John 6: 12-13 …”Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted.”

Have you ever become ‘undone’ or ‘fell in a heap’? Can you count the number of times when you have felt as though your entire life has crumbled before your very eyes and hope for reconstruction is far from your concept of reality? Or, maybe you feel trapped in circumstances spinning out of control and a plan to escape defies the odds of being able to do so without causing a lot of anguish, pain, hurt, and an uncertain future.

I’d like to tell you a story. It’s a story about a young woman who had dreams to be a writer, an author of great books that many would enjoy. Upon entering business school after graduating from high school, she though her love for writing would land her a position in an advertising firm where her persuasive words and light heartedness for life would entice people to be lured towards whatever it was she was ‘promoting’. She also wanted to be different than her mother; she wanted more than being wife, mother, homemaker–she wanted ‘things’, she was in pursuit of material wealth and set her sights on how to achieve that goal. She surmised that in order to have more than her parents had, she’d have to find someone who could help her obtain a life of comfort and wealth. She met a promising young man in high school who had dreams and goals of his own to be successful and wealthy, a perfect match for such a time in their lives. They married, settled into the final stretch of his college education and began the journey towards success. It wasn’t long before trouble entered through the door of their home and strife became a welcomed guest at the table of their dreams. The young woman began to question her decisions in life and retreated to a place of isolation and despair. Dreams were becoming a faint memory and self confidence was replaced with feelings of unworthiness and being unloved. All that she had known as solid truth was replaced by lies, anger, and deep disappointments. Wealth was being obtained, but it came with a price–there was no frivolous fun, no exciting adventures to places unseen, no meaningful relationships outside of family. God, who had been an important part of the young woman’s life until these difficult years, was ignored–until the young woman ‘came undone’ , closed the door in the face of despair and opened the looming door called ‘fresh start’. 

She found herself at the altar of God, not literally, but spiritually. Four long years had divided her attention and focus on God, but she soon realized that He had never forgotten her and nothing she had chosen during those years was a surprise to Him or a hindrance from HIs ability to forgive, renew, restore, and encourage her to begin making choices and decisions with Him at the center. When she came to Him, she was broken, deeply saddened, emotionally wounded, ashamed, rejected, lonely, afraid…..she brought these seven ‘things’ to Him and He gave thanks and broke them from her and off her….and  then He gathered up the pieces and put them in His basket labeled “Future Purpose”.

As the young woman reveled in her restored relationship with God, He gave her a new life, new dreams, new joy, new purpose, and many opportunities to love Him and serve others. Earthly love came again, this time with someone who shared similar dreams, who was kind, endearing, loyal, funny, determined, and made her feel like a princess. God was at the center of their lives and throughout the hardships has remained where He belongs in their hearts and minds. The brokenness of the young woman’s past  was far removed as a stinging weapon meant to heap guilt or shame. The healing balm of God’s love has been applied to those broken pieces, now being used to minister healing to others who find themselves ‘undone’ and in their ‘own pile’. She has permission and commanded purpose to freely reach into the “Future Purpose” basket grabbing hold of a “healed piece from her past”  in order to minister the same restorative power to others. She does so with humility and drivenness to see captives set free, to bind up the brokenhearted, to set right what Satan has distorted. 

The young woman isn’t quite so young anymore. She’s beyond her middle years, entering a new season tipping the edge of golden years. Some of her childhood dreams still flood her mind. Writing has become a reality although the subject matter has changed. She’s had to admit that she did want to be like her mother–wife, mom, homemaker. She has obtained wealth by tapping into the “riches and glory of God”. She is no longer ‘undone’ or a ‘piled heap’ in a corner of despair and loneliness. She can be seen holding her “Future Basket” in one hand and in the other God’s promise not to waste any of her past hurts or mistakes. The ashes of her selfish and broken earlier years have been made beautiful in God’s sight and she’d like to believe have become key ingredients each time He prepares and mixes a new batch of ‘healing balm’ as He waits to minister redemption to another prodigal.

I was that prodigal. Hello, my name is Susan, and I’m a grateful believer in Jesus Christ.

