Faith – Page 3 – Angel Wheeler

Shots.

In two short days, my baby girl has to get her 2 month shots.

Oh, how I dread it. To the very core.

She’s oblivious. She doesn’t know what is up ahead. But I do.

She is content and happy, living in her little 2 month world. Trusting her mama and daddy to take care of her, without a worry in the world, unsuspecting of what is to come. I want to prepare her. I’ve tried telling her about it, reassuring her that it won’t last long, that everything will be okay, that it’s not meant to harm her, but it’s to protect her in the future. But she doesn’t understand my language. I want to avoid this necessary evil. But I know she needs it.

When my old cowdog Fancy had to be put to sleep, I couldn’t stand it. It was the best thing for her, as she was in a lot of pain. My mother and I took her to the vet, and as much as I wanted to stay and pet her head while the needle was injected, I just couldn’t bear it. I left the exam room and cried in the waiting room instead. It was just too much. My mom stayed with her as she closed her big, brown, trusting eyes for good. I wish now I would have stayed with her, letting her know I was there.

With EK, I want to escape as well. I want her dad to stay with her and I would rather wait in the waiting room and not witness her going through the pain. But I would never leave her. I will endure her cries, and hold her tight, and comfort her.

We are told in the Bible that we cannot know God’s thoughts. Isaiah 55:8 My thoughts are not your thoughts. Neither are your ways, my ways, declares the Lord. But sometimes, I believe He allows us, in our mortality, to experience small, ever so minute glimpses of His ways.

He, as our Heavenly Father, sees the big picture. He knows what is coming our way. He knows our tomorrow and the days after that. He too wants to protect us from the pain and discomfort of our “shots”, but perhaps it is better for us in the long run to experience them now. When we receive word of death of a close one, or a troubling diagnosis, or loss of a job, or relationship, we are rattled, shaken, and upset. We don’t understand why it happened, but God does, and also why it needed to happen. We may be caught off guard, but He never is. And perhaps He too tried to prepare us. Maybe He spoke to us, told us it wouldn’t last long, that it will all be okay, that it is not for harm, but for our good. But we don’t always understand His language. He doesn’t abandon us to wait in the waiting room. He holds us close, speaks comfort and wipes every tear from our eye.

What an awesome Father we have.

My grandmother had this photograph framed and hanging in her bedroom for as long as I could remember. It is from the local newspaper in 1976.

The caption read “Mrs. Anne Briggs holds Angel’s hand while she gets her immunization shots. Angel looks nervous but didn’t cry. RN Berlinda Leyba of Texas State Department of Health gave shots.”

Maybe EK will have a little of her mama in her and handle her shots well also.

If you will, send up a prayer for her. And for me.

A New Body

It made many trips down I-40 from Tahlequah to Pampa. It rode in the passenger seat of a red dodge pickup and when that vehicle wore out, a yellow Chevy pickup.

When he died, it rode in the back of my vehicle one last time along with the potted plants sent with condolences and a couple of cardboard boxes of belongings.

When we arrived home, it sat in the floor of the spare bedroom right behind the door. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I went about my day-to-day life and when I found time, I sorted through the cardboard boxes that had made the trip, discarding unnecessary things. But still, it remained.

When the spare bedroom began changing into a nursery, it sat on the floor watching while paint went on the walls, and office furniture was replaced with a crib. Like a child’s teddy bear with the eye missing and the stuffing coming out, it remained as a reminder.

It wasn’t valuable. It wasn’t decorative. It wasn’t useful to anyone. But it was such a part of him that I kept it around. It’s funny how when someone dies, their everyday things become such strong reminders of them. For my grandmother, it was a silver fingernail file that sat beside her chair. She probably used it every day. For my dad, it was a grimy, white Easter basket he used to carry his medication. An Easter basket. While other men have a satchel or a tote, or even a gallon size Ziploc bag, my dad used an Easter basket.

