Redeeming the Time

Today is the day I buckle down and resume a long-abandoned regular writing schedule.

Things haven’t gone quite the way I’d planned.

I woke up at 6:20 and declared it was too early to get up.

Pixie the cat has her own infallible internal clock. She worked on me again shortly after 7:00. Nibbling the edge of the lampshade by my bed usually does the trick. The combined crunch and wobble defy ignoring.

Not this time. Eventually, she retreated and I fell asleep again.

For a little while. I don’t remember how long.

Since today is Angie the dog’s twelfth birthday, I finally sat up, stretched, and wished her a happy (but low-key) birthday. Just how ironclad were yesterday’s promises of a long birthday walk in her favorite part of the neighborhood, anyway?

I checked on Penny, my sick little cat. Thank You, Lord, for her alert eyes, and not so much for the atypical messes she made in the living room. Angie the dog had contributed to the cleanup agenda, too. Break out broom and dustpan, squirter bottles of cleaner, mop and removable pads—then put them all back again. Keep Pixie out of the coat closet and hope Angie doesn’t think it’s time for a walk right now. You get the idea.

Check the thermometers on both sides of my fridge on the fritz. What does LL1 mean? Oh, well. Seems like it’s working better than yesterday.

Was it really around nine when I settled in for my breakfast and quiet time?

Of course, the use of time came up today in Ephesians 5:15-16. I will admit this has surfaced as a candidate for my “verse of the year” in the past. I’m the same gal who underlined proverbs about laziness in her Living Bible as a teen. Hmm…do we sense a theme here?

See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise,

Redeeming the time, because the days are evil. (KJV)

The King James phrase, “redeeming the time, because the days are evil” is memorable and poetic, issuing a clear challenge to the Christian. Hear the sound of battle between good and evil in the background. Who is going to win control of my time? Although “making the most of every opportunity” (NIV) and “making the best use of the time” (ESV) don’t call us to charge onto the battlefield, these translations also warn of “evil days.” This is war.

Does our use of time really matter that much to the Lord?

What would I have made of my day if I had gotten up at 6:20?

Most of us waste time more often than we’d like to admit. As Christians, we might agree that technically, it’s not ours to waste. Still, we have our unconscious categories like “quiet time,” “going to church,” “serving,” “errands,” “housework,” “walking the dog”…and “me time.” It’s hard to acknowledge that God is in charge of and entitled to all of it.

“We’re on a battleship, not a cruise ship.”

True. We do have a job to do.

We are also God’s beloved children. He helps us redeem our time, even when it’s misspent or when we start our day off on the wrong foot.

When the clock is ticking and my thoughts were too muddled to write something weighty and inspirational, my Father said, “Don’t worry. The words will come. Just write. Pick an easy idea from your list—something you know a lot about.”

Aha. Like wasting time. Okay, Lord, I can do that.

I Love to Write!

A TRIBUTE

Happy I Love to Write Day!

Before I fully absorbed the fact that LMNOP wasn’t a letter in the alphabet, I longed to write. I wanted to play Scrabble with my mother. I associated “Scrabble” with “scribble,” and so I scribbled all over the board.

“Mommy, is CDBBBA a word? How about DDDDOIHHHI?”

What a patient mother I had! She interrupted her sewing again. “You can’t have three of the same letters in a row,” she explained.

Mother’s love of reading was subjugated to my own for years. During my monthly earache/strep throat episodes, we’d curl up together. “Read more, Mommy!”

She grew hoarse and I finally fell asleep.

She started with the Little Golden Books and didn’t finish until the last page of The Lord of the Rings.

My cousin Glendys was another willing reader. On a recent visit, I pulled down my old copy of Heidi, scribbled on with red Magic Marker. We enjoyed chatting about that wonderful book we’d shared. In the decades since, like Heidi, I learned to love goat cheese. Glendys confessed she hates it, just like Heidi’s boarding school classmates did.

