backtotop

Mephibosheth

3:02 pm / Posted By / No Comments

Categories: Faith

My favorite story in the Bible, next to, of course, the gospel of Jesus, is the story of Mirab Baal. The story is found in 2 Samuel. Mirab Baal was the son of Jonathan, and grandson of Saul, the first king of Israel and Judah. When he was a small boy, Mirab Baal lived a lavish, entitled life in the palace of his grandfather Saul. This first season of his life was marked by sheer joy. The best food. The best clothes. The best toys, and by extension, the best friends. Everything was his. In fact, his name was Mirab Baal, which meant “opponent of Baal,” Baal was a false god.

Little Mirabl Baal lived a life of luxury, until one day when a terrified, exhausted soldier, covered in blood, ran into the castle and yelled, “King Saul is dead. King Saul is dead and so is his son, Prince Jonathan.” He was too young to really comprehend the impact of this announcement, but Mirab Baal sensed something was very, very wrong. Terror immediately enveloped the palace. Wives wept and servants, white with fear, began running to grab whatever life essentials they could gather to flee the grounds as if their lives depended on getting as far away as humanly possible. And, in fact, they were right. It was custom in those days. If a king was overthrown, the incoming king would exterminate all family members of the previous line in order to insure that no one from that family could ever rise up and try to regain power. Mirab Baal was next in line. His nurse, feeling nothing but panic, probably gauging fear for her own life as more fragile than his, grabbed the little 5 year old boy up and began to run. At some point in her haste, misstepping across a rut in the road, or misjudging a small mound on the side of a hill, she tripped and MIrab Baal flew from her hands and landed with a hard smack on his back. The nurse, not taking time to insure his safety, pulled him up and began to run again. It wasn’t until much later, when her arms were burning from the dead weight of his little body, that she set him down, hoping he would be able to run a bit on his own, or at least walk to relieve the stress on her arms. But, Mirab Baal fell. And every time she tried to get him to stand, his legs folded under him as he slumped to the ground. His legs were useless, broken.

And so began the next season of his life. He was hidden away in a lonely, desolate, dry, barren area called LoDebar, which meant “no pasture.” He was hidden away in a lowly, impoverished hovel, far removed and a far cry from his days as the prince of privilege which he slowly, over decades, began to resent more than forget. To protect him, his name was changed from Mirab Baal, a name that reflected great power, to Mephibosheth, a name that literally meant, “from the mouth of shame.” And here is where he lived for more than 3 decades. I have often wondered what resentment he must have felt at the loss of his future or loss of his legs or the loss of his home and family. I have wondered how he must have lived with a constant fear of being found and his life destroyed, only because he was the innocent grandson of a king who was evil. I have wondered if he thought, “This is it. I will never realize my potential. My destiny is to live on a pallet in the back room of a tiny, hot house, in an insignificant country where I literally breathe dust into my lungs and have to depend on others to care for me, through no fault of my own, because my grandfather chose to badly disobey God. It just isn’t fair.” It was a long season of mourning. Mephibosheth was left to fend for himself.

Then one day there was a knock at the door. “King David wants to see Mephibosheth. NOW!”

It was Ziba. Mephibosheth recognized his voice. Ziba was in charge of taking care of David’s property. Mephibosheth couldn’t take care of his property he was forced to leave, crippled as he was. Ziba wanted that property for himself! And King David asked many times if there was anyone left from the house of King Saul. What better way than to turn Mephibosheth in so that the new king would eliminate him and then Ziba could claim a right to all of King Saul’s property. And there was nothing Mephibosheth could do. His legs did not work. He could not run. He could not fight. He could only face the end of his life with honor and go to see King David. He felt like he was cursed. Just because of his grandfather everything went wrong for him. At times he wished he had never been born a prince but there was no way of changing that.

Ziba was at the door. “King David wants to see Mephibosheth – NOW!”
Soldiers, the kings soldiers, forced their way into the door. They picked Mephibosheth up by the arms and placed him on the muddy floor of a chariot and the race began across country all the way to the city of Jerusalem. Without legs to cushion the shock of the rough cross country ride to Jerusalem, Mephibosheth’s entire body ached. But again, with no words of explanation, and no sensitivity to his pain, the soldiers hoisted him on their shoulders and carried him to the palace, through the gates, through door after door, some of these doors he remembered from when he was young, and finally into the kings chamber, where the throne was.They put him on the floor, down the steps from the throne where King David was sitting. Mephibosheth stretched out his hands and put his face to the ground not daring to even look at the king, hoping that the sword would fall quickly to end his life.

“Mephibosheth!” “Mephibosheth!” David’s voice didn’t sound angry “Mephibosheth!”

Can you imagine the fear he must have felt? Being utterly worthless AND being from the wrong family? Now he was being carried in before the king to be done away with by the king’s own hand. But the story wasn’t over yet. When David saw this lame man carried in that day, he didn’t see a refugee from the wrong family tree. He didn’t see a throwaway or a fugitive. In that moment, David saw a flashback of Mephibosheth as a toddler, crawling around at the feet of his father, Jonathan. David called out his name because he was surprised and happy to see his best friend’s son. How his heart must have burned when he looked into the face of Mephibosheth. In the eyes of Mephibosheth, David saw Jonathan’s eyes. In Mephibosheth’s smile, he saw his friend’s smile. In his voice was his friend’s voice. The very voice who covenanted with David to always look after his family.

