Humble Pie

By Heather Allen –

I was waiting in line at a restaurant, stomach growling and caffeine deprived. But the line was not moving. I turned hoping for a distraction at the window and three men slithered past, sliding nonchalantly in front of me. I opened my mouth and closed it. A miracle took place and I am not sure anyone noticed. I am keenly adept at looking out for myself. I like to call it concern for what is right, but sometimes it is just plain old pride.

On the way to church, my son told me a story. He and a friend had differing opinions on a historical figure. Kids voice the profound without realizing it. My son said while he and his friend disagreed, they were not trying to prove each other wrong. And to him that leads to a good discussion.

We get to church and the sermon is on unity. Similar thoughts to my son’s are being voiced. Pride looks for an argument where humility appeals. Humility is so dog-gone appealing. Humble people are great to be around, relaxed and comfortable in their own skin. It is easier to learn from the humble. It’s easier to be corrected by them too.

Jesus said, “Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30 NIV).

I lay a weary head on my pillow. Evening is when I think on the world’s problems, grieved most by the way I contribute. Jesus sees how sick and tired I am of my pride. He knows I long to be free of the cords. So during the sanctification process, He offers rest. He is gentle with sad and tired hearts. He offers a blessing for those who mourn for righteousness. He knows my deepest longing is to shed this flesh and live as a sacrifice. He leads with gentleness. Going to Him and resting, leads to humility. I see all I am not in the shadow of all that He is. Human pride falls apart in the presence of true glory.

A Must-See Movie

By Karen O’Connor –

I love the movies, I have to admit. A good story with drama, action, some love-interest, and an intriguing plot that inspires and entertains is just what I look for when I want to spend an afternoon at the cinema.

I like to talk about films with friends too. We trade stories and opinions about what’s hot and what’s not and then recommend our favorites or pan the ones we didn’t like.

As I get older, however, it’s getting more and more difficult to keep the names and storylines straight. The more time that passes between films the less apt I am to remember what I want to share with a friend.

That happened one day years ago before I had access to the Internet. I knew my friend Jane likes historical fiction so I was sure she’d enjoy one of my favorite movies. But as I started to tell her about it, I couldn’t recall the title. So I did the next best thing. Decided to name the female lead, but I couldn’t think of her name either. So then I tried to think of the name of the man she’s married to but his name escaped my memory, as well. Surely I could recall his sister because she was a famous actress a couple of decades ago and she’d written a few books too.

Well, neither of us got very far in the conversation because every time I tried to nail a detail, it dropped out of my mind. Finally, I gave up and promised to call her when all that information came back––even if it at was three o’clock in the morning!

Sure enough, the next day I remembered the female lead’s name. Annette Bening who is married to Warren Beatty whose sister is Shirley MacLaine, but I still couldn’t pull the title of the film. So I drove over to the video rental store in my neighborhood and asked for help.

The clerk, at least forty years my junior couldn’t remember it either, though he seemed to know the movie I was referring to. He then pulled out a book listing all the films available on video within the last two years. We checked under Annette Bening’s name but the list did not include the movie I was looking for––at least I don’t think it did. But then come to think of it, if I didn’t know the name how could I expect to recognize it on a printed list? Oh my, these senior moments are getting the best of me.

Goodbye Ordinary

By Makenzie Allen –

“You are right that I am also extraordinary, but let me tell you something: No matter how ordinary a person may be, put God in that person, and the ordinary becomes extraordinary” (The Indwelling Life of Christ by Major W. Ian Thomas).

You mean there is a way to fill the increasing gap that’s been forming in my mind about how I’m not good enough? That God could be the missing puzzle piece to my confusing jigsaw life? You really mean to tell me that this push from the world saying that if I act superior and dress immodestly, I will truly be extraordinary is all a hoax?

My soul longs for something with more substance. But as a human, I tend to grasp for things with less importance and reach for fillers that are more artificial. Why? Why do I lean towards the cookie instead of the salad? Because it looks so good in the moment, tastes so good most of the time too—unless there are some menacing raisins in them of course. And then that moment is over and all you have left are some extra calories. I don’t want to be the one who grabs a hold of what the world has to offer because I’m tired of chasing after a righteousness that’s just out of reach. I don’t want to be a hairsbreadth away from a relationship with God only to turn and fall into the temptations that come so naturally to us. I want the healing, not the Band-Aid.

Sitting in church, I watch as the pastor walks back and forth hands in full motion. In the background, I see the Grand Tetons and all the beauty encompassing them. God gave us such a beautiful world to inhabit. It could have been dull and gray, but instead it’s blooming with colors I don’t even know the names for. Refocusing my attention on the speaker, I hear these words, “Justification for God to love me doesn’t come from me, but Jesus.” And instead of that awkward moment I’m going to say that joyful moment. That joyful moment when your inadequacy is suddenly covered by the sacrifice of Jesus.

