MIGHTY JUNGLE: MIGHTER GOD

 "Through the Lord's mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not."  

~ Lamentations 3:22

FRIENDS, I AM SHARING A PIECE OF MY HEART WITH YOU.  A POST IS LONG OVERDUE.

"What did you say, Honey?"  My husband's voice could not have sounded more gentle.  Its soothing kindness humbled me.  His tender, compassionate soul captivated mine, yet, searching my fog-ridden mind for an answer was too tiring.  Response was so distant.  Too far to reach.  Words alive seconds before lay dead.

Yet, these dead words and others in my life are not dead so silent.  Their powerful influence screams with life.

They are an unyielding, haunting, scrambled voice, an unwelcomed echo that takes no notice of my desire that they be raised.

I plead.  I shout.  The dormant bundles do not hear.  They do not listen.

Doctors tell me it is "brain fog," an inability to recall words or details, a fuzzy sort of feeling in the head.  Concentration can be elusive.  And the frustration of it all is hard to reconcile in a body exasperated with pain, exhaustion, and muscle stiffness.

I look for mercy.  I hope for reprieve from the other annoyances of  reflux, dizziness, depression, tinnitus, and hair loss.

Yet, fibromyalgia has chosen to make its presence known in my life.  It must be heard.  It must be felt.

Fibromyalgia is like a choking vine.  It wraps and wraps, trying to mask the person whose life has become its ground and wall.  Its job is to suffocate, to criple, to put down.

As I write these words, my "voice" struggles through a mighty jungle.  I am impassioned.  Like one who longs to find her secret garden behind sticky thorns, sappy branches and clinging vines, I work to cut down and pull out barriers to imagination.

My strength is inefficient.  My work is lacking.  My persistence is waning. 

I gasp for air, as one being buried in woody mire.  The echoes of confinement raise to mock my insufficiency.  These echoes are clear, understood words.  They work to banish hope, to kill desire, to destroy belief.

These words mean war.

I fight for faith, reach for grace, grasp for knowledge of One Who can smother the brutal echoes, Who can with one word crumble walls and cut vines, Who has strength to bear life and lift from mire, Who has hope to restore loss, Who has grace to soothe pain.  One,...

Who waits for my stillness.

When faced with chronic pain, stillness is not the natural way for most, including me.  We want to move.  We want to search and find our own way.  We go to doctors and physical therapy.  We take medication.  We scan the web and look for help.  We go on special diets.  We visit the health food store.  We fight to have our life the way we know it should be.  The way it used to be.

Such has been my fleshly fight.

And, in the midst of this fleshly fight, I have come face to face with a greater enemy.  It is a bigger opponent than pain.

It is a war of  a weary soul.  My soul yearns for rest within.  It cries with the need to be still, the need to find deeper grace, the need to know greater personal reality with God, the need to live Paul's words that tell me to be "content in whatever situation I am in" (Philippians 4:11).

Friends, I seek healing, but I also seek something, Someone, greater than healing.

An understanding of the phrases, "Seek the Giver, not the gift; seek the Healer, not the healing," are my reality.  And,...

it is precious reality. 

Perhaps that sounds foreign to you.  But before you judge me, listen to my heart.

I am living with pain allowed by a God so loving, so compassionate, so tender, so I would seek the beauty of sufficient grace.  Grace that pours like a river into the life of one who is only and always not enough on her own.  Grace that is only found through surrender that calls loudly for more and more of me.

Grace that is not found in the pew of my church.  Grace that is not found in a perfectly well body.  Grace that is not found in pristine appearance.  Grace that is not found in serving.  Grace that is not found in a perfect life.

I seek that grace that is found on the battlefield of my insufficiency and His sufficient place.    

I weep.  I rejoice.  I huddle in pain.  I rise in praise.  I hurl in rebellion.  I crumble in surrender.  

I taste depression, yet dance with joy because He is faithful.  And, He is my God, Who loves me with everlasting love! 

Friends, the Father's grace does not compare with human best.  All the times and seasons of our lives are in His nail-scarred hands.  I cannot weigh God's goodness on human scales.  With every prayer breathed, I ask Him to be my all in all.  I pray to let go of my human need to understand, and to let go of any fleshly idea that I have a right to understand.

I work to surrender.  To flesh-out my faith.  I confess my not enough, and glory in Christ's everything in everything. 

Reality stings and sets free, for awesome victory follows surrender! 

I hope you hear my heart leaping, as my fingers press my keyboard with promise!  I pray you are rejoicing with me as you hear the Vinedresser cutting through a mighty jungle in my life! 

I'm alive, and my soul will ever live to give glory to the One and only God and Jesus Christ, my redeemer.   

As I close, I am thinking now of so many who suffer much, much more than I do.  This day, so many live with devastating words, and so many hearts break and are breaking because of pain that speaks terminal hopelessness.  Please pray for these lives and the lives of their loved ones.  Please cry out to God for those who face cancer and other severe illnesses and traumatic injuries.  Ask God for healing and hope. 

Because of His Grace, Through His Love,

HE WALKED THE WAY

Summer is gone!  I am not saddened by its disappearance because I do not like hot weather, and I loathe humidity.  What a relief it is for this southern girl to awake to crisp, breathable air each morning! 

The cool air and colorful strength of fall means more than breathable, physical change.  It speaks of a transition time that holds new meaning and purpose.  It begins a journey toward celebration of harvest festivals, Thanksgiving, and the birth of Jesus.

This current fall morning, our forward journey includes the continuing story of the November 2009 fire we had in our home.  I would have never believed it possible!  Who would have known that we would still be in the throes of it all?  Yet, God's good has walked with us and will walk with us through fine details that will be completed.  Through God's grace, we will finish our climb to the mountain above us and look down at the smoky valley with God-enpowered vision. 

