tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73689553101653396972023-11-16T02:53:33.604-08:00With a Contented Heart...for I [am learning], in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.
Phil. 4:11Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-34476234993047432642020-09-18T16:41:00.003-07:002020-09-18T16:41:55.473-07:00Wildfires<span id="docs-internal-guid-341ee05d-7fff-c235-8bd5-5582aa5db4b0"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="435" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/pPoWEmLGndXWw99WGa0vGjAYGAFQSFeGF_KXixXBbdMPcQGHsAxhqdl4b_w0z2Iw2MvK9A8HaNoW_L8A9aFTpNgbZr35olYCCJnewKFHYrcaOUFKqLUxQ8sZyINr4yGEUnGzVjMw" style="font-size: 11pt; margin-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px;" width="326" /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In 2003, the B&B Complex wildfire ravaged 90,000 acres of the Deschutes National Forest. Observers were stunned by the fury of the fire that had a 35,000’ smoke plume, spread rapidly, and created its own weather.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last August on an idyllic summer day, my husband and I hiked through a portion of the wilderness burned in that fire. More than a decade later, the land still bears scars of the fire’s devastation. However, the vestiges of the fire were not what was striking. Everywhere we looked, new growth exploded through the charred remains. Wildflowers, huckleberries and blueberries, butterflies and bees met us at every turn. The forest was buzzing with life. While the fire had wreaked havoc on the area and evidence of that destruction remained, it also cleared out the underbrush, paving the way for new, vibrant growth.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><div><span><br /></span></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-4a99934b-7fff-707f-72e8-d4d12aa07620"><div style="text-align: center;"> <img height="407" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/OKsYaSxbryVIttDhrEv9nrvF7KjqESieuvKe1_SP9B8hkids1VMuqZdKXQQ4y7OO1sZ20yK-95qDjEOSP1NAkHsjjV8quqSYy9kq-yhFpKUen0nJ7yHROJGut7gCh-Of1_VOSoVd" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px;" width="305" /></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sometimes we have forest fires in our lives. For many, 2020 has delivered both symbolic and literal fires, one after another. In such times, it can be hard to imagine recovering, let alone producing flowers or fruit. But God uses the forest fires of our lives to burn off the underbrush, refining us, so we can rise from the ashes and bloom, reflecting Him to a hurting world..</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">An anonymous hymn writer penned, </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply; </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I will not, I will not desert to his foes.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ll never, no never, no never forsake.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you feel shaken? A bit whiplashed by the events of the last several months? Me too. May you and I find encouragement and hope in the fact that God does not waste these trials, nor does he abandon us to them. In Deuteronomy 31:6, God instructed Israel how to respond to their enemies. His admonition also applies to our response to trials: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”</span></p></span><p> </p>Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-11795247628779984462019-03-15T15:59:00.000-07:002019-03-15T15:59:51.027-07:00Valley of Deep Darkness<br />
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I'm sitting at my laptop just now, scrolling through social media, catching up on emails while I wait for my lunch to heat. New Zealand pops up on the feed, so I Google because I've been disconnected this morning and apparently missed something big. And suddenly the sun dims a bit as images of confusion and grief and chaos come up on the screen, and I sit. Just sit. Motionless. A billion thoughts and none at all run through my mind simultaneously. I want to rewind time, please, although I'm not sure where I would stop. How about this morning, as I sat in a circle with saints twice my age and sang "'tis so sweet to trust in Jesus ... how I've proved Him o'er and o'er." Yes, I'll go back and linger there a while. Appreciating the moments as I should have this morning. And I will bask in the warmth of grandma hugs and time-tested hymns sung by those who have journeyed long enough to have proven the words. Any thought beyond those walls will be of the daffodils peeking out of the soil and the scent of spring on the breeze. Because gut honest, the world outside those walls disappoints me. Scares me. Horrifies me. This is what I have to give my children? This is what I am launching them into? Let me gather my babies and run far away to a world where people are kind and loving and honest and humble. <br />
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A quote by one of my heroes comes to mind. Corrie ten Boom said, "When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don't throw away your ticket and jump off. You sit still and trust the engineer."<br />
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And then the irony hits me ... that this very morning in that circle of saints, we looked at the faith of Moses, how he persevered because "he saw Him who is invisible." And we studied the Valley of Deep Darkness (Ps 23:4) and David's reminder that our Shepherd doesn't abandon us in the valley. Instead, He leads us through and is glorified by our trust in Him through the confusion, the grief, the chaos.<br />
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My phone buzzes and I glance down, notice the verse of the day: "When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul." (Ps 94:19) And I smile at God's timing as the microwave announces lunch is ready. <br />
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<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-4993969871565349112019-01-29T08:33:00.000-08:002019-01-29T08:33:30.176-08:00Perspective<br />
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"I want a window with a view," I whined to my husband as I stared at a windowless wall of my house. On the other side of that wall, I knew was a glorious sunrise. It wasn't my finest moment. I could have moved my lazy self to a different room to watch the day awake. But my chair was cozy and it was easier to wish for what wasn't. Later (and after I had come to my senses!), I gazed out the window at the lightening sky and was reminded how foundational perspective is. See, from that window, I could either focus on the houses and traffic outside, or I could look beyond to the majestic fir trees on the backdrop of a warm morning sky with its gradient of soft yellows and blues. What would I choose?<br />
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The other day I pulled into the parking lot of a nature park. I had packed my breakfast and was going spend my few spare minutes allowing my soul to refill before the day crowded in, even if it meant doing so from the front seat of my minivan. My gaze took in the towering trees, the falling leaves indicating winter was on its way, the flitting birds, the outhouse. Yes, outhouse. And the matter of perspective came crashing in once again. There, with a bowl of oatmeal on my lap, I realized that I had a choice. I could set my vision in one direction and see beauty and glory and God's handiwork. Or I could turn the other direction and see the toilet. My circumstances didn't change. Either way, I was seated in the same position, same minivan, same oatmeal, same to-do list. The only thing that changed my view was my direction of focus.<br />
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What will you focus on today? I recommend the trees, not the toilet!<br />
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<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-42914600315517416192016-01-06T21:43:00.001-08:002016-01-06T21:44:03.543-08:00Corrie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was named after Corrie ten Boom. (Chloe Ferguson being a pen name I assumed to maintain some anonymity, mainly for my kids' sake.) With age has come increasing awareness of the honor of such a namesake. How I would love to approach life with Corrie's faith, submission, and strength. Yet how I shy away from anything closely resembling discomfort, let alone the type of horror that I think ultimately shaped Corrie into who she was.<br />
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We've been having repeated conversations around here about the sort of wrapping paper God uses on His gifts. Both the kids and I need a reminder that regularly, God wraps His packages in all sorts of ugly. And like walking past a diamond because it's caked in muck and mud, we miss out on incredible blessings if we refuse to press through the messy, sometimes painful wrapping, and look for the gift buried inside. <br />
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See, God uses the yuck in our lives to make us into who He needs us to be. Alan Redpath says, "When God wants to do an impossible task, he takes an impossible person and crushes him."<br />
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Corrie would simply be a watchmaker's daughter without her stand of faith that landed her in Ravensbruck ... a horror that opened the door for her to inspire thousands and glorify God's name. <br />
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And Joseph would merely be a pesky little brother with a colorful coat, and Esther would be Hadassah the Jewish refugee, and David would be a lowly shepherd, and Moses would be an adopted Egyptian royal and the list goes on. But because of the trials and tragedies and even horrors that God allowed in each of these Biblical greats' lives, they became infamous men and women, inspiring fellow believers down through the centuries to press on toward the prize.<br />
