Walking with Him is Always Tied to Elevation

I have been thinking about women in the Bible for awhile now. Especially those moments when women of the Bible are crumpled on their knees, completely broken or otherwise crying out for God’s intervention. In reading my devotions for Easter, I was struck all the more.

Hannah was so grieved for a child, that she was willing to lay herself at the alter and petition “The-God-of-Angel-Armies” to really look at her pain and stop neglecting her (MSG translation). To me, that’s a bold prayer.

Her prayer was so fervent and heartbroken, Eli, the temple priest, momentarily thought her drunk. After talking with her though, he told her to go in peace and supported her by asking God to give her what she had prayed for (providing agreement in prayer for her).

When Hagar and Ishmael were cast out into the desert and had reached the end of their resources against the elements, God heard Hagar’s cries. In that moment of interaction, He became “The-One-Who-Sees-Me.” Imagine being a slave and outcast, abused and left to die in the desert, when the God of the universe shows up for you. Imagine how that might make you feel to not be left unseen for once?

The “sinful” woman that anointed Jesus’ feet with oil, may be the woman with whom I most relate. Imagine the inner turmoil that must have taken place within her to do this. How crazy a thought this must have seemed, pushing her way into a group of men, wracked with grief to sob at Jesus feet.

In all of these moments God met them right where they were. In Hagar’s case, He told her to rise. In Hannah’s case, He sent the Temple Priest to tell her to go and be blessed. For the woman with the oil, He made sure her actions would be commended to all the world forever. I am sure there was a blessing in her sacrifice.

God sees us and hears us when we are at our lowest, most broken. When we are on our knees, God shows up to lift us up. He may do it Himself or he may send someone else. In all cases He intervenes. What I noticed most was his call to rise or go. From Hannah, to the woman accused of adultery, to so many more. He always encouraged people to rise. We were never meant to stay broken, on the floor. Walking with Him is always tied to elevation.

In so many ways, women of the Bible prove themselves to be the most brave. From doggedly following Jesus to save sons, to staying close at the crucifixion, to grasping the hem of his garments, to being there to take his body to the tomb when his other followers had run away afraid. Women are shown to be the last to hold on to Jesus. I think this is why the women in Jesus ministry were given the greatest honor in knowing He had risen first.

Write a Personal Mission Statement and Choose Your Word for 2016

Over the last few years I have become acquainted with a group of wonderful women and teachers who have introduced me to new topics on balancing my life.  They have helped show me that you can hold grace and love in one hand while holding grief and pain in the other.  Best of all they have shown me that doing so is completely ok.  Another thing I have learned is you can choose a word for your year as a guide or mantra to refocus when you need it.  In researching how to choose a word for the year, I also came across a link on how to pen your mission statement for the year which I found very interesting so I decided to give it a try.

In doing the soul searching for the statement I was asked what kind of person I wanted to be, and what words described that person.  I was also asked what I wanted from my life and what my values were, and what I wanted to be remembered for?

Having stepped into my forties, I find that I ask myself these deeper questions more often anyway because I feel like I have less time to really make an impact or do what my makes my soul happy.  So I found that I want to be a person known for being open and kind, that I wanted others to feel as though they mattered when I spent time with them.  I want to be honest, kind, supporting and faithful.  I also found that I want my days to be spent in meaningful pursuits that make me a better person, and let me create memories with those I love the most.

From this I have decided that my mission statement for 2016 is as follows:

I want to spend this upcoming year being faithful to myself, challenging myself to be kinder, calmer and to focus on bringing balance to my life.  I want to proactively choose to look for and find the beauty and joy in each day, even when they day is ugly and painful.

From this I chose my word to be Harmony, because I am seeking to find harmony in my life.

I'd like to challenge you to take some time and do some soul searching about what you want to make happen in this new year while also being kind to yourself in the deciding.  You don't have to move mountains this year, sometimes sifting grains of sand is more than enough.  The goal is bring calm to your soul and help you refocus on what you need each day to make 2016 all you'd like it to be.

***For step by step instructions on writing your mission statement you can take a look at Kara Benz's blog here.

You can also read over Liz Lamoreux's pointers for choosing a word for your year here.  I have thoroughly enjoyed her classes on how to be present in my daily life and encourage you to read over her blog and take one of her online classes when you can.

Happy New Year!

In Appreciation of Living

So I am participating in an email "course" in finding the beauty, joys, and happy in the chaos of our days and the author had a blog that I thought I'd like to recreate from my view point.

The inspiration comes from Liz Lamoreeux at http://www.lizlamoreux.com.

So today, I have been learning about finding the happy, the quiet and the "yes" in my chaotic moments so here goes...

So this post isn't about the fact that sometimes my son is ungrateful and can be overly messy.

