Dear Nancy Caroline

I go all "Momma Bear" sometimes. But truthfully, if we are given good cause, I think God expects us moms to do so on occasion. We are tasked with being the champion, advocate, cheerleader, encourager, and protector our children need.

As I share this, I also have a challenge for us all. This hurting each other with our words thing, yeah, it isn't getting much better. In fact, I'd say it is getting worse. It's in our families, among our friends, in our media, and even in our church families. We need to think before we speak. What we say about and to each other, to our faces or behind our backs, can hurt the strongest of people. Let's do better.

This one is for my "Fancy Nancy"...

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Dear Nancy Caroline,

Today someone called you "bossy".  It made me very angry.

But I composed myself and responded with what I hope was seen as love. Love for the ones that threw out that term so flippantly...but even more love for you.

I know that the term "bossy" and a few others that have been thrown your way really hurt you. My dear one, you put on a brave and strong front, but I am your mother and your friend. I can see the long, far off look in your eyes in the moments after you have heard the words. I believe whole heartedly that words are the most dangerous and most used weapon in our world.

Sometimes these words have come from your peers. Sometimes these words have come from adults. Your peers are learning, and I hope they learn better than these adults that use the same words. Some people need to open their eyes, think outside the box, and be a bit a lot less critical. Praise should be heard at a scream and criticism should be whispered. Usually folks do it the other way around.

Sweet girl, I know you and God did not make you "bossy".

You came into the world very quietly. The seconds seemed to have gone on for hours as we waited to hear your first cries. I pleaded with you as the nurses cleaned you and prepared to lay you on my chest...

"Cry, baby, cry."

And finally you did. And it was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.

From that moment on, I have always been amazed at your abilities and the things God innately blessed you with.

God made you capable. Capable of thinking through situations and being able to weigh the options. You have been blessed with the ability to organize and evaluate situations with very little thought.  You are confident and decisive.

He has also made you strong. Your strength sees you through the emotionally tough days and allows you overcome negative criticism and the nasty behavior of others. Your God-given strength also allows you to do the things that for brief moments you think you can't do.  I know this because I have witnessed you overcome fear and be brave. I love that you zip line, repel, and other things that  have been scary for you.

God gave you determination. He made you industrious. No task is too big for you. You do it and you do it well. You do not have a lazy bone in your body.  You are a go-to person...you will get the job done. This is a valuable trait, but as you grow older some will take advantage of this. Learn to set your boundaries and learn to say the word "no".  It will serve you well.

You have been blessed with loyalty. When you love someone, you love them without hesitation. You stick by those in your circles and you will fight and stand up for them at all costs. No one will ever be allowed to hurt someone you love if you are around.  If someone shows disloyalty to you or to someone you love, you then take note and you are wise where you put your trust from that point forward. This is a wise attribute. Just so you know, I am loyal to you. I will be your champion.

God made you fierce. When you have made your mind up, you are a force to be reckoned with. You are convicted by your beliefs, values, and morals. The answers to the questions you will face as you grow older are already answered because you know where you stand. Life is always a little easier when you know what you value.

You are beyond beautiful. Outward appearance isn't the most important thing in life, but us gals are fooling ourselves if we say we don't like to hear the words, "you are beautiful". I hope I tell you that enough. Your smile is big, bright, and contagious. God placed those fun freckles just perfectly and gave you natural highlights in your hair that no beautician can create.

God also gave you an extremely big heart. That is your most beautiful characteristic. You want to give to those in need. You hurt when others hurt. You want others to do what is right...not to tell them what to do and how to do it...but to spare them the trouble for which they are headed. You are a doer of good, a lover of people, and for those of us that hold a place in this big heart of yours, we have been given a great prize.

There is something I want to warn you about. When you are many of the things that you are, the devil will try to convince you that you do not need anyone else...that all these awesome attributes make it absolutely acceptable and achievable to go at life alone. You will start to believe him. Don't. God created you to help others and to also depend on others. That is why he made families and friendship. Use the wisdom He has given you and find your safe places. I know one that you have already...me...I will always be your safe place.

I have eager anticipation as I think about your future, where you will go and what you will do and who you will continue to become. Your father and I and a few others have opinions and ideas. Watching you I am so sure you will be one of the best at whatever you choose to do. I have a feeling you will travel far and you will do an awful lot of good.  You will be a wonderful wife and mother...better than me, I am sure. But my greatest hope is that you will listen carefully to what God has in store and will seek His guidance as you journey along and grow. I know you will. His plans are always bigger, better, and blow all our human ideas right out of the water.

So sweet girl, when you are naturally capable, strong, determined, loyal, fierce, and beautiful, people just don't know how to respond. All these characteristics rarely show up all in one package. It makes it even harder to respond to when the person in question is 11. The easiest response they can come up with is to criticize the qualities they don't understand or may be jealous of, so they throw out a term that makes all these God given abilities seem less intimating.

You are not "bossy".  You are a leader. You are all these things I have listed and more. You are extraordinary. I am thankful beyond measure I get to claim you on this earth as mine.

Love, Mom

Three kids later...What's a stay-at-home-mom to do???

Fourteen years ago last month, I found out I was going to be a mother. Within the next nine months after that, my body went through miraculous changes, our little apartment was baby proofed beyond measure, and we decided it was best for our new family of three that I stay home with the soon to be born "Baby Jackson".

In 2001 I traded in Ms. Anderson for Mrs. Thomas. In 2004 I traded in Mrs. Thomas for Mommy.

It was the beginning of a new title, a new position, and a pretty hefty promotion. One that I knew God had purposed specifically for me. I was excited and honored to take on such a role. The journey was sure to be adventurous and hard and beautiful and unknown. I was up for the task.  I chose to see it as I was still a teacher...my classroom just looked a little different, and the benefits were much better.

Along the way, my class roll tripled.  Then one by one, the three kids set off to kindergarten.  Fast forward to the present. I now stand looking up to my baby boy, almost eye to eye with one baby girl, and the youngest baby girl promises to catch me all too soon. 13, 11, and 8...it's a new season indeed.

Three kids later...all in school...what is a stay at home mom to do? In the last few weeks, the answer has become very clear to the Thomas family...

The stay at home mom, doesn't have to stay home any longer.

I have given alot of thought about what I want to do, and where I want to go.  I have been thinking back on who I was and what I did before motherhood. I have prayed for wisdom, discernment, and guidance. And at the end of it all, Mrs. Thomas and Mommy can coincide quite well together.

Earlier this month, I began a new adventure back at Watertown High School where my teaching days began in 2000.  The school is in a new building now, is under new administration, has lot of new teachers, and I carry a different title.  Many friends have snickered when I tell them I am the In School Suspension Coordinator. But in my last 13+ years as "mom", I have learned even more so how to be firm and tough, but at the same time loving, helpful, and kind. My last full time position has prepared me pretty well for this new role, I'd say.

This week...today...this season focused on Thanksgiving...my mind is on all of you fellow sisters out there working hard to make a difference somehow and in someway.  Many before us have worked extremely hard for the generations that have followed to be able to have a say, to be treated equally, and to be admired for creating some of the most challenging balancing acts.

Some of us are young and spirited and free, challenged by the demands of furthering our education. There are others of us a little further along in their story, getting our feet wet in the career that we have chosen. Some of us are wives, trying to manage through the maze of marriage. There is a good portion of us that are professionals, keeping our communities moving and shaking. Young and old alike, those of us that are mothers are trying to keep our own identity, while making sure the ones that made us mothers can find theirs as well. Then there are some of us, that do a little bit of it all, and give so much inspiration to those of us that don't think that we can.

