It's The Little Things...

It's the little things that count.

We hear that phrase all the time. And it's often true. We don't always care if someone lavishes us with a huge expensive gift, but rather that they even remembered our birthday. A simple card, letting us know we are not forgotten, is often more then enough to brighten any day!

I've had a list of things/goals I want to do, see, or own someday. And while over time, what's on the list has changed, it has never ceased to amaze me what gets fulfilled first. It's not always the first one, in fact it's not often the top-ten!

Often I've had very good dreams, with decent, reasonable, and usually very "Christian-ese" items near the top, or first on the list. When I was twelve, my highest priority-dream was to be a missionary. When I was about twenty my top-three was: (1) a decent job so I could afford my own (2) apartment and (3) a vehicle, to get to and from my job.

Anything fancy, or personal (a want or like that was far from a need), was always at the very bottom of the list. It was more like,"if I ever have any extra money, and there is absolutely nothing else 'higher priority' that it needs to go towards first--whether for myself, or another--then this is how I'll use it." Although, at the bottom of the list, the item was not always financial, that was always how I felt about whatever was down there; as though, chances were it would never happen,because there was always going to be something better, physically, fiscally, mentally, and/or "Christian-ly" before it.

Really, my lists had a bottom-most and a highest-priority, but no middle. Because I knew what was most important, what was a long-shot that would never be, and the rest would change from day-to-day. (For instance, in the middle could be gas money, or groceries, both of which would change amount or items from week-to-week, yet they would always rank higher in priority then the bottom items. Obviously.)

Yet, when I was twenty and my dream was to be a Texan, obviously, I had at the bottom of my list "someday I want a Stetson to go with my 'western ensemble'; good cowboy boots in my size, wouldn't be bad either."

Guess what was the first thing God provided for me? Not the apartment, or car, or even the job -- I did not know then that in a year I would move in with missionaries and start traveling around the world, again, so it was good I did not get those things then). No, I got the Stetson. Because I was out visiting a friend, who upon seeing a sale on all hats, felt compelled to get me a Stetson, measured to fit and in a color chosen, just for me. They even gave me a hat pin to go with it! And, yes, later, for an early birthday present someone else got me the boots to go with the hat, because they saw the hat and thought it looked lonely!

I joked once with God that if I ever got engaged, I wanted an heirloom that was not a usual diamond but a sapphire in the middle of little green stones that would look like leaves around a flower. All inset. It was a someday-maybe joke, but within that week someone gave me a ring, that was exactly how I had pictured it in my mind; a ring that was apprised, I'm told, for at least $300! Was I engaged? No. Did I need a ring as valuable as my Stetson (making them the two most valuable items that I owned at the time)? Certainly not!

But I think God's priorities are different then ours. And sometimes, it is not about what we need (or think we need). It is about Him...reminding us how much He loves us.

Dying and raising again, saving us from sin and hell, redeeming us to live with Him, that should be enough. That is enough.

But He does not stop there!

Not because He has to.

If we are examples of Christ, and we get little things for each other, little surprise 'someday-maybe' items just to remind a friend "you are heard; you are loved' you are not forgotten." Then should it surprise us that our example--Christ--does the same?

At that time, I did not need a job in the USA. I could not be tied down by an apartment lease when I was about to move and travel abroad. And I certainly did not need the vehicle and the financial burden it would bring when I would soon have transportation available to me, care of the ones I would move in with. So,maybe I did not know that at the time (in my twenties) I made the list. And I would not realize that for several months, but I have never forgotten (and still own) that Stetson and those boots, because at the time it was like God was saying both "Let me bless you" and "I am looking out for you--love you--even if it is not how you expect." It meant a lot to know He cared...about the unimportant.

That ring was like a reminder from God, that He is mine and I am His. Like two people engaged, I said "yes" to Him years before and made a promise--like Esther and others in the Bible--to "prepare" and make myself ready as His bride. And He made a promise to me, to love me, never leave me, and help me every step along the way. The ring was just a beautiful reminder that He hears, even our 'jokes' and has chosen to be bound to us, for eternity.

