Category Archives: Inspirational

When My Mind Says Go and My Muscles Say No… I Worship.

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Several years ago there was a popular craze among Christians… the 40 Days of Purpose craze. This popular craze ran its course, like so many other Christian crazes tend to do until another idea is targeted to promote Christ-likeness.

The one thing that impacted me more than anything was really allowing to sink down deep the truth that my greatest purpose in life is to worship God. I have to admit that since I have let that truth sink deep, I have struggled with what that actually looks like 24/7.

Until one day.

Having Parkinson’s at the age of 46 can sometimes leave me feeling extremely purposeless at times. Feeling as if I don’t have much to contribute any more. When I am in a good frame of mind, I know that there is much I can contribute to life, but my mind isn’t always in such good a frame and I struggle with how one worships when they feel lost, discouraged, frustrated, displaced and even… alone.

Last week I was physically struggling with the regular, mundane chores of life. You know, the doing-dishes-folding clothes-sweeping chores and on and on the list meanders silently down the page, waiting patiently to be crossed off once again. This is the kind of physical struggle that no matter what you say silently or aloud to your ten fingers, they won’t obey. I say, “Type faster,” and, they don’t. Do they hear me? Yes. Do they obey? No. “Scratch my back,” I say and they can’t. “Tie my shoes,” I plead.

Nope.

Ain’t gonna happen.

Today we’re wearing slip-ons.

Sometimes I’m finding I have to ask family members to tie bows and knots in my shoes, zip zippers, button buttons, put on or take off a coat. Those are met during my off times. Times when my mind says go and my muscles say no.

Off times can have a tendency to make me feel lonely and discouraged, as if I actually have lost my purpose in life. Life as I once knew it, isn’t quite the same any more.

Somewhere in the change,

during the change,

because of the change,

I feel my purpose changed as well.

If it is true that I was made to worship God, my first realization – it’s a 24/7 activity. God doesn’t shut off now and then, but exists and is available at all times. At work, at school, at home, in the sunshine, in the storms, in the garden, at the dump. Worshipping God 24/7 and what that looks like for me became my quest. I wanted to know intimately this purpose for my life – that of worshiping a holy God. Every other purpose that once seemed real or important has, one by one, slowly faded to a lesser priority or disappeared altogether.

I began with the fact that

I am a mother.

Mothering duties seem to lessen as I scan an empty nest, its gaping empty spaces filled occasionally – only temporarily. Feathered friends flitter about, with no playmates to be found. I am a mother of three whose primary purpose for 32 years seemed to be that of training up my children in the best way I knew how to point them – direct them – in the path they were bent towards. Now, I am left sitting on a sharp twig in a pokey nest where there are weightless feathers tucked amongst the twigs where my three little chicks once squawked for dinner. I have asked myself, “How do I worship at a time like this, as I sit here watching my children fly away, needing me no more?”

I am a wife.

I know as well as my husband does that I all too often fail in that primary, earthly role, easily distracted with lesser things in life, indirectly and unintentionally putting him second. The role of wife is an extremely important role – jammed full of purpose – and yet somehow, I all too often convince myself that I have fallen short. And so, as a wife, I find myself asking, “How do I worship when I feel I fail so often at who I perceive I am to be as a his wife?”

I am a daughter.

Instead of me being able to run to and fro – doing things for my parents, doing things for his parents – time and distance play much too large a factor in journeying away from home so easily. I learn that our parents are trying to figure out how they might be able to help take care of me in the years to come because of my physical changes. Instead of me thinking about the opportunities to care of them, they think of ways to care for me. This daughter asks, “How do you worship when you feel like you may not be able to do that which you actually looked forward to – giving back a little of what was given to you?”

I am a friend.

In the roles of friendship, I find myself forgetting the things I long to remember. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Prayer requests. Names. My head is filled with too much and remembers too little. I ask, “How do I worship when friends feel I don’t care because I forgot to return a phone call or send an overdue letter or reply in some fashion or form? When they think something’s wrong because the muscles in my face have ceased to obey my brain when it says to smile and a frown is what they witness plastered there instead?”

Fairly good questions. In the asking, however, I notice there is much feeling occurring. In that realization, God shows me the need to live by truth and not feelings that so easily deceive.

Truth One.

I am good a mother. Never perfect, but fairly decent.

My little chickadees may be flying away but every once in a while they turn around and say, “Remember when you taught my how to do this?” then they take a fancy dive, pulling up out of a crash landing just in time and…

it’s beautiful.

Every once in a while, they fly back and sit a while with me in a familiar nest and I like that. It makes the next departure a bit easier. It makes the gap that is left not so gaping.

Then there’s

Truth One, Part Two.

I will never sit on that branch alone. I will never be in that nest alone.

