Hope for Broken Hearts ~ Even When Faced with Death

My heart was broken last year and all we could do was hope and wait.

The best heart surgeon in the world broke my sternum, dug around hard cemented radiated-dead flesh to fix my heart that was ready to quit any day. He didn't know if my heart could heal from all that breaking. We could only hope and wait for the healing to come.

For weeks following surgery, I didn't have the strength to fight; I was merely existing as though buried deep already in all the dark. I would cry out: "to live is Christ and to die is gain." My desire was, "to be with Christ, for that is far better."

Then, I wanted to go back, if I could—like the Israelites had wanted to return to Egypt—and refuse the risky surgery; it was much easier to surrender to what had become familiar than to move forward. Quitting is the easy way out. In my complaining and muttering, I was giving in to easy.

Until I was pricked in my heart, convicted of how much I was grumbling about all this hard, dark life I was living in an intensive care unit, away from my children. When, all along, the Lord had provided this way through and would continue to lead me and would never leave me. I confessed, repented, and faced the dark, cold, lonely days of recovery with renewed hope, waiting on the Lord. Trusting and giving thanks in all circumstances, rejoicing that it would give others "ample cause to glory in Christ Jesus, because of my coming to you again."

I was told it would all take time. But, the passing of time is slow when the days are hard and healing is long. Winter dragged on but hope never ran out. 

Spring did come as sure as new seasons always do, and I could have wept to stand helpless and watch the wild rabbits chew off all the young tulip shoots when the long winter finally gave up to warmer days. Only a few tulips had survived.

Flowers fade. Hearts break.

But, there in the darkness, through all the storms, hope is sure.

Even when life doesn't turn up the way we plan, our hope is secure in the One who died, was buried and rose again.

When the apples were red and ripe on the trees, I bought more bulbs to plant in the front garden. Time ticks on, steady. Some days now race by. I thought we were too late to put these bulbs into the ground—September marched past and October refused to stick around any longer than her set 31 days despite my longing for more.

My heart continues to heal the doctor says. The thing we waited for, hoped for, is happening.

Life is hard. Waiting, suffering, healing, yes they are all hard, but there is always hope.

So today, after we heard the results from my latest heart echo, we stirred up the soil in the front garden as the sun gently beat down on our backs like a warm embrace for early November, and we planted.

Her Daddy grabbed the tools and she took hold of the bag of tulip bulbs and buried them in the warm dirt. Fifty bright red blooms shall break through the cold dark earth when another winter melts into another spring.

My son tells me tonight during his second bedtime snack, between bites of apple, "Mom, you how I said last week that I didn't miss you that much last year when you were in the hospital? Well, I did, but I think I was able to go on because God calmed me. If every day I thought about how you could die, I don't think I could have handled it—I wouldn't have been able to eat, I would have been exhausted. But, God helped me."

There is no doubt that dark, uncertain days and hard, heart-breaking circumstances will come. Don't lose heart. Wait. Hope. 

"He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary,and young men shall fall exhausted; 

but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint."

We wait…

strengthened by God, helped and sustained by his steadfast love.

We hope…

And my broken heart keeps on healing, held by our only Hope. 

{for more background to this narrative, click here.}

Voyage ~ Meditation of My Heart Mondays ~ And a gift for you

A small gift for you to print. 

Click here to access PDF for black background.

{and for other colours click on the word not the photo}

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*Prayer from The Valley of Vision: A Collection of Puritan Prayers & Devotions

You Are In the Right Place {Meditation of My Heart Mondays}

It's the morning after Mother's Day and you know what's on my heart?

I want to pack up and fly to Africa.

It's not because I want to escape from the mundaness of Mondays, especially after a day that can leave a women feeling like a failure.

Sometimes, I think it might be Africa that will help heal my heart. Break it and make it contrite and compassionate.

I know.  I know. It's crazy.

Heading to Africa is a crazy idea for someone who is not fond of hot and humid temperatures. And fond really may not be the right word for someone who lives with 30% lung capacity and has a hard time breathing in such conditions.

