Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Map? or Mapquest?


On our summer trip to the mountains, I was the self-appointed navigator with my road atlas at hand. You know how men are about asking for directions.

As we got closer to Atlanta, Craig asked me where we would exit I-75. For a moment, I studied the map of the metro area. Confusion filled my mind. Uh-oh. This was the same place I got mixed up on this trip last year. The map in my atlas wasn’t showing the exit I remembered.

And I had forgotten to print out the Mapquest directions that we had used last year.

(Can I just insert here that I absolutely abhor driving in and around cities the size of Atlanta? I’d personally rather drive 200 miles out of the way than drive the interstate system around Atlanta. I tried to convince Craig to take 441 all the way to North Carolina, but the look he gave me would shrivel a Georgia peach right off the branch.)

Craig listened to me whine all the way around Atlanta and I finally breathed a sigh of relief when we merged onto the familiar road that would lead us through northeast Georgia and into North Carolina.

Frankly, I was a bit miffed at the road atlas. Why was it wrong? I’ve heard that every map must contain at least one mistake; that way the owner of the copyright will be able to identify his map. But why did this mistake have to be in Atlanta, of all places? Probably the worst place in the entire world to drive. Seemed to me they could put their intentional error in a less lethal place on the map.

Rather miffed himself, Craig casually drawled “just how old is that map you are looking at?”

Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.

Half-hearted, I leafed through the pages at the front of the atlas. Briefly, I thought about distracting him and changing the subject. But I looked at him … and laughed instead. He already knew.

© 1990.

Just a little out-dated.

As I settle into the fifth decade of my time on this planet, I’ve been pondering what my next thirty-or-so years will hold.

It would be very nice to have a map of my future. At least just the high points. Will my cabin in the mountains be there? Will anything I write ever be published? Will my husband and I remain healthy and thoroughly enjoy our senior years together? What will our grandkids be like? Will our youngest be a missionary in a third-world country?

But I guess knowing all that now would kinda dull the edge of the anticipation - the excitement and hopeful promise of the unknown.

What I do know about my future is that I will follow Christ all the rest of my days. While I don’t know exactly where my footsteps will fall, or exactly how He will use me in His Kingdom, I have an accurate map to follow.

I don’t have to check mapquest because this map is always accurate. Never needs updating. Works the same today as it did when my grandparents were growing up. And it will still point the true way one hundred years from now.

His Word never changes. The truths held there in are timeless because the Author of Truth is timeless. It has the answer for all of life’s questions, crises and problems.

God’s Word is the Mapquest for our lives: His Word is a lamp for our feet and a light for our path (Ps 119:105). Just enough light for our next step. I guess it wouldn’t require a whole lot of faith to follow Him if we could see into the future. One step at a time keeps us dependent on and trusting Him.

Remember when you were little and your daddy told you “I have a surprise for you!”?

In Jeremiah 29:11, He says “I know the plans I have for you. They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

If my earthly daddy’s surprise was wonderful, I suspect that my Heavenly Father’s surprise is gonna be out of this world!

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

A Holy Wink

Have you ever been in a crowded room – maybe a party or family gathering – separated from your husband? The girls all around you are busy gabbing, sharing stories, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. For just a moment, you look across the room and see your husband watching you with that knowing smile on his face. You smile – and he winks. That warm, fuzzy feeling just crawls all over you. You might even blush.

Sunday morning I was talking to Tina about an upcoming baby shower for a sweet family in our church. Since we are a new, fast growing fellowship, it’s difficult to know everyone by name. So I thought I’d put a picture of Kathy on the invitation so everyone would recognize her. As I talked, the plan started taking shape. No, even better … I’d get a photo of the entire family, including her son, Zachary, and her husband, Gator. Oh, and I’d want a black and white picture. Yeah. That sounded like a great idea and Tina agreed.

Ten minutes later, I stood on the sidewalk out front, greeting folks as they arrived for service. I heard my name: “Miss Kim! Miss Kim!” I turned to see Zachary running toward me. “I have something for you!” As I leaned down to give him a hug, he thrust a photo in front of my face.

