Songs For Sunday

Have I Told You Lately?

This morning Jamie said something in worship that started my little cogs clicking. He said "Silence cannot communicate love very well." At first I disagreed. After all, this is the same man who said, when there are no words, sometimes your presence is enough. But, as I have been pondering his words, I find the truth in them. What if I am silent around my family, if I never say the words "I love you." Is that enough for them to know my feelings? Don't we each yearn to hear those words, to have that validation from others?

As I have said before, I am the youngest of five sisters, flanked by two brothers. Many times growing up I really disliked having so many brothers and sisters. The pestering, teasing, making fun of, and sharing, always sharing.

When I was young I was not always fond of all my sisters and my brothers. I loved them because they were family, and I had to, my parents said so. But, we would never dream of telling each other something as sappy as that - oooooh that would have been gross, and worse than the Brady Bunch! And, at times it certainly did not feel like we loved each other.

I really cannot explain what happened between the time I was a kid to a few years ago. All of a sudden, I am the most schmaltzy dork. I am sentimental and sappy, I can tear up at the drop of a hat - heaven forbid I get to church without a tissue! And yet, at times I still hesitate to tell those I love, that I love them.

I love my family. My long-suffering husband, Phil, my daugher, Alex and Phil's son Jimmy. I say long-suffering to poke some fun at Phil, because of a "joke" he said the other day, but he is long-suffering. Long-suffering, not in the way he teased, but because I know that I am not always easy to live with. I do not always act in a loving manner, and I don't always tell him that I love him, even though it is true.

I am blessed to have different circles of numerous friends. These days of internet and cell phones with free long distance calling it is easier than ever to keep in touch with people, even over great distances. This year too is a big reunion year for my high school class. Therefore, many of us are reconnecting via Facebook.

So much family, such abundant friends, so many different reasons to love!

This morning Jamie said "Talk about your love for one another. Tell each other of your love."

I don't know why it is difficult to voice our love to the people we love. Or should I just say me? I don't know why it is difficult for me to voice my love. Not always, but sometimes it really is. It is kind of embarrassing. Maybe because it is hard to open myself up to possible rejection or perhaps it just feels unnatural.

Such are the thoughts I am contemplating this rainy afternoon. Fair warning - if I get up the nerve I may even begin to act on Jamie's admonition.

Have I Told You Lately?
lyrics: Van Morrison

Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness,
Take away all my sadness,
Ease my troubles that's what you do.

Stamp of Rejection

Do you know what it feels like to be rejected? To feel second best, unwanted, unappreciated? I would hazard to say that each of us have experienced those self-deflating feelings once or twice in our lives.

Remember the story of Leah and Rachel? Jacob worked for Laban seven years in order to marry the beautiful Rachel. However, he pulled a fasat one on Jacob and gave his daughter Leah. Genesis 29:25 states:

When morning came, there was Leah! So Jacob said to Laban, “What is this you have done to me? I served you for Rachel, didn't I? Why have you deceived me?”

It was customary for the oldest daughter to marry first. But Leah had “weak eyes.” Laban obviously thought he could not marry her off. Not to mention, he was receiving some pretty cheap labor from Jacob, so he tricked him. When Jacob promised to work another seven years for Rachel, Laban gave her to Jacob the next week.

A little further in verse 30 it says “Jacob loved Rachel more than Leah.” Poor Leah! How tough that must have been for her, never measuring up to the beautiful Rachel.

The story goes on:

“When the LORD saw that Leah was not loved, he opened her womb, but Rachel was barren.”

Each time Leah gave birth she thought, “Surely my husband will love me now.” Or “Now at last my husband will be attached to me because I have borne him three sons.”

But what happened? Even bringing forth sons did not make Jacob love Leah. Oh, I can imagine how she felt, never measuring up, never being good enough, or pretty enough or anything enough. I am sure Leah was certain that she could earn Jacob’s love by bearing sons, but it didn’t work. I imagine Leah trying to be a better cook, a better housekeeper; trying and trying to best Rachel at everything - to no avail.

