Tuesday With Teri

          The bad news is I ran over a squirrel, the good news is he lived to tell his friends about the encounter.  His survival is due to the fact that I was not driving a car at the time.  Yep, l almost killed a squirrel while jogging.

          Even now I am not sure how Mr. Squirrel got so close to meeting his demise.  It is not as if I snuck up on him, or that I was running so fast he did not see me coming.   I was far from stealth in my approach.  My feet plodded heavy against the paved trail, well into a long run, I was having difficulty even picking my feet up.   I am certain the desperate pull of air into my lungs with each step I took, followed by a laborious exhale, produced a cadence not unlike the noticeable chugging of an oncoming train.   I was sure he would scurry away as I approached.  I did not account for his indecisiveness. 

          I slowed my approach and jogged a bit to the left of his position on the edge of the pavement.  He was busy working a nut of some kind into the muddy soil beside the trail.  I saw the moment he noticed me, I was only about two feet away at this point.  That is when it happened.

          You are probably familiar with that startling, back and forth dance we sometimes see squirrels do in the face of an oncoming vehicle.  Well imagine this same evasive maneuvering taking place under your feet.  As I took a step his direction, he took a four-point stance and stared me down.  He then darted to his left, which would have worked since I was passing to my left, but for some reason he changed his little squirrel mind and redirected himself to his right…in a direct collision course with my Nike running shoe!  At this point things fell into slow motion as I attempted to propel myself up and over his head.  I employed what I am sure was a spectacular hop/skip/jump technique just as he once again changed directions and scampered to safety.

          For the remainder of my run I kept imagining all the possible ways that could have gone differently.  What if I had actually managed to step on him?  There would be no amount of counseling to overcome the memory of picking fur from my Nikes!  What if someone had captured this on video?  I would be a celebrity as there is no doubt such a clip would go viral on You Tube! 

          Today I am wondering what would have happened if the little woodland critter had stayed safely in one place. The answer is easy, I would not find myself sitting here today sharing this little adventure with others,  and I would not be praising God for His amazing way of bringing us back to Him when we struggle.

         I have been struggling.  Lately I have not been able to write.  More honestly, I have not been “willing” to write.  I am not sure entirely why I have not been diligent, but I do know that for me not attempting to write is disobedience since I know that is what He asks me to do.  A writer friend of mine has a favorite quote from Harriett the Spy, “writers, write.”   I know I need to be writing.

          Following my squirrel encounter I could not wait to share this misadventure with those who read my blog, I thought you would enjoy it.  Usually God shows me a life application that flows from such events, but when I sat down at the computer, I realized I had none.   Then, in the quite moment before the keyboard and staring at the blank screen, it came.   God used that squirrel to place me right here, right now.   

          It feels good to be back on my writing bench, at my writing desk with my dog curled up beside me.  God knew I would not be able to resist telling the tale and in so doing, I would be reminded of His direction for my life, thinking of the best way to share and seeking the fingerprints of God in everyday things. 

We are all challenged daily to do the things God has called us to do.  I hope that today you find time to seek or rediscover His calling in your life. 

May God place squirrels in your path that lead you back to Him!

“I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you may know what is the hope of His calling…” Ephesians 1:18

          As I walked along the sandy shore, I was startled to see a rather large shell protruding after a retreating wave.   Intact seashells rarely, if ever make it all the way up the Chesapeake River and James River without being tumbled into fractions of their former selves.  The only survivors tend to be local clams, oysters and a variety of small snails.

          A pretty pink scalloped rim rose from the water’s edge and I hurriedly picked it up fully expecting to hold a palm-sized treasure, but it was only a portion of the whole yet once more.  As I looked at the slice of shell in my hand, I could easily see what it must have looked like at one time.  On one side deep grooves funneled to its base in colors fading from dark pink to cream, the other side was smooth and white.  I felt a bit sad.  I realized I was missing seeing what it was or could have been.   The broken bit in my hand seemed so discarded; even I did not feel compelled to keep it for any particular reason.  It was not really worthy of display or collection.  I tossed it back to the water’s edge and watched as the next few waves once again buried its brokenness below the sand.

