Mom called me “Softie”. She said that she didn’t need to punish me much as a child because I would become so upset with myself for displeasing her that I didn’t need her punishment on top of it. “If I withheld a little love from you, you would stop what you were doing and change your behavior.” Maybe that’s not exactly how she said it, but it became the principle by which I operated for most of my life. “Please people, get their favor” was my sustenance. And if the person could not, would not be pleased with me, what distress I suffered. I strove to be everyone’s best friend, everyone’s confidante. I listened, cheered and/or commiserated. I loved being a blessing, but still felt like it was never enough, especially if I messed up. In light of my performance mentality, reading chapter 3 in Danny Silk’s book, Culture of Honor was very enlightening to me. Silk quoted John 14:15, “If you love me, you will obey me.” I used to tell that one to my kids all the time. Just ask them. This is how you show your love, by obeying me, God, Dad, by obeying the rules. Why did I teach them to obey the rules? Because that was how I lived my life, careful to obey the rules, not get in trouble, please everyone and feel good about my achievements. Straight “A”s in college was just the tip of the iceberg of my performance mentality. But Silk interprets this scripture differently, with grace: "When we hear this command from the mindset of the law of Christ we hear, 'If you love me, it’s going to show up in how you treat the things that I told you are important to me. The way you manage yourself in our relationship is going to be a clear indicator to me of your love."” (Culture of Honor, p. 87) So God says to us, you decide what you’re going to do. He doesn’t control us, nor does he want to. Instead he gave us a spirit of self-control. " It is your attention to our relationship, and your ability to manage yourself in this relationship in order to create and sustain intimacy that manifests the law of life in Christ. Intimacy – in-to-me-you-see…(It’s) how you learn what is important to me, and if you love me, you’ll adjust your behavior to protect my heart.” (Culture of Honor, p. 87) So, it’s not rules obeyed to make the grade, performance in order to belong and to be accepted as a son, or friend, or lover. Instead it’s because I am already a daughter, a friend, a lover that I am careful to please the one I love. There is no fear that I will be abandoned because of my behavior. Could it be that this amazing love relationship was what caused Jesus’ disciples to turn the world upside down? Could it be that we can still do the same? God, may our lives declare this truth in living color. This is what love looks like: I live out of intimacy with God and love people the same way. I reject no one for their behavior, but instead help them take responsibility for their actions, and love them all the while, just as I am loved.

You Smell Like....

Sometimes I am a pain at work.

Just ask the girls I work with.  I bring on stomach pains of hunger.  It happens regularly when I heat up leftovers made by my gourmet husband for lunch at work and the aroma of creamy feta shrimp, or basil chicken, comes wafting down the hallway.

“Oh, man!” They moan.  “What did he make you this time, and is there any for me?”

I know, I truly know, I am very blessed to have a husband who loves to cook for me.  But I got to thinking about fragrances, smells that we emanate as we go along in life, some that are pleasant like Jimmy’s leftover fajitas, and some that smell more like the rotting onions we sometimes find at the bottom of the pantry closet.

Sometimes I think I smell more like that rotten onion in the bag, than a delicious lunch.  It’s like this. When my grandson, Cade was a baby and staying at my house for the first few weeks of his life, I would cuddle him whenever I could, in the crook of my neck, where I put on my perfume. Inevitably, when mommy, Rachel got him back, she would exclaim, “Oh, he smells like Grandma!”

I like to think that when I hang out with Jesus, or snuggle up against the chest of my heavenly Daddy, some of his wonderful fragrance rubs off on me.  Then when you hang out with me, you may end up feeling refreshed or blessed, though you may not know why.  You may even ask me to share some of what I have, just like a bite of Jimmy’s leftover Thai green curry.

But smells do wear off.  Cade doesn’t smell like me when I haven’t held him for a week.  And I don’t carry God’s fragrance when I haven’t been spending time in his presence. Cade may still smell like a sweet baby when he’s away from Grandma, but I think I don’t spread a very pleasant fragrance when I haven’t been with Jesus.  Instead, you may find yourself sniffing discouragement, malodorous bitterness, or putrid complaining.  Phew! You won’t anytime soon be asking for a taste of that lunch!

So, here’s the deal.  God wants us to spread his fragrance everywhere we go, so people will want a taste and find out how good he is.  And all we have to do to smell like God is to be with him, to spend time with him, talking to him, reading his word, worshiping him. And he smells so good that it’s really a no-brainer when he invites us to have a taste of what he is serving up.  Oh, taste and see that the Lord IS good.  Then go and share your lunch with everyone!

