I’m on my back porch, contemplating. What’s the best thing about living in the country on this mid-August morning?
Is it the beauty? The dew on the grass, the fence, the flowers. The haze in the shade of the maples.
Is it the presence of nature? The coo of the mourning dove, the flutter of her wings and the swoosh of her heavy body, resting gracefully on ground. The gnaw of the woodpecker contrasting the song of the cardinal. The hummingbird swooping past me, unaware of my humanity. The doe and her fawns enjoying the last bounty of beans from my garden. The locusts invoking upcoming autumn.
Or is it the serenity? Tranquillity. A lull in time. A brief moment of total peace, lacking care or anxiety. One that can only occur apart from man-made sounds, when the only voice heard is that of creation.
I’m contemplating and savoring the Word of God, open on my lap, and near me in my heart and mind.
. . . and your children I will save. Isaiah 49:25b
Your children I will save!
Awesome words!
Powerful words!
Promising words!
Healing, encouraging words for the parent and the grandparent.
The promises are so great!
I don’t know God’s will about my job, about which car to drive, about whether or not to replace the carpeting in my living room. But I do know His will about my children! The Bible is filled with promises about my children — so many that as I read them, I list them and often return to remind myself of God’s desires.
I know it is God’s will that my children honor Him.
I know it is God’s will that my children will be taught by the LORD, that
they are established in righteousness,
they continue the heritage of His kingdom,
they are blessed by Him,
they have plenty,
they have a secure fortress and refuge in the Lord, and that
they have great peace.
He tells me to pray. And so I continue to pray.
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You see, this is their heritage. And we, as parents, shall never, ever give up praying for their heritage.
He saves!
He saves my baby when he is sick;
He saves my child from danger;
He saves my child, lost in his sin;
He saves the ill, the weak, the down-trodden.
~~I pray for the baby.~~
~~I pray for the child.~~
~~I pray for the lost child.~~
~~I pray for the ill, the weak, the down-trodden.~~
Again I return to those words. I unfold those words. I cry out to God. It is my heritage.
And it is your heritage. Unfold those words. And never give up. Never lose “hope,” your expectation!
Pray the Word for your children: I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better. I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe. Ephesians 1: 17-19
Further reading: Psalm 24:6, 25:13, 119:130; Proverbs 14:26; Deuteronomy 28:4; Isaiah 54:13, 17b, John 14:11-14
I love you with an unfailing love, Kathi. Though your world is shaken, my love for you is not. I am going before you. I will break down the gates of bronze and cut through the bars of iron.
(From my book in progress, yet untitled.)
Three years ago, during the darkest time of my life, I depended on these promises from the Lord, reading and speaking them, over and over and over . . .
He was faithful then and He is faithful now.
Is your world shaken? Speak His word. Put your name in place of mine. Let Him whisper to you!
Kathi, I’ve chosen you – I’ve adopted you through Jesus. I’ve redeemed and forgiven you with the riches of My grace. I’ve enlightened your heart so that you might know the hope I give you, and the riches of my inheritance, and my incomparably great power. It’s for those of you who believe.
He has chosen you, too! Click here to learn more about becoming a believer.
It’s been three years since both of my parents passed. They were old; they had health problems; but those details did not lessen my loss. After their passings, I looked back upon their last minutes, their last days, and their last years. I saw the fulfillment of God’s word to both my Daddy and my Mama:
“I will be your God throughout your lifetime until your hair is white with age,” He said. “I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you.” (ESV)
And I’m so thankful He did – care for them, carry them, and save them.
As I think about those last years of their lives, I wish I had been a bit more patient with them, a bit more loving to them, and a bit more compassionate for them. In other words, a bit more like the Father.
If you still have your parents or grandparents, how will you carry them along until their “hair is white with age”?
Pray:
Loving Lord, thank You for Your faithfulness to me, even through my old age. Help me to be faithful to my parents and my grandparents through their old age.
