Familiar backdrops

“I delight myself in You, captivated by your beauty,

I’m overwhelmed.”

These words sprang from my heart this morning as I jogged in the morning sunlight up the path, yellow flowers waving beside me.  Hills stretching out, melding into blue horizons as they rolled into the distance. A white spire of flower like a giant snapdragon rose into the blue of the morning sky.

The winding hill led me out into a neighboring street, a pink hibiscus floating by my peripheral view, then a bird of paradise sprouting up, flaunting it’s orange beak.

Gardens with white roses and bright reds overflowing their bushes.

It’s been 3 weeks and I still feel like California flowers are dressed in their best just for me. ( I also feel a bit like I cheated the system…leaving the20170412_184615 grey of Ottawa, and friends wishing for sunnier days.. and arriving to full blown spring. I feel a little ‘touristy’ taking out my camera to capture the neighbors rose bush… but hey I’ve never seen so many roses blooming in April!)

I don’t want to lose the enjoyment and the ‘wow’ of this beauty.

But I know how quickly in life the ‘wow’ turns into familiarity. The roses on the front lawn just become a blur as we rush in and out to the next activity. The bird of paradise becomes just another green plant as our mind spins with all that we have to do, or the things we wish we had.  No time to notice the little snail inching his was across the sidewalk leaving a dot-to-dot trail behind him, or the lizard stopping to assess the stranger on the path.

The gift we have been given become just another familiar backdrop to the day and it’s challenges. And instead of taking in the stunning beauty of a yellow daisy against the bluest of skies, my mind churns with the ‘have-not’s’ and the ‘not-yet’s’, the questions I don’t understand,  and the places ‘I wish I was’ in life.

Maybe the writer of Lamentations 3 didn’t want to lose his ‘wow’ either.  Maybe he had just enjoyed a sunrise over the Eastern sky, painting the hills with pinks and peaches in the freshness of dawn.

‘This I call to mind. And I have Hope. His Compassions are new every morning.’

Maybe he also was calling his heart…and ours…to never lose our ‘wow’ at the Compassions of our God. Fresher than a California morning. More vibrant than a pink 20170520_091656hibiscus. More lasting that the waving yellow flowers on the path ahead of my running feet.

New…every morning. When the sky is blue…and when its a grizzly grey. For every new need. Filling  His Word with truth, with promises.

No…I don’t want them to become a backdrop. Something I’ve heard oh so many times. But to jump out and make my heart sing even as I bump into the challenges and questions of the day, and my feet begin to lose their footing.

Because unlike the green of the California hills around me that are quickly turning brown with the strength of the sun and the scarceness of rain — This Word, His Compassions and Promises held inside — will not fade with time and weather.

“The grass withers, the flowers fade, but the Word of our God will stand forever.”

Isaiah 40:8

Perspective

I pedaled my bike around another corner, pushing into each turn, breathing heavily. Almost there… keep pedaling…so close…my thoughts were joining the rhythmic motion of my wheels.

It was one of those days when I just needed to go ‘up’. To push for a view. To move20170509_192305 towards the last rays of the setting sun.

I almost stayed in my room. I had writing to do. Papers to read for my Disability course.  I was tired…it was chilly. (confession…I guess I’m learning to measure ‘chilly in ‘California’ terms…)

And I didn’t have much time before the sun would sink below the horizon. But the path steadily forced me upwards, climbing around one bend in the foothills after another.

Then suddenly it was bending downwards, away from the setting sun, into the shadows. No! I don’t want to go down! I braked around the corner.

But on the next curve the path turned upwards again. Just a couple more hairpin turns and the view opened onto a vista stretching out to the Pacific ocean and the Channel Islands in the distance.  (I couldn’t see them that night, but I was told that they’re out there.)

My heart beat slowed and I propped up the kickstand on my bike.

20170509_193036The road was winding far below on it’s way to the ocean side. The rocky cliff of Boney Mountain was standing stately and firm on my left, and the sun was touching down on a peak to my right.

 

And it was all calling to my heart to stop. To take it in.

Be still and know that I am God.

Be still and know.

Be still.

Be.

