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Hey Friends,

This blog has been a fun adventure, but I decided it was time to get a fresh start and try out some new more sophisticated
options on a different platform.

Check out my new website and blog at HeatherDay.Net. 

See you there!

Heather

Praise Down the Walls

This is Jackson's version of what a magician looks like. :)

 Jackson has a book of children’s Bible stories, that I do my best to read with him every night. Last night, we came to the story of Paul and Silas in prison (Acts 16:16-40). Imprisoned for proclaiming the Gospel, they decided to pass the time by doing what the knew to do best – praising God.

As Paul and Silas sang hymns, the walls of the prison began to shake, and soon came crumbling down. The power of God had freed them and even the prison guard became a believer that day.

Jackson, who is currently fascinated by all things magic, was uncharacteristically glued to this story. I said, “Hey, I actually know a song about this. Want to hear it?” He responded with an enthusiastic, “Yes!”

I had my phone on me, so pulled up Ray Boltz’s music video from the 90s. (Side note: Shout out to 1994-1998 Impact Team!) It was a little cheesy/mullet-y by today’s standards, but the words were just as powerful. Jackson’s eyes were big as saucers by the end.

“What’d you think Jackson?”

“I wish I could praise God like that!”

Before you assume him a budding theologian, I knew what he really meant was that he wished he had the power to shake down walls at his command. (One of his current favorite activities, for example, is to pretend he’s using the force every time we go through automatic sliding doors.) 

Still…his question hit me square between the eyes.  “Jackson, we actually can praise God like that, and He will do AMAZING things.”

When the Walls are High

I was thinking more about Jackson’s desire this morning, and that’s ultimately my heart’s desire, too.

I want praise God like Paul and Silas. When… the walls are high, the chains are tight, the kids are cranky, the projects are piling, the house is cluttered, the van is failing, or whatever circumstances I happen to face today.

It’s easy to praise God for the prayers He’s already answered. I want my kids to see me praising God when I have absolutely no clue of what’s going to happen next. 

Won't Shut Up

Recently, I heard the most amazing news story about a 10 year-old little boy named Myrick.

While playing on the driveway at his home in Atlanta, a car pulled up, and the driver attempted to engage him in conversation. As soon as Myrick got close enough, the man snatched him up, shoved him in the car, and drove away.

I can’t imagine the fears I’d have as a 36-year-old woman, let alone how terrifying that must have been for a little boy.

But Myrick decided to do what he knew to do best. He started singing the gospel song “Every Praise” repeatedly, much to the annoyance of his kidnapper. 

The man kept shouting and cursing at the boy to shut up, but Myrick was relentless.  When the kidnapper finally couldn’t take it anymore, he stopped, opened the door and threw his hostage out.

“He told me not to tell anyone,” reports Myrick. But as we already know, he’s not so good at staying quiet.

 All the Day Long

I wonder… where did Myrick learn to praise God like that? 

Somewhere, there is a mother, grandmother, father or friend who oozes God’s praise at every opportunity.   

I want to praise God like that.  For my kids. For my husband. For everyone I influence. But most of all, for me.

Because in praise, I am changed. I recall that I am loved. I remember I am provided for. God’s never failed me before, and I know He never will.  God is almighty and knows what’s best for me. He is worthy of my praise.

“This is my story. This is my song. Praising my Savior, all the day long.”

A different tune

Tom Petty said it best, “Wai-ai-ai-ai-ting is the hardest part.” 

Sitting on my hands. Biting my tongue. Waiting for action until the moment is just right.  These are not behaviors that come naturally for me.  I want to do, to move, to change, to achieve.
But sometimes life challenges me to pause. And then pause even longer. And then pause some more.

I. Hate. That.

For me, staying idle takes far more energy and focus than it ever takes to pounce. When it comes to trusting God, I sometimes have trouble listening, sitting, resting and waiting for HIM to move in His good and perfect timing.

Trouble is, when I try to take things into my own hands, it never ends well. I end up settling, hurting, agonizing and repairing. Premature pouncing produces messy regrets.

And so I wait. I listen. I surround myself by faithful encouragers, and I fill my heart with better lyrics.

“Trust and obey, for there’s no other way.”

“Where you go, I’ll go; where you stay, I’ll stay.”

“Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander”

“Be still and know that I am God.” 

These are not the tunes I’d choose to hum, but it's the song I’m called to sing.

A diamond, stars and seven-year-old theology

As the designated carpool driver for this week’s Christmas musical practice, I was happily heading north on Rt. 45, having a lovely conversation with my co-pilot, Ashley. I’m what some might call a hand talker, and in the middle of a gesture-filled anecdote, I suddenly observed there was something noticeably missing from my left ring finger.  My diamond. Gone. A gaping crater left in its place.

I panicked. 

Over remaining 10 minutes of the ride, my verbal skills deteriorated rapidly.  “Oh my word. Oh my word.  I can’t BELIEVE this. Where could it be?! Oh my word. Oh. My. Word!” (And so on, and so forth forth)

I’d been to four places that day, and the chances of finding my treasure at any one of them was slim to none:

1.       The toy-laden church nursery, where I’d been on morning duty with 12 active babies and toddlers.

2.       Walmart. 

3.       My carpet wonderland of a home.

4.       My parents’ house, along with 15 other relatives — several of them clutter creating younglings.

I searched my pockets, scoured my van and then made some calls, including the dreaded one to the purchaser of that diamond. A few of us crawled on our hands and knees around the nursery. Mom offered cash prizes to the army of children in her living room. Nothing. 

I resigned myself to the fact that my diamond was likely lost forever. Considering the expense of replacing it, I figured I’d either be ringless or rocking a dime store knock-off for quite some time.

