“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  

 

DEEP and WIDE

by Debbie Allen

Bracing himself up against a twisted pine tree, Shannon, former sniper and and ex-marine, aligned the scope on his gun with his intended target’s head. Having completed five tours-of-duty in Afghanistan, his instincts were always on high alert. Like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on his unsuspecting prey; Shannon waited for his target to step further out into the meadow, just a few hundred feet away.  Slow and steady, Shannon pulled his trigger and watched his victim fall to the ground.  Pulling himself back behind the pine boughs to reload, he listened to the chaos which ensued on the other end.

“Get down…enemy fire… Zeke’s been hit!”   

Mustering a half-smile, Shannon thought to himself how many lives he’d taken overseas without ever having known their names.   “It was probably better that way…easier.” he concluded silently.

“It came from that direction!” another voice cried out from the meadow, shooting a few rounds of their own back into the forest in retaliation. 

By the time Shannon repositioned himself to take another shot, he realized that he, too, had been hit.    Looking down at his foot, he saw a pool of red streaming down into his boot.  Angry now, that such random, enemy fire ever found him in the first place; he aimed with deadly accuracy at the enemy once more. Seeing them advancing in his direction, he fired off three more rounds in rapid succession.  Each one found its mark, leaving three more of the enemy writhing in pain, or motionless and face-down in the tall grasses of a once peaceful meadow on a Colorado mountainside.

This battle… The Battle of Bachelor Hill… never made it into the American History books but, it lives on in the memories of those few men who fought it.   Though each, in his own way, became a casualty of war that day… all of these young men rose from the battlefield at the end of that day to regale their own bloody tales of both defeat and heroism; as they sat around a mutual campfire in a Grand Lake campground.  The blood spilled in this battle came only from the red and blue paint-balls being shot back and forth between my son, Trevor, his brother, and three friends.  All of them joined this mountain getaway to celebrate Trevor’s week-long, bachelor party/camping trip.  This, however, wasn’t the only battle Trevor ended up fighting before the week was over.

Early the next morning, Trevor and his friends, Shannon, Zeke, and Aaron, hiked up to Grand Lake with the idea of swimming out to a little island a few hundred feet out from the shoreline.  Zeke took one look at it and backed out of the challenge that he himself had originally initiated. Shannon was the first to jump in the water without giving it much thought because…once a marine always a marine!  Trevor, like the others, was sleep-deprived and hung-over; but he jumped full-force, into the stinging cold, lake water; attempting to swim like a marine towards the island. About halfway across, reality hit him. He wasn’t a marine.  What was he trying to prove!  His limbs felt like lead. Panicked, his breathing grew shallow and His arms flailed in the frigid waters; now beginning to pull him under.  

“Someone help… me…I… I’m going to die” he cried out silently, choking and sputtering.  Still thrashing the waters in a desperate attempt to stay afloat; Trevor’s hand brushed against something in the water.  About to go under again, he spotted something protruding from the water near him.  Grabbing for it with all the strength he had left, he clung to it tightly. Relieved and grateful that it was sturdy enough to keep him afloat, he realized that he was clinging to the top of a pine tree that was growing underwater.  Still gasping for breath and shivering from the waters that nearly drowned him, he caught sight of Aaron, who swam up alongside him, asking with great concern, “Trevor…are you alright man?”

“I…I’ll be ok…go on ahead. I…just…need to…rest.”  Trevor struggled to get out.

“No…I’m not going to leave you out here to drown!” Aaron assured him.

And he didn’t. After Trevor rested there long enough to catch his breath, Aaron swam alongside him until they both reached the sandy shores of the island.  Shannon’s hand was there waiting to help pull them both up and out of the water and onto dry land. Tales around the campfire that night were much, much quieter.  Minus Zeke, who really had no tale at all to tell; these young bachelors/weekend warriors, raised their glasses a little higher than all the other nights past; toasting the fact that they had no casualty (Trevor), to speak of, in that final battle on the lake; on that final day! 

 Fighting for his life in the middle of Grand Lake that day was not a battle Trevor ever expected to encounter…nor was it a battle he could’ve ever won on his own. Clinging to the underwater, pine tree in the lake that morning, his heart came to understand personally what his eyes had been unable to see before. That the chasm between he and the shoreline was far too wide, and the water was way too deep for him to tackle in his own failing strength.

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“God always provides just enough, just in time!”

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All of us live in a world of choice and consequence. All of us have, at some time in our life, suffered because of it. Trevor understood this better than anyone by the end of his bachelor’s camping trip.  But I believe there’s a much bigger picture being portrayed in Trevor’s story.  I see a man in a life and death situation; struggling in his own strength just to keep his head above water. A man who, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t make the swim to the opposite shoreline where his marine/warrior friend stood waiting for him with great concern. In that moment when things seemed the most hopeless, a pine tree growing underwater shows up on the scene and provides a way of rescuing Trevor from drowning. Clinging to the top of that pine tree, he heard the voice of his friend, Aaron in the midst of his worst nightmare; reassuring him that he wouldn’t leave him and he’d stay by his side until they both reached the opposite shoreline. Ironically, Aaron was a fireman by trade; a living, breathing example of what it looks like to willingly risk all to save the life of another.  

