Sacrament of Hope

 “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.  For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.  And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.  For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees?  But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.”

Romans 8:18-25, ESV

Early in 2012, one of the first new friends blogging brought me lost her fourth child in miscarriage. It was not unexpected; the doctor had told her it was imminent. That was not a great comfort in the physical and emotional pain.

Ever since reading the bad news of the coming loss, I had been praying for her and for her family. On the day it arrived, I wept for her from far away and prayed again. As I prayed, I felt two ideas with certainty: there would be another child for her, and I needed to act out that hope for her until she was able to hope again. “A sacrament of hope,” I thought. “What a silly idea. Or is it?”

The church of my childhood defined sacrament as “an outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible reality.” What outward and visible sign of hope befit this situation? How could I enact hope, as David did when he prepared for the temple he wasn’t permitted to build, as he did when he composed a psalm for the dedication of said temple before ever the foundations were laid (Psalm 30), as Joseph did when he issued instructions for future generations to carry his bones back to Israel when the Lord restored them to the land of promise?

Nothing so grand lay in my purview, but I could make a baby blanket. I chose a pattern, made notes of the yardage and weight of yarn needed, and invested valuable and scarce energy in driving myself to the yarn store. (It wasn’t far, but I was mostly homebound and rarely able to drive then.) The woman who assisted me with yarn selection looked at me like I’d lost my mind in shopping for yarn for a baby not yet conceived. No, I didn’t know the gender. No, I didn’t know the colors chosen for the nursery. This was a blanket of hope for my friend who’d lost her child. Maybe a few shades of green? That’s gender-neutral, right?

That very day, the day I learned of her loss, I started a baby blanket for the child that would come. That child, a son, is 8 years old.

When we started rescuing butterflies-in-training this summer, that same phrase came unbidden to my mind. We have endured so much loss the last two years, from surgeries to bereavement to pandemic isolation to social unrest to violence near and far. None of that can be fixed or undone, but it can and will be redeemed for those who are in Christ. In our own small way, Amore and I are acting out the hope of redemption, resurrection, and restoration by rescuing 17 caterpillars from wasps, protecting and feeding them through the stages of their transformation, and releasing them as gently as we can into this rebellious and broken world. My heart finds this also a sacrament of hope. We are waiting on the last chrysalis, a queen, now, and the embers of my hope in the unseen, long-awaited consummation of history have been stoked into a glowing promise of rekindled flame.

Lord, revive our flagging hope that Your promises are sure. Resurrect dead hopes if they originated in You. Fill is with Your Spirit of hope that we might walk daily in eager expectation of Your good promises becoming reality. Show us what actions best adorn and enact the hope in our hearts. Come soon, Lord Jesus. Amen. 

A Decade of Crumbs

Ten years ago today, I hit "Publish" on the first blog post here. It still doesn't feel routine. Every time I open a window for a new post, a window into my heart of hearts, the resistance and insecurity rise up. Am I doing this right? Who am I to think I have a story worth telling? Is anyone even seeing this? Is this the best way to steward my limited concentration and time? 

In the last week or so, 2 different, completely unrelated people have said or written the same thing in similar words, which I took as a reminder from the Lord in response to those unspoken questions:

"My nightmare is someone else's survival guide," said stroke survivor Kathryn Wolf in the Desperate for Jesus retreat livestream.

"Tell the story of the mountain you climbed. Your words could become a page in someone else's survival guide," wrote Morgan Harper Nichols on her Instagram feed.

Paul touches on the same thing in 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 (CSB): "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort.  He comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any kind of affliction, through the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ overflow to us, so also through Christ our comfort overflows."

This blog, then, bears witness to the comfort of Christ overflowing in the overflowing afflictions of the last decade. I'm not at the top of the mountain yet, but by God's grace I'm still climbing, and if the Lord wills I'll keep leaving notes for other climbers telling where this pilgrim found bread and shelter and companionship along the steep and treacherous path toward Home.

If I had to choose a verse to write on the trail marker to sum up the last 10 years, the hardest 10-year period of my life, I suppose the most apt would be 2 Corinthians 12:9 (CSB), "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is perfected in weakness.' Therefore, I will most gladly boast all the more about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may reside in me."

For I have been weak, and His grace has been sufficient.

Through months homebound and mostly bedridden due to chronic chest pain, His grace is sufficient.

Through 7 surgeries and countless procedures, His grace is sufficient.

Through at least a dozen new doctors and so much imaging I should probably glow in the dark by now, His grace is sufficient.

Through 2 rounds of cancer, most recently this last November through January, His grace is sufficient.

Through multiplied joint pain and disability, His grace is sufficient.

Through multiple changes of the church we call home, His grace is sufficient.

Through traumatic changes of pastors, His grace is sufficient.

Through job changes and a move, His grace is sufficient.

Through devastating new diagnoses for loved ones, His grace is sufficient.

Through many days and nights apart when Amore's help was needed elsewhere, His grace is sufficient.

Through too many funerals...grandmothers, aunt, uncle, cousin, sister-in-law, father-in-law, and my Velcro dog who stayed by my side through all of the above...His grace is sufficient.

Through the other Big Scary Things I haven't been free to discuss here because others share those stories, His grace is sufficient.

Through this global pandemic, His grace is sufficient.

Through intensifying racial strife, His grace is sufficient.

Through an economic recession, His grace is sufficient.

Through months homebound, this time with Amore and Moose Tracks and the rest of the world in their respective homes, His grace is sufficient.

But that only tells part of the story.

In a larger, nicer home with a pool closer to my parents, His grace is sufficient.

In my dad's retirement from his computer career to enjoy more time with my mom and the rest of the family, His grace is sufficient.

In both my sisters moving closer, His grace is sufficient.

In a good new home for my mother-in-law, His grace is sufficient.

In more opportunities for time and laughter with the 3 youngest nephews, His grace is sufficient.

In the gift of new friends, both locally at church and scattered abroad through this blog, His grace is sufficient.

In growth and joy in practicing photography, His grace is sufficient.

In learning better management of my disability, His grace is sufficient.

In the years spent learning Ephesians and Isaiah 40 by heart, His grace is sufficient.

In the trip of a lifetime to Alaska with parents, His grace is sufficient.

