The Way of Freedom

     It doesn’t seem to have been too publicized in the States this week, but the news that has captured this household’s attention the most as of late is from Kenya.  Their Presidential election was this week. We’ve been praying months on end with our Kenyan friends for peace and that God would fill the office with someone who will lead the nation in righteousness.  You see, when their last election was held just over six years ago, over a thousand people were killed and somewhere between 180,000 and 250,000 were displaced from their homes.  Last I heard reported from the BBC, approximately 15 people have been killed as a result of this year’s elections. Freedom and its cost. That’s what’s been on my mind this week.

     I fear that most of us Americans do not quite grasp the high price that has been given for our freedom.  This hit me hard when I saw a picture on Facebook that my husband’s best friend, a native Kenyan, posted of his sister-in-law and himself walking on a dirt road to go vote early in the morning.  Now don’t get me wrong- their family lives a very civilized lifestyle comparable to Western culture. They don’t live in huts or anything. Nevertheless, he and his family members had to travel those dusty roads and stand in line for five+ hours to cast their ballot. 

     I think of our friends who live in Kenya and DO live in huts. They are just as concerned with the welfare of their nation as our more Westernized friends are. Though they have no electricity or running water in their rudimentary homes, they still found the time, energy, and resources to make the best-informed decisions possible for casting their ballot.

     Then there are those that I don’t even know that reportedly stood in lines stretched for miles nearly all day with pride and pleasure only to reach the front of the line with their voter registration cards and be told their name was not on the list.  Many people who had been displaced from their homes during the last election experienced this due to the fact that they feared returning to their villages for violence. 

  

     What happens in the States when election time comes around? There are signs, billboards, television commercials, and bumper stickers that cause opposite party affiliates’ blood pressure to rise.  There’s mudslinging and name calling.  There are a few places with long lines. There are those who are too lazy or ignorant to even register to vote.  There are those who travel comfortably to cast their ballots in a building of some sort. But rarely, if ever, in this day and age do you hear of mass killings because of election turmoil on U.S. Soil. 

     While I’m grateful that we don’t experience these atrocities, I’m mindful that we often forget the price that has already been paid for our privilege to be free, as it has been engrained in our culture for so long.  The desire for freedom is a universal yearning.  It’s not cheap, though.  It comes at the high cost of our most precious of commodities- life itself.   For America, this mostly means the high cost paid by our valiant servicemen and servicewomen who have either given some or all of their life for the preservation of freedom.  For our Kenyan friends, it’s the lives of civilians who were senselessly killed during opposition demonstrations or simply for their ethnicity.  Much blood has spilt for freedom.  I have an inkling that our Kenyan friends take a little more pride in exercising their rights to vote than we collectively do because more recently than us, they’ve seen their unarmed brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters fall to those who would seek to hinder them from their liberty.  Often, our persuasion in the U.S. is more of a civic duty than a desire to contribute to the continuation of a free society.   We all got hyped up following the 911 attacks, rightly so.  But many of us have grown cold to the warm blood that has been shed for our liberty.

     Freedom and its cost.  I said earlier that I believe the desire for freedom is a universal yearning.  No one desires to live in oppression.  Not even the oppressors.  Everyone longs to be liberated.  No matter what the geography or political standpoints, the world longs to be free.  Impossible, you say?  Not at all.   Freedom is available to every son or daughter of Adam. The only ballot you must cast is for acceptance or denial of this precious gift. Yet it has come at a high cost.  Similar, yet, much more weighty to the here and now, many have grown cold to the warm Blood that has been shed for their liberty, turning hearts of stone against this wonderful gift. But it’s available, nevertheless. 

     Our celebration of Easter is fast approaching.  But, realize this: Easter isn’t something that happens only once a year.  Each citizen of the universe has the opportunity to experience a resurrection from their dead states of apathy, ignorance, or frigidness any day of the year.   The cost of personal freedom from whatever has made a heart turn to stone must first be acknowledged, though, before it can be rolled away from the place that was once sealed and intended to be an eternal grave.  Why?  Because the cost was the Blood of The Way, The Truth, and The Life. 

     Perfection bleeding upon imperfect souls to create a life of freedom from the tyranny of Hell: that was the price that was paid so that the universal yearning for freedom could be satisfied.  

