Dive In!

Speaking of Abraham...

"He didn't tiptoe around God's promise asking cautiously skeptical questions. He plunged into the promise and came up strong, ready for God, sure that God would make good on what he had said. "

Nose plugs... Check.

Goggles... Check

Wet suit... Check.

Flippers... Check.

I'm gonna plunge into God's promises!

Still Here

Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn't argue with that; I'm right and I will be proved right. We're more popular than Jesus now; I don't know which will go first - rock and roll or Christianity.
~John Lennon

Hey, I like the Beatles, too, but let's be careful of whom and what we idolize. Christianity is still here, and I am quite certain that Jesus is more popular than the Beatles. Christianity is a word that can be used quite loosely, and therefore, misused. If you have been hurt by so called, Christians, please note that it was their humanness and ignorance that hurt you, NOT Jesus.

Jumping In With Both Feet

There is a lot to catch you up on, but it's late, and I have to give you the short version...

1. Last spring, another 5th grade teacher, and I took four 5th grade students to our State Capitol for a Project Citizen Civics competition. The students competed against 17 other schools, mostly middle school. It was our first time competing, and basically we saw it as the culminating activity. Our expectations didn't go beyond finishing the competition, and getting the kids through their 4 minute speeches in front of a panel of 6 judges, in an Assembly Hearing Room at the Capitol. (How many of you would attempt that one?)

2. Well, as we sat and watched the awards dwindle from the table, our hopes of receiving a participation award were swept away. We sank a little lower in our chairs, which by the way, were in the Main Assembly Hearing Room. You know the one... the very room where laws are passed! It was beautiful.

3. The time came for the State Champions to be announced... WE WON! I immediately stood with my arms in the air, and shouted out a, "Woo Hoo!" Yeah, not my classiest moment. I suddenly realized that people don't cheer at these events, they just give little "golf claps." I slowly sat down as I realized all eyes, including those in the balcony, were watching, and probably were wondering why I didn't know the anti-cheering rules.

4. This was a bigger deal than even we knew. The following months were filled with phone calls and letters congratulating the kids, and us. They came from Representatives, Congressmen, and Senators. Excitement was in the air.

5. Our state senator came to my class to honor last year's champions, and to get this year's troops excited about the project. That was a fun day!

6. I'm sorry... I don't think this is the short version.

7. We are now taking the students to the 40th Annual National Indian Education Convention next month. This is the part of the story that makes me laugh...

We were told that it was a huge honor to take these kids to the convention. The conversations within the couple of months have gone something like this:

Max: Yeah, Lisa... You'll be taking the kids to Milwaukee. They'll have their boards with them, and they'll just be in a hallway answering questions people may have as they pass by.

Lisa: Okay, great. A hallway... We can do that. I'll go over some questions that may come about so they'll be prepared. (Remember... This project started last January, and ended May 2nd. They are in Middle School now, and have moved on. Preparation will be a must!)

Weeks pass...

Max: So Lisa... The kids will be in a convention room. They'll have their own table with their board, so when people are walking around, they will be there to explain their project and answer questions.

Lisa: All right, that sounds good. I'll go over their speeches with them, and make sure they're prepared.

Another week, or so:

Principal: Hey, Lisa... The kids are going to be part of Maria's presentation. (I've never met Maria, I was sure they'd be in good hands.) She'll be the presenter, the kids just need to be there with their boards.

Lisa: Oh, really? Okay. We'll be there!

Max, as of last Friday: Don't worry about a thing! Just wait until the conference call next week. Everything that is expected of you will be explained. Don't worry about it!

Today, Tuesday, September 29, 2009 at 3:30 pm...

Conference call with Maria:

Maria: So Lisa and Brenda, you will be presenting for an hour and a half.

Wait a minute...

Lisa: Whaaaaaat? WE will be presenting?! An hour and a half?!

Maria: Oh, don't worry. You will be amazed at how fast an hour and a half goes! And the last 10-15 minutes you can reserve for question and answer time.

(Great... what if I don't know the answers?)

I've arranged for you to have an overhead. You'll be just fine.

(An overhead projector? Just what am I supposed to project? What in the heck am I doing?)

Lisa: How many people will be there?

