tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55366038950460492024-03-20T05:26:35.259-04:00Views From a KaleidoscopeA fresh perspective from our broken bits...Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.comBlogger332125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-57436603176717870822016-03-01T10:22:00.001-05:002016-03-01T10:23:32.322-05:00A Time To..<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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At times, I have needed to transplant my flowers, or to divide them to ensure their growth. That process always begins with uprooting. So here I am, out of pure obedience, not from desire or goal-setting, but in a longing to obey, uprooting this blog. I'm not sure what this will look like down the road, I only know that it, that I, will be lavished in love.<br />
According to Ecclesiastes, there is a season for everything, including a time to plant and a time to uproot. My Father has me in a season of uprooting and tearing down. Tearing down pride and selfishness. Uprooting control. This has been an eye-opening, humbling process and one that has been overflowing with grace and the forgiveness of my Father. I am so very grateful.<br />
I am humbled by the love and grace, the prayers and support, that you have poured out upon me since I began this process of sprinkling words across a page. Thank you. My prayer is that all these squiggles and lines that I have cast out like seeds being carried in the wind, will give glory to my Sovereign God. He alone is worthy.<br />
Blessings to you!<br />
Hugs! Hugs! DebDeb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-78861954474154000312016-02-16T09:29:00.003-05:002016-02-16T09:30:53.119-05:00Empty Now Full<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Her seat is empty<br />
His shirts are gone<br />
Her sweater’s unraveling<br />
Her booties have long been packed<br />
Her laughter’s silenced<br />
His running’s ceased<br />
The babe has no more crying<br />
She's in no more pain<br />
His voice it still echoes<br />
Her love continues to ripple<br />
She's a sweet reminder that, God, He hears my heart<br />
He's a gift of dreams, of blue eyes and boys<br />
And her<br />
She has taught me lessons, of life and walking unafraid<br />
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In loving memory of:<br />
Ellie 7-19-91 -- 7-20-91<br />
Josh 2-8-85 -- 6-30-01<br />
Ruth 10-30-81 -- 2-17-15<br />
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Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-87615082382930940592016-02-15T15:24:00.001-05:002016-02-15T15:25:41.315-05:00The Last Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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She came home for the last time. Could not walk through the doors. She was carried, both in and out. She entered warm, blood still flowing through veins that had been cluttered with cells, wayward. She did not hesitate to lay upon her bed, the throne of grace where many came to pay homage to one they loved.<br />
With each passing day, there had been less of her. Each hour you knew there was this steady pulling, away.<br />
Oh, not that she was eager to go, or even wanting to. Even so, there was eagerness, if only in those cells, consuming, seeking more. Of her. Snatching breath. Snatching hope. <br />
And we sheltered and nurtured. We whispered and wept. There was singing mingled with laughter. Love casting its cloak over all.<br />
She? She was wrapped in a steadfastness, a willingness to experience and wring out all of the life she could. Until her words slurred. Until no words remained, only the shattering of one more breath into the silence that reigned.<br />
And soon, sooner than any of us dreamed or ever, ever wanted, even her breath left, leaving behind a shell of what once was. A daughter. A sister. A lover. A friend.<br />
She was carried once more, stiff and still, leaving for the last time, wrapped in sorrow’s beauty, elegantly bound in a steadfast love which could not end.<br />
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Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-77408589186025775532016-02-08T10:25:00.002-05:002016-02-08T10:26:23.358-05:00What is This Place?I'm celebrating this one today:<br />
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What is this place<br />
where fire burns<br />
scorching my soul?<br />
What is this place<br />
where I'm compelled<br />
to bare my all?<br />
What is this place<br />
where light reveals my<br />
my brokenness?<br />
I thought it was<br />
the place of sorrow.<br />
I thought it was<br />
the place of suffering.<br />
I thought it was<br />
the place of defeat.<br />
Ohhh, Lord God.<br />
Now my heart sees....<br />
This is the place<br />
where I've confronted You<br />
face to face.<br />
This is the place of worship.<br />
This place is holy ground.<br />
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August 28, 2002<br />
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Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-45801860845376509582016-01-26T11:00:00.002-05:002016-01-26T11:01:16.447-05:00Clarity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6558QLv8vTlHi3w5yLCSsotuCS6bpZ86tZoCWBZc2FqFVGRulCAmewH_hvSyEwJplx26cbQOKFUB5PZqpQM3EE5VRWOBFzDXPeZy5YXLTk_QA52expfRyZgfXjGSewInvf1o8NznUmA/s1600/IMG_5891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6558QLv8vTlHi3w5yLCSsotuCS6bpZ86tZoCWBZc2FqFVGRulCAmewH_hvSyEwJplx26cbQOKFUB5PZqpQM3EE5VRWOBFzDXPeZy5YXLTk_QA52expfRyZgfXjGSewInvf1o8NznUmA/s320/IMG_5891.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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You know that time, when all you've worked so hard for, lays before you? That point when it had been picked apart and the detritus lay scattered? When, despite all your best efforts, it all was one big whopping mess?<br />
<b>That </b>time? That moment when you recognize that you have failed and you had needed to succeed, because this had been important? There was that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you know the lash-back will be great, is great? Because, <b>this had been important.</b>?<br />
That time?<br />
Do you know it?<br />
When the shambled mess of it all seems impossible to ever set right? <b>Is </b> impossible? So what do you do now, for you know, with all your being, that This. Is. Your. Fault.?<br />
It was when you acknowledged that You. Are. Not. Perfect. In fact, that you are indeed, human. Just like everyone else. <br />
What did you do with that? <br />
Oh, I've seen plenty schmooze their way out of it, blaming someone else, or just plain walk away. I've seen lies sprinkled liberally, or the whole affair seasoned with false hope, that this could be repaired. Ha!<br />
Me? I tend to wallow, with grand pity-parties where I send out invitations to come and see, and when I attempt to leave the scene, I find I am covered with all that was wrong. And I am chock-full of blame and shame. Yep, chock-full.<br />
This is your opportunity to choose. Shrivel up from condemnation or grow.<br />
Your opportunity. To accept the consequences, despite their cost, and be better for it. And that's what is so startling about it- it's been an opportunity. You never would have guessed that failure could be so good. Never. <br />
