Faith & Family

My husband didn't want his blue-canvas boat shoes to get wet, so while he walked along the dry sand, I sloshed through the foamy beach water in South Daytona Beach, Florida.

Several storms in the Atlantic caused the waves to crash in, one after the other. Along the way, I'd stop, watch their fury, and think back to those days of my youth—growing up near Savannah and body surfing with my friends at Tybee Beach. Sometimes I'd stop to watch the birds running away from the incoming tide, then back again as it ebbed to sea. Other times, I stopped to speak to others who enjoyed the day—the sun and the surf—as much as I did.

But each time I stopped on this day, I glanced over my shoulder to see that my husband had also stopped, stood several yards away, and watched me. Later that day, I mentioned to him that I'd noticed this and that, to my way of seeing it, those stops were his way of saying "I love you" because they showed he would never leave me to stand alone.

"Absolutely," he said. "Very much so."

How like God's Holy Spirit, I mused later. Always there. Always watching. Always protecting. He doesn't hover like a pest, but rather, He remains steadfast and faithful to His nature. Guiding. Safeguarding. Loving. All we must do is stop long enough and look over our shoulder to see.

Too often, we are unaware (or perhaps forget) that God is with us. And yet He is. Always. Don’t ever forget.

(Photo courtesy of pixabay and ELG21.)

Moving day. The very thought causes my body to tense and my mind to go into panic mode.

When my husband and I got married, we moved into our first home three days after our honeymoon with only a bed, TV snack tables, a couple of bean-bag chairs, and all our wedding gifts.

Fast-forward twelve years. We sold almost all our furniture (yes, by now the house was full) and moved from Florida to South Carolina with our few belongings and our two kids. We lived in one large upstairs room in my grandparents’ home while building a house, which we have now been in for almost forty years.

That’s the extent of my moving experience, unlike my friend Carol Stratton, who wrote a book called Changing Zip Codes: Finding Community Wherever You’re Transplanted. After moving over twenty-plus times, she became somewhat of an expert. Her book is filled with tips on making the transition easier to manage. How I admire her.

One of these days—hopefully soon—we will move from our location to a much smaller home. I love the idea, but the process of getting rid of all our junk and the actual packing and moving process seems overwhelming.

But there is one moving day I don’t need to dread—the day I transition from this earthly life to my heavenly one. There will be no sorting, packing, or cleaning. No decisions about what to take or leave behind. And no confusion about where to live because Jesus promised to prepare a place just for me. In the blink of an eye, I’ll simply change my zip code to my forever home.

Are you ready for moving day?

(Photo courtesy of pixabay and Tumisu.)

My stomach roiled. An uncontrollable retch erupted, and the dry heaves had me again.

Had I not already been on my knees, the retching would have driven me there. I was on the floor of our sparkling new, renovated bathroom, surrounded by smeared feces. The smell of the pine cleaner, ammonia, and chlorine weren’t enough to cover the smell. And they did nothing for the sight, the awful sight, of the condition of our new bathroom.

My poor ninety-three-year-old father-in-law was having a bad day. Physically healthy for his age, Father Kirby had Alzheimer’s. And like most semi-advanced Alzheimer’s patients, he had an episode of incontinence every once in a while. Like today. And this one was a doozy.

Evidently, he had realized his uh-oh and gone to the bathroom to try and clean up. But unfortunately, he only succeeded in smearing it virtually everywhere. Eventually, he must have forgotten what he was doing and wandered out of the bathroom. I discovered him a few minutes later, or rather my nostrils did, and I promptly hustled him into a hot bath. But that still left the bathroom to clean.

So here I was, on my knees, scrubbing the bathroom. Between violent retches, I asked God for help. I thought maybe he would close my nostrils or still my stomach to help me get through this, but instead, something else happened. He showed me sin. In a sudden revelation, I realized this was how sin looked to God. All sin, from harmless white lies to mass murder, carries this awful, terrible stench to God.

I had never thought about sin like this. Of course, I knew my past and continuing sins, but they were always sort of an abstract concept. Here was sin as God saw it, up close and personal … and awful. And as I pondered this, I noticed a few minutes later that I had finished cleaning the bathroom without realizing it.

My life has been a series of lessons, some harder than others.

Thank You, Father, for using this opportunity to teach me and for Your revelation. But it would certainly be okay if we didn’t have to repeat this one.

Do you see sin as God does?

(Photo courtesy of pixabay.)

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Not again! I was furious with my rambunctious three-year-old. He bounced a ball in the living room, and this time it hit my new lamp. I grabbed his arm and raised my voice in frustration and anger. He was terrified; I was mortified.

This was not how I’d envisioned myself as a mother. Short-fused, loud, angry. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I control my anger? The still, small voice of God’s Spirit said, Tell him you’re sorry. Ask for his forgiveness. Tell him you love him. To a three-year-old? The Spirit nudged again. That day, I began confessing and seeking forgiveness from my children. A practice I’d not seen while growing up but something I felt was essential to my heavenly Father.

Soon after, my morning time with God focused on a Bible study about anger. Daily, I searched a concordance and copied verses that mentioned anger. The day I read James 1:19 slowed my reading. I was far removed from reacting as he instructs. Quick to listen? Slow to speak? Slow to get angry? Not this mommy.   

Thus began a lifelong journey to listen first, speak later, and release anger. I copied James 1:19 onto a three-by-five card and posted it on my bathroom mirror. I tucked another card into my Bible. I memorized and prayed the verse often.

One day, I noticed it was my first thought when my temper flared. Now I had a choice: listen, speak, or get angry.

It has been decades since I humbled myself before a tender-hearted little boy and sought forgiveness for angry outbursts. But that practice, undergirded with James’ wisdom, has made all the difference as God faithfully transformed my mind and heart.

Think of something you can do to help remember God’s instructions or promises. Why not try a three-by-five card?

(Photo courtesy of pixabay and jupilu.)

When I was a young girl, I was fascinated by my favorite book, Seven Wonders of the World. My father and grandmother took me to Sunday school, where I wondered about our faith. My late dad always taught me to battle on—that faith was also a wonder of the world.

The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me? To me, the psalmist’s words mean that whenever I wander from God in my life’s path, I can always choose faith. In some of my experiences, daily life presented challenges. But somehow, I always kept a Bible handy and chose faith to see me through.  

Some days challenge us to follow our star, Jesus Christ. But Jesus never leaves our side. He prayed that He and His followers could battle injustice, as we all can today. We can aim to avoid conflict and keep our lips zipped.

On other occasions, we should speak up in society and contribute to people in need in any way we can. We can share our support for each other in our churches and the world. Life is too short to be negative. We can pray to be positive influences.

As believers we can keep choosing faith. Today, yesterday, and tomorrow, we can choose faith. 

(Photo courtesy of pixabay and thiagosnot23.)