Psalm 33:6 says, "By the word of the LORD were the heavens made, their starry host by the breath of his mouth."
That's great. God breathed stars into existence, cool. Impressive. That must make Him, what, as big as our solar system? Sweet.
At least that's kind of the concept I used to have. I mean, I knew God was big and I have no doubts that He created the universe by speaking it into existence. And then I learned just exactly (relatively speaking) how BIG stars actually are.
[at which point I'm going to try to embed a video into my post, wish me success]
I now know that when the Bible talks about fearing God, it's not talking about fear because God is mean, but because He is AWESOME. Did you see that last star on there? The one that makes our enormous sun look like an atom? Canis Majoris. It's like hundreds of millions of times bigger than our sun. My God BREATHED that star into existence.
I was asking one of my 11 year old sons this morning, as we talked about this, how big of a star he thought he would be able to breathe, you know, if he could breathe stars. We decided it would be about the size of a racquet ball. So, how big do you think God is if He can breathe a star that is hundreds of millions of times bigger than our sun? The answer from my precious 4 year old was, "Really, really, really, really, really, really...(continuing for several minutes)...BIG!" Amazing how little children completely get these enormous concepts so readily!
If I wasn't already floored by the greatness of God, He takes it a step further. Jesus said in Luke 12:7a that God cares so intimately about me that He knows exactly how many hairs are on my head. He has them numbered. And not just one moment in my life, but if I brush my hair and lose 16 hairs, He still knows. Every moment. Every hair. And not just me, but every person he created!
Kind of leaves you speechless, doesn't it?
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Would You Trade?
Sometimes God asks us to drink a bitter cup, take a hard road, do something more difficult than we could ever possibly have strength to face. And sometimes that cup is all we taste for years.
I've been down a road like that.
Have you?
For a long time I fought drinking from that bitter cup. I hated it. I was angry at God for making me taste it, much less drink from it for years on end without an end in sight. In time I came to accept it. I drank freely and willingly, knowing that God is faithful through even the most bitter experiences of my life. After many years my time was done. God refilled my cup with the sweetest wine I could imagine and on top of that he smoothed healing balm into my soul.
For me, that cup was infertility.
Then I cam across this song by Nicole Nordeman,
Sunrise...
If I had the chance to go back again
Take a different road, bear a lighter load
Tell an easy story
I would walk away with my yesterdays
And I would not trade what is broken
For beauty only
Every valley
Every bitter chill
Made me ready to climb back up the hill
And find that . . .
You are sunrise
You are blue skies
How would I know the morning
If I knew not midnight?
You're my horizon
You're the light of a new dawn
So thank You, thank You
That after the long night, You are sunrise
There's a moment when faith caves in
There's a time when every soul is certain
God is gone
But every shadow is evidence of sun
And every tomorrow holds out hope for us
For every one of us
You are sunrise
You are blue skies
How would I know the morning
If I knew not midnight?
You're my horizon
You're the light of a new dawn
So thank You, thank You
That after the long night, You are sunrise
You alone will shine
You alone can resurrect this heart of mine
You are sunrise
You are blue skies
How would I know the morning
If I knew not midnight?
You're my horizon
You're the light of a new dawn
So thank You, thank You
That after the long night, You are sunrise
You are sunrise
And I have to agree. If someone gave me the chance to go back and live my life without drinking from the cup of infertility, I'd turn them down flat. I wouldn't even have to think twice about it. Because, that time, those experiences, everything we went through brought me to where I am today, taught me what I know, touched me in places nothing else could touch and molded me into, well, me. God, the creator of the universe, carried me, strengthened me, deepened me, grew me in ways that could never have been possible any other way. As a result, my love for Him is deeper than the deepest ocean. How could I want anything different?
Right now, I am walking alongside my niece as she tastes of a cup so bitter I can't even imagine. (and for privacy reasons I don't feel free to share the details here) Let's just say, it's bad. It's incredibly painful to watch her suffer, it brings me to my knees, literally. But for the life of me, I can't wish it any other way for her. I see daily how God is shaping her, molding her, teaching her to trust. And I ache, really ache for her to come to the end so that I can see her taste the sweetness of God's rest and faithfulness. But there's no end in sight. There's only trusting God.
It just got me to wondering, am I alone in my thinking? Have you been through something bitter and painful that you wouldn't trade a moment of because of who you became through it?
