From Trash to Treasure

From Trash to Treasure

My childish eyes glistened at the treasures before them. My best friend, Greg, and I had energetically peddled our bikes for countless miles, following the old highway, to the local rubbish tip. Sprawled over  many acres were various organised piles of unwanted junk,  household garbage, and randomly assorted trash. It looked like a gold mine to my eyes. The stench was slightly bearable. The entry booth was manned by a friendly bloke and we were in. We picked our way amongst the rubbish looking for those solitary, amazing items that only we could see the value in. My gleanings that day made me the happy owner of a large swatch of colourful woollen blanket samples. Tugging and pulling and lugging it on the back of my bike, I was able to bring it home and turn my precious junk into a treasure of doll’s blankets. As I grew up my interest in the rubbish tip waned considerably and I lost my capacity to see the wonders in the discarded trash.

Then I married Michael. His ability to see worth in the most random of indescribable objects is incredible. His backyard shed is full of stuff which is totally unidentifiable to me; from nuts, bolts, screws,  and tools to bits and pieces, just picked up here or there. Some of the local areas near by have a road side council pick up service for household junk, several times a year. Michael is in his element.  There is always something to be found and something to be hoarded. The positive upside to all this squirrelling is the astonishing way Michael has, in always being able to produce just the right “thingamabob” to fix any household problem at any time.

One day, early in our marriage, Michael, a gardener, took a load of rubbish to the tip. As he pulled the unwanted items off the back of his work ute and hurled them hastily onto the nearby pile, he spied an old forsaken dressing table. It had seen better days. It’s wood was dull and faded, the mirror had long since lost the silver backing and was an old unusable piece of speckled glass. The drawer handles were rusted. It looked weathered and worn. It lay forlornly in the pile neglected and unwanted. It was now trash, but in Michael’s eyes it was a treasure. He could see it’s value. In his mind he pictured all it could become. Seizing the opportunity, Michael hauled the old dressing table from the pile and secured it onto the back of his ute and enthusiastically brought it to his workshop. Carefully he worked, night after night. Michael lightly sanded back the old wood, re-stained the timber with a deep walnut and lacquered it, giving it a rich sheen. The bevilled mirror he removed and had it professionally re- silvered on the back, giving it a look of complete newness. After attaching the decorative brass drawer handles, the ninety year old, antique dressing table had been restored to it’s original beauty. It was elegant, beautiful, stylish in it’s vintage look, and mine. How I love that dressing table. 

I think of how my husband has the ability to see the potential in any indiscriminate object he comes in contact with. What appears to be trash to my eyes, appears to be a treasure to his. God sees the potential and the hidden treasure with each one of us. No matter how damaged, broken or wounded we are, He sees all we can become when healed, restored and born again in Him. He sees our value. He sees our worth. He longs to bring us to a place of beauty. Will I remain forlornly alone deep in my heart, viewing myself as invaluable? Will I accept God’s assessment of who I am and allow Him to restore and heal me? Will I fulfil the plans of delight He has for my life? Will I be recreated to the full potential He sees in me?

Isa 13:12 “I will make a man more precious than fine gold; even a man than the golden wedge of Ophir.”

Isa 43:4 “…you are precious in my eyes, and honoured, and I love you..”

Deut 7:6 “For you are a people holy to the LORD your God. The LORD your God has chosen you out of all the peoples on the face of the earth to be his people, his treasured possession.”

Wilted Glory

Wilted Glory

Every year we are guaranteed to receive one bumper crop. The Australian summer is long and hot and zucchini’s joyfully thrive in such a perfect growing season. This year would be no different. I was eagerly planting out the large seeds, that would germinate quickly, into seed raising mixture inside small, plastic containers. With great enthusiasm I watched their first leaves unfurl and reach for the azure sky. I could envision the many zucchinis I was going to happily harvest that year. I would grow medium sized zucchinis, that I would fry up with onions and fresh homegrown tomatoes. I would store the fried zucchinis away in the freezer, to be enjoyed throughout winter. I would grow very large zucchinis, approximately a foot long, and we would then call them marrows. These marrows would have a tough, hard skin which I would peel; the seeds I would discard as pulp and the rest I would cut into larger cubes. I would busily blanch them and freeze them, to add to warm vegetable soups in the colder season. I would enjoy small, steamed dark green zucchinis that would melt in my mouth at dinner time. Yes, the dream of future zucchinis and their abundance danced with delight across my mind as the seedlings grew their adult leaves and longed to be planted permanently out in the great outdoors. 