It might seem high from ground view. My wings may be tired and the wind may blow. I may, at times, feel I am being blown away, but there is One who covers me with his wing and it is there under His protection I will hide and find shelter.

Truth Two.

I am a good wife. I could do better. I could do as my husband says and not cook on high so often. I could leave the dishes and sit and talk to him a while. I could quit expecting so much of myself and realize that sometimes it’s okay to just be… me.

Truth Three.

I am a daughter and I am still alive. This disease has become a part of my life, but it will not claim it. I refuse to sit in a chair the rest of my life and eat bon bons ‘til I die.

(See’s Bordeaux’s maybe.)

It is still my desire that if God is willing, I will be there to take care of our parents and give back whatever I can for what they have given and done for me.

Truth Four.

I am the best friend I know how to be.

I am the best friend that I am able to be.

Most of the time.

I could do better.

When I remember I need to call back, I need to just do it right then or… I will forget once more, leaving friends to feel neglected. When I remember a friends’ birthday is near, I need to get that card out then or… well, you know. The truth is, I need to not put off until tomorrow what can be done today for the fact is, I’ll plain forget.

Truth Five.

The smile’s there (even if it can only be seen on the inside) because joy is there. My ability to still smile on the inside is due to my life purpose of being made to worship God.

There is a song by the group Watermark called ‘Knees to the Earth’. This was playing the other day as I approached a red light. As I was slowing to a stop, there ahead of me was a beautiful mountain, presently catching the first snow fall of the season. As the soft, delicate, frozen flakes fell, each finding their own place to land, the picture being created before me quickly became a most beautiful portrait. I captured it in the photo frames of my mind.

As I waited speechless at the light, the view was breathtaking and took my thoughts of purposelessness away as I listened to the words of that song playing in the background…

Beautiful Jesus, how may I bless Your heart?

Knees to the earth, I bow down to everything You are

Beautiful Jesus,You are my only worth

So I will embrace You always, as I walk this earth

Be blessed, be loved, be lifted high

Be treasured here, be glorified

I owe my life to You oh Lord

Here I am

What He’s done, Who He is – this is cause for heartfelt worship.

Holding tight. Not letting go. Through the joys, through the pain of this earthly life. When I feel alone, discouraged, displaced – it is He that I will hold on to and it is me that He will not let go.

Be blessed oh Lord, be loved, be lifted high

Be treasured here, be glorified

I owe my life to You oh Lord

Here I am

My knees fall to the earth

Without Him I am nothing. I am no one, wandering aimlessly without purpose. Not as a mother, nor a wife, nor a daughter, nor a friend. It is He I will bow before and find my worth. It is He who is deserving of my worship.

It is on my knees that I find purpose.

From my heart,

Sherri

Magical Moments

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Last week I had the grand privilege of taking my 3 1/2 yr old granddaughter, Boo, to see her great grandparents, Gigi (Boo’s name for her great grandma) and Papa. What an experience in so many ways. I always love the trip itself – whether by jet, automobile, train… I’ve never gone there by train, I’ve been on a train ride once with my grandmother from Los Angeles to Seattle. It was an adventure and another story…

This trip was by ‘aircraft’, as Boo says now instead of ‘airplane’ because that’s what the pilots called it over the speakers in the planes. Anyhow, Boo’s mom and dad said she could go with me, my mom and dad graciously paid our way north, and we were there a little over a week.

I brought some dress-up items for her, as that is one of her favorite pastimes. She dressed up in her princess dress and tutu and fairy wings and went fishing down at the river. At one point in the trip, Papa teased her about her wings, saying to her that she was nuttier than a fruitcake. Matter-of-factly she replied to him, “I AM NOT A FRUITCAKE. FRUITCAKES CAN’T FLY. FAIRIES FLY AND I AM A FAIRY.”

The other day Boo was singing and when I asked what she was singing, she replied, “I am singing a song Jackson wrote.” Jackson is her favorite stuffed dog. Jackson is a she. Jackson uses the computer to write down her songs.

“What’s the name of her song?” I asked Boo.

“I Broke the Table.”

Hmmm… that Jackson is one smart puppy, writing such profound songs with just fluff for brains. Maybe there’s hope for me…

Today was Boppa’s birthday. I put Boo down for her nap and ended up falling asleep beside her. About ten minutes into my nap, she wakes me to tell me that she’s done with her nap and that she was going to go out to the other room but she’d come back in a few minutes to check on me. “Uh, no – you’re having your nap.”

Her agenda was much different. She insisted her nap was over and that I could “just fall back to sleep and I’ll (Boo) come back in a few minutes and check on you.”

Uh, no again. She finally settled down and slept a good 2 1/2 hrs.

