The Light in Izzy's Room

                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My hands began to shake as I hastily removed the black, satin ribbon from its secure place from around my neck.  I quickly glanced behind me before examining the silky strand that dangled an aged, black skeleton key. My heart began to beat faster; its loud rhythmic drum beat filled my ears and drowned out the scuffling, stomping noises coming from the stairway behind me.  The key was mesmerizing as it gently and elegantly twisted and swayed in the hall's dim light.  The end of my journey was near, I was so close; now it was just down to getting this ancient key into that lock. 

"Don't open it!" a voice hissed breathlessly from the top of the stairs behind me.  Startled back into reality, I jumped and let out a small, sharp scream. I hunched my shoulders in fear and grasped the key tightly in my fist.  "You will NOT stop me....I AM going to open this door!"  I answered forcefully as my voice quivered. I waited for him to pounce, but he paused.  He was just as curious as I was as to the contents of this secret room.  I released the key from my sweaty grip and began to struggle trying to fit the key into its lock.  "Please!!" I frantically whispered. I dared not to look over my shoulder, I knew he was there, ready to do whatever necessary to keep me from the room's contents. I could not steady my hand!  My eyes filled with tears as I failed over and over again trying to fit the key into its keyhole.   I closed my eyes and my heart fell to the tips of my dirty, worn boots.  It wasn't going to fit. I couldn't make my key fit.  Wet sloppy tears began to freely fall drenching my face and splashing unto my hand and key.  I dropped to my knees in surrender. It was over.  I hung my head and sobbed, my body heaving as I prayed silently and awaited my fate.  

A thud and a muffled moan answered my unspoken plea and in a matter of moments, I was being lifted to my feet.  "Be still, Isabell.  I'm here."  My knees were so weak, I felt as if they would buckle at any moment.  I was tired and drained and just ready to be done!  Mr. Goudwyne steadied me with one of his arms around my waist and with his free hand over mine, together we effortlessly slid the key into its lock.  With a click and a low creak the door grumbled open.   The sleepy room seemed to yawn awake; it's breath heavily dank from being sentenced to decades of deep slumber.  After making sure I was strong enough to stand on my own, my master knelt down and picked up his lantern and entered the room first, confident and unafraid.  The rooms darkness was so thick, it almost consumed him....even with the lantern.  "Sir, I don't know if I can. I mean.....I don't know if I really, truly want to find out.  Mr. Goudwyne, I'm scared."  My voice trailed off in shame.  After everything I had endured in America, it was here, on English soil.... in my master's home....in my home... that I couldn't do something as simple as entering a single darkened room. Mr. Goudwyne held the lantern up, its light illuminated his strong features.  His brown eyes were soft and comforting.  He didn't speak, he just held out his hand for me.  I held my breath as I shuffled in,  His strong hand found mine and gently he guided me in.  "Daughter, welcome home."  he spoke to me quietly in the dark room.  Daughter? My weary heart began to slowly beat again.  Is that how he saw me?  An orphan he took in and had pity on... that is who I was!  Fragile, broken, useless.....a servant in his home was all I had hoped to be.  To hear him call me daughter began to fill the vast void that I had searched a new continent across the ocean to find.  "Come, Izzy.  We have a room to explore."  He held the lantern out in front of us in the thick, black darkness.   The lantern's light began to pulse and swell, burning through the inky dark and chasing it back into shadow to the far reaches of the mysterious room.........
                                   ~abridged excerpt from"The Journey of Izzy"~

                                                                          
 "Hey, wait a minute...don't stop!"  The story satellite signal from my brain was suddenly interrupted and the "clickety-clackey" sound my fingers made as they danced over the laptop keys abruptly came to a halt.  Dishearteningly I watched as both my characters froze rock solid into place. "But wait!  Izzy...what's in the room??" I stared blankly at the blinking cursor at the end of my last typed word; each annoying blink hungrily begging for me to type more.  Eventually, I do regain a teeny-tiny flicker of signal, not strong enough to deliver more of my story line, however, but just strong enough to serve a six word snack for my pulsing cursor.... "What do you think you're doing?!"


~ Psalms 36:9  "For with thee is the fountain of life: in thy light we shall see light."

"I have no clue, you tell me, Mr. Cursor! You greedy gobbler!" I answer back, annoyed I couldn't provide for my hungry cursor.  Ohhhh! This is all my son's fault! He thought it'd be neat for us to take his high school "One Year Adventure Novel" English course together.  Both of us, by the end of the school year, according to the author/teacher of this writing course, should have an adventure novel written. I had a few characters and a story line in mind that I had somewhat developed over the summer, so I thought, sure, why not? I managed to regain my composure and squinted my eyes in my imagination to try to see something more in my story's mysterious secret room.  After all, I have a starving cursor to feed! Mentally, I grabbed hold of Izzy's shoulder's and try the ol' hopping up and down technique to try to sneak a peak over her head.  The blinding light from Mr. Goudwyne's lantern had washed over the room so intensely that I couldn't see anything in the room but my story's two figures.  I walk around my characters and stop in front of Izzy and begin to examine my work.  If I can't see what's in this room, I might as well get to know her better.


~Ecclesiastes 11:7  "Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun."

With hands on my hips, a squint and a slight tilt to my head, I look over my Izzy.  Still frozen in place, one hand grasped in the hand of her master, the other raised to her face, I take notice that Isabell definitely did not fit the mold of the "day".  Her skin, tan and almost sunburned, would have been frowned upon by women in her time era.  A low class, savage is how English society would have seen her.   Examining closer, I noticed there were more flaws to Izzy's skin beyond its darkened pigment.  Scattered scratches and scars littered her raised, bare, forearm....."All these from her adventures in America"? I wondered.  "Or could some be older?"  Some of Izzy's long dark blond hair rested gracefully on her arm.   Waist length, thick and wavy, she wore it long and loose.  Shinning in the rooms light like glimmering threads were strawberry and lighter blond highlights that nearly sparkled from her neatly groomed hair.  Her hair color, I noted, is the perfect frame for her big, brown eyes.  Ducking under her raised arm, I delightfully noticed tiny fiery, red flecks in her partially squinted eyes that danced as they reflected the rooms light.  I smiled at the subtle hint her eyes gave cluing me to her spirited, fiery and challenging personality.  "A girl after my own heart", I though with a chuckle.  That alone was enough to make me like her....but the moment I began to fall in love her.....was when I noticed the globby wet tears that clung to her tanned, weathered cheeks and moistened her scratched, raised hand.



