Author: ponderingpictures

I am convinced that I’ll never stop being amazed at the way God orchestrates timing, particularly the way I come across just the right Scripture passages at just the right time.  It’s not like He rearranges the Bible every night.  Still somehow He has year after year and situation after situation had me at just the right place in the Word to get what I needed for the day.

We returned yesterday from District Council (Network Conference) 2022.  As always I enjoyed my time visiting with fellow servants of the Lord and worshiping together.  In the midst of my joy I also faced again the heart rending reality that I am still in the waiting, the in-between.  I really am OK with that, but still, there are places of my heart that a tiny touch can elicit a river of tears.  For those places I practice surrender.

This morning reading Ezra I was encouraged once again.  Exiled people of Judah had returned.  They did not come up with this plan themselves.  God had initiated the move by stirring the heart of King Cyrus of Persia to rebuild the temple in Jerusalem.  It must have been exciting for the exiles.  Jeremiah’s prophecy was being fulfilled.  70 years of exile had been completed.  It was time to move forward.

The people rebuilt the altar and reestablished morning and evening sacrifices and festivals.  Then they set to work rebuilding the temple’s foundation.  Once the foundation was finished, they had a celebration.  Finally!  They were back in their homeland worshiping their own God.  Soon the temple would be complete and then they would really celebrate.

Or would they?  Opposition that had been ever present finally succeeded in gaining the ear of King Artaxerxes.  The temple reconstruction which began by order of King Cyrus was stopped cold turkey by King Artaxerxes.  How frustrating!  They had to wait . . . again!  We are not talking wait a month or two for supplies to arrive.  We are talking delay without end in sight.  No doubt some wondered what God was doing.  Had God really been in this?

The work remained at a standstill until the 2^nd year of King Darius of Persia when people responded to words from prophets Haggai and Zechariah by returning to the work.  Opposition arose yet again and it seemed they would score another victory by their letter to King Darius, but God.  It was God’s time.  Not only was the work allowed to continue, but the opposition was forced to help pay for it.  What’s more, by order of the king anyone who violated the decree would have his house demolished and be impaled on its beam!

Abba, you certainly know how to complete the works you start. May I be always faithful in the waiting.

If you, like me, are in a season of waiting, I recommend this song by John Waller, “While I’m Waiting.”

Been thinking about drafting a personal mission statement.  Took some time this morning to work on it and began by asking the Lord to help me clarify my purpose in life.  Immediately the statement, “I live to love,” came to me.

My heart’s cry for as long as I can remember has been this one thing.  I want my Heavenly Father to be pleased with me.  When I stand before God in eternity, I want to hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

I am such a doer.  I love projects and accomplishing goals.  God wired me that way.  I will never forget saying to my mom one day mid-high school, “I just want to be busy for God.”  A couple of years later the evening speaker at Redwood Family Camp preached about being, not just doing.  The Lord and I had a long walk and talk under the big trees after service that night.  It didn’t change my wiring, but it did challenge me to grow.

Honestly, I don’t think of myself as particularly loving.  In fact, the day John Mark proposed I responded that I was not sure I knew how to love.  It seemed something was broken inside of me that I was not able to bond rightly.  I could move across the country without suffering from missing the people I left.  I’ve many times been concerned about that because I’m not sure it’s healthy.  I never used to cry at all when I watched movies . . . then I had kids.  Overnight movies moved me to tears.  I am not mushy.  I think people need to suck it up and take responsibility for their lives.  Twice in Bible College I took the Taylor Johnson Temperament Analysis and had scored 3% and 4% in compassion.  That said, I do care about people.  I care about the people in front of me.  I notice the people that get overlooked in a group.        

Jesus replied, “‘You must love the LORD your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ The entire law and all the demands of the prophets are based on these two commandments.”

Matthew 22:37-40 NLT

If God’s highest goal for me is to love him with all of my heart and to love those around me, what does love look like?  I heard Heidi Baker preach that.  Love looks like something.

What does it look like to love God with all my heart?  At this point in my life, it looks like time.  It’s time in the morning where I put off planning all the work I want to accomplish.  It’s time I read the Word and ponder the little things I never noticed before.  It’s time stilling my heart to listen.  What are you saying to me, God?

