Today was a big day for two of my soccer boys. I speak of Mikey and his position on The Dominators (although I have no clue what position he plays) . . . and his dear ol' dad Mark who happens to be their coach.
The soccer season is really over for most folks - that is unless you make it to the jamboree. Our team has done really well this year. We only suffered one loss all season. I am so proud of those kids. They really gave it the best they had every single game.
Let me give you a little bit more detail as to why today's game was so big. At 2pm on the nose, we faced our arch rivals . . . which also happens to be the only team we lost to this season. There is a little bit of history that lends to the competitive spirit we have with this particular team. Without going into too much detail, I will say that today's game (in Mark's eyes) had potential to really make or break our whole season.
Mark has been so good with the kids. Coaching kids in sports is really his niche - his ministry. While he is very competitive by nature, he never yells at the kids or makes them feel bad about making a mistake. He sends them out with words of encouragement, always trying to build them up. But the way he paced that painted on the grass line today, you would have though he was coaching the Dallas Cowboys or something. The pressure was on. With white knuckles and probably some pretty big butterflies in his stomach, my husband carried the pressure with grace.
Close to half time, our team scored the first goal. You should have heard the shrieking . . . we were so excited. But moments later I saw Mark shake his head, and drop his shoulders. Come to find out, there was some kind of a penalty involved so they didn't count the goal. Arugh! I watched Mark. He didn't get upset, even though it was a very upsetting call. He chose to keep his cool and stay focused.
Into the second half, the other team scored a goal on us. The turn of events was torture. One of the mom's sitting next to me had to turn around, she just couldn't watch. It was the kind of game that was impossible to sit down through.
Then in happened. The ball was passed to Chandler, and then on to Fernando - and we scored! I saw my husband practically jump out of his skin. I can't remember being that excited over a goal that was not kicked by my own kid.
I'm very happy to report that the game ended in a tie. This was a perfect ending to a great game. This way neither team had to feel bad. I appreciated God's answer to my prayer. We have one more game tomorrow morning, and if we win, then our Dominators will take first place.
I watched something miraculous take place during this season. While this other team had become our enemies through a circumstance or two, I saw Mark turn the other cheek and give them the benefit of the doubt. There was a friendliness out there on that field today - a recognition of different personalities which brought team spirit together, right on to center field.
A coach that seemed really obnoxious before, became simply a great guy who was just really competitive. I began to appreciate the fact that God made him that way - and that God was rooting just as much for their team as he was for ours.
The soccer field carries with it many of life's valuable lessons. Winning really isn't everything. It would have seemed nice to get back at our so called enemies. But I have come to find that it is strength of character and team spirit that carries the only true and lasting trophy.
Saturday, November 17
Friday, November 16
My Bad
There is a popular phrase of slang that keeps making it's way to my ears lately. Without having any teenagers (well at least not yet anyway), I am not really able to keep up with the coolest lingo - or should I say the fattest phrase (I'm sure I have that spelled wrong).
"It's my bad." I hear it here and I hear it there. From what I gather, this three word sentence means something like . . . I goofed, it's my fault, I royally messed things up . . . with a little bit of ownership tacked on. Now I may have this all wrong, and if so, feel free to correct me. Yes, on my own blog - you can send a dis in my direction. Like God's good Word says . . . Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy multiplies kisses. ~ Proverbs 27:6
The thing that got me on to this idea of "my bad" was a movie we just came from. With Mark still on vacation, and the kids all home we decided to head to the box office this afternoon. We have seen three movies in two weeks, due to Mark's vacation and our trip to see my Mom. The other two films we sat through were very enjoyable. But I have to tell you that this last one was a real stinker - and truth be told, it was "somebody's bad".
I could understand where the writers were trying to come from, but there was just something so forced about things. It was like they were trying too hard or something. The acting was bad, the plot was terrible and I left the theater feeling anything but good. I can appreciate the idea behind things, I guess. But this movie was a real disappointment.
As we left the theater, I asked the kids what they thought about the past hour and a half of our lives. All three of them said that it was good and that they liked it. I cringed. "How could they have enjoyed such garbage?" I wondered. Weren't they there too, while my stomach was turning and my eyes were rolling?