Much of what we learn about writing–the love of words and the knack of transporting someone off the page to another world–comes from reading. My third-grade teacher, Laura Wright, helped me find books I could identify with while continuing to grow as a reader. Laura Ingalls Wilder filled my days: inside, I’d read; outside, my best friend, Christy, and I would play “Little House.” I was usually the teacher in the one-room schoolhouse. (Teaching in my own one-room school is one professional goal I have yet to fulfill.)

Mrs. Wright also encouraged my writing. My first “published” poem, posted on the bulletin board (probably along with several other students’ work) was The Hunter. I knew nothing about hunting–or deer (except wide-eyed Bambi). “Kindness came to him as his finger left the trigger” is the sole quotable line from this poem. Editor’s note: change “as” to “and.”

Living in Virginia destined me to love history. Mrs. Sally Alne had drafted me to write the history play Ghosts! Ghosts! Ghosts! in fifth grade, so George Washington was hardly a stranger. One Sunday when I was twelve, we set off for Pohick Church, one of several churches he frequented.

“Would you like to sit in George Washington’s pew?” asked the usher.

“Of course!”

What an honor! We settled into our first president’s box, surrounded like eggs in a very large carton by Episcopalians who knew their way around the prayer book and hymnal. All we could do was huddle low on the floor of our pew as we fumbled through the books, trying not to disturb the worshipers with our helpless giggles.

After the service and a stroll through the graveyard, I had enough material to fuel the historical novel I planned to write on our newly-acquired used typewriter.

Sadly, I didn’t learn to type until ninth grade.

I escaped having teachers who loved to bleed red ink on my writing. (I do regret the gallons of ink I spilled on my French students’ papers. The urge to encourage and the pursuit of perfection don’t mix.) Nothing can compare with the freedom to play with words and discover your own voice.

I thank God that I was in my thirties before I received a harsh critique from someone whose work I admired.

It only set me back a decade or two.

Now I am surrounded by encouragers and honest, helpful critics–fellow authors, critique partners, and editor.

Providentially, I have landed here, reminding myself yet again of my love, despite the battle to write.

Playing with my memories, and not too concerned that someone will miss seeing my tongue, deliberately planted in cheek.

Prayed for–eons ago by grandmothers and mother, and even now by faithful warriors.

Grateful for those who nurtured my love of words.

Wordstruck.

So thankful that God lets me write for Him.

His Own Did Not Receive Him

How can such an old book always be new and life-impacting when I read it?

I’m talking about the Bible, of course!

Usually, something catalyzes the epiphany I experience. The unconscious backdrop for my latest reading of John’s gospel has been “The Chosen.” I’m seeing the people of the New Testament in a new dimension thanks to this television show.

As a child of the sixties, I saw the same pictures of Jesus, the disciples, and the Jewish leaders in my Sunday school class that I saw in my beloved Egermeier’s Bible Story Book. Wearing spotless, wrinkle-free robes and standing or sitting placidly under a pastel blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. For the most part. Even the beggars looked presentable. The Roman soldiers stood by stoically in their shiny armor, scarcely more menacing than the friendly policemen we trusted back then.

Let’s talk about the Jewish religious leaders we love to hate. Even the most vivid pictures of the scribes and the Pharisees failed to convey their arrogance. The best cinematographer of the day could only allot a few seconds to the swish of a Pharisee’s robe when telling the gospel story in a feature-length film. And while Jesus reproved them for their wide phylacteries, their long tassels, and their lust for adulation, familiarity drained His words of their bite.

Enter The Chosen. In this television series, the Pharisees parade through the marketplace, robes billowing, and the crowds part in awe. Their luxurious lifestyle grates on the viewer as it’s contrasted with the ragged poverty of the average person in the street. The Roman soldiers inspire fear reminiscent of Nazis. Their armor clanks. They fling the occasional anti-semitic remark. Cringe-worthy–but real.

And the political intrigue. The conniving. The scheming. I’d always known the Jewish leaders plotted to kill Jesus, but seeing the seeds of this plot being sown by “real” people in scenes that could be played by politicians on Capitol Hill–game-changing.

