A Tiny Little Life

This is the story of a life. It was a tiny little life, though not as tiny as some others. To some of us, it was a very important one. This is the story of Zoe, my precious sweet-faced baby girl. She had lots of other nicknames, but those are the things that describe her in my mind, more than anything else. She died, Saturday morning.  (11/3  -- I've been having a hard time finishing this post.) Zoe means life, and that's why she had that name. She was so FULL of life and energy, just bursting to explore and snuggle, and run, and popcorn, and play. (Piggies popcorn-- they hop straight up in the air, just for the fun of it, when they're happy.)

Zoe, as a baby.

I say it was tiny, because it was short, and because it belonged to a little animal, not because it didn't have value. It did. It mattered. She mattered. She still does. To me, anyway. 

L-R Zoe, Zelma, Zephyr

In the spring of 2010, I decided that I needed a little animal to keep me company. I lived alone and telecommuted, so my interactions with others were fairly minimal. I visited a local pet store, which was advertising a free guinea pig with the purchase of a cage. (I think.. Maybe vice versa.) 

I picked the one that made me smile most, because of a full-body mohawk and white rear end, and took "him" home. They told me at a store that this piggy was a boy. He turned out to be a pregnant girl. Smile.

Babies were so little that they sat in the food dish. :)

On 7/22/10, I was in my office about 3 feet away when my precious little mama pig gave birth to 4 babies, one of whom didn't make it. One of the remaining pups was a boy, and the following Thanksgiving, he went to live with his cousin in Kansas, the boar who belonged to my niece. He still lives there, fat and healthy, today. (Though, sadly, his cage-mate has died.)

The two little girls and their mother stayed with me, and they all got names: Zelma (mama pig), Zoe (brown baby), and Zephyr (pink baby). They were so stinking cute, and I watched them grow up and turn into fat, healthy piggies with individual personalities and tastes. It's kind of funny, because there are times when I forget that all kinds of critters have personalities. These three are very different. 

Zoe was a people person. She always wanted to know what the people were up to. If I was working at my desk and it had been awhile since I'd said anything or interacted with the girls, she would come over to the side of the cage closest to me and watch me until I noticed her and spoke to her, or came to pet her. She was very naturally curious and always wanted to know what was going on. 

She seemed to really enjoy being held, and was always curious about whatever the holder was wearing, smelled like, or was doing. She didn't care about watching movies or TV (the mama pig is a movie watcher), but she'd snuggle right in under my jawbone and nuzzle my neck. She always licked and tasted everything, and the first thing you'd see of her, most of the time, was her little pointy nose, up in the air, checking out her surroundings. 

She liked cucumbers. (Zephyr always chokes on cucumbers.) She was the vocal one of the group, and if she thought it had been too long and they needed weggies (that's piggy speak for vegetables), she would speak right up and send me after them. (Now Zelma asks, sometimes.) She was the first of the babies to figure out how to use the water bottle. (Something Zephyr still makes harder than it needs to be.)

I called her my punkin pig, because she looked like a piece of pumpkin pie. The reddish brown looked like pumpkin. The dark brown looked like spices-- nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice. And the little wedge of white on her side looked like a dollop of whipped cream. 

Little noses, sniffing out weggies.

When she got sick, I may not have noticed right away. I kick myself for that. It was a weekend. I spend all week in the office, ordinarily, which is where the pigs live to keep me company, and especially during my busy season (Sept-Nov) I don't even want to SEE the office when I'm not working. I take care of the pigs, and I'll go get them to hold them, but I don't spend time in the office on the weekends, if I can help it. I didn't notice her being unwell until Sunday night, but she could have been struggling for awhile, by then. 

You see, guinea pigs are prey animals in the wild. Being weak or unwell is a strategic disadvantage, if a predator is anywhere nearby. If one gets sick, it masks the symptoms until whatever illness it has kills it or goes away. Most piggy illnesses are fatal, unless they're treated quickly. I tend to be around them enough that I would notice if one was in any way acting unusual. 

Last fall, Zephyr got sick. We got her to the vet, put her on medication, quarantined her, and a week later, she was well enough to return to the herd. 

Not so with Zoe-pig. Zoe wasn't eating at all by the time I knew she wasn't well. I should have immediately started her on the critical care food, but I waited until I got her to the vet the next morning. I kick myself for that, too. The vet gave her shots of vitamins and an antibiotic, put her on oral medications, told me to feed her the critical care food (which I already had from Zephyr's illness), took an x-ray and sent us home with a plan to get her well. 

Piggies nap a lot.

She should have gotten better. She didn't. She got weaker. I fed her every hour or so. I gave her one medication twice a day and another 3 times a day. I had alarms set on my phone to remind me what time she needed which treatment. We went back to the doctor, and she was very concerned. Zoe should have gotten better. We added a pro-biotic and an anti-inflammatory. She seemed to get worse, every time I gave her medicine. I finally decided that I wasn't going to give her more medicine. I would just feed her. 

