Ceramic or Marble?

My husband is a very wise man and I've learned to listen to what he thinks best. One of those ideas was to tile much of the front part of our house, and only carpet the living room. In fact, we have tile from our front door, all the way through the house to the back door, and I'm so thankful! It's saved me countless hours of cleaning since we live in the country and often have weeks of mud. Our tile floor has been a huge blessing, but if we had to do it all over again, we'd go with a tumbled marble. Why? So we can have a fancy floor? No way!

You see, ceramic tile looks real nice, cleans easily and has a nice feel on your bare feet, but it doesn't withstand the normal happenings of children. Often, dropping a table knife will result in a chip—and our dinning room table is encircled with nicks and chips from chairs catching on, and breaking up the edges of the tile.

All that wear and tare is part of life in an active, large household. The problem comes in with the tile. The color is only on the surface, so every chip and nick reveals the true inner color of the tile. Ceramic tile has a pretty exterior, and a pretty ugly interior. The good quality tile flooring has consistent color all the way through, so all those chips and nicks that are just part of life, aren't a problem.

That makes me wonder, what kind of tile am I? Do I simply have a pretty exterior, and am I constantly having to run around to paint the chips to keep my real colors from showing or am I like marble? When marble chips or gets nicked, the damaged area blends in because its inside is consistent with its outside.

God talks about this same problem in His people.

You hypocrites, rightly did Isaiah prophesy of you, saying, 'This people honors Me with their lips, but their heart is far away from Me. But in vain do they worship Me, teaching as doctrines the precepts of men.' ~Matthew 15:7-9

Now there's an ugly word! Hypocrite. Why did Jesus call them hypocrites?

Hear, and understand. Not what enters into the mouth defiles the man, but what proceeds out of the mouth, this defiles the man. ~Matthew 15:10-11

In order for something to come out of the mouth it must be inside first. Inside you. Inside me. It's what is inside a person that makes them unclean and ugly. Just like no one wants to see the inside color of ceramic tile, no one wants to see the inside color of a life that is simply wearing a coat of pretty paint.

It's not because of the exterior that we won't use ceramic tile on the floor again, it's because the color is only on the surface and not all the way through. Chips and nicks are an inevitable part of life, so we want to make sure that our inside is consistent with our outside, because sooner or later, it will be seen.

So, what kind of tile are you? Ceramic or marble?

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The Smell of Clean

When my husband walked in and said, “Mmm, it smells clean in here!” it made the hour or two I spent mopping all worthwhile. See, to him, Pine Sol smells clean, which means the house is clean, or at least cleaner then it was.

In our line of business, I've been in houses that have made my stomach revolt when the door opened and the stench rolled out to greet us. Our first priority was to get all the doors and windows open so the breeze could blow through, from there we hauled out all the garbage and tore out carpeting. Once all that was done, if the stench was still there, we knew we could bring in charcoal to absorb the smell. Those houses were hideous when we started them, but by the time we were done, they were new inside and they smelled new, too.

That's what God does in our lives. At times, He has to go in and gut our lives to get rid of the stench then build fresh and new. Other times, He gets out His broom and mop and uses a liberal shot of Pine Sol to fight the stains.

Just like cleaning our house involves work, so does cleaning our lives. We need to allow God the freedom to clean as He sees fit. He sees dirt and stains in our lives that we don't notice because, sometimes, the pattern of our life camouflages the dirt, the sin.

The fragrance of God's forgiveness is a clean smell that others recognize and are drawn to. Just like when my husband walked in and immediately smelled, enjoyed, and appreciated the scent of of our home.

The nice thing is that, when God does the cleaning, we don't have to wait until someone tells us it smells clean to make the process seem worthwhile, we can feel the clean and smell that fragrance of forgiveness ourselves. What a wonderful feeling! What a wonderful fragrance! The fragrance of God's forgiveness and grace in our lives.

But thanks be to God, who always leads us in His triumph in Christ, and manifests through us the sweet aroma of the knowledge of Him in every place. For we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing;
~2 Corinthians 2:14-15

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Fiction Friday: The Wages of Kindness

With his baby daughter, Rosie, sleeping in his arms, Micah watched as the big body was lowered into the shallow grave. Lord, is this the answer to my prayer? Big Jake hadn't been a good man. He was mean with his mouth and mean with his hands, and no one mourned his death. His children seemed uncertain, but his widow, Jessica, stood silently, holding them close. She was a woman with a strong spirit and a stronger faith.

