Come~~Celebrate Easter with Me

~~A Special Guest Post Written by my Mom, Debbie Roque~~

Way back yonder in the “good old days”, some of my fondest memories were at Easter. Easter was a wonderful time. Let me introduce you to a bit of my past. Now that I am “old”, my mind wanders at times into memory-lane... 😊 The good memories.

My childhood was far from perfect, but there were some lovely memories. My thoughts go back to church, Easter egg hunts, a special meal, and my new patent-leather shoes. 😊 I remember walking to the little Baptist church in my town with my three sisters and brother behind my mama. We looked like little ducklings all in a row.

My feisty five-foot mama made sure we got some church in us. It was a long walk, but I don’t remember minding it at all. There was a sweet smell in the air; everything seemed to be blooming, I remember passing all the neighborhood houses and the steeple bell ringing in the distance. How simple life was. We had our little Easter hats on, with the elastic bands and the little ribbons flying in the breeze. My little brother had his bowtie on. Almost everyone dressed their best. We believed it was irreverent not to. Easter morning was one of the most special days of the year. Some day our “EASTER MORNING” will come and oh, what a happy day that will be!

Now mind you, I didn’t always have a new pair of shoes on Easter. My mama didn’t have much money, but when she had a little extra, she’d buy us a new pair of shiny patent leather shoes, because it was a special day. I must say the excitement of new shiny shoes was exhilarating, to say the least.

I remember arriving at church, seeing people walking, smiling, coming from all different directions while the church bells were ringing. I can still hear the bells! 😊 Two of my sisters and I would sing in the little choir loft that held a handful of elderly people. Funny how fast time has flown; now I’m elderly. 😊 I would try to hide behind one of the elderly women because I was somewhat shy. I can remember sitting in the pew and seeing the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. We would sing that great hymn: “Christ the Lord is Risen Today – Hallelujah!” The pastor was a sweet, jolly, somewhat-older man. He smiled and shook our hands as we walked out of the church.

And then we would start our little journey back home, skipping, hopping, and jumping, finally arriving to a delicious meal consisting of ham and lasagna. For us, it just wasn’t a holiday if you didn’t have lasagna on the table! 😊 I wonder if all Italians think that way! We would open our dime-store Easter baskets with a small package of jelly beans, a paddleball, and I think some sort of coloring book with a tiny box of crayons. We didn’t have much candy in those days, so the jelly beans were yummy even if some were the color I didn’t particularly like; I ate them just the same. I remember my aunts and uncles coming over for desserts, oh, so many Italian pastries and other wonderful sweets.

Good memories last a lifetime. Memories are good for the soul, especially the older you become, the more you ponder and reminisce, and I pity the person who doesn’t! 😊

I can remember an Easter egg hunt that took place in town at one of the schools. The older kids would hunt in the woods behind the school and the younger ones would be on the grounds. Eggs were strewn all over the grass. Prize eggs were placed in the woods and also on the grounds.

The Easter bonnet contest that took place with the hunt was so exciting. I couldn’t wait to make my hat about two weeks before. I believe the Easter bonnet hats had to be homemade. Now folks, understand my mama didn’t have much, and was somewhat preoccupied with difficulties and so I could come and go as I pleased up to a point. I was quite determined to create a “masterpiece” Easter bonnet with all kinds of odds and ends, little do-dads, pieces of paper, etc., until the hat pretty much looked like a very tall steeple on top of my head!

