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I think I have previously written about a ‘Poverty Mentality’. If I have, and this is redundant, please disregard. But this topic is repeatedly before me as I meander through my life or relive my past life, or observe the lives of those close to me.

I am in the process of cleaning my mama’s house. I am going through her living space of the last fifty years. I am cleaning and sorting and dwelling on so many memories. This is not for the purpose of tying up a life well lived but to organize and prepare for the eventuality of her death and mine.

Are we reduced, at death, to nothing more than a pile of belongings that mean nothing to anyone but ourselves in life? Are the yellowed boxes of books and old clothes what we are?

I have had to care for the things that my mom and dad cared for and I have discovered that as my mom has aged, she cares very little for the things she has hidden away in closets and drawers. Her fear of loss of ‘things’ had become so profound in the last months in her home that she hid them even from herself, so that ‘no one would steal them’. I am slowly ‘finding’ the lost items. As I am finding things, I am also seeing a sorrow so great that I can only handle small doses at a time.

When I had to bring mama clothes to the hospital, I found tattered clothing and worn jeans held together with safety pens. I found shoes so walked in that one would not be able to stand up straight. I also found beautiful clothing bought in younger years that befit a wealthy woman. The sadness of such has weighed heavily on me, but has also made me look to myself and the way I do things.

Don’t I continue to wear the old underwear that are so comfortable I can’t throw them away? I also keep shoes that I love even when they make me walk crooked and don’t smell good even after washing. I have clothes that don’t fit and items that were important at one time.

Extended beyond those personal things, is the keeping of items long since ‘dead’ because one might need them at some point. But a rusted waffle maker with disintegrated handles? Or washing and reusing paper plates and plastic utensils (um…guilty)?

My mom grew up in times of poverty and want. She taught me many of her money saving values. Those are valuable gifts gleaned from hard times. What I speak of, is the fear and worry that is bred. The fear that there won’t be enough. The worry that we will suffer hunger or loss; the distrust of God and others to care for us. These things can come whether one grows up in plenty or want. When the worry robs one of sleep and life it is just worthless.

I see in myself the fear that I won’t catch up. That I will ‘never’ get it all done. The fear that God will not provide when there is a need. The conserving and using of goods and the using of the ‘old’, broken, suboptimal items for the purpose of making sure there is enough to go around. I must regularly purpose to give the ‘best’ to not only others but myself as well. It is an act of faith that does not come naturally. I suppose growing up the oldest helped feed the ‘others before me’ thinking but when there are no ‘others’ and I am still reusing a paper plate or washing out a plastic sandwich baggie, I question my thinking.

So, I say emphatically, we are MORE than ‘stuff’.  We are, each and every one, treasures with unique qualities and gifts to share with the world.  We are valuable and rich. Our Father owns the cattle on a thousand hills and can feed the five thousand with a few loaves and fishes. So, as His children, we walk in wealth. We carry an inheritance so great we cannot imagine how MUCH we possess.

 I am NOT poor and without. I have more and can share.

This seems a tiny effort on this child’s part, but, as an act of faith and trust in my Heavenly Father’s provision, tonight, I will get out my best dishes for dinner. I will take a bath and have a glass of our best wine while listening to worship music. I will praise God, my maker and provider, and will count every blessing.

"And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of His glory in Christ Jesus." -Philippians 4:19 NIV

Our Jesus was and is a very personal man. He had encounters with individuals that we read about in the bible that called them out of their comfort zones, called them to accountability, called them to Himself. It is the same today. He is still calling us out to hear Him and make decisions about what we believe and think and how we will conduct our lives.

In the quoted verse above, when Jesus encountered Martha, regarding her brother Lazarus’ death, Martha was resentful that Jesus hadn’t been there to save him. He was not offended.

He simply called Martha to make a personal decision.

” Do you believe this?”

He is asking us as well.

Thank You Jesus for what You did on that cross for me. Thank You for the cruel suffering that You endured, for the blood You spilled, for the separation from God You experienced…for ME. You were indeed the perfect sacrifice, the pure and spotless Lamb; but it is to Your Resurrection that I look for life. You conquered sin and death. You broke the power of the enemy of our souls and Your victory assures that I have victory here on earth and that I will live eternally with You! You are seated on Your rightful throne and every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that You are Lord!

So I say YES and AMEN to Your Resurrection!

And to ‘Easter’ – from the Hebrew word ‘Pesach’ which means Passover.

