Dare to Not Compare

This morning, in staff meeting, we had a local pastor revisit a story I had heard/ read a thousand times.  A thousand.  Okay, maybe 200 hundred, but nonetheless, I learned something new.

We were reading from Luke 10: "38 As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him.39 She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. 40 But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, 'Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!'

41 'Martha, Martha,' the Lord answered, 'you are worried and upset about many things, 42 but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.'"

I have always known I am a Martha.  And not in the good "I am a lot like a character in the Bible" good.  

I love being busy.  It makes me (falsely) feel purposeful.

I (sadly) do not mind pointing out when I am working hard and others aren't or when things do not seem fair.  It makes me (falsely) feel important.

But this morning, I recognized that Martha also compared herself to her sister.  I compare myself ALL the TIME to others.  On Facebook.  In Christmas cards.  On Instagram.  Even in church. I try to (falsely) find satisfaction in doing better than others whilst being crushed when I fall short, which is every time.  Every time.

Jesus called Mary out on it in verses 41 and 42 and He called me out on it this morning.

Ouch.

Will you join me in giving up comparison for Lent?  Or for Wednesday?  Or just for this moment?

Let's choose the "better" together.

Amberly

A Note to Remember

My interns are awesome.  The other day, I was having a tough day.  I seem to be having a lot of those lately.  I think learning a new job and different leadership styles has proved new tricks for this old dog.  Seriously.  Hard.  My interns knew the stress of the day had taken its toll on me and I came back to my office to find this:

A note.  And a bouquet of flowers.  And a Starbucks iced tea.

I was one happy boss.

The flowers were beautiful and the iced tea was refreshing, but the note will stay on my office wall until it is too dusty, dirty, and soiled to be readable.

It is exactly what I needed.  I needed to be reminded that I am loved by God even when I don't feel lovable or worthy of love.  I needed to be reminded that I am supported even when I feel like I am falling.  I needed to be reminded that despite my shortcomings that God is tall in the grace department.

I needed a sticky note of kindness.

The flowers and Starbucks cost a good bit of money, but the note cost them nothing and yet was an invaluable tool of encouragement.

Do you have someone in your life who needs a sticky note of kindness?

Ask God to heighten your awareness.  Maybe it is a neighbor.  Or one of your kids.  Or your spouse.  Or an intern.  Or the cashier at your favorite grocery store.  Or the stay-at-home-mom with a ton of kidlets and a limited amount of energy.  Or yourself.

Write one (or twelve) and you may become the very encouragement that person needs today.

Need some incentive?  Here are a few from Proverbs:

Proverbs 12:25 "Anxiety weighs down the heart, but a kind word cheers it up."
Proverbs 15:23 "A person finds joy in giving an apt reply - a how good is a timely word!"
Proverbs 16:24 "Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones."

I love the Proverbs - even the name inspires - "Pro"= for and "verb" = action.

Go and love others - one sticky note at a time.

Blessings!
Amberly (Mama Pines :))

I Do Not Want To Build A Snowman

I love snow.  I love the majesty of it.  I love how it makes everything look idyllic, almost magical.  I love the fact that I had to buy snow boots to traverse through it (any excuse to get new shoes works for me).

This is the view from my office this morning:



The snow is beautiful; it covers everything, including the path from my door at home to the front mat of my office door.

But it is also dangerous.  The very same substance that makes my front yard look like Narnia also contributes to the demise of people and vehicles.  Although usually not directly, people die in traffic accidents on icy roads, have heart attacks whilst shoveling snow, and can die from hypothermia from prolonged exposure (National Severe Storms Laboratory, 2016).

This provides an interesting juxtaposition.  The same mixture of precipitation and low temperature that kids build snowmen in can literally kill them.

When I am walking through the powdery glitter, I can hardly wrap my brain around the fact that it has the power to hurt me.

Similarly, I sometimes struggle when it comes to grasping both the beauty of God and His power.

I am so acquainted and comfortable with His love, grace, kindness, forgiveness, and goodness that sometimes I forget to fear His might.

The Psalmist somehow found a balance and decided to celebrate God for ALL the facets of His awesomeness: "But I will sing of your strength in the morning I will sing of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble. You are my strength, I sing praise to you; you, God, are my fortress, my God on whom I can rely." (Psalm 59:16 and 17)

I celebrate God through loving others, loving myself, enjoying His creations, singing His praises, entrusting Him with my concerns, and finding joy in the every day.

I am now going to leave the office and celebrate Him by playing in the snow He blanketed my front driveway with this morning.

Amberly

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Promises, Promises

Well, it happened again.

My husband went for a job interview only to discover that the position was no longer available.

Six months without substantial employment has proved tiresome.  Yes, he has gone on a ton of interviews (most for which he is HIGHLY over-educated and over-qualified), and yet, nada.  Zilch.  Goose egg. Squat.

I know God has a plan (Proverbs 19:21) to prosper us (Jeremiah 29:11-13) for us to do good works (Ephesians 2:10).  I know all the verses, but I am having a hard time waiting for God in this season.  In other words, I have a serious WAIT problem.

In my quiet time the other day, I was reminded of the story of Abraham.  He had a WAIT problem, too.  He waited for a child.  He waited for protection.  He waited for God to provide.  But he did not do it very well.  He circumvented God's plan for a child by sleeping with his wife's maidservant.  He provided his own "plan B" by lying and saying that Sarai was only his sister.  

In Genesis 22:17, God promises Abraham something amazing.  God shows Abraham the stars.  He gives him a vision for his future: "I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore. Your descendants will take possession of the cities of their enemies..."

The kicker is: it took 23 years for Abraham's future generation to be born.  In God's perfect timing, Isaac was born to old parents.  23 years.  That is the same number of years Scott and I have been married.  WOWZERS!