Scared that the sword was about to fall, Mephibosheth responded formally. Without even daring to look up – Mephibosheth answered “Your servant…” David would have nothing to do with that proclamation. After all, this young man wasn’t just anybody. This lame underdog was more precious to him than anyone could possibly imagine. “Don’t be afraid” King David said, “for I will surely show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan. I will restore to you all the land that belonged to your grandfather Saul, and you will always eat at my table.” David was essentially saying, “Your dad literally laid his life on the line to protect me from King Saul and I will never forget the covenant we made. Years ago, before you ever even born, your dad and I were best friends.” But Mephibosheth couldn’t grasp what the king was saying. So, he bowed down and said, “What is your servant that you would notice a dead dog like me?” Mephibosheth couldn’t get past himself. He saw himself as a dead dog. Society around him saw him as a throwaway, a nuisance, a nothing. And that is just how he saw himself. Mephibosheth couldn’t believe what he was hearing! He glanced up to see if in fact this was King David speaking! And it was! He quickly put his face to the ground again. Dead dog – that was a fitting name! It seemed anyone who opposed King David, the king chosen by God, was a dead dog. To oppose him was to oppose God. Mephibosheth could not expect anything different. But as Mephibosheth waited face down, waited for the sword to cut through his body, waited for the curse to do its worst, nothing happened! He heard King David making Ziba Mephibosheth’s servant, and not only Ziba, but all of Ziba’s family his servants. And all that belonged to his grandfather Saul now belonged to him. Mephibosheth was to be given a position of honor with king David at his dinner table. He didn’t understand why. That took a while. He found out that King David and Jonathan, Mephibosheth’s father, had been very good friends before Jonathan was killed. He also discovered something very special about David! David had God’s love in his heart. And he wanted to show God’s love and God’s kindness to others, even to Mephibosheth. It was God’s love that brought him back to a position of honor in the kings palace. It was the love of God that made him a prince again. In a strange way, Mephibosheth’s curse was a blessing. All Mephibosheth could do was hide and now the king looked on him with favor, with God’s love. The King made him a prince again. He was part of the royal family.
The Lord made the promise to his children that he would turn their curses into blessings. Mephibosheth, the Son of Shame, discovered THAT the day he met the love of God in King David. And for the rest of his life, Mephibosheth sat at the table of David. It must have been difficult, the first time he appeared at that table. Hearing the clunk, clunk, clunk of his crutches echoing through the palace as he slowly made his way to that amazing table. And he had to sit there as king David’s children came in and sat at the table. How embarrassed and self-conscious he must have been in the presence of these physically beautiful people who didn’t know him at all. Sensing his discomfort, king David showed him that he was not an outcast by moving to him and covering his crippled legs with the rich, ornate, beautiful tablecloth. Mephibosheth belonged and was finally known. A new season began.

There’s one more part to this story that is so amazing to me. It’s the part of the story that is often left out when the story of Mephibosheth is told. It tells of a moment when Mephibosheth made a conscious choice to step into another season of his life. It tells of Mephibosheth as he slowly began to let the love of his king become a reality to him. It tells how love can move into a dusty, tired, disenfranchised, crippled heart and change it from a “son of shame” into a thankful, devoted, strong heir. You remember I told you that Ziba, the troublemaker, the self-seeking, servant with his own secret, self-serving agenda was made the servant of Mephibasheth along with all of his family and personal servants. I’m sure this did not set well with Ziba. And I’m sure he spent many sleepless nights, waiting, biding his time, hoping for a chance to make Mephibosheth’s life miserable once again. So, when David was forced to go to battle against his very own son, Absalom, he sent Ziba to get Mephibosheth to ride with him. Ziba immediately detected a stellar opportunity to undermine Mephibosheth and he took full advantage of it. David was ready to leave, feeling heavy because he was forced to fight his son to save his own life, not to mention reclaim his throne. When he asked Ziba why Mephibosheth wasn’t present, Ziba lied to the king and told him Mephibosheth betrayed him. He informed David that Mephibosheth sided with Absalom to overthrow the king and was planing to reclaim the throne for himself. David, obviously too anxious about immediate circumstances to question Ziba, told Ziba that he was now in full possession of all the land and servants that he gave to Mephibosheth that once belonged to Mephibosheth’s grandfather, Saul. Ziba won. David went to battle. Absolom was defeated and killed, through deception and lies perpetrated by David’s own soldiers. David was heartbroken and grief was a like hot, wet burlap blanket he wore as he slowly travelled back to Jerusalem. When Mephibosheth found out David was returning, he ran to meet him. 2 Samuel 19:24 reads…Next Mephibosheth grandson of Saul arrived from Jerusalem to welcome the king. He hadn’t combed his hair or trimmed his beard or washed his clothes from the day the king left until the day he returned safe and sound. The king said, “And why didn’t you come with me, Mephibosheth? “My master the king,” he said, “my servant betrayed me. I told him to saddle my donkey so I could ride it and go with the king, for, as you know, I am lame. And then he lied to you about me. But my master the king has been like one of God’s angels: he knew what was right and did it. Wasn’t everyone in my father’s house doomed? But you took me in and gave me a place at your table. What more could I ever expect or ask?” “That’s enough,” said the king. “Say no more. Here’s my decision: You and Ziba divide the property between you.” And here is the moment when Mephibosheth made a choice. A choice that would mark the moment he willingly chose love and life and dancing instead of living life with a crippled heart. Mephibosheth said, “Oh, let him have it all! All I care about is that my master the king is home safe and sound!”

My take away from the story of Mephibosheth? Dance with those who are dancing. Even when you are crawling through a season of mourning. You will want them there to dance with you when your season comes. And it will come.

Read More

The White Stone

2:55 pm / Posted By / 2 Comments

Categories: Faith/ Uncategorized

Back in the summer of 1975, I was on a college mission trip to East Brunswick, New Jersey where we held vacation bible schools for the local children. There were 8 college students on our team and we spent the entire summer living in the preacher’s home, where the garage doubled as the church. Close to the end of our trip, the leader of the team gave us a ‘surprise’ exercise during one of our devotionals. He wanted us to make lists of all the good qualities we perceived in the character of each member of the team. Or what we saw as God-given strengthens and gifts in each other. I have processed through that experience over the years and have never forgotten the impact it made on me. I don’t remember the comments I made about the other members of the team, or even the comments made about me. What I do remember is the fear that the leader of the team would call my name and there would be total silence from the affirmation builders. That everyone would glance toward each other out of the corner of their eyes, praying someone was able to come up with a positive character aspect to pin on me. Or that in trying to be benevolent, they would use trite, obviously impossible attributes to pacify me, like, “I fully believe you will be President of the United States one day.” Or, “I will be shocked if you don’t win hundreds of Academy Awards in your lifetime.” And that everyone else would nod their heads just a little to briskly and affirm just a little to loudly the truth behind the statement. Or, not able to find any good qualities, they would take this opportunity to point out all my idiosyncrasies and character defects and give me pointers on how I might fare better the next time I’m a participant in a similar exercise. But, then, I remember every single person’s expression as we went around the room and admired each other. As we verbally appreciated each other. I remember expressions on people’s faces, most of them, I’m sure, reflecting the same fears and apprehension I experienced just before my name was called.

But, as the exercise continued, A completely different spirit filled the room. Tears fell from every eye as a humble holiness enveloped that small living room. A cherished gift was given to every person there, as though we were pinning a value tag on each heart that read, “priceless.” James 3:17 and 18 says, “Real wisdom, God’s wisdom, begins with a holy life and is characterized by getting along with others. It is gentle and reasonable, overflowing with mercy and blessings, not hot one day and cold the next, not two-faced. You can develop a healthy, robust community that lives right with God and enjoy its results only if you do the hard work of getting along with each other, treating each other with dignity and honor.”

