tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33571375652756728432024-02-20T13:48:47.586-08:00A Heart 4 HeavenDevotions of hope and encouragement for those who are longing for Home.Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.comBlogger209125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-58334095131221055702024-02-20T13:29:00.000-08:002024-02-20T13:48:15.132-08:00Wound and Bound by Worry<p> <span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaPwJPfKPaB_G3BcT8pwn9tbG9FFhRkxmvzpRAYGKcgRJIoELAYfF1SfJCoXPosBBbYKCaYppsrjVIsTRwYeVBBPnC84LcSmidK3_t4SdS_CBGF7-NffL_aO9YTkAsI7C73jT41I4IE-tp0t5zXBA3syGnur_fglpYwtJONZPeHjY82YtTxT3l9xcMyk/s1785/woodpecker.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1785" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaPwJPfKPaB_G3BcT8pwn9tbG9FFhRkxmvzpRAYGKcgRJIoELAYfF1SfJCoXPosBBbYKCaYppsrjVIsTRwYeVBBPnC84LcSmidK3_t4SdS_CBGF7-NffL_aO9YTkAsI7C73jT41I4IE-tp0t5zXBA3syGnur_fglpYwtJONZPeHjY82YtTxT3l9xcMyk/s320/woodpecker.jpg" width="194" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I looked
out the window to see two downy woodpeckers fussing with each other at the suet
feeder. </span></span>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> “That’s
odd,” I thought to myself. Usually a bird at <i>any</i> of the feeders gives
way to an incoming version with its wings spread intimidatingly and speed on
its side. But this one refused to give ground. It stayed and retaliated with
pecking motions of its own directed at the hungry visitor. Their back and forth
squabbling continued as I turned away to get on with my day.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I
thought it strange later in the day to see the same type of woodpecker again
standing ground over the suet cage. It fluttered about the feeder but never
flew away. Could it possibly be the same bird? And why was it being so
territorial?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">As
darkness settled over the backyard I again saw the bird clinging to the rope
just below the feeder… unnatural behavior for this time of day. I began to
wonder if it didn’t leave because it <i>couldn’t</i> leave… but I went on with
my evening plans. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The
night was cold, with temperatures at freezing or below. So when the sun rose
and I looked out on the deck, only to see the bird still clinging to the rope,
I knew something was wrong. My son came upstairs looking for coffee just then,
and I pointed to the woodpecker. “It’s been there since yesterday afternoon.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">He
stepped out to check things out, his height negating the need for the
stepladder I would’ve had to pull out to reach the high-hanging feeder. The
bird flapped its wings at his approach, fluttering in tight circles around the
rope but never flying away. Gently Kevin cupped his hands around the flapping
wings to still the frantic escape attempts and discovered the reason they weren’t
successful: a strand from the rope had knotted itself around one of the
woodpecker’s legs, keeping it on a short lease. Releasing the bird momentarily to
retrieve a pair of scissors, he was quickly back with them in hand. Gently
collaring the bird with one hand he deftly snipped the string holding the bird
bound with the other, then released it and watched as it quickly flew away to safety and
freedom. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">How like
that bird am I when I allow my worries over a situation to hold me captive! My thoughts
persistently flutter around and around the problem in increasing desperation,
but my mind won’t let me leave it alone – I’m seemingly tied tightly to the problem
at hand and cant escape on my own.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Thankfully
there is One Who comes to my rescue and does for me what I cannot not do on my
own. With His death on the cross Jesus overcame the power binding me and set me free from that which grabs
my attention and holds me fast.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">He cut
the string… He tore the veil… He conquered the forces trying to conquer me, and when I simply <i>remember</i> that fact, I am suddenly released to soar freely in the heavens with Him again.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i style="font-family: verdana;"><span>“Surely He will save you from the
fowler’s snare…” (Psalm 91:3 NIV)</span></i></span></p>
Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-3704430061281528612023-09-20T13:48:00.003-07:002023-09-20T13:50:19.779-07:00Tent Camping with Jesus<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzMG9q79vDBq1xky9Oq0quwQkl3E7MuZcPFJGF7nfmz3kEq-UVof-XjoqVGPYjt8C6-e9mdlPsCgazXC2LFPr7YNYtVOdhp1l2e0KvUBFtXbUo4s48jy7xNOStRwhp9CLHmgxgRPAOiIWL1UbJWwT7__xlzj4bqshicq001VRiBG8XQEXCarV8NlzFhk/s1080/tent%202.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzMG9q79vDBq1xky9Oq0quwQkl3E7MuZcPFJGF7nfmz3kEq-UVof-XjoqVGPYjt8C6-e9mdlPsCgazXC2LFPr7YNYtVOdhp1l2e0KvUBFtXbUo4s48jy7xNOStRwhp9CLHmgxgRPAOiIWL1UbJWwT7__xlzj4bqshicq001VRiBG8XQEXCarV8NlzFhk/w200-h150/tent%202.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Do not fear.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Oh, I know - those words are a whole lot easier to write than to live.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But God didn't say, "Do not fear when your problems are small." He didn't qualify His instructions; they are the same, no matter the size of the obstacle we're facing. Whether your difficulty is the size of a molehill, a mountain, or an exploding volcano, His directions are the same: Do. Not. Fear.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He didn't say it would be easy. Unfortunately, fear is usually my first response to a scary problem. My stomach tightens, my body shakes... I'm often literally worried sick. But I'm working on that, because I know that fear is a <i>choice</i>. Jesus wouldn't tell us <i>not </i>to do something if we didn't have a say in the matter.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So how do we make the <i>faith</i> choice and keep the terrifying thoughts away? Maybe it helps to remember the choice that <i>He </i>made... to live in our world <i>with</i> us... to "pitch his tent in our neighborhood" (Max Lucado), so to speak. It helps me to picture Jesus just next door... when in reality, He is even closer than that; He lives within our hearts. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Whatever issue you're dealing with then, He is facing the same... and <i>He's</i> not worried. He knows He can't be beat.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world." </i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>(John 16:33 NKJV)</i></span><br /></p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-9138714956007143192023-06-19T07:35:00.002-07:002023-06-19T07:35:21.528-07:00Esmee's Eyes<p></p><p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg80ObZBwUvFJ01SXcyg26kFA2XxtJeV2AnsLQ0I1TJDlCwvGUMQgqaLv-zJSuE427aCdtMc0Guvq2TLylywyDoCa-kCeDNP5Sf76wWe5AXMGs-S64NO8As1BLOHo2WPgHI9JXY_bnzTJGzPPYdwXXeVs2mkvDzmXQEh8GzoYwu2mJnfXAjeCUGH6-r7Mg/s1391/Esmee%20Eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1391" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg80ObZBwUvFJ01SXcyg26kFA2XxtJeV2AnsLQ0I1TJDlCwvGUMQgqaLv-zJSuE427aCdtMc0Guvq2TLylywyDoCa-kCeDNP5Sf76wWe5AXMGs-S64NO8As1BLOHo2WPgHI9JXY_bnzTJGzPPYdwXXeVs2mkvDzmXQEh8GzoYwu2mJnfXAjeCUGH6-r7Mg/s320/Esmee%20Eyes.jpg" width="248" /></a></div>Her eyes are always on me. <i> </i><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>Seriously</i>… her eyes are
ALWAYS on me!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Esmee is my little white dog, a four-year-old bichon frise puppy
mill rescue I came home with one Saturday morning shortly after my aged golden
retriever had died. As I picked her out of her crate and held her at the
adoption event, trying to determine if we would be a good fit, she just huddled
in my arms, unresponsive… perhaps wondering what life held for her next. She was
just so scared, the foster mom asserted, promising me that in no time she
would be my new best friend. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had my doubts. Because she was a purebred, the adoption
fee was high. And she was a little rough looking, any grooming having been postponed
until after the more immediate need of having her spayed. Her white fur was
shaggy and dirty, and there were dark tear stains underneath her eyes. But my
cat and I needed a new friend to fill the hole in our hearts and our home, and
since Esmee needed the latter, I decided to give her a go. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I couldn’t be more glad. Now two months since that morning,
my little white buddy has blossomed. She greets me every morning standing on
her hind feet in her crate, then bouncing around my legs before we head outside
and she races to find a spot to do her business. For the rest of the day until
she returns to her crate at night, she is by my side or watching me from the
couch, the rug at my feet, or any spot in which she settles that gives her a
clear view of me. She still has moments of panic when something startles her or
a new situation comes into her world, but they are occurring less and less as
she learns that I am her place of safety. And so every waking moment of her
day, she is looking my way .She never lets me out of her sight.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What a lesson there is in that for me! I, too, am a “rescue”,
you see… a life that was likewise a bit of a mess with no clear direction…
until the morning my boyfriend introduced me to a Man Who was willing to pay
the price of His life for mine… to take me as His own, love me, care for me,
and eventually take me Home. I gradually came to trust that all my needs would
be met in Him, as long as I kept Him cotinually in my sight.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And so now I strive to have “Esmee Eyes”… constantly following
His movements in my life, dogging His footsteps, and rejoicing in every moment
we spend together. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You can change her name if you like – she doesn’t recognize
it,” said the lady from the adoption agency. But when I found out that it means
“esteemed” or “beloved”, I knew I wouldn’t. Daily she is coming to recognize
that she is exactly that… and teaching me new ways to see that I am, too. </p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>“Let us keep our
eyes fixed on Jesus, on whom our faith depends from beginning to end…”</i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>(Hebrews 12:1-2
GNT)</i></p> <br /><p></p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-64598254163429427982023-05-29T04:42:00.001-07:002023-05-29T04:46:10.679-07:00Focused on Freedom<p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 3px;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8VGCblCrXM68TeLFpoy17J1VjDL7AI0GTNbEHCkXtD-r0cGa5Tjyp-Kv6Me8vUP2-HMxD6Wah9EmKucbcN_JXyo3lb0jcOBxEtaQlv7vRiPEx3bA6NSsmrWFQcZj4oPySfJgwL6X5eSiUPBjGiek5ZKDgo4XSCAqIQhVZbe2WoBd1q2_4ZVfYv21/s4032/04C91AAE-B81F-4A0D-938F-73E1207DE13C.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8VGCblCrXM68TeLFpoy17J1VjDL7AI0GTNbEHCkXtD-r0cGa5Tjyp-Kv6Me8vUP2-HMxD6Wah9EmKucbcN_JXyo3lb0jcOBxEtaQlv7vRiPEx3bA6NSsmrWFQcZj4oPySfJgwL6X5eSiUPBjGiek5ZKDgo4XSCAqIQhVZbe2WoBd1q2_4ZVfYv21/w150-h200/04C91AAE-B81F-4A0D-938F-73E1207DE13C.jpeg" width="150" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Ceremony complete, caps flung, grads hugged, photos taken… it was time to find the car and head to celebratory ice cream with the family back home…. only to find that we couldn’t get there! The bar across the parking garage exit was down and wouldn’t go up! No attendant in the booth at the gate, <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>no answer on the phone when the number for assistance was called… no choice but to wait. Never our strong suit, drivers in the back of the line started honking their horns in frustration, having no idea what was causing the delay. We all just wanted to be on our way. </span><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: arial;">Finally we saw a man striding purposefully to the front of the garage… and then thankfully the cars started to move. As we got closer we could see that he was simply standing there, holding the gate up himself and letting all the cars pass through! Surely he wanted to get out as badly as the rest and had family celebrations to get to, too. But he put his plans on hold so the rest of us could get on with ours. </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Tell him thanks,” came the whisper from the passenger seat to our driver as we got closer… but his eyes were on the taillights of the car ahead, frustrated like the rest of us and focused on freedom. Next came a nudge in the ribs, and an urgent, “Tell him thanks!!” …but we followed the guy in line ahead of us and just zoomed out past the hero into the night. </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: arial;">“You should have told him thank you!” she said one more time as we made our way to the family waiting and now calling, wondering where we were. None of us took the time. </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: arial;">And so that is what this day is about. Today we uniformly TAKE the time to thank those who put uniforms on and their own plans on hold… who didn’t just sacrifice their own family time but their very lives…so that we can continue to enjoy ours in the freedom they provided.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: arial;">Let’s all be the one who remembers to say thanks. </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: arial;">“<i>Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”</i></span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>(John 15:13 KJV)</i></span></span></p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-57879760720364074832023-05-15T06:07:00.005-07:002023-05-15T06:09:29.216-07:00Get a Grip... on Your Phone AND Your Faith!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ctTaXrSmr1IARSocOjgEVdfVzVA7L6r9WIBvZW7bQ3laxjVbZ24SOjRxVsYbWBsaUfNM1lni1cG5gx0A3ViSkeuw3SCs3ftNZdLVyWpHuprmnfjCgl7S0mnZ7qRt3Hx_nm4JelBSAemnHU6DT_TKv9DUATi667m9Li0cAuybe5MgJeJVcILkoc_G/s520/waldo.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="441" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ctTaXrSmr1IARSocOjgEVdfVzVA7L6r9WIBvZW7bQ3laxjVbZ24SOjRxVsYbWBsaUfNM1lni1cG5gx0A3ViSkeuw3SCs3ftNZdLVyWpHuprmnfjCgl7S0mnZ7qRt3Hx_nm4JelBSAemnHU6DT_TKv9DUATi667m9Li0cAuybe5MgJeJVcILkoc_G/s320/waldo.jpg" width="271" /></a></div>When your phone is the only such device in the house, it
matters where you place it. Setting it down carelessly can lead to trouble, as
there is no one else about the place to call your number and let the ring or vibration
buzz alert you to its location. All you have to assist you are your own two
eyes… and sometimes finding a phone in the mass of objects in your house can be
as difficult as spotting Waldo’s red-and-white striped likeness on a page of
the famous children’s puzzle books. Retracing your steps and rethinking where
you were headed last become the only recourses available to you, and when they
are not enough, you are in trouble indeed.
