I had a different tune picked out for March’s Song of the Month. It was all ready to go, introduction and everything.
But it can wait.
This one—“The Rock Won’t Move” by the Vertical Church Band—is what I need to hear right now. Perhaps its message will touch your soul today, too, whether God seems near, or whether He seems far.
I wake up suddenly to find my daughter’s little face peering at me from just beyond the mattress. She’s had a bad dream and needs some comfort.
In her dream, she says, her bike was across the street by the neighbor’s house, and her father was working in the garage, presumably with the door wide open.
Her words confuse me because I’ve just been roused from a deep sleep. What on earth is scary about this scene from her dream?
“What if someone steals the bike?” she whispers in my ear.
That was it.
The “scary” part of her dream was her fear that someone might steal her bike, even though that was highly unlikely.
OK, now I’m wide awake. …
To continue reading, please click here for the rest of my guest post at Deeper Waters: Where Healing Words Meet Kindred Souls. Among other encouraging resources, this beautiful website features a thought-provoking blog written by women in various seasons of life.
Several months ago, when Deeper Waters accepted my story about Molly’s bad dream, I had no idea when it might be published. I figured it would run when it was supposed to, though, so just I went on with life and didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it. (I don’t know much about this blogging business, but I do know that my efforts work best when I pray for God’s direction, go with my gut and move on to the next thing.)
I still didn’t have an actual publication date when I posted “One Way to Change Your Default Worry Setting” here a few weeks ago. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my guest post—also about worry—appeared at Deeper Waters this past weekend, on the very day when “Thy will be done” once again was the continual cry of my heart.
If you took piano lessons as a child like I did, you might remember those pieces called “Variations on a Theme” that include a main melody followed by several different versions of the same tune. I didn’t plan for half of February’s blog posts to follow this pattern (with the main theme being worry), but I can’t help but think it happened that way for a reason.
God knows what we need, when we need it. If you’ve been struggling with worry this month, I hope these posts have been helpful.
P.S. I’m linking up today with Jennifer Dukes Lee at #TellHisStory and Holley Gerth’s Coffee for Your Heart. Come join us for more encouragement.
It was the fall of 2010. Randy’s company had closed its Kansas City office, leaving him without a job for the second time in less than two years. He quickly found a temporary position that had the possibility of becoming permanent, but I was still struggling with this latest installment of Great Recession-induced uncertainty.
Not so good with uncertainty, am I.
I knew I needed some perspective and wisdom from someone who had a little more experience with uncertainty than I did. So at church that Sunday, when I saw my friend Lisa greeting people in the lobby with her usual friendly smiles and hugs, I asked her if we could get together.
“I need to learn from you,” I remember telling her.
Lisa was a pastor’s wife, but not the dress-wearing, piano-playing variety. She was a former All-American tennis player who had coached her daughter’s soccer team for many years. She was a computer whiz and a veteran of the New York City Marathon.
She also had been engaged in a grueling battle with stage IV breast cancer for about six years.
Learning from Lisa wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment idea. I had long wanted to interview her for a book I planned to write some day.
But it wasn’t urgent. She was doing well on her treatments, or so it seemed. We had all the time in the world.
Suddenly, though, I needed to talk to her. And she was happy to oblige.
We met a couple of times. Over coffee at Panera, we sometimes talked through my list of questions, and we sometimes just talked.
She talked about the routine she followed when she got bad news or when she felt like she couldn’t go on. She talked about one of her favorite scriptures—Deuteronomy 8:2—and how her belief that God had led her “through the wilderness” of cancer “to humble and test (her) in order to know what was in (her) heart, whether or not (she) would keep His commands” actually comforted her on hard days.
She talked about how she loved to go to Wal-Mart and pray for the women who were shopping with screaming children. She talked about presence, and how it was so much more encouraging than advice or questions about her illness. She talked about what a blessing it was to have a friend who had also fought cancer and was comfortable talking about uncomfortable topics (like death).
She talked about purpose, and how firmly she believed in it. (Still. After all she’d been through.)
She talked, and I listened. I talked, and she listened.
She offered me perspective, wisdom and friendship.
I needed all three, more than I realized.
I don’t know how, but I think Lisa sensed her time was short. She was right—she went home to her heavenly Father four years ago this week.
Her time in the wilderness is over; she’s now cancer-free for the rest of eternity.
I didn’t know her long, and not nearly as well as I could have. But some how, she understood me. And the wisdom she poured into my life continues to simmer, gently reminding me that God’s ways are often not my ways, but they always have a purpose.
P.S. I’m linking up today with Jennifer Dukes Lee at #TellHisStory and Holley Gerth’s Coffee for Your Heart. Come join us for more encouragement.
We recently completed birthday season at our house. In the space of about two months, we celebrated four birthdays plus Christmas. (Which pretty much covers everyone around here.)
There are times when I think it would have been nice to have a summer birthday or two. That money pit of a pool in our backyard sure would make the party-planning a lot easier, at least.
But alas. That is not how it happened. And I’m OK with that, because I really do like that Lilly’s birthday is one day before mine, and Molly’s is exactly one month ahead of Randy’s. (It’s the small things, folks, that bring joy to my heart.)
One of my two top love languages is gifts. It always has been, I think, even before I knew about Gary Chapman and his five ways people feel loved. I have fond memories of the brown shopping bag full of presents my mom would put on my dining room chair every year on my birthday. I don’t remember specific presents. I just remember it was a bag full of things she had purchased just for me.
As the sixth of seven children, it’s easy to feel overlooked even if you aren’t really. Those presents weren’t for anyone else; they were mine. And that made me feel loved.
My favorite kind of gift is not the most expensive. In fact, I’d rather someone didn’t spend a lot of money on me, especially if he or she could have gotten the thing on sale.
