I have been having trouble sleeping lately. I don’t know why. Sleeping through the night just hasn’t been happening this week. Last night, I was so tired that I went to bed at 7. Managed to sleep until 2:30. Six and a half hours—Yay me!
So as I was lying in bed at 2:30 last night (this morning?) I started thinking. My thoughts went to a couple of people who, for different reasons, had my nerves on edge. Their behavior and comments rubbed me the wrong way. A part of me wanted to confront them over it. I didn’t—for the same reason I am not going to be specific about these annoyances today. It’s just not worth the arguing, fighting, and headaches that would result.
But for whatever reason, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Perhaps it was these frustrations that were keeping me from sleep. I still don’t know. But I did the only thing I could thing to do about it at 2:30 in the morning: I took it to God.
As I laid out my grievances to Him, I realized something. The traits that were bothering me about others can easily be found in my life. Does God get just as annoyed with me over these same things? Could it be that I am so annoyed about the actions of others because I am just like them?
I don’t like to make New Year’s Resolutions. They don’t last past January anyway. Who am I kidding? My resolutions often don’t last beyond the first week of January. So this year I am not making any. Instead, I am just working on me. Rather than complaining about the lives others live, I plan to spend time examining my own life.
I want to become the good person I find myself wishing others were. Not to say that I am a bad person! I just know that I have a long way to go before I am the woman God sees me as.
Tag Archives: Jesus
Praise and Purpose
I’ve been reading Jesus Calling: Enjoying Peace In His Presence for over a year now. In case you’ve never heard of this little book, it’s a daily devotional written by Sarah Young. She writes from the perspective of Jesus Christ, as if He were speaking directly to the reader. I can’t even begin to imagine the thoughts that must have gone through her head as she wrote this book, the daily struggles she must have had in thinking of how unworthy she or any human is to take on the voice of Christ. But that is a topic for another time.
I started reading this book in April 2013, after hearing about it from my Uncle Kevin. See, he and his wife were reading this together early that year. Not that either of them bragged about it. Uncle Kevin and Aunt Janet would never brag about their relationship with Christ. They just lived it, every day. It was at Uncle Kevin’s funeral on April 5, 2013 that I first heard about this devotional book, though I had probably seen it in stores before then. One of the last daily readings my uncle had enjoyed was shared during the service.
At the time, I was going through a difficult patch in my relationship with Christ. I was so mad at Him. I was angry about my own health issues. There were things that I should have been able to do that I couldn’t. Chronic pain, a heart condition, nerve damage, and life walking on a cane—all at age 37—were hard for me to deal with, and I was so angry that God was allowing this issues into my life. And then He allowed cancer to take away my uncle. Uncle Kevin, who was always smiling and full of life, died a few months short of his 20th wedding anniversary, leaving behind a wife, two adult children, and three beautiful young grandchildren. He believed in God, lived his life for Christ, asked Him for healing, and yet on Easter Sunday left his family to join Heaven’s choir. One more thing for me to be bitter about.
And I was bitter. For a long time. I’m not proud of it. Uncle Kevin and I were not particularly close. But I was already mad at God, and his death gave me one more reason to be mad. So I used it as an excuse to fuel my anger.
At the same time, I was intrigued by his reading choice. The particular cancer my uncle had was very aggressive. It progressed rapidly. Some say that was a blessing, as Uncle Kevin would not have wanted to be a burden to anyone. I don’t know. I know only that even as he grew more and more physically ill, Uncle Kevin stayed focused on Christ. His spirit never wavered. In the days before his death, he continued with his daily devotions, reading from Jesus Calling with Aunt Janet. Shortly before he passed away, he found the strength to sing the hymn “Have Thine Own Way” with his wife and daughter. Even though I was angry at God about my situation, on some level I craved the clarity, the deep level of faith that Uncle Kevin had.
I’ll admit, I am not always as dedicated in my daily devotional reading as my uncle. But I am trying. And I think that God is trying to talk to me through it.
