When Loyalty Is Not Enough

We all have so much going on in our lives today. We rush here and there to do the things required of us totally unaware of the forces that are working to upset it all. Satan never gives up. He is the master of upsetting our plans, our relationships, and, when we allow, our spiritual walk with Christ. I have an old VHS movie about a young Christian who finds a pair of glasses and when he puts those glasses on he is able to see the actual demons as they plot in the lives of his family and friends, as well as his own life. We say, "It is just a movie, like science fiction." That would be true as far as having a pair of glasses that lets you see that, but the plot is no joke. It plays out every second of every day. Satan can be like a hole covered by grass that you don't know is there until you step into it and lose your balance.

Have you ever felt this in your relationships? Maybe with your spouse or a friend? It is so subtle you never saw it coming. Totally clueless. You are unwavering in your loyalty so there should never be any question. Right? What about when loyalty is not enough? How do we prepare for that? When the hole that we just stepped into was not dug by us? It was caused by an erosion that we weren't aware was happening.

For certain, Satan fills our lives with these grass covered dips. We can't go around always looking down, looking for holes, metaphorically speaking. Life goes on. It is not a question of are there holes to step into or are we going to step into them today. The question is how will we recover. How will we go forward when loyalty has not been enough?

I am thankful to say that I had over 43 years of marriage before my husband's home-going. Loyalty was never a problem in our marriage. However, we have all had circumstances arise that changed the courses of our lives. People we thought would always be there who no longer are. Places we loved and yet had to leave. So we fill in as many holes as we can even if we didn't create them. God has a way of turning things, but maybe not back to where they were. He uses many incidents of wrong to lead us to something better. To a new direction. To a closer walk with Him.

Keep your integrity intact. Keep your loyalty in place. Trust God always.

Almost Home

Today I had an appointment in a town about one and a half hours drive. After the appointment I started the long drive home. That distance seems to get longer each time I have to drive it. I had my radio tuned to my favorite Christian radio station and I was singing along, but I was weary today.

With most trips there is a midway point or town where you feel you can make the rest of the journey. For me that is a town 22 miles from my home. Today when I reached the center of that little town I spoke aloud and with a sigh of relief, 'Almost home'. After speaking those words I began thinking what they meant. Of course, pertaining to this trip they meant I had reached that point I have just described. These words hold such a deeper meaning. Almost home. As a Christian these words mean that we are very close to heaven. I am not a fatalist. Only God knows when our appointed time is to leave this world. I have no plan to leave tomorrow. I believe God still has much for me to do here. Still, I think of the decline of our society in every respect and do look forward to a home without all the perversion, hate, irreverence for the One True God, disappointments, and weariness.

At church we are finishing a lengthy study on the book of Revelation. If you have read Revelation you understand the statement made so often by Christians, "We know how the Book ends.". Studying the splendor of what awaits the child of God can make you homesick. It is beyond our finite minds to even imagine the marvelous place Christ has prepared for us. That is my home, my true home.

Almost 2 weeks ago a woman jumped from a bridge in my town into the cold river waters below. A gentleman had stopped and tried to talk her down. To his horror, she chose to jump and end her life. Each day the rescue boats go out searching for her. We have had some bad weather lately which has hampered that search. I have been at the docks when these trained rescue personnel return and the heaviness is always evident. It has made me realize how precious life is and yet how frail it is. No doubt this lady had heavy burdens as well as depression. Even though she could not accept it, she was loved by her family and friends. The path we take is ours to choose. The results of our choice will affect the lives of our families, friends, coworkers, and even strangers.

Considering this recent event and also the realization that my destination is secure in the Lord, Almost Home seems quite near. I have reached that point where I know I can make the rest of the journey. Whether it be with my next breath or in many more years, Almost Home beckons. I wait for His call. I do not plan to go ahead of Him, but I wait. I continue to say and believe I am Almost Home.

The Piano

This was my after Christmas present to myself. It is not a new piano. I bought it from a friend. I have wanted another piano for so long.

