tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82377893678941194282024-03-12T18:54:28.196-07:00The God Who Sees MeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17359587363555529444noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-52305027020775198222013-05-22T21:46:00.000-07:002013-05-24T09:23:44.555-07:00The Last Time...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This time of year brings a heightened awareness of changes in our lives - especially the <i>losses</i> we're facing: Separation after graduation, friends moving across the country, new jobs. We're experiencing that here in our tight-knit little Family Talk Broadcasting department right now, as in the past few weeks alone we've said goodbye to three key staff members -- each of whom is moving on to embrace new family commitments. And in one short week, I'll join that group. <br />
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As women, we're deeply impacted by these farewells. My friend's firstborn son is graduating from high school tomorrow and, as such, has been barraged with 'lasts' this month: "This is Josh's last day of high school; his final choir concert; the last time he'll drive his siblings to school." On and on it goes. Ironically, just as she was coming to terms with the season, a well-meaning friend at church piped up, "Hey, tonight's the last time your son will be here helping with Awana, right?" Sigh. Uh...thanks for pointing that out.<br />
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(By the way, I guess it's not just us females. As I'm writing this, my 22 yr-old son bounded out the front door grinning, "Hey, Mom, this is the last time I'll be heading up to my college apartment as a resident there!") <br />
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Then there are the 'lasts' we never see coming: the last time your baby nursed from your breast, the last time your daughter crawled up in your lap, the last time you made your son's sack lunch. Tragically, there are seven mothers in Moore, Oklahoma right now who had no idea that Monday morning, May 20th was the last time they'd pour a bowl of breakfast cereal for their son or daughter, as an EF-5 tornado (the highest scale possible) would rip through the Plaza Towers elementary school just hours later. Heart-wrenching.<br />
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It's human nature to look in the rear view mirror, I guess. After all, the <i>past</i> is all we know. While there certainly could be a bright future ahead, it's completely uncharted; we can't fathom it. We have no understanding of it -- no point of reference. As a result I seem to focus only on what I <i>can't </i>have any more, instead of what's on the horizon. Only an omniscient God knows the future.<br />
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The Lord understands my predisposition to fixate on the "has beens." That's why He gently admonishes me to look out the front windshield when I insist on glancing backwards. <br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><span class="text Phil-3-14" id="en-NIV-29436">Song of Solomon, chapter 2: </span><span class="text Phil-3-14" id="en-NIV-29436"><span class="text Song-2-11" id="en-NIV-17566"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><i><span class="text Phil-3-14" id="en-NIV-29436"><span class="text Song-2-11" id="en-NIV-17566">"See! The winter is past; </span><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"></span><span class="text Song-2-11">the rains are over and gone.</span></span><span class="text Song-2-12" id="en-NIV-17567"><sup class="versenum"> </sup>Flowers appear on the earth;</span><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Song-2-12">the season of singing has come,</span></span><span class="text Song-2-12"> the cooing of doves</span><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Song-2-12">is heard in our land."</span></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><span class="text Phil-3-14" id="en-NIV-29436"><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Song-2-12">Isaiah 43: </span></span></span><span class="text Phil-3-14" id="en-NIV-29436"><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Song-2-12"><span class="text Isa-43-16" id="en-NIV-18522"> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><i><span class="text Phil-3-14" id="en-NIV-29436"><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Song-2-12"><span class="text Isa-43-16" id="en-NIV-18522">"This is what the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> says—</span><span class="text Isa-43-18" id="en-NIV-18524">“Forget the former things;</span><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Isa-43-18">do not dwell on the past.</span></span><span class="text Isa-43-19" id="en-NIV-18525"><sup class="versenum"> </sup>See, I am doing a new thing! </span><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Isa-43-19">Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?"</span></span></span></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;">...and Philippians 4:13-14</span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><span class="text Phil-3-13" id="en-NIV-29435"></span><i><span class="text Phil-3-13" id="en-NIV-29435">"Brothers
and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But
one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is
ahead,</span> <span class="text Phil-3-14" id="en-NIV-29436">I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Phil-3-14" id="en-NIV-29436"><span class="text Phil-3-14" id="en-NIV-29436"><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Song-2-12">In one week I'll wind up thirty years of ministry alongside Dr. Dobson. I'll undoubtedly have moments of looking back -- and there's a place for that. But I'm keenly aware that after a time of poignant reflection, I'll need to brace my back to the wind and choose to squarely look ahead to the vast unwritten slate before me. I must ask, "What new thing are you doing, Lord? I want to be a part of it!" </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="text Phil-3-14" id="en-NIV-29436"><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Song-2-12"><br /></span></span></span>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-34252649813923881052013-05-15T22:52:00.000-07:002013-05-16T08:54:30.694-07:00May-hem!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So...are you feeling it yet? The harried, hectic, near chaotic pace of May? Every mom of school-aged children knows the feeling. As the academic year winds down, the activities, obligations and year-end celebrations ramp up.<br />
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Your calendar is full: classroom parties, concerts, spring plays and art shows. Baseball, soccer and track tournaments. Then add in the academic stress of tri-fold projects, classroom presentations, term papers and scholarship deadlines for secondary students. And if you dare have a student who's graduating....double everything and top it off with a heavy weight of anxiety about the future.<br />
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And while these activities and events are all wonderful <i>(who doesn't love sitting in chairs half our size at a Mother's Day Tea!?)</i>, we're exhausted. Exhausted because these activities are added on top of an already-overloaded calendar filled with the mundane tasks of laundry, doctor's appointments, haircuts and grocery shopping.<br />
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For me, I've added the reality that in the next two weeks I'll be tying up 3+ years of ministry leadership here at Family Talk. So yes, I'm easily overwhelmed right now. Busy. Stressed. A near frenetic pace.<br />
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That's why I must consciously monitor the frenzy. I must constantly fight to restore a sense of balance and <u>rest</u> to my soul. Let's face it: us multi-tasking "Martha" women have an especially hard time laying down the schedule and soaking in a "Mary' moment at the feet of Jesus. (Luke 10:38-42)<br />
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Perhaps that's why I've worn out Track #6 on my new <u>Firm Foundation</u> CD. Two-three times a day I play this song and let the truth of these lyrics wash over me in the car, on my IPod, throughout our walls at home as I'm making dinner:<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9ANcoaSSn_4/UZRnkd37fQI/AAAAAAAAAOo/9GDpFZQazlQ/s1600/886443858312.170x170-75.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9ANcoaSSn_4/UZRnkd37fQI/AAAAAAAAAOo/9GDpFZQazlQ/s200/886443858312.170x170-75.jpg" width="200" /></a><i>Be still, my soul, the Lord is on thy side<br />
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain<br />
Leave to thy God to order and provide<br />
In every change He faithful will remain<br /> </i></div>
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<i>In you I rest, in You I found my hope<br />
In you I trust, You never let me go<br />
I place my life within your hands alone<br />
Be still, my soul </i></div>
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Take a few minutes with me right now and find rest for your soul: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mq59iE3MhXM" target="_blank">Be Still My Soul by Kari Jobe</a>. It's a sure cure for the mayhem that this month brings for moms.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-89231465260991292212013-05-09T00:11:00.001-07:002013-05-09T00:11:03.266-07:00It's Time To Go Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Three years ago the Lord unmistakably called me to work more strategically alongside Dr. James Dobson to help a small team launch Family Talk. For the previous 26 years I had primarily been a flexible worker for him -- fully supporting his ministry to families, but doing so in a different capacity and with a varied schedule. So a full-time, on-site co-hosting opportunity was quite unexpected. However, after much prayer and discussion, and with the full support and excitement of my family, I joined up. And oh my, the blessings have been abundant!<br />
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Miraculously, <i>astoundingly</i>, the pieces flowed together. My husband was thrilled that our family was on the front lines of defending our Christian faith in the marketplace of ideas and even managed to flex his job a bit in order to assist with car pool and errands. Our two teenage sons were grappling with worldview issues at school, so when I'd return home at night after a day in the studio, some incredibly relevant conversations ensued; they were discovering first-hand what it might look like to walk out their values in the days ahead.<br />
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In addition, our college son had surprisingly accepted a position in student government on campus. I loved dialoguing with him about how to be a godly leader and make tough decisions, and would often share about my own successes or failures in the workplace that day. Even my married daughter who lived in another state enjoyed this season because via our Family Talk broadcasts she could hear her mom's voice a bit more often across the miles. <i>(That's a precious thought that still brings a smile to my face...thank you, Lord.)</i> For these reasons and more, I'll never doubt my calling to this ministry and God's people over the past 3 1/2 years.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c7hiMO3HjsU/UYtEg-yxxzI/AAAAAAAAANE/zZ4lCHmrssk/s1600/snow2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c7hiMO3HjsU/UYtEg-yxxzI/AAAAAAAAANE/zZ4lCHmrssk/s320/snow2.jpg" width="320" /></a>But now...it's time to go home.<br />
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You see: first and foremost I'm a wife and a mom. I'm a woman called by God to serve my family. And when those family dynamics change, I'm called to change with them.<br />