Do you ever feel like this? Do you ever think, if you change, if you do everything better, if you bend over backward, everyone will love you? If you have, you know it does not work.

So what did Leah do? She had another son, but this time she did not kid herself that this would be the son who would bring Jacob to her. She said “This time I will praise the Lord.”

I read an article this week by Timothy J. Keller at www.PrechingToday.com about Leah, The Girl Nobody Wanted. Here are a couple of things he has to say about her.

"Leah became the seed—Leah the outsider, the Leah the ugly, Leah the rejected. Because she grabbed hold with faith, she got her life back from all the people that had ruined it for her. She got it back. And God comes down and makes her into the seed. She goes ahead of her husband. She understands the gospel better than her husband. And at the very end God says, Now through your suffering, because you have come to understand the gospel of grace, you are the seed and your son Judah is the seed, and you become the mother of Jesus.”

How could this be? How could this possibly be? Why would God choose Leah to do that? And the answer is right here.

"When the Lord saw that Leah was not loved he came to her." And now we know.

The Old Testament shows us what the New Testament really, really tells us. God loves those who others don't love. God is attracted to the weak because of his gracious nature and he wants the ones that no one else wants.

Though we may look like Leah, to Jesus Christ we look like Rachel. That's the gospel. We might look like Leah in ourselves, but to Jesus Christ we look gorgeous. And that is exactly what God does here.”

Sisters, doesn't this just give you goosebumps?

I have been there, I have been a Leah. I have had all those feelings of rejections. I know how it feels. And, sometimes when things seem bleak, I am right there again, feeling weak and unwanted. But Praise the Lord! My Lord cherishes me and He sees me “lovely in form and beautiful” like Rachel.

The next time you feel self-doubt, or rejected remember the story of Leah and know that you are loved and treasured.

Songs For Sunday

There's An Old And Faded Picture

I am the youngest of five sisters, sandwiched between two brothers. When I was very young, my mother put the girls in singing lessons, so we've been singing together practically my whole life.

Funny, even though it is Mother's Day, the song that has been on my mind all week is one taught to us by my dad. We have known this song so long, I do not remember actually learning it. It is just part of our heritage. I never heard this song anywhere else, but when I Googled "There's An Old And Faded Picture," I discovered that it is an old mountain song. Surprisingly, I found that we had only learned the first verse and half the chorus.

Nevertheless, I am partial to the part we grew up with. When my dad and my Uncle Glenn were kids, supposedly they were kicked off the school bus for singing this song over and over. My dad would laugh and laugh when he told us that story. I still smile when I think of him regaling us with tales of him and his younger brother as little hellions.

I am guessing this was a popular song at one time. Or, at least on the farm where my dad grew up. It was a big hit at family reunions when my dad would drag out all his girls to perform. Then, as we grew older we would visit my Papa at the Nursing Home and it was always one we made sure to sing for him.

I picture us five girls, very young, probably twelve and under, singing this song, beginning in unison and breaking into three-part harmony. Also, in my humble opinion, it is best to imagine it sung in the worst possible country twang.

There's An Old And Faded Picture On The Wall

There's and old and faded picture on the wall,

Tis been hangin' there for many, many years,

Tis a picture of my mother,

And I know there is no other,

That can take the place of mother on the wall.

On the wall, on the wall,

There's an old and faded picture on the wall.

My mom did not teach me this song, and I do not have an old and faded picture of her on my wall. But, she has taught me innumerable lessons of faith, family and perserverance, in word and by example. And, I know there is no other that can take the place of my mother in my heart.

Blessings this Mother's Day!

Songs For Sunday

Morning Has Broken

In the cool of the morning air I sit on the back steps. The spectral filminess of mist still hovers over the ground. My body fights an internal battle between the chill of my back steps, still damp with dew, seeping through my robe and the warmth of my coffee cup in my hands.

