A Match Made in Heaven

{a personal testimony of how God brought my husband and I together, written in January 2013}


While at a youth conference in Colorado during the second week of August, the Lord impressed upon my heart (as He had many times before) that in order to be wholeheartedly devoted to Him I needed to let go of my own plans, desires, and ideas for my future and surrender to HIS will for me... Even if I didn't understand what that was yet. The hardest thing about that surrender was letting go of my long-cherished dream and hope of marriage. After thinking and praying hard and long about it, I chose to let go of what I thought I wanted and give myself to the Lord completely so that His plans and purposes could be brought about in my life. 

During that same week, my mom became friends with a Canadian lady whose son and daughter were attending the same conference as my siblings and I. In a conversation one afternoon, Mom discovered that this friend knew the young man named Tim who was courting my dear friend Whitney, so she began asking questions about him. During this conversation this friend also mentioned Tim's brother Joel several times as being a Godly young man whom she and her family highly respected. That day, even though she couldn't explain it logically, my mom knew in her heart that this Canadian Joel Holloway (who we had never met) was the one the Lord had chosen for me.

As the Lord would have it, two weeks later I met Joel.

Joel had accompanied his brother Tim down from British Columbia to Missouri for a week of (what I assumed was) visiting Whitney's friends and family. The second day of their visit the two brothers came over for dinner along with two other friends from their hometown and our mutual friends from Tennessee. When Joel walked through our front door for the first time my Mom once again felt confirmation in her heart that he would be my husband. I had no clue.

Many times throughout the next week I had opportunity to observe Joel's character. I knew there was a difference in our ages so I hardly considered the possibility of him being interested in me and interacted with him very little. I did notice, however, an admirable character displayed in this young man which I respected greatly. I'd seen him interact with my younger siblings: volleyball in the rain on the little-kids’ team and long conversations about fishing with my ten-year-old brother. In passing, I'd noticed him enter into worship during the several fellowship gatherings we’d attended that week: eyes closed to all surroundings and singing with a wholehearted passion that couldn't be mistaken. This blessed me. 
We had found ourselves one afternoon in my best friend's living room discussing mission trips and discovering -much to our surprise- that we'd both been to the Central American country of El Salvador at different points in our lives. I'd also immediately taken note of the fact that he not only like coffee, he loved coffee. Just like I do. Still, the thought that he had considered me never crossed my mind.

Then, on the last day of his trip, Joel asked my Dad to go out for a conversation over coffee. 

Peace filled my heart later that afternoon when my Dad called me into his office and told me that Joel had asked for the blessing of beginning a relationship with me.

Little did I know that early in August Joel had received an email from an older brother in the Lord -and mutual friend of ours- that mentioned me. It was then that Joel began to pray about me for the first time, even though we'd never met.

Joel had then flown those 2,315 miles down to our little corner of Missouri with the single goal of observing my character throughout the time he was  here and asking the Lord for guidance regarding a relationship with me. When Dad told me this I was very blessed remembering the honorable way in which he had conducted himself when he was around me. I'd had no clue whatsoever of any such observation going on the whole time. At the end of his week here he was encouraged by what he’d seen and felt total peace and confirmation from the Lord that he should ask my dad for his blessing to begin a relationship with me.

As Joel headed back to Canada I began to pray, along with my parents, to  understand God's heart on the matter. Peace like I had never felt before continued to guard my heart every single day as we waited to know the Lord's will.

After a week and a half of praying and discussing things with my parents, all of us feeling a confirming peace from God about the situation we decided to take the next step in faith.
I found that same peace living inside me, swelling and overtaking me, as I began correspondence with this man I barely knew who felt God's leading  to get to know me for who I am. It wasn't without occasional trepidation, however. There were those little fears that crept in, unnoticed and unwelcome, quietly as I lay in bed at night considering the circumstance. Humanly speaking the whole circumstance seemed impossible and even scary; simply because Joel and I hardly knew each other and lived nearly a continent apart. But whenever I'd take the fears and concerns to the Lord He'd remind me that He wasn't the Author of fear and He'd bid all fear to leave me alone. Peace came back every time.
So in faith I stepped out into a relationship I could've never conjured on my own and the scary became okay.