Maria: Well, you have a GREAT time slot! It's not early in the morning, and it's not late in the afternoon when people leave early... It's at a great time! (Meaning there will be A LOT of people!)

Lisa: Gulp. Okay, thank you?

So, there you have it. God has put me in the Dare Chair. Yep, plopped me in it, and strapped me down. Oh, and by the way... the presentation will be in a "theater like setting for 10-75 people." Oh boy. Remember that great time slot? Does that mean 75 people?

The lesson? Beware folks, sometimes you will end up in my Dare Chair, whether you volunteered, or not!

If you find yourself in the Dare Chair, relax, knowing God has put you there for a reason. He has faith in YOU, and has given you everything you need to complete the dare. You just need to be willing to try. Stop fighting it, give into it, jump in with both feet, and enjoy the ride!

Bless You...

Please watch this...

A Reminder...

Because

I

must

never forget...

(Click on, "never forget.")

God's File

God is using his giant file on me today, and it hurts. He is molding me, filing down my rough edges, and hopefully, is creating a masterpiece.

I found out today that I did not get a teaching job that I had oh, so desperately wanted. Many tears have fallen today, but do you want to know something funny? I actually had a really good day teaching at the challenging subbing job I told you about last week. I figure that either:

a. The kids knew I was hurting and let up on their hurtful remarks and attitudes

or

b. The kids are starting to treat me like a teacher, and not a substitute.

All I know, is that for the most part, they were very enjoyable today! There is light at the end of the tunnel!!

As far as the job goes, I will choose to trust that God is placing me right where He wants me. I will go where he sends me because you see, I would rather be in the most challenging job of my life, and be in the center of His will, than be at an easier job, and be out of His will.

So the next time you see me, I may be a bit smoother in spots, due to God's filing. My band-aids may be showing, but something tells me I will be more beautiful in places that really matter.

Whose Voice Are You Listening To?

Whose voice do you listen to? When you decide to try something new, step out of your comfort zone, or reach for courage, whose voice do you hear? Your parents'? The voice of a coach, teacher, or friend? Is it positive or negative? Does the voice you hear lift you up, or tear you down?

Let me tell you a story. A couple of years ago, I decided to ski the Birkie. Over 30 miles of hill, after hill, after hill. I was terrified. My own voice kept telling me that I couldn't do it. I constantly had to push the negative thoughts out of my head.

I came across a song that quickly became my Birkie Theme Song. It was perfect. I said the words over and over again as I trudged my way up the hills. I know that it was the words of this song that kept me going all the way to the finish line. I hope they bring inspiration to you as well.

The Voice of Truth by Casting Crowns

Oh,what I would do to have

the kind of faith it takes

To climb out of this boat I'm in

Onto the crashing waves

To step out of my comfort zone

Into the realm of the unknown

Where Jesus is,

And he's holding out his hand

But the waves are calling out my name and they laugh at me

Reminding me of all the times

I've tried before and failed

The waves they keep on telling me time and time again

"Boy, you'll never win, you'll never win."

But the voice of truth tells me a different story

the voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"

and the voice of truth says

"this is for my glory"

Out of all the voices calling out to me

I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

Oh, what I would do to have the kind of strength it takes

To stand before a giant with just a sling and a stone

Surrounded by the sound of a thousand warriors shaking in their armor

Wishing they'd have had the strength to stand

But the giant's calling out my name and he laughs at me

Reminding me of all the times I've tried before and failed

The giant keeps on telling me time and time again

"Boy you'll never win, you'll never win."

But the voice of truth tells me a different story

the voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"

and the voice of truth says "this is for my glory"

Out of all the voices calling out to me

I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

but the stone was just the right size

to put the giant on the ground

and the waves they don't seem so high

from on top of them looking down

I will soar with the wings of eagles

when I stop and listen to the sound of Jesus

singing over me

But the voice of truth tells me a different story

The voice of truth says do not be afraid

And the voice of truth says this is for my glory

Out of all the voices calling out to me (calling out to me)

I will choose to listen and believe (I will choose to listen and believe)

I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

I will listen and believe

I will listen and believe the voice of truth

I will listen and believe

'Cause Jesus you are the voice of

Truth

Who are you listening to?

Choose wisely.

