Question...

Last week I stumbled upon the singer/songwriter JJ Heller. After listening to bits of a few songs, I downloaded the entire set. This morning one of the lines struck me:

Falling in love with you was easy
You were always meant to have my heart

The song is obviously about her relationship with God. I believe God did create us with a "God shaped vacuum" as Pascal (or someone-it's origin is debated) wrote. So I do believe He was meant to have my heart.

But is falling in love with God easy?

For the few who read this blog, I'd really like to hear what you have to say...don't be afraid...there's no right answer. And honestly, this strikes me this morning because, although I feel guilty and somehow wrong saying it, falling in love with God doesn't feel easy or even natural. So, tell me, what do you think? What's your story? I'd love for you to post it here, but if you're more comfortable emailing me, that's fine too.

p.horstman@hotmail.com

The Long and Winding Road

You can see for miles. Roads stretch out before you with very little to obstruct the view. Over the open prairie, the sky's big and the earth gently heaves and sighs. It's beautiful and I've grown to love it.

On our way to Gavin's Point Dam over the July 4th weekend, we drove over hills and through dales that actually twist and turn so you can't always see where the road leads. I found myself looking down the byways and wondering what was around the bend. One little road, for some reason, seemed magical. It looked lovely and mysterious and like it could only hold treasures.

In my younger years, I'm quite sure I saw my future through those same curious, hopeful eyes; anticipating the best kind of magic. But at some point in my life, I'm not even sure when or how it happened, my view changed. What lay beyond the bend became something I feared. Instead of hopefully trusting that life (or more aptly the Giver of Life) would be full of ups and downs and twists and turns that eventually always lead to someplace lovely, I started believing that danger lurked in the unknown places.

Maybe it's because not knowing what's next makes life not only unpredictable but messy. When Brad's feeling out of control over something in his life, he quotes Steve Martin from Parenthood: "I don't like messy." I don't know if any of us like messy, but at some point we all have to accept that it's part of life and we can either 1) live with it begrudgingly, 2) keep trying to manage and contrive and control and drive everyone-including ourselves- crazy or C) Look beyond the mess and enjoy the journey despite the uncertainty.

More than you could ask.

A concert of monumental* proportions takes place in less than 24 hours. For me, it's the concert of a lifetime. And I realized today that I've hardly talked about it and only mentioned it in passing on facebook and in this blog. I think it seems so unbelievable to me that I actually get to go that I haven't wanted to share it for fear of it not happening. I also really didn't want to see and hear people's reactions or have to explain who they are or what their music means to me.
But as I sat on my deck I realized I've been afraid to be excited, afraid to enjoy it, afraid to anticipate. Little by little satan's been eroding my joy of something that's not only a gift from my husband and friend, but a gift from God.


As I sat mulling it over, God brought this verse to mind: Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
Immeasurably more than I could ask...


Yep, it's gonna be good.




*well, monumental to me ;)

Called to love

It's under "favorites" on my laptop. And when you click on the link on our pc at home and begin typing letters, all the names of pages visited pop up. Caringbridge.org provides free online pages for people struggling with illnesses. Preemies, cancer patients, victims of accidents and those with ongoing health issues share updates and reflections on personalized sites. It's a beautiful, practical way not only to share information, but also for the patients and families to receive support and encouragement as they face their battles. It makes it "easy" to bless others with words and prayers.

But reaching out, supporting the sick and hurting isn't always so easy or convenient. Sometimes because you're afraid. Like the other day when I hugged the young soul who just shared with me their fight against bed bugs in their home. I gave the hug but immediately worried, brain racing can you get bed bugs from a hug? (I don't think so). But regardless of my fear, the hug was necessary. At times, reaching out, meeting needs, and caring for those hurting is difficult because so many suffer in silence. Mental illness, addictions, abuse, wayward children, marital conflicts, and money issues all exhaust and drain those encountering them. But often out of embarrassment, shame, guilt or simply hurt, they don't tell anyone.

There's no Caringbridge for parents struggling with kids making life-altering, dangerous decisions. There's no website (that I know of) for those suffering from depression, bi-polar disorder or other mental illness to share their pain and receive encouragement. People facing financial ruin, lawsuits, addictions or marital issues rarely share their pain publicly. I'm not blaming anyone for this. I've been there and if no one pursues or acts like they care, it's seems easier to deal with the pain alone.

