Wells

Reading through Isaiah’s been a little dry recently. You know, one of those times when what you’re reading in Scripture isn’t matching up with the needs of your everyday-feet-on-the-ground-real-life. (We’re in the throes of massive decisions about schooling for the kids. But perhaps that’ll be a topic for later. In the meantime, you can pray. Thanks.)

And then I reached chapter 12. And it was what I needed. Here it is, in the Message.

And you will say in that day,

“I thank you, God.

You were angry

but your anger wasn’t forever.

You withdrew your anger

and moved in and comforted me.

“Yes, indeed—God is my salvation.

I trust, I won’t be afraid.

God—yes God!—is my strength and song,

best of all, my salvation!”

Joyfully you’ll pull up buckets of water

from the wells of salvation.

And as you do it, you’ll say,

“Give thanks to God.

Call out his name.

Ask him anything!

Shout to the nations, tell them what he’s done,

spread the news of his great reputation!

“Sing praise-songs to God. He’s done it all!

Let the whole earth know what he’s done!

Raise the roof! Sing your hearts out, O Zion!

The Greatest lives among you: The Holy of Israel.”

There are times when it’s easy to say “I trust, I won’t be afraid.” But most often I find that it’s a choice to plant my feet firmly (or even stomp a foot intentionally) and with a boldness I don’t feel, say (or just yell), “I trust, I won’t be afraid.” I choose to lean hard into the messiness of the indecision or the uncertainty or even the quietness of God. I can wait. If he’s not in a hurry, why should I be? 

Today “God--yes God!-- is my strength and song, best of all, my salvation!” Not sure what salvation will look like on this day, but I accept it as truth. He is. That is all. 

Now. About those buckets of water. 

Wells are usually pretty deep. Pulling up buckets of water requires a whole lot of effort. Muscles burning. Sweat dripping. Rope straining. How long does it take? Is the joy in the pulling or is the joy in the water? Or is it a delight in the salvation? 

But as you’re pulling, the rope rubbing blisters into your hands, “you’ll say, ‘Give thanks to God. Call out his name. Ask him anything! Shout to the nations, tell them what he’s done, spread the news of his great reputation!’” That’s even before the bucket reaches the top of the well. It’s before you’ve had a drink. It’s while the muscles are still straining and the sweat is still dripping. 

Today my decisions are still looming. The questions haunt my mind when I go to bed and they’re the first thoughts to enter my head in the morning. They just won’t. go. away. But I think I need to visit the well today. 

First, I’ll peer deeply into it. I might drop a pebble to hear a far away splash. Then I’ll lower the bucket. And I’ll keep letting out more and more and more rope. Cause, friends, this well of salvation is r.e.a.l.l.y. deep. Really. We’ve been offered so much. 

Today it will be hard work to bring that bucket back to the top. Today I will lean hard into the decisions looming. Today I my muscles will burn and the sweat will drip. 

And today, with unanswered questions, I’m shouting, 

“Give thanks to God. Call out his name. Ask him anything! Shout to the nations, tell them what he’s done, spread the news of his great reputation!”

Wanna join me? We’ll be intentional. It won’t be easy. But it will be worth it. 

Also, I’m not settling for just a drink today. How bout a water fight? Are you in? 

Breakup

The Bering Sea is literally a stone’s throw from the apartment we’re renting. When we moved in the end of March the sea was frozen solid. Yes, salt water will freeze. At 28.4˚ F. 

But now that it’s mid-May the ice is breaking up in massive chunks. Late evenings find kids in tennis shoes and sweatshirts jumping from ice floe to ice floe, riding the flat bergs as they move up and down. Last night the Nome Police stopped to talk to our teens and warn them of the dangers of crushing ice and ask them to stay off the ocean. 

A few days ago the water was mostly flat, but as some ice is washed ashore (some pieces the size of a small car) and other pieces float out to sea, the tides are more visible and the waves are beginning to once again crash on the shore. In fact, I can hear the waves as I sit in my living room. 

This morning I stood mesmerized at the window watching a huge piece of ice, perfectly flat as the waves tumbled it about. First once side would rise into the air, then it would smack down as the wave washed over it. Up and down, ice chunk riding waves like a riderless surf board. 

I’ve felt like that chunk of ice for the last several weeks. Floating along, minding my own business, but getting hammered by waves. Feeling the icy cold water wash over my head when I wasn’t prepared. I’m not sure if I’ll float out to sea or if I’ll be washed ashore. Some kid might even stand on me. A sudden change in wind could alter my direction. 

But I’m not that sheet of foot-thick sea ice tossed around in an ocean of salt water. I’m me. I’m going to sit on the rocks or walk on the beach. I will listen to the waves, but they won’t pummel me. I will watch them, but they won’t drive me out to sea. 

Daniel and the four youngest jump ice floes several evenings ago. 

Instead I choose the room of grace. I’ll turn my back to the sea and its storminess. To its uncertainty. To its exhausting crashes. Today I desperately need the room of grace. I need its quiet. Its deep care for my soul. Its acceptance of my questions. 

