Sharing My Heart

Remembering. . .

2009-07-07T19:30:00.002-05:00

I've wrestled with my thoughts for over three weeks, wanting to publish a special post dedicated to my mom, but struggling over exactly what I wanted to say. Last month, I traveled to Pennsylvania to visit my sister and her family, and to see my mother--one last time.

For the past three years, every time I visit, I've wondered if Mom would remember who I am. Alzheimer's is an insidious disease--stealing tiny pieces of a loved one a little bit at a time. When our son was diagnosed with cancer in 2005, we decided not to tell Mom, because it would have been too difficult for her to remember who Jonathan was. So every time I visited, I stepped into her room at the nursing facility with a bit of trepidation, wondering if this would be the visit when she wouldn't know me. Early in June, the visit that I dreaded happened. No recognition lit her eyes. The disease had robbed her of her speech. A veil seemed to be drawn between us.

My sisters and I spent our visits with Mom talking about "the old days". "Mom, remember the time we went to the beach and we buried Daddy in the sand?" "Remember the time Pam told me to drink vanilla extract because it smelled good?" "Mom, remember the time you tried to fry eggs on the grill and they all slid off?" "Remember the snow coaster slide Daddy built for us, and you rode down the slide with the dog in your lap?" Laughter and tears punctuated our time together. Memory after memory carressed my heart as I shared them with the woman who helped make them. As I knelt by her wheelchair, I started to remember some precious times of my own.

My mother was never idle. When there was work to be done, she plunged into each task with energy. Her smile was given readily. She loved to laugh. Endless patience defined her as she gently guided me through the process of learning to be woman. But I think most of all, I remember my mother's hands--work-worn, gnarled by time, and twisted by arthritis, her hands held mine when I was afraid, they hugged me to celebrate joyous events, held me to soothe away my tears, and applauded for me when she felt I'd accomplished something significant. My mother's hands, by example, taught me how to pray. Those memories are forever etched into my soul. The sweet times we once enjoyed can never be lost--not even to Alzheimer's. All that we love deeply becomes a part of who we are.

Three weeks ago, as I knelt beside her, my mother's fingers wrapped around mine and wouldn't let me go. Did she know who I was? Did she know I was there? I couldn't be sure. But on my last day there, before I left, Mom grasped my hand and pulled my fingers up to her lips. Was she trying to say goodbye? Did she know it was the last time we see each other this side of heaven?

Almost two weeks ago, June 25th, my mother took her last breath and stepped into glory. Oh, how I wish I could have peeked into heaven to witness the reunion with people she loved: my father, her parents and grandparents, her sister, my son.

The tears I've shed haven't been ones of sorrow. Yes, I miss my mother, but I've been missing her--the person she was, the person we've been in the process of losing--for more than five years. Our prayers for my mother were answered exactly as we prayed them. God reached down and gently, sweetly took Mom home. My tears were a demonstration of gratitude, relief, and joy. I'll see her again soon. And the next time I see her, she'll know who I am.

I love you, Mom.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Looking For A Miracle

2009-05-13T11:46:00.003-05:00

I could hardly believe my eyes. The other morning, I went out to do some weeding around my roses. My one and only white rose bush (Iceburg) was covered with buds and glorious opening blooms. Every year since I planted it, it's been my most prolific bloomer with clusters of snowy white blossoms cascading over the fence. But this year, I was amazed to see blood red blooms on my white Iceburg rose bush.

Not being an expert on rose horticulture, all I can do is surmise that the bees cross-pollinated my white rose bush from the red ones nearby. Or maybe God just leaned down and kissed those roses to give me a sweet mercydrop.

* * *
Have you ever prayed for a miracle? A specific, God-breathed occurrence so bound in your heart that every prayer you uttered included a petition to see that miracle take place? I did. For eleven years, I prayed that I would see my son come back to Jesus after he turned his back on God and his faith. He'd so hardened his heart, I knew it would take a miraculous touch from God to turn him around. So for eleven years, I begged God to let me live long enough to see "my miracle". Four years ago this week, May 15, 2005, God granted my prayer and I saw my miracle. The joy that burst forth from my heart defies description.

Ephesians 2:13 says, "But now in Christ Jesus you who were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ." That's what happened. That was my miracle. My son was far off, but Jesus, in His astonishing and unending love, paid the ransom with His own blood and drew Jonathan back. My praise will never be the same. Seeing the miracle for which I'd begged God for so long changed forever the way I praise and sing to my Lord.

Something that is miraculous to us is not a staggering event to God. No sweat moistens His brow, no complicated logistics cause Him a headache. He doesn't wring His hands with worry over the details. He breathes His miracles into existence.

So the other morning when I saw red roses blooming on my white rose bush, I was astounded, but only for a moment. God can do anything He likes.

Thanks for letting my share my heart.

Open Your Mouth In His Name

2009-04-22T08:58:00.002-05:00

As children of God, we are meant to be encouragers. One of the joys of adoption into His family is fellowship with other Christians, as well as the opportunity to reach out to those who've not yet experienced the bonding of their soul with the Savior.

Such an opportunity arose a few days ago. A friend--a wonderful Christian lady-- posted an email, and I could hear her pain and confusion, I could feel the tears that tightened her throat. She was asking some of the same questions I asked when our son, Jonathan was diagnosed with cancer. "Why?" "How can this be?" Back in 2005, I couldn't understand it all when the doctor made his diagnosis, and I asked "Why, God? I don't understand what You're doing. How can it be that my strong, handsome, healthy son is inexplicably stricken with cancer?" At that time, God sent a special friend to minister to my heart and show me God's incredible mercy. Throughout our cancer journey, God taught me new dimensions of His grace that I might not have learned this side of heaven had the doctor's diagnosis been different.

When I read my friend's email, I wanted to be an encourager to her, especially since I'd asked the same kinds of questions she was asking. When Jonathan was faced with his own mortality, he had a great need for healing--not just of his cancer, but of some deep scars on his heart and soul. We asked God for a miracle for Jonathan.

What we didn't understand at the time was God has many ways of healing. When God grants His healing touch, it is absolute. Jonathan was healed of some deep mental and emotional scars that had created roadblocks in his walk with God. We celebrated the breaking of that bondage he was under, but his physical healing was different. In our humanness, we have a finite understanding of the definition of healing. We believe it is freedom from a particular disease or disability. Well, that IS the kind of healing Jonathan received. He is forever free of cancer. He is not in remission. He doesn't have to fear the cancer coming back or resurging somewhere else. He doesn't have to undergo any precautionary treatments. He is HEALED for all eternity. It was an understanding of true healing that we couldn't grasp at first. But I finally realized that none of us are ever truly healed until we step into glory.

