Three

Glen Pass, Kings Canyon National Park

"That river is like God's grace.  It is abundantly flowing," or, "Look how God covered the ground with pine needles.  That's like grace cushioning a fall!"  These are a couple of tiny glimpses into my mind as I hike.  In fact the trail name I've given myself is "Grace Seeker."  I am on the lookout pretty constantly for how God is revealing Himself through what He has made.  My eager mind can translate anything into something filled with meaning and spiritual application, but sometimes I find myself on inspiration overload and my heart cannot quite catch up with my head and its racing thoughts.  Imagine a tree branch so hungry for snow to land on its branches it tries to reach further into the sky to grab flakes of snow.  That is how I am by nature, especially in nature.  The tendency in me is to strive to receive and respond rather than wait on God to turn my head, to show me what He wants me to notice then let it settle in and on me.

As Brent and I prepared to backpack at Rae Lakes Loop in Kings Canyon National Park one summer, I decided to approach the time traveling through the California wilderness differently.  I sensed God nudging me to be open to letting His Spirit point out what He wanted me to notice.  There was a new trust that said, okay, God.  You show me what You want me to see; You let me know what You want me to know.  I experienced a new freedom and playfulness in choosing to leave the inspiration totally up to God.  

There were three head-turning truths He revealed to me over the four-day journey -- truths I carried with me far beyond our summer vacation, the depths of which continue to unfold in me.  He showed me these truths in some creative ways.

1)  The power of the waterfall.  I've always been inspired by the strength of what rises from creation -- mountains, flowers, trees pointing to the heavens, a person having been beaten down by illness, hardship or depression who stands once again.  But what God turned my head with when I saw and sat with a waterfall was power rushing down.  Immediately I recognized what in my life needed to see this about God and His ability, quickness and willingness to extend grace.  Someone I loved deeply had much hurt at the time, and I had become fearful and worried.   The waterfall was a display of God's rushing-down-from-above power and love pouring onto His children. I wrestled with Him a bit during my break.  "If you can reach down this powerfully, surely, surely you can reach the one for whom I am praying.  Please, God, please reach her.  Reach me.  Pour over me, dislodging the fear and doubt in my heart."

2)  The bigness of the mountain.  Inclines have always been strenuous for me, and I imagine they always will be.  Yet each time I am climbing toward a peak or a pass, I am surprised by my struggle.  Springy, shiny-faced, eager hikers in magazine pictures look nothing like how I feel while ascending.  I walk with heavy steps and an even heavier-with-condemnation heart for how strong I think I should be.  As I slogged toward Glen Pass, the highest point on Rae Lakes Loop, a thought floated by I knew I needed to hang on to:  The mountain is much bigger than I.  Of course it's hard to climb!  The word "yield" was threaded into this new thought.  Hm.  What would it be like to yield to the truth that I am way smaller than the huge mountain?  Can I rest into and accept rather than reject my own limitations?  Something in me immediately flipped.  "Big mountain, little tiny me -- of course it's difficult!"  I said to myself.  I became more able to rely on God's strength somehow by embracing my own weakness.  

Post-hike as I navigate through illness, through seemingly impossible days at work, through relationships needing healing, I remember what was revealed during the steep mountain climb.  Yes, this problem, like the mountain, is much bigger than I. Of course it's hard; of course I'm tired and in need of rest and strength.   

3)  The kindness of my husband.  On night one we arrived at our first backpacking campsite with a greeting from a bare-bellied wet man who'd just come out of the river.  His name was Roy.  Roy and his two buddies, Lou and Brian, had hiked the loop every year for decades.  His grandfather used to ride a mule over the pass in the early 1900s.  We knew much about gregarious Roy before our tent was even set up.  Our journey intersected with this team of hikers many times after this first introduction.  Roy actually hiked slower than I did, and I stayed back with him while he took many rests while approaching the trail's highest point:  Glen Pass.  Remember, this is where I'd just learned to yield to the truth that I am so much smaller than the mountain.  He introduced me to some yummy energy chews as I sat with him while he caught his breath. 

