Monday, January 31, 2011

Snow Tapestry

photo courtesy of photobucket.

Today I went for a walk; through the snow; through my memory... and through what once was my town.

I grew up here.

My reminiscing resurrected a post.

Join me for a walk in the snow.

**
Before me; white snow. No tracks. Pure. Unblemished. White. Perfect.

Behind?

That’s another story.

Tracks everywhere, leading nowhere, it seems. Indistinguishable tracks litter the landscape. Places I’ve fallen mar the view.

Yesterdays pure unblemished white now, un-pure, blemished, grey-white; a mess…

At least to my eyes.

But then I climb on the roof. I see a bigger picture, a pattern in the snow. A trail leads from shed to deck to driveway. Less of a mess.

Then it happens... I’m lifted higher. Up above the tree top view, then above the bird’s eye view until I reach a place I now call, God’s Eye View.

From here I see life’s tracks. From birth to one second ago. Everything. First step, first fall, failures, victories, tears, laughter, joy, sorrow all woven together; it's beautiful. The blood and tears add color, the times I’d fallen and times I’d risen add depth.

From this view it doesn’t look a mess, but like there’s a plan, a purpose a unique design.

And it occurs to me there is a Master Design. My life is more than a maze of indistinguishable tracks that litter the landscape. There is a purpose for my existence.

Although from Doug’s eye view it looks as if my life is just a mess. From God’s Eye View it looks like everything is going to be okay. Better than okay. A masterpiece.

I can see it’s not finished. There’s still unpainted canvas, untracked snow. But I know God’s in control, and He can take what appears to be a mess and weave a life packed with joy and promise and purpose, not without pain, but with purposeful pain.

All it takes is yielding to the touch of The Masters’ Hands. I like the view. You too are a unique master-piece in His hands.

You are, You-nique. Your life has a plan, a purpose a unique design.

Your future is as white snow, no tracks, pure, unblemished. Allow the Master Designer to direct your steps and show you the beauty and purpose He has woven into the beautiful tapestry of your life.

He who dwells in the secret place of the Most HighShall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. Psalm 91:1



“ Come now, and let us reason together,” Says the LORD, “ Though your sins are like scarlet, They shall be as white as snow..." Isaiah 1:18

**

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Delivery

She worked a crossword puzzle to keep her mind off the discomfort. But soon it couldn’t be ignored. She’d put her hand on her stomach and whisper “there’s another one.” We started timing.



“Maybe we better go.”


“I’m not going in until I’m sure.”


Twice they went to the hospital. Twice they were sent home. This time Kayla wanted to be sure her contractions were the real thing.


So she waited…so we timed. Seven minutes apart, then five, then four, then more severe, then…


“Oh, I think we better go.”


10:30 p.m. Daddy drove – fast and furious. They unloaded at the now familiar hospital entry. I slid behind the wheel to park.


This time there was no wondering. She wanted to push.


The familiar elevator ride; beep – we ascended through second floor. Beep – we rose through third. Beep-beep to the top of the hospital; the place life began for many…and ended for some.


Room # 5406 became Kayla’s temporary home. Monitors attached and questions asked – lots of questions. Have you eaten anything? How far apart are the contractions? On a scale of 1-10 what is your pain level? Any tobacco use…medications? She’d answer when she could and gasped and grasped white knuckles to bedrail when she couldn’t.


With each wince from my daughter eyes would burn and jaw would clench; not hers – mine. I wasn’t having the baby but I felt the pain. Not in my belly but in my heart. I hoped they didn’t notice these contractions were tearing me apart.


And then it got worse. “We’ll try to give you something for the pain but…I’m going to try the other arm.” Needles and nurses attempted to find a vein – in vain.


Contractions continued about two minutes apart topping the chart. When I heard: “I’ll check again to see how far you’re dilated.” I decided that was my cue to exit. “I think I’ll get some coffee and then…I’d probably be of more use in the Chapel.”


Coffee in hand I rode the elevator to the bottom; the Chapel floor. The nurses needed help finding a vein so I went over their head to get it.


From below – I looked up. Dear God…nothing eloquent or memorable would come; just a heartfelt cry for a needle to find a vein; a girl to dilate and deliver. The big white Bible lay open in the front of the chapel.