I love when she wakes from her nap, as she’s so cuddly. We usually rock a bit and then she’s ready to face the afternoon head on with a mind full of ideas of what to accomplish until it’s time to go home. Today it was helping Grammy set the table for Boppa’s birthday dinner.

Boo takes birthday parties very seriously. She picked out a card for Boppa with a silly, strange looking cat on the front and every time she’d look at it, she broke out giggling.

I sometimes think God puts silly, nonsensical things like that in our days to make us laugh, but we are so intent on being busy that we miss it, thereby missing out on the laughter and the joy in it all. We take life much too seriously. Life was meant to live out loud. To enjoy to its fullest. Somehow, we miss that all too often. After all, how many times have you seen a fairy with a tutu fishing?









His,
Sherri

The Colors of the Old Life

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The leaves waltz to the ground, creating a song all their own as they skip along the ground to a tune accompanied by the whistling wind. It is breathtaking to me. We were made to enjoy this – to stand in awe of every hue, every detail – as the sun pierces through the yellows, the reds, the oranges, creating the illusion of gold shimmering from the limbs of the maple trees.

Fall has got to be, hands down, my favorite season. But then, I would probably say that about each one as they transition into the other. I love to listen to the sounds of fall – the wind blowing, the leaves as they dance along the ground, neighbors raking. On a quiet day, it is a beautiful sound against the quiet. The crisp air that turns your cheeks pink and makes you long for warm cups of tea or cocoa and a good book. Colorful kites that fly high against a sky that determines whether to bring days of winter or pass the storm on by for yet another day.

It is the season of preparing the ground for the cold and hardness of the coming months. It is the shutting down of growth as we have known it for the last two seasons. It is – a time of dying. I stand in my driveway and all around me there is evidence of life slipping away. Shrubs are thinning. Vegetables have quit producing. Flowers have faded and turned to seed. Trees are almost bare and the grass lies dormant against the coming frost. And yet, it is the most beautiful of all seasons to me, for it reminds me that real beauty comes when death occurs.

The Christian’s life is like that. I have met Christians who have died to self. They are like the picture of fall, having been touched by the sun of summer and watered by the rains of spring. They are absolutely beautiful. What makes them so beautiful is their lack of self. They have become less of themselves and more like Christ. A dying to self, reflecting the colors of their Lord.

I have seen Christians who sound like fall. That may sound absurd, but theirs are the sounds of worship and praise from a heart of gratitude for what God is doing in, through, and with their life. They dance the waltz of thanksgiving. Their leaves are turning from green to brilliant yellows, oranges and reds and they are breathtaking. They are learning to let God have His way and paint His picture on their lives with such radiant colors that they reflect their Maker. However, with all that we know of fall, we know all too well that winter follows right behind. It often comes sooner and more fervently than we anticipate, much less desire. Soon the hardships and the tests of a cold, dark season must be endured. Branches will be stripped of every last leaf that was clinging to its branch.

It is in the winter season where a Christian is strengthened by the weight of the struggles he must endure. In nature, the snow falls and it can either cause a limb to be strengthened, or the branch will snap under the pressure and – so it is with us. The winter months of our lives can allow us to be strengthened like those branches or we can say ‘enough’ and snap.

If we hold tight to the Lord through the dark times and make Him our refuge, we find that eventually, the storms pass through this season we call winter and spring brings new life. New hope, soft, spring rains, the air begins to warm and buds turn into blossoms. So often we forget that in those winter months, it may seem harsh, dark, and cold, but there is life inside. A life that cannot be touched by the cold and the darkness that surrounds us. A place where buds are being formed, where blooms will burst forth. A place where God is at work even though we may not be able to see evidence right away and new life will be evident once again.Fall. We need the fall and winter seasons of life in order to experience the springs. Seasons of transformation, dying to self. Seasons of dormancy where we wonder if the sun will ever shine again.

But, it will. And it does.

Spring has come and gone, the fun of summer is coming to an end, and the beauty of fall has arrived with evidence of life transitioning from one critical season of life into another. Instead of discouragement robbing our hope of the coming winter months, let’s remember that spring will come once again. The colors of fall are a beauty to behold. How I desire to be colorful just as the leaves on the maple trees that line the city streets – dying to self so that my colors shine for His glory.

What colors do you want to be?

Do Great Parents Make Great Kids?

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While scrolling through the status updates on Facebook recently, I came across a status update from a long-time friend that read something to the effect that she was proud of her kids, who they’ve come, and the difference they’ve made in the world using the gifts they had. Another friend of hers commented, “Great parents make great kids.”

I sat there for a good long time thinking about that comment. The more I thought about it, the more I disagreed. Great parents do not necessarily make great kids or even good ones, just as bad parents don’t necessarily make bad kids.