But, it's not a new idea. It's been in my heart for thirty years. Ever since my grade 3 teacher, Mrs Graves, shared her stories and treasure from Africa with her students way up here in Canada. I remember the snake skin she brought in and how brave ones ran fingers along the scales. There is no way I can go to a country with snakes like that. She is the teacher who taught me the old song: "Oh, we're from Nairobi; And we're on the best team; We do the Watusi; We're seven feet tall . . . "

She is also the one who reasoned from God's Word and explained the Gospel and persuaded me to believe the Good News of Jesus Christ.

A piece of my heart has been in Africa since I was eight year old, but it would seem a thirty-seven year old heart that has severe aortic stenosis has no place in Africa.

I've grown up hearing missionary stories, I've worked for an agency that forwards funds to and supports missionaries all over the world. I've wanted to go into all the world. I read many stories to my children of people who have gone. But, here I am. Here in Canada with a piece of my heart in Africa.

Still, it wants to pack up and fly to Africa on this morning after Mother's Day.

I know I'm not brave enough to face the big snakes and horrid rodents, I know I'm not sure of how my health would handle the heat, I know I'm not a risk taker to pack up and head halfway across the world.

I know that there is a huge ache in my heart for women who are oppressed and these women being rescued from the slums of Nairobi and all over the world who need to come back to the Father.

I know there are women who need to have the hope of the Gospel explained to them and given ways to release them from bondage.

I told my family that I don't want anything for Mother's Day this year, but to help women around the world who are oppressed. Young women who are mothers before they were ready. Young mothers who are left to fend for themselves and bear children that may end up just like their mothers if no one steps in to intervene and reach out with hands of compassion and love and share the hope of the Good News.

On Mother's Day, Ishmael, the director of the Shelter of Hope in Kenya, is in Canada. It's the hottest day of the year here so far and he says it's cool compared to where he lives. He stands in front of our Canadian congregation, our local body of believers meeting together to sing praise to God and receive teaching from God's Word, and he tells us he will try to keep it short since this is America.

He begins with thanksgiving for his life, his salvation, his wife, his family, the work he has to do for the Lord. He shares the work that began in 2007 and that is growing today. They have a vision to see the work of the Lord increase. People from Hope Bible Chapel in Kenya, who have very little, rejoice when they receive all that they have been given as from the Lord and give what they have that they might persuade others to believe. They know God will provide. They know God is faithful.

Ishmael waves his arms with the Bible in hands, exhorting us to look up. He challenges us, "Have you forgotten where you've come from?" If you have been raised up . . . then seek the things that are above. Look up for that is where our hope is. "There is no time to be wasted!"

He has his Bible open in Colossians 3 and reads the first seventeen verses and when he finishes the reading, he appeals to us, "If the Church can discover the power of love; we can do great things. We must open up so that the Holy Spirit can teach us to love one another."

It's a powerful message. This man who know what poverty looks like, he knows how to feed souls starving for more of God.

I wonder, does he looks around at all we have and see the poverty of souls here in America.

When he looks out to us I lean in so as not to miss the words he punctuates with strong feeling and he interjects, "You are in the right place. Because people are here. The Gospel is meant for people!" I scrawl these words down on paper and my heart is pricked.

The Gospel is meant for people. 

You are in the right place.

Because people are here.

The Good News is to be explained and shared and the love of Christ binds the broken and heals the sick. We must put on love and share the love of Christ that some would be persuaded to believe.





Later, when we are together for a bar-b-que, Ishmael shares quietly in a kitchen in Canada how they need a teacher to come to Kenya. Immediately I long to go. I know. I think it's crazy for an unqualified teacher, with a broken heart to even entertain this idea.

But, I don't deny that I want to pack up and fly to Kenya. I want to be with these women who use their time and hands now to make paper beads and string them into necklaces. I want to share the love of God with them and the orphans. And all I can do it buy a few of their beads.



I wake up in Canada on the morning after Mother's Day and there are people here.

My heart is torn.

The harvest is plentiful. Souls are starving and Christ came to set us free from bondage; to bring us back to the Father.