When I was 10 years old I took lessons from one of the sweetest ladies. Her name was Mattie Mae Sanford and she lived in a little town only 2 miles from where I lived. She taught me the basics and then because of her influence I developed a love for classical music. One day she told me to bring a church hymnal and she began teaching me strictly from that. The first hymn I learned to play was Love Divine. I took lessons at 7:30 in the morning. My mother would take me to Mrs. Mattie Mae's house and after my lesson I would walk to school with some of my classmates that lived in town. I remember my recital. It was quite an affair for a poor little country girl. Most of the girls wore long gowns and my mother made mine. It was blue taffeta with netting over the skirt. The night before the recital Mama rolled my hair up in paper. That's right. She cut strips from a paper bag and it was done much the same as rolling hair for a perm except she would twist the ends of the paper together to hold it. She covered it with a scarf for me to sleep in. I imagine sleeping on one of those walnut shell pillows would sound about the same as my paper curlers. I still have the picture of me sitting at Mrs. Mattie Mae's grand piano in my gown and my curls standing out 3 inches from my head, but I thought I was beautiful. I only took lessons for less than 2 years. Not because I was no longer interested, but because we moved 65 miles away. I was so shy I could not bear to start lessons with someone else. I have always regretted that decision.

My first piano was an old upright, but I loved that thing. I didn't mind practicing. I enjoyed it. About a year after we moved, my mother sold the old upright for $50. I hated to see it go, but I knew I would probably never take lessons again.

When my daughters were near the age I had been when I started lessons, I bought them a brand new studio piano. I remember going to Fuller Music in New Bern to chose one. He showed me some very pretty ones, but I did not want them. He asked me why and I told him I knew the longer the strings, the better the tone. He said I was right. You see, my teacher taught me more than just how to play.
Practicing for my girls was not the enjoyment it had been for me. My oldest lost interest first. She even managed to jam her finger playing volley ball and was unable to play in her recital. My youngest daughter did play in the recital and did very well, but she too soon lost interest. I held onto that piano for years. I could still remember the right hand notes and I would play around with it. My girls told me I should be the one taking lessons. It was one thing to spend the money for my girls to learn but I didn't feel I could waste it on myself. So in my oldest daughter's senior year of high school I sold it, but certainly not for $50.

Later I thought I would enjoy a keyboard. Just something to pick out choir notes on. After telling my husband what I wanted for Christmas, and taking my girls to look at it so they would be sure to take him to the right one, I got my keyboard. I enjoyed it, but it wasn't like having a piano and I had to keep it in the bedroom. There really wasn't enough room for it. M youngest grandson would always sit down and try to play it when he came over, so I eventually gave it to him.

So began my long hiatus with no musical instrument. As most of you know, my husband died in 2012. I thought often of how I would like to have another piano, but just couldn't justify the expense. A friend began advertising hers on Facebook. I honestly don't know how long she had it up for sale. I even told her that if only I had the money I would love to have it. Then I just let it go. Many months went by and finally one day I contacted her to see if she had sold it & how much she was asking for it. It had not been sold and I felt the price was fair. I wasted no time checking with my son to see if he could pick it up for me. He said he could and I asked some men from church to help. So that is the story of my new-to-me piano. It sits in the same place as my last piano. It is as if the area was never without one.

Now what to do with that piano? Did I just want to use it to pick out our choir notes? Not really. I wanted to play it, to enjoy it. God seems to make a way when we think there may never be one. We have a number of ladies at church who play beautifully and teach piano. Any of them would have been a great choice, but I held back. Then I attended our Christian school's Christmas program. One young lady played a solo on the piano and they told who her instructor is. I knew this lady could play but I didn't know she also taught. I remember saying to myself, "Hmmm" and I knew right then that I would ask her if she would teach me. She had just recently undergone surgery and was recovering. I jokingly told her to get better because I needed her to teach me how to play. She in turn asked if I was serious. Oh yes, I was serious but there was no rush. So later today will be my second lesson. I will be 67 years old in a few months. My hands don't work the way they did when I was 11. I practice faithfully. Not because I have to, but because I love to. I never would have thought after 55 years that I would again be taking piano lessons. My mother would be proud. I will never be the pianist I could have been had I continued my lessons throughout those years I missed. But I will play again for God has made a way.

Prayer Revival

Our church has been experiencing a prayer revival. Have you ever heard of one or been a part of one? I had not. Never in my 51 years as a Christ follower. It was not really planned ahead to become what it has. We were expecting something, but not this.

Twice a year we have revival services. Some may not be familiar with that. We have a guest speaker, another minister, come in for about 4-5 services and preach. It is a time of renewal for the members and usually a time of salvation for the lost. Normally the week before the services begin, we have special prayer time focusing on the guest minister and the moving of the Holy Spirit within the services. For years we had people designate a time they would come to the church to quietly pray. Last year, as well as opening the church, we had cottage prayer meetings at different homes. This time has been different. Not only where and when we prayed, but how we prayed.