It is right here, and only right here, in this predicament, that you can find acceptance. Even discover forgiveness. And lavished over it all, removing the worst of it, has been love. This is where hope was born, courage is given. <br />
But God demonstrates His own love for us by this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8<br />
While we were. While. On that occasion. In that moment. At precisely <b>That </b>time. You know that time? Yep. Right there. That's when God showed up, when He sweeps you off your feet and sweetly whispers in your ear, “I've got this.”<br />
You always wondered what grace was. Now, you know. <br />
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But where sin increased, grace increased all the more. Romans 5:20Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-19017354870682176182016-01-23T11:43:00.000-05:002016-01-23T11:44:30.779-05:00Your Very Own <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RGw0FE2fxAs/VqOsH6p9aYI/AAAAAAAAEZE/doFPITXrbG8/s1600/At%2Brest%2Bat%2Bhome" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RGw0FE2fxAs/VqOsH6p9aYI/AAAAAAAAEZE/doFPITXrbG8/s320/At%2Brest%2Bat%2Bhome" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0-syqX--fCg/VD0xUwdf0zI/AAAAAAAAEYA/ppunrBZSKtw/s1600/IMG_3018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0-syqX--fCg/VD0xUwdf0zI/AAAAAAAAEYA/ppunrBZSKtw/s320/IMG_3018.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bTqGbhPmsJU/VNtzqsr-LMI/AAAAAAAAEXo/rgXGiipvjsg/s1600/IMG_4841.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bTqGbhPmsJU/VNtzqsr-LMI/AAAAAAAAEXo/rgXGiipvjsg/s320/IMG_4841.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r2CbCyjwUjw/VqOpkryqxjI/AAAAAAAAEXY/oRhQCnKl_bM/s1600/Home%2Bplaque" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r2CbCyjwUjw/VqOpkryqxjI/AAAAAAAAEXY/oRhQCnKl_bM/s320/Home%2Bplaque" /></a></div><br />
Yes, because God’s your refuge,<br />
The High God your very own home,<br />
Evil can't get close to you, <br />
Harm can't get through the door.<br />
Psalm 91:9-10 Message<br />
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I know a lot of people rant about that second part: evil can't get close to you. You've heard it-- “Then why do bad things happen? And what about those refugees?.....” What we fail to see, or acknowledge, is the first part, the truth that comes before: God is our very own home. Have you ever thought about that? What your home is like?<br />
This home belongs to me- you don't live there, I do! I can lay claim to it. It can be beautiful or messy. I can look scrungy and sometimes act scrungy. I can be at my best or at my worst. My home is a place where I can totally be myself. It shelters me from cold and storms and keeps me safe from harm. It is a refuge from people and from the world’s beckoning. Here is where I can relax, rest, be refreshed. <br />
Any of this sounding familiar?<br />
I can lay claim to God. I am His and He is mine. <br />
He doesn't care how I look or how I act. He loves me anyway. He accepts me, just as I am. He wants me to be myself, who He created me to be. <br />
He shelters me in the storms of life and keeps me safe from the evil one. <br />
Being with God restores my soul, renews my strength and refreshes my heart. <br />
This is what God is-- our dwelling place. Our home. <br />
Just as a locked door keeps riff-raff away, God, my very own home, keeps evil away. There is a sense of safety, of security found within these walls. How much more then, can I feel secure when I run to my dwelling place, God Himself. <br />
I am never as comfortable as I am when I walk in the doors of my house. That's how comfortable God wants us to be in Him. That makes me want to kick my shoes off, put my feet up and relax. Ahhh......<br />
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Say this:”God, You're my refuge. I trust in You and I'm safe.” Ps. 91:2 Message <br />
Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-32103265826956173422016-01-20T09:09:00.000-05:002016-01-20T09:09:38.528-05:00Can Get Lost<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You can get lost in the desert. Wander far when you are thirsty. Rocks begin to look the same. And all that sand? Endless. Dry, heaped upon heap. And you begin to wonder: “Will I survive? This?”, where the winds blow, filling your mouth with grit. Where silence reigns with the coyotes, howling in the distance. This. Where you seem to walk alone, aimless. Where your heart has been sucked dry and really, you're so very thirsty.<br />
You were so sure that you could find your way.<br />
Once.<br />
Sure, that water, that the green of life, was just over the next rise, that you would find it. You would. Wouldn't you?<br />
But that was all so long ago. Days and weeks and years. Back at a time when you knew so many things. Back when you felt chock-full of self and knowledge and hope. Back when you just knew where to find all the answers.<br />
Now... You've roved far and you recognize that you know nothing. Nothing at all. You know for certain, that you aren't certain at all. Except that you have roamed, far, in this desert. And you are thirsty.<br />
Once, great throngs beckoned, determined to help you on your way. They bellowed, loud, “Pride is the way!”, while others cried, “Follow what you want!”. And you, you were determined to follow the one yelling, “I'm in charge!”. That was your favorite of them all.<br />
Then, as you journeyed on, you began to turn your back to all their pandering and that seems to be the very time that you began to lose your way. You wondered, when death knocked upon your door, how their words could be true. When illness and loss, shame and poverty followed close behind, that is when you knew, they had been speaking lies. Only empty lies.<br />
And so you've rambled, seeking to find your way. And you've grown thirsty, so thirsty, until now, you are like some grape that's been left to shrivel in the sun.<br />
What you didn't know, didn't even recognize, was that you were not alone. These long years of meandering, the parchedness of your soul, did not go unheeded. You have been followed, faithfully. You have been hemmed in, behind and before, unaware, of something more.<br />
Someone, more.<br />
And He has been waiting.<br />
For you.<br />
Longing.<br />
For you. To cease your seeking, and your endless determination to find your own way.<br />
So, when at last, you stumble upon your face, too faint of heart, too weak of limb to rise once more, to search again, He comes and for the first time you recognize, that you have been safely held while He waited, with dying love, for you to seek, Him.<br />
The grace of His arms, wrapped tight about you, and the echoes of His heart tapping out His love song, endless, these are what lead you to all that you've been seeking. Acceptance. Belonging. Hope. Even life itself.<br />
You roam no more. You are home; your thirst satisfied.<br />
