The Oval Office and A Coach

(Rather long.  Really encouraging!)

I absolutely LOVE when our Father sends "kisses from Heaven"!

You know:

• A special scripture answering the question you pondered this morning.  
• A hug or phone call when you need it most.  
• A song on the radio that brings a flood of encouragement.
• A miracle moment you could never orchestrate for yourself!

A "kiss from heaven" that seems to say, "I know where you are!  I haven't forgotten my promises!  I love you more than you could ever know!"

I'm going to tell you about two such kisses that took place for our family in just the past seven days.

Near the top of Frank's Bucket List (things he hopes to do before moving to Heaven) is this item:
                      Stand in the Oval Office of the President of the United States

(Yes, he does dream big!  And that's one of the reasons I love him so!)

We've visited Washington, D.C. several times.  We've toured the White House.  We've shaken hands with people who have stood in that office.  We've seen the office on television.  We've stood in replicas of said office.

But Frank has yet to fulfill the actual item on his list of standing in the Oval Office.  Sigh.

This week, Frank is in Los Angeles, California with Ted, the men's director of GGC.  They've worked at the Dream Center.  (An amazing eight story ministry center located right in the heart of the city.)  They've toured the headquarters of Ted's business.  They've seen two ball games.  And today, they got to lead TEN PEOPLE to faith in Christ!

It's turning out to be a monumental trip.

("Sheri, Los Angeles is a long way from Washington, DC."  I know, just stick with me a minute.)

Last night when Frank called, his voice was tight with emotion and excitement.  He instructed me to have our family pray.  He was about to experience something amazing!

My history buff husband had convinced Ted to take a drive down Azusa Street which is a significant landmark for Pentecostal believers.  On Azusa Street sits an historical site known as the Bonnie Brae House.

It was here, in 1903, that a young African American man named William Seymour sought God until there came a powerful revival impacting Los Angeles and eventually all of North America.  Rev. Seymour was known as a man of prayer; spending six to eight hours a day shut away in a tiny room calling out to God.

He routinely preached with an orange crate over his head because his face often glowed and he didn't want any attention drawn to himself.  All attention had to focus on Christ alone.  We've known about and admired Rev. Seymour's passion for many years.

Last night as they walked past the Bonnie Brae house on Azusa Street, Frank noticed that although the gate by the sidewalk was locked, the door to the house was open.  So, in typical North Carolina fashion, he stood by the gate and began calling to whomever might be inside.  "Hello!  Hello!"

Long story short, within minutes, Frank and Ted were being given a private tour of the historical house.  And his ecstatic phone call was to involve us in a significant moment.

The care taker had granted permission for Frank to have a few minutes praying in the very room where William Seymour spent so much time alone with God.

 It was a powerful encounter!

Not because of the room itself.  There was no power in the tiny 8 X 8 cubicle with wood floors and undecorated walls.  But men had gone into that room hungry to experience the presence of God.  And His promise is that if we seek Him......He will be found!

As I journaled about this wonderful moment this morning, the Father whispered to me, "Frank has wanted to stand in the Oval Office - a room of authority and power.  I gave him that experience.  But this was a room of heavenly authority and power!"

AMAZING!

And the Coach?  What's that about?

Well at our General Council last week, there was a special event for minister's wives.  A lovely reception planned for nine hundred women.  Kristin and I volunteered to help the team decorating
tables. 

We worked quickly putting out the gifts provided for each guest along with several pamphlets.  Kristin was her normal meticulous self.  Placing each item with care; hoping to make the ladies feel even more special.

The women's director had said it would be fine for Kristin to get a ticket and attend the event.  So at 1:00, we hurried back to the hall.  We wanted to be there when the other ladies began arriving.

The air was electric.  And I was having the time of my life welcoming minister's wives, helping them find friends and locate seats.  The noise level rose quickly from all the voices as the hall filled with precious servants of God.

Kristin and I met the national director, Kerry Clarensau, last spring.  Such a warm and encouraging person.  We were thrilled for her that the event (which had been her dream) was such an obvious success.

Halfway through the program, the planning committee was introduced.  Each one stepped to the microphone and told a little about herself.  She then drew the name of someone attending and presented that lady with a door prize specially chosen by the committee member.

When Kerry took the microphone and held up her door prize, it was a purse.  She loves purses and had chosen one to give away to some lucky lady. 

