I Love Him*

Do you get riled up when someone puts down a member of your family? Somehow, whether the family member in question is right or wrong, you feel an extreme loyalty and a desire to defend them. It is the same mentality that says, “Hey! I can say that because I’m his sister, but don’t you dare say it!” When people talk trash about the ones we love and care about, it can feel like they might as well have directed it at us. It’s personal. It hits close to home. Other times, the fire is more of a heart ache. Your heart just shatters thinking about what that unkind word or thoughtless deed meant to your sister, brother, aunt, father, niece, cousin etc.

I was on one of the several social networking sites available today, browsing the updates made to friends’ profiles and perusing the applications you can add to your page. One of the girls in my circle of friends had a “bumper sticker” application, which allows you to pick from an assortment of uploaded icons and post them on your profile. I also have this application, so when I noticed she had a “Jesus Fish” icon, I decided I would also like to have that symbol, as a testimony of my faith. However, after a few frustrating attempts, I could not seem to get the picture to show up on my profile. ARGH! So, I decided to go about it the long way and hunt for another image, thinking perhaps the issue was with that particular image file. I selected “religion” from the drop down list and commenced the search for another “Jesus Fish”. What I found instead was disheartening.

Amongst a tower of rubbish, were a handful of genuine icons that depicted one religion or another, with a few that endorsed Christianity. Others mocked the faith. In some of the more offensive, Jesus himself was the brunt of some crude jokes. My husband put it well: It is one thing to make fun of Christians, for we are only human, but God is above mocking. After seeing one too many appalling jabs at Jesus, I gave up the quest and sat there on the couch, trying to digest the series of emotions that were turning around inside me. When I was able to sort it out, I realized I was hurt. I was genuinely saddened by what I had witnessed. I felt like I would feel if someone had just run my husband’s name through the mud with no evidence to back up their slander.

Then it became real.

I truly love my Savior! I often express this in prayer but it seems it has become more lip service than sincerity. It also reminded me, especially in light of Easter, this is not the first time Jesus has been mocked. Several years ago, he was beaten, spat upon, whipped, sliced, broken, bruised and taunted. The Roman soldiers, “stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him”, then irreverently placed a crown of thorns upon Jesus’ head, “They put a staff in his right hand and knelt in front of him and mocked him. ‘Hail, king of the Jews!’ they said.” (Matthew 27:28-29) He then had nails driven through his hands and feet so that He could be hung from a cross, for all to come and see, to jeer at and to scorn. Jesus gave His life that day for me, for you, and for the people who created the offensive images and text.

All my life I have had the point driven home, “Jesus loves you.” He loves me because He is love, “because the Bible tells me so”, because He laid down His life…the list goes on. But I do not believe I have heard as often what it means to love God. A few Sundays ago, there was a sermon about what is expected of us once we are saved. Of course, I could tell you what much of those things are, right? I mean, go to church, pray, worship, adhere to the Ten Commandments, read His Word…those are all good things; But why do we do these things? Is it “because the Bible tells me so”? Well, partially, but why should we want to obey His Word? We should want to obey Him, because we love Him. He showed the greatest example of love known to man. His, is an undying love of unfathomable proportions and all He asks for in return, is our love. With that love, comes the desire to obey and follow Him. It was quite the point he made! God wants us to love Him too. Well, I can honestly say I do love my Savior…and I do strive to demonstrate this not only in words, but in actions as well.

So, as Good Friday comes to a close and Easter Sunday approaches, I hope you consider the debt that was paid on that cross at Calvary for each and every one of us. His love is bigger than mine, it can love the lowliest of people, it is blind to race, colour, gender…We, too, are to love one another. It is a hard concept to put into practice sometimes but I am glad God died for the murders, the rapists, the liars, the adulterers, the thieves, the doubters, the hypocrites, the proud...because I used to be a sinner, now I’m a sinner saved by grace. And for this gift, I am thankful.

“Down the Via Dolorosa

In Jerusalem that day

The soldiers tried to clear the narrow street

But the crowd pressed in to see

The man condemned to die on calvary

His was bleeding from a beating

The were stripes upon his back

And he wore a crown of thorns upon his head

And he bore with every step

The scorn of those who cried out for his death

Down the Via Dolorosa

Called the way of suffering

Like a lamb came the Messiah

Christ the king

But he chose to walk that road out of his love

For you and me

Down the Via Dolorosa all the way

To Calvary”

(excerpt from Via Dolorosa sung by Sandi Patty)

* I wrote/published this on my former blog on March 22nd of this year, but I thought it was a good point to make again.