If ever there was a snapshot of Heaven, this is it!  That pine tree was no accident in the lake that day. I believe God placed it there at just the right time to save a life…my son’s life. He did something similar in our world over two thousand years ago when a world-full of men and women were drowning in their own sins and needed a Savior to rescue them. God placed His Tree outside of Jerusalem on a hill called Golgotha.  His Son, Jesus, died on that Tree (the Cross), for you and I.  It’s that Tree that we can still cling to; and be saved from drowning in our own sins…rescued from a sure, eternal death.  We cannot make it on our own.  The chasm between life and death is too deep and too wide for any of us to make it in our own strength. Don’t choose to just drown in your sins. Open your eyes and see the Tree God’s placed in those deep waters for you. Reach out and cling to that Tree and be rescued! Cry out with the psalmist, King David, in the midst of his own troubles,

” I cling to You; Your Right Hand upholds me.” (Psalm 63:8 NIV)

Strain to hear the Voice of the One there by your side in your darkest hour, promising you,

 “When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you.  When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down.” (Isaiah 43:2a MSG)

And when you reach the opposite shore where He stands waiting for you, even now; take His Hand and find joy in the sounds of His Voice when He pulls you ashore and welcomes you into His Presence with these words.

“The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves!”  (Zephaniah 3:17a NIV)

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What is it that you are facing today that’s greater than you are? Do you feel yourself drowning in the circumstances surrounding you now? Are you still grasping at straws in life, in an effort to try and keep your own head above water…or are you ready to use what strength you have left to reach out and cling to the Tree God’s provided for you in the midst of all your troubled waters?

PRAYER: Dearest Heavenly Father, it’s not hard to see we live in a world of choice and consequence. Though this is true, You tell us in Your Word that even in the direst of circumstances, we are not to fear, for You’ve already made a way for us. Give us the strength to reach out and cling to the Tree You’ve already provided for us at just the right time in our troubled life. Even when we are sinking, remind us to open our eyes and see Your Presence before us. If we are to sink into anything in this life, may it be into the knowledge of “…how wide and long and high and deep” Your Love is for each and every one of us. IN JESUS NAME, AMEN

Dear-in-the-Headlights!

by Debbie Allen

My husband, Jim, and I were driving to dinner one Friday night; when I noticed her. Just another pedestrian on foot… maybe a stranger-in-passing.  Or so I thought.   As I studied the woman, while waiting at the same stoplight intersection; there was something so familiar about her.  I watched her hunched, figure step down off the curb into the crosswalk with great difficulty; as she wrestled with the reluctant piece of luggage behind her.   In the glow of headlights surrounding her, she turned her head in our direction; just long enough for me to glimpse the dear-in-the-headlights look that overwhelmed her gaunt, expression.  My heart sank.   It was her.  The Lady-with-the-big-blue-suitcase. I couldn’t believe those ragged wheels were even still turning. That battered, blue, suitcase-on-wheels was her trademark.   Sadly enough, over the years it had also become her name.  She’d roamed the city limits with it trailing behind her for over 40 years now…homeless.  Business establishments in the area recognized her by it; teens passing her by on the street taunted her because of it, and policemen identified her by it.  What a great testimony for a piece of luggage; but what an incredibly sad story it tells about the life still towing it behind her.            

“There goes the Lady-with-the-big-blue-suitcase!” I told Jim, with mixed emotions.  I was relieved to see that nothing happened to her after all this time, but saddened by the toll homelessness had taken on her; both physically and mentally. In days gone by, when I saw her crossing a busy street, she’d shake a clenched fist at speeding cars; shouting her own blend of obscenities back at every passing driver. Her brazen behavior, while standing in the middle of the street, added a whole new meaning to the term, road rage. Seriously though… I remember praying for her safety many times over the years. And now, here she was in front of me once more.  It was clear that things had changed for her.  Yelling out colorful words and raising angry fists had long since been replaced by extreme shortness-of-breath and two mis-shaped, weathered hands giving it all they had just to drag the old, blue suitcase up on the curb one more time.   As the stop-light turned green and we pulled away, I watched the Lady-with-the-big-blue-suitcase shuffle down the roadside; her heavy load in tow. My heart ached for her and I found myself praying for her again.  I couldn’t help but wonder what tears and trials and tales of woe may await her in the days up ahead.

 As my husband and I pulled up to the restaurant, my heart was flooded with questions about the Lady-with-the-big-blue-suitcase.  After we ordered our meal, every question once silent inside of me; flooded out into our dinner conversation. 

“What must it be like to live your entire life on the streets, surrounded by a hostile, world of people that turn their heads and pretend they don’t see you; or shake their heads in disgust at the very sight of you? To never hear the words, ‘I love you’…or ‘It’s going to be ok.’ How would it be to never experience the peace of knowing where you will sleep at night…what you will eat…or how you will keep warm, stay cool, or be safe?”

“It’s gotta be tough.” Jim responded, compassionately.

Her dear-in-the-headlight expression continued to haunt me. It was a look of such utter despair.  Her sunken eyes told my heart a silent story of time growing short; in a journey that had grown so long.

