Author: Holly

Holly is a wife, mother, grandmother and parent of two rotten dogs. She feels her deep faith in the Lord is all that got her through some very hard times and led her to the beautiful life she has today. She wants to share with you what the Lord has done in her life.

Am I a Songbird, a Crow, or Silent?

What kind of bird am I? Do I sing with the rest of the choir when the sun is shining but keep my beak clamped shut when my life is overcast? Worse yet, do I sit on my tree-top and squalk at those around me like a crow no matter how my surroundings appear?

I look forward to walking out the door of my apartment each morning. Not only am I escaping my tiny box of a home that I share with my 110 plus pound great dane and way-too-fat cat, I also enjoy the morning choir of songbirds that I am almost always blessed to listen to as I walk to my car each day. The chirping and singing is so cheerful it can brighten even the darkest of my moods as I make that short treck to the parking lot.

This morning as I was getting ready for work, I glanced out the window and found the skies to be overcast and dreary. I continued getting ready without noticing that my good mood was starting to cloud over with the skies. Though my life is really blessed and I have been very happy lately, I was allowing the blah-ness of the day to affect me without realizing it. When I had completed my morning routine, I grabbed my purse, lunch and keys and headed for my car. My thoughts were consumed by my schedule for the day and shadowed over by the clouds overhead, but about ten feet out my apartment door I heard something that stopped me in my tracks.

Despite the cloudy, dreary-looking skies, I could hear birds singing. I didn’t hear as many voices in the choir as on a sunny day, but that didn’t effect the beauty of their song. I forgot about my to-do list. I forgot about the clouds hiding the sun. I remembered just how blessed I am. I remembered how happy I am. Then I had a random thought. What kind of bird am I?

Do I sing with the rest of the choir when the sun is shining but keep my beak clamped shut when my life is overcast? Worse yet, do I sit on my tree-top and squalk at those around me like a crow no matter how my surroundings appear? I would love to say I continue my song even when I can’t feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on me, but I know I fail at this more often than not. These random thoughts reminded me of the Apostle Paul when he said, “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want (Philippians 4:12, NIV).”

Am I content with my life so that I can sing my way through sunshine, clouds or rain? Am I content with my life so that I can lift some else’s spirit through the clouds or rain? I should sing despite the dark days. The Holy Spirit should be able to use me to lift the spirit of others on the overcast days we share. I should be a songbird no matter the skies.

Faith in God’s Leaders

Brother Gary stood before the members of the congregation which were in attendance for the church business meeting. He calmly, quietly and fairly performed his duties as moderator. I honestly don’t know how he did such a good job considering this meeting was an attempt by some members to put an end to his 14 years as the pastor, but he was very professional in performing the difficult task assigned to him.

I loved Brother Gary and considered him an excellent shepherd to lead this flock, but I had not been a member of this church nearly as long as most. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there were things about Gary I didn’t know. I decided to listen to the arguments, and arguments they were, on both sides with an open mind before deciding how I would vote. 

Though I couldn’t imagine what un-Scriptural actions Gary could have taken, I assumed the group requesting for the vote to remove him would show what they considered evidence of a sinful behavior or evidence that he was leading the congregation away from Biblical principles. I listened. I waited. I prayed. I listened some more. The worst thing anyone could say about Brother Gary was that some times he was “difficult to work with.”

When I realized the sole reason this group of members wanted Gary removed from the pulpit was because he was “difficult to work with” and sometimes stood up to them, I was furious. I felt like this group had not only wasted my time, but they had more importantly wasted God’s time. We could have spent those two hours of lost time in planning community outreach, in planning a mission trip, in ministering to the needy or in praise and worship. Instead, we spent it in an argument that eventually led to a church split. 

If God had wanted Brother Gary removed, He would have provided evidence against Brother Gary. He didn’t. It’s time for the church to remember Who should make leadership decisions. It’s time for the church to have faith in God and trust Him to put the right people in place to shepherd. It’s time for the church to realize God knows better than we do.

In Acts chapter one, the disciples faced the task of choosing a replacement for Judas Iscariot. “So they proposed two men: Joseph called Barsabbas  (also known as Justus) and Matthias. Then they prayed, ‘Lord, you know everyone’s heart. Show us which of these two you have chosen to take over this apostolic ministry, which Judas left to go where he belongs.’ Then they cast lots, and the lot fell to Matthias; so he was added to the eleven apostles (Acts 1:23-26 NIV).” 

