90 Days...

I got a package today.

I have been checking the mailbox like little Ralphie waiting for his Little Orphan Annie Secret Decoder... every day.

And it came. Today!

What is it, you ask? Oh, it's very cool.

It's this:
Excuse me while I do the Happy Dance...

Okay. I'm back. So here is how I came to be the very excited owner of this new Bible:

I was catching up on reading the blogs. I get so behind when I'm working during the school year, but there are those I try to read every day or two. Smockity is one of my favorites, as she is full of wisdom and has a great sense of humor too. (Seriously, she has made me choke on my Pepsi from laughing... I do not recommend drinking bubbly or hot liquids while reading her blog!)

I digress. Sorry.
Anyway, I read her post about the Bible in 90 Days program. Woah! I thought. I've been reading the Bible for 9 years, and I am only in Ezekiel! This is something that has frequently bothered me in the last year. This idea fascinated me.

I clicked a few links.

I read all about it.

I wrote a comment reporting that I would participate.

I clicked "Submit Comment."

I said to myself, "Self, WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? ARE YOU INSANE? YOU ARE BEHIND IN PAPERWORK, BURIED UNDER UNFOLDED LAUNDRY, AND YOU HARDLY HAVE TIME TO SHOWER EVERY DAY. YOU ARE THE QUEEN OF UNFINISHED PROJECTS. You fail at so many of your endeavors... do you really think you will succeed in committing an hour each day to something you've failed to commit an hour a week to doing? Perhaps you should rethink this before you add one more failed, unfinished project to the colossal pile of failures you've already got going."

I promptly accepted defeat and changed my mind about participating.

And then, a couple of days later, I checked the comments in my latest blog post and saw that Connie from Smockity had left a comment on my blog.

Smockity Frocks said...

You won my Bible in 90 Days giveaway!!!

Oh dear. I quickly realized that I was now truly committed (and perhaps in need of being committed...) I will admit to having a moment of panic. But then, I thought about Divine Intervention. God heard that entire conversation I had with myself. In fact, He's heard a lot of those conversations lately. Some of them have been nice, polite discussions, and in some of them, well, I've just been plain old fashioned mean to myself.

Maybe He intends for me to do this. I've got a few changes to make. I've got a mess or two to clean up. I've got to start learning to love myself. I've got to learn that, although I am a sinner by nature, it's perfectly okay for me to be happy. He knows how long I've struggled. And maybe, just maybe, His word is the key to it all. Since I'm poor at doing things for me, but good at doing things for other people... poor at being accountable to me, but good at being accountable for other people... maybe He's giving me this kick in the backside.

That must be it, because ya'll, I never. win. anything.

I'm not kidding. I could enter a one person race, and I would not win.

I could enter a lottery that sold only one ticket, and I would not win.

But this, I won.

And now?

I'm SO READY TO GO!

January 1st, bring it on! I want to start.

I will do this.

And I'll blog about it. Because I think this is the kind of journey that one really must share.

So, I would like to give a HUGE

THANK YOU!!!!

To Ms. Smockity, and to the folks at Bible in 90 Days.

Imperfect...

This is our Christmas tree.
It is not a perfect tree. It is terribly thin.

It has many bare spots. Gaps left when the spare branches are fanned out to their fullest, but still cannot fill in the spaces.

It's ornaments are hung terribly lopsided. Small fingers, unable to grasp the big picture, focus on each ornament as if it is the only one. There is no regard for overall appearance. Just for each special ornament as it is hung.

Many of the lower branches hold clusters of ornaments. The boughs sag under the weight. Because, really. If one ornament is good on this branch, several must be better.

A light bulb or two has burnt out. Unable to shine with the light of the season, they await a new bulb. They wait to be filled, again, with light.


The garland hangs, uneven. This, the result of a huge, red Tonka truck having crashed into it. Perhaps an accident. Perhaps a wreckless, impulsive moment in a toddler's day. One of the inevitable events of this tree's existence.

I look at this imperfect tree, and I love it. I don't need a big tree with matching garlands & perfectly hung ornaments. This Christmas tree serves as a daily reminder. It reminds of the season, the anticipation, the truth.

Like this tree, I am imperfect. At times, I can be quite thin on character. I, too, have bare spots in my spirit where, despite stretching, I can not fill in all the spaces. I am lopsided and unbalanced. My sins hang in clusters, weighing down my limbs. I, too, have lights that have burnt out. I am filled with the Holy Spirit, but sometimes I am unable to allow the Light of Christ to shine through me. Parts of my spirit hang to the ground, the result of the inevitable events of my existence.

I am His. He looks at this imperfect being, and He loves me. He loves me so much that He gave his only begotten Son to wash away my sins. Jesus was born to fulfill a promise. His promise. That through Him, I can be full on character; I can find balance; my sins can be lifted from my boughs; my lights can shine with His Grace; I can be renewed and repaired after the inevitable events of this life.