In sustaining Amore's job and giving him freedom to work from home, His grace is sufficient.

In last year's travel to Virginia to witness the wedding of a young lady I've loved since her infancy, and in seeing so many answered prayers in her life, His grace is sufficient.

In so very many circumstances which pushed me beyond my strength, Christ has shown Himself strong and His grace sufficient. He will do no less for you. Whatever Big Scary Thing predominates our landscape today, His grace is sufficient. We can trust Him with this.

And it is just possible that this sufficient grace comes, not despite afflictions, but because of them. As Scottish pastor Samuel Rutherford wrote,

Grace grows best in winter. Crosses are a part of our communion with Christ. There is no sweeter fellowship than to bring our wounds to Him. A heavy heart is welcome with Christ. The Lord has fully repaid my sadness with His joy and presence.... Troubles come through His fingers, and He casts sugar among them.... The heaviest end of the cross is laid upon our strong Saviour.... Glorify the Lord in your suffering and spread His banner of love over you. Others will follow you, if they see you strong in the Lord (The Loveliness of Christ).

You Crumbles have been a good part of the sugar He has sifted through His fingers with the troubles of the last decade. Thank you for your companionship, prayers, and encouragement along the way. May you know His communion in your crosses, His fellowship in your wounds. As Tolkien wrote, "The hands of the King are the hands of a healer." May His wounds heal yours, by His sufficient grace.

{Deep breath. "Publish."}

Remembering Elisabeth Elliot (1926-2015)

"The deepest things that I have learned in my life have come from the deepest suffering,

and out of the deepest waters and the hottest fires

have come the deepest things that I know about God."

Elisabeth Elliot

To begin with, I should acknowledge that Elisabeth Elliot would likely be disgusted with the effusive obituaries and remembrances being written in response to her Homegoing this week. She might perhaps call them humbug. Then again, I'm writing this as part of my own heart-work in processing her death, and it would thrill me to no end if these memories introduce her to a new reader or send an existing reader back to her writings for wise, straightforward counsel on their Christian journey.

For the uninitiated, Elisabeth Elliot Leitch Gren was a pioneer missionary who worked with tribal peoples in Ecuador in order to translate the Scriptures into their native tongues. Early in her service, she married Jim Elliot, whom she had known since their days together at Wheaton College, and they continued their translation work together. They had a daughter, Valerie, who spent her earliest years in the jungle. She was not yet a year old when her father and his teammates prayerfully seized an opportunity to make contact with a people group as yet unreached with the gospel of Jesus Christ. After some initial friendly interaction, those people brutally murdered Jim and his colleagues.

So what does a young, newlywed, newly widowed mother do? If that mother is Elisabeth Elliot, she goes back. She continued her translation work, and when an opportunity presented itself, she returned to take the gospel and the Scriptures to the same people who had murdered her husband. She took her toddler daughter with her to these people. The Word of God took root in this tribe and has flourished, utterly transforming them. (The film The End of the Spear documents this story.)

When the Lord led her eventually to move back to the United States, she continued serving Him through the writing ministry that had grown out of her widowhood and subsequent choices. As often happens, writing led to speaking at conferences and retreats. This is how I made her acquaintance.

My mother introduced me to Elisabeth via a cassette recording of an Urbana conference message she had given. The original audience would have comprised mostly college students considering the possibility of a vocation to missions, and the message aired on Focus on the Family (sometime in the 1980s). She lifted high the cross, not just for salvation but as a pattern for the Christian life. She introduced me to her husband Jim Elliot and the 4 men martyred with him. I copied out from the tape his famous quote, "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose." To this she added, "There's nothing worth living for unless it's worth dying for." I also transcribed and learned by heart the Amy Carmichael poem "Hast Thou No Scar?" which she read during the message. These were the most challenging words I'd ever heard outside the Bible. Elisabeth's life itself was a challenge to courageous obedience and forgiveness.

During my high school and college years, a family-owned Christian bookstore called The Mustard Seed was a bicycle ride away from our home. I spent many allowances there on books and sheet music, but among the first purchases were Elisabeth's book Passion and Purity (a memoir of her courtship with Jim and a charge for chastity among Christian young people) and Amy Carmichael's poetry collection, Toward Jerusalem, which included the poem read in the Urbana message. I read both of them to tatters, complimenting the authors with a plethora of dog-eared pages.

From there my book collection (by both Elliot and Carmichael) grew until my library contained most of the books I could find in print by both ladies. Before I ever needed it, they trained my thinking to expect suffering and to "see in it material for sacrifice." They, especially Elisabeth's book A Path Through Suffering, sustained me more than any other devotional writers outside the Bible during the first intense sorrows of my Christian life. They enlarged my vocational horizons to consider world missions. Without my realizing it, they taught me that powerful Christian teaching in print could also be smart, literate, and profound. Through Elisabeth's books, messages, and newsletters, she became a spiritual grandmother to me, a true Titus 2 woman.

In my twenties, my mother and I attended a conference Elisabeth gave at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas. If memory serves, this was my first time to hear her in person. In lieu of the standard complimentary introduction by the conference organizer, summarizing the person's accomplishments and impact, Elisabeth walked out onto the platform, set down her Bible and notes, and sat down at the piano. She pounded out one of the old hymns, I think "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" or "Trust and Obey," and clearly expected all of us to sing along with her. By memory. Only then, after we'd worshiped the Lord in song, did she proceed to the podium and begin to speak. Without her explicitly saying so, this communicated to us, her audience, that this day was not about her, not about her missionary exploits or her best-selling books, but about the Most High God. She was only a servant, a messenger.

After she spoke, she sat in the front pew while people queued up for her to sign their books. I was one of them, carrying her biography of Amy Carmichael, A Chance to Die. I thanked her for her own books but also for introducing me to "Amma," as Amy was known in India. She looked me in the eye and said, "Good! Well then, you don't need to buy any more of my books. Just read hers!" (This advice I rejected. Why choose when I could have both?)

Over the next decade or so, God allowed me to attend at least 2 more of her conferences, both at Denton Bible Church, usually with some combination of my mother and sisters. Her themes remained consistent, every time I heard her:

the cross as a pattern for the Christian life;
the goodness and wisdom of God in every hard thing we face;
the difficult simplicity of trust and obedience;
the absolute essentials of forgiveness and gratitude;
the possibility to grieve profound losses with grace, humility, and faith;
the Bible's pattern for home and family, including the wife's submission and the beauty and nobility of motherhood and homemaking;
and the call to holiness, to godly living.

