Finding Rest

I'm taking a winding road this weekend to a place of rest. I'll be "Getting Down With Jesus" by serving Him at a women's spiritual retreat in the hills of northwest Iowa.

The Christ beckons:

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." -- Matthew 11:28-29

While I'm away, I'm sharing a post from the archives with you.

May you find time for Sabbath rest this weekend.

Grace and peace to you, my friends.

-- Jennifer

***

The plea came from my littlest princess, wearing a toy crown, just before bedtime: "Mom, can we have our shaving cream bath now?"

Who could resist Her Royal Highness?

For this very purpose, we had purchased a 14-ounce can of "Personal Care Extra Thick Shave Cream -- Regular."

Atop her head, I piled cream, like soft-serve vanilla. She spread the cream on the shower wall, and wrote her name in three-inch-tall letters. With pointer finger, she traced out shaving-cream numbers, 0 through 9.

Beside her, Big Sister practiced spelling words.

On this night, messes were allowed, even encouraged. There were no parental calls to "hurry up; it's time for bed."

On this night, they would tarry.

Twenty bucks worth of fun in a $1.06 aerosol can.

***

In these last months, rest has been scarce. No time to tarry, for there was another student paper to grade, another project to complete, another ministry to tend to. All good things, mind you, but they had begun to crowd out my priority mission field: the one here in our home, with our two girls.

"Come unto me," He calls, "and I will give you rest."

***

Our children have much: bins full of Barbies, a child-sized kitchen, cribs for babies and approximately 563 stuffed animals. They could get lost in Webkinz World on the laptop, or Mario Brothers on the Nintendo DS.

But the commodity they desire most isn't packaged by Fisher Price. They want one thing. Just one.

It costs nothing, but has measureless worth. Time.

They want our time.

Time. Stolen moments in cream-covered bathtubs.

Time. Minutes on pavement, drawing Hopscotch patterns with "chalk rocks."


Time. Sunset Hour in harvested fields, unearthing nature's gems.


Time.
Candlelit dinners
with Kraft Mac & Cheese.
Saturday morning
picnics, with Honeycomb,
on living-room floor.
Treasure hunts, tractor rides
tick-tack-toe and tuck-ins.

***

May you find true rest in Him today. His yoke is easy.

I'm NOT Too Old For This (I Start with Crumbs)

She'd taken only a single bite of her barbecue chicken-leg, and the rest of us were already backing chairs away from the table. I scraped chicken bones into the garbage can, as Lydia hovered over a full plate.

"Mommy?" she asked. "Do you think everybody's taste buds are different or something? Because I don't really like this chicken. And at school? A lot of the kids bring popcorn for snack, and I don't like the popcorn at all."

"We all have different tastes," I said. "But our tastes change, too." As a child, I told her, I once gagged over a plate of pesto-chicken pasta, sickened by the sight of green globs stuck to stringy noodles.

And then I reminded her: we had pesto on our pasta just the other night. "It's one of my favorites now," I told her. "Be patient, because your tastes might just change."

And in the corner of room, I see the Bread.

***

I grew up with Bread on the shelf -- and that's where I kept it: on the shelf.

The leather-bound Food for Souls could have satisfied every hunger I had -- but I rarely ingested it.

Even as I grew older, I didn't scoop these Words onto the plate.

I didn't eat Bread

stale in my mouth

like crackers that left my tongue thick

I feasted on the world
and all it had to offer
hungered for fame
got my fill of self
and manmade idols dripping chocolaty with
me.
A buffet of me.

And in a day, I was hungry again
Tummy growling for real food.

Taste-buds changing
I came to the table hungry

and whispered:
"Pass the Bread please."

***

Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life.
He who comes to me will never go hungry. ..."
-- John 6:35

I feast on these Words now. I eat this Book, this Bread of Life. And I'm playing ravenous catch-up for years past. I teach 20-year-olds at a Christian college, and tell them they probably know the Bible better than me, their journalism teacher.

And they probably do.

But it's not too late for a 37-year-old to fill her plate with ancient Words that taste new, to digest them so regularly that they become a part of the marrow. I'm dining on Bread.

PHOTO: Passages I'm committing to memory,
using a tool that converts verses to just one letter per word.
Click here to use the online resource.

It's not too late for me to memorize. My brain works more slowly than it once did, but I'm not too old for this. It's never too late for this....