It was fool proof. We had grown zucchinis in abundance for many years in the different locations we had lived.They were the one crop we could always count on. They are hardy, prolific producers and a versatile vegetable to grow. I was keen to transplant my sturdy seedlings in the heat of an early summer. Once in the vegetable garden themselves, they took off at a sprint, growing almost before our eyes. Fast and furiously they grew a profusion of luxurious, large, green leaves. Each plant spread wide and strong. Finally, with much pleasure, I noticed the first brightly golden flowers growing at the base of the leafy stems. They were all male flowers  to start with and with patience I waited for the female flowers to bloom and the bees to pollinate. With wonder I watched tiny finger like baby zucchinis start to grow, with the splash of a yellow cupped flower at the end of each one.

Then it happened. They stopped growing. Every day I would race outside to water my zucchinis and measure their growth. Nothing. They were 3-4 inches long and stagnant in size. Why? How can my bumper, fool proof crop be languishing? Then the rot set in. Starting at the flower attached end, my zucchinis started to pale and then yellow. They were fast deteriorating. I looked carefully at the glorious flush of bright, green leaves and noticed the stems seemed wilted. The leaves were not held so high any more. My plants took on a sad, down trodden appearance struggling to reach up in proud nobility. Before my eyes vanished the glory of my amazing abundant crop. What had gone wrong? Google had the answer. My plants were lacking in an important mineral. The soil had become depleted of calcium. Calcium was needed to strengthen the structure of the stems holding up the umbrella styled leaves. Calcium was needed to provide the basic construction of the zucchini itself. Without the calcium, my plants could not produce the fruit they needed. Without the calcium the plants could no longer thrive, and surely but slowly the life was fading away within them. We applied the necessary mineral to the soil, watering it in and then spraying the plants weekly to continue to encourage them to produce at their maximum potential. 

Sometimes it seems that I can have a “fool proof” Christianity. I can have an expectancy of fruit in my life from a thriving Christian environment. I can surround myself with church activities, church attendance, Christian television, Christian radio and Christian music. I can fill my life up with encouraging Christian friends and read amazing Christian books that motivate and inspire me. However, I can become stagnant in my experience. I can fade away slowly and sense a distance between God and I. What has happened? Where did I go wrong? God quietly whispers to my heart the need of my soul. It is His calcium. The milk of the Word. He wants to build within me a strength in Him. He wants me to produce fruit in an abundance of joyfulness. I need the calcium in my life. God calls me to come apart with Him each day, to pick up His Word, to read it, to study it, to prayerfully absorb it deep within. Will I do that? Will you do that?  Will we allow the milk of the Word to build us up in Christ? 

1 Peter 2:2 “Like newborn babies, long for the pure milk of the word, so that by it you may grow in respect to salvation.”

Deut 11:18 “Therefore shall you lay up these my words in your heart and in your soul..”

Ezekiel 3:10 “Moreover, He said to me, "Son of man, take into your heart all My words which I will speak to you and listen closely.”

Silhouette

Silhouette

It was the Christmas of 2013, and my best friend, Lisa, and I were relishing the warm, Australian summer and all the festivities of Christmas, together. She was here visiting from the USA and we squeezed every second out of every day. We decided to take a train trip into Sydney to enjoy all the Christmas decorations of that hustling, bustling city. With wonder and delight we toured the restored, old, grand Queen Victoria Building, which sparkled with well placed twinkie lights. In the centre of the building, going from the floor, up through the three stories, into the coloured dome of the ceiling, was a wondrously magnificent Christmas tree, bedecked with shimmering crystals, which held our thrilled attention. Next we gazed with childlike joy at the display windows of the David Jones Department store. Each window enraptured us with their Christmas themed marionette puppets. They were cute, charming and they filled us with merriment . With pleasure we took in the beautiful, rotating nativity scene in a glass dome, beside sweeping staircases of twinkling Christmas trees. The city was filled with jostling crowds all taking in the Christmas delights. Street entertainers kept the atmosphere one of warmth and gladness and the Christmas spirit enveloped the city. On many corners stood sales girls, with arms full of red and green reindeer antlers. The antlers were made from sponge and looked like so much fun. People were buying them and wearing them. As the crowds passed by, the antlers bobbed cheerily along next to the balloons that children were clutching, after their visit to Santa. I gazed longingly at those antlers. I so wanted a pair, but I resisted, for a while longer, as we made our way past the beautiful gardens of St James and onto the life sized nativity scene. We took many photos and enjoyed the time spent together and the atmosphere of excitement. As we made our way back through the park, we stopped to admire the outdoor Christmas trees, attractively dotting the acres of lush parkland.  Then we saw them again. Those antlers. I just had to have a pair. I just had to convince my best friend she needed a pair too. With a sense of adventure and fun we each bought a pair and donned them. We looked at each other and laughed and laughed. What fun. With joviality we continued our tour of Sydney, complete in our new regalia; and we spent our evening at an outdoor Carols by Candelight  event, antlers waving and keeping us in laughter.

