By becoming friends with who you are and who you can be; by finding a resting place for your heart; you can put a light in the window for yourself.Thomas Kinkade
I find myself wondering how many, on this last day of 2015, are thinking these words…or worse.
I could be. My husband, nephew, and I were in a wreck on the 20th. My nephew walked away, bless God, but my husband won’t be released from rehab until tomorrow and I’ve got a hip that is only just now letting me walk any distance and a fixator and pins holding my wrist together.
Self-pity and depression are SO easy to fall into at times like this, and it would be easy to paint all of 2015 with the pain of today. But 2015 was a great year! I won’t bore you with the details, but this really was a great year, with lots of wonderful moments and days in it.
Even in the midst of today’s chaos I’m finding things to genuinely thank God for. Again, I won’t bore you with the details, but when I asked God to help me find them I was suddenly able to see…and to be genuinely grateful that God is making lovely things come out of this truly ugly situation.
I have had a few “Life stinks!” moments lately, but I’m getting past them-hopefully have gotten past them. I thank God for 2015 – with all its beauty and ugliness – and, as the fireworks light the night sky, my sleeping self (I don’t do midnight) will thank Him for the joys of the year to come.
Only a short distance from this bridge, over which I’ve passed numerous times through the years, lies the entrance to New Hope Cemetery. This is an old cemetery with a fascinating collection of aged headstones. This is a rustic cemetery and it holds the earthly remains of some of my nearest and dearest.
Too many times, we’ve followed a hearse over this bridge, taking a loved one to their final resting place. Several times, we’ve crossed the bridge to visit the graves of those we’ve not seen in so very long. The last time I was there–the day I took this picture–we were “visiting” Mother.
You’d think this bridge would represent loss to me, would inspire pain, but it doesn’t. Why?
The answer lies in the cemetery’s name–New Hope. Yes, we’ve laid our loved ones to rest here, but I know that in each and every case they were born again and destined for Heaven. For them, and those of us who expectantly wait to see them again, this place offers hope indeed–hope of that new life, true LIFE that will never end–eternal life in the very presence of God, surrounded by those we love so much…HOME.
So this picture shows a path of hope, a man-made construct that bridges the past and that glorious future as we follow the road home.
At one time, I was very much into Victoriana. I read period fiction, collected ephemera and other items from that era, subscribed to Victoria magazine…
That was a long time ago, or so it seems. I’d already moved in other directions when we pretty much lost everything we owned in 2010. Since then, the busy-ness of life and the demands of life’s necessities have drawn me even further away from that time of my life.
So it would seem inappropriate for one of my oldest and dearest friends to send me a copy of Victoria’s AWoman’sChristmas formybirthday. Itwould seem…
I picked it up and was instantly drawn in. I was… actually… transported. I suddenly found myself back in those days when our boys were young and Christmas was still a magical time for me, when I could hardly wait to put up the tree and spent months planning and shopping for just the right gifts.
Those days are gone-hopefully not forever, but to be honest I’ve had a hard time finding the magic of late. So I am very grateful to my friend for empowering me to touch it again. Bless you, Marilyn, for sending me such an appropriate gift.
While praying this morning, I had a fresh revelation of the immediacy of God’s forgiveness. In the Old Testament, when man sinned he had to prepare a sacrifice and go make that sacrifice. This took time, and in the meantime he had to live with the knowledge of what he’d done, that he wasn’t right with God. Today, forgiveness is as close as a softly uttered, “Oh God, forgive me!”
“I’ll never know how much it cost to see my sin upon that cross.”
Once again, it’s a line from a song that’s had my attention and made me think.
Many parents have lost children. I thank God I’m not one of them, and thank Him that I can’t even imagine their pain; I wouldn’t want to. With that in mind, what about God’s pain when He sent Jesus to die for us?
Sending your son to war where he may well get killed… That pain is beyond imagining, but for God, who has existed forever, to send to His death the One who has existed forever right there with Him, to be separated from Him for a time for the first time in Eternity…
That isn’t cost. That’s COST. That is a God-sized pain that…
Someone told me, once, that we’ll know everything when we get to Heaven. I don’t believe that for multiple reasons (For instance, knowing everything would mean the end of growth and I don’t see God stopping us from growing.) and this is one of them. God is merciful, and in His mercy He will never let us know a pain so overwhelming that only He could handle it.
I thank God I’ll never know that pain, and I thank Him for choosing to endure it…for me.
While in prayer this morning, God gave me an illustration I hope I never forget.
He had me imagine my hand holding a mere palmful of seeds, then He reminded me that even a small quantity of seeds, like what would fit in a seed packet or the palm of my hand, can produce a large harvest.
Sometimes we think we don’t have enough to give God. We only see the few coins or dollars we hold in our hand, the few minutes we serve Him by greeting in the foyer before service…
Those few seeds, however, can produce an unimaginably large harvest. They can fill our world with color and fruit if we plant them correctly and nurture them.
So plant that handful in good ground, rejoicing that you have it to give even if you do wish it were more, then pray over it and thank God for causing the seeds to grow and produce.
Yes, you can hold the seed in the palm of your hand. The harvest, however, is another thing entirely; and He is Lord of the Harvest.
I once read that Smith Wigglesworth, who had a phenomenal ministry, never read any books other than the Bible.
On the one hand, this is hard to conceive. The amount of material that was available to the avid reader, even in his day, is staggering. Could one really turn aside from all of it? On the other hand, the Word is so rich, so full, that I often feel like the time I spend in it is too short, that my morning alarm going off is a rude interruption.
And I have seen evidence, in me, of what Wigglesworth talked about. He contended that faith is based on knowledge of Who God is, and that we gain this knowledge as we are in His Word. In fact, he said, “if you see imperfect faith – full of doubt, a wavering condition – it always comes of imperfect knowledge.”
That makes so much sense! My faith is stronger today than it has ever been. Yes, it grows as it is tried and strengthened, much like a muscle grows under the same conditions, but it grows as it does because it is rooted in my ever-increasing knowledge of Who God is.
Staying in the Word really is a necessity for the one who wants ever-increasing faith.