On the day of the hunt, my sister and I arrived at the school. I had my homemade hat all prepared. Lots of kids were there. I arrived to see such an array of beautiful hats with flowers and all kinds of creations. Different nettings, bright colors, etc. I wasn’t intimidated in the least. I wanted to win a prize. We all gathered in a huge circle and walked slowly as the judges made their decisions. I was trying very hard to hold that hat in place on my head from falling! 😊

The childlike person in me wasn’t distracted by those beautiful hats, I was really proud of my towering steeple! When my sister and I talk about it now, well over fifty years later, we start laughing and laughing. I always ask her the question, “Why didn’t you tell me my hat looked so ‘different’ from the others?” She was always the one my other sisters and I looked up to because of her maturity. Her answer is, “I don’t know; I wasn’t even thinking about it.” Then we start laughing again until our sides ache and tears run down our faces. Then when I catch my breath, I lovingly rebuke her for not telling me how comical my hat looked! 😊 Then we laugh some more. Good memories. We all have them – something to talk about as the years have passed.

Now, mind you, I did win a prize! YES! Whether the judges pitied me or not, I was the proud recipient of a box with a chocolate fruited egg in it. I was so proud of that hat and so ecstatic. The simplicity of being a child. It certainly was an “original”, and wasn’t the Lord good to me! 😊 I felt like I was in heaven with that little prize.

Now my sister left the school because they were ready to finish up the event, but I still lingered because someone said that a prize egg had been left in the woods. And so once again I was determined to find that prize egg, even though the hunt was over! 😊 I truly believed it was out there, and I think it’s still out there! 😊 😊

My sister came back to tell me to come home for supper – and why in the world was I still there? I told her that I was still looking for the prize egg. Yes, my friends, I was still searching for the prize! 😊 My sister and I laugh about that, too.

Good memories. It’s good to ponder. Lingering, pondering, just staying awhile. And so I sit here wondering what was it like when Mary Magdalene wept at the tomb of Jesus? In the Book of John, chapter 20, the disciples went back to their homes, but Mary stood outside the tomb crying. Sometimes lingering isn’t all that bad. I lingered for a prize egg. Lingering can be a means of hope in a longing heart. With a childlike faith, knowing that the prize egg was there, I stayed behind. Hoping, lingering, watching. Do you ever wonder what it will be like when that great day, “EASTER MORNING”, will come and HOPE will become a reality and the great promise is fulfilled and you can cry, “RABBONI!”? All things will become new.

And so we wait. We wait because we know that we will indeed find what we have hoped for. And He our Hope, our Jesus, will wipe away every tear from your eyes. There will be no more death or mourning, or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away (Revelation 21:4)

And so, my friends, what good memories do you have?

“Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from Him.” Psalm 62:5a

“Behold, I am coming soon!” Revelation 22:7

The Sacrifice--A Poem

O Light of Grace
I lift my eyes--
The sacrifice
Lays on the altar stone
Alone
My timid heart 
With trepidation
Kneels before Your love

Remove my doubt
My clinging to
The things of dust
The clay
The heavy things
That weigh--
That weigh me down. 

I raise the knife
And flesh cries NO--

I go
Away and lay it down--the blade
Until my soul hangs heavy
Like a weight  around my neck
Regret will overcome me 
If I turn away 
From this stroke now. 

I place my heart--the dear thing-there upon the stone
The sacrifice lies still 
And in one final movement
Raise the knife and let it fall. 

My eyes are closed
My soul is stripped 
Of breath--

But when 
I tear these orbs away from darkness 
Into the expected sorrow 

I find there
Not the sacrifice I thought
But only grace sufficient
Hushing me with calm 
And offering the balm of hope



What was loss is gain
And in the dying ashes--life--
Not death--
But life
The Lamb of life--
Life fair
Looks back at me 
And laughs with joy. 

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The Risen Glory

Cross-made-homely, scorn-crowned, scarred-

the Crucified

His hands in flames

and feet

held captive by the nails

               that tore

His man-garb,

Splattered blood

on windy ground.

The sky

                fell dark

and ominous

The vale, dark-rent and torn asunder

                               while the thunder drowned

the drone of earth

                       As God - as Man

bowed down His head

                         surrendered up His soul

and died. The Crucified--

and It is Finished.

