Shine Bright, Little Light!

In my dad's office are two old mason jars, one contains several wooden tops from his childhood, and one contains his marbles.  This was always a joke between us because when he would take out these well loved toys he would tell me if he ever lost his marbles I could find them in this jar.

When he showed me these relics from his childhood, he would take out his tops, wind the string around the top and tell me stories of the good old days.  He would gather the colorful marbles in his hand and show me the most beaten up of the bunch.  This was his favorite "shooter" marble, even with all the stories I had no idea what purpose this served or how important it was.  A "shooter" is responsible for beating all the other players "shooters" and taking them as a prize.  During these moments, dad would tell a story about an intense game of a childhood friend with a sought after "shooter" that he won by using the well played with champion marble he was showing to me.

Dad's love of the game didn't end there, he loved playing dominoes, wahoo, and cards.  As children we didn't have the latest gaming system, IPad, laptop, massive screen television or any other mind numbing electronic devices, but we did have board games.  I remember playing with my family, with the boys living in our home and friends of the family.  We would sit around laughing, talking and enjoying each other's company.  There were snacks and drinks and checking Facebook or watching YouTube wasn't even an option.  We found enjoyment in laughing with each other, getting caught up in friendly competition and learning new things about each other.

Some of the best Biblical discussions I ever had with my dad and my family came at these times when we sat around a table, drinking coffee and throwing out our ideas and letting dad either back them up or dispute them with scripture.  He knew most of his scripture reference by heart, his passion for God's Word shining through.  Many times, as we grew older, these moments were limited to holidays and I guess that is why as we count down the days to Christmas I become reminiscent of those days.

In preparing for the Christmas holiday, I have spoken to many people about their struggle to provide a great Christmas for their kids.  I have shared with many people that I never remembered the gifts I received at Christmas as a child, except the pajamas and robe from Grandma Jen filled with Milk Duds candies each year.  My parents were raising four children of their own and providing for at least three others at the same time so presents were usually fulfillment of a need not a want.  It will surprise some that my family does not exchange gifts, except for the kids.  I have begun to explain to my youngest that Santa is just a man that God gave the provision to bring gifts to children and that Santa is sharing these gifts with children to remind them of the greatest gift God gave us, His son, Jesus. One of my favorite memories, that I hope to continue this year, is hearing my dad read the story of Christ's birth in his deep voice and sharing God's love with us each holiday.  My favorite part of his reading was Luke 2:10-14, 'And the angel said unto them, Fear not" for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger.  And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.'

I share all these memories from my family to ask a question I posed on Facebook, 'If you put up a manger instead of a tree, would the gifts you give be the same?'  I know we want everyone to feel the magic of Christmas, but I think that the tree I will fill with material things will never measure up to the gifts I can give my children to fill a manger.

Many of you, like me, have filled your trees with gifts for your children and your entire family, however, I ask that this year you pay special attention to the gift God gave you in the innocent faces of those children.  Give the children in your life the gift of your presence not your presents. Create memories out of immaterial things not material things.  Play games, drink hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and whipped cream, go look at lights in your pajamas, drop off blessing bags to the homeless, give lovies to children in a battered women's shelter, embrace the lonely.  Fill a manger with compassion, kindness, giving, love and joy.  I leave you with this and my new motto, "Shine bright, little light" because if each one of us shines bright with one little light  we become as numerous as the stars in the sky, and who can ignore the heavens?

A Tale of Two Dads

Today, my intention was to memorialize my father, to share another memory of him, to open another part of his life to my readers.  One might say this "went off the rails" as I began to write.  Today, my heart tells me I must share memories of another father dear to my heart.

Almost 17 years ago, I walked into a local restaurant with my best friend to be greeted by a familiar face, one I must admit I admired when I was in high school.  I had no idea how life changing that meal would become, because on that day I met the love of my life.  To think that only two weeks prior to that meal, I had a deep conversation with God declaring I was done with relationships until God put the right person in my path.  Sometimes it takes us giving up on something to allow God to open our eyes to what we really need.

I have shared before that I experienced a very abusive relationship during my high school years, and though I will never expand on it over such an open network, an allusion to it is necessary.  To put it simply, I was broken, broken beyond repair if you would have asked me directly.  I met Jeff merely two months after I had very seriously considered taking my own life.  I didn't think I had anything left to give to another person, I was irreparable.  Isn't it in these moments that we see God's light most clearly?  I say this because after our first date, July 10, I had another conversation with God.  I needed a sign, something to tell me where this was headed.  Two weeks later I got my answer, a heartfelt conversation led to the admission that marriage was our future together.  As evidenced by my previous statements, this was not on my radar.  

That day, seventeen years ago, God gave me one of my most precious gifts.  He gave me a strong man, a man that would stand up for me.  When many others failed to be there for me, he held me when I cried and was ready to defend me at any cost.  Jeff is a valiant protector of both myself and our children. He is patient beyond measure, especially to a wife who is not know for the same virtue. Where I am hot headed and quick to anger, he is my balance. Our life together has not come without it's disappointments, but there have been very few that we have not faced and been able to overcome together.

There are four significant moments in our married life that stand out to me.  First, that day on a beach in Coronado when he vowed to love me forever with deep sincerity in his eyes.  I will never feel as cherished as I did in that moment.  Secondly, was upon the birth of our daughter.  Watching him standing there, holding her tiny body so gently spoke to my soul.  Thirdly, when our son was born, the look of pride on his face.  The way his face lit up with each birth and still does when he spends time with the kids is priceless.  Lastly, and most important to me, the way he held me in his arms the day my daddy passed away and held in his own tears so that he could comfort me speaks of what a wonderful man I celebrate.

Thankfully, my dad was able to develop a deep relationship with Jeff.  There were many times throughout our dating relationship that Jeff sat with my dad just carrying on conversation.  I hold on to those memories dearly, because Jeff had the chance to learn from my dad.  We joke that dad's first words of wisdom to Jeff were "never forget your anniversary."  However, he taught us so much more.  He taught me how to love my husband, and taught my husband how to love me.  He showed us through how he loved my mother and how he loved others.  Many memories of my father bring tears to my eyes, but there are two pictures my mother has that make me weep.  The first is of my daughter as a tiny little girl, the picture taken from the back, with her little hand in my father's large one just taking a walk.  The last is a close up of my son being held by his papa, dad's eyes gleaming with happiness and a smile on my little one's face.  Both do not show my dad's physical strength, but the strength in which his love for his family shone through his eyes.

There are many similarities I see in my husband that I also saw in my father.  So, today, I could reminisce about my dad, but I choose to celebrate the life of another man I love.

Thank you, love, for having the strength to love a broken girl.  You showed me in my worst hours what true love meant.  Your sincerity, your loyalty, your humor and the laughter we share together are some of my most treasured possessions.  The gentle but fierce love you have for our children shows what a wonderful man you truly are.  You are home to me.  You have been my rock when I needed something to lean on, when I thought the world would cave under me.  You give our children a strong foundation to build their lives on, a character to model themselves after.  I am proud to call you my husband and your children are proud to call you "Dad."  Your light shines to all who know you.  Dad was so proud of you, he reminded me frequently what a good man you are.  Thank you for loving my dad as much as I do.  Thank you for all the times you sacrificed so I could spend more time with him.  I will forever be grateful for those sacrifices you made to give me those moments with him, and for wrapping me up in your arms when some of those times were tough to handle.  You will forever be my love, infinity times infinity.