This is about the fact that he's only little once and the legos that land everywhere one day will be gone and his creative cries of "Momma look!" will be memories.

This post is also not about the fact that some days there are kid shows I have to watch and hear entirely too much, too loud and with terrible story lines that make me cringe, nor the history videos on Youtube.com that my son "quizes" me one like I'm supposed to be a fluent historian until my head hurts.  

Instead it is about the fact that my son loves to learn, that he has a witty sense of humor and is incredibly witty.  That he makes me laugh, and shares secrets and still loves to cuddle.  That sometimes, I am still the cool mom, and not the incredibly stupid "mother" who should know better. :)

This post is not about the dogs and how much they make messes, especially when I don't have time to deal with them.  How the little pup I rescued while having a mid-life, unrequited baby ache, ate half the house and still makes me question my sanity.  It is not about how much trouble he has been, but how cute he is.  How sweet he is and how smart (sometimes too smart) he is.  That he is dedicated to me and gives the most delicate kisses, even though he sheds all over the couch.

So today is a day of embracing the sweetness, and "choosing" to look at the good things and not getting caught up in the stress of everything I see as wrong, crazy and frustrating some days.

A Walk Down Memory Lane at Forty

So I've been thinking back on my life and all that's changed.  When I was born Watergate was making the news and gas was .36 cents a gallon.  Children didn't need car seats, putting a baby to bed on his/her tummy was just fine, and we slept in cribs that are now considered unsafe. I could walk half a mile down the road to visit a local convenience store with a friend, baby dolls in tow, and never felt unsafe and our parents were "ok" with it. A neighbor could call me down and garner as much fear and respect as my own parents. I ran the neighborhood until dark and my mother's yell was my call to come in.

I didn't have video games and my phone had a cord. LOL I had Donnie and Marie dolls, a Bionic Woman doll and thought roller skating was a perfect way to spend a Friday night in elementary school.  I played on donated giant construction machine tires, and culverts on  my schools playground and the monkey bars were not forbidden, even if Tommy had fallen and broken his arm on them the other week. I went to church every time the doors were open.  I got spankings and switched when I had made the wrong behavior choices or mouthed off.  My grandmother gave me a teaspoon of paregoric liquid with a spoonful of sugar when I had a tummy ache, and warmed sweet oil to pour in my ears when I had an ear infection. I got rubbed down with Vicks salve when I had a cold. Everything was decorated in wood paneling, pea green and various shades of unattractive orange. Shag carpeting was everywhere (even in some vans) and some version of plaid was popular from shirts to couch upholstery. I remember feeling rich when we could afford a microwave (it was HUGE back then btw), and my first radio contest win was for free tickets to see the original "Footloose" and a case of Snapple.

My favorite memories are of watching shows through the week with my mom snuggled up in our bed with our little tv that actually had a remote!  I  grew up watching the Brady Bunch, Captain Kangaroo, The 6 Million Dollar Man, the Bionic Woman, The Dolly Parton Show, The Rockford Files (James Garner was my first crush or so my mother tells me) and Hollywood Squares.  They ran Dark Shadow's every afternoon when I got home from school.  I thought the Dukes of Hazard were awesome.  The Greatest American Hero was funny and everyone hung on breathlessly all summer to find who shot JR. LOL  I remember hearing Walter Cronkrite sign off the news every night; "...And that's the way it is..."  I'd like to see more of his dignity and unbiased reporting today.

I remember when it used to "really" snow in the winter in Knoxville.  I remember going to a small grocery store with wooden floors and my mom actually asking a butcher for meats.  I remember when my community only had one red light.

Times have changed, some things are for the good like many diseases are nearly gone, and some for worse, we never seem to have a minute to sit and just be lazy anymore.  Our kids sit across from each other texting instead of engaging in a real conversation and they never seem to get to be kids anymore.  We can't offer them the freedom to wander the neighborhood and create their own adventures like we did and they'd rather sit entranced in front of some technology rather than go outside anyway.  We can communicate across the world with a key stroke, but we don't know our next door neighbor's first name.  I am thankful for our technology and appreciate the conveniences, but sometimes I think it would be nice for shops to close at 7:00pm and be closed on Sundays at least for a little while.  We don't have to always "need" something right and it would be nice to spend an afternoon talking on the front porch swing.

So at 40 I'm trying to schedule in a little more down time and silly time with my son.  I'm repainting the expectations in my head or what a happy life looks like and forgiving myself for not having a spotless house and being great country cook.  I'm turning toward more time disconnected from technology (once I post this of course) and seeking out experiences with friends and family.  So happy birthday to me and here's to 40 more, may I be wiser than I was in the last 40 and may God help me make them meaningful.

Quiet Moonlight

In the quiet moonlight, ripples form on the water reflecting its glow, spreading it out into a hundred different directions. Under the stars he sits drinking in the quiet calm; breathing in the peace afforded in the sound of the water and the stillness of the night…Peace be still.