The view from my deck just moments ago. Waves crashing. Ice moving. 

The room of grace just invites me to just be. Not do. Not perform. Not decide. Just be. It’s my safe place. And He is there. 

Does your soul feel pummeled? Are there more questions than answers about your future? Your kids? Your job? Or lack of a job? Run to the room of grace. Let your soul sigh. Grace is offered. Embrace it. 

looking around

One year ago my sister and I met and secretively made our way westward to Ohio. Along the way we called Mom from Kris’s phone. Via speakerphone we began taking turns talking to her. At first she couldn’t figure out why she was hearing both of our voices and was a little confused. Why were we together when we live 3 hours apart? Finally we told her we were on our way to her house to celebrate Mother’s Day and her 65th birthday which, last year, fell on the same day. She was delighted!

Mom was diagnosed with cancer four years ago and last April discovered that it had metastasized. Because of the cancer in her chest cavity there was fluid buildup on her lungs and breathing was difficult at times. Since these birthday-Mother’s Days only come every few years, we wanted to make sure we didn’t miss our opportunity to celebrate with Mom. And in another year, well, we just didn’t know if Mom would be here. 

Turns out we were right. 2012 was our last year to celebrate with Mom. Nineteen days before Mother’s Day and 20 days before her 66th birthday, Jesus came and ushered Mom into the Next Kingdom. 

So Mother’s Day this year feels just a little strange. Mom isn’t here to love on or send flowers to or even call. Although I did have a dream last night that I could still text her. It was pretty cool. She even texted back. From Heaven. Then I woke up. 

I’m already planning ahead for Mother’s Day this year. I have several good cries already scheduled. Cause I know it will happen. There’s just an empty place when I think about Mom. 

In reality, I feel a little cheated. To my way of thinking, sixty-five was way too young to die. She should still be here. For Dad. For her kids. For her grandchildren. For the women who loved her listening ear and who needed her wisdom. 

But then I remember the evening I was praying for her several months ago. My spirit was crying out to Jesus on her behalf. I began, “Jesus, if you don’t come and heal Mom. . .” Immediately David’s words came: Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. 

And then this thought from the heart of God: He wants my Mama. 

Please don’t hear that lightly. Hear it with intensity. He WANTS my Mama. God deeply desires her. He wants her in His kingdom. 

It was on that night that I knew I needn’t ask for her healing in this lifetime. I knew that God Himself wanted her. Intensely. And so I began asking God, with tears, that His timing would be perfect for her homegoing. 

And He answered so beautifully. She ran to meet Him in her sleep, just like she’d asked Dad to pray for. For her, the Next Kingdom is reality. 

So this Mother’s Day, in between my scheduled cries, I’ll be looking around and forward. Cause I’m a mother too. And Mom wouldn’t want me to cry too much. She’d want me to celebrate motherhood. My own motherhood. The motherhood of the women I love. My daughters. 

Thursday afternoon my girls treated me (and themselves!) to pedicures!! We’ve done things like this with my mom and sister and in other configurations with friends, but never before just us four. It was fun and beautifying and together. I’m choosing to look around. 

When we got home we all went for a walk together and then decided to have an impromptu tea. Fresh sprigs of spearmint tea and bags of rose tea. Papaya. Lemon cake in tiny slices. Cucumber sandwiches. Apple and pear slices. 

We talked. We laughed. We sipped tea. We just enjoyed together. 

As we sat and sipped I suddenly began to really see the dishes in front of me. A white embossed teapot from sister many Christmases ago. Tea cups and saucers, once my grandmothers, given to me by my own mother. A pink plate with a daisy and “Life is good” from my friend Heidi. A simple white plate from Danelle. Delicate Belleek china cream and sugar bowl covered with tiny springs of green clover, carried home from Ireland for me with love from Esther, one of my other sisters. Another white teapot, a gift to Elsa from Nana. 

Dishes that remind me of women I love. Some here, others already in the Next Kingdom. My heart was warm. My eyes were wet. It was a little looking back and a lot looking around and forward. 

Yes, on Mother’s Day I’ll probably look back a little. I won’t be able to keep from it. But mostly I want to look around and forward. 

I want to mostly just look around. I’ll see the man I sometimes call Hobbit: strong, caring, adventurous, loving me so well. I’ll see three ladies: the one who loves to be busy constantly and whose sketches amaze, the one who cares for all things hurting and marches to her own drumbeat, the one who is my shadow some days and other days has to be called away from her books. I’ll see two boys: the one we call the Energizer Bunny who hunts and the one we call Farmer who helps load pigs. This is what is around. And it’s full of goodness and love. 

It’s ok if you look back a little this Mother’s Day, but don’t forget to also look around. Do a lot of looking around. And linger a little. Soak a little. It’s good. 

