Blessed Contentment

Blessed contentment nestled safely in the arms of an active imagination. Children are truly gifts finding joy in simple things, creating stories out of everyday objects. One might see the palm of the hand as something to grasp objects, or perform everyday functions such as holding a pencil or cooking but to a child, the palm of a hand can be an airplane gliding over the jungles of his shag carpet, locating lost treasure in a faraway island.
My three eldest took to an adventure in the crocodile infested waters of the Amazon with merely the lid of a sand box and some baseball bats for oars. Their adventure began calmly at first until my tiny navigator spotted trouble ahead, is it a 100 foot anaconda? Or a lost and volatile tribe of jungle natives with sharp spears in hand?
When I look at this picture it reminds me to take heart and find solace in simple matters. We all wear heavy coats lined with our own weighted circumstances.
I have to be honest, moving here has been one trial after another. Once one growth project gets completed and plucked from my garden then planted in the memory of my Never Agains, another always seems to take root. But that is life: a series of refining circumstances. To look at the path of one's existence and become burdened by the adventure ahead is always a disastrous beginning.
Watching my children play is a great reminder that no matter what I deem as important enough to steal my joy, it really isn't. That is something I love about the foundation of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I know my purpose. I know my end. Health, finances, child rearing, marriage, faith or lack there of are all prime soil for discontentment. I will never be asked to do more than my Lord was and because of His redeeming grace, there is solace and peace for the Christian. labored works will never be enough to pay any toll. Only Christ. Only Christ is sufficient. Maybe that is why He says to come to Him "as the little children." (Matthew 19:14, Mark 9:37, Mark 10:14)

Cling to the Cross

It is well to remember, friends, that we live in an imperfect world. We are surrounded by cascades of imperfect people.
When darkness falls upon your shoulders and clutches it's spiny fingers around your warm beating heart, it seems the only thing to do, sometimes, is fight it. And so you do. Strong at first you fight refusing to be defeated. Sometimes you catch on early to what needs to be done. And you win. But sometimes it doesn't stop punching. You fight and you fight but the fists of your enemy keep flying. Bruised and broken, you fight until you just can't anymore. The comfort of a small corner calls to you and you climb into it. Tired. Worn out. Sleep depraved. Emotionally empty. But it doesn't stop. Soon the darkness blankets your cold toes but not in an effort to warm them. The hairs on your neck raise, your mouth cries out, "Please, I can't take it anymore!" Pain, like birth pangs, shoots out from every orfic of your body and it isn't listening to your cries. Soon that cold blanket stretches itself out and you find yourself crushed under the weight of it. Tight. Empty and black. Like cold concrete walls. It takes all your strength to raise your hands in an effort to block those walls from closing in giving you enough room to breathe.
Just breathe.
You are not alone. Come with me as I introduce you to a man who walked through great darkness. But he isn't Jesus. He's a lawyer. Wealthy I am sure who dabbles in real estate. A blessed man, married with five children. He knew darkness once. It loomed over his shoulder in the form of a large fire which consumed most of his real estate. Still dealing from the death of his son and now the consumption of his provisions he thought it best to spend time away with friends. Business which needed his attention came up and instead of canceling his vacation he sent his wife and four daughters ahead of him. He had every intention of following his family out to sea shortly but he was stopped short when terrible news in the form of a telegram was sent to him. Wrinkled and wrought with his tears it spoke only two words, "Saved Alone."
The ship carrying his family collided with another leaving 47 survivors. One of which was his wife. None of which were his four daughters. Pain greater than the pangs of birth knows no other like the death of a child, much less all of them. He left right away to comfort his grieving wife and on a ship over the very place of this tragic accident he penned this breathtaking hymn:

Imperfection is a weak wall with cracks big enough for sin and evil to seep in. Only the enemy will lead you to believe a Perfect God, The Strong Wall, is to blame for it... because he doesn't want you to know He is your relief from it. You are drenched in the blood of a Perfect man who sacrificed Himself for you, who fought greater darkness than you will ever fathom for a cause you will never fully understand. You don't think you can fight this battle anymore? Of course you can't because YOU are the one fighting it. There is One out there stronger than you who cried out to you, "Come to Me all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest. ..for My yoke is easy and My burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30) Climb out of your corner and cling to the cross.

Nothing is Everything

Too often do I open up a blog to see someone, especially myself, post of nothing going on, "no news here" but yet here I am wrapping my mind around several events of absolutely nothing that in all honesty actually mean everything. A friend of mine who is wrapped in a world of chaos tells me quite often how she prays for normal again for days filled with nothing. How full those days really are! Small events that may not be as monumental as a child's first steps or the day one has come into salvation are important nonetheless. I had five minutes to sit on my couch today and when I did I thought of the days events, the close of B's Apple Camp, housework, schoolwork, my frequent talks with God trying to figure out so many monumental little things. Now, here come my children, dancing on their miniature feet, laughing and playing with each other, "Mommy can I's?" fill my ears and again my head is no longer pondering over "nothing." A Titus 2 woman once told me to savor my time, "The days are long," She said, "but the years are short." Wise words to echo in the nautilus of an ear that experiences so much more than nothing.