Let my words be used to glorify, and not malign. (image from osage.k12.ia.us)
I’m not one to seek conflict, but I often find that when confronted with an accusation through written word, my response is less than Christlike. This is my prayer, that I might use my gifts to build Him up, and not tear others down.
Lord, you have blessed me with the gift of language. The ability to put fingers to keys and translate raw human experiences into strings of words, sentences, paragraphs, stories. How often I long to use this gift to glorify you. To tell of your love, to demonstrate your tangibility. But sometimes, shamefully, I use this gift, this toolbox of letters and language, to injure. I pull out barbs, masterfully twisted to inflict the most damage. I catch grenades in bare …
I gave love away, and got more love than I deserved in return.
Two years ago, in a Wal-Mart parking lot, I failed God. I passed by a dejected man, standing in the sweltering middle-of-July Kansas heat. I only looked at him long enough to see his sign reading “Will Work For Food.” In my passenger seat were 20 or so ice-cold Powerades, just purchased inside, condensation beading up on chilled bottles to match the beads of sweat pouring down this man’s face. I couldn’t give him money, or food, but I could give him refreshment. And I did nothing. I ignored that small voice. I just drove on by.
All the way home, my heart ached. I knew I’d done wrong. But I didn’t turn around. Later, I begged God for forgiveness, and a second …
(Image from momlogic.com)
Lord, I am tired. Head down at 11 p.m. Head up at 5 a.m. With three interruptions in between. I’m not sure how much longer I can last. Years of inadequate sleep have taken their toll on my body. My mind. I am tired. So tired.
And when I feel this way, it’s so hard to let your light shine. It’s not that I want to hide it under a bushel, I just want to crawl under that bushel and go to sleep. Sweet…sleep.
Lord, you’ve known great fatigue, even worse than this. And yet, you kept your eyes focused on your Father. One foot in front of the other, you trudged up that hill, to that place where your life would end. And yet now, I realize, even you fell. Even you struggled under the …
Yes, she’s beautiful on the outside, but not as beautiful as she is on the inside. (image from .lucillezimmerman.com)
Oh…she’s gorgeous. My heart sank a little as I saw Ann Voskamp’s words, so inspiring and life-changing on the pages of her book, come to life in her small group study DVD. Her book, One Thousand Gifts, has been life changing for me. But her voice, decidedly sultry, didn’t match the one I heard in my head as I’d turned those pages late at night. Her hair, a beautiful chestnut color, sat atop her head perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place. And I’m ashamed to admit, I grew a bit jealous.
I had a hard time really hearing her words, as the video artfully moved through images of her hand crafting scratch loaves of bread, children …
Do I really expect to hear choirs of angels singing when the right window is flung open? Yes. Yes I do. (image from homesteadishome.blogspot.com)
When the door of opportunity has been slammed shut in your face (or on your foot as you were trying to stick it through just in time), friends and loved ones are quick to remind you that “God will open a window.” And it sounds simple enough. When one opportunity doesn’t work out, something else will, right? But how do you know if a window is really open, or if it’s just so clean that it looks open, only to leave you with a smashed face and bruised ego.
I’ve found myself in this position lately, doors unopened, or closed at the last minute, and I’ve been left wondering where I should go next. Is …
Easier said than done. But it must be done.
The last thing on my mind this morning was gratitude. In fact, the first thing on my mind was a string of curse words. While I didn’t let them escape my lips, I felt that if an innocent bystander were to view my body language, they would probably be offended. I was stressed. Angry. Irritated. I slammed doors. I barked commands at my daughters. We had to get out the door NOW! We were going to be late for the doctor! Shoes ON! Coats ON! I was frustrated with the situation, not with them. We’re going on week number three of illness in my house, and the pressures of care taking are starting to wear on me. Little sleep. Constant demands for attention. To-do lists with little actually done. …