Resurrection

Ahhh! It's that time again where everything that was seemingly dead is alive again...in spirit, appearance, color, and form. I love Easter and springtime! I look forward to it for a couple of reasons: the vibrant colors of spring, of course, and the resurrection of my own soul. I go back to the way I feel the rest of the year until January. I see signs already...the way the breeze feels, the things I'm willing to do, and in the way that I work. Jesus is risen and that fact really comforts someone like me.

It's Easter Sunday morning in my house and I have the duty of getting everyone up. I like to wake them up to Hillsong music...I think that will make a good memory for them one day, especially the little ones. I get going and leave the music to do its duty while I shower and get ready. I hear the kids playing around and know Rio will be getting herself prettied up while Lathan will wait around for someone else to take the time to wrestle with him in bed as they pass by him. It's a normal morning-the kind when I come to realize I've taken too long on getting myself ready yet I still have wet hair and no makeup, and Lathan still looks like he did thirty minutes ago when he first woke up. So naturally, I stop working on me and start working on him. I start on coercing him to go to his room for me to change him...and the fight begins. "No!" he yells. Crying, fighting, fussing ensues, and I have to start yelling over Hillsong that he's six years old, he shouldn't be fighting or fussing, and I don't want to deal with this all day. "Stop crying! I mean it! Stop!" I yell. Over and over. Ugh. It's like a bad dream and if you've ever dealt with a constant crier, I think maybe you know what this is like. I sure hope I'm not the only one! He finally calms down and I lay down the law. "You will not cry today. You will not act like this anymore. This is God's day. You are going to stop the crying." Well, I say it every Sunday. Yet, every Sunday is the same. We get to church and he cries when we are getting out of the car for some reason or another. He cries when we sit down in the pew for another reason. He fusses about something in the first part of worship. He fusses at the kid's offering. He fusses if there is children's hour because he doesn't want to go, or he fusses when there's not children's hour because he does want to go. He fusses when we have to leave the foyer after the sermon is over to go to bible class. He fusses when we leave the playground after bible class to go to lunch. He fusses when we leave the restaurant to go home. Can we say "transition-challenged" much? So maybe every Sunday isn't the same and he chooses which fussing points he'll have, but he sure makes it hard for us to prepare him to go on to the next step in many cases. So this Sunday I was determined to make it stop. I made him stop crying. Have you ever done such a thing? How do you make a child stop crying? It's ludicrous. Let's just say I strongly suggested he stopped until I was red in the face and made him cry more. Eventually, he decided to stop. And I was thankful he did.

We got to church and he started to fuss and I reminded him he would not be crying over every little thing today. I spoke some of his language and threatened him like a sailor sitting in the car in the church parking lot because it was EASTER and I've been looking forward to it, and I wasn't going to have any distractions on my own resurrection that day. I gave him the "mom" look. He stopped fussing. We walked into church and somehow I end up carrying him into the pew with me as we walked in late and made our way to the second row. At this point, I am drained. I don't know how this is going to end. I had hoped to worship, to resurrect with Christ that day, and be able to feel alive again, but after all I had done that morning, I couldn't imagine God could reach me anymore that day. Lathan lays down in the pew and Rio is there with bells on. I just love her spirit. I watch her and see her standing tall and singing and reading the words while I sit with Lathan and try to talk to his crushed spirit. "You've got to let me worship, bud," I tell him, with a big sigh. I'm pretty sure he didn't hear. I stand up and I sing. I don't know what he's doing behind me on the pew, but it involves his offering and dropping it on the floor. I worship some more. I'm trying. Then something. He stands up and he decides he wants to stand behind me. He stands up on the pew and puts his little arms around my neck and sways with me while we sing together. Rio and Harvey are next to us and I hear them too and finally, a peace begins to settle in. Shalom isn't far from me anymore and I so appreciate his little hands and hold them around my neck while his face rests next to mine on my shoulder. It's like he "got it". For the next few songs, he stands on the back of the pew in front of us while he holds on to me. He's gotten taller and his waist is at my cheek. He puts his right hand around my head and several times throughout the song, he combs my hair aside with his left hand and kisses my head. He looks on me with love as we sing together and he begins to lay on the love and tenderness as we worship. I lift my hands in worship as I finally reach Shalom, and he follows with both hands. I am so entirely grateful.

