14 Things I've Learned in 2014

Thus far, 2014 has proven to be an incredibly interesting year. I can't remember a time in my life where so many things clicked and the lessons taught came with such sobering side-effects that they stuck and are continuing to stick. Not all of these lessons began in 2014, but since that doesn't flow with the title of this post, I'll just pretend. December was a struggle anyway, so having the outcomes occur in January was sweetly encouraging.

 1. Tearing others down tears you down as well

2. Not washing off mascara is incredibly detrimental to your eyelashes

3. Blog resolutions take conscious effort to keep

4. If you take yourself too seriously, no one else will

5. Sleeping with your arms above your head is stressful on your rotator cuff {alas!}

6. A soft answer DOES turn away wrath

7. The Ten Commandments are not just a list of rules. Behind every one is a God who knows how much sin damages us.

8. Thinking before you speak can make you miss the moment, but it also leaves you with less regrets. Not everything thought needs to be said - witty or otherwise.

9. Encouraging younger siblings is infinitely better than ignoring them {and gets you help with the laundry}

10. Looking for love in everything God does transforms hard things into overwhelming blessings

11. Rubbing olive oil on your eyelids every night before you go to bed helps your eyelashes get thicker and longer {at least it does if you haven't been washing your mascara off and really ravaged them}

12. Defusing situations helps you control situations. You can't choose how people speak to you, but you can choose how you respond to them.

13. The wisdom with which Jesus answered the Pharisees is yours for the asking. However, you can't ask and then ignore the answer - no matter how much you don't like it.

14. Week days aren't just stepping stones to weekends. Each day can be great if your attitude is one that remembers every moment is an opportunity to bring glory to God.

Till next time! 

Surely

{from}

God is good, they said, all the time. All the time, they said, God is good.

It was a chant I learned in the teen girls' group at a family conference. The leaders would shout out the first part and whoever was paying attention at the time would shout back the second half. Then, in the hopes that everyone was by now aware that the next session was starting, they would shout "All the time!" and we were supposed to respond "God is good!"

Which we did. Loud and clear. How else would they know that we'd stopped whispering to our friends for at least five seconds?

There's something about catchy, one-liners. They stick with you through thick and thin and often don't mean much - or at least they don't until they're taken out of context.

As an attention-grabber, this was Scriptural, easy to remember and sounded good if someone is passing by the open window.

It never really sank in at all at the time. Of all the things I learned over those four or five days, it was not "God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good."

In fact, I'm only just learning it now.

I was recently chatting with a friend on the phone and she recited a quote for me that she said she'd never forgotten.

Anything we receive from God that is not damnation is grace

To be honest, the thought had never occurred to me. That anything, anything - sickness, disaster, heartbreak, loss - whatever I think is so bad that I blame God for allowing it to happen, as long as it is not what I absolutely deserve - separation from Him forever - it is His grace. His goodness. His love.

He didn't have to give me health.

But He did.

He didn't have to put three good jobs in my lap.

But He did.

He didn't have to give me my family, friends or wonderful life.

But He did.

He didn't have to give me a headful of stories to love.

But He did.

He had no obligation to call me His child.

But He does.


When I look at the many times I've reproached Him for the things He's done; the times I've complained about my "tough life"; the times I've not even thought to stop and take a second to thank Him for anything - I am ashamed.

He has not pushed me away. Instead, He has sent His goodness to pursue me and His mercy to follow me all the days of my life, until I dwell with Him in His house forever.

God is good, all the time.
All the time, God is good!

Until next time!

…Eucharisteo…

Friday and Saturday I attended the Set Apart women's conference in St. Paul, Minnesota with several friends.
One of the keynotes was a woman I used to go on and on about before other things phased out her message and it sort of joined the clutter in the back of my brain of the ghosts of things I'm saving to "think about later". The later that never seems to come.

At any rate, it was Ann Voskamp. {Here's the link to her website in case anything here makes you interested enough to visit}

She spoke of fear and trust and the key to complete rest in the hands of Christ. I'd read her book One Thousand Gifts and I knew the gist of what she was saying. Somewhere inside I knew them.  As Dom Cobb says in Inception {if I've got any fellow Inception-ers with me :)} "She had locked something away, something deep inside her. The truth that she'd always known but chose to forget". I don't know about anyone else, but I almost shivered {or maybe I did} when I heard it. I'm not a person who tries to find spiritual truths in secular movies, but that line is incredibly true in the aspects of how I, as a Christian, live my life. There are so many truths I've chosen to lock away because they mess with the reality and comfort I want to live in.

