,

     obedient, scriptural, Christ-like.

Give me unwavering faith that supplications are never in vain,

that if I seem not to obtain my petitions

I shall have larger, richer answers,

surpassing all that I ask or think.

Unsought, thou has given me the greatest gift,     

the person of thy Son,   

and in him thou wilt give me all I need.

From "The Prayer of Love," Valley of the Vision, p. 147

I {LOVE} Sunday::to hold fast, consider, and encourage...

Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering,
for he who promised is faithful.
And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works,
not neglecting to meet together,
as is the habit of some,
but encouraging one another,
and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.
Hebrews 10:23-25

{With the Sunday Community at Lisha's #GiveMeGrace }

Still Saturday::remember that we are not worthy...

You and I love not because we find worthy objects to love. Remember the cross!

Remember that we are not worthy. We are jerks, terse and stubborn people. We do not deserve God's love, and yet he provided it for us. 

Salvation's beauty comes by way of sacrificial love---a love that gives itself up for the unlovable. And that bloody love gave us life. It should be our joy to mime this kind of love. 

Today, you and I have the opportunity to bring life to others by way of our sacrificial love. 

Are you bringing heaven with you into your relationships? 

Willard, Timothy (2014-10-14). Longing for More: Daily Reflections on Finding God in the Rhythms of Life (p. 27). Baker Publishing Group. 

Still Saturday::ministry of the purest kind...

Ministry of the purest kind isn't about impressing unknown strangers with spotless presentations 

and a flawless life.

It's about exposing the hidden imperfections and giving others permission to do the same. 

Becoming a fellow struggler who delivers zero judgment but abundant grace.

~ Michele Cushatt

Undone - A Story of Making Peace with an Unexpected Life

I {LOVE} Sunday::for love to abound more and more...

And it is my prayer
that your love may abound more and more,
with knowledge and all discernment,
so that you may approve what is excellent,
and so be pure and blameless
for the day of Christ,
filled with the fruit of righteousness
that comes through Jesus Christ,
to the glory and praise of God.
Philippians 1:9-11
With the Sunday Community at Lisha's #GiveMeGrace

You know that stuff's not good for you...

Is this for you? The clerk asked, lifting the twelve-pack of sugar-free soda out of the grocery cart and placing it in the back of my Toyota 4-Runner. You know that stuff's not good for you, don't you? She continued as she finished loading my groceries into the car. Studies have shown that diet drinks actually make you gain weight, she added, reaching up to close the hatch door.

Stunned by her audacity, but not gifted with an ability to construct a witty or sarcastic response, I simply thanked her for her help, got in the car and began backing out of the parking space. Did that really happen? I thought. 

I'm sure it's true – the sodas aren't good for me – but we aren't friends or even acquaintances. Why would she think it's okay to share that piece of information with me or that I would be receptive to hearing it?

I watched in the rear-view mirror as she returned the empty grocery cart to the store – the one that sold me that pack of not-good-for-me sodas, and I wondered if I'd just been captured on Candid Camera.  

I may have been taken aback, but the conversation was so surreal that it made me laugh. And truthfully? I was grateful for the help. It had been a long day, and I was only two days past my last Rituxan infusion (to treat my rheumatoid disease). I didn’t feel well and I was exhausted. I don’t normally ask for help with my groceries, but she had noticed my weariness and walked across the parking lot to help me. When I wrote in my gratitude journal that evening, I counted her help as a gift.

But it also made me wonder, have I ever been that bold? 

Scripture tells me that when I speak into the lives of others it should be, only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear (Ephesians 4.29), and in a spirit of gentleness (Galatians 6:1). And I have to admit – my words are sometimes neither gentle nor do they offer grace.

I need to remember: Is what I want to say appropriate? Have I earned the right to be heard?  Do I have a relationship with this person that is loving and nurturing? Am I being sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s promptings or am I just wanting to share my opinion? And if I'm speaking truth for all the right reasons, am I doing so with gentleness, and will my words build up and give grace? 

To love broken people...{A GIVEAWAY}

He's a mess. His six-foot frame stretches gaunt and frail under the hospital bed's starched white sheet, his bare feet sticking out the bottom uncovered. He's badly in need of a shave and long overdue for a hair cut. The tubing that delivers oxygen into his nostrils has rubbed the skin raw where it drapes over his ears too-large for his face, and the coke-bottle lens of his glasses magnifies the fear in his eyes.