Letting Go

I know it has been practically eons since I have harbored a moment to grace this page with the written word, but today, with my heart overwhelmed with a reminiscent spirit, I ask of my readers a moment to be a sappy, doting mommy.

Today, my dear daughter is absent having a grand time with her aunts in a late celebration of her birthday.  In her absence, I have begun a much needed purge of old clothing and broken or forgotten toys laid to rest in her room.  With earphones in and some good country power ballads playing, I began the daunting task of weeding through the outgrown clothing hiding in her closet. This is where the sappy, doting part begins.   

First, Reading Bee ribbons, remind me of a very proud moment and a mark of achievement.  Next, an Asian kimono brought from China to an excited little girl who has loved sushi as long as she could hold a spoon.  Further in, a tutu worn by a little princess in a modeling show where I still remember how her blue eyes shone bright.  As I remove some of these items and begin considering the need to create a memory chest, I begin sorting through the new, the frilly party dress she wore to her first dance, her taste in clothes bending more towards that of a teen instead of that little pig-tailed, blue-eyed baby girl.  Pictures don't do justice to what you feel as these items are packed away, folded into a box, almost as if closing a door on a part of not only her life, but also on my own.  I fold a t-shirt from her favorite university, the one she has known she wanted to attend as far back as I can remember and I see into her future. 

This year she has come to realize that not all who say they are your friends truly act it.  She has decided boys are not quite as icky as they once were.  She has realized society's pressures that she be beautiful, not just smart and brave.  We have walked through tears and disappointments as well as triumphs and accomplishments.  Through all of this, with our conversations that more often take on serious tones instead of the silly giggle sessions of the past, I realize that she is growing up.

This is when I recognize we are at the beginning of a winding path I am charged with walking her down, one that when the end is reached I will let her go.  I am not so short sided that I did not know this day would arrive, but the speed in which it did has left me reeling.  I am dizzied by how quickly the baby I felt so unqualified to mother I now feel incapable of walking down this road.  My heart fills with a happy sadness, if that is even possible, when I walk both the path of the past and the path that lays ahead.  I pray God gives me the strength to lift her up, grace to guide her and wisdom to direct her path.

A few days ago, we received what I believe to be my Father's way of foreshadowing the events of my life to come.  Ironically, it was my daughter who discovered this baby bird, not quite through shedding it's feathery down and just bursting through bright Blue Jay wings.

For me, after reflecting back on my week, it was as if God sent a note floating through the Heavens that said, "Here begins the path of letting go, time to give your little blue bird her wings."  I hope my dad gives God a nudge to go easy on me here, because as this little bird found it's wings and flew into the sky, my little bird is losing her downy feathers and replacing them with strong wings of blue, readying herself for what lies in the future beyond.  

This summer will mark a significant time that we spend together.  She will have many firsts packed into the next three months and the years to come and nothing I do will stop her from growing or time from ticking by.  What I pray is that God gives me pockets of time in which I can create concrete memories, strengthen her wings with loving arms, give her warm memories to allude to when life gets her feathers wet.    

Today, I begin a different kind of "letting go."  Though there is some sadness, it is wrought with joy, the joy of seeing your baby grow.  Our future will be dotted with new memories, as Barbies are slowly replaced with nail polish and makeup, scooters with cars, glitter with diamonds, our futures will be filled with new memories, those of graduations, first loves, universities, marriages. 

I have experienced the loss that is wrought with overwhelming grief and, though sad, the joy of seeing your little sprout growing into a beautiful flower is beyond measure.  So, I begin the memory chest, and as these years begin to pass I will add to it until it is full, as my heart is full and runs over with tears of joy.

I Didn't Fall Off the Face of the Earth!

Okay, so first, I'm back!  The last few weeks I have been attacking a kitchen remodel and was not able to add this to my juggling act, especially since we did most of the remodel ourselves!  Just wanted to drop a quick note to those who check in on me from time to time and those of you who follow me to let you know I haven't given up on writing and I hope to have a new post up this Monday!

Love to all,

Steph

Casting With Care

One hot summer my dad decided to take some of his charges to a local pond to do some fishing.  The eager tomboy-ish side of myself begged to go along.  I was forever attempting to insert myself within the tasks my dad had planned.  Caring for and raising four children of his own and at least three others was not an easy task and our time with him was limited.  Therefore, no matter how much I wanted to scrunch up my nose at the long, squirmy worms or the nasty smelling stink bait, I rose to the occasion, grabbed a fishing pole and headed to the pond.  After baiting my own hook and learning the basic mechanics, I was on my way.  I will interject here that I am a bit impatient.  Okay, a lot impatient. My dad must have had God on his shoulder because I imagine my antics made any fish in the immediate vicinity find a way out of the pond.  But, I will never forget how proud I was or the pat I got on the back from my dad when I reeled in that four inch long perch!  I was so proud of my accomplishment I was determined that my catch was going to be scaled and gutted and prepared for dinner.

Funny enough, this leads me to a Bible story I have heard a number of times.  During Jesus' time on the earth, He was speaking to a rather large crowd of people.  His disciples must have dropped the ball, because no one thought to hire a caterer or even bring a picnic basket and the disciples were wrought with worry over how they would feed this large group of people.  We aren't talking about fifty of their closest friends, this was a conference size crowd of five thousand.  Christ, in His infinite wisdom, instructed the disciples to spread out and seek out any food that might be available.  Out of that mass of five thousand, the disciples came back with five loaves of bread and two fishes.  I don't know about you, but when food at any party I throw gets even halfway empty, I get concerned.  I cannot imagine what was going through these guys minds staring at that meager offering.  Christ, however, blessed the food, and they began to break the bread and serve the fish, only to find that all five thousand were fed to capacity, not a rumbling belly in the house.  

Have any of you out there ever worried?  I know I have.  I have been laid off, unemployed, pregnant and wondering how we would be able to buy groceries each week.  I have put a whole paycheck in the bank to find it still didn't bring the balance back into the positive.  In those moments, those are when the true blessings showed up.  When I said a prayer through tears, and something showed up on my doorstep, I knew from where it came. There was no question that whatever kindness I received in those moments where beautifully wrapped gifts complete with perfect bows from God.  None of those boxes contained the total of that week's lottery, or a new luxury automobile, or a key to a new home with no mortgage.  But they were from God, and at that moment, they were more precious that any of those things.

In Psalms 55:22 KJV, it says, "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee: He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved."  When that little girl stood there hopping from one foot to the other with a fishing pole in her had, I am sure it was far from the idea of a relaxing day of fishing my dad had planned.  And, I am sure that those disciples felt their hearts drop in their chests when they discovered no one had thought of food.  There are things that come to your mind that bring worry, doubt, fear and uncertainty and you are at a conundrum as to what the solution will be.  I take heart in what Christ tells us in Matthew 6:24-5 NIV, "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?  Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?  Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?  And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin.  Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.  If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?  So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’  For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them.  But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

There is no need to worry, fret, doubt, we only need to trust in God for our needs.  Will He test our strength, our will, our perseverance, our diligence, absolutely!  As any good parent would, He will put us through the ringer if it means bringing us to the blessing He has in store for us. I am sure our God, that dearly loves us, has moments when He wishes he could turn away from our sin, but instead He lovingly redirects us to the path to where we will be richly blessed, we only have to accept his guidance.   As my dad likely wished to cast his cares away behind a fishing pole, but was richly blessed upon seeing my broad smile as I caught my first fish or the disciples' fears were relieved when five thousand stomachs were filled, so I wish that on your weariest day, God leaves a precious blessing wrapped in gold and tied with loveliness to cast your cares away and redirect you to His love.