However, Jesus never meant for life to be handled alone. My point is simply that then the only way to build up and encourage these suffering in silence is to be in their lives enough so that they either trust enough to share, or you're close to pick up on cues.

It's not easy to hug the kids with bed bugs or lice. It's not easy to get close to someone hurting; they're sometimes prickly as a self defense. It's not east to love and share someones pain when your own feels overwhelming. But, if you claim to follow Christ, you're called to a life of service to others...a life of loving the unlovable...a life of being close enough to know and see the hurt...a life of non-judgemental unconditional love for those in pain.

Called to love.

Let us touch the dying, the poor, the lonely and the unwanted according to the graces we have received and let us not be ashamed or slow to do the humble work.
~Mother Teresa

Storytellers

In no place emotionally to make small talk, I remember sitting in silence.
She didn't seem to care.
Every once in a while she asked me a question and smiled kindly at my brief, barely alive response. As we approached the end of the meal she started telling me her story. My mind racing but my face stolid, I listened.
I heard as she shared her story of addiction, depression, broken relationships and God's healing power experienced in her life.
The memory of her gentle voice but strong words comes back to me as I think about my own story.
At the request of a very worried mutual friend, she came, vulnerable and ready to risk for the sake of helping a struggling soul.
She didn't know me. Yet she spoke with transparency, honesty, authenticity and tenderness. She didn't ask for a response from me or expect anything from me.
And I didn't offer.
Out of a deep love for God, she reached out in obedience expecting nothing. And nothing was what she got. Well, from me at least.
What she didn't know or couldn't anticipate was the profound impact that hour long lunch around a mutual friends table had on me. I sought help and I stopped beating myself up mentally. Those were some of the deepest darkest days of my life, and she brought a glimmer of light into my dark tunnel to show me where to walk next.
She's a customer of mine now. She comes into my shop and we periodically have the opportunity to share joys, sorrows and prayer requests. But I don't think I've ever actually thanked her.
So, dear friend, thank you for being real. Thank you for being vulnerable. Thank you for being honest. Thank you for sharing your life with me when I had nothing to offer in return. God used you. You were His words to me that day.
Is there someone who needs to hear your story? Who needs to see a real person? Risk it--offer without expecting.

1994

Honestly, I don't remember 1994. A toddler and an infant filled my days with diapers, midnight feedings, messy kisses, sweet giggles, and lots of firsts. The year blurs into the rest of the decade. But half a world away, for an entire country, 1994 looms like an ominous cloud in history. Beginning in April of 1994, and continuing for almost 100 days, over 500,000 Rwandan's suffered death and persecution at the hands of their former friends and neighbors.
While I tucked my babies in at night, other moms quieted their starving babies for fear of discovery.
While we moved into our home, others escaped theirs in the night.
While I read Good Night Moon to my three year old, recently orphaned Rwandan children huddled in the marshes night after night waiting for rescue.
While I enjoyed the safety, blessing and comfort of a loving husband, women on another continent suffered the cruelty and brutality of merciless men.
While we lived in relative harmony with our neighbors and in our community, villagers in Rwanda terrorized, tortured, and murdered their neighbors.

Reading as we forgive by Catherine Claire Larson, opened my eyes and heart not only to the pain these fellow humans endured during the Rwandan genocide of 1994, but also to the tremendous capacity for humans to forgive the unforgivable. The book relates several true stories of forgiveness between victim and offender. Unbelievable tales of reconciliation that demonstrate that healing for a war torn country is possible, each personal story inspires me to practice true forgiveness in my own life on a daily basis.

I'm thankful for my life and that, for whatever reason, I've been thus far spared the pain these people endured. But I never again want to be so consumed with my own small corner of this planet that I'm completely blind to another country's suffering.

Our Father which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done in earth,
as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil:
For thine is the kingdom,
and the power,
and the glory,
for ever.
Amen.
Jesus prayer in Matthew 6
King James Version

Want to know more? Here's a few websites:

as we forgive

The Umuvumu Tree Project

The United State Holocaust Memorial Museum
Restorative Justice

*Please forgive the strange blogspot induced spacing.