Ash Wednesday holds great significance for me.  I came Home.   I had been distant from God for four years, yet in His tender mercy He kept wooing me.  I got pretty good at ignoring Him but He was diligent in pursuing me.  After the running was over and my life in shambles I connected with Him for the first real time on Ash Wednesday 1979.   I was a sinner in need of a Saviour; I was a broken woman in need of a healer.  I found both during that unforgettable return to church.   

My marriage of four years was over and although my part in the failure is acknowledged there lay within me a lot of woundedness and shame that God would take years to heal, using  many good teachers of the Word to facilitate the healing. He was faithful and gentle, yet relentless showing me when and how to truly accept the changes he was making in me. He did this by creating a hunger and thirst to know Him. Overnight I had a deep desire to listen to Christian radio and qualified ministers.  I felt like I was going crazy because all I could think about was Jesus.  Upon my conversion I was totally unaware that I had also been given an ‘extreme makeover’. When I went into work on Thursday morning one of the executives asked ‘what have you done differently with your makeup today?’ to which I replied ‘nothing’. ‘Ah’, he said, ‘but something is different’. It wasn’t until I had gained an understanding of 2 Corinthians 5:17 which says “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” that indeed God’s working power was evident in my life, shining forth in my face.

My most precious memory of my 1979 Ash Wednesday is a conversation that took place between my mother and me. Let me set the background and the scene. Mom was a prayer warrior. Her passion was knowing that everyone–but most importantly–her children have a saving relationship with Christ. So you can imagine and sense her sorrow knowing her daughter had drifted from God for four years. We’d even had several unpleasant conversations regarding my prodigal status. Visualize the prodigal daughter has moved back to her parent’s home and is now sleeping in her old bedroom. The work of the Ash Wednesday service is over in the natural, but very much active in the heart and mind of a scared 24 year old woman as she retires to bed for the night. In comes her mother who isn’t sure what to do or say to a child living with a decision to divorce, yet is so happy that her child was in church for the first time in four long years. She quietly sits on the bed next to her child, not seeing a grown woman, but the face of her baby and she gently pushes aside a strand of hair and whispers ‘is it good to be home?’ I’m certain  she meant to be physically back home in the safety of the walls that had protected me for 21 years. I answer ‘yes’ but really being expressed was that I was ‘Home’….in a rightful relationship with God. Now, these 35 years later, I realize I was actually in ‘two places at one time’–it can be accomplished! …..home and Home. 

If you are like me, and I know that many of you are, you enter and camp out in dry places on occasion. It’s not that I intentionally go looking for a wilderness experience that takes me away from my relationship with Christ, but rather I allow business and laziness to gain a foothold in my day to day activities. And, when I reset my thoughts and intentions, it is then that I return to my favorite devotional book and find a renewed spirit of willingness to spend some time quieting myself by reading and digging into scripture. This morning is one of those days and I am grateful that the devotion writer took me to Psalm 37:4 which is one of my favorite verses from the Psalms. Not content to merely read the verse and call it ‘good’ I decided to do some digging into the meaning of the word “delight”.

I found a site that gave me the Hebrew definition for “delight”. I found out it is a command (hmmm…..not a suggestion) and it translates as “exquisite delicacy”. (I admit I suddenly visualized a box of chocolates….not your ‘dime store’ version either). Seeing as I have a sweet tooth my ability to relate to the meaning was one of sheer delight! Yet, the command isn’t merely to have a good time with The Lord. It’s meant to be a celebration of the PRESENCE of The Lord. In the midst of our ‘celebrating’ He then gives us the desires of our heart. So, I guess this means that I have a responsibility in my hope of God granting me His gifts.

Taking a closer look at the verses before and after the words in Verse 4 I found this: Verse 3 tells us to “Trust”. Verse 4 tells us to “Delight”. Verse 5 tells us to “Commit”. Then in Verse 6 the writer changes direction assuring us that when we have completed those actions “God will bring forth righteousness in ME (US)”……then Verse 7 tells us to “Rest” and Verse 8 tells us to “Cease…(from anger).