Back to the kindness of my husband.  We stood in victory at almost 12,000 feet above sea level on a narrow, high, rocky pass taking turns photographing each other in this glorious moment, when Lou took a misstep and fell onto a sharp rock, splitting his knee open. Without pause Brent came to his aid, providing water, gauze, bandages.  Ignoring the expansive view of High Sierra ridges he'd worked so hard to see, setting down his binoculars and focusing on the need of another, he with tenderness and skill attended to Lou. In this act, I saw God's kindness and eagerness to care for me.  

I love thinking back to how God let me see this part of Him in my husband's actions.  When I am hurting or praying for someone who is hurting, He often brings to mind the picture He provided which expressed so clearly His kindness.

There have been situations following that summer hike where it was clear God had gone before me and had seen what I would need to get through what lay ahead -- times I specifically needed assurance of His reaching power, times I would need to accept a difficult, way-beyond-my-abilities situation and times I needed to depend on His attentive kindness.

Five days, forty-two miles, one bear (yes, really!)
and three truths
still changing me.

Diane Mann, 2015

Exploring 5 What-Ifs to Alter (and Altar) the Way You Do Church

The morning was lovely.  Worship drew you near to God.  The pastor was extra clear and expressive in teaching and preaching from Scripture. Some aspects of the hour and fifteen minutes sitting in your pew (or considerably less time if you were late!) were less enjoyable than others. But this Sunday you got all the blanks filled in from the lesson and found most of the points to be relevant to where you are in life.  You even noticed something was happening on a soul level.  And when the speaker sat down and the worship leader stood for closing music, much stirred inside of you.

You responded by singing along with the congregation, expressing with meaning from your heart the words to the worship tune.  It was a holy time, and the perfect song was chosen to wrap up the sermon's closing, putting a giant exclamation point on the morning's profound lesson.

In the "olden days" -- well, the '60s, '70s and '80s -- church services included a time to respond to what was spoken.  Yes, it could be quite dramatic and drawn out, with music playing and people walking down the aisles to show they wanted to move toward God in some way.  A very public response, but such a time was offered, nonetheless.  A call to the altar, it was -- a call to kneel, to turn to and return to God.  We took literally the words to the song "Just As I Am," by stepping down the aisle to, "Oh, Lamb of God, I come, I come."  

I confess I sometimes miss that space offered to respond.

I gave myself such a space to respond recently at the end of a wonderful sermon and asked, "What does what I have just heard cause me to want to pray?" As I uttered that very personal prayer,  a time of relating with God, some what-ifs came to mind.

1) What if we were to bring back the altar call?  (Please, hear me out here for the next "what-if.")

2) What if the altar we are called to is the altar inside the temple, which is each of us, that innermost, sacred place where Christ dwells and communes with us?

3) What if we actually came to Christ at that altar "just as we are," having listened then expressing to Him our response -- our real, raw response -- statements that may be beautiful, unattractive, loving, angry, questioning, yielding, resisting, statements such as these:

     "Jesus, I just can't imagine loving You like you've commanded in Your word.  How I long to love You more.  Grow my love for You."  

    "None of this feels true to me right now because I am hurting so badly."

     "It seems like everyone else is close to You while I'm on the outside."
  
   "I don't even want you near me right now because of what you've allowed to happen to me and my loved ones." 

     "Honestly, I know I should be moved by all that was shared this morning, but I'm just super excited about having lunch with friends."

4) What if we then remained at "the altar" undisturbed, quietly sensing Jesus with each of us, noticing Him with us in that space inside receiving and responding back to us exactly as we are?

5) What if we then, having sat with Jesus in the truth of where each of us is,  joined in chorus, worshiping and entrusting ourselves and each other to the only One who can bring about change within?

Whether such a time is offered in your church service or not, notice what stirs inside you and what the events of the morning urge you to say back to God.  Express that response to Him.  Then allow Him to be with you in that space, and notice how He is toward you.  It might take two minutes of your morning but will completely alter the way you do church.

Oh, and enjoy that lunch with friends!  

