I’m Back!

Did you miss me?  You did?  Oh, you did NOT.  Well, that hurts my feelings a bit, but the co-dependent part of me still missed you! 

I had back surgery at the beginning of last month, and it knocked me out more than I thought it would, and you know how it goes, the longer you don’t do something the harder it is to do it again.  So, the longer I didn’t post something, the harder and scarier it was to think about posting something.  I know, something’s wrong with me. 

Anyway, here’s what happened in my life in the past month:

1.)  I had back surgery.  (I know I already told you that, but I’m looking for some sympathy here.)  I was in a couple of car accidents (neither my fault, thank you very much) two years ago and have herniated discs as a result.  So, I had the surgery.  They knocked me out and went into my back in 6 spots with a little screwdriver looking thing and took some of the “disc material” out to help alleviate the pain.  I woke up as I was being wheeled into recovery by 2 EMT’s (oh yeah, forgot to mention, their entire surgery staff are EMT’s by night, male EMT’s, which made for some pretty interesting recovery talk on my part) and said “What happened?  Why couldn’t you do it?” and they said “You’re done.”  This being put in twilight is amazing. 

2.)  We went to our family reunion, or “family nenunion” as my girl says, on my husband’s side.  It was 3 days of eating the most ridiculously delicious fattening food and watching my girl get to know her ridiculously large extended family.  I got to spend time with my sister-in-law and got to feed horses and cows and chickens, oh my, on my husband’s cousin’s farm.  What happens in Southern Illinois stays in Southern Illinois.  No, wait, I just told you everything that happened in Southern Illinois, scratch that.

3.)  My uncle on my mom’s side came for a visit.  This is us one night when my cousin (my mom’s other brother’s daughter) met up with us for a few.

(What? I’m supposed to get their permission BEFORE posting pictures of them on the internet?  Oh, well, you know what I say when I do something without asking for permission first “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.”  And yes, I am embarrassed to admit that I’ve used that same stupid logic with Jesus before.  Sorry Lord.)  Anyway, had a great time with Uncle N.  He’s really funny and also allows himself to be really vulnerable which always makes for a heart-warming combo.

4.)  I started and finished this book:

It was really good.  At the end of the book (and I’m not giving anything away here) he thanks Jesus for helping him become a better Jew.  The irony of it is beautiful, and I think totally lost on the author.  I love the Old Testament and love learning about the Jewish part of my faith.  There are so many things that I, as a Gentile, would never fully understand without being taught by someone who knows the Old Testament as a Jew.  For example, have you ever seen matzoh bread?  You know, the unleavened stuff that is the only bread that God commands that Jews may eat at Passover.  Okay, let me start from the beginning in case you don’t know.  The original Passover was when God sent the Angel of Death to kill all the firstborn in Egypt as the 10th plague during the Exodus.  God commands the Israelites to kill a lamb and spread the blood over their doorposts and that when the Angel sees the blood he will “pass over” their houses and their children will live.  The Israelites then left Egypt in such a hurry that they didn’t have time for their bread to rise or leaven so every year at Passover they remember this time by eating unleavened bread.  This would have been the same bread that Jesus was holding at the Last Supper (which is a term I hate because as Christians we believe that we’re going to have a chandelier-swinging, roof-raising, like-nothing-you’ve-ever seen Supper when the LORD returns for us, His bride, so there really is no such thing as the “Last” Supper, but I digress).  So, anyway, this is the same bread that Jesus was holding when He said “This is my body.”  Okay, so now to my point, have you ever seen this bread?  It looks like this:

See how it’s striped?  And pierced?  This was the bread the Israelites first ate when God saved them the first time by the blood of the lamb.  Makes the whole “This is my body” thing even more poignant, doesn’t it?  Pierced and striped for our transgressions.  He’s brilliant, isn’t He?  So you can see why I’m in love with learning about everything I can about the Jewish faith, because it speaks so loudly about my Savior. 

5.) And, last but not least, I had my first one of these of the season:

Yeah, the Starbuck’s Pumpkin Spice Latte is back. 

And so am I.

Missed you,
Bec
xoxo

The Sand Dollar Prayer: Tangible Faith

God is not a big banker in the sky.  We can’t fill out a prayer withdrawal form, hand it to Him, and expect to get our withdrawal in the form of (fill in the prayer request blank).  He always answers our prayers, but sometimes His answer is “NO!”.  He’s our Father, afterall, not our servant.  So, it’s always thrilling to me when He answers my prayer immediately in the exact way, or better than, what I ask for.  This was the case with my Sand Dollar Prayer.

