Tuesday With Teri

I’ve noticed this before, but this day it was particularly startling.  I was driving along with my hands on the steering wheel, obviously not paying enough attention to the road, when I saw them….there they were, my mom’s hands.   Yep, there at the end of my arms were a pair of hands that look just like my mom’s.  Maybe you have noticed them?  They have lots of color variation, i.e. age spots, and somehow a lot of wrinkles.  I pinched my skin, yes, there is enough skin hanging on my hands to be pinched.  It kind of stuck together before sagging, not springing, back into place.

I remember playing with the skin on my grandmothers hands when I was a little girl as I sat by her in church, eesh….never could I have fathomed I would someday have saggy skin hands too.

Just before spiraling into a pit of despair and lamenting of my youth, I caught myself.  I began to consider all the things I know my mom accomplished with her hands.  Her hands are well worn because they are well used in loving others and her God.   I am sure I cannot imagine the years of hard work and love my grandmother’s hands endured before they became the object of my attention that day in church.  I would do well to have hands like them.  I looked at my wrinkly hands once more and thought better of them.

Today we celebrate the 24^th birthday of our baby girl, and yes, she will always be our baby girl.  This morning I look once more at my hands and recall the day they first held her tiny frame.  Her bright blue eyes looking up at me, her soft blonde hair dancing above her head and her rose colored lips filled my heart and soul.  Eventually these hands would change her diapers, wipe her nose and place numerous Band-Aids on her knees over time.

These hands would know the joy of catching her as she tumbled in her early attempts to walk.  They would spend hours picking up toys and sticky messes.  My hands would shrivel from bath times and playing with soap bubbles.  They would hold endless books as I read to her, and eventually with her, every night before bed.  There were countless hours of hair brushing and detangling her long golden locks.  Years were spent mastering all kinds of hair styles…ponytails, braids, barrettes and bows.

I think my hands have permanent indents from the many times they have been folded tightly in prayer for my baby girl as she moved from childhood into adulthood.  THEN I BLINKED….

Suddenly she is a beautiful woman inside and out, no longer needing my hands so much.    I have a new appreciation for my saggy skinned hands.  Today I thank our God for the privilege of loving my daughter and caring for her.  This morning I bow my head over my folded, age pot covered, saggy skinned hands and I am moved to tears as I pray, “God, thank you for the loving and sacrificing hands of my grandmothers, thank you for the caring and serving hands of my mother and thank you for these hands before me now and the years they have experienced the touch of YOUR hands.”  Amen

What is worse than gravel to a ten year old, tender pawed, porky little yorkie? Cold gravel.   Today as I went to walk Hughie, the previously mentioned yorkie, this became quite obvious.

Each time I take him for a walk he must cross over a small gravel parking lot to get to a grassy area frequented by he and other pets.  He usually inches over the terrain as if walking on egg shells, lifting each paw higher than needed and gingerly setting it down. Today, the cold gravel was the challenge separating him from his grassy “promise land”.  What should have taken only a few minutes became a half hour ordeal.

He has discovered a path around most of the gravel area.  He follows the dock all the way to the end of the lot, where there is a small paved section.  He crosses over to the landscaped flower boxes surrounding the marina office and jumps up on the landscaping timbers. He follows the flower bed until it takes him to a small patch of grass on the side of the building.  He is then able to walk along a nearby fence taking advantage of some boards that have been discarded there. When he runs out of boards, he stands at the edge and looks at me in hopes that I will pick him up and carry him over the next patch of grass, which of course I do.

This morning as I watched him navigate the gravel barrier before him, I thought of my life and our God.

There are places in our journey where we encounter things we’d rather avoid.  I have walked haltingly across many seasons of my life, unsure of my steps, dreading the impact of my efforts.  I too have tried to avoid certain situations that bring me discomfort.  I certainly know I have come to a place and time when all I did was look up and hope God would lift me up and set me somewhere more comfortable.

I did not rescue Hughie from every situation, he is after all a dog and therefore must walk on his own, but I did allow him to find his own way.  Ultimately, I picked him up when he reached a place that was too difficult for him.

