As I sit down to begin this journey, I am still trying to wrap my head around this place that God has brought me. I am so overwhelmed by His presence at times that my eyes fill with tears. I am flying into this by the seat of my pants, but I’m excited, ready, and willing because God is my pilot.
I am the girl in Bible study who constantly had her hand up. I often thought scripture was hard to understand and I found myself confused sometimes. But God's word had already captured my heart, so I kept going. I continued to ask questions and put many things down before the Lord in prayer. As I talked openly with my sisters in Christ, I realized I was not alone in this place. Not only had God been with me every step of the journey, but many of the women appreciated my honesty. Before I knew it, I was asked to lead the discussions in our group. I was hearing from God like never before and Scripture became alive. As it filled me with truth, I began to really believe the promises of God.
If I'm completely honest, I still struggle with understanding at times, but what I know to be true about God, what He has shown me personally, and what I have witnessed in the testimony of others, is enough. The rest can be a mystery until it is revealed to me in the Kingdom of Heaven.
Knowing all this, you might wonder why I feel equipped to write a Bible study of my own, and the answer to that is simple. I don’t and I’m not. In my own strength, what I'm attempting here would simply not be possible. Writing a Bible study was never a part of my plan. I was, in fact, several years into the writing of my, “great American novel” and believed God was on board with this plan of mine. I believed that He had equipped me for the undertaking. So, when the day came that God asked me to give up writing fiction, I thought I had misunderstood Him. Our conversation went something like this.
“You’re joking me, right, Lord? You just want to see if I’ll be obedient? Right?”
“No daughter, you're wrong.” He said. “That's not it at all. I just want you to lay it down.”
“But you met me here, remember?” I was arguing with him now. “We’ve talked about this already.”
“And now I’m talking to you about it again,” He told me, “I want you to stop. I’m taking you somewhere else.”
We were in the wrestling ring now. “What other place?” I asked Him. “I want to finish my novel. You know how hard I’ve worked on it. What about all the workshops, conferences, and study I put into it. You’ve been right beside me.”
“Oh precious girl. I have been beside you. You are right about that. But you are wrong to think this has ever been about you."
“What?” God was asking me to give up something that I truly loved and had spent years studying and devoting my time too. It did feel like it was about me. I was upset and confused. Yet, God was very clear. I knew our talk was almost over.
However, because of His gracious love for me, He allowed me to fight it for a few more days until it became clear who would win the match.
Cried out and defeated, I surrendered. "Will I ever get to finish my novel?" I asked him.
And again, because of His love for me, God did not answer. He knew that I might not be ready to hear His answer and knew quite well that t I had already had a very difficult couple of days.
I kept the news to myself for a week or so as I let it settle. Many people knew I was writing a novel, and I was not yet ready to admit that it was finished before it was finished. However, as it always does when we settle inside God’s will, His peace came…
I've known since the day of that wrestling match that God was preparing me for something else. His presence over me at times had felt like a second skin, and I knew He was doing a work in me. I did not, however, imagine I would be doing anything like this.
Here is also where I want to tell you that this Bible study is different from most in its format. I believe this is because it comes from a place that is so unique to the way my Father made me and the way He speaks to me, that it can be done no other way.
That being said, "The Glory Road" will include some chalk renderings I've done of photographs I have taken. These are places were God has spoken to me. Places where the glory of His creation brought me to an incredible place of worship.
And because my Daddy in heaven thinks I’m precious and loves me so much, I am also getting to do a little of what I love. Alongside this Bible Study, and I'm not sure how it will fit yet, I will also be telling you a tale. A tale from a kingdom long ago that stars a beloved princess and her magnificent King.
So now, as we step onto the “Glory Road” together, I ask for your grace knowing that this is just one daughter’s journey. In addition, it is my prayer, that as you turn the last page, you will be in a new place of relationship with your Heavenly Father and have new insight as to what you were created for.
Oh Lord Jesus! Let it be our absolute desire to live a life that brings you glory. Help us see the world through your eyes. Give us a heart changed forever by the power of your Holy Spirit and the immense love of our Heavenly Father. May we realize the, (beyond-amazing) imagination of the Creator of all things beautiful and lovely, and, the unfathomable sacrifice of a Savior who gave His life to save our own.
May you receive our constant praise and be glorified forever and ever and ever.
And the angels cry…“Holy, Holy, Holy, is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come.” Rev. 4:8
Now let’s take the first step together …the Glory awaits.
The title came to me in my car as I sat underneath a rainbow along highway 395. I was coming home from San Deigo after a visit to Texas. I had just had eye surgery and afterward had attended the last few sessions of a "Kairos conference at my sisters Gateway church in Dallas.
Overwhelmed by the glory of the rainbow and the things God has been saying to me, I pulled over. Looking at the clock, I realized that the rainbow had appeared at the same time was sister and niece were being baptized in Texas. God's love poured over me in that moment, and I could almost feel him planting my feet on this road to His glory. "You're ready for this." He said to me. "I've been preparing you for a long time."
I wanted to shout with joy, and keep it a secret, all at the same time. I was full of excitement one minute and flooded with fear the next. I knew I couldn't do what God was asking of me in my own strength. The very idea of trying to paint creation pictures was enough to stop me. So... I waited and prayed.
