Emmy Lou and Her Red Dancing Shoes

I can’t tell you why I suddenly thought of Emmy Lou. Her image just came to me and it seemed important to remember her. I could picture her petite frame, her coal black curly hair, her laugh, but sadly I could not recall  her face. I  wanted to, if only to pay respect to this lady who had brought so much joy to my family so many years ago.
Her name was Emmy Lou and she was Momma’s girlfriend.  Momma didn’t have many girlfriends so Emmy Lou was special.
I like to think of the evenings I was allowed to spend with Emmy Lou. Her house was as petite as she was and her decorating as eclectic as her personality. I remembered she liked to collect things, nothing of particular value, just things that seemed to have caught her fancy. It was as if she couldn’t resist bringing home the misfit, chipped or broken things.  Maybe that was how she thought of Momma and us, taking us in and giving us a place in her life, a place of value.
I loved  her tea cup collection, it was my favorite. Not one cup or saucer matched, but that didn’t seem to matter to Emmy Lou who displayed them as if they were priceless pieces of art. On those nights when I was allowed to touch them, I could imagine myself sipping tea in a big fancy house, little finger cocked all prim and proper.
Emmy Lou also owned  an enormous amount of  costume jewelry and  fancy dresses and many pairs of high heeled shoes.  She indulged me by letting me try on any piece of jewelry. I would load up with bracelets and necklaces and make believe I was in a splendid palace about to make a grand entrance.
The most special memories of Emmy Lou were the times she would come for dinner. Momma and Emmy Lou would be in the kitchen cooking up a storm. We would be all excited because there was lots of laughter coming from the kitchen. Since Momma didn’t laugh often, it made us happy. They were southern women so the food reflected their heritage; fried chicken , green beans, ham, biscuits and gravy. It was a feast to our eyes and a delight to our tummies. .
There would be laughter and chatter, something that seldom occurred at our dinner table when Papa was home. Emmy Lou would share with us the funniest of stories and Momma would lean back in her chair, toss her head back, and belly laugh. I loved those moments; Momma looked so young and there would be that rare moment when I felt as if I caught a glimpse into what she must have looked like as a young girl. Only Emmy Lou could make her laugh so heartily.
When supper was over we would help clear the table and  dry the dishes without any complaints because we knew the best  was yet to come.
Momma would take out a record and when she placed the needle down on the well worn vinyl Emmy Lou would magically appear in her red dancing shoes. She would waltz, do the two step, the Charleston, and other dances we had no name for. We would clap our hands and yell for more and Emmy Lou was always willing to accommodate our demands. She would pull us from our seats one by one and dance with us. We, of course knew nothing of the steps but it didn’t matter, we were delighted to imitate Emmy Lou. She had such a gift for making you feel so special that you were never embarrassed to make a fool of yourself.
We hated when the evening ended. Emmy Lou would hug and kiss us good-bye, promising to return soon. Once the door closed behind her such an emptiness came upon us. It was as if a bright light had gone dim, and indeed it had. A pall fell over the house and we  would slowly climb the stairs, glancing over our shoulder at a dining room that only minutes before had seemed so alive, but now was dark with only Emmy Lou’s Evening in Paris  perfume lingering in the air.
I saw others whisper to  Momma about Emmy Lou. I never knew what was said,  just the fact that it had to be whispered told me it was probably not kind. Momma never commented, she just stared straight ahead. I admired that about Momma, she was a good and loyal friend.
Now as an adult I know that Emmy Lou had indeed led a colorful life. I learned that Emmy Lou frequented the local taverns, where it was said she partook in alcohol and danced into the wee hours of the morning, and that she had many men friends. All very scandalous in a small town where everyone knew everyone’s business and judging others behavior seemed to be an occupation.
Suddenly it came to me, not the face, that would probably never reappear. It came to me why I so wanted to remember Emmy Lou. It was because this woman of scandalous behavior  brought so much joy into the lives of a family that was desperate for laughter, love and gaiety. It came at no cost; nothing was required of us, we weren’t judged, we were just loved by a woman we deemed to be an angel in red shoes, who danced into our very dark lives and made us happy.
Momma was a good Christian woman and I know she would have seen Emmy Lou as one of God’s children. She would have shared the Gospel with Emmy Lou.  She would have prayed for her everyday. Momma believed in planting the seed and letting God do the rest.
I remember as children we always included her in our prayers. We would thank God for sending us an angel by the name of Emmy Lou. And then we would ask Him to please send her back soon. And He always did.
In thinking of her now, I am still touched by her kindness to Momma and us. I will always believe because of that kindness and unconditional love for us she was an unfinished project of God’s; one he was working on through Momma, and we know “with God all things are possible.”
It is said that when you get to heaven God will ask “ Did you bring anyone with you?”  I know Momma will be able to say, “Emmy Lou and her red dancing shoes.”

“ Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in it various forms.” 1 Peter 4:8-10

LIFE INTERRUPTED

G.K. Chesterton, the English author, often forgot where he was going, and would miss appointments and trains to take him there. It is said on many occasions he would send a telegram to his wife asking, “Where ought I to be”?  And many times, she would reply “At home.”  
Countless days I have felt like G.K. Chesterton; double booking, over scheduling, and rushing from one commitment to another, filling every minute of my day. Sound familiar?
I started to feel ill a few days before Christmas, but tried not to take notice, and thought it to be a minor inconvenience. But as the days passed I realized “it” had taken up residence and was not about to leave. I went to a walk-in-clinic and they prescribed an antibiotic. I busied myself with books, crocheting, and sleep while waiting for signs I was on the mend.
I prayed;
Dear God help me to heal quickly, I have so much work to do for you.
Dear God, no change, please help me get well soon.
Dear God, Hello are you there?
Dear God still waiting for the cure.
Dear God, this is annoying can you send me a sign?
Dear Jesus, Your Father is not answering can you talk to him?
Heading into the third week, I went to my regular physician who chose to put me through a battery of tests.
Dear God, I am really getting behind in my schedule.
God this is not funny!
The silence was deafening. They say God answer’s prayer three ways, Yes, No and wait. I was definitely in God’s waiting room.
I have heard that when you awake each day you have two choices to live by,
faith or fear. When I did not get an answer and I was not improving, I gave way to fear and when you open the door to fear, its little minions march in along side. So not only are you fearful, but you experience other negative symptoms.
One day I remembered a verse from a song that says “as the thunder rolls I can barely hear you whisper through the rain, ‘I am with you‘”
I had been causing a lot of thunder. I was so focused on myself that I would not have heard God short of Him roaring in my ear. Could it be I was standing in my own way? Perhaps I needed to reflect on where I was going and what I have been doing.
Had I become so self absorbed that my relationship with God was suffering? My prayers, my devotionals, my bible studies were more briefed than studied. It seemed I was always praying on the fly, anxious to get to my next project. When I would feel a twinge of guilt I would assuage it by thinking, God understands. It had not occurred to me that my plans were not Gods plans. After all, these works were for him, I would be doing them in His name. You can imagine my shame when it occurred to me that I was quite possibly doing them in MY NAME!! How embarrassing, how humbling. How could I have gotten so far off track?
Christians often speak of their calling in referring to the work they do for God. However, sometimes the calling can be in reverse; God calling us away from what we are doing. Was this the situation in which I found myself?
My down time was one of those blessings in disguise. I had time to put my relationship with God under the microscope, to analyze why I had become so caught up in “works” for God and not working on my relationship with Him.
I was expecting God’s blessings, forgetting they are a gift. He is not in the business of answering prayers on demand. He is not a celestial gift shop. Thankfully, once I stopped complaining and started focusing on Him, I found my answers. Happily, I am on the mend both spiritually and physically.

