Masked and Tired

I clipped a fuchsia silk flower in my hair and pulled the elastic of the plastic sombrero under my chin, both accessories reminding me of past vacations in tropical destinations. My bright yellow sunglasses sat ready on my desk. It was Beach Day in our Kindergarten room: a completely spontaneous idea suggested at the end of the day on Thursday; a Spirit Day to revive our waning spirits. My teaching partner and I had decorated the room with paper lanterns, seashells, palm trees, as well as a photo booth in the corner, sporting a huge painted cardboard sun and waves. The children would be high on excitement and bursting with energy when they arrived in their shorts and tank tops or frilly sundresses. We were setting ourselves up for loud and boisterous (typically undesired adjectives for school days).

Just before the first child arrived, I layered on the COVID-gear. I stretched the elastic of the mask over my ears and under my fun turquoise shell earrings, careful to avoid tangling with the elastic of my little hat. I added my voice enhancer headset, adjusting the microphone in front of my mask and attaching the cord to the speaker in the pocket of my apron. I pressed the wire of the mask for a tighter fit over the bridge of my nose so my sunglasses wouldn’t fog up. Maybe I could avoid wearing the safety glasses today? The correct answer here is no – sunglasses, no matter how big, do not have side pieces that provide the necessary protection against potential droplets going into my eyes. I’d have to swap the fun glasses for my safe ones every time I interacted closely with a child. Sigh. Thanks, COVID.

We’re trying to make the best of it. We infuse fun wherever we can, while plodding through the month of March with its time change and regular spring fever affecting the children in ways that challenge our patience. Beach Day should have been the last day of school before March Break. In years past, teachers left the school shortly after the final bell with airplane tickets in hand or heading to the public library to pick out some fun reads for the relaxing week ahead. The Canadian winter is long, and with the added challenges of online learning for a large part of this one, teachers are tired. But, hey, we recognize we don’t have the same risk as healthcare workers and our hours are much shorter. It could be worse. Sigh.

Throughout the day, I pull on the nose piece of my mask. Not touching my face is impossible while wearing this unnatural covering. The constant pressure on my nostrils drives me crazy and the requirement to wear it the entire time we are on the property, indoors and out, propels me out for a walk each day after my supervision duty. The relief to take off that obstruction for a face-break is indescribable. Yet, as I walk in the neighborhood, I feel judgement from those passing me on the sidewalk wearing their masks the whole time they go out to do errands. Their excursion doesn’t likely take over six hours. Sigh.

We wear masks all the time, though, even when there’s not a world pandemic. We often wear a mask of strength and responsibility: portraying to the world that we have it all together; that we can handle anything thrown our way; that we don’t need anyone’s help; and sometimes that even includes God’s help. I’m taking off my mask today for a minute to admit I’m exhausted.

Type A people like myself are busy all the time. We don’t know how to relax. Relaxing is a waste of time. I could be doing something, getting something accomplished. I just ate my breakfast sandwich standing up because there were things I could do while chewing…

This week, my evenings have been completely unproductive, which causes me grief for not meeting my goals. My husband, who works from home and is alone all day, had an irritable, tired condo-mate when I returned each night.

When I let my mask slip, people don’t understand why I’m no longer fun to be around. My mask does a fabulous job of hiding how I feel.

I’ll admit, I have it easy. I have no little children running around (at home!), demanding my attention. I have no pressing housework that absolutely has to be done this weekend. I have a husband who regularly makes my bed and washes my dishes. I have a lot to be thankful for. I feel guilty for feeling tired, and that in itself is exhausting.

What do you do when you feel this way? Some would suggest to take a nice bath, read a book, have a glass of wine, put your feet up, book a massage. Those things sound lovely, but what I really need is refreshment that only my Maker can give me. I need His strength. I need His peace to flow into my buzzing mind and create a calm, quiet space where I can rest in Him.

If you too feel tired: tired of the pandemic; tired of isolating from those you love; physically tired of pushing yourself too hard, I’d like to share the verses I’m pulling out of my Bible today as a rope ladder to climb out of this funk. Climb with me.

Father, You didn’t create me to live my life alone and in my own strength. It was Your intention that I would partner with You in my daily walk. I ask for Your peace to fill me and show me how to rest. I ask for Your strength to do the things I have to do and the wisdom to discern what things can be put aside for a while. Refresh my spirit. Let my Jesus-glow shine once again as Your love pours into me. Amen.

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Palm Trees vs. Icicles

We stood on the edge of the curb, ready to dart in front of rapidly-moving cars, unsure if they would slow down when they saw us. Hordes of small white cars matching Herbie the Love Bug weaved in and out of the four lanes, cutting off other drivers and blaring their horns at each other. With no crosswalk or pedestrian light to help, this was the street Hubby and I had to cross to get from the small café where we ate breakfast each morning to the beautiful hotel on the beach where we were staying.

A tropical storm had swept through Acapulco the night before, leaving palm tree branches and debris scattered about the streets and brick walkways. The cars ran over it all without pausing.

I shielded my eyes with my hand as I watched for a break in traffic. The May sun attempted to defeat the cloudy gray sky, promising a better day for tourists like ourselves; although I wasn’t looking forward to our glass-bottom boat excursion on the remaining white-crested waves.

We had been in Mexico for a week already and, discovering our young palates were not accustomed to the general spice and avocado-packed menus, we appreciated the simpler foods that this small café offered on the other side of the busy street. Our morning routine involved scampering across the four lanes to sit at the red-and-white-checkered table with a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice and a bowl of Corn Flakes with a sliced banana on the side. We appreciated the taste of home, although back in Newfoundland (where they had to be flown or ferried into our island home), the orange juice and bananas never tasted as fresh and scrumptious as these. It was worth the little game of Frogger we played with the traffic each morning.

Yet even after a week of this dangerous endeavor, my heart pounded with fear. The cars zipped past with very little break in the pattern of the flow; rush-hour madness seeming to be the norm.

My new hubby yelled the signal, his one-word shout resembling the starter’s pistol at a race. And his trusting new bride ran across one lane, then two before I suffered a blow to the chest hard enough to stop my motion forward. A huge palm branch, broken from the overnight storm, had fallen from one of the trees lining the street, the wind whipping it directly at me. I screamed even as the breath was knocked from my body by the unexpected force.

Hubby frantically cheered me on from the other side, recognizing that a dangerous journey had just been upgraded to life-threatening.

I knocked the large aggressor to the ground and forced my legs to move even faster to make up for the time delay. The blaring horns were effective motivators to increase my speed.

As my second foot cleared the street, I felt the air current behind me change with the first passing car. That was a close one.

Hubby held me tightly until my heart resumed its normal pace and my Corn Flakes dislodged from my throat. A windy ride in a glass-bottom boat didn’t seem so scary anymore.

