At one time, my screen saver said "The Lord Provides." I put that on during a particularly trying time financially. Apparently, He must have provided one more time because I haven't gone without a meal and I still have shelter and electricity. It's in times like that I've learned this: Providence ain't just the capital of Rhode Island.
I just signed up to do "Christmas on Mission," a project that my church choir has taken on in which we do a day trip to Bluffton, SC (where we partner with church planters) to perform two back-to-back concerts for the community; then, we fly to San Diego (where we also partner with church planters) for a long weekend to canvas neighborhoods, including caroling for residents, and perform two community concerts in a local park; lastly, we finish up with a local concert in Spartanburg for our church and the community here. It's an agressive schedule, but I'm excited about being a part of it, and anticipating what God will do.
I paid my deposit last week, knowing that God wants me to go and that He will provide the rest of the cost. I know this because He has proven it time and time again. He truly does provide. And He never asks us to do anything for Him that He doesn't make a way for it to happen.
I learned this on my first mission trip with my church. I decided three weeks before the fact to take a trip to Methuen, Massachusetts to help a couple who were planting a church there. I felt God wanted me to go, just because of the way it even came up for me to be asked to go, but I needed a little reassurance. I asked God to tell me for sure. I didn't have the deposit money, but if He'd provide it, I would know for sure that He wanted me there. I went to Bible Study the next night after praying that prayer, and in the process of asking everyone to pray for the situation, someone I'd never even met before that night handed me a check out of the blue. It was for the exact amount of my deposit. Within eight days of committing to go, God provided every penny I needed and then some. I finished the trip with $200 to spare, which I later had the opportunity to give to someone else who had committed to go on a trip and didn't have the money.
I'm thinking of another time that God provided. It was during a time that I wasn't committed to Him as I should be. I was doing my own thing and not living the way I knew I should. I was living in Raleigh, NC at the time. It was around Christmastime and I was running out of money. I needed groceries with no money to buy them and still pay my other bills. I was there alone with really no friends. I decided that I would use the plastic and just go get them. I couldn't starve, after all.
My apartment complex was having a Christmas party that evening, but I was so down, I didn't even want to go. Before I left to go the grocery store, I looked across the grassy area between my back door and the clubhouse and saw them preparing for the party. At that point, I decided to go, for the free food if nothing else. They gave away door prizes. I thought about how that $20 Target gift card or basket of goodies would cheer me up for a little while at least. But one by one, they drew names and mine wasn't one of them. It came down to the last, biggest and best prize of all and they drew the name. I held my breath. I don't remember the name they called, but it wasn't mine. I released said breath and maybe even let out a sigh. But wait... "You must be present to win" and the person whose name they drew had cut out early. They drew again. I was so excited to hear my name, I didn't even mind that she called me "Eddie." The prize? A $50 gift card to Food Lion.
See, God is faithful to us even when we aren't always faithful to Him. Aren't you glad? If His faithfulness was equivalent to mine, I'd hate to see where I would be right now.
Maybe you're in a trying time and aren't quite sure how you're going to get through it. Maybe it's a financial crisis. Maybe it's a relationship issue. Maybe it's a decision you don't quite know how to make. Regardless, the Lord is always faithful. He knows just what you need when you need it. The Lord provides.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Graceful Toughness
I've been trying for about two weeks to blog about my grandma. I just can't ever seem to find words adequate enough to tell you about her.
I've always admired my grandmother. Her godliness, her character, her kindness and grace. But in recent years, I've seen a side of her I hadn't before. My grandma is tough!
My Papa passed away 12 years ago next month. He was the rock of our family and left us suddenly. We weren't quite sure what we would do without him. At the family visitation time, literally hundreds filed in for hours as a testament to the kind of man he was and the many lives he touched. I knew my grandma was dependent on him. He had steadily led his family and home for all those years and then all of a sudden he was gone.
But my grandma survived. And I've seen in her a strength and resolve that I don't think I ever knew was there. There are times when I would take her home after she'd been out to eat with my family. I'd watch her walk into the trailer she now owns next to my uncle's house and just be in awe at her confidence and independence. My sweet, kind, tenderhearted grandmother - probably the most unlikely candidate - has become the rock.