Rosie stirred, her mouth puckering to cry. Micah gently bounced her, hoping she would hold out a little longer. When he looked up, Jessica was walking to her wagon. Micah followed her, watching as she reassured her children.

“Jess?” Micah called as he neared her fire.

With a smile she took the baby, “There's beans in the pot, if you'd like some, Micah.” She adjusted her light shawl, murmuring quietly to Rosie.

It's too soon to talk to her, Father.

Jessica held out a leather pouch to Micah. “This belongs to you.”

Micah eyed it, mentally weighing how much was there. “No, it's yours. Your wages for wet nursing Rosie these weeks.”

With a gentle toss, it landed beside him.

“I would never charge anyone to nurse their motherless baby.” Jessica caressed Rosie's head through the shawl. “This little one eased the pain of losing my own. She's brought comfort and joy to me. Jake had no business charging you. I know why the amount was so high, too.”

A steely glint entered Micah's eyes. He lowered his voice, so it wouldn't carry to the children playing nearby. “Did he tell you I was paying to ensure he didn't lift his hand against you or the children? Did he tell you that?”

Jessica's eyes searched his. “No,” she whispered. “He didn't tell me that.” She looked down at Rosie and gently stroked her cheek before looking back up. “Thank you. I wondered why he had stopped.”

“Did you love him?” Lord, I can't believe I asked her that! She just came from burying her husband.

Jessica looked into the dying fire. “No. I never did.”

“Why did you marry him?”

A shudder went through her. “Pa didn't believe that Jake had forced me so he made me marry him. Pa's heart gave out shortly after overhearing Jake brag about it to his friends.”

Micah's hands and jaw clenched convulsively.

Jessica turned to Micah and smiled. “It's been a long six years, but God kept us safe and got us through. I accepted Christ after a Christian lady nursed me when Jake was on a binge, so there has been some good come from it.”

Did any good come from my marriage, Lord?

“Did you love Rhonda?” Jessica asked.

“I loved who she pretended to be but she was spoiled and self-centered. I'd hoped having a baby would help her outgrow all that, but...”

“Don't blame yourself, Micah. You have Rosie, now.”

Good did come from those years; I have Rosie.

Jessica's children stopped playing and leaned against her, silently studying Micah. With a smile he reached into his vest pocket and withdrew candy he had brought for them. He offered it as he would to a skittish animal. With round eyes they looked to Jessica for permission. She nodded then watched as they plucked the candy from his hand and whispered their thanks.

Micah's heart ached. “You don't need to be afraid anymore.” Their shy smiles gave him hope. Lord, I want to take care of them, and Jessica.

A neighbor's voice carried from nearby. “I'm tellin' ya', Micah should jest marry Jess. They're a matched pair.” Harriet being shushed made Micah laugh and Jessica's face glow.

“She's right, you know,” Micah said.

Jessica's startled eyes flew to him.

“Do you think you could trust me not to hurt you or the children?”

“Oh, Micah, even that time you were furious with Rhonda you never raised your hand against her, and you're a kind man; I've seen that. I completely trust you.”

Micah smiled, his hope soaring. “And through all these weeks I've seen your unselfishness and love for others. Would you marry me? I know Jake just died, but...”

Harriet marched up, grinning. “Thet goat's been dead plenty long enough!”

From nearby someone called out, “Harriet, let the girl answer the question!” Micah laughed and looked at Jessica.

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I'll marry you.”

Harriet let loose a whoop. “Call the preacher; she said yes!”
**********

I love historical fiction and these characters gripped me. I don't know, maybe someday I'll ask them the rest of their story. This snippet was written for Faithwriters.com's Weekly Challenge for the topic of 'In every cloud there's a silver lining' --or however that line goes. Did you see the silver lining?

Thank you for joining us for Fiction Friday, whether you're posting fiction or reading--or both. If you're posting, put a link to us here at Patterings, and add your name and url address to the Mr. Liknky gadget. If you're reading, click on the names and it will take you to another story. Enjoy!

And don't forget to tell your friends! Anyone and everyone is welcome!
Now, who's volunteering to host next? (seriously! email me if you'd like to host Ficiton Friday!) Happy Friday, everyone!

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Hurricane Season?