Yesterday, in the reading for October 20, I read the line, “Do not be anxious about the weakness of your body.” I hadn’t marked that line, but it sure grabbed my attention again this morning. As soon as I opened the book for today’s reading, my eyes fell on it. My body is weak. Some days it is much more so than others. They say you are only as old as you feel, and I feel old, oh so very old some days because of the pain and weakness in my body. The past few days have been like that. And it worries me. I try to give it over to God, but when nothing changes, I wonder if He is listening to me. Holding on to the worry doesn’t change anything. There isn’t much that I can do to strengthen it or bring back what has been lost. It seems like all I have is the worry. And when that is all I have, it’s hard to let it go. Does that make any sense?
This morning, I read something else that felt like God talking directly to me. “Remember that all good things—your possessions, your family and friends, your health and abilities, your time—are gifts from Me. Instead of feeling entitled to these blessings, respond to them with gratitude.” Wow. And if that was not enough of a punch, the verse to go along with the reading was Job 1:21—“He said, ‘I came naked from my mother’s womb, and I will be naked when I leave. The Lord gave me what I had and the Lord has taken it away. Praise the name of the Lord!’”
Not only have I not praised the Lord for what He was taken away from me, I have not praised Him for the things He has given me to replace those things. I don’t think I have fully praised Him or thanked Him for the things He has allowed me to keep. And I am quite certain that I never bothered to praise Him for the things that are gone when I had them. I just sort of took them for granted. I can’t promise never to do that again, but at least for today, I am praising God for the things He has given me, thanking Him for taking away the things I don’t need, and trusting Him to use the things I have left for His glory.
Uncle Kevin was fond of saying, “If you have a pulse, you have a purpose.” His pulse may have stopped, but so long as his life is still touching others, his purpose goes on.
Even If
I left church early today, before the preaching even started. Not because I didn’t want to hear the message. We are in the middle of a series of message based on the book Home Run by Kevin Myers. Wait, that isn’t quite accurate. The messages aren’t based on the book. My pastor is showing a video series of Pastor Myers preaching the messages he used in this book. (We are also reading the book for a leadership series. If you’ve not read it, I highly recommend it.) I didn’t leave because I have a ton of homework to do. Though I do, and now that I think of it, if I am going to be writing I probably should be writing something about Jane Austen’s word choices in Pride and Prejudice. Good thing I like that book, because with the way I am struggling with that, if I didn’t like it I’d be ready to tear the pages out one by one to use as heating fuel this winter. I didn’t even leave because the temperature was too hot or too cold, because the sound was too loud or too quiet, or even because the people sitting nearest to me were completely annoying. (Considering those people were my husband and son, returning home would not have been the best way to rid myself of the annoyance if they were annoying, which they were not.)
No, I left because my body betrayed me.
I have a lot of physical issues. Over the past 3 years, I’ve talked about them on this blog. Some of them, anyway. Some of the issues are too embarrassing to name out loud. I know I don’t deal with a terminal illness. But I do deal with near constant pain and with issues that, well, are not expected of someone my age. Normally, when one of those issues rears its ugly little head at church, I know it is because there is something in the message that will really affect my life, something I need to hear that is going to have a profound impact on me. That makes me glad my pastor puts his messages on our church website, normally by Monday morning, so I can still listen to it. If satan wants to keep me from hearing what God has to say, I certainly do not want to give him the satisfaction!
There are times, though, when I am so frustrated it is hard to stay upbeat about it. Today I want to cry. My first instinct when I pulled out of the church parking lot was to pull into a fast food drive-thru and order chicken nuggets. I’m upset, and food will take away that feeling, right? Sure, for a moment or two. Until the food is gone, my tummy is aching from being so full, and my family looks at me strangely for not eating a meal with them. And then I step on the scale and see that I’ve gained even more weight. Lost 115 pounds with weight loss surgery 3 ½ years ago; I’ve gained back 60 of that. Part of the gain is because the near constant pain makes it very difficult to exercise. Most, however, is because I still have the emotional eating response. I celebrate with food, and I wallow in food. Neither is a good thing to do. Though my van was pointed toward that grinning redhead and her cue little pigtails, I prayed for strength to avoid pulling into her drive thru. That was the only fast food place directly between the church parking lot and my driveway, though I know me—if the urge is there, I will drive across to satisfy it. I prayed and prayed and prayed that I would not give in to the temptation for food I really did not need. And I thanked God when I got home empty handed.
