Off to spend the week serving the King's kids at camp. Strange thing, I know, but I will be praying for you. Friends of Freedom Journal. Friends of Jesus.
Freedom Fighters,
Bernadette
listening
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Wild Flower
"For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. (and the wild flowers) Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities-his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God." Romans 1:20
Just a few days off to visit my parents. Little Cabin in the Woods. Roaring mountain stream keeping it company, and lodge pole pines touching heaven, swaying and creaking way up high like old wooden gates. I love that sound.
The kids grab willow branches with line and worm, hooked. Wiggle into secret spaces. Sacred. To catch their mess. Stark and still until their poles give a shiver, then they smile and shriek. Delight. Delighted. Hauling all that glory up onto the bank. They flop down laughing next to fish flopping while I take pictures of these children of mine lost somewhere in the deep grass. Oh, heaven.
Cold water from the spring makes my teeth ache, but coffee cooked over the fire warms all that I am. A bit burned out and smelling of smoke, I admit. Deep naps in that high mountain air refresh me almost as much as my fall into the creek. Face first. COMPLETELY under. Burning cold! A deep bruise on my shoulder and a big knot on my head seem a trivial price for all that laughter. A worthy purchase. I strip shivering bare 'neath the shelter of my mama's love. Wrapped up in it. Swaddled like the day I was born.
Still, my eyes stay glued to the forest floor, wide in wonder at all these wild flowers growing in the middle of nowhere. Delicate petalled fingers touch my soul so I pay attention. They dance on the mountain breeze, so low to the ground, tiny little things, growing in the cold, harsh environment.
Who will see them but me? Who will see the Lady Slipper, dancing for the King in her glorious, outlandish, pink shoes? The velvety purple Crocus, waving royal cup as an offering to HIM? Shooting Star, hand painted by God and shooting praise from low mountain ground to highest heaven? The Yellow Bell? The Blue Bonnet? The Wild Strawberry? The Butter Cup?
Contemplating.
These little wild flowers must know they were created by God. They are happy just to give Him glory. Even if no one ever notices. (That deep in the mountains?) When a body sees a flower like that, in a place like that, it says, "Wow! God!".
Oh! I want to be that flower! To live in such a way that people would see my life and say, "Wow! God!". That who I am, and all that my life is would bring attention and praise and glory back to HIM. MY Creator. Even if no one notices. Me driving the kids. Me doing the laundry. Me washing dishes, teaching the children, grocery shopping, swishing the toilets, etc. etc. and etc. Can I stay low to the ground? Humble? Can I stand the bitter cold? No one telling me that I'm doing a good job? A God job? Can I dance all the beauty that I am because of Whose I am as an offering back to the One? And be happy too?
Those precious little ones caught my heart, and I want to capture the lesson in their brave beauty.
I want to be a wild flower,
Bernadette
Just a few days off to visit my parents. Little Cabin in the Woods. Roaring mountain stream keeping it company, and lodge pole pines touching heaven, swaying and creaking way up high like old wooden gates. I love that sound.
The kids grab willow branches with line and worm, hooked. Wiggle into secret spaces. Sacred. To catch their mess. Stark and still until their poles give a shiver, then they smile and shriek. Delight. Delighted. Hauling all that glory up onto the bank. They flop down laughing next to fish flopping while I take pictures of these children of mine lost somewhere in the deep grass. Oh, heaven.
Cold water from the spring makes my teeth ache, but coffee cooked over the fire warms all that I am. A bit burned out and smelling of smoke, I admit. Deep naps in that high mountain air refresh me almost as much as my fall into the creek. Face first. COMPLETELY under. Burning cold! A deep bruise on my shoulder and a big knot on my head seem a trivial price for all that laughter. A worthy purchase. I strip shivering bare 'neath the shelter of my mama's love. Wrapped up in it. Swaddled like the day I was born.
Still, my eyes stay glued to the forest floor, wide in wonder at all these wild flowers growing in the middle of nowhere. Delicate petalled fingers touch my soul so I pay attention. They dance on the mountain breeze, so low to the ground, tiny little things, growing in the cold, harsh environment.
Who will see them but me? Who will see the Lady Slipper, dancing for the King in her glorious, outlandish, pink shoes? The velvety purple Crocus, waving royal cup as an offering to HIM? Shooting Star, hand painted by God and shooting praise from low mountain ground to highest heaven? The Yellow Bell? The Blue Bonnet? The Wild Strawberry? The Butter Cup?
Contemplating.
These little wild flowers must know they were created by God. They are happy just to give Him glory. Even if no one ever notices. (That deep in the mountains?) When a body sees a flower like that, in a place like that, it says, "Wow! God!".