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So where does that leave me? I still am pain-averse, longing to find the magic ticket that delivers spiritual maturity wrapped in a pretty little comfortable box. Unfortunately, I see no Biblical promise suggesting such a thing exists. And so, I too press on, discovering that praise is only a sacrifice when said through tears at the end of oneself, trusting that God will do a magnificent work through the impossible situations in my life. <br />
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A lyric from a song on the radio today lingers long after the notes fade. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jb1TTADzf9Y" target="_blank">"The more broke you are, the more the light gets through." </a> I think Corrie would agree.Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-14717127280534490112015-12-19T11:41:00.001-08:002015-12-19T11:41:29.308-08:00When Christmas Seems Cruel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Several times since Thanksgiving I have turned on the Christmas music only to immediately punch it off again, opting for silence over seemingly superficial merriment. Usually, Bing, Nat, and Dean are chums I welcome each December. This year, however, their cheery voices have at times felt more intrusive and mocking than merry. Because the mess of life doesn't vacation at Christmas. People still senselessly kill other people, disease tears apart families, and the world aches with longing for a Saviour. <br />
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I've seen and spent more tears the last month than seems fair for this time of year ... A friend chokes out a dire prognosis, family quakes with incomprehensible tragedy, elderly eyes puddle as a woman explains she's outlived her loved ones, the news announces another shooting rampage. And Longfellow's words penned in the thick of loss 150 years ago flit through my mind, and I sigh, identifying.<br />
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<i>And in despair I bowed my head. </i></div>
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<i>"There is no peace on earth," I said. </i></div>
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<i>"For hate is strong and mocks the song </i></div>
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<i>of peace on earth, goodwill to men." </i></div>
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I start to explain to the kids why I don't feel much like decorating, why I'd prefer to pull my blankie over my head, stick my fingers in my ears, and sing "la la la la la". But even as the words are on my lips I realize that's not fair to them. They need a reason to celebrate. We all do.</div>
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A. W. Tozer said, "It is doubtful God can use anyone greatly until He has hurt him deeply." I partly recoil, partly rejoice hearing that. Afterall, who asks to be crushed, wounded, broken? But in the truth of Tozer's statement, lies hope. Hope that at least this pain has a purpose. That it's not wasted. That beyond my limited understanding and vision, there is a sovereign and loving God who still has all this turmoil under control .... and even more has a great and glorious plan in it all. The end-story has been written. And it ends well.<br />
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Like a whisper across snow, it occurs to me. I have more reason to celebrate this year than perhaps any other. Because 2000 years ago, a wee babe was born in a dank, dark stable descending into our dank, dark, sinful world to shine a light of hope. And that Light is still shining into our dankest darkest situations, delivering purpose, light ... hope to the pain. Celebrating Christmas this year may look and feel different. It may be done with a bittersweet ache, a true sacrifice of praise. But because of the Christ of Christmas there is reason to celebrate! <br />
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<i>Then pealed the bells more loud and deep,</i></div>
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<i>God is not dead, nor does He sleep</i></div>
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<i>The wrong shall fail</i></div>
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<i>The right prevail </i></div>
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<i>With peace on earth, good-will to men!</i></div>
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<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-42568118762688500532015-11-20T17:36:00.000-08:002015-11-20T17:36:07.769-08:00Celebrating the Moment<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A friend commented today that I hadn't written in a while. I hadn't realized that it has been nearly a year since my last post. Gadzukes! I used to hear my grandparents comment that the older they got, the faster time passed. I thought it was a quirky quip of my elders. Now, I'm discovering they were right.<br />
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While I have had many periods over the last year of feeling like I had nothing to say, more so, I have realized that I am most inspired in the crisis moments. God has a tendency to show up greater when I'm floundering and at my whit's end (or more accurately, coming to the end of myself, I can see Him). I stopped writing in those moments because I didn't want people to think that my life was just one crises after another, that I was some sort of drama queen craving attention. But perhaps that was wrong. Perhaps I was silencing my original intention with this blog ... that God would be glorified through the messes in my life. Maybe I lost sight of that.<br />
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This year has been one of learning to be thankful for and in the moment. Of looking for the gift even in the yuck. Of floating my way through life like a balloon, unburdened by worries or cares because I have cast them on Him. I would love to announce that I have learned the lesson, can check that one off my list and move on to the next. Not so. Every day presents a battle, some bigger than others, and God seems to offer frequent opportunities to practice the lesson He wants me to learn.<br />
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Today, thankfully, I am at peace. Because I know so well the restlessness of fear and anxiety, peace's presence is so, well, peaceful! Circumstances may be anything but peaceful with outstanding medical tests, unrest in the east, tragedy in Paris, etc yet I serve a God who offers a peace and rest that we, in our finite minds, cannot comprehend. How grateful I am for that gift.<br />
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So this evening, I will rejoice in the little things ... the gift of song, croakily crooned by a sick boy cuddled on the couch playing Lego Star Wars; rich comforting soup on the stove; a reprieve from the gray drippy skies; coffee with a good friend; the dog at my feet ... and I will give thanks for the rich, abundant life that is mine, only by His grace.Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-23848333699410661222015-01-09T22:00:00.003-08:002015-01-09T22:00:34.665-08:00...her floors are sticky and she laughs a lot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's Friday night, the fireplace is ablaze, and I'm curled on the couch, legs and feet tangled in a blanket with those of a lanky seven year old. I think a stuffed snowman is cuddled in here somewhere too. Empty pizza boxes litter the counters, paper plates scatter the floor. Jammies replaced jeans much before bedtime and the kids and I are settled in to enjoy our end of the week movie night. <br />
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It has been a long week of sick kids and late nights, unfinished to-do lists and traitorous hormones. I have spoken out of turn, given stress the upper hand, forgotten <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2+Peter+1%3A3&version=NIV" target="_blank">2 Peter 1:3</a>. I need this cozy down time as much as the kids. And so, I have given myself (and thus the rest of the family) a (guilt-free) gift this evening: the luxury of paper plates, take-out, and each other. The list of chores can wait until tomorrow (or Monday!). I am relishing the peace of the undone.<br />
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This summer when we were traveling, I ran across a mug with this quip:<br />
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<i>"apparently she gave up on being perfect because her floors are sticky and she laughs a lot."</i> </div>
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While witty and cute, it resonated. How many memories have I soured or missed because I was focused on messes or chores, needing to finish one more task, wanting everything "just so"?</div>
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So potential visitors beware ... I am learning the art of dancing on sticky floors. If you come to my house, you may find dishes in the sink, dog hair on the carpet, and clothes in the laundry baskets ... and laughter in the halls.</div>
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<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-91873046701323210732014-12-24T23:21:00.003-08:002014-12-24T23:21:58.976-08:00Reflections<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is the first night I've sat quiet under the Christmas tree. The kids are tucked snug in their beds, the house is still, the lights dim. This is my favorite part of the season, the reward at the end of my to-do list, the reason I (try to) start planning for the holidays early. There is something peaceful and reflective and cozy about this setting, something that seems absent or overlooked the other months of the year. Perhaps this peace is always available and it's seeming allusiveness is my own doing, as I'm distracted by the glitz of the TV or the false need for noise, oblivious to the fact that I'm exhausting my soul rather than feeding it. Or maybe it's that God in flesh seems so much tangible this time of year, the reality of a mighty God entangling Himself in human flesh to free me from the entanglement of sin.<br />
