Recipe for Happiness

Wow. All these years lookin'. Little did I know that I would one day be able to buy happiness. A whole litre worth for a bargain basement price of just $2. Or a toonie as we Canadians say.

Now, before you go emailing me telling what a sucker I am to have purchased this, I must inform you that I sacrificed my hard-earned cash to see if it would work for you.

I twisted open the lid, put on a nostalgic Keith Green playlist and sat on my deck with my Bible and Crazy Love book.

Chapter 6 of the book is looking into love. Okay, the whole book is about love, but we're focusing on really crying out for God. Begging Him for his touch and to confess when we are dry and cracked . . . and during the times when we don't really 'feel' like loving Him.

The more I read, worshiped with Keith, and sipped on my water, the more broken I was. It was like a looking glass was placed before me; one that reflected what was in my heart.

I so want to want more of Him!

Tears flowed faster than the litres of Happy Water into my cup. Soon my cup was running over.

He is so good. He always does meet us, and fill us.

Curiously, I do feel happier. Somehow I don't think it has anything to do with the water.

If the Shoe Fits

Sometimes the Lord tickles me.  He just does.

A few days ago I was asked to come up with a talk to help unify women and draw the younger generation. I read the email, mentioned it briefly in my prayers and then rolled over.

Fifteen minutes later I was lying in bed, typing out the ideas on my Samsung Note 2; (a cool tool BTW).

Just a few hours before the talk request came, I had ordered 100 little shoe beads. I had an idea to make up my own bracelets to raise funds for Engedi Refuge Ministries; the shoes were the only beads that I found on Ebay that ‘worked’. Little did I know what He had in mind; oh the giggles as I lay in bed writing up the proposal.

The chat is coming together rather nicely and I am shamefully self-promoting this to any church that is looking for a one hour talk for their women ministries. 100% of the speaking fees will go to Engedi Refuge and I am so excited to share!

If the message fits . . . book it!  :)

Walking a Mile in Her Shoes . . . Cinderella, the Old Woman & Dorothy!

A fun, interactive and prop-filled look at how childhood characters helped to shape our lives . . . and perhaps a few bunions!

Proverbs 16:9 In their hearts humans plan their course, but the LORD establishes their steps.

Lori Dixon is an award winning humorist with over 200 articles in print. 100% of her speaking fees for 2013 go to support the local ministry of Engedi Refuge.

Yeah, Yeah . . . In a Second

Nothing drives a parent more crazy than when they ask their child to do something and they respond with a slightly bored and definitely irritated response of, ‘Yeah, yeah, in a second.’

Often I will go check to see what they are doing that is so ground-breakingly important that it makes my task delay-worthy.

Nine times out of ten, they are doing nothing. Nada. Zip. Just sitting watching the dust layer on the side table in our living room. (That being said, our house was chosen by the local university archaeology department for a student excavation program. Years of soil accumulation allowed them to experience the Law of Superposition in the safety and warmth of my home. Unfortunately, the program was abandoned after the first project was started. It appeared that the dust was the only thing holding my archaic furniture together. Sorry about your hutch, Grandma!).

I am mulling this as recently I started to redo the book, ‘Crazy Love’ by Francis Chan. I say ‘redo’ and not ‘read’ as it’s to be experienced and applied, not just skimmed through. (Hmmmm, kind of reminds me of another book). Chapter 1 is about prayer. Well, it’s really about God. If you ‘do’ this chapter correctly, prepare to have your mind stretched and convictions magnified.

As I reflected on the accounts of John and Isaiah being brought before the throne of God, I closed my eyes and imagined being grabbed by the scruff of my neck and dropped at the foot of His throne. Whoa. God help me. There is no ‘down’ that would be deep enough for me to bow in humble adoration. Compared to His greatness and holiness, the awareness of my own sinful nature and unworthiness makes hot coals to the lips seem not nearly extreme enough.