~"He revealeth the deep and secret things: he knoweth what is in the darkness, and the light dwelleth with him." Daniel 2:22

 Izzy, the girl clinging tightly to her master's hand, looks incredibly brave to me.  It's not her  weathered and worn exterior or the fiery red flecks in her eyes but it's her beautiful blind obedience. Fighting the urge to run, she obediently follows her masters voice into the room's stifling darkness.  She shakes, she shuffles and she cries but through the discomfort Izzy bravely chooses to reach.  I look down at my hands and remember how much they shook at the door handle of my own room.  Glancing over Izzy's shoulder I see my room's door open wide to a dark abyss.  "At least YOU have light, Izzy..." My voice echoed, noticing the stark contrast in lighting between the two rooms.  "When you're done here, Mr. G, could you please help me out and shine a little light across the hall?" I said in a slightly condescending tone.  He remained motionless and continued to stare blankly over the top of my head.  I reached to turn him around, to light the room myself when a quiet, still voice spoke.  "I'm already here."  "You are?" my heart argued.  "But you can't be......its so dark!"  II Chor. 6:14 burned into thoughts......"What communion hath light with darkness."  Maybe I'm seeing this all wrong.  Could it possibly be, that my darkened room isn't really dark at all?  If Jesus is there, it can't be.  Izzy's posture; her eyes in partial squint, arm held up to shield her eyes from the lantern's blindingly bright light; reveals to me..... darkness isn't all that can keep us from seeing.  Sometimes, Jesus' bright light can be so blinding, it can hide our rooms contents and its only when He allows His light to softly fade that we can see what He has for us.  With a quick kiss on Izzy's cheek, I thank her.  It's time to regain my own journey.... across the hall in my own room.  My feet may shuffle, my hands may shake, and tears may stain my cheeks but its decided....whatever room Jesus opens for me, I'm choosing not to run.....but to reach instead.

On the Wings of Vultures

"Are you coming?"  I felt His gentle tug on my hand as I stood frozen in a daze in front of my Lang calendar.  "Yeah, just a sec.  I have some things to figure out first." I mumbled.  My chest began to feel its typical tight and crampy feeling when I worry and I began to brood over every penciled in commitment that seemed to overwhelm nearly every square.   "Child, come." He pulled more forcefully this time and sullenly I allowed myself to be led behind him as we weaved through the living room and out to the porch.

He let go of my hand and with a gentleman's bow and a sweet smile, He pointed me to my seat on the top porch step.  He sat after me and leaned in and whispered, "Watch."  I took in the scene in front of me.  I didn't want to hurt His feelings, but it was early Spring and the time of year I liked the least.  The trees seemed dead and cursed to stillness as they reached with frozen gray, twisted arms towards the blue, cloudless sky.  Nubs of cornstalks leftover from last years harvest still littered the fields and brown, crunchy leaves clung stubbornly to the edges of bare bushes and shrubs.  Down right messy and ugly if you ask me.  What could He possibly want to show me out here?  I forced a smile, squirmed a little on the hard, porch step and with Him...... waited.

Look.........

Whiffffffffffffff.  A small breath of wind gently brushed my hair back.  I couldn't help but close my eyes and take in a deep breath of its sweet fragrance.  The cool air filled my nostrils and lungs and it's deliciousness wiped the thoughts of my calendar and its worries from my mind.  A soft nudge opened my eyes to the dance of two sparrows in flight.  I sat up straighter on my step and pointed out a strange bird walking head first down our walnut tree. "What kind of bird is that?"  I asked in a curious whisper.  He smiled and handed me a bird book.  Together we found birds I never new existed.  The chubby, long- nosed Nuthatch, the sweet, soft-gray Titmouse, and the blue- headed,  iridescent Grackle.  My bird cast grew as new discoveries mingled with old familiars.  Playfully hopping from branch to branch and gracefully gliding from tree to tree, I found their masterfully choreographed flights mesmerizing and their colorful costumes awe inspiring.  The air around us filled with glorious, tantalizing song and my heart began to soar.  The uncomfortable feeling in my chest from worry and fear began to ease as I relaxed in the moment and enjoyed this small breath of time sitting with Jesus.   I looked to Him to thank Him for pulling me away.  He put a finger to His lips to quiet me and nodded to the field in front of us.



Wait.........

The most breathtaking and thrilling sight......He saved for last.  As if on cue as part of His masterful grand finale, a large figure emerged from behind a fallen log and rose into flight with only a few, strong strokes of his long, brown feathered wings.  His graceful elegance and visible strength brought me to my feet. To my delight, the great bird swiftly swooped down like a seasoned stunt pilot and fearlessly flew directly in front of me.  His flight spanned the entire length of the driveway and at the last minute, right before the garage door, he pulled up and climbed a steep 90 degree angle.  "Encore!  Encore!", I felt like cheering!  With eyes dancing in excitement, I looked to the Director of this beautiful play.  "Is that who I think it was?!"  Satisfied at my reaction, He nodded and answered with a wink.  "Beautiful, isn't he?"

See.......

Breathless, I sat back down next to my Savior.  This notoriously ugly creature was indeed beautiful and he captured my heart.  He knew this bird would.  I couldn't take my eyes off him as he soared gracefully off into the distance as silent as a kite. "Do you see?" He put his arm around me and squeezed.   With His touch, my heart began to slowly beat.  With each pulse, the world around me began to awaken and stir.  The trees that were once frozen and gray, stiffly stretched to life.  The tightly closed buds seemed to yawn open and soon the gnarled, empty branches were filled delicate, lacy, green leaves.  Life was reemerging into my dingy spring. 





LOOKing into my Saviors face, I did see.  I saw where I needed to keep my eyes focused..... on Him and in the "moment" that He placed me in.  (Matthew 6:24) It's not easy to live "moment by moment"..... but that is where God wants me. He doesn't want me standing in front of my "calendar" chewing my nails over future events that I have no control over. Hanging out in a "what if" world hand painted in the dark and gloomy watercolors of fear and dread is living a life in the death-like slumber of early spring.

 Sitting next to my Jesus living and focusing on the sweet moment He provided for me, I was finally able to fully understand David's wise words spoken in Psalm 27:14.  "WAIT on the Lord; be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart; wait, I say, on the Lord. "  It's hard to wait for someone when you are in a hurry to go on ahead.  Jesus wants us to "be still" in Him, (Psalm 46:10), and "KNOW" that He is in control.  I can't SEE tomorrow, but He can (Jeremiah 29:11) and knowing He is there waiting to guide me through (vs. 12) gives me peace and hope that whatever season awaits, it will work for my good (Romans 8:28).  With Jesus by my side, all my seasons can be like the budding spring.