“….Do not be silent to me,
Lest, if You are silent to me
 I become like those who go down to the pit” Psalm 28:1

“Hear my prayer, oh Lord
Give ear to my supplications
In your faithfulness answer me.” Psalm 143:1

“For by grace you have been saved through faith and that not of yourselves;
It is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.” Ephesians 2:11

Bicycle built for two

The wheels of life go round and round, round and round.
Life can viewed as riding a bike. The wheels that take us on our journey contain within their rims the story of our life.
As life goes forward, our wheels turn carrying us toward our destination. We are peddlers through life. As we steer along life’s path we are faced with many obstacles which threaten to throw us off course or cause us to have a head on collision. Each ride requires us to be vigilant of the path we have taken, sometimes requiring us to seek another path. A ride through life is a spiritual balancing act and like the cyclist on the high wire act, we are always in danger of falling off.
Each day we climb on to our bike and start peddling. Some days we cruise along with little interruption. We feel in control, a pleasant ride, coasting along through an uneventful day. Climbing off we congratulate ourselves on a good days ride.
Other days we find the path we have chosen is filled with bumps, pot holes, and detour signs. On those days we bob and weave our bike through situations that threaten to throw us off. Other days we wisely shift into reverse, backing up to take a less hazardous route.
 But inevitably the day comes when we are caught off guard, riding head on into disaster. We have a total wipe out that can leave us in an emotional heap. We lose our confidence, we question our faith, we suffer spiritually and we ask, “Is this journey, this path through life worth the effort”?
How quickly we forget that our ride is never alone, that we are riding in tandem with God. Sadly, we easily make God our co-pilot, not our pilot, ensuring a ride that will eventually have consequences in our relationship with Him.
The bumps and pot holes can cause the first crack in our relationship with God. Often we congratulate ourselves for skillfully navigating our way through life, boasting to others of our competence, taking all the credit, choosing to leave God on the back seat of our bike.
Then comes the day of the crash, one that leaves us bruised, broken and questioning. We think “I didn’t see it coming, this is unfair, and I don’t deserve this”! Slowly picking ourselves up, we begin the process of assessment or, is it blame? We ask, “Where were you God when I needed you?  Why didn’t you warn me, you were supposed to be there?” Then comes the litany of self effacing excuses; “I go to church, I pray, I serve others, how you could let this happen to me”. I think His response would be (my words); I was ALWAYS with you, I was on the back seat where you conveniently placed me when you chose to be your own pilot. When you decided you didn’t need me to help you on your daily ride.
As mortals we are predisposed to thinking we are in charge of our own destiny, which is why we often think we can choose the paths we take without first communing with God. Everyday we climb on the bike, we are free to make the decision of who is going to be the master of our ride.
As we peddle forward there are no guarantees that troubles are not around each corner. But this we know; if we choose to make God our Pilot, if we lean on him, if we keep to His word and let Him choose our paths, the ride will always, always be easier!
For it is written:

“…He guides me in paths of righteousness”  Psalm 23:3
“You have made know to me the path of life.”  Psalm 16:11
“Teach me your way oh Lord: lead me in a straight path..” Psalm 27; 11
“Never will I leave you; Never will I forsake you.” Hebrews 13:5

Have a great ride!

Mary Did You Know?

She was but a child herself, this young Jewish girl who rode upon a donkey pregnant with child. A grueling trip through the desert would bring her to a town called Bethlehem. There she would deliver a baby who would change the world forever.
 Mary did you know?
The angel Gabriel had told this young virgin in a dream that she had been chosen to give birth “Do not be afraid Mary, you have found favor with God. You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most high.” Luke 1: 30-32. To this she replies, “I am the Lord’s servant” “May it be to me as you have said”.
What must she have thought of this monumental prophecy? She tells us that she is humbled to be chosen to give birth to this child. In this she reveals an astonishing faith and obedience to God, one which most of us can only hope to achieve at the pinnacle of our faith. She must have known the repercussions could be devastating to her. How would she tell Joseph her betrothed? And what of the humiliation her family would suffer? Not to mention the very real possibility she could be stoned to death.
Mary’s obedience to God and her surrender to him is an example of what God desires from us. The simplicity of her faith is still a model for us today. God tells us to trust in Him and lean not on our own understanding. Can we do what God asks, can we be a Mary in today’s world?

*Mary did you know
That your baby boy would one day walk on water?
Mary did you know
That your Baby Boy would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know
That your Baby Boy has come to make you new?
This Child that you delivered will soon deliver you.
Mary, did you know that your Baby Boy will give sight to a blind man?
Mary, did you know
That your Baby Boy will calm the storm with His hand?
Did you know
That your Baby Boy has walked where angels trod?
When you kiss your little Baby you kissed the face of God?
The blind will see.
The deaf will hear.
The lame will leap
The dumb will speak
The praises of The Lamb
Mary, did you know
That your Baby Boy is Lord of all creation?
Mary, did you know
That your Baby Boy rule the nations?
Mary, did you know
That your Baby Boy would one day rule the nations?
Did you know
That your Baby Boy is heaven’s perfect Lamb?
The sleeping Child you’re holding is the
GREAT, I AM.

 May we all have that same faith and trust in God during this blessed season.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!


[Lyrics written by Mark Lowry and Buddy Green]

TRADITION!

