The Only Thing That Counts

It only took about two years for me to finish the nine-week Bible study, "Believing God" by Beth Moore. I actually started it over five years ago, took a hiatus for a while, then began again. I found it helpful and appropriate five years ago, in very different circumstances, and now in changed circumstances and environment, it is still helpful and appropriate. The challenge then and now is to live the faith I claim.

If you've gone through this study, you probably remember the five points on which the study is based. If you haven't, here they are:
     ~God is who he says he is.
     ~God can do what he says he can do.
     ~I am who God says I am.
     ~I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
     ~God's word is alive and active in me.1

Faith is easy to talk about - harder to practice. Hebrews 11:1 says, "Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see." The point about faith is the "not seeing" part. We are talking about things hoped for, but not realized yet. Time moves slowly when you're in "hoping" mode. The needed funds, a job, physical healing, emotional restoration, the change that is expected but a long time coming: these are the things which tempt us to lose heart.

I think of Abraham and Sarah waiting eons for the promised child. They are both listed in the hall of fame for faith in Hebrews 11, even though they tried to take matters into their own hands a couple of times. That gives me hope, since I've done the same thing. God seems to be having a problem getting this one worked out, but I have a great idea!

What I'm taking away right now, from Believing God; what I'm pondering and processing is something the author said in the very last study, almost the very last day. She pulled out a little scrap - part of a verse that I know I've read a hundred times - and asked, "What about this?"

Here it is: in Galatians 5:5 - the only thing that counts is faith expressed through love.

Wait. How did I not see this before? The only thing that counts?

It seems pretty straightforward, but think about it...faith expressed through love.

I like to think I'm pretty faith-filled. I've got this. I know about God's faithfulness. I've experienced and seen great moments of faith in my life and others. I feel confident that my faith is placed in Christ and he has forgiven me. I trust the promise of resurrection and eternity.

It's the more nebulous areas where I falter. There's always the muddy question of God's will versus my will, and the fact that God sometimes says no. I tend to practice my faith kind of like I practice piano - when the mood strikes, or when I must play for some event and I desperately need practice. But the truth is, I desperately need to practice faith every day.

And now this verse adds a whole new dimension to faith. I couldn't connect the dots without a little help from Beth. She does the math where faith is an exponent of love.

I have a hard time with love.  GASP!

I know a few exceptional people who appear to have genuine love and compassion for mankind in general, and for the unlovable in particular. I'm not one of them and...admit it. You struggle too. That doesn't make it right - for me or you.

I struggle to love the relative who caused me pain. I struggle to love people who have hurt my children. I struggle to love the mother who sent her kids to an outdoor church event in 40-degree weather in dresses, or the neighbors who routinely let their dogs out in the middle of the night for the sole purpose of barking. The takers, the stalkers, the people who use over and over, who show more sense of entitlement than gratitude. The guy who pawned my husband's guitar for drug money, or the couple who "bought" a car from us but somehow managed never to pay for it.

To quote Beth Moore, God has called us to love even when - 
     ~We don't want to.
     ~We don't feel like it.
     ~We get nothing obvious in return.
     ~They don't deserve it.
     ~They're not worth it.
     ~They don't even know it.
     ~It makes no difference.2

Petty? Cynical? Justified? You may be thinking, well, nobody can love everybody. Except that somebody did - and he places that call on my life, if I'm going to be his follower.

The truth is, I can't. And that's where faith enters the equation. If I want to be like Jesus; if I want to reflect him in my life and my actions, then I need to trust that he will help me to love when I ask him. I must believe that I don't need to work up or even pretend a love I don't feel. Rather, I trust the truth that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. (Phil. 4:13) On this journey where I am challenged to practice faith every day, and realize my own weaknesses where love is concerned, I cling to the Source of love and trust him to fill me with his limitless supply.

For me, that's a leap of faith. For all of us, it's the only thing that counts.


Bibliography:
1. Moore, B. (2004) Believing God. Nashville, TN: LifeWay Press. Pg. 9
2. Moore, B. (2004) Believing God. Nashville, TN: LifeWay Press. Pg. 214

These Were NOT My Vows

Our marriage ceremony was simple and traditional. Except for a little glitch
which resulted in me forgetting to say, “for richer, for poorer,” we made all
the usual promises to each other. (Thankfully that richer, poorer thing has never
been an issue.) And I’m incredibly blessed to be able to say that we’ve kept our
promises almost thirty-nine years now.

