About a year ago I began asking the hubs for a slumber party with God. I asked for it for Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, and birthday.

What is a slumber party with God and what does that pillow fight look like? At least twenty-four hours completely alone with the express intent of seeking and hearing from the Lord – without the pillow fighting.

Chris made arrangements for me to stay one night (July 18) in a hotel in Columbia. I brought my journal, my Bible, my I-pod, and The Shack. Other than the hour I gave myself to go down to the Business Center to read blogs and the little bit of The Shack I read before I fell asleep, I prayed and sought Him in His Word – for hours. No TV. No newspaper. Only me and Him. I journaled what I heard and how I felt Him challenging me. He reminded me of the people in my life that I am to invest in, and I brainstormed ideas for how to pour into each one. And I walked away with this three-pronged statement:

This is kinda like the whole point of my life boiled down into three sentences. When I’m a stress basket about cleaning my house for your visit, I can be reminded that my cleanliness doesn’t add one iota to your godliness. When I’m about to come out of my skin with impatience with my children, I can revisit the fact that I am actually hindering their pursuit of Christ.

These statements are meant to serve as a point of reference for priorities and decision-making. I honestly need to refer to them more than I have because I definitely live in stress mode, on simmer – focusing on what’s least important most of the time.

Lest you get the notion that I am applauding myself for taking focused time with Him, you must remember that I am an introvert. There was no sacrifice for me; Chris did all of the sacrificing here. I love to be alone. I love to read. I love to write. Are you kidding me? It would have been much harder to stay at home actually.

But I do recommend it for innies and outies alike (see this post ). There just isn’t anything equal to extended time with Him. And it certainly doesn’t have to involve $ or a hotel. It can be at your parents’ house or at a friend’s house when they are out of town. It can be at your own house, but I would be way too distracted by other things that I needed to be doing. You can make it work, and the start of a new year is an opportune time for reflection and anticipation. Think I just talked myself into another one…

“Oh, honey, ….”

I got a question for you. What promise have you abandoned that God has spoken over you? Stay with me; I know that sounds like a kooky question.

There are three specific things I believe that the Lord has spoken over my life; one of which has been fulfilled. I knew that I was to be part of a church start in Florence, and that has come to fruition.

In my early thirties, I received the first – in a time when its fulfillment seemed pretty likely. On my thirty-third birthday, I sensed a boldness to ask for it. I remember the room; I remember the freedom of saying, “God, I want what you have for me!” After that, a lot in my life fell apart, and the possibility of my dream seemed to slip away. It’s reality seemed quite improbable. Now, three years later – as I approach my thirty-sixth birthday – it seems almost impossible.

In September of last year – even unbeknownst to me – I gave up on it. I ditched it. I heard wrong. I made it up. Do you know how many other people dream the same thing? All I do know about that time, right after my grandmother’s death, is that a vacuum cleaner was attached to my mouth and it removed every ounce of joy from the recesses of my soul. I thought it was grief. Then I thought it was the busyness of school starting again. But only very recently have I understood that it was the death of my hope in His promise. It left me joyless.

I kept coming back to the poem by Langston Hughes – “A Dream Deferred.”

This was my December article for She Magazine.

The Unopened Gift

I really dig gifts. I mean, my family lovingly ridicules me for my lengthy lists at gift-receiving occasions. I can break it down to page numbers in favorite catalogs and links to items sold by online retailers. In my mind, I think I am being super helpful by being so detailed. The truth of it is that I just really enjoy receiving gifts, and I want to do everything I can to increase my chances of snagging the goods I want. Quite self-serving, I realize.

Maybe the fact that I also love to give gifts is something of a redeemable quality. It can take me several trips to several different stores to locate just the right gift for someone. And it doesn’t matter if I’m buying for a child I really barely know or for my dear husband; it is my objective to arrive on the scene with a thoughtful, perfect gift. I so enjoy giving a gift that the recipient prizes!

So, it’s surprising – even to me – that I allowed an unopened gift to remain under my tree for fourteen Christmases. Yep, fourteen Christmases. How does one do that, you may ask. It wasn’t as difficult as you might imagine. We always have gifts left under our tree after Christmas – gifts for loved ones we didn’t get to visit with over the holidays. We put them aside when we disassemble the tree, and we store them until we’re able to make a delivery. That’s kind of how it went with the unopened gift. It was for me. It was adorned with generous red shiny paper and a perfect green bow. It was beautiful, but Christmas after Christmas I chose not to accept it. I would easily preoccupy myself with the other gifts that bore my name. “I don’t need that one,” I would think to myself. Months would pass; life would distract me, and I’d forget about it for a while. Until the season returned and the shimmer of the red paper caught my eye once more. Somehow it never grew dusty and never showed wear or age…