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Last fall when our third child departed for college, we faced a new frontier: fewer drivers for our remaining son's school schedule and sports practices; a scarcity of family members to cheer at his games and concerts; less voices echoing through the hallway at the end of the day. But above all, it revealed a stark and undeniable realization to my heart: this mom only has three more years to serve in an active and vital role with a child at home. My days of tripping over sneakers at the front door and climbing around backpacks on the stairway are fleeting.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mmCgt_gaet8/UYtJkOXn95I/AAAAAAAAAN8/BmqNTX8omsA/s1600/flag+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mmCgt_gaet8/UYtJkOXn95I/AAAAAAAAAN8/BmqNTX8omsA/s200/flag+2.jpg" width="200" /></a>Let me put it another way: I'm 51 years old. The US Census bureau reports that given my gender and generation, I could realistically live to be 82. That means that, if I am so blessed, I may have another 3 decades left here on this earth. My son will only be in our home a tiny portion of those. In a very real sense, the Lord is simply asking me, <i>"LuAnne, will you tithe your time? Of your remaining 30 years, will you give Me the next 3? Will you set aside your own dreams and aspirations to devote a mere 10% of your future exclusively to your family?</i>" When considered in that context, it's a pretty easy answer: "Yes."<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D8K_cw8QF00/UYtEoQOWiJI/AAAAAAAAANY/8WC7T4b2spQ/s1600/snow3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D8K_cw8QF00/UYtEoQOWiJI/AAAAAAAAANY/8WC7T4b2spQ/s200/snow3.jpg" width="196" /></a>I'm keenly aware that as women we profoundly live in <u>seasons</u>. This was confirmed to me recently as I was sharing my decision with friend and broadcast guest Dr. Meg Meeker. Dr. Meeker cited an unscientific study she conducted which revealed that major life changes occur for women much more often than for our male counterparts. And guess how often our seasons typically last? Three years. Hmmmm, looks like I'm right on track.<br />
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As I prepare to make this transition at the end of the month, my mind is swirling with emotions and ideas. I wrestle with how this concept plays out for so many women in differing scenarios: What about the single mom? Is it <i>wrong</i> to work outside the home? Can I still live out my unique skills and talents on a lesser stage? How will our financial future be affected? What about my female peers who feel they've been called to public ministry? Lots of questions. Ones that I'm looking foward to diving into more here on this blog in the days ahead. I'd love to hear your thoughts as well.<br />
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For now I'm comforted by the assurance that as I head home and embrace the next season, there is a God who sees me and He's already directed every step on the path ahead of me. And what He does for me, He'll do for you. I pray that as women we will each have the courage to walk the individual path that He's chosen for us. Ahhh, the blessings of obedience!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-28152237506163356612013-04-24T22:05:00.002-07:002013-04-25T19:54:21.428-07:00What's In Your Back Seat?Last week I drove a successful professional colleague to lunch. I grimaced as we approached my decade-old, disfigured, un-vacuumed minivan.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tkXhLwlp6_g/UXizfr5kUjI/AAAAAAAAAMc/9jaAlGbBYyg/s1600/messy-backseat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tkXhLwlp6_g/UXizfr5kUjI/AAAAAAAAAMc/9jaAlGbBYyg/s200/messy-backseat.jpg" width="200" /></a>Opening the door, I stole a quick glance in the back seat. My shoulders drooped further. Yep, the muddy soccer ball from a week ago was still there, and it would soon be playing pinball throughout the car as we headed to the restaurant. In addition, an end-of-year care package for my college son was spread out in the back seat ready for assembly. A second box containing a late birthday gift for my son-in-law sat next to it -- also awaiting a long-overdue trip to the Post Offiice. To top it off, sitting on the floor was this morning's cereal bowl holding crusty oatmeal remains from my son's hurried breakfast.<br />
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Before I could open my mouth to apologize, I heard my passenger exclaim, "Oh, I feel right at home!" Bless her. A true kindred spirit.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pG_srjiSqag/UXiv3psCg3I/AAAAAAAAAL4/6GHLQgnhjng/s1600/kids-in-back-seat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pG_srjiSqag/UXiv3psCg3I/AAAAAAAAAL4/6GHLQgnhjng/s200/kids-in-back-seat.jpg" width="200" /></a>Right then we both realized how our cars represent a microcosm of our entire lives as moms. Think about it. What's in your car right now? Groceries...a gym bag...crayons. A left-over backpack...outgrown baby clothes ready to be dropped off at a crisis pregnancy center...maybe even parking receipts from an unplanned trip to the hospital. Or perhaps the best of all: your children's car seats.<br />
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When I look in my back seat I see only busyness. An unfinished to-do list. Clutter. But God sees life; life brimming with the rich relationships with which He's surrounded me. That stained soccer ball represents an impromptu trip to the park. Those cardboard boxes carry messages of "Hurray, I believe in you!" across the miles to young men I love. Even that stale oatmeal bowl reminds me that not only does God provide daily sustenance for the Crane family, He also gives me the privilege of a 20-minute conversation with my favorite teenager before he faces the hallways of school that day.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C5-FCdkrs2U/UXizMqT4JnI/AAAAAAAAAMU/dOBJn5Aw0uk/s1600/IMG_1393.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C5-FCdkrs2U/UXizMqT4JnI/AAAAAAAAAMU/dOBJn5Aw0uk/s200/IMG_1393.jpg" width="150" /></a>Once again I'm drawn to that Genesis 16 description of the Lord as "the God who sees me." Yes, God sees <i>me</i>. Not a messy package or a dirty dish...<i>ME</i>. Oh, how I want to look past the clutter and debris and truly <i>see</i> the people around me. In fact, right now I'm reminded of a favorite impromptu family photo snapped just as two of my kids were getting out of....you guessed it...my back seat.<br />
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What's in your back seat today? Turn around, take a look, and enjoy.<br />
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<i>"How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy we have in the presence of our God because of you?"</i> I Thessalonians 3:9Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-39190865487918326942013-04-16T22:35:00.002-07:002013-04-17T06:39:12.364-07:00The Boston MassacreWe gasped in horror as the news unfolded Monday afternoon. The triumph and anticipation of 20,000 elite athletes crossing a finish line was shattered by the malevolent behavior of anonymous cowards.<br />
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I'm especially troubled that this has occurred while our nation is still crawling out from underneath the shadow of Sandy Hook. And I find myself saying, "Really? Again?" In the aftermath of that Connecticut tragedy, we so desperately wanted to believe that evil of this nature was rare on American soil, or that it could be prevented with new gun legislation or increased security. Apparently not, as more trauma and mind-numbing heartache was unleashed on an unsuspecting and innocent public; this time on a Bostonian stage, with a 1/2 million spectators.<br />
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I join those of you searching for answers, and find a degree of refuge in a Psalmist's prayer penned thousands of years ago. We forget that our generation is not the first to wrestle with exhausting contradictions between righteousness and evil. Read with me, and find solace.<br />
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Psalm 55 (select verses)
<i> </i><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>"Listen to my prayer, O God,
do not ignore my plea;
hear me and answer me. </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>Fear and trembling have beset me;
horror has overwhelmed me. </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>I said, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest. </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>I would flee far away and stay in the desert; </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>I would hurry to my place of shelter, far from the tempest and storm"</i> </span><br />
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Apparently I'm not alone in my desire to run and hide while clamping my hands over my ears muttering, <i>"not listening...not listening...</i>"; it's an age-old characteristic of humanity. But then I see how swiftly the author turns his focus at this point and becomes an active participant defending truth and abhorring evil; he is no longer a bystander, but has now entered the battle and pleads with the Lord for justice<i>:</i><span style="color: #660000;"><i> </i></span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WvrztsTUq-4/UW4u-qbAkoI/AAAAAAAAALk/wxT5_2fam-I/s1600/Explosion-at-Boston-marat-011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WvrztsTUq-4/UW4u-qbAkoI/AAAAAAAAALk/wxT5_2fam-I/s400/Explosion-at-Boston-marat-011.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="color: #660000;"><i>"Lord, confuse the wicked, confound their words, for I see violence and strife in the city. Day and night they prowl about on its walls; malice and abuse are within it. Destructive forces are at work in the city; threats and lies never leave its streets. </i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #660000;"><i>"But as for me, I trust in you." </i></span><span style="color: #660000;"></span><br />
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This stark reality brings me crashing to my knees. I am truly helpless apart from His overarching omnipotence. And I can only utter, "God have mercy on our city streets. Evil seems to abound for this brief season, but <u>I trust in you</u>.<i>"</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-40536503135964779852013-04-10T22:09:00.000-07:002013-04-10T22:09:43.172-07:00Meet my friend, Stacey<div class="post-header">
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Let me introduce you to a remarkable woman named Stacey. I'm a regular subscriber to Stacey's blog, and her post just yesterday revealed a poignant and vulnerable account of her journey. As a vibrant single woman, Stacey began by admitting that there was a particular phrase that she ached to hear. But, I'll let her finish the story in her own words....<br />
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>STACEY: "You may have been thinking I was going to say, "I love you," as those words we long to hear. But, those were not the three words I longed to hear. No.</i></span>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i><br />
Back in 2004 following my breast cancer surgery, the best words I heard from the doctors and the oncologists were, <b>"You're cancer free!"</b> My family and I were so happy to hear this. You don't want to have cancer at any age, but 34 was not the time to get it either. I had just found my career, and then this happened.</i></span>
