She dips her brush in color and swirls it freely across paper, wasting not an inch. That crisp, white page will be completely transformed. She is determined.
I wonder . . . Do I determinedly fill all my white space? Is my life daily covered again and again in the vivid colors of God's spiritual gifts? Grace, compassion, humility, joy, peace in storm-season. Do these breathtakingly beautiful colors radiate from me every day? Or am I satisfied with empty, white spaces on my life's paper?
I wonder . . . Do I grip my brush and boldly dip it in the colors? Do I grip my Bible and tenderly, excitedly turn pages, dipping into this splendid spiritual color-palette? Do I embrace the "colors" I find there and allow God to guide my hand, brushing careful strokes across the paper?
"Honey, we only go through this old world once, and we have to make the best of it we can." My grandma laughingly shared these simple words with me a few days ago. I had only just returned home for the summer, and that special happy-content feeling of returning home had settled upon me. Bittersweet were the emotions that had flooded my soul for the past week. Leaving a place and people to whom I have become uniquely attached is difficult, especially for one who feels so very deeply. Grandma had just handed me six pale-pink roses, and together we had arranged them in a clear vase. Why had she given me these roses? Why did she walk all the way down the wooded path to our house specifically to share her roses with me? This was just after Mother's Day, after all. Should not she be receiving roses rather than giving them?
"Well, Honey," she explained without being asked any of the above questions, "Someone gave me a dozen beautiful roses for Mother's Day, and I thought to myself, 'I don't need all twelve of these roses, but I know someone who might enjoy some.'" So that was all. It was simple. This beautiful, tired lady with strong, loving hands and sun-tanned skin from hours of careful work in her garden had been given a gift. Just twelve roses. What she did with her gift made all the difference. Without a second thought, she took what she had been given, divided it, and happily and thoughtfully shared it with someone who needed it. Did I really need those roses, soft and slender like old-fashioned maidens with rosy cheeks and beaming faces? Perhaps not. But they were spirit-lifters and day-brighteners. And I needed the lesson that came with them. What a refreshing, intoxicatingly-beautiful fragrance I could be to my Master if I treasured this wisdom from Grandma. What if I took what daily gifts He has given me, divided them, and allowed Him to make them go farther? What if I doled them out, cheerfully and excitedly, among those who need them more than I do? What if I "stretched out my hand to the poor and needy" (Proverbs 31:20) and ministered to others in spiritual and tangible ways? What if six pale-pink roses make all the difference in someone's life? ~Miss Emily Elizabeth
Am I beautiful? The woman wonders. She studies her reflection in the mirror before her. No one is around to interrupt. Now is a time she can think freely. In this moment of stillness, her thoughts can wander and delve unhindered in realms wild and frightening. No, I am not beautiful . . . I am not ugly, but I am certainly not beautiful. My skin is not smooth and flawless. My hair is too dark. My shoulders are uneven. My lips are plain. My skin is too pale. I am not thin enough. I am not exotic or mysterious or stunning. I am just me, simple and plain.
Her mind lingers on the word beautiful. What does it mean? What is beautiful? Beauty to me is uneven tree lines, their jagged silhouettes black against the darkening sky. It is weathered wood, on boats and barns and buildings, with the paint chipped and faded. It is books, old and yellowed and marked-up and loved. It is my mother, my father, my loved ones, with all of their uniqueness and imperfection. It is stories, journals, memories--these records of people's pasts. Uneven. Jagged. Weathered. Faded. Marked-up. Imperfect. Why can't I be beautiful with all of these attributes? Why does the world's standard disqualify me from the category of beautiful? The world does not see as God does. Father, what is beautiful? The woman asks, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Beautiful is the heart clothed in My righteousness. The heart redeemed and set free from the bondage of sin. The uneven shoulders that ache from the Master's work. The worn hands that serve others for My glory. The faded color in the cheeks of the lady in the wheelchair--that daughter of Mine who has followed Me for decades of her life. The fair, flawed skin of the woman I created. The stories, unique and wonderful, that each of My children carry in their hearts--the stories of their redemption. The aching, the wounded, the homeless, the terrified, the ugly, the odorous, the poor that love Me. They are beautiful. By now, the woman's gaze has retreated from her own reflection to her Maker. I am beautiful, she whispers. To God, I am beautiful. Let us spend more time in ministry than at mirrors. Let us seek to please God rather than the ungodly who directly oppose His truths. Let us drink daily of His grace and love. Let us share with the world His beauty . . . the TRUE beauty they unknowingly seek. It can be hard, this learning to accept again and again. But far more important than outward beauty accepted by man is inward beauty cherished by Christ. And far more fulfilling. Let us cling to HIM every day of our lives. ~Miss Emily Elizabeth