<p class="MsoNormal">Nothing induces panic in my chest like the thought of losing
my phone, as it is simply my lifeline to the outside world. All my contacts, my
sources of help… in fact, all the numbers and letters that in combination unlock
the details of my life are contained inside of that flat, rectangular wonder. No
wonder I freak out when it can’t be found! I don’t know how I’d function
without it anymore!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes the same happens on a spiritual level. We set our Source
of help and hope carelessly aside as we go about our days… and then when we
suddenly need it, it’s nowhere to be found. And the consequences of <i>that</i>
loss are so much harder to recover from than merely purchasing a replacement item
at a local electronics store, however inconvenient the restoration process may
be. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A life without hope is miserable indeed. Trying to live without
something to look forward to, a purpose to pursue, a future event to strive for
is like setting a plant in a dark place where it can’t receive the sunlight and
water it needs to live, let alone thrive. It eventually leads to the plant’s death.
Sadly, a loss of hope can lead to an untimely end to a human life in the same
way. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There’s a difference, however. While I’m keenly aware that I
live alone, and if I lose my phone, finding it is up to me, the truth of the
matter is that we are never <i>truly </i>alone; God is always present, whether
we acknowledge His existence or not. He is like the air we breathe, invisible
yet indispensable. And just the mere mention of His Name, even an inaudible cry
from the heart, summons His ability and resources to whatever need is prompting
the call. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remind myself often when looking for something that
nothing is ever truly lost; it is only temporarily misplaced. The same is true
with my relationship with God. Even if I’ve set it aside somewhere along my
life’s journey, my faith is voice activated; I call and God answers. Always! It’s
a promise in the Word. And it works. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Of course, the best course of action is not to lose it in
the first place. The older I get the more I realize that I have to live my life
consciously rather than on auto-pilot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have to think about what I’m doing… where I place things, what I’m looking for,
what I need to do next. And the same is true of my spiritual life. I have to
stay conscious of God and His Presence within me, His ways, His words, His
directions. And when I do that, I never lose track of that which I hold most
dear… my relationship with Him. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps author Ann Voskamp has said it best: “Maybe the most
important question to ask your soul every day is simply <i>where will you set
your hope today so you don’t lose it?</i>” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Here’s your answer: <i>“So now wrap your heart tightly around
the hope that lives within us, knowing that God always keeps His promises!”
(Hebrews 10:23 TPT)</i></p>
<p></p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-75350188040293957792023-02-17T06:16:00.007-08:002023-02-17T06:17:52.028-08:00It's a Switchback, Not a Setback<p></p><p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPJiskmJ2ALH6SOpTa7GLfPXTHG8ZVRbdmR_EkraReBVsjqd_XKmG0q5bRFEfSuyBq5VpNBREIUmA2Hs0PQ2JlYFpTJlaOOhbyi8tW5Xm0KqNzc104izEcZ82KGsUOwikf6dutm9xwH6POxUWhHnowSYF64b3porECmgJ49y8Ivy_a4C7ieFbn6Sm/s1313/lose%20heart.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1313" data-original-width="991" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPJiskmJ2ALH6SOpTa7GLfPXTHG8ZVRbdmR_EkraReBVsjqd_XKmG0q5bRFEfSuyBq5VpNBREIUmA2Hs0PQ2JlYFpTJlaOOhbyi8tW5Xm0KqNzc104izEcZ82KGsUOwikf6dutm9xwH6POxUWhHnowSYF64b3porECmgJ49y8Ivy_a4C7ieFbn6Sm/s320/lose%20heart.jpg" width="242" /></a></div><br />She’d been battling late-stage breast cancer for a couple of
years when my friend was finally told that there was just one little spot left
on her lung and that things were looking good. She went off with friends on a
jaunt to the Bahamas, only to come home and hear that the latest scan showed
the one spot was growing and there was now cancer in new areas of her body. She
was forced to take more time off work to battle this new wave of the disease,
and I can only assume that her usually upbeat attitude was now plummeting
towards depression and discouragement. <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps you’ve likewise hit a detour on your journey to
total healing and restoration in some area of your life, and you need to read
these three words: <b>Don’t lose heart</b>.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I came across a quote that stuck with me this morning: </p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>“Trust in the slow
work of God.”</i> (-Teilhard de Chardin)</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Waiting is not our strong suit, and yet we are forced to do
it again and again. I’m reminded that in my struggle with dieting I have to <i>wait
</i>to see weight loss… and as a writer, I have to <i>wait</i> for words to
come. As a mother, I’ve had to <i>wait</i> for turnaround in the heart of an
angry son. Come to think of it, I had to <i>wait</i> (four years!) for my
husband to consider <i>producing</i> those sons! We have to <i>wait</i> for
vacations to get here, <i>wait</i> for that check in the mail, <i>wait</i> for
food to cook… and in the dark moments of our personal struggles, we have to <i>wait</i>
for the Son to rise and bring the Light we’ve been longing for. Hope rises with
the dawn, but sometimes the night seems very, very long.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I graduated from college with a degree in forestry and
worked for a private timber company in the late 1970’s and early 80’s. I
remember that in my days as a field forester in the woods I was often
overwhelmed by the physical challenges of the job. I worked in steep and hilly
terrain, and many were the times I stood in a streambed and looked up at a
landing at the top of the hill that I had to climb and thought, “There is just
no way.” Looking up, all I could see was how steep the ground was, the rocky
outcroppings in the way, and the slippery nature of the rocky soil to be
traversed. The only way I could make it was to go <i>sideways</i> up the hill
in a series of switchbacks, first to the right, then to the left… back and
forth till I reached the top. It seemed to take forever, but I always eventually
got to the top. And so will you.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The dictionary app on my phone defines switchbacks as a
zigzag track arrangement for climbing a steep grade… a “roller coaster” (ain’t <i>that</i>
the truth?!)… and as a highway, as in a mountainous area, having many hairpin
curves. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Maybe you feel like you’ve been thrown a curve with the
latest news from your doctor, therapist or financial advisor. But perhaps
there’s another way to look at it. You’re still on your way up, you’re just
making a turn and heading in the opposite direction for a bit till you take the
next turn… and then the next… back and forth until you reach the top.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You’ll get there. Keep climbing, </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>“Therefore we do
not lose heart...” (2 Corinthians 4:16 NIV)</i></p> <br /><p></p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-34683001116193949432023-02-07T09:13:00.003-08:002023-02-07T09:13:54.828-08:00The Evil Intent of Envy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfa6DgqFdrGxKFtxwKZvnfvjxRJyAEqd39GdvzZuom63NJ2E1FtpO4yqIWpD0aKYgW9dm0g4PN68CFCvH4vl9-bPbH1zr53mNvFdQbarXAt0kmSypoRbzrDGJOe4RktKdeA_rTZ8ssy-fqH-LVUSmSMjDk5zt4JVe7XJ9mHjMXUhoeI3emK9UaddX/s1419/envy%20knit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1419" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfa6DgqFdrGxKFtxwKZvnfvjxRJyAEqd39GdvzZuom63NJ2E1FtpO4yqIWpD0aKYgW9dm0g4PN68CFCvH4vl9-bPbH1zr53mNvFdQbarXAt0kmSypoRbzrDGJOe4RktKdeA_rTZ8ssy-fqH-LVUSmSMjDk5zt4JVe7XJ9mHjMXUhoeI3emK9UaddX/s320/envy%20knit.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><br /><p>I entered the little shop, welcomed by the bells that banged
on the door even before the cheery greetings of the people inside reached my
ears. It was the first meeting of a new knitting group that was to come
together weekly for a couple of hours to knit winter wear for homeless kids.
Eager to join in a worthy cause as well as enjoy the company of people with a
similar passion, I was excited to begin.
</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The first step was to select a pattern from the pile of
samples on the table and then pick a yarn to knit with. And that’s where the
trouble began.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I don’t make decisions easily. Ask my kids, and they will
laugh and say, I don’t make decisions, <i>period</i>. I leave that task to an
app on my phone, the Random Number Generator. I list the options to be decided
between alphabetically in my mind, and then make the selection based on which
numbered item on the list was the app’s choice. My rule is that if I ask the
app to make the decision for me, then there is no second guessing the outcome.
the decision is final.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The rule doesn’t say anything about second <i>wishing, </i>however.
I do that all the time. Maybe even <i>every</i> time.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You see, I never travel anywhere alone. Everywhere I go, an
uninvited guest accompanies me. His name is Envy, and for the most part, he is
a silent companion. His eyes are his most distinguishing feature, not for their
beauty but rather for their roving. They are never focused on what’s in front
of me, but instead on that which is in front of my neighbor, whether it be at a
table in a restaurant, in the bag of a friend on a shopping excursion, or in
the hands of the knitter beside me. He never speaks until I have committed to a
choice. And then he simply points at that which is in front of another, nudges
me, and whispers, “Don’t you wish you had picked <i>that</i>?” Smiling, his
duty now done, he leaves me alone and now dissatisfied, discontent having
eroded my earlier joy. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Such was the situation I found myself in yesterday.
