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Tanara McCauley

~ Love Knows Color

Tanara McCauley

Tag Archives: Christ

Beautiful

24 Saturday Sep 2016

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

accountability, beautiful children, Bible, Christ, Christian, destiny, encouragement, faith, flowers, God, holiness, inspiration, Jesus, lilac, obedience, parenting, perseverance, psalms, purpose, relationships, son, sun

flowers

A woman had a dream.

She walked for miles through fields and deserts, grasslands and marshes, following the sun. It warmed her face and shined in her eyes, making her squint as she journeyed.

She pushed aside tall stalks of wheat, trudged through wet sand. Her thighs strained up steep mountainsides. In every place the sun led her past countless people. At the river they fished and washed. On the plains they shepherded. In the cities they bustled. Each of them backs turned and busy.

All but the deformed ones.

Every face she saw was contorted in some way. Young and old, from snow-white skin to complexions of polished sable.

They looked at her as she approached, then beyond her as she passed.

Hope. Relief. Joy. These emotions changed their dull expressions at sight of the invisible presence behind her, but each time she turned for a glimpse of who or what moved them so, she saw nothing.

Then she reached the end of her journey.

She stood at the edge of a cliff overhanging the ocean. The waves danced and bellowed beneath her. She could feel the spray dust her face and settle in her hair, smell the water tinged with the scent of marine life.

She breathed deep, and the cool air coursed through her like a live thing. She gasped and fell to her knees, her body radiating inside as the sun beamed overhead. It rose higher, calming the waves as its rays stretched across the sea. The same stillness settled over her.

She turned. The deformed ones had followed. They gathered around a young man dressed in white, their excited chatter floating through the air like feather-light laughter. Something about the man struck her as familiar. His hands glowed. Beautiful. He reached out to each face, his touch healing and drying heavy tears.

Then on they went, one by one, faces lifted like blooming flowers, into the brilliance of the sun.

The man faced the woman, and she woke with a start.

Her husband sat next to her in bed, mouth gaped, eyes on her. “You won’t believe the dream I just had,” he said.

Their son rushed in, his five-year-old legs pumping, and landed between them. “Jesus touched my hands, Mommy. So I could touch the people.”

Heat spread across her chest, as if the sun from her dream hovered over her heart. She wrote these things on lilac-scented stationery and tucked it in her Bible.

Her son grew and finished his schooling. His mother came to the graduation, her husband with her in spirit. She had fished out the stationery for the occasion, held it gently between her fingers, the faint scent of lilac still present on the worn paper.

He laughed when he saw it. Surely she didn’t expect him to follow through on a dream nearly two decades old. His name was already renowned in circles, his future wealth guaranteed, the likes of which he couldn’t achieve if he didn’t choose his own path.

Stunned, she opened her mouth, but the accusing stares of his colleagues silenced her. She tried to remember the dream, how vivid it had been, how real. She wanted to convince her son of the urgency of his purpose. But like the scent on the paper, the dream had faded. The faces had wilted to a silvery blur in her memory. “But Jesus…”

He shook his head. She looked at her boy, into those bright brown eyes that shined with defiance yet yearned for her approval. Not wanting to push him away, she shunned instead the unsettling stir in her heart. She crumpled the paper. “Do what makes you happy, son.”

After he hugged her, he and his colleagues stood among throngs of people that had appeared from nowhere. A deafening rip sounded from the ground and a great chasm opened the earth. The woman stumbled toward the edge but someone caught her from behind. She looked and saw her husband there, his face grave as he gazed past her to where their son stood on the other side.

The young face that had just beamed with triumph and promise now twisted in fear. Her boy.

A bitter cold knifed through the woman’s heart, even as the light of the sun fell so that particles in the air glittered like diamonds.

A voice cried out, “Oh, worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness! Tremble before Him, all the earth.”

The woman fell to her knees. The light increased around her like the touch of a soft blanket. He said her name, and she knew His voice. She lifted her head, but could not bring herself to look past the feet of bronze.

His hand touched her face, and she woke with a start.

Her husband sat next to her in bed, his eyes red and watery. “You dreamt it too,” he said.

Their son rushed in, his five-year-old legs pumping, and landed between them. “Jesus touched my hands, Mommy. So I could touch the people.” His little nose wrinkled. “He said I had to become beautiful first, so I don’t forget. But boys can’t be beautiful!”

