On the Road Again!

Okay so maybe it should now say off the road again...but it's true. I hit the road once again for another tiny vacation. I think I'm done traveling now. At least for a while.

Back at the very beginning of the year, my friend Faith asked if I'd like to go along with her and her two daughters on a little weekend getaway to a condo in Tennessee. We were supposed to be in Nashville across from the Opryland Hotel, but uh...well...flooding created a last minute change in location.

So Thursday morning, we packed up the car and headed out for Fairfield Glade!

Remember back in the fall when I road tripped with my friend Julie...to Brown County? And right when we got to Indianapolis, we found the tanker explosion on 465? Okay apparently I'm just a vehicular curse. Check out what I encountered THIS time:

Trash truck.


At least it wasn't my flat iron that did it. I hope.


The happy passenger.....


And please meet Faith:

Faith and I were suitemates in college and are now scrapping buddies. We are also often mistaken for sisters, which is okay with both of us.

OOOH! And look what we found in Louisville!

Thank goodness. I couldn't stand being away from the cream slush much longer.

So that's where I've been...and I'll let you see some little snippets of our Tennessee adventures here in the days to come. Meanwhile....it's just home sweet home for Miss Bekah.

Perspective

I took this picture recently as a reminder to me that despite the desert, life is still good.

Then I looked at the picture for a while and changed my mind.

Life is hard. God is good.

Over in my link list, you'll see a link for Bryson Hummel's blog. Back in 2007, Bryson, who was almost 5 at the time, lost his leg in an accident with a lawn mower. I remember reading all the updates of his health and praying so hard for him as he went through the physical and emotional pain of recovery.

I knew both his parents from our college days, and they sang in one of the small groups that traveled for our school. The only song I remember their group singing contained these lyrics:

Sometimes living takes the life out of you

And sometimes living is all you can do...

In the silence of all that you face

God will give you His mercy and grace

Jesus never said it was an easy road to travel

He only said that you would never walk alone

So when your last thread of hope begins to come unraveled

Don't give up

He walks beside you on this journey home

...Every falling tear is always understood

Life is hard, but God is good.

I thought it was such a perfect song for them - many years later, so I emailed Bryson's dad to remind him of it. He'd forgotten all about the song and said that it was indeed a perfect song for the season.

And though my desert in no way compares to what they dealt with that year, I'm thankful that the same God Who walked with them and loved them and held them...does it for me too. He has been so patient through my many tears and questions and doubts and fears...

So yes, I concur...Life is hard. But my God is so good.

Zucchini Bread

Ahhh a recipe. Did you think I remodeled the house and removed the kitchen? It would have been a logical guess. One of the...side effects?...of this spiritual and emotional desert I've been in lately has been the complete lack of desire to eat and along with it, therefore, the lack of desire (or need) to cook. I've made a lovely diet of apple cinnamon cheerios, salad, and single serving cups of macaroni and cheese. And water. Lots of water.

But this week I needed some zucchini bread. So I broke out the sadly neglected measuring cups and spoons, sifted through the ingredients in the cabinet, and found that much like riding a bike, I haven't forgotten how to cook.

This recipe is my Mom's. We had a garden when I was growing up. I hated that thing. It was my job to help weed (ick) and shuck corn (double ick) and snap green beans (triple ick)...and I have determined that unless it becomes financially necessary or God gives me a complete change of heart, I will never garden.

But because of our garden, we did occasionally get fun treats - like zucchini bread! So when I moved out on my own and found myself the recipient of some zucchini, I asked Mom for her recipe. I love the way this makes my house smell as it bakes, I love the way it tastes warm out of the oven with butter melted on it, and I love the way it makes me not scramble around for breakfast ideas! Or snacks! Or dessert! A three way food!

The Recipe

1 cup oil
3 eggs
2 cups sugar
3 teaspoons vanilla
3 cups flour
3 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 cups grated zucchini (liquid too)

Mix together oil, eggs, sugar, vanilla. Add the rest of the ingredients and pour into 2 greased bread pans. Bake at 350 for one hour.


Please note that the zucchini - to the far right - could audition for a villain on Veggie Tales. The friend of my Mom's who gives me zucchini these days grows MONSTER size zucchini! I call them zucchini on steroids, but please rest assured they are not actually on steroids.