Today, I do not face great challenges.  Today, I may only find my path lined with soft grass, but today I will be mindful that I have God who knows my steps.  I have a God Who walks with me.  I have a God Who will pick me up and place me as He deems necessary.  I have a God Who knows that sometimes life is like cold gravel and I need help in my walk.

“The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”  Psalm 23:1-3

The rain fell in intervals, just enough to provide snippets of relief from the heat as I went on a morning jog.  I plodded along a roadside gravel path, the Potomac River pushed up against rocks on my left, a cottage lined road was on my right.  I was alternatingly focused on breathing and enjoying the breathtaking surroundings. My eyes were drawn to a tuft of bright yellow dandelions wedged between the rocky shore and gravel path.  I had to smile.  Every few yards, handfuls of dandelions roared up like tiny suns against the grey ground beneath my feet.  I almost laughed out loud at the contrast, not only in the scenery, but in how I felt about those dandelions.  Here, they were pretty and brought to mind sweet memories of my childhood.  Today, they brightened my morning and I was glad to see them.  But in my yard at home…well, they are not nearly as welcome of a sight.

In my yard, dandelions are the enemy.  They are weeds that discourage the growth of our feeble grass.  When I first see their leaves, I tug them out by hand.  Eventually they dot our lawn like fast spreading measles.  Each year we resign to simply mowing them down and hope their remaining stems blend into the grass to create a “green” lawn.  Location matters.

Last week dear friends of ours moved away.  Our kids grew through their teen years together and into adulthood.  We’ve shared weddings, births, birthdays, career changes and life challenges.  We are going to miss dinners out, cookouts, holiday gatherings and worshiping in church with them.  I know this will not be the end of our relationship.  It will require more intention and while we may not see them often, we will learn to treasure that time even more.  Things will change….location matters.

Yesterday another sweet family moved away.  A young couple we have loved through our work with a young couples class at church.  We have seen them grow spiritually and as a family. While my heart rejoices in the new opportunity this move provides for them, it also aches.  They have formed amazing relationships here.  What began as a class of couples blossomed into a collection of families.  Their kids became fast friends.  They have shared births, birthdays, holidays, illnesses, adventures, career changes and life challenges.   Their move will not be the end of their relationships, but how they continue those relationships will need to change…location matters.

Scott and I are facing change as well.  After living in Northern Virginia for 24 years, we have an opportunity to move.  As we look through various property listings and pray about where God would want us, I am reminded of what is important.  The structure of the house, the upkeep and the condition of things may be on the list, but they are not on the top of the list of deciding factors.  Proximity to where our adult kids now live, nearness to old friends, convenience to airports, and an environment in which we can host friends and family are a huge part of our thought process….location matters.

These shifts in our lives, moves, and change were on my mind as I jogged past those dandelions.  I realized, I do not know of a single dandelion ever purposefully planted by man.  Dandelions grow in dark rocky places, adding color to dim terrain.  They fill fields below tree lines in meadows and farmland, and yes, they defiantly grow in yards across America every spring and summer.   They are where they are because that is where God placed them.  Whether by wind, water or the breath of a neighborhood child blowing and making a wish on the seed filled puffball, it is God who moves the dandelion.  Once planted, those dandelions do what they were created to do…they bloom.

As we all face changes in life, whether a move from city to city, or perhaps a move from one life plan to another, it is good to consider the dandelion.  Location matters only because the God who moves the dandelions also moves us.  Wherever God plants you…bloom!

The rain fell in intervals, just enough to provide snippets of relief from the heat as I went on a morning jog.  I plodded along a roadside gravel path, the Potomac River pushed up against rocks on my left, a cottage lined road was on my right.  I was alternatingly focused on breathing and enjoying the breathtaking surroundings. My eyes were drawn to a tuft of bright yellow dandelions wedged between the rocky shore and gravel path.  I had to smile.  Every few yards, handfuls of dandelions roared up like tiny suns against the grey ground beneath my feet.  I almost laughed out loud at the contrast, not only in the scenery, but in how I felt about those dandelions.  Here, they were pretty and brought to mind sweet memories of my childhood.  Today, they brightened my morning and I was glad to see them.  But in my yard at home…well, they are not nearly as welcome of a sight.