"I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears."  Psalm 34:4

Weeks later, I got my encore.  The world seemed to fall silent when my graceful vulture came back gliding from the distance to meet me again.  Looking up, I wondered if he would fly close enough for me to hear the sound of the wind rushing through his feathers.  I stood in breathless silence as he flew directly overhead.  Looking down with his wrinkled, bald head and with two powerful pumps of his wings, he greeted me with a soft "whooshing" sound.  With a content smile, I closed my eyes and thanked the Lord for always fulfilling his promises.  On the wings of the vulture, he carries my fears away.





But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles*; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.                        * vultures.... :)

                                                                          Isaiah 40:31


                                                                                                               

                                     


Look.........

                 Wait.........
                                                                               and

                                                  See.......
    

A Root Canal For The Heart

I'm sure to my husband I must have looked like some strange bunny/snake hybrid as I stopped mid sentence and curled up my top lip to expose my two front teeth.  "Did you see that?!"  I pointed and demonstrated again what had been happening all day.  I pressed my tongue against the back of my front teeth and blew hard, hissing and spraying spit all over the kitchen trying to blow bubbles from the crack in between my front teeth.  I read his look of " You gotta be kidding me" and annoyed I answered his look loudly, "I'm totally serious! Hey! There!...Seeeee!  Did you catch that?! It happened again!" As I finished my sentence, I felt a little bubble pop against my lip.  Usually I find bubble blowing fun......when I'm doing it purposely through a plastic wand or with my favorite Stride, sweet-peppermint gum.....random spit bubble blowing from the gap in my front teeth...is just plain disturbing!  My husband was thoroughly amused at my discovery and laughed heartily, "Oh, I know you're serious!" He made a mental note, I'm sure, of my newest obsession, added it to my ever growing OCD list and without delay, began administering the proper medicine.  He crossed his arms, and offered no comments while I continued blowing, hissing, spraying and counting the teeny bubbles as they popped.  I caught him watching with raised eyebrows and a smirk. "I'm still serious!" I began to giggle and together we broke out in laughter.

This most recent obsession with my teeth, that had been lying in peaceful slumber the past few months, has been pinched awake and its resurrection is totally due to my  husband....well.....his tooth.  Both he and I have cracked molars that our dentist has been keeping an eye on.   Mine is still intact....so far.  His finally fell apart a few weeks ago. After his trip to the dentist, my husband announced that he had an another appointment to add to the calender.   One with a specialist for a root canal.   Immediately I was grossed out and filled with horror. All I could picture was a scary, unknown dentist drilling his way through sensitive pink gums, mining his way under roots and teeth.  What a disturbing under-the-gum canal had to do with saving a tooth was totally beyond my realm of thinking and seemed to accomplish nothing besides fear and torture.  Googling "What is a root canal?!" we found out what it really was and were both pleasantly shocked...it didn't look all that bad!  "Are you nervous?" I asked, looking from the diagram on the laptop screen to his open mouth and broken molar. "Nope, just don't want to do it." My tongue went to the huge, growing gap in between my front teeth (well, not really) to the deep, crater from the jagged fracture on my right canine tooth (*sigh*, OK, again, not really....but it might as well be!).  My tongue continued it's hunt for tooth imperfection in the search of my own cracked molar....I couldn't remember which tooth it was...but I knew it was there somewhere and with wide eyes, I put my hand to my mouth. It's a matter of time....

Recharged and refreshed from our anniversary weekend get-away, together we were ready to take on my husband's root canal.  With a book and a warm cup of coffee, I waited while he was escorted back to the procedure room where he was warmly greeted by the dentist.  I listened to their cheerful banter and sunk more comfortably in my chair reassured my husband was in good hands.  With skilled hands and warm "chair side" manner, the dentist was beginning the steps needed for my husband to have a healthy mouth and a new, pain-free tooth.  I snuggled in the worn, blue waiting room chair and began to read.    The lively conversation between Gandalf and Frodo began to sound distant as my book pages softly faded from sight and thoughts of anniversaries past flooded my memory.   Jesus leaned in closely from the chair beside me and as our shoulders touched he gave me a playful, gentle nudge.  "You remember, don't you."  With a wide smile and heart overflowing with gratitude, I looked onto the face of my Great Physician and Healer,  "Master, I'll never forget."

~ The Appointment ~

12 years ago, near our 10th Anniversary, Jesus sent me an appointment card.  Nervously fiddling with with the card in my hands, I contemplated what to do.  "I could easily cancel", I thought, "or better yet, just not show up!"  Fulfilling my appointment with Him would mean going back on a promise I had made to myself as a young bride on my wedding day.  My sweet, new husband must never know the deep, dark secret that I kept hidden deep inside of me.  "It's just a tiny crack.  No one else can see it."  I was confident I had perfected my acting skills and I was equally as confident they would surely continue to grow even stronger in time....and who knows....maybe this tiny crack will just heal itself and go away.  The tiny crack never went away.  It gradually grew larger and larger with each year of our marriage.   Infection soon set in and to protect my husband from any contamination,  I kept him at a safe distance at arms length.  Flicking at the card with my finger, I wrestled with my fears, until the painful throb from my infected wound made the decision for me.

                                        ~ The Procedure ~

I jumped a little as the leather chair began to slowly tilt backwards.  As it gently hummed into position, Jesus adjusted the over head light and shinned it deep inside my open mouth.  He quietly worked as my heart pounded.  "Is it bad?" I mumbled with his hand still in my mouth.  "Nothing I can't handle." was His swift and confident reply.  My neck, back and legs started to ache.  It felt like I had been sitting in that chair for years.... would He ever be done?!  Sensing my discomfort, He let me rest.  He watched my face as I examined His work with my tongue.  All I felt was a gaping hole.  Tears sprang to my eyes at the shooting pain my tongue had made against the raw gum.  He squeezed my arm gently and gave me a reassuring smile as He got up from His chair.  "Hang on.  I have something for you." I turned my head to hide my face and a steady flow of tears washed down my cheeks and drenched the pillow underneath me.  As I quietly sobbed, I heard the soft footsteps of  Jesus' return and the hard soled footsteps of another.  "Child, I need your hand."  Jesus gently took my arm.  Instead of a paper cup with multicolored pills to numb the pain, I felt a warm hand firmly enclose around mine.  In shock, my eyes flew open and I turned to look up into the face of my husband.  He began to blur as tears violently flooded my eyes and tore down my cheeks.  I curled up and shamefully hid my face.  My body heaved and shook with crying that seemed to boil and bubble from the pain that nestled itself deep inside my soul.  "He's going to see....he mustn't see!!!", I sobbed as I sat up to escape. Jesus gently pushed me back into the chair and my husband kept his firm but loving grip.  There was more work that needed to be done and Jesus wanted to use my husband as part of the the medicine to mend my wounded soul.

