{when God [finally] opens the door}

So we have a local hero around here named Nevin Ashley. He is one of North Knox’s own and has

spent ten years in the minor leagues. WHICH IN ITSELF IS A VERY BIG DEAL. Whether you know him personally or not, if you are a Knox County native, chances are you are talking about him this week. And if you do happen to know him personally, you are certainly talking about him tonight!

He’s a local favorite, a great guy, and even though we all cheered him on through his many moves in the minors… His heart has always been set on the big show.  Major League Baseball.

I’m sure to many, after three years… four years… eight years of waiting it had to seem like that dream would not be realized. According to the Brewer’s website, he had his own moments of doubt as well, nearly retiring in 2013. It gets weary, standing in the hallway just waiting for that door to open.

And then, this week… it DID. After a decade working his butt off in the minors, Nevin got the call he had dreamed about since he was a little boy playing summer league ball.  Eight hundred and seventy games in the minor leagues, ten years of practice, playing, injury, moving, and waiting… it all paid off as he took his first at bat stance in a Major League game.  And our family, along with countless other families in the NK area became instant Brewers fans.

And we all cheered like crazy when his first at bat yielded a double and an RBI.  We hung on every word the announcers had to say about his plays in the game (Jim is, as I type, re-listening to them all). They were rooting for him too, they recognized the magic of someone called up after a decade in the minors.  All because he didn’t give up. All because when he felt like giving up, he had a wife who encouraged him to keep playing the game that he loved. All because he made the absolute best out of the hallway.

As my Facebook feed fills up with congratulations, well wishes, and posts sharing his story into the Majors… I wonder if he is pinching himself? All that wait… and here he is, playing Major League ball. EIGHT HUNDRED AND SEVENTY GAMES, you guys.

All.That.WAIT.

Are any of you in a season of waiting? Feeling your way down an unfamiliar hall just waiting for the door to be opened for you?

I know about life in the hallway. I know what it’s like to have a call on your life, a destiny, a dream… and to wait and wait and wait for that door to open. I thought I was on the verge of the door being opened, six years ago.  But the Lord had different plans. He knew exactly what I needed, and He had to take me into a season of waiting to teach me things. So that I could learn from Him how to walk in humility and peace and love. So that he could train my spiritual muscles to respond quickly to His bidding and slowly to injury.  

Like Nevin there were times when I doubted the dream He had given me… and then an encourager would come along. A message out of the blue from someone who had little idea of the season I was in that would say “don’t give up, He’s still going to do this thing”. A Word spoken at just the right time. He sees you, and He’s using this season.

And like Nevin, this very night I am pinching myself. My life is overflowing with praise for all He has done. For the doors He has opened. When I look back on the last few years and the wait that felt like an eternity… I can see why. I can see the refining. The changing. The growing. The persevering through injury. Learning to trust in seasons of transition and moving. 

I am still a million miles from the "big league", but today as my friend Jeanie and I walked from the jail with smiles on our faces we both felt the same thing- encouraged. Tonight as the kids at Sprouts leaned in to hear how specially they were created by God- I was full of hope.  A few nights ago as a teen said “we can trust you”- my heart nearly burst. I may not be playing in the Majors, or have my name spoken on national TV, but tonight I feel like I'm exactly where He wants me to be. And it's amazing. 

What even is my life? How did I get so darn blessed? How did that long season of waiting turn into this??

I wonder if Nevin is feeling the same thing?

What even is my life? I had almost given up… now I am catching in a Major League Game. How did I get so blessed? How did 870 games in the minors turn into this??

Be encouraged, my friend. If you are playing your 698^th game in the minor leagues, be encouraged that the door is still there and it can still be opened. Be encouraged that this season of training is for the good. Be encouraged that He has a plan and a purpose, and that if God has planted a dream in your heart, He will bring you to it.

Tonight as we watched Nevin play against the Marlins… as we cheered him on with every play… I was reminded that dreams really do come true. It’s amazing to hear a corn fed Knox County boy’s name being called out by MLB announcers. It’s kind of a big deal.

I’m so not a big deal. But my God certainly is. And if He can put hands like mine to work for Him, what in the world could He do with you. Don’t shy away from a season in the hallway. Don’t give up when the door feels like it’s a million years away. Just keep doing what you can do where you are until He calls you up into your destiny.

And when you are sitting on your couch after a day overflowing with blessing (or in the locker room after your first game in the MLB), remember to thank Him. I can only imagine that Nevin has been… and I’m beyond certain that this girl is too.

Father, thank you for all the seasons of our life! Lord I PRAISE YOU for time spent in the hallway! Lord I praise you that even when doors are opened, it's not an END but a NEW BEGINNING! Father encourage those tonight who find themselves in a season of waiting. Encourage the ones who have grown weary in the wait... remind them tonight Lord that YOU are a God who is in charge, and who knows exactly what we need to walk in everything you have destined for us. Lord, we say tonight that we trust you... help us to praise you, wherever we are... even if it's in the hall! In Jesus Name...

a canvas on which He can paint

I walk through the park, the first real evidence of autumn crunching softly beneath my feet. I am here to meet with a client, to capture her beauty in this beauty, but she is blessedly late and so I have time to walk. To meditate.

This is my season. My favorite.  With crisp air and bright blue skies I begin to watch anxiously for the majestic works of art our Creator puts on display. Splashes of red and orange and yellow infiltrating the green of summer. 

Camera in hand I walk and muse. Peering through the lens His art becomes my art. Everywhere I walk I find the sun piercing the canopy, a fire igniting color, changing from green to orange. I praise Him for His beauty, the intricacies with which He has painted the landscape. Each exploding in color in her own time.  He invites me to sit. Listen. 

And He crushes my heart with the beauty of His plan.

How He has created each tree, just so. Some will gain color and lose leaves before the first tinge of orange kisses the leaves of others.

And that’s okay. Each in its own time.

The grass is soft beneath me as I sit. I gaze upward and take in one who is young, yet boasting the most stunning array of color.  Although youthful compared to the giants that surround her, she reflects His glory beautifully.  She is no less in the landscape although roots still reach for depth in the soil beneath her.  Her exuberance evident in reds and oranges and yellow.  Her color not a reflection of her maturity, but His beauty and who He created her to be.

