tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45376759218990469462024-03-05T06:19:50.245-05:00In Fields of Grace"He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness'" (2 Cor. 12:9).Melissa Driggershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054312853471237600noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4537675921899046946.post-79443334652695326272013-06-28T00:00:00.000-04:002013-06-28T09:36:35.456-04:00Am I Beautiful?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0CSKcBEM7brcvn2GAMsGsKR9pDUjfVmYdsS3QMIANN5bhF9GqHrWEWhKrPO6lUnhiTnWxQ0IolQAf7msdCDuI1-QjnY5zcbqSVdiFUyaCV_veu9-0OKSxwKrLL1uuzcR2EIglSGZV26Hi/s794/rockwell_mirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0CSKcBEM7brcvn2GAMsGsKR9pDUjfVmYdsS3QMIANN5bhF9GqHrWEWhKrPO6lUnhiTnWxQ0IolQAf7msdCDuI1-QjnY5zcbqSVdiFUyaCV_veu9-0OKSxwKrLL1uuzcR2EIglSGZV26Hi/s320/rockwell_mirror.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I stood in front of them on the platform, where our
eyes met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gazed over a wide sea of
eager eyes across the auditorium, staring back at me hungry and hopeful, waiting for Truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">T</span>he
conference leader had asked me to speak about </span><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">the doubt, uncertainty
and pain over one simple question…</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Am I
beautiful?</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I am <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>so</u></b> not
qualified to answer this question,” I told her when she invited me to come and speak. On most
days, I see myself as anything <b>but </b>beautiful. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I guess we start with the basics…what <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">is</b> beauty, anyway? Of course, this is a huge question. Creation is
beauty. Worship is beauty. Family is beauty. Love is beauty. So many things
reflect God's creation and presence and can be called "beautiful". </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Although beauty is not gender specific, I do believe women
struggle with this concept more than men, in that at the core of a woman’s soul
is a longing to unveil her beauty. And usually, for a woman, the context of the
question starts with standards placed on personal, outer beauty. I am
forty-something, yet still delight in my earthly father’s affirmation of my
beauty. When he says, “you look very pretty, Melissa” (which he does often
because he’s a wonderful father), my heart still melts. <br />
<br />
This idea of beauty isn’t limited to the external, although the world certainly
places an emphasis on that. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Our desire
to share beauty is far more than external: it not only includes, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>demands</u></i> the presence of an
internal beauty – a beautiful heart</b>. I do not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feel</i> beautiful when I am critical or mean-spirited or impatient or
harsh. I do not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feel</i> beautiful when
my relationships are not healthy and whole. I am not married but know that if
God calls me to marriage, then I will long to unveil beauty to my husband, both
in my outer and inner appearance.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Before others, we long to offer beauty to the world. This shows
in many ways – our bent toward decorating a home, putting flowers on a barren
table, or nurturing those we love with encouragement. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Simply put, I am not at home if I feel as though I am not offering
beauty to the world.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If taken in the context of God’s image, Scripture says that <i>“God
created human beings; he created them Godlike, reflecting God's nature. He
created them male and female” (Gen 1:17, MSG).</i> God’s nature <b><i>defines </i></b>beauty,
and if He created us to reflect that nature, then it’s easy to understand the
longing to unveil beauty to those we love, and to the world.<br />
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But earth-mirrors can be so cruel – <u>especially</u> when the enemy of our soul
holds them up to our gaze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether they reflect
our external physical appearance or the internal courts we create for ourselves
and for others, those mirrors are distorted and deceptive. There are just so many
voices and pictures and ideals infused with lies that tell us we are not
enough. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first experience of
rejection in our young lives can catapult us into a lifestyle of striving and
performance. It is a bitter root that bakes slowly in us and over time, burns
into our minds and hearts so deeply that we no longer recognize it.</span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We move from freely offering beauty to withholding it, out of
fear that it will not be enough, or even worse…<b>rejected</b></span></i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">. But
the desire to unveil it remains despite the rejection…so we strive (and strive,
and strive some more) to achieve some imagined benchmark that God <u>never</u>
intended to exist.<br />
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But it’s so simple, really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So very
simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am
beautiful when I am not <i><u>striving</u></i> to be beautiful<i>.</i></span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When
I’m not obsessed with my appearance.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I’m
not obsessed with my performance.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I’m not worried about what others think of me.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I’m truly listening to and connecting with someone else.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I
fully open myself to giving and receiving love.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I openly share my heart with someone else.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I freely accept God’s love, mercy and grace.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I am no longer Melissa the earth-girl, but Melissa the Spirit-filled girl.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I am beautiful when I am at rest,
because that’s where <b>He</b> is.</span></i> <br />
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And He is beautiful. </span><b><i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Those
who look to Him are radiant (Ps. 34:5).</span></i></b><br />
<b><i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></i></b><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></div>
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} catch(err) {}</script>Melissa Driggershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054312853471237600noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4537675921899046946.post-12026277622832429312013-05-11T14:01:00.001-04:002022-04-12T11:06:24.265-04:00Her Hands.<script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It's her day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A day to celebrate a woman like no other … my sweet Mom.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_N8v9A-RnTmvQvQP32okZ3DJB_HK6laRE765JXJcXNmZ_D7hvT3x0i68UMiERjgI-TjOp7ehRWcXk2S-OXNKCtMN5X_Xi3zuyiSRTVghl2G31P5YxAhUtCI-hn84th35z8NnDa3lMIja/s1600/Momandme%5B1%5D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_N8v9A-RnTmvQvQP32okZ3DJB_HK6laRE765JXJcXNmZ_D7hvT3x0i68UMiERjgI-TjOp7ehRWcXk2S-OXNKCtMN5X_Xi3zuyiSRTVghl2G31P5YxAhUtCI-hn84th35z8NnDa3lMIja/s320/Momandme%5B1%5D.JPG" width="224" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This is one of my favorite pictures of Mom and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty sure I was about four years old here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And check out Mom’s bee hive – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hubba hubba</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But seriously…I have often said that I love her hands in this picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They captivate me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her hands reveal much more about her than her perfectly shaped hair or radiant smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong><em>Her hands show the depth of her heart</em></strong>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My mother’s sweet spirit and loving heart are so very apparent to all who know her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But only some know her story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom’s childhood was very difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those beautiful hands had desperately tried to fight off abusers and bullies for many years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those hands had shielded her own face in sorrow and shame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Those hands had begged and prayed for acceptance.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span> </span></strong></em></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHII89KYz-Mn2iIpi2zA0IhexvpPzxRTtbabEeCdReyQXiPgisCK2Y3hccNKSZYQddpCbhZRApY0qddfh8X_3MHUTLNSzdnn5VASAK9tqNcPiTFFYHKtOCFPVz7wsCQVm9Q2l4_eme5Eqz/s1600/Mom+and+Melissa+Dancing.bmp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHII89KYz-Mn2iIpi2zA0IhexvpPzxRTtbabEeCdReyQXiPgisCK2Y3hccNKSZYQddpCbhZRApY0qddfh8X_3MHUTLNSzdnn5VASAK9tqNcPiTFFYHKtOCFPVz7wsCQVm9Q2l4_eme5Eqz/s320/Mom+and+Melissa+Dancing.bmp" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jitterbugging to "I Can Help" (<a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/2010/02/i-can-help.html">read about it here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Yet even so...she overcame. Those once-earnest hands </span>went on to hug me every single day…and to lovingly stroke the birthmark on my forehead as I fell asleep on her lap and to cradle me when I cried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/2010/02/i-can-help.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Her hands held mine as we danced</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">,</span> and they pushed the swing as Mom sang our made-up song…"Mommy and Melissa, swingin’, swingin’, we’re having fun!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><strong>Her hands have always freely offered me the love and affection for which they had long ago grasped.</strong></em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><strong> </strong></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As far back as I can remember, her hands have created beautiful pastries and dishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom would work so hard, for days and days, to prepare beautiful culinary delights for our family, neighbors, friends, and church family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She loved opening our home to guests and showing hospitality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">Needless</span> to say, our house was a favorite for sleepovers with my friends!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Her hands have created beauty. </span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">During my teen years, Mom and I weren’t as close. Like many teens, I "knew it all" and didn’t respect her much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would give anything to get those years back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even in the midst of my making some seriously DUMB decisions, she showed her love and affection for me, and I know that she never stopped praying for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my twenties, something just clicked and I began to see her differently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although it had always been there, her ability to forgive and to love unconditionally began to draw me in to her in a new way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Lord was working powerfully in her life, and although I didn't realize it until later in my own life, she was Jesus to her wayward daughter (me) for many years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (</span>For the other Moms of lost daughters out there…I pray that brings you encouragement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong>Don’t give up</strong>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know where I would be right now without the faithful prayers and love from my Mom and Dad.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><strong>Her hands have freely offered grace</strong></em>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">From that point on, I wanted to study her, and I have been ever since.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot describe the depth of my love for my mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Over the years, I have had the privilege of observing those same hands lovingly and oh-so-meticulously create unique and beautiful crafts and arrangements and beautiful treasures that have brightened the lives of so many.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Unbeknownst to me until around the time I turned thirty, her passion for cooking and hospitality had taken root in my heart as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to see my own hands mimicking my memory of hers, as she intricately and carefully thumbed through cookbooks, writing menus, creating masterpieces in the kitchen and crafting beautiful presentations at gatherings of family and friends… <em><strong>infusing a piece of her heart into every touch</strong></em>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And most beautifully, I have studied the hands that faithfully pray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sisters and I joke that Mom must have some sort of direct line to God, because when she prays (and she prays all the time), stuff happens!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And her hands lift in praise, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From my hospital bed just a few months ago, as four doctors pushed Mom and Dad away as they surrounded my bed during a critical complication, I caught a glimpse of her. I was so scared. My eyes searched to find Mom and Dad standing together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dad, bless his heart, was weeping and I knew he was praying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so comforted by that…he was fighting for me, as a good Daddy would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Mom…<strong><em>Mom had a huge smile on her face as her eyes gazed upward, with her beautiful hands lifted.</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></strong>Mom was lifting me up and praising Jesus on my behalf…praising Him even in advance of His blessing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Her hands have loved well.</span></em></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I heard someone say once that “One day, you’ll be putting on your coat, and you’ll look down to see your mother’s hand come out from under the sleeve.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times;">I</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> hope so. I really hope so.</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="text">Her children arise and call her blessed, her husband also, and he praises her: “Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;</span> but a woman who fears the <span class="small-caps"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span><span class="text"> is to be praised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong>Honor her for all that her hands have done</strong>,and let her works bring her praise at the city gate. (Proverbs 31:28-31 NIV)</span></span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Thank you for who you are. Thank you for loving me like Jesus then and now. Thank you for being my most faithful cheerleader, mentor, advisor, encourager, and friend. I can't imagine my life without you. </span>I love you so very much, and I am proud to call you <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mom</i></b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br /> </div>