“Take one daily with a meal.” “For management of high cholesterol, take one each day.” “Take each morning and evening.” The instructions on each bottle kept him going for several years. High blood pressure, cholesterol, blood thinners, aspirin.

When New Year’s Day 2012 rolled around, sadness overcame me. A new year, a new beginning, only without him. Moving ahead, moving on, I knew I must. But I didn’t know how. And then I was reminded:

“For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—-and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again.” 2 Corinthians 5:1 The Message

My dad no longer needed his pills. It was just a sad reminder to me of the temporary body that burdened him.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight. We are confident, yes, well pleased rather to be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5:7

On Monday January 2, I carried the basket to the dumpster and set it in. Don’t think I didn’t consider taking it out and bringing it back in the house throughout the day. I was home on Tuesday, the 3rd, when the loud roar of the trash truck pulled up. I heard the lifting of the dumpster, the bang of the lids as it flipped over. I imagined the dirty Easter basket and the bottles of pills scattering as they fell. I sat on the couch as the truck roared away, thinking of my dad and his new body. No longer sick. No longer burdened.

Today, he would’ve been 69 years old. He left this world February 26, 2011.

He is dancing.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

I love you.

Change and Creation—my year in review

I’m three days late, but I wanted to take some time and reflect on the year 2011. It’s long gone now, but still deserves some time of remembrance. Any blogger worth their weight in blogging ability has already accomplished this feat, however, it’s me we’re talking about here.

I began this post a couple of days ago with the best of intentions, but I was (and still am) having trouble getting my thoughts nailed down to make it coherent, but alas, I’ll try.

I’m experiencing mixed emotions about the new year, and about saying good-bye to the old. This is a new phenomenon for me. I usually wake up on January first of whatever year it happens to be, and go about my usual life. Just another day. But this January 1st, 2012, I found myself at a crossroads. There’s a song by the Bellamy Brothers where one line says, “he’s an old hippie and he don’t know what to do, should he hang on to the old, should he grab on to the new.” Oh how I can relate.

Last January there was a movement if you will, instead of resolutions, choose a word for the year. A word that will define you. A word that you will focus on during the year. Like hope or faith or happiness or fitness. My friend Suzanne asked me what my word was. I took a while to think, and finally I chose the word create. I wanted to create great writing. I wanted to create a home for J-Dub and myself in our new country dump, I wanted to create a wonderful garden, a chicken coop, so many new things.

How little did I know that with creation comes change or perhaps change begets creation. But I can look back now and affirm, create was my word.

We lost my dad to a heart attack in February and I began to create a life of only memories. Whether through facebook or blog comments or email or phone calls, we spoke daily. I’m thankful for technology, for through that our relationship grew closer and we knew each other better than ever. Creating a new life without him has been hard for me.

Less than a month after burying my dad, J-Dub and I packed our horse trailer with boxes and furniture and moved to a place outside of town. A place that needed (and still does) a lot of work. We had spent the previous winter attempting to create a home for ourselves along with a plethora of mistakes, problems and money that come with home improvements. Moving is life changing and not knowing where the dadgum lightbulbs are kept is more than irritating. Shortly after moving in, like 4 days, I got a box of little chicks in the mail and my life was changed forever! I spent the spring and summer, raising those babies and adjusting to the country life with snakes in the front yard, water wells breaking, drought, wild fires and wind. And with wind, lots and lots of dust.

In May, I felt like I was losing my ever loving mind. I believed Satan had come in and taken control of my body. I felt like a raging lunatic, and then while on a trip visiting my dad’s grave for Memorial Day weekend, I discovered the cause of my angst. I was pregnant. So the summer was spent in shock and adjustment. And the fall was spent in shock and adjustment. And now that we are three weeks away from giving birth, I’m still in disbelief and adjusting. Someone told me in a comment on this blog that God gives us nine months to prepare for childbirth. I’m here to tell you, I probably could be a pretty good elephant because nine months isn’t enough time for me.

