Thanksgiving Blessings

As I sit here this morning, sipping my coffee, gazing out the window at the frosted trees and grass, I'm thinking of my day ahead.

I will hurry through my morning getting dressed, fixing my hair, and adding a little bling to my outfit.  I'll finish putting all the food in crockpots, stuff the turkey and prepare it to be the centerpiece of the table, I'll put a pretty tablecloth on the table that will be dotted with food later, and I'll drag extra chairs out because my little family has outgrown my table.

As I'm finishing up, I'll hear the door open and my family come in with the cold still lingering on their clothes.  Things like "where's the food!" and "man, it smells good in here" will be shouted, little girls will be giggling and screaming "MIMI!" "POPPY!", as they run through the house, and the baby will be passed around collecting kisses on those chubby cheeks. 

As I go through my day, I'm going to look extra hard for all the blessings I can find that Jesus has  placed for me before my day even began, store them up in my memory, and tonight while I sit down, totally exhausted, I'm going to go through each one and give thanks to the One who is the giver of all things good.

Happy Thanksgiving from my precious family.

As I was reading this morning, I came across the verse in the bible that says "the last shall be first, and the first last."

I always get a mental picture of little kids in elementary school lining up in the hallway and there's lots of pushing and maneuvering to get that "first" spot. Children waving hands in the air proclaiming, " I want to be first!" "Let me! Let me!"

This verse has always caused a question mark to pop in my head. I've heard many explanations, I've listened to opinions, and I sort of got it, but that pesky little question mark was still around.

Then, as I was reading through my prayer diary, I was going down the list of people in my Sunday School class, and there in black and white was a name that answered my questions. I'll call him Joe. Joe is a young man that is faithful to church and faithful to bring a smile to someone's face each Sunday.

However, there's something a little different about Joe. He's mentally handicapped.

Every Sunday Joe has something, or rather a very long list of somethings that he wants us to pray about with him. We've prayed for his birthday, which he reminds us of every Sunday, we've prayed for his teeth because he has a dental appointment in 6 months, we've prayed for every member of his family, we've prayed for bible school, the state fair, and Dollywood.

We've heard Joe give testimony to the fact that he's good, he loves Jesus, Jesus is his friend, and that he doesn't rob banks.

Joe definitely isn't a "first" in society.  Joe wasn't the first in his class, he wasn't the first in academics,
he wasn't the first in athletics, he's really not a first in anything in our eyes, but I believe he is a first
in someone's eyes, and that someone is Christ.

It doesn't matter to Jesus what goes on in Joe's head, it matters what goes on in his heart.


So, when we're in heaven and time is no more, I want to look Joe up. I figure he's going to be at the first of the line.

Matthew 20:1-16

Flowers and Butterflies

Happy Mother's Day to all you ladies who have been blessed to become mothers!

Whew!  To get that tiny human from the protection of our bodies into our arms is a grueling experience, to say the least.  There is no pain comparable.  Yea, yea, yea, we've all heard the stories from men about the pain of passing a kidney stone and how horrible it is.  Have you seen the size of a kidney stone?  Have you seen the size of a baby?  End of argument.

That excruciating, crushing, near death pain is forgotten in an instant, though.  The second that child is placed in our arms, we go from screaming to cooing, from agony to kisses and from a death grip on our husband's throat to gently stroking the sweet form in our arms.

Ahhhh, motherhood.  It's all flowers and butterflies from here on out....right?  Well, it depends from which perspective you are looking.  When you're living in the moment, surviving on two hours sleep each night, staggering and running into walls from exhaustion, you may not see the butterflies, more likely you're seeing stars, but when your kids are grown and you sit in a quiet house reminiscing about your babies, you don't really focus on the sleepless nights, the tummy aches, and the incessant crying.  You focus on the flowers and butterflies.  You remember the soft touch as their tiny fingers wrap around yours.  You remember the fluffy, downy head and the chubby cheeks and those huge eyes that take in everything around them.

I think back to the days of three little boys and one teenage girl.  Have mercy.  How did I do that?  At the time I was just trying to get through the days with enough clean clothes for everyone, the laundry was never ending and I'm pretty sure it reproduced when I wasn't looking, but as I'm older now, I can see the flowers and butterflies when my teenage daughter was constantly lending a helping hand getting the laundry done.

At the time, I wondered how I was going to get my daughter to volleyball practice, my youngest to the elementary ball game, my middle son to the junior high game and my oldest son to the varsity game, plus get dinner and not forget to put my shoes on as I went out the door.  But now I see the flowers and butterflies as I think about the anticipation of playing the games, the fun we had in our large van with everyone singing along to the radio, the long talks we had on the way home and constant barrage of fast food.

The energy and planning it took to have an "all nighter" at the Workman ponderosa with about fifteen to twenty rambunctious boys was overwhelming...the cooking (I'm talking pots large enough to fit a small pony into....have you ever fed one teenage boy, much less a tribe?)    The furniture was pushed back against the walls, there was food scattered all through the house, mud on the floors, occasional blood, video game tournaments which included lots of yelling and my husband and I in bed with pillows over our heads.  But now I see flowers and butterflies when I run into those young boys who are now grown men and they hug me and start talking about the fun times at my house, when I get a call or a text from one
of "my boys" asking me to fix some chili like I used to or wanting the recipe for it.  When my son runs into one of "my boys" and my son says that this boy said to tell me that he loves me.  That is definitely some flowers and butterflies.