          I began to walk along the beach once more, eyes now searching for a possible shell that had survived the journey to this shore.  Along the water’s edge, there was a thick trail of shattered shells, dumped unceremoniously with each ebb and flow.  As the tide retreated, the narrow pile of shells remained, marking the highest point of the day’s tide.  That is when I noticed something more beautiful than any unbroken shell I have ever found. 

         The sun’s setting rays illuminated the long line of shells at my feet.  The shards of broken shells glistened in the sand like pastel confetti!  The shell sections of various sizes, color, and shape all mingled to form a breathtaking banner along the shore.  I had been so intent on finding a whole shell that I nearly missed the whole view!

          I bent to scoop up a fist full of shell pieces.  I examined the crumbled remains in my hand, many too small to imagine what they once looked like, and yet together they were a colorful mosaic.  They may have been beautiful at one time, or maybe going to be beautiful, before they were whittled away by time and life, but now they are once again a beautiful sight.

          Let us not be discouraged if time and life have whittled us down from what we once were, or hoped to be.  Yes, it is sad that we may have lost a bit of ourselves along the way, but God in His love and grace has a plan for us.  We may be broken, no longer whole, but through His love and grace, we are part of the WHOLE of His creation, and that is truly breathtaking.

 “but God being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ(by grace you have been saved)….in order that in the ages to come He might show the surpassing riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus”   Ephesians 2:4-7

Believer, broken or whole, together we are a breathtaking, eternal display of God’s amazing grace!

         The grandpuppy came
to visit the other day. Lucy, our sons almost 2 yr old Weimeriner , is a little
on the rambunctious side. Okay, okay, for those who have met her, she is A LOT
on the rambunctious side. She is almost 50 pounds of energy, built like a
gazelle, clumsy like a toddler, with light green eyes that convey a false
innocence.

While Lucy is basically a good
dog, she is still all puppy and has been known to cause a great bit of trouble.
Her tall, lanky frame enables her to reach table and countertops with lightning
fast ease. We “Lucy proof” the house whenever she comes to visit; breakable
things are put away; all foodstuffs and possible poisonous stuff are tucked far
from her reach.

Perhaps the most important
aspect of “Lucy proofing” is hiding all of Hughie’s stuffed toys. Hughie is our
little Yorkshire terrier. He has just a couple of favorite dog toys, both of
which are stuffed objects not designed for the rough chewing/playing of a
larger dog. Bunny, little bear, and green man are usually tossed into a secure
place prior to her entry into the house…unfortunately green man did not make it
this time. I walked into the living room to find snow white tufts of stuffing
floating about Lucy as the lifeless green man dangled from her mouth. Upon
hearing my scolding tone, she looked up at me with her pastel green eyes, beat
her tail feverishly against the floor and then proceeded to happily bring me
the now limp dog toy as if to show me what a great job she had done at
conquering it. Sigh.

Later that night, after Lucy
had returned home, I was putting away all the dog toys and decided it was time
to discard the shell of what was once a vibrant puffy green man. I looked at
his now open seams, threads dangled from all the edges and one appendage hung
precariously by a thin strip of fabric. Funny, I have felt like this little
green man at times. I know what it is like to be “de-stuffed.”

No, I do not mean literally
of course, but I do know the feeling of having all that seems to fill my life
and make me happy, vibrant and active, simply float away like tufts of
stuffing. Too often I let circumstances or people rob me of the joy that God
has given me. I forget He fills me with His Holy Spirit and that He is reason
for all that is my life. When this happens, like the now floppy green man, I
lose my form. I allow myself to become ineffective as I struggle to define who
I am.

The good news is that, unlike
the green man, my stuffing can be restored. When I turn to my God, look to His
Word, and remember His promises, He is faithful always. He restores my joy
every day, forgives me of all my sin, and loves me with a love that is beyond
comprehension. Without Him I am nothing more than an empty shell, with Him I am
“stuffed” with all kinds of hope, grace and possibility.  I hope this week you find yourself
sufficiently stuffed with the Holy Spirit!

