“Memories made at the Beach Stay in our  Hearts Forever!”

written by Debbie Allen

While sifting through the comments on my blog awhile back, I came across one remark which had absolutely nothing to do with anything I’d written on my post.  Truthfully, I’m not even sure she read the story. For some strange reason, I held off pushing the delete permanently button, allowing this person’s words to wash over my heart again and again. I marveled that a total stranger’s  words, randomly shared on a blog she accidentally stumbled upon because she just “…had to share her story  with someone”, could connect so deeply in my heart.  I sensed God’s Fingerprints all over this!

A young, single mom, living on the California coast went on to explain how she’d taken her four-year-old daughter, Emmy, for a walk on the beach  that day earlier. As they strolled along, kicking up loose sand with bare toes; Mom picked up a shell lying on the beach nearby.  Reminded of her own childhood, she showed it to Emmy.  Mom explained to her how God had hidden the sounds of the ocean’s crashing waves down inside of the shell.  Delighted, Emmy reached for the shell and pressed it up against her ear.  Just as quickly, Emmy dropped the beautiful shell, screaming and holding her ear, crying out, “Ouchie!  Ouchie!”

Puzzled by her daughter’s reaction to what promised only to be a beautiful, Mother-Daughter moment on the beach, Mom picked up the shell again.  Cautiously, she examined it, soon discovering a disgruntled sand crab, the size of a quarter; hiding down inside of it!  Mom laughed until she cried while Emmy just continued to cry!  What had begun as only the  shell of a past experience for Mom, ended for little Emmy as a very crabby beginning to her day on the beach!

Every new day holds its own promises for each of us.  Sometimes, without warning, those bright promises can turn into questions and speculations  that number the grains of sand on the sea shore. Life is a lot like this mother and daughter’s walk on the California beach that day.  One moment you can be walking in the sands of time, content with the promise of the familiar and the beautiful up ahead of you; and the next you are crying out in pain, wincing from the unexpected…or the unwanted.

Though this Mom couldn’t foresee what little Emmy never expected…the same is not true of us  in our own life. You see, we walk with a God Who Sees our life before we encounter it; even those unexpected things hidden in the darkness.

“He [God] changes times and seasons, He reveals deep and hidden things; He knows what lies in the darkness, and light dwells with Him.” (Daniel 2)

We walk through the sands of Time with the God who promises His children this:

“I have created you and cared for you since you were born. I will be your God throughout all your lifetime…”  “I will carry you along and be your Savior.” (Isaiah 46)

What better promises than these are there for the  moments, days, weeks, and years up ahead of us?  After all, we know Who holds our hands…Who Directs our hearts and Who Lights our darkness. Now, let’s just choose to let Him do it… while we kick some sand, walking with Jesus along our own beaches, blanketed with the  Sands of  Time.

Heart Trappings :

Have you ever seen  the Finger Prints of God in your own life?  Where, in your own life, have you encountered people, stories, or circumstances so unusually placed, perfectly timed, or profoundly simple, they captured your attention long enough to change your heart’s thinking forever?  What will be your response the next time you encounter the un-expected in the middle of your life’s beautiful?  Who’s Beach are you walking on?  Who’s Hand are you holding?  Who’s Light is lighting your way?

Prayer :  Heavenly Father, countless times I’ve walked the Sands of Time with You. Too often,  I confess that when my hopes have been dashed, plans abruptly changed, the un-expected tramples me,or death snatches a loved one away; I am prone to behave more like little Emmy on the beach with her Mom .  I turn loose of Your Hand and run away from You, crying and wincing in pain.  Help me realize I have turned loose of the only Hand that can Help me…the Only Eyes I can trust to Guide me…and the only Light I have in my darkness.  Thank You for seeing my life even before I encounter it.  Teach me to trust You more and to Seas the Moments I spend with You in the Sands of this Life!   Amen

  “Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD…”                  (Psalm 33:12)

written by Debbie Allen

During the War of 1812, The ‘Washington Post’ headlines were, no doubt, plastered with bold one-liners like these; following the unbelievable, deadly, British attack on American soils:

“The White House is Burning!”  “Casualties on Our Own Shores!”  “Washington on Fire!”

No one expected this unwarranted attack on our young Nation. Even so, America scrambled back to her feet on high alert!  By the time the smoke cleared and the shock subsided, our Nation, along with the help of it’s growing and determined militia, was again about to engage in yet another battle for her freedom.  This time she faced another attack by the Royal British Navy  on the shores of Baltimore, Maryland.  While most of us remember the historic battle that took place on land that night; few of us know to look  beyond these same shores where we discover another intricate piece of history in the making!

A man called Frank, propped a rain soaked boot up on the polished side-rail of the British ship, detaining him against his will now, for over 20 hours.  Somewhere, stowed below deck on that same ship, was Dr. Beanes, Frank’s friend and the man he’d been commissioned by the President of the United States, to intervene for in a hostage-recovery mission.  Though a well-respected attorney back in Washington D.C., here on the water-logged deck of this British ship, Frank, too, was just another hostage now. For no other reason but taunting, the enemy shoved a brass spyglass into Frank’s hands, and then forced him to watch the ruthless, attacks on Fort McHenry in Baltimore.  After peering through the rain-washed lens of that spyglass for the duration of a 25-hour British bombardment ; silence finally reigned. No more red glare from rockets streaming through the night sky…no more bombs bursting in mid-air. No more trying to decipher whose casualties were greater. Frank dropped down on one knee and prayed silently.

“God, p-l-e-a-s-e…it is only by Your Grace our nation is here today; and only by Your Grace will it remain.  Amen

With exhausted arms and trembling hands, he rose to his feet, lifting the dreaded spyglass up against his bloodshot eye one last time. Frank pointed it in the direction of a smoldering, Fort McHenry. Great billows of smoke and ash rolled out into the silent harbor. By now, the rain too, subsided; only deepening the silence now threatening to smother him. The rhythmic beating of his anxious heart became the drum roll for what the spyglass was about to reveal to him. There in the dimness of dawn’s early light, Frank could see an American Flag being hoisted up onto the only thing left standing in Fort McHenry…the flag pole!

“Our flag is still there!” he shouted hoarsely, to anyone who might be listening

Turning to see the reaction of the soldiers on-deck; Frank spotted a British Officer fast approaching him with his friend, Dr. Beanes, in tow.  Cutting the ropes laced around Beane’s wrists, the Officer nearly knocked Frank overboard, shoving the Doctor towards him.

“Take your hostage and go back to your precious America… England deems you both as worthless as the soils you walk upon !”

Unscathed by this British Officer’s angry words, Frank was relieved to see his friend in good spirits.  Handing the spyglass to Beanes, he pointed it toward Fort McHenry. Still basking in the miracle of answered prayer and the beauty of the stars and stripes, Frank  pulled a damp envelope from his jacket pocket and began to pen these words,

“O say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light,

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming.

O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”

“Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!

Then conquer we must when our cause it is just.

And this be our motto: “In God is our trust.”

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

by Francis Scott Key (Frank) ———- September 14, 1814

The sight of those “broad stripes and bright stars” on the flag being hoisted over the shores of Fort McHenry  inspired Frank to write these fitting words; which eventually became the song we recognize today to be our National Anthem.  Nothing embodies a vision of freedom quite like the American Flag. Frank experienced it while looking through the spyglass back in 1814. You and I  sense the same pull it has on our own hearts today when we stand before ‘Old Glory’ with our hands cupped over our hearts, singing the National Anthem.

As we celebrate our own Freedom on Independence Day this Fourth of July; may we be reminded of the fearless courage and integrity, self-sacrifice and devotion of Americans, past and present; who willingly laid their lives down in defense of the freedom we walk in today. Dedicate your lives to the principles for which it stands.  Read between the stripes and see what Frank really saw when he looked down the shaft of that spyglass  back in 1814…

“One nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all!”

