Tag: Reader

“Follow Me”

Purpose

Matthew 4:18-22 “As he was walking along the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter), and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the sea – for they were fishermen. ‘Follow me,’ he told them, ‘and I will make you fish for people. Immediately they left their nets and followed him. Going on from there, he saw two other brothers, James the son of Zebedee, and his brother John. They were in a boat with Zebedee their father, preparing their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him.”

Priorities

Matthew 10:34-39 “Don’t assume that I came to bring peace on the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I came to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and a man’s enemies will be the members of his household. The one who loves a father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; the one who loves a son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. And whoever doesn’t take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Anyone who finds his life will lose it, and anyone who loses his life because of me will find it.”

Preparation

Mark 8:34-38 “If anyone wants to follow after me, let him deny himself take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life because of me and the gospel will save it. For what does it benefit someone to gain the whole world and yet lose his life? What can anyone give in exchange for his life? For whoever is ashamed of me and my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, the Son of Man will also be ashamed of him when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”

Preoccupation

Luke 9:57-62 “As they were traveling on the road someone said to him, ‘I will follow you wherever you go.’ Jesus told him, ‘Foxes have dens, and birds of the sky have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.’ Then he said to another, ‘Follow me.’ ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘first let me go bury my father.’ But he told him, ‘Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and spread the news of the kingdom of God.’ Another said, ‘I will follow you, Lord, but first let me go and say goodbye to those at my house.’ But Jesus said to him, ‘No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.'”

Protection

John 10:27-30 “My sheep hear my voice, I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all. No one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand. I and the Father are one.”

Persecution

John 12:23-27 “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains by itself. But if it dies, it produces much fruit. The one who loves his life will lose it, and the one who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves me, he must follow me. Where I am, there my servant also will be. If anyone serves me, the Father will honor him. Now my soul is troubled. What should I say – Father, save me from this hour? But that is why I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name.”

Book Teaser: Chosen – The Sprite

With my first full-length novel tentatively releasing this summer, I will be sharing a teaser from the unpolished manuscript every couple of weeks until release. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.

Laughter like the tinkling of a wind chime drew my attention to a small copse. I approached slowly, my heart fluttering, peering closely into the shifting branches. A delicately pointed ear nearly escaped my notice until a merry eye the color of deep indigo followed it around the trunk of a tree. It disappeared the instant I saw it, but the chiming laughter rippled through the leaves. I followed it, forgetting the strange path entirely as the mysterious creature led me deeper into the forest.

   The laughter suddenly ceased, and a heart shaped face dropped from the branches overhead, inches away from my nose and upside down. Green hair hung like Spanish moss from a pale impish face, and slim fingers sprouting tiny pink flowers prodded my eyes and ears and pulled my hair. I tried to back away but my heel struck a root that had inconveniently pushed its way above ground behind me, and I crashed into the underbrush with my arms and legs flailing awkwardly. The creature laughed again, tumbling out of the tree and somersaulting through the air as it clutched its belly that shook with mirth.

   I stared at the creature from the flat of my back, too astonished to even be irritated at its mischief. “What are you?” I asked, my heart skipping with excitement.

Fantasy Woman Golden Mythical Creatures Forest

Doorman

The floor undulated beneath me, its checkered waves lifting me although I could not feel a surface under my feet. I wasn’t sure I even had feet; I couldn’t seem to find myself. The door hung from nothing, stood on nothing, with light streaming through it from some unidentifiable source. A Fedora sat on top of it, incongruous and yet belonging.

“From where have you come?” The light flickered with every word that hung heavy in the blackness like a star.

“What are you?” I would have gasped, but could not find my lungs.

“I am the Doorman. From where have you come?” The stars increased and yet lit nothing.

“Um, Earth?” I would have swallowed, but could not feel my tongue. “Small town USA?”

“What is your purpose here?” The stars began to coalesce into nebula, filming the blackness with cloudy light that could not obscure the Doorman.

“I don’t know.” I would have shaken my head but the muscles had vanished. “You tell me, I don’t even know what here is.”

“Where are you going?” The light behind the Doorman intensified, searing into my unprotected soul.

I would have covered my eyes with my hands if I had possessed either. “I wish I could tell you. Where do you lead?”

“You have asked correctly.” The checkered waves froze, the fedora vanished, and the door opened.

Book Review: A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle

In my quest to read aloud all of my childhood favorites to my own children, this was the latest challenge. It is a challenging read in many ways, although as a child I simply enjoyed it for the adventure. I had no idea at the time how much my heart was being shaped.

Three unlikely heroes – the children Meg, Charles Wallace, and Calvin – are summoned to cross time and space in order to save their long-missing father. The villain is evil itself, centralized in a disembodied brain on a far-distant planet, but with shadows that threaten to engulf Earth itself. The children are the only ones capable of rescuing their father, according to the beings of light that summon them, but before they can succeed they must face the potential darkness within themselves and learn to banish it.

Though the language is simple, the lessons for the reader are deep. Love is more rare but stronger than hate. Emotions are only as bad or good as how we use them. Cold logic can be dangerous if misapplied. Confidence and arrogance are not the same thing. Character traits are neither good or bad; their nature depends upon their application. Evil disguises itself as order, safety, equality, and comfort, but truth is always discernable for those willing to look beneath the surface.