Jumpstarting hope

 I woke up with a headache. Nope, I sure don’t love those mornings. After some prayer with my husband, some milk and vitamin I(buprofen), I went back to bed. Sleep was gone as I pondered the list of things running through my head. It felt like a list with 101 points, but in reality it was only several big things that gave the illusion of being many. 

Two words came to me in those dark hours before dawn. Joy and hope. 

I’ve been reading Ann Voskamp and her words about a “joy dare.” Take the plunge. Give thanks. Watch joy explode. 

And then just behind the thought of joy, came hope. As my mind rattled over the list of things in my head like an old pickup over a bumpy, gravel road, I wondered what I’m really hoping for. Do I hope for change? Do I hope for more? Do I long for peace or freedom? 

Then my mind put the brakes on. No more rattling over the washboard of my list. A pause to remember. 

My hope is in the Lord. 

If I set my hope on any of those other things-- change, more, peace, freedom-- I will be disappointed. Bitterly. 

But if I let my list stay where it will and turn my gaze of hope toward Father, His presence whittles my list down to size. My whirling agitation turns to peace. I have a sense of anticipation-- not for change or more or peace or freedom-- but anticipation for Him. He can take care of my list. 

Do you find it easy to rattle through a list as well? Where is your hope today? 

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

This blog post is brought to you by the letter “D.” My sweet friend Danelle sent me a message several days ago asking me to jumpstart this blog. The batteries were dead, but she provided the spark. No promises on how often I’ll drive through and leave tracks here, but hopefully it’ll be more often than once a year. There won’t be any races or fancy shows. Just simple ordinary drives through the countryside. Some days it will probably be tracks through the mud. Other days might be a slow drive through the mountains. But you’re certainly welcome to join me. 

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Hi. Today my name is Alexander.

When I was a kid I fell in love with the children’s book “Alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day”, written by Judith Viorst. In the story poor Alexander experiences the worst of things. All in one terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Everything from waking up in the morning with gum in his hair to being scrunched in the middle of the back seat on the way to school. From not having his picture chosen to be hung on the classroom wall to lima beans for supper. From having his marble go down the drain at bath time to biting his tongue. You get the picture. A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I think the reason I love the book so much is that deep down in my kid heart, I identify with Alexander. I have the same kind of day every now and again. Even as an adult.

Today my name is Alexander. I had to deal with disappointment. Rather deep disappointment.

No one died. The house didn’t burn down. We didn’t lose all our savings. I didn’t iron a hole in my favorite shirt. The car didn’t break down. No one threw up. But something I was very much looking forward to got cancelled.

I really should say postponed rather than cancelled. Because that’s what really got me thinking in the first place.

I discovered that I tend to think that if God says “No” once then that was the only chance at the thing. It won’t ever come back around. Perhaps it’s the perfectionism in me that thinks that way. I get one shot at things and after that it’s all over. Only one chance. Better get it right the very first time, cause honey, that’s all there is. No three-strikes-and-you’re-out. No, no, no. One strike and you’re out. One chance is all you get. The door may open once, but if it closes, it’s closed up tight, never to re-open.

But today made me reconsider. Feeling the disappointment was rather Alexander-ish and I thought maybe it was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. But then I realized that the thing I was anticipating was not cancelled, but rather postponed. It just wasn’t the right time. Another time will indeed come for me.

Maybe there are second and third and fourth and fifth and sixth chances after all. Maybe there is another, better time for a thing. Maybe God is waiting for the right time. Maybe He hasn’t cancelled my dreams, only postponed them.

Take Jacob for example. Circa Genesis 25-48. He could have been named Alexander. He and Esau tried to crush each other before they were born. They fought pretty much their whole lives. Jacob cheated to get what he’d been told was his. He wrestled with an angel and lived to tell about it. His favorite wife died. His favorite son Joseph was “killed by wild animals.” There was a famine in the land. Son Simeon was put into prison and the other sons expected to take Benjamin with them back to Egypt when they went to get more grain. Life was just plain rough. It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad life. Skip the day. It was just a bad deal.

But Jacob couldn’t see the end of the story. He couldn’t know that Joseph was still alive and had been storing up grain to keep the whole Abrahamic family alive. He had no idea that Joseph’s two sons would be two tribes of Israel. God hadn’t cancelled His goodness (or what Jacob thought was goodness). Jacob just couldn’t see it. . .

And this really isn’t a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day after all. There’s tomorrow. And the day after.

Am I willing to bear the disappointment for now, knowing that God is still good?

Am I willing to wait for God? Trusting in Who He is? Waiting for His glory to be revealed?

Are you? How are you plucking up your courage and faith and hope in the meantime?

about Grandma

January 1, 2011. Saturday afternoon. Many people were reviewing their New Year's resolutions. My sweet Grandma, Rhoda Showalter, was beginning her "real life" in her new home. She passed from death to life. She traded a worn out body for a new one. She was ninety years old in this life. I find myself wondering what she looks like now.

Following is the tribute that a cousin and my sister read at her funeral. I wrote it after hearing stories and memories of cousins both near and far.