HEART TRAPPINGS :

O Say can you see…that Frank is perhaps reflnecting a much bigger picture of His-Story (God’s Story) than you or I ever imagined?  O Say can you see…the spiritual implications concerning your own heart and the price of freedom, whether on an individual basis or a national level?  O Say can you see…and consider these words from the Old Testament, pointing us to a different set of “Stripes” from our past ?

“…the burden of our peace was upon Him [Jesus] and by His stripes we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:5)

What will you do with these heavenly”Stripes”? Turn away from them…or consider the high cost of the Freedom they bought for you?

PRAYER : Father, Thank you for the freedom we both celebrate today on Independence Day, and experience so freely every day!   Bless this nation with both victory and peace. May we never forget that America is a Heaven-Rescued land!

“And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave

O’er the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave!” 

Amen

“Shearing Day on the Farm leaves a permanent

   mark of shear joy on little girl’s heart!”

written by Debbie Allen

Most of us would agree, there is simply nothing like being a child.  It should be no surprise then, to discover that after we grow-up; we often just wish we were a child again.  Somewhere along the way, as adults, we lose sight of the simple joy that characterizes childhood. We lose touch with the wonder that God has tucked into the folds of our days.  We begin to wonder “why?” concerning our circumstances instead of being filled with the wonder of The One Who controls those circumstances.    It is in this breach between the wonder-filled  hearts and our wondering minds, that we begin  to push joy and Truth  through our own filter of circumstances and logic; ending up with only  a strained version of  true faith.  Let me show you what I mean.

A few months ago, Billie, the librarian at the middle school where I work; shared with me the little bits and pieces of her childhood; growing up on a small sheep and cattle ranch in the middle of windy, Wyoming.  She spoke fondly of the brazen, fun-loving Dad she loved so dearly; and the staunch, God-fearing, Mom who she adored.

She remembered watching her Dad and Uncle back a flatbed truck up next to their barn on Shearing Day.  Then, they hung a lengthy, burlap, fleece-bag down over the truck bed.  To me, a city girl, Shearing Day sounded like anything but fun. However, Billie’s expression told me otherwise. Her eyes danced while she spilled the specifics to me.  She was like a child reliving every moment again!

Shearing Day took place on the farm, in Wyoming, in the heat of summer.  This day was also characterized by scorching winds dancing across sweat-drenched brows, while swift and sweaty palms worked shear magic to transform the wild and wooly into the scraped and scrawny.    Sheep bleating, clippers clipping, and fleece flying!   All of this sounds like more than enough exhilaration to rate “extremely-high” on a child’s joy meter.  Billie’s face reflected this as she proceeded to act out her part in this scene from her childhood.  While still sitting in her rolling desk chair across from me, Billie threw both arms out to the side, lifted her feet straight up, and began to re-enact the dance that little four-year-old Billie remembered dancing on Shearing Day; after being placed down inside of a fifteen foot tall, burlap, fleece-bag dangling from the barn loft high above her.

“I can’t remember how I got down inside of that bag”, Billie pondered, grinning “…I just remember being there; laughing and giggling for an entire day, while endless fleece rained down on top of my head!”

Now…like every other task performed on the farm, Billie’s Dad did not just place his precious, Baby Girl down inside of that stuffy, burlap, fleece-bag without a much greater purpose in mind. She was given a very specific job to do for her Daddy.  She was his own, personal fleece-stomper!  He was to her, the fleece-maker.  He sheared and sheared…Billie stomped and stomped.  At the end of that day, pounds and pounds of sheared fleece became bags and bags full of compressed wool to take to market.  I’m sure each bag brought a great price, but, do you know what I consider to be the most valuable take-away from the farm at the end of Shearing Day?  The expression of joy that Billie still wears on her face nearly five decades later. Shear joy!  It comes from the heart of that little farm girl inside of her who, even now, looks back on all her stomping…and sees dancing.  She remembers her sweaty, pint-sized brow…and still calls it fun.   She ponders growing tired…yet, still draws strength from her Daddy’s simple words of encouragement to her that day, “Just keep stomping, little Bill, keep stomping!”

“Just keep stomping, little Bill, keep stomping!”  These words continued to resonate in my own thoughts.   They were simple, yet wise.  The expression of joy Billie wears on her face today, might have been very different had she not heeded her father’s words that day.

What if four-year-old Billie woke up on that hot, windy, Wyoming, Shearing Day on the farm and said, “No!” to the joy awaiting her in that day (As we adults too often do)?  She could’ve chosen to dwell purely on the facts surrounding her.  She was too little…too tired…too busy…and the job was too much for her littleness to comprehend.  But, she didn’t!  Instead, in the way of a little child, she sought her father out and without questioning him, accepted her small part in his BIG world.  Grasping her Daddy’s hand in total trust, she went willingly down into the burlap, fleece-bag which swallowed her up whole and then kept her from seeing him at all.  Little Billie could’ve felt trapped or even alone in this unfamiliar place.  Fear might have won.

But, looking up, instead of giving up, she cried out, “Daddy?”

“I’m here!” Daddy reminded her…and fear was done!

Quickly, she learned that just because the fleece-maker was invisible to her; didn’t mean he wasn’t still standing there beside her.  And when the clumps of fleece from her Daddy’s hands tumbled down upon her head, she didn’t wince or cry out, “Why?”  She simply remembered her littleness…in light of his nearness; and joyfully danced to the sounds of her Daddy’s voice.

“Just keep stomping, Little Bill’…

Keep dancing for me!”

“And let joy teach your heart

to really see!”

 Most of us forfeit the chance to really see because we become paralyzed by, or choose to focus only, on the circumstances falling down around us.  If Little Billie had chosen to do the same, she would have been buried alive at the bottom of the fleece-bag on Shearing Day.  However, she didn’t.  She chose wisely to heed her Daddy’s words and responded with obedience.  She stomped and stomped, tromping the fleece falling on top of her head, beneath her feet.  In time, with both diligence and fortitude, she rose steadily to the top of that bag; climbing out into the arms of her Daddy’s treasured, embrace.  Though hard work and difficult circumstances abounded in this day, joy overwhelmed it.  Joy enough to teach a child’s heart that trust and obedience brings both treasure and reward at the end of any given day.  Shear joy, so deeply infused in a little girl’s heart; it is still worn on the adult face of that little fleece-stomper today.

The story of the Fleece-maker and his Daughter speaks loudly to my heart about the kind of relationship each of us is meant to live out before our Heavenly Father.  Shearing Day emulates waking up each morning and saying, “yes” to Joy.  It is seeing past the obvious; I’m too tired…too busy…and the job is too much.  Seeking our Father out, without question, we are to accept our small part in His BIG world.  Grasping our Father’s Hand in total trust, we are to go willingly, as He slips us down into the unforeseen circumstances surrounding us each day.  And yes…they swallow us up without reservation and keep us from seeing the Face of our Father at all!  Feeling alone down in these unfamiliar places; Fear fights to win!

But, we look up and cry, “Father?”

He answers, “I AM here,”

And Fear is done!

Quickly, we learn in such secluded places, that just because our Father is invisible to us, doesn’t mean He isn’t standing right there next to us.  And when the circumstances that fall from our Father’s Hands come crashing down upon our heads; our Father’s Love has taught us we don’t wince and cry out, “Why?”

We remember instead, to ponder our little-ness in light of His Near-ness and joyfully dance to the sounds of our Heavenly Father’s Voice…

“Just keep stomping, Little Child,

Keep dancing for Me;

Let Joy teach your heart

To really see!”

