Faithfulness Reminders

After a storm last week. God likes to remind us of His promises.

"My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast." Psalm 57:7

Out of David's declaration, I formed a prayer: Lord, let my heart be steadfast today. 

Speaking of prayers, here's one from The Cloud of Witness that I read some weeks ago:

Praying a prayer like this one involves more than we often realize we're "signing up for." It means serious sanctification, inviting Christ to allow us to share in His sufferings, usually contrary to what feels good. In the midst of such growth, His love shows itself all around...

What's better than one chickadee? Three! I wish I could take them
in my palm and kiss their sweet, soft faces. God does it for me, though.

Here's something I don't see every day: a tufted titmouse
and a sparrow coexisting at the feeder. Usually the former is
harassing the latter, but it made me happy to see them
peacefully together. 

My Dad's birthday was last week, and he told me he'd like to come up to see us the day after. I love being around "Pop John," as the kids call him. He creates an atmosphere of gentleness and calm, and isn't rattled by life's pesky annoyances as I tend to be. 

Johnny's first birthday cake experience, which looks like it took
place during nap time. Incidentally, my children and I all
ate our own birthday cake in this same highchair, a family treasure
I'm now saving for my own grandchildren.

What a wonderful day we spent! First, Dad and I picked up tennis balls during my girls' lesson. Then we were off to Kosta's diner, Pop John's favorite place to eat when he visits. It's nothing fancy, but they know us there, and who can resist the throwback atmosphere? 

From there, we headed to a nearby used bookstore that's rapidly becoming a ritual when Dad's in town, and for me even when he's not. After that, we went to the park where the girls rode bikes and Dad and I walked the track. When it became too hot, we strode over to the adjacent library. Once we were back home, we settled into a long Parcheesi game with the kids, listening to the "oldies" that Pop John grew up with and taught me to love, too. I can't imagine a better way to spend the day with him than doing all of our favorite things.

While we were in the car, I spotted something funny, and of course, the phone was out so I could snap a photo "for the blog":

"Big Ed" wanted us to know he was at the wheel in front of us.
I got my goofy sense of humor from Pop John, so naturally,
he got a kick out of this, too!

Here are more shots from the yard, ones I took just this morning, that bring joy and remind me of God's control and ever-watchful eye:

As I was at the table by the window this morning, I was distracted from my Bible-reading by hummingbirds like this one. They kept stopping by, looking for the red nectar that's usually in their feeder. Today, it was empty; I kept telling myself that I'd fill it as soon as I was through reading. The poor creatures were so pitiful, and their constant presence seemed to beg me to please feed them! The male has a beautiful, bright red neck. This female is not as adorned, but still sweet.

The miniature rose pictured next has belonged to me for eight years. It was a gift from a friend who was in the harrowing trial of a baby with cancer. She gave several friends this little bush as we joined her in prayer and tears. That baby is now a boy of almost nine, healthy and fine, just like the rose! 

This little rose was planted eight years ago in my yard, and I have faithfully watered and cared for it, remembering God's goodness and love. When we moved two years ago, I carefully dug it up before the home inspection. I wasn't about to let the new folks think that my rose came with the house! It has taken a while to grow accustomed to its new home, but as you can see, he's doing well.

Speaking of roses, here's a bush my younger daughter chose earlier this year. It's been fun to watch it grow and thrive!

My older daughter chose a small dahlia. Prior to this, I had no dahlia experience. We planted it by the roses, where it has gotten lots of bright morning sun. You can see that sun and water are about all it has taken! We enjoy the blooms, but as they dry out, I've simply plucked them and waited for new ones to emerge. The leaves are hearty, and we've snapped a few of them in order to see the flowers better.

