It’s thrilling to get a love letter . . . to know that someone took the time to write down words of love just for you.
I was privileged to speak at a Women’s Retreat earlier this month where we focused on the gift of God’s love. We let His words of grace and mercy wash over us.
One of my favorite stories from the weekend was shared by Pastor Adrian Rogers on his radio broadcast, Love Worth Finding. This is my rendition since I wasn’t able to write it word for word while driving:
One day while her car was getting worked on at the dealership, Ann needed to borrow her husband’s new car to run some errands.
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Pages flipped behind me as I tried to listen to the preacher.
Flip. Flip. Flip.
It was rhythmic. My concentration paused as I waited for it to stop. A second of silence and then –
flip, flip, flip.
I glanced at the middle schoolers behind me willing them to give it a rest.
Bibles have the loudest pages, I thought and began to wonder about how the people at Tyndale and Zondervan dipped the edges of the pages in gold and silver. Who even published my Bible? I turned to the front pages to find out. Tyndale and Zondervan. I never knew two publishers worked together to publish something.
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Time alone for reading God’s Word and quiet prayer can be hard to come by when you’re a busy parent from dawn till dusk. If I were to wake before my youngest, I’d have to set the alarm for four o’clock AM.
Lately, I’ve been pondering how to be inspired throughout my day — how to think about Jesus even in the middle of it all. I’ve started counting the gifts, you know, focusing on even the littlest things that are evidences of His love. I’ve been listening to Christian audio book downloads and sermons online while I do the dishes or fold laundry.
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I still remember it like it was just the other day and yet, it was years ago. I was a young mom, with just my three little girls {now, I’m the mom to seven — we’ve added four boys}, and me walking into a new church, into a new women’s Bible study, into a room full of women. Me from Minnesota, living in California, and feeling very much vulnerable.
I stood in the corner, surveyed the room, looked at all the beautiful women, and thought to myself how I really probably should have just stayed home today. This was too hard.
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When I was a little girl, I always looked forward to the Valentine’s Day class party at school. I would get dressed up. My mother would make cookies (we could take homemade ones back then) and I would pick out valentines to give to all of my special friends. I enjoyed receiving attention from others, handwritten notes of love and affirmation from friends, and dreaming of the day when my one true Valentine would come and sweep me off my feet.
Be My Valentine.
What do those words really mean? “If you love me, then you will bring me flowers”. If you love me then, you will take me out to dinner.
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Then the Lord God asked the woman, “What have you done?” (Genesis 3:13 NLT)
I’ve read this Scripture verse many times and always thought about how angry God must have been at Adam and Eve. As a parent, I know I would have been angry. I mean, really, the one tree they were told not to eat from is the one they couldn’t resist.
But not long ago I was reading this section of Genesis, and I heard something different in God’s words.
“What have you done?”
I heard sadness and disappointment.
God created Adam and Eve desiring the personal relationship He had with them.
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There are a lot of things that happen in life that don’t make sense. Friends have marriages collapse and are left to sort through the broken pieces. Loved ones go through the heartache of losing expected life and are left with questions and a hole where there was supposed to be anticipation. A family member gets sick and battles diseases like the “c” word with great faith and courage, only to be left without the testimony of beating it. Hard working husbands lose jobs and the financial security we thought we had is gone just as quickly as it came in the first place.
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A baby bird wobbles across the grass in our backyard.
It has fallen out of its nest under the eaves of our roof.
The bird flaps its tiny wings, trying to fly, but it doesn’t get more than a foot off the ground.
I look out the window, watching, worried… wondering how it will survive.
I get a piece of bread, break it into crumbs and tiptoe out into the backyard. Slowly, quietly, I sneak up behind the bird and drop some crumbs on the ground hoping it will eat. But it runs away, scared.
Then the most amazing thing happens.
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