I think we may have eaten omelettes from the hotel restaurant the next morning…

Despite this vicious attack, I do not harbor any resentment toward palm trees. In fact, facing down the cold month of March ahead, I’ve had an image of a beautiful palm as my phone’s lock screen for the past two weeks. To me, palm trees represent tropical destinations, the warm sun, and relaxing vacations (when you’re not running for your life). Our Canadian climate doesn’t support the growth of these majestic plants, so even the most unkempt palm outside of the tourist areas looks beautiful in my eyes.

What do palm trees have to do with icicles? Absolutely nothing. But I’d like to propose a trade. I would like to trade these frozen stalactites hanging from the roofs of houses, creating their own dangers to those walking below on a milder day, symbolizing never-ending winters with bone-chilling winds and mountains of snow. I would like to trade them all for a palm tree.

In the years leading up to 2020, one only had to book a flight, give your visa number to a resort, and pack your bags and, presto, this magical trade happened with very little effort required. We would leave our down-filled coats in the vehicle that transported us to the airport (usually driven by one of our sons) and fly away from the ice and snow to hug palm trees and exfoliate our bare feet with golden sand. Those were the days.

Now palm trees reside in my imagination alongside unicorns and dragons. I believe in their existence, but I’m not sure I’ll ever see one in person again.

We don’t like change much, do we? Disruptions or impediments like the offensive palm tree branch hinder our forward movement and stop us from reaching our goals. COVID-19 has stolen our freedom, wreaking havoc in all areas of our lives; the ability to travel being one of the least serious losses. One day we’ll lie on a hammock stretched between two palm trees (TWO!) and remember the pandemic of 2020 and 2021 and thank God for vaccines and restoration of normalcy. Yet, when humanity goes through a disruptive event such as this, does it ever go back to the way it was before? We face the future changed.

This interruption in our lives will not be knocked away like my tree branch as we continue on our life’s path. It will alter our journey; change the way we see things, the way we do things from now on. Will we ever shake hands, hug, or kiss cheeks to greet someone? Will we ever let strangers get within our six-foot-personal-space moat?

Definitions of change include “to become different; to undergo transformation, transition, or substitution” (Merriam-Webster). Nowhere in the description of this word is there a negative connotation. Change is not necessarily a bad thing.

As I’ve spent more time with God this year, getting up earlier in the mornings to read my Bible and talk to Him, I’ve changed. I acknowledge my place in God’s family as His daughter and recognize that I want my life to represent Him well. That means glorifying Him in my words and actions. It means asking Him to be with me during my day, helping me with that goal. I want to be more like Jesus – that’s a transformation that holds no negativity.

For some of us who haven’t been impacted drastically by the pandemic through such things as the sudden death of loved ones, loss of our jobs, mental health issues due to fear and/or stress, addictions, domestic violence, or other sombre challenges, we can view this COVID nightmare as a wake-up call to draw closer to God and to trust Him more.

Be assured, Daughter of God, that while we change, and our circumstances change, our heavenly Father does not. It is written in Malachi 3:6, “I the Lord do not change…” and it says in Hebrews 13:8 “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” The same God who loved us enough to sacrifice His own son to save us loves us enough to support us through temporal earthly changes. He has been with us through this pandemic and will continue to hold our hand as we come out of it: different; transformed; changed.

And if you have navigated through some of these things listed above during the past year, God wants to rescue you too. He wants to live in your heart and give you courage and strength to face your hardships. Just invite Him to join your journey.

Whether the challenges of life resemble falling icicles or palm tree branches, God promises to protect us and lead us through the obstacle course of life. All we have to do is trust Him and follow His instructions.

Lord, I give my life to You. Show me how to navigate the changes that the pandemic has created in our world. I trust You to take control.

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Howling at the Moon

Big tears drip off the edge of Maddie’s cheeks. “You always get to do it!” she howls over the noise of twenty-four other children putting away lunch bags and getting ready for outdoor play.

Super Teacher dives into the situation; close but not too close. Maddie is not wearing her mask. “What’s wrong, Maddie?”

The issue is revealed through her sobs. I take a step back instead of forward. Sometimes the battle between comforting versus COVID makes me feel less like a hero and more like an uncaring monster.

“She always gets to put the lunch bags away,” is the charge. A fresh howl.

I focus on the word ‘always’ and observe the other girl returning three lunch bags to the shelf. I hold in my own howl at the action which was meant to be helpful, but is not following safety protocol.

“I want to be the one to put them away sometimes!” Maddie wails, unaware of the possible danger involved.

I swallow the retort regarding her speed and how someone else will always be ready before her and resist the urge to point out her still-open lunch box.

“I’m sorry you’re so upset, Maddie.” Comfort… comfort before COVID. “I see that you wanted a turn to be helpful and kind to your tablemates. That shows your kind heart.” Now, COVID… “But we really shouldn’t be touching anyone else’s lunch bags. Remember, this year we have to avoid touching anything that isn’t our own. It’s not safe. I will tell Avery as well.

I see Avery through the corner of my eye skipping happily out the classroom door to get dressed. Another bubble to burst.

I turn back to Maddie. “Take some deep breaths and pack up. It’s time to get ready to go out and play.” I squeeze her arm near her shoulder. It’s not a hug. It’s a hug she needs.

Overall, the children are more boisterous today. They bring their ‘outdoor voices’ inside and need constant reminders about the noise level in the room. They are quick to get upset, and irritation wins over kindness in many cases during their play.

At the Recess bell, I destroy my well-coordinated winter look with a bright orange sash and head outside to the ‘big kids’ yard’ to supervise the play of the older children. The time flies as I deal with conflict after conflict; at least one in every corner of the large area.

My relief in hearing the end bell is quickly dispelled as I watch a boy punch another in the head. Angry faces; retaliation; foul language shouted through masks — I rush to this corner to break it up. The more aggressive child howling a string of curse words gets my undivided attention, while the other child disappears to the line-up to go inside. I know his name. There will be follow-up.

With his opponent gone, the boy turns to me and continues his verbal assault with a new target. “You teachers never listen. You don’t care!” The accusations went on, seasoned with f-bombs and other colorful words, oozing disrespect. He alternates between howling through his mask and pulling it down to be better heard, and my COVID-danger sensors shriek again.

As I deal with this latest challenge, I can’t help but think how grateful I am that it’s Friday and we have less than two hours of school left to navigate. The amount of tension in the air does not match the sunny, mild winter day.

Some might accuse me of a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts, since I had started my day quite aware that the moon was to be at its fullest tonight. Full moons are never fun days at school.

Werewolves, vampires, and time-travelers going through stones are not the only creatures impacted by full moons. Those of us in the field of education will testify to atmospheric energy shifts in the classroom. For the entire week leading up to a full moon, the children are louder; their behavior noticeably different. At least, it seems that way.

Yet, an internet search of how a full moon affects human behavior does not support this way of thinking. Writing for healthline.com, Rebecca Joy Stanborough (2020) documents that despite nearly 81 percent of mental health professionals believing that this natural phenomenon can make people ill, there’s no real evidence that it does.