But this is not a review of The Chosen. It’s about another game changer: these leaders knew who Jesus was. John showcases Jesus’ claims to deity and Messiahship in a way that’s lost to the modern reader, even though we’ve read our Sunday school lessons. We “know” that His repeated “I AM” statements were not mere poetic metaphors, but they lacked a gut punch.

Those statements were blasphemy in the eyes of the religious elite.

But not really.

Jesus was their Messiah.

And these arrogant, officious religious leaders knew it. They had heard the I AMs. They had seen the authenticating miracles Jesus had performed.

Jesus was their long-awaited Messiah and they didn’t want Him.

They didn’t “receive” Him.

Some people truly didn’t understand, but these schemers did. What was really in the back of their minds as they murmured in their chambers about how the crowds would respond to Jesus if they figured out who He was? When they strategized about how to persuade the loathesome Romans to prop up their patriarchal puppet show of a trial?

Power.

They didn’t want their Messiah after all.

They wanted their power.

People haven’t changed at all.

Do you want your King Jesus? Have you received Him?

Illustration “Peter the Fisherman” is in the public domain, Creative Commons Mark 1.0

Endless Conversations

When my college roommate and I manage to arrange a date for lunch together, it’s never soon enough. Anticipation builds long before the day arrives. By the time I reach the designated restaurant and we’re finally face-to-face, words tumble out. Sometimes we struggle to take turns talking and listening, but we do it with joy.

What do we talk about? Everything! Our families. What God has been doing in our lives. Stress. Our aches and pains. Our joys. Church. Politics. The food. What’s eating up all our time. Reminiscences. Hopes. Prayer requests (if we haven’t figured them out by now).

We consult “don’t forget” lists and jot down things to remember to pray about as we talk.

Sometimes, just as we’re getting ready to wind down and pay the check, we veer off on a tangent, reluctant to leave anything out. Occasionally, we have to settle for “remind me to tell you about such and such”… or “I’m going to try and remember to send you that video…”.

It’s messy.

It’s wonderful.

We definitely don’t do it often enough.

Whatever happens, I know I’m loved and that she’ll remember to pray for me, informed by that messy encounter known as fellowship.

I worry less after leaving some of my burdens with this dear friend.

No matter if she forgets half of what I’ve said. The Holy Spirit the third party at our table and heard the prayer that was our messy conversation. That same Spirit will prompt my friend to pray for me when I need it. And nudge me on her behalf, as well.

It’s messy.

It’s wonderful.

Messy and wonderful like my time with Jesus can be.

When I’m with the Lord, a jumble of words can tumble out, and I don’t have to worry about His reaction.

I can talk about anything with Jesus. My family and friends. How I feel about His work in my life. My worries. About getting old. What I’m excited about. Church stuff. Politics. My worries, again! Strength and wisdom to do what I need to do. The memory prompted by a smell, a sight, or a song. Hopes. All punctuated with occasional “I love You’s.”

It’s wonderful.

And no, it’s not Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication.

It’s messy.

Even so, I know He loves to hear my voice, since He’s called me His friend.

I want to cultivate more messy conversations with the Lord.

Yes, I need to work on listening as much as I talk.

I’ll keep talking as I learn to listen.

A Teacher’s Journey: Meet Cassie Franklin

The traditional “Back to School” date is the Tuesday after Labor Day. Although school has already started here in Northern Virginia, my teacher DNA is programmed for tomorrow! Accordingly, it’s time to honor one of my favorite teachers, Cassie Franklin of The Substitute with a re-post. If you haven’t read The Substitute, this is a great time to check it out!

Remember that old saw, “Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach”?

Chances are, you’ve been tempted to think that from time to time about a teacher, but probably not often enough to justify the saying. Cassie Franklin, the main character of The Substitute, deserves a bumper sticker on her car proclaiming, “Those who can, teach.”