The disciples didn’t form a committee. They didn’t debate candidate qualifications. They let God decide, and then they did something that would be unthinkable today. They had faith that God made the right decision and they set about doing the work He had assigned to them. What if we did that today?

Adventures in Moving – Day 2

As we left the hotel this morning, Lucy braved the elevator like a pro…ferociously standing behind her mommy, hiding. That was better than yesterday, so I won’t complain. (If you don’t know that story, read yesterday’s post.)

The ride was fairly uneventful today, and I really don’t have much to tell. The temperature variance between states was the most dramatic thing for today. Alabama was a nice temperature. Tennessee was a little cooler but still comfortable. Kentucky was the end of my flip-flop wearing for today. Indiana was freezing, and Michigan had me shivering so hard I could barely form words at times. I now have a coat, gloves and something to cover my ears so I’m in pretty good shape…at least I will be when I figure out where I packed my socks.

I must say I am very happy that drive is over for many reasons, the most important of which are Lucy and Romeo. Nearly 1,100 miles with my two pets is kind of like a trip with two toddlers who are very jealous for mom’s attention. Romeo insisted on riding on my lap again today – all day. Lucy still can’t understand why she can’t do the same. 

A couple of hours into the drive this morning, Romeo was reclined on my left leg facing the door while I was driving. Lucy and I thought he was asleep. She gently laid her head down on my right leg. After a couple of seconds, Romeo looked behind him and saw Lucy’s nose close to him. He turned around with that look in his eye that cats get when they are getting ready to explain the rules to someone. As he stretched out his paw reaching across my right leg with his claws extended, his single meow sounded more like “mine.” I’m not kidding. It really did sound like that. Lucy barely jerked her nose to safety in time. She kept her head off my lap for the rest of the trip. Poor thing. 

Well, I know that wasn’t a very exciting read for you, but that’s my day. Now those of you who have asked me for updates on my trip know how much my fur babies love each other.

Thank you for your prayers and encouragement. God bless!

Adventures in Moving – Day 1

I have Lucy, my 110 pound great dane, on a leash that is wrapped around my left wrist. Romeo, my siamese cat, is in the pet carrier in my left hand. I have a purse and another bag over my left shoulder and I’m pulling my large duffle bag with my right hand. Thank God that bag has wheels. We’ve stopped rather early but I don’t care. Lucy needs to stretch her legs. Romeo is a cat and thinks he needs to be pampered as all cats think they should be. I just need sleep.

Where is room 337? I know the desk clerk said there was an elevator. Where is it? With my duffle flipping over every few seconds as Lucy jerks me towards yet another interesting smell and poor Romeo getting jostled all over the place, we round a corner and there it is – the elevator. The door opens, I enter, Lucy enters and Lucy quickly exits again just as the doors are beginning to close. She was not going to enter that moving metal box willingly. So here I am with my arms over full, using my foot to try to keep the door from closing on the leash as she’s outside the elevator. I finally drag her on and she hunkers down for the short ride up. 

We exit the elevator, Lucy practically bolting from it, find our room and all three of us are in the beautiful king-sized bed within five minutes of entering the room. I don’t think a bed has ever felt so comfortable as tonight after spending an afternoon with Romeo wandering all over the cab of the moving truck meowing and Lucy trying to figure out how she can sit in my lap while I drive.

Today was a rather uneventful day on the road. Hopefully, tomorrow will be the same. This has not been one of my more entertaining posts, but it’s the update on my trip that people keep asking for. If all goes well, tomorrow will be just as boring. 

Hitting the Reset Button

I received the phone call of a lifetime two days ago – a phone call that allows me to hit the reset button on my life.  My first thoughts after that call consisted of, “Wow! How often does that happen?  How often does someone get to reset their entire life?  It must be a rare occurrence.  I am so blessed to have this amazing opportunity!” 

For two days I have lived with joyful thoughts of making plans for my new life and I decided a few minutes ago that tonight was the night to tell everyone about the upcoming changes in my life.  I picked up my journal and pen and wrote the first sentence.  I had a plan for how this blog was going to go, but halfway through the first paragraph it changed.  As I was writing “How often…” I realized I have had numerous opportunities to reset my life.  I’ve just ignored them.