Then in dawned one me. Yes, they were there too, but they saw things through the eyes of a child. My precious kids weren't wearing the critical pair of spectacles that I had one. They were not concerned with the inconsistency of the story, the horrible wardrobe and grimacing characters. They simply saw entertainment at it's finest.
I felt a real check in my spirit. Attitude makes a really big impact on what we see. Maybe this movie simply didn't appeal to my personality, or my age, or my intellect, or my emotions . . . you get the picture. But it did minister to my family which is what our day out together was about in the first place. Why do I have to keep being reminded that it's not about me?
While I would not choose to sit through that flick again, I am choosing to send my blessing on every person behind the making of this film. I'm sure that they poured their whole hearts into it. Millions of dollars were spent, hundreds of people hired for the sake of one person's dream.
Who am I to squash something like that? If nothing else, I will remember the effort . . . and more important than that the lesson about attitude that came from God's patient hand.
I am choosing not to disclose the name of this picture, to keep from spreading my own stink. Anything less would shamefully be something called . . . my bad.
"It's my bad." I hear it here and I hear it there. From what I gather, this three word sentence means something like . . . I goofed, it's my fault, I royally messed things up . . . with a little bit of ownership tacked on. Now I may have this all wrong, and if so, feel free to correct me. Yes, on my own blog - you can send a dis in my direction. Like God's good Word says . . . Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy multiplies kisses. ~ Proverbs 27:6
The thing that got me on to this idea of "my bad" was a movie we just came from. With Mark still on vacation, and the kids all home we decided to head to the box office this afternoon. We have seen three movies in two weeks, due to Mark's vacation and our trip to see my Mom. The other two films we sat through were very enjoyable. But I have to tell you that this last one was a real stinker - and truth be told, it was "somebody's bad".
I could understand where the writers were trying to come from, but there was just something so forced about things. It was like they were trying too hard or something. The acting was bad, the plot was terrible and I left the theater feeling anything but good. I can appreciate the idea behind things, I guess. But this movie was a real disappointment.
As we left the theater, I asked the kids what they thought about the past hour and a half of our lives. All three of them said that it was good and that they liked it. I cringed. "How could they have enjoyed such garbage?" I wondered. Weren't they there too, while my stomach was turning and my eyes were rolling?
Then in dawned one me. Yes, they were there too, but they saw things through the eyes of a child. My precious kids weren't wearing the critical pair of spectacles that I had one. They were not concerned with the inconsistency of the story, the horrible wardrobe and grimacing characters. They simply saw entertainment at it's finest.
I felt a real check in my spirit. Attitude makes a really big impact on what we see. Maybe this movie simply didn't appeal to my personality, or my age, or my intellect, or my emotions . . . you get the picture. But it did minister to my family which is what our day out together was about in the first place. Why do I have to keep being reminded that it's not about me?
While I would not choose to sit through that flick again, I am choosing to send my blessing on every person behind the making of this film. I'm sure that they poured their whole hearts into it. Millions of dollars were spent, hundreds of people hired for the sake of one person's dream.
Who am I to squash something like that? If nothing else, I will remember the effort . . . and more important than that the lesson about attitude that came from God's patient hand.
I am choosing not to disclose the name of this picture, to keep from spreading my own stink. Anything less would shamefully be something called . . . my bad.
Thursday, November 15
Lost
I can hardly even believe it . . . as I type this post I keep hoping I will wake up. Surely this must be some kind of a nightmare.
It all began last night. One minute she was there, and the next she was gone. We attended Bible study together, had a few laughs, shed some tears - it was really nothing out of the ordinary.
As I left the church, I had her tucked underneath my arm - safe and secure. At least I thought I did. But when I got home, my unloading was a little bit lighter than normal. Awana's books, the kid's Bibles, my purse . . . but that was the gist of it. My own precious Bible was nowhere to be found.
I spent the day re-tracing my steps. I went up and down the sanctuary, into classrooms and all around the restroom - to no avail. Clearly she must have sprouted legs and taken a walk. But why? Why would she leave me like this? Hundreds of notes, a prayer request or two tucked between her worn pages. The lessons and the comfort each one brought is gone . . . all gone.
