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choosing when to walk . . .

Rain.

I’m growing weary of it. Not of its existence; rain is needful. It cleanses the earth, grows the seed, and cools the summer scorch. No, I’m not knocking the benefits and beauty of the rain. I am, however, a bit disgruntled by its timing.

Let me explain.

I’m an evening walker. I used to walk in the mornings, started my day off fresh with a hearty three or four mile jog in the brilliance of the sun’s light. Somewhere along the way, things changed. Life changed. My jogs turned into walks, my schedule obliterated by the urgent and necessary. My schedule, these days, not so necessary, less urgent than my previous one, yet new habits have taken over where old ones once reigned. And so, I now walk in the evenings. There’s nothing profound or deep buried in this reality. It’s just how it is.

For the last several weeks, the rain has accompanied me on my walks. I may start out dry with blue skies and a smattering of gray-bottomed, cloudy pillows as my companions, but I usually return to the house with a few drops of heavenly dispensation on my clothing. In all my years of living on the East Coast, I’ve never experienced such predictability. And so tonight (with my son’s promised forecast for sunny skies and lower temps), I began my customary stroll around the neighborhood. This time I took my umbrella . . . just in case. Good thing. My “just in case” rolled in about the time my feet rounded the corner on Fordham Drive.

Buckets of rain, absorbing through my cheap umbrella, making sure I knew it meant business. I wasn’t going to escape the wetness. Instead, I was forced to endure it . . . again, all the while praying that anyone in my household might look out the blinds to notice my predicament and run to my rescue. They didn’t. Instead, they stayed dry in the comfort of our home while I willfully pushed through puddles and streams and soggy socks, all the while hating the rain and wondering why it seems to prefer my walking hour rather than the other twenty-three that fill up a day.

I know what you’re thinking. I’m thinking about it too. Why not change the time of your walk, Elaine? Why risk the rain at night, when the morning promises more dryness? Why not the certainty of the day rather than this new predictability of the evening?

Why, indeed?

I don’t have a good answer for you. I won’t even tell you that “into every life a little rain must fall.” You get it. You know about the rainy season—those times when we cannot choose the climate surrounding our hearts and we must press through the rain because there’s no other option. That’s not what I’m talking about here. What I am wondering about are those times when you and I have a choice . . . to walk in the rain or to walk in the sunshine. What about those times in our lives when we stubbornly choose the rain over the sunshine? When we refuse a change of habit and heart and cling tightly to our way over a better way? Why walk with the clouds when the sun is available?

I’ve had a lot of rainy days as of late; I cannot predict all of the clouds that will move in and out of my life, nor the precipitation they’ll bring with them. I can, however, predict a few of them—those evening showers. Accordingly, I can make a choice to avoid them . . . to move my walking to daytime hours. In doing so, I’ll avoid some wetness, some heartache as well.

I don’t always have to get wet. You don’t either. Sometimes we get to choose when we walk. Sometimes we have an option . . .

The sunshine or the rain.

Seems to me a better choice to enjoy the sun while it is shining brightly overhead rather than to be caught in the rain with regret. And therein lies a thought or two worth considering. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

My friend, Melanie Dorsey, has also written about “choosing” today. Join her in worship by clicking here.

when Genesis falls to the floor…

Genesis went flying to the floor . . . literally. It came unglued, unhinged from its binding and cascaded to the ground a few weeks ago while I was walking down the hallway. I knew it was loose, knew it wouldn’t be long before I would have to give attention to its permanency. The cover holding it all together—the entirety of God’s Word—had long since lost its luster. My Bible desperately needed a make-over, but I kept hoping for “later” rather than “sooner.” It kept telling me “sooner” rather than “later,” and when Genesis fell to the floor, I made the decision to fix the problem.

 

After all, what good is the story—my story—when the beginning is omitted? When Genesis goes missing, so goes understanding. Life, faith, and truth must be worked out within the framework of Genesis—our beginning days when the Word hovered over the dark and the deep and spoke words of gracious and good creation. We need the witness of our beginning. No life story is complete without it. With this in mind, I carefully packed my “Genesis,” along with the remaining balance of Scripture, and sent my beloved Bible to Burrows, IN. Apparently, the Word is alive and active in Burrows, and there are some wonderful folks at Leonard’s Books more than willing to make sure that my beginning stays intact.

 

I am grateful for their handiwork. Yes, I could have purchased another Bible, perhaps a couple for the price that I paid to have it restored, but they wouldn’t be able to replace this one. Why? Because it is this Bible, the one I purchased eight years ago, that has literally transformed my heart. This Bible and I have some longevity with one another; I plan on it walking with me the rest of the journey home. Having my beginning in hand makes my ending that much sweeter.