Zachary. Kathy. Gator.
Great picture.
In black and white.

Yep. My Beloved was watching me across the room. He was listening. He was aware of the rough week I’d had. He was aware of my aching back. He was aware of the physical exhaustion I felt. Even though He had not specifically answered my pleas to deliver me from my situation, He did something better.

He winked at me.

He whispered to my heart: “I am listening to you. I do pay attention to the details.”

Across the distance, He caught my eye and in an instant reminded me Who He Is, and Who’s I am.

It’s been a few days since that happened. And I’m still warm and fuzzy.

God is so cool.


Saturday, October 17, 2009

Who left the frig door open?

Ahhhhhhhhh……….

My internal nuclear reactor is stifled at last. Got up this morning, turned off the a/c (which is usually running at 65) and opened the windows.

I’m not sweating for the first time in forever!

What a beautiful morning! Temperature in the low 50’s, and it’s noon and there’s still a twinge of cool in the air!

Cooler weather makes me feel much more domesticated. One big project already accomplished, several more loads of laundry to do, and about 3 tons of dustbunnies await my attention. Oh, and a Gator game in mid-afternoon. Let's keep our priorities in order! Guess the dustbunnies will just have to make themselves at home. Like they haven’t already…..

Here in Florida, we don’t do fall like normal folk. The leaves don’t turn pretty shades of orange and yellow and eventually fall to the ground. One freeze late in the year and all the leaves let go overnight. (Except the oak trees. They thoughtfully molt for an entire six months so we won’t get bored.) A couple of mornings with sweet 45-58 degree weather that may or may not last the entire day. Usually not. Then someone stokes up the furnace and the temp is reset to broil.

When winter finally arrives, it just shows up in the middle of the night and freezes your water hose without warning. You drive to Walmart and buy another one. It doesn’t freeze again for weeks, and maybe you are smart enough to pay attention to the forecast this time. Or at least turn the water on trickle.

When it’s cold here, it’s COLD. Frigid. Mind-numbing. Sure, it doesn’t last for months like it does in North Dakota, but it’s the quality, not the quantity that counts.

Last year was a particularly long winter for us. Didn’t put up the jackets until April, for heaven’s sake! That’s three months late.
No, I don’t look forward to that again. But I am hoping that this little cool snap lasts more than a day or two. In Florida, we get about six perfect days a year. Some years they are actually evenly divided between fall and spring.

For ladies like me with the in-house nuclear reactor, we just sweat all the time. Except those six perfect days. We sweat in the warm weather because no one else wants the a/c set at 65. In the winter, I have to stand at the thermostat with a loaded gun to keep the temp set at something less than 77. Why do thermostats go all the way up to 90? Who wants to cook in their own skin? I keep telling the cold people that live in my house, if they are cold, they just need to put on more clothes. One day – the girls at least – will understand from whence I speak. And I will laugh maniacally.

Anyhoo, I am so enjoying this beautiful weather today. Maybe I’ll just skip the laundry and go sit on the porch and drink in the beauty for a while. While it lasts...


Monday, September 28, 2009

A Slow Burn

The Author.


I had the pleasure of hearing Mary DeMuth speak at She Speaks 2009, a Proverbs 31 Ministries conference, in August, 2009. Mary was delightfully witty, honest and forthright as she shared with a bunch of neophyte writers how to go about getting published. While the journey to publication is not an easy one, but rather a quite daunting endeavor – writing the book seems far easier by comparison – I appreciated her candor and encouragement.


As one of those neophyte writers, I've followed Mary's blog for a couple of years now. I read Daisy Chain, predecessor to A Slow Burn just a few weeks ago. When she asked for volunteers to preview this book prior to the October 1st release date, my fingers tripped over each other to reply "me, me, yes, me! I'll read it!"


The Book.