I have lived in Florida my entire life, save the 3 years I spent in Wyoming picking up my God-ordered husband (more on that story later).  All that time in Florida, always within 10 miles of the beach, and I had NEVER found a sand dollar on the beach.  Never.  Then, when my husband and I went on our honeymoon to Key West I found a little card in a shop with this poem:

Legend of the Sand Dollar

There’s a pretty little legend
That I would like to tell
Of the birth and death of Jesus
Found in this lowly shell

If you examine closely,
You’ll see that you find here
Four nail holes and a fifth one
Made by a Roman’s Spear.

On one side the Easter Lily,
Its center is the star
That appeared unto the wisemen
And led them from afar.

The Christmas Poinsettia
Etched on the other side
Reminds us of His birthday
Our Happy Christmastide.

Now break the center open
And here you will release
The five white doves awaiting
To spread Good Will and Peace.

This simple little symbol,
Christ left for you and me
To help us spread his Gospel
Through all eternity.
Anonymous

There were sand dollars for sale near the card.  We looked over them, and sure enough saw the four nail holes, and fifth one made by a spear, as well as the Easter Lily and the tiny star right in the middle: 

And when we turned the sand dollar over, the Christmas Poinsetta:

And my favorite part, when you break the sand dollar open there are 5 doves:

I love that the sand dollar needs to be broken open to release the doves of “peace”.  Just like Jesus had to be broken to bring peace to our lives.  And we have to be broken to have that true peace that comes from Him. 

And want to know something else?  When sand dollars are alive they’re pink.  When they die, they turn white, just like He’s washed us white as snow.

Needless to say, I immediately fell in love with sand dollars, and every time I went to the beach after that I was on the look-out, but never found one. 

Fast forward a couple of years to a particularly rough time in our marriage.  We decided to get away just the two of us for a weekend at a little inn near the beach on the West Coast of Florida.  The first day there, as I was about to set my foot on the sand, I said a little prayer (out loud) “LORD, please give me a sand dollar.”  We set up our chairs and slathered on sunscreen when I turned to my husband and said “I’m going to find the sand dollar God left for me.”  I walked about 10 steps to the water, and there, at my feet, was my sand dollar.  I ran back to my husband, grateful I had prayed out loud.  I knew that He was answering my prayer to increase the faith of both of us, and to let me know that no matter how tough it seemed, He was there, in the midst of it.  Faith is the evidence of things unseen, but sometimes He gives us tangible things to keep our faith up. 

Loving Him loving you,
Bec

 Scriptures relating to the Legend of the Sand Dollar:

 John 19:34: “Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water.”

 Matthew 2:2: and asked, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him.”

 Matthew 2:10: “When they saw the star, they were overjoyed.”

Matthew 1:23: “The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel”–which means, “God with us.”

Matthew 3:16: “As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him.”

 Luke 2:14: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.”

 

