I was having a glorious time—perfect spring day with everything in blossom, enjoying a walk, sitting on the deck, delighting in sunshine and a soft breeze on my skin. Feeling genuine joy, contentment, and happiness . . . when spoken words, negative in content and tinged with anger, dashed my sunshine with cold water. I lost my joy, and my inner anger flared.
Why do some people carry around buckets of cold water, ready to douse the first bit of joy they sense in others? I know it’s their protection to cover their pain, but please pour the water over your own head and cool yourself off before you enter my space!
I use my own anger to try to bring some warmth back to my cold body, but it’s a warmth that is self-induced and unproductive. I willingly hand my anger to Jesus, and in my visual I step into a warm shower. Now I feel the sadness and disappointment of a ruined moment, a stolen joy.
“I am your source of joy,” Jesus says. “My presence is what brings you pleasure, and nothing can separate us . . . not man, not beast, not any evil spirit or Satan himself. I am the Light, your warmth, your provider, shield, and protector.”
My heart is heavy this morning with the news that a friend is nearing the end of her life, and another is struggling to function with a disease. Perhaps God put the heaviness there so that I will pray for my friends. Perhaps I’m believing a lie. Or maybe it’s tapping into something unresolved in my own heart. I see worry lines across my forehead.
In my mind, I lift my dying friend’s wasted skeleton and lay her gently in the lap of Jesus. He smiles. She is in good hands.
I see my other friend limping and leaning heavily on my left shoulder as I try to keep her upright. I’m sad and I don’t know why. My knees buckle under her weight, while Jesus waits for us to reach Him. Why isn’t He stepping forward to help? We sit for a while and rest, and still He tarries. I believe I have the responsibility to get her there, but I can’t. All I can do is sit with her till help comes. And as I relax and encourage her, Jesus sends angels to minister to her. They gently soothe her, but her earthly pain remains. Then I see the angels lift her, chair and all, to His feet. I follow and I watch.
“Are you ready, my child?” He whispers in her ear.
“Not yet,” she replies. And so he instructs the angels to carry her to Sick Bay.
It seems I’m next. “Come here, my child,” He says. “What’s troubling you?”
“It’s that word responsibility again,” I say. I know that whatever “it” is doesn’t belong to me.
“No, But love does. Staying with her and not walking away is what I ask of you.”
“That’s the easy part; I can do that.”
“Then visit her in Sick Bay and let her know she’s not alone in her pain.”
It’s often easier to try to fix another’s pain in order to relieve my own, but prayer is not about telling God what to do. It’s about letting go of my expectations and listening to His instructions.
Two days in a row I rose from my bed feeling weary. Is this mild depression? Driven to get some fresh air and exercise, on Saturday I donned a light jacket, packed what I needed for the day, and headed to the Greenway. I snapped some photos and tried not to think. Just walk. Bare trees and brown hues dominated the landscape in the winter chill. I saw a red-headed woodpecker, two fat robins, some ducks on the water, a cardinal, and several squirrels with nuts in their mouths. Under one overpass, I was shocked to see how high the water had flooded at some point. Leaves twined tightly around branches above my head.
Returning to the trailhead, I sat on a bench to rest, but my body felt antsy, jiggly. As I tried to relax, I heard God say, “Be a tree.”
“But a tree doesn’t move!” I exclaimed.
“Precisely.”
A tree. Rooted. Still. Unmovable. Sturdy. Stable. Allowing the animals to come to me. I don’t have to find them; they will find me. Just be. Be still and know that I am God. Be still. Be still.
Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him. Psalm 37:7 (NIV)
In awe of this simple injunction from the Holy Spirit, I began to walk again. But it wasn’t enough. I could still feel the dread of having to be “on” at my next meeting.
I came to another bench warmed by the sun and stretched out on my back. I needed to release whatever load I was still carrying. In my mind I saw a steel cord across my chest with weights on the ends, holding me down. I heard the word responsibility.
Again? Still? Why do I keep struggling with this?
I asked the Lord to cut the cord or remove the balls, and surprisingly He refused.
What? A weight too heavy for Him to lift? I don’t understand.
“OK, Lord, do it your way.”
And I watched as He lifted the cord a few inches off my chest, suspended lightly on His index finger. Now I could choose to stay or to move. That felt better.
