SelahV Today by hariette petersen

A SIMPLE GOSPEL: "The Light is where Jesus Is"

I was just about ready to get up and go next door to check on the girls because their mommy had just left to run some errands when Kinsey popped through my door and asked if she could call her mommy.  She'd found a brand new paint brush and wanted to use it.  "What are you going to paint?"  She hesitated. 

"I don't know."  I could tell the paint brush was one of the cheap craft-brushes so I was sure my daughter wouldn't mind if Kinsey used it.  However, the question racing around in my mind was what did she plan on painting. Visions of her doll house, and walls streaked through my mind.  I said, "But, Kinsey, I need to know what you are going to paint before I call your mommy."  Kinsey looked frustrated and shrugged her shoulders, her eyes went back and forth like she was searching her mind for an answer.  

"Haylee's painting," she reasoned.  Uh oh.  I thought they were in their rooms playing with Barbies.  Definitely time to go next door and check out the action.  I should have known they were too quiet. 

"What is Haylee painting?"

"I don't know." My heart skipped a beat.

"Where is Haylee painting?"

"In the office."  When we got to Mommy's office, my heart settled down.  Haylee was painting gold hearts on paper.  Whew...was I happy.  Haylee showed me where they'd found the paint brushes and sure enough they were craft-brushes.  They both asked if we'd call Mommy to see if it was okay to use the paint brush.  I knew it was okay, but to relieve their minds, we called.  Mommy said it was fine as long as they were in play clothes, "they know what not to wear".  Haylee (who'd already been painting and dripped a few drops on their school desk), immediately started taking off her top.  Kinsey stripped off her sweat pants.  Now we're getting somewhere.  I then suggested we go next door to my kitchen table.  They were all for that.  I got out some paper for painting acrylics.  I pulled their hair back in ponytails, pinned back their bangs and got Haylee a paint shirt to wear (yes, I keep paint-shirts for such occasions).  I poured various colored paints into an empty plastic egg carton and they began to paint.  I went back to my writing.

"Haylee, my cross is ugly."

"No, it's not.  It's the best cross I ever saw."

Thirty minutes later they brought their masterpieces to me to view.

I affirmed and extolled their work.  I told Haylee what a nice job she did.  I didn't mention it, but she'd obviously learned from the last lesson I gave her on filling in all the white space on the paper. She even made the grass two shades and made the blades growing up instead of across the page.  She put her sun behind the cross.  I was impressed. Then Kinsey shared hers with me.  She hadn't filled in the sky, nor had she remembered about the way the grass grew...but I didn't say a word.  It seemed she had a bigger picture in mind as she interpreted the details of her painting:

"I put the light behind the cross.  'Cuz Jesus came alive after He was on it. And the Light is where Jesus is."

Simple truth.  Simple Gospel.  Don't you think?  selahV

"Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” John 8:12

Little Things

...mean more to me than big things.  I don't know why.  They just do.  I've found my greatest pleasures in going through old photos of my kids and grandchildren... and thinking about a particular slice of life, a comical antic, a conversation, that could never be repeated with the same intensity, excitement or joy as the moment it first occurred. 

A couple of weeks ago, my hubby and I pulled into our driveway after church and I spotted a huge tumbleweed on the side of the road in the ditch.  All the years I've lived in Oklahoma, it was the first one I'd ever seen. I'd seen bits and pieces of one...but none so big, so intact.  I was flat out tickled.  I was tempted to bring it in and hang it from the rafters (hubby's disinterest nixed that idea.  I visualized a decorative arrangement of sorts, but wasn't about to share my vision.  Instead, I explained I wanted to show it to the girls.  He didn't seem the least bit impressed as he drove on down the gravel drive towards the house.  I wasn't going to whine, I just opened the car door and hobbled on into the house.  I poured a cup of coffee and was about to settle  down into my recliner when in through the back door came my husband with the tumbleweed in his hand.  Delight filled my heart.

I could hardly wait till the girls got home; I was pretty certain they'd never seen a bonafide tumbleweed. I couldn't have asked for a better day to set a tumbleweed in motion.  The north wind was blustering gusts at 20 to 30 mph in our field.  When the girls arrived, I grabbed my camera to take photos of them holding it.  I told them they were going to put it on the ground to watch it.

"What's it gonna do?" Kinsey asked as she grabbed the tumbleweed.

"Wait, wait!  I don't have my shoes on," Haylee complained.  An early morning rain had saturated the ground so when the girls walked out on the ground Haylee's shoeless feet got soaked.  They were giddy with excitement until Haylee got irritated about her wet socks and cold feet.  What seemed a great idea for one, turned a bit sour for the other.  I dare say, that's about how life is on many occasions.  Even the greatest event can sometimes be dampened by one thing or another.  But, it doesn't have to destroy the experience.

Such was the case when those girls let that tumbleweed loose and watched it blow across the Oklahoma plains.  When I took the last photo of the big release, we cheered (or maybe it was just me), then we watched it tumble over and over again into the field.  They wondered how far it would go and mused about its final destination.  I don't know if they will remember the day we released a tumbleweed, I doubt my husband knows how much it meant to me when he brought it through our kitchen door.  Within seconds the girls were off to play with their dolls, my husband to watch his football game-- our tumbleweed forgotten.

Such excitement rarely lingers more than a few moments in any given experience.  For most folks, events are rarely big enough to conjure up memories in days ahead.  I suppose this could never compare to the moment they learned to swim, the thrill of bungee jumping, or the first time they drive a car.  Still, someday, another tumbleweed may blow into their lives as this one blew into mine.  Perhaps they'll want their husband to get it so they can share it with their grandchildren.  And maybe, just maybe, they'll discover the little things that meant so much to Grama, were not so little after all.  selahV

Sometimes We Cry

Sometimes we wonder if we will ever stop crying.

Our hearts may ache for the loss of a loved one.  We may agonize over the turmoil between us and another: a teenager who rebels, an adult child who strays, a husband who fails to meet our needs, a friend who struggles with faith--with life and death.

We may be consumed with circumstances so far beyond our control that we cannot see any way out, nor any solution to our problems.  We may be distressed, despairing, and desperate.  And all we can do is cry.  We fight it.  We try to buck up and deal with things.  We try to stuff it all behind us and let it go.  We busy ourselves with as many menial and productive tasks that we can conjure up... just to keep from crying.  Why?

Why not just let the floodgates open and let the tears flow?

Crying is a cleansing thing.  God gave us tear ducts for a reason.  He knew our hearts would fill with heartache.  He knew our souls would scream with the pain of life.  He knew our spirits would face tumult and frustration.  He knew.

It's okay, my friends, to let go and let God take your hurt, your sadness, your stored despair, your disappointments and brokenness. It's okay.  You can cry.  You really can. selahV

"You have collected all my tears in Your bottle.

 You have recorded each one in your book."                        

                                     Psalm 56:8