Clay

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Have Thine own way, Lord! Have Thine own way! Thou art the Potter, I am the clay. Mold me and make me after Thy will, While I am waiting, yielded and still. ~ Adelaide A. Pollard © 1907

I recall in art class in my freshman year of high school, we had a course in pottery. We were each given a lump of clay. It was hard and not pliable. We spent a good week each in the class working the clay. It went from a brick to a mold-able mound. My hands ached throughout that week, yet it was an enjoyable experience.

Once the clay was ready to be shaped, our teacher gave us the option of using the potter’s wheel or making a free form object. I sat and watched a few students on the potter’s wheel. The clay would shift from the center causing a mis-formed object. Other times I would see the lump of clay go flying off the wheel, landing on the ground. It was upon seeing this that I decided to do a free formed project. The potter’s wheel intimidated me. I wanted no part of it.

2 “Go down to the potter’s shop, and I will speak to you there.” 3 So I did as he told me and found the potter working at his wheel. 4 But the jar he was making did not turn out as he had hoped, so he crushed it into a lump of clay again and started over. 5 Then the Lord gave me this message: 6 “O Israel, can I not do to you as this potter has done to his clay? As the clay is in the potter’s hand, so are you in my hand.” Jeremiah 18:2-6 (NLT)

While getting to know and draw closer to the Lord in my early twenties, I began to understand the potter’s wheel and clay. Even more so after visiting the city of Mashiko in the Tochigi Prefecture. The city was three and half hours from where we lived by train. It is a city of artists and although the pictures show a thriving metropolitan area, when we visited over 40 years ago, it was a village with artisans working in cave like areas.

Each artist had their products available and it was fascinating to see them work the clay into beautiful objects. The way the clay was worked on the wheel with deft hands. They understood the medium they worked with. There was a kinship between the clay, and the potter.

“What sorrow awaits those who argue with their Creator.  Does a clay pot argue with its maker? Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying,     ‘Stop, you’re doing it wrong!’ Does the pot exclaim,     ‘How clumsy can you be?’ Isaiah 45:9 (NLT)

Our lives are being shaped and molded by the Master Potter, God. When we allow ourselves to be worked by our Creator, we will see a masterpiece in the making. He makes no mistakes, He who has created this world with it’s beauty is waiting to make a beautiful piece of art with us.

My vase from Mashiko

Today

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37 “When the Son of Man returns, it will be like it was in Noah’s day. 38 In those days before the flood, the people were enjoying banquets and parties and weddings right up to the time Noah entered his boat. 39 People didn’t realize what was going to happen until the flood came and swept them all away. That is the way it will be when the Son of Man comes. Matthew 24:37-39 (NLT)

Early this morning I received a message from a dear friend. She told me that her father only had a few hours left to his life. He holds a special place in my heart. The times that I have spent with him have been times of laughter and humor and comfort. His presence exuded comfort. He felt like a Dad when you were near him. Since it had been many years since my own Dad had passed, I loved receiving his hugs. Dad hugs are, in my experience, a comforting and peaceful thing. My thoughts and prayers have been with her throughout the day as she is going through this heart-wrenching time.

Later in the day I went to do errands. As I had parked and was heading into the store, I heard a car driving with loud music. It pulled into the space and the music stopped. I looked at the young man as he got out of his vehicle and told him I loved his music. It was Gospel Worship and I could have listened for the next few hours. We chatted a bit and we parted smiling. We had a mini conversation about our Lord. It was wonderful and left me smiling. After all, we all need a dose of the Holy Spirit when heading into Walmart.

As I was heading home, a fire truck with it’s lights on and siren blaring, raced down the street. It disappeared quickly and I wondered where it was headed to. I always pray for the first responders when I see a fire truck or ambulance, it’s just habit. I drove towards the grocery store and off to my left I saw a plume of dark smoke.

