Tag Archives: Hope

What I wished I had known When I was Little…

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a farmer’s wife. I wanted to emulate the lady in the apron who came swinging cheerfully through the kitchen doors carrying a steaming hot platter of roast ham and new potatoes for the kids whose adventures I loved to read about in the Famous Five.

The Farmer’s Wife was always happy. She was everyone’s favorite. You just had to love her. She was popular; she was treasured; she was special. And I wanted to be her.

But it didn’t take me long to realize that I couldn’t cook. And all farmers’ wives can cook. I couldn’t grow vegetables either. And all farmers’ wives grow vegetables.

When I was a young teenager, I wore my skirts short and etched my eyes in deepest kohl. I wanted to be like my friend…the one who always had a boy holding her hand. The one who was chosen; the one who was beautiful; the one who was loved. I wanted to be chosen, and loved, and beautiful too.

But no amount of makeup could mask my pimples; no high heels could make me as tall as her; no expensive conditioner could make my hair as smooth.

And even though I was raised in a Christian home, the voice of the world was always louder than the Voice of the Word. I just couldn’t hear when God tried to whisper hope into my heart.

And even though I had a Bible, and knew all the exciting stories it contained, I somehow missed all the wonderful promises that were just waiting to be discovered within its pages.

And I wish, when I was that long-ago girl, I could have read a book like Love Letters from God. Because maybe if I had, I might have heard God whisper:

You will be my special treasure!

Maybe then I would have known that I do not have to be a good cook or grow vegetables to be popular or special or treasured in God’s eyes.

And if that book had been mine, I would surely have cherished every letter that bore my name, and claimed every promise when God told me:

I have chosen you!

I will hold your hand!

I have loved you with an everlasting love!

And maybe if I had truly believed those wonderful words, I would not have needed to strive to be beautiful in the eyes of the world. Because surely then I would have understood that I am chosen by One whose enormous love for me would last beyond all my time; whose strong hand would always hold on to mine; and in whose eyes I am beautiful indeed.

But it is never too late. And that is why I wrote the book—so God’s letters could be read, so God’s promises could be claimed, so God could gently whisper hope into our hearts.

When Love Letters fly all over the World, and end up in Places you never would have Imagined…

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In the entrance hall of a little Primary school in northern England, Love Letters from God sits quietly on a podium. It has pride of place next to the school Bible. My sweet nephew, Jake, proudly placed it there.

In a dementia care unit in Grand Rapids, Michigan, Love Letters from God sits on a bedside table. It is being read to an elderly lady as she slips in and out of awareness. The reader is her daughter, a lady who does not know God…yet.

In an orphanage in Botswana, Love Letters from God is being shared with children who have no home, no parents, and no books to call their own.

In a small New York apartment, Love Letters from God belongs to a fifty year old man who struggles with mental illness. He smiles when he hears the familiar stories, and clutches his photo of the author as if she were a celebrity.

In a house not far from my home, Love Letters from God is owned by a young boy with special needs. His parents tell me that when he lifts the flaps and hears his name, he squeals with excitement. He knows that those letters are written to him.

In a home in Paris, Love Letters from God sits on a bookshelf. Given as a gift, my ministry colleague left it there for the host she stayed with on her travels. Inside the book, Laurie wrote words of hope, healing, and comfort. It was the day after the Charlie Hebdo shooting.

And for every book that has been bought, for every story that is shared, for every place where Love Letters has flown, I am awed, and humbled, and thankful.

For the teenager who found hope through the story of David and Goliath when he was being bullied at school; for the mom who heard God speaking to her heart as her young daughter read the letters to her and inserted her mom’s name into each one; for the grandchildren who beg to hear their love letters each night; for every story of grace I hear, I am awed, and humbled, and thankful.

You pick up the pen. You begin to write. You create a Storybook Bible for children aged four to eight, for this is your target audience. And then you watch what God can do…for God’s target audience is the world.

All authors have a target audience, but God’s target audience is the world.

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You watch as God picks up the book, and flies it all over the world: to Botswana, and Italy; to England and France; to Australia and Switzerland.

In schools and churches; in hospitals and orphanages; on bookshelves and bed-side tables, God is placing this book in the hands of those who need to read it, and touching the hearts of those who need to hear it- no matter their age, no matter their circumstance.

God is at work in the world.

Do you know someone who needs to hear God’s Love Letter to them? Enter this free giveaway here.

The Unrehearsed Nativity

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A little story was re-enacted in church this morning; a little story that first unfolded in Bethlehem; a little story of hope that has always had the power to change the world.

It was totally unrehearsed.

Costumes and crowns lay on pews – no one knew who would wear them; gold, frankincense and myrrh sat at the ready – no-one knew who would carry them; a baby doll, wrapped snug in blue cloth waited patiently – no-one knew who would hold him.

But when the invitation was given to be part of the story, a boy and girl volunteered to be Mary and Joseph; shepherds and sheep came forward; three brothers opted to be kings, and a little boy eagerly grabbed a star that was bigger than himself.

And the ancient story unfolded, along with carols and readings, while proud parents took photographs.

And despite the big star tripping as he reached the stable; despite baby Jesus being almost thrown in the manger; and despite the big cardboard cow toppling over, it all turned out perfectly.

Unrehearsed Nativity Pic

And I think about that real journey to Bethlehem…totally unrehearsed; no-one knowing where or when the baby would be born; no-one knowing who would wear the crown, or quite who it was that Mary would hold..

And despite there being no room at the inn, despite being surrounded by the smell of animals, and despite the King of the World having to sleep in an eating trough, it all turned out perfectly.

God was born.

What could be more perfect than that?

And like a million lights twinkling in the darkness of a Christmas night, like a choir of carolers singing in the quiet of a December evening, magic must have filled the air.

Hope was born.

And aren’t we all meant to be part of that story too?

http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWq60oyrHVQ

The Singer

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It’s a balmy summer’s evening in the little lakeside town. And although the restaurant is busy, I still hear her voice as she sings the lullaby.

The singer is hidden from view, but her notes dance in the air between her alcove and mine. I don’t remember the words she sings, but I do remember the conversation she had on the phone just prior to it.

Grandma, is he in bed?

Silence.

Okay, I’m ready. Can you pass him the phone?

Then she starts to sing. Her voice is soft, yet strong; a quiet little melody that floats above the partition and makes me wonder…

Who is she singing to?

I’m glad when the waitress comes to tell us our table is ready. It means I can get a glimpse of our mysterious singer as we pass by.

It’s just as I thought. She’s only ten or twelve years old; long, dark hair; eyes down; the phone held close; a sweet little voice that finishes its song as I glance quizzically at her mom.

We’re on vacation, she explains…. just for the weekend. She’s singing to her younger brother who has to stay at home. He has special needs and gets too upset when his routine is altered. She sings him a lullaby every night before he goes to sleep….

she wanted him to know that he’s not been forgotten.

I smile and nod before the singer pauses and I bend down to the girl to tell her,

You’re a good sister.

And I think about that little boy; tucked up in bed somewhere; waiting for his song; quieted by his goodnight lullaby; knowing he is not forgotten.

And how we all need to be sung over; how love can be quietly wrapped in the notes of a lullaby.

And like that good shepherd who rejoices over his lamb, there is One who holds me close and sings over me; whose wonderful voice is the very same voice that first hovered over the darkness of the deep;