I don’t know why this has happened to me. It’s not something I think I will ever understand. I’ve prayed for healing. I know others—family, friends, friends of family, family of friends—who have prayed for my healing. And yet God seems to be saying no. He could say yes later. I was going to say, “He could change His mind and say yes later,” but I don’t believe God changes His mind. If in six months I can move pain-free and all the dead and damaged nerves in my back are suddenly fully restored, it’s not because God changed his mind; it’s because He planned from the start for my healing to happen at that moment. I don’t think it’s going to. I think the “healing” He has in mind for me is not a physical one so much as a mental one. I think God wants me to be OK with my life is it, to understand that this is the plan He had for me and to adjust my desires and expectations to match. Not an easy thing, let me tell you. But I believe that is what He has been telling me.
That’s not to say I am giving up on the physical healing. I won’t stop asking. And if God offers it, I doubt that I will say no! But if that physical healing doesn’t happen, I am going to love Him anyway. Because I know He loves me.
It Could Have Been Me
Robin Williams played Genie in my favorite ever Disney film, Aladdin
Robin Williams died yesterday.
When I heard the news, I was at a wedding reception. My immediate reaction was to make light of it. Not because I found even a shred of humor in his death, but because of where I was. I did not want anything to dim the newlyweds’ joy. Yet the happiness of the young couple was not the only reason I tried to shrug off the sadness of Mr. Williams’ death. I just did not want to admit, even to myself right then, how deeply the news was affecting me. I did not want to make room for the thought pushing to the front of my mind.
“That could have been me.”
Every newscast talks about the addictions he battled throughout his life. Most talk about the deep, consuming depression that marked the final months of his life. Some even suggested that Robin Williams was able to use the humor that entertained fans for decades to hide the depth of his family and friends.
I’ve been there. I don’t have the acting chops or comedic timing of Mr. Williams. But I have faced depression and addiction, even suicidal thoughts. I’ve hidden these things from my family and friends. Sometimes I’ve been very successful at hiding, sometimes I haven’t. For years I have lived with the fear that these demons would be the end of me. Even now, when it may appear to others that I have my life together and my issues under control, I am scared that one of those monsters might jump out and grab hold of me.
My addiction is what concerns me most. I don’t do any illegal drugs and I very rarely drink. My drug of choice is food. I am an emotional eater, using food to celebrate victories or mourn losses. Sometimes I crave sweet and creamy; sometimes I crave salty and crunchy. The problem with food addiction is that I can’t stop eating. God designed my body to require food in order to survive. The types and amounts that I shovel into my mouth, though, are not a requirement. Even knowing that, I can’t make myself stop. And that depresses me more. Which makes me reach for more food I should not eat. Which adds to depression. Which….
You get the picture.
I am relatively sure that depression won’t “get me.” Difficult as it has been, I have accepted that this depression is a part of who I am and the treatment for it will always be a part of my life. Those closet to me have learned the signs of an untreated me- because I have made the choices in the past to stop treatment. They know what to look for and for the most part they know what to say to make me choose to get back to treatment. At this point, in time, I feel confident that depression will not bring an end to my life.
I can’t say the same about food.
Robin WIlliams as Peter Pan in Hook in my second favorite of his films.
My sons like the movie Spaceballs. There is a scene where a newscaster says Pizza the Hut got locked in a car and ate himself to death. Now, I don’t think I will literally eat myself to death, but I worry about y food choices could be doing to my body. 1 Corinthians 6:19 says that my body is a temple of the Holy Spirit. I am not hurting only me, I am hurting God when I allow my addiction to control me.
