The eyes of the Lord search the whole earth in order to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him. What a fool you have been! From now on you will be at war.
2 Chron. 16:9
This, then, is how you should pray:
“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us today our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one."
Matthew 6:9-13
"Call to Me
and I will answer you…”
Jeremiah 33v3
I absolutely do believe that God answers prayer.
No doubt whatsoever in my mind. It’s all over Scripture, from the very beginning to the very last verse. Every story, every promise, every prophesy, and every teaching enforces the incredible, glorious truth that God answers prayer.
Problem is, He doesn’t always say Yes.
Just like when my grandson asks me for a handful of M&M’s. Sometimes I say, yes. In fact, I usually say yes (don’t tell his mom).
But sometimes I say, not now, later, after you eat your dinner.
And sometimes I say no. No you can’t have M&M’s because they’ll make you hyper and crazy and grouchy and you’ll hit your brother and then where will we be?
And then there are those other times when I say no, because I have something much better in mind. Let’s hop in the car and go to Cold Stone and get us a big bowl of ice cream all smothered in M&M’s. Which of those do you suppose Jude prefers?
And that’s the way it is with God too.
Sometimes He says yes,
Sometimes later,
Sometimes NO, and
Sometimes He’s got something better in mind.
But always, always, always, He answers prayer.
From my heart,
Diane
Has that ever happened to you? Has God not given you something you were absolutely certain you needed right now… only to find out that He had something far better on the horizon? Do old boyfriends come to mind? Or that house you bid on and lost but then you “happened” to find something beyond what you’d hoped?
Will you tell us about it? We need your stories to strengthen our faith!
Also, don't forget about the Women's Night in Prayer tomorrow night!
All 3 locations start at 11:59 on the dot. Come closer to 11 to find your group and start getting comfortable.
Dear girls, As the Night in Prayer approaches every year I start to get a little uneasy.
Not scared exactly, just that brush of remembering how hard it is to stay up all night.
How every year I think I can’t do it…
and I’m not so sure I really want to...
and do I have to?
Again?
And every year Jesus meets me in that place of anxious unrest. It is hard. He knows about that. As pressed and pressured as He was, He pulled away from all the needs that hounded Him and went away to pray— all night long.
And I think He did it, not because He had to, but because He needed to.
Maybe He was praying for us, for me, for all these people He loves who still don’t love Him back.
And so every year I do it again. And every year He fills me with the strength to make it all the way through the night. To keep talking, to shake myself awake, to lead our hundreds of hungry women who come because they need to come and pray all night.
Will you join me this year?
Will you come and pray for all those people you know who He loves but who still don't love Him back?
Will you come and pray for yourself? For your brokenness? Your disfunction and dissatisfaction? For His grace to make you more than you are so He can use you more than you can believe?
Every year women tell me their reasons for not coming. I used to push back, to try to convince women they can do this-- after all, if I can, you can too. Me, the woman who starts checking the clock as soon as it gets dark and falls into bed with relief as near to 9 pm as possible most nights.
Now I know its the women who are desperate for God who will show up this Friday night. Women who must see God at work in their lives, women who thirst for God, who will go to great lengths to hear Him and touch Him and ask Him for help.
If you're one of those, I invite you to join us. Be tired with us. Laugh and giggle and get a little crazy with us. Dare to ask for big things. Pray Impossible Prayers. Meet God in a way you never have before.
Because He shows up for our Night in Prayer. His presence is palatable.
I'll be there... worried a little... sleepy before it even starts... but listening for His voice and craving your company as we seek Him together.
From my heart,
Diane
Click here to sign up!
We know what real love is because Jesus gave up his life for us. So we also ought to give up our lives for our brothers and sisters.
1 John 3:16
I am an introvert.
I like to be alone. A lot.
My idea of being friendly to strangers is to nod my head when I walk by.
My idea of a great vacation is to read all day long every day. Then to take a walk and think about what I just read.
I am married to a man who actually talks to strangers. As in, engages in conversations. He admires their dog, asks the dog’s name, wants to know where they’re from, then tells them where we’re from and where we used to live and why he’s enjoying the sunshine and missing his dog.