I know what some might say. I have heard what some already say about expensive gifts: "It should be sold and the money given to help missions" or "...the poor" or "...the church" or something like that. I've heard many friends say "if I ever won the lottery, or suddenly became a millionaire, I would not keep it, but give it all away!"

I am not judging their word--perhaps they really would do that if it was them. I believe,in all things, whether possessions of worth or money in the bank, we should let God guide us in how we spend or what we do with it. Someone was compelled to give me the Stetson, the boots, and the ring. And God used it in a heartfelt way, that I needed to hear, right then.

Years later, God asked me to give up the ring (but not the promise) to help a Christian organization. But I still have the Stetson and boots.

Then, today, God sent me another little reminder of His love, in another wish fulfilled!

I hitched a ride home from church with an older couple, who were driving right by and would not mind. I did not know that not too long ago, God blessed them by giving them a someday-dream item. I did not realize when they volunteered to take me home after the after-church meeting, that that gift was the thing I had admired for the last couple weeks. It was not, mind you, something I have ever wanted to own, just something I wanted to ride in, just once, someday.

Today I was given a lift home, riding shot-gun, in a Mustang!

Yes, I'm sure it's an expensive gift. Something they could sell and help out someone.

But God gave it to them. He did not compel, nor let other's guilt them, into selling it. I am sure--although I barely know the couple--He had a special message just for them with that gift, too.

But what I know is the message for me...

For today, they had the car, just so I could ride in it!

It's not about judging,based on other's wealth (accumulated or temporary), it's about living the life God calls each of us, separately, to so that God can use us to bless another.

It's about the "little things"--the things at the bottom of our lists--that remind us what love is. Who love is.

And, yes, sometimes, that means keeping the gift just so someone like me--who has no desire to own such a car--can be blessed though it!

And sometimes it means giving it away, like someone gave me the ring, originally.

Or keeping it for a time, so you will be at the right time and place to give it to the one who needs later.

(There was both a message in the getting of the ring, and in my eventual--happenstance--of giving the ring later to help an organization while visiting over a thousand miles away from my home-state!)

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the "little things" are worth much more!

What I know, right now, today, is that I am blessed. That God loves me, very much!

Not just loved me when I was sixteen and went on my first missions trip. Not just when I was twenty and got boots and a Stetson.More then just the engagement ring, or the obvious dying on the cross. BUT TODAY, WHEN I RODE IN A MUSTANG!

Today and forever!

But just in case I need a little reminder, I am sure He will find something--something near the bottom of the list, probably--to help me cross off.

Why I Praise Jesus

On Palm Sunday, as we now call it, when Jesus rode a donkey and everyone threw down their coats along the path, or waved palm branches over his head, or whatever they did to show His worth, while they sang His praises, the Pharisees saw this and asked Jesus to rebuke his disciples. And what did He say?

Luke 19:40 (NASB) "I tell you, if these become silent, the stones will cry out!"

I do not know about you, but when I get up in the morning, roll out of bed and my feet hit the floor, the first thing that can be heard (other than Lance's excited patter of feet that I am getting up to let him outside for a break), is usually "Uh." It's a groan as pressure hits my knees from standing on my feet. Or, if Lance is truly silent, a person would hear the "snap, crackle, pop," of those said knees. Maybe a hip, or ankle, too.

Mornings are not a pleasant thing for me. No matter how congenial my joints might be, I am not a very good morning person. Forget the whole joke of needing coffee before talking, I need it to be noon before talking.

To be cheerful before noon. To be ready, awake, and "talkie", in any capacity, requires thought and effort, sometimes even the night before as I mentally prepare myself and physically set the alarm clock. (I definitely cannot do spontaneous mornings).

But then I get asked, how I can say such a thing when I am all smiles, laughter, and perhaps even fun whenever someone sees me, even if it is an early morning—before noon—like on Sundays?

Romans 8 refers to creation groaning, as it waits for the coming of our Lord.

Yeah, I know. I am weird. But I would rather step out in faith that it will be a beautiful day and sing His praises, then to sit unhappily and let my joints be the only noise He hears coming from my place.

