The Gift of Tuesday

   
             I rolled over this morning and let the fresh air kiss my face. The tree outside of our window was illuminated by the sun and looked like it had sporadic neon leaves. I heard birds singing their morning song and imagined for a moment that they were singing songs with words as sweet as honeysuckle. I pulled the duvet up under my chin and snuggled further into the mattress and I smiled.

            Tuesday brought with it a gift and delivered it to me through those rays of sunshine filtering through the window. The gift was pure and deeply rooted--it was joy. I put on a pair of jeans that I have owned for years and placed the gift in my worn pocket. I carried it with me everywhere I went today and did not drop it or have it stolen from me.

           Matt and I went for a coffee date first thing this morning and just spent the morning talking and laughing. The joy sat between us as we appreciated our simple, but meaningful time together. Once we got home, Matt got dressed and left for work. The gift did not get stolen by loneliness when he walked out the door or by stress as I sat down to work on an assignment. The joy continued with me outside as I did yard work and worked harder than I have in months. The gift grew as the neighbor kids came over with their little bare feet and dirty hands and offered to help me. Their willingness to help me and hilarious observations made me want to share my gift. So, with an hour of hard work and laughter, the gift that Tuesday brought to me was shared with tiny people with big hearts.

           Today, my health issues did not take the gift away. I had energy, but even  more important, I had hope. I had joy. I had a gift that's worth re-gifting and a God that smiled as I enjoyed every moment of it.

In His Eyes: The Meaning of Easter

Her voice hadn’t quiet healed yet—

Still raspy and achy when she woke up on the third morning

There was a chill in the air although the sun warmed the dry earth beneath her feet

Children climbed trees at the bottom of the hill and busied themselves with play

The dust had finally settled from the crowd’s stomping protests

Many went about their day without an interruption—

Bread was made

Children were dressed

Animals were fed

His blood had just begun to dry—

The blood of a poor homeless Jew that called himself God

Claimed to be the king of the Jews

A king would have rather taken his own life than be humiliated like he had been—

He had been beaten; his flesh had torn from his bones

His lips never uttered a word of self-defense

They made a fool of him—

Stripped of his clothes and dignity

His ministry raped by evil—

He hanged there alone and died alone—

His eyes closed in death as disciples and mockers alike watched

It was the third day of mourning—

Her tears hadn’t stopped flowing

Only to sleep, but she woke with nightmares and the aching of missing him

Her mind deceived her—

She heard him speaking in her dreams

And felt the warmth of his forgiveness

Her eyes opened only to see the walls of her small home—

He was gone

She walked to the market and passed the hill on the way

His cross was still there and his body still in the tomb

The world continued just as before—

Noisy streets and crowded booths

Broken eggs in the dirt and hagglers trying to get a deal

Those that knew him wondered if they had known him at all

How could he have left them?

If he was who he said he was then, why did he hang on a cross?

He had always been so outspoken and passionate—

But when they accused him, he stood silently

And took the whip against his back, his face, his very soul

She walked through the hagglers, vendors, people that had been at his crucifixion

In her small basket, she placed some herbs and spices and purchased them for a small price

She walked back to the winding path toward his tomb

In her heart, she held to his words as tears fell down her face

Three days had felt like three years

She steadied herself against a rock as she wept

Her weary feet pressed on through the rough terrain

The scent of  mourning oils still embedded in her hair

The tomb was in sight—

The harsh sun and grief tempted her with an illusion—the stone was rolled away

She blinked and rubbed her eyes hard

The stone was rolled away

Surely, someone had stolen his body

She buckled beneath the weight of her grief—death had taken him

 And now his body had been ripped from its rightful place

She had painstakingly prepared his body for burial

With all the reverence she could, she had prepared the body of her King

His body had been wrapped as she sang a Psalm to him

He could not hear her praise

She could not let him go

All of Heaven and hope had seemed to stop breathing when he did

Her very soul seemed to grow dark within her, but still she sang one last Psalm

It had been three days since she prepared his body—since the stone had separated her from him