You thought I was kidding, didn't you! This is my least favorite part of the process. I start by cutting the zucchini into chunks and removing the pumpkin-sized seeds and surrounding guts.

Then they look much prettier. I cut them down a little more if the pieces are very big.

Then I put them in the blender with just a little bit of water in the bottom. This becomes the most frustrating part. It probably would go better if I had a food processor, but I don't. And while my blender is pretty good, it's not quite good enough to make me love this.

I spend the better part of a long time doing this step. Grate, stop, stir, grate, stop, stir, grate stop, stir, vow to never do this again.

At long last it starts to look like this, which is nasty looking, but remember - work in progress.

I just keep a bowl there and add to it until the monstrosity of a zucchini is done.

I could make 400 loaves (okay, slight exaggeration) on what comes out of one zucchini, so I do this which later, I'm so happy about! I measure out single cup-size servings of zucchini, put them in plastic bags, and freeze them. Then, say, come January, when I want fresh, warm zucchini bread, I don't have to stress about whether or not I can find a zucchini in this town. I just thaw a couple of bags of it...and I'm all set!

Whether on the spot, or later, when it's time to make the actual bread, I start by putting the oil, eggs, sugar, and vanilla in the bowl. Yes, I do realize the sugar has taken on a questionable and somewhat amusing shape. This did not occur to me when I took the picture. But I always try to put the cups (HA!) in separate areas so I remember how many I've put in. I learned this the hard way when I mis-measured some flour in chocolate chip cookies once.

Much less offensive after it's stirred up, right?

Then I add all the dry ingredients. See? Told you I put them all in different piles!

Stir again - which ends up in nasty looking substance number two. (HA!) It will be very thick.

Add the zucchini....

...Stir...

Pour into greased pans. Very important that they're greased!

Bake (and enjoy the lovely aroma...) When they come out of the oven, I let them cool for a few minutes and then I run a knife around the edges, turn them over, and PRAY.

And if I'm lucky.....

....They don't break!

A Moment of Silence...

First it was my precious Hobby Lobby.

Then it was my wonderful Fashion Bug.

Now....

sniff

...they've taken my Sonic. My strawberry cream slushes. My java chillers. My tater tots. My big gloppy burgers loaded with everything I shouldn't have.

AND I JUST GOT THIS GIFT CARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Never fear. I will find one. Somewhere.

Full Circle

I've told you before how I was a "surprise" and how this always seemed like code for "major accident." I spent most of my twenties asking God a multitude of questions about why I had to be born...where I was...when I was...to the family He chose...when it all seemed like such a mistake.

People who knew Mom when she found out she was pregnant love to recall that moment and its tune becomes about as welcome in my mind as the Copa Cabana (which will again be in my head for days now because I even dared to mention it).

But tonight that struggle, which I have technically "gotten over" took on a much more pleasant tone in my heart.

The past week and a half have been a time of serious spiritual battle in Bekahland. Satan has been relentless and I have not appreciated his exceeding attention to my life. Just when I'd think he was about to leave me alone - nope!

Tonight I stretched out on my floor and begged God for relief. More specifically relief in the human form. Someone who could show up on my doorstep or call my phone and talk me through this thing. Specifically, I wished my Grandma were still alive. She was good with wisdom.

After pulling myself off the floor and forcing myself to be about my evening chores, I knew exactly who I needed.

Sue Ann.

Sue Ann appointed herself my prayer warrior a couple of summers ago and just in the last month has showered extra attention upon me, insisting she would pray for me in my battle - a battle, by the way, which she knew nothing about. And today that's just what I needed: my prayer warrior.

I called for her number and then called her - interrupting her leisurely evening of watching hummingbirds. But just like I knew she'd say...I wasn't interrupting. And bless her precious heart, she sat there and listened to me pour out my heart, amid snot, tears, and gasps for air, and then do you know what she said?

"You listen to Grandma Sue."

I don't care who you are - there's no denying God orchestrated THAT one.

She went on to begin a sentence with "I remember when your Mom found out she was expecting..." and I mentally trailed off with what I knew would be next..."and she was so upset..."

But my mental words weren't matching Sue Ann's verbal ones.

"And we were at a retreat and we gathered around her and prayed for her. Prayed over your life. And who of those women is still alive?"

(I didn't know about the retreat so that was a great question. Who is still alive?)

