DEFROCKED: A COUPLE OF FALLEN SAINTS

Friday night I met a girlfriend at a local pub restaurant and we sat at the bar to eat supper since the place was so packed. We got corner seats, which seemed far better than a 45-minute wait at the freezing doorway.

By the time dinners arrived we were deep into conversation, comparing notes on life in general since we lost our husbands. You know, how little we cook, how much we clean, and how many odd things around the house betray the lack of a man’s strong hands and know-how. So much has changed!

Our Asian waitress joined the conversation every once in awhile. I recognized her from a previous visit in early autumn when I came in for a hot bowl of soup. So we started calling each other ‘soup’ and even as it got late she’d ask if I still wanted some.

Gradually, she found time to share her story, beginning in a crowded Korean orphanage where she was sickly and riddled with health problems. Eventually, she was adopted by Americans. Her surroundings may have improved but she grew up without ever knowing her natural family. She was the only Asian in her school. Ouch. It seemed to make sense how she had developed a toughness on the exterior, but remained a little girl on the inside. And now this little girl is a mommy of a two-year-old.

Then we started talking about the Lord. She was raised Catholic, but admits that she doesn’t go to church anymore. There’s a huge gap between religion and a true relationship with a person named Jesus, I said. He never changes and never forsakes you. And so the question revolved around what religion do we believe and who can we trust?

That’s when my girlfriend rolled her eyes and said that the Catholic Church has even changed the status of some of the saints she used to trust in. Some of the ancient saints had actually lost their titles! I couldn’t believe my ears. WHAT on earth could a bunch of dead guys have done to lose their sainthood?! I hollered. Even from heaven they have somehow fallen from grace? I suppose somewhere on the seven hills of Rome someone decided they were no longer worthy.

Imagine the shock to millions of parishioners around the globe who have spent a lifetime praying to St. Anthony every time they lose something, and to St. Christopher every time they go somewhere! No longer saints?

Honestly, I had a hard enough time with the whole concept of praying to dead people anyway, but this really pushes the limit. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’ve read the Bible through and through dozens of times and have never seen a bit about the church’s ability to DE-SAINT anybody after they’ve gone to heaven! This is truly a far stretch from Biblical doctrine. The only ones cast out of heaven were Lucifer and a third of the angels.

In fact, what Scripture does say plainly is that it is appointed unto man once to die and then comes judgment (Hebrews 9:27). There’s nothing about purgatory either. And certainly nothing, nada, zip about priests praying for the dead on our behalf to get them out of there! God’s judgment is final, much as the flesh and carnal man hates to admit it. We still somehow like to think that we can do something to change God’s mind or bend the rules.

I admit, I wasn’t raised Catholic and I don’t know all that much about all their contrived systems. But as I said, I’ve studied Scripture for years and these are foreign concepts. I can only hope that people who are exposed to these customs will take the time to acquaint themselves with the Word of God itself where matters of heaven are concerned and their own souls are at stake.

Once again, it seems the church has overstepped its rightful bounds. Why, they would even reach into heaven and pull people down if they could! How can mere mortals take on so much? It is more than they ought. God alone is judge and keeper of heaven. It angers me to no end that people are swallowing such philosophies and judgments hook line and sinker in ignorance of the teachings of Christ.

My own mother was discouraged from reading the Bible because she was told frankly that she couldn’t understand it without a priest. Then in the church services everything was spoken in Latin, so there was not much help there. What a shame that people are being duped into believing that only a priest can know God and then dole him out in little pez dispensers for all us fools.

No, there’s a lot of ritual, robes and incense in grand cathedrals around the world. There may be sacred music and tradition galore, but Jesus doesn’t need these things to reveal himself or to sup with the likes of common men and women. He that believes is born of the spirit and has life everlasting, (John 3:15-16) regardless of what anyone else says. God says so, and that’s good enough for me.

Not only can we speak with him and hear his voice and enjoy his presence forever, but all who believe in Christ are saints, which literally means, set apart for him. It stems from the word sanctified, such as the temple vessels intended to serve his purposes. Aren’t we, who are inhabited by his spirit, his vessels on earth?

