Stars in a Desert Sky

Stars in a Desert Sky

A Story for my Family

A story of Daddy

by

Patricia Farrell

Christmas, 2008 Lately I’ve found myself taking time away to sort out my thoughts, and to rest from stresses of family. Sometimes I wander in my car, sometimes I land in a swanky coffee place. These days more often it’s the swanky coffee places that win, as it’s very cold this December. One evening I took my journal along, planning to write down some of my feelings in response to a counseling session earlier in the day. Instead, my long lost muse took me elsewhere: Home for Christmas. I hate eating in the middle of a place. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, making a pig of myself. I really feel like just a dressed up pig or something. You can dress her up, but …. And of course I’m wearing black, so every tiny crumb that falls when I break up this dry biscotti or put a piece in my mouth shows up like stars in a desert sky.

Stars in a Desert Sky ……..

Daddy said, “Let’s go for a ride!” and we piled in the car. “Where are we going, Daddy?” we asked excitedly. Sometimes Daddy’s “rides” took us only to the store, sometimes to the beach, sometimes we ended up at Grandma’s. Depending on what kind of day it had been I would be anything from disappointed to elated to down-right depressed at the end of them. But I would never deny I thoroughly enjoyed the “ride” in our old, turquoise, Dodge station-wagon. It had brought us all the way across Dixie from Atlanta, with us singing “California, here I come, right back where I started from!” at the top of our lungs, led by Daddy, for whom alone the song was true. We four girls including Mama were each and every one born in the Atlanta area. “Don’t know,” said Daddy. “Wherever we end up, I guess. Let’s just go for a ride.” “Ok!” we said, wanderlust burning in our young hearts so we couldn’t sit still on the vinyl-upholstered, bench seats. Janice, as usual, had parked in the middle of the front seat, next to Daddy. She always got to go there because she was the baby. I liked the back window best. I could gaze out as long as I liked and watch the tumbleweeds go by …. Or the concrete …. Or sagebrush ….. Or tract homes. Whatever it was going by the window I didn’t always see it anyway. My mind was usually far , far away in a daydream about heroes and heroines and castles and battles won and horses faithful … or dogs … and filled always with singing singing singing. There wasn’t a thing alive I knew that didn’t have a song with it in my mind. I sang (or hummed, when there weren’t any words) my favorite TV shows’ themes over and over in my mind, and sometimes just under the noise of the car so the rest of the family wouldn’t hear me and comment. Or other times I sang along with my mother and sisters to keep Daddy awake on a long drive, like when we kept on driving one day and ended up in the desert. 1,000 Palms, they said it was. Were there really a thousand? “Did you count them, Daddy? How do you know there are a thousand?” Daddy coasted the Dodge along the side of the road, out in nowhere. He cut the engine and turned off the lights. “What’s going on, Daddy? Why did you stop?” “Tell Kathy to quit poking me! Stop it!” “She did it first!” “Now quiet down, settle down!” Daddy’s voice took on his authority figure sound. It wasn’t quite real, it was his fake superior officer voice he used to make us laugh at home sometimes when Mom gave him the job of quieting the herd because her hands were in spaghetti or something. Daddy liked to do that voice. He could pretend he was something more than a seaman 1st class in the Navy or a corporal in the Army. It always backfired, though, because we just got the giggles and couldn’t stop, which was louder than the fighting sometimes. “Now be very, very quiet,” Daddy lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “You want to see something you’ll never see at home?” “What?” we all whispered. “Well,” Daddy liked to take his time. “If you get out of the car and stay right next to it …” we hung on his every word, “… then you just tip your head back as far as it can go….” “Yeah?” said Janice. She was the baby. “Be quiet!” I said, “Daddy’s telling us!” “Shh ….” said Kathy. “All right, settle down. Let’s go outside and you’ll see.” Daddy grabbed Janice as she tried to rush off into the sand. She was the baby. “Stay right here, Dewey.” She did. I guess she did. I don’t remember having to go look for her so she must have. But she really must have been quite a baby still, because she doesn’t seem to remember this kind of thing the way I and Kathy do. But I digress. We all stepped outside the car over Mom’s protests. She didn’t think it was quite safe, but came along to help protect us from the desert. We stood quite close to Daddy, because the night was suddenly very sand, and we had the feeling there was just something not quite right about a family of five and their Dodge station-wagon stopping in the desert in the night to see something they couldn’t see at home. But Daddy was there. Big and strong and not afraid. And so we weren’t either. We were big and strong and not afraid next to Daddy. “Now,” said Daddy in a church voice. “You’re all growing up in the city kind of, and things are getting all built up there so you can’t see the things we used to see every day growing up. Where we live it used to be all trees and orange groves. But out here it’s still just the way nature made it. My dad used to take us out here so we could see this, and so I brought you all out so you can too. Now, look straight up, and tell me what you see.” We looked up, and “oohed” with amazement. “You can’t see ‘em like that where we live,” said Daddy. “Stars in a desert sky shine brighter than anywhere else.” “Why, Daddy?” Kathy asked. “Because the air is so dry there’s no clouds or mist in between, and there’s no smog either. Also all the city lights make the stars look dim where we live. Here they shine so brightly …..” and Daddy seemed to be seeing something far in the heavens. “Just as God created them,” said Mama. “The sun to rule the day and the stars to rule the night …” She snuggled up next to Daddy, who put his arm around her. We took deep breaths of the sun-scorched pure air of the desert. It smelled like tumbleweeds, I thought. Daddy and Mama heaved heavy sighs, and Mama started singing a hymn. We all got back in the car and joined in Mama’s singing. Mama had such a pretty voice, so soft and sweet.

