An Interview on the Blog with Alicia G. Ruggieri

Stay Tuned for an Interview . . .

With Writer Alicia G. Ruggieri,

 Author of The House of Mercy

 

Focusing on . . .

Her writing, her faith, and her upcoming novel:

The Fragrance of Geraniums
(Set for release November 13th, 2014)

So, sit down with a cup of coffee, and join us for this fun, informative, encouraging interview. :-)

You might find me on these link-ups:

Strangers and Pilgrims on Earth, The Modest Mom, What Joy is Mine, Yes They Are All Ours, Missional Call, A Mama's Story, Mom's the Word, Rich Faith Rising, Time Warp Wife, Cornerstone Confessions, Mom's Morning Coffee, So Much at Home, Raising Homemakers, Hope in Every Season, A Wise Woman Builds Her Home, Woman to Woman Ministries, Whole-Hearted Home, A Soft Gentle Voice, My Daily Walk in His Grace, Messy Marriage, My Teacher's Name is Mama, The Charm of Home, Graced Simplicity, Children Are A Blessing, Mittenstate Sheep and Wool, Imparting Grace, Preparedness Mama, A Look at the Book, Essential Thing Devotions, Count My Blessings, Beauty Observed, Christian Mommy Blogger, Renewed Daily,

The Sweetest Flower

The chill of October steals into my room tonight and my  fingers, brittle with cold, touch the keys and write. 

And I remember colder days . . . 

It was the winter after my Dad left.

Barren, frozen winter and the days were cold and the nights wailed colder. 

We had no heat upstairs,

So my sister and I piled blankets high on our beds and we slept in the icy ache and we could see our breath in the morning. 

So cold that your bones creaked and your coffee cooled as soon as you brought it upstairs. 

It was the winter after he left, and we had nothing--

My sister and I worked at McDonald's --it was the only place where we could find a job --and the only place where we could both get a ride to every morning --

We sold almost all of our furniture. 

Because he left. Left us with nothing. 

Except Jesus. 

So our refrigerator was almost bare and we scraped and we sold what we could and the Lord was merciful to us and brought us through that wretched winter. 

Then the spring came and the days warmed and I remember thinking how good the new warmth felt on my frozen fingers.

How good . . . the Lord was and brought us through that winter--that winter of black nights and stifled tears and bitter memories. 

Brought us through. 

And it's easy to trust the Lord when all is well-- 

When circumstances dance hunky-dory around our days and a trip to Disneyland beckons in the distance.

It's easy to say that we trust Him when the money is rolling in and our bank account is padded and our children are not answering back and our cakes are never burnt.

It's easy to trust Him then. 

But take away every support, every aid, let the money in the bank dwindle, let the body be wasted by a disease or by debilitating depression or emotional pain.

Let the heart be wrent by an adulterous affair or a spouse who doesn't care or a child who turns bitter-prodigal.

Will we trust Him then? 

When our hands are cold and our hearts distressed and we can see the breath of our pain through the shadows? 

These are the times when our faith is tested --when we see that --

God moves in a mysterious way, His mercies to perform
He plants His footsteps on the sea and rides upon the storm

And we must--

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for his grace 
Behind a frowning providence, He hides a smiling face. 

And today I walked under clouds, under cold October clouds that threatened to rain down. 

I saw a tiny, innocent sparrow, wing hurt, hopping under the leaves in someones' garden, and my hands were full with my two babies, so there was nothing I could do but leave it in God's hands--

And my heart was heavy, too--with a prayer unanswered and the heavens seem brass--

And yet--

The promise of His grace--

His purposes will ripen fast unfolding every hour
The bud may have a bitter taste, but sweet will be the flower.

And I read about it today in my sister's story that she's been writing, read of barrenness and silence and the brass heavens. 

Until mercy moved and the unexpected came and the prayer was answered. 

Answered. 

By the God of mercy, the God who turns winter to spring and who heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds and who waits that He may be gracious to us.

Waits. 

Because what sometimes seems like unanswered silence is only a ripening bud--

That the flower may be sweet - a glorious bloom in the spring of answered prayer.

So I wait upon Him--

In hope. 