Finished--

                            Father-grace-bestowed

The Son-born-wrath

The anguished face, dark sky

and grace

washed over me

These beams of mercy

flood my soul

with light--------------

His life

                       for mine

                                      The creature-homely

Drinking fully

Deeply-

Glory, glory!

Finished grace

And mercy

                     Wholly

                     Richly satisfied

The blood applied.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friends, I pray that you have a blessed Easter celebrating the resurrection of our precious Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ . . . I'd like to offer you my devotional, This Last Surrender, for $0.99 (for Kindle only). Share it with a family member, friend, or download a copy for yourself! I pray that it will be a blessing and refreshment for you and draw your heart nearer to our Lord and Savior.

Find it on Amazon: HERE

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Christmas and the Wealth of Tradition

Eternal Love, warm and new and ancient and beautiful, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger . . . the Lamb of the ages, helpless and scented with fresh-birth and sweet straw and the clear, thin scent of the cold night air. And He is Emmanuel, God with us, God with His people, the Firstborn of Creation with the late-born of men.

He is here, in our hearts, His presence within us, His presence all around us, His presence speaking to us through His creation. We light a candle. The lovely glimmer of light for remembrance. We remember and we are hushed and His presence is with us—not through the candle, but the candle helps us to remember. Helps us to remember, because we so easily forget and are burdened, heavy-weighed with the stresses and the visiting and the baking and the relatives and the bustle of the season. Helps us to quiet our hurrying hearts and remember.

And I think of the film The Nativity Story and the wise man bending low before the tiny King and offering his myrrh of remembrance, the myrrh that speaks of the Sacrifice yet to be made—a tangible symbol of what is to come, the anointing of His body for burial after the crucifixion. Symbols, remembrances. We are human and so easily forget. Sometimes in His compassion towards us, the Lord provides a symbol, a means to help us to remember.

We don’t need the Advent wreath, the poinsettias, the Nativity scene so gently and lovingly placed in our homes, the lights, the crisp green wreaths, the carols playing in our cars, the meaningful Advent hymns sung in our churches. But they may help us to remember. And we so easily forget. Forget what Christmas is all about—the King of glory coming down to us in innocence and holy light and dwelling among us. God with us; Glory with us—to the praise of His glory.

One of the Christmas traditions that sticks in my mind is the Christmas Eve service in the church of my childhood. At the very end of the service, the lights were dimmed and we each held a candle and sang "Silent Night" with our brothers and sisters. And our hearts were hushed in that quiet country church and we remembered together that silent night long ago when the Sacrifice lay in a crude manger and came in humility, mainly unnoticed by the world at large.

A small number compared to the vast armies of men and women celebrating materialism and “good cheer” and “giving” at parties and in homes around the world, but we gathered around the Sacrifice, gathered quietly, as they did so many years ago. We gathered quietly and we sang reverently and we pondered afresh what the Almighty had done for our souls. And we brought Him glory and wonder, as the Wise Men did, and we brought Him adoration and reverence, as the shepherds did, and we layed our souls low before Him, the Humble God-Man who was and is and is to come.

And we quietly left the sanctuary and our hearts were hushed and our spirits were lifted and we went our separate ways to our homes and we slept in our beds that are not straw but are warm and comfortable and we thought of the One for Whom we lighted a candle. And we thought of the light that burns brightly in our hearts, the Spirit of Truth and Grace, the One that the world will not receive, but by His grace and mercy, we have received.

Symbols are not necessary, but they are important. They leave visual pictures in our minds and impress upon us the importance of certain events, people, days, times. The lighting of a candle, the meaning behind the candy cane, the names of Jesus--“Lamb,” the “Good Shepherd,” the Rod of Jesse, the King of Kings—all evoking vivid pictures- symbols, of our Lord.

The symbols are not to be worshiped, but they help us to worship the One whom they represent. They help us to remember. They help us to pause and to think and to wonder. We are not bound by tradition, but tradition touches us, touches our souls and preserves something of the sacred surrounding certain events. Tradition keeps something for us, keeps the wonder, the significance, holds the key to meaning; tradition is not the meaning itself, but a means.