She suggests, after considering numerous studies into the matter, “For the most part, a full moon doesn’t cause people to become more aggressive, violent, anxious, or depressed.” There are findings to support that there is a link between the phases of the moon and changes in symptoms of bipolar disorder. There’s also some evidence that a full moon can lead to less deep sleep and a delay in entering into REM sleep. In addition, some studies have shown a slight change in cardiovascular conditions during a full moon. However, she concludes that, while scientists continue to study the matter, it appears the effect of this heavenly body on our earthly bodies is less powerful than most people believe.

If we can’t blame the moon for our negative behavior, who can we blame it on? As humans, we do like to have a scapegoat. We like to find explanations and justifications so that we don’t have to feel responsible for our actions. So often when I intervene in conflicts at school, the accused child starts their first defensive statement with the words “But he…” or “But she…”. In other words, You’re looking in the wrong place here. I’m just responding to the wrong done to me. I’m just reacting to my circumstances. Isn’t that how we often feel when someone points out our less-than-stellar behavior?

God didn’t create the moon to be our scapegoat. Psalm 104:19 reveals His intention.

Throughout the Bible, the Jewish people did schedule many of their feasts and special ceremonies on the new moons and full moons. There seems to be something significant about those days. However, this celestial body does not dole out hall passes to excuse our sin.

Daughters of God, let’s not follow Eve’s pattern of passing the blame; not to our husbands, our menstrual cycle, or the phase of the moon. It is our sinful nature that causes us to sin, and we are responsible for our behavior. When we do slip, God expects us to repent and ask for forgiveness. Similar to my expectations for students, He doesn’t want to hear excuses; He wants to hear genuine remorse in our voice when we promise to try harder next time.

The good news is that God’s love for us doesn’t waver, no matter which day of the year it is. Even during the full moon.

Lord, help me take responsibility for my messes and failures. I repent of my sin and accept Your forgiveness. Help me to represent You well as Your daughter.

Source used: Stanborough, Rebecca Joy. MFA. (2020, September 17). How Does a Full Moon Affect Our Physical and Mental Well-Being? Healthline. https://www.healthline.com/health/full-moon-effects#about

Loving my Neighbors

But their dog — their little crackie that never stopped barking. Never. Stopped. If my neighbor’s dog was in the backyard, he was yipping and yapping. I’d unwittingly walk toward my barbecue with a plate of steaks balanced precariously in my arms with the cutlery, steak spice, oil, my e-reader for entertainment, my cell phone for timing the meat, and I’d nearly lose the whole load on the bricks when he attacked verbally from the other side of the fence.

As a teacher, I like to spend my summer in the sun, which, when I lived in my last home, involved many hours lounging in my backyard by the pool. But that dog made it difficult to enjoy. Running over it accidentally while backing out of my driveway had been a recurring dream (I mean nightmare?) of mine.

Did my attitude towards their dog impact my relationship with our neighbors? Absolutely.

I didn’t go out of my way to be mean. I didn’t throw drowned mice from my pool over the fence or leave rat poison around the edges of our property. But I never had a real conversation with them either. The longest sustained conversation sounded like this:
“Could you please trim the vines instead of pulling them out of the ground?” (Vines were inexplicably disappearing from my side of the fence like a cartoon rabbit was pulling them underground.)

The disembodied voice came through the fence slats: “Oh, I’m trimming them.”

“Please do. I’d rather they weren’t destroyed.” My words were spoken in a genial tone, and I was mannerly. I said ‘please’ twice.

But she lied. The pile of dead vines at the curb on garbage collection day bore witness to her untruths. So, add destruction of vines to the noise pollution. Did I mention how the mister would park his big truck in a way that took up the whole curb and prevented our boys from parking their car in front of our house? How he didn’t seem to know when his tires were parked on our grass instead of the pavement-side of the curb?

I admit we didn’t invite them to cool off in our pool on hot summer days like we did the neighbors on the other side. Nor did we go to their house for Karaoke Night or to play Skip-Bo. But we loved them with the love of the Lord. Sure, we did.

Did they know we were Christians? They may have seen us driving off on Sunday mornings with our church clothes and Bibles in hand (the Bible app on my phone is visible, right?), but no, we didn’t show them the love of God. And yet our Bible, the Script for our life performance, states the importance of neighborly love over and over again. Galatians ‭5:14 says, ‬“‭For the whole law can be summed up in this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.”‬” We’ve got some work to do. Being neighborly and showing love to those around us is not based on their performances – how they treat us. It’s part of our performance as believers. It is a command, not a suggestion.‬‬‬‬

Anyone can be kind and treat their neighbors with respect. The believer’s additional challenge is found in ‭‭Luke‬ ‭6:35-36 where Jesus says: ‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬

Loving our enemies and doing good to them are not natural responses to being mistreated or hurt by someone; or even to responding to bad neighbors. That requires God’s help.

When the expert in religious law asked Jesus “Who is my neighbor?” in the tenth chapter of Luke, He did not define neighbor as the person who lives next door. He told the story of the Good Samaritan to illustrate that our neighbors are anyone who needs our help or our love. In her book Unexpected, Christine Caine challenges believers to open their eyes and really see people the way Jesus sees them. Hurting people are all around us, but often we don’t see them as our neighbors; as the people who God wants us to love through our words and actions.

Lord, open my eyes and allow me to see them. Help me serve my neighbors in your love.

What can you do for a neighbor today? Could you shovel a driveway? Donate to a food bank? Offer to go shopping for someone who is immune-compromised? Do a Zoom meeting with someone who lives alone? Each of us can brighten someone’s day, even if it’s just a kind word and a masked smile.

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Saying Yes to Love

I knew it would happen. I just didn’t know when — Joseph’s nervous proposal of marriage.

He actually looked unsure of my answer as he held both my hands in his and waited for my response. I thought I was more transparent than that. I’d been dreaming of this day for years. In fact, my playmates and I had role-played the scene a few times; the difference being my friend who played Joseph acted much more confident and macho, and usually fell into a heap of giggles before I said yes.

When I looked into his dark, serious eyes, I realized no amount of practice could prepare me for such an emotional moment. I lifted his fingers to my lips and kissed them gently. “Yes, Joseph. Yes!”

His breath came out in a whoosh, and I laughed, glad I hadn’t made him wait longer. I’m sure Father had toyed with his emotions when the boy had asked for my hand. My father had a strange sense of humor, but he loved Joseph, as everyone did. Honorable and godly; there was no doubt he would be a wonderful husband.

The preparations had already begun for our wedding. Messengers had been sent out to invite guests. My mother had a small army of women setting up accommodations for the out-of-town friends and relatives. Father was taking inventory of his animals, hoping the whole affair wouldn’t drive him into bankruptcy.

The smell of smoke brought me out of my reverie. The flame in the small lantern on the table in front of me had snuffed out as it ran out of oil. I was supposed to be praying.

“I’m sorry, Father,” I whispered. “My excitement is causing my mind to wander. Thank you for Joseph. Thank you for all the blessings you’ve bestowed upon your servant. I deserve nothing, but you give me everything.”

I held my palms up. “You will always be my first love. My heart belongs to You.”

