Month: April 2012

Creme in Your Coffee?

Last week, someone whose name  I won’t mention, surprised me by cooking dinner. I came home to the delicious smell and rich taste of steaming Potatoes Gratin. I paid my compliments to the chef by licking my plate, not knowing I’d want to hit him with a rolling pin the next day.

I’m not a violent person, but I’m not a morning person either. I need my coffee first thing, and I drink decaf. Go figure.

Saturday morning I made my usual French Pressed coffee: grind two scoops of whole coffee beans, pour two cups of boiling water over them, and steep for three minutes. Then I pour the coffee into my Drama Mama mug and add three tablespoons of Half and Half.

I repeat: add three tablespoons of Half and Half.

Like Sherlock Holmes in search of a dairy product, I looked behind every container in my refrigerator. I plowed my way through soggy, limp lettuce leaves in the vegetable bin.

My personality went from being like Smeagol to Gollum in Lord of the Rings. Instead of a ring, I wanted my precious Half and Half.

Desperate, I added 2% milk into my cup, took two sips of bland, lukewarm coffee, and dumped it down the sink. When the chef whose name I won’t mention woke up, I asked, “Did you use Half and Half in the Potatoes?”

“Yes. Did you need it for your coffee?”

“YES!” I hissed like Gollum.

“Sorry about that.”

I counted to ten and a half and half, and went away to have my quiet time with the Lord. Coffee or no coffee, it’s difficult to read God’s Living Word and not be convicted. “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control…” (Gal. 5:22,23)

My fruit was lacking. But even in this, the Lord used my Half and Half to show how quickly I fall off my holy high horse when I don’t get what I want when I want it. Rather than cry over spilled milk, I confessed and…

Went to the store where I bought a gallon of Half and Half to share with the chef whose name I won’t mention. Only now, he’s afraid to touch my Half and Half. And I think it’s beginning to curdle.

Tug of War

Ordinarily I read my Bible and pray first thing each morning. But this was no ordinary day. A writing project had to be postmarked by 4 p.m. Mindful of the fleeting time, the taskmaster within me shouted, “Get to work!”

My shoulders sagged beneath responsibility’s weight. Surely God would understand if I worked first and had my quiet time at the end of the day.

Agenda-oriented, I turned on my laptop computer, but Martin Luther’s words pricked my heart. “I have so much to do that I shall spend the first three hours in prayer.”

Taskmaster and Obedient servant played tug of war in my head.

I turned on Christian praise music and knelt before my living room window. My yard was a spring palette of emerald green, yellow, lavender, and blue. Nothing in my creative bank could compare to God’s handiwork.

Joy filled my heart as I praised God for my blessings. Praised God for who He is. Opening the dog-eared pages of my Bible, Psalm 66:8 seemed to dance before my eyes. “Praise our God, O peoples, let the sound of his praise be heard.” (NIV)

Smiling, I sang along with Chris Tomlin’s lyrics, “How can I keep from singing your praise. How can I ever say enough. How amazing is your love. How can I keep from shouting your name. I know I am loved by the King and it makes my heart want to sing.”

Hands raised, my heart grew as warm as the sunshine on my windowpane.

I didn’t spend three hours in prayer, but my time was well spent. When I went to my desk, calm nerves allowed my mind to stay on task.Technological glitches and  minor setbacks tried to sabotage me, but my 10×13 envelope was postmarked fifteen minutes before the deadline. That’s too close for comfort, Lord.

God didn’t allow me to second guess my priorities. A card waited in my mailbox. The front of it said, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart…in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5,6)

I wept.

The card was signed by the women in my Bible study group, God love em.

But it was God’s perfect timing …. even in this.

Weathering the Storms

      Jesus said, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”– John 16:33 NIV

A severe rainstorm approached our town like a threatening and uninvited houseguest. The media warned us to prepare, so my husband cleaned our rain gutters and stored our lawn furniture. I gathered flashlights and bottled water. At dawn, we awoke to wind gusting through the trees as a downpour hammered the ground. But because we had prepared, we were able to face the storm with less anxiety.