Racing for Gold

Gasping for air, legs cramping, body depleted, a marathon runner falls short of the finish line.  She pulls herself up again and races once again to her goal, limping that last short distance.  I was witness to a spectacle such as this, one year as I watched the Summer Olympics on television.  It amazed me the feats a body could be pushed to if only the mind didn't give up on the goal.  There is an old Chinese proverb that says, "Fall down seven times, get up eight."  Isn't that truly the secret?

I was once a treadmill track star.  No, seriously, I am no athlete. I wouldn't even bother to call myself a treadmill track star.  I honestly hate to sweat, I know I live in Texas, I should be immune. However, the beginning of a new year many years ago, spurred my desire to make a resolution and "get healthy." I found a good deal on a treadmill and decided I could exercise night or day to get in shape.  I don't know what spurred the decision, but my dad decided to do the same.  It wasn't long until a pseudo competition ensued.  I would finish my time on the treadmill and my dad would casually ask, "How long were you on the treadmill?"  I would answer and later, he would let me know that he had kept up. Back then I was determined to race faster than my dad, I never knew I would be the one trying to keep up.

Many times I feel like I am running this race we call life like I showed up to a marathon in lead boots and my underwear, with two hours of sleep trying to shove the last bit of bagel in my mouth as the starting gun blasts. What I mean is, dad had a purpose, and I did not.  I was running away from fear and anger and running towards whatever I could grasp.  You can understand, we all run away from or towards something.  Sometimes we are running away from a bad decision, bad relationship, bad friendship, bad habit and sometimes we are running towards fortune, accolades, acceptance. But aren't we supposed to be running a race much more important than any of these?

This week my sister lost a dear friend after a long battle with cancer.  Twilla lived up to her name, she had sparkle.  I remember the first time I met her and her feisty, sweet spirit bubbled over from her soul.  I did not have the pleasure of knowing her well, but I know that as I mourned my father's death she allowed my son her phone to watch cartoons.  I also know that she walked my sister through some very dark times of her life.  I know by the testaments of the people's lives she touched that she was running towards God. It brings pain to my heart that those who loved her dearly will have to wait for Heaven to see her again, but she finished her race, and what a race it was.  Dear woman of faith this verse is for you, 2 Timothy 4:7-8 NIV, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing."  You may have never known, but many years ago, when your friendship with my sister was new, I gained from you a gift.  Not a material gift, but a day out with you and my sister when you would have never known I needed to feel acceptance, you embraced me, reeled me in with that spirit everyone spoke of, and I saw Christ in you.

This sweet sister in Christ and my dad gave me clarity to something I have avoided for a long time, something I feel led to share with you.  Many patients that received that word "terminal" begin preparing for their end, you hear terms like bucket list and last wishes.  Patients and their families do the things they always "meant to do," they say the things they always meant to say.  These frail beings push themselves to complete these last things on their list, as if they are that marathon runner.  They fall down, they grow weary, but they persevere to the finish.

What race am I running?  Am I running God's race?  In my walk with Christ, I feel I am in a last place position for treadmill track star.  If I had my earthly father, I wish I could sit and ask him his fitness plan to run a better race for Christ. Thanks, Dad, I needed this verse, Isaiah 40:28-31 NIV, "Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." All we have to do is lean on God, He will carry us over the finish line, He will be our water boy, our strength, our hope.

Apology

Sorry no post went up last night.   Between a sick mama and sick kids I had to take a few days off.   I will be back on Friday with a new post.  Thanks!

Salvage Souls

After a very rough night, my husband and I are both sick, I almost gave up on posting.  All I wanted to do was curl up on my couch and watch some television and wallow in my sickness.  My guilty pleasures are shows about old cars and shows that take old items and repurpose them.  I love old rusty bits and forgotten treasures, I am a bit of an old soul that should have been born somewhere around the 1950's when life was a bit simpler I suppose.

And simpler would be nice, because on top of feeling under the weather, I am also helping my pre-teen daughter navigate the minefield of junior high.  This week she came home in tears twice because two of her peers were playing a little game of "she said, she said" and my daughter got caught in the middle.  After discussing the situation with her and finding out that she shared some of the blame, I instructed her to apologize and thus end the disagreement.  Though she did what I said, the banter continued and we discussed that trust is a big part of friendship and if she could not trust these two girls, it would be best if she did not continue spending large amounts of time with them.  It is hard to see your child struggle with these moments that make them feel less than what they truly are, and sadly this will not be her last introduction to rejection.  My goal is to teach her how to deal with these situations with strength, with dignity and with grace.  But, how do I help her understand what a treasure she is when people make her feel like junk?

All this thinking about junk, reminded me of one of the reasons why I love the used, forgotten, rusty treasures.  When I was young, dad would often take old metal scrap to a local salvage yard to sell.  It became a trip I often enjoyed taking with him.  He was friends with the owners and often while they "shot the bull" I would get a soda or another type of treat.  As time went by, I began to see those piles of scrap as piles of possibilities.

Ding, ding, ding, my "Aha" moment!  Aren't we all just God's big pile of worn out rusty bits?  When considering this, one particular story in the Bible came to mind.  To set the scene, the Israelites are being held in Egypt as slaves, God seeks to deliver His people from the hands of Pharaoh.  In walks Moses, stuttering and insecure, as God's choice to lead His people.  Moses, with the help of a man named Aaron, would walk God's people out of Egypt and part a sea in the process.

God doesn't make junk.  Your weakness is God's strength.  It is when we lean on God for our weaknesses that we see Him work in our lives most fully. It says in 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 NIV,'But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.'.   When we are strongest it is easy for us to believe we are doing it on our own, but it is in those moments when we are beaten and weary that He uses us and shows Himself in our lives.

Sometimes God has to change use to make us better.  There is an old saying, if you are not changing you are not growing. John 15:1-2 NIV says “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener.  He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes  so that it will be even more fruitful.".  Sanding the rusty parts, pounding out the dents of your life isn't a simple process or a painless process, but the end result is worth it.  There is beauty in the painful process of growth and change, it is where our most beautiful selves are made. 

Most of all, God is an artist, He can make you a masterpiece.  Isaiah 64:8 NIV says, "Yet you, Lord , are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand".  Whether He prunes you, molds you, or bends your will, He made you and can make you into all you were meant to be.  He will be your strength when you are weary, tired, sick, worn out and used up.  If He sees even the sparrow and makes sure it is fed, He is capable of providing food for your mind, for your body and for your soul.  So, when we think we are just salvage souls, He sees us repurposed into beautiful works of art. 

So, baby girl, handle the rejections of the world knowing that in Heaven you are treasured.  Your strength is found in God's arms, your grace is found in His forgiveness and your dignity comes from knowing you are God's treasure.

