Five Minute Friday: "Learn"

"Five Minute Friday". Third week for me! This week's word is "learn".

It's almost time for school to start back after a full and crazy summer. I work at an academy, so I'm more than just nominally interested in that fact.

The first day of school (and even after the 'new' wears off, hopefully!) brings streams of bright faces, eager to begin again the process of learning.
And yet, they have so much to teach me. To teach all the adults in their lives.

Children have a different outlook on life. They don't understand social rules or observe understood appropriate behavior. Sometimes in their enthusiasm, they squeal with delight in decidedly undignified style. They don't have any hesitation about scratching an itch in a hard-to-reach place, requiring awkward physical contortions. They are brutally honest. They are not uncomfortable with staring openly at something or someone that they find interesting. They hoard pretty rocks but think money is boring. They believe in the unbelievable. And they are slow to realize and observe stereotypes or 'differences' in others.

All of these things aren't always for the best (ha!) but the outlook of innocence behind so many of them is something adults would do well to learn from.

For example, I don't think I'll ever forget a story I heard about a question asked by a biological child in a white family with several adopted children (of various distinct nationalities). When the child found out several of his siblings were adopted, he asked, 'Which ones?'. There's also the story of a child who quickly befriended a handicapped individual that everyone else was too embarrassed to talk to.

The schools are filled with brilliant teachers showing off shiny degrees, when many of them would do well to learn from their pupils.
There is a reason that Jesus told His disciples that anyone who wishes to enter His Kingdom must have the heart and faith of a child.

Trissy pointed out a fact the other day that I'd never quite put into conscious thought, but that is, sadly, so very true:
"Children are so busy living life that they don't focus on their troubles. Adults are so focused on their troubles that they're too busy to live life."

Oh that we could all learn how to truly live!

{Note: It took me a little longer than five minutes :) .}

Five Minute Friday : "Here"

My second week of participating in "Five Minute Friday". This week's word is "here".


"You are here."

You know those little maps that are in alot of public places, showing you the layout of the store, the park, etc.? There's usually a not-necessarily-so-helpful notation marking the location of the map. It often says "You are here".

Why do we look at those little maps? We know where we are, obviously, at least on a very basic level!
Well, we look at them to find out how to get to where we are wanting to go.

Right now, I know where I am. I am "here". But I'll admit, I am struggling about getting to where I want to be.

Sometimes (for reasons I won't go into detail about, for time's sake), I'm afraid to plan, to dream, to set long-range goals for the future. I want to get there, but I am afraid of the road that will take me there.

Yet I am often unsatisfied with being "here", where I am.

One of the best quotes I've ever heard is very simple, but very wise: "Bloom where you're planted."

Discontentment is one of the human nature's easiest vices to give in to. Yet God has allowed us to be "here", where we are now, at this moment. And He's given us the opportunity (and ability) to use it well. It is up to us to decide if we are going to live it with joy and confidence in His love (to bloom), or with worry and dissatisfaction (wishing we were planted somewhere else).

We struggle with doubt, with worry, with our inability to control our own lives and destinies.

But we don't need to. And I'm preaching to myself here! Bloom where you're planted. "You are here", now.

Five Minute Friday : "Try"

Trissy recently introduced me to a little community of writers who participate in an exercise called "Five Minute Friday". She's started doing it on her new blog (!) and I decided to start trying to participate, though I may not make it every week. Here goes my first one!
This week's word is "try".

{Start time.}

Try. One of the first things I think of when I hear (or read) that word is a quote from a dear friend:

"There is no such thing as 'try'. There is either 'do' or 'do not'."

When I first heard it, I frowned, puzzled. I wasn't sure if I agreed with it or not. It was one of those things, "I'll have to think about that one...".

Of course there is such a thing as 'try'! If I honestly attempt to climb a mountain, read 50 books in a year, or cook a meal all by myself, I have 'tried' to do it!

But then I got to thinking, maybe there really is only 'do' or 'do not'.

Either I reached the top of the mountain, or I didn't. Either I read 50 books that year, or less. Either I got that meal on the table, or only part of it. Either I 'did' those things, or I 'did not' do them.