To all of us, I say BRAVO!  I am honored to call you sister and friend. It takes all of us in all our different roles to get His work done.

But if you are in this tribe and you are doubting yourself; I feel ya! I have doubted myself so many times. Doubt and fear almost kept me away from this new job. But that doubt comes from only one source and he is the ultimate enemy. He creates the feelings of inadequacy, shame, and guilt too. The father of all evil is what we will call him. And all these feelings he conjures up by calling out our insecurities and struggles are lies.

His lies can be combated and conquered by one thing and one thing only. Our identity in Christ Jesus.  We are His. He created us, molds us, uses us to be educated community members, professionals, friends, wives, mothers, and so much more. We are all these things, but we are His namesake first. And if we keep that in mind, with a life in service to Him is our focus...we can do all things through Him.

I am more than excited about this new adventure. I already enjoy my work. My favorite part is meeting all my new co-workers and the students that call Watertown High School home. I loved teaching here back in the day...I think I am about to love it even more now.

To the immediate ones in my circles, I say thank you. The encouragement you have given me has helped me step out of the familiar. Some of you have stepped up and helped out as my family of five gets adjusted to this change of schedule. I appreciate your acts of kindness more than you know. For every text, phone call, and upbeat, "Hey how's that new job going?" my days have been made a little brighter. Thank you for being "mine" but more importantly for being "His".

Michael's 40th Year

40. It's a milestone, yet intimidating. It shows great significance in scripture. Divided by 2, it breathes in the freedom of youth. Multiplied by 2, some think it unreachable. We all treat it as an accomplishment.

Last year on this very day, my best friend turned 40. We celebrated big, praised the Creator for bringing him into the world, and asked for many more years of Michael Thomas.

Since I met him I have heard of a goal he had set for himself...to run a marathon. Michael spoke of if a lot and then life would get in the way. Medicine, fatherhood, work.  On the night of his 40th birthday, he committed to running it during his milestone year.

Christmas rolled around and not a lot was going on in his training. So, Santa gave him a little boost with a special "marathon goodie box", complete with a running watch, Bluetooth earbuds, good socks, a running plan, and a gift card to Fleet Feet for some good shoes. And with that, off he went.

He ran through the neighborhood, then he headed out into Woodbury.  He ran on weekend getaways in Pigeon Forge and Asheville. In February, he ran in Africa while on a medical mission trip. In March and July he ran on Saba. He started running on the four lane toward the Boro. Occasionally, he would run in the opposite way toward McMinnville.  He ran through the campus at Clemson while Jackson was at football camp.  He ran in the morning and at night and every hour in between.

When cross country sign ups started at Woodbury Grammar School, all three kids wanted to be like Dad, so they signed up with Coach Elrod.

Everyone started complimenting the fine running physique and determination of my husband. For those of you that don't know, Michael and I are very competitive, so this momma laced up her shoes and took off alongside him.

Michael's 40th year...the year the Thomas 5 started running.

His muscles hurt. His bones ached. He ended up "bonking" a time or two. But he kept at it.

He worked on an intensive bible study. He took a promotion at work, creating more responsibilities. The kids schedule got beyond hectic. He still ran.

He craved the junk food. He wanted to lay on the couch. He didn't want to run. He ran anyway.

It was fun and exciting to watch. But it started to become beautiful the more I watched him.

This husband of mine prayed for strength and praised God for each and every accomplishment. He asked others...the brothers that had helped him celebrate that 40th birthday...to pray for him.  He asked for help and guidance of other Christian and believing men that had run the experience and course before him.  He took advise and compliments with grace and thankfulness.  He relied upon the four people in his house to give him encouragement and support. He didn't ever really run alone.

This past September, with tons of Gatorade and GU gels packed in our car, we headed to Tupelo, Mississippi. Michael was one of many that would run in the 2017 Labor Day weekend Tupelo Marathon where their slogan is "Trample the Weak, Hurdle the Dead".

He didn't trample or hurdle anyone, but he finished all 26.2 miles in just seconds over 5 hours. He ran solid and he ran strong. And I was beyond proud and more than moved.

Michael has taught me during his 40th year that first and foremost, God gets the glory for everything. If you can move your legs, praise Him. If you wake up with the ability to breathe much less run, praise Him. If He provides you with friends and family that support you, praise Him. If you have the ability to reach a goal, praise Him.

He also has taught me that there is no shame in asking for help, accepting advice, and admitting you don't always have it figured out. We can talk a big game, but you have to really accept God's gift of community and live it both ways to understand God's plan and reason for creating us for each other.  It is great to be the giver, but it is just as great to be the receiver.

Michael has taught me that it's going to hurt so bad at times, but you heal and recover and keep on going. It is so true that through the greatest weaknesses that us humans have, that is when God's greatest strengths show off. Never, ever throw in the towel. He makes all things new.

Lastly, Michael has taught me to go about things with patience and faith. He ran slow and steady and trained so patiently. He had faith in himself, in the running plan and process. But his greatest faith was in God.

Back in July of 2001, our dads used the following verse in our wedding ceremony...

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful."  II Timothy 4:7

This man has been my greatest joy at times. Every now and again he has been the source of much frustration. He has even created some hurt in my heart. But at the end of day, he is who I want to come home to. He is who I plan to grow old and wrinkly with. He has helped me realize that the hard stuff exists in every marriage and if both partners are willing to allow Him, the Father can make earthly marriage extraordinary, no matter what.

I am honored to fight the good fight alongside this fella. He is a pretty good battlefield partner to have at my side. His faith in the Father's forgiveness and providence keeps our family grounded. One day, I will be thankful to stand at the feet of our Savior at the end of the race knowing he encouraged me in many different ways all along the way. He will have helped me get there. I hope he can say the same about me.

Today, Michael turned 41.  We celebrated as he crossed the finish line of a half marathon over in nearby Franklin. I love watching this guy run the race...physically and spiritually.

Run Baby, Run

Sometimes I wonder if I am like most moms. The feelings I sometimes have...are they normal?

Overworked and every now and again taken for granted...unappreciated...overlooked...growing older ungracefully...a means to have food on the table, clean clothes in the closet, and a car ride to every practice and fun activity under the sun...the cheerleader that is rarely cheered for and the team player that isn't always applauded.

In the last few days I have been at my lowest with these.

Mom, get me here at this time...Mom, I need this washed by in the morning...We are having this for dinner?!?...Hey, I got another mark today...Can I go here...Can I do this...I forgot about this one assignment; it's due tomorrow...But, mom...Gymnastics, football, and cheer; all in one night.

I am about to tackle the insurmountable pile of laundry that is about spill out of the windows and doors of our house, and then the phone rings. "Mom, I forgot my lunch." When I return there is water all in the bathroom floor from a leaky shower. Dinner needs to be done before the end of school because it will be peddle to the metal the second Mr. Smith calls "The Thomas kids" over the cafeteria loud speaker. They come running to the Ford Explorer that then burns rubber out of the school parking lot. Dear Lord, please save me from the SRO or Officer House for another day.

Mommas, can I get an "amen"!? My hand is extended far into the air for all those virtual high fives coming my way. Please tell me I am not alone. As I climb up to the top of that mountain of laundry, I pray that I find myself surrounded by a band of sisters, all of us wanting the same thing...just to catch a break.