And it breaks my heart.

I'm nearly fifty when Alzheimer's plays tricks with his mind and emphysema clogs his lungs and he tells me he's afraid of the nurses - afraid they'll take his oxygen away or be mean. I help him scoot up in bed, fluff the pillows, tuck in the top sheet to cover his feet and rearrange and loosen the oxygen tubing off the raw creases behind his earlobes, but I can't convince him there's nothing to fear. I reach for his hand, squeeze gently, and tell him I love him, and for the first time I can ever remember, he says he loves me, too. 

Within the year, my father died.

I know he always loved me - he just never knew how to say or show it. 

I was not a daddy's little princess. There were no bedtime stories, daddy-daughter dates, or the benefit of his counsel about boys or college. I've never known what it means to be loved, nurtured and cherished by a father - as a child or an adult.

But I also see that this is his story, too. 

I never knew my father's father or anything about him or his character - only that he divorced my grandmother when my father was young, leaving his mother to support herself and raise their four young children alone. We did not visit my grandmother often, but I did live with her for a while when I was in nursing school. She was pleasant, but private, proper, and aloof. I have no memory of receiving or seeing her demonstrate love and affection toward anyone - including her own son, my father.

It's so much easier to be angry than it is to forgive because forgiveness means dying to those angry feelings and not acting on them. And dying is hard, but resurrection is the easiest thing, because once you've died, only God can give you life. So it's not you doing it, but Jesus, and suddenly you're standing on top of a mountain seeing the world for its beauty. Emily Wierenga, Atlas Girl, p. 73,74

Knowing my grandmother, helped me to understand and forgive my father, which in turn, helps me to understand me. It doesn't erase the loss or the way my father was unable to give me the love and attention I needed, or how it affected the sinful choices I made in a futile attempt to meet that need. There's always the temptation to be angry and to pass the blame for my own brokenness on to my father, but in the lavish, extravagant love of Christ, I'm free to love, to forgive and to understand and honor the way my broken father lived and loved the best he knew how - because Grace fills the gaps, redeems what's lost, and earnest love covers a multitude of sins.

In her heart-rending, yet beautiful, memoir, Atlas Girl, Emily Wierenga weaves a series of riveting vignettes that describe, with captivating prose, the brokenness she experienced in not being able to receive the love she needed from her parents, her battle with anorexia, her "mum's" cancer, and her marriage to Trent. With fascinating detail, Emily takes us with her from Canada to the Congo, the Middle East, Asia, Australia and Mexico in her search for love, faith, and healing - a journey that ultimately takes her back home.

I am thrilled to be able to send a copy of Atlas Girl to one of my readers. Just leave a comment below before Sunday night. I'll choose a winner at random and post it on Monday.

Labor Day::from the work of our hands and the labors of love...

Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,
and establish the work of our hands upon us; yes, establish the work of our hands.

Psalm 90.17

Unless the Lord builds the house,
those who build it labor in vain.

Psalm 127.1

Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you. For on him God the Father has set his seal.

John 6:27

Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.

1 Corinthians 15:58

We give thanks to God always for all of you, constantly mentioning you in our prayers, remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.

1 Thessalonians 1:2-3

I {LOVE} Sunday::to know and be filled...

It's what I love...

I'm hard-pressed to call much of anything I do "work" - not since my nursing career days, when I could deposit a nice paycheck in the bank every other week.

Don't misunderstand me - women {and men, for that matter} who don't work outside the home work hard. Very hard - often without the satisfaction that comes from a job well-done, because the work never ends, and seldom receive much honor or respect from those who think that a paycheck is what validates our work. 

It's just that I love what I do. 

I loved staying home with my children. I loved the pace and challenge of homeschooling and the opportunity to learn what I failed to learn when I was a student. Those years at home with my children full-time are a memory I treasure and hold close. 

I loved caring for my bedridden mother - washing the feet of the saint who I loved more than any other woman and who did so much more for me than I could ever do for her. I loved washing her face, giving her a bath, rubbing lotion into her back and feet, brushing her hair, getting her dressed, changing her diapers, holding her hand - it was hard work, but I loved my mother and counted the opportunity to care for her in our home a gift.  