God has led me to many crossroads that would have been much better paths than the one I wandered on for most of my life.  I’ve struggled on the same path for many, many years.  Sometimes the path was easy to travel; but, more often than not, it was covered in obstacles.  I have stumbled in bare feet over sharp gravel.  I have stubbed my toes on numerous boulders.  I have tripped over pot holes.  I have even crawled over walls of debris to stay on a very painful path while ignoring easy detours that could have helped me avoid the debris pile.  I have stopped to glance down crossroads before – crossroads covered in soft grass with beautiful wildflowers lining the sides.  They often looked inviting; but fear of the unknown kept me moving forward, stumbling down my chosen treacherous path.

Eventually, I did take a crossroad but it wasn’t covered in soft grass in the beginning.  It was rough, just not as rough as the road I traveled for so long.  God never gave up on me.  He knew how stubborn I was.  He even knew how long I was going to stumble along before taking the opportunity He gave.  I finally followed His lead.  He led me on the new path for a while and it’s been a good one.  The crossroad I chose was really scary in the beginning and wasn’t without a little sharp gravel, but that’s only because I chose the one with gravel rather than one of the earlier ones with soft grass.

I thought this second path was the one God intended me to follow for the rest of my life, but another road recently crossed my path.  My first instinct was to stay on the path I was already on but then I realized this crossroad may have been another one of His.  It’s scary to leave one path for another – at least it is for a person who doesn’t like change and has faced a lot of it in the last couple of years, but I’m doing it.

Despite my fear, I am hitting the reset button on Monday, the day after Christmas.  My reset button is big and yellow and says Penske on the side of it.  Once it’s loaded with everything I own, it will take me about 1,000 miles north.  I am moving from Bay County, Florida to Bay County, Michigan to start my new job as an accountant.  I am scared, but I am way more excited than I am scared.  For once in my life I am going on faith and taking the crossroad God has given me without arguing with Him first.  He will take care of any gravel and pot holes.

The reset button is scary but amazing at the same time.

Why? It’s Not Always what You Think… Hector

He was a good looking boy and appeared to be around thirteen or fourteen years old. It was hard to say for sure since he, like many of the kids, appeared to be a little small for his age by U. S. standards. He joined our group in the middle of the story and Bible verse because he and his family were a little late. Since we had already started, he took a seat in one of the chairs and started listening to the story and verse. 

We had placed the white, plastic chairs in a semi-circle in a corner of the building. Having four large groups of people meeting simultaneously in one huge concrete building with no dividing walls created nothing but a giant echo chamber. It was very distracting, and we hoped our chair placement would help the people in our group stay focused on our activities. All four groups had the same basic goals though the methods to reach the goals varied. We were to teach a Bible story about the Holy Spirit, memorize a Bible verse that would help the family members to remember what they had learned in the story, make a craft that would give them a visual reminder of the verse and story, burn some energy with some recreational games and finish with a new pair of socks and shoes for each person.

We had already finished a few sessions at other locations, but each location was unique. This particular facility was in a very poor area of Guatemala. The Family Hope Center we were visiting this day was fairly new and had not yet had time to establish a strong support system for the families it served. So many stories can be told from this one center that it is enough to make my eyes water as I sit here at my keyboard. For now, I will tell Hector’s story.

As each new family joined us, even the latecomers, we tried to make them feel welcome by engaging them with the activities the other families were already participating in. The first activity this day was to try to memorize the Bible verse using repetition and games. After reading and repeating the verse a handful of times, we played a game to challenge each person to repeat a portion. I can’t remember which game we are doing at the exact moment I really noticed Hector, because there were so many games. I just remember having our group of people divided into two teams and the team members lined up one after another in one line for each team. 

Most of the members of our group, young and old, wanted to participate and quickly joined a line. Just as we were getting ready to start, I noticed one boy who looked to be a young teen. Since my Spanish was basically non-existent, I chose to try to coax him into playing by using hand motions. He gave me a smirky-smile and shook his head “no” obviously thinking that annoying American would leave him alone after that. Well, he didn’t know this annoying American yet. 

I walked a little closer hoping I could read his name tag. “Hector?” I asked. He nodded but said nothing. I walked a little closer, and motioned with my hand again to the line as I said, “Hector, come on.” I was not going to let this boy miss the fun just because teenaged boys didn’t think this kind of a game was cool. I just kept up the hand waving and, “Come on, Hector,” until he finally gave in. With a look just short of an eye roll and exhaled breath just short of a huff, Hector joined the fun. His look confirmed to me that this teenager didn’t want anyone to think he was having fun doing anything so un-cool, but he did play the game and put enough effort into trying to remember the verse that I gave myself an invisible pat on the back for being persistent until he gave in.

