Insecurity and the Overcomer

Although I had booked a room for myself at a conference I recently attended, shortly after I checked in I discovered I had an unwelcomed roommate. It wasn’t one of the seven hundred women who were gathering for She Speaks 2013, nor was it a confused hotel guest.

No, it was no other than a former acquaintance I thought I had kissed goodbye a while back.

Insecurity, with her attendant baggage of lies and self consciousness tried her best to tag along with me. She trailed me to meals and whispered things like, “Look at all those women eating together. You’re going to look so awkward sitting alone—or worse yet, barging in on a group’s conversation. Their average age must be thirty. Who’d want to pay attention to someone as old as you.”

I reminded her I was a daughter of the Lord and it was up to Him when and where He was finished living through me. Insecurity is a stubborn character though. She followed me into the lecture hall, but slunk to the back when Lysa Terkeurst opened with the admonition to “let your identity, not your insecurity lead in a situation.”

I thought I had lost her until I walked into my small critique group where I would give a five minute speech, along with the other eleven women. I’d always been confident about speaking before groups but was suddenly overcome with insecurity’s presence: “You’re just talking about something God did for you a long time ago. These women have ministries and lessons for today’s woman. “

And then her coup d’ etat: “Look at there! Mandisa is in your group! Sure hope no one wants you to sing. Now you’re really out of your league.”

Sure enough, there sat Mandisa. She said God was calling her to speak more and although she had no problem singing, she was actually nervous about delivering her speech to us!  

“Ha! I whispered to my lying shadow. “Even a stage savvy, gifted woman like her gets nervous. Our God has gifted me as well in different areas, and He can say what He wants through my mouth and my writing. I am His workmanship created in Christ Jesus for good works as much as every other woman in this room.”

As each woman began her message, the Lord took over and spoke healing, redemption, freedom, and grace. Insecurity moved to the back of the room but caught my attention after several powerful deliveries and mouthed, “They’re all so good.”

In turn, I stepped to the lectern, opened my mouth and let out my story of the mighty deeds of the Lord—timeless deeds regardless of age or season. Insecurity moved toward the door.

Mandisa stepped forward, did a few warmup jumping jacks to shake off her nerves and banged out her message with as much power as she does her songs. 

Then, wedged in there in between the bathroom and the microwave counter of the little suite we were in she gave us another gift and sang "You're an 

                             OVERCOMER"

I looked behind me in time to see the door close as Insecurity slithered out.

Yes, our hearts may race and our palms sweat but we are OVERCOMERS in Christ! May we set that ever before our eyes.

Blessings friends,

Marcia

Say Shibboleth

Hi there. I know it’s been a while. Sometimes you just have to go do a different thing. In fact, research on the brain shows that brain cells thrive on new activities. This is good news for those of us who grew up thinking we had a set number of cells that were irreplaceable. So for the past few weeks I have left off with thinking/writing words and have been playing with house plans.

I’m not an architect, nor am I comfortable with numbers and measurements, but I enjoy making houses, moving rooms around depending on light and traffic flow, and seeing how creatively and efficiently I can divide space into function and beauty. This is in hopes of building my final house this side of heaven one day. 

 Now that those brain cells have been satisfied, I've returned to my computer.I wanted to discuss some thoughts about being a church member and even whether or not you think it’s important to attend church,(inspired by Thomas Rainer’s book, I Am Church Member) but I will put that on hold til next week because you know how certain songs get stuck in your mind?  Well for days I've woken with this going through my head:

Say Shibboleth.

Say Shibboleth.

Say Shibboleth.

For those of you unfamiliar with the story, Shibboleth was the word the Gileadites used to ferret out the imposter Ephraimites who were trying to cross the Jordan. It was a simple test based on a quirk of speech. The Ephraimites couldn't pronounce sh and thus were snagged when they said Sibboleth.(Judges 12:6)

Many countries since have used linguistic passwords to identify friend from foe. According to Wikipedia, for example, American sentries in the Pacific arena used lollapalooza as a shibboleth for Japanese spies who mispronounced the letter L as R. Thus, a pronunciation of rorrapalooza was grounds for fire.

