Category: Godly living

No Temporary Solutions

I must be related to Abram and Sarai.

Think Old Testament…flannel graph…cut out story characters glued onto Popsicle sticks.

Just that one dimensional, predictable, and powerless.


This morning I printed out my resume, dutifully created and printed out a list of three solid and varied references, then headed over to a local temp agency. The one main difference between this agency and all the rest is that they employ individuals who have felony convictions.

I went with a smidgen of hope.

I left feeling stupid and hopeless.

Dear Employer, why do you ask for a resume and then ask me to fill out a novel length application? Just wondering?

The application booklet I began filling out did that very thing. It’s a frustration to me. We weren’t starting well.


I turned to the third page and began answering questions. With each I was given three choices and asked to circle one. I didn’t like the options. I wanted to add my own answers. For example: Do you prefer a job that is fast paced, moderate, or slow. Well, that depends…am I chasing chocolates like Lucy? I don’t want to stand around waiting for the next step. I want to be occupied, productive, but not chasing my tail. There was no option for this answer.

There was a question about supervision, whether I like to be micromanaged or left to my own. Well, that sort of depends on the job, too. My frustration was building. If I have a problem I want to be able to access a supervisor who can assist me in learning the job and doing it well. I need a supervisor who checks in and is encouraging. An “ata girl” goes a long for me.

Then there was a question about whether I preferred a job that was complicated…I can’t even remember the other choices because they weren’t the ones I would have chosen. I want a job that is challenging and that I enjoy. I guess that doesn’t really matter. Perhaps that is why America leads the world in job dissatisfaction.

When I apply for a job I want to talk to a recruiter. I want to be interviewed. Don’t stick me in a sterile office and then lock me into only three choices. Let me fill in the blank; tell you what I really want; what I really mean.

I was screaming all things in my head. I laid down my pen…actually it was one I borrowed from my husband. He must have used it at work (he works with graphite). My thumb, index finger and middle finger tips of my writing hand were quite black.

It made me laugh. First because it looked ridiculous (I quickly prayed I hadn’t touched my face), and then because I could hear him scolding me.


Why was I there? He had told me not to even start looking until after Christmas. I have plans to go visit my mom in Arizona for a couple weeks and my daughter was going to need me to watch the Red-haired Wonder Child over Christmas break. We would be ok financially until then.

But I felt like I should do something.

Sure God has a plan, but he will want me to do my part. Right?

Sitting there, I flipped through the rest of the application—ten more pages.

Nope. I wasn’t going to do it. I’m not sure how to describe it, but I knew with that to-the-bone kind of certainty this was not the avenue God wanted me to go down.

I closed the book. Put my things away and my coat on. I walked into the young woman’s office and told her: “Thank you very much, but this is not for me. I find your application redundant and the questions impersonal. I’m not interested in applying.” And I walked out. She seemed quite shocked as she accepted the application back.


I started talking to God as soon as I got in my car. That’s when Abram and Sarai came to mind. God told them what he was going to do. They felt like He took his time getting around to it, so they jumped in with their own solution. All one has to do is look at the troubles in the Middle East and realize that they stem directly from Abe and Sarai’s attempt to help God along to know that God doesn’t generally need our help to get things accomplished.

I have made enough bad choices. I don’t need any more negative consequences. I apologized to God for coming way too close to helping him out with his plan for me


NOW HEAR THIS!!! I am in NO WAYS saying that temp agencies are wrong, bad, or evil. On the contrary, I have encouraged people to utilize the services of these agencies whenever possible. They are great ways to get your foot in the door, create positive references, and acquire experience. Hooking up with a reputable agency can create a relationship that keeps the jobs and therefore the cash rolling in.

What I am saying is I realized I was trying to rush God and that’s a HUGE mistake.

God is never in a hurry. God is working even when you can’t see it or don’t feel it. His timing is perfect—trust Him! Wait on Him!

Jesus came in the fullness of time. When the time was “rightest.” Several times he reminded the disciples to keep quiet becuase the time wasn’t right for him.

Many times I’ve been befuddled by God’s timing. Foolishly I have lamented that God’s ways don’t always make sense. What I tend to forget is God’s ways are not my ways…or your ways—so of course they probably won’t make sense. We are finite, linear, and limited in our perspective. God is infinite, sovereign, omniscient. He really does know it all.

So I need to trust Him. I can trust Him.

Hard as it will be, there will be no temporary solutions to this long term problem.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

He Uses Everything

The other day my husband brought me home a surprise. In the past, surprises included apple fritters, chocolate bars, DVD’s, and one time a diamond ring…but that’s a story unto itself.