Loving God with all my heart looks like obedience.  It’s saying yes when I don’t yet understand.  It’s daring to be stretched.  It’s taking risk when I’m not a risk taker.  It looks like trust.  It’s stepping out just because He said so even when the door has not yet opened.  It’s coming as I am.  It’s daring to make a fool of myself.  It’s acting, not just talking.

Loving God with all my heart looks like yearning.  It’s passion in worship, moving with the Spirit, pouring myself out before the Lord.  It looks like lingering in the Presence.  It’s when my top desire in life, the motivation behind my actions and my words is for God’s face to smile upon me.

Every year that goes by I understand more vividly that I cannot love God with all my heart without also loving the people he put around me.  God loves those people very much, and he wants me to value them the way that he values them.  I am not meant to be isolated in my worship of God.  I am meant to be moved with compassion, like Jesus.

I cannot think about this topic of living to love without referencing at least in my own mind the Prophet Bob Jones and his heavenly encounter when God asked him if he had learned to love.

My heart’s cry in this season is this.  God, teach me to love.  Help me see people.  May others feel your love for them because of the way I treat them as valued.  May I always treat them kindly and be patient.  May I consider their feelings when I choose my words.  May I show them respect.  May I have the courage to risk rejection.  Help me to be always humble.  May I bring my hurts to you and not lash out at others.  May I be consistent in prayer for the needs of others.  Show me ways to put action to my faith by serving.  May my love for others be a reflection of my love for you.  May my love for my husband and my family be as filled with grace as my love for those at a more comfortable distance.

When my time on earth is done, may it be said of me, “She lived to love.”

Today’s question.  Who am I . . . at my core?

This is not my first experience with core values exercises.  I tend to enjoy such activities, as both reflection and personal growth are among my values.  Beginning with nearly 500 potential labels for what motivates me, I shed over 400 the 1^st round, and took it down close to 60 the 2nd.  Only after I began grouping did those most central to my being begin to surface.  I am tasked with narrowing the list down to five, only five core values.  Well, I made it to six so far.  Those selected are not perfect, but they are progress.

I ask myself many questions. Do I value hard work because I value productivity, or is it vice versa?  Which labels suit me best?  Clearly excellence, independence, trust & productivity belong in the top five.  I nearly made “learning” a subcategory under “excellence,” but life-long learning and continual growth are such passions that I just had to set apart learning with its own heading. That leaves a 6^th weaker category that I am unable to shift below any other.

The present label of “positivity” is not satisfying.  The idea here is attitude.  I ask myself, “Is having a positive attitude a core value?  Or is it a choice?”  Can those two coexist?  By choice I look for the silver lining in a dark cloud of a situation.  It is by intent that I actively welcome people once I am established in a group.  Gratitude is definitely a choice.  Then again, I AM an encourager, which I think is more than a choice.

More questions.  How does positivity relate to equality?   It’s a poor label for the attitude of having value for others that are different from me.  Why subordinate cooperation to positivity?  Because, though fiercely independent I have always seen cooperation as higher than isolation.  These things are about attitude.

The question that comes next – What does one do with the values one aspires to embrace but that have not yet made it into the core of one’s being?  For instance, I want my life to be about love.  I will forever reference prophet Bob Jones’s encounter with God when the Father asked him if he had learned to love. Ever since I heard that, I have set it before myself as a life goal.  I will learn to love like the Father.  I wish I could say love was currently at my core, but no, I am as yet on a journey to learn love.

Abba, I set before you those labels I have observed as presently describing the core of my being.  I offer them up and ask that one by one you set them below the label of love.  When I stand before you in eternity, I want love to be who I am.

So far in my Bible reading this year I’ve made it to Deuteronomy from Genesis.  I’m not sure how much of this is the result of switching to a journaling Bible, but to some degree it feels like I’m discovering things for the first time, very fresh. Whatever the case, I’ve been unintentionally studying Moses.

I do love to spend time pondering great questions. What must it have been like to follow God in Moses’ lifetime?  There were no churches, not even a Bible to read.  What did he have on which to base his faith?  His GREAT . . . grandfathers had encounters with God. But where was God in Moses’ day when his people had become enslaved in the nation to which God had lead them for provision during a famine?  Other than his infancy, Moses was raised in the house of Pharoah in a land where idols were worshipped.  What motivated Moses when he killed that Egyptian slave master? How did Moses become this man of faith?  Did his first years with his Hebrew parents ignite the spark of his faith?  How much influence did his father-in-law, the priest of Midian, have on him?  What must it have been like to encounter God at the burning bush?  Life-altering is all I can think.

