Slouched down in my leather seat in a crowded railway car, I was being gently rocked to sleep by the rhythmic swaying back and forth of the old train clattering across the Polish countryside. Returning from a student conference in the mountains where I had been teaching and counseling with college students all weekend had left me a bit weary, lonely and depleted. Working through translators for each message was a slow, tedious process. As an American woman, I felt the cultural distance between me and these youth who had grown up under a supressive, Communist government. The religious freedom I had taken so for granted, made these students eager to know about God, about Jesus, about a kingdom in heaven where they would be free and blessed by the God who made them. Exhaustion tended to exagerate cultural differences and made me feel somewhat isolated as a 24 year old, struggling to understand even a portion of the things that were spoken to me. I remember riding along in the car wondering if I would ever not feel lonely.

Suddenly, the train took a small bend and in front of me were fields of thousands upon thousands of bright red poppies, gently swaying in the wind. Fields of poppies, obviously growing wild, spread over miles of the countryside. I was mesmerized by the beauty and found myself wondering how long it had taken for these beautiful flowers to be planted over the years so that there would be so many everywhere. I began to imagine the invisible hand of God intentionally spreading seed generously over the many fields, so that in a country where there had been so much division, war and darkness for so many generations, that there would still be a picture of His beauty, creation and life to comfort those who would see it. That it would draw their thoughts and hearts, like it did mine, to thoughts of Him who was the artist of such beauty.

This has become to me a sort of picture of my place in the world. Jesus often talked about sowing seed in many of His parables. The people of His time were tied more closely to farming, sowing, reaping because their very lives depended on the well-being of the crops as their source of food.

James 3:18 says, “The seed whose fruit is righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.” I desire that there be a harvest of righteousness in and through my life as big and expansive as the poppy fields of my memory. This verse would indicate that righteousness is sown by peacemakers. Jesus communicated to His disciples in Matthew 5: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the sons of God.” Jesus himself, gave His life so that we might have peace with God. His whole being is focussed on redeeming, buying back that which was lost, bringing life where there is death.

I am most like Him when I, too, become a peacemaker, a redeemer, bringing peace where there was hostility, life where there is death. But the reason I so like the verse in James is that it brings us a picture of what we must do to bring this harvest of righteousness about–we must sow the seeds of righteousness, seed by seed, so that our harvest will be plentiful. We must sow seeds daily—weekly–for our whole lives, that there will be remnants of His beauty, peace, redemption, everywhere we go, every day that we live. If we sow peace and not anger in our home, there will be a legacy of peace. If we sow anger, a legacy of anger and death. It is a choice we make, every day, every hour, as to what we are sowing and what we will reap.

The seeds I sow are in relationship to people in my life every day. I must make a decision in my heart to sow a seed of peace where there is strife–to choose to be a peace-maker and to sow God’s love and redemption. I must sow seeds of encouragement and faith through my words and through my writing to bring others to the point of peace in their own lives. Seed by seed, choice by choice, I have the ability to bring about a great harvest that will be ready for reaping in the final day when I meet Jesus face to face. But in order for a farmer to have a harvest, he must plan on what he will sow, he must plan the seeds he will plant—it doesn’t happen by chance. So I must choose what crop I will sow, how I will sow it, and choose to sow it in each situation and in each relationship that God brings my way. Peace and redemption also do not just happen by chance in my own life. There had to be an intentional plan.

There are times when I get letters from people—sometimes even hostile letters–that criticize my Pollyanna approach to life. Recently, a weary mom wrote, “I am sick of hearing about your perfect children! I am unsubscribing from your newsletter.”

Now, I always take emails that I receive to heart. It seems that the meaning behind this letter, was that I only see and report the positive things about my family—and that I put forth only those things which I think are perfect. I hope that I never give the impression that I am perfect, or that my children are perfect or that my marriage is perfect, or anything else is perfect. I would hate to impose guilt on anyone because of creating false standards through the stories of my articles, that someone else feels they can’t immulate. I hope instead to always point my sweet friends to the One who has so befriended me. As a matter of fact, I have only made it this far because I so depend on God’s grace and when I feel inadequate or like a failure, which I think all women do from time to time, there is a place I have trained myself to go–where Jesus is. I tell Him how I am feeling and then by faith, I acknowledge how grateful I am that He has made me adequate in Himself, by His strength, through His love and for His glory. I seek to rest there, as staying and simmering and swimming in the sea of guilt is destructive and heart-killing.