"Only Grandma Sue is still alive. And who would have thought that just like I prayed over your life when your mother carried you, I would get to share this moment with you today and lift you up?"

And that was my next undoing. The picture at the beginning of this post is a snapshot of letters and cards Mom received during her pregnancy. I won't lie. I hate some of them. The words those people wrote about "you don't see how anything good can come of this now, but you just wait..." are bitter to read. But I keep them because like them or not, they are part of the story.

But tonight. Tonight those cards and words were redeemed. Tonight I found out there was a woman - a mighty woman of prayer - who prayed over me before anyone even knew I was Bekah. And today she prayed over me again. And today she was an answer to prayer.

Right down to being Grandma Sue.

**incidentally...she has never before referred to herself as Grandma Sue...to me anyway. Again - how COOL is God?**

Among Other Things...

...this song has become one of my themes.

Four Red Shirts

This weekend has been a tough one for me. I won't lie. While God has been faithful to work in me and grow me and teach me, I have not always been a faithful student. I flailed when I knew He was telling me to be still. I faltered when I knew I should stand. I gave in to weakness instead of trusting in His strength.

Yet He is still faithful and He still found ways to speak to my heart that I would understand.

Case in point:

Each summer, IWU hosts registration days for incoming freshmen and transfer students. For the past several years, all of us who work with registration have worn black shirts and khaki pants/skirts for these days. It was supposed to make it easier for staff to be identified.


A couple of weeks ago, we were told the dress code was changing. Red shirts and black pants/skirts. Now don't get me wrong. I love red. It's one of my power colors. I have several red t-shirts and tank tops - and sweaters for winter.


But I don't own a single red summer shirt that's work appropriate.


With the first registration weekend (four days long) bearing down upon us, I realized I'd better go shopping...and soon.


Last weekend, I was down in Indianapolis for the Gaither Homecoming concert, so I decided to take advantage of the big city shopping options and look for red shirts.


Problem.


There weren't any. In one Kohl's, I found a single red shirt - but in the old ladies' section. I just couldn't do it.


I honestly thought I was going to have to go into the Goodwill and hope they would come through for me. But what a gamble!


Today a friend of mine came to town and we went to lunch together. We had a great time catching up (we don't see each other often), and God reminded me as we talked that even in our friendship, His hand has been at work. There have been times in the past when situations of my life that seemed to serve no lasting purpose surfaced in ways that allowed me to help her through difficult times. He's good like that.


I told her my red shirt dilemma and she suggested we try stopping by Cato, a tiny store I often forget we have.


Guess what Cato had?

Not one, not two, not three, but four solid red shirts. All different. (Not by much, granted, but still.) Four work appropriate red shirts. That fit. And weren't extraordinarily expensive. I had to explain my broken record clothing taste to the cashier, but even with her raised eyebrow, I was thrilled with the find.

Came home and worked on some scrapping when another difficult moment hit. One in which my faith faltered and I had to stop scrapping to journal for a moment...cry out to the Lord with the pain of my heart.

After I put aside the journal and walked back to the scrapping table, I saw the four red shirts crumpled on the corner. Out of nowhere (except I know it was really God's prompting on my mind) this verse came to mind:

And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? - Matthew 6:28-30

And I know (and hope I also remember) that if God can see the need of a girl to find four red work shirts in her choice-lacking town...that fit...and are affordable...and He can supply them to the smallest clothing store that I never shop at....

HOW MUCH MORE

...can I trust Him with the bigger test of my faith? The one with the outcome that matters more to me than all the clothing in the world? The one that drives me to my knees in fervent prayer?

Oh yes. I can trust Him.

And please, precious Father, help me to trust You more.

Heritage

I have been blessed with a great heritage.

The church I grew up in was filled with great people who loved me deeply and took time out of their lives to make an investment in mine. Many of them continue to check on me now and then, and each time they do, I'm reminded of how purposeful the Lord was in placing them where He did when He did.

One such blessing to my life is Jody. (So excited for her...her first novel is set to release this October. If any of you love fiction, you should check it out! It's called The Preacher's Bride and is published by Bethany House.) She and her husband were youth pastors at our church for a while, and they both made a deep impact on me.

I may have mentioned this before, but it's been a while, so I'll say it again. One Sunday, we had a visitor who said some very rude things to me during class. That very week, I received a card from Jody (which I still have!) encouraging me to put aside his words and know that my value comes from the Lord and not from the words of others.

