Jesus walked in

Today the world is walking out in demonstration. They are sending a message by stepping away.
But Jesus stepped in to demonstrate His love and grace....Jesus walked in to save.

Today our schools, cities and country desperately need Jesus. Not politics. Not demonstrations. Not agendas. Our world needs Jesus. Simply the saving grace of Jesus.
We need Jesus, the one and only Jesus Christ, who left the perfection of Heaven to live on earth and suffer in this utter brokenness. Jesus, the Son of God, who walked into the world and up to the cross with outstretched arms of love and forgiveness. Jesus, the Savior of the world who walked in to save.
And He is still walking in today.
Today Jesus Christ is walking into our schools. He is walking into our city streets and neighborhoods. Into our government buildings, churches and coffee shops, Jesus is entering in. To our country and this broken, fallen world, Jesus is stepping in to save.
Today (and everyday) lets join together to demonstrate praise to God and proclaim the good news that Jesus Christ is not done walking in. 

Mr. Woodpecker

Every morning there is a woodpecker outside my window that wakes me at the very crack of dawn. He is as dependable as a rooster, my neighbor, Mr. Woodpecker. He is steadfast and faithful to his wood pecking routine. He strikes his beak into the tree's bark at a rapid pace for at least hour each and every day. The rat-tat-tat-ing beats like a drum to awaken the night.
Mr. Woodpecker's daily ordeal is completely disruptive to early morning sleep, which I would happily enjoy if he were not my neighbor. I wouldn't mind residing so close to Mr. Woodpecker if he didn't conduct his commotion so early in the morning. But for his noise, I would happily reside near my feathered friend and enjoy the stunning sight of his brightly colored red head peaking through the tree's branches. If only Mr. Woodpecker would push back his pecking by an hour or two, then we could live in peaceful harmony.
But Mr. Woodpecker will not relent. I've kindly asked him to beat a bit more quietly but he has yet to tone down the tapping. He hasn't rearranged his schedule either. There is simply nothing I can do or say to change his routine.
For Mr. Woodpecker, pecking wood in the early morning hours is the duty he was born to perform. It is his calling and obligation to beat against the bark. In this act he finds food, makes his nest and even drums messages of communication to other fowl of the air.  Mr. Woodpecker and his feathered dependents are sustained by the act of his daily wood pecking.  
To have the beautiful sight of Mr. Woodpecker's bright red feathers there must be the sound of his incessant striking. The two cannot be separated from one another. Where there is the bird, there is the drum. Where there is the presence of his life, there is the inescapable noise of him.
And so it is while residing with God. He is intent on striking in the early morning hours. He awakens the night with His cleansing drum. The repeated pecking of the Lord's purification beats with vigor and breaks through the silence.
To be in the midst of God's striking sound is to be in His holy presence. To be united with the Son is to be full of His joy even when the noise comes in the early morning hours. To be one with the Spirit is to at peace during every holy, purifying, pecking disruption. 
Where there is the presence of God, there is the inescapable, Holy noise of Him. He taps into the places that need more grace and pecks away the hard, hurt crevasses in the heart. It is His unrelenting work to strike at sin with the beacon of Christ's purifying life. It is his glorious duty to cleanse the heart with His steadfast pecking.
With God as my Holy Father (and Mr. Woodpecker as my neighbor) I am assured that my days will be blessed with many holy disruptions as God goes about His heavenly work of pecking me into the shape of His perfect Son, the Savior, Jesus Christ. 

Miracles

A year ago my dear pastor lent me one of his favorite books to read. Miracles by Eric Metaxas. I gladly borrowed the book with every intention of reading it then promptly returning it. But once I brought the book home I sat it on my shelf without ever cracking open its hardback cover.

The truth is, I couldn’t get past the title. “Miracles.” Oh, how desperately I have wanted a miracle. I have begged God for a miracle. Countless prayers have proceeded from these lips to God’s ears pleading for Him to perform a healing wonder in my body. Just the other night I laid on my bedroom floor, crying out to God for His hand to deliver an instantaneous miracle.

But I didn’t get my miracle. Despite all of my prayers, God has never reached down and touched me with His healing hand like he did for the paralyzed man stranded by the pool. Jesus has yet to touch my body like he did for the women who reached out to touch his cloak. That sick woman had bleeding stopped on the spot. But that hasn’t been my story and with each day that passes in sickness a happy healing ending seems less and less likely.