Yet, Hebrews 4:16 tells us that in Christ we can boldly approach the throne of God. This is the verse I guess I’ve focused on throughout my whole life of prayer. I clearly have no problem doing that. He is my friend and He walks with me and He talks with me. I love and chatter at Him often throughout the day. But . . . do I fully grasp to whom I am speaking?

You see, often . . . and I mean OFTEN, the Lord has nudged me to do something. Not always in subtle ways either. And here’s the thing, sometimes it’s easy for me to be obedient and jump to the task. Kind of like when I ask one of my teenage daughters to go fetch some chocolate out off the fridge. On it!

Other times I respond with, ‘Yeah, yeah, in a second’. You know, like when you ask your child to go clean their room or pick up the poop in the backyard. Some jobs do not promise us any immediate earthly rewards.

And so we brush Him off with a ‘Later, Dad’. Ouch.

Having reapplied the study of the throne of God, His vastness and His Holiness, I am regrettably aware of my brashness as His child. Of my lack of respect for Him.

The Lord has called me to do something and I know the only way I am going to follow through is to spend time boldly approaching the throne of God but now with full awareness of Who exactly is seated on that throne. To bow down in worship is so much more than posture or emotion; it involves mind, body and spirit.

Father, forgive us for being such lazy, disrespectful kids. Help us all to see You as you really are. . . and out of loving fear answer without delay when you call . . .

‘Here I am, Lord . . . send me!’ 

Beaching It

Wow, just realized it's been a month since I have blogged. Where does the time go?

In the last few weeks I have had my feet on three different glorious beaches. So you can excuse my absence . . . can't you?  :)

Mother's Day weekend I was blessed to be with a bunch of crazy-for-Jesus women at Cannon Beach Conference Center, Oregon.
Breathtaking beauty, (the Godly women I spent time with) . . . and the beach wasn't bad either. Hope to be back there soon as the women's conference coordinator took my business card . . . (Insert prayer here as I've forgotten her name).

A few weeks later I was in Rosarito, Mexico getting acquainted with some amazing workers at four different orphanages and loving on some pretty precious little tots. God puts things in perspective real quick.  The children were so affectionate and well behaved; I found myself praying silently over each one as I walked or rocked them. Sweet, sweet times.  Met and got to know and love a family of four who left the comforts of Canada to do this good work. My daughter, Mia had been nagging me since last summer to go down and experience what she fell in love with. Indebted to her tenacious nattering. So grateful.

We left there to go to Murrietta, CA and see my daughter, Tia graduate from Calvary Chapel Bible School. I was one proud mama. Got home and decided I wasn't too old and with some prodding and encouragement of my new Rosarito friend, Cindy Lee, I'm currently in the process of signing up for some online Bible School Courses.  God works in strange and wondrous ways.

Friday we had one last 'hurrah' on the south coast and Tia took us all to Oceanside, CA.  You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.  I've been to California dozens of times and never saw that beach or town. So picture perfect . . . we will be back!

So yes, my toes have been digging into warm sands (albeit briefly) over the last few weeks. God is good and He gives us the desires of our hearts.  I love the water . . . lakes or oceans and He knows it!

On that note, off to Pine Lake, Alberta this weekend where once again, The Lord has situated some training on the water's edge. I don't know if there will be sand, and I imagine it won't be as hot, but I'll take it. Before I head north to the BGEA training, I will be watching another beautiful daughter, Suzanne, walk across a stage in Calgary, Alberta to receiver her CGA designation as well . . . life is sweet!

Did I tell you lately how much He loves us?  Thanks for indulging me on this unusual personal plugging blog. Sometimes a mother just has to brag.

This is About That

Once, not too long ago, during a wonderful intimate time of fellowship, a lovely sharing circle suddenly turned into a brutal combat zone.

A beautiful, godly woman without warning and seemingly without cause, turned and let out a deadly barrage of ‘friendly’ fire, riveting a poor, unsuspecting ally.