God sometimes grants us gifts of earthly healing so we can continue to be used of Him free of the encumbrance or limitations of a disease or disability. Other times, our prayers for healing take a different turn. Sometimes it's God's plan to use the vehicle of disease to work miracles beyond our realm of understanding. In Jonathan's case, God used his cancer to draw people to the same Jesus Jonathan loved. Every time Jonathan opened his mouth in Jesus' name, God was glorified. And God continued to use Jonathan's testimony even after he died.

Every time we open our mouths in His name, we fulfill God's desire for us to be encouragers. Psalm 63 says, "My lips shall praise You, thus will I bless You while I live; I will lift up my hands in Your name...and my mouth shall praise You with joyful lips." This is what Jonathan did. He praised God while he lived, he lifted up his hands and his voice in Jesus' name. And he did it with joy regardless of the disease.

God, grant me the opportunity to open my mouth in Your name today.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Making The Old New Again

2009-03-05T13:56:00.003-06:00

A friend of mine is in the process of purchasing a 100-year-old house. This thing has three stories and eight bedrooms, and eventually will have something I've always wanted--a gazebo. She sent photos showing the intricate woodwork, unique window casements, and quaint claw-foot bathtubs. There is even a "maid's room" that she has already claimed as her office. My friend has picked out wallpaper and paint colors, and has planned renovations and restorations that will enhance the historical ambiance of this century-old treasure. Making the old new again, but clinging to the history.

What if we treasured the things we learned over the years the way we value antique architecture? When we see a wonderful work of craftsmanship tooled into a house, we admire not only its beauty, but also the skill of the carpenter. Aren't the nuggets of wisdom and experience taught by God's patient hand worthy of praise? These lessons aren't easily caught. Many times God has to carve them into our being, like a craftsman honing a piece of art. God's masterpiece is the life and heart of a servant designed and reclaimed for His glory. Much like my friend's 100-year-old house.

She excitedly emailed her friends and family with pictures of the place, but included descriptions of what needed to be torn out, rebuilt, added on, and changed to make the house what she and her husband want it to be. There are plumbing problems and missing trim work, and the layout of some of the rooms needs to be altered. But the planned repairs and renovations have not dampened her enthusiasm. She is looking forward to plunging into the work.

Along our Christian walk, we sometimes get side-tracked or lazy. Disappointments or wounded feelings can make us bitter, attitudes can become ascerbic or cynical. Disagreements can weight us down and hang baggage around our neck. Sometimes work is substituted for worship, with the inevitable burn-out to follow. We can find ourselves like my friend found this house: old, tired, in need of a loving hand to make the old new again. God desires the same thing for us. He sees the rust and the corrosion from years of wear, ugly attitudes or distractions we've used as excuses to justify straying from our first love--worship and praise offered to our Savior. But before we can return to that first love, God has some repairs and renovations to perform. He tears down the ugly, the worn out, and the ill-constructed additions we've installed. He uses the sandpaper of repentance to uncover the original work He did, then uses His mercy and grace to polish and refine what was once a masterpiece designed by His hand. But he also preserves those experiences we used in a wrong way.

This same friend who is buying the old house once told me that God never wastes a circumstance. God chisels those lessons we misused into the mantle of our lives, but He doesn't intend for us to hold on to the hurt or the inappropriate feelings. Once we give those things over to Him, he sculpts them into an art called wisdom. It would be a sad thing indeed to forget those things we've learned by experience, especially if we repeated the same mistakes. God never assumed we would go through life without making mistakes. His mercy and grace repairs and rennovates the time-worn places and makes them new again, ready to be used.

I hope I can have a small hand in helping my friend make her new, old house bloom into a gentle look over her shoulder into the past. It would be fun to find out who lived in the house and filled those walls with the joys and sorrows of their lives. But wouldn't it be even more precious to look back and see God's hand using the circumstances of out lives to carve His masterpiece?

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Handfuls Of Mercydrops

2009-02-13T18:49:00.004-06:00

Sometimes it's so easy to forget God's goodness. When times are tough and the future is uncertain, fear and doubt can loom large--like a hulking shadow or circling buzzards. We fight against the tide of tangible things--unemployment, unpaid bills, broken relationships, health issues, elusive goals. But the intangible can be even more frightening. Loneliness, grief, feelings of inferiority, and disappointment attack the most vulnerable places in our hearts, especially if once-faithful sources of strength and encouragement evaporate like morning mist. We cry out like the psalmist, "How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever? How long will You hide Your face from me?" (Psalm 13:1)

A few months ago, my husband was laid off. Given today's economy and the unemployment numbers, it wasn't exactly unexpected. Like thousands of others, the jobless status walked into our lives. We just threw ourselves at the foot of the Throne of God and trusted Him to carry us through a difficult time. What we didn't expect, however, was a new job in less than a month. God gave us a miracle, and we were staggered by His goodness, handfuls of mercydrops raining down upon us, each droplet a kiss from God saying, "I know your need. I've not forgotten you."

About three weeks ago, my car started making a very expensive-sounding noise. The ominous clunking sound grated on my nerves every time I turned the key, and all I could think was--this engine is going to blow, it's going to throw a rod. If that was the case, we were faced with a decision, and we only had three choices: have the engine rebuilt ($$$), have a new engine installed ($$$$) or buy a new car ($$$$$$).

I drive a 1997 Toyota Rav4. It has 159,886 miles on it. Was it financially prudent to invest so much money either rebuilding or replacing the engine, especially since the cost of the repairs would most assuredly exceed the resale value of the car? But there is one more thing I didn't mention about this car. It's not really MY car. It was my son's car. When he died, I started driving it. So it's really Jonathan's car. I'm just taking care of it for him. I affectionately named the car "Jarhead" since Jonathan was a Marine. How could I even consider trading his car in and getting something else to drive? Every time I slide in behind the wheel, I can almost catch a whiff of Jonathan's aftershave.

So it wasn't with just a little apprehension I took the car to our favorite mechanic, "Jarhead's doctor", Mr. Ken. I described the noise and left the car in Mr. Ken's capable hands. One the way home, I talked with God. "God?" I said. "Jonathan's car has a problem. I'm not really sure what it is, but You know what I'm afraid it is. You also know how special that car is to me. If it turns out to be the worst case scenario, please help us to find the means to fix it so we can keep Jonathan's car." I needed a mercydrop. No, I needed a whole handful of mercydrops.

Mr. Ken kept the car for two days. When he called me yesterday, he told me he was positive it wasn't a rod, it wasn't anything internal in the engine. In fact, he was fairly certain it was just a spring on the starting motor. Mercydrops began showering down. I raised my face toward heaven and let the droplets splash over me. How good God is to give us exceedingly, abundantly beyond what we ask!

