KNOWING GOD THROUGH HIS GOODNESS

Yesterday morning I felt too ashamed to come before God and ask Him for forgiveness over something I repeatedly did.  I begin most days at dawn in the presence of the Lord in worship and listening for His voice of pleasure and fellowship, and for any assignment He may have for me.  Two days before I’d been given some assignments to complete.  I made my notes before ending prayer so when I returned from work I could carry out my mission.  However, when I got home I prepared and ate dinner in front of the television (a very draining distraction for me).  After eating I just sat there watching meaningless programs, too tired to get up.  I then fell asleep, waking up several hours later and went to bed.  Despite my good intentions to complete my assignments I had succumb to the same scenario for two days.  And each morning I got up apologizing to God for failing to do what He had asked me to do. 

But on this particular morning I came to our secret place convicted and overwhelmed with grief over my sin.  Instead of just asking for forgiveness, I also asked for deliverance that I may accomplish His purpose. Before pulling out of the driveway in route to work I was still praying when I received a Bible Verse text of the day on my phone. 

“Remember not the sins (the lapses and frailties) of my youth or my transgressions; according to Your mercy and steadfast love remember me, for Your goodness’ sake, O Lord.” – Psalm 25:7 [Amplified Bible]

Tears of gratitude filled my eyes as I processed this truth.  God’s forgiveness is based on His goodness---- (grace, mercy) and not my performance of good deeds!  I can never earn God’s forgiveness. All my righteousness is as filthy rags before Him.  It is only when our righteousness is a response to God’s goodness (grace, mercy, forgiveness) toward us that it is accepted and He is glorified.
When I got home from work, unwinding in front of the TV didn’t even cross my mind.  Instead I meditated on God and His goodness as I joyfully prepared dinner, ate, and completed my assignments.

MORNING REFLECTIONS

up before dawn
coffee brewing
scattered thoughts
by candle light writing
how blessed i am
God is so good to me.

children grown
with children of their own
husband gone
home alone.

life is still good
with God it's even greater
abiding in Him
and He abides in me.

Rain splats, shifts, drip-drops, spotting our skin  and reminding us that we have bodies as well as brains--that our souls are clothed through God's creativity with flesh that lets us sense in a marvelous way. The rain drops harbor coolness where they catch in our clothing. They scent of relief--joy for hot, tired plants; for hot, tired people; for hot, cracking soil. A song describes Jesus' name as being "like the fragrance after the rain." I want to embrace that wonder of His Being--to let Him catch me in my hot, dry ruts and wake me to a world rejoicing in His life.

thunderstorm

A heavy mass of water and dust, I walk gracefully upon this grey stage.
I stand in the center as my audience below me walk hastily armed with umbrellas.
I start my performance with a low booming tune.
my voice crackles as lights violently dance as back-up dancers around me.
My song is so moving that I cause even myself to shed tears of ice and rain.
I would've appetiated a standing "O" for my hard work, but my audience has taken to shelters to avoid my baseball-sized tears.
I take a bow and this is how a proper storm is done.

OUR FATHER IS ALWAYS AT WORK!

Jesus said the Father is ALWAYS at work.  We often miss God working around us because we don’t know what His Work looks like, nor do we know when He’s inviting us to join Him because we spend so little, if any, quiet time in His Presence. 

There’s nothing more fulfilling than being able to discern where God is working and joining Him in that work.  Last week God invited me to join Him in His Work in the life of a certain individual.

About 8pm there was a knock on the door.  “Who is it?” I asked, no one answered.  I looked out the window and saw who I thought was my older brother but when I opened the door I saw it wasn’t him, it was someone unknown to me. 

“May I cut your lawn, ma’am?”
“For how much?”
“Do you have a back yard?” 
“Yes” I replied. 
“Let me take a look, you don’t have any dogs do you?”
“No.”
He went around the back of the house to look and returned. “Ma’am, I’ll cut your front and back yard for $20.00.”  

While he was cutting the grass, I went back to my writing.  In my mind I saw Abraham when he welcomed visitors and rushed to prepare a meal for them.  I became overwhelmed with the need to prepare dinner for this man that asked to mow my lawn. 
“Make some cornbread!”  I heard the Holy Spirit say.  So I quickly got up and made some cornbread, and heated up some spaghetti and my last piece of fried chicken.
 “What else Lord?” I asked.  As soon as the question left my mouth I thought about the “Knowing God Personally” tracts on my desk.  I ran upstairs and grabbed one and placed it with the napkins and fork atop the covered plate of food.

When he finished, I gave him the $20 and the food I had prepared. 
“God told me to fix you dinner” I said.
“God told you to fix me dinner?” he replied with a look of skepticism.
“God said you hadn’t had your dinner, and to fix you a plate to take with you.” 
“I didn't have dinner. I know there’s a God because you just proved to me that there is!  Thank you.”
 