So when my blog team suggested I write more about myself, be more personal and knowable, I just stared at these delightful girls sitting at my dining room table and said nothing.
But as all introverts know, just because I don’t talk a lot certainly doesn’t mean I suffer a deficit of words. Introverts actually do talk - we just talk internally. I am a chatterbox really. I just talk inside, long running dialogues about everything I see and smell and hear and feel and think and wonder.
Here, my dear friends are some of those ramblings:
Where I am right now: staying in a nice little condo right across from the beach in California for a week
Why? To soak our pasty-white skin in sunshine… and to make some progress on the spiritual parenting seminar we’re working on… to see our daughter who lives in L.A.
What I miss from home: The rain (don't tell Phil), my dog, my kids, my grandkids.
Where I would live if I could live anywhere in the world: Portland, Oregon
What I’m reading right now: The Hobbit (I know, I know, you thought I was going to mention something super-spiritual!)
What I’m dreaming of doing someday: Writing a lovely fantastical tale for my grandkids— stocked full of fierce dragons and elusive unicorns and mystical creatures.
What I’m actually writing right now: My story. The whole sordid tale of my failure to accept my deafness with grace and then God’s shocking sufficiency and His beautiful way of speaking in my silence.
How it’s coming: S.L.O.W.
Why: Because I’m dabbling. And doing too much other stuff at the same time.
What other stuff? Preparing a new series for the blog, writing the spiritual parenting seminar Phil and I plan to teach Memorial Day weekend, plus all the other stuff that takes up space in a full life.
What I’m learning: To listen. To stop striving and just be still. To receive, not passively but actively. And that sometimes I don’t get done what I want to get done because I don’t have a plan of how and when I’m going to get it done.
What haunts me: My need for people’s approval.
What I’d love to do someday: Take the whole family to Disneyland and stay in a hotel together and eat and laugh and talk and tease and take pictures and just play for a week.
What I’m enjoying: Instagram. I’m addicted. I love the pictures of babies and the off-beat humor and those brief glimpses into people’s real lives.
Okay, enough about me.
What about you?
Where are you right now? What are you enjoying? What haunts you?
If I can do it so can you…
From my heart,
Diane
And when he comes, he will open the eyes of the blind
and unplug the ears of the deaf.
The lame will leap like a deer,
and those who cannot speak will sing for joy!
Isaiah 35:5,6
I wonder sometimes what I am missing by not hearing music.
I don’t remember, really, what bells sound like, or tinkling chimes.
What does it mean that a song is rich? Or layered and complex?
Why do people get in their cars and immediately reach for the power button on the CD player? My vintage 1976 Mercedes doesn’t even have a CD player.
And yet I see my son and how he loves his music. How he fits certain kinds to match his moods— loud and driving and strong for courage of conviction, soft and low for worship, crazy drum solos and crashing cymbals for joyful thanksgiving.
It all sounds terrible to me. When I’m “plugged in” (Comer-speak for when I have my cochlear attached to my head) it sounds just like the garbage disposal eating egg shells and ice. When I’m “unplugged” I hear nothing.
And this morning as I read about the building of the Temple by Solomon, I am struck by words about music. Bells on priest’s robes, musicians gathering to form choirs, and this:
All these men were under the direction of their fathers as they made music at the house of the Lord. Their responsibilities included the playing of cymbals, harps, and lyres at the house of God. Asaph, Jeduthun, and Heman reported directly to the king. They and their families were all trained in making music before the Lord, and each of them—288 in all—was an accomplished musician. The musicians were appointed to their term of service by means of sacred lots, without regard to whether they were young or old, teacher or student.
(1 Chronicles 25:6-8)
A family of music makers. Can you imagine the fun they had? The noise their neighbors put up with? And do you notice they all got to play? From the very beginner to the very best, this family made music together for the Lord.
And I wonder again what I am missing.