Of course, it's not always locking away, though. Sometimes it's just plain forgetting.

After reading One Thousand Gifts I was gung-ho on starting my gratitude journal and totting up my thousand gifts. I was sold out on the idea of eucharisteo and giddy with excitement those first few days as I walked through life, whispering thanks for every rock, tree and jolly bush.

And then the bloom wore off and slowly I forgot to jot down the thanks. My journal sat at my desk, lines blank or half-heartedly filled. Eventually I tore out the pages I had filled, bundled them up into the attic and forgot about them.

Counting gifts just "wasn't for me".

At least, not the way I was counting them.

As I sat in the auditorium on Friday and listened to Ann speak, I felt the familiar conviction that I had lost. Locked away. Chosen to forget.

I needed to start counting gifts again.

One thing she said stuck with me very clearly. Two things actually.

"You can't be thanking God and living in fear at the same time" & "Satan hates the use of a pen. He doesn't want you to pick up a pen and write down the words that respond to The Word" {Note: these are not exact quotes; I was writing like a mad thing and probably messed up a few words}. Writer that I am, I was especially intrigued by the fact that Satan hates the use of my pen and doesn't want me to pick it up and write. Especially writing thanks. He'll do anything to stop me. So writing down thanks is essentially an act of victory over the devil.

Well, I thought to myself, I'm always up for that.

Somewhere in the midst of those quotes I decided once and for all that I was going to use my pen to defeat the enemy.

The thought of another gratitude journal gathering dust on my desk was not attractive {to say the least}. Nor was the concept of scattering pads around the house - and looking for them every time I needed one because someone else in the house had walked off with it. I needed something tailored for me.

Being a rather non-conventional person, I settled on a eucharisteo {Greek: to be grateful, to feel thankful} box.

The idea behind it is solely suited to my tastes. I'm a writer, so I'm constantly jotting down bits and pieces of dialogue, description, observation or whatever it is that comes to my mind that I don't want to forget. I have a padfolio in my purse that I bought especially for writing down these passing thoughts. Do I use it? No. When an idea strikes, I grab for the nearest pen and scrap of paper. {The padfolio is now enlisted for sermon notes} I have post-its and index cards and little scraps of torn-off paper all over the place, scrawled over with the fleeting brainwaves I almost lost.

Thus the eucharisteo box.

When I have a love-gift to thank God for I can grab for the nearest bit of paper {I've planted pads of post-its and pens in convenient locations}, scribble out my thanks and toss it into the box.

This changes the face of the gratitude-journal-One-Thousand-Gifts thing, of course. I'm not keeping track of how many I have {I'm not competitive, so this is no great loss. When I had my gratitude journal it became more of a game than anything else} and I'm not being overly idealistic about it either. I know that it will take a while to become habit, so any slip that goes into the box right now is one thing I'm thanking God for that I probably wouldn't have a week ago. The mere incentive of tossing the paper into the box makes it all the more exciting. I'm a piggy bank kind of girl. I love putting things through slots and watching them fill up. :)



For those of you who use gratitude journals to record your gifts, I stand in awe. You are stronger women than I am.

For those of you who, like me, are finding the journal idea hard to work with, there's always a box!

Until next time {may you be blessed with more gifts than you have ink to record}!

In All Things...

Only he who gives thanks for little things receives the big things. We prevent God from giving us the great spiritual gifts He has in store for us, because we do not give thanks for daily gifts. We think we dare not be satisfied with the small measure of spiritual knowledge, experience, and love that has been given to us, and that we must constantly be looking forward eagerly for the highest good. 

Then we deplore the fact that we lack the deep certainty, the strong faith, and the rich experience that God has given to others and we consider this lament to be pious. 

We pray for the big things, and forget to give thanks daily for the Christian fellowship in which we have been placed, even where there is not great experience, no discoverable riches, but much weakness, small faith, and difficulty; if, on the contrary, we only keep complaining to God that everything is so paltry and petty, so far from what we expected, then we hinder God from letting our fellowship grow according to the measure and riches which are there for us all in Jesus Christ.

- Dietrich Bonhoeffer -

September In The Rain

The grey skies and driving rain splattering through the yellow leaves outside my window today remind me of a song I heard last week - and old, old song by Frank Sinatra with such melancholy words and such a sad, sad feeling to it. I thought I'd share and put you all in the same grey-day feeling. :)

September In The Rain

The leaves of brown came tumbling,

remember?