The ironic part of all of this is that I just picked up that ol' gal a few weeks ago. I had kept her set aside for some time, as I paraded around with one of my newer versions. Finding her again was like slipping into an old comfortable pair of jeans. My Bible has truly become a friend of sorts, seeing me through the thicks and the thins.
Although I feel nauseated with the thought of not finding her, there is an inner peace that calls to my troubled mind. It isn't so much about what you can see and touch that makes an eternal difference. My weathered friend has been a companion for a lot of years, and maybe it really is time to just let her go. If there is somebody out there who needs her more than I do (although I can't imagine that), then so be it. I trust that she will be a good friend to that person too.
Every verse I've memorised, every precept that has been imparted - I have to believe that they've stuck. God's Word is alive and active, sharper than any double edged sword . . . useful for teaching rebuking and training in righteousness. It has nothing to do with the thin paper pages, and everything to do with the message printed on them. I am choosing to believe that the Holy Spirit will not allow the Word that has been planted in my heart to return void.
If you are reading this, please pray that I will find my Bible. God knows exactly where it is, in fact, He has already decided whether or not she will return. I pray, and I wait - choosing to trust in the One who penned such a poetic masterpiece.
The rest is up to Him.
It all began last night. One minute she was there, and the next she was gone. We attended Bible study together, had a few laughs, shed some tears - it was really nothing out of the ordinary.
As I left the church, I had her tucked underneath my arm - safe and secure. At least I thought I did. But when I got home, my unloading was a little bit lighter than normal. Awana's books, the kid's Bibles, my purse . . . but that was the gist of it. My own precious Bible was nowhere to be found.
I spent the day re-tracing my steps. I went up and down the sanctuary, into classrooms and all around the restroom - to no avail. Clearly she must have sprouted legs and taken a walk. But why? Why would she leave me like this? Hundreds of notes, a prayer request or two tucked between her worn pages. The lessons and the comfort each one brought is gone . . . all gone.
The ironic part of all of this is that I just picked up that ol' gal a few weeks ago. I had kept her set aside for some time, as I paraded around with one of my newer versions. Finding her again was like slipping into an old comfortable pair of jeans. My Bible has truly become a friend of sorts, seeing me through the thicks and the thins.
Although I feel nauseated with the thought of not finding her, there is an inner peace that calls to my troubled mind. It isn't so much about what you can see and touch that makes an eternal difference. My weathered friend has been a companion for a lot of years, and maybe it really is time to just let her go. If there is somebody out there who needs her more than I do (although I can't imagine that), then so be it. I trust that she will be a good friend to that person too.
Every verse I've memorised, every precept that has been imparted - I have to believe that they've stuck. God's Word is alive and active, sharper than any double edged sword . . . useful for teaching rebuking and training in righteousness. It has nothing to do with the thin paper pages, and everything to do with the message printed on them. I am choosing to believe that the Holy Spirit will not allow the Word that has been planted in my heart to return void.
If you are reading this, please pray that I will find my Bible. God knows exactly where it is, in fact, He has already decided whether or not she will return. I pray, and I wait - choosing to trust in the One who penned such a poetic masterpiece.
The rest is up to Him.
Wednesday, November 14
Bedtime
It's been a long day, and I am tuckered out. After posting I plan on taking a nice hot bath, and then I'll hit the hay. I love bedtime.
I can remember as a kid I used to grumble with the thought of bedtime. Like a dark cloud moving forward through the day, I knew that at the end of every evening I would be sent to my room alone for sleepy time. It was never something I looked forward to.
I was always so afraid when I was a kid. I can remember being nervous about what might be under my bed, or lurking in the closet. I used to have pretty tormenting images flash through my mind, and some really terrifying nightmares growing up.
I have memories of actively protesting this whole bedtime thing. I never kicked and screamed mind you. But after my parents tucked me neatly into the covers I would cleverly climb out and sit in the hallway. I would stay there for a really long time, watching my parents watch TV. I could never really see them, but I was able to catch a glimpse of the living room where I sat, and that brought enough comfort for me.