FHE – Family Home Evening

About 6 months ago I read online about an ingenious idea that the Morman church encourages its followers to, well, follow.  It’s called Family Home Evening, or FHE, and the idea is this:  your family picks a night each week that works for them to commit to being home together and spending deliberate family time communicating and growing in God.  I thought it was brilliant and wondered why I hadn’t thought of it on my own.  So, we started doing FHE, or Homey Foam Evening as my 3-year-old calls it. 
Let me pause to say how much I encourage you, whoever your household consists of, to start doing FHE.  If you’re single and live with a roommate, do FHE with your roommate.  Or if you live alone try to get a small group together to commit to FHE every week.  The point is to spend time with people who care for and encourage you, who want you to grow, and who you want to encourage to grow.  This is also a great idea if you have a member of your family who doesn’t like church.  This is at home.  No pressure.  No fancy clothes to put on.  No wondering what other people are thinking.  THIS is how the church first started.  Do it.  Today.  Have I made my bossy self clear?  Okay, now back to what I was saying.  What was I saying?  Oh yeah, so we started FHE.
Every week we start with prayer, then a couple of praise and worship songs, a short Bible study or message, more prayer, then treats.  Usually during treats we talk about what impacted us the most about the Bible study or what God’s been dealing with us about lately, or we come up with new and different ideas to add to FHE.  We have different roles assigned for FHE:  leader, prayer, music, and message.  The best part is that every single week the separate parts of FHE are rotated and assigned to a different member of our household (except for treats, which are always my duty because I think they should relate to God in some way:  edible tombs near Easter time, angel cookies when we talked about Jacob’s ladder, etc.  This is totally not necessary and I really think I’m the only one that notices, but I’m OCD in some ways and God hasn’t cured me of it yet.  Plus, no one else wants to be responsible for treats.  Yes, that’s it.  I do it because no one else wants to, not because I’m controlling.).  My household consists of my husband, me, our girl, and G-ma (my mom).  One week my husband will lead the group, our girl will lead prayer, G-ma will do music, and I’ll give the message.  The next week I’ll lead the group, my husband will lead prayer, G-ma will give the message, and our girl will pick the songs we sing.  This means that at 3 years old our daughter has already led a Bible study, which is an invaluable tool  for her to grow up to be the woman that I pray she will. 
Each week she and I talk about her role for the week and I help her prepare.  Then, we make notes of what she wants to say by drawing pictures.  If it’s her turn to lead the group we make a list of which order she needs to call things by drawing symbols of the things we do and drawing little pictures of the person’s face who’s leading that particular part for that week.  For example, if she’s leading our group and it’s my turn to do music, my husband’s turn to do the message, and G-ma’s turn to do prayer, I’ll draw a music note with a face with long hair, a Bible with a face with no hair (my husband’s head is shaved, not bald, thank you very much), and two hands together in prayer with a face with crazy curly hair. 
The first time she led the group  I told her that she could open up welcoming everyone to FHE, say whatever she wants, and then introduce who’s praying, doing music, and speaking.  So, we all sat down and she closed her eyes and said “Jesus, we welcome you here.”  I had meant for her to welcome her family, but she remembered the real reason for FHE and welcomed first the One who mattered most.  My heart stood still and I felt my nose start to tingle.  I realized then that while I was praying for her to become a Godly woman, she was already a Godly girl, and that I would probably learn more from her than she would ever learn from me.  Except, of course, when it comes to treats with Biblical messages.  I’ve got that hands down.  Me and Martha in the kitchen building mangers out of pretzel sticks, while my girl and Mary sit at His feet welcoming Him into their homes. 

Oh Lord, pray for me.

Love ya’ in spite of my chocolate-covered hands,
Bec

Who needs Him?

Today I took my girl to story time at the library.  It’s the same thing every Tuesday:  story time, then puzzles with other kids, then checking out books while she complains about not playing puzzles enough.  Today, while our books were being checked out, the woman next to me started ranting about her cell phone:  “I just had it.  Someone took it!  I’m going to kill myself.  Oh God, why are you doing this to me?  Where’s my phone?  I’m going to kill myself.  I’m going to kill myself.”
I tried my best to have a soothing, but firm voice, “Calm down.  Now, where have you been in the library today?” 
“I was right here, then at Reference, then here again.  Oh God, I’m going to kill myself.”  She was frantically taking everything out of her purse and then putting it back in only to repeat herself:  out, in, out, in.
“Did you check at Reference?”
“Yes, it’s not there!  Someone took it!”
Then, the brilliant woman on the other side of her said “Do you want me to try to call it?”
She did; and we all heard the ringing, coming from the anxious woman’s purse.  “Oh, okay, it’s buried in there.  Okay, as long as I know it’s there.  I don’t really need it anyway.”
I stuffed my books in my bag and headed out the door to get on with my day, never looking back.  And then, after I put my girl down for a nap, and sat down to finish a chapter in a Christian book I’m reading did it hit me (emphasis mine for what I fraud I am).  I heard my voice in my head “Calm down.”  I saw the woman’s distraught face, heard her words “I’m going to kill myself”, and then me saying “calm down.”  True calm only comes from the LORD, but here I was telling her to do something that she would be incapable of doing.  And then, just walking away, not making deliberate eye contact, not asking her if she was okay, not introducing her to the One I claim to love so much.  No, I just said “Calm down” and walked away. 
Who needs Jesus more than the distressed one saying she’s going to kill herself over a lost cell phone? 
Perhaps the fake one who claims to know Him, but just walks out the door.
Pray for me.

Love,
Bec

What have you done for Jesus?

Here’s another “That’s Bull!” post.  This time I’m telling on myself.  I’m looking myself in the mirror and I’m adding expletives. 