Not to mention, every time I make a groan, I mentally hear that verse in my head and think that the last thing I would want would be to start hearing things…like the rocks littering the path to the road, to cry out His name. Or my joints to groan all the louder, just so He would hear something. Anything.

Another thing I have learned about faith. It requires stepping out. When I sing His praises, it is not always about feeling it, it is simply about stating it.

I do not know if you have noticed, but smiles are as contagious as a yawn. Even if I do not feel like smiling as I pass a stranger on the road, if I smile, the smile is rarely NOT returned. And the cool thing I have discovered is that when it is returned, suddenly mine feels bigger, fuller, and genuine, even if it did not before.

I have found that praise works like that too. The more I praise Him, no matter how I really feel, the more feeling is put onto the back burner and the more praise becomes genuine. The more I want to sing His praise from the proverbial rooftops, and not because I have to or need to, but truly, truly, want to!

It's contagious, people! So come on, join in…before the rocks take your place!

Today is Easter! What better day to make a joyful noise unto the Lord, to shout His praises, and sing our thanks, then on the day that death died and we were redeemed?!

><>†<><

Today is Easter and all I can think about is death.

If death can have a non-morbid side, let me clarify that I am not thinking of the morbid kind. (I am NOT suicidal).

Did you not hear? Today is Easter! The day we celebrate Jesus' death and resurrection, the death of death, the life of Love, and our redemption!

Twenty-odd years ago (OK, going on thirty-years, but who's counting?) I almost died. Twice. I was three years old. And again, a few months later when I was about four years old.

When asked those crazy questions by friends, "how would you rather die, by such-and-such or this-and-such?" My answer has always been "as quickly as possible! Definitely not drowning!"

Dying can be scary. Laying there gasping for air, fighting to live, fearful that I would not be able to take another breath. That nobody was truly listening, or could help me, even as the EMTs worked frantically over my little body as they quickly took me to the nearest hospital.

Dying might be scary, but death is not.

I could care less about pearly gates or golden roads, to me heaven is Jesus. I get to sit on my Daddy-God's lap, bury my face in his chest, in a never-ending hug. Literally, never-ending! What could be better than that?

Whether I died, or just almost died as a child, what I remember is a lot bigger than just those two minutes of fear and gasping for air.

My mom will say that I had been having problems breathing, and so at night she and Dad would check on me. Regularly. Dad will say that some nights he even slept in my doorway, just so if I suddenly went silent, he would know and be right there.

Then one night, I did. I fell silently. Mom says she ran to the phone and called 911 and Dad—because we lived in a little apartment on a college campus—says he ran outside to wave the ambulance down when it came.

But what I remember is a completely different story then what my parents will tell. I remember walking out of my bedroom, standing beside my mother as she was on the phone, and shortly after my dad left to hail the ambulance, when another man entered our apartment. He stopped in front of me, knelt down, and as He held my hand, he told me what was going on.

I could hear myself cough from behind me, back in my bedroom as my body gasped for breath, and slept on…and yet, I stood in the dining room, listening to this man tell me that Mom was calling for help for me and that I needed to go back to bed for the time being. I remember reluctantly heading back to my room.

Later, once the ambulance came, and I was in it, I vaguely remember waking up and gasping for air…

But the rest. The blanks between heading to my room and the beginning of the ambulance ride, or between that moment of gasping for air in the ambulance and waking up MUCH later in the hospital (I think it was about a day later). Are things that I am not sure I could ever explain. Or understand. And some of it, sadly, is locked in my memory where even I barely catch glimpses of it.

I remember mostly feeling peace. I remember holding Jesus' hand throughout it all. I remember, when needed, as we looked down through the tree tops, or through the rooftop and into the hospital, He would explain a little about what was going on. But mostly, I just remember holding His hand, sitting beside Him, and knowing no fear, no pain, nothing evil. Only peace. And love.

I have a deep, abiding, friendship with Jesus to this day. And I attribute it back to that day, to the day He held my hand.

