What a thrill–we woke up to a clipper system that brought us snow showers today!
What an impetus to get off my duff and get decorating!Â
I am listening to Christmas music and just finished getting the tree up in front of the window so that it displays cheery light. Is there any stopping me now?Â
“Come on Frank, sing with me! Let’s enjoy the spirit of the day!”Â
[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8BH4M9V1N8]
Over the weekend our family rented the documentary “God Grew Tired of Us.” It is the story of 3 of the “lost boys” of Sudan who were resettled in America. 
These were boys who had survived incredible challenges and who had grown up in Kakuna refugee camp in Kenya. The “lost boys” were children who fled Sudan by the thousands when many of them were just toddler age. Their journey was as compelling as it was disturbing. Marching over a thousand miles in search of sanctuary when the civil war broke out in their land, about half of the 27,000 died on the journey.
The young men in this documentary–Panther, Daniel and John allowed the cameras to see the challenges of relocation. The boys felt guilty for having food when they knew their brothers in Kenya were still starving. they felt selfish living well when their friends were living without. These emotions prompted them to send some of their meager earnings back to friends and family in Africa.
They longed for the deep sense of interdependence and community that had sustained them for all their years in the refugee camps. They experienced hurt and confusion when Americans allowed busyness and their desire for independence and privacy to overrule expressions of kindness and caring. They were enormously grateful for the opportunity to have a new life but baffled at how much “life” they lost when the bonds of deep relationships had to be severed in the move to America.
“ After this I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing near the throne and in front of the Lamb.” Revelation 7:9
It seems tragic to me that there are people in the world who feel forgotten by God, or think that they have become tiresome to Him.
How will we represent the Lord so that their vision of Him can be set right?
It is not God who has tired of these brothers and sisters in Africa–or who ignores the results of wars that continue to displace thousands— it is us.
“But Zion said, ‘I don’t get it. God has left me. My Master has forgotten I even exist.’
‘Can a mother forget the infant at her breast, walk away from the baby she bore?Â
But even if mothers forget, I’d never forget you—never. Look I have written your names on the backs of my hands.Â
The walls you’re rebuilding are never out of my sight…You’ll know then that I am GOD. No one who hopes in me ever regrets it.”
Isaiah 49:14-23Â The Message
Today, I asked the Lord to unite my heart with those of His children who are sitting in dark jail cells because of their love of Jesus.Â
Today, I confessed to the Lord that I rarely think of those who are persevering in faith after been ostracized and hated by family and friends because they honor the name of Jesus.
Today, I thanked God that He is a God who sees the distress of each of His suffering saints with the eyes of compassion, that He hears their cries for mercy and His heart inclines to rescue, that He is a God of justice and a Shepherd of His flock.
Today, as I sit in comfort, I asked the Lord to comfort my brothers and sisters with the prayers of those who have the persecuted church on their minds and hearts.
Today, in this devotional, I was reminded that nothing will be impossible for my God. AMEN
Yesterday Casey and I went costume shopping. I am not a crafty Mom so I throw money at holidays where costumes are required! We scanned the wall of pictured costumes and Casey kept saying, “I can’t wear that, it is not school appropriate.”Â
I was amazed at how many costumes seemed like male fantasy outfits rather than festive cover-ups. Lace, garters, leather, mini skirts and plunging necklines were in plentiful supply! If some of these get ups were worn for Halloween, I am sure the message would be clear, “I’m more interested in turning a trick than seeking a treat!”
Thankfully, the outfit that looked the best on her was the outfit she loved the most! I did not have to censor or guide her choice. This morning she went out to school reliving her childhood wish…to be the fairest one of all!
I also want women to dress modestly, with decency and propriety, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or expensive clothes, but with good deeds, appropriate for women who profess to worship God. (1 Timothy 2:9)
With a wonderful cup of Ethiopian Sudoma coffee and my Bible,  I began the morning. I have lingered over Psalm 131 for some time now pondering David’s description of having a still and quiet spirit like that of a weaned child.  As I read I thought, “How I long for the still quiet soul that David writes of–my calm comes in fits and starts–I am ruled by the circumstances of my life and feel more like a pinball bouncing in a machine than a weaned child. What do I need to be weaned of that I might enjoy the contented life?” I went searching through the weighty wisdom of past saints to help me think this through!
“The soul is weaned from one thing by giving its attention to another. The task to the mother is trying and troublesome. The infant cries, and seems to sob out his heart. He thinks it very hard in her, and knows not what she means by her seeming cruelty, and the mother’s fondness renders all her firmness necessary to keep her at the process; and sometimes she also
weeps at his pleading looks and big tears and outstretched hands…and she pities and perseveres; the child is denied his comfort and therefore frets and worries and flies into tantrums and sinks into sulks.
Yet time brings not only alleviations, but the ending of the conflict; the child now is quite content to find his nourishment at the table with his brothers, and feels no lingering wish to return to those dear fountains from which he once sustained his life. He is no longer angry with his mother, but buries his head in that very bosom after which he pined so grievously: he is weaned on his mother rather than from her. To the weaned child, his mother is his comfort though she has denied him comfort.Â
It is a blessed mark of growth out of spiritual infancy when we can forego the joys which once appeared essential, and can find our solace in Him who denies them to us. When we think ourselves safely through the weaning, we sadly discover that the old appetites are rather wounded than slain, and we begin crying again for the breasts which we had given up.Â
 Weaning takes the child out of a temporary condition into a state in which he will continue for the rest of his life: to rise above the world to enter upon a heavenly existence which can never end.  When we cease to hanker for what the world has to offer we begin hoping in the Lord. O Lord, as a parent weans a child, so do wean me, and then shall I fix all my hope on you alone.”Â
William Jay (1769-1853), in “Evening Exercises for the Closet.” and Charles Spurgeon, “The Treasury of David“. “Mother and Child” by Joanne Burns
Well, it seems that learning to be content carries with it many lessons of “loss”. When we are weaned as infants, we lose the milk we desire in order to be able to receive the solid food we now need for growth. If I am to be content I must crawl up on the lap of God and be content on Him and not seek it away from Him! My affections need to be weaned from all lesser affections that I seek to substitute for the Greatest One! As my friend Jane reminded me–a weaned child is a contented child!
 Amy Carmichael is for me a hero of the faith. Elisabeth 
Elliot wrote a wonderful biography of this woman entitled “A Chance to Die”. She was serving as a missionary in India rescuing young girls from being sold as temple prostitutes when she suffered a terrible fall.  That fall left her confined to her room for the last twenty years of her life. She was in constant pain and yet her letters and devotional writings composed during that season of pain continue to strengthen believer’s hearts and reveal the riches of a life whose roots are sunk deep in Christ. I awoke with some melancholy this morning and immediately thought of this friend who sought a candle in the dark.
“All the paths of the LORD are lovingkindness.” Psalm 25:10 RV
All does not mean “all but the paths we are in now” or “nearly all, but perhaps not just this specially difficult painful one”. All must mean all.
So your path with its unexplained sorrow, and mine with its unexplained sharp flints and briers, and both with their unexplained perplexity of guidance, their sheer mystery, are just lovingkindness, nothing less.Â
I am resting my heart on that word. It bears one up on eagle’s wings; it gives courage and song and sweetness too, that sweetness of spirit which it is death to lose even for one half hour. God bless you and utterly satisfy your heart with Himself. I remember in old days almost desperately repeating to myself these lines from Tersteegen;Â
 “Am I not enough, Mine own? Enough Mine own for thee?… Am I not enough Mine own? I forever and alone, I, needing thee?”Â
It was a long time before I could say honestly “Yes” to that question. I remember the turmoil of soul as if it were yesterday, but at last, oh the rest, “for in acceptance lies peace”. Â
Amy Carmichael, “A Candle in the Dark“, p. 46Â
It had been too long since I had taken the trip up 64 to 81 over Afton to visit with Mom and Dad. Both had been sick with summer colds that had sapped their strength and their good spirits.Â
Casey and I piled in the car and made a couple of stops for snacks for us and groceries for my parents. Casey had the idea of giving them a concert to lift their spirits so we practiced a few hymns as I drove us up the road.Â
Yesterday was unusually clear and the humidity had disappeared overnight leaving a temperature that begged you to come out of doors! When we arrived at Mom’s we climbed up on her front porch and rocked and caught up on the news–how many rabbits are around, the arrival of a snowball white stray cat who is feeding on scraps out back, the racoon who has broken branches in the crepe myrtle tree as he seeks to get access to the bird feeder and who has passed on to glory from the congregation of people at Calvary Brethren church.Â
We relished each other’s company and before we knew it we had a visitor — my Aunt Daisy drove up on her lawn mower from her home down the hill. She had been in the berry patch gathering blackberries but was weary from her labor and wary of the snakes that might be hiding out and gave up to come visit with us. 
It was then that Casey and I broke into song–her sweet soprano led out on “Holy, Holy, Holy”, “My Faith has found a Resting Place”, “Give Me Jesus’, the African version of “What a Friend we Have in Jesus” and by special request “How great Thou Art”.Â
It thrills my soul to wrap an alto line around her melody thread and that she sings willing without being begged to these days! Later, Casey and I went off to gather a few berries of our own. Dad directed us where to pick and before we knew it he was right there beside us picking as well! Dad made a comment that reminded me of the “Walking By Faith” study as we were picking.Â
He said, “Casey, these berries are pretty sour this year due to lack of rain but that sour taste makes it all the sweeter when you happen on a good ripe one!” The difficult gifts of life taste initially sour but that taste makes the sweet gifts all the sweeter! That day with Mom and Dad was a sweet gift made all the sweeter by the sour circumstance of their aging.
