Sunday

Forget about what's happened;
don't keep going over old history.
Be alert, be present. I'm about to do something brand-new.


~Isaiah 43:19, The Message 

~~~
Welcome to Sunday and this, the first Sunday link-up of 2012. Feel free to link up your Sunday post below. We like to keep it simple, so just link up a photo, along with a few simple words of encouragement. To get all the details, click the Sunday tab at the top of the page and - while you're there - grab the Sunday button to post over at your place.
(Be sure to come back tomorrow. I'm doing something new in 2012, and I'm hoping you'll join me on the journey!)

Cleansing Stream {A Guest Post by Alison Hector}

I had an Ugly Cry today.  The type Oprah talks about.  Yep, the snottin’, run-quick-bring-the-whole-box-of-tissues, face-contorted-into-a-pretzel, wailing-like-I-lost-all-my-friends-and-family-in-a-disaster kind of Ugly Cry.

Thing is, sadness didn’t precipitate this untelevised (mercifully) meltdown.  Quite the contrary; I entered my prayer room in good spirits, intending to meet with God in my quiet time.  

He had a slightly different plan.

I felt led to listen to Anthony Evans’ version of “Wonderful Merciful Savior” with headphones.  Some songs just beg to be listened to with headphones.  *smiles*   Well, from the first note, I knew a cry was headed my way.  Didn’t expect it to roll out like quite like that, however! 


You know how some folks say that God showed up during a church service? Well, they’re right; He does.  And it’s a glorious, all-encompassing, life-changing corporate event. 

But, bless His Name, He’s not limited to the Sunday morning service.  Sometimes He shows up when--and where--you least expect Him to:  at home, in the office (Lord, in the office?  Really?), in the car.  Right when you think it’s going to be business as usual.  

And it’s always a powerful, cleansing, one-on-one event.  Just you and Him.

He used the words of the song to get to a deep place in me that is reserved for Him.  It’s called true, unfettered worship, born out of a flash of revelation of Who He is that changes and sobers and readjusts you from the inside out.  You have no choice but to fall prostrate before Him and give Him honor.  

Loudly.  Through tears.  Semi-coherently.  The Holy Spirit will translate.  

Then it morphs into praise and prayer, even intercession.  Psalm 100 comes alive.  You enter in with thanksgiving, press further in through praise, and kneel before him prayerfully.

As the tears flowed, a transaction and a transformation occurred.  

The transaction is spiritual:  we bring nothing but our emptiness to the altar; He fills us with yet another glimpse of His glory.  

The transformation, too, is spiritual:  from “normal” quiet time to an intense interaction with the Most High.   As Paul described it, a change from glory to glory.

I’m realizing that the best worship––and praise, and prayer––is unscripted, unplanned, and God-initiated.  The cleansing stream of tears of gratitude and joy at the goodness and awesomeness of God is unparalleled in its ability to carry you back, in Matt Redman’s iconic words, to the heart of worship.  

It really is all about Him.  Why on earth do we think it could be about anything--or anyone--else?

~~~

Alison Hector is the author of Embrace the Struggle, a blog she describes as “a place where we share life's challenges prayerfully, joyfully, and fiercely.”  She’s a full-time editor, part-time blogger, prayer warrior, professional organizing enthusiast, lover of interior decorating, and social media junkie. Follow Alison on Facebook and Twitter.

All In One Hour {A Guest Post by Mitzi Boone}

Every morning, I drop my son off at daycare and my daughter off at school, and then I make my way in to work. This morning I was scheduled to drop off my car at the repair shop at 7:30 AM.

A few houses down to right of our house, and just across the street, I was able to drop my son off at daycare at 7:00 AM.   My daycare providers are a husband and wife team who happen to have five – yes, FIVE - children of their own. Their beautiful family includes four growing school-age girls and one  little boy, just a year younger than mine. 

I’m sure you can just imagine what weekday mornings must be like at their house. Getting all of them up, giving all of them breakfast, rushing each one out of the bathroom for the next one in line, packing lunch and finally making sure everyone is pressed and dressed with books in hand and in the car on time.

And here I come - throwing my little helpless munchkin into that mix. 