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Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-51694062406374254622016-01-18T10:30:00.000-05:002016-01-18T10:31:31.943-05:00The Common Significant <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I watch as they scatter seed, flitting to and fro. I find myself a bit frustrated, disappointed, with their constancy. Each cold morning, I long to see some color, hear a sweet song, but it's always the same: drab brown, small and numerous. More often than not, if I spy a flock of birds, they are the same. Scatter crumbs and who comes calling? You guessed it. The same.<br />
These robust little feathered creatures seem to be everywhere.<br />
This morning, when I heaved a sigh of disappointment over the lack of color or song at my bird feeder, it hit me. It is these same, common, birds that Jesus uses to illustrate our value.<br />
“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” Luke 12:6-7 NIV<br />
These drab birds, these numerous creatures, these ordinary-everyday-sparrows are a blatant reminder of you and I. Aren't we run-of-the-mill? Don't we make up the majority? It seems we are always looking, I'm always looking, for the flashy and showy, or we try to be the spectacular ones. Somehow, in our minds, those are the ones that count.<br />
Yet here is Jesus using them to communicate significance.<br />
It doesn't matter if I am ordinary.<br />
It doesn't matter if I am even drab, or boring or lack distinction.<br />
None of that matters.<br />
I. Am. Not. Forgotten.<br />
He knows every detail of my world, my being. He is paying attention. To. Me.<br />
I can choose to continue in my longing for the “lovely” as I watch the activities outside my window, or I can enjoy the common significant. If I pay attention, I can even be a witness to a dance of the remembered. For those sparrows? They are the common ones, the remembered ones, mentioned by God, just like me.<br />
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Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-9287398672425696592016-01-11T11:17:00.001-05:002016-01-11T11:18:13.663-05:00Walking. Away. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's not so different, really, their walking. Away. <br />
His is but a “jaunt over the pond”. Six months of travel and school. I had two travel farther, travel longer, together. And I was fine. Or at least I didn't mind. And I'm glad for him. Truly! What an opportunity! What an adventure!<br />
Maybe I'm only trying to convince myself, or even fool myself, into believing that it's the same. This walking, away. But this morning I find my heart being strummed by ache, playing the tune of loss. His journey merely opened the door to hers. For she preceded him, by nearly a year. Just as I accompanied him for as long as I could, I had accompanied her. I hugged him tight, before I needed to release him so he could travel forward. Hadn't I done the same for her, knowing, oh, knowing, it was time to let go?<br />
He asked me if I would be okay. He'd seen my tears. “Absolutely!”, and I smiled despite the trail weaving down my face. <br />
I think, if I could hear her, she would want to know the same, for she would know, so fully, know, that it will be. That I will be. She'd want to make sure that I knew that too. I wish that I could boldly declare, ‘Yes, I'll be alright’, even as the sobs escape me. What is it that prevents me from allowing her, in my own heart, to have this opportunity, this adventure? Isn't that what heaven is? An opportunity to be with Jesus? An adventure in worship and experiencing God’s glory? Why am I so reluctant to have her leave?<br />
Oh, I can fool myself into believing that his is but a short journey and hers? It's too long! Hers is permanent. Forever. She won't be coming back. Yet I find, both require this releasing, this allowing them to journey on, to move forward. I gladly did so for him. Why not for her?<br />
I think the honest answer, the one with truth-I-don't-want-to-hear, is this: I don't want to. I want to have my own way. I want to decide when they leave and when they return and of course, I deserve to have them return! The truth is, God is in charge and I am not. He can see the whole panorama and I can see mere snatches, (if I don't blink and miss them.) I want to have my daughter in my presence rather than allowing her to feast upon His. I want to have my heart comforted by sweets or TV or another book, rather than have the Comforter. Near. I wanted to have a say, a choice, in this whole matter of her leaving. I got none. No say. No choice. <br />
That's the honest answer. <br />
So on a morning, when my heart is strumming ache, I find myself repenting of demanding my own way; yielding to Him who has the whole story in mind, and weeping silent tears, as only a mama can, over her children walking. Away. Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-61879840437988770972016-01-08T08:47:00.004-05:002016-01-08T08:48:40.629-05:00Invitations <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZgf274fi5VCEYHFgixg5vEqH73TUc0Gjhyphenhyphen23IC2V_mMZeZXy-Qo7PRAln38vMuuYGJFRP22FpP8dEk_pfdEOuV2RMISUUO0gJjt0M4BmXNgYsRAO2miizJQxE_hJBilMc0AacBijqA/s1600/IMG_3846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZgf274fi5VCEYHFgixg5vEqH73TUc0Gjhyphenhyphen23IC2V_mMZeZXy-Qo7PRAln38vMuuYGJFRP22FpP8dEk_pfdEOuV2RMISUUO0gJjt0M4BmXNgYsRAO2miizJQxE_hJBilMc0AacBijqA/s320/IMG_3846.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtkw4V8zp9LNcL8Pxtuu85LWRY2RjS0XYiuVFiA2dD3zwKpu7VQ-SSGzp1pAp6eSVZ__JjhXvWKH8YEJ6Oiike37EOuo9QP3AmgaW5wqaT2_Y5Unf-P7GXN960cmuXWZPkFHnGVS3Ig/s1600/IMG_3848.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtkw4V8zp9LNcL8Pxtuu85LWRY2RjS0XYiuVFiA2dD3zwKpu7VQ-SSGzp1pAp6eSVZ__JjhXvWKH8YEJ6Oiike37EOuo9QP3AmgaW5wqaT2_Y5Unf-P7GXN960cmuXWZPkFHnGVS3Ig/s320/IMG_3848.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA1y-vW8CA3gKgfGARRzPh-qFQSaVEhl4HKmpRNVS9ONDqU-VHFYkcyE8oJF3hX71UcViG0J_b9aMLpI3HZMIkH0GJMGB4oPq5JkfD4qesbLxhLVaylhjaUxtUhSTPcrmV1cxBX7oteA/s1600/IMG_3845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA1y-vW8CA3gKgfGARRzPh-qFQSaVEhl4HKmpRNVS9ONDqU-VHFYkcyE8oJF3hX71UcViG0J_b9aMLpI3HZMIkH0GJMGB4oPq5JkfD4qesbLxhLVaylhjaUxtUhSTPcrmV1cxBX7oteA/s320/IMG_3845.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVicFpzQWe98eY5Yd7uSz45XhiZiXus0ED2W__6HFjTyQfAwBvTW3Y6m8V19TZnjIXPCHz89fhvZ19XNkwFuCtTFa98_Dv1gbtHUxy6sNMbxwT3Wy1EmHL7ngDoESCDp1yS8RtLK-lQ/s1600/IMG_5696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVicFpzQWe98eY5Yd7uSz45XhiZiXus0ED2W__6HFjTyQfAwBvTW3Y6m8V19TZnjIXPCHz89fhvZ19XNkwFuCtTFa98_Dv1gbtHUxy6sNMbxwT3Wy1EmHL7ngDoESCDp1yS8RtLK-lQ/s320/IMG_5696.JPG" /></a></div>You would expect invitations to the best-of-the-best. Those you <i>wish <i></i></i>you could act like you know. Those that, in your heart of hearts, you know you will Never meet, or be a part of their world. Yep, that's what you'd expect. He <b>is </b>God, after all.<br />
I love this part. Who is actually on His list. Those He sends a summons to.<br />
“Come to Me all who are weary and carry heavy burdens...” Matthew 11:28 NLT<br />
“I am the Bread of Life. Whoever comes to Me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in Me will never be thirsty. “ John 6:35 NLT<br />
“...whoever comes to Me I will never drive away. “ John 6:37 NIV<br />
We are urged, by Jesus Himself, to come to this lavish spread of His grace, if we are on the not-so-great scroll.<br />
It's not-so-great to be weary, worn out, tired.<br />
It's not-so-great to be burdened, heavy-ladened, carrying a too-big load.<br />