In my yard, dandelions are the enemy.  They are weeds that discourage the growth of our feeble grass.  When I first see their leaves, I tug them out by hand.  Eventually they dot our lawn like fast spreading measles.  Each year we resign to simply mowing them down and hope their remaining stems blend into the grass to create a “green” lawn.  Location matters.

Last week dear friends of ours moved away.  Our kids grew through their teen years together and into adulthood.  We’ve shared weddings, births, birthdays, career changes and life challenges.  We are going to miss dinners out, cookouts, holiday gatherings and worshiping in church with them.  I know this will not be the end of our relationship.  It will require more intention and while we may not see them often, we will learn to treasure that time even more.  Things will change….location matters.

Yesterday another sweet family moved away.  A young couple we have loved through our work with a young couples class at church.  We have seen them grow spiritually and as a family. While my heart rejoices in the new opportunity this move provides for them, it also aches.  They have formed amazing relationships here.  What began as a class of couples blossomed into a collection of families.  Their kids became fast friends.  They have shared births, birthdays, holidays, illnesses, adventures, career changes and life challenges.   Their move will not be the end of their relationships, but how they continue those relationships will need to change…location matters.

Scott and I are facing change as well.  After living in Northern Virginia for 24 years, we have an opportunity to move.  As we look through various property listings and pray about where God would want us, I am reminded of what is important.  The structure of the house, the upkeep and the condition of things may be on the list, but they are not on the top of the list of deciding factors.  Proximity to where our adult kids now live, nearness to old friends, convenience to airports, and an environment in which we can host friends and family are a huge part of our thought process….location matters.

These shifts in our lives, moves, and change were on my mind as I jogged past those dandelions.  I realized, I do not know of a single dandelion ever purposefully planted by man.  Dandelions grow in dark rocky places, adding color to dim terrain.  They fill fields below tree lines in meadows and farmland, and yes, they defiantly grow in yards across America every spring and summer.   They are where they are because that is where God placed them.  Whether by wind, water or the breath of a neighborhood child blowing and making a wish on the seed filled puffball, it is God who moves the dandelion.  Once planted, those dandelions do what they were created to do…they bloom.

As we all face changes in life, whether a move from city to city, or perhaps a move from one life plan to another, it is good to consider the dandelion.  Location matters only because the God who moves the dandelions also moves us.  Wherever God plants you…bloom!

This is an event that forever changed my Easters and I feel lead to share it every year with anyone who will listen. 

Happy Easter my friends, and may you know this day, and all your days, just how much God loves you!

          I’ve lost track of how many years ago it was, yet each Spring I can’t help but recall my introduction to Abigail.  I was a high school science/Bible teacher for a small Christian school at the time. One of my students was a football sized young man named Nick.  He worked for a local farmer who had offered him a young lamb to take home.  Nick’s mom, apparently destined for sainthood, not only allowed him to bring the lamb home, but he got to keep it in his room!  Early that Spring Nick brought photos to share.  To my amazement, there, wedged beside his bed and amid typical teenage squalor, was a carefully built pen, complete with wood rails, chicken wire and hay.  Abigail the lamb had found a perfect home.  Over the next few weeks Nick would have numerous stories to tell of Abigail’s antics.  I couldn’t wait to see her for myself, so I invited Nick to bring her to school one morning.

I ushered my entire class outside and we waited like giddy preschoolers for Abigail’s arrival.  I am certain I will never be able to adequately describe what I saw that day.  I will do my best.  We watched as Nick emerged from his vehicle with Abigail cradled in his big burly arms.  We stood transfixed by the sight of what can only be inadequately referred to as “precious”.  Her pure, white coat seemed almost translucent, radiating light under the bright blue, cloudless sky.   Her tiny nose was a perfect, pink velvet triangle perched just above her little pink mouth.    As I placed my hand on her sweet little head she looked at me.  I found myself staring into the depths of clear, brilliant blue eyes.  I realized I had been holding my breath in awe.  We were expecting to see a cute lamb, somewhat off white in color.  I had not considered that, unlike the lambs at the local petting zoo, Abigail had been living in a clean, loving, environment.  After everyone had made Abigail’s acquaintance, Nick left to return her home and we settled back into Bible class.