Oh, the spiritual giants that stand to her left and her right. Tall graceful necks boasting a canopy of green stretch toward blue.  Enough light bursting through their branches to nourish the young one beneath.  It is not their responsibility to cause her to grow. No, they are just conduits for His light to shine through. It is His light that grows and matures and changes. They shelter, protect, and show her the way, leaning into the sun. But the growing, that is between her and the Father.

Ah, but this other, I know her. She stands, arms outstretched among the giants. She longs for the deep roots they have.  I know her desires. I see her wondering how she fits into the landscape. Neither young and full of color nor mature and stretching toward the sky. Tips of her branches just beginning to show the flair that is autumn. She stands insecure, not seeing how she fills in the space in the landscape perfectly. How her head of just-changing color fills makes the transition from the green standing above her to the fiery red below seamless. Beautiful.  Painted by a Master Artist.  

She doesn’t wonder. He says to my heart.

She doesn’t wonder what her role, or when her own branches will spread far as the mature trees around her, or her roots tap into the richest of soil beneath. She doesn’t wonder. Do not put those insecurities on her. Those are yours, my child.

She knows who she is.

(And He CRUSHES my heart with the beauty of His plan.)

They do not compare their color. Their height. Their role in the Kingdom.

They just allow me to paint. To make their lives a reflection of my glory.

They do not strive.

They do not market their grandeur.

They merely reflect my glory. It is all I created them for.

To be my canvas.

And so I lean back. I look at my feet stretched before me, surrounded by the beauty of the fallen.  A hole worn into the toe of my shoes from many steps taken. Steps on the path He has painted before me.

The promises He has spoken over me, into me, make their way through my head.  The branches He has pruned away so that His glory can be ever more revealed.  Those branches He continues to prune.  My heart beats wildly.

All that I want is all that You have for me.

That I may have roots reaching ever deeper.

That I may be marked by the colors you paint onto me. Exuberant. Joyful.

That I may be a conduit for your light to shine onto others.

That I may be a shelter.

That I may be a canvas on which you can paint.

This is my desire for you, child.

Not that you would be as tall as her. Or as loud as her. Or as meek as her. Not that your colors would look like hers.

That you would be a canvas on which I can paint

                                                                                                                (your own story)

                                                                                                                (your own color)

                                                                                                                (your own timing)

                                                                                                                (all for my glory)

A car pulls up. My client is here and so I stand, wiping bits of earth from my legs and hands.

I glance over my shoulder. One last look at His glory revealed.

(And He crushes my heart with the beauty of His plan)

A glory revealed not in the individual leaf, or branch, or tree.

But a glory revealed in the landscape. Each singing the colors He has given them individually.

This is not about me.

This is about me taking my place in the landscape. Reflecting His glory so that the whole is covered.

This about being a canvas on which He can paint.

A conduit through which His light may shine through.

All I want, Lord, is all that YOU have for me.

Lord, have your way in me. In us. Pick up your brush… and paint...

when normal becomes extraordinary

Last night I stayed up with most of America, much of the world, and all of Twitterdom to watch the Women’s Gymnastic Team take GOLD GOLD GOLD GOLD in the team all-around competition. Were you watching in amazement with the rest of us? Did you cry when the final scores hit the board?

Isn’t  it funny how year after year, we come to find ourselves on first name basis with the entire team?   I still remember routines by Mary Lou, Carly, Nastia, Shawn… and last night’s performances by Gabby, Jordan, Ally (and her parents), Kayla, and McKayla will go on the shelf of my Olympic memories with the others.  [What about THIS vault… seriously!?]

It was truly something to behold. The women… girls really… on the world’s stage.  A lifetime of training, sacrifice, and dreams come down to this moment.  Two minute routines on a spring floor. Fifteen second bursts of power from the vault.  A minute’s worth of gasps as they twirl around the uneven bars.  Three minutes of courage and poise atop that beam.

{to this day I can’t see a beam routine without thinking about THIS sermon illustration by Francis Chan, take a few minutes to watch it. I’ll wait.}

Last night as I questioned choices about hair [I'm a stickler for a proper pony tail or bun, folks], found myself wanting to meet the adorable little female coach, and marveled at one nearly flawless routine after another from the Fab Five… I was struck by one word they kept repeating to one another as each went up to do her part…

“Normal”.

Just do it normal. You don’t have to do anything supernatural or extraordinary or miraculous… because you have trained so hard, spent so much time in the gym, practiced this routine so many times that your normal has become extraordinary.

“Normal”… the word was comforting to the ears of this sixth member of the team (I cried like I was going to take the stand when they won, after all). “You don’t have to pull a trick out of your hat, Gabby… just do what you know how to do…”  Crazy release moves that look impossible to connect… that’s your normal. 

And I wondered…

If that isn’t what or faith walks should be like.

Walks where extraordinary leaps… are our normal. Where trusting God instead of clinging to the beam {did you watch that Francis Chan video? If not, go back and watch, we’ll pause the programming for ya} is our natural. Where we don’t have to pull any rabbits out of our hats because we have spent so much time in the Word, are so prayed up, and have practiced His presence enough that the supernatural becomes our normal and our normal has become extraordinary.

Where stopping to pray with a friend, right then and there is just what we do. Where laying hands on the sick and healing is the norm. Where God says “go” and we go. Or “wait” and we wait. When He asks us to give until it hurts and we actually do it. And then we see Malachi’s word come to pass in ourlives as glory and power pour out into us.

Where extraordinary ministries like Paul’s are birthed. He laid hands on people and they were healed. He was imprisoned and the chains just fell off. People would run home with bits of cloth he had prayed for because there was power and healing in them.

Ministries marked by obedience.  Ministries marked by having met God face to face. Ministries marked by changed lives. Ministries marked by being completely and 100% sold out to the cause of Christ.

You and I can have that too.  We can have lives where the extraordinary becomes our normal.