Her third husband (now her widower), Lars Gren, faithfully and cheerfully manned the book table in the back of an auditorium full of women at each event. (Perhaps I should add "bravely.")

My final encounter with her occurred in my newlywed, missionary-in-training days. A personal friend and mentee of Elisabeth happened to serve in the missions office at our church, which had just begun to operate as its own missionary training-and-sending agency. This dear woman knew that Elisabeth was in the area for an event, I think related to the homeschool community, and she arranged for our church's prospective missionaries to spend an hour with her at her lodging for a question-and-answer session. Amore and I were living in Denton as we prepared to move to India (so we thought) and built our support team at the time, so we were included in the group.

She was just the same in that private, "off-stage" setting as she was in her public conferences: modest, no-nonsense, firm but kind. Sadly, the only specific content of the discussion that I recall was that I asked her if she ever felt any conflict between her view of a woman's submission to male leadership in the church and home and her teaching and writing of Christian discipleship materials. Perhaps this seems inconsequential to you, but a man we knew had recently said he would never read a book by a woman because that would be sitting under her teaching. Since I was writing the bulk of our newsletters, this was an immediate and personal need.

She said something to the effect of, "Well, I never even considered that to be a conflict. The men out there have a choice whether to read my books or listen to my talks. It's not as though I had any authority over them. If I speak from a pulpit, it's only at the invitation and under the authority of the minister there. Writing is the job God has given me to do, and my job is simply to obey Him." Coming from such a strong complementarian as Elisabeth, that encouraged me to keep writing what God gave me and trusting Him to work out who read and who didn't.

I miss Elisabeth, but then I've missed her voice ever since she stopped public ministry in 2004 due to declining health and the onset of dementia. How thankful I am that she did the writing work God gave her to do! Because of that, her counsel is just a page turn away. Recordings of her messages are on YouTube and in my CD collection. Her newsletters fill a thick file in my study. Her voice still sounds in my mind's ear, though her radio show ceased a decade ago. Her wise counsel lives on in her books and remembered sayings, which the Holy Spirit brings to mind at just the right time (usually when I'm about to grouse about some providence I don't like).

Now that I've added my voice to the humbug about a woman who simply sought to trust and obey God, allow me to conclude with a simple thanks, an acknowledgement that ultimately, it's not about her. It's about Christ, her Savior and mine. She has joined the "great cloud of witnesses" of Hebrews 12:1-2, those men and women of faith whose lives encourage us also to "lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God."

Thank You, Lord, for Your servant Elisabeth. Thank You for giving her grace to finish her earthly race well, always lifting high the cross of Jesus Christ and the call to trust and obey You. Thank You for the hope of the resurrection that assures Your people that there are no final good-byes, only au revoir, because we will see each other again in Your presence, with whole bodies and minds. Comfort her family and friends with Your truth. Thank you for Titus 2 women and their wise, fortifying counsel. Raise up many more for this generation which needs them so desperately. Make one even of me. If it pleases You, bring forth much more abundant, eternal fruit from the life and witness of Your servant Elizabeth, until the Lord Jesus Christ returns. In His name I ask this. Amen.

****************************

For further reading on her life:

The Revive Our Hearts remembrance page

an essay she wrote for Christianity Today not long after Jim was martyred

a portion of her own words on true womanhood

her personal ministry page, including opportunity to purchase her books and recorded messages or read her archived newsletters

The New York Times obituary for Elisabeth

her author page at Amazon (affiliate link)

Amy Carmichael's author page (affiliate link)

Happy Mother's Day {and a Shameless Plug}

Whether you have children, want to have children, or perhaps are yet a child yourself, may the Lord bless you this Mother's Day with joy, strength, comfort, and a deep awareness of how much He loves you. Just you, exactly as you are. He delights in you, friend!

Would you prayerfully consider joining with Amore and me in blessing another family today? My dear friend of more than two decades (!), Kate at Songs Kate Sang, her husband, and their son and daughter are in the process of adding to their family through adoption. The whole story has been a miracle from start to finish, but they need God to show His stuff one more time by providing the cost of the adoption.

Because of our personal knowledge of this family, we have no reservations whatsoever about sharing this opportunity with you. In this post at Kate's blog, she explains ways available to partner with them in this process, including specific prayer needs. If God leads you to do nothing else, please pray for this family now. If you'd like to participate in additional ways, please stop by her blog and prayerfully consider how God might have you do so.

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ

and the love of God

and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.

2 Corinthians 13:14, ESV

Beneath God's Gaze

One of "our" most definitely uncaged sparrows

When we lived in Bangkok, one of the many curious things we observed was tiny twig cages of sparrows here and there along the sidewalk. They were inevitably attended by a person or two, who would sit in a plastic lawn chair or on their haunches, as a toddler does but I cannot. Occasionally, a passerby would hand a baht coin or two to the attendant, pick up a cage, and open the door for the sparrows to fly out. This struck my American self as odd, since to all appearances the "purchaser" just abandoned all hope of taking his or her new pet home.

Somehow it never occurred to me to ask what was going on, perhaps because of a proud desire to appear to know what was going on. (It would have been better to heed Prof's advice, "It's better to ask a question and appear stupid than to keep your mouth shut and remain so.") As it happens, however, our language teachers described this very phenomenon in a class one day about Thai superstitions.

As they explained it (and if I understood correctly), a person going through a period of bad "luck" had an opportunity of reversing the situation by doing good deeds like buying a cage of captive sparrows and setting them free. The teachers also explained with some cynicism that such businesses were, in American parlance, a racket. These particular sparrows were trained to fly back to their cages, which they considered home, so the "freedom" purchased was merely an illusion.

I identify with those sparrows in recognizing my own tendency to view my cages of sin habits, self-imposed limitations, or even my comfort zone as "home" and flying back to them instead of living in the scary freedom of the Spirit's power and direction.