Often we tend to think that if we do things just so – teach the right values, encourage the right gifts within our children’s spirits, teach the importance of respect, responsibility and more – our kids are going to turn out great. Any parent who has parented for over five years knows that is not true. Any parent knows from day one that each child has a will all their own. Any parent knows that great kids do not evolve simply because they may have great parents.

Too many times I have seen moms beat themselves up over the choices their child has made. Godly mothers who were on their knees for that child even before they were born. Mothers who made it a point to gather her little ones around the dinner table each night instead of a television. Mothers who taught her children the unconditional love through example.

I have known great parents with great kids, but it’s not a guarantee that if you’re a great parent, you’re kids are going to turn out great. Look at the story of the prodigal son. What an encouragement to never give up hope for struggling parents everywhere! Parents who did all they could to steer their young ones down the right path, however somewhere along the way, a child reaches an age where they begin to make their own decisions and sometimes – often – their decisions are filled with foolishness. Yet, to that child – whatever the choice, whatever the decision – it seemed right for them. What’s a parent to do?

Stand at the gate like the wonderful father of the prodigal son and wait for them to come back. And like the wonderful father, don’t give up hope. He believed he would see his son come home – come to his senses. If he hadn’t, he would not have gone to that gate every day.

Good, great parents. They have to start with good, great people, right? You can’t be a good parent if you’re not a good person, right? Would you agree that if you’re thinking about being a parent, it’s probably best to stop drinking, doing drugs, robbing banks, forging checks or whatever? It’s probably time to get your life in order and grow up. So – say you have. Better yet, say you’ve never had to struggle with any of the above curves that life can throw at you, swung at them, and began a walk around the bases of misery. Say you’ve always given your best, never smoked, never drank, never told a lie. Say you were a poster child for humankind. And now – now you’re about to be a parent. Surely your child will tow the line. They will love unconditionally every kind of person, every part of life itself. They will take the world by storm and make mama and daddy proud. But, what if…

What if one day you find out they’re addicted to drugs and never had a clue? What if one day you find out they are an alcoholic and never saw it coming? What if one day they tell you they’re moving in with their boyfriend and defying everything sacred you ever taught them about marriage? What if one day they come and tell you they’ve had it with your way of life and they’re off to make a life of their own?

Prodigals come from great parents. Prodigals don’t escape the life of misery to be more miserable. Those are called runaways. They are usually trying to escape a dysfunctional situation already, not get deeper into one. Prodigals are trying to prove a point. They think they know what’s best and they’re going to prove it to you. The problem is, prodigals have limited vision and in their limited vision, they can’t see that their parent(s) has a little more wisdom and a little more experience and… it is the wise parent who lets them leave.

One of my granddaughter’s favorite movies is Finding Nemo. It’s a story of a little fish, Nemo, who gets taken from the ocean to become someone’s pet. His father, Marlin, is beside himself. In one part of the story, as Marlin is trying to find his son, he hooks up with Dory, another fish who says she’ll help Marlin find his son. Eventually, Dory and Marlin end up in a whale.

Due to unavoidable circumstances, Marlin has raised his son based on fear. He has always kept his son close and tried to control all of life’s situations for Nemo. Now Marlin has come face to face with the reality that he is not in control. While in the whale, there comes a moment when Dory and Marlin may be able to escape, but Marlin has a hard time trusting.

As they’re holding on for dear life, Dory (who can also speak ‘Whale’) says, “He (the whale) says it’s time to let go! Everything’s gonna be all right!”

Marlin answers rather loudly, “How do you know!? How do you know something bad isn’t gonna happen!?”

“I don’t!,” Dory exclaims as she holds on to Marlin’s fin.

As parents, we are constantly trying to protect our children from harm and danger. The problem is, we are not in control. We never have been and we never will be. From infancy and on, they have a will of their own and try as hard as we might, we cannot control that will. At some point in time, they will stretch their wings and either fly – or fly away. We can’t determine which direction they will fly. We can’t tell them which direction to fly. We can teach them as best we can what they’ll need to survive, but we can’t make them learn what we teach. We can feed them all the best of life, all the knowledge life has to offer, share our experiences and wisdom, but we can’t make them accept what we think is best for them. They will take from life what they want (and hopefully give back) and not necessarily what we lay before them. They have a bent all their own that will play a significant part in guiding them as they make choices and ultimately, mistakes.

Do you have a child that has wandered? A child that is an alcoholic, a drug addict? A child that lies and cheats and steals? A child who thinks he knows what is best and he’s out to prove it? A child who just doesn’t care?

Wayward children often have great parents. Look back on your life as a parent thus far. If you can honestly say you did your best with what you know, with what you had – then let go. If you know you could have done better in some areas, don’t beat yourself up. We all mess up and err as parents. Instead, ask forgiveness of your child. Let him/her know you’re learning too. Seek forgiveness from God and then leave it there. The, – follow Dory’s advice…

Let go. Everything’s gonna be all right.