Diane Mann, 2015

Grace like Snow - Jammin' with the Overtones

The Overtones in Blue Pantsuits

The Overtones with Snow Falling (Janice is in the furry hat)

My High School Choir in our Checkered Long Dresses

I was raised in a church with a strong music program.  It seemed everyone, whether musically inclined or not, was in choir.  Each group of singers sang sometimes on Sunday mornings, had their own musicals and tours, and all combined at Christmastime for our huge "Round the Table Carol Sings," eventually outgrowing our sanctuary and moving the show to the LA County Fairgrounds, where over a weekend we offered seven performances of our Christmas extravaganza.  In 1977 the Carol Sings program was even televised.

Over 800 voices, a handbell choir, living Christmas cards, soloists, an orchestra all surrounded the audience, who sipped wassail, ate figgy pudding and joined in to sing many familiar carols.

At the front of the building was a stage on which the Overtones performed.  In my eyes, there were two kinds of choirs:  the Overtones and the non-Overtones (the Undertones?).  This group consisted of 12 or so super amazing, microphone-holding singers.  They toured internationally and even produced their own album. 

While we other choirs stood in rows on bleachers  around the building's edges, the Overtones, front and center, slid down slides, rode in sleighs, performed advanced, seamless choreography and even had snow falling on them as they sang.  Most memorable and creating the most envy in me was what they wore.  The checkered dresses adorning me and my fellow high-school singers seemed so "square" when compared with the slick baby-blue polyester pantsuits worn by the Overtones.  They were just all-around groovy.

I did enjoy choir, but my finding the right note was a little like searching for my car in a parking lot.  It's not that I couldn't find it; I just had to wander around a few places to get there.  Martene, our director, during rehearsals would pick a note and sing out the words "Today is a beautiful day" while pointing to a lucky chosen person who was to sing back the same words (no problem) on the same note (a problem).  My sister Susan was smart and learned to run to the restroom during this part of rehearsal.  But I sat and suffered through our leader's repeatedly trying to get me to hear then sing back the proper note.

Needless to say, I did not ever hold a microphone, and I was quite envious of the soloists who could produce such beautiful sounds with their voices.  I was in awe.  They seemed to sparkle as they sang, drawing an audience in, touching spirits, stirring souls with their voices.

I did not continue to sing in choir when I became an adult but found ways to serve more in line with my giftedness.  That itty bitty bit of envy of the performers remained, however.  I say "itty bitty," but in reality, envy has been a struggle for me for as long as I can remember.  Feeling "less than" or "not okay," often invisible, has been a struggle for me.  God has shown me lots about Him and me and how He sees me, and I've learned and am learning to live under His adoring, attentive eye, my "audience of one."

He had this super great surprise for me one year at women's retreat. I still attend the same church in which I grew up.  I had not planned to attend retreat, but someone canceled, and I was offered a last-minute spot.  Surprise of surprises, I ended up rooming with a darling past Overtone, Janice.  Thirty-plus years had gone by, but she still shined with that wide, sparkly smile with which she once graced the stage. 

We talked in our room until three in the morning.  I confessed to her my Overtone envy, and I was able to get to know her as a person rather than as a performer, a side-to-side sister rather than someone high on a pedestal (a pedestal created by envious me).  I loved seeing her heart, hearing her stories, and our just sharing with each other what it's like to be us.  We had been influenced by some of the same amazing what we call "pillars" of our church, fed by the same pastors, taught by the same teachers but because of our age difference had not become familiar with each other in the past.

Janice led a small group during retreat, and I was in her group.  We would share after meeting times about what God was showing us that weekend.  Two of the women in Janice's group, I learned, were ex-Overtones!  I had shared with them how God was meeting me in simple songwriting, helping me to find my voice while I learned guitar (I can hear notes better when playing) and what a gift that had been to me.  After our group dismissed one evening, the Overtones ladies, now all in their sixties, remained.  I'm sure they got a kick out of how still in awe of them I was!  We together sang songs.  They listened to me sing and play on the guitar a simple song I'd written then learned it and sang it with me. 

Jill sitting behind a desk drumming away, Addie singing and tapping her foot, Janice smiling and singing loud enough for me to at least feel like I was sounding just like her -- all a bit too wonderful to take in.  So I didn't take it in; I just went with it.  We sang more songs while passing the guitar around.  Just four people, not 800, no stages, no costumes or choreography -- and no disco ball like the one glittering in the center of the fair building for Christmas shows, but we all shone like stars to each other.