It's not-so-great to be hungry. Or thirsty.<br />
Yet, if you are any of those things, you have received a bidding to come. In fact, anyone who just plain wants-to, are included in that lineup.<br />
Whoever.<br />
Not really a directory of who's-who, is it? That's not a record of la-di-da or oh-my or can-you-believe-it? Nope. It's a tally of you. Me. The druggy down the street.<br />
Here's my favorite part: no matter who comes, He will never cast them out, send His personal bouncer to muscle them out the door or reject them. N. E. V. E. R.<br />
So, not only do you and I have a personal, intimate proposal to come, it doesn't matter how we arrive, what our appearance is, or the state of our hearts, His response is always the same: “Welcome! I'm so glad you came!”<br />
Now, that's my kind of invitation!<br />
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</div>Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-79018355277336235722016-01-06T07:54:00.004-05:002016-01-06T07:54:54.027-05:00Ever Notice?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ever noticed, that over time, the shiny-new becomes dull-and-dented? That the sparkly-lovely turns chipped-and-ugly? Or that the I-believe faith becomes the I-doubt faith?<br />
I guess I'm feeling that dull-and-dented part. The used-up and worn-out aspect. <br />
Here, on a fresh page of an untouched year, I find myself with a heart dried and peeling like skin left in the sun too long. Instead of eagerly running to greet the honored guest of 365-days spread before me, I am reluctant and limping. So while everyone around me has worthy goals to aim for, I'm aiming to simply do. the. next. thing.<br />
Ann Voskamp says, “Perfect Love accepts you 100% before you perform 1%. Perfect Love says you don't have to show anyone up- you just have to show up. You don't have to impress anyone- you just have to press on.”<br />
Do you know what I've noticed when you are dried out? You become thirsty. You seek ways to be refreshed. And there is no shame in being thirsty. In fact, it is the thirsty that Jesus invites to come. <br />
Jesus stood and shouted to the crowds. “Anyone who is thirsty may come to Me! Anyone who believes in Me may come and drink! For the Scriptures declare, ‘Rivers of living water will flow from His heart.’” John 7:37-38 NLT<br />
So at the beginning of a year, started dented and dry, I find myself limping to Jesus. He doesn't really care how I come. He just longs for me to come. I don't have to be impressive or show anyone up, I just need to show up, right there to His throne of grace. He does all the rest. (Hebrews 4:16)<br />
If this new year is feeling less than stellar, it's okay. Come with me; we can limp together, pressing on to the feet of Jesus. We can do the. next. thing. Thirst no more. Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-36887692531370656732016-01-04T09:33:00.000-05:002016-01-04T09:34:30.436-05:00The Stars<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-URP9dA67wpc/Vop_4NSBeSI/AAAAAAAAECY/R4_Le7A0rsM/s1600/tin%2Bstars" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-URP9dA67wpc/Vop_4NSBeSI/AAAAAAAAECY/R4_Le7A0rsM/s320/tin%2Bstars" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1GuRmVimyiE/VoqACENpDFI/AAAAAAAAECw/jjVD-vjhQHQ/s1600/mercy" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1GuRmVimyiE/VoqACENpDFI/AAAAAAAAECw/jjVD-vjhQHQ/s320/mercy" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5iOd4XNVnn4/Vop_9CyKWWI/AAAAAAAAECs/r2vShpe7E1s/s1600/comfort" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5iOd4XNVnn4/Vop_9CyKWWI/AAAAAAAAECs/r2vShpe7E1s/s320/comfort" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p2FyZMu78og/VoqAIVgAuHI/AAAAAAAAEC8/eF9AjqpaTIQ/s1600/mercy%2Band%2Bcomfort" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p2FyZMu78og/VoqAIVgAuHI/AAAAAAAAEC8/eF9AjqpaTIQ/s320/mercy%2Band%2Bcomfort" /></a></div>They were simple tin stars, lying in a basket passed down each row. You were expected to choose one. The choosing was to be led by the Spirit as each star had one word written on the back, a word meant for you for the coming year. It all felt ordinary to me, even un-holy, if you will. Certainly far from Spirit-led. <br />
I found myself compelled to choose a black tin star, my least-favorite color. Mercy was etched upon the back. Well, okay. I felt like I'd been learning about His mercy this past year so that word was just fine. <br />
On the way home, my Best revealed his word for the year: comfort. Surprisingly, that felt more Spirit-led as that has been his greatest need lately. That didn't change my lack of God’s-in-charge-of-this, regarding my own choice. <br />
That's when God gave a gentle nudge, more like a poke in the ribs, to get my attention. He reminded me of 2 Corinthians 1:3 that clearly states that He is the “Father of mercy and the God of all comfort.” There was a connection between our two chosen phrases. But how were they connected?<br />
In this verse, the Greek word used here for mercy is “eleos”. Eleos combines a strong emotional element: compassion, love, pity with a practical demonstration of kindness in response to the condition or need of the object of mercy. It assumes a need on the part of him who receives it and has resources adequate to meet the need. As the Father of mercy, God is the author or originator of love and pity that is extended to men, as they are miserable. <br />
As the God of all comfort, the Greek word “paraklesis” is used. In this verse, there is a combination of encouragement with the alleviation of grief. Matthew Henry says, “All our comforts come from God and our sweetest comforts are in Him.” Comfort comes as our hearts are strengthened by the upholding power of the Holy Spirit. <br />
Mercy, the act of God, always precedes the resulting experience in our hearts and lives, the relief from our distress, in this case, comfort. <br />
I needed to know God saw my need and my Best needed to know there was relief. What felt ordinary that morning, suddenly became a reminder that my Father is intimately acquainted with all our ways. He was a God who was in charge of all the details. All of them. Here was mercy. Here was comfort. These two words were messages that walked hand-in-hand, just as we did. In the process, two simple stars had become divine. <br />
Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-36285122522649478592015-12-18T07:33:00.000-05:002015-12-18T07:33:30.702-05:00To Them<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVD2GrS7f4o_kJz_noVjhXHtk5BZfFyS5OLKcU4ugA9uXvu38ix2j3v3o0L8_aooJFUsgVD5afwJUL4beN8ZpEEntF8Tun05PFh6hjEhjFBn6UWIjg8XEDOh9hXNiFTu-k5rjUpAIXpw/s1600/IMG_5891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVD2GrS7f4o_kJz_noVjhXHtk5BZfFyS5OLKcU4ugA9uXvu38ix2j3v3o0L8_aooJFUsgVD5afwJUL4beN8ZpEEntF8Tun05PFh6hjEhjFBn6UWIjg8XEDOh9hXNiFTu-k5rjUpAIXpw/s320/IMG_5891.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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----You will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger---<br />
Luke 2:12 NLT<br />
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<br />
Startling, this message was.<br />