~ The Healing ~

Genesis 2:24

Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh."

 It was a painful and shameful process lying in Jesus' chair, but I allowed Him to work, cleaning, packing and resurfacing my wound....and all the while....my husband kept his strong, loving grip.   Grabbing my free hand, Jesus helped me sit up as the chair hummed to its original upright position. "Better?" He asked with a reassuring squeeze.  I rubbed my newly cleaned wound.  "It's still hurts a little....and it's really sore."  I knew I had a long road of recovery ahead, but the ache of my healing heart was dulled by the two warm, loving hands that held mine.  "He stayed?"  I looked to Jesus, shocked my husband didn't leave at the first, gruesome, sight of my diseased wound.  "I knew he wouldn't.  That's why I chose him for you."

That was the moment where I finally understood the depth of "one flesh".   Allowing my husband to see me....... finally gave him full access to all of me.   My wound was a wedge keeping us from fulfilling God's plan for our marriage to be emotionally bonded as one.  The lifesaving root canal my heart received from my Master Physician was a blessed gift,  giving my husband and I a new, healthy marriage.....exactly as God had intended. 

                                                      ~ Today ~

The numbness had finally wore off.  My husband pulled me close, gave me a kiss and thanked me for going along with him on his root canal adventure.  "No problem!"  I smiled as I kissed him back.  *pop*......"Did you see that this time?" I giggled.  "Nope."  He smiled, letting out a long, deep breath.   My heart sang in its ever strengthening shell that Jesus transplanted.  My husband gets me, he understands me and better yet....he knows exactly how to deal with me and all my crazy little ticks.  "No, " I thought in my husbands embrace..........."thank YOU!"

<3     Happy 22 years to my best friend!     <3

  

 

Unpluggin' With Help From a Hobbit

"Thou wilt shew me the path of life; in thy presence is fullness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore." Psalm 16:11

I was totally caught off guard when my long faced, teen-aged daughter confessed a heart heavily burdened with doubt.  Newly graduated with a fresh, new canvas on her life's easel, my daughter began to question everything.  Her life seemed to mockingly stare blankly back at her as she looked around and compared her unseen masterpiece to her childhood friends emerging pieces of art.  Most of her girlfriends had sadly chosen to keep the Lord out of their artwork but...they at least had vision and some of the portraits were turning out....kind of.....pretty.  The resulting feelings of confusion and guilt where drowning her and as she sobbed, I held her and suspiciously looked around our "home" wondering how that crafty little devil found his way in.  We live a relatively sheltered life; our house is quietly tucked away in the middle of nowhere among cornfields and soybeans, we home school with a curriculum that encircles our christian faith and the bible, the kids' best friends are their cousins, we have devotions, attend Sunday church.... and yet with all these attempts at safeguarding and sheltering the kids from the world and it's evils...Satan still found us.  It was a painful reminder that times of struggle are Satan's favorite time to come a knockin' on our door (like the woman in Proverbs 9:14 and 15) and like a cloven silver tongued salesmen, he'll barge right in our lives and offer multiple tantalizing cure alls.  He dangles colorful bottles of "Try This!" and "Just Once!" and without bothering to even check the warning label, bottle after delicious bottle of his promises are guzzled leaving us with swooning side effects.  Reeling from joylessness and doubt, my daughter had a decision to make. Two paths lay in front of her as they do for us all.  To help shine a spotlight on the correct one, I suggested a journey of sorts, one that would surely change her life forever........

"I am looking for someone to share an adventure that I am arranging, and its very difficult to find anyone."  ~Gandalf, "The Hobbit"

Never would I dream that my daughter's fast, a 40 days "unplugged" journey giving up all electronics (T.V, Facebook, PlayStation, Wii...) would eventually encompass the whole family.  I mean, yeah, we rooted her on, complimented her and admired her, but we didn't need to do it, too.....did we?!   After a few short weeks, the joyous glow returned to my daughters cheeks and the return of her giddy laughter and happy bounce in her step stood out in stark contrast to my own slow progression to the sad, joyous figure she was just emerging from. I knew I had my own hidden stash of empty colored bottles of Satan's lies that I had gulped down. I felt twinges of jealousy and guilt noticing all the newly gained time she had for adventures of a vast variety....in scripture, in classic pieces of literature, in the art of her photography.....all were wonderful and fulfilling..... and time ......it seemed it was no longer the ticking enemy. Grinning, one morning, she plopped down "The Hobbit" on the kitchen counter in front of me.  Her eyes dancing, I could tell this was definitely one of her favorite unplugged adventures so far.  While the rest of us sat in a trance watching the latest "CAN"T miss episode!" on T.V or were frantically working on trying to get to the next PlayStation level with frayed nerves and bloodshot eyes, my daughter traveled "There and Back Again" in two days!  Noticing the rest of the families ever paling cheeks was enough to coax me off my queenly perch on the couch and pack my bags and the rest of the family's.  We're in!

"And I'm sure the rain has got into the dry clothes and into the food bags," thought Bilbo.  "Bother burgling and everything to do with it!  I wish I was at home in my nice hole by the fire, with the kettle just beginning to sing!" It was not the last time that he wished that! ~Bilbo Baggins, "The Hobbit"

"Oh, Bilbo, you silly Hobbit!" I chuckled to myself tapping the side of my head, admiring my craftiness.  I had just finished the first chapter of "The Hobbit"'; the part where Bilbo overslept and almost missed the beginning of his adventure.  Gandalf hurriedly shooed him on his way without a moment to pack his beloved pipe or his handkerchiefs. "Always be prepared!"  I thought.  Duh! If he would have watched any episode of " Doomsday Preppers" he would have known to be prepared with his quick escape bag.  Smiling smugly, I finished a couple more chapters and was panic free as the red record button flashed on our DVR.  Ingeniously, I had made sure to clean up my DVR recordings the night before our unplugged adventure....weeding out the news shows and other non-emergency recordings to insure all my important shows would be there waiting for me at the end of our journey.