This week, I received an email from her, encouraging me on my journey, promising to lift me to the Lord, and reminding me that He is faithful. To know that she, lo these many years after I graduated from youth group, would take time out of her schedule as wife and mom and teacher and writer...to encourage me...reminds me of what a blessing God gave me in her!

The summer Jody and her husband were married, another couple filled in as our youth pastors. Though their time with us was short, they made a lasting impact on me.

Their oldest daughter just embarked on a new journey...and I am thrilled for her. I've never met her in person, but to read her writing tells me she is one of those rare treasures who pursues the Lord with pure abandon. It also tells me that the training I received for that brief summer was just a snippet of the training she's been so blessed to receive these last eighteen years.

And again, even though I'm not in their youth group anymore, I do sometimes like to go back to them for wisdom. And here is a piece of wisdom he shared with me recently: The people God used mightily in Scripture were passionate, forward-moving, flawed people who really loved God at their core, yet did not allow legalism and fear to "spoil" who God made them to be.

I want to paint that on my wall!

Thank You, LORD, for the heritage You gave me (more years ago than I plan to put into print). Thank You for your faithfulness to me. Instill in me the passion and drive to plunge ahead in my journey, flawed though I am, but loving You to the core.

Memorial Day Weekend: Round One

Most of the schools around here are finishing up for another year, so in honor of the start of summer, I present to you What I Did Over Memorial Day Weekend.

I had to work all day yesterday, and I think everyone in the office had long-weekend-brain going on. We did elect to order in pizza for lunch...from Brooks Upper Crust...which may just be the best pizza in town. I appreciate a pizza joint that does not skimp on its toppings. That must be a popular opinion because they told the person that picked up our pizza that they had 70 pizzas to make that day for schools celebrating the end of the year. That's a lotta cheese.

After work, I got to enjoy this amazing treat:

Rachel, our student worker, wanted to take me out for dinner as a belated birthday gift. I told her I was really craving a good old strawberry shortcake from Ivanhoes. (Another Grant County treasure.) So after work we hopped in her car and went to Ivanhoes! As I took these pictures, people in two booths around us laughed out loud at me. I just shrugged and said, "Can't help it. Have a blog."

For the record, they do serve the world's best strawberry shortcake. As you can see, there's no skimping on the strawberries. And buried in the middle is a warm, sugary, made-from-scratch shortcake. No sponge cake here! You can get it with whipped cream, ice cream, or both. I knew I wouldn't be able to finish it so I opted for whipped cream so I could bring home the leftovers and refrigerate.

After getting home from Ivanhoes, I sat down at the computer and wrote the first 2973 words in my next book. Loved that feeling!

I was still working on that when my friend Faith called to see if she could come over for a little bit. We ended up having a great girl-talk for a couple of hours. And before I knew it...day one of the weekend was done.

This morning I enjoyed a true Saturday morning treat of sleeping in later than I'll admit in print. After getting up, I began the great purge of 2010. This has nothing to do with the strawberry shortcake I ate and everything to do with a reorganization of the house.

I'm coming up on the 10 year anniversary of living here and I have accumulated a ridiculous amount of stuff in that time. I realized if I ever moved, it would be a flat out nightmare to sort through and pack. So I am getting a head start on that by sorting and purging now.

I'm currently in what my friend Kristin calls the storm before the calm. That translates to...if you come over, give me fair warning so I can clear a chair for you. (You think I'm kidding...someone dropped by this afternoon and let me know while pulling in the driveway. I had no clear spot.)

While the house itself may be a hot little mess, check this out:

That, my friends, is a blank wall. I'm swapping the purposes of two bedrooms in my house. This room has been my office and will now serve as the guest room. I had a monstrosity of a desk in there (like the kind with a huge hutch and a side desk attached), along with an amazing, long, fluffy, comfortable couch that is just too big for this house.

Key word: had.

My friend Olivia, who just graduated from college and will be starting up her own household came over today and picked them up. (Well technically her boyfriend and dad did most of the lifting, but you know what I mean.)

So while the room is empty, I took advantage of the opportunity to sort through all the stuff that had been in the desk, toss what was outdated, put aside what hasn't been used but still has life in it, and create a pile that will be moved into the new office space.

There is something kind of fun about a (nearly) empty room. It feels almost like a new house. It gives me the chance to sort through the decor, switch stuff around, and give a whole new feel to an old space.