Yesterday, the dual demons of addiction and depression ended the life of Robin Williams. His legacy of laughter will live on through films and internet clips, though the laughter might be a little bittersweet as the world mourns his loss. Today, I vow to fight those same demons in my life. I don’t know yet what my legacy will be or how many lives I may touch. But with God’s help, I won’t let mental issues keep me from finding out.
Rest in peace, Robin. Enjoy Neverland.
Get Your Praise On!!
Because of a reaction to the medication for my back pain, I had to miss church this week. We were able to set up a Skype link (a rather temperamental one) so I could still be a part of the morning worship service. What I experienced moved me to tears.
Normally, being moved to tears during a worship service is a good thing. There is nothing quite like the spine-tingling thrill of feeling God move through a group of believers. But it wasn’t His movement that caused my tears. These tears were brought on by a broken heart.
The worship portion of the service consisted of four wonderful, upbeat songs about what God has done for us–Hello My Name Is, I Am Free, God’s Not Dead and Oh Happy Day . Despite my pain I was taping my feet and clapping, dancing as much as I was able, as I smiled and sang along. Halfway through God’s Not Dead, I looked at the Skype window. No one else was dancing or swaying. I saw no evidence of clapping or foot tapping. Since my view was from the back, I don’t know if anyone was smiling. The only singing I could hear, though, came from the praise and the worship track and our worship team. It broke my heart to think my church didn’t care about the words they were singing. I wanted to shout at them through my computer, “God’s not dead- but you sure look like you are!”
That is a harsh thing to say about anyone, I know, especially my own church family. I know these people, and I know how they love Jesus. But would a visitor know that? What I witnessed on Sunday was not a warm, welcoming worship service. It was not the kind of thing that would make a person think, “These people know and worship a living God who set them free.”
If it had been my first service, if I didn’t know the people in those seats, I cannot honestly say I would be back.
The Bible tells us to sing praises to God. In Psalms, we are told to come together to sing praises. Psalm 149:1 says, “Praise the Lord! Sing to the Lord a new song. Sing his praises in the assembly of the faithful.” Psalm 100:1 tells us to “Shout with joy to the Lord.” There are at least two places in Psalms where we are told to “Praise His name with dancing” (149:3 and 150:4.)
I know that worship, true worship, comes from the heart in a different way for each person. And it is God we should be striving to please as we worship. Yet we are also called to reach others for Him. What does it say to the unchurched traveler when our songs speak the joy of the freedom found in life with a God who is not dead while our body language suggests we are preparing for a funeral?
I can’t change the actions of everyone in the church. In fact, I can’t change the actions of anyone in the church– except me. When the music plays next Sunday morning, I plan to let it move me. I pray that the spirit of God washes over me in ways I can’t contain and the Pentecostal girl inside of me that has been silent for years comes out in full force!
I have prayed that my church would be set on fire for Jesus. If I can be the spark that starts that fire, I say “Bring it!”
Mary’s Memories
It’s Good Friday. My sons, husband and I are watching The Passion of the Christ. As I watch Mary follow her son on his way to Golgotha, I wonder what was in her mind. Surely she knew that her son was The Son of God, that He was fulfilling the purpose for which He had been born. (In the film, as Jesus is being beaten by Pilate’s men, Mary says, “My son, when, where, how will you deliver yourself from this?” I may have the words slightly wrong, but that is close.) Still, how horrible it must have been for her to watch that. It had to have broken her heart to not only see each lash He was given but to hear the hatred and disgust those in the crowd–the same people who had welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem a few days before, were not hurling at Him. Did she ever question her part in God’s plan? As her son was tortured and her heart was breaking, did Mary ever regret having agreed to become the mother of Jesus?
This is not the first time I’ve wondered about that. A few years back, I wrote a little something from Mary’s perspective, examining just those questions. I’d like to share that with you tonight. Here is how I think Mary would have looked on her life after the death and resurrection of Jesus.
