Abigail Dodds

The Hostas Underneath the Snow

By: Abigail Dodds April 7, 2014

body of Christ, everyday, familyresurrection, spring1 Comment

Spring matters more than ever at our house, because the resurrection matters more than ever.

Lewis calls spring the “waiting room of the world,” a “nothing time.” I have felt begrudgingly similar toward my least favorite season. I’d take the known cold of winter over being jerked around by the seemingly false promises of spring. I love warmth and buds, but every year I find myself in a malaise of disappointment, wondering if it will actually come round.

Yet, spring is reminding me that God does keep his promises. Even when it’s April and a snowstorm. Or, May and a snowstorm. Even when it seems like death wins. I must not mistake the hints of God’s goodness and promise-keeping that are all around in the thaw/freeze/thaw/freeze cycle of spring, for the taunts of the enemy, who’s hoping I don’t notice the hostas underneath the snow.

Think of Jesus and the thaw/freeze cycle of his final week. Triumphal entry=thaw. Cleansing the temple=freeze. Lament over Jerusalem=freeze. Teaching and explaining parables=thaw. Plotting of Pharisees=freeze. Last supper=thaw. Gethsemane=freeze. Questioned by Pilate/Herod=freeze. Release offered by Pilate=thaw. Crucifixion=freeze. Resurrection=thaw. Humanly this is difficult to grasp in the moment, but this is all one massive thaw, just like spring. It seems back and forth, but it’s really the trajectory of resurrection, and the freezing is necessary for the ultimate thaw.

Winter is the setting and the stage for redemption. It is the stark backdrop to the glories that are coming. And for those who have gone deep into that winter, those for whom winter has been the bleakest and coldest, who have refused to take the road of bitterness and have thrown themselves on the grace of God, perhaps the glories will be all the brighter.

We bid farewell to winter as the big melt was underway on Saturday. Tom took the kids for the last sledding trip down the hill.

Because What’s a Poem Between Friends?

By: Abigail Dodds March 2, 2014March 2, 2014

gratitude, sorrowpoetry1 Comment

“Look Up”

O Soul, Sorrowed Soul,
Look up to Him that treads the way,
Look up to Him who will not stay
Far off, but in the night will pay
The debt you owe and use your pain. Pray,
And He will once again make day
To glow on horizon’s bend and
Grant the peace the serves to mend,
To calm, contend and keep at bay
The fears that foment. Yet they will lay
Down and bow to Him who thunders, “Still.”
And wills the miracle: trust, obey,
With surety, glad-faced, without dismay.

O Soul, Weary Soul,
Look up to Him who knows your frame,
Look up to Him who makes His name
To be a balm for wrung-out shame-
Filled mothers, wondering if His claim
On them will hold at story’s end, again reclaimed!
We’ve heard it said, “He isn’t tame.”
And we believe, the evidence showing in our lame
And injured gait that was His aim.
His plot line, our fate, to suffer maim
And bear the heat, the fire, the flame.
So, dross distilled, with clearer voices to proclaim:
Alleluia to the God who came, who reigns.

Loosening the Noose and Matching Socks

By: Abigail Dodds February 18, 2014October 28, 2014

body of Christ, everyday, sorrowgrace7 Comments

Sometimes the best thing we can do is just the next thing.

We live out our faith by matching socks, instead of recounting our pain. We mock death and Satan by doing the dishes instead of crying in our soup. We pick up our sword by laughing at suppertime instead of staring off into the what-if’s of the future. We trust and obey by kissing fat cheeks.

When all of life is winter, what’s left to do but take the hill? Put on boots, walk in the snow and let the wind burn my cheeks on the way down. Be exhilarated, chuckle when you realize the snow went all the way up your pant leg. Go so fast that the tears of living run sideways out of your eyes.

I’m not commending some kind of pull yourself up by your boot straps and shove the pain away kind of getoverit-ism. Real people have real sorrows and they need to really grieve. I’m simply saying: what then? We must live.

Sin is like a noose around our necks. It wants to tighten and tighten and paralyze us. Sometimes trials act the same way. God gives us something big: a hardship, an unasked for difficulty and it just squeezes us so tightly that we can’t think about anything else! Pretty soon, it starts taking over our identity. Our trials can become badges we wear that let everyone know: this is who I am. It’s a precaution really, it’s like we want our fragility to be acknowledged, upheld. So we wear our suffering. We hold on to it and protect it. We dare not smile or talk about the weather or people might think we’re OK.