Facing Giants

Every Tuesday evening, my children and I have dinner at my mother's house, kind of a ritual if you want to call it that.  This evening's dinner was much like any other week until mom and I began planning our day together tomorrow.  Tomorrow signifies one year since my dad passed away and I thought it important to spend it with mom.  She has wanted to copyright and e-publish a small book my dad wrote and we were discussing how to go about it.  We came to realize that the word file needed to complete the task was on my dad's laptop, in his office, that hasn't been touched for a year or more. Have you ever felt a problem grow exponentially in front of you?  This is exactly how I felt, because it was my task to sit behind his desk, start his computer and weed through his files looking for one word file that may not even exist, because I was more knowledgeable of where to find it.  I would not have let my mom know then, but I was putting on my brave face.

As I sat behind the screen of his computer, it brought back a flood of memories.  Dad had large hands and spent many a day hard at work outside, he did not have nimble hands that flowed steadily across a laptop keyboard.  He was not computer literate, however, when the typewriter became too archaic to find ribbons, he learned the basics.  I loved that he would create a Sunday school lesson, type it out, save the file, print it and then delete the file.  He was afraid he would use all the hard drive space saving his lessons. Many times dad's hands would fumble across the keyboard during the creation of a lesson and my phone would ring.  Do you know how you feel when you find your cable service, cell phone, etc has outsourced their customer service to a non-English speaking country and you have a large problem with said service?  Our conversations regarding the computer issues went similarly.  Most of the time I would hop in my car or schedule a day that I could come and fix the issue, usually something very simple.  

Today, sitting in front of the computer, looking at the list of the many Bible lessons he finally began saving on his hard drive, I realized this modern piece of technology was his giant.  You probably just cocked your head to the side and said, "huh?"  Let me explain, in case you have forgotten or never heard of the Bible's story of David and Goliath.  David, a young man with only a slingshot and five smooth stones, faces down Goliath, a big behemoth of a man clad in armor wielding a massive sword. David, of course, had God on his side, hit Goliath with said stone right between the eyes and killed him. Goliath should have listened when David said in 1 Samuel 17:47 NIV, "All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the Lord saves; for the battle is the Lord’s, and he will give all of you into our hands.”

So, I can imagine my dad sitting behind this modern typewriter, facing down a giant. Knowing very little about how everything works, but seeing the end result as a clear picture of the lesson God had planned for my dad to teach.  Dad would diligently type his lesson, in true hunt and peck style, for hours until it was completed.

Facing that computer today was facing my grief, memories of what many lost when we lost my dad, a true man of God.  I am not sure what all of dad's struggles were throughout his life, but he saw giants in our day to day struggles that ended in battles God could fight for us. He took those and wrote them down in countless lessons I hope to be able to read someday.  I have to be honest, I hoped to find some last letter he wrote to us, but all these treasures are like a map out of any struggle we might face.

I don't know what struggles you face.  What I know is no matter if it is addiction, grief, financial crisis, marriage troubles or any other giant you face, God is bigger.  Romans 8:31 NIV says, "What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?"  With God backing us up all of our Goliath sized struggles seem to shrink.  I will say one thing, I bet my dad had days sitting in front of that computer that he wished he had five smooth stones.  I leave you with the verse that held true through many of my parent's struggles, and one I call to mind frequently, it is found in Luke 1:37 KJV "For with God nothing shall be impossible."

After poring through my dad's computer, I found that word file was sent to my old e-mail address several years ago.  I never had to sit at my dad's desk and open his computer, but then I never would have learned this lesson.

Same Kind of Different

Dad didn't go anywhere without his cowboy hat and his boots.  These two items of clothing were distinctly my dad.  He grew up on a cotton farm in West Texas and earned his status as a true cowboy by riding the range, raising cattle and picking cotton in the sweltering Texas heat.  L.J. Davidson, my grandfather, was an amputee and farmed their cotton with one arm, so my daddy grew up working right alongside.  There wasn't any room for whining, you just pulled up your bootstraps and did what needed to be done. Pearl snap shirts were the norm, not a fashion statement, and I don't think dad ever wore a rhinestone a day in his life.  He would talk about how many people sporting the boots and hat didn't know the back end of a horse from the front, basically that there weren't very many authentic cowboys left.  He was right, more people sporting the signature western attire know the turn of the dance floor of the local honky-tonk better than they know how to saddle a horse or drive cattle.

There was something that spoke "true grit" about the fact that dad wore that hat and boots because he earned it by the sweat of his brow.  I've spoken before about viewing him as my own personal version of John Wayne, he was my hero, the man that would stand up for you and for what he believed.  He had a softer side, the side that held his little granddaughter's hand and took her for walks.  The hand that patted his left hand shirt pocket to make sure he had his little New Testament and his pen.  The man whose tears would flow when he spoke of his love of his family.  This just raised him further into hero status to me, he was better than Superman, he was authentic.  

I guess that is why there was never a reason for me to fill his cowboy boots, so to speak, because I didn't earn them.  I tried my hand at the western life by joining Future Farmers of America in high school and I learned quickly that it was a mold that didn't fit.  However, the one lesson I would like to take from my dad is how to be truly authentic.  When I write these memories, this blog, I write what I feel.  I try very hard not to mask any pain, any mistakes I have made, take away the pretty and bring light to the ugly parts, because I hope it helps one of you.  Even more, I aim to show my most authentic self, that is what my daddy would want from me.

But isn't that exactly what our world today teaches against?  Everything we are exposed to reiterates that we need porcelain veneers, luxury cars and the biggest house our income will allow.  If we can nip, tuck, expand and contract our bodies any more we could probably be sold in a store near you in the toy section, plastic dolls might have more real parts then we do.  How do we maintain our faith in a world like this?  How can anyone believe what we say when we are speaking through these pretty masks made of what the world tells us we should be?  

I didn't do a lot of Bible research for this post, but I literally opened up my Bible app, and this was the verse for the day:

Romans 12:1-3 NIV

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you.

Thanks, dad, I think you might have nudged God to send me this one!  God is very clear when He says, "do not conform to the pattern of this world."  See, no amount of money, no amount of rhinestones, no label made by a top fashion designer covers our sin.  No charity work, no large monetary donation, no earthly sacrifice will get us a ride on angel's wings.  God called us to be different, to be so different that we are called foreigners, yet we strive to have what someone else has, we jump at the next shiny new thing.  How then will the unbeliever see the difference in us?

We forget that in God's eyes we wear splendor in our souls, our beauty is in our authenticity, our value is only in our love for our God.  In 1 Peter 2:9-12 NIV we are told, "But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul. Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us."

God calls us to be our authentic selves.  I, Stephanie Colleen Davidson-Rush, live in a small house that may have toys scattered about on any given day, I drive a used car, and my little house has about twelve renovations either currently in progress or needing to be started.  My bank account wouldn't buy a small country, but it pays my bills.  God gifted me with the talent to paint and a heart too sensitive and sometimes easily injured.  My most treasured possessions in this life are my dear husband, my sweet babies, my family and my friends of whom for each one I would give my life.  I sin every day, I am forgiven every day by a grace immeasurable in my tiny brain, I serve a God bigger than anything and my prayer tonight is one day I hold each one of your hands in Heaven.  I hope I have a chance to see the real you, your true self, love the ugly and the pretty, give a hug in a hard time and celebrate a good time.  This is me, the real me, no mask, just the same kind of different.

