New Every Morning

If there is a theme that runs through my life it is one of finding God's sufficiency during good times and bad, abundance and loss. The late Corrie Ten Boom (author of The Hiding Place) once said, "When God closes a door; He opens a window." 

The purpose of New Every Morning is to help others find their window...to not give up when life seems hopeless. In my journey, I have discovered that God desires that we take each loss to Him and He replaces it with Himself. We exchange our loss for His abundance. 

I once taught beginning and classical piano but an illness forced me to give that up in 1990.  God opened the door for me to write after that and I was published in Decision, Home Life, Discipleship Journal, Moody, Standard and in medical journals and newsletters. I also had a greeting card published with Day Spring. Then the unthinkable happened and from 1999 until 2006, I was unable to write and barely able to read. I was devasted. A dear friend who is a professional artist encouraged me to try painting. I was shocked when I began to experience success in that area.  God continues to open windows and my ability to write continues to improve.

I love to take what others would throw away and turn it into something beautiful and useful because that is what God does in our lives. As the Creator of the Universe, our Heavenly Father was the first to come up with the idea of "going green." What the world will often trash, He transforms into a new creation. He doesn't patch us up; He remakes us.

The saving life of Christ is our hope and it is His life in us that makes all the difference. Whether you have lost your health, your mate, a child, your career, your home, your friends ... don't give up. Wait on Him to exchange your loss for His abundance.  "His mercies are (truly) new every morning. Great is His faithfulness" Lamentations 3:22,23.

Memorial Day Tribute

In honor of our son currently serving in Afghanistan and in memory of those who have lost their lives defending our country, I decided to republish, Our Soldier Called Home, a mother's perspective. To those who know they will never hear that precious voice again, my heart breaks for you and my prayers are with you.

Our Soldier Called Home, a mother's perspective

Every time I hear of a casualty in Afghanistan, I grieve for the life that is lost and for those who are left behind. I often wonder if each mother saw that precious adult child's history flash across her heart and mind when that dreaded knock came to her door. My heart breaks with hers and I suspect that her memories are similiar to my own.

The perspective of a mother is often much different from that of a dad, even after children are wonderfully capable adults. Dad looks at his son and sees a grown man who deserves his respect and it often ends there. But a mother sees more when she looks at her children. Simultaneously she sees all the stages of her adult childrens' lives when she looks at them. It flashes like a storyboard across her memory with vivid snippets, sweet memories and challenges that have led to the current moment. The mother of a solder comes to the same conclusion as the dad's. Her son or daughter deserves her respect and honor.

In recent weeks, in addition to the loss of American lives the British have lost many and the bond I feel with those families is intense. Our son is serving his country not far from the place where these casualties took place. Afghanistan is no longer a faraway place; my mind, heart, and prayers are there constantly. We've already "done" Iraq. Now there are new challenges and more reasons to Pray. Wait. Pray. Listen. Pray...and always hope.

The recent news on the war front had not been good and we had been waiting for more than a week for word from our son. And finally, the phone rang and it was the voice I longed to hear. As usual, his first words were, "Hey Mom. What's up?" We talked for over 30 minutes with me leaning into the phone reaching out to hold on to every breath, word, pause or inflection that comes from him. The static is frustrating and the connection weak, and I push the phone harder into my ear as if that will somehow keep me from missing something precious.

I know better than to ask the questions I so desperately want to ask. I measure my words when we talk, so fearful of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. I find myself repeating, "I love you. I'm praying. We are all praying. You are brave and you are wise. I'm ready for you to come home." His dad isn't home and he's going to regret he missed this call. Our son talks and I mostly listen. Then I hear the back door open and familiar steps come my way. Our son needs his dad too and the connection is too weak for us to use two phones. They talk for another 30 minutes and then it is time for him to go.

"Your mom wants to speak with you one more time." I know our son is tired. He just returned from a mission and it is midnight in his world. He could've gone to bed but he took the time to call. The tears have been running down my neck and into my clothes and I'm all wet...so thankful to hear his voice. I strain to cover my weakness in the presence of his courage and I take the phone. "I love you. I am praying. We are all praying." "I love you too, Mom." We both wait on the other to hang up and when nothing happens I repeat my words and he does the same. Still he does not hang up and we both wait. It is only a split second but it stretches across to the other side of the world and it seems much longer. "Mom, I have to go. Others need to make calls too." "Stay safe son. Thank you so much for calling. I'm praying. Goodbye for now." I hang up before I hear his click on the other end for no other reason than to prove to him that I can turn loose without him forcing me but because of the delay I hear him hang up as I put the phone down.

I look at his dad who smiles weakly and says, "I'm so glad he called. It is such a relief to hear his voice." I lean my body into his and the tears run freely in warm familiar arms but my heart is stuck right now...on the muddy and dangerous roads of Afghanistan. The warrior child is a soldier... well trained, wise beyond his years, physically fit and alert. The fat baby legs that went from crawling to running in a split second 25 years ago ... those toddler legs that rolled his mother down an embankment in a public park, head over heels dressed in a skirt ... those strong legs now wear the boots of a man with men of his own to train and protect.

How can I be so weak when my son is so strong? I turn to my Source, to our Heavenly Father Who sees us both as we are and I pray for our son, "The glory of the Lord is my son's rear guard." Husband's eyes are studying me for clues for his next move as he asks, "What would you like to do now?" We move to the next task but my heart and mind are still in a far away place as I think, He's now safe in his bed after a long, hard week ... asleep.

What's in a Name?

Becoming a grandmother and choosing a name... not the name for the child.  That job was her parents' ... but what would this child call me?