It wasn’t uncommon for God to be a name caller. Saul’s name was changed to Paul which means “Humble.” Peter, of course, became the “stone” on which the Lord built His church. Moses meant “drew out.” One of my favorite characters from the Bible’s name was changed from Mirab-Baal to Mephibosheth, which meant “exterminator of shame.” Eunice, the mother of Timothy, and my mom’s name, means “good victory.” So obviously, what these people were called, even their given names, meant something…and it often described to outsiders, what this person’s character was like, or was, at least meant to be when they were first named by their parents. It helped define them to those just meeting them. And, as was often the case, their names may have been changed later on to fit their new identity. One day, we will all be given a new name. Revelation 2:17 says, “Are your ears awake? Listen, Listen to the Wind Words, the Spirit blowing through the churches. I’ll give the sacred manna to every conqueror; I’ll also give a clear, smooth stone inscribed with your new name, your secret new name.” I remember names that I was called when I was growing up that weren’t particularly good. In fact, I remember more of those names than the ones I should have been called. But, even back then, there was a stone already hewn, hidden in the heart of God that has my real name, the name He has specifically designed me to have written on it. And it describes me perfectly. And one day, when I see it, when He hands it to me, I will finally realize all He planned for me to do and be. And I will explain, “Of course that was my name.” I don’t think it was a typo, in James 3, when James said, “Do the HARD WORK, of getting along.” It isn’t easy, all the time, to find the best in another fallen, sinful human being. But, believe it or not, it’s there. And we are called to honor each other with the dignity only we can give.

I remember that night in 1975. I remember the honor I felt, not only in receiving the words of affirmation from my friends, people that I respected, but the tears that fell as my heart swelled with the knowledge that I was speaking streams of life into a parched heart. There was a distinct reverence in the confidence that some, just like me, were hearing, maybe for the first time, that they were valued for their gifts…that what they had to offer was crucial and far-reaching for the kingdom of God. That they were so very important. It was just as much a gift for the giver of these consequential words as it was for the recipient. I have been involved in many step studies with Celebrate Recovery over the past 17 years. As a matter of fact, I’m just finishing up my 26th step study at a correctional unit. There are two questions in one of the participant guides that have always amazed me. They amaze me because, to a study, the results are always the same. One question asks, “Name some of the negative things you’ve done in your life.” The other, “Name some of the positive things you’ve done in your life.” It is no longer surprising to me that the answers to the first question could fill a book. On every participants response. On the other hand, when answering the question, “Name the positive things you’ve done,” the responses are surprisingly short. Even to the point of some participants leaving the space blank. Every step-study, I make the point to the men that “positive” does not necessarily mean all the altruistic, magnanimous moments that make us look better than we know we really are. What if listing positive things means sitting quietly on a beach and listening to God while we watch the moon? I’ve laughed, a lot, I’ve seen the dirt floored hovel where my Dad was born, I’ve almost been sucked down a spouting hole Kuai, I’ve rescued a puppy stuck in melted tar in a pipe under a dirty country road on a steaming summer day, I’ve been given many, many hugs, I’ve cooked great meals for friends, I’ve read the Bible all the way through, I’ve learned to listen to hurting, breaking hearts, even when I was too tired to keep my eyes open, I’ve forgiven, I’ve been forgiven, I have loved Jesus, better and better over the years, never perfectly, but covered by boundless grace, I’ve studied about what my future home will be like, I’ve shared with a dying friend about what our future home will be like, I’ve gone to the manager of Kroger and told him how amazing Leah, the deli chef is, I’ve tipped more than the server deserved, I’ve praised the Lord, watching the sunrise, I’ve wept watching his majesty in a sunset, wondering who else besides God could put orange and turquoise together and make it look good, besides Howard Johnson’s. The guys always sit in silence after I read what I believe are positive moments. It never crossed their minds that being happy is a positive. That sometimes, just being present is enough. What are we listening to about ourselves? Do we hear the names we heard as a child so often that we believed them to be true. And still call ourselves those names today? Do we hear the names, “failure,” “worthless,” “ugly,” “stupid,” in our hearts when we turn out the lights to sleep? Do we run through all the wrong, embarrassing, irresponsible things we did that day? Is our life inventory filled with only the negative things we did that day? Or do we dwell on the names we were called? Or even the ones we gave ourselves? If we are really honest, do we truly believe those names are the ones that the Creator of the Universe, the One who uniquely made us wants us to hear and believe? Or do we hear HIS names?

I think we all intellectually know that real truth is only found in God’s word. I defy anyone to show me a scripture where God said we are a mistake. So, why is is so easy to believe the negative things about us, the things our culture believe are so important over the truth revealed to us in Gods word? I’m guessing it’s because we are so inundated with what’s expected of us through media and what we are taught by the world is supposed to be valuable that we allow those things to, over time, through constant religion, extinguish the truth. So much so that we begin to believe the lie of the enemy, that we have no value.

I’m choosing as of late, to begin my day with His truth about me. Truth that says, I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Or Deuteronomy 7:6 that I am His treasured possession. Or Psalm 17, I am the apple of His eye. He has called us names alright. Chosen, blessed, sons and daughters, Saint, His. Heir. Not condemned, accepted, victorious, a new creature, set free, redeemed and forgiven and given access to the very throne room of God, I am light in the Lord, I am a citizen of heaven, I am complete in Christ, I am hidden with Christ in God, I will be revealed with Him in glory, I have been chosen by God and He has made me holy and beloved, He has supplied all my needs. I am NOT defined by who I am, but Whose I am. We are usually called something after we’ve done it. But God calls us before we do it. Just like he did with men and women of the bible. The world may see us as creative, or smart, or annoying. But, God sees us as world changer, radical leader, peace maker.

Listen carefully. Tonight, as you go through the events of your day, taking responsibility for what you need to take responsibility for and letting go of things you were not responsible for, as you begin to drift to sleep, if you hear any voice other than, “You are mine, and you are breathtaking,” you are NOT listening to Jesus, and what He says about you. You’re not listening to the One who holds together all of creation, and is more intimately interested in the very next breath you take. The Lord may give you a name himself. In fact, I know He will. But, he may also ask you to be the life giver of a name for someone else. It is hard work. But, it just might change the course of someone else’s life, including yours.

Read More

Y’all Come Go With Us

12:29 am / Posted By / 1 Comment

Categories: Family/ Just for fun!

I’m a child of the 60’s. I don’t mean I was old enough to be a hippy. But, literally, a child of the 60’s. As a child of the 60’s, I remember how great the toys were back then. And how imagination was a huge predictor of how long those toys would last. I loved the slinky. Not the cheap plastic ones they make now. The heavy ones, made out of metal that made that awesome, well…slinky noise when I held one end in each hand and passed it back and forth…for about 10 minutes and then forcing my little brother to hold one end while I saw how far it could be stretched, rendering it completely useless from that moment forward. I remember Mr. Machine Robot, the windup mechanical man that you could watch all of his innards move as he marched across the floor. And then you could take him apart, bolt by cog by nut by wheel. And then theoretically put him back together again. Mr. Machine Robot sat in a bag in the back of my closet for 5 years because all the Kings horses and all the Kings men…well, you can guess the rest.