Would my worship be sweeter if I could sing along with my iPod? If I didn’t cringe at the metallic clash of cymbals through my cochlear, would I smile and sing and shake my head like my son? Dance a jig in the hallway like he does when he thinks no one is watching?
Am I missing out on joy?
I try not to think about things like that— to accept my life now and be grateful for all I have. The fact that I can talk to my children and hear what they have to say is nothing short of a miracle that would have been impossible just 20 years ago.
I know that and I am thankful. Every morning when I put that thing on my head and reconnect with the sounds of living, I thank God that I can hear, that I am not isolated and alone.
But still I wonder.
And someday I’ll know.
On that day I step from this world into the Presence, I’ll hear the music. And you will too, but I’ll hear it in a way I think most people won’t. I’ll hear perfect music with perfect ears that have been deprived of something God made.
And I’ll be great friends with that tribe of people who couldn’t see here on earth- the blind ones drinking in every sight, marveling, touching, exclaiming at the beauty. And the ones lame leaping and dancing and doing somersaults— those who were confined by crippled bodies for too long.
I’ll be the deaf girl singing. At the top of my voice— no more pretending I hear more than a note or two. I’ll pick up the microphone and belt it out for all to hear— for me to hear.
And you? What is it you’ll go after when God brings you into His arms and says, “Welcome home?”
My dad, whose failing lungs hold him back now, will probably head for a hike high in the newly restored Sierras. Matt will eat whatever he wants, unhindered by a diabetic’s restrictions on carbs or insulin. My friend Becky will get up from her bed and lead us all in line-dancing.
I am missing something by not hearing music. I am supposed to hear music. And I think its good for me to just spend a moment or two grieving over the loss from time to time.
Not to wallow, just to wonder what I have waiting for me.
And isn’t that wondering part of the waiting? Part of why we wait on tippy toes? Longing for the Day. The Someday.
With this news, strengthen those who have tired hands,
and encourage those who have weak knees.
Say to those with fearful hearts,
“Be strong, and do not fear,
for your God is coming to destroy your enemies.
He is coming to save you.”
Isaiah 35:3,4
From my heart,
Diane
I’m pretty sure pasta is my husband’s love language. Duke would eat “clean noodles”, as he calls them, (pasta with nothing on it) for every meal of the day if I let him.
So, naturally, any meal that consists of pasta in any form makes my boys happy!
Whether you have been cooking your whole life or just learning to find your way around the kitchen, spaghetti is a pretty simple meal to make. However, it is often filled with sausage or ground beef and packed with Parmesan cheese to create more flavor.
Sometimes these additions can turn it into a meal that slows you down instead of one that fuels your body... and if you are anything like me, you need all the energy you can't get!
I’m not a fan of fake meat substitutes due to the fact that they are usually full of ingredients that don’t add a whole lot of nutritional value.
And they often taste, well...fake.
That’s why tempeh (pronounced tem-PAY) is a great product to use in dishes that could really use a “meat like” flavor and texture if you are trying to eat a plant based diet . And it is great for added protein.
So what is tempeh?
- Tempeh is a nutritional superhero. Tempeh's fermentation process and it’s retention of the whole bean give it a higher content of protein, dietary fiber and vitamins compared to tofu, as well as firmer texture and stronger flavor.
- Tempeh is a great choice for people who have difficulty digesting plant-based high-protein foods like beans and legumes or soy foods such as tofu. Because tempeh is a fermented soy product, its enzymes are partially broken down, making it easier to metabolize.
- Tempeh has a bit of a nutty flavor and easily takes on the flavors of whatever you are cooking it with. It works great in tacos, stir fries, salads and just about anything else you can think of. It can be crumbled or cut into strips.
- Most grocery stores carry tempeh, you just might have to ask where to find it.
This recipe is my take on healthier, “meaty” spaghetti and a warm comfort food on a cold rainy day.
I’m still working on convincing Duke to eat more then just “clean noodles” and that vegetables will give him strong muscles like his dad… but this spaghetti is a start!
ENJOY!