I went online to see what I could find out. I should have done that sooner. I kick myself for that, too. One link led me to a forum string that said that a few guinea pigs have an intolerance for the main antibiotic administered to guinea pigs. That was what she was on. That day, Friday, she had developed the symptoms of that intolerance, continuing to weaken, and had gotten to the point that she couldn't walk. She was barely moving at all. She had started having muscle spasms, which eventually seemed to be brief seizures. 

I know it's a stupid look on my face. I think I was
frustrated with my phone camera at the time...

I went to bed Friday night, sick to my stomach. I couldn't sleep. She was barely even lifting her head. With my husband sleeping soundly, I sneaked back in and carried her back into the living room with me. I tried to feed her. I gave her some water. I held her. I napped with her. I cried when she twitched and seized. I prayed for this precious little life. I asked God to show me how I could help her. 

It got cold. In our living room, we have several large windows, and it got very cold on the couch next to those windows. I wrapped us in a blanket, then covered us with a down-filled throw. I kept her warm. I held her. I kept praying, as I dozed in and out. 

Forgive the poops & the red eyes. This was the last picture
I took of the three of them, before I found out Zoe was sick.
It was taken 10/26/12.

She was so soft, so weak. My heart ached for the little body resting on my chest. Finally, she had a massive seizure that seemed to just go on and on. I cried and prayed for God to save her, to make it stop. It did, eventually, and she took her last couple of breaths, then died. It was about 2:30 in the morning. 

I went in and woke my husband. My poor little punkin pig who had been so sick wasn't sick anymore. I went to bed, broken and sick at heart.

After I woke, my husband built her a little coffin, and we wrote on it. It says:

Zoe

7-22-10

11-3-12

Blessed be the Name of

the Lord.

The Lord gives, and the 
Lord

takes away. 

She was a precious gift.

Sweet faced li'l bown baby girl.

We buried her in the corner of our back yard, in the mum bed. We went out and found a new mum to look over her grave. It's darker-than-blood red. Almost black, in some lights. It was covered with buds, when we bought it, but only a few had opened into blooms. Now, it's mostly covered with flowers, and they stand guard over that little lifeless body buried in a box that was built with love.

Very few days have gone by, since then, that I haven't gone out and spent at least a few moments in that quiet place. Few days have gone by that I haven't cried at least a few tears for the loss of this precious little animal.

I kick myself in circles that I didn't do more, do better by her, treat her sooner, have the vet change her medications, or just appreciate what a gift she was quite as much when she was alive.  I don't know how many times I've said I'm sorry. To her grave, to her mother, to God. The truth of the matter is, she was my responsibility. While I didn't succeed in helping her get well and live, I hope that I wasn't such a horrible steward of her life and care.

My husband assures me that I treat them well. He says that it wasn't my fault, that I couldn't have known or done anything better, that I tried everything I knew to do to save her. He says, "You're not a vet, and you were treating her the way the vet said to treat her. You couldn't have known. You did the best you could." And I just keep kicking myself. And missing her.

The grave, the day she was
buried. 11/3/12

I try to pay more attention to the two remaining pigglies, now, though truth be told, I have given them lots of attention all along. They remind me how much she loved people, just by being less interested. The first time I held Zephyr after Zoe's death, when I took her back to the cage, she spent several minutes looking in all the tunnels, making the mama pig move so she could see behind her, and basically asking, "Where's my sister?" it was heartbreaking. I broke down and wept.

When I feed them, I still subconsciously look for that little nose, then sadden when it's not there. She used to sit in this almost perfectly round ball with her hair puffed up when she'd eat. If you'd pet her while she was eating, she'd scoot straight backwards really fast to get away. It was ridiculously cute. No one does that anymore.

Sometimes, when I'm working, I look over, half-expecting to see her little face pointed my direction, wanting to know what I'm doing. It's not there. I wish I had a picture of that.

Maybe it's ridiculous for an adult to have little pets like these. Maybe I'm a little too crazy about them. Maybe I should be less emotionally attached to animals, who have such short life spans. Maybe. 

Maybe my grief should be easing now. Maybe it is. Maybe she has become a bit of a symbol of more regrets than just my care for her. Maybe the fact that this was my first close experience with death as an adult has made it all hit harder. Maybe.

Here are some things I know. I understand more about how God feels about me because I have little, helpless animals. I know that eternity is real and that death is unnatural. I know that my husband is the kind, caring, considerate man that I thought he was when I married him, because he has treated my grief and love with such gentleness and respect. I know that God understands my grief, probably better than I do.

And one final thing I know is true. 

Tiny little lives matter. 

Much love and many tears, 

LL~

Modesty Begins in the Heart: Part 2

Source

See Part 1 here.

I have been brought to, God only knows how, blogs written by a couple of lovely ladies who have, in gentle loving-kindness given me much to consider. I say "God only knows" because I wasn't searching for these blogs, but just came across them while web-surfing. I couldn't tell you how I found them, only that God brought me to them because He wanted me to hear His heart in a way that each of them are excellent at communicating.

The two blogs in particular are The Modest Mom (Caroline) and Large Families on Purpose (Erika), though there are also others that have helped me think through these things. Both Caroline and Erika are homeschooling moms with multiple children. I can tell you from reading their blogs that they each love the Lord, and their hearts are all about their families, and the women that they can love and serve through their writing.