In the morning, Addie gave me a letter she had written to me expressing what a gift it was for her to share our souls through music the evening before.  We together ate breakfast, and I told her how our time touched, and even healed, some hole deep inside of me, something invisible, inferior and uncool - like something previously blue checkered transforming for just a time into a baby-blue polyester pantsuit. 

If grace falling can be like snow falling, I'm pretty sure I felt grace flakes gently landing on me the evening I jammed with the Overtones.

Diane Mann, 2014

Here's a link to a video of Pomona First Baptist Church's 1977 Carol Sings

My Part

Mine is not to strain harder to believe
     but to lean in,
            rest upon
                   and receive.


diane mann, 2013

Inescapable Love

Oh, the riches of this day
Your Presence with me, God
(Do you know how much I love that with-me part about You?)

Shine of the sun illuminating 
Warming me, heating 
The land
Melting the last patches
Of winter's stubborn snow
Causing me to try to escape 
Its harsh glare
Hot, scathing sun
A chilling iceberg
When compared
With Your burning Love
Melting stubborn me
Igniting this sometimes frozen heart
To love You
To love me
To love others

Oh, the riches of this day
You 
With me!

Diane Mann, 2013

A Healing Moment

I am eight years old (and so very shy).  At the piano I sit.  No

words are sung, but the melody to "I Have Decided to Follow Jesus" flows sincerely from my heart to my fingers to the piano keys then through my home.  Does no one hear me?  Does no one see me? Repeatedly I play the music.  An hour passes.  Surely someone will notice, won't they? 

The telephone rings, and I hear my mother respond excitedly to what her friend is telling her.  "No, she didn't tell us," she says.  "No, we didn't see her.  Thank you for telling me!"  More quickly than ever, she hangs up the receiver.  "We didn't see you, Diane," she says apologetically as she walks toward me then enthusiastically calls for the others in the house to come hear my news.
     
Hours earlier my family of eight had sat through our morning church service in our typical place: the late room.  Tucked behind the back row in the upstairs portion of our sanctuary, the late room had a speaker on the wall piping in the sermon.  I had completed a several-week discipleship class and had prayed already in my bed alone, asking Christ to live in me, telling Him I wanted to belong to Him, admitting my need for Him.  But in my church's tradition, the way we made our decision public was to "go forward," as we Baptists said, by responding to an altar call given at the end of a sermon.

This was my day.  I felt a magnetic tug pulling me to respond publicly to Jesus that morning, to "confess Him before men," as the Scriptures say.  Shaky and scared but with my heart's pounding urging me on, I tugged on my mom's sleeve and asked as the invitation was offered, "Can I go now?"

"Of course you can go, Diane," my mother responded.  But we later figured out she mistakenly thought I was asking permission to leave to go to Sunday school.

Forward I went in my purple and yellow daisy dress.   The only one having responded to the invitation that morning, I stood bravely in the front of a sanctuary of 1,200 people.  I was ushered to a counseling room, where a man went over some Scriptures and prayed with me.  I next proceeded to Sunday school, feeling so sure and decided, where I sang Sunday school songs more beautifully than ever.  It was a happy day for me!

It wasn't until we were all sitting in our rows in our VW van traveling toward home that I realized no one in my family had seen me!  If they had, we would all be talking about it.  So straight to the piano I went hoping to deliver my news.

As I grew up, we told and retold this story when we would reminisce about our family happenings.  While reviewing the story was funny, it also held a sting for me because I carried a wound of feeling invisible, of being the unseen one.  Tucked in the middle of a large, busy family, I sensed that my parents were overwhelmed, and I did not want to be a squeaky wheel or add to their troubles, so I would often try to stay under the radar, thinking my needs were too much for my parents to handle.

One of the ways God has healed this wound in me is to show Himself to me as "the God Who sees me."  I have loved discovering Him in this way and all He's shown me to be true of Him and of me. My story no longer stings but brings joy because my hurt became an avenue to bring me closer to Christ.  I live more and more under His watchful, tending, loving eyes.  He is not overwhelmed with my needs but desires me to depend on Him, to run to Him and share with Him every big and little thing in my life!