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And so I sit under the tree and reflect, consider the life God has given me. I am blessed beyond description, although sometimes it's hard to recognize the blessing in the normal without stepping back and looking with new eyes. The weight of the day-to-day tries to overshadow the grace God weaves through the mundane. Tonight, I am keenly aware of that grace as I look at the ornaments on the tree, recognize the passage of time each represents.<br />
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When I was a new mom, strangers would stop me, and they all offered the same message: "enjoy it, they grow so fast." And I'd smile and nod and wonder if they had any idea how exhausted I was, how tired I was of wiping noses and bottoms and sticky floors, how time must be treating me completely different than it did them. And then suddenly twelve years have passed in an instant and instead of wiping noses and singing lullabies, I'm having tough conversations that range from sin and atonement to mini-skirts and the opposite sex. <br />
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As I sit under the tree tonight, I realize that while I was deep in the toddler trenches longing for sleep, I was wishing away precious moments. In retrospect, I see that those strangers were trying to tell me to embrace even the mundane moments; to slow down, ignore the piles of laundry and cheerios on the floor and be fully present with my children. I regret that often times I felt I had nothing left in me to do just that, to have the conversations at bedtime, to laugh and be silly and enjoy the chaos that was my life ... ultimately to find beauty in that chaos.<br />
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While I'm out of the toddler trenches (and admittedly, it's hard not to say that without doing a bit of a happy dance), life comes so fast, it is easy to let the moments pass and simply ride the momentum. As I see the rate at which my children are growing, I'm trying to get off the ride. I'm discovering the value of playing Legos past bedtime, of postponing my to-do list to address the deep questions, of reading to them while they still want me to. Part of me feels like I'm starting all these practices a little late. But regret will accomplish nothing, so I push on, thankful that God is opening my eyes and rearranging my priorities before I lose any more time. I know I will have setbacks, nights that I go to bed frustrated with myself. But my prayer is that next year, as I sit quiet under the Christmas tree, I will be able to look back at a year full of seized opportunities, deep conversations, and abundant laughter. That God's grace will be woven through our chaos with a scarlet thread proclaiming His intimate involvement in our lives.<br />
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Merry Christmas!<br />
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<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-19269069243357543492014-11-19T20:44:00.000-08:002014-11-19T20:44:03.923-08:00My Source of Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I pulled into the gas station this morning, the 5 miles 'til empty light daring me to test its accuracy. Rolled down the window to place my fuel order with the attendant, only to realize I had parked with the wrong side of the car facing the pump, testimony to my distracted state. I was running behind. The gas station attendant was not. He could have been on vacation-time at the rate he ambled across the expansive station to get to my car, the only customer. I tried not to be impatient. I had just left Bible study, after all. <br />
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When he struck up a conversation I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I needed to slow down, and gave the moment back to God. He asked me if I had just gotten off work and was heading home. It was one of those split-seconds filled with 100 possible answers. Should I tell him where I had been? "I've been at Bible study," I responded. His eyes lit. For the next 15 minutes he talked about his new relationship with God. He had just started reading his Bible. He had started praying. God was answering his prayers in miraculous ways. He couldn't wait to tell me, a stranger. I tried to wrap up the conversation several times. I had a coffee date with my Bible study friends to get to. He had no interest in me leaving and ironically no other customers arrived to distract him. I allowed the chat to continue. <br />
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In the end, I missed my coffee date. Yet while disappointed, I was at peace. I couldn't ignore the fact that God gave me something in its place -- a reminder that His agenda is far superior to mine ... if I'll give Him the reigns.<br />
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The other day I was listening to author Ted Cunningham talk about marriage. He made a profound statement that has kept returning to the forefront of my thoughts. He said marriage will always be frustrated as long as we're looking to our spouse for our source of life. While definitely true of marriage, I can see how this truth applies to so many additional aspects of life. <br />
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Since hearing that message, I have added a new inner dialogue. When the kids are growly and complaining I say to myself "they aren't my source of life. Christ is my source of life. My joy and contentment come from Him not them." When my spouse is out of sorts I say to myself, "he is not my source of life. My joy and contentment are found in Christ. I don't have to feel weighed down because he is." When my body is dragging and I'd rather curl up by the fire than fix dinner, I say to myself, "God, You are my source of life. Please help me serve my family joyfully even when I don't feel like it." When my agenda is interrupted, I say to myself, "as much as I like to have a tidy little world with predictable schedules and marked to-do lists, my agenda is not my source of life. God may have something better if I invite Him into my schedule. Slow down. Be flexible." <br />
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I could have missed an opportunity today. Had God not been reminding me to be plugged in to Him, I could have easily rushed on my way, frustrated by the slow service at a gas station. Instead I made a new friend, encouraged a brother in Christ, and went away encouraged myself. God is good.Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-68716730500475486792014-07-19T15:37:00.002-07:002014-07-19T15:37:28.269-07:00The Israelites 'n' Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Why couldn't the reprieve have lasted a little longer? " I was throwing myself a five-star pity party, confetti and all. We had finished a much needed week just the two of us, the kids farmed out to grandparents. No sooner had the little one gotten back, and she was complaining of a sick stomach. I watched the days' plans of me and sunny berry fields dissolve as she curled up in bed. It seemed like all the relaxation and rejuvenation of the past week vanished in an instant, and I was frustrated. Yet in those frustrated moments as I whined in the shower (all the while knowing I should be surrendering my plans to Him), I recognized something in myself. During the vacations of life, it's easy to get caught up in the fun and ease and put God on the back shelf. Frighteningly easy.<br />
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As I was working on my summer <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Nehemiah-Heart-Break-Member-Living/dp/1415873429/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1405796745&sr=1-1&keywords=kelly+minter+nehemiah" target="_blank">study of Nehemiah </a>this morning, it struck me how the Israelites suffered the same malady. Nehemiah 9 gives a rich, concise history of God's people, a history that seems to be a cycle of God's blessing, Israel's rebellion, God's discipline, Israel's repentance, God's forgiveness and blessing, Israel's rebellion .... repeat. Verse 28 says, "...as soon as they were at rest, they again did what was evil in Your sight..." <br />
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As much as I don't want to see myself in that cycle, I admit I can. I'd love to say that I feel closest to God during times of ease and smooth sailing. Sadly that often is not the case. While there are easy times in which I am overwhelmed by God's provision, rest, reprieve, I usually walk closest to God when times are challenging because I'm forced to press into Him. And somehow He miraculously infuses a sweetness into trials that makes those difficult times stand highlighted in my memory far more than the periods of calm waters and favorable winds.<br />
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Perhaps God does not allow the reprieve to linger for my benefit. Perhaps it is one of the mysteries of His sovereign love for me. As contradictory as it sounds, He's doing me a favor. Protecting me from the pride (Deut 8:12-14) that lurks behind a life of ease. In his sovereign and omniscient way, He's balancing mountains and valleys to strengthen my spiritual muscle, to shape this lump of clay to resemble His Son. <br />
