Beautiful in Its Time

“He has made everything beautiful in its time.”—Ecclesiastes 3:11

Ali'i Kula Lavendar Farm 
Kula, Maui (Feb 2016)

It’s time to begin again. It’s time to share the insights God graciously gives me as I read His Word. It’s time I glorify His working in my life with all its highs, lows, and everything in between. It’s time for me to worship Him. To enjoy Him. To magnify Him. 

And humble myself.

For as John wrote: “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30). Lord, please help this verse cover the words of this blog.

It's time I do this again out loud. Or in writing, as this particular case may be.

You see, after 609 days (I just can’t believe that!), I have taken a step in faith to begin this blog again. What was supposed to be a summer break in 2014 became a one-year-and-eight-month break. In the last few months, I have begun to feel the tug on my spirit by His Spirit to begin this again.

Trusting this pull, perhaps He is saying to me, it’s time for me to make your words beautiful again. Beautiful in the sense that strangers, friends, and family will be able to share in my walk with the Lord as they read my journal-like devotions. They will see the beauty of His Word applied to just one life in His great mosaic of created beings. And in that seeing, they will also enjoy the beauty He has for them individually.

So, let this be my first post of many to come after my long break. I hope you join me on this journey, and I hope you are blessed by what you read. 

The Girl Who Drew Jesus (Short Story-Fiction)

A short story by Cassandra Benefield

David R. Tribble (on Wikimedia Commons)

THE DAY began with the shade of gray on the sidewalk where the girls took their oversized chalk and began drawing everything that came to their minds.

            “See here. That’s my pa.”

            “He sure has a funny shaped head.”

            And on that same sidewalk a little girl took a tiny square and claimed it as her very own with every color she had. On her slice of the world, there were blues and hues only a Technicolor movie could have made brighter.

            “What are you drawing?”

            “I’m drawing Jesus.”

            “You silly goose, Jesus doesn’t look like that.”

            “How do you know?”

            “I just know.”

            “Well, my Jesus looks like that.”     

            Just then, the little girl who was drawing her very own Jesus packed up her chalk and walked merrily home. She even skipped some.

            One step, two steps, three steps, four. And off she went into her very own door.

            “Hi sweetheart. Did you have fun today?”   

            “Yes, Mommy. I drew Jesus.”

            “Oh. And what did He look like?”

            “He was very colorful.”

            “That’s nice, dear.”

            The little girl put her stuff in the foyer and took off her tennis shoes. It was easy to do, since her laces were on the verge of being untied anyway.

            She pulled her socks up as far as they could go, which happened to be just under her knees. She stood up, wiped the dust off of her pleated skirt and skipped to the kitchen for her afternoon snack. She even hummed a bit.

            “Mommy, what does your Jesus look like?”

            “That’s a good question. I guess He’s the color of fire and of sinless perfection. Of the fullness of time and of endless ages. He’s the color of air and the wings of eagles. He has dove’s eyes and sounds like the voice of many waters.”

            “That sounds pretty.”

            The little girl smiled and swung her feet back and forth under the table. Both feet forward, both feet back. Both feet forward, both feet back. Then, she was done. She took her plate and placed it on the kitchen counter next to the sink, which was just above her head.

            After her snack, she went into the living room and turned on the television.

            “This just in ….”

            The little girl saw on the television people who were angry at each other, yelling and carrying on. Some even had guns.

            “Today in Jerusalem, hundreds have been injured due to a …”

            “Mommy! Mommy!”

            “Yes dear, what is it?”

            “Where is Jerusalem?”

            “It’s in the Middle East. It’s where Jesus walked.”

            “But Mommy, if Jesus was there, why is everybody so mad?”

            “Oh, honey, just because Jesus’ feet touched the same soil as the feet of those that are there now, doesn’t mean there is peace. He told us there would be wars and rumors of wars until His return.”

            “But if He goes there now, surely He will die.”

            “No, dear. The next time He comes, He cannot die. You see, He died the first time He came. He conquered death and has the keys to both hell and death now.”

            “You mean, they can’t kill Him.”

            “That’s right.”

            “I’m so glad.”

            “Do you understand dear, that Jesus died so that we may go live forever in Heaven with Him? All we have to do is believe He is who He said He was. That He was sent from God, His Father, led a perfect life, died on the cross, and rose up from the grave alive, so that we may be saved from our sins.”

            “Sins?”

            “You know all those colors you painted in your sidewalk today?” 

            “Uh huh.”

            “Did you use black?”

            “Uh huh.”

            “Well, black is kind of like our sins, dark, and filled with all our bad things, like lying, hitting, and so on.”

            “Uh huh.”

            “Did you use red?”

            “Yes mommy, I used red.”

