A Bit of Child's Play

The end of May seems to be right smack dab in the middle of the second busiest season of the year for us; the first being Thanksgiving/Christmas. It is the season of graduations, Mother's Day, birthdays and Father's Day with an occasional wedding thrown in the mix. I am feeling desperate for a vacation. This year due to a couple of unplanned events we have gotten a late start on deciding the what, when and where of vacation. As we jockey for a position between co-workers' vacations, we penciled two possible options on the calendar from which to give ourselves a week of renewal. One of the seven-days-in-a-row time frames has a family event attached to each end of it. Then we have to wrestle with the idea of missing one or book ending our much needed week with celebrations. Those of you who know my husband and I know we like to be at family events, but rarely mix these gatherings into a recipe for vacation.

Vacation means something different for everyone. When I was a kid it mostly meant parents took a week off of work and did projects around the house; we didn't go on vacations. Summer vacation was a reading fest for me; it was a time to roam outside and daydream. Childhood summers were filled with helping my grandma in the garden, snapping beans and pitting cherries, visiting cousins in Cincinnati, family reunions and going to the county fair. We didn't go on trips, but I dreamed of seeing the world one day.

Not only have I not seen the world, I haven't even left the continent of the United States and I dont have a passport. No pity here. I have taken vacations though. You know, gone places and done things. I rarely do a stay-cation. I like to get out of town and mill around someplace with which I am unacquainted. I love tucking away the part of me that cares so much and rest. Resting for me is reading, discovering quaint shops, used book stores and lovely little hikes. Discovering unexpected treasures apart from the plan is one of the best parts of a restful vacation.

One year Jim and I drove north on the coastal highway, a beautiful experience; at one point I spotted a whale spout, then another and another. We finally pulled over and watched for spouts as my excitement grew and awareness dawned; the gray whales were migrating north. I loved the idea of joining them. That particular vacation was packed with all kinds of adventure and, to my husband's surprise, my greatest joy was in seeing the whale spouts off the coast and the feeling of connection to the whales' migration.

Now when you are going on vacation with someone else it is no longer just about what you need or want. My husband and I like similar things, but the differences do stretch me. He likes to go help someone (selfishly, I just like helping myself) and he likes to see things more than I do and with more intensity; he is task driven. For me, vacation isn't a task, it is an attitude of being present with myself, with him and in the moment. It is chill time even when family factors into the experience. And I love just being alone with my husband and no one else. Part of the dilemma of planning our vacation is agreeing on one in which we both have our needs met.

I do love going and seeing. I love road trips, but I miss summers off and just being a kid. Fortunately at this time my schedule is somewhat flexible, but I have some extra work pressures right now related to licensing. So just in case I don't get enough of the kinds of things I need on vacation (How can I, it is just a week?), I am making a list of ways to insert mini-vacations into my summer. I will have to discipline myself to work these in, but me thinks this may work in conjunction with my efforts at Sabbath rest. Here are a few things that give me a dose of the good ol' summer time kind of relaxation, as well as remind me of my grandparents.

• Nurture potted plants on the patio and throughout the yard. Even planning on a herb pot outside the kitchen door.
• Reread childhood favorites like:
  Professor Diggins Dragons by Felice Holman (Has anyone else read this one?)
  Up the Road Slowly by Irene Hunt
  Pippi Longstocking by Astrid Lindgren
  Heidi by Johanna Spryi
• Sketch and color
• Blow bubbles (I know some of you are laughing right now, but bubble blowing is calming. Maybe you should try it.)
• Sew a fun project (nothing necessary or serious)
• Make a picnic like grandma: fried chicken, potato salad, sweet pickles, cheese, and sugar cookies
• Visit the nursery that has farm animals
• Eat ice cream at the beach
• Better yet, make homemade ice cream
• Fly kites
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

What are your vacation plans? What are the summer time activities you find relaxing and reminiscent of childhood summers?

P.S. Photo looking through the gate at my grandparent's home was taken by my niece Kadi J. Love.