 

Then there was the miracle that was Chatty Cathy. The wonder that spoke 3 or 4 classic lines when you pulled the noose attached to the back of her neck. I also remember the big ole can of whoopin’ I got for , with precision, surgically dismembering Miss CC to accurately identify where her voice was, in fact, coming from. And there are so many words and southern phrases from that time period that I loved that have gone out of style, or never should have been in style.

 

Many of them I still use today when opportunity arises. For instance…

  1. Southerners don’t claim “territory”…we claim “old stompin’ grounds.”
  2. Southerners don’t say “you guys”…we say “y’all.” (And “all y’all” for five or more people.)
  3. Southerners don’t say “catty-cornered”…they say “cattywompus.”
  4. Things in the South aren’t “broken”…they’re “tore slap up.”
  5. Southerners don’t say “oh, wow”…we say “good gravy.”
  6. Southerners are way to descriptive to simply say someone is ugly…we say “he fell out of the ugly tree and on the way down, hit his face on every branch.”
  7. Southerners don’t get treated “unfairly”…we “get the short end of the stick.”
  8. Southerners don’t change channels with a “remote”…we use the “clicker.”
  9. Southerners aren’t “anxious”…we’re “like a cat on a hot-tin roof.”
  10. Southerners don’t think too highly of themselves…we’re just “too big for our britches.”
  11. Southerners won’t tell you that “you’re wasting your time”…we’ll tell you that “you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
  12. Southerners don’t hand you a Coca-Cola when you ask for a Coke…we say “What kind?”
  13. Southerners aren’t “about to do” something…we’re “fixin’ to.” Or “go fix your plate.”
  14. Southerners don’t use the “toilet”…we use the “commode.”
  15. Southerners don’t “suppose”…we “reckon.”
  16. Southerners don’t push a “shopping cart”…we put our groceries in a “buggy.”
  17. Southerners aren’t just “broke”…we’re “so broke we can’t afford to pay attention.”
  18. Southerners don’t call people “unintelligent”…we say they’re dumber than a sack of rocks.”
  19. Southerners don’t check for food in the “fridge”…they look in the “icebox.”
  20. Southerners don’t eat “dinner”…we eat “supper.”
  21. Southerners aren’t “caught off guard”…we’re “caught with our pants down.”
  22. Southerners don’t “pout”…we “get our feathers ruffled.”
  23. Southerners don’t “fly into a rage”…we “throw a hissy fit.”

“This is the south. And we’re proud of our crazy people. We don’t hide them up in the attic. We bring them right down in the living room and show them off. No one in the south ever asks if you have crazy people in your family. They just ask what side they’re on. “. Suzanne Sugarbaker

 

Y’all may remember a few weeks ago, I told y’all about my trip to the Fort Worth area to visit my dad. While we were there, my brothers and sister and I drove around Hurst and visited some of the old houses we lived in when I was about 10 years old. On that trip, I started thinking about all these old southern words and phrases that add such richness to the language I grew up with. We drove by one old house on Patricia Drive and even the old white screen door looked like the same one that was there when I was young. Everything looked so familiar. Except for one thing. I said, “I don’t remember that big old tree being over on the side of the house like that.” My older brother, Steve, said, “Tim…we lived here 50 years ago.” I said, “I know…but it’s so big. I don’t remember it at all.” “Tim…that was 50 years ago…a half century.” And even now, that doesn’t compute with me. I guess part of the mystery is that I can still see myself looking out the front window of the kitchen while I washed supper dishes that I could barely wait to finish so I could go around the corner and find all my neighborhood friends to play hide and seek with until Mom called us home, which was way after dark and fairly close to bed time.

 

And, sitting in front of the house that day, I remembered my favorite southern phrase. My dad was a preacher. So, usually, on Wednesday nights after prayer meetin’, we’d have someone over, or we’d go to someone else’s house and us kids would drink cherry kool-aid while the adults drank hot, thick, aromatic coffee. There would be a cake or cookies and if we were really lucky, doughnuts. The only time I ever got to taste coffee when I was little was on the rare occasion when mom would let me climb into her lap at someone else’s kitchen table and acquiesce to allowing me to dunk my doughnut into her coffee. As a matter of fact, the morning I woke up while visiting my mother when I was in my early 20’s and mom asking me if I wanted a cup of coffee was a total “passage to manhood” moment for me. I took a heart picture that day.

 

As we were leaving the home of our friends, after the goodbyes were said, I distinctly remember standing in the dark, just outside the glow of the porch light where I instinctively slammed my mouth shut for fear of kamakazi June bugs, and my dad turning around and saying to the hosts, “y’all come go with us.” It was, in my 10 year old mind, the perfect tagline to a perfect evening. It said, “We loved being with you and we wish it didn’t have to end.” To which the recipient of this declaration of friendship would reply with something like, “Well, I wish we could. But, we better stay here and get the kids ready for bed.” As a kid, I thought it was the best idea EVER. The reality never dawned on me the horror that would befall my mother if they actually said, “Well, okay. Honey, go get the kids.” I’m thankful that even at that early age, the Lord was granting me the gift of taking what I now call heart pictures. Moments that would be framed in my mind and soul, benchmarks of remarkable relationships and perhaps even profound truth that wouldn’t be realized for decades.

 

It’s so much more acceptable in today’s climate and our Christian culture to realize, possibly due to our not understanding when we’re younger, that we must rigorously, deliberately seek out and nurture community. That we were never meant to walk this journey alone. I don’t think it was so easy way back then. The best my stoic parents could muster to make someone feel important, that they were needed and valued, was a simple declaration of unity, an acknowledgement of friendship that guaranteed “you are not alone,” without actually having to be vulnerable enough to say it. “We are in this together.” “Y’all come go with us.” Jesus said in John 15: My command is this. Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. James 5 puts it in a more nuts and bolts configuration. “Make this your COMMON practice.” He didn’t say, “when you have committed a major, public sin and need to repent…” He said, make this a common practice. “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed. The prayer of a person living right with God is something powerful to be reckoned with.”   ‘Something powerful.’ I wonder sometimes, what draws non-believers to us. Or what should draw them to us. In a world that has become so isolated and compartmentalized and cubicle, it’s imperative that they see us love each other.

