Happy? Even though I've answered three different phone calls in the past week from sisters who are each going through trials that caught me by surprise and made my heart break? Even though I've watched, cleaned, or stood in a puddle of my two year old's pee at least once a day this week? Even though it seems I can't get through a day where I don't regret something I've done or said or yelled? No, of course I'm not happy about any of that. That's funny, because you're writing a blog titled, "I write because I am happy." How do you plan to explain this to yourself?
Honestly, when, "I write because I am happy" first popped in my head, I laughed. Probably because I don't see myself as one of those overly happy kinds of people. You know them, the type who would still be smiling, and offering thanks even if their hair was on fire.
I'll admit, on occasion I've been called Positive Polly. Not because I am happy 24/7, but more because I am often finding the bright side of a situation. Which by the way, is always easier to do with someone else's problems.
I didn't want the title to turn readers off, thinking, "Oh she's happy, good for her, but who can relate to that?" I've seriously wrestled with this word "happy" over the past few weeks.
I'm an American, so it's one of my unalienable rights: life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. My many face book friends, whom I hardly ever see in person, all want me to be happy on my Birthday. My culture tells me the best way to make a decision in life is to do what makes me happy. The truth is, as I get older, happiness seems more elusive, and the word happy more shallow. So here we are again... Why the title?
When I talked to my sweet husband about writing a blog, he encouraged me to go for it, laughed when I asked him what a blog was, and then asked me a simple question. "Why do you want to write?" Good question. The answer comes on Sunday morning, when I turn my eyes off myself and my circumstances and onto the cross that stands before me.
You see, there's little I love more than standing next to my husband, surrounded by my church family, belting out a song of praise to the One who made me and loved me to death. Sadly for my husband and those around me, my belting is not always on key.
I am also a lover of things rich in tradition and history. Hymns are some of my favorite songs to sing. My children often hear "The Old Rugged Cross," "Blessed Assurance," or "I have Decided to follow Jesus," before bed time.
So it was no surprise to me that the hymn written one hundred and seven years ago by Civilla D. Martin, "His Eye is on the Sparrow," popped into my head as I began writing.
And quite frankly for better or worse, it's stuck. Check out the words below. You'll see quickly the song is not about happy circumstances, but about a bird of the field, free from worry because her Maker and Savior is watching her...
Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come,
Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heav’n and home,
When Jesus is my portion? My constant Friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
I write because I’m happy, I write because I’m free,
For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
“Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear,
And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears;
Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
I write because I’m happy, I write because I’m free,
For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise,
When songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies,
I draw the closer to Him, from care He sets me free;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
I write because I’m happy, I write because I’m free,
For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
Glory to my Maker and Savior, who no matter where I'm looking, always has His eye on me.
Truth:
Matthew 10:29-31
Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
Isaiah 12:3-6
With joy you will draw water
from the wells of salvation. In that day you will say:
"Give praise to the Lord, proclaim his name;
make known among the nations what he has done,
and proclaim that his name is exalted. Sing to the Lord, for he has done glorious things;
let this be known to all the world. Shout aloud and sing for joy, people of Zion,
for great is the Holy One of Israel among you."
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Puzzles
Recently I was blessed to get away to the beach and celebrate one very
beautiful 40 year old. Yes, so beautiful in fact that she saved up
enough money to rent a gorgeous beach house and invite her friends
from all over the country to stay with her. It was a special weekend
meeting
new friends and having peace and quiet to connect with old ones, all
while listening to the waves crash on a beautiful stretch of sand.
Before you get too jealous, there was one very low point. On the final night of our stay just before I trudged off to bed, my sister Sara opened the doors to a whitewashed entertainment center and discovered the sad news. She tried to break it gently, "Awe, Jen, there were puzzles."
No!!!! My jaw dropped. My heart sank. I had just spent three days away from the demands of life. You know them, "Mommy, where are we going today?" "Mommy, you sit next to me." "Mommy, I have to go potty." "Come see it!"
And all along tucked in a cabinet were precious boxes of tiny pieces begging to be put together. I was there! I could have helped them.
Sure it would have taken some time, but I would have sacrificed a few hours of sleep. I would have welcomed the passer by who would stop, look over my shoulder, pick up the piece I'd been looking tirelessly for, pop it in place and quickly walk away. I would have waited on the soul who laughed as she watched me open the box thinking I was crazy for taking on such a project, because she's the one who later stops, sits, looks, and spends an hour with me lost in conversation adding pieces all the while.
