[the.beauty.of.seasons]

Every fall I dream of playing in leaves.

This fall all my dreams came true. And I taught a new set of nieces the joy of crunching piles of brown, orange, yellow and green.

[I hear His voice] whispering through every Scripture and into the intimate details of my own daily experience- for it is his life he is breathing into me, and my life he wants to redeem. –Greg Paul

Yes, Lord Jesus. Come speak to us now... redeeming, breathing life. Amen and Amen.

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Want to take a mini-walk through Narnia? Visit here.

Need a new perspective on a difficult relationship? Read this.

Don't forget to be praying... for Katie in Uganda.

[a.taste.of.beautiful.]

It happened the way it always happens. Ever since, well, a long time ago. I walked in, looked around for a familiar face. Searching for the spot where I will feel the most special, the most loved, will laugh the most…

Then the inevitable. “We have a place over here…” And once again I’m led away from the ones who make me feel safe. Once again I’m sitting at a table with people that I don’t know.

I lean over and whisper to my husband, “I hate this…” and he smiles that sad smile. The one that says, “I would change the world to make you happy, but I can’t.” So I sit back and look around and no one smiles and no one says, “Oh! I want you! Come here!” Instead I sit alone.

Then in the midst of my jumbled confusion I hear the voice. The one that I’ve trying to memorize the sound of. An hour each morning and an hour each night, I run my eyes and fingers over the words, listening so hard. Searching for inflection and thoughts.

“Embrace where you are.” He says it quietly and I know that if I hadn’t been working at listening, I would have missed it. But I hear it.

What did I have to lose? So I sat back. Breathed deeply, looked at the lady across the table from me and smiled, entering into a conversation where I felt awkward and insecure.

A few minutes later another woman entered the room. She wasn’t like the women around me who were laughing and telling jokes in private circles. She was alone. And because of a strange set of circumstances, I know some of her inside things. The pain that is trying to strangle her. So I stood and walked and smiled and talked. And for a moment I glimpsed something beautiful.

And it starts a chain reaction. Person to person I move. Talking. Not chatting but real talking. Opening and showing and being. And His voice gets louder and my flesh burns. And I see beauty.

It’s in the girl with the crooked smile who is serving my dinner. The woman across from me who is searching so hard for acceptance. The ladies to my right who lean over to each side of me and cover me in grace. In the tears of a friend who is sharing her heart- right there, in the middle of all these people.

Then the truth hits. It really isn’t any of them. It’s Him. It’s me having my eyes open to Him. And I see His reflection all around.

I look up in time to see the bridegroom sweep his bride off her feet and into his arms. Everyone laughs and cheers.

And I remember times when he was ready to give up- ready to settle for something less than beautiful- and my heart aches at the joy on his face as he looks down at his new wife, the fulfillment of so many dreams. My childhood friend has grown up to be a man worth knowing.

And I remember a time when I was ready to give up. Ready to settle for something less than beautiful. And my heart aches with joy. That my King should be so gracious to me, so loving, so patient… someday, someday, when all this flesh is burned and gone- Oh, God, let the things that are left be worth knowing.

[on the sailboat] a photographic journal

The day was beautiful. The company excellent, even when Nate showed up... (that's just for his benefit if he happens to read this) The sunset lovely. The moon on the water, breathtaking.

Outstanding for an October day in Northern New York!

[The Harvest of Grace] book review

The Harvest of Grace

Cindy Woodsmall

I'm not usually big on the Amish genre. Cindy Woodsmall has managed to make something other than sap out of it. Which is why I chose this book for a review.

This book, like the previous two in this series (The Hope of Refuge, The Bridge of Peace) is a journey through the Amish life in a "real-life" way.

This story follows Sylvia, a quirky Amish girl, who hires out as a farmhand to avoid her ex-boyfriend who is married to her little sister.

In true Woodsmall fashion, Sylvia's story is interspersed with the characters from the previous two books and their tales are wrapped up in the end, bringing the Ada House Series to a close.

Those who have been waiting for this final book in the series will not be disappointed.

I've never liked it when a series depends heavily on additional books for the reader to be satisfied. Woodsmall's books, in my opinion, should be put together. I'd rather read one long book than three chopped up ones. That, however, is just me. Those who enjoyed her first series, Sisters of the Quilt, will love this one as well.

I was sent this book in exchange for my honest review through WaterBrook Multnomah's Blogging for Books program.

[passion]

the blood was thick and deep red. almost purple. my skin crawled. my heart ached. I looked up at the man standing in front of me, the man who had just pronounced death to my Savior. “someday you will realize what you’ve done and you’ll wish you had died in his place.” my voice caught as tears spilled and burned paths down my cheeks.

the crowds grew louder. I turned and looked. he was wearing a purple robe, thorns on his head. his face was bloody and I knew that under the robe his body was beaten and raw. I started running, calling his name. “Abba, my Abba…” I stopped short of throwing my arms around him. I knew it would cause him pain.

he didn’t stop. he drew me close, even as his face contorted in agony.