But the connection of Shibboleth in own mind has to do with the deception of the times, especially for those of us living in North America. We have been so blessed as a people that I think we have let down our guards and instead of testing the persuasions of culture, we are giving way to the rapidly approaching darkness that disguises as enlightenment and love and tolerance and inclusiveness.

I think of how John the Baptist lost his life holding God’s law up to Herod—it was unlawful to have his brother’s wife. Imagine what he would have done with same sex marriage, the dissolving of the family, and the abandonment of our children to sexual exploitation (see the Chuck Colson Center for Christian Worldview.)

Jesus not only warns us there will be false prophets and deception in our midst, but He exhorts us to not get weary, to run with endurance. To not let the popular and easy persuade our affections. I suspect weariness is as much a danger as lack of discernment.

We not only need

to apply the Shibboleth test to the confusions of culture—clarify our own understanding of a biblical worldview.) Is Jesus Lord in this situation? Is it according to the will of the Father?

But also

to practice it in the daily little things so we are strong in the big ones: 

Shibboleth—Jesus is Lord of my today, of my plain ordinary and potentially boring routines. I will present them as “holy habits of the eternal” (Richard Foster) and offer them up instead of believing they don’t matter or have eternal consequences.

Shibboleth—Immanuel, God with us, here and now. Even if I don’t see, hear, feel Him.

Shibboleth—I set my marker on the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen because I belong to The I Am, with whom nothing is impossible. Nothing. Not even this stinking hard, seemingly impossible situation.

Say Shibboleth. Jesus is indeed my Lord.

Blessings friends. I'm off to the She Speaks Conference this weekend. Looking to get refreshed and rekindled and come back with something to pass on to you.

Marcia

Parenting: A Time to Hover and a Time To Pray

 

The term helicopter parent wasn't widely used until around the time our last child was in college.  Even if I had been aware of the label, I don’t think I would have assigned it to myself. No, I think of myself more as a concerned parent –one with long-distance drone strike capabilities.

Just because the kids grow up, get degrees, or hold jobs doesn't mean they don’t need a bit of maternal wisdom now and then. Like the time President Bush came to town to speak at a local university.

Our son was on the Secret Service advance detail responsible for sweeping the area and securing the route.

I knew he’d been highly trained and knew what to look for, but I, on other hand, lived here. Not wanting any mishap on my son’s watch, I took it upon myself to drive to Furman, making note of the dangers along the route, as well as the layout of the campus itself.

I called my son with my findings. “It’s a long way from the airport to the campus. I don’t see how you can keep it safe.”

“We know what to do, Mom.”

He tried to reassure me, but then visions of rubber-suited scuba terrorists emerging from the shallow depths of the lake I discovered on campus prompted another warning. “Did you know there’s a lake not far from the field where he will be speaking?”

“Really,” he said. “We’ll make sure we look into it.”

Satisfied that I had done what I could to help my secret agent son keep the President safe, and because I was not a helicopter parent, I refrained from any more patrols. (Although it wasn't until Air Force One pulled up its wheels and headed on to the next town that I was able to breathe easily.)

No, a mother’s work is never done.

Recently our daughter sat for her personal trainer certification exam.  She does have a business degree and is quite capable of studying, but I thought I’d help drill her the last few days before the test.

“Gastrocnemius,” I said. “Sounds like it comes from Latin. Must have something to do with the stomach.”

“It’s your calf, Mom.”

“Okay, I see you don’t need my tips for memorizing muscles, but I do know how to read between the lines for what they’ll test on. Make sure you know all about the Overhead Squat.”

On the day of the exam, I felt prompted to go with her. Helicoptering? Or Lord? I dropped her at the door and decided to wait in the parking lot for a few minutes. About ten minutes later, she emerged in tears. Of all the different exams happening at the same time(cosmetology, dental, etc.) her computer program was the only one that wasn’t working. Every time she logged on, it crashed.