“You know,” I told my husband, “…even after seeing this lady around town for over 40 years, I don’t even know her name.  The closest I ever came to our paths even intersecting was while standing in line at a Starbucks, right before management booted her out of the building for having used the facilities for her personal dressing room.”

“Kirsten…” Jim blurted out right after that.

“What did you say?” I responded.

“Her name is Kirsten.”

After I recovered from the shock of Jim knowing the Lady-with-the-big-blue-suitcase’s name; he went on to share with me how a co-worker of his at King Soopers, sat down and spoke with Kirsten one late night, while on a break.  You see, Kirsten was given permission by King Soopers for a short time, to spend the cold winter nights sleeping in a chair at one of the tables near the Delicatessen; as long as she was gone before opening the next day.  It turns out that Kirsten, though homeless for the last forty years, had both a home of her own and a daughter who lived there!  Kirsten shared that she was afraid to go home for fear of being put into a mental institution.  She chose homelessness for most of her life; over living in her own home with family because she feared the lifestyle change that may or may not have come with that choice. Was that fear founded on fact? I don’t know and probably never will. But the reality of that fear in Kirsten’s mind caused her to run in a direction she was never meant to go in. No one knows the depth of the pain and struggle behind Kirsten’s story except God Himself.

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“A decision always accompanies the battles we face— God’s Way or our own.” —Chuck Swindoll–

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 I don’t doubt that His Heart broke every day He looked down and saw Kirsten huddled in a rainstorm, under a make-shift tent on a shopping-center median; eating from a can she opened with a screw driver.  A can, which had been thrown at her by a passing motorist in an attempt to share his indignation with her lifestyle. 

“Get off the streets…you’re nothing but an eyesore in the city!” he’d shouted at her as he sped by.

 The ironic thing about this incident was that the can the angry motorist hurled at Kirsten with the intention of hurting her that day; ended up being the same can that God fed her from later!

Until this night, I hadn’t known the Lady-with-the-big-blue-suitcases’ name.  After Jim shared her name with me, it only seemed to deepen the pain I felt for her all these years. I should’ve been comforted by the fact that I could now pray for her by name.  However, I was haunted by it now.  I lay awake thinking of Kirsten’s dear-in-the-headlight expression…her gaunt face and crippled hands. “What am I to do with this, Lord?” I prayed. 

Within seconds of my asking the question, I heard God Whispering into my heart, “Look deeper, my child.  S-e-e her.”

Puzzling over His words to me, I rehearsed the scene in my mind over and over again. The big, blue, suitcase.  The shell of a human being she’d become over time. I saw a worn-out woman; a mother, who remained nameless to a world that despised her for most of her life. For who she was, for everything she was not; even labeled by a stranger as being a human-eyesore to society.  For her own reasons, Kirsten chose homelessness over having the home that was already hers for the asking.  Instead, fear of what might happen or have to change in her life if she chose home, drove her towards living the vagabond life of the Lady-with-the-big-blue suitcase; and all the tears, trials, and tales of woe that followed her for years on end.

  “It seems to me, Lord, that Kirsten is desperately searching for wholeness in her life…everywhere she turns there are so many broken pieces.”

Then God gently reminded me, “Wholeness cannot be found in a broken world…not without Me.”

Fear drove Kirsten to choose, and even justify, the broken and destitute pathways she walked on for most of her life.  Fear and homelessness dragged her un-mercilessly, down roads that Love and choosing a home and family never would’ve. In her eyes, homelessness was her way of ‘having her own way’…but it was really yielding to the voice of fear telling her that ‘she had no other way.’   

Even now, when I see Kirsten’s hunched figure still dragging the big, blue suitcase up onto another curb; I continue to pray for her. For I’m reminded that with every step Kirsten takes in her arduous, life’s journey; she is still only one phone call away from being rescued from her homelessness. But… she won’t make that call.

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The Lord, our God, urges us to call upon His Name in all seasons: and He will rescue us. (see Psalm 118)

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To this day, I am still haunted by Kirsten’s gaunt expression and the dear-in-the-headlights-stare; but I am also frequently reminded of God’s words to my heart that night, as well.

“Wholeness cannot be found in a broken world…not without Me.”

His words sank deep into my spirit that night, unlocking the truth of why Kirsten’s story touched me so, down through the years.  I realized in that moment, that Kirsten’s dear-in-the-headlights stare haunted me because the Lady-with-the-big-blue-suitcase’s story has, all along, been God’s picture for my heart in this physical world; of what can happen to any one of us in the spiritual realm.  It very clearly reflects what happens to us spiritually, when we choose to go our own way in life…instead of trusting God for the life He’s planned for us, the Rescue Story He longs for us to become a part of, and the eternal Home He promises awaits us;  all for calling out to our Heavenly Father. Your life was meant to be a living declaration of God’s Goodness; a daily reflection of His Glory to the world around you.   I urge you to choose to cease your wanderings, and make the call! Only then will you discover what so many already have…that there really is, no place like Home.

“Call to Me and I will answer you.  I’ll tell you marvelous and wondrous things that you could never figure out on your own.”

—Jeremiah 33: 3  MSG—

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PRAYER: Dearest Father in heaven…forgive us! Our world can be such a hostile place for those so near and dear to Your Heart; both the homeless in the physical streets, and the homeless, who are wandering in life as spiritual nomads. Help dear Kirsten to find the courage to call out to You. Keep those without a home spiritually, from pressing on in ignorance of the wholeness You give us for the asking… in exchange for all our broken pieces. We call to You, God. We cry out to You to help us. The psalmist, King David reminds us, “From Your Palace, You hear our cry; and our cry brings us right into Your Presence—a private audience!” (Psalm 18). Our desire to live well can never be fulfilled without You. Restore to us our peace of mind, heart, and soul…continue to guide us in our journey towards Home. In Jesus’ Name…Amen

My Big “G” God

by Debbie Allen

There is a flame that burns within the hearts of all God’s children which needs to be continually fanned; or it will die out and even the world around us will suffer its loss. This flame is a measure of our love for God Himself. It is meant to be tended, nurtured and at times, even fanned by the very Hand of God.  The flame is an indicator of our level of devotion to His Word, His Truths, and His Presence down inside of us. It reflects the depth of our passion toward His Purposes. The fan that keeps this flame burning brightly is, in part, all the intentional efforts we make towards fueling that flame… or not.  Reading our Bibles daily…or not.   Storing up His Truths in our hearts…or not. Choosing to walk in humble obedience to the tune of God’s Voice…or not. All of these choices fan the flame brighter which in turn, sheds greater light on our life-paths; providing us with the perspective and passion needed to see and share God and the Truth of Who He really is. The flame is a testimony of the reality of God; both in our lives and in the world around us. In the words of Pastor Tony Evans, “God longs to be more than just Theology on a shelf.  He wants to be real to you right now.”   (CSB Tony Evans Study Bible, pg. 1465, copyright 2017 by Holman Bible Publishers).   You see, God is only as real to you as you choose to let Him be.  But if your flame is burning too dimly, you just may miss His Presence standing right in front of you. 

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“God longs to be more than just Theology on a shelf. He wants to be real to you right now.” —Tony Evans—

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A few years ago, working at a local Middle School, I experienced my own dimly lit flame in a very unique way.  The day started off a little rough.  My morning prayer-time was cut short due to my alarm not going off; so, I rushed to get to work on time.  I headed straight for the Girl’s Locker Room where I began each of my work days, supervising teen girls.  As I stood in my usual spot, waiting for the final bell to ring; my ears were busy trying to sift through fifteen teenage girls’ conversations; all going on at the same time.  Most of them I labeled girl drama.  However, one conversation in particular captured my attention. One of the girls asked another to “…Just name off what you like the very most about your life!”   Without even the slightest hesitation, the other girl answered, Oh, I like Jesus and Dr. Pepper!”  If I had any doubts about what I’d heard her say, the girl who posed the question, repeated it again out loud. I think even she was surprised by her friend’s response.  It was comical; and I couldn’t keep from smiling at the very thought of hearing Jesus in the same sentence as Dr. Pepper.

 Until that moment, I’d never even considered the beautiful reality that Jesus was standing in front of me every morning I entered that locker room; in the form of that young girl!  That moment for me was not just Jesus revealing His Presence to me in a most spontaneous and unexpected way. It was the very Hand of my Heavenly Father throwing a much-needed log on the dimly-lit flame inside of me; fanning my flame to bring new warmth to my dull heart; and lighting my path… even in the dark and forgotten corners of a Middle School Locker Room.

I experienced the warmth of that moment throughout that day.  Walking back to the school Office, where I spent my time between trips to the Locker Room; I found myself asking God what I could do to bring that kind of warmth to His Own Heart?  Little did I know it, but God was about to give me an opportunity to do just that.

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“God, is the God Who cares about every detail of your life; including how brightly the flame down inside of you is burning.”

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Later that day, I was tackling an endless stack of typing that I did regularly for one of the Teachers. Though the work seemed too repetitive for me to find it interesting; I discovered a typo on her original copy that made me glad I was the one doing the typing for this v-e-r-y New-Age thinking Literacy teacher.  The sentence on the test I was typing read like this: “Some people believe that there is only one true god, but the Greeks and Romans believed in many gods.” 

Without a moment of hesitation, I smiled to myself as I came to the part of the sentence that said, “…there is only one true god.”  Now I knew why I’d been chosen to do this monotonous typing!  God put me in charge of correcting the biggest typo ever in that sentence.  His Name was spelled wrong!  So…I promptly corrected it typing,

“Some people believe that there is only One True God, but the Greeks and
Romans believed in many gods.”                                          

Though I could’ve breezed over that typo and never looked back…I knew in my heart that God is a God who cares about every detail concerning my life and how bright the flame within me burns. My desire was to change how every student who read those words on that test for years to come, would see God.  With a few strokes on a keyboard, I took what the world perceived as a small “g” god, and revealed Him for Who He really is.  The One True Big “G” GOD! This was my opportunity to bring a measure of warmth to the Heart of God; as He had to my heart, earlier. Making this simple change reminded me of exactly why I climbed out of bed today…and every day.  It was and always is… for His Name’s Sake!