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We vacation each year on a very secluded and sparsely
populated section of the Gulf Coast, about 25 miles down a long, narrow peninsula,
far away from everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t mind
sacrificing the long drive to civilization for the pure, unobstructed views up
and down the beach and out into the horizon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
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I’ve always been so fascinated by the mystery of the
horizon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As my father (a former
seaman) has explained to me over the years, the “true horizon” is the actual point
on the line at which you can no longer distinguish the earth from the sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On most days, if you fix your eye on the
clearest, sharpest part of the line, you will see a beautiful halo effect
coming out from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where the halo is,
the "true" horizon is. </div>
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On our last trip, with an impending tropical storm out further in the Gulf, we experienced very high winds and therefore, very rough water and high waves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was fascinated to observe that the true horizon
never disappeared – halo and all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
right there, amidst the huge waves, just as it was on the previous days when the
ocean was as smooth as a big sheet of glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regardless of the circumstances of the weather or waves, that
mysterious, magical line was there and visible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And beautiful.</div>
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As I thought about it, I realized that the true horizon line at which Earth meets Heaven is in me, too. Some days, I'm the trusting, loving smooth-as-glass girl. And on others, I am one scary raging rough-water lady. But that place where I let go and disappear into Him is always beautiful. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
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You see, if we really believe what we say we believe as Christ followers, then <b>we
</b>become that place where Earth meets Heaven because His spirit is in us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We are a </span>place at which the beauty of His Creation disappears into the deeper and eternal beauty of Heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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The
place where the truth of hope and healing found in the Lord heals the brokenhearted. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
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The
place where the richest, most unexpected blessings are found in the midst of
the deepest of suffering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>The place
where the angels become our dance partners as we celebrate His blessings, presence
and love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>The place
where the peace that passes all understanding miraculously overtakes the things of this earthly life
that seem impossible to bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
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<i>The place where I end and where He begins. </i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbnW18mn1bboCnFtBwAtKeEH23KbyfOOUfN1zIYqF1wstBmesyezgpa1-ct49Ln4ZbKxCQzA7Pk5AvGdeZkelOMN-j5ZUKgeKhFGR8CbINeTfk0Ibz1qOZXnYSWmfEWJXfr-eka-MUmk0/s1600/30641_404758978704_2970036_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbnW18mn1bboCnFtBwAtKeEH23KbyfOOUfN1zIYqF1wstBmesyezgpa1-ct49Ln4ZbKxCQzA7Pk5AvGdeZkelOMN-j5ZUKgeKhFGR8CbINeTfk0Ibz1qOZXnYSWmfEWJXfr-eka-MUmk0/s400/30641_404758978704_2970036_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Virginia Driggers (1919-2006)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Today marks a special anniversary in our family. Six years ago, my sweet <a href="http://infieldsofgrace.blogspot.com/2008/07/sweet-virginia.html">grandmother</a> (my Mama) went to the Great Throne Room…the day she lived her entire life for…the day when her faith became her eyes.</div>
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I still remember so many details about my last night with her. I remember the love and unity in my family as my father made the long, prayerful, heartbreaking decision to remove her life support. We were so proud of him, and I have never felt more honored or blessed to be his daughter. He led our family through a very difficult time with tenderness, compassion, and humility. The way he honored his mother while he and Mom were caring for her at home for those last years, and the way that he honored her during her last days on earth demonstrate the type of man my Daddy is...and the type of mother my Mama was to him. The selflessness of my parents during those years of caring for her in their home is something that I will forever admire and stand in awe of. </div>
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Everyone was utterly exhausted on that last night. But I had come to the hospital a little later than the others that day, so I stayed overnight to allow the others to get the extra rest that I had been able to enjoy the night before. Her life support had been removed earlier that day, and by that evening, her vitals were still in the normal range but were falling very, very slowly. The doctors were telling us that we probably had another day or so. That was so typical of her fighting spirit! Mama had several health problems, but the one that ultimately took her life was respiratory failure. As the body fights for every breath, there is a sound that I will never forget. I will hear it every so often when visiting a hospital, and it brings chills every single time.<br />
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After everyone had left the hospital that night, I lay next to my sweet Mama as she fought for every breath. Over and over and over. I talked to her through the night, read from Isaiah and the Psalms (her favorites), and sang to her. The only times her breathing calmed was when we sang one of her favorite hymns to her... “Amazing Grace”, “I Surrender”, or her true favorite, “In the Garden”.</div>
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I sensed that Mama had already begun her journey that night to her King. While I longed for her, one last time, to talk to me and tell me her stories as she had done so many times before, I wondered what she must be experiencing and seeing. I stared at her face for hours, stroking her cheek, longing to capture every memory I could of her face and her hands. </div>
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Mama had fallen down her front steps three years before, which prompted her moving in with Mom and Dad because she could no longer walk, go to the bathroom, or care for herself. She was in severe pain for a long, long time. Her mind and her heart were as alive as when she was fifty years younger, but her body was just giving out. She loved the outdoors so much but could no longer get outside, so we created a garden room for her with a rocking chair next to a big window, and her bed positioned by the window also. Dad placed bird feeders and plants right outside her window, and she had every single squirrel named. There was “Greedy Gut” (the bully of the bunch) and “Walter”. And she loved watching the birds. She would sit for hours and watch, and read from her Bible. Every so often, she'd squeeze in a little Judge Judy, too. She LOVED Judge Judy. Ha! </div>
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Mama was born into poverty and lost her mother as an infant. She was raised under severely adverse circumstances, yet still developed a strength and a spirit of perseverance that simply could not be broken. My grandfather suffered from addictions that made Mama’s and my Dad’s lives very difficult on many levels. Yet, as my Dad shared on the day of her funeral, she never made her children feel as though they were a bother… he testified that she always made her children feel important, valued, and loved. I am forever grateful to her for what she instilled in my Daddy so that he could, in turn, give the same to his children. </div>
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As a little girl, I remember when she lived in Florida and would visit us each summer. I would sit in the car anxiously on the long ride to the airport to pick her up, and I remember the butterflies I felt waiting for her to exit the gate to catch the first glimpse of her sweet face. And the hug that followed was so tight that I couldn’t breathe! When Mama hugged you, you KNEW you’d been hugged! When we arrived home, she would always pull three gifts from her bag, one for each of my sisters and me. Mama drank Sanka instant coffee, and she would save her little Sanka jars. She would fill a jar with change, and bring it to me when she would visit. Dad and I would sit at the kitchen table and he taught me how to count it out. I would get so excited, that you would have thought that $3.00 in change was a million dollars. Then, a fun shopping trip with Mama would follow as I chose my treasure. </div>
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When I was little, I was also fascinated with all of her night creams, potions and makeup. Mama would sleep in my room when she visited, and I would sleep with her. My most fond memory of my Mama is the way she would smell. During those last weeks, when it appeared she wasn’t coming home from the hospital, I found myself in the drug store buying a box of her Coty face powder. Mama always wore it, and I longed to smell the familiar sweetness of her beauty. And you can still find that box of powder in a very special place in my dressing area today, for those times when the memory of her consumes me.</div>
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Of course as I grew up, I began to see her differently. I began to see her from an adult’s perspective, and began to recognize that along with the soft qualities I knew of her as a little girl, she held a great deal of strength, resilience, and faith. Her life was not about material things, glamour, or impressing anyone. She was so very content with so little. </div>
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Mama’s love for her family was unshakable, unquestionable, and unrelenting. And her faith, trust, and love in the Lord were also unshakable, unquestionable, and unrelenting. She had coffee with Jesus every day, she was a prayer warrior, and spoke boldly and unapologetically of her love for God. The mere mention of the name of Jesus brought a smile and a twinkle to her eye. </div>
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After our last night together, the next afternoon, with her family standing around her as she took her final breath, her once gray and lifeless face became bright, radiant, and exquisite. Holding her hand and witnessing this moment as she set her eyes upon her God was one of the most incredible blessings that I have ever been given, and I praise God that He allowed me to be a part of that moment. There was no noise. No fight for her last breath. There was simply peace. Beautiful, beautiful peace. </div>
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About 2 years before her final day with us, we were sitting in her garden room in Mom and Dad's house, just talking and talking about everything under the sun. At that time, she was in a great deal of physical pain and had been for a long, long while. </div>
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She had looked intently at me, not with sadness, but with excited, eager anticipation, and said “Melissa, I’m ready to go. I want to be with Jesus. I am sure of my salvation. I have my ticket to Heaven, I just need a ride!” Mama, I'll bet that ride was amazing. And I’ll bet the Garden is just beautiful. </div>
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<i>I come to the garden alone</i></div>
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<i>While the dew is still on the roses</i></div>
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<i>And the voice I hear, falling on my ear</i></div>
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<i>The Son of God discloses</i></div>
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<i>And He walks with me</i></div>
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<i>And He talks with me</i></div>
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<i>And He tells me I am His own</i></div>
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<i>And the joy we share as we tarry there</i></div>
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<i>None other has ever known</i></div>
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<i>He speaks and the sound of His voice</i></div>
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<i>Is so sweet the birds hush their singing</i></div>
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<i>And the melody that He gave to me</i></div>
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<i>Within my heart is ringing</i></div>
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<i></i><br /></div>
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<i>And He walks with me</i></div>
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<i>And He talks with me</i></div>
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<i>And He tells me I am His own</i></div>
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<i>And the joy we share as we tarry there</i></div>
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<i>None other has ever known</i></div>
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<i>I'd stay in the garden with Him</i></div>
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<i>'Tho the night around me be falling</i></div>
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<i>But He bids me go; through the voice of woe</i></div>
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<i>His voice to me is calling</i></div>
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<i>And He walks with me</i></div>
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<i>And He talks with me</i></div>
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<i>And He tells me I am His own</i></div>
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<i>And the joy we share as we tarry there</i></div>
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<i>None other has ever known</i> </div>
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I never should have said it out loud.</div>
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I said to my mentor, “I really believe I have finally figured out what joy really means.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not what I always thought it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not always belly laughing or dancing – sometimes, it’s just <i>knowing</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’ve reached<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a place in my walk with God that no matter what may come, nothing can steal my joy." <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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Just a few days later, on Sunday October 16<sup>th</sup>, he sent me a text early in the morning that said “Melissa, you came to my mind this morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here are some verses I believe God wants to seal in your heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1 Peter 1:3-9.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I read these verses that morning, I reflected back in time over the previous two years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Years of breakthroughs and learning how to dream again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read these verses through a joy-filled lens, and the words held me.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. <b>In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. </b>Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.</i></div>
