You Are Mine

I pray there are moments this weekend when, no matter what is swirling in and around you, you will hear Him whisper:

"Remember that nothing can separate you from My loving Presence; you are mine."
"Jesus Calling"  - Sarah Young

Have a blessed weekend dear friends,
Linda

Linking to Sandy's Still Saturday

Five Minute Friday - Small

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A little boy and his snowman - my first-born. Love looked at him and held his small frame close. He would soon be a big brother, and I couldn't quite imagine it.

Memory plays tricks on us sometimes. I hadn't remembered the fragility of a newborn - the little curled fingers with the translucent nails - the tiny arms and legs. We brought him home to his brother who seemed to have grown in the short time I was away. Where had those sturdy legs come from? And when did he grow so tall?

It is, I suppose, a matter of perspective; all in the way we look at things.

Do you, like me, have a tendency to look at others and see how big they are? They are great writers, mothers, singers, career women, you name it, and I am so small in comparison. They have great numbers, terrific kids, amazing voices, name recognition, and I am unnoticed.

Perhaps we are looking with the wrong eyes. If we could see through His eyes, we would see what He sees. He has said the small would be great in His kingdom, and still we struggle to see anything of value. He says it isn't about numbers or fame or power or any of the things we tend to focus on. He says it's what we do for Him, in love, that counts.He says He can take our little and turn it into the miraculous.

There was a man named John who said He must increase and I must decrease. Jesus said there was no one greater than John. See yourself as He sees you. Give him your small and let Him make of it something grand. If you touch just one life in His name, you have done much.

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Joining Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday - the word is small.



Blessings,
Linda

Imagined Stories

I pass the bank, check the time and begin the circuit for the fourth time. Triple digit temperatures have driven us indoors. The heat seeps into the early morning hours and doesn't begin to recede until the stars come out. So although I really don't like walking in the mall, it seems the better part of wisdom for now.

I pass the same stores with the same displays over and over again. It is dizzying....and boring. I do love watching people, however, and there are just enough of them around this not so popular mall to satisfy my imagination. For I don't just like watching people; I like to write their stories in my mind.

For instance, there is the elderly man who has been working on painting a display wall for days. He is slow and methodical. I imagine he is long past retirement age, but some financial misfortune has forced him to take this back-breaking job. He never smiles or makes eye contact, although he did acknowledge my husband's greeting once. I think he is sad and a bit lonely. He probably goes home to an empty house.

The young guy at the hobby kiosk looks bored to death. He plays with a remote control car and keeps his head down. I wonder how he ended up with this job. Maybe he takes college classes in the evening. On one of our circuits I notice him sneaking little looks at the pretty young girl working in the hair kiosk. I wonder if he's thinking about asking her to have lunch with him. I hope she says yes. He looks nice. Oh, but what if she already has a boyfriend? He'll be so disappointed.

I've seen him twice now. If anyone could be described as "a long drink of water" it would be him. He must be at least 6' 5" and thin as a rail. His wide-brimmed cowboy hat is pulled way down over his eyes and he carries a soft drink in his hands. Is he looking for companionship? I once saw him try to start a conversation with a girl on the escalator.  I though at first he knew her, but I saw her on the next turn around the mall, and she was alone - talking on her cell phone. I imagined she was telling a friend about the weird guy who tried to pick her up (you never know).

For some reason I felt like crying when I saw her. She walked with purpose, eyes straight ahead, high heels clicking on the tile floor. Her shorts were barely there and the top far too revealing. I didn't like to imagine her story. I don't think it was happy.

This imagining people's stories is something I do all the time. I have to laugh at myself, though, because I'm sure my stories bear very little resemblance to the truth. In fact, on the rare occasion I somehow learn the true story it is a far cry from my imagined one.

I think there is a part of us that wants our stories to be known - at least in part. There is no joy in feeling anonymous and alone - as though no one cares where it begins or ends.. I think of that as I watch them go by - anonymous to me but never to Him.

The Father knows every story - sees every heart, hears every thought. Every face I see in the cars that whiz past me is familiar to Him. Every, single, solitary person is known. You are known. You are loved.

Joining Jennifer with other story-tellers:

 

Blessings,
Linda

Reflections on 7 Years of Blogging

It has been a little over seven years since, with trembling hands, I wrote my first blog post. It began with a dream to use writing as ministry. A rather lofty dream for one with limited ability, but I pursued it with an open heart - trying always to be honest and transparent (with a dollop of self -editing thrown in for good measure).

I had no idea of stats and comments and building platforms, but it wasn't long before they edged their way into my consciousness. Suddenly the dream became less straight-forward as the people-pleasing part of my personality elbowed her way in. The battle was on - the one where open and honest kept one eye on the numbers while trying desperately to focus on balance. It's been an on-going war swinging wildly from one extreme to the other. One day deciding to delete the whole blog, the next trying desperately to be part of the "group" I so admired and wanted to emulate and still others finding a semblance of balance. It is rather tiring.

I came to end of myself and stood with open hands - willing to let go of those things I was struggling so hard to control. It was during this time that life delivered one of those gut wrenching blows - the ones we somehow know are inevitable but never see coming. They have a way of shaking things up, dumping them out and rearranging the whole mess.