If you have a prodigal, stand at the gate and wait. There is hope if you don’t give up.

Wait for the Lord; Be strong, and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the Lord.
Psalm 27:14

His,
Sherri

Can A Murderer, An Adulterer, A Manipulator – Really Be Called ‘A Friend of God’?

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David.

A man after God’s heart.

You’re kidding, right?

A schemer. An adulterer. A coveter. A murderer. A manipulator. A liar. This kind of person was known as a man after God’s heart? As one of the greatest kings of Israel?

David is most well-known as the author of most of the Psalms in the Old Testament. However, David had a colorful past, which undoubtedly is the reason he is able to put so much feeling, honesty, genuineness, and transparency in his words. The reader can identify with much of what David feels throughout his words because of one thing alone… he shared his heart with the world.

I often feel guilty about saying certain things to certain people. Sometimes you wonder just how much you can share. You may question whether or not you can really trust this confidante you may be sharing with. You may not share because you feel like saying anything personal is wrong, for whatever reasons.

What if David had never shared? What if his story had never been written? What if he felt that he was a burden to others by needing a listening ear?

I realize David may not have been in control of what got written about his life, but God did and he allowed every little bit to be exposed. A shepherd boy. A slayer of giants. A king. An adulterer. A musician. A murderer. Repentant. The list is endless. How did all these qualities become so ‘public’?


David was transparent. Who else knew the intimate details about his affair with Bathsheba? How he had stood on his rooftop alone, coveting her for days, perhaps weeks, as he watched her bathe in eyes’ view?

Facts must be researched and proven to be just that – facts. The Word of God is infallible and so we must believe that the words upon those holy pages are precise. And we believe them to be so. So, a man after God’s heart messes up big time and it’s recorded for all to read in centuries to come.

But – what if the Bible had left out David’s story? And Moses’ story? And Saul, who later became Paul in the New Testament?

I believe we would be a withdrawn, miserable people if there weren’t others who have gone before us and messed up in one way or another. People who then became unafraid to talk to others about their shortcomings, their falls – their sin. People who spoke of their darker side, merely for the sake of coming alongside another and with wisdom from their own personal experience, in order to encourage and support another.

What if there was no one else to talk to about the divorce you’re going through because for some reason, you believe you shouldn’t talk about things like that? Or addictions? Affairs? A deep, dark secret?


If David’s life had never being shared, consider the comfort, support, hope, and encouragement that we would have missed. Encouragement from another soul who received redemption and grace and was saved. And we can receive comfort because of David’s life because his failures, as well as his triumphs, were shared.

If you’re going through a divorce, struggling with a relationship in general, in a situation you don’t know how to get out of – find a trustworthy source with a listening ear. A friend is usually the best choice, but an impartial counselor may be helpful as well. Don’t let your secrets kill your spirit. There is someone who will listen because they’ve walked the road you’re on already and they can listen with wisdom and understanding. But we must be willing to share.

God will not condemn. He will not strike you with lightening. Remember David. And remember – he was a friend of God.

His,
Sherri

Counting Blessings

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Today I woke up (not such an uncommon occurrence). Today the sun was shining. Today the skies were blue. Today I got dressed, went outside, and began watering.

Today I went back in the house, assessed the situation of cleaning and said out loud (no one else was home) “God – I can’t do this today.”

I was referring to the condition of the house. You see, it’s a mess. The floors need mopping, the carpet needs vacuumming, the dishes needed washing, the laundry needs laundering, the bathrooms need scouring, and if I were really, really ambitious, in my list there would include window cleaning as well. However, I didn’t feel ambitious. You see, if I were to do all of that cleaning (which I would do and have done), that would mean I’d have to pick up one-thousand, eight-hundred, and forty-seven items in order to do the floors, the carpets, the dishes, and so on.

One-thousand, eight-hundred and forty-seven miscellaneous items including, but not limited to – unpaired socks, gasoline receipts, paper clips, loose change, paint infested shirts and shorts, sleeping bags, coats, half-filled glasses of some kind of soda, juice, or water, pens, pencils, books in each and every room and so on. You get the picture… Blessing or curse?

I left my son home alone while I took a jaunt down to Arizona to visit my doctor. Upon my return home, I walked in the back door, put my purse on the washing machine, saw my son who was standing with his head out the back door (the cell phone reception is much better that way), heard him say to the unidentified person on the other end, ‘Hang on a sec’, while he mouthed to me, ‘You didn’t call and tell me when you’d be home or I would have cleaned up’. I bet you’re getting a much clearer picture now…

So, after having just ended a very long, eight-hour drive, I went straight to the restroom, without getting mad. You see – I prepared for this moment, expecting the very worst and to be quite honest and giving my son some credit – it really could have been worse. There could have been 1,947 pieces of what-not strewn across the floor.