Amazingly I had been able to pick a pattern from the stack in front of me. I
chose a pair of fingerless mitts with an interesting stitch pattern worked into
the body of the work. I would need to pick a solid color of yarn so the design
would be visible in the knitted garment, and picked a bright shade of teal, one
of my favorites. I eagerly bought a new circular needle I’d been advised to try
and began casting on the required number of stitches, full of happy
expectation. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Until the nudge that caused me to look at the two ladies seated
next to me… and then I gasped in dismay. They had each chosen a simple ribbed
hat pattern and were working with variegated yarns of the most beautiful
rainbow colors. I felt the nudge of Envy and heard his whisper in my ear, Why
hadn’t I chosen to do <i>that</i>?! Suddenly the joy in my current project
vanished, and all I could think of was hurrying up and finishing it so I could work
on what they were doing instead. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thankfully I was able to eventually shake it off, and I did
enjoy a couple of hours knitting new friendships with my heart rather than what
I held in my hands, the form, fashion and color of which I eventually realized mattered
not at all. The end result of the day was satisfaction with having spent those
hours well, regardless of what project I would eventually finish and dump into
the donation bin at the end of our time together.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My eyes were suddenly open to the purpose behind Envy’s,
which is to distract me from what’s really important in whatever activity I’m
engaged in by trying to focus my attention on insignificant details associated
with the event. The realization that that what I’m doing with my heart is ever
so much more important than what I’m doing with my hands at any given time
sandbags my joy against the flood of discontent that Envy hopes to send my way.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i> "Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have..."</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>(Hebrews 13:5 NKJV)</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></p>
<p></p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-2262419236251991282023-01-28T05:57:00.001-08:002023-01-28T06:01:01.884-08:00The Ticktock of the Retirement Clock<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsIgRmvlk7ifRdRjBweHEWUYQaBNKBKlQeKhWz1vG1u4ULitsK1gy6A9jH5lPWzoiQFEpUemyjdkiR53Drd86wgCXF810ojdHNPW-gECV2qfHbvzszHCswTuDPDy1yDl1kuxbmVXuxp5fHsxOcRRDYA3je1mjk9BMP5TCuLrxMlaS11Sf36RFkZKHa/s612/metronome.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="612" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsIgRmvlk7ifRdRjBweHEWUYQaBNKBKlQeKhWz1vG1u4ULitsK1gy6A9jH5lPWzoiQFEpUemyjdkiR53Drd86wgCXF810ojdHNPW-gECV2qfHbvzszHCswTuDPDy1yDl1kuxbmVXuxp5fHsxOcRRDYA3je1mjk9BMP5TCuLrxMlaS11Sf36RFkZKHa/w200-h141/metronome.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: small;">The clock is
still ticking. </span><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">I didn’t
expect that. I was pretty sure that when I clocked out for the last time on my last day of work that my fight for time was over. Days stretched out endlessly before
me, free of schedules, obligations, and claims upon the twenty-four hours I was granted
each day. And truly I rejoiced in that, especially in the first weeks after the
holiday celebrations were over and it was time to start a new year, a new kind
of life… a new way of living. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">I had been
preparing for these moments from the start of the previous year. Having finally
made the decision to retire, I wanted to make sure that I didn’t waste the
freedom I would so soon attain by letting the days go by unscheduled. I knew
from experience that free time without pre-planning can fly by in no time and
turn into <i>lost</i> time …leaving only feelings of regret instead of joy or
accomplishment. So to avert that tragedy, I started making a list of ways to
occupy my time, once I had time to spare. And I found that the more I pondered
the subject, the more projects I came up with. Not by accident, I’m sure,
people came alongside me occasionally who would unknowingly feed my enthusiasm
for an idea or steer me in a direction I’m sure God intended for me to head. As
the list lengthened, so did my excitement for the ideas it contained. Some were
simple, even silly suggestions that just struck my fancy, while others had a more
meaningful purpose behind them, meant to benefit me or others in a particular way.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Three weeks
have now passed, and I’m feeling a little retrospective. It’s early times yet,
but I’m proud of having jumped in and pushed myself to start on the first<span> </span>of the goals that I wanted to focus on in the
first month of the year. It is a constant battle, I’m beginning to realize, to
keep moving forward, aware as I am that there are forces working against me,
much as gravity slows and eventually stops a rolling stone. I want to keep the
momentum going.<span> </span>So I’m praying that the
wind of the Spirit blows continuously to fill my sails and propel me forward.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">I did think
that once free of the forty-hour work week, I’d have plenty of time for
whatever took my fancy. And yet, surprisingly, I’m still feeling time pressure.
The time clock is no longer my master, but Father Time is still controlling my
life. The scheduling of the hours allotted to me is now mine to choose, but the
length of time I have in which to accomplish it all has a finite end. And I
feel a bit like I’m racing the clock to fit all that I want to do in the time
that I have left. The urgency I feel thus tends to rob each day and its
activities of their joy, which was the pursuit of the projects in the first
place. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">One of the
items on my list was to get back to playing the piano for pleasure. Anxious to
keep my mind busy with learning new things, I ordered a book of sheet music for
simple melodies written by a pianist I discovered online. I vowed to learn new
selections from the book on a regular basis, even as I played again pieces I’d
learned and loved in my younger years. Anxious to get the timing right while
practicing, I downloaded a metronome app to my phone to issue a steady beat
that I would play along to. But because I couldn’t figure out how to use the
app properly, the beat never changed, no matter how I tried to change the speed
in the settings. All that it did was set the dogs in the house to barking
furiously, and if that wasn’t enough, the steady tick-tick-tick soon started to
drive me a little crazy, as well. Scrambling to fit all the notes between the
ticks of each measure<span> </span>turned my practice
period into a chore rather than a joy. The beauty of the song was lost in the
process of trying to play it too perfectly. Plus, the app was expensive in terms
of cell phone battery life. I was soon done with it and deleted it off my
phone.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">And so today
I’m doing the same with the way I’ve been hitting my lists… deleting the need
to cram everything in the measure of days I have left before I reach the end of
my song. I’m in danger of losing the beautiful melody retirement was supposed
to be by controlling it too rigidly. Instead, I plan to take life just one
measure at a time, seek the Lord’s direction for it, and simply play it well,
to the best of my ability, rejoicing in the music that comes out of each day.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span> </span>“Lord, make me to know my end, and what is the
measure of my days…”</span></i> (<i><span style="line-height: 107%;">Psalm 39:4 KJV)</span></i></span></p>
<p></p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-10706528703229738342023-01-21T05:37:00.000-08:002023-01-21T05:38:53.571-08:00Delighting in a Day-dream<p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhuhElxVedL62zTKxBF4eRcYSRRysZalHuE_Ua4C1r9TA2eVq_Pez4qbyJhh21t4hJJHzVNulHb2KbP45CdGHoAXbDS7Kv-t0MkiGVd0No4f2IPlY8xLifIgVGogamdL1t6ooOYjTcOhNXPugFcS-SO8bQ3i43r6ajzLH0FBhQcamqeXF5VJD4Otn/s1080/100%20movies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="810" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhuhElxVedL62zTKxBF4eRcYSRRysZalHuE_Ua4C1r9TA2eVq_Pez4qbyJhh21t4hJJHzVNulHb2KbP45CdGHoAXbDS7Kv-t0MkiGVd0No4f2IPlY8xLifIgVGogamdL1t6ooOYjTcOhNXPugFcS-SO8bQ3i43r6ajzLH0FBhQcamqeXF5VJD4Otn/s320/100%20movies.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />One
hundred movies in a year, selected off a scratch-off poster that now
hangs on my bedroom wall – another retirement activity, selected
off the list of things to keep me occupied and engaged rather than
bored and idle in my newly gained freedom from schedules and
obligations. Eagerly I'd begun, and thus I soon found myself settled
in and ready to watch Movie #2 of the year: <i>The Sixth
Sense</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. Never a fan of the
horror/thriller genre, it was an odd choice for me, but it was a
movie I'd have to watch sometime if I were to accomplish my goal. And
so it began...</span><p></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Surprisingly, I
loved the movie. Oh, I jumped and gasped my way through many scenes,
but I was mostly taken by the incredible acting of the young star, a
boy of just 11 years old. One frequently-quoted line from the film
stayed with me, as apparently it has with others...</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<span style="font-style: normal;">I
see dead people.” </span>
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Surprised that I
was still thinking of those words a few days later, I wondered why.
It was then I realized that it's because I have several friends who
do the same... and perhaps I am a little jealous that I don't.
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Repeatedly on
Facebook I scroll across posts detailing people's nocturnal visits
with departed loved ones in their dreams. The clarity with which they
describe those encounters, the laughter they enjoyed, and the peace
and happiness they experience upon awakening inspires a little envy
in the heart of this one whose nighttime slumber is devoid of any
such interactions that I l can later remember and recount.
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I, too, have
departed loved ones I would so love to see and spend time with
again. I wonder if perhaps the issue is that I sleep too deeply,
seemingly never getting enough hours of the same, to enter and play
in the realms where dreams abound.
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Surprisingly,
science seems to support that thought. A study suggests that “while
we dream all throughout the night, it's easier for us to remember
dreams that occurred during the REM stage of sleep. And people may
miss out on REM sleep by cutting sleep short.” However in the few
weeks since I left the working world, the hours I devote to sleep
have become luxuriously lengthy. Still no change in the dream
pattern; maybe I just need to give it more time.</p><p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p><p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">The dream study
went on to say that <i>day</i>-dreaming is much like the nighttime
version of the same in terms of
activity in the brain. Goodness knows, I'm good at <i>that</i>...
maybe I'm “dreaming” more than I realize. And suddenly an
instance occurred that seemed to prove the point.</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I was sitting in
church last Sunday morning, and something suddenly triggered thoughts
of my late husband. I don't know exactly what it was... perhaps the
song selection, one we both liked, that took me back to the times we
used to worship together in the years before cancer stole so much.
Gone three years now, my memories of Jim have been stuck in the last
three months of his life when life itself suddenly became so
difficult... adjusting to the changes we had to make because of his
illness, to simply making it through each day and long night just to
get to the next one and do the same. The <i>struggling</i> version of
my husband was the only one I seemed able to pull up in my memories
with any regularity, perhaps because that was the last one I saw.
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Until that morning.
Suddenly the laughing, smiling, joke-telling version of the man I
loved was back. For just a few moments I was able to see him again as
he once was... and it was <i>wonderful</i>. Perhaps the best part of
the episode is that it has remained with me. The healthy version of
my husband is now the last one I've seen... and I seem at last to be
able to hold on to that vision. How incredible that in just a few
moments one can receive such a powerful gift!</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Apparently I was
wrong in my earlier assumption. I <i>do </i>see dead people... or
maybe just the one I needed to the most... and I am ever so grateful.</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>And when that which
is mortal puts on immortality, and what now decays is exchanged for
what will never decay, then the Scripture will be fulfilled that
says: Death is swallowed up by a triumphant victory! So death, tell
me, where is your victory? Tell me death, where is your sting?”</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>(1 Corinthians 15:54-55
TPT)</i></p>
Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-75414394658423992522022-02-04T04:36:00.012-08:002022-02-04T04:39:45.352-08:00Gold Medal Lifestyle<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtz6beWwzaUxCV432p9JwEY8HjEMWxm3PLAv8UqoAbDpYRk-Gh0oCdH_WJc9ah8lbObP98QFeKaC_gwbRFbt6ER2qT3YLAgG8foN0lqbjjzZ1JuqX54D0_e7souJ-qKxmWB3BXT-Db6lA/s1600-h/gold+medal.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448876331038823986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtz6beWwzaUxCV432p9JwEY8HjEMWxm3PLAv8UqoAbDpYRk-Gh0oCdH_WJc9ah8lbObP98QFeKaC_gwbRFbt6ER2qT3YLAgG8foN0lqbjjzZ1JuqX54D0_e7souJ-qKxmWB3BXT-Db6lA/s200/gold+medal.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 199px;" /></a>
The XXI Winter Olympic Games held many of us as spellbound as this just-ended February kept us snowbound indoors, watching the sports coverage on our TVs. Truly the American athletes performed magnificently, launching the United States to the top of the leader board in the medal count, standing on various levels of the medal podiums again and again. It became our habit to check the paper or the internet first thing each day to see where we stood in the medal race and if we'd added to our count in any of the events of the previous day. </p><p>The medal ceremonies themselves were likewise a favorite part of the television coverage. No matter what country stood on the top spot, we were drawn to our sets to look into the gold medal athlete's eyes as each watched their flag being raised and heard their nation's anthem played on their behalf. We wondered what this moment could possibly feel like, the culmination of years and years of effort, hard work and training. <br /></p><p>We know, of course, that there's so much more to the Olympics than just the medals. Despite the "<span style="font-weight: bold;">U-S-A! U-S-A!</span>" chant that pounds incessantly in the back of our brains, we hear the old adage <span style="font-style: italic;">it's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game</span> sounding in our hearts. Those words of wisdom tend to get lost, however, in the pressure to perform for our national pride and in the lure of monetary compensation from commercial endorsements that are at stake. </p><p>But every now and then an athlete comes along who gets our thinking back on track. Such was surely the case when Johannie Rochette skated her short program in the ladies figure skating competition just two days after her mother's sudden death. Surely at that moment there was nothing she felt less like doing than putting on her costume, lacing up her skates and pasting a smile on her pretty face for a watching world. The Olympics at that point mattered far less to her than mourning the loss of this woman who had so selflessly loved her, consistently cheered for her and faithfully financed her efforts through the years to make this very moment possible. And yet she did it simply because she knew her mother would be watching from somewhere up above, <span style="font-style: italic;">expecting</span> her to take to the Olympic ice and skate the performance of her life...to simply give it her all despite the circumstances surrounding her...to give the world a glimpse of the champion she knew her to be on the inside. </p><p>We likewise have a Loved One in Heaven who sacrificed everything that we might also have a shot at glory...<span style="font-style: italic;">eternal</span> glory. He watches us now as we head to jobs instead of a skating rink, deal with relationships in our homes and offices instead of in an Olympic Village, and are guided by the advice of our counselors, pastors and parents instead of that of coaches and trainers. And every day we face the choice of taking to our own piece of ice, wherever it may be, and giving the task at hand our all, regardless of the possible outcome or the situations opposing us, offering the world a glimpse of the overcomers God has called us to be. </p><p> Johannie Rochette did just that the night of her short program, bravely stepping out onto the ice and skating the performance of her life, only breaking down at the end when she was through. And although the competition was only halfway completed, the television coverage ended that night with yet another award ceremony, one in which no medals were given, but instead praise, cheers and tears, as the world cried along with her. </p><p> While two days later Johannie finished the competition in third place with a bronze medal hung around her neck, clearly no athlete performed with more heart, even when her own was breaking. May her performance inspire us to pursue our passions with similar Olympian effort, knowing that whatever the outcome of our endeavors or any accolades we may receive, we likewise performed with a heart of gold.