When I opened my eyes, the lantern was burning brightly in front of me. I hadn’t heard anyone come in to refill it. I looked toward the door. No one. But a movement to the right caught my eye.

My heart pounded furiously as I identified the apparition standing there as a ghost or an angel of some sort. He had an ethereal beauty, and I knew the glow around him was not caused by the small lamp.

His smile was big and oddly comforting. “Greetings, favored woman! The Lord is with you!” he said in a warm voice.

Was I dreaming? My thoughts had been scattered before, but now I feared I had completely lost my mind. Favored? Why would I be favored? I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Protect me, Father, I pleaded silently.

I felt a touch on my arm like a warm, wet cloth that caused a calmness to spread over my whole body. I felt weightless, but steady. I could feel the fear seeping out of me even as I heard the being’s next words.

“Don’t be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God!”

I opened my eyes and looked into his. They were deep and intense but quieted the rest of my anxious thoughts.

“Me? Favor? Why?” I seemed incapable of forming full sentences.

The smile stretched across his face, crinkling his beautiful eyes. “Mary.”

Hearing my name on his tongue that way made me feel special. I leaned in to hear his words.

“You have been chosen. Your faithfulness to God has been acknowledged. Your name will be remembered for the rest of time as being the mother of God.”

I opened my mouth to respond. Was I going to argue? Could I vocalize my belief that he could have the wrong girl? I was no one important; just an average Nazarene looking forward to her wedding to a wonderful man. But no words came. It was as if I had suddenly become mute.

The angel went on with words that shook my whole being with awe and wonder; words that would be imprinted in my head forever. “You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be very great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David. And he will reign over Israel forever; his Kingdom will never end!”

Son of the Most High? The Son of God? I will give birth to the Son of God?

I managed to whisper my doubt, feeling my face grow hot as I told him, “I’ve never been with a man. Joseph and I have not… I mean, how could I conceive and have a child without… that?”

He touched my head. “Is your God not capable, child?”

I swallowed hard. Of course He was. I’d heard of all the miraculous things God had done for our people. He was the God of the Universe. The earth belonged to Him.

“How?” I choked out.

His warm smile proceeded his response. “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. You will not experience the touch of an earthly man. That way the baby to be born will be holy, and he will be called the Son of God.”

My heart raced inside my chest again. The Holy Spirit would impregnate me with God’s holy baby? This was too much for a young girl to comprehend or believe.

He spoke as if he could read my mind. “Our God is a God of miracles, Mary. Did you know that your cousin Elizabeth has become pregnant in her old age? People used to say she was barren, but she has conceived a son and is now in her sixth month. The word of God will never fail. Nothing, you see, is impossible with God.”

Elizabeth pregnant? I knew how much she wanted that; how much shame she felt over being barren. Was this real? Could all this be true?

Peace fluttered into in my soul like ashes settling down after a windstorm, and I knew. I knew the man who stood before me was a messenger from the Almighty God. I knew his words were true and everything he said would come to pass. I knew, even as I knelt there, my womb now held life where there was no life before.

I nodded at the angelic man in front of me. My voice was so quiet it was barely audible. “I am the Lord’s servant. May everything you have said about me come true.”

The twinkle in his eye was not unlike a wink. And then he was gone.

I was alone. I had to tell my fiancée that I was pregnant. That I bore God’s Son in my womb. A new kind of fear knocked on my heart. Oh, Joseph.

I pressed my forehead to the floor. This time as I prayed to my son’s Father, my mind did not wander. I prayed for wisdom and courage to talk to my betrothed.

You might think this an odd story to choose for Valentine’s Day weekend. Yet, when I consider loves stories, this one takes the lead. Forgive my boldness to fictionalize God’s Word, but this is how I imagine it might have played out. Of course, I have romanticized it because I’m a romantic at heart. It was actually customary for the parents of the bride and groom to arrange a marriage, sometimes without even consulting the young couple. There was a good chance that Mary had not yet grown to love her betrothed, but merely had an allegiance to him as the man her parents had chosen for her to marry.

My romantic version aside, the love that Mary displayed that day was love toward her heavenly Father.

Mary’s love was selfless. She said yes to God when it didn’t make sense for her to say yes. Who would believe her; that a virgin could become pregnant without ever knowing a man? If Joseph left her, she would be ruined. But Mary loved God enough to trust that He would work out the details. She loved Him enough to let Him interrupt her plans to marry a carpenter and live happily ever after in an ordinary life. She said yes to Him, calling herself “the Lord’s servant”, (Luke 1:38) and allowing Him to take control.

In my imagination, her yes to Joseph’s marriage proposal had been easy. It might have been premeditated; the subject of her dreams. Mary may have been a romantic too. Or the acceptance of Joseph as her husband was the result of a yes to her parents, whom she loved, with no romantic involvement on her part at all. Either way, the beginning of their fairy tale marriage was the simple part. The contract had been signed, and they were betrothed. Their future as husband and wife had been secured.

Well, so they thought. But God had other plans for Mary and Joseph; plans that were unconventional, that had the potential to shame both families and cause scandal in the community.

Her yes to God jeopardized everything. But real love includes trust. Mary trusted that her God, the Father of the child within her, would work things out.

In the next scene of the story, conflict entered as Joseph learned of Mary’s pregnancy. He thought he was marrying a virgin. This was not what he had signed up for. In a mindset completely opposite to today’s way of thinking, his first idea was to divorce her quietly to prevent her public disgrace. Another angel visit was required to ensure that this marriage proceeded as planned. God was in control.

Daughter of God, your story is one of love too. You and I are called to exemplify love on our stage. That’s not always a mushy, feel-good kind of love; the romanticized version. Love can be challenging. But we are reminded in 1 Corinthians 13:7 that “love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.” God’s love flows through us into our families, our neighbors, our coworkers, and those we pass on the street.

On this Valentine’s Day weekend, look past the chocolates, flowers and mushy cards to see the prime example of love:

God, our Father, sent His Son… yeah, that’s love.

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Learning to Pivot

The roar of the crowd had taken on a feverish pitch. She could see her mom’s lips moving, the veins in her throat enlarged and vibrating, but the sound was drowned out in the vocal mayhem.

Her heart hammered against her chest, with the exertion, yes, but more now with fear. They were going to lose this game. She could deal with loss. Goodness knows, at sixteen, she’d already lost so much. Her dad, her home, her heart…

She wiped the sweat-tear mixture from her face with the back of her hand. She would not allow thoughts of her father to throw off her focus; although anger had often improved her play in the past. But, as her therapist kept preaching, that loss was not her fault.

However, this loss, on the university gym floor, against their greatest rival, would be her fault. Her mistake late in the game had prized the other team with points her own side couldn’t afford to give away. The glares and foul language fired at her were nothing compared to the reception she’d get on Monday when they returned to school. High schoolers could be brutal.

A rapid bounce-pass suddenly knocked all thoughts from her mind. The seconds were ticking by mercilessly, and the ball was now in her hands.

