I stand on the threshold of my thirty-ninth year, but my earliest memory still remains clear in my mind. Daddy scoops me up in his arms and takes a seat in his worn living room chair. He drapes me on my tummy across the soft cotton of his shirt, my little arms and legs relaxing over his then-smaller belly, my cheek and ear pressed just so over his heart. And I fade to sleep while that beat resounds through the deepest parts of me.

My dad is a saint because he is redeemed, but he is not perfect. Yet, through the course of my life, from birth until now, he has stood by me or held me through a hundred sorrows and smiled with me through a thousand joys.

Funny, how both of us are creative introverts. This is a strange combination, because we are always seeking and appreciating good words, and trying our best to aptly describe what we are thinking. And yet, in our quietness, there are things we have never said to each other, other things we rarely talk about, and still other things we can never repeat often enough.

This weekend, I find myself at a point of frustration. I know that the small gifts and card I’ve prepared are a pathetic shadow of how I proud I am to be his daughter and how blessed we are to have each other. And even in writing those words, I know they are not enough to fully express my feelings.

So, I will tell my dad how I feel about him in another language – the language of music.

When I think of all the ways Dad blessed me in my early childhood, this is what my heart says: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2a20VuIecgM

And when I think of how dear his love and support have been to me through all the additional years of my life, this is how deep and sweet my echoing gratitude sounds: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lS7iU8vXWc

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. This weekend and every day: thank you for cherishing me.

After church today, both my parents and I were headed to our respective homes to make pots of soup. Later, while I produced mine, I giggled. I knew that when Mom and Dad saw a picture of my pot, they would smile. And that their pot was probably just as full.

You might ask, “Why don’t you all use bigger pots?” Knowing us, we’d fill the next bigger size just as full with more veggies, broth, and meat. This is a case where I can laugh at myself and say, “Well, I come by it naturally. I am my parents’ daughter. Must be in my genes!”

Thinking about how full my pot of soup ended up being reminded me of a verse from the Old Testament: “But if I say, ‘I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,’ his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.” (Jeremiah 20:9)

Some days, I ache with the longing to tell others about the goodness of God: His love and His truth. The desire to do so is SO full inside of me. But I know this is not natural in me – it is a gift of God, reflecting the beauty of His saving grace that has made all the difference in my life. And when I remember this, I can smile and say, “Well, I come by it supernaturally. I am my Father’s daughter. It’s in my bones – and it will not be held there.”

The new year is upon us. For some, it is a time to drink a whole bottle of champagne. For others, it is a time to start yet another gym membership. For me, it is a time to reflect on the goodness of God.

God has indeed been good this past year, pouring unexpected blessings into my life and sheltering me in some massive storms. Psalm 115:1 says: “Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to Your name be the glory because of Your love and Your faithfulness.” He has used these twelve months to make me both stronger and more dependent…more compassionate.

One way He did it was through circumstances. Multiple walls have quickly come up in my path and I’ve had to grit my teeth and pray, “With my God’s help, I can scale a wall.” In the face or aftermath of each challenge, I had to choose whether I would be angry, bitter, and prideful or I would be quiet, empathetic, and respectful. It was not always easy to choose the latter, but by His grace I had the strength to do so, even if I had to doubt and wrestle a bit before I could.

Another way He did it was through people. Earlier in the year, I decided to sponsor my fourth child through Compassion International. Meet Gloria (pictured above), a sweet teenager from Bolivia. Though I’ve known and supported her for a relatively short time, I am already a better person for it. God uses each interaction with every one of my children to humble me and make me more grateful, more understanding, more patient. (If you’re looking for a new way to give and bless in the new year, I highly recommend child sponsorship!) And Gloria is just one of several wonderful people God has brought into my life since last Christmas – people who have each blessed me in unexpected, raw, and beautiful ways.

So as I reflect today and set some goals for the next year, my biggest prayer is: “God, use whatever lies ahead in 2018 to make me a more compassionate person, a person filled with Your love and faithfulness for Your glory. And I pray the same for you, dear reader. Let us each become stronger through brokenness and kinder through the revealed tenderness of God poured into our hearts every day of our lives.

I’ll close with a quotation I love: “And I said to the One who stood at that gate of the year, ‘Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.’ And He replied, ‘Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.'” – Minnie Haskins (check out some great history behind this quotation on the following page: http://blogs.lse.ac.uk/lsehistory/2013/12/10/the-gate-of-the-year-minnie-louise-haskins-1875-1957/)

I have long been a fan of classical music. My tastes veer toward the standards of Baroque and Romantic eras as well as heart-achingly optimistic composers like Aaron Copeland. Pieces by other composers, however, don’t always bring me great enjoyment – especially those that are more abstract or impressionistic in nature. (My taste in classical music, it seems, matches my taste in classical art.)