Kristin shares that love.  I have a picture of her as a two year old with her arm straight in the air, the strap of my big purse over her shoulder, bag dragging along behind her.

"And my purse goes to.........Kristin Harvey!"  Kerry announced.  Everyone began applauding and looking around.

"No, wait.  That's Kristin Hawley!!" 

Our table erupted in squeals and cheers and exclamations of disbelief as Kristin headed to the front.  She beamed as Kerry embraced her. Out of 900 names, she had drawn Kristin's!

And you see, it wasn't just any purse.  It wasn't Kristin's normal bargain purse.  It was a genuine COACH!  (Which I've learned, is a very nice purse indeed!)  A purse Kristin's only ever dreamed of owning.

Reminds me of another scripture, "God does exceedingly, abundantly above all we can ask or even think!"

Kisses from Heaven in the form of an office visit and a purse.

He knows where we all are! He remembers His promises!  He loves us all more than we could ever know!
 





 

Ballet Shoe Shuffle

Did you know that as we age, there is one part of our body guaranteed to loose weight?

Not the arms.

No, that's the part that continues to hail a cab long after the cab has already pulled to the curb.

Not the posterior.

No, that's the part that feels obligated to pad all sitting for the rest of the days of our lives and therefore collects all the extra fat available.

Not the stomach.

No, that's the all important "Nana-Roll Region."  Our bodies reason that it would be unfair to short change grand babies by subjecting them to pokey ribs.  "Store all necessary padding," our brains say.

But it has been scientifically proven that as we age we can count on the fact that any and all fat will most assuredly disappear from the area of.........................our feet!

For someone who has worked diligently my entire adult life to keep weight from ballooning out of control, you'd think I'd be excited to learn about guaranteed weight loss.

But I'm not!

Instead I want to look into the heavens and loudly implore, "WHY?!  Of all the weighty areas you could choose, why would you choose to make us loose weight in our feet?  And just at the very time of life I could USE extra padding on my poor, abused tootsies!"

Yep, that would be my question.

I alluded to this problem in a post last year when I told about discovering Mr. Clark.  (My new favorite shoes that offer comfort and a bit of style.)

But General Council 2013 (the biennial gathering of all U.S. Assemblies of God ministers) was the first that I've had to face this dilemma head on.

Each year before when we've gathered with thousands of other missionaries, pastors and wives from all around the country I've used the "Ballet Shoe Shuffle" quite effectively.

What?  You aren't familiar with the "Ballet Shoe Shuffle" you say?

Well, it's like this.

Many years ago I discovered that my little black Dearfoam bedroom shoes were made just like ballet slippers.  They also fit perfectly into a pocket inside Frank's dress coat.  Each coat he wears has a similar pocket.  I think the pocket is actually designed for papers and such but I called dibs!

When we would leave our hotel and begin the hike toward the convention center, I would don the little black Dearfoams (with their handy-dandy, thin rubber sole) and walk contentedly the entire distance.

Once we hit the main artery of pastoral traffic, I'd quickly switch the Dearfoams for my high heels. Shuffling them into Frank's waiting pocket.  (Sole sides together, of course!  I'm thoughtful like that!)

This worked well for many hikes to and from the huge convention centers all around the country.

But not this year!

I've now hit that auspicious season of life where the scientific studies are proving true.  The wonderful fatty padding for my well-used feet has almost completely disappeared.

The farthest I routinely walk in high heels now is from the car to my office.  (About twenty feet.)  I quickly remove them and slip on the bedroom shoes always waiting under my desk.

When it's time for service, I walk from my office to the sanctuary.  (About a hundred feet.)

As soon as I can get to my spot on the front row, I slip them off and stand bare-footed until time to greet people.

The one exception to all this shoe shuffling is when I'm speaking.  Somehow, the Father has seen fit to allow a special dispensation of some sort and my feet never hurt during sermons.  

Now, I am well aware of my limitations.  So each outfit I packed for use at General Council 2013 began with the shoes.

If Kristin (my resident fashion consultant) couldn't identify a comfortable pair of sandals, slides, wedges or flats to co-ordinate with an outfit, it didn't matter how cute it was or how skinny it made me look - it didn't make the cut!

I only have two feet.  And even at 55, I'm hoping they'll transport me for many years to come.  That could be thousands of miles yet.