 “For in Your Presence is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” (Psalm 16:11 NKJV)

HEART TRAPPINGS:  How many of your own childhood memories still flood your heart with deep-seated joy?  How willing are you to accept  your small part in your Heavenly Father’s BIG world? How do you react to the circumstances falling down around you?  Will you choose to keep dancing…or will you succumb to being buried alive by your circumstances?  What in life is hindering you from seeing your own little-ness… in light of your Father’s Near-ness?

                        PRAYER:  Father, I pray You help me learn to trust You more like a little child, concerning the circumstances falling down upon my         head.  Tune my ears to hear Your Voice and may I never doubt that just because I fail to see You…doesn’t mean You are not standing right there next to me.

“Not all treasure is silver and gold, mate.”

  (Jack Sparrow, Pirates Of The Caribbean)

written by Debbie Allen

After Winter’s frigid breath blows its final veil of frost across a cold, barren earth, there reigns a silence.  A pause between the seasons, into which the welcome voice of Spring speaks the Creator’s Good News of New Life and Eternal Hope into all the earthly places  where death once seemed to rule.  In so many ways, Spring is a vivid re-enactment of the miracle of the Easter Story.   This season is imprinted with the message of Jesus dying on the cross…laying silent in death’s grip for a time…resurrected from the grave to New Life.   Death for a season…silence for a time…new life springing forth! This is the pattern of Spring.

As I walked the perimeters of my backyard , hiding Easter eggs for my Grandchildren one Easter afternoon; it didn’t take me long to realize this pattern was everywhere!  Hiding Easter eggs under the withered stalks and dead leaves of  last year’s lifeless flower beds, I noticed the ground now studded with tender, green shoots pushing up through the dirt and springing forth with the beauty of a Day-Lily’s new bloom.   While maneuvering colored eggs into the crooks and forks of backyard bushes and trees,  I realized the barren tree branches, once laden with snow, were now covered with new buds; pregnant and ready to give birth to the snow-white blooms of the Wild Plum tree.  Any traces of winter that may have lingered behind in my heart were banished in an instant, by the unexpected warmth I felt just hearing the sweet chirps of a Robin’s new song in this new season.   Never before had Spring’s pattern been more evident to me.  Death for a season…silence for a time…new life springing forth!

After hiding all the eggs, I looked up to find my husband standing under the patio, laughing and pointing up at the tree I just walked away from.

“Looks like we have a joiner… an early treasure hunter!” Jim announced, laughing.

When I turned to see what he was talking about, I spotted a squirrel perched on a branch high up in our Cottonwood tree.  His paws were wrapped around the plastic Easter egg he’d managed to steal from the bush below.

That little squirrel recognized treasure in my backyard that day, too!  He wasn’t content to just give it a quick look and scamper away. He somehow understood the value of that treasure and his need to have it. So… he took a risk, leaving his place of safety to obtain it.  He worked furiously with both teeth and claws to bore a hole in the egg.    Because the egg was taped shut, that squirrel struggled for over thirty minutes before retrieving the chocolate candy stuffed inside of it.  Once  the sweet contents were in his little belly, with a surge of new life (His first chocolate high!), that squirrel disappeared out of sight, leaving the empty shell behind!

Spring is beautifully laced with the telling and re-telling of the Easter Story! This season mirrors, in unique ways,  the Story of the Savior’s Victory over Death and the New Life that springs forth because of it. Eternal Life!  Without a doubt, Jesus is the Greatest Treasure mankind will ever seek in his lifetime.  However we, like the little Easter squirrel, must first sit up and take notice of this One-of-a-Kind, Priceless Treasure, realizing that our greatest need in life is to lay hold of it.  Eyeing it from afar is not enough.  Just knowing it is there will not work. We must be willing to risk all, stepping outside our comfort zones to  receive this Treasure for ourselves.  Only then will we discover  it takes a personal sampling of the Sweet Contents of this Personal and Priceless Treasure to awaken us to the New Life that is within us!   Happy Easter…and Happy Hunting!!

“You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart. I will be found by you, declares the Lord.” (Jer. 29:13-14 NIV )

“The fear of the Lord is your treasure.   “( Isaiah 33:6b NIV)

  Heart Trapping –  What”imprints” of the Easter Season and the pattern of Spring do you see in your own back yard?  What treasures in life are you seeking?   How much are you willing to risk in life to attain them? Have they any Eternal value?   Do you believe that Jesus is your Greatest Treasure in this life?  Why or Why not?

Prayer –  O God, You are my God. You alone are my Treasure in this life.  My soul longs to find you. I hunger deeply for You; my whole heart longs to be satisfied by treasures beyond the silver and gold of this world.  Help me to find the Beauty of Your  undeniable and Priceless Presence in this Easter Season.  Thank you for Your gift of Hope and New Life…     Amen.

       “RYAN THE GREAT!”          

“The real secret of Magic lies in the performance.”  (by David Copperfield)

written by Debbie Allen

Not long ago, I walked into my kitchen and heard my 7 year-old Grandson, “Ryan the Great”, speaking his own magic words and waving a wand over a little black box on my kitchen table. He loved the idea of being a magician so I decided to check out his first show!  Scanning the crowd, an audience of three, Ryan the Great, quickly singled me out and fanned a deck of cards out before me.

“Pick a card, Grammie…any card will do!” He advised me.

The card I picked was the Queen of Hearts. Taking the card back, Ryan placed the Queen of Hearts inside of the little black box on the table. Magic wand in hand, he tapped the box and cried,” Abracadabra!”

The audience’s eyes grew wide, anticipating what was next!  Ryan the Great’s eyes grew wide, too, for when he opened the box, the card was still there! Undaunted by failure, this great table-top magician simply shrugged it off and closed the box once more to try again. After studying the instructions inside the Magic Kit for a moment, Ryan tried once more.

“Alakazam!” he hollered out, this time tapping the box twice.  When he opened the box…there she was! That stubborn Queen of Hearts, still smiling back at him.

After shushing the audience (who chose to clap anyway), the Great and Powerful Ryan drew in a deep breath and put on his most solemn expression. Raising his magic wand higher than ever before, he tapped the black box three times, and spoke with the greatest of 7-year-old authority, these powerful words,

“IN THE NAME OF GOD!”

Do you know what? This time when he opened the black box, that stubborn Queen of Hearts had disappeared!  I imagine with words like those being spoken over her…that queen had no choice but to flee!

Every great magician’s first intention is to create an illusion that completely baffles the mind and dazzles the eyes of his audience.  Knowing the instructions for how to make that Queen of Hearts disappear from the little black box were packaged inside of Ryan’s Magic Kit; my eyes weren’t nearly as dazzled as my mind was baffled!  Baffled because when push came to shove…and life wasn’t offering the ending 7-year-old Ryan expected; he set aside the world’s magic words and generic instructions for success, and called on the Name of the One he knew was the difference between failure and success.  “IN THE NAME OF GOD!”

These words will forever be connected in my mind to the growing legacy of one of the greatest table-top magicians of all times (at least in Grammie’s kitchen and heart!) “Ryan the Great”, who even at age 7, understands where his greatness comes from!

“You are my King and my God. Decree victories for your people.  For it is only by Your Power and through Your Name that we tread down our enemies.” (Psalm 44:4)

Heart Trapping:  Where do I find success in my life? What or Who am I calling on for help when failure stalks me again and again? Is my  daily performance before a watching world telling others… I am Great! Or do I cry out to the One Who is greater than I to do Great things through me?

Prayer:  Father, “In the Name of God!”  may each of us experience success by placing all we can do…and all we can’t do, under His Great Name and His Great Power, remembering where true greatness comes from.