Bittersweet Memories

There are memories that are bittersweet, mostly bitter and not so much sweet.  With that said, I hate cancer.  It robbed my mother of the love of her life, my kids of a doting grandfather, my sisters and I of our father.  Memories of my father with cancer are some of the hardest memories I have to carry.  Hearing the painful surgeries they undergo that make you physically ill, wondering if you have made the right medical decisions, sitting beside them as they struggle for comfort in a hospital bed.  These memories are hardest to bear, the weight of them sometime make my heart so heavy that tears seem to be my only release. 

We all lose someone dear to us in our lives, no one is immune to death.  For some it comes quickly and for others it is a slow journey.  It does not make it any easier whether you have had them for three days or ninety-three years, love doesn't have a timeline.  The question has been raised many times when a child passes away or someone dies at a young age why God allows such tragedy to happen.  I wish I could sit down with God and ask that same question, but there is one truth that is very apparent to me, whether one day or fifty thousand days it is never enough with someone you love. 

I think Job was God's best example of how we might be tested in walking beside Him.  God allowed Job to be tested, He knew Job was strong enough to pass the test.  Job cried out and questioned his very existence, Job 3:11 NIV, “Why did I not perish at birth, and die as I came from the womb?"  His grief was immeasurable, he lost all his children, he as wrought with disease, but he only questioned what he had done, what sin he committed.  I challenge you, especially if you feel grief or even anger towards God, to read the Bible's account of Job's life.  I find no coincidence that our Bibles follow Job with Psalms, a book of prayer and hymns to soothe our souls after hearing Job's harrowing tale.

For those of you who sympathize with me because you too have lost someone that you dearly loved, I leave you with this.  One evening, I received a MMS message from my sister of some of the first words my dad had written after his surgeries.  I happened to be listening to "Fix You" by Coldplay and it touched me deeply.  After replying to my sister, I believe including something about how the kids and I loved him, we received a picture of dad holding a hand written sign ”Love is a very splendid thing".   The day my dad passed, we played country gospel hymns all day, each of us got time with him to tell him how much he was loved, we each held his hand and got a strong squeeze to all our conversations.  God's hand touched everything that day, right down to "This Little Light of Mine" playing as he took his final breathe.  These are bittersweet memories, God chose to heal my dad in Heaven, there was no medical miracle.  But, I have faith that God brought my dad to Heaven at just the right time, as I believe for every other person I have lost in my life.  My dad impacted my life over 36 years, a little boy of only 4 years old did too, friends from high school who were gone too soon did in yet other ways.  God will use every person's time here to bless those around them, we only have to have faith in God's timing. 

Next week will mark the anniversary of my dad's last day on earth and his first day in Heaven.  I see his legacy carry on every day.  The only prayers I have is that I am able to carry on that legacy in my own family and to as many others as God will allow me.  May you find a similar peace, a purpose, something to heal your soul.

Time for Change

Several years ago, my husband and I had to face a huge failure in our lives.  We had been living a life many would call "the American dream.". We had bought our first home, he had a really great job, things were going well.  Within a year the economy began to take a turn and his commissioned position was not looking as bright.  After making several decisions that were probably not the best at the time, we lost everything.  Our home, our cars, our security, we were bankrupt.  The stress of everything was terrible, our lives were a shambles and we were scrambling to hold on to anything we could. I don't know if any of you have suffered a dark place in your life, but my value as a person felt shaken. 

It isn't until years later, a bankruptcy, two moves and a lot of penny pinching that we are back on the right track.  As the old saying goes, "Hind sight is twenty-twenty".  First, I have to be transparent, we did not ask for God's blessing in any of the decisions we made leading up to the purchase of our first home.  We felt blessed to be able to do so, however, it was a blessing undeserved.  We saw the chance to take it, we desired it and so we reached out and took it.  We, as a couple, had put a fair amount of our value into the stuff we had.  We tried our best to drive the right car, wear the right clothes and look the part of middle class America.  Our value was in stuff.  Everything we did was to amass more stuff, better stuff, improve our status. When we lost it all it felt as if we lost our life, what was owed to us, our inheritance.  Inheritance.  That word got me thinking, and my thoughts led me to a memory.

My dad loved collecting wheat pennies.  I remember at a young age realizing this and I began searching out these treasures for my father.  They were so valuable to him that he paid me ten cents for each one, enough motivation as a child to send me looking under vending machines and watching parking lots to collect more pennies.  Even as an adult, if I found one of these rarities, I would peek into whatever room he was in and ask, "Hey, dad, I found a wheat penny, how much you gonna give me for it?". There was no inflation on my finds, ten cents was the contractual agreement and they were never worth more.  What dad may not have realized is the value I placed in those small exchanges, much more than my ten cent reward.

I never understood the value of these moments in time until they were gone.  I could ask for these pennies as some inheritance from my mom, some tangible piece of those exchanges.  But, my inheritance doesn't lie in a thousand wheat pennies, it lies in the brief 35 years I was able to spend with my father.  In comes the forehead smacking moment.  My inheritance is time, our value is T-I-M-E.  The past few days I have searched for a verse to invoke the feeling I am trying to express and literally as I write it came to me.  In Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 KJV, it says, "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace."

There is a time for everything.  When we invest one more hour of time working while our children beg for our attention, we put our value in work.  When we pass by the hungry homeless man on the street as we walk into church, we put our value in religion.  When we eat our dinners in front of the television instead of surrounded by our family at the table, we place value in famous people.  When we meet a friend for coffee and spend more time posting the calories we ate, miles we ran, new purchase we made, we put value in social media attention. 

Now, I write about these issues because they are my issues.  Trust me when I say, I am guilty of all charges.  But, I seek out these flaws to invoke change in myself and, hopefully, someone else.  So, my second head smacking realization came here, of the years I have left in my life, my value so to speak, where will I spend it?  A very wise woman, my mother, once told me L-O-V-E is spelled T-I-M-E. 

So, on this eve of a made up holiday to celebrate love, I will leave you with a blip from one of my favorite bands, "Where you invest your love, you invest your life.".  It goes without speaking where God invested His love, me, you, our families, our neighbors, that homeless guy on the corner, the Goth that walked into church last Sunday, the kid whose bruises you accidentally saw.  Where will you invest your time, your love, the value of whatever time you have left?

Driving Directions

The bottom left hand drawer of my dad's desk is where he kept his direction.  I say this with a smile, because in that drawer are housed numerous maps and atlases of every shape and size.  Often as a young woman I would ask my dad how to find my way from one place to another and out these maps and atlases would come.  We would sit side by side, his work worn hands tracing the paths I could take to my destination.  Many times the conversation would turn to various landmarks that would mark my way, the best place for coffee and pie or some long lost memory of a past trip taken to any of these highways and byways.

Some of my best childhood memories were of days when our large brood packed up in the maxi van, picnic lunch packed in a cooler, no destination in sight-we just drove.  We would eventually find a park or rest stop where mom would unpack the wares from the cooler, let us kids get some energy out running aimlessly at play and then we would load back up and find our way home.  Getting lost became one of my favorite past times.  Finding hidden places that were our versions of a secret garden, places we may or may not ever find again.  Dad would often bring out the maps later to find exactly where we had been.  It may come as a surprise, but I never remember being lost with my dad behind the wheel.