Hurting people hurt people. Emory Chance is a hurting, grieving woman. As the pages of her past are turned, we come to understand why this fragile young woman built a wall of granite around her heart, forbidding anyone to come near. Emotional pain and neglect is all she’s known in her life. It is the only standard she’s familiar with - and is all she’s capable of giving out.

But the murder of her young daughter has ripped a gaping hole in her harsh facade and she fears her vulnerability might be exposed for all of tiny Defiance, Texas to see.

Confronted with an uncommon love from an unlikely source, Emory is both compelled and repelled. To give in means giving up her bitterness and opening up her heart. Giving in would open the door to a frightening magnificence beyond her wildest dreams.

Emory’s sordid past can be redeemed. But at what cost?

A Slow Burn is Mary DeMuth’s second in a trilogy set in 1977 in sleepy Defiance, Texas. Part one is titled Daisy Chain, and is a must-read if the reader is at all interested in the full effect of this intricate story line.

The character development in this series is exquisite. Each character is carefully sketched on a blank canvas. As the story unfolds, details of personality and background are revealed, adding depth and richness to the portraiture, ultimately becoming someone you know.

DeMuth writes with authority, making it apparent that her characters and situations are very near and real to her heart. Indeed, people very much like Daisy, Emory, Jed and Hixon must be in her circle of influence.

Much to my dismay, I discovered shards of my own life entwined in these pages. The first two books in this trilogy have given me pause, stirring in me a compulsion to examine my own life seeking evidence of intentional kindness, grace and mercy extended. I anxiously await the third and final chapter.
This is a tough book to read. Not one of those cute, warm, fuzzy reads where everyone lives happily ever after and you shut the book and fall sleep with a smile on your face. This is a real, raw look at the underbelly of hidden sin. But while exposing the sin, the author points to the message of hope and redemption freely available to whosoever will through Christ. This story is an exceptional visual of just how deep, wide, high and long is God’s mercy and grace, demonstrating that no one is ever outside of His reach.

This is not just good fiction. This is hauntingly familiar, life changing storytelling.

Keep the tissue box handy.





The Tour.


Check out Mary's website.

Visit others on this blog tour for the debut of A Slow Burn by Mary DeMuth.





























































































Monday, September 14, 2009

Let it shine


I sat quietly in the gathering dark on the deck of the cabin we rented for vacation. My favorite time of the day in the Smoky Mountains had arrived.

Willing my eyes to be still and wait, trying not to blink. In a few seconds, it began. The natural fireworks display.

One pinprick of light here … then gone. There … then gone. Then there were three. Then seven … ten … thirteen….

Like sparks rising out of a flame, the little fireflies appear for a second. Just as the eye moves to the spot where the light appeared, the fire winks out - only to appear again a few feet away.

As the darkness wraps it’s cool, whispy arms around me, the little bugs put on a grand lighting display, accompanied by a symphony of crickets and frogs, joined by the occasional owl.

I remember my brother and I catching a firefly when we were kids visiting our grandma in Louisiana. Growing up in Orlando where there were no lightning bugs, we were fascinated with the little creatures whose backsides lit up like tiny flashlights as they flew around after dark. We caught one of the bugs and put it in a jar that Grandma gave us so that we could keep it. We thought that it would make a great night light. But, alas, the little bug died before the next morning.

I sat reminiscing about the fireflies of my childhood and smiled with delight at the private fireworks display that my Creator prepared just for me.

Out of nowhere, the song rambled through my mind…

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Hide it under a bushel –No! I’m gonna let it shine
Hide it under a bushel –No! I’m gonna let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine

Let is shine till Jesus comes, I’m gonna let it shine
Let it shine till Jesus comes, I’m gonna let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine

I wonder if the songwriter was watching fireflies….


Monday, September 7, 2009

Stinging Nettles



Working on trimming tree limbs along the driveway this morning, I squealed as I took a step forward to balance my stance. I knew it was there. But I just forgot it was that close.

The stinging nettle got me again.

The signs are all there. The pretty, petite white flowers on top of the ugly, stalks of sharks-teeth rows of stinging hairs. The plant practically screams danger, beware, keep your distance! But being engrossed in the task at hand, I let down my guard, resulting in the perforation of the tender skin on my ankle.