This is where my son spends most of his waking hours. He is smiling when I drop him off and he is smiling when I pick him up. I thank God for my son's care givers who make it possible for me to work and provide for my family without any cause for worry.

A few houses down, and to the left of us, I was able to drop off my daughter, so she could get a ride to school. In this house live two girls: one teenager and a ‘tween my daughter’s age. The mom is studying to be a PA (Physician’s Assistant). But in the midst of their hectic lives, this morning they had the door open - waiting for my daughter when we pulled up. As a matter a fact, they asked why they hadn’t seen her more often in recent days. I told them I had not wanted to impose, with all that they have going on. All the while I was thinking inside how unselfish of them. 

After the drop-offs, I sped down the block thinking about getting to the repair shop on time. Suddenly, my car slowed down and my heart became heavy…with gratitude. My neighbors have busy lives and children of their own to get up early and rush out of the house. But lovingly, they welcomed my children into their home this morning with smiles and open arms.

To top it all off, when I got to the repair shop my co-worker was there waiting for me, to drive me to work.

This journey began at 7:00 AM and ended at my desk at 8:00 AM. I received all of this neighborly love in just one hour. I am so grateful for my neighbors, how do you feel about yours?

~Mitzi

~~~

Mitzi is a wife, mother, baker and a closet poet.

She lives on Long Island with her husband and 2 children.

Her daughter is a fiesty 11 year old and her son is a curious 2 year old.

She starts each day with any kind of spiritual reading she can

get her hands on.

You can find Mitzi on Facebook.

Sunday | Day 25

I'm taking a week off to breathe and to spend a little face-time with my family.

Feel free to link up your Sunday post below. The link will be open all week. On Saturday, I'll be back with the first Sunday link-up of the new year, but please check back this Wednesday and Friday for guest posts from two new friends.

This is how God showed his love for us: God sent his only Son into the world so we might live through him. This is the kind of love we are talking about—not that we once upon a time loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son...

I John 4:9, The Message

~~~

Merry Christmas, and welcome to Sunday.
Feel free to link up with a simple post - just a photo and some words of inspiration. You'll find the details in the Sunday tab at the top of the page, and that's where you'll also find the Sunday button to post over at your site.
Grace and peace to you today, this day of good news and great joy. For all people.

Eve | Day 24

Eve. The night before Christmas. When children will wish away the hours until dawn, and fidget in their beds. And at the same time, mom and dad will pray the hours stretch out long enough to get just a bit of shut-eye before little feet skitter across the bedroom floor at the very first light of day.

Eve. The one who ate the apple and then wished she had a robe to wear and prayed the hours would stretch out long enough to find a place to hide. And at the same time, God already knew and loved in spite of all of that. In that very moment, for a staggering price, He chose the most amazing gift to woo her from her hiding place, and light the way back to Him.

A note: The Sunday link-up will be live tonight, but today I'd like to wish you a wonderful celebration of the coming Christ. After tomorrow's post, I'll be taking a break. There will be a guest post next Wednesday, and I hope you'll stop by to check it out. But other than that, I'll be away until next Saturday night, with the Sunday link-up for New Year's Day. 

Thank you for all the ways you live community here. Grace and peace to you. In abundance.

Closer | Day 23

On road trips when our kids were young, we did things old school. There were no DVD players to make the miles seem shorter. We relied on books on tape. And the alphabet game. And stops at Welcome Centers with each state line we crossed. We've covered lots of miles.

No matter what we tried, or where we traveled, at least five times along the way, a small voice would rise up from the back seat to ask, "Are we there, yet?" or "How much longer do we have to go?" or "When can we get out of this stupid car?!?!?!" I answered with the facts: No, we're not there yet. We have 326 miles to go, at 60 miles per hour, which means we probably have about...well...we still have quite a long way to go. We don't say stupid. The car isn't stupid.

None of that worked.

One day, after I'd run out of answers which meant nothing at all to the small voices rising from the back, H - in his great wisdom - answered, "We're closer than we've been all day." And that was that. He was right. And he gave us something to think about.

I think Christmas is just like that. God put on skin and moved in with the family next door - the family whose daughter sat next to you on the bus ride to school; and ever since that night in a smelly old barn, under a big bright star, we've been closer to Him than we've ever been before.

