SelahV Today by hariette petersen

Are You Satisfied With Yourself?

Sometimes I am.  Yet, never quite contented.  It's these times I recognize the barrenness of my soul.  I feel the pangs of hunger unsated.  I know it is because I long for more of God.  I know.

I don't look for peace in the world or from it.  I do not search for happy words written by someone else.  I don't seek silly videos to make me laugh, giggle or chuckle.  I don't devour honey drizzled croissants.

Pretty pictures of dew-kissed roses,

fields filled with daisies, sunflowers and dandelions blowing in the wind,

and... serene scenes of wooded glades do not quell my need.

They only make me hunger all the more for You, O, Lord, my God, my Creator, My Savior and Sustainer.

Bands of sunshine spray through billowing clouds to kiss the glistening sea, yet, still...

they pale in the significance of having a touch from Your Spirit in my soul.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Come now, Holy Spirit and feed our hungry souls

satisfy our longing for You and You alone.   selahVtoday

 

The Duck Dynasty Debacle and Me

I'm no better than anyone else in this world.  I learned that a long long time ago/link. 

The past few days, I've been caught up in the whirlwind of opinions regarding Duck Dynasty and A&E. I tweeted and retweeted.  I copied and pasted articles and posts (just like millions of other people).  I got followed by several on Twitter and stopped following a few on Twitter. 

However, I do not watch Duck Dynasty on a regular basis. What I have watched, I really think is funny and fun. They exemplify what families should be about-- though they squabble and quibble, they make up and poke fun at one another and reconcile. They love work, one another and God. Though I don't see every episode, I'm tickled pink they've worked hard and built a dynasty from duck calls and ingenuity.

I don't watch anything on television religiously, or faithfully. Life is far more than what goes on inside a 60-in box.  Yet, I disagree with folks who try to decide for me what I should say, read, think, or watch.  My interests vary from babies being aborted to Pastor Saeed's imprisonment, from healthcare to the stripping of COLA pensions for Vets. I tweet about James Rosen's interviews and Megyn Kelly's Santa controversy. I'm not a fanatic follower of everything Ducks--nor a Bill O'Reilly groupie. But I do like to know what people think.

Folks have very interesting takes on the world and I like to hear their take.  Even with those I disagree.  Why do they think the way they think?  Do they disagree with me because I'm just like all those other "thems" in the world they disagree with?  Not sure.  I am me-- I'm not completely like anyone else.  I may have similarities, hold some same opinions, some similar beliefs-- but I do not consist of all of anyone else. I can't see that ever changing--not for me--nor anyone else.

This deal over Phil Robertson has never once angered me. I've simply shared what I thought when I read something someone said. I've held the beliefs I have for a very long time.  And while I totally agree with Phil on the depravity of man, I would never have chosen to express myself as he did about sin. I would have defined it differently. Why?

Because I am me. I express myself differently. That's probably why Phil is on a reality show and I'm just boring little me. Phil is Phil and he bluntly expresses himself as he chooses-- just as you choose to express yourself.  Knowing what little I know about Phil, I can call him a brother in Christ because he seems to believe what I do about Jesus.

Some folks look at the world through a clouded lens-- without the knowledge or understanding of the presence of God in their lives. Some judge every syllable and phrase Christians say through the lens of what they have determined a Christian is, and what all Christians should say or do.  It may or may not be valid, but it is their interpretation; they are entitled to think whatever way they choose, just as I am. The reason Christians can make particular statements about sinners is because we know we are all sinners.  Each of us. We know sin well. We battle it ourselves. But we know we have a Savior who has paid the ultimate price for our sin and became the substitute for our punishment so we could live forever with Him.

Many articles and posts I've read recently have addressed why we think what we think and how we should assign motive and intent to the reasoning behind actions of A&ETV and those defending A&E and those defending Phil Robertson. Those are think pieces-- opinion articles to provoke more thought. Many are written to inflame, to incite, to encourage further debate. Few are written to bring peace or understanding or reconciliation.

I'm not all that interested in "thinking" anymore about the why or how in this debacle.

Of greatest interest to me is the heart of the matter-- as in the heart of the Believer and follower of Jesus Christ.  As in me--my imperfect fleshly self and my part in it all.  In fact, I thought about deleting every single post I had written on facebook and every tweet I'd tweeted on Twitter regarding Duck Dynasty.  I even considered deactivating my Twitter account altogether.

You see, as a Christian, when we allow our minds to supercede our hearts, the Spirit of God begins to check our spirit and poke us in places so we become painfully aware of portions we need to address. In Romans 12:2, it is written:

"be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God."

God wants to purify and sanctify us in order that we might be a "light" to Him, not away from Him.  My mind wanted to fluff off what I'd been thinking; my heart wouldn't let me. Words matter. It's important that we're careful choosing our words and being responsible for what we say.

I've been pondering the "us" and "them" in this war of words between A&ETV, Phil Robertson, GLAAD voices, the fans, and Christians who have spoken out about "them" and "us".  Mostly, I'm thinking about the ones in between "us" and "them".  They are the ones who are neither in the whole conversation--they are onlookers.  I wonder, how do they see "us" as we react to "them"?  as we one-up the other in tit-for-tat tweets?

I think about me.

For me, that is worth considering in depth, considering all I've tweeted in the last few days. Mercy is my favorite word next to Jesus-- though how can one say Jesus without simultaneously thinking of the word mercy is beyond me.  He is mercy. I'm glad He has mercy on me and His mercies are new every morning. I need that clean slate. And while He allows sin because we live in a fallen world, He doesn't condone it, nor will He tolerate it (especially in His children)-- even if it is the simple sin of thinking we know more than someone else and must let them know it as well. 

I Am Sure Glad God Loves Me, Because

I am a bit dissapointed in myself.

I know some folks think the human race is totally and completely depraved, but I don't.  I believe if I were totally and completely depraved, then I would never entertain a single thought of praise, or acknowledge the Hallowed Holiness of the Most High God. A depraved soul does not hear the convicting voice of the Shepherd.  A depraved soul is a soul without kindness, without goodness, without mercy, love, or peace.  I have those things.  I exhibit those things...and to be clear, it's not because I am some goody-two-shoes who walks around toting my bag of benevolence and purity, either.  It's not because I wear a cross, or get dressed up on Sunday morning and go to church while others mow lawns, pack golf-bags in their trunks, or snooze till they feel like getting up and beat me to Cracker Barrel to have their breakfast while I order lunch.

I have virtuous characteristics and exhibit them because Jesus saved me from myself and gave me new life in Him.  In Him I am not depraved; I am holy.  In Him I am pure and complete. In Him I am righteous.  Yet I do get a bit weary looking in my mirror and seeing a chubby face staring back at me.  She's a feeble-minded ding-dong at times.  She disappoints me to no end.  But, still, there's hope.  She's sanctified, set aside, blood-bought and worthy to stand in the sight of God, and bow before the King of Kings.  Her life is secure...her destiny certain.  And for that I am so very grateful.

However...I get tired of seeing her fleshly carnality rear its ugly head.

Yesterday a salesman (actually he looked about 18), came to my door.  He smiled great big and handed me a pretty hot-pink laminated card that described what he was, uh, not selling.  Kirby vacuums.  He said he wasn't selling them; he just wanted to demonstrate it on one of my carpeted rooms.  I explained I had no carpets to clean and I was moving anyway, and would only have concrete floors.  He continued.  I interrupted.  He broke in and continued his rehearsed spiel.  After telling him I wasn't interested for the umpteenth time, I asked him if he understood what the word no meant.  He got this really defeated look on his face that pierced my heart, but pressed on with a "but..I...".

I broke in, "I don't think you do, but you'd do well to find out before you go to another house.  At least then you wouldn't waste your time or theirs."

