For anyone who knows me well, having time to myself ... to think, write, read, study, ponder, daydream, be still ... is priceless.  I have a loose ritual that I go through to settle my mind and heart.  I usually grab my coffee cup (I have two favorites) and a little notebook that is a bit tattered.  I grab a colored pen (another favorite) and I jot down things that come to my mind that I can truly be thankful for ... a goodnight kiss from my 14 year-old, an irritating email that caused me to trust God more than myself, a surprise phone call and invitation to lunch.  Then, I wander over to a book a dear friend gave me years ago (see above).  It's rare that I want to copy other people's work in my blog, because this forum is all about me ... my work (Sarcastic tone can be inserted here.)  However, this morning, I find the words of author Sarah Young too good to be passed by.  Therefore, feast your eyes ... and if you dare ... your heart on her words from today's entry:

Worship ME only.  Whatever occupies your mind the most becomes your god.  Worries, if indulged, develop into idols.  Anxiety gains a life of its own,parasitically infesting your mind.  Break free from this bondage by affirming your trust in ME and refreshing yourself in MY Presence.  What goes on in your mind is invisible, undetectable to other people.  But I read your thoughts continually, searching for evidence o ftrust in ME.  I rejoice when your mind turns toward ME.  Guard your thoughts diligently; good thought choices will keep you close to ME.

What I adore about the aging process is not the saggy chin - and other body parts - but the wisdom that seems to settle nice and cozy in my brain like a good cup of Java.  I've spent too many years saying I love and worship God ... Creator ... Almighty ... while my behavior said otherwise.  My behavior said I have to plot, plan, worry and research options in my life, run them by God, then move forward hoping for the best.

In this phase of my life, I am trying to assume a position of quietness.  I'm learning to worship - perhaps for the first time - GOD.  God says to trust.  When I do any action based on  my own fear, worry, stress, knowledge ... I am worshipping ... me.  And can I say, it's so easy to worship me?!  I often make more sense!  I often have a plan that can be checked off the list.  I often have something to show for my actions, making me and others impressed.

When I choose to worship God, things get sticky.  He tells me to trust ... to wait ... to be silent ... to not retaliate ... to listen ... to allow Him to work ... to most often do things that make no sense to any other being on planet earth.  It's hard to swallow, this kind of worship.  It often doesn't make me feel good.  It often doesn't make me look good.  And then, that's it ... isn't it.  It doesn't become about me ... it becomes about the object of my worship.

it's not about me ...
christina

Still counting.  I'm discovering this act of purposeful listing of gifts - gifts that I know come from the hand of God - has become more than an activity, a discipline, or a goal.  Now, it's become a filter in which I am seeing my life.

Yesterday.  Tired when I woke up, I knew there were some "things" that I needed to accomplished.  Not stressful things but rather fun things like getting my hair cut.  I knew my parents, D and J, were going out of town.  It was late morning and I had a nagging feeling that I should ring them up to wish them well ... and possibly meet for a coffee they would buy.  I'm selfish and I love coffee.

At 11:00 a.m. I pushed the buttons of the receiver and heard my Mom's voice excited on the other end.  Her news was shocking.  Old friends from my childhood - friends of my parents, D and S, - were in town on a whim.  They had just driven up in their driveway on their way home to the East coast.

After a few minutes over the speaker phone, I had a plan that now trumped my previous to do list.  Wearing no makeup, I spilled the news beans to My Chris and in minutes we were in the van with a destination and a goal:  he drives and I put on makeup!

When I saw their faces, they seemed altered ever so slightly to what I had trapped in my childhood memory place.  Then, the very next emotion that washed over me, seemingly on some sort of "cue" that I've come to recognize, was thankfulness!!

As I sat on Mom's comfy couch, close to Irene, the rhythm of her northern accent and speech pattern took me back to my childhood spent in Montana.  Camping trips.  Mosquito bites.  Mint chocolate chip ice cream.  Homemade wheat bread.  Easter egg hunts.  A swinging bed.  Christian books.  Downstairs basement.  Handle bar mustache.  Fall scene wall mural.  It all washed over me as familiar and cozy as a down comforter being drawn up under my chin on a cold Fall night.  I wanted to nestle myself there for a long time.

Of course reality sucked the life out of the memory time and schedules had to be kept and travels had to be resumed.  However, the hour that I spent near these dear ones - Dean and Irene - made my list.  Their visit is #191.  I could have written at least 50 more entries of thankfulness for what this one, impromptu, surprise visit has meant to me and what it has brought to me.  However, just by writing down:

#191. Dean and Irene

I am filled with such teary-eyed, heart exploding thankfulness that it almost takes my breath away!  Yes, Dean and Irene, they are the gift.  But, now I'm seeing more accurately the GIFT GIVER!  In a normal day, when I was tired, He interrupted the clock and gave me a trip down memory lane.  A trip that explored people and places that are so tender and sweet and so full of child-like giddiness I am undone!  He knew this gift was needed ... would be appreciated.  The magnitude of this simple gift, given by this indescribable Gift Giver, blows me away.

The list is changing me.
The list is changing how I see the world.
The list is changing how I see myself.
The list is changing how I see ... the One doing the giving!

giddy and counting,
christina

I'm still making my list of 1,000 gifts.  Gifts that largely go unnoticed to the outsider but find their way in black and white in my little book.  This book, this act of writing the gifts, has become one of the single most cathartic, emotional, difficult, joy bringing, transforming acts of quietness I have ever done ... in my life ... my whole 45 years of life.  I'm on #190.

One of the entries in my book was a name ... just a name.  This name brought me fresh air and it would have been criminal not to write it as gift #154.  This name is a stranger to me.  He's from Scotland.  I love the accent.

A few words spoken with this antique accent from an honest place made such a simple impact:

Don't look back.  Move forward.

Right now, I don't have a clue what that means.  I think I do a good job of not looking back ... on mistakes, on hurts, on what - ifs, on people.  I would also like to think that moving forward is what I do ... I always stay in a perpetual forwardness.  However, this Scottish stranger's words' are lingering in the air.

Don't look back.  Move forward.

If this works, I hope you can click on the below link.  I love American commercials.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQr8bkuPZDs

I love the background music, I'm Only Human, by the popular 80's band Human League.  Here are some of the phrases in this 30 second spot that speak to me:

"We are imperfect creatures living in a beautifully imperfect world."
"Sometimes the little things get us, other times the not so little."
"When one of us messes up, someone else comes along to help us out."

Isn't that what life looks life for those who follow Jesus, read and want to do what the the Book says out of love and not law, are in the process of becoming more and more like Him?  Let's face it ... we are imperfect!  Sometimes, things - no matter the size - get us.  When one of us messes up ... shouldn't another come along to help?  This should kinda be a commercial for "the church".

I look back.  I want to move forward ... but sometimes the things - no matter the size - get me.  And, when life is messy ... I need someone to help me out.  Go ahead ... call me human!

Being human and still counting,
Christina

I'm tired.  It comes and goes.  Sometimes the tired makes me jog.  Sometimes the tired makes me cry.  Sometimes it makes me just sit outside a really long time.  Sometimes it forces me to sleep late.  Sometimes it makes me want to run away.  Sometimes it makes me want to savor the moment.  Most times, it drives me to my knees.

I'm finding that tiredness forces things to the surface.  These surface things are complicated.  These surface things often take me off guard.  What I'm learning is I need  help to navigate the "tired".



I have felt alone.  However, one shift of thought is all it takes to see those that God has hand-picked to be in my life.  It's like "the three" that were given to David (2 Samuel 23).  I read this in my Book this morning.  It struck me.  David, according to the Hebrew verb, began to have an excessive desire for water.  I'll let you read the context in which he found himself.  His need was for water from a place that was familiar.  He was in hiding.  He was in danger.  These "three" broke through enemy lines ... for water ... for their friend.

Powerful.

I'm visual so I have to think of news footage in Syria ... and imagine me in that setting.  These "three" risked their lives to get something they knew would comfort their friend, David.  Their desire was to bring something of value to their friend in a time of great and lofty need.

Through my tiredness, I've been given the gift of "three" who have done this for me.  It's a powerful thing, to be loved so well.

Here's the kicker.  When the "three" brought this precious commodity back to David ... he could not drink it.  In fact he says, "the Lord forbid that I should drink this!  This water is as precious as the blood of these men who risked their lives to bring it to me."

What my ... our (me and my Chris) ... "three" have given to us in our tiredness is ... as ... precious ... as ... blood.  How do you say thank you for that?

And, just so you'll know ... I'm still counting my gifts ... in my tiredness.

#127.  Watching a movie on a weeknight.


tired but counting,
christina

Small acts.  Random.  Perhaps odd.  Simple.  Yet, without consciously looking for them ... looking for ways to express joy in the midst of real, normal life ... they go unnoticed.  I'm discovering a power in the speaking of normal things as gifts that seem ... holy.

I've become accustomed to sitting outside at an ordinary metal garden table.  It sits stable on a slab of concrete overlooking green yard.  To me, it's become my sanctuary (#12).  While I sit, sip my coffee, and read my Book ... and underline principles ... this One I am pursuing gave me a most precious gift.

It's not the prayers of removing the pain and hurt ... and me doing so ... that are the miracles.  The miracles are me not removing the pain and hurt ... and you being able to see the beauty right smack dab in the middle of it.  That, my sweet girl, is the miracle.

God can.  He can remove, shatter, destroy, raise up, tear down, rearrange, explode, shift, transform.  That is a miracle.  But, because He is wise, and removing, shattering, destroying, raising up, tearing down, rearranging, exploding, shifting, or transforming may not be the answer ... yet ... a bigger miracle takes place when I can utter, with honest lips and breaking heart, thanks ... right smack dab in the middle of it.  That's when God rumbles my heart ... reminding me that He is right there ... right in the middle of the hurt and yuck ... and transforming me to see the beautiful.  Breathtaking.

Still counting,
Christina