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A little more than 24 hours later, on October 17<sup>th</sup>, 2011, I got the phone call that would change my life forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Melissa, you have cancer.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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My Protector, My Comforter, My Healer knew that I would need those verses, so He made sure they were planted in my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read those verses again, but this time through a grief-filled lens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And again, the words held me.</div>
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I had said it out loud, that nothing could steal my joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was so much easier to make that proclamation on the “through” side of breakthrough than on the “break” side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or so I thought at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Today marks one year from that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have thought and prayed about what to post today, because I could write a book about what the Lord has revealed to me this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But He just keeps bringing me back to one central truth to share with you today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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That thing I said out loud?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, it’s true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I realize that years ago, when I invited Him into my heart, my soul, and my life, He took me at my word. So what I receive in return is an intimacy with Him so close that it's hard <i><u>not</u></i> to see Him, even in the midst of cancer. A presence so deep that it's hard <i><u>not</u></i> to feel Him, even when my heart is broken or my dreams for myself shatter in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And a voice that is now so familiar that it's hard </span><i><u>not </u></i>to hear Him, even when He quietly whispers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I have come to understand that<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>faith is not always like a raging fire in my heart. You know what I mean – those mountaintop moments when our felt connection to His presence is so thick and His goodness is so great that it’s almost <b>too much</b> to bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But after the raging fire has been smothered by rain or snow, when only a faint glow from one single burning ember remains - <i>well, that's faith, too. </i></div>
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That one tiny, glowing ember that remains still moves mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I know, because i</span>t moves me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<b>Sometimes, it’s not too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s always <em>just enough</em> to get me home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></div>
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} catch(err) {}</script>Melissa Driggershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054312853471237600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4537675921899046946.post-19201772533839567782012-09-18T00:00:00.000-04:002012-09-18T00:00:08.786-04:00Hello, My Name Is ... <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In my home office, framed diplomas
and plaques hang above my desk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each
bears my name and represents my professional and academic accomplishments. In
my office in the city, a nameplate outside of my door bears my name and title,
which for some reason causes others to respond with respect and recognition of
my “status” in the company. My name is written on these symbols of accolade,
and I am rewarded. And to be honest, I am proud of those achievements. Perhaps
too proud.<br />
<br />
My name is written in some places that I’d rather it not be, as well. On the
hearts of ones I love, whom I have hurt with my words or actions (or both), and
their remembrance of my name may bring pain. Or during the years when I was far
from God but still called myself a Christian, spending time with “friends” and
making choices that now make me cringe to even think about. When those friends
think upon my name, do they remember someone who acknowledged Jesus with her
lips but denied Him by her lifestyle? And let's not forget those few but memorable instances
when others unjustly and dishonestly represented my name in a deceptive way. My name is written
in these dark places, too, and I would give anything to be able to
hit the “delete” button and clear my name.<br />
<br />
There is yet another place where my name resides, though. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">With the One who <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chose</i> it. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">With the One who <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bought</i></b> it.<br />
<br />
<b><i>I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands…
</i></b><br />
<b><i>(Is 49:15-16 NIV)</i></b><br />
<br />
Regardless of what our name represents here on earth, our name belongs to Him -
because He is in us and we are in Him. And here’s the best part – ultimately,
whether I or others celebrate or despise my name here on Earth, there is an
audacious promise from God to us that not only will He redeem and restore our
names on Earth for His glory (Romans 8:28), but we as believers in Christ are
also promised a sweet heavenly reward. <br />
<br />
<i>Whoever has ears, let them hear ... I will give some of the hidden manna.
I<b> will also give that person a white stone with a new name written on it, known
only to the one who receives it.</b> (Rev 2:17 NIV)</i><br />
<br />
One of our rewards in heaven is a <u>new</u> name. Our God-chosen name.
Our untarnished name. A name so uniquely chosen and set apart that
it is known only to Him and to the one who receives it. <br />
<br />
<i>"I will also give that person a white stone..." </i>In those
times, it was customary to cast a vote for someone’s innocence or guilt by
using black and white stones. If a black stone was cast, the vote was guilty. <i>A
white stone meant that the person on trial was voted blameless. Pardoned. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i> </i><br />
Much like the Hebrews were given a name that revealed their purpose, we too
will receive our heavenly name. Here on Earth, as a body of believers in
Christ, we already share some names that I think sound pretty heavenly.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Redeemed.</i></b><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<b><i>Forgiven.</i></b><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<b><i>Beloved.</i></b><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<b><i>Grace-Given. </i></b><br />
<br />
I can’t imagine that I have been given a heavenly name more beautiful than
those, but the promise says I will. And I believe it. <br />
<br />
Yet as awesome as that truth is, there is an even more powerful promise.<br />
<br />
<i>I am coming soon. <b>Hold on to what you have, so that no one will take your
crown</b>. The one who is victorious I will make a pillar in the temple of my God.
Never again will they leave it. I will write on them the name of my God and the
name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem, which is coming down out of
heaven from my God; and <b>I will also write on them my new name</b>. (Rev 3:12 NIV)</i><br />
<br />
There is also a name of God that has never reached our ears. One that has never
been profaned or mocked. <i>I believe it will be so beautiful that my earthly ears
couldn't bear to hear it. </i>More melodious than the sweetest song, and more
beautiful than the gut-deep utterances and cries of “Yahweh” or “Jehovah” or
“Abba” that cross my lips in my most intimate moments with God. <br />
<br />
May we receive the promise given, that <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">nothing</b>
can separate us from our names in Christ – our names are graven on his scarred
hands.<br />
<br />
May we, with excited anticipation, receive God's radical love <i>given through the
beautifully mysterious promises of what awaits us in heaven</i>.<br />
<br />
And may we press on and into Christ <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so that
we may live up to the potential of our new heavenly name.</i> <br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Our white stone awaits.</b> <br />
<br />
Hallelujah!</span></span></div>
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} catch(err) {}</script>Melissa Driggershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054312853471237600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4537675921899046946.post-23938542069052127062012-08-23T07:16:00.000-04:002012-08-23T10:26:09.751-04:00Seasons ... and Twirling.<script type="text/javascript"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHrQI1zkMVcrmHKz6GsK1zbE7L4MPmnfqW__ZnbMZszfRAs_DUZEcU7UQ05SlS9RNenOoVAtBJoDsQDv_KDsvqsCuuwhgS5uRL-UklUIfyO6rAqwcDjagVfGsgHvbYtzK_EXdQHUZKM8t/s1600/twirling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHrQI1zkMVcrmHKz6GsK1zbE7L4MPmnfqW__ZnbMZszfRAs_DUZEcU7UQ05SlS9RNenOoVAtBJoDsQDv_KDsvqsCuuwhgS5uRL-UklUIfyO6rAqwcDjagVfGsgHvbYtzK_EXdQHUZKM8t/s320/twirling.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The past few
mornings have been light and cool, with just enough of a hint of Fall to
tease me into the excitement I feel every year as the humid midsummer days
relax into the softer beauty of Autumn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The release from one season into another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">But it’s not
just the weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel the seasons
changing in me, too.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Is it true, Lord?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is this season coming to a close so that
another can come?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I feel the cool
wind on my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see the leaves,
fallen on the ground, tired from their exposure to months of extreme heat,
making way for new growth on strong trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I sense it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The time for harvest
is coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s almost here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The past 10
months have tested, challenged, tried, and <i>proven </i>my faith in the One who is my God over and over again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would not
trade one day, one hour, one minute, or one single second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through every moment, He has revealed something
new to me about Himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has breathed
new life into Scriptures that I’ve read hundreds of times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has breathed new Truth into me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
more hopeful for His preferred future for me than ever before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Your love is extravagant, </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Your friendship,
it is intimate.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I feel like moving to the rhythm of your grace..." </i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">To the melody of
those words, and in anticipation of the new season to come, my inner child took
over…</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">And right there,
in my living room, without even thinking about it…</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I twirled. </span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">If anyone had
seen me, I doubt that words like “graceful” or “lovely” would be used to describe
the vision of me dancing in my living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I really don’t care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I twirled
anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Again and again and again.</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">And maybe, just
maybe, from now on, when I sense the seasons starting to change, </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Instead of walking
into them, </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I’ll twirl into
them.</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Because I
can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Because His love
IS extravagant.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Because no
matter what, He is God and He is good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> (Reference: Casting Crowns, <i>Your Love is Extravagant</i>)</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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} catch(err) {}</script>Melissa Driggershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054312853471237600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4537675921899046946.post-73349336455569270362012-08-08T05:58:00.001-04:002022-04-12T10:57:59.769-04:00Am I Beautiful?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This
seems to be the topic of the week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
the space of only a few days, six different women, ranging in age from 19 to
55, have reached out to me to walk them through doubt, uncertainty and pain
over one simple question.</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Am I
beautiful?</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am so
not qualified to answer this question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>On most days, I see myself as anything but beautiful. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What is
beauty? Of course, this is a huge question. Creation is
beauty. Worship is beauty. Family is beauty. Love is
beauty. So many things reflect God's creation and presence and can be
called "beautiful". </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Although
beauty is not gender specific, I do believe women struggle with this concept
more than men, in that at the core of a woman’s soul is a longing to unveil her
beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And usually, for a woman, the context
of the question starts with standards placed on personal, outer beauty. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I am forty-something, yet still delight in my
earthly father’s affirmation of my beauty. When he says, “you look very pretty,
Melissa” (which he does often because he’s a wonderful father), my heart still melts. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This
idea of beauty isn’t limited to the external, although the world certainly
places an emphasis on that. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Our desire
to share beauty is far more than external: it not only includes, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">demands</i> the presence of an internal
beauty – a beautiful heart</b>. I do
not feel beautiful when I am critical or mean-spirited or impatient or harsh. I
do not feel beautiful when my relationships are not healthy and whole. I am not
married but know that if God calls me to marriage, then I will long to unveil
beauty to my husband, both in my outer and inner appearance. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Before
others, we long to offer beauty to the world. This shows in many ways – our bent
toward decorating a home, putting flowers on a barren table, or nurturing those
we love with encouragement. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Simply put,
I am not at home if I feel as though I am not offering beauty to the world. </b>If
taken in the context of God’s image, Scripture says that <i>“God created human
beings; he created them Godlike, reflecting God's nature. He created them male
and female” (Gen 1:17, MSG).</i> God’s nature <b><i>defines </i></b>beauty, and if He
created us to reflect that nature, then it’s easy to understand the longing to
unveil beauty to those we love, and to the world.<br />
<br />
That all sounds nice and flowery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
probably is in heaven. But it’s not down here.<br />
<br />
Because down here, it’s hard. The mirrors are distorted and deceptive. There
are many other voices and pictures and ideals that tell us we are not enough.