I believe most parents partly do reflect something that is true of God to their children and partly fall short of representing what God's love looks like.  God is a perfect parent, and as we call on Him and go to Him with our deepest hurts, He both mothers and fathers us with that perfect love, showing us what He is really like and who we really are.

I am 51 years old (and not as shy as I used to be).  I am sitting at a table during a women's event at my church a few hundred feet from where the old sanctuary once stood.  I stand to join the 100 women around me in song.  The worship team leads us in a newer version of  "I Have Decided to Follow Jesus."   I sing this special Jesus-and-me song that forever will touch a place deep inside of me.   Several tables over sits my mother.  Unable to stand with the others because of the pain in her back, she slides lower in her chair, peering between the many women who stand between us, looks smilingly at me and waves, making certain that I see her seeing me.

I am eight years old again wearing purple and yellow daisies.   I notice my mom's delighted eyes fixed on me.  I smile and wave back.

Me in my purple dress, 1970

Lord, thank you for this redemptive moment shared between me and my mom and You.  I don't know how You could make a healed part of me feel more whole, but You did.  Sometimes Your goodness seems to overflow, and this was such a time.  Thank you for the hurts that I can bring to You, for they are chances for You to show me what Your love is really like.


Diane Mann, 2014 

Click on the link below to hear my son Kyle and his wife Destiny singing "I Have Decided to Follow Jesus."

https://soundcloud.com/anewsong4di/i-have-decided-to-follow

For Reflection:

What messages did you receive about yourself as a child that you sense may not be true about you?  Express that to God.  Be with Him in that place, and ask Him to reveal the truth about you and about His feelings towards you.  Together explore ways you can live in the truth of who He is and how He sees you.  (There are many Scriptures upon which to meditate and soak in the truth.  You may want to spend time in them, allowing them to go from your head to your heart).

Are there areas of your life that God has healed or is healing? Express your thanks to Him.

Do you have guilt over your failures as a parent?  Ask God's forgiveness for ways you have intentionally or unintentionally hurt your loved ones.  Express your sorrow, and sit with Jesus in forgiveness sensing His heart toward you.

My Journey with Gratitude

My
Gratitude Journal in Momento App.

According to the Momento app on my smartphone, it's been two years since I started a gratitude journal.  The challenge was to record three things a day for which I'm grateful.  I know many of us enter this discipline for the month of November, as I did in 2011, but I chose to continue this as a daily practice.  I began the venture partly inspired from having read "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp and "The Grateful Heart" by Wilkie Au but mostly just having become aware of something true about me:  

I lacked gratitude.  

Certainly in my head I knew that God had given me much, but I didn't experience thankfulness in my heart, my very being, toward God for all His gifts to me.  Neither did I spend much time or effort giving thanks to all-giving God.  Habitually, every day for as long as I can remember, I have prayed a prayer of thanks for each of my children and my husband, now including my son- and daughters-in-law and grandchildren.  But for quite a long time, that was where my giving of thanks began and ended.  

How I longed to be changed in this area, for God's Spirit to remake my ungrateful heart into something new, a heart that was receptive to and recognized all it had received and a heart that in response to God's generosity returned often to say, "Thank you."  I desired to be like the newly cleansed leper, who "fell on his face at Jesus' feet, giving him thanks."  Honestly, though, I just didn't see how this could happen.  I knew on my own strength I could not just "become grateful." It's impossible for me to change me!

It was then God invited me to meet with Him in the discipline of gratitude.

When I use the word "discipline" here,  I must clarify that "disciplined" is not a word that typically describes me, and that in itself is an understatement!  My husband used to joke that the only thing I did consistently was to drink a Diet Coke every day.  And at the time, he was right.  But when I look at discipline as a time of being discipled, or taught, by Christ, a time when He invites me to sit down with Him so that He can teach me gratitude, I am drawn to respond by entering into this adventure with Him.  I am not coming to Him with my heart just as it should be but rather just as it is -- sometimes thank-less, sometimes thank-some and other times thank-full!

