Returning to The River

I spent a great deal of my youth at the river, the Frio River. It is cyrstal clear and cold as the name suggests. I recently returned to the Frio and spent some time with my feet in the water. Sitting and staring at the minnows nibbling on my toes makes me feel deeply connected to the earth and to my life. I remember; I dream; I feel. More importantly, I am still and I feel the sun. This river runs through me. It links my past and my present. I sat in this same spot with my grandma before I can even remember. My time at this river always gives life. It even saved my life once. Water can do that. Healing and cleansing the river runs. It takes the things that need to go and mixes the old and the new to gives us a type of newness.

Sometimes, we need to return to the things that feed us.
What feeds you?

In Disaster We Are At Our Best

In disater, we, humans, are at our best because we focus on the essential, life. In moments of disater and disarray, we focus; we respond to each other. We hug strangers, rescue women and children, and help people we don't know. I pray that we can bring this focus and response to our daily life. Lots of people need rescuing. Just look around. I have to go see my neighbor now.

Wishing you focus and someone to wipe your tears.

Getting to Jesus

My son did a school project. In it he was asked, "why did the shepheards follow the star?" He replied, "They wanted to get to Jesus." This phrase stands out to me because we always say "they wanted to see Jesus." But, I think getting to Jesus is the thing we most want to do. Seeing him from a distance is okay, but I imagine myself and the shepheards wanted to experience Jesus. Getting implies being involved with him and participating with him in his work. Seeing him implies that we want to see him from afar but not really touch him or experience him. Getting to Jesus - that is thing.

Sometimes Dancing is Our Work

Watch 200 people dance in a Belgium Train station. There is nothing like the sound of music.
Take time and to see what the world can be. Maybe we just need to switch our focus. If we could all dance in the trains station. . .maybe the world could change. Smiling children in a public display of happiness. . .now there is a focus. It's All in a days work.




If you notice, even the dance moves combine modern hip-hop styles with pinkies in the air tea drinking motions. This old versus new becomes a more obvious combination when the music itself switches and the macarena moves come out. Being where we are. . .as we go. . .it is tempting to long for the past, which we romanticize, but we must embrace this moment and create existence (and perspective) now. Or, maybe we should just dance in the train station.

To His Purpose or Fever in My Hands

When I was thirteen, I walked down the aisle of my church wearing my favorite yellow dress. I almost ran. I shook deacon's hand with fervor and said, "I am dedicating my life life and work to Christ." I had been down the isle the first time when I was 4 years old. But on this day of the yellow dress, I knew that my desire and existence had merged and I became a doer in the ways of Christ.

"What school will you attend?" he asked. Seeing my puzzled look, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "there is plenty of time for that." (At thirteen I was unaware there was a distinct formula in Baptist life when you wanted to serve God as a"calling.") My heart knew then, and my head knows now that we abide in him and he abides in us.

We serve because we are made ready to serve. . . where ever we are. As we look for what our hands find to do, we can read, here, together about our wandering paths and His purposeful hands. Joining the Higher Calling Blogs Network is a way to share life, work, and faith with others who mingle these things together in various ways.

Today, I do not know which way the wind will blow, and most days I am sure I am missing something important, especially since I grew up in the era of the street evangelist with Bibles and the Roman's Road tracts in their hands. ( I really miss the orange stickers. Does anyone else remember those?)

Joining the conversation,

Melody

500 Calories A Day

I have a neighbor at the end of my street. She is old and lives by herself. She was without a refrigerator suddenly, so I took her dinner while she waited for her new one. I walked into her yard holding the bag of groceries ready to eat. She hugged me with great abandon, " It is so nice of you to think of me, but I can't eat this." It was chicken and rice and bread. "I only eat 500 calories a day. Oatmeal and dry toast in the morning, and my Healthy Choice dinner in the evening. I have to watch my weight." She took another drag from her cigarette. "It means so much that you brought me food." She held my hand.

She is not overweight, not at all. I looked her in the eye and explained why no adult person can live on 500 calories a day. She responded, "I eat my vegetables." I pushed, but I quickly realized there was no talking to her about this. I was tempted to call her son to see if he knew about this. I was concerned for her life.

I walked away frustrated at her. "How can she live? This has to change." I said to myself, but I was powerless to change her. She had made up her mind.

I, too, make up my mind and refuse to listen to others, sometimes.





Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, get understanding.
Proverbs 4:7

Little Light of Mine

We were late to school today. A late long night caught in a tornado warning. . .standing in the bathroom of a convenience store. . .caused us to be up late. . .

My son starts every school day with chapel. (I should be so lucky.) He sings songs to Jesus first thing every morning. Today, I sat next to him. In the back of the church, we sat hearing voices bounce off the wooden ceiling while being dimly lit by the stained class windows that point heavenward.

Asa smiled and raised his finger in the air to sing "This little light of mine." I started to put my finger up. . .then. . . I paused thinking," I am too old to raise my little light."
Then, I balked. . .catching myself in the real issue. . .

a life lived in political correctness inside a world that is not kind to people who show their light.

I raised my finger and choked on the loss of my childlike boldness. I raised my little light.