“…We pray
that you’ll live well for

the Master, making Him
proud of you as you work in His orchard. As you learn more and more how God
works, you

will learn how to do your
work. We pray

that you’ll have strength
to stick it out over the long haul-not the grim

strength of gritting your
teeth but the glory-strength God gives. It is strength that endures the
unendurable

and spills over into joy,
thanking the Father who makes us strong enough to

take part in everything
bright and beautiful He has for us.”

Colossians
1:10-12

(The Message)

          It was HOT.  The little lap pool at the marina we were staying at was filled with people bobbing up and down in its 4ft depths.  As we hunkered into the cool water to escape the heat of the day, conversations and introductions flowed easily with our fellow marina guests.  One of my favorite things about boating is all the people you meet and the stories they have to share.  I was taking in one such story when I heard the strangest thing from across the pool.

           “May I clean your glasses for you?”  I thought I heard the young man ask.  I was not the only one startled and perplexed.  A bit of a nervous giggle could be heard as someone asked him if he was serious.  Yes, indeed this young man was serious and he had a wipe and glass cleaner in hand to prove it.  Imagine that!  One of the marina’s dock attendants was squatting down at the pools edge offering to simply clean glasses. This was possibly the nicest/oddest service I have ever seen offered at any establishment.

          One pool guest tentatively handed him her sunglasses.  He quickly sprayed, wiped, and returned them to her.  As he made his way around the pool, many were taking him up on his kind offer.  When he came to me, I politely declined.  I was wearing my reading glasses and enjoying a good book by the pool,  and felt I did not need them cleaned.  I quickly regretted my choice.

          My daughter gave him her sunglasses next.  I think she was a bit embarrassed to have someone wait on her for such a small need,  that is until she put the cleaned glasses back on. “Wow, what a difference!” she exclaimed.  That’s when I started noticing everyone one in the pool talking about how much better they could see and laughing at the realization they had been looking through such dirty lenses.  Sea salt, sweat, and suntan lotion probably coated most of our glasses.  As others around me marveled at their new “outlook” on life, I was suddenly keenly aware of the various smudges and streaks that hampered my vision.

          What kept me from experiencing greater clarity?  Maybe I was in denial about my need to have my glasses cleaned.   Had I grown accustomed to reading through my filthy lenses, unable to perceive the need?  Maybe I was just too unprepared for the offer.  Having never heard someone offer to clean my glasses ever before, was I too slow to process and respond appropriately?  Maybe I was too prideful.   Why should I let someone else clean my glasses when I am perfectly capable to take care of such things on my own?  Sometimes I think I respond to God in a simialr fashion.

        I once heard someone describe coming to know God’s forgiveness and grace as “having a veil pulled back.”   Have I allowed the burden of my sins to obscure my view?  God’s grace is sufficient and His forgiveness complete, yet sometimes we walk around with guilt and shame, unable to see all God has in store for us.

         There was a popular song years ago called “My Father’s Eyes” which spoke of the desire to see the world and those around us the way God sees them.   Do I see others as He sees them, with grace and compassion?  Have I allowed life’s circumstance to form a distorting barrier over my eyes, making it difficult to recognize what is Truth?

          As I write this, I am straining through reading glasses that once again need cleaning.  I am thinking how much easier typing will be after I remove a few persistent smudges.  How much easier would life be if I asked God for such clarity?  While wiping the oily film from my lenses I ask God to help me see His will for my life.  I ask Him to help me see those around me as He would.   I ask Him to remove the things that cloud my vision.  I want to see Him.

“But whenever a man turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away…”

2Corinthians 3:16

Each time we don a pair of reading or sunglasses may we be
reminded, God is asking, “May I clean your glasses for you?”

          Being independent is worth celebrating.  This past Fourth of July, a celebration of our nation’s independence from England, was a striking reminder of other
important steps toward independence.

          I walked into our local Target store, the Monday prior to the 4^thof July, confident I could procure holiday décor.   My mission, to purchase red white and blue
string lights, was almost a failure.   To my utter amazement, the seasonal section had been purged of patriotic items.  Employees were busily restocking
the shelves with back to school items!  It is only JULY people!  Fortunately, I found the last two sets of string lights located on a bottom shelf of an end cap
display along with a few remnants of patriotic paper products.