As I did, God began to remind me of things. He reminded me of words my sister said to me. He reminded me of things my church family had spoken over me in the last few years. These were things I did not understand at the time, but were now becoming clear as God began to lay out His plan before me.
He showed me the unique way I had been created, and how, as far back as I could remember, I had seen his face and heard his voice through the glory in his creation. "This is why I chose you for this." He said, and I was suddenly bombarded with memories and images. Childhood turtles, frog hopping contest, thunderstorms and tomato worms. Garden blackberry bushes, mountain sunrises, cloudy summer afternoons. Grandsons, whales, stars, and baby monkeys. He said, "You see me everywhere." I knew it was true.
So here I am with my feet on the, "Glory Road", because God placed them there. I will do my best to honor all that He asks of me because I want to make Him proud. I know He will equip me and light the path. I am ready for the journey!
(Okay...so...I'm admitting on the front end that I know this is a little weird considering the person I'm writing this to will never read it, but that being said, I'm going to write it anyway...)
Dear Beth...
I picture myself sitting across a small table with you in a quiet corner of Starbucks laughing. This scene is a picture of two woman who are made so uniquely alike by their incredible creator, that he ordains their meeting, and is sharing in the joy of the moment.
I don't know which one of us is older, but I think our Father saw what a kick he was going to get out his beautiful and unique creation, that he couldn't help himself from making a second one so much like the first.
These two women, born in the mid-west around the same time both raise children alongside each other, yet they are hundreds of miles apart. Both watch their firstborn daughter's, with head fulls of thick brown hair who smile and roll their eyes when their Mother's tell stories about them, fall in love with amazing young men and begin lives of their own. They watch these precious daughters become wives and then mothers. They both become the giddiest of Grandmother's and can not stop gushing about these precious baby boys. Both of these women are more in love with their husbands than they were thirty plus years ago, and share, with precious tears, each of these things alongside their men.
To one, He gives gives a southern accent, a painful childhood, an amazing testimony, and a redeemed life. He takes this precious little buck-toothed daughter from Arkansas, moves her to Texas, and gives her a huge ministry. She is a fashionista, a Starbucks coffee lover, a girl who knows and appreciates big hair and is a dramatic and funny storyteller. She is a woman who loves His word, a woman who is transformed by His love and grace, and whose heart and obedience directly effects the other.
To the second woman, He gives a bit of redneck spirit, a husband at age nineteen whose childhood was so painful that it is unimaginable, and He redeems them both. He takes this precious little daughter, (who had extra teeth growing in under her tongue and wore a a device to school that went with it ) and moves her family to a tiny mountain town in the Eastern Sierra's of California where she leads the other woman's Bible studies. She too is a fashionista, a Starbucks coffee lover, a girl who knows and appreciates big hair, a dramatic storyteller, and a lover of His word. She too is transformed by His love and grace.
The second woman wants to tell the first one how her heart for, and obedience to, Jesus, changed her life. She wants to thank her for her dedication, thoroughness, and consistence in writing Bible Studies and traveling the country. She wants the first woman to know that there are woman in a little California mountain town that call the second woman, "Mini Beth," and that have been changed, healed, set-free, and empowered by the gifts of the first one. She wishes they could share stories across a table about Jackson and Jude and laugh so hard that they almost cry. She wishes they could talk about clothes, hair, sin, the challenges of this life, the promises of the next one, the power of prayer, and the blessings that come from a life lived for Him. She knows that words like darlin' and precious, would be exchanged and that tears would flow. And, she believes, their loving father in heaven would see this all play out, and smile...
So in closing, this second woman wants to tell the first one that she is not only her precious, Sista, but also appreciated, understood, and loved...
When I think about my childhood, and remember you in the midst of it, I see four clear sets of pictures.
In the first set, I hear you laughing. I hear the funny noises you make and I see you playing with us in the yard on warm summer nights. I remember how you taught me to catch fireflies, and how you hammered small holes into the lid of a miracle whip jar for me to keep them in. They became my bedside nightlight.
I see you happy, smiling, and I understand clearly that my playful nature comes from you. I see us sprawled across the living room floor playing a board game, or playing cards around the kitchen table.
I hear you laugh aloud as you watch, “Rowan and Martin’s laugh-in” and “Hee Haw.” I remember how your laughter comforted me, how it settled my spirit. It made me happy.
The next set of memories is of a Dad who fixes everything. My childhood is full of snapshots of you behind the washing machine, re-wiring electric sockets, putting in a ceiling fan. I see you under the hood of the car, and lying on the garage floor beneath it.
I remember the day we heard baby kittens crying inside the pantry wall, and being amazed that you knew right where to cut a hole to rescue them. They came out covered with drywall chalk. I remember the time the baby chicks caught on fire in the utility room, and how safe I felt because you were home and in control of the situation.
We could count on you to take care of whatever needed taking care of. There was order and purpose to the things you did. You were reliable and trustworthy, and I always felt so safe because of that.
I love the look and smell of fresh cut grass because of you. I remember the long bike rides I would take on summer nights up and down the streets of our neighborhood and remember how my heart swelled with comfort and pride as I headed home and our yard came into view. Our grass was always freshly edged, mowed and manicured. The nicest on the block, and I knew that you had given it the best of your care. And that care, spilled over onto me.