Moses didn’t feel qualified for the task to which God was calling him.  He really pushed it too.  God gave in to Moses and added Aaron to his staff, but it was Moses that met God face to face throughout the journey.  He faced life and death challenges, went to God, and God gave him answers.  When the people rebelled against him and against God multiple times, Moses response was to fall face down before the Lord.  He refused to go on to the promised land if the Lord did not go with them.  He risked his own position with God to save his people, rejecting God’s offer to wipe out these people and build a new nation from his own loins.  Moses physically heard the sound of God’s voice.  While I believe it absolutely, my mind has a hard time imagining a face literally glowing at all, much less to such a degree that it required a veil to cover it.  This is how close Moses was to God.

What caught my attention this morning, however, is the way Moses explained to the people the fact that he would not be crossing over the Jordan with them into the promised land.  It was a flaw.  Moses, this amazing man of God, had a flaw.  He shifted the blame onto the people.  No, it was not the people’s fault that he died on Mount Nebo instead of in Canaan.  In a moment of weakness at Meribah, his sister having recently died, he acted out his own frustration with the people’s lack of faith.  Still, it was his own choice, not theirs.  This speaks to me, Moses’ having a flaw.  Yes, his face glowed, but he was human too.

Just over a year ago now, my husband and I found out we would no longer be pastoring where we were.  I was in an emotional pit, not because of leaving the pastorate but due to hopes deferred.  I asked my husband to consider just getting a job temporarily, as I was not OK and was not ready to go pastor another church.  Though he mentioned that maybe this was our opportunity to pursue my call to serve on the foreign field, the timing was terrible.  I was not OK.  Also, I needed to know that he felt called himself, that he was not just tagging along for my sake.  Since I did not immediately respond positively, he sent resumes to a couple of churches.  My emotional state worsened and I wanted to die.  I was not suicidal, but small difficulties would put me in bed just wanting to die.  After 23 years of marriage ups and downs, I had no remaining hope that I would ever become happy in my relationship.  I felt like all the responsibilities of running the household and now being the family breadwinner were on my shoulders.  My house was never clean.  I was unhappy with our family life.  I carried the responsibility of caring for a type 1 diabetic child myself.  I couldn’t keep up.

Thank God I had a friend who saw me.  She invited me to lunch and we began meeting for lunch weekly.  When I reached the point of regularly wanting to die I asked her to hold me accountable to get help.  I did get help and became myself again.  Shortly thereafter my husband and I felt the Lord leading us that it was time to apply to be missionaries. 

This is the point at which I begin to relate to Moses.  Who am I that I should apply to be a missionary?  We have qualifications in other areas, but one extremely important area is the strength of one’s marital relationship.  Our youngest child has the medical needs of type 1 diabetes and I sometimes wondered about his behavior.  On top of that, what would they say about my own emotional track record?  I did not relish the idea of laying my life up on the table for examination and being told I was nuts to even ask.  It’s not like I didn’t know these were important issues.  Then again, the Lord said go.  I would do anything for Him, even make a fool of myself.

We met with the director of the area to which we felt called.  We filled out all kinds of applications and other forms, had meetings and went to doctors.  We waited many months for the next round of interviews and candidate orientation.  I prepared to hand off my main income job to my successor.  Meanwhile my husband got a negative report from the doctor.  Our youngest son’s behavior started getting worse.  Our pre-interview questionnaire brought up afresh all the issues over which I had concerns. My anxiety was going up.

Then I heard a sermon online.  I cannot remember who was the speaker.  I remember her talking about Jesus being the Lord of her life.  That means that all the burdens she was carrying were not hers.  She was the servant.  He was the master.  The buck stopped with Him.  This really spoke to me, ’cause I was carrying a lot.  For all these years I’ve felt destined to serve the Lord in a foreign field.  I had to lay it on the altar . . . again.  It was in His hands. 

We went to our much awaited missions interview.  I had peace about it, because it was in the Lord’s hands.  No surprise, the interviewer was gracious in telling us that he felt we had things to offer and yet recommending that our application be put on hold for a year.  Two of his three areas of concern were mine also.  His 3^rd concern would be resolved by waiting a year plus the year would allow us time for marriage counseling.