          I must admit that even though I no longer have school aged children to prep for school, the site of the back to school displays put a knot
in my tummy.  Each year, going back to school signified their steps toward independence.   Every new school year brought them closer toward being self-reliant as they learned and developed new skills.  It was both saddening and welcome.  As a parent, I desire my kids to become independent.  I pray they will find happiness in life that is not dependant on other people, work, their circumstances, or me.  I want them to be able to step out on their own in life.

           Independence is empowering.  We hold it in high regard, seek it out as human beings, fight for it, and honor it with celebrations as we grow closer towards it.

          There is one kind of independence that defies this idea.  There is an independence that is not worth celebrating, an independence that leads toward destruction….independence from God.  Unlike the empowering independence we discover as we grow up, a lack of dependence on God brings us far away from the freedom we desire.  Without God we are quick to become enslaved to destructive vices or behaviors.  We depend on people, work, money or our circumstances for our happiness.   It is mind-boggling how easy it is to push away from God and step into the world on our own.  Perhaps this is the only independence that does not lead to freedom.

          I know it is a week past the 4^th of July, but perhaps like me you see the remnants of the celebration all around; scraps of paper strewn on neighborhood streets from exploded firecrackers, patriotic items in discount bins at stores, star-spangled buntings still draping houses and flags flying higher and more plentiful than usual.   May theses things, as well as the “back-to School” displays serve as reminders as we challenge ourselves to celebrate independence and continue to seek dependency on God, the source of true freedom.

 “But now having been freed from sin and enslaved to God, you
deserve the benefit, resulting in sanctification, and the outcome, eternal
life.” Romans 6:22

“It was for freedom that Christ set us free, therefore keep
standing firm, and do not be subject agin to the yoke of slavery(bonds of sin)”
Galatians  5:1

          My head was reclined and my jaw pried wide open.  What seemed to be a large piece of a popped latex balloon stretched from gum line to gum line as metal instruments clanked in my mouth.   Three bespectacled faces crowded my view as the dentist, his assistant, and a trainee peered into my mouth.  What a wonderful way to spend a morning!

          As far as dentist visits go it was pleasant enough…well, except for the whole yucky tasting numbing gel, the brain piercing sound of the drill and the unnerving feeling of just how close to your brain they are working.   I am not a big fan of going to the dentist, but I am an even lesser fan of my teeth hurting.  Honestly, my current dental office is exceeding gentle and kind so I really should be better about those pesky checkups. 

  Today’s visit brought to mind one particular dental visit I experienced many years ago.

          I was having a perfectly normal day at work when all of the sudden one of my teeth, a molar in the farthest recess of my mouth, decided to let me know it was there.  It seems insufficient to say it was a toothache.  The intensity of the pain brought all of my day’s plans to a halt.  Within minutes I was in the dentist chair of good ole’ Dr. Patch. 

          Dr. Patch was an elderly gentleman who sort of reminded me of that Tim Conway character from the Carol Burnett Show, you know, the one who shuffled around incompetently, minus the incompetence of course.  Dr. Patch settled me into his chair and began to investigate the source of my discomfort.   It did not take long for him to locate the culprit.  One poke from his little metal hook and I slid out of the banana shaped dental chair and landed on the floor with a thud. “Oh, sorry about that.” he said as he and his assistant helped me back into the seat.  Apparently I had a rather large cavity on the backside of  a back molar. 

          “Well, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news” he pronounced.  “The good news is I can make that pain go away, the bad news is I’m going to have to take that tooth.”   The fact that the idea of him pulling a tooth did not even remotely concern me gives you an indication of just how uncomfortable I was.  “Dr. Patch, you had me at “I can make that pain go away,”” I replied.

          I have no memory of what happened after that.  I’m pretty sure a considerable amount of laughing gas was used.  As my head began to clear following the procedure, I noticed the dental assistant snickering to herself as she busily cleaned up the work area.  “What’s so funny?” I asked.  Apparently, while under the spell of the gas, I professed undying love to sweet Dr. Patch.   I was so relieved to be free of my pain that I uttered, “I just love you so much Dr. Patch.” over and over again with tears of joy rolling from my eyes.  The assistant no longer even attempted to hide her laughter as she recounted my proclamation of affection.  Let’s just say it was a tad awkward when he reentered the room.