I remember the time you found tomato worms on the plants in the backyard and took me out there to show me what they looked like so I could help you find them .We sat together for a while and watched the giant worm eat its way across a leaf and I was mesmerized. You showed me how to handle them and how they used their large thorn as a weapon. Then I watched you poke it with a stick and I saw it bend its back end over itself as it attacked the stick with its thorn. I remember being amazed. I could not stop watching it.
I remember running out to check the plants, so excited, yet also freaked out, every time I found one.
One night you came home from work and I had three of them trapped in a Miracle Whip jar. I remember you were proud of me.
(We sure put those Miracle Whip jars to good use, huh?)
The next set of memories comes from a Dad who loved sports. I do not remember how old I was when you played softball, but I have a clear memory of knowing that you were the pitcher and that that was quite a big deal. I remember your wind-up and how fast the ball flew from your hand. I remember standing around with some kids one night by the concession stand and saying proudly, “My Dad’s the pitcher.”
I remember all the nights we spent at the bowling alley during your years in bowling league. There are smells and sounds buried deep inside me unique to that place. Every time I walk into a bowling alley, the sounds and smells take me back, and I remember. I watched you throw a bowling ball so many times, that I see it clearly if I close my eyes. I see the curve of your ball right before it hits the center pin to make a strike. You would do it over and over and I'd hear you, “Whoop,” and watch you do that funny little jig that always followed it.
You sat in the recliner and I sat on the floor beside you while we watched John McEnroe, scream at Jimmy Connor’s on the tennis court. How that entertained us.
I learned about Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicholas’ golf stats, and I watched you sit on the edge of your seat as they made their putts.
But my favorite was the boxing. It was Cassius Clay who sucked me in, but by the time Clay became Ali and fought Norton and Frasier, I was hooked. To this day, whenever I see a boxing match my blood pumps up a notch.
You taught me how to throw a ball, (well, you tried to anyway) to swing a bat, (and boy did you smile when I pounded it.) You taught me how shoot a basket, ride a bike, roller skate and water ski.
The last picture I have of you begins at the beginning and stays consistent throughout my childhood. This is the Dad in the suit who left in the morning, and came home every night at 5:30. This Dad provided for his family and was faithful and responsible every day of my childhood. Because of this, I felt safe, care for, loved and protected…
So thank you Dad, and Happy Father's Day...I love you!
I grew up in the Midwest, Oklahoma City to be exact, right in the middle of tornado country, and there, spring always announced itself in the very same way.
Late in the afternoons, the horizon would grow dark as blue-black clouds bellowed and burped their way across the sky. I have vivid memories of watching them roll in and knowing their power. My heart would beat faster as anticipation, fear, and awe all fought each other for their rightful place inside my spirit.
There was a drill in my family and we knew what to do. When a storm began to make its way across the sky, we would head home and turn the TV on to Gary England. He was our local meteorologist, and he would be the one to tell us when to worry. He was the man who would change the, “Thunderstorm Watch” into a “Tornado Warning.”
If Dad was home, and it seemed more often than not, he was, we would head for the garage where Dad turned on the radio, and our ritual began. My two sisters, my brother, and me, would gather our lawn chairs and line up side by side next to Dad just inside the open garage door. We would scoot to the very edge and lean out as the sky cracked open with lightning, and we would shriek as the gigantic booms of thunder vibrated forth from the darkening sky. We would compare lightening bolts and cracks of thunder, and on evenings when each one seeming brighter, closer, and more powerful than the one before it, we knew the storm was headed right for us.
Sometimes, just when we thought the sky couldn’t possibly get any angrier, it would open up and explode with hail. Once, hailstones rained down the size of golf balls, and shocked, I stood holding my ears, mesmerized by the sight. I had never seen power like that, or heard a natural sound so loud. Other times, we watched funnel clouds dance down from the darkness looking for a place to land, then they would hop back up and disappear. But if the sirens sounded, and they often did, we had to go inside.
I felt safe if Dad was home when this happened, but his expression and the glances he gave my mother, told me if he was worried. On these occasions, he gathered us kids into the bathtub, he and Mom on the floor beside us with a mattress from their bed as shelter.
The worse tornado of my childhood, one of the bathtub times, took a neighbors roof completely off his house and sat it down on the roof of a house two streets over. No one was hurt, but when Dad came back from visiting them the next day he took us over there to see it and he showed me a vase of flowers on their kitchen table that never even tipped over.
I remembering standing there and looking up from that table at nothing but blue sky, as I came to a new understanding about the power and awe of a God that had control of something like that.
As I recall these things, and share this story, I can’t explain clearly, why I miss all this so much, but know that I do. I believe it is the power of God that draws me in, but I also see his glory in the lightning, hear it in the thunder, and smell it in the rain.
And in our neighbors kitchen that had no roof yet held a vase of flowers untouched on the table, I felt God’s Glory.