Having lived in Southern California for years, the sight of smoke raises concern in me immediately. I watched the smoke and knew that was where the fire truck was rushing too. The smoke lightened in color and I knew the first bout of water had hit the fire. The closer I went to the location the darker the smoke was. I thought it might be a construction fire, but it was a home. The smoke engulfed the house and the fire was sustaining itself.

After getting my groceries and heading home, I thought of the above verse. We each wake up daily with our list of things we want to accomplish. We think of friends and neighbors, we may pray for them. We don’t always know how their day is going. Today, someone was losing the patriarch of their family. Someone was rejoicing in the Lord. A family lost their home today. Memories with each situation were created or destroyed this day.

We do not know what a day holds for us. We may plan many things to do. We may not be able to finish them.

We plan the way we want to live,
    but only God makes us able to live it. Proverbs 16:9 (The Message)

Anxious No More

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Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:6-7 (NKJV)

In starting this blog, I determined to be open and honest. I wanted to be real in talking about my relationship with our Lord and I wanted to be open about my experiences. Thus far it has been easy. This one is like that dream you have of being in middle school and walking down the halls undressed. I approach this blog with an amount of hesitancy.

Shortly after the birth of our youngest, I was hit with major depression. I was 28 at the time, my husband was out to sea, and I bought and moved into our first home a week before our daughter was born. I also had a 4 year old. At first glance, that’s Navy life, and baby blues. Not a big deal.

However that depression continued on from my late twenties and into my thirties. I went to counseling and physicians to no avail. That is when I turned to the Great Physician. It was a distressing time but also a season of growth and education for me.

Along with depression and anxiety, I had a constant companion of fear. I was afraid of everything. Someone could stub their toe in Antarctica and I would be thinking it was going to affect my home life. I was consumed with the what ifs.

Finally I was put in touch with the right physician and found a conclusion for this mental debilitation. The situation was taken care of and I healed physically, emotionally and mentally. It was a long drab season though.

Throughout this period of time, I wrote, prayed, listened, tried diets and anything I could think of. From the start there were two scriptures that I clung to. I repeated and read the one above and this one. 2 Timothy 1:7 says, “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” (NKJV)

I would repeat, pray, yell the part of a sound mind. I stood upon that word. I still cling to it.

Do I regret that time of my life? Am I ashamed of it? No. It was during this season of my life where I learned to trust my God. He never left me during this time. He was beside me with each appointment. He was with me during sleepless nights where I wondered if the world would be better without me. He was there when I spent nights crying. He was there. He was there. He was there. And because He was there, I am here, able to talk about this.

I do not think I would be me the way I am without that season. It shaped and molded me. I learned strength. I learned faith. I learned to trust in the Word.

Am I saying I now do not have a bout of depression, anxiety or fear? No, I am human and we are still on this chaotic earth. I know where I have come from. I rest knowing I have a loving God who is there for me. When I face the things that crippled me so long ago, I look at it through eyes of a veteran who has faced the battle of depression, fear and anxiety. The battle has been fought. I have survived. I have the tools to squash these enemies. Most of all, I have a God, who still is beside me giving me strength.

We who have run for our very lives to God have every reason to grab the promised hope with both hands and never let go. It’s an unbreakable spiritual lifeline, reaching past all appearances right to the very presence of God where Jesus, running on ahead of us, has taken up his permanent post as high priest for us, in the order of Melchizedek. Hebrews6: 18-20 (The Message)

Prayer

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“God speaks in the silence of the heart. Listening is the beginning of prayer.” Unknown

We all enjoy conversations with one another. There are some conversations where the tone is light, airy and superficial. Other chats may become deep in revelation with one another. Exchanges with people can cover all areas or no areas at all. I think we have all experienced varieties of discussion.

I first learned about prayer that was not a rote prayer from a nun in my eighth grade year. Sister Kevin opened a class one day and introduced us to having a time of conversing with God. Growing up with reciting prayers from memory, this was a novel idea for me. But that lesson remained with me and still today I think back on that class.