"But thanks be to God, who always leads us as captives in Christ’s triumphal procession and uses us to spread the aroma of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing.  To the one we are an aroma that brings death; to the other, an aroma that brings life. 2 Cor. 2:14-16.

I'm a lover of His presence

It was another fretting time, another time where I was focusing more on the problem in front of me than on the One who holds me in the palm of his hand.  I rushed home from a stressful and busy week of work on Friday, and immediately “changed hats” to get the rugs vacuumed, bathroom cleaned, kitchen tidied and floors washed to be ready for company that evening.

As I cleaned I was grouching and I knew it!.  I was aware that the chores were not being done with joy because of my attitude, but continued anyway in that frame of mind. 

Then I realized that a song was playing in the back of my mind as I mopped.  We had sung it the night before at House of Prayer, and there I was singing in my spirit, as I grouched, “I’m a lover of your presence, I’m a lover of your presence, I’m a lover of your presence, and that’s all I wanna be…” 

Now satan is a shame player.  He loves to bring things up to us to make us feel ashamed and unworthy to stand in God’s presence.  But God isn’t like that.  The Father always seeks to call us back to our true identity, who he made us to be, and to draw us into his arms.  If this was satan’s tactic I would have felt ashamed when I realized that I was grumbling, while singing a worship song.  But the instant I recognized the song playing in my spirit I felt the Father say to me, “This is who you really are.” 

I hate when people see me at my worst, and maybe don’t know who I really am.  I hate when I see myself acting like I am not a lover of God.  But God always looks at the heart and calls out true identity.  It’s all about honor.  God honors each one he loves, and he loves each one he made.  He woos us with his love whispers.  “This is who you really are; this is who I created you to be.” And hope rises up that there is more than whatever rut we may be in at any given moment, that there is someone who always believes in us and encourages us to be the person he sees in our heart of hearts, the person we really want to be. 

Then, when we “get it”, he calls us into the family business.  He gives us the joy of honoring those around us and calling them into true identity.  And it’s a whole lot more fun than grouching!

My Name is Precious

It was our last stop on the Idaho Rivers Prayer Journey, the Duck Valley Reservation in Nevada.  There we were scheduled to meet with several Native Americans and seek their permission to pray for their territory. For the past seven days, from morning ‘til night, we had been praying over the people and the land in the states in and around Idaho.  But today we were in for a surprise.  On this day Pastors Hilliard and Elena Smith, Josie and Patti brought us into their little church, fed us a lunch they had prepared, and told our group of seven intercessors that they were going to pray for us.

They took us one by one, laid their hands on us and prayed and prophesied over each of us.  For me, this experience was the pinnacle of the journey.  It was as if God was giving these loving people a glimpse into my heart.  Elena seemed to know things about me that could only come from God’s revelation.  Then she and the others took what God had showed them and prayed with love and fervor for God’s blessing on my life.  I wept like a baby, enfolded in Elena’s arms, and the Fathers’.

Hilliard and Elena’s grandchildren were there in the church that day, playing as we prayed.  Their little granddaughter was adorable, with her soft brown skin and long ponytails. I asked her grandparents for her name and was told, “Precious”. 

I smiled.  What a perfect name for such a sweet little girl.  Then I thought the Father was saying something in my heart.  This little one playing in the church was not the only “Precious”.  The Father was saying, “That is what I call all of my children.”  We were treated like precious children in that place, honored, fed, hugged, blessed, encouraged. We were given a new name that day. We were called Precious.

                    photo courtesy of Jim Spaloss, Spaloss Studios, copyright August, 2013

Letter to my children

Dear Blog Readers of Mine,

I am sharing with you a personal letter I wrote to my kids a few years back.  It will fill you in on some details of my life, who I am, and why I love the Father so much.

Blessings, taffy

Dear Jimmy, Rachel, Chris, Chat and Melody,

I know I’ve told you some of the stories in this compilation umpteen times, but just in case you forget and want to remember at some point who your mom is, and where she came from, and how she became who she is at this point, I am putting these words to paper, or to computer memory to be more accurate, so you can sit back and enjoy the journey with me.

I love you all!