This day he brought me home a sprinbrush toothbrush. He had bought one for himself and really liked it. Since he had a coupon and they were on sale, he thought I would like to have one, too.

And like it I do!

But this morning, I realized anew just what a creature of habit I am.

I squirted the toothpaste on my new brush. Put the brush in my mouth. And proceeded to manually brush my teeth.

The bristles aren’t designed for this. The brush moved sluggishly across me teeth…then it dawned on me…I forgot to turn it on. And the Spirit niggled my heart…I ended up giggling out loud.

God decided to use my toothbrush to remind me to do more than go through the motions and rely on habit.

This little reminder came as I was getting ready to head out to the funeral service for the woman I had cared for the past five and half years.
Relying on habit would mean that I put on my pastoral mask and face the folks with a demeanor of peace and confidence. Behaving this way has carried me through some really tough services in the past. But it seemed clear that I was to leave my mask at home.

The power I was to draw on was not the usual thing. The power source available to me would work much better. It was up me to access it.

I heard the words of Paul: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)

My habit or standard mode of operation would have been stiff upper lip, show no emotion, tough it out…hang strong. God was inviting me to leave that habit behind and “come clean.” I meekly said I’d try.

I sat at the funeral and wept. I sang the songs, prayed the prayers, remembered…and wept. That may not sound like much to you–doesn’t everyone weep at funerals? Not people who are in control. Not me. I didn’t anticipate weeping. But there I sat soggy and snotty and totally sans tissues. I had to get up and go retrieve some from the narthex.

I can’t remember a service that touched my heart as much as that one. Living into the multiple layers of loss, feeling the pain, I came heart to heart with the Great Comforter. I would miss this lady, but I was able to focus on the many gifts I had received from her. I would miss having a job, but I had an indescribable peace that God would lead where I needed to be.

God used a toothbrush to remind me to rely upon Him. What is He using in your life?

And onto the next…

Today my job ended. The woman I’ve been caring for the past five and half years died this morning. I had the privilege of being there.

I was still a little numb when I got home. When I lost my job in 2008, I hadn’t gone looking for a job as a care giver. It was quite hard for me at the beginning. God and I had some long talks because I felt so useless. At the beginning my lady was still “with it” enough to resent the heck out of my presence. I likened it to babysitting a teenager: they don’t think they need a babysitter, yet it brings comfort to the parents. I was comfort for the family.

More recently, as she became bed fast, my lady accepted my help–most of the time…but like a child: she didn’t like bath time.

It seems to me that life is held together by bookends. We start sleeping a lot, eating orange fruits and veggies, and wearing diapers. The end looks that way too.

The family I worked for cared about me. Not long ago they made me a huge basket with fresh produce, a loaf of zucchini bread (which my husband enjoyed) and several other things. It was so heavy I could barely lift it into my car. Today they included me in their grieving and their remembering. It was such a precious gift to me.

Back to feeling numb…I sat here at home for a bit and half wondered, half prayed. I heard the mail truck go by…actually I heard the dogs barking out in their pen, like they do when the mail arrives. My body responded by going out to the box, even though my mind wasn’t really in the task.

As I pulled the stack of bills out of the box, I noticed one that had a hint of green in the window. A check. I wondered what my husband overpaid this time. I glanced at the return address, Judson Press, and realized the check was for me. They had accepted another devotion. Instantly I could see nothing else as my eyes filled with tears.

The $20 check didn’t make me rich, but I still felt lavishly loved in that moment. Last week two publishers mentioned my submitting articles. I was encouraged by that and began immediately to work on articles for them. On the weekend, a friend whose opinion I highly respect, spoke to me about my blog and her words encouraged me deeply. Then this. I’m dense at times, but God got all the way through my fog and numbness.

Write, Tina.

So until something else should come along, I will be writing. I have so many things started and now I have time to finish them. Submit them. Edit others. Work on two books I have in process. Seek out contests.

I don’t feel as numb. Actually, I’m feeling excited. And ready to get to the next phase of this journey.

A final thought:
As I read back through this another thought occurred to me–another window into God’s hand upon my life.

I used to function in an extroverted manner that was off the scale. It was so bad that I used to think I needed others around me just to breathe. Then God gave me the job as caregiver. It was one on one. It was quiet. And except for my lady, I was alone. I didn’t like it at first. I chaffed. I squirmed under God’s hand. But I stayed, and I came to love it. The quiet has become so much a part of me that I can’t imagine going back to the world of noise.