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Somehow I think when we read about the abundant life Jesus promises, we see it through the lens of American culture, lumping together Jesus' abundant life and the fulfillment of the American Dream. Surely, in so doing, we commit a grave error, one that results in some measure of doubt and second-guessing when trials come and we're left reeling. We'd be doing ourselves a favor if we soon welcomed the speed-bumps. Like a splash of lemon juice to a berry pie, those sour times accentuate the sweetness of God in our lives, delivering true abundance.Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-84242859372492736482014-04-09T10:07:00.002-07:002014-04-09T10:19:38.590-07:00Soul Music<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>"Behold, how independent of outward circumstances the Holy Ghost can make the Christian!" </i><br />
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I read those words last night before sleep claimed me. Still worn from the events of last week, my soul needs extra nourishing and I read Spurgeon's devotion several times, willing his wisdom to sink into the deep places.<br />
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This morning the boy has returned to his spot on the bathroom floor, and I am frustrated with my own Eeyore self. After all, we've been dealing with this <a href="http://withacontentedheart.blogspot.com/2012/04/trusting.html" target="_blank">monster</a> for two years. You'd think I wouldn't have to climb out of the pit every time the kid has an episode, that I'd be able to "keep calm and carry on," and all that. Does feeling sucker punched have to be the natural maternal response to hearing your child moan in pain?<br />
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Charles Spurgeon's words flit through my mind and I return to <a href="http://www.ccel.org/ccel/spurgeon/morneve.d0408pm.html" target="_blank">last night's devotion</a>:<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Behold, how independent of outward circumstances the Holy Ghost can make the Christian! What bright light may shine within us when it is all dark without! How firm, how happy, how calm, how peaceful we may be, when the world shakes to and fro, and the pillars of the earth are removed! Even death itself, with all its terrible influences, has no power to suspend the music of a Christian's heart, but rather makes that music become more sweet, more clear, more heavenly, till the last kind act which death can do is to let the earthly strain melt into the heavenly chorus, the temporal joy into the eternal bliss! Let us have confidence, then, in the blessed Spirit's power to comfort us. Dear reader, are you looking forward to poverty? Fear not; the divine Spirit can give you, in your want, a greater plenty than the rich have in their abundance. You know not what joys may be stored up for you in the cottage around which grace will plant the roses of content. Are you conscious of a growing failure of your bodily powers? Do you expect to suffer long nights of of languishing and days of pain? O be not sad! That bed may become a throne to you. You little know how every pang that shoots through your body may be a refining fire to consume your dross -- a beam of glory to light up the secret parts of your soul. Are the eyes growing dim? Jesus will be your light. Do the ears fail you? Jesus' name will be your soul's best music, and His person your dear delight. Socrates used to say, "Philosophers can be happy without music;" and Christians can be happier than philosophers when all outward causes of rejoicing are withdrawn. In thee, my God, my heart shall triumph, come what may of ills without! By thy power, O blessed Spirit, my heart shall be exceeding glad, though all things should fail me here below.</i></span></blockquote>
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Today I have a choice. I can sit at my desk, head in my hands, and wonder how we are ever going to tame this monster. I can make myself crazy considering unanswered questions and an uncertain future. Or I can choose to stand. I can choose to take God at His Word. To trust that in the trials, God is planting roses of content, consuming my dross, and making His name my soul's best music. May it be so.<br />
<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-53443080723012877132014-04-02T17:08:00.002-07:002014-04-02T17:08:55.153-07:00It is Well<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Mom, it feels like God has betrayed me." He looks at me, hair mussed with sweat, questions in his pain-reddened eyes. And my heart squeezes because I get it. I remind him that God allows pain in our lives to make us stronger. He declares he'd rather be weak and avoid the pain. Oh yeah, I definitely get it. <br />
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Eight years old seems young to be faced with the task of making faith his own. Seems like he's still the age of singing <i>Jesus Loves Me</i> and believing it because he has no reason not to. But as he's curled tight on the bathroom floor, knife-pain slicing through his gut, exhausted from hours of dry-heaving, the happy Sunday-school stories collide hard with reality and a boy is grappling with questions that mature adults struggle to make peace with. <i>If God loves me, why am I in pain? I prayed; why isn't the pain going away? Why is He letting this happen to me? </i><br />
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In the last 24 hours, the boy and I have had theological discussions I never imagined having with an 8 year old. They're questions I'm still working out myself. Ironically, it seems such poignant, deep conversations occur in the oddest places. Maybe because there's not much else to do in the wee hours hanging out on cold linoleum. Honestly, I'd much prefer them worked out over a cup of chai at the kitchen table in mid afternoon, than spoken between moans at 2 in the morning. But maybe when life is easy, we forget to ask the questions, are too busy to hear the answers. <br />
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And so we talk about sovereignty and suffering and refinement. I remind him that Jesus asked to be delivered from pain too, but ultimately trusted God's will for Him, trusting His love and perfect plan. That He commiserates with pain, understands wanting it gone, understood it enough to endure it in order to conquer it once and for all. I say all the things I am supposed to say, and then slip away to let the hot water run over me. I repeat my sermon to myself, begging the Holy Spirit to help me live the words I've just preached, to stand firm. A verse whispers in my ear, <i>"for the <b>joy</b> set before Him, He <b>endured</b> the cross." </i>He was able to endure the pain because His focus was on the joyous prize: the purpose in the suffering. <br />
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Can I not follow His example? Does God not enable me to endure the pain of this world by giving it a glorious purpose and reminding me to set my eye on the prize He has for me? Is that not part of being crucified with Christ, sharing in His suffering?<br />
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As Easter approaches, I'm aware how easy it is to glibly say "I believe." But if I really do, how does that belief translate to the knife-in-the-gut moments when it feels like God has betrayed me or turned His back? Does it bring hope to the trenches? Does it give me the ability to declare with confidence "if God raised His Son from the dead (!!!) surely He's big enough to handle this!?"<br />
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His pain easing, the boy hangs up the phone and smiles at me, tells me he has lots of people praying for him. I turn the <a href="http://youtu.be/0nJ6wQpLmuo" target="_blank">music</a> loud as saints sing ancient words they have proven true and I close my eyes and sing along because truly, it <b>is</b> well with my soul.<br />
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<i>When peace like a river, attendeth my way,</i></div>
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<i>When sorrows like sea billows roll;</i></div>
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<i>Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know,</i></div>
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<i>It is well, it is well, with my soul.</i></div>
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<i>Refrain:</i></div>
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<i>It is well, (it is well),</i></div>
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<i>With my soul, (with my soul)</i></div>
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<i>It is well, it is well, with my soul.</i></div>
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<i>Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,</i></div>
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<i>Let this blest assurance control,</i></div>
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<i>That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,</i></div>
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<i>And hath shed His own blood for my soul.</i></div>
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<i>My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!</i></div>
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<i>My sin, not in part but the whole,</i></div>
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<i>Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,</i></div>
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<i>Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!</i></div>
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<i>For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:</i></div>
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<i>If Jordan above me shall roll,</i></div>
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<i>No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,</i></div>
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<i>Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.</i></div>
