debily

Archive for the ‘The Bible tells me so’ Category

But now, God’s Message, the God who made you in the first place, Jacob,
the One who got you started, Israel: “Don’t be afraid, I’ve redeemed you.
I’ve called your name. You’re mine. When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you.
When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down. When you’re between a rock and a hard place,
it won’t be a dead end— Because I am God, your personal God,
The Holy of Israel, your Savior. I paid a huge price for you:
all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in! That’s how much you mean to me!
That’s how much I love you! I’d sell off the whole world to get you back,
trade the creation just for you.

Well, it’s finally happened.  2010 is over and we have now begun our second decade of the new millennium.  Three hundred sixty-five days now lay spread out before us like an open road with few hints in sight of what lies ahead.  There is no way to predict what we will meet around the next curve or bend.  We can’t possibly know the detours and road bumps we will encounter, though we know from experience we’ll face them.  Yet the refrain I’ve heard repeated again and again during the past week has been one of putting the year 2010 behind us and looking forward to starting over, a fresh beginning…doing a new thing.

I’m right there with you.

A wise yet silly warthog named Pumbaa once said, “You’ve got to put your past in your behind.”  And while he was a little mixed up on the grammar, he got the sentiment right.  I’ve made plenty of mistakes this past year.  I’ve wallowed far too often in self-pity and depression.  I’ve wasted days and hours that could have been better spent furthering God’s work and His kingdom…or at least accomplishing more of His purpose in my life.  I’ve faced challenges and difficult moments.  And while I wouldn’t choose to repeat any of those things, I know each one has a purpose.  I can learn from my mistakes.  I can appreciate the joy and wonder of grace more deeply.  I can refocus my energies and gain an awareness of opportunities God gives me to serve Him daily.  I can strengthen my faith as I see God work through my circumstances.

So it is with that sense of optimism – that spirit of new beginnings, that freshness of doing a new thing – that I share with you my goals for the year ahead.

Doing a new thing…with my time.

When I returned from Uganda in August, I struggled for several weeks with issues related to re-entry.  And while some of that is normal for anyone returning from such a life-changing cross-cultural experience, there were days I felt absolutely paralyzed.  Overwhelmed.  Unable to reconcile the “here and now” with the “there and then.”  It was eye-opening for me to realize how much of my time is dictated by “stuff.”  And while I’ve tried gallantly to fill my schedule with meaningful activism and personal enrichment, I was frankly too busy.  So this year begins with a new commitment to evaluate my schedule, to pare down the number of activities I’m involved with so that I can be the kind of wife, mother, friend and servant God designed me to be.

Specific Goals:

*  Stay involved in our Life Group

* Be part of a women’s Bible study during at least two of the sessions this year

*  Spend no more than 1 hour/day on Facebook (including time spent playing games), even on weekends

*  Limit my volunteer activities to 1 hour per day, total (including planning), with no “rollover minutes”

*  Allow myself 1 hour per day of “personal” time for hobbies such as reading, scrapbooking, or blogging

*  Structure my daily routine to include time for focused prayer, Bible reading, Bible study, and exercise

Doing a new thing…with my health.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen!  After reaching a near trifecta of healthy eating, regular exercise and acceptable weight management in September, these past few months have seen a near collapse.  And although it might seem impossible to manage healthy eating on our shoestring food budget, I’m determined to give it my best shot.  So beginning Monday, I will be back on the Beach, enduring the induction phase of the South Beach lifestyle.  This also means a return to regular exercise, including cardio, flexibility, and strength training.  To complete the trifecta, I will reach my original (as of October 2008) weight-loss goal.  This year, I plan to make family exercise even more of a priority with regular family bike rides, runs, and outdoor play.

Specific Goals:

*  Restart South Beach, and complete my personal South Beach resource notebook complete with menu plans, shopping lists,  and recipes

* Lose enough weight to reach my original target weight set in August, 2008.  The official weigh-in will be on Monday, so specific goals will be posted then.  Then, lose 10 more lbs.

*  Run 500 miles.

*  Bike 1,000 miles.

*  Run a 10K at Run for Cover (April) and Believe (November).  Continue to run the Heroes for Children 5K (September), Crape Myrtle Trails 5K (October), and Allen Rudolph Run 5K (December) but with a time of 30 minutes or less.

Doing a new thing…with my talents.

Ministry.  Work.  God definitely has something up His sleeve in this area, but the time has not been right for Him to reveal that plan to me.  This is one area where I think I’m going to have to trust Him a little more and follow Him a little harder.  What I can say at this point is that He has given me the opportunity to take charge in children’s worship, and that my response is to give it my all.  This will mean taking time to connect with leaders who can provide direction in specific areas, coordinating efforts at various levels, recruiting youth and adults to fill holes, and researching ideas and materials that will inspire children to worship our awesome God.  It’s a big task, but the God who entrusted me with it is even bigger.  He is able, He is equipped, and He has already begun the good work He is calling me to do.  At the same time, He has provided me with wonderful students in my piano studio.  I must continue to find ways to motivate, encourage, and guide them on their musical journeys.  It is a job He has called me to do, and one that I must continually seek to improve and grow both as a musician and as an educator.