Who wouldn’t love the one who has taken away a painful burden? 

          That is one of the reasons why I love God; He has taken away the burden of my sin.  I love God because He loves me enough to forgive me of my sin and provide a way for me in this life.  Sometimes the relief of knowing I am out from under the weight of the eternal consequences of my sin is overwhelming.  I find myself crying with joy and praising Him, especially when I’m in church, singing praises and hymns.  Yet, it is also common for me to forget how much grace I am given.  When this happens, I find myself acting less like someone who loves the Lord and more self-centered.  I always want to be aware of the greatness of His mercy and grace.  I never want to stop loving Him with a love that is as sold out and service oriented.  I want to live out my love for the Lord with the passion that flows from one who has experienced great relief!

I think each time I brush my teeth from now on I will consider His mercies, remember His grace, and start my day mindful that I am out from under the burden of my sin.

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together in Christ (by grace you have been saved)” Ephesians 2 :4&5

          I was clearing my desk area when a memory fell to the floor.  I have something I call my “fall apart Bible”.  This is the Bible my parents gave me when I was in high school.  It has seen many years and continues to be my favorite place to spend time in God’s Word.   The pages are worn, which means they fall open easily to favorite passages.  Perhaps the biggest problem is that its binding has given up trying to hold onto the first pages of Genesis as well as those thick blank pages found at the start of most books.  I have them collected and stuffed in my Bible cover because years ago I documented some sweet memories on those blank pages.   As I picked up the stiff papers I looked over my scribbling in the faded ink.  There, amidst numerous other documented moments in the life of my daughter, was a memory I had almost forgotten.

Ashley, age 10…as I put her to sleep and brushed her cheek with my fingertips : “we had barbecue last time you did that”… “What?” I replied…  Ashley: “I remember thinking how good your fingers smelled”.

          I am not too sure why I felt compelled to write this down in my Bible, but I am glad it was there today. 

       An aroma can trigger everything from memories to emotions.  Scents can cling and linger.  They can delight or cause us to squinch our noses in disgust (yep, just made up that word “squinch” hopefully you are picturing a pinched forehead and wrinkled up nose).  Aromas matter.  We mask foul odors in our home, treat odorous bacteria with deodorant, gravitate toward Cin-A-Bun stores, and veer away from decaying matter.

           Soooooooo, what kind of aroma are we giving off?   It is not the odor of our being that exist due to,  or lack of, personal hygine, that I speak of…I am referring to the aroma of Christ.  In 2 Corinthians Paul speaks of the aroma of Christ.  Victoriuous generals would parade their captives and soldiers through town.  Crowds would cheer and the sweet smell of burning spices would fill the air.

          Christ is our victor, we are His captives ushered before the world to testify to His victory.  As the gospel of Christ is released through Christian testimony, it is a sweet smelling aroma. 

“But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of Him.  For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing.”                                                2 Corinthians 2:14&15

We are sort of like those barbecue scented fingers…our testimonies are a sweet smelling reminder of something VERY good, even better than barbecue…the grace of God through His son Jesus Christ!

          There was no fork in the road.  I am certain of this.  There was no time in which I stood before two varying paths and chose one, and yet, somehow I ended up on a different path than planned…a wrong path leading nowhere.    Yep, it sounds like a life analogy (and of course it is), but I am actually referring to my most recent jogging endeavor.

          I decided to go for a jog at a local park.  Burk Lake Park boast of a lovely lake that is surrounded by over  4.5 miles of well cared for bike/walking trails.    I confidently plodded along encouraged by the numerous runners of various shapes and sizes that had also taken on this morning task.  Seriously, when a woman not more than 5ft. tall and certainly over 60 years of age passes you not once, but twice, you feel compelled to keep moving.