1. Letters to Karen (Charlie W. Shedd) 2. Holiness by Grace (Bryan Chappell) 3. To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee)* 4. Catching Moondrops (Jennifer Erin Valent): second time* 5. Letters to Philip (Charlie W. Shedd) 6. The Raven Saint (M. L. Tyndall): second time 7. One Thousand Gifts 60-Day Devotional (Ann Voskamp) 8. The God I Love (Joni Eareckson Tada)* 9. Charlotte's Web (E. B. White)* 10. A Novel Idea (various Christian fiction authors)* 11. Joni and Ken (Ken and Joni Eareckson Tada)* 12. Twelve Extraordinary Women (John MacArthur) 13. Not My Will (Francena H. Arnold)* 14. Dorie: The Girl Nobody Loved (Doris Van Stone, Erwin W. Lutzer) 15. The Last Valentine (Michael W. Pratt) 16. Freckles (Gene Stratton-Porter)* 17. A Severe Mercy (Sheldon Vanauken)* 18. A Walk With Jane Austen (Lori Smith) 19. The Five Love Languages (Gary Chapman) 20. Roses for Mama (Janette Oke)* 21. They Called Her Mrs. Doc (Janette Oke) 22. A Man Called Peter (Catherine Marshall): second time* 23. Real Spirit (American Girl publication) 24. Sense and Sensibility (Jane Austen) 25. Beezus and Ramona (Beverly Cleary) 26. Little Men (Louisa May Alcott)* 27. Emily Climbs (L. M. Montgomery): third time* 28. Emily's Quest (L. M. Montgomery): third time* 29. A Quiet Place in a Crazy World (Joni Eareckson Tada) 30. The Story Girl (L. M. Montgomery)* 31. The Art of Teaching (Gilbert Highet) 32. Veil of Pearls (M. L. Tyndall) 33. The Romance of a Christmas Card (Kate Douglas Wiggin) 34. The Better Christmas (Hight C. Moore) 35. The Greatest Gift (Ann Voskamp)* 36. Various books for school
Favorites [I intend to reread]=*
Yes, I turned crinkly pages and inhaled the scent of old books. I tucked them into my book bag and under my arm. I carried them to wooden swings and gazebos. I set them on the seat beside me on car rides and strained my eyes late into the night in my bed. I carefully arranged them on bookcases and then stacked more on desks and in corners. I forced myself to read one book on my kindle, and I'll admit, it wasn't as horrifying an experience as I had anticipated. . . But it came awfully close :) I'm just old-fashioned like that. And I love it. Goal for 2014:At least 40 books
Simple. That is how life should be. Wildly thrilling and abundantly overwhelming . . . in the simple. Glowing sunsets proclaiming HIS majesty. Crackling leaves scraping across pavement, driven by unexpected gusts of wind. Timelesswords woven artfully together to create our favorite old stories, printed unadorned in black ink, marching across pages. Countless-repeated truths of God's Word flooding the heart with new-found meaning.
Still. Silence is not to be feared. The clock's ticking, the whippoorwill's cry, the breeze's whispered conversation with the trees--they are part of God's gift of stillness. Quietude. Tranquility. Serenity. They stir reflection, thoughts that turn to God and His goodness. Flashing lights, distracting screens, and blaring sounds all stashed away. Just God and me in this moment. A talk, a listen--a pouring out of me, and a pouring in of HIM. Special. Life eternal is the most precious gift God could give us. Life temporal, that which we live now, is our only time of preparation for that wondrous life eternal. It has been claimed that art is the creation of beauty. Certainly, then, God is the greatest Artist. Even his clay model, man, stirs heart-wonder. In imitation of the great Creator, let us create. Let us make art. Take what HE has given us--these days, these fleeting hours and moments, and fill them with color. Brush our canvas with strokes of joy, trust, wisdom, holiness, and peace--the exquisite paints the Artist gives when we abide in HIM. And when we make a mistake because we are mere replicas of the great Artist, let us go to HIM, dip our brushes in GRACE, and cover the mistake. The flaw is still there. We know it is; others may know. But it is covered now, in the past. Is not this messy canvas, filled with all of our attempts and all of HIS teaching, a masterpiece? Ugly. Beautiful. Unique. Special. Our one special life to be presented to the Artist. We are fallen. We are rebellious. The painting would be flawless if left to God alone. But He hands us a brush and smiles and nods toward the canvas. He tells us to dwell with Him every day we live, and He will teach us the technique. We cannot understand it all; we cannot ever become adept enough to strike out on our own. But we can glean snatches of his teaching every day. And our painting can turn out to be beautiful, stunning . . . grace-filled.