In September, in the rain.

To every word of love I heard you whisper,

the raindrops seemed to play a sweet refrain;

the sun went out just like a dying ember,

that September,

in the rain.

Though spring is here, 

to me it's still September - 

that September -

in the rain.

Songs like that always make me wonder about the stories behind them. To me this one speaks of a young woman, standing under a tree on a dark street with the sky heavy and grey above her and the rain falling around her and a single street lamp shining a golden glow on her face. And she's just standing there, thinking about her fiancee who is "somewhere over there" fighting in the war and remembering the last time she had seen him - which could be the last time she ever would.  

I hope you feel properly melancholy now!

'Till next time,

Jehovah Jireh - The God Who Provides

What have I been doing lately?

Tis an interesting question.

Basically, I have been studying. Studying. And, um, studying.

I guess I could assure you that my current blog design is safe - there is no way I have time to tinker with it at the moment.

Since Monday, I have been studying from 8 or 9 in the morning until either 3 or 3:45 in the afternoon. I take breaks to do laundry, eat, and clean dishes (when it's my day, that is).

Speaking of laundry... No, I shall finish this first.

*goes to the basement and throws laundry into washer*

I never did have any self-control when duty calls (haha).

Late afternoons and early evenings are my free time. I try not to do anything related to school except for an occasional peek at the textbook to recall something or taking a crack and a half at the list of abbreviations that I have to know. (By the way, does it make any sense that NPO means "nothing by mouth" and then 'so' means "mouth"? Eesh...) I spend my time listening to a local talk radio host who has a peculiarly soothing effect on me because his voice is familiar and I can depend on it being there (I feel seriously uprooted and out-of-the-loop right now), catching up on Focus on the Family's Tour Course The Truth Project (excellent, EXCELLENT topic on the first section - but I'll talk about that later...), capturing bits of time to read a book club selection Whose Body? by Dorthy Sayers (though I must admit that it's a wee bit too much detail for my overloaded brain right now. I hope I'm absorbing enough to be able to discuss it logically at our fabled next meeting...), attending choir on Tuesday night, playing frisbee on Monday night and watching the Milwaukee Brewers battle their way through the playoffs.

I'm beat.

After graduating early and summer vacation (though I did work forty hours most weeks) and a month off before this class started, I guess I was becoming acclimated to not stuffing my brain with material.

And I've been struggling lately with my old nemesis, fear. And worry. And confidence.

 It's been horrid. I've battled it for years and I'm just sick of it. I'm plagued with fears that I'm not doing enough, studying enough, watching enough, reviewing enough. Ugh. If it were up to me, I would kill myself studying.

Thankfully, it's not up to me.

And thankfully, I have a loving family to support me, friends who pray for me and a God whom I have recently been reminded is Jehovah-Jireh - the God who provides.

In the Truth Project that I watched yesterday the speaker made a point, an obvious, simple point, that struck me as it never had before.

I've heard a million times that Satan is a liar and the father of lies. I even did a Bible study with Nancy Leigh DeMoss and Dannah Gresh's book Lies Young Women Believe.

Do you think I caught on?

Seems like I never do.

The speaker, Dr. Del Tackett by name, said that Satan can't not lie. He isn't capable of truth. He can't tell the truth.

And I've been believing everything Satan's been throwing at me.

I've believed that I'm not capable of this, I've believed that I will fail, I've believed that this is the end of my life, I've believed that there is no way I'll ever pass.

I've believed it all.

And it's all lies.

So if I turn the lie around, what do I get?

Truth.

And the truth is what brings peace and confidence.

Truth sets you free.

God is with me. God is for me. God will provide.

I am not alone. I am not a failure. This isn't the end of my life. I can do this - and I can do it well.

I'm still nervous and sometimes I'm still afraid, but now I can take that lie and turn it around and trust God to help me.

I love Him.

And nothing is impossible when God is at my side.

'Till next time,
 

But God, it's MY stuff!!!

We all have these times, I guess. The convicting times where you realize that you're not as good as you fancy yourself to be - or the uncomfortable times when you realize that you are a lot worse off than you righteously believe yourself to be. Those times when you realize the glaring thing you're doing that's separating you from God as effectively as a ten-foot-high brick wall with razor wire on the top separates you from the prisoners in the local jail.