I confess that I don’t always ‘trust’ God. I’m pretty good at suggesting to Him how He should answer my prayers. And I’m not always consistent with  ‘committing’ each day to Him. Resting and Ceasing aren’t welcome traits either. Yet, even in those shortcomings, God is patient. He is kind and He is gracious and I like to believe that He is ‘delighted’ when I lay aside the inadequacies of my flesh and return to His presence.

Do I always ‘delight in the Lord’? Do I always ‘taste and see that The Lord is good’? Sadly, the human answer is ‘no’.  But God’s answer is ‘yes’ because in Romans 8:1 Paul writes “There is then no condemnation to those in Christ Jesus”.

The gift I received this morning was a renewed hunger to be in God’s presence. I was thrilled and content to be quiet with only the sound of my living room clock ticking down the minutes of a cold morning warmed by precious time in God’s Word. I thought about writing a list of ‘heart desires’ in my journal but I didn’t because something tells me my Heavenly Father already knows what concerns me so I will exercise a step of ‘Trust’….I will continue to pursue an attitude of  ‘Committing’ and most importantly–I will ‘Rest’ and ‘Cease’. I will  ‘celebrate’ His presence.

Have you ever felt like you were living in a tangled mess? I know that I have and even though I’d like to say it’s all because of other people and things, it’s really not the case. I’m pretty good at creating my own messes. I’m very adept at getting caught up in distractions and worthless activities. I’m a pretty good bum. I enjoy being lazy and I relish not having a pressing “to do” list. I don’t like deadlines, yet when faced with one I can rise to the occasion and finish strong. 

With that in mind, enter the time of Advent which is one of my favorite seasons of the church calendar. Our tree has been decorated for several weeks now and my cute little snowmen collection adorns a table and hutch. Several batches of cookies have been baked and presents have been purchased. Stocking stuffer gifts are safely tucked away until their needed appearance on Christmas Eve. Missing from this Advent and for several years is the Advent Calendar. My children have grown and moved to their own homes. It is bittersweet to think the Advent calendar’s reminders that usher in Christmas have been put on hold so-to-speak. Hopefully, one day it will be used again when grandchildren are added into the mix of Christmas. I know that I could still use the calendar with the absence of children in our home. What caused me to keep it on the shelf? It must be my preconceived notion that Advent calendars need children. I will have to rethink that one.

During the last few days we received a good measure of snow which always puts me in a wonderful Christmas mood. I can’t explain why snow transforms my mind and spirit. There is something quite magical about watching the snowflakes fall and accumulate. I can sit by a open window during a gentle falling snow and be mesmerized for hours. Maybe it’s because during those times of being quiet I am transported back to my childhood memories of building snowmen, shoveling walks, ice skating, and making snowballs. Those years were kind and good years, treasured moments of being greeted by mom with hot chocolate and help getting out of snow covered play clothes, feeling her warm hands on my chilled face and hands.

So often during the days and weeks leading up to Christmas, I have heard friends say ‘I’ve got so much to do for Christmas’ or I’ve been asked ‘Are you ready for Christmas?’ I’ve always been puzzled by these two mindsets. If truth would be made known, I think we create our own ‘buziness’ and ‘stress’. Before you say ‘hey!’ you’ve done the same thing! my response is ‘yes, yes, I have’. …in years past. My truth to share with you is that I gave up creating Norman Rockwell Christmases a long time ago. I no longer run around trying to buy the perfect gifts. I stopped baking dozens of cookies years ago (I only prepare a few favorites and have even used store bought dough) and I no longer search recipe books for elegant sit down meals. Instead, I purchase gifts that I think my kids will need or enjoy whether at the store or on-line. Money that used to purchase expensive gifts is now being dropped in Salvation Army kettles and given to other worthy needs.  Big meals have been replaced with various trays of cheese, crackers and Chex Mix (a favorite traditional snack made by Jim & Sarah)…..and a few cookies.

By letting go of false expectations for the celebration of Christmas, I have gained a renewed love for the Truth of the season. Even though the Advent calendar is ‘on hold’ my love for anticipating God’s gift of the Christ Child has become more dear and precious to me. I’ve been reading an Advent devotion each morning from the Bible. Today’s writer lovingly cautioned ‘not to become a tangled mess during the Christmas’ season. These simple words reminded me of what I have ‘let go’ and what I have ’embraced’ as being more important. 