Need Rest? No Excuses Necessary

The fast pace of the opening verse in Jonny Diaz's song, Breathe, expresses well the day to day style of living we find most common in our culture. But when he sings, “Breathe, just breathe. Come and rest at my feet And be, just be” the words seem to hang, suspended in air; the pause is palpable. I long to stay suspended in between the fast pulsing verses right where the pause eases me down into a soft, restful place.

In her book Sabbath Keeping, Donna Schaper says, “Not to keep sabbath is like receiving a beautiful gift and forgetting to say thank you. It is like staring at a banquet and complaining that there is nothing good to eat.” For me it might be like believing there is never enough time for renewal while wasting time depleting my energy with mind numbing activities.

Several years ago I invested a chunk of time studying Sabbath rest (the fourth commandment) because I was in great need of rest and curious if it was still relevant; so few people practice it these days I had begun to think it had gone out of style. Is the commandment to remember the Sabbath and keep it holy meant for us modern folk with our increased sense of importance? I believe The Ten Commandments are for all time, so then remembering the Sabbath must still be relevant. Besides have you noticed four verses are used to cover the fourth commandment while the other nine require one verse each? I don't believe this means it is more important, but I suspect it is because it would be the easiest for us to rationalize ignoring it.

But what does it mean to remember the Sabbath, keep it holy and rest on the seventh day? And how does this translate into my life in this day and age? Interestingly I was pressed to study the Sabbath rest just a few years before attending graduate school, a time when my schedule was stretched beyond anything I had ever experienced or believed I could manage.

Fast forward through a graduate degree, including an internship while working full time, to a career change, two moves and a wedding; I married a man in ministry. All of these changes had turned my routine inside out. In the midst of all the changes while attempting to regain some form of equilibrium, my Sabbath rest thinned out and without notice disappeared. I had become oblivious to what rested and renewed me; when overwhelmed I found a culturally acceptable means of escape: social media. Ugh! I soon found myself both frustrated and bored as I escaped stress by zoning out on the Internet. How had I become so disconnected from rest and renewal? How had I gotten off course?

As a counselor I come across many articles on mindfulness: a way of staying present and focused. Recently, a longing grew within me to be more present to the presence of God and more attuned to what He desires from me in the moment. I've returned again to the discipline of Sabbath rest and discovering ways to make adjustments to my week so I can experience a deepened awareness of God and renewal.

“Keeping sabbath is a decidedly different way of living: it is deeply counter-cultural. It is living out an intentional witness, a resistance to the way things are. When we live differently, we live with God,” writes Donna Schaper. It is true: to live the way of God is counter-cultural. In Romans 12:2 Paul tells us “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.”

Donna's words challenge me: “We say 'no' to a scripting of our life that is without play or rest or grace. We say 'yes' to a life that is grounded in God's grace, and then we receive more than we could ever have imagined of rest and play. For sabbath keeping allows us time to love, and thus restores to us the joy of our salvation.”

I have to ask myself:

• Without pause how will I know if all I do is for God or for me?
• As Jesus multiplied a little boy's lunch to feed 5,000, can I trust Him to multiply my acts of service on the six days given for work? It isn't all up to me, though sometimes I act like it.
• Do I want to restore the joy of my salvation, or do I want to grind my teeth and harvest bitterness from burn out?

As I return to a routine revolving around a Sabbath rest I experiment with what slows me down and refocuses time on God, relishing in the week's accomplishments. Without stopping to enjoy the completion of tasks, we are driven to do more, thinking we've done less. Does that make sense? It does to me. We take for granted all we do not stop to appreciate.

What kinds of things do you do to create Sabbath rest? What activities are restful for you? Some things I find truly restful: reading, watching a movie with my husband, sitting outside and listening to the birds, a walk in the woods or by the lake, planting flowers, or drawing.