My favorite thing about this book is the contextual use of scripture and literary quotes. When Meg doubts her ability to do what is required, the reassurance given is that “God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise, and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things of the mighty.” When Calvin is told where to find the missing father, the hint is given in the form of a quote from Shakespeare’s The Tempest. In this very natural way the meanings of some of the deepest principles become plain to children.

Black and White Summer

This flash fiction was inspired by a photo prompt that I unfortunately don’t have the right to share. You the reader get to imagine the scene for yourself this week! Enjoy! *********************************************

Gramps kept the old black and white postcard in his wallet, folded up neatly to fit in a card slot. Sometimes he would take it out and gently unfold it, smooth it with a caress of his fingertips the way he touched Gram’s hair. I asked him once what was so important about a gray picture of a boat and trees. He gave me a long look and then handed me the creased and worn card.

“My brother was eighteen that summer,” he said. “I was ten. Wasn’t much we did together anymore, but we did like fishing.” Gramps put his hand on my head and ruffled my hair, staring into the distance with a half smile. “That summer he told me to pack my camping gear, we were headed upriver for a week. We threw sleeping bags, fishing poles, and a frying pan in an old boat he’d scrounged up and caulked and set off for a boy’s heaven.”

“Did you catch lots of fish?” I wondered.

“Enough to fry every day,” he chuckled, “but mostly we swam, chased each other up and down the bank, and slept in the sun. It’s a wonder the snakes didn’t carry us off; mosquitoes sure tried. Once, the boat sprung a leak. Not a bad one, but we were taking on water. Jack showed me how to stuff moss in the crack and caulk it with mud.”

“Did it work?”

“Well… not too well,” Gramps admitted. “But we were having too much fun to care. I’d never spent so much time with Jack, just the two of us.”

He sighed. “He enlisted the next day, headed to the Pacific. We were dirt poor and there were no photos, but I found this in a drugstore a week after Pearl Harbor. It may look like a boat to you, but to me that’ll always be Jack.”

The Family That Works Together

It’s a lost art, families working together. Here and there you will find a small family owned business that includes the kids, but thanks to child labor laws that is rare. Our family doesn’t work together because of business. It’s our life.

Our lifestyle is somewhat non-traditional. My husband doesn’t work a traditional job; he is supported by a relatively small congregation to preach the Word. That means he gets to be around all the time, part of the daily dynamic of our household! We homeschool our kids, which means that they are also always around creating the daily dynamic of our household! I don’t work outside the home; I clarify that way because I can assure you that I do indeed work! I choose to stay home with my children because I know God gave them to me for a reason, and my family is my number one priority. We don’t live in a large, up-to-date, fashion-plate mansion (although I certainly wouldn’t argue with the space!). Being a one-income household means that we have what we need, and we have learned over the years what need really means. We never go without and often have extra for some things we want, but by now our wants are actually pretty small.

We do not have central heating/AC in our small, rather ramshackle house, which means that inthe winter we crank up the wood heater. We are blessed to have access to family-owned property where we can cut our own firewood, which saves us hundreds if not thousands of dollars in heating bills every year. Cutting firewood, however, is a big job, which is where the whole family comes into the picture.

That’s dad out in front, setting the example of how to work hard and efficiently. Everyone has a job to do. Dad carefully chooses and fells the trees, cuts them into manageable logs, and makes sure we fit as many of those logs in the wagon as it will hold. The kids fetch and carry, then push and pull. Mom supervises the fetchers so that no one breaks his or her back trying to pick up something too large or tries to get away with carrying less than they are able. (Believe me, both have been attempted. Often.)

These winter afternoons of working together have created some of our favorite memories of family time. Movie nights, game nights, family dinners, and other “normal” modern interactions are all more enjoyable becauseofthebonds and lessons that are built from thise memories. Our kids get along better because those family jobs teach them the skills involved in cooperation. They learn to be observant of other people’s movement in the space around them so they don’t fall over each other or cause injury. They learn to assess a task and figure out the best way to complete it. They learn to communicate with each other in order to work as a team.

Lest you leave this blog thinking that all this gives us perfect children, let me assure you that no one has cleaned off the dining table today and there are toys all over the floor. And you haven’t heard my six year old’s ringwraith screech of fury or seen my four year old’s crocodile tears. As you can see from the photo below, capability does not always equate with desire. That might bother me if I wanted perfection, but I don’t. My children will grow up with values of hard work and family instilled in them both by example and experience. That’s a goal worth taking the time to fulfill.

Enslaved or Redeemed?

When the Israelites saw the Egyptian horses, chariots, and warriors bearing down upon them in the hollow of the mountain with the sea at their side, they forgot everything they had seen over the previous year. They forgot the devastation wrought in Egypt, devastation that had never been seen in a thousand years of Egyptian history. They forgot how their masters had voluntary enriched them as they exited the land, overflowing their baggage with gifts of gold and silver. They forgot that God had so impressed a heathen nation with His sovereignty that many joined themselves to the Israelites in exodus.