And Daddy joined in with his gentle baritone.

Silent Night, holy night All is calm, all is bright Round yon virgin mother and child Holy Infant so tender and mild Sleep in heavenly peace Sleep in heavenly peace. Silent Night, holy night Wise men see the Star so bright With the angels let us sing Alleluia to our King Christ the Savior is here! Jesus our Savior is here.

Janice fell asleep soon after we started home. But I stared out the window long at the desert bright stars, and pondered all these things in my heart. Janice was just a baby. Patricia L. Farrell December 3, 2008 Starbucks, Tualatin (Martinazzi)

What has happened is simple, like a song I learned so young.  I've sloughed off all falsehood.  

I know that sounds simplistic and oversimplified, but it is the truth.

A couple of months ago, I went on our annual family "vacation" to Southern California, spending four days of it at the beach resort my husband grew up visiting every year.  While there, I realized I could not continue my life in the way I had been going.  I didn't know why at the time, and I am still exploring the reasons, but I felt an overwhelming compulsion to. simply. STOP.

Some may believe they recognize here what is commonly called a mid-life crisis.  Others might call it backsliding into my carnal nature.  Still a few may try and characterize my desire to put a stop to the hectic pace of suburban parental life without a husband, mainly, as a psychological crisis in need of a therapist, and maybe they'd be right.  All I know is that listening inside myself I suddenly heard "I'm not going back".  And so I haven't.

Oh yes, I came home physically with my family, how could I not?  But ever since the day I realized I was not living MY life I have not taken up the old reigns, except to care for my children.  And this is right.

You see, I am created in the image of God, a vital part of the Body of Christ, a Masterpiece, a work of art, a living, breathing, growing, giving being, called to service in the arts.  And I can't do better than heed the call.

For a very long time I've listened to voices from outside myself that advise me to ignore the promptings of the Spirit within.  These voices don't hear the Song, and can't appreciate mine.  I refuse to give them the honor of being heard any longer.

Friends and acquaintances (that may be redundant) think I need their advice, need their encouragement to continue in the old ways.  But I need no advice any longer about how to spend my time, energies, and money.  At this point in my life I really think I can be considered mature enough to make these decisions for myself.  They mean well, they just don't get it.

Here are my priorities for answering God's call on the rest of my life:

My children

My family

My gifts and talents

Nothing else matters.  All else will stem from these, and will definitely be enough for me.  For my children and family I will travel anywhere.  In my pursuit of ways to use the gifts and talents I was given will be found ample work as well as amusement. Among my family members, with my children, in using my talents and gifts, my spirit will be filled to overflowing in the worship of the Giver.

What else could one want?

So don't bother calling and trying to tell me I need to drag myself back to yet another shindig for the sake of an institution which neither cares nor wants the real me. Because I won't be listening.  I'm not listening.  I haven't for about three months.

I have bigger fish to fry.

Pescadores yo osare,

Yo osare,

Yo osare.

Pescadores yo osare

Si seguis a Mi.

Si seguis a Mi,

Si seguis a Mi.

Pescadores yo osare,

Si seguis a Mi.

Now my boat's left on the shoreline behind me,

By Your side I will seek other seas.

Thank You, Jesus.

Simply forever Yours,

Patty

The New Kid on the Block

Introducing Thomas Jefferson Farrell, affectionately known as "Jeffy".  He was added to our family on Wednesday, July 16, 2008.  Jeffy was born March 22, 2008, and is the most darling thing we've ever known in canine breeds.

However, he does have a few idiosyncracies we'd love for him to lose, like peeing on the carpet from time to time... throughout the day.  Usually just AFTER he's brought in from outside, when we least expect it.  Time for Wee-Wee Pads I suspect.  We were told he was house trained.