I Can Do All Things...

Dear Reader,



Tropical Storm Fay is now starting to truly make its presence known in my area. To the native Floridian, I believe this storm is just business as usual. To me, it is a nightmare. And so, you can only imagine the frenzied state I am in.



When the wind and rain started yesterday evening, I was grateful that my husband had made it home earlier than previously estimated. With the promise of bad weather moving in over night, I had a difficult time getting any sleep. In the wee hours of the morning, my husband's alarm went off, which he silenced. He then rolled over and went back to sleep. I was pleased by this, since I hoped it to be a sign that he was planning on staying home, due to the poor weather. Alas, a call to his boss dashed all hope. Apparently, today is business as usual. (Ah, those Floridians!) No, after nearly three years I do not consider myself a true Floridian. Until I am a pro at dealing with these storms, I cannot think of myself as one.



So, here I am...it's 6:41AM. My eyes are threatening to close of their own valition and my muscles are sore from all the tension. I hear the gentle pitter patter of rain outside, but I know what is coming. I am torturing myself. You should've seen the anger that seathed through my body when I was informed that it was "business as usual." I worry about my husband out there in the elements and I worry about me...here...alone. There's the all too familiar fear of the power going out (which it has once already), the threat of tornadoes and just the utter lonliness. It is enough to drive this person insane.



The advice I was given: Pray. I must admit to almost scoffing at this. I mean, duh...that's a simple answer. It is easier said than done, though. It is easy to pray to God on other people's behalf. It is easier to pray when the sun is shining and things are going well. It is easier to pray for something small or that you want but don't crave. But praying during the storm? How do I do that? Reciting "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" (Philippians 4:13) as an encouragement to yourself in small situations is one thing. Believing it to be true of yourself, when things seem completely out of your reach...that is really hard!



How do I make it more than words? How do I let Him truly impress that truth upon my heart? My heart is so tangled up in anger, anxiety, fear and a miriad of other emotions, that I am finding it very challenging to have faith. Yep, that is what is required of me to make that verse have true meaning in my life. Faith... I used to think fear was at the root of all my struggles, but really it is a lack of faith. Without trust in God, I am open to all sorts of worries, anxieties and phobias. I am open to attack.



I wish in writing all this, I suddenly felt compelled to make the most of today. The pain is ebbing a little, and I can only attribute this to God. He must love me an awful lot to be so patient. I overreact so often to fears, so to those who are slumbering away right now, I would probably come across like a lunatic. I don't suppose I would blame them for thinking me one, either. To the Christian, if you feel led, your prayers are always appreciated. To everyone else, if you are being impacted by this storm, I pray you find shelter not only in the physical means of a home, but under His wings. That is where I endeavor to dwell today.



Sincerely, Melissa

Cut

*If blood makes you squeamish, you may want to skip this one.

Dear Reader,


My husband and I had the privilege to fly up to New York in June to see my younger brother, Matt, graduate high school. We went up a week in advance to visit with family and friends, but when that day finally rolled around, it sure flew by! The following day, my parents hosted a small party to celebrate Matt's achievement.


The morning of the party was spent preparing last minute food items, setting the table and arranging extra seating in the living room. My mom was buzzing about from task to task, so the housewife in me was eager to help (and to prove I could actually do some of that house stuff now). She delegated me the task of preparing the veggie tray. Not a big deal, right? She had already set out everything I needed, so I set to arranging the baby carrots on the silver platter beside me. Next came the broccoli, which required a bit more prep. After cutting and rinsing the bite size pieces, I then added them alongside the carrots. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. This left the cauliflower.


I unwrapped it, then stood for a moment, puzzled. In all my life, I could not recall ever having to chop up a head of cauliflower. Did I pull all that stuff off the bottom first? I voiced my confusion to some of the people around me, sharing that I had never worked with this frustrating (though, delicious) vegetable before. They offered some tips but I do not think I made it clear just how incapable I was feeling. Alright, maybe I could figure this out. Gosh, those things are tough! The blade of the long knife I held barely made a dent. This prompted the hair brained scheme that I would make an incision along the top of the cauliflower, then pull the knife down like a lever. It sounded feasible. So, I plunged the knife into the top of the cauliflower, not realizing just how solid that thing was. The knife stopped short, but my hand kept going.