I breathe deeply of the moist air, heavy with the scent of fresh farm smells that waft from the field adjacent to our back yard.

The horizon takes on a pinkish glow. Within minutes the sky resembles a glorious watercolor, run amok with shades of pink, blue, violet and yellow.

A movement catches my attention and I turn my eyes away from the heavens to see a small bluebird flit about the yard. Soon another joins in. A pair of cardinals begin an intricate dance of flirting as they circle, dip and dive.

My attention is drawn away from the disco of my backyard by the honking of geese. I look above and see a string of geese calling "Good morning."

I sigh and look down. The coffee is finished, but my cup overflows as I begin the day.

Morning Has Broken
Lyrics by Eleanor Farjeon

Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the word.

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new day.

Reconciliation

This morning I wake up, I am a little excited and a little nervous. I stress over my make up and hair.

It is beautifully sunny as I parked my car at my office. However, I can see my shadow on the asphalt crossing the parking lot. I look like Medusa, snakes of hair whipping around my head in the wind. There goes the hairspray and the “do” I left the house with.

The start of my morning goes very quickly, but about 10:30 am, time seems to slow exponentially. I am sure glancing at the clock every 3 to 4 minutes does not have anything to do with it. I notice my left knee twitching up and down. I feel the familiar twinge below my right thumb signaling my growing nervousness.

Lunchtime, I walk into the restaurant and there she is. My friend stood up and hugged me. I said,

“Oh, I think I’m gonna cry.”

I am sure the other diners looked at us wonderingly as we hugged and cried for the longest, sweetest time.

“What in the world is going on?” You might be thinking.

Reconciliation.

A beautiful word. Try it on. Roll it around in your mouth. This is one of the sweetest words in the English language.

Today I reconciled with my friend.

I feared our friendship was lost forever.

For months I nursed my bruised feelings, my self-righteous-feeling pain. My friend, also experiencing those same hurts.

Then I mourned. For years I lamented the loss.

You know those long-time girlfriends you have? The ones you cannot separate your past from theirs? I have 3 or 4 of these friends who go back to elementary school. Back in those days it seemed as if our brains and our hearts were cloned. We all thought alike. We like the same things, the same people, the same songs.

It aches to lose one of those life-long friends.

I have been heart-sick. I have felt incomplete…..And yet, I held back from attempting to mend the chasm because I have been afraid. The fear of rejection held me firm in its grip.

And then, today, the hugs, the tears…the beauty that is a friend. I marvel at the grace inherent in friendship. At once, we were both talking and laughing at the same time, reaching over to touch or pat each other’s hands, as if to make sure the other is really there and those lost years melted away. Here I was, sitting across from my beautiful friend. My heart sighed with contentment.

Isaiah 41:13 For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.

I imagine God is like that when we reconcile ourselves with Him. I believe He holds on to us and cries tears of joy. I picture Him rejoicing the return of His beloved, calling us his friends and reaching out to lovingly hold our hand.

Cover Me

Psalm 32:1 Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.

Last year I received a gift. Not just any gift, but a wonderful gesture of someone’s belief in me. As I prayed and thanked God for this person and this gift, I was so overwhelmed with gratitude I said it was the greatest gift I had ever been given. As soon as that thought flittered across my mind, God immediately reminded me of the true Greatest Gift.

And then, He took me there.

I am on my knees at the foot of the cross. The echo of taunting jeers still reverberates in my head. I see Jesus nailed to the cross, heavy spikes pierced through his hands and feet and into the rough wood. The skin is scraped off his knees where he staggered and fell on the way to the hill. His body is ravaged from the recent scourging he has undergone. The cord of the whip left tell tale stripes across his shoulders and sides. He is swathed in dirt, in sweat and streaks of oozing blood crisscrossing every which way. The blood is dripping from the wounds on his hands and feet into the thick dust on the dry ground. Each time a drop hits the ground a tiny cloud of dust puffs up for a second, then drifts back to the earth.

