They do not labor or spin.

Reading and journalling, I sat in waiting for a very dear friend. The coffee shop quiet, with but a few customers, my table small and crowded by empty seats.
The words on the page resonated with me. Here was depicted a story of a young girl, never getting to play the damsel in distress. Her Barbie-esque neighbor friend, always chosen to be the beauty, and so she was always left to rescue her with the boys. Damaged from never being "the beauty" the young girl, now a woman, recalls this story for a friend with tears. Her friend looks at her, and tells her "I want you to ask Jesus to show you your beauty."

You know, I've never done that. Is my immediate reaction.
I've cried in anguish, I've tried to hide, I've made large efforts to come across as, seem, or feel beautiful, but I've never asked to simply see.
With great hesitancy, I finally asked, at the same time confessing my lack of trust. My fears that I will ask, and see very little beauty, and be devastated.
But I know Jesus is bigger than this.

Fast forward to only an hour or two later. Chatting on the phone with a dear friend, she suddenly blurts "you know Laur, whenever I see lilies, or think of them..whenever there are lilies, I think of you." Tears welled, I thanked her, "you have no idea how special that is."

Lilies are a flower immensly treasured in my heart. Christ taught me a life-shaping lesson on dependence, using lilies. And later, he taught me of beauty:
Jesus saying so gently, "you are fussing over your hair, over the shape of your face, and the way you look...stop. Come with me." He leads me to a breathtaking array of flowers, but in particular, a delicate lily. "Look at this flower, study it my dear. Look how utterly beautiful it is! It does not try....why do you?"

Thank you, my friend, for reminding me. Thank you that you will continue to show me how special and radiant you have made me.

To speak or not to speak

I've been blessed with a couple of friends who do nothing but encourage. Their encouragement is honorable, and it builds those around them up in what they should be doing.

I've always wanted to be more like that. I really don't see a point in speaking, unless it's going to build someone up. This accounts, to some degree, for my frequent quietness. I'd prefer to save my speech for when it really counts.
But as of late, I find my words wasteful, and without tact.

I find myself in need to relearn quietness, but in a new way. It's funny how that works, at the same time as needing to learn to speak, I also need to learn to shut up.

I'd like it if the only words that poured from my lips were ones of love.
Words that were in direct reflection of Christ.

Consider the children

I've become quite certain that, apart from Jesus himself, kids have come to be the greatest teachers I have known. Over the course of the year, they have displaye quite profoundly what it really means to be mature.

Over a multitude of conversations there has been mention of maturity, of the maturity each person feels they hold, often much more advanced than those around them. In these same conversations, there has been a question of why God isn't bringing to them the things they are so obviously ready for.


Consider the children, consider the way they laugh and play and delight. Consider their unquestioning faithfulness.


Ponder over the way, when you tell a little girl that if she wants a snack, she should ask her mummy her response is cheerful, as she walks into the kitchen, certain she will be given what she asks for.

When a little girl runs into the room faster than her tiny legs can take her, asking if you'd like to hear her song, there is a beautiful sense of unabashed joy. She knows she will bring delight to you, and you will delight in her.





We have a lot of un-growing to do.