As much as I hate these times, I know that they're when I grow the closest to my Savior. When I get off my high, righteous horse and realize what a failure I am. It's uncomfortable, often difficult, and usually involves a lot of sacrifice and growing pains.

Lovely.

So here I find myself in the midst of conviction with a path carefully set out before me. All I have to do is walk it in complete obedience with my Savior.

Yeah...

As Anne Shirley would say: "Therein lies the rub."

My problem is simply stuff. Anything and everything that I own becomes to me a prized possession, to be guarded even with my life. I treasure it, take care of it, store it, and -- this is where the biggest problem comes in -- find my joy and contentment in it.

It seems that no matter what I have, no matter what I get, I always want more. There's always that elusive "one more thing" that'll make my happiness complete. When I feel down, my stuff is what I think of -- it's what makes me smile.

It should be what makes me cry.    

It should make me cry buckets because I've put it higher in my estimation of value than my relationship with God. Where God should be the one I find my joy and contentment in, it's something silly like a book or music or a knick-knack or electronic gadget of some sort that makes me glad to be alive. How pathetic and shallow is that?

And since God is a jealous God, who wants my heart and soul to belong completely to Him, He sends along the Holy Spirit to whisper in my ear that I'm putting to much store in my treasures-on-earth.

Many, many times He has done this, I'm ashamed to say, but I've only half-heartedly listened and given perfunctory and -- ultimately -- ineffective efforts to right the problem. Truth be told, I wasn't too concerned about it. I figured that there were bigger problems in my life that God should be tackling, like my temper or my self-righteousness. (Just a hint, ye reader: If God brings something to your attention over and over again, don't tell Him that He should be focusing on something else or try to focus on something else in your own all-knowing power. God's not stupid. He knows your biggest struggles better than you do. If He brings it up a lot, it's important!) Recently, I realized that telling God stuff like that isn't very smart. I also realized that my protectiveness of my possessions was a big problem - and that it was creating a huge rift between me and Him. Then I decided that I didn't want that rift to be there anymore and that my prayers to know Him better were basically ineffectual when I refused to face my obsession with things squarely in the face and admit that it was bigger than I wanted to own up to.

So, I prayed and gave God my stuff - every last thing - and resolved to place less store in the things I owned. By the way, if you give something to God, expect Him to test your sincerity. He doesn't want a mamby-pamby giver. You've got to mean it or you'll be right back at square one when the first test comes.

My first test came in the form of my older sister.

She has a habit of storing the books that she's reading in her lunchbag when she's at work. Normally, I don't care whether or not she does it (except for the time when she accidentally refrigerated one), but when she's reading my books, I, as the meticulous and obsessive owner, request that she keep book and lunchbag separate.

As my older sister, she doesn't place much store in what I say.

So, she borrowed one of my brand-new books and stored it in her lunchbag. I nervously asked her to keep it out of the bag, in which was stored a Tupperware container of very juicy watermelon. Despite my pleas, she put the book in her lunchbag (don't judge her; I'm sure it was God who arranged this) and, by some twist of mischief, the container leaked the juice, which my book happily sopped up.

I had a moment of paralyzing (I'm joking a little) shock when I discovered it (after all, it was a new book...) and when my sister offered to buy me another one, I stumbled over the Holy Spirit, who was whispering in my ear that I had decided to give God my stuff; and that the book didn't really belong to me; and...I shut him up after that and accepted her offer.

It didn't take God long to send the Holy Spirit back to work on my conscience and eventually I -- rather unwillingly -- went back to my sister and told her that it wouldn't be necessary to buy me a new book. When that was out of my mouth, my only regret was that I hadn't said it when she asked the first time. Especially when the book dried so well that you could hardly tell it had been soaked for three-and-a-half hours in watermelon juice.

I'm still waiting for the second test, and I have an uncomfortable feeling that it's going to be a little bigger than watermelon juice. I constantly have to remind myself that it's God's stuff, not mine, and He can do what He wants with it. It's a strange feeling to know what He could do with it, but the relief of not having to be so protective of it and the thrill of being more generous with it (it's amazing how easy it is to give people something that doesn't belong to you!) so far have outweighed the "inconveniences" of giving it to Him.