The first night wasn't all that bad.  It was kind of exciting, like loosing power and having everyone huddled together for safety in the same room.  We sat at the kitchen table and played Phase 10, Monopoly Deal, and then by the time we got to our second hour and the third game of Uno my backside was tingly and half numb.  I looked at the clock.  8:00.  Usually by 8, I announce to my kids that I'm closed, I pour a cup of decaffeinated coffee, put on my jammies and pink fluffy robe, and with my hubby and favorite blankie, we together stare and drool at the T.V for 3 hours of relaxing, nonthinking, zoned out bliss.  With cards in one hand, my coffee in another and a numb bottom end, it wasn't my usual evening of relaxing, nonthinking, zoned out bliss.  Did I mention the screaming?  We are loud at playing games and usually I like it loud.  Just not during my relaxing, nonthinking, zoned out bliss time.  Wiggling to find a comfortable spot on the hard kitchen chair I thought of the long weeks ahead without my cushiony throne...."Oh!  I hope all my shows are recording!"  I worried silently.  "I wish I could check the DVR!!" .....and "it was not the last time that I wished that."


".....You don't really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit?" ~ Gandalf to Bilbo at the end of his journey. "The Hobbit"

It's amazing how the Lord used my daughters trial to change the whole family.  At the end of the agreed upon two week journey I marvel in awe at the Lord's ability to grow not just one child of his....but a house full all at the same time!   Our journey didn't involve battling giant spiders, goblins or jeweled bellied dragons.  It was a peaceful, wondrous adventure of evenings gazing up into the night sky in front of a fire searching for star formations, bonding sitting around the kitchen table giggling and shouting loudly at cards, and cramming together on Mom and Dad's bed to read.  Our home became a quiet sanctuary free from the chains of a life revolving around who the winner of the next Cupcake War will be or who will be eliminated from the next Amazing Race.  Bilbo and the Dwarfs were victorious in their quest for the dragons hoard of stolen treasure, but what we found shines brighter that the "precious" golden ring found by Bilbo.   Each of us gained a fresh vision of the portrait the Lord wants us to paint as a family.  Sojourning on, my daughter continues her 40 days unplugged goal as ours comes to an end.  I don't know how TV will fit into my new unplugged life.....so she may just have a traveling partner yet!

Romans 5:3-4 tells us to "glory in tribulation..knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope."



Authors Note:

A heartfelt THANKYOU to my girl for letting me use her story and for letting us tag along on her amazing journey!  <3  ((HUGS))  <3

Battle For The Attic

I couldn't get anyone else to go up with me!  An entire, unexplored, third story awaited me in my "new" 1880's Victorian Mansion with rows of rooms still filled with their furniture, a dusty attic crammed to the rafters with priceless antiques and an ancient library with floor to ceiling shelves overstuffed with a rainbow assortment of faded, hard-covered books.   Left behind with the house, the fully furnished upstairs was ours but agonizingly it was nothing more than useless, unusable, wasted space.  Our whole third story was held hostage.  The desire to get lost in exploration was strong yet the fear of what stood guard at the top of the stairs kept my feet glued at the bottom.  Keeping an eye on the dark shadow that paced back and forth in the dim light at the top of the long flight of stairs, I asked my mom to come with me.  She withdrew behind me and vehemently refused.  I looked for volunteers from the rest of my family that stood frozen in fear alongside me at the base of the steps. "Aww, come on guys!  Maybe they'll let us pass this time.  They can't hurt us, right?"  We all knew the limitations of their power but none wanted to risk facing the evil that diligently guarded the mysterious third floor. Annoyed fighting the same battle night after night, I stubbornly stomped. "Well, I'm going!  It's my house and my stuff..... I want it!!!"  As my foot lifted, a pale, dark headed figure dressed in a medieval jesters outfit swiftly zipped down the stairs.  "What did we tell you?!" He growled. This new guard filled me with horror and my brain screamed for my body to turn back and run. "You can't hurt me!" I shouted as I stood my ground.  Fear flooded my veins as he came closer and stood directly in front of me.  I shrank back as he angrily put his ghastly, evil face directly in front of mine and scowled, oozing with impatience and annoyance at my stubbornness and endless attempts to access the forbidden floor.  Unnaturally strong, exactly like the others, I knew I was powerless to physically do any harm but I knew what they hated.  My voice shook as I sang the first hymn that came to mind.  He grimaced with the sound and infuriatingly wrapped a strong hand around my throat and squeezed tightly until my voice was reduced to a hoarse whisper.  "The next time you try to go up these stairs.........."  He released his vice grip on my throat as he finished his warning promising death if I were to disobey again.

Startled, my eyes flew open. I was no longer curious, intrigued and fascinated by my reoccurring nightmare.  Angry, hot tears moistened my pillow as his last words echoed in my head.  Staring into his evil, dark eyes I felt as though he were looking straight into me.....past the dream....and into me.  I knew the savage grip he held on my neck that silenced my song was also being used for a second purpose. He was angry and he wanted my voice extinguished.  Scared,  I rolled over and woke my husband and he spoke aloud what my stubborn heart was already saying.  Don't let him silence you....."Write".........

My attic dreams started as a little girl.  Every so often, I would awake in my dreams and find myself in my attic .  I became an explorer as I crawled into my closet and waded through the heavy vines of hanging clothes.  Feeling around in the darkness for the spot in the wall where a child sized door lay hidden, I'd impatiently crawl through to be reunited with my colorful and brightly lit, secret room full of toys.  Oh the sheer joy and excitement finding myself in my safe, recognizable attic dream!  Waking from my blissful slumber was always a disappointment and as the fog of sleep slowly lifted, I would linger and play in my little attic as long as I could.  As I grew, my attic slowly shifted and changed its contents from enchanting childhood toys, to a teens dream of trendy, fashionable clothes to my current adult attic of priceless and beautiful antiques.  My attic dream, I know deep in my heart, was my given to me by my Protector, Shepard and Abba Father.... Jesus.  It was a beautiful break from my childhood pain and heartbreak and the light He shone in my attic illuminated so much more than the beautiful things He brought me to play with.  My third story guardians know this and last summer, the battle for my attic began.