</p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might..." </span> <span style="font-style: italic;">
(Ecclesiastes 9:10 NIV)</span>
</div>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-31753432019772026032021-11-04T14:21:00.003-07:002021-11-04T14:26:12.160-07:00Have a Purr-fectly Happy Thanksgiving This Year<p>
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChL4vpNLNcg2rTmbUg-P1HIsV9CguqT1GtTiWxAxbDaQPJRnS5f7V0kGWn0EuLs2R8IMI_rtGFeOpAFOqbCSOUHa4DodzjmOTykSWDHFqCTN4x2UjjjbwqnSw7HZi6VleLuiHFWYsU5s/s1440/purr.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChL4vpNLNcg2rTmbUg-P1HIsV9CguqT1GtTiWxAxbDaQPJRnS5f7V0kGWn0EuLs2R8IMI_rtGFeOpAFOqbCSOUHa4DodzjmOTykSWDHFqCTN4x2UjjjbwqnSw7HZi6VleLuiHFWYsU5s/s320/purr.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />Oh, how I love to hear my cats purr.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A purr is a spontaneous gift, an
expression of contentment that comes rumbling out of their inner
being. By nature a voluntary offering, it is all the more precious
<i>because</i> it is not produced on demand. Freely given, it is
freely received by this one who simply rejoices that her cats are
happy in that moment and are simply letting her know.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Have you ever wondered if God loves the
same, and how His ears must tickle at an unsolicited expression of
happiness and gratitude? How long has it been since God heard you
purr?
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Perhaps your communication with Him of
late has been more along the lines of loud meows when you're hungry
or in need of something, a cry to get his attention, perhaps, or a
howl of complaint about some situation that is not to your liking.
Truly God hears and responds to these as He promised to do when He
took you in as His child.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When God meets any need in our lives we
are rightly trained to say thanks. We regularly set aside certain
hours of the day or week to offer the same individually or
corporately with our local body of believers. Thanking God can be a
pre-planned and scheduled event in our lives.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But what about those times when it's
not? What about the times when you suddenly realize how incredibly
happy you are in a particular moment... perhaps even for no specific
reason... and you simply <i>stop</i> at that juncture, lift your eyes
or your hands but <i>always</i> your heart... to share the joy in
that instant with Him? That's a purr... and it delights God's heart
like no other.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My morning meeting with God is made all
the sweeter when I suddenly notice the black cat spreadeagled across
my open journals, purring her happiness at simply spending that
morning time with me as I slowly sip my first cup of coffee of the
day. It never fails to bring a smile to my face and move my hand to
stroke her gently on her head a couple of times, the only physical
contact she ever allows. (Sometimes we, too, are guilty of
restricting the amount of love we will receive from above – but
that's a story for a different time.)</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My feline youngster on the other hand,
an eight-month old grey tabby, purrs loudly as he kneads his paws
into a squishy blanket, jumps on my lap for a quick visit, or cuddles
under my neck while I'm lying in bed. He loves to be stroked in
return, repeatedly, endlessly...until my hand stills in that action
as we fall asleep together in blissful peace.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">This month of Thanksgiving we are all
rightly focused on gratitude. But what if we became more catlike in
our responses to God in the next three weeks, and express our thanks
in unsolicited, unexpected, and maybe even unspoken ways... a sudden
rumbling in our spirits that He can't help but hear and delight in...
and perhaps respond to in unexpected ways Himself.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Let God hear you purr.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>Give thanks to the
Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever.” </i>
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>(Psalm 107:1 NIV)</i></p>
<p> </p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-73170169383266864182021-05-31T05:37:00.001-07:002021-05-31T05:41:42.394-07:00Needing a Holy Spirit Hearing Aid<p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAf4o3OqvhATFlvpN5xngLphE7TwcCGVs6EG8cBnDrZqK2HAsx7ViKwoSBUSDaU_Qs7fNFfZwn7q4cT5BUYo_kiSs-6QmELIzAhyphenhyphenM93HAmj-RsabCbi9ZcGCMOkhnmI3mf4zae56iDeTQ/s852/journal.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="852" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAf4o3OqvhATFlvpN5xngLphE7TwcCGVs6EG8cBnDrZqK2HAsx7ViKwoSBUSDaU_Qs7fNFfZwn7q4cT5BUYo_kiSs-6QmELIzAhyphenhyphenM93HAmj-RsabCbi9ZcGCMOkhnmI3mf4zae56iDeTQ/w200-h200/journal.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />After arriving home from work in the
wee hours of the morning, my son Kevin blissfully slept in in the
comfort of his bed while his fiance Alexandria was in her home
office, teaching English to schoolkids in China online. Suddenly
their cat Iniko came bursting through the dog door with a still-alive
bird in her mouth, which unexpectedly got free and started flying
around the house in a panic, shedding feathers like rain! Poor Alex
was able to grab the cat, then she burst into the bedroom and threw it onto
sleeping Kevin, who woke up with a start and in his sleep-numbed state <i>thought</i> she said,
“Entertain her for me while I teach the class!”
<p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Obligingly, Kevin tried to get the cat
to cuddle in bed with him, to no avail... or to play with its toys (not
interested), his shoestrings (nope)... anything other than scratching
and howling at the door to get back out! He couldn't figure out why
the cat was so crazy to hang with Alex that morning, but did his best
to “entertain” her for his beloved so she could teach her class.
Finally after an hour he gave up, and texted Alex to say, “I can't
do this. The cat just wants to be with you.”
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">By this time Alex's class was over and
she explained to him what had happened. What she had said to him when dumping the cat in the room was<i> not</i> "Entertain the cat", but “Come help me catch this bird”!!! She must've
been so confused, wondering why he stayed locked up in the room with
the cat while she was trying to catch the bird and teach her class at
the same time! She did finally manage to grab the latter and throw it back outside, leaving the house littered in feathers!! At least
the Chinese students must've been vastly entertained; I'm sure they
think we Americans live pretty crazy lives!</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">This story intrigued me for more than
its entertainment purposes; I've lived it!... albeit not with cats
and captured birds. But perhaps there has been a time in your life,
as well, when you thought you had received certain instructions,
worked diligently if unsuccessfully at following them... only to find
out later that what you were doing was not what was intended at all.
In my attempts to find my purpose in the Kingdom of God I have
mistakenly thought He wanted me to be in charge of the nursery at
one church, assume the financial duties of treasurer in another
ministry, and later lead a women's fellowship group after the current
president retired from the job. I did my best in each of these
attempts, yet ended each with a plea to God to release me, saying as
Kevin did, “I can't do this.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">God knew that, of course. He had never
intended for me to take on any of those positions, because He knew I
hadn't the giftings to succeed in any of those situations. I was
right in pursuing His direction, right in my willingness to serve...
but wrong in what I thought I heard Him say. It became apparent to me
that I was serving out of a mistaken sense of duty. Each of the jobs
I had taken on needed filling, and in my attempt to serve the Lord I
loved, I thought it was my Christian obligation to fill those
spots... whether I liked what I was doing, or not. And I did not. My
willingness was all I brought to those positions... and it wasn't
enough.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Finally I told the Lord that I found
myself resenting the latest job I had taken on because it took time
away from what I really wanted to do, which was to <i>write</i>...
that there was a joy in that activity that I didn't find in any other
area of service. And suddenly I understood that <i>that</i> was what
He had intended for me to do all along. I found joy in scribing words
because <span style="font-style: normal;">He</span> had given me the
ability to put them together well... for His purposes. I simply hadn't heard His leadings in that direction because I was operating from a more conventional list of service options.<br /></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The relief and excitement that followed
that revelation was indescribable. I resigned from my leadership
position immediately, and just as quickly received a new assignment
in the area of my joy, confirmed independently of each other by two
people I trusted as followers of Christ to know the sound of the
Shepherd's voice. And I have simply never looked back.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I still struggle at times when the
pastor speaks of needs in the church that are waiting for volunteers,
and truly we all bear a measure of responsibility in doing whatever
needs to be done. But I listen a little more closely now to the
Voice I follow... so that I'm not spending all my energy calming the
cat when I'm supposed to be catching the bird.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>Trust in the Lord
with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all
your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.”</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>(Proverbs 3:5-6 NKJV)</i></p>
Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-40500413200607214242021-04-23T03:25:00.001-07:002021-04-23T04:19:27.236-07:00Rainbows are for Real<p>
</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAcMW1glONAfGAhQZ7Vh2yHZsFXAiOh2m9_L5koGAQ2tf9T6OqcTiL2cPtzA6PeZsCLZqsII2JA2MHUDVAoCu5UXcTywIPP5KAkM5zsJXDHiT0U9_xjxszc1WKBLksl9HuWKCkq8BIUY/s922/rainbow.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="922" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAcMW1glONAfGAhQZ7Vh2yHZsFXAiOh2m9_L5koGAQ2tf9T6OqcTiL2cPtzA6PeZsCLZqsII2JA2MHUDVAoCu5UXcTywIPP5KAkM5zsJXDHiT0U9_xjxszc1WKBLksl9HuWKCkq8BIUY/w200-h200/rainbow.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />It was my daughter-in-law
Sarah who suggested it. Realizing we were coming up on my husband's
birthday a year-and-a-half after his death, she thought it would be
fun to remember him by dressing in support of his favorite baseball
team and going out to eat his favorite food. The men in the family
were all busy with another activity that night; it was up to us girls
to celebrate on our own. We donned our best Cincinnati Reds baseball
gear and were in the car driving to a nearby barbecue joint, when I
suddenly noticed the look of the sky. It had been on and off cloudy
all day, but a just-passed thunderstorm left dark clouds in front of
us but sunshine now spilling all around us.
<p></p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's a rainbow sky!”, I
said with some excitement, noting that conditions were just right at
that moment for the appearance of a beautiful bow. “Everybody keep
an eye out for rainbows, and holler if you see one!” <i>Just</i> as
I said that, I looked to my left and spotted a multi-colored arch
outside my driver's side window! “THERE'S ONE!” I fairly shouted,
and we all ooh-ed and aah-ed over it as we drove. A minute later it
was suddenly gone with the shifting light and cloud formations, and
we talked about how easy it is to miss them completely. Almost to the
restaurant, though, we suddenly saw another. “Two in one day!” I
exulted. “That's amazing!” We got to the restaurant and were
enjoying our meal together, when suddenly a customer at another table
spotted yet another rainbow out the front windows of the building. It
was <i>so </i>pretty, bold and distinct, that dinner patrons left
their tables and headed outside to take a picture of it. My
granddaughter Chloe was sent to do the same. There was even a fainter
secondary rainbow outside the first, making this third vision the
most extraordinary yet.</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Three in one day! My heart
overflowed and a smile split my face every time I thought about it.
And yet I still didn't get it...until while again marveling over the
sightings on our way home, Sarah said, “You know, that was Jim...
saying hi.” Suddenly it hit me. Of <i>course</i> that's what it
was! And then I burst out laughing at the thought of how frustrated
my husband would be at having to send THREE rainbows before we got
the message! I could just picture him seated next to the Almighty and
saying helplessly, “They're just not getting it, God! We're running
out of daylight here! What are we going to do?” And so they sent
the double whammy, hoping we'd finally get the point. And when we
did, the laughter... so like my husband to always leave me with a
smile on my face and a laugh in my heart.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jim didn't send any more
rainbows that day... he didn't need to; we finally got the message.
But <span style="font-style: normal;">God</span> simply never stops...
and I wonder if He doesn't likewise get a little frustrated when we
repeatedly miss the messages of His love that He lays before us in a
million different ways as we go about our days. He placed the first
bow in the sky as an act of love and a promise that He would never
again let floods destroy us. No wonder on stormy days in life we
still lift our eyes to the skies and look for a sign of His presence
and His love. Rainbow skies just mean that God's eyes are on you...
you are loved more than you can imagine, and safe in the shelter of
His grace.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>I have set my
rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant
between me and the earth...Never again will the waters become a flood
to destroy all life.”</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>(Genesis 9:13,15 NIV)</i></p>
<p> </p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-16913274576152168762021-04-08T04:47:00.003-07:002021-04-08T04:47:50.018-07:00He Knows You By Name<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQO2dDdboV6oXDJnGWYCMLybZ4XLoY_yGQFkaNrYDyvkCyjRVbP2_4T1WEdbZnjQZiXt-Og4smXQcyOce9bk9VvkVOhncGSC8QRsKqeRAXiJGAM9fE7BT1awJzXqze3SCn0GOyZRpfFSU/s1080/name+tag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="817" data-original-width="1080" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQO2dDdboV6oXDJnGWYCMLybZ4XLoY_yGQFkaNrYDyvkCyjRVbP2_4T1WEdbZnjQZiXt-Og4smXQcyOce9bk9VvkVOhncGSC8QRsKqeRAXiJGAM9fE7BT1awJzXqze3SCn0GOyZRpfFSU/w200-h151/name+tag.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />The woman stood in front of
the self-scan booth unsteadily, eyes closed, and body swaying
slightly as if it was trying to remain upright. She held a pie in her
hand that she apparently was attempting to ring out.