You might find me on these link-ups:

Strangers and Pilgrims on Earth, The Modest Mom, What Joy is Mine, Yes They Are All Ours, Missional Call, A Mama's Story, Mom's the Word, Rich Faith Rising, Time Warp Wife, Cornerstone Confessions, Mom's Morning Coffee, So Much at Home, Raising Homemakers, Hope in Every Season, A Wise Woman Builds Her Home, Woman to Woman Ministries, Whole-Hearted Home, A Soft Gentle Voice, My Daily Walk in His Grace, Messy Marriage, My Teacher's Name is Mama, The Charm of Home, Graced Simplicity, Children Are A Blessing, Mittenstate Sheep and Wool, Imparting Grace, Preparedness Mama, A Look at the Book, Essential Thing Devotions, Count My Blessings, Beauty Observed, Christian Mommy Blogger, Renewed Daily,

Mama's Morning Glories

How can I give thanks for the things You have done for me . . . 

- Andrae Crouch

The soft Autumn light filtered shadows across the leaves and I saw them there. 

The fragile morning glories, nestled in the fading October sunlight, crisp and cheerful, holding onto the last of their life. 

Morning glories . . .

They always hold a special place in my heart, and their appearance brings a spot of joy to my day and an aura of remembrance. 

We still have a few stray flowers in our yard, their lovely blue faces peeking out of their hiding place under the window box. 

My Mama's morning glories.

When I was a little girl, I remember them all-abundant on the white trellis, their azure-glory framed against the softer blue of the sky behind them. 

There, and climbing the fence that hemmed in our yard. 

My Mama planted them when she became a Christian, just a few years before I was born, when joy and peace first flooded our home like a clear day of sunshine after the rain. 

She planted morning glories . . .

To give evidence of the beauty that she now saw all around her - because they reminded her of Jesus and the new life that He had given. 

I remember being outside when I was a little girl, looking at those morning glories and my Mama's perennials all around; she tended them with such care and grace...

I remember the sunlight bathing the day with soft splendor and my Mama's joy, and her voice sweetly singing - maybe "His Eye is on the Sparrow," or Andrae Crouch's "My Tribute." 

And every spring, they would pop out of the ground anew, the resurrection of their little faces making us forget the long dreariness of Winter. 

Those lovely morning glories . . . 

A reminder of grace... a reminder of joy... 

And the sweetness of new life. 

You might find me on these link-ups:

Strangers and Pilgrims on Earth, The Modest Mom, What Joy is Mine, Yes They Are All Ours, Missional Call, A Mama's Story, Mom's the Word, Rich Faith Rising, Time Warp Wife, Cornerstone Confessions, Mom's Morning Coffee, So Much at Home, Raising Homemakers, Hope in Every Season, A Wise Woman Builds Her Home, Woman to Woman Ministries, Whole-Hearted Home, A Soft Gentle Voice, My Daily Walk in His Grace, Messy Marriage, My Teacher's Name is Mama, The Charm of Home, Graced Simplicity, Children Are A Blessing, Mittenstate Sheep and Wool, Imparting Grace, Preparedness Mama, A Look at the Book, Essential Thing Devotions, Count My Blessings, Beauty Observed, Christian Mommy Blogger, Serenity You, Renewed Daily, Sunday Stillness, The Beauty in His Grip, Tales of a Kansas Farm Mom.

The Crucible and the Covenant

Love, remember, is proven by the sacrifice it makes.

-Robertson McQuilkin

 Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends.

John 15:13

Two men, a crucible, and a covenant.

Two men, both in their 80's now, one ready to live, the other trying to beat death.

The first man, Robertson McQuilkin. 

I just finished reading his short autobiography addressing the time that he took care of his failing wife, Muriel. 

She was diagnosed with Alzheimers. In her 50's. 

And he cared for her over the span of 25 years, from the onset of the disease until she died. 

Sacrificially cared for her, though he would never call it a sacrifice. 

And he eventually resigned from his position as President of Columbia Bible College to become her complete caregiver. 

A marriage in a crucible. A man whose wife would never be the same, who would never be able to fulfill his needs in the same way that she had before.