For about two weeks Joel and I communicated daily through email. We talked about all kinds of things including what a normal day looked like in each of our lives, favorite colors and pastimes,  personal convictions or strong beliefs, hopes, dreams, experiences, and what the Lord was teaching us that day specifically. It’s amazing how much can be communicated through writing! We learned a lot about each other’s lives that two weeks and looked forward to every new email with excitement. Then Dad gave Joel his blessing to call me, and when I heard his Canadian voice for the first time come over the phone so clearly, him speaking my name in that beautiful accent, there was that peace again: over and under, all the way around; filling that first conversation in a way I couldn't hardly believed. There wasn't even any awkwardness.

From then on we corresponded mostly by phone calls. The more I got to know Joel the more I not only began to trust and admire him, I began to discover that he was everything I had been asking God for in a man since I was sixteen.

It was a season of learning to walk by faith like never before. I had nothing to base my decision on but the unchanging character of God. It was beautiful because it daily proved to me that my Father loves ME and had tenderly and faithfully gone before me and provided for all of my needs; even throwing in a few trivial wants for my extra assurance of His genuine care.

And then the day arrived in early October, only weeks into our relationship, when I found myself walking down a jet way: one step at a time, making my way to visit Joel in Canada for the first time. Whitney, who was now engaged to Joel’s brother Tim, turned to me as we sat together on the plane and asked with a smile how I was doing. Above the clouds somewhere between my home and Joel’s I told her I felt nothing other than peace. Still: peace.

Five days I spent in British Columbia, getting to know the families at Joel’s church, celebrating Canadian Thanksgiving with him and his family, touring some local attractions, and getting to know Joel better by spending time with him in person. I left more encouraged than I had gone, and more convinced than ever that Joel was the one for me.

We continued our long-distance relationship on into November with daily phone calls, emails, texts and even a few video calls. The Lord continued daily to confirm to us that we were moving in the right direction and that we had been made for each other.

American Thanksgiving came around to us Missourians, and with it came Joel. Joel and his parents spent the day at our home and shared our traditional Thanksgiving meal with us. We enjoyed being together with our families, playing volleyball, basketball, chatting, walking down our long dirt road, eating and relaxing, taking four-wheeler rides and just enjoying getting to spend time together.  It was a day of celebration and giving thanks, but it was that evening that our rejoicing increased majorly. After dark Joel asked if I’d like to go for another walk. Agreeing, I grabbed my coat and headed out the door on his heels. Shutting the door behind him he turned to me. “Actually,” he said “I really wanted to just talk more than I wanted to walk.” He gestured to the rocking chairs on the porch and we both sat down. I looked him in the face and saw that tears were in his eyes. He began to tell me some of what the Lord had been doing in his heart and assuring me that he wanted to marry me. He gently offered that if I still wanted time to pray about it I had no obligation to answer him then and there, but I knew there was no need to pray about it more. The Lord had already made it clear to me in my heart that Joel was the one I had been waiting for all this time. Joel is the man I was made for. I made this clear to him, and after we talked a little more Joel got down on his knee with a ring and asked me to marry him.

I said yes.

Two days later was Tim and Whitney’s wedding. Joel and I began planning ours.

A week later, at the beginning of December, I flew up to BC again to be at Tim and Whitney’s Canadian reception and spend time with Joel and my future family. Joel met me at the airport with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. That week was filled with many wonderful memories for the two of us, including fellowship with the saints there, coffee dates and planning our wedding. The ladies from Joel’s church threw a surprise shower for me that weekend, blessing us with many things for our future home and then that Monday Joel and I flew out to Texas together. He had some business meetings very close to where my extended family lived there so we decided it was a good opportunity for them to meet Joel. We parted ways there, already planning his trip to Missouri just in time for New Years, and thanked the Lord for the knitting together He was continuing to do in our hearts.

Joel came down at the end of December and spent a week in our home with my family and I. I rejoiced to see the way my parents and each of my nine siblings love him so much and enjoy being around him, and thank the Lord for the many beautiful memories that were made for all of us that week. This was our last opportunity to spend time together in person before our wedding in February, so we enjoyed every day to the fullest and enjoyed watching God grow our love for each other daily as we were together... as He continues to do even now that we are apart again for a little while longer.