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I lived four years knowing I was cancer free, and being so happy how God had orchestrated my "healing."<b> I knew</b> that surgery had been His answer and I was content with that treatment. Paul writes in Philippians 4, "...for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances." And how true that was for me those four years. It was then in 2008 when I found out the cancer had returned, and returned with a vengeance. I spent time talking with people about my short journey and telling of the contentment I felt knowing that God was in control of the situation, even with the news that I was soon going to have surgery to remove part of my pelvis. Some found it hard to believe I was so content and thought I was hiding my true feelings. But I wasn't.</i></span>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>I spent my waking hours proclaiming the glory of the Lord to those who inquired about my surgery. It was God using surgery to heal me back then, and I knew it was true again this time. Many told me they never would have known I was sick in the first place. Others couldn't believe how "matter-of-fact" I was about having come through surgery for breast cancer with no other treatments at the time, and was now facing yet another scarier surgery. I took no credit for being "calm, cool and collected" about it, as people sometimes noted. I shouted from the mountain top that <b>"My God Reigns."</b></i></span></div>
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In the Spring of 2011, our lives intersected when Stacey joined our Family Talk team to serve as our incredibly competent and brilliant Web Designer - a position she still holds. I'll never forget the day a modified recliner chair was assembled in her empty cubicle in anticipation of her first day of work the following Monday. "Curious," I thought, "I wonder why that's needed?" I was soon to find out.</div>
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You see, today Stacey lives with constant pain. The breast cancer victory above was short-lived. The cancer returned, but this time in her hip. Thus, more exhausting medical visits. Recurring trips to the oncologist. Pain management. More medical terms. Alternative treatments. And all of this culminating with the removal of her pelvic bone on the right side (where the hip joins) in August 2008. The chair and it's accompanying logistics are a constant reminder of a complete lack of bone structure on that side, and her subsequent inability to sit upright at a desk for more than 2 minutes at a time. In fact, when our Family Talk staff assembles for daily devotions upstairs in Dr. Dobson's library, precious Stacey dials in and joins us via speaker phone from the first floor, because she can neither make the trip upstairs, nor last the 20 minutes necessary in a straightback chair. Truly, this dear co-worker cannot even walk to the kitchen to reheat her lunch without grimacing. It's an incredible glimpse of a life filled with struggle and physical pain.<br />
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This is precisely why her glorious conclusion yesterday hit me right between the eyes:<br />
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>"Today after yet several more surgeries (3 in 2010 and 1 in 2012), I still shout, but only from the rooftops. It's harder these days. Not harder to give God the glory, because I still do that daily, but it's harder to find the strength to shout it. I am still content—on most days. I do have my moments where not being able to do a particular task overwhelms my emotions and I have a short breakdown—sometimes with tears (also referred to in our house as a meltdown). I never stay in that moment, though. Why?</i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BHQa26Hh_4U/UWSS5War0jI/AAAAAAAAA44/KhD35gXXI_s/s1600/wearehealed.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BHQa26Hh_4U/UWSS5War0jI/AAAAAAAAA44/KhD35gXXI_s/s200/wearehealed.jpg" width="171" /></a></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>Isaiah 53:1-4 tells us how Jesus was going to be treated by human kind here on earth. And in verse 5 it says, "But
he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our
iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and <b>by his wounds we are healed</b>." As found in 1 Peter 2:24, “'He himself bore our sins' in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; 'by his wounds <b>you have been healed</b>.'”
(Emphasis added.) Jesus was treated much worse than anything you or I
will ever experience. Yet, He took all my sins and sicknesses on Himself
that day on the cross so that I (and you) may live in righteousness and
be healed of all sicknesses and diseases. Now, I know it may or may not
be here on this side of eternity, yet I can (and will) shout, <b>"I AM HEALED!"</b></i></span><br />
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Where I used to desire to hear the words, "You're cancer free," I now long for the day when I hear my Lord say to me, "<b>Well done, good and faithful servant!</b>" (Original text is found in Matthew 25:23).</i></span><br />
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I pray I live up to serving the Lord well."</i></span></div>
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You <i>do</i>, my friend. You do indeed. <br />
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Join me on following Stacey's journey at <a href="http://step-offaith.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Step of Faith</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-62827049712559883752013-04-03T23:53:00.002-07:002013-04-04T08:35:49.344-07:00I Need a Mouth GuardI'm a talker. I love words. Working around Dr. Dobson for three decades has only increased my passion to carefully and intentionally communicate the power of the Gospel verbally to hurting families. Ahhhh, <i>families</i>: my other great passion. Three years ago when I first approached my husband and kids about the possibility of me joining the Family Talk team, my oldest son piped up, "<i>Well Mom, this is a 'no-brainer'; you've got to take the job. It's all about "family" and "talk" -- two of your favorite things!"</i> True. The boy knows me well.<br />
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But I'm keenly aware that every strength pushed to its limit becomes a weakness. Given my propensity to talk, chat, converse, and occasionally ramble, I'm burdened by the realization that my words also have the ability to do enormous harm. The Word of God confirms this by the exorbitant
amount of time devoted to discussions on the mouth, the
tongue, and our speech.<br />
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Humorist Mark Twain quipped, <i>"It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt."</i> This is undoubtedly a variation of David's admonition in Proverbs 17:28 that <i>"even fools are thought wise if they keep silent, and discerning if they hold their tongues."</i> By far, the third chapter of James paints the bleakest picture culminating with a harsh warning in verse 8: <i>"No<i> human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison." </i></i>Gulp.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B2nOz4FGI-4/UV0iKKu10hI/AAAAAAAAAK8/MGC9NFrQ1Jg/s1600/hand-over-mouth-iStock-300x275.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B2nOz4FGI-4/UV0iKKu10hI/AAAAAAAAAK8/MGC9NFrQ1Jg/s200/hand-over-mouth-iStock-300x275.jpg" width="200" /></a>But look again at how James 3:8 begins: <i>"No <u>human being</u> can tame the tongue..."</i> The Lord Himself acknowledges that I am powerless to combat this fatal flaw on my own. I need Him. The compassionate Father reminds me that the only way I can conquer restless evil is to submit myself to His oversight. That's why one of my most oft-repeated prayers is: <i>"Set a guard over my mouth, Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips."</i> (Psalm 141:3) I claimed this again just the other night in anticipation of an emotional conversation awaiting me the next day: <i>"Lord, <u>you</u> take the sentry position. I give you full authority to clamp a muzzle on me, reinforce the guard gate and set watchman on the walls. I am fully incapable of doing this on my own." </i>Amen. And I'm pleased to report that together we won that particular battle. Now onto today.....<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-53270226060519616772013-03-20T23:10:00.003-07:002013-03-20T23:10:43.975-07:00Cinderella...The Day After<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I felt a bit like Cinderella the day after the ball. I had just returned from the annual National Religious Broadcaster's Convention at the delightful Opryland Hotel in Nashville where I was treated to three days of extravagance, excitement and warm, rich relationships with dear Christian friends. A definite highlight of the year. So I should've seen it coming. <br />
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The very next morning I awoke to dirty dishes in the sink, a minivan at the mechanic's, and an empty refrigerator in desperate need of a trip to Wal Mart. My work was cut out for me. I might have anticipated that the day would be woven with weariness right from the start when my son and I headed out the door for school, only to realize that my husband had left an hour earlier -- with my car keys in his pocket. Hello, reality.<br />
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Home life can be ordinary, predictable, and yes -- even a tad mundane at times. I'm sure you can relate: You pay your bills, show up to work on time, stay faithful to your spouse. You set your alarm for 5 am to drive your child to a before-school practice when you desperately need the extra hour of sleep. It's a non-glamorous routine that doesn't warrant a YouTube video or a splashy Twitter post.<br />
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Scripture refers to this as the "straight and narrow." Proverbs 4:25 instructs, <i>"Let your eyes look straight ahead; fix your gaze directly before you"</i>, and reminds us that <i>"folly brings joy to one who has no sense, but whoever has understanding keeps a straight course."</i> (Prov 15:21)<br />
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The world might call it boring. Tedious. Something to avoid at all costs.<br />
God calls it faithful. Persevering. Something to pursue at all costs. <br />
I call it being a wife and mom. And it's one of the greatest privileges I could imagine.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-68194407656906381792013-03-15T09:44:00.002-07:002013-03-15T09:46:23.158-07:00Love the One You're WithThree sons. Three schools. Three different Spring Break schedules this month. One is winding up his time-off right now, while another will arrive on our doorstep in the dead of night to begin his reprieve tomorrow. Meanwhile, their little brother still has another whole week of high school before his break even begins. Sigh. Not exactly prime family vacation scheduling.<br />
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It's the juggle we all face raising a busy family. The constant tug of wanting to be with your loved ones when responsibility pulls you apart. <br />
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Years ago we visited some relatives on the West Coast. After the grueling 1600 mile drive, we woke up the first morning with four glorious days ahead of us with which to relax, recreate and make new memories. Yet on the morning of the second day, I noticed the wife's mood had begun to change. She was becoming melancholy - nearly depressed. I pulled her husband aside and asked if anything was wrong. <i>"Not really,"</i> he said. <i>"She's just thinking about that fact that you'll be leaving in a few days." "Leaving in a few days??" </i>I thought. "<i>But -- we just <u>got</u> here, and -- we've still got 2 more days to be together!" </i> I was troubled that the mere thought of our departure was already clouding the precious little time we had together now! Right then it occurred to me that when my children grew up I'd have a similar choice: mourn what will come, or celebrate the day in front of me. It was a huge reality check for me.<br />
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It reminds me of the Crosby, Stills & Nash trio crooning, <i>"If you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with."</i>
Admittedly, that particular song suggests a cavalier style of love and
even hints at a lack of affection for the person in front of you. But