I’m proud to introduce Cassie and have you share in her professional and spiritual journey. Here’s a sneak peek at the back cover copy of my latest release, The Substitute.

She has a foolproof recipe for success and even shares it with others.

When her family moves, seasoned home economics teacher Cassie Franklin never dreams she won’t land a job in a school district known for hiring the crème de la crème. But when the first day of school rolls around without an interview, she begins to worry.

A call to substitute at Sully High School just might be her lucky break.

Or not. Sour staff members and a butchered budget sabotage her every move.

Under increasing pressure, Cassie fights to prove she’s still a professional. Can she tweak her cherished formula for success before becoming a total flop?

The Substitute is Book Two in the Sully Parkway series and is best enjoyed after reading Book One, The Jesus Car.

Now available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback versions!

Company Time

Do you have a love/hate relationship with time? I sure do! In the past, I’ve vacillated between boredom and wondering how to “kill” time, or stress and wondering how to “find” more time. When I was growing up, my mother set an excellent example for me. Even when she relaxed, it seemed that she was doing something constructive. She watched TV and ripped wrong stiches out of a dress she was making. She reserved a minuscule amount of time for reading just before going to bed. (I still think reading is more fun when I should be doing something else!) As a teen, I underlined multiple proverbs in my Bible, urging me to be diligent and imitate the busy ant. Mother’s message had reached my brain, although not always to my hands and feet.

By now you’ve probably guessed this post isn’t about having company over for dinner. But it’s not about time management, either. I started to write it in my head during the early months of the pandemic. At first time weighed heavy. With everything moving online, familiar activities such as church, Bible studies, and writers’ groups took less time.

Soon, though, I saw new needs around me and they filled much of that time. That was fine–up to a point. Sometimes they sucked me dry. Why did needs crop up when I felt the most tired?

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t always follow the Holy Spirit’s promptings to respond to needs, although I usually tried.

A couple months ago, though, I just put my feet up and reclined with one basically frivolous mystery after another. For several days. I don’t binge watch TV, but I can binge read with the best of them. “I can do this. I’m retired,” I told myself.

Not!

I’m not retired from Kingdom service. I’m never “off the clock.”

Paul knew the struggle and challenged Timothy, “Never lose your sense of urgency, in season or out of season.” (2 Timothy 4:2, Phillips)

I’m no Paul–not even a Timothy–but their mission is my mission, so I’d often taken the challenge as my own. Now God had given me the chance to experience it on a new level.

I’m never “off the clock.” It’s always “company time.”

I accept the challenge. Lord, may I never lose my sense of urgency!

What about the “sucked dry” part, you ask? Don’t set yourself up for burnout!

Thankfully, the Kingdom works differently from our world. Jesus reminds us to work under his power, not ours, for real results. Paul had a thorn in his flesh to teach him to rely on Christ’s strength. “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” ( 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 NIV)

2 Corinthians 9:8 highlights this sufficiency so well: “And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.” ( NIV 1984; emphasis mine)

Don’t forget that the Kingdom provides for rest, as well. We serve the God who rested after He created. He cares for sparrows and offers us an easy yoke.

This rest is grace–a provision–not an entitlement. (Preaching to myself!)

I accept the “company time.” challenge! I’m not punching a time clock. How about you?

Battle of Loopy Lie Valley

peru-2287008_1920 The Battle for Independence is probably tied with the Battle of Loopy Lie Valley in deadliness. As mentioned earlier, we actually need to lose the Battle for Independence. All our other spiritual battles must be won. The great news is, we are guaranteed ultimate victory–we are more than conquerors! (Romans 8:31-39).

Generals in the Pentagon name their “operations,” probably before they start. Some of the operations have cryptic names for obvious reasons. Others have names that hint at their purpose.

But what is Loopy Lie Valley, and why did I name this battle in the first place?

In a study on spiritual warfare, our pastor recommended naming our spiritual battles. I don’t recall that he explained why, but it didn’t take long for me to see the wisdom in this idea.

–The enemy (Satan) isn’t terribly creative and original. He tends to use the same deceptive tactics over and over.