Finally, the butterfly bush grows tall outside the same kitchen bay window where we view our birds at the feeders. We had one at the old house that grew out of control in an odd location, and I finally had to dig it up. The one at this house was placed just right. Our birds, and of course, butterflies, love to partake of its shade and nectar. I have to trim it back about once a month, but always make sure I leave limbs where the long, brilliant purple blooms are growing. This morning, the hummingbirds found solace here while waiting for me to refill their feeder. You can see who else enjoyed this place that God designed just for him:

Maybe I love God's creatures because they remind me of His faithfulness and provision. No one except God tells birds and butterflies where to go for food, or how to fly. They don't worry, but just exist in what He has designed. Our lives are more complex with decisions, analysis, and choices...yet He still desires for us to live as the simplest of creatures, relying on Him as He causes the sun to rise and set, as everything is under His feet. If He cares about the sparrow, how much more does He love and care for the ones for whom He died? 

On a Treadmill

This isn't about our cultural, fast-paced "treadmill;" today I was on an actual treadmill. I found myself alone in the little workout room, watching my girls play tennis through the window. It was peaceful being there by myself, without the tv in there blaring; all I could hear was my feet hitting the machine, and its electrical cranking noise. 

I decided that since I was alone, praying out loud was a good idea. A nice chat I was having with the Lord, when suddenly it came over me that yes, the Lord is here, in this workout room. I glanced at the treadmill beside mine, and was overcome with His presence, as if He were on it, exercising. I burst out laughing, thinking how Jesus would outrun me; He could turn the level to its highest and be light as a feather, not breaking a sweat, never getting tired. Not only did it overwhelm me, but it made me laugh. I imagined that treadmill zooming as fast as it would go, with Jesus on it, smiling and waving, because to His perfect body, it would be a cinch.

The things I was sharing with Him had been racing through my mind: a 24-year-old who is very sick and might not make it, strongholds to be broken, ungodly attitudes to confess, thanks for this special time, plus others that particularly burden me. I said, "Lord, what would you have me know right now?" and was hit again with the image of Him right beside me, running on air, while my 40-year-old body felt every movement my legs made. I burst out laughing, right out loud, and was comforted as with balm at the feeling that He, too, was laughing with me. 

What a moment it was! My Savior, my Friend, right there with me, the two of us laughing together. I realized that it was a picture of truth: Jesus never tiring, doing what no human can do, and it brought immense peace. Getting tickled like that, by something the Lord was showing me, was also something I don't think I've ever experienced. I can't describe how good it felt to be laughing with Him, as if He had shown me something special and funny, a joke between the two of us. Still, He was glorified.

Nothing feels better than a belly-shaking, crying laugh. It's a gift from God, and as one of my heroes of the faith, Barbara Johnson, says, humor is everywhere. Laughing at what's funny doesn't mean we try to cover a problem or wear a mask. To me, it's seeing things, noticing silly little signs or cartoons, and photographing them to share. It's looking at an old joke book and delighting in corny jokes that no one gets anymore. Innuendo or off-color "humor" isn't funny to me; it's against God's design to make dirty what He made beautiful. There's pure joy and beauty in simple, innocent humor.

Speaking of Humor...
I had to snap a shot of these yesterday:

They are plain hilarious, and believe me, they smell just like what they are (except Snow; what is that supposed to smell like?). Maybe I'm behind the times, but I didn't realize the hip thing was to pay hard-earned cash to smell like a mixed drink, or...dirt! I can't believe single guys would line up to spray this on themselves. It gave me a huge laugh, especially the way the little cosmetics room smelled after I "tried out" each one in the air! Pee-you!

Here's a furry friend who brings us joy:

Nibbles likes to burrow between my side and my arm when the girls and I sit on the sofa and read. Guinea pigs are wonderful pets, and smarter than I ever imagined a rodent would be. She knows our schedule, and begs on cue when I either open the fridge or chop any food. She responds to her name, and purrs when we pet her. Gifts from God come in all forms, and it's interesting to note that everything that breathes requires love and care. Nibbles is a keeper.

Beautiful Bits...