I have discovered that no matter how hard I try, I often fall short of my own expectations—let alone the expectations of others. If this is true of me, that I fail–even when trying–then I must understand that even the best and most mature person I know, will also fail herself and me! So, my choice in my writing and in my life, is to give a picture of ideals for which I strive, in the context of the messy world in which I live. I want to sow a picture of beauty, a field of hope, and pattern of unconditional love in the midst of fields of life where there are weeds, rocks and untilled ground.

I have had a history of people very close to me who live in anger and criticism. This sowing of strife has left a string of broken relationships, deep hurt, alienation. Sometimes I am afraid to be around these people because no matter how hard I try or what I say or do, I know that eventually I will do something to arouse their criticism again. (I am choosing not to name these people as they are very close to me and I don’t want to unnecessarily hurt them.) I used to think that if I just tried hard enough or did enough, eventually I would receive the acceptance I was looking for.

But it took many years, to realize that their anger and criticism had nothing to do with me and no matter how hard I tried, I would never be acceptable to them, because the problem was in their own dark and hurting heart. But in order to have in my heart a harvest of peace, and not bitterness or anger; and a harvest of love and not hate and retaliation, I had to seek to plant seeds of God’s righteousness, in order that my heart would truly bear a harvest of His making. This required that I pondered what it meant to be like God, to understand through His word, that love covers a multitude of sin; to learn that Jesus Himself, when He was being crucified, “while being reviled, did not revile in return, but kept trusting Himself to God who judges righteously.” (I Peter 2:23) He became my model–that I would choose not to revile those who were angry or negative, but that I, like Jesus, would keep trusting myself to God—to place my issues in His file cabinets and to let Him deal with my difficulties, and then to close the drawer once these issues were safe in His hands.

Instead of hoping that those near me would love me in such a way as to make me feel good about myself, I just kept reading the word everyday—-seeking to know my God better, pondering the stories of Jesus, thinking about His communication to me through how He lived and what He said. Now, as I am getting older, I find His love to be deeply satisfying. After literally thousands of hours in his presence over the years, I have been influenced by being in the company of someone so compassionate, loving and strong. I have made peace with Him and appreciate Him. In doing so, I learned that I could give that peace more easily to others, because I didn’t have as many expectations of them and I wasn’t as dependent on how they responded to me, in order to feel good about myself.

However, I see a lot of people wasting time, effort and energy in being critical of others close to themselves. There is a lot of anger, disappointment, jealousy, hate and bitterness floating around in the lives of people, that color their view of life, suck the energy out of them, and cause them to wonder where God has gone. It is so easy to be critical of a family member or of our husbands and wallow in unmet expectations, or friends who have forsaken us, or in a child who has gone astray or is just immature or has a personality flaw that drives us crazy, or a parent who has abused or rejected us for our values.

James also spoke to this in the same passage where he taught about sowing peace. His words, “For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, (getting our own way), there is dis-order and every evil thing! But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, reasonable, full of mercy and good fruits, unwavering and without hypocrisy. And the seed whose fruit is righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.” (James 3:13-18)

It starts with a choice–to allow the Holy Spirit to be Lord of our lives, even in the midst of strife; to decide ahead of time to imagine what it looks like to bring peace and redemption to each moment of life; to choose to sow righteousness into our relationships, because He chose to sow righteousness and peace into our lives, even at great cost to Himself. I believe that if thousands of His followers chose to sow this way each day, on all of the fields of life, there would be such a great crop of righteousness, visible beauty of His life, even in a place where so much darkness exists, that many hearts would be open to Him and to His ways, because of the overwhelming crop of righteousness present before their eyes. But it all begins with a choice in my heart and a plan to sow today, this day, in these fields where I find myself.

Whoever it is that brings so much emotional disappointment can keep us from the comforting love of God if we never make it to the point of forgiveness and acceptance of the person and circumstances. I know how deeply it can hurt to be rejected or ignored or treated unjustly. I have shed many tears over many years.

Yet, I can honestly say, that it has been these difficulties that have brought me to a place of freedom and joy. I have desperately needed the grace of God and in so seeking it, I have found it to be deeper than even I could imagine. He has shown me how deep His love is for me and how much He wants me to give as deeply to those in my life, who like me, don’t deserve it, but need it all the same.