As I think of the story our Father God has written for Joel and I, I cannot help but think of the many similarities it has to His own beautiful Love Story. Just as Jesus came from Heaven to earth to a people who didn't know Him with the purpose of winning a bride to Himself, Joel came from another country to see a girl who’d never met him with the purpose of finding the bride God had chosen for him.
In the same way that Jesus patiently, powerfully but gently wooes and captures the hearts of the beloved ones He longs to call His own, Joel patiently won my heart and my trust through prayer and months of listening to my heart and displaying his love in multiple ways. When Jesus finished His days on earth He went back to Heaven to a prepare a place for His Bride, leaving us with a promise to soon return and take His Bride to Himself. I get the beautiful privilege of seeing this exemplified in my own life as Joel Holloway left me the first week of January to go and prepare a place for me with a promise to return soon and take me to himself as his bride forever. The Second Coming of Christ has never been more realistic or precious to me before now.

We pray that this glimpse of God’s work in our lives would inspire each of you on to deeper faith in Christ and that you would be encouraged, along with us, to continue to surrender everything to our precious Savior Jesus Christ to the glory of His matchless name.

{photos from our wedding day, credit goes to R&E Photography © 2013}

(Copyright © 2013 Madison Holloway)

Maybe This is Why

 {A story from my recent mission trip to Africa... and a testament to the truth that it is sometimes the little things- or the little people!- that make the biggest and longest-lasting impacts on our lives...}

It was June eleventh and I was halfway through my first afternoon at Sanyu Babies’ Home in Kampala, Uganda when I met her.

I saw her sitting alone and motionless on a bench across the hut from me and I knew immediately that something wasn’t right. I put down a baby I had been entertaining and made my way through the little crowd of playing babies to where she sat. She was sitting in an awkward position; as if someone had just sat her down and walked off- and she had just stayed frozen in that posture.

She was staring off into nowhere, a piece of cake clenched tightly in her hand. She made no move when I touched her or spoke to her softly. I picked her up and held her in my arms, but she seemed to just move to whatever I did to her, like she had no energy of her own.

I held her tight and talked to her... I prayed for her and even sang a little bit, but her facial expression never changed and she rarely made eye-contact.

Her arms and legs were tiny and cold. Her eyes were beautifully big and brown, but when I looked into them, at one point, they glazed over and my heart skipped a beat. I was suddenly afraid because I knew that something was very wrong with this child. I moved over to another bench with her, and sat down beside one of the mamas of the Home.

I asked her what the little girl’s name was:  she told me it was Beatrice.  

She said that Beatrice had just come to the Babies’ Home from a nearby hospital that very day and no one knew much about her at all.  She had been brought in by the police, the nurse later told me.

The nurse and I both concluded that she was extremely malnourished, and therefore it was hard to determine her age... but because she had a mouthful of teeth we guessed that she was about a year to18 months old. I held her tightly a little later on as Nurse Sylvia attempted to feed her a dose of medicine, but suddenly, from who knows where, the previously-lethargic little girl found an impressive amount of energy. She clenched her teeth and downright refused to swallow the nasty medicine that the Nurse stubbornly poured into her mouth. She squealed pitifully (the first sound I had heard her make all afternoon) as the brown liquid leaked over her chin and dribbled down her neck, through her hair and onto my arm. After a couple terrorizing and unsuccessful attempts to get Beatrice to take the medicine, Nurse Sylvia handed me the measuring cup and had me try..... but I didn’t get much better of results. Giving up, Nurse Sylvia said that she had no options left than to put in a port and give her the medicine intravenously next time.

Finding a roll of toilet paper, I cleaned up the sad little girl as best I could and then- realizing that I was already supposed to have left for Mengo for the evening-  I laid her down in a nearby crib regretfully.

I hated to leave her- especially just then- but I knew I had no other choice. The nurse had already left the room, moving on to other children who needed her assistance, and Beatrice lay motionless on her back in the crib, staring blankly again. I whispered her name until she turned her gaze to catch mine and I smiled at her several times, telling her that I loved her.

Then, hoping and praying hard that she’d have strength to make it through the night,
I left her.

The next afternoon I made my way down the hill from Namirembe Guesthouse to Sanyu as soon as I could.  We were first set to work gathering laundry off the line because the babies were still napping, but it wasn’t long before all 40-something babies were awake and as loud and lively as ever. While the others from my team scooped up little ones and began to play, I passed by everyone in search of Beatrice.
I had received word from another girl from another volunteer team who’d been there that morning that Beatrice had made it through the night just fine, and was seemingly doing a little better according to several who had seen her the day before- including Nurse Sylvia.

I soon found her and held her for nearly all of the three hours I was there. She was still weak and lethargic, but showed a tad bit more energy by grimacing a few times and actually even pushing me away when it bothered her that I was singing or gently rubbing on her arms and legs.

