A Mama's Dream Come True?

Last Friday, something happened to me that hasn't happened in sixteen years.

I was alone.  At home.  I was home alone!

I had put my husband on a plane to Detroit on Wednesday, put my two teenagers on a church bus to New York on Thursday, and then I put my youngest two in a suburban making its way to church camp on Friday.

It was just me and the dog for a whole 24 hours.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I've never had any "get away" time.  I've gone away on mission trips, I've gone away for a weekend with my husband, and I've even gone away on a personal sabbatical.  But, to be at home all by myself?  It hadn't happened since the oldest child was born.  As a mother who homeschools during the junior high years, I haven't even had the daytime hours alone at home yet.  And I have to admit, it was something I've dreamed about a few times.  Everyone in the office kept asking me what I was going to do with myself.  I didn't have trouble figuring it out.

I went to lunch, by myself, and ended up chatting for half an hour with a woman I had never met.

I drove to the drive in and got myself a sweet tea.  And then I drank it all by myself, without one person asking for a sip.

I drove twenty miles away and went shopping in what my kids call a "foo-foo" store, browsing house wares and jewelry and garden décor for an hour, with no one asking me when we were going to leave.

I picked up frozen Chinese food at the supermarket and took it home to eat--in front of the television, something I never allow the kids to do.

I took a hot bath without one time having to shout, "Mom's in here!  You'll have to wait!"

I read an entire novel until the wee hours of the morning.

I woke up late and drank my coffee on the back porch in complete silence.

And after all this bliss, do you know what I did? 

I checked the clock, saw I was to pick up my husband at the airport in less than an hour, and praised God that I would only be alone for a few more minutes.  And then I counted up how many hours until all my chicks would be back in the nest, and felt my heart leap for joy.

I think I'm good for another sixteen years.

Why Hope Exists for Less of Me and More of Him

There is a verse of Scripture jostling around in my spirit today.  A verse that speaks of my Jesus. 

"For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin."  Hebrews 4:15

I love this verse because it removes the "God card" factor.  Jesus didn't just play a God card and exempt himself from the possibility of sin.  No.  He was tempted.  In every way I have been tempted, and then some.  And at levels I have never had to face, for he was tempted by the destroyer himself, face to face.  (Matthew 4)

But, he's been there.  His heart has been tempted the way mine has. 

I sometimes imagine it.

When he saw his cousin beheaded, was he tempted to give in to disappointment and let a seed of bitterness sprout?

When his own hometown, his family and friends, could not see past his "ordinariness" and rejected his claims to be the Messiah, was he tempted to give in to anger and let a root of unforgiveness grow?

When the teachers of the law struck his face and spit on him, crying out that he was blaspheming the very name he shared with His father, was he tempted to give in to hopelessness for their redemption and let the tree of mankind wither and die?

When he was all alone in the garden, knowing the cross was coming the next day, was he tempted to tell God He didn't want to do it His way anymore?

These are real situations Jesus found himself in.  Real people he had to look in the face.  Real heart issues that so easily ensnare.

I find myself there all the time.

When God doesn't do what I thought He would do.

When people aren't as mature as I thought they were.

When someone assumes the worst about my intentions.

When my way looks better...or just easier...or just satisfies my wants more than His does.

And I don't always handle it the way He did.  For He didn't sin.

Oh, my Jesus, how I love you for that.  You could have, and you didn't.  You showed me it can be done.  And then you died for the times I would try to follow in your footsteps and fail. 

And today I have hope.  Because You did it.  Because You're still whispering that I can learn.

The God Of All Comfort

My husband and I just returned from a ten day trip to Eastern Europe.  We spent time in three nations, four hotels, and seven airplanes.  An exhausting, but glorious adventure.  Exhausting because we're getting older and felt the intense schedule a little more than we used to.  Glorious because we spent those ten days encouraging church leaders who are quietly doing the work of the Kingdom day in and day out, in nations where they are not only few in number, but often persecuted.

I was humbled to sit across table after table, drinking coffee after coffee, listening to their stories.

The band of brothers who met Jesus from reading a Bible after communism fell, with no one to help them in their new-found faith.  They are now four churches strong, each a vibrant fellowship.