 

Jesus said they will recognize Him because of our love for each other. And he said that just after he washed the feet of his disciples. And just before the confession statement, John said in James 4, “Friends, wait patiently for the Master’s Arrival. You see farmers do this all the time. Waiting for their valuable crops to mature, patiently letting the rain do it’s slow but sure work. Be patient like that. Stay steady and strong.” One of my favorite things to talk about about with my friends, possibly my very favorite thing, is how much I look forward to His Arrival. And what that moment will usher in for those of us who are His. And I wonder if we lived out the truth that our redemption is a sure and solid thing that we know is dependable, and if we encouraged each other with the accuracy of that truth, fervently excited, what would others who don’t know think? I know that when I talk about heaven and all the fun we are going to have, and I make plans to meet people for supper on a certain day 100 years from now, trust me. That’s not idle talk. I have a hope that it is real and that God is faithful to live up to His promise. And as time ticks by and I realize that this motor of mine will one day stop it’s ticking, the anticipation deepens. I think about all the people who will welcome me when I get there, especially Jesus.

 

I think about my friend Greg whom I’ve talked to you about. He’s in Nashville in Vanderbilt hospital after 50 rounds of chemo over the past 4 years and just 2 days ago sustained a massive heart attack, with blood clots and fluid on his lungs cutting off 50 percent of his heart function. Thousands of friends and family all over the world have covered him and his family in prayer and have sacrificed countless acts of service to comfort his family. At the end of his past post on FB, and filling everyone in on his current condition, instead of lamenting his circumstance, this was his last paragraph. “Today, will you take your neighbor a muffin or a potted plant? Will you buy that homeless guy a coffee? Will you linger a little longer over breakfast with your family, tell these people you appreciate them or, of you’re bold, that you love them. Make today different while you’re able.”

 

And then I thought of the guys I come in contact with at the prison. Those outcasts who need and secretly long to be freed from the bondage of self-loathing and guilt and shame who refuse Jesus, not necessarily because they are callous to Him, but because there is no way He could ever love them, much less forgive them. We all probably know those people, imprisoned behind their own walls of inadequacy, self-condemnation and selfishness. And when I hang out with my peeps, it’s just a comfortable, mostly unspoken addendum to our journey together that this doesn’t end here. We will enjoy this company and joy and laughter and looking after each other forever. My prayer is that those living in silent desperation will see those moments of eternity in our eyes, and give all of us the chance to share with them where the surety of our future comes from, who our precious Jesus is, and with certainty, turn to them as we’re leaving and say, “Y’all, come go with us.”

Read More

Shirley Temple and Yertle The Turtle

12:24 am / Posted By / No Comments

Categories: Faith

I have read all my life about the attributes of God. We could sit here for hours and pour out a list of countless virtues and features of His character, and each one mentioned would be colored slightly differently and have contrasting significance for each one of us, based on our own personal experiences with His infinitely deep, eternal love. However, as hard as I look, I have never seen listed as one of His attributes the word ‘arrogant.’ I know He is a just God and a jealous God and that He is perfect. And I know that He knows that. Because, well…because He just is. I believe it. And I love that about Him. That He can be so perfect and still love someone like me. But, if He knows it, and I know it, and I know He knows it, why in the world would He feel the need to create angelic beings who fly around Him all day long, day and night, whose primary duty is forever, saying “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty. The earth is filled with His glory.” The closest I’ve ever come to this is having one of those “Yes Man” dolls who do nothing but tell me how great I am. “I couldn’t agree with you more completely,” ” Oh, yeah! I’m behind you all the way.” “I’m sure whatever you’re thinking is correct.” “Say, I wish I’d thought of that.” “What more can I say, when you’re right, you’re right.”

 

The Seraphim, whose name literally means “burning ones” or the name Seraph is possibly derived from meaning “ones of love” use two of their six wings to fly all around and above the Lord, two to cover their feet, and two to cover their eyes. So, they don’t even get to SEE how amazing He is, all they can do is be in close enough proximity to experience Him…to feel Him…more than likely because, just like Moses, they couldn’t bear seeing the face of the creator of the universe and would become charred toast in a millisecond. But, they were there to feel the same impossible energy that infused dead cells at an atomic level and resurrected the beloved Son of God. And, they were there when that same impossible energy brought back to life, my own perishing heart.

 

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty.” In Hebrew, if a word was used twice, it showed that the person or object was very important. Or that what was being said was very important. “Verily, verily,” ” Moses, Moses,” “Saul, Saul.” It was definitely an attention getter. But, if a word was said THREE times, that meant off the chart perfection. So the Seraphim, “the ones of love,” are proclaiming that God is totally and utterly perfect. Bringing that down to a more human level, I have always thought Jesus asked Peter three times if he loved Him to match the three times Peter denied Jesus. And I still believe that. But, is it also possible that Jesus used that moment to show Peter that He would make something perfect out of Peter’s failure? The 3rd time Jesus asked totally broke Peter. “You know all things. You know that I love you.” Is it possible that in that absolutely perfect moment, Jesus revealed to Peter, and Peter finally believed in undeserved, unconditional love? But, in my human mind, the whole seraph thing sounded like a really boring job. Saying the same thing over and over and over throughout all eternity. I kept hoping, for their sake, that they at least have shifts that they change out every 12 hours or so. Or they can at least say, “Hey, can you please take over for a while? I have got to get some caffeine.” But then I read 1 Peter 5:7 Love in action. And the only response is to scream from the rooftops how stunning He is.

 

“Give God all your worries and all your cares for he is always thinking about you watching everything that concerns you.”

 

If God is always thinking about me and watching everything that concerns me, he would be, by logic, doing the same thing for everyone. And that would mean that the Seraphim are experiencing God’s immediate love for each and every one of us each and every time they fly around His head. In other words, they are not just saying, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord.” They are reacting to a new facet of His love for all of His children. They aren’t saying “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord” because it’s just their job. They are so overcome by the sheer weight of His unfailing love for us that they have no other outlet than to scream out how perfectly magnificent He is. They, as do we, when we experience His blood red grace, have no one earthly word to express how blameless, faultless and absolute His love is for us. So, we, along with the Seraphim, can only cry out Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty. The whole earth is filled with His glory.” The ‘burning ones’ of heaven are constantly reminded of how the Lord puts love into action. How He doesn’t just make promises. He fulfills them. If you pass me on the 167 sometimes, you might just see me and think I’m talking to myself. But, what I’m really doing is joining with the angels in proclaiming how perfect is the love of my Father. Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty. It is a picture that 1 John 3 paints of what real love is to look like.

 

My dear children, let’s not just talk about love; let’s practice real love. This is the only way we’ll know we’re living truly, living in God’s reality. It’s also the way to shut down debilitating self-criticism, even when there is something to it. For God is greater than our worried hearts and knows more about us than we do ourselves. And friends, once that’s taken care of and we’re no longer accusing or condemning ourselves, we’re bold and free before God! We’re able to stretch our hands out and receive what we asked for because we’re doing what He said, doing what pleases him. Again, this is God’s command: to believe in His personally named Son, Jesus Christ. He told us to love each other, in line with the original command. As we keep His commands, we live deeply and surely in Him, and he lives in us. And this is how we experience His deep and abiding presence in us: by the Spirit he gave us.