It was one of those "gotcha" moments when I didn't need a mirror to see the ugly image coated in soot.  I saw her in his undeserved chastened woeful expression.  Whatever that young fella felt from my rebuke was immediately reflected back into the eye of my soul.  Hardly in keeping with "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." Matthew 5:16

I closed the door and returned to writing checks and paying bills.  The moment my husband came in the door that evening I blurted, "I made a jerk of myself today."  I related the story and confessed the unkindness, the rudeness, and spiteful attitude I exhibited.  I'd already told my heavenly Father I was sorry.

That poor young man was only doing what a lot of people wouldn't do today.  Instead of protesting and occupying Wall Street, he was doing the best he could.  He was going door-to-door, trying to sell a reputable product in a astronomically depressed economy.  It occurred to me that he would probably have received some kind of stipend for demonstrating the vacuum, even if I never purchased it.  I'd have a clean carpet, and he'd make a little money.  So what would I be out?  An hour of my time.  And to be honest, that time is not mine.  It belongs to God.

After the young man left, I let my mind play out the what ifs:

What if I was his last straw?

What if I was the person who could make his day?

What if my "yes" was the blessing God wanted to give him in a discouraging day?

What if I were the answer to a prayer he'd uttered?

What if...what if he were an angel?

What if he wasn't, and during the demonstration, I had shared Jesus with him? 

I know God knows what I did.  He knew before that young man came to my door what I'd do.  And at this moment, I share my ugly truth with you in hopes to help you avoid a similar event.  Just think if you don't do what I did, and you are the one who shows the fruit of the Spirit God so liberally gives you.  Just think what He could do with that.  Like I said earlier, I am glad God loves me.  He still has a plan for my life.  He's not finished with me yet.  It's not easy to admit the ugly part of myself.  But I am more than my flesh and blood.  I am a child of God.  He is my Heavenly Father and He loves me so very much.  I won't dwell any longer on my haughty-taughty attitude and the smut that skewed the Life of Christ within me.  I will commit my way unto the Lord and do my best to heed the Spirit within me, this day.  Hopefully, my confession helps you in some way...to help another in some way...today.  selahV

BLINDED TO BLOSSOMS

I noticed the lone surviving lavendar plant from the twelve I had planted (5 years ago). It had wild morning glories twisting its way amongst its purple stems--what a stranglehold it had.  I'd seen the daisies clustered behind my pecan trees, but their presence did not bring the usual excitement typical for me.  From my kitchen window, I barely gave a glance to the array of giant Foxgloves growing by the fence.  A smile...a nod of praise to the Lord for their perennial presence in my life.  Scripture came to mind..."Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." Luke 12:27

Yeah, Lord; I know.  But lilies don't have chronic back pain, I reasoned.  And lilies don't outgrow their attire.  And lilies don't get bronchitis.  And lilies don't have company coming and have a tub to scour and tables to dust. 

Recent weeks of pain had robbed me of enthusiasm.  Oklahoma's sweltering heat discouraged a walk outside.  A messy neglected house simply did not deserve a bouquet to grace the dining-room table cluttered with bills, books and my grandchildren's art renderings. Thoughts of company coming this weekend and the need to clean my home gave little room for musing about the backyard.  All I saw was the need to mow the lawn, the desire to secure my hammock before my friend arrived on Saturday.  Then...

...then my granddaughters came to visit.  They skittered to the patio doors and spotted the giant multi-colored foxgloves.  Maroon, magenta, peach, and pink.  They saw the purple Rose of Sharon.  The "oohs and aahs" punctuated the air with awe and wonder.

"Grama, did you know you had flowers out there?" Haylee informed me. "Can we pick some?"  Within moments she and Kinsey emptied a basket of its wooden blocks and found their scissors and headed out the door.  Normally, I would grab my camera and follow them.  Yesterday I simply slid the door closed to keep out the flies and bees and headed back to my recliner, grabbed a tissue and waited out my three-minute coughing spasm.  My head hurt.  My chest hurt.  My stuffy nose leaked out of my eyes as tears covered my cheeks.

I sat there thinking how little I cared about flowers.  But how wonderfully warm and soothing it felt to have my granddaughters visiting.  Their mom had kept them at bay for days because I'd been feeling so lousy.  And now, their enthusiasm and joy touched a need inside me I had not realized was there.  I knew the girls would soon bounce through the doors with their basket of glory, so I got up and went to the kitchen and filled a clear bowl with water.  I went back to my recliner, blew my nose and waited.

Before the afternoon was over we'd had a teaparty, sat cuddled together watching Popeye and Ben Ten, drank hot chocolate and talked about Vacation Bible School coming up next week.  Haylee was particularly excited.

"I can hardly wait.  We are going exploring.  It won't be like when we went to Australia and saw the animals, or the other year when we, uh...I can't remember now, but we are going to some place new."

"I think you are going to New York this year," I informed.

"WHAT!  Wow, that will be fun!  That's where the big buildings are, and...", and on and on she exolled all she knew about New York City.  "But we don't really go there," she reminded me, "we just explore it in pretend."

I thought about that precious moment.  The wonder of a child.  The expectations. Life.  Joy oozed out of every pore.  Kinsey was caught up in the excitement even though she had no idea why.  Joyous memories of past VBS explorations thrilled Haylee and provoked undiluted positive anticipation.  Oklahoma's heat didn't matter.  Insects didn't matter.  And I'm certain if she had a Summer cold, it would not matter.  Life was a bouquet of grandeur and a rainbow of promise.

Oh, to be young again.  Oh, to let my spirit ride the wings of butterflies and bumble bees.

Later, when the chatter, the joy and the busyness of two little girls surrendered to the stillness of the house, I could not help but stop and try to smell the blossoms in the middle of my dining room table. I'd been all but blinded to the array of maroon, magenta, purple and pink blossoms before my granddaughters came to visit.

"From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger." Psalm 8:2

What a blessing to have the lips of children.  The hope in their hearts.  God knew this day would come when Satan tried to rob me of health, to blind me to the blessings of His glory.  God knew that when each seed from every flower in my backyard died last fall and burst forth in new life this Spring that the girls would come and marvel at their splendor.  God knew they'd offer praise because of the enemies in my life--weariness, illness, and depression.  He knew.  And so He prepared for this day for me to see the blossoms of His love.

How about you?  Do you see Him today?  I hope so.

PRAYER:  Lord, give those who are weary.  Those who are blinded by the sin of life.  Those who cannot lift their eyes.  Give them a child to come and show them the way...to offer praise for Your goodness...to remind them of Your watchcare and to silence the foe and avenger in their lives.

I'M HAVING AN IDENTITY CRISIS

Pictured on the left is a dear and nutty friend of mine who wore this mask to a Fall Festival a couple of years ago.  Austin is a staunch conservative, and of course, you know what Obama is.  While Obama seems to be wrestling with who he is these days, my friend has no problem with his identity.  So what about me?

Who am I?  Hariette Petersen or selahV?  Some folks endearingly call me Mrs. V, while others just write "V".  Folks google me with selahV, selahV today, and hariette petersen.  When you google my name, all kinds of things pop up.  Some weird dude stole my moniker early on and even used it to set up a twitter account.  He is "selah Victor", but I've learned to live with it.  I took great pains in deciding upon a "moniker" (or name) for my blog.  I thought you were suppose to have a pseudonym to blog, not use your real name.  I started out with What Matters* and Ended up with SelahV Today.  Today what matters is that selahV is just a blogger named Hariette Petersen who writes on multiple blogs.  Ha!  Tell that to Google, Facebook, LinkedIn, Yahoo, AOL, Blogger, etcetera, etcetera.

When I was trying to set up a blog to begin my writing ministry, I had all kinds of problems.  It took me so long to learn the lingo of blogging. I didn't know>>>more>

When Words Are Not Enough (Part Three)

Words of encouragement are all some know.  "They are more precious than gold, than much pure gold; they are sweeter than honey, than honey from the comb." Psalm 19:10

Unlike gold and honey, words of discouragement are all some people have to say.  Their sentences are like an overstuffed suitcase.  They carry unnecessary baggage and really do need to go through an x-ray machine and be unpacked before they reach the other side of the conveyor belt.