Every May about this time, I find myself wondering how we started so many birthday traditions so that the expectations of each birthday child is so high. I am a little worn out by this time and my mind ponders, “Now why am I doing this? Does it really make a difference?As I have pondered this the past couple of days, I have realized again, that traditions force us to take time to celebrate life.

Pausing, as a family, in the midst of the busyness of life, communicates that we are more important to each other as a family than all the activities that are swirling around in our lives that separate us from each other. In our case, twelve year old Joy doesn’t often have the full attention of her siblings, who are quite a bit older than her. They are always running here and there to a job, to classes or to meet friends. Yet, on this day, everyone takes a break from their other commitments—even Clay stays home the mornings of birthday breakfasts–and says to the birthday child, “You are beloved in this family and we are here to celebrate your life!”

Joy turned 12 today. I have to admit, that in spite of all the work, I think I can see that the traditions have deeply filled my children’s hearts with affirmation, validation, memories, confidence and blessings that they will draw from for years to come. Today was especially bittersweet, as I imagine that by next May’s birthday, probably only Clay, Joy and I will celebrate her birthday as a family! We will have to import new friends as family.

Each birthday morning, the person we are celebrating, has to wait expectantly in their bedroom. They are allowed something to sip–hot chocolate or tea—and then must wait patiently for the other siblings to come to deliver them to our breakfast table. Usually, I have made my whole-wheat cinnamon rolls–the expected favorites–and I make my own special scrambled eggs—with cheese, sour cream, ham and bacon bits. Strong Austrian coffee is dripping through the filter, while one child is setting the table with the ceramic tea set usually used for all birthdays. (The set was bought over several years at a second’s shop in Austria. By now, several of the dishes are chipped or cracked, but, as we cannot buy anymore here in the States, we are happy that the dishes aren’t broken.)

We are all a part of a team seeking to throw things together as quickly as possible, since often, presents are wrapped and cards are written at the last minute. One child throws the gifts into very familiar bags–many of which we have kept for years. As a matter of fact, the kids all discussed which bags were their favorites and warned me never to give them away to anyone else with a present in it, because it is family tradition! (Winnie the Pooh and a pre-Raphealite bag tied for the favorites!) We put every gift, however small, in it’s own bag. Even if something was purchased for a song at Good Will or at the dollar store, it gets fully wrapped. Consequently, each year, it looks as though the birthday child is getting a zillion presents, even though the ultimate value may not be much at all–it is all part of the sparkle and fun of the morning. (Once, a child received a pacakage of ball point pens–each in its own bag!)Life is a flurry as one sets the table, one lights the candle and puts coffee cream out, another is wrapping and putting on music to set the mood and Clay is always looking for the camera and batteries since he is the official photographer.

Finally, at least a couple of kids, go to the birthday child’s room to blind-fold their eyes, so that they have to stumble into the room with no peaking. What a funny sight this year as 6’5″ Joel and 6’3″ Nathan still willingly participated in leading Joy down the steps for her surprise day.

Seems the conversation never varies from year to year—I think your cinnamon rolls are the best, Mom. Yeah, we have never tasted any that even compared. (Of course this is so I will keep making them from year to year and yes, it does encourage me to keep up the work—even the 5th time this month!)

After breakfast is appropriately enjoyed, the birthday child begins opening gifts one at a time–to be marvelled, commented on and appreciated. Then come the cards—each child and parent usually creates a card and message for the birthday child to read and save in a special box.

Humor always adorns every meal we share, whether it is our somewhat retarded golden retriever who almost knocked down the table to get to the leftover eggs, or some extravagant comment. Today did not disappoint us. I was reading a Jane Austen quote outloud from a card Joy received, “It is much easier to kill realities than phantoms!” At which exact moment, the front door mysteriously blew open–and we all looked for the phantoms who must have entered at precisely on time for a great effect! (Maybe you had to be here–but the timing was perfect and made us all giggle!)

Finally, the pinnacle of the morning is when all of us at the table share with the birthday child what they have meant to us and how we appreciate them and how they have grown. I am still astounded that at 23, 20, 18 and 12, my children take this ritual so seriously. I thought when they were young, they would surely giggle and make sarcastic comments and find it difficult to finish the time. Yet, I am truly amazed that they have vested lots of love and thoughtfulness in these times and I can farely observe the heart of the birthday child being watered and refreshed enough to last for months.