 

So, a question or two. What do you do when your beginning—your “Genesis”—falls to the ground, separates itself from the rest of the pages of your story? Do you leave it there unattended? Do you tuck it away in a drawer with good intentions to graft it back in at a later date? Do you cast it aside, deem it unnecessary and discard it along with yesterday’s trash? Do you stuff it back inside the covers of your story with hopes that it will stay . . . all on its own, without glue, without hinge?

 

Sometimes, our stories take a hit or two. Sometimes our “Genesis” falls to the ground. We lose our compass and stray far from God’s intended path. We foolishly make assumptions regarding the “fix” thereby postponing understanding. We patch, paste, and carelessly cram God’s Word together, hoping it will be enough to carry us through to the finish. But patching, pasting, and cramming leave the door open for neglect—for misplaced pages, fallen chapters, and lost beginnings. When we forsake the entirety of God’s Word, when we pick and choose what stays and what gets left behind, we’ve lost some of our story. And to lose our story, friends, is to lose the purpose of our lives.

 

How much better would it be if we carefully and willingly picked up the missing pages of our stories and sent them to God for the rebinding? He is the glue who holds our pages together, who scripts our lives from beginning to end, and who promises to make them all count . . . every last word of this great adventure called life.

 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning (John 1:1-2).

 

He is with us still—our “sooner” rather than “later.” I don’t know about you, but I could certainly use some soul-rebinding right now . . . there’s something missing in my life, a few pages that have been lost along the way. Even as I am willing to send off my Bible for repair, I pray for a heart that is willing to do the same. Maybe you understand; maybe this post is for you.

 

May the tender, gracious hands of the Father rest upon you and lovingly rebind your story to his this day. May the truth that you hold in your heart be the same truth that he holds in his, and may his covering be the strength that binds all the pages of your story together and that carries you safely home to heaven. As always . . .

 

Peace for the journey,

common sense and good grace… {for Jadon}

There’s a boy that I love… a third son whose name means “God has heard.” A tenderhearted grace that arrived in our lives in a season when I thought my womb would remain closed for forever. It’s a long story, really it is. One that I’ve written about at length in another manuscript that’s yet to make it off the bookshelf. Safe to say, Jadon’s birth filled a deep longing in our young married hearts to have a child together. He’s a miracle, and today I was given another keepsake to treasure. Today, my son finished the 5th grade.

 

There was a season not long ago when I didn’t know how it would finish for us… how we’d make it through the stresses and rigors of the curriculum. Some of you may remember my frustration—a time when common sense and good grace threatened to leave the building. Thankfully, sense and grace prevailed, and today my son finished the 5th grade. Not just any kind of a finish… a strong finish.

Jadon and his awesome tutor, Ms. Ann!

And I applauded him. Choked back a few tears, thought back a few years, and realized just how far common sense and a very good grace have carried us all. It doesn’t always end this way. Not everyone makes the honor roll, at least not on this side of eternity. Some of us scrape and scrap our way through to the finish line believing the finish line to be the honor, not the grades. But every now and again, we receive the glory of having them both—the honor roll and the finish line colliding as one and reminding us that all has not been lost in the struggle to get there. There has been gain and growth that will carry over and push us forward into the next chapter of our stories.

 

I don’t know how that next chapter will read for Jadon. I do believe it will be hard for this miracle boy growing into a man, especially as he tries to meld into a mold that doesn’t fit with his uniqueness. We’ll be homeschooling next year, a change that will certainly bring challenges our way. But despite the many unknowns regarding Jadon’s tomorrows, this I do know. Common sense and good grace will take him where he wants to go… where he needs to go. Common sense and good grace never fail. Common sense and good grace make the honor roll every time.

 

May God grant us all an ample supply of both as we press on in faith toward the finish line. As always…

 

Peace for the journey,
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And the winners are…

Thanks to all of you for the support you offered “peace for the journey” over the past week. I greatly appreciate your kindness and generosity. Amelia just drew the names of two winners, and they are…

Nancy @ “The Olive Leaf Ministries”
Linda @ “My Hands His Glory”

Congratulations, ladies. I’ll have these in the mail this week. Please let me know if you’d like them autographed in a particular way. For the rest of you that might like a copy, don’t forget the Christmas special I’m running through December 10th.

I hope to be back here tomorrow or Tuesday for a regular post. Shalom!

It’s been a while since I’ve made mention of my book, “peace for the journey”; I’m not into self-promotion. That being said, when a blogging friend takes the time to give my book a mention… takes the time to invest some of her energy with my words, then I am honored to share her thoughts with you. Click on this link to read Nancy’s post. Leave a comment there, and I’ll have Nancy select a winner to receive an autographed copy. Shalom!

PS: To order a copy visit Amazon or the Resource tab.

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