Oh, worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness! Tremble before Him, all the earth.

The words filled the woman’s chest, like a whisper sparking a flame. Her husband pulled her close, and moved their son so that he sat on both of their laps. “Yes they can, son,” he said. “In their hearts and before God they can. We’ll teach you, both of us.”

Her husband looked at her. His eyes a letter of deep love, of memories and laughter and tears and forgiveness. Of peace. Of resolve.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“We’ll both teach you,” he repeated. “And when you forget, Mommy will never let you be okay with it. We love you too much.”

The boy mimicked his father. He grabbed her hand with his small one and planted his soft, wet lips on her skin. His fingers thin and nimble. His bright brown eyes shining. His heart soft and open, like soil for blooming flowers.

Beautiful.

 

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The Cookie Jar

07 Wednesday Oct 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

academics, achievement, amreading, amwriting, author, baking, books, calling, children, Christ, college, cookies, faith, family, galletas, Mom, parenting, passion, priorities, purpose, pursuit, relationships, student, success, writer


“A cookie jar, though beautiful, will always disappoint if found empty.”

My cookie jar is empty.

It’s seen a batch or two–maybe–in the months since I returned home from Mount Hermon’s Christian Writers Conference; but for the most part it’s been unoccupied. Relieved of duty. Free of tenants.

And for a while I blamed my husband.

See, we had a plan. As you probably know from a previous post, my youngest daughter started kindergarten this year, freeing up my afternoons. And according to the plan I would take the first year to write full time with keys blazing and submissions flying.

But somehow in my short, five-day conference absence the plan changed. Just up and flew away somewhere. Out there. Over the rainbow. And in its place: “You need to finish your degree.”

Say wha?

My arguments against this new scheme raged vehement. Very artistic and author-ish too. Something about sensible suits and academic labels, the futility of human standards of achievement, the colors of my creative mind fading…you get the picture. When that failed I took the practical financial approach.

Nothing worked. God has a new plan, saith my husband, and a degree for the missus therein lies.

Well alrighty then, Misters.

That was six months ago. I saw evidence of God’s hand in the orchestration, including a ripple effect in other areas. Then I discovered I could finish much earlier than expected. I snatched that baton and sprinted off with it. On top of that aim I added honor student. And because a writer must always be reading and writing I made sure to check those boxes too. Super productive. No time for baking cookies.

I felt very much like degree people feel. Accomplished. Potentially important. But in what way? And to whom?

The answers came when my son returned home one night from Awana with a list of two things he wanted to do better. One of them read:

Leave Mommy alone when she’s doing homework.

SLAYED.

Reading those words made me consider how many times I’ve said them in the past six months, and how many times I haven’t played Terraria with my son, or done Zumba with the girls, or watched My Little Pony, or baked the weekend’s cookies; all because I’d immersed myself in God’s plan–stretching it into something self-serving–instead of remaining immersed in God who keeps my priorities straight.

My kids are awesome little people. I’m proud of them. And if I graduated summa cum laude and became a bestselling author whose books hit the big screen they’d be proud of me too. And all of it would be a pretty package to behold.

But if the intimacy is not there, if I don’t remain a present, attentive mother who knows them and is known by them–who keeps school and writing and whatever else comes up out of family time–then what we’re headed for is no better than an empty cookie jar.

And that will never be a part of God’s plan.

My jar is still empty, but now it’s only because the cookies are cooling.

Your turn: Have you ever found yourself running ahead (or away) from what God’s doing in your life?

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The Labor of the Journey

05 Saturday Sep 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

amwriting, author, Christ, Christian, diligence, faith, good works, inspiration, journey, kindergarten, Labor day, perseverance, talent, works, writer

IMG_2430

“You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit, and that your fruit should remain…” John 15:16

My youngest is in the first weeks of her kindergarten career. After years of seeing her older siblings off to school and spending her days with me all to herself, the adjustment hasn’t been painless.

She greets Monday mornings with tolerance. Tuesdays with grudging acceptance. Wednesdays with stoicism. By Thursday her patience has run out. She flings back the covers, fed up to the full, and demands to know: “Again?!?”

Her annoyance amuses me, especially since she actually loves school when she’s there. It’s the getting there–and all that comes with it–that bothers her. The getting up, getting ready, getting denied the freedom to spend her day how she chooses, getting the task of bringing home work; work that she must get done.

