"Let God be God." ~ Martin Luther

I don't know about you, but when I'm faced with a difficult problem I pray. Only problem is, while I'm praying I'm racking my mind as I try to figure out how to solve my dilemma. I've never given it much thought, but I guess that defeats the point of praying.

It's funny how difficulties arise in our lives that we never thought possible. In a million years, we could not dream up the trials God throws in our path. If we could, we would be the authors of our lives instead of having the Author. Which is why I think I find so much comfort in writing: I design the start, middle and "happily ever after". At least, I like to think I do.

But our lives aren't that way. Things pop up and we haven't the slightest idea how to deal with them. We muddle through. We kick, we scream, we cry, we rack our minds for inventive solutions. And then God blows us out of the water. It's almost as if He's sitting in Heaven going, "You did ask for help, Melissa. Did you not think I would do something?"

I was reminded again this week of two Bible stories that have meant so much to me over the past few years. The first one involves the prophet Elisha. When his fellow prophets were building a place for them to reside, one of the lost a borrowed ax head in the river near by. He cried out for Elisha to help. Maybe he thought Elisha would part the river and he could walk out to it on dry ground. Or Elisha could swim the depths and get it. I don't think he imagined what did happen. As the Scripture says, "The iron did swim."

The second story is the saints in Damascus. They knew Saul was on his way to persecute them: throw them in prison, separate them from their loved ones, possibly even stone them to death. And they prayed. But I can't imagine some of them didn't start packing their belongings to leave Damascus or search for hiding places lest Saul come knocking at their door. And while they prayed, they probably made some suggestions along the lines of Saul having a heart attack on the way, the Romans arresting him or his getting lost. I wonder if any of them thought God would meet Saul along the way, save his soul and turn him into the greatest apostle of all.

Somewhere in the midst of my thick skull, I know God is God. He is over all, in all and works through all. He knows my trials, my heartaches, my tears. He doesn't need my suggestions as I walk through my valleys. He knows the way to my mountaintop - the very best way. And He's smiling, "Just wait, Melissa. It will be worth it. I promise."

Let God be God. Amen.

To the dad who taught me all kinds of wonderful things...like how to play football!


Happy Birthday!

Happy 24th Birthday, Daniel!

(For those of you who didn't grow up in the Sturm household, this means "Touchdown, Dallas Cowboys!" - something they're hoping for a lot this year since they're hosting the Super Bowl.)

…and God requireth that which is past. Ecclesiastes 3:15b

Anyone who knows me knows I love history. I read it, I write about it, I study it. Maybe that is why this verse has been ringing in my head over the last week. It speaks about history.

To God, of course, there is no history. There is simply “His Story” which He has seen in eternity past and plays out in our day to day lives as it did the lives of those before us. It’s hard to comprehend how God saw on the first day of creation, World War II. Or how when Washington fought for the heights around New York City, God saw 9-11. All of that is just part of what makes our God so awesome.

There isn’t really a period in history I don’t love. There’s a lot I don’t know. The Civil War and the Gilded Age interest me more than the Roman Empire and World War II, but I’ll read just about anything in the history section of the library (which is the 900s in the Dewey Decimal system). In fact, I won’t live long enough to read everything I want to about history. And while, yes, God will judge the nations of this earth and the parts they played in His Story; this verse isn’t just a reference to history in general. Think history in personal.

And maybe that’s why I read so much about history and the people who lived it. Stonewall Jackson, Abigail Adams, the Pilgrims, the Vanderbilts, Presidents, kings. They’re all a lot more interesting than I am. But sometimes your history rears its memorable head.

