Grab Your Pen!

I grab my pen!

(That may be a generational thing.)

Although.

I do sometimes grab my phone.

To jot it down.

Before it slips away.

The thing is.

I'm finding.

When I build in the space.

Quiet space in my day.

Driving into work.

In the early morning with a cup of coffee.

Just to be still.

And listen.

Without distractions.

He will drop thoughts.

Ideas.

Answers to questions.

Solutions.

Inspiration.

Direction.

Into my thoughts.

If I'm asking.

I saw it happen this week.

More than once.

I needed the right words.

For an issue that was troubling me.

I needed to know how to handle a situation.

That I didn't have the answer for.

I provided Him some space in my morning.

In my quiet time.

In my living room.

Just to be still.

And He dropped His guidance onto me.

Like that one drop of rain.

That rolls off the overhead roof.

Just as you duck in the door.

Not in a mystical or wonky way.

But clear and direct.

Simple.

There's no way it came from me.

I was asking.

And He gave it to me.

For me.

Having God be so personal.

To give me the solution....the answer I needed.

Man!

I loved it!

I literally jumped up.

(Or in the instance when I was quietly driving into work,

 I reached for a pen in my bag.)

To scribble down what I felt Him say over me.

There it was.

By just giving Him space.

To be quiet.

To listen.

And be ready to grab my pen.

BeeBee

I didn't know what it would look like.

When I became.

"beebee."

But.

I took one look at this little man.

And though I had no idea.

What I was in for.

He.

Stole.

Me.

Heart.

And soul.

I become silly.

And light.

Completely in the moment.

In his company.

We run.

And skip.

And sit in the swing.

We hold hands.

And laugh.

And sing.

We make up stories.

About cowboy Amos.

Lassoing alligators.

And going on adventures.

With his trusty pup-pup.

We take naps.

And test the patience of the cats.

We eat popcicles.

And make lots of Facetime calls.

But.

The best part.

Of all.

The surprising part.

Is the love.

He gives to me.

His beebee.

It's been simple.

And sweet.

Pure.

And unexplainable.

This love I have for him.


It came.

Out.

Of no where.

And.

It's been the easiest thing.

I've ever.

Done.

Pause

This word.

I'm learning the importance of it.

He's teaching me.

To.

Pause.

Pause before I react.

Pause before I decide.

Pause before I speak.

Pause before I move forward.

Pause.

And give Him time.

To move.

Give Him space.

To work.

In the situation.

That's it.

Just.

Pause.

A Family Raised on Camping

I'll never forget the first time I stepped into a camper!

I was 40.

And it was love at first site.

We made our maiden voyage in 2000.

Kate was 14.

Taylor was 7.

Our camper was a 16' Jayco Kiwi.

A travel trailer with canvas ends that folded out.

We woke up after a great night's sleep by the lake.

I looked up to see tiny bird feet walking across the canvas over my head.

That's when I knew.

I was hooked!

Those were wonderful years for our family.

Weekends in the spring and fall.

Summer vacations at Huntington Beach.

Bacon frying on the griddle outside.

Pancakes and syrup on a paper plate.

A campfire to knock off the chill of the morning.

A hot cup of coffee.

Being outdoors.



It was often.

Sandy feet tracked in and out the door.

Towels hung up outside.

It was.

Steamy bath house showers.

And occasional not so steamy ones.



It was.

Going to bed with the dark.

And often getting up with the light.


It was.

Building campfires.

Poking the burning logs with a stick.

And talking.

Sitting around the fire.

Having conversations we might never have at home.

It was.

Being up close and personal with wildlife.

Nightly racoon visits.

Squirrels, snakes and birds.

The sounds of the ocean or the lake.


It was.

Sliding down inside your sleeping bag.

Laughter.

Giggling.

And talking after the lights went off.

In the early days of camping.

There were no phones.

Not even a TV.

The pace slowed down.

We rode bikes.

We walked the beach or campground.

We read.

One summer at Huntington Beach.

The four of us read thirteen books in a week!



There were.

Alligator sightings.

Bicycle rides.

Trips up to camp store.

And walks out to the marsh.



Pulling our camper across the causeway at Huntington Beach.

Was like coming home.

It was a wonderful way to spend time as a family.

And.

The years passed.

They always do.

But our camping continued.

Through middle school.

High School.

College.

And after.

It become a constant in our family.

A place of good memories.

Things familiar.

Good.

Comforting.

Yep.

All of our favorite things about camping.

Stay with us today.

We didn't have a lot of money back then for vacations.

But we never felt cheated in anyway.

We raised our family on camping.

Looking back.

I'm so glad we did.

Distractions in my Life

This word.

God has been speaking this word over me for days.