When we are willing to obey.

When we are willing to sacrifice.

When we are willing to really turn from sin.

When we are willing to be sold out for Him.

When we are willing to be in our Word. Every day.

When we are willing to pray without ceasing.

When we are willing to trust that He is enough. Our Divine spotter. And that even if we try, and fail… He will use that to grow and refine us.

I want that kind of ministry. I want that kind of life. I want signs and wonders and miracles and supernatural and extraordinary to become my normal.

But I am not  going to become an Olympian by sitting on my couch and wanting. And I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. I’ve been doing a lot of settling. And selfish living. And distraction.  It’s time to get this boat back on course.

It’s going to take work and sacrifice and obedience on my part. Like Gabby Douglas, it may mean leaving the comfort of everything I know to go deep into training for a year and a half (not seeing her mother a single time except for at meets…) 

Am I willing to give it all for Him?

Are you?

It may look differently than we expected, as little Jordan Weber discovered when cut from the Women’s All-Around Finals (which seems so, so, unfair…)

Am I willing to wipe the tears of disappointment from my cheeks and go to work for the team, the Body, the Bride… anyway?

Are you?

I want to live a life where “normal” looks a little like double lay out dismounts with a twist. Or aerials as high as my head. Or vaults that defy logic.  Where enormous leaps of faith are normal. Where miracles are normal. Where really TRUSTING Him is normal. Where normal has become extraordinary. 

Where normal is anything BUT normal.

[What about you? If you want to enter a season of training, of praying and seeking, with me... would you drop me a line? We'll figure out a way to set up a group... to hold one another accountable to deeper reliance on Him, bigger leaps, more extraordinary normals.] 

Father, help us to redefine our normal. Help us to have a faith that expects the extraordinary, and that trusts your will for our lives. Father… I confess that I have become distracted. I confess that I have not spent time with you, and Lord I long to change that. Would you help me? Would you send the conviction of your Holy Spirit to right my path? To turn my face toward you? Will you send along fellow athletes, Father, to work toward taking amazing leaps for you? I thank you for who you are, and for the way you can use one little word to refocus my life and my heart. I love you so much, Jesus… it’s in your name I pray… Amen.

finding our wonder

Saturday night I gathered with most of Bicknell for the annual “Freedom Bash”.  Tali and Zach came dripping from the night swim to ask for money for lemon shake ups and funnel cakes. Jim and the guys stood around a tail gate chatting it up. Blankets went on the ground and camping chairs all faced the same direction as we prepared for the capstone event of the evening. The fireworks.

I have always been a fan of fireworks, but frankly on this night, with temps still nearing 100 degrees at 9pm, I wasn’t sure it was worth it. And then they began. Slowly.

One firework at a time. Then a pause. And another one. Then a pause. And another.

Meanwhile the sweat was forming a steady line down the center of my back and I could literally hear my air conditioning [and couch] calling my name.

Leaning toward a friend I said “this is a little lame, isn’t it?”

And at that moment, as they were warming up their engines over on the firing line, sitting in the heat after a long day and longer month, I could think of a dozen things I would rather be doing.

Miss Hadley

Until Hadley toddled up to us on 21 months’ worth of chunky legs and taught me a lesson in wonder.

In her less than two years of experience, these were the best fireworks she had ever seen. Every blast in the sky, regardless of how feeble or small it appeared to my eyes, brought a gasp of utter amazement from her small frame.  She climbed onto her aunt’s lap, oooohing and aaaaaahing and clapping for the fireworks that illuminated her face so that I could see the wonder in her eyes.

This is no ordinary night. This is no ordinary event. Family and friends are gathered, and the sky has become a magic show of sounds and lights.

In that moment, my heart began to stir within me. I joined Hadley in her ooooohing and aaaaaahing. I declared my favorite firework to be the fountain and popcorn varieties [arguing that these were, in fact, better names for them than chandelier or fairy dust fireworks].  And with my eyes opened to the wonder, it really did develop into a spectacular display of lights in the sky. I left impressed with the hard work that went into blessing our little town with such a show. [Well done Freedom Bash committee!]

But more than that, I left thinking about how, all too often, we lose our wonder.  My friend Lauren (I learn a lot from her, don’t I?) is a passionate Bible teacher and more than once as she has recounted a story from the Word she has paused with the challenge "Come on people, can we wonder at that for a moment?! Have we lost our wonder?”

Have you lost your wonder?

When you think about the Lord leading the Israelites out of slavery, parting a sea, making dry land, and then swallowing up their enemeies… are you amazed? Because seriously, that is an amazing story… but it’s not just a tale. It really happened.

Or the manna He caused to fall from Heaven! I mean really!? Wouldn’t you love to try just one little bite of that stuff?

Or when Gideon defeated the Midianites with only 300 men?

Or that a man named Jesus, came in a manger... fully God, fully man… to carry the weight of our sins on a cross. That we may have life and have life abundantly.

Have we lost our wonder? Have we lost the wonder of our salvation? Of the price that was paid so that we can know an eternity in heaven?

I think we have.

Because if our minds really grasped what Christ did for us, what His everything looked like, what His everything works in our lives, then when He called the answer would never be “no”.  The things of this world really would grow strangely dim, with our eyes fixed on Him! We should have so much wonder that nothing else really matters.

Instead, we get all bound up and frustrated because Red Robin no longer brings baskets of fries to your table as appetizers.  [True story, happened yesterday]

Can I get a reality check here? Table 12?

Friends, today I ask that you would find your wonder. That as you walk through this day, you would find awe in every breath. Beauty in every landscape. Miracles in every face.  That your eyes would be like Hadley’s… wide to the wonders of this world, reflecting the Light that dances across your life…

Because when you focus on the wonder, when you focus on the wonder of your own salvation, when you focus on the wonder of your own “Red Sea” moments- when God showed up and brought you through when there appeared to be no way- there will be no room for complaining. No room for leaning toward a friend and mumbling “this is kind of lame, isn’t it?” No room for first world problems like endless fries and sauces only coming with your meal.  

Because you have Jesus. Shouldn’t that be enough to keep joy in your heart? No matter what?