Then there's his incorrigible habit of chewing the carpet.  If it weren't for the fact he is only finishing what the cats started a couple years ago, he would be only a memory by now, banished forever for having the unmitigated gaul to harm a hair of my husband's house.  He sure is lucky the cats got there first, and were the beloved animal family, therefore set a precedent where that little bit of carpet was concerned.

Or maybe it's just because Jeffy's just so gosh darned CUTE.

And then..... there's the way he digs the sofa.  I don't mean he DIGS the sofa, man.  I mean he actually digs up the sofa.  He found a treat beneath one of the cushions once, so now he believes all he has to do is dig hard enough between them and he'll find one again.  Gladly may he have his way with that sofa.  Never liked it, never will, didn't pick it out in the first place, never wanted it, want it to go away forever.  And soon it shall, heheheheee....

But I digress.  Back to the puppy, or Jeffy, as John has dubbed him.  His endearing qualities more than make up for his wayward puppy peeing, carpet chewing, sofa digging, and even his terrifying the cats, who don't realize he's more afraid of them when they get their dander up than they should be of him.  He lived with bigger dogs and cats almost since he was born.  He thought they'd like him too.  Poor cats, every time he comes over to introduce himself, they think he's going to take a chunk out of them.  If only they could talk to each other.  Ah, well, I'm sure they'll figure it out eventually.  In the meantime the problem is keeping them from eating each other's food.  Time for the baby gate.

Jeffy has the smartest face.  He's always thinking, and the foster nanny thought "the professor" would be a good name for him.  His fur is just right, not too short, not too long, as is his tail, which he wags quite vigorously when he wants to play, which is often.  He NEVER barks.  He yipped at the cats once to ask them to play and it scared the living daylights out of them, so he's never done it since.  He growled once when someone was coming to the door, but we told him to be quiet and he was.  He sleeps peacefully with our son, either on his bed or in Jeffy's own bed, all night, not even rising when we do but waiting until he's invited.  He does his dirty business outdoors, not indoors, thankfully.  He knows where the back door is, and I actually saw him sitting there expectantly yesterday.  (I wonder if that was before or after he peed by my husband's favorite chair.....)  He is the perfect size for cat lovers, about the same size as ours if not a little smaller.  He rides in the car nicely, we were told.  (Although John says on the way home he cried the whole way.)

Enough.  Words can't do him justice.  Enjoy the pics.

If there were a song for this one it would have to "How Much is that Doggy in the Window", as I don't know of any psalms, hymns, or spiritual songs that refer to the wagging tail of a dog.

Simply yours,

Patty

Just want to share this.  Our church partners with World Vision to help bring water to villages in Africa.  Our choir sang an African song for visitors from one of the villages last year.  We sent a team there this month to learn more, and they were greeted by this spontaneous performance of a congregation singing the same African song our choir had sung for their fellow church members when they were here.

http://web.mac.com/gchandl/LGPC-GO-Team/Podcast/Entries/2008/7/6_Woodland_Baptist_Church_-_Bonse_Aba.html

I hope that comes through.  To visit our church's blog go to http://web.mac.com/gchandl/LGPC-GO-Team/Blog/Archive.html

Enjoy.

Simply yours,

Patty

Well.  

I see it has been almost two months since I last posted, which was not my intention at all.  I apologize for my absence here.  Recently our family has suffered several blows, which have taken all my energy to combat.  But by the grace of God, I was prepared, and all I had to do was "trust and obey".

I sat in the school counselor's office and felt the blood drain from my face.  It was as if someone had put a vacuum to my mouth and sucked out all the air.  Words raced through my mind, whirling like a storm in Central Pennsylvania.... Scriptures I'd learned as a child, long ago, flitted through my mind.  I thought of how God had proved Himself "o'er and o'er" throughout the recent months, and how strong my faith had grown.  Was it all to crumble so quickly and so soon?  How could He do this to me??!

The words the counselor had just spoken echoed in my head, as if trying to gain admittance to a locked gate.  Over and over I rallied, and the terror at the pit of my stomach would retreat, only to come again as my human mind returned humanly to its human workings: "MY child?? MY child???  Never!!!  This CANNOT be!!"  But it was.  And I was sitting in this office receiving one of the most horrific pieces of news a parent can hear about a child.  A deep depression had caused this one to do something  dark and fearsome, something which I had no experience with, except having heard about other people's kids doing it, seemingly because they have no Savior.  This child had a Savior, knew the Savior, had chosen to follow the Savior.  This made NO sense to me, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually.  This sword pierced my mother soul.

As I've told previously, I had been on a journey with Beth Moore, Bible Study teacher extraordinaire, along with women at my church, through video.  We had just completed "Stepping Up: A Journey Through the Psalms of Ascent" together about two weeks prior to this fell news.  As I've recounted, I found my faith growing by leaps and bounds throughout the six weeks I walked that way.  The Lord showed Himself to me in such uncertain terms there was no mistaking His being or His choosing of me a daughter in His kingdom.  Nor His promises.

