Loving God

The pool opened early Monday morning for my nine o’clock Beginner’s Swimming class. I spent the weekend biting my nails in angst over what I knew I had to do that Monday—jump into the deep end of the pool in order to pass swimming.

But I was a wimp.

I watched as my classmates ahead of me flew off the diving board, plunged hundreds of feet deep (okay, not hundreds, but it looked like hundreds of feet) and floated up to the surface. They didn’t flinch.

This wasn’t the case for me. I trailed the end of the line and mentally concocted ways to shirk this mandatory (and, in my 21 year old opinion, crazy) graduation requirement. To graduate from the college I had poured years of labor into, I had to not only read the Great Books…but swim?

My fearless best friend passed the swim test our first week in freshman year. As a freshman, I didn’t know how to swim, and I didn’t want to learn. Give me a fifty page paper to write in Spanish and I could do it. Drown me in a sea of books to read, and I could fly through them and give you a point by point analysis of each. But swim? Never.

So I avoided this requirement until the last possible moment: spring semester my senior year.

The line shortened. I bent my knees and pretended to rev up for the big plunge.

Bend, straighten. Bend, straighten.

After a couple of bends, I was shot.

“Edwards. You’re up.” (Edwards is my maiden name.)

My swim teacher, five feet four and super athletic, reminded me of the Catholic school nuns from my high school. He didn’t hesitate to penalize me for my flinches, hesitations and missteps.

But I couldn’t do it. I stepped away from the diving board.

“Edwards. If you don’t jump, I’ll flunk you.”

Flunk. The word dangled in front of me as anathema, pure heresy. Don’t know why. I had flunked many classes during my prodigal daughter years. But when I had flunked  in the past, it was due to jadedness. Jaded people were numb people, didn’t care either way.

If I flunked now, it would be due to fear. Fearful people absorbed the full brunt of life’s bee stings and beneath that fatty layer of fear, they cared.

My heart crumbled. I wanted to jump. I really, really did.

“Edwards. You’re not going to drown. If you drown, I’ll catch you.”

You’re not going to drown…If you drown…

Sounded like an oxymoron to me.

Moments later, I stepped onto the board. My heart stuttered but I was more determined this time. I bent my knees and straightened.

Bend.

Straighten.

Bend.

Straighten.

Bend!

“Edwards!!”

With one blind motion, I flung my one hundred and fifteen pound body from the board. As I fell, cold air sliced through me. Then a shock of water swaddled me. I stiffened and inhaled the H2O.

Hold your breath.

I listened to that Voice and my body relaxed. Soon after, the water which I had feared would kill me, carried me.

Carried me back to the surface.

“Nice job, Edwards.”

My Spartan swim teacher paid me a compliment? I smiled.

Weeks later I received my shiny new Bachelor’s degree written in fancy Latin.

Here’s the thing: people jump off of diving boards every day and no one cares.

It wasn’t until someone hesitated, someone like me, that others got involved. Those others may laugh at you, cheer for you, or threaten academic failure.

I am standing on the edge of the diving board again and staring at a blank journal waiting to be filled with…

I won’t know until I take the proverbial plunge.

Oh sure, I can hold on to the highs and lows of past years: 2013, 2012, 2011, 201o, etc. But that would be chicken. And it’s the dawning of a new day.

A time to push through insecurities and face my fears.

Fears about being a good enough mom.

Fears about being a good enough writer.

Fears about being a good enough me.

Bend, straighten.

Bend, straighten.

Bend, jump!

I hope you push through your insecurity and fully face your fear. Because there’s a still small Voice waiting to guide you, and comforting waters ready to carry you…

If you jump.

One of the books I plan to read is “The Book Thief” by Marcus Zusak. I put the book on hold at my local library, but, lo and behold, 44 other people in my town have also put the book on hold. While waiting for my turn to read it, I decided to watch the movie the other night. (SPOILER ALERT! Don’t read the rest of this blog post, if you don’t want to know details of the story.)

“The Book Thief” takes place during Nazi Germany, and it tells the story of a girl name Liesel who learns to read with the help of her foster father. Her zeal for the written word grows and she starts stealing books to satiate her love of reading. Many of the books which she steals are banned by the Nazi regime. She starts sharing these books with Max, a Jewish man hidden in her basement. When Max becomes deathly ill, Liesel reads Max many of those stolen books–and those words keep him alive.

Later on in the story, Max gives Liesel a present: a blank journal. On the first page of the journal Max inscribed one word in Hebrew:

לכתוב 

It means “write.” Max then says:

“In my religion, we’re taught that every living thing, every leaf, every bird is only alive because it contains the secret word for life. That’s the only difference between us and a lump of clay, a word. Words are life, Liesel. All those blank pages are for you to fill.”

Watching this scene reminded me of that lovely passage in Genesis: “The Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being” (Gen 2:7). John later wrote: “The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us” (John 1:14).