The light disappeared and she closed her eyes once more and then looked again

The stone was gone

She began to crawl in the dirt, picking up all the spices and overturned basket

Then, she looked and there was someone standing just in front of her

Their feet displaying the deepest scars she had ever seen

Startled that a stranger saw her in such a state, she quickly stood to her feet

She looked up into the eyes—

Full of love as deep as an ocean

With compassion as wide as the heavens

She saw her reflection in his eyes

And knew in that moment for whom he had died

The World Cries

I am continually reminded of my purpose

Like a mirror being held to my face—I see myself for what I am

It hasn’t been the imperfections that I have seen

Nor have I been shown my shortcomings, or small wrinkles beginning to form

The reflection reveals something deeper—my very heart and soul

Both have changed over time, and with those changes I have been renewed

Through the brokenness of past hurt—sharp pains of loss and deep cries of feeling insignificant

There is a purpose that runs deeper than the external, trials of life, or shadows that cast over me

I see my heart to serve those that have no hope

Those that have lost their voice to seek justice for themselves

Children that are motherless and fatherless—without the security of a hug and authentic love

My heart cries for those that cry themselves to sleep at night

The dirty, poor, lonely, broken, and hopeless

I see their faces when I sleep and I cry out to them, “I love you.”

Their battles will not be won without sacrifice, but I want to give all I can

There will be a price, but because I was bought at a price, I owe it to them

My hands will get dirty and my heart will break

My body will be worn and I may never find rest

But what is hope if it is never shared?

 What good is love if it is never expressed?

I am no saint—only broken for those that don’t know love

I want to live a life worth nothing to this world

They wait for me

And they wait for you.

To Love You

Her skin is warm
Tones of brown intertwined with cream
Her thin structure
Stands as a strong tower in the dessert

Emerald green and turquoise meet in a paisley pattern--
hues of yellow throughout
The saree wraps around her waist--
Hugging her curves

Long gone are the days of sorrow
Wandering alone
Abandoned

Her hair, pulled back shows a face of innocence
Green eyes pierce your heart as you see pain that continues to mend

The soul of a woman takes time to heal, but strengthens beneath the scar tissue
Go to her
She will tell you

 Love found her in the dessert

In the heart of India
She realized her heart was worth loving

Anything is Something

          Today, was one of those days. I woke up feeling defeated as my body once again refused to be energetic.  I tossed and turned underneath the duvet and stared at the wall. It's going to be a long day.
I ended up having to cancel on a friend and canceling plans for the evening. Doing so always makes me feel that I've let people down and I quickly end up surrendering to the negative thoughts that start to flow freely through my mind.

         God has been doing a lot in Matt and me over th past few weeks. It's nothing that can really be explained other than to say it's been totally unexpected and transforming-- usually the way that God likes to do things. God has all of a sudden given us a heart for the people of India. We are still working through a time of discernment and seeking God in the specifics. As I failed in my attempt to study this morning and my to-do list seemed to remain the same, my own feelings of inadequacy flooded over me. I decided to handle the situation in the best way I knew how-- I began to clean the house like a mad woman. With weak legs, an exhausted mind and a defeatist attitude I cleaned. "Take that", I thought. I did well being self-sufficent and making our bedroom squeaky clean until I began to cry. I sat on the bed and wondered how in the world I could hope to make a difference in the world if I can't even successfully keep appointments with friends or clean my own house. I cried and then, still sulking, went outside to read a book.

          As I sat in the sun reading the words on the pages of my book, my mind was somewhere else. I saw orphans in India that have been sold into sex slavery. I saw men and women in need of hope and a future in God. I saw faces I've never seen before and heard voices and cries of the oppressed. I sat wondering how little me could ever answer God's calling to a country I've never been to. I wondered when my body fails me on days like today, how I would manage to help others.

         Matt interrupted my thoughts. "Hey, can you come help me?"

         I looked over at where he was standing. He had been pruning an overgrown bush at the corner of the house. A vine had overtaken the bush, and slowly strangled the life out of it. Matt had a huge pile of dead branches and vine all around him.

         I sighed. "Uggh...what is it?" I got up and walked over to him.

       "I need your help dragging these branches into the back woods. I could do it on my own, but I really need your help."

       In that moment, my husband needed my help. I loved feeling needed when all morning I had felt so useless. I stared at the pile and felt defeated already. I had no idea how to even begin dragging the pile all the way into the back yard. It was going to be a lot for me to conquer when my body was yelling at me to not do anything. In that moment, a thought came to me. One piece at a time. That was exactly how I would accomplish the goal. I dragged one branch loose and then, another until my hands couldn't grip anymore. Like that, I began to drag the pieces. I walked to the end of the yard and threw the branches into the woods. As I did, the Tennessee girl in me came to surface and I remembered how much I love hard work out in the hot sun.