Specific goals:

*  Establish worship teams for every Sunday in all areas of Promiseland, from Pre-K through 5th grade.

*  Maintain an enrollment of at least 20 students in Music by DESign in the spring and fall semesters.

It’s a new day.  It’s a new year.  With God’s help, I’ll be doing a new thing.

And I’m feeling good.

It’s that time of year again.  The time of year when our calendars explode with parties, get-togethers, and activities.  The time of year when our days are filled with errands and shopping.  The time of year when our to-do lists become overcrowded with baking and cleaning and decorating and wrapping Christmas presents and addressing Christmas cards.  The time of year when our cars become our offices, with places to go and people to see.  The time of year when we sing carols like “Silent Night”, “Joy to the World”, and “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” but our lives are far from silent or joyful or restful.  The time of year when we are easily overwhelmed.

That’s how it is this year for me.  I’m completely overwhelmed.

But not by the busy-ness or the shopping or the decorating.  In fact, that’s been the easiest, most stress-free part of my Christmas season.  I’m overwhelmed for a completely different reason.  Maybe this clip will help you understand why.

At this season of hope, peace, and joy, we found ourselves much like George Bailey.  Hopeless, despairing, wondering…does God really hear our prayers?  Why is He so silent? And although we weren’t to the point of wishing we had never been born, we began to ask the hard questions about ourselves, about our situation, about God.  As we celebrate the birth of Immanuel – God with us – it seemed as though we were alone, without answers or leading or direction.  And so, in my desperation, I cried out to God for hope.  Needing a touch, a word of encouragement, a tangible expression of His love and care, I put my emotions “out there”…hoping that someone, anyone, would be that voice.

Two weeks later, I’m simply overwhelmed.  Overwhelmed by my God, who has sent His angels in the form of friends and family to demonstrate His presence.  Not a day has gone by in the past fourteen days that we haven’t received a surprise blessing.  At first, it was with words…words of encouragement and healing.  Words of hope and promise.  Verbal hugs and the reassurance that we are, in fact, not alone.  That we have friends and family interceding for us, bearing our burdens with us, and standing in the gap for us.

But then things began to change.  One day, out of the blue, I received a Target gift card in the mail…from “A Friendly Elf.”  An elf who felt led to provide us with enough money on the gift card to stuff all four stockings hanging on the mantel.  Then it was a single large bill tucked into a sweet card handed to me by a close friend, along with a bag filled with gifts for all four of us and gift cards for the kids.  The next day, Matt found a significant amount of cash slipped into his hand…enough cash to purchase all our family’s Christmas presents, Mom and Dad included.  On Sunday, as I was serving at church, a staff member handed me the official Promiseland Christmas card along with another envelope…containing another large bill placed in an unsigned card.  And then a Kroger gift card appeared in our mailbox with enough funds to purchase our family’s groceries for nearly two months.

On and on it has gone.  A ham now sits in our family’s refrigerator, thanks to the generosity of friends.  Santa has been able to provide gifts not just for Trey and Crisana but for Matt and I, too, thanks to our families.  Someone dropped by with a plate of cookies this afternoon…with a generous gift card attached.  A sweet friend and partner in ministry handed me a bag filled with gifts for the children and us, along with a PF Chang’s gift card which – along with another generous gift card to Cinemark, from a different friend – funded the Inaugural HMS Architects Christmas Party this week.  Trey’s Sunday School teachers are purchasing a much wished-for DS game for him.  We’ve been told to expect a visit from a true “St. Nick” this week, along with the promise of help in the future should it be needed.

I’m deeply humbled.  Humbled by the staggering amount of love and support we’re being shown.  Humbled by the help that’s being offered.  Humbled by the grace God is showing me, despite my unbelief.  Humbled to be the recipient of such amazing generosity.

Clarence the Angel said it best: “No man is a failure who has friends.”

And so we are deeply grateful to our friends.  We are truly overwhelmed…and wonderfully so.

Texas weather is a  funny thing, particularly in the months from October – May.  Wet, dry, hot, cold…it’s never quite the same from day to day or even from minute to minute.  The constantly changing atmosphere certainly keeps our forecasters on their collective toes.

But in the midst of this meteorological unpredictability, there is one thing you can count on with nearly 100% accuracy: on any given night, between December and February, you’ll find me relaxing – whether it be snuggled under my warm comforter in bed, or lounging on the living room couch, or even puttering in the kitchen or working on a project upstairs – in my comfy & cozy flannel pj’s.  It’s not that I don’t have other options to wear.  I do.  But nothing else soothes my tired soul and relaxes me after a long, busy day; nothing else gives me the excuse to stop and be still; nothing else forces me to slow down and gives me permission to rest than donning the soft warmth of my flannel pajamas.  They’re comforting.