“And while they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave  birth to her first born, a son. She wrapped him in cloths, and placed
 him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”
Luke 2: 6-7 (NIV)

Some two thousand years ago in the town of Bethlehem a child was born marking for Christians the beginning of Christmas.  Angels sang, shepherds gathered, wise men came and three Kings followed a star to bring gifts to this child. Christian tradition began with the birth of Jesus.
A text message recently arrived on my cell phone from my granddaughters’ with a picture of Christmas ornaments they had hung on their tree. They were my mother’s ornaments, their great grandmothers, the same ones I had hung as a child on my family Christmas tree.
More pictures arrive of another granddaughter setting out a manger scene I had made many years ago, then another of a grandson hanging a Christmas bulb that had been hung by their mother on our family trees years ago. These ornaments hung by different family members in homes miles apart represent continuity of generations. Tradition!
Each year my children’s homes display Christmas items which were a part of their childhood, sharing with their own children the magic of their Christmases past. From a distance, I reminisce about those years gone by, remembering the excitement of the nights we would gather to open the boxes and lay out our ornaments. As little children they would shout with glee as they unwrapped each ornament. As teenagers, an ornament made as a child would awaken a memory of when it was made. As young adults, they would say, “ I can’t believe you saved this”.
Even though we are no longer together on Christmas day, we are connected by those ornaments and the memories that unite us. Tradition!
Some will argue that we have forgotten “ the reason for the season”. Sadly, in many cases this is true. Many have chosen not to celebrate the birth of Jesus, instead choosing to focus on non-religious elements added throughout the years. In a Seinfeld episode George declares it should be called “festivus day”. A secular holiday with the slogan  “Festivus for the rest of us”.
But let us take solace in this; however families chose to celebrate the Christmas season, families will gather and traditions will take place. People will travel from afar, homes will be decorated, gifts will be given, songs will be sung, and baby Jesus will be placed in the manger.
Sound familiar? Angels sang, shepherds gathered, wise men traveled and three Kings brought gifts, all to celebrate the birth of our Lord.
And tradition began those many years ago.

The Christmas Dress

As I recall, for I was very young, it was the biggest box under the Christmas tree that year. It was wrapped in shiny department store paper, touting a big red bow. That in itself made us giddy waiting for it to be opened, since all other packages were wrapped rather haphazardly in last years Christmas paper. The tag read; to Kathryn from Fred, my mom and dad.
Christmas day arrived and mother opened the package and I held my breath in anticipation. I remember thinking for a brief moment before I became caught up in the excitement of what was inside, that my mother had a strange look on her face. She then held up what I thought was the most beautiful dress in my memory. I remember it to this day. It was a cocktail dress, the first I had ever seen. The skirt was black crepe, with a pabulum encircling the waist, a bodice of flesh colored satin with a black lace overlay, and the sweetest little cap sleeves.
In reflecting on that morning many years later, I think of what must have gone through my mother’s mind. A cocktail dress? She had never attended a cocktail party or any affair that would have ever enabled her to wear such a dress. She probably thought of all the things she so needed and could have bought with the monies spent on the dress. But she graciously accepted it and then hung it in the closet. Well, actually many closets, as it went with us in several moves.
As the years passed and the dress was never worn, we would ask her what she planned to do with it and she would answer “I guess I’ll just be buried in it”. Eventually the dress moved from the closet to a trunk, buried deep amongst everything else my mother saved.
When mother passed away, my sister and I removed the dress to take it to the funeral director. She at last would wear the dress. But alas, as the years passed, it was apparent it was not going to fit mother.
We were saddened. So we decided to keep it and share it as for what ever reasons we too couldn’t part with the dress. I don’t recall the logistics of how we decided who was to have it and for how long. I only remember that it hung in my closet for years and moved with me from one state to another. And there it hung in the back of my closet, just has it had in my mothers, long forgotten.
One February as I was cleaning out the closet I came upon the dress. Memories of that Christmas morning long ago came rushing forward and I was saddened. My father had never seen my mother in the dress and mother had stored it waiting for a day that would never come. A gift given, a treasure saved for naught.
I decided I needed to wear the dress to honor my father and mother. It so happened it was close to Valentines Day, the perfect day I thought, for its unveiling.
A plan emerged; I would have a special Valentines Day candlelight dinner with my husband, and I would wear the dress.
The day came and I prepared a special dinner, setting the table in all its finest. I carefully slipped into the dress, which was now vintage and therefore fragile and suffering from a few moth holes. Suddenly I was transformed back to that Christmas morning when I had first seen the dress. It still held for me its mysterious beauty of satin and lace.
That evening as candles flickered and shadows danced off the walls, as the flesh colored satin seem to shimmer in their light, the dress seemed even more beautiful than I remembered. It at last had its day of honor.
Now, years later, when I think of the dress I remember Jesus words;
 “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6:19-20 (NIV).
The dress represented a treasure stored up and never worn by my mother. But the good news is she didn’t need to wear it, she was the treasure on earth through her kindness to others. And she knew her treasures would be in heaven where she would be dressed in the shining cloth of God’s glory.

Thanks For the Memories

“For I know the plans I have for you”, declares the Lord, “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

As I locked the door behind me and heard the familiar sound of the wooden screen door shut, I knew I was closing the door on 12 years of the sweetest memories one could only hope for.