What a faithful God we serve!  I could not have walked this way without His presence!  Sometimes Jeff and I pause to question the process of what seems a year of our lives lost to an explosive second.  Yet, God's grace immediately interrupts our pauses, speaking peace, speaking patience, speaking hope, speaking faith, and speaking the reality of what could have been true disaster.

I share a story this fall 2010 morning because of divine intervention.  Sweet Olivia, my three year old granddaughter, was spared injury and possible death from the explosion simply because she didn't want to leave Mimi's house an autumn afternoon in 2009.  If you're not familiar with the story, you can read about it here:  http://aparsonswife.blogspot.com/2009/11/fearful-sound.html

Olivia and her younger sister Ella spent some time with me Tuesday.  While a frozen pizza baked in the oven, we all snuggled up on the daybed in our little walk-through bedroom.  I love cuddle time with my grands and take advantage of every cuddle opportunity.

I was whispering "I love you" in their wee ears when Olivia suddenly lighted from my arms, walked to the bookshelf, and brought me a book.  I saw that it was The Wind in the Willows, a classic that will be fun to share with my grandchildren when they are a little older.  Expecting to read a bit from her choice, I was surprised when she said, "I want to read you a story, Mimi."  Of course, she cannot read, but as any three year old, she wants to believe she can, and I humored her pretension.

"Okay," I said, with no reservations, yet having no clue that God had shown up with a blessing prepared for us.

Olivia entitled the book He Walked the Way.  In hearing those words, I knew our cuddle time was going to be more than our usual grandmother-granddaughters bonding.  It would be a bonding session with Jesus.  God had chosen to sweeten my current fall morning with a real message about real life and real values.  With each of the page, Olivia "read."  I'll share with you her story.

"Jesus had a cross....He had a cross.  He walked the way....He walked the way for Livvy....He walked the way for Mimi....He walked the way for Ella....He walked the way for Papa....He walked the way for Bubba....He walked the way for Mommy and Daddy....He walked the way.  Amen."

Jesus walked the way.  Truth spoken from the lips of one too young to fully grasp her words entwined its beautiful vine around my heart! 

Those words are the summation of our faith.  Isn't His walking the beginning and ending of all our experiences?  Don't the lines in the sandy soil that led to Golgotha's Hill mark every conscious decision of our lives?  Don't the images of Jesus' compassion and his sweat and blood and suffering give us faith that makes us stand when our world is rocked or turned upside-down?  Doesn't his resurrection give us hope that is not tied to temporal things?  Doesn't the vision he gives us reveal the true meaning of living?  

Yes, He walked the way.  He walked a way that was scorched with pain of every kind, so I can walk freely in the Spirit.  Thank you, Abba Father, that you sacrificed your only Son for me, for my family, for everyone of us.  

Jesus walked the way for our freedom, so that we can have salvation, freedom, joy, peace, leadership, deliverance, healing, and so much more.

Whatever your journey requires, Jesus has surveyed your steps.  He has walked your way.  He knows your way.  He is the Shepherd that leads you on your way and will carry you when paths are too rough for your treading.

I love passing Olivia's story on to you!  Rejoice!  You do not have to fear!  You are not alone and never will be!  He has walked, is walking, and will walk your way!

HOME

Dear Sweet Friends,

 I have not left blogging or lost my heart for you.  On the contrary, you are always on my heart.  My scarceness in the blogging world results from overwhelming tasks and honest exhaustion.  Be assured of my thoughts, prayers, and love for you, as I reestablish my home and try to recover.  I pray Philippians 4:19 for all of you, knowing that our Father God sees you and loves you and longs to be your everything in every situation of your lives.  

Your Heart-Partner in Jesus,

Andrea 

With a deep breath, and unabashed thanksgiving, I can proclaim that we have returned to our home.  Yes, after eight months of separation from our own small piece of earth and earthly possessions, Jeff and I have crossed one major hurdle in this current race.  I never expected our extended itineration from personal property.  Yet, God in his sovereignty, knew and chose that we have that separation and return. 

And, as you know, anything God allows, anything He touches, He makes good.  For, "we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28, NKJV).  Years ago, I heard Elisabeth Elliot, with her precious voice of humility, talk about the "good" in that verse.  She said that it is not a particular state of happiness spawned by circumstances.  The good, Elisabeth said in her wise way, is that God, with omniscient, Fatherly vision, does what is for our best.  Our best is that which is for our eternal good, whatever draws us nearer to God's heart, whatever conforms us to the image of Jesus Christ. 

His desire for our good is the condition behind all our personal trials.  God views and weighs the pain, the process, and results:  physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, and eternal.    

In light of God's complete vision, He ordains and allows the events of our lives, for He knows what will purge us, renew us, and conform us to the image of Jesus.  Because of God's grace and his Fatherly good, I can work through all the moments of November 8, 2009, the process of the fire, and the outcome, which is yet to be known.   

Speaking truthfully, it has been very difficult to deal with the memories of the fire:  watching my home in flames and my grandchildren scream in panic and cry with fear.  The aftermath of petroleum fumes hovering in our home and attaching to our things continues to linger, and the pain of not knowing the final results of our insurance claim, along with the sting of anger for insurance adjusters and contractors makes me lean the harder on God and His grace.  I stand in His grace and by faith alone as I try to grasp the idea of loss and what ifs, and deal with many other issues that are always attached to trauma and major life events.

Attached to everything are true feelings that are very human.  But there is a divine issue greater than my human comprehension and fleshly experiences.  To find peace in all things earthly, in all things humanly spoken, I must complete my thoughts with two words:  but God.