I just want to encourage new mothers, young mothers, tired mothers that it is worth it.  Every exhausting minute is a life time of memories.  Every second is time that you make an impression on a little mind that will someday be making grown up decisions.  Every glass of spilled milk or every trail of muddy footprints is an opportunity to teach love and patience.  Even when you're so tired that the bedtime story puts you to sleep, it's a precious memory.

It's all over so quickly it seems like you just imagined it all.  When you're older, sitting in a quiet house pondering on what used to be and your thoughts are interrupted by a grown man stomping in the door with kids in tow, and yells, "MOM!".......it's flowers and butterflies.

Proverbs 31:25  Strength and honor are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come.




                                                          My flowers and butterflies.

                                         

                                           

Why Was the Stone Rolled Away?

Let's face it, the work for the Lord isn't always fun.  Be honest.  Sometimes it's boring, sometimes it's monotonous, sometimes it's difficult, and sometimes it's not appreciated.

Look at Paul, he was thrown into prison how many times?  Noah was laughed out of town.  Jonah was on the wrong side of a fishing story. And Thomas looked into the eyes of the Saviour and still had some doubts.

How many know the name of Adoniram Judson?  It's not a name that's on our tongues very often, or probably not at all.  Adoniram Judson was a missionary to Burma in the late 1700's to mid 1800's.  He went there to do the work of the Lord, to convert souls, to lead them to a Saviour, to show them eternal life.  I'm sure he went into the work with the same mindset that most of us do, "this will be great!"  However, it took Judson four years to just learn the language.  It took him twelve years to see his first convert, he was imprisoned, his wife passed away along with one of his children.  I'm sure many times he wondered if it was worth it, but, by the time he died, he had translated the scripture into Burmese, established 100 churches and seen over 8,000 souls saved.

Now, let's travel back a couple of thousand years.  Jesus, who made the cripple walk was now falling and staggering up the hill to Golgotha.  Jesus, who said, "Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest" was now carrying the burden of the wooden beams of his death bed and the sin of the whole world on his back.  The men and women who were given new life just saw their Hope give up his.

We can only imagine the upheaval of emotions surrounding this day, but a few days later, when the chaos had turned to shock, when the crowds had dissipated and real life began to set in, there was work to do.  It was time to go to the grave to prepare the body, to anoint the body with spices.  Not many volunteered for this job, it wasn't a pleasant thing to do, but someone had to do it.  You didn't see Peter, the one who jumped out of the boat to walk on water, volunteering.  Thomas, who still wasn't sure who the Son of Man was,  now couldn't believe it was all over.  James, his brother didn't jump up, nor did John, Jesus' most beloved friend.  I don't know, maybe it was one of those "it's a woman's job" things, but the fact was, it was an unpleasant task that had to be done, so Mary and Mary Magdalene gathered the necessary items and headed down the road toward the place where Jesus' body lay.

Jesus' body was put in the tomb that had been purchased by Joseph of Arimathea.  The burial places were usually hewn into stone and the entrance was covered by a large circular stone door that was placed in a groove that had been chipped out of the stone in front of the opening.  This circular stone could then be moved away from the opening along this groove when needed and was usually held in place by smaller stones.
 
Now, we've all heard this story hundreds of times, and though no one really ever said it, it was kind of assumed the stone was rolled back so that Jesus could get out of the tomb.  It's funny how things like this just enter one ear and fly out the other one without connecting to the brain in between.  When we stop...think....and ponder, we absolutely know that Jesus didn't need that stone moved, because, you see,  when the women arrived at the tomb, the angel rolled the stone away and Jesus was already gone.  So, what was the point?

The women were on their way to do a job and you know their hearts were just not in it.  They were dreading what lay ahead, they were doing something that no one else would do.  They probably wished they could be anywhere doing anything else than what they had volunteered to do, but there they were, walking down a dirty road, scuffing up dust clouds with their feet, mostly walking in silence and hushed tones, until they came upon the unexpected, the unexplained, the undeserved.  The stone was rolled back so they could see.

Just like in everything that was done from the first cry of that tiny baby in the animals' stall, till the last cry of "It is finished!" it was all done for you, for me, for the disciples, for Mary and Mary Magdalene, and for the generations until the end of time.  Every single word, every single action was for you.  Even the very thoughts of God Almighty are for you.  Psalms 139:17 says, "How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them!"

So many times we walk along scuffing our feet, going about the humdrum tasks that we think no one notices.  But there's always One that notices.  There's One that is keeping a record.  There's One that smiles down on us with unexpected, unexplained, undeserved blessings.

PSALMS 139
 O lord, thou hast searched me, and known me.  2 Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off.
3 Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways.  17 How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them!" 18 if I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: