“Sometimes…your largest fear carries

your greatest growth!”

—Meagan McCrery—

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The Perfect Storm

by Debbie Allen

The skyline of Denver couldn’t have been any darker back in June of 1965.  This segment of time is recorded in the city’s newspaper archives as, “The Year of the Flood!”  Inside the city, torrential rains pelted the streets for days unending.  The Platte River overflowed its banks, city streets became little canals, and homes never intended to become house-boats, drifted away on the river’s rising currents.  Down the street from this scene, inside Children’s Hospital, lights flickered on and off. Nurses spoke, wide-eyed, about doctors, patients, and visitors still stranded in elevators halted by all the power failures.  Inside my room, just beyond the nurses’ station, I remember crying silently. I was only ten years old.  My sickness, compounded with the fear inside of me, compelled me to just pull the blankets up over my head and close my eyes tightly.  Little did I know it, but the storm which now drove me under the covers in fright, would someday be recorded in the archives of my mind as “The Perfect Storm.”

You see… my parents admitted me in the hospital the day before, to have some tests run.  As I lay under the covers trembling, I could not help hearing the raindrops splattering against the giant hospital window by my bed. After two days, I considered the very sound of them a nuisance.  In my ten-year-old brain, every split and splat I heard registered more like tiny, battle cries coming from each drop.  I saw them as my enemies.  Uninvited intruders who managed to invade my world; by conspiring with nature to wash out the only two bridges leading down to Children’s Hospital from the suburbs.  Unfortunately, my mom and dad couldn’t come and visit me for a couple of days because of it. More cause for me to stay under the covers and hide!   Feeling sick, frightened, and isolated all at once, weighs heavy on a ten-year-old little girl’s heart. I couldn’t even begin to see my way out of this pile of troubles, so… God found His way into them instead.

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“I couldn’t even begin to find my way out of this pile of troubles, so… God found His way into them instead.”

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Feeling a tug on the sheets, I looked up to find a pair of ebony cheeks and polished, brown eyes peeking-in on me.  They belonged to Nurse Crandall.        

“Whatcha doin, little one?  You can’t hide from me!  Don’t you know that I’m the Queen of Hide n’ Seek?  I’ll find you wherever you go!” she exclaimed in her slow, Southern drawl.

With those words, Nurse Crandall laughed until she cried.  I could only muster one little smile her way.  She pulled me out from under the sheets and helped me into a child-sized wheelchair.  Tucking a warm blanket around me and gently pushing my hair out of my eyes, she spoke these words of warning.

“Hold on tight girl… ‘cause we’re goin for a little ride.  You and I are goin down to have your picture taken!”

Nurse Crandall made the journey sound like an adventure, so I nodded my head in reluctant agreement.
Though the hallway lights still flickered on and off, she whistled cheerfully, pushing me down to an empty room labeled, “x-ray.” Then she motioned me towards a large, flat, black surface. Above me, I spotted some sort of hospital monster.  Nurse Crandall gave me a boost and instructed me to lay face-down and bottoms-up, in the middle of that dark surface. As I did so, I heard the monster shifting and groaning above me. I felt as timid as a little field mouse being circled by a big bird of prey! Nurse Crandall threaded some clear plastic tubing up inside of me while trying to reassure me that the monster (or camera, as she called it), was harmless.  All I had to do was lay there while she filled my unsuspecting bladder with liquid dye; during the x-ray.

“Oh, how I wanted out of this uncomfortable situation!” I cried, silently. 

As Nurse Crandall proceeded, she gave me a pat of encouragement on my backside.

“Now, you just let me know when you think you can’t handle any more!”       

Less than a minute into this process, I yelled-out,

“That’s enough! Stop… that’s all I can hold!”

Fully expecting her to stop the process, I was disappointed at her lack of response to my desperate pleas.  She offered me only a sympathetic smile. Still watching the x-ray screen and shaking her head, Nurse Crandall finally answered.

 “Oh, Honey!  You can handle a lot more than you think you can!”

And to my surprise, I did!  I had no choice but to trust in her knowledge and care; after all, she could see me from the inside out.

Sometimes what we are feeling when difficulty descends on our life; doesn’t give us a true perspective of all that’s really going on around us. I’m convinced that our ‘perfect storms’ don’t just happen to us; but God allows them for us to experience new spiritual growth in life.  In the fifty-seven years that have passed since that day in Children’s Hospital, Nurse Crandall’s words have continued to shape and refine my life.  Her sweet presence and the sounds of her voice in my childhood that day, became for me, a virtual snapshot of Jesus; which I’ve carried around in my heart for most of my life. Even today, when storms rise and fall around me; I sometimes feel like little girl again. Alone… face-down in the darkness…and enduring the un-endurable. But that’s also when I feel God’s Hand tugging on the sheets, I’ve pulled over my head in my hiding-place.  He so gently lifts me up, wrapping me in the warmth of His Presence; whispering His Goodness into the canyons of my grown-up soul.

“You can’t hide from Me, child. Don’t you know…I’ll find you wherever you go. Oh honey, you can handle a lot more than you think you can!”

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“All of the perfect storms we encounter in life don’t just happen TO us; but God allows them FOR us to experience new spiritual growth over the course of our life.”

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Even now, new strength rises inside my heart every time I hear these words. I know I can rest assured that no matter what storms may come my way, I can fully trust in the One Who’s watching over me. He knows how much I can handle because Jesus sees me from the inside out.

“Depend on (Jesus) and keep at it, because in (Jesus) you have a sure thing.” (Isaiah 26:4 MSG)

HEART TRAPPINGS:

Dearest Father in Heaven…

These powerful words of Nurse Crandall’s, formed the perfect ending to my first week of walking with You, Jesus, my Savior. I was just a child back then but, You, in Your Wisdom, placed me in my own ‘perfect storm’ so that I might experience Your Presence through Nurse Crandall and her words to me; in a way that has touched my life forever.  You gave me such a unique picture of what it looks like to both grow and learn to trust in You, in all the perfect storms of life. The only thing that makes them perfect, is that YOU are in them!  I pray for all those who may be face-down in their own darkness; exposed…vulnerable…and fearful. Cup Your hands around their chin…pull their gaze into Your Own.  Lift their head and allow them to hear the beautiful words You spoke to me through Nurse Crandall. “You can handle a lot more than you think you can.” May we all find strength and solace in the sounds of Your Voice, Jesus. Only there, in the eye of the storms, will we ever find new growth; and discover our own limitations in light of Your great Power and Love for us.

In Jesus’ Name…AMEN

“They say to each other, ‘No one can catch us, no one can detect our perfect crime.’ The Detective (God) detects the mystery in the dark of the cellar heart.”

(Psalm 64:6 MSG)

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Shattered!

by Debbie Allen

Standing speechless in the middle of my kitchen floor, my Mom and I surveyed the damage that occurred while we were out to a routine breakfast and hair appointment.  Yes…I was more than puzzled about my garage door being up when we returned home.  My heart was still pounding from the sight of my front door standing wide open upon our arrival.  But THIS…this was unthinkable! My favorite refuge.  The bay window…that safe place in my kitchen where I retreated every morning with my Bible and a cup of coffee.  Now, it was transformed into a doorway for trouble to step into my world.  A gateway for the intruders, who’d forced their way into my home. 

Surrounded by shards of glass, scattered the full length of my kitchen floor, I wasn’t sure which of my emotions to address first.  In my adrenaline-drenched state, I somehow managed to still hear the voice of reason break-in; warning me that we might not be alone in my house.  Grabbing my Mom by the shoulder, we headed for the safety of her front porch; to sort things out and call the Police.  Still in a state of disbelief, all I could do was wonder silently,

“Who, in the world, is brazen enough to break into someone’s home right in the midst of broad daylight?”

 Unfortunately, that question is still waiting to be answered.

When the police arrived, one of the first questions they asked my husband and I was, “Do you have any enemies, anyone who would want to do you harm?”

We turned to each other, shrugged at the nature of the question, and replied with a definite, “No.”

 We’d lived in our neighborhood for over forty years without incident. We shared a close bond with all of our family members and friends, and knew most of the neighbors around us.  That’s why this took us both by complete surprise.  Thinking we may have an enemy, an unknown enemy, was disturbing. 