But lately, my mind has changed again. I think there's both. With the mountain, the books, and the meal, I really attempted to accomplish my goal. I 'tried'. That's true. So there is such a thing as 'try'.

{End time. I'm not finished with what I was saying though, so I'll keep going :) .}

'Trying' is not the goal however. Accomplishing ('doing') it is. It's the end result that has the value, and I think that is what my friend meant, the lesson he was trying (ha, no pun intended) to teach.

Yet even there, one can argue the point... If a lesson was learned in the effort, something of value did come from the 'trying'. And - "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again." - maybe next time, success. And the 'try' will have become 'do'. And the 'doing' will lead to 'done'.

Dust To Beauty

Spending a decent amount of time in another context is one of the most effective ways to re-set a person's perspective and help them see the world around them through refreshed and unbiased eyes.

Four days ago, I got back from such an experience - a ten-day mission trip with eight other people from Victory Rd., and a friend from another state. A total of ten of us went to a big city in the western part of the country to volunteer at a mission organization focused on ministering to the homeless and poor in that area. It was definitely an eye-opener.

I thought I was prepared. I thought I knew enough about homelessness to be able to minister with a tender heart, but also to maintain a protective skin around my feelings. I was wrong.

And maybe that was a good thing.

The mission sends out a group of staff, program guys, and volunteers every night in a big van (or two) with sandwiches, blankets, clean socks, small hygiene items (shampoo, toothbrushes and toothpaste, soap, sunscreen, etc.), something to drink (juice or hot chocolate, depending on the weather. The mission's hot chocolate is famous in the city. Some people were asking for it even when the nights were warm.), and kind hearts. There are several different routes that the vans take, and multiple stops along each route. The van parks, and a handful of the volunteers get out and walk around nearby, looking for homeless and down-trodden folks in the vicinity to send back to the van. The rest of the workers stay at the van to meet the people who come.
The big red vans and the mission's name are known and welcomed all over the city by drunks, druggies, unemployed businessmen, orphans, scarred veterans, prostitutes, and honest people who are simply 'down on their luck'. Anyone who needs a little food, a little warmth, a kind word, a listening ear, and/or the love of Christ, can find it at the hands of the mission and it's workers - many of them formerly addicted and scarred people themselves, now beautifully healed by the love of God.

Our team was privileged to go out on these nighttime-rescue trips several times. I went along for five out of the ten nights we were there in the city. The first night was heart-breaking, and almost too hard. But after the second night, I was addicted to the 'high' - the feeling of being useful, doing good, and maybe helping change some lives for the better.

Our team also helped prepare and serve the nearly-one-thousand meals the mission serves to homeless people that walk in every day just to eat (the number increases in the winter months when it's cold and harder for homeless folks to find food). In the process of meal preparations and other kitchen chores, our team worked alongside many of the men who are going through the rehab program and living there at the mission. Nothing bonds people like having to work together for a focused cause. We made some wonderful new friends.

To hear the guys in the program tell their stories, to see the depths of history in their eyes, to watch smiles bloom on gruff faces, and to learn how completely normal they are behind the tough fronts... Those were priceless moments.
One of the most impacting seconds of the trip for me was when, one day near the end of our time there, I suddenly realized that I didn't notice anymore the ponytails, the strange facial piercings, the gauges, or the tattoos - those details about our new friends that had startled me (and made me a little more nervous than I was anyway) at the beginning of the trip, had faded before the twin effects of kindness and grace. For, on our parts, it took kindness and open hearts to see past those things at first - to be able to get to know the real men behind the weird expressions. And for them, it took the grace of God to change their hearts from places of fear and slavery to places of rest, courage, and hope. Simply judging by the ten-day experience that I had working at the mission, that is what is happening there - the Lord is using that place to rescue men and give them new lives in Christ.

I thank Him that He allowed me the blessing of looking through a small ten-day window, into the beauty that is possible when His hand touches our dust.

{Note: Another post coming with pictures and more specific details of our trip.}

"And my thoughts stop there."