My Aunt Lettie said, "Oh, there's nothing like being a grandmother.  You're just going to love it when your time comes."

Aunt Lettie and Granddaughter, Katie

I wasn't too sure I was ready for this grandmother gig.  I was 51-years-old when daughter announced it was about to happen.  I wanted a baby for daughter and husband - they would be the most amazing parents.  Right after marriage, preparations began : "First, we'll get a plant... if the plant lives...then we'll get a dog and if the dog does ok...then we'll have a baby."  Three years later I had never seen a more well behaved, loved and spirited animal... but I noticed her house plants were dying so I thought I had more time for my mini-crisis - Me a grandmother?

I conferred with the co-grandmother of our unborn grandchild (the first for both families) at the beginning of daughter's pregnancy.  "What do you want this baby to call you?  What does your husband want to be called?" 

There was only one thing settled in MY mind and that was the name for my husband.  Both my grandfathers died before my birth but I grew up with wonderful stories about my mother's father. All my life I've longed to know the person everyone in our family called, Papa.  I wanted my grandchild to have a Papa and there were so many of the stories about my grandfather that remind me of my husband - the ability to play and laugh, and love for our Heavenly Father and for family. His name was no big deal to him, he was just ready to play!

Papa and Granddaughter, age 3, in the slide tunnel at Burger King.

As daughter's tiny frame was overtaken with our growing grandchild, co-grandmother and I planned for the future.  In the beginning I told her, "You just wait, we'll be the sexiest grandmothers ever."  Close to the end of daughter's pregnancy she shot me an e mail, "I looked in the mirror this morning and sexy is NOT happening." 

I confided: "She hasn't shown up in my mirror either,"  ... and quickly changed the subject:
"Decided on a name yet?"

They had decided Poppy was the name for the other grandfather but we grandmothers were continuing to struggle. My son was a lot of help!  NOT! 
"That kid will call you what it WANTS to call you. You just wait, my kids will call you, granny."
I cringed.

Recently, I saw the e mail address for a cousin on my father's side of the family.  She has this grandmother thing down and she does it so beautifully.  Joan is the only person I know with "granny" as a part of her e mail address but she is still what my generation calls "cool."  She's the only person I know who can pull it off - a cool granny and still really be "cool."

Even my own grandmother whom we called Big Mama chased us down if we teased her and called her granny.  With her tiny body, barely 5 feet tall, there will never be another Big Mama in our family; she was one of a kind.  If I had grown up to be the Boston Strangler she would've found a reason to praise me: "Well, at least she's good at it."  When we were little, cousin Sherri and I fought every time we visited Big Mama, "She's MY Big Mama."  "NO, SHE'S MINE!"  Grandmothers love unconditionally on a level that surpasses the laws of man and My Big Mama loved us both.  She lived to the age of 96 and loved ALL her grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Our grandchild's birth drew closer and my friend and co-grandmother chose, Gigi.  I love it. It fits her well and it sounds sort of like her name, Jeannie.  So they would be Gigi and Poppy.  Husband would be Papa and I would be ...

After months of struggle it came to me. Take the name of the best grandmother I knew even if she hated it.  My grandmother's name was Molly Rebecca and in her honor, I chose the name Mama Molly.

My Aunt Lettie was right, there is nothing like being a grandmother.  The first time our baby granddaughter said my name it came out with the L sounding like a W, "Mama Mowwee,"  ... and I melted. My heart sings and I am ten years younger when I hear our little granddaughter gleefully announce, "Mama Molly's here" as she runs into my arms for a hug. I can hardly wait for the first time our newborn grandson speaks my name.


I love to hear her call my name... "Mama Molly!"

Shakespeare posed the question: "What's in a name?" Names are important because they define us but my name is not nearly as definitive as the names for our Heavenly Father. There are many names for God found in the Bible and those names carry more meaning and were chosen with greater care than this grandmother could ever imagine.

The book of Isaiah, calls Him, "Wonderful, Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace, Stone, Servant, Shepherd, Refuge, Redeemer, the Foundation."

Hebrews refers to Him as "the Author and Finisher of our Faith," "High Priest," and "Great Shepherd."  He is also known as "the Great Physician, the Vine, the Word."  So many more names than this small list are in God's Word and they all describe our infinite God, the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe.

 Romans 8:15 says that we have received the "spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, Abba, Father."  Abba is a personal name, sort of like "daddy." And we can come to our Heavenly Father, assured of His unconditional love because of the name of His perfect son, Jesus ... and for every Christian, that is the name above all names - the most precious name of all.

 

 

 

Learning to Let Go and Trust God, my first art show

Could I do it?  Should I do it?  Should I even try?  I whipped off a quick e mail to my "prayer sisters" and a few others I knew would pray ... and I got alone with the Lord. 

I was delighted the previous afternoon when Debbie at Arts on the Avenue asked if I could have a painting ready for her gallery's art show - the deadline at 5:00 the following Friday. That meant only seven days to start and finish a painting for my first art show. 

I seriously questioned if I could do it in just seven days. I also tend to be a bit up tight when it comes to releasing a painting before I think its ready.  There is always one more thing I could've done, should've done, or just want to do ... and I hang on.  Often too long. 

As I prayed about it and laid all my questions and doubts before the Lord, it was obvious I was not living the life of faith ... simple child-like faith. Too many questions and what ifs dominated my thoughts but within a couple of hours I decided to go for it and trust God with the outcome. The worst that could happen - I spend seven days working long hours to meet a deadline and "birth" this painting only to have Debbie tell me, "This is UGLY!  Have you thought of selling pencils on the streetcorner?" 