Good Grief

Precious in the sight of the LORD
is the death of his faithful servants. ~Psalm 116:15

The white haired organist played the old hymns. Flowers in shades of pink adorned the chapel. People spoke in hushed tones as they dabbed away tears. Friends and family gathered to say good bye and celebrate life.

It's a scene played out over and over again and yet, when it's your mother, father, brother or friend, it's no longer a common occurance because now...now it's personal.

She lived a long, full life. Sitting in the pew, listening to adoring sons and loving grandchildren, you might think it was a perfect life. But anyone who lives knows there's no such thing even for this lovely woman. Blessed, faith-filled and faithful yes; but not without hurt, tragedy and pain. And yet, through it all, she loved God and her family well. Passing on a legacy of strength, loyalty and trust in her Maker, her funeral honored her story but more importantly pointed everyone in the chapel to the Giver of that legacy.

Several thoughts struck me as I sat in the church during this sacred moment simultaneously mourning and celebrating.

What would she think of her own funeral?
What would my kids say about me when I die?
What would they laugh about?
Would memories spark hurt or anger about me or would love truly cover the multitude of my sins?
Would the funeral be more about me or the One to whom I belonged?

When I ordered flowers for the service, I told my talented florist friend that the most distinguishing trait about the deceased was her faith and trust in God. I couldn't think of hobbies she had or what she loved to do. I could only think of Who she loved (well, that and the fact that she regularly prayed for the Twins--yes, the baseball team--but I didn't want a Twinkies floral arrangment).

What would someone tell a florist about me?
At the graveside, the pastor asked the family to say just one word that described their mom and grandma.

Selfless.

Loving.

Faithful.

When I'm gone, what will those closest say about me? Will they struggle to find appropriate words or will the praises come out fast and furious like they did yesterday for this lovely, dearly loved woman?
What would I want them to say?

What do you want those nearest and dearest to you to say...

Marion R. Solfelt 6.27.1924~5.24.2011

Quite Enough

We Are Loved

David Crowder Band

Velvet black night
Pierced with white
Stars waiting quiet
Wide listening sky

Stillness of air
Life hanging there
Out of despair
Rises a prayer

Can we take in Your light
So we can shine like You?
With all this weariness
Can we shine like You?
With this weariness

O we are loved
We are loved
And it's quite enough that
We are loved

We are loved
We are loved
And it's quite enough that
We are loved

The day after

The second I saw the kitchen I was angry. Not the sighing weary anger but real- from the gut want to commit acts of violence- anger. The remnants of a fun, late night of cards and food were enough to send me over the edge. This is what happens when your children grow up and stay up later than you. Add to that dirty and clean laundry all co-mingling on the floor, last nights dishes and a plugged toilet and it's a recipe for disaster.

Me stomping through the house...
NO one picks up after themselves *bang*
they treat me like a maid *slam*
no respect. I get absolutely zero respect *violently throwing clothes in the general direction of the laundry room*
Room and board. I'm going to start charging room and board *slam slam bang*
I have to go away to WORK now...where I cook and clean and WAIT on OTHER people *yelled as I grab my bag and slam my way out the door*

You get the picture.

Once at work I remember there's no milk. *slam* Oh yeah, nobody is here to hear me.
I make my list and run to get groceries and upon my return, I hit my head getting out of the car. *moan* I put the key in the shop lock and it won't go in.
What the what!?! This just worked-I just unlocked this 20 minutes ago *fuming*
Maybe if I push a little more *snap*
Oh crap *grumbled under my breath as the key breaks off in my hand*
The universe is against me *Tears well up*
I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry *huge lump in my throat*

Tears suppressed, I get in my van and tires squealing head back home for the other keys.

Note for the future: It would be a lot easier to ask for Brad's help if you haven't acted like such a jerk. But I have no choice; so I ask. He grabs his jacket and follows me in his truck (from a distance, mind you, I'm sure fearful of what I may do). Upon arriving back at work I look and hang my head in shame and humiliation; I put the key in the wrong lock...that's why it wouldn't go in and that's why it broke.

User error. My user error. What's wrong with me! I've been opening this door for 6 years *no tears now just more anger*
As Brad pulls up, I hastily tell him the news and retreat into my shop kitchen. I assume he retrieved the broken key, I didn't stick around to find out.