I went up to the trailer-house (as Dad calls it) this morning to mow the yard and do some laundry.

The house and yard have a strange air about them - a weird combination of lived in, yet abandoned. The ghosts of memories are everywhere, yet it doesn't have the melancholy old-times-that-have-been-but-will-never-be-again feeling.

If I don't get to it on Saturdays, Dad keeps the yard mowed. But the pots on the steps are a wacky display of spring flowers and weeds. My flowerbed has out-grown it's bounds and is mostly in the yard now, instead of behind it's rock border. The mint bed has long since abandoned the nice little corner where it started out and is slowly and methodically conquering the surrounding territory.
The fruit trees are nicely pruned, and two new rose bushes have been put in the front yard, tributes to Dad's dedication.

This afternoon I went back to put the clothes in the dryer, and I went through the kitchen. Pans and glasses were sitting on the counter, rinsed of food, but needing to be washed and put away. There was dust and a dead bluebottle on the windowsill, and a tiny spiderweb. Rust stains on the metal of the sink, collected around the bases of the soap dispensers. There was dust on the cabinets.

I loaded the dishwasher and washed and dried the big pieces that wouldn't go in. I wiped off the cabinets, scrubbed the sink, and cleaned out the windowsill (when I moved the little decorative teapot to wash it, the little jumping spider fell out. I left him alone). Thankfully, someone has been remembering to water the house plants.

I don't want to leave the impression that we haven't been in the house since The Grandmother got sick. We are in-and-out all the time, especially Dad, who works in the yard and goes to his study to prepare his Sunday School lessons, but we certainly have not lived there in over a year.

Sometimes, especially when I go into my room (which is a wreck from me dropping something off or picking something up without having time to properly put things away), or see my flowerbed (which desperately needs weeding and re-working), or the empty chicken coop (some varmint got the last of our chickens over Christmas break), I really miss the way things used to be. I miss living in our own trailer-house on our own land with our own animals and trees and projects, and bike rides up to visit The Grandparents in the evenings or to help The Grandmother with little projects during the day.
But I have to be careful not to miss life at our place too much, because if we lived there now, it would mean The Grandfather was gone and didn't need us any more. And my thoughts stop there. They simply freeze up - I can't think about life without The Grandparents.

The Grandfather had a stroke last week. Life has changed again, and we are again being compelled to begin figuring out a 'new normal'. He has been dependent on us. But though he could not walk, or stand for long, or brush his teeth, or dress himself, he could stand with our support and take the few steps required to transfer from one chair to another. He could lift his arms and slide them into his shirtsleeves. He could feed himself. He could speak fairly clearly. Now, he can do none of those things.

The Lord will help us with this transition into another way of life. It's just difficult, humanly, to try to think where the new strength and wisdom will come from. 

Where Oh Where Has My Brown-Eyed Boy Gone?

My family doesn't rent movies much, only a little more than we go to the theater, and I've been to the theater four times in (approximately) the past 15 years - gives you some idea of the frequency - but after Trissy and I watched "Big Hero 6" with a cousin (Uncle David and Aunt Winny's son), we wanted to show it to Dad and Mom. So Trissy went out on a limb and picked up four movies (three of which none of us had seen) from the video rental store for us this weekend. One of them was "Last Ounce of Courage" (more later - maybe - on the other three). We watched it tonight, and I was pleasantly surprised. I'm so used to being 'burnt' on new movies that finding one I can recommend is very encouraging. I did have an objection to one aspect, but that's a whole 'nother ballgame, and not why I'm writing this post. Maybe I'll address it another time.

I'm just writing now for myself. To 'think out loud' and pray at the same time.