This past week and weekend I vowed it would end. I saw Michael and Myron off on a trip to cheer on their respective teams in "The Swamp". (#VFL) My Friday night was full of gymnastics and then coming home with pizza in hand, ready to gather all the necessities for a Saturday morning cross country meet. I worked hard to insure that when Saturday morning came, it would be a slow paced easy morning for a leisurely drive just twenty-five minutes away in Milton. I'd watch the kids run a race and then make my way back to the house to watch my beloved Volunteers take on the Gators, more than likely taking a Xanax during the fourth quarter. (That's humor, folks...just kidding.)

The Saturday morning alarm rang out in the master bedroom and I rolled out to wake the yawning little girls and call down the stairs to my thirteen year old sleeping giant. Toothbrushes found their way to three sets of teeth. Hair was brushed. And thank the Father above that three pairs of arm pits were lathered up with deodorant.

"Grab a granola bar and a banana. Don't forget a bottle of water."

"Jackson, do you have your socks? Shoes?"

"Sadie, do you have a few things packed to keep you occupied?"

"Okay, we are set...go jump in the car."

I smiled as my Nancy Caroline headed out the door with her bag on her shoulder, already packed from the night before for a morning of running in the sun on this Sepetember Saturday. She is the most organized eleven year old I have ever known. She puts me to shame in her administration skills. If  my head wasn't attached to my body...she would carry it around for me and know exactly where it was at all times.

We stopped at the local Co-Op and got the musts for runners...water, Gatorade, and MTSU chocolate milk. After all those drinks were iced down, we headed down Auburntown Road, signing along to the radio. I decided to slow ourselves down and enjoy the beauty of the Tennessee hills. The sun was bright and the sky was clear, void of any clouds. As I leisurely took the curves, I could breathe easy and my crazy mom-make-everyone's-life-happen-gotta-have-it-all-together anxiety was a distant memory.

Turns out this meet was in the middle of no where on a farm. We turned into the drive, which was the only way in or out of the massive parking set up, and I told my two middle schoolers to grab their belongings and shoes and get ready to jump out.

From right behind me I heard the tiniest gasp escape NC.

"Mom, I forgot my shoes on the carport. What am I going to do?"

For a brief moment there were the suggestions thrown around from her brother and sister. Maybe she shouldn't run today...she could borrow someone else's shoes...wearing boys' shoes was immediately taken off the table.

I pulled to a stop close to another Cannon County mom and rolled the window down. She graciously agreed to walk these two to the team tent. I gave the two middle school runners instructions to stay close to their team and told Sadie to sit tight.  With a bit of exasperation in my heart, I inched my way back out the crowded drive and hit the road back to Woodbury.

My foot was a little heavier this time. I had to be back to see the race and to make sure the feet of NC were clad with the familiarity of her Nike running shoes. I took the curves with speed and ease, thanks to my rural middle Tennessee upbringing. Sadie and I sat in silence and my mind was filled with the question any tired mom I am sure has when they are overworked and overlooked.

"Why me?"

I whispered it almost as a prayer. And in an instance the Father began to send the answer bubbling  over in my heart.

"Because I chose you. You are her mother. Never take for granted that she is still a child. And just like you she is imperfect. She is capable of forgetting things. This organized, got-her-junk-together child...she doesn't always have it together; she isn't suppose to. Be thankful she doesn't have it all together, all the time, because this allows her to understand my grace. Teach her that. You are her mother. I made you her mother on purpose."

The exasperation left my heart in an instance. The weight of motherhood and never ending responsibility was miraculously easy to bear.

If given the choice, I would never want anyone else to drive an extra hour to make sure Nancy Caroline had a pair of shoes to run a race. I am thankful and blessed to be her safety net, her answer to a problem, her go-to. That's my role. Nancy Caroline's Mom...that's my title; in fact, it's one of the three titles I carry.  And I am more than honored that God chose me to mother the three kids.

Sometimes us moms get lost in the mundane and lose sight of the real job God granted us with. If we want the world and the Church to look a bit different...maybe a lot different...I think God gave us that responsibility and opportunity to make that difference when he made us mothers. No one else is better equipped to teach future generations how to love relentlessly, serve unselfishly, and care for folks unconditionally. He is working on our hearts, ladies. He is molding us more and more in His image so the littles that we are raising can seek justice for the weak. So they can be better husbands and wives. So they can learn to stand with confidence and speak out when wrong is being easily accepted by others around them. He has made us their advocates and caregivers, so they can survive, grow, and be given the opportunities that maybe we weren't even granted when were we their ages.

So my fellow mommas, let's get to work with happiness and holiness in our hearts, showing our children the love that God intended us to show them.  Let's answer questions and give explanations with understanding and patience.  Let's tackle the hard topics, and put embarrassment and fear of failing aside.  Let's question when we think a school may not be making the best academic, emotional, and even social choices for our children. Let's advocate for our children, no matter the stares, the gossip, or the judgement. Let's put our phones down and pick our metaphorical or even literal Pom-poms up, cheering them on in whatever they have found talent and joy in doing.  Let's find ways to serve with our children right alongside us.   Let's challenge and pray for the daddies, the grandfathers, the uncles, the men in their lives to step up and become the emotional, love-seeking, and time-giving men who show up and let God show off in their actions and their words. Let's find the time to pray and study the word first...those two things can not play second fiddle to our own hobbies and self interests. We can not equip and teach these precious gifts we have been given  if we are not talking to the Father and listening to His word.

Father God, please let every word, every action, every thought be geared into how I can make this world a better place...even if that begins with the graciousness seen in spending a little extra time from my days grabbing a pair of running shoes and delivering them with a smile, a kiss, and a "run, baby, run."

God, forgive me, and make me a better momma.

The Alabaster Jar

For the past few weeks, my mind and heart have been fixated on the story found in Luke 7 of the woman with the alabaster jar of precious oil. I have read many different translations. I have studied the corresponding gospels. I have researched what the importance of these jars was and what made them so valuable.  Some think they were a huge part of the dowry of young engaged women. Others think that they were the livelihood of prostitutes during the days of the New Testament; their way of luring customers into their quarters.

The jars were made of a marble-type stone found in Egypt and later in Israel.  They usually held the finest of oils and perfumes. In order to keep these fine ointments from spilling or evaporating, these jars and containers did not just have a lid, but were sealed completely.  So the oil had to be a one time use. Once the jar was broken open, it's significance was gone. And whoever this great gift was given to or used for, was the object of the greatest affection and love.

I am writing the following from the woman's point of view in Luke 7. I can relate to this woman, no matter who she was, what season of life she was enduring, or what her profession had been. If we are honest, I think we all can. After all, we are all sinners.

What's your alabaster jar?

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Breathe deep.

His face, His laughter, His voice. His presence. It causes all breath to escape me. In a fleeting second I realize I must put forth effort to catch a breath in the same atmosphere in which He is existing.

I had to come. I had to see. The desire, the need that is causing this ache in my heart was greater than any custom or lack of invitation.

The ladies of the house place the food in front of these men, and with flippancy they begin to pass and break and dip without a hint of reverence. Do they not know with whom they sit around this meal? Pharisees and leaders in the temple, shouldn't they know the face of their Savior?

He doesn't seem to mind. He smiles, enjoying the nourishment, talking of His journeys and people He has met along the way.

