Never Underestimate the Power of a Clean Closet!

I am not a neat freak!  In fact, I have been known to be quite cluttered at times (you can take this as a physical or a mental state of being).  I remember how, early in our marriage when we used to argue, my husband and I had a "disagreement" over the condition of the house. I was determined to teach him a lesson, and while he was at work, I picked up only the clutter I had left behind, leaving his to "prove" to him it wasn't my fault.  Needless to say, by the time I was finished, the house was nice and tidy!

In my defense, my clutter is usually the result of overextending myself.  I have time to mess it up...just no time to pick it up.  Throughout the years, with both my mother and my husband reminding me "if you would put it away as soon as you are finished with it...." I have learned my lesson, and the house clutter issue has pretty much resolved itself.  Closets, however, are another battle!

I think that stuff multiplies in the darkness of the closet (that is, if you can get the closet door closed).  We are not hoarders by any sense of the term...having moved countless times in our ~29 year marriage is a great solution to accumulation of "stuff".  Once you have packed and sorted your possessions 20 times or more, it really culls out the clutter.  Closets, however, still are an issue.  I have clothes that I tried on and didn't want to wear, shoes, handbags, tapes (yes, I still have cassette tapes I never play), CD's....you get the picture.  It seems that the addition of baby clothes, toys and the remnants of our daughter's possessions finally put the issue over the top.  You see, when my closets are cluttered, I feel as though I am leading a secret life.  My house may be tidy on the surface, but there is hidden clutter that no-one sees.

In my time off these past months, between naps, I have been tackling the closet issue.  Little by little the clutter has been removed; thrown away or put in the hands of someone who would use it (I was told once that having things and never using them is the worst form of materialism).    The remaining items are basically organized, categorized, and available if needed.

I couldn't help but make the connection of my hidden clutter in the closets and the hidden clutter we store in our personal lives.  When we have hidden clutter in our emotional and spiritual lives, how does it impact our overall sense of ourselves?  It has been my experience that we are far less successful at hiding our emotional clutter than we would like to believe.  I guess it is harder to keep the closet door closed on our emotional clutter; it seems to seep out the cracks too often.

God's solution for sin is immediate.  That was done at the cross and is a free gift for us all.  His solution for cleansing of the sin nature is immediate as well; His sanctifying power can provide us with His Spirit to give us the tools to live a life free from sin.  The scars of our former lives, however, often remain.  Gradually, as God opens each closet door, you have the opportunity to sort through the clutter with Him, deciding what to keep, what to throw away, and what to allow Him to renew in His image for the furtherance of His kingdom (you see, some scars can become beautiful testimonies of His power and glory, if you allow Him to use them).

So, if you come to my house, you are welcome to look in my closets...look under the beds, too!  Nothing is hiding there.  And if you choose to look within the hidden closets of my soul, you will see God and me sorting...making progress...and organizing the clutter there for use in the kingdom.  

The Gramma Magic!

I am pretty certain that being a grandmother is the best job I have ever had.  Currently, with a cup of coffee on the night stand, and Ishapuppy at the foot of the bed, I am sitting in my jammies listening to the soft breathing of our six-month old granddaughter sleeping next to me. (Hey..she was fussy...her parents were asleep...she needed me!)

I don't remember when I first became aware of the Gramma Magic.  I am not even sure when I acquired it. I am pretty sure it was a gradual process for me; starting long before the title was ever bestowed upon me of "Gramma".

I know my mother has it; I watched her last night reading to our beautiful baby (no one reads a storybook quite like my mom).  Actually I discovered that the "Great Gramma Magic" is something extra special (maybe it is like the black belt of the Magic levels). The way Emma lights up with her is awesome to see...and the joy is mutual.

I know my grandmothers both had it, though it was bestowed upon them differently.  My maternal grandmother's magic lay in her warm farmhouse, her hands of love that crafted keepsakes for the ones she loved and baked the world's best molasses cookies.  My paternal grandmother's magic was bound in the patience of teaching crochet stitches, jars of M&M's and endless games of Yahtzee.