            “That’s His blood. That blood was what was shed to cover our ugly sin.”

            “So the red goes over the black?”

            “That’s right. But only, when we choose to believe in Him as our Savior.”

            “Uh huh.”

            “Did you use white?”

            “Oh yes, that’s my favorite. It’s so bright!”

            “Yes, it is. When Jesus’ blood covers our sin, we are a new creature in Him. It’s like He erases the black and puts in its place the color white. And this is our color forever and ever.”

            “Forever and ever ... wow.”

            “And even though we may do bad things still, when we choose to believe in Jesus, He can never take the white away.”

            “I like white.”

            “Me, too. Did you use yellow?”

            “Uh huh, Mommy, I used yellow. It’s like the sun. And it’s like those pretty flowers you have in your garden.”    

            “That’s right. My sunflowers. Let’s just say that yellow represents gold.”

            “Like your wedding ring?”

            “Yes, like my wedding ring. In Heaven there will be streets of gold. And when Jesus saves us when we believe in Him, He forgives our sin making all our blacks white. And then we are now able to go to Heaven and be with Him when we die.”

            “But He has keys to Hell, right Mommy? You didn’t say He has keys to Heaven.”        

            “That’s true. Jesus is like Heaven’s key. He said ‘I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved.’ He’s the One Who knows who can enter and who can’t.”

            “Those with their black not turned white don’t get to come in, right?”

            “Right. Now, did you have any green?”

            “Oh yes Mommy! I had green, and I used it in my picture.”

            “Well, what do you know that’s green?”

            “Umm, trees and leaves and … umm, GRASS! Grass is green, and frogs. Frogs are definitely green, too, Mommy.”

            “Yes, that’s right, dear. But for the moment, let’s just stick with the green grass. When grass dies, it turns brown.”

            “Like our grass?”

            “Yes, dear, like our grass. But if we watered our grass, it would grow very tall and stay green. After Jesus saves us, we need to be well watered by the Bible, in order to stay green and alive.”

            “I have a Bible.”

            “Yes, you do, and when you learn to read a little more, you will be able to grow by reading it. You can also grow by praying and by going to church.”

            “Mommy, I love church! I love to sing. I love to learn those Bible stories. I believe Jesus. I have some blacks that need to be white. I’ve lied before Mommy. I want Him to turn my blacks into pretty white. I want to go to Heaven.”

            “That’s wonderful dear. Let’s ask Jesus together. ‘Dear Jesus.’”

            “Dear Jesus.”

            “Jesus, I believe You are the only way to go to Heaven. I believe You can turn my blacks into beautiful white so I can go to Heaven, too. Thank you Jesus for saving me. Please help me grow. In Jesus name, Amen.”

            The little girl finished the prayer with her mom. Then, she gave her mom the biggest hug ever.       

            “I knew I drew Jesus.”

(Originally written in 2003)

The Way Everlasting

“Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”—Psalms 139:23-24

This isn't the first time I have opened a devotion with this verse. But I prayed this the other day, and I wanted to share with you how God has answered that prayer so far. I am always a bit reluctant to pray this prayer or even sing this song during a church invitation, as I want it to be an honest prayer of my heart, and if it is an honest prayer of my heart, I am then afraid of what may be coming down the road for me as answers. Nevertheless, I felt led of the Lord to ask Him to search me, to try me, and then to lead me into His right ways. Today, on the other side of that prayer, I can honestly share with you that I am glad I prayed this. It is a humbling prayer to pray to God because with it, He will cut through the vanity and pride that we crowd our hearts with, and get to the bottom of sins that plague us.

It doesn't have to be an overwhelming flood of corrections and trials to bear fruit. His answer to this prayer may be quieter, and in His mercy, just between Him and you. I believe it is in the latter way that God has brought His answers to my prayer this week. Using the little trials that expose areas in my walk with God that He would like to refine, He has showed me a couple of areas that I need to keep in mind that He is God and that I need Him in every moment of every day. Even though I may be quite capable in the worldly sense of the word, I need to understand that I am really not capable at all, in light of His power, strength, and protection.

The first lesson of the week was that I let a computer virus into my work laptop. It was totally my fault. I knew better, but I was tricked. Of course, I did this on Monday, the start of my week. My Microsoft Outlook email program alone is a treasured asset that I use every day, and I currently do not even have access to that. All I do, that I would normally use Outlook for, such as a distribution list to send out job openings, I have to do from scratch now without my wonderful Outlook contact lists. This doesn't even get into the inconvenience of not being able to have access to the thousands of files that I may need to answer any given question that may come my way. Put it simply, I was bummed. So bummed that I took out some of my frustration on my precious daughter.