                                                                                  “TWO-WEEK-OLD CHELSEA”

“The most precious jewels I’ll ever wear around my neck…are the arms of my Grandchildren.”           

written by Debbie Allen

 Over the course of time, each life is marked by certain moments or seasons of change so influential, the rest of our life remains defined by it.  One such moment for me came about three years ago.  Sitting out on the patio with family, my son handed me my three-week-old granddaughter, Chelsea.  She lived 100 miles away, so I savored any moment I had to hold her close. As her sky-blue eyes pried open, I found myself searching them deeply… wondering what beautiful things God had planted down inside of her heart.  Then, it happened!  Though only for a split-second, our eyes locked and I watched an unexpected smile form across her tiny, rosebud lips. Her first smile.  Overcome by that unforeseen smile, my eyes teared at the realization that something much deeper and more profound than I was stirring my heart.  It wasn’t just Chelsea I was connecting with when our eyes locked.  I felt as though God were looking back at me through her. The innocence of her little heart overwhelmed mine. Her gaze and her smile seemed to be assuring me that I was both known…and loved. It was in that moment, my new little Granddaughter…whom the world tells me, thinks no thoughts past immediate hunger, thirst, or pain; and whose smile is simply the result of very timely gas; was teaching her Grammie a profound and unforgettable Truth.  A Truth I too often forget, in the bustle of my ever-changing circumstances.  My Heavenly Father wants nothing more from me than what I desired from Chelsea in that brief moment.  To rest assured that I am known and loved by Him…and then, for me to just “let” Him Love me back.

This defining moment in my life is a beautiful picture of the pure, undefiled level of trust God desires from us and the unfathomable Love He offers His Children when we just “let” Him Love us back. When we just lay still and helpless as a new born baby, in our Father’s Arms. His Arms will never fail us and if we lay there long enough, we will begin to hear the Melody of His Great Heart beating.  Every beat resounds with the Message of His Eternal Love for you and I…

“I have loved you with an everlasting Love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.”  (Jeremiah 31:3)

Heart Trapping- “What would my own life look like if I learned to trust You more like a new-born baby in my daily walk with You, God?”                

 Prayer:  Teach us, Father, help us to find our rest in your Unfailing Arms, even in the midst of life’s ever-changing circumstances.Hold us close and tune our ears to hear the Message of Your Great Heart…resounding  with every single beat, Your Eternal Love for each of us.    Amen

“Autumn’s beautiful heart is, in so many ways, the Divine Artist’s signature on the portrait of her life.”

written by Debbie Allen

When lazy summer days disappear every year under the shadows of the fall season; I sense the Hand of the Divine Artist brushing His most lavish changes onto the canvas of our world.  My eyes are captivated by the trees; as emerald leaves surrender to the kaleidoscopic beauty of bold tangerines and russets, shades of scarlet and deep plums.  Every year I find my heart scarcely able to contain the unmatched beauty of His Fall Glory!  But, all too soon the leaves drift down to the cold, brown earth; each a silent message from Heaven that the Artist is again at work.  This time He white-washes the canvas; leaving only the barren trunks of those same once beautiful trees, shivering along the horizon.  There are no leaves.  There is no color.  What can be the purpose of His brush strokes?

“Why, God?” I ask, watching my favorite season slipping away.

“Why strip these trees of their beautiful autumn raiment, leaving them to weather the coming storms without a decent covering?” “Where is Your Gory to be found in such a scene?”

I’m quite sure the Divine Artist’s Brow must have wrinkled at such a question coming from such a finite mind.  For not long afterwards, it seemed as though He tapped me on the shoulder, took His brush between His Fingers and began painting me the most vivid picture of autumn I could ever have imagined! One I will never forget.  Let me explain.

You see, I took on a part-time job at the end of the summer this past year.  Every morning since August, I stand in the midst of rows and rows of orange lockers; located in a girl’s locker room at a local middle school.  I am, who the girls deem, “The Locker Room Lady.” I am the one who stands in the doorway, arms crossed and a half-smile; ready to blow the whistle if things get too out of hand.  I hand out hair ties, retrieve lost gym suits, and referee dirty sock fights.  Though my job description doesn’t list it, I’ve also found my place among these girls as an official heart-monitor.  The one who steps in and listens to the bleating hearts of twelve-year-old love stories and fourteen-day romances gone awry.

Major drama here, I might add!  Something I’m not accustomed to; being the Mother of three boys.

Let me put it another way.  Watching sixty to seventy girls a day in this locker room setting is not too far removed from my days of watching ants in an Ant Farm with my boys when they were growing up.  Except…now I’m sealed in on the other side of the glass with the ants and the ants I’m watching seem to all be on steroids!

These unique, two-legged, middle-school Creaturettes tunnel furiously in and out of each other’s lives, gathering any little tidbit of love, friendship and acceptance they can find to keep their self-esteems alive in the hours ahead of them.  They run helter-skelter over each other’s hearts, and in and out of each other’s minds; feeding on the little crumbs dropped there by their peers.  Miraculously, they seem to thrive on this steady diet of carelessly misplaced words, vain opinions of who they are, and unrealistic expectations of who they should be.  It’s all part of living up to an unwritten Rule of Thumb that I’m convinced must be posted above every Creaturette’s tunnel entrance.  A rule which if written out, would no doubt read something like this:

“You are not who you are.

You are not even who others think you are.

You are who you think others think you are.”

          With a rule such as this in constant play, it shouldn’t surprise you to learn that the locker room is no safe haven for these girls.  It’s a rough ‘n tumble, ant-eat-ant environment where someone’s world is always at risk of caving-in.  Sounds a lot like the real world, doesn’t it?  A frenzied place of constant clamoring for love and acceptance.  If you can’t dig yourself into all the right places while the world’s eyes watch you do it; then, in the spirit of Ant-Farm mentality, your world is quickly reduced to a place where there’s nowhere to run and nowhere to hide!

In any case, life is full of such hindrances and the locker room is no exception.  By the end of the first week as the Locker-Room Lady, I thought I’d grown accustomed to all of the sights and sounds of so many different personalities colliding in a girl’s locker room.  The wind-tunnel effect of several hand dryers blowing full blast.  The ear-shattering squeals emanating from multiple giddy, teenage girls.  The echoes of twenty locker doors all slamming at different times.  All of these things combined made it impossible to actually hear anything in here.  But, one day, right in the middle of all of this controlled chaos; I managed to zero-in on someone’s faint cries echoing from a nearby bathroom stall.

“Can someone help me, please?” I heard a little voice cry out again.

Walking toward where I thought the voice came from, I listened for a moment.  Nothing.  There were two stalls so I bent over casually to inspect the ground for a pair of feet.  To my surprise, I instead found a pair of eyes looking back up at me from under the first stall door.

“I…I can’t get this door open…could you please help me?” the girl asked me softly.

“Sure thing.  Just stand back while I push on it.” I warned her, having been a prisoner in this same stall the day before.

Wham!  Bam!  A couple of hefty jolts with both my hands and the door flung wide open.  That’s when I came face to face with the owner of those two chocolate-brown eyes; now peering back at me from under thick strands of shoulder-length, licorice-black hair.

“Thanks.”  The girl said, speaking just above a whisper.

I introduced myself as the new Locker Room Lady and watched as she brushed her hair out of her eyes with a multi-scarred right hand.  A hand missing all of its four fingers.  Not much more than a fleshy palm with an appendage to the side that had been fashioned to serve as a thumb. No doubt, this was the very reason she’d struggled with the door in the first place.

“I…I’m Autumn,” she said to me, pulling back the curtain of bangs veiling her face.  As she did so, she exposed the face of a young girl whose entire countenance appeared ravaged by angry flames some time in her earlier years.  Trying not to stare, my eyes were quickly drawn back into hers.  It took every ounce of concentration in me not to shed the tears I felt welling up inside of me for what life had been allowed to take from this girl at such a young and tender age.  Oh, how the mother in me wanted to throw my arms around her at this moment.  To run interference for her and try to protect her from the awkward stares and abrasive comments I knew would come from the other girls.  How my heart broke as I watched the other girls glance in her direction and then walk, not just by her, but, around her; like she didn’t even exist. Watching Autumn walk away from me to follow her peers into the gymnasium; the mom in me began to cry softly; while the more brazen, Locker Room Lady proceeded to question God about another of His seasons in Life.  This time…the uninvited season of change that descended into this young girl’s life.

