He's Waiting

A few months back I sat across the table from a young lady who could tell you almost to the minute how long it had been since she had her last "fix" of her drug of choice. It had been over three months. As we were visiting, I began to tell her about a scripture in Lamentations 3 and before I could get the rest of it out she scooted up to the table, put her hands on the table, and leaned across the table toward me. Caught me a little off guard. I don't ever remember seeing anyone so in need, so desperate, to hear from the Lord. It was as if she was a small child who hadn't eaten in days and I had a spoonful of rice to put in her mouth. I told her how the scripture told us we were not to be consumed by our need, by our hurt, by our desire; because He is faithful and His mercy is new every morning. Tears filled her eyes even with the smile on her face. She couldn't get enough of Him. She was desperate for Him.

In John 4 there is a story of a lady who was on her way in the middle of the day to get water. She went in the middle of the day so she wouldn't have to be in the street with the other women when they went to draw in the morning. She stopped going with them so she wouldn't have to hear their whispers about her. She knew her sin. She didn't want to hear them talking about it. So she decided to start drawing her water in the heat of the day at the well outside of town so she wouldn't cross paths with anyone.

I can see it now. She's walking along with her empty water jar and as she rounds the corner to the well she notices a man sitting there watching her. She stops short, wondering if she should turn away. It was obvious He was a Jew and she, being a Samaritan woman, would be a reason for Him to ignore or reject her.

But her jar was empty.

And she was very thirsty.

Maybe if she is quick, she can get in and out of there before the silence becomes uncomfortable. That wasn't His plan. The scripture said he HAD to go through Samaria. Normally Jews went around Samaria. He had to go because He had an appointment. I believe the appointment was set at the beginning of time. This woman needed Him. He sent his disciples to town before she got there so He could have her undivided attention.

She went to the well to fix a physical need. To quench her thirst. She was desperate for something.

He went to the well to fix a spiritual need. To quench her thirst. She would be desperate no more.

We constantly look to the world to get our needs met. In her case she was physically thirsty, but also spiritually/emotionally needy. She had been married four times and was living with a fifth man. She had obviously suffered rejection and heartache. She would get knocked down and get back up only to find another one to make her feel beautiful. To make her feel worthy of some one's love. At least for a little while.

What this man, this Jesus, was offering her would fill that heart up, heal those wounds. The scars would still be there, they don't go away completely. Some of the most beautiful vessels are the most scarred. They tell so many stories of the grace of God.

I've talked many times before about how we are so connected to the things that seem to bring us some temporary comfort. I know, I know, I know that He is waiting for me to bring my empty jar to be filled by the Him, the One Who is living water.

The young lady at the beginning of the post? Not doing well. Filling her jar elsewhere. Makes me so sad to have to tell you that.

The Samaritan woman? Because of her testimony, the whole town came out to meet Jesus and probably thousands upon thousands more have come to Him because they have read her testimony.

Me? I think of Him daily, sitting there waiting for me to fill my empty jar. Smiling when He sees me round the corner with dirty feet from walking on that road. I don't hesitate like she did, because I know what He has for me. I only pray I'm faithful enough to keep sharing about His amazing goodness. Sweet, sweet Jesus. Thank you for always waiting on me.

You? . . .

Do You have a Minute?

I have pictures of the cutest little grandbabies you have ever seen! They are so precious and I wish we could see them more often.

Spanx Revisited

So I have lost a few pounds. Not many, just a few. I don't look any different or anything, but my jeans get really baggy after I've had them on for about an hour, so I thought I would get me another pair to start breaking in. I dropped Adam and Amber off at the airport on Saturday morning at 5:45 a.m, got a chicken bisquit at Chick-fil-a (yum!), slept about 45 minutes in the Chick-fil-a parking lot waiting for Hobby Lobby to open so I could pick up some silver chargers for Mom's table at the Ladies' Dinner. She called to say she found some so I headed down the road to Kohl's to find me a pair of jeans.

I don't love clothes shopping. Maybe in another 35 pounds I will love it, but now, not so much. So anyway, after many trips back and forth to the ladies' dressing room, I finally found the jeans. They were one size smaller. They weren't hard to button or zip, just fit a little more snug than my baggy ones. The only thing with them being a size smaller is that it makes the belly roll more obvious than it already is.