     When I look at the pictures of our dear Kenyan friends walking along dusty roads to cast their ballots in hopes of enjoying a life of freedom in the land they call home, I think of another walk to freedom along a dirt walkway very similar to the ones they traversed.  I think of the Via Dolorosa…the way of Suffering…the way of the cross…The Way to Freedom. 

     Are you living a life that knows this Freedom? If you haven’t come there yet, I hope whatever road that has you covered in the dust of this earth and its struggles will soon find your feet walking straight to The Way of Freedom…Jesus Christ, who counted the cost of shedding His warm Blood worthy of bringing life to hearts that were once lifeless and cold.

“Surely He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered Him stricken by God, smitten by Him, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds, we are healed.” Isaiah 53:4-5

Happy Birthday to Me: A Challenge to Be a Good Kind of Tired

     I’m writing this at the age of 28 years old.  As I’ve gotten older, I’ve started doing this thing when it gets close to my birthday.  I’ll randomly say aloud, “I’m 28.”  (Or whatever age I am at the time).  I think a part of me is nervous about getting older and another wants to try to remember exactly how it feels to be that age. In a strange way, verbalizing my age helps me feel focused. It makes me feel focused on the present, challenged by the future, and motivated by my past.

     Stubbornness and diligence are two of my strongest characteristics.  Stubbornness is a family trait and diligence is something I’ve always hoped to exhibit, as it is the very definition of my name. But being driven has become a huge part of my makeup in the last ten years of my life as well.  There are so many things that I hope to be able to accomplish and so many places I long to traverse. Sometimes, if I look too far ahead of where I am, I feel overwhelmed. So, I try to focus my mind on being present in the present. My Granddaddy always used to say, “Life is short, even at it’s longest.”  The fact that my Daddy only lived to be age 50 is the greatest driver in my life.  I don’t want to waste the time that God has given me upon this earth no matter how long or short it may be.   I want it to be jam-packed with adventure, love, friends I’ve collected along the way, stories, and impact for the Kingdom of Christ. 

     I want to be that good kind of tired at the end of my days. You know, like when you’ve had a long day’s work, but know that things you were investing your time and energy in were worthy of the exhaustion you feel.  I want to be like my 90 year old Mimi, who has had all of the things I mentioned that I want and is finally admitting that she is tired, but doesn’t mind much because she knows her time has been well spent. Like Mimi has done with us, I want to sit in my rocking chair and tell stories of God’s faithfulness to my grandchildren, of all the places He’s taken me and of the people He’s brought into my life while writing my piece of His Story. 

     I turn 29 on Thursday.  I have no idea what sort of a mile marker this is in my life. For all I know, it could mark a third of my life, the halfway post, or even then end of my days.  Only God knows that. “All the days for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:16) But you know what I can do about the days that I have remaining in my life bank? I can make each one count.  “Teach us to number our days aright; that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12)  I’m bound to mess up along the way…in all probability quite a bit.  There’s nothing that can change the fact that I am a flawed human by my own nature. But through the power of Christ, I can gain a heart of wisdom that shows me what is worthy of capturing my time each day I’m given as I am transformed into who He intended me to be from the start.

     What’s the best way to gain a heart of wisdom? By taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5).  Every action I take is preceded by a thought from my brain.  My aim is to lasso those notions and check them against what God’s Word says before I decide to invest my time in them.  By doing this, my heart will grow wiser and wiser as it becomes more in tune with God’s direction for my story.  He’s the author. I’m just one of His characters.

This last year of my 20’s is just as good as any to keep living out what The Author and Perfector of my faith…my story… has in mind for me.  So with that, I’ll wish myself a, “Happy Birthday,” because it’s happy indeed. It’s happy because my Creator has filled it with hope, promise and the challenge to be a good kind of tired by the time I reach the final page He pens for my life.

I Had a Dream

    

     When I think of Valentine’s Day, I think of Red Roses.  Last Thursday, as I gazed at the beautiful red roses my husband had surprised me with a couple days before the big celebration of love day; I remembered a very vivid dream that I had a few years ago.  It was during my last year of college…the night of the two-year anniversary of my Daddy’s home going to Heaven. My friends/roommates, Annie and Phoebe, had gotten me a dozen beautiful red roses.  If you know much about me, you know that I was an English major.  Pretty much all my time was spent reading, writing, or researching during those days.  At the time, I was enrolled in a class called, “The English Novel.”  In it, we had been talking about “The Feast of Love.”