Underneath all that weakness, I was beginning to tell that Beatrice had quite the little attitude!

I helped with the torturous medicine-forcing again that evening and held her still during the intravenous injection, but my heart was sad and I hoped she didn’t develop a fear of me and begin to associate me with torture. Again, she fought as hard as she could, her squealing a bit stronger and more like a scream than the day before.

Sometimes you have to do things that aren’t fun, and I wished she could understand that I wasn’t enjoying making her suffer, but that I was trying to help her ultimately OUT of her suffering.

Nurse Sylvia said that she needed to be able to gain more strength and weight before they would be able to test her for Tuberculosis and HIV, so until then we couldn’t really be sure of what it was she was facing besides malnutrition.

 
When the time came again for me to leave I didn’t want to just set her down and walk off, so I found an older mama named Beatrice (after whom the little one was named) and asked if I could leave the baby with her.  Agreeing, the mama took Beatrice onto her lap, but the little girl immediately turned and held her arms out to me, whining in her tiny little voice.  This was the first time I had seen her show emotion besides fighting her medicine, and I was sad but extremely happy at the same time. Not only was she already gaining a little strength and beginning to communicate more clearly, she actually wanted me.... she recognized me as someone she felt safe with... and that was immediately one of the biggest highlights of my day.


I was there to make a difference... and somehow... I could see that a tiny difference was already being made. I couldn't help but thank the Lord!

Thursday, June 14th was my last day in Kampala and I was able to get over to the Babies’ Home first thing that morning. I found Beatrice still asleep in her crib and gently woke her up. I was determined to keep her with me as much as possible this day, since it would be our last day together for a while. I had no idea when or if I’d be able to come back to Africa again after this.
I bathed her, dressed her in the cutest little dress I could find in the stack of clothes, and noted that 12 months size didn’t fit this tiny little girl: she wore a 3-6 months sized outfit.

This day, Nurse Sylvia handed me the medicine and asked if I’d do the honors. I was thankful to have the opportunity to try it gently, without the struggle she was used to. She still whined and fought it some, but it went much more smoothly this time. I cleaned the medicine off her clothes and washed her hair again. As Beatrice sat on my lap outside, the nurse gave her a haircut, saying she was beginning to look “shabby”.

I snatched a tiny pinch of her black curls and stuck them in my pocket. (Shh!)

A little while later one of the teachers gave me a packet of something called Plumpy Nut and said that I was to feed it to Beatrice. My friend Emma, a girl who was very familiar with the Home and had also dealt much with malnourished children, assured me that this would be really good for Beatrice (if she’d eat it) and would help her gain weight quickly. At first Beatrice stubbornly clamped her mouth shut, thinking it was just another kind of nasty medicine, but after watching me taste it in front of her and slip some through her lips, she decided it wasn’t so bad after all. I rejoiced inwardly as I watched her willingly open her mouth for more.

The physical therapist who was there for the day asked if I would help with Beatrice's therapy and I felt as privileged as if I'd just been handed the world. I watched almost breathlessly as my baby girl shyly crawled to the therapist when beckoned, and then -upon command- stood herself up and walked across the mat. She was progressing so fast! I helped gently exercise and stretch her muscles and then massaged her body, silently praying for her and her little life as my hands gently moved across her chocolate-colored skin. I kept watching the clock, knowing my time at Sanyu was coming to a close. I had been told to be back at the chapel at Mengo Hospital (where most of my team was spending their time that week) for a service by 10:30, and it was already almost 10. I found Vicky, one of the directors of the Home, in the hallway and asked special permission to take pictures of Beatrice. She said that I could, so my sister Emily and I spent the next few minutes snapping away pictures together with this precious little girl who had become so very dear to our hearts in the last few days.

Finally, I leaned over and whispered to her, simply,  “Beatrice, honey, I’m going to have to leave soon.”
She whined, reached up and grabbed part of my shirt in her little fist and held on.

I couldn’t believe she had actually understood what I’d just said to her!

I could only imagine what kind of a life she had led up until that day, but the fact that I was now leaving her too was ripping my heart up.

holding my shirt tightly

Soon, I could hold it off no longer. I took her inside where some of the babies were having a snack. I found my friend, Laura, and told her I had to leave now; asking if she’d make sure Beatrice was well taken care of until she also had to leave later on. She understood that this wasn’t an easy moment for either one of us, and kindly offered to feed her a bottle while I left. I held Beatrice close, whispered many things to her, kissed her, hugged her, and finally said goodbye. I slipped her into her highchair despite her little whining and watched for just a second, then turned away.