In my kitchen, listening to Beethoven (which, incidentally is good, socially acceptable, appropriate for the work place anger music) I continue slamming and fuming partly wishing someone was around to care that my day's crappy and it's only 7:15 and mostly grateful no one's witnessing my hissy fit.

After I get everything going, I check my emails and facebook and finally this blog. And what do I see? Living on Sunday. What an idiot I am. Why did I ever post that? Now I have to own up to it. Wasn't yesterday Resurrection Sunday? The day we're reminded of the fact that not only did Jesus die for our sins (which should have been enough) but He rose again so that we "may have life and have it to the full".

So far my Monday living was full. Full. Of. Crap.

Legitimate frustration with my family for not picking up after themselves spiraled within seconds to full blown anger, resentment, bitterness and more anger. But I was at work now.

It was a busy day at the shop. 20+ women came in and I was friendly and charming and served them with a smile. None of them would have guessed that I still harbored malicious thoughts towards my own flesh and blood.

I'd love to end this post by telling you that when I got home the kids apologized and I apologized and we all made up and had a big family hug. But the reality is, although I'm letting it go, I'm still a little miffed and trying to get over my pity party.

Will living on Sunday ever be easy?*

*that's a rhetorical question.
**both photos are Lois (Jane Kaczmarek) from Malcolm in the Middle

New Song part b

It's amazing to me what some individuals and families are asked to endure.

a chronically ill child.

a terminally ill loved one.

perpetual financial issues.

the fallout of abuse.

addictions.

lifelong mental illness.

betrayals in marriage, work, family, ministries.

My heart breaks for people I know facing the day to day, exhausting grind of job loss, faithless spouses, wayward children, loneliness, addictions and despair. Like the Psalmist, I cry out How long to sing this song? How long? Yet, like Jeremiah I'm reminded that because of God's deep love for us, His mercies are new every day and His faithfulness is indeed great. And with Paul I can confess and cling to the fact that because Jesus became a sacrificial lamb for me, nothing can separate me from God's love. Nothing.

May you, who are exhausted, despairing and feel like darkness is winning and you can barely hold on, may you know the Truth that God's love never fails.

And if you're not sure, I'd love to talk to you about it...p.horstman@hotmail.com

New Song

Driving to work, I questioned my ability to make it through the day. Whatever I need to get through this day, God, I'm sure I don't have it. Whatever I need has to come from you. I made it through the day. Moment by grace filled moment every need supplied until I laid my head on the pillow. God of mercy, God of grace thank you for your saving sustaining moment by moment love.

Charmed

Big round eyes with long lashes, flashing a toothless grin stretching from ear to ear, our hearts were charmed. Even a stranger's gaze turned upon you and you generously, gratuitously broke into an eye sparkling smile. Happy, beguiling and strong, we dubbed you our Charming Child.

Fifteen.

School, drivers ed, football, basketball, soccer, and friends fill your days. Active, never passive, you're determined, funny, noisy, loving and aware. Soon, so soon, 15 will be a distant memory and you'll be called into adulthood and all it's joys and responsibilities.

So right now, as you stand on the edge of the rest of your life, I pray you embrace who you are: strong, passionate, energetic, hardworking and brave and enjoy all God is giving you in this moment.

I know it's tempting to look back and define yourself by events in your past, both good and bad. But I pray you see them as molding, shaping circumstances-no more and no less- and let God be your definer. He loves you oh, so much. He knows every scrape, broken limb, disease, close call, and heart wound you've suffered. He's also rejoiced with every joy experienced. He's your Healer, Savior, Strength, Comforter, and Counselor and is calling you now, on the cusp on adulthood to an even deeper relationship with Himself.

.We love you and all that you are and we pray and ask God to strengthen you by his Spirit—not a brute strength but an amazing inner strength—that Christ will live in you as you open the door and invite him in. And we ask him that with both feet planted firmly on love, you'll be able to take in with all followers of Jesus the extravagant dimensions of Christ's love. Reach out and experience the breadth! Test its length! Plumb the depths! Rise to the heights! Live a full life, full in the fullness of God.*

Happy 15th birthday, son. Love, Mom & Dad

*adapted from Paul's prayer for the Ephesians in The Message

Brand New Clothes

I spent the weekend laughing, talking, eating, shopping, laughing, crying, more talking, more eating, and more laughing with three of my favorite people: my mom and two sisters. We had a lovely time celebrating K's 50th birthday and I'll probably write more on that later. But my search for the perfect ensemble is on my mind right now.