Thus, lesson number two. I did not control my temper as well as I could have when my daughter was so whiny (more than usual, I need to add, which is why I believe God used this to test me). I did not respond to her as I wished. I feel so guilty about this because I know over the years God has used many circumstances to draw out my temper problem. A wise preacher shared with me that God does help us overcome our particular sins, and just when we think we've got it handled, that we have gotten the victory, we may get puffed up about it as if somehow it was ourselves and not God who has overcome our sin. In those cases, He may need to draw out our particular sins from time to time in order that we have a healthy respect that it is God who helps us with our sins, not our own efforts. If left to ourselves, we would never overcome our sinful natures.

So, what have I learned about myself after praying Psalms 139:23-24?

In the first lesson of a virus destroying my work laptop, I believe God mainly wanted to test my trust in Him. To know that in the coming days and weeks of this inconvenience, He is in control and that He will provide many ways for me to get through this situation. I just need to rest in Him, trust in Him, and to pray to Him for wisdom to get around the difficulties of not having ready access to my old computer and files.

As for the second lesson on my anger problem, I believe God was testing me so that He could show me again, that this part of my sin nature is always present. And while I may have many victories in this area, I still need Him every day to help me get through my time here on earth without sinful anger and its consequences.

The reason why I can write this to you today in gratitude and with a prayer that it may encourage you, is because both of these situations came with God's precious Romans 8:28 closure. In the case of my computer laptop, I will still have access to my old Outlook as well as my valuable work-related (and even personal) documents. While that alone is a huge relief, I am also getting a brand new laptop, this one that will be at least 10 times better than my other one. Wow! What a great gift!

And in the case with my precious daughter, later that same evening I didn't handle myself as I wanted toward her, she crawled up into my arms, laid tummy down across my chest, and placed her head on my shoulder for several minutes, as I lovingly rubbed her back and basked in the love that only a child can give a mother. It was forgiveness in its most basic form.

Thank You, Jesus. Thank You for searching me, trying me, and then guiding me into the way everlasting. But most of all, thank You for loving me and answering my prayers.

 “And we know that all things work together for good to them that l've God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”—Romans 8:28

A beautiful spring view from a window in my home.
(Spokane, WA) 

Five Minute Friday: Encouragement

It’s funny how little things encourage me. A sudden, sneaky joke from my husband, that just makes me laugh over our dinner table. When all seems so somber and serious and quite frankly, a little dull, in came my husband with a statement that just made me laugh and laugh.

Or how about when I go upstairs to get my daughter from her crib. The way she looks at me as I walk through the door, with a kind of gleeful anticipation, and how she will be silly or serious, depending on her mood, and hand me her blanky, because you know mom, I can’t go anywhere without this.

Or how a simple thank you from your boss, because he knows he’s been so busy the last several weeks, and how I may have allowed some insecurity to creep in and wonder, are we okay? Which I did ask him, and he said yes, and then he said, he must be busier than he should be … and so today, a deliberate thank you from him to me.

Or a verse and how it will sing gloriously off the pages of Scripture when you are waking up with your tea and your daughter is faithfully watching the morning cartoons, with the sound off, as mommy needs to “hear” her Savior … and how that verse just lifts off the page into your mind and down into your heart.

Those things, and more, are great examples of encouragement in my life.

Five Minute Friday: Fight

If there is one word that represents what I do not want 2014 to be is a year full of “Fight.” This word, unfortunately, has many roots in some memories from a time before I would rather not think on.

So, with the dawning of a new day, a new year, or even a new moment, I have hopes for peace, comfort and rest. I believe I am experiencing all those things and more in each and every day. I believe I receive the opposite of “fight” each time I hold my daughter in my arms. It's the same feeling of when I lay in my husband's arms. It's the feeling of family, of warmth, of closeness, of a general feeling of belonging that I rest in almost every day.

As the years have added to my life these new experiences and warm feelings, I am filled with such thankfulness for a Father in Heaven, Who has walked with me through the winding roads of my past, and Who is straightening those paths in front of me as we walk into a future I only dreamed of before.

I look up at Him, my precious Father and Friend, and I say thank you, Jesus, for leading me out of my “fight” and into my peace.

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”—Jeremiah 29:11

Sinaia, Romania (2005)

Five Minute Friday: Ordinary and Write

Below are two Five Minute Friday prompts. This week was off the word ordinary, and last week's was off the word write. The two fit nicely together, so I thought I'd post them both.

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Ordinary

When I was younger, I wanted to be anything but ordinary. I dreamed big and had aspirations that I imagine a lot of young people do.

When I was small, that dream was to be a ballet dancer. They were so beautiful with their graceful lines and delicate movement. Yes, that's what I wanted to be.

Then, it was to be an English teacher, even though I really was not very good at writing. Grammar, well that was another story.