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Encanto

The breezy air was just about perfect as I rode down the wide bike path along the strip of neatly groomed grass in20170414_162203.jpg the neighbourhood of Newbury Park. I breathed in the California air, scented with spring blooms and couldn’t stop the stream of thoughts going through my head …’ These hills are so beautiful…this weather is perfect…how can this place be so nice…it’s SO beautiful!’
Sprawling hills wearing a coat of mottled spring green. White stucco houses, with arched doorways and turret entrances tucked safely into their comforting folds.

A peaceful shopping plaza, waterfall bubbling down into a frog pond.

I spotted the tiled sign with the scrolled letters ‘Encanto’ , spanish for ‘Charm’, and knew that was the sign I was almost at my temporary home.

Charming is what this neighbourhood is. Picture perfect. The kind that almost feels too good to be true.

20170430_170516So different from the hot dusty hills of Manchay I left behind in Lima Peru. So different from the gloomy grey days I left behind in Ottawa as spring struggled to make her arrival.

Earlier today I opened my inbox to a picture from home of the park just a few blocks from home.  The spring snow melt had overflowed the Rideau river…and it was clear that the park and the soccer field had fought a losing battle with the river. The bare trees looked dark and leafless…waiting…waiting…for a new spring coat.

And for the few weeks I was home in between Lima sum20170410_155910mer heat…and California spring…I heard it…and felt it in the air around me…the LONGING FOR SPRING. For the snow to melt, for the ground to soften, for the sun to shine! The gardeners waiting to get their hands in the soft earth, kids waiting to shed their jackets, students waiting for their daily dose of Vitamin D, so many waiting for relief from winter blues.

20170426_164337Sometimes I forget HOW LONG spring takes to come. And isn’t it just easier to spend 5 hours in the air and find spring color and sunshine somewhere else?  Just
avoid the flooded paths, and gloomy days…the in between?

Maybe, yes.  My heart IS grateful for this moment, for taking in this season of ‘Instant Spring’.

But I also have felt the exhilaration as the first spreading rays of sun begin to win the battle over the winter chill in Ottawa. When the puddles begin to shrink, and the robins bravely touch down, and the birds let out their tentative song. When the first plucky crocus pushes it’s splash of  yellow sunshine up through the snow like it’s joining ranks with the battle against the cold. When the bikes come out and the path is dry enough for the first chilly ride. When rain boots replace wool liners, fingers come out of their mittened hiding, and hats can be tucked away in the box marked ‘Winter Wear’.

When the first leaves courageously push their way onto the tip of the barest of branches, and the blossoms join not far behind. When the musty smell of earth is traded for apple 575208_10150943341836055_595982229_nblossom and lilac perfume, and my students are shedding their layers and shrieking with delight at a dandelion discovery.

And I want to remember that feeling in the seasons…the areas of life where I am not given ‘Instant Spring.’  When I’m not taken 30,000 feet above the flooded parks and gloomy skies and transported to sunny, charming, California hills. When I’m waiting…waiting….like those bare tree branches.

(although they tell me the green is short lived around here….the hills are quickly turning bare and brown…and the waiting will begin for the morning mist or hint of rain …)

I want to remember that sometimes the waiting…the longing….Makes the bird song louder, the lilac perfume sweeter, and the kiss of sun bring even more life. The JOY richer. And if I need a reminder to keep hanging on when the wait stretches ahead….there is a Book that reminds me in Genesis 8:22 that ‘While the earth remains, Seedtime…shall not cease.”…spring WILL come.  This Book also reminds me that fear and doubt will fight a losing battle when the rays of Hope shine in…

“Our soul waits for the LORD; 

He is our Help and our Shield…

our heart is glad in Him…” 

“… As surely as the sun rises, He will appear;

He will come to us … like the spring rains

that water the earth.”

Psalm 33:20 — Hosea 6:3

No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.  ~ Hal Borland

Even in the Valley

It’s May 14th, almost 6 months since I bumped along in the back seat of this van. These days I’ve been riding along the smooth roads of Southern California. But this week, I have needed to be reminded again…that even in the Valleys, He is with us. 

