Real Life Reflections

Christ with me. Christ within me. Christ behind me Christ before me Christ beside me Christ to win me Christ to comfort and restore me Christ beneath me Christ above me Christ in quiet Christ in danger Christ in hearts of all who love me Christ in mouth of friend and stranger The above is a Celtic prayer. I say it every morning to remind myself that God is with me and will be with me this day wherever I go, whatever I do; but there's one line that I've always had trouble with. It doesn't quite fit with the others. You may have caught it - "Christ to win me". . . Christ to win me? Huh? It finally clicked yesterday morning. I put two and two together: For the joy set before Him, He endured the cross (Hebrews 12:2)   Christ to win me.  I am - you are - the prize He set out to win when He became a man, fully knowing what He would endure. Still He came, because for some reason, He wants a relationship with us. I am - you are - the joy set before ...

Suffering. I hate it. Who doesn't? I'd like to hate it through and through, but I can't because it does come with benefits. Knowing that makes it easier to accept it in my own life and in the lives of those I love. I'm currently reading, Andrew Murray's The Master's Indwelling . It's not one of my favorites, but he has a number of potent passages. In the chapter I read this morning, on being crucified with Christ, he says: "What are the marks of a crucified man?...humility...impotence, helplessness. When a man hangs on the cross, he is utterly helpless, he can do nothing. As long as we Christians are strong and can work or struggle, we do not enter the blessed life of Christ, but when a man says, 'I am a crucified man, I am utterly helpless, every breath of life and strength must come from...Jesus, then we learn what it is to sink into our own impotence and say, 'I am nothing....When a man goes down to the grave...it means this: that he cries...

My husband and I celebrated our wedding anniversary a few days ago - twenty nine years (we were all of 5 years old when we got married). I remember waking up that morning in March, my mother's home transformed from its typically peaceful existence to one full of life and the flurry of activity that is found in the home of every bride on her wedding morning. Excitement laced the air. The butterflies in my stomach refused to rest. I couldn't eat, didn't want to eat, but mother knows best and somehow I got down a piece of toast with grape jelly. I don't remember what time I awoke or how many hours I'd actually slept, but I do remember sitting on the edge of the bed in a room that my sister and I had shared once upon a time. As I looked out the window, snowflakes began to fall. My heart sank. It wasn't supposed to snow on my wedding day! The sky should be a clear and brilliant blue holding the sun, warm and inviting! But I'm getting married today! I thought. ...

I'm hopeless. Smitten. Devoted. Enamored. Fanatical. Infatuated. Wildly in love. My husband and I will celebrate our 29th wedding anniversary this Sunday, and while I can honestly say that the above list still applies to my love for him (yes, there are times when I look at him and still feel the fluttering of butterflies one would have thought long gone), I'm talking about someone I met just this past summer. She's of average height for her age (which isn't saying much - munchkins would have to look down to see her), thin, bald, and has eight tiny teeth barely poking through her gums. Her only form of communication right now is through facial expressions and strategically-tuned vocals. She can't enunciate words. She can't walk, much less ride a bike or drive a car. She can't even feed herself. And yet I'm beside myself in her presence. When we're apart, I have to tear myself away from pictures of her and make myself be a mature, responsible adu...