Today, though, my heart is a bit heavy, and I remember the sparrows for another reason. Heavy for troubled families and young people on the church prayer list. Heavy for a loved one over her head in sorrows for which I can do nothing but pray, and that not well, it seems. Heavy for the neglected dog down the street who has taken himself for a walk more than once and who followed Amore home this morning but had to be returned to his owner by Animal Services. Heavy for some beloved children feeling confused about Mama's tears and Daddy's yelling. Heavy for families who have recently lost a child at the child's own hand. Heavy for two local church families whose sons have brain surgery today, surgery on which their lives depend. Heavy for an American pastor unjustly imprisoned in a land hostile to Christianity.

This creation groans with sorrow under the weight of human sin, and some days it only seems right to groan along with it.

For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies (Romans 8:20-23, ESV).

Taking my Eeyored self to the piano to track down a certain hymn whose first line was stuck on repeat in my brain, I saw the nearby title "His Eye Is on the Sparrow" and played through that as well. This hymn provokes mixed emotions in me. Sometimes I find it deeply comforting; other times I groan at the saccharine sentimentality of the performances one usually seems to hear. (When I feel that way, I ought to remember the story behind the song, which like this blog was born out of physical infirmity.)

This day it comforted, and I remembered Jesus' words to His disciples about fearful days coming:

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows (Matt. 10:29-31, ESV; see also a similar statement in Luke).

An art quilt created by a lovely friend

And I remembered Bangkok, and the sparrows "sold" for a baht. Not one of them can fall to a cat's claw or child's stone but that the Father knows and sees. Therefore, fear not. We are of more value than many sparrows, those tiny, common, abundant birds. Those for whom my heart is heavy are of more value than many sparrows. The Father's gaze is upon each one of them, and He is good. He is trustworthy. He is faithful. He watches over you and over me in love.

Yet the sparrows do fall, don't they? With heartbreaking regularity, they fall.

How shall I respond then? What am I to think of such a God, who watches the sparrows fall?

The song's third verse offers one suggestion:

Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise,
When songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies,
I draw the closer to Him, from care He sets me free...

"I draw the closer to Him." Yes, that's the key. Like David, I can cry out,

Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me,
for in you my soul takes refuge;
in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge,
till the storms of destruction pass by (Psalm 57:1, ESV).

As a sparrow myself, I can flee to the God who entered our sparrow bondage to redeem us from it. I can snuggle up under the wings of my Creator who causes all things to work together for the good of those who love Him that we might be conformed to the image of His Son (Rom. 8:28).

I can cast myself at the feet of the weeping Savior, so deeply moved at the tomb of the friend He loved even though He knew He was Resurrection and Life. That Savior tarried until death claimed Lazarus whom He loved that the glory of God might be revealed through his resurrection (John 11).

I can take comfort in the Holy Spirit's groaned intercessions mingled with mine (Romans 8:26-27).

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. (Romans 8:26-27, ESV).

Sparrows fall because this world is not what it was meant to be. Human sin--Adam's and ours who are in his image--has vandalized it. However, neither is this world what it shall be. Resurrection is coming, beloved. Death is not the end. Our bodies and the bodies of all Christ's fallen sparrows will be redeemed, as the first Romans 8 passage quoted here says. In that great day, in Paul's reckoning, "...the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us" (Rom. 8:18, ESV). Thanks be to God!

Until then, may we find comfort in the knowledge that our pains and joys alike are beneath His loving gaze.

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

(Civilla Martin, "His Eye Is on the Sparrow")

Be exalted, O God, above the heavens!

Let your glory be over all the earth!

(Psalm 57:5 and also 11, ESV)

{In case some of you have never heard this song, below is the best recording I could find available at no charge on YouTube. If you cannot view it in your e-mail or RSS reader, please visit the blog post to view.}

P.S. This post was mostly written Monday but not completed then due to time constraints. The heaviness did not last long, although all the reasons remain. The two sons of church members did survive their surgeries, although they both have long journeys ahead toward healing in this world or the next. Today the sun shines in my heart despite the grey, damp day outside, so that is no cause for you to worry. Thank you for loving me with God's love!

Sharing with Laura and Ann today:

On Finishing Well {What I'm Holding}

Wednesday, as I prepared to leave Bible study, my sister sent me a text message. In contrast to her encouraging photo message the previous day, this one prompted me to step into a dark classroom adjacent to the one where class meets so the first tears could escape in private and I could collect myself to say good-bye and drive home.

Her words? "Our beloved Dr. Howard G. Hendricks went to be with the Lord early Wednesday morning," and the information on the memorial service.

Dr. Howard Hendricks. "Prof" to his students. Anyone affiliated with Dallas Theological Seminary can tell you that of the many professors who have opened God's Word to students and won their hearts, there is only one Prof, Dr. Howard Hendricks, who served on the DTS faculty for 60 years. His flagship course was 301, Bible Study Methods and Hermeneutics, shared in my day with Dr. Mark Bailey. This required course, intended for the first semester's coursework, laid a foundation of inductive study methodology not just for the rest of the degree plan but for the rest of life and ministry.

301 was my second course of the day on Tuesdays and Thursdays that fall semester. Three other unmarried women from my church shared the same morning schedule I had on those days, and even though I was the newcomer to the group, they befriended me from the start. As a new student of the minority gender at the school, it was an unexpected blessing to find a mini-community with whom to sit in those classes, chapels, and lunches.

For at least the first month of our Bible Study Methods class, Prof extended the offer to have lunch with any group of students who wished it. All we had to do was schedule a date with his secretary. Surprisingly, students were slow to take him up on this offer, possibly intimidated by his reputation and energetic teaching style. At some point, the boldest of my little group decided we should do this. She got us on the schedule, and on the appointed day we all brought our lunches up to his office from the cafeteria or from home. Someone brought homemade cookies. I brought him sugar-free chocolates, since he had mentioned his diabetes in class.

My palms were sweating and I didn't know if I would be able to say anything coherent during the lunch, but it was a treat to spend time with this man of God and profoundly gifted (and hard-working) teacher in a more personal setting. His quiet, unassuming demeanor took me off guard. In class he resembled a stand-up comic or motivational speaker. That day he could have been any other septuagenarian if we hadn't known otherwise.

He had invited us to come with questions. I don't remember what the others asked, but I remember mine. "If we forget everything else you've ever taught us--I don't think we will, but saying we did--what one thing would you most want us to remember?"