And so I walked some more.
“Is there more, Lord?” I still feel tired in my soul.
Then I saw a closet door. When I opened it, a mass of material goods tumbled out. “What a mess!” I cried. “I don’t have the energy to clean it up and sort through the pile.”
“Your decision-maker is tired,” He said. “It’s time to sort and tidy your environment. You’ve been living in clutter and chaos in your home for six weeks now with Christmas, company, family messes, extra meals, and three big projects completed in three weeks. Your office and sleeping space are not restful or peaceful. It’s time to take back your place and create a peaceful environment.”
“That I can do,” I thought. And with that, the oppressive, heavy feeling began to lift.
“Be a tree. Be still. Look to Me to make your decisions. Declutter and find peace once more.”
All during church the next day I tried to process, to rejuvenate, to just sit and soak in God’s presence. I visualized a part of my heart like a squirrel scampering around the tree, so many branches to explore, unable to settle. Then I saw one branch overladen with fruit (and perhaps some excess stuff) drooping to the ground. It represented my to-do-list responsibilities, my ongoing projects, my schedule, and my ministry relationships. It represented the month of January and the burdens I’ve been carrying. I knew the little squirrel needed to stay away from that branch, but he lusted after the fruit. Perching on another branch on Sunday meant trying to focus on other things for a while, but that simply did not work. And so, I gave up the escapist, self-disciplined route to focus on what it might feel like to venture out onto that over-burdened branch. I was afraid it would snap and fall to the ground, and the fruit would rot before it could ripen.
And that’s when I saw a metal bar (God’s strength) underneath the branch supporting the weight. Now the squirrel could perch on the bar and still reach various fruits without breaking the whole limb. That felt a whole lot lighter and safer.
The next morning, I felt more rested and alert instead of groggy and grumpy. And that evening I did not get overwhelmed when we hosted a Super Bowl party for our entire family. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.
He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. Psalm 1:3 (KJV)
Like a cedar of Lebanon he will send down his roots; his young shoots will grow. His splendor will be like an olive tree, his fragrance like a cedar of Lebanon. People will dwell again in his shade. Hosea 14:5b-7a NIV
Many years ago, a missionary couple put me on their mailing list without my consent, and for some reason I resented it. I don’t even recollect why, but for years, every time their prayer letter arrived in the mailbox, I tossed it in the trash; and later by e-mail, I’d hit the delete button without reading it. Petty, I know. Every other missionary letter I received I’d read and pray through it. This morning, however, I felt the small prick of conscience when the Holy Spirit said I needed to change my attitude toward this couple.
Once a day, beginning in the New Year, I open one Christmas card, reread the sentiment and personal notes, and pray for the person who sent it. I had just confessed my sin when I picked up the next card in the stack. I laughed out loud when it turned out to be from this missionary couple. God has such a sense of humor. And later that day, for the first time, I read their e-mail newsletter and felt engaged with their ministry.
Why does it take me so long to recognize my blind spots or to acknowledge my triggers? So much wasted time, bad brain space, and lost opportunity for prayer. I’m grateful for God’s patience, love, and forgiveness.
Yesterday I parked at our downtown library and was walking to the City Cafe for lunch when I met a little old lady on the street corner. I smiled and greeted her as I passed by, but she called after me, “Could you give me a ride home?” She lived on such-and-such a street, just .8 miles away, about a 17-minute walk if one was in good health.
“I’m 70 years old,” she declared, “And I’m tired, and people just laugh at me when I ask them, and I need money for my medicine. If you can’t help me, will you pray for me?”
I asked her a few questions. She lives alone, no family in town. Two daughters live up North who don’t speak to her. Her Social Security check doesn’t arrive till Wednesday. She needs her meds for seizures.
Yes, I’d gladly give her a ride. She looked so frail, like a slight breeze would topple her over. I urged her to sit on a nearby park bench while I walked back to the parking garage to get my car. Lunch would have to wait.
On the short drive to her house, she thanked me again and again, prattling, “I just want to tell people what God has done for me. (He’d spared her life after a major health issue.) I put up a homemade flag on my house that reads ‘God loves everybody. Amen.’ But twice people have torn it down and painted over it, and I made a third one. My apartment neighbor doesn’t like me. He won’t like it if you park in his driveway. I like to sing!”