The soap dish held court at various locations in the old Victorian home—the big yellow house—as it sustained its royal status through the years the family lived there. It doesn’t look like much. And to most, it probably isn’t much. Just a soap dish, from Kresge’s, one might assume. Probably purchased in the 50’s. Pink plastic with removable drainer. The gold trim of its crown nearly worn from years of scouring with Comet Cleanser. One might easily overlook the esteemed position it held through the years.
Court was held upstairs beside the claw foot bathtub. The woman scooped the white Ivory bar from the dish, scrubbing the children’s skinned knees and alfalfa-entangled hair before wrapping them in blanket-sized towels and carrying them one by one to the warmth of the oversized register to dry and dress in their flannel pajamas.
At times, court was held at the newly added sink in the small half bath, which had been added many years prior, in the empty space under the stairway. The woman placed a new Dove bar (her favorite) in the clean soap dish, and the bar lasted a long time.
The years passed; the children left the big yellow house; and the soap dish with the Dove bar was one day replaced by liquid soap in a sterile, aloof, pump dispenser.
Court was then held in the back room of the old house, aside the jumbo cast iron sink and the old pitcher pump. LAVA soap filled the dish now, and the man used the LAVA bar several times a day, faithfully scrubbing his aging hands, shredding evidences of hours of labor on the land and in the woods. The soap dish was often covered with the dirty, dried bubbles of the resultant purification process. The woman used more Comet Cleanser, more often.
Again, years passed; the old man and the old woman left the big yellow house; and the pink, plastic, old soap dish sat alone, empty, and covered with dried pumice, a simple, quiet remembrance of the old man, the old woman, and their family.
Now grown, the little girl, who had overlooked the pink, plastic soap dish many years before, and to whom the soap dish had once seemed silly and unimportant, suddenly recognized its royal position and gently cleaned it and placed it at a prominent place in her home, allowing the soap dish to once again hold court . In a time of scented, foaming, liquid soap choices, the soap dish now holds a plain, white bar of Kirk’s Castile and is regularly but delicately cleaned in an effort to maintain its royal position. It doesn’t look like much. And to most, it probably isn’t much. But to the little girl, it’s another confirmation of her royal heritage.
Ron and I celebrated Christmas with our family yesterday. Five little ones sat around our small breakfast table; two babies were in their little chairs; and twelve of us sat around my big threshing table. The table was lined with various sizes of clear and blue Ball canning jars, each filled with snow (epsom salts) and tea lights or pine cones and red berries – all on a burlap runner. (Got the idea from Pinterest.) Johnson Bros. “Friendly Village” place settings (a gift from Ron – some years ago) covered the table. The room was filled with tiny white lights on realistic but artificial pine. (One of us is allergic to real pine!) The nativity (collected from our North Woods days) was placed nearby, a ever-present reminder of why we had gathered.
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I prepared a ten-pound boneless beef rib eye roast coated with peppercorns and served with horseradish cream. It was the largest and most tender Christmas roast I’d ever prepared. The potatoes were mashed from those I had dug from my garden late in the fall. Along with the salads and vegetables my girls brought, the dinner was delicious!
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Ron (Papa) prayed; Matilyn, our 13-year-old granddaughter, read the Christmas passage from the Gospel of Luke, and the children (young and old) rejoiced in the gifts that were shared.
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Memories of the day include the “abc” wad of gum I later found stuck on the butter dish, as well as the discovery of the baby crib mattress, taken from a bedroom, which I found in a battered and torn state at the base of the stairway, where two of the children had used it to slide down the stair steps while we adults sat talking in the dining room! Later, when they all went home, shoes and jackets and tiny pieces of toys were left behind, some small gifts remained to be exchanged, and I knew that the day had passed much too fast.
Sounds like the perfect day?
It wasn’t!
The tree was decorated just a few short days before this party! Not every planned recipe was actually prepared and served. I didn’t take the photos I wanted. (Photos of the canning jars, dishes, and rib eye roast are taken from online!) Some of the family were late; some left early. Our family has struggled with outside forces and trials throughout the last three years.