I painted for seven days and all night Thursday night to meet the deadline. Slept for a couple of hours Friday morning and started painting again.  Husband was wonderful support, bringing me lunch and preparing evening meals and giving me the freedom to stay on task. My prayer sisters and friends prayed and frequently inquired about the progress.

Simon, our cat, offered his usual support, always by my side. His personality is more like a dog and he loves to play fetch.  A stray we picked up at a hotel in north Georgia nine years ago, he's grateful and co-dependent as he birdwatches from his perch beside my easel.  My studio's large north facing windows provide the perfect light for painting and Simon's favorite hang out.  Each day I head upstairs and call to him, "Simon, it's time to go to work."  He scampers up the stairs, often carrying his favorite fetch toy.  While I work he naps and enjoys the life outside the window.  When he thinks I've worked enough he jumps in my lap and swats my paint brush. It flies and spins through the air, leaving Simon's embellishment on the canvas before it falls to the floor.

Friday came quickly and as the 5:00PM deadline approached, I  prioritized my painting tasks: things that have to be done and things I'd like to do.  Husband postponed his lunchbreak to give me more time.  He called at 3:00PM.  "Don't want to rush you but do you know the time?"  "No."  I really didn't, I was so lost in the work and simply setting my priorities and doing the next task.  "I'm not sure if it's ready. It could be almost ready...." 

"Would you like me to take a look? You have a difficult time knowing when to let it go and declare a painting, finished." 

Letting go.... The painting is about learning to let go and trust God.  I thought about my struggle to release my art as I painted the final highlights on our granddaughter's balloon.  Oswald Chambers says, "(Our life) is in the hands of God like a bow and arrow. God is aiming at something (we) can not see... He goes on stretching till His purpose is in sight, then He lets fly. Trust yourself in God's hands.... Faith is not a pathetic sentiment, but robust vigorous confidence built on the fact that God is holy love"  (May 8, My Utmost for His Highest). My thoughts returned to the events that inspired this painting.

Our little granddaughter loves to eat at a local cafeteria and after the meal her papa takes her to get a helium balloon from the waitress.  She chooses the color and the two of them return to our table amidst the smiles of onlookers as she dances around with her treasure bobbing just above her head.  The challenge is getting it safely home.

We  arrived at granddaughters house with her treasured balloon one evening and I left her outside with Papa. A few minutes later, I returned to find her treasure gently floating off on a wind current, a tiny speck in the sky.  "What happened?"

Rather sheepishly Papa said, "She wanted to release it. I told her she couldn't get it back. We let it go."

Our emphatic little angel whirled around and demanded, "I want it back."   Her parents soon returned and as her mother dressed her for bed her anger had changed to sadness.  "Mama, I can't believe my balloon is really gone."

The next week we're back at the cafeteria and then to our house to hunt Easter eggs.  This time we have a new balloon...a bright purple one.

We spend the afternoon hunting eggs and as always, I have my camera. After a trip inside to "potty" she returns with her balloon and within seconds it is caught in the top of the trees... at least three stories high.

"Papa, get my balloon. I want it back." 

"I'm sorry; it is gone."

"Climb the tree. You can get it Papa." 

"It's too high. The balloon is gone."

My camera shutter opened and closed on the ensuing argument between two children, ages 3 and 58.  "But Papa, I KNOW you can get it...."  My greatest concern was he would break his neck trying....

Just as our granddaughter's balloon was released, it was time to release the painting inspired by this event. Husband came home and declared it finished.  There were two or three small things on my list of priorities - just simple quick brush strokes... and my signature.  We rushed outside for a couple of pictures. It was almost 4:00 PM, an hour before the final deadline.

Tonight is the show at *Art on the Avenue, Fine Art Gallery.  My first chance to exhibit my work.   "God is aiming at something I can not see"... and this I know, "He is Holy love."  I let it go and there are no regrets.

But Papa!
original acrylic painting
Artist: Jan Gray
May 2012

*Art on the Avenue, Fine Art Gallery
2368 Ingleside Avenue
Macon, Ga. 31204

 

 

Happy Birthday Bumper Car Soldier

Our soldier's birthday is tomorrow.   I painted Bumper Car Soldier as a gift for him last Christmas. It was originally  a "Welcome Home Banner" when he returned from Iraq. My idea originated from two photos of him taken during his deployment.  One was of him working and the other was taken at a local carnival where he was driving a bumper car. The combination produced a caricature of our son that is a vivid reminder of the courage and heart of our military. He asked me to reproduce it on canvas and I'm sharing it today in honor of his birthday.

We encouraged our children to draw and later to take notes during church. Our soldier was gifted as an artist at an early age. I have two drawings (a car and a cat) on a page in one of my Bibles he drew at age two. 

His skills as an artist increased rapidly.  One Sunday evening our pastor was preaching a message on grace.  He spoke of how Adam and Eve were in the garden and they were naked but because they had not sinned, they were unashamed.  As the message progressed, I heard whispers from the pew behind us and realized three elderly ladies were pointing at us.  I looked down at our five-year-old who proudly produced his sermon "notes" - a very large drawing of Adam BEFORE he sinned... in all his glory.  Son's creation was not the depiction of Adam seen in children's Bible story books but instead was the work of an artist destined to be published in the most prestigious of medical journals!  We started sitting on the opposite side of the church after that. ...

Picture of ART NOT included....