The dreams began to fade for a while. I was just happy if I could make it to adulthood with as few emotional scars as possible. Lots of turmoil in those days, growing up. My high school years. And I was not quiet about it, turning some of my friends off with constant complaining.

Fast forward to Jesus, and my dreams were put into His hands. He lifted my view of the ordinary and guided me to a dream of a family. A husband. Children. And a church family to step in and become that stability I had so long needed in my life.

But during the first days with Jesus, He allowed me to dream about becoming a screen writer or a director or a writer or a photographer. I explored all those avenues until I graduated from college.

Since His dream for me of a family was not presenting itself, as quickly as I had thought, I began to live daily in the moments He provided me.

And my days have been anything but ordinary.

(The italicized portion was written after my “Five” minutes.)

Stehekin, WA(2008)

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Write

For as long as I can remember, I did not want to be a writer. I was actually a quite terrible writer. I couldn't get my words to say what I intended them to say going to school, and so, I was into math, science, physics even. Then, something changed in my 10^th grade English class. I wrote a paper on the topic of Sarcasm. And I got an A-. An A-! Those were the grades for my other classes … and yet, I did always have a penchant for grammar, being dubbed the grammar goddess in a successive English class only missing one or two out of 100 total questions. Yes, pride is an ugly thing, but I do think for me, it's nice to remember a bit of my history since so much has changed in my life these last three years.

But writing … who would have guessed that was going to play such a large role in my future? And it does. Today, that writing has taken on the form of pithy facebook statuses or an occasional heart-felt journal entry that I can turn into a devotion on my blog. Praise God for His guidance and gifting for that.

Lately, though, writing has taken the form of reading. I cannot believe how many books I have read this year. My mom gave me her Kindle, and it was all she wrote, so to speak. I have been reading so many words, so many thoughts on the pages of other writer's dreams. And I have been lifted again, to dream of that book that someday I hope to write, its words and topic still unknown to me, but brewing ever so gently in the background of my days.

(The italicized portion was written after my “Five” minutes.)

Five Minute Friday: She

She, who is my daughter. With her chocolate brown eyes and deep brown curls. With her crinkle nose smiles and her fake whines. With her cuddles in blankets and games of up and down and peek-a-boo. She, who is my daughter, I'm falling in love with everyday. One minute my eyes will be on the computer screen deciphering an email from a co-worker, and the next minute they are resting on my daughter as she plays face down on the carpet in our “office” underneath her blanket—her first fort.

At first, I didn't feel that overwhelming love for her. At first, she felt like an inconvenience, yes one that was wanted, but an inconvenience just the same. But she, who is my daughter, is teaching me what it means to love unconditionally. She, who is my daughter, loves her mommy, and in return, I want to love her as I am meant to. I know this love cannot be without our Divine Savior because only in Him is perfect love. Daily, I take this journey with my daughter, and with our hands intertwined, we will walk toward a more perfect love for one another.

Me and my little girl.
(April 2013)

Five Minute Friday: Red

I know I've written about her before, even on my blog. But her eyes stand out and always will. I can only be in awe of the depth of the look she gave me those years ago, after the “great” flood of Onesti, when my church family went to give a puppet Bible lesson to all the children in her village. She stunned me with her look and behind her was a boy, barely older than her looking off into the distance at just the right moment, when my finger touched the button that set in motion their capture on my camera.

That red sweater. How old was it? Where did it come from? Was it in the dumpster behind one of the many bloc apartment buildings when mom or dad went scavenging for anything of value to keep their family fed? I didn't look that closely, but I imagine it was frayed and filthy, nothing like the beauty of her face … of her innocence.

It was that look in her eyes that captivated me before, and it will always be the look in her eyes that keeps my attention in the years to come. She was beautiful. This little girl. A gypsy. An innocent.

Miora (Conti, Romania)
July 2005

Five Minute Friday: Worship

“Blessed are they that put their trust in him.”—Psalms 2:12b

Somewhere between the yesterday and tomorrow, the minutes exist where I breath prayerfully upward and ask the Lord to help me trust Him. Before I went into my long list of "If it be Your will, Father, please do this, fill this, heal this," and so on, I decided to name what Jesus is to me.

He is:

The Great I Am

He's the Master of the universe

He's the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End

He's my Savior

He's your Savior

He's my Rock, my Strong Tower

My Help in my time of need

He's my Creator

And the Master Designer of every living thing

He's my Destiny

He's my Forever

He's my very precious Friend.

He's so much more than all this, but in reading over my finite list of who He is to me, I am humbled by Him. I wonder at myself for doubting Him … for those strange little thoughts that creep in and question who He is and all He's doing in my life and in the lives of those I love.