The next bit all happened so quickly. I jerked my hand away as soon as I felt the sting. Gingerly I opened my right hand; All I could see was blood pooling in the center. Frightened, I ran to find my Mom. She was horrified but immediately went into "Mom Mode". Actually, this was when I learned that she hates blood. I had never known that. With all the scrapes and cuts Matt and I had run to her with, I just thought it was nothing to her. It made me appreciate her all the more when I realized what hurdle she had to overcome to deal with such things. Especially since this was the worst one I had ever run to her with.


My hand was soon clamped around a towel, while she hunted for the right first aid supplies. It stung so badly but I needed to apply pressure. My Dad was frustrated that this happened the day of Matt's graduation party and voiced said frustration. This only served to make me cry, which alerted my Uncle and brother to the fact something was wrong. They quickly came in to investigate too. Dad did not mean to upset me, but it had been all I could do not to cry anyhow. There was then debate over whether I should go to the walk-in clinic for stitches, but it was eventually dismissed. Mom needed something for the party, so the men volunteered to go to the grocery store for her. Matt stayed with us, of course, in case any of his guests started arriving.


I started to feel a bit woozy, which worried my Mother. We figured much of this was likely do to stress but she poured me drink and set a box of cookies next to me, just in case. She was ready to send me to the walk-in clinic after all, when Dad and Uncle Mark pulled into the driveway. I had my purse over my shoulder and threw on my flip flops, but my Uncle said it would not be necessary. He handed Mom a bag which contained butterfly stitches, gauze bandages, a cloth bandage and the appropriate tape. They convinced her it was enough, so she dressed my wound, then wrapped it all up tightly. (So tightly, that later on, I actually had to have her loosen it because my fingers were going numb!)


Party over. Explanation of the bandage on my right hand told several times already. It was now Sunday morning, and time for Ray and I to depart. Carrying your heavy luggage through a crowded airport is cumbersome on most days, but it was quite another task with only one hand. Fortunately, my husband is strong and very sweet. When we landed, our sisters were there to pick us up. When I got into the car, though, I made the mistake of bracing myself with my right hand. That...hurt! I think in doing so, unless it occurred earlier, I had opened my wound up again. Fortunately, my family had sent us home with the first aid supplies.


Ray faithfully dressed my hand for me every day that week. He created a glove out of a bag for me to wear when I showered and consoled me that my cut would eventually heal. And heal it did! Where the incision was deeper, logically took longer, but my hand is now in full working order. Since it is mid-August, that is a good thing! I would be concerned otherwise. Everyone I have told says I am lucky I did not lose a digit or cause nerve damage. I do not count it as luck, though.


It was a painful ordeal but it has made me more cautious in the kitchen (and vow to only buy frozen cauliflower). I do not know exactly why it happened, if not only for that purpose. All I know is, God was there all along. He made sure the people around me knew how to address the issue. If my hand had not started to improve at all that first week, we were prepared to make a doctor's visit. Luck had nothing to do with it. God had everything to do with it. He is the great Healer! I am very thankful that all that is left of that wound is a faint scar. If you did not know it was there, you may not even notice. I have pictures of the progression and it is amazing to see how far it has come!


I just thought it was good to look back on this, because God heals the physical wounds but it is good to remember He also heals the emotional ones. If you, like me, are struggling with something that just seems like it will never close up and heal, let God apply his balm to it. It is tough to let Him sometimes, because it may sting...it takes some effort and care(Remember my previous entry?) to re-dress the wound. Even the tiniest paper cuts do not completely heal over night, so how can I expect a deep incision to fade away as I sleep? It is a tough reminder, but my hand is a simple illustration of just how effectively God can wipe away the pain, if you just trust and sit tight. I hope that I will keep this truth close to my heart. I hope you will too.



Sincerely, Melissa

Digging Up Weeds

Dear Reader,

A few months ago, Ray and I picked up a bunch of garden tools so I could get started on my garden. Any garden needs a good foundation, so I soon set to digging up and ripping out the overgrown mass of weeds. With the Florida sun beating down, it did not take long for sweat beads to form on my brow. My legs ached from perching alongside the garden. I did not complete the entire task in one day. It took a couple more attempts before I could proudly stand before my house, feeling accomplished. There had been dirt under there after all! All it needed was a little more work, some fertilizer perhaps, and then flowers.

Unfortunately, our budget was tight and we were unable to invest in anymore gardening supplies soon enough. That, and I figured once it was done it would remain done. I do not know what put such a silly idea in my head. I suppose wishful thinking. Now, my once trimmed and prepped garden is completely overgrown again. It is quite a mess. How did I ever manage to get it to a manageable state?