In elementary school our son won the annual art award for his grade for several consecutive years.  We received advanced notice of each surprise ceremony where he would be honored and we always anticipated it with joy.  I once found $5.00 in his jeans when doing laundry. "Son, where did you get this cash?"  "The school entered my drawing at the state fair. I won."  "Why didn't you tell me?  I would've gone to the exhibit and taken your picture."  "THAT is the reason I DIDN'T tell you." With child-like confidence he enjoyed the "fruit" of his labor and that was enough.

I understood the concept of color and that was the limit of my artistic skills until 1999. My friend, Nora,  a professional artist, encouraged me to try painting as a way of expression after a medication left me barely able to read, much less write.  After years of writing professionally and 15 years of keeping a prayer journal I felt lost and very much alone.  Because of Nora's encouragement I discovered there just might be some buried artistic ability in this frustrated writer.  It was many years before I was able to write again but God opened the window for a new form of expression I never dreamed was possible.  Ben's caricature was my first attempt at painting a likeness of someone and his much anticipated return from a year in Iraq was my motivation.

Jesus says that we are to come to Him as little children.  A child's innocence rarely calculates what others might think.  Our son's garden innocence at age five was in stark contrast to the adults sitting around him that night in church.  It is in our adult calculations that we often miss God's blessings in our lives.  Last week the owner of a local gallery thrilled me when she asked if I could have something ready this Friday, the deadline for an upcoming show.  And then the what ifs kicked in.  Can I possibly meet the deadline? What if I crash and burn?

I asked a few friends to pray for my decision.  Then I poured out my concerns before the Lord in my prayer journal.  Oswald Chambers', My Utmost for His Highest, frequently blesses me with a timely word from God. I read his devotional, What You Will Get, for that day (April 28). "Thy life will I give thee for a prey in all places whither thou goest" (Jer. 45:5). At first glance, that sounded like I might get eaten alive and so I looked for a modern translation of the verse.  Prey means prize.  Read the verse again.

Chambers asks, "Are you prepared to let God take you into union with Himself, and pay no attention to what you call the great things? ... (Completing the painting in time for the art show or producing art others deems worthy?) The test of abandonment is in refusing to say, 'Well, what about this.'... Abandon means to refuse yourself the luxury of asking any questions....  When you do get through to abandonment to God, you will be the most surprised and delighted creature on earth; God has got you absolutely and has given you your life. If you are not there it is either because of disobedience or a refusal to be simple enough."

 Simple child-like faith. ...  Letting go of any preconceived idea of success or failure and simply letting God be God in the circumstances of life.

 Happy Birthday Bumper Car Soldier!  Your life is a prize to God and to us. You inspire us in so many ways. We're praying for you and we love you and miss you!

                            Bumper Car Soldier 
                         Artist: Janice E. Gray
                                  copyright 2012 
Original acrylic available in multiple sizes on wrapped canvas or canvas board.
For more information:

Praying for Our Soldier

Mothers generally gravitate to the child (even when they're adults) who is hurting the most and I tend to assume that is our son when he is in a war zone. My body is in one place and my mind and heart are frequently on the other side of the world.  Staying busy helps but isn't a solution since my racing thoughts can always outlast this long distance challenge. A nine to twelve month deployment can feel like perpetual jet-lag.  

I've found that my worst enemy during times like this are the "what ifs"; this is especially true when our soldier is on a mission and we've been out of touch for weeks. My own internal resources for coping are not enough to keep my emotions in check when someone I love is in potential danger.  Pushing down these feelings or trying to ignore them won't work. I've had them spring up like a crazy jack-in-the box ... at the worst possible time, mocking my lack of faith and cowardice.  The best weapon against the  "what ifs" is truth...God's truth. 

I attended my first writer's conference in the early 90's. The editors and publishers at the Moody-Write-to-Publish Conference in Chicago, frequently reminded us that our writing must be relevant: "Write with your Bible and a current newspaper open in front of you."  I handle difficult situations best when I have all the facts and have learned to apply what I was taught about writing to life in general.  When our son is in a war zone, I watch the news ... with my Bible close at hand.

God's Word is the only offensive weapon in our "spiritual armor" and as our son began to prepare physically and mentally for his upcoming deployment, husband and I prepared as well.   

We chose specific Bible verses and began to pray them for our son before he left for Afghanistan. I wanted to have these verses immediately available when prompted to pray in the middle of the night or during a busy day. In our printed copy I inserted our son's name in each verse where appropriate.

Praying God's Word out loud is not some magic formula for getting what we want.  Instead it is agreeing with God and getting in on His purpose and plan for our son. It is the first and most important thing we can do to give him our support.

Not long ago, Husband commented on how much our times of praying God's Word out loud together is helping him to cope with our son's deployment.  Speaking God's truth helps us cope with stress when most of the news from the media is either negative or heartbreaking. It is a daily reminder that God is in control. Below are current verses we are praying for our soldier. The _____ are where we have inserted his name.