Vroom!

My daughter got her license today!!

I am so excited for her, and am also excited that I will now get to hang up my Taxi keys for a while.

Am I nervous? Not really. I know that I need to put her in God's hands. If I fill myself with doubt and worry, that means I am not trusting God. Does that mean nothing bad will never happen? No. But I know this... He gave me everything I need to be her mom, and I have done, and will continue to do my best. My days or nights full of worry will not add a single day to my life, or my daughter's.

I will choose to trust.

Battle Hymn

Good day to you...

Please take time to listen to this; it is beautiful.

Listen to This...

Wise words from a sweet, little cowboy...

http://ktisblog.skylightradio.org/main/2007/12/21/logan-the-nebraska-cowboy/

Mary Did You Know?

Mary Did You Know?

by Mark Lowry

Mary did you know that your baby boy will one day walk on water?

Mary did you know that your baby boy will save our sons and daughters?

Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?

This child that you delivered will soon deliver you.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy will give sight to a blind man?

Mary did you know that your baby boy will calm a storm with His hand?

Did you know that your baby boy has walked where angels trod?

When you kiss your little baby, you've kissed the face of God.

Mary, did you know?

The blind will see

The deaf will hear

The dead will live again

The lame will leap

The dumb will speak

The praises of the Lamb

Mary did you know that your baby boy is Lord of all creation?

Mary did you know that your baby boy will one day rules the nations?

Did you know that your baby boy is heaven's perfect lamb?

This sleeping child you're holding is The Great I Am.

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Here is a touching true story from the book, I'll Be Home For Christmas The Library of Congress Revisits the Spirit of Christmas During World War II. This story was written by Marine Edward Andrusko, who was wounded three times in battle.

Christmastime 1944...

Miracle on a Train

I arrived at the San Diego railroad station early one 1944 morning and joined throngs of anxious holiday travelers who were burdened with baggage and Christmas gifts. We climbed aboard the overbooked holiday train. Lines of military and civilian passengers pushed and shoved each other, scrambling for the last remaining seats.

It would take an eternity---four days and four nights---to reach New York City. Still weak from malaria and hurting from my recent battle wounds, I was not looking forward to this long, boring trip.

I struggled down the aisle, carrying my Marine Corps seabag. Panic set in as I neared the end of the car. It was the last one, and all the seats looked occupied. My anxiety was interrupted by a loud voice: "Over here, Marine, and hurry up; I have a seat for you."

I hurried over, sat next to a sailor and thanked him for the seat.
"Hi, mate," he said. "They call me 'Ski,' because of my long Ukrainian name."

We both grinned and clumsily shook left hands. My wounded right hand was in a sling; and his right arm was amputated, with his empty jumper sleeve pinned up at the shoulder.

When I saw the many Navy men and women struggling through the narrow aisle, I asked Ski why he, a Navy man, gave me, a Marine, this seat. "Well, I saw your shoulder patch, your combat ribbons, and battle stars, and I knew that you and I fought in the same campaigns. You were on the land, and I was on the sea. I served aboard the USS Chicago, a cruiser named after my hometown. I lost my arm when we were torpedoed off the island you were fighting on."

The locomotive's loud steam whistle blew, then with the clang of its large bell we started to move, heading east across southern California.

Ski and I were both proud of the Navy and Marine Corps, but were bitter toward the military hospital we had just left. It had an inefficient administrative system and the medical staff was overworked and burned out. Four years of war and the continuous flow of casualties had created a callous attitude.

We were disenchanted with the negative treatment we had received from the military and the apathetic civilian world since our return to the United States. It was this type of poor management that put rehabilitating servicemen on this crowded train rather than on an airplane.

This would be my fourth Christmas away from home, and the season always made me sad because of the many friends who had died in battle during this holiday.

Our train was traveling at maximum speed, but across the great American desert it seemed like we were not moving fast enough. We had too much time on our hands.

We could sleep sitting up in our seats, stand in line for meals and washroom, or reminisce bittersweet battle memories with our train mates. Ski and I agreed that we both became near atheists and cynics after three years of war. Soon we tried to sleep the time away.