“Thus says the Lord who made you and formed you from the womb, who will help you: Fear not…” Isaiah 44:2

Her room was quiet when I returned; the atmosphere different. The only sound the beeping machine. Kayla lay still. A large arc appeared on the paper water fall documenting a big contraction; but not a wince from Kayla.


She had dilated from a three to a seven. The IV found a home. And pain meds were delivered.


I thought: God heard.


My faith grew.


The door should have been a revolving one. Nurse Lisa instructed Kayla to let her know if she felt the urge to push.


We waited and watched.


“He’s facing the side. He needs to turn.” They rotated Kayla from side to side and then on her knees.


Once more from Chapel below on my knees, prayers ascended to turn and to deliver.

From the belly of the hospital these words were read:


“For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given.” Isaiah 9:6
And five floors above Life pushed life from belly to world.

I'm pleased to announce to you. On 1/24/11 at 2:57 a.m. 8lb 2.9 oz; 20 ½”; Urijah Nathaniel Brooks was born.


And if I ever lost faith in prayer; tonight it was reborn.

***


First Bath


Already waving at Papa!


Mom & Dad


Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Contractions



Kayla sat on the step with pain rolling down her cheeks… It had to be time.


The drive to the hospital was quiet and quick.

We stopped in front of the hospital entry doors only long enough to say a prayer. They piled out. I parked.

I continued to pray that this would be the time. Only days before they had taken this same route only to be sent home. “You’re not quite ready.” They told the young parents.

Mother-to-be seated in wheelchair. Nurse Rachel steered toward the elevator that would take us to the fifth floor; the maternity ward. We tagged along.

As father of the mother, I tried to comfort.

“Well Bug, the next time you’re on this floor you’ll be carrying baby in your lap instead of in your stomach.” She looked at me with; I sure hope so in her eyes.

I prayed the same in my heart.

Although I’d told her “no one is pregnant forever” she was six days overdue and beginning to think she would be.

She said the pains “are like menstrual cramps.” The nurse advised Kayla was dilated to a three; not enough to be considered active labor but they would monitor her contractions.

We listened to the beeping machine and watched numbers on the monitor reflect baby’s heartbeat and the timing and severity of contractions. The information was drawn like a graph on a stream of paper flowing from the machine.

After my statement about Kayla leaving the hospital with baby in her lap instead of in her stomach I felt confidence grow and felt this would be the time. Kayla wasn’t so sure, nor the medical staff.

We watched and waited.

I studied the graph and determined that two strong contractions within minutes of each other were reflected. I was about to make another bold claim that this would continue until she was in full fledged labor and the baby would be born, soon. But about that time the nurse walked in and advised that they were going to send Kayla home.

Disappointment filled the room like a fog. Kayla was frustrated, tired, hurt and just plain ready to deliver. I didn’t show it but I was mad – at God.

“I’ll go pull up the truck” I said.

As I walked I complained; inside my head until I got outside the hospital and then I whispered the words out loud to God: “Why don’t you just put her into labor? We prayed. I made bold confessions of faith in front of my daughter – Your daughter. Don’t you think this could hurt her faith? We prayed, now she may think prayer doesn’t work. And besides that she may lose her trust in me, since I said this would be the time. It would have been so easy for You to have just opened the door for this baby to be born…”

By the time I reached the Suburban I was running out of steam. Suddenly I remembered part of our prayer as we stopped at the hospital entry doors; “Lord, we submit to and ask for your perfect timing…”

. “Oh God, I’m sorry. It just hurts so bad to see my own child hurt. I’m not mad at you. I trust You.”

As I eased the vehicle around the circle drive to the entry I saw my family headed out the door. And Kayla smiled. Something told me everything was going to be alright.

And…God knew exactly how I felt. He’d seen His Son hurt, too.

And as far as prayers are concerned – I still think faith filled prayer in the hands of love is the most powerful force on earth. It’s just that God is under no obligation to fit into my logic. He knows what and when is best – I don’t have to.

The drive home was silent and slow…but peaceful. Knowing we’d pass this way again, soon.

As sure as there's a winter there's a spring. And as sure as there’s a conception there’s a delivery… but that story will have to wait until next time.

Hope to see you pass this way again, soon.

***

This post is part of the One Word at a Time blog carnival hosted by my friend Peter Pollock. For more posts about winter, please visit his site, http://peterpollock.com/

*

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Mansion

“And now approaching on your right was the vacation home of Al Capone…” The Captain’s voice sent us shuffling from railing to railing. His spotlight would shine and we would gawk at the mansions of the rich and famous. (Or infamous in the above mentioned example.)


