It was the day of the closing on our home and everything had moved along like clockwork. Soon the papers would be signed and we would be on to the next phase of our re-location scenario. When I awoke that morning, I was extremely tired, but why shouldn’t I be? I had spent weeks emptying cupboards and packing boxes.
It was 1998 and the caller on the other end of the line was Linda Lesniewski. The purpose of her call was to ask if I would be interested in auditioning for a new devotional for women, called encouraging.com.
God’s purpose or ours. Which do we most want?
Christ rescued us and invited us to live set apart for His sake—not because of anything we could do for Him. He accomplished this because of what He set forth before us by His matchless favor. This is true at all stages of life.
Walking is one of my favorite activities, but. . . one misstep years ago and I fell straight down into the dark, dirt basement. I was thirteen and foolishly walked onto thin sheet metal—placed to prevent accidents—that covered the opening for our future brick fireplace. Fortunately, one deep gash on my shin was the only injury I suffered.
Gratitude saved me—from hopelessness, self-pity, and victimization.
Some of my grandchildren enjoy creating objects with soft, moldable clay that doesn’t harden—pliable enough to reshape but hard enough to hold its form. Our brains are like clay, which can affect our hearts—the core of our being, where Jesus Christ lives.
God, the Father, is sometimes called “the Ancient of Days”—a title of respect, honor, and wisdom. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer not to be referred to by age!
God longs for and tarries to lavish His lovingkindness on us. He honors those who do the same for Him! Waiting is purposeful, not inactive. Love waits and is long-suffering. I am so grateful to Him because I tend to tire quickly the older I get. Consider the following true story:
Ask any of my friends and they will tell you that traveling to the Holy Land has been a dream of mine for years. To walk where Jesus walked, to stand at the Empty Tomb and try to picture the moment that Mary’s eyes saw her risen Savior’s face is beyond imagination.
As the Texas temperatures rose to triple digits, they were no match for the parched feeling I had in my soul. I had been searching for a job and with each final interview round came a “No” – leaving my hopes dashed.
My first job as a journalist was working the night shift at a newspaper, so part of my job was to write obituaries. The reporter I was replacing gladly handed me the obit basket. He didn’t like writing obits and even created a standard template so you could fill in the blanks. I remember looking at the basket and flipping through the forms. Sure, they had basic information, but—call it the inquiring mind of a rookie reporter, or a nudge from God—I wanted to know more about each person’s story.
I was listening to my favorite Christian radio station when a pastor began discussing rats. He said hope is life-sustaining and a scientist had proven it.
I love to watch the birds as they scurry around the backyard. Some come in flocks, others make their appearance one by one. They seem to have their own personality, and I enjoy watching them interact with each other.
While these words have meaning and benefit in our relationship with others, I hear God prompting me to be quick to listen to his voice through His word….to be eager to hear, believing that all is profitable to me and glorifies God. This speaks of a hunger that drives me to Scripture for satisfaction.
Through tears, she told me that her marriage was over. Her husband filed for divorce and the shock and grief shattered her. “Wounds are contagious”, she said. Heartbroken, I prayed for her and looked for ways to minister to her, and my mind revisited that phrase over and over: Wounds are contagious.
I am so thankful that God called Jeremiah and not me to be His voice to His people. Jeremiah, at God’s behest, preached gloom and doom to the people of Israel and Judah because of their sin and rebellion.
I do not have one creative bone in my body. When I walk into an arts and crafts fair, or worse yet, a craft store, I feel like I am going to hyperventilate. I am gifted in other areas, but somebody else got my portion of creativity.
The sad houseplant looked like how I felt. Forgotten, parched, brittle and malnourished. I had been so busy these last few weeks with all the responsibilities of keeping a family fed, clothed, and content, that I’d neglected that plant.
If life is a race, how are you doing? If you are alive, you are still somewhere on the racetrack heading toward the finish line.
What battles have you faced recently? A dispute with a friend or co-worker? A fight with a family member? A health fear?
What’s your favorite fragrance? For perfume, mine is an oldie, given as a 16th birthday gift, from a guy I was dating. I still wear Youth Dew even though I’m not quite a “youth” anymore.