Shepherds working third shift. Those who have been shifted by society, by men, to the bottom rung of the ladder. These were the lowest of the low. They are much like those who reek of neglect, reek of want and need, as they shove their shopping carts heaped with the picked-over and the picked-up, through the streets, under the roads that are paved for the must-haves and the not-enoughs, in our own society. These shepherds, like our homeless, were the nobodies, the cast-offs, the refuse on the list of don't-think-about.<br />
To them,the angel appeared.<br />
And the radiance of the Lord’s glory, surrounded them. The worthless, the filthy-- these are the ones surrounded and cradled. Sung to and championed.<br />
All for a baby, wrapped in humility and found among them. A baby, nestled in the stench of poverty, born into the darkness of the misunderstood and the cast-aside.<br />
This was the “good news that will bring great joy to all people,” the message given to the hopeless, one startling night. A Savior. A baby birthed among the forgotten, to clearly communicate, “I remembered.”<br />
These shepherds, they could recognize when someone cared, when someone was interested in them and not another “charity project” meant to make the giver feel better. When an angel bursts into the dark of their despair, heralding hope, their response was immediate. They RUN. “They left running...” <br />
Running to God.<br />
They had been remembered and now their emptiness, is filled. For it was to them, the Savior had come.<br />
Startling.<br />
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Glory to God in highest, and on earth peace to men... Luke 2:14 NIV<br />
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Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-39645094057360500182015-12-07T10:17:00.001-05:002015-12-07T10:18:12.261-05:00Going Through<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. Isaiah 43:2 NLT <br />
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To reach our destination often requires effort. <br />
We are willing to wade through the creek in our tromp in the woods. We will plow through the field to harvest the grain or muck through the mud to reach the barn and the animals waiting there. <br />
We will slog through the rain to reach the store and persevere through a run to gain good health. <br />
We will even climb through rocky hillsides to enjoy a spectacular view. <br />
The point of all these things is to go through, in order to reach our destination. <br />
I find that grief is no different. To reach the other side of it, I must be willing to go through it. <br />
To find comfort I must wade through the ache. To remember good memories, I must plow through the difficult ones. To survive a birthday, I must slog through the rain of sadness. Sometimes I have to climb through regrets or muck through guilt. And occasionally I have to wade through the deep waters of anger. <br />
To reach the destination of wholeness, requires effort, often more than I could ever imagine. It usually takes longer, is more difficult and is a higher climb than I ever thought possible. <br />
It is an unlikely journey, one I would be reluctant to choose. Yet if I had not traversed the valleys of grief, I would never have found the gifts that are now mine. I would not recognize the beauty around me or be satisfied with the simple. I could not comprehend joy or value unending hope. I have a deeper understanding of who my Lord is, a greater appreciation of those around me, and a longing for more of God and His word. <br />
When grief knocks on your door, you must welcome it, embrace it and know, that God is with you, even in the deep.<br />
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Though the Lord gave you adversity for food, and suffering for drink, He will still be with you..... Isaiah 30:20 NLT Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-27000813079816758062015-12-02T08:09:00.002-05:002015-12-02T08:12:01.247-05:00Lavishly <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I will love them lavishly. Hosea 14:4 Message<br />
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God? He's a God of excess. Abundance. And He chooses out of a pure-gold-heart, a heart of love, to bestow the unrestrained, on me.<br />
Yet I treat Him like some tube of toothpaste that needs to be twisted and squished to squeeze out just one more dollop. I act like He's some stingy old man, reluctant, miserly, in His views towards me. And I choose to believe that what God has to offer is meager, a pittance.<br />
It's like me coming to a Thanksgiving table overflowing with food, but I think I only get a thimble-full. So I come, boldly, proudly, with my pretty little thimble and ask to be filled. Yet I come away hungry. Every. Time.<br />
I am learning, ever-so-slowly, really only as-fast-as-a-snail-in-a-race, that my God, is wild, and unrestrained in generosity. He showers and lavishes His love and His goodness upon me. It often feels preposterous, even wasteful, yet He gives anyway. Despite my own reluctance, He chooses to be profuse.<br />
The next time I come to a table groaning, I want to bring a platter. I want to recognize that not only can I eat-til-I'm-full, but I can be satisfied. And that more is always available. <br />
Always.<br />
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Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-22810669641347520712015-11-24T09:13:00.002-05:002015-11-24T09:14:17.475-05:00Thanking God for you!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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May your heart overflow with thanks-giving today!</div>
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He is so good. </div>
Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-18137215606084128282015-11-16T11:48:00.002-05:002015-11-16T11:49:18.510-05:00Don't Like Hard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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See, here's the thing. I don't like Hard. Surprise! (I know. That one really threw you, huh?) I'm sure you love Hard! Love it as much as rocks in your bed or an elephant sitting on you. Let's say it together: “It's no fun! I don't like it!” There. That feels better. I think God's word should make statements like that, don't you? Verses like “Seek Him with all your heart.”, or “Rejoice in the Lord!”, feel like too much honey dripping off the bread. It’s not substantial or helpful. Instead it's messy and just doesn't stick to my heart. Kind of like applying a bandaid to a wet wound. Slides right off.<br />
In my world, it's felt like a lot of Hard lately. A lot of days where my heart oozes sad like cement walls in the basement after a rain. Days when the ache is so great over the loss of one more, the loss of this one, it's felt like an elephant sitting right there, on my chest. Not budging.<br />
So, this has been my plan of attack: run!<br />
Run start another project.<br />
Run plan some more.<br />
Run to my craft room and hide.<br />
And I keep looking for those “helpful” verses like, “When life gets difficult, cover it up.” Or how about this one? “If your heart is broken, run down the escape tunnel.”<br />
Funny, I can't seem to find those. And that would have been so soothing, I'm sure.<br />
Bleh. So now what?<br />