“And on the left is the slip where Johnny Depp moored his boat just last week. And that boat house just ahead on the left; a mere $35,000 per month just to park your boat under that roof.”

As we floated the canal our ooows and ahhhs must have sounded like a group watching Fourth of July fireworks. Boats twice as big as my house and ten times more expensive were docked in front of houses, or I should say mansions. Both lit in Christmas grandeur, making the evening cruise all the more awe inspiring.

I wondered why out of all the houses and all the boats only one had actually displayed what the displays were really all about; a Nativity depicting the Christ Child. I also felt a bit sorry for these poor folks who spent millions to have a place on the canal only to become center ring to this floating circus.

“And now if you’ll look at this empty lot on our right, do you see the large wooden play gym?” The owners of the adjacent house purchased this empty lot for 3.2 million to have this play gym built for their kids to play on. Only thing is, we’ve never seen any kids out there… Ever.” The Captain laughed, and so did most of the folks on the boat. I didn’t.

I thought. I wonder why? Were the kids just spoiled rich kids and they didn’t want to play outside? Or maybe something happened. Maybe we should pray for and not laugh at, them.

“Here we are folks; Jungle Island.”
We ate a wonderful meal and watched hilarious entertainers. One guy juggled sharp swords, bowling pins and bowling balls.

Our boat ride back to the bus was more of the same spotlighting. But for the most part we were too full and too tired to shuffle. We just sat and talked and enjoyed the cruise.

It was my daughter and I and about fifty other friends from our little village. We loaded the bus and settled in for a two hour trip back to our little RV Park. The tour guide talked and played games and BINGO. We sat in the back seat. I watched it all.

I watched how these folks talked with one another. I marveled at the abundance of laughter and the smiles all around. Eyes sparkled like the twinkling Christmas lights on the million dollar mansions.

Upon arrival we unloaded, like sand through an hour glass. Since we were in back, we waited. I stared out the window and wondered if my daughter thought less of me after seeing all those big fancy houses and then coming home to, well… to this. The entire park cost less than one of those mansions.

And then I noticed the folks walking home. Arm in arm. Smiling faces. And this thought occurred to me: The wealthiest folks we met tonight were right here on this bus.

They may not live in big fancy houses – they live in homes. And the only mansion they may ever have is the one “just over the hill top”, but with that, they’ve got it all.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

The Stick

We’ve had it for years. It’s old and weathered. It doesn’t do anything but sit there. It has no earthly value. We couldn’t sell it if we tried, no one would want it.

I know it was an accident. Diamond didn’t mean to drop it.

If it was anybodies’ fault it was mine. I placed it there on display, in the way for anyone to bump – especially a six year old. She did. It fell. And it broke.

“It’s just a stick” said Roxy. But I saw a tear trying to escape before she turned away.

It was a simple gift. It was fragile. A life time of memories lay there… broken.

Roxy found it in the woods and used it as a walking stick during a family vacation. Her brother secretly brought it home, attached a wind chime, and gave it as a gift.

Roxy loves wind chimes, and is especially fond of this one. Every time the wind causes it to sing she’s reminded of her brother.

But really now it’s just a stick, right? Or is it more?

Maybe our simple gifts are more than just sticks for fire wood. Maybe a kind word can change a life. Maybe a phone call can save one.

And maybe the reverse is true as well.

We may say “I was only joking.” Thinking our words and deeds of little consequence; nothing more than dried up old sticks. But, in reality they hold the keys to winning or losing a wounded soul.

I stare at the broken stick and wonder about the one who gave it. I think; “Maybe, if we’d have reached out to the-stick-giver more… he wouldn’t have taken his life.”

I don’t know for sure but I wish I had another chance…

I remember a story about a man who had a stick. He raised it. The Lord chimed in with a wind that parted the Red Sea.

I can’t part the Red Sea. Neither could Moses. But, he offered what he had, if only a stick. God took the gift of obedience and saved lives.

Another Man was obedient unto death. He said, “Not my will but yours be done.” And on a simple piece of wood His life was broken.
And that old wooden stick was used to save us all.



My Lord let our heart break for that which breaks yours. And thank You for Your promise that You heal the broken hearted.