In the last video with Beth, she talked about how we'd had such a blessed time together on the journey.  She told us that though we would leave there, we'd take memories with us, but not just memories.  She said we'd take the blessings of what we'd learned on the journey home with us.  And she told us we'd need them, oh yes.  Because as soon as we left that place we were entering the mission field, where the enemy was devoted to our fall.  She told us to be steadfast, to stand firmly beside one another, and she told us something else.  

When the Israelites were preparing to fight a battle they were sure to lose, as they were outnumbered vastly, the Holy Spirit spoke to one of the crowd and instructed Jehoshaphat thus:

"Listen, all Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem and King Jehoshaphat: thus says the Lord to you, 'Do not fear or be dismayed because of this great multitude, for the battle is not yours but God's.  Tomorrow go down against them.  Behold, they will come up by the ascent of Ziz, and you will find them at the end of the alley in front of the wilderness of Jeruel.  You need not fight in this battle; station yourselves, stand and see the salvation of the Lord on your behalf, O Judah and Jerusalem."  (2 Chron. 20:15-17)  

Well, Jehoshaphat was awed, of course, and he and everyone bowed down to the Lord, then they stood up and praised Him "with a very loud voice." (v. 19)  And the next day, when the battle was to be waged, Jehosphaphat instructed them thus:

"Listen to me, O Judah and inhabitants of Jerusalem, put your trust in the Lord your God,  and you will be established.  Put your trust in His prophets and succeed."  And when he had consulted with the people, he appointed those who sang to the Lord and those who praised Him in holy attire, as they went out before the army and said, "Give thanks to the Lord, for His lovingkindness is everlasting."

And when they began singing and praising, the Lord set ambushes against the sons of Ammon, Moab, and Mount Seir, who had come against Judah; so they were routed." (2 Chron. 20: 20b-22)

With the verses still whirling in my head, I grasped onto one Word that had come to me the night before I was to have two teeth pulled for orthodontics, the very next day after the last study session.  I had mentioned to my pastor how I had never been put under with general anaesthetic before, and even before I could voice my fear the only words out of her mouth were: "No fear".  She kept repeating that, saying of course she would pray for me.  But it was all I needed then.

And it was all I needed now.  Sitting in that chair which was the only thing holding me up until then, I wrapped my bowline or towline, whichever the seaman's right word is, around that fence post so tight nothing on earth or under it could have separated me from the words: "No fear".  I remembered then, what Beth had said.  I began to listen to the counselor's words explaining that my child had only done this once, and was very worried about being embarrassed, and wanted to get help for this problem.  I listened as she listed resources, and spoke of the wonderful, amazing person I've been gifted to live with and to help raise.  

And then I spoke of God.  I told the counselor I needed a minute, because there was no way I could walk this road without my God.  I told the counselor I don't know how anyone can walk this road without God, because I've tried it, and without Him I would not be sitting in that room right now, but would have turned and run as far away as I could get from this problem.  Because there is no help for it without God.  She nodded kindly.  I don't know if she agreed, and I don't care, because that battle is God's too.

My child came and I allowed my pain to show.  We melted in each other's arms, and there was healing.  We are still on this difficult road, but we are not walking it alone.  We have professionals to help, yes, but really the only Helper we need was always there, we just needed to remember and trust.  And we are walking toward in the light of His presence.

I went home that day and my child went to a friend's house.  My soul longed for music to soothe.... and the first thing I grabbed up from my pile of CD's was our practice CD for the Sanctuary Choir's benefit concert for Senegal.  We had raised over $30,000 a few weeks before singing these songs, and I loved them.  So I put the CD in and began washing dishes.  I thought of Beth's words in the video.  She had said when the enemy attacks we're going to want to run and hide, or we're going to want to fight back in our human way.  But it's God's way that will win, not ours.  She told us not to run to the back of the army, but to put ourselves out front and center, not with weapons of battle, but with songs of praise.

That afternoon I put this into practice.  I would have done ANYTHING to ensure a victory in this battle.  As the CD played I sang along with every song.  It lifted my spirits, this is true.  But it wasn't that I am telling you this for.  It was that after some time it suddenly hit me that every song in that concert had been a song of PRAISE!  And it was praise I needed just now.  As I sang the next song, "All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name", with an almost primitive tune and rhythm, I realized the satan was falling like a lightening bolt from his position over my child.  I know this sounds rather fanciful to some and scarily charismatic to others, but it is just exactly what I thought while I sang the words.

All hail the pow'r of Jesus' name,

Let angels prostrate fall.