My niece's wedding is coming up and I wanted a new outfit to wear. I don't know about you, but the older I get, the harder it is to pick out clothes. I used to be so confident. Now I'm never sure if something looks right or is too old or too young. So, while I had my sissy's with me, I made them play Clinton & Stacy for me. After a series of try ons and errors, I'm happy to say I did find an outfit and it's not black (a big thing for me since every dressy thing I own has vast amounts of black).

I came home and tried on my new digs for Brad and he loved it. A departure in style yet flattering, comfortable and I think classy, I'm thrilled and can't wait to wear the outfit.

While reminiscing with my sisters this weekend, I thought about how throughout our lives we try things on like outfits. We try on personalities when we're teenagers, we can try on people when we're dating, we try on parenting styles, methods for running a household, careers, and even religions. I'm not saying we should do this, I'm saying most of us do try things on without even knowing it. It's not always bad. It can help us sort out who we really are, where we belong and most importantly, to Whom we belong.

So this morning when I read this verse from Colossians 3 "Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience." I couldn't help but think of my shopping trip. It felt more comfortable to me to stick with a basic black sheath dress and then accessorize. But I knew I couldn't do it. I needed color. I needed style. I needed something more reflective of who I am.

We settle so often in our lives for comfort. For a basic black sheath and some cheap costume jewelery.

We've tried on the world's way for dealing with life and accepted it.

We settle for the convention of "nice" instead of the radical idea of "grace".

We offer civility instead of true kindness to people.

We offer politeness instead of patience.

We give condescension instead of humility.

It's so much easier that way. People don't question us...our sanity or motives when we conform to the world's standards of what's decent behavior to our fellow humans. But when you love and live like Jesus did... when you realize how dearly loved you are and choose to live a reflection of that love...well, then, you can appear foolish, radical, and just simply too much. It's easier to blend. To wear our black sheath dresses and fit in.

But that's not the end to which we're called and it's also not reflective of who we truly are. If we belong to Christ, we're a new creation. The old is gone. No more black sheath's for us. We're called to grace, mercy, kindness, compassion, justice and peace...reflecting Christ in us.

He has shown you, o man. And what does God require of you? To act justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. ~The Prophet Micah

Loved

"I am somebody cause God don't make no junk" ~Ethel Waters


The way he said it made me smile (well, smirk). Telling a story about high school he made sure to include the term "varsity" before the word basketball. Whether or not he played varsity ball in high school had zero bearing on the story he was telling. So why include it? I've done it a million times: feeling insecure for one reason or another, I name drop or include useless facts that somehow might impress someone. It's ridiculous. A group a adults turn into insecure 17 year olds trying to be accepted or noticed or one up someone else.
When we first moved here, to Iowa, I was 24. New baby, first time as a stay at home mom, only four years of marriage under my belt, I struggled with my identity. I tried to fit in to my little community but every time I opened my mouth about anything from politics to religion, music to decorating, faith to movies, I received either blank or incredulous stares. That's how I perceived them, anyway.


Then, as more babies came and I continued to struggle with everything in life, the realization dawned that I was depressed.


I read my Bible fervently, endlessly.


I prayed, begging God for relief and healing.


I sought counselling.


I learned coping skills.


I trained my thoughts so I was telling myself Truth.


I took meds.


All of it helped. A little.


After years of struggling with the ups and downs of both major and chronic depression,there's countless times I feel like God made a mistake. I was a mistake. He didn't want me this way. I didn't want to be this way. But try as I might, I couldn't/can't change it.

"I" couldn't...can't change it.
I can do what I'm called to do and responsible to do (basically the above "list") but only God can bring healing or change.
Only God.
And although He's granted times of reprieve, there's not been healing to this point.


He's also began to teach me that things I've seen as a result of depression, or things I hate about myself are simply part of who I am. They're not always good or bad, they just are. They're part of the personality He gave me.
We walk around (especially as Christians) and make value judgements about things that we have no business judging. Happy people=good people. Sad people=bad people. Happy, positive=faithful. Sad, melancholy=faithless. The thought process goes something like: If you're trusting God (reeeally trusting God) then you'll be happy (joy filled, positive, and probably quoting lots of scripture). If you're doubting, sad or depressed then you must not be trusting enough.
Yes, I've over simplified it, but there it is.