So this morning when I was getting dressed for church, I decided to dig into the unmentionable (and other odds and ends) drawer to find the spanx. I was going to give them another try. I shared a couple of years back about my first encounter with these modern day marvels, and it wasn't pretty. Haven't worn them since.

Today I knew I had to. With smaller britches on and a church that hugs a whole lot, if I didn't have them on the belly roll would be extra humiliating.

The rubber cement strips haven't worn off the bottom rim of the legs on these beauties, so I was extra careful as I pointed my toe to get my leg through the leg hole. There were two goals in this first step of the process: 1) to still be standing at the end, and 2) to do it cramp free.

Proud to report I was successful on both counts.

So I got them all on and in place, got my clothes on and admired myself in the mirror. The advertisement says they are supposed to "tuck the tummy, trim the waist and lift your rear into gear". I think they photoshopped that girl in the picture. My rear hasn't been in gear in years so there may need to be a little training involved to achieve the desired effect. Anyway, the belly roll wasn't horrible so I decided to see if I could pull this off.

I'm doing ok as long as I don't bend at the waist. I was going to pick up some of the trash after church and when I went to bend over one of my legs just naturally stuck out behind me. You know, kind of like a figure skater sticks out her leg with such grace. I was graceful, it just made me cough. That air had to go somewhere.

It's a little difficult to yawn and I feel my heart beat in my temples if I sit for an extended period of time. I keep feeling like I have to put my hands on top of my head so I can get a good breath. But I look great! Or at least better than without them. It's kind of strange how my brain processes things. I know I can't bend over well, but my brain, for whatever reason, is telling me my neck won't turn like it is supposed to either. Kind of like when my phone is dying in the car I don't drive as fast so I can save gas. I'm a strange person. When one thing is bound, others seem bound. I feel a Bible study coming on.

I'll spare you now because I need to stand up.

Really bad.

Dinner Party

Last Thursday night our sweet dog Mollie, half Great White Pyrenees/half several other things, had a dinner party and invited a few of her closest friends. She served chicken.

They had such a good time that she decided to have another one last night. I went outside this morning as the last guest was leaving. Chickens were laying everywhere.

I grieved a little.

I remembered when they were just little chicks. So cute. When you raise them from pups, you get a little attached.

After our hound dog Pearl left to live in uptown Dallas, I thought I could let the chickens start getting out of their cute little house and free range a little. I couldn't wait to see their little faces the first time I opened that door and let them out. They were so excited.

I feel bad that I didn't take better care of them. Oh well, I'll get the chicken catalog and start dreaming about next spring's order. Only thing is that we won't get eggs until the fall.

So Marilyn, Kathryn, Audrey, Heddy, Bogey, Bacall, George, Martha, Greta, Sophia and Lana: thanks for the memories. You'll be missed.

This is Your Testimony

I need to be studying for the retreat this weekend. Studying and buying groceries and many other things but I cannot get the scripture out of my mind that we studied Monday night.

We were in Psalm 129 and 130. In verse 3 of chapter 129 it says that "the plowers plowed upon my back, they made long their furrows". One of the definitions of plow is "to cut in". The last several weeks (months) I've heard of countless stories from women going through really tough stuff. Some of you are dealing with unfaithful husbands, some with suicidal family members, and some with grief. Many of you feel that your backs are laid open by the enemy, bleeding and torn up. You feel beat up, abused, and abandoned. The pain is excruciating.

In verse 4 of the same chapter it says that the Lord is righteous, that He has cut the cords of the wicked. My mind went to the whip (cords) used to lay open the back of Jesus. He knows your pain. He feels every long furrow. Because of that, He can walk you through healing.

The Lord laid on my heart that for all these precious daughters going through so much pain that you are to be encouraged to keep your focus on Jesus.

This is your testimony.

There is a pure holy seed being planted into the furrows and you have to stay grounded in the One Who will harvest that seed for His glory. The enemy wants to plant salty, poky weeds that choke out the fruit of your testimony.

Through this time you will either bring Him honor or bring Him dishonor.

Let the One you honor be your defender.

Want to know the other definition of plow? To "engrave". Ooh boy, my brain jumped to Isaiah 49:16 where it says that He has engraved me on the palm of His hand. Every time He goes to the Father on my behalf, with His hands open, He sees my name engraved, plowed, cut into the palm of His hand.

See? He knows our pain. He's felt it. Trust Him to make something beautiful out of it. It's your testimony.

God, You really, really amaze me.