I love Jesus.  I really do.  How could I not?  He saved me and keeps saving me.  He set me free and continues to free me.  But I am notoriously a brat in my own mind.  It’s like I have a whole committee up there.  Literally the good angel on one shoulder, the devil on the other, and me bargaining with both of them.  Eventually Jesus’ voice always makes it through, and then God help me, eventually I do what He says.  I have no idea how he has so much patience with me.  If my daughter was as stubborn to my voice as I can be to His she would be in time-out all day long.  Most times though, He gives me 2nd and 3rd, and 100th chances to do what He tells me to do.  This was the case on Saturday.  One of my neighbors moved in about a year ago.  She’s a single woman who looks to be in her mid-forties.  My husband met her early on when they were both outside one day, but every time I was outside she wouldn’t make eye contact or talk to me.  So, I immediately wrote her off as one of “those” women.  You know the kind, they’ll talk to your husband, but not you, smile at men, but not women.  And I knew all I needed to know about her.  Then, about 3 1/2 months ago Jesus told me to start inviting her over for dinner.  That didn’t go over too well with me, so we agreed that I could bring dinner to her.  You know, drop off a pot of spaghetti or casserole every once in a while.  I felt comfortable with that (because MY comfort is the most important thing, of course).  That was 3 1/2 months ago and I still haven’t done it.  On Saturday I had a yard sale and she came over.  And, you’re never going to believe it, she was nice and even endearing.  (Could it be that I was the standoffish one the entire time??)  And we started talking about what a rough time she’s been having financially after losing her income 3 months ago!  She lost her income 2 weeks after the LORD told me to start bringing her food.  And I didn’t do it.  After we talked it hit me like a ton of bricks.  She doesn’t know Jesus, and He wanted to show Himself to her through me, a girl who claims to be His daughter, and I didn’t listen.  Matthew 25:40 says “And the King will say, ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!’”  The word “least” here is elachistos in Greek, and means: smallest, least:  a) in size, b) in amount: of management of affairs, c) in importance: what is the least moment, d) in authority: of commandments, e) in the estimation of men: of persons, f) in rank and excellence: of persons.  Letter E is where my neighbor fell in to me:  least of persons in the estimation of men.  Plain and simple:  I didn’t think she was important.  I was a brat.  I looked down my snotty nose.  But, the Bible tells me that whatever I did to and for her I did to and for Jesus.  Jesus was living next door to me for a  year and I ignored Him.  Jesus lost His income 3 months ago and didn’t have enough for food and I didn’t feed Him.  Jesus was living alone (and probably lonely) next door and I didn’t befriend Him.  The man who was beaten and bloodied for MY mess-ups just needed a meal and I didn’t cook it.  I am an ungrateful brat.  And the worst part is, I didn’t realize it until I decided that she was nice and sweet.  Think I would have realized if she had come outside and complained about my dogs or my kid or the noise from the yard sale at 6:30 in the morning?  I am a blind ungrateful brat.  I asked Him to forgive me for not listening to Him right away, and for essentially leaving Him hungry.  Today I’m going to start blessing her.  I’m going to start thanking Jesus for everything He’s done for me by acting loving towards my neighbor; afterall, whatever I do (or don’t do) for her, I do (or don’t do) for Him.  Who is a “least” in your life?  Don’t wait to bless them.  Do it today!  He’s worth it. 

 

Shirt to Purse

Today I’m starting another blog just for crafts.  So, those of you who aren’t interested in my craft insanity won’t have to suffer through it every week.  You’ll just have to suffer through my normal insanity.  But, until I start the craft blog, I’m going to post something else I worked on.  I begrudgingly organized my craft crap yesterday (you’re welcome husband), and I came across this shirt in my fabric mess bin:

(No, my arm is not that hairy.  My husband lovingly offered to be my hanger.  No, he wasn’t telling me to hurry up and take the picture, why do you ask?)

I turned the shirt inside out and stitched the bottom closed.  See?

Then, remember the part at the top of the shirt where, ahem, the cleavage is supposed to go?  I sewed that part up to.  When I was done, I turned it right-side out and here’s what the bottom looked like:And the top:

But, I thought it needed something else.  So, I made a fabric rosette out of some fake leather.

These are super cute and super easy.  If you’re interested I’ll have a tutorial on my craft blog later on.  If you have to know right now leave a comment and I’ll send you directions.

Then, I hand-sewed the rosette right where I ended the cleavage stitch.  What do you think?