So it has become comfort over cuteness.

And I'll continue to pamper my thinning feet.  You can count on it!

Jam Packed

Life is never dull!

I think that's pretty much true for everyone I know.

Whether they live in a city or in the country.  Parents of small children, teenagers, adult children or no children.  Big family or small family.  It matters not whether they work days, nights or both.  Take extra classes or don't.  Work two jobs or one.  Use internet or don't.

We're a bunch of busy people!

Frank and I just concluded an extremely wild week. When we finally sat down last night, all we could do was sit beside one another and stare straight ahead.  We were too tired to even watch a video or read.

Now that's too tired!

I won't bore you with a blow by blow description.  But all our planning did lead to a whirlwind 36 hours that included-but was not limited to-the following: a mission outreach for the men, a baby shower for Meg and Nate, dinner at a Sweet 16 party, laundry and packing for our national conference, hosting a Sunday morning guest speaker, a leadership luncheon following church,  mentoring time for Frank and myself, as well as a couple of hospital visits squeezed in between.

Nope, you'll never hear me complain about being bored!

But I also know that life is short. 

So in the middle of all that excitement, I made sure I got a few minutes with Spencer and Abby.  I patted Meagan's belly and said hello to Noah.  I rubbed Frank's head, talked with my dad, hugged Kristin and Joy, told John and Nathan how amazing I think they are.  AND had brunch with my dear friend, Becky Smith!

This week is the biennial gathering of our fellowship (the Assemblies of God) in Orlando.  Beginning with registration this afternoon, we'll be on the run until next Friday. 

We'll sit in services with amazing speakers, prayerfully participate in business meetings, attend late night reunions and early morning memorials. 

One of the most exciting parts of this General Council is that one of our very own GGC students, Kendall Katina, made it to nationals with her presentation for Fine Arts.  (Fine Arts is a program giving A/G teenagers a great competitive venue for expressing creative gifts.  Over 10,000 students will participate in Orlando this week.) 

So of course we'll skip whatever the adults are doing when it's time for her to go on stage!

And rest assured there will be intentional lunches, coffees or even sitting in service with dear friends from all over the country that we haven't seen since the last General Council.  Those hugs and snatches of catching up are the recharge needed by this "Energizer Bunny"!

Yep, life is jam packed.  But we all know that jam makes dry toast a treat! 

May the Lord give us all eyes to see our busy lives as the "treat" they truly are!

Reflection

On the 25th of July, I hit the auspicious mark of "Double Nickles!"

Half-way to 60!

Waaaaay over the hill!  (If you're under thirty.)

A spring chicken! (If you're over 80.)

I turned 55 years old.  (Not nearly as exciting as the first time I marked a 5 in my life.)

But I wouldn't want to trade any of the wonderful life I've been living in order to go back.  No sir, not for one little minute!

Who in their right mind would want to repeat zits and spankings and first dates and falling off the monkey bars and gym class and...........?  Well, you get the idea.

On the 25th, I was treated to lunch at my favorite tea room by dear friends who serve as part of our church board.  Much laughter, precious cards, thought-filled gifts!

Frank took me out to dinner that night.  Then he and I strolled around the very same lake we circled on our first date over thirty-four years ago!   (I'll tell you about his gift to me in another post soon.)

The entire family blessed me with a beautiful Sunday lunch, cards, gifts, hugs and even some kisses!

The GGC family showered me with lovely cards and words of love they had carefully written.  (Which of course I greatly enjoyed - being a word person myself!)

It's late this final day of July.  I've worked hard all day.  I've squeezed my grandbabies and "patted" Noah.  I've enjoyed a great Bible study; led by my own dedicated husband.  Had a time of prayer with dear friends of GGC.  Talked with my girls and even some extended family.

But reflecting just a moment with you, faithful reader, felt important before moving on to August. When pondering just what to say, I thought I should share with you a poem that had impact on my life as a young teen-aged girl.

 The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

May the Father bless your choices in the coming days.  And may those choices lead you forward on the path HE has prepared!

Resplendent Roast

"This roast is as tough as shoe leather!!"

Grandma Miller (Mom's mother) said this nearly every Sunday afternoon until I was about twelve.

She frequently threw in, "Those green beans are so stringy!  I don't even know how we'll eat them."  And, "Yes, I baked some rolls.  But they're a sorry excuse for yeast rolls if you ask me!"