But, God!

 I have always loved that two-word phrase that grammatically unqualifies as a sentence, but supernaturally qualifies as victory.  But, God made, makes, and is making all things new and all things good.  And just what the good of our experience is will be fully revealed in eternity, though yet even with my darkly glassed vision (1 Corinthians 13:12), some details are already tangible.

As I write, there remains a lot of physicality to our situation.  Don't mistake me.  I am thankful, ever so thankful for all God has done and brought us through.  My thankfulness, however, doesn't change the leftovers we now face.  Much is left to sort through.  If I fix my vision on the leftovers and see only the mess of it all, I will miss the miracle of God's ability to multiply His grace and provision. 

God is the faithful One, and One particular mighty provision lies amongst the chaotic condition of our home.  It is powerful and eternal.  It is exact and undeniable.  The voice of God, with the power of all His names, speaks through current disorder and pain.  Reigning above earthly mystery of things lost, piles of  dishes, clothes, books, papers, pictures, and other residuals is the presence of my Shepherd.  He speaks peace in this confusion.  I therefore do not just see eight months of pain and more months of stress and work, I hear the mind of One most holy, who alone understands and knows me and searches my heart and is working on my will and vision.

Thus far, my Father has chosen to share a few truths that have captivated my heart.  God has faced me down with all of them.  His words are very easy to accept in my mind, but my spirit is weak and battles, though self will not win, for I am locking in on that divine voice of reason.

One truth I will share with you now.   Perhaps it is the most prolific and the sum of all God's teaching sessions. 

That mighty truth is new eternal perspective.  Whatever my eyes see or my mind conceives is being framed with words that can comfort and heal, shatter and cleanse, or shake and refocus.

A chair is a chair.  It has a purpose.  It provides a place for one to sit.  If it is a beautiful piece, then I am thankful for its aesthetic gift, but its form and presence are a very simple part of my life and have nothing to do with my joy or quality of living.  Only God can give me joy.

And I may choose to receive joy in my life through things or through God.  If I receive joy through things, my life is based on what is only earthly valuable.  That choice makes for shaky faith and contentment that is very timid.

If I choose, however, to receive joy from my walk with God, my life is based on what is heavenly valuable.  What is heavenly valuable will never depreciate.  It will remain forever.  I therefore have no fear of loss, and my faith has firm foundation. 

Eternal perspective:  seeing through eyes that look for eternal purpose in all things, in all situations, in all trials, in all relationships, in all joys, in all of life.  It is a framing of grace only God can give, and I am finding it a process, not a photostatic change.

Thank you, Father God, for your patience.  It is your longsuffering that pilots us to our knees.  It is your grace that guides us so faithfully to eternal vision, for You know without it our conformity to Your Son is limited by our fleshly dreams. 

I love you, friends! 

DAYBREAK

"We live by faith, not by sight."

2 Corinthians 5:7, NIV

Provincial:  adj.  Of or relating to a province; limited in perspective. 

The hardwoods in my home are being refinished.  My choice of stain color is called provincial.  It is a medium shade and the sample looks so right when placed by the fresh, neutral walls and white trim.  Imagining the contrast of the walls and floors and focusing on the look, feel, and smell of new is now turning impatience to anticipation.  I hope provincial and all preceding choices will bring out the best in our home.

When all the work in our home is complete, our little 1941 cottage will be quite a different kind of comfort than it was before the fire, which was last November.  You may read about it here.

What was once a quaint, crowded, space full of vintage finds will be a cheery home of light and life.  Soft colors of beige, cream, yellow, ivory, and white now grace the walls.  Happy hues are a turn from the bright gold, rose, and deep taupe we had before.  I chose light colors because my heart cried for anything that would lighten our life and lend oxygen for a new beginning. 

The shock of the sudden, involuntary transition the fire caused for Jeff and me still bears on our souls as the final, remaining reparations come to a close and we look toward returning home.  In the midst of it all, we are and have been in awe of God's faithful handiwork and peaceful presence.  God is amazing in his detailed weaving of our life threads.  What began seven months ago as shock is growing into surrender.  Seven months of struggle becomes weary.  Seven months of stress-survival tells truth.  Seven months of waiting sizes up a lifetime of seeing.  Seven months of seized self moves once thought needs to the only desired compartment of the soul. 

In biblical terms, scholars often say that seven is God's number of completion.  "By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work" (Genesis 2:2, NIV).  "And the words of the LORD are flawless, like silver refined in a furnace of clay, purified seven times" (Psalm 12:6, NIV).  Seven, in God's terms, can represent perfection.  The complete work of Adonai, God, who is flawless authority.

By any measure, as a Christian, I am not flawless.  If I told you I felt like refined silver, I would be lying.  In truth, I will not be perfected until my journey on this fallen sod we share is over.  I can rest in that fact, however, knowing God will continue his work of grace in every place he leads.  He has planned this earthly journey for me, and he owns its map and my provision.

During this short, seven-month season of my journey, God has provided moments of solitude.  Time is a gift.  And time alone, when tied in small sprigs, is like delicate baby's breath.  Fragile, elegant, and gracious.

These small sprigs of solitude were only the outer wrapping of God's gift.  The real blessedness of this seven-month season has been an awareness of God's presence and his peace that passes understanding. 

As we draw closer to closure of shock and aftershocks, God's mark on this unstable season becomes clearer and clearer.  His holy hand has left its imprint on the whole landscape.  And seeing his seal in the picture reminds me of my limited and God's unlimited.  The two are incomparable.  I, Andrea, very human, frail, full of questions, and short on vision versus God Almighty, omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, complete in love and vision, infallible Savior.