The only difference between us and a lump of clay is a word. His word breathes physical life into every living creature, and He gives humans the unique gift of language. In this way, we are created in His image.

If I think about this too much (which I am by virtue of the fact that I am writing this post), I feel guilty because I don’t always use my words for good. I have torn down my own self and others through my words.

Yet there have been times, awesome times, when I have committed my mouth and my pen to the Word and the opposite occurred.

I have spoken encouragement to myself and, slowly but surely, emerged from the fog of  depression.

I have scribbled endless gobbledy-gook in my journal and, surprisingly, something of beauty comes across the page. (This surprise causes me to plunge into another black hole of gobbledy-gook to search for more word-treasure. Such is the life of a writer.)

Language is our great and terrible privelege; life and death are in the power of the tongue. Just as Max gave Liesel a blank book to fill with words, the Word has given us a blank span of years to fill with words, both written and verbal, fully knowing we could use them as tools or as weapons. Humbling.

Our tongues are the pen of a ready writer (Psalm 45:2) and, like Max said to Liesel, all those blank pages are for us to fill.

Each day He calls us to write.

Question for You: Are you happy with the life story which you are writing right now? If so, please share. If not, what could you do to rewrite it?

 

 

 

 

Since becoming a mother..or maybe since hitting the big 3-0, I’ve been pondering death…not in a morbid way but in an “Oh my gosh, I’m getting older and before I know it I’ll be thinking about things like menopause and osteoperosis and wrinkles and then my body will hit the dirt…my spirit will rest in Jesus..and sometime after that I’ll stand before God to give an account for what I’ve done with the time He’s alloted me” sort of way.

I can be intense sometimes.

To deal with my not quite mid life crisis, I’ve started recording my life. I take pictures. I track my activities in journals: food I eat, times I exercise, pages I write, prayers I send to The Man Upstairs. With journaling, I can get all that mental intensity out of my brain and onto the page. After a few months of this however, it became too cumbersome and disorganized. I’d have pages written in one notebook, more pages written in another notebook. My notebooks haphazardly covered multiple topics: motherhood, prayers, writing exercises etc. Journaling became a messy exercise for me.

So after accepting the fact I’m a left brained, creative person (go figure), I started searching for a journal that’s quick, easy and organized. Last November, I found a way to systemically keep track of all this…life…that passes through my fingers via seconds, minutes, hours, and days. I want to know if I’m growing. Or if I’m still struggling with the same tendencies I had as a flighty teenager…or as a flighty twenty nine year old.

I purchased a five year journal to track my motherhood journey and a ten year journal to track other aspects of my life. Each journal is only four lines so I can record something in a few minutes. The cool thing about multi year journals is when I return to that day’s page next year, I can reread what I wrote in the prior years. For my motherhood journal, I have a five year Mom’s One Line a Day: A Five-Year Memory Book For the other aspects of my life, I have a Journal 10+ for my ten year journal.

When I’m feeling more verbose and need to write for more than four lines, I use the following:

*A Family Gratitide Journal

*Personal Prayer Journal

*Writing Journal

What type(s) of journal do you keep? How do you record your sojourning on this earth?

“And the LORD your God, he shall expel them from before you, and drive them from out of your sight; and ye shall possess their land, as the LORD your God hath promised unto you. Be ye therefore very courageous to keep and to do all that is written in the book of the law of Moses, that ye turn not aside therefrom to the right hand or to the left; That ye come not among these nations, these that remain among you; neither make mention of the name of their gods, nor cause to swear by them, neither serve them, nor bow yourselves unto them” (Joshua 23:5-7, KJV)

It takes courage to follow after God, especially when we want to follow our on path!  I remember having to make some tough decisions over the past few years regarding my career choices, how I spend my time and money and even what activities I should focus on at different times in my life. My choices were always easier and foolproof. The choices I felt God leading me to make didn’t make any sense at all. Sometimes, I ignored Him and I felt the repercussions in extra stress and headache. Other times, following His patth has called on me to develop courage – but it resulted in peace!

There are a lot of things in this world to pull us in many different directions. If we aren’t courageous to follow God’s path, the road less traveled, we may feel the world’s instant gratification but it’ll eventually turn to dust.

Have you had to make any difficult choices between what you wanted and what you felt God wanted? What did you do about it?

A Dream Deferred

By Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore–and then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over–syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

A response:

This young girl comes from a long line of dreamers.

Many of whom held vaporized dreams.

They blamed manmade ills or the sun or the rain.

Dreams shriveled up like Langston’s raisins.

Shriveled up for fear.

Not fear of what could not be, but fear of what could.

The truth is they could have been their truest self, if they followed their truest self.

They chose the wide road instead.

And like Langston said, exploded.

