Something God Cannot Do

I love to play Scrabble ~ perhaps inheriting this from Mom who, back in the day, became my rival whenever the crossword game hit the table. No nurturing there. Game on!

Times have changed. Mom's gone. I now play on-line with other folk. The tougher the opponent, the better. With these die-hard Scrabblers I must scrutinize every move, realizing one mistake can cost a win.

Ah! I study my rack of A, I, M, L, G, D, F tiles. My opponent plays A-C-T. Opportunity! I place my F on the triple letter spot followed by A-I-L. FAIL. FACT. A whoppin' 32. Then I think, That's something God cannot do ~ Fail. 

As a girl I believed that, and over the decades since I questioned just once. My premise: God was either Who He said He was or He was the biggest egomaniac Who ever lived. Yes, this sounds terribly irreverent; and if I'd truly contemplated the second thought, then I would have been the egomaniac. Ones who've questioned God and determined to prove Him wrong, using His Word to do so, have found they were in gross error.

This Book of books has not been disproved. With there being no error in His Word, everything He claimed to be is true. He Himself is Truth. Thus, He states Who He is and gives promises that will not be broken because He cannot fail.

"...He never fails..." Zephaniah 3:5 NKJV Because The Bible is The Word of Truth Himself speaking to us, I know He doesn't fail. He never will. And so I can rest in Him when calamity hits, as it often does. I can hope in Him Who is Hope. And Hope does not disappoint.

So if you thought God could do everything, you're wrong. He cannot FAIL. That's FACT. And that's HOPE ~ also a great Scrabble word!

Jesus Shall Reign

Photo by Dave Bothwell

The past two weeks I've fought writing. Although my head-knowledge shouts God is in control, my heart-knowledge blocks that truth. This trips me, and I wallow in discouragement. I cry.

No, there's nothing wrong with crying. Sometimes it's a great release and also appropriate. I grieve for our nation and uncertainty "we the people" face, I weep for Israel ~ the apple of God's Eye and my sister's adopted homeland. I wonder and, yes, (hate to admit) worry about our son's future when evaluations are less than "flattering." I doubt when my husband's health declines even more ~ all this comsuming me.

Yet my failure to cling doesn't alter the Almighty's sovereignty. It is I who falls short on a morning-by-morning basis. I must cling to the Hope Rope extended from Jesus' nail-scarred Hands to mine. As discouraged as I was with all the above mentioned, I woke up the day before elections with a hymn on my heart and have made this my Thanksgiving praise...

JESUS SHALL REIGN

By Issac Watts

Jesus shall reign where'er the sun does his successive journeys run;

His Kingdom stretch from shore to shore, till suns shall rise and set no more.

To Jesus endless prayer be made, and praises throng to crown His Head;

His Name like sweet perfume shall rise with every morning sacrifice.

People and realms of every tongue dwell on His Love with sweetest song;

And infant voices shall proclaim their young Hosannas to His Name.

Blessings abound where'er He reigns; the prisoner leaps to lose his chains;

the weary find eternal rest, and all the sons of want are blessed.

Where He displays His healing power death and the curse are known no more;

In Him the tribes of Adam boast more blessings than their father lost.

Let every creature rise and bring its grateful honors to our King'

Angels descend with songs again, and earth prolong the loud amen!

Great God, Whose universal sway the known and unknown worlds obey,

Now give the Kingdom to Thy Son, extend His power, exalt His Throne.

The scepter well becomes His Hands; all Heaven submits to His Commands;

His justice shall avenge the poor, and pride and rage prevail no more.

With power He vindicates the just, and treads the oppressor in the dust;

His worship and His fear shall last till the full course of time be past.

As rain on meadows newly mown, so shall He send His Influence down;

His Grace on fainting souls distills like heavenly dw on thirsty hills.

The heathen lands, that lie beneath the shades of overspreading death,

Revive at His first dawning light; and deserts blossom at the sight.

The saints shall flourish in His days, decked in the robes of joy and praise;

Peace, like a river, from His Throne shall flow to nations yet unknown.

"The Weaver"

So much of this week's news devastates. In times like these it's easy to become overwhelmed by nature's havoc and man's blunders. Yet God is in control. I know this because I know Him. Still, looking about me I can easily forget He has a plan. After all, one of our sons and his wife live in Colorado Springs. My mind and heart ache for them and all who wait for that disaster to end.

No, I do not attribute raging wildfires and flooding halfway around the world to God. Nor do I think the mind of man always seeks His wisdom before making decisions that affect us all. The prince of the power of the air ~ the devil ~ destroys and has his way. Yet God allows. Why? I don't know. I only know God is God, and He has a plan. He can make beauty out of ashes ~ even in the lives of us all.

The Weaver

By Grant Colfax Tullar

My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me.