Yes, the robes and externals are unnecessary. We are completely outfitted from the inside out. And that includes all who believe in the Name of Jesus. As Peter teaches us, “His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature…”

And the best part? He doesn’t change his mind from year to year. Just as the so-called Italian prophet Malachi wrote, “I the Lord do not change.” (I’m teasing of course. Malachi was a Jewish Prophet and his is the last book of the Old Testament.) Thank God that his holiness and his standards of right and wrong, his forgiveness, and the status we receive as his sons and daughters, do not shift like passing shadows.

“God is not a man, that he should lie, nor a son of man, that he should change his mind.Does he speak and then not act? Does he promise and not fulfill?” (Numbers 23:19) And again, in I Samuel 15:29, “He who is the Glory of Israel does not lie or change his mind; for he is not a man, that he should change his mind." What has he to gain by deception anyway? His light is pure and constant and strong. He can be trusted and his word never fails.

Most importantly, my sainthood status is irrevocable according to the One who called me and gave me life. Romans 11:29 assures us of that. And “Rejoice that your names are written in heaven,” the Lord told his disciples in Luke 10:20. It seems astounding that any earthly regime presumes to have the power to eradicate those registered by the angels in God’s heavenly record. The audacity!

Peter also testifies that we were redeemed not by perishable things such as gold or silver, but with the precious blood of Christ. (I Peter 1:18-19) Does this mean nothing to the pompous hierarchy of worldy religion in all their gilded mansions? Can any earthly figure uncover me from the effect of Christ’s blood? What I have received by faith is mine forever. A favorite and powerful portion of Romans makes this evident:

“Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died-more than that, who was raised to life-is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?... No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Rom 8:33-39

Millions around the world have found the truth in the Word of God, regardless of what the self-proclaimed authorities have pronounced to their followers. Unfortunately, they are the blind leading the blind, just like Jesus said.

The trouble is that the vast majority don’t know the Word of God. They have no foundation to stand on, nothing to compare to, and they are easily misled. In these last days it is more critical than ever that people seek God and find true faith.

Before I take leave of all my rantings tonight, I have to pose one final thought. Do you know who agrees with me? For starters, there’s a couple of guys named Anthony and Christopher who are nodding their heads somewhere in glory where they are enjoying the full status of their redemption and sainthood.


We can lose a lot of things--our keys, our cars, our house, even our husband. But when it comes to our position in heaven, all I can say is thank God that some things cannot be changed.

Moulting: A Time for Renewal

As I was getting dressed the other morning I heard a preacher mention the eagle of Isaiah 40:31. He was talking about renewal, and the eagle as a prime example. I've loved eagles for many years so this caught my attention, but I had never heard this particular aspect before. This truly amazed me.

Do you know what eagles do? They go into a cave somewhere and knock their beaks off! Then they lose their feathers.

It was a freezing morning, made worse by the fact that my furnace had gone out the night before. So I was skipping around from the shower to the bureau, looking for my warmest wool socks and sweaters. All this seemed to exaggerate the images that danced in my jumpy brain. What DOES an eagle look like without its beautiful feathers or a beak? I wondered. Eeeeuuuw, how horrible! What a ghastly disfiguration of such a glorious creature! Another shiver sent me hobbling for my boots.

Can you imagine a creature that knocks off its own beak? Wow, this is much more than any moulting I’ve ever heard of. What an unusual process! I wonder how it happens. Do they fast until the new beak is strong? Isn’t nature interesting? Eventually, after all the agony and losses, they emerge like new! It may take years, but they are totally remade.

As a writer, teacher or speaker, I was momentarily stunned. When the Lord impresses such an image on my heart, I have to mull it over for hours or days. It’s apt to come back to me for months and years in fact.

Lord, what would that be compared to in my life? Is it about the need for silence? Is it like John the Baptist’s father who was struck mute for 9 months because he didn’t believe your word? Is it about a time for finding a cave to grieve and to be renewed from the inside out?