I came out of the bathroom and you know what I did? That’s right. I got in the car and went to the park to take pictures of birds.

That was four days ago. I don’t know what happened to him as a child. Somewhere he missed Housecleaning 101 when I taught it to my children in the summer of ’89. I will have to credit him with the fact that he was only two years old and his brother had a four year jump on him and his sister almost two years. Still, I repeated that class several times each week but I never realized he was failing. He missed the lecture ‘Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness’, as he was at his best friend’s birthday party where he was duking it out at a re-creation of the Peter Pan (Hook?) food fight. Some very bad lessons learned there but one of his fondest memories. He also missed the lecture on ‘Do Unto Others as You Would Have Others Do Unto You’, with an emphasis on cleaning up after yourself. I am not sure where he was that day. Perhaps at the overnighter where he lost his camera, wallet, whatever. Something is always missing.

Back to the present…

It’s been four days. I know my son is busy working. He works hard. He gets up at 6:30 to be at a job by 7:30 and usually doesn’t get home until close to eight o’clock at night. He is tired, hungry and most days I don’t recognize him as he’s wearing more paint than what he probably used to cover the house he painted that day for a client. However, doesn’t he realize I have more important things to do than pick up over a thousand things that belong to him, just so I can get to the bottom and clean? After all, there are birds waiting for me to photograph.

Not very long ago I would have stood there and sobbed over this matter. Today I just said, “God – I can’t do this today.” You know what God had to say to me?

You can’t count my blessings today?

Ouch.

I can’t count blessings if my mind is on the things of this world, like being frustrated over things. I can’t count blessings if I am bitter and angry, for my mind is on me, myself, and then there’s I. ‘I’ always says, I shouldn’t have to do this. ‘I’ has a pride problem. But, you know what? I is right in one respect. I shouldn’t have to do this because my grown-up son is a big boy and big boys clean up after themselves and so you know what ‘I’ did instsead? That’s right. I grabbed my camera, grabbed a bottle of water, and went out into the backyard to take pictures of birds. You know why? Not because I was running from the mess. I’ve been there – done that. I went outside to take pictures because I was looking for blessings. And I found what I was looking for.

I am learning that when we look for blessings precious ‘joy’ gifts from the Father, we will find them. Not because we’re running from something, but we because we are running towards God and some days, we just run faster.

Blessing #457:

Blessing #458:

Blessing #459:

Blessing #460:

Blessing #461:

Blessing #462:

Blessing #462, my dear,lovable, crazy son who skipped out on housecleaning to spend time and ‘ride horses’ with his favorite 3-year old:

May you find a wonderful blessing from God today.
~Sherri

Which Will You Choose?

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Trust is work. It does not come easy. Whoever tries to convince you otherwise has little faith and I believe that wholeheartedly.

To live a life of gratitude, of thankfulness and joy – those are the conduits that produce trust. But – not just any trust. A trust in a loving, sovereign God who has never failed. To say He never will fail is right and good, but we cannot put our trust in a God who never will fail unless we have first seen that He never has failed. We must utilize a trust that is deliberate and focused on this loving God that turns evil into good. A God that paints a rainbow in a dark, cloudy, drippy sky and calls it a promise. A God that painfully watches His son nailed to a cross and calls it redemption for an undeserving people.

Yet, why is our first and foremost, our fastest reaction – worry? Fear? Is it something we have learned in the classroom of Life-Lessons On Trust and yet because we somehow missed the first class, and to trust first never seemed to make sense? Why have we so easily learned the sin of stress over the treasure of trust? And someone tell me – why is it so doggone easy to fret and choose failure over faith?

I sit at the airport and watch the planes take off and land and I wonder – how many people on Flight 93 on September 11th, 2001, were fretting when Todd Beamer stated, “Let’s roll!”? They had a mission. They could have been filled with fear and yet, I honestly believe they were filled with courage in those final moments. There is no room for fear in courage and they were filled with a courage that charged against the demons of darkness that desperately tried to steal their faith and keep them huddling in their fear. Instead, they gripped that fear by the horns, cast it furlong into a field of thistles and thorns and millions called it good while at the same time mourning those who trusted in a higher and a greater cause.

Imagine a faith – a supernatural courage that can come from a life who is trusting in a superior, infinite, and sovereign God who has spent an eternity blessing His children (even though they have lived oblivious to that goodness). Imagine what can happen when they begin to catch a glimpse of the small. The once mundane that now has become magnificent. No – miraculous. Imagine when they don’t merely notice, but voice their thankfulness – their gratitude for the gifts they now receive.