But all too often, it's not enough. All too often I find my eyes wandering to the areas of lack, of less than, of imperfection. I find my heart longing for things He has not called forth in my life. I find frustration in my circumstances... where there should be peace and joy in the place He has called me. 

Look into your circumstances, and find Christ at work right there. At a table at Red Robin, or your desk at work, or your home with little ones always underfoot. Wonder that He would bring you here, for just such a time as this... What are you going to do with this opportunity... with this moment...? You can complain, or you can find the wonder.

The choice is yours.

Father, I am sorry for those times that I have lost my wonder… I am sorry for focusing on my moment instead of your eternity! Bring our eyes back to you, Lord. Bring our eyes back to your beautiful face, and restore our wonder! Restore our sense of awe at the works of your hand, in creation and in our hearts. Father  help us be a people stepping out of darkness, a people walking in your Light, a people full of rejoicing rather than complaints. We love you Lord, we want to know you more!! Thank you for your son Jesus and may we never lose our wonder at the work He did for us on that cross… it’s in His beautiful name we pray… 

a reason to dance

He was dancing with reckless abandon at the side of the road. Windows down, I knew the music he danced to was alone in his soul. There was no radio, no band, no background song… just the beat of his hand against the sign tucked under his arm.  The dance could only be described as part hip hop, part Native American Tribal dance. From one foot to the other he hopped in rhythm, head bent toward the earth, free arm dancing up and down in front of him.  As he turned to make his hopping, rhythmic way back toward our car I couldn’t help but see the look of sheer exhilaration on his face. Joy unspeakable. He danced not as though no one was watching… He danced in the full knowledge that every eye peering from every windshield at that intersection were firmly on him.

Yet this man was not put on that street corner to dance.  The sign he had tucked beneath his arm announced a “store liquidation sale” and “close-out prices”… This young man was dancing before a store that was going out of business.  He had been hired to stand out in front of a store, waving a sign around to garner passer-by’s attention and curiosity.

But the sign had become secondary to the dance. It was sideways and partially obstructed by the hand that maintained the rhythm for the dance.  He was not waving it in the air, or pointing to the store, or calling to passing by cars… he was just dancing.

And because of that I took notice. Because of his abandoned joy I made a point to read the sign, to try to discern what brought him to that grassy patch at the side of the road. My curiosity was piqued, not by someone yelling into my open window as I drove by, but by someone caught up in the joy of the dance.

My heart dropped a bit as the light changed from red to green. Our moment in his audience had come to an end. As we drove by, he broke from the rhythm long enough to greet us with an enormous wave- you know, the kind that causes your entire body to shift back and forth with its force. Looking me in the eye he smiled from the depth of who he was. He was having so much fun on his grassy stage under the open sky…

I thought about his dance as I made my way onto the exit ramp, the smile still crawling across my face. And then all at once it hit me…

This moment of God revealing His heart in the world around us.  Another opportunity to experience His grace in the every day.

This man who danced with such gusto and fervor… had completely forgotten about the work he had been called to that grassy corner to do. Cockeyed sign beneath his arm, obstructed by his dancing body and beating hand... forgotten by the dancer... yet noticed by me. 

How many times have I passed by someone holding the same yellow and red store liquidation sign, and took no notice at all? Dozens and dozens, I am sure. Yet this one who, in fairness, was not doing the thing he had been hired to do particularly well... got my attention.  

The rules looked like standing in front of a store, prominently holding a sign and calling out to cars that drove by. 

Instead he chose to dance. 

And I noticed.

As I thought about his exuberance, his reckless abandon... God brought to mind David's undignified dance before the Ark of the Covenant. His reckless love for God, and how the joy of His presence caused David to lose Himself in worship of the One who He knew to be worthy.  Scripture tells us that he "danced before the Lord with all his might"... dancing before the Lord with all he had! Worshiping with his everything! Like this man on his grassy stage, he gave himself completely over to the joy of the moment. 

How do you live your life before God? 

Have you become so absorbed by the work of holding the "I am a Christian" sign that you have lost the joy of the dance?

I think about that man, hired to hold a sign... yet his JOY was so much more effective in drawing my attention to the great sale going on a parking lot behind him. I think about David, dancing with absolute abandon before the Lord, forgetting the protocol of his kingship in the light of the glory of the King. 

It's not about the work (although He certainly calls us to good works). It's not about doing the right things (although the right things are good). It's about celebrating our God extravagantly!!! It's about dancing before Him with all our might! It's about loving Him with a sold out heart! 

Then those who are around you, those on-lookers who glance toward your grassy stage from the front seats of their cars... will see the JOY you find in the Lord! And seeing your joy, they will come to participate in it, just as that smile spread across my own face. 

Had that man been standing there holding his bright yellow sign toward the sky for all to see, I would not be thinking about him today. 

People aren't impressed by your "I am a Christian" sign, folks. They are impressed by your joy! By your exuberance in serving! By your abandoned heart! Our "I am a Christian" signs will get the attention of a few, certainly... but our JOY will get the attention of everyone! Without trying, the tribal-hip hop dancer pointed to the store that was advertising a sale. His exuberance got my attention, and then my curiosity led me to search for the sign and uncover the reason for his being there. 

Our lives should look like that! Our lives should point to Christ, to His love, to His grace, whether we are trying to or not. Our ravished hearts should draw the attention of the world, and make them curious.

However, be forewarned friend, that some will not be curious. Some will be furious... as David danced before the Lord, his wife Michal watched from a window, disgusted that he would ignore the proper behavior expected of a king. That's not the way it's supposed to look. That's not the way a proper person acts. That's not the way we have always done it... Don't be discouraged by the naysayers. Respond as David did when he answered "I will celebrate before the Lord! I will become even more undignified than this...!"

We are called to live our lives before the Lord! Dancing our hearts out for an Audience of One! The truth is, some will be offended by your joy... but they are not the ones you live for.  I am sure there were people in cars around me that grumbled about the man dancing to and fro with a sign tucked beneath his arm. But for me, for my daughter... we were inspired to live our lives with joy. And that's worth it. That's worth the price of the dance!!!