I want to encourage anyone who reads this that if there is something that God is bringing to your attention and you are ignoring Him because it seems too hard to change or because you just don't want to do it, think about this: Is it really worth holding on to if it's going to separate you from the God who gave everything -- including His life -- for you? When I realize that, my collection of stuff that I've gathered over the years (that will someday all be broken and gone) doesn't seem as important anymore. I mean, just think about it. God gave you everything anyway, so what's the harm in giving it back? Would it be a big deal if He took it all away? (The horror, I know...) It's not likely that He will, but there's always the possibility. All I'm saying is that if my house starts on fire and all my stuff goes up in smoke, I'd rather it belongs to God than me. Then it's His loss - not mine.

As Otto Koning says: God can take better care of your things than you can.  
   
So, what's the harm?

'Till next time,

The Way To Pray

This is a poem that was written by a friend of mine. I asked to share it here because I think it's absolutely beautiful and nails down exactly how I feel about prayer. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

The Way to Pray

I prayed at first, a little girl
Because they told me to.
They said that God wanted to hear me.
God wanted to hear my lisped prayers and petitions.

And so I prayed.
“Our Faffer, who art in heafin,”
Not understanding the words I prayed
But I knew that God liked it
Because they told me so.

And then they told me
That God wanted more than memorization.
He wanted to hear my requests.

And so I prayed.
And my prayers became long
Because there was so much suffering and need.
So I laid it in God’s hands
And checked it off my prayer list
Because they said I should.

And then they told me
That my prayers were too monotonous.
God wanted some praise and thanks as well.

And so I prayed.
I thanked God for making the world
And praised Him for being God and taking care of the world’s needs.
My prayers became so long I had to be selective.
But they liked my lengthy prayers
And said it brought me closer to God

And then they told me
That I should pray the Scripture
Because it increased my effectiveness.

And so I prayed.
I searched through the Bible for appropriate phrases
To express the praise, thanks, and needs.
Prayer time became so long I had to cut out some praying
To look through Scripture to find adequate verses.
But they liked it
And said I was a prayer warrior.

And then as I was praying
“Be still and know that I am God.”
“He who belongs to God hears what God says.”

So I sat.
And I listened.
And truly prayed.

Thanks, Ashley!

'Till next time,

Independence Day

I must admit, I shy away from the idea of writing a 4th of July post. The idea scares me because there's so much I want to say and I'm afraid of bungling it up. But I'll give it a try and see where it goes...

It's so hard sometimes to see past all the politics and the debate and the problems and find the America that you read about in history books. The America where mothers and fathers stayed together, where homosexuality was illegal, where children could go to the movies and see things that weren't filled up with garbage, where dating was limited to drugstore dates and walks home from school and pregnancy wasn't the result of most relationships. Where girls wore dresses and boys wore button-up shirts. Where parents were treated with respect and children were brought up in solid, moral homes. Sometimes, I wonder if a time like that even existed, because we've spiraled so out-of-control. I want that America back. The America where an age of innocence lasted at least until highschool. Where girls were innocent enough to blush and boys treated them with respect. Where going to church was something everyone did and schooling was important. Where the radio was the main source of entertainment and tv shows and movies like we have now would have shocked the nation. Is it possible to get that America back?
I believe, with the exception of a few things like radios and dresses (I assume most people wouldn't go for that), a journey back to our morals is possible. And I find that assurance in 2 Chronicles 7:14: "If My people, who are called by My name, will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from Heaven and will forgive their sins and will heal their land."
The promise is there and we can do it if we get out of our safe corners and live the example of Christ in everything we do, wherever we go.

It's also encouraging to me to go to one of those parades on the 4th and to see the people, solid, decent people who love their country and are proud to be called an American, cheer for the veterans, salute the flag and sing along to the national anthem. Seeing that helps me put my concern in perspective. The people who are destroying the moral, Christian base of our country, little by little, are not in the majority. As Clarissa Saunders says in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington: That kind just throw big shadows. And it's true. The real backbone of America is still made up of these solid families. We just need to get out and let the minority know who we are and what we stand for.

I'll get off my soapbox now (feels a bit wobbly) and finish off with some quotes from the movie we watched last night -- one of my favorites -- Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. That movie captures what I'm trying to say dead on. This is what every one of us should remember every day of our lives:

"You see, boys forget what their country means by just reading The Land of the Free in history books. Then they get to be men they forget even more. Liberty's too precious a thing to be buried in books, Miss Saunders. Men should hold it up in front of them every single day of their lives and say: I'm free to think and to speak. My ancestors couldn't, I can, and my children will. Boys ought to grow up remembering that." 