Monday, January 10, 2011

‘Tis So Sweet…


 

'Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus


 

'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,

    and to take him at his word;

    just to rest upon his promise,

    and to know, "Thus saith the Lord."

Refrain:

    Jesus, Jesus, how I trust him!

    How I've proved him o'er and o'er!

    Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!

    O for grace to trust him more!


 

    O how sweet to trust in Jesus,

    just to trust his cleansing blood;

    and in simple faith to plunge me

    neath the healing, cleansing flood!

    (Refrain)


 

    Yes, 'tis sweet to trust in Jesus,

    just from sin and self to cease;

    just from Jesus simply taking

    life and rest, and joy and peace.

    (Refrain)


 

    I'm so glad I learned to trust thee,

    precious Jesus, Savior, friend;

    and I know that thou art with me,

    wilt be with me to the end.


Do you want to know Jesus?

Guilt or Passion?


 

People far and wide inquire. They wish to see me again. Voices from the past may not remember my name – but they remember the ministry.

I suppose this should be cause for joy. And evidence of the Lord's leading; an open door to run through. So, why do I hesitate? Why do I feel that chapter is closed? Instead of walking through I'm walking away.

Am I rejecting the call of God?

This robs my sleep.

I wonder if setting this down is like the man burying the talent. I don't want to be called a wicked and lazy servant. I don't want to bury my talent – or my head in the sand. Yet, I don't want to build yesterday's dream only to realize it's a sandcastle and the tide has changed.

If I am burying my talent, why would I do such a thing? Fear? I think not. I am confident of success if I pursue. Then what? Guilt? I wouldn't think so…at least not until today. But I don't want to think of that… yet.

As these thoughts stole my sleep, I prayed. Seeking answers I sought The Answer.

Is not success and approval all I should need to point the direction I should take?

Not necessarily. You think of success as some rare event that stands as a pillar to build your life around. It is not. Success should be a normal standard, a simple milestone of many along life's journey. And success isn't measured by popularity.

Although sent with honest regard. Accolades can be deceiving when they enter your ears.

Consider your work. Hour after hour you prayerfully and passionately choreographed every nuance. So why wouldn't it be a success? How could I not but bless it?

The tide may change, but not the ocean. Where's your passion? Why have you stopped pursuing a dream? Guilt will cause hesitation even though passionate pursuit is desired.

Yes, I think I understand. I see what I should pursue and then remember the times I've failed… and the past gets in my eyes.

Remember the ocean? It's got the best sunrise and sunset on the planet… showing simultaneously. And yet – you can't even notice your sins buried under all of it.

The tides change but always draw from the same well. You may change pursuits of happiness but draw from the same ocean of passion; a well of Living Water placed in you that never will run dry.

The tide may change but the ocean is still a success.

Keep the passion but leave the past. You are forgiven. Your dreams were placed by Me. I knew you were going to fall, and I knew I would be here to pick you up.

I know you think what you've done is too ugly a stain to ever put you on display. You think you should sit in the back unseen, unnoticed, unimportant. And you may sit in the back unseen and unnoticed, and that's ok. But you're never unimportant.

Understand that under Me you are made clean. The sin no longer remains. Not a stain, not a spot not a blemish. I've done it all.

Do you believe Me? Now it's up to you.

Prayerfully pursue passion and peace and your well never will run dry.


 

Psalm 37:4
Delight yourself also in the LORD, And He shall give you the desires of your heart

Micah 7:19
You will have compassion on us. You will trample our sins under your feet and throw them into the depths of the ocean!

Psalm 103:12
as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us

Friday, January 7, 2011

Foxhole

I almost didn’t write this. Why? The Florida room was cold. That’s where the lap top was sitting. And I didn’t want to get out of my warm bed and go get it. But then, I thought of a hungry shivering soldier in a fox hole keeping me safe tonight.



Do those fighting for us on the battlefront need to fight for us on the home front as well? Are we the ones hiding in a foxhole? Following is an e-mail I recently received...

CINDY WILLIAMS was appointed by Obama as an Assistant Director for NATIONAL SECURITY in the Congressional Budget Office..... Military Pay. This is an Airman's response to Cindy Williams' editorial piece in the Washington Times about MILITARY PAY, it should be printed in all newspapers across America. Ms. Cindy William wrote a piece for the Washington Times denouncing the pay raise(s) coming service members' way this year citing that she stated a 13% wage increase was more than they deserve.