 As the day progressed, chaos ensued.  After a Policeman declared our house safe to enter again; we followed him upstairs to our bedroom.  There, we discovered what looked like the aftermath of a natural disaster!  Drawers were dumped, closets ransacked, and my jewelry case emptied; minus one diamond, cross necklace.  The intruders even searched between our mattresses and peeled off my husband’s pillow case; for somewhere to stash the goods they managed to get away with.  I found it almost humorous, however, that the burglars threw my husband’s naked, pillow over an antique doll’s face; lying in a cradle by the bedroom entry.  I guess the doll’s accusing, brown, porcelain, eyes watching over their criminal actions must’ve been too much for the intruder’s consciences to bear!

The ironic truth was this. The set of Eyes that were watching those intruders at work in my house that day were not the piercing eyes of an antique doll.   They were God’s Eyes.  We are told in Proverbs 15:3, “The eyes of the LORD are in every place, watching the evil and the good.” 

As I stood in the middle of my kitchen, surrounded by a sea of broken glass, contemplating the unexpected intrusion that robbed me of my peace-of-mind; I felt a little like the Disciples must’ve felt the day they climbed into a boat on the Sea of Galilee, with Jesus. Jesus fell asleep, and an unexpected storm engulfed them. As enormous waves crashed around them, peels of thunder and lightning filled the heavens above them. I’m sure the Disciples, too, felt exposed to the outside world, vulnerable, and consumed by fear. Though Jesus’ eyes were closed, I don’t think they were closed to the Disciples’ unexpected circumstances. I believe Jesus was just giving His men time to choose faith over fear.  Faith that what they knew of Him to be true on dry land…was still true of Him even out on a stormy sea.  You see, they had the option of fully trusting in Him that day.  Yet, the Disciples’ eyes remained focused on the intensity of the storm pressing in on them instead…not on the intense power of the One in the boat right next to them. 

After Jesus calmed the storm that day, He didn’t ask His shaken, Disciples, “Are you alright?” or “Anybody hurt?”   No…He asked them one pointed question. “Where is your faith?”                                                                                          

 That question indicates to me that the Disciples had a choice.  They didn’t have to succumb to the fear that washed over them when the unexpected seized them.  They could’ve intentionally chosen faith.  Faith that their security lay in the Hands of The One next to them in the boat….no matter what the seas around them might look like.    

Though fear is a natural, human reaction to the intrusions this broken, world promises will come our way in life; faith should always be our first and wisest choice. The Scriptures even tell us,

“God did not give us a spirit of fear…but of power and love and self-discipline.” (2 Timothy 1:7 NIV)

Even standing in the midst of life’s pieces, shattered and broken, I believe our hearts are made to reflect something more than just the devastation surrounding us.  We are made to “reflect a pattern shaped by the faith and love we have for Jesus.” (2Timothy 1:13a NIV) To respond to Him with whole-hearted trust…even in the midst of our life’s pieces.

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“Our hearts are made to reflect God’s Peace…even in the midst of our life’s pieces.“

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From the aftermath of a break-in or the pain of a break-up, to the breaking-out of whatever storm has held you captive, too long; know that you have a choice.  Choose faith, not fear.    Jesus is in the boat!  His Eyes may seem closed to the storm, but they are not blind to the turmoil surrounding you; nor deaf to the pounding of your heart. He’s giving you time…time to filter out fear and step into Faith.  This world’s intrusions in our lives are earthly opportunities for us to witness and experience for ourselves, both the holy terror and the unexpected beauty of Heaven’s Interceptions in our lives. We will witness His miracles if we stir-up the courage within us to choose faith.  Living as modern-day Disciples in a growing anti-Jesus, culture, I guarantee that great and unexpected storms will continue to rage against us until time is no more. But…I assure you of an even greater Truth. 

Greater is The One in our boat; than all of the waves that rage against us in this dark and stormy world!!! 

 (Paraphrased/ 1 John 4:4)

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PRAYER:

DEAREST HEAVENLY FATHER, in these corrupted times we are living in now, it’s not difficult to see we live in a broken world, where even innocent people are forced to play the role of the victim at times. When panic and fear descend upon us, help us re-direct our minds to one simple truth. You, Jesus, are still in our boat today. May Your Presence give us the courage we need to stand-up to fear; and faithfully, choose to stand next-to You; as we face our own raging seas. Political upheaval…social chaos…moral rebellion and deceitful agendas, to name a few.  Teach us to trust You wholly, Father.  For the peace our hearts so desperately seeks can only be found at the end of the Truths You speak. Pierce our hearts and hone our spirits with the same question a disappointed Jesus, confronted His own Disciples with. “Where is your faith?”   I pray the weight of this question prompts us to consider and re-consider, The One standing in our boat today; as turbulent waters continue to rise all around us.  Where is our faith…both as a people and a Nation?  Forgive us, LORD!   “As for me and my household…we will serve the LORD.” (Joshua 24:15) 

  In Jesus Name…Amen

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Tunneling Through Time

by Debbie Allen

Over the course of forty-six years together, my husband, Jim, and I have enjoyed countless scenic rides through our rugged, Colorado mountains.  Whether our drives lasted a couple of hours or a couple of days, our hearts never tired of exploring the indescribable, beauty awaiting us in God’s marvelous and mountainous creations.

A few years ago, two of our grandchildren joined us on one of our mountain drives to Glenwood Springs, for a three-day weekend escape.  Because it was still early spring, things were just starting to green-up and many places I’d labeled scenic, at one time, failed to peak Ryan and Chelsea’s interest. But something else sure did! Every time we drove through a tunnel, the backseat grew strangely quiet.  No more noise, no more laughter, no more teasing. But the moment we emerged out of the tunnel, it sounded like the kids exploded in our back seat. Startled at first, I turned around to find their red faces gasping for air, chests still heaving and both Chelsea and Ryan, laughing and taunting one another, about how long each of them held their breath throughout the tunnel. Bragging rights were only awarded to the one who conquered holding their breath the full length of the tunnel. By the time we reached the Eisenhower Tunnel, which is an entire mile long, you can imagine how out of breath they were…and how many explosions we heard in our backseat before we reached the end of that tunnel! 

Not only were my grandkids’ reactions to the tunnels along the highway entertaining; they reminded me of something in my own childhood I hadn’t thought of in years. As a little girl, I remembered piling into my Mom and Dad’s, copper-colored ’57 Chevy along with my two younger brothers; and then heading up into the mountains to my Grandpa’s log cabin. Though the drive up there wasn’t too long, to us kids,, the ride seemed to take f-o-r-e-v-e-r.  With my brother, three-year-old, Doug, asleep on the seat next to me, and five-year-old, Danny, sitting on my six-year-old lap; mountain scenery didn’t interest me in the least.  But when the sunshine disappeared on us in the middle of the day, and darkness swallowed our car with us in it…my interest more than peaked!

“It’s ok, kids, nothing to be afraid of.” My Dad assured us.  “We’re just inside a tunnel.”

By the time he finished his sentence, Danny and I were already up on our feet, gripping the back of my dad’s seat (Seat belts weren’t required by law yet).  There were no lights at all in the tunnels back then so the darkness surrounding us was as deep as it gets.  On his tip-toes, Danny stuck his fingers out the window to feel the cool, damp, darkness. Fearful at the very thought of doing that, I gripped my Dad’s seat even tighter; convinced there were bears hiding in that darkness, just waiting to eat little kids fingers off as they rode by.  In all the confusion, Doug woke up crying; unable to see any better with his eyes open than when they were shut.  That’s when I watched my dad take action!  First, he pulled a knob on the dash which turned the headlights on. Then he honked the horn repeatedly, until we reached the other end of the tunnel. While still in the shadows of that tunnel, the first thing I did was to count my brother’s fingers.  Relieved he escaped with all ten of them, I reasoned that my Dad’s honking must’ve scared the bears away…just in the nick of time! All I knew for sure that day was this. The very moment that darkness spit us back out onto the road and the sunshine filled the car again; my Dad became this six-year-old, little girl’s hero for life!

 As an adult, these two stories make me chuckle still.  Both are filled with the precious laughter of childhood and days gone by.  But they offer us so much more. Take a closer look and you’ll find truth hidden between the lines that, if taken to heart, may help us through our own tunnels of darkness on Life’s Road.

My grandchildren, Ryan and Chelsea, invented the “Hold-Your-Breath-Until -You-Explode” game, as a way of navigating through tunnels they encountered.  It worked for them…but in real life, I wouldn’t recommend it.  Tunneling through the darkness we encounter on the Road of Life can be treacherous.

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“Often in life we find ourselves in the midst of an unexpected tunnel of darkness. Unwanted fears and a feeling of being overwhelmed and outmatched grips our hearts.”

