I watched the hypnotic flash of blue lights in front of us and listened to the monotonous sound of hazard lights clicking on and off. Cars moving slowly in single file through the streets following the police car that led us to the cemetery. Daddy was a pall-bearer, so we rode ahead of the hearse that carried the body of dear Lillian. Cars around slowed, pulled over, stopped. A moment of respect, then they picked up and moved on. Some cars didn’t even stop, either not noticing or not caring. They had a life to live, things to do, places to go. Couldn’t they see the hurt that rode next to them? Or did they not know what they should do with it?
As I have reflected on the past year and all of God’s faithfulness, Jill Phillips’ song, I Am, has been a tool God used to speak the comfort of Who He is to me. I know what the past has held for me. I don’t know what the future holds in this life. But one thing I do know is that no matter what the circumstances of my life may be, God never changes, and He is my Emmanuel. He is with me!
May the words of His faithfulness bless your hearts today.
My mom took the kids and me to Chick-fil-A last week. After consuming large quantities of chicken and fruit cups, we made our way into the playroom for a whopping good time that turned into a nightmare. There were three siblings in there with mine. Two boys and a girl whose parents sat outside not supervising their children and enjoying their milkshakes. I felt the rush of anger and self-righteousness as I watched their kids disobey every rule posted. Climbing where they shouldn’t be climbing, running, etc. It got worse when they began pushing, hitting, pinching, and screaming.
Could it really be one year?! This post was originally published on August 11, 2007.
Last night I held my kids a whole lot tighter before they went to bed. As I snuggled with Bear, I thought about how he climbs into bed with us every so often afraid of the monster in the shadows of his room. He’s had a lot of fear for a 3-year old… recurring nightmares about a mean girl dressed in white who comes up from the floor in his room. I’ve held him so many times and told him there’s no such thing as monsters and that even if there were, his Daddy is big and strong and he’d take care of that mean ol’ monster. Then he smiles contentedly and goes off to his room feeling safe for a while.
We called them our second grandparents. Always ready with open arms to hug us, gum or candy to sneak to us, and smiles that welcomed any stranger, Cal & Lil exemplified the love of Christ. There are so many memories… the sound of Cal’s change jingling in his pocket, Lil’s laugh whenever he teased her, the taste of any of Lil’s cooking, and the sight of Cal patting his belly “complaining” that Lil was feeding him too much. There was Cal’s voice ringing loudly in prayer, and Lil’s sweet agreements to the hymns we sang. There was the constant encouragement that “God is with you.” They were special in so many ways. Holding hands at eighty is a rarity. And Cal and Lil were rare.
By request of my readers (this is for you, Jason!), I am now including an Amazon.com widget to preview or download the recording.
There is something healing about singing the names of God. Who He is. What He has done. When I am singing of His work then none of my own working can enter in, and worship becomes a complete focus on what worship is. Seeing the beauty of Christ. All of Him, none of me.
Twelve cents. Two pennies and a dime. It’s not much. Not a lot you can do with twelve cents. You certainly can’t buy anything for just twelve cents anymore.
We were sitting in the food court filling ourselves with grease and cheese in the form of humongous pizza slices. She was standing at the counter ordering. We heard the tinkling sound of change scattering over the floor. She bent and picked up a couple cents not realizing there was more she had lost. Or she was ignoring those pieces of money in her embarrassment of heads turning to see what had happened.
When I was a little girl about Micah’s age, we got a cat. A gray striped tabby with white feet and a white nose. I wanted to name her Rapunzel Let Your Golden Hair Down Misantone, but Daddy decided we would call her Patty for short. Oh, how I loved that cat! She slept on my bed almost every night much to the chagrin of my brother. He tried so hard. He’d take her to his room and try to force her stay with him, but she’d jump off his bed the first chance she had and snuggle up with me. And being the nice, loving sister that I am, I never rubbed it in his face. Not me. No, never.
Last week I took Ash to his daily swim lessons then home for a few before we climbed back in the van to his rescheduled dentist appointment. Yes. Rescheduled. Because I forgot his other one. Or rather forgot to remind Brian to take him because I would be at the doctor. This chemo brain is killing me!
We arrived at the dentist, and I opened the van door for Asher to get out. But he stood there. Minus his yellow flip-flops. “Um, Mom. I forgot to put on shoes.” You’ve got to be kidding me!
Sitting in yet another doctor’s office this week, I heard a familiar voice begin singing over the piped in music. I haven’t listened to Steven Curtis Chapman in years, but suddenly I sat up straighter and listened as the lyrics began pouring through me. “This is a moment made for worshipping, because this is a moment I’m alive.” I found myself choking up as I thought about the impact of those words. Every second of my life is a moment for worship. I came home and looked up the lyrics on my computer and have read them daily since… a reminder that each moment is a gift, every breath is grace from His hand, every second a chance to praise Him, every morning His mercies are new, and every beat of my heart is a chance to begin again covered by forgiveness. Oh for a heart that worships Him every moment! But what glorious mercy that as I fail so often, every second is a new moment to begin again.