Sometimes a person's brain leaves the station before it has time to weigh the words in its heart.

I think that words are the clumsiest, most inadequate measure of one's heart that we have.  I, cherish words of affirmation as an outward expression of another's love for me.  But sometimes I forget to measure them when I speak.

I forget to consider that the person with whom I am sharing all my words and sentences, may not see them, hear them, or understand them quite the way I intend.  Why?  Because sometimes they are ill-chosen, ill-timed, ill-defined, and ill-written.  So how else can one communicate?

My husband chooses to express his heart, mind and soul with acts of service.  Yet even acts of service can be misconstrued, can't they?  One time my husband thought he was doing me a service by trimming my forsythia bush away from our air-conditioning unit.  He cut off all of its sprawling stems just as it was coming into full-bloom.  Instead of me having a gorgeous display of yellow to hide the hideously ugly air-conditioning unit by my house, I had a short ball of yellow that called attention to that hideously ugly air-conditioning unit.

Did I ever rain on my husband's parade of expressive love when my distorted words of affirmation screamed, "What in the world were you thinking!  Why didn't you simply uproot the thing!"  I gathered up as many of the manicured stems that lay on the ground as I could in my arms, took them in the house and placed them in every jar imaginable to finish blooming inside my home.  For days those brightly colored stems made peace with my heart.  But for my husband, they served as a reminder of how his acts of service had failed to express his sincerest wishes.  Sometimes, attitude is everything, and words are entirely too much.

Words can be everything that's wrong.  Everything that hurts.  And would be better left unsaid.

"A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones." Provers 17:22

Ill-chosen words destroy the heart of the hearer.  They are not worth the air it takes to even whisper, let alone to shout.  May the Lord give us words befitting a cheerful heart filled with His love and grace.

WHEN WORDS ARE NOT ENOUGH (PART TWO)

WHEN WORDS ARE NOT ENOUGH (PART ONE)

EVER WONDER ...

...just who is reading your blog?  I have.  It's weird I suppose.  But if you are like me, and do not have a lot of commenters, but have a fair amount of daily hits on your blog, then you do tend to wonder exactly who is reading your blatherings.  I can't begin to tell you how many times I've written a post and someone will email me and ask if I've been sitting in their bedroom closet or under their dining room table.  It's funny.  To me, anyway.  How can one write common everyday stuff and it seem to touch upon another's particular situation? penetrate another's heart? soothe another's soul?  lift another's spirit?  or pinch another's nerve?

Lately I've had a few readers who click on because they follow me on Face-book.  A few others follow me on Twitter.  Still others I have known since the beginning of my blogging madness.  Of course I have some folks that pop in because I am linked to all kinds of other folks and then some come via google-search on particular topics.  But I find it interesting when a specific reader's website link shows up in my stats page.  Truly makes me wonder what in the world I write that has attracted them to my little mud-hole.

Personally, I don't make a whole lot of whoop-de-doo over the stats.  I write because I have some nutty thing pop into my mind and often just wanna slop it on the monitor before my eyes.  I can't begin to count how many drafts I have that I've not published.  Every now and then I will go through the drafts, find something worth editing and polishing, then bingo!  A post is born.  I just write to write.  It's fun.  It's me.  You see, I know my weaknesses.  And in the real world beyond this computer screen, I like to talk alot.  And a lot of folks do not like to listen.  So, this is a great outlet for me.  Why?  Because I can talk all I want and folks are totally free to choose whether they want to pay any attention to me or not.  They don't have to read my blatherings.  They don't have to heed my warnings.  They don't have to respond to a thing I say.  They don't even have to acknowledge me in any way shape or form.  And I get to babble on and on till my little ol' heart is content, or my mind is emptied of all the stuff clogging up my brain.  However, sometimes I do wonder who is reading me when I have so many page-views by websites from all over the world.

I wonder what attracts you. 

I don't get into politics all that much (except when I feel absolutely passionate about something, and I have another blog in which I rant and rave those thoughts).  I rarely debate issues like so many bloggers I know.  I generally don't write about any one particular person, unless I'm ticked off at the POTUS, or some lame-brain congress member.  I'm not into investigative tale-bearing or research-oriented rhetoricals.  My posts are mostly devotional in nature.  Personal reflections on a subject--a truth, a principle, a scripture passage, a slice of life, my adorable grandchildren--or even raccoons in the attic.  I just write stuff.  Plain old whatever is in my mind stuff.  And sometimes I even bore myself when I proof my posts.  I will probably feel that way about this post someday when, and if, I read it:  Why in the world did I publish this?  just musing out loud, as usual.  How about you; do you ever wonder?  selahV

Wrong Thinking, Number 5 of 11

Think with me for a minute, okay?  When you think about yourself and your accomplishments, do think you are worth about the same as a "Dum-dum" lollipop wrapper?  Do you relate more to the butterscotch sweetness of the solid ball of sugar once blanketed by that paper wrapper?  Or do you feel more like a tiny square of useless litter that belongs in the trash?  I've often felt like the latter--the "litter".  Basically, that comes from a lifetime of being told I was that "wrapper".  This brings me to Number 5 of my little series on "Wrong Thinking that causes us problems". 

DISCOUNTING THE POSITIVE:  (DtP).

If you are afflicted with "DtP", you insist that your accomplishments or positive qualities "don't count".  You discount any positive someone points out about you.  You find it extremely difficult to accept compliments.  You find it tremendously guilty accepting validation for anything you do.

I love my stepmother (hold that thought).  She came to live at our house when I was five-and-a-half.  When my father unloaded the U-haul (or whatever kind of truck it was), with all her belongings, her three-year-old and seventeen-year-old sons, I felt like we'd been invaded.  The number one thing I remember being unloaded was a metal horse that moved up and down and rolled forward when you stood on the metal stirrups.  Excitement bubbled up inside my heart as I moved toward it.  With one fell swoop, my exuberance was slapped away when my new step-brother pushed me aside and was validated for doing so.  "That's not yours, honey.  That is Thomas's."  That was the beginning of being told or shown that love, praise, and goodies belonged to her youngest son--not me.

I tell you that little story, not for sympathy.  No, I tell you to shed a glimpse of understanding into what caused a rather timid child, who'd been abandoned by her birth mother at age 3, to grow up with low self-esteem.  Abandonment coupled with favoritism for another--neglect coupled with verbal abuse, can warp the mind of a child and cause them to grow up thinking they "don't count".  But still, I loved my stepmother.  I came to understand her mental illness that went untreated and undiagnosed for her lifetime.  I also came to realize that what she was, and how she treated me, did not determine my ability or my worth.

The joy in discovering that God loved me and sent His Son to die for me, long before I was ever born, exploded within my heart with an intensity that I cannot begin to express with words equal to its splendor.  Growing in Christ showed me more and more of the mystery of God's love, the sovereignty of His love, the abundance of His love, and the watchcare of His love, the provision of His love, the mercy of His love, the forgiveness in His love and the acceptance of His love.

There are many times since I learned these things that I have wrestled with the DtP thinking.  I have fallen prey to the evil one who has nothing good to say about me.  I have listened to his accusations (and sometimes truly believed them), that I do anything I do, not because I love my Savior and Lord, but because I want the praise of man.  The hardest battle to fight is this one--especially when, along with the negative whisperings of Satan, I audibly hear the voices of people who agree with the Accuser of accusers.

However...

God is faithful.  He forever reminds me I am His child.  I belong to Him.  I am an heir.  I own, through the riches of Christ's glory, my Creator's approval through the blood of Christ which took all my sin away, and blanketed me with His grace.

I often wonder what good my writing does.  I often wonder if what I do makes any difference at all in the kingdom to encourage, edify or bring glory to my Lord.  Every now and then God sends me a visible, tangible validation that what I am doing matters to Him and to others.  It's kind of like getting that "smiley face" on your English essay.  God does that for us, not to puff us up, but to validate us, and to encourage us to keep doing what we are doing, despite the odds against us, despite the whispers of the evil one.