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 Often in life, we find ourselves  in the midst of an unexpected, dark tunnel.  We lose sight of how we got there and can no longer see where we are headed.  Unwanted fear and the feeling of being overwhelmed and outmatched grips our hearts. Yes…we can take a deep breath and choose to take on these times in our own strength and wisdom; putting our trust and confidence in our self-determination to navigate through the darkness. But, how long is that tunnel? The average person can only hold their breath two minutes.  If we are two minutes into a crisis…what are we going to do to get us the rest of the way?

Whether we like to admit it or not, all of us have an unfathomable need for God’s Wisdom and Guidance in this life.  Truly, life is a mountainous journey, riddled with steep, turns and twists, and unforeseen tunnels of darkness that we were never intended to navigate on our own.

Whether you are tunneling through the darkness of an unexpected cancer diagnosis…the unplanned loss of a loved one…a relational or financial crisis…or even the aftermath of a world Pandemic; every inch of that darkness is deep.  If you choose to just hold your breath until things look brighter on the other end, you will run out of air and end up crumpled on the floor in darker despair.  But there is another way to get through.  Your own strength will fail you…but God won’t.

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“Though I am surrounded by troubles (darkness), You will bring me safely through them.” (Psalms 138:7a LAB)

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Think back to my own tunneling experience.  Remember what six-year-old, Debbie did when the darkness swallowed her?  Though shaken, she listened to the sounds of her dad’s voice telling her, “Its ok,,. nothing to be afraid of.” 

Then she scooted as close as she could get to her Daddy and clung tightly to the back of his seat. There she anchored herself, waiting and watching for his next move.  Though the darkness still surrounded her and her fears grew even bigger for a time; she chose to trust him fully to bring her safely to the other side.

Tunneling through Life is certainly not for the faint of heart. Our Heavenly Father knows that better than any of us.  He will allow us to take a deep breath and try to find our own way through the tunnels.  But His greatest desire is that His children make a conscious choice to hear His Voice and trust in Him as their Father.  To scoot in closer to Him and cling tightly to His Presence.  He is our Anchor in such deep darkness. He’s the Shield between us and harm. The mighty Horn that scares away the enemy crouching in the darkness. Even when despair and fear feel like they are crushing us, we must learn to trust in our Father to bring us safely to the other side.  The Father offers His Protection for our own survival.  He gives us His Strength…so we not only “go” through our tunnels…but we will “grow” through that darkness as well. Hide behind your Heavenly Father…cling to Him…and then wait for Him to turn your darkness into Light!

“You have turned on my light!  The Lord my God has made my darkness turn to light.” “Now in Your Strength I can scale any wall…”  “What a God He is!” (Psalms 18: 28, 29a, 30  LAB)

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PRAYER:

Dearest Father, God…Many are the ‘tunnels of darkness’ we must go through as we journey down Life’s Road.  Help us not to get so lost in our ways in this world that we retreat to, and trust in our own understanding and strengths to guide us through dark times.  Rescue us and restore our sight; enable us to see the way You would have us go. We cry out with King David, speaking to those in his kingdom who chose to take a deep breath and trust in their own self-serving wisdom:

“But as for me, I get as close to (The Father) as I can! I have chosen Him and I will tell everyone about the wonderful ways He rescues me.”

IN JESUS NAME…AMEN

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Beyond the Woodpile

by Debbie Allen

Every year, there is something about the Spring season that presses me a little nearer to God’s Heart. Something rises up inside of me that I don’t sense in any of the other seasons. My spirit is strangely lifted, listening to the morning songs of returning robins; spilling notes of pure joy into the silence of dawn’s early light. My heart is warmed watching a timid, baby bunny scoot a fresh, pink nose from under a backyard woodpile; out into the world for the first time. But, unlike the robins, who sing their songs of praise to their Creator with no apology or doubt holding them back; the little bunny shrinks away from making his own grand entrance into the new season. Curious at his seeming lack of curiosity, I wondered why he hesitated so. Why did he choose the darkness of that rabbit hole over the warm, sunshine flooding the doorstep of the world just beyond the woodpile?

 Having no degree in bunny psychology, I have no way of knowing for sure what went on between his two pink, bunny ears that day; but I will share with you what I believe to be true. God created that little bunny to run carefree in the sunshine, not to spend his life cowering in the darkness. God equipped him with specific survival features connected to his eyes; which affects how he experiences the world around him. The bunny can literally, see all-around him without turning his head.  His field of vision is nearly 360 degrees! He can even sleep with his eyes open if he senses he’s in danger. Because he is born far-sighted (sees things in the distance better than up-close), he has the distinct advantage of being forewarned to run for safety, long before a predator even seeks to overtake him.  Bunny eyes are clearly, built for survival! But there is one more, often overlooked, fact that draws my attention to rabbit’s eyes over all the rest.   Bunnies have no tapetum lucidium. This is the part of the eyes that allows nocturnal animals to see clearly in darkness.  It’s also the very reason I believe that when God created the bunny, He equipped him for thriving in the daylight…not in the darkness. Are you aware that as human beings, we also have no tapetum lucidium in our eyes?   Perhaps we, like that baby bunny, are not meant for living our lives in darkness either.  It’s more solid evidence to my heart that God designed human beings,too, for thriving in the light…not in darkness.

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“Everything in the physical world is caused by something in the spiritual world.” —Emanuel Swedenborg—

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Eighteenth century, Christian theologian, Emanuel Swedenborg once said, “Everything in the physical world is caused by something in the spiritual world.”  Concerning our survival in life, it’s clear in both the physical world as well as the spiritual realm, that there is nothing lifegiving about darkness. It’s always associated with chaos, fear and death.  When God created the world, the scriptures tell us in Genesis 1:2-4,

 “The earth was formless and empty, darkness covered the surface…” but then, God said, “Let there be light and there was light.  God saw that the light was good, and He separated the light from darkness.”

 Moving from darkness to light seems to be a pattern that is displayed throughout all of creation over and over again. At our birth we emerge from the darkness of our mother’s womb into the light of day. Even the season of Spring itself is one story after another of darkness giving way to the light. Plants find their way to sunshine through dark soils… dead grasses and barren, branches spring to new life in the light after enduring a season of winter’s darkness. Darkness and light define everything in life, visible and invisible.  Spiritually speaking, the most powerful example of this truth came the day Jesus arose from the dead, and walked out of the darkness of the tomb; and into the light and new life on the other side of the grave. He left Death and Darkness behind him forever! He stands now before you and I as “The Light of the world.”

Because Jesus left the Darkness behind Him… His followers are called to do the same.  Perhaps that’s why it bothered me so as I watched that little bunny struggling to leave his birth hollow.    Repeatedly, the bunny chose the darkness of his rabbit hole instead of the warm, sunshine flooding the doorstep of the world beyond the woodpile.  God equipped him with keen instincts and an amazing set of multi-directional, super-eyes, hand-crafted by God, for both spotting his enemies and guiding his feet in the beauty and wonders of a world flooded with sunshine.  The freedom he was meant to experience beyond the woodpile, was his for the choosing.  But he chose poorly.

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” Jesus left Death and Darkness behind Him forever! He now stands before you and I as ‘The Light of the World.‘”

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Our souls, too, must make a similar choice in life, but ours is the difference between choosing Heaven or Hell. Yes, we can continue cowering in fear at the doorway of the darkness this sinful world has to offer us … or choose to step out into the Light of God’s Love, and live the life of abundance our Creator designed us to live. He’s equipped us with the power of reason and gifted us with the eyes of our hearts so that we may distinguish clearly, between Light and darkness…. Friend or foe…Life or death…Heaven or hell.  You and I can be sure there’s new life waiting for us just outside of any darkness we find ourselves hiding in.  It’s ours for the asking. My prayer is that we may find the courage to  choose to step into a new season…the New Life waiting for us in the Light; and allow God to awaken our hearts to the Beauty of His Presence, alive all around us!  Hear the whispers of Jesus beckoning your soul to choose wisely:

“I am the Light that has come into the world so that all who believe in Me won’t have to stay any longer in the dark.”  (John 12:46 MSG)

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PRAYER:

Gracious Heavenly Father of mine, the Spring Season is such a reminder to my heart of  the arrival of new hope and fresh beginnings!  The beauty of this season almost makes me forget about the darkness of winter that came before it. Seeing the ground waking-up and hearing the robins singing Your praises into dawn’s light, are tangible reminders to my heart that the darkness of this world can never overcome The Light!  Your promises of New Life and Hope are real and meant for all those who choose to step beyond the darkness of their own woodpiles in life; and into Your Light.  May we never forget that You, Jesus, left the darkness that tried to hold You in the grave …and we can too. All of us are one choice away from salvation. You are the ONLY One Who can turn our darkness into Light.