<p></p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Can I help you?” I
asked as I came up beside her.</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Oh.” Her eyes opened
again, and she said, “I'm just trying to get my head together. I've
got it.” Yet she stood there, rocking forward and back, pie still
in hand, as if unable to process what to do next.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">An older lady came up behind
her with a loaded cart. Apparently they were shopping together; I
assumed she was the first lady's mother. Together we helped the
younger woman scan the pie, navigate her payment and bag the item.
Then they turned to scan the cart full of groceries. It soon became
apparent that the daughter was physically unable to proceed. She
whispered something in her mother's ear, and headed out the door.
Left alone, the older lady labored through the task of ringing up her
groceries. Hooked to a tank that fed oxygen through her nose, which
was also covered with the mandatory face mask, she struggled along
until she finally pulled the latter down and gasped, “I can't. I
just can't do this. She was supposed to help me, but she's been drinking.
I thought I could do it myself, but I can't breathe. Could you please
just cash out what I've done so far, and I'll go through a check-out
lane for the rest?”</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was Easter weekend, and
the checkout lines in the store were horrific; I assumed that was
what prompted her to go through self-check in the first place.
Sending her to go stand and wait in her oxygen-deprived state was
unthinkable.</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'll finish it for you,”
I said, praying that none of the people at the other five booths I
was responsible for would need assistance for the next few minutes.
Quickly I worked through her remaining items, then put the bags back
in the cart while she paid the bill.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thank you,” she said,
and headed out to join her daughter. Relieved that we had made it
through the episode unscathed, I put it out of my mind and went back
to helping other patrons.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But moments later, she was
back, still struggling while pushing the cart loaded with the bagged
items. “I can't find my daughter. She was going to go sit in the
van, but the van isn't where we parked it. People are telling me to
call the police, but I don't want to call the police on her. I have
to go look for her, but I can't push this cart while doing so. Can I
just leave it here till I find her?”</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Of course!,” I said.
“Tell me your name, and I'll mark it as paid so they don't do
anything with it.”
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My name's Elaine,” she
answered.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That stopped me short. My
eyes bugged out a little as I showed her my name tag and said, “Mine,
too!” With worries on her heart she had little time for seeming
coincidences and hurried out the door. But I stood there a minute
longer, knowing instantly that the seemingly random exchange was more
than just that. Mine is not a common name. I knew it was spoken
deliberately because it was meant to catch my attention. But duty
called, and soon I was summoned by somebody else who needed help. I
was likewise engaged with another customer when she came back in
sometime later and retrieved her cart. I desperately wanted to know
the end of the story, but apparently I had heard all I needed to
hear. I pushed it aside and went back to work.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sometime later I put the
pieces together. My daughter-in-law works in an assisted living
facility and had recently asked me if I had any stories I could let
her use for an Easter devotional with her residents. “And if you
don't have any, could you please write one for me?” she'd asked. I
laughed at the last question, as I know from experience that I can't
produce a story on my own. Inspiration has to come from above, and,
to be honest, had been in short supply of late... a combination of
earlier work hours that had taken away my usual writing time and the
drifting of my mind in other directions as a result. Thankfully I was
able to find a devotion written by somebody else to send her.</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And then God gave me a story
anyway... about how He sees us in our struggles with sin and
sickness, and life issues...even just our own indifference to
spiritual things, knowing that we are simply unable to get through
life on our own. So He stands by, anxiously waiting for the fight to
break us down till we finally speak the words He needs to hear before
He can step in and act... simply, “I can't.” When we finally
admit that we need more help than we can muster on our own, He steps
in and offers what only He can do. He says 'I'll finish it for
you...”... and He did so with His last breath on the cross. And now
that gift of salvation is paid for and waiting for you to come and
claim... because He carries your name across His heart.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>But God demonstrates
His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ
died for us.”</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>(Romans 5:8 NKJV)</i></p>
<p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-83849555997631420702021-03-12T04:48:00.002-08:002021-03-12T04:49:10.970-08:00The Lenten Loosening<p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5omT0rNk4oh-ySJu5epysxiq0AC8h-VghBxCEZpv3R83zN8W_g6IpOtcsKzay0qGAGb7_xLm3pYWcRKh1cU6m-eCrBdTO0KsnJN0ouE8QGQhDpazv-P2B2fWV_6caPMVu5wqOaAgkj3U/s1303/Cheez-Its.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1303" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5omT0rNk4oh-ySJu5epysxiq0AC8h-VghBxCEZpv3R83zN8W_g6IpOtcsKzay0qGAGb7_xLm3pYWcRKh1cU6m-eCrBdTO0KsnJN0ouE8QGQhDpazv-P2B2fWV_6caPMVu5wqOaAgkj3U/w166-h200/Cheez-Its.jpg" width="166" /></a></div><br />I stepped on the scale in the predawn
hours of the day, looked down at the result, and sighed.
<p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I may have to give up Extra-toasty
Cheez-Its for Lent.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I smiled at the memory of my days as a
practicing Catholic and the annual practice of giving up something
for the 40 days before Easter as a reminder of the suffering of
Christ on the Cross and His sacrifice on our behalf. Its purpose was
to loosen one's hold on the things of this world and focus attention
instead on its Savior. Clearly the scale was telling me I needed to
loosen my hold on my box of crackers, and I <i>always</i> need more
of Jesus in my sights. Lent is meant to be a serious and reflective
season rather than a particularly happy one, but the “Fish on
Friday” result of abstaining from eating meat on that day of the
week during the Lenten season was always my favorite Catholic
tradition and are three words I have lived by with delight to this
day. Looking forward to a fish sandwich of baked cod in a toasted bun
for dinner that night made it easy to push thoughts of cheesy
crackers aside. Eagerly I signed on and hoped that on Easter morning
when I again stepped on the scale I would see positive physical
results as well as spiritual ones.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Somewhere in the multiple decades of my
life my pursuit of God changed from following a list of rules to
forming a real relationship with the Creator of the world Himself.
Now my life is governed by my love for Him that grew out of the
realization of His love for me, and my actions are guided and
motivated by that love. One result of our ever-growing friendship is
that He leads me along the path I am to follow with challenges that
are fun and motivational, rather than difficult or restrictive. He
was fine with my “giving <i>up</i>” something that was cluttering
my life and expanding my waistline, but suggested I put my focus on
“giving <i><b>out</b></i>” every day of the period as well. I was
to try to find ways to show His love every day in some way.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Perhaps it was not by accident that I
was reading Max Lucado's book <i>Begin Again</i> at this same time,
and that I came across his assertion that “the works of mercy are
simple deeds.” God wasn't looking for me to pull off some grand
feat of bravery or large monetary expense to prove my devotion so
much as to simply put others before myself in some way as an offering
of love. It's a devotion to small acts or kindness that are heroic in
God's eyes and garner His attention.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In the hours that followed that day He
gave me some examples. I was manning the self-scan booths at my
grocery store when a lady signaled to me that she was ninety-three
cents short on her bill and was going to run to her car to gather up
some loose change. The man who was putting cash in the machine next
to hers simply pulled a dollar bill out of his already open wallet
and handed it to her with a smile. Another time later in the day I
noticed that movement out the front door was slow because people were
inviting others to exit ahead of them with a smile and a wave of the
arm instead of shoving their way through in the usual hurry to get
out and on with the day. There were others who stopped to help pick
up items dropped by somebody else, unload a cart, or simply wait
patiently with a smile when somebody in the line ahead of them
required a little bit of extra time; all simple examples of actions
that God sees and takes note of.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In his book, Max asserts that
eventually each one of those actions will be recounted, remembered,
and rewarded. So he encourages us to make a list while on earth that
will take some time to get through in Heaven. No worries; you've got
all eternity with Him to review what you did with the life and breath
and love He gave you.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I like my Cheez-Its <b>extra-toas</b><span style="font-weight: normal;">ty</span>.
But I love that God can use even the description on a box of crackers
to challenge me to give a little <span style="font-style: normal;"><b>extra
to a</b></span><b> </b>world that needs the Love I tend to hold all
to myself. How great to stand in heaven with empty hands because my
heart was full and I gave all His Love away.</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>And the King will
answer and say to them, 'Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did
it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.'”</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>(Matthew 25:40 NKJV) </i>
</p>
<p> </p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-38696955649975843412021-02-03T03:42:00.003-08:002021-04-29T08:00:58.072-07:00Hands-on Help for the Hurting<p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpBJSh_JShI8iQx18xsAjpVb6MmQysxcwAwbsUIau7YIcK9hqmbpdT1oaR3NZ8qc_5iCcMlqHA61R2SxeoL5uByq2-tbTnN1N7ZE2KdZ3G42ijweerM1DF8aSr9wCmlH53bmgD0Kn0yBQ/s1093/church.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpBJSh_JShI8iQx18xsAjpVb6MmQysxcwAwbsUIau7YIcK9hqmbpdT1oaR3NZ8qc_5iCcMlqHA61R2SxeoL5uByq2-tbTnN1N7ZE2KdZ3G42ijweerM1DF8aSr9wCmlH53bmgD0Kn0yBQ/w198-h200/church.jpg" width="198" /></a></div><br />My fingers were all just so sore.<p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That was my thought as I lay down in
bed the other night. Usually I have one or two troublesome digits at
a time during the winter months; to have both hands so achy was
unusual and a little overwhelming. I could work around a couple of
sore spots with ease, but to have the fingers that were supposed to
pick up the slack <i>also</i> in bad shape was a bit of a problem.
Resolutely I grabbed the little pot of cream on my bedside table,
took off the lid and sent the top of both hands inside for a dive.
