Out with the Old, In with the New

You have been handed a new book.

Its pages are blank.

Its spine is stiff and the paper smells fresh.

You crack open the ledger and thumb through the crisp pages.

All empty.

Not a single line of prose.

Not a single jotting of a memory.

Not a single letter, sign or symbol.

Every space available.

Every room a vacancy.

Every chapter void.

What will you do with this diary?
Is your memoir a mystery, comedy, or tragedy?

What would the title read?

The chapters?

Will you do with this diary the same as you did with last year's?

Will you write within its pages the same verses, the same resolves, the same worries?

What if, instead of being bound within the binding of yesterday,
you could scribble new dreams?
What if your journal, instead of failure, recorded fruition?
Instead of regret, rejoicing?
Instead of fear, faith?

But, despite your own determination,

your quest for perfection is unattainable.

Your hunt for holiness, useless.

However, the hero in our story defends our honor.
The villain who would hinder and sabotage our deliverance is bested and crushed!
Our worthless virtue becomes exquisite beauty.

Since God reconciled us through Jesus,

we all get a fresh start with new mercies and new grace.

Every single day.

Every single page.

Every single line.

As you pick up your pen to write in your new year's book, 
within the narrative will you record the truth, when confronted with lies?
Will you testify to hope when driven to despair?
Will you submit to His authority as the Author and Publisher of your faith?


 If you belong to Christ, you are a new creation. 
The old things have gone; everything is made new!


What a note-worthy novel yours will be!

Ungrateful

Hello, Lord.

We need to talk.
Something has been bothering me for quite some time now.
I need to air some grievances and address the injustices that my circumstance has caused me.

This is hard for me to talk to You about because I love to think that I impress people 

with my supreme homemaking abilities.


Okay, here goes.


It's about this house.

Others think that I always have the house immaculate and exquisitely decorated, 
the floors scrubbed, 
everything vacuumed and in its place. 
I don't quite know where they got that notion?
Perhaps because most pictures I take are staged?

But You and I know, 
that in reality,
I have piles of dirty laundry, waiting to be washed and dried.
Baskets of clean linens waiting to be ironed.
Socks waiting to be paired.
Hangers waiting to be utilized.
Someone's always staining something, which then becomes my chore.
My dilemma.
They just toss it in the pile, and I'm supposed to take it from there.
Exemption for them, affliction for me.

And since you're listening,
I also thought I'd mention something else.
I hate cleaning the bathroom, Lord.
It's gross. 
Why does my family's poop have to stink?
Why must their body waste leave me with a toilet to scrub? 
A shower to scour?
A sink to wipe?
Toothpaste splatters on the mirror to scrape off?
Hair in the corner, behind the door?
Yuck.
Just yuck.

Have you seen what's happening here, God?
It's unbelievable!
What about all this stuff on the counter, Lord?
What is wrong with the drawers?
Are the drawers broken?
Are their hands broken?
Can't they see the clutter and disarray?
How is anything useful when it is scattered amongst all the other paraphernalia?
Why can't they just put things where they belong?
How come they treat their things like this?

See this dust, God?
What a nuisance.
Couldn't you have just not invented it?
No matter how many times I wipe it away, it always comes back.
It just settles there, taunting me, waiting for the feather duster.
So, I dust it. 
So, what does it get me?
As soon as the feather duster is out of sight,
the particles make an even more voluminous comeback, 
only to start the cycle of
mockery once again!


Not fair.

And another thing!
These children you gave me 
never make their beds when they know that it pleases me,
nor do they come the first time I call, 
nor have their dishes land squarely in the dishwasher 
when they are through eating 
IN THE LIVING ROOM!
Selective hearing I've heard it called.
Honestly, where did they learn this behavior?

Since You're interested, let me ask You something else.
Why does everyone walk by the dishwasher when it needs to be emptied?
One would think they'd take the hint when I open the door!
Instead, they shuffle by, on their way to another destination that
is somehow more important at that moment.
Like the coffee maker for some caffeine,
the sink for a glass of water,
or the fridge to find a bite to eat,
as if that's more important than serving ME!

My life would be so much easier if I didn't have all these obstacles.

You surely know that

I could get so much more out of life!

My days, 

my months, 

my years 

would go much more smoothly 

if I weren't constantly interrupted by 

dirt, 

debris, 

and 

disorder.

So, Lord, I now ask you...would it be too much 

if I even occasionally 

got a little bit of cooperation,

a smidgen of appreciation,

a whisper of praise?

A speck of love?

A fraction of gratitude?

Well, would it?

