Tag Archives: joy

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

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

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.

Because of the Redwoods – Finding My Way Out of the Pit

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tree-webToday was a good day. A few weeks ago, I wrote a status update on Facebook, something to the effect that, “Life is hard, but there’s always a tomorrow.” However that day, I hadn’t experienced a yesterday.

Yesterday was the darkest day of my life. The worship pastor today said, “We can’t even begin to understand what life without Christ would be like.”

Oh… yes, ‘we’ can.

Two days ago, my husband and I went for a ride. We drove down Redwood Highway in the upper most tip of Northern California. You know what is along the Redwood Highway? Redwoods. What are redwoods? They are some of the biggest, most majestic trees in the world. At one point along this stretch of road, you can get off at a scenic viewpoint and get out of your car to take in the beauty of one of the largest trees in the universe. This particular redwood tree stands over 300 feet tall and some crazy measurement in diameter (I’d tell you, but I don’t remember). Let’s just say, it is, humongous.

I grew up around redwood trees. Some quite large, I might add. However, not any that surrounded our house compared to this one. Not one. Anyhow, we got home late Friday. Then there was tomorrow – Saturday. About ten o’clock it started. Hopelessness. Despair. Doubt. A desire to give up.

Have you ever felt like – believed – God was not only not listening – He just didn’t care? That was my day. That was the place I was in.

I remember reading a few years ago about someone who experienced a dark day, after honestly wondering what it would have felt like when Jesus hung on the cross and God turned away. God showed that person that dark place. Imagine my surprise when I didn’t even care to go there, to know what that would be like (because, after all, who would wish to go through that?), and yet God, in His infinite wisdom, took me there anyway?

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, David said. Walk? Yesterday I was running – sprinting – desperate for an exit out of that horrid valley. I could literally feel the enemy breathing down my neck. The shadow was as heavy and pressing down upon me as real as death itself. I would close my eyes and see myself holding on to the edge of a high cliff, frantically looking around and screaming, “God, where did You go?!?”

All my questions – no answers. All my tears – no bottle to catch them in. All my confusion – no one to make sense of it. All my hope – grew darker and darker by the second. My faith? It was like it was there, but I couldn’t grasp it. It dangled in front of me like a child playing with a ball of yarn in front of a cat.

It was like a cruel joke – a test that was rigged. And I fell for the joke and failed the test. The darkness overpowered me and I lost my grip on that ledge and plundered to the pit of hell. I lost my faith and my hope went along with it.

That place – is a dark place to be, to say the least. I cried tears I thought were gone. Tears that wouldn’t stop. My husband was beside himself. Yet, in the darkness, there is no encouragement. There is no affirmation. There only remains discouragement and condemnation. In that kind of darkness, there is no hope and faith is non-existent.

I thought my tears would never end. I asked my husband, “Do you believe in God?” I knew his answer, but somewhere, somehow, for some reason, I desperately needed to hear it, the way you need to know the truth and have something worthy to believe in.

His ‘yes’ resounded with the utmost surety.

“Why?” was the next question.

“Because of the redwood trees.”

I can’t tell you why, but I felt like at that moment, though silent still, God picked me up off of the ground and stood me on my feet. I’d like to be able to tell you that He pulled me up out of that pit and stood me on a green pasture. Instead, He made me climb out of that hole, one rocky ledge at a time.

The first ledge was that redwood tree. Tell me a big bang did that. I hardly think so. The second was my granddaughter. Her smile. Her giggle. Her eyes. The way she grabs my legs when she runs up to me. Okay – that may have been five ledges up. But, I was beginning to see light and my tears weren’t coming as steadily.

I could tell you that I pulled myself out of that pit, but I’d be lying. The only possible way I got out was because, though I couldn’t see Him, or hear Him, or even ‘feel’ Him, He was there. He wasn’t pulling me out, He was down there – in the darkness with me – pushing me up.

One last push and I crumbled to the ground above, literally exhausted. I laid there. Barely audible, I told my husband, “I’ve been trusting the wrong people.”

He asked what I meant.

I’m writing a book and in it, ‘Emma’ is the main character. “I’m like Emma. She trusted all the wrong people – everyone but God.”

I trusted myself to get us out of this place we were in, so much so that I was resigned to stop medication I need every day. I trusted in others to pray. I trusted in my husband to get a job. These things weren’t bad, but I trusted in everyone but God. I was relying on Him to provide in all these things, but I wasn’t trusting Him to work everything for good – His good. I had my own agenda.