I look up. As one chosen by God, set apart and beloved, I am to put on a compassionate heart, kindness, humility, meekness, patience and above all these, love.

I give thanks to God through Jesus Christ, for the work He has called me to do.

Whether here or in Africa, all I can say is, "Here I am Lord, send me."

photo credit: {children in Africa} Chris Atkinson

3 Prayers on Your 13th Birthday {Meditation of My Heart Mondays}

It never dawned on me when I looked down on you all pink in my arms that I would have to look up at you in a blink of an eye. At 7:02 I heard your cry for the first time after groaning in labour all that long Good Friday. We made a few calls to let family know of the safe arrival of our firstborn; our baby girl. We heard later that word went round to our friends at the Toronto Easter Conference. That's how the news traveled those days, before Facebook and insta-announcements on social media. I know I should not be surprised. I figure I will be outgrown by all my children. I honestly didn't expect it to happen so quickly.

Exactly a blink later, so it seems, we were singing a jazzed up Happy Birthday to you on Palm Sunday at 7:02 on your thirteenth birthday. Yeah, we completely forgot to sing it with your friends and family gathered around to celebrate you. You wanted home-made donuts so I mixed, rolled, cut out and we cooked up a hundred of them and friends and family surprised you and came to help you eat them all. Somehow all those people fit in our kitchen and living room and your Dad spoke words of praise for you and to your Creator and thanked family and friends for speaking words of truth into you and appealed to them to pray for you as you begin these years of becoming a young woman.









After the donuts had disappeared, friends and family had filled pages with words of love and encouragement from their heart, and they took reminders to pray for you, we counted down minutes and sang in celebration.

We blinked and I'm still learning to breath. It still hurts.

I'm not sure who has learned more in the last thirteen years. I know we have both grown in unbelievable ways. I'm also aware that I used to be taller, but the bend in my back has notched me down an inch. I thought I knew everything there was to know about being a Mother, but it took me less than 12 hours to come to the conclusion that I had a lot to learn. It's a humbling experience, to become a young Mama and realize you have a lot of growing up to do. It notched me down, made me to bend down low and surrender everything I thought I knew, admit that I can't do this in my own strength,  and cry out the One who loves you more than you or I will ever realize, to give me wisdom and grace and love.

"For this reason I bow my knees before the Father . . . that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God." (Ephesians 3:14,16-19)

I beg prayers for you, cause I've learned I don't have the slightest idea of what I am doing. I hardly knew how to grow a child and I confess to you I have no clue how to raise a young woman.

Oh, it's true, I've read a lot. Ever since we stared stunned at the two stripes, listened in pre-natal class to learn how to properly breath a baby into the world, and checked on Google to see if I really was in labour a week early, I've read and read and read some more. Turns out I didn't really need pre-natal or to search the internet. You were coming whether Google said so or not and whether I was ready or not.

I've tried a slew of what some claim to be tried and true methods of children rearing, sleep training, ways to grow children. Dabbled in some of it, but thankfully didn't get sucked in and eventually tossed them aside. You and I didn't fit the mold. We didn't work well under strict, regimented rules. We cried together and even screamed and I should have known better. But, I didn't.

We've locked horns and I've had to pick the hills to die on and you've stomped your feet and I've put my foot down. I expected perfection and we've cried together as we have grown to learn that peace is so much more precious.

I wanted an easy way to raise a perfect child. I learned that there is no easy and there is no perfect. How should a mother demand perfect when she is no where near it? But, until she's taken down a notch, she might be blinded to see what she really needs. What her children really need.

We needed grace and love. And to be granted wisdom.

"And so, from the day we heard, we have not ceased to pray for you, asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God." ( Colossians 1:9-10)

I'll be the first to admit that I don't know what I am doing as we venture into the years ahead. But, I try not to depend on Google anymore, but turn to God first.

I worked hard the day you were born and the day you turned thirteen. But, I don't take any credit for the young woman you are becoming. God is working in you to bring you to completion.

"For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus." (Philippians 1:6)

Not for my benefit, or even yours, but all for God's glory.