Have you ever tried to tame a hurricane? How about just talk into a hurricane? Does your voice carry very far? Last night was my turn to teach the kids at church. I love these kids greatly—each and every one of them. But last night was a test of my love. Their behavior was horrible. They wouldn't listen for more than five second intervals, and I don't know about you, but I have a hard time communicating in five second bleeps. By the time I left class, I was exhausted and emotionally drained.

I tried complaining to God about it, but He didn't seem too impressed. I reminded Him of how I had planned for the class, how I had put a lot of thought into the lesson. I was so excited about it because it was such a good lesson—a lesson that could really help them. But they were too busy whispering and talking and wiggling around. They were too busy trying to draw attention to themselves.

God's reply to me seemed to saying, 'Have you looked at yourself lately?'

What a sucker punch. I may be 30 years older than those kids, but my behavior is just like theirs. I'm too busy whispering and talking and running around to listen to God's voice. And when I look at what He did to prepare for me--His supreme sacrifice on the cross—I'm ashamed. Ashamed of how little I listen to Him. And yet He still loves me.

Sometimes God will use drastic measures to get my attention, like a teacher who suddenly slams a book on the desk to shock the students into silence. Sometimes God just stays silent and waits for me to realize He's no longer talking and to quiet down, giving Him a chance to speak. Sometimes He whispers, knowing that I'll draw closer to hear what He's saying. And sometimes He lifts His hands—His nail scarred hands—and says 'Peace. Be Still.'

But the LORD is in His holy temple.
Let all the earth be silent before Him.
~Habakkuk 2:20

Whatever hurricane I'm in today, I need to listen to His voice. I need to be still so I can hear Him and what He has to say to me. It's a choice I must make. A choice to be still.

Be still and know that I am God;
~Psalm 46:10

Heavenly Father, help to remember that the hands You raise to calm me and my storms are scarred by the nails that You allowed out of love for me. In the midst of my busyness, let me draw close to You so I can hear Your voice and learn what it is You've prepared for me. Thank You for Your love and patience with me. Thank You for Your living Word.

My soul, wait in silence for God only,
for my hope is from Him.
He only is my rock and my salvation,
my stonghold;
I shall not be shaken.
~Psalm 62:5-6

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Calling Kids (at heart)

Join me at Patterings for Kids for Lopsided War.
Sure, it's geared for kids, but aren't we all just kids at heart?




Patterings for Kids is a collection of lessons that stem from the Wednesday night children's ministry that I help teach. So many times I've left that class learning way more than I ever would have thought possible from listening to, or teaching, a 'childrens' Bible story. I'm so blessed to be included in that ministry!

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In the Silent Moments

Years ago, when our kids were younger, yanno, preschoolers, people would laughingly ask what I did in my spare time. I knew exactly what they were talking about because spare time simply was not in my vocabulary. I'd laugh and tell them I folded laundry, and I could tell every woman who understood what I was talking about. (It was usually older couples that asked, and they were always very kind and enjoyed seeing our crew overflowing the shopping cart.) Even now that I've assigned the laundry detail to one of my daughters, I still enjoy the laundry. Why? Because I can often be quiet and even think while doing the laundry.

Now that my kids are older, one of the things I find myself doing is driving more. When you live 15 miles from town, you spend a lot of time behind the wheel, and I for one, love it. Why? Because I can often be quiet and enjoy the quietness. It's a momentary break in my daily life. Sometimes, as I drive, I'm able to do some good thinking. Sometimes, I'm praying. Sometimes, I'm crawling into God's throne room and merely leaning against His throne, much as a child does while listening to a story. As I lean there, I soak in the presence of God and let the praise seep into my weary soul and soothe me. During those times I'm not talking, I'm not praying, I'm just consciously being in God's presence.

Is there value in that? Yes. When I feel like I've been wrung dry, when I'm exhausted and my heart is too heavy to lift, I can lay there and let the praise swirl around me, lifting my heart for me.

There are times in our lives when it takes all we have to simply crawl into God's throne room, times when turning our face to the Sonshine requires all our concentration and efforts. God assures us that He will be there.

• Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. ~James 4:8



• But if from there you seek the Lord your God, you will find Him if you look for Him with all your heart and with all your soul.
  ~Deuteronomy 4:29



• Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened. ~Matthew 7:7-8

Father, thank You for understanding that there are times when it's all I can do to crawl into Your presence, times when even turning my face to You takes all I have. Thank You understanding the mute sighing and groanings of my heart and for wrapping me in Your love, healing me as I lean against Your throne. My heart cries out with the angels, “Holy, Holy, Holy!”

