Friday, October 14, 2011

Everyday Moments

She stands tall on tippy toes with her hands raised high to the sky twirling down every isle for all eyes to see. My three old ballerina dances steps in front of me.
I pick out our favorite clusters of oats with tastes of honey and turn to her and warn her that she might get dizzy. She giggles as she falls to the ground. Not a care in the world just me, a shopping cart and my two little girls.

The other lays sound asleep in her car seat only five months old. In the beginning stages of exploring this world and at 30 I can say, I am too.
We make our way past the vegetable oil, spices and cake mixes. I notice my ballerina no longer spinning in circles instead she is holding a large pack of flour. I tell her we really don't need it as I place it back on the shelf. She promptly crosses her arms, presses her lips tight and stomps loudly through the store.

I watch her and feel relieved for this is a small victory. Gone are the days of falling out on the ground, crying alligator tears and raising her voice loud for all to hear. A small victory today as she stomps away.

Twenty minutes later and the shopping cart is full. I grab some last minute items rechecking our list. She smiles and says, "Thank you mommy" as I place fruit in the cart.
I pause, I see Him. He stands within each step I take, lacing together each victory I see Him today.

We make our way to the slow moving line and its then I realize so much life is done in this store. So many stories are formed in these isles. I imagine Him standing right next to me, watching me and my girls guiding as life unfolds.
We exchange silent words waiting in line. I thank Him for these moments and He says He is proud of me.

We make our way through the line and out of the store. With my girls buckled tight and groceries in the back I begin see Him and how He is intertwined in my life. I see Him in everyday moments.

So often I get tripped up in wanting an amazing miracle a great move of God that I forget He walks with me through isles, guides me as I parent and blesses me. These everyday moments are the miracles I have craved.

I release a small sigh of relief as look in my review at my ballerina looking back at me. She forms a big smile revealing one dimple while her small voice speaks of her love for me.

My heart melts as He wraps His arms around me. I marinade in the moment before moving the car in reverse. Jesus is with us every day, in every moment and every step along the way.

Have you stopped to see Him today?
Sharing with Brag on God Fridays and Spiritual Sundays.
I also added this post to a wonderful online mosaic glorifying God. Through our words we paint a beautiful picture of who He is in our lives and over the next two years we will join together forming a master piece with Him and for Him. Would you join us and share some of your post?
Please visit the link below to view the mosaic. Have a blessed weekend!

Beholding Glory

Blessings always,

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Jesus Loves

He tells me He guides him right where he needs to be. Turn by turn walking through the streets, praying for ones that are in need. He speaks to him, covers him and walks with him.

Jesus loves him.

He tells me of a group of youth flags hanging out of their pockets. Not representing stars and stripes instead they are colors, territory, a street family. The enemy echoes in his mind, “Don’t approach.” Courage wins the battle as he steps toward the crowd when many wouldn’t come close. They speak of a loss a friend just died. In mourning they cried. A man and a group of youth bowed their heads and prayed. Jesus sees past the flags, the territory, and the streets.

Jesus loves them.
Traveling in a city states away, he sits next to another man not much older than him. Liquor stained breath, dirty clothes and his hand reaching up asking for change. He sits next to him unafraid. He has no earthly change to give. He asks him if he knows who Jesus is. The homeless raises his hands and says, "My Savior." The gospel isn’t spoken the hearts of the two men already know. He reminds him Jesus loves him no matter where he is. Two men, two different yet oh so similar paths of life join in prayer and Jesus stands near. Tears are shed. The dirty clothes and liquor stained breath disguise the man that Jesus knows.

Jesus loves him.

He tells me of another woman on the streets asking for money so her kids can eat. Only a few dollars are in his hand. He asks her if she knows who Jesus is. She replies rewinding her life to better times. In the voice of a child she questions, “Didn’t He die for me?” Life has dealt her hard knocks as she promptly turns to leave. His eyes well up feeling for a moment our Father grieve. Not knowing what to say succumbed by emotions she turns away. The child in her knows while the woman abused on the streets struggling to survive covers herself in layers of this world. Jesus sees her.