 ___'s righteousness (in Christ) shall go before ___ and the glory of the Lord shall be ___'s rear guard (Is. 58:8).
Because God is ___'s refuge, the High God, ___'s very own home, evil can’t get close to ___; harm can’t get through the door. He ordered His angels to guard ___ wherever ___ goes (Ps. 91:9-11).
The eternal God is ___’s refuge and dwelling place and underneath are the everlasting arms
(Deut. 33:27).
___ is secure and feels confident because there is hope; yes, ___ looks around him and takes his rest in safety.  ___ lies down, and none make ___ afraid (Job 11:18,19).
The Lord is ___’s refuge and high tower when ___ is oppressed, a refuge and stronghold in ___’s time of trouble  (Ps. 9:9).
God is ___’s hiding place from every storm of life; You even keep ___ from getting into trouble! You surround ___ with songs of victory (Ps. 32:7).
___ trusts in and confidently relies on the loving kindness and the mercy of God forever and ever.  ___ will thank You and confide in You forever, because You have done it. ___ will wait on, hope in and expect in Your name (Ps. 52:8-9).
As ___ dwells in the secret place of the Most High, ___ shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. ___ will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust” (Ps. 91:1, 2).
In the reverent and worshipful fear of the Lord ___ has strong confidence, and ___ shall always have a place of refuge (Prov. 14:26).
By two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God ever to prove false or deceive ___, ___, who has fled (to Him) for refuge has mighty indwelling strength and strong encouragement to grasp and hold fast the hope appointed for ___ and set before ___   (Hew.  6:18).
For you will light ___’s lamp; the Lord will enlighten ___’s darkness. For by You ___ can run against a troop, and by ___’s God he can leap over a wall. As for God, His way is perfect; the Word of the Lord is proven; He is a shield to ___ who trusts in Him.
For who is God, except the Lord? And who is a rock, except our God? It is God Who arms ___ with strength, and makes ___’s way perfect. He makes ___’s feet like the feet of deer, and sets ___ on his high places. He teaches ___’s hands to make war, so that ___'s arms can bend a bow of bronze.  God has given ___ the shield of His salvation: God’s right hand has held ___ up, Your gentleness has made ___ great. You enlarged ___’s path under him; so that ___’s feet did not slip….  ___ has pursued his enemies and overtaken them…for You have armed ___ with strength for the battle (Ps 18:28-37,39).

For more information on praying God's Word out loud:
The Secret Power of Speaking God's Word by Joyce Meyer

 

 

Congratulations... Sister in Music

 We are sisters "in music" but she is young enough to be my daughter. Kaitlyn is a piano performance major and tomorrow is her senior* recital.  College recitals. Ugg. I can see the first spring flowers and still get a knot in my stomach - memories of spring piano juries and recitals when I was a music major in the late 70's. I started praying for Kaitlyn's  recital in December; today's post is in her honor.

The challenges a piano performance major faces is seldom appreciated by those who have never been a music major. In addition to the usual classes there are numerous demands most students don't endure unless they're on a full athletic scholarship. No matter how much time a piano major spends in a practice room hammering out technique on a run with a "bump," there is always another passage of music needing attention. Bach's contrapuntal prelude and fugue needs work on "voicing" or the arabesque sounds mechanical and needs to "dance." In addition music theory requires ear training and music history requires listening exams and then there are the faculty, guest, and student recitals that must be attended. Kaitlyn's senior recital is a celebration of all she's accomplished ... hours and hours of hard work, done in isolation.

Most musicians are a bit "strange" ... ask any athlete, MBA or accountant. My son is an athlete and his very first sentence was, "Mama's crazy!" I had dressed like a raisin seen in the late 80's California raisin commercial and danced around his high chair to the loud strains of Heard it Through the Grapevine.(Preparing for a choir retreat at our church.) I've never seen a baby laugh like that before or since. ... Musicians make unusal sacrifices for their "art" and they are often "different" even as children.

As a child, my parents teased me because I ran to my piano when angry. I banged out my rage on the keys and got up minutes later ... smiling. In times of great joy, I celebrated ... at my piano. Boredom fled on my piano stool and when my heart was broken over a boy in my teens, the tears fell from my cheeks to my hands as I played my way to healing and a willingness to love again. Husband and I sang our way into each others' hearts ... at my piano.

The one time in my life when my piano was no comfort was spring piano juries and recitals in college. During the hours before a performance it seemed like that huge black giant might open its top and swallow me. The curves on the grand piano in the recital hall reminded me of a casket for a camel. It wasn't the fear of performing or even the fear of failure. It was fear of fear....

Kaitlyn will play her senior recital tomorrow and she will play with excellence. She has memorized more music for this one performance than most people put to memory for a lifetime of tests. The music is in her head, in her heart, and in her fingers and she plays because she must, because that is who she is and you can't separate the music from the musician. Kaitlyn is prepared and ready.

Today I am praying for Kaitlyn to have joy and peace as she plays her senior recital. I am praying she will celebrate ... at the piano as she plays for her Heavenly Father who has blessed her with talent and called her to this moment. I am praying that her music will be a gift of love and praise back to Him.

I continue to learn more and more about praying and in the past few years have discoverered the power of speaking God's Word out loud as I pray. Husband and I pray God's Word out loud for our son in a war zone every night, together, out loud. We pray for each other, our family and those God brings into our lives. Today, as I pray for Kaitlyn, these are the verses I'm praying over her.

May God bless you, dear sister in music, and may your fingers sing and dance with joy tomorrow in celebration of all you have accomplished.(Correction to this post.

  * Kaitlyn is in her senior year but this is her junior recital.  Her senior recital is planned for the end of this year.  She is majoring in piano performance and music education.