I don’t want to be lazy in my relationship with God. I don’t want to put off doing the important things that make Him smile. Like sitting by an open window enjoying a beautiful snowfall, I am developing being a bum on the couch reading my Bible and talking with my Heavenly Father. You know what? I did that today. I’m still in my jammies. The lights on lit on the tree and the snowmen. No snow is falling, but my Bible has been opened and my tangled messes have been delivered to the throne where I know they are being unraveled and straightened out by the work of His hands.

This past week we attended the funeral of a dear pastor from our ‘home’ church in Saginaw. What do I mean by ‘home church’? My ‘home church’ is that part of my memory bank where a lot of significant spiritual birth and growth began. My ‘home church’ is St. John Lutheran (2nd & Federal) in Saginaw, Michigan. For the time we lived in Saginaw it’s all I really knew. The church was established in 1852 (by a group of Germans) and eventually became the congregation that my mother’s parents joined upon their arrival to Saginaw from Europe in the early 1900’s. It’s the church that mom and her siblings were born into and educated in their small school through the 8th grade. It’s the church that mom and dad were married in and had us three kids baptized in as we came into this world. It’s the church where I met Jesus Christ as my personal savior and where I was married. It is the church where my own children were baptized as infants. It is the church where I sang my first solo…….and if confession is good for the soul…..stole a kiss from a boy when no one was looking. So, sitting in the pew for Doug’s funeral brought back a flood of  poignant memories accompanied by bittersweet tears. May I share some of those with you?

Above all, I cherish the many years that I would have attended and sat in the large sanctuary of St. John. We usually sat in the back of the church but as years passed mom and dad made their way to the front pews where they were joined by their closest friends.

When I reached junior high school age, I joined the youth choir. Later, I found myself in the Senior Choir, learning more difficult music and enjoying the ability to continue singing. It was here, under the direction of Verne Frede, that a shy 20 something year old was convinced over an hour lunch break to lay down fear and give solo work a chance. I am forever grateful for that leap of faith and Verne’s insistent challenge. Anyone who knew Verne knew how persuasive he could be when he had a goal in mind.

As I waited for the service to begin, I realized how all my senses were taking in the beauty of the sanctuary. There were the stained glass windows, the seasonal banners hanging from the chancel and the support beams of the ceiling. The piano and then the organ were spilling out familiar hymns and songs. As I listened to the music and gazed about the room my eyes came to rest on the Advent Wreath so beautifully displayed. A new rush of tears welled in my eyes as I realized that the walnut stained stand supporting the wreath was the one my dad had built in years past. Another remembrance for me of dad using his talents for The Lord. Dad served in many capacities over the years of being a part of St. John. I could see his face on the chancel as an assisting minister to read scripture, assuming his spot in the choir loft, or helping to make repairs to the building on a Trustees work day. Mom was more shy. She preferred to take a quiet role serving the church. She found a home in the prayer ministry and was a self-appointed encourager to younger folks. She also became a very proud grandma who was very patient tending to little Sarah while mom and dad were in the choir loft.

Perhaps the most difficult realization to grasp was an awareness of knowing that a large decline in attendance has taken place in the current season of St. John. A once packed sanctuary has given way to but less than 100 dedicated members gathering on Sunday morning for worship. It’s not hard for me to reach back into my youthful childhood memories and recall Christmas and Easter overflow of families causing the ushers to open the balcony. On Monday, an honest statement  “we dusted the balcony just in case” was shared. Sadly, the balcony wasn’t needed adding another dose of emptiness to a growing reality factor.

These are memories and some are mere things. Above all, in the midst of everything that I have described were the people that I saw and can still remember. I saw parents of kids that were in the youth group that I helped teach. I saw folks who sang in the choir with me. I saw folks who are old, worn, torn, but still loving and serving God. I saw a dear friend who was called into full-time ministry. And I saw dear, dear friends–even one who I call a sister. I saw one of the two pastors who taught me God’s Word during my catechism years. 