Doesn’t this image lend new meaning to the familiar verse, “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as eagles.” I haven't ever really thought about the fact that those wings are made up of brand new feathers.

I looked it up on the web and read the following: “When eagles reach a certain old age, they go through a moulting process. They tear out their feathers one by one. Knock its talons and beak against rocks to break them and then they go to a solitary place in the mountain to wait for the sun's rays to heal it.”

"Feathers are what makes birds unique in the animal world. They are used for camouflage, advertising, waterproofing and of course without them a bird would be unable to fly.

Wings must be able to spread, fold, flap and twist. Flight feathers provide an unbroken surface which when flapped, acts as a resistance against the air allowing the bird to lift. The speed, angle of the wings and position of the flight feathers decides how fast or maneuverable the bird can be.

Feathers have a limited life as they wear out and need to be replaced. Old ones fall out and new ones grow in a process called moulting. All raptors moult, this normally occurs once a year, after the breeding season. Some birds such as eagles can take as long as three years to complete the moult, depending on the bird’s general condition."

I always figured that moulting was about the wings. But what about that beak? And how about those talons, so necessary to their survival?

This really made me think about the comparisons to my own life. This whole process of renewal seems to touch every aspect of life.


My own moulting…
On January 10th the kids and I all drove down to beautiful Wellfleet and we had a personal memorial for Frank. We have marked the first year without him. Even as I write those words, it feels oddly ill expressed. It feels so much longer--maybe five years since I’ve been with him… since life felt normal.

Yes, I feel like I have no talons or feathers. No balance, no strength to fly, nor ability to hunt. Even my beak has been altered. Ever since, I’ve been trying to emerge, but I have no lift.

At times, I have felt stronger. Surges of independence have brought me through a lot. I’ve traveled, taught, made my way back into an office and out into a community of study groups, church life and various classrooms. I even got an annual physical and dental checkup this month. (Good girl, huh, finally trying to take care of herself.) I’m taking vitamins, exercising and starting to force myself to get to bed by midnight.

Well, maybe one a.m.

Two for sure, and it’s lights out.

On a deeper level, almost verging on some psychological disorder, I’ve been going through everything, repossessing my own territory since the kids moved out. Organizing my whole life and household has been my aim. Is it a carry-over from Mom or is it the attempt to dominate my surroundings and control what I cannot change? Have I been duped into thinking that I can’t really write, I can’t move on, until I have everything in its place in perfect order? The War of Art brilliantly addresses this kind of dementia. Oh, I despise my own methods!

The entrapments of the mind are so cunning. In fact, funny thing, I read the Yellow Wallpaper tonight and related more than I’d care to admit to the progressions and digressions of a lonely heart. I also read a collection of essays by authors on writing from your life that really moved me. Especially Why I Write by a woman (Joan Didier?) who described how differently she views the world around her. How the peripheral consumes her. How she dabbled at the intellectual pursuits but never felt at home there. How she tried for years to fit into the collegiate mindset but took years to discover who she really was—a writer! I loved it. At last, I thought, here’s someone who truly understands my crazy brain. I should read that at the next writers’ group.

Yes, I’m going through a lot of motions and sometimes don’t feel much at home here anymore. Kinda like an eagle in a cave. Yes, that’s it exactly.

I toggle back and forth. Independence, strength and surges of minor victories are interspersed with the frightening reality. Sometimes I feel like I’m coming apart and am at great risk of destruction and homelessness. There’s no money coming in and yet the bills routinely flood my little mailbox. I don’t know how I’m going to survive. Eagles don’t belong in caves, do they. What am I doing here, really?

Yes, this image really fits me right now. I’ve found my cave and have been smacking off my beak.. My feathers have fallen off and the God of heaven is recreating me. There is frightful ugliness with a featherless creature. Awful, unsightly tears and raw sorrow.

Someday, maybe there will be the glorious season of taking flight again. Is there anything so breathtaking as a mighty eagle leaping from the mountain peaks and gracefully soaring over the heights?