En route to Denver, our train would wind ever so slowly through many tunnels, around picturesque snow-covered mountains and valleys. I consoled myself that time was no longer important. What was my hurry-- I would miss Christmas at home by a day. My parents had split up, and I had no hone to go to. My girlfriend of four years sent me a "Dear John" letter, saying she had waited too long for me to return and found someone else, And worst of all, when I was well enough for duty, I could be sent overseas to battle again.

We left Denver early in the morning in a snowstorm. Our train's whistle blew often as we charged across the prairie states through a howling blizzard. It was nightfall somewhere in Illinois. Our train slowed to a crawl because of poor visibility. It was freezing outside and getting colder inside our passenger coach on this Christmas Eve.

The train conductor entered our car and called out, "It's ten o'clock, two hours to Chicago, next stop Chicago!" He dimmed the lights and left.

Ski turned to me and said, "Eddy Lee, I'm worried about my family meeting me at the Chicago station and seeing me like this. I asked my girl not to come. What should I do or say to them?"

"Act natural, they know about your arm, try to be yourself," I said. "You all love each other, and I'll bet they will thank God that you made it home alive. It will all work out fine; you'll see. Now let's try to get some sleep."

Our train suddenly made an unscheduled, metal-screeching stop. A few waking passengers muttered, "What's going on?" Most went back to sleep.

I looked out the window and could see only a small, dimly lighted railroad station surrounded by large snowdrifts. The door at the other end of the car opened, and in the darkened car, I could just barely see a small boy and a mature woman coming into our coach.

They walked slowly up the aisle, looking at the passengers, apparently looking for a seat. The two strangers cautiously headed toward my end of the car.

I closed my eyes and tried to get back to sleep, wondering why the train was not moving. It just sat there at this lonely, dark railroad station. I fell asleep for a few minutes, until I heard a noise in front of me. I slowly opened my eyes and saw the young boy, about eight or nine years old standing in front of me, staring.

The boy smiled and said, "Welcome home and a Merry Christmas, Marine. My grandmother and I would like to give you a gift and thank you for serving our country."

The boy handed me a dollar bill and then shook my hand. The grandmother put her arm around me and said, "God bless you." Then they both smiled and said, "Merry Christmas and good-bye."

I was surprised and moved. I said, "Thank you, thank you very much." I searched in my seabag for some sort of Christmas gift for the boy. When I looked up, they were gone.

Our train whistle blew; we lunged forward and were rolling again. I quickly looked out my frosty window and saw the boy and his grandmother leaving the dismal railroad station. I waved goodbye as they slipped into the darkness. They did not see me.

I sat back in my seat bewildered, wondering what had just happened. Had it been real? I queried Ski and the two soldiers sitting across from me if they too had seen the little boy and his grandmother. The said, "No, we were sleeping." Ski added, "You must have been dreaming."

My mind raced with questions. Who were they? Why did they pass by all those other servicemen, including other marines, and then stop in front of me? Maybe I was sleeping, and with all the medication I was taking for pain and malaria, it just could have been a strange, nice dream.

It was two more hours to Chicago, and I decided to try to get some sleep. But before closing my eyes, I looked down at my tightly closed fist. I slowly opened my hand and there was a crumpled-up dollar bill.

I contentedly fell asleep with my precious gift tucked safely in my pocket and a pleasant feeling in my heart, the nicest feeling I had in a very long time.

The conductor came into the car and announced our arrival in Chicago. Passengers took their baggage from the overhead compartments. I helped Ski with his seabag. He was getting off. He was home.

Ski and I said our emotional good-byes as the train came to a stop. The crowd of passengers left through both exit doors. I sat back, waiting to continue my odyssey of another thousand miles to New York City.

It was midnight. As I looked out the train window, I was surprised to see hundreds of people, young and old choirs of many ethnic and racial backgrounds on the station platform, all holding candles and sheet music and singing Christmas carols. The people and the station were all decked out with the holiday spirit and decorations. It was a bitterly cold, snowy Christmas night in Chicago, but the holiday spirit was cheerful and warmed all our hearts.

As I enjoyed the joyful singing, our train car doors opened and the singing choirs of young people paraded in. Each singer carried a tray of food and drinks. Each tray held a complete Christmas dinner with a small gift on it. There were enough trays for everyone on the train. We were no longer strangers. We all sang, ate and celebrated together. It was the most beautiful, festive Christmas I had ever had. Our generous Chicago hosts cheerfully wished us a "very Merry Christmas and a welcome home!"