We had come to Maine this last time to remove a lifetime full of treasures, saying good-bye to a home we had built. I always like to tell people, “this home is so me” and indeed it was.
From the minute we decided to build a summer home in Maine, always my dream, I searched for the perfect plans. It would have a large screened in porch, a great room with a fireplace and a kitchen with a huge counter where we could all gather. And eventually a music room would be added where the grand piano would stand and bookcases that sagged with the weight of cherished books. And so it was.
But for all my plans the best part could not have been drawn on any architects board. No, those were the memories which came from family and friends who passed through the door those many years to make it the perfect summer place.
An oversized bulletin board hung as you first entered where pictures from the previous summer were posted. Returning guests would stop to see if they had “ made the board.” Such great fun remembering the year before and seeing the changes in those who came year after year.
Lobster dinners on the screened in porch were the best. Lazy afternoons consisted of naps, or wonderful conversations about everything and about nothing.
I watched my grandchildren and their friends learn to swim, tube, water ski, and yes even “skinny dip” with Mame when they came of age. Girls only.
Young couples came to visit as boyfriend and girlfriend, then again as engaged couples. They would marry, we would attend their weddings and then they would bring their babies. How wonderful the circle of life.
Our daughter and granddaughters lived next door. The well worn path between the two houses was known as the “mommy trail”, and every morning since they were toddler’s our three granddaughters and eventually cousins and friends would walk the mommy trail. Carrying blankets and bottles, they would come streaming in for pancakes at Mames. Papa and I had a pancake tossing contest that went on for years. I will now admit Papa won since his pancake mark is still on the ceiling, while mine never reached such heights. I loved the sounds of the children screeching as we wildly steered the skillet to catch the pancakes on their downward spiral.
One of our daughters was married in Maine and we held the rehearsal dinner at our home. Her future in laws were “city folk” and when I invited them to join us for a bon fire down by the lake, they asked “ are there any bears out there?”
Some of our favorite times were in the evenings after a huge dinner; the children would disappear into the bedroom that held what we fondly called the “tickle trunk”, which was full of dress up clothes, shoes, hats and accessories. They would choreograph a play and then perform for all. I remember the shy children who at first could not be dragged onto any stage let alone perform. Soon they too would be captivated by the magic of the evening and would appear in a costume they had concocted singing and dancing their way thorough the night, encouraged by the ever zealous audience.
In the dark of the night we would fall asleep to the haunting call of the Loons that lived on our lake, and we would awake to those same wonderful calls. We would gather in the mornings on the porch with our steaming cups of coffee and languish away a few hours still in our pjs just sharing our thoughts. Time seemed to stand still in that wonderful house. We had time to just enjoy each other, no schedules, nothing pressing us. Our biggest decision seemed to be what to have for dinner.
The fourth of July was always one of my favorite days. Huge meals would be planned. A special craft for the children to make hats, purses, tee shirts, flip flops always decorated in red, white and blue glitter, which I would find in crevices years later. As soon as it was dark we would gather blankets and sweaters and hop onto the pontoon boat to drive across the lake, where Camp Kokatosee provided us with a fabulous fireworks display. Singing God Bless America at the top of our lungs with all the other boats that had gathered was a sight and sound to behold.
When we pulled away that last day I saw the ghosts of times past smiling at me. As we drove down the “bumpy road” and gave one final nod to our sign on the tree marking the way to our home, I had only a small lump in my throat.
You see I know now that those years were gifts, ones I truly enjoyed and appreciated and was able to share. Those memories will not be left behind they will be with me forever living in my heart.
I know God has a new plan for me. He has opened a new door and is taking me in a new direction. Who could possibly be sad with God’s plan on the horizon. But no matter where He leads me I will have left part of me in the little grey cottage, with the big ole’ porch .
And so I say:
To all of you who came and made it so special THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES AND GOD BLESS.
　

Thank You For the Music

It seems I am living my life in the fast lane. This past month has found me traveling a great deal, often feeling like I don’t have time to stop and smell the roses.
Today I went on a much needed walk. I started out like a speed walker heading for the finish line. Ipod blasting in my ears, mind mentally checking off my to do’s for the day. No time for appreciating anything around me, I felt like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland “ I’m late, I’m late for a very important date. No time to say hello, goodbye, I’m late, I’m late, I’m late”.
Then as if on cue the song “Thank You for the music” started to play. A song from the 70’s sung by the Swedish group Abba. I have heard this song many times but today I heard it with different ears. The lyrics took on a new meaning to me.
My pace slowed as I began to think of the sweet music of being a Christian. Of how each day God can put a song in your heart and your day.


So I say
Thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing
Thanks for all the joy they’re bringing
Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty
What would life be?
Without a song or a dance what are we?
So I say thank you for the music
For giving it to me.

My attitude turned on that one song. Realizing that each day can bring joy and peace, and yes a slower pace if we just tune into to God’s radio station and listen to His music…And then “Thank Him for The Music“.

He touched me!

She did not hesitate upon entering the room. Her stride revealed a determination to reach her destination without being detained. The family members who were gathered in a circle at the back of the room looked puzzled, or maybe just curious as to her identity. Leaning over and speaking in low tones, which are customary in such settings, they soon determined she was a total stranger to them. Now, under ordinary circumstances, this might not be unusual, but this was their father’s wake.
And since they lived in a small town of less than 900 people, it was reasonable for them to assume they knew all of their father’s friends and associates. Very soon, they begin to feel uncomfortable, as she seemed to linger too long at the casket and at one point she reached out and touched him. So it was decided someone needed to speak with her. The task of approaching her fell to the oldest son, not just because he was the oldest but because he was now expected to step up with Dad gone. He was to find out who she was and why she was here. After all, they could not run the risk of just anyone coming in to view their Father. They were a very close family and the loss of the dynamic, larger than life man they called Dad heightened their sense of protectiveness
Just as he started down the narrow aisle she turned and walked toward him and he could see she had been wiping away tears. Oh God, he thought who is this woman? Please God let there be a simple explanation as to why she is here.
They stopped at what seemed to be a half way point and she gently laid her hand on his arm. As she started to speak, he prayed he would have the strength to hear what he feared could not be good.
“I met your father two days ago in Johnson’s drugstore. As I entered I could heard a booming voice coming from the back of the store, and then this same voice broke into the most infectious laugh”. That would be my dad he thought. “I found it annoying, in fact down right irritating”, she continued. “You see the night before, my whole world had just come crashing down around me”. She did not elaborate as to why, and it did not seem to be relevant now.
“I made my way to the prescription counter where your Father was engaged in a lively conversation with the pharmacist. It was then I realized it was his voice and laughter I had heard. He smiled at me and stepped aside. I proceeded to finish my business with the pharmacist and then left the counter to make a few more purchases before making my leave
As I exited the drugstore, your Father was standing in front of his car. He started towards me and my first thoughts were, "oh I hope He does not want to talk to me, not now, I do not need this”. He introduced himself and in that same annoyingly cheerful voice he said, “you seem to be having a difficult day and I was wondering if you needed to talk with someone.” It is not necessary to reveal the details of our conversation. What is important is to share with you the hope your Father gave to me in my darkest hours. When I thought I was alone and no one cared, this total stranger took the time to reach out and touch my life. During our conversation I was first crying, then laughing, and slowly a dark cloud was lifted. The same voice that I had found so annoying suddenly sounded melodious and put a song of hope in my heart.”
"When I read in the paper today that he had passed away, I knew I had to come and say good-bye. I wanted to pay tribute to a wonderful man. I just needed to touch him." Then hesitating she added, “I am not a very religious person but that day I knew your father was sent to me. I believe some call it “divine intervention”, and if indeed it was then your father was Gods messenger.”