In that moment of panicked forgetfulness God’s power to save them never even occurred to them. All they could see was death ahead of them. In that moment the future was too hard, too frightening. They considered even the soul-crushing slavery of Egypt easier than the promise of redemption. They rejected the payment for salvation.

Fortunately for them, God had a long plan for them. On that occasion the moment of redemption would be what taught them to trust the Redeemer. All they had to do was “stand” and “be quiet” while the flood that revealed their road to freedom drowned their enslavers. It was an undeniable lesson, the first of many.

A thousand years later, the remnant of Israel would be offered a different kind of redemption. Jesus would tell them to know truth, the truth of Him, and they would be truly free. Their response was to deny their enslavement, deny the long plan promised by that flood that freed them the first time, and create a new flood of the Savior’s blood to crash down in judgment over their own heads. Only afterward would they understand the redemption of that flood, the redemption they could have seen so easily if only they had remembered to “stand” and “be quiet.”

Today God’s people have been redeemed. The long plan is accomplished, and we are no longer enslaved. Yet time and again when given the opportunity we so easily slip back into those chains of doubt, fear, misplaced reliance on fickle masters and cheap promises. Like the Israelites, we face an uncertain present and decide that at least when we were enslaved we knew what we were getting. It may not have been fun, but it was familiar and we didn’t have to think about it. It felt safe.

What if the Israelites had refused to stand and be quiet? What if they had flown the flag of surrender and allowed Pharaoh to reclaim them? What if they had returned to the uncomfortable security of slavery? What if they hadn’t endured the deprivation and difficulty of the wilderness road? What if they had never stepped across the river into the land of promise? What if they had never allowed themselves to be redeemed?

Frozen

The elementals stood in time suspended, shadow almost entirely consumed by the union of water and light. Locked in the the throes of their own battle, they had gradually drifted to the surface of the watery wasteland. Thousands of years of forgotten emptiness parted as the blue ice pierced the sky, dusted with the snow of an antarctic spring.

The elementals reflected the frigid sun like the facets of a jewel. The glancing rays stirred the fringes of their battle, sending swirls of radiant blue dancing over the jutting rocks of broken ice wedged against the elementals. Within the swirls the shadow’s tendrils stretched and grew.

The seamless blue of the sky clouded with ice crystals as the elementals cracked. The shadow’s tendrils crept from every crevice, spreading slowly to darken the horizon. The crystal shattered as light and water drew from the ocean beneath them to explode the sky, banishing shadow into the darkest trenches of the sea. There it gathered, seething with resentment, as the world above drowned in brilliant fire.

The Christmas Gnome

Ellen switched on the light in the cluttered garage and sighed. She had put this off as long as possible but with the house being listed in a week there was no more time. Maybe she could just load all the boxes and junk without opening them, haul them to the dump, be done.

She ran her hand over the dusty top of the nearest flimsy carton, lifting the well-wrinkled flap in spite of herself. A flash of shiny red caught her attention, and carefully she unwrapped the tiny gnome from his torn tissue. A ragged smile played across her face as she rubbed the little fellow’s flowing beard.

The gnome had perched on the thick oak branch over the front walk every Christmas for as long as Ellen could remember. Once, when Ellen was about four, she had asked why, and Mom had told her he was the Christmas guardian. Nothing could steal the spirit of Christmas love as long as he watched over them.

Only when Ellen and her brothers had grown and gone did she ask Mom why the gnome still guarded the house. It wasn’t as if any children remained to believe in magic. Her eyes filled with tears remembering the gnome’s real story. Dad had given him to Mom their first Christmas, just days after they became engaged. The tiny presents held something that real packages could not; his vow to never leave her.

Dad had died when Ellen was two, a stupid construction accident. Mom set the gnome in the tree at Christmas, when her grief was deepest, to honor the promise. If she hadn’t died, he would be perched on that branch now, holding Dad’s love for her where she could see it. Ellen carefully closed the box and carried the gnome to the front walk. Dad would have wanted it this way, she thought. When she walked away, the gnome perched cheerfully in the stiff snow on that same old branch.

A Beautiful Mess

Last night I made pumpkin sweet rolls to surprise my kids for Thanksgiving breakfast. I only do things like this for one reason – the reaction. The truth is that I hate cooking, especially baking. It’s tons of work, takes a ridiculous amount of time, and overheats the house. Often ingredients must be mixed just so or the recipe will fail. Cooking for a big family uses soooo many dishes! And we’re not talking about a few small bowls, we’re talking giant mixing bowls, pots, and baking dishes. I’ve never had a dishwasher worth having, and handwashing all those dishes takes forever. Ingredients get everywhere, like the flour all over the counter in my picture, even under countertop appliances which then must be moved for cleaning.

But despite being such a huge part of cooking, none of that is really what it is all about. Something about good food reaches all the way to the soul with power to change, create, and connect. The look on my kids’ faces and their excited squeals, the joyful conversation as they stuff their faces with sticky goodness, the gooey hugs and kisses, all outweigh the things I hate about cooking. The mess becomes as beautiful as those sweet rolls, filled and drizzled all over with delicious joy.