The film had a very patriotic message, and one of the main characters was a young soldier who bore an amazing resemblance to my 'brown-eyed boy'. My 'brown-eyed boy' - who I have heard nothing of in over a year, except a very rare text message from his mom. I texted the number I had for her one afternoon last month for the first time in probably a year and a half. I didn't even really expect to receive an answer - I never had when the family still lived in this area and still attended Victory Rd. I didn't hold out hope now that they've moved away and been gone so many months. But I was amazed and thrilled when my 'I've-been-thinking-about-your-family-and-just-wanted-to-let-you-know-I'm-praying-for-you' text was answered with a 'we're-doing-alright-the-boys-are-fine-thank-you-for-the-prayers' response!
But then I wondered, did "the boys" mean the two 'little boys', her thirteen and nine-year-olds? Or all three of her boys?

Keeping my eyes and ears open right around the time they left, I picked up word of him here and there for a while. It was very discouraging. He'd disappeared from Victory Rd., hanging instead with 'the wrong crowd'. His Twitter feed was filthy.
The last I heard of my 'brown-eyed boy' he was going into the military - into explosives. That was about two years ago. The last time I saw him, he'd come to pick up his two little brothers from the academy and was - figuratively - a pitiful shadow of the bright young man he had been during his Victory Rd. days. Physically, he appeared in top form. Spiritually...

My first emotion was shock. Heartbreak followed close on it's heels. A Christian brother, my friend. Where had he gone? 
He was like a stranger. He didn't even look at me.

I texted the same message to the last number I had for him, at the same time I texted his mom. No response.

Oh God! My 'brown-eyed boy'! Wherever you are, God help you!
Oh what has become of him?

Toby.

Toby mentored and discipled him for several months. They became quite good friends. If anyone knows where he is or what's going on with him, surely Toby does. Good old Toby - I'll ask him at church tomorrow.

My 'brown-eyed' boy's movie look-alike was a strong Christian and his Lord strengthened him through the fires of battle. Oh that this same could be said of my 'brown-eyed boy'!!

"The words of a man's mouth are as deep waters..."

{Note: I scribbled these thoughts on a piece of scratch paper while watching the 9th and 10th grade class room while the teacher ran an errand. Of course, I didn't date it. I know it was somewhere well after school began, but before the Christmas break. So, September, October, or November of 2014 :) . }

"The words of a man's mouth are as deep waters..." Prov. 18:4

I wonder what Solomon had in mind exactly when he said this. Just taking it at face value, it strikes me as a thought I've had many many times.
When someone says something, what do they mean by it? Do they mean just what they said? How much simpler so many situations would be if this were always the case! And yet, where is the fun and adventure [in that]? "Deep waters..." Deep waters are a thing of mystery, a thing to be explored, a thing that holds magic and discovery. A 'something' that must be known personally in order to be understood. Deep water can not be taken at face value. There is always more there than just what is on the surface.
So it is - so many times - with "the words of a man's mouth", or with anyone's mouth, for that matter.
This is just such a great line - so descriptive, so literarily excellent. It's warm and comforting with deep wisdom. It's cool and refreshing with a sense of adventure. And it's also a strange combination of hope and wistful loneliness.

Too Tired To Dance

On Sunday mornings especially, when my are ears full and my head echoing with the soaring beauty of music and songs praising the greatness of God, or a sermon reminding of His mercy and kindness and matchless glory, I sit quiet and respectful on the pew while my heart nearly bursts with gladness, only longing to run away into the woods, find a tiny clearing, and dance with all my strength where only the sparrows, the crickets, and the Lord are watching.

Sometimes when the answer comes to a desperate prayer, when a lost soul comes home, or when a thunderstorm sweeps in with it's power of swirling wind and silver rain (to me for some reason God always feels physically closer in thunderstorms), my heart fills up and swells so big and tight inside me that nothing will relieve the pressure of praise but to dance - to pound (preferably barefoot) into the grass with my flying feet, rising on my toes, lifting my hands, ducking, twirling, flying out in joy and gratefulness and praise, while my clothes whip around me, the rain runs down my face, my soul breathes, and my mind sings, in a perfect voice, a song that only He and I can hear.

Then there are times when, no matter how grateful I am to Him, no matter how glad because of His presence, His beauty, His provision, or His kindness, I go outside and simply stand, looking at the sky. My heart is full, but it is quiet. I am physically empty.

