"The great houses will become desolate."

My BSF scripture reading today is Isaiah 5:8-23. He's calling people out on their sins and their disregard for God. This is one of the reasons that bible reading is good. No one's going to call me out on my sins in my day to day life. Here in the early morning, by myself, I'm reminded that it's wrong to go about my day without regard or even interest in God--who made me and who made the day.

Of the six "woes" that Isaiah spells out, it's the first that stops me in my tracks. Woe to you who add house to house and join field to field till no space is left and you live alone in the land. The Lord Almighty has declared in my hearing: "Surely the great houses will become desolate, the fine mansions left without occupants."


My family has just one house, in Roswell. Oh, but it's beautiful. At the heart is the kitchen, big enough to accommodate an island and breakfast bar and dining nook with a bay window, where you can watch humming birds in the many trees outside, a forest of trees. Rooms spill into other rooms, hardwood floors and wall to wall carpet, a finished basement (with large screen TV) and a master bath and even a laundry shoot.

We are living on about the same amount of money that we did in NJ--just four months ago. Our house in NJ was one third the size, but cost $600/month more in mortgage/tax payments. We had no guest room, and just one bathroom (so old and decrepit that my parents paid to have it refinished). Lousy water pressure, a leaky roof (and the subsequent mold), and no dining room. I never felt wealthy. I put myself squarely in the category of the "just getting by." We paid our bills, but just barely. Twice, we ran out of money before Lee's next paycheck, and we had to put groceries on the credit card.

I still worry about money, and with moving expenses (and the need to furnish the new house), we haven't started saving yet. But my home now is so beautiful, so big. There are people one town over who have less, much less. Simply by moving to the south, my family has moved into the (dare I say it?) well off category. Not in comparison to our stone's-throw-neighbors, who have even grander homes, even more sprawling property. But there's no denying we have been upgraded from where we were.

To whom more is given, more is expected. What can I do to show the Lord I am grateful, and I am willing to share? I am going to keep my eyes open to possibilities.

I am open, Lord. Show me if you have something in mind. A mentoring program? Something bigger? (Adoption of a child in need seems way too gigantic, but of course it's crossed my mind.) Please show me what you have planned for me.

Isaiah 5:1-7 and John 15:1-17

Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself. It must remain in the vine...Apart from me you can do nothing...If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love...This is my command: Love each other.


This doesn't come naturally for me--loving others. I love my children and my husband and my parents and my friends, but that's easy. Loving everybody else? Do I love that wacky woman in my BSF group who brags about curing her brain tumor with a macrobiotic diet (and rants about the cancer-causing properties of laptops and cell phones)? Or the many other women in that circle, so prim and tight-lipped and dim? Nope. My natural reaction is to feel my chest tightening, my breathing turn labored. Loving these people takes effort and time before I even arrive at BSF, reading Scripture and thinking about God's perspective.

Scripture helps. Seen through that soft focus, they are lovable.  Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself. It must remain in the vine...Apart from me you can do nothing. I can obey his commands easily if I seep myself in Scripture.

I've been fighting my way through A Place of Quiet Rest. Like many Christian authors, she repeats herself often, and takes five pages to make a point that could have been made in two paragraphs. In the first three chapters, I was frustrated: I'd heard/read it all before. "We attempt to live life on our own energy," DeMoss writes. "We think we can keep giving out without getting replenished." Reading this, I pushed back, scrawling in the margins: "It's misleading for the author to insinuate that every time you take time away from your busy schedule to pray, you will come away feeling replenished. It will not be long before novices discover that on some days, prayer time will be an exercise in frustration. Author should acknowledge this and give words of encouragement for praying through this."

This is where God is meeting me--I'm an eye-rolling ball of frustration. Don't tear me away from my busy life unless you're going to make it worth my while, Lord! I reject anything that isn't "intellectually stimulating" enough. The bathwater is murky, so I throw out the baby, too.

But he is patient with me. I keep reading (he knows I will), and in Chapter 4, DeMoss addresses the concerns I'd scolded her for forgetting back on page 30. Also, there's a moment at the end of  Chapter 2 that grabs me, that softens me, that sings. It's on page 84.

In the Song of Solomon, we read the story of a wealthy king who decides to find a bride. Much to everyone's surprise, the king does not pick one of the wealthy, well-educated, well-bred young women of the city. Rather, he goes out into the country and selects a common, ordinary peasant girl to be his bride. She is not beautiful; in fact, her skin is rough and dark from having worked out in the sun. When the kind brings her back to the palace, the daughters of Jerusalem are astonished at his choice. And no one is more astonished than the girl herself.


Nonetheless, the king takes his bride into his bedchamber, where he lavishes his love on her. By the end of the story, this young peasant girl has become a lovely, radiant woman whose beauty attracts the attention of all who see her. What has happened? She has spent time alone with her bridegroom. And she has taken on his characteristics. She has become transformed by his love.


I love that.


I have to go--Lily just woke up and wants pancakes. 

The first day of the rest of my life.

Last night I turned in early. Today--Monday, September 27--is the first day of my new prayer blog, and I've determined to do it in the morning, after putting Isabel on the school bus. That means a 6:30 a.m. alarm and a prayer time starting around 7:15 a.m. In the book I'm reading for Next Generation Mentoring (A Place of Quiet Rest, by Nancy Leigh DeMoss), she strongly suggests prayer time first thing in the morning. She quotes several bible passages and Christian writers who attest to this. So, early to bed last night.

But Lily came in and woke me up in the middle of the night, and then Isabel climbed in, and I spent several hours awake, with a tiny knee here and a little elbow there, poking me all night. When the alarm went off this morning, the sound was un-natural, unholy, wrong.

So here I am, exhausted and unable to concentrate. I reread my BSF scripture passage for the week. To answer one of the BSF questions, I'm sent to Luke 10:20. I answer the question, and I'm done with the day's BSF homework. None of the scripture in the homework has grabbed me.

Now the Bible sits open on my lap. Dazed, fighting the desire to crawl back into bed, I wonder what passage to read next. Should I just find any passage? Look for psalm? Psalm 23? No, not feeling it. I look down at the open Bible, and there is Luke 11, which is titled "Instruction on Prayer."

I want so much for God to talk to me, for there not to be any coincidences. I want to believe He's in this, too. Maybe He's led me to Luke 11? And to the Lord's prayer, as if to say, "Just start out easy, with the Lord's Prayer, which you memorized when you were Isabel's age"? I read through the familiar words. I want to go to sleep.

You can read anything into anything. Is God in this with me? I don't know. I'm very tired. But I'll try again tomorrow.