And it all began with a birth. A coming. The coming. Of a Savior.

I look at my sad little tree, and I love it. My imperfect Christmas tree reminds me that in this time of advent, we wait. We anticipate the coming of our Savior.

The Old, the Now, the New.

It is early morning. It is dark. The sun has yet to wake from its slumber.

The trees are silent under the weight of the fog, and the cool air softly touches my face.

There is a chill in the air, but it is not cold. So many years it has been frigid in these early morning hours.

This is my favorite part.

How many years have I walked this path?

How many times have I traveled this road with him?

This is my favorite part.

We set off, down the now familiar dirt road. The air is damp and the leaves make a quiet shushing sound under our feet. We can hear the coyotes, throwing up their last cry into the darkness. I follow him into the woods. Always, my eyes find his broad shoulders, wrapped in the warmth of his ridiculously bright orange parka.

He cradles his rifle in his arm as he walks. Confident, quiet steps. And I follow him. Like a duckling I follow my dad. My Titan. My superhero. Wherever he walks, I will follow. I know this forest; he knows it better. This is my job. Only to follow.

This is my favorite part.

He will deposit me into my spot, the spot he gave me, and then continue to his own. I will not be able to see him, but he will not be far. He does not go far from me.
But this year it hurts.

Again? I think. The thing that got broken was broken so long ago. Like bubbles from a shipwreck, the pain rises up from the watery depths again and again. Why? All these years later. Someone very wise told me this is the lasting legacy of divorce. The husband and the wife walk away with hardly a scratch. But the children are wounded forever.

The moment the important thing got broken became a hash mark in my life. A slash across time. There is what we had before,. And what came after. For all these years I have kept them separated. I wrapped up what came before. Protected it, preserved it. Left it sealed up and untouched.

But this year is different. Last weekend, the first of the season, I alone followed.

I have struggled with this. My heart has been breaking in anticipation of this walk.

This is the moment. The new collides with the old.

Before there were two. Now there are three. There is a new one.

I want to cry out that she doesn't belong in this place. I want to stomp and cry and ask if nothing is sacred.

And then a light dawns. And I see it. Did I do that? Did I really...?

Did I build an altar? In my heart, did I construct a place to worship something that should not be worshiped? Did I come to treasure the thing that got broken so much that it became too important?

I think that maybe I did. I know that God loves my parents. I know that he loved their marriage. I know that He loved, maybe still loves, the thing that got broken. That was their choice, not His.

But this. This is His choice. Perhaps He put her here. God knows what we need.

Perhaps my superhero needed to experience what he missed the first time. He was absent the first time. He was young then. He didn't know what he missed.

Perhaps the new one needs a superhero. Yes. She definitely needs one. She hasn't got one of her own.

Perhaps God saw all of this. Perhaps He put his perfect plan into place.

He knew this would be difficult for me. He knew it would hurt. That my heart would break again.

I have been praying to Him for weeks. Please help me see. Please heal my broken heart. I have done the best I can these last weeks, but still... I have not behaved well. I have struggled to exercise the fruits of the Spirit, so bruised has been my heart. But so far... nothing. Just the hurt.

My God is big.

He has heard me. He came before me to light the way.

As the sun comes up, I can see. The wind moves over the hills, and I think this must be what it is like when the Holy Spirit moves over the Earth. It is like the very breath of God moving around and through the trees.

And in that moment, I stop. I stop crying. I stop raging. I stop fighting. I stop resisting.

I let Him do what it is I asked Him to do. What I know He wanted to do from the start. I let Him heal my broken heart. I embrace His most perfect plan. I accept the gift He has given me. I accept that He has given a gift to them.

I still follow when we walk on that dirt road. But now I do not follow blindly. I have a purpose.

The Titan leads. The new one follows. I follow her. But I am no longer a duckling. Now I am a watcher. I know this forest. The new one doesn't know it yet. So I watch out for her. I point my light in front of her feet. I know where the puddles are without looking. She needs the light to see them. I am here in case she falls behind. I already know where she is going. She doesn't know the way yet.

Things have changed. But not everything. I know this now.

Because in a quiet moment, my Titan told me something important. He told me how much he enjoyed the time when only we came here to this place where I set down my roots. He told me that he remembers, too, how it was before the thing got broken. He told me that this is not just a place for the old. It is a place for the old and the now and the new. And he told me that he loves me.

And I know that we can love the old. And we can love the new. And that loving the new doesn't diminish the love we have for the old. And I believe him. Because he is, and will always be, my superhero.

Gratituesday

As Thanksgiving quickly approaches, we've been talking a lot about being thankful.