Yet, I wrestle. . .

trying to find answers, to grasp rest, to see light on a dark path, to know how, to explain pain, to envision the finished work of grace and bear the rebuilding of our lives.

My own struggling has caused me to search the book of Genesis with wonder about Jacob and how he felt as he sent his family and all his possessions across the Jabbok River, while he stayed the night alone in darkness and wrestled with God until daybreak.   

"So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak.  When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob's hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man" (Genesis 32: 24-25).

Jacob, the man who always took the initiative, who always made a way for himself, who always felt strong, who always created solutions, was, in his lonely, empty place of struggle, made helpless by God.  God dislocated Jacob's hip joint, which was the very strength of Jacob's ability to wrestle.  Jacob was then forced to face his human futility.  As he limped away, however, he was not dismayed.  Why?  He was blessed and had a new name for his new life that awaited him when he returned to his homeland.  Jacob had been  touched by God.  Eternally challenged and eternally changed. 

"Then the man said, 'Let me go, for it is daybreak.'  But Jacob replied, 'I will not let you go unless you bless me.'  The man asked him, 'What is your name?'  'Jacob,' he answered.  Then the man said, 'Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with men and have overcome' (Genesis 32:26-28, NIV).    

"You have struggled with God and with men and have overcome."

"You have struggled" and you "have overcome."

"Yes!" God says to all who wrestle til daybreak for blessing, "You have overcome." 

Struggling means I am human.  Wrestling means I intend to conquer.  Wrestling til daybreak means fighting for a forever-changed moment.  It is holding on for a dawn of hope.  It is hanging in there for an appearance of light, and it is denying fatigue and accepting brokenness.  Wrestling til soft light is seen at a distant space means I have, in that night, overcome self.  Overcoming self means Jesus reigns greater in me now than he did in a time past.

I have a very long path of daybreaks behind me, and a very long path of perfecting processes ahead of me.   I will leave these seven months changed and a little more surrendered.  I hope to leave the provincial vision of my pre-fire life and reach to embrace new vision as we return to our home.

As future testing seasons approach, I, hopefully, will not see them with dim, limited, provincial vision.  I pray to see them with God's unlimited vision.  Yes, my eyes can see what he visions when I submit absolutely to God's creative voice and will.

I am merely human and within my own power, so limited.   We, who all originated from dusty earth, who depend on God Almighty to hold our world together, who trust his word for the air we breathe, can share the vision of our Creator!  Through Christ, we can have faith-vision, and faith-vision is what overcomes the world.   "For whatever is born of God overcomes the world; and this is the victory that has overcome the world - our faith" (1John 5:4, NASB). 

Friend, we may have no answers.  No details.  No professional title.  No human help.  Little worldly stuff.  

But, . . .  we can have the eyes of Jesus. 

His seeing is not provincial.  His perspective is complete.  His focus is flawless.  His eyes are pure. 

Just lean back in his arms and rest your weary head and allow Christ's victory to strengthen you and be your strength.  You will soon find faith vision, and all sight will be new.

Praying you this day,

On River's Bank

Swimming in cool, rushing waters, . . .

I move gracefully toward a goal, feeling the freedom of flowing currents, knowing power over depth.  My arms move effortlessly, without fatigue or pain.  My legs are straight behind me giving me strength.  My head stays above the flood; my eyes focus on destiny.

Such describes my dreams of rivers. 

Yet, much irony lies in those dreams.  In my real life, I cannot swim and have a deep respect for bodies of water.  I do not like water in my eyes or ears.  And two near-drowning incidents have left their marks on my mind.

Still, I love rivers.  Particularly those mountain streams that move with life and air and sky and wind.

I easily remember special places where such rivers live.  There is an old country store with a grist mill in the North Georgia mountains, and behind that store is a wooden walkway where one can watch the turning of the wheel and trout swim in the currents.  The rushing waters cascade with perfect harmony.  Their music echos in my soul.  It is a God-created tonic.  I have stood there several times drinking its peace.  

Yet, greater still is drinking in the peace of another river.  It is that "river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells" (Psalm 46:4, NIV).  It is a river I do not fear, even in my real life.  It is a river more pure than any other river.  It is a real river of relief.  It is a river that thunders with praise of divine power.  It is a river for tasting, drinking, wading, and plunging, and for walking of its banks.

It is my river.  And, it is your river.  

To be honest with you, friends, I need a drink from that river.  I need to stand on its bank and wade into its effervescence.  To be affected by its persuasive authority.  To be guided into its healing falls. 

For, all channels that rill from its presence make glad the sacred places of my life.  All streams from its Source make glad the scarred places in my heart. 

"Glad" in original Hebrew means to rejoice or cheer up. 

So, placing my own heart-spin on Psalm 46:4, I perceive that river as the Holy Spirit and paraphrase the following: 

When my heart is in need, when my life feels broken, when I reach my endpoint, I can fall on my face and seek my Creator of rivers.  He will send His Holy Spirit to fill my emptiness and heal my hurts.  His sacred presence will change my mourning into dancing, my pain to praise, my endpoint to a new point.  

The past several months have been a tiring swim.  I am slightly stretched.  I miss my home and my familiar surroundings.  Our church is suffering need.  Physically, my health is daily challenging.  And, other needs unspoken now, press and weigh.  Yet, like David,  "I am still confident of this:  I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living" (Psalm 27:13, NIV). 

In the New King James Version, that scripture reads, "I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living."  And verse 14 ends the psalm with some of the most encouraging words in scripture:  "Wait on the LORD; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the LORD!"