I know He will never leave me, nor forsake me.

I know He loves me, even unto death.

I know death will never separate us.

I know He is, and always will be, my best friend forever.

Nobody, no matter how crazy they might say I am from the stories I share or the things I have seen, heard, or done, either past or present, can ever take away what we have, together. Because that day, He showed me things that have no words, or earthly equal.

But if I had to explain it, I would say He showed me that day what Love truly is. What He truly is.

And that knowledge (if one can call it that), can never be taken away.

All I know is that every day, I want more. I want to spend more time with Him. Do more for Him.

No matter how little, or seemingly inconsequential—because mobility does limit or tire me some days—nothing can separate us. And nothing else can fill His place in my heart, my being.

I do not know how to really explain it. I just know.

><>†<><

And in the end, that is the biggest reason I sing His praises.

Because He gave so much, so that I could have so little (in comparison). And yet, that little, seems like so much because He gave it. And yet, it seems like nothing compared to my longing for more. Of Him.

It is as though the day of my dying, was the day our friendship began.

I was "saved" when I was about three years old. And while I do not know if I was saved before or after my dying, I do know this…

It is as though the day of my dying, was the day He reached out. He started it. And I would be remiss if I did not accept it, return it, finish it, hold his hand back. Whatever, you will.

I will forever be eternally grateful to Him. For His death, His reaching out, Him, always and forever standing by my side.

As I child I used to "witness" to others by telling them: "People might say He died to save us from sin, but I say He died so we could be best friends. And He is one friend I know will never leave me, never forsake me, is always by my side. And that is why I think everyone should 'accept' Him into their 'hearts', so they can have a friend such as Him! I know for a fact I would not be alive today, if not for Him; He truly never left me!"

And that is how I still feel today.

No matter how redundant—English teacher-friends of mine will have a fit—I will always and forever be eternally grateful to Him.

I would not be alive, today, if not for Him. And I mean that in more ways than one!

So, today, on Easter, the day we give thanks for death's death, for His resurrection, our redemption, etc, let me add to the chorus of "believers" and say "THANK YOU, LORD! I AM ETERNALLY GRATEFUL"

He alone understands what I mean when I add: "Lord, You may not understand just how grateful I am, but I am. Truly."

May the Lord's blessings be on y'all (my readers)

today as we remember why we sing His praises. Forever. Eternally.

-Hannah Joy_ous

Lessons from...weather

The weather was great...for about two days.

Sunny. Snow melted away. Great for a walk. And another walk. And, did I really have to come back inside?

Lance enjoyed it too, of course (had to have an excuse to go back out, so I dragged him off into the woods, where there was still some snow for him to frolic in!)

Then yesterday came. Whiteout. Roads closed. Warnings to the affect of "don't go out unless emergency." Everything was canceled.

Lance & I suddenly suffer from cabin fever. We were fine before the great weather, but after tasting it in the air, feeling it on our face, smelling the attempts of new-growth, we just stare outside and wait for it to come back so we can go out again! Even if just to sit in the yard (his thoughts, anyway; I'd pull out a lawn chair at least)

About 7am this morning, Lance got me up (I think he is still on the old time) in order to let him out for a minute. Once I was back in bed, I was thinking about a few friends I know who are nurses, and despite the weather or closed roads, would still be going into work or just getting off shifts.

It got me thinking about two things:

1) My mom used to clean houses or offices for a few years while I was growing up, and one of the things she used to say was "no news is good news," and she meant it, too. She used to say that the only time a cleaner heard anything was if it was not done well, or something was wrong, so "no news is the best compliment you will ever get."

I thought that was sad, and have striven to make it right since then.

A few years ago I was walking down the street and passed a crew of men fixing the sidewalk. I had to pause and thank them. Not because I was very grateful for the block being replaced, but because I was certain they had only heard complaints until it was fixed and would probably only hear complaints until the next block on their list was fixed, too. And the next after that.

How we take these people for granted. Complain about the problems, but rarely thank them for a job well done!