We continued with the Bible story. We spent some time outside playing games. We made crafts. We washed feet and put new socks and shoes on everyone. We followed the same basic pattern we followed with every group that week; and, like every other group, every Buckner volunteer was very moved by at least one person they interacted with. My daughter, Megan, and I had a few minutes after giving out the shoes to talk by ourselves about our “one person” for that group. I talked to Megan about little Emyly whom I mentioned in my last blog post entitled Hot Potato and No Espanol. 

Megan’s “one person” for that moment was a boy she had put shoes on. The way she described this poor boy’s feet made my feet hurt just thinking about it. His shoes were so small that his toes were completely forced to curl under and his feet appeared on the verge of starting to deform. She felt so bad for him and was so happy we were able to give him a pair of shoes that would relieve the pain he had to have been in. I asked which boy it was. She said the older one wearing the white shirt with black and orange stripes on it. “Hector?” I asked, and she confirmed. I was so wrong about this poor boy and I felt so guilty for making him stand.

At this point in any blog post, I always choose a Scripture passage that I believe to be relevant and try to wrap it all up with some sort of inspirational conclusion. I can’t do that with Hector’s story. I have waited for three weeks for God to lay the correct passage on my heart but nothing seems to fit my usual pattern to enable me to wrap this experience up in a neat little package for my readers. Hector can’t be wrapped up in some simple conclusion. Hector’s life goes on with a new pair of shoes but he is still living in the poverty that nearly deformed his feet. A new pair of shoes has not changed his life completely, but spreading his story may do just that. Hector, along with countless others living in poverty need prayer more than they need anything else. Shoes that fit are great, but those shoes and Hector’s story can change lives only if they stand out as a reminder to the rest of us to pray. Pray for Hector. Pray for Emyly. Pray for all of them. 

While waiting for the passage I thought God would give me, I nearly missed the one He did. Jeremiah 29:11 says, “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” I don’t know what God’s plans are for Hector. I don’t even know what His plans are for me. What I do know is that He has plans for both of us and for every one of you. Quit assuming you know the facts, and quit looking for the inspiration. Live in His plan right now, even if you don’t know yet what it is.

Hot Potato and No Espanol

I immediately felt a little tug on my heart and knew I couldn’t leave her standing there all by herself. I walked over to her, said “Hola” and sat in the dirt beside her so I could be at her eye level. I read the little sticker on her shirt, pointed to her and said “Emyly.”  She smiled and nodded and I pointed toward myself and said “Holly.”  Emyly smiled and started talking. 

The concrete building was a giant echo chamber, but at least it was cooler than it was outside. We hadn’t been outside long and I hoped we wouldn’t be out much longer. My team, the blue team, consisted of four Buckner International volunteers, one Buckner intern volunteer and two interpreters. We had already finished our vacation Bible school story and memory verse sessions. The crafts and shoes would come later after the recreation session we were outside for right now. I was very happy about the game our recreation leader chose. I am not in shape and I trip over oxygen all the time, but hot potato with a balloon was something I could do. One of the interpreters played some music from her phone. When the music stopped, the person stuck with the balloon had to get in the middle of the circle and do their best imitation of the animal chosen by the recreation leader. We had a monkey, an alligator and a handful of others. I was assigned an elephant for my turn in the middle. 

There was something I found very interesting during my time in Guatemala. The parents and grandparents were often just as excited about the activities as the children were. They tried memorizing the Bible verses, they made the crafts and they often played the games. On this day, we had a handful of parents and they played hot potato along with the rest of us. As I watched the balloon make its second clockwise lap around our little circle, I noticed a little girl, maybe four years old, standing in between two women on my right. She looked excited as the balloon headed her direction. As it made its way to the first woman, the little girl raised her hands to take her turn in passing it, but she wasn’t the only one excited. Both of the women she stood between were enjoying the game and were trying to make sure neither of them ended up in the middle of the circle imitating a cow or rooster, so they got rid of that balloon as quickly as possible. They skipped the little girl. The disappointment lasted only a moment on her face, but I still felt bad for her. As the balloon made its laps and the animal-imitators entered and exited center stage, I was distracted. I don’t know if that little girl in the pink shirt and white hat with little butterflies printed on it ever got her turn to pass the balloon. 