As he walked away from the house I could hear him say, “I’ve got dinner!  Thank you, thank you.”

About Me

Who am I? I am a God gift to my father and mother. Now, to my eight siblings that's a different opinion. My mother had me and my younger sister and brother in her premenopausal stage. She had me at the age 40, my sister 41, and my youngest  brother at 42. We was the proud set of children of my dad, because he was an old man kicking it up again as his brother said. The reason why I am giving you some history of my parents and younger sibling is they are me. I love my family so much. We are as far apart as we we're together. Alice is the youngest girl, but acts the oldest. Anthony was the baby boy who everyone loved. My mother was so beautiful in and  out. She was always ways doing something for everybody. My dad just wanted everybody to be happy. So, if you know me you would see  I have a little of each of them in me. I am thankful for that. Because, sometime my Adam don't want to do something foe someone or be happy around some people. But that's when my parents spirit would rise up and I would do what is right. Their love and spirit will never die. Both of my parents are gone to glory, and I am left here to carry on my mother work and my dad joy. That is who I am.

which make my sibling every happy especially my youngest sister and brother.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!

On April 25th my mother would have celebrated her 77th birthday.  She died on Mother’s Day, May 14, 2006 at 11:30pm.

 I never realized how much my life mirrored my mother’s life until recently.  As teens and young adults we witness the weaknesses of our parents and vow never to make the same mistakes they made.  And many times without realizing it (perhaps because we judged without knowledge) we find ourselves walking in their shoes.

 I’ve also followed her in the good things she accomplished in life.  She was an avid learner and teacher of the Word of God.  I too share her passionate devotion to God and His Word.  We both served (and I continue to serve) as ministers in our local church, and we’ve written teaching materials and booklets to edify and encourage the Body of Christ.  In her mid-fifties, my mom wrote a religious column for a community newspaper (Bulletin-Chicago). Since July of last year I’ve been writing a Christian column for a south suburban community newspaper (The Shopper-South Holland); I’m in my late fifties.

 One form of writing my mother excelled in was poetry (a form I struggle with).  The following is one of her favorites.

“The Harmony of Life” by Cordelia Ann Miller

Life is full of harmony somewhat like a song
Full of the good that we have done
And also full of the wrong.

Smiles and laughter, sorrows and tears
Follow us all down through the years
The miracle of birth, a part of each day
And the mystery of death, quietly slipping loved ones away.

Yet, life is good I say
For we know that to live is to die
To laugh and be happy and then to cry

And as I grow on in years
I find life sweeter even with all of its sorrows and tears
For I’ve found the hope and joy of ages past
And it’s built on God and I know it will last.

 I’ve found the light of life at last,
A light that cannot be surpassed
By the sorrows and tears life before me besets

 Yes, life is like a song full of harmony
As long as my God walks along beside me.

Singing in the Dark

I am grateful for pockets full of warm memories: my sister & I digging in the sandbox under the oak until mosquitoes drove us inside at dusk, gathering lilacs with Dad and bringing them home for Mom, playing Poo Sticks from the bridge at the edge of "The Open Space" (the play area at the edge of our trailer park), and pretending on keen days that the half-fearsome tug of my kite against the spool in my fist was a medieval falcon answering my commands.

I am grateful for the smiles of children today: the exuberance of their play, their happy shrieks and unfettered laughter. I am grateful for blossoms: on my geranium, in the neighbors' yards, on the bushes and trees. I am grateful for tea and good news and beauty hiding like Easter eggs all around our world.

I am grateful for a God Who cannot be eclipsed or threatened by my changing moods: Who knows me better than I know myself, Who every moment sees each cranny of my soul and somehow loves me more than I will ever understand, Who holds my hope for forgiveness and redemption and tomorrow.

I am grateful that He hears me singing in the dark and knows that I am afraid. I am grateful that I cannot--and need not--hide from Him.