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<i>But Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,</i></div>
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<i>The sky, not the grave, is our goal;</i></div>
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<i>Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!</i></div>
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<i>Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.</i></div>
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<i>And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,</i></div>
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<i>The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;</i></div>
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<i>The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,</i></div>
<i></i><br />
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<i><i>A song in the night, oh my soul</i>! </i></div>
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Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-82264822002957566482014-01-20T15:01:00.000-08:002014-01-20T15:02:04.360-08:00Cookie Cutter Sandwiches<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Mom, for lunch I want something special. Like when I'm bored .... so I clean my room .... and to surprise me you make me a sandwich shaped like a butterfly. Only I want one of those cheesy pizza things with only cheese ... and bread shaped like a dog." <br />
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And as she waxes eloquent in her 6-year-old-stream-of-consciousness way about special animal shaped lunches, my brain is scrambling to recall such a monumental event as her cleaning her room out of boredom. Not to mention me creating a butterfly-shaped sandwich! <br />
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Later I'm cookie cutter-ing doggies and teddy bears into cheesy flatbread, congratulating myself on my cool mom moment and bemoaning the fact no one is there to appreciate my awesomeness. How many amazing mom moments go by, day in and day out, that receive no thanks, let alone accolades or Employee of the Month awards! Not that I want a spotlight on me because my parenting skills fall flat more often than not, but sometimes just a simple thank you would be nice. <br />
<br />
.... <i>sometimes just a simple thank you would be nice.</i> Hmmm. I wonder if God ever thinks that about me. Because my kids' tendency to take me for granted resembles my own attitude toward my Father .... my excited receipt of the goodness and blessings, a hurried "thanks" and on to the next thing. No time taken to dwell on the Giver or consider the depth of love that compelled the gift.<br />
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Today, I run a bath for a boy with a stomach ache, give some ginger ale, say a prayer. Feeling better later, he finds me. "I love you so much, Mom. I try to thank you ... but ... it's just too big ... I don't know what to say." And I smile because I know the feeling of a heart overflowing with gratitude, awakened to how much I have to be thankful for.Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-6560341810098262842013-12-25T20:24:00.000-08:002013-12-25T22:57:20.091-08:00B-E-L-I-E-V-E<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Believe</i>.</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> This time of year, the word adorns shop windows, sits on mantles, scrolls across wall hangings. Even atop my kitchen cabinets, the glittery red letters encourage onlookers to believe. In what, I'm not really sure ... t</span>hat Santa will come on Christmas Eve? ... that a white Christmas is possible in the Pacific NW? ... that I can keep my sanity between November 25 and December 31 with three birthdays and two holidays to prepare for?<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> ... that 2000 years ago a baby was born in a stable to free the world …. me …. from the crippling burden of sin-guilt? </span><i>Believe</i>. Such a punchy word, ripe with potential. But without something to believe in, it is merely a row of seven letters, a hollow sentiment to print on Christmas decorations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-2255a056-2ce7-7906-691b-3bb4fb84d2b3"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s hard to believe when cynicism and skepticism come naturally, when life's events more resemble a bad dream than a fairy tale ending. </span></span><span style="line-height: normal;">This holiday has not looked like I anticipated. My vision of excited children and festive family celebrations around the tree has been tainted by kid squabbles and fisticuffs, bruised lips and egos, sniffles and fevers. Having been awakened by a sick kiddo in the wee hours last night, I was pondering ... and admittedly whining just a bit. After all, I thought I had heard God clearly about our holiday plans. I thought I was walking in obedience. But if I was, how come things kept going wrong? Why did the Norman Rockwell Christmas I envisioned not match our reality? </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And God gently pointed out that the first Christmas likely didn't look like Mary anticipated either. As I study the account of the young mother, I see no hint of doubt or doldrums, no panic or frantic attempts to control the situation. It's sobering to see a woman half my age respond to a task more magnificent than anything God will require of me, with a level of trust and faith far beyond what I see displayed in my own life. Yet I still have to wonder .... was there a moment in that dusty, dirty stable, perhaps in a lull between fierce contractions, that she looked around and shook her head? That the last nine months swept over her in a matter of seconds? That she reviewed the angel's message and realized the fruition of his prophecy looked entirely different than she anticipated? Or did she just take things moment by moment with the wisdom to avoid constructing preconceived notions, knowing that circumstances are poor indicators of obedience? Did she, in a word, believe?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.15;">Simple faith seems to be the hallmark of Mary's life. Whether to Gabriel's incredible announcement or to angelic tales delivered by uninvited smelly visitors to her stable nursery, Mary responds with quiet acceptance and unquestioning belief. The belief that I now think of whenever I see the printed word adorning my house. The belief that I needed to be reminded of last night. Belief that accompanies a deep breath, a step back, a release of control, a sigh of surrender, a counting of blessings. Belief in God's sovereignty. Belief that when the circumstances seem entirely fantastical God is still busy, ever in control, His deep love for His creation at the center of His plans. Belief in a magnificent God whose ways tend to the out of ordinary but laden with blessings for those who will say yes to Him. Believe that trusts, along with Mary, that God will keep me in perfect peace when my mind is fixed on Him, trusting (Isaiah 26:3). </span></div>
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<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-53544559733961574822013-10-08T21:18:00.002-07:002013-10-08T21:18:40.027-07:00When<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>When it seems there is</i></div>
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<i>more laundry than kids,</i></div>
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<i>more bills than funds, </i></div>
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<i>more chores than minutes,</i></div>
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<i>more noise than quiet,</i></div>
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<i>more chaos than peace,</i></div>
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<i>more questions than answers,</i></div>
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<i>more corruption than integrity,</i></div>
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<i>more enemies than friends,</i></div>
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<i>more hard times than glad,</i></div>
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<i>more uncertainty than stability,</i></div>
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<i>more frailty than strength...</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>there is still</i></div>
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<i>an omnipotent God,</i></div>
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<i>loving Father,</i></div>
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<i>Kinsman Redeemer,</i></div>
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<i>Prince of Peace,</i></div>
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<i>Faithful Bridegroom,</i></div>
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<i>compassionate Saviour</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>who </i></div>
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<i>hears</i></div>
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<i>understands</i></div>
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<i>forgives</i></div>
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<i>restores</i></div>
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<i>delights in</i></div>
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<i>adores </i></div>
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<i>YOU!</i></div>
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Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-61363063970839853492013-06-14T10:25:00.000-07:002013-06-14T10:25:07.349-07:00Chasing Rainbows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm not sure how old I was when I started chasing rainbows. Junior high, maybe high school. I learned to recognize that mysterious way the sun splits through a black sky, and I could just tell: it was a rainbow sky. And I'd grab my camera and fly out the door on a mission. <br />