Yes, I love a good puzzle. It starts off messy. It can be painfully slow and often frustrating. You know what it should look like from the cover on the box, but its a labor of love to make sense of these broken up pieces. Ah but there is such sweet satisfaction hours later as the pile of rubble finally begins to dwindle. Every piece falling into place faster now. The picture is more clear. It's there. You can see those silly hot air balloons finally taking shape. Just a few more left! People gather now. This is the fun part after all. Everyone wants to witness that sweet moment when the last piece...
Did I mention I love puzzles? There's really nothing like a good old fashioned puzzle. I know it's been used as a metaphor for life many times before, but I'll risk the chance of not being creative and use it again.
I have to disagree with Gump on this one. Life is not like a box of chocolates. I like chocolates. Who cares if it's not what I expected? It's chocolate! Chocolate is good no matter what you stuff inside it. And if it's not, I can spit it out and try again.
No, to me life is like a puzzle. It's a mess. Broken relationships, pieces neglected or overlooked, pieces that seem to match, but clearly don't, no matter how many times you try. Yes, life is like a puzzle. It's a glorious mess.
This life I live is just sitting on a shelf. My broken bits concealed in a glossy covered cardboard box. I long for someone to patiently and lovingly put the pieces together. I want someone to tell me why this happened, or how in the world that ugly piece will contribute to something beautiful? I have an innate desire to feel whole again.
I cringe remembering that not every puzzle has the perfect ending. There is the occasion where the crowd watches as I pick up the last piece from the glass table. I snap it into place only to confirm what everyone has been suspecting. Yep, there's a piece missing. There's a hole.
Of course there's a hole. Let's face it, this is a rental house. The puzzle's been done before and a piece was carelessly tossed aside years ago. Disappointment sets in. People kindly offer their condolences, secretively glad they didn't invest as much time as me. And there I sit, acting pleased and indifferent on the outside, but on the inside I am stubbornly bummed. Am I just supposed to accept this? My puzzle was supposed to be whole. Not have a hole.
And there it is. Somewhere in the hours of laboring with the puzzle, I took ownership of the puzzle. It became my puzzle. I thought it was my job to fix it. I thought I could make sense of it all.
Why? I didn't create it, I didn't purchase it with blood, and without the last piece, no matter how hard I try, I can never finish it. My puzzle is but a handbreadth. Here today, but I'll be gone tomorrow. All these broken pieces were ordained, and the missing piece, the piece that was tossed aside. The stone that was rejected. It is in Him only that all things hold together.
Glory to my Savior, the maker, assembler, and finishing piece of my puzzle.
Truth:
Psalm 39:5
You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure.
Psalm 139:16
Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
Acts 4:11
Jesus is "'the stone you builders rejected, which has become the cornerstone.'
Colossians 1:17
He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.
Before you get too jealous, there was one very low point. On the final night of our stay just before I trudged off to bed, my sister Sara opened the doors to a whitewashed entertainment center and discovered the sad news. She tried to break it gently, "Awe, Jen, there were puzzles."
No!!!! My jaw dropped. My heart sank. I had just spent three days away from the demands of life. You know them, "Mommy, where are we going today?" "Mommy, you sit next to me." "Mommy, I have to go potty." "Come see it!"
And all along tucked in a cabinet were precious boxes of tiny pieces begging to be put together. I was there! I could have helped them.
Sure it would have taken some time, but I would have sacrificed a few hours of sleep. I would have welcomed the passer by who would stop, look over my shoulder, pick up the piece I'd been looking tirelessly for, pop it in place and quickly walk away. I would have waited on the soul who laughed as she watched me open the box thinking I was crazy for taking on such a project, because she's the one who later stops, sits, looks, and spends an hour with me lost in conversation adding pieces all the while.
Yes, I love a good puzzle. It starts off messy. It can be painfully slow and often frustrating. You know what it should look like from the cover on the box, but its a labor of love to make sense of these broken up pieces. Ah but there is such sweet satisfaction hours later as the pile of rubble finally begins to dwindle. Every piece falling into place faster now. The picture is more clear. It's there. You can see those silly hot air balloons finally taking shape. Just a few more left! People gather now. This is the fun part after all. Everyone wants to witness that sweet moment when the last piece...
Did I mention I love puzzles? There's really nothing like a good old fashioned puzzle. I know it's been used as a metaphor for life many times before, but I'll risk the chance of not being creative and use it again.
I have to disagree with Gump on this one. Life is not like a box of chocolates. I like chocolates. Who cares if it's not what I expected? It's chocolate! Chocolate is good no matter what you stuff inside it. And if it's not, I can spit it out and try again.
No, to me life is like a puzzle. It's a mess. Broken relationships, pieces neglected or overlooked, pieces that seem to match, but clearly don't, no matter how many times you try. Yes, life is like a puzzle. It's a glorious mess.
