Rocky Trails in Sunday Shoes

We hadn't exactly expected to walk up this rocky trail in our Sunday clothes and shoes.

It's just that after church we decided to picnic somewhere different, and ended up not far from church beside Bear Creek, where there was another empty vehicle and a picnic table

 and this stream begging to be crossed,

and a hillside begging to be climbed.

And it usually isn't all that far from church to the rocky climbs of what we face as soon as we go out the church door. 

Sunday clothes and dress shirts and polyester pants and polished cowboy boots and ladies' black slipons

aren't exactly the style for the climb ahead or the workaday week. 

Sometimes the little white sandals and the lacy socks just have to come off,

and you may as well cross the stream barefoot.

There are all kinds of paths to take this week, wandering all over through the joint grass,

these unusual grass stems that come apart at the joints--

like when your week comes unraveled at day one, and you must try to get it put back together. 

Your Monday is crammed with work, the children bicker, you're hit with that weakness or that pain or that infection flareup or exhaustion or bad news or you remember your income tax forms are due on Wednesday.

And there are those times the grass comes apart, one joint after the other.

Till you hear about another family who was in a roll-over car accident just before Easter, when the dad fell asleep at the wheel, leaving the mother of six with a broken neck and severely injured spinal cord and the fear that she may be paralyzed for the rest of her life.

Many hours from home, her six children are being cared for by her sister who has twelve children of her own.

Eighteen children and sometimes other cousins, too, to care for in a place far from home.

A mom who can't even quite breathe on her own, whose biceps can barely move a bit, and she can only whisper...things like, "I'm thirsty. Can you get me a smoothie?"

Only, of course, she cannot have a smoothie.

You don't even know this mother from Eve or Mary Magdalene, but your heart is broken for her and her husband who must be half killing himself for falling asleep at the wheel only ten minutes from her parents' home--where they were to be home for Easter.

And all of a sudden, your path isn't quite so rocky after all.

We need better than silly Sunday slip-ons to get us through the rocky paths of life like that one. 

This path looked almost impossible when we looked up it, 

but all of a sudden, we were up at the top looking down.

And it won't be long, children, till we reach the other side of this trial.

The days may stretch into weeks and months, perhaps years.

But "this too shall pass."

The hospital experience may be a long one, the pregnancy a difficult one, the postpartum depression debilitatiting, the long years of raising children exhausting,

the disease creeping onward, and the bills piling sky high.

But there, along the trail are the blossoms of God's mercy and grace.

Even in that roll-over accident, there were paschal flowers of God's mercy springing all over the place.

Not one of the children had any more serious injuries then bruises and scratches, and neither did the dad. 

It could have been so much worse. 

There were so many relatives and friends to step in and help.

So many prayers around that hospital bed. 

And her arms still moved.

Just a little--but it gives hope. 

It's easy to stare into the valleys of our sorrows, mishaps, disappointments, accidents, burdens, pains, debts, illnesses, and nightmares of whatever sort,

instead of holding one another in each other's arms and finding something for which to give thanks.

Right there on the rocky path, right there where we gaze anxiously into our valley,

we find a cross on a tree.

It's a strange tree--one that almost got destroyed at one time, Jonathan noticed, insisting that I take a picture on my daughter's camera. You can see that obviously it had been blown over or perhaps struck by lightning. 

Something happened to that tree that laid it low, completely down to the ground.

But there it was, still growing, still putting out long, healthy branches full of green needles up to the sunlight. 

How many years ago it fell and nearly died we don't know. 

We just know it kept growing and bearing fruit--

while all the time carrying its cross.

A cross that reminds us of following the Man of sorrows and enduring the pain and reproach of a Christ-centered life--

but also reminds us that we don't walk this lonesome valley or this rocky trail

by ourselves.

No one else can walk it for us, but we don't have to walk it by ourselves.

His tender love is reaching out to hold our hand, to lift us up when we fall,

to hold us close,

and underneath are the everlasting arms!

Jonathan's Parents and Sister in Idaho

Jonathan's dad showed us these pictures on his camera back around New Years Day 

when we were helping them move, and I asked permission last week to post them on my blog as I loved them.

He and Grandma Lucas had spent a week or so in Idaho with Jonathan's sister and her husband.

They all went to visit the state capitol when a symphony was playing there before Christmas.