Jarhead is sitting out in the garage with a clean bill of health, a tangible witness of God's goodness and mercy. In the times of drought, when tears fall unbidden, loneliness is my companion, and disappointment shadows my steps, I have only to lift up my head toward heaven. As the prophet Elijah declared in 1st Kings 18:41-- "...there is the sound of abundance of rain." Handfuls of mercydrops, each droplet a kiss from God, saying, "I'm here. I know your need. You are not alone. I'll not forget you or forsake you. It is my delight to bless you."

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Connie

I've Never Seen Tomorrow

2009-01-07T08:53:00.002-06:00

I’ve never seen tomorrow. I only have today.

Why is it when our loved ones are gone, we never think "I wish I’d spent more time worrying about tomorrow, or next week, or next year." "If only I’d stressed more about my job." "I wish I'd thrown myself into more activities outside the home." Inevitably, we wish we’d spent more time loving and laughing with that person we miss.

Planning for the future is a wise thing to do. We open savings accounts and 401Ks, we make sure our insurance coverage is adequate and our wills are up to date. We consider where we’d like to be a year from now or five years from now. We consider our spiritual growth and what God desires for our lives. We educate ourselves and our children so we might be successful in whatever unfolds in God’s plan.
As prudent as it is to plan, prepare, and organize, if the planning takes your focus off the things that are most important—family & friends—then I need to take another look at my motives.

I’m a planner, an organizer, a list maker. People roll their eyes at me when I tell them how far in advance I plan for holidays or events. They think I’m obsessive compulsive when I describe how I organize the small details. They’ve even made unkind remarks behind my back about how they think I’m showing off.

But they miss my point altogether.

Throwing myself blindly into the activity of planning or organizing is not my goal. The goal is to unclutter my schedule so I can take time to hold hands with my husband, pet the cat, sit back and gaze at a picture of my son, and reminisce. I can take a day to drive up to the mountains and lean against the same tree my son leaned against and appreciate the view he loved. If the youth group needs a batch of cookies, I can make them. My friend wants to meet for lunch, I’m there. My sister in Christ has a heart-wrenching prayer request? I’m on my knees. I have time. Tomorrow will never be as important as today.

I’ve never seen tomorrow and neither has anyone else. By the time tomorrow arrives, it’s today. So why do we focus so much attention on tomorrow? Take care of today, because tomorrow isn’t a promise. If resolutions are in the making, make this one:
Let all your plans and all your work for tomorrow have one goal: to unclutter tomorrow so you can make a precious memory today.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

(In memory of my son, Sgt. Jonathan Paul Stevens, USMC; 6-22-77 ~ 1-10-06)

Losing Heart, But For The Goodness Of God

2008-12-10T19:44:00.004-06:00

Three and a half weeks ago, my husband called me from the office with the words so many people are hearing these days: "I've been laid off."

My first thoughts were, "We've been through worse than this. God carried us through turmoil and grief in the past. We have no reason to believe He won't do the same now."

I'm reminded of a couple of verses in Psalm 27: 13-14. "I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord; Be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; Wait, I say, on the Lord!"

How many folks have been handed a pink slip in the past few months? The news reports are full of troubling numbers and dismal predictions. We watch and listen, shaking our heads over some the decisions made by our elected officials and praying that those unemployment statistics don't come knocking on our door. When it happens, you regard the news reports with a different viewpoint. In our humanness, we wonder how we'll pay the bills and provide for our family. If we take our eyes off the One who has taken care of us through every trial, every tragedy, every hardship, we can indeed lose heart.

Life sometimes has a way of knocking our feet out from under us. It reminds me of the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote cartoons. Remember those? No matter how hard Mr. Coyote tried, the Roadrunner always managed to slip away. You'd think the poor coyote would have given up and thrown in the towel. "Forget it. This is too hard. I'm tired of trying and failing. I give up. I'll never succeed." And he drags his tail off into the sunset, never to pursue the Roadrunner again. He's lost heart. That's how a lot of people feel these days. That's how we could have felt, too, except for God.

When adversity comes to your house univited, you have two choices. You can give in to fear or bitterness, or you can take Mr. Coyote's approach and never give up. The day my husband came home unemployed, we just looked at each other and said almost simultaneously, "God will get us through this. He's always taken care of us before. He will again."

So we determined to trust God with this current circumstance. Within two weeks, my husband got an interview, and ten days later was employed with a new company. Given today's economy, the grim unemployment statistics, and the depressing news reports on TV, getting a new job in less than a month is nothing short of miraculous.

Before anyone thinks I'm bragging, let me tell you--yes, I am. I'm bragging on God, because He is the One to whom all praise is due.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

The Lost Holiday

2008-10-31T13:30:00.000-05:00

Let me make one thing clear right up front--I love Christmas. I'm a Christmas freak. I'm one of those annoying people who actually enjoys seeing all the Christmas decorations in the stores in September. They make me smile. They call to me and invite me to pick then up, handle them, turn them over and look at the price tag. Yes, I love everything about the Christmas season, from the decorating to the music, the wrapping of presents and the baking, the holiday specials on TV and the programs at church. I love the idea of hearing Christmas carols--songs about our Lord and Savior-- being played for six to eight weeks on the PA systems in the mall. (Ever hear Easter music being played? Or Labor Day music? Fourth Of July music?) There is something distinctly special about Christmas. Even though the retailers try to commercialize it, the reason we observe the holiday still manages to come through.

That said--I must say there is a disturbing lack of focus on another important holiday: Thanksgiving. Yes, there are decorations in the stores, miniature pilgrims and lovely cornucopias, fake autumn leaves and pumkins, pretty autumn tablecloths and napkins, and giant platters large enough to hold a turkey on steroids. But what I long to see and hear are people excited about Thanksgiving, not just because Grandma is making her special cornbread dressing or Mom is planning on making a pumpkin pie from scratch, but rather because the holiday is an opportunity to focus on what God has done for us.

My son, Jonathan, back when he was battling cancer, uncovered a few verses in Psalms and latched on to them: Psalm 66 verse 5 and verse 16. He proclaimed God's goodness and mercy for him to anyone who would listen. "Come and see" he declared. "See the works of God--He is awesome! Come and hear, and I will tell you what God has done for me." For Jonathan, every day was Thanksgiving. His heart's desire was to communicate to young people, teenagers and young adults alike, and urge them not to waste a day. He wanted them to understand that their youth doesn't guarantee that they still have many years down the road, years when they can love and serve God AFTER they've done the things they want to do. Jonathan desired for people to wrap their minds around the concept of the awesome gifts God gives us every day, and exercise a spirit of deep thankfulness. Nobody is promised tomorrow.