I don’t remember every single item anyone has ever given me, like Lilly does. But I have received a few gifts in recent history that stand out as especially meaningful.
One summer, we were up north visiting Randy’s parents. While there, we stopped by a souvenir shop at a popular tourist spot. There was a little display of costume jewelry rings up by the cash registers, as I recall. One ring, in particular, caught my eye. It was red and huge and sparkly, and I loved it.
For quite awhile, I vacillated between buying it and leaving it there, but finally my practical side won out and we left without it.
That Christmas, when I opened my gift from my inlaws, I was delighted to find that very same ring, nestled in a little box. Apparently, they had noticed my interest in the ring—maybe I had even showed it to them—and returned to the shop when I wasn’t looking to get it for me.
That, to me, is the perfect gift. It shows they were paying attention to me and what I liked. They noticed, and they did something about it.
The other gift that stands out in my mind as one of the all-time bests is a bouquet of roses that sits on the dresser in my bedroom. The flowers are made from tissue paper and floral wire, and they are beautiful to me.
During the Great Recession, Randy was laid off for about three months. He normally gives me a big bouquet of roses and several small presents for Valentine’s Day. This time, though, we didn’t know how long he would be without a job, so neither of us wanted him to spend a lot of money on things like roses.
Instead, totally unbeknownst to me, he scrounged around in the wrapping and craft supplies and came up with all the things he needed to make his own flowers. He spent hours in the basement, working on them. It took time, creativity and thought, the sum of which made it the best bouquet I’ve ever received.
They say it’s the thought that counts. Well, for me, the present counts too, but even more, the thoughts behind it.
That is the love language my heart hears best.
P.S. I’m linking up today with Jennifer Dukes Lee at #TellHisStory and Holley Gerth’s Coffee for Your Heart. Come join us for more encouragement.
It’s 9:31 in the morning. I should be gone already, off to the grocery stores for my weekly shopping trip.
But I’m sitting here, tweaking a blog post I finished yesterday, reading some emails, pondering my latest round of festering about an issue that has plagued me off and on practically my whole adult life.
It’s stupid, really, my obsession with this thing. And yet, it continues to frustrate me, annoy me and cause me to worry needlessly.
You might laugh if I told you what it is. In the grand scheme of life, it’s pretty trivial. So maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just say that there is a direct line from my fretting about this thing to my need for security, my fear of the unknown, my discomfort with loose ends … my lack of trust.
The funny thing is, as much mental and emotional energy as I’ve wasted on this thing over the years, it’s always worked out. It’s really true, the adage that 90 percent of what we fear never happens.
(For the record, I worry a lot less than I used to. God has mercifully broken those chains that used to bind me, chains that I was powerless to break myself. But every so often, the enemy rears its ugly head, usually in this same form.)
You know what gave me peace about the current manifestation of my problem? The truth. I finally heard the truth about the issue from someone, and even though it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, it released me.
It released me to make a decision, to let go of my angst, to move on.
The truth is like that, isn’t it? When we know it—grab hold of it and believe it from the bottom of our gut—it sets us free.
I got the truth—the actual facts about the situation that had been frustrating me—over the phone. But the underlying problem—my tendency to fret about something when I should be trusting—cannot be corrected with a phone call or email.
For that, I have to find a way to change my default setting—my go-to reaction whenever this thing comes up.
I need to start by reminding myself of the truth. Such as …
“My God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:19)
And …
“The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you. He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” (Deuteronomy 31:8, my favorite verse in the Bible)
Then, the minute this blasted issue (or any other) starts to mess with my mind and emotions, I need to remember to pray. Not just any prayer, but the plea that author Jan Karon (of Mitford fame) calls the “prayer that never fails.”
“Thy will be done.”
She’s right, you know. It works every time.
♥ Lois
In mid 2013, after years of not writing much of anything, I started to feel the urge to write for publication again. About this time, the religion section of my local newspaper was calling for a new batch of reader columnists, so I decided to apply.
I found a few things I had written earlier, added a short bio and emailed it all to the editor. After several weeks, I hadn’t heard anything, so I assumed that door was closed. I was OK with that; it’s taken me a long time, but I’ve learned to hold such opportunities loosely and trust that God will give me what I need when it comes to writing assignments.
Fortunately, the waiting didn’t quell my creative juices. One day, I sat down and wrote this little piece about Psalm 121—something I’d wanted to do for a long time but never had the courage. The rough draft was a little different than what you see here, but the gist of it—the story that exposed my heart like never before—was all there.
I finished up the story one Thursday morning before heading out to the grocery store. As I gathered my purse and shopping list, I knew in my heart that, if I was selected to be a reader columnist for the newspaper, this would be the first piece I would submit.
I just knew.
And can you guess what was playing on the minivan stereo a moment later when I started the engine? The song “Always,” by Kristian Stanfill—at the exact spot, about halfway through, where he starts singing directly from Psalm 121.
“I lift my eyes up … my help comes from the Lord.”
I sat there and cried.
The editor wrote back eventually. While my original submissions showed my journalistic skills, he wasn’t quite sure I had the “depth of thinking” he was looking for.
“So what do you want to do?” he asked. “Shoot me something else or call it a day?”
I sent him my Psalm 121 story, and, well, here we are.
I say all that to say this: I absolutely love songs that draw directly from my favorite psalm. I usually try to choose tunes for Song of the Month that are at least somewhat new or unfamiliar, but when I heard this song on the radio several weeks ago, I knew I would have to make an exception.
Whether you’ve heard it a dozen times or not at all, I hope the message of For King & Country’s “Shoulders” refreshes your soul as much as it does mine.