Mother of the Year

When I was a teenager living in Colorado Springs, our youth group decided one Mothers' Day to vote for “Mother of the Year” and honor her during the Mothers' Day service. We voted by ballot. My brother and I confessed to one another we voted for our mom. When Mothers' Day arrived and the time had come to announce the “Mother of the Year”, our mom was chosen. Mom was surprised, but so was I. How wonderful it was our peers, without knowing her as we do, also saw her as the one to honor that year. For some reason we never had another “Mother of the Year” vote, so in my mind mom still holds the title in a particular church in Colorado Springs.

She was, and still is, the woman who notices those on the fringes in need of a friend. It was from my mother I learned to reach out and befriend the person ignored by others. Mom is a cheerleader for the one facing a hard thing and she prays. There has hardly been a holiday when a stranger didn't join us for a meal, someone lonely and in need of my mother's love and care. This is a woman with more ideas than days, energy far greater than most young people, and a great ability to laugh at herself. And she has given herself much to laugh about. My mom, my friend.

It was her prayers and determined encouragement that carried me through many hurdles. As the child who probably baffled her most, I am grateful for the ways she stood by me and believed in me. We are in many ways different, but we share the same passion for homemaking, the hurting, and for relationships. All three of her children inherited her appreciation for antiques. Her faithfulness to God and her loving, good intentions had a marvelous influence on the decisions we made to live for Christ.

Today my seventy-five-year old mother is driving home from Colorado Springs; she has been on an unusual journey. In early April my husband and I made the long drive from San Diego to Hereford, Texas for my step-dad Alton's funeral. It wasn't unexpected. We were relieved for his sake because he had suffered much the last months of his life; and he suffered bravely. Still it has been sad.

Jim and I planned on staying with my mom for a few days and to help her take care of things, but the time was shortened. Two churches Alton served over the years held memorial services and wanted my mom to attend. So with her van packed with mementos and clothes for every kind of weather, she took off for, what my husband lovingly calls, “The Alton Tour.” Mom drove to Fort Collins, Colorado for service one, and then flew to Cincinnati, Ohio for service two. While traveling she made time to see family and friends. And today, almost three weeks later, saturated with fellowship, she is going home. Home to a different life, a life without the man who poured love and adoration into her brokenness, the man who insisted she see places and entertained her on the journey with his wit and books.

 Now this blog is really about my mom but I couldn't write about her without saying something of what she is going through today. It seems weird to think of mom without Alton, but this new chapter will one day become the new norm, though we will never forget the man who stuck close to her side for nearly 24 years. My mom can be amazingly resilient and resourceful. Her children are watching to see how she writes this chapter; she always surprises us. We will be close by to support her.

I am praying for her today as she makes the six hour drive home and for the next chapter of her life. Mom, may you fully embrace the love and care others have for you as you go into a different sort of future. We are all here for you. Jesus is here for you. Happy Mothers' Day to my mom, “Mother of the Year” every year!

Word Doodles

My mind can't seem to knit threads of thought together to form a tight essay of one subject for anything. I have started more than once to try and pull my scattered mind back into a sensible straight line. I am done fighting it. So for now I will try and pin down as many jittery thoughts as I can, my form of doodling with words. I hope you don't mind. I've done a few chores, supper is in the oven and we have a few minutes to chat.

Yesterday was date day at our house; it usually falls on Wednesday. We spent most of the date outside, except for a quick visit to the library where I was lassoed by a book titled, The Dirty Life by Kristin Kimball. It is a true story about a New York City girl becoming a farmer, marrying one, both. I don't know which came first, but she writes “As much as you transform the land by farming, farming transforms you. It seeps into your skin along with the dirt that abides permanently in the creases of your thickened hands, the beds of your nails.” I was captured!

As a country girl I have a longing for space, a garden, a few goats and chickens; a story like this grabs my attention and holds it. I am not planning on taking up farming but I love the idea of it. I grew up next door to my grandparents; they were farmers. I believe I lived in the best world ever; I had such wonderful farm experiences without all the chores. Though grandpa needed our help every now and then to round up a cow or sheep that had strayed, for my brother and me it didn't feel like work; it was great fun. In early spring we would get a call one morning before school announcing the baby lambs had arrived. We raced out of the house, down the road and to the barn for our first glimpse of the newborns before the school bus came.