Just yesterday, a precious gal from India--a Hindu transformed by the blood and life of Jesus, "facebooked" me and told me she'd been blessed by some of my devotionals.  She wanted to "friend" me.  What a blessing!  What an honor!  But the greater blessing is that the Lord allows me to now pray for her family to come to Christ, too.  Blessedly for her, her family did not cause her problems with her conversion.  Folks, that is amazing.  Many missionaries have been killed for sharing the gospel in India.  Pastors have had their churches torched, and watched their families and members of their churches slaughtered for daring to profess Christ as Lord.  My new friend reaffirmed something for me yesterday and today.

I am not a wrapper.  Neither are you.  God is working all things together for good to those who are called according to His purpose.  Give your life to Him.  Let Him show you the sweetness He can bring forth from your yielded life.  Don't let Satan, or anyone else, discount your value in this world.  selahV

ADDITIONALS POSTS YOU MIGHT ENJOY:

Ten Things To Do When You're Ready to Explode 

When You Want to Know What to Do

When You Are Wrongly Accused  

WHEN THE DEVIL GETS A FOOTHOLD

Sometimes you have no idea how he gained entrance into your peace of mind.  You take down your guard.  You forget a piece of armor.  It may not even be something you did or did not do.  On a regular basis, Satan's evil messengers are dispatched to discourage, oppress and make life hazardous to one's health.

Last week, we learned some things that gave us pause.  Our already strapped financial status took another hit when my husband's hours got cut back.  Groceries went up.  Additional medical expenses tested our faith.  My health took a backwards journey with no remedy in sight.  People I dearly love were hit with insurmountable difficulties.  So many of my friends related challenges and heartaches far worse than those crushing my spirit.  I prayed their names...I left the specifics to the Holy Spirit.  I couldn't think of a solitary thing to write.  I was fortunate that the Lord had already given me words to share on my dailyIMPACT devotional blog. 

The devil sneaks in and whispers, "See, it doesn't matter how much you write about the goodness of your Almighty God. Abundant life is a ruse.  What are you going to do now?"  I challenge his vile and oppressive words with, "Get thee behind me."  But he comes on stronger.  Day after day, time after time, again and again.

I knew I had let him in through some crack.  I knew I'd allowed his evil murmurrings to dampen my spirit.  I knew I'd given him a foothold.  I began to count my blessings and was strengthened by the rest I take in my Savior, my refuge.  I closed my eyes more, and sat still longer.  I sang "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, there's just something about Your name."  I absorbed the fruitfulness of prayers of friends being answered for me.  Little things.  Encouraging words.  Words that folks didn't even know I needed to hear.  I ran to the Savior--my refuge, my hope.  I fell into His arms and allowed His grace to be sufficient to meet the needs in my heart, my mind, my spirit and body.   

Oppression doesn't leave by wishing it away.  Satan doesn't stop because I want him to.  He may step away for a while.  He may back away in what seems a retreat.  But he is ever thinking, planning, scheming.  He manipulates and twists and watches for my guard to drop.  He plans his next attack.  But Jesus is my power to overcome in the battle today and tomorrow. I know that no matter how dark the tunnel, the Light is always there.  I will not be defeated.  selahV

[© SelahV Today, 2008]    

FAILED TO FOLLOW

The doorbell rang.  My freshly washed hair was wrapped in a large green terry-cloth turban.  My naked face looked haunting (to me anyway).  But I answered the door anyway.  The last time I hesitated answering the door, a bouquet of roses greeted me on the other side.  No such luck this time.  It was a young man about 29.  He stood on the steps just off the porch.  He was dressed in a finely tailored suit with dark blue shirt and red tie (I think).  He was canvassing the area in search of clients for his investment firm.  I almost laughed when he greeted me with his firm handshake.  I had nothing to invest.  But he seemed so nice, I didn't have the heart to tell him.  I accepted his brochure and listened as he explained where his new office was going to be located.  I kept thinking about how awful I looked and how this guy didn't even seem to notice I had a turban on my head.  I answered all his questions--including those about where I was from and how in the world did I get to Oklahoma from Kentucky. 

Turn about was fair play I figured, so I asked where he was from and how long he'd lived in Lawton.  As it turned out, he lived about a mile from me.  Bells went off in my head as I answered him about what my husband did for a living.  "Custodian, part-time.  He's on disability.  Heart attack a year ago today."  (Surely he'll stop talking now and be on his way.)  Nope.  He continued to ask other questions.  I continued to ask some too.  I told him about my church that was just down the street.  I shared how wonderful they had been to us when my husband suffered his heart attack.  That's when I blew it.

I didn't ask him if he went to church anywhere.  My brain was saying, "Ask him...ask him."  But I didn't ask if he'd like to come to church.  I didn't ask if he knew about the "retirement plan" of everlasting life.  I didn't even hand him a tract in return for his fancy brochure.  He asked for my telephone number and I gave it.  He wrote down my address.  He thanked me for taking time to visit with him and went on his way.  I was really mad at myself when he left.  I realized that I was more concerned about the condition of my appearance than this man's spiritual condition.

How many times have I asked the Lord to bring someone in my path that I could share Jesus with?  I don't get out of the house much--mostly to babysit my grandkids and go to Wal-Mart and the gas station.  I don't see many folks.  And here God brought me someone and I let the moment slip on by.  I hadn't planted one seed for which the Lord could water for days ahead.  Nothing would grow from my words. 

Today I received a thank-you card in the mail from that man.  Again he thanked me for allowing him to share about his business and he offered to help me if I needed help with finances.  I smiled but inwardly I felt sad.

"Lord, why did I let that moment pass?  Why didn't I ask him if he'd like to know about You?  What silenced my tongue?"

As I ponder those questions tonight, I still wonder.  What closed my mouth?  It's times like this I wonder about myself and my love for the Lord.  It's times like this I realize how small I am in His kingdom.  It's times like this I understand Peter's denials.  It's times like this I am ashamed of me.  I truly am.  selahV

[copyrighted, SelahV Today, 2008]

BEATEN, BRUISED AND BATTERED

   I feel like my sunflowers, hollyhocks and cannes lilies.  The rain and minimal sun has given birth to a splendor of color.  Orange-tipped golden cannes lilies stand 7-feet high. Brilliant yellow sunflowers top-out at 6 feet.  Hollyhocks surpass the 6-foot fence by 10 or 12 inches to show off their burgandy, pink, and salmon beauty to the neighbors next door. 

That's me.  Many times.  I feel so full of God's joy and love that I could climb mountains and wave banners of His goodness and provision.  In these times, all that I am is Jesus inside of me glorifying Himself; for nothing--I am or do--is of me~~apart from Him.

Then, there are the other times.

The repeated storms, the drenching rains, the straight-line winds, the absence of sunlight.  I get weary.  I look and feel like my drowned petunias--wilted, soil-coated and limp.  My energy is spent from the downpour of circumstances--my precious sick husband who isn't bouncing back from open-heart surgery because of additional complications.  My brain is depleted from lack of sleep.  My body is weakened from a physical condition which shows no signs of getting better and thus saturates the foundation of my overall health.

My spirit hungers and thirsts after my Lord's all-sufficient grace and sustaining warmth.  I bask in the sunshine of His eternal Flame and Light of hope amid the storms of life.

Yesterday, between storms, I pondered the fallen soldiers of cannes lilies, wind-beaten sunflowers and hollyhocks.  Their beauty was still there.  Beaten but not destroyed.  Battered but not uprooted.

I took sticks and limbs and stuck them in the watersoaked ground at the base of the giant plants.  I pulled them erect and placed more limbs with forked branches to bear the weight of their heavy, drooping heads.  In shouldering their burdens, they weathered another storm today.

Six inches of downpour in 15 minutes.  Tons of water poured off my rooftop onto my eroded front yard. But this time, the storm did less damage.  The bit of support I gave my mature plants served them well.  They did not fall over again.  They had a shoulder to lean on.

"Cast your burden on the Lord, for He careth for you."  And oh, how he loves to hear our dependent heart's cry.