Eventually Lisa departed Australia, returning home to the USA, taking with her a suit case full of Christmas presents, a heart filled with cherished memories and her green sponge reindeer antlers. We both placed our antlers away, to be forgotten through the year of 2014. Then we remembered. The Christmas season was upon us once more. It had been a busy, tiring and hard year for us. Lisa’s university term ended and the relief of successfully finishing her subjects washed over us both. We stepped into the joy of Christmas and jumped onto Skype to talk. We laughed at each other as we both once more placed the antlers on our heads. There was Lisa in her green antlers and me in my red ones chatting away, laughter filled the air and we spent several hours together. 

After we hung up from Skype , I walked into my bedroom. As I did, I gazed through the window , across the road at the neighbours. Their garage door was wide open and so was the back garage door and people were relaxing outside in the cool of the summer’s evening. I looked with surprise, for there sitting in their garage, on a chair, was a lady wearing reindeer antlers . I called out to my husband and messaged Lisa. We were all laughing about the neighbour with her antlers too. Lisa was begging for a photo and my husband and I kept laughing. Suddenly my husband stopped laughing. He strained to look better at the shadowed figure sitting in the garage. He analysed it carefully and concluded it wasn’t moving. Not only was it not moving, it wasn’t a woman wearing reindeer antlers, but alas, it was nothing more than the silhouette of a motor bike. I don’t think I will live that one down for a long time. The laughter from my husband and Lisa will be ringing in my ears for many years. 

How could my mind see an antlered woman on a chair, when in reality it was a motor bike? I had just spent several hours looking at Lisa in her antlers. She was imprinted on my mind. As I looked across the road, the darkened outline of the motor bike took on the shape of what I had been beholding. How often I can do that with God. I spend much time with my mind on the people of this earth, I behold them, they imprint on my mind. I see their characters, I see how they respond to me, treat me, love me or dislike me. As I turn from people to glance at God, I see His silhouette and He takes on the character of those I have beheld around me. I don’t trust Him, I think He will respond or treat me or love or dislike me, as people do. God is love. He is only ever good.His thoughts are not my thoughts and His ways are not my ways. God wants me to behold Him.To truly behold Him.  He wants my mind’s eye to be so filled with a picture of Him that the misty shadows take definition and His beauty becomes more clearer. In this new year that is ahead let’s take the time to fill our mind with pictures of God, to see Him for who He really is. Will you behold Him? Will I? 

Isa 55:8, 9 "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways," declares the LORD. "For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways And My thoughts than your thoughts.

1 John 3:1 Behold, what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called the sons of God

2 Cor 3:18 But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as from the Lord, the Spirit

Have You Ever Wondered?

Have You Ever Wondered?

Christmas is a season of warmth and love, friendship and joy. A time when loved ones gather, gifts are exchanged and good food enjoyed. One Christmas, however, I felt like a beached whale, I was nine months pregnant and, being in Australia, there was more warmth that just to do with friendship and love. It was hot and it was summer and I was feeling it. The month of December with it’s flurry of seasonal activities  from the outdoor community Carols by Candlelight on a warm summer’s evening, to church programmes, to the shopping for presents, the wrapping, the decorating of the tree and to the writing and sending off of many cards, had kept me busy. I had had some complications in my pregnancy, which required constant monitoring. There I was on Christmas Eve, at the hospital, linked up to the CTG having the baby’s heart beat and movement monitored. As I lay there Braxton Hicks contractions rhythmically came and went. The nurses laughed with an assurance that Christmas day would find me in labour for sure. I was all the more determined to enjoy Christmas with my extended family and not find myself in hospital that day. Thankfully, my daughter waited a few more days before making her glorious appearing in this world on December 28. 