Determination elbowed fear off the court. She dribbled a few paces, keeping her guard up, her eyes never losing sight of the target. She stopped short and caught her teammate’s eye. She thrust her arms out to pass, but at the last second before releasing the ball, she pivoted and threw the ball toward the basket instead. Her attacker, who had moved to block the pass, was blindsided by the sudden switch in direction and intention and dropped a bomb of curses onto the wooden floor which were quickly swallowed up by the roar of the crowd who were on their feet now; all eyes fixated on the ball as it sped toward its mark.

Her arm was still outstretched, her fingers pointing at the thing she desired most as the ball hit the backboard and swooped into the net. Before she’d allow herself to celebrate, she looked at the clock: three seconds left in the game.

A rush of relief and victorious pride flowed into her chest as her teammates rushed toward her. A glance at the stands revealed her mother jumping up and down, her fist pumping the air, quickly changing her gesture to two thumbs up as their eyes met.

Redemption and victory achieved in one quick pivot.

To pivot is to make a turn, to change directions and do things in a new way. We’ve all learned to pivot this year, haven’t we?

As a teacher, I left school mid-March last year, walking out of the building with a sigh of expectation for a week off, recognizing that this March Break would not involve flying off to a tropical destination to chase the sun’s warmer rays. What I didn’t know at that moment, as we got in our cars and drove away from the building, was that we wouldn’t be returning to teach our students for the rest of the year.

Pivot. How does one teach Kindergarten through a computer? A Master degree in Education and almost thirty years of teaching experience had not prepared me for this.

Summer arrived. New restrictions were imposed. Spending time at the pool became a competition, as we stayed up until midnight to book a spot for an hour. Pivot. Gathering with friends was limited to outdoors only…

Masks became compulsory inside buildings. Pivot. We rushed to buy face coverings and felt the need to voice the words “I’m smiling”, since no one could actually see the evidence.

The world ground to a halt, and businesses closed. People lost their jobs. Pivot. Families were imprisoned in their homes, whether they enjoyed each other’s company or not.

As we headed back to school in the Fall, we faced delayed starts, and a barrage of restrictions and personal protective equipment. Our Kindergarten room was stripped of its rugs, its toys, and its warmth. We stood in sterile, empty rooms and imagined welcoming four and five-year-olds into such a space. Pivot.

As we settled in to a unique school experience, we were constantly reminded not to get too comfortable. Our morning messages from the principal repeated the phrase “Be prepared to pivot” as the number of COVID cases began the upward turn again. We made it to Christmas. Pivot.

Our second State of Emergency lockdown, which began on Boxing Day, came with a Stay-at-Home order with threats of police intervention and fines for noncompliance. As Editor of our community newspaper, I suggested to our Board of Directors that complying, and protecting over 130 volunteer carriers, would mean doing an online-only edition for February. Pivot.

Teaching Kindergarten from my kitchen while my husband chaired virtual meetings on the other side of the wall; we entered a world where the internet is a mandatory commodity – the only thing that connects us with the rest of humanity. We are living in a Stephen King novel. Our own imaginations couldn’t have pictured us here.

A week before the State of Emergency was expected to be lifted, children and teachers headed back to school in-person again; with even more restrictions and preventative measures in place. Pivot.

COVID-19 stole Halloween, ruined Christmas, and now threatens Valentine’s Day as a Board-wide announcement is made to ban card-giving in schools. It has taken our freedom, stripped our lives of entertainment outside of our own houses, and now it aims to stop us from expressing our love as well. Pivot.


My dear reader, I know that my life does not represent the majority; watching the sunrises from my 21st floor and having my path plowed of snow for me to drive to work from one parking garage to another. This pandemic has affected many of you in heart-wrenching ways. The one thing that we’ve all had to do, though, is pivot.

For some, that meant a pivot into overeating or increased alcohol or drug use. For others, it meant a pivot into depression. Still others turned to God. And that’s a pivot worth the cost.

No matter how harshly this pandemic has treated you, God has not abandoned us. He wants you to know that He’s there, with His arms stretched open wide to hold you in a time when hugs with everyone else is off limits. He knows what you need. All He asks for in return is your allegiance to Him. He wants you to love Him back – to have a relationship with Him. He says:

“Come to Me, all who are tired from carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest.”

Matthew 11:28 (God’s Word Translation)

I can’t promise that God will change your circumstances in any big way, but what I can promise is that He will give you strength and comfort. He can erase your anxiety and fear of the future. You give it all to Him, and then step back and TRUST that He’s in control. Pivot. When you invite God in, you go from a life of facing things alone to being part of a team. And when you pick a team, whether it’s a sports team or a work team or a life team, having the Creator of the Universe on your side, makes your team undefeatable. Victory is guaranteed.


Daughters of God who navigate these challenging times, grip your Father’s hand more tightly than ever before. Strengthen that relationship through time spent with Him. The way we respond to those pivotal moments is how we shine our lights for Him. Unbelievers are watching to see how we react. Our lives are reflections of what it’s like to be on the winning team!

If you don’t have smiling eyes over that mask, let’s continue telling people “I’m smiling” because we need smiles; we need positive vibes and encouragement. As we walk with our Savior at our side, we have the power to impact others and to help them pivot toward their Maker.

Running Late

I press my foot down and accelerate to 121 km/hr, the speed where I am unlikely to get stopped by a patrol car, but I can get around most other drivers with ease. Clearly, they have nowhere important to be right now.

I glance at the clock for the fifth time since pulling out of my parking space. It’s not possible to arrive on time, without some kind of magic or miracle happening. The drive takes at least fifteen minutes and I have five. Why do I do this to myself? I resist the temptation to step on the gas pedal more aggressively.

I reduce the temperature inside the vehicle. Maybe I should stop wearing my winter coat in the car and just put it on when I get to my destination. Tightness moves across my abdomen. There’s no point getting worked up. It’s already too late for that, I tell myself. I’m late. Again.

The appointment ahead of mine has likely taken longer than expected. When are dental offices ever on time? Yet, I don’t recall waiting for more than a couple of minutes in the past; not long enough to check the emails in one of my three inboxes.

A friend’s words echo in my mind, causing a pain at my temple. I jab my finger there, as if the action will push it out; both the thought and the ache. “Why do people think their time is more important than mine? It’s so disrespectful.”

Guilt erases the excuses. A Christian should not be keeping someone waiting. Why am I not putting others first as God’s Word instructs? I clench my jaw, then immediately soften it. The dentist will comment if he sees evidence of grinding.

The phone call on my way out the door was important: a hospital appointment for a follow-up test to schedule. Reception for phone calls is best at the window, farthest from the exit. The elevator would have been a complete dead zone.

I sigh. The three-minute call did not make me ten minutes late.

Am I an inconsiderate person deep down? Am I selfish? Rude? Disrespectful? ‘The proof is in the pudding,’ my mom used to say.

My self-admonition has made my foot heavy, and my eyes widen at the number on my speedometer. I should really get in the habit of using cruise control. I scan the area for marked cars and take deep breaths to calm my racing heart. I don’t have money to throw away on speeding tickets.