A Friend With A Tail

Today, I tried to speak to her. I spoke as clear and as elegant as I could. I was sure that I was sure that I was as suave as a gentleman with my speaking. But, as I was trying to compliment her on her choice of shampoo, this happened:
 “You fussy feline! Wait, I’ll feed you as soon as I’m finished washing the dishes!”
I blinked once at her. I don’t get it. How could she have not understood what I was saying to her when I understood her just fine? I stared at her and I tried once more.
 “Meow!” I said.
She glanced at me, but said nothing.
I walked to her room and got under the bed.
After a few minutes of washing; she, Natalie, finally came to her room. I was still under her bed; for when she sat down, I could hear the old mattress springs creaking.
I crawled out from under the bed and looked around. Natalie laid in her bed staring at the wall. I sighed. I jumped up onto the bed and I cuddled up close to her because I knew that she was crying right now. I knew that she felt all alone because her father works 24/7. I wanted to be able to comfort her. I purred. She looked at me and smiled. She held me tightly and kissed the top of my head.
She whispered to me.
 “Levi, you’re my only friend.”
I thought to myself, ‘I know and I love you.’
But she didn’t answer. Then again, I didn’t expect her to anyway.
During the middle of the night, I saw a comet shoot across the sky. I remembered that Natalie would make a wish whenever that happened. So, I tried making a wish too while Natalie was sleeping. This is what I said:
 “Please, I wish to be able to comfort Natalie Fray more than I ever could as a cat. I want to hold her in my arms at least once if not ever.”
I waited, but nothing happened. How discouraging. I decided I would try to sleep a little more, maybe things like this just needed a little more time.
The next morning I heard screaming, loud screaming. I opened my eyes to see what all the commotion was about. It was Natalie freaking out x10.
 “Get out! Who are you?!” she yelled, “eek!!!!”
Before I could explain, or even figure out what was happening, she started hitting me with a pillow.
 “Wait-----!!!!!” I tried to say.
I jumped out of her bed and tried to run somewhere to hide, but I realized that I didn’t know how to use brand new human feet. I also realized that the one good thing about being a cat was that I had fur all over my body. Now, I only have yellow fur, or hair, on my head. Without a furry body, I sort of feel kind of, well… you know, naked.
I crawled to the laundry room to find something to put on. I found one of Natalie’s dad’s work shirts. I put it on and I tried my best to button it. The floor in the laundry room was cold. I studied my new body. I inspected my new feet; I wiggled my new toes. My feet were long and wide like flippers. In fact, my arms and legs were long as well. Perhaps I was tall now. Hmmmm. I used a wall as support as I tried to stand again.
I noticed a mirror on that wall and looked in it.
I saw my reflection. I blushed. I didn’t know that I was so handsome. I always had silvereyes and yellow hair; but, I never noticed the beauty in these features until I became human.
My legs started to get weak and ache, so I got on all-fours and started crawling again.
I figured that Natalie had finished freaking out so I went to find her. She was in the kitchen fixing a bowl of cat food for her cat, Levi. I told her that I’m Levi, but she wouldn’t believe me.
She sat the bowl on the floor and started calling her kitty.
“Levi, come here boy!” she called.
No response.
To show her I wasn’t kidding, I picked up the bowl and started eating out of it. She stared at me. I stared back at her.
Apparently, she thought this was funny. I don’t know why, but I laughed too. Then, I started crying. My stomach hurt.
 “Stop eating that.” She said to me, “you’re not a cat anymore.”
I put the food back on the floor. She started petting my head like when I was a cat. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. We sat on the kitchen floor for some time. Finally, I found the courage to say something.
 “Natalie, I’ve always loved you.” I said, “I’ve loved you since the day you were born, always.”
This was true. Her parents adopted me as a kitten a day before Natalie’s mom gave birth to her. When I was finally allowed to see Natalie, I fell in love instantly.
I could tell that she was speechless. She just stared at me; but then, she did something amazing. She kissed me. I couldn’t think of what to do next so I just held her close to me.
I didn’t know if I would turn back into a cat anytime soon, but I did know that my biggest wish was just granted and that today would be the start of something cool.

Restore

Recently I spent way too much time watching short videos of a man rescuing abandoned dogs. I am not truly a dog person, and the online format reminded me of other videos I’d seen featuring people in desperate plights. My social conscience tapped against the back of my mind: Think how much that kind of affection and patience are needed by the abandoned children of the world. Is it really a good use of resources to expend financial and emotional energy on dogs when people are dying? But watching the restoration of these creatures touched a deep chord inside me.

Holding his video camera with one hand, the man befriended the dogs with his other hand—bribing them towards him with pieces of a cheese burger. Always, the dogs were frightened. Often they were under physical stress as well. They cowered, cringed, or jumped away from their rescuer’s advances. Calm and unflurried, he persisted until he could touch them.  Eventually, they allowed him to rub their faces and ears, surprising them with friendship when moments earlier they were afraid for their lives. In follow-up videos, the transformation of these dogs startled me. Dogs that once compressed themselves into cowering bundles of life now exuded affectionate confidence—cavorting with other dogs or leaning their heads against their rescuer's knee and squinting with pleasure as he rubbed their faces.  

Watching those videos, I began to realize how profoundly beautiful restoration is. Dogs are meant to be happy companions—not miserable, terrorized beings. When they blossomed under the influence of kindness into vivacious, “normal” dogs, something broken in the world mended.

People are more complicated than dogs, and I won’t try to draw a great parallel between us and our Rescuer, and the man who sought stray dogs. But I will say this. Restoration is beautiful. How we need this miracle ourselves! Color, spirit, confidence—the individual displays of God’s character and glory that He has designed us to live—have all been twisted and dimmed inside us. In His loving kindness, our maker can restore us to what we are meant to be. I want to embrace God’s designs for my being—to allow Him to draw me out of avoidance, fear, shame, and sin and into His real life. 

Posted by Elena