Monday, January 4, 2016

Believe It or Not

"You are everything I ever wanted in a daughter."

I heard my husband speak those words today, and they took my breath away.  I paused to watch what they did to her. 

She found his gaze.  A slow smile.  A nod.  A kiss.  And then she was gone, on to living life, which meant at that moment lunch and Phineas and Ferb.

There was no big reaction because there was not a new revelation.  Just quiet confidence that Dad still felt the way he has always felt, assurance that comes from knowing you are as loved as you have always been.

But, my heart has been contemplating the many, many grown women who are still walking around wondering what their dads think of them, wondering what it would be like to experience the embrace of approval that has never come.

And so, today, if that's you, you need to know something. 

Your Father is completely, 100%, absolutely, and with great certainty enraptured with you.  He can't keep His eyes off you, and He is captivated by your beauty, your grace, and the wonderment of you.

If the wounds of this world, or maybe even the wounds of a dad, have kept you from ever realizing this, or you have just forgotten it under the weight of self-doubt or self-loathing, then it is time to step into the embrace of the truth.

Because whether or not you believe it, it is true. 

Your Father, the One who created you and knows every detail of your life, is your biggest fan.  He believes in you.  He adores you.  He is convinced you are gifted, and He can not be persuaded otherwise.  He is rooting for you, sitting in the bleachers of your life, cheering you on.  He talks about you to his friends, pointing out every one of your attributes.  He remembers your birthday.  He comes to all your parties.  He can't wait to see you when you wake up in the morning.  He misses you when you don't come around.

He doesn't just love you, he enjoys you.

If you don't believe that, you don't know Him.  And He wants you to.

Saturday, October 17, 2015


I recently read a couple of lines that were written as a side note, but impacted me as if they were the primary message.  Tucked away treasures, hidden, yet full of potential to change hearts that take the time to ponder.

They were two small sentences from an author named Mark Batterson in his book, All In"[The life I live] is an answer to the prayers my father-in-law prayed for me.  His prayers did not die when he did."

And there it is.  Such a profoundly startling truth.  And such a deeply moving one.

When I close my eyes and think of the people in my life who I know have prayed for me over my lifetime, and not just said a sentence or two, but repeatedly approached the throne of Heaven on my behalf, I immediately see my grandparents.  As a child from a blended family, I have had the honor of having three sets of grandparents to speak into my raising.  And all of them prayed. 

Two grandmothers are still with me, all the rest of that generation are gone.  But, their prayers remain.   

Still effective.  Still reaping.

I once stood innocently in the produce aisle at the grocery store, putting my entire concentration into the choosing of carrots when a man walked behind me.  I never saw him, but I smelled him.  And his cologne was the one my grandfather wore.  I don't even know the name of it, but I know the smell, and I instantly found my face wet with tears.  I have them in my eyes  right now just writing that sentence, just remembering the smell of a tall man who loved to laugh, used big words, fed my infant son his first taste of ice cream without thinking to ask the mother, and walked several miles every morning.  And prayed. 

A man who prayed for his wife, his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren.  Every single day.

And I'm so grateful that his prayers for me and for my family are still bringing the fragrance of remembrance into the presence of God himself.  

I often wonder if my husband and I serve in the same area that my grandfather pastored in because God thinks generationally.  But, now, I also wonder if we are not here as God's way of answering my grandfather's prayers that are still rising, the ones that must have so often been prayed for this land and for its people.

Scripture says no word from God lacks power (Luke 1:37), and I'm coming to realize that when His word is in our mouths, our words are never without power either. 

Nothing can stop the power of God.  Certainly not death.  This means that the prayers I pray today, the words and truths of God that I declare with faith, will continue on after I am gone.  They will become their own fragrances, ones that rise again and again.  They will find their way into the halls and rooms of Heaven and into the presence of the One who loves to say Amen to His words spoken by His children.  It also means that I can give a gift to my children, my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren.  I can leave a treasure for my church, my city, my nation.  I can build a storehouse of blessing. 

My prayers.  They will not die when I die.  They will live, and bring life.

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Ready or Not

I now have an eighteen year old.

I have an eighteen year old.

My son is eighteen years old.

