Have you ever wanted to program your husband to say the right things?
Imagine. You walk down the stairs for a coveted date night with the man of your life after spending hours choosing just the right outfit to disguise your left over baby weight. You’ve spent extra time putting on your “face,” even taking the time to Google some make-up tips and tricks. With your smoky nighttime eyes, you walk past your man looking down at your freshly painted toes, hoping he’ll notice your lids.
You twirl, pretending to look at the television, giving him a view of you from all angles.
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I love reading the Song of Solomon in the Bible. This book has two interpretations. One interpretation is that of a natural love between King Solomon and his bride, the Shulamite maiden. It emphasizes biblical principles that honor the beauty of love within marriage. The other interpretation is symbolic of the spiritual truths in our relationship with Jesus behind the natural love story. I remember how embarrassed I used to feel when reading this book because I often felt as if I were imposing on the love between this man and woman.
Over the last year, the Lord has began to unlock my heart and give me greater revelation of His love for me.
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We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. 2 Corinthians 10:5
I awakened this morning with the title of this post running through my mind. What if the first time you had a thought, it was just that . . . a thought? The second time you thought it, you were granted a mulligan by God’s grace. But if you continued spinning it around in your head, it appeared across your forehead in ticker tape format. Right there for everyone to see!
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I rubbed my sleeping daughter’s back, expecting to be greeted with a groggy grin. She stretched her arms and then began feeling around for her favorite teddy bear. When he was not quickly found, my six year old bolted upright and began a frantic search. I realized there would be no grins of any sort that morning if we did not find her bear.
After digging through tangled sheets and blankets, I found him. Cooper, the once soft white bear who is now matted and, well, not so white. He has a replacement nose and has had several “surgeries” to fix holes worn by love.
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My thoughts have been turned inward lately. Not in a prideful way. As the Lord brings to light the hurting places in my heart, those things that I have kept behind closed doors, away from his grace and mercy, I get overwhelmed. I am becoming more aware of my brokenness and of my need of Him and His restoring grace. I lack. I want. I desire. He alone can fill the cracks, those voids deep inside my heart.
As the Lord brings deep and personal revelation of my constant need of Him, I can tend to focus too much on what I can’t see and I forget to focus on His free gifts of grace and mercy, which allow me to move on into places of freedom.
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Right now, I am writing this post from my balcony overlooking the beautiful beaches of Destin, Florida. The stage is set with umbrellas still folded neatly, the waves crashing in and out, and the sounds of children playing in the distance. It’s still morning, too early to endure the harsh reality of having to read on the beach all day, right?
While everything is neat and picturesque around me, I am not. My heart has been turned inside out this entire trip. I have cried more on this beach trip than the already overflowing coastline deserves.
I have forced myself to turn off the intoxicating media all around me.
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…down in my heart….where?
I look over and see Elijah’s breakfast of cereal and rice chex get bumped over and slowly watch as the milk drips down to the floor covering everything in it’s sticky path.
…down in my heart…where?
The stack of papers and mail for me to go through has now filled the “to do” box. I see the bills peeking out, along with invites to respond to, and memos. It feels like too much.
…down in my heart…where?
Not again. It feels like I’ve been dealing with bad attitudes all day. Defiance and crankiness seem to be reigning.
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I did not need my seven year old to tell me she was irritated with me. The exasperated sigh. The slumped shoulders. The begrudging shuffle into the bathroom. They were obvious indicators of her less than cheery attitude.
Undeterred, I set about our morning ritual. With a bottle of detangler, a hairbrush, and a blow-dryer, I worked to get Katie’s unruly hair to calm down and look presentable for school. But that particular morning, she wanted nothing to do with our routine.
“Why do we have to do this every day?,” she questioned with great dramatic flair and lots of sighing.
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