As I have immersed myself into the world of writing, I have read many articles about the solitary lifestyle required for writing. I questioned whether I would be able to survive in that lifestyle. This morning the voice of hindsight whispered in my heart, “You’re ready.”

Now isn’t that just like God?

Book Review: Unlimited

The search may have been for unlimited power, but the discovery seems to have been unlimited grace for those with overwhelming shame, those struggling to trust and forgive, and those simply seeking to serve.

Once again Davis Bunn has provided an exhilarating story that invites the reader to think big: big about the world we live in and big about God. Not to be forgotten was the battle that evil wages within the heart of man to control the source of power for selfish means.

I had an immediate affinity for our hero, not that I’m a scientific genius, but that I know what it is like to have failed someone and beat myself down with a mallet of shame. The struggles that floated up with issues of trust and forgiveness were also portrayed in real and relatable ways.

The story was totally engaging. I found myself shouting words of warning (“Don’t go there!”) and tearing up at the pain when evil seemed to triumph. It is definitely the kind of read that will evoke the emotions of the reader as well as challenge the reader to think and consider. In that sense it is a great balance for head and heart.

I give this book 5 stars. I would highly recommend this book and look forward to seeing the pages come to life when the movie adaptation is released this fall!

    Synopsis:

Simon Orwell is a brilliant student whose life has taken a series of wrong turns. At the point of giving up on his dreams, he gets a call from an old professor who has discovered a breakthrough in a device that would create unlimited energy. He needs Simon’s help.

Upon crossing the border, nothing goes as the young man planned. The professor has been killed and Simon is assaulted and nearly killed by members of a powerful drug cartel.

Now he must take refuge in the only place that will help him, a local orphanage. There, Simon meets Harold Finch, the orphanage proprietor who walked away from a lucrative career with NASA and consulting Fortune 500 companies to serve a higher cause.

With Harold’s help, Simon sets out on a quest to uncover who killed the professor and why. In due time, he will discover secrets to both the world-changing device and his own unlimited potential.

Unlimited, the movie: <img src="

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About Davis Bunn
Davis Bunn is a four-time Christy Award-winning, best-selling author now serving as writer-in-residence at Regent’s Park College, Oxford University in the United Kingdom. Defined by readers and reviewers as a “wise teacher,” “gentleman adventurer,” “consummate writer,” and “Renaissance man,” his work in business took him to over 40 countries around the world, and his books have sold more than seven million copies in sixteen languages.
Unlimited is Davis’s first screenplay to be released as a major motion picture. The book, Unlimited, is a novelization of the screenplay.
The inspiration behind the Unlimited film and novel is Harold Finch’s book, Success: Four Keys to Unlock Your Unlimited Potential. Download a free copy of Success here: http://unlimitedthemovie.com/4-keys-book/.
Q & A with Davis Bunn
The storyline in Unlimited is inspired by true events. What actual events inspired the story?

Harold Finch was formerly the founder and CEO of the first management-leadership consulting groups in the US. In the mid-seventies he sold the company to H&R Block for over a hundred million dollars—back when a hundred million actually meant something. Answering God’s call, he has spent the past three decades traveling the world, teaching his concepts for free and helping underprivileged children learn that they do indeed have both a purpose in God’s eyes, and the potential to succeed. His experiences form the basis for this story.

What ignited your idea for the characters to create a device that would convert raw wasted energy into useable power?

I actually wrote the screenplay for the film before writing the novel. This happens occasionally—Godfather and Love Story were both conceived in this order. While working on the film script, the producer and Harold and I were discussing what might work as a basis for the story’s suspense element. We were looking for something that had the means of revealing this ‘unlimited’ potential in people. I don’t actually remember who first came up with the idea of wasted energy, but soon as it was said, we all jumped on it.

Simon Orwell, the protagonist in Unlimited, is a brilliant, cynical electrical engineering student who finds danger irresistible. Did you model his character traits after yourself or anyone you know?

Alas, we all know a Simon. These days, this type of person is all too common. An individual with huge potential, who allows himself or herself to become distracted by the multitude of temptations that basically define modern life. And yes, I do know several such people. Some turn this into hugely productive directions, thank goodness. Usually to do so requires divine help, a clarification of focus, and strength they must reach out and ask to receive.

Armando Vasquez and Harold Finch are important mentors in Simon’s life. Who has been a critical mentor in your life, Davis? How has that person encouraged you to push beyond the boundaries of what you thought possible?