“Why God…why these brush strokes?” I asked, still in shock.

“Why leave her so exposed in this cold, cold world?”

“Where is Your Glory to be found in this scene?” I whispered for the second time in a week.

This time my words didn’t just fall from my mouth.  They, instead, flowed from the depths of my heart.  A heart in unexpected anguish.  A heart with no answers for my own questions.  A heart now made ready for the Divine Artist to step down into and set up His Easel to Paint.

Over the next few weeks, I watched Him paint a portrait of this young lady for me. Her assigned gym locker ended up being right around the corner from where I stood for most of my supervisory time in the locker room.  This allowed me to remain within earshot of many conversations that took place between Autumn and some of the other girls.  Curiosity drove the girls to tunnel a lot deeper into Autumn’s past than I would ever have dared to go.  As I listened to the other girl’s chatting back and forth, I soon learned that Autumn began her life as an orphan; left on the steps of a two-story Chinese orphanage.  She was abandoned by her birth-mother shortly after birth. When Autumn was eleven months old, a fire swept through the orphanage, consuming everything and everyone in its path.  Numerous babies and children lost their lives this day but, not before the wrath of the fire inflicted its permanent damages on her.  Unrecognizable and a near-casualty, baby Autumn spent an extended time in the burn unit of a Chinese hospital.  Nurses and doctors cared for her around the clock; treating extensive burns to her head, face and body; including her right arm and hand.  Burns which left her blind in one eye and bearing the tragic scars that now placed her on a low-eligibility list, concerning Chinese adoption status.  However, Chinese adoption status was no match for the Hand of God in this matter.  For, waiting back in the United States was a family who deliberately chose to adopt this living miracle; above all the other children made available to them.  She arrived in the United States as a toddler and since then, has undergone repeated surgeries and multiple skin grafts.  These surgeries will remain a necessary part of Autumn’s life for as long as she continues to grow and change.

Over the next few weeks, my desire to shelter her never went away.  But each time I felt compelled to run to her assistance, I also felt the Hand of the Artist holding me back…tugging on me as if to keep me out of the way of the portrait He was still painting for me.

“Just watch,” I heard Him whispering into my anxious heart every day…”Just watch.”

And so I did.  Every day I watched the other girls flock to the full-length mirrors, hanging on the ends of the locker bays like ants drawn to sugar.  There they stood, beholding their own reflections; conducting their own mini-beauty contests.  By the time I watched them put a third layer of mascara onto already foot-long lashes, I could almost hear them chanting in their hearts,   “Mirror, mirror, on the wall…It’s true; I’m the fairest of them all!”

Then…I watched Autumn standing in their shadows unnoticed.  She paused there only for a moment; long enough to share a tiny corner of the same mirror.  Though she had no lashes and no vision in one of her eyes, I watched a smile quietly invade the scars stretched so taut across her face.  A beautiful smile.  One that told the story of a grateful heart, uttering with every single beat, “I’m here…and just thankful to be alive!”

I watched the girls banging on their locker doors with both fists in frustration when locker combinations didn’t open up on the first try.  Unwilling to try again, they always hollered out for the Locker Room Lady to, “…”bring us the key!”

Then, I saw Autumn crunched down silently on her knees before her bottom-row locker. I watched as she turned the combination over and over and over again with great difficulty.  Never did she utter a complaint or think to call out for help.  I suppose that in a lifetime that has been filled with endless moments of frustration, this is only one more time of her choosing to not give up.  One more time for her to be thankful for the full use of her one good hand.

On Picture Day, I watched some of the girls break into tears because the picture on their school I.D. didn’t reflect the perfect, unblemished image they hoped to project to the outside world.

But…Autumn only tucked her I.D. away in a book bag with a shrug, claiming, “It’s just a picture…it’s not the real me.”

My heart melted at her words.  Autumn may live inside of a thirteen year old body, but she speaks with a level of wisdom that most adults never reach in a lifetime.  It is the wisdom that comes with learning to see life from the inside out.  A Heavenly Insight, daily reassuring her that the contours of a person’s face should never be given a higher priority than the shape of a person’s heart.  Her beautiful heart is in so many ways, the Divine Artist’s Signature on the portrait of her life.

I stand amazed every day as I watch this young girl whom the world has deemed less-than-perfect , helping to make the world around her a more perfect place to be.  She reaches with her one hand, farther than most of us will ever be willing to go with two good hands.  Though blind in one eye, she never fails to see the needs of those around her.  She has plenty of reasons of her own to cry over…but instead, she saves those tears for the times I’ve seen her sitting on a locker room bench consoling a broken-hearted peer.

There is a quiet strength that abides deep within Autumn.  One that allows her to withstand the coldness that surrounds her.  To live above the Locker Room’s unwritten Rule of Thumb, which dictates, “You are who you think others think you are.”

How fitting that her adoptive parents should choose to name her Autumn.  She is a beautiful reflection of the Fall season.  A season marked by change.  A season that mirrors so well, the meaning of self-sacrifice…the quiet surrendering of a beautiful raiment, so a cold, brown earth might be touched and changed for a time by its leaves of gold.

The Seasons of Life sometimes offer us branches, stripped bare and standing in wide open abandonment on a whitewashed horizon in a cold, cold world.  At first glance, most of us find it too difficult to see past the barrenness of such a scene.  Some of us will even go so far as to question the brush strokes of the Divine Artist; daring to ask Him,

“Why? What purpose is there?”  or even,  “Where is Your Glory to be found in such a scene?”

Whether looking at His portrait of a young teenage girl named, Autumn; framed in the chaos of a girl’s locker room…

Or gazing out across the barren branches of trees, shivering along the whitewashed horizon of a Fall landscape…

Hear His Voice. Just watch, while He sets up His Easel in your own heart to Paint.

The Divine Artist’s Answer will always be the same.

“Because the branches are bare… My Glory shines brighter there.”

“The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them.  People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the Heart.”  (I Samuel 16: 7b NLT)

3-Year-Old, Chelsea, fills the room with her joy…
“Today is my day to dance with Life,
Sing wild songs of adventure,
Invite rainbows & butterflies out to play,
Soar my spirit, and unfurl my joy!”
_Jonathan L. Huie_

written by Debbie Allen

Who needs a written definition of joy when there’s a picture like this one hanging in the halls of your memory?  Over the years, those hallways of mine have expanded into more of a Gallery of Kodak-moments.  Their steep, Victorian walls are now bulging under the weight of countless snapshots filled with the little faces of my children and grandchildren, captured in their own unexpected moments of undeniable joy.  I walk among them, gazing and praising God for each and every memory hanging before me.  Believe me; I retreat to this special place often.  For it is when I stand here, gazing at pictures like the one of Chelsea, above, I am most reminded of what it feels like when true joy floods the heart.    That deep, abiding kind of joy that so effortlessly frames our faces, sets our hearts aglow, and stirs our souls. While wandering through my Gallery one day recently, I couldn’t help but notice how even true joy seems to subtly fade-away from those same radiant faces with the onset of adulthood.  Intrigued at the very thought of it,  I  couldn’t help but wonder, “What is the source of such inexplicable joy   …and why is it that small children seem to have cornered the market on this rare and beautiful gift?”