Life is full of times of preparation. We prepare for school exams and job promotions. We prepare for a baby to be born, for retirement, and yes, even for harsh weather. Should we not then prepare our minds and spirits for life’s inevitable personal storms?When we faithfully read the Bible and pray, we prepare spiritually for the storms of life.

This may sound simple, but such disciplines help us to know God’s character more deeply so that when trials occur, we won’t feel overwhelmed and question God’s goodness. Instead, because of our intimacy with God, we will know that God is ever-present in any storm. And we can know God’s peace through it all. –Karen Foster

via The Upper Room – Daily Devotional Guide.

“Why do you worry?”

Everyone in the house is sleeping. But me. Audio tapes of previous conversations and questions about tomorrow play in my head. The cooing of a White-winged Dove outside my bedroom window draws me out of bed.

I venture outside to sit alone on my folk’s back patio; alone with my thoughts. But the whistle of a train passing through this small town interrupts my silence.

In a brown oak rocking chair, I watch the day unfold like a stage play. White-winged doves fly from one mesquite tree to another; resting on the branches, eating cracked corn from pet bowls sitting on the picnic table. Overhead, a  T-38 jet from the neighboring Air Force base zooms by, drowning out the chorus of Grackles and Finches.

A cornfield separates me from the rural highway where people in cars speed by. They rush to jobs, run errands, hurry to medical appointments. But time doesn’t rule me today. I can read scripture and pray before the household wakes up.

Tradition brings me to the Lone Star state each year. Four generations gathered round the dining room table on Easter weekend. Thankful for God’s provision, and His Son who died on the cross and rose again. Thankful for family despite the drama.

Now it’s a weekday morning. The others have gone, and my family is staying a few more days. But who’s counting? Unless it’s true that ‘company and fish stink after three days.’ In which case, it explains why my folks have been sniffling.

I randomly open my Bible to Matthew 6:26, 27. “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single day to your life?”

A yellow Aspen leaf is pressed between the pages. I’ve been here before; the words in verse 28 are underlined: “why do you worry.”

“Why do you worry?” Take action. Pray for that person’s employment, that person’s health, that person’s relationship with Christ, and with others.

“Why do you worry?” Spoken by Jesus knowing the excruciating death that awaited Him. Knowing all but one of His disciples would be martyred. Knowing believers would be scattered and persecuted.

God, the Alpha and Omega, knows my past regrets, present concerns, my future.  And still He says, “Why do you worry?”

I can rock frantically back and forth, getting no where. Absorb the drama, stand on my soap box, worry about tomorrow.

Or I can sit still in His presence. Rest on His Word and obey, “Do not worry… but seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness….” (verses 31-33)

The choice is mine…

Even in this.

Free on the Inside

The jail room’s cold concrete walls surrounded me like a stone tomb. Women inmates stood in their tiny cell rooms behind metal doors. They stared at me through thick-glassed windows in the doors. They stared at me like animals in a cage waiting to get out.

Without warning, a loud clicking sound echoed throughout the room as each bolted door automatically unlocked. The women emerged from their cells like the walking dead. Some of them sat down in front of the television. Others used the pay telephones.

One inmate, with tangled bleached hair and a tattoo on her forearm, timidly approached my table. “Are you the church lady?”

“I’m a volunteer jail chaplain. Would you like to study the Bible?”

She nodded and sat across from me. Dull eyes, hollow cheeks, and two missing front teeth belied her age. I’d seen her withered face on dozens of women addicted to drugs.   

We talked for a few minutes to break the ice. Then I opened my Bible to Mark 5:1-20 and read about a man possessed by demons. Although the townspeople tried to chain the man, he always broke free and ran around like a mad dog. He lived in the tombs of dead men. He gashed himself with stones.

But Jesus came to the man. He healed him, revealing God’s love and power.

I told the woman, “It’s the same unfathomable love that led Jesus to the cross to die for our sins. It’s the same incomparable power that raised Jesus from the dead, and gives us eternal life.”  

Hope illuminated the woman’s face. We prayed. And by God’s love and power, this shackled woman became my sister in Christ.    

Became like me, a sinner saved by grace.   

“But because of  His great love for us, God who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgression – it is by grace you have been saved.” (Ephesians 2:4,5 NIV)