My family lives with The Grandfather, who is handicapped and completely dependent on us. My spirit aches for him in his helplessness and grateful humility. My spirit weeps for my mom and dad who are The Grandfather's primary care-givers, and both worn thin. Even with the aide who comes in and helps occasionally, Mom is worn down under the constant grind and the lack of reprieve, but she is always patient and doesn't complain. Dad has his job, is trying to get a building project completed alone, and is having some mysterious health trouble, but is present to help and do the heaviest tasks as much as he can. My spirit goes out to Trissy who is weighed down with college classes and assignments, and trying to help alleviate mom's load as much as possible, but she keeps a constant cheerfulness and a servant's spirit.

My spirit weeps almost constantly. And sometimes my eyes too.

I am immersed in my full-time job at the academy. I love my job, but it can be physically and mentally demanding at times. I'm the secretary of course, but I'm also the school nurse, the school photographer, I sub/fill in in classrooms (sometimes with only a few minutes' notice), run a multitudinous variety of errands, our PA system is in the works so I'm the human message-carrier, I run the 'snack shop', am half the lunchroom staff, still do after-school, keep the principal's coffee cup full, etc. etc. I get back to the house tired, but there is plenty to do still to help try to alleviate the burdens of the folks at home.

My body (especially my feet, back, and head) hurts almost constantly. And sometimes my mind too.

Friday afternoon as school was getting ready to let out, a parent came in and kindly asked if I was hot - it was a very warm day and I was hurrying to get the last of my work done before ringing the bell and beginning to put kids in the cars in the pick-up line. I smiled and shook my head, 'No ma'am, I'm actually not that hot, just a little... warm, and tired.'
She nodded emphatically. 'Yes, I understand exactly. Worn - that is a great word for it.'
I realized she had misunderstood what I had said, but then I realized it was still the truth. I was worn.

Worn. Worn.

So. Between sadness, mental exhaustion, and physical emptiness, I often find myself lifting my face with tears threatening, and inwardly crying to the Lord, "Oh God! I have no strength!"

The next thought that comes to me is usually one of about three. Sometimes the verse, "He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much:..." (Luke 16:10) picks me up and helps me keep going - for oh how I want to be faithful!

Or, the thought that my 'load' is nothing compared to so many others'. Then the verse, "If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small." (Proverbs 24:10). And I feel ashamed of my weakness. But then I am comforted by, "...the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak...." (Matthew 26:41).

But when I am especially tired and spent (which, I must admit, is most often), after first crying to Him, I hear a little frowning voice quote, "If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small." and my soul cries out even more desperately, 'I know! My strength is small!' But then, so tenderly, "I hear the Savior say, 'Thy strength indeed is small. Child of weakness, watch and pray. Find in Me thine all in all."
I'm still tired. I'm still worn. My strength is still small. But I lean hard on Him, and the same One Whose face smiles at my dancing holds me while I weep.

He loves me the same when I'm soaring as when I'm too tired to dance.

Soli Deo Gloria! -Kyrie<>< - another 'Dear _____, Love, me' post

Dear Bro. Earl,

May God give you the energy you need and keep your courage up. I love hearing you teach. And it makes my day when you hang around in the morning after teaching your high schoolers' Bible class at the academy and discuss theology with me.


Dear Mrs. Shannen,

I know your load is heavy - may the Lord be your strength.


Dear Bro. Dennis,

You taught me so much. You were my mentor, my friend. I miss you. Please come back.


Dear Mrs. Carrie,

You're still beautiful. May the Lord truly give you the desires of your heart.


Dear Maxwell,

You are growing so fast. I've prayed for you twice as long as you've been alive, and I'm still praying for you. May God make something amazing of your life. 


Dear Austin,

I miss you and Ava so much. Your sunny friendship warms my memories. May God use you greatly where you are.


Dear Ava,

I miss you and Austin so much. What a wonderful heart shines through the wonderful smile you have. Thank you for keeping in touch with us at Victory Rd.! God bless your adventure!


Dear Aron,

I'm so proud of you for how you're striving to be a true man of God. Keep Him at the center of your precious family.