Though there is no simple answer, I believe the answer still points us towards something simple.   The simplicity that comes with just being a child. A child’s eyes still see Mom and Dad as heroes worthy of their complete dependence.  Heroes with the answer to everything, and love enough for all things.   A child’s heart is still filled with innocence and wonder at every turn in their world.  Their heads are not yet swimmimg with doubts and worries of this life that steer them towards a life-style tainted by mistrust and unbelief.  Their hands have not yet taken hold of the hands in this world that so eagerly pull them down paths they were never meant to go.   Children wake up wide-eyed and eager to explore whatever a new day brings them.  They spring from puddles of joy, hair parted crooked, and shoes on the wrong feet, to the breakfast table where they wrestle with the hardest decision of their day. A chocolate-frosted, double-dutch doughnut with sprinkles?  …or a bowl of soggy Shredded Wheat? (We both know which one wins!)

There is simply nothing like being a child…and ironically, once we grow-up, we often just wish we were a child again.  Somewhere along the way, as adults, we lose sight of the joy that characterizes childhood. We lose touch with the wonder that God has tucked in the folds of each of our days.  Our wandering eyes are more quickly drawn to focus in on the circumstances surrounding us. It is in this breach between the wondering heart and our wandering eyes  (perspective), that we begin  to push joy and Truth  through our own filter of circumstances and logic; ending up with only  a strained version of what the world calls happiness.

Perhaps this accounts for the difference in the expressions on the faces of those in the snapshots in my Gallery, as they grow older.  I studied the snapshot of Chelsea as she danced with life.  Then, I glanced over at a picture of myself on one of my recent birthday celebrations.  Oh…I wore a big smile on my face, sitting before a glowing birthday cake and a pile of presents, but Chelsea’s expression radiated something mine lacked. (No…not youth vs. age! ).  I remembered being prompted by my Daughter-in-law right before that picture was snapped to, “Smile, Mom!”   So I did.  Evidently happiness is capable of being staged.  It can be put on as quickly as it can be taken off….much like a coat.  My smile was born in just the right moment, for just the right set of circumstances, and then quietly subsided.  My smile was not a world-changing event. Chelsea’s smile, however, filled the entire room, washed over all our hearts, and continued long after I captured her on camera.  She spilled joy into the room that night.   Chelsea beamed.  Grammie had only smiled.

Because of the huge difference I could visibly see in those two snapshots in my Gallery, I decided to further explore the difference between Grammie’s smile and Chelsea’s beam.  Here is what Funk & Wagnalls Dictionary had to say about it:

Smile– to wear a cheerful aspect.  n. an amused expression of the face, characterized by the raising of the corners of the mouth.

Beam- to grin radiantly.  to emit light.

So….a smile can be worn and can be considered more an act of the will, strongly dependent upon surrounding circumstances.

A beam, however, seems to take on a life of its own.  It is more spontaneous and comes from somewhere much deeper inside of us.  It is not forced, and something, or Someone, I can only call Light streams from its source. Light capable of flooding an entire room and touching any heart  captured by its radiance. It is contagious.  This is joy…and it comes from the Source of all Joy, God Himself.

Someone once said, “If you have joy in your heart, it will be heard by the look on your face.”  Chelsea’s snapshot is proof positive of this to me!  It’s the perfect description of what you see on her face.    A priceless picture of sheer Joy.  A living example of the immense difference between just a smile and a big beam…and just happiness and great joy.   Sadly enough, it’s also the difference between adulthood and childhood.   As we grow towards adulthood, the complete trust and peace we once shared while living under the roof of our parent’s love and guidance, slowly erodes with doubts, fears, and the ways of a world who claims to know what’s best for us…and insists on telling us how to find true happiness.   Granted, this world is a beautiful place. We can live within this world and even find happiness in many of its corners, but when life’s circumstances come crashing down around us and happiness transforms into a distant memory; the peace we knew in childhood seems nonexistent.  Without peace…there can be no joy.

I have walked this earth long enough to know the world’s happiness is no substitute for true joy.  Even though I understand this truth with my head, there are still times when I catch my heart feeling robbed of joy.  One day at work not long ago, I was feeling both overwhelmed and under- appreciated.  I let my unhappiness about some unpleasant circumstances surrounding me dictate my inner attitude.  Like a giant billboard, my face became an advertisement for my heart’s disdain.  As I walked by my boss, Billie’s, glass-framed office; she motioned for me to come in.  All I really wanted that morning was to get to my desk and indulge heavily in the cup of black coffee waiting there for me.  Sipping it, I grimaced.  Like the rest of my morning, it wasn’t what I expected.  It was ice cold but, I knew it was the only refreshment available for the pity-party I was about to throw myself.   Putting my pity party on hold until after my meeting with Billie, I headed for her office to see what was up.

Reluctant smile and cold coffee in hand, I braced myself, expecting her to approach me about the 101^st thing gone-wrong-in-one-morning in the crazy Middle School world we both worked in. Such a moment never came.  There was a short time of just small talk and then Billie broke out into a story from her childhood that still touches me to this day.

Billie went on to share little bits and pieces about her childhood on a small sheep and cattle ranch in the middle of windy, Wyoming.  She spoke fondly of the brazen, fun-loving Dad she loved dearly; and the staunch, God-fearing, Mom who she adored.  Billie was the baby in the flock of brother’s and sisters she grew up with. Though they were dirt poor, love disguised it well.  She couldn’t think of a time when any of them ever went without a garden-fresh meal on the table or new hand-me-downs on their backs. Sounds to me like love filled in some pretty big gaps back then.  After a few minutes of sharing with me, Billie broke out in a hearty laugh; as she often did at the end of her stories.  But today, laughter didn’t signify, “The End.”  Her laughter was only the interval I saw her countenance transform happiness into joy.  Her laughter ushered in what I believe to be the very reason I was sitting there in front of her. For me, this moment gushed with God.

Without missing a beat, Billie began telling me how her Dad and Uncle would back a flatbed truck up to the barn on shearing day.  To me, a city girl, shearing day sounded like anything but a holiday, however, Billie’s expression told me otherwise. Her eyes danced while she spilled the details to me.  She was a child reliving that moment again!  I don’t believe I could’ve removed her smile with a crow bar even if I’d tried!

Shearing Day took place on the farm, in Wyoming, in the heat of summer.  I imagine such a day was also characterized by scorching winds dancing across sweat-drenched brows, while swift and sweaty palms worked shear magic to transform the wild and wooly into the scraped and scrawny.    Sheep bleating, clippers clipping, and fleece flying!   All of this sounds like more than enough exhilaration to rate “extremely-high” on a child’s joy meter.  Billie’s face reflected this as she proceeded to act out her part in this scene from her childhood.  While still sitting in her rolling desk chair across from me, Billie threw both arms out to the side, lifted her feet straight up, and began to re-enact the dance that little four-year-old Billie danced on shearing day; after being placed down inside of a fifteen foot tall, burlap, fleece-bag dangling from the barn loft high above her head.

“I can’t remember how I got down inside of that bag”, Billie pondered, grinning “…I just remember being there and having so much  fun; laughing and giggling for an entire day, while endless fleece rained down on top of my head!”

Like every other task performed on the farm, Billie’s Dad did not just place his precious, Baby Girl down inside of that stuffy, burlap, fleece-bag without a much greater purpose in mind. She was given a very specific job to do for her Daddy.  She was his own, personal fleece-stomper!  He was to her, the fleece-maker.  He sheared and sheared…Billie stomped and stomped.  At the end of that day, pounds and pounds of sheared fleece became bags and bags full of compressed wool to take to market.  I’m sure each bag brought a great price, but, do you know what I consider to be the most valuable take-away from the farm at the end of shearing day?  The expression of joy that Billie still wears on her face nearly five decades later. Shear joy!  It comes from the heart of that little farm girl inside of her who, even now, looks back on all her stomping…and sees dancing.  She remembers her sweaty, pint-sized brow…and still calls it fun.   She ponders growing tired…yet, still draws strength from her Daddy’s words of encouragement that day, “Just keep stomping, little Bill, keep stomping!”