     And that night I had a dream….

     I was at my mom’s house in North Carolina.  My English Novel professor was having a potluck there.  She asked me to go set the table as fancily as I could. So, I set it with a pure white tablecloth, the vase of red roses that Phoebe and Annie had given me, fine china, and beautiful silverware.  Then my professor asked me to see what was missing.  “Oh, of course- the invitation,” I replied. Then she asked me to take a second look to see what else was missing. I said, “Oh, the guest book.” So I brought the guest book with one regular pen and one permanent pen.  She then asked me the question, “What is this dinner a picture of?”

     “The Feast of Love?” I responded.   We had recently been discussing that theme in The English Novel. She said, “Close.  It represents the feast of Christ.” She went on to say that the invitation I had placed on the table represented our personal invitations from Christ to His feast. In order to get to this beautiful banquet, we must accept His invitation. 

     Then she asked, “What do you notice about the pens and the guest book?” I said, “Why, one is a regular pen and the other is permanent.”  She responded by saying, “Right. You see, the pen with permanent ink is the one that God uses to write your name in The Book of Life once you accept the invitation to His feast.”

     As the conversation went on, more symbolism unfolded from the centerpiece of red roses and the white tablecloth.  The roses were in the middle of the spotless tablecloth to remind us that it is by Christ’s blood that we are made pure as white snow. 

     Over six years have passed since I’ve had this dream, yet I still remember it as vividly as ever.  I am a dreamer.  I still remember precise details in dreams from when I was a little girl. I really believe God uses them in my life to help me process things with no distractions around.  Sometimes I think that when we are told in Acts 2:17 that, “In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams,” I’m one of those young people with those visions. I don’t want to sound all mystical here.  I just want to say that I’m thankful God gives me these beautiful dreams which are so realistic and packed full of truth. 

     He HAS invited me to dine at His banquet table with Him. His blood HAS made me white as snow.  He HAS written my name in permanent ink in The Book of Life.  He invites you to dine at His beautifully decorated banquet table accompanied with symbols of His love for you and the celebration that He has welcomed you to participate in. He desires to write your name in permanent ink upon the pages of His distinguished guest book.  Have you accepted His invitation? There’s a feast He’s preparing that you don’t want to miss.  I hope to see you there.  If you’re not sure how to RSVP to His invitation, let me know. I’d love to help show you how to get there.

Revelation 19:9

“Then the angel said to me, “Write: ‘Blessed are those

 who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb!” 

And he added, “These are the true words of God.” 

Freshly Fallen Transformation

     It’s mid February and we’ve been without our radiator heat for four weeks come tomorrow.  Thankfully, it’s nearly fixed.  We’ve made do with an electric blanket, round the clock fires, and a few electric space heaters.  It has snowed every week since we’ve lost heat.  So, as a person who is home more often than most, the cold has been on my mind quite a bit.  Sometimes it has even been colder inside our house than outside.  Despite our shivering limbs, we have welcomed the snow every time.  Why? Because it’s beautiful.  It’s almost magical.

     The first batch of snow this year was the heaviest.  As we slipped and slid home, I gazed at the world around us, which had been transformed by shimmering flakes of white.   I began to observe that blankets of snow have a tendency to make things beautiful.  Shanty houses and mansions alike were cloaked with the pure radiance of the snow, making them equally beautiful because of the identical apparel they donned. 

     The objects underneath all had different stories.  Standing alone, some were beautiful works of art and architecture, with few flaws to show. Yet others were broken down places where life was not quite as vibrant as it was once.  Perhaps some of those dilapidated dwellings were even the nicest abodes known to the town in days gone by, but their beauty had long been forgotten.  Nevertheless, all of the places were none quite as beautiful as when they had the beautiful white, sparkling shrouds draped upon them.

     Covered. A world that was covered. Covered with beauty for all who passed by to behold. 

     Covered. That’s what I am.  Covered by the blood of Jesus transformed into a brilliant robe of righteousness.  Me. As I am. Covered. Transformed.  I may remember what it looked like underneath before He came to cover me, but He doesn’t.  He just sees pure, clean beauty that has transformed a life in need of it. 