I was at my daughter’s house the other day when she handed my 2-year-old grandson her Iphone. “Watch this Mom,” she said with a glint in her eye, “It’s pretty amazing.” Jude then took the phone, smiled at me, and proceeded to flip through the application pages until he found an icon called Monkey Lunchbox and then he opened it. I sat with him in my lap in utter amazement and watched him play a game similar to the card game we used to call concentration. His memory of where the matching fruits were astounded me.
This precious two-year-old seemed to have an innate ability for this type of technology, and I was reminded of another time with my own son, Michael. He loved to build things with Lego’s, and when he was about four, Lego came out with these new intricate designs. Michael saw this Pirate ship one day when we were out, but there were hundreds of pieces and I thought it would be way too much for him. But when he kept asking for it, the day finally came to make the purchase, so I blocked a chunk of time out of our day so I could sit with him and help him build it. As Michael settled on the floor with the box, I went into the kitchen to fix a glass of tea and make us a snack. When I came back into the room, he had half the ship put together already. I remember being amazed by that too. No instructions necessary, just the picture on the box alongside his little brain and hands.
The truth is that the Lego Pirate ship challenged me that day, and I was not prepared for all the technology that lied just around the corner. However, what I know now, is that our God was prepared. He was not surprised or amazed by any of this. He knew exactly what kind of world Michael and Jude would be born into. He knew the skills they would need to be successful in 1989 and in 2010. God knew all of this was coming.
So…my point is this. Although I am constantly challenged by all the latest computer and phone technology, I am embracing it. My husband used his upgrade and got me an Iphone for Mother’s day. Most of my family members already had one, so it was not a new deal in my world, but I wanted to figure it out all by myself, so I did. Well…I may have called ReAnnon once or twice.
And now, I can't imagine living without it. I love that I can play scrabble with daughters, nieces, friends, and Mother on and off throughout my day. (This also keeps my brain working) I love that I can take a quick minute to engage with them, or send a simple text of love or encouragement. I can leave a quick comment on a friend’s blog post, or laugh with someone on Facebook…and all this…I can do in my car in between errands, while I water my garden, when I stop at the creek on a walk, or when I take a work break.
The other day, while I was watering, my niece sent me a picture text of her Mom, my sister, wearing a hat like one that I have. “She’s looks like you, Aunt Pam,” her text said, and I laughed. They were traveling in the car, and after a few texts back and forth, I felt like I was in the car with them. What a precious gift that was. Then my youngest daughter, a big city girl, found a curio cabinet the other day and sent me of photo of it right away. I then got another photo a few hours later after she had filled it with all her special treasures. I felt like I was right there with her too. Another gift.
So whether you’re on board with all this new tech stuff or not, it is the world we live in and the way of the future. The social networks, like them or not, is how people communicate these days. My parents, siblings, kids, nieces and nephews, friends, all of us, we laugh, post pictures, and share our lives with each other this way. And as God inspires me to write about what He is doing and what He has done, I can share those things with all these people as well.
I watched my oldest daughter bring God Glory amidst some very difficult suffering by way of a personal story a young pastors wife shared on a blog of her own similar journey.
I believe that to be a successful disciple in the world today, to share the Gospel with the largest audience possible, we need to Facebook, Blog, Tweet, set up Web sites, and Email, because it is the way of the world. You may not like it, and you can fight to the end, but you will lose. It is our future.
I understand the internet can be a dark place, but it is not going away. If we want to be in touch with our children and grandchildren on a daily basis, and I do, it is our only choice.
As we embrace it, we need to use it for the Glory of God. Let us not lose the foundations of biblical truth and the heart of God among all this new stuff, but let us instead teach, love, minister, and encourage more people than ever before through these amazing tools that God has placed in front of us.
So I encourage you to learn how to use this stuff. Embrace it! If my Mom can do it, and I can do it, you can too. It’s all part of God’s perfect plans…
Paul entered my life in the last years of my childhood, and I have never been an adult without him. He, on the other hand, did not have the luxury of finishing his childhood. He was forced to become an adult long before it should have been over.
At 16 years old, Paul lost both his parents in an act that is beyond comprehension. I met him shortly after, and even in the midst of all this brokenness, Paul had a strength, a passion for life, and a heart that didn't seem to fit the circumstances. I think that is part of what drew me to him. We began our lives together almost from the moment we met.
There has never been a moment in our lives together that Paul has not worked hard. Not only has he always worked full time at jobs that provided for his family, but afterward, he came home and fixed everything on my honey-do list that needed his attention around the house. Then, he'd clean out the cars, wash them and change the oil when needed. Outside, he would fertilize the grass, mow it, manicure it and help me plants flowers. He did this, so that the kids and I could be outside when we was working and enjoy soft grass and a beautiful yard. For many years, I thought all men did this, because my father did all these things too, but I realize now, that many do not.
Paul also believes that a job worth doing is worth doing well. Our children would say that there were times in their lives that their father needed more grace for them in this area, and even I have been heard calling my my husband a painting Natzi, but in its purest form, in its best, these character traits of my husbands are full of integrity, wisdom, and love.
And now, after 35 years together, I find myself surprised by a new facet of this man that God created and gave to me. I say I am surprised, because I thought I had seen them all, and I had not.