The first experience of rejection in our young lives can catapult us into a
lifestyle of striving and performance. It is a bitter root that bakes slowly in
us and over time, burns into our minds and hearts so deeply that we no longer
recognize it. <i>We move from freely offering beauty to withholding it, out of
fear that it will not be enough, or even worse…</i><b><i>rejected</i></b>. But the desire to
unveil it remains despite the rejection…so we strive and strive and strive to
achieve some imagined benchmark that God never intended to exist.<br />
<br />
I have been thinking and praying over this question for days. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And God has reminded me how simple it really is. <b>I feel beautiful when I am not <i>striving</i> to be
beautiful<i>.</i></b> <br />
<br />
When I’m not obsessed with my appearance.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
When I’m not worried about what others think of me.<br />
<br />
When I’m truly listening to someone else.<br />
<br />
When I openly share my heart with someone else.<br />
<br />
When I freely accept God’s love, mercy and grace. <br />
<br />
When I am no longer Melissa the earth-girl, but Melissa the Spirit-filled girl.
<br />
<br />
<b><i>I feel beautiful when I am at rest, because that’s where He is.</i></b> <br />
<br />
And He is beautiful. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Those who look to Him are radiant (Ps. 34:5).</span></i></b><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5pt; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"Faith is to believe what we do not see, and the </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">reward of
this faith is to see what we believe."</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5pt; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> (Saint Augustine)</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Waiting for answers. Waiting for hope. Waiting for peace. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It's exhausting, isn't it?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It is in our flesh-wiring to default to "I<i>’ll believe
it when I see it</i>.” But how do I reconcile
that with my faith? Because if I believe
what I say I believe, then my faith isn’t dependent on my sight. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When I am preoccupied and focused on the
circumstances in my life instead of
centering on the constancy of God and in Who God is, my faith-life becomes intermittent,
at best. <i> </i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Stop…Go…Stop….Go</i>. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We can learn a lot from the Words that cut through the darkness. In contrast to Moses, who "<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Hebrews%2011:27&version=NASB">endured, as seeing Him who is unseen</a>", the children of Israel did not believe until <u>after</u> they <i>saw </i>the evidence. They still doubted God when they came to the Red Sea,
but only when they <i>saw </i>God open the way, lead them across and drown Pharaoh
did they <i>believe</i>. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Then </b>they believed his promises and sang His praise... (Psalm 106:12) </span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">They led an up and down life because of this
kind of faith, and we do the same thing sometimes, don’t we? <br />
<br />
The world says "seeing is believing," but the sight-gift that He offers us is SO much better. <i><b>He wants us to believe in order to see. </b></i>That is the <i>reward </i>of our faith.<br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
So what about my seasonal blindness in my faith journey? Because let’s just be
honest here…there are times when all I can see is the darkness. Sometimes, my
cup doesn’t runneth over…sometimes, it’s just empty. How do I wait for hope? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">How do I wait for hope when not even a glimmer
of it shines, yet still refuse to grow weary and refuse to doubt God’s
unyielding faithfulness to me?<br />
<br />
How do I experience the pain of a gaping, vacant hole in my heart, yet still
resolve not to allow any presence inferior to God to occupy it?<br />
<br />
How did Job do it? How did Abraham do it on the road to Moriah? How did Moses
do it in the desert? How did Jesus do it in the Garden?<br />
<br />
When waiting for hope amid darkness, how do we "<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Hebrews%2011:27&version=NASB">endure, as seeing Him who is unseen</a>?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There really is only one way. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">To <b>refuse </b>to let
go of our empty cup and remain convinced that God’s eyes see eternally further
than our own. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">To remain steadfast in our belief that i<i>n His perfect timing and in
the completeness of His love for us, He will unhide that which is hidden to our eyes</i>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">To wait with confidence to <b><i>see</i> </b>what we <b><i>believe</i></b>. </span><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmiTBQRucPt4oWVsXCGkHQMuG149IgPrSc6U2vA158pjCBJNTcRY9JDOPRjv9wSzcG0l3ycQAME6XrOWVvIcoivEgch5yT7nOOewpgBnimPHw7OkGbRBPhZ1NwOtwNkv7u0I0e6RH-DVi/s1600/pencils-001-300x225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmiTBQRucPt4oWVsXCGkHQMuG149IgPrSc6U2vA158pjCBJNTcRY9JDOPRjv9wSzcG0l3ycQAME6XrOWVvIcoivEgch5yT7nOOewpgBnimPHw7OkGbRBPhZ1NwOtwNkv7u0I0e6RH-DVi/s1600/pencils-001-300x225.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">She called me today, heartbroken. Words had been spoken – cruel ones. <i>The kind
that leave a wound, then a bruise, and then a scar that remains to maliciously remind.</i>
These words had wounded a loved one, and I was overcome with conviction and
repentance when she shared her deepest ache through sobs of pain at the effect
of the soul-crushing comments. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">You might be thinking
that she is the grieving recipient. She isn’t. She is the grieving deliverer. Her cries were so gut-deep that I could barely understand her. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Oh Melissa, I hurt the
one I love so badly. How do I fix this?” </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My heart aches for her. And for the one she loves. And for me.
Because I have been that person.
I am that person. While there is
a population out there that would boldly proclaim that I have spoken
encouraging words over them, there is yet another population (hopefully
much smaller) that can describe the painful marks left on their hearts by my ruthless
words. And usually to the ones I love the
most. <i>I don’t even like to think about
it</i>. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Even with the most sincere of apologies offered, and
even with the truest of repentant hearts, the memory lingers in the heart of the
wounded. The scar is left to
remind, and from that point forward it becomes a battle within that the wounded must
fight when someone or something unknowingly opens that scar. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We write on the slate of one
another. We can trample a heart with </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Single.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Word.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He entrusts us with words. <i>His words</i>.
Words to edify, exhort, and encourage one another. Words to build up, inspire, and to humbly
lead. Words to offer hope, comfort, and words
to heal. Words to proclaim the Truth of
His love, mercy, and grace. Yet with the same mouth that we share His words, we shoot sharp darts that can brutally pierce the heart of another.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i><s><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes</span></s></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>
Too many times, I wish I could speak in pencil.</i>
That eraser would be so handy. As
the magical word-remover leaves its evidence of black flecks where punishing words once
were, we could point to the dust and show the unlucky recipient the proof that
the word was no longer there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">"See,
look, I didn’t mean it. It’s gone! We can just forget this ever happened..." </span></i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">If only. Unfortunately,
indelible ink doesn’t have a handy little eraser.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have some good news, though. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>As powerful as our words may be, they are power</i><i>less in the presence of the God of the Redeemed...the God of healing and restoration.</i> No wound is too deep for Him to touch. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For our harsh words, there is grace and forgiveness to cover our
sins. Period. <i>Done</i>.
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And for the wounded -- with faith, prayer, time, and forgiveness, God can
heal a wounded heart. He has healed
mine, and He has healed the hearts of those whom I have wounded with my words. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">May we be reminded today, to pray <b><i>His </i></b>words:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">May
the words of my mouth and this meditation </span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">of my heart be pleasing in your
sight, Lord, </span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">my Rock and my Redeemer.</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">(Psalm 19:14) </span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Would you join me in taking some time to listen to this song as you pray and dedicate your words to Him today?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">(Shane & Shane, <i>"May The Words of My Mouth"</i>) </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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Melissa Driggershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054312853471237600noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4537675921899046946.post-64671978554027631092012-06-17T22:06:00.001-04:002012-06-17T22:11:13.192-04:00Dad and The Boats.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We sat on the beach this past October, coffee in
hand, talking about the water and the boats.
My grandfather was a merchant seaman, and my Dad – back in the day
before he met Mom – was a commercial fisherman as well. Specifically, a shrimp boat operator off the
coast of South Florida, where I was born.
I could listen to his stories about his experiences as a young boy and young
man, and his escapades in Miami, Coconut Grove and Coral Gables back in the 40’s
and 50’s for hours...and he loves telling them! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">By time time I was born, I was the third girl, and I
guess Dad knew a son wasn’t going to happen.
I was supposed to be a “Derek”. Oops. Poor guy.
He survived three daughters. I’m
pretty sure he deserves a medal! As the “son he never had”, I have so many memories fishing with him (and
going to the races, too), both of which I still love. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There’s something about being on the water with
Dad. Anyone in our family will tell you
the same thing. He transforms…comes
alive…his whole demeanor changes, relaxes. Mom said recently that he was born with sea air in his lungs (although
fresh water will suit him just fine, too), and a fishing rod in his hand. And I think she’s right! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">On the beach that day last October, our family was
struggling. I had just learned of my
cancer a few days before our trip, and we were all grieving in our own way and
trying to figure it all out. I remember
sitting with him that day, just the two of us on the shore, and the water had
turned pretty rough. Although I love to
look at the ocean, being in the water frightens me a little, and there were
boats out there – I became concerned for them as the waves grew higher and the
sea became more and more angry. I began
to ask Dad about the instruments on a boat and how (technically) a boat
navigates the waters to determine its location and finds its way home, out of a
storm. So Dad started sharing the names
and functions of the instruments…I have to admit, I was only half listening,
because a larger truth struck me as he spoke.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As he talked, I was flooded with memories. <i><b>Our memories. </b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As a little girl, sneaking in to the living room while he slept,
lifting one of his eyelids up (literally) and saying “Dad, are you up?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Giggling with my friends as he snored,
napping in front of the TV. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Watching him
completely destroy our kitchen when he tried to make breakfast. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Running to him in my little yellow daisy
nightgown, with a tray of pretend treats I’d made him in my play kitchen – and
he pretended to eat every single one, even when he was so tired! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Walking proudly with him into the Kay’s Drug
Store lunch counter every Saturday for our date. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Hearing his voice cheer for me louder than
any other Daddy when I played softball. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/2011/10/happy-birthday-dad.html"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Eating fruit cocktail with him on our deck in the summer. </span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Seeing him and Mom sneak kisses when they
thought we weren’t looking. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Crying on
his shoulder when I broke up with my first boyfriend in junior high (and
several after). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In the hospital after
his stroke, with about 20 tubes attached to him, as he <u>insisted </u>that he get on
his knees to pray (and did). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Finding a
heart-shaped box of candy for Valentine’s Day on my doorstep the first year I
had moved away from home. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And the hours
and hours of talks about life, and God, that we’ve had as two adults. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It all just came rushing back. My Dad.