So what do I do with this country girl pent up inside of me? I take her outside. After our date and taking a peek at my library book I went out to give our new plants a sprinkle of water from my bright, blue watering can. Earlier in the week we planted the most delicate ice plant on the little hill against the gray stucco wall in our back yard. I was drawn to the cheery, violet colored, daisy-like bloom and can not wait to see the hill covered with them.

The sparrows have been carrying on all afternoon and the wind brushes against the wind chimes and the lovely woodwind sound soothes me. My husband transplanted a small volunteer orange tree into a pot. The pink jasmine I've wanted for so long is blooming profusely. All this inspired me to open the vegetable drawer and use up a few items, before they perish, to make quiche. Sparrows chirped profusely, wind chime sounds, chopping vegetables, the sun beginning its descent and I feel wrapped up in a secure, warm space. I have often wondered how I might bring into my current life bits and pieces of things I miss from other lifetimes. It seems I do so without giving it any thought; it comes naturally to me.

Like the daffodil buds tucked into a cobalt blue vase on the counter top. I have been looking for daffodils for a few weeks. Finally, I found some at the grocery store today. I chose the ones with the tightest buds and hoped like everything they would bloom. Daffodils always remind me of my grandma. Grandma worked a full time job and came home everyday to make homemade meals, tend a garden in summer, made quilts or afghans for newborns and brides and the list goes on. No matter what she always had her flowers. Flower beds dotted their property and daffodils, narcissus and hyacinths burst forth every spring to tempt a granddaughter into coveting her own bouquets.

In amongst the week's angst and cheerful, cozy moments my great niece was born. It just so happens I have plane tickets to Texas for next week and I will get to meet her. Babies, flowers, farming and quiche; sweet blessings tucked in the middle of a world gone mad revives a calm inside of me reminding me of the hope of Spring, of resurrection and of eternal life.

From This Point of View, It's Just Feet

One thing I notice perusing Instagram, is the frequent posts of photos looking down at one's feet. There is something intriguing in this perspective of a person's feet planted in the moment. It gives opportunity to imagine the person's journey: where they're going and where they've been. But it is a small window with an extremely limited view. It reminds me of The Foot Book, by Dr. Seuss; “Feet. Feet. Feet. Oh, how many feet you meet!” Photographing one's feet is a fun way to slow down and be mindful of the moment; and when I am looking down I see a lot of feet. But on the journey of reconciliation, Christ calls us to see the end product – transformation of a larvae into a butterfly – a true metamorphosis, not just feet.

I have seen a lot of feet. When I fixate on one part of myself or one area of life with an attitude of discontent or disgust, it is like taking a beautiful walk and looking only at my feet. We do it all the time. We compare ourselves using unrealistic standards and pick ourselves and others apart without looking up to see where we are going. When we chose to follow Jesus we were reconciled to God the Father instantly; yet we began an ongoing journey of reconciliation and repair with ourselves and others.

In Webster's dictionary I found the following definitions of reconcile:

• to restore to friendship or harmony b: Settle, Resolve (~differences)
• to make consistent or congruous (~an ideal with reality)
• to check against another for accuracy

And of repair:

• to restore by replacing a part or putting together what is torn or broken b: to restore to a sound or healthy state: RENEW

I am especially drawn to third definition of reconcile: to check against another for accuracy. The whole journey of reconciliation is based on looking to Him for truth (accuracy). We reconcile our living when we sift it through the truth of His Word and, in times of quiet, listening to the Father's heart. I love knowing I do not have to create a perfect template for myself. Oh how often I have tried. You too? It is like trying to rip apart a cocoon to release a butterfly only to discover a butterfly's personal struggle is its strength. We look around and pick and choose from broken resources to design our own template only to find our unique journey is the one He uses to restore us into His likeness. What is it that keeps us returning to the restricted view instead of God's redemptive plan?