The Gramma Magic sooths a crying baby faster than anything. distracts a temper tantrum with ease, and kisses an owie for instant pain relief.  It can make cheese and crackers or M & M's seem like a feast; a tea party with apple juice seem like high tea with the queen of England.  The Gramma Magic is, I am beginning to think, kind of like being a genie.

I wonder if God bestowed this power on grandmothers to reward us for the trials of parenthood; or perhaps he wanted to show us just how, no matter how much we love our children, we still have a limitless amount to share; over and above; running over.  Rather like His love for us!

Someday, perhaps very soon, I will share about the Grandpa Magic.  It, too is something special.  But for now, I will refill my coffee cup, plan my day, and wait for Emma to awake....let the Magic begin!

Why Me?

So many times in my 48 years, I have felt the need to ask "Why Me?"  When most people ask this question, it is usually related to unfortunate circumstances; for me it is the opposite.  Several years ago, as I was lying awake in bed counting my blessings instead of sheep, the question arose in a very specific way; Why Me?  Why was I chosen to live this extraordinary life?  Why, among all the people of the world, was I born into a stable family with two loving parents?  Why was I given the opportunity for a healthy childhood?  Why was I allowed to be raised in America, where my education was freely available?  The list goes on and on.

Each day when I rise, I face another day that I don't have to shake the dust from my only set of clothes, beg for my daily bread, search for clean water, or labor for long hours for little to no wages.  I don't have to wonder if my children are safe, or if my husband will return sober or drunk.  I don't need to hide my faith, pray in secret or wonder if today is the day someone bring help to my Christ-less existence.

That night so long ago, when I was asking God "Why Me?" I received a very clear, nearly audible response.  It was quite possibly the clearest message I have ever heard from God.  He told me, "With great privilege comes great responsibility."  That was it...nothing more.  You see, it isn't because I am more loved by God that I have been placed in this position; it is because of His great love for a lost world.  I need to remind myself of that truth daily.

I am blessed, not so I can enjoy the fruits of God's blessings, but so that I may be a channel to provide blessing for others.  I have been given the resources to be a blessing to others; not just in physical needs, but in so many other ways...edification, encouragement, prayer....

Today as I travel this privileged path, it is my prayer that none of God's blessings TO me with stop WITH me. If I can't pass it on, what good will it be to me?

Blessings!

Processing......

I am, I have learned through my education classes, an external processor.  External processors tend to verbalize while they process thought.  They are usually the first to answer questions in class…because the internal processors are still formulating what they intend to say…and tend (gasp) to dominate the conversation if they are not aware of the disadvantages to their learning style.  An external processor is more prone to speak before the thought is complete ..(!!!)…is this why my mouth gets me in trouble?

My husband is an internal processor…a VERY internal processor!  This really used to frustrate me early in our marriage.  Internal processors (at least in this case) are very hard to argue with.  How does one argue with a person who thinks out everything they want to say?  By the time the response is given, the heat of the moment has passed and, at least generally speaking, reason begins to seep into the conversation.  In the presence of reason and calm, passion and anger don’t have a chance.  I was fortunate to learn this very early, and now rational discussion takes the place of argument on the rare occasion we actually disagree.

Throughout the years my husband and I have perfected the art of marriage (at least we think so).  In fact, it is our differences that create the strength of our relationship.  My passion and spontaneity have come to compliment Phil’s order and reason.  Were it not for my husband, I would be a disorganized puddle of emotions.  If it weren’t for me, Phil would have no fun (at least that is what I tell him constantly).  **insert smirk here**

When I think of the body of Christ, I see the same thing, especially in styles of worship.  Some of us are external processors; we get caught up in the passion of worship and it is visible to the world.  We raise our hands, clap them, and may even run the aisles of the sanctuary (haven’t seen that one in a long time).  For others, the process is internal.  The spirit is moving inside without any appearance externally.  No amount of cheerleading from the platform is going to propel these people to run the aisles or waive their hands.  They are not worshipping less…they are just worshipping differently.  

Corporate worship is a valuable part of our spiritual lives.  We forget, however, that God does not dwell in our style of worship alone.  There are as many forms of worship as there are people in the Kingdom.  Each unique individual responds to God’s grace in his own personal way. That is the beauty of Christ’s Church.

Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky!!!

Satan and his minion are sneaky!  Just when you begin to feel as though you have a direction...start something new...feel like you are making progress...those nasty voices start whispering.  I am sure you know them; their names are Depression, Discouragement and Despair.  They hang around me sometimes, but usually, since my schedule is so busy, I can successfully ignore them, and often, when I am on the top of my game spiritually, they are vanquished by my Protector.  But...the minute I let my guard down, they pop right back up again!  I think it is easy for them lately...since I have been confined I have spent a lot of my time doing nothing...and nothing always leads to something!

My 144 minutes today have been selfishly consumed in the inert confines of my pity party...(yes, even Mizmead has them sometimes).  I did manage to move my shoes to the upstairs closet..(not just the pairs that were lying around, but the ones that were stored in the closet under the stairs as well) and do a couple of loads of laundry...so I guess I am not a total slug!  (insert smirk here)

I have concluded that, rather than whine and complain that life is going on without me and that I have no purpose, I will stop the pity party right here and now!  I have had prayer with my husband and am going to bed.  (Mostly because there is no chocolate in the house, so why stay awake?)

Tomorrow I may change the name of my blog...who knows!

sleep sweet y'all!  

Prayer Warriors: Where are They?

For many years I have had the privilege of living among some of God’s prayer warriors.  These were not ordinary people who went about their business and prayed at the end of the day.  They were people who breathed prayer constantly.  When we lived at the Mission Center in Kentucky, there were several living all in one house…we called it “No Man’s Land.”  Five ladies lived there, and the Spirit of God was their sixth housemate.  God dwelled in that residence.

On Wednesday and Sunday nights our small church met in that house for years; the doors always welcome to all who would come to worship with us.  Prayer was a spectacular thing; like nothing I had experienced before.  Their prayers sustained us through some pretty hard times. But most of these ladies are in heaven how.

When I think of them, I wonder where the prayer warriors are in our generation?  I know many people my age who pray, but there is something missing I cannot identify.  These prayer warriors of my past had something special; something that took them to the foot of the Throne in an instant.  There was no need for repetitive worship music or motivational sermons; they were so accustomed to the pathway to the Throne they arrived there instantly.  Even in their failing years, when age stole so much of their mobility, their passion never faded.  

I want what they had.  I want to be so sure, so secure in my faith that I can sit at the foot of the Throne and, with all confidence, petition my Father for the needs of the world.  But for now, I start with 144 minutes.  I am learning the pathway; one step at a time.

Prayer Warriors - Part 1

I have a mental image still, after all these years, of my Grandma Sarah.  She would sit in her gold rocking chair, the octagon table (which was really a stereo in disguise) to her left, and a magazine rack to her right.  There were always crossword puzzle books, the church magazine, and her Bible close by...and M&Ms in the cabinet.  We could talk about anything, and when I finally accepted Christ as my Savior, the subject of prayer and time alone with God was a frequent topic of conversation.  Grandma was a prayer warrior.

I remember talking to her about the day I was born.  It won't surprise those who know me that my entrance into this world was not uneventful.  I came unexpectedly and dramatically and, I am told, rather blue.  Oxygen deprivation due to details that most readers wouldn't want to know about.  It was a scary time (as for me, I don't remember a thing, so it isn't all that traumatizing). For my parents and grandparents, however, there was great concern.

The doctors were unsure at the time whether I had suffered neurological damage; I was over eight pounds and in an incubator (Mom says I looked quite out of place; one foot propped up on the glass...).  Grandma tells me that the night I was born, she and grandpa were awake all night praying...for me.

I don't know how my life would have been different had they not been on their knees that cold night in December.  Nor do I know why God honored their prayers.  I am grateful just the same.

All my  life there have been prayer warriors petitioning in my behalf.  Grandma Sarah prayed for me daily...she told me so.  When she died she took those prayers to heaven with her.  Perhaps she intercedes now.

But the question arises when I think of her...and the many other prayer warriors I have known:  Who will take her place?  Where are the prayer warriors of our generation?

Perhaps tomorrow I can find the answer...but for tonight...sleep sweet!