The proctor told her if the IT tech couldn’t fix it, she would have to reschedule—possibly months out. And besides, proctor lady advised, she shouldn’t take it now that she was so upset.

Although I wanted to march right in there and deploy my drone strike, I stayed in the car and did battle in prayer.  

I was so frustrated with the Lord because we already had prayed so much. I was ticked with the enemy in case he was trying to thwart her success, and I was determined to keep at it until the Lord gave me some peace. A half hour passed and she hadn’t come back out, so I assumed they had gotten the program to work.

Still anxious, I needed a specific word, but any word from my Bible was far better than the ones that were in my mind. I began a desperate random reading from a psalm. 

And there it was.

That certain descriptor I’ve used much in the past for prayer for my daughter. It is a word only God knows I use in reference to her. Smack dab in the middle of a psalm about the God of the sanctuary was the assurance of prosperity, and I knew all was well.

Convinced she would pass, I picked up my Writers Digest and enjoyed the wait.

She got in the car and flashed her results: now a certified personal trainer. She said the proctor was so happy when her test results came up on the screen that she hugged her.

After all the exuberant congratulations, I asked,” Were there many questions on the Overhead Squat?”

“Yes, lots! Thank God you went over them with me.”

Ah, . . . A time for prayer.

And a time to hover.  

Blessings of joy and assurance of His care over your children.

Marcia

Butling On The Rise

I couldn't resist using that unfamiliar word. Butling. Right out of Downton Abbey. Except for my summers as a live-in sitter and a brief stint as a house cleaner in San Francisco, I have never butled nor been butled.

But according to an article from Business Week, butling is on the rise on all sides of the sea. The rich will be served, and academies that teach you how to serve professionally are thriving.

Although learning the tricks of the trade (dishwashing liquid for cuffs and collars!) is important, the website of The International Butler Academy, advises that success has a much to do with attitude and character as it does with skill: “You must be willing to put another person’s wishes before your own, and do so with a genuine wish to be of service.”

The academy lets you test that attitude and learn those skills in real-life scenarios experienced in a real castle.

 Learning to be a servant. Hands on.

Sounds like the approach of another servant school I know. One to which I have gained entrance: the Lord’s Academy of Butling and Household Management.

I was, of course, familiar with the importance of being a servant. I knew how the Lord modeled it for us, how He came not to be served, but to serve. I thought I got it.(Although if you read my book, Call of a Coward, you’ll remember I served in lots of ways, but when the kids came asking for my precious chocolate, I did have to slug it out with the proverbial devil on one shoulder and angel on the other.)

It’s one thing to gush over the text book version and quite another to apply it to life, as my current hands-on opportunity to serve my elderly in-law is revealing. Although I do wish to be of service, the “putting another person’s wishes before my own,” isn’t flowing out of me as smoothly as I hoped.

I’d prefer to serve on my own time, in my own way.

My father-in-law’s needs are so few, thank God, but the ones he has are hitting where it hurts, and the Lord isn’t let me move on up from footman status until I relinquish going-through-the-actions-but keeping-a self-will.

I know it’s the Lord because nine time out of ten, when my husband isn’t here my f-i-l sleeps til late morning, or even noon. But when I am here, he is up, dressed, ready for breakfast and wanting to know, “what’s on the program?” by 8:30 or 9:00. It is so predictable I know it’s a lesson for me.

And the lesson isn't in the details of household management. No, making oatmeal or coming up with some errands, whether I have any or not, so Pa can get out, or sitting awhile doing crosswords with him isn't difficult. It’s the invasion into my right to my own time that stirs up the inner murmurings. My reluctance to open my hands and let my rights slip through.

Jesus really has a way of getting to the heart of things, doesn't He?

I think of looking to the Lord and doing the things He leads me to as so visually presented in Psalm 123:                                                                                                                                                                                                          

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.                                                         

But service is not just in doing the things—there’s this part also: Serve the LORD with gladness.—Psalm 100. And that’s the part He’s really after.

