But when you give to the needy,
do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,
so that your giving may be in secret.

~Jesus in Matthew 6

Scribbling out words in this place is a way that I try my hand at being an artist.
Playing, arranging, sculpting, searching.
Here lies my canvas.
And also my kiln; a refining fire.

Sometimes, in the artistic process, a line is crossed.
Yesterday I stepped over it.

It began quite innocently.
I gladdened at the opportunity to shout the news of Compassion’s Tanzania trip.
At some point, though, I tested my toe over the line of integrity.

After hesitantly tapping publish, I wrestled in my spirit.
Deep down, I knew.
I tweaked.  I  trimmed.  I tried to transform it.
But somehow it still felt wrong.
It was wrong.

The difficult thing about this medium is that once it’s out there, you can’t take it back.
The tongue spewing fire, even through these keys.
And so I must welcome the refining of me.

Under covers in the wee hours, my husband and I, we talked of Jesus’ words in Matthew 6.
Of giving in secret.
Of the temptation to make much of ourselves.

One allure of social media is that it makes boasting appear beautiful.

That is dangerous.

I am sorry, Friends.
Somewhere in my writing yesterday, I’m afraid I tried to impress you.
Please forgive me.

I am humbled.  Very humbled.
And thankful for grace.

But he said to me

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses,

so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

2 Corinthians 12:9

 

Share/Bookmark

(Update:  This post has been humbly modified.  Thank you for grace.)

What if we really gave our lives away to a little one miles across this spinning sphere?
What if it wasn’t just writing a check each month?
What if we really spent ourselves…
Writing letters, leaning hearts in prayer, and even, if the Lord might allow,
someday traveling across continents and seas to caress flesh?

What if we recklessly spent ourselves until nothing remained,
and the only face left recognizable was Jesus?
What if?

This week, Compassion Bloggers will be traveling to our Compassion child, Michael’s, home country of Tanzania.
We will be following.  Praying.
Praying for Michael.
Praying for children needing sponsorship.
Praying for the Compassion Team.
And praying for ourselves…that we might learn to really give our lives away.

Might you join us?

And if the Lord leads, might you give your life away too?

Share/Bookmark

I have flailed these last days.

My fiery tongue
wounding with words,
calling out in others the very things I loathe in myself.

I have careened these last days.

My urgent agenda
rushing little ones,
trying to push past my own emptiness.

I have been negligent these last days.

My unwillingness to surrender
leaving my body weak,
my soul empty.

I am broken.
I have broken.
And then yesterday, these words…

In returning and rest you shall be saved;
in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.                 Isaiah 30:15  ESV

 

That word, returning, also referenced in the footnotes as repentance.
Repentance.
Expressing sincere regret over my wrongdoing.
Turning away from my offense.  My sin.

And rest.
Rest.
It’s what my body, my soul longs for.
What I have stubbornly refused for years.  A lifetime?

And so I will Repent.  Again and again.
I will Repent.

And I will Rest.

And salvation will flow like living water.

The Gospel.

I hear the Savior say,
“Thy strength indeed is small
Child of weakness watch and pray
Find in Me thine all in all”

Jesus paid it all
All to Him I owe
Sin had left a crimson stain
He washed it white as snow…                                           ~Elvina Hall, 1865

Share/Bookmark

(Offering an edited repost from the archives, because today we are waiting once more.)

We often gather near the big picture window in the dining area of our kitchen.  The afternoon sun pours in through the glass and floods the room with natural light.  It’s not unusual to find a gray kitty spread across the hardwood floor there soaking up a patch of warm sun. And many times our oldest sits at the old oak table, the one that belonged to my grandparents, gazing out that same window–often when she is supposed to be diligently working on schoolwork.  (Sigh.)

“She is slowing to see,” I preach to myself.  And I am to become like her.

This spring we thought we’d add a twist just outside that vast pane of glass.  A bird feeder.  Nothing fancy, really.  Just a small little something to attract a few feathery friends.  Monday afternoon we filled it and hung it with care.  And now we wait.  Eagerly.

Are you waiting too?  We all do, yes?
Perhaps not for birds, but we do all wait for something.

Are we waiting with joy?  With anticipation?  With peace?
Do we wish the waiting away?  Or do we savor it?
The waiting…itself indeed a gift?
I wonder.

And speaking of gifts…here is one of words for you from a favorite book of poetry:

two day old

seed-filled bird

feeder

hanging from

the porch–

having birds come

fills our home

with what is

outside

our home:

as much

a part of our lives

as the furniture

we sit in

food we eat

books we write

waiting

waiting for the birds to come                                                        Waiting For Birds by David Kherdian

Share/Bookmark

She always returns, yes?
Often showing up in her own sweet time,
Playing hard to get,
Flirting with us just a wee bit
Until we yearn for her so deeply
That when she finally arrives
We sigh long and drink her in.

This year is different, though.
This year it’s as though she feared she might be late to her own party.
She rushed in prematurely and a mite overdressed.
And now all eyes are on her.
Her…standing at the threshold,
Out of breath from the hurry.
She is a sight to behold.
Her.
Here.

.

Share/Bookmark