Part of the worship involved a video with images of the crucifixion-no bodies are seen, but you can hear Jesus breathing, and the actions. The whips lashing, the cross dragging, the hammer nailing, the people shouting. Imagery resounds strongly with Lathan and injustice is a huge issue in his heart. He cannot stand injustice. I've never seen anything quite like it and I feel sorry for him because the world is full of it. He can't stand it at school, in movies, or in books. He cries and lashes out when he witnesses injustice, especially in movies or when he feels it toward him. He doesn't want to witness dark motives at all, not even for entertainment. He pleads to leave the theater when the bad guys are scheming or when the movie plot gets to the point of no hope. He can't wait to see the good guys win. Literally. Fast-forward the movie. He cowers under the sound of whiplashes on the video and hides in my side. He can't help but react to the noises. "Ooh!" and a little whimper. Hides his face. He knows its about Jesus. The video ends and we stand to sing, but he demands my attention. "Do we have to die on the cross too?" he asks. I look down at him from standing and reply, "No, thank goodness we don't. Jesus did that for us. He died for our sins. Now he wants us to be good and love him so we can live with him in heaven." I throw in the "be good" part as an extra for him, as moms often do. A new video during the song shows three crosses, with two men beside Jesus and that sparks more questions. "Who are they? Who are the other two guys next to Jesus?" "They're bad guys," I respond. "I don't understand why Jesus had to die like the bad guy," he retorts. He's using his hands to talk now and he's yelling over the singing and I can tell he really want to understand and is becoming a bit frustrated with the situation surrounding Jesus, so I sit down and tell him what I know. "You're right. Jesus was a good guy. He wasn't a bad guy like the other two. But there were other mean people that wanted to kill Jesus and they wanted him to die like the bad guys.." I'm trying to talk over the singing, just loud enough for him to hear, and have to be in close to his face to do so. "You see, Jesus died for no reason, baby..." I say this and I brace myself. I had to deliver the bad news. The injustice. There's a good chance he's going to act out right there in the middle of some wonderful song in the second row of church and the visions of Harvey having to carry him out, legs flying, because he just can't calm down cross my mind..and it all my fault because I didn't sugar-coat it... He'll lash out, cry out, yell, fuss, do something because injustice...well, he just hates it. He thinks for a few seconds, which seem like they're a growing bubble about to pop, and then he looks at me and smiles. He says, "He did. He did die for a reason." He smiles again and looks at me, waiting for me to get it. HE waits on ME to get it. His smile is confident and joyful, like a father that's playing a practical joke and waiting for the punchline to be revealed. And all at once his sins and my sins come rushing forth, everything he knows he does wrong, and everything I know I've done wrong, that day and before that day, flash in the blink of an eye, they bond in my head, and they commune together only to fall, completely forgiven. His eight words pull out the gratefulness I was longing to feel in my heart and brings it home with that amazing smile and confidence in His God, which gives me confidence in our God. We are One together in that moment, both sinners, and I am truly amazed at the wisdom of this child to remind me, me, an adult, strong and faithful, of the reason for Jesus's death. Yes, he got me. I smile back and we hug. We both know Jesus died for us. I stand up and begin to sing...or whisper really. My breath is gone as I am filled with thankfulness of my own stone being rolled away. As I reflect on our conversation, I realize I meant to say, "He was killed for no reason," alluding to John 15:25 when Jesus points out the scripture Psalms 35:19 is being fulfilled, "But this is to fulfill what is written in they Law: 'They hated me without reason,'" but I was using it in the wrong context. He's right, of course. Jesus did die for a reason-for Lathan, for you, and for me. I am thankful and hold this interaction between me and my son in my heart as I am delivered from my own selfishness.

The sermon that day, like all the other Sundays, is a word from God, and it touches my heart. I amazingly finally get to feel my own resurrection happen and I mentally step into my new life. God had spoken to me through the mouth of a child as well as through the mouth of a spiritual mentor. Lathan doesn't fuss in church again. We leave there and go to my in-laws house, and he's beautiful while there. He doesn't fuss the rest of the day, even as we left the grandparents and we make our hour and a half drive home. He has an incident at 9pm with his father that night, but recovers quickly, puts on a laughing smile, and comes to hug me while I read in bed. I ask him about it and he tells me he doesn't want to talk about it. I get it.

