Because He Loves Them

Posted on December 19, 2016 by rstaples2013

I know of a young man who is coming to Wisconsin from Houston for Christmas. When he married his beautiful young wife, almost three years ago, he was blessed with two delightful children, as well. The boy is now nine and the girl is seven. My observation of this man, of whom I write, is that he treats these children as his own.

After spending Christmas in Houston, as a family, he is bringing his children to Wisconsin during their break from school. His wife, the children’s mother, is staying in Houston because of her work schedule.

I’ve learned that the children are very excited to come. Our weather has done its best to provide a welcome with deep snow and freezing temperatures. I, too, am excited, eager to see the sparkle in the children’s eyes as they take in the wonder of our blanket of white.

Since Waukesha is the father’s home, I have not been surprised by the things he is planning to do with the children while here.

What did surprise me was that on the day they fly out of O’Hare he wants to leave early and show the children Chicago.

Why, I asked myself, would he choose the challenges of Chicago? (I must admit that I avoid Chicago when I can). But then, I am forgetting that Chicago is an exciting place for those who have never been. There are stunning sites for this father figure to show his children. There are memories to be made. After the day in Chicago the children will know him better, know his story, know his ways.

Yet, maybe there is another answer. Maybe, as a father, he is choosing to show his children Chicago simply because he loves them.

I wonder what adventure my heavenly Father has in store for me?

I wonder if I could bring Him joy by welcoming my upcoming season with the heart of a child.

Maybe the plans He has for me are simply because He loves me.

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The Advantage of Distance

Posted on November 3, 2016 by rstaples2013

I am in a motel room with a view overlooking the city.

Last night I watched as the sun went down and the city lights came up.

Every house in this sprawling city has a story tonight. For those in crisis, nothing exists beyond the four walls of their home.

But, with the advantage of distance, each home is but one piece of a bigger puzzle.

God sees both the puzzle and the piece.

 

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The Fellowship of Suffering

Posted on November 3, 2016 by rstaples2013

God gives us glimpses into His heart by inviting us in to the fellowship of suffering. Suffering is often a uniquely personal place that defies our known ways of sharing; defies our being understood. Therefore, that which is of itself painful is strengthened by loneliness.

But God, Who knows the whole story as well as our thoughts before we speak, gifts us with journeys that collide us with Him.

It is heartbreaking to know who a person longed to become and see the brokenness that is, instead, their reality. I see this when I review the broken dreams of my suffering friend and compare them to the dreams for which she has reached.

God sees my broken dreams and knows the dreams for which I have reached. On a deeper level, He sees the place where I am struggling projected against the background of what He intends for me.

God would be weeping except for the joy that wipes away His tears. He knows the end of the story that He has both written and redeemed. He knows that we are incapable of even dreaming all that He has in store for us, His children.

Therefore, God waits.

And, today, I am waiting with Him.

 

 

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Tape Reveals Family secret

Posted on October 12, 2016 by rstaples2013

I found an old cassette tape labeled “Mom and Dad”.

After some searching I found a “Boom Box” that had the capacity to play cassette tapes.

The first side was Mom playing a little electronic organ. I can picture her as she only needed to hear the melody and was able to create the song. I remembered what song would come next and smiled as Dad joined her with “drums”. He did at one time have a couple of little drums, but he could create the effect with a wooden spoon and a hollow container from most any product.

Our childhood home was filled with tension, tears, laughter and music.

But, it was the other side of the tape that revealed the secret!!

This side begins with Mom telling about what she and Dad have been doing. The story goes something like this:

(For context you will need to know that Norwegian was the language of origin for both of them. English was their second language).

“Daddy and I have agreed that we would talk Norwegian to each other today. The first one to use an English word will need to give the other five cents. Of course, I used and English word first so I gave Daddy five pennies. But then, as we talked more, he used an English word so I got my five cents back”.

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Why I Hate My Closet

Posted on September 30, 2016 by rstaples2013

I don’t really think my closet is too small.

I rather believe that I have too many clothes.

It would seem a simple concept to then give some of the clothes away. But, the good intentions of sorting becomes a futile exercise of taking the clothes off the hanger and then putting them back because there is a compelling reason to keep them.

Sometimes the piece of clothing has a story. “This is what I wore when…”.

Sometimes it is because the outfit in question is a gift. “Oh, I remember when she bought me this. She was so excited. I didn’t think I would ever wear it but when I did, people said I looked great.”

Then, there is the issue of having clothes of differing sizes. This is important because I don’t stay the same size.

I am especially mad at my closet today because it is denying me the dignity of validating that I have not gained weight.

As I tried on blue jeans today with a sincere effort to decide how many I needed, I found that most of them barely met at the waste line.

That could be a rational reason to have a salad for lunch but instead I had apple pie and ice cream.

As I mentioned, I hate my closet.

Sometimes, I have good control of my weight. I remember last year almost giving away an elegant black pant and top that was too big. But, last night I was glad that I had kept it and sad that it fit.

It’s funny the kinds of things you think about as you go through your clothes. There are the memories that are precious, but this process also pushes you to think about future.

How many years will I need clothes? If I live a long time maybe I should keep all of them because some will wear out and I might not have money for more.

But this reasoning isn’t helpful because I think I could be dressed on this earth for two hundred more years with the clothes I have now.

As I bring this blog to a close, I wonder what would have to happen for me to be grateful for my closet. It tells me the truth about my memories,

It tells me the truth about my size. It tells me the truth about life in this body as temporary, therefore, there will come a time when my life will go on but I will not be living in this tent that needs manufactured clothes.

I’m not ready to change the title to this blog yet, but I do have a pile of clothes ready for a charity.

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And tomorrow I am going to start eating in a way that will make my blue jeans fit.