The Lord, Kaitlyn's God holds Kaitlyn's right hand; He is the Lord Who says to Kaitlyn, "Fear not; I will help you!" Is. 41:13 Kaitlyn's heart is fixed, O God, Kaitlyn's heart is steadfast and confident! Kaitlyn will sing (through her fingers) and make melody. (Psalm 57:7). Kaitlyn puts no confidence in the flesh or on outward privileges and physical advantages and external appearances. Kaitlyn puts her confidence in Jesus Christ and Kaitlyn glories in Him. Phil. 3:3 Kaitlyn finds favor, good understanding, and high esteem in the sight of God and man. Proverbs 3:4 By Your favor, O Lord, You have established Kaitlyn as a strong mountain (and musician). Psalm 30:7 Kaitlyn is standing firm, letting nothing move her. Kaitlyn gives herself fully to the work of the Lord because Kaitlyn knows that her labor (years of hard work and diligent practice at the piano) in the Lord is not in vain. 1 Cor. 15:58

Our Soldier Called Home, a mother's perspective

Every time I hear of a casualty in Afghanistan, I grieve for the life that is lost and for those who are left behind. I often wonder if each mother saw that precious adult child's history flash across her heart and mind when that dreaded knock came to her door. My heart breaks with hers and I suspect that her memories are similiar to my own.

The perspective of a mother is often much different from that of a dad, even after children are wonderfully capable adults. Dad looks at his son and sees a grown man who deserves his respect and it often ends there. But a mother sees more when she looks at her children. Simultaneously she sees all the stages of her adult childrens' lives when she looks at them. It flashes like a storyboard across her memory with vivid snippets, sweet memories and challenges that have led to the current moment. The mother of a solder comes to the same conclusion as the dad's. Her son or daughter deserves her respect and honor.

In recent weeks, in addition to the loss of American lives the British have lost many and the bond I feel with those families is intense. Our son is serving his country not far from the place where these casualties took place. Afghanistan is no longer a faraway place; my mind, heart, and prayers are there constantly. We've already "done" Iraq. Now there are new challenges and more reasons to Pray. Wait. Pray. Listen. Pray...and always hope.

The recent news on the war front had not been good and we had been waiting for more than a week for word from our son. And finally, the phone rang and it was the voice I longed to hear. As usual, his first words were, "Hey Mom. What's up?" We talked for over 30 minutes with me leaning into the phone reaching out to hold on to every breath, word, pause or inflection that comes from him. The static is frustrating and the connection weak, and I push the phone harder into my ear as if that will somehow keep me from missing something precious.

I know better than to ask the questions I so desperately want to ask. I measure my words when we talk, so fearful of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. I find myself repeating, "I love you. I'm praying. We are all praying. You are brave and you are wise. I'm ready for you to come home." His dad isn't home and he's going to regret he missed this call. Our son talks and I mostly listen. Then I hear the back door open and familiar steps come my way. Our son needs his dad too and the connection is too weak for us to use two phones. They talk for another 30 minutes and then it is time for him to go.

"Your mom wants to speak with you one more time." I know our son is tired. He just returned from a mission and it is midnight in his world. He could've gone to bed but he took the time to call. The tears have been running down my neck and into my clothes and I'm all wet...so thankful to hear his voice. I strain to cover my weakness in the presence of his courage and I take the phone. "I love you. I am praying. We are all praying." "I love you too, Mom." We both wait on the other to hang up and when nothing happens I repeat my words and he does the same. Still he does not hang up and we both wait. It is only a split second but it stretches across to the other side of the world and it seems much longer. "Mom, I have to go. Others need to make calls too." "Stay safe son. Thank you so much for calling. I'm praying. Goodbye for now." I hang up before I hear his click on the other end for no other reason than to prove to him that I can turn loose without him forcing me but because of the delay I hear him hang up as I put the phone down.

I look at his dad who smiles weakly and says, "I'm so glad he called. It is such a relief to hear his voice." I lean my body into his and the tears run freely in warm familiar arms but my heart is stuck right now...on the muddy and dangerous roads of Afghanistan. The warrior child is a soldier... well trained, wise beyond his years, physically fit and alert. The fat baby legs that went from crawling to running in a split second 25 years ago ... those toddler legs that rolled his mother down an embankment in a public park, head over heels dressed in a skirt ... those strong legs now wear the boots of a man with men of his own to train and protect.

How can I be so weak when my son is so strong? I turn to my Source, to our Heavenly Father Who sees us both as we are and I pray for our son, "The glory of the Lord is my son's rear guard." Husband's eyes are studying me for clues of his next move as he asks, "What would you like to do now?" We move to the next task but my heart and mind are still in a far away place as I think, He's now safe in his bed after a long, hard week ... asleep.

Raising a Baby Warrior...a Tribute to our Son

The challenges of having a loved one deployed in a war zone are many.  Each night before we go to sleep, husband and I pray God's Word over the life of our son, choosing verses specific to what we think might be his current need. "The glory of the Lord shall be our son's rear guard" (Isaiah 58:8). We trust God's mercy to be new again at daybreak.

I was raised in a military town during the Vietnam War and very familiar with the swollen eyes of wives and mothers when the mail came ... and still there was no word. When our son was born, my very first prayer for him was, God, please don't ever send him to war. I shared that with him recently before he deployed to Afghanistan. He laughed when I added, "Sometimes God does not answer your mother's prayers. I didn't know he had blessed us with a baby warrior." 

In retrospect, I now see that so many of the conflicts between my son and myself as he grew up were in reality the warrior child becoming the soldier God made him to be. I wish I had had the wisdom and foresight to see and understand back then what is so clear to me today. I never wanted to raise him as a "mama's boy." Mama's boys generally make terrible husbands. God's word says that "A man shall leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife." In spite of my resolve, our son's desire for independence was always ahead of my natural instinct of when to turn loose. The conflict started early.

Our newborn son, his blue eyes lock in mine as I stroked his soft blonde curls. We were bonding and I had fallen in love so deep, so hard, so fast ... this mother love. Husband laughed when he came in for lunch and found me still dressed in my robe. I found myself apologizing at the end of his work day when he came home and found me still rocking, adoring, and bonding with our son.  Husband's love and grace exceeded his own needs and he said, "Enjoy holding him while you can. Before long, you won't be able to catch him." Prophetic words.