It doesn't matter how I say it or how many times I repeat it, nothing about that sentence makes any sense to my brain.  But, it's happening.  Happened already.  He's eighteen years old.

One of hardest parts is facing the fact that I'm actually old enough to have an eighteen year old.  I vividly remember turning eighteen, being eighteen, loving eighteen.  Eighteen is when I spent two months in Peru, moved to college, met my husband, and started doing grown-up things like voting, buying my license plate tags, and eating salad.  It's the year my parents moved across the nation, and I had to find my own place to live when school let out.  The year I got a real job.  The year I looked into the face of a man who wasn't too much older than me and said yes when he held out a ring with hope in his eyes.

And all of those things are here, waiting for my own child who isn't a child any more.  All of those experiences, those decisions, those learning curves, they are all lined up like mile markers in front of him because he is eighteen years old.  My son is eighteen years old.  

And I know it's not like his life is just beginning.  It's not that he's at mile one.  He's had eighteen years worth of mile markers to prepare him for this.

The first step.  The first word.  The first french fry, which I distinctly remember celebrating.  The first day of school.  The day he decided to follow Jesus.  The first week-long youth camp.  The first time he knew more math than I did, which happened closer to the french fry than the youth camp.  The first crush.  The first time he pulled out of the driveway on his own. 

They all got us here, to eighteen.  And they all made him ready to move forward.  To vote, move to college, meet someone special, eat salad.

I'm just not sure they've done anything to make me ready.

And yet, it doesn't matter.  The eighteen year old mile markers are here if I'm ready or not.  And all I know to do is the one thing I know I've learned being a mom.  I pray.  

I pray that the God who walked me through my own mile markers will hold the hand of my son and lead him through every one of life's experiences that will start coming faster and faster in this new season.  

I pray he will have courage to make the tough choices in a way that honors the God he loves.

And I pray that the God who gave me this child to begin with will hold my heart when the man he has become walks away from me.  

I pray I will have the courage to cheer him on from a distance as he faces the mile markers that don't require me to be beside him anymore.

My son is eighteen years old.

Saturday, July 18, 2015

Favorite Things

My daughter watched the Sound of Music last night.  She was telling me this morning her favorite part is when Maria sits on the pinecone.  So many memories, that movie holds for me, since I watched it at least once a week, it seemed, while I was growing up.

And I think my favorite part has always been the "Favorite Things" song.  I'm pretty sure if the rest of my family experienced anything at least once a week, it was me singing that at the top of my lungs from behind my closed bedroom door.  It may or may not also be the reason my bed broke when I was nine, since I also tended to act out all of the children jumping on it with Maria as they sang.

"When the storm strikes, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel.....(getting up to full out gusto here) baaaaaaaaa----aaaaaaaa-------dddddd!"

It's a lovely song.

And probably the reason I have always believed in having a lot of favorite things.  Because if you have hundreds of favorite things, you can't help but happen upon them every day.  The more you have, the better your odds.

Which is why last summer, when our family was trapped inside on a rainy day, we played the Favorite Things game.  If you've never heard of it, I'll teach it to you, and you don't even have to click a link to connect to Pinterest or buy it on Amazon.  Here it is:

You each sit down with a piece of paper and a pencil and you have five minutes to write down all the favorite things you can think of.

Isn't that a brilliant game?  But the real fun comes in the sharing because when you're done writing, you go around the circle and share your favorite things.

I still have our lists because they are now some of my favorite things.  I mean it.  I treasure them.  Because in each list, I am allowed to peer into my husband and my children, into the deepest places of who they are and what makes them happy. 

And what I find there is that there aren't a lot of fancy cars or designer clothes on the list.  None actually.  Not any toys or technological gadgets, either.  What made the lists are just the simple things in life that all equal up  The hundreds of little things that are actually the great things.  The ordinary that is actually the sacred.

cheese and crackers
comfortable jeans
knowing the answer right away
making funny jokes
midnight cuddles because you're 5 and afraid of thunder
when the storm is over
chicks in a nest
when mom is cooking macaroni
a baby's first word
honey and biscuits
father and son hikes
heaters in winter
chickens that have feather pants
being pleasantly tired
learning another language
a sky full of stars
worshiping around a campfire
laughing at yourself
reading a good book
our dog's ears
gentle rain
oreos and milk
old friends
new friends
highlighted and underlined Bibles
worn quilts
fluffy towels
green grass
morning coffee

These are a few of our favorite things. 