Bring forth the royal diadem

And crown Him Lord of all,

And crown Him Lord of all!

How sweet the name of Jesus sounds

In a believer's ear!

It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, 

and drives away his fear.

It makes the wounded spirit whole,

And calms the troubled breast;

'Tis manna to the hungry soul,

And to the weary rest.

All hail the pow'r of Jesus' name,

Let angels prostrate fall.

Bring forth the royal diadem

And crown Him Lord of all,

And crown Him Lord of all!

Dear Name! the Rock on which I build,

My shield and hiding place,

My never failing treas'ry, filled

With boundless stores of grace.

Jesus, my Savior, shepherd, friend,

My prophet, priest, and king,

My Lord, my life, my way, my end,

Accept the praise I bring.

All hail the pow'r of Jesus' name,

Let angels prostrate fall.

Bring forth the royal diadem

And crown Him Lord of all,

And crown Him Lord of all!

Weak is the effort of my heart,

And cold my warmest thought;

But when I see thee as thou art,

I'll praise thee as I ought.

Till then I would thy love proclaim

With every fleeting breath;

And may the music of they name 

Refresh my soul in death.

All hail the pow'r of Jesus' name,

Let angels prostrate fall.

Bring forth the royal diadem

And crown Him Lord of all,

And crown Him Lord of all!

And crown Him Lord of all!!

(Edward Perronet, John Newton)

That night was choir practice.  A twinge of a desire to stay home and nurse my wounds tugged at my mind.  But I knew that was the wrong choice.  I knew that a soldier of the cross was called to go to the forefront of this battle and fight by singing praises.  And so I went.  And the piece we rehearsed first seemed to tell me I'd made the right choice.

My Jesus I love Thee, I know Thou art mine.

For Thee all the follies of sin I resign.

My gracious Redeemer, My Savior art Thou.

If ever I love Thee,

My Jesus,

'Tis now.

(William R. Featherstone)

Go in peace.  Serve the Lord with singing.

Thanks be to God!

Simply yours,

Patty

Therefore the redeemed of the Lord shall return, and shall come singing unto Zion, and everlasting joy shall be upon their head: they shall obtain gladness and joy; and sorrow and mourning shall flee away.  Isaiah 51:11.

Another simple song began running around in my head this morning. I could only remember the last few lines until I looked it up.  Took me awhile, as my old NASB concordance is scanty, and I couldn't find the right wording in any transla-tion.... until I simply typed in the words as I remembered them in the song on Google.  Then voila! up it came in all its glory. 

 (I love Google!  When I get to heaven the first thing I think I'll do, after hugging my dad and saying hello to all the precious saints I've known who've gone on before, is thank God for Google, because it has been the pathway for me to so many, many blessings, not the least His Word in umpteen translations.)

"... and come with singing unto Zion..."  I began this journey home with you a few weeks ago.  I had intended to write a piece each week, to recap what I'd learned in the study by Beth Moore,  "Psalms of Ascent".  I had hoped so very much for others to post their insights here as well. But alas, it seems not to be.  Apparently others are not as computer trained as I've become.  What a loss!  But my visions aren't always shared by others.  (Am I whining here?  I'm afraid so... On to better things!)  

Also, I have found this study so very rich that I scarcely have time to reflect over the week before a new astounding truth hits me in the head.  Don't laugh, it's no joke. God is seriously remodeling me here. However, I am learning too much not to continue sharing these insights with anyone who happens to come here, so here's some more from our study of Psalms 120-134.  I will simply have to share them as I remember them in front of this computer, and not worry so much about presenting a well-honed piece of literature.  (Picture a winking happy face here, with a curl right in the middle of her forehead, kind of like this:  6;D).

These last two weeks I've been learning that my presence in this Bible study is not purely a coincidence.  There are too many occurrences throughout each we

ek that coincide with what I'm hearing at the meetings, both from Beth Moore on tape and in the book, and from the other women I'm sharing this journey with.  I continue utterly amazed.

    Session One with Beth by video emphasized the song nature of the Psalms, and discussed how vastly deep God's Word sinks into our hearts when accompanied by music.  Almost all Scripture I still remember from my Baptist childhood remains with me because it is accompanied by a melody I can't forget.  The funny thing is, I don't even remember trying to memorize these Words, because I wasn't trying to memorize words, I simply sang along until I knew it by heart, like any other song.  Only these Words have never left me, because they're attached to a song, and "song is the fluent language of the soul", as Beth tells us.

And how much more we are moved by the Word when it's carried by song to not just our minds, but deep into our souls.  It reminds me of someone plodding through the snow, trying so hard to get somewhere fast!  But as soon as she sets herself up on skis, WHOOSH! off she flies, with almost no effort, it seems.  So God's Word to our hearts on the wings of a song. What a precious way for God to connect with me, a singer, and to show me how precious I am to Him!