There have been several such mentors, for which I remain extremely grateful. One such person is Carol Johnson, who recently retired as editor-in-chief at Bethany House Publishers. Carol has been instrumental in my becoming the best writer I could be, and continues to act as a sounding board for new ideas and characters. Another, I am happy to say, is Harold Finch. His lessons on combining God’s teachings with lifelong aims have been a genuinely rewarding experience with far-reaching results.

Many of the characters in the story are orphans. What parallels do you see between the orphans in the story and real-life spiritual orphans?

A beautiful question. While researching the core components of this story, orphanage leaders repeatedly stressed the need to teach orphans to believe in themselves and their natural abilities. Too often they see themselves as lost, without purpose, without a role to play, without chances, without love. What made this story work, I think, is how Simon Orwell shares these same feelings about himself. And how he comes to realize God is the only one to fill this need.

Many people believe they must wear a mask to hide the parts of themselves they are ashamed of. How is this story about removing that mask?

So much of life remains hidden away. The darker elements of a life without God only amplify this falseness. Simon has spent so much of his life, so much of his energy and time, in hiding. As the story unfolds, he discovers that an essential element of arriving at his full potential is being honest with himself. This is where the mask is most damaging, and also where it is often hardest to release. We seek to hide the truth, even when we know the act is a lie in itself. And the mirror we require to see the truth about ourselves is the one that God offers, in infinite patience, in gentle love.

The title, Unlimited, has multiple layers of meaning. What does that title mean to you?

Unlimited was the title brought to me by the film’s producers. When I first began working on this story, it was just that, a title. But as I grew to know Harold, and heard him teach, and read his lesson plan, and then actually applied what he has come to call his ‘Dynamic Life Retreat’ (see Harold full teachings on his website, HaroldFinch.com) I have come to agree with them in their choice. Bringing God into the equation of life’s direction, success, and reaching full potential does reveal the true meaning of Unlimited.

How can readers find you on the Internet?
My website and blog are at http://www.davisbunn.com
Subscribe to my blog’s feed (to get my latest posts via e-mail or through your feed reader) at http://feeds.feedburner.com/DavisBunn
Sign up for my e-newsletter (for subscriber-only giveaways and advance notice of my upcoming novels): http://www.davisbunn.com/news.htm
Facebook Author Page: facebook.com/davisbunnauthor
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/davisbunn/ — check out my “Scenes from Unlimited” board.
Twitter: @davisbunn – http://twitter.com/davisbunn

(I received a complimentary copy of this book from B&H Publishing Group in exchange for my honest review.)

Show Up

I started reading a book today, God Time, 75 Biblical Meditations On Time and History, by Edwin Walhout. I’ll admit I picked it up because it was free and I was getting bored with the devotions I started the year with. Bored is not good as it results in my avoiding reading devotionally, which is spiritual suicide for me.

I didn’t past the second page before my mind started clicking and pulling thoughts together. I haven’t read far enough to really recommend it, but is definitely starting well.

Edwin begins at the beginning (which according to Julie Andrews “is a very good place to start”) by considering Moses take on creation and how he teaches us to theists. In that discussion he says this, “…every person is part of the developing plan of God.”

Two trains took off in my brain with this one thought. Perhaps you can catch one.

The first thing that came to me was how important we are to God’s plan. I was in several plays and drama productions throughout my years of school and college–even later in church productions. Rehearsals always best when all the actors are present. Lines run smoother and staging makes sense. I learned the same thing participating in marching band. Spacing and formations can all messed up when someone is missing. And we all know that choirs and symphonies just don’t sound the same when all the parts aren’t performing together.

Every person has a part in the developing plan of God.

I didn’t always get the role I wanted. But my role was important or it wouldn’t have been in the script–an editor would have made sure of that.

And that leads me to the other train. Every person. I may not understand how that other person got a part, but they did. Every person. The ones I like and relate to. The ones I can hug. The ones like me. And the ones who aren’t. Every person. All the ugly, hate-full, arrogant, selfish, and scary people have a part to play as well.

So it’s not my place to question the One who is writer, director, and editor. Every person has a role, a purpose. How will I receive them? How will I interact. Each person touches my life for a reason, a season. How I play my part will impact others, too.

Life is God’s grand drama. And you and I have our parts to play. I’m going to show up and do my part. How about you?

Surrender

We started our study of Conrad Gempf’s book, Mealtime Habits of the Messiah in our Sunday school class last Sunday. And as I suspected, we didn’t get very far, very fast. In fact, we only got through half of the introduction. Lest you wonder…this is a good thing. There was much discussion and participation. Our class has grown so much that we have to find a better way to squeeze us in–such a glorious problem!