He paused to consider for a moment before replying, "Finish well. So many of the people in the Bible had moments of great faith and obedience, but very few of them finished well." He's right about that. In fact, on just about any page of Kings and Chronicles, you can find an example of someone who didn't finish well. Even some of the very greatest kings fell away from full trust and wholehearted obedience right at the last.

This man did what he admonished us to do. He finished well.

After multiple battles with cancer which cost him part of his skull and one eye, his earthly tent wore out. This Wednesday morning, he traded it for his "building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." Even knowing this, knowing that he was out of pain, knowing believers will be reunited one day with those who have preceded them in the sleep of death, tears continued to come for the better part of an hour after the news, until I had to pull myself together for physical therapy.

Why did I cry? I was just a student in one large lecture class whose personal interaction was limited to one lunch and a conversation at my sister's wedding, where he officiated.

This isn't much of an answer, but I felt in that moment a bit like Scout in the courtroom in To Kill a Mockingbird when her father leaves the courtroom and she's told, "Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father's passing." Awed. Small. Realizing the greatness of a person in a new way. Humbled to have received even one ten-thousandth of his teaching ministry.

I felt sad just knowing Prof would never again say, "For the next session, you will ask and answer the question. . ." or "For the gentlemen here, your first assignment is this: if you don't have a wife, get a wife," or "It's a crime to bore people with the Bible!" or "The Bible was not written to satisfy your curiosity but to transform your life!" "The world doesn't need another Howard Hendricks; it needs the first you!" or "The Christian life isn't just difficult; it's impossible." (Sad, and perhaps a bit envious, too.)

Prof's passing also brings home to me the weight of responsibility to steward what he entrusted. Beginning to flip through my notes for those Profisms that make me smile has reminded me of how much I've forgotten and neglected. May the Word-seeds he sowed not fall into the ground and die or be carried away by birds. What thorns do I need, with the Holy Spirit's help, to clear out of my heart and life so God's Word can grow and become more fruitful? What farming tools do I need to de-rust, sharpen, and polish to serve more faithfully in the field appointed to me?

His family, friends, and colleagues, of course, have the greatest grief, and I pray God's comfort for them. Mine is the merest shadow by comparison. For the more than 10,000 students he taught in his seminary classes, however, and for the many more he taught in conferences and through his books and video series, the world seems emptier without this man who spent his life endeavoring to start an epidemic of contagious love for God and His Word.

I wish you could have sat in that class, even just for a day. If you have ever benefited from the teaching of Chuck Swindoll, Robert Jeffress, David Jeremiah, or Tommy Nelson, to name just a few, you have indirectly benefited from Prof's service, for he trained all those men.

Still, there's only one Prof. And he finished well, to God be the glory.

what I'm holding today

good memories :: smiles reviewing my course notes and jotting down more Profisms :: gratitude for the chance to share some of that material with women in V--tnam once upon a time :: prayers to finish well myself :: a new physical therapy treatment plan :: mixed feelings about the next uncomfortable but helpful spinal decompression treatment :: hope to be able to read and write with less upper body pain soon :: desire to get back to walking pain-free with Amore and Ebony :: relief that my sister's first week of PT went well despite her anxieties :: concerned prayers for a loved one struggling at home and work :: gladness to have Ebony home again after a day at the vet for a dental cleaning :: a house full of tissues, hand sanitizer, and disinfectant wipes for husband with a cold :: readiness for the weekend and rest (Lord willing) :: a pause for breath between ladies' Bible studies :: honor to those to whom honor is due :: awe at what God will do with one person fully committed to Him

sharing with Amy's Friday What I'm Holding series

Rings on Her Fingers {A Guest Post}

 A dear friend has recently begun keeping a blog about her journey as the wife and caregiver of a stroke survivor. We have shared tea, laughter, and books together, and I have enjoyed her hospitality on numerous occasions. She has survived the perils of a blended family and homeschooled three of her five children with admirable success. My friend has graciously allowed me to reprint one of her posts here for your encouragement. To read more of her story, please get better acquainted with her at her own blog, Strokeman's Woman.

Source:  strokemanswoman.wordpress.com

One day while exercising at the pool I saw something blue on the bottom that turned out to be a plastic ring. The first thought was, of course, how much my granddaughters were going to enjoy having another accessory to wear with the ballet costumes they love to play in when they are visiting my house. But then, for some reason I found myself remembering a ring of much more value and beauty – my daughter-in-law’s engagement ring. When my son had been dating her for a while, I began to realize how much I loved this young woman, and how sad I would be if it turned out that she would not become a part of my family. So it was with great joy that I agreed to my son’s request to go with him to help pick out her engagement ring.

My love for Jenny was not the only reason I was overjoyed by this invitation. My son and I have not always seen eye to eye. When I married his father, he was 10 and was not too keen on another woman coming into his life. During his high school years things didn’t improve all that much. (I can remember him telling me once that the same brand of orange juice tasted better at his friends house.) In all fairness, my mothering and housekeeping skills left much to be desired. At any rate, any time he and I have a chance to really enjoy being together I find it to be a great treasure. It was a lot of fun to go with him to the different stores, learn things about the different grades of diamonds, and give my opinion on which I thought were the most unique and beautiful. It is a wonderful memory for me.

Interestingly enough this experience spurred one of the most heated arguments Strokeman and I had in our later years of marriage. Strokeman is adamantly opposed to spending much money on a ring. My engagement ring is a very inexpensive piece of jewelry with a small emerald and tiny diamonds. I love it because it came to me from a man I love who wrote a poem about the green of my eyes that were symbolized by the green of the emerald. But it is not the kind of ring that brings envy to other wives.

When I came home from our shopping trip, Strokeman expressed to me again his disdain for expensive engagement rings. I tried to explain to him that an engagement ring is something that will be worn for the rest of a woman’s life. It needs to be quality enough to last, and something that is in the realm of what the young lady in question would be likely to choose for herself. He ended up saying something like, “I thought you liked the ring I picked out for you,” and I ended up crying and saying I guessed I would never get a diamond ring. What a mess.