But it made them stronger in the process.  When God asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac over a decade later, Abraham got up "early in the morning" to obey God (Genesis 22:3).

I want to be stronger.   I want to have faith that merits putting me on a list of the faithful (Hebrews 11).  I want to be so eager to do God's work that I get up "early in the morning" to do it.  Even if it means more job interviews for my husband.

Would you please pray for my husband as he searches for the right job?    Thank you!

How can I pray for you?!?!  Do you have a WAIT problem as well?

Maybe we should look up at the starts periodically and remind ourselves of the perfect timing of God.

Blessings on your week!
Amberly

Spit Take

I love to learn new verbiage.  Even if it means that I have been saying something wrong for all of my born days...

I came across this little beauty over Christmas break and it has been stuck in my craw ever since.

The term "Spitting image" is the usual modern form of the idiom meaning exact likeness, duplicate, or counterpart. The original phrase was spit and image, inspired by the Biblical God‘s use of spit and mud to create Adam in his image. But spitting image has been far more common than spit and image for over a century.

A few writers still use spit and image, but trying to keep the original idiom alive is probably a lost cause. Though it is older and makes more logical sense, it can also be distracting to readers who have been hearing spitting image their whole lives. Of course, spitting image can be just as distracting to some careful readers. (from http://grammarist.com/usage/spitting-image/)

Wow.  Although I have thought through being made in the image of God, I never pondered that we could actually be derived from the very SPIT of God. 

"Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being." (Genesis 2:7)

This is such a cool image that our (meaning humankind's) lungs were formed and filled with the very breath of God.  Although spit is not mentioned, the dust God used may have included his spit as well (other translations imply the use of spit).

So, what does all this word-nerdiness have to do with anything?  Well, it has forced me to ask myself a couple of questions:

Do I act like the "spit and image" of my Heavenly Father?

Do I speak love and grace to others like my lungs were filled with His breath?

My intentions this year include researching who I am in Christ.  This has been a good thought on which I can chew this first week.

Happy New Year!

Amberly

Reject

I love to sing.  Singing connects me to God, allows me to pretend that I will be a backup singer for Tina Turner someday, and is a never-ending source of joy.

In fifth grade, my teacher, Mrs. Pfau, told me: "do yourself a favor and never sing aloud."

It stung.  It silenced me.  For years, I never sang where others could hear me (although NO ONE could stop my in-car solos!)  Whenever I was tempted to sing in front of others, the voices of self-doubt sang loudly in my heart.  But with the coaxing of my roommate in college, I finally started singing again.

I have been singing ever since.  In no way am I implying that I am a good singer, but I sure enjoy it.  I have sung on a TON of worship teams, sung at weddings and funerals, done plenty of solos, and relish the times that my husband and I sing together.

Last week, my husband, our daughter, and I auditioned for the worship team at the church we have been attending.  It is SO vulnerable to audition for strangers, especially because I can still hear the words of Mrs. Pfau in my ears...

"Do yourself a favor and never sing aloud."

We finally heard from the worship pastor yesterday.  My husband and daughter were chosen, but I was not.  Ouch.  I tried to pretend that it was not a blow to my pride.  I am truly happy for them, but truly wounded for me.  I have actually shed tears over it.  HOW EMBARRASSING!

"Do yourself a favor and never sing aloud."

The question is: am I going to let the rejection silence me?  Will I be able to sing aloud again and not think of my disappointment and shame?

Time will tell...

Amberly

It. Is. Finished.

Well, I did it.  I completed my first (and only) triathlon.

I h trained.  I followed all the advice of friends, colleagues, and bloggers.  I had all the right equipment. I choked.

The swim was only 1/2 mile long and on beautiful Lake Mead.  My best friend, Debbie, swore to stay with me through the triathlon (this was her 5th) and I am glad she did.

All the beginners were in the last heat.  It was hard enough being in a wetsuit in public, but the swimming cap made me look like a goddess indeed.  I ventured into the water and had not gone 100 feet  - when I panicked.  All the symptoms of a panic attack - shortness of breath, heart palpitations, nausea, impaired judgment, country music in my head - showed up like old friends.  I kept looking at the shore; only the sound of my best friend's voice stopped it from being the shortest attempt at a tri in U.S. (heck, international) history.

After a few failed attempts at any of the strokes I had practiced, I started backstroking.  Debbie and I came up with a system wherein she would pat my arm or leg depending on in which direction I needed to swim.  She encouraged.  She cheered.  She doggy-paddled for 1/2 while I tried to avoid throwing up.

I had to change my clothes into gear for biking once the swimming portion was over.  After a failed attempt at not flashing those changing around me and dropping my towel (oops.  Sorry, sir.  Some things cannot be unseen.), I got on the bike.  It was a grueling steady climb of 14 miles.  I think about 12 of that had a 6% incline, which does not seem like much, but it got hard.

My body started hurting in parts that shall remain unnamed.  Oh. My. Goodness.

And Debbie?  She just kept encouraging.  She got quiet when I would throw a fit.  She would gently encourage me with tips and point out landmarks along the way.  She loved me even when I said disparaging things.  We talked candidly about life.  She never left my side.

After a three mile jog (mostly walking), we crossed the finish line together and I have never been so thankful to be her friend.

She literally embodied the role of the Holy Spirit in the life of a believer.  She directed, guided, nudged, encouraged, pushed, loved, but mostly, she just never left my side.  She was on my team the whole time.

I need to remember that the next time I have a hard time "feeling" God.  He is on Team Amberly and will never leave my side.  Even when I can't stop looking at the shore in times of storm.  Even when I say disparaging things about myself.  Even when I fail.  He loves me and He loves you.

I am thankful for His presence...

Amberly