 In Jesus Name…. AMEN

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ONE

You’ve got one life, You’ve got one glove, You’ve got one game , You’ve got one love, You’ve got one chance, You’re just one man. So, play this game as hard as you can! —Baseball-isms—

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Home Plate

by Debbie Allen

The bleacher-bound crowds of a Colorado Springs, Little-League baseball field sprang to their feet, waving hands and shouting ecstatically after a pop fly ball to right field rocketed back down into the grass.   The ten-year-old boy on second base now rounded third and headed down the home stretch!  “Come on, Brendan…you can do it!” his Mom and Grandma yelled out simultaneously.    

All eyes danced between the outfielder who just lobbed the ball-in-play towards the pitcher and the catcher standing ready to receive it at Homeplate. Slamming his fist into the heart of his dusty mitt to mark the target, a disappointed catcher, instead, watched the ball sail over his head and rebound off of the chain link backstop.  Hurling his mask from his face, the catcher frantically, spotted the ball rolling in the midst of a cloud of settling dust.  Scooping it up into his mitt, he sprinted back towards home in a grand effort to protect the plate. 

“Focus!  Dig in, buddy…dig in and you’ll make it!” Brendan’s Dad coached him from the sidelines, above the noise levels of the crowd.

As I watched Brendan’s deep-blue eyes darting back and forth across scarlet, cheeks; I knew his legs were sprinting as fast as his heart must’ve been beating in that moment. A bleacher-full of us held our breath; as we watched Brendan lunge into the dirt, feet-first, and slide in towards home plate!   The umpire scrambled to side-step the dust storm coming his way; and the dedicated catcher, nearly airborne by now; thrust his mitt at Brendan’s cleats in an attempt to tag him out.  What looked like a sure collision course signified only one thing to the cringing, moms and grandmas in the stands. Blood, broken bones, or both! All the dads held fast to the no-pain-no-gain theories of their own childhoods.  Brendan’s record slide came to a screeching halt; at about the same time the catcher crashed to the ground; with both arm and mitt extended fully towards him.  From the stands it appeared the call could’ve gone either way. Both players lay motionless in the dirt for a split second. Then the umpire stepped forward, waving his hands in both directions across home plate.  “S-A-F-E!!” his voice thundered across the ball field.  One of Brendan’s cleats rested securely on the beveled edge of the plate.  The tip of the catcher’s glove, however, lacked about a half inch of making any contact with Brendan’s shoe.   

This dramatic run home is still one of my favorite memories from my oldest, grandson’s baseball playing days.  Though it’s been more than fifteen years ago, the snapshot you see posted above, still hangs front and center in my mind; on Grammie’s designated ‘Wall of Fame.’ It hangs there because…well, because all my grandchildren have made it to this wall! But this particular moment in Brendan’s life reflects to my heart something much bigger than he ever intended it to. 

Before I elaborate any further, let me also draw your gaze to another Little League ballgame I encountered.   A couple of years ago, I viewed a You Tube video that captured my heart right away.  It was a USA Today Sports broadcast of a three-year-old ball player running from third base to home plate. His coach told him to sprint home…but he had his own ideas about how to get there.  The video shows this little boy, on his own, running in slow-motion for home plate.  At one point, the coach (who was his Dad), steps beside him to urge him on and give him a little push down the home stretch.  To the coach’s dismay, his player pushed him aside and resumed his own version of the slo-mo run. The crowds egged him on all the way; with their laughter and encouraging commentary. Home plate finally in his sights, this little guy plunged, head-first, down on home plate (still in slo-mo), and hugged the bag as if basking in the glory of his scoring run!

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“A three-year-old is going to act like a three-year-old…but the rest of us had better not. This is true in Baseball and in real Life.”

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The differences between these two baseball games are too numerous to count.  Each of the boy’s stories ranged from being voted onto Grammie’s exclusive, “Wall of Fame,” to being inducted into this world’s renowned, You Tube library. Both team players scored a name for themselves in the annals of Little League; and both players succeeded at capturing the hearts of many in their moment of glory.  However, each player’s story also bears a very different tale for the soul to ponder. You see…One of the boys ran for his coach; and the other one didn’t.

In other words, a three-year-old is going to act like a three-year-old…but the rest of us had better not. This is true in Baseball and in Life. It’s also true in the physical world as well as the spiritual world.  In the Game of Real Life, God the Father, is our Coach.  For our own good, we need to choose to be dedicated to the Coach…the One whose wisdom, expertise, and unique performance strategies, far exceed our own on the playing field at every level.  After all, we are only dedicated to the Coach coaching us, to the extent that our life and our hearts are devoted to His Words; and our actions reflect His Knowledge and Teachings on the playing field. Nothing is more important than hearing the Coach’s Voice and listening to His Instructions as we journey towards Home Plate.  But, just as important as arriving at Home Plate…is how you get there. Choosing to run in a manner like this signifies the level of intensity with which you choose to run in the game. 

At ten-years-old, my Grandson wisely chose to reach home plate, yielding to the words of his coach/Dad to guide him home, safe.  The three-year-old player disregarded the sounds of his coach/Dad’s advice, heeded his own style of getting home safe, and soaked up all the glory and attention that drifted his way.  And if that wasn’t enough, this little leaguer ended up in a personal interview (with his Mom) on TV, ever-branded as a hero for playing the greatest game on earth, his own way.

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“None are so empty as those who are full of themselves.”

—-Benjamin Whichote—

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The Greatest Game on Earth that any of us will ever play…is the Game of Life. Reaching home plate can be our greatest victory…but how we run there may speak of our greatest battle.   As we interact with other players on the field of Life, make our hits, mourn our misses, and run the baselines that mark out the journey toward Home Plate; what will those in the stands watching us, remember about the way we played our game?  Will we be one of those who ran for The Coach…or the one who ran with his own ideas?   Slo-mo…or fast-forward?   Self-glory…or God’s Glory?

ONE LOVE

You’ve got one Love… You’ve got one Goal, You’re chosen for one Game… Your life’s made Whole, You’ve got one Chance…You’re just one Man. So run for Home as hard as you can!

—by D. Allen—(Baseball-ism revised)

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PRAYER:

MY FATHER, PLEASE HEAR ME…or more importantly, I pray that I hear YOU.  In this game called Life, we play for real. My desire is to be found faithful at listening intently, for the sounds of Your Voice; as I run with all my heart, on the playing fields You set before me. Enable me, Father… to run in such a way that I’m a credit to the words You’ve guided me with throughout the game. No greater Coach exists in life.  Keep us from playing like a three-year-old, yielding to our own common sense and grabbing for all the glory we can get now…instead of straining to reach for the extraordinary You intended for us to reflect.  

May every step we take in this Game of Life advance Your Glory and Your Wisdom; as Your Words continue to fuel our strides and empower our running toward the Home Plate! In Jesus Name…AMEN

 

                                                                                      

 

CANDY HEARTS

Words, words, words…This world’s heart-shaped sweet-nothings, turning heads and making hearts soar? Or… Heaven’s Reflections of God’s Sweet-Somethings, turning hearts towards His Love Forevermore?

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“A Word from the Hearts”

by Debbie Allen

Most adults wrinkle their noses at the sight of a dish filled with the popular, chalk-like candies we’ve come to know as ‘conversation hearts.’ A week or two before Valentine’s Day every year, it seems they can be spotted everywhere!  Though I’m an adult now, I’m anything but one of those nose-wrinklers, I mentioned earlier. When it comes to this childhood confectionary, I loved them as a kid…and I love them now! The very sight of them still transports me back to my grade school years.

 It was Valentine’s Day, 1963.  I’d just finished delivering the last of the valentines I brought to school for classmates.  Heading back to my seat, I caught sight of my second-grade heart-throb, Nicky, dropping a box of those conversation hearts into my own Valentine mailbox. Though I walked back nonchalantly, my heart raced inside of me; in anticipation of what he’d left there for me. There were twenty-four other cards and candies in my mailbox, but I dug around them all until I clenched in my hand… the box of hearts from Nicky.  Dumping it out on my desk top, I sifted through each one; silently reading the Valentine graffiti scrolled across each candy heart. In true Hollywood fashion… instead of hearing the echo of my own voice inside my head; I heard Nicky’s voice reading them back to me in stereo.  “Pick Me” … “True 2 U” … and “Be Mine” … were some of my girlish favorites that day. However, when I looked up to find his sparkling, black eyes staring at me from across the room; after having just heard his voice in my head reading the “Kiss Me” and “I Love U” hearts; embarrassment barged in and brought this Hollywood snippet to a screeching halt!  My best attempt to both recover my dignity, and hold onto this memorable second-grade love story was to pop the pink, “Best Day” heart into my mouth, seal up that box quick, and call it good!