She’d love to read as well as her siblings, make friends of her own, have her name on awards, have her great-grandma send her a dollar for each A. She sees what the twins have accomplished and she wants the same; she’d just rather skip over the journey and land at the destination.

I sympathize with her because I know what that feels like. I enjoy knowing I’ve done a job well. I just don’t always enjoy doing the job. Or I might like being in the midst of a good work, but I resist the need to get it started or experience pessimism before it’s finished.

Perhaps it’s the resentment of obligation, or the loss of freedom, or the overwhelming scope of the task that makes the individual steps seem insufficient, or maybe it’s a combination of those things. The Good Work seems so elusive that we lose faith in the constant work–the again, and again, and yet again work–it takes to get there.

Natural intelligence, which my daughter has, and the natural talent that so many of us possess is not enough in itself to get us where God wants us to go. We must work hard with diligence and patience, building on the unique gifts God created in us.

And we know by God’s promises that our work will be rewarded and our lives fruitful, if we couple our faith with works, and persevere in the labor He has given us to do on the journey He has called us to take.

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Who Are You?

01 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Christ, Christian, conflict, david, faith, fear of the Lord, forgiveness, grace, healing, name, relationships, Sampson, Sarah, solomon, tested faith, tragedy

Mirror in desert

“Search me, O God and know my heart; try me, and know my anxieties; and see if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”
Psalm 139:23-24

I’ve had recent cause to suffer a great amount of indignation over a situation involving a loved one.

Though I’ll spare the details, I’ll share what I learned from the experience.

I think I know myself pretty well. When conflict arises I tend to avoid confrontation, pray about most things and ignore others. If particularly agitated I may vent, but otherwise I try to take the high road.

Not so in this case–in heart anyway. By the grace of God I kept my mouth shut, because there were a million things I wanted to say, a billion ways I wanted to react, few of them godly. I was furious–an emotion foreign enough to me that I smiled when I felt it.

I know. Crazy-lady scary.

The loved one is dear to me, but not someone I absolutely have to keep in my life. So great was the affront and pain it caused, I considered walking away completely.

Then I noticed my husband. He bore the offense with grace. Though it crushed his left cheek, he gave his right to be struck. He took it with dignity, and loved all the more.

When I married him I believed him a peacemaker. He lived up to that belief. The same situation showed me, however, things in my heart I didn’t know were there, and other things lacking that I thought were full.

And though I don’t like this trial–loathe it actually–I see its purpose, or at least the good that can come from it.

Some of us go through life thinking we’re Davids, men and women after God’s own heart. Then tragedy strikes and we learn our name is really Solomon. We started strong but don’t finish well.

Others think we have the faith of Sarah, who believed God’s word that she would conceive despite her old age. Yet offense appears and we find we have her vindictiveness instead.

And then there are the Sampsons who walk in God’s strength with boldness, but temptation comes and cuts them down where they stand.

I was vindictive Sarah that day, and many days afterwards. I wanted this person to suffer. I knew how to strike back, and I craved to do it. But in the end I relented.

Because, like Joseph, I fear the Lord.

God, in His goodness, is constantly shaping us, revealing the character of our hearts, giving us free will to do something about it.

Despite our temporary failures, we can still be Davids, Joshuas, Josephs, Hannahs, Ruths, Abigails.

We just have to choose to be.

Your turn: Who are you?

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Unashamed

27 Saturday Jun 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Christ, Christian, Christianity, encouragement, faith, gospel, inspiration, love, relationships, truth, unashamed

Man with arms raised towards the sky

“For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”

I am not ashamed of the Gospel.

Nor am I ashamed to love. But neither love nor encouragement equals unlimited concession or acquiescence. Love is truthful and patient. Sometimes encouragement is to encourage away from the bad and toward the good. Sometimes love is the courage to say “I’ll never leave you, but I won’t lie and tell you this is good.”

Love doesn’t support or congratulate self-destruction. It doesn’t sell the eternal for the temporal. I don’t correct those who aren’t in my close circle because that’s not my thing. But I wonder about Christians who say, “Do what makes you happy” instead of “Do what God created you to do.” Anything that leads away from Him and more towards self is a lie.

We weren’t created to glorify ourselves. We weren’t even created to be happy. We were created for His glory. Everything above that is a blessing and a gift. And if we put happiness before His glory, before obedience, before truth in love, before dying to self, then we’ve sold the Creator for the creation. It’s a cheap trade of tragic proportions.