I can’t wait!


My God, I need you Lord! I need your wisdom, direction and blessing. Lord, you made me different the first time around and now you are RE-making me. Show me your plan heavenly Father. Show me how to make my life work in the way that you intended!

Make 2007 the year of renewal and mounting up over obstacles for this bare and beakless eagle. Amen.

My Mother's Birthday

Januray 19th

Today was my mother’s birthday. Let’s see. She would have turned 81 today. Wow. That’s really hard to believe.

Instead, she has been enjoying glory for 26 years now. I wonder if she was one of the ones who met Frank when he arrived a year ago. I wonder what 26 years in glory feels like.

I've really missed knowing her, my dad, and all my grandparents. But it’s good to remember.
Life is short.

Mom was so brave and courageous. It warms my heart to know that this dear faithful woman was covered by God’s grace and received by him in the end.


Dear Lord, I thank you for such a wonderful mother. She was an example of goodness and uprightness who gave herself to her family unselfishly. Thank you for her life and all her hard work. Thank you for her songs and laughter. Thank you for the role model she was to us. Lord Jesus, would you tell her happy birthday from me tonight? Amen.

Gleaning Sticks and Leaning Flowers

I have to take a few minutes to record a couple wonderful moments of inspiration that came at those silent unexpected times in the last twenty-four hours.

Yesterday afternoon the sun came out and I bundled up and went out back for a few loads of firewood. I also scoured the grounds to fill my big clay pot of kindling. Hard enough to start my smokey fires with all this damp wood, I thought. I need some good dry sticks.

It felt almost like a spring day. Birds had come out to chirp after all the freezing weather we’ve had. This was an interlude of calm. As I lingered to collect my little harvest of fallen branches and twigs, the simple task suddenly filled me with gratitude.

Here I am, a widow, gathering what I need to make fire and I felt such a kinship with humanity. For centuries people have had to hunt and scrounge for firewood like this. How good of God to bring so much of it down for us. He provides food for the sparrows and his eye is on me too. I remembered the old hymn and the deep base voice of the man who sang that in church one Sunday when we were in boot camp.

I paused and looked around. The storms and high winds of recent days had brought down handfuls of broken bits and pieces. Just what I needed! Ha! Yet another of the many ways my God transforms in nature and in my own life.

Nothing is wasted in God’s economy. What may seem to be the worthless waste of a previous storm provides the warmth of a crackling fire on a bitter night.

He takes the bruises and the losses of my own limbs, and generates new passion, new hope and renewed life.

I just stood there with an armful of kindling and smiled up at the warm sun in a moment of pure worship. I marveled at the wisdom of the fallen twigs.


Then I was tidying up in the living room where I’ve planted a couple little bulbs of daffodils for my annual memorial of the great epiphany of 2006. What a joy to find the delicate yellow flowers opening and standing proudly on the coffee table at the center of the room.

They are all lined up like happy children, facing the afternoon sun out my western picture window. As if to mirror that stunning golden light, they add such refreshing color and beauty to the middle of this winter season.

Make me like one of these Lord.
Enable me to stand and mirror your love and beauty.

Interestingly, last week I was also moved by the occasion to splurge on a bunch of yellow tulips for myself. I arranged them in the wide glass vase with my bamboo and hoped as much of them, to brighten the room and fill me with delight.

But for some reason they did not hold as strong as the daffodils. By comparison, their stems seemed weak and the heads were drooping. I changed and fertilized the water, hoping to give them a boost, but realized that if I didn’t prop them up a little, they probably wouldn’t recover.

I frowned. These buds are much bigger, but it's only been a week and they’re sagging down to the table. What’s wrong with you guys? I asked, carrying the vase to the kitchen for some extra nursing. I rinsed and trimmed them up. As I was placing the stems across stronger ones, leaning them on one another and across the sturdiest portions, they seemed to say, ‘we all need support at times.’