I’ve had this little song in my head that we used to sing growing up, “Trust and obey, for there’s no other way, to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.” It always struck me as simplistic, cliched even. But God’s not afraid of a cliche, when there’s truth to be mined from it. Sometimes a cliche is just the thing to keep us from taking ourselves and our suffering too seriously.

Obedience and trust bring so much freedom. Trusting God that He’ll hold onto this trial for me. That I can come up for air and shock my 6 year old with my air guitar skillz and let out a belly laugh in the face of something scary. So often, I’ve no idea what to do in this unchartered place, but there is security in obeying.

I won’t presume to tell someone else they should be happy in their suffering. There are different kinds of trials and different kinds of people. There is intense acute pain, and there is the chronic long haul, of which we find ourselves. Wisdom is knowing that love is a tailored thing. But I will presume to tell myself to be happy. And there is one way for me to get to that happiness: trust and obey.

Trust God, trust His plans, His love, His commands. Match socks, do dishes, get a cup of coffee and explain long division, again. Laugh. This is your life, your portion, your work, your joyous children, your special child. Trust and obey and LIVE because that’s what Jesus does. Sing it with me, “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow..”

When God Roars in our Suffering

By: Abigail Dodds January 27, 2014

gratitude, sorrow15 Comments

This year I decided to read the Bible chronologically for the first time.

Did you know that Job comes toward the beginning of Genesis in the chronological version? I didn’t. So, I was surprised, yet somehow not surprised, when a couple weeks ago, I found myself in Job. Sometimes God is subtle, sometimes not so much.

Finishing up the book of Job coincided with Titus’s eye surgery a week and a half ago. Immediately following the surgery, I was pretty euphoric. He did beautifully, his eyes are much straighter, he can focus a few feet out from his face, and we have wonderful doctors. All good things; it went about as well as we could have hoped.

But the days following his surgery, I found myself in an unexpected state of grief. His eye surgery did just what it was supposed to do: it straightened his eyes. But, somehow I had this crazy idea that it would be a kind of cure-all, that with his eyes fixed, he would be able to make the connections with people I’ve been so hoping for. Of course it didn’t do that. So I found myself mourning what should have been a reason for thankfulness.

In the days of feeling flattened by the disappointment that I didn’t see coming, I’ve felt my beliefs tested, my fears magnified, my strength sapped, my feet walking in a valley with no views to faraway mountaintops to keep me going. I also found myself in Job 38.

In Job 38-42 God tells me some big things about Himself, and his tone is not of the warm fuzzy variety. It’s more like a ROAR. Sometimes I’ve heard people say or have said myself, “God’s big enough to handle your questions, he can handle your fears, etc, bring them to him.” And I think that’s completely right. God can handle them.

But, sometimes the point isn’t whether God can handle them, it’s whether I can handle God’s answers to my questions, fears and doubts. Do I want him to answer? Am I ready for the questions He brings to the table? Must his answers meet my felt needs? Will I receive what he has to say with humility and trust, covering my mouth with my hands, silent and chastened?

As I have felt scared about tomorrow and scared about a year from now and scared about 5 years from now and 10 and 20, God hasn’t comforted my fears and questions with a warm gooey brownie hug. He has roared in my face and reminded me of His power and might and my smallness. He has indeed answered me, but it has been with the shout of a father who yells for his child as they are about to step out into busy street, unaware. He has grabbed my arm and snatched me up from danger and terrified me with his love. He has kept me from the peril of repeatedly indulging my doubts and fears.

“Then Job answered the Lord and said:
“Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer you?
I lay my hand on my mouth.
I have spoken once, and I will not answer;
twice, but I will proceed no further.”

God’s roars are kindness. It is kindness to be frightened by The Lion who terrifies you to keep you from harm. It is kindness to have your grievance aired, then lay your hand on your mouth. When Shasta is waiting at the tombs in the darkness of night in The Horse and His Boy, Aslan comes and roars to scare away the jackals that are coming to eat Shasta. Shasta doesn’t know that Aslan is protecting him, he is simply scared witless at the lion that he hears roaring. He’s afraid the lion will eat him, he doesn’t know The Lion is keeping him from being eaten.