This week, I have begun a new journey through Scripture. At the prompting of Ann Voskamp, with whom I join weekly at "Walk With Him Wednesday," I am memorizing Romans 8. This brain can't handle the whole chapter at once, so I'm starting in verses 28-39.

I'm using a memorization technique with the help of an online tool that converts your passages to just one letter per word. It's a technique that helps burn words into the mind. (This Iowa mama -- hungry for Bread -- offers thanks to Ann Kroeker and to Ann Voskamp for sharing this technique. Isn't the Body of Christ beautiful, passing ideas from hand to hand, heart to heart?)

And it's already working! These ancient words are igniting a fresh fire in my soul, prompting tears to sting these eyes as they scan letters over and over again. I feel them finding a home within.

"F I a c t n d n l, n a n d, n t p n t f, n a p, n h n d,
n a e i a c, w b a t s u f t l o G t i i C J o L."
--Romans 8:38-39

(These letter represent the tail-end of the Scriptures I'm committing to memory this week. Do you recognize these words? Aren't they lovely? And to think: This is just one crumb of the Bread. We shall NEVER go hungry.)



I join Ann each Wednesday.
I am so blessed to walk with that community over there,
growing in grace together.

Think Inside the Box

Go ahead. Just this once, put God inside a box.

Fill a shoebox
with kazoos and toothpaste
and a washcloth and pencils
and a yo-yo and candy
and the extravagant love of Jesus.

Consider being a part of Operation Christmas Child, a shoe-box gift program that sends gifts and grace and the message of salvation to hurting children around the world.

Since it began, Operation Christmas Child has distributed 69 million boxes to wee ones.

That happened this way:

One + one + one + one ....

It took JUST ONE SHOEBOX to reach Sorina Riddle in her native Romania. (Click here to read her story.) Sorina told the Salisbury Post that her shoebox "helped me believe in God." A few years later, Sorina was baptized, along with her mother and brother.

It took JUST ONE SHOEBOX to reach Nana and Bograte, who were living among refugees after their villages were burned and bombed last year.

It took just one shoebox to reach a boy in poverty,
a girl in an orphanage,
a malnourished toddler with a bloated belly,
and a lonely teenager in a refugee camp.

These are children with faces and souls. Like our own children, these are the children of God. He knows their names ...

On Sunday, we multiplied the feast. Giving is contagious! We have fewer than 20 children in our little country church, but together -- one + one + one -- we packed 30 boxes.

There's still time to be a part of it. Collections end Nov. 23. Check the Operation Christmas Child website for more information on packing a box and how you can be a part of a ministry that restores joy to children in desperation situations.



Do you have an Operation Christmas Child story? Any tips to share for packing a box? Any story to share of the blessing you received in packing a box? Share with the community here. We'd love to hear!

Drawn

Two sisters lean back into booster seats as I steer down winding country roads to the doctor. Oldest sister's eyes droop, and fever-warm limbs dangle from her 46-pound frame. Youngest sister scribbles on a glittery-purple notepad in the seat beside her.

"Mommy?" Oldest sister's voice croaks and shakes, and I hear tears rising up. "If God really loves me, why am I so sick?"

I flash a glance into the rear view mirror to see red-rimmed eyes spilling with doubt.

I'm about to remind my firstborn how God holds us in His hands even when we hurt. I want to tell her again how He's beside us and living inside of us, and how He'll never leave us.

But I don't have to.

Little sister has the answer. She tears a page from her notepad, and slips Big Sister a hand-drawn gift.

"It's God's hand, with a cross in the middle," she whispers, and in that moment, I see how even a five-year-old can transcribe God's Truths to a sister in need. They are a cord of three strands -- two little sister-pilgrims braided to their Abba Father. (And this mama watched silently, as a witness to Kingdom Work in the back seat of a Chrysler van.)

Little Sister had written Big Sister's name across the top of God's hand.

"Thank you, Anna," Lydia chokes out the words and pats her sister's arms. "That was really nice."

"See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands." -- Isaiah 49:16

***

Should we wander
or find a soul red-rimmed with doubt
May we remember the One who knows our names
who sympathizes with weakness.
And should we forget,
as we're prone to do,
may we have a Sister standing by to draw us
into His presence again.

"Draw me, Lord."

***

Lydia has fully recovered from her illness, which required an overnight hospital stay this week.

She celebrates her 8th birthday on Monday, and as a family we celebrate the God of Psalm 139.