“You’ve got to take your hands off and let go,” my husband said.

Sounds like another problem Emma has. That Emma girl – she’s more like me than I realized.

When it hit me, that I’ve been so far off base, I said out loud (my husband was listening), “I’m letting go – putting the baggage down and letting go. Everything I’ve done hasn’t worked. There’s nothing left but to let God do it His way.”

A peace washed over me and the darkness that enveloped me only moments before melted before the light. I honestly thought I was letting God do it His way. Problem was, I was telling Him my way in my prayers and just assumed it was His way.

And so I let go. A smile returned and so did my hope.

That was yesterday. Today we woke and went to a new church and I think we may have found ‘home’. We met the pastor (not knowing it was the pastor) who grew up in Scotts Valley, our home town. He gave a message of salvation like none I had ever heard before and immediately following the message, baptized four brand new believers – all in their Sunday clothes. It was the most awesome thing. Except for maybe the song that we sang…

My times are in Your hands
I know I’ll never understand
But I’ll trust in You…
I’m sorry when I take control
How I’m needing You
Even when I fall You help me stand
Even when I’m lost You take my hand

I will hold on
I will hold on
I will hold on
Yes, I will trust in You

My life is in Your hands
You hold the key to who I am
And I’ll trust in You…
How I’m needing You

You will hold on
You will hold on
You will hold on
I am trusting You.

That’s my song – He’s in control, not me. And He’s holding on… to me and you can be that I’m holding on to Him. And when others ask why I believe what I do – that He is there, seen or unseen, through the dark or in the light, I’ll say – “Because of the redwoods.”

**Earaches, Heartaches, and Doorways

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When my son was born, until the age of almost three, he had constant ear infections. After the third or fourth time, it became easier to identify that another was coming on and I could get him to the doctor before it became too painful. Most of the time.

I do recall one experience of having that motherly instinct of knowing he was getting another and taking me in. His regular doctor was out and another doctor saw him. He assured me after checking him briefly that there was no cause for worry. I wanted to assure him that I was most certain he was wrong.

At twelve o’clock that night, my son woke up screaming, his ear filled with pain. I did everything I could to help him. I gave him Tylenol. I held him. I rocked him. I cried with him. He screamed in pain until morning.

A few weeks ago, I had an ear infection. It began with a gradual achiness followed by intense pain and pressure for about five days, at which time I felt it was going to burst and to be quite honest, I almost wanted it to just to relieve the pain and the pressure.

No one ever gave me Tylenol. No one held or rocked me or saw me crying in the dark when I could not sleep because the pain was so intense, but then, they did not know because I was not crying out in agony.

This is what I learned…

When my son, at the age of two, was in pain, he writhed in discomfort and screamed for release from the grip of his ear infection. Oh how I wanted to comfort him and hold him tight so that he knew he was not alone. I rocked him to try to soothe him and as I held him closely, I cried with him, wanting badly to be able to take his pain away.

When I was in pain a few weeks ago, for the most part, I kept it inside. No one else needed to hear how much it really hurt. No one could rock me and comfort me and it made me think… Isn’t that what God wants us to do with him? Yet, we try to keep the pain in our lives and the heartache we experience hidden deep inside, when all the while He is waiting for us to cry out to Him for help.

I was chatting online last night with a friend and he was saying that one of his friends was not going to be able to do an event that they had planned for this year. He said the other person had been having some recent struggles and had to cancel. Then he withdrew and ‘disappeared’ (not literally) from his network of friends. My friend made a comment that went something like this: “I’ve told him there’s still a spot for him on the team, but he’s got to walk through the door.”

I liked that. We sit and cry but we do not run through the door screaming to God for relief. We do not writhe in pain when it hurts so bad inside that we think we cannot tolerate it for another minute. A foreclosure on the only home you have known. A divorce. An illness. The loss of a loved one. You lose your job. The list goes on.

When a child cries out in pain, the parent responds immediately. When he whimpers and sits off to the side, if the parent does notice, s/he probably knows it is not a life-threatening issue or the child would be screaming as loud as he was able. The child that is crying out for mercy gets mommy or daddy by their side – immediately.

I am not saying that if we talk to God politely, He is going to ignore us, but there is something to be said about crying out to Him. Sometimes that is the only thing we can do. Sometimes that is the best thing to do. To become like a child and let Him hold you and rock you. Let Him soothe you and wipe the tears as He wraps you safely in His arms.

He is waiting to love you. It is up to you to walk through the door.