If you’ve never been in this position, let me assure you that when you have been telling all of your friends for most of a year that you are headed to the mission field and that the magic date for approval (or not) is March 2022, it is humbling to then have to tell everyone that you have been asked to wait another year.  There is absolutely no finger pointing going on here.  Not only do I trust that God has us in His hand and that His timing is perfect, but I also trust that our leadership hears from the Lord and that they also have our best interest at heart.  I will wait.  I will not only wait, but I will work.  I will do my part.  I will continue to pray and continue to lay it down before the Lord.

You know, Moses, that amazing man of God, never made it to the promised land.  He died on Mount Nebo looking that direction.  If the Lord takes me, I will go.  If He does not, I will stay.  I will serve Him all the days of my life wherever my feet are planted.  I have given Him my heart without condition.

This is what I believe.  Missionaries, like Moses, are people, not super humans.  I choose not to put them on a pedestal.  They are flesh and blood. Foreign mission fields are not magical places where everything from ones dreams suddenly falls into place and all issues in one’s life suddenly fade to the background.  I’ve read their stories, their ups and downs, trials as well as victories.  Missionaries are people who said yes to God and followed Him to places with different cultures and different languages.  They have struggles like me.  I too share this call, though I am deeply flawed.

Today I have a renewed hope.  I am believing the Lord for a miracle in my marriage.  I do not expect my life to turn into a fairy tale where everyone lives happily ever after.  I do believe the Lord is going to breathe life into some dead places.  I believe that where I used to be hopeless and want to die, the Lord is going to give me keys to help pull other women from the pit of despair.  I am not there yet.  I am on a journey.  The Lord is with me.  With Him I will go anywhere.

I do not have control over my son’s behavior, neither can I control my husband’s health.  I have always walked in faith.  Today my faith is stronger than it was when I began this journey.  I would not have chosen these struggles, but they are working out for my good.  I don’t know if our missions application will ever be approved, but I know that I have obeyed.  It is well with my soul.

If you, my friend, believe in Jesus, please come to him as you are.  He is not sitting up in heaven waiting for you to make yourself holy enough for Him.  He is beside you offering you his hand, inviting you to walk with Him.  As you walk beside Him, don’t spend all your time trying to fix yourself or disqualifying yourself.  Spend your time looking into His eyes.  In time you will become like Him if you walk with Him.

Abba, today I pray over my friends and any who would share my story.  May they find peace with you through Jesus.  May theirs be a walk of faith, dependent on your goodness, not their own.  If any are sitting on the fence, not fully surrendered to your Lordship, I ask you to draw them in to You.  May they be filled with your Holy Spirit and be used by you to do many good and mighty works.  In Jesus name.

I’ve been giving thought to the meaning of tasks prescribed by God to the priests in Leviticus and Numbers.  This morning’s passage began in Numbers 28 with daily offerings.  I’ve decided that God loves a good BBQ.  Though I haven’t counted, I’ve noticed a number of verses that talk about sacrifices being a pleasing aroma.

Joking aside, what jumped out at me today was the pouring out of the wine that accompanied the twice daily offerings of lambs.  Poured out.  In being offered to God, the wine had to be wasted.

I grew up in a household that wasted nothing.  We “cleaned” our plates at every meal. We ate leftovers, either reheating or creating new dishes. Leftovers held past their prime were fed to the dogs. We recycled cans and reused containers of every sort. We wore hand-me-down clothes. We took care of our stuff so it would last. We drove the same brown 1974 Toyota Corolla from as early as I can remember until I was nearly out of college. To this day my dad drives his yellow 1981 Toyota pickup and does his own maintenance. We salvaged and reused lumber.  My dad taught me to straighten a nail and reuse it. He kept jars in the shop organizing the screws, bolts, nails, washers that he picked up here and there. My mom pumped the wash water from her electric wringer washer (which she used both to save money and conserve water) out into the yard to water the apple trees. She hung out clothes on the line to dry to save electricity. She washed dishes in dish pans so that she could carry that water out to water plants when she finished. When there was a drought we even waited between toilet flushings at times.  I guess I should not be surprised that I simply cannot escape this internal drive for efficiency.  I came by it honestly.