So while I was studying and preparing for the upcoming class the topic of surrender was mentioned…but the way my mind stuck on it you would have thought that it was the main theme. Rumination at its best.

Surrender. Not a popular word. Somehow it has become the definition of weakness, of defeat. We don’t want to surrender to our enemies, our spouse, our boss, our grandchildren. And yet we daily surrender to our passions, our obsessions, our addictions. Go figure.

For a bit, I want to focus on what surrender means in the spiritual sense…at least for me.

Here’s the problem as I see it: we think surrender means giving away everything and getting nothing. And somehow in that process I get lost…the me that I am, is gone. If I surrender to my spouse I cease to exist and it’s only them. If I surrender to God…then there’s no me. And we can’t fathom not being. That’s why we fight death so fiercely.

Until we begin to understand God, this surrender thing makes him seem like some cosmic terrorist: why surrender? He’s just going to kill us anyway.

Our thinking is really twisted…thanks to the great deceiver and the work he’s been at since the garden. See, he started his number on the first folks, Adam and Eve–and primarily Eve. His job has been to distort God’s purposes and He’s really quite good at it and we’re really quite sucked into it. His opening remarks were to twist the words and purpose of God’s reasoning. “Did God really say that?” “I’m sure that’s not what he meant.” And then she bit and bought the apple.

What does this have to do with surrender? Everything. We think everything is ours and to get a piece of God we have to give it all up. As if to hold God in my hands I have to lay my stuff down. And there in, or in there, lies the problem.

Nothing I have is mine. It may be in my possession, but it doesn’t belong to me. Having trouble with that? I understand. I was dealing with my grandson on the concept just the other day. He was playing with a neighbor boy, who happens to remind me of Eddie Haskill (if you don’t remember Leave it to Beaver, go look it up on youtube). He’s older than my grandson and constantly tries to take advantage of his naivety. Especially when it comes to trading. (This is a boy concept which I don’t get very well.) Eddie-boy tries to grandson to give him something or things and in return gives him junk that he tries to pawn off as really great stuff. Grandson wants to be friends with Eddie-boy so he goes along with it.

This trading isn’t too big a problem until grandson starts to trade off the stuff that we have paid for (aka: of high value to us as it should be to him). That’s when I step in as the enforcer and put the kibosh to the whole thing. The last incident left grandson in tears and confused and me trying to explain. I wanted grandson to know that we provide these things for him so that he will have things to do and play with while he is at our house (daily). He is allowed to play with them and in some sense they are his things, but they don’t belong to him. He is also charged with the care of these things.

The more I thought about this, the more I realized that this is how God sees things, too. He provides it all–but it’s still his. All he asks is that we acknowledge that and take care of it.

I think that was why the Rich Young Ruler (see Mark 10:17-27) had such a hard time when Jesus told him to sell all that he “possessed” and give it to the poor. He didn’t really understand who the true owner, possessor, was. He really bought the lie (of the evil one), and thought he owned it. He thought to give it, to surrender, meant that he would lose it all. As if to think that God really needed his possessions? I don’t need to own all my grandson’s toys. In fact, when he’s grown and gone, so will the toys. It would just be nice if he recognized the provision occasionally, but that might be a lot to expect from a seven year old.

But we’re adults and it seems to be what God is asking of us.

Could this be what Paul was saying to the Romans (Romans 12:1-2) when he describes our reasonable service/sacrifice as one that is living? He says God wants a living sacrifice. That is what is holy and pleasing to him. Too often we think we quit living if we surrender.

(I just had a moment…a thought…I was thinking about Abraham offering Isaac. There seems to be some parallels. Would God have allowed Abraham to kill Isaac? Or was he wanting to see if Abe would give, surrender his son–give back to God what ultimately was his anyway? Going to have to think on this some more.)

If you’re still reading along with me, then you have exceeded blogdom’s suggested word count and I thank you. Let me hasten to close…

Surrender is not to be feared or avoided. In many ways it reminds me of how I define confession: agreeing and owning what God already knows about me. Surrender is recognizing who truly owns everything and receiving it back as a trust–whether it’s my life, my money, my toys…you fill in the blank. I’m not, you’re not, the owner, but the steward.

And here’s a thought: God trusts you with his very best and treasured possessions. How will that impact your living?

Thinking About Pain…because it’s easier than feeling it

I have lived a relatively pain-free life. Until recently. I can remember about a year ago when I was sitting at a meal with friends and the person next to me asked what was wrong with my neck. She went on to say that I seemed to be moving stiffly. I was surprised because I hadn’t even noticed.