MARY’S MEMORIES
I didn’t know what I was agreeing to. That’s how it often works with God. He asks you to do something and you choose to say yes or no. He always gives you that option—that’s the wonderful part. He’s not going to force you to do something you are really not comfortable with. Of course, if you say no, there’s no guarantee He will ask you to do something else. The bad part is that He doesn’t always explain exactly what is going to happen.
That’s how it happened with me. I had a general idea of how this was going to work. Scripture told us what to expect.
But I didn’t have a clue just what would be involved. All I knew is that God was asking me to do something special. He could have chosen someone prettier or smarter or older. But He chose me. I didn’t understand why at the time and I can’t say I fully understand why now. But He asked.
All my life, I had wanted to do something for God. I hoped that He would find some way to use me. I just never dreamed it would be in such a big way.
I still remember that day so clearly. Or should I say that night. I had prayed before bed as usual. My friends thought I was too old to keep praying like that. They reminded me that my father had found a good husband for me. So what if we still needed to wait a while before the wedding? My friends said I should “stop bothering God and just be happy as Joseph’s wife.”
I wasn’t unhappy at the thought of being his wife. Joseph was a good man, a godly man. And he was always such a hard worker. He was a carpenter, which meant we would probably never be rich. I didn’t mind. He would be a good husband and I would work hard to be a good wife. Together, we would be good parents. Truly, I could be content with that. But if God wanted me for something more, I wanted Him to know that I was willing.
I can’t tell you how many times my friends said I was wasting my time. “God never uses women,” they said. I reminded them of Deborah, of Ruth, and of Queen Esther. Maybe there were more stories about the men, but God could use a woman, too. If she was willing to be used.
It was an ordinary night. I kissed my father, helped my mother put the younger children down, and then headed to bed. But the light that woke me was anything but ordinary.
It was so bright. I had to shield my eyes. I was able to make out the outline of a tall man standing there. How had he gotten into my home? I was scared.
And then he spoke. “Greetings!” he said. “The Lord has blessed you and is with you.”
He said that I shouldn’t be scared, and for some reason I wasn’t anymore. Instead, I was excited. My prayers had been heard. God had a place for me in His plan.
And what a plan! For years we had looked forward to God’s promised Messiah. This man—this angel—was telling me that God wanted me to give birth to that Messiah.
For a moment, I did consider saying no. I wasn’t much more than a child myself. I wasn’t married and could only imagine what Joseph’s reaction to this would be.
Yet, I didn’t know how to say no. I’d prayed for years to be used by God. Now that He was showing me how He wanted to use me, it seemed unfair to tell Him no. If I did say no, would He ask me anything again? There was nothing more to say than, “May it be as you say.”
Joseph was very supportive—which in a lot of ways surprised me. He was so good about it. I wonder if he ever regretted it. Jesus was one of the best tempered children. Still, being his parent was not always easy. Joseph never complained but it must have been even harder on him than on me.
We did have to spend some time hiding while Jesus was very young. The only real trouble He gave us, though, was when He was 12. Though I can’t really fault Him for that. What kind of parents take a full day to notice their child is missing?
Missing isn’t exactly the right word for it. We didn’t know where Jesus was, but He was right where He needed to be. I remember Him telling me not to worry, that He was in His Father’s house. I didn’t know what He meant at the time. I only knew that I was relieved to see Him safe and sound.
Maybe it was foolish of me to be so concerned. I just had a small part to play in God’s plan. My son WAS the plan. He wasn’t going to be hurt, not until the time came for the Plan to fully go into action.
I was in Jerusalem the day he entered the city for the last time. I remember the crowds and oh how glad they were to see Him! For a moment, I thought the time for God’s plan was still years in the future. And to be honest, that is what I was hoping. I knew why my son was born—and to keep Him with me was selfish. But as His mother, I wanted to be selfish. I wanted my son to live—on Earth, where I could see Him and hug Him—for a few more years.