God desires our praise every day. In Jeremiah, chapter 33, God says, "Again there shall be heard in this place--the voice of joy and the voice of gladness--Praise the Lord of hosts, for the Lord is good, for His mercy endures forever--bring the sacrifice of praise into the house of the Lord." This kind of praise, this voice of joy and gladness, is generated from a heart of GRATITUDE.

So often we get bogged down in the stress and preparation of the day. Did I remember to buy crecsent rolls? Should I make that same green bean casserole again? How should I arrange the seating around the table, because cousin Mildred doesn't like Uncle Harry so I can't have them sitting next to each other. I have to make sure dinner is over by 3:00 because that's when the big game comes on. Thanksgiving is more than turkey and dressing, or football games, and Thanksgiving is more than the kick-off for the Christmas shopping season.

This year, let's celebrate Thanksgiving like Jonathan did. Search deep in your heart and allow God to reveal reasons to be grateful for all the things He's done for you. Bring praise into the house and worship God for who He is and what He's done. Give yourself to a spirit of thankfulness for your every breath and heartbeat, for blessings that we barely acknowledge on a daily basis, for the grace He offers to carry us through adversity and the mercy He pours out when our circumstances threaten to drown us. Lay your heart open and ask God to fill it the voice of joy and gladness. Use the holiday of Thanksgiving to develop a fresh awareness of gratitude.

Christmas is a precious time as we reflect on the coming of our Lord Jesus to this earth. But let's guard against allowing the excitement and planning of the Christmas season to overshadow the spirit of praise and thankfulness of Thanksgiving.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

How To Become Invisible

2008-09-16T08:12:00.003-05:00

How many times have you wished you were invisible? The time the elastic in the waistband of my slip decided it was never going to work for me again stands out in my memory. Or the time I was singing at a friend's wedding and forgot the words. I've wished the floor would swallow me more times than I can count.

But how about the times you've bent over backward, knocking yourself out for the people most important to you? What about the days you've neglected to do what you wanted to do and did without something you desired so you could meet the needs of your family? Did they notice? Not likely. When was the last time your spouse or your children showed their gratitude for clean laundry in their closet or a nice meal on the table? Feel invisible?

I watched a Youtube video recently by a motivational speaker. What she said really opened my eyes. Watch and listen for yourself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YU0aNAHXP0

There have been numerous times in my life when I felt invisible. Most of those times, I whined to God about it, complaining that I was unappreciated, and stupid for allowing people to take advantage of me. "Doormat" was my middle name. The people I loved the most were the worst offenders. I grumbled under my breath, muttering that these people wouldn't be able to function if it weren't for me.

When the threads of my life began to form what I saw as a hopelessly tangled mess, I accused myself of not doing my job as wife and mother properly. I pointed the same blame at myself that I'd leveled at my family--if it weren't for me. . .

If it weren't for me failing as a wife, maybe my husband wouldn't have lost his job or maybe we wouldn't have had that arguement. If it weren't for me failing as a mother, maybe my son wouldn't have strayed from God. If it weren't for me failing as a Christian, maybe a particular friendship wouldn't have crumbled.

When my son, Jonathan, got sick and I became his caregiver, I accused myself almost daily. I wasn't just his caregiver, I was his mother. I was supposed to be able to fix him, but I couldn't. There were many days that I felt invisible and ineffective in the face of his disease. I didn't care what the statistics were, I didn't care what the doctors told us, I should have been able to do something to turn around this evil monster called cancer.

It wasn't until I spent an agonizing night of crisis at Jonathan's bedside that God explained something to me. His finger pressed squarely in the middle of my heart as He pointed out to me that I must think a great deal of myself if I thought I could change the course of my son's illness by being some kind of super-mom. I was taking on burdens that weren't mine to carry, and my knees were buckling under the load. But like any good mother, I took a deep breath and pushed on, determined that my efforts, my care, my hands, my sleepless nights, my sacrifice would culminate in my son's healing.

But that one sleepless night at my son's bedside swept the scales away from my eyes, and I saw that my hands were broken, my efforts were impotent, and my sacrifice was dust. This wasn't about me, and it wasn't even about my son. This was about God and the way He carried and comforted me, about the way He worked in me, for me, and through me. It was about His masterpiece: the breathtaking beauty of a heart that God has reclaimed for His kingdom. God took all the prayers, all the tears, and all the little invisible things I did, and sprinkled them over Jonathan's heart. Then He scooped up the prayers of hundreds of other people and layered them around Jonathan like bubble wrap. Finally, he nudged the servant's heart of one man whom He used to speak the words to which Jonathan listened. If any of those ingredients had been missing, the end result might have been different. When God revealed this truth to my heart, I was so grateful that He allowed me to perform all those little invisible tasks. In the end, God was glorified.

In our humanness, we sometimes complain that nobody appreciates all we do, who we are, or our importance in the grand scheme of things. It's not until we put everthing in the right order and see ourselves as God sees us, that we understand the priority. The role of a parent, spouse, sibling, friend, neighbor, coworker, or church member is not given to us so we can be put on a pedestal. The speaker in the Youtube video makes an enlightening point. If you do your job right, nobody will notice except God, and He's the only One who matters.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Connie

What Legacy Of Faith?

2008-07-14T08:57:00.002-05:00

I heard something recently that gave me pause.

>This moment will never come again.<

Not exactly earth-shaking. It's a fact of science. You can never reclaim lost time. Parents, teachers and preachers have used this statement for generations to encourage and motivate others to greater achievement. But then I heard something else not long ago that, when coupled with the above truth, can define the very shape of our faith.

>We pray that God will use us until He takes us Home, because after that, it's too late.<

I had to disagree with that to some degree. Whether or not God uses us is really up to us. We can allow God to use us, or not. But if our life is given over to Him as a vessel for Him to fill and pour out, He can continue to refill that vessel long after we leave this earth. Once God takes us Home, we no longer have the opportunity to commit acts of service or obedience, but that doesn't mean God won't continue to use our testimony.

Think of some godly person who's already gone, who left a legacy of faith behind for others to follow. Every time we remember that person, we remember their faith, their depth of trust, their degree of hope and their faithfulness. We remember how much they loved God, and their testimony becomes a roadmap for us to follow, encouragement to persevere in the midst of adversity, and a pattern to trace when we falter. God can continue to use our testimony even after He's taken us to heaven. But it all depends on what we choose to do with this moment that will never come again.

When the sun shines on an object, its shadow is cast in the same shape. Looking at the shadow, we know what the object is without looking at the actual object itself. After God takes one of His children home, the legacy left behind is much like a shadow. There's no need to see the person to understand their testimony. We can trace the shape of their faith by simply remembering how they loved God and how they served Him.