I was going to paint the room. I love the bright yellow that it is, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep it. But I decided other rooms needed painted more than this one, so yellow it stays.

My mother is always telling me I need to wash down the blinds. I never see the point. But I decided since deep cleaning was the order of the day, I'd wash the blinds.

Now I know why I don't.

The stupid thing BROKE! The OCD Bekah of old would have immediately put down everything and run to Lowe's for a new one, but I just taped it back on for a temporary fix and kept going. But among life's top annoyances is the sight of a broken blind. To answer the question I always want to ask anyone who has one, YES! I know it looks like that!

So that's where the day stands. I think I'm going to continue organizing...you know. So I have a place to sit.

Childlike Faith

This is one of my most favorite pictures I've ever taken. Yep, you read that right. I took it.

This little guy is four years old now, but this is still my favorite picture of us. His parents dropped him off at my house one afternoon while they took his older sister to see a movie. It was my first time to watch just him (normally I'd have his sister too), and we had a great time together. When he fell asleep, I just snuggled with him and decided it would make a great photo...

I share this with you because last night I had a dream. Well, it was really more like this morning - in between snooze hits. I know it was a quick dream - because it had to be packed into a 9 minute span - but it was pivotal.

If you've read much of the Bible, you know that God often spoke to people through dreams back then. I don't know how often He does that today, but I know it's not often for me. Or if He does, I need some serious help with interpretation, because I have some WEIRD dreams. Actually I'm waiting for him to bring back the writing-on-the-wall method. I like clarity.

But this dream made an impression. And it included this sweet baby - who is now a cute little boy who delivers the best one-liners I've ever heard and can force you out of any exasperation you may feel toward him with one bat of his long eyelashes.

I walked into the church sanctuary, which was nearly full of people, and the music drifting from the front told me the service was about to begin. The room was very dark. The lights above were shut off, no windows flanked the walls, no candles flickered. The only light came from the open doors at the rear of the room. Though the building was completely unfamiliar to me, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I was surprised to recognize many who had gathered to worship.

The pews near the back, of course, were full, so I moved forward, carefully picking my way through the dimly lit room. At last I arrived at the front row and found an empty seat next to my good friends. I noticed that the space between the front pew and the platform seemed to serve as the church nursery. Toys were strewn about and small children crawled around chewing on them. That could get distracting.

I don't remember much about the beginning of the service, but a few minutes later, the minister dismissed the children to their own church and all the kids toddled away from the space in front of me toward some destination in the back.

All but Liam.

He stood and looked at me, and I could see even in the dim light that he had a rash on his face and just did not feel good. He looked around at all the toys and then walked right to me and held up his arms. I reached down to pick him up and he looked at me with those big, beautiful eyes. He scratched his face and then curled up and knelt in my lap, snuggling close against me. His lashes fluttered and he fell asleep there in my arms.

The sermon began, and those in the front row kicked stray toys out of their way and settled in to listen. My friends next to me clasped hands and opened their Bibles. And I just sat there, gazing at this little boy. Now and then he'd stir, scratch his face, wince a little, and then he'd settle back in and sleep soundly, cuddled close to me.

And then my nine minutes were up and the alarm blared.

I thought about the dream, including the not-so-spiritual part where I walked in and saw the one person who got on my nerves the most. Seriously? I can dream about all these great friends and THAT'S the person who shows up in the sanctuary first? I'm sure there is a spiritual application to be learned there but I haven't learned it yet.

But it wasn't until I walked in to work, still thinking about the dream, that I found the parallel to my life. Last week in our midweek Bible study at church, we studied the passage where Jesus talked about coming to Him like a child. That imagery has stayed with me and I've been thinking about it a lot. Childlike faith. Childlike trust.

In my dream, Liam was just living life...just playing with toys...just living a Sunday. But then the thing that wore him down got the best of him and he just needed loved and held. All the other kids were going on with their Sundays. But he didn't need to play right then. He needed held. And even in the dimly lit room, he found his way to someone he knew would love him and hold him. He knew that because ever since he was a baby, he'd been held and loved by me. Without hesitation, he climbed up into my lap, curled up, and rested, knowing he was safe.

And isn't that what the Lord is asking of me?