Let us rejoice together on this HOLY DAY. We have reason to celebrate this sweet victory.

I was in Fourth Grade. It is a memory as clear as yesterday in my heart and mind. I was new to the school, having moved onto a new base in Okinawa. I had not met too many people, but I tried to show my shy self as friendly as I could, to fit in.

A group of equally awkward fourth graders were racing back to class after recess when one of our number did a face plant on the cement walk. There was blood and tears and drama. I was experienced with this, having plenty of that in my home with two wild little brothers. The teacher who responded, recognized a need for first aid, as did I. She made eye contact with me and commanded, “Run to the office for help!”

I barely knew where the office was, but I could run fast and there was a need! So off I went as fast as my feet could carry me.

The memory that is imprinted on my mind was the emergent need for help and the rapid reasoning involved in solving the ‘problem’; something I did well. I assumed the role of ‘RESCUER’ seamlessly and accomplished the task of finding help, carrying first aid, and helping a new friend. I remember realizing in a flash as I ran, that I loved being involved in this kind of thing. The surge was invigorating! This was comfortable and useful. In this new world I was in, it was the perfect role to play. Running fast, adrenaline pumping, I had a specific job TO DO. It took the pressure to ‘fit in’ off of my burdened little heart and gave me such a sense of purpose. In that instant, I became, ‘the girl who saved the day.’ For the next several weeks, my notoriety carried me into a place of popularity and honor and I did not have to say a word. Everyone had the story…

The reason this memory has come to mind is all tied up and swirling around in my current decision about retiring from working as a nurse for forty years.

I have been wrestling and twisting and turning over this decision for more than a year. My husband would say severrraalll years. Every time I am on the verge of making a decision, a final decision about it, I go back to work. hehehe… well, it’s a decision isn’t it?!

So true to form, thinking constantly about this…in the garden yesterday, I asked God, ‘Why? Why am I having such a struggle with the idea of NOT working? It would be so fun to NOT work. I don’t HAVE to work. (And remember, this is the busy expert talking. There is never really NOT working.)

In my musing, out of the blue, came a response… “Because you feel needed. You feel valued.”

The obvious next question was, “Why is working as a nurse the way to feel needed? Hasn’t any of the other three thousand things I do had value?! And what is so all fired important about feeling NEEDED?!” Me, huffing at God.

Then that old memory popped into my head.

Ohhhh.

I remember before that Emergency event at school, feeling so lost when we moved for the third time in three months. Each move involved leaving dear friends. Each move uprooted me. Each move involved the loss of things and familiar ground. I was a sad, displaced soul looking for my place in an upside down world. My mom was involved in moving and unpacking and feeding us and caring for younger, needier siblings. My dad was consumed with a new, important and stressful job with long hours. I was on my own navigating this planet.

Before I went to that school, I literally spent a week sitting up in a tree pouting and crying.

Does THIS time in my life look the same? Am I pouting about my identity now? Am I sitting up in a tree by myself, licking my wounds?

I put forth that I am a work in progress. I have set about to listen, to hear, and to know. I refuse to pout, but rather to purpose thanksgiving and praise and joy in every one of my days. These actions look different every day these days. I used to carry these things with me to my work place. My days were dictated 24/7 by somebody else. Now…my ‘work place’ is my home, my yard, my studio, my church, my neighborhood, my town… And my Somebody else is me, guided by Holy Spirit.

I really want to understand how to recognize my value without that deep apparent need to be NEEDED. And yet… Is this basic human 101? Do we all seek after this?

I just have to figure out how my ‘genetic’ predisposition to seek to be needed, or self-discovered coping skill or whatever the heck it actually is, works into what LIFE looks like now, without a highly skilled, max stress, adrenaline-charged job day…

I know that God NEEDS me to be right where I am right now.

"Teach me to number my days..." -Psalms 90:12

My daughter spoke LIFE to me today. Life such that I was able to stand tall and rejoice. Rejoice in all the pain, unrest, labor and stretching that I had gone through as a mother; Rejoice in the ‘scars’.

We moms are subject to attack on so many levels for just being moms. I think that the enemy of our souls does not like that we are raising tiny warriors for the kingdom, or that we defend the lives of powerful people, or that we love our families with a self sacrificing, all encompassing love that brings life and strength.

The kind of attack I am talking about is the attack on our ‘jobs’, our minds, our souls.

You see… I uttered the words. to my daughter, “I don’t think I handled raising her very well.” She took issue with this, with good cause, because not only do those words discount me, but they discount her and WHO she is as a person and a mother herself. I did not see this as I spoke them, until she said they were a lie.