–If something has a name, it’s been identified and it’s easier to fight.

(The pastor probably didn’t anticipate the fun I’d have making my different battle names sound like cheesy westerns. Here too, the more memorable the better.)

The action in Loopy Lie Valley has the potential to last for days, and often did, when I didn’t know it was happening!

So what are “loopy lies” anyway? They are those sudden negative, condemning thoughts that won’t let go–things you thought you’d dealt with long ago. Suddenly, there they are haunting and taunting you! Know them and call them out for the lies they are!

They thrive on endless loops. Don’t bother trying to analyze your way out. Applying logic to squelch them won’t work either, because another random lie will jump in and keep the loop going. The enemy will use anything in a pinch, and I’ve found he resorts to the same loopy lies or slight variations thereof.

The loop usually starts when I recall a past sin for which I’ve repented and received forgiveness. If I attempt to deal with this in my own strength (my flesh), I will get sidetracked by attempting some sort of cleanup operation (legalism)–trying again to do what I never could do outside of God’s grace–make myself acceptable to Him again. I will feel like an imposter and wnt to hide from other believers. (After all, they have it all together and I’m the only unworthy one, right?)

This lie sounds so spiritual. Don’t let the enemy fool you–it’s anything but! Remember how he quoted scripture when he tempted Jesus?

The specific weapons I use against this loopy lie are Romans 8:1 and I John 1:9. Shout them aloud if necessary and take that thought captive to the control of Christ. If legalism has crept in and I need to remind myself that I am free in Jesus, I wield Galatians 5:1.

Another lie I fight is the lack of assurance of salvation. It used to be way too easy for Satan to get me to question and worry about the fact that I was saved at age four after hearing a talk about hell in children’s church. What more vital weapon for the enemy to steal than my helmet of salvation? What better way to halt the progress of the gospel than to make a disciple apologetic about her own salvation experience?

Mentally, I put on that helmet of salvation every morning–thanking God aloud that he authored my faith (Hebrews 12:2) when I was four and had held onto me (John 10:27-29) through my ups, downs, rebellion, and repentance ever since. Lest I dare worry about the future, I often remind myself that my salvation is a done deal (Romans 8:29-30) and that God will keep me firm to the end (1 Corinthians 1:8-9).

Rehearsing the truth every morning as I don my “helmet” has made this loopy lie rare and almost laughable. If I need to use the weapon at other times, it’s close at hand. Although I’m not as outspoken a witness as I’d like to be, I am working on boldly sharing my faith journey with believers and unbelievers.

Don’t panic if the loopy lies hit!

–Know the most common ones the enemy uses on you.

–Counter them with the antidote–truth from God’s Word.

–Don’t become self-absorbed and indulge the lies–take them captive.

–If the loop doesn’t evaporate, don’t hide from fellow believers. Enlist their support through prayer.

Remember, God gives you the victory!

The War for Independence

independent-woman-3566942_1920 “I REFUSE TO BE DEPENDENT,” proclaims an inspirational poster in the physical therapist’s office.

Amen. Why else would I be torturing myself twice a week and committing (more or less)to exercise at home?

Americans have always had a reputation for being fiercely independent. We celebrate the anniversary of our War for Independence from Great Britain every July. Much of our youth revolves around “growing up” and milestones such as getting our first job and our first car, then moving away from home.

That’s normal, right? Even preferable to being dependent on someone else.

We even let this attitude infect our spiritual lives: God helps those who help themselves. If you’re up for following a short rabbit trail, check out the discussion of this saying in Wikipedia. The final section, which covers how many people think this statement is in the Bible, and whether this idea is actually biblical, is fascinating!

In my life, the “War for Independence” is one of my primary spiritual battles. Winning this battle means I must lose my independence. Just as I rely on the Lord for salvation, I must learn to rely on Him for my other needs. Unfortunately, when my sin nature flares, I find that I don’t really like to be dependent on God. I want Him to be there when I need Him, yes, but I’m not wild about needing to need Him!