Has your Honey ever elbowed you, trying to get your attention? (Usually it's to get you to stop whatever it is you're doing.) Ok, I'll admit it. God's been elbowing me.<br />
He's been poking me in the ribs with words: “I am near to the broken-hearted.”<br />
Seriously? I've read this page before. Numerous times.<br />
This time, though, He's been asking me this question:<br />
Do I want Him near?<br />
Now that seems really obvious. Of course we want someone who loves us, someone big and strong by our side. (Kinda like my Best standing with me on a dark night in a rough neighborhood.) Yep, that's what I want!<br />
Then my God whispers gentle: Are you willing to be sad, to be broken-hearted to have Me closer?<br />
Oh.<br />
And He reminds me of all the times I hovered near that one in the hospital, anticipating needs, comforting and reassuring.<br />
Oh.<br />
And when she broke that bone at the bottom of the ravine and I ran, (Ran!) to be with her, shouting words of love as I was running. Shouting, so she could hear. I couldn't mend the broken or haul her out of there, but I could be near, holding her close as we anticipated the EMT’s arrival.<br />
This is what my God has been asking: Am I willing to be in this sad place, this broken spot, while He holds me close? While I weep and yell to have Him hurry?<br />
Am I willing?<br />
Gulp.<br />
So, maybe, just maybe, we've had it all wrong. <br />
Instead of living in dread of the Hard, or attempting to avoid the busted, maybe we need to be running right there, into, the ache. Like a sailboat heads into the wind. Maybe, we need to be willing, to have Him near.<br />
Maybe, when the tears leak endless, we need to anticipate having a closer view. Of Him.<br />
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If your heart is broken, you'll find God right there; if you're kicked in the gut, He'll help you catch your breath. Psalm 34:18 Message<br />
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</div>Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-11860990364592435642015-11-12T07:42:00.000-05:002015-11-12T07:42:53.075-05:00Old Rubble<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3IwMwMVozmM/U_tNBkzvW6I/AAAAAAAABLc/-x41ypnTXVU/s1600/build%2Bthe%2Bwall" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3IwMwMVozmM/U_tNBkzvW6I/AAAAAAAABLc/-x41ypnTXVU/s320/build%2Bthe%2Bwall" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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I'll give you a full life in the emptiest of places--- You'll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew, rebuild the foundations from out of your past. Isaiah 58:11-12 Message<br />
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I've seen rubble, piled high and daunting like some backwoods mountain needing to be climbed. Way back when, I saw dreams demolished and spread so wide I couldn't view the end of it. At the ripe age of fifteen, I didn't feel the heartbreak of so many lives scattered and shattered clear through in one city, that had been blown through and blown away. I only saw the hope that one bus load of teenagers felt, skipping a whole day of school, and working hard and soon forgetting all that debris.<br />
A lifetime later, I witness the wrecked. I feel the shattering and stumble through, stumble over, the busted. I experience the emptiness that once thrived. I weep over the destruction wrought by sorrow time and again. I cling, desperately, to any remains, even the broken bits, in hopes of resurrecting a life, a family. I count the cost of these ruins, and I stagger, overwhelmed and reeling.<br />
I am no longer fifteen, with hope-filled eyes. I stare at the rubble piled high and daunting and long for the grace to climb, pray for the strength to endure. It was here, as I was wading through the mess of it all, that my God came, whispering.<br />
“I'll give you a full life in the emptiest of places. “<br />
“You'll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew, rebuild the foundations from out of your past. “<br />
All that rubble, daunting? Building material.<br />
All those empty spots, seeping, weeping? Filled. With life.<br />
It feels impossible. Downright ludicrous.<br />
Until.<br />
Until I remember: God.<br />
And hope, it worms its way in. He is able to do all things. It is not too difficult for Him to bring water from a rock or to transform ashes into beauty. If He can resurrect the dead, He can resurrect a heart, a family.<br />
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I consider the ground, littered by the dead. I witness the emptiness of arms towering, and I know, that in the spring, life will blossom once more. And all this scattered, the rubble of past lives, will be the foundations, built anew.<br />
As I consider the dreams that are demolished and spread so wide that I can no longer glimpse them, and I ache with the heartbreak of so many lives shattered, lives that have been blown through and blown away, I can rest. Like leaves that are cast to the feet of these arms, towering, I can cast myself at the feet of my God whose love towers overall. I can run to the arms of my Savior who delights in using rubble to build a strong foundation. A Redeemer who “will look with compassion on all her ruins. He will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the Lord.” Isaiah 51:3<br />
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Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-60245895088284598652015-11-02T08:02:00.002-05:002015-11-02T08:05:29.106-05:00God's Good Plan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FmZScW1LGHU/VjdcNBUO2oI/AAAAAAAAB30/rGN4y0c0QzY/s1600/Fields" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FmZScW1LGHU/VjdcNBUO2oI/AAAAAAAAB30/rGN4y0c0QzY/s320/Fields" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div>But it was God's good plan to crush Him and cause Him grief..... Isaiah 53:10 NLT<br />
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It is God's good plan to crush with pain, to cause death and grief. That feels foreign and somehow wrong, doesn't it? We don't want to believe that God would purposely hurt us, willingly choose to cause us suffering. In our society, in our minds, that is proof He does not love. It is proof He does not care, is not really interested in our personal well-being. <br />
We have stood on the rock of Life-Should-Be-Easy and the foundation of Nice-People-Don't-Hurt-Us. Isn't that how we behave , how we live? We recoil, like some worm stabbed by a fishhook, at the mere thought of someone, let alone God, choosing to wound us. Yet here is God telling us it is His good plan to not just inflict pain, but to crush with pain, to purposely cause grief. Did you hear that? It is His good plan!<br />
How can that be?<br />
How could that possibly be loving or kind or any of the other sweet-gentle things we want God to be?<br />
None of it makes sense to us. We don't like it. We certainly don't want to live that way. <br />
It is only as we look at the world around us that we begin to recognize the truth of crushing and dying being a good thing. <br />
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A field is ready for planting only as the farmer harrows it- breaks up and pulverizes the soil. <br />
A seed must be buried and die before it yields a great harvest. <br />