Yesterday, I likened spiritual strongholds to this predicament I am in with my wannabe garden. In my life, there are struggles that seem to creep up all the time. Fear is one example. Moments come where I say "Enough is enough!" and start hacking away at the weeds of fear choking my walk. Sometimes, I get them down to the roots and on stronger days I can rip them clear out of the dirt. After one of my more determined attacks, I see some healthy plants start to sprout. A week later, I turn and find that I am knee deep in an overgrown garden again. It does not take long for the bad things to grow and fester. In order for the good things, like flowers, to blossom, they need care. They require nurturing. To truly grow, I need to make an effort to weed out the bad things that sustain my strongholds, like that of fear.

The shelves at the home improvement stores are lined with all sorts of lawn cutting tools and miracle products that do away with the pests and plants you do not want. I keep pulling those products off the shelf (self-help books, friendly advice etc.) but I keep forgetting to seek out the ultimate Gardener. It sounds so simple. It may sound cliche. However, there is a reason why that is the conclusion I keep coming to: He is the one and only answer I need. My fears are easier to handle when I let Him help me, when I let Him dig up the roots. On my own, I am just a small woman with strained muscles, scraped knees and sweat pouring down my face, trying to get myself back to where I can function, with no time to recover before the next attack. With Him, there is a breath of air between attacks and enough time for me to be strengthened.

Similar imagery is illustrated in the Bible, especially in Matthew 13 through "The Parable of the Sower." I guess it must be a logical comparison :) It helps to look at things in a different way, like using allagories. I hope that as my week wears on, followed by months and years, that I start to tend to the garden of my life a bit better. Perhaps, I will be able to write to you about how God ripped the constricting, thorn bush of fear from my life. Until then, I will continue to share the journey.

Sincerely, Melissa

Rumblings and Ramblings

The clock on my laptop will hit 10:00 PM at any moment, but I am sitting here writing because just outside my window is the clash of thunder and patter of raindrops. Lightning flashes are rather frequent as well. Thunderstorms remind me of someone throwing a temper tantrum. Tears flow, they growl and toss things about. (Hm, power just fluctuated.)

It's funny, my husband is bothered more by my fingers tapping the keys than the incessant rumblings, blinding flashes of light and deafening barrage of raindrops pelting our home. My husband just reminded me that our poor roof is taking a nice beating. We shall soon see if the torching that was done, to solve the second leak we have had since we moved here, did the trick. Our bedroom had a flat roof when we moved in last September. This made sense, since we were told it is a converted garage. Just after Christmas, I noticed some discoloration on the ceiling. It turned out to be mold, which forced Ray and me into the guest bedroom for awhile. Long story short, we got the roof revamped and fixed. Then the drywalling was completed. We went to New York in June. Shortly after returning home, I noticed a yellowish line in the same vacinity of our former leak. Sure enough, it ended up being water damage. Fortunately, we were able to get the roofers back out here to check it out. It was a quick fix and it has held thus far, but we shall see what this rainstorm does. I think this is the most rain we have seen in awhile. We still need to get what damage was done to the drywalling taken care of, but as always, we trust God will provide.

Despite all of the stress the above issues caused us, we managed to get by. God carried us through it! I am thankful for our little house. Moments like this make me feel so small, though. It feels like there is a piece of paper keeping the elements out. However, there is Someone bigger keeping us safe and holding our home together (in more ways than one).

So, I suppose I should attempt some shut-eye.

Sincerely, Melissa

Bird Plop?

Dear Reader,

It is 9:13AM, which is not so early to some. Plenty of people are on their way to work or are already seeing to whatever task their boss has set before them or delegating the orders of the day. To me, however, at this very moment, it feels like it might as well be 5AM. I did sleep, up until my husband's alarm alerted us it was time for him to roll out of bed and prepare for his job. He did not leap out of bed, but rather layed there, informing me that he did not sleep well. I realized I was in pain and as a result could not find a comfortable position, which prevented me from retrieving anymore shut eye. I groaned, rolled on my back and remained fixed in that spot for awhile. The light was on at that point, so Ray summoned up some strength to propel him out of our bed.

A short time later, he returned and flopped on the bed. I am not a morning person by any stretch, and the times where an event has necessitated an early rising, I find myself quite irritable, lethargic and nauseated. I can only imagine what doing that every morning feels like, especially when it is not even for something desirable. God bless my husband for taking that burden upon himself!