     When Christ puts His robes of righteousness on us, the unsightly repairs that we are desperately in need of are veiled with comeliness. Maybe we had a touch of beautiful in us before that was unseen because of all the ugliness surrounding it. Maybe there was nothing beautiful about us. Regardless, when we open the package of His righteousness, put it on, and replace any notions of goodness we had about ourselves with His Goodness, He makes us beautiful. He makes us new when we are wearing His garments.  The old fades away, and we are given a fresh appearance and identity…white and pure as freshly fallen snow.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” 2 Corinthians 5:17

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” Ecclesiastes 3: 11

Lights.Camera.Superbowl.Lights Out.

     

     I suppose they tried to teach us a little bit about every sport in grade school P.E. so that when faced with watching or participating in these events we wouldn't be totally clueless. I remember when our P.E. Teacher had us learning about and playing football. I remember fun phrases like "button hook" and "third down." But I have no idea what they mean today. While watching a bunch of burly men playing this game, though, I like to pretend that I know what sort of pass or play they're performing. I mean, it must have something to do with sewing if you ask me...like a button being sewn on by the "hook" motion of the needle and thread? So I try to find situations that look close to that and I think to myself, "Boy, that sure was a nice button hook." (Disclaimer: I am a basketball girl and I DO understand those rules and plays. But everything else in sports...I'd give myself anywhere between a B & an F grade-wise depending on whichathletic event it is.)

     As I watched the Super Bowl this past Sunday night, I got teary eyed during America The Beautiful and The National Anthem. Now, I must say that I usually do get misty during patriotic songs anyway. But throw the Sandy Hook Elementary School Choir in there just months after some of their precious school mates' lives were extinguished and that made for a major sobbing mess for this girl.

     For some reason it struck me this year that this big silly event is something that we take for granted as Americans. Die hard football connoisseurs and novices alike come out to celebrate this tradition, which has been woven into the fabric of our culture. There are people all over the realm of creation who don't get the chance to enjoy the freedom to just sit back and gather together both live and by satellite to enjoy a sporting event like this. Many people around the world would just love to come out of hiding and enjoy a breath of the air of freedom, let alone join in the camaraderie of boisterously cheering for the team of their choice.

     I love the fact that the lights went out mid game this year. It was a beautiful reality check. It was also hilarious. Suddenly, as we saw the players of each team sprawled out stretching all their muscles in whatever unflattering position they wished right there in front of millions of people, it didn't seem so serious. Though what we were all watching prior to these moments was an amazing experience of fun for the fans and giving it your all as a player who strives for victory and accolade, I was reminded that it is just a game. At the end of the day, somebody wins and somebody looses. The lights inevitably go out and everyone heads home for bigger and better things. Things that hold more weight in the scheme of eternity. The every day mundane things that no one may ever cheer for, but make a difference nonetheless.

     What kind of lights out experience have you encountered to bring you back to reality? 

     In the middle of a fight with your spouse, did you feel a check in your spirit that you should shut up and move away from that argument because you realized you've been blessed by this person's lifelong companionship and a love that you both have committed is worthy to fight for, which so many long for?

     In the middle of complaining about your job did you get an email asking for prayer for a friend who just lost their job and has no prospects on the horizon? 

     In the middle of feeling like you're at the end of your wits because your kids are working your nerves, did your heart sink when you heard of a loved one who just lost a baby in a miscarriage?

     In the middle of loosing power temporarily, did you pause before you shouted about it when you remembered your friends in Africa who have no electricity or access to clean water?

     When all you had to eat was PB&J or Ramen Noodles, did a Holy hush come down on you when your mind wandered to the thousands of people who will go t bed hungry tonight?

     These lights out moments are good. They are moments to remind us of how much we have to be grateful for- big and small- and the tasks that are most important for us to advocate for with the bulk of our strength and time. What sort of action do these Holy hush kind of moments spur you on to do?

     Here's a secret. In those lights out moments, find the causes that are most apt to expose The Light of The World to others. Light shines most brightly in the darkness. If you do this, you'll find much more victory than any athlete has ever gained from a title championship. These moments are full of opportunities to shine a candle of truth, grace, mercy, and love during dark times. When the lights of this life are snuffed out and you transition into the city that needs no lamp, you'll see the rewards of the true victory you've come to not only from the salvation you received undeservedly, but also from the fruits that your salvation brought about. As you step into that beautifully illuminated place, you'll see that The Light of The World makes all other flickers unnecessary. And you'll find that as it turns out, the twinkles you've radiated during your days on earth were actually reflections of glory ablaze. 