We cousins gathered at the front of the church and stood together for the reading.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Each of us standing here together today have at least one thing in common: Rhoda Showalter was our Grandma. As cousins we’ve compiled numerous memories and thoughts about who Grandma was and the place she occupies in our hearts.

We knew prayer was an active part of Grandma’s life. She prayed for us and she prayed with us. When we’d ask Grandma how she was, she’d reply “The Lord is faithful” or “God is so good.” She was always interested in us and didn’t want general information. She wanted to know the details! There were always hugs and kisses when you arrived and hugs and kisses when you left.

We remember songs sung at bedtime and countless stories read aloud. Walks to the garden. Picking up sticks in the front yard. Picking tea. The horse swing in the basement. Pink “Grandma candies” left under pillows at nap time (to be eaten ONLY after the nap was finished).

Grandma’s roses carefully arranged in a beautiful vase with asparagus ferns. Sledding on Grandpa and Grandma’s big hill whenever there was enough snow to cover the ground. Playing in the creek. All the little empty jars that Grandma kept under the kitchen sink, but gladly shared with us for insects, creek creatures and other treasures. Grandma’s toy collection.

And Grandma’s food: Warm gingerbread with lemon sauce and whipped cream. Raisin filled cookies. Citrus mint tea. Sweet potato casserole. Pulling taffy. Cutting off corn on the cob. Shelling lima beans. Canning pears.

Grandma was once seen wearing a grandson’s basketball shoes around the house. Just because. And Grandma let you put lots of butter on your bread. She’d drizzle the homemade whole wheat bread with honey and cut it up into little squares so you could eat it with a fork. She’d give you apple slices and raisins if you were hungry between meals.

Grandma was genuine. There was nothing hypocritical about her.

She was gracious. She may have felt “out of her element” at times, but you’d never know it.

Grandma was a mentor. She mentored others, but she also mentored us.

We could each stand and talk for hours of the ways that Grandma has influenced our individual walks with the Lord, but the essence of each story would be the same. She followed Jesus and wanted the same for each of us.

To borrow the words of C.S. Lewis, Grandma’s term is ended: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning! For Grandma this is only the beginning of the real story. All her life in this world was only the cover and the title page: now at last she is beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which none of us has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.

God's doing good things in the darkness

Several nights ago I remembered my poinsettia.

It was a gift to me a year ago after Daniel’s dad’s wedding. The day after Thanksgiving to be exact.

It was one of two at the front of the church for Daddy and Daryl’s very beautiful Christmas wedding. Please take it home with you, they’d said.
It was a huge, gorgeous poinsettia. It even survived the trip from Ohio to Pennsylvania in the back of our Suburban. In the cold. Nestled among suitcases.

And I enjoyed it all through Christmas.

Fast forward six months.

It spent the entire summer on my front porch. It was watered. Not very regularly, I must admit. For part of the summer I was even red-neck enough to let it sit on the porch below the air conditioner sticking out of my dining room window and let the condensation drip into the pot. Lazy woman’s watering can.

You get the picture. I kind of wanted it to live, but I really didn’t give it too much attention. It even survived the mini-tornado whose high winds removed everything from the front porch.

When it started getting cold I decided to bring it inside. It was still big and leafy and green. Not looking very Christmasy at all. But I’d heard somewhere that it needs to be in a dark place.

Ah ha! The basement dungeon we’ve got would be just the place. I took it down and watered it well.

And promptly forgot about it.

I’d meant to check on it every week and water it. You know, check in on it and see how it was faring. Didn’t happen. For me it’s “out of sight, out of mind.”

Until that night I mentioned several days ago. Oh no! I’d forgotten all about that poinsettia! By now I was kind of hoping that somehow I’d be able to coax it into blooming. For Christmas.

Today I remembered to check on that poor, forgotten plant, deep in the hidden recesses of my basement.

And there he stood. Tall. Green. Not wilting a bit. With a few whitish leaves on the top and a few just starting to turn red.

I was shocked, to say the very least.

Something was going on. There. In the dark.

In the dark and damp of my basement, the poinsettia retained moisture in its soil that light and warm air would have stolen from it. And somehow, the darkness is causing changes in its leaves. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll have a blooming poinsettia for Christmas.

What is God doing in your darkness?

It’s far too easy for me to curse the darkness. I want bright sunny days. Beautiful breezes. Warmth. Light. Fresh air.

But in my dark and damp God is keeping my soil from drying out too quickly. I water it regularly with tears. And He knows that deep inside the heart of the plant, darkness is necessary to produce the most beautiful blooms.

Is my basement a lovely place? Nope. The part of the basement where I put the poinsettia is pitch black and has a gravel floor. It’s a little damp. I don’t love to go there. It’s not a good place for many things.

But it’s a good place for my poinsettia.

But not for long. Only for a period of time.

Then, up he comes. Back to the sunlight. Back to the warmth of my home. Back to the pedestal where he can sit and be admired. Hopefully sporting beautiful blooms.