The sand must be melted by intense heat and totally transformed before we can recognize the beauty of a crystal glass. <br />
The coal must be crushed for long ages before the diamond can be formed. <br />
Just as the farmer and the glass blower know it is only the breaking and the heat of flame that brings good results, so our God knows. <br />
It is His love for us that prompts Him to wound. It is His desire to bring out the best in us that allows the flames to lick our hearts. It is His care for us that plows up our lives so there may be a greater harvest. It is His good plan for us that crushes us with grief that there might be life more abundant. <br />
This is a perfect example of my own tendency to peer at the wrong end of the kaleidoscope. I want to focus on the broken bits and then am surprised when I only feel resentment and lack of care. <br />
From God's perspective, those broken bits are what cause the beauty. Without them, there would only be plain glass that gathers dust. <br />
It was when Christ was crushed with suffering and died, that eternal life was born. “When He sees all that is accomplished by His anguish, He will be satisfied. “ <br />
Isaiah 53:11 NLT<br />
To writhe in agony, unwillingly, demonstrates a lack of trust in our Sovereign, Mighty, Comforting, Merciful, Redeeming God. <br />
Oh, for the courage to lay our own lives down as an offering, to willingly enter into God's good plan. Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-52614194176239146762015-10-29T08:03:00.000-04:002015-10-29T08:03:47.761-04:00Unless It Falls<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I see them fallen, scattered, and I am reminded that we too will wither. I should not be surprised that one more, that I loved, one more who was vibrant and bright like a miniature flag flapping in the breeze upon these trees, has now wafted to the ground, joining endless others. <br />
My heart stumbles over the thought. I am humbled by the cycle spinning onward, knowing that I too shall join the ranks of these fallen. <br />
I do not sit among the dead paying tribute to one gone in a cemetery somewhere. No, I sit upon a log, surrounded by centuries of decay, now turned into rich soil. I listen to the serenade of songs reminding me of the constant care of my Father. I rest here, knowing there is beauty found in these memories cast upon the ground, lifeless and piled , heaped with grace and glory yet to come. <br />
I marvel as I cast my eyes upon these sentinels in endless ranks, that will soon cast their beauty upon this forest floor, knowing good will arise from so many crumpled lives. <br />
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I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But it's death will produce many new kernels-- a plentiful harvest of new lives. John 12:24 NLT<br />
<br />Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-40552950675729554792015-10-22T09:54:00.002-04:002015-10-22T09:54:33.888-04:00Right Here in the Balmy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been right here, in the balmy days of fall, when the days sing glory, the nights taste cool, and the smells wafting are of bonfires and leaves piled high. It's been here, in a time, in a season that I've always loved, when I fell in love with my Best, that I remember: this is when she was born; this is when she still lived.<br />
It was in these splendor-days, that her laughter rang clear, and she danced in the hallway while so many cheered. These were the hope-filled days. A time when the pain was only sporadic; there was another treatment to try and she released her long hair, preparing for the next step in her journey.<br />
This was her epoch, her zenith, when she continued to pack her bags, pack her tent, pack her heart chock-full of those she loved. <br />
These were the moments when she still lived, really lived.<br />
This is why I find my own heart etched with ache like frost upon the car. It is this fact that has sliced me thin, busts me wide and causes me to shrivel all at the same time. The truth of her epoch, causes me to snap and crackle and pop at those around me, and to puddle, tears leaking constant.<br />
For following that span of hope-filled days, was her tenacious clinging and the desperate longing for life to continue. But just as the final leaves upon the limb must soon be scattered, the winds of time cast our dreams to the ground, blowing away a life that we held dear.<br />
It's been right here, in the balmy days of fall, when the days sing glory and the nights taste cool that I remember. She once lived.<br />
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Our hearts are sick and weary, and our eyes grow dim with tears.<br />
But LORD, you remain the same forever. Lamentations 5:17, 19 NLT<br />
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Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-72695005227300769102015-10-19T07:35:00.001-04:002015-10-19T07:37:19.654-04:00Hold Tight<br />
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Hold tight to God, your God.<br />
Joshua 23:8 Message<br />
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I know what it is to hold tight. To cling, unending, to what I count dear. I've stuck myself like glue to papers and pictures, dressers and dresses, in an effort to feel safe, or feel value, only to have them burned up, thrown away or lost. I've held fast to people too. People who have moved away, walked away, turned their back or died.<br />
Something's wrong with this picture.<br />
All my efforts for security, for worth, or just plain love, have been washed away like the dust after a summer storm.<br />
In these words, "Hold tight to God.", is an insistence to attempt something different. There's an assurance that this is a good idea, since He is yours. He belongs to you. This is personal.<br />
It's not about my efforts to cling. The focus, instead, is upon the object that I am grasping. Can frames upon the wall or furniture that gathers dust, shield my heart or caress it? No, but God, my God, can and far more.<br />
He can soothe or help. He's capable of strengthening or reassuring. Besides that, He never changes, never tires. He never gives up, never withholds good.<br />
He is always present.<br />
Always kind.<br />
Always able.<br />
Always faithful.<br />
I will reach out and grasp Him, who never lets me go.<br />
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Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-24857800547465849102015-10-14T08:00:00.000-04:002015-10-14T08:01:49.710-04:00What Is<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"--- and they took the road that would lead them back---" Ruth 1:7 NLT<br />
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How often we turn our eyes, our hearts to what is behind. We long to take the road that takes us back to days, sublime, hours dancing with laughter. We are like the new mother who has forgotten the travails for the sake of joy within arm's reach.<br />
In these hours of grief, I would gladly journey back to days sunny with my daughter's presence, overflowing with her adamant challenges to our choices, to life itself and brim-full of her hard work and head-reared-back-laughter.<br />