Happy Easter from ours to yours.

Getting Out

It's March and I haven't written since September of last year. That time frame depicts the busiest season of work, October through December, followed by the toughest part of my year, January through March. The high followed by the low. The best times followed by the worst, and almost completely unrelated. 

I've been in business just long enough to realize that the last quarter is where I shine every year-I absolutely enjoy its busyness and promise of happy faces and clients. I'm at a spiritual and emotional high and energy abounds in ways I'll never understand due to doing what I'm made to do. Then comes Christmas in all of its glory and I enjoy the rest and time with my family. These are the best times and I look forward to them every year. Work excites me. It energizes me. January comes and things start to slow down to buckle in for the toughest part of winter in south Texas. Unfortunately, however, it's the time that my body and mind remember the hardest loss I've ever endured-the death of my father-and it pushes me to depletion. This year was harder than the years before it for reasons even I don't fully comprehend, but it's been a very hard couple of months to say the least on the spiritual front. Work is fine, but my heart and head is not. I've endured a lot of loss, depression, and rock-bottom moments to be honest. I've felt poured out and didn't have strength some days to face them alone.

Lathan, my six year old, came into my office and sat in my lap. 

"I need your help. There's something you should know," he said.

"What is it?" I asked.

"That movie," he added. "As I was playing and talking to myself, I kept thinking about it and I'm scared." It wasn't the first time he mentioned the movie. Days (or weeks ago), he witnessed a scary part in a children's movie watched with his sister. There was a part where a character had to walk into the darkness and there were witches waiting for her there. For the life of me, I can't figure out why a children's movie would feel the need to add this kind of element of surprise and fill children with fear, but I can't turn the clock back now for him. It was enough to rock his little being. I never knew it bothered him until days later.

"I can't figure out how to get out of it," he said. He wanted to stop thinking about it and he needed my help to do that. He didn't want to let it consume him and change his decisions. The first time I heard it bothered him, I was asking him to get his shoes from the front hallway. It was during the evening and the hallway was dimly lit. He simply couldn't. He said he needed me to come with him and told me why. His memory of the scene decides where he can walk in this house, how he plays, and whether or not he can fall asleep peacefully. He came to me because he admitted that as he played using his imagination, the movie kept creeping in...and he wanted to get out of it.

As a parent, I want to fix it. I give him tools like, "Think of something that makes you happy. What makes you happy?" 

"Power Rangers," he says laughingly. I laugh with him. I try to coach him into those happy places, assure him there is nothing to the movie, it's all made up, and there isn't anything dangerous in our home. He can play happily all he wants. But truthfully, honestly, I can't take the feeling or the fear away. I can't control his mind or heart. Although so many people would say he can, I have to say their solution of "just don't think about it" isn't actually controlling thoughts, it's more like avoiding them. Rerouting them. That certainly helps, but how do we obliterate them completely? 

Every year before my Dad's birthday, my mind is occupied with his death. The grief is simply overwhelming. I try and try to forget it, but my whole body remembers and I dream dreams beginning in January. My body remembers how I wept and it returns to that state for the time being until it resurrects itself slowly after his anniversaries pass. He passed the day after his birthday, so they are two events in a row that I cope with. I always know it's coming and I tried to prepare this year like I do every year, but the grief hit with a force bigger than the world this time. I was completely poured out. I wanted to get out of it. I did. But I couldn't. I just had to go through the grief and let it pass. I couldn't control how long it would take or how it would feel. I just controlled if I reached out for help or not. If I stayed in bed or got up. If I called that friend or didn't. If I let myself go and cried or tried to hold it in. If I left the house or stayed in. To be honest, everything felt like a dream except the actual hurt. That felt more real than anything. Thinking happy thoughts, trying not to think about him, and picking myself up off the floor just wasn't going to work. The exact same strategies I would present to Lathan wouldn't work for me. I doubt they would actually work for him.  He and I both needed help. God and a loved one that could usher us into peace. 