"Thank-less" would entail those times when I come to Him totally grumpy and grumbling, bringing my complaints before Him and cannot find anything for which to give thanks.  I have an old journal from several years back wherein I recorded some struggling times, and in the margins I listed five things a day that I titled "Five things that I can stand about my life."  It later became "Five things that are okay about my life" then led to my desire to begin a gratitude list.

"Thank-some" is how I describe the things for which I am ready to say, "Thank you," but there's a huge concern attached to the giving of thanks.  For example, "Thank you so much for my job," and I really want to end there but continue, "but God, help me to get my transcripts completed," the emphasis being mainly on the concern on my heart.

And "thank-full" applies, of course, to those times where God's generosity is so evident to me that my natural response gushing forth with no effort is, "Thank you!"

I am learning that I needn't come thank-full in order to say, "Thank you," and that mysteriously in this encounter God has changed and is changing this previously not-so-grateful heart of mine.  I learn much about the heart of Jesus by experiencing His welcome of me, that acceptance of me just as I am, not as I wish I were.

 Whatever condition I'm in when I sit down with Christ during this time to which He's invited me to "reason together" He and I, to learn from Him, to allow Him to change me -- whether thank-less, thank-some or thank-full -- I let Jesus lead the time by asking Him to review the day with me and to show me what His gifts were to me from the day before (though some people may do this at the end of a day, looking over that day).  I then list the things for which I'd like to say, "Thank you," then thank Him for each one and sit for a few minutes in gratitude, a pretty special time between Jesus and me.  

Think of December 26, that day after Christmas when the gifts have all been opened, all still lying around to be enjoyed, delighted in, relished.  That's what this time is like:  an opportunity to look at the gifts from the previous day. What was unwrapped yesterday?  What was revealed about me? about God?   What did He give to me that I may have failed to notice?  What beauty made my heart skip?  What may have touched me in a deep way?

Two years after having begun the gratitude journal, my list has grown to include 573 entries.  My engineer hubby calculated this to equal 1.27 entries per day, and my goal was three per day. Some days I simply print in the margins of my journal and don't assign a number to those things for which I'm grateful.  And many days I don't "show up" at all.  Regardless of my not-so-glittering performance, Jesus with patience and kindness keeps extending that invitation to spend time with Him in this way.  Best of all, He continues to change me in the process.

And for that, I am extremely thank-full!

Diane Mann, 2013

Some Questions to Ponder:

What has your journey with gratitude been like?

Are you willing to enter into a "discipline" at which you may sometimes fail?  

Is it easy for you to come to Jesus just as you are, or do you tend to wait until you feel your heart is where it should be before you come to Him?

Is Jesus asking you to spend some time learning gratitude?  If so, together decide how this time would look.

You may want to spend time reading Luke 17:11-19 about the cleansing of the lepers and the one who returned to say, "Thank you."  What does this Scripture cause you to want to pray?

Layers

There it is again

That area I thought was healed

The ordeal I thought was done

The fight I thought was won

"Another layer," they say

Another layer of healing

Brought to the surface

Not so much the revisiting of an old wound

As a brand-new visit

Of a brand-new aspect

Of the same old wound

It feels like, here we are again

But here I am anew

Looking at another layer of me

Looking at another layer of You

I want to scream in frustration

At myself

For not getting over my issues

But Your Presence finally quiets me

Until at last we sit with what is

Sifting through it all

Together

My ineptitude, Your affirmation

My ingratitude, Your persistent generosity

My stubbornness, Your patience

My unforgiveness, Your mercy 

My recurring illness, Your hand of healing

My fierce anger, Your infinite kindness

My ceaseless "why's," Your ceaseless Presence

My exhaustion, Your breath reviving

Urging me to surrender 

To rest on your Big Love Ocean

To know You

To know me

To know You in me

And me in You

Again

And yet again

Within these layers

Of me

Discovering layers

Of You.