This is one of the reasons that I enjoy J.R.R. Tolkein’s The Lord of the Rings so much—his books are full of symbolism and wonder and imagination—so many things in them remind me of truths in the Scriptures and I think that the Lord allowed this for a reason—that even a fictional story can be used to point to the one True Story. And this is just what symbols can do--point us to truth.

Next Week: Part 2

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Is He Enough?

“At the bar of common sense Jesus Christ’s statements may seem mad; but bring them to the bar of faith, and you begin to find with awestruck spirit that they are the words of God. Trust entirely in God, and when He brings you to the venture, see that you take it. We act like pagans in a crisis, only one out of a crowd is daring enough to bank his faith in the character of God.”

--Oswald Chambers

How deep is my faith? Only so deep as it trusts the promises of God and presses them boldly to the heart. Only so deep as the obedience it offers. Only so deep as the surrender that it gives in the day to day choices that I make. If I am unwilling to trust the Lord where it doesn’t seem to make human “sense,” then I am unwilling to trust the Lord, and I have spurned His wisdom and authority. I have silently stated that He is not enough. 

My Mom loves the “old-time” preachers, and the other day we were listening to Vance Havner on CD. He said, in his simple, homespun way, “There are three kinds of lies—black lies, white lies, and statistics.” He then went on to explain that statistics have their place, but that as Christians we are often prone to quietly (maybe without even realizing it at times) rely upon them rather than upon God. 

I wonder, how many times in my life, have I sensed the Holy Spirit prodding me, pressing some truth upon my conscience, urging me in some step of obedience that didn’t seem to make human sense, and I have ignored it. Ignored it because I was afraid of what people would think, afraid of what Christians would think...

And I think, when I did obey, when I did walk in obedience and surrender to Him, how great was my joy at that moment and the sense of His Presence and spiritual power were tasted and realized. 

One of my favorite saints is George Mueller—here was a man through God’s grace who was willing to bank his life upon the Word of God and the witness of the Holy Spirit to his conscience through that Word. He consistently prayed through the Bible on his knees time after time throughout his life. He carried out what we would now consider a huge “operation,” opening five orphanages by faith and through prayer, refusing to ask for donations, only letting his needs be known before God in petition. He wanted to testify that God is able to move men through prayer, and indeed, His God was enough.  Beginning with the equivalent of 50 cents, George Mueller began this great work, and though his faith was greatly and daily tested, he continued to only let his needs be known to God throughout the course of his days. 

I hear about million-dollar church-building projects and the fundraising structures that are set up to support them and I wonder, is the reliance really upon God? If the church, if I truly took God seriously, and spent the time upon our knees petitioning God, rather than constructing elaborate, frantic fundraising campaigns, would He disappoint them, would He disappoint me? Or is it that we are sometimes afraid that God will not come through for us and we will be embarrassed in the end? If that is so, are we serving ourselves, or God? Are we doing the work for Him, or so that people will praise us and think how wonderfully spiritual we are? 

I struggled this week in trusting God. I looked at my circumstances, at my “poverty,” and I questioned in my heart whether God was “enough.” Is He “enough” when it comes down to my daily bread? Is He enough when the car is making funny noises, when a husband’s hours get cut at work, when an unexpected expense arises, when the iron breaks? Is He enough? 

Is He enough when I contemplate the calling that He has placed upon my life, when I look at the seeming immenseness of it, and it overwhelms me? Is He enough when the baby is crying and fussy, when the animals get sick, when I am weary in the day to day, when the faucet is dripping? 

Is He enough when I look at other Christians around me and they are warm and well-fed and they travel and smell pretty and their husbands buy them expensive jewelry—is He enough? Do I possess that “godliness with contentment,” which is “great gain” in the midst of my trials? 