The seaman who drove us to the airport who found the Lord when an elderly man asked him what he was looking for in life, and then proceeded to share with him life's greatest treasure.

The smiling pastor and his brilliant wife who have launched the only Bible school in their nation, pioneered three churches, and built a pre-school to minister to gypsy cast-offs.  They have now once again handed their work over to someone who will take it with care, and are starting over from scratch in yet another un-reached area.

The shoe maker who drove us over the mountains who has shared his faith at great personal cost, introducing everyone he meets to the love of his Jesus, even if that person happens to be an influential mafia leader.

The teenage girl who still loves Jesus, despite being often mocked as the only Christian in her entire high school.

The earnest church leader who prays with his teenage sons every morning for three hours for God to open up Heaven and rain down grace on his city.

The young woman who just married a pastor, whose face glowed as she told me they will travel to a new region to lead the only church in the city as they begin their lives together.  She is absorbing every teaching she can sit under and asking every question she can think of, just to be ready to love people and love them well.

The person after person who told us how they first heard of the name of Jesus, most of them late in life, a testament to how rarely His truth has been proclaimed there since the grip of communism first clenched the life out of their countries.

I was humbled because these people are heroes, living out their faith in a reality I have never had to walk in. 

I was humbled because they do so with joy and hope that what they are doing will make a difference in their nations. 

And I was humbled the most because they thanked me for sharing myself with them.

And when I returned home and faced the problems I had left on my desk and the new ones that had accumulated while I was gone, they didn't seem as impossible as they might have before.  In fact, they seemed quite possible.

So today, as I think of my new friends in the far-reaches of the earth, I pray Paul's thousands year old prayer,

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too."  (2 Corinthians 1:3-5)

May those who suffer for His name be filled with all measure of comfort and joy.  May they never lose sight of the great reward of seeing the lost come to faith.  And may I, when I face suffering, be as courageous as these.  Amen.

My First Love

This is the second post I've written today.  The first is finished.  And it ministered powerfully---to me. 

I realized as I was writing it that it couldn't be shared.  It was just a conversation between me and the God who loves me.

And it was beautifully refreshing.

I'm beginning to understand that when I'm processing something and I seek to "talk it out" too early with a friend, my spouse, or even on a blog post, I can tend to cut short the finished work. 

We all need sounding boards (especially women!), but what happens when I do not allow Jesus to be the first to hear and to speak?  What do I miss by rushing to the input of the world instead of first sitting at His feet?

Yes, I have people who listen and listen well.  They exhort me and edify me, often reminding me of God's truths when I have trouble remembering.  I hold on to them in gratefulness.

But, I do have a first love.

And He has a cup of coffee, sweetened just the way I like it sitting beside Him at His table. 

I'm fairly certain it's my dream house table, a shabby farmhouse type with some vintage linens and plate ware. 

And I have a chair waiting for me right beside Him. 

My first love. 

My love whose eyes light up when I take a seat and put my hand in His.

Five Little Things That Could Change the World

Most of the time, our youngest two get along beautifully.  When they don't, something like this soundbite from last week happens:

"Sweetheart, your big brother told me you two weren't getting along.  You want to tell me what happened?"

Instant tears.

"I was mad at him."

"Really?  Why is that?"

"Because he wouldn't play what I wanted him to play."  Long pause.  "So, I said some mean things."

"Hmmmmm.  Isn't your brother your best friend?"  Head nodding.  "And is that how you want to treat your best friend?"

Very long pause.  More tears.

"No."

Ah.  And there's the problematic truth.  She has discovered she isn't always the friend she wants to be. 

And I can feel her pain.

How many times have I wished after the fact that my words had been different?  That I had been able to offer the comfort or encouragement that was in my heart in a more tangible way?  That I had been more faithful, more true, or more gracious?  That I had been the friend I want to have?

The follow up to our conversation included instructions for her to write out a list of things she wanted to be as a friend.  She threw herself into it, even typing up her list on the typewriter her Nana gave her for Christmas.

I couldn't agree more with her decisions:


five things how i will treat my frinds

one  nice

              tow kind

                     three no tochie toche  (Admittedly, we had to laugh at this one--it's a reference to making sure she never used her hands to hurt her friends, but it did come out kinda funny.)