Every day is a new opportunity to do something for God. But one doesn't need to stand in the pulpit and preach to thousands, or go to the mission field and suffer hardship to reach the lost in order to be used of God. As wonderful as those callings are, an act of service or a tiny step of obedience can also be something as small as smiling at a child, comforting a grieving friend, responding in kindness to someone who lashed out at us, or giving the proverbial cup of cold water to a thirsty soul. Allowing Jesus to live through us, those fleeting moments become part of our shadow.

What legacy of faith am I leaving behind? While it may be the desire of my heart for God to use whatever feeble efforts I give as an offering in this finite body, what I leave behind is far more important. If my family and loved ones are going to know what defined my faith after I'm gone, it is vital that I leave a roadmap--a shadow shaped like Jesus--for them to follow. In that way, God can continue to use me after He's taken me home to heaven. Oh how I pray I don't squander the moments.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Choosing A Birthday Gift

2008-06-19T12:59:00.003-05:00

When we become parents, we tend to measure time by our children. When we think of a certain date or event, we pinpoint in our timeline by remembering how old our children were at the time, or what phase of their development or spiritual growth they were in. I still do that. Birthdays are especially significant.

I remember two years ago when my son's birthday was coming up--June 22, 2006. It was the first birthday we spent without him. He would have been 29 years old. I considered spending the day like a hermit, closed off away from the world. But that wasn't Jonathan's way, so neither would it be mine. I didn't want to slink back under the covers and pretend the day didn't exist. So I decided to face his birthday in a positive way.

In the days leading up to this milestone, I thought long and hard about what I might have given him for his birthday had he still been with us. Clothes? Electronics? Something for his apartment? But those things all seemed so shallow and trivial. I wanted to give him something with more lasting value--something for which he did not need a receipt so he could return it.

So I pushed my mind outside the box of traditional thinking. If Jonathan could be here for one more birthday, I'd want to give him . . . laughter and joy, peace, and . . . time.

But as I pondered each "gift", I came face to face with my own human fallibility. Yes, perhaps I could have done something for him to make him laugh or give him joy. Then I remembered a dream I had not long after he died. I dreamed I heard Jonathan laughing. The pure sound of it was an incredible, exquisite, joy-filled laugh, and I simply had to know what it was that had brought my son such joy. So in my dream I followed the sound of his laughter until I found him. He was on his face before Jesus, bathing Jesus' feet with joyous tears and kissing the nailprints. How could I ever expect to give my son a gift of laughter or joy that exceeded the joy he was already experiencing with Jesus?

My worldly gift of peacefulness also shriveled in the light of restful serenity that only comes from God. His peace is not like any other, certainly not like the peace the world gives. Our concept of peace is that of calmness and quiet feeling of satisfaction. In my humaness, any element of peace I might have given Jonathan would have been inconsequential, temporal, and superficial.

My last intended gift, the gift of time, surely must have had the angels in heaven scratching their heads and wondering, "What is she thinking?" How preposterous! Why would I want to give my son more time on this earth after he has tasted heaven? Then I realized this gift was not for Jonathan. It was for me. I wanted more time with my son. My motive was purely selfish.

James 4:14 says that our life is but a vapor that appears for a brief moment, no longer than a single heartbeat, and then it vanishes. But the stretch of time called eternity has no end. Jonathan is enjoying laughter, and joy, and peace--for timeless eternity.

These gifts I wanted to give my son for his birthday--gifts that sounded so noble and lofty coming from my lips--fell worthless into the dust of this earth. Jesus has already given each of these gifts to Jonathan. "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above..." James 1:17. The gifts Jesus gives are permanent, eternal, rooted and grounded in God's love. And Jonathan doesn't need a receipt so he can exchange them for something else.

Happy birthday, son. I pray you will have the most joyous birthday ever.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

The Miracle Of The Oil

2008-05-15T18:31:00.002-05:00

There are numerous accounts of miracles in the Bible: a blind was made to see, a lame man walked, the sun stood still in the Book of Joshua, Lazarus was raised from the dead in the Gospel accounts, 5000 people were fed from five loaves and two fishes, and Jesus rebuked the storm and said, "Peace, be still", and it was so.

In the book of 2nd Kings, there was a widow woman who had no money, and her creditor was coming to take her sons to be his slaves as payment of the debt. She needed a miracle, and she sought God on behalf of her sons. Elisha, the prophet of God, asked her what she had in the house. All she had of any value was a small jar of oil. Elisha's instructions were to gather up as many vessels as she could find, and he admonished her, "Do not gather just a few." Then he told her to begin pouring out the oil from the small jar into all the larger vessels. So she poured out the oil until every vessel was filled and she said, "There are no more vessels." And the oil ceased. God gave her a miracle to save her sons. I wonder if she had gathered dozens, or hundreds more vessels, would God have filled them all? Yes, I think He would.

For eleven years, I prayed for "my miracle". My son, Jonathan had turned his back on God and denied the Savior he once loved. In anguish, I pleaded with God for Jonathan to come back and kneel at Jesus' feet once again. The deepest desire of my heart--my miracle--was for my son to return to the Lord. Sometimes I grew weary in well-doing, and God asked me, in essence, what did I have in the house. There was nothing I could do in my own strength to change Jonathan's heart. Everything I had fell away--worthless. Only in the power of the Holy Spirit of God would my miracle be possible. So I began gathering vessels in preparation for the oil to pour out, and I kept on praying for my miracle.

Then, in April of 2005, Jonathan was diagnosed with cancer.

Faced with his own mortality, he heeded the whisper of God's voice. A dear friend, Brother Tim Butler, drove several hours to come and spend time with Jonathan and talk to him about his relationship with God. The oil began pouring out into the vessels, and I kept on praying for my miracle.

On May 15th, the phone rang. Jonathan called to tell us he had kept a divine appointment with God. Weary of running and powerless to change his life, he fell at Jesus' feet in repentance and faith. He cried out to God like a drowning man, and God restored the fellowship between Himself and my son. And the oil did not cease.

Jonathan did not try to "make a deal" with God, promising to serve Him in exchange for healing. No, he determined to praise God regardless of what happened with his cancer. The oil overflowed onto everyone who knew Jonathan or came in contact with him. Jonathan's life reflected the Savior, and my miracle was a reality.

In January of 2006, Jesus came and carried Jonathan Home. I miss him more than I can describe, but the pure joy of my miracle springs up within me and spills over my being. The miracle of reconcilliation and restoration is a promise from God, and because of that miracle, I will see Jonathan again--when God calls me Home.