Dear Henley,

You are such a wonderful wife and mother. May the Lord bless your efforts to do what's right. Keep loving your husband, keep loving your boys. Keep experimenting!


Dear Simon,

There's still hope. Come home.


Dear Joy,

The devil wants you, but God is stronger! The little decisions you're making now are setting the stage for the rest of your life. Oh darling! The glittery pleasures that tempt teenagers are so fleeting - the glitter falls off, and years later if God grants you wisdom, you will look at them and wonder how in the world you allowed yourself to give your time and love to that naked junk. How my heart aches over you! God fight for you!


Dear Toby,

Bless your loving heart. Yes, you are human and you've made mistakes. No, I don't agree with you on everything. But I respect you so much. Let the Lord keep making you incredible.


Dear Lindy,

You are a true friend. Stay humble, but don't get too down on yourself. You're on the right track to making an excellent wife - stay Toby's best friend.


Dear Archer,

I think you've found your life's work. If that's the case, pour your whole self into it. But please be so careful - as you're cleaning, it's easy to get dirty yourself. Seek the Lord's advice in EVERYthing.


Dear Law,

Oh my precious, how can I write to you all that's in my heart? I continually praise our blessed Christ for the man He's making you into. God bless you, my dear young friend.


Dear Abigail,

Your happiness makes me happy. I can always count on you for a corny joke or a teasing jab or a tidbit of spiritual wisdom to boost my spirit. Keep singing.


Dear Piper,

I'm continually amazed at your store of patience and your depth of maturity. You still have so much to learn. God make you a great lady, my dearest girl! And don't give up your piano :) .


Dear Bro. S.,

Thank you for loving your wife and trying to raise your kids for the Lord. Thank you for your country simplicity and wisdom. Thank you for being so transparent and honest with your Sunday School class. Thank you for your friendship and for your perceptive encouragement.


Dear Mrs. S.,

Thank you for loving your husband and trying to raise your kids for the Lord. Your knack for putting people at ease and your heart of welcome are both a great example and a special gift; there is a reason everyone loves you - you love everyone.


Dear Trent,

You are growing up so well. Keep your contentment, yet yearn for more of God. Thank you for your down-to-earth country friendship. And for blessing others with your music.


Dear Peter,

I can't believe what a wonderful young man you're becoming. I mean, I can, but I've known you long enough to remember you as a little kid! You are so unconscious of your good looks, and that makes you even more handsome. Keep your sunny disposition - a joyful spirit is a blessing to the owner as well as to those around him.


Dear Trent and Peter's mom,

You are such a blessing to me. Thank you for your advice on photography, your smoothie recipes, your secretarial tips, your humility, and your sweet smile. Thank you for treating me as an equal, even though I'm so much younger.


Dear Lela,

Are you happy? True happiness comes from joy in Christ. Don't waste your life. Btw, I miss you. Remember Chicago?


Dear Mrs. Renae,

I'm so thankful the Lord has allowed us to stay in touch. He is stronger than anything fighting you!


Dear Nicole,

What can I say? There's only one Nicole. Am I still 'one of your best friends'? May the Lord grow you into the woman He wants you to be - don't resist the changes He wants to make.


Dear Russell,

You have the gift of a joyful spirit - what a blessing you are to so many! Use your talent for the glory of God - don't let the bright lights blind you.


Dear Lora, Lindsay, Dolan, and Randy,

I have no idea what happened to you. But I know the One who does. I trust that He is watching out for you. I loved you.


My Dear Brown-Eyed Boy,

Wherever you are, God keep you.


Dear Bro. Mike, Bro. Mike's wife, and Camille,

I'm so thankful for the amazing adventure the Lord is allowing you to live! Don't wait too long to come back for a visit though - it's been so long since that last hug.


Dear Bro. Nick and Lydia,

I'm praying for you.


My Dear Dr. Pepper Kids,

Oh how I hope and pray that you will give yourselves to the Lord! You aren't kids anymore, but a young man and two young women. If you start now with Christ while you're young, life will be better - trust me.


Dear Trissy,

I love you.