I am Jairus asking Jesus to heal his daughter and I'm the demoniac's father, telling God I believe, but to increase my faith.

I am His. And in this, I worship.*

(*This post needed a more solid end, in my mind, so I wrote this part after the five minutes.)

The Black Sea
Mangalia, Romania (August 2005)

Five Minute Friday: Small … & My First Contest!

First, Five Minute Friday … almost a week late!

The word for this week was “Small,” written in five minutes, with no edits.

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READY, SET, GO!

Down deep in the crevices of my mind, are memories upon memories that seem sometimes inaccessible. I look for the past, and try to reach far back there, and I get what amounts to a blank screen. A kind of feeling that the files have been erased.

But sometimes, there are small bits that I do remember. The happy, joyful bits of my past that help me appreciate the life I have been given. It's when I reflect on a series of small moments, a smile creeps to my face and I think, yes, I have a good life. I was able to travel, speak another language, learn about the Kings and Queens of Britannia, which was most certainly a foretaste of my current love of BBC and Masterpiece Theater, and all things British in the form of mysteries and mini-series.

There is also a small part of me … actually it may not be quite so small in which I don't remember things. Perhaps the shadows of those memories are too dark to dwell in, and I prefer living in the moment and creating new memories, joyful memories, as I build a life with a husband and child.

I don't do backwards, is what I'll say when the memories are too hard to digest.

STOP

(Note: Well, the idea of writing short stories with the weekly Five Minute Friday word prompt has fallen flat and after only two weeks of doing it. (Part one, here, and part two, here, if you're interested.) It seemed a good idea in theory but very difficult for me in practice. So, I just wrote what came to my mind this week.)

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And now, the CONTEST!

In celebration of receiving "50 Likes" on my facebook page and having 50 posts written on my blog as of today, I want to give away one of the pictures on my blog, as well as try and get more readers!

So, how are we going to do this?

I will enter you in my contest to receive a free photo (assuming you want a matted 3x5/4x6 photo of your choice from my blog AND mailed to you free of charge, ANYWHERE in the world!) if you:

1. Like my page on Facebook (and haven't already) or if you follow my blog via Google+;
2. Sign up to receive emails when I put out a new post (you will need to subscribe to “Receive Emails” on the blog itself and then you will get an email in which you will need to verify you want to receive emails); OR
3. Recommend a friend and they like my page, which was the original goal of the contest. Somehow you or your friend will need to let me know they've signed up via a message on my page or some other way. 

It's possible to enter more than once, if you do more than one of the above.

The contest began yesterday (Tuesday, August 20th), and it will end next Tuesday, on August 27^th at midnight (the midnight where you are located in the world!).

This is my first contest, so it may be a work in progress. Please don't hesitate to ask me any questions.

Again, the prize will be a matted 3x5 or 4x6 picture of your choosing, mailed to you at no cost, anywhere in the world.

So, here we go. Happy contesting. And God bless you today!  

Five Minute Friday: Lonely (Part II)

This is the second part of my Five Minute Friday "Story." So far I'd say last week's and this week's writing loosely fit together. Maybe by next week's post, it will have more of a story feel. We'll see. I hope you enjoy reading it anyway.

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There is a certain timidity, she thought, when she would venture forth to put words together in some kind of sentence, story or novel. She thought often that what if the words were few and were nonsensical when put together. One word, after the other, and then what? Sometimes, she felt it was all a sham. Sometimes, she would have to muster the faith it took to simply put those words together. As she thought about it, the feeling kind of reminded her of those terrible blind dates, one in particular that felt like two walls meeting, when she walked past the threshold of the door, placed her vision upon one man in particular, and wondered if he was the one she was supposed to meet. He was, and when they shook hands, she felt like the Great Wall of China meeting the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. Two large edifices of personalities that could not find the doorway into each others heart. That was for the best, in the long run. But without that initial meeting, there wouldn't be another meeting of the next person, and then the next person, to hopefully, you know, “the one.”

But we're talking about her words here. She wondered if she would leave out thoughts, grammar and words, perhaps making the story a bit more lonely in its attempt to tell a tale.

Five Minute Friday: Story (Part I)

I thought I'd try something a little different for my Five Minute Friday writing exercises. Using this week's prompt and another fellow blogger's idea, I am going to use these five minutes a week to craft out a story, which may be a little like creative nonfiction in places, as part of it will reflect a little of me, albeit creatively. I hope you join me to watch the story unfold. 

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The word, the time, the day. It seemed so far away from her at the moment. All she could do was look out the window and imagine the what if. What if he never came for her. What if she was waiting in vain for a man that was a figment of her imagination. The air was so still outside. The leaves barely made movements from the wind. The sun's rays were harsh and unyielding. They were like her desire for marriage … yearnings of the heart that were unrelenting in their merry-go-round like pulls on her heart. Is he there? How about here? Is he the one ringing up my groceries, Lord? How about him? He has a good job, good morals, and good looks. Surely it's him.