"Pray for one another."  What a privilege to support one another!

"Bear each other's burdens."  What a blessing to undergird a brother, to lay down one's life is need be.

Should we use a brother's weakness, flaw or immaturity to beat them down further?  Should we point out their mistakes, their sins, and spread their laundry on the public square?  Should we breathe out threatenings or could we not post verses of scripture to encourage, comfort and edify?

Could we not find supports and place them at the roots of their feet?  Could we not brace their weakened state with prayers of intercession?  Could we but bind their wounds and leave them at the inn with provision to meet their needs?  Could we do all we can to heal and mend, rather than destroy?  Could we judge not, condemn not, criticize not?  Could we but find the good and dwell upon it, then leave any justice to the Just Jehovah?  I think we could.  I really do.  selahV

[copyrighted, SelahV Today, 2007]       

   

GETTING IT TOGETHER

Just can't seem to do that these days.

I begin a task and see another and off I go in another direction--totally forgetting the first task I've begun.  Ever been like that?

Right now I am came into my office simply to check emails and here I am typing on a post I started three days ago.  My brain won't work creatively.  It's disconnected.  Shorted out.  I'm suppose to be vacumning and getting dressed for visitors.  Instead, I'm typing.

I had a really great conversation thread going on SelahV's Questions and got so brain-fried I couldn't even get a coherent response to the many who took time to answer.  I had folks email and say they were going to comment but after they read the other comments, they figured everything had been said.  I disagree.  I think folks ought to read the post, forget the comments and comment the way they wanna comment on the post.  Then go back and read the comments and comment on the comments.  I like originality....don't you?  Don't you want to know what someone else thinks on a given subject?

I really want to know what people conclude on the Sovereignty of God.  It's very important to me.  How do you view God's Sovereign hand in your life at this moment?  What is God doing with you?  What are the circumstances in which you find yourself that causes pause to your plans, thoughts and actions?

Most of you know what is going on in my life.  Were these things predestined?  The losses?  The illnesses?  The relationships I've recently made via bloggersville?  selahV

TAGGED, I'M IT~~

I was tagged by Heather at Freeheart Reflections to play an information disclosure game.  If you are reading this and you are not Heather, then consider yourself tagged. LOL.

EACH PERSON TAGGED starts with:

7 random facts/habits about themselves.

You must write on your own blog about the seven things as well as the rules.

Then you need to tag others and list their names.  Then you leave them a comment on their blog telling them that they've been tagged and to read your blog.

Problemo...I don't know 7 bloggers who would play tag with me. 

That's number 1.

Number 2:  I am an extroverted introvert.  Figure that one out.  I've been trying to for 58 years.

Number 3:  I don't watch much TV, (American Idol, occasionally HOUSE, and Fox News--that's it.)  I don't go to the movies, don't rent videos and for the most part, I do not like jokes.  I laugh at human nature.  We are hilarious!  Funny to me is what little kids say, and I'll read those emails every time I get one.  Not fond of email forwards.  Would rather have a two line personal message. (don't like to admit that because so many of my friends send forwards and nothing else.  Wouldn't want to hurt their feelings.)

Number 4:  I was a varsity cheerleader with Emmylou Harris in high school.  I sold my yearbook for 173.00 on ebay with her pictures in it.

Number 5:  I must have everything my heart desires because I delight in the Lord.  So all that stuff I complain and whine about is simply insignificant stuff that I don't really want.  Except I'd still like to have a week's vacation in Savannah, Georgia; a car that runs, and all my husband's aches and pains to be history.

Number 6:  Cannot think about nothing!

Number 7:  I wish I had known about homeschooling when my children were growing up.  I'd love to go back and do things differently as a parent and a wife.

Ramblin Rose (because she doesn't blog, just reads blogs)

TNT (because she's funny)

Luke (because I want to know)

Peter (I will not hold my breath on this one! :) lol.)

BrittLeigh (because even though I only know her through reading her treasurable blog, she might just do this~~she has more friends than I do.)

ANYONE--because I can't think of another soul.

Well, Heather, that's about it.  If you want to know more about me in the future...just ask.  My life is an open book.  selahV

   

ONE OF THOSE DAYS

Ever had one of those days?

When everything annoys you?  When you feel as though you can't get anything done?   When procrastination seems like a lifestyle worthy of pursuit?  Life has no flavor?   And the most you can hope for is that you don't have any bills in the mailbox?  My day started out like that today.  Pity me.

I posted a blog in GRIEF MATTERS.  Then I proceeded to make a liar out of myself for having written what I did.  I wanted to crawl back into bed and cover my head.  I didn't care if the sun shined, the earth quaked or the computer crashed.

Instead, I had a quiet time reading from Second Timothy.  Silence was deafening from the quietness of my moments with the Lord.

So I commented on a couple of blogs I'd found recently that I liked to visit.  I posted a new Blog Review I thought others might enjoy reading.  And I tried to post a blog here, on SelahV Today, but nothing came to my mind.  I drew a blank.

I was sipping my lukewarm morning coffee (disgusting in itself) and surveying my home...specifically my living room, dining room and kitchen.  I thought what a mess everything was.  Tell-tale signs of our trip this weekend rested on the floor.  Suitcase, dirty laundry, unpacked snack-bags.  The dog had tracked in dried leaves this morning and shoes were at the front door.  Along with those things, last week's dust lay mocking me on tables, chests and television screens.

I'd spent most of my time last week reading blogs, writing blogs, babysitting, weeding and gardening.  I ran errands, filed an income tax extension and ignored housework.  Now, I considered all the things demanding my attention.  Nothing was appealing about any of it.

I thought about the laundry.  Tomorrow~~I'll get to that tomorrow.  Last night's dirty dishes shouted from the sink.  For some reason it seemed like I'd left five-days worth, when in reality there was only a pot, a couple of bowls, and a mug or two.  On one-of-those-days, little annoyances seem much bigger.  Molehills become mountains.

Then I got a call.  Escape!  I can leave it all behind.  I went to play with my granddaughters so my daughter could do her bookkeeping.  However, as it turned out, she was able to go out to lunch with her husband.  Uninterrupted.  To me, that was one of the greatest things that happened today.  Then there were the giggles and smiles that poured forth from HayJae as we played ball, made a rainbow from strips of multi-colored paper, and pasted petals on her imaginary garden.

Later, we took a nap together.  Bliss.  Another escape.  I awoke refreshed, ready to tackle the world.  I came home and went through my house like ants at a picnic.

I went out and picked daisies from my flower garden.  A fresh bouquet for the dust-free dining room table, the hall chest and bathroom window-sill.  I filled the birdfeeders, then settled into my chair to watch the sparrows spook the cardinals.  Doves gathered beneath the feeders and picked at seeds strewn on the ground.

     I took some pictures of a Peace Rose I'd been patiently waiting to see bloom.  It's blooming today was one of those God-things.  It was a gentle assurance that someone I'd been praying for would be okay.

It wasn't till just a few minutes ago I realized one-of-those-days had melted into one filled with accomplishment, blessing and provision.  Nothing had changed from start to finish.  No great miracles.  No parades, or fan-fare.  Just an ordinary day, with ordinary things, ending in an ordinary way.  Like most every other day.  And through it all I prayed.

I prayed for a friend whose husband was going through a trying time at work.  I prayed for the parents of students in Virginia.  I prayed for Maggi, a mother of 4 boys, whose life was hanging by a thread.  I prayed for the Iraqi people.  I prayed for the families who were going to learn their father, brother, son had died in the roadside bombing in Iraq.  I prayed for a friend in Kentucky who was going through a tough time.

And I recalled the scripture I'd been reading this morning at 5:00 a.m.  "In a large house there are articles not only of gold and silver, but also of wood and clay; some are for noble purposes, and some for ignoble. If a man cleanses himself from the latter, he will be an instrument for noble purposes, made holy, useful to the Master and prepared to do any good work." II Tim. 2:20,21.