A king deserves a greater gathering this. A golden goblet rather than that cup made out of pottery. The fatted calf. Cheese and wine.  The finest fruit. A throne rather than that uncomfortable pillow on the floor. Gifts and kisses.

I wonder how He was greeted and welcomed as He crossed the threshold.

The lack of honor and love is more than I can bear, but who am I? A sinner. Too great of a sinner to let my presence in these shadows be known. If it isn't one thing, then it has been another. My mind is constantly spinning webs and I feel tangled up in this life. I should go.

Oh but that weight in the pocket of my robe. There is my reminder. My alabaster jar. This is my chance.  The only way I can demonstrate my love and the surrender of the sins that have controlled me.

I am tired. I am lonely and afraid. I came here to see Him.  But much more than that, I came here to have freedom. To ask for my God to forgive me and cleanse me.  I came here to honor Him. To treat Him the way a King should be treated. It is up to me, the sinner.

As I push the curtains aside, I stand with the stain of my sin visible for all these men to see. For a moment, the room is an unfounded silent, and then the hush of whispers begin to burn my ears and pierce my heart. Their stares are like daggers. I can not do this. I have made such a mistake, just like so many I have made before.

He locks His eyes to mine and I can't help but put one foot in front of the other.  I have never spoken a word to Him in the flesh, but somehow I know He knows me. Tears begin to fill my eyes as I continue to look at only Him. The whispers leave my ears with each step I take closer to Him.

I reach Him and as I look down at Him sitting on the worn and tattered pillow around this table, I realize I am not where I am suppose to be. I drop to my knees and my face falls to His feet. Now I am home. My words have completely escaped me. I have never known a place so holy...so sacred...so humbling...so freeing.

My hand slides into my pocket and it brings out my offering. The alabaster stone shatters onto the floor with one fling of my wrist. The sound does not startle me, but brings a joy that is uncontrollable. My greatest possession is broken and it's fine contents begin to mingle with my tears, as it pours over and anoints my Lord's feet. This is my life, my livelihood, the only semblance of wealth that I have to my name...and now it is His. All that I have is His.

I realize I have had and have been nothing without Him. And now I know He is my everything.

The silence is broken. My heart stands still as one of the men calls out the title that I bear heavier than any criminal's cross. "Sinner!"  As I wipe His feet with my hair to dry the flood of tears, I hear the voice of my God, directed back at the man who threw the slur. His voice is still filled with patience, joy, and grace. In a moment when I want to spew fire at that Pharisee for calling out the pain of what I already know to be true, I learn from this Man. Only love and forgiveness is heard in His teaching.

Without hesitation and still not a word, I kiss His feet, and His direction turns to me. For a few moments the silence is again defeanening. Then, He praises me. His words are branded onto my heart and into my mind...

"I tell you, her sins-and they are many-are forgiven, so she has shown me much love. But a person who is forgiven little shows only little love."

He takes my face into His hands. He wipes the remainder of my tears away, and He fills my soul with a smile that heals the deepest wounds.

"Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you. Go in peace, dear one."

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Mv2cO3-47Ys

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http://www. biblestudytools.com/dictionary/alabaster/
https://lindzcole.wordpress.com/2015/02/02/what-is-the-significance-of-the-alabastor-jar-in-Luke-737-38/
http://trivialdevotion.blogspot.com/2012/02/cost-of-alabaster.html

Grandmother

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite things was for my maternal grandparents to come visit at our house. They'd come and we would go to town, maybe get an ice cream cone or some candy at the local five and dime. The afternoon would slip away and my sister and I would find ourselves begging them to stay the night. That way the fun wouldn't have to end. The two of them would give their excuses and  load up their car.

Privately my big sister would whisper in my ear..."Start crying. They will stay."

So, I'd muster up the water works and stand in the door as they drove away.

Nine times out of ten they'd get to the head of the road and turn around and spend the night in the guest bedroom at 37 Sunnyview Lane.

I have often wondered over the years, which one caved first. Was it Grandaddy or Grandmother who decided the two little girls needed another night of fun? Who told who to turn around and head back down the street?

Tonight I pillow my head in a different world. As I kiss the three kids goodnight, I have a hard time finding words. My tears mix and mingle with their tears. Together we pray for comfort and peace and give thanksgiving.

Grandmother, the last of my four grandparents, fell asleep today with her last earthly breath.  My mother was by her side, just the two of them, which even though makes me sad, seems very fitting. I have never known a mother and daughter to be any closer. They were the best of friends...I know this because my grandmother had told me that on many occasions over the years. If I can care for my mother even half as well as she cared for my grandmother, I know the Father will be pleased. Their relationship was remarkable to witness.

The last couple of weeks have been difficult to watch. Grandmother took a fall and she spent the last days in a hospital and a nursing home. We spent time with her, caring for her, and loving on her. She was quiet much of the time, but we were able to have moments filled with memories and good talks. The last most coherent thing she said to me will always ring in my ears and stay on my heart...

"You are going to love your grandchildren."

She was one of those grandmothers that was the epitome of the word. She was lovable, wise, and comforting. When I was around her, even up until a few weeks ago, I always had the urge just to climb up in her lap and snuggle for a while. She always had a listening ear and knew just the right thing to say to make any situation seem easier.  When my husband became her grandson-in-law, he quickly learned the reputation Grandmother had and would say with confidence, "If Grandmother says it, it's gospel."

She was the hand to hold and the fun playmate that always said "yes" to the little girl who thought she could do no wrong. My favorite things as a child were to help her water flowers and make messes in her kitchen.  Grandmother saw me through the teenage years and the chaos of college. She watched as Michael and I walked down the aisle. She gave advice across the distance of an ocean and the long stretch of interstate between Highland and St. Louis. It didn't matter if it was as simple as how to make pickles or as difficult as how to navigate marriage...she always had the answer. She rooted me on as I became a mother three times over. She graciously and proudly loaned her name to my little Sadie Emogene.  Grandmother always loved bigger and better than anyone...that is just who she was...at least in my eyes.  She was my champion.

Tomorrow, fried apple pies won't taste the same. From now on I won't smell the mixture of peppermints, Wrigley's Doublemint gum, and White Diamonds. I know I will never be able to produce the perfect pickle. Every now and then I will go buy Russell Stover chocolates and smush every piece, finding the caramels but now leaving the coconuts. When I call my youngest by her full name in a moment of urgency, my heart just might skip a beat. Purple polka dotted dresses, dusters, and house shoes will always make me smile. Tomorrow, after thirty nine years...I will miss her so very much.

But I am so thankful. She has helped make me the woman that I am today. I credit her for my loyalty and love of family.  She helped mold me into the homemaker, wife, and mother that I am.  She instilled a work ethic in her girls that has proven valuable.  Grandmother's positive nature and fun disposition is one I hope to always model.

And there is always joy. She is healed now and she has no more pain. Even though we are left here and the emptiness of her absence hurts and saddens, knowing she has the ultimate joy lifts the burden.

I am not exactly sure how things go when one dies, but I'd like to think she has been reunited with my grandaddy. I'd like to think she is at her most favorite age of life, probably a young and beautiful wife... or maybe the younger grandmother with a mess in the kitchen and laughter in her heart. I can imagine he takes her by the hand and invites her to sit on their porch. She might look back for a moment...

"Bedford, don't you think they want us to stay? Shouldn't we stay just one more night? Look, Aletha is crying again."