This week in particular, I’m grateful for comfort.  In the midst of an emotionally exhausting season, I’m grateful for those people and things that remind me that God really *does* care.  He does listen.  He really *is* there.  He does understand, and He knows how I’m feeling.  Over the past seven days, I’ve felt – almost tangibly – God’s comfort and encouragement, wrapping me in His warmth like my favorite flannel pj’s…and reminding me of all I have to be grateful for.

I’m grateful for the warmth and comfort of my church. Even when the message or worship doesn’t quite reach where I am, I’m grateful to be part of a church that is committed to teaching Truth, to worshiping God Most High, to truly being a place where people help people find and follow Christ, even when the journey is difficult.

I’m grateful for the simple truths expressed in children’s worship.  As we enjoyed the children’s choir performance on Sunday evening, we were reminded of the true joy of Christmas: the celebration of Christ’s birth, ushering in God’s plan of salvation for a lost world.  I’m grateful for those who pour their hearts into my children’s lives, helping to develop their faith and deepen their understanding of their Creator.

I’m grateful for our Life Group. We’ve been privileged to be part of 3 (yes – count ‘em – THREE) Life Groups in our 2+ years at Christ Fellowship.  And all three of them have been amazing, wonderful groups that forged friendships we still enjoy and introduced us to people we still cherish.  We’re grateful for each of them.  But our current group is different.  Over the past year, the members of our group have dealt with very difficult circumstances, which have allowed us to truly reach out to one another and “do life” together.  We are not just members of the same group…we are truly friends, connected and interconnected in ways that go beyond a mere discussion or study group.  And on Sunday, our Life Group gave us an unexpected gift of encouragement (and I’m not simply referring to the yummy meal at Fuzzy’s Tacos) that was a tangible expression of God’s care and provision.

I’m grateful for my virtual friends. If you’re my friend on Facebook, it’s because I know you personally.  It’s because at some point in my life, we shared face time.  So I feel comfortable sharing my thoughts, feelings, and emotions through that social medium.  I’m okay with having my blog feed into my notes.  It’s okay that my life is “out there” on facebook.  Because this week, you have been my “flannel pj’s” in a virtual sort of sense.  God – in His infinite creativity – used different ones of you, people who I have known through many different and varied seasons of my life, to be His encouragement.  You have written the words I needed to hear.  You have spoken His life back into the dying places within me.  In some cases, you have been the slap in the face that dragged me out of the pouty, pity-party, self-centered mush pit I had been sitting in and set my focus in the right place.

I’m grateful for co-laborers in ministry and service. This week, I helped coordinate the annual teacher’s cookie exchange at Webb Elementary, the school our church has adopted.  Even as late as the night before, we were doubting we’d have enough cookies to allow the teachers even ONE dozen.  Honestly, I was hoping and praying for a miracle like the loaves and the fishes, wondering if God would consider cookies for 70 staff a worthy enough cause.  He must have, because on cookie day we had enough cookies to fill FOUR large conference tables full to overflowing.  The spread was beautiful and festive, thanks to several other women who gave generously of their time and talents.  And, in true “feeding the 5,000″ fashion, we not only had enough to give teachers their fill, but boxes of leftovers to spare.  I’m grateful to the women who baked, the women who helped, and one particular special friend who offered my family a gift of encouragement out of the generosity of her heart.

I’m grateful for our families. It’s hard to ask for help.  And so a lot of the time, I don’t.  I think my family recognizes that, after sharing life together for so many years.  And without asking, without me even trying to play the sympathy card, they have reached out and gone above and beyond what we would have expected or even anticipated.  They have assumed – and correctly so – that this Christmas would be difficult, and have given ALL of  us the opportunity to enjoy the holiday.  Though we live far away, the little surprises we’ve received in the mail have reminded me how close we are in spirit, and how blessed I am to claim them as my own.

I’m grateful for El Roi, the God who sees. I’m grateful that God saw my tears last weekend as I cried out in desperation for encouragement.  I’m grateful that He saw my frustration on Tuesday as I sat, with tears in my eyes, in the aisle at Albertson’s…and sent a manager my way to give me a blessing I certainly didn’t deserve.  I’m grateful that He saw our desperate financial situation and has provided the funds for us to stay solvent as we face year-end obligations.  I’m grateful that He saw my broken heart and gave me joy through my children’s accomplishments to end this semester on a positive note.  I’m grateful for friends who reach out with offers of free Starbuck’s or fro-yo or Saxby’s eggnog chais…but whose real gifts are the time we spend together, talking and laughing until our sides hurt, sharing our hearts and our lives in small cafes, giving hugs and smiles and friendship and love.