“I have no one else like him, who takes a genuine interest in your welfare.” Philippians 3:20 (NIV)

Malachi 3:1 “See, I will send my messenger.” Malachi 3:1 (NIV)

“For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.” Psalm 91:11 (NIV)

If They only knew Him!

She is your friend and you wish very much she would be accepted in your circle of friends. But it is not to be. For reasons you do not quite understand she has been rejected. You think “If they only knew her” they would recognize in her the same wonderful qualities that you have come to know. You are convinced she would be a positive addition to a group that frankly could use some new attitude.
Try as you might to bring her in, she continues to be excluded from group activities. Frustrated with their behavior you finally ask “why“, only to be told, “She just doesn’t fit in”.
You wonder how they were able to reach such a conclusion having never given her a chance. You understand like-minded people form cliques, and there are unspoken rules which determine who is allowed in, preferring to socialize with those having their same social-economic, political or religious backgrounds, to name a few. This is their comfort zone and they do not wish to be put into social situations where they are made to feel uncomfortable.
After much thought you, decide to approach them and tell them, you feel they are being unreasonable in the exclusion of your friend. But are you prepared to live with the results, possible your own exclusion? You remember the motto you have always told your children “pick your battles carefully”. Are you heeding these words?
What if your friend were Jesus? Do you think, “If they only knew him”? Scripture tells us, “He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised and we esteemed him not.” Isaiah 53: 3. That verse alone tells me He would not be an easy sell in most circles.
So how would I present my case for Jesus?
I can share with them his birth, who his father is, his miracles, his parables, his death, his ascension. I can tell them of His love for us and that he died to make us free. That He took upon himself our sins that day He hung on the cross. An alarm goes off, in my head, reminding me I am living in the century and events that happened two thousand years ago will be a hard sell. Isaiah prophesied on the reaction to the coming of the Messiah…”yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted.” Isaiah 53:4. Not much has changed since Isaiah’s time.
We are the doubting Thomas in today’s world. We demand concrete evidence, that which we can see with our own eyes. I would need a witness, I lament. Where can I find a witness? And then I realize I am the witness. I am the one person who can testify on Jesus’ behalf to my friends. My personal testimony is my most powerful weapon. I have personally experienced the changes He has made in my life. I am the concrete evidence needed, no circumstantial evidence in my case. I hope at the very least they will open their hearts and minds to him. I pray I am a good witness and that He will be welcomed into my circle of friends.

Calling in the Expert

If there is one chore I am inept at, it is cleaning mirrors. No matter how hard I try, I fail miserably. Once a year I hire someone to clean and polish my mirrors. The results are mirrors so clean I can easily see my reflection in the polished glass.
The other day I decided to attack this chore myself. With all the vim and vigor I could muster, I prepared solutions of vinegar, dish soap, peroxide and glass cleaner. My instruments consisted of a scrubby, squeegees, paper towels and cloths. Rolling up my sleeves, I approached my chore as a surgeon preparing for surgery. I knew success was just around the corner. Did I mention it was a cloudy day?
Next day entering my bathroom, the sun was shining in, casting its rays and to my horror there were streaks and huge areas of film still covering the mirror. Not to be discouraged I retrieved my tools and starting wiping, and wiping. But no matter where I wiped another spot appeared seeming to take on a life of its own, a living breathing organism continuing to outsmart me. Exasperated I thought,” deal with it later you can’t win this battle, you need to leave it to the expert”.
Sin is not unlike the film that covers my mirror. It is an insidious fungus that creeps into our lives in the most unsuspecting ways. No matter how vigilant we are, it awaits an opportunity to rear its ugly head. As Christians, we have a cache of cleaning solutions available to us in our battle against sin.
We faithfully apply these known applications and to our surprise, the film of sin reappears.
Many of the antidotes we use in our daily lives are useful in reminding us that sin is always crouching. Our problem occurs when we rely on our own solutions instead of God! He is the only one who can wipe away our sin. Without God as our main ingredient, our own attempts fall short.
Just as the purpose in cleaning my mirror is to be able to see my reflection clearly, and without film. My ultimate goal in life is to rid my soul of sin allowing Jesus’ reflection to shine through me.
For this, I need to call on God the expert to assist me in my daily battle with sin. Only through His mercy will I find my way through my film stained soul to the clearest view of the cross.

“Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity. And cleanse me from my sin.” Psalm 51:2 (NKJV)
“That He might sanctify her and cleanse her with the washing of water by the word”. Ephesians 6:26 (NKJV)

Sistas in Soul

I recently attended a musical show performed by the West coast Black Theater Troupe called “Sistas in Soul”. A wonderful trip down memory lane provided by four young black women who entertained us with songs made famous by their black sisters.

It was my first trip to this small, ambitious theater group and I was not disappointed. Their performance was electric. The selected songs honored the women who had come before them, many who had broken through racial barriers and endured hardships because of their race. The uniqueness of each singer was her ability to morph herself into her soul sister. Capturing the essence of the singer, and delivering her message through an intimate and personal desire to ensure her soul sister’s music was never forgotten.

In the bible there are many outstanding women. Women who broke through barriers and endured hardships. Women who lived their lives for God. Women who sacrificed for God, Sisters in Christ, Sistas in Soul. Voices from the past whose story needs to be told through us today. Are we singing their songs? Are we keeping their words alive today?

Do you have a biblical sister? One you admire, one you feel a kinship with? In her relationship with God what qualities does she exhibit that give you this kindred spirit with her? What trials and temptations did she experience that makes you respect her? How does she influence your life today? What is her name and what does it mean in Hebrew or Greek? Perhaps she is nameless like the Samaritan woman at the well, or the woman who was bleeding.

I must admit I don’t have a biblical soul sister. At best I have a causal relationship with these women of God. So you ask why I would write
of these women. After I left the performance I started to think about women whom I admired, women of today and women of not so long ago. I am familiar with those iconic women because so much has been written of them.

But the women of the bible are not afforded such an audience. They are rendered to remain only known to the Christian world. Is it not a shame that our daughters and grandchildren, are not told of Hannah, or others like her who bravely demonstrated their faith. We are familiar with the women’s movement of the sixties. We remember their slogans “Sisterhood is powerful”, Ban the Bra, and the popular song by Helen Reddy, I am woman hear me roar. But we are not familiar with Hanna’s promises to God if He would give her a child. The humiliation and fear that Mary experienced as an unwed mother in an age when stoning was away of life for women. We do not honor the women who first led a movement to change women’s roles when they dared to follow Jesus. A risk so great that being labeled an outcast was the least of their concerns, because death was most likely the results of such behavior.