I can hear him snicker, and maybe he feels the urge to give in, but he knows better. The radiant joy and extravagant love that surrounds her now assures them both that they don't won't to turn around now...no need to head back down the street...they'll just have to wait for the two little girls to join them later.

What a sleepover that will be!

God Has A Nose

On a trip to the island a few years ago, the youngest of the three kids was walking alongside me as we made our way up the road to the Chinese restuarant. Her little hand was tucked tightly into mine as we climbed the hill, both quietly enjoying the salt air and warm sunshine. A lady that lived on this path had just hung her laundry out to dry. As the sea breezes of Windwardside drifted past our noses, Sadie exclaimed with joy, "I smell Ms. Kelly!"  Kelly (or as the three year old Sadie pronounced it, "Ms. Telly"), was our dear friend and neighbor. The smell of the laundry detergent that was used in the Poston home brought a comfort and love of home to my little Sadie Bug. 

Smell.

When asked which of the five senses I couldn't do without, I always respond with smell.

As a little girl, my mother would tuck me in at night and the smell of her night cream would soothe any fears or anxieties of darkness and impending storms. When I went to college I snuck a tube of her night cream into my bags. Just the smell of my mother gave me comfort on the worst of days. To this day Mary Kay night cream is one of my favorite smells.

The feel of a number 2 pencil in my hand is essential in my life. But those that know me well, know that it isn't just how the pencil feels or how it writes...it's the smell. I don't know exactly why. Maybe it makes this teacher at heart feel confident and industrious. Perhaps it brings to mind the students that have challenged me and changed me for the better.

On Tuesday mornings, my husband awakes early to have a Facetime visit with a good buddy that is too many miles away to visit with any other way. They chat about life, study scripture, and both have a cup of coffee. When the Facetime session ends, Michael comes back to our bedroom and wakes me up for the day with a kiss. It is one of my favorite moments. The smell of my husband's face mixed with the aroma of coffee is the smell of love. 

I kiss my kiddos goodnight or goodbye as they get out of the car in the school drop off line. I always breathe in deep. All three have a different scent. I close my eyes and memorize the feel of their foreheads or cheeks. The smell of their childhood is etched deep into my heart and I pray forever into my memory.

The sense of smell can bring about a distant memory in an instant. A certain scent can bring a tear or a smile to one's face. An aroma can fill a room and comfort is given, love is felt, and peace settles within it's walls.

But the opposite can happen. Some scents bring displeasure and uneasiness.

The smell of a skunk can make your eyes water and nose burn. The stench of soured milk will turn a stomach. Some folks are taken back to times of sadness by the smells that fill a hospital or funeral home. The scent of a certain cologne may remind you of someone who isn't in your life any longer and that you miss.

The same sense that brings comfort, pleasure, and security, can also offer sadness, loneliness, and anxiety.  An aroma can soothe the soul...or it can ignite the worst of feelings.

God has the sense of smell, too.

The Old Testament takes us back to time of the old law, filled with alters, animals, and sacrifices. Many times through Genesis, Numbers, Leviticus, and other such books, we read of folks giving sacrifices and the aroma flowing up to the Father.  It soothed and pleased Him.  One time in Genesis after the flood the beautiful scent that went up to heaven sacrificially, even led God to promise to never destroy the earth by water again. (Genesis 8:21)

When Jesus came, and was crucified, and then was risen, the ultimate sacrifice was given and the old law was done away with. The new covenant between us and God has no reason for burnt offerings and alter bearing sacrifices. Jesus took care of all of it.

But God still has a nose.

"For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved 

and those who are perishing." 

2 Corinthians 2:15

Because of Christ, we smell good. And that scent that radiates off of us as believers, pleases our Father. He is happy...He is pleased...He is soothed by the aroma that floats up to heaven. I can imagine God smiling as He breathes in deep the scent of the descendants and heirs of His Son.

Now I am sure there are times that some of us don't smell as good as we usually do.  That sweet boy of mine, yeah, sometimes after a football game or after a good run, I quickly send him to the shower. The water washes off the stench.

The waters of baptism continually wash off the stink, clothing us in the Spirit of our mentor, bringing about that pleasing aroma as we shake off the dust and dirt of sin.

That scripture in Corinthians continues to tell us that we are going to smell different to different people here on earth. To our fellow believers, we are the aroma of encouragement and freedom and salvation. To non-believers, sometimes our fragrance is a reminder of being lost and they may not quite understand where we are coming from and what we are saying. 

I had a candle given to me one time that I just didn't like.  I would open the jar and shut it, not at all pleased. But I kept trying, even to the point of burning it now and again. And I found as I continued to use it and return to it's fragrance, that it began to grow on me.  I even ended up buying another couple candles of that specific scent.  

So believers, take heart. Be sincere and speak His truth. Live His ways. Continue to allow His fragrance to radiate from you. Please the Father and have the hope your scent will grow on all of those around you.

I hope I am like Ms. Kelly's laundry detergent. I pray I bring comfort to the Father like my mother's Mary Kay night cream brings comfort to me. I hope God likes the scent of my actions the way I like number two pencils. Just as this mother and wife does, hopefully, as He breathes in deep the aroma of my life, He smiles and feels loved.

The Shack

***Spoiler Alert...If you haven't read or seen The Shack, and you plan to, you may want to stop reading now:)


When I was a little girl, one of my favorite things was to climb up on my daddy's lap and be told a story. I always fit very nicely into his lap, taking in deep breaths of his aftershave, listening intently. I loved how he changed the tone in his voice at just the right times. He had a different dialect for every character.

These story times, whether read from a book or told from memory, are precious memories that have led me to a love of reading, writing, and storytelling.  One of the many things for which I thank my earthly father.

In the past years I have found myself drawn more to Christian reading.   I have read books on how to love well, parent better, and find my identity in Christ.  I have laughed along with Jen Hatmaker, Shauna Niequest, and Beth Moore. My eyes have been opened a bit more on a worldview of Christianity and our true mission of Kingdom Living.

For the first time in such a long while,  I find myself in a book of fiction at the current moment. I am a sucker for "book turned to movie" hype.  I don't run to the theater...I grab the book. And it just so happens that this go around the book is centered on one's relationship to God.

I first heard about The Shack from an elder's wife in the church family to which I belong. She mentioned it in a fleeting moment in a ladies' class, saying it had helped her understand the trinity a bit better and God's intervention in our lives. She was sure to mention it wasn't strictly "bible-based", but had opened her eyes just the same.

When I heard the movie was about to hit theaters and created quite a bit of a buzz, my memory went back to the comment in class. So I borrowed the book from my sweet friend, Jill.  I decided with multiple plane flights in the weeks to come, I could knock it out pretty quick.

I was wrong.

The first chapters of the book depict a horrific story...the events that lead to the main character's "Great Sadness".  Mack, a believing-but-not-completely-sold, father of three experiences the unimaginable for any parent. While camping, his seven year old daughter is kidnapped and murdered. Her body isn't found.

Did I mention she was seven years old?

Seven. The same age as Sadie.

My vivid imagination and ability to step into a book and visualize the author's description has always been something I am proud of...I see it as a gift. But in this case my heart broke, my stomach churned, and the only face of a child I could see was Sadie's. It was awful...more than awful.

Michael watched as I picked up the book and slammed it back down on the bedside table. My friend Jill got many texts and calls asking if this book was worth the terror and agony of the first few chapters.  It has been the first book that I have read only paragraphs at a time, not by chapters.