That was the last time I saw her.
Never once did I see her smile.  

Many times since I left her I prayed for her, worried about her, and wrote to the director of the Home asking about her condition. Friends of mine from all over the world were praying for her, this little girl of mine, because she had captured a special place in all their hearts.
In my heart I had begun praying and scheming up plans of bringing her home.

Tonight I would be asking you to pray with me for this sweet little girl, but almost two weeks after returning to the States I was informed that Beatrice went to be with Jesus.

I don’t really know how, I don’t know why;

all I know is that she had been taken into the hospital the week before because of some symptoms which included vomiting. I had been praying for her to be healed, but Jesus had other plans for her life.




I found out after she had died that soon after I had left, another woman had taken notice of her. Jenny is an American mama of 15 children who, with her husband, was in the process of adopting a little girl from Sanyu Babies’ Home at that very time. She has been staying at the Home temporarily until the adoption was complete, and when she discovered little Beatrice and noticed her condition, she immediately began taking measures to fight for her life. She notified people around the world of Beatrice and her needs, and soon The Baby Beatrice Fund was begun and many contributed towards her care. All this, and I didn't even know!
If I’m not mistaken, it was Jenny herself that made sure my sweet girl was taken into the hospital when her condition became worse, and Jenny was the one who thought to go out and buy a beautiful, frilly dress and flower headband to dress Beatrice in for her burial a week later.

How many time can I look in your eyes and say I have nothing to give?

At her death Beatrice was two-and-a-half years old, ten pounds, and HIV positive. She was buried in a graveyard that was surrounded by a trash dump where local people of all ages dig around to find food.

I don’t know why the Lord brought Beatrice into my life, but I do know that I have been changed by the impact of the story of her life and death. At times since her passing, I have wondered and asked the Lord what the point was of those three or four short days at Sanyu with Beatrice, and why in the world He put her in my life and then took her away?

And then- slowly, quietly- it occurred to me that maybe...

MAYbe... 

it isn’t about me at all. 

Maybe all of that was so that she could be loved in a way she hadn’t before, so that she could be cared for... even just for a few hours... by this insignificant, self-consumed girl from across the world.

And maybe that’s why we go to Africa at all:

Maybe that’s what this Christian life is all about:

Giving away the love that we have received.  Even when we don’t understand the outcome.

Trusting, Thankfulness .....and Teacups

(Originally written in March 2008)

Lately I have been learning acceptance with joy. 

Acceptance is not the hard part- it's the 'with joy' part that I sometimes find difficult to put into practice. 
It always sounds so much easier than it really is.

But, you know- it's been getting easier.

Praise God!

I have been remembering all day an analogy that a friend of mine used a few months ago.

She reminded us, by holding up a teacup, that God has poured us a cup for every day. He poured in it just what He wants us to have that day.

Not too little, not too much.

   Not too sweet, not too bitter.

It is just exactly what He wants for us that day. My job is to drink it all. 

God wants us to not only drink the cup He has for us each day, but drink it all. It's not enough just to taste it, and then when I decide I don't want it anymore, leave it be. 

My job is to accept everything He brings my way with joy, knowing that if He chose it for me it is best.

It is not my choice what I must drink every day, it is His. 

It is my choice, however, how I choose to drink it.

Even when it's bitter, or hard, or humiliating, or frustrating, or painful.... God poured it in my cup, I get to drink it with a smile and "in everything give thanks" (1 Thes. 5:18).

Praise the Lord that He is a kind and loving Father, and He always makes sure that there is plenty of joy and blessings sprinkled throughout our days, too. Sometimes we don't see them because our eyes are on ourselves- but they are always there.

He loves us so much more than we can fathom.

So I've been thinking a lot about teacups today.

 

  With thankfulness everything is good.

I am so thankful that I can trust the Lord to know just exactly what I need when I need it.

I am so thankful that He fills my cup to overflowing with His grace to handle everything that comes my way every single day.

Having a Messy Morning?

"In everything give thanks..." includes messy mornings when the waffle irons (both) just won't pull thru and batter leaks all over the counter. . . 

And the batter that does stay in the irons STiCKS in the irons and we end up with a pile of flop. . . 