May you have a weekend drenched in grace, drawn in love.

Why We Memorize The Promises

I curl up next to her on the twin bed, and lay an arm over her waist, careful not to bump the IV.

We didn't expect to be here this long, watching the moon reflect through window blinds. But the doctor said Lydia was still too sick to go home. So we dimmed the lights and pushed the button to recline her bed. Mama and firstborn pressed in to one another, and I breathed warm words on the back of her neck.

"Do you want to go first?" I asked.

"You go first this time, Mommy," she said, then scooted back to press her pink-wrapped body in closer still. "But don't say Amen, because then it will be like one big, long prayer, OK Mommy?"

And so we dropped eyelids, and I led the night's prayers in Room 115 as the IV pump tick-tick-ticked like a metronome.

It's for moments like these that we commit God's Word to memory. When we "eat this Book," its words stay like honey on our lips. On this night, we had no devotionals to read, no Bibles to highlight with green . We hadn't even packed toothbrushes because we didn't know we'd be having a slumber party in a hospital room.

But because she and I know Scripture, we can pray its Truths without holding the Book in our hands.

Because these Words? They're written on our hearts.

"Dear God," I began. "We know that you love Lydia. We rely on Your love. We know you hold her in your hand. And we know that You are here with us , even in this hospital room. We trust that you have good plans for Lydia, and we ask that you would heal Lydia, and give her rest on this night. We know You hear our prayer, and we thank you. In Jesus' name ..." (Colored words link to Bible verses -- the basis for our prayers. Clicking on them will take you to the exact verses at www.biblegateway.com)

Lydia prayed, too, then whispered our Amen. And I planted Mama-kisses on fever-red cheeks.

But for me, it wasn't time for bed. It was only 8:45 p.m. I walked to the family lounge down the hall, and looked for something to read. I chose a Bible and two outdated Guideposts magazine, circa 2005.

I walked back to our room with God's Word in hand, pushed open the door, and turned on a dim light over my bed on the other side of Lydia's room.

But a wee voice whispered. "Mommy?"

"Yes, Lydia?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "But I'm not going to be able to sleep with that light on."

And so I didn't get to crack the emerald cover of a borrowed Bible. I switched off the light, and in this darkness, I took to reading honey-sweet Scripture written on the soul. On that night, it was all I had. And it was all I needed.

I whispered in the darkness:

"I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness."

"Pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge."

And I whispered this one last ...

" ...his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your ...."

Perhaps I stopped even before the last word was uttered. I'm not really sure.

But this I know, and this I pray you, Lord: May all my days -- even my very last one -- end this way: with Your Holy Word upon my lips.


***


Lydia and I returned home yesterday afternoon from the hospital. She was treated for dehydration and an infection. She is doing well.

I asked her this question today: "Why do you think people should memorize Scripture?" Here are her answers:

Reason 1 -- "Because Bible verses can help you in hard times." Lydia, age 7, said she has been praying the verse "Be still and know that I am God" this week to help her deal with struggles and losses we've faced. "It reminds you that even when bad things happen, God is in control," she said.

Reason 2 -- "When you memorize the words, it reminds you that the Bible is true not fake." -- Lydia's right. Becoming familiar with Scripture sets His Truths deeper into our hearts, helping us to combat doubts that creep in.

Reason 3 -- "We can memorize Scripture just for fun!" -- We give our girls stickers and highlighters and encourage them to mark up their Bibles -- to make these a "holy mess." They add flower stickers to mark verses that help them "grow in grace," and they add paw-print stickers on verses that help them in their "walk with Jesus."

A FINAL NOTE: Rick Warren, from the Purpose Driven Life, has challenged us to memorize one verse a week for the rest of our lives. In one of his daily devotionals last week, Warren wrote:

"You must use the Word of God as your weapon against Satan. Jesus modeled this when he was tempted in the wilderness. ... Memorizing Scripture is absolutely essential to defeating temptation. You have quick access to it whenever you’re tempted. ... If you don’t have any Bible verses memorized, you’ve got no bullets in your gun!"

Weekly, I join Ann Voskamp as we consider spiritual practices that draw our heart closer to His. This week, Ann asked us to share thoughts on memorizing Scripture. Would you consider joining us?

A Light in the Darkness

The Creator said the harvest always comes if we do not give up, and I watch the promise unfold in a cloud of harvest-dust.