I cannot choose the colors He worketh steadily.

Ofttimes He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride

Forget He sees the upper and I, the underside.

Not till the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly

Shall God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful in the Weaver's skillful Hand

As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

All of us go through good, joyful times as well as the much harder ones. Until we reach Heaven, we cannot see "the completed tapestry." So for today, trust the Weaver. Even when the enemy tries to devastate, God is sovereign ... and one day, believer, we will understand it all.

Master Designer

Photo by Heidi Beukema Hurley

Maybe it's my art-trained eye, but I tend to see design in everything around me. Symmetry, patterns, positive and negative spaces, lights and darks creating affects where color doesn't exist.

Or is it that God intended His creation to reflect beauty and design? Unlike me who uses her eyes and hands to make something out of nothing, the Master Designer spoke all He made into being. How fitting of The Word!

Photo by Mitchell Williams

This past weekend seemed horrible, to put it bluntly. My little world spun out of control. Pattern, beauty, symmetry, design? Not visible to me until I washed my eyes with tears, called out to God, and took a ride. Then I saw it all around me. God's reminders. His creations shouting from both sides of the road!

This same God Who spoke design, patterns, symmetry, and positive and negative spaces into being also cares about my broken heart. May I never forget that. He is interested in every detail. And while my world seems to spiral out of control, His does not. I can rest in Him. Trust Him. See in the negatives the beauty and purpose of the positives.

C.S. Lewis and I

What do I have in common with late author C.S. Lewis? Love for and devotion to letter-writing. Since a young girl, I’ve written letters. I so loved epistle writing that, as punishment for bad behavior, my Mom took away postage stamp-using privileges.

Mr. Lewis believed personally answering his mail showed more than good manners. He saw this as part of his service to God, feeling each correspondent deserved a reply. Sometimes brother Warnie and wife Joy helped lighten his load. He exchanged letters with his pen pal for decades and also wrote to children.

I’ve been down-sizing and in doing so unearthed piles of letters from ages past~some from WWII soldiers replying to my mom via the Red Cross. I’ve a special appreciation for these, having 3 sons in the military and knowing what letters meant to them during their 7 deployments. My love of letter-writing became a mission those years.

I also found a wartime letter written by one of my Dad’s siblings, telling him each of his 5 sisters chose a day of the week to write him during his tour in Europe. How that must have encouraged their brother!

Letter-writing’s referred to as a “lost art.” Folks say they don’t have time or they’re not gifted with words. Did you know it takes no more than 5 minutes for most people to write a few sentences in a note, letting someone know they’re remembered, prayed for, cared about?

Despite this modern age of technology, I still like a hand-written letter. There’s nothing like holding one in my hands, reading it at will, and treasuring it for a lifetime if I wish.

May I challenge you to drop someone a note this week? You never know if the words you share may be the gift of hope needed that very day. You might just be sending someone a treasure.

Also during down-sizing, I found this aged poem...

To "Say it with flowers" is one way of expressing yourself to a friend,

But a personal message is often just what you would like to send.

A message of hope to the weary ... to the sick, a note of good cheer,

To the well, to the glad, to the merry, to all in need, far and near.

In fact, the Pease* Line will give you a word to each friend, old or new,

And these words of good cheer which you send all the year like an echo will come back to you.

(L.F.P., Author)

*as written in the poem

Facing The Holidays~Part One

Those who’ve been through painful circumstances struggle even more this time of year. Back in 1999 I wrote an article for New York State VOCAL (Victims Of Child Abuse Laws—my husband and I, members). We’d not only been falsely accused and charged, but we faced court as well. The following is the first portion of that article from twelve years ago.

Our attic contained many boxes, but one intrusive pile represented painfully fresh memories. Christmas passed, and gifts to all the children were given—all but one child, that is. Our oldest, a sixteen-year-old missing runaway, not only falsely accused us but hadn’t come home either. Unopened gifts bearing her name now contained the year “1996.”

Four sons still lived at home, all anticipating holiday celebration. Yet my husband and I dreaded the thought of anything joyful. We needed to grieve, but our parental “duty” required mustering up courage to make it through—“for the boys’ sake.”

We prepared as usual, with a few changes, as if to disguise our pain. The usual also included buying gifts for our daughter. Afterward, placing them in the attic bore a heaviness akin to placing a monument on a grave. The time was desperately hard, and we grieved. We grieved, but we survived.

We are now approaching Christmas number four since that first one. This holiday does not crouch or pounce upon us. Neither did the first in reality. Christmas has not changed. We have.

Christmas—birth of Hope and Peace! God in the form of a baby came down at a time when a government set out to destroy hope and peace on earth. So it was for us—a governmental system encroached upon us. Yet God provided a Way to lead us through by providing a Savior.

Part Two—next week