Faithchick

Holiday Healing

I will exalt you, O LORD,
       for you lifted me out of the depths
       and did not let my enemies gloat over me.

O LORD my God, I called to you for help
       and you healed me.

O LORD, you brought me up from the grave  ;
       you spared me from going down into the pit.

(Psalm 30:1-3, NIV)

I love Christmas. It smells and tastes a bit different here in Florida than it did back in Springfield and Dayton, Ohio, but it's wonderful all the same. And yet, for all the twinkles and trinkets there are always unmet expectations at this time of year, untimely disappointments, unintentional wounds...

The blessing is that the baby we were given in that manger so long ago grew up and took everything upon His shoulders. He comes to us now full grown, with pierced hands and so much power. There is healing in those wounded hands and yet sometimes we must cry out to receive it.

Sometimes we're left with no words, no prayers, no way to explain how we feel, but there is a cry, a call for help that God alone can hear.  Don't be afraid to release it.

HE CAME TO SAVE US. HE DIED TO HEAL US. TAKE TIME THIS HOLIDAY TO GET REAL WITH GOD.

Marilynn Griffith is wife to a deacon, mom to a tribe and proof that God gives second chances. When not scrambling to park her van straight AND catch a good sale, she writes novels about faith, friendship and forgiveness.   

On Eagle's Wings

Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. (Isaiah 40:30-31)

A few days ago, my oldest son came home with a note in his hand. This is what it said:

Dear Mom,

Remember when I asked what a totem pole was last Friday? Well, I asked because it was due on Monday. Now I need you sign this note so I can bring it back tomorrow with my totem pole. This is a test grade.

Riiiight.After signing the note and attempting a short Bible study on Asherah poles in the Bible and a talk on comparative religions, we got down to the meat of the assignment: make a pole that tells a story about your family. Most of the other students had give each family member an animal symbol.

Not only was I not too keen on this idea (what would I be? Miss Piggy?) the logistics wouldn't work too well either. There are nine of us. All my kid had was a paper towel roll. I'm getting a headache. Can't we just draw the lamb of God and put that on something? That tells the story of our family pretty well. We were sinners, Jesus died, now we won't go to hell, but we're still sinners and if we get too hungry, your might get bitten. Ah, that was it! He and his brother's could be a pack of wild dogs! Eh. Not so much.

Dad steps in, armed with cans from the recycle bin, a knife and a roll of tape. There goes dinner. It's on now. Not to be outdone, I pull out construction paper, colored pencils (most of them were broken, by hey, it still counts) and a pair of scissors. The kid throws out ideas and  scoffs at the websites I'm clicking through. Nothing seems to be working.

Then came the wings. Cut out from a bottle of Apple Mango Gain, these plastic wings changed everything. I thought of how many times God had carried me, how far he'd brought me. My husband seemed inspired too. The pole ended up having an eagle, a frog and the flag of the Virgin Islands where my husband was born. The story was easy for me to make out: God had brought my husband from his home to Florida. It was a leap of faith for him and his family, but Christ had been with him all the way.

Though my suggested cross and lamb of God didn't end up in the design, I saw Jesus in this trash-to-treasure tale of our family. It made me think about my books and my life. Sometimes God isn't in the t-shirt or the bumper sticker, but I can still see Him. If I listen hard enough, I can hear Him too, the gentle whisper, the flutter of my heart's wings.

It's a Girl!

I can still remember my excitement when I had my two girls. All the things we'd share: the clothes, the books, talks about God, cute boys, chick flicks... Well, I had no idea how complicated this journey through girlhood can be. Sometimes I've wondered if we're the same species, let alone the same gender.

And then there are those times, those priceless moments when I want to stand up and scream, "It's a girl!" Recently, I had one of those moments when my youngest daughter tagged along to a Pampered Chef party. I hadn't been to one of these in a while, but a friend of church was trying to get a set of knives. The schedule was the same as I remembered: hand out catalogues, make a cool snack, chick chat and munchies.