. . . So we pull out the griddle to try for pancakes instead, but then those stick bad and squish into flop also.

Ah, yes; these kinds of mornings are definitely included.

And when we lose one of the eight organic eggs (preciousness around here) down the drain due to a miscalculation on behalf of a beginner chef. . .

and orange juice splashes onto the countertop and dribbles down the cabinets. . .

and little Lou has a cough that won't go away. . .

and everyone has to be extra quiet so Mom can get a little more rest, because she was up half the night. . .

and this was supposed to be a quick and easy deal (that's why we made the batter the night before). . .

. . . this is still the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning us. 

This morning.

"With thankfulness everything is good."


A friend used to repeat those words to me often, and they've been bouncing off the walls of my mind all morning. I believed it then when I first heard it- but only as words. Only recently have I been able to see how true these words really are.

Everything.

Everything becomes good and sweet when we pour thankfulness over it;

100% Pure Thankfulness to a good Father for good gifts.

When we change our perspective and realize that this- whatever we are facing- is the will of God for us right now, and He has a good purpose in it for us. When in everything we give thanks, what was messy (in our perspective) changes into something good.

Little troopers that they are, the kids took the flop onto their plates this messy morning, poured sweet syrup over it, and ate it all up eagerly. They trusted me to feed them something edible this morning, and when they tasted it they found out that it was good. In the same way, when I trust God to give me no more than I can handle and no less than I need -and thank Him for it- I find out that what He gives me is good.

"I don't think we should call it flop," Willie said, bringing his syrupy plate back for a refill. "It's really good! Thanks!"

He's right, I thought. It's good. And though it looked like a messy flop from far away, when he tasted it with thankfulness he found it to be good. I could learn something valuable from that thought right there. 

Taste and see that the Lord is good;
blessed is the man that trusts in Him!

God gives me countless opportunities every day to take the things He gives me, pour thankfulness over it and eat it with joy. Trusting Him to provide for me, knowing and acknowledging that He is a good Father... always good.

 

{Always good!} 

Having a messy morning? You might try changing your perspective.... and maybe pouring a big helping of thankfulness over your flop, and looking for His goodness in the mess.

('Cause trust Him- it's there.)

Throwing Open the Windows

The first day of Spring danced in gloriously this year. Daffodils flashed yellow smiles, the sunlight fell in golden puddles everywhere and the wind blew strong but warm.

I threw open my bedroom window and the fresh air filled the room, creating a beautifully inviting atmosphere.

Throughout the long, cold, dreary winter days the window had stayed shut-
Keeping out the wind. The snow.... the rain... the cold; protecting the inner from the outer.
Keeping me unexposed to the elements.

The sun doesn't shine in all that brightly in the wintertime. Dust collects, a coolness settles over the room, I hear the walls brace when the wind blows hard outside. But it can't get in. The window is shut.

But then when winter dies out and temperatures finally rise, I throw open the windows.
This is the air I want in my room.
This air I will not keep out- or protect myself from.

Thinking of Spring... and wind... and windows.... made me realize something new.

There is a window in my soul. A window that can be opened or shut whenever -however- I choose.

It didn't take very much thinking about soul-windows to realize that mine had been shut.
Inside my soul-room dust had been collecting. The air had been getting kinda stuffy- kinda close.
My soul-room has been in dire need of fresh Air-


The breath of Jesus. The Holy Spirit.
The word of God.

Somehow, somewhere along the lines, I had closed my window to His wind. And I now firmly believe that when I try to protect my inner secret place from the All-Knowing God- dust collects inside. Shadows find their way to every corner as the Son-light fades. Danger lurks in my soul-room, but I don't even know it for lack of adequate light.

Can you relate?

Then.... oh, dread of dreads..... because my window has been closed, the thief finds a way in.
No fresh Air to drive him away. The living conditions are perfect, so he moves right in. He begins his deadly business- 

"...to steal and kill and destroy..."


Hot, dirty fingers soon begin to clutch my heart. (ever felt them?)
Pride. He tightens his grip minute by minute.
Anger boils up inside of me -excusing itself under the easily pardonable guise of "hurt"- and leaks out down my face...

...Hot. Thrashing. Crashing. Destroying.


"Can I just HATE???!?!?!" I silently scream. It echoes off the walls of my steady-darkening room. "Can I just throw it all away... quit trying... and hate???"

Oh, the thief. He brings misery. Pure misery.