Nathan started this year. “I have been amazed at how confidently and professioally you have been performing–through your Youth Performing Arts choir and through the musicals you were in. You have quite a voice and your are so poised and confident. At the last concert, I got my whole row of friends to yell your name at the teen concert. They all said they wish they had a sister like you. I prayed you into the world and I am very proud to have you as my sister!”

Followed by his generous comments, came Joel’s, Sarah’s, Clay’s and mine. “You have really grown in your commitment to the Lord this year and you have such intelligent things to say in our discussions.” “You have really developed in your personality this year. The way you decorate your room is amazing, your writing is very expressive, you’re learning to read music so well on the piano, and you are passing all of us up in your many abilities!” “You have been a real friend to me and you always have such interesting things to say in the car when I pick you up from classes. It is obvious that you are reading and learning a lot. You have also been a lot of fun for me.” And on it goes.

I see before me, these children who have learned to love each other in spite of the personality differences, the various immature and hormonal and argumentative stages of life. I am amazed and grateful. How did this happen—these children who threaten to undo me from time to time with their whining, silly fusses, immaturity and friction. Yet, here they are in their right minds, enjoying each other, laughing at each other’s jokes, discussing issues loudly, and participating in family bonding–willingly, generously. What a gift to me, Lord, to see this picture of watching Joy’s heart fill with emotioal health, before her brothers and sister venture to the far winds-Sarah and Joel to Cambridge, then to Seattle in the fall, Nathan to his classes in another state.

But when everyone goes their way, I see that there will be hundreds of memories shared, loved communicated, prayers offered at our table over the years of celebrations–because we took time to invest in tying our heartstring to each other. These foundations of emotional mental and spiritual health will serve to stabilize and give hope to each of us long after we are separated by miles. Now I see, all the effort and cooking and washing of dishes and wrapping of presents did matter because they provided the frame around which a life of love was painted on the souls of each of my precious children. Ok, move over—I will finish the dishes this morning!

I am sitting in my little quiet time chair with a cup of strong Austrian coffee in hand, (there are advantages to travel—I brought home 4 packages of the great tasting stuff along with a small box of chocolates!). From my second story window, I look out on the tops of countless pine trees with the Rocky Mountains peeking through the tree tops in the distance, and a sky full of wispy clouds slowing moving by. A reflection of God’s creative artistry is something I seek in every house we live in. I choose windows that look out on the most beautiful natural scene, so that I can have some of His life-stuff to bring peace and quiet to my soul each morning as I meet with him.

In front of me is a pile of books scattered over a coffee table, a couch pillow thrown onto the floor, a couple of pairs of shoes where they were shaken off and a potted plant that holds 3 wilting flowers in desperate need of water, some child’s abandoned sweat shirt, and a half-eaten candy bar. And this is only the picture of the eight feet in front of my chair. The rest of the house is much the same—meticulously decorated for this season—potted ivy with candles on my dining table, containers of flowers at the front door—blooming, but waiting to be potted, yet other life messes in the midst of the order and beauty. As the proverb says, “Where there are no oxen, the stalls are clean.” I comfort myself daily with the fact that I have 6 oxen living in my home, and thus my stalls are not always clean. My world is always a mixture of beauty and mess, order and piles of things not yet subdued. (Did I mention that Joy has interrupted me three times since I started writing this article? “Have you seen my brush? Will you practice my play lines with me for the play this afternoon? Do you think this shirt is too short to wear?)

Yet there is a significant little wooden plaque within my eye range. It reminds me daily, “Live Life Joyfully!” Choosing to live life joyfully is a choice that I have learned over a period of many years. Choosing to enjoy the moment is an inner discipline I have had to learn. It is not necessarily natural, but has become more so with the choosing of it as my practiced heart attitude.

I often love to watch toddlers. They move through their worlds with delight. We were waiting in a park on our mission trip for a friend to meet us. A toe-headed little boy was squealing with delight as he chased an illusive butterfly around a planting of bright red tulips and yellow daffodils. He was caught up in the joy of the moment, delighting in the toy figures that God had placed in his world for his pleasure. The little one was unaware that he had a milk-mustache, a shoe untied and a soiled stain on the knee of his jeans.