Here is another insight that I can't pass up: in Session Two, Beth told us about sour dough. We connect these Psalms with three historic Jewish Feasts.  The focus here was on the Feast of Unleavened Bread, which takes place at the end of the Passover Feast and lasts seven days.  It was simply amazing to me, again, the timing of this discussion.  Beth talked about sourdough, and leaven being a lump of dough kept over from a previous baking of bread.  

Wondrously, the week before my daughter had been given some starter dough for Amish Friendship Bread, which in the way of busy teens, she had left for me to care for. You have to knead it every day ("Day 1: squeeze the bag, Day 2: squeeze the bag" etc...).  I had just finished baking two loaves and divvying up the sharing portions before I came to the meeting that night.  (I had meant to bring some starters to share, but of course forgot).  Right here was exactly what I had been doing all week as the illustration for the lesson!  How amazing is that?  Only a minutely personal God who has numbered each of our hairs and formed each cell of us when we were conceived in our mothers' wombs could orchestrate such a "coincidence"!

Coincidence?  Here's another:  at the close of that evening, I had word that a precious sister in Christ and fellow musician in the church had been taken to the hospital with a serious aneurysm behind her eye.  I stayed connected with the prayer chain over this one, praying throughout the night and through the following days, and through her surgery hours.  By the following week I had learned all had gone well with her surgery, and she was so well recovered she was able to go home the same weekend.  Praise be to God!  

"He keeps the Feasts."  But the funny thing was, I actually had on hand a token of friendship to send Nancy, all because my teenager was too busy to take care of her Amish Friendship dough.  Now isn't that something?  

As Beth says in the lesson, sour dough can actually be - well... sour.  Sour dough, as mentioned before, can be a lump "kept over from previous sin".  It got hidden somehow in the new dough... when we weren't looking... when we thought we'd forgiven... when we thought we'd really made the decision to start over new... this lump of sour  sinning was kept over to hold over our husband's head when he did something we didn't like yet again... to remind us we can never do anything without failing... to keep us back from committing to something that could break our hearts all over again...  Sour lumps.  Kept over.

God calls us to throw out the old leaven, to stop keeping over lumps of sour dough and hiding it in the new recipe.  He wants us to stop carrying forward the old, painful debts of our past, and start with a brand new slate.  It's a new day.  It's a new beginning for us.  Only we humans are still using the old dough, still burying the sourness in what we hope to make something new out of.  How can we, trapped in our humanness, possibly throw out the old leaven and start new in this new day??  I could see no way, trapped in my own set of human mistakes.

But praise be to God for His unspeakable grace!!  As Beth says, "He keeps the Feasts". What did God do with His sour dough of Israel? He put Jesus Christ a tiny Babe in the midst of the soured dough of the world.  He buried Him in the sin of humanity, like the unleavened bread he was crushed and bruised for the sake of sinful men and women and children.  "Surely He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows, and with His stripes we are healed."  I know.  I've been striped.  But He most certainly healed those stripes.  He took our stripes and made them His own.  He fell into the ground and died, to be raised again, the first fruits of the ones who've gone to rest, falling into the ground to be resurrected on the Last Day, my sweet father among them, and one day myself as well.  He became the sweet lump of leaven, replacing our sourness.

As Beth explained, the three great Feasts of Israel represent for Christians three most important, vital truths of God: the Passover - Christ's death, the Feast of Unleavened Bread - His burial, the Feast of First Fruits - His resurrection.  In Beth's words, "He keeps the Feasts".  Wow. Somehow I don't have words for that astounding connection. Think about it in your own words and images for a while... What an amazing God!!

How could we possibly keep from returning, singing, to our personal Zion, where God has showed Himself to us?  For everlasting joy will surely be upon our heads, running down over our shoulders, dripping onto our sore, tired feet, bringing us gladness and joy and driving mourning away forever!  With such a loving Father God as King, who can keep silent?

"Therefore the redeemed of the Lord shall return, and come with singing unto Zion, and everlasting joy shall be upon their heads!"

Amen!!

And this is only the between lessons lesson of week two.  I'm now in week three, with so much more to share with you!  Come back again next week and see what else the Lord has been singing into my soul.  I hope you do.  And I'd love to see you here, and listen to your song too.  Please share it with me, won't you?

Simply yours,

Patty

Home

I want to share with you an exciting study I'm currently doing with my women's group at church.  It's called "Psalms of Ascent", and was written by Beth Moore.  She also leads the study weekly by video.  We meet in the children's gathering room in our church to view it and share our journey.  One thing Beth points out is that the Psalms contain expression for every emotion humans can experience.  This is what drew me to the study with such eagerness.