The silence that followed the unprovoked attack was incredibly unnerving. A few dared to look up and survey the carnage while most of us kept our heads low and pretended to be completely engaged in our rings and fingernails.

My mind began to process the situation, trying to figure out what triggered the attack . . .

This is not about this . . . This was about THAT!

But of course!

So often people snap and spew hurtful words at bizarre times. We who witness or worse yet, receive the blows wonder what on earth just happened. The savage verbal hit is typically undeserved leaving us scratching our heads and wanting to duck for cover.

The thing is, this is rarely about this but rather about that. When seemingly sane people suddenly lash out irrationally it’s usually due to a trigger. Something said or done reminds them of a hurt from their past and click the bomb goes off. That is what they are angry at, not you and not whatever just transpired. In fact, it may be an old hurt from decades before.

It’s kind of like my dog.

She was a pound rescue and besides her oversized ears, she appeared to be a very loving, secure and ‘normal’ dog. After a few weeks with us, however, while horsing around in the kitchen one day, I whipped a towel playfully at the kids. As soon as she heard the snapping sound, she snapped! It was completely unexpected and over the top. Not in her true character at all. Clearly this little pup had a bad experience with some abuse or something that brought out the fight or flight in her. 

Ten years later, a bit more sure of herself, she can now handle a few snapping sounds before she goes off but the programming is still there. 

I believe we all have old thats.

While we may not be able to rewire our brains overnight to disconnect the this’s to the thats, as we mature and friends come alongside us in love to help us recognize patterns, slowly we can surrender our old hurts to the Lord and receive healing; fully and completely .

In the meantime, we need to show grace to our wounded friends, even when they turn and penetrate our souls with ‘friendly fire’. We need to recognize that it’s not us they are angry at (even if they don’t see it for themselves yet); they are reacting to old snapping towels from their past. 

Each situation will bring unique circumstances that need to be handled differently. No matter what, in moments like these, we need to go to them in love. Hurts typically only get that deep when inflicted by those who should have loved and protected them. So, as sisters, it’s up to us to give them an extra measure of grace in order to help them build trust. It’s not easy. Not to those reaching out nor to the deeply wounded soldier trying to rebuild their life.

Thankfully, the Lord will take our thats and transform us until we are controlled by His Spirit, not the this's. 

Until then, just keep remembering that This is about That and don’t take it personally. And, never go out—even to a Bible Study—before you put on your whole armor of God. It's a spiritual battlefield out there!

(Then there's the Theses and the Those's . . . don't even get me started on Them!)

Hey Lady, Your Dress is on Fire!

On a holiday, not too long ago, as I sat poolside watching the sunset, a beautiful young woman walked by. Her long dress swooshed as she sauntered through the resort like a pink peony swaying in the wind. Suddenly the corner of her scalloped hem came a bit too close to a tea-light candle. Glowing embers flickered from the melting poly-blend . . . soon a little flame, not much bigger than a birthday candle could be seen.

I watched as she continued her walk along the deck. A gorgeous girl, all eyes were glued to her hot pink dress. It was hot alright! Waiting anxiously for someone near to pat out the fire or at least say something, I sat incredulously watching as the flame slowly crept up her skirt. Finally, a kind elderly lady leaning heavily on her cane shuffled over and managed to intercept her.

Cupping her hand as if to whisper, her hard of hearing voice declared loud enough for all to hear, “Darlin’ your dress is on fire!”

Glancing in disdain over her shoulder at the sweet senior, the clueless young girl shook her head in denial, dismissing the advice of the wise woman’s warning.

Continuing on her journey, the flame was now rising up past the back of her knee. Surely she could feel the heat now?

“Maam!” a pool attendant, busily folding towels yelled out from the cabana, “Your dress is on fire!” He waved a towel over his head, animating all the more his warning. Others, now empowered by his brashness, chimed in and all sounded the alarm.