This Christmas day was not a perfect day, but it was a “turning point” day. It was the first time we were all together in a year; our hearts were joined in love for each other and unity in Christ; so I felt very blessed! It was the end of another difficult year and nearly the beginning of a new, victorious year; so I was also thankful!
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I share my “not so perfect” day because I know that many of you, my readers, have similar Christmas days – or similar Decembers – or perhaps similar, difficult last few years, as we have. Our homes do not look like the photos we see on Pinterest, nor do our lives appear similar to the vibrant postings we read on Facebook!
When I awake on Christmas morning, I think of you women who are alone. My heart aches for you. I think of you who are grieving a recent loss, the pangs of which were replayed in every Christmas carol you heard this season. Things are not always as we want them to be. Our plans do not all come to fruition at the very time we choose. But we can rejoice in our Lord and know that He is faithful all the time and know that what He tells us in His word will be accomplished!
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There will be another Christmas in the future – perhaps I’ll get a chance to take some photos. Maybe we’ll have a bit more time to relax with each other as a family. Perhaps you won’t be alone next Christmas. For some of you, another year will buffer the intensity of the grief you now so heavily bear.
Let’s speak and believe the word together – the same words spoken by Elizabeth when she met Mary. Let these words remind us that we are and will continue to be blessed:
“Blessed is she who has believed that what the Lord has said to her will be accomplished.”
Believing that someone cares SO much that he wants to bring you a gift. (Seems to strengthen the heart toward loving God, the one who cares SO much that he gave the gift of Jesus.)
Kids laugh and sing at Christmas.
They anticipate the school party and Christmas morning.
Kids are excited to see a gift added under the tree.
They love decorating cookies,
They want snow.
Yes, Christmas is for kids.
Christmas is for adults wanting to be kids.
Wanting to give and receive.
Remembering Christmases past.
Tearing up when we hear, “I’ll be Home for Christmas” or “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays.”
Understanding theimportance of “heavenly peace.”
It’s a time when we actually look at strangers and say, “Merry Christmas.”
Yes, Christmas is for adults wanting to be kids!
Christmas is for the believer!
Knowing redemption through the sacrifice, the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ, we then contemplate the birth of our Lord and realize how Holy the season really is!
His birth!
The King’s humble birth. In a manger.
The King’s perfect birth. He had to be born of a virgin; otherwise, he wouldn’t be the perfect lamb of God – the spotless lamb. And we see that little baby for who He really is – the Savior of the world – the one who saves us!
Yes, Christmas is for the believer!
But most of all, Christmas is for the unbeliever, the one who does not yet know Christ as Lord.
After all, this is why Jesus came. This is why He was born to a virgin. He was God in the flesh. He came for us!
We who need Immanuel — “God with us.”
He came for us!
We who are lost in our sin and need a Savior.
He came for us!
We who are blemished and could never offer a spotless lamb of sacrifice.
He came for us!
So, this Christmas is for you, the unbeliever. If you have not yet believed with your heart and confessed with your mouth (prayer) the Lord Jesus, let this be the Christmas season that you become a Christian, a believer of the “little Lord Jesus” who “lay down His sweet head” and later lay down His life for you.
Christmas is God’s gift – Jesus!
He is the good news!
Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign: The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.. . For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. . . We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah)
When I was a little girl, Christmas was fun! And Christmas was filled with joy!
I remember hearing sleigh bells ringing outside our house in the dark of night. I saw Santa’s sleigh tracks in the middle of the front yard where he had landed his heavy sleigh and reindeer.
My brother Larry and I one Christmas morning with our perfect Christmas gifts. Larry got a Lionel train set, and I received Posey, who quickly became my favorite doll of all time! (I still have her today!) It looks like we must have received matching red slippers, as well!
Early Christmas morning, we three kids woke early, wrapped ourselves in warm bathrobes, and quietly stepped down each step of the big stairway to our living room where we were welcomed by the brightly lit tree, enveloped with big, cone-shaped electric bulbs of red, blue, green, orange, and white. Sleepy Mommy and Daddy met us by the tree and then made that moment and the balance of our day so special! They imbedded each fun tradition with the true meaning of Christmas.