I knew the prophecies. Isaiah wrote that the Messiah would be wounded and bruised. Knowing that would happen to some random person and seeing it happen to my son were two completely different things. I wanted to protect Him. Each time they hit Him, I felt it. Every drop of blood He lost felt like it came from my own heart. I wanted to turn away, to run off and hide. And yet I couldn’t. He was the Messiah, the King of Kings. But He was still my son, my little baby boy.
When they led Him to that cross, I could see the little boy who used to follow Joseph around while he worked. As He hung on that cross, I saw Him as the sweet little baby I had rocked to sleep. I cried as He suffered. I wanted to stop His pain. Even though I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t turn away. I couldn’t miss a moment of His life.
At the same time, I couldn’t help feeling so proud. He was so strong. He cried out in pain, but he didn’t resist, didn’t fight back. And at the end, He had the strength to ask for forgiveness, not for himself but for those hurting Him. I’ll never forget the sound of His voice—the pain and anguish in it—as he gasped, “Father God, forgive them for they know not what they do.”
One of His last thoughts before He died was of me. He saw me there, weeping, and told His good friend John to look after me. As my son hung there, in pain and utterly humiliated, He was concerned about me being alone.
When He breathed His last breath, my heart stopped. There was an earthquake and the sky turned black. I’m told that there was no light at all. But all I remember was seeing His head drop to His chest and I knew my first born son was gone.
I was able to smile then, even through my tears. I know it sounds strange to some. Most mothers aren’t going to smile after watching her child die. Then again, most mothers didn’t raise the Son of God. At the moment He died, His pain was over. In that same moment, He was with the Father. With my eyes closed and face turned toward Heaven I could almost hear the angels welcoming Him back. There was no reason for me to be sad. His death was not the end. His death meant life for so many others. It meant that I would be able to spend eternity with Him.
No, I did not know what I was getting into. I did not know how much joy His life would bring and I did not know how much the end of His earthly life would hurt me. If I had known, if I had understood just what He would go through, would I have still said yes? Would I do it all over again? Knowing what I know now, if God were to send an angel to me in the night, would my answer still be the same?
Absolutely.
“May it be as you say, Lord.”
New Year, New Heart
Create in me a clean hear, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.
Psalm 51:10
It’s a new year. Resolutions are flying all over, with people taking this opportunity to try to better themselves.
I’ve made resolutions in the past. I’ve not been good at keeping them. Usually by the middle of January the good intentions of my resolution have flown out the window. I think the longest I’ve ever stuck with one is through my birthday, in mid-February.
That is why I have decided to not start of 2014 with a resolution. I want a better life. I want to be thinner, to make better choices, to be calmer, to be healthier, to be more content than I was in 2013. But resolving to be isn’t going to helping. Even taking action toward those things won’t change them. Not unless I understand the motivations behind them. So I have decided to start of this beautiful New Year with a prayer.
My prayer for this year comes right from the Bible, from the heart of King David. Funny how a man who lived thousands of years ago could write the words that so accurately describe my heart today…. The words are recorded in Psalm chapter 51.
Verse 3: “For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.” I am far from perfect. I make mistakes on a daily basis, mistakes I cannot hide from. Mistakes I no longer want to hide from. Lord, I know my anger and my attitudes are wrong. I see it, and I give it to You. Take this from me and turn it into something You can use for Your good.
Verse 10-12: “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation and uphold me with thy free spirit.” Cleanse my heart, Lord. I want it to be filled only with love—love for You and for all of the wonderful things You have created. I know I have messed up, but please don’t give up on me. Don’t push me away. I ask Your forgiveness for the times I have pushed You away. Being with You is the sweetest joy, and I want more of that joy in my life. I can feel You here now, in this moment. I pray that I feel this sweetness and joy every moment, only a little stronger each day.