I did not grow up in a Christian home, and thinking back there really was no trace of the Holy Spirit's presence. There was always an uneasiness that followed me around into every room. And that heaviness was carried right out the door with me. As a child I was so shy and insecure, afraid of everything and socially inept. Still today some of those old feelings will try and creep back in.
Back to bedtime and the present day. My own kids are tucked in neatly, feeling safe and secure. I know that the Holy Spirit watches over this home, and I am so grateful to be able to discern the difference.
I never really thought about it before, but my kids don't ever seem spooked like my sister and I were. Her and I would literally run for our lives out of the back bedroom after getting something we wanted to play with. For years it was the playroom. There was just something about that room that scared the be jabbers out of us. Even as an adult I felt unsettled in there.
Living without God for so many years makes me appreciate His presence today. There is something so sweet about heaven's reassurance. These days I know that the King of Kings has got my back . . . even while I sleep.
I can remember as a kid I used to grumble with the thought of bedtime. Like a dark cloud moving forward through the day, I knew that at the end of every evening I would be sent to my room alone for sleepy time. It was never something I looked forward to.
I was always so afraid when I was a kid. I can remember being nervous about what might be under my bed, or lurking in the closet. I used to have pretty tormenting images flash through my mind, and some really terrifying nightmares growing up.
I have memories of actively protesting this whole bedtime thing. I never kicked and screamed mind you. But after my parents tucked me neatly into the covers I would cleverly climb out and sit in the hallway. I would stay there for a really long time, watching my parents watch TV. I could never really see them, but I was able to catch a glimpse of the living room where I sat, and that brought enough comfort for me.
I did not grow up in a Christian home, and thinking back there really was no trace of the Holy Spirit's presence. There was always an uneasiness that followed me around into every room. And that heaviness was carried right out the door with me. As a child I was so shy and insecure, afraid of everything and socially inept. Still today some of those old feelings will try and creep back in.
Back to bedtime and the present day. My own kids are tucked in neatly, feeling safe and secure. I know that the Holy Spirit watches over this home, and I am so grateful to be able to discern the difference.
I never really thought about it before, but my kids don't ever seem spooked like my sister and I were. Her and I would literally run for our lives out of the back bedroom after getting something we wanted to play with. For years it was the playroom. There was just something about that room that scared the be jabbers out of us. Even as an adult I felt unsettled in there.
Living without God for so many years makes me appreciate His presence today. There is something so sweet about heaven's reassurance. These days I know that the King of Kings has got my back . . . even while I sleep.
Tuesday, November 13
Mr. Mom
I struggle with what to write about tonight. I guess that is one of the drawbacks of trying to write everyday. Coming up with material can sometimes be a stretch.
I know . . . I will write to thank my wonderful husband. He has decided to take the week off, and with me working and the kids off track - its pretty safe to say that he has been a lot like Mr. Mom. I have to say that the role fits him well, and if we had an apron I'd bet he would look pretty cute in it.
Today was an especially long day. I got off work at 3pm, and then went to get my hair done. I didn't arrive home until after it was already dark, which was a little bit strange. (I am still getting used to the time change.) My wonderful husband spent the day doing laundry, going grocery shopping and he even managed to have a nice hot meal ready when I walked through the door. Honestly, I felt like royalty.
Switching roles has made me really appreciate what it feels like to be taken care of. I am usually on the other side of things, trying to have dinner going when Mark gets home. With the kids in weekday activities, our sit down meals end up being pretty late. After a long hard day it is great to come home to a picked up house and a hot meal.
Mark really blessed me today. There are so many little things he does to show me that he loves me. One of my love languages is "acts of service", so today's attention spoke volumes.
Sometime it's the little things. What speaks love to your spouse? Is it a kind word, a back rub or maybe a surprise gift? "The Five Love Languages" by Gary Chapman is a book I would recommend to any married couple. It is important to understand what makes your spouse tick. God made us all unique, not only in our personality and giftedness - but also in the way we receive love.
Mark may not realize it, but I experienced the tenderness of God this afternoon. One of his love languages is "quality time", which means it's time to end this post so that I can go and plop on the couch next to him.
