Praying for Miracles

What are you praying for today?  I am praying for miracles.  

To me, the greatest miracles are spiritual, rather than physical.  I mean, I am as happy as anyone to see a miracle of physical healing or recovery, but sometimes I think we discount the miracle of spiritual transformation. 

After all, a miracle is "An event that appears inexplicable by the laws of nature and so is held to be supernatural in origin or an act of God".  With that definition in mind, what is more miraculous than salvation or spiritual transformation?  Every time we witness a genuine conversion or see spiritual passion reignited it the hearts of the people around us (or ourselves, for that matter), it is a miracle.  

There are no ruts deeper than our spiritual ruts, no act more foreign to human nature than the act of letting God control our lives.  The lust of the eyes, the lust of the heart and the pride of life run deeply and swiftly through our veins and we resist transformation.  There is no miracle greater than that of true repentance and turning to God.

So, today, I am praying for miracles. 

Thoughts on Prayer

Prayer is a Biblical topic that is rarely preached on.  It's part of the measure of a Christian, yet it is not often discussed among believers. Training for prayer is practically unheard of, though training for sharing the Gospel or preaching or being a successful Christian business person is readily available. Let's face it, some of the statements that the Bible makes about prayer seem contradictory and even a little embarrassing, and I think that adds to our reluctance to offer concrete teaching about prayer.  There is no money back guarantee of success. In fact, sometimes I think success in prayer is sort of elusive, like humility- if you claim to be humble, you probably aren't, really.  While I sometimes tell people that I do pray or will pray for them, I make no claim to being a successful pray-er- and who would? 

Yet, in my heart, I feel the need for more prayer.  Some days I sense that I cannot deal with anything well without it, but it is often a low priority.  Trust me, I know that I can pray anywhere at any time, and I know that we are supposed to pray without ceasing, but Jesus often got up early in the morning and went away to pray.  (Have you ever wondered about the fact that Jesus had to pray?  I mean, he was God, yet when he wrapped himself with the bonds of humanity, he had to begin praying, just like any other human.)  If he went away to pray, shouldn't that be our example?  Sometimes I think the "pray without ceasing" thing is used as a cop out, to excuse praying only when it is convenient.  Trust me, I am reminding myself as I write these things, I make no claim to perfection in this department, yet I feel a need to talk about prayer, and to renew my commitment to pray daily in a focused way.  If Jesus had to pray to the Father, then how do I think I can live this life without doing the same?

Summer Time

The view to the left at one of our favorite spots on the beach- the north end of Hampton Beach.

The view to the right at the same spot.

The tiniest starfish I ever saw, found under a rock at low tide by Mark and Zoe.

This, our first summer in New Hampshire, has been a dry one- but only weather wise.  We have had beautiful, sunny days- and some refreshing, wonderful and simply amazing walks on the beach.  We had the heat wave that hit most of the eastern US last week, bringing temperatures to 100 degrees here in this usually cooler part of the world.  Yesterday afternoon, we were glad to see rain.  It was a relief from the sun and I found myself wishing for a long gentle soaking rain to nourish the earth here.  Today we have cooler temperatures that are very pleasant, and a sky promising more rain soon.  I must say, I hope the promise is fulfilled. 

Remembering Karen

So, it seems I have lost another friend.  Karen.  Playing her flute at the feet of Jesus even as I type, no doubt.  In truth, I did not know Karen well, but I loved her.  It's a little complicated.  Karen was a woman who loved the Lord with all her heart.  She also loved her husband, her daughter, her churches, her Bible study mates.  She did indeed love to play the flute for the glory of God, but what made all of this remarkable was the fact that she had Cystic Fibrosis.  Two  other people in my life have had Cystic Fibrosis.  One was my cousin, Connie, who died from complications of the disease when she was about 11.  The other was a boy named Mark, who passed at 15, also from the complications of CF.  Had they lived, they would have been close to Karen in age.  Karen was a miracle, and she knew it.  She lived like a miracle, loving God with all her heart, enjoying her family to the fullest extent, loving other people deeply, playing the flute in defiance of her disease- a disease which should have made flute playing impossible.  To me, she represented my friends who lost their fights with CF years ago.  I loved her because she was alive- she did not squander that precious gift that she had been given.  She lived with courage and poured herself into the lives of others.

Play on Karen, play on.

