The Need to Draw Me Close

It's still dark outside when He wakes me to visit.  It's not a waking with a start - or even a couple of nudges.  It's kind of like the Hand just scans up my face and I'm full awake.  If I was to talk out loud to Him it wouldn't be sleepy morning voice.  That is how instantly awake I am.

The first time He did this was about 21 years ago.  The top three were little then all snuggled up in bed chasing dreams in their head when He woke me.  Woke me clean up.  I looked at the clock shining 5:15 am and then began to pray.  Prayed for each of them in their angel protected rooms, then prayed for their dad, wherever he was on his travels that week.  I asked Him to put things in their day that would remind them of Him.  A sunrise or sunset.  A song.  A person.  Anything so they could see Him.

For six straight weeks He woke me.  Every morning.  Five fifteen.  I talked to Him about the ones I loved then I went back to sleep to wait on the alarm.  Same prayer every morning.  The prayer He gave.

Then the diagnosis came.  Six weeks of 5:15 private conversations with Him had not only prepared my heart but prepared their hearts as well.  Helped us all to see Him through the whole journey.

Three little heads with a reality of heaven most adults cannot grasp.

Thank You Jesus.

There have been other times He felt the need to draw me close before I even knew I needed Him.  Like almost every day for a week before son's open heart surgery, and a couple of weeks when daughter was struggling.

Then there are the times I never find out what it is for.

I know it is for something.  Or He wouldn't have bothered.

He loves me that much.

 Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
   for his compassions never fail.
 They are new every morning;
   great is your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:22-23

I Shall Not Want

To want: (verb) to lack, have decrease, have need

Shepherd: (noun) Yahweh - Supreme God, herdsman

(verb) to tend, to pasture,

There is nothing I need that His hand will not provide. It's the things I want and don't get that put me in a bad place.

So what is it about "The Lord is my Shepherd" that I refuse to grasp?

Instead I wallow around in my hurt. I swim in self pity and dance in the ballroom of

of deception. Buying the lies that I need things that I really only want.

Sometimes I'm desperate in my wanting.

Believing that I cannot live unless I have. Oh Father, show me the difference.

I shared the words to a song once before but I think part of it bears repeating:

When my life is not what I expected

The plans I made have failed

When there's nothing left to steal me away

Will You be enough for me?

Will my broken heart still sing?

I want Him to be enough. I want to put all my wants in the "wants basket" and just give them to Him. Knowing He already gives from the "needs basket". But I'm a selfish child with my hands behind my back refusing Him because it isn't the exact thing I desire.

Why can't I wait for things?

Be content?

Not worry?

Deny myself?

Why can't I just trust the Shepherd Who tends to me? Who will only do what's best for me?

I love the part of the definition of Shepherd to "tend". Tenderness. Tenderly pulling me to Him to comfort hurting, to rest weary, to restore broken.

To hear Him breathe love words to me; His wanting, whining, silly child.

He is my Yahweh - my Supreme God.

I shall lack nothing.

Serving Up Mercy

The mornings were always the hardest.

At night I would turn the timer on the television to go off after I was sound asleep. The bathroom light was left on just in case one, two, or three of the kids came in sometime in the night and crawled into the bed big enough for all of us.

I needed noise and I needed light.

The mornings were hardest because I woke up as the only responsible adult in their lives. There wasn’t another around any more, even for every other weekend visits or holidays traded. I hated to wake their little heads from a peaceful sleep to the reality of one parent. Hated it.

They slept content and tranquil. I didn’t want to be the one to mess it up.

I’m not sure how I got there - to the scripture He breathed to me that gave me so much comfort.

How I got to the promise that I did not have to be consumed in grief. Consumed in fear or loneliness. Consumed in the seeming finality of death.

Not only was I not to be consumed with those things, I was also supposed to rest in the promises of His mercy new every morning. Every morning. His promise to me--straight from His heart to my heart. And I believed Him.

I trusted Him when He told me I could. I believed His faithfulness was great.

Some mornings I knew I would need more than other days. It was there. For awhile I spoke His words back at Him as my bare feet touched the floor first thing every morning. As months passed I would just remind Him of His promise. I didn’t have to tell Him which promise, He knew what I was talking about.

We were that close.

As “You promised” came through my lips, I think He smiled. No, I know He smiled. I know He smiled because it brought Him joy that I trusted Him and I knew He and only He had what I needed. What the kids needed.

He was Father to the fatherless. He was strength to my weakness.

I learned so much from Him during that time. So grateful for that journey.

Now. Bring on the morning.


Lamentations 3:22-24

Climb On

This morning the girls and I went to the Y for the first time in about three weeks. Before that we were doing great, going every day. Today it hurt. And it felt good.

I went to the walking track and started my mile. Thought I’d start out easy since I had been out for awhile. I checked to see if it was a clockwise or a counter clockwise day and began to walk. 

I walked. I prayed. I cried.

Last weekend we were in the mountains, the Word washing over us. It is so sweet to have time of just the Word, worship, and sweet fellowship. Then we all go home or back to school and do life again. Do life with some people who don’t really care if they are walking with the Lord. Do life with some people who do care, but are walking through other difficult situations.

I walked and prayed and cried over my own children and decisions that need to be made and wanting a greater holiness for them.

I walked and prayed and cried over believers who weren’t sure if they wanted to live until next week. Life seems to be more than they can handle. It’s our job to convince them it isn’t.

I walked and prayed and cried over church family who are upset over decisions made that really have no spiritual significance at all.