Welcome to the International Academy of Butling for the Lord where the instructor is merciful, and graceful, and ever-patient.

Blessings dear ones whichever course you are in. Be assured—He will perfect that which concerns you!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Marcia

                                                                                      

Finding Home: How Does Your House Reflect You?

I know a person’s home reflects as much about her tastes as it does her place along her journey, but I was hard-pressed to imagine the whimsy that inspired this design. 

I felt as though we had kayaked into a nursery rhyme. “There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children she didn't know what to do. . .  Peter, Peter pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn't keep her. He put her in a pumpkin shell . . . ”  

As we paddled deeper into the cove, I imagined poking the bulging side with a paddle and watching it explode, or unseating it from its foundation and seeing it float away, or maybe bounce along the bank and bob along the water.

There’s no end to the creative endeavors people put into their homes. A quick search of unusual homes offers the following sample:

For the extreme prepper, who still wants the amenities of luxury living, there is the Zombie- proof concrete house, (complete with indoor swimming pool)that folds up into an impenetrable box, the only entrance is over a drawbridge.

For the ocean lover—a seashell house.

For the hermit—a house on a rock.

And even a home for when you feel like “climbing a wall.”

Making home digs deep into the things we value. Whether playful or peaceful, bulging at the seams with friends and family, or silent and austere with meditation, our homes, in part, enable us to use the gifts we have been given.

I've discovered being an HGTV (House Hunters International, yes!) junkie (and yes, I did enter the Dream House contest) helps me to define the things that are important to me in a house at this stage of my journey. (I know, I know. Didn't we just finish renovating a house?) But my husband and I think we have one more in us.

And so, we pack up my father-in-law and scour the countryside for properties. At the end of the day we say: “Okay, we need to eliminate one. Which one will it be?”  Our little game helps us to stay on track, to keep refining and redefining what we've come to value—peace, serenity, and beauty.

Sometimes I feel guilty about enjoying these pleasures.  But when I have guests and they are able to sit by the pool, surrounded by bird-song filled trees, shed their tensions and soak in beauty, I know it is the gift I have been given.

So come on by. Once you make it past the initial canine chaos at the front door, I guarantee a relaxing afternoon. And maybe, if that HGTV van comes along with my winnings—we’ll move on over lakeside!

How about you? What do you like in a house?  How does your home reflect the place you are in life? Do you think the different places you've lived have been representative of your journey and gifts?

And don’t you wonder just what that final place is going to look like?—the one whose architect and builder is God!

Habit or Humor?

Ever since my ninety-three-year-old father-in-law moved in with us a few months back, I've been witness to the mysteries of memory and habit.

 Although the memory of daily doings sticks to him as loosely as a dandelion puff on a breeze, once he has repeated an action several times it becomes entrenched in his mind. He even continues to do the things here at our house that he used to do when he lived on his own—like rinse out his cup as soon as he’s finished, turn off the light every time he gets up, and shut doors and drawers.

I am thankful for this power of patterned behavior. It helps him to function very well even if he doesn't remember what he had for breakfast twenty minutes earlier. The problem is—how to reprogram some of those routines that don’t work so well in my own house.

For example, I always keep open the door of my Shaker jelly cupboard where I have my random collection of family forget-me-nots.  One day, I walked by and saw it closed. I opened it.

Two days later, there it was shut up tight as Buckingham guard. I opened it.

Now the first time something unusual happens, you might think nothing of it. The second time it happens, you question yourself—am I forgetting whether or not I did this? The third time it happens you cast about for suspects. Pa was high on my list but I never caught him doing it.

Finally one night my husband saw Pa shuffle by, stop, shut the door and continue on his way to his chair.

The next time he walked by the cupboard I intercepted him. “Pa, do you see this door?”

He stared at it as though I were the peculiar one. “Yeah, what about it?”

“It’s open,” I say. “I like it open, but you keep closing it. You had me worried. I thought I had a ghost!”