Although I desired to create great writing, and a wonderful home, and new and beautiful things in 2011, I never would have fathomed that I would create a daughter. What a change. What a creation. What a scary experience.

Plans for building a new fence and putting up a barn were replaced with painting a nursery and choosing a name. A whole new dimension has been added to my life. God has given me a great task. He has chosen me to be the mother of a little girl who I worry I won’t do right by.

With this great task ahead, I find myself fearing the new year. Afraid of what it holds. I find myself walking by sight rather than faith, fearful of the next step. And the one after that. And the one after that.

My 2011 was a year of adjustment. Lots of changes took place, the kind of changes that rate high up on the stress level list. So why don’t I want to move on? As I ponder, I decide it must be the familiarity of the old and the fear of the new. I am embarking on this new year, expecting more changes and I’m frightened that the struggles I faced in 2011 will follow me into the new year.

I’ve been weepy the last two days and it appears this day is no different. My present prayer is that my sorrow will be turned to joy, my worry will be changed to rejoicing.

Like the old hippie, should I hang on to the old or should I grab onto the new?

If I look to the scriptures, I am instructed to remember the days of old, remember what God has done for me, how He has carried me through, and then press forward to what is ahead, walk by faith, finish the race, and trust in the Lord.

Hang on or grab onto? I’ll try to do both.

And so I go.

Happy 2012.

Is that You, God?

It happened on a Sunday morning two years ago. Or was it three? I really don’t know. Not because I don’t remember it vividly, but instead because I dismissed it as nonsense, ridiculousness, even poppycock.

I had gone to church that morning. Whether I started my day with a heavy heart or whether I became burdened during the service, I don’t remember. But it happened during that time of our church service when our pastor asked for anyone who had a need to stand right where they are to be prayed for. This is a common practice in our church. People have needs. We’re sick. Sick in body and sick in spirit. You shouldn’t have to leave the House of the Lord in the same condition in which you entered. He is, after all, the Great Physician.

I stood. I can’t recall my need now. Perhaps it was a broken heart. Maybe financial worries. It could’ve been I was feeling a sore throat coming on. Whatever it was, the Holy Spirit led me to stand. Which is not easy. When the Holy Spirit begins talking to me, my pride begins yelling louder. “What are you doing?” it screams. “Do you want all these people to know you’ve got problems? Don’t you care what they are thinking? Don’t do it! Don’t stand. You can pray for yourself. You don’t need others to pray for you“. But deep down, I know God desires obedience. It will be rewarded. So this time, my pride gets hushed, and I stand. I can feel all those pairs of eyes boring into me. My body temperature rises. My neck begins to burn. Then the preacher asks for everyone who is standing to have a prayer partner. The sound of shuffling feet fills the sanctuary as people rise to meet the ones who are standing. I feel hands on my back, on my shoulders. I hear whispered prayers being lifted towards the heavens. People interceding on my behalf. The prayers end. We clap our hands to the Lord, praising Him for what He is going to do. I look up at the ones who prayed for me. We embrace. Eyes are brimming with tears.

And that’s when it happened. A small, older man, who had never spoken more than a cordial greeting to me, with his dark skin and heavy foreign accent looked at me and confidently proclaimed, “The Lord will give you a baby.”

I smiled politely.
I’m not even praying for a baby I thought to myself.

We sat down, and as the preacher gave final announcements, I remember my mind drifting to what had just been spoken to me. I even felt a little angry. Why do people automatically assume that I want a baby?

Church dismissed and we went on with our day. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget that event. I chuckled to myself. Much like Sarah from the Bible did when she was told she would have a baby. What a crazy old man, assuming things he has no idea about. I told a few people and they laughed with me. How weird. How strange. How bizarre.