My Daddy. <u>I love him so much it
hurts</u>. Each of those little memories
came together in a flood of reassurance that this man I sat next to…my Dad…had
authority over my life since my first breath, and that I have a humble warrior
whom I call Dad to walk with me through this.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But that wasn’t all … In that moment on the beach, I
realized something else. My Dad was
speaking with authority – he KNEW those instruments and how each of them worked. As he spoke, my concern for the boats
lessened, because my Dad convinced me that they had the tools they needed to
find their way home. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And in that moment…I knew I did, too. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My heavenly Father has been my Daddy, too, since <u>before</u>
my first breath …my Abba... lovingly readying me for such a time as this over many years
before. <i>My future? It’s His memory.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have what I need to get Home and <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=psalm%2091:1&version=NIV">all the shelter I need for the journey</a>. As my earthly
father spoke with authority about his knowledge of how the boats find their way
in the storm, my Heavenly father speaks with authority about His promise that I
may soar on wings like eagles to rise above it.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The rough waters?
They aren’t nearly as uncharted as we think they are.</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Hallelujah.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Happy Father’s Day, Dad. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Thank you for fiercely fighting for me and
our family on your knees. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I am a woman
richly, richly blessed and proud to call you my father. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Melissa Driggershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054312853471237600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4537675921899046946.post-50871535208012407172012-06-07T10:04:00.000-04:002012-06-07T10:08:25.089-04:00Big Eyes and Belly Laughs.In the waiting room of the hospital, a very curious little three-year old approached me, with her head tilted, and asked, “What happened to your leg?” So I explained to her that I had surgery and was still healing. We had a lovely conversation, asking each other about our favorite colors, favorite cartoon characters, and favorite games. Before I knew it, she crawled up in my lap. Her mother apologized and moved forward to retrieve her, but I assured her it was fine with me if it was OK with her. And I was so grateful that it was.<br />
<br />
As Eva sat on my lap, I decided to try out one of our little family traditions on her. Mom used to do this with us, and in all of her years teaching children has had a 100% success rate with the giggle factor on this little gem. Some of you may have heard of this little song/game. I have no idea of what original context the song was written or when it was written…but it goes like this…<br />
<br />
I had Eva hold her cute little hand out, palm up. I gently traced a circle on her palm with my finger as I sang, “Round round circle, put a penny here…” and then, slowly…very slowly, “walking” my fingers up her arm toward her shoulder, I sang “one step...two steps…” and then, unexpected to Miss Eva, I sang “tickle under here!” and tickled Eva until I heard the BEST SOUND IN THE WORLD…the belly laugh of a child! <br />
<br />
Of course, you know what happened after that, right?<br />
<br />
“Again, Miss Missa!” (She had a little trouble pronouncing my name - so sweet.) So over and over again we went, and each time, when I got to the “….two steps”, I would pause dramatically, purposefully making her wait until she was about to come out of her skin with expectation. Her eyes were huge with anticipation about the best part -- the inevitable tickle-fest to come! <em>She knew that after that second step up her arm was done, it was all about belly-laughing joy. </em><br />
<br />
I drove home thinking about Eva’s big eyes and belly laughs. <br />
<br />
<em><strong>Do I anticipate the next move of God’s hand with that kind of anticipation? </strong></em><br />
<br />
Eva knew the game. She knew after the first time that the outcome resulted in her joy. In her mind, it was simple: “Miss Melissa did it last time, so she’ll do it again.” And each time, she believed the outcome was going to result in her joy. She trusted me to deliver it. So every single time, her eyes grew big in anticipation of what was to come. <em>Because she remembered the last time</em>.<br />
<br />
God has always brought joy from waiting, uncertainty, or darkness in my life. There has not been one single time in my life when I have sought Him and not found the doorway out of the valley and into hope. I’ll bet you can say the same thing. How quickly we are to forget it. Maybe it’s just me, but it doesn’t take long for me to lose my focus on Him and gaze at the struggle instead. <br />
<br />
How quickly I forget that I’ve been here before. <br />
<br />
How quickly I forget to look into His eyes and remember that He has never, ever let me down. <br />
<br />
<em><strong>How quickly I forget that I can be confident in my current circumstance because of God’s past performance on my behalf.</strong></em><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may <strong>strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being</strong>, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, <strong>may have power</strong>, together with all the Lord’s holy people, <strong>to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ</strong>, <strong>and to know this love that surpasses knowledge</strong> —that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. <strong>Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us</strong>, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! (Eph. 3:14-21, NIV)</blockquote>
<br />
This morning I caught myself belly-laughing in anticipation of what God has waiting for me on the other side of the door. <br />
<br />
<em><strong>Because I remember the last time.</strong></em> <br />
<br />
Thanks for the reminder, Eva. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGfOjhNAsWZlevQiQC01-XXiBPAGXk8H2mQpE8vXFRK8UFzPiziYzrBVqbDNr2x23q0_YPY3imw3KorbsPC5XMBD6mk6o2VYms9CHEhzMrGGB9NQSRs-w4WJAcuRAT40oxAK-YPGz7qV-T/s1600/2020-05-25_5-31-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="831" data-original-width="1073" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGfOjhNAsWZlevQiQC01-XXiBPAGXk8H2mQpE8vXFRK8UFzPiziYzrBVqbDNr2x23q0_YPY3imw3KorbsPC5XMBD6mk6o2VYms9CHEhzMrGGB9NQSRs-w4WJAcuRAT40oxAK-YPGz7qV-T/s320/2020-05-25_5-31-24.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<b><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the first twenty minutes of the movie <i>Saving Private Ryan</i>,
an extremely graphic scene of the Omaha beachhead assault of June 6, 1944 is
depicted. Although it was nearly fourteen years ago, I vividly remember seeing
this movie on the big screen and will likely never forget some of the images in
those first few minutes. The directors of the movie explained that the intensely
graphic nature of the opening scene was so that the viewer could truly
understand the reality of war and the raw nature of wartime violence and death,
which was critical to the viewer’s connection with the main storyline for the
film. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The images that I remember most from this powerful movie are
those of the walking wounded in that opening scene. Like the soldier who lost
his severed arm and searched for it, found it, picked it up, and carried it
with him as he sought shelter from the enemy fire. Broken, dismembered bodies
with one goal – <b><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">survival</span></b>.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">With
severed limbs, trying to find refuge in the midst of warfare that they had
grossly underestimated.</i> <br />
<br />
All of us have walked, are walking, or will walk the long journey from the
valley of woundedness and pain to the refuge of hope. Like the walking wounded
in this movie scene, those of us walking in emotional and spiritual woundedness
seek shelter, but with broken hearts and crushed spirits. Like the
walking wounded soldier, we, too have one goal…<b>survival.</b></span><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">With
shattered dreams, trying to find refuge in warfare that we had grossly
underestimated. </i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When we’re in survival mode, living
isn’t really living, it’s more like just … <i>existing</i></span><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">. The
difference between broken bodies and broken spirits is that we can <u>hide</u>
a broken spirit. We can appear to have it together spiritually. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b><i>But inside, we’re dying</i></b>. And too
proud to tell anyone about it. <br />
<br />
If our wounded hearts are walled with pain, shame, and guilt, and our wills are
walled with fear and anxiety, then where do we go for refuge and healing?
Usually not to the One who can heal. Usually, to other people to fill the void
that has consumed us, because <b><i>even though we are wounded, we still crave
love, joy, and peace</i></b>. God created us to crave it. But we forget that
there is only one True Source for our wholeness. We forget that He created us
to crave it from Him. To seek it from Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes I lose sight that although God gives me the amazing blessing
of experiencing love from others here on earth <b>sometimes</b>, that it will
never be truer, deeper, or wider than His love, His joy, or His peace available
to and flowing through me <b>all the time</b>. <br />
<br />
But there is good news. <br />
Great news.<br />
Wonderful news. <br />
The <b><i>BEST</i></b> news. <br />
<br />
The heart of the Holy Spirit lives in those who believe and call upon the name
of God and His ultimate sacrifice, the risen Christ. The heart of the Spirit in
me…and in you…gives us direct access to the healing that can only be found
through the mind and heart of Christ.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">God has revealed it to us by his Spirit. <b>The Spirit searches
all things, even the deep things of God.</b> For who among men knows the
thoughts of a man except the man's spirit within him? <b>In the same way no one
knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God</b>. <b>We have not received
the spirit of the world but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand
what God has freely given us.</b> This is what we speak, not in words taught us
by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, expressing spiritual truths
in spiritual words. The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that
come from the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot
understand them, because they are spiritually discerned. The spiritual man
makes judgments about all things, but he himself is not subject to any man's
judgment: "For who has known the mind of the Lord that he may instruct
him?" <b>But we have the mind of Christ</b>. (1 Cor. 2:10-16, NIV).</span></i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As believers,
we talk about the “power” of the Holy Spirit, and often. May we remember
that the power of the Spirit comes from the <b>heart</b> of the Spirit, who always
only wants the best for us. If we allow our heart to meld with the heart
of the Spirit, the walls come down. We receive his heart toward us, so we
can give it to others. The way we give to and receive love from others is
radically changed.<br />
<br />
Our goal becomes SO much more than to just <b><i>survive</i></b>. <br />
<br />
We are no longer the walking wounded. We are alive, and we love without walled
hearts. We live and love from wholeness. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<b><i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
heart of the Spirit makes us whole</span></i></b><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">. </span></div>
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</script>Melissa Driggershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054312853471237600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4537675921899046946.post-30781186282607976222012-05-23T11:08:00.002-04:002012-05-23T11:39:40.536-04:00Give and Take.<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I am working on some new posts that aren't quite ready yet, so for today, I dug deep into the blog archives. This one <u>deeply </u>moved me in its timeliness, and as it reminded me that just a few years ago, the truth He was weaving into my heart was for then, but also to prepare me for a future yet unknown. God is faithful to remind us of His love. May we not forget in the darkness what we once remembered in the light. Be blessed, friends!</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Give and Take </b><i>(Repost from March, 2010)</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was
reminded recently of a powerful short story that I read a few years back. In
preparing to write this post, I tried to find it but to no avail. The details I
remember are this: a young girl and her mother were living in a poor and
war-torn area, and the only Bible they had was badly ripped and damaged. They
were at home one night, and the little girl came running to her mother, joyfully
shouting “Mama, Mama, look at this…” She showed her Mama one of the badly torn pages, with only the first few words remaining from John 3:16. “For God
so loved the world, that He gave…” The little girl was joyful, her eyes beaming and smiling brightly. “Mama do you see that? God loved us so much that He gave!”