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“My best attempt to both recover my dignity, and hold onto this memorable second-grade love story was to pop the pink, “Best Day” heart into my mouth, seal up that box quick, and call it good!”

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 I’d noticed Nicky since Kindergarten. This skinny, Italian boy with dark eyes and even darker hair; was famous for getting nose bleeds and passing out whenever he got nervous up in front of the class or during school programs. However, he never fully captured my attention until Valentine’s Day back in 1963.  He’d been my heartthrob from day one, but no one knew it besides me.  It was the words on those chalky hearts that changed how I looked at him.  Those words only meant something to me because they came from Nicky. He was the boy who gave value and meaning to those words…and to the friendship that grew from them over the next few years. We became the best of friends for the rest of grade school. However, much like the Hollywood snippet of my reading of those conversation hearts came to an abrupt end; our friendship, too, was cut short. You see…Nicki and his family unexpectedly, moved away the summer following our sixth-grade year; and I never saw or heard from him again. It made me sad to think about it for a long time afterwards.

By the time my first day of Junior High arrived, I brushed aside my sadness as best as I could; and stepped across the threshold of uncertainty into the realms of teenage chaos.  What I remember the most about the first day was watching kids who had no idea who they were, trying to tell the kids I knew (including myself), who to be…who to like…and how to walk if they were going to get anywhere in this upside-down world of theirs.  It was like witnessing one big impress-fest!

 Pushing my way through this kind of pandemonium in the hallways to class, it hit me that this was the first time I didn’t have Nicky standing somewhere nearby to bounce things off of. I swallowed hard and choked back a few tears. But…this was also the first time I recognized the gift he’d left behind for me.  The rare, gift of having already known the thrill of what it’s like having someone in my corner of life who genuinely cared about the real me (knock-knees, freckles and all!). Even in this awkward stage of my life, I carried in my heart, a snapshot of what genuine friendship looked like and experienced what it was like to have a true friend. One who always had my back…whose words could be trusted…and whose actions never left room for questioning. What a rare gift I’d been given, indeed. The beautiful, gift of friendship…being seen through another’s eyes for exactly who I was… and then chosen and loved because of it!

There aren’t too many love stories in life that find their beginnings in a vintage box of conversational hearts.  Besides my own second-grade love story; I can only think of one…and this one might surprise you.  It is God.  His is the Greatest Love Story ever told.  His Heart was the very first Conversational Heart on this earth.  It arrived in a box (manger) in Bethlehem… in the form of His Son, Jesus Christ. He is God’s Love… come to earth to live, die for our sins, and rise again so we could enjoy the wonders of Eternal Life.

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“I say to God, ‘Be my LORD!’ Without YOU, nothing makes sense.” (Psalm 16:2 MSG)

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 The words I envision being written across His Heart are this: “You are Mine”.  “I have loved you with an Everlasting Love; with lovingkindness I have drawn you to me.” (Jeremiah 31:3)

 His Heart’s Message reminds us of this : “Be Mine”.  These Words are not written across a chalky, heart shaped confectionary with red, vegetable dye. They are inscribed on your heart of flesh and written with His Own Life Blood.    “I will inscribe My Laws upon their hearts, so that they shall want to honor Me; then they shall be My people and I will be their GOD.”  (Jeremiah 31:33)

The greatest beauty I can envision in this life is to see Jesus, standing as our own Divine, ‘Conversational Heart’ beside God, in Heaven!  Across His Heart, I visualize these words in big, bold letters: “Forever Friend”.  “For Christ has entered into Heaven itself, to appear before God as our Friend.” (Hebrews 9:24a LAB)

Jesus is so much more than a Valentine Sweetheart or love’s first crush. He is our truest, Forever Friend!  He stands at God’s side in Heaven, praying for you and I.  He awaits your own heart-response.  Jesus’ desire is to walk beside us and stand with us in this life in all our circumstances. He knows Heaven won’t be the same without you .  Won’t you choose to give Him your heart?  Reach into your own box of thoughts… choose the one that says: “U R MINE!”  or “I AM YOURS”.  Then you’ll have the rest of your life to thank Him for His Friendship!

“My choice is You, God, first and only. And now I find I’m Your Choice!” (Psalm 16:5 MSG)

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“The old life is gone; a new life burgeons! Look at it!” (2 Corinthians 5:17b MSG)

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“FLAWLESS”

by Debbie Allen

The Christmas music playing in the background of my Doctor’s office Waiting Room went unnoticed by the preoccupied crowd surrounding me. No one singing…just sitting in silent misery.  No one wearing smiles, just surgical masks to keep the germs from spreading. No reaching out to others in the spirit of the Season; just reaching for Kleenexes and hand sanitizers; strategically placed throughout the room. 

“Cough, sniffle, moan…cough, sniffle, groan!” These were the sounds permeating the air around me. After sitting in the midst of this symphony of sickness; I, too, found it easier to just succumb to the melody of my own misery than to continue straining to hear the Christmas music playing, through two plugged ears,.  I marveled at how easily we all exchanged the joyous sounds of the Christmas Season, for the pressing demands of our own immediate circumstances, especially in light of the prayer I’d just prayed earlier; asking God to “…reveal Himself to me in some special way during this Christmas Season.”  Of course, I assumed He’d wait until I was well to do His ‘revealing’ to me but… that is not God’s way.  He chose instead, to use my untimely sick-umstances as His sounding board for the Season!

Reaching for another Kleenex, I caught sight of two figures entering the waiting room. They weren’t the only people to enter the waiting area that morning, but they were the only two people I paid any attention to.  I could see they were father and son. Mom hurried into the room a few minutes afterwards. The father clasped his son’s hand tightly, while helping him into a chair across the aisle from me. After plopping him into the chair with great difficulty, the father sat down next to him. Then he turned to his son with a reassuring smile, asking, “Are you ok, Little Buddy?” His very words captured my attention because my husband and I often referred to our own boys, while they were growing up, as “little buddy.” However, this man’s “little buddy” was not a small child. I guessed him to be in his mid-fifties; and his Dad appeared to be in his eighties. This Little Buddy’s life also stood out as having been that one baby out of 691 babies in the United States every year, to be born with Down Syndrome. My initial reaction was one of compassion for both Little Buddy and his aged parents.  I even uttered a silent prayer, “Lord, please ease their burdens…bless them in this Christmas Season and beyond. “Opening my eyes and looking again in their direction, I saw Little Buddy flashing a crooked smile back at me; almost as if he somehow knew I’d just finished praying for him.  I returned a smile and then my eyes dropped back down into my magazine. Though my eyes retreated from this scene, my ears were still fully engaged in the conversation that took place between Little Buddy, his Dad, and a total stranger sitting on the other side of them.

Wriggling free from the jacket that bound him, Little Buddy proceeded to ask the stranger, “Did you know…I’m…I’m the present under the tree to my Dad and my Mom?”

Before the Stranger could even respond, Little Buddy added with enthusiasm, “And I’m the Christmas present and it’s about to be Christmas!”

“Well…Merry Christmas to you…” the Stranger responded to Little Buddy with a toothy grin.

“And congratulations to you, sir!” he added, reaching over to shake the Dad’s hand, with a wink.

Taking his son’s hand into his own, Dad reminisced for a moment, then fondly shared with the stranger, a story that Little Buddy had obviously, heard multiple times throughout his life.

“Yes…Curtis came to his Mother and I on the wings of many prayers.  We tried for over twenty years to have a child of our own…but couldn’t. We saw Doctor after Doctor; Specialist after Specialist, over the course of the next few years but, still nothing. We didn’t give up, instead…we dropped down to our knees.  There we stayed and there we prayed for a son so-o-o special that no other parent in this world could possibly raise him and love him like us. Those prayers were answered over fifty years ago.  On that Christmas Morning, Curtis’ Mother and I tip toed downstairs to open up all our packages; but we found one gift under the tree. Puzzled, we both knelt down beside it. It was beautifully wrapped in gold foil and tied up with red ribbon and a sprig of fresh holly. To our astonishment, we both heard something moving inside of that box! The tag attached to it read,

To: The Most Wonderful Parents in the World        

 With Love From: ???

