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Words, from You
Words tumble down, out of my thoughts, onto the page.
What will You do with them, Lord?
They belong to You. They come from me—Your creation, Your design, Your child.
I am arrogant when I polish them up to reflect me. I am self-absorbed when I wonder what others will say or think when they read them. They flow through me, and as they spill and splash and sparkle I often forget: I am merely the vessel. The fingers that work the keyboard, the mind that processes pictures and feelings and concepts, the eyes that see the words and sentences take form—each is a miraculous gift from You.
All good things come from You.
Are my words worthwhile? The moment I force them, see myself as the grand designer, feel my chest swell with pride, they lose value. For You.
Use me as You will, Lord. To write or not to write. To pound the keys or to simply sit. And wait. For You. With You.
When I write, when I feel You pushing, expanding within me, nudging me to return to the page, yoke my efforts to Yourself so I must remain with You, rather than sprint ahead for some perceived prize. Harness my fleeting motivation and self-confidence with Your love so they might strain in the right direction and for the right cause—Your Kingdom. Not mine. Not man’s.
Let every word I write drift through Your hands so it is first shaped by You. Let me linger in Your Presence and write by faith, by Your leading, by Your strength, not by the determined decision to simply perform and shine.
It’s the sitting, listening, responding that matters—not the doing. You are molding me as I determine to let You shape my meanderings. My efforts. My words, from You.
Your words, Lord. Not mine.
God, Hiking Boots, and a Backpack
7 Life Lessons Learned on the Trail
This summer I experienced an adventure of a lifetime.
Well, it was for me, anyway. I’m no longer a spring chicken, and it was mostly the confidence of a good friend that made me say, “Yes…” —with great trepidation—when she invited me to venture into the Tetons and Yellowstone with her and four other backwoodsy gals. Immediately the doubts flooded in.
You see, this was the first time I had been backpacking in over 20 years.
When my spiritual director reminded me that stepping up to a physical challenge is mostly a mental exercise I decided to look at this as a spiritual quest, a journey I would do with Jesus.
As we trekked up steep rocky paths, along roaring rivers, and across vast green meadows, I kept asking God: “What do You want me to learn from this? What do You want me to see?”
At the time there was no great epiphany, but I found myself looking for Him—and finding Him—in the rugged beauty around me. In retrospect, He taught me a lot as I put one boot in front of the other, mile after sometimes weary mile.
Here are seven lessons I learned along the path.
1. Carry only what is essential — When you are literally carrying everything you need, it’s amazing what you can do without. In spite of our rigid downsizing, I still had a nearly-40-pound pack on my back. When the path got steep, it felt like 80. It made me think: what in my life, in my home, is weighing me down? What can I eliminate to simplify my lifestyle?
2. Hike at your own pace — Several times I made the mistake of setting out at the same pace others were hiking. If there was a hill involved—my nemesis—I soon stalled out, gasping for breath. If instead I hiked at my own steady pace, I discovered I could go on rather indefinitely. What a reminder that on our journey with God we aren’t to compare ourselves to others and their journeys. We each have a unique path and pace with Him.
3. Don’t try to impress others — Many times I caught myself wanting to impress the other gals—to prove myself to women who are younger and stronger than I am. But as I looked at the jagged rocks and tangly roots jutting along the path I was reminded that with one misstep, one turn of the ankle, the trip could be over. I prayed David’s words: “You provide a broad path for my feet, so that my ankles do not give way”— 2 Samuel 22:37. What’s to brag about? It is only by His grace we’re able to do what we do.
4. The unexpected WILL happen — One morning we awoke to find that marmots had chewed the grips off four sets of our hiking poles! This was a relatively minor thing, but a great reminder that our minds can’t begin to fathom the surprises life, and God, has in store for us!
The Sensational Six!
5. Admit your weaknesses — Ego. Pride. Call it what you will, but I was sick and felt lousy—and I didn’t want to admit it to anyone. I was afraid of slowing down my friends and having them resent it. Instead they rallied around me. They reminded me we all had weaknesses and burdens—bad knees, delicate tummies, sadness over a lost one, fear of grizzlies 😮 and more. As I admitted my weakness, others shared theirs.
Which brings me to the next point…
6. Hiking with others makes the trip richer — This trip was as much about the fellowship as it was about the hiking experience. The six of us were a tiny community—tightly knit, for better and for worse. We ate, laughed, cried, prayed, struggled, and celebrated—together! And we were all the richer for it. There’s a reason God wants His people to “do community”!
And lastly…
7. Lift your eyes — Especially on difficult sections of trail it was easy to lock my eyes on the path, seeing only the dirt in front of me. But when I lifted my gaze, I was awed by mist-shrouded lakes, vibrant flowers blanketing hillsides, jagged snow-covered peaks, antelope hiding in tall grass, rushing water, and brilliant sunsets. If I had missed all that beauty, what would have been the point of the trip? How often do we “run so fast” in our workaday lives that we forget to look for the blessings and the beauty all around us?