The numbers on the clock display change from 59 to zeros. It’s official. My appointment was at four o’clock. I am still seven minutes away and will need time to park and walk to the door. Why do I do this? I smack the steering wheel, resisting the urge to scream.

Is my optimism to blame? My belief that there will be no delays; traffic will be moving 20 km/hr over the speed limit, as it should; the weather will remain clear; road construction crews will be on their break; deer will stay in the woods where they belong; my car, which has been in the garage for extended visits three times this year, will cooperate and continue running smoothly. If the universe would just support me in my time management, I’d be okay.

It’s not like I mind waiting. I have at least three books in various apps on my phone that I could read. It’s actually enjoyable to have a few spare minutes for a hobby I love and don’t often make time for. I make a sound in the back of my throat, expressing the disgust I feel towards myself.

There’s a parking space not far from the door. I bolt toward my destination like an Olympic runner, arriving out of breath and sweaty. The hygienist is waiting at the front desk. She doesn’t share my problem with being on time.

My lips spill out empty apologies, which she bats away with a swipe of her hand.

“No worries,” she says. “You’re my last appointment of the day.”

No! Don’t give me forgiveness I don’t deserve, I want to scream at her. Don’t let me off the hook that easily. It’s people like her who create people like me. I resent her cheerfulness and wish she would show irritation or anger.

I delay the exam a few minutes more as I treat her as my therapist rather than my hygienist, sharing my frustration and offering solutions to my own deficiency.

“I’m never late for work,” I admit from my reclined position. “It’s because I aim to be there 30-45 minutes before my official start time.” I raise my guilt-ridden eyes to meet hers. “That’s the key, isn’t it? I need to aim to arrive at appointments ahead of time not exactly on time.”

Her energy uplifts me throughout the appointment, and I leave with a smile of clean white teeth to walk outside into a snowstorm. Wasn’t I lucky this didn’t start on my drive here? I roll my eyes. I need to change.

I stand on Val’s Stage today and plead guilty. The charge is tardiness.

A multi-tasker by nature, I fill every waking minute with activity and have to force myself to do relaxing things. Even watching TV has been relegated to background entertainment while preparing dinner or doing work on my laptop. I take showers because a soothing bath takes longer. I get up early and go to bed late. There’s that word again – late. I feel guilt there too since my hubby likes to go to bed at a ‘decent’ time, and I can’t seem to conform. It’s been 29 years; we’re not likely to align perfectly in the next 29.

The point is, I’m too busy to be on time. But that’s my own balancing issues for which I must take responsibility instead of encroaching on others with my inadequacies.

As a Daughter of God, being late is a sin. Verses admonishing me to put others first and myself last, love my neighbor, treat others the way I’d like to be treated spin around in my head. It is my heart’s desire and my Father’s wish that I respect and consider others and their time.

Do you ever struggle with being on time? Join me as I repent and ask our Father’s forgiveness. I apologize to any reader who I have ever kept waiting. Moving forward, I intend to put every appointment into my phone with lead time. If I need to be there at nine, I will record it as 8:40. If that’s what it takes to change my behavior, that is what I’ll do.

Forgive me, Lord for showing disrespect to others with my tardiness. Forgive me for representing You poorly; for putting myself ahead of my love for my neighbors. You tell us in Your Word that all we have to do is ask, and You will give us what we need. I need help in changing my behavior. I trust in You that You will give me strength and determination to arrive on time for all future activities, whether they are professional or social. Thank you for being a Father who is merciful and forgives my sin. Help me to shine for You.

February is the month when we celebrate love. I think people would much rather feel our love than hear about it though. Showing respect and consideration for others and their time is a start. Having patience with people when we have to wait on them also demonstrates caring. Lending a hand; reaching out to a friend; wearing a mask when we go out; staying home unless the outing is essential: all ways we show our love.

It doesn’t look like we’ll be dining out with our loved one this year. Valentine’s Day might look like an Uber Eats order and a pour from a box of wine. But I don’t need to tell you that love is not found in fancy restaurants, rose bouquets or expensive gifts. It’s expressed in our day-to-day interactions. I’m going to work on my punctuality.

What are you going to work on?

Wake Up, Sleeping Beauty!

She woke with lingering impressions of curses, evil intentions, a small-but-powerful puncture, and a deathly silence that seemed to last forever. What a nightmare!

Opening her eyes for what seemed to have been the first time in a hundred years, her blurred vision swiftly focussed on a handsome face too close to hers to be honorable.

His welcoming smile revealed charming dimples and gleaming teeth which could star in a toothpaste commercial. “You’re awake.”

The suddenness with which she attempted to draw back from this man who, despite his attractiveness, was a stranger, caused her head to spin, and she fell back on the satin pillow with an undignified plop.

“Take your time, my dear.” His voice was gentle and smooth, more reassuring than condescending. “You’ve been asleep for a very long time.”

Aurora couldn’t recall ever sleeping more than ten hours in one night, but she had to admit she felt more groggy than usual. Admit to herself, at least. She still didn’t trust this man who continued to invade her personal space.

He extended his hand. “Let me help you sit up.”

Not wanting to appear rude, she grasped his warm fingers and allowed him to do just that. Once she was upright, she pulled her arm back immediately, tucking her hand under the blanket at her waist.

Her face burned as she looked away from him and tuned into her surroundings. She was relieved to see her mother hurrying to her bedside.

“You’re finally awake! We’re all awake!” she cried as she delivered an aggressive hug that was very uncharacteristic of her mother’s usual queenly poise.

Before the older lady stood upright, Aurora hissed in her ear, “Who is that?”

“Why that’s Prince Phillip, dear. Don’t you remember him? He’s to be your husband. And now he’s your saviour. He broke the curse with his kiss of true love!”

The cloud of sleep was heavy, but the more she peeked his way, the more familiar he seemed. True love? Kiss? It was a lot to absorb before her morning coffee.

Within days, Aurora’s memory was restored, and she was caught up in the preparations for her wedding. Prince Phillip truly was charming and attentive, and he did seem to love her as her mother claimed.

On the eve of her wedding, Aurora went for a walk in the village. She needed to get away from the chaos of the castle preparations, even if only for a few minutes.

On Main Street, she was drawn into a dressmaker’s shop by the gorgeous ball gown displayed in the front window. It was the perfect shade of pink, and it sparkled in the sun, which was now low in the sky.

The dressmaker was delighted to entertain her, the prestige of having a princess in the store assuredly good for her business. She showed Aurora all the bolts of fabric that would match her coloring, offering to make other dresses just as fabulous as the one in the window. She even brought her into the back room and showed her the equipment she used: a sewing machine, a heat press, and a spinning wheel.

Aurora’s heart quickened at the sight of the wheel. This was the very instrument that had activated the curse and put her to sleep for a hundred years. Despite the feeling of danger, she was mysteriously drawn to it. She didn’t even realize she had reached her hand out toward it until she felt the familiar prick on her finger.