It's Raining, It's Pouring, I Think I'll Go Eat Some Worms

     It’s raining today.  The sky is a washed out gray with darker gray clouds whisping along.  It’s a terrible day to be getting a hair cut/style, but I am.  As much as I’ve been looking forward to getting my yearly hair trim, I’d much rather be snuggled up at home hiding from an inevitable bad hair day and the storms that will soon be coming. 

     A few weeks ago it was raining as well. That time, I was snuggled up inside.  On the occasion of looking out the window, I noticed nine or ten robin redbreasts having the time of their lives amongst the puddles that were gathering.  As I observed them, I noticed that they were supping on the earthworms that they excavated from the ground.

     I learned a lesson from those robins that day.  More often than not, when the stormy, less than desirable weather of life hits, all we want to do is hole up and hide from it and the rest of the world. Unlike us, though, the robins and other birds come out in joyous delight for it because that’s where their greatest feasts are.

     I’ve experienced my share of sunshine and storms alike in the 28 years I’ve inhabited this globe.  Often, I’ve missed things that could have been rich lessons during the sunny days of my life. But, oh, the feast I have consumed through the stormy days.  When days are dark, the light is so much brighter.  I can tell you from experience that The Light of the World performs a beautiful sort of blinding when you are surrounded by darkness.  It’s a blinding that tells you to fear not, but to be of great cheer because Hope has come to save the day. But you have to be willing to come out of hiding in the midst of dreariness in order to appreciate the true fullness of this illumination.  

     There are things that the Light of the World has offered do me during cloudy days which I could have never been obliged to much amidst the cloudless days.  Those things that He has shown me have the opportunity of multiplying themselves to bless others who are experiencing similar storms to the ones He has gotten me through.  Those lessons and connections would have never happened had the rains of life not poured down on my soul.

     My heart has always been fond of robins. As a child, I remember one particularly harsh winter in which quite a few pregnant robin redbreasts froze to death in our front yard. When I made the discovery, I burst into tears. Those robins weren’t equipped for that storm.   I don’t know if they just gave up hope or didn’t even try, but they made no effort to take shelter.

     But not these, robins. No, these robins came as harbingers of spring to delight in their protein packed regale in the middle of a rainstorm and then they went to their place of refuge from the storm.  Such a sight gave my weary soul hope that new life is always available just around the corner and is so much more precious once we’ve tasted and seen that the Lord is good while feasting in the midst of a storm.  The flavor He leaves in our mouths once we’ve tasted His faithfulness and goodness is the most pleasantly sweet taste you could ever imagine.

     Remember, dear one, it is the rain, after all, which causes things to grow.  But take hope, friend, because the sun is equally important to growth.  Sunshine and rain alike, take heed to excavate the banquet which the Light of the World has sent for you to delightfully partake in…because it is delicious and one that will leave the taste of joy (even after sorrow) all the rest of your days.   And don’t forget the blessing of taking refuge in Him.  He’ll protect you through any storm that you encounter.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good; 

blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him.” Psalm 34:8

Life as a Pioneer Woman

     Have you ever been just sitting there, minding your own business…reading a biography about Daniel Boone let’s say… and then all of the sudden you find yourself living the lifestyle you’ve been reading about?  Well, I have. It happened last Thursday.

     It would have been a perfectly normal Thursday had our boiler not completely broken the night before. It’s January. It’s finally acting like January at that. And it had been raining heavily for about four days. So, there I was cuddled up under many blankets snuggling with my dog, reading the Daniel Boone biography I got for Christmas when I got a phone call from my landlord that he was having a truckload of wood sent over for us to use in our fireplace to get some heat going in our house.  Elated, I went to clear some room for them to dump it in our garage shed.

     Well, along came a pick up truck filled with wood. Out stepped a good ole boy.  He was very pleasant and friendly.  He spoke in a drawl more backwoods than my Western North Carolina good ole boys as he greeted me and told me that the wood was wet because it had been sitting out in the rain for four days in that pick up truck.  (They do know about tarps, right?)  I responded by telling him the whole reason we needed the wood was because we had zero heat due to our busted boiler. He responded by telling me that there was no way that wood was going to burn and maybe he could convince his boss to let me have a load of dry wood.  I suggested that they dump half of the wet wood and come back with half a load of dry wood to save on cost for them. But he insisted on leaving it because I might want some more fires even after the boiler was fixed. Gratefully, I explained that we were going to put the wood in the garage. He said that sounded like a great place to put it.  I thought we were jiving. They were backed up all the way to the garage…I thought. They lifted the bed of the truck to dump it and boom boom boom… it fell…right…in front of the garage. Not IN the garage as I thought we both understood, but IN FRONT of the garage.  