We were sitting in the back seat of the full van, bumping over the roads from Ica back to Lima. My heart was in my throat more times than I could count, passing cars coming straight for us and nearly missing a trucks bumper. We had one close call that morning 20161218_140641that left my adrenaline racing…but I consoled myself with the fact that drivers here seem to have a sixth sense on the roads and a hairs breadth is all you need. Never mind the ‘Don’t pass on a solid line around a corner when you can’t see what’s coming rule’…There’s always the rutted shoulder if need be. And the ‘Leave- a-cars-length-in-case-of-sudden-stopping’ must not have been part of their driver’s Ed training.

‘They know what they’re doing’ I thought.

We had left the ‘Efata’ orphanage & school for the deaf early that morning and had been driving for hours along the coast. Sandy, dusty hills surrounded us, and my 8 year old friend Camila and I were singing,  practicing ‘O Canada’ in sign language,  and passing the time by watching the beautiful sunset splash across the water and soften the dusty hills.  We paused in our singing and I posed a question to her.  ‘Hey Camelia, why does the light stay even when the sun is already set? ‘

‘Cuz it’s Jesus that has the light! His light never goes off!’ she exclaimed. And she continued, ‘….and his Church is ALWAYS open.’

And she began to sing…’

‘You are the way the Truth and the Light,

Were living by faith and not by sight.”

‘Mira mira’ oh no! Exclamations of horror at a car rolled into the ditch, people stopped on the side of the road, no ambulance or police…and how would they get there in all the traffic anyways?

‘There was a man holding his hand, and trying to get him out’ I heard the little voice of my  8 year old friend Camila . She had seen it too.  Oh so sad. And nothing we could do to help.

My heart sank and my stomach rolled. ONE split second was all it would take.

Fear began to grip my heart, and I just wanted to be safely back at the complex, or better still back home where the paramedics were minutes away and people usually  followed the respectful cars- length- away-from your bumper, and no-passing-on-a-double-line-around-a-corner sort of rules.

But even there…accidents happen. The truth is, I’m not safe. I’m vulnerable. And sometimes that truth fills me with fear.

I heard a little voice beside me.  ‘But even when I walk in the  Valley of the shadow of death, I don’t fear, because your rod and staff are with me….’

Even when. In the Valleys, in the Shadows, You are with me. 

She couldn’t have known how much I need to hear that. But Someone else did.

‘I thought of that because we were in a valley…’ she said.

Even in the valleys. Even when we can’t see clearly, and we have to walk by faith. Even there…He is with us.

Just like the young mom I saw holding her sleeping baby on the bus ride through Manchay, through the town called ‘Fear’ in Quechua. She held him close, covered warmly in a yellow sleeper and hat…and he slept, oblivious to the chaos of the traffic, the jolting of the bus. The poverty of the hills around him…the unknowns of his future.

His Presence, His Love,  loosens the grip of fear on my heart…calling me to Rest. To just let go…and be held.

 

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Remembering

“From God…to me…to you…to others.” 

My thoughts roll over each word like pearls on a string….precious, and costly…said with so much effort, and I choke up thinking about that moment. Said with so much love, so much passion,  as some of the last words I would hear from a man who taught me so much.

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Dad I miss you here in Peru. Speaking Spanish… remembering the Spanish classes we took together and how you loved to communicate with the locals on your rare trips to the Dominican or Mexico. Spending time at the Children’s Home here…and remembering how you loved to take a wiggling, restless little person in your arms, and hug them tight till they felt safe and cared for. Being invited to so many homes for Peruvian dinners…remembering how you and Mom loved to open your home to others, to share their cultures and try new dishes.

It’s hard to believe it’s been 4 years. 4 years of missing.

And yet I am thankful for the 28 years before that. For every day that I woke up knowing I was loved. For the way you taught me, encouraged me, loved and cared for me. I know you weren’t perfect, and you felt your imperfections…thank you for being honest about that. For reminding me of the perfection of my Heavenly Father…of the trueness of His love.

1604522_10153863013835584_1065654502_nThank you for pointing me to the Source of Love…that is still there even though you had to leave. Through your  words, your life…through cards like this one.