Last night at church I met the eldest child in a family that has been visiting over the last few weeks. Sixteen years of age – nearly half my own thirty – and yet so similar to me in so many ways. The eldest of eight, homeschooled, talks proudly about her sibling, babysits, and dreams of a future that might include college but certainly includes a family of her own at some point. Standing there, listening to her chatter, it all seemed vaguely familiar. And I started to wonder. When did I become thirty years old? How in the world did I end up back in Texas away from the mountains, winter, snow and trees that I love? I certainly never thought I’d end up all by myself at my age, working a job I could do in my sleep, no hope of marriage in the near – or far – future, and still scribbling away with the wistful thought I might actually write well enough to one day have my name on the cover of a book. And, I wondered, what will this girl’s life be like when she reaches my age?

Thirty years seems hardly long enough to have a history, but think about how many wars can be fought in that period of time. Or how many kings rise and fall. Ronald Reagan is history, but I remember when he was President. So, whether I feel my age or not (and it’s usually the latter), I have a history. Some of it is wonderful. And some of it I would not wish on my worst enemy. No one wants to read about it, and yet maybe someone could learn from it. I can learn from it.

There is that saying that says those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it. For while my sins past, present and future are forgiven and while I will spend eternity with my Savior regardless of the fool I can often be; one day I will be judged for my actions. For my past. For my history. I can’t go back and change anything. And some of it I didn’t choose anyway. But I can make wise choices today, which will affect my tomorrow. For God requires much of His children, but He also gives us grace to do much.

Sometimes in our lives, we make terrible mistakes. Or the paths of our lives take turns that leave us completely bewildered. We question God. We falter in our trust of Him. We wonder if we can ever be forgiven – or how we ever came to be where we are.

And yet there isn’t a cloud or a shadow that crosses our path that is not sent by our loving Heavenly Father. We may not understand the darkness. We may not see the Light within. And we certainly can’t see beyond our present circumstances. We must trust. We must let God work. And we will see the joy that is to come in the morning.

Shades of Morning by Marlo Schalesky Is a beautifully written story about past mistakes, dark presents, and joyful futures. It is a story of God’s love for His children, His redemption, and their need to trust Him through everything. For He is working on each of us – for His own wonderful glory.

A story well worth reading: http://waterbrookmultnomah.com/catalog.php?isbn=9781601420251


This book was provided by Waterbrook Multnomah for reviewing purposes.

Friends

Today is the birthday of a special friend of mine. She’s not a friend I stay in touch with on a regular basis. I haven’t seen her in over a year. I don’t even talk to her on the phone. But she’s a friend I treasure and always will. Why? Because the Lord placed her in my life just when I needed her.

Isn’t it interesting who the Lord gives to us as friends? And isn’t even more interesting the timing of their friendship. Maybe I notice this more because I am the perpetual “new-kid-on-the-block”. My friends rotate through in a revolving door, although I exchange Christmas and birthday cards with friends from as far back as Kindergarten. Some of those friends I just enjoyed spending time with. A lot of them I needed when they entered my life.

Like the one I had in 3rd grade. I moved from Tennessee to New Hampshire the December of my 3rd grade year, the very day after Christmas. For an 8-year-old who couldn’t remember much past the 3 ½ years in Lewisburg, this was dramatic – even traumatic. Especially since I didn’t think my teacher spoke English. The first day in my new classroom, a girl came over and asked if I would play with her at recess. I was delighted! Although we remained friends somewhat, a month or so later another little girl’s best friend moved away, leaving me to get to know the little red head. It was perfect. Having moved from Texas only the year before, we both thought New Hampshire a foreign country. We remained friends for years.

Many years after that, my family ended up back in Texas. And a mother and daughter invited Katey and I out for pizza. That was pretty cool and opened a friendship that is going strong in our families today.

And upon the return to New Hampshire? Well, to say it was an awkward move would be and understatement. On that first Sunday we visited a church some people Dad had been in contact with attended. One of the men there afterwards introduced his daughter to me. She invited Katey and I to a Bible study for girls our age. Shaking from head to foot, we went – and went for the next four years. Those girls became some of my dearest friends. That is also how I met Allyson. 