Fast forward about three months and I did start to notice some pain in my shoulder. I pretty much tried to ignore the aching because I feared that perhaps I had injured my rotator cuff and my mind was full of horror stories of painful surgeries and even more painful therapeutic recoveries.

Then about six weeks ago at a routine checkup I mentioned to my doc how the pain seemed to traveling down my arm, seizing the bicep and causing tingly itchiness all the way down to my hand. I was having trouble typing on the computer, which all but put a halt to my writing.

My doc sent me for an x-ray of my neck and the findings supported her suspicion and diagnosis of degenerative osteoarthritis of the C5 and C6. Welcome to the perpetual pain club that goes along with getting older. Take your ticket directly to physical therapy and make friends with your nsaid.


Then I got sick, so-much-pain-I-couldn’t-move sick. Seems I had a wicked strep infection that my body responded to with an interesting, but non-life-threatening, condition called ermythia nodosum. I ended seeing a dermatologist and having a biopsy and a rheumatologist and gaining a diagnosis of fibromyalgia, along with several other multi-syllabic scary medical words.

Yesterday I wore tennis shoes to work. I was a little nervous about it. I work ten hours and the longest I had shoes on for almost a month was about a three hour stretch. Other than soreness in my shoulder, I’m feeling pretty normal. I’m quite happy to report that I wore the shoes all through the day, right up to bedtime!


Normal. Just what is that? And what will it look like in the future? How does one learn to live with pain? I have watched my husband be in chronic pain for thirty years. I have seen him cycle in and out of major depression because of it. I have made excuses upon excuses for his moodiness and the dark cloud of pain that has hounded him for so long. I don’t want to let my pain control my moods. I have seen it try…I didn’t like the way I responded.


As I pondered this, my thoughts seemed to automatically go to Paul’s prayer for the thorn in his flesh to be removed. Paul: God, take this away. I can’t do everything you want me to do with this. Others will see this problem and focus on how you seem unable to remove it. That can’t be good PR for an al- powerful and lavishly gracious God.

And God says: No. Nope. Not going to do it. See, the more dependent upon me that you are, the more you will find that I am all you need and that I will give you just what you need, right when you need it. Not one minute before. And it will feel like I’m late, like I’m not paying attention. Do not give into that lie. See, here’s the thing when you come to the end of yourself, your answers, your strategies, your strength, I AM there. When you’ve come to the end yourself I AM. And I will be. I will be your strength. And I will be your joy.

On the first Sunday back to church in a month, I had the blessed opportunity to sing a duet with my pastor, a godly man with a wonderful tenor voice. We sang the old hymn, “Day by Day.” Words that went straight to my heart. Psalm 84:7 describes how the followers of God go from “strength to strength.” There is no gap, no space where His strength is not available to us. No space whatsoever. None. Day by day, every hour, moment by moment, the Lord himself is near me, with a special mercy for each hour. For you too.

My prayer is that when the pain is bad, and the heart is weary, that God will make His strength known, both in my head and my heart, my feelings…because that’s the place where the gap sometimes forms for me. When what I’m feeling hurts and screams louder than what I know to be true from God’s Word, I need to lean hard on the One bridges the gap.

Have pain? Need strength? Leaning hard?

The Message in the Silence

This morning my daughter posted this on Facebook: Why is it that your kids don’t seem to hear you unless your yelling at them, but then they give you that pouty face that makes you feel sick for having yelled at them so they’d finally listen?! Being a parent sucks!

I will admit that my first thought was to smile, thinking of all the yelling I did when she was my strong willed always right closed minded child. We raise them to be independent and have opinions. We just don’t realize that they’re going to develop those so early and with such strength.

Reading her post got me thinking about my own childhood. My mother wasn’t a yeller. That’s not to say she couldn’t—I received my share of loud scoldings. My mother had three other weapons in her arsenal that often left me wishing she was a yeller. First, she was the master (perhaps even the inventor) of “the look.” No word needed to be spoken; message received loud and clear: cease or die. What was most amazing to me was when she used it on other kids at stores or other public places and they got the message too!

The second tool that my mother relied on was action. We knew that mom would not hesitate to use whatever was at hand or just her hand to make her point. This resulted in my brother getting konked on the head the telephone receiver when was making too much noise while she was on the phone (phone calls were typically fewer and much more important back in the day). Hair brushes, yardsticks, and those stupid paddle ball paddles—looking back I now see why she was always willing to give into that childish indulgence as we checked out at the store. You think we might have put that together better.

