SINGING FOR JOY

  …Stand at the crossroads and look;      ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it,      and you will find rest for your souls...   Jeremiah 6:16 Our home church is picturesquely situated at the base of a desert foothill, which means we’re often blessed with wildlife sightings including javelinas, desert cottontails, and the occasional coyote. This particular Monday morning when I was just beginning my left turn into the parking lot for our weekly Moms in Prayer meeting, a bevy of quail began darting across my path. These birds can fly, but most often we see them scurrying on the ground, spindly little legs hustling them from place to place as fast as they can go. Usually, they follow one another in a neat little line, like so many obedient school children hurriedly following their teacher. I hastily hit my brakes so as not to hit the comical little parade, but what caught my eye was one lone bird,...

You might think I'm a mean mama, taking time to capture this photo of my little dog Barney BEFORE helping him get the yogurt carton unstuck from his head! But the thing is, I know Barney well, and I know he wasn't concerned at all. Rather, he was still happily licking away at the contents inside the container. Of course, he makes me chuckle when this happens, as it often does, and yes, I always help him out of his predicament. His head is always a sticky mess once he's in the light again--evidence of his single-minded persistence in his greedy quest to feed his belly.  But isn't that just like us sometimes? We are so intent on gaining every last drop of whatever it is that we think we need, whether it be food, a relationship, a job, health, hobbies, pursuing a dream, serving in ministry, or a vacation, that we're not even aware of anything beyond what has our immediate focus. We get stuck. Instead, God calls us to look that intently on HIM. We miss so very much of H...

The cut was small, but we all know that even small cuts can hurt! I was mostly frustrated at the interruption in my schedule and quickly wrapped a Band-Aid around my still stinging finger. I was no longer a whimpering and fearful child needing the reassurance of a parent that it would get better, but a grown woman who had miraculously been healed many times over the years from such minor mishaps. I knew from many, many similar incidents, as well as from basic biology learned in high school, that soon my finger would be healed with perhaps only a tiny, unnoticeable scar left behind. God often teaches me in these small mundane moments of life, and He spoke to my heart in that brief interval. First, I realized how much of His Healing power I took for granted; He had created my body to heal itself with absolutely no help from me. Then, it dawned on me that this little episode was a microcosm of the many ways He’d healed my injured and hurting heart over time. I had also learned to trust ...

He was slouched on the bench under the awning at the bus stop in our affluent community. The streets were relatively empty at that early hour as I headed to church in my nice warm vehicle, otherwise I might not have even noticed him, and perhaps he would have preferred that I didn’t. But something about his baggy frayed blue jeans only partially concealing well-worn brown shoes (with a hole in one toe), the faded plaid blue shirt with the buttons fastened not quite right over his paunch, and the indiscriminate floppy hat pulled down over his jowly face caught my attention while I waited at the red light. His eyes were closed to the world, and his utter exhaustion was evident in the glaring light of the sunny winter morning. I imagined that years of homelessness, hunger, heavy drinking, and loneliness had taken their toll, but I knew only God knew his true story. My heart was touched, and I prayed for him to know the loving hand of my Father.  I’m not usually very observant of my ...

  The stooped old woman shuffled up to the cash register to pay for the two items her gnarled arthritic hands could barely grasp. Her thin frame trembled a bit as she took each tentative step towards her goal. The only nod to the once-strong woman she’d been was the steely iron in her thin gray hair, and the resolve with which she moved forward to the task at hand. At last, she placed her purchases on the moving but utterly lifeless conveyor belt and leaned gratefully against the edge of the counter trying to regain her balance. When it was her turn to pay, she became confused and began fumbling through her worn leather wallet for some meager coins. The fragile elderly woman seemed oblivious to the barely concealed impatience of the matronly store clerk. Suddenly a second customer lurched forward with unceremonious clamor. One of the two large bottles of alcoholic spirits she precariously carried fell with a loud “thunk” onto the still-moving and still-uncaring conveyor belt and ...

When I was small, it always made me so happy when people commented that I looked so much like my daddy. I was told that he was physically very handsome, with Irish good looks and charm as well. But honestly, I didn't care about that, nor about my own appearance. I just wanted to be like him because I loved him so much. When I was with him, I felt proud to be in his shadow, safe, and cherished.  As I grew older I realized that my daddy was far from being a saint, and sadly I likewise followed in some of his very destructive footsteps. Imagine my delight when I learned that there was a heavenly Father in whose image I was created, who would never leave me nor forsake me, and who had good plans for my future.  This Father sent His Son to die on a cross to pay the price for my many sins, and all I had to do was to believe in Him and confess with my mouth that He was my Savior! And now, this Daddy leads me in the way everlasting, and is gently, inexorably forming me to be just like...

  …my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God. Psalm 84:2b My husband loves to joke that the reason God gave me a flute is because one cannot play the flute and sing at the same time! I'm one of those whose voice is only beautiful to the LORD, and I can hardly wait for Heaven because I'm assuming my songs of praise will be much more glorious there! Nevertheless, my songs of praise still bubble up and flow over here on earth as well--thus my reason for creating this blog. My prayer is that as I journal those things God puts on my heart, that yours will also spill over with joy and praise to the Living God!