We soon realized the relevance of Abigail’s visit as we continued our study of Passover.  The original Passover took place when Moses was leading the Israelites out of Egypt.  God instructed them to mark their door post with the blood of a male lamb.  This was to protect them from the final plague which was the death of all first born in any home not so protected. (Exodus 11&12)  The yearly commemoration of this event required the father to select the best, blemish free lamb and set it apart for the Passover…four days prior to the celebration.  My students and I began to consider something quite startling.  There was a good chance that the lamb would have been brought into the house or yard during that time.  This perfect little lamb, probably as precious and sweet as our Abigail, may have clamored under their feet while they did chores, fed out of their hands and shared a living area.  After four days, this lamb, which by now had become even more precious to the family, was to be sacrificed.   Suddenly one can imagine the cries of the children, the quite sob of their mother, the sorrow in the eyes of the father who knows a blood sacrifice is required.   For the first time, since meeting Abigail, we could truly envision the “sacrificial lamb” of the Scriptures.

The continued observance of Passover was a powerful object lesson for generations of Israelites.  Every family member would be reminded not only of God’s protection and provision when He freed them from slavery, but also of the cost…the blood of their most precious lamb.  This Easter we consider the final sacrifice.  Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, perfect and precious beyond description, was sacrificed for our sin.  Many movies and videos have stirred the heart of man as they depict the brutal crucifixion of our Christ, yet none can compare to the vision of Abigail.  As we celebrate our freedom from sin and death through the resurrection of our Lord, let’s never forget the cost.  Praise God His love and grace make us worthy of such a sacrifice!

1 Peter 1:18-19  “knowing that you were not redeemed with perishable things like silver or gold…but with precious blood, as a lamb unblemished and spotless, the blood of Christ.”

I know I am a bit odd, but I find this time of year a certain Christmas song runs through my head almost daily.  Yep, while most folks are thinking of green grass, eggs, bunnies, empty crosses and vacant tombs, I’m hearing this in my head…

         “Hark! The herald angels sing, “Glory to the new born King; Peace on earth and mercy mild; God and sinners reconciled.”  Yep, there in the first line of this treasured hymn is the true Reason for the Season, the reason for EVERY season.  The birth of Jesus was worthy of celebration only because He would live, die and rise once and for all.

He lived.  He lead.  He taught.  He served.  He healed.  He loved. He laughed. He cried.

He prayed.  He obeyed.  He suffered. He died. 

          If that was all He did, it would be remarkable, but God said “but wait, there’s more…”  And Jesus, God’s son, Himself in flesh…died, then overcame death to rise again in flesh and Spirit.  In this unfathomable thing, He created a way for all of us to also escape eternal death and to have a relationship with a Holy God.  To be RECONCILED to Him through the shed blood of Jesus.

Because of this event, even though I am a sinner and not worthy to be in the presence of God, not worthy to be forgiven, not worthy of having Him lead my life and guide me in difficult days or comfort me in my sorrow, not worthy of knowing His peace when life is chaotic, even though all these things….I can come to God in prayer and ask, “God forgive me, help me, lead me, fill me, use me, be with me.”  And He will give me grace (undeserved favor) and because of His love for me, because the ultimate price for my sin has been covered by Jesus’s death and resurrection, He responds, “I have and I am.”

What was once separated, can now be rejoined….RECONCILED!

HOW ?-Believe in God, believe Jesus was God’s son, believe He died and rose again, ask God to forgive you knowing that Jesus paid your debt, believe and you will be saved….saved from eternal death, saved from a life separated from God, saved from the burden of living life on your own accord and never finding the peace your heart aches for…BE RECONCILED.