I had let the enemy tell me a lie about my mothering, AND I believed it! I am thankful that my daughter called me on this. She sweetly pointed out that she would not be able to be the mom she is today had I not been the person I was to her. She reminded me of some of the things that I did and how I handled them… I had forgotten in all of the busy-ness of life and the drama of raising teens that there was a person inside of me that made an impact on my kids. This brings me to tears.

I am in observer/encourager mode now as my kids raise their kids. My daughter has a teenage daughter. My role interceding and being a cheerleader has SO much joy in it! I can be an active participant in their lives simply being a Mom and Mimi on her knees.

The irony of this is that I am also walking through a season of encouraging my mother who has lost much of her physical and mental ability to carry on. Being in the middle of two generations has taken an emotional toll on me, yet… I would not trade this time for anything.

I don’t feel capable or able, but as I tie my mama’s shoe, she strokes my hair and I feel the mommy-daughter love that surely my daughter and I have partaken in, and she and her daughter enjoy as well. The power in this relationship and the gift that will carry on from generation to generation is evident.

Thank YOU dear Lord for reminding me that the job we do as a mother, no matter the inadequacy we feel, is done with great love and power for a higher purpose than we can ever realize!

"One generation commends your works to another; they tell of your mighty acts..." -Psalms 145:4

I am here before you to say… I have wandered around for a time. Roughly three months worth of wanderings.

I have been caught up in the cares of the world and tangled in the weeds wrapped around my feet. The burdens I have carried have weighed me down so that, surely, I am several feet shorter and my vision has been obscured by the dirt in which I have been buried. It hasn’t been unpleasant, really, I have just been numb and immobile.

My wings have been pasted to my sides. The dance has been absent and songs haven’t floated through my head as much. The sad thing was… I didn’t seem to care.

But… I think I may be emerging. I’m feeling a bit like a butterfly stretching and quivering in her cocoon. And as I am, I am looking back to find out what actually happened. Because you see, I am not sure.

I had submitted a written piece of work for consideration for publication. It was declined, graciously, as I knew it would be. I was all out of sorts while writing it and felt pressed within the required constraints. I could not relax and let the words flow and the dangerous ‘acceptance’ status was plaguing me. I tried. I really did. I attempted to make the inspired writing fit the required number of words and genre. The real issue was I didn’t want to do what they had requested and being held within that framework only served to push me further from the acceptance letter.

Having put the effort out there and actually submitting some writing took some courage. I struggle with getting everything perfect and then waiting for the pat on the head. I have been so about getting the accolades of my people that I had forgotten this is really a God-given thing and He is the actual author and finisher of my faith AND the writing.

I simply took myself out of the mainstream. I dog paddled over to the edge of the muddy creek and sat in the cattails to wait and to watch and to listen.

Social media off. Work done. Quiet. Stillness. Frantic activity stopped. It was so unlike me that it felt strange. I filled a couple journals with words and thoughts and pictures and notes and prayers. I walked in the woods a lot. I stared at creation and drank in the days. When I got sick in the midst of this sabbatical it was not unwelcome. I slept and coughed and recovered. I could do very little. The time has been therapeutic. As my physical strength has returned so has the emotional and creative treasure. I think…

And yet…the heart block. There is something more to learn. The thing blocking my heart from hearing…is hidden in the recesses of my mind. Instead of actually, for really, being still and listening to what God is saying, I am this little moth flitting about, coming close to the flame but then heading off on a meandering path through the trees.

So…I press in. It’s an exercise for me. I practice, I hop up, I stop, a random thought flows across, I follow it, I sit and remember something I forgot to do and off I go yet again. It’s flexing unused muscles, finding them sore, and then abandoning the quest in favor of some pressing idea.

I know that My heavenly Father adores me and chuckles in amusement at my antics…I feel Holy Spirit wooing, Jesus holding my hand and Father smiling, and yet I still pursue my own path…

I long to follow Him and go deeper with Him and see what great adventure is in store. Obedience, patience, hearing and listening are not my strong suits. I am determined that these will be mine. This is my choosing. I will not dwell on my inadequacy but embrace that in my weakness HE is strong.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” -2 Corinthians 12:9

I will remember that, “I can do all things through HIM who strengthens me.” -Philippians 4:13

So TODAY, I am on THIS journey. I am LISTENING to the heart of my Father God!