All have sinned and fall short of His glory. That doesn’t mean we languish in sin because we’ll never measure up. It’s meant to turn our eyes toward His grace, His goodness, His love, so much so that we find ourselves lavishing in His glory. It’s about Him, not us. So when I feel tempted, by popular opinion or law or fear of being misunderstood, to conform to the world and not God, I remember. And I remain…

Unashamed.

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Let It Burn!

01 Friday May 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Christ, Christian, death crawl, determination, encouragement, exercise, Facing the Giants, friends, Hebrews, inspiration, kinect, motivation, New Year resolution, persevere, persist, physical fitness, relationships, Scripture, second chances, workout, xbox

“And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works…exhorting one another, and so much the more as you see the Day approaching.”
~Hebrews 10:24-25

The year’s almost half gone. Of all my goals for 2015, the one I’ve shirked the most is my resolution to exercise regularly. I could try to justify my busy nature as a form of physical fitness. I’m always on the go. Moving things. Hefting others, little people included.

But in all honesty, what I’d initially intended came with recognizable titles in the world of fitness: lunges, jumping jacks, and–God help us all–burpees.

Then one day (quite early in the year), somebody moved the Xbox Kinect system I normally use for workouts. The change in location wrought a change in my goals.

  • exercise 3 to 4 days a week 

The death of that resolution finally cried up from the ground where I buried it, enough so that I resolved, again, to make exercise a priority.

I also resolved to start slow. Too rusty for Zumba, and too irritable for Jillian, I popped in a workout DVD my sister sent. I made up my mind before the opening credits to do fifteen minutes. No more, maybe less, depending on how things were going.

At about twelve minutes, panting like a dog and grunting in a most unattractive fashion, I zeroed in on the clock. Three more minutes. I can quit in three more minutes. So focused on escape, I repeated the thought aloud.

“No, Mom. Push through the burn. Go to the end. You can do it.” This from my son, who sat at the table behind me doing homework.

Push through the burn? “Where’d you hear that? Your P.E. teacher?” I could barely find air to voice the question. Two minutes to go.

“No. That movie. The one where the guy is on the football field wearing a blindfold, carrying another player on his back, and the coach is next to him screaming for him to keep going even though it burned. Remember?”

Facing the Giants. I did remember. We had used that scene to encourage our kids not to limit themselves. So much for bailing out early.

My son took a lesson he’d learned and used it to encourage me in turn. Without that motivation, I most certainly would have called it at 14:59.

The desire to give up when things get hard is something we all face. Sadly, the act of following through with that desire has become more common, since many of us are too hesitant to risk offending one another to encourage otherwise.

Marriage. Education. Parenting. Dreams. Work. Faith. Fill in the blank. It all burns at one time or another.

Not only should we give it everything we’ve got, but we should also be brave enough to encourage one another to persevere, keep going, stick with it.

Save your marriage. Pray your kids through. Keep the faith. Finish what you started. Don’t quit. And don’t let those around you quit either.

Let it burn.

God will be with you. And the refined product He reveals on that Day will be worth every singe.

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Be “Hoo” You Are

24 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Christ, Christianity, conformity, early bird, faith, fitting in, God, motherhood, night owl, parenting, peer pressure, prayer, relationships

night owl

~My eyes are awake through the night watches, that I may meditate on Your word~
Psalm 119:148

As a young child I came alive at night, and snoozed each morning till the last possible second.

In college I signed up for all the evening classes I could find. The professor of my one morning class once gave me a dignitary’s greeting. “Miss McCauley! How nice of you to grace us with your presence!”

I performed my way into a job with a flexible schedule, often baffling the poor security guards by strolling into an empty office around 2 a.m.

And yet, despite always knowing I thrived best under the glow of a silver moon, when I became a mother I tried squeezing my night owl thighs into early bird tights.

Those suckers refused to fit.

Still, the desire to blend in with other moms had a strong enough pull to make me keep trying. No matter that my little ones were involved in several activities, or that they could read before kindergarten. Forget them being accustomed to being on my schedule.

Others would hear how we ran our house, and show their disapproval to the tune of raised brows, clicked tongues, and the occasional snarky comment disguised as friendly teasing. I began to question my methods and doubt my adequacy as a mom.

