Years ago, when our kids were little, the comet Hale-Bopp appeared in the northwestern sky. Every night for two weeks we all bundled up and stood outside gazing at its dusty white tail glowing against the night sky.
On one of those comet nights my husband cleverly maneuvered our daughter’s bed 180 degrees around so she could look out her bedroom window at Hale-Bopp before falling asleep. I remember standing silently in her doorway, charmed by his efforts to enhance our child’s encounter with this spectacle.
Do you ever wonder if God can use your life?
I once struggled with this. I thought I had to be a certain way. Maybe a little more outgoing. Perhaps a lot more talented. The thing is, Jesus didn’t wait until I felt confident to invite me to walk with him or to do works in his name.
In 1787, after a long hot summer of debate in Independence Hall, Philadelphia, delegates from the 13 American colonies approved the final draft of the United States Constitution.
When George Washington, the chairman, declared the document adopted by the delegates for ratification by the colonies, it is said that Ben Franklin stood up and said to Washington: “Throughout these months, Mr. Chairman, I have listened to the arguments pro and con while my eyes constantly looked up to the top slat of your chair back, where there is carved a sunburst. I have wondered during these days whether that sunburst represented a setting sun or a rising sun. With the adoption of this Constitution, I am now persuaded it is a rising sun.”
If we could have coffee today I'd say, "God cares about your tears."
Psalm 56:8 says, "Put my tears into your bottle; Are they not in your book?" If you could read a record of your tears, what would it contain? You probably can't even remember each one you've shed or why. But it seems God does.
Yesterday, I experienced a common event in my life. A smart aleck remark entered my head, and I had to decide if I really wanted it to come out of my mouth or not. In this case, I decided to keep it to myself. The key to this decision was asking myself a simple question: What is my hopeful outcome?
This is a question I am striving to keep at the forefront of my mind. Too often I fail to consider that question, and I end up behaving in ways that are not helpful. So, I am working to be intentional with my words and actions so that I choose those that have a higher probability of positive outcomes, especially with regard to those with whom I am interacting.
For years I kept the shades of my office closed. Sure, it made my office a bit darker than I preferred, but the view of the parking lot did little to add to the restful environment I hoped to create. So, the shades remained closed.
Until one summer day when I suddenly had the urge to let some sunlight in. I opened the shades just a bit and saw a hint of something shocking: a tall leafy tree had grown just outside my window! How long had it been growing there – months? A year?
Take a minute and really think about this question:
Did you know that most of us will spend almost half of our adult lives working?
So what do we really want from that half of our lives?
We want our work to matter, don’t we?
We want our work to have purpose and meaning!
In Genesis, Eve is called "the mother of all living." I believe that means every woman is a mother, because every woman brings life to the world in some way.
We encourage. We feed bellies and hearts. We nurture hopes. We create beauty. We birth dreams. And yes, some of us also have physical children. But that's not the only way to bring life into this world — it's one of many.
It is hard to miss that spring is upon us. Stepping outside, we can see that the landscape has gone from tones of browns and grays to green leaves, purple redbuds, and white dogwood blossoms. It is a reminder that the seasons are transitioning. Not only are the seasons in transition, many of us are in the midst of preparing for the school year to come to a close, graduations, planning for summer jobs, summer sports, summer camps, summer trips and maybe even a little rest?
Can we allow ourselves that? Among the planning and pressures of this time of year, I think it is not only allowed, but very necessary. It won't happen on its own though. Rest is not a summer vacation we plan; rest is a rhythm we find.
The teenager came to live with us because he needed a safe place. One night he missed his curfew by a large margin. When he saw us waiting he asked, "Do I still get to stay here?"
There were consequences for his actions, but first he needed reassurance. We wrapped our arms around him and let him know that this would always be his family.