Does that make sense?

Adam and Eve apparently felt the same way. They opted for trying to become as wise as God. Abraham got tired to waiting for God to make Him the father of a great nation and took matters into his own hands. Satan may have been counting on Jesus to cease being dependent and submitting to His Father’s will when he tempted Jesus in the wilderness.

On my fleshly and feisty days, I dislike being a clay pot in the hands of the Potter. I’m like a terrible two-year-old, stomping my foot and saying, “No!”

But it’s the Potter’s job to make sure I learn to rely on Him and remember the good results when I do. Despite their Ebenezer stones, various festivals, and scriptural records, the Israelites struggled to remember and rely on God’s faithfulness. I journal and rely on scripture to remind me that God is always faithful and utterly reliable. As I review these and listen to fellow believers recount their own stories, the Holy Spirit strengthens me in my battle to depend on God.

I can adopt the posture of dependence more easily when I think of my relationship to God as a child to her Father. He invites us to bring our all anxieties to Him, which requires humbling ourselves under His mighty hand.

Why be dependent?

Only works done by the Spirit will last.

It glorifies God instead of ourselves.

It prevents lapsing into legalism and works-based religion.

We will grow in grace and become more like Jesus.

What better reason do we need?

Preaching to myself again!

The Dog Walker Sings for Joy

No, not “dings,” I wrote, “sing.” I started writing this post in my head, and when I hit the keyboard, auto-correct dictated my first line for me! But it couldn’t have been more appropriate…

I won’t start with the ding, though.

It’s been months since our Sunday service was snowed out and our pastor issued the #phil4challenge in his Facebook Live sermon. We had 21 days of devotions reminding us to: choose to be joyful, pray with thanksgiving, think on noble things, and repeat daily. Of course, the “repeat daily” meant the Lord would be assigning plenty of homework! “Anybody can grow in grace”–even me. Even you.

But first, we make mistakes–dings.

Last Sunday morning I had a lot on my plate and left Angie at the sitter’s house before going to church. After church, I wasn’t hungry, so I thought this might be a great time to strip the kitchen floor. Enough with the waxed-on dirt! It couldn’t take more than an hour, could it?

For inspiration, I started playing the long-time AWOL Young Messiah tape I found. Great beat and immortal words. I opened the front, back, and deck doors and moved most of the stuff out of the kitchen and into the hall. I re-read the directions to the stripping product. Chemical-resistant shoes? Who knows? I ran upstairs and put on a pair of rubber-soled shoes I didn’t like. Mindy the cat was safely ensconced on my pillow. Goggles? I had some downstairs but didn’t want to bother. I needed my reading glasses, and they have big lenses. Good to go! Ding!

mop and bucket Apply generously. I used dollar store mops suggested by the clerk at Home Depot.

Ding! Don’t allow to dry before mopping up. Or something like that. I minced over the floor and worked from windows to doorway, hoping I wasn’t leaving tracks with my Bigfoot shoes.

Whew! That smell is strong. Better turn on both ceiling fans. Upstairs, Mindy had left the pillow. Under the bed. Would the fumes be less toxic for her closer to the ground? Not sure.

Ding! Ding! Do not allow to dry before mopping up. The stuff sure was tacky. And the fumes were strong.

One of God’s growth lessons for me has been asking for help. Little 9-pound Mindy needed help even more than I did. I should get her out of the house asap. Remembering the time I’d mixed cleaning products when I cleaned the bathtub and felt mega-woozy, I realized I needed help too. I mopped a few more inches and caved in to the Lord.

I called three people and struck out. Mopped some more. Still tacky.

Call three, my RN friend with the chemistry teacher husband, finally called back. As they had done many times before, they changed the agenda for their day and came to my rescue. While I waited or their arrival, I called poison control. They could only help if something were wrong with me. Thank You, Lord, not yet.

What a relief to have someone else to help me. My nurse friend insisted that we work on opening the windows I was convinced were painted shut. Success. Much better for Mindy upstairs.