       As I dragged the second load of branches, I realized that I will be able to do whatever God has called Matt and I into. My health will be the same in another country as it is here. The temptation to be self sufficient and stubborn will still be there. I have to remember that doing anything for God and others is something. It has value. Even if I can't do as much as I'd like to, I am still able to do something.

Titus Women Merchandise

     I have been trying to share these photos with you for a while, but due to my awesome "tech-savvy brain", I haven't been able to. The items listed in this blog are made by women in India. Crosspoint of India assists women in learning practical skills that will assist them in supporting their families. These items are all homemade by the women. I will share a link with you so that you may learn more about Crosspoint of India. 100% of the proceeds go to Crosspoint of India.

Items will be shipped here in the states in May. This gives you plenty of time to shop for Mother's Day and graduation gifts. : ) When was the last time your money actually went to a positive cause? Today is the perfect day to start.



Glass-beaded earrings $2/each. I no longer buy earrings anywhere else. I own many of these!

Stuffed elephants! I will have to confirm the price on this item.

Paper covered journals- $5 The writer in me loves having these on hand when inspiration hits! What's more inspirational than the money going directly back to the hands that made them?

Fabric covered journals- $5

Long-strap purses- $15. (Much less than you probably spent on theatre popcorn and a drink last night). The good thing about this investment is that your money will still be making a difference long after your popcorn has digested!

Make up bag- $8 If you're a natural beauty then get creative and use this bag for pens, candy, or receipts that you need to hold onto.

More make up bags for you girls that love variety.

A Messenger bag with a long strap. I will have to have the price confirmed on this item.

BEAUTIFUL shawls- $20. Not the "shawl type" (how could you not be!?), use it as an accent over your favorite chair.

Tie strap purses $15

Please shop these items and share my link. Women half the world away have made these items to share with them. By purchasing these items, you are sharing hope and joy with them.

For more information on Crosspoint of India please visit:  http://www.crosspointofindia.org/  or "like" them on Facebook





The Day They Went Without

     I brushed through my wet hair and my brush got snagged in the tangles. I brushed in small strokes until the tangles loosened and drops of warm water dripped on my neck. I walked to my closet and looked at the variety of shirts that I had to choose from. There was a new sheer purple one with huge white polka dots. I pulled it out and held it against my chest. I had paid $22.00 for it and the tags still hanged from its sleeve untouched; the shirt had been abandoned; waiting for the day I got the urge to wear it. I looked over at a blue sweater and pulled at the tag. It had cost $20.00. It was untouched, unworn, and had been living in the closet since the day it was bought. I pulled the tag off of the sweater and pulled it over my head.  The excitement of it being brand-new had worn off as soon as it was put on a hanger months ago and the closet door was closed.

     I walked downstairs and opened the pantry door. There were three varieties of cereal to choose from, two kinds of oatmeal, and the ever abundant variety of granola bars. I reached for a granola bar and had eaten it by the time I poured my orange juice (which was one of three kinds of juice chilling in our refrigerator). I reached for an apple and took two bites before getting bored of the taste and throwing the rest of it away. I let the water gush down freely into the sink as I mixed iced tea to put in the refrigerator. I ignored my mom’s phone call because I was “too busy” and let it go to voicemail. I could always call her later.

    I sat lazily on my couch and browsed on Facebook for far too long—peeking in on other people’s lives and neglecting to live my own. Minutes turned into an hour quickly and I decided to put my shoes on and go outside with my dog. I opened the closet to many pairs of shoes while wishing that I would have bought the pair that I had seen in the store the night before.

     On the same day, in the same world in which you and I live, there were different scenarios playing out.

Hair was wet and tangled from the harsh conditions of child labor and poor hygenic conditions, not from a fresh hot shower.

The only shirt she owned was ripped from her body as she was thrown into her first night of being trafficked and of being a slave.

$42.00 was used to feed orphans for a month, not used to buy two shirts that would hardly be worn.

Pantries were opened, but were empty.  Today was another day of empty stomachs and vulnerability to illness.

Water was carried for miles and cherished as if it were gold, not wastefully draining down a sink.

Children became orphans and would never hear their mothers call their names again. They would have given anything to hear her say their name.

Feet developed more blisters because shoes were something that would never be afforded.

So, what are we to do? I realize that the events I mentioned will happen regardless of if we help or not. So, what's the point? Well, the difference is dying having never tried to help.