Hoo boy. Another great reminder. Families. Friends. Churches. Neighbors. Although God can easily redeem every circumstance and provide for our individual needs as with the fallen twigs, we are not meant to stand alone. God placed us in groups and there are times when we need to lean on each other a little harder.

This is not a journey of one, but the Lord is at work in the body and we are all interwoven into one great universal story of redemption.

Collectively we reveal the fullness of his grace. Make us stand together Lord. The church is your prize, like a trophy of grace on your mantel.

My Broken Bracelet - the Saga Continues

I just met a woman who had been on the brink of such despair that she had considered taking her own life. Funny thing. I could understand it.

She actually thought that if she were out of the way, as she put it, she could leave more money to her kids. Things have been tough ever since the divorce. She was forced to sell her four-bedroom home and now is looking for another place to live. How will she make ends meet? My heart went out to this dear mother in all that she's gone through.

Thank God, we were led together and the Lord brought us into such sweet conversation. He wanted me to share the bracelet story with her right there at the kitchen counter.

Well, we were able to spend about an hour together, the bulk of which was focused on the beauties of Psalm 23, using my newly reconstructed bracelet! (Good thing my friend fixed it for me just the day before!)

At one point she got so excited to hear what I was saying that she stood up with her hand on her heart and her mouth wide open! I always felt that Psalm 23 was moving, and there’s even a book which I love called, Psalm 23, Song of a Passionate Heart, but for a moment I was afraid she would have a heart attack right then and there!

It was clear that God was moving, speaking, touching her heart. And right in the middle of it another new lesson emerged. In light of her attempts to rebuild her life for the last 3 years, I could see that God wanted me to deliver a particular message to this dear woman. He alone is the One she needs to reconstruct her life. He is able to heal and mend and restore her completely.

I suddenly realized why my bracelet broke--so that my friend could lovingly restring it and illustrate God's healing power.

He seeks and finds every lost piece, and every lost soul. He values each one like a precious pearl and He makes all things new! Praise the Name of our Loving Savior!

Is your life in disarray? Are the pieces hard to find and even harder to put back in order?

Ask the Lord. He specializes in things thought impossible.

The Bracelet: crystal beads and blueberries

January 13, 2007

When I was with the women of Medway at a weekend retreat in Newport last spring, we made bead bracelets that were strung to match the verses of Psalm 23. At first I didn’t like the odd pattern and mix of browns and pink, blue and gold. I couldn’t detect an order or system and it seemed too random.

Then I grew to love it and found it a useful tool for teaching others about the lessons of God’s incredible presence through the hard times. On planes, in stores, with the girls in lock-up, it came in handy time and time again... until I lost it.

I checked everywhere. Coat pockets, purse pockets, pants pockets, and desk drawers. What did I do? Granted, I had flown across country and spoken to hundreds and thousands of people. I had been seated on four planes and covered a lot of ground in that span. I finally gave up the search and decided, maybe it will turn up one of these days.

I was so sad I eventually contacted a friend from Medway to see if she knew where I could get another one. Well, it so happens Sue had more beads. Not only so, but she strung up a beautiful bracelet and gift-wrapped it for me! Wow. I was humbled and amazed. This one was even more beautiful then the first. I love it. I started wearing it every day and in fact, didn’t even take it off my wrist anymore... until last Tuesday.

I was rushing around all day, errands, calls, appointments… I was rushing out of the dentist’s office to get to the office and while pulling out of the parking lot juggling my cell phone and talking to a prospective buyer for Medway, I noticed an elderly gentleman standing behind the car. He wanted the number from my for sale sign. Somehow, I managed to continue the phone conversation, waving at the old man while twirling the steering wheel, when my bracelet must have caught on something. Suddenly, I felt a sharp tug.

Before I even knew what caused it, the twelve-pound wire snapped right off my wrist and beads flew through the car! I was sick to my stomach as I saw only a thin wire with a clasp dangling from my wrist. Beads were dribbling down the seat and into the console and around my boots. Ugh. I kept up the conversation with my client, but I wanted to scream.