Just one more thing: I know the next two Sundays are big ones but - in case you were wondering - I'll still have the Sunday link-up ready to go on Saturday night. Don't feel pressured to participate. Just know that it will be here for you. The thing is, I have been so blessed by the images and the words you share, that I want to make sure the link-up is available to those who might drop by to share, or to receive a word of encouragement along the way.

More | Day 22

H's mom has been in the hospital for the past two weeks, and we've been asking the questions necessary when age and heart disease and modern medicine collide. Tough questions. Tougher answers. And sometimes no answers at all.

So I do what I can. I stand at the edge of our bed, in front of the window where the sun warms my back. Needle and thread in hand, I work to repair a tear in the seam of the comforter that I love. I need to take it to the laundry, but it can't be washed until it's mended. I work the tip of the needle through the layers of fabric and batting and back through fabric again and the thread joins the two edges together until you can barely tell they'd been torn apart.

I picture my mother-in-law in her hospital bed, hundreds of miles away, and I wonder if she is bored. Or afraid. And I wish I could make my way down the hallway with its industrial strength carpet and fluorescent lights and in to her room to stand by the side of her bed instead of standing here beside my own.

That afternoon, I pick up the phone and dial the number to her hospital room. Her voice on the other end is raspy and weak. I ask her how she's feeling, and what the doctor said today and she rushes past those questions to something else that's on her mind. "Dee," she says to me. "You know what? Today I heard your voice. I heard you calling my name. I heard your voice, out in the hallway. You were calling my name."

What I notice while she speaks is that I'm not surprised. Instead, I'm thinking of that comforter, with the two parts sewn together again, and how you can barely tell they'd ever been separated, and how there is more to this life and this world than we will ever know.

Home | Day 21

When I shut down the computer today at the office, that was it. I won't be going in again until 2012. I've got two days of working from home before the year is out, but today was the last day of waking up to the marimbas on the iPhone that sits charging next to my bed through the night. Today was the last day of rushing out the door with a cup of coffee in my hand. All through the day, as I worked my way through the list of things I had to do before I could call it done, I could not stop fidgeting. I am a tried and true homebody and the promise of home at the end of the day - through the end of the year - was pulling at the corners of my mind.

Someone once said if you want to know where your heart is, look where your mind goes when it wanders. My mind always wanders home. To the sound of the dishwasher in the kitchen, the laughter from H as he watches TV downstairs, the thwack of the dog's tail against the coffee table as she wags her butt with her head on my knee.

At the end of the day I can think of nothing better than to take off my tall boots and the trendy textured tights I bought on sale at the LOFT, unwrap the scarf tied so fancifully around my neck, unzip my skirt and trade it all in for H's old gray sweat pants with the elastic draw-string waist.

Tomorrow I will wake up on my own, and I will lean against the counter while the coffee brews, and throughout the day I will watch the sun move in wide slants across the hardwoods. Tomorrow, I will be home.

That picture from DaySpring is hanging on my wall, now. 

At home. Where I'll be for the next few days. 

Visit DaySpring Home Page

Shaken | Day 20

We bought a fake Christmas tree four years ago at Hobby Lobby's after-Christmas clearance sale. It's scrawny, and it dips to one side, right at the very top. Every year, I drag a chair in from the kitchen. I climb up on the chair and bend and twist the very tip top of the tree so that it stands up straight. And then I find a magazine to put under one corner of the tree stand and usually - if you stand at the right angle - the tree looks almost straight.

Buying that tree marked a break from our family tradition where we'd pile in the car and head for the local tree farm that offered hay rides, and cider, and even loaned you a saw for cutting down the evergreen. They'd shake the tree and tie it up and we'd drive off with that tree strapped to the hood of our car. We'd done it like that for years. But the year we bought the fake tree was the same year I just couldn't shake the sadness and I couldn't pull it together in time to make the tradition work.

That year, I'd sent the family on without me and they'd brought home a tree that our daughter decorated by herself. It was beautiful, but we all admitted it just wasn't the same. So all these years, the fake tree has been taking the place of the real trees that dry up just before Christmas, and clog up my vacuum cleaner with discarded pine needles that get stuck between the carpet and the baseboard and keep showing up until the Fourth of July.