I’d retire at a normal time, then lay there thinking about what I could be doing instead of actually doing it. I struggled to make it to 8 a.m. playdates, despite having gone to sleep just three hours prior.

And though nothing changed with my internal clock, my liveliness faded. My time with God became mechanical, reading the Word without actually absorbing any of it, praying from a confused, tired, joyless frame of mind.

What I’d had with Him before, in the watches of the night, had been rich and full. And I missed it.

I realized what I had sacrificed in order to assimilate and be acceptable on the ever-so-competitive mom scene. And the urge to conform lost its luster, because the cost was too great.

Of course I rise early every morning. Those kids have school. They need to eat. Practical stuff like that. But I no longer force myself to engage when I’d rather be calm and silent. I go to bed when I want, and take a nap if I need to.

And when the world sleeps, when my house is clean and silent, and more words to a story have been written, that’s when my eyes see Him best, when my heart hears Him clearly, when my joy is full.

Because that’s how He made me. So I’ll be “hoo” I am.

Your turn: When have you been tempted to operate contrary to how God uniquely designed you?

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Don’t Lose the Wonder

14 Saturday Mar 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

awe, Christ, faith, grace, Jesus, love, mercy, salvation, wonder

200321579-001

“Nevertheless I have this against you, that you have left your first love.”
~Revelation 2:4~

My kids and I walked through the parking lot looking for our car.

“Ooh, a bird!” I pointed to a cute little sparrow as it hopped out from behind a tire. My youngest looked to where I pointed, her eyes rounding in a brief second of interest, then she resumed the story she’d been telling to her older siblings. Those two barely glanced.

I frowned, remembering how fascinated all of my children used to be whenever they saw an animal. They’d tug on my sleeve, grab my face in their little hands, point, clap, and squeal. “A bird! A dog! A horse!”

Nowadays, after hundreds of dogs and thousands of birds, they’re a little less impressed.

It’s to be expected. When new things–new wonders–become the norm, we don’t get as excited about them as we used to. And that’s okay for the less important stuff.

Other things are meant to awe us for a lifetime: our children, our marriages, the grace of each new day.

More than anything, when we consider the great mystery of salvation–that this Jesus humbled Himself, left glory, became a man, served the least, and endured the Cross, all before sitting at the right hand of the Father, where He daily intercedes on behalf of His own–we should never lose the wonder, never cease to be amazed.

When His sacrifice becomes a common thing to us, so does He. He shows Himself mighty, and we barely glance.

Every bird, from the tiny sparrow in the parking lot, to the eagle soaring on high, knows its Maker. Every dawn is made new. The wind and waves obey Him. From the highest height to the lowest depth, He sees what dwells there.

He is mindful of man, slow to anger, abounding in love and kindness; and yet it is a dreadful thing to fall into His hands. He is mighty, eternal, holy, and good. We are not. And yet He died for us.

Consider daily the greatness of your first and greatest love.

And be filled with wonder.

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A Wrecked Perspective

27 Tuesday Jan 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics, Writing and Pursuing Publication

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

amediting, amwriting, car accident, car wreck, Chevy Suburban, Christ, collision, comfort, encouragement, faith, fear, inspiration, joy, kindness, love, parenting, perspective, thankfulness, Thanksgiving, Trials, writer, writing

thanks

“In everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
~ 1 Thessalonians 5:18

Recently, on a day like any other, my three kids and I set out for an evening of gymnastics and Kenpo practice, with a potential coffee stop squeezed in. The smell of mint wafted from my older daughter’s tea mug. The youngest girl crunched on a carrot as if it were her last meal, and my boy pretended to finish homework (I saw him tuck a toy in the jacket of his Gi before leaving the house).

We sat in the left turning lane behind a line of cars, underneath a partly cloudy sky. Tires screeched. Metal crunched. We lunged forward. Slammed backward. I screamed.

My pulse pounded in my ears, and I couldn’t hear anything else for a moment. The surge of adrenaline made me dizzy. I couldn’t believe I’d been hit, or that my kids were in the car.

I turned to them. “Is everybody okay?” They were shocked, but otherwise unharmed. Praise God.

I got out, shaking, and walked to the car responsible, its front end demolished. Behind the deployed airbag sat a young man wearing a dazed look of dread.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He looked himself over and nodded, though he didn’t seem entirely sure. “Can I drive?” He pointed at a parking lot. Smoke drifted up from the remains of his hood, fluid poured beneath it.