She grabbed at the dressmaker’s sleeve as she lost the strength to stand, and drifted into a sea of blackness.

An overwhelming sense of déjà vu plagued her as she opened her eyes to Prince Phillip’s lips pulling back slowly from hers. This time, however, his dimples were not decorating his face, but a frown creased his forehead.

“Aurora! What were you thinking?”

She didn’t like his tone, and showed her distaste with a pout. “It’s really not a big deal, Phillip. True love’s kiss has fixed everything again. The curse is broken.”

Her prince dragged his fingers through his gorgeous mane and sighed. At least he had the grace to withhold his words.

It was her mother who swooped in cawing like a raven, reminding her of all the time and money that had been spent getting ready for her wedding, which was that very afternoon.

She didn’t know what all the fuss was about. She had only slept a few hours this time, not a hundred more years.

“Please, Mother, can we not ruin my special day with negative talk?”

And it was never spoken of again. Princess Aurora married Prince Phillip, and they began their lives together.

Two years later, she had her first child; a daughter. Aurora refused to throw a party, knowing how her own birth celebration had ended.

Her daughter grew quickly, outgrowing each new dress in what seemed like days, so Aurora decided to bring a seamstress to live at the castle full time.

The woman set up in a small room on the upper floor. Aurora spent a lot of time there, picking out fabrics and patterns for her daughter’s wardrobe.

Two days before Phillip’s coronation, Aurora visited the seamstress to check on the progress of the matching dresses she had ordered. The seamstress was distracted as she presented the dresses, in various stages of completion.

The princess, believing her to be stressed about the deadline, touched her arm. “Don’t worry, it looks like you will have them both done in plenty of time.”

The seamstress confessed that she was bubbling with excitement over a new spinning wheel that she’d just had delivered. She insisted on showing it to Aurora, despite some mild reservation on Aurora’s part.

As the princess’s eyes closed, seconds after the sting of the needle, she saw the seamstress collapse on the floor in slumber as well.

This time when she opened her eyes, her husband’s face wore neither smile or frown. His eyes reflected sadness.

Pain gripped Aurora’s stomach. It was her foolhardiness that caused his unhappiness.

Her eyes were drawn to his head by a sun sparkle bouncing off a large jewel-encrusted crown. Her prince was now king!

Her eyes filled with tears and she nearly choked on disappointment.

“I missed it,” she whispered. “I missed your coronation.”

Phillip nodded. “People travelled for days to be here for this, Aurora. The castle staff have been preparing for weeks. I sent most of the guard out to search for you, but we couldn’t delay the ceremony.”

“I’m sorry.” The words weren’t big enough to convey her regret.

She looked into his watery eyes. “You still loved me enough for your kiss to break the spell.”

He touched her cheek. “I’ll always love you, Aurora. But your actions are not those of a queen. You are a representation of our family; of my reign. Our subjects will believe you to be foolish.”

Aurora swallowed the lump in her throat, her cheeks burning with shame. “I have been a fool, Phillip. I’ve let my own selfishness hurt you and your name.”

She bowed her head. “Forgive me, Your Grace. It was never my intention to cause you pain or embarrassment. I love you and I promise to behave more like a King’s wife from now on.”

Her husband wrapped his arms around her. “There’s my queen,” he said. “Let’s go join the celebration. The cook has prepared all your favourites.”

Admittedly, this is not the ending you may have heard or read about Sleeping Beauty. Yet, it’s often OUR story.

Many of us gave our hearts to Jesus when we were very young and grew up in the church, God’s earthly castle. We take his mercy for granted, foolishly testing his patience as we continue following our own selfish desires and falling into the same sins again and again. We know He loves us and will forgive us. We received the Get-out-of-Hell-free ticket when we joined His family so many years ago.

We have a false sense of security, Daughters of God.

We are asleep. In our spiritual slumber, we might read our Bibles, but our minds wander as we read; the tasks waiting for us distract our study. We learn nothing and walk away unchanged.

We often forget to acknowledge Him all day and then fall asleep on our prayers at night.

We make decisions without asking for His guidance and we make choices that are selfish and foolish.

We are no different than this reckless princess. We are daughters of the King of the Universe. We soil His great name with our actions. People look at us, knowing we claim to be His child, but they don’t see royalty. We are common and undeserving of our crown.

It’s true that Jesus offers salvation; true love’s kiss. He’s broken the spell of the evil one’s curse. But we need to stop chasing spinning wheels and expecting Him to rescue us when we reap the consequences of our sin.

In Mark 13:36, Jesus warns us that we walk a dangerous path:

“Don’t let him find you sleeping when he arrives without warning.”

He is coming back some day to collect His sons and daughters; those who believe in Him. If we are sleeping, we will miss the coronation. The big event will not wait for us.

It is time to wake up and shine.

I want to glorify my Father’s name. Don’t you?

That means avoiding the places where I might find spinning wheels.

It means not just reading His Word like a fairy tale, but studying it to learn more about my Father and how He would like for me to live.

It means talking to Him as Someone I love and respect. I will ask for His advice before making decisions. I will invite Him to go with me everywhere I go.

I will hold His hand and never let go.

Say this prayer with me, Daughters of God:

Forgive me, Father. I have been a fool. I’ve let my own selfishness hurt You and Your name. It was never my intention to cause You pain or embarrassment. I love You and promise to behave more like a King’s daughter from now on.

Do You Need Strength?

He never knew what hit him. In seconds his life was snuffed out. Gone; his spirit drained away with his blood.

There had been no warning. No sign of danger.

That means I performed well. A successful hunter practices stealth and speed. It comes naturally to me, for I was born to kill.

The thrill of the hunt is irresistible. The adrenaline courses through my veins just before I attack, and again in that moment when I trade another’s life for the rush; the excitement that can’t be attained through any other endeavour.

My partner waits at home with the little one, unaware that I’ve struck again. That another life has been taken. I may bring a piece of my prize back to show him – maybe the head. It’s nice to have proof of my skill; bragging rights can only come with evidence.

I rip into flesh with my hooked beak and savor the salty treat. I think salmon might be one of my favorites.

Yes, my beak. You didn’t think I was a human did you? It’s humans who murdered enough of my kind, in addition to destroying our habitats, to put us on the endangered list a few years back. I’m happy to report that’s no longer the case.

I spread my wings as I catch an updraft. With a two-metre span, a couple flaps gains me enough momentum to transport the remains of my catch to the top of a nearby tree. More than one hungry eye witnessed my success. I clutch the large slippery fish tightly, although my spicules impaled it sufficiently for flight.

As I land on the spindly branch, a feather from my wing catches on a dry twig. I watch it drift to the ground below. Some child will likely think it quite a treasure. If he waits a day or two, he’ll actually find two, since my body will need to shed a feather from my other wing so I can maintain balance in flight.

I lift off from the tree and sail upwards, showcasing my aeronautical superiority. I don’t stop my ascent until I’m 10,000 feet above the earth. I like to survey my kingdom from up here. The speed I can muster as I dive from this height catches my prey off guard; completely unaware of my lethal presence.