Services were to begin on November 8th. The week prior, beginning on November 1st, we began praying in earnest for a moving like we had never seen before. Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday through Saturday we had multiple groups meeting in homes, different areas on our campus,and at various times of the days and evenings. We cried out for something different, something that would remain past the meetings with the guest speaker. On Wednesday night, our regular Bible study time, we had prayer instead of study. On Sunday we were looking forward to the beginning of our services. That was not to be. The guest speaker had tragically lost several members of his family and needed to remain to conduct funerals and support his loved ones. So our revival services were delayed for another week.

Our pastor knew God had begun moving in the hearts of our people and he did not want this momentum to change. Neither did we. Instead of the preaching services we expected to have Sunday through Wednesday nights, we met at the church to continue praying. We poured ourselves out before God and bathed the altar in tears. We had more in attendance for these meetings than we normally have for the actual revival services. One of the most moving things has been the participation by our youth, especially our teens. Each night they have filled pews and bowed before God. The remaining days and nights, prayer groups would meet as we did the week before. We also committed to each pray an hour a day on our own. It has been an awe inspiring thing to be a part of! God has met with us each time. We will be ready to receive what God has prepared for us next week.

I normally have a hard time kneeling for more than a few minutes due to previous back surgeries, but God has allowed me to kneel for our meetings with no pain or numbness in my legs. When I arrived at church Wednesday night, there were only a couple of people already in the sanctuary. The lights were low and soft Christian music was playing. As I opened the sanctuary door, it seemed the Spirit of God rushed to greet me and my eyes filled with tears. Please do not think this is just a temporary emotional experience. It is emotional, but it is much deeper than that. This is a real moving of the Spirit within our people.

So you may be wondering what these prayers were like. Not what you would expect probably. They were not flowery words that would impress anyone. They were simple words of praise for a merciful God and pleas for Him to change our hearts, our lives, our service to Him. There are many gifted orators who can deliver prayers that impress men. All too often this type of prayer does not move us spiritually and I fear does not move God at all. This does not mean that all gifted orators pray without feeling, for I know those who pray straight from their hearts, but even for them this was different. Prayers that usually come controlled, came as cries of desperation. It is hard to explain just how different this has been. I wish you could be there. I pray that God will give each of you a prayer revival, individually and as a church body. I ask that if you are a Christ follower, that you lift up my church family, that what God has begun Satan will not be able to penetrate.

A Place of Refuge

There is a park in my town where I love to go to sit in my car next to one of the two rivers that meet but do not mix. It is a peaceful place, a place I call my refuge. I have been there when the water was as smooth as glass, when it gently washed ashore in small ripples, and when the winds angrily pushed the foamy waves forward reaching out for those of us brave enough to sit and watch. I have seen it with frozen edges and snow covered sand. I have seen it flooded from storms, so much so that I was blocked from entering by vehicle. I have never seen it when it was not beautiful. I have never been there when I did not feel God's presence. Sometimes I just sit and watch the people who come to feed the ducks and geese. Sometimes I take photographs. I always find it the most perfect place to pray and listen for the voice of God. No, I do not hear Him audibly, but I hear Him in the beauty of this place and He speaks to my heart. Here I am assured that He will calm life's raging waves.

There is a lone tree standing there in the sand. It has endured much as it keeps watch over the waters beyond. It's gnarled roots are becoming more and more exposed as recent storms have washed away more of their protective covering. Today I thought of how those roots resemble fingers, curled and digging into the sand, refusing to give up its grip. It is a powerful image. It reminds me that we, too, sometime have to dig in and hold on. Life is not always smooth or gentle. Sometimes it is angrily rushing at us, attempting to wash us away with its cares and burdens. We must not lose faith in the One who created all and controls all. We must continue to tighten our grip, to hang on, to refuse to relinquish even a fraction of our hope in Him. 

As many of you cannot visit my place of refuge, I would like to share two pictures. Would love to share more but just not enough room.