What I didn't remember was that this was all new for my daughter! She lit up like a light bulb as each kitchen item was demonstrated. By the time they got to the stoneware, she started to swoon. The whisks alone almost brought her to tears. When the snack the demonstrator made was done, she marveled at the crisp, yet flaky crust.
I hugged her close and smiled, thinking once again, "Thank you, Lord. It's a girl!"

I also kept the catalog for Christmas. Her older sister showed no interest in having a hope chest or collecting kitchen items ("All we need is a microwave and a fridge, Mom") but baby sis is definitely on board. Cookie making will be a blast this Christmas. Bring on the whisks!

(Author's note: Do not construe this to mean that I am a good cook or even a regular one. Why do think I'm so excited? LOL)

Marilynn Griffith is wife to a deacon, mom to a tribe and proof that God gives second chances. When not scrambling to park her van straight AND catch a good sale, she writes novels about faith, friendship and forgiveness.   

A Time to Embrace

3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
       a time to tear down and a time to build,

4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
       a time to mourn and a time to dance,

5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
       a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

(Ecclesiastes 3:3-5, NIV)

I'm entering a new season. I first felt it when my daughter bloomed into womanhood. Now the signs of change come in sheets of sweat and hairs that sprout from my chin while I'm sleeping. Though I'm able to do the things I did in my twenties, many of them have lost appeal. The main ministry continues to be my husband and children, but I feel also a new time of friendship and freedom, a time when I will link elbows with women God has called and enter a new time.

A time to embrace.

We do that a lot, embracing. Those sideways hugs at church with just enough tilt to keep the glue on the Sunday school project, the purse on our shoulder and the toddler tugging our hand upright. Though the touch is meaningful, the time is short. There are dishes, wishes, dreams and lists, always waiting (not to mention the peanut butter and jelly kisses, dog accidents and other mom fun). Though we hear and see one another, even touch, it is sometimes a time of healing, a time to refrain.

A time I've been in so long ("sorry I can't make it, maybe next time?") that I'd almost forgotten how good it feels to be able to put things aside and have girlfriend time with no agenda, hugs in the middle of a conversation instead of just for hello and goodbye. I see them, these women, waiting for me, knowing that I have a few more chin hairs and little boys to sprout before I can truly accept the promise in their arms. They're smiling, nodding.

I am too. Though the world looks at getting older as something to evade, God is showing me that every season of life is a blessing: a time to weep, a time to laugh, a time to mourn, a time to dance...a time to embrace.

Marilynn Griffith is wife to a deacon, mom to a tribe and proof that God gives second chances. When not scrambling to park her van straight AND catch a good sale, she writes novels about faith, friendship and forgiveness.   

The Mom Less Traveled

My daughter turned 16 this past weekend. I was going to find the perfect scripture about launching out and leaving shore, but alas, I'm too busy recovering from the unexpected feelings of panic and mortality that hit without warning.

Wasn't I just waiting for this? The driving, the dating, the girl talk?

Not.

All our high school rules seemed so reasonable when she was FOUR and we sat there praying like good little Christian twenty-somethings, filling in the blanks in our parenting workbooks. Well, I've learned already that most of the parenting we'll be doing with this teen and those to come wasn't covered in our Godly Parenting course way back when. I don't think Myspace was even invented back then. And our biggest concern was boys calling girls, not the other way around. And weren't low riders cowboys back then?

Oy.

During the past two years, I've done quite a bit of running around with my books, but this past year, the teen queen prompted a new approach that I now teach at writer's conferences: 100 mile marketing. It works. Especially when you harness said teen in the van and put her behind the book table far away from the fawning boy who wants to date her but can't though he's counting the days until her birthday.

