Someone to Hold

By Heather Allen –

This summer I met a stocky toddler with honey brown eyes. She and her baby sister are wards of the state.  Over the past year I have spent some time with foster children. In the sadness of their situation there is also joy.  Many believers open their lives and homes to help care for these children. The duration is uncertain; it can be weeks or years. A housemother from a children’s home said girls in her care are constantly moved, often with only ten minutes to gather their belongings and adjust emotionally. I think about my belongings filling shelves and closets and counters while theirs fit in a solitary bag. What would it be like to not know the people you live with or how long you will be with them?

My friend Stephanie is fostering two little girls, and knowing their time together may be short, she longs to give them hope. Zephaniah 3:17 is painted on their temporary bedroom wall.

“The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.” (NIV)

Hurting over the toddler, who insists on keeping every possession by her side, Stephanie asked, “If that were you or I, stripped to one small bag that held all our belongings, would we still believe we were loved?  Would we believe our life had purpose? And how tightly would we cling to that bag?” She went further. “Imagine everything you hold is lifted from your grasp. Who would you be?”

In Egypt, the Israelites cried for a deliverer. They prayed God would rescue them. He did. Plagues that struck the Egyptians did not touch them. They were set apart but it was not because they had done anything right, they simply belonged to Yahweh. There was a distinction made. Sadly, knowing they were set apart was not enough to keep them content in the wilderness. Instead a generation fell.

I wonder if the longing to be free ever went beyond idealism.  Instead of having a micromanaged life, they could choose. And in choosing they longed for the certainty that captivity had provided. I feel conviction as I write this, compelled to admit that I sacrifice freedom for certainty too.

I think about that small bag of belongings and my hope that Stephanie’s tot will know there is more. I wish she knew that her little bag held no assurance, that Jesus is enough. And I wish that took the ache and loneliness from her small heart. If it would make a difference, I’d put my hands on her cheeks and kneel and say “let it go sweetie, let it go.”

As I contemplate what might help, a holy hushed whisper asks me the same question, “What would it take for you to lay down your bags and just hold on to me?”

I am bereft and filled with an intense longing for that to be our reality, hers and mine.

Heather Allen spends most of her time caring for her hubby and 3 kids.  Check out her blog: http://www.theknottedapron.blogspot.com/

Manna

By Heather Allen –

It is cold tonight.  I am curled up under a blanket with a book and cup of coffee in hand.  I wanted to read about Moses and Israel and have it stay on the page. I wanted to forget my cares, but that is not to be. Instead, I am entrenched in the desert with the Israelites. As their story weaves through mine, I cannot help wonder if staying in the desert longer than necessary is just something humans do?  Wasn’t it just this afternoon I was concocting a scheme that might help me feel more in control?  I would have been tempted to gather extra Manna with the Israelites. I might have even drawn up maps and offered help planning the route.  Whenever I am afraid, my natural response is to come up with a plan.  Moses’ response was to fall before God.  I think I need a new response.

It seems there are new beliefs built on the journey to the promised land.  God uses my situations to press me towards a decision. Do I count on Him or do I build my own safety net?  I cannot do both.  I either set my own course or I believe God.

Not so many years ago I encountered a situation that snuck up on me, sabotaging me.  I felt like someone had tossed me into a sea of garbage and left me there to try to swim alone if I had the will or strength.  I did not see it coming and as wave after wave crashed on my head I just stood watching, bewildered, mouth gaping. God – are you seeing this?  I am drowning in accusations.  I do not have the reserves to handle this.  After the torrent I only heard one thing.  So I obeyed. Somehow I did not throw-up as I quietly said, “I love you” in response.  I was met with a glare that shriveled my socks.  But I kept myself still, like a child determined to win a staring contest.  I came away with something that I could not forget, that was not washed away as I cried myself to sleep.  Protection does not always look like I think it should, but the wounds were not left gaping.  I was tended through the night.

I love the idea of being hidden in Christ. Of drawing near, and finding a place in His shelter.  I think about Him welcoming me into an inner sanctuary, a private dwelling where I am safe. The thought of Him wanting me to be there is what brings tears to my eyes. The Israelite’s day camp was overshadowed by a cloud, which provided shade from the blazing sun. At night a pillar of fire burned with heat and light. At any point the people could find physical proof that God was with them. He was covering them. There may not be a cloud or pillar of fire noticeably moving as I roam, but the same protection covers anyone who is numbered as His. Light dwells with Him.Yet He still wants me close. Nothing is hidden from Him.Yet He is the only secure place to hide. When all that can be shaken, is shaken, He remains.

“But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear Him, on those whose hope is in His unfailing love, to deliver them from death and keep them alive in famine” (Psalm 33:18 NIV).

Heather Allen spends most of her time carrying for her hubby and 3 kids.  Check out her blog: http://www.thebloodknot.blogspot.com/

Walking in the Dark

By Heather Allen –

Tonight I read a rough draft my daughter is preparing for English class. I read the first paragraph and felt physical pain. So I quit reading and washed dishes. Determined, I went back to the computer, aching, as I read her thoughts about the different moves our family has made.

Our world was rocked hard four years ago. We stood on the brink of winter wondering what to do with life. We were where we wanted to be, where we believed God wanted us, doing what we loved doing. And then the bottom fell out. The verse that rang in my ears was Isaiah 50:10 (NIV), “When you walk in the dark and have no light, trust in the name of the Lord.” It was dark as I struggled to understand why God was allowing such chaos to befall our family.