I believe that no matter where I stand in whatever war we are fighting, that the men who are fighting it for us should be thanked. Whether we are even aware of how much they give or sacrifice, the only thanks they probably ever hear is when their family is thankful they come back. And aside from that, they probably have to deal with protesters and all sorts of other people who make them feel like failures or unappreciated.

What about the cops? Sheriffs? When busting down doors and dragging in drug dealers, who might even kick and punch back, do you think they hear a thanks?

Whether we ever have to deal with law enforcement, know any personally, or not. I think they deserve a thanks, too. I am sure they do not hear it enough in their job; in fact, if anything they have had to dodge fists, break down doors, been cursed at, etc throughout their day and if there is any highlight or thanks it is shortly drowned out in the rest.

Hospitals still run, EMTs are still on duty, and there are always 911 operators on call. Not to mention the well known mail-people, who travel out "rain, snow, sleet, or shine". All these people, that we depend on in emergency. In war. In time of need, no matter the weather. And yet, how often do we thank them?

Yeah, point one is to not forget to thank these people who have known all sorts of hardships, nursed our illness, etc and yet rarely get thanked enough. So when you pass another person, hard at work, do not forget to thank them. I am sure if they deserve it, and if they do not (there are always the few corrupt ones) then perhaps if they heard it enough they would change? We do not know what a difference simple gratitude could make in another's life.

2) Because we lived in a small town when I was growing up, we knew most people. And every year for Christmas my mom would sneak a small plate of cookies into our mailbox as a "thank you" for the mailman. A neighbor up the street, I knew, used to want to invite him in for coffee but because he could not leave his work, she thought up how to time it so she could run out and give him a nice warm cup of coffee at mid-day during the coldest days. She once told me that he was out in that horrid blizzard-weather to deliver mail, the least she could do was run down her short driveway to meet him with a warm cup (he always returned the tall insulated mug the next day, too). Over the years, he became a good friend of the family and even helped us out in a non-mail-related situation that came up years later.

He was faithful. Not just to his work, but to God.

Which leads me to point two, although it is almost two-fold.

First, about how truthful it is when God says He will "never leave us nor forsake us." These people are a small (albeit, sometimes, flawed) representation of who God is to us. In His faithfulness, His loyalty. His all.

Secondly, if by the same measure that whenever we sin, whether against someone or something else, we are actually sinning against God (sermon from Sunday, check it out here), then by the same measure, when we give our all, are we not also giving our all or doing our best to the Lord? And these people show us what it looks like to sacrifice, to be diligent, to give 100% and then give yet some more!

I have known some nurses to brave the sleet and un-plowed roads to drive to the hospital for their shift, and work a long twelve-hour shift, to brave the weather and make it home, possible getting nothing done at home but a few hours of sleep, before doing it all again.

Do we do that? Do we give our best in our job, and then give some more? Do we do what is asked and go beyond that?

Everyday, God never backs out, never fails, and is always there. Don't you think we could add to our praise and thanks by giving Him our best, too?

Thank You for Pain

"Your love never fails

It never gives up

It never runs out on me..."

Today, in church as we were singing those words, I found myself saying to God, "Thank You for pain."

What am I saying? Why would I say that?

Let me back up and explain a little about myself for those who do not know me too well or have not known me since infancy.

At eighteen months old I was diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis (JRA). It is a painful disease that has even tried to kill me twice in my early childhood. I've had years, though, where I did not know pain; years when I could almost be 'normal'. But it never seems to last.

What? Where's my faith?

That's a question I've been asking myself for the last couple years, because as you've probably noticed my blogs and missions trips just haven't been happening and perhaps it has led y'all to wonder what's going on? And where have I been?

I was healed from a wheelchair, just in time for college and missions trips--living my dreams. And while the affects on my joints (subluxation and several fused joints) nor ont he muscles (JRA sometimes wears out or 'eats away' at the muscles near the joints it attacks), the pain was gone and I believed that God had healed me from JRA and it was only a matter of time before He would finish what He started and fix the after-affects on my joints, too.

And then a couple years ago that all changed when the pain started coming back.