that's not my point. I'm intrigued by the succinct and simple
truth found in that last line: "<i>Love the one you're
with.</i>" Carpe Diem. Sieze the day.<br />
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For me, that means loving whatever child is standing in front of me today. Holding him close...then letting him go. Choosing not to squander my heart pining away for days that are no longer there or being frustrated by schedules that do not cooperate. Simply put: I want to embrace every moment to it's fullest.<br />
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Tonight that means I'll be waiting at the front door at 3 am when a certain car pulls in the driveway.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-83870079859126062672013-02-27T21:18:00.003-08:002013-02-28T11:32:32.014-08:00Ordinary Days Make the Special Days BetterWe bought discount tickets back in October, made careful reservations for affordable lodging and packed our favorite board games, microwave popcorn and tunes. Time for the long-awaited Crane family ski trip to Winter Park, Colorado. Needless to say this was definitely one of those circled dates on our calendar.<br />
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While waiting in the ski lift line for our very first run, we overheard the family in front of us:<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E-FEs59mALE/US7oeKBt5UI/AAAAAAAAAJo/Vzm_4n2UmnI/s1600/ski.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E-FEs59mALE/US7oeKBt5UI/AAAAAAAAAJo/Vzm_4n2UmnI/s320/ski.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">GIRL: "Josh, stop it!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">BOY: "You're in my way...I'm telling mom!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">MOM: "Knock it off guys, I'm sick of your arguing."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">GIRL: "What? I didn't do anything...he's just being a jerk."<i> (increasing volume)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> BOY: "She called me a moron!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> GIRL: "Did not....I called you an ignoramus. You can't even hear right!"</span><br />
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The four of us glanced sideways and winced...as did many others in line. Ouch. Family dynamics sure rear their ugly head at the worst moments in public, eh?<br />
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It reminded me of something our pastor used to say: <i>Special days are all the more special when ordinary days are lived well.</i><br />
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Translated: When I make a conscious decision in the daily, tedious and mundane hours of child-rearing to teach mutual respect, patience and laughter in my home, I'll often reap those rewards just when I desire them most.<br />
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Many of us yearn for that Norman Rockwell scenario on Thanksgiving Day, or the perfect matching-shirt-family-photo, only to have the magical moment interrupted with a petty argument or offense. But the groundwork begins much earlier: in the daily-ness of car pool, homework and bedtime. Throughout the year if we practice extending grace when offended or offering forgiveness when wronged, then when those long-awaited holidays or once-a-year vacations arrive, maybe....just maybe, we'll reap the benefits and actually enjoy our time together.<br />
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And, by the way...lest we think this is all about our children? It's quite possible that if the folks behind us in that lift line listened carefully, they may have heard a certain mom rant, <i>"C'mon boys...let's get moving. The lifts opened an hour ago and we're wasting time! Go, go go!"</i> Hmm. Makes me realize that when I train my sons to offer patience and forgiveness, more often than not, the woman looking back at me in the mirror is the recipient of that very kindness. Thanks, guys.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-26241875638447917712013-02-20T20:00:00.000-08:002013-02-20T20:00:00.930-08:00A Perfectly Imperfect Weekend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We locked ourselves out of the adorable cabin we had rented and drove around for an hour until we could get a hold of the landlords; we sweated through the first night trying to figure out the thermostat setting; I ripped a hole in my brand new stockings as we headed out the door to a romantic dinner; we paid way too much for a gourmet dinner; and to top it all off, the batteries on our portable IPod promptly ran out while Nat King Cole was crooning love songs. Ahhh, I do declare we just returned from a <i>perfect</i> mountain getaway weekend!<br />
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I mean that. We had a blast. It's <i>precisely</i> what I love about being married this long. Interruptions that would've totally thrown me and gotten me in a funk as a newlywed are mere blips on the radar at this stage. That's the blessing of commitment; the reward of perseverance; the beauty of growth. I guess a relationship needs to soak like marinade into a good steak -- not be tossed into the microwave right out of the freezer.<br />
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Rarely do we have the foresight to realize this early on. I sure didn't. Three years into our marriage I surprised Steve with a prearranged overnight hotel trip. I had secretly arranged for his parents to watch our infant daughter, and excitedly stood before him to hand over the envelope containing his rendezvous invitation. He was pleased - but shocked.<br />
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Within an hour we arrived at the hotel in downtown Los Angeles. Little did I know he didn't feel completely comfortable (a.k.a. <i>"safe"</i>) in the particular section of town I had naively selected. Furthermore, the room was oddly decorated and the clientele rather noisy. As the evening unfolded, it got worse. I sat back and expected <i>him</i> to now pick it up and take the lead on deciding where to eat, what to do, which movie to watch....and so on. All with absolutely no warning. It was awkward, unfortunate and disappointing. We still talk about <i>"Ooohhhhh, that weekend at the Bonaventure!"</i><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z80-BXePa6w/URv8yjuPp2I/AAAAAAAAAJU/O6WvzeCyUjw/s1600/old+cabin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="99" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z80-BXePa6w/URv8yjuPp2I/AAAAAAAAAJU/O6WvzeCyUjw/s200/old+cabin.jpg" width="200" /></a>They say that most divorces occur within the first 4-5 years of marriage. I get that. The luster wears off and the work begins. Life gets crazy and some things never seem to gel. You struggle and shift, yet don't quite reap the benefits. It's tough. Unrewarding. That cozy weekend cabin often appears worn out and ugly.<br />
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And yet, over and over again research shows that while there may be some dissatisfaction with your spouse in the first decade or two, affection for one another and overall marital health often dramatically improve after a silver anniversary. In other words: most of us should just dig in and hang on. It's worth the arguments, the misunderstandings and the exhausting midnight discussions. <br />
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So take a deep breath. Close your eyes and try to picture 20 years down the road. Try to hold on and get there. You might be pleasantly surprised what you find on the other side of your rocky journey.<br />
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<i>P.S. Did I mention that we had blizzard conditions driving home from the cabin?</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-24388811728994785052013-02-13T20:00:00.000-08:002013-02-13T20:00:04.276-08:00Ode to Husbands<div style="background-color: white;">
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It’s Valentine’s Day!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A season where chocolates and flowers are lavishly showered upon women
all across the nation.</div>
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But ladies, this year I propose we turn the tables
and acknowledge the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Those husbands and fathers who
faithfully and sacrificially serve our families day after day with precious
little fanfare.</div>
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In this context I offer up a simple, yet heart-felt little sonnet. It flowed from my heart recently after re-reading the inspired Word of God penned by Solomon in the latter half of Proverbs 31; my humble treatise below attempts to parallel that Scriptural powerhouse verse by verse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On this day of love, may I take this opportunity to introduce you
to the tall, dark and handsome man who won my
heart 28 years ago? And in doing so, I hope you are inspired to pay
tribute to the unsung hero in <i>your </i>life as well. (And, yes - every scenario below is true.)</div>
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<i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Husband of Noble
Character</b></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>1</sup> Wow…where in the world can
you find a husband with noble character any more!?</span><span style="font-size: small;"> He is worth far more than any diamond ring on a woman’s
finger.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>2</sup> His wife has full
confidence in his fidelity and lacks nothing of true value.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>3</sup> He speaks fondly of her
in front of his friends, and never betrays her confidence when he’s out in
public.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>4</sup> He finds killer deals on
car parts, and then labors in the driveway all afternoon until those squeaky
brakes are fixed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>5</sup> He’s like the FedEx
truck, driving clear across town to get the best deal at Home Depot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>6</sup> He dons his work gear at
2 am and climbs up on the roof because the wind has kicked up, and the plastic
sheeting which was supposed to prevent the leak just ripped loose.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>7</sup> He negotiates a fair
price to purchase a used car for his daughter who’s heading off to college; and
with the money he saves, fixes up the family car for his son.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>8</sup> Without a second thought,
he scrambles out the door to rescue a stranded family member in an automotive
emergency – from the engine that stalls in a flooded roundabout, to the timing
belt that quits alongside the I-25 freeway at midnight. </span><span style="font-size: small;"> And believe me -- his arms can easily
lift that tire at the side of the road!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>9</sup> He tracks
the ever-changing value of silver and gold, and saves up to place a tiny order when
the price is just right; and speaking of finances -- he stays up late to help
his wife pay the bills.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>10</sup> In his hand he holds
the wrench and grasps the greasy bolt with his fingers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>11</sup> He opens his heart to the
overlooked soul at the nursing home, and even listens to the talkative stranger
next to him on the airplane (instead of pretending to fall asleep like the rest
of us would!)</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0L3TlAKew_o/URE9EMSAm1I/AAAAAAAAAIs/BcxSg9PsSwc/s1600/photo-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>12</sup> When it snows, the wood
pile is stocked, and when that runs out, he’s got kerosene for the portable
heater - just to make sure his family won’t freeze.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>13</sup>He installs the