This gal pops by the feeder for a morsel every now and then:

Have you ever attempted to photograph a female cardinal? I've tried for months, and this is the best I've gotten. Any slight movement from me, even behind the glass, causes these gals to dart away. Female cardinals look nothing like their red counterparts, and are extremely skittish. She makes a mess at the feeder, jerking her head wildly, and taking off quickly. Birds are fascinating and lovely gifts from God.

A distant relative in Summerhill, PA, shares my interest in genealogy. She discovered that our great-great-great grandfathers, Daniel (hers) and Peter (mine) Burtnett, were brothers. I had a chance to visit Peter's grave when I visited Summerhill back in April:

Imagine a man dying on his own birthday! Imagine making contact with a lady who is the descendant of his brother! Genealogy is a gift. It brings blood together, binds severed ties, and provides thrilling stories to boot! Anyway, my relative, who works at the library in Summerhill, has been faithful in researching family records and sending me fascinating information and photos. 

Peter's son, W.K. Burtnett, was town supervisor in Summerhill for a number of years, and records abound. How wonderful to see facts in real life, written on pages over a hundred years ago, in breathtaking cursive. I loved seeing my great-great grandfather's signature:

To learn more about W.K. and other Burtnetts, please check out my other blog, Burtnett Family Stories, etc. The link is on the home page of this blog.

Finally, God places beautiful things everywhere just as a taste of heaven. In so many areas, we see Him at work, creating, growing, making things new. Maybe two months ago, I planted some small begonias. With rain falling every day lately, they seem to have doubled in size overnight:

For all our troubles and heartbreak, there is still joy and laughter to be found. In Job 8:21, we read, "He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy." If Job was promised this with all the tragedy he underwent, then surely it applies to all those who love the Lord. I love giving myself permission to go out and find things that are lovely or humorous, and to delight in them. It's fun and healing to thank God for them, and do something to remember them in some way: draw, photograph, or just close your eyes and record the memory in your mind. In doing this, not only do we glorify God and honor what He made wonderful, but we are able to share it with others, further glorifying Him and bringing encouragement and delight to those who need it. 

Until next time!

Joyful Things

I came across this verse this morning, and the reminder feels so good. In all the muck and mire that is sanctification, in all the wound-healing, joy is for those who follow Christ. Joy in Him doesn't come cheap; it's not the world's fleeting happiness, which never satisfies. It may take a while to see it, but even trials ultimately bear the fruit of joy, making it about Christ's work, not anything we have achieved. I'm seeing that after many long, hard struggles, I am slowly able to give myself permission to let Him lift me out of bondage and rest in the joy that He brings.

Papi had a quiet, simple joy. He lived a Christlike life daily before me, not doing anything fancy or drawing attention to himself, but finding deep satisfaction in the quietness of his life:

Papi (Antonio "Blanco" Jimenez) not long after he left the bondage of Cuba and settled in Spartanburg, SC.
He loved his plants and flowers, and was grateful for rainwater, which was best for watering them.

Papi in pre-Castro Cuba, lovingly caring for his chickens. 

When the past isn't always pleasant, God can take the sweet memories and use them to bring us comfort, and see Him in those places. I was unaware as a child of how God was showing me Christ through Papi, the realness of a meek, humble, yet deep and fulfilling life. I can take my memories of him now and treasure them, thanking God for Papi's example, and asking Him to help me live this out, too: "For he will not dwell unduly on the days of his life, because God keeps him busy with the joy of his heart." (Ecclesiastes 5:20).

We have a beautiful hydrangea that hasn't bloomed since we moved to our house two years ago. I never had to do a thing to the one at our former residence; it could be counted on to produce beautiful blooms each year. This time, I decided I had nothing to lose, so I trimmed it back some. Sure enough:

What joy! God makes beautiful things even on this side of Heaven. I can't fathom what eternity will be like! I love these blooms, and I know Papi would have, too.