Much of my home--and my temple--is made up of things ignoble, worthless stuff.  But some of what I have is gold and silver.  When I cleanse myself of me and focus on others and the positive, and use the noble for the Lord, I become an instrument for noble purposes, made holy, and useful to the Master.  And then ordinary becomes extraordinary for someone else to have a better than ordinary day.  If not today, then one-of-these-days.

[copyrighted, SelahV Today, 2007]   

WHAT'S BLACK AND WHITE WITH FLASHES OF BLUE?

AN OKLAHOMA HIGHWAY PATROLMAN BEHIND ME TODAY.

I didn't think he planned on stopping me.  I was wrong.  I saw the flashing lights just as I ended the road construction and moved into the righthand lane.  "Oh, my gosh.  Was it when I sped up after I saw him behind me so close.  When I was trying to fix the cruise?"  I pulled over and got out my driver's license.  I knew what was coming.  Sorta.

He appeared at the window and I opened the one behind me.  It was my daughter's car and I didn't know which was which.  The officer looked at me like I was drunk.  "I stopped you for several reasons."

Several reasons?  "What?  What did I do?"

"For starters, changing lanes without a blinker."  Now I thought he was drunk.  There was only one lane.  The other was blocked off by orange and white barrels.  Why would I need to signal when there was only one lane?

"What do you mean?"

"When you pulled over to the right you didn't signal.  Then when you stopped you didn't signal."  What was he talking about.  There was no one behind me but him.  And the lane was closed on the other side.  I was confused.

"You mean I should have signaled that I was moving out of your way and onto the side of the road?"  I thought, this is wacko, but then he's the boss.  He's the authority, not me.

"Yes, anytime you change lanes you have to signal." I knew that but this was a futile argument.  "And you also almost hit one of those barrels back there.  And when you sped up, I clocked you at 71 miles an hour."  Okay.  Wait a minute.  This is nuts.  I just fell off a turnip truck.

"No way!"  He looked at me like I'd smacked his face.  Time to back off.  "Look, this is my daughter's car.  I'm not familiar with all the gadgets on it.  I was trying to set the cruise when I saw you behind me.  I didn't even know you were a police officer.  I can't figure it out.  I looked up and saw the barrel.  I'm on my way to Texas to have lunch with my granddaughters and now I'm going to be late."  I started to cry.  Real, genuine, frustrated, sincere tears.  "Look, officer.  I'm sorry.  No excuses.  Whatever you said I did, I'm sure I did.  I'm sorry."  I sniffed my nose which was now dripping.  "I need to go."

"I need your license and proof of insurance."  I handed him the license.

"I have no idea where the insurance card is.  This is my daughter's car."

"I'm gonna go back to my car with this and you look for the insurance card."

He left and I looked for a tissue.  My nose was running.  I looked at my watch.  I was going to be late and miss my youngest granddaughter's lunchtime.  Tears came stronger.  Silly, I know.  But I hadn't seen her in over a month and she was going to be really disappointed if I showed up to see her elder sister for lunch and didn't come eat with her, too.  My mind raced.  Maybe I'll just turn around and go home.  I'm over 45 minutes away and right now I have exactly 51 minutes to get there.

The officer came back to the window.  I gave him the insurance card I found in the console.  He handed it back and gruffed, "This is expired."  Great!  Just what I needed.  An expired card.  "Tell your daughter she needs to put the new one in the car."

Tell my daughter?  Is he kidding?  I'm not going to tell my daughter I got pulled over by the police and he said I was going 71 miles an hour in a 55 mile an hour zone and I almost hit a barrel!!!  Is he nuts?!!

"Oh, and you need to tell your daughter that she has a commercial tag on her vehicle."  Well, duh.  Of course it's a commercial tag.  They use it for my son's-in-law construction business.  I got to use it today because my van is a dilapitated piece of junk with no exhaust system, no airconditioning, a bad battery and leaking shocks.  Right at that moment, I wished I was sitting in my 1994 Chevy Astro in all its dilapitated glory.  This wouldn't have happened had I been in it.  I KNOW my car. "Yes, it's a commercial tag, so it needs the name of the business on the side or bold black identification lettering."  Whatever; just give me the ticket, I looked at my watch.

He must have read my mind. "I need you to sign here.  I'm giving you a warning."  How in the world did I get a warning?  With all the laws I'd broken, he should have been hauling me off to the pokey.  I didn't argue.

"Thank you, officer.  I'm sorry.  I know the majority of accidents are caused by inattention."

"And speed, and failure to signal, or stop and alcohol."

"Well, at least I don't drink."  He smiled.

"Have a nice day, maam.  And drive safely."  I looked at my watch.  I now had 40 minutes to travel 45 minutes.  I've never been so tempted in all my life to set the cruise for 6 miles above the speed limit.  But I didn't. 

As I cruised along Highway 44 on my way to Texas, I pondered what had just occurred.  Unknowingly, I had broken laws.  I may have had some good excuses--but they weren't good reasons.  I did it and I deserved a ticket.  I still can't believe I sped up to 71 mph while trying to figure out how to set the cruise at 55 mph.  But isn't that funny?  I'm so conscientious of going the speed limit that I speed trying to ensure I stay within the limit?  Only me.  My tears began to dry.  I was going to be late.  I would miss over half of Abby's lunch time, but I would at least be able to see her.

I took a deep breath.  Bright green rolling plains begged my vision.  New mown hay lay in orderly yellow piles where it had been freshly cut.  I could smell it.      

A brilliant display of blue flowers lined the highway and seemed to climb the embankments.  Oklahoma's vivid orange Indian Blanket patched the ground in between the blue.  Three-foot sprays of yellow flowers swayed in the ditch and along barbwired fencelines.  A herd of cattle dotted pastures resembling mixed nuts all sprinkled on the green grass.  A group of palaminos grazed with little foals.   Peace cleared the cobwebs of frustration from my mind.

"Thank you, Lord.  It could have been worse.  I could have hit another car.  I could have totaled my daughter's vehicle.  The officer could have given me a ticket I couldn't afford.  Thank you, for his mercy and Yours, Lord." [copyrighted, SelahV Today, 2007]   

I DON'T LIKE EVERYONE

I can't help myself.  I don't like everyone.  I need to know...am I alone?

I try my best to look for the good that is in others and many times I find far more good in non-Christians than I do in those professing to be Christians.  Some people are just bent on seeing the negative of every situation.  Some read a book just to find something they disagree with.  Some look at white and call it black.  And I swear if I put a huge black square on this screen and said it was black, there are some who would tell me it is charcoal or tinted navy.

So what does a person do when they don't like someone?  I don't know what you do, but I find myself praying for that person a whole bunch.  I find myself asking God to bless them and care for them and give them wisdom.  I pray for Jesus to fill them with the fruit of His Holy Spirit.

I wonder if He does that and then they pour out their goodness, gentleness, kindness, patience, love, joy, peace and self-control someplace else.  Cause I sure don't see any fruit coming from some of them.  Oh well, it really doesn't matter.  Today is over and I'm going to bed.  Tomorrow is a new day and the Lord will fill my day with cardinals and sparrows waiting expectingly at the back door for breakfast.  I get to play with HayJae and Kinsey all day while my daughter runs errands and does bookwork.

So, I'll just leave those prunes for another day--they just aren't worth chewing on today.

I'M NOW A SNAKE HANDLER

Yesterday my grandson, Jordy, called me up and said, "Grama, I've got some snakes for you."

Now, I'm sure most folks wouldn't think that was such a grand thing for an Easter present for a grama of my caliber. (I spoil my grandchildren with abandon).  And for the most part, I hate snakes!  Goes back to the Garden of Eden thing, I suppose.  HOWEVER...

when Jordy called with his announcement, I was elated.  He knew I wanted some snakes.  When we went to the pet store to purchase some little white mice to feed his 4-foot Python, I had asked the clerk if they had any snakes for sale.  She said, "Not yet, we don't have much call for them at this time of year."