And he chose to stay. Chose to surrender. Chose to give and give and give because the love of the Giving-Christ filled him. 

Chose. 

Another man. 

Wife diagnosed with a debilitating illness, her body becoming more and more crippled as the years passed. 

Eventually she needed a wheelchair. 

And that was just the last straw. 

So he left her. 

Divorced her; he's with a much younger woman now--

And before she died, she still used to ask about him, ask how he was. 

He was still in her heart, the one who broke it--

When the crucible shattered, overburdened with heat.

And a heart, broken, lay among the shards of clay.

A man with feet of clay . . .

Broke the covenant.

And I found myself asking the other day, What holds a marriage together? What holds a marriage together in a crucible?

The logical answer--the covenant--the covenant forged, the covenant spoken and witnessed and signed and consummated. 

What holds a marriage together? The covenant, and then something deeper, still, I think--

And that is covenant love. 

The love that mirrors Jesus' love for us, the kind of love that McQuilkin had for his wife, the love that gives and gives and gives, for the joy that is the reward. 

Jesus gave. 

And His covenant love washed over us. 

Because the covenant without love is just a legal transaction-seed, and love is the lifting of that seed into the flower of beauty and grace. 

Covenant love -- and what is perceived as bondage ultimately brings freedom, the bondage of love. 

McQuilkin said, in an interview--

Ours is a day of passionate pursuit of self fulfillment. And the folk wisdom of  twentieth-century America holds that fulfillment can be found only in freedom. So, if some responsibility or commitment, some relationship or value shackles, you have a moral obligation to yourself to break free. 

But it's a fantasy. That doorway to freedom and fulfillment may turn out to be the doorway to a stronger imprisonment. I've watched in sadness as many friends and acquaintances march through that doorway. The new bondage may be subterranean, below the level of consciousness, even. But such a person has broken one set of shackles only to shut himself or herself off from the soaring freedom of experiencing God's highest and best. He who preserves his life, affirming himself, will lose it all, says Jesus. Only the one who can say no to self-interest for Christ and the gospel cause can ever find the treasure of true life--freedom and fulfillment in Christ. But we don't seem to get it. 

We live in an age where even high-profile evangelicals are demeaning marriage vows. In reading more about Robertson McQuilkin, I came across this article that was shared by Randy Alcorn. It contained a video clip of the influential evangelical Pat Robertson insisting that Alzheimers is a kind of "death." He implied that divorce is understandable in such a situation.  

Whatever became of the covenant?

And deeper still, what of covenant love? 

What of Jesus?

Elisabeth Elliot tells the story of a man and his wife who were having marriage difficulties. 

Desperately wanting to save her marriage, the woman finally convinced her husband to go with her to counseling. 

The Christian marriage counselor who met them and learned of the husband's desire for a divorce quipped something along the lines of "Well, I was divorced, and now I'm happily remarried!" 

As Elisabeth Elliot put it, "That was all the husband needed." He quickly pursued a divorce and that was that. 

No regard for the covenant. 

No understanding of love. 

The love that held a man named Robertson McQuilkin to his marriage vows, to his wife, to Jesus. 

An example of covenant love. 

Self-giving love. 

The love born of sacrifice,

The love that brings life. 

You might find me on these link-ups:

  Strangers and Pilgrims on Earth, The Modest Mom, What Joy is Mine, Yes They Are All Ours, Missional Call, A Mama's Story, Mom's the Word, Rich Faith Rising, Time Warp Wife, Cornerstone Confessions, Mom's Morning Coffee, So Much at Home, Raising Homemakers, Hope in Every Season, A Wise Woman Builds Her Home, Woman to Woman Ministries, Whole-Hearted Home, A Soft Gentle Voice, My Daily Walk in His Grace, Messy Marriage, My Teacher's Name is Mama, The Charm of Home, Graced Simplicity, Children Are A Blessing, Mittenstate Sheep and Wool, Imparting Grace, Preparedness Mama, A Look at the Book, Essential Thing Devotions, Count My Blessings, Beauty Observed, Christian Mommy Blogger, Serenity You, Renewed Daily, Sunday Stillness, The Beauty in His Grip, Tales of a Kansas Farm Mom.