No matter what I've faced in my life, my grandma has always been there. When I had gallbladder surgery two years ago, she stayed with me every day while I recovered. Took me to the doctor, fixed meals for me, brought me anything I needed. And she never expects anything in return.
I've lost three of my four grandparents - my paternal grandfather and grandmother passed away in 1989 and 2001, respectively - and grandma is the only one I have in this world. I once told her that she could never go anywhere. I meant that. But the realization that I might not always have her has become very real to me lately. And I don't like it one bit.
She was diagnosed with breast cancer two weeks ago and will have surgery on Thursday. The doctor expects that everything will be fine after the surgery and subsequent radiation therapy. And I have complete faith that it will be. The strength of my grandma and the healing power of my Father are going to shine through on this one. I just know it. Because my sweet, tenderhearted and kind grandmother is tough. And my God is even tougher.
Dear Lord, I place my grandmother in your hands, knowing that as much as I love her, You love her even more. Thank You for the godly example she has been to me, the rest of her family and so many others. I pray you will bless her with many more years of good health until You see fit to welcome her into Your loving arms. Amen.
I've always admired my grandmother. Her godliness, her character, her kindness and grace. But in recent years, I've seen a side of her I hadn't before. My grandma is tough!
My Papa passed away 12 years ago next month. He was the rock of our family and left us suddenly. We weren't quite sure what we would do without him. At the family visitation time, literally hundreds filed in for hours as a testament to the kind of man he was and the many lives he touched. I knew my grandma was dependent on him. He had steadily led his family and home for all those years and then all of a sudden he was gone.
But my grandma survived. And I've seen in her a strength and resolve that I don't think I ever knew was there. There are times when I would take her home after she'd been out to eat with my family. I'd watch her walk into the trailer she now owns next to my uncle's house and just be in awe at her confidence and independence. My sweet, kind, tenderhearted grandmother - probably the most unlikely candidate - has become the rock.
No matter what I've faced in my life, my grandma has always been there. When I had gallbladder surgery two years ago, she stayed with me every day while I recovered. Took me to the doctor, fixed meals for me, brought me anything I needed. And she never expects anything in return.
I've lost three of my four grandparents - my paternal grandfather and grandmother passed away in 1989 and 2001, respectively - and grandma is the only one I have in this world. I once told her that she could never go anywhere. I meant that. But the realization that I might not always have her has become very real to me lately. And I don't like it one bit.
She was diagnosed with breast cancer two weeks ago and will have surgery on Thursday. The doctor expects that everything will be fine after the surgery and subsequent radiation therapy. And I have complete faith that it will be. The strength of my grandma and the healing power of my Father are going to shine through on this one. I just know it. Because my sweet, tenderhearted and kind grandmother is tough. And my God is even tougher.
Dear Lord, I place my grandmother in your hands, knowing that as much as I love her, You love her even more. Thank You for the godly example she has been to me, the rest of her family and so many others. I pray you will bless her with many more years of good health until You see fit to welcome her into Your loving arms. Amen.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Broken
I've been thinking lately about people that I know and have known who are broken. I guess in a sense, we've all been broken at some point or another if we've lived any amount of time.
I'm reminded of the verse in Psalm when David was lamenting his situation of being scorned and hated by his enemies. In Psalm 31:12, he says, "I am forgotten by them as though I were dead; I have become like broken pottery. "
Have you ever felt
that way? When the world just seems so harsh and nobody seemed to care? When an enemy in your life treated you with such contempt that you just felt broken, shattered, unfixable?
But... Isn't it great when there's a "but?" David's came in verse 14 when he goes on to say, "But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, 'You are my God.'" David realized even at his lowest, he wasn't alone. And God wasn't finished with him yet!
Other examples in the Bible about pottery include Jeremiah's account of visiting a potter's house to receive a word from the Lord. One part of this account that I never took note of before is when he says in Jeremiah 18:4 "But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him." Even when the pot was marred, the potter didn't give up on it. He shaped it "as seemed best to him." Maybe it's not always the way we think it should be done, but He shapes us as it seems best to Him. And the results will be more amazing than we can fathom and so much better than we could have conjured up on our own.
Don't give up on yourself if life or even people leave you feeling broken or marred. Because God sure hasn't given up on you.