Having just been through more than a full year of life transition and facing another, I’ve done A LOT of reflecting.  Since my early teens I’ve wanted to serve the Lord with my life.  I first imagined that might look like being part of a traveling singing group or marrying a pastor and serving alongside him. Later I felt called to the mission field and prepared by going to Central Bible College, class of ’97.  I married someone who expected to pastor and we served as lay leaders for years, just taking the next step as opportunities arose to serve, following as we felt the Lord was leading.  It was not until 2013 that John Mark had the opportunity to serve “on staff” and 2015 when he got to serve as Senior Pastor. I have always served in some capacity, living by that passage, “whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.” 

Many times I’ve been tempted with thoughts of having wasted my life. I have not yet made it to the foreign mission field as a career missionary.  Even when I finally got to be an actual pastor’s wife, I never really found my lane in that role.  I did serve the church, as always.  Many hours I’ve spent crying before the Lord pondering this one thing.  When I stand before God, will he be pleased with how I’ve spent this life.  My life hasn’t looked like what I’d imagined.  Even so, there is no point along my path that I can point to where I felt the Lord pointing one way and I went another.  I’ve always said yes.  Every time I’ve come to the Lord with this question, I’ve always come away with this answer.  He didn’t hand me a road map and tell me to follow it.  He gave me His hand and invited me to walk with Him.  He is pleased with my obedience.

My family is in the process of trying to be appointed as foreign missionaries.  A couple of weeks ago we had an important interview and the result was that our application is being held for one year before we can move forward.  That was hard.  I cried.  I knew that it was right, and I trusted God with it, yet I cried some more.  I poured out the wine of my life before the Lord in prayer.  I said, “If saying yes to you means I never get to go, I still say yes.”

This is me.  My life is on the altar.  Whether it is burnt up as a pleasing aroma or whether it is poured out (wasted) as a drink offering, I yield it up.

There is something very freeing about having it all laid down.

Had a rough start.  My youngest child refused to get up and do what needed done to get ready for school.  How I hate to start mornings off this way.  I kept thinking, “I don’t know what to do.” 

Then the Lord met me in my quiet time.  I veered from my regular Bible reading schedule, which currently has me in Exodus amid the plagues.  Instead I went in search of the verse running through my head.  I love it how the Lord speaks through the many verses I memorized in my youth.  I knew the passage was in James and said something like this, “If any man lacks wisdom, let him ask God,” but I couldn’t remember how it ended.

Having in hand a newer Bible, not the tattered, white KJV of my youth with its hundreds of underlined verses and highlights, I glanced over the first three chapters of James.  No luck.  I settled in to read the whole book until I found it.  Within seconds the Lord was speaking directly.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance”. James 1:2-3 NIV

I stopped to consider these words.  I have never thought of trials being those things that come from within.  To me trials has always meant troubles from without.  In fact, for as long as I can remember it’s been a pet peeve of mine to hear believers refer to difficulties they face (most of which seemed minor to me) as “trials and tribulations.”  To me trials and tribulations refer to drastic circumstances, like the Apostle Paul being stoned and left for dead or like believers in Afghanistan being martyred for their faith.

Today a question entered my mind.  Maybe I have it wrong.  Maybe “trials of many kinds” means all kinds, even personal struggles.

I moved on to the next verse, perseverance.  The truth is, I don’t struggle with persevering through trials from without.  I struggle with persevering when I face personal issues, relational issues, parenting difficulties.  Isaac’s recent refusals to do what he is told have been a hot button.  They can pull me straight from a level plain into a pit of despair in less than an hour.  Last week I wrote in my journal, “Heard this from the Lord. DON’T GIVE IN TO DESPAIR.” I’ve noticed a pattern that I can go from pressing on to giving up in a flash. I’ve said over myself that I lack perseverance.

Here’s the truth.  I am tenacious.  The Lord put that in me as a youth.  I don’t give up.  Well, I don’t give up on most things.  I’ve given up on exactly one thing, happiness in marriage.  +23 years in, I struggle.  I am not good at this.  I can persevere through anything except feeling hopeless in my marriage.  Even in that, the truth is I am persevering.  I am still married.  I have not walked away and I will not walk away.  I fall down.  I cry and cry some more.  I call out to the Lord.  I get back up and try again.