Last night, a strand of lights on the fake but pre-lit Christmas tree went out. I jiggled the connections and plugged and replugged and still - right smack dab in the middle section of the tree - complete darkness. No dazzle. No warm glow. Just a blank space where there should be light. I sat on the arm of the love seat and stared at the lights that refuse to shine and smiled when I realized not a single thing about those burned-out lights could break my heart.

Post Script: I'm slowing down a bit in my heart, here. Maybe it's the holiness of the season. My son and daughter will be home and I imagine I'll be beaming and hugging and crying and bursting with pride and joy. I want you to know that one reason I've been able to "shake the sadness" in recent years - one of the reasons those burned out lights can't get the best of me - is this community right here. You mean the world to me. You bless me. And I thank God every time I think of you.
Thank you.

Go | Day 19

I sat in the passenger seat and this time it wasn't because of the snow and ice. That's all gone. This time I sat over there just because, and I watched the festive holiday lights outside the window as we drove by. H was talking about his trip to Burma. He tells me about it in snippets, and sometimes I think that's because it's just too much for him to process all at once. When he shares, it's clear to me he's been sitting with what he knows until he's sure he's heard from God. Words about how to build a bridge between us and the scores of refugees who've come to our church from a country half a world away.

"If Burma taught me anything," he was saying, "it's that I need to go to them."

He's been working this out over the past two months, and each time he shares it, the image I have in my head shape-shifts just a bit. This time when he says it, we turn the corner onto our street and I realize H is right and I was once the refugee.

Blogging today in community, with Michelle and the gang.

Sunday | Day 18

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

~Isaiah 9:6, NIV

Welcome to Sunday. We keep things simple, with a photo and just a few, quiet words of blessing. It would be a joy to have you join us; to clear some space for grace and peace, and to begin Sundays together. Please add your Sunday post to the link-up below. You'll find the details in the Sunday tab at the very top of this page, where you can also pick up the Sunday button to post on your blog. 

Unplug | Day 17

Breathe in the air, let the sun shine on your face, hear the snow crunch under your feet, or the waves crash on the sand. Touch the bark of a tree or a blade of grass or an icicle dangling from the eaves. Hug someone you love and tell them that you do.

Life is in the living - unplugging from the stuff so we can get plugged in again, in the places that matter most.

Us | Day 16

I bumped up against her at the end of the day. Her sharp edges made me bristle until I realized maybe she was broken just like me. I know how the end of a day can wear away the softness and how the end of the year can expose the places where I'm scarred. And scared. So instead of putting her on the "Them" list, I wrote her name right next to mine because the fact that we've been hurt is always the one thing that unites us, and makes us "Us."

Today I'm praying for her and I'm asking God to heal the places where she hurts, and to give her peace from the things that make her edges so sharp. I'm asking God to shower grace and I'm thinking maybe you know someone who could use a bit of that. Let's pray together. For the sharp edges and the rough places and the broken pieces.

Drop your prayer in the comments today, and then whisper healing words for the one who was there before you.

Close | Day 15

Tonight, I'll slip into the bed and slide myself up next to where H is asleep and the sheets are warm. And I know he will tell me not to put my cold feet on his legs and so I'll wear my socks to bed. I'll fall asleep with my leg draped across his, or his hand on my knee, or his arm across my stomach because, after all these years, we still like the way we feel.

I tell him there is healing in his hands and every time I say it, I mean it and every time he laughs. I know we're both thinking we've known each other longer than we haven't. We are so very close we can almost hear the other one thinking and even with all that, it's still a mystery.

Fine | Day 14

My windows are smudged and the wreath on my back door keeps threatening to come loose every time I walk in the house with a bag of groceries. These little irritations keep me in check and remind me life goes on, and just because it's Christmas doesn't mean everything or everyone is "Fine. Just fine, thanks."

Grief and loss and lonely and fearful don't go on vacation just because it's Christmas; and it is Christmas because these hard things hang crooked on the door and snag our sleeves when we slip by. Even in the rush to get the dinner started and the groceries put away, the nagging in our hearts says we'd just like a clear view and an easy entrance through the door.