I'm reminded of the verse in Psalm when David was lamenting his situation of being scorned and hated by his enemies. In Psalm 31:12, he says, "I am forgotten by them as though I were dead; I have become like broken pottery. "
Have you ever felt
that way? When the world just seems so harsh and nobody seemed to care? When an enemy in your life treated you with such contempt that you just felt broken, shattered, unfixable?But... Isn't it great when there's a "but?" David's came in verse 14 when he goes on to say, "But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, 'You are my God.'" David realized even at his lowest, he wasn't alone. And God wasn't finished with him yet!
Other examples in the Bible about pottery include Jeremiah's account of visiting a potter's house to receive a word from the Lord. One part of this account that I never took note of before is when he says in Jeremiah 18:4 "But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him." Even when the pot was marred, the potter didn't give up on it. He shaped it "as seemed best to him." Maybe it's not always the way we think it should be done, but He shapes us as it seems best to Him. And the results will be more amazing than we can fathom and so much better than we could have conjured up on our own.
Don't give up on yourself if life or even people leave you feeling broken or marred. Because God sure hasn't given up on you.
The Pottery Collection
By Edie Rowland
Some are ornate, others plain.
Some are rich and lavish, others quite ordinary.
Some are the picture of perfection,
While others have been cracked and mended, perhaps many times over.
Some are filled with dirt or cobwebs,
While others are sparkling clean.
There are some large, some small.
Some demand attention, while others fade into the background.
Some strong and unscathed, others frail and damaged.
But they share three things: They are all pots…
Made of the same clay…
Made by the same Potter.
And He loves each one as if it were His only masterpiece.
Some are rich and lavish, others quite ordinary.
Some are the picture of perfection,
While others have been cracked and mended, perhaps many times over.
Some are filled with dirt or cobwebs,
While others are sparkling clean.
There are some large, some small.
Some demand attention, while others fade into the background.
Some strong and unscathed, others frail and damaged.
But they share three things: They are all pots…
Made of the same clay…
Made by the same Potter.
And He loves each one as if it were His only masterpiece.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Life Changer
I know it's been way too long since I've blogged. The last week has been pretty crazy with a lot going on at work, home and church. The church stuff is what I really want to talk about.
Last night, our church finished its annual missions conference with missionaries from all around the world descending on Spartanburg to share with us their lives, ministries and vision. It's always a life-changing experience for me. Doesn't it seem funny to say that? That I have a life-changing experience once a year? Shouldn't life-changing experiences be permanent and on-going?
But I guess that's the problem that I have. Maybe you do, too. We go through something like a missions conference (or any conference), mission trip, retreat, revival, Bible Study, discipleship class, camp meeting, or anything of the sort, and suddenly, our lives are never going to be same. We've been changed forever.
I know there's such a thing as renewal and recharging, and there's nothing wrong with that. But why can't I stick with those promises of "things are going to be different," "I'm going to do more," "I'm really and truly surrendering all to God?" And it's not usually something really difficult to do, like quitting my job to go into full-time missions or writing a book or giving half my salary to the less fortunate. It's simple things like being a better witness at work or talking to somebody I know about Jesus or being more devoted to my quiet time.
Why do we make it more difficult than it really is? Why don't those amazing experiences really change our lives? Why do we have to do it all over again the next time that conference, class, meeting, revival, or retreat comes around? There's always room for growth, but there's a difference between continuing to grow and having to start from scratch again.
I made a few commitments this past weekend. I made a financial commitment (which I do every year). I made a commitment to go on a short-term trip (which I've done several times). I made a commitment to be a better missionary right where I am (which I fail at horribly). I made a commitment to spend more time with the Lord (which can always be better). When I feel like I want to back out of those commitments or be slack concerning them, I'll remember the couple with four children who have twins on the way in a high risk pregnancy. I'll remember the lady who has not one, but two brain tumors and continues to serve on the mission field in a foreign land. I'll remember the couple who have to leave their first grandchild behind to go back overseas. I'll remember the lady who spent months held captive by terrorists and ended up losing her husband on the mission field. I'll remember the man who said, "I'm not sure where God is going to take me this time, but I'm ready to go." I'll remember those who sacrifice everything - jobs, homes, relationships, comfort - to fulfill a commission that Jesus gave to all of us.