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As I drove home yesterday, the sky had that luminous glow. Ominous clouds still threatened more than a drizzle, but somehow the sun had found a chink in the storm's armor and was letting the world know it was still there. I searched the sky for the rainbow, that sign of hope, the promise that all is never lost, and it occurred to me that this rainbow chaser needs to apply the principle to the rest of her life. <br />
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Here I love to go on impulsive trips in search of God's colorful promise of old, yet I fail to look for the symbolic rainbows in my life. Huh.<br />
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On a recent field trip to Mt. Saint Helens with #1's class, I was struck by the fact that wildlife survived such a cataclysmic eruption. Whether protected beneath a layer of lake ice or in a home deep underground, after the ash settled, noses peaked out of holes and fins still wiggled back and forth. And the narrator in the film explained, "where humans see catastrophe, nature sees opportunity." <br />
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And I realized that so often I allow the hard to distract me from the hope. Whether it's cranky kids that occupy my thoughts or the messier stuff of life, it is too easy to dwell on the difficult. I want to be more like nature. No, I want to be more like God. Yes, to acknowledge the hard stuff of life, to feel it's pain, but ultimately to focus on the rainbow. To see in catastrophe the opportunity for God to ... be God. To, as Kay Arthur so aptly puts it, "[grab] hold of God who already has a hold of [me] and [trust] He will keep His promises."<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>".... But if what makes you so very sad and miserable comes from Him, what can you say to the dear Lord?"</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i style="text-align: justify;">Heidi had to think what ought to be done in such a case; but she was very certain that one could obtain help from the dear Lord for every sorrow. She sought a reply from her own experience.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"Then you must wait," she said after a while with assurance, "and keep thinking; 'Surely now the dear Lord knows some joy which is to come out of this by and by, so I must be still for a little and not run away from Him.' Then all at once it will happen so that you will see quite clearly that the dear Lord had nothing but good in His mind all the time; but because you could not see it so at first, and only had the terrible sorrow all the time before you, you thought it would always remain so." (Johanna Spyri)</i></blockquote>
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Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-70145382972393392642013-05-26T12:17:00.000-07:002013-05-26T12:30:59.438-07:00On My Mind Today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>"..... when my world falls down, not for a moment will you forsake me...."</i></div>
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Amen!</div>
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<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-75623265189879246882013-05-22T12:10:00.000-07:002013-06-01T13:24:28.264-07:00God, Gandolf, and the Privilege of PainI like happy endings .... and happy beginnings .... and, well, happy middles are awfully nice too! ;-) I don't handle suspense well. I never have. Wondering if Mr. Darcy will ever change his mind about Miss Elizabeth Bennet is enough suspense for me. An Austen-lover, DH is not, so finding a movie we both appreciate is a bit tricky. Tolkein really isn't my cup of tea but I can tolerate it, and thus found myself curled up with My Love and<i> The Hobbit</i> last night.<br />
<br />
I'd be thrilled if the entire movie was set either in Rivendell or The Shire, but alas neither Tolkein nor Peter Jackson agree with me. Off the characters feel compelled to go through trial and torment and battle. The whole movie is suspense and orcs. Fun. Oh, and don't forget the most frustrating of wizards, Gandalf. I want to like him. I really do. He's kind and funny and makes fireworks. What's not to like? I just can't get beyond the fact that here you have this powerful, wise wizard who keeps his power tucked in his pocket until circumstances couldn't get much worse. In <i>The Hobbit</i>, he waits until the dwarfs are dangling from a tree suspended over the edge of a cliff before he sends his little moth friend off to tell the giant eagle birds to come to the rescue. And as I squirm in my seat longing for a cup of tea and a glimpse at Mr. Darcy, I can't help but irritatedly wonder why he didn't just save everyone the trouble and call in the eagle birds an hour ago. They could have swooped in and transported the dwarf party from peaceful Rivendell directly to their mountain. Why deal with all the heartache and danger in between? Why indeed. <br />
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Recently, God asked a good friend and me to organize a Mother/Daughter tea for our church. This was the second year we had felt God directing us to orchestrate the event. We work well together, carry a similar burden for women and mothers, and share a heart's desire to be surrendered to the Lord's will. On the surface it looked like things should come together easily. However, as we prayed and planned, the going got tough. Opposition seemed to rise from every side to the point one night I told God to never ask me to do anything again. Extreme? Yes. Dramatic? Definitely. But I was weary of the flinging arrows, weary of fighting, weary of struggling to keep my eyes on Him and the prize He set before me. We begged for more prayer support and pressed on. While God supplied brief respites from the attacks, the arrows continued to fly. Often we found our spirits buoyed and strengthened rather than the storm quieted. <br />
<br />
As the day of the tea grew closer, I was reflecting on the challenging journey during a conversation with my dad. I mentioned wondering how evangelists and teachers like Billy Graham and Beth Moore, people whose audiences number in the thousands, withstand the spiritual opposition. After all, if I was coming under such attack for a little tea, what must it be like for one preaching to filled stadiums? Dad's reply still lingers. "I don't know why attack comes stronger at some times than others. Perhaps God allows it more for our benefit than anything else." Ah.<br />
<br />
In retrospect I can see that all the trials we went through were, in a way, God answering our prayer that He receive all the glory. That the tea be about Him and not about us. That He be in every detail. I felt stripped bare. By the day of the tea, I was exhausted to the point of feeling sick, literally emptied of everything "me," left only with a humble surrender and a hopeful expectation to see God become strength in my weakness. <br />
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What if He had eliminated the difficult journey? If, like I so wish Gandalf would do, He sent in the reinforcements before the battle even began? I would have been spared the struggle, the tears, the heartache. And I would have missed seeing God work. My arsenal of circumstances in which God proved Himself and His faithfulness would be lacking. Would I choose the trials? Not exactly. And yet through them, I am reminded of their value. I have never experienced the intimacy with God in easy times that I've felt when things were tough. I'm learning, slowly, that pain is a privilege. As Ann Voskamp calls it, a hard eucharisteo. <br />
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Ravi Zacharias states, "if in a human material existence, pain is an indicator of something that is wrong and needs to be righted, isn't it possible for an infinite God to somehow have a purpose for the pain in your heart and mine so that we will ultimately turn to Him and realize that in Him alone [we] have [our] ultimate dependence and strength?"<br />
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<i>He giveth more grace as the burdens grow greater,</i></div>
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<i>He sendeth more strength as the labors increase,</i></div>
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<i>To added afflictions He addeth His mercy,</i></div>
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<i>To multiplied trials His multiplied peace.</i></div>
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<i>His love has no limit; His grace has no measure.</i></div>
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<i>His power has no boundary known unto men.</i></div>
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<i>For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,</i></div>
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<i>He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!</i></div>
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<i>When we have exhausted our store of endurance,</i></div>
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<i>When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,</i></div>
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<i>When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,</i></div>
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<i>Our Father’s full giving is only begun.</i></div>
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Annie Johnson Flint</div>
