Six thousand, nine hundred, thirty-five

Six thousand, nine hundred, thirty-five days have come and gone.

Six thousand, nine hundred, thirty-five mornings have dawned;

Some stormy and gray, others clear and bright.

Some snow-filled, others dew-laden, and still others hot and hazy.

Days of joy and of sorrow, of hope and of pain,

Days of trial and testing, of new strength,

Days of marriage.

The day it began was the hot-and-hazy kind of day. Filled with the flurry of anticipation, preparation; detail and detail falling into place. The dress, satiny white, the veil, the locket; all in place. The photographs, the hushed whispers, the anxiety of family meeting family meeting family. Two systems colliding to spin off an entirely new one, orbiting alone, yet strangely still connected.

And then, it passed.

Quicker and quicker the days have come,

faster and faster the years have gone;

until today.

We mark today at the nineteenth year.

And love has grown deep and strong,

the chord of three strands ever present,

the depth of knowledge even greater,

the awareness of sacrifice and delight,

ever brighter.

Happy six thousand nine hundred and thirty-fifth day.

Happy nineteenth year.

Happy Anniversary, darling!

by design

through the beauty and the fragility of the community, He designed

through the decision of a human, of humanity,

one by one, they must come on their own,

heeding the call, obeying the voice, surrendering the old and anticipating the new,

the potential of what could be must draw them forward.

It's His way.

And by design, she will rise up and be beautiful.

She will shine; brighter than we could imagine,

radiance gleaming, unearthly beauty surrounding,

She will shine.

The tarnish will fade,

the blemishes will heal,

the brokenness will be restored,

and She will shine.

by design, He called her to love.

by design, He requires her to forgive.

by design, He leads her to show them a better way.

by design, He asks that she be a peacemaker in a hostile land, a restorer in a place a distress, a healer in a time of illness and injury and depravation and death.

by design, He writes her name on His palm,

by design, He sings over her,

by design, He hopes and blesses and loves.....

And this begins in one heart,

with one voice,

rising up to call another voice to join in,

and another, and another

and the community rises up and

the bride of Christ is alive.

the house elf

when i was a little girl, i'd play this game with God. i was the house elf and only He could see what i was up to. i liked to clean, create a new space out of disorderly one, create a warm and welcoming environment out of a chaotic one. and so the game i played was to tidy up a room, a shelf, and place when no one was looking and see if others could figure it out. it was never about the reward of words of appreciation directed toward me. it was never about acknowledgement from a parent. it wasn't about brown nosing to get what i wanted. it wasn't manipulative driven. it wasn't for payment. it was a heart felt connection with God of pure joy; a private joy that others couldn't measure or comment on, that existed between God and me.

and so, quietly, in the sleeping times when others were snoring away, or out of the house; i'd tackle a corner, an entry way, a shelf that rarely made the chore list, that suffered neglect, that needed attention and i'd begin to work. singing to myself, imaging fairy dust being sprinkled about, cleaning until it glistened, polishing until it shined, i'd transform a space.

and then, as stealthily as i could, i'd slip back into the ranks of child number four, praying that i'd not be noticed or caught, because that took all the fun out of the game i was playing with God. a house elf that magically came to make my family's home a better place.

you see, i grew up in a family economy where chore lists were expected to be completed, and family responsibilities were instilled. going beyond the list, doing what i saw needed to be done without being asked, made the family system, in my mind, more exciting, more rewarding, more meaningful.

i served my family out of a purity of heart, eager to please, not needing reward, because that's how i could work out my child-like faith. and the high i experienced was one that couldn't be bought; it wasn't something i could eat or drink or own or smoke or get intoxicated by. it was a natural high of seeing a need, and being designed and gifted to fill that need without be asked. it was a game i played and i was joy filled in the role i occupied.

God's ways are not my ways

We were told today to dig ditches. That's God's way. Play some music and dig some ditches.

Ditch digging is smelly, hot, difficult, sweaty work.

It's the ditch digger that doesn't get acknowledgement.

It's the ditch digger whose muscles are sore.

It's the ditch digger who labors in the elements: the heat, the sun, the rain, the bugs, the thirst.

It's the ditch digger that works hard.

It's also God's way. And His ways are not my ways.

When the kings were thirsty, when their soldiers were parched, when their animal's health was threatened, they went to Elisha and he said:

"Oh, now you want God?" Really. I imagine a bit of sarcasm.

Then, Elisha wants music to be played. No kidding, I am not making this up.

Next, when weary and parched, Elisha prophesies that God is calling them to dig ditches.

Um. They are tired and thirsty. They could get sick digging ditches. They are defeated. This isn't the kind of motivational encouragement I imagine they were hoping for.

But wisely, dig ditches they did and by morning the valley was filled with life giving water.

2 Kings 3:9- 20.

Whoa. I'm weary. I feel unappreciated, devalued, ignored. I want to walk away. Give up.

And God is telling me to dig ditches. In the weariness, in the pain, in the rejection, in the overwhelming state of my union, God is calling me, inviting me, to dig ditches. Harder. Deeper. Stronger. Bigger. Relentlessly, earnestly, completely, obediently, dig.

hmmm....dig.

not the solution,

not the path,

not the way I was going to go, but ok.

I will. I do. Let me grab a shovel and I'll join you in that valley, Lord.

reflections...in the water on a summer morn

out early to catch the fish,

in search of the big one,

a fish tale that will be told

night after night

when winter stretches out.....

in the stillness of the world not yet waking the creation stirs. praises. awakens. celebrates. revives. calls us.

Don't miss God's hand at work.

Stop. Listen. Watch. Pray. Pay attention.

God is Here. He is among us.

The Kingdom is now.

Do you want to see God?

Look at His creation; the brushstroked brilliance of the morning sunrise...on the wings of the dawn He is there.

Do you want to know Him?

Read His words. Understand His laws. Meditate on His commands.

Do you want to experience Him?

Observe His people. His Holy bride.

Go. Learn. Serve. Do.

And God's face will be reflected.

and even the reflection of His Glory will be more brilliant than we can handle.

the hating

at first, it's hard to hate, I think.

I want to love and be loved. To be liked and to like others. I want to get along with everyone. To be in harmony, live in unity, be a community among others.

But then the hating comes. At first, it's a difference of idea. Or it's an attitude of self importance. "He thinks he's better than me." "She always has to be right." The comparison begins and I find myself lacking. Inferior. I hate that. So I hate back.

And then, like second nature, hate begins to fill and seeks to destroy.

Eustace Clarence Scrubb was like that. He was miss understood, he was self important, he was self centered, he was selfish. He wanted only what he wanted. He didn't care about others; what they wanted or liked or cared about. And that hating lead to the transformation into a dragon. The tale is told in the Voyage of the Dawn Treader. It's pretty amazing. And only Aslan, the Jesus-Hero of the story can change him back.

When I go down the path of hate, only God can change my heart back. I was born a sinner. I will be a sinner. My only hope is in Jesus Christ saving me from myself.