“From God…to me…to you….”

Dad, I felt that love. So many times over. One of the girls asked today where I got my ring.
” It’s my birthstone…My Daddy gave it to me.”  I said.  ( I remember…you wanted to give me a necklace, but took me to the store and let me choose what I would most like to wear. And looking back…the gift of your time was even more precious than the pale aquamarine stone.)

“….to others.”

And with every beat of my heart, every moment I’m gifted…may I keep remembering Who loved me first…and may that love continue to flow… (1 John 4)

“Oh I’m running to your arms, 

I’m running to your arms, 

The riches of Your love, 

Will always be enough, 

Nothing compares to Your embrace, 

Light of the world, forever reign.”

 

Joy in the Morning

“Joy happens where two poverties meet” I read posted under a Facebook photo.

I think for a while, and nod my head in agreement. I see it happening here in Lima, Peru.

And I felt it last Monday at Cerro Azul beach, jumping into the chilly waves with the
children from the Juniper 20170116_102417Tree Children’s Home, watching them enjoy the cold of the Pacific ocean.

‘Maia’ and ‘Lila’ holding hands and jumping in the waves.

‘Lucas’  having races to see who could stand up first and longest on the surfboard.

‘Milan’  content to just  lie on the surfboard and be pushed again and again into the rush of the wave. ‘Otra vez! Otra vez!’ She pleads, till I’m sure my sunscreen has worn off hours ago.

‘Victoria’ timidly watching from a safe distance, and finally convinced to get on a board and give it her best try.

I stand with the cool waves lapping, the midday sun keeping the perfect balance between 20170116_143058hot and cold.  Pushing surfboards out to the waiting instructors, cheering wildly at the success even if it was a split second before the wave knocked them over. A more picture perfect day South of the Equator there could not be.

Joy is spilling all over this beach.

Just the night before we had been listening to the stories of these children’s lives…filled with neglect, abuse, sadness. Such a contrast to the laughter and joyful shouts all around me.

‘Amy Jo! Go for it!’ I hear. And the instructor is motioning me out. It’s been 3 years since the last time I went out alone with a board. So much waiting and falling and I barely got up. Can I do it?  But the instructor tells me exactly where to position my toes, paddles me out over the breaking waves, and positions me for the perfect run in. ‘Wait’ he says’till I say ‘Ya’, then you go! I look back, see the wave coming and start paddling…ahhhh too soon! And I miss it. But he patiently repeats ‘Wait till I say ‘Ya!” y tu puedes!” The wave is coming, I hold onto the board with tight grip, listening and resisting the urge to look. ‘YA!!” I feel the push, stand and sail in toward shore to whoops and cheers, several of them my own.

And I think back to a journal entry I wrote 3 years ago.

“Surfing…so like waiting on life, needing to be ready, positioned, watching for the opportunities to come, ready to throw everything into ‘catching the wave.’ And all that waiting…so worth it when the power of the wave comes.’

20170116_144257So hard to wait. But so worth it. I am so thankful for this moment, for these children who have been rescued from so much pain, who have been given the gem of a day at the beach. I know that this day, and the  joy they share even through their own poverty are  a gift to the lonely places in my own heart.

“I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world.”Mother Teresa once said. And there at Cerro Azul beach, I saw so many letters being written. From house parents serving picnic lunches, instructors patiently teaching, big siblings helping little ones.  From the children, their courage to try new things, their laughter,  their discoveries, and their joy.

amy-jo-and-macarenaFrom God Himself who whispers to my heart:

‘Weeping may endure for a night, but JOY comes in the morning’ 

I have stepped for the moment into their world and their lack..and they have stepped into mine. And maybe that’s where the morning dawns.

 

 

Broken Balloons

We sat on the covered canvas swing, trying to avoid the middle-of-the-day heat from the South American sun. I had the privilege of spending the morning with Danielo, my little20161227_122641 charge, who had a hesitant smile that I was trying hard to coax out of him, little by little.  He had been born pre-maturely, with only 5 months of development before he entered into the world, one he would have to navigate with out hearing, or speaking.