Majestic is how people describe me when they watch me fly this way. I’ve been in flight training for almost 26 years and likely have a couple more left before my spirit leaves this world. I’ve also earned that name as one who sits at the top of the food chain; who instills fear and respect, both in the air and on the ground.

I am known throughout the world and acclaimed for many incomparable features. To the ancient Romans, my image stood for power and strength; to the Persians, my kind symbolized wisdom; to Amerindians, my ability to soar to great heights made me a messenger of the gods. Do you know I am mentioned in the oldest Book on Earth 42 times? My strength and grandeur have been recorded and lauded by my Creator in God’s Holy Word.

I like that it acknowledges my super eye in Job 39:29. It says “From there [the cliffs] it hunts its prey, keeping watch with piercing eyes.” Do you know why my gaze is piercing? My eyes have two centres of focus, enabling me to see forward and to the side at the same time. Therefore, my eyesight is far superior to humans – I can see four to seven times farther than you. It’s one of the main reasons I am an outstanding hunter. If only you could see a sunset or sunrise through my eyes! I have superior colour vision: while you see just three basic colours, I see five.

In the book of Ezekiel, the prophet has a vision of incredible celestial beings, known as cherubim, with wings and four faces. One of those faces was mine. I earned that spot as the king of all birds. I think the Creator put forth His best when He created my kind, although humans get the credit as His greatest masterpiece.

I do not boast of my splendidness on Val’s Stage for my own glory. I’m here to remind you that my Creator, and yours, has offered you strength comparable to mine. His offer can be found in Isaiah 40:31:

All He asks you to do to receive this strength is to WAIT on Him. That means spending time alone with God; talking to Him; being quiet; allowing Him to enhance your humanness with His spiritual strength and power akin to my physical prowess.

Daughter of God, you can face life’s challenges with your own strength, or you can accept His offer of superior might. All you have to do is ASK.

Ask and wait on Him for the delivery.

Can you use some divine strength today?

The Comfort and Discomfort of Light

It’s January 9, and I have no desire to put away my Christmas decorations or to take down my tree. However, my tree seems to have different ideas. The strands of lights on this 5-year-old, pre-lit beauty have been blowing one by one (beginning on Christmas Eve!) like a child blowing out birthday candles. I honestly think there’s only one working set left – the set I bought on the day I pieced it together in early December. It looks ridiculous.

Yet, every morning when I get up, and every afternoon as soon as the sun moves around the side of the building, I turn on my Christmas lights. From the side view, where I like to sit with my laptop, it doesn’t look so bad. It’s still festive and beautiful and fills me with joy. I love my tree, despite its failure to shine in the way it was intended. There are so many other features that add to its radiance – the sparkle, the color, the precious ornaments – I can forgive this rebellion to a point.

However, my tree needs to know that I will not allow it to stay this way forever. It clearly needs my assistance. Before I put it up next year, I will buy new lights, and I will restore it to its former glory. It will be fully whole again, lighting up the room with its tiny white orbs, causing the ornaments to sparkle, and masking some of the holes between the branches. I’m not sure I’ll love my tree more, but I will be happy when it properly displays my handiwork and actually looks like a pre-lit tree.

There’s just something about light, isn’t there? We gaze at the moon in its phases, especially when it’s full and round; the harvest moon being especially beautiful with its increased size and warm color. We look up on a clear night, distinguishing stars and satellites from landing planes and drawing out constellations. We stand in the cold to watch fireworks light up the sky on special occasions. And I just can’t get enough of the glorious sunrises I see through my condo floor-to-ceiling windows here on the twenty-first floor.

Yet, light can also be unkind. Think about the time you looked in a mirror where there was bright lighting. Did you like what you saw? Every unplucked eyebrow hair and clogged pore cry out to be noticed. No one should ever have to see their flaws that way. We definitely don’t want others to see them.

One morning this week after a few days of cloudy skies, the sun made a dazzling appearance, and I welcomed its bright warmth as it beamed through my windows. That is until I noticed what it did to my countertops! I thought my kitchen was clean. Under the brilliant spotlight of the sun’s glare (notice how it’s now a glare!), all of a sudden, the truth was revealed. There were small crumbs, dust – so much dust, and small hairs (ew!) all over my countertop! And it’s wiped down every evening after dinner when the dishes are done!

Yes, light can be mean. Yet, it’s not the light’s fault, now is it? The dirt was there all along. It just required a bright enough spotlight to reveal it. I then have two choices: I can run and get a cloth and clean up that mess; or I can ignore it and wait until the sun finds a more compassionate spot in the sky to shine in. Once its brilliance has passed on, no one will see that grime.

Daughters of God, both my tree and my countertop are great analogies for our lives; specifically, for our walk with Jesus.

The top of my tree had lights in that red part before Christmas Eve! Missing: one handsome son in Winnipeg.

Sometimes, like my tree, we allow things into our lives that make the lights go out. Our love for God doesn’t shine as brightly anymore. Since our Father is loving and full of grace, He still sees our inner beauty. He still loves us. But He desires that we perform as He intended, shining for the world to see our Jesus-glow, causing others to want what we have – a personal relationship with Him.

As an inanimate object, my tree can’t ask for my help. I will impose my power as its human owner, and I will take control. It’s getting new lights whether it wants them or not. But, while God wants us to shine for Him, He won’t impose on us in the same way. He has given us our own will. He wants us to ask Him for help. If we repent and ask for His forgiveness, He will restore us to the beautiful masterpiece we were created to be. We can shine in wholeness once again. IF we ask.

Our hearts, like my countertop, have hidden dirt in them. When we come close to God, all those crumbs and dust particles are revealed in His brilliance. 1 John 1:5 says “God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all.” When we stand next to Him, it’s hard to present that photoshopped, filtered image we’d rather display.

Well, Val, I’m a good person. What dirt would that bright light uncover? How do you respond when you get angry? How do you react to fear? Is there hidden unforgiveness toward someone who did you wrong? Oh, there’s dark spots on all our hearts, sisters. The only perfect One to ever walk this earth was Jesus. Let’s not claim equal status with Him.

What would God’s brilliance reveal in your life? Don’t let guilt move in to sit beside it. Repent. Pray with me.

Dear Father, You see the dark places inside of me that no one else can see. You are the only One who can clean up my life and get rid of the dirt which blemishes Your creation. Forgive me for the things I’ve done that make my lights go out. I want to shine for You. Cleanse my heart and make me whole again. Make me worthy to stand in your spotlight and radiate your light. I love you. Amen.

David prayed a similar prayer in Psalm 139:23. I like the way The Passion Translation (TPT) words it:

“God, I invite your searching gaze into my heart. Examine me through and through. Find out everything that may be hidden within me. Put me to the test and sift through all my anxious cares.“

Sometimes light brings me shame (revealing my crumbs!), but sometimes it brings me peace (the lights on my tree in the darkness of early morning). I leave you with a verse that brought me comfort this week:

Are you ready to shine, Daughters of God?