Now fast forward to November 2011. I’m walking out of the Sunday School room into a narrow hallway and I meet that same man. I doubt he even knows my name. His large brown eyes dropped to my bulging belly. He wagged his wrinkled finger toward it and in his thick accent said, “I told you.”

“I believe you now.” I answered with a smile. He went on to explain to me that God had been talking to him and wanting him to tell me. He said it wasn’t just once, but two or three times. Finally, he obeyed. Okay, I’ll tell her, he said.

So. He isn’t a crazy man afterall. In fact, he assumed nothing about my needs. He was obedient to the voice of God no matter how crazy it sounded to me.

Just as so many women were visited by a messenger and told they were going to give birth, I too, was visited by a messenger and told the same thing. But I didn’t believe him. Right there, in church, during prayer, as obvious as a lightening strike, God spoke to me through someone else, and yet my ears remained closed. I even scoffed. I wonder how many blessings I’ve missed because of my lack of faith? I hope I have learned my lesson.

God is speaking to you.
Listen.

Lessons from Gus

Lonesome Dove is one of my favorite movies. It’s in my top five for sure, right up there with Gone With the Wind and Pulp Fiction.

If you’ve never seen Lonesome Dove, rent it sometime—someday when you have about 5 hours to spare. Augustus McCrae is an endearing character who, in my opinion, makes the movie. If I’m ever on the Miss America stage and I am asked who I would invite to a dinner party if I could invite anyone (real or fictional, past or present), my answer would be Augustus McCrae. A matter of fact, I love Augustus so much, if our baby-to-be had been a boy, we were seriously thinking of naming him Gus. True story.

Augustus McCrae

In Lonesome Dove, Gus is an older man who’s lived his life chasing bandits and killing Indians. He’s a former Texas Ranger, tougher than most men, but never hasty to use it. He’s loves women, but only 2 have really ever stolen his heart. He’s a philosopher, a bit on the lazy side, and a biscuit lover, who doesn’t mind kicking a pig ever now and then. In short, one of the greatest characters ever.

In the story, there’s a prostitue name Lorie who wants badly to go to San Franciso to start a new life. In one scene in particular, the man who’s promised to take her away has run off, and she is crying to Gus about wanting to get to San Franciso.

He gives her these words of advice:

“Lorie darlin’, life in San Francisco, you see, is still just life. If you want any one thing too badly, it’s likely to turn out to be a disappointment. The only healthy way to live life is to learn to like all the little everyday things, like a sip of good whiskey in the evening, a soft bed, a glass of buttermilk, or a feisty gentleman like myself.”

As many times as I’ve watched this movie, and as many times as I’ve seen this scene where right after saying these words, Gus starts stripping down to his long underwear, I really have never paid much attention to his words. Until the other day. It was as if I were hearing them for the first time. I rewound the movie and heard them again, and then rewound it again, just to hear them again.

So often we find ourselves wanting a different life. Or maybe it’s just me. But I’ll catch myself at times comparing my life to others, and then getting the case of the “If only’s”. If only this. Or if only that. Just like Lorie Darlin’ who thinks her life would be the berries if only she could get to San Francisco.

It’s the whole, “the grass is greener on the other side” mentality isn’t it?

“The only healthy way to live life is to learn to like all the little everyday things….”

In this season of Thanksgiving, many people are posting daily what they are thankful for. It’s easy at first. We’re thankful for our faith. We’re thankful for our family. We’re thankful for our health. But what of the little everyday things?

Today my husband made me a latte, like he does every morning. As close to Starbucks as one can get. And then he made me breakfast, like he does most mornings when he has time. Perhaps he’s cooking breakfast because he has to eat too, but he thinks of me just the same. Those are the little everyday things that I take forgranted.

Each day, I receive no less than 21 hugs from second graders. Perhaps they’re hugging me because I grab them and force them to hug me back, but there’s maybe one or two who offer it first. How many hugs did you get today? I hope at least one.