I hope that I am like this little boy to God—choosing to enjoy the beauty of the treasures he has place in my path. Noticing the toys he has given me for delight—Joy dancing through my room—beginning to look more like a young woman than a little girl—truly a beautiful sight to behold. One that will pass quickly. I am enjoying the tulips on my next door neighbors driveway—closest to ours, the green grass that has been so long hidden under piles of snow. Many years ago in the midst of another possible miscarriage, I was sitting by a window near some mountains in Austria. I had begun to bleed and was asking God from the bottom of my heart to please let me carry this child to completion. Just then, a little sparrow hopped up on my window sill and began to chirp. It stayed there for several minutes and hopped closer and closer to the edge where I was looking out. What a sweet, amazing creature—singing its heart out with no one to applause. It was as though God was saying to me, “I am listening. I see the birds on a thousand hills. I see you. I love you and am with you!” I didn’t know what would happen, but I knew that God, who is love, was with me and would be with me in whatever happened. The pregnancy turned out to be Sarah.

From then on, I decided to take notice of birds who sing—to believe that they are especially praising God. I see them also as a personal reminder from God that He is present. Often on my walks when I am pouring out my dark heart to God, a bird hops or sings along my trail and I am reminded that God is there—present with me!
May He bring the reality of His joy to you today in the midst of your order and mess.

All work and no play makes Joy, Sarah and Sally dull girls. Recently on our mission trip, we had spent an endless stream of days speaking and giving out books and then hopping on another train or plane to go to another group of women with whom we would speak, minister to, give out books and serve. My children usually have to take care of other children, help serve meals, haul boxes of books and wait patiently for me to be through.

How delighted we were, at the end of our trip, to find a whole day free to do as we please. Since we had one free ride left on our train ticket, we decided to take a train to one of our favorite little towns that sits right on a quiet curve of the Danube River. Durnstein is the name of the town. It was a medival town with one narrow road passing through the small, ancient houses. Even today, only one car at a time can fit through the narrow passageway. Once when Clay and I were very young, we visited this town on a free weekend and stayed in the home—(bed and breakfast) where a wine press, over 900 years old, filled the middle of the house.

We chugged along through prim and predictably orderly Austrian villages. Flowering bushes, tulips, and daffodils marked the roadways and pathways and towns. Finally, we arrived at our destination. Story has it that Richard the Lion Heart went to the Crusades through Austria. When he reached his destination, he unearthed Leopold of Austria as the ruler in charge of the Crusades. In retaliation, when Richard was on his journey back home, he was capture by Leopold and place in a prison cell in the castle at the top of the mountain in Durnstein. He kept the whereabouts secret so that no one could rescue the English monarch.

Blondell, Richard’s beloved friend and servant, was a musician, seeking to discover the whereabouts of his master. The story tells us that Blondell strolled throughout the Austrian countryside strumming his lute and singing songs that were familiar to his king. He hoped that his king would hear him through the cell windows and respond. Sure enough, as he climbed around the mountain castle of Durnstein singing, Richard heard and sang back as a sign of his whereabouts. Blondell was then able to bring a group of English soldiers to rescue the King and take him back to England.

The morning we started our hike up to the top of the castle was chill, but sunny. The hike was straight up and arduous to my worn-out knees. Yet, with the encouragement of my younger hiking companions, Sarah and Joy, I completed the hike one more time to walk among the ruins of the old, remains of the legend tale. The views were incomparable as we looked out over the budding vineyards and caught the curl of the Danube winding its way through the sleepy valley. Rewarding ourselves with a hot, marrillen (the small town boasts of its apricots!) and cream cheese pancakes, lathered in whip cream, satisfied our overwhelming hunger. Then, seeing that the time was late, we literally had to run at full speed, a quarter of a mile, fearful of not being able to run another step, to barely catch the last train of the day that would return us to our friends in Vienna. What an adventure to put in our memory books.

I am on hold to the passport office trying to find out why Nathan’s passport hasn’t arrived yet. We ordered it eight weeks ago. Last week, we traveled up to the Denver passport office to get one on the spot. They told us that Nathan’s passport would surely get here in time as they checked the status and told us that it was coming from South Carolina. Now, the Tuesday mail has come and it is not here. The passport office in Aurora doesn’t print its number because they have too many people who call there. I found another number that took Joel and me 40 minutes to find. Now I have been on hold with them for 15 minutes.