Remember, your darkness won’t be forever. God’s only keeping you there so your roots can drink deeply. And so the darkness can cause you to bloom.

I’m wanting to rest in my dark place and let God do His stuff. Care to join me?

Preparing a place. . .

We’re getting a room ready for Daniel’s grandma. She spent several weeks with us last winter and we’re preparing for her coming again this winter. She doesn’t like to be alone in her little house and since no family members are close to her, she comes to us.

Last year she climbed the stairs to our sparest of spare rooms. This year her hips are bothering her. She wonders what the cancer is doing in her body. It’s a slow-growing type, but still enough to cause worries.

The progress on the room continues. The room used to be an office for Daniel and I. My desk was moved to the school room. Daniel will use his laptop wherever he likes. (But that’s normal.) He’s also in the process of building several tall bookshelves to accommodate our tremendous library.

We tore off old wallpaper. We patched walls. We sanded. We painted. There is trim that needs to be painted. Trim that needs to be hung. A door to be stained. Carpet to be cleaned. A bed and dresser to be moved into the room. Curtains to be located. (I’ve shopped, but haven’t found the right ones yet.)

The shepherd’s staff is stuck into the flower bed below her window. It’s waiting for the bird feeder to be hung. I need to clean the window. The light fixture needs to be dusted.

Did I mention we’re preparing?

And then several days ago I began to wonder. Jesus said he was going to prepare a place for me.

We’ve sure had a great deal of fun getting Mammaw’s room ready for her. We’ve dreamed up things we’re sure she’ll enjoy. A bird feeder so she can watch birds. Books on the shelves. Ones we think she might love to read. A comfy recliner where she can sit. A bed with flannel sheets and a nice thick comforter. Homey. Cozy. Welcoming. Inviting. Restful. Peaceful. Warm.

And Jesus is getting a place ready for me.

Kinda made me wonder what it’s taking for him to actually do that. I mean, consider that he spoke into existence our present earth, sun, moon and stars. Six days and we get oceans, skies, planets, pineapples, rabbits, earthworms, goldfish, green beans, eagles, hornets, alligators, anteaters, fleas, bamboo, palm trees.

And since he left his friends on earth and returned to his father some odd 2,000 years ago he’s been working on a “place” for me? Hmmm. Must be some kinda place.

I wonder if he ever feels the same giddy excitement I feel in getting a simple room ready for Mammaw. I’m pretty sure he does.

But Mammaw’s room isn’t ready just yet. We still need more time. There is more work yet to be done. But when the time is right, she’ll come. Daniel will go pick her up and bring her here himself.

Must mean Jesus is still working too. The “place” isn’t quite ready yet. The thing is, he wants me to be working while I wait for him.

Mammaw has things she wants to get done before she comes to our house. Paperwork to attend to. A doctor to see. She’s not just sitting around waiting for us to come for her.

I keep seeing things around me (and in me) I know he wants me to be working on.

How bout’ you? Do you think much about the “place” he’s preparing? Are you working until he comes for you?

God likes white dishes

Or at least He wanted me to have some.

You see, I've been using this strange conglomeration of plates for several years now. So many of them have broken and the rest are chipped. And I've been ready to switch them out for something new. Or at least new to me.

I've shopped online. I drooled at IKEA. I even picked out the set of dishes I wanted. At IKEA.

But IKEA is far away from me. Very far. Too far to drive for dishes.

Today I felt compelled to visit yard sales the town nearest me. You must understand, I dearly love yard sales, but rarely do I make myself get up early on a Saturday morning to yard sale.

So off I went. On my drive out our 1/2 mile driveway I prayed and asked God for white dishes.

Immediately I thought, what are the chances of finding white dishes at a yard sale?!? No one is going to be selling white dishes at a yard sale. And Lord, son one also needs jeans.

Yard sale #1. I looked through bins of boys clothing. Stained and expensive. Then I walked toward the back of the yard. There on a small table were {drumroll, please} white dishes! Lots of white dishes. Twelve dinner plates. Twenty two luncheon plates. Twenty three bowls. Ten mugs. Yes, I know it's an odd assortment. But it was the white dishes I'd asked for. For ten bucks.

Yard sale #2 was where I found the 2 pair of nearly new Wrangler jeans for son one.

And now you know why I think God likes white dishes.

(Yes, I started this post several weeks ago and here it is finally. My sincere apologies to those sweet friends who keep checking back for something new. I wish I could tell you how much I'd love to blog every single day. But I'm not supermom. Maybe someday it will happen. For now, I'm a sometimes blogger. )

{happy mother's day!}

Every year it's the age old question: What little gift can we give to the mothers at church?

There are the ordinary pens, bookmarks, lapel pins, mugs, etc. But what about something new and different.

What about a variety of herbs in cute and colorful little tin buckets? Mothers are very flavorful people you know. We add "spice" to the dull and otherwise boring lives of our families, right?
So, here they are. All dressed up and ready for Sunday.

Happy Mother's Day!!