Lathan and I are cut from the same cloth, which is good and bad. Our emotions drive us and we are passionate about our feelings. We feel deeply and it consumes us. We're all heart, I guess I would admit. But you know hearts...they're unpredictable and chase things they shouldn't. They feel things they shouldn't. But, they also keep special things more dear, serve others bigger, and love deeply. That's me and my son. It doesn't surprise me he can't figure out how to get out because I'm the same way. I am careful with what I watch or listen to-even now as an adult. Images and words stick in my mind, and the feelings they invoke in my heart affect my decisions. Seems like an unhappy life, but it's extremely wonderful, actually. I don't experience every part of the world, which is a blessing, for obvious reasons. After all, it's not "the world", per se, I'm trying to experience in my lifetime anyway. Places are important to me, yes. But it's the people of this world I want to know and love.  It's the people that drive me. What I can do for them, pray for them, or help them with drive me. I don't always have much to give or even the strength to give a lot, but thankfully I've not been so foolish to believe that the help comes from me anyway. 

So where does it come from? It comes from God. My talent, my service, and my help all come from a Source that lives deep within my heart. Spiritual traumas may win some battles, and the Source may be squelched by me or the evil that entangles me periodically, but my prayer is that I always allow the Spirit to come back and eventually win throughout each season. I went through a huge spiritual transformation about four years ago, and as a result, I've been given a new name and purpose. I pray I am forever growing and getting stronger in the Spirit, despite the lows and spiritual tragedies I face with the help of humility. And that's the coaching point I have for Lathan. Humble yourself and realize that you can't fight your fears alone. There is a Greater Power that will come as soon as you call. He will tell you what to do and send the right people to help you. Always seek and always come back to the Goodness. 

"There's a battle going on in your heart, son....who's going to win? Jesus or the devil? Who's stronger?" I've asked. He always knows the right answers...those of us that are familiar with Jesus's story know how it ends eventually. But the battles still take place every day and we have the freedom to choose who the victor will be at that moment by our head. The Good victor enables us to get out of the nightmare we're in, in time...

I came across this article about a young girl who wrote to her future self, 10 years in advance. She passed away in January of this year unexpectedly. Her parents found the letter she wrote and shared it. It reminded me of the faith I had as a young girl and the positivity that seeped out of me as I thought about my future and what I would do. This part really moved me, but please visit the link and read the whole thing:

"Speaking of, how’s your relationship with GOD? Have you prayed, worshipped, read the bible, or gone to serve the lord recently? If not, get up and do so NOW! I don’t care what point in our life we’re in right now, do it! He was mocked, beaten, tortured, and crucified for you! A sinless man, who never did you or any other person any wrong!" ~12 Year old Taylor Smith to 22 year old Taylor (assuming her birthday was the date she wrote the letter).

I'm pretty certain I wrote several letters to myself as a child in the future but I lost them along the way. I do remember thinking about all the wonderful things I would accomplish as an adult because I had high expectations as a child. I believed I had purpose in Christ and I would do great things. The mind of a child is such a gorgeous thing and mine was no different. Rio, my nine year old daughter, reminds me of it daily. Her mind is beautiful. I crave the positivity and innocence I had that she possesses. I try with all my might to preserve what I remember and resurrect it to my current being. It's a goal of mine to keep my childlike positive mindset throughout my lifetime, despite the trials and ugliness I face as an adult. As the letter Taylor wrote states, "Stuff has happened, good and bad. That's just how life works, and you have to go with it." 

The Good Rope

I enjoy the ideation of holding on to God through the storms of life. I also love the imagery that God in His Holy Trinity is a strong foundation - like a rope made up of three parts braided together instead of one solid piece. I wish that holding on to this rope through the storms of life described me more often. Sometimes...well...most of the time, I don't. It's hard. My default tendency is to let go of the rope. It's my first primal reaction. More often than not, I allow the storm to consume me. I feel like somehow, some way, I will find peace if I just go ahead and lay down here in the comfort...of its turmoil. I close my eyes, feel its wind, and feel every hurt. I open my ears and focus in on its rushing sounds, searching for that peace. In sharing these storms with others, I have come to experience two types of people. What I need are people that will wake me, pick me up, and place my hand on the rope. What I don't need are people that will take me further away. The easiest person to find is the one that will offer you a lighter rope, an easier rope, a different rope. A rope for you to hold on to that seems life-saving to them - experiences, pleasures, even them. But sometimes. Sometimes. Sometimes you'll find a person that knows the strongest rope out there. The Good rope. They help you to find it. Lead you to it. They place your hands on it for your sake, not theirs. You may think they are always a certain type of person. You may think they have certain kinds of qualities. You may think they believe in certain things. But sometimes. Sometimes. They don't. And the Good rope is still the same.