I’ve got this little baby wallering around in my belly. And even though my back is beginning to ache at the end of each day, the little kicks and punches remind of a loving God and promise of hope and a future. Who knew that a kick and a punch could bring a feeling of alrightness to my world.

I pray you each have a beautiful holiday season, and may our thankfulness not be for one day when we stuff turkey down our throats, but for each day that we are given.

May we learn to like the little everyday things, everyday.

Blessings

I have a hot drink, a quiet house, and a long to-do list, but I’m going to sit a minute and write. I miss blogging. If I had my ‘druthers, I’d stay home, write everyday, and make preserves; or some other similar lost art. It sounds idyllic, but I’m sure it would get old after a while.

J-Dub and Ash have gone on a bike ride to a nearby, near-dried-up lake, and I’m sitting in my comfy chair, in my comfy preggo pajamas, listening to the flock of birds that live outside my window in an evergreen tree causing quite a ruckus.

Today I feel so blessed. Most days I feel blessed, but sometimes it is an overwhelming feeling that I simply can’t describe. I believe it has something to do with Fall. It’s quickly becoming my favorite time of year. or it may have something to do with my little baby to be, Emma Kate. Oh I dreamed of her last night. It was the most precious thing. She was about 5 or 6 months old, and had the biggest eyes you have ever seen. She was eating a strawberry. It was the first strawberry she’d ever tried. When she got a taste of it, her big eyes grew even wider. It was like a taste of heaven in her mouth. I loved waking up with that sweet image in my mind. I must plant strawberries this spring!

For the past two years, I have attempted a pumpkin patch, and have failed both times. Ash used to have a flower-pot of strawberries and they would produce about 3 a year. I hope to have better luck with my green thumb. Emma needs strawberries.

I’ve also been dreaming of my lost loved ones lately. My dad and my grannie have both been present with me in my dreams. It’s nice to wake up after being visited by a loved one, passed on.

But mostly, my blessed feeling has a lot to do with God. Isn’t he awesome? He has given me so much, even the things I thought I didn’t need. He knows our every thought before we think them. He knows the number of hairs on our head. He knows us better than we could ever know ourselves, and the most amazing thing is, He loves us still. His love is bigger and wider and deeper than anything we can fathom.

I hope you know Him. Somedays I’m an ungrateful child of the King, and I think I’m too busy to spend much, if any, time with Him. But He doesn’t hold it against me. He welcomes me back as a loving Father. He’s with us all ways. Even before we ever knew Him, He knew us. Right now I’m reminded of a scripture, Psalms 139.

¹ You have searched me, LORD,
   and you know me.
² You know when I sit and when I rise;
   you perceive my thoughts from afar.
³ You discern my going out and my lying down;
   you are familiar with all my ways.
⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
   you, LORD, know it completely.
⁵ You hem me in behind and before,
   and you lay your hand upon me.
⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
   too lofty for me to attain.

⁷ Where can I go from your Spirit?
   Where can I flee from your presence?
⁸ If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
   if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
⁹ If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
   if I settle on the far side of the sea,
¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
   your right hand will hold me fast.
¹¹ If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
   and the light become night around me,”
¹² even the darkness will not be dark to you;
   the night will shine like the day,
   for darkness is as light to you.

¹³ For you created my inmost being;
   you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
   your works are wonderful,
   I know that full well.
¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
   when I was made in the secret place,
   when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed body;
   all the days ordained for me were written in your book
   before one of them came to be.
¹⁷ How precious to me are your thoughts,^[a] God!
   How vast is the sum of them!
¹⁸ Were I to count them,
   they would outnumber the grains of sand—
   when I awake, I am still with you.

¹⁹ If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
   Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
²⁰ They speak of you with evil intent;
   your adversaries misuse your name.
²¹ Do I not hate those who hate you, LORD,
   and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
²² I have nothing but hatred for them;
   I count them my enemies.
²³ Search me, God, and know my heart;
   test me and know my anxious thoughts.
²⁴ See if there is any offensive way in me,
   and lead me in the way everlasting.