Over the years I have been part of several courses on prayer. I often go back to the basic thought of conversation. When greeting someone, we do not carry on a one sided conversation. We allow the other person to respond and add to the exchange. (of course I have had those who don’t let you get a word in edge-wise also)

The same is true when starting a conversation with our Lord. He is not a jolly Santa who we come to and list our wants and desires and walk away with a treat. No, He is our Creator. He formed us in the wombs of our mothers. He knows the number of hairs on our head. He is intimately aware of how our body works and functions. And He longs to talk with us.

I am guilty of treating Him like a vending machine, expecting immediate results. That is one problem in this instant world of ours. Something breaks in the house? Go buy another. Hungry? Put something in the microwave and zap it. There are immediate answers for everything we set our eyes upon.

We just experienced a power outage at our home. In the seven years we have lived here, this has been the longest time without electricity. It was out for about an hour. It’s a very windy day. A tree had fallen on a line on the main road and that was the culprit. It is now fixed and things are once more humming in the house.

During that hour I went out to walk. The wind was whisking leaves around me, but there was a stillness I was aware of. Something was different.

As I was talking with the Lord while walking, I was impressed that sometimes our lives need to come to a halt. A time to quiet ourselves and listen. We may just hear the wind. We may hear a still small voice. Often, I hear a loud clearing of a throat and words telling me to stop and listen. Such was today on my walk. Our Lord wants to talk with us.

The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, And His ears are open to their cry. Psalm 34:15 (NKJV)

First Love

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“There’s no love like the first.” – Nicholas Sparks

We all remember our first love. It is the one that awakened feelings never felt before. It usually is our first heartbreak. It follows you into each relationship you have after.

My first love happened at the city pool in the summer of 1969. He was a few months older than me. He stood several inches taller than me. We had a brief stint as boyfriend/girlfriend and by August of 1969, my heart was shattered into pieces, some of which I never really recovered. It was in August of 1969 that I put myself on guard. I determined that I would never again suffer the heartbreak that I had become well versed in. Such is the thought of a high school freshman.

A few years later I was engaged to my high school sweetheart, preparing for a life as a Navy wife. No, it was not the same man, but he has been my sweetheart for the past 50 years.

I would like to say that it has been sweet music and laughter. I would like to say that, but it would not be true. The heartbreak I endeavored to avoid was a part of my life in our early marriage. I thought I would never again feel the joy, the unspeakable joy of a first love. And then, on Monday evening, April 18th, 1977, in Yokohama, Japan, we met our Lord in a personal way.

We were washed with joy. We were bathed and cleansed with love for one another. Each day gave birth to hope. We had a season of our first love with Jesus.

As with all loves, you cannot continue with emotional highs. It’s not like the love dwindles, but it becomes normal. It becomes your life. When I was first saved, I was I’m born again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now, it’s a matter of fact, I’m born again.

With time, love becomes a comfort. After 47 years of marriage, I am comfortable in my relationship with my husband. We know how the other works. We know what will make them comfortable, what pushes the wrong button. I know that after dessert, he will fall asleep. only to wake up and wonder why another show is on t.v.. He knows that I have this quirk that all the light switches have to be in the same position and he knows that I’ll growl if he messes them up. Our love is comfortable.

I know your deeds and your labor and perseverance, and that you cannot tolerate evil people, and you have put those who call themselves apostles to the test, and they are not, and you found them to be false;  and you have perseverance and have endured on account of My name, and have not become weary. But I have this against you, that you have left your first love. Therefore, remember from where you have fallen, and repent, and do the deeds you did at first; or else I am coming to you and I will remove your lamp-stand from its place—unless you repent. Revelation 2:2-5 (NASB)

However, how often in our relationships do we look at our spouse and wonder why things have become so ordinary. Each day is similar to the previous one. We know the love is there, and I can look at my husband and still see the 17 year old boy I fell for. That smile is now surrounded by a gray beard and thinning hair though.