Mom

The First Beginning

For the record, I was born on a hot summer day, July 12, 1952 to Doris Janofsky Tucker, the 3^rd child born to Robert and Doris Tucker, the 1^st girl child.  Mom (Grandma Tucker) told me a few stories regarding my entry into the Tucker family.  One was that my dad had not wanted another child and had tried to arrange for my illegal abortion, but my mom refused to go through with it.  My oldest brother, Dave adored me, so my mother told me.  Another story she told me happened when I was a toddler.  Dave walked me down the street to visit a neighbor who offered Dave a quarter, a whole lot of money in those days, if he would sell his little sister to her.  Dave agreed and took the quarter and the neighbor took me into her house.  Not long after that a tearful Dave knocked on the door and offered back the quarter if he could just have his little sister back again.

I have some very pleasant childhood memories, playing “fingees” with my brothers, Brett and Dave, and my sister, Roberta.  Fingees were people we made using our hands and fingers for the legs.  We created whole cities in the living room of our Iselin home where the fingees people lived, worked and played.  We even created little books and newspapers for the fingees.

When one of us four kids (Uncle Tim was not yet born) got sick, we usually all got sick, since we slept together in bunk beds in one bedroom.  When we were sick, Mommy would call the doctor, Dr. Paul and he would come to the house usually.  If we needed medication, Mom would call the drugstore to deliver it since she did not drive in those days.  She would always ask the druggist to include in the order 4 small toys and we would get to choose from them when the order was delivered.  It sure made getting sick a lot more fun!  One time the delivery person brought a “deedely dum box” as my mother called it.  It was the musical box that the old organ grinders used to play while their little monkey collected coins from the crowd.  I chose that box and had such fun turning the crank and making the music.  As an adult I was excited to spy a deedely dum box in an antique store display.  I had the store clerk open the case and was delighted to find that the music still played when you turned the crank.  Twenty dollars bought that little piece of my childhood back home and on display with my other antique toys.

We used to go to “church” when we lived in Iselin, at the Kingdom Hall for Jehovah’s Witnesses.  Sometimes after the meetings, we would play pretend and my brother, Dave would be the preacher and we would sit and listen to him.  Sometimes we kids went door to door with the grown ups, as Jehovah’s Witnesses do, and sell the Watchtower magazine.  I remember going door to door on Christmas Day, since we could not celebrate that holiday according to that religion.  I remember peeking around the lady at the door and seeing the children and their Christmas tree and the presents. 

I remember having a special verse of scripture that meant a lot to me as a child in the Kingdom Hall, Isaiah 42:8.  From memory it is something like “I am the Lord, that is my name, and my glory I will not share with anyone”.  I loved that verse, I think because it made me feel like God was big and powerful and able to take care of me.  But other doctrine of that religion was like poison to my heart.  I remember learning that not all people, even all JW’s get to go to heaven, get to live after death.  As I recall, and I could of course be wrong in what I remember, I was taught that if you did not make it as one of the 144,000, you ceased to exist.  We later left the JW’s, but the fear of “ceasing to exist” stayed with me for years to come.  I was so afraid of dying and not being anymore.  It was not something I could wrap my mind around, so not something that I could resolve, and the cause of more than one bad dream and sleepless night.  Another teaching I recall from being a JW was the warning against what they called “vain repetition”, and specifically not to be like those religions that constantly repeated the Lord’s Prayer.  Only say it once and mean it was what I thought was allowed.  But it was the only prayer I knew.  Sometimes being outside in nature I would so much want to talk to God, but only knowing one prayer, I would ask God to disregard the last time I prayed it, and that this time I really meant it, and I would pray it to him.

The Real Beginning of My Life

As you probably know, my dad was not a very moral man and had several affairs during his marriage to my mom.  After 17 years she filed for divorce and even tho he had never been very present in our home, the news of his infidelity and the divorce was devastating to me.  I was thirteen, with all the swirling emotions and hormones that accompany that time of life in most 13 year old girls, and felt like I was having a nervous breakdown.  Divorce was not common like it is now, and I was in the minority to not have two parents in the home.  My dad did not adequately support us after he left, and Mom worried constantly about how to pay for the house, bills, food, etc.  I began to worry, too, but secretly felt very bitter about it all.  Why should I, a little girl, I used to tell myself, have to worry about paying bills?  All the other little girls were playing like kids should do, while I was left to deal with grown up issues.  I hated my dad for it, but also craved his attention the few times a year that he would visit.  I craved male attention and became a flirt whenever I could hoping that someone would love me and hold me close.  I wanted to feel big, strong arms around me, keeping me safe.