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Fiction Friday: Cooking Up Love

Welcome to Fiction Friday! This week Joanne is hosting at An Open Book--that's where you'll find Mr. Linky, so be sure to join us over at An Open Book! See ya there!

This is THE VERY FIRST story I wrote back when I picked my pen back up in Jan. 2007. When I entered it in the Faithwriters.com Weekly Writing Challenge I almost lost my lunch because I was so nervous. LoL. It was the queasy first step of an exciting journey for me.
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“Mom!” I could tell by the tone of his voice what the question would be. He didn’t disappoint me. “What’s for supper, Mom? We’re starving!”

I didn’t even bother stifling my groan. I hate cooking and my family knew it well. Too bad you couldn’t live on baked goods alone! Being a cookie fanatic had taught me early on to enjoy baking. But cooking? Ugh. I could easily leave that to someone else. Too bad there was no one else willing to take it. In a house full of men, there was no competition in the kitchen, unless it was getting to the food first and getting the most.

A quick check at the time sent me to the fridge for the hamburger and onions. “Meatloaf, mashed taters, and broccoli.”

“Cheese sauce on the broccoli?” Andrew hedged.

“Any reason I should make a cheese sauce?” I’d planned on it, but they didn’t have to know that.

“I got an A on my Physical Science test,” he smugly informed me.

“I did, too!” Ron called out as he sauntered into the kitchen. Ron was a neighbor kid who spent as much time with us as he did at his own house. Both he and Andrew were 14 and I knew that Shane, my 13 year old, would be in next. As expected, he came in and made a bee-line for the cookie jar.

“Cheese sauce?” he mumbled as he popped a whole cookie in his mouth. “I got a 100% on that geography quiz. Why do we have to know all those capitals anyways?”

I exaggerated my sigh, “OK. I’ll make a cheese sauce. Just because you guys did good, not because I like to cook!” I felt I had to remind them in case they forgot.

“Yes!” They high fived all around, grabbed handfuls of cookies and flopped onto the couches in the living room.

“Man, you guys are so lucky!” I heard Ron say around a mouthful of cookie. “Not only does your mom cook for you, but she’s always got cookies or something for you to eat!” There was a slight pause as he swallowed, “She must love you an awful lot.” I could hear the wistfulness in his voice and my hands stilled, listening.

“There’s food at your house, too!” Shane replied.

“Your mom cooks!” Andrew mumbled around what must have been a whole cookie.

“That’s not cooking, and you know it!” Ron said. He must have finished his cookies since his mouth was empty. “She opens a box, turns on the oven, slides it in and presto. What she calls supper is served in 60 minutes.”

“It’s not that bad,” Andrew tried making him feel better.

“Not bad?” Ron groaned. “It’s not real food!” The couch groaned this time as he sprawled back and threw his leg over the arm. “Man, your mom really loves you and you can tell! Look at how much time she spends cooking for you! And she doesn’t even like to cook!”

I held my breath at that. He knew I loved my boys because I cooked for them? My heart squeezed. “And you complain about having to cook? If showing these boys you love them is as simple as cooking good meals and snacks for them it’s worth every minute of it!” Listening to the boys had reminded me why I cook day after day. I was cooking up a dose of love for my family.

“Mmm. You’re right, Ron.” Shane agreed with him.

“She wouldn’t spend so much time in the kitchen if she didn’t love us a whole lot.” Andrew added thoughtfully.

Wiping my hands I walked into the living room. “We’re having apple crisp for dessert, too, Ron,” I said as I leaned over the back of the couch to see this son of my heart.

“Yeah?” he asked with a goofy grin. “That’s my favorite!”

“Yeah.” I replied. “Because I love you, too. And because you helped me remember why it is that I cook day after day.” I dropped a kiss on his head, shared a smile with him, and went back to the kitchen, grateful for the chance to show my boys some more love.

“Forget about letting someone else do the cooking!” I thought as I chopped onions. “This blessing is mine. All mine. And I’m glad I don’t have to share it with anyone else!”

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Be sure to join us over at An Open Book for links to more great fiction!

And thanks for hosting for us, JoDear!
Now, who's volunteering to host next? (seriously! email me if you'd like to host Ficiton Friday!) Happy Friday, everyone!

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