Before revealing who the package was from, Dad stopped short, grinning.  Then he turned towards Little Buddy, asking, “Curtis…what was the name on the gift tag again? Who was it from?”

Obvious that this was a favorite part for him; with eyes wide opened and like a little child, Curtis blurted out, “GOD!  With love from GOD!” “And I’m the present under the tree to my Dad and my Mom…and it’s about to be Christmas!” Almost as soon as Curtis spoke these last words to the man on the other side of them, a nurse called his name out; motioning him in her direction.

Lifting my eyes from the magazine once more, I watched Dad pull Curtis back up onto his feet.  They exchanged a cheerful “Merry Christmas!” and a handshake with the stranger, then headed toward the nurse.  I watched Curtis wrap his fingers tightly around his Dad’s hand, like a little boy not knowing what lay ahead.  Dad steadied his own eighty-year-old legs as Little Buddy pressed into him heavily, in an effort to find support for every difficult step he took towards the nurse.  Mom walked on ahead of them both, still daubing her eyes with a tissue. Watching her, I had to wonder…was it the Dad’s beautiful telling of this aged couple’s life quest for a child that set Mom’s tears off?  Or were these the left-over tears from a long-ago sadness mingled with the joy they now shared in a Season so precious to them all? 

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“Moments that should’ve been filled with bubblegum cigars, laughter, and joy were instead, replaced with the words,‘ Down Syndrome,’ reverberating in the depths of their souls.”

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Though I can’t speak for this Mom, I know it must have been difficult to have traded away all of the dreams they dreamed as a young couple for their child, for this very unexpected reality they’d faced. I can’t imagine what thoughts must’ve gone through their heads in those first few moments after giving birth.  Moments that should’ve been filled with bubblegum cigars, laughter, and joy were instead, replaced with the words, Down Syndrome; reverberating in the depths of their souls.

Yet…I find it amazing that Dad’s story never reflected that place of pain and suffering where this couple’s journey began. It didn’t dwell on the countless tears that must’ve been spilled over the years, or the death of all their own dreams in life.  Dad’s story celebrated the new birth of an only son, a gift God gave them one special Christmas morning, in answer to their endless prayers for a child of their own! Not just any son, but “…a son so-o-o special that no other parent in this world could possibly raise him and love him like them.”

In spite of all the uninvited complexities that accompanied raising their special needs child, and the unforeseen sacrifices required of them for more than five decades; Dad’s precious story only reflected this couple’s choice to celebrate their son’s birth…believing with all their heart that Little Buddy had a story worth sharing with the world; not in spite of his disability but, because of it.

I watched Little Buddy leaning heavily upon his Dad, fingers still entwined. My final glimpse of the two of them, was of them struggling, one painful step at a time, down the trail of tears Mom left behind on the carpet; following the nurse down the corridor.  The very sight of this trio in that hallway, remains forever-etched on my heart. Never have I ever been so keenly aware that I was beholding something very, very, precious in God’s Sight.  As I watched their silhouettes disappear into the dimness of that corridor, I heard God Whisper one word down into my spirit, “Flawless!”

Within the next few moments, I felt God’s Hand writing His Christmas story on my heart.  It was anything but typical. There was no stable to be seen, just a dimly lit, Doctor’s waiting room.  No Angels singing from the realms of Glory; only muffled Christmas carols, drowned out by a symphony of sickness. This scene was missing three Wisemen bearing gifts; but offered me three wise strangers, bearing unseen gifts from their hearts to mine. I never saw Baby Jesus laying in a straw-filled manger; but, without a doubt, Jesus was present right there in front of me… living, moving, and breathing inside each of these gentle, strangers!

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“Never have I ever been so keenly, aware that I was beholding something very, very precious in God’s Sight!”

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Though some time has passed since this day, I’ve never lost the feeling of having stared right into the faces of Faith, Hope, and Love in-the-flesh! Many in the waiting room that day, may have considered these three gentle strangers to be just another of this world’s flawed pictures in life.  However, God revealed them to my heart as “Flawless.” I understood right away what He meant.  Consider the way that the father, wholly and unconditionally, loved his only son…remember the way Little Buddy clung-to and leaned into his Father, trusting him for every painful step he trudged into the unknown…and marvel at the way Mom chased after new and enduring hope, in spite of setbacks and her own trail of trials and tears. This scene is not a picture of flawed living. It’s a grand reflection of how each of us are called to live out our lives before others; especially in light of our flawed world.  We are to become someone else’s living reflection of Faith, Hope, and Love; no matter what life throws our way.

Those three wise strangers who crossed paths with me in my doctor’s waiting room; unknowingly, left behind three of the most precious gifts that I, or any of us, could ever receive.  Beautiful stories of Unwavering Trust, Undeniable Love, and Unswerving Hope. Together, they unite to become the indisputable reminders to our hearts that the Heavenly Father’s Love is still alive, active, and living on this earth.

 Faith…Hope…Love…never forget them.  They are Flawless Gifts from the Heavenly Father’s Hand to our frail hearts.  Gifts He chooses to use over and over again in our lives…to reflect Himself-in-us to others; and to sustain and teach us as we journey steadfastly through this flawed world; down the paths each of us are called to walk on in this coming New Year. 

“…the earth is filled with His Tender Love!” (Psalms 33:5 MSG)

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PRAYER- Dearest Heavenly Father, New beginnings usher in new Hope for all our tomorrows, as yet, unseen. Help us to shift our focus as we step into those tomorrows, enabling us to see more than just the immediate circumstances surrounding us. Supply us the strength and compassion to become those Gentle Strangers in the lives of others; choosing to be someone else’s Faith…Hope…and Love gifts, left behind in this flawed world. Reflecting You, Lord, should be our greatest priority in this New Year. May we do so with Grace and Humility. Make us strong enough to take part in everything bright and beautiful You have prepared for us in the days ahead! In Jesus Name…Amen.

“He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted.” (Job 5:9)

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Treasure in the Darkness

by Debbie Allen

Fleeing for her life on a midnight drive from Virginia; Angela hadn’t time to ponder what life might look like for her as a single-mom trying to raise three kids on her own. All she knew that night, was that after catching a glimpse of her fresh, black-eye in the rear-view mirror, alongside the reflection of the three loves-of-her-life, asleep in the back seat of her car; it was enough to keep her driving for days on end. By the time that adrenaline surge inside of her heart subsided, Angela found herself and three little ones, standing before a total stranger; listening as he pointed them in the direction of a one-room cabin he had for rent in Pinecone Junction; a small town nestled high up in the Colorado mountains.

Angela and her children arrived in Pinecone Junction, with little more than the clothes on their back and determined looks on their faces. After handing Mr. Harvey, the kind, stranger, one month’s rent on-the-spot, her cash supply was nearly depleted. She knew she needed to make-do until she could find a job. But, for now…the thought of a little cabin they could call their own for a while was a welcome change from eating roadside, and sleeping in the car; like they’d done for the last two weeks. 

“OK, boys…watch for a sign that says, Snowman Gulch.”  “That’s our turn-off.  

Almost to the edge of town, Tony, 8 years-old, piped-up.  “Mom!  I see it…it’s right there!   Snow…man…Gulch!

They hadn’t driven more than a mile down that dirt road before Jack, 6 years-old, spoke-up, in his usual inquisitive tone.   “Mommy, I see deers and bunches of flowers in the meadows but…I just can’t see any snowmens.”  “Where are they?”

“Oh, Jack…” Angela answered, trying not to smile, “It’s summer here now. You know snowmen can only be seen in the winter after the snow falls!”

By the time she finished her sentence, the car was filled with laughter.  Jack was laughing at himself.  Tony was laughing at Jack…and Ellie, 3 years-old, was laughing, just because she could! 

As they pulled up in front of the little cabin-in-the-woods; a tear rolled down Angela’s cheek.  Her heart was full at the sounds of her children laughing together once again. One of many things that fear had erased from each of their lives back in Virginia. Helping Ellie up onto the porch, Angela’s heart raced with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. She’d not had the freedom to make such life-altering decisions for a long time. Taking a deep breath, she turned the key in the rustic lock and the boys pushed the creaky, pine plank door open.

“Oh wow…its perfect, Mom!” Tony assured her.