It's misty-black all around, and the combine's lights guide Scott down rows of soybean plants dripping with ready pearls. I'm in my van on field's edge, with the window rolled down so I can hear the combine lumbering closer. I watch his lights come up over the edge of Earth, and he sees my lights, too.

My cell phone starts to sing its ring-tone: "I will rise, when He calls my name, no more sorrow, no more pain."

It's my favorite farmer calling.

"Hey," I answer. "Making progress?"

Yeah, finally," he said, and I can hear relief in his words. "Pray for no more combine break-downs, OK? But yeah, doing good. Really good."

I wanted to witness the night-harvest, I tell him, and I hope he can tell in the unspoken places how proud I am of him. This is his first harvest without his father. Scott is now the patriarch of this century-farm.

There's another father here for the harvest: mine. A Dukes man has come to help a Lee man. In our own darkness -- where the unknown lingers in shadowy places -- people walk with us, like God-Reflectors shining little lights on our path.

"It's so dark out here. How far out can you see?" I ask as the combine ambles closer, its black teeth gobbling rows.

"Not far enough," he says and laughs. "I don't know. Maybe 20 feet."

"Oh, gotta go," he says, as an alarm squawks in the background. "Grain tank's full. Call me later, OK?"

He steers away from soybean rows to fill waiting wagons, and his harvest rushes from the auger in a golden river.

I stay to watch, and think about how so much of what we harvest happens on the cusp of darkness. We labor in Light, but a dark blanket covers the path ahead. We have only enough Light for this step, for He never lets us see too far ahead. Instead, He peels back the dark as we step forward in faith.

God promised a lamp unto our feet, and a light unto our path. He didn't give us floodlights so that we could see what stretches ahead, nor spotlights to shine on what's past.

It's been a hard year, tinged with pain and death and grief and prayers that God didn't answer the way we wanted. It could all seem so dark -- except that it wasn't. God gave us Light, even in black-rimmed days.

We were never left in the dark. Never.

The Son lit the path, and asks us to trust as we lumber forward in the Kingdom harvest.

This weekend, I attended a Celebration of Life for a dear friend -- a mama of two young children, a wife, a funny and smart woman who made us better people. She lived in the light of each day, never looking too far ahead.

Her program included several sayings that she lived by, including this one: "God made the world round so we would never be able to see too far down the road."

I like that.

I can trust Him when I'm balancing on the edge of this spinning orb,
when I'm taking a step into inky darkness,
knowing that when I get there,
The Son will shine.
"Follow me," He says.
And I press in so close
that my forehead rests on his back --
the same back that carried
the weight of a cross
up a hill.

"Thy Word is a lamp unto our feet,
and a light unto our path."
-- Psalm 119:105

I stay with Him. Because He is Light. And in Him, there is no darkness at all.

***

I write today in honor of Erika, who trusted God even when she could see no further than the next hour. "Whatsoever things are lovely ..." We used to recite that together. You are one of the lovelies, Erika. I think on these things ...

In Need of a Savior (Every Single Day)

I've never understood religion that tied salvation to doing the right things, performing the right rituals, acting the right way.

For me, it's been the reverse.

Because I'm a mess. I'd never make it under that sort of religious yoke.

As I grow in faith, I've become ever-more aware of my own depravity. I stand in daily need of a Savior. I needed Him once ... and I need Him for always. Every. Single. Day.

My salvation is not based on how "good" I've been, or how many good deeds I've performed. Rather, I cling to an incredibly gracious Savior who takes me as I am ... but promises never to leave me that way.

And the closer I grow to Him, the more aware I am of my own helplessness. That's why I wrote "Crimson" a while back.

Today, I am re-posting Crimson over at Tea With Tiffany. Tiffany asked me to guest-post for her and felt that Crimson was the right post. Tiffany knows what you and I know: That we are nothing -- nothing -- without Christ.

Perhaps you've read "Crimson" before. But might you visit Tiffany anyway?

Tiffany lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado, with her family. She is a devoted follower of Christ and a writer who radiates with Christ.

She writes: "I was once a wild girl, now I'm wild about God. ... I thank God for His relentless pursuit for this prodigal. He has captured my heart for good."

To read the rest of Crimson -- and to meet Tiffany -- visit Tea With Tiffany.

(Email subscribers: you may click here or head straight to the site by typing the URL into your browser window: http://www.teawithtiffany.com ).

Photo: Tiffany Stuart