I am so far from being like Jesus Christ that I can’t even see the finish line from where I am. I’m not even close enough in my life to the only standard by which I should be judged that one can compare. But every day it is my prayer that I am at least moving in the right direction. And once in a while, I realize that the Holy Spirit really has been hard at work in my life — chiseling away at my heart of stone and replacing it with a softer, compassionate heart of flesh. The process has been slow as there was a lot of work to do and my stubborn humanness often resists, but progress has been made. I am not who I used to be and I’m glad. This morning, I had one of those moments when I realized I was different. As I faced a familiar situation, my reaction was patently unfamiliar, and it was nice.
I am writing this late on a Sunday evening, reflecting on an intensive training experience I have had recently. It may take me a while to appreciate the full scope of the work The Holy Spirit has done on my heart, but I feel compelled to document it. I was humbled. I was stretched. I was reluctant. I was eventually obedient. I was changed. (more…)
For a long time, I hesitated to share this with anyone — confiding only in those who know me best. I didn’t want to tell people that I hardly ever eat breakfast or lunch anymore. I wondered how they would react if I told them that most days, especially Monday – Friday, I seldom eat a thing before dinner at 5:30 or 6:00 p.m. But that is what I do and it has become such a blessing in my life that I want to share it.
A few weeks ago, one of the women in our jail ministry team brought SEVERAL winter coats and heavy jackets with her to our Monday night meeting. She wanted me to take them to Hamilton County Community Corrections for those in need of a coat. In all honesty, I’ve been so busy lately that I could only see taking them to the facility as one more thing I had to do — a chore. (more…)
Sometimes, I’m struck with inspiration when at the jail ministry that surprises even me. There are those women who challenge us — they don’t want to drop the facade or let anyone in. (more…)
Like many of you, I find myself reflecting on the events of September 11, 2001. Where was I when I first heard? Where was I when the first tower fell? Who could have done this? Will our country ever feel “safe” again? Fourteen years later, I can still remember the feelings of confusion, helplessness, and utter, devastating loss.
But one of my most profound memories is from September 12 — the day after — as I drove the car. My daughter Morgan, just 3 years old at the time, was in her toddler seat in the back.
During such car rides before, she and I had shared many conversations about American Flag etiquette. She understood the significance of a lowered flag prior to Old Glory being lowered to half-staff for this most recent tragedy
As we drove past a large American Flag, appropriately lowered and hanging limp with the lack of breeze, she commented in her innocence,
“The flag looks so sad, mommy.”
Where usually, I would have jumped on that “teachable moment,” not that time. No, on this occasion, it was all I could do to swallow the lump in my throat and reply,
“It is, sweetie. It is so sad right now. But the breeze will come back.”