But lately I’ve been rethinking our vows – not out of doubt or want, but because
of the growing realization that there has been so much more; beyond love, honor,
and faithfulness. So...these are some of the things I’ve thought about – things
we’ve done with and for each other, which maybe could have been part of our
wedding ceremony.

I WILL LISTEN TO YOU

I have listened to you preaching for over thirty years. You say I could preach some
of your sermons myself, but I doubt it. Those words have your heart behind them.

I’ve listened to your talks with your brothers and cousin, and my siblings. I’ve heard
you faithfully talk with your mother, and your friends. I see how important these relationships are to you.

I remember you singing and reading to our children; your prayers for them have been
part of a rock-solid foundation since before they were born. And I still hear as you
sing and read to and bless our grandchildren.

I listen as you rhapsodize about God, about history, about politics. And you listen as
I read you books I love, even if they aren’t your favorite, or words I write even when
they need polishing.

Somehow, we haven’t run out of things to talk about. I think that when we do, we’ll
still be really comfortable in silence, for all of our words have revealed our hearts.

I WILL PLAY WITH YOU

It started with Scrabble, then we played so much we stopped keeping track. Cribbage, Hand and Foot, Bupkiss, Chinese checkers, ping pong, Settlers of Catan, Pandemic,
Phase 10…I think we will always make time for games. Even when we hadn’t the
money for a movie or dinner, we have been together…a little competitive, sometimes helping, sometimes not, but together nonetheless. Even now, in the electronic age,
when you hold up your phone and raise your eyebrow, I will say yes to Scrabble.

I WILL SHARE YOU

We adopted the phrase, “I am for you,” from Star Trek. But you are not just for me.
You are a father, a son, a brother, a grandfather, a shepherd, a friend, a leader, a
student. Sometimes others have needed you more than I. Sometimes you have needed
to be away; for work, for play, for necessity, to have time with God, or time with a
video game or time to retreat. I will not complain even while I miss you, and I will go where I need to go, so you can share me too.

I WILL NOT BE YOUR GOD

This one took a while to figure out. We are two very different people, and while you
do enrich me, encourage me, comfort me, care for me – you do not complete me. And I do not complete you. That job is reserved for God. And with that knowledge is great
freedom and relief. I don’t have to fulfill your dreams, direct your path, or comfort
your soul in grief or disappointment. I don’t have to be your Holy Spirit, or your light
in the darkness. I cannot be sufficient for you. I can point to Christ who is all sufficient. I can walk this path with you, and will continue to do so gladly; but I can’t be what
makes you whole. You have filled my life with deep joy, lots of laughter, contentment
and adventure, but you are not my god. We have failed each other sometimes, we’ve disappointed and hurt each other sometimes, and in those times, comfort and help
and strength had to come, not from ourselves, but from the lover of our souls.

I WILL REMEMBER TO BE GRATEFUL

I thank God for you. You’ve been the best life companion for me. You’ve provided for
me, and taken care of me. You’ve sought to serve me with a humble heart. I’ve joked
that your headstone will say, “He lived to serve.” But it’s true. That has been your
motto.

There are so many things to be thankful for about you, but these are just a few:

YOU STILL LOVE ME

YOU TELL ME I’M BEAUTIFUL

YOU ASK FOR MY OPINION

YOU RUB MY FEET

YOU TRY NOT TO WAKE ME UP

YOU CALL ME WHEN YOU’RE AT WORK…THREE MILES AWAY

YOU MAKE ME LAUGH

YOU LIKE MY COOKING

YOU LOVE CHILDREN, ESPECIALLY OURS

It is possible that we’ll be married for thirty-nine more years…not probable, but
possible. And I will no doubt realize that there are more promises we could have
made and should have made. But the most important thing for me is that we
discover
them together.

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Out of Print

It pains me to write this, for it feels like an admission of failure. My book, Waiting for Wren is officially out of print. What does this mean? The publisher hasn't sold enough copies to warrant keeping it in print. For two years my royalty reports have been dismal, and I knew that something wasn't working.

Understand, this is my choice. The folks at Deep River Books didn't make this decision although they agreed with it. It's not cost effective for them either, to keep printing copies and have them sit in the warehouse, unread and unloved.

To what is this poor performance attributed? Not my writing, they assured me. The judges loved it enough to choose Waiting for Wren above three hundred plus novels submitted that year. No one knows, the president of Deep River told me, why one book sells and another does poorly. Wrong timing, slump in the market, lackluster marketing, another book with the same name released the same month. I was advised, two years down the road from the release date, that I should try to establish a fan base, which I've been working on. Too late at this point? I can't say.