I wonder if people idealize what it takes to be in missions or to make a journey? I know before I left to go overseas the first time, I envisioned very spiritual people who talked in scripture phrases and trusted God daily to see miracles. Instead, I found very normal people who struggled with the administrative details and governmental requirements to live in a foreign country, the difficulties of a new language, missing familiar things like M&M’s, chocolate chip cookies and English. They, like me, felt had to live through the stress of getting passports, visas, and all the other effort it takes to pas governmental regulations.

The difference was, that they had felt somehow responsible to see that everyone had an opportunity to hear the gospel message. When they read in Matthew that Jesus had compassion on the crowds and admonished His disciples to pray for the Lord of the harvest to send more laborers into the harvest, they felt that they must be an answer to the needs.

I know that many others I know, have a heart for the great things of the kingdom of God. However, their work is not so noticeable—or honored, but just as precious to the Lord. Some taking care of a sweet mother who has alzheimer’s; holding and rocking a sick child who cries through out the night of an ear-infection or stomach ache; as a young single man or woaman, keeping faithful to keep to a pure moral standard and putting up with the lonliness of being a part of such a small minority of those who hold Biblical ideals, or a homeschooling mom patiently serving always in the home children without a break while daily hoping for progress in each of her children’s education; or a single mom wondering how she will meet all her children’s needs and daily depending on God to fill in the cracks. All are so very precious to God—all seen by Him–each minute act of faith, love and perservence.

As I have been thinking of what it requires each of us to make it through the maze of life graciously and with joyful energy that can only be explained by the Lord’s presence, the kind of joy that allowed Paul to sing in prison, I have been so grateful for the unexplainable peace that comes in the moment I need to know I am not alone; the life that bubbles up in my heart as I seek, one more morning to find God as I open my Bible and lay my soul before Him. Though it is overused and could sound trite, the grace of God is that which carries me—mysterious, untouchable, foundational.

I was reminded of a song Clay, my husband, wrote many years ago. Be blessed as you read it. Blessings to all of you who are praying for us on our journey the next three weeks. You can see our pictures and reports online as we go, at whworld.blogspot.com. It will be a couple of days until we can send anything back, but we would love to have you follow us as we go!
Peace!
Grace Upon Grace
All my selfish vanity and pride
I laid beneath the cross where Jesus bled
It was for those very sins that He was crucified
But for His grace should I have died instead
When at last my will to His conceded
Jesus took me in that I might see
All I never had was never needed
To know that He has love enough for me

Now every day I know my Savior leads me
Safely through the battlefield of sin
Helping me to keep my eyes on Calvary
Knowing someday soon He’ll come again

But in my fleshly weakness I can falter
When Satan puts the world before my eyes ‘
Til at the feet of God before the altar
I fall in shame and then I realize

He gives me grace upon grace
All of His fulness is mine
And someday I will share
All of His glory divine
Unworthy servant am I
That He should embrace
All of my sin and my guilt
With His grace upon grace

Blessed are the poor in spirit, Jesus said
Blessed are the merciful and meek
Blest be those who mourn they will be comforted
Blessed is the God by grace we seek

Not a day goes by without His mercy
All creation sheltered by His hand
Members one another of His family
Love so great I’ll never understand

Why He gives me grace upon grace
All of His fulness is mine
And someday I will share
All of His glory divine
Unworthy servant am I
That He should embrace
All of my sin and my guilt
With His grace upon grace

copyright 2007 Clay Clarkson

Love a man, even in his sin, for that love is a likeness of the divine love and is the summit of love on earth.
Fyodor Dostoevsky

Life in the contemporary is standing against my ability to be mature all the time. Everything is a rush and hurry and then a wait and see. Yesterday, I found myself sinning far too easily. After three attempts to confirm some seats on a plane going overseas, I finally got the auto response to go almost to the point of confirming seats, after thirty minutes of frustration. I did not find it humorous that a very soothing, recorded voice was placed precisely at one point of choosing an arbitrary host of numbers, to comfort me—though I know a machine cannot really feel emotion. “I’m sorry! I didn’t understand you. It must be my fault.”(Can a machine be faulted for making mistakes and can it feel sorry Does it really care for my frustration???)