Book Review on Robertson McQuilkin's A Promise Kept

Ours is a day of passionate pursuit of self fulfillment. And the folk wisdom of  twentieth-century America holds that fulfillment can be found only in freedom. So, if some responsibility or commitment, some relationship or value shackles, you have a moral obligation to yourself to break free. 

But it's a fantasy. That doorway to freedom and fulfillment may turn out to be the doorway to a stronger imprisonment. I've watched in sadness as many friends and acquaintances march through that doorway. The new bondage may be subterranean, below the level of consciousness, even. But such a person has broken one set of shackles only to shut himself or herself off from the soaring freedom of experiencing God's highest and best. He who preserves his life, affirming himself, will lose it all, says Jesus. Only the one who can say no to self-interest for Christ and the gospel cause can ever find the treasure of true life--freedom and fulfillment in Christ. But we don't seem to get it. 

-Robertson McQuilkin

This book honestly surprised me. I was expecting a somewhat mushy love story and was deeply and pleasantly surprised by the rock-solid content and anything but mushy love and commitment of the author toward his failing wife. 

It is the brief story, written almost journal-like and poetically, of Robertson McQuilkin and his wife Muriel, the latter who was diagnosed with Alzheimers Disease and the former who became her full-time caregiver until her death. 

McQuilkin was at the height of his career as President of Columbia Bible College and Seminary (now Columbia International University) when he made the decision to step down from that position in order to care for his wife. 

This decision both intrigued and unnerved McQuilkin's friends and acquaintances, but regardless of the response toward his decision, McQuilkin was convinced that it was the step of obedience that the Lord was leading him personally to take. 

In his Acknowledgements, McQuilkin emphasizes that his decision was a personal conviction and that he isn't advocating his response to his wife's sickness as the only right way to care for a loved one. He says, "I hope none will hear me advocating my approach as the only or best approach in all circumstances. I'm just telling my story, celebrating the joys of married love, not pushing a specific agenda for caregiving." 

McQuilkin's conviction was that he alone could give Muriel the best possible care; he realized his constant presence gave her a sense of security amid all of the confusion that she experienced in gradually losing her memory more and more. These are the words that McQuilkin shared in chapel at Columbia Bible College regarding his decision to resign as President in order to fully care for his wife: "The decision was made, in a way, 42 years ago when I promised to care for Muriel 'in sickness and in health . . . till death do us part.' So as I told the students and faculty, as a man of my word, integrity has something to do with it. But so does fairness. She has cared for me fully and sacrificially all these years; if I cared for her for the next 40 years I would not be out of her debt. Duty, however, can be grim and stoic. But there is more: I love Muriel. She is a delight to me--her childlike dependence and confidence in me, her warm love, occasional flashes of that wit I used to relish so, her happy spirit and tough resilience in the face of continual distressing frustration. I don't have to care for her. I get to! It is a high honor to care for so wonderful a person." 

McQuilkin dispatched his duty of love to his wife until the day of her death and faithfully cared for Muriel until her passing to heaven. 

This is a beautiful, true story of greater love, one to savor and to mull over. I would highly recommend it. 

If you'd like to read Christianity Today's interview with Robertson McQuilkin, please click here. 

I'll share some of my own thoughts about McQuilkin's decision/commitment in next week's post--The Crucible and the Covenant. 



To purchase the book through Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/A-Promise-Kept-Robertson-McQuilkin/dp/0842350993

I share my posts with these blogs: Strangers and Pilgrims on Earth, The Modest Mom, What Joy is Mine, Yes They Are All Ours, Missional Call, A Mama's Story, Mom's the Word, Rich Faith Rising, Time Warp Wife, Cornerstone Confessions, Mom's Morning Coffee, So Much at Home, Raising Homemakers, Hope in Every Season, A Wise Woman Builds Her Home, Woman to Woman Ministries, Whole-Hearted Home, A Soft Gentle Voice, My Daily Walk in His Grace, Messy Marriage, My Teacher's Name is Mama, The Charm of Home, Graced Simplicity, Children Are A Blessing, Mittenstate Sheep and Wool, Imparting Grace, Homestead Lady, Deborah Jean's Dandelion House, Preparedness Mama, A Look at the Book, Essential Thing Devotions, Count My Blessings, Beauty Observed, Christian Mommy Blogger, Serenity You, Renewed Daily, Sunday Stillness, The Beauty in His Grip, Tales of a Kansas Farm Mom.