{He knows!}

“For the Lord knows and is fully acquainted with the way of the righteous. . .” Psalm 1:6 Amplified Bible

How grateful I am!! The Lord knows my way!!

And then I hear a little voice in my head asking, “How can you be so bold and conceited to think that you are righteous? You? Righteous? Look at who you are? Look at your past? Ok. Never mind the past??!! What about yesterday? What about how you responded to that child? You clearly messed up! You? Righteous? Funny joke.”

But I quickly recognize the accusing voice of my enemy. My God brings conviction. The enemy brings shame and condemnation. And those questions were clearly the latter.

Because now that I am “in Christ” there is “no condemnation!!” Romans 8:1

And I am righteous because Jesus gives me His “robe of righteousness.” Isaiah 61:10

I am righteous. And the Lord knows my way.

Now that’s a settling, comforting, empowering thought for my Saturday!

{about walking}

On my walk last night: freshly planted field on one side, freshly mown hayfield on the other and in the distance, golden edged clouds suspended in a pink sky as the orb of a sun slid below the horizon. It would have been idyllic if it wasn’t so cold with what felt like 40 mph wind trying to blow me over.

Ahhh. I love a beautiful sunset. Yes, yes. I know. Technically, it’s not a sunset. It’s an earthrise. But earthrise just doesn’t sound as good.

Imagine Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof singing, “Earthrise, earthset, earthrise, earthset, swiftly flow the days.” See. It just doesn’t sound the same.

I love to think back to all the places I’ve walked.

Walks with Dad after school in Sidney, Ohio. (If you need to know, it’s because I was often in trouble after a homeschool day with Mom. Mom and Dad have always claimed Dr. Dobson’s book “The Strong-willed Child” was written about me.)

Early morning prayer walks with Dad on dusty Sandy Lake roads in Ontario.

Walks with friends all over Red Lake, Ontario. Walks to Jim’s Bakery. Walks to the dock to just sit and enjoy the water.

Walks in Oak Brook, Illinois. Again, many times with friends.

A walk in Taipei, Taiwan with my cousin Eli when he was only three. To the supermarket for groceries. Other walks in Taiwan with Uncle Nate and Auntie Chris to see the sights.

Walks to schools and orphanages, to and from the Metro, in and around the city of Moscow, Russia. A walk through Red Square. And also, the “stairs of death”: too many steps to count going down into a Metro station somewhere in the city.

Walking with my husband as newlyweds to the Hobe Sound beach in Hobe Sound, Florida during our first year of marriage. Hot, humid evenings. With sand fleas.

A walk in downtown Seoul, Korea when we overnighted there en route to the Philippines the first time. Enjoying the sights and sounds and smells of a huge Asian city.

In the Philippines after a helicopter ride into a village high in the mountains, I walked out. For 10 hours. Downhill. My knees shudder when they remember.

Then there were the walks at the Northwoods. U.P., Michigan. Walks to the Gatehouse and back. Walks around Wolf Lake. Walks with friends.

Walks in Mt. Carmel, Pennsylvania with one, two, three little girls on our way to the park for slides and swings.

Walks in Smalltown, Michigan down trails specially mown in the grass through the back field and through the woods.

A walk in the Philippines with my husband early one morning. Birds singing. Horns honking. Trikes passing. People hard at work and the sun is barely up. Roosters crowing. Children waving.

Walks in Smalltown, Pennsylvania. Down the hill. Over the railroad tracks to the Juniata River.

And now, walks on the farm. Walks down my driveway in between fields. Two mile walks and I’ve only walked to the mailbox and back twice.

I’ve walked and prayed. I’ve walked and cried. I’ve had to stop sometimes because I was crying so hard I couldn’t see. I’ve walked and been so full of joy and hope I felt like bursting. I’ve walked and dreamed. I’ve walked and wondered what’s next. I’ve walked and not ever wanted to leave.

And I find that in all the various seasons of life Jesus has been walking with me. He’s always there. Constant. Steady. Loving. Understanding the things I can’t put into words. My unseen walking partner.

What have been your most memorable walks? With whom and where?

Sequins sparkled. Rich fabrics fairly glowed. Palms outstretched showed henna patterns. Bare feet moved swiftly. Eyes darted from side to side. Necks followed eyes. And I knew the tiny, beautiful, dark-skinned girls were telling a story with their dance.

Last Saturday our family took a field trip day and attended Global Fest at HACC (Harrisburg Area Community College) for several hours of ethnic foods, handcrafts and native dances. (Oh dear. That just sounded like we ate for several hours. We didn’t. We watched people. A lot. And we did sample the Indian butter chicken, Chinese dumplings and sushi.)


It wasn’t only the Indian girls doing ethnic dances. There were Filipino children as well with long pieces of bamboo, some tapping the wood in time with the music and others jumping quickly to keep their feet from getting pinched between the sticks. Hispanic men and women played traditional instruments. There was much foot stomping and twirling and clapping when the Irish clog dancers were on stage. I think I even tapped my feet once or twice. Ok. I confess. I really didn’t hold still the whole time. They were amazing.