This life I live is just sitting on a shelf. My broken bits concealed in a glossy covered cardboard box. I long for someone to patiently and lovingly put the pieces together. I want someone to tell me why this happened, or how in the world that ugly piece will contribute to something beautiful? I have an innate desire to feel whole again.
I cringe remembering that not every puzzle has the perfect ending. There is the occasion where the crowd watches as I pick up the last piece from the glass table. I snap it into place only to confirm what everyone has been suspecting. Yep, there's a piece missing. There's a hole.
Of course there's a hole. Let's face it, this is a rental house. The puzzle's been done before and a piece was carelessly tossed aside years ago. Disappointment sets in. People kindly offer their condolences, secretively glad they didn't invest as much time as me. And there I sit, acting pleased and indifferent on the outside, but on the inside I am stubbornly bummed. Am I just supposed to accept this? My puzzle was supposed to be whole. Not have a hole.
And there it is. Somewhere in the hours of laboring with the puzzle, I took ownership of the puzzle. It became my puzzle. I thought it was my job to fix it. I thought I could make sense of it all.
Why? I didn't create it, I didn't purchase it with blood, and without the last piece, no matter how hard I try, I can never finish it. My puzzle is but a handbreadth. Here today, but I'll be gone tomorrow. All these broken pieces were ordained, and the missing piece, the piece that was tossed aside. The stone that was rejected. It is in Him only that all things hold together.
Glory to my Savior, the maker, assembler, and finishing piece of my puzzle.
Truth:
Psalm 39:5
You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure.
Psalm 139:16
Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
Acts 4:11
Jesus is "'the stone you builders rejected, which has become the cornerstone.'
Colossians 1:17
He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Show me Your Glory
This is always the deep whisper in my soul that grows louder and
louder as I approach that beautiful sandy place where the ocean roars
loud and drowns out the untamed thoughts coursing through my mind. I
am eager to get there. Always afraid I'll miss it.
But today it's okay if we miss it. I've already seen his
unapproachable light. It came in headlights rounding the corner as my
sister Sara and I waited for our ride to see the sunrise.
It's cloudy and a little warmer than the first time we rose early and
drove to the beach to see the sunrise. It was just the two of us then.
That was nine months ago.
That time I came needing Him in a way that I hadn't in a long time. It
was the last day of summer. Just a week before, I had watched my sister
Kara build a sandcastle with her son and daughter. I watched and
wondered, never voiced, just wondered deep down if she would be doing
this again come next summer. Or dare I ask the question, would her
Cancer take moments like these from us?
Nine months ago I watched the sunrise from this same beach. I begged
for His mercy to save her, get us through the upcoming year of
surgeries and chemo treatments. I was asking for my husband to have a
job, but most of all I remember asking that He would bring His
goodness to this life. A life that only seemed to be getting harder
with each passing year. With that sunrise He comforted me and reminded
me that his Glory never fades, like the sun it will always rise.
Today I was headed to watch a beautiful sunrise over the ocean, read His word,
and be reminded again about the light, the Glorious light that comes
from God alone, but that was not the unapproachable light he shone for me
today. No, His light today was in the headlights approaching.
Kara was in the driver seat today, her faithful mom by her side. She picked us up with a smile, and the four of us headed to the beach with hopes of catching sight of that
sweet moment when the grey horizon is broken by the glowing orb that
brings warmth and light to my soul.
We've made it in time. We sit in our chairs each reading a different chapter or
verse from the same Good Book. Again, God is faithful. The sun appears. It starts as a glimmering of pink, none the less. Then slowly the sky brightens.
And there it is plain as day , because there really is nothing new
under the sun. He's put it in words for me already.
1Timothy 6:15-16 God, the blessed and only Ruler, the King of kings
and Lord of lords, who alone is immortal and who lives in
unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see. To him be honor
and might forever. Amen.
Unapproachable light. That's what made me wake up early this morning
that desire to know again the only thing that satisfies. Jesus the
light of the world.
I continue reading and sure enough He points me toward his glory.
Psalm 145:3-7
Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise;
his greatness no one can fathom. One generation commends your works to another;
they tell of your mighty acts. They speak of the glorious splendor of
your majesty—
and I will meditate on your wonderful works. They tell of the power of
your awesome works—
and I will proclaim your great deeds. They celebrate your abundant goodness
and joyfully sing of your righteousness.
The sun rises and takes my breath away. The tears dry on my cheeks. I
sigh and silently say thank you. "Thank you Jesus, for how you've loved
and shown your glory over this past year." I sit feeling whole again.
Then it comes...
She breaks the silence of the moment. "Jen, I think you should write a
blog." I stare at her, now a cancer survivor wearing her black and pink "go, fight,
cure," hat. It's nine months later. Her hair is quickly growing back.