Miracles happen. Mine happened on May 15, 2005. Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Come Away With Me

2008-04-23T15:21:00.002-05:00

Last week was my husband's birthday. I wanted to surprise him with something special (other than the new laser-guided mitre saw I gave him--so many power tools, so little time!) so I made reservations at a lovely hotel in the North Carolina mountains. When he arrived home from work on Friday, I said, "Get in the car, we're going somewhere." He had no idea where we were going and tried to guess a time or two, but eventually I could see the stress lines on his face begin to smooth out as he leaned back and enjoyed the ride. When we arrived at the hotel, we were delighted to find our beautiful room featured its own private balcony that overlooked the river. We slept that night with the balcony window open so we could listen to the soothing rush of the water over the rocks. Sometimes getting away from the daily pressures and tension is the best medicine.

Jesus says in Mark 6:31, "Come aside by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while . . ." When life becomes brutal, a temporary reprieve for a breath of fresh air offers the opportunity to seek out the sanctuary of God's grace. We've all heard it said that God won't ever put more on us than we can bear. If God brings you to it, He'll bring you through it. After a while those statements begin to sound like over-used cliches to the one going through the difficulty. When we find ourselves drowning in stress, we don't need cliches. All we want to hear is the whisper of God's voice telling us to come away for a while, rest in the comfort of His sanctuary, refresh our spirit and renew ourselves in His presence.

During the months I was caring for our son during his cancer battle, I was "on call" 24/7. Taking a physical vacation was out of the question. No force on earth could have torn me away from him. But I still sought the rest and sanctuary of God's presence. In the midst of the the ravages of my son's disease, the long hours, the sleepless nights, the grim faces of the doctors, and the intimidating side effects of my son's treatment, I could stay within God's sanctuary. He walked with me through every aspect of the disease, and as long as I didn't run ahead of Him, I could remain in His shadow. Only if I strayed would I be vulnerable.

When my strength and endurance fails, I have an advocate. His is my refuge and rock. He is my shelter and strong tower. When I feel like running away from home, I run to Him. The best news is, I don't have to make reservations or an appointment, I don't have to fill out insurance forms or sit in a waiting room, and nobody will ask me for my credit card number. He is near, closer than my own breath. When I am confronted by fear, weariness, dispair, or just plain day to day stress, where else would I go but to my God? He is calling to me to come away with Him for a season--a respite of renewal, a safe place in the shadow of His wings.

Thanks for letting my share my heart.

Constructive Convalescing

2008-03-01T09:39:00.003-06:00

Experiencing hurtful circumstances is like going through surgery. There is pain, fear, and a tense time of waiting, but there is also reassurance from the surgeon, comfort from the nurses, and get-well wishes from friends. Sitting in a waiting room while surgery is performed on someone we love can be just as painful, sometimes more so, than undergoing the procedure ourselves. Afterward, there may be physical therapy along with a period of slow healing. The eventual outcome is a healthier person.

Spiritual surgery isn't too much different from the physical type, except the roles are played by Someone we can't see. The Surgeon who cuts away the harmful or destroyed tissue doesn't have an MD next to His name. He is higher and greater than any physician on earth, and His name is Jehovah-Ropheka, the Lord our healer. The role of the nurse who administers physical comfort is now taken over by the Holy Spirit, the One whom Jesus sent after Himself to be our Comforter. As we submit ourselves to the ministrations of God, we can expect a transformation, but it's rarely a season of ease. Most often, this operation is an ordeal of painful consequence, but one of necessity. The spiritual waiting room can be lonely and frightening unless we allow God to shed His light around us.

God has brought to my attention recently, something of which we are all aware, but often lose sight of. It's easy to forget that others are struggling through difficult circumstances when our own situation looms as a daunting mountain. All around us are people who have lost loved ones, perhaps they are fighting to keep their head above troubled financial waters, watching disturbing events unfold in their lives and having no power to change them, or experiencing the ache of watching a child make unwise, and potentially disasterous choices.

When God allows us to walk through a dark and frightening valley, of course we can rejoice in the comfort of knowing He is as close to us as our very breath. There are others around us, traveling through similar pain, but our focus is on ourselves, our loved ones, our situation, and hopefully our God. If I've learned nothing else in the past three years, it's that God never wastes a hurt, and nothing takes Him by surprise.

During our time of healing, the blinders fall away from our eyes, and we become aware of those hurting people around us. Their situation may not be exactly like ours, but their pain is just as real. As our surgical scars begin to heal and God brings renewed strength, we are confronted with opportunities to be a blessing to others. It might be a ministry we didn't desire or choose, but one for which God prepared us through our own journey through pain.

Those who struggle around us take on a new importance. We are given a fresh look at the pain of others. Because we've been there ourselves, compassion loans us insight into their struggle. Allowing God to use us to minister to these is akin to working side by side with the Holy Spirit as He pours out comfort, mercy, and grace.

When we enter into a time of spiritual surgery, we need do so with a watchful heart. No doubt God is preparing us to be a vessel for His use. It's up to us whether or not we allow God to fill us and use us. What a waste it would be if we discarded all that pain and heartache we encountered and let the memories of God's comfort and mercy crumble into dust.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

I can't, but HE can

2008-02-16T14:53:00.002-06:00

Have you ever been faced with a monumental task and thought, "I can't do this!" Sometimes God asks things of us that we view as arduous or intimidating, but which He intends as an opportunity. A situation that is far beyond the safe confines of our comfort zone can stretch our faith and strain our capacity to trust to a tenuous degree.

When we find ourselves in this position, we have a variety of choices. The easiest choice is to simply refuse delivery. But saying "no" has its consequenses, the least of which is loss of a blessing and the most grievious being loss of fellowship with God.

We could step tentatively along, agreeing to follow God's leading, until the pressure becomes too intense, at which time we find, or invent, an excuse to discontinue participation. But that, too, would fracture our intimacy with God.

What if the request is someting about which you feel passionate, but the circumstances to fulfill the task cause you to quake in your shoes?

I was reminded this week by a dear friend that when God directed Moses to confront Pharaoh and be a voice for the people of Israel, Moses responded with an excuse. He told God he wasn't a good speaker and didn't know what to say. So God asked him, "Who made your mouth? Was it not Me, the Lord?" Then God directed Moses to go, and He would tell him what to say.

This week I was asked to appear at the Georgia State Capitol and speak to the Senate Sub-Committee regarding an issue about which I feel passionate. The Cancer Treatment Centers Of America asked me to testify to the members of this committee about the incredible treatment my son received at their Tulsa facility. While I was elated at the prospect of Cancer Treatment Centers Of America locating a new facility in Georgia, the very thought of speaking to senators and congressmen filled me with such a dread, I nearly forgot how to breathe. But I said "yes" wondering at the time if perhaps I'd lost my mind.

When the day arrived, I thanked God that one of my best friends volunteered to drive me to downtown Atlanta, because she knows of my phobia of Atlanta traffic. (Thanks, Suze!) One prayer answered! Then, because the sub-committe's docket was so full, they limited the number of people who could speak. So I was asked to go down to the offices of the senators in our district and speak to them one on one.