Mom would begin reassuring Grandma. "It's going to be fine, Mama.  You're worst roast is always better than anyone else's!"  (That was no exaggeration!)  "These green beans are beautiful!  I don't see any strings at all."  "The rolls look like they're ready to float away!"

I could count on her diatribe each time we ate Sunday lunch at Grandma's.  (Unless, of course, we went to Blanche's Boarding House in downtown Pensacola!)

A steady stream of complaints would begin emanating from her tiny kitchen just as each platter or bowl of steamy deliciousness arrived at the dining room table.  She stopped the negative reports only long enough for Dad to ask the blessing.

Then it would start again until every plate was filled to the edges with her "inferior" cooking.

As our forks sliced through the roast like hot butter and ice cubes clinked in the frosty tea glasses and yeast rolls began melting in our mouths, all you could hear were sighs of culinary contentment!

Then compliments would begin rolling in from every corner!  We each offered reassurance for Grandma that we found every item on the table to be truly delicious!

Grandma Miller had learned to cook while growing up on a farm in Indiana.  She knew exactly what she was doing!  Both with her cooking and her complaining.

There are two measures for a roast dinner in my adult life:

1. Did I use an "Aunt Dorothy" roast?  (A cut of meat just a bit more expensive.   Mom's perception was that Aunt Dorothy was the only one in our extended family able to afford such meat.)
2. Does it smell like a "Grandma Miller" roast?  (That magnificent fragrance that wafts heavenward when the lid is removed for the first time! Causing your mouth to water and your heart to be thankful for taste buds!)

Last Monday night as I prepared family dinner, both criteria dovetailed beautifully.  The two roasts in the oven were good cuts, well-marbled.  And it smelled divine all the way out to the drive.   I could hardly wait for everyone to arrive.

But when I lifted the first roast from the pan to begin slicing, panic hit!

Normally, I have to use a second meat fork and sort of scoop the meat on to the platter because it just falls apart in tender morsels.  Not Monday!

I stuck the first fork into my beautiful "Aunt Dorothy" roast and held up the entire thing like a.......like a........  Well, like a huge piece of brown shoe leather!

Before anyone could see the horror, I dropped it back into the roaster.  It took some effort but I managed to extricate the fork from said piece of meat and tried to skewer the other roast; hoping against hope for a better result.

TWO PIECES OF SHOE LEATHER!

By this time, Joy had slipped over to assist.  (She's the real Rachel Ray in our family.)

"What happened?" she asked.  Somehow managing not to laugh out loud as she attempted her own version of "Stab the Rubber Roast." 

"I don't know,"  I really was dumbstruck.

Then it hit me.  After dashing in from work to hurriedly get dinner started,  I had put the oven on 350 degrees out of habit.  You can not cook a tender roast on such a high temperature!

"What will we do?"  Now Kristin was whispering with us.  "I can run to Publix and get some chicken."  When all else fails, serve the Gospel Bird!

My frustration was mounting!  "Let me get the electric knife.  We should be able to slice it thinly and pour on the au jus for camouflage."

I'm sure I saw a wisp of smoke coming from the straining motor as the electric knife attempted to saw through the unyielding bovine bounty.  The girls and I looked at one another in shock.

Part of me wanted to burst out laughing.  But the other part was hurt and embarrassed that my beautiful dinner was ruined.  And how long have I been cooking?  Um, let's see.........over thirty years!! 

Who can't make a decent roast dinner after thirty years of practice?!!!

Fortunately, I had some left overs in the refrigerator.  So we snatched those out and scrambled to get them reheated.

Joy grabbed a sharper knife and once again attacked the edges of both roasts.  It required some serious elbow grease, but she started the salvage process with a few slices from each one.

I began dishing up the vegetables, potatoes and bread.  Moving around the kitchen like someone in a daze.

We quickly placed every possible option on the table then called for the fellas and babies to join us.  The dining table is in our kitchen.  Getting all the high chairs, daughters, sons and sometimes a couple of guests squeezed in around it takes some Jedi maneuvering.

Finally we were settled.  We reached to join hands for the blessing and that's when it happened.

To the surprise of every adult at that table, Spencer called out, "I pray!"

We looked to Poppa at the head of the table.  Frank smiled and said, "Okay, you pray buddy."