<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-33552652183354047702013-03-29T04:10:00.000-07:002013-03-29T21:20:54.667-07:00Holy Week Mingles with Life's Muck<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Our Holy Week has not resembled that of past years. Foot washing and communion have been replaced with draggy children and early bedtimes. My goal of little-to-no screen-time this week vanished with the first fever's arrival on Monday evening. I didn't have enough fight in me to argue with whiny kiddos.<br />
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Three o'clock Good Friday morning. My own restless sleep is interrupted by feverish wimpers, revealing the child's health I thought, hoped was improving is actually going the other direction. And I'm wiping a boy's burning, aching forehead, praying, and it hits me. The events of Jesus' life at this exact time 2000 years ago give me hope beyond this moment, beyond the wimpers and fevers of this life. How like God to meet me in the trenches.<br />
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The amazing thing about Jesus' life, crucifixion, and most importantly resurrection is that He brought the Holy to humanity, paving the path for us to approach His throne of grace with confidence (Heb 4:16). The trials and pain of life on this earth are not the end. How great His love for you, me that He would willingly suffer at the hands of the very people He was dying for, to give us hope beyond the yuck of this world .... a glorious hope of eternity spend in the presence of pure Love itself. My feeble brain cannot fathom such a gift.<br />
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No, Holy Week has not met my expectations. We may not even make it to church this weekend. But somehow that's ok. God knows. And He has made it clear that He is just as present in the bedroom of a feverish child on Good Friday morning as in a lily-adorned sanctuary on Easter Sunday.<br />
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<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-3963008691193327592013-02-22T15:20:00.000-08:002013-02-22T15:20:05.259-08:00Looking for a Rock .... or a Beach .... or Flowers?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Too bad flowers don't like motorcycles." I reached a new low when I texted those words. I've never asked my husband for flowers before. To do so robs much of the romanticism from the act. But the thought crossed my mind that him walking in with something colorful and cheery was what I needed, and since 14 years of marriage have taught me that trying to send him mental messages doesn't work and hoping he will read my mind doesn't either, maybe I'd just ask until .... oh yeah .... flowers don't look quite the same after they ride home on the back of a bike. Sigh. Maybe I'll hint anyway. <br />
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Yesterday I heard the still, small voice whispering, calling me to come spend some time at His feet. Reminding me that I hadn't really slipped away with Him for a while, hadn't soaked in His Word near enough. I heard the urging all day. And I assured myself that I would ... as soon as this sink of dishes was clean and after that part of dinner was prepped. And then a doctor appointment and trip to the pharmacy plopped themselves into my morning and kids needed to be fed and dog hair needed to be vacuumed and somehow today arrived and that little communion never took place. <br />
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And now another kid is in bed crying in feverish sleep and I've lost count of what week in a row this is that someone has been sick and I'm looking for a rock to crawl under or a beach to escape to. Surely someone else can be me for a while and I can run away. Surely? No? Then maybe I can settle for flowers? At this point I'd even take motorcycle-wind-blown ones. <br />
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And then it occurs to me. The irony removes the lump in my throat and I shake my head and smirk. How like God. That He would invite me to dwell on His Rock yesterday knowing what today would hold. That had I obeyed, I wouldn't be looking for a rock to crawl under because I would already be anchored in <i>the</i> Rock.<br />
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The still small voice whispers again. The invitation is still open, the Host still waiting, offering something better than flowers.Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-39001610586221437252013-02-18T14:23:00.000-08:002013-02-18T14:23:49.988-08:00Changing the life of a child<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Nashaki</i></span></div>
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For years, I would look at the abundance in my home and the ingratitude that seemed to accompany it and wonder how to infuse an attitude of appreciation into my children, how to demonstrate just how blessed we are. Their young ages prevented taking them on a mission trip to a less fortunate part of the world, and mom harping with comments like "starving children in Africa would be happy to have that broccoli" accomplished nothing. </div>
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Last summer, my husband and I agreed to sponsor a child through Compassion International and the impact on our family has been exciting. Having a name and a face for our kids to pray for, write to, and associate with someone less fortunate has helped expand their world just a little. On their own, they started a jar for spare change to save for Christmas and birthday gifts for their "African sister" Nashaki. When her letters arrive, they can't wait to hear how she's doing.</div>
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The little girl with deep chocolate skin has expanded my vision as well as my kids'. It reminds me that while serious troubles may come my way, there are little ones out there in much more dire straits. It reminds me to be open to opportunities where God may call me to reach beyond my borders to touch lives of His precious ones. </div>
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It has struck me just how little it takes to change someone's life. It is so easy, in our affluent North American culture, to spend the cost of sponsorship, $38, without batting an eye. It's probably a fair guess that most people's monthly latte fund is more than that. God clearly commands us to look out for the widow and orphan, for those less fortunate. Most are familiar with the verses (see James 1:27, Matt 25:31-46) and would agree, but life creeps in, schedules fill, another week passes and we have done little to impact anyone outside our circles, let alone put food in the mouth of someone who is hungry. April 21 is Compassion Sunday. I know that God hasn't called everyone to reach out through child sponsorship. But, I would encourage all to at least ask Him if sponsoring a child is something He would have you do. </div>
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Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-21084593486831001012013-02-08T10:58:00.000-08:002013-02-22T16:55:36.485-08:00Masterpiece, part 2God uses the foolish things to confound the wise (1 Cor 1:27) ... and perhaps the simple things to relay the profound. Such was the case this morning as I again reflected on Ephesians 1 and 2 and the fact that I am God's masterpiece. Ephesians 2:8-10 says, "God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can't take credit for this it is a gift of God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago" (NLT). So that list of things that makes me feel like a masterpiece? Rubbish. God's fingerprints on me have nothing to do with the sparkliness of my bathrooms or the obedience of my children. I can take no credit. <br />
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I have these little clay ornaments. * I've spent hours mixing clay colors to find just the right hue, pressing and squeezing and shaping, pricking and cutting, all the while praying that God will use them for His purposes. When they are ready for the oven, they appear nothing like the original lump of clay. I considered my little masterpieces this morning and it struck me: my little ornaments did nothing to become what they are. It was by my hands (and God's equipping because I am not an artist by any means) that they have taken their shape. And I love them because they are mine; I thought of them, and planned them, and finally I created them.<br />
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Perhaps the one disadvantage to being raised in a Bible-teaching home is that the amazing truths of God can become commonplace. That you've heard it so many times, it's easy for the living words to become as rote as knowing your own phone number. And when it does, God ever so gently takes something simple, tangible to breathe new life into the unhearing ears, awakening the dulled senses to the humbling truth that He adores His masterpiece. <br />
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<i>* for more information about these ornaments, please contact me though the link in my profile. </i><br />
<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-73013020628954850742013-02-07T10:36:00.002-08:002013-02-07T10:36:16.804-08:00You are a Masterpiece<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Do you feel like one? I don't know about you, but some days I feel much more masterpiece-ish than others. Usually it's a good hair day, I'm feeling patient, the house is clean, the kids are diligent and cooperative, dinner is ready on time, and everyone sleeps soundly all night. I give myself a little mental pat on the back and congratulate myself for a job well-done. Looking at that list of requirements, however, it shouldn't surprise me when a not so masterpiece-ish day crashes in on me a few days later.<br />