I now have a list of names of women in the bible. I am intent on reading each woman’s story. Eventually selecting one whom I most feel a kinship with. A woman after my own heart so to speak, one of whom I can say, this is the kind of woman I would most like to pay tribute to. A woman whose values and principles I most admire. A woman whose devotion to God is so powerful that I need to share her story. I want to capture the essence of her through the same intimate and personal desire those four singers portrayed and to ensure my soul sista’s music is never forgotten.

Let us not let these women be our sung heroes. Join me today in seeking out your own biblical sister. Together we can be their voices, we can deliver their message, we can sing their songs. Our sisters in soul.

The Good News

Dear Mom and Dad, we need your prayers!
This was the first message I saw on my computer this morning. I braced myself as I read on. Another job in jeopardy, another family facing the harsh realities of the economy. This time it was one of my own.
I close my eyes and pray, asking God for strength for all of us. I ask for His protection and blessings for this family. My mind flashes through a litany of scriptures that reassure me God is in control and He has a plan. From Him alone comes the strength I need. From Him comes the assurance my family will be okay.
To say there is much pain and suffering in the world today would be an understatement. The difference for me now is it has infiltrated my life in ways I would have thought impossible a year ago. Family and friends facing bankruptcies, loss of jobs, loss of homes. Grown children returning home to live with aging parents. Parents worried how they will feed their children. I ask myself why? It was not supposed to be this way.
The down turn in our economy has forced us to reassess our lives. Scripture tells us not to store up treasures on earth that can easily be taken from us. That stands in stark contrast to our society which defines itself by its many possessions. But now, given the economic carnage all around us, we cautiously approach even the smallest purchase.
In her book The Hiding Place, Corrie Ten Boom said,” The more I have to live for the less I need to live on”. During the Nazi invasion of the Netherlands, Corrie was a prisoner in a concentration camp. Stripped of both her family and possessions she found the strength to persevere through her belief in God. Sharing her faith with other prisoners, preaching the good news where there was none, and giving them hope in their darkest hours. Corrie said she had"learned to hold things loosely in her hands",knowing it would be easier to let them go if they were taken away.
So I asked myself,"where is the good news in this message, God"? Can there be only despair ahead? No! It is the same message of hope Corrie preached in that concentration camp many years ago. A message two thousand years old. A message that tells us in our darkest hours He will be there. A message that says;

When we say, “It’s impossible.” God says,” With Me all things are possible.” Luke 18:27
We say,” I can’t go on“. He says,” My grace is sufficient for you.” Corinthians 12:9 12:9
We say,” I don’t know what to do.” He says, “I will direct you.” Proverbs 3:6
We say, “I can’t make ends meet”. He says, “I will supple all your needs.” Philippians 4:19
We say,” I am alone.” He says, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” Hebrews 13:5

So will I cry with my child? Yes. Will I feel the pain? Absolutely. I will walk with them through their darkest hours and their greatest fears. However, I know on the other side there is light and I know when one door closes another opens, because He told me so. I believe, I have faith, and this gives me the assurances I need to share with family and friends. I am grateful for my faith, I did not always have it and I know what it is to live without it. I am grateful for his words that sustain me.

And that my friend is the good news.

Life in the mountains.

I have just left the western mountains of North Carolina, where I spent four days enjoying its beauty and soaking up the culture. I was staying with friends who are natives of the area. I love the simplistic lifestyle of the mountain people. I admire their pride and independence, which comes from day to day living in the mountains and their fierce respect for the generations that came before them.
I am amazed how some people still live off their land, my friend I know could live off her land. I laughingly accuse her of picking every berry off the mountain. I of course love being the recipient of the delicious jams she served in the mornings. The blueberry pies, muffins or coffeecakes she baked. I marveled at the canning she does, from the vegetables she grows. We enjoyed meals of fresh trout from their ponds and vegetables from the garden.
While I romanticize this life, I remind myself that poverty and hard times are still an issue. I remember that the generations before them experienced hardships I can never really appreciate. Yet those hardships make up the very fabric of their character today. Woven into that fabric you will still find fierce independence, loyalty to family, country, and God. To the mountain people, life is frankly just that simple.
Sitting in a rocker on my friend’s front porch, I am lulled into contentment from the motion of the rocker. The sounds of the birds, the crickets and the rustle of the wind all add to my contentment. I enjoy listening to my friend’s stories of her neighbors and family. She tells me, “Sam down the road has chickens and they lay nineteen eggs a day.” She shares with me the history of the people who have lived in this “holler” for many years. I wonder how can she recall all of this history, and then I remember where I am, in a place where few people leave. A place where one’s daddy, granddaddy and great granddaddy cleared the land. A place where history is handed down from generation to generation. Where their family tree is recorded in the bible that is still proudly displayed in the parlor.
There is history in her quilts, each neatly folded and displayed in a glass case. I love the stories of her quilts, “this one granny made” she tells me, “the cathedral quilt took me fifteen years to make.” We look at the very tiny stitches, no sewing machine used on these quilts. Gaye, her friend can put seven stitches on a needle, my friend can hold five, I marvel anyone can hold one stitch on a needle.
One of my favorite outings is to the General Store. A place where time appears to have stopped. Natives still gather at the store along with tourists. On weekends, local musicians gather on the back porch to play mountain music, banjoes and guitars strumming, fiddles humming, and toes tapping. An older man has taken a seat in front of the pot-bellied stove next to the well-worn checkerboard. He eagerly awaits the arrival of his friend to continue the game they have played in this same spot for years. Ahhh, life seems so simple here. I feel so blessed to be able have these experiences. I am grateful to the people of Appalachia for protecting their history, and for sharing with those of us who have forgotten ours. I vow as I leave to slow down my life, taking the time to enjoy those around me. Then I smile to myself, this will never happen, I would be standing alone as they all rushed by me. So I will leave this place buoyed by those wonderful, peaceful days on the mountain. Remembering to be thankful to God, for all the beauty He has provided and for the people who still remember to keep sacred that which He has provided…

Nothing could be finer then to be in North Carolina in the Morning.