          The trail is about  3ft. wide and is primarily packed ground and gravel.  I was moving along and taking in the beauty of my surroundings when I noticed the trail getting a bit more narrow.  Eventually I was dodging low hanging branches and swerving to miss rather large rocks.  When I had to stop entirely to climb a huge tree which had fallen over the path, and when the thick underbrush of the woods formed an impassable wall before me, I decided I was somehow off track. 

          Apparently small trails had been worn down by other travelers over time leading from the main path to the lake’s edge.  These side paths extended like fingers on a hand and soon I was jogging up and down each one trying to find the original and actual trail.  Eventually another runner joined me down one of these wrong paths.   We may have both been off track, but I knew we shared a common destination.

        I followed him.  You see, even though he was just as imperfect as I was, notice he was also on the wrong path, he DID seem to have more experience.  I came to this conclusion by judging his appearance.  With a head of gray hair, he stood atop two VERY muscular legs.  His skin clung tightly to chiseled calves, the tell tale sign of lifetime runners.  He also sported what I call the “batman utility belt,” a belt that holds everything from cell phones and keys to power bars and water bottles, another clue he was an experienced runner.   Soon we were both back on track. 

           I was amazed at how obvious the trail seemed to me now.  I still cannot imagine how I managed to get off it.  The good news is that the unplanned diversion forced me to jog farther than I thought that I could.  I was excited when I realized I had surpassed my goal that day.  The bad news is that even with this experience behind me I cannot say with certainty it will not happen again. 

          Life is a lot like that I think.  Sometimes we end up going a different direction than planned.  Sometimes we veer off our intended path.  We may be prepared to stand before life’s various “forks in the road” and make life altering choices, but what happens when we miss a turn or turn when we should not…when there is no obvious “fork”? 

          Should you find, as I have before, that you are not where you intend to be, that you somehow got going a wrong direction,  now is a good time to find your way back.   Some of the steps I used to get back to my car that day may apply…

1. Admit you are “off track”.  At first, I tried to pretend I knew where I was, it did not help.  It only resulted in me jogging confidently into a wall of leaves.  It does not help when we stubbornly continue to go the wrong way, fully aware we are misdirected.
2. DO NOT isolate yourself.  It may be embarrassing to let others see where you are or admit how “far off the path” you have gone… but isolation will not lead you home.  
3. Find someone to follow.  Find others who are going the direction in life you desire.  They may not always be perfect either, but there are always people who can be good examples  and encouragers.
4. Verify this person’s ability to help you.

a. Do they LOOK like they know where they are supposed to be

b. Do they have the proper equipping…are they walking the walk

          I am not entirely certain that getting “off track” is avoidable…but  I think there are things that may reduce the chances of getting lost along the way…

1. Pay attention…there may be many things distracting us, but seek God each day… “God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee, my soul thirsteth  for thee…”Psalm 63:1
2. Follow a map/directions…God did not leave us here without instruction or guidance, He has given His Word and the Holy Spirit. “But the Helper, the Holy Spirit whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I said unto you.” John 14:26

I am thankful that our God loves us so much, that even when we veer off the path He gives us grace.  He loves us and desires us to return to Him.  I am without words to describe the times He has taken my missteps and turned them into His triumph in my life.  Much like getting lost that day lead me past my goal, He can turn our detours in life into His glory.

          I sweat when I workout.  I do not “glisten” or “perspire,” I SWEAT.   The level of moisture I was sopping off my face with a towel during my time at the gym was not a surprise.  It was an extra “good” workout.  That is what my friend and workout buddy called it…apparently “good” is another way of saying extra long, hard and grueling.   Our trainer, Sara, is much too enthusiastic about her job.

          So, there we were, working hard and dutifully following the directions of our tormentor/trainer when suddenly I heard Sara gasp.  “Teri! You have a heart on your shirt!” she exclaimed.   Yep,  that wonderful sweat I mentioned earlier managed to pool down my spine and soak into my shirt forming a perfect heart shape on my back the size of a small dinner plate.

          Suddenly, I was getting way too much attention as everyone, including another trainer in the room, wanted to see it for themselves.  I suppose I should be thankful it was the shape of a heart and not the face of the Virgin Mary or Jesus, as that would have solicited even more looks and notoriety.  It did not take long for us to come up with numerous comments, all worthy of eye rolling: “you sure wear your heart on your shirt.” “You’re such a SWEAT heart”, “my heart sweats for you” and so forth..