“Gave what?”, her mother asked. The little girl replied, “It doesn’t matter what He
gave, Mama. Isn’t it just great that God loved us so much that He gave to us!”<br />
<br />
I wish I had the heart of that little girl, in its unjaded, uncompromised
ability to receive the powerful simplicity of ultimate truth.<br />
<br />
Recently talking with a woman going through an emotional time of loss, she was
crying out to understand why God takes away things (or people) that we love so
deeply. Her loss was new and fresh, and even as a strong woman of faith, she
was trying to find His perspective in it all. She knew and had always claimed
the promise of Romans 8:28: <br />
<br />
</span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him,
who have been called according to his purpose. (NIV)</i></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></blockquote>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">
<br />
Her dilemma was in trying to understand how He could have dangled something in
front of her that she loved so much, and that she felt Him calling her to, only
to take it away from her.<br />
<br />
I’ve been there before, too. Have you?<br />
<br />
Just as a loving parent gives his/her child gifts, so, too, is the act of love
of taking away something that will harm his child.<br />
<br />
Remember the little girl in the story…"God gave!"<br />
<br />
God, how do I find and share the heart of this little girl, the content and
utter joy of simply knowing and believing that God gives? <i>What is this
beautiful mystery of how You give to us sometimes through taking away that
which can harm us?</i><br />
<br />
This is what I heard Him say: <i>"<b>It is because I gave so much, that
I CAN take away."</b></i><br />
<br />
He gives bread so that He can take away our hunger.<br />
<br />
He gives water so that He can take away our thirst.<br />
<br />
He gives light so that He can take away the darkness.<br />
<br />
He gives peace so that He can take away our fears.<br />
<br />
He gives comfort so that He can take away our pain.<br />
<br />
He gives rest so that He can take away our weariness.<br />
<br />
He gives love so that He can take away our loneliness.<br />
<br />
<b><i>He gave His only son so that He could take away our sin.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">God
gave. God gives.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">This
past weekend I spent some time alone in silence. Sometimes I forget just to be
still and to turn off the noise – <b>all </b>of the noise. I’m often amazed at how uncomfortable
silence can be, for in the silence we remember that we feel, and we can hear our own thoughts. Silence usually speaks much more loudly than
any volume of noise used to try to drown it out. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Sometimes,
I don’t like what I hear in the silence…my own thoughts… which should make me
want to flee from it. But as usual, He
draws me in. It is often in the still, silent
solitude that those all-too-often-whispered-lies merely serve to remind me of
what I forgot in the chaos…that the Victory Banner is already raised over
them. So as I exhale into the complete
rest that waits for me in the shadow of the <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Song%20of%20Songs+2:4&version=NIV">His Banner over me</a>, I melt into the
One who stands ready to take those thoughts…those lies… captive. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Victory. </span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Sometimes
the victory banner is raised before many to the sounds of trumpets, shouts and
pomp and circumstance. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">And
sometimes, the victory banner is quietly raised over a single shattered heart, as
the Master tapestry-maker sews it all back together with threads of grace,
mercy, and peace. </span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
more I embrace it, my pull toward spending time alone in deep reflection and
prayer has become more and more intense. Scripture tells us in several places
to go to the “secret place” to pray to the Father. <br />
<br />
On this day, I thought about a long list of things and prayed about an even
longer list of things. As I looked out on the water, I caught a glimpse of
something beautiful. The water was perfectly still and smooth, like glass. The
reflection in the water was perfect…a gorgeous blue sky…heaven. If the water
had not been at rest, I could not have seen this incredible picture. Only when
we are perfectly still … when we are at rest in Him … only then can we reflect
heaven. Only then can we reflect Him. <br />
<br />
There are so many times when God speaks to me through music, other people, and
of course through serving others. And I am moved to incredible heart change
during corporate worship at times. But nothing can replace the intimate time I
spend alone with my God. He says things and shows me things in the still, quiet place
that I cannot hear or see anywhere else. And I sure would hate to miss that. <br />
<br />
<b><i>"The more I seek You, the more I find You. The more I find You, the more I love
You. I want to sit at your feet and drink from the cup in Your Hand… to lay
back against you and breathe, to feel Your heartbeat. This love is so deep,
it’s more than I can stand. I melt in your peace."</i> </b>(<i>"<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-More-I-Seek-You/dp/B0013XINIY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1337699664&sr=8-1">The More I Seek You</a>", Christ for the Nations)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Today is her day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A day to celebrate a woman like no other … my sweet Mom.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_N8v9A-RnTmvQvQP32okZ3DJB_HK6laRE765JXJcXNmZ_D7hvT3x0i68UMiERjgI-TjOp7ehRWcXk2S-OXNKCtMN5X_Xi3zuyiSRTVghl2G31P5YxAhUtCI-hn84th35z8NnDa3lMIja/s1600/Momandme%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_N8v9A-RnTmvQvQP32okZ3DJB_HK6laRE765JXJcXNmZ_D7hvT3x0i68UMiERjgI-TjOp7ehRWcXk2S-OXNKCtMN5X_Xi3zuyiSRTVghl2G31P5YxAhUtCI-hn84th35z8NnDa3lMIja/s320/Momandme%5B1%5D.JPG" width="224" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">This is one of my favorite pictures of Mom and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty sure I was about four years old here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And check out Mom’s bee hive – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hubba hubba</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But seriously…I have often said that I love her hands in this picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They captivate me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her hands reveal much more about her than her perfectly shaped hair or radiant smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong><em>Her hands show the depth of her heart</em></strong>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">My mother’s sweet spirit and loving heart are so very apparent to all who know her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But only some know her story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom’s childhood was very difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those beautiful hands had desperately tried to fight off abusers and bullies for many years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those hands had shielded her own face in sorrow and shame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em><strong>Those hands had begged and prayed for acceptance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></strong></em></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHII89KYz-Mn2iIpi2zA0IhexvpPzxRTtbabEeCdReyQXiPgisCK2Y3hccNKSZYQddpCbhZRApY0qddfh8X_3MHUTLNSzdnn5VASAK9tqNcPiTFFYHKtOCFPVz7wsCQVm9Q2l4_eme5Eqz/s1600/Mom+and+Melissa+Dancing.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHII89KYz-Mn2iIpi2zA0IhexvpPzxRTtbabEeCdReyQXiPgisCK2Y3hccNKSZYQddpCbhZRApY0qddfh8X_3MHUTLNSzdnn5VASAK9tqNcPiTFFYHKtOCFPVz7wsCQVm9Q2l4_eme5Eqz/s320/Mom+and+Melissa+Dancing.bmp" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jitterbugging to "I Can Help" (<a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/2010/02/i-can-help.html">read about it here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Yet even so...she overcame. Those once-earnest hands </span>went on to hug me every single day…and to lovingly stroke the birthmark on my forehead as I fell asleep on her lap and to cradle me when I cried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/2010/02/i-can-help.html">Her hands held mine as we danced</a><span style="background-color: white;">,</span> and they pushed the swing as Mom sang our made-up song…"Mommy and Melissa, swingin’, swingin’, we’re having fun!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><em><strong>Her hands have always freely offered me the love, affection, and acceptance for which they had long ago grasped.</strong></em></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><strong> </strong></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">As far back as I can remember, her hands have created beautiful pastries and dishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom would work so hard, for days and days, to prepare beautiful culinary delights for our family, neighbors, friends, and church family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She loved opening our home to guests and showing hospitality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">Needless</span> to say, our house was a favorite for sleepovers with my friends!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Her hands have created beauty. </span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">During my teen years, Mom and I weren’t as close. Like many teens, I "knew it all" and didn’t respect her much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would give anything to get those years back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even in the midst of my making some seriously DUMB decisions, she showed her love and affection for me, and I know that she never stopped praying for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my twenties, something just clicked and I began to see her differently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although it had always been there, her ability to forgive and to love unconditionally began to draw me in to her in a new way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Lord was working powerfully in her life, and although I didn't realize it until later in my own life, she was Jesus to her wayward daughter (me) for many years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (</span>For the other Moms of lost daughters out there…I pray that brings you encouragement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong>Don’t give up</strong>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know where I would be right now without the faithful prayers and love from my Mom and Dad.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><em><strong>Her hands have freely offered grace</strong></em>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">From that point on, I wanted to study her, and I have been ever since.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot describe the depth of my love for my mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Over the years, I have had the privilege of observing those same hands lovingly and oh-so-meticulously create unique and beautiful crafts and arrangements and beautiful treasures that have brightened the lives of so many.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Unbeknownst to me until around the time I turned thirty, her passion for cooking and hospitality had taken root in my heart as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to see my own hands mimicking my memory of hers, as she intricately and carefully thumbed through cookbooks, writing menus, creating masterpieces in the kitchen and crafting beautiful presentations at gatherings of family and friends… <em><strong>infusing a piece of her heart into every touch</strong></em>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">And most beautifully, I have studied the hands that faithfully pray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sisters and I joke that Mom must have some sort of direct line to God, because when she prays (and she prays all the time), stuff happens!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And her hands lift in praise, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From my hospital bed just a few months ago, as four doctors pushed Mom and Dad away as they surrounded my bed during a critical complication, I caught a glimpse of her. I was so scared. My eyes searched to find Mom and Dad standing together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dad, bless his heart, was weeping and I knew he was praying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so comforted by that…he was fighting for me, as a good Daddy would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Mom…<strong><em>Mom had a huge smile on her face as her eyes gazed upward, with her beautiful hands lifted.</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></strong>Mom was lifting me up and praising Jesus on my behalf…praising Him even in advance of His blessing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Her hands have loved well.</em></strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I heard someone say once that “One day, you’ll be putting on your coat, and you’ll look down to see your mother’s hand come out from under the sleeve.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times;">I hope so. I really hope so.</span><br />