After a few rounds, the recreation leader and interpreters decided to try a new game. We played so many games during that week that I honestly don’t remember what the new game was, but I decided to watch from the sidelines and take some pictures and videos. As I was watching, I noticed the little girl in the white hat with the butterflies standing on the sidelines leaning against the side of a nearby building. She was holding the two purses and umbrella that I remember the two women holding during the earlier game, and she quietly watched everyone else enjoying the fun. I immediately felt a little tug on my heart and knew I couldn’t leave her standing there all by herself. I walked over to her, said “Hola” and sat in the dirt beside her so I could be at her eye level. I read the little sticker on her shirt, pointed to her and said “Emyly.”  She smiled and nodded and I pointed toward myself and said “Holly.”  Emyly smiled and started talking. 

If you read my last blog, you know I don’t speak Spanish, so when she stopped talking and looked at me with a look that indicated she was expecting an answer I had no idea what to say. I did the one thing I had become pretty good at in the last few days. I raised my hands palm up, tilted my head, shrugged my shoulders and said “no Espanol.” Emyly tilted her head back, laughed at me and started talking again. She didn’t appear to ask me any more questions, so I guess she understood what I had told her. That didn’t stop her from talking, though, and from pointing at people and things as she talked. I didn’t have any idea what she was telling me until I heard a Spanish word that sounded similar to the English word family. She talked and talked and talked some more, all the time knowing that I had no clue what she was telling me. I did try pointing out my daughter and telling Emyly that I was Megan’s mom, but I couldn’t remember how to even say that. As Emyly watched, I walked to Megan, got her attention and asked how to say that I was her mom. Megan doesn’t remember much of her high school Spanish but she was able to tell Emyly that I was her mother. 

As I sat back down beside Emyly I tried to find things to communicate with her about. When she took her hat off I traced one of the butterflies with my finger, pointed at it, said “butterfly” and tried to find a way to ask her what a butterfly was called in Spanish. I’m not sure if she ever figured out what I was trying to communicate. I didn’t understand another word she said, but that was okay. This may sound odd to you, as my reader, but despite the fact that neither of us understood anything the other was saying, Emyly and I had a really amazing conversation. We talked and we laughed and we enjoyed the brief time we had together. I will never forget little Emyly.

Children are amazing. Their innocence allows them to grab ahold of faith without questioning it and hold on until that innocence is broken. After it is broken, some manage to hold on but many do not. The Gospel of Luke tells of a time when parents were taking their children to Jesus to have Him touch them. “When the disciples saw this, they rebuked them. But Jesus called the children to him and said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it‘ (Luke 18:15b-17).” 

Heaven is for children – God’s children; but unless we can hold on to our faith like an innocent child does, we risk losing our soul. We have to let go of all of the baggage that we carry as adults and just talk to our Heavenly Father, even when we think He isn’t listening or we don’t understand what He is saying. We need to be like little Emyly and just keep talking to Him – even when we don’t have any idea what His answer is. He is listening; and when the time is right, He will make sure we understand exactly what His answer is. Until that time comes, actively spend your time practicing the faith of a child and keep talking to Him. If you do this, He will answer and you will understand…in His time.

NOTE: Thank you, again, WayFM and Buckner International for giving Megan and I this amazing opportunity to serve with you.

“Luke 18:15b-17.” NIV Archeological Study Bible: An Illustrated Walk through Biblical History and Culture. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2005. N. pag. Print.

Crazy, Miss-Matched Socks

​After working with children all morning, I was a little nervous about working with one of the mothers. As I sat on the floor in front of her chair, I knew the only thing she could possibly say that I would understand was “Hola” so I decided to be the first to say it in an effort to at least express friendliness even if I couldn’t verbally show it in any other words. She responded with “Hola” and continued with a few words of her own. I looked around the crowded room and couldn’t find an available interpreter, so I held my hands palms up, shrugged my shoulders, smiled and said “no Espanol.” I wasn’t even sure if I had said that correctly, but I knew she understood from her “ah” and nod.