So, why is 9:13AM so loathsome for someone who does not even have to be somewhere at a designated time? Simply because I did not feel 100% when I finally got back to sleep, and was rudely awoken twice by the pounding bassline of someone's music. This second time was just before nine. I located the source, grimaced, went back inside and have been on the couch since. I hope to summon the same strength my husband did earlier. It is silly to be rendered useless because I refuse to snap out of my lethargy.

This morning just started with a couple bird plops...that's all. What on earth do you mean? Max Lucado has written a book entitled Everyday Deserves a Chance: Wake Up to the Gift of 24 Hours. Last week, I read the first chapter over the phone to my mother. Lucado's illustration of how bad things pop up that annoy, discourage you etc. in the course of a day, came from when a bird literally plopped on his chest, ruining his picturesque beach experience. My mom got a kick out of the way he phrased it: "[I]nto everyday a bird will plop." (p.2) Thursday, I found myself having to apply the verse he often referred to throughout this chapter to combat such attacks, "This is the day the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it." (Ps. 118:24) He quoted this scripture as a way to encourage us that there is a way to give everyday a chance. Find ways to rejoice in it and it will eventually become an engrained pattern.

Thursday was a seeming bombardment of birds. The early morning went as usual, with my husband leaving for work. Around 10 "o" clock, the phone rang. Ray's number appeared on the caller ID display, so I eagerly picked up and greeted him. Click. Silence. I attempted a few more "Hellos" before hanging up. Sometimes he gets stuck in poor coverage areas, so I did not think too much of it...until I attempted to call him back. Our phone was completely dead. We have Vonage, which means our phone line is routed through our internet access. (It is usually quite reliable but our router had been on the fritz.) Sure enough, browsing the web yielded nothing...my connection was lost. I attempted what Ray told me to do in these situations once...twice...thrice...Several attempts later, I resigned myself to the fact it was not likely coming back on.

Ok, so I could not communicate with anyone via the phone or internet. That was an isolating feeling, especially so early in the day. However, I decided to watch some television. Five minutes before the end of the show, at the climax, the channel cut out. It returned just in time for the credits. These were little things, but it does not take much to stress me out. Unable to solve the issue, not knowing when Ray would be home, being cut off from the world...it was all too much for me. However, I remembered the book and the verse. Soon, I was doing my chores, singing "This is the day that the Lord has made./We will rejoice and be glad in it!" I kept singing choruses and other songs I knew, while allowing the line of communication to flow between me and God. Soon, Ray walked through the door and I knew I had made it through the day! It had not ended up being as bad as it could have been! He took me out to Arby's, after we went on a hunt for a new router. I had a craving for a milkshake; knowing this, Ray asked if I would like one. My reply was "If they have them, sure." Sounds a bit pessimistic, but the last time I ordered one, their machine was broken or something. Sure enough, it was broken (or something) this time around. Miraculously, though I was disappointed, God really did help me to rejoice in my day. Even if I was not jumping up and down, excited by our circumstances, I was not depressed.

So, why did I share all this? Because I cannot let a bad start to the day ruin the rest. Sure, I am still sleepy and a tad grumpy, but that does not give me an excuse to sit here and wallow. And so, I plan to get off my bum, get some breakfast and set to the chores I have around here. There is plenty to do! I will have to let you know what I think of the rest of Lucado's book, but if I got all that from the first chapter, I am sure God will open my eyes to even more throughout the rest.

Have a good day. Rejoice in it!

Sincerely, Melissa

A New Angle

Dear Reader,

Several months worth of posts sit unfinished as drafts under this blog. Part of the issue is, I feel compelled to write but often bottle it in until there is just so much to say, that my train of thought derails prompting me to figuratively scrunch up my piece of paper and toss it in the trash bin out of frustration. I do not know where to start without ending up on a dry bunny trail. I have decided I will take a new angle with this blog, since perhaps I confined myself before by narrowing the theme to "battles of the mind", otherwise-known-as spiritual attacks and Christian trials. The blog I had prior to this was not about anything in particular. Sometimes I shared the days events, while other times I poured out my heart.

Since I am a Christian, my perspective will not change, but I am broadening the spectrum a bit more to encompass some more lighthearted matter. My mind needs an outlet for all that enters it from day to day. I hope you'll check back to see what I have to say and I really would like to write at least once a week, like I used to. Thank you for taking the time to read this :)

Sincerely, Melissa