There could be a number of reasons we spend more time looking down, but I think most reasons can fit into a package labeled brokenness and distrust. The wounds we've taken in human relationships have an impact on how we approach God. Our perspective of how others have treated us can damage our self-acceptance and our ability to accept God's unconditional love and grace. Until we invest in healing and repair and gaining a healthier perspective we will struggle not to fixate on our flaws and loneliness.

We are being restored to His original design and intent. So if all I am doing is deciding about self, life and God by looking down at my feet or my flaws, I am missing His eternal perspective. I can't see all He is doing but I can certainly look up, look around and see a wonderful work in progress. Too hard to think of yourself as a wonderful work? Psalm 139 tells us we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.” When I allow Him to correct my view of Him and of myself I have “checked against another for accuracy”, for the truth. Look up and see what the Lord wants to do in your life. Feet are important for the journey, but they are not the journey. 

 

This Is What I Remember . . .

It was the summer of 1969. It was the summer of Woodstock and the beginning of the end of the Vietnam war. On July 8, just as the first round of troops were being withdrawn from Vietnam, my sister was born. My brother and I hovered around my grandma, as she talked on the phone, waiting to hear if it was a boy or girl. And twelve days later Neil Armstrong, an Ohioan like myself, spoke the words “That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” as the world watched the historical moment of the first man to on the moon from their living rooms.

And that same summer on the outer fringes of Mechanicsburg, in a little brick church on Rose Dale Road, I met Jesus. Or rather He came and found me. This is what I remember almost every time I take communion. I remember that 9-year-old girl with freckles who felt so alone and misunderstood, standing among Vacation Bible School attendees, shaken by the truth of His love for me. I knew I had to go forward. It was one of those dividing moments; it was the summer of the most distinct before and after moment in my life.

When the pastor says to take a moment and listen just before we drink the cup and eat the bread, with tears in my eyes, I remember this life changing moment in 1969 when I said, “Yes” to Jesus. My heart overflows with gratitude at the realization that in this great, big world full of people, Jesus made His way into that little country church to whisper in my ear an invitation I couldn't refuse. Communion takes me back to that sweet moment; and I am still amazed He remembered me and found me. Even though He has the whole universe to manage, He came to personally invite me to follow Him into light and life and truth. This is what I remember. I am humbled as I remember, and I am eternally grateful!

There are moments which
Mark your life.
Moments that you realize
Nothing will ever be the same.
And time is divided into
Two Parts:
Before this and
After this.
When a moment comes,
You either do the right thing
Or the wrong thing.
--Joshua Naylor
 

An Obsession With Books

Recently I was visiting my friend, Violet, and we were talking about books. Violet is in her 90s and lives with her daughter and family; she has very few personal belongings these days. Violet's criteria for keeping a book: it had to be worth rereading, and she remembers she once owned over 300 books. It can take a lot of reading to find over 300 books worth rereading; I discovered a few in 2015. We'll come back to my top three reread worthy books of 2015 in just a bit.

You may wonder what criteria determines when a book gets the distinct privilege of being placed in the reread pile. I have no official criteria. A book has to challenge me in some way and to reread it would help me more fully absorb the truths or lessons I long to take root in me, or it must be a beautifully woven story by a masterful wordsmith. These are the primary reasons a book may be exalted to a special shelf or stack in wait of another go around. I love words and especially well crafted phrases I can taste, touch, smell, hear and see. Reading has been a lifelong obsession for me.

As a little girl I memorized the rhymes my mother read to me; with book in hand I pretended to read to others all the while quoting from memory. Once I mastered reading I would disappear for hours, held captive by words between the cover of any book I could get my hands on. We didn't have many books in our home, so I begged to order books when money was available and borrowed from anyone willing to share.

I am not sure how I developed such a voracious appetite for reading, but no one else in my family seemed to have the same desperate need for another book and time alone to read it. Many evenings my dad would call for me to come out of my room and spend time with the family; being with the family at our house meant watching TV. For over 100 years several inventors worked on developing the technology to give us a talking box with motion pictures. It is important to note here the television came to America in the 40s, during my parent's childhoods; you were practically a celebrity if your family was the first on your street to get one. And in the 1960s, my childhood years, color television sets became available for purchase. By 1966 all of prime-time television was in color increasing the thrill of watching anything. The idea of being able watch current events live, like the first man on the moon, and movies in the privacy of your home had American families mesmerized.