Nother’ confession: I love cultures. I don’t mind being in the midst of places I don’t fit. I love watching. I enjoy trying new foods. I love meeting people from other continents. I enjoy conversations about why they believe what they believe. I love learning about their traditions and why they do what they do.

Maybe it’s just a little, teeny taste of Heaven.

Maybe there will be Indian Christians there with traditional costumes and dances, retelling the story of Jesus. Maybe we will eat Indian butter chicken and Chinese dumplings and sushi. And apple pie.

And rejoice and celebrate together with people of every tongue and tribe and nation. . .

Rhubarb Dream Dessert

1 c. flour

5 T. powdered sugar

1/2 c. butter, softened

Mix ingredients together and press into a 9 x 9 in. ungreased pan and bake at 350˚ for 15 minutes.

While the crust is baking mix together the following:

1 1/4 to 1 1/2 c. white sugar

1/4 c. flour

3/4 t. salt

2 c. finely chopped fresh rhubarb

2 eggs, beaten

Pour onto baked crust and bake at 350˚ for 35 minutes. Great served with whipped cream or ice cream.

{reflections on Earth Day}

“The Earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness of it, the world and they who dwell in it.”
Psalm 24:1

Earth Day is a big deal. Shouldn’t we all go plant a tree or something? Or perhaps recycle those cans in the garage?

Those aren’t bad things. Not at all. I’m just here to remind us Who the earth really belongs to. It’s not ours. Not really. It’s God’s.

He’s the Maker. And when you create something, it’s usually yours.

He did bless the first people and tell them to “fill the earth, and subdue it [using all its vast resources in the service of God and man]; and have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and over every living creature that moves upon the earth. And God said, See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is on the face of all the land and every tree. ..” Genesis 1:28-29

The Amplified Bible throws in that explanation-- “using all its vast resources in the service of God and man.” We are supposed to live here.

Yes, I know. God didn’t give Adam a plastic fork and spoon to use and Eve didn’t use disposable diapers for Cain and Abel.

But God knew even before He created earth that we’d get to this place. Computers. Plastic everything. Aluminum cans that certainly aren’t biodegradable. Disposable diaper. Soles of shoes sitting in a landfill somewhere. The used up school bus sitting in the bottom of that lake.

God knew. And He lets us keep right on going. Because He knows there is an end. The ultimate “global warming” is coming.

And, get this, He actually has plans already laid for a New Earth. Imagine that. Now that will be something. I can’t wait.

Until then, I will try to take care of what He’s given me. I will reuse whenever possible. I will recycle as much as possible. And I will reduce if at all possible.

Because this earth where I live, it’s not really mine. It’s His.

Happy the-earth-belongs-to-the-Lord Day!!!

It ain't happnen

Yes, I know. The teacher in me is screaming, “You shouldn't say that!!!” But I just did. So there.

And it really isn’t happening. We’re not going to Mexico. In fact, last week was the week we “should” have been there. But knowing and understanding very well that our thoughts and plans and timing aren’t always God’s, we let it rest.

The needs at the orphanage changed from what we’d anticipated earlier on in the planning stages. And then the team we were working with slowly disintegrated. Not in a bad way. God just directed people to do different things.

And so we wait. But we’re not waiting and sitting on our hands. Passport forms for the entire family are filled out, pictures taken, waiting on my desk for a day to take them in (so someone can look at our kids and verify that indeed they are our children).

Getting passports for the kids is like preparing for rain. There are no trips planned. There clearly isn’t money to galavant off across the planet. No one has invited us to join them in what God is doing on the other side of the world. But it’s ok!

God knows where we live! And He is working right here. There are absolutely BEAUTIFUL things He is doing in our family. We are growing in grace and love and understanding. We are learning things about how He wants us to live.

In the last 5 years there have been several attempts to involve our family in overseas missions. Some we have pursued. Others have been invitations that have come to us. And every time, God closes the door. Every time.

I’ve asked “why” more times than I can count. I’ve looked for answers for why I even have the desire to go in the first place. What on earth is God up to?

God knows. We’re in a good place. We’re part of an incredible church! We have amazing friends! We’re dreaming about the places God wants to take us as a congregation of believers.

Thanks for being part of our circle of friends. Friends who ask what God is doing, who care about where we are, who are excited with us about our journey with Jesus.

And for now, overseas ain’t happnen.

Hobb(it)s bound for Mexico!

I'm re-posting a letter I recently shared on facebook (for those of you not part of the world of fb).

Friends and family,
We're excited! Jesus is inviting us to join Him in a ministry to orphans, as well as humanitarian outreach to squatters living near the orphanage. We'll also be doing some construction on a building on the orphanage grounds.

Daniel and I have been privileged to be involved in God's work around the world at various times in our lives, both as singles and as a couple. This however is the first time God has flung open the doors to our whole family. Being the third-culture-kid I am, I've longed for years to introduce our children to another culture (outside the various cultures we've enjoyed here in the U.S.). It seems that now is the time!