His face is a distorted mask of grief. One eye is completely swollen shut; the other is bloodshot and drooping. His cheeks are distended and purple. The twisted crown of thorns is still wedged on his head. The sharp barbs bite into his brow causing more blood to drip into his eyes and down his bruised face, which is covered with spittle from the angry mob.

Jesus cries out “My God, My God why have you forsaken me?”

A tear falls from his eye and trickles a path down his cheek through the blood and dirt.

I look around, it’s just me and Jesus, alone with the cross. I gaze at Jesus. That is MY sin covering his beauty. That is MY transgressions holding him to those beams. I see his anguish and pain. It belongs to me, but Jesus covered my sins with his blood, he paid the price for my life. I see his arms, nailed to the cross, outstretched as if he is beckoning me unto him.

Jesus, I’m here. Hold on to me, love me, change me, transform me into someone who is worth the price you paid.

My friend, this week I pray that you too, will take the time to travel to the cross. Journey from hosannas and celebration on Palm Sunday to the crucifixion on Black Friday. Then, rejoice the resurrection with me on Easter Sunday.

10 Years....and counting

This morning it dawned on me. This is the anniversary of the worst day of my life. And, not only that, it is the 10th anniversary of the worst day of my life.

Why would I bring that up? Why would I want to remember that day?

Because it marks a milestone for me.

I don’t commemorate the date as important for the horrific memories it evokes. I celebrate it as the birth of the new me, or the re-birth of the me I was created to be.

And I want you to know, I am thankful. I never thought I would be grateful for that fateful day, those feelings of fear and shame. But past dwelling in the abyss makes me now see wonder even in the flat prairie-days, and awe at the mountaintop. Where I was once blanketed in scandal and humiliation, I am now covered in love.

Today is a reminder to me of the grace upon grace that is abundantly given me

I tell you that I am thankful because you may be experiencing your own valley. There are lessons to learn in the dales. If there were no valleys there would be no hilltops. And, the view from the hilltop makes you appreciate the valley.

Happy Birthday to the re-newed me. Thank God He gave me a do-over.

And Now….In The Center Ring

I seem to be in a rut lately. All the high drama events that have happened since December 4th still have me feeling unsettled and weary. The fire at my beloved church, the emboli, and the devastating ice storm piled one on top of the another. Each has residual effects that continue to mound up and occupy my thoughts.

In addition, my wonderful, sweet Phil spoils me. Especially since my release from the hospital he has insisted that I rest and take it easy while he tends to me.

Just between you and me I have taken advantage of it.

And, shhhhhhh maybe, just maybe I’ve milked it a little and let him wait on me.

But, his caretaking allows me to continue to wallow. I cannot get me off my mind.

Unfortunately for me, Phil has been working out of town for 16 days with 4 to go - more lingering effects of the ice storm…whine whine.

A couple weeks ago our Sunday School lesson was based on the surprise of the resurrection. The women at the tomb were frightened, the disciples puzzled and they thought the women were speaking nonsense.

All this from people who should have known better. Jesus had been teaching and telling them, but they were blinded by their own expectations.

Confusion.

They saw but their eyes were not opened. They heard, but they did not understand. Because of their self-focus, the meaning was hidden until Jesus opened their minds.

Shoot! Even the two on the road to Emmaus walked with Jesus, saw him with their own eyes and did not recognize him because their attention was on their sorrow at his death.

The lesson really got me pondering about my own focus. Right now my life is like one of those “magic eye” pictures. Remember those from back in the 90’s? The picture looks like a jumble of colors and images, but when you get close and let all the extraneous shapes fade into the background the true image comes into focus. In fact, once you see it, you wonder how you missed it before.I am adrift in a current of confusion. I lost my focus and things around me are swirling with uncertainty, fear, pain and shadows. I need to let all the junk that occupies my mind and my life fade into the background. I need to get close to Jesus. I need to put all my focus on HIM. When that happens He will continue to open my eyes and my mind to His image and to what is important to Him.