And is He enough for the future—the future of grace that stretches before me-the calling that looms large upon my heart and that I cannot forsake? Is He enough? 

He is enough . . . “Bless the Lord, O my soul and forget not all His benefits . . . who forgives your sins and heals all your diseases, Who fulfills your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s . . . (Psalm 103:1-3)”

He is enough. 

Photo credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/carlchapman/1393708310/">Carl Chapman</a> / <a href="http://foter.com">Foter</a> / <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/">Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic (CC BY-SA 2.0)</a>

Jesus is Enough . . . Easter Memories and Mercies

We sat there together on the chalky white bench.

Chips of paint peeling off and dropping like ants to the ground. 

Londie and I . . . sisters in our freshly-pressed Easter clothes, squeaky new shoes on our feet. 

We always wore our new church shoes on Easter Day. 

My Mom would take us to the old Ames, or to Ann and Hope, and we would pick out shoes for Easter -- shoes that we would be able to wear to church through the summer. 

I remember the white patent leather and trying not to let my new shoes get any black smudges on them. 

We were so excited . . . 

Easter was so special to us . . . 

The Day of Resurrection, of joy, of hope after the long days of Winter. 

A Day to celebrate our Risen Lord and the glory that He has shed abroad in our hearts. 

I remember my Mama's face shining in church, the hope in her eyes as she sang the beautiful Easter hymns with gusto. My Mama loved much . . . and loves much still . . . 

My Mom and sister, Londie--shortly after my Mom became a Christian

And my sister, Londie, so full of spunk and like a little mother to me, always helping, always encouraging, always guiding without bossing, her voice scratchy and strong, singing the hymns, too. 

And then little Lishy, her tiny, short legs swinging in the church pew, her long hair tumbling down around her big, lovely, searching eyes.  

Finally, me, smack in the middle -- frizzy dark hair wisping around my face -- my aspirations in those days mainly limited to trying to imitate Sandy Patti, and getting to act the part of "Laura" in all of our Little House on the Prairie imaginary play. 

We would go home to the crispy browned ham and to the lovely round rolls and to our earlier-opened Easter baskets. And desserts would be at Auntie's -- all the wealth and fanfare of an Italian family's delicious sweet spread. 

Easter was so special . . . 

My Mom, beforehand, would prepare her "Easter bread," a huge anise-flavored braid, shiny and decadently-festooned with bright Easter eggs all colored and tucked in to its creases all around. 

And we would cut huge chunks of it and revel in all of its bready goodness. 

We didn't have much, but we had Jesus, and He is enough. 

Easter was special and Jesus risen and our hearts glad . . . 

The glory of our hearts and the light of our eyes -- a time for celebration and rejoicing -- a time to delight in His precious gift of life. 

A time to shout for joy in our hearts and to wear our new shoes and to proclaim that He is risen indeed . . . 

For He is . . . 

But for Grace . . .

"There is no pride so dangerous, none so subtle and insidious, as the pride of holiness." 

----Andrew Murray

"She wears A LOT of make-up." That was my first thought. 

I looked at her picture and I mentally judged her character based on the amount of mascara that she had on. A Godly woman. A woman who had proven herself a servant of the Father, a humble example of grace. 

What was I really thinking? What was my heart saying? "I would NEVER wear that much."

Did it matter how much foundation she had on her face? Didn't the Lord see through to the beauty of her soul? But here I was, judging by the outward appearance, thinking myself just a tiny bit better because I supposedly had a tad bit more "discretion," and because my lipstick shade was just a little lighter. 

We can become caught up in "secondary" issues -- things that don't ultimately matter in the light of eternity and lose sight of what is real and important. 

Is it right to pierce my ears?

Can I wear a skirt that is just above my knee?

How tight is too tight?

Is my hair long enough? Is it wrong to cut it?

We become encumbered in these issues and forget what the Lord requires of us--

To do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God. 