We both have a lot of growing to do, but I am thankful that I get to be your Mom. To watch you transform from a beautiful child to a beautiful young woman—and not because of the make-up you could hardly wait to get your hands on. I'm mesmerized how you care with tender heart. How you can laugh at your mistakes and cry with others who are hurting. The way you are learning to persevere when things are hard and help others even when this world tells us to help ourselves first.



And when you hugged your weary Mama the night you turned thirteen and you seemed to tower over me already as I still held you it my arms, I breathed with a sign of relief that God is growing us both in grace and He looks down on both of us and holds us in His loving embrace.

"But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To him be the glory both now and to the day of eternity. Amen." (2 Peter 3:18)

Taste and See the Glory of Christ {Meditation of My Heart Mondays}

"Father, I desire that they also, whom you have given me,

may be with me where I am, 

to see my glory that you have given me

because you loved me before the foundation of the world."

"Eternal Father, 

[Y]ou never had a beginning. You will never have an ending. You are the Alpha and the Omega. This we believe, because you have revealed it to us. Our hearts leap up with gratitude that you have opened our eyes to see that know that Jesus Christ is your eternal, divine Son, begotten, not made, and that you, O Father, and he, your Son, are one God. 

We tremble even to take such glorious truths on our lips for fear of dishonouring you with withering and inadequate words. But we must speak, because we must praise you. Silence would shame us, and the rocks themselves would cry out. You must be praised for who you are in the world you have made. And we must thank you because you have made us taste and see the glory of Jesus Christ, your Son. Oh, to know him! 

Father, we long to know him. Banish from our minds low thoughts of Christ. Saturate our souls with the Spirit of Christ and all his greatness. Enlarge our capacities to be satisfied in all that you are for us in him. Where flesh and blood are impotent, reveal to us the Christ, and rivet our attention and our affections on the truth and beauty of your all-glorious Son. 

And grant that whether rich or poor, sick or sound, we might be transformed by him and become and echo of his excellence in the world.

In Jesus' name we pray, amen."

~John Piper, Seeing and Savoring Jesus Christ

Welcome Suffering When You Desire Super Power {Meditation of My Heart Mondays}

You can call it crazy. I prefer to call it curious.

While anticipating the birth of my firstborn I was eager to fully know what it would be like to deliver the living, growing child within my womb. I was determined to not have any pain-relieving medication during this agonizingly rip-roaring miracle. I wanted as natural a childbirth as possible and, besides, I have a strong dislike for needles.

Here's the curious thing: I wanted to know how painful childbirth really is. I wanted to go through the whole labour and deliver and experience the excruciating pain and the exhilarating joy.

Yeah, you could say crazy.

The stranger thing is when I was pregnant with my second, I was fully aware of the kind of pain that was ahead of me, but I still wanted to know if it would be just as intense as the first time. By the time I was swollen with my third child, you would think I would not need to wonder any longer, but my curiosity got the better of me. For the third time, I knew the multiplied pain in all its original curse.

I consider that bearing and bringing forth a child is a privilege and a blessing. By doing it without any pain management medication, I was enabled to feel the full extent of the power within to bring forth life. It really was an exhilarating kind of pain and I found out it's true when they say you will forget the pain (may I add, momentarily) when you know the exciting joy of new life.

We are afraid of pain and suffering. If we can avoid it, we will. And I'm not talking about the punishment of pain in childbirth now, but all suffering we endure for the sake of Christ.

What if we were crazy enough to embrace suffering for the sake of Christ?

I've always been struck with Paul's longing that he expressed in his letter that he penned while suffering in prison.

"that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead."

His goal and aim in life was to know Christ in an intimate and personal relationship. The great apostle knew that to know the power of new life, he would have to taste suffering and become like Christ in His death. 

Paul knew it's the one who suffers much that experiences the all-sufficient grace of God.

In suffering we will experience the exhilarating joy of God's power at work in us.

In the storms of life we will see the lighthouse that stands firm.

In pain our purpose is made clear.

A life without suffering lacks the need to look unto Jesus, the One "who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame" and was raised to heights of Glory at the right hand of the throne of God.