Then slowly and methodically the tips of those ten fingers worked
that salve into each other's broken places... the finger cracks by
the nails from the cold weather, the dry skin from pulling
moisture-sucking grocery bags open all day at work, the burns from my
carelessness with the wood stove. Up and down, in and around, rubbing
and soothing till all the excess was gone. I got tickled to realize
that as each finger worked cream into its neighbors' wounds, its
buddies beside it were doing the same to its own lesions. It was a
mutually beneficial action that would soon bring positive results. I
flipped off the light and let the healing balm do its work during the
sleep-filled hours of the night.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When I woke I realized that my fingers'
actions the night before were a picture of the church.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Church” has been on my mind of
late, as my pastor has been preaching a sermon series exploring the
reasons why we as believers attend. Of course, church attendance has
changed in form during this last year of dealing with a pandemic; our
options have expanded from merely walking through an open door to
watching a service online to small-group Zoom meetings in the comfort
of our homes, to name a few. But a weekly gathering of believers in
some form is still a ritual we cling to. My pastor's opening question
of <i>why</i> we do so troubled me more than I liked to admit. Was it
just a matter of habit? One of those things I've done for so long
that the action is no longer questioned? Or perhaps obedience? I went
originally because my parents said so; now I go because God says the
same? Or is it merely a social activity with people who have become
my friends? The question lingered in my subconscious and surfaced
repeatedly during the last couple of weeks to tease my mind.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In the process of delivering last
week's sermon, almost as a side note, our preacher issued an
invitation to his congregation. The ongoing construction of a new
sanctuary on the church grounds is nearing completion, and church
members were invited to come in socially-distanced times and ways to
cover the bare floor with hand-written Scriptures and prayers before
the carpeting was laid down in the coming week.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I smiled at a memory the words conjured
up; a similar invitation issued many years ago when the church I was
then attending had built a new platform for its growing worship team,
and we likewise covered the bare wooden boards with the words and
promises of God. It was a powerful and prophetic action that united
us in purpose and praise for what God was allowing to be a part of in
the lives of the people in that area. I was eager to participate
again.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I had driven by that old church in
recent weeks, and was saddened by the sight of the chain that now
blocks the driveway, the building slowly falling into disrepair
behind it after property disputes among former tenants forced it to
close while lengthy legal battles sorted the mess out. To a casual
observer it looks like the church is shut down, its days of serving
the community now over. But those of us who used to attend there know
differently. The building may be closed, but the church itself is
alive and well, the flame of the Spirit that used to dwell there
burning brightly still in the hearts of the believers who are now
spread out into different houses of worship, setting dry spirits
aflame with new hope wherever they go.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And suddenly I understood. The church
gathering is just the pot of cream we dip our hearts into each week,
a source of healing balm that we then use in our interactions with
each other, rubbing it into our sore spots and open wounds...it is
help for the hurting that we apply as we go and which heals our own
hurts in the process. We come together for a joint encounter with
God, Who promises that where two or three are gathered together in
His Name, He is there in their midst. The worship releases and
increases our love for Him, the preaching instructs and inspires us,
and the social interactions give us an outlet for the gifts we've
been given... so that we leave armed and ready to be a blessing in
some way to those who will cross our paths. Just as I have three
kinds of lotion or ointment on my nightstand that I choose between on
any given night to give my fingers some relief, so do we have
multiple options of church services to choose between depending on
our personal preferences and needs. The important thing is that we
find a source of help.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Perhaps when God warns us not to
forsake “the assembling of ourselves together” (Hebrews 10:25),
it's not because He wants to add another item to our over-loaded
to-do lists, or to make us feel guilty for our failure in that area,
nor because He is an overbearing father just giving commands because
He is the Boss. He simply knows that none of us can make it through
this life on our own... that we need each other to sooth the hurts
and walk us through the broken places in our lives in this journey
through a wounded and weary world. As always, He has a source of Help
and Hope ready for our every need if we just make the effort to avail
ourselves of it.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>Is there no balm in
Gilead? Is there no physician there? </i>
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Why then is there no
healing for the wound of my people?”</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>(Jeremiah 8:22 NIV)</i></p>
<p> </p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-50926638712756105482020-12-28T04:02:00.000-08:002020-12-28T04:02:46.160-08:00Morning Milking<p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxE2D9vacIR6tqW6qCU61WH87Rs-2kCcG-inV3eFf9-f7NYIkIsE1_qCR5T4Vs-T9PJ8CdiYds_SJT_XUoYZX6IjyXQyU7MCh5iD_mmoK0BWXjaMLIDhbV5sLp-NuacgPG0NUOtxdvKY8/s1662/dairy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1662" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxE2D9vacIR6tqW6qCU61WH87Rs-2kCcG-inV3eFf9-f7NYIkIsE1_qCR5T4Vs-T9PJ8CdiYds_SJT_XUoYZX6IjyXQyU7MCh5iD_mmoK0BWXjaMLIDhbV5sLp-NuacgPG0NUOtxdvKY8/s320/dairy.jpg" /></a></div><br />Not many girls I knew were lucky enough
to grow up in the shadow of a big city and yet have a working dairy
farm situated at the end of their road. I never really paid much
attention to it until the day I spotted a cow giving birth in a
pasture while my family was driving by. Thinking such a momentous
event should not be happening unattended, I made my mom stop at the
house, raced to and pounded on the door, telling the farmer who
answered what I'd seen in breathless gasps that he was surely lucky
to understand. He smiled kindly, nodded his head and thanked me, and
said he'd take care of it. Then he closed the door and we were done!
His response was a little underwhelming, to say the least, but thus
began a friendship that lasted for several years.<p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Apparently I was just one of a number
of local children he humored with trips about his farm, letting us
tag along as he did his chores, scattering grain for the chickens,
feeding the big bull in the barn, and to my great delight,
hand-feeding the calves out of giant baby bottles that they sucked at
so greedily they threatened to pull them out of my hands.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And always I visited the milking barn,
passing the cows in the corral, patiently lined up and waiting their
turn to be milked. While most were milked by machines attached to
their udders while they fed on hay in the bin, there were some Mr.
Peak milked by hand for some reason, sitting on the little
three-legged stool and working the udders to produce a steady stream
of milk in the waiting bucket below. He gave me a shot at it a couple
of times and I remember the softness of the udder, the process of
working the teat and my amazement when my efforts were successful. It
was magical to a city girl, and I spent countless hours there on lazy
summer afternoons.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The farm is long gone now. A Silicon
Valley millionaire bought the property and built a mansion on that
land of milk and memories. But I was suddenly transported back there
recently in a conversation with my sister in which we discussed the
importance of “milking joy” out of every moment this holiday
season, especially in a year dominated by the worries and struggles
produced by a global pandemic. Suddenly I was back on that milking
stool, squeezing the nipple, delighting in the milk my actions
produced.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">God wants us to know we can have that
joy in everything we experience, not just during the holidays, but
every day in every circumstance we face, if we just take the time to
work our situation to produce the blessing it contains. Time stops
and joy deepens when <i>we</i> stop long enough to squeeze out all
the magic of the moment, appreciating it fully and giving thanks for
the wonder of it before releasing it, only to grab the next and
repeat the process, again and again as we go through our days. Even
the hard times have hidden blessings that are found only when we make
the concerted effort to pull up a stool and release them.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Too often these days in our increasing
rush to meet holiday deadlines, our joy is produced through
artificial means, pumped out of the season in the familiarity of
carols, heartwarming movies, eye-popping decorations and
wallet-emptying purchases for ourselves or others. We get our
spiritual sustenance in the same way, bottled and delivered by any
number of outside means. One benefit of milking machines is the
incredible amount of time they save on days when multi-tasking is by
necessity the name of the game. But there is something special about
setting aside some time every day to milk joy the old-fashioned way,
spending the time to bond with the One who gives us all good things
and finding our peace in the meditative process of seeking Him out.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Our day starts every morning like a cow
standing before us with a full udder, ready to release it's joy.
Don't let your bucket run dry.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>Through the Lord's
mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They
are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. 'The Lord is my
portion,' says my soul, 'Therefore I hope in Him!' The Lord is good
to those who wait for Him, to the soul who seeks Him.” </i>
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>(Lamentations 3: 22-25
NKJV)</i></p>
<p> </p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-48153043234204795822020-12-06T05:28:00.005-08:002020-12-06T05:40:06.753-08:00Kudos to Christmas Carols<p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAZqpkMPFnkt-CKBGm3DGk7Ujef2c1b69r58sB1ukeSTjy9athm7FqhhDYkl1x_57YpvNKByIsFbJJRG-IJY9oLdMMYpZAbw3CA5lAI0txZPXmrmp4tXuJm6QjBA9Uj8sGGBw_S_waH4/s1080/carols.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="810" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAZqpkMPFnkt-CKBGm3DGk7Ujef2c1b69r58sB1ukeSTjy9athm7FqhhDYkl1x_57YpvNKByIsFbJJRG-IJY9oLdMMYpZAbw3CA5lAI0txZPXmrmp4tXuJm6QjBA9Uj8sGGBw_S_waH4/s320/carols.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Sonny Hurd<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />“The best way to spread Christmas
cheer is singing loud for all to hear.”<i> </i><p></p><p><i> </i></p><p><i>Elf</i> movie devotees will
recognize that quote instantly. Who among us <i>doesn't</i> need a
whole lot of Christmas cheer at the end of a pandemic-affected year?!
All of us need all the happiness we can muster up. Perhaps that's why
some people started listening to Christmas music while the Halloween
ghosts and goblins were still running around gathering socially
distanced- placed treats!
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Not this girl, however. I sortof need a
Christmas tree in my sights before my vocal chords loosen up and let
fly with the holiday vibes. But the tree is now in place and working
its magic. I find myself drawn to the piano in the corner behind it,
pulling out the bench and squeezing between ornament-dangled branches
for a quick songburst before heading to bed and letting visions of
sugarplums fill my head.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I smile to realize I was raised that
way.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Every night during the holiday season
when I was a little girl, our family of five sat around the Christmas
tree and the kids took turns banging out a carol on the piano while
the rest of the family sang along. I think it was my mom's way of
wrangling a few extra minutes of piano practice out of reluctant kids
before the approaching Christmas recital at our teacher's house.
Whatever the reason, we gathered and played and sang five songs,
multiple verses, every... single... night.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">How on earth did we manage it? It's all
we can do to gather our families around the dinner table now, let
alone around a Christmas tree at night. Of course this was long
before the distractions of cell phones, video games and
binge-watching favorite shows on Netflix. But haven't all generations
simply had too much to do in December to make time for activities
like this?! I know that in raising my own kids, December was a mad
dash to get everything done by the 25<sup>th</sup> day of the
month...the shopping, baking, decorating, cards, wrapping... and it
was only my husband's insistence that we adhere to certain traditions
that kept the holy in the holiday even as we decked the halls.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I guess my parents knew it was
important. It kept our hearts focused on the Reason of the season,
even while allowing us the joy of gazing at the pretty lights and
beautifully wrapped packages in front of us. And it worked. Surely it
must have, for me to remember the wonder of it some six decades
later, and to be drawn back to that piano bench once more. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Our houses may be a little emptier by
necessity this year than in days gone by, but our hearts don't have to be. If
you're feeling a little down, fill your own cup of cheer by singing
loudly for <i>Jesus</i> to hear. You don't even need a piano. He's
all ears and eager for your nightly lullaby. Give it a try.
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>O come, Thou
Dayspring, from on high,</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>And cheer us by Thy
drawing nigh;</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Disperse the gloomy
clouds of night,</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>And death's dark
shadows put to flight.</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Shall come to thee, O
Israel.”</i></p>
<p> </p>Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-12041383460287884742020-10-24T03:03:00.004-07:002020-10-24T03:07:33.343-07:00Slow the Flow<p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREc_WoCNQ2hRG4YMPINbFSV2kqF4-Ew5oYHs0Jo8CkhR9rK-MkTDVonToXDBsEfd1TO9jzVOq5R2i6FXoo6CcCvqPalnO05z_XQE_5Ti0nfG7yaIcLGCy9TvWPUa8pIsfsA91OUAsXgk/s160/hourglass.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREc_WoCNQ2hRG4YMPINbFSV2kqF4-Ew5oYHs0Jo8CkhR9rK-MkTDVonToXDBsEfd1TO9jzVOq5R2i6FXoo6CcCvqPalnO05z_XQE_5Ti0nfG7yaIcLGCy9TvWPUa8pIsfsA91OUAsXgk/s0/hourglass.jpg" /></a></div><br />“So, Elaine, are you ready for
Thanksgiving?” my coworker asked as we scanned and bagged a grocery
order.<p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i><b>Thanksgiving</b></i>? It's
mid-October! Listen, buddy, I'm <span style="font-style: normal;">old</span>!
Each day is a <i>treasure</i>! I can't be throwing them carelessly
away!”
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My friend looked a little startled at
my vehement protestation. And I understand where he's coming from.
He's young, less than half my age, and eagerly counting the days till
his upcoming vacation and birthday celebration Thanksgiving week in
the mountains of Tennessee. Who could blame him for mentally tossing
away calendar pages as fast as he turns them over?
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's a matter of perspective, one
gained over time. His lifetime hourglass is still very full; the
hours seem to stream endlessly before him with no end in sight. I, on
the other hand, am keenly aware that there are more grains of sand in
the bottom half of mine than are waiting to drop from the top, so I
am increasingly careful with what I do with each one. I don't have
any to waste!
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And really, why would we want to, no
matter what stage of life we are currently in? Each day is a gift, a
one-time-use twenty-four-hour offer of joy from God, available for
pickup each morning and expiring come nightfall, never to return in
exactly the same way ever again. Why would we pass that up?</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Yet some of us do. We stumble through
our daily routines just trying to make it through each one till we
can fall exhausted in our beds at night for a few hours of rest
before rising to do it all again. We count on holidays and weekends
away to be bright spots of joy in increasingly pressure-packed
schedules that vary little from season to season in intensity, but
only in the activities we pursue. Meanwhile, the days of our lives
are slipping through our fingers and there seems to be no way to slow
the flow.
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>But that's not so.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>Favorite author Ann Voskamp suggests
that we can actually do so with gratitude. We hold a moment captive
when we see the wonder it contains, fully experience its joy and
express our thanks for the same before letting it pass away.
Gratitude simply adds length to our days... and perhaps days to the
length of our lives. Count me in!