Saying Goodbye

    I have been saying goodbye to my family for 30 years.  We would drive up from West Virginia once or twice a year to visit.  We would see as much of my family as we could, always staying with my Mom and Dad.  At first we stayed in the old farmhouse. I have no idea when it was built, but it was a place full of childhood memories.  My grandmother and grandfather had moved in while my Dad was still a teenager (he just turned 80)  It smelled of hay and the original knotty pine floors had never been replaced, so they were full of curves and bumps- the knots standing up from the rest of the floor in the most well worn places.  My grandmother cooked on the wood stove in the kitchen there, and took flour for her biscuits from a large crock under the "trap door" in the counter by the sink.  I remember that the counter was covered with shiny flowered linoleum, a cheap way to make things smooth and clean, I guess.  The farm caught fire in 1990, and burned to the ground.  It burned fast and hot, and there was little the fire men could do to save it.
    After that we stayed in the mobile home my folks lived in while building their new home.  It was a tight fit, the five of us and Mom and Dad in that mobile home.  Mark and I got the pull out in the living room, and Lydia usually slept in a closet, above the built in drawers that were standard in mobile homes of that era.  We had good times there, though.  One summer the kids and I got to spend 6 weeks there with Mom and Dad, making daily trips to the beach at Long Lake.  In the days before seat belt laws my sister in law with her three kids and me with mine would all pile into her Chevy- a hatchback of some kind, whose model name I cannot recall, and head to the lake to sit on a blanket and watch the kids take swimming lessons and play together. Good times.
    After that it was the new house- a little roomier.  The first time we stayed there, it wasn't quite finished.  My brother Charles and his wife were there with toddling twins.  It was special because we don't often see our Arkansas cousins, and it may have been the first time I had actually met Paige and Pam.  Dad kept the upstairs bedrooms large in his new house so that he could accommodate his out of town family (read Mark, Jessie and all their kids.)  We have made many memories in this home, too.  We have had great games of croquet in the field, and many family dinners on the back porch Dad added on a few years after the house was built.   We watched Mom grow ill and eventually die in this home, and when I go there today, I miss her every moment.   
    It was at this house my parents started a tradition.  When we left, usually very early in the morning, our van full of sleepy children, and my heart full of melancholy over what I would miss while I was away, we would drive to the end of long the driveway and turn left on Rt. 302, which would bring us by the house again.  Mom and Dad would still be there on the porch, summer heat or winter cold, standing in the light cast by the floodlight there,  waving as we went by.  That was always my last memory of them.  I came to watch for them, usually through my tears, waving until we could see them no longer, blowing the horn in a farewell salute, despite the early hour.
    Now that we live in New Hampshire, only a couple of hours from my Dad and my sister, who now lives with him, we are able to make the trip  more often.  It's nice to be close enough to be there for my Dad's birthday celebration and other family events.  We don't have to leave quite so early in the morning, but when we do leave, we still glance at the house as we pass on Rt. 302, and my Dad and sister are still there, waving goodbye as we start our journey.
 

Lost and Found

     We lost a friend this morning.  Dave Colt, 86 years young.  Loving husband of Marge, proud father of 2 and "Bink" to several grandchildren.  Dapper dresser and friendly, helpful, kind soul.  Servant of the living God.  Lifetime resident of Hampton, NH and long time member of Hampton First Baptist Church.  Dave had a great sense of humor and a sharp mind. 
     Dave came to mean a lot to Mark and I in a short time.  We were amazed at his memory, tickled by his sense of humor and thankful for his friendship.  He came to our house a couple of weeks ago to get help with his new laptop.   Mark downloaded some software for him and talked to him about whether or not he should upgrade from the dial up internet connection he had at home.  As I listened to the conversation I realized that Dave wanted, not only updates for his computer, but some understanding of how it all worked.
    In our time here at Hampton Dave was anxious for us to find our place in the community.  He did all he could to make us feel at home and help us get acquainted with our surroundings.  He always had some little bit of insider information he wanted to share with us.  Once, when I went into the office to tell Mark I was going to Seabrook for groceries, Dave was there and said, "You're not going to Seabrook, Jessie, you're going to "the Brook". Say you're going to the "the Brook. " 
    Dave and Marge were avid square dancers.  He was always headed to Saco, Maine on a Sunday afternoon to go square dancing.  Apparently, when his grand daughter suggested that he should take her, too, he responded "I don't think you could keep up with Gram and I."  If you asked "Are you going dancing again today, Dave?"  He would say, "Yes, but don't tell my Grandmother!"
    Dave had a stroke the other night.  When his family took him to the hospital he was alert and passing all the tests, answering questions, touching the correct body parts, etc.  They expected a night in the hospital and release the next day, but his brain began to swell and bleed, and by morning his condition was deteriorating.   The doctors were not hopeful, his family gathered and surrounded him with all the love born of a life well lived.  We got up this morning wondering if Dave was in this world or the next.  The call came at 9:00 am.  Dave met the Savior at about 5 this morning. 
     So Dave is lost to us in this world, but found in the arms of our Savior. 

Parsonage Tour Part 2- Upstairs

This is Zoe's room.  The girls have their own rooms here.  This is something they have wanted for a while.  Both rooms still need a coat of paint.  We hope to get to that soon.

This is the bathroom, obviously.  I haven't updated it yet.  It is the largest bathroom we have ever had in any home we have lived in, just so you know.

This is the catch all corner of the laundry room.  It is large, for a laundry room, so it serves as storage, too.

This is the family room.  Charis is probably knitting.

This is the laundry room from another angle.  It is different for us to have the laundry room upstairs, but we are just glad to have it.

I hope you've enjoyed this tour of the parsonage.  We are well and busy making memories in our new home.

Parsonage Tour Part 1- Downstairs

Let's start at the front door. A spiral staircase goes up from the entry way.   I set our creche up for the Christmas season on this built in under the stairs.. 

It's hard to get a picture of the stairs, but this is what it looks like from the top.

Our living room.  Christmas was a motivation to get unpacked.  I couldn't imagine trying to get out decorations when the rest of my life was still in boxes.  We hung curtains, photos, etc., right after Thanksgiving.

Another view of the living room.  Made the swags myself- I have never been a drapery type of girl.  Notice the handsome pastor on the couch.

This is the dining room.  The good folks from Hampton Baptist did a lot of work in here for us, including putting up the white bead board.  It's very homey.

Another view of the dining room.

More dining room.  The built in cabinet was redone for us also.  It's a great place to store the Fiesta Ware. 

Welcome to the kitchen.  This is the first time in our married life that we have not had an eat in kitchen.  I have another shot that I wanted to include, but in all honesty, it keeps loading out of order, and I haven't yet figured out how to fix that.  I have learned quite a lot just in the process of getting these up, so this is a problem for another day.