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I believe we would be a withdrawn, miserable people if there weren’t others who have gone before us and messed up in one way or another.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

I’m Requesting the Honor of Your Opinion

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I am entering a photography contest, contributing four different photos, representing four different categories. Would you help me out by voting for your favorite in each category, which will help me to determine which ones to submit (I’m undecided and thought this might help!)… You can leave your 4 numbers in the comment section. Thanks so much!

*****For the category of birds:

#1

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#2

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#3

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#4

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#5

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Votes to date: 4

#6

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Votes to date: 8

*****For the category of blooms:

#7

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#8

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Votes to date: 7

#9

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Votes to date: 4

#10

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#11

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#12

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Votes to date: 1

#13

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Votes to date: 1

#14

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*****For the category of butterflies:

#15

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#16

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Votes to date: 4

#17

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Votes to date: 8

*****And… for the category called “Just Kidding Around”:

#18

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#19

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Votes to date: 5

#20

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Votes to date: 3

#21

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Votes to date: 4

Thank you so much!
~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

Ten Reasons to Read ‘One Thousand Gifts’

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I have recently come across a book that I firmly should be in everyone’s hands. There aren’t many books I would recommend so highly, but this one fits my criteria for what makes a book ‘recommendable’.
- It has to be in English, and have an appealing cover (I’m a visual person)
- It deepens my walk with Christ in some way
- I want to keep reading and never put it down
- Before I am even half way through I realize this is a keeper – my name goes in – it doesn’t get loaned, sent to the thrift store or sold in a yard sale
- I go out and get a copy to give to someone(s) who will be blessed by it
- In my recommendation, there is nothing that will embarrass me in its content
- It is encouraging and inspiring
- It touches me emotionally
- I can’t wait to read it again
- I think about it all day long

‘One Thousand Gifts’ by Ann Voskamp. It’s been out about a year (perhaps a bit less) but it is absolutely refreshing. Ann takes us through some of the heartbreaking moments of her journey in life, as well as those that were filled with joy. The places where she learns anew the gift of thankfulness and how it literally transforms her life.

Written almost like poetry, it is easy to read, quick to absorb. But take your time. You won’t want to miss a bite.

A little secret…
To obtain the transformation Ann talks about, you will need these three tools: a pen, a notebook/journal, and eyes – wide open.

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it!

Writing for Him,
Sherri

That’s all I’m going to tell you. It is a bestseller, so it may be in Costco (or similar) at a discounted price.

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.

Do the Work

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In my efforts to try and get back to writing, Ken suggested I read a book he had just finished reading entitled, “Do The Work” by Steven Pressfied. So, being the sublimely submissive (hahaha) wife I am, I consented.

Wow. I am writing this short post for one reason. To recommend this book (takes 1-2 hrs of your time). Simple, yet easily forgotten truths of life. It’s inspiring for those who have struggled with resisting starting and/or finishing projects (such as writing a book, putting the engine back in your car, painting a house, inventing a new lightbulb…) because of lack confidence, rejection in one form or another, and more.

For writers, builders, race car drivers, housewives, students…

Do the Work
Overall Rating:
 
Retail Price: $12.99
Amazon Price: $7.18

…it would make a great gift for anyone, teaching them to press on, to not give up, and to realize they can achieve just about anything if they just keep on and don’t quit. Pressfield, in a refreshing and simple way, shows us how to do just that – keep on.

A great read.

Crossing the Border

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Yesterday in church, the pastor spoke of a mission team that was on its way to Mexico and was due to cross the border of California and head to their destination. Some of the group is doing this once again, having crossed over into another country before. For some, however, this is their first time. They are leaving the familiar, the comfortable, the safe and entering territory where they have only heard of and never seen.

As I sat there, I thought about how the whole world is a missionary zone. For some of us, we don’t even have to leave our houses to be ‘on mission’. We have lost loved ones we live with each day who we are to be a witness to of God’s grace and forgiveness. We live in neighborhoods that need the love of God extended to on a daily basis to people who are in pain and are suffering in ways unimaginable. But… we’re afraid to cross the borders.

We fear the reaction of loved ones. We fear we will be thought of as a religious fanatic or worse yet, a ‘Jesus freak’. We fear crossing the street to a neighbor for fear of what they may think of us or worse yet, what we might find that we don’t care for. We don’t want to leave the comfort, the familiarity of our safe little worlds that we have built by creating boundaries – borders.

There have been two people in my life that have taught me that crossing borders can be a tremendous blessing. I have always been somewhat withdrawn when it comes to meeting new people. When I took on the job of an administrative assistant in a church several years ago, I quickly learned that meeting new people was a constant part of my job. Not only that, but to make them feel loved and welcome became an integral part, as well. I had to realize that crossing borders was a part of the job description, whether I was comfortable with it or not.

The homeless and the hungry frequented my office. The hurting. The lonely. The lost. Sometimes a bag of food was all they wanted. Sometimes a hug. Sometimes just having someone just listen. What I learned was – the more I crossed those borders, the more I wanted to and the easier it became. At first I watched and listened to those who crossed borders regularly and loved people who were on the other side. I learned that my fears of being shunned were misplaced. I learned that love goes a long way to opening doors. I learned that I really loved being on the other side.

When Hurricane Katrina caused her destruction in New Orleans several years ago, I went with a mission team to help feed those who had become homeless and destitute overnight. We talked to, hugged, prayed with, and loved on those who (I am ashamed to say), I would have been afraid of five years earlier. It was a fortnight full of irrepressible joy and blessing unmeasurable. Hopefully for them. Certainly for me.

Now I am in a different place in my life. I am at home on disability, often too tired or physically hurting due to having Parkinson’s disease. However, it is not so bad that I haven’t found myself lately yearning to cross the borders around me. And – there are many uncomfortable boundaries for me that exist around here where I live. But I want to go. I want to show God’s grace to those who are hurting, to those who are alone, to those who are lost.

There doesn’t have to be a flood to reach those who are drowning in life. There doesn’t have to be a third world country of starving children to reach those who are hungry. They are right beside us in the grocery lines, beyond the flowers in our yards, across our dinner tables. The question is – will we cross the borders and love them as Jesus loved them? Unconditionally, without fear, and being an example of forgiveness? That is my heart’s desire. To step over the lines that hold me back and to live as Jesus lived – loving the unloveable, forgiving the unforgivable, and living out grace to a lost world. That, for me, will have been to have lived well.

Thank you David Bruyette and Fondra Magee for teaching me what it means to cross the borders in life, without fear, and to live like Jesus.