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Grace Defined

Something hugely frightening happened to me recently. 

I shrunk my sweatshirt.

My sweatshirt.  The one that changed my life.  The one my husband gave me for Christmas that I had hardly taken off for three months.  The one I loved and the one that loved me unconditionally in return.

I had plans to only take it to the dry cleaner for the rest of my life.  But, I didn't pay attention and it ended up in the wash.  And then the dryer.  And then it shrunk.  And I came the closest I have ever come to a panic attack.

I discovered it late at night, right before bed, and Eric came running to answer the shrieks of pain from the laundry room. 

He then followed me to our room as I yelled, "No, no, no, no, no, no!" while I tore off my pajamas and put the sweatshirt on.  The sleeves were short.  The bottom hem didn't come to where it was supposed to.  The whole thing was off, wrong, ruined.

My husband watched from the bed as I mourned.  It was a slow process, this coming to terms with losing one of your best friends.  All five stages of grief played out in the microcosm of my closet.

And when I was finished, he told me to come lay my head on his chest.

I did, utterly spent.

And that's when he pulled out his phone and showed me that my new sweatshirt would be arriving in less than 48 hours.  A carbon copy of the one that would now fit my dachshund BEFORE its date with the dryer of death.  My new best friend.

We won't talk about how long my husband let me lament before he shared what he had just done (evidently I'm very entertaining when I'm upset), but let's take a moment to reflect on what he did do.

He gave me grace.

I had misused and mistreated his first gift.  And he offered me another, brand new and perfect, without a word of shame or reproach. 

He paid the price.  Twice.

So very much like my Jesus. 

The One who came after me after I walked away. 

The One who bought back what was already His. 

The One who loves to see me wearing His ring, His clothes, His name.  So much so that when I mess up, He offers me a brand new start, with nothing but love in His eyes.

Monday, February 9, 2015

Love Stories

I received something for Christmas this past year that I've always wanted.  In fact, I've spent my whole life searching for it, but could never quite find it. 

The perfect sweatshirt. 

And now I have it, thanks to my husband.  It's the perfect weight...light, but still warm.  It's the perfect color...the cozy gray that says "go ahead and stay home all day, you deserve it."  And it has the perfect sentiment written across it in large, black, block letters.


Oh yes.  I told you it was perfect for me.  It's everything I've ever wanted in a sweatshirt.  That's why it's the first thing I put on when I get home from work.  Every single day.  I have become the sweatshirt person.  But, I don't judge myself.  It's too perfect to permit judging.  I only regret I didn't own it sooner.

But, how did this man know me so well?  How did he know just what would make my introverted heart so exquisitely happy?

Well, besides the secret Pinterest board entitled "Things I'd Like To Own" that I created just for him, he probably knew because I read.  I read a lot.  It's the way I learn best, and it's the way I relax the best.

So, it makes sense that it's also the avenue that has taught me quite a bit about love.  When I read people's stories, either in works of fiction or non-fiction, it's what I'm always looking for.  The love story.  The relationship that redeemed the past and made things new.  The heart connection that turned everything around. 

And I know I'm not alone.  Our culture celebrates love stories, and I think it's because deep down, we're all searching for a love story. 

Whether we realize it or not, every heart yearns to hear the thread of narrative that echoes the truths of the greatest love story ever told.  The story that stretched from a far-away realm to our world, right here in all of its ordinariness.  The story of an epic battle between good and evil.  The story of a man who came searching for His bride, to redeem her and make her his. 

The story of Heaven, looking to make its home in us.

Author's Note:  As our culture celebrates love this week, I pray you will enjoy this collection of my favorite quotes from fiction that echo the happy ending we've all been offered.  And if you're looking for a sentiment to pen into a Valentine's card, you can't go wrong with any of these.  You just might also want to make sure the card is attached to the perfect sweatshirt, if you want it to be a holiday long remembered. 