So you see?  I'm not the only one who wants snakes.  It just wasn't the right time of year for supply to meet demand.  But Jordy is an explorer.  He's an adventurer and yesterday he went out back after our Sunday ham, scalloped potatoes and broccoli casserole dinner.  And he went exploring.  Beneath a bunch of debris, he found a family of garter snakes.  He captured two of them.  One was actually one-foot long.

I, not being one to play with snakes, was a bit edgy about how to release them into my yard.  My older grandson, Ryan, instructed that I turn the coffee can upside down on the spot in the yard I wanted to release them and leave the can on top of them.  That way they wouldn't scatter and slither away.  Well, I took his advice.

This morning I dug a big hole in the center of my compost pile and plopped my new-found friends into the hole and covered the can, snakes and all.  Now, hopefully in a few days, I'll be able to start distributing my compost without the threat of grubworms eating my tender plants.

Garter snakes are suppose to enjoy feasting on grubworms.  And since my grubworms are the size of my index finger, I'm sure my snakes will be quite satisfied.  I hope so.  I'd hate for them to leave my yard for my neighbor's greener lawn.

Afraid of snakes?  Not really.  Just the poisonous ones.  The others are created to balance the eco system.  Don't like my way?  Well, I asked for suggestions to get rid of my grubworm infestation.  Where were you two weeks ago? [copyrighted, selahV today, 2007]

 

WOE IS ME...

My heart cries.  My soul weeps.  My spirit moans.  For those who have ears cannot hear.  Those who have eyes cannot see.  And those who have minds cannot reason.  Deafness, blindness and confusion have invaded the hearts of some for pursuit of their own ways.

I pledge allegiance to the Lamb, for by His precious blood He gave me life everlasting.  I pledge my steps be lit by the path of His Lamplight.  I commit anew the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart that they be acceptable in God's sight.  I refuse to pledge allegiance to myself, my views, or another's views and opinions.

I am baffled at the wall of Jericho that will not fall no matter how many trumpets are blown or how many voices are raised or how loud the trumpet blares.  Our world is so sick--so ill, so filled with the evil of satan.  Young Christians gather for prayer and mobs mock them and curse them in the streets of San Francisco.  Crosses are removed from across the land and one in the Mojave Desert is covered with plywood by the ACLU because it is an offense to a minority of godless people in our land.  African Christians are being killed and unjustly imprisoned for observing a day of prayer in Zimbabwe.  And Christians are pitting their needs, desires and ambitions against other Christians with no regard to the collaterol damage they inflict.  Depravity visits our homes and we give it license to our minds by way of televisions and computers.   We scramble and shove and force our way to gain personal possessions, pleasures and comfort, while thousands upon thousands are dying in Darfur for lack of one cup of water, one plate of rice.   

I am grateful for a God who will right all wrongs, bring to light all darkness and remake it into His glory.  He reminds me, "For I the Lord your God hold your right hand; I am the Lord, Who says to you, Fear not; I will help you."  Why oh why, dear Lord do we not trust more in thee?  Why oh why dear Father do we not rest in Your promises?  Why oh why Almighty God enthroned above all the earth and heavens above, do we find pleasure in seeking solutions in our clumsey, impotent ways? 

"My flesh trembles and shudders for fear and reverential, worshipful awe of You, and I am afraid and in dread of Your judgements." Ps.119:120.  Yet I beg You my Father, "Deal with Your servant according to Your mercy and lovingkindness and teach me Your statutes.  I am Your servant; give me understanding (discernment and comprehension), that I may know Your testimonies."{124,125

Though I want to shout, "It is time for the Lord to act; they have frustrated Your law", {126, I bring my burdens to You my God and my Redeemer.  May You be manifested in all I say and do as I seek to be a peacemaker.  I have all but given up on those who war in stubborn rebellion against You, Father.  But I'm leaving my burden in Your hands now.  I take my rest in You.  I leave all reproof, admonition and exhortation to Your servants and beg You to make me an encourager.   "My times are in Your hands."

May this day be filled with the grace of my Savior and may all find solace in the presence of His Spirit as they breathe Your breath of Life.  Amen...  selahV [copyrighted, selahV today, 2007]

WHEN RIGHT IS WRONG...

...AND BLACK AIN'T WHITE.

THERE'S AN ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM.

I've never understood racism.  My mother abandoned my two elder brothers and me when I was just 3 years old.  Fortunately I was blessed with a wonderful nanny who cared for me like I was her very own--Trisha.  She happened to be black.  In those days, she was called a negro.  The first time I ever really noticed she was black was when I saw her shaving her legs.  I must have been about five.   She was all lathered up with white soap.  As she drew the razor up her leg, the black was stark against the background of white.  I recall as if yesterday, asking, "Trisha, how come you are black?"

"Oh, child, the Lord made me this way."

I didn't know much about the Lord at the time, but I knew the Lord was someone who was suppose to be good and if He made her black then it was a good thing.  Then I wondered, why am I white?  If black was good, then is white bad?  Trisha assured me that white wasn't bad either.  That the Lord made both black and white and both were exactly what He wanted them to be.

Through the years, I listened as my father called negroes "niggers".  Daddy thought the absolute world of Trisha.  I never heard him call her by that term.  But I heard him refer to other black people that way.  I never understood it.  Not then.  Today I do.  Daddy was prejudiced.  He was prejudiced by his own culture.  His upbringing.  By our country's disdain for black people.  I didn't know much about the politics of it all as a child.  I only observed the treatment of blacks.  I heard the names they were called.  I saw the way they were considered second-class (or worse) people.  It was confusing to me, especially since I loved Trisha as a mother and saw absolutely nothing wrong with being black.

When I was a freshman in highschool in Virginia, the first black girl was admitted to our all-white school.  I'd heard she was coming for days.  It was like some disease was on its way, that we should all be prepared.  I'm a bit surprised that they didn't have us vaccinated prior to her arrival.  Joyce Phillips Russell* was her name.  I'll never forget going to her and introducing myself.  She barely spoke to me.  I was trying to be nice.  But she came close to totally rebuffing my extension of friendship.  Then, I didn't know why.  Today I do.

Joyce was scared to death.  Lord only knows what she'd been through.  She'd lived her entire life knowing white people viewed her as trash.  She had to use a different drinking fountain.  She couldn't go into white restaurants.  She had to use a different restroom.  There's no doubt in my mind, she knew firsthand the racial bigotry that caused fellow members of her race to be hanged for less reasons than drinking at a white water fountain.  And now she was entering the white world with no other black person at her side.  I know I was not patronizing her.  In my heart, I didn't understand why others considered her any less a person than they did white people.  Trisha had taught me that as a little child.  But Joyce couldn't know what I'd been taught.  She only knew what she had experienced.

Today, over 45 years later, the divide between black and white is still here.  Much progress has been made on the part of blacks.  Much progress has been made on the part of whites.  But we still face the same suspicions, judgmental attitudes and prejudice that we faced back then.  Every time we get a bridge built, someone comes along and either blows it up, or rams the support beneath it.  This week a Christian brother rammed a support.

While I totally understand where he was coming from, I cannot condone where he stood when he made a hasty statement in anger and in intellectual rebuke of an entity he had been part of and with which he shared a common brotherhood.

I am certain he was sincere in his apology on another's website for what he'd previously said about a "lynching".  However, I do not believe his explanation for what he said about the "lynching".  I truly believe, he has issues with race, just as white people have issues with race.  There is an elephant in the room and I believe we all need to begin talking about that elephant or that elephant will trample us all to death--white and black.

I for one, have a great deal of difficulty trying to talk to blacks because of fear.  I fear I'm going to offend them.  I do not have to measure every word with anyone else--of any other race--as I do my black brothers and sisters.  I don't live in fear of reprisal.  I live in fear of not being understood.  Of being considered a racist.  Of being judged by an invisible standard based upon the history of men and women I never knew or even cared to know.