Here's Barbara and her wonderful husband, Chad. They found each other when they were in their late 30's

and when everyone sort of assumed Barbara would live single the rest of her life. 

Chad was a huge surprise and a huge blessing. He has such a wonderful spirit.

Jonathan and I really like him, and are glad for both of them. 

Chad and Barbara outside the Capitol building in Boise.

Part of the symphony playing.

Chad and Barb are there in the middle between the pillars watching the symphony from the balcony.

I know my blog readers would enjoy those photos.

"My Supreme Weapon is Dying"

Yesterday, in between our work and school and other activities, some of us watched part of the Penn View Bible Institute Missions Convention livestreamed.

David Black gave the closing challenge last night, including the story of a Christian who was facing death for his faith. His persecutors were determined to get him to deny his faith by torturing and then killing him.

 His answer to his tormentors was, "Your supreme weapon is killing;

my supreme weapon is dying."

What can the world do against a faith like that?

And what can God do with a faith like that?

What can God do with people who are willing to die for Him--

and with those who are willing to die daily?

What can He do with moms, who are called to die on a daily basis to living life for ourselves,

and instead to find our lives wrapped up in God, in family, and in Christ-like servic?

The theme related to missions came back again and again to denying ourselves.

"When you deny your false self," Ryan Colson declared, "you find your true self."

Self denial, he said, is hard because you are not the boss, 

but God frees you to be what you ought to be.

"We're a little bit like rocks," Ryan Colson said, bringing out the four years that Michelangelo took to carve his David out of a huge piece of marble.

"There's time and process for God to make us what He wants us to be."

By taking time with Him, we will be taught by Him what to say no to, 

and what to say yes to, he said.

Interestingly, he brought out the necessity of taking time not only for God,

but for whatever it is that refreshes us--because, he said, "It's in the places where we are refreshed,

that we begin to hear God."

Walking in beautiful nature, quietness, reading, and writing refresh me.

Blogging, journaling, writing letters, writing down verses and thoughts that minister to me--

this is what refreshes me. 

It's why I sit down a few times a week and blog my heart out.

Other are refreshed by reading, hiking, scrapbooking, traveling, cooking, decorating, etc.   

God wants us in relationship with others, Bro. Ryan said, because it helps us learn what God made us to be.

When people around us see that we can bake beautiful cakes, like this one another home school mom made for last presentation night , they tell us that this is an area where we can excel. 

Perhaps people will see that you do well with playing instruments, or teaching,

as Natalia does, Carrie's violin teacher who is helping her tune her violin before playing it for presentation night.

 Whatever it is, God wants to chisel and shape and mold you into what He wants--

 a speaker, or a leader, or a manager of a business, of a store, school, or home;

 or perhaps a drama queen!

(Hopefully not the wrong kind!)

 Whether mothers, grandmothers, or daughters, 

our supreme weapon, too, is dying.

When it doesn't really matter who gets the credit, or who wins, or who comes out on top,

when we're not into what we're doing just to compete with some other mom
or be approved by some other mom,

or to be the Mrs. Perfect,

when our poor ego is not intimidated by some mom doing a better job than we are,

that's what gives God glory.

  There will be plenty of devils, monsters, Rumplestiltskins, and people of the world

trying to take away our confidence in Christ,

our virtues, our character, our reputation, and the future generation of faith.

 

 But we do not have to be afraid of them.

Their supreme weapon is killing:

ours is dying.

Dying to having a career and instead having children.

 

 Dying to having a lark, and instead having self-discipline.

Dying to our foolish and selfish appetites  that want what pleases our palette 

 and instead choosing what is good for us,

 

 and what will count for eternity.

Bro. Wilmer Paulus in the morning session quoted Billy Graham who quoted Ravi Zacharias

(if I understood correctly)

who said,

""The world's smallest package is a person or a family all wrapped up in themselves."

When our ego is okay with not always having to be on top,

not always having to win,

not always having to be the best or the holiest or the nicest or the most perfect or the most approved
or the most liked,

we'll find that dying is not so terribly terrible after all.

It just frees us to be what God wants us to be.

Satisfied on Easter Sunday

As I said, it was one of the happiest Easters ever for me. In the earlier post, I had pictures of our fun Easter breakfast.

We sang the first verse of "He Lives," before we ate.

"I serve a risen Savior!"

And it was such a beautiful sunny day!