A young airman from Hill AFB responds to her article below. He ought to get a bonus for this.


"Ms Williams: I just had the pleasure of reading your column, "Our GI's earn enough" and I am a bit confused. Frankly, I'm wondering where this vaunted overpayment is going, because as far as I can tell, it disappears every month between DFAS (The Defense Finance and Accounting Service) and my bank account. Checking my latest earnings statement I see that I make $1,117.80 before taxes per month. After taxes, I take home $874.20.. When I run that through the calculator, I come up with an annual salary of $13,413.60 before taxes, and $10,490.40 after.






I work in the Air Force Network Control Center where I am part of the team responsible for a 5,000 host computer network. I am involved with infrastructure segments, specifically with Cisco Systems equipment. A quick check under jobs for "Network Technicians" in the Washington, D.C. Area reveals a position in my career field, requiring three years experience in my job. Amazingly, this job does NOT pay $13,413.60 a year. No, this job is being offered at $70,000 to $80,000 per annum............ I'm sure you can draw the obvious conclusions.






Given the tenor of your column, I would assume that you NEVER had the pleasure of serving your country in her armed forces. Before you take it upon yourself to once more castigate congressional and DOD leadership for attempting to get the families in the military's lowest pay brackets off of WIC and food stamps, I suggest that you join a


group of deploying soldiers headed for AFGHANISTAN; I leave the choice of service branch up to you. Whatever choice you make though, opt for the SIX month rotation: it will guarantee you the longest possible time away from your family and friends, thus giving you full "deployment experience.






"As your group prepares to board the plane, make sure to note the spouses and children who are saying good-bye to their loved ones. Also take care to note that several families are still unsure of how they'll be able to make ends meet while the primary breadwinner is gone. Obviously they've been squandering the "vast" piles of cash the government has been giving them.






Try to deploy over a major holiday; Christmas and Thanksgiving are perennial favorites. And when you're actually over there, sitting in a foxhole, shivering against the cold desert night, and the flight sergeant tells you that there aren't enough people on shift to relieve you for chow, remember this: trade whatever MRE's (meal-ready-to-eat) you manage to get for the tuna noodle casserole or cheese tortellini, and add Tabasco to everything. This gives some flavor.






Talk to your loved ones as often as you are permitted; it won't be nearly long enough or often enough, but take what you can get and be thankful for it. You may have picked up on the fact that I disagree with most of the points you present in your open piece. But, tomorrow from KABUL, I will defend to the death your right to say it.






You see, I am an American fighting man, a guarantor of your First Amendment right and every other right you cherish...On a daily basis, my brother and sister soldiers worldwide ensure that you and people like you can thumb your collective noses at us, all on a salary that is nothing short of pitiful and under conditions that would make most people cringe. We hemorrhage our best and brightest into the private sector because we can't offer the stability and pay of civilian companies. And you, Ms. Williams, have the gall to say that we make more than we deserve?


A1C Michael Bragg, Hill AFB AFNCC



God forgive us for allowing those on the front lines go hungry, while paying fat cats who kiss babies in front of the camera and vote to kill them behind it. God forgive us.


Forgive us for allowing those we don’t trust to lead us. For allowing greed to fuel the system we have voted in; it’s all consuming lust devours everything it touches. It has swallowed the past present and future and has sold us into bondage to a nation that’s against us.


We have allowed this to happen by our complacency. Forgive us for allowing smiling faces and pretty speeches to lie us to sleep and pick our pockets..


I wish we could reverse the fortunes and pay military the salaries of the fat cat politicians. I think our country could turn around if our priorities did.


Lord, help us wake up, stand up and speak up… “Up” being the operative word. Help us to look up to You – the only place where our help can come from.


Help us right here, right now to make a decision to do what’s right in our sphere of influence. To do what’s right before You even when no one’s looking. To hold ourselves accountable to do right and be right – that means holding those entrusted to us accountable as well.


We acknowledge we are messed up. It’ll take a miracle. It’ll take a united front. But that’s not too hard for You. And that’s not too hard for a country named for it’s unity; The United States of America.


She can stand tall again. She can stand strong because her foundation is strong and just and true. As pure a nation as has ever been born is the red the white and the blue.


Lord, it is written. “By Your stripes we are healed.” We pray Your scars and stripes will heal our stars and stripes.


Amen.