Being heavily pregnant in the month of December turned my mind often to Mary, the mother of Jesus. Although the real date of Jesus’s birth is not known and it definitely wasn’t December, the celebrations around me brought me to thinking deeply about this woman of God. Who was she? What was it like to be chosen by God to give birth to the Saviour of the world? We realise by the culture of the time that Mary would have been in her mid to late teens. What would it have been like, as a young woman, engaged to an older man, to have an angel appear to you announcing you will have a baby but not his baby? How would I have reacted? Mary obviously had a very deep relationship with God, an experience in surrendering to God’s will. She replies to the angel who has explained to her how she, a virgin, will conceive with these words, "I am the Lord's servant… May your word to me be fulfilled.” ( Luke 1:38). It makes me wonder. How surrendered am I? How much faith do I have in God’s word in seemingly impossible situations?

After the angels’s visit, Mary, in haste leaves Nazareth and journeys on to a town in the hill country of Judea to be spend time with her cousin Elisabeth. She is gone for three months and returns pregnant with the world’s Redeemer. How do you explain that to your friends? How do you explain that to your fiancé? Who would believe you, a poor young woman, anyway? What would it be like to endure the snide remarks as your pregnancy became more and more known? How many friends did she lose? Did she feel alone at the well? Did she feel the loss of her support group? Did she feel the sting of a tarnished reputation? Through a miraculous dream her fiancé, Joseph, became her closest friend, a believer, a support for her. They were together, alone in a sea of people, filled with the closeness of God and the wonder of new life within. Matt 1:24 “And Joseph awoke from his sleep and did as the angel of the Lord commanded him, and took Mary as his wife.”

What was it like to be nine months pregnant and travelling the eighty miles from home to Bethlehem. The Bible doesn’t mention she rode a donkey. It is only a tradition that suggests she did. The journey takes four days for a young healthy man. What was it like to walk along heavily pregnant, day after day. There are no public restrooms, no relaxing seating along the way, just a never ending trail of dirt to walk on. There are no comfortable hotels to stay in over night. How did it feel to sleep on a mat on the hard ground? What did it feel like to walk on and on? If she rode a donkey, how comfortable would that have been anyway? Yet Mary never complains. She never feels sorry for herself. What kind of woman is she? Luke 1:46 gives us a glimpse into her attitude “ "My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.” Do I glorify God and rejoice in Him, even in difficult times? 

How tired would I feel after travelling for days and days at nine months of pregnancy? How relieved would I feel to make it to Bethlehem? Mary and Joseph are unable to find lodging. No doubt Mary was experiencing contractions already. How would I feel being homeless in a town full of people I didn’t know and in labour? Was she panicking? Did she wonder where God was? How stressed did she feel? Did she feel relief at the sight of a cave that housed animals? How would I like to give birth in a dark, smelly environment surrounded by cattle and sheep? Who is this Mary anyway? What a woman of great faith she was Luke  1:45 "And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfilment of what had been spoken to her by the Lord.”

This Christmas as you see the nativity scenes of Mary holding a wrapped baby Jesus in her arms, as you walk by them in shops, rush past them on billboards, see them on cards, churches, and even imprinted on the Australian Christmas stamps, why not pause and wonder? Who was Mary? Why did God choose her to be the mother of the my Redeemer. Can I have the relationship with God of the joy of full surrender that was in Mary’s life? This Christmas choose joy, inner joy, choose peace, inner peace and choose Jesus, the hope of the world.

Luke 2:10, 11 But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people; for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”

The Hidden Rabbits

The Hidden Rabbits

We lived on a beautiful 2,500 acre sheep and cattle property on the southern highlands in the state of New South Wales, Australia. My husband, Michael, was gainfully employed to focus mainly on maintaining and landscaping the twenty five acres of gardens around the main homestead. This was a relatively new project for the property owner. The large. sprawling homestead looked gracefully over a glistening lake. Wide, open lawns of lush green, gently spread towards the shining waters. Landscaping plans were under way; young trees, flowering bushes, and garden beds freshly  planted were in place. A series of ponds that fed into one another had been constructed, with plans to soon grow colourful lilies and other water plants. A roughly built stone wall edged part of the garden, as the long driveway flowed gently by.