Elizabeth
TEMPEH AND VEGGIE SPAGHETTI
dairy free
serves 6
INGREDIENTS:
- 1 bell pepper
- 1 medium zucchini
- 1 small onion
- 4-5 mushrooms
- *1 package of tempeh
- *3 cups marinara sauce
- 3 T (or more) nutritional yeast (this can be found in bulk at Winco, Whole Foods or New Seasons. It adds a cheese - like flavor and is packed with vitamin B12)
- 2 t garlic powder or minced garlic
- 1/4 t pepper
- 1/4 t sea salt
- A few dashes of cayenne pepper (optional)
- 1 package of whole wheat or brown rice noodles
*I used the Organic Three Grain Tempeh from Trader Joe’s for $1.39. It does contain barley which contains gulten but original tempeh is gluten free and only contains soy.
*I keep it super simple and use the jarred sauce but you can make your own too. I use the Organic Tomato Basil Marinara Sauce from Trader Joe’s.
*Anything goes with the veggies! Add whatever you think sounds good.
TO MAKE:
Heat about a tablespoon of olive oil in a large pan over medium heat and add chopped onion and crumbled tempeh.
To crumble the tempeh, simply break it up with your hands until it is all crumbled into bit sized pieces.
After the mixture begins to brown, add chopped bell pepper, zucchini and mushrooms. Stir well and let the veggies begin to cook up.
After a few minutes, add nutritional yeast, garlic, pepper, salt and cayenne pepper.
Let the veggies cook up until they are just beginning to soften and brown and then add the marinara sauce.
Let the sauce mixture simmer for 10 – 15 minutes on low so that all the flavors can combine and do their magic.
While your sauce is simmering, cook up some noodles in salted water.
TO SERVE:
Serve over noodles of your choice and top with fresh basil.
ENJOY!
[print_this]
TEMPEH AND VEGGIE SPAGHETTI
dairy free
serves 6
INGREDIENTS:
- 1 bell pepper
- 1 medium zucchini
- 1 small onion
- 4-5 mushrooms
- *1 package of tempeh
- *3 cups marinara sauce
- 3 T (or more) nutritional yeast (You can buy it in bulk at Winco, Whole Foods or New Seasons. It adds a cheese - like flavor and is packed with vitamin B12)
- 2 t garlic powder or minced garlic
- 1/4 t pepper
- 1/4 t sea salt
- A few dashes of cayenne pepper (optional)
- 1 package of whole wheat or brown rice noodles
*I used the Organic Three Grain Tempeh from Trader Joe’s for $1.39. It does contain barley which contains gulten but original tempeh is gluten free and only contains soy.
*I keep it super simple and use the jarred sauce but you can make your own too. I use the Organic Tomato Basil Marinara Sauce from Trader Joe’s.
*Anything goes with the veggies! Add whatever you think sounds good.
TO MAKE:
Heat about a tablespoon of olive oil in a large pan over medium heat and add chopped onion and crumbled tempeh.
To crumble the tempeh, simply break it up with your hands until it is all crumbled into bit sized pieces.
After the mixture begins to brown, add chopped bell pepper, zucchini and mushrooms. Stir well and let the veggies begin to cook up.
After a few minutes, add nutritional yeast, garlic, pepper, salt and cayenne pepper.
Let the veggies cook up until they are just beginning to soften and brown and then add the marinara sauce.
Let the sauce mixture simmer for 10 – 15 minutes on low so that all the flavors can combine and do their magic.
While your sauce is simmering, cook up some noodles in salted water.
TO SERVE:
Serve over noodles of your choice and top with fresh basil.
ENJOY!
[/print_this]
MONDAY:
The alarm wakes me early, a flashing light rather than the raucous beep rousing Phil. Morning hours in my Northwest home are dark, frigid, chilling me as I push back the comforter. No time for tea to chase away the sleepiness while I rush to get ready.
Excitement fully caffeinates me. We are going to Haiti!
Passport- check
Camera- check
Flip-flops, cotton skirts , bug spray, a couple of good books to read along the way.
Did I forget anything?