Many years later, when I was the young mother of little children, Christmas was fun! And Christmas was filled with joy!
Santa ate the cookies and drank the milk the children had set out. On Christmas Eve, their Daddy read the Christmas story from his Bible. Matt, Kristen, and Amber slept in their warm flannels and fleece, on the floor, their heads on pillows under the tree lights. They never heard Santa place the Detroit Lions football helmet, the Cabbage Patch dolls, the 4-wheeler Big Foot, or the Care Bears under the tree, just inches from their sweet, sleeping bodies. One Christmas, when Daddy was out of work and the money was scarce, he made a 4-wheeler track for Matt and a horse stable for the girls. Those gifts were appreciate just as much or more than the store-bought gifts. Every Christmas was fun and filled with joy!
But after the children were grown and moved away, Christmas was not as much fun any more. And Christmas was not filled with as much joy.
Family gatherings, once a vital part of the season, now had empty chairs, once held by special grandpas, grandmas, aunts, or uncles. Songs and carols, once heard on the old, blonde 78-rpm player, and later on the cassette tape or CD, now brought a lump to my throat and an emptiness to my heart. Now Christmas was funonly for the brief time the children came home. And now Christmas was joyonly when I forced myself to find it.
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But then, in that loneliness, I began to take God at His Word and depend fully upon Him and upon His faithfulness! I learned to rejoice in the Lord always! (Philippians 4:4)
In the Word, I found a connection between joy and strength. I could be strengthened with all might, according to God’s glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering with joyfulness! (Colossians 1:11)
Strengthened . . . with joyfulness! Exactly what I needed!
I also read, the joy of the Lord is our strength! (Nehemiah 8:10)
So now, during the Christmas season, I find the joy that the Lord promises, and I let it strengthen me!
I find joy in remembering my father and mother and others who are gone. I cherish the legacy they left me.
I find joy in the arms of my faithful husband.
I find joy in my grown children who love and honor God.
I find joy in my eleven beautiful grandchildren.
And I find joy in a God who loves me and who grants me unmerited grace, increasing faith, and abundant hope through this year.
During the Christmas season, I will sing, “Joy to the world!”
finding joy that “The Lord is come!”
I will “receive” my “King!”
and “prepare Him room” in my heart,
and I will fill that room with the joy He promises in His Word!
When I awoke this morning and came into the kitchen, Ron was sitting at the island counter, finishing his breakfast and reading his Bible – not uncommon – but I noticed he was intently involved in a passage.
“I’m reading from John 15,” he said. “‘Ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you.'”
As he stood and got ready to leave, the look on his face and the shift in his body language said it all. After 43 years and close to that many trials together (or so it seems), I can read him – the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes, the agitation of his jaw, the tenseness of his muscles, the “ahem” in his throat. So I knew exactly what he was thinking and how he felt about it and what he had asked of the Lord this morning. We hugged briefly, knowing and understanding the unstated burden, common to both our hearts.
Shortly after, we said our goodbyes and I love you’s, and he was out the door to work. Later, I opened my Bible to the same passage, wanting to connect to my husband through the word spoken to him, wanting to understand what he had read and embrace the truths he had grasped.
“. . . ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you.”
As I read, I am reminded of the many times through our 43 years we’ve asked and it was given. I’m reminded of God’s faithfulness to Ron and me and our children, to give when we asked: provision in times of unemployment, healing in times of sickness, love and restoration in place of pain and hurt, deliverance from addiction, peace in the midst of suffering, and joy in the depths of grief.
I read John 15, thankful that I am a branch on Jesus, the vine, the source of my life; grateful that he loves me and promises that my joy may be complete; satisfied and amazed that he chose me and appointed me.
And once again, I, like Ron, ask. And I know it will be given. I’m a branch on His vine. My God is the gardener.
Believer, what do you need today? Ask Jesus, the true vine.
If you’re not sure you are a branch on the true vine, Jesus, click here and become a believer today.