This one though, is different from all the others. The light that is refracted by this one is warmer, more gentle somehow, and more quiet. I am watching him walk in humility with passion. I watch him work hard to give God glory as an employee in a place where that is often challenging. I see him managing another man's business like it was his own without any of the benefits. No one sees the hours he spends working at home but me.
God also gave my husband eyes to see what things could become at their best, and Paul could see this while things were often at there worst. So when he had a vision for a rundown ski lodge, he asked for money and trust, and turned it into an incredibly successful business after many hard years of sweat and tears. Our investors and partners had never made so much money in an investment before, and we too, reaped the benefits of Paul's vision. He set other things in motion during those years as well. Big things. Things that God put on his heart and gave him eyes to see what they could become. They were a dream in the making that had to be put on hold.
I then watched him grieve these dreams and worry about our future as everything fell apart and broke into pieces. But then, I watched God love him through it and heal his heart with the precious gift of our first grandchild. God poured out his spirit and His promises into my husband and got him back on his feet in faith. He restored him by a reminder of what He had already done and what he was doing still, and my husband stood tall and dug deep.
I know that Paul's journey is not over, nor mine alongside his since we are one. I imagine too, that there are still more facets to this man that God will reveal to me before our life on earth is over. I know too, that it is only by God's restorative love, and in His power that the shattered life of a broken boy, could be healed and made into a life that truly wants to glorify him. And for this gift I am forever thankful and forever in love with my sovereign, loving, compassionate, and faithful God. We could not do this without you.
It dawned on me today that Jude probably named me after Elmo. How I didn't notice the similarity until now I can't say. But today, as Jude watched Sesame Street while I got the playdough ready I heard Elmo's World come on and it suddenly made perfect sense. So...after this new revelation, I decided that all my postings about Jude should now aptly be called, Mamo's World.
And just in case you have trouble identifying the animals we made...one of them oinks...one quacks, and one has a long nose and makes a trumpet sound...
I have been a story teller most of my life. I'm still not sure if I was born with this inside me, or if it came from the hours I got lost in books, but I am sure of this. Once the stories started and the words began to flow, I couldn't stop them.
I came home from my first critique workshop in tears and realized then that I had two choices. Either suck it up, get tough, and apply what I was learning, or, stop writing. So I stopped writing. But the characters were already alive to me and the story continued in my head and in my dreams whether I wanted it to or not, so I pushed on.
That was when I decided that if I was going to do it, I wanted to do it right. So, for the next few years, I used all my vacation time going to writing conferences, workshops, and seminars. I immersed myself into the world of writers. I listened for hours as best-selling authors and editors talked about narration, point of view, conflict, drama, passive language, dialog and finding your own voice. I came home energized and excited. I found a local writers group and we met once a week. Five years into it, I had finished my novel.
Encouraged to send it out, and then discouraged by the numerous rejections, my creativity was squelched. When the words stopped flowing, I took another hiatus. But this time, I prayed about this passion I had.
I wasn't sure this was something I could give up, but I also knew that I couldn't continue it if it wasn't God's will for my life. If God wasn't in it, I knew it wouldn't be worth the pursuit, so I waited.
When the inspiration for a new book finally came, there were days that I couldn't get the words out fast enough. This new novel had the, "psychological thriller," aspect that I loved to write, but it was also full of the character of God. It was a story I could be proud of, and I believed that in the end, it would bring God glory. I began to research the Christian fiction market and found that it was bigger than I thought and I found a place I thought my novel would fit. When the book was almost finished, I took the first two chapters to a workshop in San Diego and came home really encouraged. I felt like I was almost there. I then went to my first Christian writers conference with some women from my church and again, felt like I was on the right track. I was almost ready.
The largest Christian writers conference in the nation was just a few months away in LA, so I decided to set my sights on that. I lined up a job to pay for it, then got on the website. There was a mentoring clinic for advanced fiction being held right before the conference itself, so I applied. I had to submit some chapters from my book, and I wasn't even sure I'd get in, but I knew I wanted to participate in it if I could, and then, I waited.
Over the next few days I sent out an e-mail to my closest friends and family and asked them to pray about it for me. I knew that I wanted to go, and felt like I was ready, but as excited as I was at the prospect, I also knew that it would be a waste of my time and my money if it wasn't God's timing. I asked everyone to let me know if they got a strong feeling about it one way or another.
Within ten minutes of sending out the e-mail, one of friends replied saying that she didn't think it was the right thing for me now, and that I shouldn't go. What?...this was not the response I expected...and it was so fast...had she really had enough time to know that?
I waited a few more weeks before I confronted God with what I knew in my heart he was saying to me. After no one else responded to my e-mail, I could no longer deny what I knew. God was asking me to give up writing fiction. So for the next 3 days I wrestled with Him about it. I climbed into the ring full of tears and questions. I wanted to fight it out, so he let me. He was gentle, but He won the match. He always does. But in the end, I had peace.
So now what, you may ask?
Until God opens another door...I blog...
One day God filled a little girls head with numbers. Soon, she realized she really liked them and thought about them all the time. As she got older, she realized that the other kids didn't seem to like them as much as she did, and she also knew how to do things with them that the other kids couldn't do.