It is when we begin to search for the little things that we begin to see the little things are not so very little. What once I walked past in ignorance (yes, ignorance) – the delicateness of nature, the complexities of creation, and the exquisiteness of life itself – it now shouts out in celebration of its very wonder. Why? Because I have begun to look for not just the little things in life that hold that incredible wonder, but all things. And… give thanks.

Could it be that when we look for all things in which to express gratitude that we find a plethora of ‘things’ in which to give thanks, we begin to develop a life of thanksgiving? For, it is in that very smallness that thanksgiving breeds joy and joy reels in anxiety and worry. The smallness dissipates doubt. It casts light upon the darkness and whispers ‘Live in this moment.’ It speaks, ‘Choose joy.’

Truth is the beginning of trust. They are built upon the same principal – putting faith in a loving God. A loving God who has proven He is trustworthy. He has proven it with a rainbow, a burning bush, a cross. When we can see those things – really see them – then we can and will unabashedly give thanks. And thanksgiving will produce joy.

That’s the truth. And the truth sets people free. Free to see. Free to live the way we were meant to live. Without fear. Full of joy.

- Sherri

Yours for the Taking

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Did we author the universe and tell the earth to spin? Was it we who put a firey orb in the sky and decorate the blue heavens with white fluff?

And was it our idea to spot the night sky with burning stars that twinkle, or cast an evening brilliance that lights the path of the night wanderer along his journey?

We did not mold the mountains from emptiness, craft rocks and hills, crevices and moors with our bare hands nor form the waters, stand from afar upon completion, and say that it was good.

Was it our fingers that planted the first seeds of the
first flowers on those first days and made miracles sprout
from a dry earth? Reds, yellows, purples, pinks. Did we fathom the colors of the rainbow and say it was so?

When the time came to partake of the beauty that surrounded us from North to South, East to West, did we sit and thank ourselves for such bounty?

We did not breathe life into dust and watch it take form, become a living, breathing being, with eyes that could see, a heart that now beat, and a mind that could discern right from wrong.


The birds of the air – intricate, delicate creatures of the sky – the circle of life – could we do that?

We stood in a garden, stood back and with pride, called it less than sufficient as we took a bite of the forbidden fruit.

We gave tribute to chaos. We took from the tree, called ourselves wise and instead – became foolish.

We are still fumbling with our food. We are still slow to realize that in each new day – a gift – we still stare truth in the face and turn and choose the lies of the infamous enemy, the plotter of deceit, the stealer of joy, the prince of darkness. When will we see that truth is easily seen each and every day, our just for the taking.

But we make it so hard, don’t we?

Instead of giving thanks, we think of how many good things we can do to win gratitude, appreciation, approval. We think of all the reasons truth cannot be true. We find other things less worthy to invest our time and talents, our worship, our works, our praise, our attention. Lesser things. Things.

The gifts are free. They come from the hand of one who holds everything in His hand. There is no price, no hidden hoops to hop through, no secrets that haven’t been told. He waits, not with deceptive fruit, but with blessings untold. He waits with arms held open wide. He waits for you. Just you. To give all – His all – for you.

His,
Sherri

Welcome Home, Neva

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Life begins. A squirming bundle of skin, filled with a will and spirit all its own. Drinking from the breast of the one who bore it, it begins to stretch and grow. It cries. It squeals. It is silent and looking. Looking here. Looking there. Everywhere it scans shadows that come into view. Everywhere light filters in gently and brings blur into focus. The squirming bundle grows more.

The squeals turn to innocent screams that stem from rubber running against pavement as she follows a ball in play. Screams of joy. Screams of a win. Screams of fun. Screams of pain as innocence hits pavement and blood gushes from a wounded knee.

A doctor’s visit. Another kiss on the knee. A bandage is applied and pulled over top of an owie and another kiss is given. Carried out in the arms of love, the once squirming bundle is almost too big to carry. Big enough to milk the cow, big enough to gather hens’ eggs, big enough to argue. Not so big to hold, not so big to kiss goodnight, not so big to set straight.

She comes home from school. Excited about her ‘A’ in chemistry, excited about her upcoming role in ‘The King and I’ and more excited that her very first crush will be playing the role of King Mongkut of Siam. Shortly after, dreamed up kings and future queens are left in the dust for college where she meets true love and shortly after receives her degree as a nurse.

It could have been like that, I suppose, if you change a few details. But the reality? She gives her love and gentleness away every day. She touches lives she will never know were healed through her hands. Lives that were lifted by her spirit. Lives that were comforted by the words carefully chosen and mouthed by her lips. Like the fragrance of the flowers in the garden she tends, her roses, dahlia and delphiniums, lilacs, lavender and more – the scent of her character is remembered in the minds of those she has touched.