<br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="text"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><strong>Her children arise and call her blessed</strong>, her husband also, and he praises her: “Many women do noble things,</span> but you surpass them all.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;</span> but a woman who fears the </span></span><span class="small-caps"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"> is to be praised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong>Honor her for all that her hands have done</strong>,and let her works bring her praise at the city gate. (Proverbs 31:28-31 NIV)</span></span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Thank you for who you are. Thank you for loving me like Jesus then and now. Thank you for being my most faithful cheerleader, mentor, advisor, encourager, and friend. I can't imagine my life without you. </span>I love you so very much, and I am proud to call you <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mom</i></b>.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
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Melissa Driggershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054312853471237600noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4537675921899046946.post-26236575108404233542012-01-20T15:18:00.024-05:002022-04-12T10:57:35.532-04:00My Wedding Day.I don't often write about being single. Mostly because while my "singleness" is a part of my life, it's simply not the main focus of my life or ministry. For today, however, I am choosing to talk about it. But this post is for everyone, so if you're not single, I hope you'll stick around.<br />
<br />
I have an amazing, fulfilling life. I am surrounded by the most incredible and devoted Godly men and women who challenge me, love me, bless me, minister to me, and just generally "put up" with me every day. My community is deep and wide with family and friends. Moments of loneliness do come, but they are rare and usually short-lived. It wasn’t always that way, but God has transformed my heart over the years to bring me to this place. <br />
<br />
Yet even with a fulfilled life, there is a very short list of things that occasionally make me “feel” single. One of those things is coming home from a trip to a quiet, empty house, with no one there to hug me and tell me I was missed. I don’t love that part of being single. <br />
<br />
The other is being sick, and this is probably when I "feel" it the most. I really struggle emotionally and spiritually with being alone when I'm not well. No one to hold my hand and tell me it's going to be OK, pray over me, drive me to the doctor, or bring me soup and meds. Several months ago, while driving myself to the emergency room, I lost it. In a feverish panic, crying out, “God, I’m going to die alone!” <i>Oh, the melodrama of a single Italian woman with a fever! </i><br />
<br />
<b>And then came October 17, 2011. </b><br />
<br />
October. My <i>favorite</i> month of the year. I love the crisp air, the colors, the sound of the leaves blowing, and the promise of the harvest. <i>In fact, I've often said that if God called me to marriage, I would want an October wedding. </i><br />
<br />
On this <i>beautiful</i> day in October, though, sickness would enter my life in a way I'd never known before. This wasn’t the flu. This was no sinus infection. This wasn’t going to be me driving myself to the store to get my own OJ and cold meds. This was <b>way</b> bigger than that. <br />
<br />
About an hour after I got the news, <a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/2011/10/cancer-pizza-and-butt-crack.html">I was driving across town to my parents’ house to tell them</a>. That hour had been a whirlwind of information overload and emotional chaos. And as the surreal became real… <br />
<br />
<i>Oh my God. I have cancer. And I’m single.</i><br />
<br />
I immediately started to pray, and I remember my exact words. <br />
<br />
<i>OK, God, this is going to be a weak area for me spiritually, so I need you to perfect my weakness in your strength. Like right now. <b>Set me like a seal upon your heart</b>. </i><br />
<br />
From that moment on, as tough as this road has been, not for one day have I felt single or alone in this journey. <i>Not for one second. </i>His presence has been felt at every step. He is faithful.<br />
<br />
I have also been lavished with love and the presence of my community. Each of my former pastors have visited me at the hospital and at home, my family has been present with me for all of it, and my friends have been present with meals and companionship. <i>Since then, I have continually thanked and praised Him for filling loneliness with the prayers and presence of my community. </i><br />
<br />
But God would show me something unexpected about my heart. He would show me that <i>as wonderful as my community is, they are not the reason that I have never felt alone in this crazy ride through cancer.</i><br />
<br />
Recently I was focusing on verses that I’ve read a hundred times before, and the familiar words jumped out at me in a new way . <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Therefore I am now going to allure her; <b>I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her.</b> There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope...<b>“In that day,” declares the Lord, “you will call me ‘my husband’; you will no longer call me ‘my master’ … I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, in love and compassion. I will betroth you in faithfulness, and you will acknowledge the Lord"</b> (Hosea 2:14-15, 19-20, NIV).</i></blockquote>
Upon reading those words, He captivated me with new truth. How had I missed it before? I haven't felt <i>single</i> through this journey because <b>q<i>uite possibly for the first time in my life, I have <u>allowed</u> Him to be my Husband</i></b>. And just as that realization began to penetrate my heart, he allowed me to recall the prayer I prayed in my car two months before on that dark day in October… <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Set me like a seal upon your heart, like a seal on your arm… (Song of Solomon 8:6)</b></i></blockquote>
His wedding vow had long before been spoken. But mine was spoken in the car that day when I prayed… <i>Set me like a seal upon your heart</i>. And I <i>meant</i> it. From that point on through this journey, I finally allowed Him to be the Husband that He always was. <br />
<br />
I don't know why I was surprised by this. After all, 2011 was the year of <a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/dreamy">Dreams</a>, right? And He has been courting me all along. Just months before in Africa, <a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/2011/06/relentless.html">He promised that He wouldn’t relent until He had my whole heart</a>. I was being prepared for my <i>dream of an October wedding</i> and didn’t even know it. <br />
<br />
October 17th was the day I found out I had cancer. But that day was about so much more than that. <br />
<br />
<b>October 17th was my wedding day. <script type="text/javascript">
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<br />
One night this past November, as I was in excruciating pain and had been bedridden for weeks, I heard the word for 2012.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Praise… 2012 is going to be all about Praise.</em></strong><br />
<br />
That’s such a God thing to do, isn’t it. Seriously? To give me a word like <em>praise</em> on a night like that. I tried to talk him out of it for a couple of <strike>weeks</strike> months, trying to convince Him that we could focus on <em>praise</em> later.<br />
<br />
<em>God, you can raise me like a victory banner on a battlefield, you can allow me to multiply your Kingdom and you can give me a melodious voice to proclaim your majesty. I want you to do that. But for now, God, can you please just let me weep? Can you just let me grieve for a minute? Can you stop time and just stay with me for a while while I catch my breath? </em><br />
<br />
He did. <br />
<br />
And since that time, He’s been faithfully showing me that the scars on my body and on my heart are unexpected pathways to joy. I’m learning to trust Him in a brand new way. <br />
<br />
But that’s not the whole story. I tried to think of beautiful words that I could post about the year of <em>Praise</em>, to convince you that I have it all together. To convince you that I am as strong as so many of you tell me I am. The fact that so many of you have written to me and shared that I inspire you to a greater faith just makes me chuckle. Because my faith has been so intermittent through this journey. <em>If you only knew</em>.<br />
<br />
The truth? The praise that I have for God’s miraculous healing of my body from cancer is quite possibly the highest praise I have ever brought to God. I feel a depth of gratitude and utter thankfulness that I don’t have never experienced before. I can’t lift my hands high enough or sing loudly enough to reach the level of praise that my heart has for Him. <br />
<br />
But here’s the thing. It coexists with a deeper sense of suffering…and fear… that I have ever experienced in my lifetime. A heart cry for further healing from the pain, the horrible swelling (lymphedema), and the deformity of my body. A grief that goes deeper than I can describe, and that I am ashamed to admit in light of the amazing blessings revealed in this journey. Yet I can’t bow low enough or cry deeply enough to convey the level of pain and fear that I feel. <br />
<br />
<em>What is wrong with me</em>? I have been wondering how the high and the low can coexist, and asking God to show me what it is about Him that I don’t trust. Trying so hard to “do it better”, to be more “holy”. Surely, those two things shouldn’t exist at the same time if I’m a “good Christian”, right? <br />
<br />
And as I seek and pray for wisdom and peace, I keep coming back to Jesus’ agony in The Garden. (<a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/2012/01/after-he-was-strengthened.html">See my last post.) </a><br />
<br />
There, in the Word and in The Garden, I find Truth.<br />
<br />
Jesus asked God for the cup of suffering to be taken from Him if it were God’s will. He was in so much anguish that His body released bloody sweat. I believe that He was afraid. He longed to please His Father, and He would have done (and did) everything God ever asked of Him. Yet His fear and His faith were both present in the Garden that night. <br />
<br />
There is a very powerful Truth present here. <strong>The very place from which a few weeks later He would ascend to Heaven was the place He now cried. And we are told in His Word that to this place, one day He will return</strong> <em>(Zechariah 14:9). </em><br />
<br />
And guess what else? God could have resurrected Him with a perfect body. But He didn’t. <strong>Jesus arose fully restored except for one thing… His scars. So everyone would know who He is. </strong><br />
<br />
So whether I “feel” it or not, I <u>choose</u> to praise Him, no matter what. <br />
<br />
<em><strong>Because I know that the very place that I find myself broken now is the very place from which one day soon, I too will arise. And my scars will ensure that everyone knows who He is. </strong></em><br />
<br />
So with gritted teeth, a lump in my throat, a tear-streaked face, and a heart full of hope…<br />
<br />
<strong>I praise. </strong><br />
<br />
Because He is faithful. Because He is grace. Because He is love. <br />
<br />
<strong>Because He is worthy.</strong><br />
<br />
Hallelujah. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
We aren’t specifically told that the angel was Gabriel, the same angel that told Mary she would give birth to the Son of God, but I like to think that it was. <br />
<br />
I imagine the passion of a father racing across town to be with his son in the emergency room. <br />
<br />
God, sending His angel Gabriel, to Gethsemane. <br />
<br />