Without looking up from his desk, a stern, stiff postured man fiddled with his paperwork as I passed through the entrance of my attic.  Even though I was caught off guard, I didn't question his presence.  I thought he fit wonderfully in my attic with his Victorian style suit, top hat, and little round glasses.  I softly walked past him and quietly wandered the dusty, cramped aisles of my attic until I found what I was looking for.  Turning to leave, the Victorian bookkeeper looked up over the top of his gold, horn rimmed glasses as I passed him to leave.  "You need to pay for that."  I do?  "It's mine." I told him sternly. "You need to pay for that." He repeated sarcastically slower in the same matter-of-fact tone.  I didn't know what to say.  I disappointingly put back my antique and let the loud rhythmic pounding my shoes made on the hard wood stairs voice my feelings as I stomped angrily down.  Turning to get one last glimpse of my attic, I saw nothing but dark abyss.  My attic was gone. 

Laying in the darkness, I examined the frozen snapshots of the six hideous and evil attic guardians that have kept me successfully locked out of my attic.  Why are they tormenting me?  What are they keeping me from?  Out of frustration, I punch my pillow.  "I wish I could help you but I don't know how."  My husbands soft voice penetrated through the darkness and my heart dropped feeling as if though he were laying down his battle sword at my feet. I looked over at his profile in the darkness and my heart swelled remembering the boy prince I married who turned king the day I finally revealed my heart to him.  Faithfully and courageously this man has battled and fought for me and with me.  Without complaint he tirelessly worked building our kingdom into a strong and breathtakingly, beautiful fortress where my wounded heart finally found peace.  With his encouragement to write, I took up his sword and with each click of the computers keyboard I drag all six (and counting) different guardians and their master in the light.

Satan is a deceiver.   A master of disguise, (II Chor.11:14), a liar (John 8:44) and a murderer (John 8:44 and Gen. 3: 1-24).  His ultimate goal is our destruction and he will stop at nothing to achieve it.  A writers overactive imagination?  The subconscious working overtime solving the days problems?  Attacks from Satan?   All are possible answers to the terrifying, haunting nightmare that I visit without warning while I sleep.  I feel utterly alone as everyone in my attic dream refuses to follow me up my third story stairs to fight.   My brave husband, who's willing and well equipped to go.... can't....so who does that leave to fight along side me in this terrifying battle for my attic?  The only one who can and will is the one who transformed the boy, healed the broken heart and built our family's strong fortress.    Jesus, my brave defender, gently reminded me in His love letter in John 10 that He is the only one able to fight the wolf that encircles me.  His love is unchaging, His power over the enemy is sure, and His ultimate sacrifice has already sealed my victory with my dark tormentor.   His voice seemed to sweetly sing these words to my heart....and in the place of "sheep" my Shepherd speaks my name.

" I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep Tammy.
But he that is an hireling, and not the shepherd, whose own sheep are not, seeth the wolf (Satan) coming, and leaveth the sheep, and fleeth: and the wolf (Satan) catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep.
The hireling fleeth, because he is an hireling, and careth not for the sheep.
I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep Tammy, and am known of mine.
As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the Father: and I lay down my life for the sheep Tammy."
(John 10:11-15)

The guardians who stand guard over my attic are strong, vicious and evil, but they are no match for my Shepherd.  They want me to stay away, keep silent, and live in fear...... but I can't do that.  The attic is mine and I want it back.  Feeling safe and secure with Jesus by my side, together we wait at the bottom of my third story mansion stairs.  Adjusting my sword in my hands, I stand ready to reclaim my attic and release the priceless treasure that awaits!

The Mouse Couch

Using his body as a barricade in the kitchen doorway, one of the boys breathlessly commanded, "You DO NOT want to go in there!" Oh, dear!!  I don't?!  The gasps, whispers, and wide-eyed glances the kids exchanged worked like Morse code and put me on full alert that something disastrous was brewing.   Never being one to follow instructions, I waded through the sea of kids and broke through the spiderweb of arms and legs.  Like the Pied Piper, I led the way as the kids followed behind in an eerie, unnatural, silence.  Gone was the excited chatter, high fives and cheers about the "dream, wrap-around Friday-night-movie couch" that was being delivered.  The air was thick with anticipation on what my reaction would be as I stopped in front of my irritated husband holding a cushion and pillow that looked as if they were sniper shot, riddled with holes and oozing with stuffing.  "What is that?!" I asked in dazed shock wondering how on earth a new couch with holes could escape unnoticed under the noses of both the owner of the furniture store and the delivery guy.  The delivery guy outside with an arm load of plastic explained how it got all the way here from the warehouse undetected, but the holes....how?!  The room erupted in "Icks!" and "Ewwwws!" when my husband announced that the guilty culprit that stealthily produced such mass destruction on our brand new couch was nothing more than a teeny, tiny mouse.  Staring down at the carnage I heard myself reassure my awaiting audience. "It's o.k.  It'll all work out. The furniture people will fix this."  The room was shell shocked with the surprise bomb I dropped.  Cocked heads, squinted eyes and wide open mouths were all I got as the dust settled. "I'm OK!" I added again.  I am?  Am I?  I looked around at the chaos of scattered cushions, plastic, confused kids and a miffed husband.  I gave myself a quick pat down to double check that I truly was unscathed and shockingly found that I really was..... OK!

On my morning run, I smiled as I thought of my successful battle with the mouse couch.  Coming out unscathed was something I could never have accomplished alone.  The grenades of perfection and control that Satan would throw wounded me for years until my Commander in Chief introduced me to the proper armor.  My ears fill with the noise of previous battles I tried to fight alone as I look back on the lonely footprints my shoes left behind in the morning snow.   Becoming deep in thought, my breathing soon gained rhythm and blended with the fun little squeaks and crunches that each new track made in the fresh blanket of snow.   Feeling childlike and energized, I jumped and dodged deeper piles of snow, and quickly sidestepped over a fresh trail of kitty tracks that suddenly appeared.  Happy to have a running partner, even if she were invisible, I ran along side them.  I felt sorry for this little kitty.  It was so cold and she was all alone.  I felt better as I continued tracking her steps and found that she had lots of company.  Deer, raccoon, opossum, squirrel and bird tracks all crossed over her petite, little kitty prints.  Being one to always have a story, I began writing as I ran, envisioning each little critter offering the lost, abandoned kitty help in her frightening new life in the country.  The deer warmly greets my kitty and points the way to the freshest, sweetest water in the county to help quench her thirst.  The raccoon and opossum offer warm hugs of friendship as each unselfishly reveal where the yummiest food can be found to endlessly fill her growling, empty tummy.  Filling the silent and still winter air, the friendly chatter of the squirrel soothes my kitty's heavy loneliness as it happily bounces along side her.  Offering beautiful song, the bird fills my kitty's heart with hope as he flies high above the house tops in search of the perfect family and a new forever home.   At the end of my run I disappointingly stop in front of our mailbox as my kitty's tracks continue.  Remembering she isn't alone, I smile as I follow her tracks as far as my eyes can see.