This first week we learned that this is a journey home.  When I first heard Beth's words on the video, I wanted to weep for joy.  I've just returned from a trip home to Southern California, having stopped in Mariposa to visit my sister and mom and brother-in-law.  That was truly a joyful reunion and a kind of homecoming, as we attended Easter Sunday service at their Baptist church.  I sang the old songs loud enough for Dad to hear all the way in heaven!  What a solidly faith-inspiring sermon it was too.  Later, my sister, my daughter, and I sang a trio, thrown together at the last minute but done well enough just the same to inspire many strong "Amen!"s from the worship leaders and others.  What a joy to offer such service with my family members! I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord. (Ps. 122:1)

Then we drove on to visit my mother-in-law in Duarte, where she resides now in a Presbyterian nursing home.  It is a very nice home, and her care is excellent.  It was a wonderful visit, as she is much recovered from her spinal surgery of a year ago, at last. Yet still she is wheelchair bound, and does not go out doors much.  It was so beautiful there with the sun and everything blooming for all it's worth, but she could enjoy it only through a window, as the air was too chilly for her.  It was very good to see her doing so well.  She seems resigned to her situation, and content. In my trouble I cried to the Lord, and He answered me. (Ps. 120:1)

It was while sojourning there that I realized I was at home, as I haven't been since I left in 1986.  Then, I was full of the thrill of adventure, tired of the smog and the crowds and happy to find a new "home" north in Oregon.  Then, I was the prodigal, eschewing my Baptist heritage and all that goes with it, seeking my own brand of religion that would leave room for the outcasts and the less desirable (to some Christians) - but also looking for ways to have fun and more enjoyment of the good things in God's creation.  Was I simply rationalizing away guilt?  I don't know.  Deliver my soul, O Lord, from lying lips, from a deceitful tongue. (Ps. 120: 2)

I told myself always, "It's not that I don't want God.  I just don't want a lot of God's people."  This was ok to me, as I guess I thought I was better at being a Christian than they were, I'm sorry to admit.  Also, I wanted to protect myself from the kind of hurts I'd received at the hands of Christian sisters and brothers.  Never again, I told myself.  So I wandered from denomination to denomination, looking for a home, and sometimes attended no church at all. The Lord will protect you from all evil; He will keep your soul. The Lord will guard your going out and your coming in... (Ps. 121: 7, 8a)

We learned this week that God wants us home, with Him, and that He is willing to do anything it takes to get us there. That sometimes means a whole lot of grief and pain for us until we realize we're heading the wrong way and turn around, toward home. When I realized I was at home again at last, in the dry, dry dust of Southern California, the light all around me as light should be, the temperature spring soft, as spring temperature should be, the mountains in the north, where mountains should be - when I realized that it was home, I could relax.  I was never so content and happy inside in all these 22 years.  Our feet are standing within your gates, oh Jerusalem! (Ps. 122: 2)

We are on a journey, we are pilgrims, as Beth told us.  We are like the pilgrims journeying to Jerusalem, to their home city: a religious law for them, one they apparently rejoiced to fulfill.  We are pilgrims, sojourners in a land we don't belong, striving to find home again.  But home is not on this earth.  For us, home is found only in God.  I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help?  My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. (Ps. 121: 1,2)

 I have done a lot of things to keep myself sojourning in a place where people don't want peace, but war, don't want to rest in the knowledge of God's love for them, don't want to hear where they are perilously close to driving off the road, or stalled, or have a flat tire. The people I thought I'd minister to don't want to know.  In fact, they want me to lose my faith so much that they will do just about anything to bring it about.  When I talk of the peace of God, they talk of struggles with God's people, struggles with God's word, struggles with believing in anything worth believing.  I've found that often their unbelief is stronger than my belief, to my shame.  Sometimes these people actually reside in my own family, too.  Too long has my soul had its dwelling with those who hate peace.  I am for peace, but when I speak, they are for war.  (Ps. 120: 6,7)

This week I learned I've been feeding my mind mainly negative, faith-defeating thoughts. Telling myself I was seeking information, I took in all kinds of dirt and low thinking, low talking ideas.  Telling myself I could filter out what wasn't wanted, I've exposed myself to the sharpest kind of anti-Christian, anti-faith, personalities, on a consistent basis.  I said to myself, "I will learn these people in order to minister to them better, I will learn a new kind of religion, one that can include these skeptics."  In turn, I was reworked into someone more like them.  While mouthing words like "more like the Master I would want to be", in actuality I was working to be more like the world.  I sought the approval of men before the approval of God, all the while telling myself I was doing ministry in the world.  Woe is me, that I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar! (Ps. 120: 5)