So Joshua made a covenant with the people that day, and set them a statute and an ordinance in Shechem. And Joshua wrote these words in the book of the law of God, and took a great stone, and set it up there under an oak, that was by the sanctuary of the LORD.  And Joshua said unto all the people, Behold, this stone shall be a witness unto us; for it hath heard all the words of the LORD which he spake unto us: it shall be therefore a witness unto you, lest ye deny your God. (Joshua 24:25-27, KJV)

I didn’t know the value of hand writing words of the Bible until I tried it for myself. When I found this verse in the Bible which commands the kings of Israel to do the same, I figured it was very important.

Hand writing bible verses shows you nuances in the words which you may have overlooked by just reading or hearing them. It slows you down and causes you to notice and ponder word choice, meaning and sentence structure. I know this sounds very “school-ish” but by taking the time to slow down, you’ll remember concepts and principles in the Word better. As a result of remembering them, you’ll keep them just as verse 19 states “that he may learn to fear the Lord, to keep all the words..to do them.”

Now, I write verses which stand out to me during my during my prayer journaling time. Over a period of months and years, I’ll be transcribing His thoughts over my natural thoughts, much like reprogramming a computer. Try it for yourself and reap the rewards of inscribing His word on your heart.

How blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked, Nor stand in the path of sinners, Nor sit in the seat of scoffers! But his delight is in the law of the LORD, And in His law he meditates day and night. He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, Which yields its fruit in its season And its leaf does not wither; And in whatever he does, he prospers. (Psalm 1:1-3, NASB)

At the beginning of the year, I resolved to spend some time reading the Bible every day. I didn’t have a particular schedule or Bible reading plan to follow. Instead, I was just going to read what I could each day.

So far, my plan has been successful. I’ll usually read in the morning and during my walk. But I’ve discovered that as I make this a greater priority, other less important things (which I previously considered important!) are pushed aside. And that’s a good thing.

Regular exposure to the Word of God is the foundation from which all else is built. If I have a weak foundation, then nothing else I attempt will stand.

What are you doing to make the Bible a priority in your life?

Welcome to the 12 Pearls of Christmas blog series!
 
Merry Christmas from Pearl Girls™! We hope you enjoy these Christmas “Pearls of Wisdom” from the authors who were so kind to donate their time and talents! If you miss a few posts, you’ll be able go back through and read them on this blog throughout the next few days.
 
We’re giving away a pearl necklace in celebration of the holidays, as well as some items from the contributors! Enter now below. The winner will be announced on January 2, 2014, at the Pearl Girls blog.

If you are unfamiliar with Pearl Girls™, please visit www.pearlgirls.info and see what we’re all about. In short, we exist to support the work of charities that help women and children in the US and around the globe. Consider purchasing a copy of Mother of Pearl, Pearl Girls: Encountering Grit, Experiencing Grace, or one of the Pearl Girls products (all GREAT gifts!) to help support Pearl Girls.

A Teenage Pregnancy
by Robin Jones Gunn

It was early, early morning, that delicate time of day just before sunrise when it seems as if all of creation is still asleep.

In the cold, gray light she gazed at the infant in her arms. He was less than an hour old and so, so small. Instinct prompted her to draw her newborn close that he might feel the rhythm of her heart. He curled his tiny hand around her finger and she smiled. His eyes closed, and with feathered breath he gave way to the blessed sleep that follows such a long journey.

In weary awe she studied his face, his ears, his nose. He was here. He had come at last.

A single tear fell from her eye and rolled across his cheek. She kissed the tear away but could not kiss away the memories that came with the tears; memories of the day she found out she was pregnant. How exhilarated she felt and yet how terrified. She was young, and there was much she didn’t understand.

Trying to justify her condition to her parents proved more difficult than she’d hoped. But the most excruciating memory was the moment she stood guileless before the man she hoped to one day marry. She had no words to make him understand the awful truth—the child she carried was not his.

Leaving seemed to be her only option. A gracious aunt took her in and welcomed her with open arms. From the moment she arrived she was showered with motherly words of hope and sisterly touches of love. Week by week, month by month, the child inside her grew.

Was it a miracle when she returned home, her belly round, her face flushed, and found him there?

What prompted this man to take her back and make her his bride? Did he now believe what she had tried to explain all along, that none of this was her own doing?

When the time was right they left their small town together, as husband and wife, with her due date rapidly approaching. The labor began—tightening her abdomen with a force she had never before imagined. Perspiration streamed from her forehead. The contractions multiplied with a frenzied urgency until the need to push overwhelmed her young body, and the baby was born.

Nothing of the past mattered anymore. He was here. Naked, perfect, quivering in her arms. With a thrill of hope, she believed that her life, her world, would never be the same.

Now as the first silver streaks of dawn pierced through the cracks in the stable, she tenderly wrapped her sleeping babe in swaddling clothes and laid him in the manger.

Robin Jones Gunn, bestselling author of the much-loved Christy Miller Series and the award-winning Sisterchicks® series, has had more than 4.5 million copies of her books sold worldwide. Her frequent speaking engagements have taken her around the globe. Robin and her husband live in Hawaii and have a grown son and daughter. You can learn more at Robin’s website.
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