I was learning some sign language that he knew…and also that when he wanted to make himself understood  (for instance when he didn’t want to give up his place behind the wheel of the little plastic car.)… he had a stubbornness that would put a ‘burro’ to shame.

A friend had counselled me as I packed for Peru, ‘Bring balloons, there will always be birthdays to celebrate when you’re there!‘ And as I got to know Danielo, I realized that a balloon was one of the things that made his little smile appear. Perfect! I  also learned that it was of utmost importance to have multiple balloons in my bag, or my policing duties on the playground would scale up a notch. Yesterday I may have had to run up a slippery metal slide at lightning speed to separate two little boys (but not in time to stop a bloody nose)…when one communicates only in sign language, and the other arrived the day before from a neglectful family situation and doesn’t know sign language, there’s bound to be some frustration.

But at this moment I was enjoying a moment of calm with Danielo on the swing, showing him a puzzle to coax him out of the heat of the day.

POP!!! The green balloon he was clutching tightly exploded and he looked down in dismay. His lips pursed together stubbornly and he quickly held up the balloon to my mouth with the clear-as-day-message ‘My balloon!! Fix it please!!! Put the air back in!! ‘

Oh Danielo! I can’t! I smiled at his quick thinking solution to the problem and his determination.

If only I could. If only broken balloons were that easily fixed!

20161228_134829But wait! I signed to him. (That’s one sign I quickly learned.) I have another one in my bag…just a few puffs and voila, you can hold a brand new balloon.

If only I could. If only I could fix your broken world Danielo. If only I could put the ‘pieces’ back together and give you a family, a mom , and a dad, that would welcome your birth with joy and provision for all your needs, all your many challenges.

But sometimes things are so broken…they cannot be put back together the way they were. I can’t ‘fix’ the broken balloon. I can’t give Danielo back his Mom and Dad.

‘The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me…he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted”

Jesus came to do what I cannot. To put the pieces back together…to mend what was broken. No, here in this life, everything will not be like it was. It will not be exactly as it should be… but one stroke at a time on the canvas of our lives,  as we offer the pieces to Him, He restores and mends what was broken.

‘All these pieces, broken and scattered, in mercy gathered, mended and whole…’

joy

He came to heal , to add beauty where there was brokenness.

And  He calls us to join Him, to follow the strokes of His brush on the canvas of the
lives around us. I see it happening here, at a children’s home in Lima Peru.  Smiles are coaxed out, one hug, one cup of ‘jugo de mango’, one brightly coloured balloon at a time. A signed conversation, help with a hard task, a  celebration of accomplishments. And with the touch of the Master Artist, all together these strokes will make a beautiful canvas.

Oasis

Several days ago we bumped down a rutted dirt road towards one of the poorest areas of Lima. Dust, dirt, garbage, shanty’s…mangy dogs were everywhere. The neighborhood was called ‘Oasis’…and that seemed almost a cruel reminder of what it was not.

The van jolted to a stop several times at piles of garbage and rocks so high it was impassable, and a sudden detour was needed. (These kinds of things aren’t cause for frustration around here….just need a little friendly yelling out the window and some creativity, and you’ll find another way;o)

20161215_181304_000Pastor Walter, a new contact to the Christmas dinner ministry, led us to a look out over the water front…and the same dusty roads and shantys lined the grey ocean lapping at the shore far below. No umbrellas, no sandcastles, or picnickers at this beach. He told us about a little boy who had suffered brain injury from a car accident on the road below us and survived for only two years. So much sadness.

He shared about a church down the road, about the people who came into this neighborhood and others,  because they care about the children. And as we talked more I discovered that he knew a Peruvian lady I had met through my Joni and Friends trip in 2012…and was teaching in ‘Beyond Suffering’ in Spanish, the course I’ve been taking this fall.  As we walked and the dirt worked its way into my shoes…I had a feeling this was not a chance encounter.

‘God, give me eyes to see what you want me to see ‘ …this has been my prayer. 