"Just get up off the ground, that's all I ask. Get up there with that lady that's up on top of this Capitol dome, that lady that stands for liberty. Take a look at this country through her eyes if you really want to see something. And you won't just see scenery; you'll see the whole parade of what Man's carved out for himself, after centuries of fighting. Fighting for something better than just jungle law, fighting so's he can stand on his own two feet, free and decent, like he was created, no matter what his race, color, or creed. That's what you'd see. There's no place out there for graft, or greed, or lies, or compromise with human liberties. And, if that's what the grownups have done with this world that was given to them, then we'd better get those boys' camps started fast and see what the kids can do. And it's not too late, because this country is bigger than the Taylors, or you, or me, or anything else. Great principles don't get lost once they come to light. They're right here; you just have to see them again!" 


"Your friend, Mr. Lincoln had his Taylors and Paines. So did every other man who ever tried to lift his thought up off the ground. Odds against them didn't stop those men. They were fools that way. All the good that ever came into this world came from fools with faith like that. You know that, Jeff. You can't quit now. Not you. They aren't all Taylors and Paines in Washington. That kind just throw big shadows, that's all. You didn't just have faith in Paine or any other living man. You had faith in something bigger than that. You had plain, decent, everyday, common rightness, and this country could use some of that. Yeah, so could the whole cockeyed world, a lot of it. Remember the first day you got here? Remember what you said about Mr. Lincoln? You said he was sitting up there, waiting for someone to come along. You were right. He was waiting for a man who could see his job and sail into it, that's what he was waiting for. A man who could tear into the Taylors and root them out into the open. I think he was waiting for you, Jeff. He knows you can do it, so do I."


And, here are some pictures to commemorate the day:

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the Unites States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. (Thank you, President Eisenhower, for pressing Congress to add "under God" -- it means so much more.)


'Till next time,
-- Jamie

A Little Something to Contemplate

This is an entry from Joni Eareckson Tada's book Diamonds in the Dust. It's a daily devotional type thing (chock full of good stuff, I might add) and this was the topic and discussion on May 8 that really got me thinking.

Shattered Glass
"Put your trust in the light while you have it, so that you may become sons of light." - John 12:36
My art studio is a mess of half-chewed pastel pencils, old tubes of paint, and piles of illustrations overflowing my file drawers. Recently while cleaning up, I discovered some broken glass on the counter by the window. I also discovered that when the sunlight struck the shattered glass, brilliant, colorful rays scattered everywhere. 
Shattered glass is full of a thousand different angles, each one picking up a ray of light and shooting it off in a thousand directions. That doesn't happen with plain glass, such as a jar. The glass must be broken into many pieces. 
What's true of shattered glass is true of a broken life. Shattered dreams. A heart full of fissures. Hopes that are splintered. A life in pieces that appears to be ruined. But given time and prayer, such a person's life can shine more brightly than if the brokenness had never happened. When the light of the Lord Jesus falls upon a shattered life, that believer's hopes can be brightened. 
It's the nature of things that catch the light: The color and dazzle of light sparkles best through things that are shattered. 
Only our great God can reach down into what otherwise would be brokenness and produce something beautiful. With Him, nothing is wasted. Every broken dream and heart that hurts can be redeemed by His loving, warm touch. Your life may be shattered by sorrow, pain, or sin, but God has in mind a kaleidoscope through which His light can shine more brilliantly. 

(This is not my work; I don't claim it to be. Everything was written by Mrs. Tada. I couldn't even have written it if I wanted to, since I don't have an art studio and I can't draw)

'Till next time
-- Jamie

Trust Me, My Child...

This is one of my favorite quotes. I love it because I often forget that this is who God is. Even though I'm not a big fan of Amy Carmichael (I read Elisabeth Elliot's book A Chance to Die and became rather disenchanted) her writing is beautiful and this quote is full of God's voice. I wrote in on a notecard a few years ago and taped it on the wall by my bed; I've practically memorized it from reading it so many times.

"Trust Me, my child," He says. "Trust Me with a fuller abandon than you ever have before. Trust Me, as minute succeeds minute, every day of your life, for as long as you live. And if you become conscious of anything hindering our relationship, do not hurt Me by turning away from Me. Draw all the closer to Me, come, run to Me. Allow Me to hide you, to protect you, even from from yourself. Tell Me your deepest cares, your every trouble. Trust Me to keep My hand upon you. I will never leave you. I will shape you, mold you, and perfect you. Do not fear, O child of My love, do not fear. I love you." 

-- Amy Carmichael