We did not know where to go or what to do. So we waited. Nothing came. Nothing for months and months turned into three years. Out of the blue a job offer came that required another cross-country move. Our options seemed bleak. With uncertainty we packed our bare necessities and tried the situation for ten long months. And we realized there in our small rental that the call on our lives had not been revoked. So taking a leap, we did what we believe we were last told to do, ten years earlier. We made the move we either did not have the faith to make sooner, or had not seen as a clear option.

My daughter’s essay details her transient, vulnerable life. A life I never would have chosen for her. But then she writes how good God is, and that in the loneliness He is a friend like no other. I nod, mumbling to myself that this is better; her sweet heart knowing it can trust Jesus.

As the days grow shorter and darker, stacks of gifts are growing on my shelf.  My thoughts are turned towards celebrating Christ’s birth. In the ongoing days of trying to make new friends and acclimate to our surroundings, I meditate on a much larger move; the word becoming flesh and dwelling among us. On a night so many heartbreaks ago, God became man, Emmanuel. And every thing changed. My mind aches thinking of God living in the frail body of a man. Only God chooses vulnerability. We who lack strength, who are not glorious, see weakness and vulnerability as something to be hidden. Christ loved and allowed others to reject Him. But oh what He does for those who trust Him.

“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh” Ezekiel 36:26 (NIV).

On that night so long ago a star announced His birth: a star, announcing the glory of its Creator. He came knowing He would be despised. But the sin growing in the garden had only one hope of redemption. So the Word became flesh. Before the manger He was the pillar of fire at night. He has always moved despite the instability of our flesh. On this dark night my heart rejoices in a God that intervenes and saves. My heart leaps knowing the darkness will soon be turned to day and the King will again dwell in Israel.

Heather Allen spends most of her time carrying for her hubby and 3 kids.  Check out her blog: http://www.thebloodknot.blogspot.com/

Just Me

By Heather Allen –

During an hour layover in the Dallas airport, I entertained myself by watching fellow passengers.  This particular morning, I started comparing myself to what I saw. I dragged my luggage to the closest restroom. It might have been a two-mile walk and my bags felt like they contained my entire wardrobe. My already limp hair was now sleek from perspiration. Leaning toward the mirror, I frowned at the bags under my eyes and my uneven complexion. I backed up and took in the whole view. I pulled cosmetics out of my bag and went to work. And then despite my self-recrimination, one voice and thought stilled the rest. “Remember whose you are.”  I dropped my brush, everything stopped. Squinting, I looked back at the mirror. My throat felt tight, the perfumed smell of makeup irritated my nose. My gaze held, my mind grappling with the freedom of being accepted.

There are days when I am pretty sure I have no friends. But this is, of course, a lie. I am blessed to have women who love me enough to walk these dusty earth roads as my companions. Lonely days are beautiful in their own melancholy way. Drizzly heart rain often drives me to the shelter of His strong arms. And I stay there as His words pour like aloe on my sores. His kind of love soothes me. I wish I could see through His eyes every morning instead of my own. If I could whistle, my heart would script a new tune each morning as I delight in delighting Him.

When I was small I found it easy to believe I was a King’s daughter. I am not sure what changed. Maybe I listened to other voices and over time the King’s voice grew faint. But there in the Dallas Fort Worth Airport, I heard Him loudly enough to know I am His. I believe He wants me to remember because He loves me and would never have me believe I am less. But His purpose is probably much larger than I can yet see. I suppose a privilege of being daughter to the Creator is seeing Him recreate my mind. In this redemption, I find joyous surprise, learning He is the one who best defines beauty. If I grow more beautiful in time it will not be due to some cosmetic enhancer, it will be because my heart is more like His.

Heather Allen spends most of her time caring for her hubby and three kids.  Check out her blog: http://www.thebloodknot.blogspot.com/

The Mentor

By Heather Allen –

If you have been part of a church for more than a millisecond, you’ve realized there’s an in crowd. At times I have been in, with all the right lingo pouring out, right smack in the A list. At times I have been out, splitting my time between figuring out how to get in and convincing myself why I don’t really want to be there.

I met a woman I considered a mentor. Of course, she had no idea who I was. But I tried to move into her life anyway. The problem was other people wanted to move in too, and before I knew it the only spot left was the basement closet…not exactly the hotspot. Not a place the owner visits much, just here and there when looking for holiday decorations or an old pair of boots to lend out. On those rare occasions when she would visit me, I sat on the edge of my seat hoping she would see something worthwhile in me, hoping she would invite me to the living room. She is something and if she likes me, maybe I’m something too. Perhaps the only thing worse than never meeting someone you greatly admire, is meeting, and realizing they could care less. I decided if she could just see the real me, things would be different. She would care.  I did everything I could to show her I was worth her time. I vacillated between feeling like a circus performer trying to juggle every new act just to get her attention, and a sell-out. Of course she was always polite, but when I heard her say she was deeply lonely, I was astonished.

The question I wanted to dismiss, stared at me. Like a child, repeatedly told to go to bed, it stalled, waiting. I rolled on my side, turning my face away. I began reading Galatians.  But I confess, I found it hard to move past chapter one. There, in black and white was the mirror I could not shield my eyes from.

“Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men?  If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ” (Galatians 1:10, NIV).

The Creator, the one who organized every living being, blowing breath on dust, didn’t just invite me over for an afternoon of conversation & coffee.  He asked if He could move right into me. How could I look past His deep, steady love? Why fill the chasm with approval that can be bought?

Trust His love. May it be the rain that cascades over, coursing through veins, bringing life.

Heather Allen spends most of her time carrying for her hubby and 3 kids.  Check out her blog: http://www.thebloodknot.blogspot.com/

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