“I’m sorry, Abba.” I whispered into his neck. “I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

his voice came then. rushing and running like a river. “I’m making all things new. Go, tell them.”

I looked up at his face. he was looking past me toward a field that sat below Golgotha.

I saw them then. hundreds of children playing in the shadow of a cross.

“Tell them, daughter,” he whispered in my ear, “tell my loved ones that I am making all things new.”

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I woke up from that dream back in 2004. I was attending Bible School at the time and we had gone as a school to watch The Passion. That night I couldn't sleep even though I had watched the movie with eyes covered. I finally prayed, "God, let me sleep... I need to get up for school tomorrow." And that night I dreamed.

I had found my passion. It might have been a dream but it wasn't just a dream. It was God speaking. And anytime I close my eyes I can see them. The children playing in the shadow of a cross.

It was the winter of 2005. My floor was littered with graham cracker pieces, icing and candy. And five young girls with smiling and laughter. We were making "Cookie Houses" and talking about God's dreams for our lives.

I was in the beginning stages of Women of Promise, a mentoring/accountability group for young girls. It has grown and changed since those days but the purpose and heart is the same: to establish a place where girls are challenged to develop a deep relationship with God while they are still young.

I've always been passionate about WoP (as we affectionately call it) but the reason goes much deeper than just those five girls. It goes back to my childhood and the confused wanderings of a lonely twelve-year-old girl who longed for something real and deep to sink herself into.

The story of how my journey into God happened is something precious and lovely to me.

The knowledge of a God who calls lonely, confused twelve-year-old girls into a radical deep relationship that is spanning a lifetime.

I am passionate about young girls finding that. Finding something real. Not being left to wander aimlessly through a world that entices and pulls and leaves wounded aching women in its wake.

[my gifts] in pictures

Amos and Hadassah with one of KitKat's kittens.

My journal, Bible and a lovely cup of coffee (in a mug given to me by one of my bests, Litey)

KitKat's kitten. They make me laugh every day.

My dance-floor ceiling.

Bouquets of oats (from my husband) and my prayer list that I pray over as I wash dishes.

The beautiful sunset that I went running across the field to capture.

Dominic helping me pick a basket of apples.

Four little munchkins that spent this morning at my house.

[Hidden Things]

Reveal the Hidden Things

I’ve been thinking for weeks now about manna. Yes, the stuff the Israelites ate in the desert for forty years.

It started with a sentence.

Manna today, or I starve. –Ann Voscamp

And for some reason, God began pulling me with those words. What did it mean?

Ann Voscamp explains it as “eating the mystery”, taking whatever it is that God hands you and being thankful for it.

After all, what was it that the Israelites were punished for? Not being grateful. Complaining. Grasping, grabbing for something more- something better. “We want meat!” They whined. So God gave them meat. But while the meat was still between their teeth, before it could be consumed the anger of the Lord burned… and they were struck with a severe plague. Num. 11:33

I began watching for what the Bible says about Manna. Why will we starve without it? What is so important about it that to grasp and grab for something different causes the Lord’s anger to burn? Is it just the character flaw of ungratefulness?

As I watched, the truth began unfolding…

He humbled you… causing you to hunger, then feeding you with Manna--- to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of God. Exodus 8:3

You did not withhold manna from their mouths, and you gave them water for their thirst. Nehemiah 9:20

Jesus said to them, “I tell you the truth, it is not Moses who has given you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” John 6:32

And the Jews began to grumble about him because he said, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.” John 6:41

And the hidden things began to be revealed.

Why will we starve without it? Because it is Jesus, himself. He is our manna. He is our mystery. We have to eat and drink of him. Our bread is every word that comes from his mouth and our drink is his blood that was poured out… and without his Word our spirits starve and without his Blood we die in our sins.

What is so important about it that to grasp and grab for something different causes the Lord’s anger to burn? Because to grasp and grab for something different- something more- is to turn our backs on God himself. Oh, Lord, forgive me for the times I have reached for something other than you!

It is not just the character flaw of ungratefulness, although that is part, but it is also the lack of trust in God himself. That he knows and he gives and he takes and HE IS GOD.

"Not me. Never me. Never the idols I build in my life. ONLY HIM."

So, I must hold all that I love with open hands. I must place all my dreams at his feet. Knowing that my understanding is so small. So insignificant. I must “eat the mystery” with thankfulness. I must take the Manna today, or I will starve.

Reveal the hidden things I was made to know. Take these mysteries and make them simple. Reveal the hidden things you have for my life. Show me your kingdom, what you’re like. I want to hear the music of heaven. I want to see all your inventions. I want to ask and know the solutions. I want to know. I want to sing the music of heaven. I want to make all your inventions. When I’m asked, I’ll say the solution is to know you. –Laura Woodley Osman “Hidden Things”