I love You, Lord. I love You so much that the thought of hurting You, of disappointing You saddens me. This New Year, 2014, Lord, I am dedicating it to YOU. Everything I do is for You, for Your glory.
Well Done, Good and Faithful Servant
Elaine Taylor passed away Sunday evening.
You will be forever missed and loved, Elaine
You might not have heard the news. She was not a celebrity. Fame was not one of the goals of her 84-year-long life. At least not earthly fame. My guess would be that most of the people reading this post didn’t know her. That is a shame.
If you had ever met her, you would have loved her. At least I think you would have. I know for sure that Elaine would have loved you. Elaine loved everyone. I don’t think she ever met a stranger. Each new person in her life was a friend. Her smile, her laugh, her hug…. All three welcomed everyone she met, and no one who experienced them will ever forget them.
No one who ever experienced Elaine was ever forgotten by her.
I can’t tell you what her presence meant in my life. It’s hard to even describe the relationship we had. Elaine was a grandmother when I needed one. She was full of love and advice—giving the love at all times and the advice when she felt I needed it, which was not necessarily when I felt I needed it. She said she would pray for me. And you know what? She actually did it. A lot of today’s Christians—myself included, I am so sorry to say—are good at saying, “You’ll be in my prayers,” and then promptly forgetting the details of who needed prayer. Not Elaine. She might not have known what prayer was needed, but she prayed.
Much of my recent physical recovery I attribute to her prayers. I gave up. Not on God, exactly. Never once did I stop believing that He could heal my back pain and bring back the feeling my leg. I just gave up on the idea that He ever would. For whatever reason, I just felt like God intended for me to live with these physical limitations, and I started to look for the good that could come from them. If this was part of His plan, I wanted to be open to still making a difference for Him. Elaine never gave up on my healing. When I told her a few months ago that I knew God could heal me but I didn’t think that He would, she gave me that smile. You know what smile I mean…the one a mother gives her child when the child seems to be trying but not trying hard enough. Yeah, that’s the smile. She patted my hand and said, “I don’ believe that. It’s just not the right time. He will bring the healing when He is ready for it, not when you are.” And when she said she’d pray for me, I knew she was doing it. I wish I could tell her that she was right. I wish I’d had the chance to walk into her room, without my cane, and show her how God was working.
But I am sure she knows now. I have a feeling God has spent a lot of time in the last few days showing Elaine how her prayers have helped bring miracles to more people than we could ever count.
There is a party going on in Heaven this week, a “welcome to your reward” party, with Elaine Taylor as the guest of honor. From the reports I have been hearing all over Facebook this week, Elaine is just one of many guests of honor at this party. And you know what? I think that is how she would want it. Once she got her face-to-face moment with Jesus, once she was able to hug Him and kiss Him, she turned around to face the others coming behind her.
And with the same smile she used on Sunday mornings, she held out her hand and said, “Welcome to Heaven. You’ll like it here.”
Introducing The Rylee Project
Early in 2005, I suffered a devastating miscarriage. One thing that has always bothered me is the fear that no one else would remember that baby. Life—especially pre-born life—is treated so casually in this world that some do not even consider a miscarriage to be a death. Grieving over a miscarried child seems to be frowned upon. More than once, I was told to pull myself together and get over it. Even well-meaning Christian friends told me to let it go.
But that pregnancy was more than a blob of cells to me. That was a baby, MY baby. My daughter, a precious little part of my family. We named her Rylee Adelle. I don’t why God chose to keep her in Heaven. But I do know that her loss is felt every day. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about her, at least one time. I’ve moved on with my life and I have learned how to live with the void her death has left in my heart. But get over it? Let it go? Those are two things I can’t do, two things I won’t do. That would mean forgetting her.
I don’t want to forget.
For seven years, I have wanted to do something to honor my little girl. Just what I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted her brief existence to count for something. I wanted her to touch others in some way, to make a difference in the world.
After a lot of thought and prayer, I think I have finally found the perfect way to do that!
