God Knows

I have scoliosis.

Defined, this simply means curvature of the spine. For most, it is easily treated with no long term effects. For some, it has major repercussions.

I was diagnosed with this disorder in the sixth grade and had to wear a brace 23-hours a day over the next two and a half years. During a time when I wanted to wear the latest fashions, I instead dressed to conceal the brace. Instead of playing sports with my friends, I cheered them on from the stands. Instead of being a go-getter, I hid to avoid ridicule.

At the end of the two years, it was determined that the curvature of my spine was still progressing and I underwent spinal fusion surgery. This brought another onslaught of preteen issues as I spent the first half of my eighth grade year in a hospital bed in the front room of our house taking classes from a state paid tutor.

The years ticked by and I hid this disability beneath the appearance of a normal body. With no outward expression of the metal fused to my bone, no one need know that I was limited. Especially me.

I lived as if the problem did not exist. Despite the pain, despite the physical limitations, despite the second fusion 14 years after the first, I lived as if there was not nor had been a disability.

My cloak of denial was dismantled when earlier this year, my disability took on an outward appearance. Now, at times, I walk with a cane. Not only did my limitations become visible to those around me, they were now visible to me.

I began to cry out to God, “Why can’t I do the things everyone else can do? Why can’t I be normal?”

These cries were followed by a laundry list of everything I wanted to do and have never been able too. I cried on the shoulder of my God until he moved upon my heart.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “I know.”

Through this He showed me that when I spend time telling God everything I can’t do, I am telling him something that He already knows. But, if I will get quiet before Him, lay my circumstances down at His feet, fall at the foot of the throne and listen; then I will be primed to find out what He wants me to know.

Proverbs 19:21 says, “Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” (NIV)

My God purposed me for a destiny created just for me. He knew my limitations before I did and that did not change His mind about the things He created for me to do. When I let go of my predisposed beliefs about my purpose and I take on the purposes of God then I realize that “I CAN do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Phil 4:13

Is there a circumstance in your life that has limited to you? Is there something you need to lay at the cross? Let’s take time today to get in touch with the one who created us and find out the purpose He has for each of our lives.

And, let’s encourage each other along the way.

The Challenge, The Goal and The Blog

Thanks to my friend Glynnis Whitwer’s blog challenge, an inspirational fire has been lit under the creativity that drives my writing.

Glynnis challenged her blog friends to join her in holding each other accountable for whatever goal we are trying to reach. Mine is to begin writing on a consistent basis and breathe life back into my career. This is a career path in which the God-given desire of my heart forces me to run in order to see the smile upon the face of God and know He is pleased. (Oh how I could rabbit trail on the desire of God to see our dreams come true but that is surely another blog and another day.)

My initial goal was to complete one blog entry a week along amidst other projects, however I have enjoyed blogging so much and have been encouraged by so many that I can’t stop at just one blog. So, I have changed my goal to three times a week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday will be my blog days. And, since life has a way of getting away from me, I welcome my blog friends to please keep me accountable to this goal.

Since I am new to blogging, I have spent some time visiting friend’s blogs, asking questions and trying to “learn the ropes”. I must say I have been truly inspired.

My friend Sonya has been blogging for awhile and her advice was to use this blog to find my voice. That rang a bell that has resounded the question “what is my voice?”.

Like all writers who write because God has called them do so and they simply can do nothing else, my voice belongs to Him. Only in the one who created me can I find the true inspiration for the words that spill from my pen. As water shoots forth from a spring so does the voice of a writer spill forth from the heart of God. Therefore, I dedicate this blog to the one who created me and beckons me to write…Jesus Christ the King of Kings. And, as part of that dedication, Friday’s will be set aside for love letters written from the heart of all the King’s princesses to the King.

Thank you to all my blog friends who have inspired me and to those of you I have yet to meet. Happy blogging.

Love Letter to a King

The sun has not yet risen my Lord.

As the tide rises and kisses the shore, so does the anticipation within me, alluring me from my slumber. I wonder if you will be there.

Quiet as a church mouse I slip out of my room and down the stairs; careful not to wake the slumbering court and cut short our secret rendezvous.

Down the hall and into the front room I arrive at our meeting place. Are you here, my Lord? I am calling. Begging you to come.

How I long to rest in the arms of the one I call King. King Jesus.