Oh! I want to be that flower! To live in such a way that people would see my life and say, "Wow! God!". That who I am, and all that my life is would bring attention and praise and glory back to HIM. MY Creator. Even if no one notices. Me driving the kids. Me doing the laundry. Me washing dishes, teaching the children, grocery shopping, swishing the toilets, etc. etc. and etc. Can I stay low to the ground? Humble? Can I stand the bitter cold? No one telling me that I'm doing a good job? A God job? Can I dance all the beauty that I am because of Whose I am as an offering back to the One? And be happy too?
Those precious little ones caught my heart, and I want to capture the lesson in their brave beauty.
I want to be a wild flower,
Bernadette
Dreams
Funny things, these dreams.
When I grew up, my family travelled with kids piled everywhere singing to the top of the world. That old suburban could hardly hold all that joy. I know we kids couldn't. We had to sing it out.
My Shoulders is a car thinker, and it has often been lonely travelling these roads with him. Hours and hours of quiet as he plans and invents, invests and builds. Great thoughts. I can feel the heat being generated by his brain as I sit, his passenger. Still. Lost in my own thoughts too, but always missing all that music. Dreaming of it.
The Strong Soft is working her way toward a driver's license. ("Keep us safe, Oh, God for in you we take refuge." Psalm 16:1 ) She is more relaxed when listening to the radio, and her soul singing sends shivers up my spine. Goose bumps on my skin. Her voice making heaven in the car. I, her passenger, raising a joyful noise. Her brother says, "You sing like an angel." She does, and I smile. Music fills the car, and we carry tunes all the way home.
Singing to the top of the world,
Bernadette
When I grew up, my family travelled with kids piled everywhere singing to the top of the world. That old suburban could hardly hold all that joy. I know we kids couldn't. We had to sing it out.
My Shoulders is a car thinker, and it has often been lonely travelling these roads with him. Hours and hours of quiet as he plans and invents, invests and builds. Great thoughts. I can feel the heat being generated by his brain as I sit, his passenger. Still. Lost in my own thoughts too, but always missing all that music. Dreaming of it.
The Strong Soft is working her way toward a driver's license. ("Keep us safe, Oh, God for in you we take refuge." Psalm 16:1 ) She is more relaxed when listening to the radio, and her soul singing sends shivers up my spine. Goose bumps on my skin. Her voice making heaven in the car. I, her passenger, raising a joyful noise. Her brother says, "You sing like an angel." She does, and I smile. Music fills the car, and we carry tunes all the way home.
Singing to the top of the world,
Bernadette
Monday, June 13, 2011
A New Member of the Family
Late last night some dear friends dropped in to drop off their son. They spoke of a busy weekend full of the most wonderful of surprises! A young mom. Difficult life. Void of any outward Godly influence. But, oh, that precious Savior of ours was always working, wasn't He? On the inside. Growing those seeds! Last night she knelt with them to surrender her life for His. My heart is still full! I had trouble sleeping last night knowing I have a new sister! And the joy of salvation is fresh yet again! Rejoice with us, would you?! And please pray for the salvation of her husband and 3 children.
Supremely Grateful at His Marvelous Surprises!
Wendy:)
Supremely Grateful at His Marvelous Surprises!
Wendy:)
Love Story
Thank You, Lord, that Your mercies are new each morning. Even the earth knows. Pulls on a fresh dress...today summer flowers dance the pattern on lush green. Last night we watched the wind blow through the long grass in the back pasture. Waves and waves of grass. Waving praise to the King. Waiting for Him too. So much beauty. This God of ours, full of creative genius. I want to bow and kiss His feet for all of this. Loveliness.
Oh, to kiss the feet of Jesus. To wash his feet with my tears. Dry them with my hair, falling out. To bless His heart??? He knows that I love Him this way, and it seems impossible. To sit with Him. Be with Him. Just be near to Him. Sweet aroma of Christ filling my senses. I don't know quite how to say this, but, He is so glad! This kind of intimacy with Him is why he died. So we could be close. All the time. That long "to do" list crossed off by the cross and written down in the greatest, most accurate history book in the world. "DONE!".
His love is overwhelming! How can this broken, fallen vessel take it all in? He is an intimate God, desiring. To be close. To me. To us. To you. This God is crazy! Passionate about having a passionate relationship with us. I sit here shaking my head. I'll never, EVER, get over it. How He wipes our slates clean...then goes about pulling us up into His lap so we can rest our heads right there on His heart. How He never stops cleaning us up. Setting us free. How His voice continues to boom across the land, "LET MY PEOPLE GO!".
This is the heart of God for us. He is for us. Who then, can stand against? This love? His love?
So Pure,
Bernadette
Oh, to kiss the feet of Jesus. To wash his feet with my tears. Dry them with my hair, falling out. To bless His heart??? He knows that I love Him this way, and it seems impossible. To sit with Him. Be with Him. Just be near to Him. Sweet aroma of Christ filling my senses. I don't know quite how to say this, but, He is so glad! This kind of intimacy with Him is why he died. So we could be close. All the time. That long "to do" list crossed off by the cross and written down in the greatest, most accurate history book in the world. "DONE!".