And that’s what God does for me and for his children. He gives us a hair-raising fright at the picture of who He is, the demonstration of His power, His wisdom and abilities. Then we collapse in his arms, with meekness and trust. He grips our hand tightly and we dare not wrest it away. We know this is our Father, He loves us, He’s leading us on. We can’t see the mountaintops ahead or how it will all work out, but we can see Him and there’s nothing but kindness in his face.

“For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.” 2 Cor. 4:6,7

As an aside, I’d like to say that this blog remains simply a place for me to say what God’s teaching me, to try and get it down, so I don’t forget it; a place where I hope to encourage whoever might be reading, occasionally bless my kids, and ultimately bring glory to God. Please take it for what it’s worth. It’s a small slice of a much bigger picture of real life.

Grateful Uncertainty

By: Abigail Dodds December 19, 2013

body of Christ, family, sorrow4 Comments

I’m very thankful for the support and love we’ve received since the post on Sunday, mainly in the form of emails and facebook comments. If you’ve ever wondered whether you can minister to someone through technology via email, facebook comments, or texts, be assured, you can. And we have been the humbled recipients of that.

I, especially, have felt buoyed and strengthened, almost normal at times.

A friend asked me a week or two ago, if I was feeling ministered to by the Lord. And as I stopped to think about it, the answer was a definite yes. It seemed the Lord was going out of His way to make his care and presence obvious. A 9 month pregnant friend drove all the way across the Cities in the snow to bring us a meal the evening of the MRI, another friend who lives 5 states away had a package delivered the day we received the bad news of his MRI results with the beautiful lyric, “When all around my soul gives way, He then is all my hope and stay.” Even the music on the annoyingly chipper radio seemed subdued and reverent. And there were many other things that will stay anonymous, but were real kindnesses from God through His people.

Yet I’ve been the toddler whose dad is is giving them a hug after some big disappointment and they are kicking, screaming, crying and simply want what they want. They don’t want the comfort until they’ve come to accept the reality that they’re being denied something. I’m beginning to accept our reality, which means I’m slowly feeling His embrace as the loving thing that it is.

Right now I am incredibly grateful for the uncertainty that we are walking in. Initially after the MRI it seemed likely that Titus had this degenerative and fatal condition, but after a group of doctors met to discuss it last Friday, they still believe there is another option and that Titus could “just” have a static disability that would not get worse with time, but would reveal itself as he grows. What blessed uncertainty. If I’m given the choice between really bad news and waiting with a more hopeful option in play, I prefer the latter.

The uncertainty has allowed me to put the scary diagnosis possibilities on the back shelf of my brain and stay in the present, day by day realities. There will be more testing and eye surgery next month and therapy, but overall, the uncertainty has removed some of the paralysis, so I can just be thankful for Titus: thankful that he’s chubby, that he smiles, that he turns his head more now, that he coos. And mostly just thankful that he’s our son.

The Lord has hidden some things from us regarding Titus and he’s chosen to place us on this journey of heartache and unknowns. It’s a journey that is requiring me to learn how to receive. I know that it’s more blessed to give than receive, and I’ve always wanted the bigger blessing.

But God’s got a humbling work to do in me. He’s got steadfast love and compassion spilling out everywhere, they’re coming out of his fingertips through his people, and only a fool would turn away from that kind of receiving.

Please pray for Titus and all of us. We can’t see what’s in front of us, but we know who we’re following and He’s never led us astray.

A Hard Providence from Our Loving God

By: Abigail Dodds December 15, 2013

body of Christ, family, sorrow13 Comments

The past two months have been hard. Well, even longer than that, but especially the past two months.

We’ve been dealt a blow regarding our son, Titus James. Without going into great detail, it is enough to say that he has some brain abnormalities and we do not yet know what all that will mean for his life and abilities, or even the length of his life. The doctor tells us that we should do as much as we can to help him grow and develop, regardless of how bad it might be, and so, between doctor visits and lots of testing, that’s what we’ll do.