When this little girl became a young woman, she decided to use her love of math and apply it to tax law. She would become a CPA. And because she wanted to honor God in her work, she studied hard to be the best CPA she could. She did extra credit work, listened hard, took lots of notes, and carried God's spirit with her into the classroom. As she did this, God increased her joy and her passion for her choice of study and the young lady was happy.
Then one day, God said, "Daughter, I have decided that I no longer desire for you to be a CPA. Instead, I want you to be a bookkeeper for this little firm over here. I know it is a much smaller job than what you have prepared for, and I know it's going to be isolated and quiet, but you can still do math and work with numbers.
"What are you saying?" the young woman asked, "You can't be serious. What about all the time and money I poured into being good at this job? What about all the years of study? What about the passion and the joy you gave me in it?"
"What about them?" God said to her, "I love you, but I need you to trust me, and I have have decided that I want you over here, now."
God gave me the heart of a mother. Raising my children is the most important thing I have ever done and been the source of my greatest joy. That being said, I always knew that I would love and enjoy my grandchildren, but Jude Paul stole my heart.
He is the one who named me MaMo. Before he was born, everyone asked me what I wanted him to call me. My answer, was that I would let him decide what my name was. It has only evolved once. It was Gamma for only a very short time, then one day, it became MaMo.
I can still see the look on my sweet sister's face..."MaMo?!"
"Yes", I stated proudly and told her to wipe the look off her face. "Jude named me that."
And now, when I look into the face of my almost 2-yr old grandson, I am filled with a burst of new life. Seeing the world through his little eyes, everything gets to begin again, and life takes on a fresh new meaning.
So until he decides to call me something else, MaMo I will be.
I had an experience with God this week that I will share with you later, but it made me realize that I can never remember not being in love with spring.
I grew up Catholic, and in our home, preparing for Easter was a big deal and signaled the beginning of it for me. In the weeks before, Mother would take my sisters and me to the fabric store where we would sit at high tables and look through pattern books for our Easter dresses. We would pick out fabric and Mom would buy us matching purses and hats. Around the dinner table, we talked about Jesus’ death on the cross, about lent, and what sacrifice each of us thought we could make.
As it drew closer, Mother would begin the dress fittings. She would slip the pinned fabric patterns over our heads carefully and make small adjustments. I can still picture her behind the sewing machine feeding the fabric right up to the foot of the needle where she would remove the pin at just the right moment and place it between her lips. I can still see her tight-lipped smile and her mouthful of pins as she noticed me watching.
The week before was marked by Palm Sunday. I can remember quiet moments as a little girl brushing the soft fronds of the palm against my face as I tried to picture Jesus riding the donkey into the town as people threw them at his feet. On Ash Wednesday of that week, we would get our ashes and Mother would put the finishing touches of lace and rickrack on her three daughters dresses. On Good Friday, we watched the Passion as the “Stations of the Cross,” were acted out before us in an extra long Mass.
Even as a very little girl, my spirit sensed the seriousness of all of this. Beyond the pretty dresses, Easter baskets, and egg hunts, something much deeper, much more powerful was alive and at work in and around me and I knew it. I can remember waiting for the daffodils and tulips to pop out from the dirt, and running outside in the weeks before Easter eager to report to anyone who would listen that they finally opened their faces. My heart would flutter at the sound of the first chirping birds, and the sight of the first Monarch butterfly.
One Easter, when I was about eight, I had a Sunday school assignment. I sat at the kitchen table for a long time struggling. I just couldn’t get my idea onto the fabric. After awhile, my Mother came and sat beside me. My assignment was to portray what Easter meant to me on the piece of white linen. I told Mom what I was thinking and feeling, but didn’t know how to convey it on the material.
I remember Mom’s smile, her suggestion, and knowing happily, that it was perfect. It was exactly what I’d wanted to say. And when it was finished, I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Mom helped me paint in the Monarch’s wings, and she helped me shape the tulips and daffodils just right. When dad got home from work, he attached a wooden stick under the top corner of the fabric and tied a string onto the rod so I could hang it on the wall. “Alleluia, Alleluia.” It said, “He has Risen.”
What I knew even then, is that it is not a coincidence that the Resurrection of our Savior, and spring’s new life, happen simultaneously. It is a deliberate sign from our Father in heaven about who his son is, and what He did for us. Christ’s resurrection immediately follows the Passover and the Feast of First Fruits. As Jesus took all our sins to the cross that day to save us, his gift to us was our new life. Our eternal life. And it is that gift of His Grace that we celebrate in the glory of every new spring bud and butterfly.
So earlier this week, I found myself in my garden in tears. I had thought that the two berry bushes I had planted last summer for Jude, (my precious grandson loves blackberries) had frozen and died. I prepared for the worst as I began my first day of spring garden clean up. My tears, however, came from the joy in finding new growth on both the bushes. As I stood there, so in love with Spring and praising God that Jude’s little bushes survived their first winter, I then thought how ridicules I must look and how stupid is was to be that happy about some garden plants.
It was then that God spoke to my heart. He reminded me that I have understood the significance of spring and been in love with the glory of His creation all of my life. “And that, my precious daughter,” He said, “Is why I gave you this garden.”
So I encourage all of you to look around and see what I see. The significance of Jesus gift of Grace is blooming all around us. See it and be Blessed. Happy Easter.