We'd love to invite you to join with us in prayer and financial needs as God prompts you. We have no doubt that what God orders, He also pays for.

Pray for God to bring together the entire team of people who need to be part of this endeavor.

Ask God to bring together the prayer support we'll need before, during and after the trip.

And if God asks you to give, well, give and rejoice! :o)

My passport needs to be renewed and the children all need passports. Tack that cost onto the cost of the trip itself and we're looking at $5150. If you want to give and need a tax deductible receipt you can make your check out to Palmyra United Zion Church.

Otherwise, you can send checks to Daniel Hobbs.

Checks can be mailed to Daniel and Carol Hobbs. (Call me if you need an address!)

We'll try to keep notes coming to let you know the status of the trip as God brings the team together.

Thanks for sharing in our joy!! Blessings, Carol-- for the rest of the Hobb(it)s

drops of faith

It’s Sunday morning. A cold, snow blanketed, church-has-been-cancelled Sunday morning. And I’m distracted by God’s Word. Again.

The last week has been a struggle.

Chronic pain is miserable, but when the chronic suddenly gets worse, the miserable gets worse too. I’ve had shoulder pain for nearly 9 years. Reaching into the back seat of our mini-van to help two toddlers during a pregnancy caused the initial strain. Then I developed calcific tendonitis. I’ve had a cortisone shot in that shoulder and weeks of physical therapy. The pain diminished for a time, but then returned. Not a permanent solution. Now it’s moved to a frozen shoulder.

Pain does something to me. And let me just say here that I’m always a little afraid that I’m being wimpy and whining about nothing. But during a massage earlier in the week, the massage therapist said, “Doesn’t that hurt???” “No. Keep going.” She remarked that I have a very high pain tolerance. And that’s coming from someone who causes pain on a regular basis. :o)

Back to the pain doing something. . . I’m finding that it’s causing me to have a deeper compassion. I’m loving my children more. I’m caring on a different level.

Another thing I always think about is: What will happen to my faith?

When I was in my late teens I had a severe trial of faith. And when I reflect on it nearly 20 years later (no, I’m not 40 yet, although my hair might cause anyone to question that statement), I wonder if I even passed that test. I was angry at God. It seemed He’d abandoned me. Through the passing of time God has brought healing to my heart and helped me to understand His presence. But it seems every time I walk to the brink of a new chasm of difficulty I wonder if I’ll pass the new test. Will I have the faith to trust that God will carry me over the chasm? Might He build a bridge for me? Will He part the rushing waters? Perhaps an eagle to ferry me across? And, if this is the “valley of the shadow of death” and I must pass through it, will He be there with me?

So often as I stand at the chasm of the latest difficulty, the demons of doubt and despair and mistrust and fear rush up behind me threatening to drive me over the edge. I doubt the greatness of His love and wonder if He’ll even care enough to show up and rescue me.

Standing at this chasm of pain God’s word to me has been “wait.” I don’t know yet what His healing will look like for me. I don’t know when it will come. But somehow at this chasm He’s given me faith to know that He is listening to my pleas for help. He sees the tears I cry. And He’s giving me endurance.

Today I’m made aware of the fact that faith doesn’t often show up in great ocean waves. It’s more like the drip of a leaky faucet. One drop at a time. A little here. A little there. Just when I need it to keep me moving forward.

Nope. My pain is not gone. I’m learning from it. I want to embrace it and be able to articulate the lessons to my children. My amazing husband has been so loving and helpful and caring during this season of pain. The children have been helping with everything from cleaning to meals to helping me comb my hair (something that is currently impossible). I think perhaps they’ll learn a new measure of compassion and care as well.

So, when I think I can’t handle another second of pain God lets loose another drop of faith. And grace.

And I’m humbled to recognize that I can’t even have faith on my own. Everything comes from Him.

Even my drops of faith.

So, do you want to know what distracted me? Check this out from the Message: Psalm 20.

"God answer you on the day you crash,
The name God-of-Jacob put you out of harm’s reach,
Send reinforcements from Holy Hill,
Dispatch from Zion fresh supplies,
Exclaim over your offerings,
Celebrate your sacrifices,
Give you what your heart desires,
Accomplish your plans.
When you win, we plan to raise the roof
and lead the parade with our banners.
May all your wishes come true!
That clinches it—help’s coming,
an answer’s on the way,
everything’s going to work out.
See those people polishing their chariots,
and those others grooming their horses?
But we’re making garlands for God our God.
The chariots will rust,
those horses pull up lame—
and we’ll be on our feet, standing tall.
Make the king a winner, God;
the day we call, give us your answer.

May God shower you today with extra large drops of faith. . .

pure Canadian humor. . .

I have no idea who gets the credit for this movie clip. If I did, I would mention their names. And then proceed to tell you how crazy I really think they are.

Papa Hobb(it) laughed until he nearly cried. And he's not even Canadian.

Enjoy.