 

 

 

 

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Tell Me about the Red Cord

Posted on September 27, 2016 by rstaples2013

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Tell Me about the Red Cord

Posted on September 27, 2016 by rstaples2013

I met with an estimator today for installing new carpet in a bedroom. As I chose between carpet samples I showed him an adjacent room where the carpet had an open seam between the entrance and the main floor. (I remember this happened because the friend who cut the carpet didn’t realize it was upside down so the extension to cover the entrance was on the wrong end).

I’ve never been too concerned about this, but now that I am making this room into a prayer room I want to insert a red cord into the seam. This will be a tangible symbol of “drawing a blood line” when entering this sacred space.

I was deeply encouraged this morning when I looked up the meaning of “cord” in the Hebrew and learned that it meant, “hope, ground of hope, or things hoped for, outcome”. What a precious promise to claim as one enters a space designed for encounter with God.

But, back to the conversation with the carpet man.

I asked him if the installers could staple the red cord into the seam.

He said he had never had such a request so he didn’t know. He said he knew they could sew the carpet together.

I said, “No, I want the red cord in the seam”.

In response to the blank look on the man’s face I feebly said, “It’s for spiritual reasons”.

“Tell me about that”, he said, enthusiastically.

Forced now, into a confession of my faith, I explained that the cord symbolized a bloodline. I talked about the red cord that Rahab placed in her window and how it pointed to the redemption that is ours.

He said, “So then you are a believer in Jesus?”

“Yes”.

“I am, too. That is a great idea. Perfect for a prayer room”.

The remainder of the time with this carpet salesman was one third about carpet and two thirds about God.

I hope that the carpet installers will staple the cord into the seam

I know that I will be less hesitant to give an answer to anyone who asks, about my red cord, for the hope that is within me.

Both believers and pre-believers are eager to know the Truth of Jesus.

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Where is the Gate to God?

Posted on September 23, 2016 by rstaples2013

I can’t seem to follow the directions for connecting with God this morning.

It’s not that I think He has moved.

It’s not that I haven’t found him from this very spot many times before. It’s just that this morning the routes all feel blocked.

It’s like at a busy airport where there are arrows to Concourse A, B, C, Baggage Claim, Taxi, Ground Transportation but it’s not clear which arrow is designated to any specific spot.

When you have been at this airport before, you KNOW that the connecting door you want is there, so you move in the familiar direction, even though you can’t see any reassurance that you will find what you so desperately need.

So, this morning I will head in the direction I KNOW even though I haven’t yet been reassured by anything tangible.

I am playing praise music, even though most of it sounds hallow.

I have let 3 trusted friends know that I cannot pray this morning. I know they will pray for me. I know that my sharing my weakness will not frighten them away or cause them to despair.

I have a Bible nearby and I know where to read. It’s just that I don’t want to read right now.

So I gather the stories that are breaking my heart and bind them with the blood stained cord. I place them gently, but securely, in the nail scarred Hand.

Writing is a gift that shortens the distance between God and me.

For those of you reading this, be thankful. I will find the gate or the One waiting will find me.

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No Sunday Shoes

Posted on September 11, 2016 by rstaples2013

I carefully chose clothes to wear to church today. I tried to find something that is casual but respectful of an environment that facilitates the worship of God.

I wore nice slacks, a black top and a classy black and white jacket that hung unevenly and covered the areas where aging has not been kind. I accessorized this outfit with a black and gold necklace. It seemed a finishing touch.

Then I looked down at my shoes. I was wearing a pair of stable walking shoes with arch supports and shoelaces. They didn’t add anything to my wardrobe. In fact, if anyone had paid attention, they might have thought I’d forgotten to change my shoes after watering the flowers.

I remember that as a child I had two pair of shoes. One pair was called “everyday shoes”. They would often be saddle shoes or sometimes Tennis Shoes. We made some effort to keep them clean and even occasionally polished them but stain from cucumber plants, mud from puddles that begged jumping into, unmentionables from the cow yard and chicken coop made these shoes at no risk of being mistaken for our “Sunday shoes”.

The Sunday Shoes would often be patent leather. You could almost see your face in them. They had a strap that buckled over, not messy shoelaces.

I don’t know if it is a blessing of aging to not feel stable in high-heeled “Sunday Shoes” or if it is a loss to be grieved.

There is a sense of contentment is knowing that nobody is looking at my shoes. One of the benefits of aging is that you grasp the reality of not thinking so much of what people think of you because you realize they are not thinking about you.

So, I enjoyed worship today. I didn’t wear my Sunday Shoes. But I did encounter the One who guides my steps and knows my way.

 

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Covered by Grace

Posted on September 9, 2016 by rstaples2013
wrapped in grace
captured by beauty

 

Last night a friend commented on a stunning black and white quilt that highlights our sofa.

I found myself eager to tell the story of how this beautiful covering became mine.

I first learned of this quilt when I got a phone call telling me I had won it.

The phone call prompted many questions. What had I won? How could I have won when I didn’t enter any drawing? What does the quilt look like? What color is it? Who has the quilt now? Can I come and see it? Is it possible that it is really mine?

Here is how the story unfolded. My coworker/friend is a master craftsman at making quilts. They are displayed in many shows and are known for their beautiful designs and intricate work.

This friend made this quilt and donated it to a fundraiser for a multiple sclerosis. She then bought raffle tickets for the drawing and printed my name on the tickets.

With no knowledge of or involvement in this affair, my name was drawn and I became the owner of this quilt.

My friend then took this quilt, which she had made, home and called to tell me it was mine.

I love this quilt and I love this story. It is a story of amazing grace. I am the beneficiary of a gift that I have done nothing to earn.

With gratitude, I wrap this quilt around me and remember that I am covered by grace.

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