Wake Up Call 1.2

Life, as I see it, has now changed.  No more dipsy doodling around. I am about to get to my Father's business.

No matter what the outcome of my circumstances. I believe I was created with a dream and a passion, as some of you know I've struggled with what that was.  Not anymore.

Everything I do should point back to Jesus.

First, I apologize, if I've gossiped about you, or puffed myself up to make what you're doing with your life seem less than what I'm doing with mine. If I've hurt you with words, stolen from you, misunderstood, or judged, I'm sorry. If I've neglected or abused your heart. If I thought more highly of myself then I should, I'm sorry. If I didn't support your spiritual dreams and passions, I'm sorry.

Whether God heals a lump or he uses the surgeon to get the little bugger, I'm changed.

I realize this blog doesn't have the following that some do, but I'm fixin' on Max, Lilly, & Company scrounging around, here. way off in the distant future, so bear with me. Here we go.

Often times when traveling, after checking in at a hotel front desk, the clerk would ask, "Do you need a wake-up call?"  (If you are reading here Max, Lilly, & Co, this was prior to cell phones with alarm clock apps or whatever you're using these days to communicate. The front desk clerk (real person) would ask you what time you wanted to get up, then they'd call the land line in your room to wake you. It was quite obnoxious with a heart-attack type ringer, but it worked.)

Boy I did! I was planning on a lot of things in my life.  Those lists are here and there and everywhere in the blogdom archives. But this morning I fell back asleep after rising early and I had this dream.

We (girlfriends, sisters, mostly women) were wondering around a beautiful conference center grounds, maybe a "Moody Week" or "Beauticontrol" conference was in session. I was talking with the girlfriends (some of whom have written books and spoken at women's retreats) and telling them of all my mistakes and how we weren't meant to live this way. Then suddenly the girlfriends were all gone and I was alone.  I stumbled upon a closed conference room door and heard someone say those exact words. "We weren't meant to live this way." As I drew closer and put my hear to the door, it was my voice behind the speaker. I opened the door a crack and sure enough, I woke up.

I'm going to be fine and it may only be through this blog, but I will not be quiet any longer.

Spirit of the living God, fall fresh on me,
Melt me, mold me, use me.
Spirit of the living God, fall fresh on me.

Do you need a wake-up call?

STORIES Photography
Got out the 7D for this one.


We're paving the way to get a new hook-up for our water, here at the farm. The guy with the back hoe who dug the swimming pool, then filled in the swimming pool started digging 1/4 mile down the south road and laid the black snake that will eventually let the flow of water from town quench our thirst, and clean us and our clothes.

There's a back story. For years, we had a well. A sulpher well. Crystal clear, and cold water. It tasted like nothing you city folks have had  save for a $2 plastic bottle of "mountain fresh" water. It was so refreshing, on a hot summer day, we'd drink right from the hydrant. Yes, crystal clear, cold and tasty. With a rotten egg smell.

So when the town brought a 3 inch pipe out to the big fertilizer plant that used to sit 1/4 mile north, dad cut catty corner across the field and hooked into that pipe. Yay, no more embarrassing comments from visitors, "What is that awful smell?" Instead, we had tasteless, sometimes rusty, city water. Water nonetheless.

But time went on, the plant was torn down and we inherited the 3inch pipe from town.  That's a lot of pipe and sediment for only two people 6 months out of the year, at the most 4 people in summer.  So what we've had, the last dozen or so years is oderless rusty water.

Soon the workers will be gone and we'll have fresh water. They paved the way for the water to flow. Oh all right, so they hit the electrical and we'll have to get the power company to patch, minor technicality. Thankfully no one was hurt. I believe there is a covering over this place.
I feel it almost every sunrise, felt it big time at family gatherings and especially on wedding days. A hovering of the spirit. Goes back many generations, even to Genesis 1:2  "Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters." Another post.
Soon it will be time to plant the grass seed over the path which was dug. The water main will silently, but effectively deliver the water to the source. We'll prepare the soil to receive the seed. Another post.

I learned today I must have a lump removed.

Oh how I need to receive a flow of God's grace. It's easy to just say it, "God give me grace, heal me, bless me!" I'm thinking there's just a bit more to it than that. I must pave the way and prepare my heart, to receive. How do I do that?

Lots of prayer, fasting, contemplating life's direction, Dr.'s appointments worship and humility (not read; low self-esteem) faith, and no fear.  Since my mind is kinda a muddled mess right now, I'm going to quote Ken Gire again today, as I continue on this earthly journey.

He gives grace to the humble, but opposes the proud.  Who are they talking about? The down and outters, the beggars, The people who had been brought so low to the ground they didn't have anywhere to look but up. When our hands are that empty and extended to heaven, then heaven will extend the grace fo us to dine with Christ and Him with us.

We are told in the Scriptures that God gives grace to just such people, to people who have been brought low and humbled (James 4:6). If that If that is true, then whatever happens in our lives to humbe us is, in the long run, a good thing, because it paves the road over which the grace of God comes to us.

Ken Gire - Seeing What Is Sacred. Thanks Ruth E., I've stayed in Chapter 3 "The Soil Of A Reflective Life" for  weeks now.


Guess Who's Coming To Dinner

I am just stubborn enough to stick with this blog.

Dramatic pause.

"Every once in a while life can be very eloquent. You go along from day to day not noticing very much, not seeing or hearing very much, and then all of a sudden, when you least expect it very often, something speaks to you with such power that it catches you off guard, makes you listen whether you want to or not. Something speaks to you out of your own life with such directness that it is as if it calls you by name and forces you to look where you have not had the heart to look before, to hear something that maybe for years you have not had the wit or the courage to hear."  Frederick Buechner from  A Room To Remember

Wisdom shouts in the street,
She lifts her voice in the square;
At the head of the noisy streets she cries out;
At the entrance of the gates in the city she utters her saying.
Blessed is the man who listens to me, (wisdom)
Watching daily at my gates,
Waiting at my doorposts.
For he who finds me finds life,
And obtains favor from the Lord 
Prov. 1:20-21, 34,35

I feel like I have a pretty good eye.  I never have too much of the ceiling in my photographs and very rarely chop off a head.

I don't over decorate.  The eye needs a place to rest.  When I used to interior design, my boss lived at Hobby Lobby and TJ Maxx and I could sense the feeling we overbought with each and every client.

I can tell when there is too much going on in the room.

Creating space is not just a decorating term. It's meant for the heart, too.

Smack dab in the middle of sprucing up the farmhouse great room,  He calls for me to search my heart and make a space for Him to rest and abide with me.

In Ken Gire's book Seeing What Is Sacred he shares this;

Jesus comes to us in a thousand ways and for a thousand reasons, all of them for our good. "Behold, " He says, "I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him, and will dine with him, and he with Me" (Revelations 3:20.)  He comes knocking on the door of our heart, any time of the night or day, and to any of us who can recognize His voice through the thickness of the wood, He makes an amazing promise.
     He promises us a meal.
     Not a lecture on nutrition.
     Not a reprimand about our eating habits.
     A meal!
He wants to eat with us.  When He comes to the door, however late He knocks, however lowly He appears in the doorway, it will be His presence that refreshes us and His words that nourish us.

Tomorrow,  I will do what is mine to do, for such a time as this.

I'll get up and get dressed.

I'll go to the doctor.

I'll touch up some paint in the great room.

I'll answer some e-mails.

I'll pay the bills.

I'll talk with my parents and text my kids.

I'll fold the wash.

I'll probably watch a bit of TV.

I will spend another day.

Today I will dine in, with Him.