So what do you do? When you think God's made a mistake with you--at the core? What do you do? Keep trying to change it? Give up and give in? Accept it?


God doesn't make mistakes. I'm sure of that.


He also wants to keep stretching and growing us for His purposes. I'm also sure of that.


But beyond those two things, the only thing I'm sure of is Jesus loves me this I know for the Bible tells me so.

Suspended Time

Snow falling, tiny flakes blowing horizontally out my window I contemplate another week. Five to eight inches expected with high winds today and tomorrow. Gray, cloudy skies, every object covered in white, this monochromatic world stirs a longing deep within and makes me both sleepy and fully awake...time suspended.

Playing under the eaves in the attic, I'd don dress up clothes and create my imaginary home. Complete with invisible husband and child I'd play house. Arranging furniture, cooking, speaking with a foreign accent, creating both crisis and resolutions, whiling away hours in my own world I lived contently.

All grown up and on the cusp of my 44th birthday I long for the days under the eaves. And yet, I wouldn't go back if I could.

So what do I pine for from my youth?

Certainly I'd love the energy, stamina and smooth soft skin again.

I'm glad I know more and have experienced more-both the good and the bad.

Perhaps it's the magic and wonder.

Or maybe simply the time to explore and get lost in my own imagination.

Or the daily discovery of life.

But that's still all right here, right at my fingertips.

It's not chronological age that hampers me.

My dad never stops learning and digging and wondering.

And I often see my mom filled with awe.

Tears sting my eyes when I'm lost in a moment with beautiful music or walk through trees covered in hoar frost or contemplate the deep lasting true love of my husband or connect on a heart level with one of my kids or experience the joy of seeing God at work.

All that beauty that stirs my heart points me to a different kind of grown-up life... one that will never end.

"I have seen the burden God has placed on us all. Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end. So I concluded there is nothing better than to be happy and enjoy ourselves as long as we can." Ecclesiastes 3

**Under the Eaves by Henri Matisse**

Ain't too proud to beg...

In my Wednesday night Bible study, we've been meandering our way through the book of Mark. No study guide. No commentaries. No predetermined questions. We read, pray and talk. After over a year, we're up to chapter 7. Obviously, bulldozing through it is not our goal. Anyway, last night we discussed the part of chapter 6 where Jesus calms the winds when his friends are in their boat. My friend shared a story about her son and how God provided a "calming the winds" moment for her. He was not just restless, but screaming. She did all she could humanly do in the situation to calm him but nothing helped. She finally cried out to God saying "I can't do anything else for him, but you can. Please help him sleep." Within seconds, her sweet little autistic boy stopped screaming and fell fast asleep.
Coincidence? I think not.
This wasn't the first time she prayed for her little boy to rest and be calm but it is the first time they experienced an immediate response .
Did she pray differently this time? I don't know, but I don't think so.
I watched the movie Big the other day. Tom Hanks was and is one of my favorite actors. This was the first roles of his that I really noticed and loved. Funny, poignant, simultaneously light and deep, it's a coming of age story like none other. Josh, a 12 year old, frustrated with being short and pushed around and told what to do, puts a quarter into Zoltar, a game at a carnival, and wishes to be big. Zoltar grants his wish and you'll have to watch the rest of the movie to get the end of the story.

Anyway, God isn't a Zoltar. We don't put in a prayer request and get our wishes granted.

Christians talk about prayer all the time.

It's a conversation...It's a dialogue...It's listening...It's presenting requests...It's mainly for praise...It's communion with the Holy...It's for God not us...It's for us not God...

Countless books on how to pray, when to pray, why pray...

Somehow we think you have to do it right or God won't hear--as if if our actions spark some sort of obligatory response from God, the Maker of the universe.

No, He's not obligated to respond any certain way.

So, why pray? To make ourselves feel better? To appease a glory-seeking ego centric puppet-master God? Because He commands us to pray?

Well, God does tell us to pray.

And it's clear, as you study the Bible that He wants us to pray.

But again, why? Again, as you study you'll find all sorts of reasons, but I guess that is not my point.