This train odyssey and these unbelievably beautiful events changed my bitter feelings. I really felt I did make it home for Christmas.

Many years later, I told this story to my family at Christmas time. I pondered out loud, "Who was that little boy on the train, and why did he and his grandmother choose me? Why me?"

Our visiting young niece was playing on the floor with her Christmas toy. She had quietly listened to my sentimental wartime story and replied, "I know."

We all looked at her and I said, "You know what?"

"I know who the little boy on the train was, and why he picked you. The little boy was God, and he chose you because you were very, very sad and disappointed with everyone and everything. He wanted to make you happy again and welcome you home--- and he did."

And then I knew a Christmas miracle had happened to me when I needed it most, during the war, on that train and in Chicago.

Giving Thanks

Today in church, Pastor Mark passed a microphone around the congregation. Those who wanted to, could share something they were thankful for. What a blessing. We heard everything from being thankful for life from a woman fighting cancer, gratefulness to the pastors and congregation from a senior citizen who has been battling an illness, and felt so loved because of the care and concern she has received, pure joy from a brand new father, and heartfelt love and thankfulness from a father of 11 kids. Another was from a man who just came home from South America. He was thankful for the bounty of food we have. Most of the people he saw, only had one meal a day which consisted of porridge and a small piece of bread. Is your tummy full? Give thanks.

The thanks shared was definitely for the big things in life, down to the simple things we take for granted such as toilet paper. (May we always be thankful for toilet paper! One trip to a remote village in a foreign country, or an unexpected emergency in the woods, and you'll be thanking God for toilet paper! Okay moms.... you know what I'm talking about... How about when your lovely children use the last of the toilet paper, do not tell you about it, and you are stranded on the toilet while everyone else is in school?! I know you've all raced past windows for the Kleenex box!) Anyway, it is always nice to stop long enough to truly think about the things we are thankful for. In church, I gave thanks for our veterans and soldiers, through tears and a shaky voice. The emotion caught me off guard, and I was embarrassed at first. However, as I thought about it later, yes, I should be emotional when talking about the brave men and women who have and are sacrificing their lives for their country, for freedom, and for the basic human rights everyone deserves. May God bless them all and their families. Words just cannot ever describe the gratitude I have for them.

Take a moment, and write down things you are thankful for. Even the simplest of things can bring a smile to your face. Better yet, get up, get out, and do something for someone that will have them thanking God. Be a blessing to others; your kindness will not return void!

101%

(Thanks to my cousin, Cathy for sending this to me.)

From a strictly mathematical viewpoint:

What Equals 100%? What does it mean to give MORE than 100%?

Ever wonder about those people who say they are giving more than 100%?

We have all been in situations where someone wants you to GIVE OVER 100%.

How about ACHIEVING 101%?

What equals 100% in life?

Here's a little mathematical formula that might help answer these questions:

If: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

Is represented as: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26.

If: H-A-R-D-W-O-R- K = 8+1+18+4+23+15+18+11 = 98%

And: K-N-O-W-L-E-D-G-E = 11+14+15+23+12+5+4+7+5 = 96%

But: A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E = 1+20+20+9+20+21+4+5 = 100%

THEN, look how far the love of God will take you:

L-O-V-E-O-F-G-O-D = 12+15+22+5+15+6+7+15+4 = 101%

Therefore, one can conclude with mathematical certainty that:

While Hard Work and Knowledge will get you close, and Attitude will get you there,

It's the Love of God that will put you over the top!

The Invisible Woman

I received this story the other day, from my friend Debbie. It is written by Nicole Johnson, and touched me so much that I knew I had to share it. I hope it is an inspiration to you.

The Invisible Woman

By Nicole Johnson

It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, young fella?" "Nobody," he shrugged. "Nobody?" The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street, I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?" I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing. Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking. That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me. I'm invisible. It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not! No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please." I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone! One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought this for you." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees." In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: *No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. *These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. *They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. * The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied,"Because God sees." I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become." At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree. When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there." As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built,but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.