Tyson has indicated that he is thankful for many things. Among them are:

• Mommy, Daddy, Tyson & Riley (he refers to himself in the 3rd person during evening prayers)
• the deer Daddy got last weekend
• school
• our dogs
• Spot, the pet lizard
• cupcakes

Not a bad list for an almost-7-year-old. His Dad & I are blessed that this little guy has always been quite content with what he has, and has never, ever had a case of the "gimme's."

My list is similar to his this week:

• My husband, children, family. I am blessed to have a large family who loves much.
• Our home. I really love our house. It is small, mostly undecorated and has a serious problem with dog hair, but I love it. And in this economy, I am especially thankful that God has provided us with a warm, comfortable home full of love and laughter.
• My marriage. I am the only person in my family, except for one set of grandparents, in 3 generations to not get (or wish I could get) divorced. My husband & I are more in love than the day we were married. That is truly a rare & blessed condition.
• My job. I am thankful to have a job that pays well & allows me to have summers of with my sons. More than that, I am so thankful to have a job that I love doing. I get to stretch my creativity, use my talents, and serve my Lord by serving his most precious children.
  
• My continuously growing relationship with God. Every day I feel myself drawing nearer to Him. Every day I see His hand on my life and my family. Every day I grow just a bit more comfortable in my new found faith. Every day I am able to see His blessings - both the obvious ones, and the more hidden ones.
  

So, what are you thankful for this season?

The rifles lean against the wall in the living room.

The orange hats and coats have awakened from their summer hibernation and emerged.

It smells like old woodfire smoke and Hoppe's gun oil in my house.

I am a young girl, and I know that this means deer season is coming. They will go. Some years many others go with them, some years not. But every year, it seems to me, they go. They go together. They seem happy when they go. They seem happy when they come back.

"When can I go?" I ask.

I look up at him, his strong hands, his big shoulders. He can do anything. He is a Titan, a superhero. He is my superhero.

"When you're older," he says.

"How much older?" I say, impatient. I want to go too.

"I don't know. When you're thirteen, fourteen, maybe. We'll see."

That seems like a lifetime to me. But I can wait. It's only a few more seasons, and then I'll go with them. I'll see the happy for myself. They will share it with me. I know they will. Because he said they would.

So I wait.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But things are different when I am thirteen.

The happy is over. They don't go there together anymore. What they had between them has broken.
It is on the ground, in pieces. They don't want it anymore. They are angry, hurt, bitter. They walk away from it. They don't want it.

My sisters don't want it. They are so little. They know it was, and now it isn't. They are sad, confused. But they don't understand it enough to want it.
I see it, I want it. It hurts me to see it broken. It feels like I am broken. It is where my roots were. Now my roots can't grow there. They don't grow anywhere. It's all broken up. Nothing can grow there now. It is a pitiful, unwanted thing.

But still, I want it. I'm the only one who wants it. Because it is where I came from. I was born out of it. I pick up the few pieces I can and try not to think of the promises, the dreams. The things I waited for that will never happen now. I try not to think of the things I cannot have.

Still, a part of me waits. And hopes. And remembers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Time passes. I grow and move and breathe, and life helps me move along. I am a grown up now. I am newly married. I am learning to lay down new roots. I am learning to trust this new place where my new roots will grow. I hope this one doesn't break, I hope with all my heart.

I still carry my old roots. They are withered, dried. But still, I carry them. I can't put them down. There is no place to put them down. The old place is gone, but I can't find a new place to put down the old roots. I can't find a place that connects me to the thing that got broken. There is no place that feels right. And so I have carried them all these years.

Time passes. They both move on, too. New families. New homes. New. There is little thought of the old. The old has to share with the new. Things must be moved, space must be made. Some of the old things now live in the new, but not that thing. She doesn't go there anymore. He goes without her. He goes alone.

And still, I remember. I wait.

And then one day, he says to me, "You should come with me." And I smile. And my heart rejoices. He invites me and my husband. And we go. And I don't know it until I get there, but he has given me a wonderful thing.
It is a gift. He does not know it's a gift. He does not know how precious it is. He cannot imagine how meaningful it is. He does not realize the importance of it.

Because this is where they used to go. And although she is a hundred miles away, I feel connected to them both. At the same time. In this place. This place that is mostly untouched by others. I told her I was coming, and she was happy. When we come now here it is only us. This was their place. He shared it with her then. Now, he shares it with me. They share it with me.

When I am here, I can reach back across time. In this place, I stand with one foot in the now, and one foot in the then. And I feel peace. I feel calm. I can hear the echos of them. Still here, ringing out across the years.

He tells me stories of her. Of them. He shows me her hunting spot. He tells me of how she got her first deer. He shows me his hunting spot. He tells me of all the deer he has gotten there. In a few years, he gives me his spot.

In my life, there have been things I wanted him to share with me. And this is the thing he chose. This simple thing that is so much more than a simple thing. This thing he gave me is not just hunting. It is not just a season. Not just an experience. He gave me them. He gave me a few more pieces of the thing that got broken. A few of the pieces I could not pick up before.