Like my kitty, Jesus has strategically placed people to help me on my own journey through life's landmine of emotional battles.  Family, friends, Pastors, my Christian therapist and the most steadfast and loyal fighter in my regiment, my husband.  Sometimes, faithful comrades can be forgotten and its during a fresh battle, or in my kitty's case, a fresh snowfall, that their tracks can be seen and remembered again.  Sitting together on our new, mouse-less "dream, wrap around Friday-night-movie couch", I wiggle, fluff and plump trying to find "my" spot.  It feels different from our 15 year old, broken in, familar couch.  Sensing my discomfort with the change,  my husband shoots me a worried look knowing me well from all our years of previous battles together.  Remembering the snowfall and my kitty I smile reassuringly, "I'm Ok!"

A Second Look

"You are not your writing."  Like the passing of a baton in a relay, the wise words my friend received during her own writers "rite of passage", were now being handed to me.  "Keep writing." she rallied.  My ego was sore, and my pride bruised but her encouragement gave me second wind.  Being new to the writing world, I had never taken into consideration the possibility of my writing being turned down.  I had gotten my first rejection e-mail and it was heart breaking. I took it personally and felt utterly..... rejected.   My husband passed on his own words of wisdom after watching me pout and sulk around the house, " If you want to stay with it, you're going to have to develop a thick skin, and quick....There's more comin'."  He was right. In my sea of sent out material (ok, slight exaggeration.....I only sent out 10 so far!), only one, small seashell of a story has been excepted.  This whole writing thing is painful and the uncomfortable feelings forced me to rethink what I was doing, where I was going....and why.  I started to re-strategize.  Maybe I need to protect myself a little bit and put less of myself in my writing.  Maybe I'm sharing too much.......maybe.........My thoughts started to trail as my eyes became fixed upon a picture of an adorable teenage boy smiling at me from my face book page.  I didn't recognize him, but there was something oddly familiar that grabbed at my heart and pulled me in.  I squinted my eyes and my brows furrowed as I examined him closer.  Have I seen him before???  Curious, I began to read his story and my heart dropped down to the very souls of my feet.  I held my breath and forgetting to swallow, my throat began to dry.  The picture blurred and as I struggled to blink back the tears, I realized, he was someone I knew....... someone I  haven't seen for a long, long time.................

My beautiful brother, Henry

"Who's that?" one of the kids ask, looking over my shoulder.  I took a deep breath and re-introduced my kids to their Uncle Henry.  The room grew quiet as memories came flooding back, the kids, remembering bits and pieces that I had told them over the years, and me, remembering a miracle among the debris of pain and heartbreak.  I quietly reminded them of how he died.  A tragic, gruesome death at 17 by a single gun shot to the head.  With tears, I told the kids of my excruciating last memory of my brother and the precious memory Jesus graciously and mercifully gave me to replace it.

The last time I saw my brother, he was taunting me from the bottom of the stairs.  It had the beginnings of a bad day!  My hair wasn't working, I was going to be late for a job I hated, and my annoying beast of a brother wouldn't stop teasing me!  Feeling abused and boiling over with anger, I stormed out of the bathroom and hurled my brush at him as hard as I could throw it.  Like a scratched DVD, my memory halts frozen on a snapshot of him looking up at me; his mischievous eyes glistening and mouth wide open with laughter.  Henry left for school that morning.... and never came back.   After he died, I was riddled with guilt that I could have contributed to the deep pain that caused him to feel like the "basket case" that he wrote about in his goodbye letter.  Why didn't I know?  Why did I have to yell at him?  I was plagued with the What ifs and Should haves and I felt as if I had helped pull the trigger.

My brothers death was so violent and gruesome, we had to have a closed casket for his viewing and funeral.  It just didn't seem real.  Are they sure they had my brother?  I mean, maybe they made a mistake and he was still out there somewhere.  I mustered up the strength and asked my dad if I could see Henry; I just had to see for myself and be sure.  My dad refused and told me he wanted the last image of my brother to be a happy one.  A happy one?  No one knew of my fight with Henry and the awful, last memories I harbored painfully in my heart.  I had no closure, no chance to say goodbye and I longed desperately to see him..... one more time.....if just for a moment to say I was sorry.  The unchangeable, irreversible, "forever-laid-in-cement" circumstances laid heavy on my heart as horrible nightmares plagued me night after sleepless night.  The graphic and brutal dreams filled me with terror and hauntingly replayed like a broken record in my mind during the day.  I was exhausted, guilt ridden and full of so much pain.  I missed my brother, I wanted to fix things with him.....but it was too late.......

I thought it was another nightmare.  Sobbing, I sat on a floor in a huge room surrounded by friends and family whose hearts were as heavy as mine.  My pain could not be comforted and what I needed, no one was able give.  The rooms murmurs turned to hushed silence as a strange, yet beautiful figure approached.  In awe, I slowly rose to my feet and relief flooded my body as the remedy to my pain stood directly in front of me.  My beautiful little brother was breathtaking!  Flawless and glowing I could see his joy was full as his luminous smile filled the room.  He never spoke but I could hear him somehow and I literally could feel his words.  My heart felt as though it were going to explode with the overwhelming sorrow I felt as he told me how deeply sorry he was for causing me pain.  He didn't want me hurting anymore.   Tears of joy, relief, and mourning clouded my vision as another figure came into view and stood alongside my brother.  Jesus put his arms around Henry and smiled.  His brilliant, smiling face and body language repeated my brother's last words.  He was happy, safe....and completely whole.   I didn't want him to go...but I didn't want him to stay......I knew my brother was home.  Forever burned in my memory is the image of my brother being gently led off with Jesus' strong arm across his back.  I watched as they walked together, and as they disappeared in the soft light, my heart finally felt peace.

