Wait Not Want

By Cheri Cowell

I’m terrible at waiting. Some people seem to possess a wonderful abundance of patience, but I’m not one of those people. Others who know me say I have a lot of patience and I’m good at waiting, but they don’t know what is going on inside. Inside I’m pacing, I’m making to-do lists, I’m thinking through all the possibilities, and I’m agitated. I’m not patient. I’m not waiting, I’m wanting. I’m wanting for the event to start, the situation to improve, or the circumstance to change. What is the difference, you ask? When I am truly waiting I have a peace about me that says I know the event, situation, or circumstance is a done deal. It is going to happen and I don’t need to fret or worry. There isn’t anything I can or need to do but wait. It says that I am not in control, but have submitted that authority to Someone bigger and better able to handle it than me. When I want, I feel I have control, and therefore, all the responsibility. Advent is a time to wait.

John says it so clearly: When Christ was born; True Light came into the world. That scene has been completed and is completed in us again every Christmas. Advent is our time to wait on the Lord, knowing full well that the gift will arrive on time. 

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Tis The Season

By Gina Stinson

It’s the season of giving thanks, celebrating the birth of the Savior and making goals for living a better life. Oh…the holidays! As I sit and write this I am recovering from an obnoxious cold that has just about gotten the best of me. I’ve been in the recliner for four days and I am pretty sure my poor family is tired of hearing me bark…I mean, cough.

I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. Something I don’t have much of during the holidays. I’ve blogged, read a book, written some, and watched too much television. I’m ready to get back to my real life.

After four days my body and mind start crying out for activity. I’m craving some cuddle time with my kids, I want to cook, laundry is even looking—well, ok…maybe not. But, you know what I mean. When you’ve been down, there comes a time when you are about to go crazy for some activity. I’m there.

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Our Cry to the Father

By Peter Lundell

On an out-of-town trip, I stayed at the home of our church members. Their baby cried at 3:00 a.m. and again at 6:30 in the morning. Parents of newborns may yearn for the time when their child sleeps through the night. But, not being in such a position, I just listened.

The cry sounded almost like a song calling out to parents. I thought of the babies I’d heard cry: in Minnesota, where I grew up; in Haiti, where they’re born into abject poverty; in Japan, a completely different race and culture. The cries were similar. Rich or poor, Eastern or Western, the babies all called out to parents.

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From Trash To Treasure

By Cheri Cowell

I know I’m my mother’s daughter because I have one secret habit that comes directly from her. This is indeed a dirty little secret that my husband wishes I didn’t have. I can’t help myself, but as I drive by homes on garbage day, I survey the trash. I’ve found chairs, lamps, bookshelves, silk trees, and even a perfectly good fruit tree. My husband was horrified the first time I made him stop beside a garbage heap while I jumped out of the car to retrieve something. Over the years, he’s learned to go along with my treasure hunts and has even begun to enjoy our excursions on garbage day.  

There are “hidden treasures” around us every day, people who have been tossed out on the trash heaps of mankind, labeled useless to society. These worthless rags, unseen and forgotten by the rest of the world, are seen by God. He has called us to be His treasure seekers, looking for the lost and reclaiming them for Him. Because of your faithfulness in seeing the trash heap of another as a place of buried treasure, generations after you will come to know Jesus. 

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Surrounded By The Garden Of God

By Peter Lundell

I whispered, “Speak to me, God.” And a whippoorwill sang. But I was hurrying between appointments. I shouted, “God, speak to me!” And thunder clapped from the sky. But I dashed inside to escape the rain. When the storm cleared I prayed, “God, I want to see you.” And the stars shone from behind the passing clouds. But my cell phone rang, and I didn’t want to miss the call. As the days passed, I asked, “God, show me a miracle.” And a child was born. But I only took photos and said a quick prayer. Finally, I raised my hands and pleaded, “Touch me, God.” And the wind caressed my face. But I turned away and put on a jacket, disappointed that God did not respond.

When we insulate ourselves from nature, we insulate ourselves from God as well, because God connects with us through the natural world. Earth is another word for God’s garden.

Our souls can become anesthetized. This happens when we drift into the artificial respiration of needing to be constantly busy or when we focus on something electronic.

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