Are you familiar with Shopkins? They are the rage with my young girls, little figures shaped like groceries, clothing, furniture, with cute faces. They love to collect these, and lately when they have a little money, it's off to the store we go to get more:

I snapped this photo the other day when they combined all their Shopkins in a pile, and went one by one taking turns choosing them. What fun for little girls! I would've loved these as a child, and told my girls I can imagine being with my best elementary school-age pal, Jennie Todd, collecting and trading little figures like this. I delight in their joy over these, and love the memories they will have.

Here is another picture I took, just yesterday, on the way back to the mountains from Spartanburg:

Street names are fun, and this one has always intrigued me. Where do you suppose the name Old Furnace came from? I've tried to discover its history, but am unable to uncover anything. If any Spartanburg researchers want to take a stab at it, be my guest.

Finally, one of my biggest delights is in books, as you know. The Lord has used reading to provide me with deep joy and healing. I love to read my own books, but there's nothing like curling up with my girls on either side of me, having them beg me, "Keep reading!!!" Here are two we have enjoyed recently:

The first, Trina, we are still reading. What a sweet find for 30 cents at a local used bookstore! It follows the story of a Mexican family living in a boxcar in a tiny Wyoming town, along with other families whose heads work on the railroad. Trina struggles to learn English, and is desperate for the friendship of the town's English-speaking children. She learns to overcome her fear of messing up, and plunges into the scary yet rewarding task of learning to communicate in a foreign language. 

We just finished Mrs. Piggle Wiggle after many laughs. As I like to get into character by imitating the voices of the people, I was quite challenged by the hilarious ones in this story. Mrs. Piggle Wiggle is an eccentric older lady whose talent it is to cure the town children of various bad habits: having messy rooms, not going to bed on time, not taking a bath, fighting with siblings, being picky eaters, etc. The girls and I were sorry to have this book end, but we're glad there are several sequels.

Joy is all around. I'm learning that heart-healing and coming out of bondage mean giving myself permission to see it and live in it. "For freedom Christ has made us free; stand fast therefore in the liberty by which Christ has made us free, and do not be entangled again with a yoke of bondage" (Galatians 5:1). Keep praying, keep fighting the good fight of the faith, keep asking God to heal, keep walking into painful places in order to let them go for good. He is faithful, and we can trust Him to bring order and joy.

Until next time...

Clarification

I'm overwhelmed by the number of people who read my post yesterday on heart wounds. Some comments have been made that leave me feeling that I need to follow up on it and clarify a few things.

If a beautiful, thin girl throws up because she sees herself as fat, people might try to tell her how lovely she is. However, this girl's problem goes beyond what we can see...telling her she's not overweight is nice, but it won't change the way she sees herself or the lies she's believed. This girl's problem is on the inside, in the heart, which is the cause of all kinds of brokenness we suffer.  Just telling her that her weight is good and to get on with life won't do the trick to stop the lies going on inside her heart and mind.

What I wrote about yesterday has to do with a wounded heart. Again, I have to be careful about what I publish on this blog, but we are talking about strongholds that are the result of a lifetime of wounds and lie-believing. As much as I appreciate the well-meaning remarks, this is beyond "Be happy and move on;" deep heart wounds require a painful walk with the Holy Spirit as healer. 

Friends, I know I'm "a good mom." I know my children are well-adjusted and that they feel loved. This is leaps and bounds beyond that. This is about lies I've believed, and the stronghold of condemnation in my motherhood. Head "gets it," but heart needs to truly believe it. A little girl who has felt vile and useless all her life doesn't grow up to be a confident adult; I'm working with Christ to show that little girl that she is not vile and useless. She has believed that she's toxic, and that she ruins everything. Someone she loved once told her that she was "good for nothing." Telling the adult version of this child that she's a good mom is nice, but she's been damaged, folks. She needs her stronghold to be torn down, and it takes more time and patience than our culture is used to investing these days.