And there is a present pride that is real and rampant in each of us -- that needs to be subdued and crushed daily, through the power of the risen Christ. 

And that is the sin of rebellion.

The old, Garden-of-Eden transgression. 

We think of rebellion as those "obvious" sins -- drunkenness, swearing, premarital sex, open flagrant acts--

We forget about the "little," hidden things, the carefully polished piece of forbidden fruit that we conceal in our pocket, shining it until it is just ripe enough to bite. 

We forget that "rebellion" is more than drinking, swearing, disobedience to parents, premarital sex. 

Rebellion is any form of pride.

Because pride is rebellion against God.

And this is why the Pharisees and the Sadducees received Jesus' greatest rebuke. These "whitewashed tombs" were literally full of rebellion and hypocrisy. 

I can do well to heed the warning . . . It is only too easy to become a beautiful, marbled place of death.

Fairly recently, I was surprised (surprised, but not shocked; there is nothing "new" under the sun) to hear that the President of Vision Forum was stepping down. 

A strong advocate of the "Quiverfull" movement and a powerful influence within some conservative Christian circles, Doug Phillips was guilty of the sin of a "natural" man--he behaved "inappropriately" with a woman who was not his wife. 

And so he and his family suffered the shame of his indiscretion -- to a greater degree, I think, because of his strong, insistent advocacy of Christian marriage, the importance of the marriage covenant, the purity of his own sons and daughters, and (in my own personal opinion) a strongly legalistic, unbiblical approach to the whole issue of biblical "courtship" and childbearing, and a father's patriarchal role within his family -- and how these issues should play themselves out within Christian relationships and family structures. 

(I would add a brief note here that I believe that there are some very Godly individuals who subscribe to these and to other such movements -- It is my personal conviction that these individuals are misled in their interpretation of Scripture in these particular areas -- but some are otherwise very sincere and Godly individuals who love the Lord with all of their hearts.)

I've always felt uncomfortable with Doug Phillips and his teachings because they smacked of pride to me -- not overt pride, but always the undercurrent of it. 

And I see the same pride in my own heart and shrink back. 

I know from experience the power that it can wield. 

I know from experience the danger of thinking too highly of myself.

And I know how capable I am of it.

My husband and I saved our first kiss for our wedding day -- Were we any more "pure" than Elisabeth Elliot and her first husband, Jim, who shared their first kiss on the eve of their engagement?  

I think not -- I know not.  Each child of God is responsible before Him for their actions and in-actions. And the Holy Spirit convicts different Christians in different ways in these so-called gray areas where the will of the Father needs to be sought for each individual life--always within the guidelines of His Word, but unique to individual Christians as they seek His Spirit. 

And again these decisions need to be prayerful, obedient responses to His Word, applied in our lives through prayer and direction from the Holy Spirit.

It is when we cling to a "pet" idea, philosophy, or principle -- or even to our own moral goodness based upon our interpretation of Scripture, rather than to Christ Himself -- then, no matter how "good" or wholesome or "right" these things may be, we are in danger of succumbing to spiritual pride. 

He alone can teach us whether or not it is best for us to wear a skirt above the knee (and it may be "right" for some and not for others--the issue is the motive of the heart--not the exact length of fabric), when the "right" time is to share a kiss, what respect for our husband means for us Biblically, and so on.

Does it matter what term we use to describe the time that we spent with our life partner before marriage? As someone once commented, "I've known some very impure 'courters,' and some very God-fearing 'daters.'" 

And I won't say that the words that we use to describe things aren't important -- they are -- but they aren't the "end-all" -- rather, our heart's motives and the fear that we have towards God are. 

And there is much good--or at least, good principles--in many of the things that Doug Phillips, R.C. Sproul Jr. and those who are like-minded, purport.

For example, their "quiverfull" idea which springs from the truth that "children are a treasure from the Lord."

Their high regard for Biblical manhood and womanhood.

Their insistence upon purity before and within the marriage relationship.