I untied the laces of the shoe she wore on her right foot and gently removed her shoe and sock. Then I picked up the new shoes and started to remove the new socks that were stuffed inside. My first thoughts upon seeing those new socks were, “I cannot give her these. What am I supposed to do with these things? She is not going to want them. Where is an interpreter to explain how sorry I am that this is what I’m giving her? I wish I had my own bag with me, so I could just give her one of the new pair of socks I had packed for myself.” I now wish I knew how many of those silent thoughts she could see on my face. She hadn’t seen her new socks yet since I hadn’t completely removed them from the shoe they were stuffed into and unrolled them, and I really didn’t want to show them to her. I quickly glanced around the room again for an interpreter or someone who would hopefully be able to find me a new pair of socks, but no miracle showed up…or so I thought.

I know I must have worn a cringe on my face as I unrolled the pair of knee high striped socks. Oh, how I wished in that moment the only thing unusual about this woman’s new socks was the length and striped print! As I finished unrolling and separating them, she saw what I saw around thirty seconds earlier. One sock had blue and white stripes while the other had green and white stripes. Even that was not the most unusual thing about these socks. They had toes. Toes…like the socks I had been given years earlier as a gag-gift for Christmas. I was presenting this woman who was older than my forty-four years with a pair of socks that came to her knees, were different colors and had the toes separated.

I was expecting her to look at me with an expression that would say not only “no” but “are you kidding me.” In afterthought, I think I was more surprised by her response than she was about the socks. Here’s when I realized the miracle. She just laughed. She wasn’t upset. She wasn’t bothered in the slightest. She didn’t seem even the tiniest bit disappointed. She laughed and her smile showed as much in her eyes as it did on her mouth. Then her laugh became contagious. Neither of us could stop laughing as I washed her foot and put the sock on. We laughed even harder when we realized the toes on the socks were longer than the toes on her feet which made it even more complicated to make sure I had only one of her toes in each toe of the sock. Have you ever tried a pair of toe-socks? They can be hard to put on your own feet. They are really difficult when you are putting them on someone else’s feet.

Eventually, we managed to get all ten of her toes in the correct places and I put her new shoes on. She expressed her thanks, left her seat and a child took her place on the chair in front of me. The next hour or so was uneventful. I washed several pair of feet and replaced worn shoes and socks with new ones. As my team members and I were finishing up with our last few pair of feet, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to find the woman I had laughed with about her crazy socks. She embraced me with the biggest hug and again thanked me. We shared another laugh and each went our separate ways knowing we will never see each other again, but I believe both of us felt a special bond was formed between us…over two crazy, miss-matched socks.

Our bond was formed on day two of a mission trip with Buckner International. My daughter and I were blessed with an all expense paid trip that I won through the WayFM radio station. We spent one week in Guatemala teaching vacation Bible school followed by giving the kids and a few parents and grandparents shoes. We told stories, helped them memorize a Bible verse, made crafts and played recreational games with more children and families than I could count. When those activities were over, we turned to the socks and shoes.

I have heard many people compare the foot washing we did to when Christ washed the feet of his disciples prior to His crucifixion, but I have a hard time making that comparison to my own actions. As I sit here now in my seat on the flight home and think back on the last week, I feel more like Mary who washed Jesus feet while he was in Bethany; but instead of washing the feet of Jesus, I was washing the feet of His disciples in His physical absence. This woman, Mary, was not a saint. She was a sinner just like the rest of us. “When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, ‘If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is – that she is a sinner.’ (Luke 7:39) She was also criticized for using valuable oil to wash Jesus’ feet. “But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, ‘Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given the to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.’ (John 12:4-5)” 

The only One who could truly judge this woman was Jesus Christ but He chose to extend the grace and mercy only He can give. “Then Jesus said to her, ‘Your sins are forgiven…Your faith has saved you; go in peace,’ “(Luke 7:47,50). She couldn’t hide her sin, but she could rise above it. She could make the most of her resources to honor Jesus Christ, and for that He praised her and her story was given an honored place in Scripture. I am not looking for fame and honor or even recognition for participating in this mission trip. I, like this woman, just want to honor Jesus Christ in whatever way I can, and I want to spread His love around the world. If that simply means talking to my neighbors, my co-workers and other people who cross my path about what Jesus has done for me, I will do it. If that means putting a pair of crazy, miss-matched socks on someone’s feet, I will do that, too.

“John 12:4-5; Luke 7:39, 47,50.” NIV Archeological Study Bible: An Illustrated Walk through Biblical History and Culture. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2005. N. pag. Print.