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PRAYER: Dearest Heavenly Father, forgive us, Your children, for the flame which burns so dimly inside of us at times. The flame which too often fails to stir the senses of the world around us to Your v-e-r-y Real Presence in our lives. You have chosen us out of this world to burn brightly for Your Glory. For Your Name’s Sake, fan the flames within us. Make us into vessels of honor, instruments “…for noble purposes, made holy and useful to our Master and prepared to do any good work.” (2 Timothy 2:21) Fill us with renewed perspective and faith enough to side step the spiritual blindness in this world that keeps people from seeing You for Who You really are. Our Big “G” God. The only One True God. “You, LORD, keep our flames burning; You turn our darkness into light.” (Ps. 18:28) Continue to do so for Your Name’s Sake. In Jesus name…Amen

 

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Lifting Up My Hands

by Debbie Allen

As a little girl, I was fascinated by a sculpture of a pair of praying hands, sitting on a knick-knack shelf above the couch I slept on each time I spent the night at my Grandma’s house. Something about the sight of  those hands brought comfort to me. Whether my sleepy eyes were tracing their outline in the blue of a moonlight hour, or recapturing their every detail in the brilliance of morning sunlight;  these folded hands seemed to speak a silent story to my little-girl heart.   Though, as a small child I was only allowed to touch them with a feather-duster now and then; I now hold them in my own hands each time I sit down to write.  These Praying Hands continue to touch my adult heart to this day.  They sit on my writing desk now, and with every glance over at them; I am comforted by that same silent story I sensed being whispered into my heart as a child. Only now, those whispers speak louder to me. I believe those whispers to be the unending echoes of an unfathomable love story; a story meant for every heart to remember… forever. Let me show you what I mean.   

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“The Praying Hands”—from it emanates the unending echoes of an unfathomable, Love Story; a Story meant for every heart to remember…forever.”

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Nearly six centuries ago,  in a little town near Nuremberg, Germany;  two brothers, Albrecht and Albert Durer, lay in a  bed, crowded with other siblings; dreaming of their futures. Coming from a family of eighteen, their chances of getting a college education were slim to nothing. Their father already worked eighteen hours a day just to put enough scraps of bread on the table to feed them all.  Nevertheless, having an overwhelming desire to attend the prestigious, Academy School, in Nuremberg, to further develop their artistic talents; Albrecht and Albert devised a plan to solve their own dilemma.  They made a pact.  They would toss a coin.  The loser of the coin toss would go down and work in the nearby mines; and with his wages, support the other brother while he attended the Academy.  Then, after four years at the Academy were completed, the brother who won the coin toss would support the other brother in like manner. After Church one Sunday, those two brothers did toss a coin.  Albrecht won the coin toss and headed off to Nuremberg; and Albert headed down into the treacherous coal mines in support of his brother; as promised. 

Over the next four years, Albrecht was almost an instant success in his artistic endeavors. His etchings, oil works and paintings far exceeded most of his professor’s. The day he graduated from the Academy, he went back home to attend a dinner in his honor.  After the meal, he stood at the head of the table and raised his glass, proposing a toast in honor of his brother, Albert; for the years of sacrifice in the mines that had allowed Albrecht to fulfill his dreams. 

“ And now,” Albrecht exclaimed joyfully, “ It is your turn, Albert.  You can go to Nuremberg Academy and  I will take care of you!” *

But, much to the family’s surprise, Albert rose with tears in his eyes, shaking his head.

Raising his battered hands up close to his face, he spoke.

 “No, brother, I cannot go to Nuremberg.  It’s too late for me.  Look what four years of working in the mines have done to my hands.  Every finger smashed at least once and arthritis so bad I can’t even lift my glass to join in this toast; much less make delicate brush strokes on canvas or parchment.” *

As time passed, in honor of his brother and all he sacrificed for him; Albrecht drew Albert’s battered hands in great detail; palms together and gnarled fingers stretched heavenward.  He named his beautiful drawing simply, “Hands.”  But as time went on and the world fell in love with this great work of art, they renamed Albrecht’s masterpiece, “The Praying Hands.” Now, over 450 years later, Albrecht Durer’s most widely-known work of art remains his tribute of love to his brother, Albert… “The Praying Hands.”

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“Albrecht Durer’s sculpture of the Praying Hands is his reminder to the world that, “…no one—no one—ever makes it alone.” *

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It has been said that Albrecht Durer’s sculpture of the Praying Hands is his reminder to the world that, “…no one—no one—ever makes it alone.” *  But because of my fascination with this sculpture since childhood: I believe there is something much deeper involved here.  Every glance over at those ‘Praying Hands’ continues to unravel for me; the silent whispers still emanating from it. They are echos of the one-of-a-kind love and sacrifice made on another’s behalf. They speak to my heart of the hands that so willingly gave up his own life so that another might find a new life.  Hands willing to go the distance without ever counting the cost.  Hands broken and battered for the sake of a brother, though it cost him his own life.  But wait a minute.  We’re not just talking about Albert Durer’s story anymore…we’re talking about a reflection of the Life of Jesus.  The Hands that Loved and Sacrificed His own Life…so that another (you and I), could have a new life.  The Hands that Gave Their All, so that humanity might have it all.  And like Albrecht Durer’s sculpture of The Praying Hands, Jesus’ Hands are ever-reaching out into the world with a message etched deeply in the scars on the Palms of His Hands:

“My child…take hold of My Hand, for ‘no one—no one—ever makes it alone.“‘

(* The Story behind “The Praying Hands” AfterHoursInspirationalStories)

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PRAYER: Dearest Heavenly Father, “The Praying Hands” sculpture is such a beautiful earthly reflection of what has been done for us by Your own Heavenly Hands.   I still seek the solace of those Praying Hands on my desk.   When I was a child spending the night on my Grandma’s couch; even then, I believe You were drawing my eye to those Praying Hands…teaching my spirit where to look to find comfort; whether in darkness or in the daylight. Though I am not a child anymore…I am still a child of Yours.  I still remember what You’ve taught me.  For this reason, I’m looking for the outline of Your Hands, even in this darkness that seems to be descending on us as a people and a Nation. An army of evil seems to be marching against us!  In the words of King Jehoshaphat of old…I cry out “For we are powerless before this vast number that comes to fight against us. We do not know what to do, but we look to You.” (2Chron.20:12 CSB). Give us the vision we need to see Your Hand, even as the darkness thickens.  Grant us wisdom and discernment to act and react in a manner worthy of the life you sacrificed on our behalf.  Your Truths ever before us…keep our minds alert and help our hearts to remain steadfast in our pursuit of righteousness in this dark time.  Protect us Father, for even with our hands in Yours, the wars all around us may rage on…but they will not defeat us! May we persist in praying until we prevail in prayer (Ephesians 6:18 CSB).  Enable us to keep a firm grip on your Heavenly Hands, remembering that “no one—NO ONE—ever makes it alone.”    IN JESUS NAME, AMEN

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by Debbie Allen

Once upon a time…is usually the perfect beginning for a fable or a fairytale written for children.  However, once upon a time…currently speaks of a one-of-a-kind tale in our present history we’d rather not have to tell to anybody’s children. The COVID19 virus.   Its details have invaded our thoughts and our headlines, filled our hospital beds and big-screen TV’s, and impacted nations, cities, and lives around the globe for many months. Our hillsides aren’t enchanted anymore…they’re infected. In an effort to avoid an invisible enemy, the Kings and Queens in this story sit on disinfected thrones inside quarantined castles. Its Princes and Princesses are restricted from dancing inside each other’s arms at the Royal Ball, which has been cancelled, in the name of social distancing.  The Royal Couple now stands no closer than six feet apart, having exchanged true love’s kiss for a mask.   This story’s final message is anything but a fairytale. And if the truth be known, it’s not going to end with the heartfelt words, “And they lived happily ever after!” At least not while we’re living on earth.

If ever there was a time in history when we longed for fairytale living…it is now. This surreal story we are living in is pummeled with daily unknowns, mounting impossibilities, and endless, unshakeable foundations, in our past that have been shaken to literal pieces.  With financial and health institutions floundering and businesses large and small, struggling to eke out new ways of finding their way back to Prosperity Road; life is anything but predictable. Stability appears to be a thing of the past.  This is not just true of our own nation but, all around the world. Each of our lives has been deeply affected…and countless lives have been infected by this dreaded invisible enemy, COVID19. I find it interesting that this disease settles in the lungs; stealing away our very breath from us…the breath that was meant from the very beginning to bring praise and glory to our Creator in life. Maybe this virus comes to us with its own message?

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“Maybe…just maybe this COVID19 Virus comes to us with its own message?”

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It’s extremely humbling to wake up one day and find ourselves face to face with the truth of our own human frailty.  Or at least, it should be.  Though President Trump and many world leaders have proclaimed formal ‘days of prayer’ to seek God’s help and wisdom during this critical time in world history; there are still a brazen few, in the leadership world, who refuse to acknowledge their need for either; even in the heart of this crisis.  As he watched the Corona Virus curve begin to flatten in his own state; the Governor of New York, Andrew Cuomo, is quoted during a press conference to have proclaimed:

“The number is down because we brought the number down.  God did not do that. Faith did not do that.  Destiny did not do that.  A lot of pain and suffering did that…That’s how it works.  It’s math….”  (https://www.lifesitenews.com/blogs/new-york-gov-cuomo-we-flattened-coronavirus-curve-god-did-not-do-that)

Governor Cuomo’s words sent chills down my spine.  Denying God’s active Presence in the pandemic ?  Just a few hundred feet away from where he spoke, could Cuomo not see Jesus was working fervently through the hands of first-responders, loving and caring for those quarantined lives hidden away in a field hospital, now standing in Central Park? Did he not notice Jesus helping prisoners find the strength needed to throw one more shovelful of dirt down onto wooden coffins filled with the unknown, dead; being buried in a mass grave site on Hart Island? Was it Cuomo’s heart breaking for all the tears that flowed down onto the hundreds of masked faces who lost loved ones to this virus? No, again.  It was Jesus’ Heart. The Heart from which flows only Good.  Cuomo saw his own pain and suffering, and simple math, as the reason for the Corona Virus curve flattening.  I saw Jesus, His Pain and Suffering, and the high cost of loving others greater than yourself.  I saw the Presence of God in the midst of all this chaos. And what about answered prayer?  Without a doubt in my mind, I believe God did this!  Faith did this! God’s Greater Purposes allowed this!