And even when you see said boy in church suits that your husband doesn't even wear any more and with a backpack in the library when school isn't even in, you don't want to like him because he's a boy and he's young and isn't that way Dad said she could only be a JV cheerleader (in the birthing room, no less. The things guys think of).

Anyway, I'm rambling and it's not helping a bit. If the kid didn't learn anything with all those sermons and VBS and prayers and homeschool it's not my fault is it? Of course it is. So now I can breathe easy and address the fact that it's me she's been watching all these years and that's what scares me. It's what blesses me too when she doesn't something cool and Jesusy in spite of me, something I never would have thought of. Today she took the bus to volunteer at the camp because even though the kids are rowdy and it's hot and the van won't start and she's not getting paid isn't a person's word supposed to mean something?

Yeah. It is. So today, it's my girl on the road with the money she got for her birthday from the new boyfriend that I'll never get used to. Today, it's Jesus, holding my hand, reminding me of all the things He brought me through even when I didn't have sense enough to know it was Him. Today, I'm the mom less traveled and glad of it, for isn't faith supposed to mean something?

Yeah. It is.

Marilynn Griffith is wife to a deacon, mom to a tribe and proof that God gives second chances. When not scrambling to park her van straight AND catch a good sale, she writes novels about faith, friendship and forgiveness.   

Girl Friday

I have five sons.

That says it all, doesn't it? During the summer months, the testosterone level in the house often rises to critical levels. Today is such a day. The puppy my husband brought home a few days ago took us over the edge. I knew female meltdown was coming a few days ago when my youngest daughter started crocheting. Intensely. With orange thread.

Her older sister started mumbling into the dishwasher and rose before dawn to go to her volunteer gig at summer camp. She often goes to BED at that time in summer. Though I saw the madness brewing, the weekend was coming too so I thought the sisters were still salvageable.

Wrong.

Today as I was on the phone with a friend, I heard a scream...followed by a splat. I closed my eyes, running out the list of my latest grocery purchases.

Apple sauce.

Everyone is bandaged and showered. The applesauce is off the couch and the walls. Yet, the problem remains. The girls need a night out. A girl Friday. I'm thinking through what we're going to do. Here are a few ideas:

PAMPER HAMPER: This one usually goes over big. We go to the dollar store, Wally World or scavenge our bathroom drawers for nail polish, scrubs, body butter, lip gloss. In the good old days, we'd make these ourselves. Next month, we're going to do that again, making lip balm for big sister's 16th birthday.  Tonight, it be a Fruity Tootie theme, fruit flavors and colors for toes and lips.

CHICK CLICK: We love movies around here. On these nights, we either order movie tickets online and scan the mall until showtime or watch a movie at home and send the fellas out for the evening. During commercials, we scan websites for cute outfits and sales (window shopping at home). This time, we'd be looking for ideas that we can makeover ourselves for the oldest's birthday celebration.

CRAFT CRAZE: This one is looking like a winner since my youngest just finished a hysterical giggling fit, during which her only word was ," YARN!!!!" She even asked me where the glue gun was, so this is serious. It may call for a big project. The oldest loves to make jewelry. So...it may be a bead and string situation.

What about you? How do you spend your girl time with friends and family? Scrapbooking? Walking outdoors? Simple meal and a movie? Share your ideas in the comments.

Marilynn Griffith is wife to a deacon, mom to a tribe and proof that God gives second chances. When not scrambling to park her van straight AND catch a good sale, she writes novels about faith, friendship and forgiveness.   

A Stick and a Prayer

"As surely as the LORD your God lives," she replied, "I don't have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die."

Elijah said to her, "Don't be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small cake of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son.

(1 Kings 11:12-13, NIV)

Today was my oldest daughter's last day of band camp. I was glad too because for the past few days the van has been sputtering and coughing and making me generally nervous. This morning, a full twenty minutes before she was due at the school, Blue Bartholomew, as my vehicle is loving called by his passengers, refused to say a word.