The Forming of a Canyon

When I googled “definition of canyon” I was shown a nearly endless list of definitions. The most descriptive one (that didn’t put me to sleep) described a canyon as “a deep, narrow valley surrounded by tall cliffs. Because a canyon is often very deep, be very cautious when standing on the rocky cliffs above. The noun canyon refers to the deep ravine that has been cut into the earth’s surface over a long period of time by erosion from a running river” (https://www.vocabulary.com).

This may surprise you, but I have watched a canyon form. It started as a small valley between two hills, but within one quarter century it could easily be compared to the Grand Canyon. I know it doesn’t sound possible for a mere twenty-five years to create a great canyon with steep cliffs that could easily claim the life of any traveler who makes one tiny mistep; but, I assure you, that is exactly what I witnessed.

What originally began as two small hills with an easily crossed valley between them, was actually two young lives separated by slightly different beliefs. Both lives were able to cross back and forth with ease over the valley. As the young lives grew older, the beliefs that once appeared similar began to change.   Little disagreements began to trickle through the valley like a small stream. As the lives grew older the disagreements also grew, and the small stream began to flow stronger and wider but was able to be easily crossed for a long time.

After a few years the skies grew dark over the valley with clouds of temptation that cast shadows on both the hills and the valley. The clouds were followed by a torrential rain of indiscretion that was followed by an unending supply of more clouds and more rain. The stream became a river. Eventually, the rushing water and many torrential rains tore at the edges of both hills. The river flowed fast and hard and changed the entire landscape of these two lives.

As the ground gave way and the valley grew in width and depth, the two lives changed in many ways. One of the lives tried many times to build a bridge between the two hills, but the other life liked the rain. The harder the rain, the more entertained that life was. The harder the rain, the more fragile the other life was. After one particularly hard rain, the fragile life lost her footing at the edge of the final bridge. That life became so sad that she longed to be washed away by the flood that was rushing through the great canyon between the cliffs where two hills once rested.

The story of these two lives did not end there. The life that was entertained by the rains and rapids still resides where his hill once stood. He is still entertained but never fulfilled. The other life, however, was changed beyond recognition. The Creator of the original hills and valley has gifted her with a new life far better that the one she sadly lived for so long. She sees no clouds or rain. She now sees sunshine and flowers everywhere she looks. Her new life has beauty and fulfillment beyond comprehension. All she had to do to receive this beautiful new life was to look to the Creator and give Him the old life in exchange for the new.

“See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you…” Matthew 6:28b-30a.

Writing a Beautiful Picture

Most of the things I write of are tied in some way to personal experiences I have had in my own life.  I usually try to help my readers form visual stories in their minds and follow that story with some moral lesson I have learned.  Today will be different.

Today I am the reader and I have formed a visual story in my own mind like no story my readers could ever contrive from my simple words.  I ask you to read along with me and share this beautiful vision with me.

“Where is the road to the home of light?  Do you know where darkness lives, so you can lead it back to its border?  Are you familiar with the paths to its home?…

“Have you entered the place where the snow is stored?  Or have you seen the storehouses of hail, which I hold in reserve for times of trouble, for the day of warfare and battle?

“What road leads to the place where light is dispersed?  Where is the source of the east wind that spreads across the earth?  Who cuts a channel for the flooding rain or clears the way for lightning, to bring rain on an uninhabited land, on a desert with no human life, to satisfy the parched wasteland and cause the grass to sprout?

“Does the rain have a father?  Who fathered the drops of dew?  Whose womb did the ice come from?  Who gave birth to the frost of heaven when water becomes as hard as stone, and the surface of the watery depths is frozen?…

“Who put wisdom in the heart or gave the mind understanding?  Who has the wisdom to number the clouds? Or who can tilt the water jars of heaven when the dust hardens like cast metal and the clods of dirt stick together?…”

I don’t know if you are able to see the amazing things I see when I read these words.  I don’t know how to even describe the images I visualize as I ponder in complete awe the words God is speaking in this writing.  For now I will simply end by quoting Job’s response to God’s words because I couldn’t say it any better than he did. “Then Job answered the Lord:  ‘I am so insignificant.  How can I answer You?  I place my hand over my mouth.  I have spoken once, and I will not reply twice, but now I can add nothing.'”

Guthrie, George H. “Job 38-40.” Reading God’s Story: A Chronological Daily Bible. Nashville, TN: Holman Bible Pub., 2011. N. pag. Print.