One night I was especially distraught.  Relatives were over, helping Mom I guess, and I was crying uncontrollably.  I remember hearing people talk about getting me some tranquilizers.  That night I went crying to the window overlooking the street up in one of the bedrooms.  I was alone, and I cried out to God.  I remember looking up into the dark, star studded sky and saying, “God, if there is a God, if you are there please help me.”  That was it, my first real prayer from my own heart, when I was 13 years old.

A short time after that night with money getting so tight, Mom was reading the want ads for jobs in the local paper.  She found an ad looking for someone to babysit young children during the church service at a Baptist church nearby.  She applied for the position, and got it.  As you may remember, Grandma Tucker was Jewish.  So picture the irony of it all, a Jewish lady, a former JW, getting hired by a Christian church to watch, AND TEACH, their little ones Sunday School lessons.  Mom was not a believer, not a Christian.  I always think of this as God using the mistakes of a liberal church to work his plans.  As Mom began going off to church each week, we went with her from time to time and met the pastor.  He invited us to his youth group which was fun, so we went, me and Roberta and Dave.  Then we were invited us to go with the youth group to a movie night at the local movie theatre.  We were going to see a Billy Graham movie called, “The Restless Ones”.  It told the story of some young people who found out that they needed Jesus.  When the movie ended, a man went up on stage and invited all of us in the theater to give our hearts to Jesus.  I looked at Roberta, and Dave, and they were both willing to go with me, so we all went forward.  Roberta and I talked with a man with a very funny name, Stanton Brandcamp.  He led us in a prayer and we asked Jesus to come into our hearts.  That was May 9, 1966, (yes, it is James’ birthday, too!)  That was the day my life really began.  Mr. Brandcamp hooked us up with the Billy Graham Association who sent Roberta and me a bible study on the Book of John.  We read it and studied and took the little quizzes and sent them in for grading.  We started learning about God, and getting some of the truths of his word into us.  We did not know it at the time, but the Billy Graham Association had given our names to some of their supporters to pray for us.  Some people in a Christian high school club called Hi-B-A got our names and were praying for us.  Then the pastor’s wife at our church started telling us about a Christian club she used to go to in high school, Hi-B-A and we got into contact with them and started attending their weekly meetings.  A while later we learned that these were the people praying for us by name before we knew them.

I want you to grasp these wonderful facts, that God’s hand was orchestrating my life at that time, helping me to go in the right directions, to avoid some possible downfalls, to keep me close to him.  Hi-B-A became a wonderful part of my high school life.  I was a shy teenager, but in bible club I came alive.  I memorized 4 verses of scripture every week, went to meetings, and retreats with my best friend, my sister, Roberta at my side along the way.  Those verses of God’s Word in my heart are still helping me today, still hidden there for God to pull them out when I need them.  That’s what Jesus promised when he said that the Holy Spirit would bring to our remembrance the words that Jesus spoke to them.  Just a quick example was one night walking home after dark.  I don’t know what was frightening me, but I recited over and over again the verse from Joshua, Be strong and of good courage, fear not nor be afraid of them, for the Lord your God, he it is that doth go with thee.  (It was the King James Version back then!) 

Another precious verse I learned in Hi-B-A which I have prayed over you kids as you tried to find your way in life: “and thine ears shall hear a word behind thee saying, this is the way, walk ye in it, when you turn to the right or to the left.”  You can take that one right to the bank.  Oh, and by the way, I realized about a year after meeting Jesus, I was no longer afraid of dying, of ceasing to be, since I knew, know that I will not perish, but have eternal life in heaven.  That fear just went away, replaced with God’s truths.

I have learned so much about God over the years, through his Word, through teaching, through life.  I learned a lot about him through you kids, learned a lot about how God loves his kids, as I loved mine.  I remember one day after Mel was born.  You kids were still little, too, and you used to know that you could get away with some stuff when Mom was sitting down to nurse the baby.  So I was nursing Mel and all the time sitting there yelling at Jimmy to stop doing this, Rachel to stop doing that, Chris, and Charitie, stop, stop, stop.  Then I looked down at baby Melody cradled in my arms.  In the midst of all the yelling she was peacefully nursing, looking straight into my eyes seemingly without a care in the world.  God spoke to me right then and reminded me of several truths.  One was that in the midst of the turmoil of life I could look to him, like a babe at her mother’s breast, and be safe, be satisfied.  The verse also came to me, “the eyes of all look to him and he provides for their needs”, and “you open your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing”.  Melody was not affected by the loudness around her; she was at peace, receiving her sustenance from the one who loved her, satisfied to rest there and receive.  God wants me to be like that, like a babe trusting in my Daddy in the midst of whatever life dishes out. 