"God, I can't do this!" I repeated it silently every step of the way down the stairs and the hallway. "God, I can't do this! You know how I stutter and stammer when I'm nervous. These senators will think I'm nothing but a blathering idiot. That won't do CTCA any good. They need someone who is eloquent and articulate. I can't do this!"

And God said, "I made your mouth. Now go. I will tell you what to say."

And I said, "But God, I can't do this!"

And God said, "I know, but I can."

At the end of the day, the vote was taken and the sub-committee voted 9-5 in CTCA's favor. I was thrilled, but the vote wasn't the reason why. God allowed me to do something I never believed I could do. By clinging desperately to His hand and trusting in His power, for the first time since my son's initial diagnosis, I felt like I was doing something important to help defeat this evil and brutal disease. But it wasn't me who did it. God just used my mouth, and my heart, to speak to these men and women, to somehow convince them how much we need a facility like CTCA here in Georgia.

It wasn't me, it was Him. And a special thanks goes to Josh, my son's best friend, for reminding me Who God is, and who I am. Thanks Josh. I owe you the best dinner I know how to make. Your choice.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Extreme Makeover--HEART Edition

2008-01-27T13:42:00.000-06:00

I love the show Extreme Makeover--Home Edition. The Makeover team arrives at someone's house and calls them outside and tells them the good news: they're going to get a beautiful, brand new home, and while it's being built the family goes on vacation. Many of the stories submitted by the families are heart wrenching to say the least.

After the family leaves, the demolition begins. The family watches via video camera, as their old house is torn down in a matter a few minutes. Sometimes the expressions on their faces range from joy and excitement to pain or sorrow or even regret depending on the memories the old house holds. But the tearing down must take place before the building up of the new house can happen.

When God views our old heart, I wonder what He sees. Decay and crumbling structure due to sin? Weak, vulnerable places due to neglect? Broken places due to sorrow and heartache? He sees all that and more. He also sees a heart with possibilities. He looks beyond the present and conceives a dynamic heart filled with joy and praise, a heart of worship linked to a life lived for Him. He sees past the ruin and waste, past the tears and brokenness to a heart that can be renovated, rebuilt and restored. But the tearing down of the old must take place first before God can renew the heart.

God's Makeover Team consists of Himself, His Son, and the Holy Spirit. Together they do what no man can do. God can intervene in a life regardless of the condition of the heart, and create a beautiful new heart--one that beats in synchronization with His. Sometimes the demolition process is painful. Bitter memories are cut away. Regrets are torn down. Anguish and disappointment are raked away. Grief and mourning are burned off. Then, in the midst of the ashes and debris, there emerges the new. A new-found joy, a new song, new praise, and new mercy. New glory rains down, new strength rises up, and new comfort sustains.

For the TV show, each family must make a video and send it in along with hundreds of recommendation letters written by other people declaring support for the family. To receive God's makeover, all one must do is ask, believing He will keep His promises. There are no screaming team members or huge crowds. But I'd be willing to bet the angels in heaven are doing some serious rejoicing. When God takes an old heart and makes it new again, that's what I call an Extreme Makeover--Heart Edition.

Thanks for letting me share my (madeover) heart.

Homecoming Day

2008-01-09T12:43:00.000-06:00

I was going through a box of photographs yesterday and found a picture of my son, Jonathan, and his date, all dressed up for homecoming. The photo was taken in 1995. Handsome rascal that he was, his heart-melting grin warmed me as I gazed at the picture. Back then, homecoming meant pep rallies and week-long festivities, football games, topped off by the homecoming celebration held in the school gymnasium with the kids dressed to the nines.

Homecoming means something else entirely now. January 10, 2006 was Homecoming Day for Jonathan. God reached down and cradled my son in His arms and took him Home. Jonathan left behind the pain and brutality of cancer and took up residence in heaven. He's home, he's safe, he's whole, he's cancer-free.

While he lingered on this earth, his days centered around medications, treatments, doctors and hospitals, side effects, and pain. Now his days are filled with singing and praising the One who died so he could have life. The place we call heaven, my son calls home.

When I am out and about, people sometimes comment about the Marine Corps shirts I often wear. They ask if I have a son in the Corps, and I tell them yes. Then the next question is always, "Where is he?" When I tell them he is in heaven, they always say how sorry they are. I tell them, "Don't be sorry. I know where he is, and I know I will see him again some day. 2nd Samuel 12:23 says that my son cannot come to where I am, but I will go to where he is."

We try to imagine what heaven will be like through scripture. We talk about streets of gold and gates of pearl, a land where there is no night because Jesus is the Light that illumines heaven. We try to picture heaven in our mind, but I don't think we can truly know until we get there ourselves.

I'm anxious to go. God has blessed me beyond measure on this earth, but I can't wait to go Home. I want to see Jonathan again. I want to be where he is. I want to laugh with him again. But most of all, I want to be where Jesus is. I want to fall down and worship Him. I want to sing His praise and kiss the nailprints in His feet. Who can imagine the glory of Homecoming Day?

My son is living it.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

My God Is An Awsome God

2008-01-03T10:47:00.000-06:00

Recently on Fox News, the hosts of the morning show Fox & Friends read a list of words or phrases certain intellectuals have requested no longer be used by talk show hosts. While I agreed with a few, some bordered on the ridiculous. However, it reminded me about the words and phrases I hear on a regular basis, that I wish I didn't.

For example, how many times do we hear the word LIKE in casual conversation? "That outfit is like, so like, 20th century. Like, I mean, like where does she shop? Like, at a thrift store?"

Okay, like that might be a like poor example, but like you get my drift. Doesn't it just make you want to grab the person by the shoulders and shake them till their teeth rattle. Or better yet, doesn't it make you want to run out and buy them a thesaurus?

Another phrase I hear regularly that I wish I didn't is the use of God's name as an exclamation. If someone desires to cry out to God in a time of crisis, then using "Oh! My God!" might be appropriate. Is it a heartfelt plea for God's help and presence in a time of danger or dispair? Is God's name used in an attitude of reverence and awe? If not, then perhaps this person too, is in need of a thesaurus.

One of the most over-used and mis-used words today is AWESOME. There is little on this earth that I see as truly awe-inspiring. Our English language is loaded with superlatives that are much better choices when discribing a performance, something we have read or heard, a song, a friend, or any material item. A car is not awesome. A house is not awesome. They might be amazing, grand, unsurpassed, beautifully designed, or breathtaking. A song or a performance might be entertaining, energizing, soothing, stirring, or majestic. A book might be inspiring, well-written, hilarious, or bold. A friend can be described as treasured, esteemed, or a soul-mate. But awesome? Do we truly understand the concept of awe?