Comfy, cozy, soft and warm.  God’s wonderful gift of encouragement.  I’m so grateful for that this week.  Even more than my flannel pj’s.

Hold on to your hats, friends, because I’m about to do something I don’t do very often:  I’m going to ask for help.

For reals.

Seriously, “the funk” has descended on the Speer home in full force during this time of joy and cheer.  The depression and discouragement hangs like the thick, wet blanket it is, so heavy it’s almost tangible.  Though we’ve decked the halls and trimmed the tree, strung up the lights and hung the holly, I’m still searching the depths of my soul for that elusive “Christmas spirit.”  And though I’m trying VERY hard to be excited for my friends, who in their excitement are sharing pictures and posts of their new cars, ipads, giant tv’s, jewelry, trips, and new houses through the wonder that is Facebook, I can’t help but feel a great sadness when I look under our tree and see…NOTHING.

For so many reasons, and in so many ways, this is foreign territory to me.  I’m usually an optimist.  I can typically find the silver lining to any bad situation.  I’m pretty self-reliant and will find a way to plow through whatever hardship, or difficulty, or pain I’m experiencing.  I’m not used to depression.  I don’t like feeling down.  I try hard not to be a regular attender at pity parties, whether they be mine or not.  But reality has hit us full force, and we’re in *that* place:

We’re out of money.

We’re out of options.

We’re out of hope.

And through it all, God seems to be silent.

As this unemployment drags on to unprecedented levels in our experience, we see no answers.  We have cried out to God constantly.  We have brought our requests, we have approached boldly in faith, we have asked…and asked…and asked, persistently.  We have humbled ourselves, opened our hands, and sought His leading.  We have committed ourselves to His purpose.  We have searched our hearts and opened our minds to allow Him to remove whatever may be in the way between us and Him.  We have thanked Him for the provision He has given thus far, and been grateful for the way He has sustained us.  We have entrusted this whole process to Him, believing that He knows what’s best for us.

And still…nothing.

If I’m being totally honest, this whole “faith” thing is hard.  This “trusting” is difficult.  And there are moments – like yesterday – when we are tempted to give up.  To quit the struggle.  To give in to the doubts, fears, and depression that nag away at our soul and weary our spirit.  To allow the stress and pressure to divide us from one another and tear us apart, internally and externally.

It’s at times like these that I desperately need to know that God’s word is true.  That He is who He says He is.  That those promises He made throughout scripture are real.  That He will stand by and honor His commitment.  That nothing – and I mean *nothing* – about Him is in any way flawed, or misunderstood, or corrupt, or wrong.  That He is as solid and unmoveable as a Rock, that He is absolutely, completely, and utterly secure.  That He is totally faithful.  That I can count on Him, no matter what.

As I look into the stories of the great men and women of faith, I long to be like them.  I desire to leave a legacy of godliness and faith in the midst of desperate circumstances.  I want to be characterized by an obedience and commitment to following Him in the face of great challenges and difficulties.  I crave the kind of intimacy and fellowship they had with Yahweh…Jehovah…Adonai…Abba.  Despite their shortcomings and failures, they were chosen as His examples to us: examples of faith, of trusting, of obedience, of commitment.

So how appropriate is it, then, that this funk descends during the time of year when we celebrate Immanuel…God With Us.  The fulfillment of hundreds – even thousands – of years of promises, of waiting, of searching and hoping and dreaming.  God with us physically, as His Son shed his kingly robe of God-ness for an earthly suit of humanity.  God with us existentially, as the One not bound by time stepped out of eternity for a lifespan of 33 years.  God with us philosophically, as His teachings became living epistles, a spoken word, a healing touch.  God with us spiritually, as He conquered death to live again.

It is that nearness that we so desperately cling to.  It is that closeness that will assure us of an end to our troubles.  It is that intimacy that will be our strength through whatever may lie ahead.  It is that promise – Immanuel, God is with us – that will be our joy, our hope, and our strength.

It is that promise – Immanuel, God is with us – that will be our help.

And it is on that promise - Immanuel, God is with us – that we will have peace.

It’s the day after Thanksgiving, and you know what that means:  Let Christmas begin!

We kicked off our Christmas celebration with one of our usual traditions: a visit to see Jolly Old Saint Nicholas, known ’round these here parts as The Big Guy.

I’ve written about our encounters with The Big Guy before, how we’ve gone to the same Santa each year and how he teaches me a lesson each time I go.  This year was no exception.

We braved the traffic on Black Friday to go see him.  Hoping that everyone would be busy shopping or napping from their early morning escapades, we wound our way through the parking lot to Santa’s special cottage.  I dropped Matt off to scout the lines and when he indicated we were good to go, the kids hopped out and I set off to park the car.