Resist suffering and you resist seeing God's powerful hand at work in your life.

Gratefully accept the thorns, the tremulous times, the troubles, and trials and God's power will rest upon those who gladly boast in their weakness.

Suffer for Christ sake and you will know a Power that brings forth new life.

Cause we're not just talking about crazy or curious perceptions in life, but the whole purpose of your life.

Dare I say, 'bring on the pain'?

***

Are you willing to share in the suffering to know Christ? Share in the comments how you endure suffering for the sake of Christ?

Take a Break From Your Plans and Know His Presence

There's that saying that you can't see the forest for the trees. Well, I could barely see the trees.

So, I took a break. Kinda like when someone tells you to 'take a hike'.

It was a much needed break. I thought it would last a week. However, when the week had wrapped itself up, I found myself lost. I wasn't exactly sure how to find my voice back in this place.

I wanted to lose it altogether and, I think, maybe I did.

I got lost in a forest and couldn't find my own way out. I fainted and couldn't pick my own self up. I couldn't see clearly and I wanted the eyes of my heart to be enlightened that I could cling to living hope. To see the trees before me and know there is a greater plan. To remember hope remains even when I don't know the way winding through the woods.

I had to quiet everything down and focus on what was right in front of me. I had to stop to look deep into the ones that I could reach out and touch to know that I was really alive. I had to fall down to be able to walk on in faith.

What I thought would be a break, ended up breaking me.

I had to lose myself all over again to know that I really had been found.

I shut myself off from the noisy clamour all around me to pay attention to the soft gentle Voice of Truth and wait for Him to whisper.

What came loud and clear in the deafening silence was the truth that good things can take the place of God. Oh, the ugly reality that once that happens is they are no longer good things, but gods.

When you wake up to that you are forced to weigh in on some soul-searching questions.

Am I worshiping good things rather than God who has made all things?

Am I filling the longing for God's eternal presence with good and beautiful things that are meant to only point to God, not be gods?

Am I concerned more about my power, my plan, my purpose?

I thought I was discouraged from pouring out my life, but am I just desperate to be free from self-centred living?

I thought I would hush the distractions, but I was silenced and I saw idols.

I didn't just lose my voice, I lost my life all over again.

When I stopped to be quiet and I stilled to know God, my hands reached out to touch His mercy and my heart was assured of His presence.

Like the bleeding woman who touched the hem of His garment, she had to lay down low, reach out in simple faith and wait to filled to be able to stand up in His strength. His power went out into her. She was empowered to do the next thing.

One step at a time.

In my brokenness He gently embraced.

In my weakness He gave His power.

In my fainting He promised His presence.

In my lostness He found me and leads me home.

He never lets go and when I was trying walk by sight and lost my foothold, He was gently leading me on to higher places.

With Him.

Gathered in His arms, carried close to his heart.

{email subscribers can listen to 'Clear the Stage" by following this link} 

"Take a break from all the plans that you have made.

And sit at home alone and wait for God to whisper.


Beg Him please to open up His mouth and speak.


And pray for real upon your knees until they blister . . . "




"Anything I put before my God is an idol.

Anything I want with all my heart is an idol. 

And anything I can't stop thinking of is an idol. 

And anything that I give all my love is an idol."

{lyrics from the song "Clear the Stage"}

When the Little Teapot Is All Poured Out and Needs to Be Refilled

"So we do not lose heart. 

Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.

For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an

eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison,

as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. 

For the things that are seen are transient,

but the things that are unseen are eternal."

{2 Corinthians 16-18}

You see her sitting up there on the shelf. She's all out of steam. She's wasting away.

That shelf is perhaps just what she needed.

She had felt the heat so often, reached the boiling point, and she couldn't keep convincing herself she just had to keep going when really she needed to stop.

She had been poured out, burnt out, and almost rusted out.

That's when someone rescued her and put her up on a shelf.

It was time to take a break.

The noise in the world around her was too loud, too intruding, disrupting the peace, and making her fail to see she still had a purpose.

It's scary to be shelved. It's a vulnerable place to sit there and be still and quiet.