By the time we arrive on the other side of the country excitement is waning, worn thin by weariness. Disloyal thoughts push persistently in.
What are you thinking? Haiti? Land of sweltering humidity, rodent-sized bugs, mud-flecked waifs with pleading eyes.
Pushing through the dread, I edit and add and delete and rearrange my notes.
Still too many words.
How do I tell my story short when it must be told in two languages? How do I talk about pain to a people who hurt every day? How dare I?
I sleep uneasy in a worn airport hotel, unacknowledged fears causing crazy dreams.
TUESDAY:
3 a.m. Bleary eyed, I follow Phil mutely to the shuttle. A Haitian driver blesses us for traveling to his land. Five duffel bags of gifts for the women I will be teaching cause a ruckus at the check-in counter— the official bumps us to first class when he learns what we are carrying to the land of his birth. Two brothers in line talk to Phil. One, an American citizen now, is escorting his brother to the airport as he heads back to Haiti. Both are pastors and they embrace Phil when they learn the reason for the hold up.
My fears subside as I realize I am being escorted by Believers sent to guide and guard us on our way.
7:30 a.m. Just a few steps into the Haitian airport and we are met by a man wearing a crisp white uniform, hand extended, welcoming us. Madame Juene wheedles her way past security to embrace me, face damp with that delicious moisture the women wear like make-up on their smoky skin. Sisters, bound by the same Father, on similar paths in different lands. Mike joins us, Zebby too! A van full of welcome weaves through chaos I barely see as we talk and question and chatter and digest a year’s worth of living. Doris stares silently at the pictures of my granddaughters. The blackness of Sunday’s skin glues us together and she laughingly agrees she has my nose. We arrange marriages to keep us all in the same family.
After a tour of Grace Village, presentation of a plaque still sticky with varnish, speeches made by Bishop Juene, Pastor Mike, Pastor Phil, Sister Phil (!), and the school principle, I am drenched in not-so-delicious moisture.
The hotel that night feels decadent.
WEDNESDAY:
6:30 a.m. I’ve slept in!
More work on my notes, strong coffee, we get on our knees by the bed and remind God what He clearly knows— we don’t know how to do this.
A half a dozen times people have asked me if I am excited to go to Haiti. They want me to say yes, I want to say yes. But the real truth is no.
The real truth is that I am here because my Father told me to come. Yes, we were invited, but how easily we could have said No, not this year. We’re too busy, too much work at home, too many people will be inconvenienced, we will be inconvenienced.
But both of us felt that persistent push. As if God wasn’t impressed with out busy-ness. As if He was waiting to hear a different answer. A yes.
I remind myself on our way to the venue. Over and over as my insides clench and that voice on my shoulder reminds me again and again that I am not adequate. Over and over my spirit fights back. My adequacy is in Christ. I am here for Him.
And then I see these Haitian women. Dressed in their best, timid, as afraid of me as I am of them. We worship and sway and sweat and sing and all fear flees. Of course I am excited to be here! Yes, yes, yes!
For almost an hour I talk. Madame Juene translates, two sisters wrapped in different shades of skin, side-by-side, given courage to give courage to courageous women.
I tell my story of failure in suffering.
A white woman born to privilege hurts too?
They cry and we laugh and they embrace me as one of their own. And suddenly it dawns on me that the only reason I have anything at all to say to these Haitian pastor’s wives is because I suffer.
Deafness is my platform. Failure is the door to intimacy.
Next comes the teaching.
Now they sit forward, they take notes, the literate flip through their Bibles, grey heads nod and catch my eye and say something I understand without words, young women listen.
For another hour we talk. They’re my girls now, my daughters and sisters.
The heat feels fine, I love this land!
For lunch the men join us. When I see Phil he is as white as a ghost. I push water and worry until I realize that his paleness may have more to do with my looking into beautiful brown faces all morning than illness. He’s fine— full of laughter and all that charisma and the camaraderie that comes with men in ministry. A man’s man, he is welcomed into a world not all that unlike his own.
In the sweltering afternoon we teach together for the first time. Mics fail, the fan doesn’t work, there’s not room on the pulpit for both our notes… and we love it!