If you keep reading Mark to the end of chapter 6 it explains how Jesus and his followers travelled to towns "And wherever he went—into villages, towns or countryside—they placed the sick in the marketplaces. They begged him to let them touch even the edge of his cloak, and all who touched it were healed."

They begged him...

Desperate, needy, humble...they begged him.

The last several weeks, I've felt desperate before God. My whole life, I've been learning what it means to truly trust a huge, mysterious, perplexing God and say "Your will be done" all the while throwing myself on His mercy and begging for His healing and intervention not only for myself, but for others. Trusting and begging can coexist. Look at those in the marketplace who touched his robe.

Beggar poor, I show up at Mercy's door. Nothing to offer, everything to gain. And He let's me touch His robe and I know there's healing. Not always an immediate calming of my storm, but a healing I can't explain. A Light that shines into the deepest darkest parts of this soul.

Breaking Point

depression
despair
anger
misunderstanding
law suits
bankruptcy
lost jobs
lonely women
hopeless men
broken marriages
struggling children
hurting parents
failing businesses

Over the last three days different individuals shared everything in the above list with me.
"God will not give you more than you can handle." Really? That saying is not actually in the Bible. It never says He won't give you more than you can stand. It says in Corinthians that you won't be tempted beyond what you can bear. But He never promises you won't be with faced with trials that are too much.
Job's trials (if you don't know the story of Job click here) seemed like too much. He lost everything. Everything. Children. Money. Business. Health. Friends. He lost it all, yet when his wife (oh lovely woman that she was) told him to "curse God and die", he refused. Why? Because he could handle or bear his loss and heartache? I don't think so. I think he said no to cursing God and uttered "though He slay me yet will I hope in Him" because he understood that the Maker of the universe didn't answer to him. I love when Job, toward the end of the book when confronted by the All powerful God in all His majesty, slaps his hand over his mouth and says "surely I spoke of things I don't understand." No, Job was given more than he could bear. And yet he survived.
God never promises you won't be faced with trials that are too much.
But He does promise His peace.
He promises that His grace will be enough.
He promises that He will never leave you.
He promises you love and mercy new every morning.
So much hurt. It would be easy today to either 1)give pat answers and lovely cliches to all the hurting people in my life or 2) tell them, yep, life sucks, it's hopeless.
But neither of those responses seem, well, adequate or Truthful.
As I sit here and look out at the beautiful blue skies and white frosted trees, I pray.
I pray for honesty and authenticity to meet people where they are in their hurt...
for relief and provision for the dad without work
for sustaining grace for each moment for the anxious mom
for healing and understanding for the marriage on the brink
for a glimmer of hope for the depressed
for a forgiveness and peace for the prodigal
for a friend for the friendless
for wisdom in life changing decisions
for patience between family members
for healthy responses to anger
for restoration
for peace...peace...peace...

"When I think of all this, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father, the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth. I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.
Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. Glory to him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen." ~Paul to the people in Ephesus

**Portrait by Marc Chagall "Job Prays"

Joy

I held the song book for her but there's no need; she can't read or even speak the words anymore. Her hand felt soft and warm in mine. I smiled and she squeezed my fingers. Her eyes lit up as she heard the familiar strains on the piano. Immediately she hummed the tune. She closed her eyes, the edges of her mouth slightly curved in a little smile while she continued humming along. She remembered the song note for note. As we sang, the words fell fresh on my ears.
"Let every heart prepare him room."
She can't speak and doesn't remember or understand enough about her faith to articulate it, yet, as she smiled and hummed it seemed obvious to me that her heart not only had room for, but was praising her Savior, Jesus.
I sat and listened to her and looked around at the Christmas tree in the corner and the wreath adorning the door and remembered how she loved Christmas. Each year she lovingly decorated the tree, put out her Christmas village, the nativity set and her collectible carolers. Powdered crescent cookies and homemade peanut butter cups covered her counter and apple cider with cinnamon red hots perked away while she prepared to celebrate the Holiday with family and friends. She didn't treat any other holiday with this much attention to detail or tradition or care. Christmas was special to her. She once told me that Easter felt solemn because of the weight it carried--the fact that Jesus had to die for her sins overshadowed the fact that He also rose again. No, the joy of Easter was dampened by the death on Good Friday.