Sometimes we have to wait to wade, to venture out into and drink His living water.  We sit on the bank so thirsty and fatigued, yet so hopeful because of faith's vision.  

Turning to the Word in those dry, dessertlike seasons is our refuge.  Because. . .  

We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you (2 Corinthians 4:7-12). 

My suffering does not compare to Paul's or so many others; yet, it is working my death and His life in me.  I guess what I'm saying, dear friend, is that His grace is enough.  And, though sometimes it seems all we have, we stand unshaken because it really is all we need.  And, I believe.  No, I know future glory will reveal that truth in all of us. 

Unyielding, I vision His water!  Unshaken, I proclaim that God is in control!  Unmoved, I stand by grace!   

On His River's Bank,  

 

COLLISION!

"Faith isn't the ability to believe long and far into the misty future. It's simply taking God at His Word and taking the next step."

Joni Eareckson Tada

Just ten days ago, my husband and I returned from Springfield, Missouri, where we spent several days with our younger son, Chris, who was hospitalized. A late afternoon phone call had turned a typical Wednesday into flurry. The following morning, we rushed to Missouri, not knowing what illness had gripped Chris's life. His symptoms were intense and confusing to us and the doctors. And for some time, the culprit remained a mystery. Accordingly, the enemy worked his work of fear, speaking untruths to our minds.

Many stormed heaven on Chris's behalf! The prayers of saints poured into the throne room! God's people prayed! And Chris improved. Glory to God!!! (The doctors told Chris just two days ago he tested positive for salmonella. More tests are pending, and we believe, know, Chris will be 100% healthy!)

We left Springfield once Chris was home and stabilized. As we travelled back to Alabama, we were met by a car that swerved into our lane. Jeff and I gasped, inhaled, spoke the name of Jesus. My husband had just enough room and time to move to the right, avoiding a tragedy for our family.

Arriving home about 10:00 Monday evening, I unpacked our suitcases, while Jeff went to Ruby Tuesday's to get us a salad. We ate, watched a little television, and got ready for bed. Our phone rang early Tuesday morning. You've had those phone calls. The ones that feel important when you hear the first ring. I had just awakened, but was still in bed. Jeff was in the kitchen making coffee, and he answered the phone. Five minutes later he came into the bedroom and announced that a dear friend had, in the night, left his mortal body to join the Lord. It was sudden death. Unexpected. A shock.
Danny's death was a blow to his family and all who knew him. He was a vibrant, fifty-seven year old man, who made everyone who knew him feel a little more special after leaving his presence. My husband and I stood in line at the funeral home two hours before we were able to greet the family. Danny was much loved.
Ten minutes after arriving home from the visitation, my phone rang. Seeing it was my sister, and knowing a late evening phone call from her was rare, I answered with concern and immediately heard the stress in her voice. "I hit a deer on my way home from work tonight. I think my car is totaled."
My sister, Nancy, was OK, but the pressing thought of a near-missed tragedy bore its truth through my heart like a laser. Later, we learned Nancy's life was spared because the deer did not go through her windshield. Our family praises God, and deems my sister's survival a miracle. Angels were near, and saved us from overwhelming grief. My dear friends, I am not sharing these incidents out of fear. I am not sharing out of depression or anxiety about the future. I am certainly not sharing to gain pity or to manipulate emotions. I am sharing because of reality. The reality of our faith! The reality of our lives! That our fleshly tabernacles are simply housing our souls, which can depart this world in a matter of seconds. With no warning. With no control of ours or others. With no choice of life or death.

And such stark reality brings home a collision of faith and flesh. Recent circumstances have brought me face to face with self. I have looked. Searched. Questioned. Pondered and wondered my faith, its strength and its weakness. Looked in the eyes of uncertainty and realized the shaky state it can bring. Realized the only certain situation in this mortal life is uncertainty itself.

Collision of faith and flesh is stunning. It is gritty reality right in your face. It can be quite rude and ugly. Its abruptness raises personal inspection, a microscopic look of survival faith, that part of your life in God that is left when living gives you less than best, or worse that worst.

A simple knowledge of God, dear friends, is not breath enough for survival faith. No, survival faith, the shattered remains from collision of faith and flesh, must have something more. Deep roots, fertile soil, good water, tender care. A divine taproot that glues faith fibers together, so that no tugging, pulling, or digging can transplant or destroy our life in God.

Greater than physical life and greater than human emotions, survival faith is staying strength. Our lives are fragile. Tender. Always changing. In a moment's notice or less, our world can turn upside down. Stability turn to chaos. Joy become sorrow. Love lead to loss.
But for the taproot of Jesus Christ, our faith would be vague in those moments. Without Him, we would stumble in our darkened rooms for faith's failing glow.
Yet, there is no stumbling, when our taproot is strong. Jesus is divine light and strength. He is our intercessor. He is our peace. Our comforter. Deliverer. Friend. The I Am Who is more sure, more certain, than every uncertainty. The Faithful, Changeless One Who remains in our faithless, vague moments.

I desire divine light and life. I am praying God will purify my faith. To be honest, it's an intimidating prayer. I fear what testing it may bring, but the silent alternative will only give stagnation: a state of inactivity; still waters, without current or circulation. What an unbearable thought of compromised Christianity! No, I must choose to venture into deep waters with God.

I don't want to be stale, my dear friends. I want, need, must have living water that mightily flows through my spirit. I crave a river of God that sanctifies and changes who I am. Not only for myself, but for my husband, my children, grandchildren, family, church, and friends. And most of all, for the glory of God! That God would be glorified in my life in all things! That in everything I do others would see less of me and more of Jesus!
Many have chosen deep waters. So many saints have had devastating, life-changing collisions, not just potential traumas, with faith and flesh. So many servants of God have given all they have for the kingdom. Their stamina of faith puts me to shame! Their lives of victory challenge my life of less! Their belief in God for great things proves my life simple. Their joy in trials gives me hope, however, for pure faith!