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

What's that?

Did you say something?

How often do I say thanks?

To You?

But haven't you seen the messes?

You've seen MY mess?

Are You blind to the turmoil this dirt causes me?

You came to clean MY dirt?

My heart?

My sin-laden soul is now spotless?

I have let my pride keep me from thanksgiving and praise to You?

Lord, I agree that I have a fading memory,

and I love to neatly forget Your mercy.

I conveniently fold and stow away Your grace.

I scrub out the remainders of Your salvation.

You don't care about the condition of my house, 

as much as You care about the condition of my heart.

Dirty dishes or dirty mind?

Cluttered counters or improper motives?

Messy martyr or sympathetic servant?

God, remind me of how wonderful You are and restore the joy of my thanksgiving!

Make me grateful, I pray.

Amen.

A psalm of Leslie

For my 100th post, 
(I can't believe it!)
I decided to write a psalm.


King David wrote many psalms and poured out 
his heart, his pain, his fears and triumphs through them.


His psalms, or lyrical poems and prayers, tell his life story.
He wrote 150 psalms.
I managed one, for now.


It was quite interesting to reflect on my life while writing this.



I think YOU should try it!




Psalm 1- A psalm of Leslie



Before I was even born, my enemy tried to erase me.

He did not want me here and tried to slaughter me.

You protected my soul and body while I was still in the womb.


You Lord, had mercy on me and spared me.

In childhood, my innocence and trust were misused.

I was misled by those whom I respected.

My earthly father abandoned me, but you my Father, were always there.

When I chose the wrong paths, you followed me, 
whispered to my heart and I heard you.

When I went astray, you walked by my side, 
and nudged me back on the proper route.

When I made an absolute mess of my life, 
you brought me clarity and restored my dignity.

You Lord, restored me gently through your tenderness.

Throughout my life, you have been here, 
watching my leaving and returning.

Enjoying my laughter and counting my tears.

You see my anger and my fear, 
yet do not hold it against me, and call me blameless.

Only in you do I find joy!

Every second, you are accessible to my petitions.

Every minute, your love covers my faults.

Every hour, you keep me safe from those who would harm me.

Every day, your light shows me your truth.

All my life, you have been here.

You have filled me with a purpose and creativity, 
given me a destiny and hope.
I know this very well.

Corners of Contentment

Do you ever look around your home and feel overwhelmed?

I do.

I get overwhelmed with 

items in piles to put away,

floors to vacuum, counters to wash,

toilets to scrub, appointments to make (and keep),

prayers to pray, laundry to put away,

garden beds to weed, pets to look after,

food to make, sales to watch,

friends to call, children to train,

books to read, remembering to drink enough water,

guiding my home-schooled daughter to complete her schoolwork,

making sure there is food in the pantry 

and toilet paper on the dispensers in the bathroom,

making sure that birthday/anniversary/holiday wishes are sent,

and millions of other little things.

I could get overwhelmed by the little things.

Then, I think back to the days when

I first became a stay at home mom.

We had very little.

One paycheck, 

one car, 

one new baby, 

a tiny two-bedroom apartment,

with our very first washer and dryer.

A few years go by, 

and we have another baby.

A whole new set of fascinations.

A whole new personality.

A whole new set of delights.

My riches were hugs from tiny arms,

my delight from giggles during bath time,

my treasures were dandelions in tumblers

and bottles found under the sofa.

I found bliss in the smell of my daughters' hair,

pride in sharing the same space with these petite versions of me.

I enjoyed the discoveries of each new day

with these little darlings that were entrusted to me.

Somewhere along the way, I have allowed myself to 

overlook the simple pleasures that

the making of a home provides.

I don't want to forget the privilege that I have been given.

I don't want to abuse the trust that my God has endowed me with.

I don't want to ever become so overwhelmed 

that I am dissatisfied with my life.

I want to be content.

I want to remember the good things that I have been gifted,

good gifts that are given to me by the Giver of ALL good gifts.

This is my life today, 

(Miss S is home from college!)

and I'm just as happy

(Can you predict what is about to happen?)

 with little as with much, 

(Yep. This is what happened).

with much as with little.

I've found the recipe for being happy

whether full or hungry,

hands full or hands empty.

 (This is me as a little girl--in the lace collar).

Whatever I have,

wherever I am,

I can make it through anything

in the One who makes me who I am.

(Dear Lord, 

Thank you for all you have given me.

May I always remember that if you did not think I could handle all these things, 

you would not have given them to me.

Make me grateful, make me a good steward with YOUR things--

big and little.

Amen.)