     I stood there completely stunned.  I could not believe what just happened. It was supposed to start raining again soon and then snow the next day. My husband was at work.   My good ole boy friend said, “Well, you go on ahead and stack all that wood and we’ll be back in a little bit with some dry wood. If you’re not done by then, maybe we’ll help you.” I squeaked out an OK. Before he pulled out, he said, “Hey, Emily, here are some gloves you can use.” They pulled off and I stood there on the verge of tears with a huge task ahead of me that I couldn’t imagine how I was going to get accomplished in such a small amount of time BY MYSELF…after having just recovered from the flu, bronchitis, and not even totally healed from surgery on my arm to remove a pre-melanoma. I felt so weak and totally overwhelmed by the job ahead of me.  But, I started picking up the logs and piling them up.  I was so mad. I mean really mad.  I took out my aggression on those logs as I stacked away.  Then a few minutes into the job, I started laughing out loud. Here I was living the life that Daniel Boone and his family experienced, which I had only read about.  I felt like a cross between his wife, Rebecca Boone, and Laura Ingles Wilder.  The whole situation was suddenly very humorous to me.

    In the mean time, the heating company representative had come and was inside the house checking each radiator box to work up an estimate for our Landlord. Then my good ole boys came back. The guys backed the pickup truck into the driveway again. My pal that gave me the gloves got out with a smile on his face. As tactfully as I could, I asked, “Do you guys think that maybe this time we could try to dump the logs INSIDE of the garage? Would that be possible?”  “Yeah, I don’t see no problem with that,” he responded. (Why did it click this time but not before?)  So, they dumped it right in there and all was well. UNTIL. The guy driving the truck solemnly said to me, “Someone just went in your house.” I had left the main front door open with the glass door shut when I let the heating company guy in. I was horrified. I could hear our dog barking. Remembering that was what the heating guy was wearing, I asked the driver if he had on khaki pants.  With eyes wide, he said, “No, he had on blue pants like me.” I begged them to stay until I got back. I rushed in the house with my heart pounding and the dog still barking. I found the heating man and asked if someone came in. To my relief, he said it was just the postman sticking the mail inside the door.  Whew. What the Boones and the Ingles must have experienced in the way of fear of intruders…I got a glimpse of just then.  I had to protect my homestead while my husband was off “hunting in the woods” if you will. Thankfully, we were alright.

     After they all left, I started grabbing armloads of wood, carrying them inside until I got two nice large stacks on either side of the fireplace and for the first time in my life, I lit an indoor wood burning fire.  I sat down and giggled to myself over what a day I had encountered.  Life in the back mountain woods of North Carolina, on the prairies, and even in the city of Lynchburg, VA can bring some interesting life and survival experiences to say the least.

     You know, sometimes, I’ll be reading passages of scripture, minding my own business, when God spontaneously gives me an opportunity to live those passages out just as impromptu as I had the occasion to live out part of the Boone family’s life of which I was reading. I think that sometimes God, in His sovereignty, lines up what we are learning in Scripture and with moments He presents to not just be hearers of the Word, but doers of the Word. 

     Even though I think I’ve learned my lesson about putting my faith into action and putting His Word into action this week, He still has me living as a Pioneer Woman.  I lug in loads of wood by myself every day and build fires. I’m considering what vegetables I’m going to plant in my garden this spring. And yesterday, my dog brought me over to a squirrel that had frozen to death in our yard because yes, it is THAT cold outside.  I guess I’m going to have to pick up a few more traits from the Boones if I’m going to figure out how to skin that thing and turn it into a stew. (JUST kidding. Although, my mom did have road kill squirrel that the morning of her wedding that my Great Grandma cooked up for her. Mountain folk. That’s in my blood. Not gonna be in my belly, though.)     

Let’s live this verse out, friends… 

“Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves.

 Do what it says.”

James 1:22

Off to see what pioneer adventures I’m in for today…