The thing that struck me about these two beautiful women was that, while they have strong, unwavering, unshakable beliefs, they are so loving and kind that they present their beliefs in ways that make you want to hug them and know them better, not in such a way that you want to punch them in their respective noses. That is, in my experience with "church people" over the years, a unique grace, and one that I hope someday will be true of me. These women are living examples of that old saying about tact. You know the one. Tact is getting your point across without stabbing someone with it.

I know, as I read their blogs, that no one will ever convince Erika or Caroline to change their minds on something that God has taught them. I also know that, when either of them is confronted by people who have convictions opinions that are contradictory to what God teaches in His word and through His spirit, that she will love that person well, and instruct her in righteousness with grace. I know this, because I've read it. You can hear their hearts in their words. Modesty's not just a rule they live by, it's an outpouring of their love for God and their desire to live as God's woman, regardless of what others may or may not think.

The reason I'm talking about that here is that it is foundational to what modesty is all about. As C.J. Mahaney discusses it, modesty is about three things: the attitude, the appearance, and the allegiance of the modest woman. A woman who is truly modest, is modest in her heart first, due to the transforming effect of the gospel. This affects her appearance, and it conveys her allegiance. What Caroline and Erika write on their blogs is evidence of this transforming effect. Their hearts, their attitudes, and their allegiance are all evident, and the love they share is poured out visibly in their modesty of dress and appearance.

Caroline from The Modest Mom and Amy from Raising Arrows did a series called She Wears Skirts that bounced back and forth between their blogs. The series talks about why they wear skirts, and not pants. It talks about the convictions that God had given them regarding the modesty of their appearance, and it goes into much more detail than I will here, about why they believe it's more modest and less distracting, more feminine and less lust-provoking to wear skirts.

The bottom line of these ladies' personal dress codes? They are motivated by love. They want to love their Christian brothers well, by not distracting them from what God has for them to do, and by not inspiring in them anything that would cause them to fight a battle with sin and lust.

As I began to say in the first part of this series, I have been realizing that my personal clothing choices are evidence of the state of my heart, and that has become a matter of great concern to me. I'll tell you this, it's hard to look attractive, and be modestly dressed, when you're busty. Even if the rest of me is appropriately attired, sheer volume in the chest area can be an issue. It's difficult to find shirts or dresses that fit properly in the chest and don't look like a sack of potatoes on the rest of me. I'm growing resigned to the fact that I fare better wearing skirts and blouses/shirts than dresses, in most cases, and many times more than one layer on top.

It's tough, for someone who is as warm-natured as I am, to wear multiple layers in the summer without overheating. I've learned that certain fabrics are more comfortable than others, and that tighter layers are often less breathable. Nobody wants to sweat all the time. Want to know something funny? I've found that wearing sleeveless or strappy shirts doesn't create as much of a wicking effect as wearing a couple of layers. I actually sweat less, and look (and feel) fresher if I'm wearing a shirt with sleeves, and more so with a cami or tank under it. All that moisture gets absorbed and dissipates faster. I don't know how it works, but it does.

My personal opinion on this is that when I make modesty a deciding factor in what I choose to wear, God honors that, and He takes care of my comfort, too. He knows when I'm doing right, when my heart is right, and He honors it. If it wasn't important, it wouldn't be addressed in the Bible. If it's important to God, then it should be important to me. If I seek always to please my heavenly Father, then why not do something He's already said is pleasing to Him?

Let's look at a little bit of Mahaney's sermon, taken from 1Timothy, chapter 2:

The 'women should adorn themselves in respectable apparel.' That would be her appearance. And her attitude is emphasized... 'with modesty and self-control.' All respectable apparel is the fruit of a godly heart. Ladies, your wardrobe is a public statement of your personal and private motivation. And if you profess godliness, your motivation is to be distinct from our culture... It is to be motivated by modesty and self-control... 

A modest heart always precedes modest dress. Modesty is humility expressed in dress, a desire to serve others, particularly men, and not promote or provoke sensuality or lust. Modesty, self-control... Moderation for the purpose of purity...

John MacArthur has written, 'How does a woman discern the sometimes fine line between proper dress and dressing to be the center of attention? The answer starts in the intent of the heart. A woman should examine her motives and goals for the way she dresses. Is her intent to show the grace and beauty of womanhood? Is it to reveal a humble heart devoted to worshiping God? Or is it to call attention to herself and flaunt her beauty, or worse, to attempt to allure men sexually? A woman who focuses on worshiping God will consider carefully how she is dressed, because her heart will dictate her wardrobe and appearance.'

Whose attention do you desire, and whose approval do you crave?...

Is your wardrobe modest, evidencing self-control and respectable apparel? Every outfit, no exceptions?

...what is to be noticeable about a woman professing godliness is not her wardrobe, but her good works. There is to be this observable lifestyle of serving others. That is the appropriate... godly adornment for women who profess to be Christians. That is, in effect, the transforming effect of the gospel...

What is most eye catching about you-- your clothing, or your character?

See, Paul isn't simply advocating modesty in dress. He is insisting that more time be devoted, more energy be devoted to spiritual adornment in the form of good works. And he is warning about excessive attention devoted to appearance to the neglect of good works. 