She wasn't sure she be able to fulfil her purpose up there.

She wanted to be useful.

She wanted to be beautiful.

She wanted to be fruitful.

She wanted to be graceful.

But she was empty.

It was time to put away distractions and pay attention to the dearest things in life.

It was time to be filled up before she could pour out any more.

It was time to come away from the noise and listen more closely to the Soft Gentle Voice of God.

Taking time out to be refreshed, renewed, restored.

Will return to pouring out my heart here when I've been refilled.

When You Are Weary You Need a Wilderness

The world is noisy.

Our lives are busy.

The distractions in our days are many.

There is much work to be done.

There are many places to go.

There are multitudes of people to love.

We are weary and worn.

We wonder how we will meet all the demands on our lives and precious time.

We find ourselves pulled in many directions.

We are simply unable to please so many people.

The solution is simple, but not easy.

After busy days, the best thing we could do is follow the example of Jesus.

Find a secluded place and spend time in prayer.

It requires sacrifice, surrender, and abandoning our own self-desires.

We need to go against the flow to slow down and slip away.

We need to quit trying to please everyone to withdraw to a quiet place to pray.

We need to remember it is not all about our plans in life, but God's purpose for our lives.

"But Jesus Himself would often slip away 

to the wilderness and pray."

{Luke 5:16}

The Golden Axe Will Eventually Lose its Lustre BUT The Golden Rule Will Eternally Shine {Meditation of My Heart Mondays}

“So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them,

for this is the Law and the Prophets."

{Matthew 7:12}

These days most would say brains over brawn.

But, when it comes right down to the heart of the matter there is something even better: a man that is committed to living out the sum of all that is written in the Scriptures. In a nutshell, a man that whole-heartedly loves God and his neighbour. This man knows his duty is to live according to the royal law, the law of love.

Twenty-five years ago, or maybe closer to thirty, there was a single woman raising her children on her  own. I have no other details. I don't know why she was single. Perhaps she was grieving the loss of her husband or experiencing guilt or shame for life choices she had made.

I don't know how she managed to care for her children, or if she was even able to feed them nutritious meals. I wonder how she survived her days if money was tight or how she braved her nights when dreams were tormenting. I don't know if Loneliness was her lousy companion, or if she chose to rise above her circumstances, but I hope she lived believing she was called Beloved.

I could act as a good reporter and dig up all the lurid details, or write up a sensational story about this woman's life, but it's not the specifics that make this particular story so heart-wrenchingly beautiful. This story is not about the status of a person, rather it's the way some people loved with hearts that beat in time to the King of love.

All I know is that she needed help. She needed fire-wood to keep her children and her own self warm one cold Canadian winter. And there was a small group of men and women who had a deep desire to pour out God's love by helping those in need in their little backwoods community. They knew the importance of treating their neighbour just as they themselves would desire to be treated.

Men and women who met together to pray and sing praise to their Saviour, break bread at the Lord's Supper, and listen to the teaching of Biblical truths every week, also met together one winter's day in the bush. They hauled axes over their shoulders, tromped deep into the wood, and with all their heart and all their strength, cut right through logs. Men of dust, bent their knees down low, did back-breaking humble work with their feet planted firmly on the forest humus, and split wood for a woman.

The man who owned the bush, I've been told, was a quiet man, so he may not have had words to offer, but he gave what he had.

The man of few words gave his wood.

It started an annual tradition and it became known as the "Bush Party".

Years later, however, it didn't seem appropriate to call an annual church gathering a 'bush party' so it was re-named. In 2014, at the event now called the "Snow Ball", wood-splitting was brought back in the form of a good old-fashioned competition. After roasting hot dogs on an open fire, axes fell on ash logs, and the champion was determined by the man who split his log into six pieces with the least number of swings. Crack after crack, the excitement in the competition grew, and laughter and cheers echoed off still standing trees.

A golden axe was presented to the champ who had split his log with 5 strategic arches of the axe, cutting through the air and chopping that frozen log into firewood.