In this place, I walk where they walked when they loved each other. I breathe where they breathed when it was whole. I laugh where they laughed when they were happy together. And this is the only place left on the earth like this. Because the home we had before it was broken is gone.
And in this place, I discover a place where I can set down my old roots. This is a place of the old. It has not been touched by the hurt. The broken has not come here. Everything that has come since has stayed away. This is where I can plant my old roots. And I can come back every year and see how they've grown. Every year, they grow a little. They grow into something new. But also something old. They are fertilized by the the pieces of the thing that got broken.

It is where the memories live. The memories of them and me and us before it all fell down. It feels like going back to my home.

A Quiet Place to Pray

A while back I asked a friend if she has a place in her home to pray. She (wisely) answered that she prays every place. I like her answer, and for me, it seems the same is true. As I travel along this journey of faith, I find myself offering up prayers with almost every breath. Prayers of thanksgiving, prayers of love, sometimes prayers for intercession.

What I should have asked was, "Do you have a quiet, comforting place in your home where you commune with God?" Because, yes, prayer should happen often, at many times and in many places, but I'm learning that it is important to set aside time every day to just...

be with God.

A few months ago I began getting up (or trying to get up) around 5:30 so that I can begin my day with scripture and prayer. My family are all still sleeping, and my house is truly quiet for a few minutes. I had been sitting in my favorite chair in our living room, but I was often so distracted. There was a full laundry basket near the coffee table. There were a few toys left on the floor from last night. There were a few dishes in the sink. There was that permission slip to be signed...

I've recently read and heard about where others go (in their homes) for their daily quiet time with God. I thought this sounded like a great idea, so I made one in my home. And I'm so glad I did. It's not perfect yet. I still have a lot to do. And it's not without it's distractions, but these are distractions I can ignore pretty easily at 5:30 am.

Two years ago we began finishing our basement in preparation for our new baby. My office had to be moved out of his room, and as long as we were building that, we might as well build a little seating area too. The baby is now 19 months old. The basement is far from finished. But I have my office, and now I have my quiet place too.
Okay, it's a bit of a mess. The bucket acts as my end table right now, to hold my morning Ovaltine and sometimes my feet. The shop vac is hardly conducive to relaxation... but I do have this:
A lovely fireplace. Okay, the fireplace itself is a little dusty from drywall work. And there are boxes of building supplies nearby. But the flame is lovely and warm. And it calms my heart and racing mind.

And that helps me take strength, wisdom & comfort from this:
That's my Bible. It's open to the book of Jeremiah, which is as far as I've gotten so far. Also, my "Our Daily Bread" is peeking out. Every morning I pray, read ODB, read a section of Jeremiah (as much as my time will allow) and pray (again) before greeting the day and heading out to work.

Although it was a bit of a challenge to train myself to do this, now that I have, I find that on those rare mornings when I skip it (bad, Kelly. Baaaad.) I really, really miss it. I feel all day as though I have forgotten something really important... like putting on pants. And let's be honest people, it is uncomfortable to walk around the world without your pants on.

So, do you spend time with God daily? Where do you go? What do you do? I'd love for you to share.

Blessings Come in Unexpected Forms (Part 3)

So the very next day, I started getting up early to pray & read my Bible. I started listening to the BOTT radio network again. I began to recite Galatians 5:21. Often. I asked myself "Is this faithful instruction?" before correcting or directing my children.

And I began to feel better. And I began to function better. And after three days of this, I felt compelled to open the laptop that sits next to my chair and read one of those blogs. And the post that she wrote spoke directly to my heart.

And I realized that blessings come in unexpected forms.

Because the selfish "me time" that I no longer felt I had time for was really "us time" that I must make time for. God put these women in my life for a reason. They have much to share. God compelled me to start this second blog for a reason. I am here, in the beginning of my journey of faith, and even in my humble beginnings, I have much to share.

These blogs, this community of typed words and pictures, of bold fonts and italics, of prayers and scripture and lessons taught and learned... it's all a new kind of fellowship. It is Titus 2. It is the kind of gathering and sharing and teaching that the women who went before us had to go down to the well to experience.

And it's not a plague from man. It's a blessing from God. I asked God to teach me; He gave me a whole community of women from whom to learn.

So I am pledging to get back to reading the blogs, and to sharing my thoughts & experiences on my blog(s). I'm sure I'll never be able to read all 188 that I've missed, but I'll definitely go through & catch up a few at a time. Also, I'm pretty sure only one or two people read this blog, but I will still share anyway. God is doing wonderful things in my heart and my life, and I want to be praising Him and glorifying Him.

Wow. Blessings do sometimes come in the most unexpected forms. Isn't God amazing?