upholstery on his ’66 Mustang himself; in the winter he drives a used, but clean
little Ranger truck.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>14</sup> His wife is secure in
her ministry where she is free to blossom because of his tender care.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>15</sup> He drafts contours for
underneath city streets, and supplies the developers with a precise set of plans.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0L3TlAKew_o/URE9EMSAm1I/AAAAAAAAAIs/BcxSg9PsSwc/s1600/photo-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0L3TlAKew_o/URE9EMSAm1I/AAAAAAAAAIs/BcxSg9PsSwc/s320/photo-2.jpg" width="247" /></a><sup>16</sup> He carries himself with
quiet strength, and smiles when he thinks about growing old with his wife.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>17</sup> He speaks with wisdom,
and trains his children to always love one another, and the Lord above all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>18</sup> He’s aware of “who needs
what” in his family, and works 9-10 hour days to provide for them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>19</sup> The older his daughter and
sons grow, the more they recognize what an incredible Dad they’ve got; his
wife, too, is incredibly proud to bear his name!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>20</sup> She says, <i>“Lots of
dynamic speakers and authors pass through the Family Talk office, but you stand
head and shoulders above them all!”</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>21</sup> Political charisma comes and goes, and athletic prowess is fleeting, but the man who is honorable and full of
integrity in his home -- where it really counts -- is to be respected. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><sup>22</sup> It’s time to honor him
for decades of godly character, and let his years of quiet steadiness be acknowledged
publicly in the blogosphere.</span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white;">
<br />
Happy Valentine’s Day, Steve. I love you!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white;">
Yours always, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
LuAnne<span style="background-color: #f4cccc;"></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-53752420076151512792013-02-06T13:15:00.001-08:002013-02-06T13:15:27.408-08:00Marriage: The Divine Chisel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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February. The month of love. Yet for some of you, it's your least-favorite page on the calendar. You're married, but it's not all sunshine and roses; it's not even overcast with daisies. It's more like constant rain with periods of sleet, hail and lightning. You may even be in the midst of an intense standoff right now. Marriage feels like drudgery and, if you're honest, the past several years have been filled with pain, heartache and recurring disappointment. You wonder, <i>"How could something that began so star-studded and exhilarating, end up so ugly?" </i><br />
<br />
I know that whenever I muse over a marital issue, Dr. Dobson is quick to point out, <i>"LuAnne, you married a sinner...and so did he!" </i>Admittedly, my spousal struggles may pale in comparison to yours, yet I assure you that my egotistical nature is Johnny-on-the-spot when it comes to quarrels. That's why I must constantly remind myself of author Gary Thomas' keen observation:
<br />
<br />
<i>"Any situation that calls me to confront my selfishness has enormous spiritual value...the real purpose of marriage may not be happiness as much as it is holiness."</i> <span style="font-size: x-small;">(<u>Sacred Marriage</u>, pgs 22-23.)
</span><br />
<br />
This concept of self-sacrifice is beautifully laid out in chapter 5 of Steve Holt's book, <u>The God-Wild Marriage</u>*:<br />
<blockquote>
<i>"Like a divine sculptor, God is chiseling away our sinful nature through the hammer and chisel of that other person. Yes, He is using that other person to break our stony heart, to knife into our selfish edges, smoothing us into a new person with a new purpose and a new God-wild joy. This is the other side of the cross; this is the other side of marriage.
</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Yet few marriages ever reach such a point of growth. Instead of embracing the hammer and chisel and allowing it to press us into Christ, we run! We run away from and over our spouses. We often end up fighting the wrong battles, the wrong way, turning them into the wrong war.
</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"But God is not an uninvolved bystander. He has sovereignly given you that other person to chip and shave you into a new sculpture through the chisel and hammer of such conflicts."</i> <span style="font-size: x-small;">(pg. 87)</span></blockquote>
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I don't know what you're going through today, but I do know that the God of the universe sees you. And like a master sculptor carving an ornate image, one of His hands carefully whittles away at the excess -- while the other gently cradles you, His creation.
<br />
<br />
<i>"If your marriage is tough, get down on your knees and thank God for your spouse. Thank Him that He is training you for battle. He is forging character in you by your submission to Jesus and His sovereign plan for your life."</i> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> (<u>The God-Wild Marriage</u>, pg. 95)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">* The God-Wild Marriage: A Roadmap to a Dangerously Fulfilling Love Life, by Steve Holt, Alliance Publishing Group, Inc., (2012) </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-79401841964358002642013-01-31T20:58:00.000-08:002013-02-05T14:05:02.650-08:00Women In Combat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In late January of 2013, U.S. Defense Secretary Leon Panetta announced he was lifting the military's ban on women in combat. Consider just a few of the enormous ramifications of this for our troops: Personal hygiene and sexuality issues; the overwhelming need for upper body strength against the enemy; unthinkable POW scenarios. And the overarching fact that this one statement takes a sledgehammer to the very foundation upon which we've attempted to raise our sons, namely: "Guys, always shield and protect your gal....it's not the other way around." No, Mr. Secretary, this is far too serious of a social experiment to run at the risk of our nation's security.<br />
<br />
Come to think of it, some of the best women in combat I've ever seen are not necessarily doing so in an Afghan desert. No, they're in my school parking lot, at the check-out line of the grocery store, and seated next to me at church. They're soldiers of a different sort, battling it out in the trenches of life.<br />
<br />
One wrestles to save a dying relationship with a porn-addicted husband. Another arrives home every night bloody and bruised from ugly court battles for custody of a young child; Yet another slugs it out in the rehab unit on behalf of a wayward son or daughter. There are even those in the triage ward right now fighting to hang on to a high-risk pregnancy after multiple miscarriages. These are true women in combat. And for you brave warriors, I offer these words today:<br />
<br />
<i>"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes.</i><br />
<br />
<i>For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.</i><br />
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<i>In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." (Ephesians 6:10-17)</i><br />
<br />
Now ladies, let's put our camouflage on and get back into the war for our families. I believe we can win this one.<i> </i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-38932437628560135802013-01-23T23:28:00.000-08:002013-01-24T16:52:31.883-08:00Bumper ScarsLike thousands of carpooling moms across America, I drive a minivan. She's nothing special; she rolled off the General Motors assembly line well over a decade ago, and is fairly non-descript as minivans go.<br />
<br />
And yet I can spot my Crane-mobile well across the Wal-Mart parking lot because of two clear distinctions: (1) A gaping 10" hole in the front right corner and, (2) a 4" deep divot in the rear passenger bumper. In general I'm not especially particular about my driving machine, but for some reason I'm self-conscious when it comes to these two blemishes. Recently I was idling at our school's crosswalk when a youngster whirled around and, aghast, proceeded to point out to the world that my washer fluid reservoir was nakedly visible through the broken fiberglass! Imagine that: ridiculed by an 8-yr-old! As a result, whether I'm driving on the Interstate to school, pulling into our Family Talk parking lot, or exiting my car at church, my mangled vehicle screams, <i>"Watch out! Stay far, far away....this lady drives like a maniac!"</i><br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BhnUiiCshD0/UQDgbKF1DjI/AAAAAAAAAII/j5mQLaC8fi0/s1600/minivan_accident-300x194.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BhnUiiCshD0/UQDgbKF1DjI/AAAAAAAAAII/j5mQLaC8fi0/s320/minivan_accident-300x194.jpg" width="320" /></a>In defense I want to shout back, "Hey, you don't understand...these are not <i>my</i> scars! I didn't do this!" In truth, my car was christened by <i>other</i> members of my family: two seasoned drivers who just happened to be behind the wheel as it (1) slid through an icy intersection, and (2) backed into a hidden fencepost. Honest mistakes. But it's the car I drive. And because we can always find more urgent needs for our hard-earned money, these dual memories will remain in full view until my husband can find appropriate replacement parts at the local junkyard.<br />
<br />
In other words: I daily bear the scars for another's actions.<br />
<br />
When I stop to think about it, I'm ashamed for my selfish attitude. I'm ashamed that the very people for whom I claim I'd lay down my life, are the very ones I quickly distance myself from the moment they embarrass or inconvenience me. Even more, I'm convicted of the stark reality that this is merely a glimpse of the grief I caused my Lord when <i>my</i> sins were laid upon His shoulders. In true agape love, Jesus willingly bore <i>my</i> stains, <i>my</i> bruises, <i>my</i> dents and dings in front of a ridiculing world. He hung naked on that cross while passersby mocked His defiled image. All for me. I'm the one who callously slid through that icy intersection of life...not Him. I'm the one who brazenly backed into that dark corner of disgusting behavior...not Him. Yet He bore the shame. And He still does today, every time I refuse His direction.<br />
<br />
So thank you, Lord, for my minivan bumper scars. They are a daily reminder of Your never-ending love and sacrifice for me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-90946300958495998342013-01-16T19:00:00.000-08:002013-01-17T08:52:54.837-08:00There Goes the Neighborhood!<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>"Be happy, young man, while you are young, and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth."</i></span> -- <i><span style="font-size: small;">Ecclesiastes 11:9</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ecclesiastes+11:9&version=NIV" target="_blank"> </a></i></div>
A few years ago on a glorious Saturday I was in the front yard weeding when a raucous commotion up the street caused me to look up from my dandelions. Four or five houses away, two teenage boys were roaring with laughter as they pushed one another on a four-wheeled concoction that can only be described as ridiculous: an orange moving truck dolly complete with two bright plastic sleds for the seat, a Spiderman skim board for the back, and a swatch of foam-cushioning to top it all off. Veering near disaster to the lawn on their left, I watched with disbelief, thinking “Kids these days!” When suddenly I realized, uh…you guessed it: they were my sons.