The stinging nettles are all over our property. I know they are there. Been stung many times before. But apparently knowing they are there isn’t enough to protect me.

Sin is like that. There are signs all over the place, reminding us of the danger. The Holy Spirit doesn’t just let us walk into danger without doing everything He can to warn us. We just tune Him out and walk headlong into the thicket of brambles, and then wonder why we got hurt.

Flee the very appearance of evil.

We become accustomed to the proximity of sin in our day-to-day activities. Watching television and surfing the internet, we can run across something that we know is wrong. Do we switch the channel or close the browser fast enough? Someone offends us and the offense either festers inside us or ... we could forgive and dismiss. It’s easy to drive faster than the speed limit – because we all know about the 10% above-the-speed-limit fudge factor and, besides, everyone does it. When a cashier gives back too much change, are we quick to point out the error? Or calmly walk away while pushing down the guilt that wells up inside? That gossiping co-worker attempts to draw us into a conversation that we know will go nowhere but downhill. How quickly do we extricate ourselves?

I Thessalonians 5:22 (Amp) says “Abstain from evil [shrink from it and keep aloof from it] in whatever form or whatever kind it may be.”

The enemy dresses up sin. Puts pretty flowers all over it to entice and beguile us. The alarms are going off inside our heads all day long. Have we gotten so accustomed to them that we let our guard down? Let us not forget: we are at war here. Let’s keep our spiritual eyes open and give wide berth to the traps laid in wait for us.

Our watchword is vigilance. We must stay on our toes every second.

All it takes is a momentary lapse to brush up next to the nettle.






Thursday, August 27, 2009

A Little Like Noah

Driving home on I-75 in a rain storm is probably the most stressful part of my day. During the summer, in Florida, this is a typical, daily occurrence. A few years ago, during one of these monsoons, I hydroplaned off the interstate and ended up hanging upside down in my seatbelt. Suffice it to say I don’t want to repeat that incident. When it’s raining, I’m praying. Loud.

This week has brought a string of frog-stranglers – most of them conveniently starting about 5pm. I usually take a long, hard look at the radar on my computer before leaving work so I can decide if I want to chance taking the interstate or take a country back road to avoid the slip-n-slide indy-car racers.

Tuesday afternoon, I made the wrong call. The radar showed the red clumps moving to the northwest, away from the interstate. The guy in charge of the radar at NOAA must have been on break or something.

Because that radar was wrong.

Now, I’ve spent ten years driving up and down I-75. And I’ve driven through some storms. But Tuesday was something else.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a few cars that had hydroplaned and now rested at odd angles in the median. I was afraid. The enemy kept whispering “you’re next.” Every time my tires hit another deep pond of water, shifting the car slightly, my stomach lurched.

Unable to make out anything other than the fat white line on the side of the road, and afraid to pull off the road for fear of being hit, I kept driving at 20 miles per hour, while the doubletime beat of the flashers and wipers accompanied my fervent appeal for deliverance.

Gradually, I became aware that I was feeling a disconnect from my situation. The fear seemed to be pressing toward me, reaching out to me, but a buffer had come between me and the fear. It seemed like angels were pressing in to shield me and the fear was being displaced to somewhere just beyond them.

Twenty minutes later I pulled in my driveway and got out of the car in the bright, sweltering, August sunshine. Sighing another “thank you, Lord,” I glanced southeast, toward the storm I’d just driven through. A smile crept across my face … and grew to a great big grin. There – between me and the storm – was a rainbow.

That would just seem a coincidence to most. But I know what it meant. You see, a few minutes earlier, I had just asked the Lord to never allow me to drive through a storm of that intensity ever again.

God didn’t have to put that rainbow there. But He did. Just for me.

I think I felt a little like how Noah must have felt when he saw the very first rainbow.

Except that his storm lasted forty days, during which he was mucking elephant stalls. Mine was only forty minutes. No elephants.