I woke up this morning very early...not quite 3am...flooded with memories of my life with Paul. Like watching old movies, the play-by-play of my husband and childrens lives unfolded before me. I'm not sure if the memories were triggered by a day spent with precious new mother's, who are experiencing their own lifetime of firsts, or by the celebration of another year of my marriage to Paul. Perhaps God just wanted to remind me of His love, and the journey He has taken my family on. Our lives started out with some dark stuff...Paul with his own before me, and then together we had more. There was Charles death right before our wedding...then finding David dead in his room in our apartment not too long after that. Then the Fear came...it overtook me and stayed too long. Those first years were hard. Then the joy began...real joy...seeing Paul cry as he held our first baby, a little girl, in his arms. I still remember the smell of her. I could do nothing but just hold and look at her for hours. I watched Paul change her diapers, sing her songs, and take her on tractor rides. I saw her at one, already precocious, sitting on the floor in red panties and blue knee socks eating a plate of Cheetos. I saw myself lying on the sofa, as Paul rubbed my huge brown belly wondering what the baby boy inside me would be like. I saw Paul cry again as he held our baby son in his arms for the first time. I watched ReAnnon hit a ball off a tee, and dance around in her Michael Jackson t-shirt to Paula Abdul and La Bamba over and over while her baby brother sprang and laughed from the jumpy in the doorway beside her. Memories of watching ReAnnon run across 2 acres when her Dad whistled from his tractor with a big glass of ice tea as my husband mowed our yard and the two that bordered our property every weekend for an extra $40. He would take us out for hamburgers and ice cream. I watched Michael as he sat on the soccer field picking grass and chasing bugs and then jump up and turn all serious when the ball came his way. I saw ReAnnon dressed like Madonna, and Michael as Teen Wolf. Our little family, so full with our drama queen and bug catcher as our lives took on new purpose. And then Michael, barely four, his eyes so full of excitement and wonder came running from the Van to show me something. He was carrying a bullfrog by its back legs that was almost as big as he was. I had not slept the night before...so worried about my baby boy. (Paul took him on an overnight frog-gigging expedition where they sat in a canoe from Midnight to 2am and waited for the frogs. Then they would shine a light in their eyes to paralyze them and stab them with a giant spear) No wonder I didn't sleep. And can you just say…”Redneck!” Then I saw my little girl at age six as she placed her suitcase, packed and ready, by the door. She was so eager and excited to leave home for the first time. She was going to fly on a plane from Oklahoma to California with a Great-Grandmother she barely knew, to visit her MIMI, my Mom. And I remember thinking...how can she leave me so easily?
After that...times got tough again. Paul lost his job and couldn't find work. He got depressed. I got pregnant. Family and friends stepped in to help as they could. Our priest gave me a key to the food closet at our church. I would go while Paul watched the kids. I told them I had gone to the store. I stood in lines with other pregnant mother's for WIC vouchers. It was humbling and hard. Then another gift from God came to us in the form of a baby girl. Her hair was the color of fire, and again, I saw my husband cry. But this time it came from a place even deeper than before. My broken man needed that baby girl at that moment in our lives, and God knew it. I remember begging the nurses to let me stay in the hospital just one more day so I could have her to myself, and they did. I cherished those last 24 hours with her because I knew too well what it would become when I took her home.
Then more joy as I watched her sister and brother fall in love with her, and Paul got a job working at an art gallery. Our lives moved on. I began cleaning a Montessori preschool so ReAnnon and Michael could attend. My niece, Tiffany, went there as well, and she became one of my own as she stayed with us after school while my sister Kay worked. She was clumsy, precious, beautiful, and so smart. Our love for her grew as she became part of our little family, and I knew that she would hold that place inside my heart forever.
Not too long after this, we got a visit from some relatives in California. And through them, God opened a door. Paul said goodbye just a few weeks later to begin a new job in California, He would return for us 4 months later after ReAnnon finished 2nd grade. I can still pull up the memory of Paul backing out of our long driveway that day with tears in his eyes. Eight month-old Chandler settled on my hip, as I held tight to one of Michael's hands while he wiped away his own tears with the other. Our little/big girl stood just in front of us and waved goodbye smiling, trying so hard to be brave.
That next four months was tough. Michael missed Paul so much.
Because of Chandler, I couldn’t do the things that Paul had always done with him. The boy things, so Michael was mad a lot. But the time went by fast, and before we knew it Paul was back, and this time, we would all go with him.
I have another clear picture of our little family in Paul's Mother's black Thunderbird, as the four of us entertained Chandler by singing ourselves across the country to our new home. “James Taylor, Roy Orbison, John Mellencamp, The Beatles.” And as I remember how we all sang the song, “Tweeter and the Monkey man," I say now with a smile, “Thank goodness Lord for your mercy.”
A new life...a new beginning. A cold triplex we couldn't afford to heat. Campouts on the living room floor in front of the fire. A bear in the parking lot. Waterfalls, mountains, sunsets, more stars than we could count, and so much snow. So many moments of awe and wonder. Memories of tearing down a wall so that two, two-bedroom apartments could become home for our little family. Memories of laughter among the hardships. Chandler's first words...her beautiful and crazy red hair. How ReAnnon and I would laugh about it. Kids hiding food under the table leg.