“What else was I going to do?” Billie asked me, beaming a smile in my direction.

“After all, the only way out of those bags was up!”

Billie and I both chuckled at her last comment and how differently small children see their worlds.  As I walked out of her office that morning, I knew she had no idea just how much her story impacted my heart.  So much so, I dumped out my cold coffee on the way back to my desk and cancelled my pending pity-party!   Billie’s last words made me realize that my own joy meter was stuck on zero. Her childhood story about the joyful fleece-stomper and her beloved fleece-maker, made me sorely aware of the kind of story I was revealing to those around me that morning.  Mine was more a grim tale with a story line that fell somewhere between  the worst of  Hugo’s “Les Miserables”, and the frantic cries of  Chicken Little’s,  Henny Penny crying out, “The sky is falling!  The sky is falling!”  It portrayed nothing of the joyful relationship my Heavenly Father desired for me to be sharing with Him or living out before others.

As I mentioned earlier, this was a God-Gushing moment for me.  Every one of Billie’s words and gestures oozed with God’s message for me; concerning my grumpy, joyless responses to this morning’s unpleasant circumstances.  At one point, I felt God confronting me with this question.

“What if four-year-old Billie had said, “No!” to all of the things her Daddy had in mind for her that day?”

This question both haunted and humbled me.  I knew it was directed at my own heart.  Though I answered with silence that day, later, I clearly understood that if Little Billie had said “No!” that day, I wouldn’t even be writing these words you are reading right now!  So while Billie’s words continued filtering through my brain…God was busy translating her story even deeper in my heart.  Here is what gushed out.

“What if four-year-old Billie woke up on that hot, windy, Wyoming, shearing day on the farm and said, “No!” to the joy awaiting her in that day (As we adults too often do)?  She could’ve chosen to dwell purely on the facts surrounding her.  She was too little…too tired…too busy…and the job was too much for her littleness to comprehend.  But, she didn’t!  Instead, in the way of a little child, she sought her father out and without questioning him, accepted her small part in his BIG world.  Grasping her Daddy’s hand in total trust, she went willingly down into the burlap, fleece-bag which swallowed her up whole and then kept her from seeing him at all.  Little Billie could’ve felt trapped or even alone in this unfamiliar place.  Fear might have won. But, looking up, instead of giving in, she cried out, “Daddy?”

“I’m here!” Daddy answered…and fear was done!

Quickly, she learned that just because the fleece-maker was invisible to her; didn’t mean he wasn’t still standing there beside her.  And when the clumps of fleece from her Daddy’s hands tumbled down upon her head, she didn’t wince or cry out, “Why?”  She simply remembered her littleness…in light of his nearness; and joyfully danced to the sounds of her Daddy’s voice…

“Just keep stomping, Little Bill’…

Keep dancing for me!”

“And let joy teach your heart

to really see!”

“To really see…”

 Most of us forfeit the chance to really see because we become paralyzed by, or choose to focus only, on the circumstances falling down around us.  If Little Billie had chosen to do the same, she would have been buried alive at the bottom of the fleece-bag on shearing day.  However, she didn’t.  She chose wisely to heed her Daddy’s words and responded with obedience.  She stomped and stomped, tromping the fleece falling on top of her head, beneath her feet.  In time, with both diligence and fortitude, she rose steadily to the top of that bag; climbing out into the arms of her Daddy’s treasured, embrace.  Though hard work and difficult circumstances abounded in this day, joy overwhelmed it.  Joy enough to teach a child’s heart that trust and obedience brings both treasure and reward at the end of any given day.  Shear joy, so deeply infused in a little girl’s heart; it is still worn on the adult face of that little fleece-stomper today.

“To really see…”

A child’s eyes still see…really see.  They see beyond the point where adults choose to stop looking.  They see the wonder that God has tucked in the folds of their little lives…and their hearts chase after it!  Look again at the expression on my Granddaughter’s face on her three-year-old birthday.  That is a reflection of the very Signature of God upon her little heart…written in the ink of sheer joy!  Her Mom and Dad named her right when they chose “Joy” for her middle name; Chelsea Joy!  She floods an entire room with it when she smiles.  Joy inhabits the sparkle in her blue eyes.  Joy is what propels her little feet to dance in the middle of a room filling up with bubbles.  When we adults looked at those same bubbles that night, we saw only the soapy reminders of our own distant childhood.  Chelsea really saw them!   She saw tiny, shiny, floating spheres filled with miniature, glistening rainbows and the very Breath of God!  Her heart surrendered to joy as she danced on tip-toes, spinning around; her eyes drawn upward into a higher reality.  Reaching towards the beauty she saw in those heights, she listened hard to the good-bye cries of bubbles as they popped against the ceiling and disappeared.  The girlish giggles that followed those good-byes, exhibited anything but disappointment.  I believed them to be the outward signs of the inward Whispers of  a Loving, Heavenly Father assuring  His little girl’s heart  that just because something, or Someone, is out of sight…it doesn’t make them any less real! Oh, the joy that inhabits the trusting ways of a little child!

“To really see…” 

We must learn to embrace the possibility of the impossible.  To see that life is more than filling in the blanks with our own guesses for what is real and possible, and what is not.  Wisdom is not defined according to our own set of rules and boundaries, theories and happenstances.   There are many people today who choose these ways as a filter for living their entire life. Today’s world embraces such thinking, calling it knowledge.  Yet…when the world watches little children at play, doing this very same thing; they choose to call it ‘make-believe.’  So which is it?  Knowledge…or make-believe?

There are no double-standards living inside of Truth.  Even our very best guesses in this life are no substitution for Truth; nor do they change the reality of that Truth.  We were not designed by our Creator for living and making choices in a world where so many double-standards rule.  A place like this is laced with confusion, doubts, unbelief and fear.  These all come with a guaranteed promise to steal your peace, run away with your happiness and kill your joy.  The Truth is…all of us were designed to live as little children in our Heavenly Father’s world.  We can choose to make life up as we go, living on a steady diet of double-standards, or… we can trust God like the little child we were always meant to be and learn to live within the safety of His boundaries of Truth.   He promises His children this:

“ For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”   (Jeremiah 29:13 NIV)

These Words come straight from the Heart of the Perfect Father.  One Who knows His children from the inside out.  He wrote their story and shares their every joy. He daubs every tear.  He bears every complaint.  He treasures every moment of unquestioned reliance.  He endures every season of unmerited defiance…yet, He chooses to Love them anyway. There is great peace of mind living inside the safety of such a Great Plan and such a Great Love.

Little children understand what it is to truly experience life on this level more naturally than adults.   Adults have a tendency to endure what was meant to be enjoyed as a gift.  Chelsea didn’t just wake up on her third birthday, endure the bubble-chasing event, and then mark it off the calendar  before stepping into her new, three-year-old role.  Had this been the case, I’d have one less portrait of Joy hanging in the halls of my memory!  No…Chelsea experienced it!  She jumped and swirled and danced with the bubbles!  She felt them brush up against her pink cheeks and sting her eyes when they popped.  Catching them on her tongue, she sampled their soapy wonder.  She tried to capture their beauty with both hands, scooping at the myriad of bubbles as the floated by her!

Author, Sherwood Wirt, once wrote, “Joy is the enjoyment of God and the good things that come from the hand of God.”

I watched as Chelsea lived out this kind of joy with her whole heart on her birthday night. I witnessed the same joy overtake the adult face of Little Billie, as we sat in her office that day in the library.      Our Heavenly Father desires a life much like this for all of His children. We are designed for experiencing all of the good things He has already planned for us concerning every day of our lives.  Perhaps it is no accident the story of the fleece-maker and his daughter mirrors the story that each of us as God’s children were intended to be living out in this world before others.