Tightening the Armor

I wasn't sure how to get one of these bad boys in my suitcase when I flew home from Virginia Beach, but today I'm kind of wishing I would have found a way to fold it neatly and bring it home.

Ephesians says to be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. (6:10-11)

I've been telling you a bit about this journey I'm on, and it's had many different stages along the way. This week has been attack mode, apparently. It began Sunday morning and is still going strong. Satan has lashed out at me from nearly every angle.

I'm exhausted.

But I am determined to overcome his schemes. Greater is He that is in me than he that is in the world. I am thankful that many times this week I've recognized immediately that Satan is at work, and I've been able to stop and pray or journal or cry out to the Lord for help. This discernment is new for me. I've not really been that great at recognizing attack quickly. And I'm sure I'm not proficient at it now, but I'm thankful for the way God has helped me and has been so faithful to come to my rescue when I have asked Him for help.

Remember that really old Twila Paris song, The Warrior is a Child? That's how I feel this week. A little wounded in my fight. Running to the arms of my Jesus for comfort and aid.

But y'all, I am tightening my armor. I am determined to stand firm. I am determined to quote the Word of Truth against the enemy's lies. I'm holding up my shield and dodging those flaming arrows as best I can.

He is faithful.

McGee's Maiden Voyage

Tonight, the adventures in Bekahland expanded yet again.

I've been blessed with some great friends who have taken me in as part of their family. I'm not related by blood at all but I feel as loved and welcomed as if I'd always been there. They've been so kind as to include me in all sorts of things, and tonight was another moment I got to share with them.

Tonight was the maiden voyage of their boat - McGee. This is Jonathan, who was thrilled to get McGee in the water. I received hourly update messages from him today, letting me know how close to the end of work we were getting. He was ready to go about 8:15 this morning!

We had a great night for a boat launch! I'd never seen such a thing before. We all climbed in McGee and the guy who hauled the boat for them backed right up to the water and Jonathan got us going! This picture was taken when we were still in the parking lot and he was "driving" us toward the water. Such a funny guy.

Side note...one of the things I get to do during this journey is work on some of my fears. This week, God has seen fit to present me with numerous hands-on opportunities for this task. After the boat was in the water, we had to get it to the other side of the road, and our path was through this enormous pipe tunnel. Jonathan drove and his mom and I tried to "steer" the front of the boat through the pipe by pushing against the top of it.

Y'all, there were spiders everywhere in that thing. Not grandaddy longlegs (which I scream at anyway) but actual fat spiders in webs. You have no idea how much I'm petrified of spiders. But I couldn't crash McGee on the maiden voyage, so I had to suck it up and survive the spiders. Mission ACCOMPLISHED.

Jonathan, once out on the lake, was quite thrilled with the adventure.

I found it hysterical that I wore my "Pray" shirt. It wasn't a reflection on his driving skills. Really!

Anytime I'm invited to be a Bekah-razzi, I'm thrilled. So when Jonathan and his cousin, Evan, wanted pictures of their kneeboarding adventures, I was a pretty happy girl. Isn't this just the best sight? Sunset, water, joy.

And of course, what water sporting night is complete unless tricks are involved? They did some 360's on the boards...I was just impressed that I caught it!

Goodnight, sweet lake! I will miss you, but I'll be back to visit soon.

After McGee rested safely and cleanly in his bed, we packed up the SUV and headed home. But the adventure was not done yet! We (all eight of us) pulled into a Taco Bell drive-thru that had an actual path carved out for driving. It wrapped tightly around the building and was not much wider than the vehicle...which, by the way, was still hauling a boat trailer. It's a wonder we made it out of there without taking a good chunk of the landscaping!

We also made it out of there without a spork. And what had I ordered? Cheesy fiesta potatoes. No worries. God gave me two good hands! So it was my first time to eat cheesy fiesta potatoes as finger food - but so much fun!

Speaking of Blossoms...

Appropriately following yesterday's post, I have stories of literal blossoms in my life! :)

I do work with some great people. Thoughtful and kind...and always trying to make me smile!

Yesterday, one of our secretaries surprised me with a belated birthday party-let. She brought me a gift and took pictures of me opening it (which redeemed the lack of pictures during the May office birthday bash).

And she brought these gorgeous flowers!

These came from her yard! I don't think I'd ever leave my yard if such beautiful flowers grew there.

Love them! The blooms are enormous and they have brightened my little corner the last two days.