The idea started this summer, when I began writing a series of letters to my daughter. There are things that I would have loved to tell her, things that I would have taught her that don’t seem so important to teach my sons (like how to dress modestly and how to deal with your changing friendships as you get older.) OK, so maybe they are things the boys need to know, too. But I wouldn’t tell my boys exactly the same things that I would have told Rylee, at least not in the same way. I began writing these letters, and they quickly turned into something more than I really expected. The letters I wrote to her have made their way into a book, called LETTERS TO RYLEE. (Expected publication date is November 23, 2012. Keep an eye out for the cover, which I will unveil soon!)
One thing kept coming to mind as I wrote those letters—friendship. And I don’t mean just human friendships. I kept thinking about how important a friendship with Jesus is. I didn’t understand how important that friendship really is when I was a teen. Looking back on some of the things I did and the choices I made, I can’t help but wonder how different my life would be if I had really developed that friendship back then, instead of waiting until my 30’s to get around to it.
That is when The Rylee Project really began to take shape in my mind. Through The Rylee Project, I am hoping to impact the lives of young girls today in a very positive way. I want girls, especially girls who will one day date and eventually marry (yikes!) my sons, to have the tools to really develop a close friendship with Jesus. It’s not about a particular religion, or the “rules” and “regulations” of being a Christian. It’s more than that. The Rylee Project is about developing a friendship with Jesus and developing human friendships that honor Him. It’s about focusing not on what feels good now, but on what will have the most positive impact on life in the future.
It’s kind of a big job. In all honesty, I don’t know if I am really qualified to tackle it. But I keep going back to a saying I’ve seen all over Facebook in recent weeks—God doesn’t call the qualified; He qualifies the called. As long as I follow His leading and keep Him in the center of what I am doing, I know this will work out. I can’t focus on the grand dreams in my head, the things that would be amazing to see happen with The Rylee Project. I can only focus on what God is asking me to do each day, and pray that I am a good example of the friendships He desires to see in this world.
Go ahead and take a look at the website for The Rylee Project. The Rylee Project is also on Twitter and on Facebook (Hey, gotta go where the girls are!) I look forward to hearing what you think about this project, especially those of you who have young girls. Please visit and ask your daughters and their friends to visit.
And please, pray for this project. If The Rylee Project can have a positive impact on just one young lady, than it has done all I have hoped for—honored God while honoring my Rylee Adelle.
No Shame, No Apology!
Over the weekend, it occurred to me that some of my Facebook posts might be offensive to others. I’ve been using my social networks to share my belief in and love of Jesus. Not just that belief and love, but the things that I am learning about Him every day. It’s actually kind of amazing how much more I learn of Him just by reading what others post.
Some of my Facebook friends have expressed annoyance at all of the “religious junk” they see posted to their timelines. There is one friend in particular who makes rude comments about my posts. His comments, especially one yesterday that was sexually suggestive, have been enough to make me wonder if I should stop posting so much about my beliefs like that. This voice keeps telling me that my constant worship of Christ on Facebook might be pushing people away from Him rather than drawing them toward Him. After all, look at the things that other so-called Christians are posting lately. It’s a confusing message, and maybe I should just step out of the conversation.
But I refuse to listen to that voice!
I might be embarrassed by some of the public actions of other Christians, by the things people who claim to love Jesus say and do that do not show His love. But I am and NOT ashamed of the life and love of Jesus! I won’t apologize for the love I feel for Him, nor will I apologize for sharing that love. If my “blatant evangelizing” offends you, perhaps that is because there is something in your life that needs attention. Perhaps God is trying to reach you, and my words are pulling you closer to Him. If that makes you uncomfortable, there isn’t much I can do about it. One of the beautiful things about Facebook is that it is so easy to ignore someone who posts something you feel is offensive; feel free to make use of the unfriend option if you don’t want to hear about how much I love Jesus, how much Jesus loves me, or how much He loves YOU!
Just don’t expect me to stop sharing that love. That is just not an option.
I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes!
Romans 1:16