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>And so I approach my days a little
differently now. I rise in the morning to meet up with God, Who hands
me the gift of the day before me, and then eagerly watches as I go
through the hours that follow, gently unwrapping the tissue-packed
minutes that are meant to surprise and delight me. His smile grows at
my joy over each new discovery of His goodness, every token of His
care, and every new revelation of His love for me. His ears rejoice
as I voice my thanks. And at the end of the day I slip the wrappings
away in a bedtime thank-you conversation with Him about the hours
just past, a gift in return. Sleep then comes peacefully sweet till I
rise to do it all over again the next day. Who would want to give any
such days away?
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>So am I ready for thanks-giving? You
bet! And I hope you are, too.
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>This is the day the
Lord has made; We will rejoice and be glad in it.”</i></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>(Psalm 118:24 NKJV)</i></p>
Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-23774059036765663582020-06-07T02:50:00.002-07:002020-06-07T11:19:39.447-07:00I Said "YES"
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qgbtyET40_Wjo_JpqPEl6r5IB1ul2d4g8p7NvauoUIlesKKsjJD9zJzsFZdjDNbp2PHL0e8zpCPxYkRd_5cx0U3MpIECK-NY0XDEukL53_6orswLgnejPGqzgf2cWfRRws8vH1tADag/s1600/yes.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="1080" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qgbtyET40_Wjo_JpqPEl6r5IB1ul2d4g8p7NvauoUIlesKKsjJD9zJzsFZdjDNbp2PHL0e8zpCPxYkRd_5cx0U3MpIECK-NY0XDEukL53_6orswLgnejPGqzgf2cWfRRws8vH1tADag/s200/yes.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My marriage didn't make it to the
40-year mark. Cancer stole Jim away 281 days short of that impressive
milestone. It may have taken the future we had ahead of us, but it
couldn't touch the past; the memories made, the love shared, the
laughter that filled those years. I still feel married to him; his
ring remains on my finger. And so I decided to celebrate the day
anyway, even to the point of buying myself a gift.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Traditionally, the 40<sup>th</sup>
anniversary is celebrated with the purchase of a ruby in some form.
In recent weeks I have thought about buying a simple heart-shaped
necklace with the red gemstone set inside. I did some online searches
but didn't find anything that stole my breath away, so I put the idea
aside to look into more on another day.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The last months of Jim's life were
difficult ones for both of us in many ways. Of course there were the
physical symptoms as the disease progressed and impacted Jim's body
in more and more ways. But equally difficult was the spiritual battle
we faced, as we tried to hold on to the hope that God would intervene
in our situation with the healing we so desperately sought.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our battle began months earlier when
the results of the biopsy came back. Suddenly our enemy had a name,
and Jim's doctor wanted to start an aggressive attack against it, one
that carried risks Jim found he couldn't accept. He wanted to seek
other treatment options; change his diet to minimize the growth of
the tumor while pursuing healing in the spiritual realm. A choice
unpopular with the world, he told only those who absolutely needed
to know so that his faith in God would be supported rather than
undermined with negative pronouncements. Together we agreed to leave
no stone unturned in this spiritual journey; to that end we traveled
to healing rooms and prayer rooms in distant locales, had our house
anointed with oil, studied and began the daily practice of taking
Communion, read books on healing, and filled our minds and our hearts
with stories of miracles others had received that could be ours, as
well. Firmly believing that healing was purchased for us on the Cross
of Calvary, we believed it, claimed it, spoke it, prayed it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The only thing we couldn't do was
manifest it in our lives. As the summer months progressed, so did the
disease, and soon it became obvious to me that God wasn't going to
answer us in the way we were expecting. While still holding out hope
for a midnight-hour miracle, I was losing my grip on my spiritual
lifeline. I didn't understand why the truths I so firmly believed
seemed to work for others, but not for me... why it felt like God
didn't hear me... why for some reason He refused to intervene. While
never losing my belief in the ultimate love and goodness of God,
there was an increasing distance between Him and me, a growing loss
of intimacy because of my confusion over what we were experiencing.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jim's faith didn't waver. He held on to
the belief that healing was his whether he could experience it in
this life or not. At the very end, he said only that if he wasn't
going to receive his miracle on this side of Heaven, then he was
ready to go on Home. And so he did.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My faith crisis in those days didn't
affect God's faithfulness to me. He showed up and carried me in the
last week of Jim's life and in the weeks and months that followed in
ways that were nothing short of miraculous, leading me to realize
that my prayers for a miracle <i>had</i> been heard and answered,
just not in the way I expected. My gratitude towards Him overflowed
as He helped me do all that was necessary to carry on with life in
Jim's absence.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yet the distance between us remained,
and it was agony for me. I couldn't bear to lose the love of my life
<i>and</i> the Lover of my soul at the same time! But as in any love
relationship, it's hard to get back to the intimacy you once
experienced when you feel that the trust between you has been broken.
I didn't know how to bridge that gap.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Some say we should have chosen the
medical options in conjunction with the spiritual ones, regardless of
the risk, rather than putting God to the test of producing a miracle
at our request. The list of “what ifs” is long and leads only to
regret and recrimination. I was ready to move forward if I could just
find again some stable footing on which to place my feet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the end, it came down to a simple
choice. God took me back to a time decades ago when our relationship
was in this exact spot. While the stakes were much smaller in the
earlier situation, the spiritual consequences were just as huge. I
had believed God for something and it hadn't happened; as a new
believer I was devastated and questioned whether I could carry on
with a God who didn't seem to keep His promises. My confusion and
pain made me miserable. I remember exactly where I was when God
suddenly asked me if I could simply trust Him, even if I didn't
understand the way He had handled the circumstances I was going
through.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There is no way to convey how huge that
moment was for me. I felt the weight of it; I knew I had come to a
crossroads in my spiritual walk, even in its early stages, and that
the course of my life would be very different depending on the choice
I made. I could continue to walk with God, even without completely
understanding everything that happened to me, or I could turn and
journey on alone.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Could I trust Him? I said yes. And when
the question came up again in these last few months, I ended up
giving the same reply. <i>Yes</i>, I will believe in You. <i>Yes</i>,
I will trust You. <i>Yes</i>, I will absolutely love You, no matter
what happens, “for better or for worse, in sickness and in
health...” I smile now at the familiarity of those words.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I did buy myself a necklace to
celebrate my anniversary (www.theyesnecklace.com), and like the day I'm celebrating, it looks
very different from what I thought it would.... still a "precious gem",
just in a different form. Saying “yes” to Jim on this day gave me
40 years of love and joy; saying “yes” to God guarantees me an
eternity of the same.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<i>Preserve me, O God,
for in You I have put my trust...I have set the Lord always before
me; Because He is at my right hand I shall not be moved. Therefore my
heart is glad, and my glory rejoices; My flesh also will rest in
hope...You will show me the path of life; In Your presence is
fullness of joy; At Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”</i></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>(Psalm 16:1,8-9,11
NKJV)</i></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<i>If you want the
peace that surpasses uderstandingyou have to give up your right to
understand.” </i>
</div>
<ul>
<li><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Bill Johnson</i></div>
</li>
</ul>
Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-57615571041602034092019-11-11T02:55:00.002-08:002019-11-11T03:09:02.257-08:00When a Sketch is a Stretch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6sVA-T0UbmtTzM2LCJ6kKhGFI1QqYiglU86YsXlpZnPYPjHHYIQJz4vgknQj-Xk6Oix2g5CPApMr3PN3zJGNflprOZU8ljGmp3kGi0EYtIBAJlGg_1NjCBqVYGOWL02mZ5jQl-QyD_rY/s1600/candy+corn+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="810" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6sVA-T0UbmtTzM2LCJ6kKhGFI1QqYiglU86YsXlpZnPYPjHHYIQJz4vgknQj-Xk6Oix2g5CPApMr3PN3zJGNflprOZU8ljGmp3kGi0EYtIBAJlGg_1NjCBqVYGOWL02mZ5jQl-QyD_rY/s200/candy+corn+1.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'll admit it; I'm a Halloween
party-pooper.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Dressing up in a costume to me is more
torture than fun; best leave that to those who are young...in heart,
if not in age. Because I spend the majority of the year trying to
<i>eliminate</i> fear, I don't go looking for goblins and ghouls in
haunted houses, nor watch movies that are sure to haunt my dreams and
mess up a good night's sleep. I'm even too lazy to carve a face on a
pumpkin. The only part of the holiday I really participate in is
candy consumption... but that I do with a vengeance!
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This year I tried to limit the caloric
intake of the holiday and so reduced my actual holiday candy
allotment to a single bag of candy corn. One bag containing two
servings, that would be it. Dutifully I split the contents of the bag
into two piles, eating one immediately, and somehow managing to put
the other in a little container to eat as a treat at work the next
day... except that I inexplicably <i>forgot</i> that I had the candy
with me on the morrow and returned home with it still in my lunchbag.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was sitting at the kitchen table the
next morning, jump-starting my devotional time as usual with some
thankful thoughts... at least three of them, one of which had to be
illustrated in a little sketch in pencil in my journal. Originally my
directive was to draw the moment which meant the most to me from the
day before... but since my artistic skills are severely limited, some
things for which I was profoundly grateful were eliminated from the
selection process because I knew I could never sketch the moment in
question. I'd have to be grateful for something a little easier to
draw! Soon the purpose of giving thanks was lost in the ordeal I'd
made of the activity, and I was coming close to abandoning it
completely when I suddenly remembered that little container of candy
corn.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Delighted, I grabbed it out of the bag
on the counter and was ready to pop the small handful in my mouth,
regardless of the early hour, when God halted me with a sudden “Not
so fast!” that I heard in my spirit, if not in my ears. “One
piece of candy corn for every grateful thought...no cheating!...and
GO!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
<br />
I love it when God plays games with me,
and so eagerly began. The thoughts came quickly at first, fueled by
the little bits of sugary sweetness I gobbled after each one. I
thanked Him for the re-connection with a friend I had seen the night
before...traveling mercies in rush-hour freeway traffic I navigated
to get to the event...the power nap I somehow had time for before
leaving home that afternoon. After the first wave of gratitude there
was still corn on the table, and my thoughts turned to things I
normally wouldn't have mentioned... the sight of an owl flying
through the trees in the yard just before dawn... watching a squirrel
rebuild a nest with a mouthful of leaves it had collected from the
ground below...a red-bellied woodpecker come to eat breakfast at the
birdfeeder on the deck. Little moments I would have thought unworthy
of my journal were gifts from God's hand whether I could illustrate
them or not, and the acknowledgment of each brought delight first to
His heart and then to my tongue.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Soon the pile of candy was gone but in
its place was an understanding that God wants me to see His goodness
in <i>all</i> things, and that walking in constant gratitude brings a
sweetness to life that a little bit of candy can't begin to match.
I've learned lately that even the scariest of seasons can be
traversed with His constant love as my companion, and my steps
sweetened with gratitude for bite after bite of the goodness of God.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<i>Oh, taste and see
that the Lord is good; Blessed is the man who trusts in Him!”</i></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>(Psalms 34:8 NKJV)</i></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-20905474970807133052019-08-06T09:34:00.000-07:002019-08-06T09:34:05.945-07:00Missile Attacks on the Mind
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It started about a week ago. A barrage
of calls from numbers my phone didn't recognize started coming in at
various hours of the day. Grateful for caller ID, I continued my
habit of letting my voicemail take any messages that might be
important and tried to simply ignore the constant communication.
Thankfully I quickly learned to keep the device muted, but even the
frequent vibrations of the phone in my pocket
was an annoyance. The long and short of it was that my peace was
continually disturbed.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Suddenly it seemed that my service
provider had gotten wind of the problem and was stepping in to help.
The stream of random phone numbers I didn't recognize when a call
came in were now replaced by the words <i>Alert: Telemarketer</i>,
<i>Spam Risk</i>, and <i>Fraud Risk</i>. While the calls still kept
coming in, it helped to know that somebody was on to the caller's
game and working to stop it. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then just as suddenly as the episode started, it ended.
The dozens of unwanted calls I was getting a day dwindled back down
to the usual two or three.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I know hackers are everywhere these
days, and that with the wonders of easy communication and advanced
technology come risks that we may never have had to deal with before.
It is encouraging to know that security systems are likewise stepping
up their efforts to thwart the actions of those intent on harm. The
battle is ongoing, but it helps to know we don't fight alone.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I liken this recent situation with my
smartphone to what has happened spiritually to me recently with my
mind. Like everyone else, I have life issues to deal with, and I am
used to fending off the occasional attempts of the enemy to speak
doubt and distress into situations that I know in my heart are
covered by the Blood and the love of the Lord. But sometimes it seems
that the enemy is able to hack in to my thinking, sending a barrage
of messages that speak darkness into corners of my life that were
once filled with light, overwhelming my defense mechanisms by their
sheer numbers and spiraling me downward into hopelessness and despair
over the outcome. The Bible says that without revelation and a vision
of the future, the people perish. Clearly the devil has read this
passage, too, and is working to achieve it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Thankfully we don't fight alone. The
Holy Spirit inside of us rises to our defense, and starts sending
messages of His own to our control center in the brain. He starts
identifying the source of the incoming calls, directing us in how to
respond to each thought that comes in, wanting to take up residence.