<em>“Hey, Gabriel, 34 years ago I sent you to tell Mary that she, a virgin, would give birth to Jesus, the King of Kings. Now, I send you to earth again. Go to him, He's in the Garden. Hurry. My Son is crying.”</em><br />
<br />
I wonder what he said to Jesus. Well, we will never know for sure, because the Bible is silent about it. But we know whatever it was, it strengthened Him.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><em>Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him. On reaching the place, he said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.” He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, “<strong>Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done</strong>.” An angel from heaven appeared to him and <strong>strengthened</strong> him. And being in anguish, he <strong>prayed more earnestly</strong>, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. (Luke 22: 39-44, NIV) </em></blockquote>Wouldn’t you think that after Jesus was strengthened, He would have quickly dried his eyes, offered a brave smile, and passionately resumed His mission? But it didn’t happen that way. Before He rose from the anguish, He cried even harder. So hard, in fact, that His own sweat turned bloody. This happened <strong><u>after</u></strong> He was strengthened. <br />
<br />
<em>My Jesus, after receiving encouragement, prayed even more earnestly and cried harder</em>.<br />
<br />
Me too, Jesus. Me too. <br />
<br />
Perhaps we're meant to learn that <em>the <strong>richest hope</strong> permits the <strong>deepest suffering</strong></em>...<br />
<br />
Perhaps we’re meant to learn that <em>the deepest suffering releases the <strong>strongest power</strong></em>...<br />
<br />
Perhaps we’re meant to learn that <em>the strongest power produces the <strong>greatest joy</strong>.</em><br />
<br />
In the deepest part of my soul, I long <strong>more than anything</strong> to <u><strong>live</strong></u> in the fullness of His power alive in me, and to further His Kingdom. But for tonight, from my personal garden, with a strengthened heart, I cry out even harder to Jesus:<br />
<br />
<strong><em>My God, My Jesus, bind up my wounds, erase my fears, and deliver me from disease and pain. Breathe life into my dry and tired bones. But not before you teach me how to die, Lord. Not before you teach me how to die.<script type="text/javascript">
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<br />
Please take a few minutes to watch this. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_4jgUcxMezM"><object style="height: 390px; width: 640px;"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_4jgUcxMezM?version=3&feature=player_detailpage"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_4jgUcxMezM?version=3&feature=player_detailpage" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="360"></object></a> <br />
<br />
So here’s the thing. As the video explains, this isn’t about fear. It’s about awareness. It only takes a few minutes to have a skin exam at your dermatologist. Just a few minutes, once a year. And nearly all insurance plans cover the cost. And if yours doesn’t, then email me and I’ll help you find a doctor who will examine you. I’m serious about that. Because I care about you that much. <br />
<br />
Why? Because all from one tiny mole on my leg, my life changed. With one single word … "malignant". And I never, ever want you to go through this. <br />
<br />
If you think malignant melanoma is always some simple thing that can be sliced off in your dermatologist’s office, you’re wrong. I thought so, too … so I waited longer than I should have. <br />
<br />
This picture is the reality of late Stage 2 Melanoma.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X8NYOz0moNc/TvyKI90TwGI/AAAAAAAAAQw/XZe0rvW7i_Q/s1600/IMG02460-20111105-1927%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" rea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X8NYOz0moNc/TvyKI90TwGI/AAAAAAAAAQw/XZe0rvW7i_Q/s320/IMG02460-20111105-1927%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I lost a piece of my leg. And this 8 inch scar is only half of my story, because there is another one on my abdomen similar to this one from the surgery to remove lymph nodes.<br />
<br />
This is serious business. Don’t put it off like I did. Be aware, and be proactive. Call a dermatologist and make an appointment for a checkup now. Right now. <br />
<br />
Go. Please, please go.<br />
<br />
And after you make your appointment, come back here. Because I have some other things to share with you in the days to come. Those scars have become my unexpected pathways to the peace that passes all understanding. And I can't wait to tell you about it. <br />
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<br />
He is my Healer.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
In 2011, the word is "Dreams". I wrote about it <a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/2011/01/dreamy.html"><strong>here</strong></a>. On the other side of Breakthrough, I found my ability to dream again. Big, audacious dreams. <br />
<br />
Back in January of this year, God kept showing me lions. No, that’s not a typo. Lions. For a period of several weeks, I kept hearing Him say “lion” to me during my prayer time. During that season, I was wrestling before God because leadership opportunities were coming my way and I was running hard from them. I had been running from them for years, really. If I turned the TV on, there was usually some sort of a lion in the scene playing. I even remember passing a billboard with a huge picture of a lion. I mean, come on. He might as well just have plugged in a neon sign in front of my face. I read from Daniel and spent hours trying so hard to study the Word to find what He wanted me to know. But I didn’t get it. I just couldn’t understand what He was trying to tell me.<br />
<br />
We had a prophetic prayer ministry from the Wesley Foundation at UGA come to a youth retreat to do a prayer workshop, and a few adults were invited. It was my first experience being prayed for prophetically. I was a bit skeptical , so I just prayed that if this was something of God, that He would give the people praying over me something so specific that only He would know. I arrived to the prayer room, sat down, and immediately one of the young men in the group (whom I’d never met before in my life) leaned his body all the way across the table, got right in my face and said “God wants you to know that He didn’t create you to be a housecat. He created you to be a lion.” WOW. <br />
<br />
That was the night I stopped running. <br />
<br />
Once that happened, He opened the floodgates. I didn’t have to do a thing or make anything happen. He did, by the bucketfulls. <br />
<br />
Recruited by a major publisher to write a book. Invited to be a guest writer on some very well-known blogs and some ministry publications. Asked to speak at events. Leading a cluster group. Seeing incredible growth in counseling ministry.<br />
<br />
On October 17th, my plans were to leave work to come home to put the finishing touches on Chapter 4 of the book. Instead, <a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/2011/10/cancer-pizza-and-butt-crack.html"><strong>I was at my parents’ house grieving the news that I have cancer</strong></a><strong>.</strong><br />
<br />
<em>Not now, God. Not now. You just taught me to dream. How can you give me a book deal AND cancer? Don’t you remember – this is the year of dreams. You told me that. Did you forget?</em><br />
<br />
No, He didn't forget. <br />
<br />
In Breakthrough, I gave Him my past. <br />
<br />
<em><strong>I now realize that in Dreams, I must give Him my future. </strong></em><br />
<br />
Those dreams that I have? He gave them to me. They’re His, and they are still on fire and alive in me because He is alive in me. Earlier this year in Africa, He showed me that <a href="http://www.infieldsofgrace.com/2011/06/relentless.html"><strong>He will not relent until He has all of my heart</strong></a>. So I confess that I haven't surrendered my future to Him. The past, yes. The present, yes. But, my future -- I have surrendered only enough not to lose control. This journey is showing me that. <br />
<br />
So I hold my future out to Him, with outstretched arms and open hands to the One who does not relent in His love for me. <br />
<br />
It’s yours, Lord. It's yours. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYmRC4Kcmr4ttCP22K-d9AmYFStaLit427FT-8D8rV_4TpLpm6YbQjagNQ3Mxl8cEh_Upnqcp4A713NNMX7fDlpcXBu3Mfnsj20r5NO5R0v27dzGIk1jzR8xnN_l_L7BBIndYJgDq6fs69/s1600/40777_110707045649631_100001310070009_75322_2489801_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYmRC4Kcmr4ttCP22K-d9AmYFStaLit427FT-8D8rV_4TpLpm6YbQjagNQ3Mxl8cEh_Upnqcp4A713NNMX7fDlpcXBu3Mfnsj20r5NO5R0v27dzGIk1jzR8xnN_l_L7BBIndYJgDq6fs69/s320/40777_110707045649631_100001310070009_75322_2489801_n.jpg" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Dad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have vivid memories of my childhood summers. Constantly at our neighborhood swimming pool from its opening hour until booted out by the teenage-angst-filled lifeguards at closing time, my olive skin became very dark. I would be stopped regularly by the nosy inquirer who wanted to know if I was Brazilian or from some other far-off exotic place. But no, I was merely a little small town southern girl. As I think about that memory, I find it comical. I was not an exotic foreign heir to fortune or fame. I was a simple girl from a simple town with simple taste. And I was the luckiest girl alive (and still am), because the values instilled in me by my parents were based upon recognizing the extraordinary in the simplest pleasures in life. <br />
<br />
God has blessed me with the most incredible earthly father a girl could have. He oooohed and aaaahed when I twirled in my new dresses, he graciously pretended to eat elaborate imaginary platters of food I designed with little plastic “pegs”, and he never once forgot to leave me a beautiful heart full of chocolates on Valentine’s Day. Every Saturday morning, we had breakfast together at Kay’s Drugstore…it was our date every week. And every single day (no exaggeration), I would wake up to a handwritten note from Dad wishing me a good day, affirming me, and telling me that he loved me “very, very, very, very much”. <br />
<br />
My most treasured memories with Dad, though, are the ones framed around those Georgia midsummer days that were so humid you could barely breathe. He and I would sit out on our deck in the hot sun, and we would share an ice cold can of fruit cocktail. Two forks. We would sit and talk and laugh with the sweltering sun beating down on us as we took turns reaching into a fifty-cent can of ice cold fruit. At the end, one lone cherry always awaited…and Dad always gave it to me of course. We would stay and talk and talk and talk until the sun came down. Dad worked hard to support our family. But he and a silly can of fruit cocktail always had time for me. From my perspective, there was no finer cuisine. The experience was not framed around an iPhone or iPad or Playstation or designer jeans or fancy trips or cameras or computers. There was just me and my Daddy, and an aluminum can of processed fruit between us. I was content, satisfied, and loved. I can’t tell you what I got for Christmas or my birthday every year, but I can tell you about those times on the deck with my Dad like it was yesterday. That, I remember. And that, I treasure.<br />
<br />
If you look in my refrigerator today, you’ll notice a can of fruit cocktail on the top shelf. And if you know me well at all, then you know that there is always a can in my fridge. Always. Because I need to be reminded that there are opportunities every single day to find the extraordinary in the simplest of things.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Dad, for your love for me and our family. Happy Birthday!<br />
<br />
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<blockquote>I wonder who she was. What she dreamed about. Did she have a husband and children? How old was she? Was she happy? Was she struggling to understand her life’s purpose? What did she think about? Was she tired, drained? I wonder if her hands were blistered or crippled with arthritis. Did her neck and shoulders hurt at the end of her workday?<br />
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We know nothing about her; not even her name. Yet she holds a critical place in history. <i><b>Not one of prominence or notoriety, but instead behind the scenes of a story that has been passed down through the ages and will continue to be for all of eternity.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>For the rest, go to </strong><a href="http://www.incourage.me/2011/10/needle-and-thread-2.html"><strong>(in)courage</strong></a><strong>, where I'm a guest blogger today!</strong></div><br />
</blockquote>Melissa Driggershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054312853471237600noreply@blogger.com1