Can you go back ‘home’? While I cannot return to my family home other than to drive by now, I can go back to my ‘home church’ as long as the doors are open, take a seat in a familiar spot and open my mind and my heart to allow God’s Spirit to remind me of all that was good and beneficial to who I am today. If I close my eyes I can see the many Candlelight Services of Christmases past, the blanketed cross representative of Good Friday and Easter, the poinsettias or white lilies adorning the chancel and altar. I can hear the resonance of the organ and the call to worship by the ringing of the bells. Yes, I believe but for a moment one can ‘go back home’ and capture all that God has done, is doing, and will do in the season of growth for one of His children. 

Recently I read an article about the frail hands of a man and the lifetime stories they could tell. As I read that beautiful story I thought that I, too, could write about my dad’s hands and the numerous stories that his hands represented in the 90 years that he lived.

This photo was taken during one of my frequent visits to see dad when he lived in a memory care facility. As dad lost his ability to express himself verbally he relied on ‘touch’ and ‘use of his eyes’ to communicate his thoughts.  I’d like to tell you about my dad’s ‘hands’.

Dad was the middle child of 11. He was born and raised on a farm in northern Michigan during the Great Depression. Daily food came from the hard work of his parents and God’s provision. There wasn’t extra money for the things all kids want such as toys, games, and candy. Dad told us that “if we wanted a sled or wagon we made one out of scraps laying on a pile next to the barn”. Winters in northern Michigan provided ample opportunities for skiing and sledding, all activities he and his brothers enjoyed with their handcrafted creations. Later in life, dad’s ability to take pieces of wood and create something beautiful and useful would become more than a ‘need’ but rather a source of practical provision and generosity.

Upon returning to Saginaw following his service in the Korean Conflict, dad and mom purchased a lot in Zauel Subdivision and began the building of 2004 Arthur, our family home. The year was 1954 when the ranch style home with a one car attached garage and breezeway began his biggest do-it-yourself project. With the exception of the basement, plumbing, and electrical all other work was performed with his own hands. My brother Dave, who was about 8 at the time, helped lay the hardwood in the living room. I was content to sit on the stack of wood and watch until one afternoon I stood up, took my first steps, made the circle of rooms and kept on going.

Those were good years, the 50’s and 60’s. Mom was content in her home cooking wonderful meals, keeping house, and helping with school projects. Dad worked for the City of Saginaw and supplemented their income by building furniture for people and on occasion took on remodeling projects doing kitchens primarily.  In my 8th grade of education he tackled the job of remodeling mom’s kitchen, making it larger and up-to-date for the times.  In my high school years they purchased land on AuSable Lake and he built their cottage using repurposed materials. I have to wonder if doing so made him recall the scrap pile by the barn. 

Even though dad was very comfortable and adept using his power tools, his hands had many other purposes such as giving me my one and only spanking at age 3, playing catch in the front yard with my brothers, playing horseshoes with his brothers at grandma’s house, putting puzzles together as a family, making bread with mom, holding the bike seat so I could learn to ride a two-wheeler, serving communion at church…..the list is long and full of meaningful memories.

If you visit our home it is with pleasure that I can introduce you to each piece of furniture we own, handsomely built with precision and love by dad.  You will marvel at the curio cabinet which was our wedding gift and the dining room table which is a copycat version of one I saw in a catalogue. There’s even a small wooden cross that he mass produced for Easter years ago.

Perhaps the most treasured position dad’s hands took was the year mom died. In the early hours of the morning, when imminent death as calling, dad scooped mom up with his hands and arms and prayed a prayer of recommitment back to  the Lord. Her weakened body  which had been fashioned by a Heavenly Father and cared for  54 years by  work of dad’s hands was coming to a close.

In  September 2008 we moved dad to his last residence. That was a hard move for him  emotionally speaking. He  knew he was facing difficult times ahead.  After putting his things in order in his new room, he painstakingly gathered me and my niece to kneel and pray a prayer of thanksgiving for family and being cared for, his hands  folded in humility before God. This was to become a final act of worship that held deep significance for him  and a treasured gift for me.