A beautiful day

Holding on  10/29/2015

America The Compassionate

I once knew a WWII veteran who had strong feelings about the American response to returning Desert Storm veterans. These young men and women of Desert Storm were treated as heroes. Our country made every effort to show them gratitude and respect and not repeat the horrific mistake made by so many when our Vietnam veterans returned home. This man felt, due to the superiority of weaponry of the United States, the men returning were not heroes in comparison to those of WWII. I have to tell you that I was shocked. I would never have imagined a veteran could feel that way about other veterans, regardless of the tremendous improvements in defensive and offensive weaponry. Men and women had died during Desert Storm. Many had permanent injuries, as this WWII veteran had. This man had a grandson who was also a veteran. In my shock I asked, "Let me ask you something. If" your grandson "was one of those veterans returning from Desert Storm, would you feel the same way?" I could tell this question hit him really hard. He hesitated only a moment and then, with a little smile, said "No." Please do not feel that I did not have the utmost respect for this gentleman. He had earned a Purple Heart, Bronze Star, and Silver Star as an Army soldier during combat in France. I not only had respect for him, but great love. I was very proud of him. You see, that man was my father and his grandson, my nephew.

Many Desert Storm veterans, just like some WWII veterans, were not all Americans. There were some who had not yet received their U.S. citizenship, but fought with and as Americans. They are as loved and respected as any other and some were granted U.S. citizenship while still on the foreign field of engagement. Were they any less thought of as American soldiers, marines, sailors, airmen? Their sacrifices were the same. But this post really is not about veterans. I'm not sure I can explain my point sufficiently although I will try. I think my shock with my dad was his feeling that the Desert Storm veterans had not earned the right to be treated with the same respect and appreciation that his generation had. I might add here that my dad's response to the Desert Storm veterans did an about face after that discussion and I have used it here as an example only.

Because of our painful experiences in life, should we not wish something better for anyone who is going through the same thing or should we take an 'it's not fair' approach?  Should we let those experiences make us compassionate for everyone in our position or should we become bitter and resentful that the outcome for others is not the same as ours? Should we wish good things only for our own or for anyone who has suffered as we have? Was salvation offered to the Jew alone or also to the Gentile? Is it our responsibility to share the Gospel with our countrymen alone or also with those of other nations?  If disaster strikes should we extend a helping hand to ours alone or to anyone in need? If it has been made impossible to extend help to our own should we then refuse to help the foreigner? If there are those who are hungry or naked should we ask where they were born before we offer food and clothing? If a child is in need of medical care that we can provide, should we offer it only to our own or also to the child that is not ours?

The United States of America has been and still is the most compassionate nation in the world. We are undergoing some dreadfully dangerous changes that the majority of us did not choose, but we still remain a nation of people with loving and giving hearts. As we prepare to celebrate the establishment of this great nation, let us remember that God has blessed us tremendously. As we look around at our fellow citizens, let us take note that we do not all look and sound the same but we are no less Americans. I am grateful to be born an American. I am proud to be an American. I am thrilled that my three year old grandson will celebrate his first Independence Day as an American. Because of the grace of God and the compassion of his parents, he has this opportunity - to be an American! So I pray that through our difficulties as a nation and as individuals, we will remain America The Compassionate.
                                                 

Happy Gotcha Day

One year ago today a precious little boy had his forever family. I was in Massachusetts when I got the e-mail from his mommy saying, "We've got him." What beautiful words they were to read. I cannot give thanks and praise enough to God for creating this child. He has brought so much love, laughter, joy, and gratefulness to our lives. To hear him say, "I love you" brings an emotion I cannot even describe. He is not the first of my grandchildren and hopefully not the last. Each one is unique and equally loved. But today is the first anniversary of Harrison's Gotcha Day, as it is called in the world of adoption.

He is all boy. Trucks and swords and playing loud and rough. He has learned English so well he has to be taught Mandarin again. He knows he is Chinese but he knows he is American. He told me the big remote is Chinese so it is his. Haha  He has a little Southern drawl that is more pronounced on some words than others. He knows he is loved.

It's funny how adopted children take on the personalities of their adoptive parents the same way biological children do. It's like God leaves a blank gene to absorb the characteristics of the new family, not the physical traits but definitely the personality and character traits. I know most will say that is learned behavior, but I think it is much more, much deeper than that. Watching one of his favorite movies with him is a repeat of watching movies with his daddy when he was a child. He is saying the script along with the characters. That used to drive his daddy's friends crazy. Many times I have said to him, "You are your father's child.".  Not to relate him only to his daddy, for I know the same applies to his mommy. As his paternal grandmother those are the things I recognize in him.

I don't want him to grow up too fast, but I understand there is no holding that back. So I cherish every moment with him, God has a purpose in bringing this child here, far above just to be a part of us. I know one day God will use him in a mighty way. I may not be here to see it, but I know it will be.