Silence. Like the breeze outside. She heard nothing. She prayed for guidance, for wisdom, for any noticeable direction. The paths she should walk. The careers she should choose. And the prerequisites she should have. Sometimes, depending on the day, the prerequisite was that he would simply be available.

So, she rounded the corner … entering a new street. A new chapter. And another hope.

Five Minute Friday: Belong

For as long as I can remember, I had always wanted my own family. I think it was an outgrowth of not having the “perfect” childhood … who does. But there were some unique trials in my growing up that did two things to me. Before Christ leading my life, it was a rejection of the traditional marriage and family. I was going to be a career woman and that was that. I was allergic to men, I told myself. It made me feel okay with such a strong rejection of what I thought was expected of me. But then, the age of 23 hit, and I knew I was making bad choices. Stupid choices and dangerous choices. I knew this was wrong and I became to feel it like a two-ton weight on my back. I yearned for wholeness. For healing. For clear-headedness on life.

Everything seemed so confusing and monumental, and not in a good way, and I craved peace.

And that’s when it changed. I looked up instead of out. I yielded upward, my life, my choices, my future, and for the first time, I began to feel a sense of belonging. A church family helped that. My own relatives guided me toward that destination. Jesus decided to give me a heart’s desire for a husband and family. Only, instead of trusting in His perfect timing and plans, I had my own idea of how it was to happen.

But He gently nudged me in the right direction.

Sibiu, Romania (December 2005)

Parable of Tom

The story that follows is something I experienced when I was living in Romania as a Peace Corps volunteer in October 2005.  I was very heavy-hearted by the “give-me” mentality that existed among the poor there. The translation of the American “Mister, can you spare a dime?” or some other request for money among our homeless is “da-mi,” which literally means “give me.” The way it comes across was very abrasive to my American sensibilities, and I was so tired of being seen as a “bancomat,” the Romanian word for an ATM machine. Even strapping, young men, who were able-bodied, would recognize I was a foreigner and say, “da-mi.” I wanted to give to true needs, and without manipulation, but it was often not presented to me in that way. I believe God was teaching me something through that experience, and that is something I’m still processing today. That is the background for this “tale” you are about to read.

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There was this kind of alley cat I saw perched on the trash bin outside my apartment, while I was walking home the other night. I recognized him right away. I had seen him before, and in my mind, I remarked about him in much the same way as I had when I first saw him—boy, he looks like he’s been through a lot. As I was walking past his perfect profile on the bin, I thought that he would have made a great photograph, even a classic portrait of sorts. I stopped and looked at him more closely. I saw he had a very soft outline surrounding his body by the sun’s last rays. I saw that he had an ear that probably was deformed by a dog bite years ago. I just thought he looked cool.

So, I walked upstairs to my apartment.  Once in my apartment, I decided to take my camera to go outside and take his picture. I figured if it was God’s will that I am to take the photograph, he will still be in that same pose … or at least out there.

He wasn’t in his same pose on that garbage bin, unfortunately, but he was at least still out there. I saw him digging through the garbage looking for food, in much the same way a gypsy or a homeless drunk scavenges for hidden treasure through everyone’s refuse. I began whispering the pee-see, pee-see, Romanians do when they call for cats. It is their term of endearment rooted in the Romanian word for cat, pisica. It’s like our “here kitty, kitty.” He popped his head up out of the garbage and I started shooting off some pictures.

Onesti, Romania (October 2005)

They were not what I really wanted because the pose I really wanted was the one I had observed some five minutes before. But I kept shooting photos anyway. I walked closer to him to get a better shot. After a few more pictures, he came completely out of the garbage and walked toward me on the ledge. I thought, I better be careful or I’m going to scare him off. I took some more pictures, and finally, he jumped down. I thought to myself that he’s going to be one of those skittish cats, and run away, as if he was startled by me, or something else he had heard. Instead, he came near me, as if he wanted a pet.

Now, let me explain to you how he looked beyond the photographs. He didn’t look like an old cat. He was probably in his twenties in cat years. He was of the orange-striped variety and was very skinny. His fur was matted in many locations across his body, and his tail, although perfectly intact, was also unusually thin. He looked like he had some bumps on him from being hit or run over or who knew what else, under his fur, and when you touched them, those bumps were very hard. His eyes were a beautiful green, and he really had a perfectly-shaped face. A beautiful nose. And that very strange half-eaten left ear. Some mud-caked hair stuck out from the inside of his other ear. His toes, while wonderfully formed, were dirty with the city of Onesti. He looked like he could have been a gorgeous house cat, had anyone cared to adopt him before he began looking the way he did then.