Originally, I had thought this dream was meant only for me.  I kept it tucked away safely in my heart, revealing it only to my sister and mom as soon as I woke on that beautiful, new glorious morning. Jesus took away that last, horrible memory I had of my brother and replaced it with a triumphant new one full of hope, contentment and peace.  I cried with my kids as I shared Jesus'  priceless gift to me that night.  Sharing with my kids this intimate moment was like a dose of reality of the amazing love of our Savior who is able to bring comfort in the way that no one else can.

Instinctively, when we get hurt we want to pull back and put our hearts safely on the highest shelf.  The heartbreaking picture of the sweet boy on facebook that stirred long buried memories of my beloved brother was a shocking reminder why I feel the need to write but a news story that aired a few weeks prior featuring Steuben glass, gave me a clear picture as to what the Lord wants done with my writing.  Since 1933, the Steuben glass company has been producing spectacular masterpieces of glassware "art" using lead crystal considered to be the clearest of all glasses.  Each piece is painstakingly inspected for the tiniest of flaws which allows only 1 in 5 glass creations to actually leave the factory.  The most valuable and prized pieces of Steuben are on display in various museums around the country and are tucked away safely behind protective walls of glass.  Amongst the elegant army of glittering and shimmering display pieces, a simple crystal plate bearing a single flower outshines all the rest.  The plate, designed and once owned by famed artist Georgia O'Keeffe, gained quite a bit of attention when, upon closer inspection, was noticed that her once flawless piece of Steuben was far from perfect.  Covered in knife marks, it was evident Ms. O'Keeffe opted against hiding her priceless piece of art, and actually put her plate to use!  She didn't display her crystal plate like most owners of a Steuben masterpiece would, but she chose to use her piece and share it.  Like Georgia O'Keeffe's crystal plate, Jesus wants our hearts to be transparent and shared with others.  Is it going to be painful?  Without a doubt, but it is a far worse fate to be sitting high on a shelf underneath a blanket of dust to not but used for the function you were designed for.

I googled, researched and thought long and hard what the phrase "You are not your writing" means.  I still don't fully understand it, but I know the Lord has made it plainly clear, He wants to be my writing.  

Are you hurting??

Paul tells us in II Chorinthians 1 that our Lord Jesus is the Father of Mercies and the God of all comfort.  Please don't hide your heart high on a shelf like my brother did, share your pain today with the Lord and the people that love you.  You are a priceless and beautiful creation, excelling even the most treasured of Steubens!

Perfect Already

It was love at first sight!  It caught my eye and beckoned me over as soon as I crossed through the door and over the antique stores threshold.  I ran my hand over the top of the huge, 12 person table and thought how perfect it would look in my 1800's farmhouse.  I wasn't shocked to see a price tag I couldn't afford but my heart skipped a beat when I saw the date that matched the age of our house.  As the rest of my family slowly sauntered off, I stayed behind daydreaming about this gorgeous piece and mentally added it to my "dream" list of  "must have- gotta have -someday" items.  Who sat at this table?  Who put all these neat nicks, dents and scratches in the top? I smiled wondering if it were naughty, little children careless with their knives and forks....did they get in trouble?  There were deeper slices and gouges that made my imagination soar.   Maybe this table doubled as a cutting board for Ma, or an emergency surgery table like I read about in my favorite book, "Mrs. Mike." Most would look at this old, beat up and worn table and see only flaws and imperfection.  Immediately restoration would come to mind... and only then would it be perfect. "No", I thought, with my fingers running over a deep gouge, "it's perfect already."

"Yuck!"  I moan.   Disappointed, I shake my head and scrunch up my nose in disgust at the woman staring back at me from my bathroom mirror.   My shoulders slump as I wonder out loud, "I still feel like me.....why can't I look like me!"  It's hard watching the slow, gradual and unstoppable transformation of aging!  The ever growing, sagging bags under my once bright, youthful eyes, the deep creases that are taking up permanent residence on both sides of my ever paling lips, age spots, zits (Still!  As if wrinkles aren't enough to deal with) and the refusal of my aging eyes to wear my beloved contacts.  Pulling back the skin on my face, I call my husband over.  "MUCH better, isn't it?" I ask waiting for his reply.  He matter-of-factly answers, "Yeah, great if you like looking like a freaky alien."  "What does he know!" I think to myself as I grab for my bag of tricks to hide all my forming imperfections.  Smearing on my foundation, I sense His disappointment.  He sees the beauty..........why can't I?

Helpless, my husband stood quietly by as the brushes, powders, pencils and tweezers worked at a frenzied pace.  Frustrated at the limitations of my Cover-girl age defying foundation and its inability to cover age spots, my eyes filled with tears and my voice choked as the flood of negative and hurtful adjectives rushed out of my mouth and over my tongue.  As my soul purged its true feelings about my appearance, in my ear, I could hear ever so softly, a hissed, "Yessssssssssssss!"  Through bloodshot eyes, I could see the pain on my husbands face, mirroring how my Jesus felt.  Chills ran down my spine at the realization that the hurling insults that were meant for me, deflected off the mirror and hit the two people I love the most.  My blood ran cold sensing Satan's pure delight at the sight of the devastation my flood left behind.  My words hung heavy in the air as my husband held me tight and bravely became the first to organize the clean up. He spoke from his heart as he gently put my feet back on stable ground, "Please don't take this wrong but if your face were burnt off tomorrow, I'd love you just the same.  I love you."

Satan slithered further into the shadows as Psalms 139:14 was whispered to my heart.  I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Fearfully, I learned, means with great reverence and heartfelt interest; wonderfully meaning unique and set apart. I was fashioned from my Master's hands with care, love and with purpose (Isaiah 44:24). No one is like me...no one's story reads like mine.... I am uniquely marvelous! Being discontented with the way I look or the way I am, is a direct insult to the One who I am made in the image of.  If I despise myself, than I must also despise my Saviour!  Being held by my husband, I picture Jesus as part of the embrace. Satan was no where to be seen as I became cradled in the arms of forgiveness.

We went back to the antique store, and my table was gone.  I stood in the empty spot and silently hoped that whoever bought my table appreciated every nick, dent and scratch.  That table had a beautiful story to tell and it was perfect just the way it was.  The antique store around me slowly disappeared as I saw Jesus come into view.  Smiling, He put His hands firmly on my shoulders, and gently squeezed as he looked at me.  Uncomfortable, my eyes look down at my feet as I feel Him examining every crease, age spot and wrinkle; lifting my face to meet His, He lovingly whispers, "Perfect already."   Maybe that beautiful table was never meant for my kitchen, but for my heart instead.