I finally got through the backstory and the writer took me, the reader, to present time...post crime...when Mack is in the middle of what he calls "The Great Sadness". He is led mysteriously back to the scene of his daughter's murder, a shack in the middle of woods in the Oregon wilderness. When he arrives he finds the shack miraculously changed and then meets three folks. And you guessed it...each one represents a third of the trinity...God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Now this is where alot of my friends say it gets weird for them, and I will admit its a bit different.

God appears as a large, African American woman who is called "Papa".

Jesus is portrayed by a friendly and relatable Middle-Eastern man who the author describes as a laborer. He even wears a tool belt and has a workshop.

The Holy Spirit is a small Asian woman named Sarayu who does the supernatural and collects tears.

I would be lying to say that this isn't hard for me as well.  My imagination and visualization kicks in again and I find myself standing in the shack with my mouth hanging wide open right along with Mack.

Mack questions the appearance of God and he is told that God chooses to appear different ways to different people. "Papa" mentions that the way in which the three are appearing is to keep Mack from falling back into his religious conditioning and steer him away from religious stereotypes.

My mind immediately goes to the depiction most of us see in our heads when we visualize Christ. Just past the shoulder brown locks, neatly groomed facial hair, blue eyes, and a stoic face. I bet he didn't have blue eyes. And I just know he smiled much more than he was stoic.

Just after meeting everyone, Mack watches as "Papa" walks into the shack.  Jesus walks over and puts an arm around his shoulder.  Mack asks in bewilderment if he is going crazy and if he should really believe that this woman is God. Jesus in return laughs...

"She's a riot! You can always count on her to throw you a curve or two.  She loves surprises, and even though you might not think it, her timing is always perfect."

"Really?" said Mack, still shaking his head and not sure if he really believes that. "So now what am I supposed to do?"

"You're not suppose to do anything. You're free to do whatever you like." Jesus paused and then continued, trying to help by giving Mack a few suggestions. "I am working on a wood project in the shed. Sarayu is in the garden. Or you could go fishing, canoeing, or go in and talk to Papa."

"Well I sort of feel obligated to go in and talk to him, uh, her."

"Oh" - now Jesus was serious- "don't go because you feel obligated. That won't get you any points around here. Go because it's what you want to do."

Now, you may be thinking this book is out there. Some may be thinking I am not making the best choice in reading it. That's ok...just stay with me for a bit longer.

I have read many books that I do not agree with 100%. There are speakers of different backgrounds and faiths that I differ with, but I listen to their messages.  I have sat across a table from a friend and not aligned perfectly in belief and thought.  Sometimes I even strongly disagree with some people. But somewhere along the way, someone tried to impress this upon how I live my life...

You can learn something from everyone and everything.

And from the above excerpt from this book I learn this...or maybe I should say that I was reminded and my eyes were opened to something that I really knew all along...

God has done enough for me. And God has given me choice...some folks call that a free will. The choice that I make should never be out of complete obligation. Doing all the things that I have been taught to do, if done just for the purpose of "because you should", is worth nothing.  If my good deeds and relationship with God is based solely on what I HAVE to do and not what I WANT to do, we have a problem.

In true Christianity, we obey God because we have been and are loved by God. The only reason there is love in the world today is because of God. Scripture simply tells us "God IS love." (I John 4:8) The only reason we can love others is because He loves us. You can't give something that you haven't been given. Because there is love, we shouldn't obey out of fear, obligation, or shame.

"As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Now remain in my love. If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commands and remain in His love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete." 

 John 15:9-11

At times, I fear that I may have led folks to believe that I think love is the only key to Christian living. Sometimes you need to be sure you are speaking in clarity the things you hold dear. So to be clear...I hold love very dear to my heart, but I also hold obedience just as dear.

Love is filled with obedience. Obedience is filled with love. They go hand in hand. You must not ever separate the two.  The two things must exist together.

And as God tells us, the greatest commands are to love God and to love others. (Matthew 22:36-40) He also tells us to count others better than ourselves. (Philippians 2:3) He didn't put any exceptions in the lines following that.  No "except those that get on your nerves" or "except those that aren't as mannerly as you" or "except those that make poor decisions" or "except those that use bad language and are inappropriate".  I am pretty sure He didn't give us those exceptions because those are the people that need to see His love the most...and they will only see it in us. Shame on us, if we can't show them what true love is, with the hope of leading others to obedience.

These must be the greatest commandments, because without love true obedience can't really exist. And without obedience, a relationship with the Father can't exist. And we must love Him first above all others because we don't know how to love without Him because He is love...always has been.

In the above verse from John, Jesus says he loves, because God loves him. Then he asks his disciples, and us, to love  through obedience. And obeying allows us to stay in His love. And finally, those two things will allow us to know complete joy.

Obedience and love...no room for obligation...only space for grace-filled joy.

"Published"

For the second year in a row, my friend and mission trip partner, Erin, asked me to write a little something for the devotional guide for Lipscomb University Missions.  At this point in time it's the closest I have ever been to being "published". ;)

Photo credit: Erin Gupton

Below you will find my entry for this year's guide...


Kingdom living. For me it's a somewhat new phrase in church circles today. Growing up in  churches of Christ my entire life, I wasn't familiar with certain terms like witness, testimony, and revival. When I got a little bit older in college, I began to figure out that these terms are very beautiful and are a huge part of a Christian walk.

In the last year or so I've heard the term kingdom living or kingdom purpose. I even use it in my conversations these days. But what exactly does it mean? What is our purpose in God's kingdom? How are we supposed to live?

When I found out this was my topic for the devotional guide, I decided to reach out to a large group of friends, family, and church leaders that I've looked up to for years. I asked them two questions: 1. What is kingdom living? 2. What is our purpose in God's kingdom?

I loved delving into all of the answers. Some were very lengthy. Some were short and to the point. A few people responded immediately, while others took a few days and put quite a bit of thought into it. Through all the responses though, it was very easy to see a summary that they all agreed upon. 

Our kingdom purpose... Love God and love others.

And I'm in total agreement! Our Father's purpose for us is to love. A simple four letter word. And there's a hierarchy of who we should love first second and third. We are told that the first commandment and most important commandment is to love God and the second is to love others as ourselves. So naturally we come last. So as we chant at an afterschool program I'm a part of on Wednesdays for children in our local community...

Love God.

Love others.

Love yourself.

One Wednesday, I had a little friend asked me, "Ms. Aletha is it really that easy? He just wants us to love?" 

I believe it is. In today's American church we are obsessed with making things a lot more complicated than they need to be. Friends, kingdom living isn't sitting in a comfortable, cool church building. It isn't ritualistic and full of rules. It isn't a business. It isn't about what makes us feel happy and good. It isn't about how much biblical knowledge we have stored up in our brains.

It is about just what it says it is...LIVING for our KING. And everything He did while on this earth was steeped in and oozed love. 

So after asking this group of folks these questions, it hit me if I had really looked at their lives the answers were already there.  I need not ask questions...I just needed to watch, listen, and learn.

Kingdom Living is the youth minister who loves on kids with humor. He meets them for school lunches and cheers them on at football games. He meets their friends and welcomes them all into his circle. 

Kingdom Living is the young missionary mom. She follows the beatitude to seek justice and mercy. She helps rescue young women from sex trafficking in foreign lands. She travels abroad to grow her family, taking a six year old girl as her daughter. 

