Rocks In My Dryer

Indeed

Arise, arise,

And with His burial-linen dry thine eyes.

Christ left His grave-clothes, that we might, when grief

Draws tears or blood, not want a handkerchief.

George Herbert, Anglican priest, 1593-1633

Do the Next Thing

This poem hangs on my refrigerator; I'm in a season where I need the daily reminder desperately.  I thought I'd post it here for you to see, too (I do not know the original author, but I know Elisabeth Elliott has quoted from it):

From an old English parsonage down by the sea
There came in the twilight a message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven,
Hath, it seems to me, teaching from Heaven.
And on through the doors the quiet words ring
Like a low inspiration: “Do the next thing.”

Many a questioning, many a fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment, let down from Heaven,
Time, opportunity, and guidance are given.
Fear not tomorrows, child of the King,
Trust them with Jesus, do the next thing.

Do it immediately, do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence, tracing His hand
Who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence, safe ‘neath His wing,
Leave all results, do the next thing.

Looking for Jesus, ever serener,
Working or suffering, be thy demeanor;
In His dear presence, the rest of His calm,
The light of His countenance be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness, praise and sing.
Then, as He beckons thee, do the next thing.

That Little Fellow's Dad

The following poem has been taped to my dad's desk for as long as I can remember.  Now that I'm the mom of boys (and the wife of a man who is a very good dad to boys), it's especially meaningful to me.  I can't get all the way through it without a lump in my throat. 

A few years ago, I made a copy for my husband, and now it sits framed on his desk, too.  I don't know who the author is, unfortunately (if you know, please tell me), but I thought you might like to see it:

There are certain dreams I’d cherish that I’d like to see come true.

There are things I would accomplish ere my working time is through.

But the task my heart is set on is to guide a little lad--

To make myself successful as that little fellow’s dad.

It’s the one job that I dream of; it’s the task I think of most.

For if I fail that little fellow, I have nothing else to boast.

For the wealth and fame I’d gather, all my fortune would be sad,

If I fail to be successful as that little fellow’s dad.

I may never be as clever as my neighbor down the street.

I may never be as wealthy as some other men I meet.

But if he who follows after shall be manly, I’ll be glad,

For I’ll know I’ve been successful as that little fellow’s dad.

If you're as taken with this poem as I've always been, and you'd like a copy, I made a JPEG of it, sized to fit in a 5x7 mat or frame.  Feel free to grab it here (if this works; not sure if it will):

Download littlefellowJPEG.jpg.

Happy Independence Day

Above all, we must realize that no arsenal, or no weapon in the arsenals of the world, is so formidable as the will and moral courage of free men and women.

--Ronald Reagan

 

Rupture

Sometimes our prayers are for deliverance from conditions which are morally indispensable--that is, conditions which are absolutely necessary to our redemption. God does not grant us those requests. He will not because He loves us with a pure and implacable purpose: that Christ be formed in us. If Christ is to live in my heart, if his life is to be lived in me, I will not be able to contain Him. The self, small and hard and resisting as a nut, will have to be ruptured. My own purposes and desires and hopes will have to at times be exploded. The rupture of the self is death, but out of death comes life. The acorn must rupture if an oak tree is to grow.

--Elisabeth Elliott

I don't know about you, but I really needed to hear that today.

"God Made Us a Family"

I saw this framed at a friend's house, years ago, and I jotted it down and stuck it in my Bible.  I ran across it again recently, and I wanted to share it with you (the author is unknown to me):

God made us a family.

We need one another.  We love one another. We forgive one another.

We work together.  We play together.  We pray together.

Together we grow in Christ.  Together we love all people.  Together we serve our God.  Together we hope for Heaven.

These are our hopes and ideals.  Help us to attain them, O God, through Christ our Lord, by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Oh, My.

From one of the (way too many) books I'm reading right now, The Purse-Driven Life by Anita Renroe (she's the same person who did this):

The year that I was forty, I refused to call it forty.  I preferred to call it "$39.95 plus shipping and handling."  And my, oh my, how my contents had settled during all the shipping and handling.  Gravity will have its way.

and

After turning forty, I entered into a phase of my life in which Psalm 139:14 had a deeper meaning for me.  The phrase "fearfully and wonderfully made" describes exactly how I feel when I look in the mirror.  I fear what is happening and I wonder what I can do about it.

and

I now have a front-car seat on the hormonal roller coaster called perimenopause.  This is a new medical term science has given to the condition that immediately precedes full-blown, hot-flashin', mood-swingin', drug-takin' menopause.  In this new "lite" version, you get all the same symptoms, just without the regularity.  in other words, you never know when it's going to hit you.  Menopause is basically your hormonally messed-up teenage years revisited and complicated by the fact that you are perpetually tired and have a mortgage.