Later on I got up the courage to email Sue again. And would you believe, that dear gracious woman offered to make yet another bracelet for me. Like an addict needing another fix, I said, but I would be happy to pay this time. We arranged to meet this afternoon.

Fortunately it was light enough to search the car, under the seats, through the console and even in the doors. I kept running my hands under the seats hoping for crystal beads, but instead finding a curious collection of little black rocks. After gathering a small handful, I looked harder at them. WHAT are these things? Suddenly it dawned on me. These are the dried blueberries from October, 2004! I couldn’t believe it. Tears started instantly and my throat went dry as it dawned on me what I now held in the palm of my hand.

Coming home from Wellfleet with Frank a few years ago, he was holding a bag of fresh blueberries. I was driving, and we were listening to an old Chicago CD as we watched the scenery along the harbor. That’s when I noticed Frank was having a seizure. Blueberries were flying around in the car. I never knew so many had rolled under the seats, but I never would have found them if that bracelet hadn’t snapped. Of course it’s not the seizure I want to recall, but this last wonderful trip together, the music, and the ocean scenery at one of our favorite spots on earth.

Wow. I was hunting high and low for crystal beads to signify lessons learned. Instead my scouring hands came upon the dried fruit of meaningful memories together with Frank. Both are significant to me. These things are physical reminders that trigger the mind’s own media replay, but lessons learned and meaningful memories live on in the internal storehouse called the soul. Thank God
that some things that cannot be lost!

Now I have added to the box of sand that I scooped up in Wellfleet. This will be my memory box now. The ashes have been returned to the sea he loved. I have Wellfleet sand, a few shells, cards from all of us in the family to Frank, and now the blueberries. The Lord be praised. We had a wonderful life! And now, there is a precious handful of precious berries to symbolize the sweet and lasting fruit of a life well spent.

Getting to back to why I was hunting in the first place, the whole incident seemed like a test to me. Did I really KNOW the order of all those multi-colored beads? Had I really learned the lovely and timeless words of David’s Psalm 23?

As I scavenged every nook and cranny, I prayed. Oo, there’s no blue bead. Lord, I need still waters! Oh no, the green one’s gone. Lord please, don’t let me miss the green pastures! Each one represents part of the awesome presence and provision of God. From anointing oil to a cup that overflows, God generously and tenderly meets our every need. As I pulled out each precious piece of this shepherd's song, I embraced its beautiful and inspired message. He leads, restores, guides, nourishes, corrects and uplifts me. His love and mercy follow me forever and in the end--yes, the glorious end of the story is already written!--I will be with him forever, living in his house!
Well, I found every single bead and silver separator and had them restrung thanks to Sue. Yay! But something still bothered me about this bracelet breaking into a million pieces. Why, of all the few things that I really cherish and savor, would the first one be stolen or lost and the second one literally explode off my body? (I still can’t for the life of me figure out what pulled it off around the steering wheel.) Lord, what are you trying to teach me through this? It’s as though the devil delights to rip me off. His aim would be to rip me off of God’s very presence and joy if he could! Clearly, he wants to disarm me of a great message.

Just now as I was writing this, two college girls walked by the big store front window and met my eyes, and smiled. How sweet. I must have looked like I was taking an exam, I mused. My searching countenance also broke into a happy smile.

The Lord Jesus smiles too. Then I felt his calming assurance. Karen, that bracelet is meaningful to you because of the lessons you learned in the valley. No matter how dark it gets, know that I am still here, unchanged and undaunted by anything the devil does. And remember to live for the fruit that lasts for all eternity.

Yes, Lord. Thank you that no devil can rip your presence away from me. None can steal it. Nothing this world has to offer can squelch your glory. Nothing can destroy or obliterate or conquer your Spirit. Let grace abound and overflow in my life no matter what!

Impress these truths on my heart forever, where no thief can steal and no earthly forces tear them away.

Don’t sit on your hands!

It's Saturday morning and here I sit, at my favorite corner table at Barnes. I'm facing out to the rainy parking lot and busy sidewalk with a nice cup of green tea.