Yes, dad’s hands spanned a lifetime of 90 years, of which I was able to be part of for almost 60 years. I love thinking of little boys and scrap piles, mountains of sawdust in the garage and basement, applauding  my high school  choral concerts, and playing with his grandchildren. I love telling and sharing his life with my family and friends.  I love that my dad’s hands reflected the goodness and love of my Heavenly  Father..  And, maybe just maybe dad doesn’t have to use a scrap pile anymore to build his newest project, but is enjoying using the richest of woods and shiniest of nails that his Father has laying near a beautiful red barn, just for him. 

While this photo is from a site unknown to me, incredibly its sheer beauty transports me to a tranquil place in my mind where I can escape for just a little while, allowing me to lay aside the demands of my day and the concerns of my life. I don’t know why it is exactly that I have come to love winter and a fresh blanket of snow. Perhaps it may be because of the many childhood memories that I have from winters past. Or, in a  spiritual sense fresh, clean snow paints a picture of cleansing and redemption for all that is soiled and impure. Depending on my needs, seeing snow and watching the magic of the transformation it brings to my surroundings is a feeling hard for me to describe.

I have to admit it’s always disheartening for me to be privy to conversations whereby one or several are spewing negative feelings regarding snow. I want to shout “NO!”–not me!! I LOVE snow. It’s clean, it’s white, it’s pure, it’s a free gift from God to play in and create snowmen, forts, and snowballs….all which create memories, especially for a little, wide eyed girl in the 60’s growing up in a neighborhood with about 30 kids in variety of ages who came together one beautiful cold winter afternoon for the Zauel Street Snowball Fight of snowball fights. A fresh, perfect snow for making snowballs  had taken place overnight. Teams were formed and plans with an appointed time of ambush had been set. Under proper supervision of each team captain, busy mittened hands built a snow wall in the front yards of the two opposing teams. These walls would be our protection against the onslaught of the flying frozen ammunition that was to come. Once we were satisfied with the height of our respective walls, we began the arduous, cold task of making snowballs. I don’t remember how many we made, but time was of the essence as we anticipated the countdown to the first launch. Each team worked in unity and harmony with one goal in mind–be ready and be on the winning team….and hope that at the appointed hour no cars would need to be using Zauel Street. (This really wasn’t an issue since our neighborhood was in the southwest corner of the city, much off the beaten path)

It’s been over 50 years and a lot of snowballs for me to remember if I was on the wining team. What I do remember is ‘someone’ announcing to halt making snowballs and ready for the big fight. In what seemed like a flurry of hands and arms, heads ducking to avoid a direct hit, and bobbing up and down behind our snow walls, in a matter of minutes the fight ended. Amid the sheer cold and exhaustion I remember screams of delight as a carefully aimed snowball found a target or the expressions of anguish being the recipient of a well thrown frozen ball accompanied by the realization that all supplies had been used. In what took hours to prepare, minutes werre able to consume, yet create and record a memory into the mind of this little girl. Those of us living and participating in the Zauel Street Snowball fight laughed for days, and whoever had bragging rights enjoyed weeks of feeling like champions.

That snowball fight is but one favorite memory. I was fortunate to live two blocks away from a city park that made two skating rinks every winter. Afternoons and weekends were spent on our ice skates. I was 11 years old when I got my first pair of skates. They were a gift from my older brother Mark. When he became old enough to drive, we often made the  short trip to Hoyt Park to skate. This was a much larger city park that was flooded with millions of gallons of water to form skating rinks. Mark occupied his skating with a pickup game of hockey while I practiced my fancy footwork nearby.

I  have many other good memories that have snow in the backdrop. There’s my brother’s  January 1967 wedding that was postponed for 24 hours……getting over 12 inches of snow one April workday, only to have the sun clear all the roads before 5 pm…….remembering dad letting us build an igloo outside the back door one year…….or the times dad took us to the Water Works to sled on those hills….even skiing  in our own neighborhood…..watching the ice thaw on the Saginaw River complete with crashing sounds under the power of Nature ushering in Spring.