Please, please do not misinterpret. Do not misunderstand. Do not misapply this message. Paul is not a conservative... This isn't some general appeal for morality. This, modesty, it is about the gospel... That is the transforming effect of the gospel. Modest hearts, respectable apparel, good works. The woman who loves the Savior avoids immodesty because she doesn't want at any time to distract from or reflect poorly upon the gospel.

That is the godly woman's concern-- that her attitude and her appearance reveal her allegiance to this Savior who was her substitute and provided her the ransom from her sin. And so, there is to be no contradiction between her profession of godliness and her practice of godliness. 

~Excerpted from "The Soul of Modesty"

C.J. Mahaney

29 January 2008 

Moderation for the purpose of purity. The fruit of a godly heart. A public statement of my personal and private motivation. Humility expressed in dress. There is to be no contradiction between my profession of godliness and my practice of godliness.

I can tell you, when I've ever thought about modesty, before now-- in all those high school conversations, in all the teaching I've heard-- it's always been about rules. It's always been about meeting some standard, measured in inches. Inches of length on skirts or shorts. Inches from the collarbone on the necklines of blouses, and heaven forfend you should even consider a halter top. Those are OUT. (Funny how some halter tops are more modest than some blouses with sleeves or tank-tops with the required one-inch width straps.)

1 Timothy 1:9 says that "the law is not made for a righteous person, but for the lawless and insubordinate." In all those debates about the letter of the law versus the spirit of the law, we somehow missed this point. Modesty of dress is outward evidence of the state of our hearts. Immodesty is an expression of arrogance. Modesty is an expression of humility and love. It's not about the rules defining modesty as certain length or width. It's about being humble and loving, as Jesus is.

As I continue to pursue holiness, as the Holy Spirit brings to mind things that He wants me to address, I pray for humility. Pride has always been an issue for me. I believe it's the most ubiquitous and insidious of sins for all of us. It's what Lucifer embraced and got him kicked out of God's presence, and it was there in the garden of Eden. It's the seed of nearly every kind of sin I can imagine. As God continues to work in me to purge me of this, I have to keep addressing different areas. Now, modesty is the main one that God's working on in me.

I put a yellow sticky note in my closet where I can see it each time I dress. It says, "Immodesty is an expression of arrogance." I pray, when I see it, or when I think of it, that God would kill the root of pride in my heart. That He would overcome my arrogance and give me humility. I try to dress in ways that reflect the character that God is developing in me. I don't always succeed completely, but I'm learning as I go. God is faithful to teach me, each day. He is producing holiness, His holiness, in me. I pray that He would make me pure so that I can bring glory to His name.

Much love,
LL~

"This is good and acceptable in the sight of God our savior who desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth... that the women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with propriety and moderation, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or costly clothing, but which is proper for women professing godliness, with good works."  ~1Timothy 2:3-4, 9-10 (NKJV)~

Modesty Begins in the Heart: Part 1

(Created here)

I just finished taking 5 pages of notes on the sermon "The Soul of Modesty" by Pastor C.J. Mahaney (sermon audio and transcript available at the link), which is excerpted in the video I embedded in this post. (Video found, courtesy of The Modest Mom.) I hadn't realized that the link to the entire sermon was in the description on the video's youtube page. I'm SO glad I found it and was able to hear the entire sermon.

I grew up in a Christian home. My parents sent my brother and I to Christian schools. We were at church every time the door opened. We learned to volunteer, to serve, to have manners, and to live differently than those around us. 

I developed early, probably linked to my Polycystic Ovarian Disease. I was wearing a bra (not a training bra, mind you, the real thing) by third grade. I remember wearing a sun dress to my brother's baseball game one evening, right after getting bras. My mom looked at me, at the field, and said, "How come you're not wearing your new bra?" My response was, "I could see it through my dress." The dress was pretty, and girly, soft sunshine yellow and the front of it had white eyelet lace on it. She replied that if I could see my bra through the dress, then it was also possible to see my body through my dress. I think that was the first time that modesty, in an adult body sense ever dawned on my brain. 

Source

At some point around the time of junior high, I suppose, I became aware more fully of the issue. My parents were always careful with my appearance. They made sure what I wore was modest, and I vaguely recall that being something discussed with clothing choices. 

In High School, I remember conversations about legalism in relation to modesty. Whole class periods were sometimes devoted to "discussions"  about the spirit of the law versus the letter of the law, legalism, what an appropriate standard should take into consideration, exceptions to the rules, etc. Sometimes I wonder what the teachers were thinking, letting this stuff rage on and never addressing the heart of the issue.

Our school had a policy that skirts (which were worn every day) must touch the floor when you kneel. Another school had a policy of 3" longer than fingertip length (which I thought was really odd, because especially during puberty when bodies are changing, arm-length doesn't always change at the same speed as height & leg-length...). Kneeling-length made sense to me. The rule even applied to our cheerleading skirts (which were actually skorts), and some people tried to play the "That's dangerous! They'll get tangled up when they do stunts!" card. (Which is ludicrous, I might add. We were never endangered by the length of our uniforms. Besides, if a stunt couldn't be done safely, we wouldn't have been permitted to do it.)