At the end of his third month, our son decided our bonding was over and hence the first breaking away among many. He squirmed and wiggled and fussed and I rocked and crooned as my restless little cherub fought back against his mother's loving arms. Every solution exhausted, I put him in his crib. The instant relief on his face said it all; Thank God she finally put me down. His body relaxed and fast asleep, we had bonded and he was done with it. I closed his nursery door with a lump in my throat.

He grew and changed so quickly that he actually never "learned" to walk. He saw others do it and when he decided it was time, he just got up and did it. In his seventh month of life he simply stood in the middle of the living room with no assistance ... and took off running. I made the last entry in his baby book that night and spent the next 18 years trying to protect him and keep him alive.

When our son was two-years-old husband shook me awake when he found me leaning over the end of our bed and crying our baby's name. The worst nightmare...in my dream I was reaching for our toddler who had fallen from the second floor in the educational building at our church. I was always trying to catch him, even when we were both asleep. The nightmare was almost prophetic when just a few weeks later we went to the church nursery after Sunday morning services and found he was gone ... and no one knew when he left. My Sweet Doc was our interim pastor at that time and he was quick to offer comfort, "He's around here somewhere; we'll find him." We split up and found him on the next floor wandering the halls. "Son why did you leave the nursery? You must wait for us." "You took too long," was his simple answer. After that, nursery workers were put on alert and one of us put away both of our choir robes while the other ran to his room before he escaped.

So much joy and energy in one little bundle of rosy cheeks and blonde curls kept me constantly alert to his next move. A trip to the park one winter day was typical of how to expect the unexpected. I parked my car on the curb and lifted him from his car seat onto the safety of the grassy embankment that led to the playground. Pine needles covered the hill and I was concerned we might slip on our way down. I reached over and hugged him close to me as we made our way to the playground, but he had a better idea! My little guy reached for me, wrapping both of his arms and legs around my skinny left leg and down we went, rolling head over heels several times to the bottom of the embankment. We landed with me quickly checking to make certain my straight denim skirt was NOT up to my waist. Laughing wildly we pulled straw, leaves and grass from each others hair and clothes. Upon retrieving his sister from her violin lesson an hour later he joyously reported his latest achievement: "I wolled Mommy down the hill." It wasn't the last time he stood me on my head in a skirt.

Our energetic toddler was soon playing t ball and later intramural soccer. Footnball and track and field were added in junior high and wrestling in high school. We would attend a high school wrestling match where three schools were competing and leave there and go to an indoor soccer game. I would struggle to simply climb the bleachers but he would be jumping up and down and giving "high fives" to his teammates, anxious for the game to begin.

We celebrated his uniqueness, our strong athlete in his family of musicians. I was a cheerleader in school but gave it up for other interests. His dad ran track and set records in high school that he kept for many years. We wondered at our son's athleticism in football, wrestling, soccer, and track and loved every minute. When he was in the sixth grade one of his coaches said, "You're fast enough to earn a college scholarship in track and field. At the age of 12, he set that as a personal goal and signed a full scholarship with a Division 1 University his senior year in high school.

But our world changed on September 11, 2001. Our son was only 15-years-old but deep in my heart ...I knew. I quietly told his dad, "If this war is not over, he won't be satisfied to let others handle this. He will go".  And so today we pray, "For by the Lord our son can run against a troop, and by his God he can leap over a wall. As for God, His way is perfect; the Word of the Lord is proven; He is a shield to those who trusts in Him" (Psalms 18:29,30).

The History Behind this Blog, Part I

My Sweet Doc's eyes dance with delight and boyish mischief. He does not look like a man who is 97-years-old. He bows his head to pray and the familiar voice rumbles deep...like soft distant thunder trumpets the coming rain in drought. Over and over again, I've followed him to the eternal throne of God's grace, my own heart and soul brought to its knees as he prays, "Our Father and our God, Your mercies were new again this morning."

Our family met Dr. E.C. Sheehan and his wife, Louise, when he was 75-years-young. (He slammed us on the racquetball court several times a week in those days.) Because of his influence, I became a published writer in the 1990's. This blog isn't a sudden narcissistic indulgence of my own self-exploration or even an assumption that I have anything to offer. I hope, however, that God will use it in the lives of others the way he has used My Sweet Doc in my life.

After an illness forced me to stop writing for publication in the late 90's, Doc would call me on the phone and simply read back to me something I had written years earlier and sent to him. Then he would say, "God wants to use this in the lives of others. Get it out there." And so Doc, I am finally "getting it out there." I've known this faithful man of God since 1988 and God used him to change my life...in fact he probably saved it.

As a preschooler, I yearned for a grandfather. Storybook pictures of children curled up in a grandfather's lap fascinated me. I wanted one too and frequently upset Joey, the kid across the street when I introduced my imaginary grandfather into our play. My grandfathers died before my birth but my mother knew my desire and suggested we find a substitute. We chose a great uncle, a godly man on the maternal side of the family, Greenwood Worthington. On our next visit with extended family, Mama and I visited him and made known my request. He was delighted to have a new granddaughter and I was so excited. My next trip back was to his funeral a couple of months later. I never searched for another grandfather.