Why It's Really Not About Losing Ten Pounds

I lose to find. On forehead wide
The jewels tenfold light afford:
So, gathered round Thy glory, Lord,
All beauty else is glorified.

- George MacDonald

They were the last pair in a pile of about 20 and I pulled them on. 

The last pair in a pile of about 20 in a stuffy Saver's dressing stall -- and I was starting to sweat and starting to lament that only 2 had fit so far and starting to wonder who in the world decided that the limit of clothes that you could bring in should only be six and why in the world was this dressing room so small---

They slid on, like a glove. 

Finally, something that fits, I consoled myself. 

And then I looked down and noticed that I was wearing a pair of pants with a heart-sequin-design on the pocket (and that one of the sequins was missing) and that the button was a kind of fake diamond. 

Gulp. 

I guess I'll just take the first two, I thought with fatalistic dismay. 

And if I was the type that cries in fitting rooms, I would have cried -- but I'm not, so I just scooped up my meager findings and tried to think of what winter would be like if I could only fit in my leftover capris from summer. 

Because three months later, I'm still struggling to get this last bit of pregnancy weight under control... and sometimes it seems like a losing battle. 

And it's been frustrating to me -- I am someone who craves order and discipline and if something in my life feels like it's not under control, I am prone to fret about it and try to correct it as quickly as possible. 

Fret about it -- because I can't fit into my pre-pregnancy pants--

And we live in a society where body image has become all-important -- and these pesky ten pounds have made me take a step back to consider -- what is really important? 

And I look into my babies' faces -- all beautiful, made in the image of God -- and then I look down at the stretch marks adorning my belly and I accept them as a thing of beauty, a thing of sacrifice, the surrender of using my own body to give life to another. 

And I look at myself in the mirror, the few extra pounds hanging on, and my body doesn't look the same, doesn't feel the same as before I carried babies -- it's been stretched and worn and changed. 

I struggle with nursing -- I feel weak every day and I get the "shakes" and don't have the energy sometimes that I need -- maybe my body needs the extra calories right now, and I don't really need to worry about it so much... maybe. 

Because it's not really about weight -- It's a heart issue. 

And it's an issue of what real beauty is all about. 

Is real beauty about being a size 4 and about having toned arms and about trying to flatten my stomach and diminish my hip size as quickly as I can after giving birth? 

Is real beauty about having perfectly highlighted hair and perfectly manicured nails and perfect clothing and brilliantly white teeth?

And none of these things are "wrong" in and of themselves, but sometimes we can make them into idols when they become a necessity to us -- when we don't think that we can live without them, like we can't go on living without them. 

If we can't maintain them, then we feel like we have failed in some way, like we are not good enough. 

And I see women in their 50's and 60's trying to look like teenagers--

Wearing "skinny" jeans and starving themselves and working out at gyms, trying, desperately trying to hold on to the youth that is slipping through their fingers--

As my Mama says, "Whatever happened to growing old gracefully?"

And there is nothing wrong with dressing beautifully, or staying trim, or wearing perfume, or exercising. 

Discipline is a good thing, and our Heavenly Father desires that we live orderly, disciplined lives. 

But take it from someone who knows; even discipline can become an idol, when it's not hidden within the umbrella of love for our precious Heavenly Father, when we just do it for ourselves. 

I saw a woman the other day. Coming out of Target, and she was lovely. 

And she was not a size 4. 

Her appearance was not sloppy -- it spoke order and neatness and beauty; her hair was attractively pulled back in a ponytail; she wore a calf-length skirt with sandals. 

And her clothing wasn't chosen in order to draw attention to her body and she looked like she might have had a couple of kids or so -- and she certainly wasn't a size 4. 

Sometimes we can have a false idea of beauty. 

The world tells us that we need to be a certain size, that we need to flaunt our bodies in a certain way, that we need to do our hair in a specific style in order to be attractive, in order to attract. 