Another anecdote that comes to mind, sorry it is also about Melody, was when we went to see Mel in her school play at Lanoka Harbor School.  As we took our seats in the auditorium we searched the group of children on stage to find our Melody.   Then I looked around and saw the other parents squinting and craning their necks to seek out their own.  And God spoke to me about how he is just like us parents.  His eyes run to and fro on the earth seeking those who are faithful to him.  He seeks us out, picks me right out of a crowd of people at Shop Rite.  “There’s my girl”, he says, “She belongs to me”.  And I told you kids about this, too, do you remember, about how God looked at the Lanoka Harbor School during the day and could spot little blonde haired Melody in her classroom, and Chris and Chat in theirs, and Jimmy and Rachel over at the Middle School.  And how the parents’ eyes would light up when they spied their kid on stage, and how God’s eyes light up when they fix on each of you, there’s my son, Jimmy, there’s my daughter, my little lamb, Rachel.  My Charitie, my love, my Christopher, my Christ-bearer, my little song, Melody, how I love you all.  Do you remember how I told you that story?  It is still true, my precious ones.  God looks at you and smiles, and loves you, as do I.

But anyway, back to my story.  I want to remind you about Grandma Tucker and the miraculous ways God took care of her.  You know that Grandma Tucker died of ovarian cancer.  Chat was not quite a year old when Grandma died, so it was June, 1984.  My mom had begun to have symptoms of her illness the previous year while she was in California visiting Uncle Brett.  She had been several years past menopause, an early menopause like me, and while in CA she started bleeding.  She had no health insurance, so she ignored it for a year until she was too sick to put off going to the doctor.  When the surgeon opened her up to do a hysterectomy he found that her organs were covered with cancer.  He described it like someone had poured rubber cement inside of her, and it was clinging to everything and couldn’t be removed.  The day we heard this from the doctor felt to me like she had died that day.  Uncle Brett insisted that Mommy come to California for cancer treatment.  His wife, Aunt Flora is a doctor, a pediatrician, and they were in the medical Kaiser Plan out there and could provide for her.  I was so frightened, thinking that Mommy was going to die, going to die out in California away from me.  She still did not know Jesus and who would help her to know him before she died.  But I had to let her go.  We drove to the airport with Uncle Tim going with her on the trip out there, Daddy and me seeing her off, not knowing if I would ever see her again, even in heaven.  Mom did respond a bit to the chemo she had there, tho it made her so very sick during the process.  They certainly did not have the anti-nausea meds that Chris has been so fortunate to have during his chemo.  But anyway, Mommy wrote to me when she was at home with Brett and Flora in between hospital stays.  She told me that several lady neighbors came to the house while Brett and Flora were at work, introduced themselves and invited her to go to bible study with them.  I can still recall the humbling thrill I got hearing what happened, what God did, without any help from me!.  God heard my prayers for my mom and provided for her to learn about him 3000 miles away from me, without any input from me.  Mom became very close to these ladies; they helped her with getting a wig when she lost her hair, and visited with her at home and in the hospital.  Tim bought me a plane ticket so I could fly out to see Mom in May, 1984.  We knew she was dying.  I met the neighbor lady and asked her point blank, does my mother know the Lord.  I so needed to know that she would be with me in heaven, that I would not lose her forever.  The lady, I can’t remember her name now told me yes, that my mom did know Jesus now.  Then we went to the hospital together and she asked my mom right in front of me, Doris, did you ask Jesus to be your savior, and my mother said yes.  How precious to me is the memory of God’s goodness in this instance.  After I got home to NJ, I would call Mom once a week at the hospital and I was reading the Book of Hebrews to her over the phone.  Hebrews was one of my favorite books of the Bible, and I figured since Mom was Jewish, too, she would also like it.  So I was reading it aloud to her.  My brother, Dave was a missionary in Irian Jaya at that time, and could not get home.  I called him overseas and told him he needed to come home soon, quickly, or he would not get to see her again.  But it took some time and it wasn’t until the first week of June or so that he finally got home, and flew right out to CA to be with Mommy.  She died in mid-June.  We think she needed to hang on for those few weeks to see Dave, so Dave could see her.  I called Dave a short time after Mommy’s death.  I was so upset, thinking that maybe I was wrong, maybe she didn’t really get saved, maybe I wouldn’t really see her in heaven, how could I know for sure.  I told Dave all of this, and then asked him to tell me what Mommy had talked about in those days before she died.  Well, he said, she asked me to read her the Book of Hebrews.  That was all I needed to hear, that was enough confirmation that her heart was smitten by the Lord, she was his.  That is why when Owen asks me where Grandma Tucker is I say without hesitation that she is in heaven with Jesus, and he will get to meet her someday.  Please, dear children, look at these wonderful facts of God’s obvious intervention in my life, and understand who I am, why I am so in love with him today. 