“No. You should probably get out.”

By the time the ordeal ended, the police, a fire truck, and the boy’s parents and sister had arrived on the scene, and a tow truck was on its way to haul off the totaled car. I pulled my Chevy Suburban (a vehicle I shamelessly endorse) onto the road with minor rear-end damage.

Before leaving, I’d assured the boy and his family, “We’re fine. No one is hurt. It’s not the end of the world.” But for that eighteen year old, I could tell his world was crashing fast. He looked distraught, despite his parents and sister loving on him and stressing how much they cared about him and not the car.

I wanted to comfort him myself, pull him in a hug, wipe his tears and make certain he understood that the wreck, as horrible as it seemed now, would be just a memory someday. But he’d had enough trauma. The last thing he needed was some stranger bear-hugging and petting him.

He saw the totaled car and cried over what that meant for his family. What it would cost them. How they would replace it. He didn’t consider their joy over the fact that their son had walked away from a thousand pounds of crumpled metal unscathed.

But I did. And it made me look at my own kids, my own life, my own set of problems, my own trove of joys. And it made me thankful.

Thankful that even though my son and I have a homework showdown every afternoon, he’s come home safe every afternoon. Thankful that although my daughter’s already showing signs of adolescent attitude, I get to kiss her sleeping face every night when she looks most like an angel.

Thankful because, while my edits are taking much longer than I intended, they’re getting done, and I’ve got somewhere to send them. Thankful that no matter what the day brings–good or bad–I’m loved from on high by One who suffered and died for me.

Sometimes it takes a crisis to wreck our negative perspectives; to take our eyes off all that’s wrong with the world and refocus them to see the joy, the love, the good.

I regretted not saying all I wanted to comfort the young driver before I left. I’m thankful his driver information comes with an address where I can send a card of encouragement. I can only hope I don’t look like a stalker when it arrives.

Your turn: What are you thankful for?

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The Goodness of God

17 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in and Other Topics, Faith, Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics, Relationships

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

arizona, basketball, Christ, Christian, faith, God is good, grief, joy, miracles, NBA All-Star, phoenix, prayer, tragedy

womanheart I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. ~Psalm 27:13

It was Valentine’s Day, 2009. The NBA All-Star festivities were taking place in Phoenix, and my husband Jon and I decided it would be fun to go as a family. We excited our twins, then three-years-old, with the promise of a fun-filled evening of basketball, cheering, and endless snacking.

We figured we’d buy tickets at the arena, since All-Star events never look sold out. But this event had. And the people selling tickets on the street were selling them at face value or higher.

$300. Each.

We’ve taught our kids about God from infancy. Trust Him. He loves you. Pray about everything. Know that He hears you.

And though we model these admonitions in their presence, praying about the tickets didn’t occur to Jon or me as we talked about a plan B.

“But, Dad.” Our daughter grabbed his face between her little hands and turned it toward the entrance. “We want to go in there.”

“We don’t have tickets, baby.”

“But we didn’t ask God yet. You said we could ask God anything.”

And so ask Him we did. Not two minutes after “amen,” a young man approached. “Do you guys need a ticket? I have an extra one.”

“How much?” Jon asked.

“Here you go.” The guy handed over the ticket, shook Jon’s hand and walked away. We received the rest of the tickets within minutes, all for the same price: free.

allstar

We had a wonderful time that night, and praised God for His goodness.

But sometimes the answer to prayer is no. Like the time I lost my third child to miscarriage, or when we lost my mother-in-law to leukemia sixteen months after her diagnosis.

Even in those instances, as painful as they were, God remained faithful, loving, and good. Because His goodness isn’t contingent on how He answers prayer, or even that He answers prayer. His goodness is one of His many unending, never-changing attributes.

A “yes” to our prayers is a byproduct of that goodness. A “no,” a byproduct of His wisdom. For He knows the plans He has for us, even when we don’t.

Divine admittance to a basketball game wasn’t a monumental life event, but it was definitely an eye-opening one. It affirmed that God cares about the trivial and the major, because He cares about us.

We can trust Him, knowing that He loves us. We can pray about everything, knowing that He hears us. And we can enjoy peace that passes understanding, knowing that the God we serve is good.

Your turn: In what way(s) has God wowed you with His goodness?

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