Oh. There is one more thing I learned on the trail…
Chocolate tastes better in the mountains! — Yes, it does! And I can’t think of one spiritual parallel for that!
Can you?
Life is an amazing adventure—especially with Him!
Making Grandkid Birthdays Memorable
As a long-distance grandmother who misses out on way too many things, I want my time with grandkids to be memorable.
Especially birthday celebrations.
Thanks to this idea from my sweet friend Cindy, “Mama Dee Birthdays” are now a highly anticipated event. And they’re so simple.
Here’s what we do.
1. We go to lunch together—just the two of us. If I’m not there for the actual birthday, we’ll do it the visit before or after. The birthday boy (or girl) gets to choose his favorite place to go. I confess, after my first birthday lunch at McDonald’s I added the caveat, “Anywhere but…” Yep. Grandmas get to set limitations!
My grandson orders what he wants and we settle into the meal. We chat and I have an opportunity to find out all kinds of things about him—his favorite school subject, what he enjoys most about his sport, and details about his current favorite movie or game. We linger as long as we want. No rush. At some point I usually find myself talking about life with Jesus and my hope that he will be a “man after God’s own heart.”
2. Next, we go shopping for a birthday present. Instead of simply unwrapping a gift from me—among the pile of other gifts—we get to explore the store shelves to find a very special something together. This often requires great patience, and as they get older, several different store visits—but this is all about spending quality time together and creating sweet memories.
3. Lastly, we go out for a small birthday dessert. Many restaurants and fast food places have kid-sized hot fudge sundaes. When they’re little, we share. My grandkids love Menchie’s, a frozen yogurt shop where you pick your own flavors and add your choice of toppings. Jamba Juice is a favorite as well. Whatever they want is where we go.
Pictures. I ask our server to take a picture of the two of us at lunch. I take more during dessert and take several of my grandson with his gifts when we get back home. I want memories for me, too!
I start doing Mama Dee Birthdays when my grandkids turn five. We talk about it a bit in advance so they’ll begin to understand how special it is and get excited about it.
If there’s a birthday party while I’m visiting, I’ll contribute an additional small gift and card for the celebration.
Oh, one important suggestion. When you shop, have a set budget in mind. When they’re little you can explain they can have “one big present,” or “a medium and small present.” They won’t be into price tags so you can simply let them make choices that don’t exceed your budget. When they’re older, I give them a dollar amount. I stick to that, but sometimes fudge to cover tax.
I did my very first Mama Dee Birthday when my oldest grandson turned six—right after Cindy shared her idea with me. The two of us sat in a small booth at a Red Robbin restaurant, him on one side and me on the other. When I noticed an odd expression on his face, I asked what he was thinking.
He gave me a lopsided smile. “This is the first time I ever sat on one side of the table by myself.”
I offered him a spot with me, but he declined. He evidently felt special. Grown up enough to sit by himself, without a parent or sibling sharing space.
Today, we celebrated his twelfth birthday. He was still excited to go. We still find lots to talk about. We still have fun together.
My prayer is that when he turns 18 and I ask him if he’s getting too old for Mama Dee Birthdays, he’ll give me the same answer my friend Cindy got from her 18-year-old grandson:
“Grandma, I’ll never be too old for Grandma Birthdays!”
Valentine’s Day — A Love Letter from Jesus
FOR MY BELOVED
I, the Creator of the universe,
love you!
I am your Beloved, and you are Mine.
I call to you:
“Arise my darling, my beautiful one, and come with Me!”
I made you and I marvel at your beauty.
You were designed to please Me—
and you are pleasing!
Be in awe of
My love for you,
My pleasure with you,
My desire for you.
I am here.
Run into My arms,
abandon yourself fully to my warm embrace!
You are safe here.
Safe and loved beyond measure.
You are home here. You can stay forever.
Wrapped up in Me.
Love,
Jesus
Quote from Songs of Solomon 2:13b
Alone on Valentine’s Day? 7 Tips for Enduring the Day of Endearment
Are you dreading Valentine’s Day?
Do Facebook posts about flowers and chocolates and dream dates remind you that you’ll be spending Valentine’s Day alone?
Do sappy commercials with googly-eyed couples drive home the reality that you’re single?
If so, join the crowd. There are many of us out there in that situation.
Yep. I’m one of them.
Most years Valentine’s Day barely registers. But every so often, I find myself acutely aware of my aloneness on this Day of Romance, and suddenly I feel excluded.
You know how it goes…
— While other women are gasping over a solitaire diamond, you’re playing solitaire.
— While your girlfriends are experiencing Love Actually, you’re Home Alone.
— The only ardent, longing looks you get are from your cat at dinnertime.