To further clarify, no one "said mean things" to me yesterday. The tormentor is the enemy, not people. The devil is expert in taking the most innocent comment or event and turning it into something wicked or hurtful in the little girl's mind...remember, her heart is wounded. It's easy for some to think she should move on or not be so hard on herself, but it's not so simple for the broken hearted.

The risk I take in putting my junk out there is that people will misconstrue it, and I'm afraid that has happened. Folks read what I wrote and jump to "defend" me, thinking I need a self-esteem boost. No, what was required years ago was self-respect, not esteem. I'm allowing the little girl to get the self-respect she's never had. Self-esteem is shallow; self-respect comes from a whole heart submitted to God, and esteeming Him instead. 

Life experience shows me that those who are quick to poo-poo someone's wounds and give them the bootstrap speech have never dealt with their own. One thing I know is that everyone is hurting; most have taken their wounds and thrown them under a rug, thinking they've buried the past and can move on. Some have no idea they are even wounded because it's too painful or embarrassing to admit, so they spend their years in denial; perhaps if we don't think about our hurts, they'll just fix themselves. Folks, the heart is not self-healing. No amount of pep talks or "You go, girl!"s are going to help us. They are bandaids on gaping wounds that require major heart surgery, and there's only one Surgeon. 

How does a little girl know she's loved? By turning to the One Who loves her most, the One Who gave up everything to give it to her. He, too, was told He was crazy and vile; He was tormented by the enemy, and mocked by those who were supposed to love Him. When a girl sees Him for Who He is, and herself for Who she is because of Him, then and only then does healing take place. It's bigger than pithy "atta girl"s. 

My point is this: the subjects in this blog can be messy at times. I feel led to share them, but my intention is to be transparent with others who may deal with similar issues, and to share my own journey of painful sanctification. The ultimate goal is to glorify God. I am not looking for nor do I desire to be built up superficially. To be frank, please refrain from commenting on my harrowing walk unless you too know what it is to endure hardship and ask the Holy Spirit for the courage it takes to tear down your strongholds. I want to hear from those who have trusted Christ for the deep wounds in their hearts plus endured torment because of them. Watery, feel-good-about-yourself comments might be well-intended, but they're not desired. 

"For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ." (2 Corinthians 10:3-5) 

Heart Wounds

The intent of this blog is to be real, to share my life with anyone who will listen in hopes that we can do life together. Sometimes my posts are funny and cute, but right now I'm feeling raw. Something happened today to make me reexamine the broken pieces of my heart. 

I am not ashamed to tell people that my life has been (and is) messy and that I desperately need Christ to enlighten my darkness. I've lived so long wearing masks and pretending, mainly because I had no idea who God made me to be. For almost a year and a half, I have sought deep, scary healing with the help of my counselor-friend, pressing into Jesus, and asking Him to show me who I really am in light of Who He is. 

My counselor-friend gets it because he himself has been "to hell and back sideways," as he says. Reading "get wisdom" in Proverbs 4:7 is one thing; actually pursuing this, whatever the cost, is altogether scary. The blow that caused a wound hurt in the first place; ripping off the scab to allow it to breathe and heal properly can seem like torture all over again. I'm convinced that's why most folks keep masks on; the experience of taking them off can be unspeakably grueling.

Today I realized that in spite of how far I've come in my healing and rebuilding process, there's still a large chunk of my heart that's broken: the part that has to do with my motherhood. An incident occurred that made me feel irresponsible and negligent. As I wept under the strain of a head that knows it's a lie but heart that still isn't fully convinced, I made the same request before God that I've been making for over a year: "Lord, show me the lies I'm believing, and the parts of my heart that still need healing." It was obvious: my heart believes that I am a mother who puts my children in harm's way. It's a harrowing burden to carry.