As I entered his “workshop”, I was instantly greeted by his cheerful laugh and warm hello.  At the moment I entered, Santa was busy engaging both of my children in a great big bear hug, which was captured on camera by one of his elves.  “You made it just in time!” his cheerful voice called out to me.  He smiled, gave the children their coloring books and motioned for me to come over to him.  Next thing I knew, he was wrapping ME up in a great big bear hug, as if we were old friends reunited after a long absence.

I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how he felt.

Because, you see, we’ve been coming to this same Santa since Trey was just a baby.  This was his first – and only – Santa, the only one we’ve had our “official” Santa pictures taken with each year.  We have chronicled our children’s growth by the pictures we’ve had with The Big Guy.  And each year, we’ve had the wonderful privilege to visit with him, to say hello, to exchange pleasantries and have a short conversation.

But still, it overwhelms me to think: He remembered ME.  Out of all the thousands of families he sees each year, he remembers US.

And in the midst of what had been an emotionally draining, difficult and stressful week, that one little bit of encouragement pierced through my weariness and energized my tired soul.  He couldn’t possibly have known the emotional baggage I was carrying with me that day.  He couldn’t possibly have understood the tremendous need I had for encouragement.  He couldn’t possibly have fathomed the depths of disappointment, discouragement, and fear I was feeling.  Regardless, he reached out to me and in a moment, with one simple act, reassured me that there is hope.  There is a light at the end of this long, dark tunnel.  That even the dreariest of days comes to an end, and that even the darkest of nights eventually burst into the glory of morning.

And it was in that moment I felt the touch of my Father carrying me.  Reassuring me that He is there.  He hears.  He knows.  He understands.  After all, He is the *original* BIG GUY and there’s nothing He loves more than giving good gifts to His children.

A friend of mine, who is very techno-savvy and is becoming quite the online missionary, started a Facebook discussion this week in preparation for our Sunday sermon.  Her question was:

Have you ever been “judged” by someone? When or how is it wrong to judge?

Over the past few days, there have been a few responses.  Most have been from a negative perspective, that judging others is wrong, that we need to take care of our own sin before we dare to point out another person’s errors, that only God can judge.

And while there is truth in those responses, and we certainly should take care not to be prideful or hypocritical like the Pharisees,  we may have taken this perspective a bit too far.  We may have become complacent and indifferent to sin, far too tolerant of those who use this verse as ammunition against us.  God prompted me to respond…so here goes…

Oh, boy. This is long. But I’m running on very few hours of sleep, so bear with me….

We are so afraid to use the word “judge” because of the negative connotations. We are so afraid of being labeled a “hypocrite” by Christians and pre-Christians alike. We are scared that we will ruin our witness and be perceived as holier-than-thou.

I’ve got one word for that line of thinking, which Trace will appreciate: Oy.

God has used people – sinners just like us – throughout history to “judge” others. Prophets – both men AND women – were used by God to speak truth to a sinful people, to a nation misguided by wrong choices.

Were those heroes of the faith any less sinful than we are? I’m taking a wild guess here, but probably not. In fact, we all know there is no “grading curve” as far as sin is concerned. If there was an ounce of pride, or jealousy, or lust, or envy, or anger, or bitterness in any one of them…well then they were just as guilty and deserving of God’s wrath than we are.

So how could God use people – like them, like us – to “judge?” Isn’t that contradictory? I mean, we *all* have planks, and if I gotta wait until my plank is gone, well then there’s a whole lotta people who will go to hell or continue to live in separation from God because of that.

But we do need to discern what we’re doing when we judge. God has not given us the power to absolve or punish sin. That is HIS right alone as the true Judge. But He *has* given us the gift of discernment. He *has* given us the presence of the Holy Spirit. He *has* given us the ultimate guide book in His word – His authoritative, definitive, “because-I-AM-and-I-said-so” final say on the matter. He *has* given us a spirit of boldness. Why has He given all this to us? Yeah, so He can use us. To do what? To speak truth. To share God’s truth. To bring spiritual healing where it is desperately needed. To restore relationships between people and God, broken by our own heedlessness and carelessness.

I *have* been judged. I have had my motives handed to me by others. I have had my unspoken intentions spoken back to my face. I have had my well-meaning actions questioned and unappreciated. All by Christ-followers who – in love, humility, and with a spirit of grace – allowed God to use them to judge my spiritual condition and be His megaphone to my prideful soul.

I *have* judged others. I have opened my mouth and uttered words I never expected to hear myself say: words of truth, words of power, words of tough love. God has – in His divine orchestration of time and circumstance – placed me in situations where I was the only voice of truth…and He needed me there to speak on His behalf.

So, yes. God expects us to judge: to call sin, sin. To be that light in the darkness. To stand up for Truth and righteousness. By His spirit, in His power, and with the words He gives us in His word, we have all we need to accomplish this.

I learned last evening that a high school friend of mine lost his father to cancer.  Just a few weeks ago, another high school friend also lost her dad to the very same disease.  And while it’s easy to *say* that death is truly part of life, the reality of saying good-bye, of living life day-to-day without those who have been present from your very earliest days is incredibly difficult.

