Better Part of Valor

By Jane Thornton –

Prom night, thirty years later, still resonates with emotions. Mostly self-mockery at this stage, but I remember the heightened feelings of anticipation and giddiness. Hours spent applying my first set of fake fingernails, a mad dash to the florist for the forgotten boutonniere. For years I planned to wear the floating dress of a southern belle, but, as an oh-so-adult senior, I switched to the sleek, sophisticated look of polyester.

That night, adorned in chic maroon (not pastel), I traipsed into the ladies’ room with a friend to freshen my makeup. Among the throng in front of the mirror, I spotted a dress with vaguely familiar lines.

I elbowed my friend. “Look at her dress. It’s an awful lot like mine except hers vees in the front and mine in the back.”

Eyeing the unaware target of our interest, my friend nodded. “It even has the little cape top.” (I told you this was thirty years ago).

A disdainful sniff scrunched my nose. “The vee in back is much more original.” But my eye was continually drawn to the similarities. “Lisa, I think it’s exactly the same, but she’s wearing it backward . . .”

Slowly an inkling of the mind-boggling reality seeped into my consciousness and horror dawned. “Oh no! I’m wearing my dress backward!”

My awkward words spilled into a sudden silence.

So many lessons can be drawn from that day and night. Vanity. Priorities. Friendship. The list continues. But the moral that resounds over the years is that I should have kept my big mouth shut.

As James 3:2 says, “For if we could control our tongues, we would be perfect and could also control ourselves in every other way” (NLT). The price on prom night was just a few moments of excruciating embarrassment followed by a hands-on tutorial in learning to laugh at oneself. At other times in my life, the damage has been much worse.

I have lost count (and hope my children have also) of the number of bedtimes where I had to apologize for my harsh words during the day. I fear my example for handling stress has put the penalty for my loss of control onto my kids.

Although I know I’m forgiven, I still wince at certain memories. More than once my attempts at humor have resulted in a lack of discretion. My unruly tongue has victimized my husband, my friends, my siblings, and my children. Not malice, but a quick and thoughtless mouth, is the culprit.

Let’s not turn this into the tirade I deserve, but thank God for His incomprehensible grace in forgiving each stumble and listen to His guidance for the future:

“Do not be quick with your mouth,
do not be hasty in your heart
to utter anything before God.
God is in heaven
and you are on earth,
so let your words be few.
A dream comes when there are many cares,
and many words mark the speech of a fool” (Ecclesiastes 5:2-3 NIV).

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/

Blessing the Generations

By Marty Norman –

It’s that time of year again. Seems like I just get the Christmas decorations put away for the season when it’s time to climb back up into the attic and start the process over again.  Where does the time go? Now it’s a new year, and I’ve got to pack everything up again for next year. It’s a never ending cycle.

Traditionally New Year’s Day is a new beginning for me. While the football games rage, I calmly back away Christmas while contemplating the year to come. Somehow there’s symmetry in this order.

But this year I’m doing something different. Instead of making my typical New Year’s Resolutions, which include being kind to others, losing ten pounds, and getting more organized, this year I’m only doing spiritual resolutions. Time is a-moving and if I’m going to bless the generations I best come up with a plan.

The question is, if I died tomorrow would I have completed everything spiritually I wanted to complete? The answer, of course, is no, although it may be different for each of us.

For me, I ask myself: Have I memorized all the scripture I want to have at the tip of my tongue? Have I read the Bible cover to cover? Do I pray by my bed on my knees at night as a model for my grandchildren?  Have I taught them my favorite hymns and Christmas carols?   When I’m gone what will they say about their Marme?

Recently I took my four-year-old grandson to Target. The church was participating in Franklin Graham’s “Samaritan Purse” Christmas boxes so I wanted him to experience selfless giving. The rules were set before we walked in the door. We were to buy nothing for him; everything we purchased was for others.

He decided he wanted to do a box for a 4 year-old boy and 6 year-old girl, so the search was on. What to put in the boxes that a boy 4 and a girl 6 would like?  An hour and a half later, and one hundred dollars lighter, we had our boxes filled. Not an inexpensive proposition, the lessons learned were well worth the money spent. My grandson had a huge dose of thinking of someone other than himself. And praise God, he rose to the occasion.

After our shopping spree, we needed a refueling trip to the ice cream store. I used the time to fill in the fill-in-the-blank letter included in the box. I wrote as he dictated, introducing himself by naming his favorite food, drink, games, etc.

But the surprise and gift of the day came when he answered the fill in the blanks… I love Jesus because… His answer:  “he loves us and let’s us pray, and he hears us right now.” Out of the mouths of babes.