May the Lord give us grace to allow Him to take survival faith and multiply its seed. With joy, let's pray to grasp Christ's hand and trust Him as He leads to deep waters, though their isolation and profoundness overwhelm us. May every challenge in life send us to the mirror; to see reality of flesh; to face the truth of human inability; to turn to a limitless God; to hope in the Hope of our salvation; to trust in His name, El Roi, the Responder to needs; to take Christ's hand and believe His leadership as best, even if He guides to deep waters. Even if faith and flesh collide!

Heavenly Father, please help me to learn complete trust in you. It is a process, dear Lord, and I must yield to its work in my life. May I, in faith, take your hand, in all situations, and walk with you to deep waters. In Jesus' name, Amen.

*When thinking of those whose faith has survived truly amazing challenges, I am reminded of Paul, Abraham, Joseph, Daniel, and so many others in the Bible. I also think of Elisabeth Elliot, Corrie Ten Boom, and Catherine Marshal, and Amy Carmichael. And then there are those so closely connected, whose everyday personal lives are overwhelmed with the need for survival faith. I have seen many here on blogger, whose lives are beautiful testimonies of God's amazing grace and His ability to carry us when faith and flesh collide.

When you think of survival faith, whose life most influences you? Perhaps it is one from God's word, or another saint from history, a contemporary individual, even someone you personally know.


*Research and scripture are from www.thefreedictionary.com and www.biblegateway.com

Please Remember. . .

"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past. . . "

-William Shakespeare
A maize sun settled straight above. Surrounded by white, downy clouds, it gave warmth. Not sultry heat. Just balmy comfort. It was a salve. An ointment of peace to bathe, with its soothing smoothness, all around. It was complete, eclipsed all bars, purged each object in its path with purity for its honest lustre and perfect poise.

Silky sands had soaked in its rays. Using my fingers as a sieve, I moved the fine white grains. Remembered God's promise to His friend. "I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore" (Genesis 22:17). Amazed, I felt the strength of one tiny crumb of the sugar white. Poured through my hands the pieces whose shade likened to Easter lilies or cow's milk.

My children ran with their father. Enlivened by the cold, splashy waves of the gulf, my then young family danced. Leapt in the tides. Rejoiced in the freedom of a blessed moment of simple presence.

I can still picture my eight year old Chris and his surprise at the force of waves and their foamy diffusion over his body, in his sky blue eyes, up his nose, in his ears, and across his fair face. His brother Steven, two years his senior, barely noticed. Caught up in the power of the breakers and the majestic, unfurling waters, Steven with his olive skin and deep brown eyes, simply desired to make haste with the chance for fun and sun. My dear husband stood near, too immersed in frosty salt waves. As I noticed him notice and saw his smile, I found an impressed image, one that would never pass.

Our little visit to the sea became a snug memory keenly etched and stored in a tidy corner of our minds, there to abide among other family albums. These are brought in and browsed through on special occasions. Like tapered vanilla candles and an ivory damask cloth, dear moments so fixed in motion give beauty, light, and scent to our family table.

When alone, I have feasted from their manna. In my quiet, I remember. At times, my dear husband and I bring out these treasures and feed upon their goodness, relish in their own meaning with thirty-two perspective years. When sitting by the fire, drifting off to sleep, or driving down a reaching road, they are often our companions, giving joy, muse, thanks, sweet seasons.

Created once. Recreated. Again. Again. Again. Returned to shelf. Taken. Reread. Relived. Again and again. Always with heartened animation.

Our memories are alive with wings and settle within our nests, lighting with love upon our fleshly tables. They glow. Are bright to share, to wonder, to teach, to grieve, to change, to feel, to impart, to rest, to joy, to handle, to know again, to pass to others, to regift as though new.

Such passing, this regifting, I have now begun to experience with my own sons and grandchildren. Just the way my dear grandparents and parents did for me, I am finding it ever tempting to tell, to ask.

"Would you like to hear about Mimi when she was a little girl?"

"Whes, whes!" A little head shaking so encourages the telling.

Exquisite. Wondrous. Miraculous. Like the loaves and fishes, memories multiply. Like the widow's cruse of oil, they remain. Like Joseph's store, they bless in famine. Remembering. Sharing. Telling. Giving. Blessing. . . . And compelling.

"And don't you remember?" was Christ's compelling to his disciples. The question was not expected. His words pierced. Cut. Made them think. Gave them fear. Caused them wonder.

Why would He ask about the past at a time like this? They were tired, hungry. Flustered, floundering, with failed memories; they had foraged through the boat and realized they had only one loaf of bread.

Jesus' words pressed their hearts. Stirred instability. Charged ignorance. Challenged faith. Yet, empty stomachs stopped the ears of deep hearing. That real hearing that listens with heart and soul, not ears alone.

Jesus asked them: "Why are you talking about having no bread? Do you still not see or understand? Are your hearts hardened? Do you have eyes but fail to see, and ears but fail to hear? And don't you remember? When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many basketfuls of pieces did you pick up?" "Twelve," they replied. "And when I broke the seven loaves for the four thousand, how many basketfuls of pieces did you pick up?" They answered, Seven." He said to them, "Do you still not understand?"

Can you hear it? The desperation in our Savior's voice? The longing in His heart, propelling Him to compel, to plead, to extract belief from His disciples? Can you feel the sting in Jesus' heart as with passion He cries, "Do you still not understand?"