Do we also become complacent with our relationship with our Lord? We are assured of His love toward us. Knowing that He is there in all aspects of our life, do we take that for granted? I often think of this verse in Revelation and ask to be returned to my first love of our God. The fervor of waking each day, anxious to see what He is going to do in my life, and wanting to be used of Him for great things. Too often I awake each morning, thanking Him for waking me up and giving Him the day only to walk into the kitchen and suddenly it is I who is going through the day.

The challenge is to start each day remembering Who it is that I serve. I serve an awesome God, a God to hears me when I pray, hears me when I cry. He is by my side when I feel alone. He will never leave me, nor forsake me. I am His. I am blessed.

“For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.” Zephaniah 3:17 (NLT)

Papa

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He went on a little farther and fell to the ground. He prayed that, if it were possible, the awful hour awaiting him might pass him by. Abba, Father,” he cried out, “everything is possible for you. Please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.” Mark 14:35-36 (NLT)

According to Strong’s Concordance, the term Abba means, “Father, customary title used of God in prayer. Abba, approximating a personal name, framed by the lips of infants betokens unreasoning trust. Father expresses an intelligent apprehension of the relationship by the child. The two together express the love and intelligent confidence of the child.” The New Strong’s Concordance.

The above verse shows Jesus’ relationship with His Father. He addresses Him with a child-like expression and an adult expression. We see His trust in His Father as He is about to go to the cross for us. In my opinion, this is a prayer for strength and compassion and trust in what is about to happen.

How often are we in a position where we want to pray like this? We know God is in control, that He loves us and yet do we approach Him in a child-like way? Do we have a child-like trust in Him? Knowing, from experience in times of looming appointments or situations I tend to allow dread to fill me instead of trust. In those times I have to put myself into a quiet place alone to truly remember that I trust in God to do what is appointed for me.

There is a man in our church who is an example to me when he prays. His prayers begin with ‘Papa’. A simple address for a mighty God. The first time I heard him pray I was stunned at such a familiar greeting. As he continued I realized that this man knows God. He spends time with Him and is accustomed talking with Him. There is no straight laced formality. He comes to our God and is honest with Him.

It is an incentive for me to get to the place in prayer where I can imagine myself crawling up into our Father’s lap, leaning in and listen to His heartbeat. When I was a child I remember being at an aunt’s house with my parents. The adults were sitting around the table talking and I climbed into my mother’s lap and sat curled up, listening to her heartbeat while she talked with the others at the table. It was a comforting moment in my memory. I have had those times in prayer also. Those are the times where I can truly say, Abba, Father, Papa, I trust you.

So you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves. Instead, you received God’s Spirit when he adopted you as his own children. Now we call him, “Abba, Father.” Romans 8:15 (NLT)

Pam’s Spaghetti

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And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of his return is drawing near. Hebrews 10:25 (NLT)

We attended a group while in Japan. We were the Friday Night Fellowship and we met in the chapel of the base hospital. We were all young and enthusiastic about our love of Jesus. Yes, we were a bunch of Jesus freaks, after all, it was the 70’s. It seemed that everyone was freakish about something in the mid 70’s.

Our little fellowship tried once a month to meet in homes and we shared a community meal. We all took turns doing this. Those of us who didn’t live in government quarters squeezed everyone into the small Japanese apartments.

One Saturday we went to the home of friends. It was a small apartment and somehow about 20 of us fit into the place with spillover onto their little patio. Pam made spaghetti. Her sauce smelled wonderful and being young adults, we all arrived starving.

I remember making my way to the kitchen to see if I could help. What greeted me was a very frustrated Pam. Her blonde hair starting to curl because of the steam coming off the pans of boiling spaghetti. Her eyes told the story of her frustration. I went to her and looked into the pan of scalding water. There in the center of the pan was a big ball of spaghetti. No strands, just one big ball. The other pan held the same. Our eyes met and I half-believing said, “We can fix this”. Ahh! youth and inexperience.