“I’ll never close it again,” he declared. Smiling all the way to his chair.

Two days later. . .              

P.S. One of the ten books in my June pile was The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg. Interesting insights on habits and how to change them. Duhigg covers a wide range of subjects as examples—from business and advertising, to addiction to football coaching techniques. He acknowledges the power of belief in changing our response to habits, albeit not necessarily a belief in God,although we know He is the One who sets the prisoners free.

Still, worth your while if interested in changing habits. (Not sure about Pa’s!)

Blessings abundant this middle week of June which includes National Hug Holiday, Loving Day, Kitchen Klutzes of American Day, Flag Day, and National Hollerin' Contest Day, among other who-would-have thought-occasions!

 Marcia

Is your dream as dried up as a "raisin in the sun'?

 My journal entry for May 2005 included this verse from Psalm 71: I will come with the mighty deeds of the Lord God. I will make mention of Thy righteousness, Thine alone. And even when I am old and gray O God, do not forsake me, until I declare Thy strength to this generation, Thy power to all who are to come.

My prayer following this entry was, “Lord, I love to speak publicly and I desire to write a book. Both require having something to say! I offer this “loaf and fish” unto you. I open my mouth and ask you to fill it.”

Today, June 2013, eight years later, I did a radio interview with Lynne Ford at WBCL Indiana about Call of a Coward-The God of Moses and the Middle-Class Housewife. The book I ended up writing years after the seed of desire was planted in my heart. Back in 2005, I was totally unaware of the path that was opening before me: a book written and published without my ever writing a book proposal. (Thank you God!)

But as I was praying before the interview, I thought of how often I’d heard Satan was the prince of the power of the air. For a fleeting moment a flicker of fear passed through me. Later, as radio host Lynne and I prayed together, I bowed in amazement at the power of the God we serve. Two Christian women, unknown to each other, but connected over the radio waves to proclaim the mighty deeds of the Lord. What had I to fear.

I look back over the past few years and wonder how I could worry my time for usefulness has passed. I marvel at the times I let hope leak out of me like air in saggy pool float, or let fear dismantle a dream.

It’s easy to feel confidence in retrospect. And yet it’s so human to lose the mountain vision down in the shadowy valley, where as the psalmist says, sadness and despair can make us think God has left us:  “it is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed.”—Psalm 77:10

Today as I celebrate the deeds of the unchanging Lord in my life and in the lives of his people, I think of you who feel your dreams have “dried up like a raisin in the sun,” as Langston Hughes writes.  You who are in the middle of a chapter that doesn't look as though it is going to have a good ending.

I want to encourage you with a prayer from Ephesians, but it’s hard to choose one because I have so many underlined in my Bible. Let me piece one together for you:

Father, you tell us to remember, but we forget. You tell us you are, and we worry you can’t. We don’t want to dish your word out like candy to a crying babe. We want to speak it for what it is—the word of God, which performs its work in us who believe.—1 Thess. 2:13

May we remember we are your workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which you prepared beforehand that we should walk in them. We ask to know the love of Christ, which surpasses knowledge that we may be filled up to all the fullness of God. And that the eyes of our hearts would be enlightened, so that we may know what is the hope of your calling, what are the riches of the glory of your inheritance in the saints, and what is the surpassing greatness of your power to us who believe.

(Eph 2:10, 3:19,1:18)

Blessings abundant friends. May you pick up that dream and offer it to the Lord,

Marcia

Finding Home #5: Making Friends

The lure of sunshine, adventure, or a new job can motivate you to move, but once the day clouds over, the foreign becomes the familiar, and the job routine, you realize how much you need a friend. Moving to the South, after living eleven years in Vermont, showed us just how precious true friendships are and how slowly making new friends goes. Usually friendships get formed at church or a social club (if you happen to have one)or work. But God can use any situation to provoke a friendship—even a bad case of “roots.’