Now I am facing a 2^nd issue that is just beyond me.  I don’t know what to do with my now 13 year old son who refuses to do what he is told.  I worry that these two issues will close the door to me fulfilling my life-long dream of serving on the foreign mission field.  I worry how the poor choices my son is making will affect him long-term.  Will he have to repeat 7^th grade?  Will his vision be damaged because he is letting his glucose stay too high for long periods?  If I take him to a counselor, will it be better or worse?  I’ve heard scary stories from people who went to the counselor as a kid.

This encourages me:

“[W]hen your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow.  So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.” James 1:3-4 NLT

Here I am, vulnerable, raw even.  I am getting stronger.  I am learning to fight. 

Today the Lord met me.  I asked him for wisdom.  I did find the verse I was seeking.  It was immediately after the other three verses I needed to hear today.

“If you need wisdom, ask our generous God, and he will give it to you. He will not rebuke you for asking.”  James 1:5 NLT

I am in the habit of reading from The One Year Bible each morning. Most days a verse or two catches my attention. Today it was Jeremiah 11:1 NLT.

“The men of Anathoth wanted me dead. They said they would kill me if I did not stop speaking in the LORD’s name.”

All of my life I have lived in what I considered to be a safe place. In my childhood I remember our doors being unlocked at night. I have always felt safe to walk alone, though I do not walk alone at night. I have always felt free to write or to speak what I believe.

I frequently hear talk from believers who have an eschatological view that says times are going to get worse and then the end will come. They seem to think these days are worse than past days. I just do not agree with them. In every age there has been evil in the hearts of humankind. There have been nations fighting other nations. There have been governments with tyrannical rulers. There have been mistreated men, women and children. There is nothing new under the sun. Sin has been wreaked havoc on the earth since Eden.

Look at the Bible. Cain killed Abel out of jealousy. I have not counted, but I have noticed many occasions where the crowd rapidly became murderous. How many times did they try to kill Jesus before they succeeded? Several times they beat the Apostle Paul. How many Old Testament prophets ran for their lives because they were under threat? They threw Jeremiah in a cistern. Think of the crowd yelling, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” to Pontius Pilate. No, I do not believe these days are worse. People have always wanted to control others, and in their inability to gain control they have become murderous.

I have no desire to debate anyone on the state of the world nor on eschatology. I only wish to ponder this question. How would I respond if I did not feel safe? What if I were the one whose neighbors said they would kill me if I did not cower to them? What if I thought they really would hurt me or my family if I dared to speak in the name of Jesus?

While I live in a safe place, millions of believers all around the world really do face that situation. That is sobering to think about.

Abba, today I pray for persecuted believers all over this world. I pray for those in China who must worship in secret. I pray for those in Muslim dominated countries whose own family members have turned on them because they turned to faith in Jesus. Increase their faith. Send them encouragement. May they not feel alone. May they know that their prayers are heard. Give them your heart for their persecutors. May they share their faith boldly when the time is right. Guide them by your Holy Spirit to walk wisely in their communities. Protect them. Strengthen those who are in prison. Provide for families of those who have lost jobs and those who have lost family members. May the seeds they continue to sow fall on fertile ground. Multiply the harvest. In Jesus name.

If you are interested in joining me in prayer for the persecuted church, you may find the following website to be a great source of information. https://www.persecution.com/

Thinking about thistles.

Sometimes I just can’t help myself. I constantly photograph wildflowers on my walks in the country. I came across this thistle while perusing my picture collection this evening and chuckled to myself. My, how perspectives change.

Until my trip with Teen Missions, during which I was required to wear construction boots every waking hour for an entire summer, my feet were TOUGH! I loved the outdoors and constantly ran the yard barefooted. I played soccer that way sometimes. Burr clover, no problem. Endless hours at the beach I’d jump rock to rock along the water’s edge shoeless.

Even tough feet have their limits it would seem. I ventured out into the snow and ice barefoot once, just once. Blackberry vines were easy enough to avoid, but thistles, well that was another matter. They would sprout up just any old place in the yard and, kept short by the mower, would catch me by surprise. Those EVIL weeds. Green like whatever remained of the grass before summer took its toll, every inch of every leaf covered with needle-like spikes, they laid wait for my unprotected toes. Ouch! In my later years I learned just to dig them up and be done with it. When you have the perspective of a barefoot schoolchild, thistles are the enemy.