diane mann, 2013

The Exchange

to embrace, one must let go of some thing

to wear, one must take something off

to receive, one  must clear space

to love, one must forsake all other lovers

to choose a path, one must reject other paths

to worship, one must ignore idols

to focus on a thing, one must have blurred vision of other things

to win over lies, one must surrender to truth

to hear the voice so small, so still, one must become deaf to screaming messages

to turn towards, one must turn away from 

to flow with gratitude, one must be drained of comparisons

to be who one is, one must shed masquerades (as glittering as they may be)

to live, -- ah, to  live fully, to live truly

I

must

die

diane mann 2013

Treasures from the Trail, Part 4 - The Still Waters

As we journeyed further after lunch, well-rested and revitalized, we came upon a rich-in-color lake.  If Brent and I were going to make camp before nightfall, we could not stop at every breathtaking site, so it was essential that this lovely lake be bypassed.  Walking by it, I kept glancing over my shoulder through the trees to see the rich blue-green color, to take in its still beauty.  Excitedly I yelled ahead to my husband, "Jesus is leading us beside the still waters!"   I could only snap a couple of pictures then carry the scene in my mind while the hike continued.

I reflected upon what is soul-restoring about still waters.  "He leads me beside still waters.  He restores my soul."  First, I wonder, when did I start taking so lightly how profound it is that the maker of the universe would lead me, that the One who placed each star where it belongs has a place for me, that He who led the Israelites and Moses across the Red Sea takes me by the hand and shows me the way to go?  This is no small thing, I realized, soaking in the truth that  here and now, He has led me to this place.

I know this has implications for shepherds and sheep, but I later jotted down what I noticed as Jesus walked me by the still waters.  What is the value of His doing so?  What about still waters grants me the restoration my soul so desperately needs?  Here is what I came up with that is offered to me at the waterside:

Reflection - The value and necessity of my reflecting on what God has done, to ponder what He is doing, to "see again" His showing Himself to me.

Depth - To look with Him under the surface of me beyond what is obvious.  His spirit at work deep inside me, changing me, loving me.

Color - Rich, rich blue-greens that sing of healing and beauty and life.

Serenity - I feel peaceful and quiet when I gaze on the placid waters.  My mind becomes unoccupied  with the worry that tries to reside there.

Settling - Nothing is moving nor rustling about.  Something in this gives me hope that Christ can calm my rushing heart.

Refreshment - Coolness, cleanliness, moisture of living water quenching my drenched spirit.

Responsiveness - I realize that if I were to throw a rock into this still water, an impact would be made, a rippling would occur.  I long to still my heart so that it is in a place to respond to God's initiations.  A stone thrown in a rushing river would hardly be noticed.  Where in my life is God trying to get my attention?  A still heart notices more than a frantic heart.

'Tis a profound thing to be led.

'Tis even more profound that I, a wandering, often directionless sheep, am learning to follow.

The Banner

There's something
That's been hanging
Over my head lately
More and more
It's been getting my attention
At times I look up
And gaze straight at it
Marveling at its presence
In its shadow
Which is somehow made of light
I freely dance
As though not a soul is watching
Yet closer than ever
Someone is watching my soul

When I look inside me
It is there
Even when I'm feeling things
I wish I weren't feeling
Discouragement
Fear
Anger
Despair
There it remains over me, over me
 

It reaches into me
Drapes itself around me
And carpets the ground
Beneath me
Yet somehow is
The ground beneath me

I abide and grow
As slowly I know
In the safety of this place
The works of God
Are wonderful
My expanding heart
Indeed fills with wonder
At the beauty
Of what He's made
And is making
In the world out there
And of me
In here

He beckons me
Lay down my fear
The dread that says
I'll never be
Not ever be
Who I'm made to be
I was made to be
With this banner
Called "Love"
Over me
diane carver mann 2010

Premature Conclusions

"How did their kids turn out?" we hear people ask. "My child turned out..." we'll report. These conclusions about the children's character really emerge as the offspring become 18 years of age or graduate from high school. I have seen parents so completely discouraged and bereft because of how their children "came out." (And I do not mean to make light of the real heartache parents experience as we watch our children struggle). I find it laughable, however, that such final judgment is declared when these young people are not even a fifth through their lives and only at the threshold of their adult lives and accepting responsibility for themselves.

Does anyone really know how they, themselves, "turned out" as of yet?

Conclusions. There is such a finality to them. I reach them about others, and I reach them about myself. Neither takes into account a dynamic, involved, powerful God who, by His Spirit, is in the business of transforming lives.