When I come before God in all my human frailty and attempt to wrap my mind around the wonder of His greatness, then I can truthfully say I am in awe. I stand in awe of a God whose power, knowledge, wisdom, and presence is beyond my comprehension. I stand in awe of a God who holds me in the palm of His hand. I stand in awe of a God who loves me despite all my shortcomings.

Let the words of my heart be filled with praise for the Holy God who knows the beginning from the end, who created the world and all that is in it with a spoken word, and yet still pours out caring and comfort to my wounded soul. There is only One who fills my heart with awe. We truly serve an AWESOME God.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Wise Men Always Seek Jesus

2007-12-24T08:03:00.000-06:00

"Daddy! Daddy, I'm gonna be a Wise Guy!"

I can still hear my son's delight like it was yesterday. He couldn't wait to tell his daddy that he had the most important role in the Christmas program at his preschool. Of course, he didn't know that all the children who weren't Mary or Joseph, or the angel, were assigned roles as shepherds and wise men. At four years old, Jonathan was simply ecstatic to participate in his first Christmas play. His vernacular reference to the role might have been less than dignified, but his joy was contagious.

At such a tender age, he probably didn't have much of a grip on the concept of wisdom, but he'd heard it spoken often enough in Sunday School and at home to know that it was something worth attaining. He likely thought he automatically became wise simply by his teacher assigning him the role.

I was grateful for the example of a wise man that our son had in his father. More often than not, Jonathan could see godly wisdom demonstrated in my husband's life. Their close relationship offered many opportunities for John to teach Jonathan the excellence of wisdom.

Through his adolescent years, wisdom was a virtue that slipped through his fingers more often than it stayed, but bit by bit he gleaned precious nuggets, if by no other means, through experience. Countless times, his choices fell under the heading of foolish rather than wise. His Christian upbringing remained hidden in his heart, however, and emerged in unexpected ways. Occasionally he would quote a scripture or declare "the Bible says . . ." in opposition to something he saw on TV or a statement made by one of his professors in college. We never failed to be amused by these occurrences. Despite his rebellion, God's word was embedded in his heart, and there was nothing he could do about it.

So when he was confronted with the brutal monster called cancer, wisdom kicked in. After choosing to turn his back on his faith for many years, Jonathan finally bowed his knee and his heart to Jesus. Truly his was the reaction of a wise man.

The 2007 Christmas program was nearly upon us, and rehearsals were in full swing. I knew there were going to be dramas connected with it, but since I was only involved in the music portion, I didn't pay much attention to the preparations for the drama. That is until my husband announced on the way home from church, "I'm gonna be a Wise Guy."

Should I tell him he already is?

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

2007-11-17T14:42:00.000-06:00

I've been following the posts and updates on Kristy Dykes' website and blog.

http://www.christianlovestories.blogspot.com/

Kristy is an incredible lady with a heart for God. She is a multi-published author of Christian fiction and a fellow member of American Christian Fiction Writers. Kristy was diagnosed a couple of weeks ago with a malignant brain tumor. Her surgery was Thursday, Nov. 15.

The good news was that she came through the surgery well. The devastating news is that the primary tumor that the doctors removed has spread to the other side of her brain. The prognosis is grim.

When our son was diagnosed with cancer, I well remember the emotional roller coaster. I remember telling God, "Father, I just don't understand." I'm sure Kristy's family is wondering the same thing. For many months those thoughts circled overhead like vultures, trying to rob me of my peace and attacking me with fiery darts of fear. Then Jonathan went through a crisis that brought him to the brink of eternity. I sat by his bedside, praying for God to make His presence known to me. Finally, I remembered something a preacher friend told me-- God inhabits the praise of His people. I needed to know God was close enough to touch. So I began to praise Him. I sang praise choruses and praised Him for who He is. Peace was drawn over me like a warm blanket.

Faith is not the weapon of choice when we are battling fear. I am humanly fallible, and my faith is weak at best. I cannot conjure up enough faith in my own strength to defeat fear. But when I praise God, I am welcoming His presence, and where God is, fear has to flee.

Afterward, I thought again about those vultures. I told God once more, "Father, I don't understand. I don't understand my son's disease, or his pain, or my fear, or why he has be chosen for this cancer journey." But when I remembered His peace with which He embraced me that night at Jonathan's bedside, I realized something. God does not call us to understand. He simply calls us to trust Him. It's not just a matter of not understanding. I can't. And I don't have to. His ways are far above my ways, and His plan is far beyong my understanding. So I will just trust Him.

My heart aches for the Dykes family. I know the pain they are going through. My prayer is that they would know the same peace with which God comforted me. God's love, and mercy, and peace are so far-reaching, and so complete, we cannot measure the width, the length, the height or the depth. God grant this all-consuming love to Kristy and her family.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Welcome to my Site!

2007-11-01T10:42:00.000-05:00

Writing is such a lonely business. Cyberspace is the means by which we stay in touch with fellow writers and keep up to date on their writing struggles and successes, but it is hardly a substitute for face to face working relationships. The only face to face conversation I have during the day is with the cat when she jumps up on my desk, gets in my face, and demands my attention. Quite often I have nobody with whom I can toss around an idea or debate pros and cons. If I have a brain freeze, the cat can't help me work through it.

I sometimes wonder what it's like to work in a busy office with people coming and going and the boss looking over your shoulder. Office politics come into play when dealing with various personalities, positions, and egos. A certain hierarchy is in place—a distinct pecking order, if you will, and company policies must be followed. While people who work in an office have co-workers with whom they can interact, I have my husband. Unfortunately, he is a "normal" (a non-writer). When a writer tries to talk about writing with a normal, the responses range from puzzled frowns to patronizing smiles. They just don't get it.

On the other hand, my "boss" is the Lord. I don't punch a time clock, nor must I dress in the latest designer originals. Sometimes I work in my pajamas, and He doesn't mind. We do have "business luncheons"—usually a peanut butter sandwich and a diet Coke—during which He outlines His plans for my work, or gently critiques something I’ve written. He often asks me to work late, but He is always generous and patient with my flexible hours. Perhaps the most unique aspect of this business is that a Christian writer never "punches out and goes home." God and I can be discussing "business" in the kitchen while I'm cooking supper, or while I'm folding laundry, or even after I climb into bed.

The hierarchy is two-steps—God first, and everything else second. God's company policy is pretty simple: trust and obey. Yes, I'm always "on call", but then I can look forward to those glamorous luncheons. And I am grateful that God is looking over my shoulder. How many blunders would I make without His constant presence? How lonely would I be were it not for His companionship? The best part? God is not a normal. I can talk to Him about a writing project, and He understands!

Yes, I believe I am blessed with the best "boss" in the world—or in heaven.

Thanks for letting me share my heart,
Connie