     Critic John Leonard said, “It takes a long time to grow an old friend,” but Bob tried to tell me he made friends quickly because every day he ran into someone who called him “Buddy.”  My friend-making efforts weren't so productive. Although a few people had called me “Sugar,” and lots of people had “blessed my heart,” I was pretty certain the the check out woman at Home Depot had no idea she was my best friend.                                                                                                                                                                                                             

     After being buried in The Renovation for several months, I landed a temp job at a college bookstore. It was there  I met Beth and Valorie. Beth was so enthusiastic in greeting the students who came in looking for textbooks that I called her “Walmart.” She, in turn, having heard my tale about delivering telephone books, promptly dubbed me “Yellowbook.” Fitted with nicknames, we started a friendship. 

     Valorie was as soft-spoken Southern as peaches. She tried to teach me how to stretch my i’s and turn one- syllable words into two: “My-y, it’s a ni-ice ni-ight for a kni-ife  fi-ight.”

     We all shared photos of family, anecdotes of personal misadventures, and a great many laughs. One day, during a lull in business, our conversation got around to the never-ending problem for unnatural blondes—roots. I was complaining that I didn't have money to get them done but wasn't ready to see what lay beneath my Redkin.

     “Oh, I can do them,” Beth offered, full of her usual enthusiasm. Valorie, wanted hers done too, so we all agreed to meet at Beth’’s house. We each arrived around 7 p.m. toting towels and our respective boxes of color. 

     Beth had platters of smoked salmon and capers, cheese and crackers. We scooped dip into little bowl-shaped chips, told stories, and got to know each other. Time passed quickly. Around 10:00 p.m., we deliberated whether or not to go ahead with the coloring. Assured by Beth that it wasn’t too late, I wrapped the plastic cape around my shoulders and waited for her to ready the mix.

     Unsure which of the two shades we had was the closest to my own, Beth suggested we try each and see which looked better. She separated two sections of hair.  “I haven’t ever done this before,” she confessed. “But I know how.”

     I was suddenly very alert. “What?”

     “Don’t worry. Really, I know how to do it but if you’d feel more comfortable, Valorie can do it. She’s done mine before,” Beth added reassuringly.

     There she was—my new friend, holding in her hand the power to determine whether I would walk out with  properly highlighted blonde tresses or ones that looked like an orange and vanilla Dairy Queen swirl.  Granted, this wasn’t a life-threatening situation, but it was still up close and personal; women can get pretty touchy about the color of their hair. 

     Our new friendship was having its first little test. I liked Beth, and didn’t want to offend her, but, still . . . .

     Before I could say anything, Valorie slid into position behind me, dabbed some color on the applicator brush, and in her soft Southern drawl said, “I don’t mi-ind.”

     I didn’t mi-ind either. It felt good to be growing friends again.

                                      **********

 Thank you for stopping by. May you blessed with an awareness of the One who is closer than a brother, and who is aware of the widow(er), the orphan, and the lonely.

God sets the lonely in families, he leads forth the prisoners in singing--Psalm 68:6

Marcia

photo credit

He Gleaned;She Gleaned: Morning Nuggets from the Word

My husband and I usually go to our respective corners, coffee in one hand, Bible in the other, for our morning devotions. We’ll pray together at some point in the day, but we both prefer to spend the early morning hours alone with the Lord.

We've tried various ways to do devos together, but he’s slow and meditative. I'm fast and global. He’s wakes slowly and needs to sit awhile; I hit the floor wide-eyed and ready. Still, we recognize that each of us is receiving wisdom and truths from the Lord which we are not sharing. Recently, instead of trying to read the same book of the Bible or do a joint study, we've decided to share a daily nugget that each has gleaned from their reading that morning. Thought you might enjoy what we shared with each other this morning.