Jesus loves her.

He tells me of three shooting dice on a corner for all to see. The streets are rough life is hard and not all want to hear The Word. He approaches asking if they know Jesus. The three men halt their craps game they listen intrigued. He draws a crowd. Who is this man? Their spirits cry out loud. He tells me he gets discouraged when people walk away as he recalls the one who throws his head back snorting coke just as he turns around. I remind him of the three that accepted Jesus that night in the streets. The three, the crowd, even the one with white powder on his hands, He knows them.

Jesus loves them.

I hear his stories his work after work while on the road. I flip through the channels catching glimpses of Kim’s Fairytale wedding for the second time. I don’t have to wonder if this is entertainment or wasted minutes. I turn the TV off and slide his ring on my finger, proud of my husband. We laugh as he says he is turning into the crazy man on the streets preaching about Jesus for all to see. I remind him, Jesus holds his hand and Jesus called him.

Jesus loves him.

I wonder how life would be. If we all turned off our TV’s, muted the craziness that drives our lives and not make a sound. How would it be if we, followers, actually listened and were obedient to Him? Could we slow down enough and put ourselves aside? Could we swallow our pride? Approach a crowd with flags hanging from pockets on their backside? Hold a dirty hand, give more than money to a beggar or simply choose to stop wasting our time? He reminds me greater works will be done and I look around for some. He says, “Look within”. He sees us, sitting behind computer screens flipping through smart phones. He watches us closely, quietly whispering rise up be all I created you to be. He knows us.

Jesus loves us.

Jesus calls us.

Are you going to answer the call?

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Friday, September 23, 2011

Touchdown For Jesus

There wouldn't be a ninja ducking behind the corner of the aisle that day. There wouldn't be a pretend water gun fight with a passerby.

Instead, He tumbled into the fall season running down the empty aisle only to slide on his knees in a fantastic touchdown. Swinging his arms high up in the air he turned and looked at me with great excitement, "Mom! Did you see that? I scored a touchdown!"

His eyes full of excitement, his words dancing loudly while his smile brightened my day.

I gazed at him for a minute. Stepped outside of the grocery store and into the football game in our minds. The overflowing crowd cheering drenched in red. Banners raised while the band played. This had to be a college football game.

My oldest son's words soon interrupted my favorite pastime. The crowds ceased and the band came to a halt.

"Mom, Ms. Nichols stopped me in the hall today and asked me if I talked to T about Jesus."

"And.. what did you say?"

"I told her yes."

A few moments drifted in time as I pictured this brief conversation in my mind. My lips now curved up as joy from within was displayed in a grin.

"I told her yes and you know what momma!?! She told me, good job because T has been telling the entire class about Jesus!" I looked at my oldest son with great pride as he grabbed a few items and tossed them in the cart.

Looking ahead my five-year-old's football game carried on. I watched with admiration as he ran toward the end zone. Briefly pausing the game in his mind.

"Hey T, what do you tell your class?" I asked.

"I have to tell them Jesus is coming back and you know what mom? Some don't think it's true, but I know He is! So I just keep telling them!" I swallowed hard trying not to let the tears fall in the aisle of the grocery store that day.

T ran down the isle as he continued his game. Running fast toward the end zone he scored another point another victory.

This time, the crowd was drenched in red, not for school colors but for the blood that He shed. The people rejoiced for this little one. The band played and in my mind I heard an angel sing.

Today I brag on God for the touchdown in the isle that day. I praise Him for the small feet that run into His end zone making touchdowns for Jesus every day!

Sharing with Brag On God Friday at Beholding Glory and Spiritual Sundays

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Blessings and Love,

Thursday, September 1, 2011

The Box

I received that gift 1 year and almost 8 months ago. I was pleased the day I received it but afraid it would break so I placed it in a box and tucked it away.