A few months later Strokeman bought me a diamond ring that was on sale at JCPenney. It was beautiful, but after a year or two one of the diamonds fell out, and to fix it would cost more than we spent on the ring to begin with. There was a part of me that was relieved, because every time I looked at it on my finger I remembered how silly I had been about the whole thing. I am so content to stick to my emerald  engagement ring that I have spent more than it is worth to have fixed once. When it dies again, I guess I will be content to just wear my band.

It’s funny the things that seem so important when all else is going pretty well. Now, after having been  through the stuff we have been through, diamond rings seem to be so not important. How stupid to waste words over such trivial things. Rings don’t make a wedding into a marriage. Their price doesn’t make it easier to weather the ups and downs that come from being connected to another human being. That being said, it is nice to realize that there were times in our marriage when the biggest issue between us was the value of a piece of jewelry. We have these moments to remember.

Many thanks, Strokeman's Woman, for allowing me to share a piece of your story here. I'm thankful to know you and to continue to learn from you.

Crumbles, may the rest of your week be filled with laughter, love, and genuine gratitude, whether you will be celebrating Thanksgiving with us in the U.S.A. or not.

When Your Feathers Are Ruffled

Not Maybelle's best look. I think she was actually upset with me for opening the curtain while she was eating lunch.

When your feathers are ruffled by difficulty, busyness, and changes, my friends, may you find refuge beneath the wings of the Lord of hosts. His feathers are never ruffled. He is not biting His nails in concern over how this situation will turn out. He has your life in His capable hands.

May we find grace to believe that, to remember all He has done in the past, and to find rest in His love, which He demonstrated beyond shadow of doubt in His Son's sacrifice for us when we were yet enemies. It's in the name of that one and only Son Jesus that we can present this and all other prayers with full confidence the Father hears and will answer for our good and His glory. Amen.

If your feathers are a bit ruffled today, dear crumble, you might find encouragement in Beth Moore's words in this post at the Living Proof blog and in this other prayer by Pastor Scotty Smith for casting anxieties on the Lord.

Last week was so full of good (and a bit of ruffled feathers, too). Where do I begin to give thanks to the Lord?
a date with the duck family and the summer wildflowers;

 string beans, blackberries, and tomatoes from Allen's garden;

Asiatic lilies blooming out, one by one

Ebony helping me with my knee exercises;

Allen taking time off to take me to a lupus second opinion appointment Wednesday;
butterflies on the nurse's scrubs;
revisiting 12 years of medical history (a bit of hard eucharisteo);
a doctor listening with compassion;
a medication change to try;
a skillful and kind phlebotomist who managed to take 9 vials without a hitch;
waiting for test results;
text message conversations with distant friends, love over the wireless networks;
ability to replace our geriatric dishwasher;
a husband working hard to mulch all the garden beds on his long weekend;
watching fireflies blink outside the window at night;
fun, impromptu supper from grill and garden with parents and sister;
watching TED talks together and laughing hard;
singing hymns on Sunday morning;
keeping company with Moses, Isaiah, and John in the mornings;
learning from Andrew Murray's wisdom about prayer;
celebrating the gift of the Holy Spirit with Christians around the world this Pentecost Sunday
(from the gratitude journal, selected from 6044-6117)

(in)RL This Weekend

In case you didn't know, the ladies at the (in)courage blog have put together a Web-based conference to offer Christian encouragement to women at a very low cost. You don't even need to leave home to attend. No childcare, what-to-wear dilemma, packing bags, or airport security required.

Today's material streams again at 5 pm and 8 pm (CDT), and the rest is available at viewers' convenience for 48 hours beginning at midnight tonight (or technically Saturday morning). It's not too late to register here:  http://www.inrl.us/index.php. If community, friendship, and choosing joy are areas you struggle with at all, today's session will be time well spent. (Snacks, tea/coffee, and tissues recommended.)

Sermon on the Sofa {a repost from the archives}

"Consider the ravens, for they neither sow nor reap; they have no storeroom nor barn, and yet God feeds them; how much more valuable you are than the birds!" (Luke 12:24, NASB).

Consider the canine of the couch,
How he sleeps:
Stretched out under the wing of the girl he loves,
Head pillowed on her belly,
Does he fret or worry
Over his next meal,

Next walk,
Next vaccine?

Feel the rhythm of his sleeping breath
As he leans in.
For him there is no next,
Only now;
And now is good.

Consider him:
Lean into your Master,
Your Father,
Your rest.
He knows the now and the next.
Fret not.

Open Doors

Open doors surprised me last week.

Saturday morning, a phone call redirected our day with the happy news that Allen's parents would be spending the night at his sister's house an hour and a half away. After finishing Ebony's walk and mine (his being longer, with Al), Allen swept through his list and I settled down to work on my PT exercises. When departure time drew near, we decided I could go along to visit and eat with his folks, sister, and brother-in-law. Though brief, it was a lovely, unexpected opportunity for us to see them and catch up a bit. A door opened, and we walked through.

Wednesday after my dental appointment, I proceeded to Chocolate Angel, a cafe and tea room a few doors down. Yes, I note the irony. In my wait to hear from my mom what I should order for her lunch and where we would eat (cafe, her house, or mine), small talk with an employee resulted in a way to get back in touch with a friend and co-worker from 15 years ago. Another door opened, even more surprising than the first. I'm poised on the threshold but haven't yet gotten the number dialed.

Earlier Wednesday morning, I had arrived at the dentist to see an acquaintance from our old church sitting in the waiting room. We greeted each other and chatted along with the office manager, who also attends that church. At a lull in the conversation, Mr. B remarked that a former minister from our former church was talking with a few people about possibly planting a new church in our town. The seed families would be worshiping together monthly to test the waters, and the first gathering would be at a hospital chapel 4 days hence, as in Sunday evening, as in last night.

Allen contacted the minister directly to confirm details, and we went together to the gathering to taste and see the complexion of this community.

To our astonishment, we walked through the door to a family reunion of sorts.  Almost all the families of our youth Bible study, a number of men and women we knew separately from adult Bible studies, our closest couple friends there, all these people with whom we had shared 7 years of history... and we all had stories of how we'd heard about this in the most peculiar ways.

We had shut this door behind us 2 years ago for good reasons. The denomination in question is riddled with controversy we were not sorry to leave.