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

Coming into the property, before the approach to the landscaped gardens; bumping over the cattle stop, we would drive the rugged, dirt road past paddocks of rough, dry grasses, dotted with purple, flowering heath and scrubby gum trees. Large, creamy white Charolais beef cattle grazed nonchalantly in the paddocks, lifting their heads as we drove past in a flurry of dust. Heavily fleeced cross bred sheep ambled in neighbouring paddocks, enjoying the dry seeds in the grasses, that will in turn produce a high quality wool, that Australia is famous for. Among the cattle and sheep lived Australia’s wildlife, both Australian and those brought in from England. The local area supported the eastern grey kangaroos, the common wombat, echidnas and the forever multiplying rabbits, with foxes on the chase.

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

It was soon discovered that the kangaroos, rabbits and foxes created a problem in the young and beautiful garden. Bounding into the gardens at night and hiding by day, the kangaroos would nibble the tender, young leaves and shoots of the newly planted trees and bushes. However, the greatest threat the kangaroos presented was in the damage they created when the six foot males would box one another, kicking with their powerful ,hind legs as they balanced on their long, solid tails. They would break the freshly planted saplings, crush the seedlings and squash the small bushes. The rabbit situation produced a new set of problems. They too would take tender bites out of the growing plants, but they added their own speciality to their diet, ring barking young trees. The foxes just ran purposefully around the garden snacking on rabbits. It was all a problem, an expensive problem, that had to be solved immediately. 

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

The solution to the situation of the kangaroos, rabbits and foxes being on a perpetual path of destruction within the gardens, came in the form of an electric fence. The idea was that the fence would keep them all out, allowing everything within to flourish and grow without hindrance. Hence came the construction of the wire fence, complete with an electrical charge surging through it and a campaign to trap and shoot any rabbits, foxes or kangaroos still inside the garden compound. The campaign of eradication appeared successful. There was stillness in the garden at night, the young shoots grew again, the saplings kept their bark and started to grow, the bushes and flowers thrived. 

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

All appeared very well for several months and then it was discovered. Now, instead of the garden being nibbled at, it was being eaten in large chunks. Whole plants were being devoured. The damage was severe and the threat worse than before. How could this be and by what? After some investigation, the conclusion arrived upon was that hiding away in a quiet, undisturbed corner of the garden, had been at least two uncaught rabbits. Without the presence of the foxes, they had, over time, been able to prolifically reproduce to the point of creating havoc within the electric fence. Here was a fence designed to keep the plague of destruction out, but instead they had hidden successfully inside and created a problem worse than before. 

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

My mind turns to the parable Jesus told. Matt 12:43- 45 "Now when the unclean spirit goes out of a man, it passes through waterless places seeking rest, and does not find it Then it says, 'I will return to my house from which I came'; and when it comes, it finds it unoccupied, swept, and put in order. Then it goes and takes along with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there; and the last state of that man becomes worse than the first.” God is calling to us to not just reform our lives on the outside, cleaning out of it things that keep us from Him, making resolutions and desiring to live a right life. When we do that, like the hidden rabbits we will discover hidden sins in our lives that just seem to multiply and bring us to a place of despair and despondency, where we want to just give up on Christianity. God wants us to open our hearts to Him. He wants our hearts to be empty not just of self but for self to be replaced with the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. 

As the new year comes closer and we start to think of the things we want different in our lives may we not just eradicate the bad but let’s choose the good. Let’s choose to spend time with Jesus every day, building a relationship with Him  and loving Him so that through His Holy Spirit He may abide within. 

Eph 3:16-19 “..that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God.”

The Crimson Stain

The Crimson Stain

I grew up in a connected community, a large village type setting, where everyone knew everyone  else and all the children played actively on the local streets together. Our neighbourhood was surrounded completely by miles of Australian bushland, creating an even tighter community spirit. I was the youngest of four children. The year I turned four moved slowly by, as with eager anticipation I looked forward to the following year when I would finally join my siblings and neighbouring children at the local primary school just up the road. Each afternoon I would wander up the road, in a time when it was safe for four year olds to do so, waiting for the children to come home from school. Sometimes I had the privilege of walking with my next door neighbour right up to the school, to collect her daughter from Kindergarten. When I was there I noticed a new building being built. It was the new kindergarten building and I would stand on tip toes and gaze longingly inside knowing this was going to be my classroom in the new year. I was excited and eager to start school. 