 

So, one day at my former job, I was working register #1 and looked up to see a long line with several people waiting to be checked out. I looked down beside the lady I was checking out and saw a little girl standing next to her who was a miniature Shirley Temple with brown hair. I mean, the curly hair, rosy cheeks. I was waiting for her to break into “Good Ship Lollipop.” As I looked at her, though, I noticed that she was standing very still and very obviously fighting back tears. In one hand, she held a small book, “Yertle The Turtle,” and a pen that read “Teachers are the Heart of Learning” in the other. I assumed she was with the lady I was checking out. But, when I finished with her, the lady left and the little one walked to the counter. There were probably 4 people waiting in line behind her and a few more over at the imprinting station, all within eavesdropping distance. As I looked down at this precious little girl, she looked up and laid the two items on the counter and said something to me so softly I couldn’t understand her. I looked up at the next lady in line, hoping she was the child’s mom. But, she just shrugged her shoulders and mouthed, “I don’t know.” So, I said, “I’m sorry sweety. What did you say?” I leaned down closer so I could hear her. Her chin quivered as she whispered, “I wanted these. But I took them without paying for them.” I knew exACTly what was going on. I just prayed all those in line would understand my taking some extra time. I walked around the counter and got down on my knees so we would be eye to eye. I feigned extreme seriousness and said,

“Well, little one, how do you feel about it?”

“Bad.”

“Are you sorry for taking those things without paying for them?”

The little curly head nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Are you ever going to do that again?”

Her voice was as broken as her heart. “No sir.”

“Well, I tell you what. I’ve done some pretty silly things in my life I shouldn’t have done. But you know what? I know Jesus forgave me for doing those dumb things. And I know He forgives you. So I forgive you too. I forgive you, little friend. Thank you for bringing those things back and being honest. That was the best thing you could have done. You’re a very, very good girl.”

She didn’t seem convinced as she turned to leave.

She got about 4 steps away from me when I said, “Hey.”

She turned back.

“Can I have a hug?”

There they were…the Shirley Temple dimples. She literally ran to me and buried her little head in my shoulder. As I held her close, I could feel her sobs and tears hit my neck.

screen-shot-2016-11-14-at-6-21-27-pm

I looked up to see a tall man, Dad, at the end of the counter with tears in his eyes and his lower lip quivering. As she walked away, he said, “Okay…come on. Let’s go home.”

So, although I did the best I could at verbally conveying how much, in spite of her actions, God truly cared for her and loved her, the real breakthrough didn’t occur until I put those words of love into action. The words may or may not have been adequate in and of themselves. But, I hope, if she remembers anything from that experience, she will remember the feeling of forgiveness and love from the hug, the action.

I stood up and turned to see about 10 people wiping their eyes. We all stood there for a few minutes and talked about which Maxwell House Commercial makes us cry hardest.

When I got home and had time to process, I thought about the “ones of love” flying around God and the Seraphim and we all shouted together, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty. The whole earth is full of His glory.”

Read More

Diphylleia Grayi

6:36 pm / Posted By / 1 Comment

Categories: Faith/ Forever Family

(When I first saw the name of this flower out of corner of my eye, I thought it said dysfunctional gravy. But, I digress.) The diphylleia grayi is a beautiful, delicate white flower that grows in the colder, moist, wooded mountain regions of Japan and China. It can grow up to about 1 1/2 feet high and maybe a yard wide. The plant is a perennial and blooms in mid-spring to early summer in shady conditions. The small cluster of pearly white flowers grow out of and are supported by large, umbrella shaped leaves. Nothing particularly unique to look at. It is, of course, a pretty flower. But here in the states, we have flora and flowers every bit as beautiful as the diphylleia grayi.

diphylleia-grayi-photo

The reason I like this particular plant, at least in pictures, is because it is a great representation to me of how, although sometimes nice to look at, we are intrinsically delicate creatures, made tough and hardy and resilient only because we are supported by something…someone much stronger and foundational than the tiny stems we sometimes perch ourselves up on. We find ourselves living in a culture that believes it thrives best on self-sufficiency and selfishness. Trying valiantly to appear extremely sophisticated which somehow makes them believe they are self-aware. To keep this facade up, they must wear a stark, whitewashed countenance where everything appears pristine and looks pure and unadulterated. Not only have I seen that person in our culture, I have seen that person in churches. I have not only seen that person in churches, I have seen that person in my mirror.

 

What I have found over the course of my almost 6 decades is that it is just too hard to keep up a pretense of goodness. Even Paul said it. Romans 7 says, “It happens so regularly that it’s predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God’s commands, but it’s pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge. I’ve tried everything and nothing helps. I’m at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn’t that the real question? The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different.”

 

When the rain comes, I have a tendency to want to hide from it and stay dry. When in fact, the storm itself is what will ultimately make me healthier, more aware…aware of where my strength and my resilience really comes from. If my true desire is to shine, to reflect the many glorious facets of Jesus, if that crystal prism of my existence is to be used to benefit others by showing the glory of my Heavenly Father, I have to be willing to trust others with my weaknesses.

 

I know November is coming up soon. One of my favorite months in this class. We hear testimonies all month. I’m always overwhelmed leaving those classes when someone shares how the mercy and grace and love of Jesus has transformed a life from a plain old flower to a defined, crystal, unique, one-of-a-kind, living, breathing example of a faith that is fearfully and wonderfully made. That is never easy. It comes, many times at great cost and through many storms. But the rain will certainly come. And we have to choose how we will respond to it.

 

Momma Dawg is a flight risk. I always have to take her out on her leash or she WILL run. If it’s late at night, no matter the weather, if she gets out on her own, I have to leave the sliding door open a crack and turn off all the lights, so she can, after she has romped through the woods for a couple of hours, baying at the moon and waking all the neighbors, sneak back in the house, and jump up on the couch, thinking she has really gotten away with something. The first couple of times she got away with this, I learned she likes potato chips. I make a Hansel and Gretel trail from the sidewalk, all the way up the deck till it ends inside the house. Momma Dawg will cautiously eat the chips until she gets inside the house and I jump out of the corner and slam the sliding glass door closed behind her.