Life in all its facets leaves us drained sometimes. Drained and empty in need of refreshing. In these moments we must take time to draw near to our Rock and draw strength from Him. For only in those moments will we find strength for the journey.


Too often we find ourselves stumbling forward in exhaustion trying in our own strength to carry the load, struggling to light our own beacon when if we'd pause, we'd find a hand waiting and a spark to rekindle the flame we were so ill-prepared to light ourselves.


In the quiet moments when our heart connects with another's in humanity; when we realize that we are not alone and that there are others who feel for us. When we see a hand of kindness that was unexpected in the coming; then and only then can we see God in us. In the quiet humanity that is inherently good in all of us; the hand to hold, the heart that sympathizes, and the shared experience that bonds us in fidelity. These are the things that give us hope in ourselves, while pointing to a greater power because in and of ourselves the good would be wasted or left undone.


Draw in the strength. Draw in the peace. The Savior is standing ready to catch you, to heal your wounds and grant you peace for the journey so that in the healing, you can continue the ripple that was begun in the water and thereby touch someone else.

How Do You Say Goodbye to Yesterday?

How do you say goodbye to yesterday? How do you say goodbye to memories and places that will forever be in your heart? You never realize how much a house or a knick-knack is a part of you until you stand there packing things away because its time to let them go.

I helped pack up my uncle's house today, but I found myself packing away so much more than things. As I turned a corner or opened a drawer, I was confronted with old memories of running around that house as a child when my grandmother lived there-when I lived there-because almost all of us had lived in that house at one time or another. There are so many memories tied to that house and to the one next door. I could hear my grandmother call me to breakfast. I could see myself playing in the back yard. I learned to ride my bike on that street. I held hands with one of my first boyfriends on that swing. My granddad used to whittle underneath that old tree.

We disconnected a phone number that had been tied to my family and that house for over forty years! Its like saying goodbye to an era as much as it saying goodbye to loved ones. The pain I feel as I write this is crushing. How do you begin to box up all those years and find some way to salvage the love and tears that are held in those walls? How do take them away from a place and make others understand in the future what happened there?

I want people to understand what happened there. I want people to know about the wonderful people who lived in those houses, who took care of people and kissed boo boos. I want people to know about the old man that used to garden that back field, to know about that special woman who always put others first. I want them to remember my uncle for his loving heart and his commitment to see others for who they were inside and accept them with a quiet grace.

How do I do that? How do I make those lives live on because I don't want to pack them away into boxes. I don't want them to fade away. 910 and 914 Minnesota Ave. you were a haven, a comfort, and so much more than shelter. You were home.


Addendum:
I wrote this in November of 2008 after losing my uncle quite suddenly. In packing away his things, I realized how much of my life was getting packed away as well. It was a heartbreaking time for my family because we are so tight-knit. I still don't know how to hold on to these memories or how to preserve the people we've lost for the future to see, but I hope one day I can.

Across the Floor

The DJ looked out on the crowd. Bass thumping, laser lights pulsing in time to the rhythms he alone created. Bodies pulsed and swayed in time to the music. Glow sticks swirled in celestial patterns, merging with the laser lights, bathing the crowd in a surreal glow. The crowd was united tonight. United in the love of the beat and the music, just the way he liked it.

He lifted one side of the headphones to his ear to cue up the next track. Tonight they were riding the same wave. Every vibration was sensual, every movement erotic. The crowd swayed, caught up in the hypnotic sound that was Trance. With each button pressed, each CD selected, each sound-bite looped, he controlled them, carried them to the edge of climax and then pulled them back from the edge of satisfaction. Over and over they would ride the wave until the sun would begin to spread its amber fingertips across the sky. Then they would return to their lairs, exhausted to sleep away the light of day.

This was what he lived for, where he felt most alive. There were no doubts here, everything he did was right. Here he was a god. With each sound wave, he would woo the crowd, drawing them into a world of his own making. He was loved here, accepted with open arms because of the mood he created with the sound. He provided an escape, for himself and for those who moved on the dance floor. Tomorrow would come, but for now there was just the music and the movement.

With the next track cued, he looked up and their eyes met. His woman, nymph or muse for the night, for each night there was one. She would always find him with her eyes and for that night they would be lovers. The music whispering to each other what spoken words would never do, their eyes seducing each other with a promise that would never be fulfilled outside the dance floor. Though they would never touch they would be marked indelibly.

He would love her by the music he chose, for each rhythm would entice her to move and she in that movement would love him in return because he would know she moved just for him. These moments were part of why he would walk away spent, having given so much of himself in the making. These too were the moments that drew him back, intoxicating him with the fulfillment only the music could provide. He craved it, ached for its fulfillment. The music was his and he belonged to it.