I started Kindergarten with enthusiasm , and continued my schooling with high hopes as I could see the activities that each class ahead of me participated in and I would always look forward to each new school year with delight. The year I started third grade was such a year. I was moving from the infants rooms of kindergarten through to grade 2 and into the primary school block. Here was a long wooden building with a covered verandah right along the front of it. It housed the Principal’s office, three classrooms, followed by several steps up the veranda to the staff room and the library. I had advanced. I was in grade three. 

My teacher and my year 3 class mates

I knew this was the year I would do leatherwork and sure enough we did. Our parents purchased a variety of items made from raw leather hide, from key rings to belts to coin holders. My mother bought me a key ring and I determined to make this very special and just for her. With long metal stamps and a wooden mallet I imprinted an array of different patterns around the edge of the key ring and then I created another beautiful pattern on the inside. Finally it was complete and I chose a green dye to colour it, glued the edges together enclosing the round metal key holder, rubbed the edges with a wooden tool and the key ring for my mother was finished. I was seven turning eight and very proud of my accomplishment and I gifted it lovingly to my mother. 

Not the key ring I made but the same style

Leatherwork classes continued and I chose  a raw leather bookmark to work on next. I was busy in my grade three classroom. I did the imprinting at my old wooden desk in which initials of previous students had been mischievously engraved on and a round hole spoke of a past generation who had sat there with jars of ink, carefully writing with nibs and ink. I stamped my pattern with much thought and care, dreaming of whom I would gift this next item to. Then it was ready. It was ready for the dye. I chose a pink colour. We stained our leatherwork outside, on the verandah, in front of the library. Students sat on the dusty wooden steps or balanced on the edge of the long wooden bench that ran along the library window. I took my small, brown, glass bottle of dye and perched precariously on the wooden slats that made up the bench . I unscrewed the lid and placed the bottle out of my way beside the wall and continued to set up to dye my beautiful book mark. Alas, with one swift move of my arm I accidentally knocked the jar over. A bright crimson stream poured out and ran down the back of the bench against the cream painted building and dripped onto the floor beneath. I grabbed the bottle in an attempt to save any other contents. I looked at the spilled dye in dismay. Then my teacher noticed the event. With words that etched into my mind he slashed at me for my foolish stupidity. Biting, hurting, angry words. I kept in the tears. My joy was gone and I felt embarrassed and ashamed. It was seen by everyone. 

That crimson dye stained the wall of the building. Until I finished grade six it was there as a perpetual reminder of what felt like my shame. Sometimes as i would play, I would stop to gaze at it, feeling that every eye in the school was also peering at it and seeing me for who I really was. It stood out in stark contrast to the softened buff coloured wall on which it had seeped. When I reached my teen years, upon returning to the school to visit, it was with much relief that I found the school newly painted and the crimson stain was gone. No one could see it now. No one would know about me anymore.

A book parade going past the building with the freshly  painted over stain

Have you ever felt like there were things in your life you needed to hide? They seem like crimson stains that you wished were not so visible to others?  The feeling of shame, of past regrets, of failings, of sins confessed over and over but the feeling of never being cleansed continues to pervade. Yet God tells us that we can be cleansed. Our crimson stain can be removed. We can joy in the Lord and move forward from a past of regret. Will I accept His cleansing power? Will I move into a new future? Do I believe Him? Do you? 

Isa 1:18 "Come now, and let us reason together," Says the LORD, "Though your sins are as scarlet, They will be as white as snow; Though they are red like crimson, They will be like wool.

Ps 51:7 Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.

Isa 43: 25 "I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.

Walk and Run!

Walk and Run!

With loving, eager expectation I watched and enjoyed every milestone passed by my precious baby, Elisabeth. I diligently recorded each one, I savoured the moments, I treasured the memories they created and I took photos. From 10:47pm, on the day she was born, when into my arms was placed the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, my first born, I cherished the special times. With a heart full of a love I had never known before, I adored each stage of her development. From her birthweight and her length, to her growth each week and month, to her first sweet smile, her first cute laugh, the eating of solids, her first tooth, her first lisping words, crawling and walking; I kept written in her pretty baby book.