This has been a hard and bitter providence as we’ve contemplated the grim worst case scenarios told to us by the doctors. I feel as though I’m on the Dawn Treader in Narnia in the Lone Islands approaching the terrifying darkness: The Island Where Dreams Come True, and the terror sets in as we realize, just as Lucy and Edmund and Eustace did, it’s really our worst nightmare come true. I cannot contemplate anything worse on this earth than losing a child.

Regarding this possibility, I’ve moved from grief to denial to grief to hope to grief to denial to grief to acceptance and so on. I am slowly getting some footing, for today at least. Our journey with Titus is largely hidden from us. We don’t know what it will be, we don’t have a concrete diagnosis, we don’t understand all that’s going on in his brain. But I’m finding real comfort in remembering that God does know all these things. Nothing is hidden from him.

And here’s what I know for myself: I know that tomorrow I’m going to get up and love Titus and each one of the people under our roof. Tomorrow I’m going to fix food and teach little people and get my oldest to her orthodontist appt. I’m going to do tummy time and sweep the floor and have the fireplace going. I’m going to light a candle and put on Christmas music and really smile at each of the kids. And I’m going to cherish every moment with the baby son that I longed for and prayed for and was finally given. He is a tender undeserved gift.

And some days I’m just going to scrape by and dinner won’t be made and the house will be a mess and I’ll rewash the same load of laundry in the washer for a week because I’m too tired and sad and overwhelmed to figure out how to get it to the dryer. And no matter which type of day I’m having, my God will still be kindhearted.

I also know that we can’t walk this road alone. The past few months have felt lonely, lonely because we knew even less than we know now–just a vague: something’s not right. And how do you ask for prayer for that? Most people just want to convince you that everything’s fine. And I wanted to believe it so badly.

So, I will write about this trial, when I have the ability. I’ll ask for prayers. I’ll accept the (beautiful undeserved) support from God’s people who love us and love Titus, I’ll share as much of my heart as I’m able. And when I’m not, I’ll still be here, probably more in need than ever. But the Lord has not forgotten us. He has not forsaken us. Our pastor quoted part of this passage today and it was a balm:

“Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing!

For the Lord has comforted his people and will have compassion on his afflicted.

But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me; my Lord has forgotten me.”

“Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?

Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.

Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands..” Is. 49:13-16

No, just as I can never forget for one millisecond my nursing son, even more so the Lord cannot and will not forget us. So whenever I’m feeling despair, I will remember that the Lord has compassion on his afflicted. He has graven us on his hands. He’s written our names in a Book. He became weak for us: the weak. He became helpless for us: the helpless. And he loves this son of mine immeasurably. He made my son in His own image and because of Titus, my picture of God is becoming more of who He really is. I have a lot to learn.

From Thanksgiving to Waiting

By: Abigail Dodds December 2, 2013

body of Christ, photographyadvent, photographyLeave a Comment

We’re moving from Thanksgiving to Advent.

From golden harvest,

and crisp clarity during walks in the woods,

and the delight of the gifts of children receiving the gifts of creation,

to the frosty season of waiting, of longing, of chills and heartache and dead car batteries.

It’s also the time for hope and pushing on and stoking the fire while the frost covers everything.

When God writes trials into our story, he’s writing the stuff that makes true characters.

This is as true now as it was when he wrote his Son into the Book in human form. As we remember, wait, and watch for the coming Jesus, we watch the perfect protagonist, the spoken Word, withstand every weakness of flesh and do the unexpected–reveal God’s glory in his own face.

Every trial and temptation showed the metal he was made of–perfectly pure. They show our worth as well. When we’re whipped around by heartbreaking family realities and burdens and the unknown, God is giving us a window, a peek, at our own souls–which is significant because we’re so often deceived about ourselves, about our strength.

Mary says in her Magnificat, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.”

What most of us would see as a trial–Mary’s unwed pregnancy–she recognized as a blessing and she overflowed in worship. She had been looked on by God. He saw her and her humble estate.

Every believer in Jesus can say the same thing. He has looked on us. He has seen our humble estate, our spiritual poverty. And the gaze of God on us is only a comfort if our estate is humble. A proud heart can’t feel solace in a holy God. But when I fear God, he gently leads me.

This advent I will remember that God has looked on me. He’s looking down on our little family, and he has in mind for us something more than the tragic fools or embittered malcontents of the narrative. He’s shaping disciples; he’s molding faithfulness. He’s telling his story and by his grace, our parts are good ones.