Kingdom living is the small town bank president who shows Jesus to his employees and customers. He is forgiving. He is intentional. He is wise, but humble.

Kingdom living is seen in the middle aged grandmother. She loves on her children and their children, but she also seeks out "the least of these". She writes checks so children in need have school supplies and shoes. She doesn't stop there though. She spends many afternoons a year teaching children how to serve and love others.

Kingdom living is graced with tattoos and piercings. It's going on in generations young and old alike. It's quiet, but other times it's loud. Sometimes it's a bit chaotic and messy. But it's beautiful all of the time, drenched in various shapes, forms and fashions of that little four letter word...love.

Fifteen Years Ago

This Spring Break trip to Saba was the fifteenth.  Michael has twisted my arm for a few years now to be the one who ends our "Finale" on Saturday night. "Finale" is a big potluck and gathering of food, fellowship, and entertainment from the children at Sacred Heart School. MT finally succeeded and got his wish this year.

Because tears seem to find their way easily to my eyes, I wrote down what I planned to say. Below you will find what I shared in honor of the fifteen year relationship between Saba and Lipscomb.



Fifteen years ago...

The new airport at Flat Point had just opened.

The Tampa Bay Buccaneers had won the Super Bowl in January.

Jonathan Johnson was a teacher at Sacred Heart School

Eminem, 50 Cent, and Sean Paul were at the top of the charts as young new artisits.

We were not worried about Dory yet, we had just started to try and find Nemo.

Erin Gupton was 11. Myron Hassell was 6. And Peter Johnson was 13.

Fifteen years ago...

The sweet name of Mrs. Clement wasn't even spoken yet on the campus of Saba Comprehensive School.

The space shuttle Colombia disintegrated upon re-entry to earth.

The Netherlands celebrated the birth of Princess Catherina-Amalia that year.

George W. Bush was president of the United States.

Conner Crocker was 8. Michael-Angelo Hassell was 1. Sadie Thomas and Shijdy Riley weren't even thought of yet.

Fifteen years ago...

The Unique Shop was down the one-way street in Windwardside, and Breadline Plaza didn't exist.

Willard's set atop the cliffs on Bobby Hill.

War was ever present in the Middle East. The world knew a new type of terrorism.

Luke Countryman was 7. Rachel Dye was a sophomore in highschool. Billy Jean Rodriguez was about to be born on plane on the way to St. Martin.

Fifteen years ago, the local Saba Comprehensive School food preparation, care, and tourism teacher was a young, Southern U.S. gal named Aletha. Her students called her Ms. Thomas. And this teacher was in love.  She was in love with her new tall, dark, and handsome husband. But she also had fallen in love with a 5-square miles God had placed in the middle of the Caribbean Sea.

I was completely in love with this little island and her people...and I still am.

Fifteen years ago, thirteen people landed on Saba and carried the name of Lipscomb University.

And fifteen years later, in many minds, when March rolls around you can't have one without the other.

Some may say that this all started as something random. That by chance two folks ended up calling Saba home for a couple years and one of them happened to have been a Lipscomb graduate. Many people call it coincidence. But God knows.

God knew we needed Saba. God knew Lipscomb would have a place here. God knew a relationship was needed. All of this is a result of one thing...God's love.

Many folks think Lipscomb brings a lot to the island and we teach a lot of needed things.  That this is one sided. I assure you that isn't the whole story.  It isn't one sided at all.  You see, I...we...Lipscomb learns a lot from the island...from you.  You have forever changed us and all the others that have graced your shores in the past fifteen years.

So I end with not my words, or the words of Michael, but I end with words of a wise and strong Saban. In fact, I'd say she is one of the wisest people I have ever known, and I am very thankful she shares two of her grandsons with me.

"To have love you must have God. Love comes only from God. The saying says the one who lives in love, lives in God. In my opinion you must have God to have love. Love comes from the heart. You must have a pure, clean heart to see people through loving eyes. Love is not an easy thing. To love you have to be understanding, encouraging, respectful, forgiving. Sometimes you want to love somebody...they may be rude and disrespectful...just try your best and pray about it. The same for forgiving people; whatever they do, you love them and forgive them. Love is not an easy thing. To love you have to have a pure, clean heart."
                                                                              Mrs. Carmen Simmons-Nicholson

Up Above the Clouds

Up above the clouds.

Sadie asked me on the way down two weeks ago, if we were close to heaven. I simply replied...

"Probably so, but we are about to be even closer."

Heaven on earth is many things to many people, but for me it's a five-square island in the Caribbean Sea. It's lush and green. The road is paved in concrete. Goats run free and iguanas line the walls.  The sounds of children's squeals and laughter fill the air. It's people fill my heart up with a full and joyful love like none other. 

To spend time in this oasis for the soul, energizes me. Makes me realize that life should be a lot simpler...and focused on the little things. 

Little things. Like the way a child's hand fits ever so easily into that of an adult's. The wind blowing through your hair. Like the windows rolled down on the car and conversation as you turn a curve and change gears. A cup of afternoon coffee or tea with a friend. Playing dodgeball on a Tuesday afternoon. 

The little things. Those must be more present in my life back in the chaos of America. I learn so much from my Unspoiled Queen and her lovely people.

The people that fly in these planes with me are a bit of heaven on earth for me as well. Many of them have already meshed back into the mundane. Their adventure ended on Sunday night as their feet once again walked on the ground in Nashville. 

This year's Spring Break team was a beautiful collaboration of seasoned and new.  The seasoned brought help and assurance to me and Michael and familiarity and comfort to the people of Saba. The new brought excitement and rejuvenation. New friendships and connections were made that won't easily be broken.

Relationship. 

Many mission efforts are about hard working service; building houses or digging wells. Many others focus on medical care and providing physical needs. Others focus on caring for orphans and widows. 

A lot of our Lipscomb friends get odd looks when they explain their Spring Break excursion.

"You didn't paint a house? You didn't build a bridge? This wasn't a medical mission?"

Jesus did heal. He fed and provided physical needs. He and his followers I am sure served in the most selfless of ways. 

But first, He had to know the people.

He sat at their tables and visited their houses. He listened to their problems. He shed tears with them and I just know He laughed hysterically with them at times. He talked about life, in order to bring the Giver of Life to everyone He came in contact with. 

And I saw Him in so many people last week, Lipscomb and Saban alike.

I saw Him on a playground as Grant Mason and Conner Crocker helped a little guy named Melnese up onto a ping pong table. 

I saw Him as Jeff and Maricelly Johnson welcomed not only 26 Lipscomb team members into their home, but 10-15 other folks that needed the kindness of hospitality. 

I saw Him in the quiet leadership of AK and Lauren. 

I witnessed Him as Jose Luis took time to take my husband to lunch. 

I saw Him as Richinel, Cedric and Henriques interrupted their days to make sure we had what we needed and we were on time.

I saw Him in the humility and patience of our sweet Jill Momma. She is more than I can speak. 

I saw Him as Nancy Caroline was called by K1 to come and play. I saw Him as Jackson helped teach the K2 class.

I saw Him in the tears of little ones as they told me how much they missed Victoria, Devon, and Hannah.

I saw Him in the new friendships Ethan seem to make so easily with his teammates and those he met on Saba.

I saw Him as Myron sat and talked with Shayne during recess. An older Saban "boy", mentoring a younger, even if neither realized it.