The marriage relationship was one of God's greatest ideas. At times it can be most challenging, causing us to love without regard to self. But with the Holy Spirit's help it can be so sweet.
I know . . . I will write to thank my wonderful husband. He has decided to take the week off, and with me working and the kids off track - its pretty safe to say that he has been a lot like Mr. Mom. I have to say that the role fits him well, and if we had an apron I'd bet he would look pretty cute in it.
Today was an especially long day. I got off work at 3pm, and then went to get my hair done. I didn't arrive home until after it was already dark, which was a little bit strange. (I am still getting used to the time change.) My wonderful husband spent the day doing laundry, going grocery shopping and he even managed to have a nice hot meal ready when I walked through the door. Honestly, I felt like royalty.
Switching roles has made me really appreciate what it feels like to be taken care of. I am usually on the other side of things, trying to have dinner going when Mark gets home. With the kids in weekday activities, our sit down meals end up being pretty late. After a long hard day it is great to come home to a picked up house and a hot meal.
Mark really blessed me today. There are so many little things he does to show me that he loves me. One of my love languages is "acts of service", so today's attention spoke volumes.
Sometime it's the little things. What speaks love to your spouse? Is it a kind word, a back rub or maybe a surprise gift? "The Five Love Languages" by Gary Chapman is a book I would recommend to any married couple. It is important to understand what makes your spouse tick. God made us all unique, not only in our personality and giftedness - but also in the way we receive love.
Mark may not realize it, but I experienced the tenderness of God this afternoon. One of his love languages is "quality time", which means it's time to end this post so that I can go and plop on the couch next to him.
The marriage relationship was one of God's greatest ideas. At times it can be most challenging, causing us to love without regard to self. But with the Holy Spirit's help it can be so sweet.
Monday, November 12
Jump
While we visited with my Mom this weekend, I got a jump on some of my Christmas shopping. I know, Thanksgiving hasn't even arrived yet - but my Mom had some coupons and we had the time!
Getting the bulk of my shopping done in a one stop shop was intoxicating. I am a practical kind of gal, and the less I have to drag my kids through department stores, the better. After collecting our goodies, we even went as far as to wrap them. My Mom had a tub of wrapping paper and tags, so we threw on a movie and went to work.
Amazingly I have everybody bought for except for my Mom, the kids and a few gift cards I will need to pick up. How jolly is that?
I like the idea of having my shopping done by December 1. I have a couple of friends who live up to this standard, and I like to follow their example. When I am able to get the shopping and most of the wrapping all taken care of, then I find that I can spend more time enjoying the season instead of scrambling for what to buy.
Christmas is my absolute favorite time of the year. I love the music, the lights, the cookies, all of the kooky traditions - and of course the adoration of that blessed Baby in a manger. There is something so cozy about hot chocolate near the fire and the glow of the Christmas tree lights. Even our artificial tree is pretty good at pulling the magic off. I'm still surprised I was able to talk Mark into that one.
But above the parades and snowmen (or pictures of snowmen), the deepest part of my holiday cheer has been born of pain. The year I was sick has brought a new tenderness to the season for me . . . I take nothing for granted anymore. That year, I remember wishing I could participate in the holiday cheer. But all I had the strength to do was to fight for my life.
There are other twinges of sadness that draws the Lord especially near during the holidays. My Grandma's passage into heaven is one of them. She was always the one who enjoyed Christmas presents the most, even more so that the kids. My Grandma didn't have much, and she was always so grateful for every package she tore through.
Most people have had to endure something painful in their lives. It could have been the death of a loved one, an illness or disability. While Christmas brings cheer to some, it can be devastatingly painful for others. For some folks a bare tree will represent an unexpected layoff. An empty dinner table can mirror harsh words or unresolved conflict. The sting of loneliness increases during this time of the year. Lights and caroling can even at times seem to mock one's pain.
This Christmas, I challenge you to pray for those who find Christmas unbearable. Remember, there is nothing different between you and that hurting person except for a circumstance or two. I'm sure that at one time they probably enjoyed the anticipation of Santa and those reindeer. But one wrong choice, or the devastating blow of tragedy stole the magic.