The Fleece-maker and his Daughter speaks loudly to me of the kind of relationship a little child is meant to have before his/her Heavenly Father.  It emulates waking each morning and saying, “yes” to Joy.  It is seeing past the obvious; I’m too tired…too busy…and the job is too much.  Seeking our Father out, without question, we are to accept our small part in His BIG world.  Grasping  our Father’s Hand in total trust, we are to go willingly, as He slips us down into the unforeseen circumstances surrounding us each day.  And yes…they swallow us up without reservation and sometimes keep us from seeing the Face of our Father at all!  Feeling alone down in this unfamiliar place; Fear fights to win !

But, we cry, “Father?”

“I AM here,” He answers.

And Fear is done!

Quickly, we learn in this place, that just because our Father is invisible to us, doesn’t mean He isn’t standing right there next to us.  And when the circumstances that fall from our Father’s Hands come crashing down upon our heads; our Father’s Love has taught us we don’t wince and cry out, “Why?”

We remember instead, to ponder our little-ness in light of His  Near-ness and joyfully dance to the sounds of  our Father’s Voice…

“Just keep stomping, Little Child,

Keep dancing for Me;

Let Joy teach your heart

To really see!”

“..in Your Presence is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” (Psalm16:11b NKJV)

Below you will find some of my most treasured Portraits of “Joy”.  These are some of the faces I gaze upon while strolling down the Halls of my Memory:

Granddaughter, Makayla, climbing a tree for the very first time!

Chelsea, a glimpse of life…riding on Daddy’s shoulders!

Grandpa Jim…just a big kid, swinging with his Granddaughter!

Grammie Debbie & Grandpa Jim…sharing a mountain top experience; learning the art of taking ‘selfies’!

Rusty & Blue…the joy of finding you have a new and furry, Kissing Cousin!

Grandson, Ryan…Tossing a little frisbee around at Glennwood Springs!

Grammie & Ryan, Chelsea, Makayla…
Celebrating the joy of ‘silly-ness!’

“My first bicycle, Big Blue, is to me still, the beautiful piece of machinery

from whose framework I gleaned the secrets of living a successful life.”

written by Debbie Allen

History offers no man a more unique gift than that of the bicycle.  This priceless set of wheels began as a simple walking machine known as  the Hobby Horse, back in the early 1800’s.  Today’s bicycle has gradually evolved into a modern day, two-wheeled structure whose framework flaunts the very secrets to living a successful life!  No one will ever find a visible set of these instructions inside any box containing a brand new bike.  Such secrets are well disguised but, worth the effort it takes to discover them.  You see, most anyone can learn to ride a bicycle but, to grasp the ‘magic’ involved in learning to pedal with purpose across the paths of time…THAT is where the true secrets lie.

Everything I ever wanted to know about a bicycle I learned from my Dad.  One hot, summer afternoon, I watched him dump hundreds of loose pieces of metal into a pile on our front porch.  Those pieces, large and small, all fell  from an over sized cardboard box containing my first bike.  My eight-year-old brain swam aimlessly around in that metallic sea of confusion.  Dad seemed to understand it all, though.  He skillfully assembled each piece,  occasionally glancing over at a paper scrawled with thousands of tiny, meaningless words and confusing diagrams.  My  Dad proved himself a real miracle-worker  to me that day!  From my perspective, he took metal from cardboard and, using  nothing more than the little piece of  paper in front of him, he created my first bike!

“There you go, Sweetie.  It’s all your’s!” He said, standing it up in front of me.

I paid him in hundreds that day.  Hundreds of times of squealing, “Thank you…Thank you…Thank you!” while jumping up and down at least a hundred times more!

Oh, how I marveled at her beauty as I stood there beside her with my Dad.  Though my Dad called her, Schwinn, I was so awe-struck by the richness of her color, I nick named her, Big Blue.  From that moment on Big Blue became for me an adventure waiting to happen.

Oddly enough, the very first adventure Big Blue and I shared was just trying to keep her upright.  My Dad positioned me on the seat, put the pedals into an up-down position and then held me steady.

“Let me go, Daddy!  Just let me go!”  I cried out with confidence.

As the front wheels rolled forward, I could hear my Dad trying to warn me.

“Are you sure you don’t need these training wheels?” He hollered.

By the time he spit out his last word, I already wibbled and wobbled my way into a three-foot deep ditch.  Though I landed in soft green grass, my pride was brutally shattered.  Big Blue went down and she took me with her…or had it been the other way around?

In the days to come, my Dad spent countless hours coaxing, coaching, and chasing me up and down the driveway.  His hand never failed to steady me when I leaned a little too much one way or another.  And I always did.  For every time I managed to keep Big Blue upright, I fell down five more times.  I became well acquainted with what my Dad called the “ground rules!”

“It’s OK.”  He often said.  “Falling is just part of the learning process.  One of these days you’ll catch the magic!”  He assured me with a brimming smile.

Hills of discouragement heaped themselves all around me.  I spent many hours in these hills at the beginning stages of befriending Big Blue.  In these moments of doubt, I sought refuge in the sound of my Dad’s voice echoing throughout these hills.

“One of these days, you and Big Blue will become the best of friends!” He promised me.

About two weeks later, Big Blue and I did share our first moment of true friendship as I sailed, upright, down the full length of our driveway!  Excited, I skidded to a halt and turned to find my Dad jumping up and down at the other end of the driveway.  He paid ME in hundreds that day!  Hundreds of times of yelling, “Good job, Sweetie…Good job!”  “You just needed to keep pedaling!”

Finally, I grasped the principles he’d been trying to instill in me all along.  My Dad believed in me from the beginning…even when I didn’t.  The sound of his voice, not too far behind me, helped to keep me in proper balance between Big Blue’s wheels.  My Dad never did let me buckle under the idea that the task seemed too daunting for me to master.  After all, he knew what I could accomplish under the loving guidance of his hand.

Big Blue and I began a ride that day which has carried me from childhood into my adult years.  For me, my bi-cycle proved itself to be among the most significant of all of the Cycles of Life.  Its framework provided me the support system I needed for learning balance in life, and the unwritten instructions for living it successfully.

You see, I still wibble and wobble my way across Life’s pathways.  I am forever running ahead of my Heavenly Father crying out, “Let me go!  Just let me go!” (“Pride ends in a fall… ” Proverbs 29:23 LAB).  I fall!

From the midst of the ditch I hear His Voice asking me, “Are you sure you don’t need the training wheels?” (“There is a way which seems right to man, but its end is the way of death.”  Proverbs 14:12 NAS).

My Heavenly Father spends countless hours rescuing, wooing, and instructing me along bumpy roads,, blind curves, and dead ends.  Frequently, in my own discouragement, I have heard His Voice whispering softly in my ear,  “Its OK… falling is just part of the learning process.  Keep on pedaling and one of these days you’ll catch the magic!”

Do you  know what I have discovered that magic to be? It is the unfailing promise of His Hand, always there to steady me.  My Father’s Hand…nothing short of an invisible wall holding me upright throughout Life’s journey.

Everything I learned in Life about riding my bicycle, I learned from my Dad.  Everything I learned on my bicycle about living my life, I learned from my Heavenly Father.  My bicycle is the beautiful piece of machinery from whose framework I gleaned the secrets of living a successful life.  From childhood to becoming a Child of God, the message remains the same.  “Trust your Father’s Hand…hear your Father’s Voice.”  Discover the magic and experience the freedom that comes when you find yourself balancing upright between the Wheels of Life.  Hear Him calling out to you…

“Just keep pedaling…but,  pedal now with greater purpose across the Pathways of Time!”

“She who succeeds in gaining the mastery of the bicycle will gain the mastery of Life.”

—Francis E Willard