I've heard it said that we are to withhold judgment. Another way I am viewing this with regard to spiritual transformation is, "Don't come to a conclusion about yourself or others." Conclude that God's mercies will continue to be new every morning. Conclude that He is molding you more and more into the image of Christ as you yield yourself to Him. Conclude that nothing is too hard for the Lord. But do not look at yourself or other believers and say it is finished! Nothing could be more discouraging or untrue. And we all know that how we live stems from what we believe.

The word "conclusion" stems from Latin "conclusio," which means "closed." If I say the matter is settled regarding God changing me, I am saying my limitless, infinite creator is limited! And I'm essentially lowering the gavel (that I was never intended to hold) and declaring, "Case closed!"


Oh, Lord God, I am only beginning to see your transforming power in my life. How miraculous are your mercies that refresh me each day and give me hope of Christ becoming more and more evident, guiding, comforting, loving and making a new creature out of me. If there is anything I am sure of, let it be You, in me, the hope of glory. May I each moment wait expectantly on You to be so very present and open myself always to You.

IN CONCLUSION: I can't wait to see how I and those I love are going to turn out! I have a feeling we'll all look a lot more like Jesus than we do now!

Appreciating Structure (Renamed later: A Place to Shine)

Oh, even the title sounds boring! By nature I am carefree, spontaneous and creative. I feel squelched at the thought of writing my life's plans down on a calendar, and clocks and I -- well, you could say we really tick each other off! God has, these past couple of years, however, introduced me to both the need for structure in my life and the desirability of structure.

I have many examples He has provided me along the way, but here's the most recent: I was watching a jewelry channel in the middle of the night (volume down, just watching the pretty jewels go by to get myself back to sleep), when the seller began to display just the settings of jewelry. One after another, some not-so-pretty items were pictured, rings with settings but no stones, the framework but none of the glorious beauty of gems.

"That is structure," I said! The setting itself is not magnificent, but it provides a platform on which to secure the jewel so that it may rest there, that it may be safe in that place and that it may shine forth its beauty. And that's what structure can do for me: Grant me rest, provide me safety and give my creativity a place to shine.

This is a long, difficult road, the learning to better structure myself -- my time, my money, my belongings. Gradually, though, God is bringing about changes in me. With gentleness and creativity (thank You, God), He is making what I once ran from something I am beginning to desire.

And only He could do that!

Maybe

I don't have to wait to feel wonderful to move forward. Maybe feeling better comes in the moving forward itself. There's something to this idea that the Lord uses process to bring about change.

On Faith and Fresh Starts

I just began a new Bible study last night. The topic? Faith. After having flaked out on the last part of my study of Daniel, I felt hopeful and invigorated being able to start afresh with a new, simpler book. Simple but rich, potent and life-transforming, as is all of God's word -- and all of His words! With the words "Let there be," he created this stunning world that fills even the atheist with wonder of how it came to be. And with His words He is creating and recreating wonders in me and in the lives of those who receive His word as the truth that it is.

The woman who wrote the lessons in "Walking by Faith," Jennifer Rothschild, has been blind since she was 17 years of age. Never would she have learned to lean on a guide if she could see. Likewise as we encounter the dark, scary places in our lives, we find ourselves sitting in the classroom of faith! It is in that darkness we learn to lean, to trust in the One who can see all things.

It was good to be with my Bible again this morning. And with my ladies last night at Bible study. Thankfully God is merciful and gracious, so gracious, and keeps giving me fresh starts each day regarding my learning to lean on Him and trust in Him who I cannot see versus the circumstances I am in, which I can see.

Lord, God, who wants to be my guide, thank you, thank you for Your word that carved canyons, created sky and wind and flowers and life. May your word form me into all that you want to create in me so that I, like your creation around me, may be shown Who You are and display to others Who You are. I never thought I'd say this, but thank You for the lessons learned in the dark, for it was there I was taught to depend on You rather than on what I could or could not see. And for those mercies that are new each and every morning, I am so grateful to You. I can't wait to see what You have to teach me in this new study. Make me faithful to expose myself to the power and potency of Your Word that breathes life into me.