“And I can get up on this and look for the snowmen…when they come!” Jack insisted, while boosting himself up onto a little bench under a picture window overlooking the porch. He wasn’t thoroughly convinced yet that snowmen didn’t live all-year-round in a place named Snowman Gulch.

“This place will be what we make it, boys!” Angela replied, already feeling safer than she’d felt for a long time.  Tony and Jack ran for the bunk beds on the opposite side, shouting as they went, “I get the top bunk…I get the bottom bunk!”

Angela scooped up little, Ellie, clinging tight to her leg with her thumb in her mouth. 

“I guess that leaves us girls with that beautiful brass bed in the corner!”

Wriggling free from Mama’s arms, even Ellie ran for her bed screaming, “Mine…mine!” all the way there.

“Yes…” Angela thought, watching Ellie claw her way up onto the big, brass bed.  The cabin was small, but it truly was a God-send!”

With her past waitress experience, Angela took on a job right away at the local diner. Though she didn’t make much, with tips, her salary covered the rent and bought a few sparse groceries to keep on hand.  On the nights when the cupboards were bare-bone, her boss, Lilly, just seemed to know when to send home extras from the diner with her, to feed the kids. It was also Lilly, who loaned Angela a car to drive; when Angela was forced to sell her own car for enough cash to keep them afloat. She’d cut up all her credit cards when they left Virginia to lessen the possibility of her where-abouts being traced.  It was also Angela’s way of trying to sever all ties with her husband, Ken. Both she and the kids had suffered enough under his hand over the years. And now that her Dad had recently passed away too, there was no going back to Virginia…ever.  Keeping Tony, Jack, and Ellie safe was her first and only priority these days.

Though life in Pinecone Junction was good…Angela couldn’t deny that it had also been tough on them all.   Lilly, who became a close friend, Mr. Harvey, her landlord, and many other neighbors stepped in over the last six months, to help her out when they could. Angela was grateful for all the clothing donated to her and the kids; especially with the cold weather arriving. But tonight, was Christmas Eve…and though her paycheck had covered the rent; there was next to nothing left over to buy gifts for the kids. Heartbroken at the thought of it, and exhausted from work, Angela plopped down in the big pine, rocking chair in front of a crackling fire.  The kids were tucked into bed and fast asleep, excited for their first Christmas morning at the cabin.  The sweet words Jack prayed at bedtime, still rang in her ears. 

“And God…could you please just bring me a snowman for Christmas? They’ve been hiding from me all year.”

With a sigh and a smile, she propped her feet up on the warm hearth wrapping herself up in the Christmas quilt she found in the cabin attic.  Despair, fear, and anxiety all pressing down on her heart at once, she began to sob. In between tears she caught sight of the three white, socks that Tony, Jack, and Ellie had laid on the hearth for Santa to fill, knowing their Christmas stockings were left back in Virginia.

“What precious children you have given to me. God” Angela sobbed.   “Oh, dear Lord…I don’t deserve them. They’ve been through so much. I feel like such a failure in so many ways…God, please tell me what to do.”

Burying her face deeper into the quilt to muffle her sobs, she heard something in the background.  Lifting her head to listen, Angela composed herself enough to tip-toe over and check on the kids. They hadn’t moved since she tucked them in. 

“There it was again!” she thought, growing even more alarmed.  “Something…or someone was definitely moving around on her front porch!” 

“Oh God…please keep us safe.” She prayed, the panic she was all too familiar with, rising up inside of her.

 “Maybe it was Ken…had he finally found them…and now he was coming to take back his children with force and…who knows what he would do to her!!!”  she imagined silently, to the tune of her pounding heart.

Crouching down now on the opposite side of Ellie’s bed, she reached up and grabbed the phone off of the night stand; then made her way over to the hearth where she could see to call the sheriff.  Half-way through punching his number into the phone, Angela stopped.  She listened once more intently, then hung up.

 “It’s too late now to call the Sheriff anyway.” She reasoned.  If it was Ken, he would’ve already busted that old pine door down by now and been terrorizing them all.  

“Something strange was going on.” She thought, noticing an aura of colored light reflecting through the picture window.

Grabbing the fireplace poker, like she’d seen so many times in the movies; she tip-toed over to the front door and just stood there…listening. The shuffling noise had stopped. When what seemed like an eternity had passed, Angela took a deep breath, raised the poker, and turned the door knob slowly. Glancing back at the kids once more, she flung the door wide open!

“I can’t believe my eyes.” Angela whispered in awe.  “It’s a little Christmas tree, all lit up… it’s so beautiful.” She added, looking for signs of who might have delivered it. 

Underneath that tree were three Christmas stockings filled to the brim with gifts and goodies for the kids.  Even their names were embroidered on each stocking.

 “I…I can’t believe this.” Angela said, holding back tears, and shivering in the cold. And if that wasn’t enough, what she saw over the top of the Christmas tree, out in the yard, nearly took her breath away! 

“Snowmen…someone built Jack his snowmen!”

 As she looked closer at the snowmen, her heart melted. Never had she seen anything quite like this before. Two snowmen…one, a daddy, and one of them a child…both making snow angels in the snow. “My Daddy and I made snow-angels together, every Christmas Eve when I was growing up!” she whispered.”  “Thank you, God…only You could’ve known this and how very much I miss my Dad this Christmas.”

With more than a grateful heart, Angela transported the stockings and the little tree back into the cabin, placing them near the hearth. 

“What a beautiful sight.” She marveled, plugging-in the tree again. It was decorated with envelope after envelope, tied to the branches with red, satin ribbon.  Angela reached for the one at the top of the tree first.  Her name was written on it.  Opening it, three hundred-dollar bills fell out on her lap.

“This is the rent money, I handed to Mr. Harvey earlier tonight!”  

The unsigned note inside of it read simply, “Merry Christmas!”

The little Christmas tree’s branches were loaded with handwritten notes of encouragement, coupons for free babysitting, gift cards to the General Store, as well as many other shops in Pinecone Junction. There were even homemade cookies hanging on some of the branches.

 Overwhelmed with gratitude, Angela recognized that this Christmas tree was decorated with love…the love of strangers who, over time, became friends; friends who became family; and of course, the Love of God disguised in them all.

Curling up next to Ellie that night, in her big brass bed, Angela wept silent, tears of great joy.  She couldn’t stop thinking about her Dad, the snowmen making snow-angels, and the beautiful Christmas tree decorated with love. What had begun this Christmas Eve as a nightmare, had ended as a miracle. The miracle of Christmas was written across every gift she’d received tonight. And tomorrow, it would be written all over again in the expressions that Tony, Jack, and Ellie would be wearing when their sleep-filled eyes behold the beauty of the treasures that came to them in the darkness…much like the Love of Jesus came on that first Christmas night.

” May you be inspired by Giving, changed by Love, filled with Peace, and touched by your own Christmas Miracles in this Season of Love and in the New Year to come! ” 

“Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, is the measure of our Thanksgiving!”

—W.T. Purkiser—

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“The Perfect Setting”

by Debbie Allen

It has been said that ‘gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.’  In light of this thought, there is no better time than the season of Thanksgiving to intentionally, take time to give more, to love more, and to allow our hearts to reflect deeper on all the things and people that matter the most to us in life. While it is true that giving, loving, and deeper reflection, all perfectly envelope what we have come to call a grateful heart; I believe something even more than gratitude alone is needed to truly unlock the fullness of life.

The expression, fullness of life, can mean a variety of things to different people. Even as a writer, I struggle to put it into words; that is… until a few years ago. It was about a week before Thanksgiving.  I was meeting myself coming and going, attempting to make things perfect for family and loved ones coming to my house to eat Thanksgiving dinner.  Now, I’ve had a lot of years of practice cooking, cleaning, and preparing for large feasts at family get togethers; so this one seemed no more of a challenge than any of the rest of them.  The turkey was bought, grocery shopping was done, and all of my fine-china dishes, crystal glasses, and good-silverware were washed, put-away, and ready to go. I prided myself on having everything I needed to assure a perfect Thanksgiving dinner celebration.  Being a little ahead of schedule…I decided to take time to unwrap the brand-new tablecloth I’d bought. I spread it out the full length of my dining room table, to see if it fit. I smoothed out the wrinkles and stepped back to eye it.  I pictured every detail.  My fine china and good silverware, adorning each place setting.  I envisioned my family all sitting around the table; my Grandkids tugging on the turkey wishbone. 

“Hmmmmmm,” I thought silently, sensing something was still missing.  Something big!