But the most effective tool in my mother’s parental arsenal was silence. Silence typically conveyed one of two messages, both extreme. She was either extremely disappointed or so angry that if she said anything she would have exploded. This final weapon was so powerful that it always got our attention and resulted in our praying for the silence to end.

As I am writing this, I am on the mend from a very weird and pain-filled three weeks. I progressed from swollen feet to extremely swollen feet and ankles and pain while walking to nodules all over my legs and arms and in my joints (elbows, wrists, fingers, knees, ankles toes), to fevers and shakes. I’ve had so many blood tests, I feel like a pin cushion—the very nice woman in the outpatient check-in knows me by name. I had a punch biopsy. Standing was so painful. At times I admit I just melted into tears. And I just couldn’t shake the thought: what if this is as good as it gets? I believe in healing, but I know that God doesn’t remove every infirmity.

Now, I realize that my suffering was probably very light compared to others. But it was mine and for a relatively active and healthy person this was intense and scary. Perhaps the was the worst: not knowing what was going on and not knowing how long it would continue.

Getting quiet with God this morning, thinking about my daughter’s post and my pain, I found myself thinking about the times I cried out to God these past few weeks. I began to feel like Malachai: how long, God? Silence. I wanted to be angry, to decry what seemed so unfair. But I couldn’t. Because somewhere in the silence there was a drawing…a calling…a voice…trust me.

At first I thought my pain was God “screaming” at me, me the errant, disobedient child. Punishing. Then it seemed more like a “smack” of sorts to get my attention. But each of those fell short. All my experiences with the silent messages from my mother were good for one thing for sure: they taught me to listen, listen hard, and listen long—for the answer is always there in the silence. At least it has been for me.

But like I said, I appear to be on the upswing. Maybe that’s why Job didn’t curse God when his wife suggested it. She wasn’t evil, she just ached to watch him suffer, and was suffering herself. Hope dies hard. Even if the pain I was suffering was going to be my friend for the rest of the journey, I would have adapted…somehow. And I know that God would have been with me. That was the kind of answer that Malachi got. God let the prophet know that he wasn’t going to like the answer to his question because God was going to use his enemy to bring about His purpose. It was the same message for Jeremiah (read ALL of Jeremiah 29).

I don’t know how it goes for you, but I tend to struggle with trying to fix and control. Trust doesn’t always come easy, but I usually get there. Just like when I was a child. Just like when I dealt with my own children. Sometimes learning is hard, as my daughter is finding. Parenting, too. Just ask God.

Portion Control

Psalm 16:5:
You have assigned me my portion and my cup. You have made my lot secure. (TNIV)

Lord, you alone are my inheritance, my cup of blessing. You guard all that is mine. (NLT)

My choice, is you, God, first and only and now I find I’m your choice. (The Message)


The other day my husband went to the freezer to take out some meat to thaw for dinner and he found that the door had not been shut properly and a box of popsicles had melted, spilling sticky goop onto each shelf and down the inside of the door. We both instantly knew who the culprit was that hadn’t shut the door: the grandson. In an effort to expand our trust, we have allowed him to get his own small snacks and with the recent heat, popsicles have become his favorites. Even with constant reminders, sometimes the door just doesn’t get shut tight.


Perhaps that is why when I was a kid we were never allowed to get our own treats. What we were allowed was doled out to us. Later, when we were responsible enough to close the door, we were allowed to get our own treats, but the amount and the variety was carefully controlled and monitored by our mother. Portions were rigidly adhered to: three cookies after meals; two donuts with breakfast; one small bowl of chips; or only one bowl of cereal for breakfast. The only between meal drink was water. And the clear understanding was ‘don’t ask for any more.’ I knew when I opened my sack at lunch at school that there would be a small bag of chips, a sandwich, and three cookies.


Some might have found comfort in the consistency with which we were fed. All I ever saw was what seemed like a banquet for my friends. I rebelled against this rigidity in private, eating other’s castoffs and sneaking food whenever I was able. I never interpreted the limits as love or wisdom, only as punitive, withholding and depriving. Others had more, why couldn’t I? This lack of understanding produced a distortion that unfortunately infiltrated so many areas of my life, from food to relationships to my spirituality.

At some point in my walk with the Lord, I came across Psalm 16, and found I needed to camp out on verse 5. The more I stayed there, the more I revisited and let the words penetrate deep into my heart, the more I was able to let go of the distortions that had led me into a bulimic form of existence(binging and purging, gorging and repenting). No matter what had happened when I was a child, it was and is God who assigns my portion and cup. He who created me knows what I need and he gives me exactly what I need to accomplish his purpose in my life.