Michaels first real soccer game, and then we watched as he hit a baseball the way a baseball should be hit. He was a natural athlete. Everything came so easily to him. .
ReAnnon got her first part in a musical. She performed in her first dance recital. Paul and I watched as our beautiful daughter came alive on the stage. We had never seen anything like it before. Her gift shined from the inside out, and it was magic. Their sister, my little Chandler...my best buddy...my shadow...content to happily cheer them both on.
Then times got tough again. The snow stopped coming to the mountains. Our little family moved into one of the motels Paul managed. We were now, “On-site and on-call.” I hated it...grieved for my children. Cried myself to sleep, so afraid that we would never have a home again. Yet still, among it all, are memories of laughter and joy. A fluffy white puppy who we thought had run away the first day we got him.
My five-year old boy with a towel for a cape in tighty-white underwear diving off the check-in desk onto the lobby sofa. "Welcome to the Wildwood Inn", I would say to the guests, “I hope you like kids and puppies”. Memories of sleep-over’s and swim parties, Chan in her pink Barbie car that we couldn't afford, Michael and ReAnnon in the parking lot learning how roller blade. Michael were three sizes too big and still he skated better than his sister. Their first real bikes. Michael so smart, so good at everything but always negotiating and pushing the limits. Always pushing the limits. Chan's first day of preschool. Her first song. Her first dance recital. Her first musical. A shadow of her big sister, and our little family, celebrating each milestone right alongside her. We dug in deep. A friend’s son moved in with us. A high school baseball player. We made mistakes. There were first communions, a little altar boy, a wedding on a boat, an adorable ring-bearer. Years trying to fit into a church that didn't fit. Struggling through too little money, long hours and broken promises. Doing what we had to do, trying to stay focused on the blessings.
I wrote letters to my kids with a dream in my heart that I would one day turn them into a book for them. I wrote inspirational essays for the Mammoth Times. Shared little snippets of our lives.
Life...love...laughter...compromise...discontent...sadness...heartbreak...joy. and yet always ...always...believing God for more.
ReAnnon began to drive...went to her first dance. Then the Motels sold and we were without jobs again. Our children were settled. They had friends. What would we do now? Where would we go? So when God opened another door of opportunity, my husband wanted to take it. I remember walking into the Sierra Nevada for the first time hoping that my husband wasn’t crazy. Praying that he wasn’t. My husband the visionary. I will never doubt him again. The next years were fast and furious, as I watched Paul make his dream come true. Our investors were paid, and we were blessed with something I never though we would have in California. A home.
Stress came too, a kind I had never known before, and an intense responsibility. Our employees became like family to my husband, and years of hard work followed. Memories of too much togetherness. Issues with partners...issues with employees...always trying to fight the fights with integrity and truth. Watching Paul struggle to give everyone what they wanted. My husband became my Boss and I didn't always like it. I no longer had holidays with my family. More athletic successes for Michael...more dances...musicals....swim-meets…plays. My read-headed sweetheart.
Kids struggling with school, with friends. An angry husband. An angry Boss. A wife and mother who didn't want to do it anymore. And yet somehow, God always showed me where He was in the middle of it. He called out to me. And even when everything swirled into one big torrent that was our life, I felt His presence.
Then, through our oldest daughter, God brought us to a new church, and my husband took our family on a mission trip to Ecuador. I began to make new friends...got new perspectives. There were changes in hearts, in minds. I had a new relationship with Jesus. Renewed faith. I learned a new and different way to pray. ReAnnon graduated high school, worked for a while, and then made the decision to go through the Ywam program where she learned what it is to have a servant’s heart.
More long years working too many hours, fighting too many fights, but settled. We tried to do it with integrity and honor.
A championship football season for Michael his senior year. College in his future...Money we didn't have....I can not count the days I walked and prayed over that. A season of learning to be faithful and learning how to trust God.
Then our daughter got engaged and we planned a wedding. A big, beautiful one. Friends and family came from all over the country and we were so Blessed. Our son-in-law, a gift from God. Then we had one last horrible season of the worse snowfall in our Mammoth history. A mother and daughter from our community got lost in a snowstorm. People gathered and looked for them for 3 days before they were found, but the daughter died after getting out of the car to walk for help.
Our business was more chaotic and stressful than ever that winter, and then God ended it as only He could. As our baby was getting ready to graduate high school, the vision my husband had all those years before became a reality and our business sold at the top of the market. The season that followed, God's gift to us of rest and blessing, surpassed anything we could have hoped for or imagined. I was given the home of my dreams, and I have become a gardener. Last year, Paul and became grandparents, and a new love has blossomed inside me like no other love before, and it takes my breath away. I do not know what the rest of my life with Paul is going to look like. I don't know what the future for my children looks like either. I know each of them will have their own set of trials and lessons to learn in the process, but I also know that God's promises and His faithfulness are real and true. He is sovereign and sufficient.
So I am thankful for my journey, with its darkness and its light. Through it, God has shown me who He is, and taught me how to trust him with my life. I am humbled by it all. So thank you God, for your unconditional love, your mercy, and the gift of our salvation through your gift of grace! I give you all my praise!