Dear others-I'd-wanted-to-include-a-note-to-in-this-post,

I am so sorry, but it's 11:00 P.M. and I've got to be at work right after 7:00 tomorrow morning - I've got to go to bed. But that doesn't change the fact that I love you and hope you will love the Lord. Maybe I can write later.

Most of the others I actually have written will never see their notes. But I needed to write them.


Soli Deo Gloria!

-Kyrie<><

Character Study

{Note: I like character studies. I like to write them, I like to read other people's. I woke up early this morning and, since it was Saturday morning, I took the luxury of sitting in bed and writing a little.}

I'd seen her picture before and dreaded meeting her.

She had a mop of unruly brownish curls that seemed to be going everywhere at once. They gave her a rakish carefree look that contrasted sharply with the lazy tilt of her dark blue almond-shaped eyes and tiny mouth. Her lips pressed into a prim expression of perpetual disdain and disapproval.

We were introduced and she reached out to shake my hand with an easy smile that revealed straight white teeth. Her smile was small, but her mouth was small.

"Hi! I've heard alot about you," I said truthfully. I wasn't sure it was safe to say, "Good to meet you."

Within fifteen minutes I realized her pictures had not only not told the whole truth, but had lied as well. She was tall (above average for a woman), slim, and athletic. Her clothes were of a modern, trendy style, yet kept a classiness and showed self-respect. Her manner was confident but not haughty, and when she spoke, she was completely honest in expression, yet her listeners never felt attacked if their opinion was different from hers. In a conversation, her eyes moved easily, including each person present. She was completely comfortable with herself and with whoever was around her. I don't know why she liked me, but she did.

"Don't judge a book by it's cover."

The Sky-Painter

I had to go to work early this morning ('early', meaning I had to be there by 7:00 A. M.), and on the way, I got to see the beginning of the sunrise. 

I like sunrises much more than sunsets. I've seen lots more sunsets, but they always strike me as a little sad - an ending of something. I love nighttime, but I don't like sunsets; they just seem melancholy somehow. Sunrises seem happier - a beginning. 

But even though I'm an early riser, I usually don't watch the sun get up. 

 

The one this morning was fantastic. I was speechless as I drove, wanting to stare, yet not wanting to run off the road. The clouds made a heavy slate-blue roof below the sky. But like a lid on a pot, not quite closed, there was a wide crack on the horizon. And through the crack, between the tops of the far-off trees and the cloudy lid, was a blinding display of gold. I can't describe it without sounding cliche. How do people usually describe sunrises or sunsets?! 'Pink and purple and orange and gold and clouds and streaks and sun'. But those words are so pitiful. I won't even try. But trust me, people have paid good money to see things that couldn't begin to compare to this free display of art and glory. 

Free. Every morning. But how many people get up early to watch the sun rise? How many sunrises have 'gone to waste' so to speak? How many beyond-amazing ones has the Lord made, not because someone's watching, but 'just because'? Just because He's scheduled the sun to start the day. 

 

Every morning He makes one. And how many have been appreciated? Lots, maybe. But not a majority, and certainly not all of them! Yet He keeps making them, every morning, quietly, no fuss, no irritation if no one congratulates Him on their beauty; they're just there for anyone who would like to enjoy them. And then they fade, and are never seen again. Each art piece an original, a one-of-a-kind, and the mold broken. 

Famous artists' work is insured for up to millions of dollars. And most of it is pathetic in comparison to what is available for our enjoyment every day, no charge.

 

Suddenly, the analogy hit me in the face. The answer to a recent personal struggle, literally displayed for me in the sky.

How much unnoticed, unappreciated work am I willing to do? Am I willing to do what's right even if I'm so tired it feels like the weight of my bones is separating them from each other, go the extra mile to lighten a friend's load when my load is crushing me, or deny myself something I'd like so that someone else can enjoy it? Even if no one cares? Gives me credit or a pat on the back? Or worst of all, if no one even knows that I've sacrificed?

How could I not be willing? He paints the sky for me. He can give me strength, if I will just ask for it. 

Oh God give me strength!