So maybe the next time you are upset with me that everything is always about God, that I am “preaching” at you, please understand and realize that God is at the center of everything. It was his wonderful power that caught my attention as a little child in the JW’s.  But then I came to know him when I was 13, so vulnerable at that time, wanting so much to be loved by someone, anyone, think how easily I could have fallen prey to any guy who looked my way, but God saved me.  And he has been teaching me through all that occurs that he is not only all powerful, but also wise, and also crazy in love with me, his kid.  I am learning that he is trustworthy, even when I cannot understand, he is always to be trusted.  You know how I would talk to you when you were teenagers, when you accused me of hating you, of trying to ruin your lives?  At least you girls should remember, I can’t recall Jimmy or Chris saying that to me.  But anyway I would look into your eyes and say, Look at me.  Look, it’s me, Mom.  I love you.  I am on your side.  It’s me!  That is what I have learned that God is saying to me, too, when I say to him, what the heck do you think you’re doing?!! Don’t you care?  He says, Taffy look at me, It’s me, Daddy.  I love you and only want to bless you, not harm you, to give you hope and a future.  Look at me, and trust me.  And I am learning to look, and to say, oh, it’s you.  O.K., so long as it’s you.  O.K., I can trust you.

So that’s all that’s on my heart at this moment to tell you all.  I may send more stories, accounts as I think of things that I want you to be able to remember through the years. Or if there is some account that you would like to hear more about, like maybe your birth, let me know and I’ll try to give you my take on that. 

Love ya, Mom

Wanna Hear a Secret?

A friend of mine – we’ll call him Randy - recently sold some of his unused belongings and was driving home with an extra $75 in his wallet.  Then the Lord spoke to Randy:  “Do you see that man walking alongside the road up ahead?”

Yes, Lord.  I see him.

“I want you to pull over and give him your $75.”

But, God, what if he steals my wallet when I stop to talk to him?

“Don’t worry about it.  If that happens, I’ll give you a new wallet”.

So, Randy pulled over near the man, rolled down his window, and tried to explain that he felt God had asked him to give the man some money.  He kept the conversation light, so as not to overwhelm the man with the strangeness of hearing that God had directed him to give $75 to a complete stranger.

The man accepted the money with awe and gratitude.  He told Randy that he was walking (because he did not have a car) to a friend’s house to borrow some money. He had not been able to pay his electric bill in full and owed $69.95.  He received from Randy more than enough to pay the bill in full, and the wonderful and strange message that the God of Heaven noticed him, and loved him enough to send a complete stranger to pay his electric bill.

I told Randy, “Do you see what this means?  It means that God trusts you enough to tell you what he is thinking, to share with you what is on his heart.  He trusts you enough to ask you to do his bidding, no matter how strange, and to believe you will do what he asks.  God doesn't tell his secrets, the hidden things in his heart, to just anybody.  ‘The Lord confides in those who fear him.  He makes his covenant known to them.’ (Ps. 25:14)”

I cried when Randy told me this story, and I cry each time I retell it.  To think that God would trust a man, or a woman like myself, to share his secrets and act on them, is an amazing honor.  So I pray, God, help me to hear your voice, to hear your heart, to be the kind of person you call your friend.  I want to be one of your God-fearers, one you confide in.  I want to be one you can count on to do what you ask me to do, no matter how strange it may look to me or to others. Here I am, O Lord, please confide in me like you do with Randy.  I’ll do my best to obey whatever you tell me to do.

Busted!

I was fretting.  Again.  About finances.  Again.  I went to church and worshiped.  Came home and got right back into the fretting.