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“Though the Corona Virus Pandemic makes its mark in history as the first of its kind; Governor Cuomo’s words and actions are simply another case of history repeating itself. Same sin, different day.”

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Though the Corona Virus Pandemic makes its mark in history as the first of its kind; Governor Cuomo’s words and actions are simply another case of history repeating itself. Same sin, different day. You see God warns us to ‘trust in Him’ and ‘not to lean on our own understanding’ (Proverbs 15:6a) because ‘there is a way that seems right to man, but its end is the way to death.’ (Proverbs 14:12).  In the Garden of Eden, Eve ‘leaned on her own understanding’ the day she took a bite out of the apple that God told Adam not to eat; and humanity and all of creation is still suffering for it.   Andrew Cuomo, just as good as took a bite out of The Big Apple, the day he uttered words that reduced the Glory God deserved down to human efforts and simple math; then denied God’s Sovereign Hand in flattening the Corona Virus curve.

Whether we are living in the ancient story of Eve’s little apple, or the modern-day tale of Andrew’s Big Apple; the message is still the same.  We humans are constantly stepping across the boundaries that God draws for us in life, for our own protection. For our own good.  Whether it be in word or deed, if we continue to lean upon our own understanding and self-sufficiency, ousting God from His rightful place in our hearts and in this world…the consequences are going to be disastrous for all of us.  Perhaps they already are!

As I’m sure your hearts have perceived by now, the Corona Virus story has forced all of us to become the characters living inside a story we never asked to become a part of. There is no handsome Prince knocking on your door, holding a glass slipper in his hands; hoping it fits your foot so he may whisk you away to the royal life you’ve always dreamed of. However, the Prince Who is knocking on your door, is the Prince of Peace. Jesus. He holds in His Hands the story of your life.  Not a fable, not a fairytale.  But, a Journey with Him to the Land of Right-Living, and a life you never could’ve dreamed for yourself. Reach out and take this Prince’s Hand. After all… He gave His life for you so your story would have this perfect ending:

” …and they live Happily in the Ever-After!”

 During this unsure time in our world, continue to persevere.  The Prince of Peace stands before you, behind you, beside you and within you as a constant reminder to your heart during these tumultuous times; to set your mind on Him.  He will keep you completely whole and steady on your feet; as you continue fighting through the ever-changing circumstances…unwavering in your faith.’ (Isaiah 26:3).   Above all, continue to ‘trust in Him with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; but, in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.’ (Proverbs 3:5-6). 

Like the modern-day tale of ‘Andrew and “The Big Apple”, there will always be those people in this world who live for their own name and renown. But I assure you, their stories will not end well. The prophet, Isaiah put it this way:

“The path of right-living people is level.  The Leveler [God] evens the road for the right-living.  If the wicked are shown Grace, they don’t seem to get it.  In the land of right-living, they persist in wrong living, blind to the Splendor and [Presence] of God.” (Isaiah 26:7, 10)

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HEART TRAPPINGS:

PRAYER: Dearest Father in Heaven,,,It seems our whole world is in turmoil these days. The economy, the church, our community; What once seemed unshakeable has proven shaky and unstable, in ways we never expected. Desperation and uncertainty span the globe, Lord. I cry out to You in the words of King David, as he prayed for his own people during a dark period in their history. “Lord…You have shaken the land and torn it open; mend it’s fractures, for it is quaking.” (Psalm 60:2). Open our eyes to see both Your Glory and Your Presence among us. Continue to fill our lungs with your breath; and may we not fail to utter Your praises daily, especially in the midst of difficult times. For only in You, Lord, will we find both rest and refuge for our souls. With You as our Stronghold…we will not be shaken! In Jesus Name, Amen

by Debbie Allen

“It was the best of days; it was the worst of days.” One summer day, back in the early 1900’s…no one could tell the two little girls left sitting at the kitchen table on their family’s Missourian farm, any different! Breakfast was over but, Hazel, 9, and Nina, 6, lingered behind the rest of their siblings; who’d marched off routinely to knock out their chore lists so they could play. Giggling non-stop, the girls recounted chasing the chickens around the coup that morning before gathering-up enough eggs in a basket to feed the twelve of them.

“Mama wasn’t pleased,” confessed Hazel, looking down in an effort to hide her uncontainable half-grin.

Little Nina lowered her gaze too, adding, ” Daddy was mad when I dropped the milk pitcher he just filled for me. He told me not to skip…but, I love skipping.”

A moment of silence reigned between them in an attempt to mourn their most recent poor choices. However, as soon as their gazes locked, this inseparable, duo-of-girlish-whims, wriggled and giggled their way back to the kitchen sink where Mama’s stern expression and towers of dirty, breakfast dishes awaited them.

“I’m the oldest so I’ll wash and you can dry!” Hazel chimed in, tossing the dish towel towards Nina.

Before the towel landed on Nina’s face, Mama caught it in mid-air, glaring at both of them.  Her patience now gone, Mama grabbed a pencil and the girl’s chore lists. With every new giggle or accidental, playful gesture between the girls, Mama added a new chore to their lists.

Eyebrows scrunched by now, and dresses dishwater-soaked, Nina and Hazel protested, “But Mama…that’s not fair!”