First I questioned acknowledging the pain. Questioned medicine. Questioned my faith. And ultimately what people would say or think, knowing my testimony, if I ever said I was in pain or that "it's back".

Where is my faith? What did I do wrong? Or what can I do to make it right?

And especially, "how can I still find myself drawn to pray for another, when obviously I'm in serious pain?"

How could God use me, if I am broken?

But then today in church, as we were worshiping, I was thinking about a child who was recently diagnosed with a debilitating disease and how much I wanted to give her some advice, some faith, and hope. Help her to know the Love I have come to know through my own pain.

And then as we sang the above song, I found myself bawling as all I could think about was how grateful I am to know pain! How it shaped my childhood in a way nobody else, perhaps would ever know or understand. How God blessed and spoke to me through it; a relationship I am not certain I would have today if not for the pain giving me pause, time, to just be...with Him.

When a person is in pain, the first thing one does is search for a relief.

"Where is that bottle of Tylenol?"

"Where did I leave that cold compress?"

"What of the splint or brace?"

"Would you give me a foot-rub, please?"

Essentially, "How can I relieve this pain? Instantly?"

But those who know pain, know like I do that some pain cannot be 'ride of'. Some pain can only be muffled or suppressed, but is still very much there. It's still screaming, even underneath the "blanket" or behind the "gag". It's still kicking and fighting against the ropes of pain relievers, compresses, and rubs that hold, temporarily. It's still there, just a little bit quieter.

When I was a child, one of my earliest memory is hearing my body fight to breath as the disease gripped my vocal chords and thwarted each attempted breath. yet, I do not remember the pain nor fear of that moment, but rather the comfort, peace, and ultimately Love as I sat above the ambulance in my Father-God's reassuring embrace.

He took over where humans and all our "advances" fail.

He never left me, nor forsook me.

When I would crawl into bed at night, and the pressure of the days' activities would release from my joints, leaving me in such unbearable pain. When it hurt too much to be touched or held, and I would cry myself to sleep, unable to find relief. I can say that I know what it is like when the very second I would close my eyes, I would see Jesus' comforting face before me. To experience love so deep, it could touch the depths of my soul where nothing, not even pain, could. When no one else could, He would hold me in His arms and rock me to sleep, leading me to a place of peace despite the pain in my joints.

I have had Him hold my hand in church services and take me to a garden, where we would dance together and laugh. And yet all the while I was in a wheelchair and my hands ached too much to even shake another's in greeting.

If there is a blessing in pain, if God can truly work all things for His good, then it is this: that I have known the depths of His Love. And yet, even know, I am still learning more of just how deep it goes. Of where it reaches. How...I wish I knew.

This I have learned. This I know from having experienced pain. From having it again. It constantly draws me back to God. And gives me plenty of time to just sit in His presence as it resets the priorities in my life...

You may be fortunate to have never experienced such pain that could make a person scream out in their sleep...but then are you really fortunate?

I have laid hands on the sick and seen them healed. A cross-eyed, partially blind little girl has suddenly looked me in the eyes. All while my knees were aching so much I could barely stand as I prayed.

And it has nothing to do with me. How broken or crippled I appear.

It has everything to do with...

The Ultimate Pain Reliever: It works much deeper then the pain you know or the limits you embrace.

QUICK NOTE: Philippines Trip

For all you friends and family out there praying for me and the last little bit to come in for my trip to the Philippines, I have a praise report:

ITS IN!

Hallelujah!

One person called right after I posted Saturday morning wanting to know where to send it, knocking the total needed down to $300. Then this morning, a friend from my old home church in Hemlock sent out the prayer request for me at church this morning and afterward someone came up to her and wrote out a check for me to cover the rest! Hallelujah!

Pray for safe travels, and hopefully a seat on the same plane with Debby and the rest of team once we get to Manila, Philippines (I wasn't able to book that flight at the same time, so there is the sad possibility of me needing extra protection traveling for a short flight by myself!)

To everyone who has helped me in prayers and financial support, especially lately, THANK YOU! Many blessings to you and yours!

Christ's friend on the mission field,
<>< HJ