This time, still moving, she took a moment to look behind her to see why everyone was raising such a raucous. For a moment she almost saw the flame, but then, shrugging her shoulders, she continued on her catwalk.

By now she was no more than three feet between me and the pool. With a yell like a linebacker, I rushed her and with one quick shove, pushed her in.

Splash!

Rising out of the water, the look of shock on her face was priceless; mascara trailed down her cheeks, her carefully sculpted hair now hung in a matted mess. 

Leaning over, I came as close to her wet dripping face as I could and whispered, “Sweet thing, your dress was on fire.”

Glaring, she swore and stomping up the pool stairs, (with what was left of her dress barely covering her rear-end) threatened me with all kinds of legal action as she disappeared into the sunset.

Crazy story, huh? Which is why of course, it never actually happened. But I have seen similar scenarios acted out again and again.

Why? Because smart girls have been known to do very stupid things. 

Some of us women like to ‘play with fire’ and while a few ‘friends’ choose to turn a blind eye to our foolish choices, the others who do give warnings all too often are ignored or even chastised for getting involved. Arrogance seems to rule the day as we reject the advice of those who have gone before us. They are old. Or narrow minded. Or just don’t get it. 

Then, there are those of us who see the flames in other people’s lives but are so paranoid of ‘offending’ we allow them to burn rather than call their attention to the obvious! Besides, it’s so much easier to watch them ignite and then talk behind their scarred backs.

How do I know this to be true? Because I have a whole wardrobe full of singed garments! I can be as stubborn as the girl in my story. And, sad to say, there have been times when I have seen my friends catch fire and instead of yelling, tip-toed around them in some kind of un-Godly political correctness.

No more. 

We need to stop playing around with fire. So often we think that what we are dabbling in is harmless. But, like the girl in the story, something that starts out tiny can slowly engulf us.

In the meantime, if I see you’re in danger of burning up in flames, I’m going to go to you quietly . . . then I’ll yell . . . and if push comes to shove, I'll throw you in the pool. 

I pray to God you’ll do the same for me. (Note to self, buy waterproof mascara . . . in bulk!)

Picture by Alejandro  

Brennan Manning

I had never heard of this man until tonight; when I went to close down my computer and saw numerous tweets about his passing.

Always curious, a few clicks later I was sitting in the dark, moved to tears about this man's honesty in his writing. The confession of his faith and his desperate need of his Savior and His Grace.

An excerpt from his latest book is below. Normally I do not promote something or someone without doing a boatload of research, but for this passage alone I just had to share. Plus, his face . . . especially his eyes, remind me of my Dad. Also Irish, perhaps we're related somehow waaaay back?


Some have labeled my message one of "cheap grace."  In my younger days, their accusations were a gauntlet thrown down, a challenge.  But I'm an old man now and I don't care.  My friend Mike Yaconelli used the phrase unfair grace, and I like that, but I've come across another I would like to leave with you.  I believe Mike would like it; I know I do. I found it in the writings of the Episcopal priest Robert Farrar Capon. He calls it vulgar grace…

My life is a witness to vulgar grace—a grace that amazes as it offends.  A grace that pays the eager beaver who works all day long the same wages as the grinning drunk who shows up at ten till five. A grace that hikes up the robe and runs breakneck toward the prodigal reeking of sin and wraps him up and decides to throw a party no ifs, ands, or buts.  A grace that raises bloodshot eyes to a dying thief’s request—“Please remember me”—and assures him, “You bet!”  A grace that is the pleasure of the Father, fleshed out in the carpenter Messiah, Jesus the Christ, who left His Father’s side not for heaven’s sake but for our sakes, yours and mine.  This vulgar grace is indiscriminate compassion.  It works without asking anything of us.  It’s not cheap.  It’s free, and as such will always be a banana peel for the orthodox foot and a fairy tale for the grown-up sensibility.  Grace is sufficient even though we huff and puff with all our might to try to find something or someone it cannot cover.  Grace is enough. He is enough.  Jesus is enough.