So I went to my sewing room to finish quilting a special blanket I was making for my sister’s writers’ conference auction coming up in June.  I often pray as I stitch along, but this day I was fretting, figuring in my mind the balance in my checkbook and wondering how and where to find the money to pay the bills due by month’s end. Then I felt God speak to me.

“Taffy, what are you doing?”

Now God knew for sure what I was doing.  He saw me sewing.  But as I took a look at the quilt I was stitching I knew exactly what he was asking.  You see, my sister’s writers’ organization has a theme each year for their conference, and my sister asks me to make a quilt for their auction based on that theme.  This year’s theme was “loaves & fishes”.  I had put together a quilt with blocks of realistic looking bread fabric, and underwater fresh fish scenes.  I put a cuddly, striped fleece on the back of the quilt, and planned the quilt label to read “Wrap yourself in God’s provision”.

My first response to God’s question was guilt, and shame.  I was busted!  Here I was creating a beautiful quilt to speak pictorially of God’s amazing provision, but not believing it myself.  The God spoke again.

“Look at me.”

God called my attention away from myself, back to him.  As I gazed at the Lord, I saw he was smiling, not condemning.  He was inviting me to put aside my negative thoughts, and believe him again, to seek him first and trust him that all the other things, including finances, would be provided to me.  “But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” Matt. 6:33

There are lots of negative things to focus on all around us, things that we cannot ignore, like paying bills, troubled children, chronic diseases like cancer affecting those we love.  But God.  God asks us to set our minds on what he says for whatever situation we are going through, to believe what he says over what may be staring us in the face at any given moment.  To hope again, to believe again that God really is good, then to find the scriptures that speak the truth over the error in our thinking at any given time, and choose to believe them.  When hope rises up, faith comes right along.  I love the way Kris Vallotton of Bethel Church puts it:  “Hope is the seed bed that faith grows in, and faith is the highway to heaven”. 

Healing Women at Shore Vineyard is in the midst of a seven week CD series on Tuesday nights studying Joyce Meyer’s Battlefield of the Mind.  All ladies are welcome join us on the “highway to heaven” as we learn together how to choose to live out of God’s truth.

The Power of the Testimony

The power of the testimony was amazing at our Good Friday service this year.  Each one who shared had a different story of suffering, and how God was with them and got them through it.

                     

Jimmy and I are blessed to know a lot of the “fill in the blank” details on our son, Chris’ testimony, and I thought you might enjoy hearing a little more of our journey with cancer.

Did you know Chris has been under chemotherapy treatment for five years?  He goes through a regiment of four days of nauseating, diarrhea-producing chemical infusions every 3 to 5 weeks up at Monmouth Medical Center.  He calls it his “poison week” and posts on facebook when poison week is over.

Chris doesn’t remember some of the details of his first two months after being diagnosed with cancer.  But Jimmy and I remember them vividly.  We were advised that, with treatment, Chris, then 26 years old, might live another six months or so.  Within a few weeks of his initial diagnosis at Newark Beth Israel Hospital, Chris became bedridden because his legs were so swollen with fluid that he could not stand on them.  Shortly thereafter he developed an ulcer and began vomiting up blood.  He was rushed into emergency surgery, a scope inserted down his throat as the doctors tried to cauterize the ulcer.  Right after the procedure, Jimmy and I were with him in recovery and he once again began vomiting up blood.  Chris was so weak by then that another procedure was not possible.  He was put in the ICU, and given multiple pints of blood.  The doctors told us that they had no way of knowing if the ulcer was successfully cauterized and the blood he vomited right after the procedure was from the blood left pooling in his stomach, or if the ulcer was continuing to bleed. 

One of the nurses took me aside and told me that while she was getting Chris settled in ICU he told her he was afraid of dying in his sleep.  After she had gone, I talked with Chris about his fears.  “What will happen to you if you do die in your sleep, Chris?” I asked.  If you know Chris, sometimes his answers are not immediate.  He paused, and said, “I will be with Jesus.”  He dozed off after that.

We kept vigil at Chris’ bedside all night long.  I felt like I was breathing my prayers.  With every inhale and exhale I was begging God to heal my son.  Emergency prayer requests went out via phone calls and emails.  I told Chris’ brother and three sisters that if the bleeding had not been stopped, it was possible Chris would not live through the night.

Sometime around 6 a.m.  Chris woke up and looked at me sitting at the foot of his bed.  “I’m still alive,” he said.  And we both laughed. 