{Linking with Jennifer. Have you met her yet?}

Matters | Day 13

I've been reading women's magazines and spending time on Pinterest, and let me just say I love them both. But mixed in there with the witty sayings and the beautiful images and the delicious soup recipes are lots and lots of articles and pictures and routines that offer promises of a flatter stomach, or a rounder butt, or a brighter smile, or tighter skin, or leaner legs, or a smoother neck, or fuller hair, or thinner ankles, or tanner skin, or bigger boobs, or thinner armpits, or whatever. 

As if any of that really matters. 

For more information about (in)RL, visit (in)courage today.

All photos by Darcy.

Shotgun | Day 12

I'm riding shotgun these days because the honest truth is that the ice and snow are freaking me out. I sit in the passenger seat and settle in and watch the scenery go by while H drives me where I need to go. And the whole time I'm sitting shotgun, I am swallowing my pride because the weather has gotten the best of my confidence in me.

For the most part, things look different from the passenger side. Not so intense. More relaxed. Except for when he chooses a route I wouldn't. Or goes slower than I'd like. Or listens to songs I don't know.

But the alternative is my death grip on the steering wheel and the fear of slipping backwards down the hill at the red light and the stressed out me that arrives home at the end of the day and makes life miserable for everyone. And none of that is pretty.

So I look out the window as the sun follows over my right shoulder, and I try not to step on the brakes.

Sunday

And Mary said, 

   I'm bursting with God-news; 

      I'm dancing the song of my Savior God. 

      God took one good look at me, and look what happened— 

      I'm the most fortunate woman on earth! 

~Luke 1:46-48, The Message

~~~

Welcome to Sunday. We keep things simple here; just a photo and some words of inspiration. 

To join in, link up your post below, and then grab the button from my sidebar to post at your place. Let's start this quiet day together.

{New to Sundays? Check out this post for more details, and then come on back and link up with your own Sunday post.}

Slow | Day 10

Yesterday I leaned against the counter next to the microwave in the cafeteria at work. I looked out through the window at the snow glistening like diamonds in the sun. It was the peak of the lunch hour and my coworkers sat in groups of two and four and six. I could hear them talking about their long lists of gifts to purchase and cards to write and parties to attend and how they don't like crowds and how they dreaded going to the mall this weekend.

I waited for the microwave to signal that my lunch was warm and while I waited, I thought of you. And I wondered if it would be okay if I told you it's fine to take it slow. If you'd like to skip the mall and the frenzy and the rushing and the bustling; and if you decide to take a break and catch your breath, I think that would be just fine.

Salt | Day 9

When my neck gets stiff and my shoulder starts to kink up, my head thinks I should take it easy and sink into the couch with my laptop open and the television on. I think I need to let it rest. My mind talks my self into believing I have overdone it. But when I check the calendar, it's to clear to me nothing could be further from the truth.

Usually, the cure for that stiff neck and kinked up shoulder is for me to lace up my sneakers, turn on some music, press the "Quick Start" button on the treadmill, and run until the sweat stings my eyes and I can taste the salt and my hair lies slick across my forehead.

Stuff rolls off my shoulders and weighty things drop off the belt behind me as I click off miles and minutes and songs. Salty sweat runs down my back and sets me free. It makes my steps light and my arms swing easy at my waist and I know I can keep on running. And when my lungs expand and my heart beats strong, I remember the truth is that we are the salt of the earth.

Barns | Day 8

I've been in barns before. I know what's in there. Besides the animals and the hay and the spider webs glistening in the morning dew. I know you need to watch your step and I know you don't wear your good shoes inside.

I know how barns smell when the sun beats down or the frost rests on the hay bales in the field. I know you need to plan to take a shovel with you if there's not one there already. The entire circle of life and death plays out in a barn while chickens scratch at feed and spiders spin their webs up in the rafters overhead. I know there are mice and maybe even rats. And when the sun sets and the crickets chirp or the snow falls silent, I know there are bats that fly.

I can close my eyes and hear a horsefly buzzing 'round my ear so close it makes me swat at the air, and I can smell the dung mixed with the hay and the feed and maybe even the honeysuckle reaching its finger through the window. And I can hear the breeze as it rustles the branches of that old oak tree in the field just outside and I can start to think it wouldn't be so bad to have to have your baby right here and then wrap him in a rag and put him on a pile of hay.

But that's because my eyes are closed.