Having slogged our way through these murky waters, and having conformed to the touches-the-floor-while-kneeling standard, I (and probably most of the girls from my school) thought I had a pretty basic understanding of modesty. Got it. I'm good. I know it when I see it. No, really. That is, until God started bringing it to my attention, just this year.

I'm thirty-two years old. I'm a very visually-stimulated person. I have to be very cautious with shows that I watch, pictures I see, books I read, because I get mental images in my mind that I can't get rid of. 

Source

That creepy scene from that movie? Yeah, it may not give me a nightmare tonight, but 6 years from now, I might have one. It stays in there. I've learned that if the preview is creepy or seems dark or twisted, it's better that I don't see it at all. I've learned that it's safer for me to avert my eyes when I see a guy jogging down the street shirtless, because I don't ever want to compare my husband to him, or have that image of him pop up at a time when my focus should be on something else. I've learned that my mind will construct images to go with things I read, so I need to restrict my reading habits to things that are going to give me good mental images, not sinful ones.

In this way, my brain is wired much more like a man's than like most women's. Part of that is probably due to the over-production of testosterone and androgen in a woman with polycystic ovaries, but whatever the cause, the end result is the same. It makes me more aware of what men deal with on a daily basis. So I've become very protective of my mind and my imagination over the last few years. 

Yet, I still thought I didn't have any misunderstandings about modesty, even while wearing clothing that showcased my cleavage, my hourglass shape, or was simply too tight. God has been systematically revealing to me, over recent months, that the things I know I have to guard my mind from and avoid are the same things that I have exposed my brothers in Christ to, and that they must guard their minds, eyes, and hearts from me. Whoa. 

Stay tuned for Part 2.

Much love,

LL~

Joyous in Pain, Blood, Guts, and Gore

WARNING: This post is not for those who are squeamish about the subject matter of female bodily function. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Here's an unrelated, random cutesy picture for you to
enjoy while all of the squeamish people leave the page
or move to the next post.

Post continues after the jump. I know, I hate those. It just seems kinder to put the blood & guts on the post page and off the main page...

Sunday Walks

It has become my habit to take a walk on the beach at least once a week. When I'm in town, I always go on Sunday, and when I get a chance on other days of the week, I go then, too. I use it as a time to refresh and recharge, to adjust my attitude, to clear my mind. Sometimes I pray. Sometimes I sing. Sometimes I talk to myself. Sometimes I just wander absent-mindedly. The beach/ocean never fails to amaze me.

One of the things that occurred to me one day on my walk was that this was an analogy to heaven. Heaven touches the earth, as the water touches the beach. They wash over-under each other. One is one and the other is the other, but the two meet and mingle. We walk on earth the way I walk the beach, with our feet just touching the edge of heaven, but not fully in it. We get a glimpse of it, but our bodies aren't made to live in the ocean any more than they're made to live in heaven. For that, we need new ones. Just as I go to the beach, I go to the edge of heaven and peer out into it. In both places I meet God.

Glimpses of His Love

As previously mentioned, I’m reading The Way of the Wild Heart by John Eldredge, and he discusses the six phases of the masculine journey. (I encourage you to read this book and Wild at Heart, whether you’re a man or a woman, because it’s very enlightening. I also highly recommend Captivating, which is about the feminine journey.) They are Adored Son, Cowboy/Ranger, Warrior, Lover, King, and Sage. I am just beginning the chapters on the “Sage” part, and to this point, the most difficult part for me to read has been the “Lover” section. However, one thing in the Lover part of the book struck a chord in me, and that was when Eldredge was speaking of this communication between God and man. He spoke of the way God has shown His love over the years, and that resonated with me, because I understood. I have been there. I know what you mean. Shortly after I read that section, I had one of those little things happen that communicated to me that God longs to be intimately connected with my life. That experience led to the poem that I posted yesterday and began this post brewing in my head. Some things are really clear in my mind, but become much more complicated when I try to get them out and put them in words, so I hope I’m not confusing this issue too much in the telling…

Someone once said that when you talk to God it’s called prayer, but when God talks to you it’s called schizophrenia. :) I still think that’s hilarious. Have you ever spent time thinking about the ways in which God carries on conversations with His people? Chances are, if you’ve spent any time in prayer, ever in your life, you’ve at least considered the reverse. Perhaps you haven’t spent much time thinking about it. Perhaps you’re one of those people who think that it just doesn’t happen. Perhaps you’re not even sure that God exists. On the other hand, maybe, like me, you’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about it and have begun to enjoy a more regular intercourse with your Creator because of your careful consideration.

The two typical interactions that people automatically assume you’re talking about when you refer to the voice of God in your life are the Bible, and other people. It’s true. Those are great sources of interaction with God. I firmly believe that the Bible is our primary source for understanding the Mind and Heart of God, because it is His love story that He put in writing for our benefit. I believe, like many before me, that the Bible is the divine Word of God, that it is a living Word, and not a dead writing. I believe, as the Bible says of itself, that it is “able to make thee wise unto salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus. All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness; that the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works.” In addition to Scripture, I believe that God uses people to speak to one another to convey His thoughts. In my life, He has used many people, even some unlikely sources.