Finally, a real and very surly woman answered my phone call. I gave her all the right numbers for our ticket and then told her I wanted to be sure to secure seats on our overseas flight, as the seat numbers were deleted from the confirmation I had received on the Internet.

“You cannot secure seats until the morning of the flight. It is company policy that once we book our flight more than 45%, we cannot give out anymore seats. And, by the way, I am the supervisor, and there is no one higher than me that you can talk to!” (Obviously, she had had a difficult day and didn’t even want to have to address the fact that there was no one higher up that I could talk to—and we had only just begun our conversation. Could there have been a hard phone call before she ever got to me?)

“I have never heard of an overseas flight where I couldn’t get my seat assignment. I am traveling with three of my children and would like to sit close together,” I said in my most authoritative voice.

“If your children are over 10, they can obviously sit anywhere on the plane by themselves, and I can’t guarantee that they won’t all be in different rows. You will just have to wait until you get to the gate. Obviously you haven’t traveled very much. It is always done this way.”

I raised to my full-bodied stature at this point, even though she couldn’t see my shock or my rising at such a statement. After all, I had been traveling overseas for over thirty years and had never come across this particular problem or such a definitively closed airline operator.

In a very irrational and immature moment, I asked the woman, “If I call back, is there a good chance I won’t have to talk to you again?!” Well, I had been on the phone a long time and she wasn’t very nice to me and I did have a hard day and……..

Immediately, when I had hung up the phone, remorse set in. The accusatory finger in my mind said, “Well, that was real mature! Bet you made that lady feel real good. I can’t believe you are a serious, committed Christian, and you actually talked to someone like that! The Lord is so disappointed in you. Probably He is eventually going to quit using you in influencing others, because you just keep blowing it!”

I must admit, when my own life is stressful, and I have had a hard day, I want sympathy, kindness, forgiveness, grace. I want someone to understand that I am doing my best and to tell me it is ok. It is what I want from God. It is what I want from my husband. It is what I want from my children.

My heart became open to the Spirit’s prompting. Just happened, my morning reading came across this verse: “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.”
Now this much I already knew and agreed with.

But the context of the verse was further explained, “Do not cause anyone to stumble, whether Jew or Greek or the church of God. Even as I try to please everybody in every way. For I am not seeking my own good, but the good of many in order that they may be saved.” I Cor. 10: 31-32

So, I glorify God, not by knowing all the right theological answers, or by keeping a perfect house, or having quiet times every day, but by glorifying God by seeking the good of everyone else–even a stressed out operator.

My sweet children have taught me this. They see through false piety. They know what it means to be fair. They comment on other adults in our lives who speak loudly about piety but whose lives scream loudly of hypocrisy. But, they are also very willing to forgive.

Joy placed her arm around me and sat sweetly in my lap. At almost 12, it is too rare of an occurrence, but oh so cherished. “Mom, we’ll get some seats. Don’t you worry. It always works out.” A kiss on my cheek and then she was gone. Suddenly I saw God’ s glory in an unsuspecting angel in my own home, who chose to give me grace, and then I felt He, the one from whom patience and love was given their meaning had gently restored me to himself.

Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing;
Thou hast loosed my sackcloth and girded me with gladness
That my soul may sing praise to Thee and not be silent.
Oh Lord my God, I will give thanks to thee forever.
Psalm 30:10-11

My sweet Father passed away 14 years ago. He was a figure bigger than life to me when I was a little girl. He was 6’3, an extrovert’s extrovert. He would often whistle, sing hum, and wiggle and dance through life. His nickname in college was “slick”. Because he had grown up as a depression child with much sadness, he lived his life as an adult with as little acknowledgement of sadness as possible. He worked hard to provide our family with the ability to enjoy life and have pleasures that his own family had not been able to afford. I didn’t get a lot of personal, one on one time with him. Very little, as a matter of fact. But there are a few, sweet memories that live in my soul as exaggerated in size because of the rarity that made them so precious.