So let’s change it up this year! Let’s be kind to ourselves and celebrate love. Real love.
Here are 7 things I’ve tried that make the day special. See which ones work for you!
- FIRST, Remember you’re NOT really alone. You are cherished by an awesome, present God! Invite Him into your day. Include Him in your celebration.
- Buy yourself flowers to remind you of His love, His passion for you. Put them where you’ll see them throughout your day.
- Indulge your senses with a spa treatment. A massage or facial does marvels for our need for touch. Get a mani-pedi.
- Go out for a nice meal. Spoil yourself and get an appetizer. Appreciate the colors and aromas. Eat slowly and savor every bite. Imagine Jesus there with you.
- Treat yourself to some decadent chocolate. Buy a box of gourmet truffles, chocolate-dipped strawberries, or linger over a hot fudge sundae.
- Make a long list of your blessings. Thank God for each one. Thank someone you love for the blessing he or she is in your life.
- To make the day special and memorable, take creative pictures during each of your activities, then put together a photo journal of your Valentine’s Day with God!
Let me know what you think! I’d love to hear your own creative ideas!
And have a Happy Valentine’s Day!
Armed and Dangerous
I awake, leave my bed, move about in my morning haze
—and the enemy encroaches.
At first, with stealth,
snatching bits of joy, tiny particles of peace.
Then he bites.
A small anger flares.
I growl and bat away the unseen assault.
I could pout, gloom up my day as I sometimes do.
This time I pause in awareness… and remember:
I am on the battlefield.
Every step taken toward You angers my enemy.
He has seen, sensed our tender moments and is rankled.
He has tiptoed on taloned feet into my kitchen.
Alone, I am easy prey.
With You, I am indomitable.
This world is where the enemy camps.
I am behind enemy lines.
Fight or be taken, there is no middle.
The sleeping Warrior Princess in me awakes.
Back stiffened, she stands tall in defiance.
Armor up, she shouts, raising her fist to the sky. I want to be lethal!
Hackles raised, I’m eager to do damage.
Warrior King.
I sense You.
Feel You.
Standing alongside me, in me.
Making my back straight and strong.
Standing in You, I mount a firm defense.
Full of You, I am a force to be reckoned with.
Immersed in You, I am an assassin in the enemy’s camp, slaying his lies and deceits one step, one word, one decision at a time.
Fill me to overflow with Your fluid, invincible Self.
Ooze from my every pore.
Wash over me, through me, from me.
I’m brimming.
So full of the divine, liquescent You that I slosh as I walk,
gush as I speak,
spill as I run,
puddle as, at last, I lay down at night.
Warrior Princess.
Assassin for Truth.
Stealthy, bold
—she stalks through the enemy’s camp,
leaving sodden, sanctified footprints in her wake.
Armed and dangerous.
Imbued with You.
Cuteness and Contagion
It finally happened.
After surviving a number of visits with sick grandkids, this time I caught the cold.
How could it not happen? In spite of my resolve to avoid contact, the cuteness factor of my two-year-old granddaughter won out.
Reading books involves snuggling. Being out and about together requires hand-holding. Runny noses demand wiping. Uncovered sneezes happen. Little kisses are slobbery.
Toddlers have no concept of germ containment. They’re like ambulatory, erupting, bacteria-laden Petri dishes, spewing their contagion in every direction. No amount of hand-washing and personal hygiene prevents contamination.
I’m now sitting up in bed at three in the morning, having taken every product that promises relief. My close-to-bursting sinuses and scratchy throat defy their claims.
What have I learned from this? Not much, I’m afraid. That adorable and (literally) infectious smile gets to me every time.
Tomorrow morning, with a comforting cup of tea and a handy box of tissues, she and I will again be nose to nose—make that, runny nose to runny nose—in another “Gramma, read me this one!” book.
Another priceless moment, and worth every Kleenex.
When You Get Conflicting Feedback
What do you do when you get conflicting feedback on your writing?
At my last writers conference I was given two completely opposing opinions on my MS in progress.
An editor representing a major publishing house told me, “This is some of the best writing I’ve seen here.”
Wow. That felt good. I was pumped!
Later that same day: “Your writing needs to be brought up a couple of notches.” This from another person I greatly respect.
And all my enthusiasm drained.
I know this is not an uncommon occurrence. The reality is, some will love our writing. Others, not so much. Some will point out minor punctuation errors but praise everything else. Others will want to change almost every paragraph.
So when that happens, who do you listen to? What DO you do with a dilemma like this?
What did I do? I went into a big blue funk.
Yep. Crashed and burned.
It took about a week before everything stopped ricochetting around in my head and finally sank in. Then I moaned and lamented to God. I doubted (again) the clear calling I have to write. I cried. I questioned my understanding and God’s timing.
I felt confused, overwhelmed, and discouraged.