“What’s your favorite song?” I interjected, and she burst into song, strong but wavering, “How great Thou art.” And later, “Because He lives…” And I sang along with her.
Her meds cost $25. I gave her $32, all the cash in my wallet. She burst into tears. “Now I can get my medicine! I think I’ll just sit on my porch and sing,” she said as I helped her out of the car.
“May I take your picture so I can remember to pray for you?” I asked.
With a funny little grin, her hands flew up to her frizzy hair as if to make sure she looked presentable, lifted her chin, and smiled for the camera.
Though I’ve been hoodwinked, scammed, and taken advantage of in the past, I continue to be generous to strangers if God asks me to. Sometimes I’m proactive in my ministry goals. Sometimes God simply guides my feet. I wish I’d prayed with her. I’m praying now that God will supply all her need and continue to give her courage.
A 2025 Update. Now that I’ve passed the 70-year milestone myself, I have to smile at my “little old lady” perception. I never saw her again. I never felt a nudge from the Lord to return to her house, and I sometimes wonder what happened to her.
This is my sweet friend, Grandma Vera, not the person I met downtown. But she loves to sit on her porch, and she loves to sing.
I seldom post a current blog, but this milestone deserves to be shouted from the rooftop: We made it!
Fifty years ago today, on August 8, Scott and I vowed to stay married “through sickness and in health, through poverty and wealth, till death do us part.” We’ve had our share of health challenges, and we know what it’s like to pinch pennies as well as to enjoy abundance. But we’re not dead yet.
Our marriage had a rocky start as we came from vastly different cultures, lifestyles, and worldviews. In fact, ten years into our marriage, the pastor who did our pre-marital counseling revealed he wasn’t sure we would make it. Well, we proved him wrong!
My husband prefers bland American food, golf, Trivial Pursuit, hot tea, and talks for a living. I like spicy international cuisine, hiking, word games, coffee, and get paid to listen. He’s a night owl, a pessimist, a clutter bug. I’m a morning person, an optimist, and a minimalist. He grew up in upper-middle-class society, living in Massachusetts, New York, and Vancouver, Canada. I grew up in a mud-brick house (built by my father) in an African village. He’s a spontaneous extrovert, and I, a one-track-minded introvert.
We bonded over our transient childhoods, our mutual love of speech and drama, table games, a few TV shows, traveling, our family of course, but most of all, our faith. I knew at age 5 that I wanted a relationship with the God of my loving missionary parents. Scott met his Savior at age 21, as an adult child of two alcoholic parents. We determined on our wedding day never to threaten divorce when we had a disagreement. (I never said I wouldn’t kill him, though! 😊) Ours is a love story, but also a God-story. How else can I explain that I love this man more today than the day I married him!
Here’s to us, Honey. And, as my daddy used to say, “I wouldn’t trade you for a teddy bear!”
I can feel my mind and body edging toward burnout. It’s been an intense people- as well as project-oriented month. I need an entire day of alone time, but that’s not about to happen anytime soon.
VISUAL
I see a large room densely filled with high-energy party people. The noise is deafening. I’d prefer to stay outside, under the stars, alone and quiet. Sometimes that’s necessary, sometimes that’s possible. But I need to work through what it feels like to have to open the door and enter even when my reserves are gone.
Jesus says to sit with Him first. Outside.
I can do that. A pond in front of our park bench reflects the moon. It’s quiet, peaceful. I don’t want to talk or think or plan or look at a clock or a calendar.
AI-generated
LATER
I spent all my free time reading a novel, guilt-free, no agenda, no thinking, just resting. I’m doing better but still craving more down time.
My mind continually goes to the Apostle Paul. What he endured is astounding. How did he physically survive all the persecution and emotional trauma? How did he not crack under the pressure? Was his drivenness from his temperament or from his experience? I feel like such a wimp next to this giant in the faith.
As I write this, I recognize false guilt: I believe I’m inferior, less than, a gnat next to a giant.
Jesus says, “Why are you comparing yourself to Paul? Why not to Me?”
My head wants to say, “Impossible,” but my heart wants to snuggle up next to Him and accept His unconditional love.
