God, Where Are You? {For When You Feel Forsaken}

I’m over at Pick Your Portion today sharing this:

To be forsaken. Abandoned. Ignored. Disowned.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
 Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?
 O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer,
 and by night, but I find no rest” (Psalm 22:1).

When we read the languish-laden words of the Psalmist, do we not wonder how it is that David, the man after God’s own heart, was unable to compose a cry to bend the Father’s heart? And then, how do these once prophetic words fall from the parched lips of the dying Son, the man of God’s own heart? How hard it is to understand.

If you’ve ever felt like heaven has been sealed up from your prayers, then this post is for you. To read the rest, join us at Pick Your Portion.

Who’s the Boss? {For When Children Will Not Listen}

“You can’t push a string,” a favorite expression of my husband’s late boss, found its way out of my husband’s sales office and became a well-played line and prevailing philosophy in our home. It was our parental rallying cry against the psychological torment of two very strong-willed children.

I grew up in a different era of family life. My four sisters and I had standard-issue sass and sneak but when push came to shove the convicted resolve in our father’s eyes sobered us quickly to the path of least resistance. “Because I said so” were magic-filled words children dare not challenge.

If there is such a thing, my two boys entered the world without the authority-deferent gene. From the time they could talk, ‘no’ was attached to every phrase they said. It seemed they learned to walk only to run away from us. They were put to bed only to keep us awake. Like a surprised hiker meeting up with a bear I often postured myself to appear bigger than I am in order to hold my ground against the rebellion forces. Prior to children Dennis the Menace was a favorite classic of mine.…

I’m over at Pick Your Portion today. Join us there to read the rest.

Tomorrow’s Hallelujah {For When You Feel Weak}

It always begins the same—a thousands specks of light converge above the right eye and break into pierces and prickles of pain coursing through my entire body. Some episodes I can muscle through, others lay me flat, as was the case this last time. From my upstairs bed I can hear the world moving on without me. The boy is bypassing breakfast in favor of Halloween candy from the entryway jar. His dad admonishes him not to slam the door, “Don’t forget, your mom isn’t feeling well.”

How I hate being the wife/mom/friend who doesn’t feel well. For several years now I’ve reluctantly accepted life with this stubborn autoimmune disorder. Because of it I have missed out on things I love. I have also seen the patience and kindness of steadfast love in the gracious care of family and friends. I lay blanketed in the woven mingle of guilt and appreciation…

Read the rest at Pick Your Portion.