I've been down a road like that.
Have you?
For a long time I fought drinking from that bitter cup. I hated it. I was angry at God for making me taste it, much less drink from it for years on end without an end in sight. In time I came to accept it. I drank freely and willingly, knowing that God is faithful through even the most bitter experiences of my life. After many years my time was done. God refilled my cup with the sweetest wine I could imagine and on top of that he smoothed healing balm into my soul.
For me, that cup was infertility.
Then I cam across this song by Nicole Nordeman,
Sunrise...
If I had the chance to go back again
Take a different road, bear a lighter load
Tell an easy story
I would walk away with my yesterdays
And I would not trade what is broken
For beauty only
Every valley
Every bitter chill
Made me ready to climb back up the hill
And find that . . .
You are sunrise
You are blue skies
How would I know the morning
If I knew not midnight?
You're my horizon
You're the light of a new dawn
So thank You, thank You
That after the long night, You are sunrise
There's a moment when faith caves in
There's a time when every soul is certain
God is gone
But every shadow is evidence of sun
And every tomorrow holds out hope for us
For every one of us
You are sunrise
You are blue skies
How would I know the morning
If I knew not midnight?
You're my horizon
You're the light of a new dawn
So thank You, thank You
That after the long night, You are sunrise
You alone will shine
You alone can resurrect this heart of mine
You are sunrise
You are blue skies
How would I know the morning
If I knew not midnight?
You're my horizon
You're the light of a new dawn
So thank You, thank You
That after the long night, You are sunrise
You are sunrise
And I have to agree. If someone gave me the chance to go back and live my life without drinking from the cup of infertility, I'd turn them down flat. I wouldn't even have to think twice about it. Because, that time, those experiences, everything we went through brought me to where I am today, taught me what I know, touched me in places nothing else could touch and molded me into, well, me. God, the creator of the universe, carried me, strengthened me, deepened me, grew me in ways that could never have been possible any other way. As a result, my love for Him is deeper than the deepest ocean. How could I want anything different?
Right now, I am walking alongside my niece as she tastes of a cup so bitter I can't even imagine. (and for privacy reasons I don't feel free to share the details here) Let's just say, it's bad. It's incredibly painful to watch her suffer, it brings me to my knees, literally. But for the life of me, I can't wish it any other way for her. I see daily how God is shaping her, molding her, teaching her to trust. And I ache, really ache for her to come to the end so that I can see her taste the sweetness of God's rest and faithfulness. But there's no end in sight. There's only trusting God.
It just got me to wondering, am I alone in my thinking? Have you been through something bitter and painful that you wouldn't trade a moment of because of who you became through it?
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Lingering...
It took me awhile to get my Christmas decorations up this year, but I love them so much I always procrastinate taking them down. It's not really procrastination though, because it's not a job I feel I should be doing and I'm not.
It's something I'm choosing not to do because I don't want the sparkling season of Christmas to end. I'm just lingering in the afterglow of the beauty and now that the busy part is over I can relax and take time to enjoy the lights and beauty of the decorations that represent my Jesus' birth.
And since, in the bustle of the busy season, I didn't say it before...
MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY NEWYEAR!
from ALL of US to all of YOU!
Thursday, January 7, 2010
A Grave Day.
Note: I wrote this post shortly after we got home from our Thanksgiving trip to Iowa. Some reason I never got it finished, but it seemed fitting for a day like today. Today is our precious Mason's birthday, that little miracle we had far too little time with a year ago. Happy Birthday Mason. We miss you.
While death has always freaked me out a little, graveyards have always fascinated me. I'm not talking about the modern day cemetery where all the stones lie flat slightly below the level of the grass so the groundskeeper can ride his mower right over the top and not have to trim around anything. 
I'm talking about the old fashioned graveyard where monuments were erected to honor the memory of loved ones gone to their rest. And the older the better, you know, where moss covers the letters that have been so beaten by the wind and rain that they are nearly smooth and frequently undecipherable. The place where the loved ones who buried the ones below have been long buried themselves and probable even the ones who buried them. Yeah, those kinds of graveyards.