I never forgot about it. One day I dusted it off and put it on the brick mantle for display. Look but please don't touch are the words my soul would say. My heart needed it, my spirit craved it, but I didn't want to change, bend or break it.

So I would look from afar and gaze at it with loving eyes. This was my gift from Him and I didn't want to lose it, but I wasn't ready for it to shake my spirit or rock my world.

Each morning I would see it sitting there. I'd admire it from a distance. From the outside, it was amazing, beautiful, vast and awe-inspiring.

My view never quite stepped over the line. The line my finger drew that kept me on the outside.

Kids ran passed it, life flew by it and only once in a while would we slow long enough to treasure it. The days were too busy and time slipped away. We just couldn't slow the second hand long enough to be with it, hold it and love it.

Dust gathered in layers falling on and around it. I forgot what it looked like sitting there on display.

The sun would set and the moon would dance in the darkened sky. The hours ticked, the weeks passed and life was all but sand flowing in an hour glass.

Then the day came that shook my spirit and rattled this old house. The picture perfect image fell to the ground while the earth shifted beneath my feet. The box flew open and shattered into a million pieces. Tears filled my eyes to where I could no longer see.

My heart pounded, my spirit screamed OH NO! What do I do? How do I put this gift back together? Where is my glue? My heart continued to race, my eyes wept while my spirit knelt down to pick up what was left.

I inhaled the fragrance that I longed to keep. The fragrance of Him seeping into me. I tried to sweep the pieces that appeared broken, but they surrounded me. Holding me, loving me and simply consuming me.

I sat in the moment just me and my gift. Just me and the box I had put Him in. I sat within His presence unwrapped and beauty unmatched. I sat with Him and began to realize the gift I was given was meant to be seen.

I could hold Him touch Him feel Him love Him. He wanted to be shared with all eyes that could see. He even wanted to be shared with those who sat blindly.

He had to shatter my world to break open the box. The box I placed Him in. The box He is too big for. The box I needed no more.

I thank God that He rattled my world, shook the foundation I stood upon and broke open the box I stuffed Him in.

and Spiritual Sundays

Blessings and Love,

Thursday, July 7, 2011

His Hands

I try to imagine the smooth hands that sculpts this clay. Clay that represents the imperfect me. Smoothing out the rough spots, working out the kinks.

The hands that are keeping track of the clock on the wall, ticking the time. Pressings each second into a minute each minute filling the hour. Hours that turn into days, days that become years. Years that become a lifetime and yet His hands still shape this clay.

His hands never give up and never become restless. Oh, the work they have before them yet they continue to knead and refine me.

When I cry out to Him, His hands wipe my tears and collect them in a jar. When I am weak His hands hold me. When I am strong enough to walk His hand grasps mine.

When I am imperfect, He forgives me. His hands don't give up as they continue to transform me. When I am hurt or have hurt a loved one, His hands reach out to them and me.

Reminding me that He is the third part of this cord that holds us together, imperfect yet perfectly. His hands lift us and place our feet on solid ground.

I imagine His hands guiding us down this road. His hands lead the way, pick us up when we fall wipe our knees and offer more than a band aid. His hands heal.

The grace in which His hands move. Strong like a father, loving like a mother and soft like a child. The smooth hands that sculpt this clay.

Although I can't see them, I can feel them as my hand slips into His.His Hands.

I am thankful that I know God has His hands on me... shaping this imperfect clay.

Image Credit Sharing with Thankful Thursday at Spiritually Unequal Marriage and Spiritual Sundays

Isaiah 64:8 "Yet you, LORD, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand. "

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Humbled In His Presence

"Humbled in His presence"

James 4:10 "
Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will lift you up."


Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Worshiping You

"Worshiping You"

A Pencil. A Paper. My Son. Worshiping The King.

Blessings and Love,