In comparison, a few more minutes in God's Word or a conversation with a co-worker pales. Maybe next year when the missions conference rolls around, I'll be able to look inside of myself and know that I did something in the last year. Maybe I can add growth instead of starting from the ground up. Maybe I can still be on fire instead of having to re-light. Maybe instead of having yet another life-changing experience, I will have helped somebody else have a life-changing experience of their own.
Last night, our church finished its annual missions conference with missionaries from all around the world descending on Spartanburg to share with us their lives, ministries and vision. It's always a life-changing experience for me. Doesn't it seem funny to say that? That I have a life-changing experience once a year? Shouldn't life-changing experiences be permanent and on-going?
But I guess that's the problem that I have. Maybe you do, too. We go through something like a missions conference (or any conference), mission trip, retreat, revival, Bible Study, discipleship class, camp meeting, or anything of the sort, and suddenly, our lives are never going to be same. We've been changed forever.
I know there's such a thing as renewal and recharging, and there's nothing wrong with that. But why can't I stick with those promises of "things are going to be different," "I'm going to do more," "I'm really and truly surrendering all to God?" And it's not usually something really difficult to do, like quitting my job to go into full-time missions or writing a book or giving half my salary to the less fortunate. It's simple things like being a better witness at work or talking to somebody I know about Jesus or being more devoted to my quiet time.
Why do we make it more difficult than it really is? Why don't those amazing experiences really change our lives? Why do we have to do it all over again the next time that conference, class, meeting, revival, or retreat comes around? There's always room for growth, but there's a difference between continuing to grow and having to start from scratch again.
I made a few commitments this past weekend. I made a financial commitment (which I do every year). I made a commitment to go on a short-term trip (which I've done several times). I made a commitment to be a better missionary right where I am (which I fail at horribly). I made a commitment to spend more time with the Lord (which can always be better). When I feel like I want to back out of those commitments or be slack concerning them, I'll remember the couple with four children who have twins on the way in a high risk pregnancy. I'll remember the lady who has not one, but two brain tumors and continues to serve on the mission field in a foreign land. I'll remember the couple who have to leave their first grandchild behind to go back overseas. I'll remember the lady who spent months held captive by terrorists and ended up losing her husband on the mission field. I'll remember the man who said, "I'm not sure where God is going to take me this time, but I'm ready to go." I'll remember those who sacrifice everything - jobs, homes, relationships, comfort - to fulfill a commission that Jesus gave to all of us.
In comparison, a few more minutes in God's Word or a conversation with a co-worker pales. Maybe next year when the missions conference rolls around, I'll be able to look inside of myself and know that I did something in the last year. Maybe I can add growth instead of starting from the ground up. Maybe I can still be on fire instead of having to re-light. Maybe instead of having yet another life-changing experience, I will have helped somebody else have a life-changing experience of their own.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Stung!
As some of you may already know, I kind of had a rough Labor Day. (Mildly rough, of course. It could have been a lot worse.)
It all started when I wanted to clean up the brush in my back yard so I could mow the lawn, which, by the way, I've never done unsupervised before. I forgot that there was a hole near the back fence that housed a swarm of yellow jackets. (Swarm? Herd? Family? Pride? Gaggle? I don't know what a group of bees is collectively called.) I evidently stepped on said hole because as I was gathering brush and remarking to myself that I really needed to do something to get rid of them (you know, for the dog's protection), one decided to attach itself to my face.
There may have ended up being more of them to come after me, but, unbeknownst to me at the time, I probably protected myself by running across the yard screaming like a wild woman. (Yeah, that's why I did it.) I'm surprised the neighbors didn't come running out of their houses to see what was the matter. (In fact, it kind of bothers me that they didn't. I mean, what if I'd really been in trouble?)
About the time I hit the carport, the little striped sucker let go to live out his final seconds elsewhere. (Haha! Doesn't it almost make you feel better to know that after they sting you, they die? Die, bee, die!) I'm allergic to bee stings and the last time I was stung as a kid, I had a pretty bad reaction, which included major swelling. Considering this sting was on my face, you can imagine my dismay.