Nearly a year ago, this friend posted a status update requesting prayer for his dad, who at the time was in ICU.  He had suffered a heart attack and things were not looking good.  As a Christian, knowing his dad was saved, my friend struggled with how to pray.  Do I pray for physical healing, knowing that the quality of my dad’s life may suffer?   Or do I just pray for God to take him home, and endure the heartache of losing him?

I’ve been in that place.  And while I can’t know *exactly* what my friend was feeling, I can certainly sympathize with those questions, because I’ve asked the very same ones.  Knowing that God allows us to suffer in part so that we can reach out and encourage others, I sent him a message of what I hoped would be interpreted as encouragement.  And for those of you facing difficult circumstances, when you just don’t know how to pray or what to pray for, I hope it will encourage you as well.

I read your status update and although I don’t know what’s going on with your dad, I can sympathize with the hurt and anguish you’re feeling. I felt much the same way following my dad’s heart attack. I remember sitting there in the waiting room outside ICU, with close friends and people from my parents’ church and my mom’s school, and we all were praying for my dad to be healed. I felt oddly disconnected…because I was praying fervently for God to work a miracle, and WANTING to believe with all my heart that my dad would be healed and restored fully, KNOWING that God could absolutely choose to do that…but in my heart, I knew my dad was already gone. And so I struggled with why do I even pray? HOW do I pray? What do I ask for? And how do I pray for “God’s will” to be done and yet believe that He can do a miracle?

So what I prayed for was peace. Peace for my dad, first of all. I didn’t want to see him suffer. I didn’t want him to struggle and fight. Peace for my mom, secondly. Knowing she was facing the hardest moments of her life, she needed to KNOW – and I mean absolutely KNOW – that God was there for her and that THIS was HIS plan all along. Peace for my brothers, as they were dropping everything in their lives to rush to Dallas to be with him and with us. Peace for our friends and loved ones, who were just as much in shock as we were, and whose hearts were hurting too. And peace for me, just to know that no matter what, God was still in control and He would make things good in the end.

My dad officially died two days later. We waited, in hopes that God would perform a miracle, but when the results showed no hope, we knew that it was over. He was already HOME. He was at peace. And oddly enough, so were we. It was almost a sense of relief. As hard as it was to lose him – so young and so suddenly – it was so evident that God’s hand was there every step along the way…and that He would continue to carry us through our days of grief and sadness.

This is what I pray for you and your family. I’m so sorry you’re facing such a difficult time. Just know that there are many across the country who are lifting you up in different ways in prayer, and that God hears each and every one of those prayers. And I’ll also be praying for a miracle, too…but mostly for peace no matter what happens.

Lately it seems like there’s an epidemic of blessing going around.  In the past month I’ve heard story after story of one friend after another who’s been promoted, or moved into their dream home, or been healed from serious illness or injury, or gotten that fancy new car, or seen God move and provide in ways they never imagined possible.  And that’s great.  Honestly, I’m happy for them.  I rejoice with them.

But a little piece of my heart still asks, “What about us, God?  What about me?”

I’m not jealous.  Really, I’m not.  I’m happy with my car, I love my house – though if God decided to bless us with an extra $100K to finish the patio, upgrade and complete the landscaping and install a pool, He’d get no complaints from me – I love my family and I love my amazing friends, both those I see in person on a regular basis and those I connect with virtually.  When I look at what is really important in life, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I, too, am blessed.

But a little piece of my heart still wonders, “How long, God?  How much longer must I wait?”

It’s not a lack of faith, or at least I don’t think it is.  I can fully see God’s hand moving the pieces of our circumstances around like a cosmic chess board, playing out His omniscient strategy for the ultimate win.  And in that, I’m hopeful.  I’m optimistic.  I believe that God is ultimately in control, that He knows what He is doing, and that He – and He alone – knows what is best.  He has promised to complete the good thing He has begun, and I am confident that no matter how difficult the process, that is exactly what He is doing.

But a little piece of my heart still cries out, “This is hard, God.  This hurts!”

It’s not that I’m not willing to wait.  I’m not being impatient.  In the deepest places within me, I truly want what is best.  I desperately desire God to accomplish what He set out.  I crave His perfect timing, His perfect plan to be executed, no matter how long that takes.  I’m willing to surrender – to His leading, His direction…even His correction when necessary.  I’ve gone down that road where I’ve impulsively or impatiently taken control, where I’ve refused to listen to His direct instruction, where I’ve deliberately disobeyed and rebelled against what He’s asked me to do…and missed out on untold blessings because of it.  So this time, I’m settling in – gladly, willingly, expectantly – for the long haul.

But still a little piece of my heart still fears, “How far will You take this?  How deep are You asking us to go?”