So for a year I have kept Miracles on my shelf, unopened and unread. While glancing at the title imprinted on its spine I have experienced every emotion from crushing depression to exhilarating hope. At my lowest moments the big, bold blue word has taunted me…“Miracle? Where is your miracle?” On other days it has encouraged me… “Miracle! Yes, I believe and trust in God’s miraculous healing!”

It was never my intention to keep Miracles in my possession and on the shelf for so long. I always planned on reading it, I was just waiting to receive my miraculous, transforming healing story first.

Finally, after a year of waiting, I returned pastor’s book. I never did read past t

he cover. But I did receive my miracle.

My life - that is my miracle. My very existence is a marvelous work of God. I am a walking, living, breathing wonder. Every instant that there is air in my lungs and a beat in my heart, God is accomplishing an extraordinary, logic-defying miracle.

The fact that my body has endured the past seven years is a wonder reasoning fails to explain. According to blood pressure readings I should be comatose. By the pounds on the scale, I should be hospitalized and on an IV drip. Yet, here I am. I am alive. It’s a miracle.

For over a year I have been begging God to do something miraculous in my body. How foolish I was not to see that the fact that I can pray is miracle. The very within me is a miracle. The marvelous salvation of my soul is the most extraordinary, fully executed miracle.

I have received the greatest miracle. I have received the miraculous, transformative, wondrous new life of Jesus Christ. What more of a miracle could I ever want? Jesus Christ is the greatest miracle I could ever need and the miracle that is mine for eternity. 

On the scales again...

Scales are scary. They reveal troubling numerical truth which is why for the past year I have refused to step on one. Even if I can't keep my shockingly low weight out of mind at least by staying away from the scale I can keep the numbers out of sight.
April 2017, during my first office visit with a new doctor, was the last time I faced the weight-gathering, truth-teller and the number that appeared before my eyes was shocking.
Sixty eight pounds.
I remember seeing the red dial swing up and hover just below the seventy pound mark. I held my breath, trying to keep in every last ounce of weight but my attempts were futile. I couldn't make the number budge. At twenty six years old I couldn't make the scale reach a measly, pathetic seventy pounds. The scale read me a troubling truth: I was back to my twelve year old weight.
At that moment I began a scale boycott that has remained in effect for ten months. But that all changes today because today is the day of healing that the Lord has made and I am going to step on the scale believing in that!
When Jesus Christ rose from the grave and conquered the empty tomb He guaranteed that no scale on earth will ever have the final say. God alone controls the numbers and the pounds. Sickness and illness are powerless to trump his authority or thwart His plans.
If it be God's will that the numbers rise and pounds be added, even a broken scale won't be able to deny the healing. If it be God's will to keep the scale's number stable it will by the Almighty Hand of God that supports and sustains every little pound. 
Today I am going to step on the scale without fear or worry. There is nothing to fret because God is the one working the dial. With the assurance of Heaven I can place my scale on a solid surface trusting God regardless of the reading. United with the Savior and His cross, I can face the scale with the grave-defeating confidence of His victorious resurrection.
God alone holds the scales of my life so I can step atop any earthly scale knowing that my healing day has already come in the risen Jesus Christ.

TOMS

I must confess I have a TOMS footwear fetish. I love everything about their classically designed, cute, comfortable shoes. I'm especially drawn to the pairs featuring fun colors, plaids and unique prints. They sell designs for every season - my closet is proof. I have parrot print TOMS for summer and a second warm weather pair featuring lemons. In the winter I opt for fleece lined TOMS and at Christmas I always wear my pair adorned with reindeer.
But TOMS are about more than cute patterns and a comfortable foot-bed. They are about personality. They symbolize who I am. My TOMS tell the world, "This girl has a sense of humor!" I can practically hear the parrots on my classic Alpargatas say, "She's fun and upbeat!" 
With a little self-psychoanalysis, it isn't hard to see why I am so taken with TOMS shoes. They are an aspect of my appearance that I can control. Over the past seven years I have lost control of my weight, my size and what kind of clothing I can wear. Jeans fall right off and finding clothes to fit in the woman's department is like hunting for gold. And the loss of control hasn't stopped there. I have been unable to halt the change in my face's appearance as I've lost such a dramatic amount of weight. Since my body has wasted, I have lost control of my hair and can no longer wear my contacts.
There is so much about my appearance that is out of my hands but I can still choose my footwear. I can still choose the shoes I walk in. Most importantly, I can still choose the Spirit in which I walk in. Regardless of my circumstances, I can choose to be filled with the zest and joy of Christ's Heavenly life because He already walked my road and cleared the way before me. While He walked to the cross enduring the most brutal pain and persecution He wore perfect peace and grace. Because He was walking in the very Spirit of God He took every step full of hope and joy. Even while suffering in the most unthinkable agony, tortured till He could no longer walk, His Spirit was all-together loving and holy till the bitter end.
Because Jesus walked to His grave with the assurance of Heaven and rose again in victory, I am free to walk in the glory of everlasting life. Because Christ is risen I can wear the peace of His salvation and be clothed in His amazing grace. Because the Lord God reigns today and forevermore, I can walk in all circumstances and in every pair of shoes, filled with the everlasting hope and overcoming joy of His Holy Spirit.