No, I admit to becoming a bit disgruntled when folks complain about snow. It’s from winters past and future that I know many more happy memories are coming my way.  There are mugs of tea or hot chocolate to be enjoyed,  warm sweaters and slippers to keep me warm, and who knows…….maybe I  can  join a good snowball fight again to test my age old skills of dodging, bobbing, and taking careful  aim at a worthy opponent.

S = Seek God With My Whole Heart

U = Understand What Scripture is Teaching Me

S  = Sacrifice Time for Others

A = Acknowledge My Weaknesses

N = Never Question God’s Love for Others

Recently I had the privilege of hearing a gifted speaker present ideas and examples of how to develop a mission statement whether as an individual or as a family. I actually listened to this woman twice in the same day and walked away feeling challenged, intrigued, and inspired to give serious thought to this concept. In all honesty , I had never thought about writing a mission statement for myself, let alone for our family. Since the children are grown and living independently from us now, I have embraced the initial challenge of writing a statement that reflects ‘who I am’ and ‘who or what I desire to be’ while journeying through my life.

Surprisingly, as I sat down today to begin capturing my thoughts and giving words to desires, it really didn’t take a long time to accomplish what you read here using my name as an acronym. (Thank you mom and dad for not giving me a LONG first name….)

My first tenant to ‘seek God with my whole heart’ was a no-brainer. Since becoming a Christian believer over 30+ years ago, I have always pursued Him with a whole heart, even on my worst of days  or weakest attempts to be in communion with Him. Certainly, I have fallen short many days, even weeks, meeting with God one-on-one but I have long given up on feeling condemnation for my shortcoming in that regard. I may feel sadness in the long run, but I always return and it’s always with a whole heart…when a ‘hole’ in my heart needs patching.

I want to ‘understand scripture’. When I take time to circle key words and look up definitions I feel great satisfaction. I enjoy cross referencing and reading several versions of one scripture to find the hidden gems. I don’t want to merely read and do; I want God’s instructions for my life to be written on the walls of my heart and my mind.

Oooh…’sacrifice time for others’. This has always been a rough one for me. I like being in control of my day. I like to know a plan and stick to it. Wrong kinds of interruptions can set me in motion the wrong way. Cancellations can lend to disappointment and waiting patiently is a virtue still being sought on my part. I do like serving others; I don’t always do so with grace. God and I are working on this and He’s winning (smile).

Another oooh….’acknowledge my weaknesses’ which is really a polite word for sin(s). If you’re like me, that’s a topic we like to keep very private. I marvel and deeply appreciate people who have the courage and willingness to share deep, intimate details of past sin in their lives. I’m not like that. I have compartments in my memory. Several compartments contain experiences that I will talk about with great ease. Others are too personal. Maybe some day, but not yet. However, I am in pursuit of allowing God to reveal my faults to me so they can be brought to Him for forgiveness and redemption. Ministry training I’ve had teaches me to keep a ‘record of short accounts’–it’s amazing how spiritually clean I am when I put this into practice with a time of confessing and forgiving.

Lastly, ‘never question God’s love for others’…..He’s quite clear on His command to love others, to pray for enemies. In that I have no argument. My struggle is putting this commandment into practice when I hear, read, see the ugliness of sin all around me. I could write a book on how much I am grieved over lack of simple love and common decency in relationships, families, workplaces, communities, our nation, and the world. It’s so easy for me to fall into the trap of judging and making hasty assumptions when confronted with the reality of evil and ungodly behavior. Yet, when I take a deep breath, step back and observe after reminding myself to ‘see as Jesus would see’, my attitude (most of the time) changes and my heart softens. It’s during the moments of living in yet another ugly moment or news report that I remind myself to ask one simple question: “What is this person’s back story?” ….where were they wounded?…..who let them down?……when was love lacking? when did their world fall apart causing choices so contrary to the general goodness within each one of us?

Perfect or imperfect, this is my mission statement. Perfect or imperfect, this is me. My name is Susan, an imperfect woman who is being perfected by her relationship with God through His son, Jesus Christ.  Together, He and I are on a mission and I hope to greet you along the way.