The Bible instructs us to come along side of the orphans and widows, and to take special care of those who have been forgotten. As you deck the halls this year, take notice of the people around you who are hurting.
Offer to pray for folks - tell them all about the "Light of the World" in that sweet Baby born to Mary . . . and spread a little Christmas cheer.
Getting the bulk of my shopping done in a one stop shop was intoxicating. I am a practical kind of gal, and the less I have to drag my kids through department stores, the better. After collecting our goodies, we even went as far as to wrap them. My Mom had a tub of wrapping paper and tags, so we threw on a movie and went to work.
Amazingly I have everybody bought for except for my Mom, the kids and a few gift cards I will need to pick up. How jolly is that?
I like the idea of having my shopping done by December 1. I have a couple of friends who live up to this standard, and I like to follow their example. When I am able to get the shopping and most of the wrapping all taken care of, then I find that I can spend more time enjoying the season instead of scrambling for what to buy.
Christmas is my absolute favorite time of the year. I love the music, the lights, the cookies, all of the kooky traditions - and of course the adoration of that blessed Baby in a manger. There is something so cozy about hot chocolate near the fire and the glow of the Christmas tree lights. Even our artificial tree is pretty good at pulling the magic off. I'm still surprised I was able to talk Mark into that one.
But above the parades and snowmen (or pictures of snowmen), the deepest part of my holiday cheer has been born of pain. The year I was sick has brought a new tenderness to the season for me . . . I take nothing for granted anymore. That year, I remember wishing I could participate in the holiday cheer. But all I had the strength to do was to fight for my life.
There are other twinges of sadness that draws the Lord especially near during the holidays. My Grandma's passage into heaven is one of them. She was always the one who enjoyed Christmas presents the most, even more so that the kids. My Grandma didn't have much, and she was always so grateful for every package she tore through.
Most people have had to endure something painful in their lives. It could have been the death of a loved one, an illness or disability. While Christmas brings cheer to some, it can be devastatingly painful for others. For some folks a bare tree will represent an unexpected layoff. An empty dinner table can mirror harsh words or unresolved conflict. The sting of loneliness increases during this time of the year. Lights and caroling can even at times seem to mock one's pain.
This Christmas, I challenge you to pray for those who find Christmas unbearable. Remember, there is nothing different between you and that hurting person except for a circumstance or two. I'm sure that at one time they probably enjoyed the anticipation of Santa and those reindeer. But one wrong choice, or the devastating blow of tragedy stole the magic.
The Bible instructs us to come along side of the orphans and widows, and to take special care of those who have been forgotten. As you deck the halls this year, take notice of the people around you who are hurting.
Offer to pray for folks - tell them all about the "Light of the World" in that sweet Baby born to Mary . . . and spread a little Christmas cheer.
Sunday, November 11
Squirrel
Nestled up against the hills of Morgan Hill, my Mom's new house is bursting with nature. From hundred year old trees to the sweetest little brook of water - it makes a haven for any nature lover. For somebody who connects with God through nature, I find it most enjoyable.
We decided to take the dogs for a walk this morning. The air smelled so fresh after last night's rain. Sunlight flickered off of moist leaves. Cold crisp wind blew through each branch, making its way through the holes in my sweater. Fall weather is finally here, and my senses rejoice.
As my Mom was talking with her "creek friends" for a bit, the kids took Ginger up and down the bank for a trek. Picking up sticks and large sycamore leaves, they ran and giggled as free as the wind.
I stole a few moments alone down by the rushing water. Covered by a parade of trees, this creek was so quiet and majestic. Over rocks and under branches . . . the water seemed to take on a life of its own. Each drop descended seemingly with a destination. I wondered - where was it going in such a hurry?
It reminded me of a section of the book I am reading. There is a passage about a small body of water descending and being poured out. And all the while, the water is full of glee! It is happy to be used of the Lord in this way. What a wonderful lesson.
Back to this morning . . . just as I was enjoying a few quiet moments with the Lord, I was startled by a passer-byer. Timid in demeanor, brown from head to toe - a furry tailed tree squirrel scampered up. Choosing to freeze and even hold my breath, I hoped he would inch closer.