Her last surgery was finished 2 weeks ago.
He uses her to say it, loud and clear. With two witnesses watching.
What he's been quietly asking me to do for the past nine months. Write
Jen, write.
Can I really tell my sister who just fought for her life, with
everything in her, that I can't? Can I give her excuses about not
being good enough, not having enough time, or not knowing where to
start? Of course not, and that's why He uses her to tell me it's time.
It's time to give birth to the seed He planted. To write. To tell of
the power of His awesome works- to proclaim His great deeds.
He's shown His glory time and time again this past year, miles away
from the beach. But today at this sunrise He is up to something
different. He's asking me to share His glory with you...
I'm not sure what it will bring, I'm scared to death I'll make a fool
of myself and I realize I'll never be able to perfectly put my Savior
into words. But I've clearly been asked and it's time. It's time to
birth a blog?
louder as I approach that beautiful sandy place where the ocean roars
loud and drowns out the untamed thoughts coursing through my mind. I
am eager to get there. Always afraid I'll miss it.
But today it's okay if we miss it. I've already seen his
unapproachable light. It came in headlights rounding the corner as my
sister Sara and I waited for our ride to see the sunrise.
It's cloudy and a little warmer than the first time we rose early and
drove to the beach to see the sunrise. It was just the two of us then.
That was nine months ago.
That time I came needing Him in a way that I hadn't in a long time. It
was the last day of summer. Just a week before, I had watched my sister
Kara build a sandcastle with her son and daughter. I watched and
wondered, never voiced, just wondered deep down if she would be doing
this again come next summer. Or dare I ask the question, would her
Cancer take moments like these from us?
Nine months ago I watched the sunrise from this same beach. I begged
for His mercy to save her, get us through the upcoming year of
surgeries and chemo treatments. I was asking for my husband to have a
job, but most of all I remember asking that He would bring His
goodness to this life. A life that only seemed to be getting harder
with each passing year. With that sunrise He comforted me and reminded
me that his Glory never fades, like the sun it will always rise.
Today I was headed to watch a beautiful sunrise over the ocean, read His word,
and be reminded again about the light, the Glorious light that comes
from God alone, but that was not the unapproachable light he shone for me
today. No, His light today was in the headlights approaching.
Kara was in the driver seat today, her faithful mom by her side. She picked us up with a smile, and the four of us headed to the beach with hopes of catching sight of that
sweet moment when the grey horizon is broken by the glowing orb that
brings warmth and light to my soul.
We've made it in time. We sit in our chairs each reading a different chapter or
verse from the same Good Book. Again, God is faithful. The sun appears. It starts as a glimmering of pink, none the less. Then slowly the sky brightens.
And there it is plain as day , because there really is nothing new
under the sun. He's put it in words for me already.
1Timothy 6:15-16 God, the blessed and only Ruler, the King of kings
and Lord of lords, who alone is immortal and who lives in
unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see. To him be honor
and might forever. Amen.
Unapproachable light. That's what made me wake up early this morning
that desire to know again the only thing that satisfies. Jesus the
light of the world.
I continue reading and sure enough He points me toward his glory.
Psalm 145:3-7
Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise;
his greatness no one can fathom. One generation commends your works to another;
they tell of your mighty acts. They speak of the glorious splendor of
your majesty—
and I will meditate on your wonderful works. They tell of the power of
your awesome works—
and I will proclaim your great deeds. They celebrate your abundant goodness
and joyfully sing of your righteousness.
The sun rises and takes my breath away. The tears dry on my cheeks. I
sigh and silently say thank you. "Thank you Jesus, for how you've loved
and shown your glory over this past year." I sit feeling whole again.
Then it comes...
She breaks the silence of the moment. "Jen, I think you should write a
blog." I stare at her, now a cancer survivor wearing her black and pink "go, fight,
cure," hat. It's nine months later. Her hair is quickly growing back.
Her last surgery was finished 2 weeks ago.
He uses her to say it, loud and clear. With two witnesses watching.
What he's been quietly asking me to do for the past nine months. Write
Jen, write.
Can I really tell my sister who just fought for her life, with
everything in her, that I can't? Can I give her excuses about not
being good enough, not having enough time, or not knowing where to
start? Of course not, and that's why He uses her to tell me it's time.
It's time to give birth to the seed He planted. To write. To tell of
the power of His awesome works- to proclaim His great deeds.
He's shown His glory time and time again this past year, miles away
from the beach. But today at this sunrise He is up to something
different. He's asking me to share His glory with you...
I'm not sure what it will bring, I'm scared to death I'll make a fool
of myself and I realize I'll never be able to perfectly put my Savior
into words. But I've clearly been asked and it's time. It's time to
birth a blog?
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