          It was a brief event.  The workout session ended.  The heart eventually evaporated away.  The shirt has been washed, dried, folded, and put away.  My sweaty heart faded quickly, but it has had a lasting impact on my thoughts lately.

          Sometimes, we think what is in our heart is as plain as the sweat soaked image displayed on by back that day.   We hope others can see God’s love in us, a reflection of His grace.  However, just as the sweaty image was fleeting, so is our ability to always do the right thing.  We try to be the person God calls us to be, but in our own effort, we find failure.  It is only when we rely on Him and His grace that we will find the ability to reflect His love.

          I’m not sure if I would actually want what was in my heart so clearly displayed for all to see.  How would others react to what would appear on my shirt?  How would I react to the visualization of the truth of my heart?  What if everything we thought and felt actually presented itself symbolically on our attire throughout the day?  Honestly, I think I would spend A lOT if time asking people who saw it to forgive me.

Matthew 12: 35 reminds us,

“A good man, out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things; an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things.”

This week, I am searching my heart and looking to Him.

“Search me O God, and know my heart, try me and know my thoughts, see if there be any wicked way in me and lead me in the way everlasting.” Psalm 139:23-24

          My father lost his battle with cancer on May 28^th, 1999.  Each memorial day, while remembering those who have given their lives in service to our country, I am also thinking of the loss of my dad.   I thank God for giving me such an amazing father, but it is not the anniversary of his passing that shakes my heart.  It is in the living of life that his memory shows up and I miss him most of all.

       Recently, I had an experience with a friend of mine’s little girl that continues to play in my mind and fill my heart with thoughts of my dad.  Morgan is the youngest of four beautiful little girls.  Their daddy is deployed in Afghanistan.  When her mom asked me if I could come over to hang out with Morgan so she could do some work in the yard, I jumped at the chance to spend time with her.  I knew It would be fun.

          Morgan and I began our play date by pushing her little toy shopping cart, packed with my purse, cell phone and some flowers she picked, up and down her driveway.  Eventually I found myself sitting in the middle of a sidewalk, at her direction of course, with our legs straight out before us watching for passing cars.  We sat, and sat, and sat some more.  Every car that passed was waved to and its color discussed.  Busses were the best of course, but trucks were an easy second in terms of bringing a smile to her face.  We sat and waved to strangers who kindly waved back.  We talked about the leaves and flowers she had picked on our walk and she took pictures of the cars with my cell phone…well, attempted to get pictures…there are many photos of an empty street on my phone now.  Before I knew it, her mom was done with her work and it was time for lunch.

          When my son was little, he and my dad, Paw Paw, would walk down the street and sit at the corner.  They would sit on the wood landscaping stumps that bordered the sidewalk and face the street.  They would sit there for long periods of time, just the two of them.  I often wondered what they talked about.  I wondered what was so special about sitting by the street with Paw Paw.  Now, thanks to Morgan, I think I know.

          I am not usually good at just sitting and taking things in, but I have noticed I am getting better at it each passing year.  It is probably a combination of getting older and actually having the luxury of time.   My visit with Morgan showed me how precious just sitting can be.  I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of my time with her. 

          I had not realized it until then, but I have many memories of just sitting with my dad.  I realize now that often the times I miss him most are when I am being still.

          When I sit on our boat and watch the Ospreys swoop out over the water, I think how much he would have enjoyed it.  When a summer rain fills the sky with flickers of lightning and soft thunder, I think of how much dad liked watching the storms while sitting in the garage.  When I sit on the porch in the cool evening air, I think how much my dad would have liked to sit there too.  While waiting for crab to take my bait, I think how much fun my dad would have had if he were there.  Just this last weekend, as my husband and I joined friends on the bow of our boat to take in the beauty of the stars in the expansive sky, I just knew my dad could have laid and looked at those stars for hours too.   

          My dad knew the treasure of being still.  In his stillness, we found the gift of his time and attention.

 God waits to give us this same gift, all we need to do is be still.

 “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him; …” Psalm 37:7a