He shared how he has a son with special needs himself, and because of his son, his eyes were opened to see the need and his heart was moved to care. As he took us out onto the balcony of one of the churches, purposely placed on the hill, he explained that it was called ‘Mirador (Lookout) de Cristo’ because, he said, God is looking out over the neighborhood. He sees the hopelessness. The many children with out a future…girls who become mothers while they are still children.20161215_174259
And in Pastor Walter’s voice I heard the compassion of God’s heart for these children, the same compassion that brought Jesus to this earth, to be ‘ God with us’.   The compassion that has made him willing to drive here, and hike up a dusty road to share the view with us, the urgency in his heart to call others to care. To share the fact that the 700 children they will reach out to this Christmas is not enough. There are so many more who need Hope.

“Through the Tender Mercy (the compassionate, steadfast Love) of our God, the Dayspring from on High has visited us…’

Yesterday we left the dirt roads of Lima and drove 350 kim south of Lima on the highway, passing mile after mile of sandy hills, shacks perched on the hills or nestled in valleys, hardly a tree in sight. (This was my impression when I wasn’t too busy holding my breath as cars and trucks passed a hairs breadth from each other at break neck speed. This trip made Lima roads seem tame and relaxing. Oof. )

Coming over a bend we viewed our destinaton , Huacachina.  A small natural desert lake measuring about 200-metres in diameter had bubbled up from the dry earth. Someone had discovered it years ago, and now a picturesque village flourished here. Lush green trees, palm fronds, brilliant bouganvilla. Feathery lavender blossoms and the bright orange  of the ‘Flamboyant’ trees stood out against the blue sky.

THIS was an oasis.

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Hotels with airy verandas…restaurants with candles and inviting tables. Walkways around the water and boats to enjoy it up close. But all around surrounded by sandy hills, rising up into the sky, scorching under the South American sun.

Just like the green grass at the special needs school…my eyes were in shock taking in all the beauty. I sat on a rocky ledge  by the water and rested my eyes on the calm lake.

20161220_114256_001‘You lead me beside still waters… you restore my soul’

And  I think back to walking that dusty road through ‘Oasis’… and
hearing the heart of Compassion of a man who so desperately wants to bring beauty into that dry, dusty, place….and share the water of Life with those who are thirsty.

A year ago I wrote these words in my journal…

‘I will make rivers flow on barren heights,and springs with in the Valleys…’

This year 2016, this past week,  I have experienced those ‘springs’ of joy. Those ‘rivers’ of love in unexpected places.  Despite the dry places, the deserts…or maybe because of them.  And I want to trust with all my heart that these rivers can flow through the neighbourhood of Oasis….that there are ‘springs’ of Hope waiting to burst forth.

Even if all I see right now are the barren heights.

“When there is no hope in sight, sometimes it’s good to know that our sight is limited”

Andy Gullahorn

 

‘Belen’

peru

‘Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel, shall come to thee oh Israel.’

Trucks engines roar outside the Efata complex here in Lima, birds are chirping, and the strains of these notes on the piano are all fighting for attention as I sit here in the ‘dormitorio’ and type.

Just minutes ago I was sitting in the same spot holding little Belen, a 3 week old, beautiful little girl. She was found on a doorstep this December, wrapped in a blanket surrounded thoughtfully with some baby supplies. The police named her ‘Belen’ spanish for “Bethlehem.  She was brought here to the Children’s Home as a transition to a Home more suited for infant care, since they knew there were willing hearts to care for her here.  What a privilege to spend the morning with her.

I looked down at her perfect little hands, dark soft hair, and wondered what life would hold for her.

‘The helpless commits himself to you, You are a Helper to the Fatherless.’ Psalm 10:14 I had read a few mornings ago in Psalms.

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She is so tiny…so helpless. So beautiful and precious. ‘Lord be a Father to her.

And I thought of her mom….and what she is facing right now. What overwhelming situations led her to leave her baby girl, thoughtfully placed so someone would find her. What sort of hole is in her heart right now?

‘He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.’  Psalm 147:3 ‘Lord, be the Healer for this mother’s heart. The Provider for her needs.’

