Once in Awhile. . .

Once in awhile we impress our children. Not very often, mind you. But most of us moms and dads will take whatever accolades our offspring give. This time it involved our soon-to-be 27-year-old daughter, who really does give both her dad and me more credit than we deserve.

Valerie and I were discussing priorities, which led us to Hebrews 12:1: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." Usually God has me park on the sin entanglement and perseverance, but this time, His Holy Spirit highlighted "throw off everything that hinders" and "the race marked out for us."

Even good deeds can hinder us. Yes, if they spread us too thin to do what God has called us to do. A wise person once said if we say "yes" to something, we say "no" to something else. That means saying "NO" to ministry that I could do, would enjoy doing, and have done in the past. I may or may not have 30 more years of living this side of heaven, so it's time I choose what only I can do, what God has gifted me to do, and what He's marked out for me to finish. At this point in time, only I can minister to my mother, write what God has put on my heart, encourage my husband, my son, and my daughter. I can supplement our income by tutoring students in reading and writing. I can serve my fellow Christian sisters by sharing meals and babysitting when needed. Beyond these commitments, I must draw the line until God redirects my route to the finish line. Once in awhile, saying "NO" is really saying "YES" to what matters.

Chained to a Computer

Being lonely and being alone aren't the same. I often like being alone, but being lonely--not so much. Writing takes me both places. Sometimes when I write, the inner dialogue and thought process rejuvenates me. Other times it isolates me. Like Joanna in Grit for the Oyster, I often ask myself: "Why on earth am I chaining myself to a computer when it all seems so futile?" [p. 97] My answer: "I love to write. I can't write. I need to write."

My next big project involves finishing a book started in the fall of 2005 originally written in 30-45 segments focusing on John 3:16. When Max Lucado released Numbers That Count the following summer, I was deflated. That was my idea. But Max's readership and platform exceeds mine by about one trillion. So I did what any discouraged writer does. I quit.

But God has a way of shaking us up even when we'd rather sulk.  A few years later during a day of solitude arranged by our church staff, I decided to read Paul's letters to the churches. Then Ephesians 5:1-2 re-stoked the writing flame.

"Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and walk in love, just as Christ also loved you and gave Himself up for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma." NAS

A new book was born. Walk in Love will be finished this fall barring no unforeseen disruptions and with lots of encouragement and suggestions from my friends. I need that. I don't write well lonely.

You've Got Mail!

Somewhere in our attic there's a box. You're thinking, "Whoopee! Tell me something fresh, something I don't know about attics." Actually in our over-the-garage, folding-stepladder-entry attic, boxes rule--all sizes including boxes inside of boxes, boxes with legos, boxes of Golden Books ready to rot, boxes of school papers, and boxes of homemade blocks that my dad made for the kids. But this box is different. It's full of letters my husband and I wrote to each other during the dinosaur era of no cell phone, texting, or email, otherwise known as the 70's.


Someday our children will read those letters and smile. "How primitive of Mom and Dad! To communicate from Michigan to Indiana and vice versa via snail mail." But they will read them. They may even save them because in those letters we shared our activities, our thoughts, our hearts.


Now I'm starting to write our 26-year-old daughter and 28-year-old son a letter a week [both live a day's drive from us] because during a frigid January epiphany, I realized they have never in their entire life received a letter from their mother. Just emails, birthday card notes, and texts. They wouldn't have a cigar box full of letters like my grandmother had written my dad in 1942 when he was in Europe fighting the Nazi regime. When he died 68 years later, the letters were still there, a mother's heart shared with her child.


Imagine the apostle Paul twittering the Corinthians about some of their bad habits. "ur driving me nuts with your idols. stop!" Forget 140 characters or less. Instead he spent 500+ words just to tell them how much he cared. Then he wrote what they needed to hear and explained why. He often ended with personal notes. His letters encouraged, explained, and evoked response. The power of a heart-felt letter does that. And they last. Who can you bless with a letter?


Joyce


Check out the following link that encourages parents to write their children meaningful letters:


Letters from Dad