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<br />
Joy. Unabated & unrestrained. Uninhibited laughter and delight. I had to smile to myself. When did I lose that sense of delight? Why can a 16-year and 13- year old radiate from-the-belly-chortling at life, when we adults only see scrapes, ruined sleds and noise?
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<br />
I want that abundant joy -- not just an optimistic personality, or a sense that all is well in my world -- no, I want to be like my Ford-engineering sons, discovering wonder and awe at the simplicity of this life designed by a loving Creator.
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<br />
I imagine that Creator was relishing in HIS creation at that moment as well.<br />
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<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-10088381883623492122013-01-09T09:21:00.000-08:002013-01-09T11:29:04.682-08:00"I Was Wr-wr-wrong"<i><i></i></i><i>"I messed up." "I blew it." "My bad." </i>And the ultimate? (gulp) <i>"I was wrong."</i> Why are these words so hard to say?<br />
<br />
I don't know about you, but in the midst of some absolutely wonderful family memories this past holiday season I had plenty of opportunities to use one of these lines. Take your pick.<br />
<br />
The day after Christmas, I developed an excruciating headache that forced me to retreat to a dimly lit room with minimal stiumuli. I longed to be with my family (especially my college sons who were only here for a limited number of days), but I simply coudn't tolerate the noise. So they each graciously obliged and left me alone. Yet, as soon as they did, you guessed it: I felt neglected and abandoned! Within minutes I unfairly snapped at Steve, accusing him of deserting me in my hour of need. (I know...go figure.) With the light of a new day, it was abundantly clear to me that I had been wrong and proceeded to make things right. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LUWC3ZqdT58/UOIooWodT5I/AAAAAAAAAHE/3vGfdcFd6Wc/s1600/woman-kneeling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LUWC3ZqdT58/UOIooWodT5I/AAAAAAAAAHE/3vGfdcFd6Wc/s320/woman-kneeling.jpg" width="320" /></a>My arrogance pops up in silly things as well: I'll steadfastly argue that the coffee shop is on the <i>right</i> side of the street only to discover it's on the <i>left</i>, so I defensively retort, <i>"Well, I was coming from the other direction last time!"</i> Or I earnestly deny that I misplaced the checkbook, only to discover it in my purse later that evening. Time to add a few more responses to my growing repertoire: <i>"I'm sorry. You were right. I goofed."</i><br />
<br />
My heartfelt prayer for 2013 is that I'll be teachable in this area. Reading through Scripture<i> </i>again today illuminates both the warning and the blessings of this trait:<br />
<i> "The Lord opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble." </i>I Peter 5:5<br />
<i> "Rebuke a wise man and he will love you." </i>Prov. 9:8<br />
<i> "He who scorns instruction will pay for it, but he who respects a comand is rewarded." </i>Prov. 13:13<br />
<i> "He who listens to a life-giving rebuke will be at home among the wise. He who ignores discipline despises himself, but whoever heeds correction gains understanding."</i> Prov. 15:31-32<i> </i><br />
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A friend of mine recently posted this Biblical truth on her Facebook page and I was instantly convicted of it's reality in my own life: <i>"Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners - of whom I am the worst."</i> True. And yet my heart leapt as my eyes fell upon this everlasting truth at the end: <i>"But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on him and receive eternal life."</i> I Timothy 1:15-16<br />
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Oh my! Only a Savior as compassionate as ours would be able to turn the depths of my sin into ultimate redemption for another eternal soul. Praise be to Him who gives us the victory!<br />
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Throughout 2013 let's bask in a new-found understanding of this truth.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-11917353351545627562013-01-02T16:23:00.000-08:002013-01-02T16:27:03.950-08:002013: Here We Come....Ready or NotAs we flip our calendars over to 2013, the sense of expectation is high. Graduations, weddings and vacations are eagerly penned in with great anticipation. Noticeably absent from these pages are the countless disappointments and losses that you and I will undoubtedly face in the next 12 months.<br />
<br />
Author and theologian Dr. R. T. Kendall addressed this on a recent Family Talk broadcast, <a href="http://drjamesdobson.org/Broadcasts/Broadcast?i=5fa4e330-4b00-4a7c-9ac5-fdb343c38bef" target="_blank">"Totally Forgiving God I-II"</a> discussing an age-old dilemma he calls the "betrayal barrier."<span id="goog_928319856"></span><span id="goog_928319857"></span> He purports that when we are wronged or kicked in the stomach by life's sucker-punches we often hit a wall and have a choice: defiantly resist, or open our palms upward and surrender to God's omnipotence.<br />
<br />
It's a profound concept for me, and one I struggle with partly because I have an overdeveloped sense of justice: when I'm misquoted or misrepresented, I'm ticked; when a healthy friend is diagnosed with a fatal illness, or a godly woman's husband walks out on her, I stammer for an explanation.<br />
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However, I'm learning that my reliance upon God has little to do with fairness or even vengeance. Instead it has everything to do with the unwavering recognition that I serve a God who sees all and knows all. Another Family Talk broadcast guest (and cancer fighter) Dr. Ken Hutcherson puts it this way: Either God is sovereign....or He is not!<br />
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Habakkuk 3:17-18 hits me squarely between the eyes in this regard. After recounting Jehovah's glorious strength and power from years gone by, the prophet concludes thus:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-djTtS22X0ys/UOTJymafliI/AAAAAAAAAHU/6LoQHtCOh2Q/s1600/corrie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-djTtS22X0ys/UOTJymafliI/AAAAAAAAAHU/6LoQHtCOh2Q/s320/corrie.jpg" width="240" /></a><i>Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines,</i><br />
<i>though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food,</i><br />
<i>though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls,</i><br />
<i>yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior.</i><br />
<br />
Sometimes it helps to adopt a modern-day filter:<br />
<br />
<i>Though the economy has faltered and there are no job prospects on the horizon,</i><br />
<i>though the milk has spoiled and there's no money in the bank to purchase more,</i><br />
<i>though there is no car in the drive way and no friends around to offer me a ride,</i><br />
<i>yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior.</i><br />
<br />
I'm not suggesting we play a game of denial. We don't pretend to eat dinner when the plate is empty, or mime driving an imaginary car to a non-existent job. No. But based on a constant reminder of God's faithfulness to me in the past, I am compelled to summon every ounce of my will and place my trust in this very same God for the yet-to-be seen year ahead.<br />
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For some of us, this question of God's authority in our life will come early in 2013. We'd be wise to choose our response now. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-51748009157724132062012-12-17T15:26:00.000-08:002012-12-18T15:12:20.398-08:00God With Us....When We Hurt<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kuMWJASEX0Y/UM-nC3Gb5hI/AAAAAAAAAGs/N77eoJZ56tg/s1600/getty_rm_photo_of_mother_hugging_child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kuMWJASEX0Y/UM-nC3Gb5hI/AAAAAAAAAGs/N77eoJZ56tg/s320/getty_rm_photo_of_mother_hugging_child.jpg" width="320" /></a>I weep. I ache. I'm drawn to the news reports, and at the same time am physically nauseated by them. Just like you, I long to believe the myth that I can protect my children from every danger. I make sure they wear seatbelts and bike helmets, take vitamins, look both ways before crossing the street, refrain from walking home alone...and on and on it goes. I'm a mother. That's what I do. <br />
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But Friday's tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School has punched us all in the gut. We are forced to come to grips with the fact that we live in a fallen world, one that allows for another's free will to impart good -- OR evil. As such, my personal control over my children's safety is severely limited. It's a harsh reality that shakes me to my core.<br />
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I assumed I was holding it all together, but as Dr. James Dobson and I addressed this tragedy over the <a href="http://www.drjamesdobson.org/Broadcasts/Broadcast?i=32d0ea7c-eeb2-41fb-9c05-f6e0c733d58a" target="_blank">Family Talk airwaves on Monday,</a> I was overwhelmed. We recalled the Scriptures in Psalm 112: "<i>Praise the Lord. Blessed is the man who fears the LORD, who finds great delight in his commands.</i>" Check. I do fear the Lord, and I find great joy in His words. But my voice broke as I looked ahead to what was coming in verses 6-7: "<i>Surely he will never be shaken....He will have no fear of bad news.</i>" Thud. Admittedly, I am shaken. I do wince when I see a news bulletin emanating from my School District now. Forgive me, Lord. I desperately want to stand firm, but I'm incredibly frail and human. <br />
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So, once again I'm driven to my knees. Back to the One who truly holds my sons' and my daughter's eternity: Jesus Christ -- not me. The King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Emmanuel....God <u><i>with us</i></u>. And I realize anew that it is precisely because of this threat of terror pressing all around us that He <u>did</u> come to earth. It's precisely why I cling to Emmanuel during this hallowed Christmas season. Oh, God, thank you for coming to save wretched, evil humanity - lost souls like me. We so urgently need You here with us at this time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-36197199405271907832012-12-13T15:58:00.002-08:002012-12-13T16:02:02.113-08:00Coffee ConvictionsAsk anybody who knows me: I'm a coffee drinker. As such, I must confess that for the past several years, 3-4 times a week I've visited a national coffee shop chain on my way to work. Their store is convenient and consistently offers up my favorite beverage, hot and perfect.<br />
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However, a few months ago while waiting for the barista to whip up my order, a poster on the wall caught my eye. It was somewhat obscure, but it sure suggested the company's world view: sexual diversity wrapped in anti-Biblical terms, global awareness bordering on earth worship, and idolatry of their product brazenly encouraging a "you deserve this!" mentality.<br />