Truth be told, I had a grievance with the giver. I heard negative things about him, and I also made up my own rubbish about him too. You know how we tend to do that – assume the worst and then embellish that in our imaginations. I didn’t trust him a bit, and each year I would argue that I didn’t need his stinkin’ gift since I had already gone so long without it. I was sure that he would expect too much in return if I dared to unwrap it. But there it sat each year, under my tree. I would glare at it sometimes. At other times, I would sit by it washed in the tender glow of strung lights. And still at other times, I would evaluate it with my head tilted and eyebrow cocked with interest.

There were people in my life who lovingly encouraged me to open it; they were confounded by my obstinacy. Others tried to dissuade me from opening it – feeding my doubts and distrust. Another contingent boasted about knowing the giver and having received gifts from him, but their words were hollow and not convincing at all. I refrained from opening the gift…

Until one night when I found myself in the midst of a crowd who wanted me to unmask the mystery. In a moment I claimed the gift and tore into it in a flash. I don’t know what I expected it to feel like, but it was so light – surprisingly light. And what I found inside changed the course of my life. It was the love of One who had loved me all along. It was pure and perfect and delightful, and I had been wrong, wrong, wrong for years. I had been mistaken about the Giver – who He is and what He wants from me. I found Him to be tender and merciful, forgiving and patient, powerful and gentle, compassionate and true. And you know what – He never asked what took me so long. He was not angry that I had been so stubborn. He just smiled and was pleased.

Every good action and every perfect gift is from God. These good gifts come down from the Creator of the sun, moon, and stars, who does not change like their shifting shadows
(James 1:17, New Century Version).

These are uncertain times. Uncertainty seems to hang in the air like a bad odor, seems to course through our veins like a dark dye. It’s a car poking along in front of us on a road where we can’t pass. We feel trapped behind it.

And I pride myself in trying to live in oblivion by limiting my exposure to the news. I like to be able to speak intelligently about national and global affairs, but the doom and gloom is often more than I care to digest. Whenever possible I try to starve my fear’s appetite for looming disaster. I do a pretty good job, so don’t expect any riveting posts on current events in the near future. While trying to emaciate my anxieties, I am always trying to fatten my faith.

Oh no, here she goes again…

Faith is this nebulous, obtuse, abstract (yes, I know they all kinda mean the same thing – I just love them) thing that makes people think Christ-followers are straight up nut jobs. It’s true. The concept of placing faith in something outside of ourselves seems to make people uncomfortable.

It shouldn’t; we do it all the time. For instance, every morning I rush around like a crazy person getting people fed, dressed, and in the car with all the necessities for the day. There’s usually not a minute to spare, honestly. And when I put the key in the ignition and turn it, I expect it to crank. I have faith in my nine year-old 112, 000 mile Pathfinder. In nine years it has started every time I have turned the key except once (when the battery exploded – frightful). My truck and I have history; it has been very faithful. For that I am grateful. I demonstrate my faith in my truck by how I live my morning. I don’t build in extra time for car issues. I don’t have a back-up plan if my transportation fails. I know the car is going to crank. It always has. As my car gets older and more worn, I am headed for a day of disappointment. The first time it leaves me high and dry; my faith in it will take a hit and perhaps collapse all together (depending on where I am stranded, how long it takes help to arrive, and how many children I have in the car at the time).

My point is this – we all put our faith in something. Our money, the company we work for, our spouse, our children, ourselves. That’s all fine and dandy until the economy crashes, our company folds, our spouse dies unexpectedly, our children rebel, and we totally come unglued. Those things happen every day.

What are you putting your faith in?

I’ll go first, and I’ll shoot straight. My big picture faith is in Jesus Christ. Constant. Eternal. Faithful and True. His character and His promises don’t change with the Dow; He isn’t surprised by the energy crisis, and He can’t be usurped by the next President. He doesn’t worry or waver, and He is the only certainty, the only fail-safe fool-proof unshakable strength and security in the face of our uncertain circumstances.

But, truth be told, my daily little picture faith is in myself. I tend to think I can handle things quite nicely on my own. Honestly, that never turns out well. I am moody, and impatient, and I often have sharp edges. I can be insecure and selfish and undisciplined and weak. I am proud, often loud, opinionated, and bossy. Really…who would sign up to put their faith in that? I’m taking my name off that sign-up sheet (wish it were that easy…). Seriously, my truck is more dependable than I am. However, …

There can be certainty. Of that, I am certain! Are you?