Over young ladies who have decided the affections of other men are more important than their marriages and precious kids. And their Savior.

Oh God, please no.

The more I walked, the heavier my heart. I told God I wanted to be back in the mountains singing songs to Him; taking in the Bread of Heaven. I told Him I needed to be carried by Him.

He reminded me of a day 20 years ago. It was the weekend before Steve died. He had been sleeping in a recliner downstairs because it wasn’t as painful as on the bed. He stayed downstairs through the weekend, but on Sunday he decided he wanted to go upstairs to the bed.

There wasn’t anyone home but me, so we were trying to decide how to get him up the stairs, because he was too weak to climb them himself. I got down on all fours and he laid across my back and I slowly crept up the stairs. It was extremely painful for him so I had to go easy.

It took me awhile, but I finally got him to the top of the stairs and into the bed. I tried to make light of the situation so we wouldn’t be swallowed up in the sadness of it.

Because I wasn’t just carrying the weight of his body. I felt like I was carrying the weight of his pain, of his fear, of his humility, and of his surrender to the battle of that disease.

Why, Father, would You have me remember that day? Before the question was completely out of my mouth and to His ears, I knew exactly why.

“Climb on.” 

I heard it right in my heart. He wants to carry me, my fear, my disappointment, my heartache, my tiredness. He wants me back on the mountain, full of praise, right here in north Texas.

So I will keep walking, keep praying, and probably keep crying. But I will also keep singing one of the songs learned on the mountain:

In the chaos, in confusion

I know You're sovereign still

In the moment of my weakness

You give me grace to do Your will.

That is where the peace comes from. Trusting that there is victory in all the mess.

So even though the reality of life’s issues hurts, the reality of the faithfulness of my Father feels really good.

'Tis the Season

The other day I remembered the first Christmas I had the kids buy a gift for each other. We lived in Houston. Kayla had just turned five and had forever been asking for a 64 pack of crayons. I thought the other hundred or so crayons we had, although broken and paperless, would suffice because they still colored the same.

That year I took each kid by themselves to go shopping for their siblings. Adam went knowing exactly what he wanted to get Kyle and Kayla, and even if we saw something else later, he never changed his mind. I was trying to remember it right and I'm pretty sure Kyle got Kayla a Miss Piggy toothbrush.

When it came time to open presents that year, the whole atmosphere was different than years before. Instead of running to open their own, they couldn't wait to see the reactions of the ones they bought for.

When Kayla opened up her Miss Piggy toothbrush from Kyle and her 64 pack of crayons from Adam, she jumped up to hug her brothers. I'll never ever forget looking at the boys and seeing them smile. I'll never ever ever forget seeing the tears in Adam's eyes.

Oh, the joy of giving.

There is so much I wish I could give. When you are buying for eleven kids, you have to stretch things well. We just have so much dad gum fun when we are all home, though, that the gifts don't matter so much.

There are some things I couldn't buy but if there was any way possible, I would make happen. I wish I could give Sharon, Janet, Deanne, Ms. Alice, Debbie, Cathey, Myrna, Loma and Aunt Nancy their children back. Some are going through their first Christmas without them, some have survived several. I would give Genevieve her sweet Tony back and Bennie his beloved brother Don. I'd give sisters their brothers back and brothers, their sisters. As I'm typing we just got news that another wife will be burying her husband on Saturday and the Cowboy Church of Mabank will be mourning the loss of their pastor along with her.

I would give several of our unemployed a job. I would give several children their parents back under the same roof. I would give some of the couples I love so much a loving, faithful marriage. I would give the lonely a mate. Or a dog, whichever they prefer. I would bring the soldiers home.

I would give empty arms - a baby.

I'm not supposed to do these things. There is a greater purpose we cannot see with these old human eyes. Natalie Grant sings a song called "Held". Part of it goes like this:

This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise is that when everything fell
We'd be held.

The promise is not that we won't go through tough times or be given everything our hearts desire; the promise is that we will be held when we do. Held by Hands that will make it all beautiful at some point.

What a gift!

Thank you Father that I can trust You. You are the Giver of good gifts. Thank you for Your hands that hold us when hearts are hurting. Help us recognize how You love us. I'm so grateful for all You have done for me. Thank you for Jesus. Thank you that we get to serve You. And thank You that I haven't heard Christmas Shoes sung once this year. You make my heart smile.



I

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? . . .

He is Worthy of our Gaze

Psalm 123:1-2

"To You I lift up my eyes, O You Who are enthroned in the heavens!
Behold, as the eyes of servants look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a maidservant to the hand of her mistress, so
our eyes look to the Lord our God, till He has mercy upon us."

So beautiful. Can you see the maidservant standing in the corner waiting, watching for the mistress to look her way or ask for her assistance? She keeps her eyes fixed on her so she won't miss a gesture, a nod of the head, a whisper.

Can you see her sitting at the feet of her mistress? Can you see the servant looking to the hand of his Master?

The Master's hand provides, protects, guides, and rewards. We just have to keep our eyes fixed on Him. We tell Him what we feel and how we hurt. We ask Him what to do and how to serve. I read something from Charles Spurgeon the other day that truly spoke to my heart:

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear,
The upward glancing of an eye
When none but God is near.

Sometime my heart is so heavy I can't come up with the words to say. But I know where to look; and as the sigh slips from my lips or the tears from my eye, I know the One Who is worthy of my gaze is listening.

To You I lift up my eyes, O You Who are enthroned in the heavens!