Heads bowed as the two and a half year old said reverently and sincerely, "Fahver Jeshush.  Tank you for a food!  AMEN!"

And with those eight simple words, Spencer turned "Shoe Leather Disaster" into "Resplendent Roast Dinner" for me! 

We did laugh til our sides ached when the unsuspecting Meagan (who didn't know about the electric knife failure) tried to cut her first piece of roast.

And the platter of left over ribs and chicken cleared out pretty quickly.

No matter.

A sign hangs over our patio door that reads, "We may not have it all together.  But together we have it all!"

Shoe leather roast, stringy green beans,  failed yeast rolls...........and family laughter.  Who could ask for more?



 

Cornered

I absolutely hate feeling cornered!

Sometimes I even have to deal with small amounts of claustrophobia. 

Like the day during our renovations that a cord under our platform wasn't co-operating.  John and Frank had used every "fishing" technique at their disposal and still couldn't access the evasive electrical cord.

When I came down to the auditorium, it was already 6 PM and I was done for the day!

They couldn't leave until the cord was accessed.  And neither of them could squeeze under the platform to reach it.

The quickest solution was painfully obvious.
 
So I got down on my belly.  Pin-pointed the EXACT location of the cord. (It was about ten feet beyond the opening.)   Took a deep breath.  And began inching my way under the incredibly low platform.

Frank kept his hand on my ankle as long as possible.  He and John both kept up the verbal encouragement.  And I kept my eyes FIXED on the cord!

No looking around.  No giving in to my brain as it screamed how ridiculous this was.  No thoughts of panic.

Nothing more than, "This is helping the men you love.  Get the cord.  Then Get Out!"

I acted like it had been no big deal once I was out and able to stand up.  I casually brushed off my slacks to camouflage my trembling hands and said, "Alright, let's go home!"

The calm exterior totally fooled the men I was trying to impress.  But my insides were quivering!

(Actually, while rehearsing this for you my palms became a little sweaty and I've taken several deep breaths!  Whew!)

The point?

Sometimes life (more specifically - the enemy) will corner us.

We instantly feel trapped.  Things begin to close in around us.  We feel totally alone.  And if we believe that there is no way out, We Will Panic.

I've never made a single brilliant decision with fear as my motivating factor! 

But when I do sense that I'm being cornered by darkness, I begin to make some choices.

I try to readjust my thoughts and focus on the ultimate goal.  I rehearse the truth of scripture instead of the lies of fear.  I force my brain to believe the best is possible - whether it looks possible or not. 

And I listen for the words of encouragement coming from wonderful friends around me!

A great scripture became powerful for me many years ago.  Psalm 124:1 says, "If the Lord had not been on our side......."

No matter how dark that corner.  No matter how restrictive my place of difficulty.  No matter how impossible the outcome.  I Am Not ALONE!  The Lord is on my side!

And remembering that one truth has kept me moving.  Kept me sane.  Kept me from making some stupid, fear-filled choices!

Whew!

He is on your side, too!

Quiet

One Quiet Hour!

That's what I just enjoyed.  One entire hour of total quiet. 

No phone.  No TV.  No Facebook.  No one else around.

Just me, the dogs and my thoughts.

Now that hour happened to be sandwiched between birthday celebrations of last week,  (Abby turned one last Sunday and John turned 27 on Tuesday)  and company and bridal showers and celebrating the Fourth with a community cookout sponsored by our church.  AND the impromptu sleep-over for seven teen-aged girls that will fill my living room in just a few minutes. 

I needed one quiet hour!

Tomorrow morning at 6 AM, we'll be there to cheer as John and Frank begin a 125 mile bike ride.  (They are raising money for the seven girls from our youth group who will participate in a mission trip to help inner-city youth of Miami.)

Sometimes an hour is all you need.  Especially when you know that the busyness of life has purpose beyond your own wants and desires. 

Sometimes an hour gives you enough time to take a deep breath.  To regroup.  To remember why you're doing all you're doing.

I think that's what the Sabbath was originally intended to provide.

Then again..........when you miss too many Sabbaths; when you rush right past the quiet hours.......then you need...........VACATION!  (Frank and I are planning that for the end of August!)

Just a quick thought from one crazy, busy, happy pastor's wife tonight!

Hope your week is blessed with many quiet hours!