I listen amazed at his uncanny ability to admonish and encourage all at the same time. The men laugh, they take notes, these men who have learned a different way of fathering.
Phil waves his big black Bible and I tell stories. The men clap for me— and I think they’re really clapping for Phil as I tell them how he enamored our children with the Scriptures.
We have no idea until later that we’ve inadvertently taught a way so long hidden that these men are shocked by the truth that no one teaches here.
To teach and love and encourage your children? To eschew anger as a method of discipline? To listen to your wife as she hears their hearts? Really?
Phil’s long lists of specific Scriptures for each point nail it.
Back in our air-conditioned hotel we both fall in bed exhausted, exhilarated, wondering how in the world we’ll do it again tomorrow.
THURSDAY:
5 a.m. More editing. Slash, cut, we’ve got to make this shorter.
I am hit by a dark wave of insecurity. I want Phil to tell me that I’m a great teacher, riveting, hilarious. Man-like he’s all about the task. Faintly I hear the echo of my own notes but manage to ignore wisdom and get myself to the edge of panic.
What am I doing here?
I fake my way right up until I get up to teach, but that dark voice won’t leave me alone. I think it’s me talking sense to myself. My sista, Zebby,watches from the front row and spots it. She prays. All of a sudden everything changes. My tangled tongue straightens, the women laugh and I don’t know why, we’re clicking again and I know it, feel it, love it.
Afterwards we know a demon is defeated by Zebby’s praying. I wonder what would have happen if she hadn’t.
FRIDAY:
I sit on a plane humbled. Again.
How is it that God keeps insisting on using this weak woman? Why would He? I fail again and again and He just sends someone along to help and sends strength to do what I cannot and takes the words that stumble awkwardly out of my mouth and turns them into something good.
And I haven’t told you half the stories of all the nice things He did along the way. Bumped to first class, switched to the exit row, a chance to pray, eyes wide open, with a new Believer who needed courage on the other side of the ticket counter in Florida. New friends, reunions, time to hear stories and marvel and laugh and tease and hold hands and be together.
So good.
Tonight Matt will take us home. He’ll fill us in on Monday’s Jesus Pizza at Grant High School, on theology classes at Multnomah, on friends and people and jokes and fun. I’ll soak polluted pores in a hot, scented bath and sleep under mounds of fluff.
I’ll be home. And happy.
From my heart,
Diane
This morning early Phil and I got on our knees and asked God to give us what we did not have: wisdom, insight, understanding of a culture so different than our own.
We told our Father what He already knew— that this task He has assigned for us— to inspire and teach and encourage and exhort the leaders in Haiti, is beyond our ability.
And as Phil prayed, I wondered… what am I doing here?
Nothing about this assignment fits who I am.
I’m a home-body— not an adventurous bone in my body.
I don’t like heat or sweating or dirt or bugs— all of which thrive in Haiti.
And my nose works far too well for this land where running water is scarce and sewage runs open down the streets.
In our harrowing car ride from Port au Prince to Carafour I tried to avoid looking out the open window because when I did, the chaotic, devil-may-dare driving seemed surreal. That and the men with machine guns standing in the middle of intersections.
The strangest thing is that I’ve never once felt afraid.
Me— the one who double-checks the locks in my perfectly safe suburban house.
Add to all that my introverted shyness, my aversion to the limelight, and you know why I asked God, “What are You thinking? I think you’ve got the wrong woman here…”
And yet, here in this land so far from the familiar, I feel myself turn into a different woman.
Bugs don’t bother me in the least.
The heat feels fine even as sweat drips down my legs and melts the make-up right off my face.
And here I’m not shy.
I am Pastor Diane Carole Comer to these Haitian women.
We are not different— we think and laugh and hurt and fail in all the same ways.
These are my sisters. I am one of them.
This morning I told them things my own kids have never known about me. I told stories of my failures and my discoveries and my joys and deep regrets. We know each other. Kindred spirits who wear our skin a different shade.