His love is overwhelming! How can this broken, fallen vessel take it all in? He is an intimate God, desiring. To be close. To me. To us. To you. This God is crazy! Passionate about having a passionate relationship with us. I sit here shaking my head. I'll never, EVER, get over it. How He wipes our slates clean...then goes about pulling us up into His lap so we can rest our heads right there on His heart. How He never stops cleaning us up. Setting us free. How His voice continues to boom across the land, "LET MY PEOPLE GO!".
This is the heart of God for us. He is for us. Who then, can stand against? This love? His love?
So Pure,
Bernadette
Saturday, June 11, 2011
For Love
My Shoulders arrives home from Chile, and I pick him up at the airport. (again!) He stands at the curb wearing weary travel face. Wrinkles just there around his eyes, but still the same. Still the boy I started falling for when I was sixteen. The boy in physics class. We hardly spoke. But I still have all his notes.
His hand on my hip, smiling through a kiss, and my, how the years have flown! I wonder at all that we have been through, and all this changing hope God has wrought in the hearts of us...to make the two one. That process can be quite harrowing at times now, can't it?
Late start. Brought four kids into this crazy life together knowing ABOUT God, but not KNOWING God. Oh, hasn't HIS grace been deeply good to us? Didn't HE just reach right down and flip things around? Not perfect, but at least right side up. That amazing Love.
He hands me a journal full of love notes, and I'm so glad Jesus showed me how to forgive. I would have missed this! I would have missed seeing him model love and sacrifice; work and fun for the kids and for me. This man is a fruit bearing tree. His life, the book of ROMANS, a journal full of love notes, carved straight into the skin of his back. Yes. Right there across his shoulders. And how does a woman give thanks for her man?
He would say, "By loving God with all your heart, with all your mind, with all your soul and with all your strength." I smile. Knowing that. Chasing that.
And this is what all these children will remember. A broken mama with an insatiable desire for the things of God. And their daddy? Oh, their daddy! An imperfect man chasing after God's perfect heart. (And most likely sweeping in his underwear.)
For love,
Bernadette
His hand on my hip, smiling through a kiss, and my, how the years have flown! I wonder at all that we have been through, and all this changing hope God has wrought in the hearts of us...to make the two one. That process can be quite harrowing at times now, can't it?
Late start. Brought four kids into this crazy life together knowing ABOUT God, but not KNOWING God. Oh, hasn't HIS grace been deeply good to us? Didn't HE just reach right down and flip things around? Not perfect, but at least right side up. That amazing Love.
He hands me a journal full of love notes, and I'm so glad Jesus showed me how to forgive. I would have missed this! I would have missed seeing him model love and sacrifice; work and fun for the kids and for me. This man is a fruit bearing tree. His life, the book of ROMANS, a journal full of love notes, carved straight into the skin of his back. Yes. Right there across his shoulders. And how does a woman give thanks for her man?
He would say, "By loving God with all your heart, with all your mind, with all your soul and with all your strength." I smile. Knowing that. Chasing that.
And this is what all these children will remember. A broken mama with an insatiable desire for the things of God. And their daddy? Oh, their daddy! An imperfect man chasing after God's perfect heart. (And most likely sweeping in his underwear.)
For love,
Bernadette
Thursday, June 9, 2011
A Prayer
YOU are the answer.
It is I who am the question.
Help me to focus on You.
The answer.
To every question of my tongue.
To every problem.
To all the mess of me.
Help me to remember.
Your love.
For me.
For all.
Remind this heart that YOU are at work.
That you never stop working.
Even when I'm pleading.
"Do something!"
Teach me to be steady.
Soldier.
Not all this clanging about in armor.
Raising a fuss.
Cloud of dust.
Stand still.
Listen for command.
Obey command.
Wait.
YOU are the answer.
To ALL things.
Even to me.
Thanks for that, Lord.
All this training.
Makes me strong.
In Who You are.
Heavenly reply.
Beloved Savior.
God.
Bernadette
It is I who am the question.
Help me to focus on You.
The answer.
To every question of my tongue.
To every problem.
To all the mess of me.
Help me to remember.
Your love.
For me.
For all.
Remind this heart that YOU are at work.
That you never stop working.
Even when I'm pleading.
"Do something!"
Teach me to be steady.
Soldier.
Not all this clanging about in armor.
Raising a fuss.
Cloud of dust.
Stand still.
Listen for command.
Obey command.
Wait.
YOU are the answer.
To ALL things.
Even to me.
Thanks for that, Lord.
All this training.
Makes me strong.
In Who You are.
Heavenly reply.
Beloved Savior.
God.
Bernadette
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