We grabbed forks and for the next few minutes we separated the strands of pasta. Of course, the pans were much too small for the amount of pasta that was put in. That was one of the lessons learned that afternoon. But eventually we got enough strands to feed the crowd. Pam and I each had the remaining ball of pasta to cut our way through as we ate.

No one was the wiser of what our kitchen drama had been. They ate and were filled and happy. Lesson two of that day was, if no one is aware of the drama, they don’t think about it.

I confess that I have never made spaghetti since without thinking of that day. I don’t think I have had a ‘ball’ of spaghetti, but I have had strands stick together. I often ask the Lord what the parable of the ball was. What was the analogy?

I have had several thoughts about that ball of food. We can hold tightly to one another, keeping a hedge of protection around us. We can join forces to be a stronghold where we are a force to be reckoned with. We sometimes intertwine ourselves with others and we miss what the Lord has for us. We need a support system to keep us propped up.

There are several lessons we could learn from a ball of spaghetti. When I remember it, I think of the laughter from this woman. I think of the times we spent together, in Japan and in San Diego. We encouraged one another, we taught one another, we prayed for each other. We were bound like that ball of soaking pasta.

Ecclesiastes 4:12, “ A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.” (NLT)

Resident Aliens

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“We are strangers, we are aliens, we are not of this world” Petra

In early June of 1976 we boarded a plane at San Francisco International airport. We were heading to Japan. I had never taken an international trip before and had no idea what was in store for me. I was scared and apprehensive of what the next three years held for me. I was also excited for a new adventure with my husband of of 17 months. Together we found our seats, and buckled up for our trip.

Several hours later I looked out to see brilliant blue waters below me. We were descending to land. I looked over to Dale (my husband) and asked if we were there already. He smiled and said, “No dear, we are in Honolulu” . I had no idea that the flight would be so long. We had a 45 minute layover there and I said I wanted to breathe Hawaiian air. At that time we could get off the plane and go outside, no security checks, no TSA, just a terminal with doors to go through. We walked outside and smelled the fresh Hawaiian air. Something I thought I would never do. We came back inside and bought an ice cream bar from a vending machine. Vending machines were the only thing that was available, no restaurants like we have now. We got back to our seats ready for the next leg of our journey. That has been my only Hawaiian adventure.

The plane itself was filled mostly with military folks going to a new duty station. We were all young, early twenties and some ‘older folks’ who were in their thirties. There was a party atmosphere on the plane as one of the wineries in California had provided wine for the second leg of the trip. As we drew near to Japan airspace the crowd in the plane was in full tilt party mode. We had all had wine, we had a buffet, we were becoming friends.

It was a rainy evening when we touched down at Haneda airport in Tokyo. We taxied to a stop and the plane grew silent. We had landed and reality hit us all. We had filled out the forms for what we were bringing into the country, and we were ready to head to customs. At the door of the plane, I hesitated, afraid of the next step. Dale gave me a gentle nudge and I started down the stairs. We stood on the tarmac and looked at the signs. Both were in Kanji with English translation below. The first sign said ‘residents’ the second ‘aliens’. Everyone hesitated. Here we were aliens. We did not belong to this country. This was not our home. I will never forget that feeling. I knew I would be there for three years. The bottom line was I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my sisters. I needed to see them. I needed reassurance and hugs. Instead, my husband held out his hand and guided me into the terminal. The first step, done.

Obviously, we made it through customs and met our sponsor from the base who greeted us and got us to our final destination, Yokosuka. Our sponsor became a dear friend who got us settled and ready for what would become one of the greatest adventure of my life.

It was in Japan that I would become a born-again Christian. It was there that I began to realize that we are all aliens on this earth. Our true home for those of us who trust our Lord with our lives, is in Heaven. We are just passing through. We are resident aliens.