I was usually more interested in living inside my own imagination, even if guided by another's story, than watching sitcoms and movies. Conflicted, I would join the family with my book in hand. If I was caught up in a better story than the one playing on television, I continued reading while sitting by this noisy box amidst the family, training myself to tune out the noise with singular focus. My skill for tuning out all sound and being fully taken in by a good book became so fine tuned my mom would have to raise her voice to jerk me from out under the cover of a book into the stark reality of chores and crazy family business. A few of my favorite childhood books to read and reread were Pipi Longstocking, Ellen Tebbits, Black Beauty, Little House on the Prairie and Little Women. Some of my childhood favorites, I have read and reread as a grownup: Anne of Green Gables, The Hobbit, The Chronicles of Narnia and Jane Eyre. And that's just the fiction.

Over the years I've reread many nonfiction books, as well as skimming all I underlined, culling rich morsels to nourish to my soul. So no one misunderstands, I am not leaving out the Bible. Those who know me well know it is my life book. I find reading good writing transforming; these days I read far more nonfiction than fiction. On my list of of books read in 2015, here are three I plan on reading again:

 

Dancing on the Head of a Pen, Robert Benson

A Mind for God, Jame Emery White

The Gift of Being Yourself, David G. Benner

 

As I look over the list of books I read in 2015 there are actually more than three I would like to reread, but these I am certain to read again. I wrote a post of the impact of Benson's book, Dancing on the Head of a Pen early last year. http://juliejjoiner.blogspot.com/2015/01/thebenson-influence-asi-set-up-to-begin.html And of course there is a stack of new books to be read with a goal to read even more books than last year. Though reading well is more important than the number of books read; I like to challenge myself to make reading and learning a priority. But those who know me well know I can't help myself; I have to read and learn.

I would love to hear about your top three favorite books read in 2015. What are your favorite types of books to read?

I love this excerpt from The Dean's Watch by Elizabeth Goudge, a British novelist born in 1900. It is about a boy who is put in an orphanage and finds it a miserable place. Health returned to the boy as he immersed himself in reading.

“In the schoolroom there was a shelf containing a few tattered books, given by some kindly citizen, and the boys were allowed to read them on Saturday nights. Few made use of the privilege, for they couldn't read well enough, but Job read them all. . . . All the books had pictures in them. The books were like rooms in a great house and the pictures were lamps lit in the rooms to show them to him. As he read, his dreams slowly changed. The nightmares . . . gradually gave way to dreams of forests full of great trees, where fabulous beasts galloped down the cool green aisles, meadows full of flowers and celestial mountains musical with streams.”

Happy reading!

A Fresh Start in Contentment

Clean, fresh, crackly white – like the first sheet of paper in a brand new journal. This is how I feel about the new year. I love the way starting afresh feels, like a perfectly tailored dress. But January quickly becomes messy and scribbled all over and the only way I can claim the freshness is to be still, to listen and pray, journal and seek God's direction for 2016. If I focus on all the busyness begging to claim the squares on the calendar and robbing me of open space and breathing room, I soon begin to lose the joy and hope of what God wants to do. And my spirit soon feels deflated and worn like the Christmas inflatables up and down our street that just weeks ago seemed all bright and cheery, having brought smiles to faces of those passing by. Now their appearance is glum and messy.

And here it is only 9 days into the new year and the clean pages on the calendar have been snagged from behind and taken captive by events unexpected. “This is life,” I tell myself. But I whine, “Can't I just pull away for a day's worth of peace and quiet to get on solid ground before the tumult begins?” I have stolen moments and pulled away to seek direction, wisdom and strength. The hurts of others struggling press in on me and I long to make it all better for them, but I am just little ol' me and I am not God. Discovering the places He invites me to join Him is the purpose of eeking out quiet space and listening.