My daughter, despite being the more rational one of the crew, started doing the lip thing. After an incoherent prayer or two, I rolled my eyes, hit the steering wheel and tried it again.

Nothing.

"Call Daddy?" she asked.

I nodded. Definitely a Daddy situation.

Fatigue laced my husband's sigh as he listened to my story. It wasn't a good time, I knew. It never is. Summers are busy for his company and me being out of town for a few days last week plus one guy out had already set him behind. "I'm on my way..."

True to his word, Griff showed up soon after, giving me "the look" when I turned the key for him. His sigh turned into a whistle. "It's the starter, not the battery."

My daughter and I looked at each other. I started doing some silly dance and totally breaking down. They have to run when they're late for practice, but my daughter laughed anyway. "The look" always makes us laugh.

When he got a towel and laid down beside the car, we stopped laughing. What was he doing? My other daughter came outside and another instruction came from the ground.

"Try it now."

I did try it and you know what? It turned over. Greatest sound I've heard in a long time.

Amazed, I looked over to see what tool he'd used. My husband gave me his infamous look again and held up a stick. "Didn't have what I needed, so I just beat the thing. Now get going and don't turn it off. You'll be okay."

And I was okay. I even came home and jumped off another car just in case (despite my children's lack of confidence in me. "Uh, mom, are you sure you know which one is negative?"). As I went along, I thought about that woman in the Bible who had nothing but her hunger and some flour, some sticks and a prayer. Little did she know that God would turn her lack into breakfast for a prophet.

I don't know who my daughter will become, but I'm sure that she (and all her siblings) will always remember the many times that my husband has creased his brow and made something out of nothing. The next time my blank computer screen looms large in front of me, I'm going to remember it too.

EVEN WHEN THINGS LOOK GRIM, YOU'RE NEVER EMPTY HANDED. SOMETIMES GOD'S JUST LOOKING FOR A STICK AND A PRAYER.

Marilynn Griffith is wife to a deacon, mom to a tribe and proof that God gives second chances. When not scrambling to park her van straight AND catch a good sale, she writes novels about faith, friendship and forgiveness.   

Holy Smoke!

And when he had taken it, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb. Each one had a harp and they were holding golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. (Revelation 5:8, NIV)

All over the country, fires are burning. Often, when I go out to walk, my eyes burn. Last week after church, we had to run to the car. (Even then, my daughter had an asthma attack on the way home). As I've watched this, I've been thinking about smoke, the  sweet-smelling cloud rising from the prayers of every Christian in the world.

Holy smoke.

In my own life, God is burning down some things, burning through them. Though at times it's hard to watch the smoldering mess, as the aroma of my own prayers fills my nostrils, my shoulders release and a smile crosses my face. It also reminds me of the reality that we all must remember: it's all gonna burn.

Yep. All of it. The cars, the clothes, the homes, the CDs, even, God forbid, the sparkly shoes. So when that smoke scents the air tonight as I walk around my neighborhood, I will pray for my neighbors and their children, their marriages, their jobs... I will pray that as we all run to and fro, we take the time to gather the right materials, to build our lives on the precious cornerstone of Christ. I'll remember that our God is an all consuming fire. As change blazes through our lives, may the things truly ordained by God withstand the flames.

Father God,
Thank you for your majesty and power. We praise you today and like the twenty-four elders, we cry out "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty!" Have mercy on us and spare our lives and health. Let all the fires be quenched, both in our land and in our souls. Thank you for all the "controlled burns" You do to keep us safe...even from ourselves. May our words and actions be surrounded in a sweet-smelling cloud of holy smoke.

In Jesus' name,
amen

Marilynn Griffith is wife to a deacon, mom to a tribe and proof that God gives second chances. When not scrambling to park her van straight AND catch a good sale, she writes novels about faith, friendship and forgiveness.  