One sparkling summer evening, when the summer roses and honey suckle wafted through the breezes of the night, I was allowed to attend an adult party with my parents. Probably a wedding or social affair of some sort. I remember dressing up in a sky-blue, polished cotton dress that was adorned with delicate eyelet lace and belted about with a satin sash. My black-patton shoes, it seemed to me, were just made for tapping or dancing on the floor where all of the jewel bedecked, rouge-faced women were swirling and laughing with their husbands. Visions of romance marched through the corridors of my girlish mind as I dreamed of a future day when I would be on the arm of my very own partner, gracefully and lightly gliding over the floor.

Suddenly, my handsome, smiling father swept over to the place where I was standing and easily picked me up into his arms. “May I have a dance with the princess of the ball?” My feet hung limply down, as He held me tight in His strong arms and easily swung my 4’8” frame round and round the dance floor. I could smell the spicy aftershave he had lightly rubbed on his face as we danced cheek to cheek, and breathed in the warm, spicy aroma. The bubbling excitement and pride that I felt at that giddy moment, being in the arms of my hero, who always appeared bigger than life, left me almost breathless. I treasured each second with delight. The smiles and admiration of the other doting adults were not lost on me. Finally, the music came to an abrupt stop. Gently, my father glided back to our dinner table in his long strides and set me lightly upon my chair.

“Thank you for the pleasure of your company, sweet princess,” he affectionately said, as he turned to find my mother.

I haven’t visited this lovely memory in many years. Yet, it is a picture to me of one of the ways I have come to view my own relationship with God—dancing through life, with deep joy and gratefulness filling the core of my being, as I am held and cherished in the arms of such a great, admired and worthy partner. He picked me and carries me and celebrates life with me, because of His love, affection and kindness.

The older I get, the more I have come to cherish with great delight the joy and beauty my creator has generously bestowed on me—not because of anything I have done to deserve it—but because His very character is life and love and giving and celebrating and redeeming and creating.

I want to live at that place in my heart where I have come to know Him as such a person. I want to respond to His love with deep, passionate, grateful appreciation. I want Him to know how deeply I am beginning to appreciate all that He made in this world that I might experience pleasure and know beauty and rest in redemption.

I have struggled to get to this place. The onslaught of darkness of an enemy who is jealous of the glory of my precious Lord relentlessly pursues me every day, seeking to destroy the wonderful picture of my Lord that I have learned to cherish in my heart. Satan would love for me to focus on that which has been tainted with the stain of selfishness and destruction of sin. He would love for me to be ravaged in my soul with the fears that a post-modern world, filled with violence, a loathing for all that is pure and lovely, brings.

Yet, he seeks to deceive me on other sides, to doubt the reality of my prince. I am surrounded by those who live in the chains of legalism, a rule for every move in life, an air of condemnation and suspicion for those who celebrate the authentic joy of life. Instead they live  a life of worry, fear and condemnation. These have lost the vision of their Warrior King who has layed down His own life, that they may have unending joy. Satan has deceived them into doubting and ignoring that light that is surrounding them, if they would but open their soulish eyes. These, Satan would use, to drag me down with them to the place of bitterness and harshness and oppression of soul, oppressed by my own inadequacies.

Yet, in order to continue to live beyond the oppressive blackness of the night, I must live with the ears of my soul straining the hear the music of the One who is creating, restoring and bringing life to a glory that will envelope and swallow up all darkness. I must look with the eyes of my heart for the beauty and color and design that every day shouts to me of the creator behind the luminous colors, powerful sounds, lovely words and thoughts that speak to me of His reality. I want to go down dancing—end my life, choosing every minute until its close, to celebrate the reality of His life with the fullness of faith and loyalty my king desires, living in the freedom of His gracious love, looking for the time when we will celebrate, in the final banquet, the victory He has so long ago preordained.

“Praise the Lord! Sing a new song, And His praise in the congregation of the godly ones. Let Israel be glad in His Maker;
Let the sons of Zion rejoice in their King.
Let them praise His name with dancing;
Let them sing praises to Him with timbrel and lyre.
For the Lord takes pleasure in His people; He will beautify the afflicted ones with salvation. Let the godly ones exult in glory;
Let them sing with joy on their bed.
This is an honor for all His godly ones.
Praise the Lord. Hallelujah!
Psalm 149

I think Asheville is the perfect place to begin a blog on dancing through life. It’s a place of beauty, of music and good food nestled in the heart of the mountains. It reminds me of how I want to live. So come along for the ride as I dance through this life and share the beauty I find.