My reaction to the unexpected, to needs and activities taking away my days before I have had time to think and plan reminds me of the two choices Ann Voskamp writes about: “complain or communion.” This is the year I am opening myself to increased contentment. “Complain or communion” is simple, but a challenging reminder of the choices I have when things aren't going the way I want them to go. Three C's.

Communion – Complaining = contentment

or

Contentment – complaining = communion

Either way you figure it, complaining and discontent get in the way of communion with the Father. And it doesn't attract healthy fellowship in the Body either. I cringe when I think of being short of contentment; it is a little embarrassing considering how great God is and how wonderfully He cares for me. It is a reminder the big picture isn't about me, I am just blessed to be a part of the story.

Digging about for words on contentment I came across this footnote by Charles Stanley, “We find our greatest source of contentment, of course, is a delightful relationship with Jesus Christ.” The seeds of contentment grow when rooted in an intimacy focused sharply on Jesus. Writing about Jesus feeding the 5,000 with a boy's lunch of 5 loaves and 2 fish, Jennifer Kennedy Dean added an exclamation point to my need for contentment with this line:

“It's not what you have, it's who I AM that defines the situation.”

My biggest area of discontent is lack of time to do things important to me. When I read Jennifer's words on lack versus Jesus, it occurred to me that He has given me all the time I need. He multiplies our little to so much more. Reinforcement from Savannah at ramblingsmom.com, “Contentment isn't about what we have. It's a matter of the heart being; satisfied with what God has allowed for us in our lives.”

“Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 NASB). It all circles back to gratitude and trust. If I trust in Him that all things are working together for good (Romans 8:28) then I can be grateful, and content in all circumstances. Oh, for sure I know this is a heart-change requiring the transforming power of His Spirit.

Hope, Peace & Joy

The week before last I missed peace. I mean how can you write about peace when thoughts jab about inside poking holes and the peace keeps leaking out everywhere? I really don't remember when the holes were repaired with promise and hope, but they were and a peace washed over me. And now for joy. Joy seems to be a stabilizer in the midst of difficult days; it rounds up promises to hold onto when we think life just might be giving us too much to handle. There were a couple of days last week when joy ran dry. I was tired, “all given out” and couldn't find a thread to grab hold of to untangle my emotional mess and find joy.

Proverbs 12:20 tells us there is “joy for those who promote peace.” How can I promote peace when it drains out of me like flour through a sifter? When I came across this verse in Proverbs I was encouraged by the strong link between joy and peace. This is no paper chain counting days in hopes of an event or waiting in survival to get past something. Romans 15:13 (NASB) supports the strong link of peace to joy and more. “Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you will abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” It is through the power of His Spirit I can promote peace. What will this look like today? In my home? With my clients? In my family? In my heart?

When “the God of hope fills you with all peace and joy” then we “abound in hope.” How can this be? Again, through the power of the Holy Spirit I can experience peace and joy no matter what this day looks like on the outside. Now while I am busy wrapping up stuff to give to people who have no need for more stuff, here are three incredible, necessary gifts I struggle to wrap my mind around. Aren't these the gifts we all long for and need: Hope, Peace and Joy? And yet He graciously holds out His hand and says, “Take this. I am filling you with peace and joy, therefore you will abound in hope.” He gives. Am I receiving?

Now again I am looking in Proverbs and in Romans how joy comes after peace. Maybe there is no real correlation, but in my life I can see how I miss the joy if I am not first peaceful. Peace comes when we trust Him and let Him take control. He gives peace when we give it all to Him and stop trying to control things. Then I am free to embrace joy.

Several years ago in in the midst of heart wrenching pain my mother reminded me over and over, “Don't let this steal your joy.” I was arm wrestling with the enemy and he was winning until I was reminded I get to keep joy. Why? Joy is a gift. But first I had to give up the fight, the anger and the desire to make things fair. Then I rested in the truth that joy isn't dependent on fair, or on perfect or on me; joy is a gift from the Father and comes to me when I believe in Him and trust Him. “Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with inexpressible and glorious joy . . .” (1 Peter 1:8, NASB)

Hebrews 12:2 puts it this way, “Fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” (NASB)

Charles Stanley writes in response to this verse: “Jesus endured the pain, scorn, sorrow, rejection, and betrayal of the Cross for the joy set before Him. . . . What was this overcoming joy? Us. Jesus looked forward to fulfilling the purpose for which He came, which was to restore our relationship with Himself.”