Graceful Love

"You ruined your witness." I can hear those words spoken from the lips of a very dear friend and although it wasn't meant as horrible as it sounded as we reflected a brief history of actions past, I remember how it felt to completely know what I was doing at that time and not caring. I've ruined my witness. Countless times. The selfishness in me to satisfy my earthly desires-the pride in my heart and feeling of validation of who I am has trumped my heavenly purpose numerous times. That time, I was aware of it. I had become aware because I was in daily reflection in prayer while I was doing it. I boastfully ruined my witness. I think about times when I wasn't praying daily. I used to simply do what I thought was right and not check in with God every day to reveal the intentions of my heart. I wonder how many times I unknowingly ruined my witness for Christ. Now, it hardly happens without my knowing. I'm quick to apologize, but many times it doesn't change my actions in the moment. I should be running from myself every day. Everyone else should be too.

The air I breathe still exists, however, and I don't cease to live. I can't hide in a corner in my house and not experience life with my family and friends. What could I do? Jesus has a lot more grace for me than I do for myself. My shame about how I've messed up should convict me but it shouldn't suffocate me. That's easier said than done. Loving God and loving others requires so much giving of myself that thankfulness is the first and foremost ingredient I turn to when waking up from these chains of guilt. I am thankful. I am thankful I am still alive and experiencing friends and family despite the sin I've committed. Despite ruining my witness.

My guilt is a fact. It has happened. I've done something wrong. Jesus whispers, "that fact is covered in my blood." I need help remembering that I can still stand back up and move forward. I can only move forward if I'm willing to accept his grace and give myself some too. It's harder when there are hurt people in my wake. They may not be so quick to give me grace. I don't need to dwell in that guilt for them either, however. Jesus is talking to them too. Love for God and for them covers a multitude of sins-even mine.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. (I Cor 13: 4-8)

This is the love God has for me and should be the love I have for others. Never abandon, always love. I cannot love as perfectly as He can, but I can try. I can remember his love for me and be thankful he is so quick to forgive and transform. My part is the desire to be transformed. I can't imagine a worst person he could love than me, but I can imagine he loves me like crazy. If I can remember that, then righteousness is when I can get up and pay it forward. May I be the person he intends me to be with this heart so selfish, proud, and cruel. His love is an anchor for me; his ways my utmost desire and my comfort.

Buying Without Money

Isaiah 55:1 NIV

“Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost."

I know this heart God has. When I read this, I smiled because I know what this means for the poor. I've been on that side before. I've been in want without money to trade for it. I've yearned for the food, the bags and boxes on the shelves before me. The sweet bread and fruits I had no money to buy. I've felt the broken promises of a barren refrigerator. I've opened its door twice,  three times, five times,  eight times in one day hoping for a miracle that the milk would show itself.

I thirsted and hungered as a child with no way to fix it. No one had the fix around me. There was not someone there to provide. But if you somehow knew that was happening to me, would you have brought me some? If you knew who I was, where I was, how to get there and had something to bring, would you have?

I know the majority of you would have. I know more than you do that you care. It's hard to imagine a heart that exists that wouldn't. You know this heart that God has. Many of you would run-male or female, young or old, black, white, purple, grey doesn't matter. You would do it. If you loved me, you would run to the store, fly through the aisles, grab that jug of milk, fly to my house to bring it to me. You would loathe the minutes before your supply reached me. Ache for the minutes that my stomach was empty and my heart was in pain. You would serve me and be joyful. You wouldn't care to serve me in a glass or plastic cup-whatever works would be just fine. You would serve me. You would cry. You would be joyful that you had finally made it-you were there and I was drinking. You would ask me if I had enough. You would pour more if not. If needed,  you would go back to the store for more. You would think to yourself,  "I want to always give you milk when you need it. To my very last day, I will do all I can so you can have milk."

I would too. So when God says "Come to my table-you, who are poor. Come and buy and eat. Come and buy WITHOUT money or cost," I know who he is. He's the owner of the store who walks up to that little girl in the aisle and says,  "Take and eat. Anything you want. This is all mine but you can have it. You don't have to  pay for it." And I buy. I buy what I want. I look and love the food. I stay in the store. No need to go home. 

