The Meandering Mind of a Christian Woman

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Called by name

It occurred to me this week that many of us have titles; professor, mechanic, doctor, pastor, nurse, teacher, plumber, carpenter, mother, father, and the list can go forever. Many of us have worked hard to earn our titles, I know I spent many hours becoming a nurse and I take a certain amount of pride in the title. But there are days I don’t want to be the nurse; I just want to be Jody, it’s comforting. Isaiah 43:1b “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine.” In context this is a prophecy to Israel and goes on to describe how God will be w ith us through water and fire, in other words through all our traumas. I cherish the idea of being called by name. You see, along with the titles we might bear come expectations, responsibilities, and pressures. I recall my first year of being a nurse among a staff of about 40 other fabulous nurses and feeling a bit lost in the crowd working the off shift and one of the doctors called

It’s been a rough week. I began the week being heartbroken over the death of someone I hold very dear, he’s been a large presence in my life the last couple decades. I can’t stop thinking and praying for the family he left behind; a beautiful wife and three adoring daughters. It echoes my own experience becoming a widow. They are women of strong faith and I have confidence that their faith will pull them through on their dark days ahead. Yet, a word keeps flowing through my thoughts; fragile. (If you’re a fan of “A Christmas Story” you read that as fra-jeee-lay, but that’s beside the point.) When a loved one passes away it is common to feel quite fragile, as though one could shatter into a million pieces at any given moment. I have been contemplating this idea and it occurs to me, we are all fragile. From an outside perspective we appear to have it all together but on the inside we’re afraid, tired, confused, trapped, sad and a multitude of other emotions. Y

I was walking with my good friend Patti this morning as we do most Saturdays, and we were discussing dependance on God versus a bank account when from out of my coat pocket my phone speaks and says, “I don’t understand.” In the moment it made us chuckle, but it is so appropriate because the phone (a worldly item) can’t understand that kind of faith. The world doesn’t understand that kind of faith. I have often heard stories of men and women of faith totally dependent on God, prayers being answered in supernatural ways at the very last minute. (Read up on George Mueller who ran an orphanage depending entirely on God). I desire that type of faith because try as I might, at times I still lean on my bank accounts and fear can creep in when my funds are low. There is no way to completely understand the love of God, His ways are incomprehensible to the human mind. His approach to answering prayers is often what we mortals would term unconventional. For instance, c

As a young person, I was fond of painting, not great at it but reasonable. I set it aside when I fell in love and got married. In these days of isolation I needed to find some other ways to occupy myself other than baking and decided to get back to my paint brushes. To get used to handling the brushes again I got myself a paint by number, If you have never tried one of these let me give you a little insight. You receive a canvas with an image divided up into numbered areas and little pots of paint with corresponding numbers. Then you begin a sort of scavenger hunt trying to fill in all the spots of a particular number. Sounds simple enough, however some of these areas are so tiny they are easily overlooked. The tiny spots are important though, they give that little flourish that can draw the eye or round out an object. Why do I tell you about this? As I dove into this project, a great life analogy was revealed to me and I do love a good word

Everyone wants to be heard, but no one wants to listen. It happens all the time, in the home, at work, the city, the state, the nation and internationally. We all want to make our point, but we don’t listen to the opposite point of view. We’ve already made up our mind on a topic and we aren’t going to budge. All the divisiveness in our country is so frustrating. What would happen if we could sit at a table with others who see things differently than we do and we listened? Hearing and listening are completely different. We need to listen to understand yet how often are we formulating our response before we have even heard completely what the other person is saying? I know I am guilty of this. True listening allows us the opportunity to consider a different perspective. Forget walking in someone else’s shoes, it can’t be done. But listening and asking questions to understand; this is real discourse and holds the keys to resolving the

If you know me, you know I avoid politics and controversy. I avoid conflict. I am a coward. This is just one example of white privilege. I can afford to never step into the fray because I’m not particularly affected by it on a personal level. I don’t want to be a coward, I want to help promote justice for all people, including and especially, people of color. I have prayed about what I can do to effect change and my power lies in my writings. It is a small power to be sure, but I must use what I can to promote liberty and justice for all. I was raised in a white town; we did not have a black family in our town until I was about 14 years old. Racist jokes were common in my house, even applauded at times. I was taught that people of color could not be trusted, they were different somehow. When that first black family did move to town, I wanted to be friendly and get to know them. Unfortunately, when I reached out the hand of friendship the young man reached

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The Meandering Mind of a Christian Woman

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Out of the Mouth

Called by name

Fragile

I Don't Understand

Masterpiece

Listen

Coward