Black folks don't like being lumped into a stereotypical description of ghetto-mentality and I don't like being lumped into a stereotypical description of slaveownership-mentality.  When I say a person--be he white or black--is articulate, I am giving a compliment.  I have black friends who are married to white friends.  I don't think less of my black friends for marrying a white person, so why would I think less of my white friends for marrying a black person?

I love to hear black preachers preach.  I love the color they add to their messages.  I love the way they preach in cadence.  I love the fervor with which they preach.  I love the way they use a repetitive poetic statement and expound on it and plant the Truth in my memory.  I do not like all black preachers--no matter how they preach.  I do not like all white preachers either.

I want to be understood as much as my fellow black brothers and sisters want to be understood.  I'm just as tired of being considered a racist because I happen to be born white, as a black person is of being considered less than human because he/she is born black.

We are living in an age where finally two black coaches can take two integrated teams to the superbowl and win.  Neither of them lost that game this year.  We are living in a time when a man born to a black father and white mother can run for President of the United States.  It is sad to see the first woman running for President feel she must be black in order to beat that candidate for her party.  It's awful to hear the media continually beat the race drum regarding voters.  Rather than getting the votes...each candidate targets specific votes...according to race, gender, and faith.  What happened to equality and not discriminating?

I pray we can all begin to dialog regarding our different views without hiding beneath white sheets or pulling out ropes to make a point.  God is no respecter of color, but we are.  And until we admit we are, we are no better than the person we are accusing of the same racism.  I have one criteria by which I judge a man, a woman or a candidate for anything.  What fruit do they produce?  I want to be judged likewise.

I have no idea what is going on behind the scenes at SWBTS.  And unless a person is sitting in the chairs of all the trustees, they don't either.  And unless each individual with an opinion can read the minds, hearts and motives behind every word and action of the trustees, we are not in any place to judge.

That said, when any one of the trustees goes public with their feelings via written or uttered word, they have opened the door for inspection of their innermost character--whether they intended to or not.  And as brothers and sisters in Christ, we are accountable to God to correct, exhort and reprove.  But we are commanded to do so in love, gentleness and with a spirit of reconciliation.  Less than that is just as ungodly as any act an offending brother or sister has committed.

I invite anyone to share their ideas on how to better communicate with all races, all people or all genders.  Oh, dear Lord, that we all be blind to the color of our skin.  Oh, dear Lord, that we could all view others with Your eyes, through the crimson blood of the Lamb rather than through the history of others' discrimination.  Let us "purge out the old leaven" that we "may be fresh dough, still uncontaminated, for Christ, our Passover".  "Let us keep the feast, not with old leaven, nor with leaven of vice and malice and wickedness, but with the unleavened [bread] of purity (nobility, honor) and sincerity and (unadulterated) truth." (I Cor.5:7,8. Amplified)   Let this moment be significant, Lord.  Let it be significant for Your glory and not ours.   Let our need to be right be brought into Your Light and exposed for the wrong that it is.  selahV [copyrighted, selahVtoday, 2007] NOTE OF INTEREST, posted 3/11/07 : Peter Lumpkins has posted validation to this post on his blog and there is dialog on his post that gives great dialog on this subject.  I highly recommend you visit Peter's Blog and read the comment section. SelahV

[*May 19, 2012:  I recalled Joyce's last name to be Phillips for some reason.  However, according to her own book that is coming out, A Blue's Song of Her Own, her name was Russell]

TIME~~SAVE IT OR WASTE IT

Sometimes time stands still.

It's those times we have to wait for the water to boil, the coffee to perk, the popcorn to pop, the iron to heat up.  OR...in the case of my granddaughter pictured here--the rollers to curl her hair.  She loves what hot rollers do to her waist-long sleek honey-blonde hair.  But she sure hates waiting for those rollers to do their magic.

Makes me wonder how God can be so patient with me.  Bet He sits up in Heaven next to His Son Jesus and leans over and says, Son, is she ever gonna learn?  Hmmmn.

Time is a strange commodity.  We want more of it so we can use more.  While we count the hours, we waste the moments.  I can't tell you on any given day how much time I waste.  I do wonder sometimes.

What must I be doing in order not to waste time?  Save it?  How can I save it?  The more I rush around trying to save time, the more I seem to waste.  Ecclesiastes says there is a time for everything: a time to laugh--a time to cry.  A time to dance and a time not to dance.  A time to work and a time to play.  So I suppose time is less relevant in itself, than what one is doing within a given time.

Gosh, can you imagine?  God created the entire world in six days and then rested on the seventh.  Some weeks, given what I do, I rest six days and work one.  (If ya add up the hours of real-work-time versus wasted time)  I don't suppose sleep could be counted for wasting time.  But watching TV?  I do think that is a waste.  That's why I rarely watch it.  I must confess, I did watch American Idol last night and House.  Eeeek.  Dr. House pulled a humongous tapeworm from a girl's intestines that had been robbing her of vitamin B-12 and creating havoc in her endocrine system.  Gross thing to see.

I babysit my grandchildren quite a bit.  I don't consider that a waste of time.  Often I do it, because it gives my daughter time to run errands, catch up on bookkeeping and sometimes have lunch with her husband in peace and quiet.  And I get the added benefit of playing with playdoh, coloring mermaids, and painting rainbows.  Is that a waste of time?

I blog quite a bit.  I read alot more than I write, actually.  I've been learning alot of stuff I never knew.  I've learned differences in faiths.  Different Doctrines.  Politics of the Southern Baptist Convention. 

I've discovered how one person's attitude impacts another's attitude.  How one person's view inflames a multitude of others views.  And in some cases, how fruit-less it all appears in light of the true "fruit of the Holy Spirit".  I comment now and then when I feel my input is worth putting in.  But often, I'm misunderstood.  I'm not upset with that, though.  I've been misunderstood before, and I can truly understand how someone can get the wrong idea from another when they don't know that other person--their hearts, or their spirits.

Occasionally someone tells me my comments are "a bright light" or "encouraging" or "give them a laugh".  That is what I live for in the comments I leave.  I do want to be a bright Light and encourage folks to laugh.  Life is too short to be so intense that tension rules the Spirit within us.  There's just not enough time to waste it being angry.

Sometimes I just read the first two paragraphs of a person's blog and their summary--then I dive in to the comment stream.  Most times I only do that if I know some of the swimmers within the stream.  But honestly?

A lot of blogs are not worth reading.  Sorry.  I'm sure folks think that of mine, too.  I'm not offended though.  I don't really write to gain a huge audience.  I have a few friends who read me faithfully.  They copy my writing and give it to their spouses, or send it on to their friends.  That's neat.  Because if they like what I say, and it gives a moment of encouragement, or joy, or comfort, or edification to their thinking--I find that I've not wasted a second tapping out the words that I do on the keyboard before me.

Lately, I've been a bit tempted to read some of the more controversial blogs.  I noticed something about reading them, though.  They don't make me feel good.

Now, I don't mean that in a way that suggests I live by experience and feelings.  Because there is nothing I love more than my pastor's sermons on Sunday mornings when his Words prick my heart and convict me of change.  I'm talking about there are some blogs that do nothing...absolutely nothing to fuel the love I have in my heart.  The joy I want to impart.  The peace I want to render.  The gentleness, kindness and goodness I seek to emulate.  The patience and self-control I seek to cloister.  Some blogs leave me realizing I have truly wasted my time.

Then God says, "Oh, no, SelahV.  I led you here for a reason."  It's then I begin to question the Sovereignty of God.

But He gently and calmly tells me to pray.  "Pray without ceasing.  Pray blessings upon those whom you know are Mine.  Pray their hearts be softened and their eyes be opened.  Pray that their words pour forth as balms of Gilead.  Pray they repent.  Pray they seek My face, humble themselves and pray like I am calling you to do.  Pray they turn from any wicked self-exalting and self-centered way.  Pray for them, SelahV.  And then I will hear their voices and will open the windows of Heaven and pour out such blessings they won't be able to store them."

So I do.  And I will.  And I can't help but love them.  They are kin after all. [copyrighted,selahvtoday,2007]