This thought always reminds me of the little girl who was afraid of the dark. She called for her daddy, and he came into the room. She told him of her fear, and he said, “Don’t you remember that you learned that Jesus is with you all the time? You don’t ever have to be afraid of anything, because Jesus is there to take care of you.” She replied, “I know that, Daddy, but I just wanted someone with skin.” In our frailty as humans, we sometimes need someone “with skin,” and God faithfully provides that. He places people in our lives to help us through things, and for that we are grateful. On the reverse of that is the fact that sometimes you and I become the someone with skin to help others through. Sometimes we know it, and sometimes we don’t, but it’s a blessing to be that someone, either way. But I digress…

There are many other ways that God shows us that He is present, that He cares, and that He is interested in even the most mundane details of our daily lives. Sometimes He speaks directly to our spirit, using words that are almost audible in our heads. Sometimes He conveys an emotion or alleviates a negative emotion. There have been moments in my life that I could very clearly, in my mind, hear God’s voice speaking to me. Those things have not always been life-changing words, in fact, most of them were just moments shared between two close friends, but some of them have been very eye-opening. The first time that I felt God joking with me startled me and delighted me. But when I thought about it, I thought that if we’re created in His image and we joke with each other, why wouldn’t He joke with us, too? There was a time, a little over a year ago, that I had found a song that I loved, and I was listening to it one morning while getting ready to go somewhere, and I heard Him speak to me, in echo to the words of the song. That song has, ever since, been my love song with my Lover, my Lord: OUR song. Every time I hear it, I smile, and it renews my commitment to Him.

It’s interesting to note that trying to explain to someone else these moments is nearly impossible, even to someone else who understands. There’s such a POWER in the voice of God that it’s impossible to convey, so the re-telling of the experience loses something big. I’ve learned that those moments are generally to be shared only between the two of us, and in the sharing of those moments alone with Him, a precious intimacy is developed.

For those of you who know something of my spiritual journey, you know that it’s only been in the last few years that I’ve begun to grow by leaps and bounds. I had the foundation, being raised in a Christian home and being “saved” since the age of 4, but the personal relationship side of Christianity was, for me, a roller coaster ride. Sometimes I wasn’t even near the theme park, and sometimes I was at the height of the highest hill in the throes of the ride. I just couldn’t seem to get a handle on the supposed intimacy that God offered. He’s so big, and I’m so small. Why would He care about the little things in my day, when He has so much else to do? (This is why I intensely dislike the song “God Must Be Busy” btw. I understand it, but I detest the theology of it.) In thinking that He wouldn’t care about the little things, I effectively cut Him out of those parts of my life. When you consider the fact that the majority of our lives revolve around the little things, that cuts God out of the biggest part of who we are. I didn’t, at that time, see how those “minor” exclusions broke His heart. He wanted to be a part of those things, and I just didn’t want to “bother” Him by sharing them. It makes me sad to think about that.

One of the best things about God is that even when we hurt and reject Him, He keeps pursuing us. He keeps blessing us. As David put it in Psalms, “He knows my frame. He remembers that I am dust.” He doesn’t let it get Him bent out of shape. He doesn’t say, “Well, if she’s going to exclude me, I’m just going to forget it! Let’s see if she can make it through the day without me being there to fix things for her. Hmph!” He just continues to woo. He loves us, demonstratively, overwhelmingly, each day, even when we fail to notice. It’s really incredible.

You know, when I thought of the gifts of God, as I was growing up, I would think of the really obvious things: life, health, salvation, prosperity, etc. I didn’t think of actual gifts. My parents gave me the gift of life, too, but when I think of gifts they give me, I think of the littler things: a book, a memento, a card in the mail. It took a long time, but I started realizing that God gives little gifts, too. He gives us evidence of His love in tangible form, much the way a suitor would give his beloved when he’s wooing her. This is where we get the imagery of Jesus as the Lover of our souls. All aspects of human experience directly relate to aspects of divine experience. Our relationships among ourselves mirror the relationship we have with God, and He did that intentionally.

I want to give you an example, because this was the event that got me thinking about this post in the first place. I attended a business conference over the weekend, and Saturday morning I wound up parking a significant (in 4” heels, 8-10 blocks is much more significant) distance from the convention center and walking. It was the first spot I could find, and I was in a rush because I was running late. Little did I know that the distance was orchestrated by God. With hands full of the things that I “needed” to get through the daytime sessions and into the afternoon break, I was trotting down the sidewalk (yes, trotting) toward the conference, and something caught my eye. It was a flower, or rather a little batch of flowers off some bush like a lilac. I saw it, pristine, beautiful, recently cut, unbruised, untrampled on the sidewalk. I looked around for the bush, and I didn’t see it. I thought, “Oh, that’s nice, God, thank You,” and I kept walking. I felt a little twinge of guilt for not stopping to pick it up, but I was running late, hands full. I didn’t have anywhere to put it. I kept walking. “You could put it in your hair.” True. I could, but I’m a block away from it by now, and I’m still late and I’m still carrying stuff. “Alright.”