My Journal

Sometimes I wish I would have kept a diligent, detailed health journal during the past seven years. Trust me, I've tried to make the exercise a regular habit but I've never been able to get into the routine of it.
Each time I embark on keeping a journal with the best of intentions. I make lists of supplements and treatments complete with dosages, frequency and the times taken. On day one I detail symptoms and general well being. But by day two my details always get fuzzy and by day three they are as precise as "yada, yada" and "blah, blah, blah."
In all of my years of attempted health journaling I've never made it to day four. Even cute notebooks and colorful pens have been unable to inspire lasting commitment. Now I am seven years in and I have not a single streak of consistent records to chronicle my sickness saga.
But I do have Pippy Love.
My "journaling" on Pippy Love began seven years ago, right about the same time my un-journaled sickness began. Writing here has been far from daily and it offers no recommendations on how to be restored to physical health but it is the most detailed record I have of the past seven years. It is the only faithful journal I've kept, and the most important one too, because this record details the journey I've taken with God to greater spiritual health.
This journal is a testimony to what I've found in seven years of searching and it isn't a way that leads to earthly healing. I have no answers to the questions that plague the physical body but I do have answer to the great question of the soul. I have discovered the one true way to spiritual healing: To simply be still in the presence of God.
Come what may of my fragile body, let the record of my journal show that the one and only way to everlasting healing is by the way, the truth and the life of the Lord Jesus Christ. 

Fixtures & Finishes

In 1992 my family moved from the Northern Virginia, Washington DC suburbs to Mom's home town in Northern Pennsylvania but they couldn't find a new house to buy. Anxious to make the move, they decided to rent a little white cape cod on a treed neighborhood street. The small house was quite plain, besides the black shutters and cement stoop. The landscaping was just as sparse. Suffice it to say, the home's curb appeal left much to be desired and inside wasn't much better. Orange shag carpet covered the floor. The kitchen featured mustard yellow counters and dark brown cabinets. The house was in need of some tender, love and care. Not to mention new windows, paint and an array of upgrade.
But this was just a temporary house. It was a rental. In a year or two (tops) our family would move to a home of our own with newer carpet and more space.  Or, so we thought.
It didn't take long to realize that the location of that little, plain white cape cod was perfect for our family. Every convenience was within a few miles. Both elementary and high school were just blocks away. There was so much to love about that plain little cape cod that by the end of the year's lease the decision was an easy one to make. No more renting. No more moving. My parents decided to buy the small, dated house and transform it into their forever home.

Twenty five years have passed now and my parents and I still live in that little white cape cod, although, without pictures to prove it, you'd barely recognize it. The house at it stands today hardly resembles the box it was in 1992. Under new ownership, the cookie-cutter home has been transformed.
If it weren't for the images, it would easy to forget how plain and uninviting the home used to look. The old cement stoop is such a distant memory since it has been removed and replaced by an inviting front porch. Without pictures it is hard to recall the intensity of the carpet's burnt orange color or the exact shade of the kitchen's mustard yellow. All of those memories have been washed away with white cabinets and wood floors. What the hopelessly plain, worn home used to be has been replaced by the beauty of what it has become. 

So it makes me wonder, which details and features of my life does God have planned to transform? What garish features of my life are going to be removed and which fixtures will be upgraded? What details of my life are going to be so completely changed that I won't even recognize them in the future?
God's transformative hand is already at work on my life. The moment He took ownership of my heart and infiltrated my life with the Holy Spirit, His marvelous demolition began. His stripped me of my most hideous features of sin and disobedience. He whipped me clean of every stain and flaw. Slowly but surely, God has been updating and upgrading every area of my life with Christ's finest of finishes and Heaven's most glorying features.
And the marvelous remodel isn't finished yet.
So grab your camera and snap a picture because some day soon, you're going to need it to remember what this old house once looked like.