It is comical to me that I never see the lesson I am supposed to write about before it takes shape as I type these very words, but it becomes so obvious as the paragraphs take shape.  It is even more comical how I find the relationship to what God teaches me in these lessons, especially this one.  My daughter and I were watching television one night and as we were watching the channels began to blink "333" over and over without reason.  We had not been able to find the remote earlier so it seemed to be changing on it's own.  My first thought was, "Better look that verse up in my Bible app". 

When I looked it up it led me to Exodus 33:3 that speaks of the land flowing with milk and honey and a piece of the story of the Israelites exodus from Egypt.  Did you know the Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years?  Joshua 5:6 NIV says, "The Israelites had moved about in the wilderness forty years until all the men who were of military age when they left Egypt had died, since they had not obeyed the Lord . For the Lord had sworn to them that they would not see the land he had solemnly promised their ancestors to give us, a land flowing with milk and honey.".   In reading this part of the Old Testament in my attempt to read the Bible through, I found myself slapping my hand to my head numerous times upon hearing of yet another instance where the Israelites failed to follow God's direction.  Perhaps they would not have been going around in circles if God could have unfolded a map for the Israelites and shown them with his own hands the highways and byways they needed to travel to make it to their destination.  The world will never know, because the Israelites were a stubborn lot and didn't listen to God's verbal instruction either, thus the forty years of aimless travel.

And this is where I had another forehead smacking moment, and a realization I am not so different from those stubborn Israelites.  I have often thought of my walk with God as one of those build your own ending books I would read as a kid.  You know, make this choice and your ending is on this page, make a different choice and it ends on an entirely different page?  I have travelled a lot of circular paths on the journey I am on with God as my guide.  Sometimes I am sure my guardian angel took up drinking because of me.  But, the cool thing is, no matter how far off the beaten path I get, no matter how many wrong turns I take, God is never lost.  No matter how little gas I have in my engine and how many flat tires I am riding on, God is there to guide me safely back home.  Whatever page I turn, path I take or circle I continue to run in, God places His gentle hand behind me and whispers, "No, Sweetheart.  Go this way, there is good pie and hot coffee, here is your landmark, here is your safe way home.". 

How did my dad know to take those trips and show me those maps to lead me here?  I don't know but I will leave you with two things.  First, we found the remote wrapped in an unfolded blanket by my daughter's foot that was causing those channels to flash "333", coincidence?  Second, I share my dad's favorite verses and a very fitting reason to why he and I and many others choose our path with God by our side.  May you find some direction in Psalms 1:1-6 KJV, "Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord ; and in his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away. Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous. For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish."

The Beauty of His Words

In a world where our lives are engulfed in a plethora of social media posts and pins, I am one of the rare birds that appreciates the written word.  Not typed or hash-tagged, smiley-faced or pinned, but the tilt of hand, ink to paper, a hard-copied print of one person's signature on the world.  I post, pin and smiley face as much as anyone else, this blog wouldn't exist otherwise.  However, making a recipe your grandma wrote on an index card, finding a long forgotten love letter, or seeing your child's carefully printed first attempt of their name are things of beauty to me.  My sister Shelly has a beautiful love of family history, and it was an idea she suggested that has become one of my most treasured possessions from my father.

Many years ago, instead of dropping our pennies in a greeting card store's cash register, we began giving affirmations to one another on each person's birthday.  This started out as a somewhat awkward exchange of spoken affirmations of what that person meant to every member of the family, but it grew into an exchange of beautifully handwritten cards.  All those years ago, I never would have guessed these would become such a treasured part of the memories of my dad.  I would get my last affirmation card from him a mere month before he passed away, a simple shakily scrawled "Happy Birthday" and "I love you" signed "Dad" that would become a priceless memory.  I continue finding most of the notes he penned me, words of wisdom and love, that have almost become dad's little instruction book to me.

It is funny my post has turned to the importance of the written word, because as I was composing my last post and switching back and forth from the apps I use for blogging and the Bible, I received another message from my dad.  To be honest it made me chuckle, because it was a debate we had often and a debate that showed how equally stubborn we both are.  Some of you may think I am crazy, but one of my dear sisters reminded me that the veil between earth and Heaven is thin.  I feel my dad's direction many times, and on this particular day, I would almost bet money he was leaning over my shoulder, reading my post, listening to my thoughts and directing me as to where I needed to go next.

One of the most poignant memories I have is of my dad crouched over his well-worn Bible in his office studying God's Word, a memory so powerful I still imagine my dad merely in his office studying when I visit my mom.  My dad loved God's word, specifically the King James Version of it, and he spent many hours poring over it's passages.  Dad took the mantra "hiding God's Word in your heart" very seriously and Scripture passages would almost bubble out of him while in conversation.  He was remarkably accurate and most often could recall the chapter and verse for reference.  He loved the King James translation of the Bible and purported it as the most accurate translation out there, and that is where the debate began with his stubborn youngest daughter.

As I mentioned before, I spent most of my late teens and early twenties in an intense, angry temper tantrum with God that didn't allow for a lot of Bible study.  I was armed with just enough Bible knowledge to be dangerous, but I was going to use it to it's full potential.  Many times a conversation with dad would twist me into a tightly wound cord and he would quietly sit there and let me rant until I wore myself out.

When I finally made peace with God and began attending church more regularly, I found the New International Version of the Bible illuminated scripture for me.  It was almost as if it was a language I had finally decoded and I understood what God was saying.  I remember several discussions with my dad as to why I had chosen this version, and the conversation usually ended in me confessing that it was my simple mind that couldn't get past the "thou's" and "thee's" to get to the real message God had for me.  Dad stated his case for the KJV at any chance he got, with me and many others.  He never ranted or raved, he would simply hand you books about the KJV and ask you to take a look at them.  So, when I felt my last post needed some Scripture references I began looking in the NIV for one that came to mind, only to realize my memory is in the KJV.  Switching to the King James I easily located it, looked at the the New International to compare, and that is when I realized something.

I received the same illumination of Scripture I had but while reading the King James, this had to have made my dad leap for joy on the golden streets of Heaven because I shook my head and said, "Okay, dad, I get it".  I realized what I had been missing was the power, the beauty behind God's Word.  One pastor spoke of this in reference to Creation saying he had no doubt that when God said "Let there be light" that it made quite a big bang!  And that was the lesson God sent me through my dad, there is power in the word of God. 

I find when I read from the King James my voice changes in my head, like I am channeling some powerful force, some superhero of the universe and I am trying to make that come alive with each word.   It says in Psalms 33:6-7, 9 KJV, "By the word of the Lord were the heavens made; and all the host of them by the breath of his mouth. He gathereth the waters of the sea together as an heap: he layeth up the depth in storehouses. For he spake, and it was done; he commanded, and it stood fast".  The voice I use in my head to read those powerful words doesn't even compare to a voice that can stop a tsunami in it's path or harness a red giant star with a mere breath.  So, the next time your world seems to be hanging onto nothing, when your job is too stressful, when you are mourning someone with a terminal illness, when one more thing crunches your finances or someone cuts your soul deeper with hurtful words remember that there is power in God's word.  His strength abounds within it's pages, whether it be the King James, New International, the Message, God will speak to you.  

Take to heart David's words in Psalms 119:105 KJV, "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path" and, so you know, I used reference only from the King James, insert big goofy smile here.  Be proud, Dad, be proud!