Today I was bent over a list, working hard, when a knock at my door revealed the delivery of these:

I must tell you that truly, truly, truly, one of my biggest wishes in life is to get flowers at work. I think you've arrived when someone delivers flowers to you.

They were a birthday gift from my Monday lunch date, Jenny. Does she know me, or what? Flower delivery - and purple flowers at that! Thank you, Jenny!!

Blossoms in the Desert

The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom; it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy. ~ Isaiah 35:1-2

I am on a journey.

A wilderness. A desert. A place that is sometimes lonely but yet precious because in the loneliness, I can sense the Lord's nearness in a way I never have before.

I don't want to stay here.

I don't want to decorate the place and make it my home. I do not aspire to be like the Israelites and camp out for 40 years. But while I'm here, I want to learn. I want to grow. I want to cast aside the fears and bondage of my past and walk into the Promised Land free and whole.

No decorating. But I do love a good blossom in the desert. A little bit of beauty to give me hope that the Promised Land is on the other side of this thing.

Silly though it may sound, that's why I gave the blog a makeover. I was tired of peppy polka dots. I needed something that represented the journey. So I made the thing over.

Silly though it may sound, that's why I went clothes shopping on Saturday. Walked out (after paying of course!) with six new pairs of pants that fit. I walked into the office and one of the girls said You got clothes that fit! Look at you!!

And the other little blossom of my day is this beautiful thing right here:

A brand new prayer journal.

I sat outside on the porch yesterday and filled in the last lines on the last page of the old journal.

There is something breathtaking to me about the blank pages of a new journal. The wonder of what will take place throughout its tenure as my record keeper.

He will send me verses to sustain me.

He will send me song lyrics to replay in my mind for the discouraging moments.

He will send me examples of faithfulness that I can preserve among the pages and read some future day when I need a reminder of such things.

These are my blossoms.

And one day...

...one day...

This thing is going to burst into bloom. I will stand on the other side and gaze upon my promised land.

Thank You, Lord.

The Love of God...

Hard to believe that at this time last week, I was strolling in the sand at Chesapeake Bay. The day is every bit as beautiful as last Sunday, but the scenery (the side of my garage and the extension cord feeding my laptop) is slightly less enthralling.

My trip to the ocean was wonderful in every way. My planes stayed airborne when they should have and landed with a decent amount of grace. My sunburn has morphed from painful to incessantly itchy – and I’m molting like a snake. (ATTRACTIVE.) I have a host of pictures to scrap and Walgreens was kind enough to run a good special this week so I can afford to print them. My suitcase is mostly unpacked (this may be a record!) and I think I’m ready to return to the land of the working.

The chance to see the ocean was a dream come true for me. I wanted to say I’d dipped my toes in something larger than a shower. I wanted to write in the sand and take a picture of whatever I wrote. I wanted to walk barefoot along the beach and pick up shells. I wanted some sun. (Can we say WISH FULFILLED?)

And I rather hoped that somewhere in all those dream fulfillments, God would show up with something to say. He and I have been talking a lot lately. (A lot more than usual – and we usually chat often.) And I was definitely not disappointed with the conversation we had that day.

I stood there, water swirling over my ankles, looking out at blue waves that were only interrupted by piers and the occasional boat. I loved it that I couldn’t see a shore in front of me. Just water…water…water…sky.



As usual, a song came to mind. As usual, it was the David Phelps version.

Could we with ink the ocean fill
And were the skies of parchment made
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky
Oh love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure -
The saints’ and angels’ song.

I looked to the right and the left and tried to imagine thick, black ink filling the water covered sand…down to depths I couldn’t even imagine. I looked overhead and tried to fathom writing on a sky that was wider and higher than I knew…and I’d just flown in it. I looked down at the twisted, broken sticks littering the beach and imagined each of them carved out with a tip for writing. I looked at the countless people scattered about and knew that they were only a fraction-let of the people on the planet.

And surrounded by all that greatness, I thought of those next words…to write the love of God above would drain the ocean dry. Nor could the scroll contain the whole though stretched from sky to sky.

I stood on a few square inches of a beach where I could see just a few miles of that whole ocean. If the entire expanse (times all the oceans in the world) can’t contain His love – wow.

God and I are on a journey. It’s a bigger journey than I can comprehend. And I’m thankful that His love is even greater still. How measureless and strong!