 I thought twice before petting him, knowing there was probably a colony of fleas on him, one of those fleas more than willing to jump on me and start another colony in my house. However, my heart softened as he kept trying to come to me for affection. It’s almost like he had forgotten the routine of getting a pet. I melted, and I began to pet him.  I wondered if he would bite me or scratch me because he was not used to being touched. He didn’t do either of those things. Instead, in his soundless meow, he asked for more of my touches. He even lifted his front paws off of the ground as if to reach up to my hand. I was softened by his desire for love.

I began to think that he was probably hungry and wished that I hadn’t eaten my leftover tuna fish for breakfast that morning. However, I thought about the milk I had bought and decided to bring that out to him to drink. I go back into my house, thinking how it was so much easier to give to an animal than another human being. At least I could know beyond a shadow of a doubt this cat’s hunger was real, and he was not begging me for it. I felt this sense of freedom to be able to show kindness to another living thing that was just between me and him. No guilt or pity of mine being manipulated … just this moment in which I could give just because I wanted to. I’m not doing a great job of explaining this, but for the sake of time, I will go on.

In my house, I found something I could leave outside that could hold milk. I poured some milk into it and filled another small container in case he wanted more. I walked back outside and saw he was right where I had left him the second time—where I was petting him.

I put the milk down, and he came almost immediately to it and began drinking. I was crouched down on the ground, and I felt that there was this circle around us. I became absorbed in his drinking. A thought occurred to me that some of my students, as well as some of my neighbors, might see me and that they would all think I was a little crazy to put this much effort into a cat that wasn’t even cute. But I didn’t care. I felt this circle around us, and I trusted that it would keep others away from my moment. He drank non-stop until a big wind blew a couple of bags down onto the ground from the garbage bin. He was startled and moved away from the milk. I picked the bags up and began talking to him in English, as if he could understand me, and told him it was okay. I began to feel like I wanted to stand there as long as it took for him to finish drinking. I wanted to protect him. I wanted to be his circle.

Then, I looked at him and thought he could probably defend himself. He had already been through so much. And that’s when something began to happen in my mind. I began to look at him and transfer his life onto a human being in this world who had also been through a lot. Someone who had sin’s scars all over their body. Someone who had been damaged over time, abandoned by friends and loved ones, and was tough because they’ve had to be. Someone who you’d look at and say, this person can handle themselves. Someone who you’d think wouldn’t be very affectionate, but as you got to know them, you began to see who God had intended them to be. Someone who craved love and pleasant things to happen to them … Someone who never thought they’d be an outcast in this world, with mud caked inside their ears, with battle scars and bruises all over their body … someone with a perfectly shaped face and eyes that reveal so much more than their words were willing to say.

I began to feel sorrow for those people who end up drug addicts, who wind up in the sex industry, most of them sold into it when they were too immature to choose that life for themselves and who are so caught up in it now, that they feel it’s too late to change. I began to feel sorrow for those individuals the world leaves behind, the true children of need.

I was grateful for these thoughts God spoke to my heart about in this very strange moment with a cat, of all creatures.

Then, he was done. He lifted up his head, and I noticed his whiskers were heavy with milk. Not even finishing the seconds I had given him, he began to walk to an open spot in between some grass. He stopped for a moment, and without even looking back to the garbage bin, to the milk, or to me, he rushed off as if he had another appointment, and he did so in an even-paced stride, not stopping for anything or anyone. I wondered where he was going.

I thought to myself, that this was such an interesting moment in my life. A gift given and a gift received. I named him Tom in my mind as I walked back to my apartment.

I think, yes, Tom. Because he really is a tomcat.

Beaten up, dirty, damaged, hungry, and perfect.

Onesti, Romania (October 2005)

Five Minute Friday: Beautiful

Let's just start with one of my favorite subjects in all the world—my beautiful daughter. I look at her and it never ceases to amaze me just how beautiful she is. I love her eyes, her face, her beautiful dimples when she chooses to show them. I love the curls of her hair, and the intrepid way she explores our house. I love the color of her skin and the way it feels the next day after a bath and some lotion. I love her calm ways and her intermittent intensities that mark her learning.

I love the days, weeks, months and hours that have passed in which I have gotten to know her more and more. I love her “Daughter, your heart's not in that” whines and the way she (every time!) throws her sippy cup to the floor from her high chair, as if it was going to land a different way than it did the last one-thousandth time!

I love her. I love her. I love her. But you want to know something about this love? It was not instant. I didn't feel what I feel for her today, when she entered our lives. And the beauty of it? The pure beauty of it? I know I will feel even more love for her tomorrow and the day after that, and yes, the day after that. For that is the beauty of being her mother.