“The centerpiece!” I thought, knowing I wouldn’t have an opportunity to make one now.

“What am I going to do?” I asked aloud, chiding my own untimely, forgetfulness.

As I stood there fretting about what I was going to do with that big empty space in the middle of my table, God’s familiar Whispers penetrated my anxious heart. 

“I am your Centerpiece,” He graciously reminded me.

Humbled beyond words by such a thought, I felt a little like the turkey in this unexpected Thanksgiving scene!  After this experience, I was more than content to leave the center of my table empty; for His Words brought my heart a measure of fullness…fullness of life; that I have never forgotten.  Two days after this experience, one of the ladies in my Bible Study Fellowship group, walked over to me and gave me a beautiful centerpiece that she’d made for me for my Thanksgiving table.  With tears and gratitude, I received it; knowing that God’s Fingerprints were all over this moment, as well!  To me, this is ‘fullness of life!’ An unexpected moment in time that washes over us from the inside-out; leaving behind a gratitude so deep, it transcends words and leaves our hearts overflowing with praise so rich and beautiful, it’s life-changing.   This moment was really never about having, or not having a centerpiece.  It was always about my heart…and wisely choosing to focus on the right Centerpiece.  Not only in my home…but in my life.

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“And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father, through Him.”

(Colossians 3:17 CSB)

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  I doubt I’ll ever look at another centerpiece again without thinking of God’s Words to me that day. Time and time again, they’ve served as His reminders to my overwrought, heart that it is God Himself, Who fills every empty spot…every barren place in our life with the Beauty of His Presence and the Fragrance of His Lovingkindness. He deserves to be the focal point in all of the seasons of our life, for it is from Him that all our blessings flow.

As we enter into the fast-approaching, Holiday Season this year, each of us has our own ideas of the perfect something or someone that we are grateful for; that adds its own ‘measure of fullness’ to our life and makes the season worth celebrating. Sometimes, standing in the midst of so many of our blessings; we have a tendency to lose focus and forget what matters most. We fill our bellies with great foods.  We fill our calendars with great events.  We fill our heads with great songs of the season.  But what do we fill our hearts with?  For starters, I pray you might consider these Great Words from our Great God, to my heart and now… to yours:                            

“I am your Centerpiece.”

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Prayer-Dearest Lord, this has been a most difficult year for so many in our land, and around the world.  The threat of COVID19 and all its restrictions and devastations has captured our attention and stolen our peace of mind, time and time again. Strengthen us throughout this Holiday Season. Allow us to again find solace and restoration for our hearts; to once more make You the focal point of all we do.  Be our own True Centerpiece in this season.  May we never forget that it is You, God, Who fills every empty spot and every barren place in our life with the Beauty of Your Presence and the Fragrance of Your Lovingkindness.  You deserve to be the Focal Point in all the seasons of our life, for it is from You and You alone that all our blessings flow.  In Jesus Name we pray…AMEN

“Notice that autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature.” –Friedrich Nietzsche–

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Unforgettable Fall

by Debbie Allen

Every Fall my heart is lured into the unfailing beauty infused into every corner of creation this time of year.  This season enlivens my heart like no other!  Reds, golds, scarlets, and tinges of burnt orange invade the unsuspecting, green landscapes of the dying summer season without regret.  From cityscapes to mountainsides, to our own backyards, these bursts of unforgettable colors reveal themselves as a virtual feast of beauty for our eyes and our hearts to revel in.  I also sense a level of beauty on display in its midst, from which a silent message flows out into the world.  A message intended to awaken the soul.

Nearly a year ago, I sat warming my hands on a cup of coffee; watching an autumn breeze tugging leaf after leaf down from a Cottonwood tree in my backyard.  Seeing those leaves piling-up on the ground below reminded me of something my Grandmother always said when my brothers and I were kids. In the middle of helping her rake her yard every year; she would drop her rake and chase after us with handfuls of fallen leaves.  Then she’d sprinkle them down onto our heads, proclaiming, “Fall has fell and all is well!” 

Though her words brought back a flood of warm memories, as an adult, I knew there was no truth in them.  You see, in spite of the fact that Fall had fell… all wasn’t well.  As a writer, I found myself in a slump.  This particular season was filled with what I labeled, a lack of inspiration.   I’d written numerous pieces but, I either didn’t finish them or I filed them away for my eyes only.  What’s worse, I didn’t post one new story on my blog site for almost an entire year.  I simply laid my pen down and walked away for a time.  The trouble is, in doing so, I also walked away from what God has been calling me to do since childhood…to write. 

  Truthfully, this entire scenario came about because I succumbed to the lie being whispered into my spirit, that I wasn’t impacting this world with my words the way I thought I should be by now.  Thoughts like that don’t come from God.  They bear the marks of the enemy of my soul. The one who would do or say anything to keep me from pursuing the dreams God placed in my heart, before I was even born.  Dreams He graciously, coupled with the gift of writing words in this life that reflect the reality of God’s Presence in our world and His Infinite Love for humanity. God allowed me to wandered around in the dark woods of my own wrong-thinking for a time; before He stepped in and showed me something precious.  Something I’d lost sight of.  His Beauty and Purpose can still be found; even on a wayward path.

 One crisp, autumn morning, God drew my eyes up into the cottonwood trees in my own backyard.  I watched leaf after golden, leaf tumble down to the cold earth below.  Each leaf pulling away from the branch …the only source of life it had ever known. The longer the leaves laid on the ground, the browner and more withered they became.

“Who trades life in the heights, in the glory and warmth of the sun; for the sure death that awaits them below?” I asked myself, basking in the sunshine still streaming through the bay window. 

 Watching an even greater pile of leaves accumulating on the ground; imagine my surprise to hear God’s Voice whispering in my spirit; countering my random question with a question of His own. 

“Who will care for the fallen ones?”

 You could have heard a pin drop in the depths of silence that flooded my soul in that moment. In the next few seconds, God allowed the eyes of my heart to envision an abandoned, rake laying motionless on top of that pile of leaves I’d just watched fall to the ground. Then the words of Matthew 9:37 came marched across my mind.  “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few.”

“The fallen ones,” I uttered, humbly realizing that the Lord was speaking directly to me.  Addressing the writer who’d abandoned her pen; and chose to sit idly-by in a season piled high with Humanity’s own fallen ones.  It couldn’t have been any clearer to my heart at this point, that God was no longer talking to me about leaves… He was talking about lives. Lives, that cost Him the life of His Son, Jesus. Lives, who either willingly, or in ignorance, continue to pull away from the only Source of True Life they could ever know; tumbling aimlessly towards the sure and eternal death awaiting them below.

Needless to say, I picked up my pen that afternoon and haven’t laid it down since. Now, almost a year to the day, I see once more, those golden leaves pulling away from their branches on my Cottonwood tree. They are vivid reminders to me of all the fallen ones in this darkening world we live in. Somber reflections of all those who continue to live life on the ground; instead of in the heights. Watching each golden leaf pull away from its branch and fall from its heights to the pile below it; my spirit senses deeply that the harvest grows greater and time grows shorter. I hold onto my pen a little tighter these days, praying that God uses the words He gives me to write, to touch and change the hearts they pierce.  As I ponder the times we are living in, I can’t help but ask this question once more, with a renewed perspective:

 “Who trades life in the heights of Heaven, in the Glory and Splendor of The Son; for the sure and Eternal death that awaits them in Hell below?”

Only God knows the answers to this question. 

Words still fail me… as I ponder the gravity of the Eternal consequences I see written across the fall season by His Divine Hand. Beautiful and heart-rending images, placed high up in the trees; that speak silently of life and death and the choices that lead to them both. Whether its leaves we are speaking about or lives… I know that my writer’s heart has been forever changed by them both in the unexpected story of this Unforgettable Fall.

“Only with Your instruction can I understand life.” (Psalm 119:104)

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Dearest Lord and Heavenly Father…help me to remain steadfast in my faithfulness to share the gift of words You have given me to bring glory to Your Name in this fallen world. May we never lose sight of the fallen ones all around us. Help us, Your children, to be obedient to our callings, in spite of setbacks. To be faithful even when we are discouraged; and courageous and obedient in the pursuit of Your Truths…even in the face of opposition.  May we, like the prophet, Jeremiah, never forget that You, our All-Powerful God, are on our side. 

“I’m on your side, taking up your cause.” (Jer. 51:36) “Therefore, He says, ‘Don’t lose hope.  Don’t ever give up!’” (Jer. 51:46)

IN JESUS NAME…AMEN