I know in my heart that I wrote and rewrote and wrote again to make Waiting for Wren something I wanted to publicly put my name on, and something I hoped would glorify God. I still feel proud and thankful to be an award winning author, and I continue to love this book. If you're one of my fans, friends or readers who bought the book, and especially if you took the time to leave a positive review, I thank you, and love knowing that you read my words! The good news part of "out of print" is that the publishing rights revert back to me so I'm free to do what I want with it. Watch, sometime in the future, for a new and slightly improved Waiting for Wren.

In the meantime, I have a few copies available, which I'd be happy to sign if you're interested in the original. And I'm working on my next book which examines our weaknesses and how we let them affect our lives every day. Ironic? We'll see...

Excerpt from Light Over Water, now at a reduced price for a limited time! Link is below...

From Chapter Ten - Beyond the Pale of Law

Off to their right on a high rise stood the crumbling fort, settled like a patient bovine on its haunches.  Another partial brick building stood closer to the woods, thought to be either a barracks or a powder house.  Down a gentle slope, closer to the shore, lay a jumble of granite rocks.  These were supposed to be the foundation for additional battlements connected to underground tunnels from which guns could be fired without being seen.  The project was abandoned sometime after the Civil War and the granite stood untouched; seemingly forgotten and definitely too heavy to be taken.

          It was to these rocks that Aubrey led Alison.  He went to the one farthest from the fort and brought her around to see its end.

          “Look,” he said, grinning and pointing.

          Alison peered at the rock and gasped.  Chipped away from its end was the clearly defined head and shoulders of a man.  She could see the rock chips and dust scattered around its base on the grass, attesting to the hours of time spent here.  “Oh my, Aubrey!” she exclaimed.  “It’s…it’s amazing!”  Kneeling down she examined it more closely.  Despite its rough surface, the head was rounded and shapely.  She could make out features; the eyes downcast, the mouth unsmiling but somehow determined, the jaw strong.  “When did you do this?  Where did you learn how to do this?”

          He shrugged.  “I’ve done it since I was a kid.  Just takes a hammer and chisel and some good stone.”

          “But this must have taken months!”

          “Oh, aye.  Granite’s hard,” he nodded.  He was studying her as she ran her hand over the shape of it.  “I tried to make it look like Sam, but his face seems kinda distant in my mind.”  He smiled apologetically.

          Alison rose, stepped back from it and brought her hands to her heart in a stricken gesture.  She turned to Aubrey, searching his face and whispering, “You did this for me?”

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Excerpt from Some Smaller Grace... Link is below

Questions at Her Grandparents' Funeral 

 It didn't take a trained ear to realize the organist was abominable. Yet a veiled glance about the church suggested to Jill that no one was paying particular attention to the music. There was a low undertone of voices, which gradually died down as Pastor Thomas took his place at the pulpit.

 "They should have gotten a better organist," Jill whispered to her mother at her side. 

 Marta lifted one side of her mouth contemptuously. "Their musical taste is about like their taste in food. They probably think she plays like Bach himself!" 

 Jill leaned away from her mother and fiercely willed herself not to cry. Again she chewed the inside of her cheek, which was beginning to feel raw. She told herself over and over that they would care about the music, seeming unable to shake the thought from her mind. She held her bunched up handkerchief to her eyes to catch the tears forming there. Jill hated her mother at this moment. 

 The music died away at a small nod from the pastor. He asked them to stand and sing together from the words printed on their program. As they began the hymn, Jill was carried back to her grandmother's kitchen. She closed her eyes. 

She could see the sunlight filtering through the maples that encircled the farmhouse. As it shimmered across the cupboards in the early morning, her grandmother hummed and sometimes sang, "There is sunshine in my soul today, most glorious and bright." 

 She would beam at Jill as she flipped pancakes on the griddle, or dipped homemade bread into French toast batter. She remembered the question, "Is there sunshine in your soul, Jilly?" and her grandmother's husky laughter as a sleepy seven year old answered, "I like it dark." 

 Now the words caught in her throat like dust. Her soul felt like charred blackness, as though the best in her life had been consumed. At this moment, with the music flowing around her and the memories it brought crowding her mind, she thought nothing mattered. Her grandparents had worked hard all their lives, with what to show for it? The spoils of a farm to be squabbled over by a daughter who despised them. Would her own life yield up such dubious results? Her career seemed a pipe dream, music a waste...

https://www.amazon.com/Some-Smaller-Grace-Noel…/…/B004V5I4MG

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