I have loved being available to help {play with} my children by caring for my grandchildren, as well as the years I was healthy enough to help an elderly friend with bathing and minor chores once a week.  

I love writing, whether I'm paid for it or not. So much so, that I keep forgetting to submit an invoice for my monthly ghost-writing gig. And no. We are not wealthy - far from it - more like lower middle-class. I've never had a housekeeper, a massage {though I was once given a certificate for one - thank you Nick and Kristin}, or had my nails done, but I love our small and modest home - a hodge-podge of hand-me-downs and thrifty finds - and because my beloved husband has been a faithful and wise manager of our income, it's a home we own outright.

I love photography and the challenge to improve my skills, and I love being able to share my photographs freely with others. As Ann Voskamp says, a gift is always a gift and never stops giving. 

I love having the time to read good books and to dig deep into the study of God's Word. It's one of the greatest benefits of being a stay-at-home-mom {and mimi}. Even during the years that little ones were at our feet, my friend Barbara and I would meet weekly to pray and study while our children played around us. We'd stop momentarily to change a diaper or settle a squabble, and we even stopped once to take Nick to the ER for stitches, when he fell on a shard of glass in the empty lot next door where the older boys were playing. But we never stopped meeting - to encourage and spur each other on to the love and good deeds to which we have been called.

I love being available now to live out the call to be a Titus 2 woman in even small ways. With a few other women my age, I'm available to lead a group of young mothers in study while their children play around us - sometimes interrupting us with their needs. What a gift these women and their children are to me.

I love the Body of Christ everywhere and leading lifegroups with my husband in our church - as we crack open our own broken redeemed lives that we might comfort others with the comfort with which we have been comforted, and guide them in opening up the Word in fellowship and communion - that we might all grow more to love and live like Jesus.   

I love the Lord, because he has heard
my voice and my pleas for mercy.
Because he inclined his ear to me,
therefore I will call on him as long as I live.
Gracious is the Lord, and righteous;
our God is merciful.
Psalm 116.1-2, 5

When with Christ we stand in glory...

I'm never more aware of Grace than in this week of intense remembering, for it was Easter that was a tether in my wandering years, pulling me back with a longing I could not explain. With senses at the edge of spilling over, my voice trembles even at the reading of Leviticus, I'm acutely aware of the sun's warmth in this unseasonable burst of winter here on Pollywog Creek, and I see the enemy roaming about looking for cracks in our veneer.

As I grieve for the wandering church, I throw no stones, but repent of my own lack of love and pray that you and I will lay aside our personal agendas, leave our ghettos, and fully embrace the pull that tethers us to this irresistible Grace and binds our hearts together in the love of Christ - that we will be conduits of the Grace that heals every wound, repairs every brokenness, redeems lost souls and restores what the enemy has plundered.

We know the outcome is secure
And Christ will have the prize for which He died
An inheritance of nations
O Church Arise

Who and what we are...

Earlier this week, Emily and I stopped at a convenience store on our way home from the city. Emily was wearing one of her many Gator t-shirts that night, and as she walked in the store's front door, a man coming out said, "Go Gators."  A few minutes later, as she was leaving the store, the cashier said, "Go Gators."

Getting in the car, Emily laughed,  "I love it when my life is a commercial."

Watch this {it will only take a minute}...

It identifies who and what we are. 


And it makes me think, what do people see when they look at me that tells them who and what I am?

And I read this - and my heart is broken. 

And I wonder if the world knows who and what we are by how well we love each other. {thank you, Ann}

{Photos - Emily at the 2007 UF/FSU Game, a fence near the UF campus 2011}

Fair flowers...

...to charm the eye with their beauty.

It doesn't require cultivation to see azaleas' pink profusion sparkling in morning's dew or nature's delight in her nectar. It's the subtle " fair flowers" - the wind's whisper through spanish moss, the buried seeds of hope in barren ground - for which I must train my eyes.

It's the "fair flowers" heart and soul cultivates - too fleeting, too beautiful, too sacred, to capture.

A smile. A hug. A twinkling eye.

Forgivness.

Kindness.

Faithfulness.

Grace.

The joy that is my strength.

The peace that passes all understanding.

The LOVE that covers my multitude of sins.