Dare to Dream

Last night, I attended my daughter's dance concert. They have one each semester and it's always an interesting evening. This one was no different. There was crunking, clogging, hip hop, gospel, ballet and swing. Profanity, booty, Jesus, and a whole lot of sweatin', dreamin' kids.

A wonderful mess.

The seniors came out last in a mock graduation march, each beaming with their accomplishments and their anxieties. One girl had gone from dancing in the corner as a freshman to center stage crunking in full effect. ("That white girl is getting it!" I heard the kids in front of me say). For others, this might be their last time dancing, but not their last time dreaming. Their original songs, self choreography and hard-won friendships would make sure of that.

The senior who did the inspirational dances moved like an angel and when she finished her rendition of "Mercy said No", the same kids who'd jumped in the aisles on the hip hop numbers stood to their feet.

Some of the women on my row dabbed at their eyes. They'd had dreams too. Some of those dreams had died up with high school, maybe even with the birth of the child on the stage just then. But they knew, as I do, that it's never over when we think it's over. Just when we're in the worst situation and everyone looks down at us in our puddle of blood and reaches for the enemy's hand to declare him the winner...

Mercy says no.

The senior number was a throwback, going from old school to new school. When they played "Tootsie Roll", a women behind me jumped up and screamed, "That was 1987, baby! That was my year."

I fought back tears. That was my year too. There's been a whole lot of water between there and here, but as I approach the 20th anniversary of my high school graduation, I can look up and smile, for this is my year too.

Do you remember what it was to dream? Not at night, but in the daytime? I hope so. Try it again today. There's still time for all your dreams to come true.

Marilynn Griffith is wife to a deacon, mom to a tribe and proof that God gives second chances. When not scrambling to park her van straight AND catch a good sale, she writes novels and scribbles in her blog. Her latest releases are IF THE SHOE FITS, a tale about single mom and shoe designer Rochelle Gardner,  and TANGERINE, a story about Jean Guerra, a menswear designer with the project of her life...only she has to work with her not-quite-ex-husband.

A Word Fitly Spoken

A Word Fitly Spoken by Marilynn Griffith

A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver. (Proverbs 25:11, KJV)

Words have power. We’ve heard from the pulpit for a long time, even used the power of words to attempt to create a life where nothing bad happens, where nothing hurts. And yet, things do hurt. Bad things do happen. It is often the words said at these times, after the unthinkable happens, that words have the most power.

 

I see it often with my children. They fall down, have bad days, sometimes make unwise decisions. Though the event hurt them, it is often in my power as a mother to soothe the pain or sear the moment into their hearts.

That's easy for me to forget.

When they come and sit beside my bed or tap my shoulder with a face wet with tears, I-told-you-so comes easy. Why-didn't-you stands ready to accuse. Frustration simmers under my skin. Why couldn't they have avoided this? Why didn't they listen? Though it may only be a scrape or scar this time or a heart crushed under the weight of puppy love, my mother's heart wants to protect.

Words out of joint do not protect. They hold court and proclaim guilty, often when God has erased the bill. Worse yet, they can whisper unworthiness and leave those that we love thinking that they can never live up to our expectations. A right word, one aptly spoken, is different. Like golden apples in silver settings, these words make they best jewelry.

So let's both of us consider our words when there's a crash in the next room or sobs behind a bedroom door. May the Lord give us pearls of wisdom to share, pendants of promise instead of shackles burned into the memories of those we love.

 

Father God,

May our words be as polished gems as we speak to others and to ourselves. Help us to understand the power of a right word...even at a wrong time. Help us to consider the shades and shapes of the words we give away, knowing they might be worn for a lifetime.

 

Marilynn Griffith is wife to a deacon, mom to a tribe and proof that God gives second chances. Her latest novel, Tangerine (Revell, January 2007) tells the story of a woman with a broken past and a secret husband. When she least expects it, God collects the broken pieces and asks her a question—“Will you be made whole?” Visit Marilynn at www.MarilynnGriffith.com.