Distraction.

D
I
S
T
R
A
C
T
I
O
N.



Clearly.

He's trying to make a point.

So I listen up.

What am I distracted by?

What diminishes my focus?

What keeps me from getting on with what's most important?

What captures my time and attention.

That may be of no real value or consequence.

Hindering me.  

From the appointments.

Purpose.

The work He might have for me to do.




I started thinking about the distractions in my life right now.



I can be distracted by the familiar.

When I feel so comfortable with my surroundings.

And my day to day.

Dullness can creep into my life.

Like sleepwalking through my day.

That's been a distraction for me.

Too much routine.

When what I really need is - fresh eyes.

And a new perspective.

A renewed focus.



I can also be distracted by fear.

Fear looms.

And easily becomes my focus.



Impatience.

Growing impatient for God to move.

Weary of waiting.



Too much focus on myself.

That never satisfies.

But it can sure occupy my thoughts.



Busyness.

Always on the go.

Not making time and space for Him.



Trying to meet someone else's expectations.

And their view of what I should be.

Instead of who I am in Him.



Unforgiveness and past disappointments.

It keeps me bound to that person.

When what I really need to do.

Is let it go.




And to be honest.

I can be distracted in ridiculously shallow ways.

Time scrolling Facebook.

Binge watching "Longmire."

Procrastinating with housework.

Focusing too dadgum much on the number on my scales.

Or by other people's drama finding its way into my life.

Or worse yet.

By creating drama myself.





I'm also beginning to understand.

That distraction is a very effective tool of the enemy in my life.

Harmless at first glance.

But also very effective.

If the enemy can keep me bound up by distractions,

I'll have less energy.

Less focus.

Less time.

To focus on Jesus.

And what He may have for me to do.



So.

I've taken a step.

I'm trying to see my distractions.

Call them out for what they are.

And I look to Him.

With my hands open to listen.

What more could He accomplish through me.

If I were less distracted?

"So Distracted" by Anna Kincaide

All the While. Things Change.

Have you noticed?

 How quickly.

Things change.

Children grow up.

Projects begin.

And end.

Cats go from being small & adorable.

To big.....and pesky.

Clothes come back in style.

Hair turns gray.

Love deepens.

Experience develops.

Time passes faster.

Memories soften.

Forgiveness is easier.

Health is taken for granted.

Then it's held dear.

Seasons come.

And seasons go.

Trips begin.

And trips end.

Friendships develop.

Families evolve.

Interests grow.

Lives are altered.

All the while.

Things change.


Gratitude is shown.

Faith is stretched.

Grace is given.

Hope is encouraged.

Life is fleeting.

And valuable.

All the while.

Things change.

Boots Out of the Box Women

I was in one of my favorite stores Saturday.

Just Off Main in Abbeville.

Just Off Main is located at 101 Church Street in Abbeville, SC.

My friends Dale & Karen Sherwood run it.

And it's always full of great finds and prices to match.

Scott spotted them on a shelf.

Closed up in a box.

Pristine condition.

Never worn.

The age of the box suggested they had been there for some time.

Steel toed boots.

Scott's size.

$20.

He couldn't resist.

And...…..they came home with us.

They've been sitting on a bench.

At the foot of our bed for days.

And as I've walked by and looked at them all week.

I couldn't help but think.

I don't want to be that person.

That never ventures out of my box.

Carefully protecting myself from being used.

Not fulfilling my purpose.

I know.

From boots to life's purpose.

That's quite a jump.

(Smile.)

But.

The comparison was just plain striking to me.

At the end of my life.

I pray my boots get dirty.

I hope they're used.

And worn out.

I hope they're covered in dust & mud & scuffs and spots.

I hope the soles are coming apart.

And holes are nearly worn through the toes.

The box is no where to stay.

Whether it's boots.

Or life.

Being carefully preserved and protected.

Doesn't sound so good to me.

It's best for me.

To jump in.

Boots first.

And do the thing.

Make this quickly passing life count.

There's something beautiful.

About a life well lived.

Just like these "boots out of the box" women.  

Here's just a few that come to mind.

Dr. Catherine Hamlin has operated a fistula clinic in Ethiopia for more than half a century.

Linda & Norris Wilson were our neighbors for over 20 years in Greenwood.  Linda continues to pour her life out & serve friends, church members & family.  I've learned a lot from watching her.

Dr. Maya Angelou, American poet.

Jane Goodall, Primatologist & Anthropologist.

My friend & teammate, Molly Dannelly.

My friend & Kenya missionary, Danee Davis.

How about you?

At the end of your life.

Will your boots still be carefully stored away in the box?

Or will they be more like these?

Evidence.

Of a life well used.