I have no idea what reason that man last weekend had for dancing. Maybe he was just full of joy and couldn't help himself. Maybe he was goofing off. Maybe he was bored with his job and he was trying to get fired. Maybe he succeeded...

What I do know is this... we have a reason to dance! 

We have a King whom we can call friend, a God whom we can call Daddy, a Spirit whom we can call comforter.


We have a reason to dance!  

We have FREEDOM in Christ Jesus, forgiveness, joy, peace, love!


We have a reason to dance! 

We have a HOME in HEAVEN, a hope and a future, redeemed souls and sanctified lives!


We have a reason to dance!

I'm not telling you to forget the work. I'm telling you to stick your "I am a Christian" sign under your arm and try using it as an instrument to keep the rhythm for your dancing feet... and worship the King. Not with just a little bit of you... but like David, with everything you have! 

I don't know what David's dance looked like exactly, but somehow, I think it looked a lot like the abandoned, joy-filled man of the man at the side of the road. A tribal mix of dance steps and rhythm... an open heart and abandoned love for his God. David's work was to bring the Ark of the Covenant back to the city, but he got lost in his worship... and guess what... the Ark still made it to Jerusalem.

Let's be a people that are so caught up in the worship of our Savior, that the work just flows from us. That like the man at the side of the road, who inadvertently drew my attention to the store behind him, we would draw attention to Jesus through our joyful worship of Him!! 

I promise, you will point to the King with your joyful life so much more effectively than you ever could holding a stoic sign. People will notice your exuberance... your joy, your passion, your love... and their curiosity will drawn them in! And in the meantime, you will be having so much fun dancing on your grassy stage under the open sky....!!!!


Serving God is not drudgery! It is not work! It is the greatest joy we will ever know this side of heaven! It flows from a thankful heart and a sold out life! If the knowledge of Christ's love for you doesn't cause you to get to your feet and move to the rhythm of His heartbeat, I don't know what will... We have a reason to dance! We have a reason for joy! We have a reason to leap from foot to foot, head bowed toward the earth and hand pointing toward the sky! So what do you say, my friend?


...shall we dance?

this has become one of mine and Tali's favorite songs... if you need a dancing rhythm, hit play and get moving!

friday flashback: a tale of a Father's love

He sits in his recliner watching television, a pile of son and daughter on top of him. Giggles pour from that corner of the room, a daddy teasing his children, children insatiable for his attention. I marvel at how they fit so perfectly together, Zach curled under one arm, Tali the other. I love that at 9 and 11 years old, they still fit on their daddy’s lap. I love that their daddy still longs to have them there.

This… this is how it is with our Daddy-God too… a Father who loves us with a lavish love. A Father who has adopted us into His Divine family.

You did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, "Abba, Father." The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children. Romans 8:15-16

Children of the most High God! Mind-boggling that the Creator would look upon His creation, a creation that has rejected Him, ran after other Gods, broken itself on the rocks of this world, and say… yes… she is the one I want! She is the one I will call child! 

I wonder, friend, if you know what it means to be the child of God? To know Him as more than a distant Creator, but as an intimate Father? To understand what it means to be accepted into this Divine family so completely, unconditionally, perfectly?

I do. 

I know a little about that kind of adoption.

Although I was purposed in the heart of God, I came as quite a surprise to my mom who found out she was pregnant with me just out of high school. Although she feared what would happen when she told her father, a man who swelled with anger and abuse at any perceived or even imagined wrong, she hoped that her boyfriend would choose to marry her. Surely he would, after all, they were 18… it would be the right thing to do…  

But that wasn’t in his plan. I wasn’t in his plan. This, I, was a major problem. And his answer was simple.

Get rid of the problem. 

I can’t imagine how my mom must have agonized. Her heart telling her that she couldn’t destroy the life growing within her, but knowing that her father's reaction would be swift and full of hatred. She must have been terrified. The world told her that it’s okay. It’s her body and her choice. That would be the easy road. Yet her heart confirmed that this was the very breath of life…  

She chose life.

I’m pretty happy about that. ;)

And while my “father” completely withdrew from the picture, her father surprised her by reacting to her, for what she says was one of the only times in her life, with grace and love.

Her heavenly Father also had a plan. A purpose. His name was Joe Talley, and for those of you who don’t know…. that’s my dad.

An unlikely pair who met over a bowl of truck stop soup on the west coast. She was young, desperate, and broke. So he offered to give mom a ride back as far as Indiana, where he lived. Wouldn't you know it, by the time they hit the Hoosier State, they had fallen in love. It wasn’t long before he and mom married, and they came to get me from my Mamaw's house. We moved to Bicknell, Indiana where I gained a new last name. Talley. 

A new identity.

We didn’t go through a fancy court proceeding or hire a high dollar lawyer. He and mom just sat me down at the kitchen table and asked if I wanted to have a new last name. It was that simple.

When dad took me into his family, into his heart, he did so completely. Without question. Without stipulation. Without condition.  That’s how God’s love is too! When we receive our divine adoption… God doesn’t ask us to fill out a form, or jump through hoops… ours is not a God of beaurocracy… He is a God of mercy! He simply stretches out his arms of forgiveness and wraps us in His perfect love! We get a new identity in HIM! And that’s how my daddy loved me.

Mom and dad never tried to get any support out of that man back in Ohio. We didn’t need him. I had a daddy, and he assumed complete responsibility for me- physically, financially, emotionally.  Our family was complete without that man, and despite the fact that we struggled financially, maintaining my identity in him was more important than a check from a person I’d never met. He just took me. That’s an amazing thing as I reflect back on it. He could have done so many things differently… he could have chosen to be a step-father… instead he chose to be a DADDY… he just accepted me and loved me. I was never ever ever made to feel any less than his daughter.

He told my mom once that she was his shiny new Peterbilt… keep in mind he was a truck driver- a shiny new Peterbilt is a big deal!... and I was the chrome mirrors. I was the icing on his cake. And not because I was perfect or beautiful or sweet (although I’m fairly certain I was all three) but because I loved him. And he loved me. Just because. 