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For several months, I've been pondering the idea of what God thinks of me. I'm discovering my perspective is a little skewed. In some odd way, I think I require more of myself (which is pride) than God does, in that He doesn't beat me up when I fail. He knows it will happen, offers forgiveness and a fresh start, and moves on. Meanwhile, I'm still wallowing in frustration and self-loathing, annoyed that I made the same mistake <i>again.</i> Somehow I transfer that disgust to God. If I feel impatient with myself, He must even more so. Either I overlook the grace He is freely offering because I am busy condemning myself, or I accept the grace feeling so guilty that I miss the joy that should accompany the grace-gift.<br />
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In the first two chapters of Ephesians, Paul points out just how twisted my thinking is. Look at how God really feels about us:<br />
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We are:<br />
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<li>blessed with every spiritual blessing in the Heavenly realms (1:3 NLT)</li>
<li>loved before the creation of the world (1:4)</li>
<li>chosen (in Christ) to be holy (1:4)</li>
<li>adopted into His family. (1:5). <i>He enacted a plan, Jesus Christ, to be able to do this, and even more it gave him GREAT PLEASURE to do so. Paul says that "great pleasure". How cool is that!</i></li>
<li>purchased by the blood of His dearly loved Son (1:7)</li>
<li>forgiven (1:7)</li>
<li>showered with His kindness, wisdom, and understanding (1:8)</li>
<li>heirs to an inheritance (1:11)</li>
<li>given a purpose (to praise Him) (1:12)</li>
<li>saved (1:13)</li>
<li>identified as His own (1:13)</li>
<li>recipients of His great mercy and life through Christ (2:4)</li>
<li>loved so very much (2:4)</li>
<li>recipients of His special favor (2:5)</li>
<li>raised from the dead with Christ (2:6)</li>
<li>seated with Him in the heavenly realm (2:6)</li>
<li>one with Christ Jesus (2:6)</li>
<li>examples of His favor and kindness (2:7)</li>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">a Masterpiece </span></i></div>
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(2:10) </div>
Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-45052038790509011812012-12-14T13:10:00.000-08:002012-12-14T17:49:43.474-08:00What to say when words are hollowI'm supposed to be heading out the door to take my two youngest on a lunch and Christmas shopping date. We've looked forward to this with anticipation, but my heart is no longer in it. Instead my mind, still reeling from the shooting at <a href="http://www.komonews.com/news/local/Shooting-Clackamas-Town-Center-183077691.html" target="_blank">Clackamas Mall</a>, is with all those <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/us/2012/12/14/at-least-27-dead-in-shooting-at-connecticut-school/" target="_blank">families in Connecticut</a>. <br />
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Something changed in me when I became a mother. Senseless crimes involving children became personal. I can't fathom walking through such a tragedy as a parent. My mind can't wrap itself around that kind of horror. It makes me want to take my family and run for the hills. Live a life like Heidi and Grandfather tucked away with some nice goats on a rural mountainside. <br />
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I have no answers to the whys of such events. I know my God is faithful, sovereign. That nothing happens without passing through His loving hands. But this? Even this? In a letter from my kids' principal, he reminded us that God is no less sovereign now than he was this morning when the event occurred, and He will use events like these to draw us nearer to Him. I needed that reminder. <br />
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My eyes have been reopened to the gift of each moment. Sometimes we need to be reminded that the petty things which are so adept at raising our ire are of little significance in the big picture. That sending kids out the door in the morning with a hug and prayer is more important than railing over unfinished homework. That whispering "I love you" to a spouse is more valuable than nursing hurt feelings. Treasure what God has given you.<br />
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<i><span class="text Hab-3-17" id="en-NIV-22786" style="position: relative;">Though the fig tree does not bud</span></i></div>
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<i><i><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-family: monospace; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Hab-3-17" style="position: relative;">and there are no grapes on the vines,</span></span></i></i></div>
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<span class="text Hab-3-17" style="position: relative;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="text Hab-3-17" style="position: relative;">though the olive crop fails</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-family: monospace; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Hab-3-17" style="position: relative;">and the fields produce no food,</span></span></i></div>
</span><span class="text Hab-3-17" style="position: relative;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="text Hab-3-17" style="position: relative;">though there are no sheep in the pen</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-family: monospace; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Hab-3-17" style="position: relative;">and no cattle in the stalls,</span></span></i></div>
</span><span class="text Hab-3-18" id="en-NIV-22787" style="position: relative;"><sup class="versenum" style="display: block; font-weight: bold; left: -4.8em; position: absolute; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;"> </sup><div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="text Hab-3-18" id="en-NIV-22787" style="position: relative;">yet I will rejoice in the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span>,</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-family: monospace; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Hab-3-18" style="position: relative;">I will be joyful in God my Savior.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span class="text Hab-3-19" id="en-NIV-22788" style="position: relative;">The Sovereign <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> is my strength;</span></i></div>
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<span class="indent-1" style="font-style: italic;"><i><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-family: monospace; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Hab-3-19" style="position: relative;">he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,</span></span></i></span></div>
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<i><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-family: monospace; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Hab-3-19" style="position: relative;">he enables me to tread on the heights.</span></span></i></div>
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<span class="indent-1"><span class="text Hab-3-19" style="position: relative;">Habbakuk 3:17-19 NIV</span></span></div>
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<br />Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368955310165339697.post-23917784426662371792012-11-29T20:20:00.001-08:002012-11-29T20:20:58.347-08:00What If -- A Christmas ChallengeMy laptop tried to retire today. The screen blinked black and grey, offering well-wishes before its departure, and then became unresponsive. I knew when my technological genius of a husband encouraged me to go see the Apple guys, I was in trouble. And while I held my composure on the outside, inside I was panicking. How could this be happening now, when I'm knee deep in Christmas preparations and half of them are on my computer? What about my email? How am I going to stay in touch with people? And all my pictures ....! The fact that I still had an operating Android, and thus access to the outside world, assuaged my panic just a bit, but I made an immediate appointment at the Genius Bar nonetheless, hoping I wouldn't have to leave my laptop overnight.<br />
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A short hour later, as I carried a revived computer back out to my car, I sheepishly reflected on my earlier panic. When had I become so dependent on my gadgets? I thought I was about the most technologically apathetic person around. Apparently not. My reliance concerned me. Where were my priorities? I was afraid I'd have to be without my computer for a day. Or, gasp, longer. <br />
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Am I equally as dependent on God? (Don't you love how God uses <i>every</i> opportunity to get His point across!) What would be my reaction if I got an auto-reply from God to my prayer: "I'm sorry. I'm away from my desk for a while. I will return a week from Tuesday. ~God" Would I panic? Or would I breathe a sigh of relief because I wouldn't have to worry about my prayer and Bible study time for a while? The question, even without considering the answer, makes me squirm. <br />
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May I be so bold as to offer a challenge to you (and me) as we enter this Christmas season? Let's honestly examine our priorities. Is our quiet time just another check box on the to-do list, or food to nourish our spirits and realign our perspectives? Is it the one thing that gets us through our day? Do we check our Facebook status or our status with God first in the morning? Sobering, isn't it? The pressure of the must-be-dones, the craving for milk over meat, the glitz of the world speak so loudly into our lives it is easy to miss that still, small voice. Yet it is in that voice that we find peace in chaos, grace for each moment, purpose in the to-dos. I encourage you to quiet the noise, seeking His voice in the stillness. Merry Christmas.Chloe Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492318415568824932noreply@blogger.com0