                                   four playful


                                              five treted like i would want to be treted



Amen and amen. 

Dear Seven Year Old Me

Twenty-nine years ago today, the seven year old version of me decided to become a follower of Jesus.  Compared to other childhood memories, I remember it quite clearly. 

I can picture myself in the Sunday School room of the church where my parents served on staff.  I can remember the teacher talking about the time she asked Jesus to be her Savior.  She went on to something else, but my mind didn't.  I could only hear those words "asked Jesus," over and over.

It was Wednesday of that same week, when the words were still resonating in my little girl heart, that I went to my mother and asked her to help me ask Jesus to be my Savior.  She was nervous, wanting to get it right.  She asked me if I could wait until Daddy got home.  But, I didn't want to wait, so we sat together and, in the space of one moment to the next, I passed the threshold into a new life.

Who could wait?  When your bridegroom is waiting for you with baited breath at the door, who wants to tell Him to wait?  When your new home is waiting for you in a glorious Kingdom, who wants to pass the mundane hours until Dad gets home?

And when I think about that girl, with a heart full of love for her Jesus, I feel so tender towards her.  She was young and innocent and full of trust.  She heard the Word, treasured it, believed it, and acted on it.

And she was changed.

No, she wasn't leaving behind a life of crime or drugs at the ripe old age of seven.  But, her change was still real.

She left darkness, and she took up residence in the light.

I can see her crawling into bed that night under her pink bedspread, whispering her prayers to her new Savior.  I can see her smile.  I can see her confidence that came from believing with her childlike faith that God is good and He loves her.

And if I, the twenty-nine years later version of me, could hold that girl in my arms on that day, I would rock her to sleep and tell her a few things. 

She doesn't need to know all the specifics.  They are better left to be discovered.  She doesn't need to know the names of the victories ahead, or the faces of the heartache that's coming. 

She just needs to know this:

Sweet girl, it won't always be easy, this road you have chosen.  There will be times when you will be asked to sacrifice and times you will need to go through the narrow gate, when the wider one seems so much more fun and convenient.  There will be times when people around you won't understand the decision you made or the decisions you will have to make to stay true to your first love.  There will be times when you feel like you can't see God and don't understand what He's doing.

But, little one, your faith is real.  It has changed you.  He has changed you.  And the best news of all, you will never, ever be alone again.  The one thing you've always feared---it can never happen, now.  No matter what, you will never be alone. 

The lover of your soul has joined His heart to yours now.  You have become one flesh with the One who died for you.  And He will never leave you or abandon you.

Instead, He will massage the wounds in your little heart until you no longer believe the lies that you are rejectable.  He will heal you with His love and unconditional acceptance.  He will transform you into what you have always desired to be.

So, sleep tight, little girl.  There are mountains ahead to be climbed, and views so glorious to behold, your dreams tonight can't compare.  There is a life to be lived that started today.  And it's a beautiful life.  A beautiful life joined to a beautiful God. 

The God who saves. 

The God who rescues. 

The God who delivers. 

The God who heals. 

The God who restores.

You can trust Him.


Author's Note:  If you are reading this today and are looking for what that seven year old girl found, you can meet Him---His healing is for you, too.  Click here to read more.  You don't even have to wait for your dad to get home.

I Love You Because

My husband and I have pages and pages of lists in our bedroom, and every list answers one question.  "I love you because..."

It was a sweet little tradition we started in college, filling up entire pages with all the reasons why we loved the other one and hiding them as tender suprises.  Through the years, we've continued it here and there, the stacks of lists growing as we entered each new phase of marriage and parenthood.

This morning, as I read the love letter on my shelf from my God, I was stunned by the words of the psalmist in Psalm 116:1, "I love the Lord because..." 

So, God enjoys getting those letters, too!  He likes to hear why his children love Him, why their heart is bent towards Him, so much so that He included someone's list in the pages of Scripture.

My mind has been working on a new list all day.  Lord, I love You because...

And the answers can fill notebook after notebook.

I have no doubt He would love to receive one from you as well.