Bob’s Tuesday Gleaning from Jeremiah 33: 

Just as surely as there is a fixed order to the universe which man cannot change, God’s promises will prevail regardless of what Israel, or Israel’s enemies  (or, on a personal level, we,)do. “If you can break my covenant for the day, and My covenant for the night, so that day and night will not be at their appointed time, then My covenant may also be broken . . . ‘—Jer.33:20

Behold the days are coming . . .when I will fulfill the good word which I have spoken concerning the house of Israel. I will restore their fortunes and will have mercy on them.”—v. 14, 26

Bob: “How good to know God’s promises have nothing to do with us, because we screw up a lot.”                                                                                                                             (Not sliding over repentance/free will here—just enjoying the nugget that God will accomplish that which concerns his people.)

Marcia’s Tuesday Gleaning: A Metaphor Moment from 1 Samuel 25:29

Abigail to David—“And should anyone rise up to pursue you and to seek your life, then the life of my lord shall be bound in the bundle of the living with the LORD your God, but the lives of your enemies He will sling out as from the hollow of a sling.”

When we drove to Guatemala, each of us was allotted one trunk’s worth of special possessions to take. I chose some items for their usefulness, others for their beauty. In Israel’s early days, instead of a trunk, travellers would put their most precious possessions in a bundle, to be securely kept because of their special worth and useful service.

What a lovely image of security for us as God’s special possession—to be bundled in God’s care. “And they will be Mine,” says the LORD of hosts, “on the day that I prepare My own possession, and I will spare them as a man spares his own son who serves him.”—Mal.3:17

                                                   ***

I pray that if you are heavy with a burden of striving, you will meditate on the surety of God’s delight in you as His precious possession. 

Blessings abundant this last week of May.

And if anyone cares to share how you and a spouse or special one pray/study together, I’d love to know!

Marcia

When the Thrill is Gone

The Green Door

The town I grew up in outdid itself in providing wholesome opportunities for its kids. Each summer the school bus made the rounds to the major intersections (all four of them) and gathered us up for a day at the town beach where we had Red Cross swimming lessons and afternoons of free swim.

At one spot along the route was a perfectly poised hump, which if hit at the right speed would lift your butt off the vinyl seat and flip your stomach into a thrilling free float.

As soon the lumbering bus rounded the corner far enough for the driver to see the coast was clear, we’d all start chanting, “Faster! Faster!” And since this was in the Time before Nanny, the bus driver heeded the charge, stepped on the gas, launching sixty or so whooping and hollering kids into the air.

Decades later, I still remember the anticipation of that “thank-you-ma’am” (that’s what we called those road bumps) in my stomach.

It’s hard to let go of thrills, whether of a great adventure or a close encounter with God. They rouse our dispassionate spirits and electrify our dulled expectations. Like two-years-olds we cry, “Do it again!”

We say “yes!” with Isaiah when he cries, Oh that you would come down. . . as when fire kindles brushwood and the fire causes water to boil— to make your name known to your adversaries, and that the nations might tremble at your presence!

But in the daily, in the here and now, nothing-is-spectacular moments, the silence of the Presence, and even in the can-it-get-any-worse? situations, we act like a sails without a breeze. Dishes, and walking-the-dog, and making oatmeal hardly seem the stuff of great expectations.

In his short story “The Green Door,” O. Henry wrote, “The twin spirits Romance and Adventure are always abroad seeking worthy wooers.”*And I propose--so is the Spirit of God.

 In the story, Rudolf Steiner is handed a card which he supposes is for the dentistry down the street. But when he turns his card over he sees three words: The Green Door. When he inspects the cards that were discarded on the street, he sees they all have the dentist’s information.

To act upon his mystery adventure or pass it by? Rudolf makes his decision and seeks the green door. And then the O. Henry surprise.

Reminds me of God.  The unexpected. The guiding of our way. The joy set before the one who obeys. Even in the every day.

Especially in the every day.  May we set our faces on Him so that whether experiences come or go we will not only endure but "know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that [we] may be filled up to all the fullness of God."—E ph. 3:19

Hey! My friend Lisa Buffaloe happened to write about “Thank-you-ma’ams” in her blog this week also. What are the chances of that! Only she calls them Whee Bumps! Be encouraged and hop on over to her take on Whee Bumps.

Blessings abundant friends,

Marcia