And God reminds me: this isn’t just for me.  This trial, this period of testing, this time of waiting and searching and praying and trusting isn’t just to grow *my* faith.  God has also begun a good work in Matt and our children, and He has a plan to complete that good work as well.  God desires to grow their faith, to deepen their walks with Him, to bring them to new places of faith and understanding and trust.  And beyond that, God can use their testimonies to reach their circles of influence.  Their lives can become lights and impact others.  Their experiences can be used to encourage others and teach them about God’s amazing provision and love.  It’s not just about me.

And so, a little piece of my heart now says, “Yes, Lord.  I will yield.”

As I lift my hands in surrender, I discover that they are in a perfect position for God to reach down, take hold, and – as the loving Father He is – lead me forward.  As I open my hands to yield to Him all that I cling to so tightly, I see that those hands are now open to receiving His blessing…the blessing I know is waiting for me if I endure, if I am faithful, if I trust, if I obey.

And so a little piece of my heart waits.  Because I know the blessing is coming.

I’m not all that much into chicken soup.  Don’t get me wrong, chicken soup definitely has its place in the grand scheme of life.  But for me, comfort foods are more about sweets you can sink your teeth into than watered-down broth with slurpy noodles.

And frankly, Little Debbie snack cakes make me happy.  They always have.

Something about peeling apart the double layers of the zebra cakes and licking the creamy frosting filling off the top of the bottom layer makes me smile.  I take great joy in unrolling the Swiss Cake Rolls and scooping out the filling with my finger and licking it clean before devouring the chocolate-coated cake part.  And don’t even get me started on the gooey, melty goodness that is an oatmeal cream pie.

And so that’s why I get so excited about my Little Debbi Sermonettes.  Those little nuggets of biblical goodness that make me feel all bubbly and giddy inside.  Those moments when God whispers a truth in my ear that makes my heart nearly burst with excitement.  Those “aha!” revelations when my heavenly Father wraps me up in a great big bear hug with a special message of love just for me..but one that I absolutely can’t keep to myself.

This weekend, God did that.  He sent me another snack cake for my soul.  The best part?  It was a TWIN PACK!!  Two delicious treats of yummy God-created goodness wrapped up together in one package.  Sweet surprises like that deserve to be shared, so hold out your hand and prepare to be blessed!

You have kept a record of my wanderings. Put my tears in your bottle. They are already in your book.  Psalm 56:8, God’s Word translation

This week, an exciting event occurred in the Speer household.  For several months, Trey has insisted that two of his upper molars were wiggly.  Try as we might, Matt and I had a hard time getting those so-called loose teeth to move.  For one thing, braces kind of got in the way.  And then there was the retainer, a hard plastic mouth-guard which had to be worn All. The. Time. except when eating.  And to be perfectly honest, I’d rather not engage in a tooth-wiggling struggle when there is food in the mouth.

But then came the day when the retainer-wearing ordinance was relaxed and we could finally have access to those teeth.  It wasn’t long after that we discovered – much to our horror – that the permanent teeth were descending ON TOP of the baby teeth.  With dollar bill signs and thoughts of extra orthodontic treatment looming large in our brains, we set Trey a-wiggling.  Wiggle in the morning.  Wiggle in the evening.  Wiggle in the in-between times.  Just wiggle, wiggle, wiggle…and get that tooth out!  On Wednesday, it happened.  Just after he walked in from school, I saw that tooth dangling, took a firm grasp and with one mighty twist – POP! – out it came.

Though Trey is now officially “in the know” regarding the secret identity of the Tooth Fairy, we still did the whole routine and in the morning there was a crisp new $1 bill waiting for him.  As Trey collected his dues, he asked me, “What do you do with my teeth?”  I informed him that Matt has saved every single one of them in a special box in our bedroom.  “WOW!!  Can I see them??”  was the next, all-too-10-year-old-boy question I was asked.  “Sure.”  I responded…and we did.  And he marveled over every single one.

When I read the verse above this weekend, I was reminded of this scene.  Why, exactly, do we as parents save our kids’ teeth?  What good reason do we have for holding on to something that is so useless, so worthless, and frankly, so GROSS as old teeth?   Why don’t we just throw them out and move on?  Because they are REMINDERS.  They remind us as parents where our children have come from.  They represent milestones of our children’s journeys from infancy to maturity.

And that is exactly why God collects our tears in His bottle.  To remind us of what we’ve come from.  To show us that when we shed those tears of sorrow or grief or loneliness or anger or hurt or disappointment or joy or gratitude that He was journeying through those times with us.  To show us how far we’ve come in our own personal journeys with him.  To demonstrate how much He – our heavenly Father – loves us and cares for us as His children.

The next time you feel those tears welling up within you, know that your Father stands close by, ready to catch them with His bottle, so that He can remind you of all that He is…and all you are becoming as you journey to His heart.