He’s always with us. Always there. May you have a blessed day.

Pinned Image

My life. My thoughts. My faith. My family

Well today is Sunday, and those who may have been looking for it, might have missed my “in memory of my dad story” yesterday. I’ve been a little busy, which is no excuse.

I’ve been:

sleeping (today anyway)
trying to revive a dead front yard from a serious drought
cleaning out a junk room of boxes and inessentials to make room for a crib and diapers
scouring baby books and the internet for the perfect little girl name
guarding my red toenails from pecking chickens
gathering 5-6 fresh eggs a day
enjoying the beautiful fall days
teaching a class of 22 darling second graders
cleaning, washing, drying, sweeping, mopping
attempting to bring my husband back to reality from our recent visit to Colorado
Oh, and building a baby

I went to Lubbock, Texas this weekend to listen to one of my most beloved Bible teachers, Beth Moore. Some church friends and I spent the day knee deep in the book of Luke and Acts and reveling in the reminder of how awesome our God is, and I wasn’t able to get to a computer to post my dad’s story and did not have the wherewithall to post earlier. I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up shortly.

While my dad was living, he spent some time writing commentaries and sports for his hometown newspapers, The Tahlequah Times. My sister brought me a basketful of old newspaper clippings, so each Saturday I post one. I will post them until I run out of stories or until I run out of Saturdays, whichever comes first. I chose Saturday because that was the day he died. A Saturday afternoon. Just a normal, unsuspecting one. Much like this day 10 years ago when our country was attacked. Much like the day when Jesus will return. Normal. Unsuspecting.

I had spoken with him back and forth on his facebook wall that morning, and was planning a visit in July for a family reunion. That afternoon, I was home alone standing in my kitchen with a cardboard box and newspaper pages scattered on the kitchen counters, wrapping drinking glasses in preparation for a move to a new place when my phone rang. I almost didn’t answer it because the number was bizarre. I’m glad I did. It was my dad’s friend, Jane, on the other end tearfully explaining to me “we’ve lost your daddy.” I had to call my sister, my mom, and my brother. It was a difficult day, as is days that come and go still. My dad has been gone a little over six months and my goodness, so much has happened in that short time. I miss him, and I so wish he was here to share what is happening in my life now.

When I first shared with my family that Jason and I would be having a baby, both my mom and my sister remarked how they wished my dad was here. How he would have loved to know the baby. And it made me sad for a split second. But then I remembered something my friend had told me and I had an epiphany. We all come from different backgrounds and beliefs and sometimes we get stuck thinking ours is “right” and everyone else is wrong. I have a very dear friend who, when speaking about babies, she would often mention “spirit children” in heaven waiting for a body in order to come to earth. I had never heard of this from anyone before. Although it was her belief, it was one I didn’t share. I hadn’t been taught this idea, I hadn’t ever read about this idea, so I dismissed it, quite frankly, as cuckoo. Until the day I needed desperately to believe that.

I believe that our spirits live forever. When we die our spirits live on, either in heaven or in hell. And it came to me clearly, if our spirits live forever after our earthly body is gone, then how narrow-minded of me to think our spirits only begin when our human bodies form in the womb. Of course they exist before our earthly body and of course they exist after our earthly body. Of course there are “spirit children”. And of course my dad’s spirit, who lives in heaven, and my baby’s spirit who lived in heaven, have met one another. My dad is not missing out on knowing my baby. I believe they have met one another. In the heavenly realm of which we know very little about, they’ve become acquainted. They are well acquainted.

I let my imagination run wild with this idea. Not only have they met, and shook hands, and said hello, I’m your grandpa, but perhaps they’ve played together. Maybe he’s already given her horsey back rides and swung her around in his arms. Could it be possible that he’s sat her in his lap, hugged her close, kissed her cheek and stroked her hair. Have they’ve splashed in crystal seas digging for the perfect skipping rocks ? Have they held hands and played ring around the rosey on a golden street?
Is it unfathomable?
Not to me.
Is it cuckoo?
Not to me. Not anymore.