Just because.

Then when I was twelve years old, my dad had a conversation with me that is still etched into my memory. Sitting together on top of a picnic table at our favorite campground he began to speak, voice shaking. “You probably know this”, he said “but I’m not your real father. I’m really your dad… but…” and he explained it to me. Now let me remind you that I REMEMBERED getting a new last name. I REMEMBERED bits and pieces of life before him. I KNEW that I was older than  mom and dad had anniversaries… and now all of that made sense because…

his love for me was so complete and so perfect and so unconditional and so real that I never once questioned who I was in him. He had to tell me that he was not my “father”. This is more than me being naïve… You see, my spirit testified with his spirit that we were family. And this little girl never questioned it…  

I know it sounds insane, I know I should have KNOWN, and on some level I’m sure I did… but I never QUESTIONED. And I still don’t. Because despite the person that helped create me… the daddy God ordained for me was Joe Talley.  

I’m not sure why it had to happen this way… but just six months after that conversation took place our world was shattered. My aunt woke me in the middle of the night and told me that they had taken dad to the hospital. It was no big deal, she said. Just heartburn, she said.

But she was wrong. It was a massive heart attack. And my daddy was gone. In the blink of an eye. Gone.

There’s no good way to explain what that season was like except to say, everything went crazy… the glue that held us together, as family, as people… was gone. This is not a place I like to go, friends. It takes my breath away to remember the pain of that loss… and the impact it had on that 12 year old little girl. I bottled the hurt up inside and quickly went about the business of building walls. Of learning to wear a face that says “I’m fine! Right as rain! Don’t worry about me!” But inside things were so broken. As secure as I once was, I became confused. The little girl who had led her family to church, found it difficult to relate to a God who would let this happen.

I couldn't connect with a “Father God”… I was a two-time loser with fathers... one had literally thrown me away and the other had been ripped from my life. Little questions in a little girl’s mind grew into bigger doubts… and big doubts grew, by the time I was in my early twenties, into a postmodernist unbelief… you know, the “many roads lead to heaven” kind of unbelief.

You see I had created for myself a comfortable god. One who honored whether or not we were nice to each other above any specific theology. One who didn't require that we call on his specific name. One who COULD overlook our inequities so long as we were “trying”. 

This god of my own making  was not a Father. He set the world into motion, and then sat back to watch it unfold. This god didn’t care about a relationship with me. Which was fine, because frankly I didn’t want a relationship with him either.

But see, Fathers love even when that love isn’t being returned… He watched from the window, even when I was in the far country. Gently, He began speaking to my heart and a hunger grew within me for Truth.  Showing up on Sunday mornings with more frequency. Picking up my Bible, long since forgotten on the shelf.

But there was still a distance.

A sea of doubt and disappointment between myself and God. No longer doubt that He was there, but doubt that He would love me. No longer disappointment for the hurt I had known in my life, but overwhelming feelings that He must be disappointed in me.  

Ah. But that is not the way of a Father’s love, is it?

A daddy’s love is different. I didn’t have to earn my dad’s love. I didn’t have to be perfect. I didn’t have to be beautiful. He didn’t have to “get to know me”. He just loved me. He wasn’t waiting to see if I’d make good grades, or develop a sense of humor, or excel at sports… HE LOVED ME RIGHT WHERE I WAS. 

Our Daddy-God is the same way! By Him we receive a spirit of sonship, and by him we cry “Abba, Father”, for the Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children!  Abba! Aramaic for Daddy! He isn’t just a Creator-God who set the world in motion! He isn’t an angry Father scowling in disappointment. He is a Daddy-God!

And we are his children! Just as purely as I was dad’s daughter- so too are you the sons and daughters of GOD… can you get your mind around that? That the most High would call you son, daughter?  Just as I trusted in the relationship I had with dad, so much that I had pushed from my thoughts any question as to whether I was his “natural” child… so too can you trust in your relationship with your Abba Father!

This was such a hard concept for me, and maybe it is for you too. I battled with feelings of unworthiness- how could God really love me? Doesn’t He know who I am? Doesn’t He see my failures? Didn’t He hear me when I denied Him? Didn’t He see that I had already been tossed away, that I had been shattered, and that I couldn’t bear much more? 

And then came a time when I found myself on my knees, in my living room… broken. And Abba called me into His lap.  It had been a long time since I had rested in my daddy’s lap. Tears streaming down my cheeks I realized… no more than realizing… I understood that He wanted not just a bit of me, but all of me. Good and bad… imperfect, weak, and broken… He desired me right where I was...He understood my hurt… my pain… my brokenness. 

Have you found that spot on your Daddy’s lap? That place under His arm that fits you perfectly? If you haven’t, He is ready. He is not a distant Creator-God… He is a God that went to the cross so that He could have a relationship with broken, flawed, imperfect you.  And when God adopts you into His divine family it’s just as pure and perfect as when my dad chose to love me.  No longer do you belong to a world that speaks death over you… you belong to the giver of life.

Are there things in your past you still cling to, because you are too embarrassed and ashamed to give them to God? Have you held him at arm’s length because you can’t imagine that He would really love you? Daddy’s love no matter what! Even when I scratched my name into the trunk of our “brand-new-to-us” Ford LTD… my daddy still loved me. Even when I told lies… my daddy still loved me. Even when I back talked… my daddy still loved me. Even though I was a “mistake”… my daddy still loved me. Daddy’s love no matter what! 

I know there are some of you who are still trying to work your way into His grace.  But grace, if by works… IS NOT GRACE.  Grace takes you where you are… and washes you clean as snow... Not because you deserve it or have earned it, but because He loves you that much!  I never had to earn my daddy’s love, he just held his arms open and I jumped in. Tali and Zach haven’t had to earn my love… it’s just there. No matter what they do, or who they become, I will love them. If I, a failed and broken human knows how to love my children… how much more must your Daddy-God loveyou?