Making Mistakes

As a parent, one of the things I feel necessary to teach my children is that not all their paths will be broad and smoothly paved.  In fact, it is likely that their path will be full of boulders, briers and brambles as well as plenty of "gray areas".  My most recent struggle is how to teach my daughter to maintain her values while being respectful to other's choices.  Christ was the best example of this in how he handled conversations with the woman at the well, Zacchaeus the tax collector and even the Pharisees and Sadducees, to name a few.  How do we teach our children these same principles in a society wrought with rants between heterosexual and homosexual, Christian and Atheist, Pro-Lifers and  Pro-Choicers, Republican and Democrat and the list goes on and on?  Can you teach your children how without allowing them to make mistakes?

Early on in my dad's life, he made a huge mistake.  It was probably not the first and certainly wasn't the last.  Some of you will be aware of this darker part of my dad's life and to others it will come as a surprise.  Many years ago, my dad made one of the biggest mistakes of his life, a decision that almost cost him his life.  Partying with his friends, before the time of organizations like MADD and reenactments at the local high school, my dad got into the car with a drunk driver.  Probably driving too fast, the truck hit an electrical guide wire, and though the details are sketchy, my dad was thrown from the truck.  Be aware that this was the mid-1950's, not the height of medical technology, and my dad sustained a head injury.  I cannot imagine what it felt like to be L.J. and Jenni Davidson that day, to be there as the doctor walked in shaking his head, saying things like 'only time will tell'. That is when my grandparents began an almost month long waiting game.  I never got the chance to ask my grandma about that time, but I am sure the turmoil in their hearts was beyond measure.  As the doctors had all but given up almost 30 days later, my dad would open his eyes and begin his road to recovery.  He would carry some of the external scars throughout his life as he never regained 100% use of his right side, lost his smell and taste and, this was always a joke between the two of us, he had rocks in his head.  The emotional scars, well, he did not share those as openly, but if you looked in his eyes while he told that story you could see the deep disappointment he felt for having made those choices.

Dad's bad choices and being open about them did not keep me from making my own set of bad choices.  My poor choice almost cost me my life on more than one occasion.  As a happy go lucky high school student, I fell into a relationship with a boy.  To me he wasn't just a "boy".  He was a member of the football team, known by many, and my link to those just a little higher on the food chain, you might say.  My first brush with death would come with hands around my throat, I would remember seeing spots in my eyes and gathering some inhuman strength to fight from their grasp.  Several others would be delivered from the same hands.  My next brush with death's door came by my own hands, this story I will share.  

Leaving someone intent on possession is not simple, protective and restraining orders have their loopholes, and I needed to get out of Dodge.  I moved in with a sister, leaving no forwarding address and no phone number to reach me.  Only my most trusted friends were given any of my information.  During this time, my sister married, and began the uncertain journey as a newlywed.  We were both walking a very misty path, and to be honest, I was not fully open with everyone regarding my situation.  I had a particularly lonely week when I made the decision to end my life, even with loving people around me I was struggling with a darkness the size of a black hole.  I lie in my bed, after ten in the evening, waiting for the sounds of sleep to drift from my sister's room.  It was as I was intently thinking of gathering the implements of my destruction that my phone began to ring.  I picked up to hear my mother's voice, her words will bring chills to me even know.  She said she couldn't sleep, that she was worried about me and to pack my stuff and move home.  I managed to finish my conversation with her before crying myself to sleep.  

You will find my journey and my struggle to maintain a relationship with God did not end here as I continue sharing stories, and I don't feel my dad's struggles did either.  I think this is why I saw him cleave so whole-heartedly to Christ, because the burden of those mistakes and the fear of repeating them were then carried by God's power and not his own.  I accepted Christ at a fairly young age, but I would not truly "meet Christ" until much later in my life.

My intention here is not to spew doctrine, and not to qualify what is and is not a sin, I rely on the truth that God will meet you where you are and reveal to you those things.  However, this is where the definitions get a bit sketchy to me, we are supposed to use Christ as an example for our own lives, we are supposed to love and not judge and yet still adhere to the Bible's teachings.  I see all too often that my fellow Christians and I, are so busy removing the splinters out of other's lives that we miss the telephone poles in our own.  I fell victim to this feeling of not being "worthy of God" very early on in my life, the harsh reality that my church family abandoned me when sin entered in my life, a scar that left an almost decade long stand-off with God.  I must be transparent and express that I had many angry, fist-shaking talks with God during that period of my life.  I said things that an earthly father would have taken to corporal punishment to cure, I continued doing all the things I thought would fill the void, I judged everyone I could judge as homage to what was done to me, anger ruled my life.  When I walked into church, I immediately felt the weight of judgement upon me, and let me tell you, I made sure I was spit-shined, carrying my Bible, singing every hymn and bowing my head in prayer at all appropriate times.  But, what if I walked in holding the hand of another woman, what if I walked in dirty from homelessness, what if I walked in high on drugs, what if I walked in as a prostitute, or an abusive husband, or an unfaithful spouse, would we open our arms and engulf those sins in the love of Christ or would the desire to judge be so overwhelming that we alienated someone from God's grace?

And I guess this is where my story turns into the lesson learned and the one I will continue to share with my children, both from dad's life and my own mistakes, God meets you wherever you are.  It says in Psalms 139:15-16 NIV, "My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.".   Whether you love God, or don't believe in Him, whether you are heterosexual or gay, whether you are Republican or Democrat, God knew who you would be, your struggles and your triumphs!  We are ALL fearfully and wonderfully made, sinner, sinner saved by grace, adults, children, animals, plants.  See, it says in 2 Timothy 1:7 KJV, "For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.".  God isn't into "I told you so's" and I imagine there are plenty of humans to disregard His views on passing judgement to do a mighty fine job of delivering those for Him.  

God is a God of grace.  I won't deliver verse after verse on why, how or when we see it in the Bible, but I will deliver my own personal observation.  When my dad lay in a hospital bed unconscious for 30 days and woke up after making a bad choice, THAT was God's grace.  Delivering me from the grasp of someone's anger who I allowed to hold me there, God's grace.  When my mother rang me late one night and saved my life when I was intent on taking it, God's grace.  God didn't bring out the 10 commandments or the wrath of His judgement on our sin.  He brought the power of deliverance, the love of healing and the sound mind we needed to save us from our own foolishness.  He can and He will meet you wherever you are and change you in ways you never thought possible or even imagined.

Second Hand Roses

This week I celebrated my 36th birthday setting the downhill swing of my thirties in motion.  In dealing with a bit of a pity party knowing I have not accomplished the things I had hoped at this milestone of my life, I made my husband the target for my self pity.  He will not be thrilled to find out he was my whipping boy, but, in all fairness and honesty, I have to lay it all on the table.

Now, I celebrated with a beautiful birthday weekend, one of the joys of a Monday birthday!  I enjoyed good music, fine art, delicious food, scrumptious cupcakes and pies, oh my!  However, one little thing kept rearing it's ugly head in an attempt to mar my whole weekend.  First, you must know I call myself a pseudo single mom because my husband is a restaurant manager.  For those of you unfamiliar with the ins and outs of this schedule, think high powered lawyer in big firm or emergency room doctor on call 24/7, without all the high salary perks, but with all the high powered headaches.  This weekend, my hubby was coming off a 12 day straight, open to close shift while a co-worker was on vacation, so there are no words to describe his weariness.  We were blessed to wake up Saturday morning to share a rare childless day since our children had been farmed out to various fun activities with family members.  I know what you are thinking, party time!  Romantic rendezvous!  No, I was determined my work weary husband was taking me out to an early birthday breakfast.  To sum it up tritely, I was being a bit of a brat.  What can I say, I am the baby of the family, I practically have a PhD in brattiness!  I had several conversations with my mom about the lack of celebratory fare provided by my less than thrilled over me turning one year older husband, the poor me's were running high.  Amidst this conversation, she reminded me of a story I have since dubbed, "Second Hand Roses". 