II Corinthians 5:1-5 says, “For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again. Sometimes we can hardly wait to move—and so we cry out in frustration. Compared to what’s coming, living conditions around here seem like a stopover in an unfurnished shack, and we’re tired of it! We’ve been given a glimpse of the real thing, our true home, our resurrection bodies! The Spirit of God whets our appetite by giving us a taste of what’s ahead. He puts a little of heaven in our hearts so that we’ll never settle for less.” (the Message)

What’s Up With the Roses? Part 3 Caught in the Brambles No More

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The last time my granddaughter was visiting we took a walk.  We often take walks when we are together.  Walking down our steep road, she said she wanted to go see our creek. It flows through our property in our woods; our grandchildren love to play by it. 

As we veered off the road, I told her to be careful of the brambles.   She didn’t understand at first, so I told her that brambles were the thorny branches of the wild roses that grow on our property. 

Walking forward she learned what brambles were.  I tried to clear the path, but with each step she landed deeper into the mass of thorny bushes. She finally threw up her arms pleading with me to pick her up.  I leaned down, scooped her up, turned and gently tossed her up the hill where she landed on her feet.  The conversation back to the house was filled with her dislike of brambles.

How often in our lives do we start heading to a destination only to find ourselves caught in a pile of brambles?  We eventually throw our hands up, pleading with God to lift us from the thorns. He is faithful and removes what is keeping us tangled up.  But, our Lord, unlike this Grandmother, will gently pick you up, and lay us beside still waters to hear His voice and heal.   

Psalm 23:2-4, “He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams. 3 He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths,   bringing honor to his name. 4 Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.” (New Living Translation)

What’s Up with the Roses? Part 2 He’s Called Me Rose

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Our home in San Diego overlooked a major freeway.  There was noise from the vehicles day and night. Right beside the freeway was a landfill. When we first bought our house, the landfill was a site for bulldozers and heavy equipment.  In a few years it looked almost idyllic sitting beside the never-ending traffic.  Where bulldozers once roamed the land, grasses grew, along with the California poppies in the spring. 

Our family room looked out on the freeway and frequently I would stand at the window watching the vehicles whizzing down the road.   This is also the room where I would have my quiet time and prayer time. 

I had a season in my life while living there, that I struggled with my first name, Mary.   That sounds silly, I know, but it was a real struggle for me.

I was raised a Catholic, and my parents named me after my aunt Jane.  She too was Mary Catherine, but my Mom once told me they called her Jane because she was a plain Jane.  Not a winning argument in me liking the name Mary. 

My family called me Cathi.  I was used to that.  I like it.  I had a rude awakening when I entered first grade though.  Being a Catholic school there were many Mary’s.  Mary Kay, Mary Ann, Mary Beth, you get the idea.  Each of the girls was called by their full name.  I was just called Mary.  I dislike being called Mary.  It’s a beautiful name, and I am finally beginning to like it, but I prefer my full name or Cathi.  

It was during this season in 1991 when I was wrestling with God about my name.  Often during my quiet time I would hear Him speak to me about my name.  I wrote in my journal one day in October of that year that I need to accept that I am Mary.  I needed to accept who I am.  I continued to write in my journal the following: “You need to accept who you are. Just as you are a Rose- you are a wild one, not cultivated and pruned and restricted.  You are an individual”.  I remember after writing this looking out the family room window imagining a wild rose growing on the hillside of the landfill.   A wild rose that no one really notices, but is there.  I saw the rose as pink, I don’t know why. 

Recently I went back in my journals and saw this entry.  I went online and researched pink roses.  Wild roses are likely to be pink; they are a symbol of love and admiration, and a carrier of secrets.

So many years ago I heard about wild roses.  I had a deck full of cultivated roses, and I never thought of a wild rose.  Years ago our Lord was telling me that I may not be noticed, but He noticed me.  He loves me and He knows me. 

Isaiah 43:1b says, ““Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.”

I rest knowing that I am His.