But Christmas, well now, Christmas was a truly Holy Day that was all happy and good. A precious baby here to save the world, now that was a joyful occasion.
As we watch her, week after week, slipping away, it's comforting to get little glimpses like this. To remember who she was and what she loved and to listen to her hum a Christmas carol. God hasn't left her or forsaken her. He's still her salvation even as she slowly loses mental and physical ground. He not only accepts, but loves her simple, unencumbered hummed offerings. Her joy seems pure.

Let every heart prepare Him room...may all our hearts be open and ready to receive Him in pure Joy.
.

Straight up

In the wee hours while the house sleeps and before the busyness of the day begins, I pray, all alone in the quiet. Not wanting to rush the morning, I keep the lights low and open the drapes. Staring out the french doors, the bare trees against the stark gray sky look forlorn and beautiful. Apple cinnamon tea warming my insides, something in the view strikes me as odd.
That tree across the street, it's not right. You can't see it when dressed in green, but the anomaly is obvious now. That big branch must have been lopped off at some point. The rest of the tree reaches out, organic and branchy, and looks natural. But right there, off the main trunk, the growth pattern changes.
Those branches, where the tree was cut, they're growing straight up.
Not out in twisted little y's like the rest of the tree.
Up from the place of the cut, like fingers reaching to the sky, the branches break form.
Odd.
They're out of place. They don't look right. They mar the symmetry of the tree.
The branch was cut off but still alive. Greedy for sunlight, it grew straight up. It didn't know any better. It didn't know that to fit in, it should grow out- not up.
The branch shot vertically through the other branches, ignoring the pattern of the tree, searching for the life giving sun.
As I continue studying the tree, I see beauty in the oddity...
beauty in the desperation for light...
beauty in the reckless abandon of form...
Oh, to be that desperate; willing to risk conformity, willing to look out of place, willing to be the oddity to find light and life, willing to go from a place of pain, from a place pruning and shoot straight through all the crap to find the Light.

Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD rises upon you. ~the prophet Isaiah

He grew up before him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. ~the prophet Isaiah

Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. ~Paul to the Romans

Hear me, LORD, and answer me,
for I am poor and needy.
Guard my life, for I am faithful to you;
save your servant who trusts in you.
You are my God; have mercy on me, Lord,
for I call to you all day long.
Bring joy to your servant, Lord,
for I put my trust in you. ~King David


**photos: I'd give my right arm (well, maybe that's extreme, ok, my wisdom teeth) for a decent camera...as you can tell, I took them both with our crappy camera. You can kinda see the fingers...it's more obvious in real life. Also, because the morning I wrote this the batteries in the said crappy camera were dead, I took the pics the next day and the sky was no longer stark & gray. But hopefully you get the idea.**

Sun Soaked Skies

Every fall I miss my home state of Michigan. The vibrant oranges, reds, and fluorescent yellows of the trees, the crisp air and even crispier apples, the rolling hills, and the wild untamed forests speak home to me.

Over the last 19 years of life here, I've grown to respect and admire Iowa's own beauty during harvest. It's kinda like the people who live here: modest, solid, quietly displaying beauty, never needing to be the center of attention.

Harvest time this year is like none I've ever seen.

Absolutely gorgeous.

Not the changing, bright colors like Michigan.

No, here on the plains the trees turned brown and died like every other year. But the spectrum of native grasses sport as many shades of colors as the trees back home.

And the beauty in the skies is breathtaking.

In the morning, the golden sun rises over newly shorn fields highlighting the gentle rolls of the earth.

At dusk, as the dirt from the farmer's combines kick up, the display of color it causes on the horizon is amazing; reds, yellows, oranges, purples and pinks beyond imagination change each moment for a new picture to revel in and soak up.

And all day long, all month long...blue skies.

Clear, blue, cloudless skies day after day after beautiful day.
I just want to breathe it all in and tuck it away to treasure for the cold months looming in the near future.
Each day presents another vivid picture of the splendor of this world and the timeless majesty of it's Creator.

And even though all this beauty is born out of death and the end of a growing season and signals the coming of a long winter ahead, I hear Hope whispering to my heart and mind.

**photo: Just 20 miles south east of our home the landscape is vastly different. With beauty tucked around every bend in the gravel road, it's one of my favorite places...**