Chris did not vomit any more blood, so we knew the ulcer had been successfully cauterized.  Better than that, he began telling the nurses he was hungry.  They were reluctant at first to allow anything into his stomach, but finally allowed clear fluids, than soft foods.  The pastors of Shore Vineyard came later that first day in the ICI, gowned up and prayed over Chris.  By the next day, he was transferred out of ICU and back to the regular cancer ward.  

Chris began chemotherapy, and Shore Vineyard Church began fasting on Thursdays and coming together to pray for him on Thursday nights (in our pre S-HOP days there was only one prayer meeting on Thursday nights, 7 p.m. to 9 p.m.).  Jimmy and I would drive up to Newark every night after work to be with Chris.

One Sunday, as Jimmy and I attended church and then got ready to leave for Newark, Pastor Brett brought us up front and placed his arms around our shoulders.  He addressed the church and told them that from now on, “Chris is your son, your brother”.  I cannot describe the amazing feeling we would have when we were sitting with Chris on a Thursday night, knowing that you all had his back, and ours, that you were depriving yourself of food, and giving up your evening to cry out to God for my son, now your son.

In addition to the prayer warriors in our church, there have been many other faithful family and friends who signed up to receive the prayer emails we send out on Chris’ behalf.  I hear from you often that you are still praying, and rejoicing with us along the way. You are all family now.

Chris was discharged from Newark Beth Israel in mid-January, 2009.  He was down to 125 pounds and very weak.  Five years later he has a pot belly and a hearty laugh.  He spends his days listening to worship and bible teaching online and on the tv.  He prays Psalm 91 over himself every day.  He loves to be in church every week.  He serves in the Thursday evening session at the Shore House of Prayer.  Our Friday night Redwood Group often hears Chris upstairs singing and worshiping with the World Revival Church in Kansas City as we meet downstairs.  And I echo with Apostle John, “I have no greater joy than this, to know that my children are walking in the truth”. (3 John 1:4)

  

The Sign on God's Frig

One evening our home group was discussing what it means to walk out our identity as sons/daughters of God.  We were filling in the blank in the phrase, “you know you’re a son when you…”  My husband, Jimmy said, “You know you’re a son when you go in the frig and get yourself something to eat without asking.”  That about says it all.  I am at home in the Father’s house as I partake freely of what he has there.

But what if you’re a cat.

I often hear a cat howling in the woods behind our house.  She’s a gray kitty, feral, without a home.  This morning I saw her crouched low with her tail almost dragging on the ground as she hurried across the front yard.  Tail wagging is a sign of happiness in a dog.  With cats, you can tell how secure or happy they are by the tail being straight up or down.  This cat was out of her element, not at all at ease, and got out of our yard as quickly as possible.

This afternoon, there was a different cat at our door, our outdoor cat, Lily.  Lily was also born a feral cat, but we have petted and cuddled her since she was a kitten.  Although we could not tame her well enough to come and live inside our home, she continues to stay nearby and eat at our back porch everyday. 

When she saw me, Lily hurried to greet me, her tail straight up like an arrow, a little curl at the tip.  Lily knows she belongs at our house, and her tail shows it.  Her tail says, “I am a son (or a daughter in this case) at the Spaloss’ palace.”

Now there are places/times where I feel out of place, not in my element.  If I was a cat, my tail would be dragging.  But there are other places/times where I feel loved and secure and my kitty tail would be straight and tall.  What makes me feel at home at one time, and out of place at another?  What gives me security or insecurity?  It’s like Lily showed me.  It is in knowing who I am, knowing I am a son or daughter of the Most High God. 

The King may not always be wearing his crown, but he’s always royalty.  He carries his royal presence whether into the throne room, or when he goes to the movies with his kids.  So it’s not a place or the people in that place that gives me my identity.  Instead, I am learning that I take my God given identity wherever I go.  

What does that look like?  Wells it looks like a cat with her tail straight up like an arrow.  It looks like me catching myself feeling out of place, reminding myself of who I am, and helping myself to whatever God has in his frig, his storeroom of provision for whatever inadequacy I am experiencing.  Whether I am lacking confidence, hope, security, words to speak, it’s in the frig, and I have an open invitation to take whatever I want or need.  Just read the sign taped on God’s frig: “Hey there! All who are thirsty, come to the water! Are you penniless? Come anyway—buy and eat! Come, buy your drinks, buy wine and milk.  Buy without money—everything’s free!”  (Isa. 55 The Message)