I second guessed myself, and God, and every previous indicator that I write fairly well.
Then I read this from my journal:
“When you are living out of your own life, you act as though you are the central reference point.”
It’s a quote from Madame Jeanne Guyon, stolen from an excellent novel, Lost and Found, by Ginny Yttrup. It hit me right between the eyes.
If I’m writing for God, and if it really is all about Him, then why am I experiencing so much angst?
Because it’s not really all about Him.
But I want it to be.
So I gave it back. All of it. To Him.
The pressure of the number of words I write, or don’t write, each day. The concern about who will like it. The worry about it ever getting published.
And guess what?
Suddenly, writing is fun again. It’s Him, and me, playing—with words. The way it’s supposed to be.
What do you think?
Have you ever received confusing or conflicting feedback on your writing?
How did you deal with it?
I lost a friend today.
Steve kayaking
He was a sweet, thoughtful, and generous man—and I always enjoyed being around him.
I met Steve several years ago on a kayak outing through our church. We had outdoorsy friends in common, so we bumped into each other frequently after that. Steve was the silent type, but he smiled a lot and was quick to laugh.
My warmest memories of Steve involve kayaking and snowshoeing. He never cared about fitting in or keeping up or proving anything. He marched to his own drummer. He loved just being out there—in God’s country. When he wasn’t participating, he was behind the scenes—schlepping gear, cheering his friends on, fixing meals—and he seemed to get as much joy from all that as he would if he were doing the activity himself.
Our snowshoe hike along the river.
I last saw Steve in January when we were at Tahoe with friends for a snowshoeing weekend. The first day the two of us ventured out alone. We were both new to the sport, so trekking along at our own leisurely pace was perfect. I remember so clearly… it was a crisp, blue-sky day and the snow along the river was pristine.
Steve was fit and strong and had that ever-present, slightly shy smile on his face.
That was such a short time ago.
Today he’s gone.
Just like that.
What a poignant reminder that in the span of eternity we are “but a breath” here on earth (Psalm 39:5). Our time is short. We cheat ourselves when we take life for granted. Or family or friends. Or mountain peaks, or pounding surf, or wildflowers, or stunning sunsets. They are breathtaking gifts from the passionate, loving God Who plans our days.
Steve has left us to be with the One Who loves him more than we can fathom.
And he leaves us with a legacy of sweet memories.
Let’s honor his memory by embracing life to the fullest, and by daily thanking the One Who gives it.
Steve’s birthday dinner.
Steve with Kelly
Steve with long-time dear friend Janice
- Steve with George
If you knew Steve…
Do you have a favorite memory of him?
What did you appreciate most about him?
Addicted to Romance?
Are you struggling with a romantic obsession or addiction?
Perhaps it’s an infatuation with romance novels?
Or a seemingly harmless online flirtation?
Or fascination with a roguish yet tender character from a movie or TV program?
Or maybe it’s something you’re hiding from others?
But it’s an obsession that obliterates your icky feelings, or better yet, makes you feel good—loved, beautiful, and cherished? Safe?
I struggled with needing romance for a long time.
My addiction was romantic fantasy. It began as a way of coping with holes and hurts when I was young. Then it shadowed me into adulthood.
It stole my life.
It led me slowly, almost imperceptibly, down a dark path. Then darker paths. I rationalized all of it, somehow.
Until one day He pulled back the blinders. Through His eyes I saw it for what it was. Ugly. Sinister. Terrifying in its control over me. Suddenly I was horrified. Embarrassed. Ashamed.
I tried to shake it off. Scrub it off. I strained to strip it away.
Too late. It had a malevolent and tenacious grip on me. Not just on me, in me. I could feel and “see” its black, slimy tendrils wrapped around and through my living, beating heart. I feared that to tear it out would hurt me. Kill me.
I hated it.
Oh how I tried to ignore it. Defeat it. Master it. Control it. Be rid of it.
When my strength was exhausted, I laid there in abject defeat.
It laughed at me.
I opened my arms wide. “Help me, Lord!”
He came. The One Who loves me.
“He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
he drew me out of deep waters.
He rescued me from my powerful enemy,
from my foes, who were too strong for me.” Psalm 18:16-17
Yes, it was painful. But as He ripped the screaming darkness from my heart, He poured in His warm, soothing Self. His loving Presence trickled down, though, around, and over every raw and torn and tender place. Healing me. Restoring me.
I talk about this battle in my book, The Divine Romance—Going to God with the Longings Only He Can Fulfill.
It has a happy ending:
“He brought me out into a spacious place…”
And I finally understand His heart for me:
“…He rescued me because He delighted in me.” Psalm 18:19
What do you think?
How does our culture feed into our longing for true love and acceptance?
Why do you think it’s so difficult to let go of things that make us feel good, even when we know they’re not the answer?