In the midst of the whole ordeal, I thought about praying for help in finding my precious stone. But really, I felt kind of silly about doing so.

Heaven knows, I’m the queen of losing things, and I felt like I’d called on that godly favor far too many times before.  Plus, my mind immediately went to the recent tornado victims. And the typhoon survivors. And the impoverished around the world. In comparison, this was NOTHING.  I didn’t want to make a mountain out of a rock.

Returning to the church for my passengers, I crossed paths with Pastor Bekah. 

“God knows where your diamond is,” she said. 

“Yeah, I know,” was all I could think to say.

Just as the kids came bounding down the stairs, I reached into my right pocket — not my left — and felt something slightly bigger than a cookie crumb. My diamond!  How in the world did it get in there?!

Overhearing my exclamations of joy, Angela, the children’s choir director, leaned over to Emma:  “It’s a good thing you asked all the kids to pray for your mom.”

Wow.

As we were driving home that evening, I said Emma. “You know, I really do think God put that diamond in my pocket.  Thank you for praying for me.”

Taken by the beauty of the clear night sky, I pondered, “Isn’t it interesting that the God of the universe, the one who puts the stars in the sky, who created all the animals, and keeps everything in order, still cares about the little things in our lives?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “That was a little thing.”

After a few moments of silence, she continued, “Sometimes you pray for things that are small, and He doesn’t give them to you. But God knew that it was really important to you, so He answered.”

Indeed.  God always gives us what we need.

Perhaps in her early faith journey, Emma needed this tangible answer to prayer. 

I, on the other hand, just needed some good ol’ seven-year-old wisdom.

Don't get too cocky after child #1

Look at me! I'm averaging one blog post a year.  Awesome! : )

I had this idea a while back to write Emma a book that I can give her on her wedding day.  I'd love to say that's the reason I haven't been on here, but the truth of the matter is, I've only been averaging one entry every six months on that project.

At any rate, the book is filled with "lessons" I'd like to share with her about being a wife and mother.  I thought I'd share this sample, primarily with three audiences in mind:

1. Publishers who would be willing to pay me up front for a limited audience book that may or may not be finished in 15 years or so.
2. First time mothers who are getting too cocky. 
3. My sisters, who makes me feel good about myself by laughing at all my jokes. 

---

Lesson #5: Don’t get too cocky after child # 1.

I was feeling really good about my natural mothering abilities after you were born. Everyone has always been quick to tell me how sweet, smart and well-behaved you are.  I did really good with you.  Truth be told, I’ve occasionally contemplated writing a parenting book just to share my wisdom with less effective mothers.

Then came Jackson. The most common compliment I get about him is that he’s a good eater.

Last night, I had the pleasure of dining with my “good eater” and your grandparents at Cracker Barrel.  It’s really quite amazing how quickly the family next to us ate just to get away from him.  I think they were seated, served and out the door in 20 minutes flat. 

Shortly after the table was cleared, the hostess started to seat another family next to us.  I watched as the father adamantly shook his head no, and then the hostess discreetly moved them to the other side of the room.

Yeeeaaah.  I’ve got some recalculating to do on my parenting tactics. 

I went out for a bike ride

After dinner tonight, Emma and I went out for a bike ride.

Prior to leaving our house, we covered her from head to toe in all the appropriate protection: a helmet, gloves, knee pads, elbow pads and tennis shoes.  To some that may seem excessive – but seeing how she fell twice over the course of our half hour ride, I feel pretty good about that decision.

As we rode along, I had to maintain a painfully slow pace. I could have gone much faster had I left her at home – but that would have defeated the purpose. I wanted to ride with Emma, enjoy her company, explore the world with her. This is why I wanted a bike in the first place.

I had to keep reminding Emma to stick to the side of the road. She had a tendency to get distracted and wander closer and closer to the middle. Though the roads we took were safe and quiet, I made sure to always stay to her left side, putting myself between her and any potential traffic.

All along the way, Emma asked lots and lots and lots of questions. How did someone write their name in the sidewalk? How did they build this road? What’s down in the sewer? How many cars are there in the world? Why is that person flying a kite? I thought about all the walks we’d taken over the years. So much of her reality is shaped by these random conversations.

When we got to the end of our familiar path, Emma decided she wanted to go further than ever before. I smiled – I’ve been waiting for this. She’s been getting stronger the more we go out. She doesn’t tire so easily any more, and it won't be long before we can take off the training wheels.

I told her to turn left; we would check out a new neighborhood.  As we did, she kept asking, “Are you sure you know where you’re going, mommy? Are you sure you know how to get us back home?” She was a little unnerved by the newness of it all. 

But of course, I knew exactly where we were, and so she had no reason to be scared.  We were only one block over – I’d been this way a hundred times before.

It was then that it hit me. This all seemed so amazingly familiar ... except that I seem to remember being the one with the training wheels.

It was as if God suddenly whispered, “It’s like this for me with you.”

Christmas according to Emma

I know I literally JUST posted another note, but I couldn't resist sharing....

It's been amusing to listen closely as Emma's been singing Christmas songs this year. Here's some of her best lyrics:

"Oh Christmas Eve, Oh Christmas Eve, how lovely are your branches."

"On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, three French kids."

And my favorite...

"Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose. And if you ever saw him, make sure that you say, 'hello.'"

Though she has her mother's gift for butchering song lyrics, she's heard the story of Christmas loud and clear. We were sitting on the couch one night when she piped up out of the blue: "It's not about the tree. It's not about the presents. It's all about Jesus' birthday."

At least she's kept the most important things straight.