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Right then I knew the time had come for us to part ways. In good conscience I could no longer financially support behavior that grieves the heart of God. Amazingly, that day I went cold turkey with this coffee chain.<br />
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It was a private decision, and one that I didn't necessarily advertise. Just a simple act of obedience that I was personally called to take. What I didn't know was the avalanche of blessing I was about to receive.<br />
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I started frequenting another coffee shop in town -- this one privately owned. Because of my regular 7:45 a.m. after-car-pool routine, the workers there soon began to recognize me. Imagine my surprise the day I walked in the front door and my steaming drink awaited me on the counter. "I saw you drive up," the young man grinned. It was then that I heard the praise music playing over the speakers. "Hey, I love your music," I said, and he proceeded to tell me all about the Christian youth conference he had just attended.<br />
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The owner, too, noticed my morning visits to her shop. On one occasion I stopped by much later than normal. "Change of schedule?" she asked. I hesitated, but offered, "Well, every Wednesday morning a group of us moms gather to pray for the kids at our high school." "Whoa, really?? Moms get together and do <i>that?"</i> "Yeah," I answered, "pretty cool, huh?" "That's awesome! I've never heard of that." The following Wednesday I arrived just as she was training a new employee. "Hey, Josh - get this -- this lady here goes to a prayer group at her school every week just to pray for her kids. Isn't that neat?" 16-yr-old Josh smiled and shrugged. I couldn't believe she remembered our brief conversation.<br />
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Relationships with that staff continue to build. I learned that the owner's house burned down in our wildfires this summer; I've met Brett who's going on a mission trip to South Africa next Spring. Yesterday Alec was pleased to tell me he got a raise because he had impressed the boss by memorizing my complicated latte order (Uh, I think that's a compliment...), and just this morning Ashley shyly admitted that she's nervous about her college Psychology final today. I gave her a hug and told her I'd be praying.<br />
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And finally, there's the precious young woman with the pentagram tattooed on her chest who always has crude MTV videos playing in the background. I assumed we had little in common, but when I dropped by recently during her shift she exclaimed, "Hey, where have you BEEN?? I haven't seen you in ages!" Wow, really? She noticed and cares? Forgive me, Lord, for overlooking her. You certainly don't.<br />
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Real people. Real life. Souls I would've missed had I resisted that tug from God. I'd been so focused on what I <i>couldn't</i> have any more (convenient, perfectly-made coffee), that I nearly missed out on what was right in front of me.<br />
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What's the Lord been prompting you to change in your life? It's likely there's a far greater outcome awaiting you on the other side. Give it a try. Who knows -maybe you are just the person the Lord's been trying to send someone else's way. Come on...it's time to share the adventure!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-85248479012810855382012-12-06T21:09:00.003-08:002012-12-06T21:14:46.326-08:00Mary Didn't Have a Facebook PageRight now I have 1,756 pictures on my phone. Mostly of my kids or family events. I love digitization which allows us to carry these memories around with us wherever we go! As parents, we especially want to capture every magical and extraordinary moment in our child's life for posterity. I also have dozens of friends who regularly post photo albums on their Facebook pages or blogs. It's a fabulous way to keep in touch.<br />
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And yet, I recently attended a significant event in which none of us had our phones or cameras handy. I was amazed how different the emphasis was. As I look back, I realize that my recollection of that day has been permanently imprinted on my heart and mind differently than if it were digitized.<br />
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I think Mary, the mother of Jesus, understood this well. After all, she had neither a Smart Phone nor a Facebook page; she didn't even have an instant Polaroid camera! She simply had to tuck the precious moments deep within her heart. While the shepherds were mesmerized at the discovery of her Baby in a cow's trough and proceeded to announce it to the world (a.k.a. post it on their Facebook page), Mary was apparently contemplating life in a very different way. She quietly and poignantly retreated to her own thoughts. I'm fascinated with the account of her response to the birth of Christ as recorded in Luke 2:19<br />
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<i>"Mary committed these things to memory and considered them carefully."</i> Other translations explain it similarly: She <i>"kept all these sayings, weighing and pondering them in her heart."</i> She <i>"meditated on them...turned them over in her mind."</i> One version even suggests that Mary couldn't escape her thoughts; she kept <i>"mulling them over in her heart."</i> And my personal favorite: <i>"She <u>treasured</u> all these things."</i> Ahhh....what a description of sacredness.<br />
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At this Christmas season, instead of constantly reaching for a camera, what if we reached for a <i>hand</i>? Rather than being fixated by a laptop screen or Iphone, perhaps we fix our gaze upon the child standing before us. Admittedly, we wouldn't be capturing it on film, but we would most certainly lock the moment in our hearts. We might just ponder it, mull it over and yes, even treasure the season. Oh, I know these memories would not be nearly as crisp as a Facebook post, but perhaps it's a way of balancing the emphasis a bit.<br />
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I have an opportunity to do this tonight as I head out to my son's high school Christmas concert. Of <i>course</i> I'll snap a few shots -- but instead of having my hand on the Iphone the whole time, I think I'll grasp the hand of my husband sitting next to me, sink my eyes upon my boy...and drink deeply of this one-of-a-kind musical memory.<br />
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The unique thing about our memories is that no two are the same. Tonight while I'm enthralled by the trombone section, the person on my left might be straining to see the percussionist in the back row...or the little sister on the sidelines dancing to her brother's clarinet solo. We each capture life's moments in different ways -- and that's a good thing.<br />
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What moments will you find to treasure this Christmas season?<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-49251518897542578002012-11-28T08:37:00.002-08:002012-11-28T23:06:17.463-08:00The Sparkle Box"Only 25 Shopping Days Left 'Til Christmas!" Really? But I've still got so many items to cross off my TO DO list! Let's admit it: it's easy to begin hyperventilating thinking of all the wonderful things we hope to accomplish in the next 3 weeks.<br />
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I feel the angst because I absolutely love this time of year. I love everything about it: from the icicle lights on my eaves to the crooning of Bing Crosby over the loudspeaker at the grocery store; from the anticipation of seeing my college sons' faces at my front door to the wacky wrapping concoctions they'll place under our tree. My heart wants to decorate the house lavishly, attend every special production and concert, shop strategically -- and yet still have time to cozy up in front of the fireplace with my snowman mug filled with cocoa.<br />
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But if I'm truly to make the most of every opportunity as commanded in Ephesians 5, I have some decisions to make. I must consistently reorient myself to the inherent beginnings of Christmas, placing my yuletide emphasis
on the reality that the entire world stops to acknowledge the Savior of our souls who made His entrance to our world in a crude and unimpressive fashion that night. And for what reason? Solely so He could die just a few years later, obliterating my sin and paving the way for me to spend eternity with Christ. There's no other way to look at it. Simply stated, the plan for my glory-filled future began on this very night with a hay-strewn manger and an obedient young couple.<br />
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Therefore, I'm compelled to shift the paradigm a bit and make a selective decision to honor this truth. I must give back to the One who gave so much for me. And actually, when I revisit Matthew 25:35-40, it's pretty simple: <i>"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me."</i> Jesus wraps it up by clarifying, <i>"Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." </i><br />
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I was reminded of this on a recent Family Talk broadcast with author Jill Hardie. Jill has penned an adorable children's book challenging us to teach our kids about this true meaning of Christmas. She suggests that over the next few weeks we gently work into our lifestyle 2-3 acts of service to "the least of these" and in so doing, present Jesus with His birthday gift this year. She goes on to recommend that we quietly document these on slips of paper and place them in a special place -- perhaps in a "sparkly box" up on the mantle. Then, on Christmas day, before opening presents for one another, first open a gift for the true Guest of Honor. Retrieve the box off the mantle, pull out the papers and read them out loud as a way of setting the foundation for that day's festivities. It'll make a profound impact on your kids, and the rest of the day may just pale in comparison. And who knows, you might even begin next year's Sparkle Box contributions right away.<br />
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For further ideas on how to build this tradition into your home, and to hear a dramatic reading of Jill's book, catch our Family Talk broadcast, <a href="http://www.drjamesdobson.org/Broadcasts/Broadcast?i=c2a75c4e-33d1-4eb1-9d0d-81cd3e309c39" target="_blank"><i>"The Sparkle Box: Celebrating Christmas in Your Home."</i></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-32984396940967258152012-11-19T10:45:00.001-08:002012-11-19T13:14:50.479-08:00The Great I Am<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: normal;">Humbled. Overwhelmed with a shaking-my-head sense of awe right now trying to grasp that the God who calls Himself the great “I Am” would seek out and pave the way for a relationship with <i>me</i>. Needy, sinful, empty ... <i>me.</i>