I thought about that flower off and on for the rest of the morning/early afternoon. Before the evening session, I decided that I needed to take some of my stuff back to the car so I wouldn’t have to deal with carrying so much after the late night session ended, so I hauled my proverbial cookies back to the car. I didn’t see the flower, but about a half-block down from where I remembered it being, I saw the bush it had come from and thought, “How could I have missed that bush? It’s so beautiful and has flowers all over it.” The answer was, “I meant for you to see the flower I wanted to give you, not the bush it came from. If you’d seen the bush, the flower wouldn’t have been as remarkable.” I took my things to the car, dropped them off, reorganized and started back, at a slower pace. I was looking for my flower now. It was still lying there, a little wilted from the heat of the day, but unbroken and untrampled. I thought, “Oh, it’s wilted. That’s too bad.” I got about 10 steps past it when I thought, “I’m an idiot. I’m not walking by that AGAIN.” And I stopped, turned around, and went back and got it.

Now, had someone been with me, they would have thought I was crazy. I turned around and went back and picked up a wilted flower. I carried it in my hand back into the hotel, into the restroom where I changed my clothes, and then placed it in my hair where it had belonged all day. No one said anything. It would have been beautiful in my hair when I arrived, because it just matched my dress, and it was fresh then, but I had, as a friend of mine says, “delayed intelligence.”

The rest of the walk, after I picked it up, I realized what it meant. God gave me flowers. He gave me a little bouquet, for no other reason than that He loved me and wanted me to be happy. He knows that the question of my heart and the journey of my life is the quest to be beautiful. He blesses me with little bits of beauty that He leaves for me alone to see because He knows I’m searching for beauty in my heart. He gives me beauty that complements my own beauty (matching my dress, even) as an affirmation and in answer to my question, “Am I beautiful, God?” “Yes, my Love. You are beautiful. You are more beautiful to me than anything. I love you. I delight in your beauty, and because you delight in the beauty in which I surround you, here is a token of my love. Wear it in your hair as a gift from your Lover.”

My primary love language is gifts. God was speaking my language, physically, so that I could hear, see, smell, touch, and experience His love. I love flowers. I’ve only received flowers from a handful of people over the years, and they mean the world to me. I told my daddy that if I ever got married that it would be his job to make sure that my husband knows how I love to receive flowers. He said, “When you get married, your husband should know that without having to have me tell him.” Well, God’s my Lover, and He knows my heart so well that He gives exactly the gift He knows will delight me. And, not being a gracious lover in return, or perhaps more accurately, not always being in the frame of mind of being the Beloved, I noticed, but didn’t really notice. It took Him several tries for me to acknowledge His gift, and being as boneheaded as I am, it took me a bit, but I got the message.

God speaks to us. He gives us glimpses of His love. He showers us with gifts, even tangible ones, and we are so wrapped up in our tiny, little lives that we miss them, but He keeps trying. He woos. He calls. He loves. He leaves it up to us to open our eyes, to be receptive to His love, and to share the amazing lives that He longs to give us. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to work at keeping my eyes open, at being available when my Lover calls me to come out and play, at hearing His voice. May you see Him in your life. He’s there, just pay attention, and you’ll see Him.

Much love.
L~

P.S. Yes, the picture above is of the actual flower from God. And, yes, I still have it. :)

Prayers for our Troops

Some of you may know this; others may not. I have been a member of a particular military website since September 2003, and within this site, there are various clubs and groups that you can join. I am a member of the Prayer and Religious Discussion group, which was started to remind the members of trackpads.com to pray for the troops, and to do so publicly. Many of the members of this site are military veterans, current military, and military families, so it's not a stretch to think that the troops are nearly always on their minds. Having something on your mind doesn't mean that you are keeping it in prayer, however, and that is the primary purpose of this group. There is a thread on our sub-forum that is exclusively for prayers for the troops. I do my best to post there regularly, but anyone who isn't a member of that group on that website doesn't have access to the thread. Since I don't have permission to use the prayers of others, I am re-posting some of the prayers I have placed on that thread, here. Please feel free to use them or elements of them or inspiration from them as a guide for your own prayers on behalf of the warriors that ensure that we have the option to live as we choose.

Pray for, and support, our soldiers, sailors, marines, airmen, and coasties.

Much love.
L~


Dear Father,

Thank You for all the blessings that You give us. We know that every good and perfect comes from You alone. Thank you for the men and women who protect us. Please bless them, protect them, guide them, cheer them, and heal them. Thank You for Your grace and mercy. Make us ever mindful of them.

In Your Holy Son's Name we pray,
~Amen~

Our Heavenly Father,

Thank You so much for the protection that You've given us over the weekend. Thank You for acting on our behalf. Thank You for Your loving care, even when we don't deserve it. Please act on the behalf of our men and women who stand in the way of danger to protect us. Please guide them. Please shield them from spiritual attacks, as well as physical and mental. Please strengthen and hearten them, today. Please place Your hands on them and increase them in the way that only You can.