 

One winter night, she just wasn’t playing fair. She wouldn’t follow the trail. It was about midnight. It was about 40 degrees. I was freezing. There was frost on the ground. I had my bag of chips, Momma Dawg was just out of reach. I could see the cast of her silhouette in the safety light outside. I sat down in the grass and called her name. “Momma…Momma!” She just sat there. If I got up and tried to walk slowly toward her, she would run to the edge of the woods. I put a few chips on the ground and she just looked at them. I thought maybe she felt threatened by my being taller than her. I thought if I got down lower than her, she wouldn’t feel intimidated and would come over and get the chips. So, I laid down in the damp grass, put some chips at arms length, and, because it was cold, sort of curled up into a ball. I started calling for her. “Momma…Momma!!!” And somewhere in the middle of this, I thought, “If the neighbors are looking outside right now, they are watching me, at midnight, laying in my front yard, in the fetal position, calling out pathetically for my mother, with a bag of potato chips.” So, I gathered the molecule of dignity I had left, got up and went inside the house. I left the door open a bit so all the heat could leave the house and laid down on the couch until I heard Momma Dawg jump up on the couch and look at me, totally cocky…as if she had proven some kind of doggy point.

 

But, here was what I learned. Momma Dawg could run away for awhile. She could try to be on her own. But, in the final analysis, she knew where she was loved and safe. And that’s where she could always return. It’s good to know where we are safe. It’s good to sense who we can be safe with. It’s vital that we have a network of forever family we know are walking this journey with us. The ones who call us to honesty and give us freedom to not be okay. It’s important that we know who will walk with us in the rain.

 

One day I was, again, walking Momma Dawg on her leash outside. Now, Momma lived the first couple of years of her life out in the woods. She was one of 4 beagle puppies someone dropped off on my road. She wasn’t touched by a human the first 2 years of her life. But, she knew how to survive. When we went outside this one day, and got a ways from the house, it started to rain. Momma Dawg, by habit, knowing by habit how to hide, would run from the safety of one tree to the next, all the way. I was furious. I was getting soaked. It was miserable. I tried to stand under the same bush or tree branch she was under, but I was still wiping drops off my glasses. I was getting really irritated. Then I suddenly stopped. Why was I getting mad? What was it about this that made me miserable? When I was a kid, I LIVED for times like this. I would BEG Mom to let me go out and play in the rain. It was all in the attitude. It wasn’t about the rain. It had nothing to do with my being wet. I was too sophisticated. I slowed my steps down. I was inconvenienced. I picked my wet dog up and held her close. My clothes were drenched. I walked over to a ditch and stomped in the puddles. I couldn’t see through my glasses because they were fogged over. I had to take them off and notice Momma Dawg looking at me like I was insane. Maybe I was. But I took a deep breath, held my head back and let the rain splash against my cheeks. And I thanked God for bringing nourishment to the plants and trees…and to me.

 

It’s like that when I open up and trust other people. When I’m transparent with my struggles and my dreams and my weaknesses and my hopes. Hosea 6:3 says, “Let us know; let us press on to know the LORD; His going out is sure as the dawn; He will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth.” I believe it is in our nature as human beings to desire that others know and love us for the wonderfully made, unique and precious individuals God made us to be. Our greatest desire is to know and be known. J.I. Packer said in his book, Knowing God, “What matters supremely, therefore, is not, in the last analysis, the fact that I know God, but the larger fact which underlies it — the fact that He knows me. I am graven on the palms of His hands. I am never out of His mind.

 

All my knowledge of Him depends on His sustained initiative in knowing me. I know Him, because He first knew me, and continues to know me. He knows me as a friend, one who loves me, and there is no moment when His eye is off me, or His attention distracted from me, and no moment therefore, when His care falters. This is momentous knowledge. There is unspeakable comfort — the sort of comfort that energizes, be it said, not enervates — in knowing that God is constantly taking knowledge of me in love, and watching over me for my good. There is tremendous relief in knowing that His love to me is utterly realistic, based at every point on prior knowledge of the worst about me, so that no discovery now can disillusion Him about me, in the way I am so often disillusioned about myself, and quench His determination to bless me. There is, certainly, great cause for humility in the thought that He sees all the twisted things about me that my fellow-men do not see (and am I glad!), and that He sees more corruption in me than that which I see in myself (which in all conscience, is enough). There is, however, equally great incentive to worship and love God in the thought that, for some unfathomable reason, He wants me as His friend, and desires to be my friend, and has given His Son to die for me in order to realize this purpose.”

diphylleia-grayi-photo2

We all want to be known. We all want to be unique, railing against a culture that would dictate otherwise. We all desire to be loved for our particular brand of God-made beauty. Like I said earlier. There’s nothing unique or different about the diphylleia grayi. It’s just a simple white flower, supported by a strong foundation of the thick leaves that protect it. Unless it rains. Unless the storms come. Then what happens? It becomes a lustrous masterpiece made by the greatest of all Glass cutters. It is unique in all the world. Breathtaking. No more beautiful than it was before…maybe. Still the same flower. But, beautiful in a different way. The rain comes, the flower chooses transparency, and it becomes a prism of glass, shining the clarity, the holy, radiant light of the One Who is perfect in His artistry. It is magnificent and marvelous because it has nothing left to hide.

Read More

Obvious Places

2:49 pm / Posted By / 6 Comments

Categories: Faith

One of the lessons, maybe the most important lesson, I’ve learned from being a part of Celebrate Recovery for 16 years is the discipline of listening. I think it’s a habit of our culture to have a pithy phrase at the tip of our tongue for every situation and every difficult occasion. And it’s basically for one reason. The comfort factor. We don’t like to feel uncomfortable. In effect, we have learned to not listen. I remember, for the first time, realizing that as soon as someone began talking to me, I began the process of formulating a response. Giving a response, any response, would make me feel better. I believed if I felt better, then the person in crisis would feel better.

James 1:19 gives a perfect picture of the inverse of this deadly habit we have cultivated. And he says it’s so important we should post this life-giving advice at every intersection. Yield, Stop, Caution, Lane Ends Ahead, Listen. He tells us to lead with our ears. And then follow up with our words.

I learned through the guidelines of CR that I don’t have to have a response. As a matter of fact, allowing another fallen human the respect of hearing them, really listening, makes them feel valued and important. Some, for the first time in their lives feel heard and not interrupted. So, I listen. And most times, I learn. A residual blessing from this discipline of active listening, and I believe all blessings have residual blessings, is that I’ve learned to give this same respect to God. When he told us to lead with our ears, maybe he wasn’t just talking about listening to each other. It’s part of His “be still and know that I am God” philosophy. The madness of living life tends to drown out our ability to hear Him. Along with trying to formulate a correct and life altering response to someone’s cry for anyone to listen, we think that catch phrases are a healing tonic. God is seen, felt and heard most clearly in the silence. After all, it wasn’t in the hurricane winds or the massive earthquake or the mighty fire that Elijah heard Him. It was in the still small voice. And that still small voice moved Elijah into action. I pray, often, that The Lord will place me in strategic places on any particular day where His presence is obvious and I can make a difference. Not for me. For Him…for His glory. I don’t believe I hear them every time. But sometimes, they are VERY obvious. And He always shows Himself in unexpected, amazing, spontaneous, surprising, and sometimes difficult, hard ways.