The words of this favorite hymn are a perfect illustration for ridding our lives of the confusion living in the world brings.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

Girls Just Wanna Have.......Shoes!

My name is Joan, and I am a shoe-aholic.

I admit it. I am a shoe Aficionado. A connoisseur of fanciful footwear. It isn’t about the cost or the designer. It is all about the cute. When I slip on a stunning pointy-toe pump, a peep toe platform, or a darling kitten heel even my size 10 boats look fabulous.

I plan my outfits around which pair of shoes I want to wear.

Alas, I have a problem.

Since the blood clots in my lungs last month my legs and feet have been getting swollen. Swollen? A vast understatment. O. MY. GOSH! It really is horrible. It’s gruesome. I don’t even have “cankles*” anymore, these days it is more like thighkles. My poor feet are bulbulous, and there are even rolls at the base of my toes and around my ankles.
Trust me, it is not cute like a baby’s.
OK, are you grossed out yet? I am! I am much too young to be beset by this hideous deformity. It isn’t right to need a sedative just to look at your legs in the morning.

My point in this tale of woe, is that I am in anguish over the fact that I cannot fit into any cute shoes right now. When I try to wear my sassy, cheetah-print pumps the top of my foot splays over the sides like a big ol’ squishy muffin-top. Squeezing my foot into my super pointy-toe red heels is like one of Cinderella’s ugly stepsisters cramming her foot into the glass slipper.
Just maybe I am paying the cost for being so vain about my cute shoes.

Jesus says:

Matthew 6:28-31And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?

Joan’s translation “So, do not worry, saying, ‘What shall I wear on my feet?’

I don’t know what lesson is just waiting for me to grasp through these elephantized legs and feet. Perhaps it is as simple as maybe I don’t need cute shoes to make me feel like the belle of the ball. But just in case, maybe I’ll start a new trend of wearing them on my hands.

The Iceman Commeth

YEA! I’m back!

It’s been three weeks since the ice storm. Oh yeah, I mean THE ICE STORM. And our lives have been upside down and turned around since then.

Three weeks ago a huge storm system pelted our picturesque town with freezing rain all night. I awoke to see this beautiful sight of my backyard.The rain continued all day. About 11:00 in the morning we lost power including our home telephone and the pump that drives our well which gives us running water. In the late afternoon we began to hear snapping of tree branches. The icy drops continued to fall from the dark sky and accumulate on everything in sight.

Night came in the late afternoon. We had small pools of light thanks to all my scented candles strategically placed. Still, reading was tough by candlelight and bedtime came early.

It was an eerie night. The absolute, velvet-black surrounded us. There was no shadows, no soft glow of red, blue and green electronic reminders of power and time. The sound of creaking and cracking branches breaking and falling under the weight of ice continued all night.

The next morning I looked out the window to our backyard, the sight was not so beautiful as before, but equally breathtaking.Fallen tree limbs crossed our driveway making us captive in our dark little cocoon, which was getting colder by the minute. There was no signal for our cell phones. We could tune to our local TV station on our battery-powered radio. All day we heard updates of power outages and blocked roads.

This ICE STORM has been the most devastating natural disaster in our area since “the flood of 1937.” We have crews from all over who have come to help replace thousands of telephone poles, restore power to tens of thousands of customers, work on cable and telephone lines. The linemen have been working 16 hour days for three weeks, and there is still work to be done.


Every time I go down a street for the first time since THE ICE STORM I am astounded anew by the mess I see. There are mounds and mounds of debris piled one after another on the curb in some areas. In other yards the chaos of fallen limbs and branches remain as they fell. It is as if the task of gathering the limbs, branches, sticks, twigs and other tree-shrapnel is so overwhelming the homeowners can’t bring themselves to begin.




Here are some numbers from THE ICE STORM for my family.
9 days without power and running water in our home.
3 days without cell service.
5 nights in a hotel - thanks very much to Phil’s company!
22 days without cable and internet service.
1 happy family to have all our conveniences restored!