Forgive us for our impurities, in motive, word, thought, and deed. Please heal us and heal our land. Please help us to not repeat the mistakes of history. Draw us closer to you, as individuals and as a people. Return us to You. Put out Your call on our lives and hearts, and send a vibration through our souls. Help us to return to You. Weaken us, that Your strength may be made manifest in our weakness. Decrease us, that You may increase. Make us nothing, that You may be seen as our Everything, our All. Take from us our most precious possessions so that we may be loosed from our dependence on anything or anyone but You. Save us, Lord. That's all we need. Put the desire in our hearts, as a people, to have nothing but You. Lead us to You, because we can't make it on our own.

Thank You for Your attention to us. Thank You for Your patience. Thank You for not reacting to our unbelief and unfaithfulness the way a human would. Thank You for remembering that we are dust.

It's in the Name of Your holy Son we pray all these things.
~Amen~

Our Heavenly Father,

Thank You so much for the willingness with which our men and women in (and out of) uniform sacrifice themselves. Thank You for their decisions that have brought them to this place of service. Help them to know that their nation supports, loves, and admires them. Help them to draw strength from the value we place on them. Thank You for them and their place in our hearts and minds. Please protect and keep them this day.

We ask that Your Hand of grace and mercy be put on those who have suffered or are suffering from battlefield and combat-related injuries. Please step into their lives and hearts and heal them. You alone can heal the hurts that go deeper than flesh, bone, and blood.

Please touch our warriors who have been scarred mentally and psychiatrically. Please heal these mental wounds that so affect the way in which they live and the lives they choose. Protect their families, friends, and loved ones from the wounds that overflow into others' lives.

Please step into the lives of the men and women who choose to rebel against You, knowingly or unwittingly. Please go after them and do not let them rest until they desire you with every breath in their bodies. Pursue them and let them know that they are being hunted by a Holy God, and return them to You.

We ask your protection over our protectors. Please place them in the forefronts of our minds and cause us to always be in prayer and supplication on their behalf. Bless and encourage them and give us opportunities to support and love them.

Thank You for Your unending grace that envelops us through it all.

In the name of Your precious Son, our Savior, we pray.
~Amen~

Dear Father,

Please act today in the lives of our troops. Move their hearts and minds ever closer to you. Protect them from those who would do them evil. Shield their minds and thoughts from unhealthy influences. Give them strength of spirit and the ability and drive to move forward. Give them peace in their hearts, and let them know how very much they are loved.

Keep them in our thoughts and prayers in each moment and bless them.

In Your Holy Name we pray.
~amen~

Dear Father,

Thank You for the men and women who serve. Thank You for the blessing that they are to us. Thank You for their protection, devotion, and sacrifice. Thank You for their training and their willingness to put it to use on our behalf. Thank You for them. Please help us to be a blessing to them.

Lord, You know the needs of each one of these individuals who keep us safe and secure, and You alone know how to meet each need. At this moment, You know the needs that are pressing on my mind, and You know the soldiers and their families. You know their hearts, and You know their paths and their futures. For all three of these young men, I pray healing. For all three, I ask that You reconcile them to You. Please draw them inextricably closer to You each day. Pursue them with Your mercy and grace. Touch their lives and hearts and renew their minds. Remove the influences that keep them away from You and protect them from the attacks leveled at them. Only You can act on their behalves. Only You can guide them home. Only You can reach so deeply inside of them to heal their scars. Those around them have lived so much pain already. Please protect the ones that love them from destructive behavior patterns. Please heal their pain. Protect the children from the habits of their parents and extended families. Heal these homes. Reconcile them to You. Lord, in Your mercy, hear our prayer.

Sometimes it seems like there are no answers. Sometimes it seems like there's no way to right the wrongs. Sometimes it seems like even the best solutions are not enough. In these times, we ask Your guidance. We plead for Your grace. We NEED You to make the paths straight before us. We, Your people, ask on behalf of those we love, when they are too far gone to ask for themselves. Please honor our prayers and the spirit in which they are offered. Please make our motives pure. Please help us to see Your provision and Your hand at work. We know You are working, but we don't see from Your perspective. Sometimes we're just too small to see the big picture. Help us to trust You and allow You to make all things beautiful in Your time. Perfect Your work in us. Help us to not grow impatient when we don't see what we think we should. Help us, Lord, for we are weak. Be exalted in and through our weaknesses.

Lord, we want so badly to be a blessing to others. We want to be effective. We want to be Your ambassadors to the world, but sometimes it all seems to be so much more than what we can do. Please help us to do what You've called us to do and not get sidetracked by the enormity of need. Protect us from complacency and from being overwhelmed. Give us eyes so we may see and ears so we may hear. Guide us and give us Your Spirit and Will. You are the God of miracles. Magnify our efforts and our prayers to the point that they can meet the ever-growing needs around us. Help us to be worthy of Your name.

Please bless our warriors, today. Please protect them. Please meet their needs. Please guide them into Your will and make them walk in Your way.

We ask all these things, through Your mercy, in the name of your Holy Son.
~Amen~

Father, please hold the men and women in our Armed Forces and law enforcement in the palm of your hand. Please protect them, keep them, guide them, and touch them. Please draw them closer to you, with each task they are asked to perform. Draw them ever nearer to you, and bless their work for all that they sacrifice for others. Encourage them and remind them of the love we have for them. Thank you for them. Help us to remember them and pray for them with every breath.

In Jesus' Name,
~Amen~