We just had our first writers’ group meeting of the year and I'm so glad that I didn’t cancel it--though it crossed my mind. Now I have two glorious hours to read and write and just reflect on what the Lord did this morning.

We had a great time of sharing—no, commiserating is more like it. When people ask me how my book's coming along, I often say that I feel like I've been pregnant with a breach baby for about ten years. When will I go into labor? Oh, if only there was a way to schedule a C-section on this child and deliver!

Truth is, none of us are writing as much as we feel we should. It’s like a disease, and so often misunderstood. With it is the guilt of not tending to other responsibilities, the never-ending work and calendar events… ahh me. We will never have it the way we want it seems.

So the timing was perfect this morning to be directed to a tremendous book that was given to Gail for the holidays. I’m going to suggest that everyone in the group get and read it so we can discuss at the next couple of meetings. It is called The War of Art by Steven Pressfield, author of The Legend of Bagger Vance and other highly reputed works (recommended reading at Oxford and so forth)… such as Gates of Fire and Tides of War, which I should probably read. Being right there at the store I was able to walk up to the main desk and order 6 copies on the spot, and purchase the one on the shelf for me.

After the others left, I couldn't wait to dive into it. I quickly drank up a third of it and you see how it has affected me. Here I am now, writing! It is such a healthy kick in the pants and just what the doctor ordered. I heartily recommend it for anyone who feels a special calling on their life.

Besides sharing from our personal lives and actual stories, I shared a mini devotional on Ephesians 4, which interestingly enough had a triple whammy effect on me this morning.

While I was exercising I heard Pastor Jimenez bellowing, ‘Don’t sit on your hands’. What an interesting rebuke to a writer, I thought. Since I was in the middle of doing my push-ups, my eyes rested on my hands. Where would I be without my hands? And, what good are your hands if you're sitting on them? On the other hand (ha, pun intended) what power and potential lies within our own fingertips!

I showered, dressed and came down to the office. I've been reading the Message version of the New Testament lately and opened to the page where I left off. Quite unexpectedly, I came across the same exact phrase in Eph 4! In fact, the whole section relates beautifully to the writers’ group. Here are the outstanding excerpts:

“In light of all this, here’s what I want you to do… I want you to get out there and walk—better yet, run!—on the road God called you to travel. I don’t want any of you sitting around on your hands. I don’t want anyone strolling off, down some path that goes nowhere. And mark that you do this with humility and discipline—not in fits and starts, but steadily, pouring yourselves out for each other in acts of love…

You were all called to travel on the same road and in the same direction, so stay together… God and Father of all who rules over all works through all and is present in all…. But that doesn’t mean you should all look and speak and act the same.

Out of the generosity of Christ, each of us is given his own gift…. prophet, evangelist, and teacher… His very breath and blood flow through us, nourishing us so that we will grow up healthy in God, robust in love.”
Eph 4:1-16

As if that isn’t enough, would you believe that when I got into the car my New Testament CD came in at exactly the same passage! Wow, God is telling me, don’t sit on your hands! Write kid, write! Now is the time! Use your gifts! What a holy calling!

Dear Lord, how I praise you, Creator of the Universe who hung the stars upon nothing. You are the God of the impossible. I was telling the ladies about the lesson of the fig (mouni) tree in Aumi. Remember how I looked outside my bathroom window in tears one day complaining to you about the impossible tasks. You listened patiently, waiting for me to notice the astounding lollypop fruit budding out from the wooden branches. No leaves, no buds, just fruit emerging straight out of the woody sticks!

Wow! I will never forget the sense of wonder and amazement I felt at seeing that for the first time—really seeing it-- even though we had lived there for years already! The landscape hadn’t changed. I just needed my eyes to be open. I am the God of the impossible, you said in my heart. If I can do this, I can do what needs to be done in your life too.

Oh yes, Lord, YOU flow through my veins and pump through this little vessel to produce what pleases you.

Forgive me Father for sitting on my hands for so long. By your great grace Lord, lead me on!