As I grew older, I longed for a close relationship with my daddy but he wasn't spiritually or emotionally equipped for such a relationship. We often butted heads and my relationship with Christ was something he neither appreciated or understood until close to the end of his life. Even after marriage, I longed for a relationship with him. At the time, I told Al that it felt like I had a hole in my heart that would never heal. I was fortunate not to fall into the mistake I've seen other women make...trying to force their husbands into a father figure. I loved being Al's wife and was never tempted to confuse those roles. I sought Christian counsel and was told that because of his advanced age, Daddy would probably never be saved and I needed to forget having a relationship with him.

I continued t pray for Daddy's salvation and came to understand that while I wanted a relationship with him, my greatest concern was that he come to Christ. Most parents do the best they can for their children and in time I was able to forgive him for the rejection I felt and simply love him. I also asked God to fill that hole in my heart that had been there since childhood with a relationship with Him. I began to write in my prayer journal almost daily. As I read through my Bible each year I discovered that my Abba, Father wants a close relationship with His children. The Creator of the Universe wants fellowship with me!

"Hear , O Lord, when I cry with my voice! Have mercy also upon me, and answer me. When You said, 'Seek My face," My heart said to You, 'Your face, LORD, I will seek.' Do not hide Your face from me; Do not turn Your servant away in anger; You have been my help; Do not leave me nor forsake me, O God of my salvation. When my father and mother forsake me, Then the Lord will take care of me" (Psalm 27:7-10 NKJV).

As parents we're to love, support, care for and teach our children the best we're able but God never intended that we meet all their needs. If we could do that, they wouldn't need their Heavenly Father. There would be no reason for my children to come to Christ if I had the ability to give them what only their Heavenly Father can provide. We all have a big hole in our hearts that only He can fill but many try to fill it with another person, a career, money, drugs... the list is endless.

Although I had been a Christian since the third grade, it wasn't until I learned to fill that huge hole in my heart with a relationship that only Christ can give that God brought My Sweet Doc into our lives.  God moved them back to the city where he and Louise met, married, and began their lives together. We met years after I thought I no longer needed or even wanted another earthly father and he became "my father in the gospel." At age 97, My Sweet Doc continues to learn...and to teach me.

Your Walls are Ever Before Me

Today I'm thinking about walls.  There are good walls and bad walls.  Some protect and shield us while others become barriers we must overcome.  God's Word says, "I will not forget you.  See I have inscribed You on the palms of my hands. Your walls are continually before me" (Isaiah 49:16).

God knows our walls and He doesn't sit outside them and chide us that we're trapped behind a barrier where there appears to be no solution.  Instead, He takes the time to come inside and join us "in the fellowship of our suffering" as He shows us the pathway over the wall or how to learn contentment inside those barriers.

Many in our nation are facing long-term unemployment.  Never have I felt more thankful my husband is gainfully employed.  There are many with no marketable skills and others with great talent that were laid off and continue to search for a job.  Walls.

One of the most painful walls is loneliness.  Moving to a new city, an illness that isolates, a recent divorce that has split family and friends, or a marriage that is distant and cold after the children have left home.  Few things hurt more than the wall between two people who were once best friends and lovers that is now cold and indifferent. 

My cousin's husband recently went to be with the Lord.  God called his name one Friday night while he was sitting at his desk working and today there is the wall of death that separates all of us who love him from our daily lives.  We have beautiful memories and evidence of a life lived well by a godly man who cherished his wife, sons, and family.  A man who loved God fervently and gave his life in service to others. In our minds he was taken too soon but we trust in the wisdom of God's love, even when we do not understand it.  He is now with our Heavenly Father and even though we are not with him, in heaven there are no more walls.  He is now among that "Great cloud of witnesses, cheering on those of us who are still here and remain in the faith."  One day there will be no more walls for the person who loves God and has Christ as his Lord and Savior.  Those who are in heaven and have gone before us are cheering us on and praying that we remain faithful.

So, what do we do with those walls on this side of heaven?  It depends on the wall and its purpose.  I have a cat named Simon.  Simon loves our little granddaughter but he enjoys her much of the time from a safe distance.  She pets him and then when he's had enough, he slips away and hides.  She returns home to her parents but it is only when Al and I have retired to our bedroom that Simon begins to truly miss her.  From up the hall in front of her room we hear cat wails.  He sounds like someone is standing on his tail and he's screaming but it is a strange scream.  He sounds like he's gagged.  The first time it happened I was frightened he might be choking on something and ran to rescue him.  What I find is always a surprise and always the same.  Simon misses his playmate and he is mourning that she's left and so he goes into her bedroom and retrieves her toys and carries them around like a mama kitty with her young.  In the beginning it was a little pillow with a bunny cross-stitched on it that he always picked up and carried.  More recently, it is her very first doll that I bought for her right after she was born.  Simon goes into her room and carries the doll into our room.  Crying and howling all the way down the hallway.  Then he carefully places his "baby" beside our bed and curls up around it.

 

If he can't have our granddaughter, he'll hold on to evidence she'll come back to him.   Simon has learned that he can't just sit and wait for the barrier between he and our granddaughter to go away.  Even when a wall is a barrier, there is activity behind it. He searches out our other cat Salli, and they wait together. Like Simon, we are not to wait behind our walls alone and our wait is an active wait.

And while we wait, God waits with us.  Simon carries around a little doll to remind him that our granddaughter will return to him.  God inscribes us on the palms of his hands. Our names and faces were put there with nails by Roman soldiers as they nailed Christ to the cross.  It was Christ's love for us that marked his hands with our image and He will never forget us.  He sees each wall and each barrier we face.  Invite Him to join you as you wait - together.  Your walls are always before Him and He waits WITH you.  You can count on it. There are others who wait with you as well. "His mercy is new for you again this morning.  Great is His faithfulness."