And that is exactly why I am here.
Not because I like this place. Not because of the weather or the safety or how comfortable I am or am not.
I am here because something in my story resonates with something in their stories and we share the same Father who is writing something magnificent and magical and mystical in each of us.
And maybe this whole story fits together in some way. Maybe I can’t understand mine until I hear theirs.
Maybe hearing that I hurt helps these women who have suffered so terribly and so often to hurt a little less.
And maybe you need to tell someone your story.
Because maybe someone needs to hear your story in order to make sense of theirs.
And maybe we all need each other’s stories so that we can understand the mystery God is writing at this time in his-story.
A lot of maybe’s…
From my heart,
Diane
P.S. Thank-you, dear friends, for praying for me while I am here.
I am sticky, sweaty, dirty, uncomfortable and having the time of my life!
In just five days Phil and I will board a plane for Haiti.
We're going together for the first time, an adventure for just the two of us. Once there we'll have the joy of dedicating a building at Grace Village which Solid Rock paid for, then we'll head back across town for the real reason we're there.
One thousand Haitian pastors and leaders and their wives will gather to be encouraged and taught-- and we get to do the teaching! I am more than a little humbled-- why us? Why me?
Aren't I still just the shy fear-prone one? The one who stumbles over words and gets so scared she can't choke it out?
Or maybe that the me I used to be and now I'm the woman who loves women and loves the Redeemer and is different than I'd ever thought I'd be. Maybe He's changed me and I've hardly noticed those changes.
Or maybe that is how I really am and He takes over in magnificent ways when I tell Him I can't and I believe He can.
Either way, I'm going. Fear prone but not fear defeated. All my weakness and all His strength.
Will you pray for me? For us?
On Wednesday, January 23 and Thursday, January 24, we are each teaching a total of 6 times. Phil will speak to the men twice and I'll get to share with the women both times too. Then we'll do a session together about Ten Things To Teach Your Children.We're going as a part of the Luis Palau Team. Andrew Palau is bringing a Festival to Haiti in March and this is their way of gathering the pastors in order to enrich the Church.
My interpreter is a trusted friend, Madame Doris Juene. She's one of those rare "kindred spirits" and I fully trust her to make up for any cultural mistakes I might make! Sister Doris and I share the same heart for the women and her grand humor and godliness always strengthens me as only one of God's chosen servant's can. I pray that I can give back to her in per portion as she gives to me.
I love knowing that you will pray! I love knowing that God delights in answering your prayers!
And I'll try to post from Haiti too. And Instagram and tweet and Facebook and all that. But power and internet are spotty there so if I'm silent, just pray. Please.
Serving Him in His strength and with your prayers,
Diane
Years and years ago when I first knew I was going deaf and I thought the future looked impossibly bleak, these words sank deep into my soul. May God use them in your heart today...
"It seems to me clear beyond question that in the lives of God's beloved there are sometimes periods
when the adversary is "given power to overcome".
This power need never overwhelm the inner courts of the spirit, but it may press hard on the outworks of being.
And so I have been asking that our dearest Lord may have the joy (sure it must be a joy to Him) of saying about each one of us...
"I can count on him, on her, on them for anything.
I can count on them for peace under any disappointment or series of disappointments,
under any strain.
I can trust them never to set limits, saying, "Thus far, and no further."
I can trust them not to offer the reluctant obedience of a doubtful faith, but to be glad and merry as it is possible."
Amy Carmichael in Rose From Brier
May we be worthy of His trust.
From my heart,
Diane
I am a slowpoke.
Not because I’m lazy, though I do have my moments, but because noticing beauty takes time.
When I’m whizzing around getting everything done I miss the beauty God sprinkles along my path. I get all tense and barren. And those dread messages of “not enough” hound my every hurried step.
This morning I was supposed to get through four chapters according to my Bible reading chart. So far I’ve managed 2 verses.
Two cups of tea and 2 verses.
I’ve been reading chronologically through the Old Testament since September. Fascinating to see the story in real time- beginning at the Beginning and reading Job right after the debacle of the Tower of Babel. David’s disasters and the Psalms he wrote in response to God’s rescue plan.