I feel His gentle rebuke. “What is Paul to you? I have different plans for different people. Do not take on what is not yours.”
It’s time to let that one go. I can learn from Paul, from his triumphs and mistakes, but I must keep my eyes on Jesus.
ANOTHER VISUAL
The visual changes as the Apostle Paul and I are now the same height, mere mortals obeying our Master. One is not inferior or superior, except in our choices. I may make wise or foolish choices based on the hand that’s been dealt me. I will not pout or gloat if I win or lose a game if I play it the best I know how with hints from the Master Dealer. Just play the hand smartly, take some risks or play it safe. But most of all, play graciously. Let my mistakes go, but learn from my faux pas and don’t repeat them. And do not get jealous if someone gets more wild cards than I do or if I get none at all. Play fair and without complaining and enjoy the game.
According to Jude verse 1, the author is writing to “those who have been called, who are loved by the Father, kept by Jesus Christ.” Yet with strong and powerful metaphors, Jude spends the majority of his book pointing out evil people (false prophets and teachers) who are destined for destruction.
I have a hard time relating to this book because I don’t have much personal contact with evil people. In my ministry, I meet with those who are broken—often because of evil people in THEIR world.
I have great compassion for those who are hurting and want help. But Jesus died for the false prophet, the Hitlers, the Pharisees, and even the perpetrators. The invitation is to all. All are invited, all may come to the Feast of Love, but some by choice reject the invitation. God says he resists the proud. He loves his creation enough to die for us all, but he is intolerant of willful refusal to accept his invitation. I cannot judge men’s hearts, but I can certainly see their deeds and hear their words. Jude called them out and said they were ripe for destruction and hell, as were Sodom and Gomorrah.
I’d rather meditate on verses 20-22 that urge me to build others up, pray in the Holy Spirit, keep myself in God’s love as I wait for His return, and be merciful to those who doubt.
The verse I respond to the most is the glorious doxology in verse 24. He’s able to keep me from stumbling. He will present me faultless before his glorious presence. Glory, majesty, power, and authority are ascribed to Christ alone, past, present and future. Amen and amen.
… His wrath can flare up in a moment. Blessed are all who take refuge in Him. (Psalm 2:12 NIV)
Here’s my visual for this verse: God is a fire-breather. If you’re “out there,” you’ll get zapped, but if you stay close to his heart, you are safe and protected.
The thought of God’s judgment is slightly terrifying to me: facing the Judge of the Universe to discover how many words, thoughts and deeds didn’t make it through His refining fire. It’s not like coming before the school principal with whom you have no relationship. It’s more like coming before your dad when you’ve misbehaved.
And yet, since our sins are covered and forgiven, the judgment for the believer is more like a lack of rewards, not punishment. “Not guilty,” the Father has declared. I do not need to fear or dread His coming judgment.
Regret will be punishment enough, I think. The question for me is, did I obey God’s commands to love Him and to love others?
Keep me close to your heart, dear Lord. Let me not stray far from Your embrace.
A 2025 Update. After reading Imagine Heaven by John Burke, my heart relaxed. Burke “compares more than one hundred gripping stories of near-death experiences (NDEs) to what Scripture says about our biggest questions of Heaven.” He suggests that our life review before Almighty God will not be filled with shame (my default when I disobey Him), but rather an understanding about my choices.
The other day I made a disparaging remark about someone, turned around, and there she stood! I don’t know if she heard me or not. I pray she didn’t. But I felt awful. I can’t apologize to her since I don’t know if she heard me, for if she didn’t, it would only make things worse.
You’d think I’d learn not to say negative things about people or put others down behind their backs. If I only spoke words that I would say in front of them, I wouldn’t get caught red-handed (I wonder where that expression comes from?*). God forgive me!
Lord, help me remember to keep my mouth shut! And show me how to release the guilt.
A 2025 Update. What I’ve discovered is that when I have negative thoughts toward a person, there’s always a negative emotion beneath the words. It is always best to work through what I’m feeling before I open my mouth. But when I do slip up, I try to give myself grace and thank the Lord for revealing another unhealed place in my heart.
*Here are two claims for the origin of “caught red-handed.” Most sources say the red refers to blood, but I prefer the one about strawberry jam!
In the Pursuit of Peace 