See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.  Isaiah 49:16

I may be old, but I do remember being in high school.  And believe it or not, in those days, kids didn’t have cell phones.  We barely had CORDLESS phones…and I’m still convinced my family was the *last* family on earth to discontinue use of a rotary phone.  When something important came up during class – like needing a friends’ phone number, or when that cute guy I had a crush on told me to meet him at a certain time in a certain location, or when a bunch of people were getting together for a party or event and I desperately wanted to be there – and I needed to write it down FAST, where did I put it?  Yep – on the palm of my hand.

I did go to college, too, in those long-ago days.  I well remember those busy days of classes, labs, student teaching assignments, projects, and crazy adventures with friends.  When a friend wanted to meet for a late-night snack-shack run, or when a bunch of us made a study date, or when I needed to know that cute guy’s room number or phone extension, where did I write it down?   Sometimes, little post-it notes got lost or misplaced or the sticky just plain wore off.  Sometimes, I didn’t have any paper with me other than a gum wrapper or the project I’d stayed up all night working to complete.  You guessed it…I hastily scribbled it on the palm of my hand.

I did manage to graduate from college and get a “real” job in the “real” world.  My days as a teacher were busy and full.  Juggling responsibilities in ministry and vocation, all while maintaining some sort of social life kept me going all day every day.  If I needed to remember to pick up milk and bread on the way home from work, or if I suddenly was able to get a doctor’s appointment changed, or if my singles’ group decided on the spur of the moment to go out for a late-night movie, where did I record that information so I would be SURE to remember it?  Yep…once again, on that trusty old palm of the hand.

Now I live life as a wife and mother, busy with responsibilities of caring for a family, maintaining a job, and being involved in ministry.  Some days, keeping my ducks in a row is a harder task than it sounds.  I shun to-do lists because they overwhelm me.  I don’t carry a calendar with me because it distracts me.  So where do I write those important little to-do’s that I can’t forget to-do?  Yeah…on the palm of the hand once again.

So why would God tell us that He has engraved us on the palm of His hand?  For the very same reason we write those important notes on our own palms.  So we remember.  So we don’t forget.  Because those people, those things, those numbers or dates or times or grocery items are important to us.  And in the same way, we’re important to God.  He remembers us.  He won’t forget us.

Because you see, there’s one important difference between our hands and His.  When I write my new friends’ name and phone number on the palm of my hand, I can be assured that at some point it will wash away.  My hands get dirty, filled with germs, and unclean.  I’ll need to use soap and water and scrub for 30 seconds under warm water…and that name will be erased.  No longer visible.  Forgotten.

Not so with God.  His hands are pure.  His hands are clean.  And you can know for a fact that once your name is written – better yet, ENGRAVED – there, it will NEVER wash away.  You name is written on His hand for eternity.  Indelible.  Inscribed.  Permanent.  He will NEVER forget you.  He will ALWAYS remember you.  And I imagine that when He looks at His hand and sees your name…He smiles.  Because He loves you.

I’ve said it before, and it bears repeating now:  It’s time.

Sure, it’s time for the Rangers to finish what they’ve started in this amazing post-season run.  But there’s a personal side to this, too.  And for me, it’s time.

Time to deepen friendships.  To renew bonds with those I don’t have the opportunity to see except maybe once a week on Sundays, or say a quick hello to as we pass by in the church hallways.  To connect with the women who will be in my discussion group.  To find new reasons to love and enjoy the women I will be sharing a cabin with.

Time to have fun.  To laugh so hard my sides ache and I can barely breathe.  To talk late into the night and giggle over life’s misadventures and create memories and inside jokes that will make me smile long beyond the next 48 hours.  To play games and make crafts and relax by the lake and dance with reckless abandon and play beach volleyball.  To go for long walks or sit on the dock.  To watch the brave and fearless thrill-seekers whiz by on the zip line.

Time to be still and know.  To shed tears borne out of a passion and intensity of worship in community that can be experienced no other way, and in no other place.  To sit at the foot of the cross – literally and metaphorically – in humble gratitude for the penalty paid in my place.  To spend true quiet time…uninterrupted, undistracted, unhurried…with my God in a place of peace and solitude.  To be inspired by testimonies of faithful women.  To dig deep into God’s word with a hunger and thirst to know Him more.  To come to Him as I am – no pretenses, no facades, with raw emotion and real questions – and hear His voice as He patiently deals with the mess that I am.

Time to be transformed.  By His word and His teachings.  By the community of our shared experiences.  By the encouragement of fellow Christ-followers.  By the moments He draws near and opens my heart and mind to His truth.

Time to be renewed.  Strengthened.  Re-focused.  Re-energized.  Oh, yes, it is most definitely time.  And while I will be rooting for a Rangers win in the ALCS, I know in my heart that this weekend is about more than baseball.  It’s about having a life-changing encounter with the life-changing God of the universe.  It’s time…and I’m ready.