gratitude – Page 5 – Abigail Dodds

Embracing Life as a Succulent

By: Abigail Dodds July 22, 2014

everyday, family, gratitudeLeave a Comment

Life around here continues to be chapter after chapter in The Chronicles of the Sleep-Deprived. We’re actually on chapter 11, but who’s counting.

This state of affairs has me pondering succulent plants, at least for the few moments of the day when I am coherent enough to do such a thing as ponder.

Succulent plants are quite amazing. Their thick fleshy leaves retain water. They’re basically like a pregnant lady’s ankles. They can survive in very dry climates and make use of dew as a water source. They grow between a rock and hard place. They are unusually beautiful.

As there seems to be no quick fix to our sleep troubles, I’m praying for God to sustain us like succulents. Through bleariness, may we be storing up water in our leaves and apportioning it at just the right time. It can be challenging to be deep in the Word when my ability to focus lasts approximately 2.8 seconds. It’s challenging to read anything at all, which I dislike, because I love to read.

Trying to focus on reading is like trying to focus on the big E on the eye chart during a rock concert with the fog machines on full blast. I know it’s an E, but am I supposed to say “E”? No, wait, I think it’s about what direction it’s pointing. Is it left or right? Well, my left or the E’s left? Wait, if it’s pointing up, that’s North, right? What’s this book about again? And why am I still on page 3 after a month of reading?

At this point in our lives, it’s time to take the truth that’s been written on our hearts, planted and rooted over many years, and apply it. This may not be the time for learning and deep study. But, a short children’s memory verse is enough to uphold a weary heart. The Lord says to Jeremiah, “I am watching over my word to perform it.” And so He is. May His simple truths go deep into our fleshy limbs. May the water of the Word be stored up in every nook and cranny of our being, giving life even in the dry, sleepless seasons.

And for any of you praying for us, pray for Titus and his sleep and night time comfort. We love him so. He is a happy boy who delights us all the day, and, continues to want our close company all the night. This has worsened with his starting baby food as he seems to be uncomfortable. We very much appreciate all the prayers and care that we have received. They are a cool cup of water in Jesus’ name!

The Garden in the Grave

By: Abigail Dodds June 19, 2014

body of Christ, everyday, gratitude2 Comments

For a number of years I’ve wanted to start a vegetable garden, but circumstances prevented me: too pregnant, too tired, too clueless, and finally, no good place to put one.

This year we went for it. That’s not to say that I am no longer clueless or tired, but I have no excuse regarding pregnancy and we’ve got a good place for one and I’ve got a ten year old who’s got loads of initiative and zero fear. Which probably explains how we ended up with three vegetable gardens instead of one, so much for starting small. There’s the kids’ garden (actually Eliza’s garden according to the ethics of the little red hen), mom’s garden (that’d be mine), and The Big Garden (planted on a wing and a prayer in the rain, thanks to the help of a friend and their tiller).

As Eliza and I were showing our work to my mom, she commented that Eliza’s garden looked a bit like a grave. And she was right. Eliza had hauled rocks up from the creek on a sled to make a border for her garden. With nothing growing in it and only the plant markers visible, I hadn’t realized how strange it looked. Whenever I looked at it, I was thinking of all the seeds we’d put in the ground and what it would be like to see sprouts or actual food there. It disturbed me to think of it that way, yet, verse after verse bubbled up in my mind, reminding me that a grave is the only place where a garden can grow.

And Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves me, he must follow me; and where I am, there will my servant be also. If anyone serves me, the Father will honor him.” (John 12:23-26 ESV)

It can be discouraging to look at the garden of your life and wonder where the fruit is. But perhaps instead of looking for the fruit, we should ask ourselves if we’ve done any dying lately. There’s no harvest without death. The very death that Jesus died on our behalf, enables us to die to sin as well. He suffered in his body so that we could turn from bitterness, envy, and strife. Then He takes the death of our bitterness and it falls into the ground and unleashes the sweetest fruit the world has ever tasted. Our envy is buried in the darkness and springs up a tender shoot of love in the light.

When fear and worry about the future have us stuck, unable to move, the death of Christ compels us. And through His death, we die to fear and are raised with roots of confidence that go down so deep in Him and His promises that they cannot be pulled up, blown over or scorched.

Do you know a fruitful person like this? Someone who has love, joy, peace, patience and all the rest in all the nooks and crannies of their life? Someone whose daily life is brimming with faithfulness? Does imitating it make you feel like a fake? Could it be because all that faithfulness and fruit is the result of their daily death to sin and isn’t something that can be replicated apart from death? You cannot be like them, just like you cannot be like Christ, without dying.

Fruitful people aren’t smarter or better or more organized or more free-spirited or prettier or plainer or keener about productivity than you. They’ve made a practice of dying. They love to obey their Father by following in the steps of their firstborn brother, Jesus.

But what do we do when the seeds are planted, yet the garden looks eerily like a grave? We look at it with the eyes of faith. The eyes of faith can peer through the soil and see the garden that will overtake the grave.