 “I’m too little for this big chore list!”

Without another word, Mama handed each of them a revised chore list.  Then she laid her apron aside and walked out the back door; knowing she’d struck the Achilles heels of these two little trouble-makers.  Her troublemakers… the two little girls whose hearts always beat in unison when it came to knowing how to turn serious work into play.

Before it was all over, Mama wore her own half-smile; for not only had she gained the upper hand…but a whole day off!

“It was the best of days…it was the worst of days!”

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“It was the best of days…it was the worst of days!”

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The two little farm girls pictured in the story above grew up to become my Dad’s Aunts from Missouri. Though their childhood antics followed them on into adulthood, both Aunt Hazel and Aunt Nina grew up to become the much-loved, faith-filled women, sisters, wives, mothers, and aunts that I, too, had the privilege of knowing and loving in my younger years. 

Hazel was tall and lean, anything but shy; creative and outspoken in all she said and did.   Nina was petite in both stature and size, quiet-natured, and soft-spoken to all. They were like vinegar and honey.   Each of them offered their own unique flavors to this world; but when you combined the two of them together; they became their own sweet remedy for turning anything serious into play. 

In their later years, long after their children were grown, husbands passed away, and great-grandchildren were too numerous to count; they sat across from each other visiting in the same kitchen at the farm house where they grew up. Aunt Nina was working on a sewing project and ran out of the color of thread she needed to finish it.  Determined to get it done that day, she turned to Aunt Hazel.

“Sis…is there any way we could drive into town to buy more thread?”

Almost without hesitation, Aunt Hazel responded.

“Yes…I imagine anything is possible; but we both know it’s going to take a little doing to get us there!”

After this conversation, both of them headed for Aunt Hazel’s old blue Ford, Betty; parked in front of the farmhouse.  It’d been sitting there since Uncle Ross passed away a year earlier.  Aunt Nina climbed into the passenger seat.  Aunt Hazel positioned herself behind the steering wheel.  Feeling along the steering column for the ignition, she turned the key and held her breath. 

“Come on Betty, give us one more time!” Aunt Hazel pleaded, before the engine sputtered and coughed, and finally cranked over.

Then…just as she’d done so many times when they were little girls, Aunt Hazel took charge; issuing Aunt Nina some final instructions for their roles in this grand adventure.

“Now remember, you do the talking and I’ll do the driving. Just keep me centered in the road and we’ll surely get there!”

Putting the car in gear, they coasted down to the single-lane, country road at the bottom of the driveway.  Aunt Nina hollered “LEFT…NOW RIGHT…LEFT AGAIN!” and Betty and the girls headed for the craft store; more than ten winding, miles of dirt-road away!  This is probably the only time in her life Aunt Nina ever hollered at anybody. 

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“It may be the best of drives…it may be the worst of drives, but…none of us can make any of those drives on our own.”

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For this 80-some-year-old, duo-of-girlish-whims, this day had the potential of becoming the best of days…or the worst of days.   You see, at the time, Aunt Hazel was totally blind…and her guidance system, Aunt Nina, had never driven a day in her life!  Miraculously, Betty and the girls made it to the craft store that day, bought the thread needed, and returned home unscathed; but not without a few near-ditch experiences!

 This story is tucked-away deep inside the pages of my family history.   It was only by accident that my Dad happened to share it with me. The thought of it still captures my heart! It’s so much more than just a story of childhood antics following these two dear, ladies into old age. It’s a tale of two sisters who, over the course of a lifetime; found a sweet, abiding contentment in each other’s presence.  I see one risking all… for the sake of another’s needs.  I see a heart willing to embark on a journey with only the sounds of another’s voice to guide them down an unseen stretch of road. I see unwavering obedience and blind trust in that same voice to keep them centered, in spite of near-ditch experiences all along the way.

If you look a little deeper, you also see the beauty of Heaven woven in and out of this tale. It’s a reflection of Jesus’ Heart.  His Desire…He longs for us to find contentment in His Sweet, Abiding Presence. His Love… always intentional and sacrificial, with our highest good in mind.  Hope…He gave us His all, His Life; so that we could have one.

Whether we like to admit it or not, all of us are blind to what the road stretched out in front of us looks like. If we choose to make the drive on our own, life will be one white-knuckle, near-ditch, experience after another; with no guarantee of ever reaching home. Consider the wisdom of two little farm girls from Missouri. Let’s invite Someone to sit next to us on the journey. Then choose to tune the ears of our hearts to the Sounds of His Voice for Guidance. His Love and Faithfulness demand and deserve our blind trust. Jesus is the only one who is able to keep us centered in our own life’s journey. “It might be the best of drives…it might be the worst of drives but…none of us can make any of those drives on our own.”

PRAYER: Dearest Father in Heaven…Thankyou for loving us through every journey we embark on. Forgive us for being so short-sighted in so many ways. Give us the courage to admit how blind we are when it comes to finding our own way around in this life. Help us to faithfully tune the ears of our hearts to the sounds of Your Voice. May we not miss hearing Your instructions for the drive we are making in this life. Fix our eyes and our ears upon You. Thankyou for being the God Who is always with us and Who never fails to Rescue us. We love You. In Jesus Name…Amen