Won’t you jump into your Daddy’s arms? He’s been waiting all of eterninty for this moment, for this chance to hold you, to know you. Don’t you see? His desire to love you ran so deep that He sent His only Son, so that we may be reconciled to Him.  Whatever shame burdens your heart, He wants to take it from you! Whatever storm is raging, He longs to shelter you! Whatever pain you carry, He longs to comfort you!  

It still hurts when I think about losing my daddy... But my Father in Heaven knows what it’s like to lose. My beautiful Jesus knows what it’s like to be separated from His Father. They understand. And in that, I find comfort.

I only had my daddy for nine short years… but in that time he crammed in enough love for a lifetime. Perfect, unconditional, no-strings-attached, genuine, deep, love.  I know what it’s like to be held secure in the arms of my daddy, both earthly and now heavenly. It took me a long time to believe that God would really love someone like me… but HE DOES!

And guess what… He loves people like you too!

happy birthday, to the little girl who changed my life...

Twelve and a half years ago I made a routine visit to my doctor’s office.  After the visit, as I sat on the side of the table, he asked “is there anything else we need to talk about”. I remember the nervous tension filling my body as the words tumbled out… “well… maybe it’s not a big deal, but we’ve been trying to have a baby for about a year, with no luck”.

I also remember the look on the doctor’s face. Concern.

He quickly responded that it did not have to be a big deal, but that really, we should be doing prenatal visits by now. Let’s look a little closer.

An ultrasound later, my mind was spinning with new terminology, a diagnoses, prescriptions…

PCOS. Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. It explained so much… missed cycles, no baby, that frustrating couple of hairs on my chinny-chin-chin. There was still blood work to be done, but the doctor was certain this was the cause of our delay.  

What was already a preoccupation with getting pregnant became a full out obsession. The next months were a flurry of fertility drugs, basal thermometers, cycle charts, message boards, pregnancy tests, internet research… it was a roller coaster from the heights of hope, to the depths of disappointment. It was a season of feeling less-than. Friends got pregnant who weren’t even trying… what was wrong with me that I couldn’t have a baby? What had I done?  There were days laying in a darkened bedroom when the blood test revealed no chance of ovulation.

And I was going it alone. Of course Jim was there (he was necessary to the process, after all)…  but I was far from God at the time. The depth of hopelessness I felt during this season haunts me… it reminds me of what the lost in this world deal with every single day.  Going through this world without Romans 8:28, or Jeremiah 29:11 or Psalm 139. It was heartbreaking and lonely and dark.

Yes, I was far from God. But now I know, He was never far from me. He knew just what I needed, and I am so thankful that even before I knew 2 Timothy was a book in the Bible, His promises found there held true… and even when I was faithless, He remained faithful.  That the One who knows the end from the beginning, knew that the child He was weaving together in my womb would be the very thing that led me back to Him…

With the clearest recollection, I remember the moment I pushed “play” on my answering machine and heard the nurse excitedly report “I was mistaken, Becky… I looked at last month’s results. We just got your test back and it looks like you DID ovulate this month!”

Hope.

The first glimmer of hope on the darkest of horizons. I knew that there was only a small chance that I would actually get pregnant after one ovulation… yet there was hope.

It was mid-May, and I was job coaching a client at a local nursing home. I never worked on Sundays, but this was an exception. It was early in the morning, and suddenly I felt sick. I ran to the bathroom and then returned to work. A few minutes later it happened again…

Splashing water on my face, in the bathroom of a nursing home that is no longer even there, I looked in the mirror and realized… it’s Mother’s Day. Could this be the most incredible mother’s day gift ever? Could I dare to hope that big?? I returned to my client, an older, out-spoken woman, who declared with no question in her mind “girl, you are pregnant”.

Five pregnancy tests later I finally believed her.

[Yes, five. I told you I was obsessed]

I had the most amazing pregnancy with this little one. In fact, that Mother’s Day was the only time I was even sick.  I knew even at that time that getting sick that morning was a special gift from God. It was a gift I didn’t deserve. To find out I was going to be a Mother, on Mother’s Day. Isn’t He beautiful?

And while that was a gift, I could not in my wildest imaginings know what a precious gift this child would be to my life. This little one that I dreamed would be a little girl, with lots of hair and dark eyes like her daddy.

And on January 17, 2001 that dream came true.

A brand new Tali Sue

We named her Tali Susanne. Talley was my maiden name, and it was an honor to pay homage to my own daddy, Joe Talley. But more than that, the baby name books revealed that Tali is a derivative of Talia, which is a Hebrew name that means "Dew from Heaven". It seemed appropriate, this child who felt like a miracle after a year and a half of the infertility roller coaster... but little could I know how prophetic her name would be.

As I sit here looking to my wall of pictures, the memories come flooding back. Her bright-eyed newborn picture. A child with an “old soul”, many of my friends would say. Always aware, always watching… absorbing her world. The toddler who would ask Mamaw how her hip was feeling. So tender, so empathetic.  The 2.5 year old so excited to take her first dance class… watching her through the glass as she bent down and forced her feet into first position with her hands. The big sister holding her prize and joy in the form of a squirmy, red newborn brother. The little girl who led me back to Jesus.

You know how babies are, you want to show them off. So a week after she was born, I dolled her up and headed to church. Now I had been attending church on and off for a while, but it was nothing serious… it just seemed to be the right thing to do.  Sitting in that pew that Sunday, I knew that she should be raised in a church, just as I had been. And so those intermittent trips to FBC Bicknell became regular.

And God began speaking to me. Calling to me. He wanted more than an hour of my time. He wanted me.

Still, I resisted.

My daughter, however, was falling in love with Jesus. She would dance in worship, while I worried what everyone would think of me if I raised my hands. And this kid talked about God all of the time. Everything she learned in children’s church became discussion later that day. She reminded me of the love I once had for Him.

Still, I resisted.

It’s not that I didn’t want Jesus. It’s that I did want the world. And I wouldn’t sacrifice the latter to have the former. I was comfortable in my sin, and I wanted to stay there. Couldn’t I just have them both?