"Was he willing to blend into the life of another human being for the rest of his days, and have hers blend into his? That, of course, was the Bible’s bottom line on marriage: one flesh. Not separate entities, not two autonomous beings merely coming together at dinnertime or brushing past one another in the hallway, holding on to their singleness, guarding against invasion. One flesh!" - Jan Karon, A Light in the Window

“Oh, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person: having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them out. Just as they are—chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away." - Dinah Mariah Craik, A Life for a Life, 1826–1887”

"Love, in its truest form, is not the thing of starry-eyed or star-crossed lovers, it is far more organic, requiring nurturing and time to fully bloom, and, as such, seen best not in its callow youth but in its wrinkled maturity. Like all living things, love, too, struggles against hardship, and in the process sheds its fatuous skin to expose one composed of more than just a storm of emotion–one of loyalty and divine friendship. Agape. And though it may be temporarily blinded by adversity, it never gives in or up, holding tight to lofty ideals that transcend this earth and time–while its counterfeit simply concludes it was mistaken and quickly runs off to find the next real thing.”  - Richard Paul Evans, The Letter 

“I come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is and always will be yours.”   - Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

"My love isn't a weapon, it's a lifeline, reach out and take hold, and don't let go!” - Francine Rivers, Redeeming Love

"I lived with visions for my company,
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know
A sweeter music than they played to me.
But soon their trailing purple was not free
Of this world's dust, — their lutes did silent grow,
And I myself grew faint and blind below
Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst come ... to be,
Belov├Ęd, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,
Their songs, their splendours, (better, yet the same,
As river-water hallowed into fonts)
Met in thee, and from out thee overcame
My soul with satisfaction of all wants —
Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame."
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese, 26

Monday, December 29, 2014

New Seeds

For the past couple of years, my husband and I have made it a priority to get a way during the month of December to spend some time together.  It's a hectic, crazy time of the year to try to carve out a couple of days, but we are discovering it's actually a wonderful time to do it. 

Because disconnecting from the noise at the end of the year makes it easier to start fresh in a new year.  We've had some late night talks, a romantic one by a fire and a humorous one by a space heater, where we've emptied our souls of the clutter and kindled some new dreams.  We've asked each other uncomfortable questions, laughed together, and prayed together.  And somehow, on the other side, we were ready.  Ready to plow into a new season, confident we're playing on the same team.

It's been a blessing to see the fruit of this simple act in my marriage, but I was even more surprised to discover that for the last couple of years, the same thing has been happening in my relationship with my God.  Somehow in the turning of the calendar page from one year to the next, He speaks.  And I have learned to treasure standing under the spigot of words that flows from His mouth.  Just as Mary "stored up all these things and pondered them in her heart," I want to take each word that comes from the Father and tuck them away in the storehouse of my soul, to take them out again and turn them over and over until they become more than words, but seeds.  Seeds for new things. 

Because the Lord loves new things.  He loves to take the tired and worn out, the cracked and broken, or even just the familiar and comfortable...and breathe life into them, turning them inside out, and calling forth a new work from an old vessel. 

And so my prayer is that I will not cling to the lifeless shell of last season's seed, but allow Him to bury within me a new one. 

And then for Him to do it again.

"See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."  - Isaiah 43:19

Author's Note: If you are looking for some resources for the new year to deepen your time under the spigot of His voice, I would recommend these.  I have provided links for where they may be purchased online.  Have a blessed and fruit bearing 2015!

  • The "Quiet Times for the Heart" series by Catherine Martin.  There are several books in this series, but the one I have linked to at Amazon here addresses specifically how to grow in intimacy with the Lord.
  • "Road Signs" Bible Study, an 8 week DVD course that is written/produced by my friend Paige Allen (she was a guest speaker here for us last year).  Our ladies' lifegroup just completed this study, and it was a big blessing for many women.  The link will take you to the order page.  You can toggle to choose one book or one DVD/book.  (If money is tight for you, you can purchase just a book and borrow a DVD from me!)

If this an area of needed growth, please don't delay in pressing in.  Whenever my time with the Lord grows a little distant, I find that being aggressive and, often, finding a new resource, will bring fresh life and clarity to my ability to hear from Him.  Don't let your love grow cold!  Invest in it.
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