I have a feeling that this first annual wood-splitting contest won't be remembered in another thirty years in quite the same way as that year almost three decades ago when love was shown to a neighbour in the splitting and sharing of wood.

Yes, of course, it may be a small honour to have your name on a golden axe, but it's of great value to live out what has come to be known as the golden rule of Christ.

Not all of us will handle an axe, or have wood to give away, but "whatever you want people to do for you, do the same for them."

Next year, I hear, there will be more logs ready for another competition, and another name added to the golden axe. Perhaps another generation of men and women who meet together on Sundays and desire to live the golden rule, will gather in the same bush and split wood for another neighbour in need.

For when we live our days according to the Golden Rule of the King of Love the Light shines on in the darkest night.

"In Him was life, and the life was the Light of men."

How are you living our the Golden Rule of Christ?

In what ways has your heart been stirred to love your neighbour as yourself?

Every Tongue Needs a Bridle {Meditation of My Heart}

"Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, 

but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, 

that it may give grace to those who hear."

{Ephesians 4:29}

So I'm really thinking there's something about that old adage. The one that says that 'if you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all'. At least it's one I've been digging out from the treasure chest of proverbs and been reciting for my children.

The way they sometimes talk to one another makes my toes curl. It breaks my heart that my own flesh and blood is sparring words with my own flesh and blood.

Some would say it's harmless sibling rivalry and that really it's quite tame. We have pretty strict rules when it comes to speech in our home. I've little tolerance for inappropriate words. Only once in my life have I let a swear word slip and that was in grade 8, when I thought it might make me sound 'cool'. I decided then and there that I didn't have to use such vocabulary to describe my feelings and I figured it showed a lack of intelligence to have to use such language. My virgin ears still cringe when I hear coarse language.

Nonetheless, the words in our homes need to promote growth and not provoke grievances.

"If anyone thinks he is religious and 

does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart,

this person’s religion is worthless."

{James 1:26}

The way siblings treat one another has a large impact on the person one becomes. After all, how many of us still have scars from third degree burns that all originated from very small sparks from when we were young?

So, we're a week into the new year and we're supposed to be getting back into routine after the holidays. But, we find ourselves with snowdays and sickdays and everyone is getting cabin fever and I look over the fence where the grass always appears greener and reckon that an ordinary day would be quite lovely right about now.

Finally it's Friday, after the blizzard has blasted on and the stomach bug has run its course and it looks like the house needs special attention.  We're all tackling the wreckage when the forest is set on fire. Back-up may need to be called in soon for I'm not sure how much longer this fire-fighter is going to last. I charge in, douse the flames and lead my son by the hand and sit with him for a spell, let him cool.

The silence hangs for a minute and I look into his eyes, while I pray for wisdom and wait for the right words to come. I slice into the hushed mood, tell him that he needs a shield for his tongue. He looks curiously at me like I just spoke in another tongue. I pause, look around and see his foam shield that's sitting right there beside me. I paint this picture that our words can hurl daggers that hurt and our mouths need shields on them so that we don't hurt those around us with our words. I tell him that even David asked the Lord to set a guard over his mouth. David loved God, but still needed God's help for him to keep watch over the door of his lips. And James said that although our tongue is only a small member, it can do great damage.

"And the tongue is a fire, a world of unrighteousness. 

The tongue is set among our members, staining the whole body, 

setting on fire the entire course of life, and set on fire by hell."

{James 3:6}

Before he prays, asking for God to forgive him and help him to guard his tongue, we ponder what he should do when he's frustrated and upset and doesn't know how to contain his tongue and he's sounding a lot like Eustace in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

We decide he needs to bite his tongue. That way he can feel the pain he's about to inflict. For it's pretty hard to talk when you are clamping down on your tongue.

And by Sunday, when we're all in the van on the way home from church and the quarters are tight and tummies are rumbling and somehow when you're hungry words don't drip like honey and the sparks start to fly, the three year old, who is onto us, pipes up:

"Bite you' tongue."

What has been the meditation of your heart today? And how has it helped the words of your mouth be sweet?




*linking with Inspire Me Monday and Sharing His Beauty