Christ had turned water into wine, healed the sick, restored sight, raised the dead, delivered from demons, revealed His deity, delivered the Truth, walked on water, taught them trust, shown them faith, spoken to a storm, given hope, fed five thousand, fed four thousand.

And still they struggled. They struggled with belief in Him. They struggled with remembering His works. The disciples were still leaning on their fleshly hearts, their practical minds that limited God's response to personal needs.

Eyes had seen. Ears had heard. Still, they did not get it. The worker of these works they had witnessed was "The Anointed One." Jesus Christ was their Messiah, the Son of the Living God, Who can and will do more than imaginable.

Christ's response to their faint hearts was "After all you have seen, after all you have heard, after spending time in My presence, after walking with Me, talking with Me, seeing Me in the flesh, face to face, knowing My name, watching My faith, noting My love, finding My peace, marking My steps, eyeing My hand extended, do you not really know Who I Am?"

And surely He asks me too today. "Andrea, do you really know Who I Am? Do you not remember My word? Are you not reminded of My works? Do you not believe My voice? Are you not confident in My care? Will you not remember Me?"

Remember. I must remember. You must remember. We must remember Who Jesus is. And Whom we serve.

My friends, we do not serve a wimpy God. We do not serve a clockmaker who created a world to let it orbit and live on its own. We do not serve a senseless God who could not care less. We do not serve one who forgets us.

No, He has written Your name on the palm of His hand! He is touched with the feelings of your infirmities! Jesus understands all we suffer, for He has been there. All our pain and sorrow are known by Him! And He remembers us and knows the plans He has for us, plans to give us hope and a future!

But, we must choose to remember. The Greek word for "remember" in Mark 8:18 means to exercise memory, to rehearse, to be mindful. A passive act? What? No! A "mindful" one with intention to rehearse, review, remember. . .until we know. Until we trust. Until our faint hearts are full of faith, ready to render all to Jesus.

Life events have lately challenged me to remember. To recall the mighty acts of our God. To relive His past moments of kindness and care for my family. To feed on His faithfulness. To once again place my feeble hand in His, Who will never lead me away from His grace and love. To Remember His hope. To remember His love. To remember His truth. To remember.

My dear husband will have a biopsy next Thursday. This problem I have not before mentioned, but it could be a serious one. Yet, we both have peace. I trust in His name.

After all results are in from the biopsy, Jeff will have a heart cath to rule out all suspicions of a blockage.

He is doing better today, for which I am indescribably thankful. And, oh, how much I appreciate your prayers! Your love and concern and uplifted voices to our heavenly Father are such a precious sacrifice. Thank you, dear friends, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Scriptures are from NIV Bible

Scripture references include Mark 8:14-21; Isaiah 49:16; Hebrews 4:15; Jeremiah 29:11

Greek Word Study is from e-sword

I want to give a special thank you to Rebecca of A Gathering Place, whom you will find at her beautiful site at http://www.gatheryeroses.com/. Rebecca is a wonderful woman of God, and she is one of the most talented and creative people I have ever met. Rebecca has been a great inspiration to me and a dear friend.

She had a give-away a little while back, and how excited I was when I found out I had won!!! Pictured below is the lovely handmade sachet. It is beautiful and is filled with a heavenly lavender scent. It found a perfect place in my home, where it hangs on my bedroom door.

Thank you, Rebecca, for having the give-away, and for always sharing your heart with others.

She Walks In Wisdom: Part II

"Of all human pursuits, the pursuit of wisdom is the most perfect, the most sublime, the most profitable, the most delightful."

St. Thomas Aquinas

She walks in wisdom. She is clothed with righteousness. She wears an ornament of grace. It is fastened tightly, attached to her wardrobe, adorning her with such beauty that she is honored in all her ways. And for this woman of wisdom, her ways have been all but ease. No, her paths have been filled with thorns, thistles, treacherous times, hot sands, sultry seasons, stony roads that sored her bare feet, icy meadows that chilled her bones and longed to freeze her frail heart, high mountains that called for hind's feet, low valleys she called victory.

This wise one wonders how. Yet, she grasps where. Remembers when. Knows Who. Understands what. Never asks, "Why?" For those dreaded paths taught her faith, gave her trust, made her familiar with God's providence. On those rocky roads, high mountains, and in the lonely valleys, He became her defense, comforter, healer, teacher, provider. And, God, the sovereign Lord, in those dark caverns of her life . . . became her friend.
She knows ills brought her to His throne, gave her sweet opportunity to walk with Jesus, suffer with Him, learn of Him, know Him. She ponders the strength He gave her to walk, tread, run, endure, soar, and climb. Why such privilege was given her she will never understand. Why a broken life was hers made no sense to human reason. But this wise woman knows the sweet gift of grace and the mercy of a loving God. And, she praises Him. And yearns to seek Him more. Glories in His work of grace that began so long ago.

In her now wisdom, she recalls the beginning. And it is here we shall begin our walk with her and learn her way, its dawn, noon, and evening in her life. From this wise woman we will find the lovely path we all may take. A humble walk that leads to an extraordinary faith. An extraordinary faith that leads to perseverance, character, and hope (Romans 5:5). A life of hope that will not disappoint in any circumstance, but brings honor for each occasion with its godly wisdom.

Humility is its beginning. The wise way is first met with a conscious awareness of our own frail, human state of helplessness, a recognition of our finite ability and God's all-ability, His totality of power, His sovereignty in our lives and in this world. Accepting Who God Is, believing His word as God-breathed, and clinging to these truths, creates in us reverence for Him, praise for the name of Jehovah. As we, in awe, wonder at Him and His deeds, we begin our path toward our priceless treasure, for Psalm 111:10 tells us that "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." And Proverbs 14:27 calls this fear a "fountain of life." Fear, realizing Who God Is and reverencing His holy name, leads us toward further humility and onward in faith, with unction to pursue Him and gain understanding.