In our new church in a neighboring suburb, we've had trouble finding the community we had spent years building at the previous place. The health required for consistent participation in a Sunday school class or small group just hasn't been there yet. The Bible teaching in the new place maintains an excellent standard, and the core beliefs align well with ours, but it has been frustrating to hear exhortations to community from so many different directions, to feel the need of "real life" community, and not to know how to respond.

A door we never expected has opened, a door to a new-old community with a new-old pastor. The door may or may not become a church plant, and God may or may not confirm whether we belong there, but it was a joy to walk through the door and find familiar faces sardined together for worship, even if it was just for a night.

Allen is working on scheduling a meeting with the pastor to see if the reason we shut the door in the first place will pose a similar problem for us with this new potential church. That's the only next step we know for now. Otherwise, we are praying like the rest of the group, to the God who opens and shuts doors, seeking "by testing [to] discern what the will of God is, what is good and acceptable and perfect" (Romans 12:2), whether that is to persevere where we are in the slow work of building friendships or to turn down this new-old path.

Q: How about you? Has God surprised you lately with any unexpected open doors of opportunity?


As is our usual Monday practice here, I'm giving thanks to the Lord for His goodness, for His steadfast love that endures forever:
~for good surprises
~for worshiping with people whose stories we know and who know ours
~for seeing two of our Bible study kids young adults
~for the editor's desk my father-in-law made me, which turns out to work well as a laptop stand
~for walking a little farther this week than last
~for Mom's safe return from a ministry trip to the Pacific Northwest
~for the mail carrier bringing our mail to the door along with a package
~for a loved one's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day and sleep-deprived but productive night
~for no cavities at my check-up
~for a referral to a specialist able to deal with my bite problems if/when we can take that on
~for a yummy quiche-and-salad lunch from Chocolate Angel
~and maybe a slice of cake, too
~for a way to contact my friend with whom I'd lost touch over years and peregrinations
~for 59F at dawn on the first day of autumn
~for pulling on my hoodie for a walk
~for the right name for the grey heron at the park

Introducing Gandalf the Grey Heron. So obvious! Why didn't I see it sooner?

~for the unexpected visit with Allen's family
~for talking and sharing books with kindred spirits
~for no back problems on the drive this time
~for a new photo, drawing, and progress report from the Indian girl we sponsor

Apparently India has pumpkins, too.

~for the news that Sara is beyond pain's reach
~for grieving with hope
~for waking on a Sunday with "Worthy Is the Lamb" stuck in my head
~for 2 consecutive nights with 8 hours of sleep
~for many cool mornings to walk early in the park instead of at home

~for minions! The nefarious Dr. Miao has minions! Minions with lethal powers of cuteness and glowing eyes that have already turned one neighborhood family to the dark side!

No, the minions don't have names yet.

~for moving into the Gospels for my daily Bible reading (sorry, did that topic change give you whiplash?)
~for more water rationing, praying for rain
~for chest pain increased again last few days, reminding me to trust the slow work of God
~for a whole day at home today to try not to miss God's glory here and now
(counting the multitude of blessings, #1721-1750)

Linking up today to Ann and Laura:

Prayer to Know Him Better

Growing pains are stretching my soul lately. The Spirit has been convicting me of laziness in prayer and a need to go deeper in that. So many yearnings tug for the upper hand, but I keep returning to the prayers of Ephesians 1 and 3.

Yesterday our church continued walking through that letter (timing is the Lord's, isn't it?) and arrived at that Ephesians 1 prayer. Here it is in its entire beautiful complexity:

This is why, since I heard about your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love for all the saints, ¹⁶ I never stop giving thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers. ¹⁷ [I pray] that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, would give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Him. ¹⁸ [I pray] that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened so you may know what is the hope of His calling, what are the glorious riches of His inheritance among the saints, ¹⁹ and what is the immeasurable greatness of His power to us who believe, according to the working of His vast strength.

 ²⁰ He demonstrated [this power] in the Messiah by raising Him from the dead and seating Him at His right hand in the heavens — ²¹ far above every ruler and authority, power and dominion, and every title given, not only in this age but also in the one to come. ²² And He put everything under His feet and appointed Him as head over everything for the church, ²³which is His body, the fullness of the One who fills all things in every way (Eph. 1:15-23, HCSB, emphasis mine).

The associate pastor preaching this week said the gist of the whole prayer is that Paul's readers would grow to know God better. Paul further prayed that they would understand three things:

• the hope of God's calling,
• the glorious riches of God's inheritance in us, His saints (astonishing, that!),
• and what is the immeasurable (the Greek word here is the source of our English word "hyperbole") greatness of His resurrection power to us who believe.

These are too much for me to get my brain around; I suppose that's why we need to pray for the lightbulb to switch on in our hearts, for the gift of a spirit of wisdom and revelation to know Him better.

After delving further into the details of the text, our speaker challenged us with a simple application: to pray this prayer every day this week for myself and for others and also to ask someone to pray it for us.

This morning I have prayed it for myself, for my family, for close friends and missionaries, for political and church leadership, for the young adults who used to be the TNTS Bible study in our care, for our sponsored children,...

Now I'd like to pray it for you, my crumbly friends:

• for you who are fighting corporate dragons in cubicle labyrinths,
• for you whose hearts and lives are full of tending young children, playing, creating, cleaning, cooking, and caregiving,
• for you, serving God and and raising a family south of the border and across the sea,
• for you, making beauty in the Arizona desert,
• for you, growing a Wild Orange in the Old Dominion,
• for you, drinking tea in a coffee world,
• for you in the antbed,
• for you, my reading friend who calls Alabama your sweet home,
• for you, making paintings and babies and perfectly imperfect prose,
• for you, waiting to be freed from the prison of your weak body,
• for you, endeavoring to inculcate wisdom in university students across the pond,
• for you whose names I know and who are known only to God,

I never stop giving thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers.

I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, would give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Him.

I pray that the eyes of your hearts may be enlightened so you may know:

what is the hope of His calling,

what are the glorious riches of His inheritance among the saints,

and what is the immeasurable greatness of His resurrection power to us who believe, according to the working of His vast strength.

In the name of Jesus our risen and ascended Savior, Amen.

(Those of you who graciously pray for me anyway, might you consider praying this way this week? I'm so grateful to know Christ better through you!)