Friends are wonderful things. I’m not sure how I would survive sanely in Texas without the friends the Lord has left me here since my move away 11 years ago. For what would life be like without friends to eat ice cream with, enjoy a cup of coffee or watch movies? To listen to my woes and understand, while they share their own. To laugh, to cry, to pray for. I am very blessed to have wonderful friends.

So, it’s no secret to anyone who knows me that I don’t like Texas. And nothing is going to change the fact that I would love to be in the midst of mountains and rolling hills versus plains, surrounded by thick forests versus wanna-be trees, and enjoying snowy winters and cooler summers (although I know the Northeast is being brutally beaten by heat right now.) This can lead to some teasing on my grandfather’s part at times - like the other night.

“Melissa, there is one thing that would make you like Texas,” he told me.

Mmh…how did I know where this conversation was going? But I asked what.

“A man.”

“Um, I don’t think so, Grandpa. I would love the man, but I would not love Texas.”

“But you would come to like it for his sake,” Grandpa insisted.

“If he really loved me,” I replied, “we’d move.”

And as there is no man on the horizon – Texan or otherwise as godly men don’t grow on trees or anywhere else as far as I can discern – I’m not about to change my mind about Texas.

These last few weeks, I feel like this place has been laughing at me. Billboards are yet another thing I despise about “the Metroplex”. (Which is what they call the Dallas/Fort Worth area as if they live in some southern New York City.) I have this habit of reading every word that passes within my vision, so billboards are a pain. They make what landscape Texas has look dirty and cluttered, and they advertise things I’d be happy to forget exist. There is one at the exit I take to get to work. It is advertising back surgery and plays on words in order to catch your attention. It mocks me every morning:

“Welcome back...to your life.”

As if I need a reminder that I am driving to work, which is my life – in the midst of the state of Texas. Sigh.

On July 2, 1776 the Declaration of Independence was officially adopted by a congress of men so different from one another, truly the birth of the United States of America was a miracle wrought by God. Two days later, those men from all different walks of life began to sign the most important document on this nation. John Adams wrote home to his wife Abigail:

The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.

Happy 234^th Birthday, America!

May God continue to shed His grace on thee.

When you work for a hospice, death is mentioned on a daily basis. However, I’m only thirty years old, so the eminence of my death isn’t a huge reality. Of course, I could get in my car this afternoon, pull out of the parking lot, see a nice truck coming my direction and meet my Maker. And that is why death doesn’t bother me. I know where I will be when I die, and it’s a lot better than being here on this earth.

This week as I was entering paperwork into the computer, I had time to read the entries of the chaplain. He had called a woman whose husband died last month to see how she was doing and if there was anything she needed. In his report he stated that the wife was just glad her husband had “died happy”.

Now, as a disclaimer, I happen to know how this guy died. The nurse who pronounced told some of us in the office what she found at that apartment. And, for the sake of G-rating this blog, we’ll just say he enjoyed his perversion till the moment his soul entered eternity.

And that is profoundly sad. For whatever happiness he found in his sin he will now pay for it in eternal damnation – a hell so great mankind cannot comprehend its horrendousness anymore than we can grasp the glory of Heaven. So what comfort is there in that he “died happy”?

There is only one way to die happy. And that is if you know the Lord as your one and only Savior. You know that no matter how sick you might be, or how bad your estate is in, or how hurt your children are; when you pass into eternity you will be in the presence of your glorious Savior and the home He has prepared for you. No more sorrows. No more tears. No more sin. Eternal glory. Eternal praise. Eternal rest. And it is only with that hope in mind can a person “die happy”.

Death is all around us every day. Pick up your newspaper and glance at the obituaries. Note the hearse you pass on your way to Wal-mart. Or join the hospice business for a day or two. Death is as much a part of life and living itself. And when your life is ended, where will your death take you? Will you be ushered into the presence of your great Creator? Or will you simply “die happy” but remain eternally condemned? The options are a matter of life and death – eternal life and death. Don’t settle for “die happy”. Seek God for everlasting joy.