I don't know why. Maybe my fancy started in my childhood with "Anne of the Island" at her first year of college when she lives across the street from just such a graveyard. She and her friends walk and talk and play and study there. Or in "Anne of Windy Poplars" when she walks in the graveyard with Miss Valentine, who tells her all the funny, creepy, sad, and dreadful stories behind all the stones there. Graveyards just seem to me to be a peaceful, melancholy place of wonder where stands the last testament of a family's love to a soul long departed. Not to mention that it's a tangible reminder that time is short, and even the memories of my life won't last any longer than the lives of those who know me. This is the little life, the big life is yet to come.
On our drive through the Iowa countryside last week I was thrilled when the very first thing we happened upon (thanks to my husband's keen eyesight and understanding of things that make me tick) was a small (12'x12') family plot at the back of an anonymous farm. It was so old all that was left of the fence were stumps of the posts. I highly doubt there was grass under all the fallen leaves, it was just a forgotten corner on a piece of land, but once upon a time someone cried there over a lost baby, and a mother and father who passed within months of each other.
Somewhere amidst the red barns and windmills, after saying "Farewell" to our friend Trey, we found a little church plot that had been there forever. It was a mixture of old and new, of course, my fetish is with the old. It's no wonder I filled up that 2GB, huh? The day was gray and cloudy and drizzly. It would have been the perfect day for a funeral on the grassy hillside. It was a perfect day to wander through the graves, reading them, snapping pictures, and contemplating life.
A grave day.
While death has always freaked me out a little, graveyards have always fascinated me. I'm not talking about the modern day cemetery where all the stones lie flat slightly below the level of the grass so the groundskeeper can ride his mower right over the top and not have to trim around anything. 
I'm talking about the old fashioned graveyard where monuments were erected to honor the memory of loved ones gone to their rest. And the older the better, you know, where moss covers the letters that have been so beaten by the wind and rain that they are nearly smooth and frequently undecipherable. The place where the loved ones who buried the ones below have been long buried themselves and probable even the ones who buried them. Yeah, those kinds of graveyards.
I don't know why. Maybe my fancy started in my childhood with "Anne of the Island" at her first year of college when she lives across the street from just such a graveyard. She and her friends walk and talk and play and study there. Or in "Anne of Windy Poplars" when she walks in the graveyard with Miss Valentine, who tells her all the funny, creepy, sad, and dreadful stories behind all the stones there. Graveyards just seem to me to be a peaceful, melancholy place of wonder where stands the last testament of a family's love to a soul long departed. Not to mention that it's a tangible reminder that time is short, and even the memories of my life won't last any longer than the lives of those who know me. This is the little life, the big life is yet to come.
On our drive through the Iowa countryside last week I was thrilled when the very first thing we happened upon (thanks to my husband's keen eyesight and understanding of things that make me tick) was a small (12'x12') family plot at the back of an anonymous farm. It was so old all that was left of the fence were stumps of the posts. I highly doubt there was grass under all the fallen leaves, it was just a forgotten corner on a piece of land, but once upon a time someone cried there over a lost baby, and a mother and father who passed within months of each other.
Somewhere amidst the red barns and windmills, after saying "Farewell" to our friend Trey, we found a little church plot that had been there forever. It was a mixture of old and new, of course, my fetish is with the old. It's no wonder I filled up that 2GB, huh? The day was gray and cloudy and drizzly. It would have been the perfect day for a funeral on the grassy hillside. It was a perfect day to wander through the graves, reading them, snapping pictures, and contemplating life.
A grave day.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
"Not Me!" Monday.
Ringing in a new year is always a treat, though it does make me feel old. We celebrated this year with my bestie, Penny, and her family. She was having her in-laws bring some furniture for her daughter and we decided that painting while removing the old furniture would make sense. But we did not rush to the paint store in her small mountain town at 5 pm. on New Year's Eve expecting to find it open for business. We certainly weren't surprised to learn that they had closed at 4 pm. Nope, not us!
When painting became a non-option, my bestie suggested that we take down her Christmas decorations instead. I did not flat out refuse to help her in that task! Come on! After all the things my bestie and I have done for each other, I would never refuse to help with such a menial task. Not me!
We fixed two pots of chili that night, one spicy and one mild, both equally full of beans. Later while relaxing in the hot tub with the jets off, I certainly did not try to hide the fact that I was passing gas at an alarming rate! My bestie was not sitting on the opposite side of the hot tub doing the exact same thing. We did not laugh hysterically about it when we discovered our problem was mutual. We are much more refined ladies than that! That was so NOT US!
Happy New Year! Now tell me, what was it you didn't do while celebrating 2010?!
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