I am not at liberty on this blog to discuss the parts of my past that have led to my believing this lie, but I will share that they have indeed been brought into the light. The enemy can't stand it, so he works ever harder to keep me in bondage. When I say the lie out loud, "I'm an irresponsible, negligent mother who intentionally puts her children in harm's way," it sounds ridiculous...because it's a lie. The thing is, my head can use reasoning, but my heart is a different story. When we're commanded to "get wisdom," it's no easy task; it involves revisiting the past, turning darkness into light, a marathon and not a sprint. Again, our culture (not even the "Christian" culture) doesn't encourage this kind of slow, painful, organic, only-the-Holy-Spirit-can-do-it growth from the inside out. 

Someone I love pointed out today that I should've done something differently, and that I needed to "be more careful." It had to do with my children, and it tore me up. What I heard was that I'm not careful. Is it true...am I not careful, irresponsible, and negligent? My head says no, but my heart still believes it. In fact, not a night has passed since my kids were born that I haven't had the enemy standing before me accusing, fear-mongering, and lying:

"Hold that baby extra tightly...this is how she will look falling down the stairs."

"Look how she's sweating in her pajamas...you could've caused her to overheat."

"What kind of mother allows her kid to see the scene in that movie that you didn't manage to fast-foward?"

"You turned when that car was coming...imagine it crashing into your kids, ending their lives, because of your stupidity."

"Remember that tone you used with your girl this morning? You crushed your kids."

"You didn't cover yourself up fast enough when your kid barged into the bathroom...you pervert!"

"What kind of mother lets her kid keep playing tennis with a metal racket...didn't you hear that thunder?"

"Why didn't you wait till you could see a little farther ahead, instead of gunning it around that tractor that was going 20mph? What were you thinking?"

"You let them play foosball at the pool with a kid who throws around the word 'freaking'? You need to mind better who you let them be around."

"How dare you see your kid running naked down the hall...again, you pervert!"

"Feel paranoid...all these people are kidnappers who want to sell your children to the trafficking industry."

"The reason your kid scored below average on that testing section is because you're not teaching her well enough....you let her down."

These are only a few examples of what the devil tries with me every day, every night. Why does he do it? Because the enemy hates anything God designs, anything that is good. The relationship between parents and children is just one of those things. (It's not all he attacks, either; it's just the piece of my heart that has taken longest to heal). He does it because my heart believes it. He does it because he knows that I mess up, and it's almost impossible for me to forgive myself. The devil loves to take my mess-ups and brokenness and make me think that they are what I am: horrible, toxic, "negligent," "irresponsible," a ruiner of the lives of my children. The reality is that we all make mistakes; the Holy Spirit lovingly convicts and leads us to repentance, while the enemy accuses and brings guilt. I just need for my heart to truly know it.

I told the Lord today that I almost needed the "episode" that occurred so I could see how deeply wounded this piece of my heart is, and how desperate I am for Him to help me. Don't believe for one second that being a Christian means an instant heart change; no, no, NO! Friends, this is a hard, messy, what-the-heck-did-I-sign-up-for kind of walk. That's how we know it's real, and that only Christ's work on the cross can make its crookedness straight. 

Pray for me as I take seriously what Paul told Timothy, to "fight the good fight of the faith" (1 Timothy 6:12). Did you notice the word fight? That's what it is, a battle: hard, gruesome, harrowing, terrible. Except....God's way involves a "good" fight. Sounds like an oxymoron, doesn't it? I've found that God's ways are so contrary to my own, that's how I know I'm standing with Him. He is counterculture; His way is often that of tough love. 

Allow grace for those around you who seem to do "mental gymnastics." The mind isn't actually to blame; the heart is the "wellspring of life" (Proverbs 4:32). Mine has taken a beating over the years and lies have become rooted. It's no easy task to uproot all the tangles and get back to truth, but it's a "good fight." I have to choose to call it that because God's Word does, and faith chooses to believe that one day, this heart will be completely healed. Until then, I wait expectantly, pressing into Christ, being transparent for His sake, calling out the Father of Lies, and believing that the Holy Spirit is renewing me every day (2 Corinthians 4:16).