I am stunned! He experienced joy in the suffering for a bunch of ungrateful sinners. How can this be? If Jesus can experience joy in paying the excruciating cost for our sins, then He can fill me with joy amidst the unfair frustrations of my little life. And joy is linked to peace and hope. “Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom also we have obtained our introduction by faith into this grace in which we stand; and we exult in hope of the glory of God. And not only this, but we exult in our tribulation . . .” (Romans 5:1-3a, NASB). James tell us: “Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance.” (James 1:2-3, NASB) No, joy is not a paper chain link but an eternally strong link to the hope and faith we have in God the Father, His perfect eternal plan and His Son Jesus.

The Living Hope

In her book The Circle of Seasons: Meeting God in the Church Year, Kimberlee Conway Ireton writes this about Advent:

“In Hebrew, the word for wait is also the word for hope. (Thus translators can render 'Wait for the Lord' as 'Hope in the Lord' with equal accuracy.) The linguistic equation of wait with hope means that, for Jesus, immersed as he was in the language of the Hebrew Bible, there is no conceptual differentiation between waiting and hoping. They are one and the same activity. This melding is especially apropos during Advent, when we wait in hopeful expectation for the return of Christ.”

One of my favorite hope-filled verses follows Paul's list of produce: suffering produces perseverance, then perseverance produces character and character hope. Paul bookends suffering and its produce with hope. “And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.” (Romans 5:2b, NIV) “And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.” (Romans 5:5, NIV)

I love these words: “And hope does not disappoint us.” I wrap my heart around them and squeeze so tightly hope goes flying everywhere. At least I want to be that person who believes so strongly in this unremitting hope it bursts forth from me and rains all over everyone like confetti at a parade. My hope is increased the more time I spend with the Father and in His Word; and the more my hope increases, the greater the desire grows to helps others look up and believe in the “hope [that] does not disappoint us.”

How can such a hope exist in a day and age when we have no idea when or where the next terrorist attack will be? How can it be that hope will not disappoint us when all over the news there is nothing but suffering, tragedy and narcissism? Daily trust is being undermined by leaders of countries and corporations. I know people who marinate in the media's dark and slanted version of what is going on in the world, and it scares them. Lots of frightening things are happening, but “hope does not disappoint us” because, “In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead . . .” (1 Peter 1:3b, NIV)

Morris A. Weigelt & E. Dee Freeborn writers of Living The Lord's Prayer put it this way:

“Jesus taught us that Kingdom people are not destroyed by the terrors of the end time. These will not control the person who prays for the Kingdom. The new long-range perspective enables us to deal with the chaos without being overwhelmed. . . . People who pray with the Kingdom in view know that evil does not have the last word – and that knowledge profoundly shapes their lives. Praying for the breakthrough of God's kingdom frees us from the fatalism that sucks the hope and life out of us. We recognize that God can use life's crushing experiences to shape us into redemptive vessels He can use. We know beyond a shadow of doubt that God is in charge.”

Why? Because we have a “living hope through the resurrection of Jesus.” Living! This hope is active and alive. In the midst of a world full of dark deeds, deeds darker than some of us care to ever know or imagine, we have a living hope. And in this broken, sinful world followers of Jesus have every reason to live suspended in a place of hopeful waiting, suspended above despair – waiting for the return of Jesus. I want to believe in the living hope so completely I can rise above the despair of this world's tragedy. I do not want to look away or be void of compassion, but to be able to know and help others see that this is not the end of the story. We will not be disappointed, this story has the best sort of ending ever. This is our eternal hope.

P.S. My husband took the photo of the yellow gladiolas; he says yellow is the color of hope.