The first thing I did was call my boyfriend. Our conversation consisted of (paraphrased):
Me: Yi...bee...lergic...face...bee...hurts...sting...lergic...swell... (Those were the words in between the sobs.)
Him: I don't know what's wrong. I can't understand you.
Me: Bee...hurt...ow...yi...you...face...sting...
Him: I still can't understand you. What do I need to do?
Me: You...yi...bee...hurt...mom. (click)
So then I called my mom. I gave her pretty much the same explanation.
Me: Yi...bee...hurt...swell...yard...ow...
Her: You got stung by a bee?
Me: You...bee...sting...owie...yi...
Her: You need to go to urgent care and get a shot. I'll meet you there.
Seriously, my mom could be like a dog whisperer or something. How she translated that, I don't know. I guess that's one of those things that moms are good at. I know mine is pretty amazing.
After I'd started speaking plain English, I talked to my boyfriend again and he helped me calm down a bit. He told me he was going to kill those bees. (Because, you know, that's their instinct. You don't want to know what my dad did when I was attacked by a dog as a kid.) He came over and babied me a bit after I got home from the doctor until the Benedryl knocked me out. He's pretty amazing, too.
So I'm doing pretty well today after a gazillion hours of sleep, although I still have a welt on my face. I'm just thankful for the wonderful people God has put in my life to help me when those times come. In everything from bee stings to major life changes, I've got people to talk me through it, give me sage advice, encourage me, and just be there to listen or to hold me if that's all I need.
Thanks.
"I thank my God every time I remember you." - Phillippians 1:3
It all started when I wanted to clean up the brush in my back yard so I could mow the lawn, which, by the way, I've never done unsupervised before. I forgot that there was a hole near the back fence that housed a swarm of yellow jackets. (Swarm? Herd? Family? Pride? Gaggle? I don't know what a group of bees is collectively called.) I evidently stepped on said hole because as I was gathering brush and remarking to myself that I really needed to do something to get rid of them (you know, for the dog's protection), one decided to attach itself to my face.
There may have ended up being more of them to come after me, but, unbeknownst to me at the time, I probably protected myself by running across the yard screaming like a wild woman. (Yeah, that's why I did it.) I'm surprised the neighbors didn't come running out of their houses to see what was the matter. (In fact, it kind of bothers me that they didn't. I mean, what if I'd really been in trouble?)
About the time I hit the carport, the little striped sucker let go to live out his final seconds elsewhere. (Haha! Doesn't it almost make you feel better to know that after they sting you, they die? Die, bee, die!) I'm allergic to bee stings and the last time I was stung as a kid, I had a pretty bad reaction, which included major swelling. Considering this sting was on my face, you can imagine my dismay.
The first thing I did was call my boyfriend. Our conversation consisted of (paraphrased):
Me: Yi...bee...lergic...face...bee...hurts...sting...lergic...swell... (Those were the words in between the sobs.)
Him: I don't know what's wrong. I can't understand you.
Me: Bee...hurt...ow...yi...you...face...sting...
Him: I still can't understand you. What do I need to do?
Me: You...yi...bee...hurt...mom. (click)
So then I called my mom. I gave her pretty much the same explanation.
Me: Yi...bee...hurt...swell...yard...ow...
Her: You got stung by a bee?
Me: You...bee...sting...owie...yi...
Her: You need to go to urgent care and get a shot. I'll meet you there.
Seriously, my mom could be like a dog whisperer or something. How she translated that, I don't know. I guess that's one of those things that moms are good at. I know mine is pretty amazing.
After I'd started speaking plain English, I talked to my boyfriend again and he helped me calm down a bit. He told me he was going to kill those bees. (Because, you know, that's their instinct. You don't want to know what my dad did when I was attacked by a dog as a kid.) He came over and babied me a bit after I got home from the doctor until the Benedryl knocked me out. He's pretty amazing, too.
So I'm doing pretty well today after a gazillion hours of sleep, although I still have a welt on my face. I'm just thankful for the wonderful people God has put in my life to help me when those times come. In everything from bee stings to major life changes, I've got people to talk me through it, give me sage advice, encourage me, and just be there to listen or to hold me if that's all I need.
Thanks.
"I thank my God every time I remember you." - Phillippians 1:3
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