Last year, we were with my sister Kezia in Illinois, and some years before that there has been snow for Easter here. So this Easter the weather was perfect!

But more than that, it was a blessing to celebrate with our wonderful church family.

Sunday School had been canceled so that there could be practice time instead--a choir number and the handbells. It was fun getting to play bells again on one of the songs.

 You have to cooperate with one another to play handbells.

We did manage to get this new dress finished for Hannah for Easter Sunday. 

She looked as pretty as a posy!

The fabric was from Sis. O'Maley who had a bit left over from a dress she had made, and we added some yellow. Carrie helped me with the skirt and ruffle, but it made me feel good to do a bit of sewing again. 

As I was getting ready to sew on buttons last week, she sorted some other blue buttons and she and I tied matching sets of buttons together.

God gave us a seventh child, and it is our responsibility to care for her and train her and take time with her

just like I tried to do with each of the others. 

In our American culture, it is easy to get discouraged with the long years of ongoing child training, and to feel like other things are more important and why am I, at almost 49, still raising a small child 

when others at my age can get on with life, careers, and something 

besides taking care of little kids?

That, of course, is the attitude of our day.
 But we could spend many years trying to rehabilitate even just one person who has messed up his life,
and maybe not even be successful.
But I have the opportunity of molding a brand new life and heart and soul--
Jonathan and I have this one chance to disciple our own children.
 To read God's Word and explain it and discuss it and memorize it.

To attend a church that has skillfully-played, Spirit-led music.
Sis. Katherine (photo at top of post) is one of my favorite organists and
Bro. Lefever is one of my favorite pianists. They have such good spirits behind the music.

To sing hymns, and to teach the children songs by memory. 

Here the church children and youth sing a couple choruses during the Easter service.

The older children joined the younger ones to help sing. 

Then they joined the adults in the choir!

It is such a blessing to have our older children now participating with us!

It's also wonderful to have a pastor who can play the piano so skillfully and spiritedly!

After service, I had thought we'd have a picnic, but all the children wanted to just come home.

We set a simple table.

And had pork roast, carrots, green beans and potatoes.
It was so delicious!

Carrie had made a dessert.

I spent some quiet prayer time out in the quiet of the motor home.
And it's not about bragging about hey, I prayed yea long or yea short--so how about you?
No, it's just part of my life that, while I don't brag about it, yet I am not ashamed or reticent to confess that prayer is part of my life.
Not always alone, not always on my knees, very often walking back and forth just to keep focused better.
Because when you get word of a former acquaintance, someone you traveled on a mission trip with,
converting to Catholicism, and others converting to Judaism,
it makes you rethink your own beliefs--and pray.

It makes you pray for yourself and your children.
What is missing in people's lives, like the seat missing off this bike locked to a street sign,
 that they go searching in such places for satisfaction?

While I do not always feel saved, victorious, or on top of the world,
I have to admit, that on Easter Sunday I was a happy, satisfied lady.
I have tasted that the Lord is good, and His blessings are on the upright in heart.

I do not need a priest to tell me my sins are forgiven.
I came to Christ's blood more than once recently and know it has been applied to my heart.
I know it for myself.
It was not applied only when I was saved, and again when I felt His Spirit come in a deeper way,
but many, many times since.
I have needed His blood to be applied over and over again.

Because life happens.
Many moons and even eclipses have come and gone,
including blood moons like this one Carrie got a snap of last weekend.

Cobwebs are spun.
Dust collects.
Spills happen. Mistakes happen. Temptations happen. Confusion happens.
You get hit broadside with all kinds of problems.
You realize over and over that you aren't equipped to handle life's problems alone.

And so you have to come to Christ over and over--
while doing dishes, fixing the fire, teaching school, cleaning house, doing the laundry--
[I don't know how many times I have felt close to God or poured out my heart to Him or bubbled over with joy while doing laundry!]
walking up the path in the fields or back and forth with your prayer list in your hand, struggling to keep focused on just that day's prayer requests,
you have to come for cleansing.

 And whether you feel like it or not, when you are singing 

"He lives within my heart!"

you know that your faith is not in your faith or in your feeling,

but in Him

Who said, "No man can take them out of My Father's hand."

I am not Catholic, but I am one of His saints.

I am not a Jew, but I am one of Christ's children.

I am not a Baptist, but I believe in a believer's security as long as they live in obedience to Christ. 

And I am so very satisfied with Christ!