My sides hurt, y'all.

No Evidence Of Progress?

At times nothing seems to be happening. So it must be for the bird that sits on her nest. Things are apparently at a standstill. But the bird sits quietly, knowing that in the stillness something vital is going on, and in the proper time it will be shown. It takes faith and patience for the bird, and such faith and patience never seem to waver, day after day, night after night, as she bides the appointed time.

Restless and doubtful we wonder why we have nothing to show for our efforts, no visible evidence of progress. Let us remember the perfect egg--unchanged in its appearance from the day it is laid. But while the bird waits faithfully, doing the only thing she is required to do throughout those silent weeks, important things are taking place.

I wait for the Lord. My soul waits,
and in His word I hope;
my soul waits for the Lord more
than watchmen for the morning.
--(Ps 130:5, 6 RSV)

--Elisabeth Elliott

Can You Help?

A reader has written me the following e-mail, and I'm hoping someone out there can help.  He writes

Hope you will be able to tell me where I can find a poem that I believe Corrie Ten Boom wrote, and am certain it is in one of her books.

It is a poem which says roughly, when you stand at the edge of the ocean...something something rocky shore...out there beyond the eyes horizon, there's more, there's more.  Then it talks about how we glimpse just a little of God's love here, like we do the ocean, and that out there beyond lifes horizon, there's more, there's more.  My son died a month ago, and I so desperately want this poem on his stone, and would appreciate any help you could give.

Is anyone familiar with this poem, whether it was written by Corrie Ten Boom or someone else?  If you know of it, please e-mail me so I can give the information to this family.  And please keep them in your prayers--we may not know their story, but God does.

Weekend Wisdom

"Sexiness wears thin after a while, and beauty fades.  But to be married to a man who makes you laugh every day, ah, now that's a real treat."

--JoAnne Woodward

"The Common Stuff Of This World..."

When women--sometimes well-meaning, earnest, truth seeking ones--say "Get out of the house and do something creative, find something meaningful, something with more direct access to reality," it is a dead giveaway that they have missed the deepest definition of creation, of meaning, of reality. And when you start seeing the world as opaque, that is, as an end in itself instead of as transparent, when you ignore the Other World where this one ultimately finds its meaning, of course housekeeping (and any other kind of work if you do it long enough) becomes tedious and empty.

But what have buying groceries, changing diapers and peeling vegetables got to do with creativity? Aren't those the very things that keep us from it? Isn't it that kind of drudgery that keeps us in bondage? It's insipid and confining, it's what one conspicuous feminist called "a life of idiotic ritual, full of forebodings and failure." To her I would answer ritual, yes. Idiotic, no, not to the Christian--for although we do the same things anybody else does, and we do them over and over in the same way, the ordinary transactions of everyday life are the very means of transfiguration. It is the common stuff of this world which, because of the Word's having been "made flesh," is shot through with meaning, with charity, with the glory of God.

--Elisabeth Elliott

Rest

There is nothing--no circumstance, no trouble, no testing--that can ever touch me until, first of all, it has gone past God and past Christ right through to me.  If it has come that far, it has come with a great purpose, which I may not understand at the moment.  But as I refuse to become panicky, as I lift up my eyes to Him and accept it as coming from the throne of God for some great purpose of blessing to my own heart, no sorrow will ever disturb me, no circumstance will cause me to fret, for I shall rest in the joy of what my Lord is--that is the rest of victory!

--Alan Redpath, former pastor of Moody Church

Now Let's Go Out and Play...

Some houses try to hide that fact
That children shelter there.
Ours boasts of it quite openly--
The signs are everywhere.
For smears are on the windows,
Little smudges on the doors.
I should apologize, I guess,
For toys strewn on the floor.
But I sat down with the children
And we played and laughed and read.
And if the bathtub doesn't shine
Their eyes will shine instead.
For when, at times, I'm forced to choose
The one job or the other,
I want to have a lovely house,
But first I'll be a mother.

--Author Unknown

"...and the nicest thing I can say about her is all her tattoos are spelled correctly."

This makes me very, very happy.