I was on my way to pick up discount card books to take to Ft. Smith to set up an elementary school for a fundraiser. I love going to the schools. I, for reasons many of you will understand, relate to elementary kids. I leave them pretty much in a natural caffeine mania…even without the caffeine. But, I always make it a point, when I’m being introduced to the kids, to silently pray for the hundreds of kids sitting in front of me. That The Lord will bless them, draw them close to Him, and let them grow up to be powerful men and women in deep relationship with Him. It’s AWESOME!!! But, I digress.

I was driving down Denny, headed toward Chenal when I happened to look to the side of the road and saw a bird in a ditch, writhing, obviously in pain. I was a little late to pick up the books and head out and so I just hoped it would be okay and passed it by. About a 10th of a mile later I thought, “crap.” I turned around and went back. I saw it trying to walk and couldn’t. I knew it had been hit by a car and the driver obviously just left it there and drove on. I won’t go into how furious this makes me. But, just imagine torture and perhaps a small amount of permanent maiming. I got out of my car and walked to the bird. I realized it was a young turkey. I tried to pick her up and she tried to crawl away. I chased behind her into the woods, complete with briar patches, wearing slacks and dress shirt, after awhile, I was able to pick her up and carry her to the car. I had a small box in the back seat and was able to stuff her into it. I called Lorraine, the owner of the fundraising company and told her to get a bigger box ready. I got to the office and Lorraine said she wanted to see it. I opened the box and Lorraine screamed. She obviously thought I was bringing a sparrow or bluebird or something a bit smaller. I found out I had more time than I thought so I put her in the bigger box and drove her to Doubletree Animal Hospital where I work and took her in. Dr. Travis took a look and felt around and wasn’t sure the turkey would make it. I said, “Look…I was at the right place at the right time. Now FIX IT!!!” Jenny, the vet tech, was standing there and said, “You mean…like…with dressing?” I smacked her. I left the critter there and yelled back over my shoulder, “FIX IT!!!” as I walked out. I thanked The Lord for letting me pass by that spot at just the right time.

I went on to Ft. Smith, did my presentation to the kids, left them screaming as if they were preparing a pep rally for a prison break and headed home. I was traveling back down the 40 and got stuck in a major amount of road work. I was tired and annoyed and frustrated. It was taking me a good 45 minutes longer to get home than I wanted. But, as I got into town, I was on Hiway 10, just passing the Walgreens when I saw a couple of men in the grass bending down and looking at a sweet little dog laying in the grass. I knew immediately it had been hit and thought I might be able to take it to the clinic and have Dr. Peck look at it. I pulled into the Walgreen parking lot and as I got out of my car, I saw them covering the little pup up. I knew it was gone.

It was just then that I saw a tiny lady sitting behind them in the grass with her head in her hands, sobbing. I wasn’t sure if she was responsible for hitting the dog but there were a couple of women around her patting her on the back and trying to soothe and comfort her. I walked to the men and asked what happened. They said it was her dog and it jumped out the car window while she was parked at the bank on the other side of the road. It ran onto Cantrell during rush hour traffic and was hit.

I walked back to the lady and sat in the grass beside her. There was one lady on her left with her arm around her. There was another lady and her daughter, probably 8 years old, kneeling in front of her, also trying to comfort her. I, in vain, tried to be strong and not break down. I asked her name. “Suzie.” We sat for a little while and just let her cry. I totally felt The Lord prompting me to say/do something. I just wasn’t sure what. So I waited. I listened. The little girl looked up at me and said, “Her puppy is with Jesus.” I got all misty eyed and said, “You are 100% right. I have absolutely no doubt.” Just then, I knew what the Lord was asking me to do. I looked at Suzie and said, “Suzie…do you believe in God?” She looked up at me with her eyes filled with tears and nodded. I said, “Would it be okay if I prayed for you?” She suddenly looked relieved and said yes. And at the same time, everyone else said, “YES!!” Suzie reached out and put her hand on mine and everyone there threw their hands in and I prayed. For peace for Suzie, and that she would feel God’s strong arms wrapped around her while she grieved. And that He would send His angels to protect her and even though we don’t understand why these things happen, He is still on His throne and is grieving right along with all of us there. We were in an extremely holy place. Five total strangers holding hands and praying, while 15 feet away, rush hour traffic flew past us on Hiway 10. I wondered how many of those cars wondered what was going on as they passed by, seeing all these people praying.

Anyway, she was still shaking and overwhelmed, just losing her precious little friend. Someone got a box from Walgreen’s and I went out and put the little one inside, wrapped in a tablecloth Walgreen’s gave us. I put her in the back of my car and then drove Suzie home in her car. She had another dog in the car, a big boxer. She wasn’t sure Roxie would be okay with someone else in the car. I told her I felt safe. I got in and Roxie came right up to me and started licking my face. Suzie smiled through her grief and said, “Wow…she never does that.” I told her to just call me the “dog whisperer.” She laughed a little. I drove her home. She cried most of the way. I listened. She was upset that the woman that hit her little pup didn’t even stop. And even though, again, there were thoughts of torture and a little maiming, I told her she mustn’t dwell on that. There were at least 7 people who stopped. Total strangers who cared. I reminded her that she loved her sweet little one better than anyone could have, the pup loved her unconditionally, and she had to remember all the happiness they brought each other.

One of the other ladies followed us and when we got to Suzie’s apartment, she was just broken. She said she was overwhelmed by our goodness. I told her…”Oh Suzie…don’t thank me. I’m not good. It’s all about The Lord. He even made sure I was held up by road work so I’d pass you at just that time.” She said, “you really think so?” I just smiled and said, “It worked, didn’t it?” She just smiled and hugged us both. The other lady drove me back to my car and I drove to the clinic and left her precious little companion there.

I love days like today…even when they’re hard. Once again, He surprised me with His goodness. I know this to be true. I will never lead as well with my words as I do with my ears. I will never have the wisdom to give words of affirmation and hope, and mercy and grace, if I speak before I hear. And I mean really hear. Not just the parts said for which I have a canned, ready response. But, hear everything. And Butterball, the turkey, (yes…that’s what they named her at the clinic, which scares me just a little) went to Dr. Beach’s clinic. He is AWESOME at rehabilitating wild birds. He thinks she will make it. He will take care of her till she’s well and then release her back into the wild.

Update on Butterball: Dr. Beach said he gave her some meds for a few days and then set her next to the woods and watched as she took flight and soared over the trees and into God’s unparalleled creation, just where she was meant to be YAY!!!

Read More