In All Circumstances

By: Abigail Dodds November 25, 2013

gratitude, photographythanksgivingLeave a Comment

Whatever circumstance we find ourselves in, we can be assured it’s one for giving thanks amid.

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

I’m holding on to that as Thanksgiving week is upon us and life is topsy turvy. What I’m not aiming for is some kind of fake-it-till-you-make-it thankfulness. Some kind of magic thankful fairy dust that will cure your doldrums in five easy steps. A faux thankfulness that refuses to look the truth in the face, one that prefers rosiness to reality. Give me thankfulness with grit. And that real gritty thankfulness-in-every-circumstance was purchased for me a couple thousand years ago. It’s potent.

So, where the world sees weakness, I can see beauty. Where the world sees foolishness, I can see wisdom– in Christ, that is. In Him, all of the weak and foolish things hold together and in such a way as to shame the wise. I can give thanks for that.

We meet God in the furnace. I can give thanks for that. As the temperature rises, our faith finds its feet. I look at my clothes and they aren’t even singed. Doesn’t mean fires aren’t scary things. But he’s there.

“Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it.” 1 Thessalonians 5:23,24

I’ve got a God of peace. With all the tumult that rocks our souls, my God brings peace. Thank you. I’ve got a God who keeps. With all the fears that pierce our hearts, my God keeps my whole spirit, soul and body blameless. Thank you. And he who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it. Do any sweeter words exist than those? He will surely do it. Thank you.

One thing is clear to me: I’m in over my head in this life. I’m in deep. But that’s right where God put me. He put me way out of my depth. So I’m going to keep peeking through, as in a glass dimly, catching glimpses of Him, giving thanks that he’s faithful, giving thanks for the gifts, giving thanks for the fire.

Spreading Some Manure Around

By: Abigail Dodds October 9, 2013

food, gratitudefood, gratitude, photography2 Comments

Well, that’s gross, but yes.

Over the past year or so my fledgling enjoyment of taking pictures has conspired with my fledgling enjoyment of cooking and baking to produce a mom who can go through the 10 lb. flour bag in no time at all, with a grimy camera and lots of seemingly useless pics clogging up my computer to prove it.

I’d like to put those pics to use and spread the manure of thankfulness and joy around. Gratitude is such a powerful fertilizer. It’s hard to grow bitterness in a garden of grateful. We ought to be thankful for our food, even though we’ve twisted up our relationship with food pretty much since the beginning. And we keep on getting ourselves in knots over it, hoping it will save us, cure us, satisfy us, and right all the wrongs.

It won’t do that. But it can point us to what will satisfy. If a perfect pot roast on a cool fall eve satisfies and delights for a few hours, could it be that there’s something like that warm comfort.. forever? Food also shows us our creaturely nature. We need it or we die. We are as dependent as the baby that I nurse every few hours. So I’m being fed by our Father daily.

Food shows us the deeper food. It points to the Food of Jesus, the Bread, the Word.

With this in mind, I’m cheerfully spreading the manure of merriment with pics of food and recipes. My hope is that they’ll kindle a robust hearty thankfulness for food ad the God who gives it and encourage a wholesome attitude toward it. One that isn’t gluttonous or ascetic or idolatrous. So with that lengthy preface behind me, here’s a taste of what we’ve been thankful for lately.

Crusty Bread. I’ve mentioned this bread before and seriously couldn’t imagine a more delightful and easy bread to make. If you’ve never made bread (as I hadn’t just a year or so ago), start here. End here. It’s a winner.

Peach Buttermilk Bread Pudding with Homemade Caramel Sauce. Yes, it’s as good as you hope. Especially with a dollop of ice cream. We were out of bread, so I made a couple loaves of the crusty bread above and used one for this bread pudding. Way too much fun.

I’d be majorly remiss if I didn’t mention the important part helpers play in food gratitude and bonding and serving and general excitement and joy. Sometimes I’m stingy with helpers–saving all the best jobs for myself (who doesn’t love cracking an egg and whisking away?!). But I’m slowly learning that it not only robs them of joy, but me as well. Sharing happy work multiplies happiness (and messes). I’m letting the happiness overrule the messes, some of the time anyway.

mini-loaves zuke bread — choco zuke banana bread

Chocolate Chip Zucchini Banana Bread. A friend brought over a zucchini the size of Rhode Island for us as she was going out of town and 8 loaves of this zucchini bread later I wish we had another one! I modified the recipe I linked to by adding a banana that was going bad and using a little less zucchini.