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<span style="font-size: normal;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LB03_gG6ivs/UKp7Y1icE7I/AAAAAAAAAEw/C371Vp9XIBE/s1600/gen-43-banquet-table.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LB03_gG6ivs/UKp7Y1icE7I/AAAAAAAAAEw/C371Vp9XIBE/s320/gen-43-banquet-table.jpg" width="320" /></a></span><span style="font-size: normal;">On this Thanksgiving Day, I feel much like a little orphan girl bringing her stale bologna sandwich to the grand banquet table of nobility in the palace. And yet when
I arrive, the King smiles and invites me to take a place at the table -- not at
the kids’ table with the plastic forks and plates -- but at <i>His</i> table, right next to the Lord of Hosts.</span><span style="font-size: normal;"><span style="font-size: normal;"> </span></span><br />
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Instead of taking 5 minutes to read my thoughts today, let's enter his courts with thanksgiving and collectively bow before the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGv5d8EE34k" target="_blank">"Great I Am"</a>.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-89744516756081222502012-11-15T05:47:00.000-08:002012-11-15T13:26:32.703-08:00Before You Eat That Turkey<div style="font-family: inherit;">
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</style><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I’ll never forget my first Thanksgiving
back in the United States after living in South Africa for most of my
childhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nearly 20 aunts, uncles
and cousins gathered around my Aunt Lou’s dining room tables in Upstate New
York.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At an early age I discovered
her tender heart, noting that she’d choke up as we took turns reading the
Scriptures on gratitude that she had carefully penned and placed in front of
our plates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, how proud I am to
share a piece of her name!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Aunt Lou has celebrated
nearly ten thanksgivings in Heaven now, and that torch of spiritual training
has been passed down the generations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I vividly recall the year I was convicted to live a life of
intentionality in our home; challenged to no longer assume my kids would pick
up my faith simply because we shared an address.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope -- no faith by osmosis here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I wanted my children to learn the virtue of
gratitude, I needed to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">teach</i> it.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YFWdI9DDkQs/UKScwl7PuFI/AAAAAAAAAEg/CV8FtKUdoBU/s1600/turkey-dinner-photo-270-jsub-5201281.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YFWdI9DDkQs/UKScwl7PuFI/AAAAAAAAAEg/CV8FtKUdoBU/s1600/turkey-dinner-photo-270-jsub-5201281.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I’ll admit it was a bit awkward
the first year I posted the 11 x 14 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I AM
THANKFUL FOR…..” </i>sheet on our refrigerator a week before Thanksgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were some rolled eyes and
shrugged shoulders, but I promptly announced that we were not eating any turkey
until all 20 lines were filled in!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A day or two later I was relieved to see that somebody had anonymously plunged
in and taken the first step (actually, I think it was my husband….thanks,
Steve!) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And slowly, the page began
to fill up:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I am thankful for my teacher, Mrs. Royal……for this warm house…..our
new puppy…our church.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The next year I took a
bigger step and widened the circle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In preparation for my brothers’ arrival with their wives and children, I
typed up slips of paper with each family member’s name on them followed by a
blank:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I am thankful for Kaleb because _________.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am thankful for Uncle Chip because
__________.”</i> As each person entered, they drew a folded slip out of the
basket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again, sorry --
turkey dinner was on hold until everyone had completed their slip and returned
it to the container!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">After dessert and a football
game, we gathered in the living room and passed the basket around the
circle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One by one we reached
in and randomly pulled out a paper to read aloud: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I am thankful for Brittany because she’ll play Legos with me even when
she’s tired.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am thankful for Aunt
Karen because of her enormous heart for young moms.”</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loved seeing the faces of the younger
children light up in anticipation as their name was read and their character publicly
honored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh how a simple phrase of
affirmation buoys the spirit, eh?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">This year, let’s commit to
being intentional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So what if it
feels cliché!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What have we got to
lose?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when your teenage nephew
refuses to participate because he thinks it’s lame, simply have someone else
double up and fill it out on his behalf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After all, there’s a good chance he’ll be lurking around the kitchen corner,
listening in as his name is read and he discovers for the first time that
somebody in the family appreciates his knack for always fixing the computer
when it’s broken -- or thinks he’s one pretty amazing big brother.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">So next Thursday, why not
top off that pumpkin pie with a healthy dose of favor and honor, intentionally
sprinkled among those we hold dear. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul summed it up well in his letter to the Romans:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Be
devoted to one another in brotherly love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Honor one another above yourselves.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Romans 12:10</i></span>) <span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8237789367894119428.post-69132372699478609032012-11-08T19:54:00.000-08:002012-11-21T16:25:42.615-08:00The Greatest Victory on Election Night<span style="font-family: inherit;">This past Tuesday while the nation was glued to FOX, CNN, and online news</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">sources, my little world was swirling in a different path. By 8 pm on</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">November 6, my father-in-law, the precious 91-yr-old godly patriarch who</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">gave me my amazing husband, breathed his last here on earth and stepped over</span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">into Glory. I guarantee you the anticipation of hearing "Well Done!" echo</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">throughout Heaven far surpassed any political announcement that was about to</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">be proclaimed here on earth!</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">While we made five or six key phone calls to family, our son peeked in on</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">the election headlines. I glanced at the screen and my heart sank as I saw</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">the values and biblical convictions that I fight for on a daily basis being</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">ripped away and mocked across the states. In one fell swoop I was watching</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">both the land I love ... and the man I love, slip away.</span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ojq_yEoUhz4/UK1wgoyR9vI/AAAAAAAAAFI/VwLDs7KzS1E/s1600/hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ojq_yEoUhz4/UK1wgoyR9vI/AAAAAAAAAFI/VwLDs7KzS1E/s320/hands.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today, the Lord reminded me of an impromptu photo I snapped on my iPhone a</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">few days ago. During one of our visits, my son sat by his granddad's bedside</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">quietly holding his hand -- his right hand -- the hand with the twisted</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">thumb. Even now I smile as I recall the oft-told story of his father</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">valiantly warding off the doctors who recommended amputation after his</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">curious 5-yr-old son reached into the gears underneath their wringer/washing</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">machine! Oh, how we’ve loved that thumb, that hand ... and that man.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But today in this symbolic photo I see more than a man or a thumb: I see a</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">charge to my generation. With the departure of this WWII Navy veteran,</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">responsibility and stewardship of our great United States democracy and the</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">spiritual legacy within it has now officially been transferred to Steve, me,</span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">and our children. And I’m painfully aware of what Dr. Dobson often says: in</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">a relay race the baton is not typically dropped in the straightaway -- it's</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">lost in the exchange.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Evidently, more than a few batons have been dropped here in America,</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">accounting for the blatant amoral results we just witnessed in this week's</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">election. But here's my vow and I shout it from my front door: The cry for</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">new sprinters, new runners and new warriors has not fallen upon deaf ears.</span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">I, for one, will carry that baton.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"For you have heard my vows, O God; you have given me the heritage of those</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">who fear your name" (Psalm 61:5). I hereby pledge to defend that godly</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">heritage with my very last breath. And I pray that one day my grandchild</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">will hold my hand and take that very baton from me when I leave this earth.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6