I enjoy Saturdays with my dad’s stories because I get to hear from him again. I’ve never read all his stories, there were only a select few that he mailed to me. I’m so glad I have them, and I’m honored to share them. Granted, some are better than others, as are all of mine as well. But we live on with our words. We can impact people years later with our writings. Last week his story told about a blue and white seersucker jacket he had that served him well for both weddings and funerals. My sister commented and said I should have posted this picture of him wearing that jacket.

That’s us in 1993. I’m the one with the big hair. Take your hands off your gaping mouths. Yes, that hair is real. Yes, I left the house with hair that big. Yes, that hair was sort-of in style. And that’s my handsome dad standing proudly beside me. He was always proud of me, and told me often.

I thank God he was my dad. I thank God for the time we had together. I thank God He prepared a place for him. And for me. We will see him again. And we will laugh. And hug. And he will give me his sloppy kisses as he always did.

He loved much, and is loved and sorely missed by many.

The Whisperings of God

Each morning I take a 30 minute walk. Except when it’s raining; which is never. During that time of awakening my bones and joints, I lift my eyes up and talk to God and He oftentimes awakens my spirit. Some mornings, it’s just me talking to the wind and the sky, but once in a blue moon, I hear him whisper back to me. It might just be in the sunrise or the birds singing, but I hear it just the same and a deep calm covers me. It’s the only way I make it through this world somedays.

On Tuesday during our visit, I was a bit whiney. I was focused on the dry conditions and asking for rain. And in my desperate spirit I told him I felt like he’d forgotten about us. Was he listening? Did he care?

He didn’t respond.

Yet.

But afterwards during my morning facebook ritual, I read a post by my friend Chantelle. And although it was her typing the words, and although the words came from Restoration Place Ministries Word, it was HIM speaking to me. And this is what he said.

I Am restoring the things that were assigned to your hands by Me. I call forth destiny over you. The things that seemed to be delayed are now ready to be released. There have been moments when you felt downcast, you thought that I had passed you by. Look up into My eyes today & be refreshed. Look & see the provisions. Look & see the outcome; I will triumph in you. You will see great victory for this battle belongs to Me. I own it; it is Mine.

Reading that, it could apply to a million different scenarios that you might be facing. But to me, it spoke RAIN. It spoke showers of blessings. I said “Thank You Lord. You haven’t forgotten about us.”

That evening, JDub and I drove over to a neighboring town for some business and supper. During supper, my mom called to tell me that it was pouring rain. The power was out. The rain was coming down in sheets. The wind was howling. Sure enough, facebook was exploding with pictures from the townfolk of the rain, the winds, rushing water down the streets, and children playing in the gutters afterwards. It was awesome.

Although we missed the storm, we certainly saw its aftermath. It was a storm, I tell you. Out here at our place, a tree had fallen over into the barbed wire fence, my lawn furniture was a tangled mess blown across the yard, and my niece’s little playhouse was in about 20 pieces strewn across the pasture. When we moved here, there was a little structure left that appeared to be built for a child’s fort. My nieces took to it, hammering it, painting, it, decorating it. But it is no longer. Ash doesn’t seem to be too upset about it, which is good. She is the optimistic one who says maybe we can build a new one.

We received 8 tenths of an inch according to our raingauge, but other places reported an inch to an inch and a half. And now this morning, as I sit in my dark living room typing, I hear the thunder rolling, I see lightening flashing, and raindrops are hitting the rooftops and windows. The things that seemed to be delayed are now ready to be released. Praise be to the Restorer! God’s promises remain. And I’m standing on them.

Have a beautiful day wherever you are. Look for your blessings and you’ll find them.

Love,

Angel