When people come to my home, I tell them it is theirs. I give them rights to all the rooms and everything in my refrigerator. In my home, it is not considered rude for a visitor to look into my refrigerator. It is an honor. I am overjoyed at the thought. I remember the little girl I was-standing there before a bare one-and the Lord has blessed me. No matter what their circumstances or background-as my guest, they are my friends. I will bless others-socially "acceptable" or not. Take and eat. You're rich?  Eat. You're poor?  Eat. 

God has prepared a gigantic feast. He has water that flows more clear than anything we can imagine. He knows what we want because He created us. He has made the best of every kind of fruit, bread, milk, and meat that can possibly touch our mouths. And He wants us to have it. He can't wait for us to see it. He doesn't care how poor we are. In fact,  the poorer we are, the more His delight. Wouldn't you feel that way too? The most poor man, the most poor woman, the most poor child - your delight in feeding them would abound. You would keep them eating until they were full. You would lift their head and tell them they don't have to worry anymore. You would take care of them. You wouldn't stop at food. No. You would give them new clothes,  a brand new home if you could. God made us. So how much more would He be like this than we are? In our selfishness,  we can imagine ourselves doing this. How much more can God, in His all-encompassing love, without an ounce of selfishness or disdain, wish to do for us? Past our imagination can bear! Whatever you can dream isn't possibly enough. He can and will do more. So keep dreaming. Dream your biggest dream about God's table. You won't be disappointed. It'll be even better. Why? Why does He want to do that?  Why does He care?  Because He made us. He's in love with His creation. We've walked away and tried to make it out on our own-looking to other things to make us happy and fill our hearts. But worldly things are just that-worldly. They'll never satisfy. If it exists on the planet, it will never satisfy you. He knows this and he sees us struggle. But all the time He wants to end it. He wants us to see his table-His magnificent table. Mercy, grace, and forgiveness are there among the food. And we can buy. Buy without money or cost.

I'm buying.

Analogies

I notice that when I run and feel the wind in my face and the resistance it brings...I push harder. When I find that there is no wind, there's no resistance, and certainly when the wind is at my back, I let the wind carry me. I sit back and I run it, but really, I'm riding it.

I find that these small things, more and more, are who God is; how He created this world to be. I want to pull back the tarp on all those things that we keep thinking are analogies...that this human race finds and just think they discover and they go, "Wow, it's kind of like God." When I pull back the tarp, I want to reveal that that IS God. It's not just like Him. It's how He made it to be.

When I'm pushing at any point on my race, I find that my heart is working so hard to keep up. I find that as I run that race and I push through what my heart really wants me to do-which is stop-I find that that is how I train it. How I train it to persevere. And in that place-where my heart lives-is Christ. Watching, rooting me on, as I decide to make my heart work and keep up with what my legs are doing. Is that just an analogy? No, these are not analogies. These are called the wonders of God.

Have you ever wondered? What were the wonders that the disciples were proclaiming in all of those languages in Acts 2:1-12 that made the people of all nations stop and wonder what it all means? The people said, "we hear them declaring the wonders of God..!" What will make you stop and think? What could they possibly have been saying? Was the fact that Jesus was the Christ the only thing? Was there more? Was that it? Or did they teach them, "When you breathe, that is God." Did they teach them, "Your life is a journey and everything you do can be to the glory of the father, the Maker, and when He made you, He made your back so that it didn't feel as much hurt and pain as He made your face to feel. So that when He carries you through a tough time, you don't even know it's happening." Is that a simple analogy? Or is that how He made us? Could that be a wonder of God?

These wonders are not things that you hear daily. These wonders are not things that you can simply state and walk away. Wonders of God. They stop you. They make you believe. They made the people commit to baptism. Is there only one? Is there only one Wonder? It's a great wonder indeed that the man that they call "Jesus" was God himself and decided that although with one thought He could destroy every single thing that was happening to Him, and say, "I'm sorry" to the rest of the world and simply desecrate all humanity and living things-because He is life...instead He decided to look into their eyes and say, "I love you and I'm going to do this anyway." That is a wonder...