With such longing for God, we yearn to know His word. With humility of heart, honor for Him, and hunger for His word, we read, we hear, we obey His truth. And we find life, for the "knowledge of the Holy One is understanding" (Proverbs 9:10), and the keeping of God's word is "life to your soul" (Proverbs 3:22). Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing in your life can replace the holy scriptures. They are your sustenance. The word of God, which is Jesus Christ Himself, is the sword that pierces through the layers of your heart, peeling them back, one by one, revealing your thoughts and desires, discerning all your motives, and convicting your conscious (Hebrews 4:12). And though the sword is painful to your heart, it is also the balm of Gilead, bringing healing and restoration as you understand yourself, experience brokenness, and receive Christ's forgiveness.

Allowing this process to have its complete work is a critical point on the path to wisdom. And know this: the word of God has no depth. It is fathomless. It truths are fully established. Yet, its ability to search our hearts is unceasing. We can never outgrow it. Never exhaust it. The Bible is now and forever will be your faithful companion that never fails to comfort, convict, change, and conform while on the way. The word of God in you is wisdom, living in your soul, leading you in your life, effectively working in you and through you to bring you close, draw you near, . . . and bring you nearer, . . . and nearer to the cross, to a life of brokenness, to the knowledge of a holy God, to the power of Christ's resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings.

Through these precious pages of holy writ, we are all led to a satisfying well, where the waters are sweet, stirring our desire for Christ. We want to know Him. Seek Him. Run after Him. See Him. Yes, even suffer with Him. And through an intimate relationship with Jesus, we have understanding of Him, "in Whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge" (Colossians 2:2-3). This sweet, intimate walk, this holy communion with Jesus, this understanding of Him, satisfies our hearts and lives with wisdom. And with this wisdom, we are guided with understanding each step of our way.

And as we take each step, if we are veiled with meekness, dressed again and again with humility, we will find ourselves strengthened, refreshed, and full of grace (Proverbs 3:7 , I Peter 5:5). Such a simple spirit opens our pathway to blessing and honor, for did not Jesus say, "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth" (Matthew 5:5)? Yes, those who surrender to Jesus, fully submitting to His will, yielding to Christ's call, will be blessed, even in their earthly lives. The wise are given to God's will. The Father is ever hearing their hearts, meeting their needs, subduing their enemies, bringing them honor, using them greatly. The will of the wise woman and the will of the Father grow to be one, and thus mighty blessings rain on her meek life.

And what more could the will of the Father be than desiring our hearts stay pure? In his eloquent verses of wisdom, Solomon warns of the destructive power of evil. All with the wise woman can be flowing with beauty and elegance. She may have found her walk, making strides through paths of pain, leaping over her high hills, sailing smoothly in stormy waters, when suddenly in front of her lies a lovely forest, enchantingly rich with flora and fauna, bold, stunning, at once, with beauty and mystery.

She knows it is a forbidden way; a fruit of deception; a force of futility; awaiting her is a well-planted snare of Satan. Devised for her defeat. The wise woman stops. Remembers. Her heart pounds. Her hands tremble. Her strength is faint. Her voice proclaims. "Your word I have hidden in my heart, that I might not sin against you" (Psalm 119:11). And the wood before her, with all its delicacy, she sees clearly, and it does not compare to the high hills, steep cliffs, rocky shores, chilly meadows, hot sands, and the living water and bread of life of her Creator. . . . She moves. Ahead. Pondering. Weeping. Loving the One whose own blood bought her soul. Then, for one moment, she stays. Stills. Rests. Remembers His faithfulness.

And when this wise one moves once more, her spirit rises, and within her heart, she rejoices. She walks. Her hands raise. Praises sing from her lips. Her heart soars with wings of a great eagle, and she runs, without pain, without weakness, with freedom, with faith. New faith. Whole faith. Faith that forgets what is behind. Faith that looks forward. Moves mountains. Tears down. Builds up. Perseveres. Endures. Forever hers.

And faith is forever ours. It guards us on our path to wisdom, and it is the very foundation of a wise life. As Christ lives in us powerfully with faith, we are granted wisdom,being "able to comprehend . . . what is the width and length and depth and height - to know the love of Christ that passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God" (Ephesians 18-19). Faith in God is our conduit to wisdom. Through faith, our spiritual eyes are opened to the treasures of the Holy One. With faith, we are "filled" with the "fullness" of God. The Greek word for filled is pleroo, which means to cram, furnish, satisfy, finish, and the Greek term for fullness is pleroma which refers to completion. So with faith, we are completely satisfied to the point of completion. And completion, is all sufficient with wisdom and all else we need in Christ.

Christ is our satisfaction. He is our All in all. The completer of our wisdom. He is himself our path to purity, our road to righteousness, our way to wisdom, for, . . . He is wisdom. "Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore, get wisdom, and in all your getting, get understanding" (Proverbs 4:7).


Oh, dear heavenly Father, please help each one of us seek You today with all our hearts. Your beloved Son, Jesus Christ, is our source and our guide. He is your provision for our wisdom. May we ever so humbly pursue a life of wisdom, cry out for it, treasure such life, incline our hearts toward it, apply its truth, and seek it diligently. Lord, have your way with each of us. May we all realize with the Apostle Paul that we have not yet apprehended, and always see our need for more of You. May each one of us lift our voice to you and pray to walk in wisdom.