I was at a party when I had the first inkling of a perspective change regarding thistles. Someone had used four thistle blossoms to top a beautiful, green salad. What! Whose idea was that? Honestly, I’m not sure I was really aware those evil weeds were capable of producing flowers before that point. That enemy of my feet certainly never survived long enough in our yard to find out.

Fast forward many years to my time living out in the country by the dump. When everything was shut down due to the pandemic, how I enjoyed my evening walks along gravel roads with my daughter. Hardly a day went by that I didn’t stop right and left to photograph some new flower or an interesting plant. It was during that time that thistles became an object of fascination. Day by day I watched flowers develop atop thorny towers. Before any clusters of threadlike, purple petals appeared in the centers, green, spiky textures captured me. Feet unthreatened by vegetation growing along the roadside as opposed to in my lawn, I began viewing thistles as they were, wildflowers, wildflowers with an irresistible texture. Seen day after day by the light of a setting sun, thistles came to be gorgeous works of art by my Father’s hand.

Just now I enjoyed a good laugh when this thought occurred to me. I wonder if my new lawn nemesis, chiggers, are beautiful when you view them up close in just the right light. I looked it up. Nope. Well, at least not yet. After all, perspectives do change.

Looking through my photos this morning I found one that reminded me of an event in my childhood that literally made an impact on my life.

I loved playing in the yard as a kid. I climbed the walnut and apple trees and the playhouse roof. I build roads of dirt for my toy cars and forts of corn stalks. I swung on our swingset, spun around and flipped off of the climbing bar, spent innumerable hours riding my bike up and down the street and round and round the house attempting to jump over the front sidewalk with a makeshift ramp. Using my very own hammer, I pulled nails and straightened for use in whatever I was trying to build out of scrap lumber at the time. My brother and I kicked the soccer ball around, rode the titer-totter, performed concerts with our rubber band stringed, scrap wood guitars. We spent the summers in our Doughboy pool, gaining such tans that they lasted year round. To this day I love the outdoors.

One thing we did not do was play with hard balls. I have always wondered why they call those things “softballs.” They are not soft. They hurt like the dickens.

My son and I found this softball while walking along the dump road last Saturday evening. It reminded me of the one we had in our yard when I was a kid. I’m not sure where that water-logged softball came from. I only remember ever playing with it on one occasion. We were tossing it up and swinging at it with a bat. I don’t recall whether I ever got my turn swinging or not. I do remember standing at the other end of our long, mill-end house and attempting to catch. Unfortunately, I “caught” it in the temple and up popped quite a goose egg. Instant headache. I never wanted to play with a hard ball ever again. I still don’t. I can force myself to play to be sociable, but it’s definitely not my thing.

Thinking of that lump that caused me to avoid baseball all of my life makes me wonder how many other things I’ve avoided because of a single bad experience. Am I too quick to judge?

My prayer today, Lord, may I have your wisdom in judging today’s experiences. May I never miss any good plan you have for me over a single lump.

Started this morning waking up my son and instructing him to check his glucose with a finger poke to make sure his continuous glucose monitor is reading correctly before he eats breakfast. I went back to my own room and thought to myself how grateful I am for needles.

It’s been a year and a half since our youngest child was hospitalized, emaciated with diabetic ketoacidosis. I was glad we had opted to take him straight to Children’s Mercy and that the doctor recognized the symptoms and had his glucose tested. Diagnosis: Type 1 diabetes.

Our world changed with that diagnosis. For my child it means needles, LOTS of needles. There are finger sticks for glucose monitoring, CGM sensor sticks, insulin pen sticks several times a day, blood tests from the lab every three months and sometimes more. It means he has to weigh his desire for a snack against his discomfort at yet another poke. It means counting carbs EVERY day for everything he eats forever. It means having to wait to eat until the counting is complete and the insulin is dosed.

For me that diagnosis means I have to force my child to use needles every day. It means I have to make sure he has supplies and snacks available everywhere he goes and that there is an adult available to oversee his medical care. It means much more, but the hardest to me is that my enforcement or non-enforcements of doctor instructions means life or death to my child and it is a life long diagnosis.

That said, I am so grateful for those needles. I am so grateful for the people who discovered that insulin could be created outside the body and injected. The fact is . . . my son would be dead if it weren’t for those people. He would no longer be here with us if it weren’t for those needles.

No, I don’t like needles, but I thank the Lord for them.