But how does Jesus speak to us about beauty?

Do not let your adornment be merely outward—arranging the hair, wearing gold, or putting on fine apparel— rather let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in the sight of God. 

I Peter 3:3-4

 So I take my stretch marks and my callouses and my changed body and I lay them there at His feet, at His nail-pierced feet--

Jesus' body was broken, too -- unimaginably broken.

And His beauty shines through His scars--

My scars can also speak beauty, can also pour forth beauty--

Just as His wounds have poured forth beauty onto me.

I take my stretch marks, my sagging skin, my dismay, and I lay them there at His feet.

And His beauty covers me.

Later, on the ocean shore, I ponder these things, one baby pressed to me in my carrier, the other delightedly throwing rocks into the cold water and my husband's voice cuts into my thoughts--

"You know, you're beautiful in the sunlight."

And the Son's light covers me and I am washed there, on the shore, in His beauty.


 

I share my posts with these blogs: Strangers and Pilgrims on Earth, The Modest Mom, What Joy is Mine, Yes They Are All Ours, Missional Call, A Mama's Story, Mom's the Word, Rich Faith Rising, Time Warp Wife, Cornerstone Confessions, Mom's Morning Coffee, So Much at Home, Raising Homemakers, Hope in Every Season, A Wise Woman Builds Her Home, Woman to Woman Ministries, Whole-Hearted Home, A Soft Gentle Voice, My Daily Walk in His Grace, Messy Marriage, My Teacher's Name is Mama, The Charm of Home, Graced Simplicity, Children Are A Blessing, Mittenstate Sheep and Wool, Imparting Grace, Homestead Lady, Deborah Jean's Dandelion House, Preparedness Mama, A Look at the Book, Essential Thing Devotions, Count My Blessings, Beauty Observed, Christian Mommy Blogger, Serenity You, Renewed Daily, Sunday Stillness, The Beauty in His Grip, Tales of a Kansas Farm Mom.

Here With You

Mama . . .  Mama . . . MAMA! 

My little daughter panicked, frantically calling my name. 

I had rounded the corner to take something out of the closet in our room, and she couldn't see me, didn't hear me, didn't know where I had gone. 

So I popped my head out and she saw me and she ran into my arms, relieved. 

And I hugged her close and touched her tiny face and reassured her little soul, "Debbie; Mama isn't going to leave you . . . "

It was one of my worst fears as a child . . that I would get lost and not be able to find my Mom in a store. That I would be left alone and not know what to do. 

It happened in the library once. My Mom left me for the story-time for the first time--she was nearby, on the same floor, listening with one ear and looking at books. 

But I couldn't see her and I panicked. 

I didn't know that she was right around the corner. 

So I started to cry and they found her . . . 

And my Mama reassured me, "I'm not going to leave you; I was right here all the time." 

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed in this marathon of mothering. 

Where every moment is filled with little voices who need me now, who rarely let me sleep or have a minute "off." 

And this is God's will for me right now--to nurture these souls that the Lord in His mercy has entrusted to me for a season. 

But sometimes I get caught up in the chaos of it all, and I lose sight of the Lord, of His pillar before me and His cloud of fire by night. 

I get lost in the crowd and I just can't see Him. 

And I panic. 

I just don't have the time that I used to to spend in uninterrupted prayer--I often have to "pray as I go," pop in a sermon tape, pull out my Bible while my children nap, and make the most of the opportunities that I've been given. 

If I stay up too late at night, I have a hard time functioning the next day, especially with babies who still don't sleep through the wee hours. 

And sometimes through the tiredness, through the constant "going," and picking up babies and putting them down and feeding them and praying with them and disciplining them and loving them, 

I lose sight of Him.

And like my daughter, I don't know where He's gone. 

So in my moment of anxiety, I call His name --

I search for Him.

And I find that He was right there the whole time. 

Waiting for me to notice that I couldn't see Him for the moment, waiting for me to cry out for Him, to run into His arms in my need. 

Waiting to hold me-- 

And to touch my face with His peace and calm and quiet and trust and tell me, 

"I'm not going to leave you."