(This was my second take of the FMF prompt, and it was truthfully written in a little over five minutes, which is that italicized part at the end.) 

My daughter's curls.
(Spokane, WA, July 2013)

Five Minute Friday: In Between

The word gentleness keeps coming into my thoughts. I think of fuzzy teddy bears, like the one on the Snuggle commercials. I think of my husband and his sweet spirit that is gentleness to my soul. I think of the sweet hugs and touches I give my daughter displaying a gentleness only a mommy can give her child. I think of my Savior, and His gentleness toward me and His drawing me into the arms of His love, where I rest in between His shoulders like the sweet apostle whom Jesus loved.

I'm not sure why this word keeps rounding itself in my mind because the day outside has a sort of loud clanging and drudgery that comes with a thunderstorm. But if I listen in between the noise of thunder, I hear the soft breeze that lightens the mood of the storm. It's there in the stillness and intermittent sunshine that I recognize my life has a similar rhythm of gentleness in between the storms of life.

Brasov, Romania (February 2006)

Five Minute Friday: Rhythm

Quiet has its own rhythm. The silence of the house. The soundless look of love your baby passes your way. The way spaghetti boils on the stove and the casserole cooks in the oven.

Trees grow and flowers grow and to my husband's dismay, grass grows all too quickly. Sun shines and rain sprinkles. Even children playing far off in the distance on their favorite playground swing has a silent rhythm. A quiet joy that tickles your heart and brings a smile to your face. To your soul.

Silence is a priceless sound that many do not take note of. Jesus often wanted to leave the multitude to catch “His breath,” if you will. He needed a quiet reprieve with His heavenly Father in between His compassionate healings of all mankind.

His hugs to us come in silence. He directs His still small voice as He points us to the “hug” our heart's needed in that very moment. A beautiful thought. A gorgeous picture. A view from up above. All that whisper to our heart the sweet sound of His love.

Stehekin, WA (2010)

Five Minute Friday: Listen

Where to begin. Where to start, on the word, listen. I think of flowers growing and my daughter learning. Is it possible to listen in between the inches and the words? I think of my Savior and what He hears in my own life and growth, and I know He can listen to the yesterday, today and tomorrow of my life in perfect clarity. I wonder what He hears?

And do I listen well? Do I listen to His calling, His gentle nudges and still small voice? I think of Elijah and listening to the thunder outside and wondering if God's voice was there … not until God told him it was in the still small voice in which He speaks to us, could Elijah hear the voice of God and in what direction he was supposed to walk.

And I listen. To the voice of my Savior and the new sounds my daughter makes. I listen to the quiet language of my husband and the sounds of life outside.

I listen. I trust.

Poppies.
Spokane, WA (2013)

Five Minute Friday: Fall

Thinking about the word compassion this morning has led me to read a handful of passages on it in the Bible, and what I realize is just how much I need to learn and live this subject. I am usually so quick to judge, to put people on the stand in my own little box I've made for them and to condemn them on where they are at in their lives and where they are not. And despite my knowing that this is totally not my place, I find myself doing it over and over and over again.

I fall. A lot.

And then Jesus takes my fallen self, and lifts me back up. He tells me that a just man falls seven times and rises up again. Surely, you can allow people in your life to do the same. Am I being like Jesus when I perform a trial in my heart for someone? Wouldn't it be better to stop before I take them to the stand, and ask Jesus, Lord, how can you use me to keep them from falling? How can I be a help, even in the quiet of my heart where only God and I see the trials I put on for people.

Lord, please keep me from falling.

Sullivan Lake (Near Ione, WA)
Fall 2007

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This was today's Five Minute Friday writing. For more information about this writing exercise many bloggers across the Web participate in, click here or on the button below.

Five Minute Friday: Imagine

It's a sunny day. The leaves are glistening with the color of light and shadow, gently swaying in the kindest, loveliest breeze a day can bring. And I sit here on my couch. Learning a new laptop. Trying to write something profound, provocative and even pithy. And why not? Writers do that, right?

My baby girl sits at my feet playing with her toys trying her best to mimic the sounds coming from her toy keyboard. Two. One. The green frog says ribbit … ribbit. And my daughter adds her own sounds, her own music. Her own joy.

Then I imagine us twenty years from now. Will the light brought to the leaves be brighter or duller? Will her words carry the soft sounds of joy like today's wind touches the leaves outside? Will her world be one in which she can carry her dreams to her desired destination as I sit back and marvel at the beauty inside her?

I hope so. I hope she touches the Hand of the One Who created her and walks with Him down the streets of her tomorrow.

My living room window.
Spokane, WA (2013)