Pumpkin Bread. In college, the DC (dining center) would serve pumpkin bread in the fall. Massive, hot loaves, sliced an inch and a half thick that were inhaled by whoever could get to the front of the line. I remember being pushed and squeezed as everyone eagerly crowded in to get some. I’m sure elbows were thrown. I set out to make something comparable and judging by the kids crowding and snitching, we’re on the right track. I added a streusel on top for kicks. It’s not in the recipe I linked to, but is just melted butter, sugar of any kind, and flour. You can’t lose.

Mozzarella Cheese Sticks. The MN State Fair is a big deal ’round here. We missed it with Titus being born. So I was hankering for the infamous cheese curds and this is what resulted. They actually are nothing like cheese curds. They’re like Italian mozzarella sticks. I cut up string cheese in half, then dipped in egg, then panko mixture (bread crumbs, olive oil, herbs, salt, pepper), then was going to fry them up when I realized I didn’t have enough oil. So I baked them for about 5 min and quickly pulled them out so they didn’t melt all over. They managed to hold together and my son and I gobbled them up. Not cheese curds, but still good.

Peasant Bread. Which I would like to rename to Pleasant Bread. Or Pleasant Peasant Bread. If you decide to keep on going with the bread making, this is a great second bread to learn. Very simple and easy and it bakes the same day, no overnight rising. Which could be a plus or a minus depending on your needs and schedule. Also, it bakes in pyrex bowls, which is great! This bread should be eaten the day it’s made. It’s wonderful that way. Subsequent days we use it for toast.

Last but not least, fall mix. Which is simply equal parts peanuts, candy corn and m&m’s, mixed up and set out for everyone to enjoy.

That’s all the manure I’ve got to spread at the blog today. Still have a few piles to go here at home.

“And be thankful.” Colossians 3:15b

Moving Houses, Keeping Home

By: Abigail Dodds July 20, 2013

everyday, family, gratitude4 Comments

We moved. Not a far away move, but a move nonetheless. We’ve been in our new home 4 weeks.

4 weeks is long enough to know that changing houses can feel like a whole new world, yet it’s also long enough to know that all the basics are still the same.

Children still love to gather flowers for their mom.

Mantles must still be dusted. Dusting is no respecter of mantles or anything else–it applies itself quite broadly.

Laundry waits for no one. Clothes get just as dirty here as they did there. Sheets still have to be changed. Even with the joys of a laundry shoot, the clothes don’t put themselves away at a new house.

Flowers still need watered. Grass needs mowed. Weeds need pulled. Kids need to help out. Parents need to keep on keeping on.

The old iron horse head still must have his place on the deck, keeping guard, watching us eat, getting pooped on by birds.

And our little family has moved, but we haven’t changed. We still need the Lord as much as ever–even more. We still need Him to grant life and faith and repentance and growth. We still trust Jesus for all He’s done for us and for His steadfast intercession. We still depend on the Spirit to be our daily Helper, our Guide, our Groaner. We still ask for His fruit.

What a surprise to notice that, before the old blossoms have died, a new and promising shoot has sprung up on my orchid. He has supplied new life–fruitfulness multiplied. May it be so in this home.

In 4 short weeks the Lord has proved, again, that He never changes. He is the same yesterday, today, forever. He doesn’t forsake His children when they change homes. He doesn’t leave them alone or cast them out.

When He gives a gift, even a physical one, He gives it as a loving Father who delights in His child. Our response to the gift says something about us, not Him. Our suspicion, our stiff-arming, or on the other hand, our clutching and grasping, our gorging for more, all reflect on us. But His gifts are good and a child in the secure arms of Jesus simply says, “Thank you,” and gets to work making good use of the talents on loan.

May you do that for us, Lord. Put us to work for your kingdom, through the gift of a home on loan from you. What joy is found in these small renderings, for from him and through him and to him are all things. He gets the glory while our joy knows no bounds.

We have changed houses, but our home will always be kept in Him.