We are on a journey, a journey that leads us from the places we've settled in this world that we don't belong, to the place God has prepared for us where we do belong, with Him.  If we are not to wander off the right road, we must keep our 

eyes on the goal.  We must listen only to the voices that give the right directions.  We must follow the Leader, and not His impostors who would lead us into the wilderness and rob and abandon us.  God is calling me to follow Him home.  He will not allow your foot to slip; He who keeps you will not slumber. (Ps. 121: 3)

I learned this week that the pilgrims to Jerusalem for the yearly feasts sang these Songs of Ascent, Psalms 120-134, in specific places along the way.  I've put my foot on the first step in the Temple, pulled the other one up next to it, put my foot in the next step.  I'm coming home, Lord, home where You want me, home where I belong, where You made me fit to dwell.  I'm leaving the places I've sojourned that keep me warring inside myself, and never allow Your peace to stay for very long.  

I've wandered far away from God,

Now I'm coming home.

The paths of sin too long I've trod,

Lord I'm coming home.

I've wasted many precious years,

Now I'm coming home;

I now repent with bitter tears,

Lord, I'm coming home.

I've tired of sin and straying, Lord,

Now I'm coming home;

I'll trust Thy love, believe Thy word,

Lord, I'm coming home.

My soul is sick, my heart is sore,

Now I'm coming home;

My strength renew, my hope restore,

Lord, I'm coming home.

Coming home,

Coming home,

Nevermore to roam.

Open wide Thine arms of love,

Lord, I'm coming home.

(Wm. J. Kirkpatrick)

What about you? Are you sojourning in a land far away from the home you were created for? Can you hear God's voice calling you home today? Why don't you come with me through the Psalms of Ascent? We can share our insights as we go along the road together, the road toward our heavenly home.  

Simply a matter of putting one foot in front of the other.  C'mon, let's go!

Simply yours,

Patty

I'm a Little Teapot!

Hi!

Have you ever thought you are more than what you do?  This is a popular thought, and one that came upon me whilest I sat pondering weak and weary over many a troublesome thing,

 but especially over just what I thought I was doing in this world anyway.  Here's how that song came out.

Insert long list of complaints from me to God, I'm sorry to say, then the following:

".... And we never do anything enjoyable to be able to say it's worth it.  Life seems all just work-work-work your tail off with never anything to show.

"I was not made for such an existence.

"God, are You listening to me?  This is the clay 

talking, the pot who would so much rather be a kettle. What were You thinking when You shaped me the way You did? And then left me to be used this way instead of the way I seem to be fit for? 

  "I don't like having my spout sawn off, and my 

lid taken away, and my handle trunkated, to be used for common boiling of vegetables!  I'm a teapot, I am, and I should be used for the finest brewing of tea, carried into the nobles' presence, and coddled and kept warm in a pleasing way, and appreciated for my fineness and beauty and usefulness for their social events.   

"I am an international language;

 I should be used for bringing people together to solve mounting issues in the world.  I should be used to calm fears and smooth ruffled feelings.  I should be used to warm cold hands and comfort the grieving.  Instead, all I am used for now is nourishing hungry stomachs, and 

growing bodies.

"What were You thinking, Potter, when You shaped my clay for a fine teapot and allowed me to be turned to this use???"

I really have to laugh at myself when I re-read this.  I was in such a tither over the "mistakes" God has made in my life, when I got to those final rants I stopped with a gasp.  Ha!!  The joke's on me!

  How I love being Mother to my two children.  Always have, always will.  I am

 so glad I could sing them lullabies that they still remember and repeat to themselves now and then (when they think I'm not listening).  One still asks me to read to him sometimes at night.  I am so glad I can cook and sew for them. 

  I have always considered motherhood the highest calling there is. Wonder of wonders I even got to be one, as I am truly not worthy for such a responsibility.  Miracle of miracles that these two children should ever grow into adulthood well-adjusted enough to make anything out of their lives, with me in charge of their upbringing!

  But I didn't shape this life.  It's being shaped by an all-knowing, all-loving Potter.  And good thing too, as I've no clue whatsoever how to make pottery!

  So the little teapot sings her song, and even though it's vegetables or Sloppy Joes inside boiling away and not fine tea, she thanks the Potter for making her as she is and putting her to the use He has.

What's your beef with Him?  How did you handle it today?  What thoughts came to allow you to go on singing your song? I'd love to know, so please drop a line at the bottom under "comments", and share the wealth of your experience with all of us.  

What's your song today?  Sing it!

Simply yours,

Patty

P.S.  All Victorian China teapot pictures came from www.he-and-she.com/

Brown broken teapot came from www.mahudsblog.ourgardenpath.com

Green broken teapot came from www.wiihaveaproblem.com