(My husband refused to model it.)  This purse took about 20 minutes total.  It’s not an everyday purse because there’s no lining, but for going out at night, it’s perfect for throwing in a wallet, phone, and some make-up.  You could also add a clasp.  I didn’t because I never use them. 

Make one for yourself today! 

 

He’s NEVER Late

God’s timing is perfect.  I have to constantly remind myself of this, and if I don’t, He will.  I love my Father and I know He loves me.  I am blessed that I don’t struggle with the love thing like some people do.  I never question His love for me.  The problem is I’m a spiritual brat.  I have only-child syndrome with God.  You know, like sometimes I have to actually tell myself that I’m not His only kid.  I think this comes from being the only child of my mom and dad.  I never had to compete with a sibling for attention.  The physical things don’t bother me.  I  never ask God why so-and-so has that kind of car and I don’t or why she gets to do that and I don’t.  I have learned that the physical things don’t matter compared to the spiritual things, i.e. love.  But, I still ask Him why when I don’t think He’s responding to my prayer in the right time, and here is where the brat emerges.

On Saturday I was having one of these “brat fests” with Him.  I was alone in my car going to pick up my girl from my grandmother’s house.  I was complaining to Him, whining to Him, raising my voice to Him, telling Him I didn’t understand why a situation in my life was being handled the way it was.  (During these “brat fests” it’s easy to forget all the blessings He’s given me.  Isn’t that interesting?  Complaining takes my eyes off of the good, hmmm).  Anyway, I was a whining mess.  But, He is a good Dad.  He never punishes me, but always teaches me.  I had cried and yelled and let Him know my point and then got off the highway and up to my Grammy’s gate (she lives in a retirement community).  As I dialed her from the gate to buzz me in I saw a little white dog on the other side near the canal.  His owner was no where around, so being the witty girl I am, I figured he must’ve run out of his house and his owner was trying to figure out where he’d gone.  Gram lives in a pretty nosey tight-knit community and everyone pretty much knows everybody else’s business, so I figured I would scoop the little guy up and take him to Gram to figure out who he belongs to.  As I drove through the gate he disappeared into some bushes, so I pulled over, got out of the car, and started calling him as I walked towards where I saw him.  And when I got to the bushes I saw him, in the canal, trying desperately to stay afloat, with his little head going completely under every few seconds.  I ran over and tried calling him to the edge, but he was panicking and was only swimming in circles.  I was terrified.  Alligators live in the canals in Florida!  My shoes had already gotten stuck in the mud and I was cutting my feet walking barefoot trying to figure out how to get him out.  I saw a headline flash in my mind “Local Woman Attacked and Killed by Gator After Trying to Save 10 Pound Dog!”  Finally I decided “That’s it, I’m jumping in.”  I didn’t know how I would get out once I got in, the banks of the canal are steep and muddy, but I knew there was no way he could get out on his own, and I could never live with myself if I just stood there and watched him go under.  So I got one foot over the edge and the most amazing thing happened!  He stopped swimming in circles, he started swimming right for me!  I started calling him and cheering him on and finally he made it to my foot!  I scooped down and grabbed him and got out of the mud.  We were both soaking wet and covered from head to toe in mud.  I pried my shoes out of the mud, slipped them on, and walked to Grammy’s house.  After hosing ourselves off we found his owner, whose husband had died a couple of months ago.  She said she opened the door and he bolted out.  She had been on the opposite end of the community looking for him.  On my drive home, wet, still covered in mud in some places, I heard Dad say “If you hadn’t been there at that exact time, he would’ve drowned.”  I started to feel my chest puff up until He continued “I timed that.  Maybe you can stop whining and start trusting Me.  I know what I’m doing.”  And instantly my chest deflated and tears began running down my dirty cheeks.  Who am I, the clay, to tell the Potter how to make me or where to sit me on the shelf or how long to bake me or what color to paint me?  As I write this right now I have tear-filled eyes knowing how much He loves me and how He is in control.  I just need to remember that when I fall in the muddy canal He’ll come to gently scoop me up and clean me off because His timing is perfect, He is in control, and He is love.  I heard somewhere once that faith in God means faith in His timing.  Isn’t that the truth?

Love ya because He first loved me,
Bec

“In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps.”   Proverbs 16:9

P.S.  My daughter has been telling people that I’m a Dog Hero.  She doesn’t need to know yet that I’m really just a whiny brat being taught a lesson.  We can let her live not knowing the truth for a little while, right?