What are those other wonders? What's the rest? We can talk about microscopic entities, but how do things work, how do we work? Why is it that we push harder through the wind? Why did He make me do that? Why does it feel better when I do than when I stop? Why does that make me feel better? Why do I feel like when there's no resistance that I should just ride it? What makes me do that? Is it because he wants me to feel His peace when He carries me through? What if when He's carrying me through, I push harder with His wind at my back? What then? What could possibly happen in my life if I did that? It requires a lot to be cognizant that you're riding the wind. Reflection. Knowing....and that doesn't come naturally. God wired us that way. Why? Because He wanted us to seek Him. He made us to have a choice to seek Him. And when you have to work to know Him, you won't give up that easily...just like almost everything in life. Analogy or wonder?

Lord, I'm giving you the glory and honor and praise for your wonders. I desperately want to know them-I want You to reveal Yourself and Your wonders to me. I commit my life to this. May I never completely be done seeing them all until that wonderful day when You will make all things known. Amen.

Gabby

My niece Gabby came to stay with us for 3 weeks this summer and we fell in love with her.

She's staying.

As IF that was all to say! She has added to our lives and the lives of our children since the day she came. She has had a big heart and she's shown me her softness and vulnerability. I never quite knew much about her before this summer and I realize that I've been missing out. Her parents absolutely adore her and want to give her all they can, but they simply can't. My sister has had injuries from work that make her disabled and her husband has been in and out of luck finding a job. They both love her dearly!! They hate to let her go, but they know it's the best chance for her. She has so many wolves biting at her life, at her spirit, and her worth. I can already hear other family members discounting it all, telling me she's not really all that wonderful...and to them I want to say...just go away. Don't talk about her anymore. I love this girl. Leave her alone. She is a jewel-God thinks so and so do I.

Don't discount my Gabby. She's going to make it and she's already incredible. She's going to fight and I'm going to be there to remind her, to pull her, push her, pray with her, read to her, sing to her, teach her, train her, and love her. With this love Jesus has given me, anything, anything is possible. I'm putting that into her just as much as my other kids.

Gabby is 15 years old. Her vacation with us was an escape from the turmoil she endures around her home. During her visit, we read the book The Shack together. As we drove home on Monday, July 15th from a day trip to Dallas, she was reading it aloud and the chapter on judgment convicted her. We began to share about how we have judged others and she shared more about the role judgment has played in her life. She also shared about the torment, persecution, negativity, hatred, and lies she endures in her daily life. As I let her share and simply listened, I heard my own story once again. I heard my own life retold. Through tears we prayed. I told her she was not alone. We were getting close to home and I asked her if she would like to go to Papa's house to get baptized. With tears, Gabby said yes. In God's perfect timing, we pulled into my driveway and simply picked up Harvey and the kids with the Good News. I texted Papa and told him I needed a baptism performed tonight. It was 9:30 p.m. He was overjoyed. He invited us over and he visited with Gabby about how she came about her decision. We brought the kids to the pool and Papa baptized her at about 10:00 p.m. I can't thank Papa enough or God enough for His great plan with this.

It was her testimony about her experience during the three weeks that has shaken me the most....and it's not even the part I played. Gabby shared with me that the first day she visited my church she was told she was beautiful at least twice, once by an elderly woman and once by an elderly man-neither of whom she knew. She was also remembered by a member she did not recognize from a visit she made to Bammel almost 7 years ago when her older brother, Robert, was baptized by our church. She told about how she loved the high school class and how she thought Eric Petty was so funny. She met and made friends with Lauren from the high school class who had been baptized that day. She shared that Lauren had encouraged Gabby to go forward with her own baptism since she had been thinking about it for quite some time. The second Sunday she visited, she was told she was beautiful again. She couldn't get over how the members kept telling her this! A young lady simply needs to hear this from godly people and I am so overwhelmed with praise that my church has said that to her over and over. As she shared about her experiences with Papa that night she said, "she(Julizza)'s taken me to church twice now and when I'm there, I realize how much I love and miss being around God and with his people. When we sing there, I feel God's presence."

Glory to Him that gives strength to the weary, a kind word to the needy, and ministers to the least of these through His people! 

Gabby is already a wonderful part of our lives. I pray we can be as great a blessing to her as she is to us and I thank my sister and my Lord for entrusting her dear life to us.