How blessed I feel this morning waking up in the mountains of North Carolina, enjoying my dear friend’s front porch. No one is awake but me, and I am able to drink in this delicious morning in silence. Appreciating the drone of a humming bird’s wings as he propels himself about the feeder.
This is what I call a little “slice of heaven on earth.”
The early morning is the best time to drink in God’s creations, all that he has given us to enjoy and to appreciate. I am thankful for this time alone to commune with our Lord and say thanks for this beauty. Hope you are having a great day.

A Downtown Church

I belong to a “downtown church”, the denomination of which is not important to this story. What is important is that this downtown church provides sustenance not only for its upscale congregation but also for those who are less fortunate, more specifically the homeless and unprivileged who live in the surrounding areas.
This Church of a hundred plus years has become a landmark, making it an enigma in a city that has grown up around it. Skyscrapers, funky shops, trendy restaurants, all the trappings of the 21st century. The church seems caught in a time warp. Clapboard exterior, wooden doors, pillars and a beautiful steeple housing a bell tower so orthodox for the period, standing in stark contrast to the new glass building next door. One might expect to find this church in a New England setting, not in a sophisticated city.
“Recently a woman from our congregation sponsored “Christmas In July” for children who are under privileged. After much preliminary work, the day arrived. Volunteers had decorated the hall and the tree, filled gift bags, prepared the food and planned the entertainment.
The word went out and to the amazement of all, 250 children came to experience “Christmas in July”. During those few hours, they would be able to leave their difficult lives behind them.
After lunch, they would sing and wiggle to Christmas music, listen again to the story of the baby born in a manger, open gifts and scream with delight when Santa arrives.
Testimony from the volunteers brought tears to ones eyes as grateful children showered them with hugs. A volunteer sharing the story of a four year old at her table who “dined as if she were at the Ritz”. Another remembering days when a church such as this one had made a difference in his family Christmases.
As is often the case, those who are giving are the recipients of the greatest gifts. The joy of knowing you made a difference in a child’s life, even if only for a few hours. “…For God loves a cheerful giver.” 2Corinthians 4:7 (NIV)
Many churches do equally wonderful charitable events. However, the importance of this church is that it has never left its roots. It did not move out to nicer, safer surroundings. It did not vacate the beautiful old church for a new modern one. It did not escape when the landscape around it changed. It stayed where God had planted it over 100 years ago. It stayed to serve its entire congregation, the unfortunate and the fortunate. It stayed for the people to know when they are desperate they can come to the old church with the steeple and be served. Just as Jesus said, “I am the light of the world”, this church is God’s beacon of light in the hours of darkness, or for a few hours of Christmas in July.

May God continue to bless this “downtown church” and its people.

Who's My Stylist?

Recently I saw a friend of mine who had a great new hairstyle. I complimented her on how good it looked,and how great she looked.

I had a vested interest in her new "do" as I had recommended my hairstylist to her, and believe you me I was relieved that she was most happy with her new look.

I have used this stylist for years. Let's call her Kayla. She is very good and I have led many women to her. There is now quite a "gaggle" of us Kayla girls.

Kayla is what one would call a "free spirit". Typical of girls in her profession, she always has the latest funky look. Sometimes her hair is green, other times pink. Often times it is spiky, and other times, well it's just the Kayla look.

She also sports many tattoo's and piercings. And she has an uncanny way of disappearing. It's not that she just changes shops, which she does regularly, but she sometimes completely falls off our radar screen.

If you want to see panic in action it would be us gals emailing "Kayla is gone again"! "Do you know where Kayla is?". Fear strikes our hearts when we think this time she is gone forever.

During one of her disappearing acts one of the Kayla girls literally hunted her down,calling every shop in the area , interviewing every one who had worked with her . Begging them to break their beauty shop code of silence; "thou shall not reveal what shop a hair stylist has moved to."

I once went nine months without Kayla, found a new stylist and settled in for the long haul. But then as always happens Kayla resurfaced and I went running back to her,thankful that she was found and back in my hair.

So what is this Kayla phenomena? She makes us look good and feel good. She gives the best haircuts. We leave feeling attractive, smart, chic. She is also a good listener, she is encouraging, and even though she strikes fear into our hearts when she disappears, we are always thrilled to have her back, forgiving her for what she has put us through. I will continue to lead women to her, although I now attach a warning label.

Recently I wondered, if I can lead so many women to a hair stylist why not to Christ? Why such a good witness for Kayla, but not a witness for Christ. Now you may be thinking this is a stretch, but is it really? I know that God is my creator, my designer,which makes Him my stylist. And when He makes incredible changes in my life, why wouldn't I share it with others.

REALITY CHECK: women ask me who does my hair because they see a change and they like what they see and they want it. In order to witness to other women, they have to see a change in me. And that change has to make them curious . But have they seen a change? Am I hiding it? Do I not wear it well? Am I acting the same on the outside, not revealing the change inside? Or perhaps they don't like what they see, a drastic new style that frightens them.

Why am I not wearing it well, why does it not show? Am I hesitant, fearful of rejection? Perhaps I am lazy, perhaps I am not confidant in discussing where I am in my walk with God. Perhaps I am judgemental and think "oh she wouldn't like it, she wouldn't want it. "

But for that one woman who may come to me and ask what has changed me. For that one woman who noticed my new look. I am so ready with my references and they would go like this:



My stylist is none other than God Himself. He cut out my sin through His grace of forgiveness, reshaped the old me into His image, and gave me this new look. Do you like it? God not only gave me this new look on the outside but also on the inside. He takes a personal interest in how I reflect his work so I am always His work in progress. God not only listens to me 24/7, but He also answers me through prayer. I never need an appointment to see God, He is with me always.He never disappoints me and God never disappears. And there is never a warning label attached to God.

"The God of our father"s has chosen you to know his will and to see the Righteous one...You will be his witness to all men of what you have seen and heard. And now what are you waiting for..." Acts 22:14-16 (NIV)

What am I waiting for?

Sophia's Race

I recently had the opportunity to take my granddaughter Sophia who is seven to her second swimming lesson.

Noting she was in the lane closest to the side of the pool and with only one other child it was obvious Sophia was a true beginner. The rest of her swim class practiced in the middle lane. Instructed by her coach to swim the lane Sophia took off like a rocket and reached the end before her swim partner. I was understandable quite proud.

Next they were instructed to swim back and forth again and again. But Sophia was struggling , and as I watched her I begin to text my daughter

"and she is doing this why?"
"This is nothing less then child abuse"
"She is swimming frantically and going no where"
"no hanging on the ropes allowed"
"she is now gasping for air and hanging on to the sides of the pool"
"she is not Esther Williams"

Somehow WE survived the forty-five long minutes. I understand a child needing to learn to swim, but this seemed grueling, and not fun. Sophia however seemed unfazed by her lack luster performance.