****

And since it's Monday, let me also thank God for His excellent gifts this past week:

~His Word to help me know Him more and teach me how to pray

~a church which believes in God's breathed-out Word and proclaims it week by week

~sister's successful surgery

~mothers to move in and help her during recovery

~a friend's cancer-free post-chemo CT scan

~two weeks off from PT appointments to see if I can maintain the standard of sound teaching without monitoring

~everything stable with my vision, no toxicity from lupus meds

~flu shot checked off for the season

~only one appointment this week for the first time since July. Yea!

~a good dentist and hygienist (my appointment for the week, for cleaning, x-rays, and the next step in the implant)

~a few days cool enough to do my walking in the park

baby nutria

all my ducks in a row?

~reflections

~there's rain in them there clouds!

~phones with cameras

~almost an inch and a half of "showers of blessing" this weekend

~the young birds learning how the feeder works

~even hummingbirds take a breather sometimes

~Big Al grilling supper last night and enough salmon and chicken for 3 more meals

~and also taking care of the car maintenance needs

~a new online acquaintance a few years ahead of me on the lupus journey

~growing pains

(from the gratitude journal, #1645-65)

Quietly, gratefully joining the communities at Ann's, Michelle's, Laura's, and Jen's:

Revisiting "Delight"

One evening last week, Allen and I returned from a brief outing at the same time as our neighbor returned from work. We exchanged greetings and let him know we'd referred a family member to his business. Then he asked if we wanted to see his toddler, "Olivia," who was in the truck, too. Of course, we did.

We stepped across to their driveway while he lifted her out and set her down. As she found her balance, he said, "Livvy, do you want to say hi to Allen and Christina?"

She sized us up and then focused on me, down on one knee, and began trotting toward us. Given the slope of the driveway, she picked up speed along the way until finally throwing herself into my arms.

"What a good hug, Livvy. Did you have a good day at school today?"

"'Ehs."

"Actually, she went to her grandma's today," her dad amended.

I relaxed my arms, but she was still holding fast, so I relaxed into the moment instead, stroking her back and memorizing the vaguely fruity scent of her tousled curls. What's that feeling tugging at the corners of my mouth? Oh, yes, I remember. It's delight.

"What did you do at grandma's? Did you dance? I know what a good dancer you are."

"Dance."

"What else...did you take a nap for grandma?"

"Nap," she nodded.

"Did you...play outside? Kind of hot for that, though."

"Pay outside."

"Are you really answering my questions, or are you parroting everything I say?"

"Pehting ehveeting you say." (Somebody give that girl a rim shot.)

She kept hugging my neck a few minutes longer, then sat on the drive and on my lap while her dad talked with us about the city's basketball celebration. After high fives all around, she decided to swing, and her dad decided it was time to go inside where her mother was waiting. The spell was broken.

This small person gave me the gift of a few minutes of concentrated, spontaneous affection, and with it came joy. I had no candy or presents to offer her; she was not, as far as I know, trying to escape an unpleasant chore; she wasn't even sad and seeking comfort. She simply wanted to give and receive love.

How did I respond? I didn't push her away, saying, "Livvy, this is not the time. Can't you see those weeds around the live oak? Get to work." Her affection pleased me to receive as much as it pleased her, evidently, to give.

In my mind's ear afterward, I heard the word of the Lord saying, "If you, then, being evil... how much more your Father in heaven...?"

Can it be that my heavenly Father, just like my earthly one, doesn't care as much about my lists of duties and reading and prayer requests and getting stuff done as I do? as He does my spending time with Him, in His Word, prayer, and worship, without an agenda, but just for the pleasure of each other's company? Can it be that the God of the universe even takes pleasure in my company? Can it be that the commands to learn and keep His Word and to pray are not only good for me in an eat-your-vegetables kind of way but as a means of being close to each other?

Apparently so:

The LORD your God is among you,
a warrior who saves.
He will rejoice over you with gladness.
He will bring [you] quietness with His love.
He will delight in you with shouts of joy (Zeph. 3:17, HCSB).

He brought me out to a wide-open place; He rescued me because He delighted in me (Ps. 18:19, HCSB).

You will be a glorious crown in the LORD's hand,and a royal diadem in the palm of your God.You will no longer be called Deserted,and your land will not be called Desolate;instead, you will be called My Delight is in Her,and your land Married;for the LORD delights in you,and your land will be married (Isaiah 62:3-5, HCSB).

Jesus answered, "If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word. My Father will love him, and We will come to him and make Our home with him" (John 14:23, HCSB). 

If you are a child of God through Christ, beloved, your Father delights in you; He delights in me. Let me say that again, in case you missed it the first time:

Your Father delights in you.

This week I personally need to revisit the practice of delight and celebration and reorient my practice of spiritual disciplines (which are primary means of experiencing His love and delight) around the starting principle that He loves me and wants me more than my agenda, even if it's an agenda I thought I'd received from Him.

May the Lord grant us grace this week to rest, even if only for minutes stolen from pressing responsibilities, in His loving embrace. May His delight in us strengthen and sustain all our obedience by adorning it with joy.

Thank You, Father, for
~Your delight and love for this first-class sinner
~sugar-and-spice hugs
~an optimistic report from the sinus doctor that a second surgery may not be needed
~one dawn making a grand entrance, complete with pink feather boa clouds

~lovely, affirming reader comments and mail
~learning from you all and the insights God gives you
~broken hearts with the courage to reach out
~the Lord's grace in blessing broken, fragmented lives offered to Him and in using that very brokenness to nourish others.
~a surprising encouragement that God is working through this blog
~a friend bringing her infant son to meet me and for us (the mom and me) to catch up
~yummy summer salads for lunch with Mom
~Mom bringing a load of groceries so I wouldn't be tempted to go myself
~two of the lowest pain days this week since this flare started
~some high pain mornings, too
~the little red rose blooming out a bit

~prayers not granted: "Did God sometimes not withhold in mercy what we ask, we should be ruined at our own request" (Hannah More, via challies.com).
~husband's working weekends (see preceding item)
~grace to thank You for things when I can't see the blessing in them yet
~freedom to stay indoors
~in air conditioning in nearly a week of consecutive 100F days
~celebrating with my dad on Father's Day
~husband to lean on in unexpectedly difficult church service
(from the gratitude list, #527-548)