Faith is planting a seed and covering it in blackness, with the hope that life will emerge. Faith does not demand fruit, it does not insist on fast gratification, it hopes and hangs on, so that when a sprout pushes through, faith tends and keeps in hope, that a tiny sprout could actually bring forth a giant pumpkin, that a weak simple-minded child could actually bring intense glory to God.

Of course there are weeds. In one sense, all of life is weeds, whether we’re fruitful or not, we can be assured of weeds, some of our own making, many not. When I first took inventory of the plot of The Big Garden, it was frightening: stinging nettles, thistles, creeping charlie, you name it. It was the curse on steroids. I came out of out of there with scrapes, thorns, bug bites and sweat many a time (not to mention the friend who helped us). Now there are shoots of sweet corn emerging.

The Lord takes the most ugly, painful places and transforms them into the kind of usefulness that will benefit ten or one hundred fold. He did it with His Son and by grace, His Son will do it through you, to the praise of His glory.

What Does a Sad Ending Mean?

By: Abigail Dodds May 6, 2014

body of Christ, gratitude, questions, sorrow7 Comments

Trials are kind of like being jerked out of a sunny day and being thrown down into a well. It seems that all there is down there is dirt, no light, close air and claustrophobia. It can seem more like a pit than a well. But I’m reminding myself that God only ever puts his children in places where water will eventually flow. It may be a desert or a dark night, but he never leaves us alone.

How do we weather these times? How does a family who’s lost a dad, or a parent who’s buried a baby, or a woman who’s been betrayed, or couple longing for a child, weather the pain, the loss, and the fear?

I’ve asked myself that quite a bit as we’ve watched others walk these roads and tasted our own grief over an abnormal baby brain and an unknown future.

The other day the kids and I were heading home in the van and Eliza was finishing up a book in the back seat. Seth was reading the last chapter along with her, not having read the rest of the book. He commented to her, “It looks like it’s going to be a happy ending.” She responded, “Oh, I don’t like happy endings. That means the book is over.” Then she gave this insight, “But when things are scary or sad at the end, you know there will be another chapter or book coming.”

I can’t tell you the relief I felt as I remembered that a tragic ending means one thing: there’s another chapter coming. No matter how pit-like the well we’ve been tossed into, we’ll be at the King’s right hand someday, just like Joseph went from thrown in a hole, sold down the road, and ended up as Pharaoh’s right hand man, we too, have a future that’s beyond any we could dream up from the bottom of a well.

I’m also realizing that the wells of suffering are a place where we get to drink more deeply of his grace than we ever have before, a place where our thirst for him is drowned in knowing him more deeply. This doesn’t mean that we want the suffering, but rather that what gets us through is his presence. When suffering comes our way, we can recognize that there’s more going on here than just the universe dealing us a bad hand. God has a story He’s writing and we’re meant to be transformed in the telling.

This passage has always been a favorite, more so now.

“Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. ” (Romans 5:1-8 ESV)

Jesus’ sorrows were deeper than any other human being. He bore our sin. He is the picture of perfect suffering, which is such a comfort because he wasn’t giddy about it and we’re not meant to be either. Rejoicing in our suffering isn’t gleeful, trite, happy-go-lucky suffering. It’s a kind of suffering that has hope and the way it gets to that hope is first by enduring, or getting through it. Jesus endured the cross. He got through it. From endurance comes character, then hope. And hope is able to rejoice. Why? Because it’s had love poured right into its heart because of Christ’s grace toward us on the grounds of His death for us.

Also, this rejoicing can’t and doesn’t undo the pain. Jesus didn’t suffer any less, because of the hope He had. He still suffered every bit of the suffering God ordained for him and it still was the full dose of God’s wrath. His pain wasn’t mitigated by His foreknowledge. This is such an important thing to keep in mind when either you or someone you know is walking a hard path. Knowing Jesus gives us hope, but it doesn’t take away the pain. It isn’t meant to. The pain is actually God-ordained to produce things in us that would not be able to be produced any other way. Knowing Jesus is meant to give us reasons to rejoice alongside the pain. They walk hand-in-hand, one doesn’t cancel the other out.

We’ve had some good weeks at our house. It feels like an upswing. I suppose that’s why I want to write about suffering and pain, because writing about it in the worst of it is pretty difficult. But, I’m hoping that by getting my thoughts down now, they’ll be here for me when I can’t see my way through the trials as clearly. And I hope they’ll be a help to anyone reading too, by God’s grace.

He split rocks in the wilderness and gave them drink abundantly as from the deep. He made streams come out of the rock and caused waters to flow down like rivers. (Psalm 78:15-16 ESV)

Signs of Life

By: Abigail Dodds April 17, 2014October 28, 2014

body of Christ, everyday, gratitude1 Comment

Around here I’m looking for signs of growth both outside and under our roof as I watch our son and try to get a read on him. In some ways I know everything about him, in other ways I’m so in the dark!