Why haven’t I done this before?
But how can I whisk through poetry? How dare I miss the beauty?
And so I’m not sure I’ll reach the end of the story by the end of my should. And I’m not sure I should.
Maybe what I should do is go at my own pace. A laconic stroll through wisdom... drinking in every sip... swallowing truth I need to know... writing words about what I want to be... because of what He’s done for me.
A slow poke.
I dare not let my self-imposed should’s and ought to’s and supposed to’s make me miss the beauty.
From my heart,
Diane
P.S. And you? Have you latched on to a plan for your time in the Word this year? Are you getting up a little earlier to open wisdom and let God sprinkle it into your heart and mind?
I’d love to hear what you’re doing and why. Whether you’re zipping through to get the Big Picture (a wise way to go for sure!) or going slow or maybe a little of both.
P.S.S. And moms-of-little-ones how are you doing it?
Give thanks to the LORD
and proclaim His greatness.
Let the whole world know what He has done.
I Chronicles 16:8
I met, just the other day, with a young woman to hear her story. We lingered over a late breakfast, sipping tea and nibbling sweet potato home-fries.
How do you share a lifetime in an hour?
How could I listen to without weeping?
And yet she did and I didn’t. I held back those tears until this morning. Now, in the dark, with my Bible open and my teapot steaming, my heart won’t stop the flow of tears.
Why does so much pain happen?
And I don’t know the answer, not really. I just know that it does. People choose and their choices hurt innocent little red-headed girls.
But something happened as we sat across from each other in that little breakfast place not far from here. Something powerful, something… wise.
As this woman shared her story-full-of-awfulness, she just refused to give in to pity. Instead, she wove hope throughout each chapter, noticing God’s goodness and His people’s beauty towards her just when she needed it.
Hers was not that annoyingly fake kind of “God is good” parroting of what no one believes— but a wide-eyed discovery that, indeed, God showed Himself good in the midst of terrible bad.
And I think that’s why I didn’t break down and choke on the tears pushing behind my eyes… because she wouldn’t let me.
Her hope was contagious—her deep down belief that God stood with her every hurtful moment of her the-way-it-shouldn’t-be story.
That is how I want to live my days…
Overflowing with hope,
caught up in God’s goodness,
choosing to sparkle with the joy of His care for me in spite of—
well, in spite of the bumping and bruising and unavoidable badness that happens some days.
From my heart,
Diane
Do you have a story you can tell us? Maybe let this corner of the world know about His goodness to you?
In the morning, O Lord,
You will hear my voice;
In the morning I will order my prayer to You
and eagerly watch.
Psalm 4:3
NASB
But the angel said to them,
“Do not be afraid.
I bring you good news
that will cause great joy for all the people.
Today in the town of David
a Savior has been born to you;
he is the Messiah, the Lord.
This will be a sign to you:
You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
Luke 2:10-12
NIV
I sit this morning and see the Santas on the tree.
And snowmen and glittering soldiers and even a Star Wars guardian dangling all out of place.
Matthew’s childhood hanging on.
This last born son who has brought so much joy as we’ve watched him emerge into a man. He’s home from college, stepping back into his place in our family- right in the center of everything fun.
And I grieve with the parents in Newton. Their Matthews will never come home for Christmas. Ever.
How can this be?!
And the Father knew it all when He chose to give us freedom. He saw every atrocity, felt within His being every heartbreak.
Did He cry? And bend His back with the load of grief? And isn’t He weeping still?
And the snow that falls outside my window feels like maybe He just can’t stop.
I cannot explain it, dare not try.
All I can do is hold my children close.
When impatience threatens my kindness, remember how much those mamas miss the messes…
slow down the frenzy of doing to cherish the beauty of being…
play games, read books, build legos, rock babies…
teach, encourage, correct, caress, laugh, bless, discover, relish…
And today I’ll make cookies. For my boy grown up.
From a heart heavy with grief and yet filled with grateful joy,
Diane