With all the busyness, with all that is called life, where is this contentment that she yearns to lie down upon and call home?

She lives through the hardships of life. Death has shadowed her with grief countless times as she has walked the halls of her ward. Tears have wet her cheeks more times than she can remember. Cries of pain have echoed in her mind more than she can forget.

She lives through the joys of life. Bringing the squeal of the new, two-fold, seeing it repeated once again with the birth of her granddaughters. Beautifully they grow, at the feet of her wisdom, by the unconditional love of her heart.

She buries her husband and with another fistful of dust to dust, a few years later – she buries her son.

She smiles as a great grandson emerges from the womb and screams life anew. Digging dirt holes and driving metal trucks, he is the music in her spirit. He is the joy of her heart. He is the savior of the moment. Dawdling in the garden, he snips with her the old life to make way for the new.

Home – is it here amidst the buds and the blooms? Is it in the sweat that drops upon the earth as she tills the ground? Is it inside the multitude of boards that stand erected in the distance, holding treasures of the past?

She knows when to be quiet, she knows when to speak. She discerns the ways about her and stays sheltered in the wisdom of her God. She lives His words and gives what she learns. Those that know her are blessed.

Her body, now aged, summons life to stop its circle and as the ends of the sphere near completion, she lays quiet upon her bed, silently bidding farewell to the shadows of the past is ushered into the holy presence of her Prince.

This moment. This joy. This feeling of rebirth – this is what she has lived for. This is the contentment that can’t be found in earthly dwellings or savored relationships.

This is the moment. This is the joy. The end of the race. This is what pain and sorrow fight for.

He reaches to take her hand. She steps from the old and into the new. With His arms she is welcomed. Through His lips he whispers, “Well done.” With His hands He places a crown upon her head.

She is home. She is finally home.

How Do You Say Goodbye?

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A dear friend of mine went to the hospital. My dear, dear friend had routine surgery. My dear, dear, dear friend was on the operating table when they discovered her body was full of cancer. That was last Friday. Today is Monday. She is not expected to live past this evening.

And still, she smiles. She jokes. With a little less life, a little less breath, she smiles and she jokes and she tells the doctor to get back to work because she has nothing to do but wait for her eyes to close. She smiles because she knows when her eyes close, they will reopen to the face of her long-awaited Prince.

I told her to tell Jesus that I want a yellow house, just like the one her and I and another friend use to go to for lunch and pie. Always pie. Always a la mode. Always. Sometimes we may not have wanted the soup or the sandwich (rarely), but always the pie. As you can sense, it was good pie. Two slices of pecan a la mode and one slice of sour cream and raisin a la mode. Warmed just a tad bit.

One day we went flower picking. Bright pinks, yellows, reds, purples. Petals of practically every color of the rainbow greeted us as we pushed open the wooden gate to her friend’s backyard. A backyard of dahlias covered the bare dirt and stood up to six feet tall. She snipped and clipped blooms while I snapped pictures of every one I could. We laughed. We talked. It was one of the highlights of my life. A bright summer day.

I used to work in a church office. Someone received a bouquet of beautiful red roses and I had to deliver them to the recipient. How I wished they had been for me. As I rounded the corner going back to my office, my dear, dear, dear, dear friend was there. She was holding a green glass vase full of deep and light purple lilacs that she had clipped in her yard and brought to me. The fragrance seeped into my soul and refreshed my spirit. She was my angel that day. She loved flowers as much as I did.

She will be Home in a few hours. The angels must be setting the table as I write. They are probably humming as they go – excited by the near arrival of my dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear friend. We who are left behind however, weep the loss of this saint. This one who frowned upon gossip and never said an unkind word about anyone. This one near 80 years old, who giggled like a little girl. This one who had the gift of encouragement and sent handmade cards regularly and often to cheer others up. This friend who, when there was a need, did what she could. This one I call Neva. This one the Father calls Beloved.

I shiver when I look up into the sky and think this could be the moment when Christ is standing at the gate, welcoming her home in His arms. I thank my God that two weeks ago I made the time to sit with her while I was in Idaho and share lunch. Her and Vivian. Just like old times. Two of my very favorite people.

There was no pie that day and the Yellow House has closed. We found another place to dine and the fellowship was just as sweet.

My dahlias are blooming. When I look at them I think of Neva. When I look at them from now on, I will remember Neva. Her smile, her spirit, her giggle, her generosity, and her ability to bring sunshine into the lives of so many others.

I will miss you so much, Neva. But I know that someday I will see you again. And when I do, while Vivian enjoys her sour cream and raisin pie, we’ll enjoy some ‘heavenly’ pecan pie – a la mode, of course. And the fellowship will be so sweet.