As I pondered my portion for today, I was reminded of Jesus’ teaching to the disciples in what we now call The Lord’s Prayer: give us this day our daily bread. How many of my problems would cease to be problems if I would just focus on my portion and cup today? What would happen if we would acknowledge before God that we seek no more or less than what he has for us this day?

What do you need today? What do I need today? If this verse from David and Jesus’ subsequent teaching mean anything, then it isn’t up to me to decide. We typically spend a lot of time telling God what we need, and reminding him what others need as well. How would our prayers and life change if instead we prayed: “Show me what I really need so that I can be effective in all I do?”


Just as my mother knew that I didn’t need more that three cookies, God knows what this day holds and just what I will need to meet it. So I can trust and I will find that my lot is truly secure.

Rooted and Grounded

There was no moment when we outright decided that I wouldn’t have a garden this year. My husband and I just seemed to come to an unspoken agreement. As much as I have loved the smattering of offerings that have come from my meager efforts, it just hardly seems worth the cost based on my effort–or lack thereof.

I don’t find weeding therapeutic like my friends do. I have no passion for produce production. When things do grow, either I can’t eat them fast enough or the groundhog eats them before I get to them. And let’s face it: I have no desire to propagate the groundhog population by keeping them nutritionally sustained.

I’ve never been very good with plants. I have often said that I need houseplants that thrive on blatant neglect, and then the odds aren’t always in the plant’s favor. My outdoor foliage faces much the same fate. I love beautiful landscaping, but know that the only way I’ll have it is to hire it out and I just can’t afford that.


Last year a friend was thinning out the plants around her house and I inherited sedum, hostas, and day lillies. To my absolute delight they took and are growing well this summer. Someone let me know that these plants were half weeds, so they were genetically disposed to defy death. Works for me. She also gave me some black-eyed Suzies, but they did not fare as well. The place where I chose to plant them didn’t afford me enough room to get them deep enough. They were also the last plants I replanted that day and it was over 90 degrees and I was beyond exhausted. I had really hoped to have a beautiful view of a cheery patch of yellow right outside my office window.


As I thought about the failure of my flowers, I was reminded of Paul’s prayer for the Ephesians, specifically that they would be rooted and grounded in love (Ephesians 3:17).

I want that so badly.

Growing up, we moved around a lot, enough that people sometimes asked if my dad was a preacher. I never had the feeling that I belonged anywhere. When we finally did end up in a church where the youth group was close, I jumped at the first chance I had to get connected with God because that was what they had and I wanted it!

I’m thankful God has tempered some of that enthusiasm and overwhelming neediness over the years; and worked with me through my struggles and failures. It’s all been part of the process of sinking my roots deeper into him and keeping me grounded.

As for Paul’s prayer, I believe there are some solid reasons why Paul would include the importance of rootedness and grounding. Three to be exact. (I was a preacher for 20 years…old habits die hard.) Good roots result in good growth. Jesus was pretty clear about the importance of growth. It was so important to him that in his final hours with his disciples John records a lengthy teaching on the subject (see John 15). Peter picked up on it too and clearly instructed believers to make every effort to grow–specifically in grace and knowledge. We need a solid root system to take in the proper nourishment so that keep growing, because if we’re not growing…we’re dying.


Good roots also result in stability. Not long ago there was a pop up storm in my town and several very large pines were pulled up by their roots. I was surprised, until I learned how pine trees (at least these kind) don’t have roots that go very deep. When big storms come that can’t withstand the force and are uprooted like toothpicks.

I don’t know how your life has been, but I have weathered some pretty major storms–spiritually speaking. One thing I am absolutely certain of is that I didn’t do it on my own. Sometimes I wondered if I could make it, could I stand the test? With each wonderment came the assurance that there was a power holding me fast. The times when I failed the test and the storm won, I clearly see how I neglected my roots and I was far from being well-grounded.

I sometimes wish that there was a product called Spiritual Miracle Gro that would result in instantaneous growth and fruit. Experience has taught me growth takes time. But it is definitely time wisely invested.


I shared these thoughts with a friend and he suggested a fourth reason for a good root system. He described a picture he saw once of roots of several trees. The roots were intertwined giving the trees a greater strength as they came to depend on one another. Makes me sad for the tree standing alone out in the field. Being connected is good–especially in a storm.

So how are your roots? I’m going to work on making sure mine are well connected, well fed, and in good soil. Maybe next time will consider the value of good mulching…but I’ll save that “poopy” story for another day.