Bitterness gains more and more ground ........whilst I loose more and more.

Why is it" I moan, "that what destroys always seems like the easiest choice in the struggle?!"

Why then did hate feel like the answer? Why did the thought of throwing away Life and beauty and everything I have ever truly fought for seem like the only way to peace from the war? Why did anger satisfy my soul one moment and tear it wide open the next?

Why? Because my window was closed. Because my window was closed to the Help that I need.

There was no fresh Air blowing into my soul-room, so I was suffocating. Giving way under the pressure of the dirty, stuffy air that surrounded me.


Ever felt completely defeated by the thief? Is your window opened or closed?

That warm Spring air kept blowing and WOULD NOT let me forget-
Father WOULD NOT let me escape this lesson He had for me. "Look! Open your eyes!" He keeps saying "See what I am wanting to do in your heart?"


Well, so there I sat- pondering these thoughts, aching and groping to grasp their fullness, having prayed for a week-and-a-half that He would open my eyes to the complete truth of "throwing open my window" to the Fresh Air.

I had already begun to realize that what is needed is repentance...

...Cleansing...

...... humility to open myself up and let the Rushing Wind blow through this temple and blow out the dust within....

...but I was still not completely clear on what that looked like exactly.

Not completely clear, that is, until my Heavenly Father decided that I needed a BIG dose of truth concerning all this. A verse kept coming to mind that seemed to fit my subject at hand, but then when I looked it up in the Amplified I was comPLETELY blown away.

I clap my hands together and laugh out loud. It makes all the sense in the world.

THIS is my answer!!!!! 

Try THIS:

"So repent (change your mind and purpose); turn around and return [to God], that your sins may be erased (blotted out, wiped clean), that times of refreshing (of recovering from the effects of heat, of reviving with fresh air) may come from the presence of the Lord..." (Acts 3:19)


In other words....

Say NO to the thief, say NO to hiding from the Truth, say YES to Jesus, Say YES to His fresh air, turn around and...

Throw open your window.



Morning Is Coming

October eleventh. It had been a long night.

Everlasting, almost- but not quite.

I had slept only about an hour... two, at most. The changing of the colors in the sky gave me hope that the sun’s beautiful rays would soon be piercing thru the darkness that had held the night captive for those hundreds of lonely minutes.

I slipped out of my bed and into my sweater and pulled a pair of socks onto my bare feet. I cracked open the back door and stepped out into the crisp air of early Autumn. The stars that had so brilliantly graced the black sky only a little while before were now no longer anywhere to be seen.

Morning was coming.

I wandered down the sidewalk and back....... around the yard aimlessly. Grasping to remember past events, yet hoping desperately to forget it all.

I had obeyed.

I had done just exactly what Father God had asked me to do. I had let go. I had surrendered. I had given my dream and my hopes to Him. And now the painful reality of the choice I had just made threatened to crush me with sorrow.

But the choice had been made. I had chosen Jesus. Jesus alone. He is enough.

But it was still dark.

Light hadn’t broken through and made everything clear the moment I obeyed. It actually had grown darker. Much darker. And the sorrow got deeper as the night wore on.

I looked up across the yard and noticed, to my surprise, the Morning Glories that had grown over the arbor were in full bloom.

This early in the morning?

I had to see them up close. I made my way to where they silently grew and cradled one between my hands.

Beauty. That was a healing sight.

I kissed the petals.

I pulled my cellphone out of my pocket and snapped a quick picture. The lack of adequate lighting provided me with only a silhouette of the flower.

To anyone else, the picture might seem undefinable. Possibly worthless. Definitely unclear.
Just like my life felt at that moment.

But as I looked at the screen of my phone and closely examined the picture I had just captured, the message it gave became strikingly clear-

Yes, of course! How could I forget?

I smiled and whispered under my breath the words that I would soon find myself repeating day after day as the night season of life ran its course...

...........“Morning is coming.”

 

"Satisfy us in the morning with Your unfailing love,

that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days."

Psalm 90:14

"I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I put my hope.

My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning,

more than watchmen wait for the morning."

Psalm 130:5,6

"You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light." Psalm 1:28

"...I think of You in the watches of the night. Because You are my help, I sing in the shadow of Your wings. My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me."

Psalm 63:6-8

"I rise before dawn and cry for help; I have put my hope in Your word." Psalm 119:147

"Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in You. Show me the way I should go, for to You I lift up my soul."

Psalm 143:8