My privilege is to love him, care for him, help him, push him forward, and with that the difficulty of the necessary evaluating and wondering. How often do we say things about our babies’ future like, “Just wait till he’s crawling!” or “He’s going to be a handful when he’s older!” or “In a couple years she’ll be talking your ears off!” We can say things like that and it’s completely appropriate. Being experts on our kids is part of the gig, which is part of what’s hard to bear about this. It’s not knowing if he’ll be here in ten years, or what he’ll be like if he is here in ten years. It’s not being able to answer the questions about him, because I just don’t know, and as his mom, I want to know. I’m learning a whole new kind of parenting, the kind that doesn’t assume anything about the future and yet is fully invested in its possibilities. I’ve got a long way to go.

Day by day and sometimes hour by hour I’m asking God to help me know the hope to which He has called me. I want to be so full of that hope, the hope that I have because of Jesus’ resurrection from the dead. Maybe you will ask God to make this hope known to you as well. There are so many people who are deep in grief and suffering. Or deep in sin. The only balm for grief is the resurrection balm and the only cure for sin is the resurrection cure. Here’s Paul’s prayer:

“that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come. And he put all things under his feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all.” (Ephesians 1:17-23 ESV)

May our hope be in the immeasurable greatness of his power and his great might that raised Jesus from the dead and can forgive our sins and make us alive, forever. Sunday’s on its way.

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.

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.

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.

A Tribute to Our Home and to the God Who Gave It to Us

By: Abigail Dodds May 9, 2013May 9, 2013

body of Christ, gratitude, photographygratitude, home3 Comments

For 7 years and 7 months we’ve called this place our home.

This place where I sit now, where I watch my kids laughing on the couch, snuggled neck deep in goofiness and a blanket. This is a good place.

It is this good place that we will say goodbye to in a short month and half. Places matter to me. They matter because you build your life in them. You bring babies home to them. You share countless meals with friends under their roof. Homes become more than material, they become a reflection of the people that live in them, the people that share them, the people that write on their walls.

Which is why heaven will be so marvelous. It will be a home perfected by Jesus and His Righteous people. A place where we can put down roots that never get pulled up. It will be a glorious place with walls and streets and everything that makes a home a home–most importantly, the people, the Person.

Can you say thank you to a material thing? Sure, but it’s pointless. Can wood or stone hear you to receive the praise? But you can say thank you for a material thing–thank you for the rooms, the wood, the brick, the concrete that holds it together. Thank you for the ceilings and walls, the oven and fridge, the lights and windows. And the thanks all belong to God. He’s the Giver.

So, here is my tribute to our home, my thankfulness to God, which I boast in, because of all He’s done, because of the story He’s told of His glory here, in this place.

For the open doors that welcomed three new babies and kept us all warm in the winter and cool in the summer. The doors that opened for family and friends and neighbors, even when the doorbell was broken, I give thanks.

For the rooms that held sleeping babes grown to children. For the number of bedrooms that forced them to share, so that they have never known differently and wouldn’t change it if they could. For the storage space turned “cabana room” under the stairs that has seen every kind of play and a hundred kids’ movies. For the family room and dining room where the Word has been opened and our hearts have opened as well–opened to you, Lord, and to one another, in weeping and rejoicing, opened in songs, I give thanks.

For the kitchen, the place where I learned to enjoy cooking (at least some of the time) and to try new things and to delight in the children who are wanting to help. For the hours and hours of school work done here. For the oven and stove that worked, whether clean or not, and prepared hot food for many in Jesus’ name. For the sink and dishwasher that washes every night–one new mercy that meets me in the morning, I give thanks.

For the lights that kept us glowing in the dark months and the windows that kept us sane, with a view to bigger things. On days when I thought I wouldn’t make it, this gift of a home has always let the light in and the Lord has snatched me out of darkness to the true Light of His Word and Jesus who is to be found there. For the windows and the light, I give thanks.

For my journey with orchids here, that has been analogous to my own story. For the orchids that have died under my care, that remind me of all the dying I’ve done here–the deaths purposed by my Caretaker–deaths of selfishness and pride and envy and all kinds of ugliness. Deaths that will continue wherever I go. And for the one orchid that has lived here, blossoming, going dormant, and blossoming again, I am reminded that I’ve lived here, too. That in Christ, this has been a place of flourishing and seasons. Life that will continue wherever I go. For the death and the life, I give thanks.

God has called us away from this good place to another place, a place where we are excited to go, a place where, Lord willing, we will tell this story again and deeper. May you do it Lord, may you make a home out of mere brick and stones and wood–may your story be told on its walls and in its rooms. May you refine us and own it all. For this new adventure, I give thanks.

Praise the Lord!
I will give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart,
in the company of the upright, in the congregation.
Great are the works of the Lord,
studied by all who delight in them.
Full of splendor and majesty is his work,
and his righteousness endures forever.
He has caused his wondrous works to be remembered;
the Lord is gracious and merciful. (Psalm 111:1-4, ESV)