Suddenly we hear, “Don't answer that.” “That's the enemy
speaking and it's a lie. God's Word says this on that...” “Hang
up the phone.” ...and my personal favorite: “Why do you <i>believe</i>
that?” With God as our Guide, suddenly the security breach to our
thought processes is closed and we return our thoughts to whatsoever
things are true, noble, just, pure, lovely and of a good report, as
the Bible directs. And amazingly, when resisted in such a manner, the
enemy flees to fight another day in another way. How comforting to
know that no matter what tactic he comes up with, the Holy Spirit
within us is ready for the attack and to arm us accordingly. In times
of war, the peace of God is our weapon of choice.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<i>These things I have
spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will
have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”</i></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>John 16:33 NKJV)</i></div>
Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-3977884219604734462019-05-30T06:07:00.000-07:002019-05-30T06:07:25.454-07:00The Fence of Faith
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHkEP7dqKIS-yTZFK96d7pBrz6mDYA0BC4vtBWZdcmWj5vBnibZTwHhwwJfq59LifaF-SX0zswQElat7CpgF_TiYcr1LiSdM4IpdpKdYBpEWfHB6ftjDEkjpuoIHsJjuSiN36dRNlipsI/s1600/doe+and+fawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1167" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHkEP7dqKIS-yTZFK96d7pBrz6mDYA0BC4vtBWZdcmWj5vBnibZTwHhwwJfq59LifaF-SX0zswQElat7CpgF_TiYcr1LiSdM4IpdpKdYBpEWfHB6ftjDEkjpuoIHsJjuSiN36dRNlipsI/s200/doe+and+fawn.jpg" width="185" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As springtime edged towards summer,
resuming my early morning walks was something I was eagerly looking
forward to. Finally a dry, sunshiny day coincided with my scheduled
day off, and soon <i>I</i> was off, rejoicing in the beauty of my
surroundings, the warmth of the weather, and the quiet surrounding
me. I headed towards the grove of trees to my west, moving steadily
because even though I didn't have to go to work, I was still under
time pressure. I had put a coffeecake in to bake before heading out
the door, confident that I could reach the treeline and get back just
in time to pull our breakfast out of the oven.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Exhilarated to be out and exercising
once more, I reached the trees and started to turn, as planned. But
something stopped me, and I gazed at the little stretch of woods with
longing, feeling a pull to step a little farther along the road to
where I could see into the grove and enjoy its beauty for just a few
seconds more.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And so I did, and just as I got to
where I could peer into the tree stand a little deeper, I suddenly
gasped and stopped in surprise. There, just feet away from me, stood
a beautiful doe and her tiny fawn, likewise enjoying a beautiful day
and breakfast out. They lifted their heads and we stared at each
other for the longest time; I slowly moved my phone up to where I
could snap a photo and the deer began to ease out of the picture at
just the same speed. Finally the doe bounded away, her baby at her
heels, and I stood for a moment more, awestruck, before I remembered
that I had a reason to hurry off, as well.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As it happened, that evening my husband
suggested we continue to enjoy the beautiful day by again going on a
walk, this time together. We headed down the road in the opposite
direction from my morning hike, again enjoying a quiet holiday
weekend stroll and commenting on the sights in our neighbors' yards
as we passed by. When my husband asked how far I wanted to go, I
pointed to the stump of what used to be a huge walnut tree a good
ways off in the distance, my usual turnaround point when I walked
this way. But as we got closer, we were once again stopped in out
tracks, this time by the sight of two very large dogs sitting
unrestrained in any way in a yard just up ahead. No fence, no chains,
nothing to keep them from defending their property from possible
invasion, even by innocent passers-by. We could see a row of little
white flags along the border of the property, and my husband
suggested that perhaps they marked the presence of an invisible
fence. Did we want to trust that such a fence truly did exist, and
that the dogs were sufficiently trained to remain within its
confines, even at the sight of approaching strangers? As yet the dogs
had not noticed us; they were facing a different direction. In silent
agreement we turned and headed back towards home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In our <i>Christian</i> walk, we similarly sometimes
have a goal in mind... a level of faith we want to
achieve, an answer to prayer we are waiting on, or perhaps just a
deepening of our relationship with Him. And so we proceed, but
sometimes the cares of this life stop us just short of where God
wants to take us. We yield to the pressure and turn around right when we were on the brink of
discovery, and so miss a beautiful moment that God had prearranged,
just for us. If we would only listen to and respond to the pull of
our hearts, to venture just a little bit further, perhaps we would
see a whole lot more and be simply awestruck by what He had in mind
to show us. How easily we can miss moments of glory, just by turning
around a moment too soon.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Or perhaps we are moving steadily
towards our breakthrough, our turnaround point... that answer to
prayer we have been waiting on. Just as it comes into sight, however,
we likewise catch sight of the enemy lurking nearby, intent on
keeping us from walking on ground that is rightfully ours, purchased
for us by our Savior with His Blood on the cross. We quail at the
size and imagined ferociousness of our foe, held back only by the
fence of our faith. Perhaps to this point that faith has never been
tested, and we are unsure if it is strong enough to keep the enemy at
bay. Rather than risk a fight we might lose, we turn tail, and the
turnaround in our situation must wait for another day.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Are you at that point today? Has your
walk with God taken you to a point where you must decide whether to
let Him take you further into uncharted territory, or retreat into
the safety of what you already know? It took the Israelites <i>40 years</i>
to enter their Promised Land, simply because they balked at so many
of the challenges they encountered, longing at times to return to
the life they knew, even as slaves under a tyrannical master. Some of us simply don't have that long to wait! Yet <i>God</i>
is longing that we would see these situations as the stepping-stones
they are to the answers we so desperately seek. A change in our
perspective might lead to a change in our actions...and likewise to
the outcome of the situation. Count it all joy!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<i>My brethren, count
it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the
testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its
perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing.”
</i>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>(James 1:2-4 NKJV)</i></div>
Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-46036306170661202772019-04-14T03:25:00.000-07:002019-04-14T03:25:55.854-07:00Fight With a Four-Letter Word
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijfjpRxKp9SKZ8UMVKn_MNNHVNLqYmDiOGe5kvGBACDwJpoLvoOrAPBX2EGnpxQ-4ewTUvgj9zLHMYugT8pnfM8ijeT2J7tUiwq1o9ruxs-fVi0eNCKKtACjKbMGLy9_rJTuvOm8rfvlM/s1600/stet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="869" data-original-width="1290" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijfjpRxKp9SKZ8UMVKn_MNNHVNLqYmDiOGe5kvGBACDwJpoLvoOrAPBX2EGnpxQ-4ewTUvgj9zLHMYugT8pnfM8ijeT2J7tUiwq1o9ruxs-fVi0eNCKKtACjKbMGLy9_rJTuvOm8rfvlM/s200/stet.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I woke up with a four-letter word on my
mind.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Intrigued, soon the first sip of
morning coffee found me typing it into the Dictionary app on my phone
to find the definition.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The word “stet” followed by a row
of dots means “let it stand”, and it is written as a corrective
direction on a manuscript or written material of some sort to <i>keep</i>
a portion of the same that had earlier been marked for deletion.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I <i>love</i> that! ...maybe because I
know the pain of submitting a written work to an editor and receiving
it back covered in red ink. There are passages deleted, words changed
and sentences rearranged, all in the hope of making the message more
concise and to the point. No matter how pure the editor's intent,
however, there is something inside of me that rises up in rebellion
and makes me want to <i>fight</i> at the sight of all that red!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Maybe that's not a bad thing, but a
God-planted defense mechanism for those times when we're under
attack. The Bible tells us that God has plans for our lives,
story-lines for each of us, written before we were even born. Those
plans and thoughts are for our prosperity and well being, filled with
hope and a bright future. But the devil also has a plan ...of <i>attack</i>!
...and the Word says that he comes to kill, steal and destroy all
that which God meant for our good.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So the manuscripts of our lives can
suddenly be handed back to us one day with large passages of the same
marked out in red ink. Things we thought were in our future, plans we
cherished, joys we were anticipating... all can seem suddenly to have
been removed from our story by the one who robs our joy.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In our affliction, we appeal to a
Higher Authority. And how does God respond? He writes “<b>stet...</b>”
beside those passages the devil wanted to delete. “<b>Let it stand</b>”
He writes beside the joys and life experiences the enemy meant to
steal away.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And what makes the red-letter promises
of God in the Bible more powerful than the red-ink editions of the
devil? God's are written in the Blood of His Son.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<i>So you shall serve
the Lord your God, and He will bless your bread and your water. And I
will take sickness away from the midst of you...I will fulfill the
number of your days.”</i></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>(Exodus 23:25-26 NKJV)</i></div>
Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3357137565275672843.post-27124724298989427132019-02-12T02:55:00.000-08:002019-02-12T02:55:42.614-08:00The Divine at Your Doorstep
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDcqE0XW75p7GE_aFplHu2YtEcWiJXEkwLRy4gnSmk4jpnkZ6FZWVk3g2R6qb7mggo7qXK23R9EAAGf8zlS4vcwsCv6Vb0DBb-oS7e81Zu1EcdAZ-zKp4U26dYAJIxNRAR2DX4uhtbAvM/s1600/Ring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDcqE0XW75p7GE_aFplHu2YtEcWiJXEkwLRy4gnSmk4jpnkZ6FZWVk3g2R6qb7mggo7qXK23R9EAAGf8zlS4vcwsCv6Vb0DBb-oS7e81Zu1EcdAZ-zKp4U26dYAJIxNRAR2DX4uhtbAvM/s200/Ring.jpg" width="111" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We've never had a doorbell.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our attention has been eventually drawn
to visitors on our front step either by their frustrated pounding on
the front door or the loud and incessant barking of the two dogs on
our side of it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Until now.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because we were so intrigued by ads for
the same we'd seen on TV, a Ring video doorbell found itself wrapped
and waiting for installation under the Christmas tree this past
holiday season. Now in place, our eyes have literally been opened to
what used to be just a matter of conjecture on the amount of traffic
occurring outside our home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Purchased primarily for protection
purposes, the Ring has met all our expectations. Being able to see
and speak from a distance to whoever might be on the property,
whether they wish to be seen or not, has added greatly to our peace
of mind when we're away from the house as well as just in a distant
room in the back of it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not that there haven't been a few scary
moments, such as when alerts have lit up the cell phone in the middle
of the night. But a pounding heart quickly calms when a check of the
video shows nothing but a passing possum, a leaf blown by in the
wind, or even nothing at all but pitch darkness rather than an
intruder bent on entry.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Far more wonderful have been the
unexpected joys of <span style="font-style: normal;">seeing</span> a
package you've been waiting for delivered, a family member arrive
safely home... or the latest, our neighbor <i>plowing out our
driveway</i> after the most recent round of snow! Talk about joy! We
would have discovered these blessings eventually upon our return
home, but our days were made immeasurable happier by being made aware
of them while they were happening.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Too often as believers our vision is
limited by what we can see with our physical eyes. Yet the gift of
the Holy Spirit is waiting to be opened up and activated, a <i>portal</i>
into a whole other realm of activity going on around us that we would
otherwise be unaware of. It not only alerts us to the dangers of
fear, negative thinking, and the restrictions of conventional
wisdom... but it brings into view the provision that is available and
waiting for us, and gives us the ability to access it and appropriate
it into our lives right now. The wisdom, healing, direction...<i>every
form of heavenly help we need</i>... is suddenly at our fingertips,
waiting for us to pick up and use. How wonderful that we don't need
to wait till we get to our heavenly Home to realize these joys, but
that God's intent is that we see and enjoy and use them <i>for His
Glory</i> while we need them here on earth. And how sad if we pass
through this life leaving the help we longed for sitting at our front
door...simply because we didn't know it was there.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<i>But the Helper
(Comforter, Advocate, Intercessor – Counselor, Strengthener,
Standby), the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name... He
will teach you all things. And He will help you remember everything
that I have told you.”</i></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>John 14:26 AMP</i></div>
Elaine L. Bridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06626664987489043393noreply@blogger.com0