Now the story goes, as I was not there to witness many other lessons, that her attitude was "not good". In her practice drills for up coming races, she would cry and cry. Protesting she could not do it and would cling to her Father.

And it was said after much coaxing from her coach she would enter the water and swim aways before again clinging to the side of the pool crying " I can't do it". All the other children having finished, and she would be alone in the pool crying , still clinging to the sides.

Her Father always standing at the end of the lane cheering "You can do it Sophia, yes you can just keep going your almost there". Soon everyone would join in, cheering her on "Come on Sophia you can do it". Eventually Sophia would make it to the end, with lots of fanfare and clapping..

Sophia continued her lessons, still protesting before each lesson " I Can't do It".

Fast Forward Two Months;

One day I received a phone call " Hi Mame, I won first place in the backstroke, and second in the breaststroke." You can only imagine my shock. But indeed her mother confirmed that Sophia had won those spots in her swimming match's competing against the entire squad.

So how did Sophia finish her races? Obviously, Sophia lacked confidence, she was afraid. But something in that small child gave her the strength to swim to end of the lane, to finish the race. And to win. Was it her Father encouraging her on? Her swim mates cheering her on?

Somewhere within her was a determination to please her Father and to know at the end of the lane was safety in him. And as she practiced she overcame her fears, she saw that she could do what she thought impossible. The long lane became less of an obstacle as she determined that the glory was in pleasing her Father, her team mates and to WIN.

"Therefore since we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off ever thing that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us". Hebrews 12:1 (NIV). "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race,I have kept the faith". 2Tim 4:7 (NIV)

The race that we as Christians run every day is fraught with obstacles. Like little Sophia we sometimes cry out "I can't do it". We too cling to earthly things fearful of letting go of that which is familiar to us. Swimming in one spot, clinging to the ropes afraid to let go and swim forward to the one waiting for us at the end of our race.

We can "do everything through him who gives us strength." Phil4:13(NIV). We too can finish our race, knowing that our Abba is waiting for us.

Oh, but to hear ..."Well done good and faithful servant". Matt 25:21 (NIV)

Do I hear an Amen.

.

Unclaimed Treasures

Webster' New World Dictionary defines the word Treasure as; 1 accumulated wealth,as money or jewels. 2 any person or thing considered valuable.

The Bible has many reference's to treasures. But I am thinking about unclaimed treasure's.

In the book Sarah Plain and Tall and it's sequel Skylark, Sarah Whitten a spinster living in Maine, answers an advertisement from a widowed Midwestern farmer who is seeking a wife and a mother to his children. After many letters to the widowed farmer, Sarah agrees to a month trial and boards a train to the Midwest.

To me one of the most endearing parts of these books written for children is Sarah's description of the " The unclaimed treasures", who happen to be her spinster Aunts. Her reminiscence of "the unclaimed treasures" is heart warming. The fact that they are unconventional women adds to their appeal. Sarah tells the children " they wear silk dresses and no shoes". When we at last meet them in the sequel Skylark they in fact do 'wear silk dresses and no shoes". They sing and dance and play various instruments. Their eccentric behavior wins your heart. They personify love, laughter,joy and sharing.

Sarah's unclaimed treasures were her spinster Aunts. And, so I ponder who or what are my unclaimed treasures. "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy,and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is there your heart will be. Matthew 6:19-21 (NIV) God has given me treasures of the heart, ones to share, ones to store up in heaven. But are my treasures unclaimed?


Do I share them with other's who don't know Him, who don't know of His love, His forgiveness. Do I witness to others? Do I go to those in need? Do I help those who are less fortunate then me? Do I selfishly hoard my treasures or dole them out as I see fit. Am I keeping Him a secret? Am I keeping a secret the beauty of having a relationship with God. Is He my unclaimed treasure?

I need to journey into my heart and open up the treasure chest of God's love and start to share and use the gifts that lie within. Take out these precious gifts and give them to other's...And by the way...I think I will wear a silk dress and no shoes. How about you, do you have unclaimed treasures of the heart?

Bookmarks

What can I say, I am a collector of bookmarks. I am always shopping for bookmarks. Reading through them one by one selecting the one which speaks to me that day.


People give me bookmarks, I give bookmarks. While reading a book I match it with a bookmark that I believe reflects the content of the book. Pretty silly I know , but humor me.

I have embossed bookmarks, I have metal bookmarks, I have beaded bookmarks, bookmarks with jewels, bookmarks with my initials, my name. I have Christmas bookmarks, Easter bookmarks, and every holiday you can think of. I have a bookmark that represents the cross made with nails. I just love bookmarks.

So why this fascination with bookmarks. I suppose they each represent something to me, maybe from a trip I had taken, or a gift from someone, or perhaps on the day of purchase the bookmark was a reflection of events taking place in my life.

Likewise when I bookmark a chapter or a page it has a significance to me, sometimes it's simple to mark where I stopped reading, sometimes it marks a quote I want to remember, sometimes it reminds me of an event in my life and sometimes it is a reference point to a place I need to return.



There are bookmarks in my life too. Each one revealing a chapter of my life. Like the words written upon the pages of a book these are the pages of my life. A reference point to where I have been, what I have or have not done. Marriage, children, successes, failures, events, losses, tragedy, heartbreaks, joy, happiness. My life story is replete with bookmarks.

Thumbing through all of my bookmarked life, there is one that stands out above all the rest. And that is the bookmark of my journey with Christ. It is my favorite chapter, the one bookmark that stands out above all the rest. The beginning of my life story with God as my savior. There are no more bookmarks after it, because it is a chapter not finished. But it is well worn as I reference it each day, and as I add to it each day.

So have you thought of your own bookmarks? Perhaps there is an area in your life that is your favorite. One you reference when you are in need. Perhaps you are going through a difficult time in your life and you feel you will never be able to add another bookmark, because it is all so sad, hopeless and overwhelming.

Then may I suggest to you that you start a new chapter in your life. One that has you and God as the main characters. God has your hero your savior. Put your favorite bookmark at the beginning of the chapter and go to it daily, or every minute if need be. And know this it will become your salvation that bookmarked place where you and God commune.

Bookmark:... 'WRITE IN A BOOK ALL THE WORDS I HAVE SPOKEN TO YOU' (Jeremiah 30:2 NIV)