So this year my New Year’s Resolutions have a new twist, nothing for me – all for God. You would have thought I’d have learned the lesson that my 4-year-old grandson learned that day. But I guess it’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks. Although this dog no longer hunts, I can still bark and find bones.

So time’s a-wasting. Let’s get this New Year’s Resolution format down to an understandable formula. Let’s bless the generations later as we do the work for the kingdom now.

Happy New Year’s and Good Hunting!

The Divine

By Norma Vera –

“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch  over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:8-11 KJV).

Placide Clappeau a French wine merchant wrote the song “O Holy Night” in 1847. The lyrics of his chorus ask us to fall on our knees and acknowledge this great event (Christ’s birth): “Fall on your knees, O hear the angels voices, O Night Divine, O night when Christ was born!”

In his book Then Sang My Soul, Robert Morgan said, “How odd it was that a wine merchant, a penniless Parisian, and liberal clergyman should give Christianity one of its holiest hymns about the birth of Jesus Christ the Savior of the world.”

God’s wisdom is full of the unexpected, whether it is lowly shepherds receiving the Angel’s announcement of the birth of Christ, or a French wine merchant writing a holy song.

Before the angels sang, it was just an ordinary night, nothing special or remarkable about it. What made it divine was the visitation. It is always His visitation that changes the ordinary into extraordinary and the common man to a vessel of honor.

Everything the Light Touches

By Marty Norman –

John 1:8 “He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light. The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world.” NIV

Six a.m. is not my best time of day.

At that hour I am barely awake, much less able to think or talk. This was my condition on October 30, 2010 when I turned on the DVD from my king size bed to watch “The Lion King” with my four-year-old grandson.

Suddenly I was jolted awake. A magnificent scene not only in the natural but in the spiritual was playing out before me. I didn’t want to miss a word as the voice of God spoke to my heart at the dawning of the day.

In the scene, Simba, the rambunctious lion cub and future king of the Pride Lands was held up by his father, Mufasa, the King and ruler of Pride Rock. In the spirit of all fathers, as the sun made its appearance over the horizon, he wanted to show his son the importance of his position in the kingdom. Using the natural to make his point, he slowly spun the lion cub in a 180 degree arc and majestically exclaimed, “Everything the light touches is your kingdom.”

Spiritually my heart quickened. My first thought was of Abraham and God’s covenant that everywhere his foot touched was holy ground given to the covenanted people. Then I thought of Jesus and his light and his kingdom, that everywhere he walked was life, the light of man. I turned to the Bible and read John I again, his beautiful description of who is and who is not the light.

As we approach this holiday season, first in Advent and then the celebration of Christmas, let us not forget about who is and is not the true light of the world. Like Mufasa, we are kings and rulers of our own Pride Rock. We are not the light; we have only come to bear witness to the light. But also like Mufasa, we have the opportunity, at the dawning of the day, to tell the world about the importance and vastness of the king and his kingdom.

What better time than at Christmas when the whole world, whether they know it or not, is celebrating the birth of Christ. Who better to tell them than us for Jesus came into the world 2000 years ago for us and for our salvation?  And the scripture promises that he will come again.

We, like John the Baptist are to bear witness to him and to his light. We are to be as Simeon who declared, “For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” Luke 2:30-31 (NIV)

We have a two-fold commission. Like John the Baptist we are to prepare, and like Simeon we are to declare the good news. The light was and is and will be coming again into the world. We are to be clear about what is and is not his kingdom. We are to be clear about who and what Jesus is, witnesses that speak forth at the beginning of day and to all whom God places before us.

Make no mistake. The kingdom of heaven is at hand. Everywhere Jesus walked then and now, everywhere he is and will be, everything he touches and will touch is the kingdom of heaven. He is the light – everything the light touches is his kingdom.

What a great message for grandmothers. The season and Word make it even clearer. We’ve lived and we know. Like Simeon, we are not only believers but also ones waiting for the consolation of Israel, we can proclaim our testimonies: “Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation.” Luke 1:29 NIV.

As the sun rises this Christmas season, let us not tarry, but rather lift those we love high to preview the world in a 180 degree arc. Let us proclaim with joy, “Everything the light touches, is his kingdom.”

May the light of the Lord and Savior of the World touch you and yours this holiday season above and beyond anything you can dream or imagine.

Marty Norman is a wife, mother, and grandmother of five, who lives in Fort Worth, Texas.  She is the author of “Generation G – Advice for Savvy Grandmothers Who Will Never Go Gray.” You can learn more about her at:   www.martynorman.com, http://martynorman.blogspot.com, http://savvygrandmothers.blogspot.com.

Next Page »