He took a couple of steps, then twitched his tail. His movements were quick and graceful. He took no notice of the funny looking blond tree that was close by. I sure am glad he didn't decide to give me a climb.
The squirrel rushed on past me, inspecting every branch as he went. He ascended all the way to the top of a tree, only to jump on another. This little guy had no fear of heights. I'm sure the view up there was spectacular. He could have very easily lost his footing and descended hundreds of feet to his death. But the thought didn't even seem to cross his little mind. Like they say, ignorance is bliss.
So much about God's creation fascinates me. I marvel at the fact that I shared space with a squirrel during this morning's walk. Many people might think that it was no big deal, but I wouldn't agree. An unscheduled appointment with a brown tree squirrel is definitely something to write home about.
What I loved about this particular squirrel, is that he knew where he was going. This guy was on a mission. Nothing was going to stop him, no cold gust of wind or dog in the distance - no funny looking blond tree, nothing. He moved carefully but quickly, doing what a squirrel does best.
I did not see this squirrel looking confused about what being a squirrel is supposed to look like. He was not wringing his little feet in despair over which tree to climb next. In his natural habitat, he felt very comfortable just being.
So much of what God is teaching me lately has to do with simplicity and just being. It isn't so much about what I am doing as it is about who I am being. What does my walk look like? Am I wringing my little hands with anxiety and fear, or do I grab onto the next branch without a care in the world?
I know the answer to this for myself, and I pray that God will make me so much more like my furry little friend . . . ready to climb to the next height - free.
We decided to take the dogs for a walk this morning. The air smelled so fresh after last night's rain. Sunlight flickered off of moist leaves. Cold crisp wind blew through each branch, making its way through the holes in my sweater. Fall weather is finally here, and my senses rejoice.
As my Mom was talking with her "creek friends" for a bit, the kids took Ginger up and down the bank for a trek. Picking up sticks and large sycamore leaves, they ran and giggled as free as the wind.
I stole a few moments alone down by the rushing water. Covered by a parade of trees, this creek was so quiet and majestic. Over rocks and under branches . . . the water seemed to take on a life of its own. Each drop descended seemingly with a destination. I wondered - where was it going in such a hurry?
It reminded me of a section of the book I am reading. There is a passage about a small body of water descending and being poured out. And all the while, the water is full of glee! It is happy to be used of the Lord in this way. What a wonderful lesson.
Back to this morning . . . just as I was enjoying a few quiet moments with the Lord, I was startled by a passer-byer. Timid in demeanor, brown from head to toe - a furry tailed tree squirrel scampered up. Choosing to freeze and even hold my breath, I hoped he would inch closer.
He took a couple of steps, then twitched his tail. His movements were quick and graceful. He took no notice of the funny looking blond tree that was close by. I sure am glad he didn't decide to give me a climb.
The squirrel rushed on past me, inspecting every branch as he went. He ascended all the way to the top of a tree, only to jump on another. This little guy had no fear of heights. I'm sure the view up there was spectacular. He could have very easily lost his footing and descended hundreds of feet to his death. But the thought didn't even seem to cross his little mind. Like they say, ignorance is bliss.
So much about God's creation fascinates me. I marvel at the fact that I shared space with a squirrel during this morning's walk. Many people might think that it was no big deal, but I wouldn't agree. An unscheduled appointment with a brown tree squirrel is definitely something to write home about.
What I loved about this particular squirrel, is that he knew where he was going. This guy was on a mission. Nothing was going to stop him, no cold gust of wind or dog in the distance - no funny looking blond tree, nothing. He moved carefully but quickly, doing what a squirrel does best.
I did not see this squirrel looking confused about what being a squirrel is supposed to look like. He was not wringing his little feet in despair over which tree to climb next. In his natural habitat, he felt very comfortable just being.
So much of what God is teaching me lately has to do with simplicity and just being. It isn't so much about what I am doing as it is about who I am being. What does my walk look like? Am I wringing my little hands with anxiety and fear, or do I grab onto the next branch without a care in the world?
I know the answer to this for myself, and I pray that God will make me so much more like my furry little friend . . . ready to climb to the next height - free.
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