There is no self-editing in this post I'm afraid - just my heart sticking her head bravely out there. I thought, at first, I would quietly slip away. But I have heard the Father whisper over and over again - write. My dear friend once told me (when I sat across from her and told her I couldn't for the life of me figure out what my gift was) I had the gift of encouragement. Over time it resonated. It is humbling to be given a gift - any gift at all - but one from the Father - ah that is something to be treasured .....and given away.

During this difficult time, I have looked carefully at the blessing of blogging and the disappointments it can bring. Somehow there is no sting in it any more- not even for this overly sensitive "good girl." (Emily Freeman has me pegged.).  

 On this belated bloggiversary, I want to put away the temporal longings and reach for the eternal. I want to look back seven years and find the heart that longed only for His approval. I want to use the gift. 

Blessings,
Linda

Lonely/Lovely

This Friday the word is Lonely:

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Lisa-Jo's email popped into my inbox. I glanced quickly at the word, clicked over to her blog and never realized that in my haste I read the word incorrectly. I saw "lovely."  The word is "lonely."

Somehow I can't transition from lovely to lonely. The chorus from my childhood has been running through my mind:

"Altogether lovely. He is altogether lovely
 And the fairest of ten thousand
 This wonderful Friend divine.

 He gave His life to safe me
 Now He lives in heav'n to keep me
 He is altogether lovely,
 Is this wonderful Savior of mine."

Wendell P. Loveless

I thought of how those words of that simple song have forever changed my perception of lovely. It isn't the beautiful images on a screen or in magazines that come to mind. It is everything set against the backdrop of who He is.

Perhaps there is some connection to lonely after all. He can fill in the empty spaces of our lives with His presence, bringing peace and comfort when all the world seems dark. He is a friend who never leaves us - not even when we are tiresome or quite unlovely. His promises bring hope to those who have lost everything.

He is altogether lovely - in times of great joy and in times when we feel so very alone.

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Joining the Five Minute Friday community at Lisa-Jo's (By the way, her post is absolutely lovely!)



Blessings dear friends,
Linda

From Glory to Glory

I walk clutching the ringed index cards in sweaty hands. The ink is beginning to fade and the edges are curling a bit as I repeat the verses over and over. Slowly, over time, they work their way from my head to my heart. They nestle down in that place - that hidden place - reserved for His words alone.

I struggle some days, trying to mine the deep riches the Spirit has deposited through the writings of  the apostle Paul. Every word a precious nugget. Yesterday it was:

Romans 8: 16-17 "The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then joint heirs - heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with Him in order that we may also be glorified with Him."

I walk. The wind whispers through the leaves of the ancient oaks. That funny peacock crosses the road right in front of me. And the words linger - caught somewhere between heaven and earth: "...in order that we may also be glorified with Him."

It is an inheritance of immeasurable wealth: One day we, I, will be like Him. The One who lived and loved perfectly. The One who was and is and ever shall be. Like Him....glorified.

I think back over the past few weeks - picturing the ones who touched my life in that brief span of time. Surely there was a glimpse of glory in those faces:

 - my husband who walked through months of debilitating pain without bitterness or complaint and his deep   gratitude for healing          
- a precious son who walked through difficult days with us
- a dear friend who sat with me during Steve's surgery, bought my lunch, handed me a gift bag filled with
   everything I might want or need, who prayed with me
- the friends who wept with us in our sorrow
 - the ones who put physical arms around us and prayed
- others who sent messages of comfort and told us they were praying - some of whom I've never met
- my family - drawing close and loving so well
- my darling daughter who, through tears of overwhelming sorrow, gave thanks for all the blessings

We live within the confines of our humanity, sometimes gloriously and at others falling far short. But He is doing a work in His children - little by little, day by day, from glory to glory. If you look carefully, you will catch a glimpse.

"But we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord."
II Corinthians 3:18

Blessings,
Linda

Five Minute Friday - Story

Joining Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday:  Story

start:

"You saw me before I was born.
    Every day of my life was recorded in your book.
Every moment was laid out
    before a single day had passed."
 Psalm 139:16

 The days fold one over another, like pages in a well loved book. We begin the days slowly, my husband working his way back to health. He marvels at the miracle of God's ways - a body renewed and restored from such sickness and pain. 
Tears of gratitude run down his cheeks.
They mingle with the tears of loss and deep sorrow for a much loved child's suffering.

The morning flows into sunlit afternoons, and I wait for the phone call. Our voices travel across the ocean and thousands of miles that separate us, and we hold each other close with our words. There are tears and sometimes laughter, shared memories and unanswered questions. The minutes slip by and we try to hold back the good-bye.
Evening comes and with it a quiet resting - while the mind and heart, with a will of their own, tumble over one another. Softly the Father comes to remind me of the things I've always known. And her words, the one spoken through tears over that long distance, echo in my heart.

"We must remember, Mom, this was Nicolas' story - written before he was even born." 

I remember: yes - written with love and and a purpose that goes beyond our understanding.

And our stories...they too were written by His hand - every word. In the midst of our sorrow we remember:

"How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.
    They cannot be numbered! I can’t even count them;
    they outnumber the grains of sand!
And when I wake up,
    you are still with me!"
Psalm 139: 17,18

And we rest in such love.
                                                                                                                                stop

linking to Lisa-Jo:



Blessings,
Linda