I saw Him in Carly. She is engrossed in the lives of Sabans, young and old. They all ask about her and know without a shadow of a doubt she cares for them. 

I saw Him in the confidence of Jessica, the openness of Nelsia, and in the teacher that Peter has become. 

I saw Him as Luke walked with Jamal, Lana sat with Bri, and Rachel and Jacob loved on so many.

I saw Him as Ms. Lynne stepped outside her comfort zone and as Principal Diane ordered us pizza. 

I saw Him in how Holly's face lit up when she played with Jayden. And I saw Him smile as Sarah prayed to Him. 

I saw Him as Grant and Erin sat and interviewed both sides of the table about 15 years of the Saba-Lipscomb bond. Not so much for the info for documentary, but to truly know the people they spoke to and that they felt a part of the greater picture. 

I saw Him as Steven wept just before Jeffery walked out into the safety of the waters and I held his hand. 

I saw Him just as Trisha rushed to the gate as I was about to walk out to the plane today. 

I saw Him in the love and friendship of two seven year olds...one who calls the Caribbean home and one who is a Tennessee Volunteer. Time and distance are never a barrier, never have been, all because of one word...

Relationship. 

God made Adam. Then He made Eve. 

God kept Noah on the Ark...and He put Noah's family there with him.

Moses had Aaron. Joshua had Caleb. Naomi had Ruth.

Jesus chose 12 followers and they became friends. They were a tight circle. 

God gave Mary a John and Paul a Timothy. 

Sometimes we loose sight of the fact that we serve the same God that we read of in the Bible. The same God that showed up in a burning bush and parted the waters of the sea...He is the God we serve. The God that sent down manna and walked with Shadrack, Meshack, and Abednego, walks with us. The same God that made all these connections, is still very much alive and at work today. 

He made us for relationship. That is our mission. 

He gave Lipscomb to Saba.

He gave Saba to Lipscomb. 

What My Husband Learned from a Muslim Man

"In Christ Jesus we have BOLDNESS and ACCESS with confidence through FAITH in HIM."

Ephesians 3:12

So if you visit here often, you hear a slew of stories about Saba, three kids, and how those four together have changed me. I have been known to write a bit about my dad and mom and my family life growing up. Where you come from has a lot to do about who you become.

But one person who I might mention from time to time but I don't give much page space to is the man who I call my husband. I suppose that is for a few reasons, not worth mentioning here in this moment. But you can't have the other four without him first. Michael Thomas is the reason I know about and have a relationship with the island. He is the man who made me a mother. If I am honest, he is my greatest strength many times, but in other times I have allowed the enemy to make him the source of my weaknesses. 

We both are very much extroverts. We both love to lead and we like to "move and shake" things up. We get pretty passionate about what we believe to be right and just. We work really well together and partner on many endeavors. But sometimes we can get in each other's way and our pride can get the better of us. 

His loud laughter, expressive eyebrows, and how he excessively talks with his hands are some of my favorite things. He has a few characteristics I could do without...and I pray fervently that he overlooks my not-so-attractive characteristics that plague him week to week.

At the end of the day, our current relationship is a more true picture of what love is rather than the fairytales and daydreams I had when I entered the marriage. I say that with conviction and optimism today...because it's true, and I will need to be reminded of that when we hit an occasional bump down the road, as all couples do.

Photo credit: Tiffany Gannon

Jackson was given Michael's loyalty, his love of sports, and his humor. Nancy Caroline was given his analytical thinking and drive for perfection. Sadie was given his goofiness and spirit of adventure. 

They all have been given Michael's tender heart.

This past weekend I was able to vividly see the effects and results of that tender heart of their dad. He came home from ten days in Dakar, Senegal, Africa.  He spent his time there seeing around 500 local folks, extending love to them in the form of medical care, all in the name of Jesus.

Michael during his trip. 

Photo courtesy of a fellow team member, Susan Smith. 

As I left church services this past Sunday and made my way over to Parsley's Market on the four-lane, I expected to pick up an exhausted, weary, perhaps even stinky traveler.  I should have known better. He was all smiles. I'd like to think it was the sight of me, but it might have been the Diet SunDrop I extended to him as he stepped out of the car.

As we drove home and we visited as I finished a big Sunday lunch spread, he had lots to tell me.  He had story after story of the team he had worked with, the new culture he had experienced, and the people he had cared for and how they had changed him. He even pulled out some of his purchases at the market.  If you know his sense of fashion, you might could imagine.  I know you are anxiously awaiting to see some of the local attire he brought back.

The Dakar team.

Photo courtesy of Darryl and Terry Deason.

One story has stuck with me. My mind continues to go back to it.  I can tell it turned that tender heart of his even a bit more tender.  It centers around one of the Muslim men he took care of during the clinic hours. 

In the first two days of his stay he had found out that 90% of the population was Muslim. He had heard the Muslim call the prayer cast out loudly into the city five times each day. This was new to him, and was a bit more distracting than the occasional roar of our island's twin otter planes or the nightly tree frogs on Saba.

That Monday morning, I imagine he was most eager to see his first patients, but as anyone would be I am sure he was a tad bit nervous. He would be thorough and careful not to miss anything that day. And knowing him, I am sure he was anxious about the conditions he would see and the people he would meet.

When his first male patient came in, he began with the normal doctor visit questions. We all know the routine...

"Hi, I am Michael Thomas, and I will be taking care of you. What brings you in today?"

The only difference is that the man didn't understand the words coming out of my husband's mouth, but the words that then followed out of the mouth belonging to Birame Ka, the translator assigned to Michael's room for the week.

After the initial questions, the exam ensued. Listening to the heart and lungs. Looking into the ears, nose, and throat. Reflexes. 

I don't know if every physician does or not, but the father of my children always looks over the skin, checking for odd colorations or blemishes that might need some further attention. He looks intently as he rubs his hands ever so lightly over the exposed skin of his patient. And he did so with this man.

As he made his inspection down to the man's left ankle he noticed a rough, raised, calloused oval shape. He rubbed his finger over the spot inquisitively. As he continued to exam he noticed a similar spot on the man's fourth toe. It was odd.

The man could see the curiosity and concern in Michael's eyes. He said some words that the American ears in the room could not understand and then Birame helped the good doctor out...

"I am Muslim. Those are callouses from where I kneel to pray."

I don't know for sure if was seen or not in his demeanor, but Dr. Thomas was touched by this explanation. He was even further touched as all the other Muslim men came and went out of his makeshift exam room for the week. Almost all of them had the matching calloused spots denoting their faith and dedication to prayer.

As this story spilled from the mouth of my husband, he paused, and then ended the story by telling me this...

"I don't have callouses."

A big difference in me and Michael is the way we communicate emotionally. I spew and spew and spew. Sometimes I get so frustrated with Michael and his inability to express emotion verbally. Shame on me. There is so much truth in the simple ways he lets you know what he is feeling and thinking. In that short comment, I got him.

We serve and worship the one true God. Our faith should be so great that it can be visibly seen and felt. It needs to be so strong and big that it even is uncomfortable at times.  Others should be able to see it, causing them to question, giving us the chance to tell them about what made Jesus more than just a prophet, that he was the Messiah.

We should humbly come to the throne of God so much that we have sore knees and calloused ankles, and perhaps just not metaphorically.

My husband learned that from a Muslim man. And in return, I learned that from my husband.