Lying on her tummy, kicking her legs and trying to push forward, at 7 months of age, we soon anticipated Elisabeth’s ability to crawl. Over the next few weeks, my husband and I encouraged her development, placing some toys just outside her reach. She would gaze longingly at them, kick her feet rhythmically and then reach for a closer toy. Excitement mounted, our baby was very close now, she had just turned eight months and Elisabeth reached for her white handled rattle, which was just beyond her grasp and suddenly she was off. With a propelling motion, she took her first crawling slither but alas, she started to cry. This was not at all as she had desired. Instead of moving forward to joyfully grasp her rattle, she had taken her first crawl, backwards, and away from the wanted object. Her frustration increased over the week and she tried again and again and always with the same lack of success and in reverse she would go. Then one day she moved forward, with one crawling motion, then another and another and with new found freedom she was off to explore her world. 

At ten months of age Elisabeth pulled herself up by the lounge and stood. Now she could reach the  cat sleeping soundly, any books placed out of her reach, and if she stepped sideways she could make her way along the lounge to piles of folded clothing. Around furniture she walked, as she clung on tightly, by cupboards and drawers and around my legs. However, standing and holding on to walk was one thing, letting go and taking that first step was something else, so down she would drop again, onto her roughened knees, and continue her fast paced crawl. Ten months passed, eleven months passed and now she was twelve months old with a systematic crawl that could transport her to anywhere she desired and at a speed she desired. 

It was summer in Australia and holiday time. Our family planned a camping trip to explore the southern inland country regions of our state. We arrived at the sleepy town of Yass and set up our family tent under an Australian pine tree. It was a hot and dusty camp site and the tree provided a cool shady spot. Elisabeth had been alternating between sleeping and cheerfully sitting in her car seat on the long drive. Now the tent was up and a small, plastic blue tarpaulin was placed in front of it and she was awake and could enjoy some play time on the tarpaulin. This was wonderful to her, a whole new environment just waiting to be explored. Toys were discarded in favour of crawling across the heavy sheet of plastic and reaching her hand speedily to the dried, brown pine needles that blanketed the ground. She sat and picked them up, gazing at them and  allowing the needles to drop between her fingers back to the ground below. Her eyes searched the area and she discovered there were more, over there. She set off to crawl across the crackling, dry pine needles, but they prickled her bare knees. She stopped. She tried again, but they continue to spike at her. That’s when Elisabeth took her first unaided steps forward. She stood, unassisted and walked one step, two step and down she went. Up again, one step, two step, three steps and down. My husband and I cheered her on, encouraged her, laughed and smiled and told her how clever she was. At twelve months of age she had finally walked and  she continued to do so throughout our entire holiday. There seemed to be no stopping her, until we arrived back home once more. There was her familiar house, there was her soft brown carpet and the majority of her colourful toys. Instead of walking, she dropped to her knees and took off at a rapid crawl. No prickles, spikes or discomfort. Crawling was fun, but was it? She stopped and sat and thought about it. Then up she stood once more, and purposely, she walked. She was never to crawl again. Our beautiful baby was walking. 

This morning, when in my time with God I thought about a few wrongs a person had inflicted upon me. Then God gave great conviction to me, as He brought to my mind a wrong I had done to her.  It seemed so huge to me. I was repentant  as I spent time with God in prayer and with a new perspective of humbleness, I started my day. I contacted my best friend and shared my experience from God that morning, only to discover she too had had the exact same experience.” I don’t like this feeling of discomfort, that God is bringing my way, “ I bemoaned. She agreed whole heartily but we knew it was of the Lord, who was taking us on a journey forward into a deeper place with Him. It made me think of my daughter learning to walk. How often we desire a deeper experience with Him, yet instead of going forward towards Him, we feel like we are going backwards and in helplessness we cry out to Him. Bit by bit we learn how to grow in Him and now we are crawling forward, learning more of Him each day. Then there are moments of unpleasantness as the prickled needles of the Holy Spirit’s work of cleansing our soul goes deep within us. Will I get up from discomfort and walk in Him? Will I let go of anything I am holding onto? Will I run? Will I dance and twirl and live a joyous, victorious Christian life in Him? 

Col 2:6 “Therefore as you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him.”

Eph 4:1,2 “Therefore I, the prisoner of the Lord, implore you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love.”

Heb 12:1 “…. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us”