I have snuck away with you today not because I need you but because I want you. For you have changed me in such a way that I delight at the mere thought of your presence. You show me rainbows in rainstorms and laughter in sorrow. You hold me up when I want to fall down and your shadow is my constant companion.

My King, I have come to you this morning while the stars still temper the darkness to see if there is anything I can do for you. Can I sing? Can I dance? Can I bring a smile to your face? In a world of so much torment where the sorrows of your people must at times burden you, how can I enchant your heart?

Today, my King, I will love you. I will love you with all my soul and all my mind and all my heart. And, I will love your people for each one is your child and to each one you are King.

Love,

Your enraptured servant

Treadmill, Exit Stage Left

I am a very weird person in that I love my treadmill.

For me, the treadmill was not simply a tool in which you run to lose weight and stay healthy. It was a means of escape. For forty minutes and two and a half miles 6-days a week, I could put headphones in my ears and transport to anywhere, be anyone and accomplish anything. It was a place where surreal experiences could become a reality.

It was until God began to deal with me about it.

Earlier this summer, He whispered in my ear and reminisced about how far He has brought me and what an amazing transformation my life has been. But, then he nudged me and suggested how much more incredible it would be if I gave him everything.

“Everything Lord?” I asked. “I have given you everything.”

“Give me the treadmill.”

The words hit hard. It was the hardest thing He could have asked at this point in my life. As long as I had my treadmill I could eat what I want since I could walk it off later. If I was angry, I could use the negative energy to walk an extra mile. If I was in physical pain, I would walk on the treadmill and prove that I could do it in spite of my disability. You see, to give up my treadmill would mean I would have to be completely dependent upon God.

It took a little prodding, but in the end I released the treadmill to the Lord. I stopped getting on it. The dust began to collect and I left it there untouched. Each day I would temper the desire to beat myself up on the treadmill by spending time building myself up in the presence of God.

In God’s funny way, this lesson came just in time as I have had scoliosis since the sixth grade and have already undergone two spinal fusion surgeries. After encountering more back issues this year, it turns out that walking on the treadmill was causing more harm than good.

Yesterday, we sold my treadmill. If this transaction had taken place earlier this year, the buyer would have had to peel me off the machine, but as it was, I was happy to see it go.

God is my strength, my provider, my counselor and my All. No longer will I need a machine to prove that.

Now let’s just hope the number on the scale doesn’t go up...

Queen of Sheba

I have a cat. She is the sweetest cat I have ever met. We adopted her about a month ago after a friend found her in the parking lot of a post office where she was abandoned.

We brought her into our home where she was introduced to our two children and our 11 pound MinPin. After smacking the dog into submission and learning to stay out from under the kid’s feet, she fit right into our family.

My daughter and I named the cat Ella. Short for Cinderella. A precious name for a precious cat. However, our precious cat has started to be a bit high maintenance.
She eats six times a day. At first, I indulged this since when we brought her home you could count her ribs by sight. But now, not having been able to break this six meal habit, her belly is so big it sways when she walks. And please, do not try to withhold food. She will search you out and meow at you until the nerve in the side of your temple threatens to beat a hole in your skull. Sanity demands you fill her bowl with food. Even if it’s three in the morning.

She has also declared the stairs as the place to which she rests her sleepy head. She stretches her long body across the entire length of a step and doesn’t mind when you step over her to descend or ascend the stairs with laundry in your arms.
But, when she jumps in your lap, curls into a ball and soothes the stress of the day away with her gentle purrs, all of her habits become endearing. At least they were until last night.

Recently, we ripped the carpet from our stairs and replaced it with hard wood flooring. It’s the pinnacle attraction of our house. It has also left our arthritic, 10-year old dog unable to move between the first and second floor. Now the dog stands at the top or bottom of the stairs and does a sort of half hopping rain dance until you pick her up and carry her to her desired destination.

The cat, having watched the dog, has discovered how much less energy she could expend if she would only demand a ride up and down the stairs. Unfortunately, she decided to try out this idea in the wee early hours of last night. That cat sat at the bottom of the stairs and meowed for two hours until my husband got out of bed and fetched her highness up the stairs, where she curled up and went to sleep for the rest of the night.

I have decided Ella was an inappropriate name. We should change it to Queen of Sheba. She apparently believes she is royalty.