It turned out this speed reader had misread the directions! Do not allow to dry before rinsing two times with warm water. We headed out to Home Depot for advice. The flooring salesman, despite the fact we weren’t going to buy anything, listened to our tale patiently and that was about it. Nice guy, though.

My friends encouraged me to eat lunch. We stocked up on dollar store mops and rubber gloves. I sent them home. What amazing friends. Thank You, Lord! I hope I can return the favor someday.

Mopped some more.

Seeing the front door propped open and kitchen furnishings sitting in the foyer, a passing friend inquired if I was okay–or was I moving? Thank You, Lord, for surrounding me with concerned friends.

At least the stuff dries quickly, even if the yellow stains on my floor were still there! With just enough energy to put everything back in place and stumble to the car, I texted the long-suffering dog sitter again. “On my way. Finally.” Yet another friend. We’d shared about more than dogs. Thank You, Lord.

Thank You that I survived the fumes. Thank You that I have such great friends. Thank You that even I can learn to reach out.

I don’t think I walked Angie that afternoon, but I definitely sang in the car. Songs of thanksgiving. I’d been protected, and I’d learned to reach out for help.

Don’t wait as long as I often do to reach out for help! The results are worth singing about!

Anybody can grow–in grace!

Dogged Pursuit of Joy

Thanks to an unfortunate mishap last week, Angie has been on a new medication that’s been tough on both of us. Her tummy has been upset and her appetite has been poor. We will soon rate a brass plaque on our exam room at the animal hospital. What a week!

Because I had an early orthodontist appointment this morning, I had to skimp on some of my usual morning routine. Angie had slept with her crate door open overnight so she wouldn’t be trapped if she had GI “issues.” I found her on the gold chair when I came downstairs. The crate was in good shape. She rolled over a bit for a tummy rub but wasn’t overly perky. I carried her into the back yard for a quick potty break, but she came right back inside and plodded upstairs. Reluctantly, I crated her with the door shut and left for my appointment.

I’m grateful that I’d seen an email devotion while I scarfed down a banana and yogurt. Susie Larson urged me to “scoot a little closer to Jesus.” I tried to do that on the way to my appointment. The germ of a plan began to form regarding Angie.

At the orthodontist, they took multitudes of pictures and scans in arcane positions. I have about a month wearing my current aligner only at night, and now I’m celebrating that freedom. At the time, I was in a rotten mood. I think I stopped short of being rude, but I was far from cheerful. I ignored the Holy Spirit’s prompt to compliment the receptionist on her necklace, but at least we exchanged the obligatory wishes for a nice day before I left.

I’ve had to make a dogged attempt to choose joy over the last two or three days. With the exception of Angie’s situation, nothing about my life circumstances has changed. I am well aware that the enemy would be delighted if he could get me to procrastinate on my writing, start dreading my role helping with the new Freedom Group, not invite any of my favorite couples to the Love and Laughter Date Night (they’d be on their own, of course), and panic about Angie. Sometimes choosing joy is counter-intuitive and just a dogged act of obedience. Feelings (may) come later. The enemy wants me to think that depression, which troubled me as a young adult, will come back to stay–that God hasn’t freed me from it. That’s not true–he is guarding my heart and my mind in Christ Jesus.

After eating a Panera breakfast (plus my lunch baguette!) in the car on the way home and washing it down with real iced tea (not herbal), I felt better. I decided it was worth the risk to discontinue the medication. I told the doctor when she checked on Angie later today. We worked out a compromise I’m happy with.

The sun came out while Angie and I took a nice walk. It was a great opportunity to sing as much of “There is Sunshine in My Soul Today” and “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” as I know. It really is true that praise is a powerful spiritual weapon. This time, the feelings of joy came along with the spontaneous (not dogged) praise.

The Prince of Darkness grim– We tremble not for him; His rage we can endure, For lo, his doom is sure, One little word shall fell him.

What do you think is the “one little word” that will fell the enemy?