Given the choice, I would traverse the alleys of dreams fulfilled and children chasing under foot. Wouldn't you? The Land of Was often beckons.<br />
"--- and they took the road that would lead them back---" Ruth 1:7 NLT<br />
Here, Naomi seeks to return to that place that Was:<br />
Was filled with husband, dear.<br />
Was flowing with children, tummies filled.<br />
Was home in days long gone.<br />
In my own efforts to take the road back to dream house and children, now dead, I have discovered that the Land of Was, is gone. To believe that I can live in Yesterday, is an illusion. It is a dream, lost and empty.<br />
I know that Naomi did not really travel back, but journeyed forward, to What Is. Only in What Is, can grace be found with peace. It is in Today, that I can weep and pray and seek, trusting the Keeper of all my Yesterdays.<br />
What Is, for Naomi, was a redeemer for her family and a grandfather for King David. (Ruth 4:14)<br />
My own Redeemer comes only as I choose to live in these What Is days. To sit here in the quiet of Today and linger, long, with Him who is Present.<br />
<br />Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-39177981276125247352015-10-10T10:47:00.000-04:002015-10-10T10:48:22.689-04:00The Little Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's the little things. </div>
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A forgotten picture,</div>
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Or mail addressed to her. </div>
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It's the fleeting, perfectly natural reminders. </div>
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A shoe. </div>
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An arrangement of jars,</div>
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Or the paint tubes left unused. </div>
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These are what prick my heart</div>
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Like another pin into the pincushion. </div>
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At times, it seems,</div>
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That teeny stab is trifling, no big deal. </div>
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At others, it is the hole which pops the balloon,</div>
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Deflating me into tears and disappointment, </div>
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The burst echoing---</div>
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She's not here.....</div>
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She's not here......</div>
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I want to be grateful</div>
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For these commonplace, little, things,</div>
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For each puncture, no matter how insignificant.</div>
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I know, oh I know,</div>
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That these too</div>
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Will blow away with the years</div>
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Like chafe on the wind. </div>
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And it's the little, stuff,</div>
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The tiny, infrequent, everyday, ordinary, items</div>
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Which point to her,</div>
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Reminders,</div>
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That once, </div>
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She lived. </div>
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Oh, how she lived. </div>
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<br />Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5536603895046049.post-20152134646593224502015-10-06T11:22:00.005-04:002015-10-06T11:23:27.271-04:00Autumn Rains<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When they walk through the Valley of Weeping, it will become a place of refreshing springs. The autumn rains will clothe it with blessings. Psalm 84:6 NLT</div>
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Those sunny days and cool nights have been my favorite season since I met my Best back when I was days and days past twenty. But when you toss in those dripping, chilly, overcast-with-gloom kind of weather, well, those aren't my favorite. There's just something, umm, uncomfortable, about those hours. Those are the times I want to hibernate in my craft room, oblivious to all that is foul outside my window. </div>
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Given that perspective, I was challenged by the phrase that autumn rains could be associated with blessing. And that's not the only place where Scripture combines chilly, damp with God's goodness! </div>
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Be glad, people of Zion, rejoice in the LORD your God, for He has given you the autumn rains, because He is faithful. Joel 2:23 NIV</div>
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I will send down showers in season; there will be showers of blessing. Ezekiel 34:26 NIV</div>
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I needed to understand this whole autumn rains business. What purpose did they serve? Because, honestly, I'm still back here on the "this is uncomfortable and I want to hibernate" page. </div>
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What I discovered was that Palestine has basically two seasons: the wet one and the bone-dry one. There were no great rivers; people had to rely solely on the rainy season for water for themselves, their animals, their fields. That wet season accounted for more than 90% of their national rainfall. The autumn rains began in October/ November and were essential in softening the ground in preparation for ploughing and sowing. So when the rains began on time and were sufficient, they became a demonstration of God's goodness and His faithfulness towards His people. All that damp and chilly became blessings. </div>
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In Palestine, like our own lives, the dry was followed by the damp. </div>
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So when, not if or maybe, but when, you and I have to traverse the Valley of Weeping, "A dry, sandy valley where the people are ready to perish from thirst", (Matthew Henry), then we can be confident of the faithfulness of our God. We can trust, that even that dry season will soon become a place of refreshment. It will be clothed with blessings. </div>
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All those sloppy-wet and cold days, are designed to soften our hearts, to bring new growth, renewed hope. </div>
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This is another example of the uncomfortable becoming a gift, and a reminder of God's goodness towards us. Anyplace where God wants to show up is where I want to be. Even in the autumn rains. </div>
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<br />Deb Coffeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578359251473977650noreply@blogger.com0