However, it is when these ideas and truths are not joined with humility and a sincere searching of God's Word that things go awry and confusion sets in.

When, instead, the idea itself is clung to proudly and arrogantly, dismissing any other interpretation of God's Word -- within the realm of orthodoxy and legitimate interpretations of the Scripture.

We can strain out the gnat and swallow the camel.

And our own spiritual pride entraps us.

When I was a young girl, if someone would comment to my Mom about her parenting, she would always answer -- "It's only by the grace of God."

And her constant response made a strong impression upon me.

I knew, from my experience, that my Mom gave all of her heart and strength, poured every ounce of herself into raising us.

She literally went for years without buying new clothing for herself, made strong, costly sacrifices to stay home with us when we were very little, and was constantly, mentally and spiritually engaged in raising us up, to the point of physical and emotional exhaustion.

And yet, whenever anyone asked her what the "secret" to her parenting "success" was, she always answered, "only the grace of God."

Because my Mom believed that the Lord had given her a physical illness so that she would become closer to Him and pour everything that she had into her children.

Because she believed that He protected our family despite my father's constant backsliding and unfaithfulness.

Because she put her trust in God and knew what she was capable of without Him.

And I read about people who give all of the credit to themselves, with God as a sidenote, and my heart is disturbed.

I read about people whose children never (outwardly) rebelled, who never miss a church service, who glory (honestly) in their own goodness, in their own efforts.

And I think -- maybe they have forgotten that it is only because of the grace of God.

They think, we think, I think, "Oh, it is something that I have done -- some good thing, some right thing, heeded some scriptural principle -- that is why my family, my job, my dating relationship, etc., is flourishing."

And if anything goes wrong, if a child rebels, if the sink gets backed up, if my daughter won't sit still in church one day, that we have "messed up" in some way.

Not necessarily so.

Maybe -- and we definitely need to reflect, repent of things done and left undone, but the Lord at times allows trials such as these to test us, and to help us to remember that everything is grace -- that it is "only the grace of God" that touches what would have, could have been an ugly disaster and makes it beautiful through Him.

When we put our confidence in our own efforts, become enamored with our "correct doctrine," or parenting methods, or excellent child-rearing abilities, we forget the grace of God.

And again, I'm not saying that it it not important to pour all of our strength and mind and heart into the work that the Lord has called us to, whether it be parenting or some other vocation/ministry, but our spirit must be so knitted to Him, that we know that

nothing in our hands we bring; simply to His cross we cling.

It is His grace working in and through us to bring glory to Himself.

It is His mercy that makes everything beautiful in its time -- nothing that we have done.

We simply offer Him our obedient hearts -- or our desire to want an obedient heart, and we cast ourselves upon Him.

And when we look up, from a position of humility, His hand reaches down and blesses us--

The glory is all of His, none of ours.

We lay our crown at His feet--

And bless Him.

 

Bless Thou the truth, dear Lord, to me, to me,

As Thou didst bless the bread by Galilee;

Then shall all bondage cease, all fetters fall;

And I shall find my peace, my all in all.

Thou art the bread of life, O Lord, to me,

Thy holy Word the truth that saveth me;

Give me to eat and live with Thee above;

Teach me to love Thy truth, for Thou art love.

O send Thy Spirit, Lord, now unto me,

That He may touch my eyes, and make me see:

Show me the truth concealed within Thy Word,

And in Thy Book revealed I see the Lord.

--Mary A. Lathbury

This was a very good, unbiased  blog post that I came across while researching the Doug Phillip's affair--very worthwhile to read and to reflect upon- written by a homeschooling mother of 8:

http://www.kendrafletcher.com/kendra-fletcher/2013/12/6/what-doug-phillips-forgot

Photo credit --mascara
 Manuel Marín / Foter / CC BY

Publican and the sinner:
 Lawrence OP / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND

Flower:
 Jason A. Samfield / Foter / CC BY-NC-SA