Belen finished her bottle and needed a change. Her tiny lungs let me know she wasn’t happy with the process, but soon she calmed, consoled by having her needs met. Moments later as I finished putting on a fresh clean outfit, Lisa arrived to say they were here to pick her up to process her information. ‘And when will they bring her back?’ I asked.

‘They won’t’ she said. She’ll go into the system to get processed to another home. ‘Belen, we’re going to miss you!’

And just like that, little Belen was carried out of the doors of the Efata children’s home.20161222_101834

And my heart is sad that my time with her was so short.

Today, families will gather in warmth, and light to celebrate with gifts, and food and laughter. What does Christmas look like for little Belen? What does it look like for her mom?

‘O Come, O come, Emmanuel…’ we hear the longing in the words.

And He has come. In the form of a helpless baby like little Belen. Who needed someone to meet His every need.  And through His coming, He chose to walk this earth, to feel our humanity, to feel the pain of our good byes, and to weep with those He loved. He came to meet us in our need…as our Healer, our Comforter,  our Redeemer, our Restorer, our Saviour.

‘Dios con Nosotros’  ‘God with us’

And He calls us to go and be present, He gives us the privilege to be His hands, and share His heart.

‘You shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor, in your land.’ Deuteronmy 5:11

 

Autumn Reflections

Spicy Chai Tea to warm me from the inside out as I type.

Pumpkins stacked in the corner of the cafe, promising savory pies. (I don’t quite have my Grandma’s touch for pies, but I’ll try anyways…)

Soft rain making the turning trees bright against the dull background of sky.

October birthdays to celebrate some of the people I love the most…the promise of family coming together from far away.

So much beauty in this season of Autumn. So many things to give thanks for.trees

And yet, last night I lay awake for several hours, and in the darkness, my warm thankful thoughts were farther away than the anxious ones. Pressing in, reminding me of things I wish were different…and some I wish would stay the same.

This morning my thoughts trailed back to something I had written several months ago and the reminder of ‘The Greatest of These’ …something that doesn’t change. Even with the changing seasons.

February 2016

I reached for the silver heart lined with tiny crystals. The chain was tarnished…turning to a rusty brown color. Three other silver chains hung on my dresser, vying for my attention, more recent gifts from different friends. But I pushed them aside, reaching for the silver heart gifted from my Dad on a birthday several years ago. Remembering the love behind the gift.

Especially today…the day I had said good bye to him for the last time here on earth.heart

And I was reminded of another Father who has gifted me with His heart. “I have loved you with an everlasting Love ” says the Lord, ‘I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.’ Jeremiah 31:3

So many things every day, vy for my attention. Newer, brighter perhaps, more eye catching. But will I push them aside, and reach for His Heart?  Accepting the Love offered, remembering the Great Love behind the gift. The motivation to push the other things aside.

“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13

Jesus chose to lay down His life for me. Not because I ‘have it together’. I don’t. Because He loves me where I am, calling my heart from the things that draw it away from His.

Taking the silver heart from the rusty chain, my eyes brightened with an idea. I restrung it on a newer chain, till it settled on the background, shiny with no rusty brown spots. ‘Behold, I make all things NEW’  Jesus declares in the 21st chapter of Revelation. All things. New. Like the new chain, shiny and untarnished, displaying the heart so much more beautifully.

And what a gift…that He would choose to gift His heart, His love, His presence, to us…to me…my heart so tarnished by self seeking. And through His coming, His presence, His Redeeming, to make us new.

As another author I read recently wrote:

“ But God. He is the God who penned redemption’s story, from the beginning of time all the way to the fingertips of eternity’s outstretched hand. He is the God who is not bound by my efforts nor held back by my doubt. He is the God who is Love infinite, Love perfected, Love inextinguishable. He is the greatest of these. So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love. (v. 13 ESV)

I came to the Book for knowledge, but here I find that I am fully known.

I came looking for faith, hope, love, but here I encounter Love Himself.”

(excerpt from She Reads Truth)

And here my thankfulness can rest… His love will be there even when my Chai tea is drained. Even when the leaves have faded and fallen…or my family is far away. Whether I am given a gift…or whether something is taken away.

“They will all wear out like a garment…but You are the same…