And then, when Tali was 3 years old… we skipped church to go to the campground and visit with Mamaw and Papaw.  Tali was walking their puppy on a leash, she was watching the dog… she didn’t see where she was going… but her daddy did. He yelled out “Tali! Tali! Tali!” and began to run her direction. I turned just in time to see my precious little miracle falling backward into the campfire ring.

Everyone else ran to her- Jim was almost to her already. My brother was right behind. But I couldn’t go. I couldn’t face what I might see. I turned my face to the sky and covering my eyes with my hands I cried out… Oh Jesus, please protect her. Please protect her. Please protect her.

Shouts interrupted my prayers- “Water! Water!” I turned to see a cooler sitting nearby. Throwing the last few items left from a long weekend camping out on the ground, Jim plunged her into the icy water. My mind reminded me that ice isn’t good for burns, but we had no other options and so we had to make do. I remember looking at her little face… the sheer terror in her eyes. She wasn’t even crying- just looking back up at us in fear.  We didn’t bother to check her over- we just got immediately in the car and went to the hospital.

It was there, with her on my lap in the front seat, wrapped in a wet towel, that I looked at her little hand, now twice its size. I remember thinking that it looked like a lion's paw. Yellowish with blisters that covered the entire underside of her fingers and palm.  Surely her back was just as bad. She was laying on a bed of hot coals, her legs dangling over the edge of a steel fire ring. Surely we were on our way to Wishard, a hospital with a burn unit a couple of hours away. I prayed in her ear for her to have the strength to show her hand to the doctors and nurses. To be courageous as they treated her wounds. For God to protect her body from shock.

And you know, although my heart had resisted His call time and time and time again… He heeded every one of those prayers. Because He knows the end from the beginning. He knew just what I needed.

Jesus indeed protected her as she lay in that fire ring. Unexplainably, her hand was the only significant injury. Her back had one minor burn, and although her legs were dirty from the fire ring- the ring that sizzled and crackled when my family poured water on the remainder of the coals- they were not hurt.  Her left hand had a few small burns. But her right hand. It was bad.

She had to go through 10 days of painful debridement and twice daily bandage changes. And she was so brave.  I couldn’t help but think of the irony that, having just started going to SonShine Kids she had memorized only one Bible verse in her little life. Isaiah 41:10:

Tali, the day before her accident.

So do not fear, for I am with you;
Do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Pulling up to the hospital every morning, she would say “do I have to go in, Mommy?” and when I told her we had to, to make her hand better… she would get out of the car, take my hand, and walk in bravely. I never had to carry this three year old child, kicking and screaming into the place that would cause her such pain. She walked in of her own accord. What courage!

When debridement was over, and I can’t even describe to you what that time in that little room was like, she would go to her therapist… and give them a hug. As if to comfort them.  What grace!

And when debridement got particularly bad, and I was questioning why He would allow this to happen to my little girl, why not me… her comment to the song on the radio broke in to my thoughts… “Hey mommy! This song is about my best friend, God!” Less than fifteen minutes after enduring the pain of scalpels and scissors, she reminded me that God was still her best friend. What faith!

When I felt that things were looking hopeless, and the PT on a Sunday morning warned that she was seeing little improvement, Tali went to church and raised her hand in worship… and what were the words being sung?? “I never said you woudn’t have to walk through the fire…” What love!

Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will strengthen you with my righteous right hand.

She recited this verse during this time. And I learned that it was true.  

It was then, that God began to wreck my heart. He showed me His son, through my daughter.  Through her courage, her grace, her faith, and her love… I met Jesus in an entirely different way.  It set me on the path to real relationship... a relationship that is everything to me now.  And then, just to put the icing on the cake (after all, He is a lavish Father), He began to heal her hand that day… so that no grafts or surgeries or even physical therapy was required.

Tali’s love for Jesus has only grown over the last eight years. And that courage, grace, faith, and love that were first evidenced in a three year old have carried her far with the Lord. She has a zeal for Him. Jesus is her first love, and she always keeps that in perspective.  Recently given a chance to take an additional dance class a week (which she wants to do so badly), she told me she just couldn’t, because Monday is Bible Study night and her week “just isn’t right without Bible Study”.  When she heard about kids enslaved in Africa, she didn’t just feel sorry for them, she did something, joining with a friend and launching Kids 4 Freedom.  When her teacher gave her the chance to teach a Bible Study during recess one day a week, she didn’t question the call and said yes.

And so I continue to learn from her. From her dedication to her priorities… from her conviction to the be a world-changer, never complacent with the knowledge that “someone else” will do it… from her trusting the call God has on her life, and following it whole heartedly (okay, okay, so I’m still learning this last lesson, but with His help I am working on it)… 

When I look back over the last eleven years… I can’t imagine my life without Tali. To say that she changed my life is an understatement… she has changed my eternity.  She is not perfect (for more on that you can read this post), but she is in love with Jesus, and He is working her toward perfection, just as He is all of us!  And I am so thankful that, in the book of my life, He wrote in this beautiful child to be a part of that process. Not just for me, but for her daddy as well.

He truly knew, just what we needed when he knit her together. He knew that our hearts were far from Him.  He also know that a little child shall lead them. He sent us a precious gift in Tali Sue.

Beautiful Tali, loving on her Daddy God

Our “Dew from Heaven”. Certainly, that is exactly what this child is… precious dew from His hand, sent to quench this dry and weary land. She started with the arid desert of my heart, and then turned her gentle gift of grace on her daddy, leading him to church when my invitations sounded like nagging.  She now prays for others in our family to know the relationship she knows.  She shares her love for her Savior with her friends at school in her Bible Study.  And my heart is preparing itself for the continued plans the Lord has for her… to quench the desert places of the world with His grace and love. He isn't done with her yet.

Birthdays are meant for celebrating, and so today I celebrate my beautiful daughter. The one who knew I was worried about the storm this morning, and so texted me "Love You" just before entering school and turning her phone off. The child whom I am given the responsibility of teaching, guiding, encouraging… This child who has done all of those things for me. 

I love you, Tali Sue... there are not enough words to express how big that love is... Thank you for who you are... 

And thank you Father, for giving this special, precious gift to someone like me. What grace...