Yep, I had a moment. And from that moment, instead of extra baggage being added to my hunched shoulders, I had a weight lifted from my conscious as if to say, “God’s got that suitcase taken care of.” God is the essence of a true gentleman, isn’t He? As a girl, I dream of a guy who will put his life at risk because of his love for me, who will be chivalrous even after years of being married, and who will see beauty after all my youth has left. Well, Jesus already died for me. He even takes the oppression from me when it’s unbearable and He sees beauty in me even though His purity should have blocked me out. He is all the love I could have asked for and more.

So, now the question is, am I going to let God’s presence take me over in every way? Or am I going to continue on this road of fake happiness? Am I going to accept the unconditional love or am I going to continue searching for a love on earth that doesn’t exist without the presence of God? I’m tired of my petty life. I want meaning and a goal. Real love, life, and healing, only comes from Jesus. To be extraordinary you have to be filled with Him who is extraordinary.

Faithful

By Heather Allen –

Her words pour out pained and raw. Groping, she replays their history, heart aching. Her emotions gang up on her and the reflection darkens.

Before me stands a beautiful, kind, creative woman. Her personality could draw bees from honey.

She hurts with broken vows and teary-eyed kids. If this were a skinned knee, she would know how to doctor it. How do you mend your child’s heart when their daddy walks away? And how do you convince a friend that she lacks nothing? He left because he is a leaver.

How many women have cried themselves crazy? Stood in front of the mirror comparing their reflection to the image of perfection we are spoon fed, but forced to swallow. Real women are not photo-shopped. Yet we tear our bodies apart, forgetting that unfaithfulness is born in the
heart, not the eyes.

For days, I carry the heaviness like a chained necklace around my shoulders. And then God’s word invades my thoughts, easing my fears. And it’s as if I can hear Him saying, “Come here child.” And I eagerly drop the load at His feet and scamper onto His lap.

The presence of the Lord brings peace. He has been my sweet friend. He will be faithful to her. He will not abandon her or forsake her. He will be a father to her children. He provides, and He restores hope. And these promises will fill my prayers for her.

It is possible to walk through deep waters and emerge with extraordinary beauty. Often those I admire most have gone through intense suffering. Heartache changes a woman, either she becomes like a flower eaten through with bitterness or a radiant bloom. Those who entrust themselves to the Lord can survive the Lion’s Den. They can come out of the fiery furnace. They can rise from the ashes like Job and find that God has not changed. He is the same. Those who allow His indwelling life to re-shape their torn life, find He is sufficient.

We cannot choose which heartaches we will bear. We can choose our response. We do not choose faithfulness because our spouse does, we choose faithfulness because God has been faithful to us and He asks us to be faithful to Him.

“In my anguish I cried to the Lord, and He answered by setting me free. The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me? The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid” Psalm 118:5-7a (NIV).

A New Season of Life

By Diane Mayfield –

I hoped, foolishly, by the time I raised three children and had been married for thirty-five years I’d have this life down pat. Well, I don’t. Once again, I’ve entered a new season of life. It’s one I don’t know. I often feel powerless, helpless, and invisible.

Here’s the scenario. I have three adult children. My oldest two are married and my youngest is not. I also care for my widowed mother who is in the moderate stages of Alzheimer’s and lives in an assisted living community. I am the primary caretaker for her needs. Now you might say, “What’s the problem with all that?”

With my adult children, all I can do is listen. My role is to support and, of course, pray. I am second in line, which is as it should be. Except that I was their mother for eighteen years and had a huge voice in their lives. The bottom line is that I want to tell them what to do, which is not my place any longer. I must decrease so they can increase.

Emily, the middle child, married a great guy last May. They now live in Houston and I’m in Fort Worth. I raised her to fly away, be her own person, and create her own life. She is doing that and doing it beautifully. I miss sharing daily life together. We can’t have lunch once a week. I didn’t get to help her move in to her new house on moving day. I didn’t get to put the shelf paper in her new cabinets. I know these are petty things, but they are the experiences that I cherish. Get over it, the Zac Brown song says.

A friend brought this home to me when she told me her son was moving to Somalia as a missionary, permanently. Boy, did I stop my whining.

Sarah, my youngest is quite an accomplished young woman. She owns her own house, is a CPA, and has a group of friends that she enjoys and they adore her. She longs to find the right man to build a life with, but she has not met him yet. I want God to move on this and He has not done so yet. I feel powerless.

My mom doesn’t think she has memory issues. After all, she plays duplicate bridge and, in her words, you have to have a good memory to do that. Forget the fact that she’s played bridge for sixty years. Alzheimer’s disease attacks the short -term memory, not the long-term. She doesn’t count the fact that she can’t remember her grandchildren’s names or what I said to her five minutes ago. Parenting someone without her acknowledging her need exhausts me.

I must keep my mouth shut and I’m used to opening it. My power is in prayer and serving. That’s not the position I’ve operated in most of my life. Obviously that’s exactly where God wants me. I’m grateful the Holy Spirit showed me that this is part of God’s plan in this season of life.

His word for me is, “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

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