Half a lifetime ago, for me, my parents had resigned as directors of a home for troubled boys and my dad had taken a job at a major grocery chain to make available both income and health insurance to our family.  Many find through their employers, they receive certain unwritten "perks" within their job, this story begins with such a scenario.  It was coming up on a major holiday, to be honest, neither of us could remember which one.  It must have been Valentine's or Easter because the grocer for which my dad worked had ordered an abundance of roses.  Apparently, they had flooded the desire for the flower and there were many leftovers, to be exact, about 12 dozen.  My dad, using a perk of his job, loaded all these roses into white five gallon buckets and came home, wide smile on his face, bringing in buckets and buckets of roses to my mom. 

I know all the women out there are swooning right now.  You are probably creating a vision in your mind right now of a sweet, loving husband showering his bride with bundles and bundles of deep red roses.  I was there, this is a little bit of a stretch.  I would say one-third were on their deathbed, one-third were bruised and weary and one third were a day away from the latter two categories, these roses were by no means the cream of the crop.  I remember helping my mom by starting to remove the petals from the dying as a fresh potpourri of sorts.  We then removed the bruised petals from the weary and combined them to the still standing in whatever vases we had to create several bouquets of quite pretty red roses.  The work to accomplish this task was daunting and took most of a day to set right.  If you know my mom and her ability to wield an iron clad schedule at the drop of a hat, she was not amused.  I think she was so unamused that she viewed those roses not as a small blessing or as a great expression of my dad's love for her, but as a blow to what she meant to my dad.  Just to clarify, he adored her, you could see it in his eyes as he teased her to light her fiery side, through his daily prayers for her and his forty plus year commitment to her.  Those roses were his attempt to take a blessing and bestow it on his beloved wife, not this burden of plucking and preening second hand roses.

Late in the evening, when my hubby arrived home from another long work day, he held in his hand a gift and a beautiful card expressing his love for me.  He took time to procure my favorite perfume and even wrapped it in a gift bag complete with tissue paper, ladies, you know this is an accomplishment.  The whole weekend I spent my down time sulking over a botched birthday breakfast when my family and friends went out of their way to make me feel special and my husband was intently planning a special gift especially for me.  I share all this not to be a braggart or pass on my poor me's, but to share a much deeper lesson I learned, one brought about from the second hand roses. 

How many times has God given you a blessing you did not recognize because it did not come wrapped in the right package?  Many times I have put high hopes into my own mind, when my Heavenly Father had different plans for me.  I am guilty of acting like a spoiled brat to God because that bonus did not come through, I am not driving a luxury car yet, etc.  You can add your own title to that sob story in your own life, but if we are being honest, I bet we all have one.  Some of our prayers were for healing that came in death, release from captivity that ended in a rehab facility or finding true love after walking the dark valley of divorce.  God gave manna to the Israelites, they treated it like second hand roses.  God gave Hezekiah fifteen more years of life, he treated it like second hand roses.  God gave everyone past, present and future freedom from sin through the death of His only Son, and we treat such a great gift as second hand roses.  So, I guess the lesson I learned from my dad's roses and my brattiness, is this.  We are all given great gifts in our life, whether you are living in a million dollar home or a cardboard box, we only have to open our eyes to His blessings and recognize them as such.  Even in my dad's terminal illness, I find days where God's grace shined through.  As my father took his last breath while "This Little Light of Mine" played in the background gives me a constant reminder that God's light shines upon us even in the darkest hours of our lives.  God gave our family the most beautiful delicate red roses that day as He accepted my earthly father into His arms and said, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant".  Because, see, even though we may see His gifts as second hand roses, He is giving His best for us.

The Gift of His Presence

A year ago today I turned 35 years old, and a year ago today I would begin sharing the last month my father would have left of his life.  Little did I know the hen scratched words "I love you" on my birthday card would be the last one I shared with him.  It has taken one long year for me to digest the idea that I will not open the door to his office and find him typing out his Sunday school lesson or studying his Bible. As I begin this blog about these lessons I learned during mundane, everyday conversations with my dad, my first begins a very long time ago and comes full circle.

My dad, above all else, loved the Lord.  He was an ordained minister, raised in church, but truly began following Christ in his late 20's.  There is a back story to all of this that I will share, but today, suffice to say it was a long path there.  Sharing God's love with us, his four girls, occupied many conversations including the one I am sharing with you now.

I must have been four years old the first time I remember crawling up into my dad's lap and having this talk with him.  He would ask me if I knew who Jesus was and that he died for my sins.  He would ask me if I was ready to ask Him to live in my heart and I remember being very confused about what that meant and a little uncomfortable with the idea.  I would realize later that this was probably the still, small voice of my Saviour ushering me towards Him.  What I did not realize until much later was that by that simple act, my dad was showing me one of the deepest forms of love a parent can share with a child.  His concern was not for what new toy I wanted or what game I wanted to play in that moment, it was to provide a way for me to eternally have a father to whom I could always go.

My dad carried this tradition on with my daughter, who I am proud to say will see her Papa again someday.  However, my little guy, being a toddler when my dad left this world, did not get as many of these little talks with my dad.  One of the things that brought me great sadness was that my son would not get to know what a great man of God he was and how deeply he loved each of his grandchildren.  Little did I know how wrong I was.

When dad passed, I truly felt that my son would not even remember my dad, much less remember the man that he was.  I remember how my eyes welled with tears the first time he picked up a book my dad had written on salvation and carried it around calling it "Papa's book".  In a very simple conversation this Christmas season, my three year old son relayed seeing Papa in the sky, Papa telling him he could not come down here and telling me Papa had to fly away.  In yet another instance, I had downloaded a Bible story app for my daughter to use and instead my son has picked it up, answers the questions it asks correctly every time and thinks nothing of sharing it with other children.  It wasn't until a few of these things had happened that my mom shared something with me about my dad.  See, each time my son would go to their home, no matter how old he was, my dad picked him up in his lap, shared conversations with him and my mom would even hear him singing sweet hymns in my son's ear.

I have no doubt that my dad is sitting up in Heaven with both his earthly father and his Heavenly Father smiling proudly at how those small moments shared have carried on in my son's memory.  I have no doubt that God showed my dad that his time was coming to an end and gave provision to share with my son all the things I have loved about my dad.  And I guess that is the lesson I want to share, God gives provision for all your needs.  It may be that he prepared other people to fall in your path, for you to be late and avoid a catastrophe or just simply to allow your son to be innocent enough to see through the thin veil between here and Heaven to have conversations with his Papa.  My prayer today for all who venture onto my page is that you are given provision.  Whether it be compassion, strength, wisdom, or joy, I pray God meets you there and makes His presence known, that He pulls you into his lap and sings sweet words in your ear.  This gift of His presence is the best present anyone can receive.