“For it was the Father’s good pleasure for all fullness to dwell in Him, and through Him to reconcile all things to Himself, having made peace through the blood of His cross…..although you were formerly alienated and hostile in mind, engaged in evil deeds, yet He has now reconciled you in His fleshly body through death, in order to present you before Him holy and blameless….” Colossians 1:19-22

Go ahead, sing it with me….

“Hark! The herald angels sing; Glory to the newborn King;

Peace on earth and mercy mild; God and sinners reconciled!”

“Base!”, I remember yelling breathlessly as I reached the tree my friends and I had declared was the safe “home base” while playing tag.   I could not help but think of this as I chased my dog around our coffee table the other night.

Hughie, our porky little yorkie, sleeps in a kennel.  Every night we place him in his kennel and he quickly curls up on his soft doggie bed and falls asleep.  Once inside he never barks or objects until morning.  It is not a horrible place to be, but for him it is “AWAY” from us, and that makes it less than desirable.   So, when he thinks we are going to put him in for the night he avoids it.

When we turn off the TV and say things like, “time for bed” or “kennel time”, he is quick to move to the end of the sofa, curl up in a tight ball and pretend to be asleep.  It is as if he is trying to convince us he will be good if left out all night.  He considers the end of the sofa his safe place, “base”.

The most pitiful sight of our nighttime routine is whenever he is on the floor when it becomes obvious we are getting ready for bed.  He runs through the house as fast as his little legs can carry him.  He runs for the couch and throws his front paws up on the side in an attempt to jump up and on to his safe place.  His ability to jump up on the couch left him about 5 pounds ago.  He tries really hard, wags his tiny nub of a tail and looks up at any nearby person for assistance.

So this one night, he assumed I was going to place him in the kennel.  He took off in a panic stricken run around our coffee table.  What a sight we must have been!  I followed him around 4 times before he tossed his paws up on the couch.  I looked down into his dark little eyes and I could almost hear him yelling “BASE!”  I lifted him up and placed him in his special spot.  He curled himself into a tight ball and snuggled into a blanket.  I sat beside him and stroked his knobby, fur tufted head.  His little body relaxed into mine and I could sense his sigh of relief.

I think of God like that.  He is my “base”.  He is the place I run to for rest, peace, comfort and safekeeping. I’d rather be near Him than anywhere else, yet surprisingly there are times when I stray away.  Sometimes I am desperately running through life, knowing I need to reach “base” again.  I will exhaust myself running from God when all He wants to do is scoop me up and bring me to “base”.

Where do you run?  To whom do your run?  Do you have a “base” where you can find refuge?  We DO have a “base”.  We have a God Who desires to be our place of rest, our hope of peace and our strength for the challenges we face.

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

May today be the day you cling to the God  Who loves you best, and yell out to the world… “BASE!!!!”

“I love you”  When we were first married my husband would use these words to proclaim his feelings for me.   It sounded great and felt even better.  Those three little words conveyed his deep feelings.   I’d never get tire of hearing them.

Today when I hear him speak that phrase it means even more.  Sometimes when I hear him say “I love you” I get the sense he is saying them as much for his own benefit as for mine.  As if he is trying to remind himself of the truth of his words in the midst of being frustrated with me. (which admittedly happens kind of often)  Every utterance of “I love you” is now like a battle cry….a quiet recommitment to our relationship and the effort it requires.  “I love you” was once just an emotional comment, now it is full grown and conveys so much more.  I still never tire of hearing it.

God never tires of hearing ‘I love you”.  In telling God we love Him we remind ourselves of His love and our commitment to Him.  God reveals His love for me in every aspect of my life.  I know He loves me.  I hear Him proclaim it in His creation.  I have felt the relief of His love as He forgives my sin.  I have witnessed the comfort of His love as life has brought heartache and hurt.  I have experienced His love in the peace He grants when chaos reigns in life.

His love for us never fails.  This week I am challenged to let God know I love Him with my life, to honor Him and worship Him.  I am also reminded of this great truth….Life may change and challenge, BUT ONE THING REMAINS…..”The loving-kindness of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who trust Him” Psalm 103:17

“I love you God”