Therefore, I don’t listen to a lot of Rachmaninoff. This Russian genius lived and composed at a time when styles of music both in Russia and around the world were evolving to something different than what had become standard in past centuries. While including piano solos of severe length and breathtaking magnitude, he brought in moments of orchestrated angst and a stunning range from nearly silent bits to heart-pounding climaxes and ear-pounding cacophonies.

Last night, I had the surprisingly pleasurable experience of listening to Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto. I took my dad out for a birthday celebration, and we attended the Omaha Symphony’s Rachmaninoff/Tchaikovsky concert. I listened to the pieces – as I sometimes do – beforehand. And I was so sure I would enjoy the Tchaikovsky piece (Symphony No. 2) much more than the other.

But that was before soloist Natasha Paremski took the stage and took our breath away with her jaw-dropping performance. The author of the program notes was spot on when he quoted the New York Herald’s original critique of the piece: “…although it’s great length and extreme difficulties bar it from performances by any but pianists of exceptional technical powers.”

Ms. Paremski was such a pianist. And I decided that Rachmaninoff in person is a whole lot different than Rachmaninoff on a recording. Part of the awe and delight of hearing his work comes from watching the pianist nearly pound the piano into the stage while displaying so much passion. When she finished, we expected her to be exhausted. Instead, she was invigorated to return to the stage and play an equally challenging (but shorter) piece for us in an encore as if she hadn’t just played, nearly non-stop, impossibly challenging music for almost 40 minutes!

Rachmaninoff still isn’t my favorite composer, but I have a much greater appreciation for him today than I ever have before. Yet, what struck me as I listened to the whole concert last night was: the audacity of how you and I have been created.

God, in His infinite power and majesty, could have created us as robots or minions. He could have left us without a brain or a heart. He could have pre-programmed us like fully-loaded computers we take home from electronics stores, capable of only outputting what He or others put into us.

But God, in all of His love and beauty, didn’t stick to the could-haves. He created us to possess many blessed traits. And among those is something I will call createableness. We don’t have unlimited power and resources to create things on His scale. (That’s good – there only needs to be one of Him in the universe. 🙂 ) We do, however, have gifts and abilities endowed by Him to compose and write and sculpt and demonstrate and inspire. The Creator has given us – on a scale that our human minds and hearts can try to embrace – the gift of both creating goodness and appreciating the goodness that others have created.

And the habit of pausing to notice and be grateful for this gift of His is one supremely worthwhile of cultivation.

In the comments section, I encourage you to share about some goodness you’ve created or some good creation in which you’ve delighted.

When I think of the term “homeless,” I often think of a person who simply doesn’t have a permanent roof over his/her head. But upon further reflection, I realize that some people who might be labeled homeless have a more genuine sense of home than some people who have mansions with all the bells and whistles.

For one thing, home has to do with identity. Some folks have felt a lack of identity because they don’t know about their family’s full story and their ancestral roots. Others feel rootless because their work requires that they relocate frequently. Still others ignore an inner burning and questions we are all hard-wired with from birth: the concept of spiritual origin as the foundation for spiritual wholeness and well-being.

For another thing, home has to do with possessions. Those may be material possessions, showing our style and income (or lack of those things!) by what our living space or bag of belongings holds. And they may be intangible possessions like virtues and memories – or those things as they are tied to tangible items we will never throw out.

Having just joined the ranks of home “owners” across America, while unpacking boxes in my new place, I was overcome by a different sense of home than I have ever experienced. Just Jesus, me, and my guinea pig. And it was good. I looked down at the items in my hands and surrounding me. Artwork crafted by my then-younger nieces. A gift from a former student reminding me to always remain hopeful. Copies of beloved books given at Christmases past. Soul-filling quotations scribbled on fragments of paper. I hung things on walls and set things on shelves. I put other treasures in closets to pull out at later times, when I will need to remember and count my blessings again.

Home is about identity. And when I believe that God held me in His mind before time began and has held me in His hand since the moment of my conception, I realize that anywhere I go with Him is home to me – and that home with Him is my ultimate home. So I can rejoice in the home of now and the home yet to come.

Home is about possessions. But going through this recent move helped me remember that Emma’s precious drawing is just as valuable to me as the deed to the new house. The latter is proof that – for a little while – I can rightfully dwell here. The former is proof that I love and I am loved – always.

My little buddy, Mr. Whiskers, is the ideal pet for me.

But we had a little adjusting to do when he first came home. He was rescued by the Humane Society and, as an adult animal, he had already developed some habits and fears of his own. He’s not a cuddly beast – and is definitely king of his cage. Yet, as we’ve gotten to know each other better, I think he’s learned to trust me.

My new landlord stopped by recently. Part way through his visit, Whiskers started going nuts, begging me for some more food. (There is a distinctive “I’m hungry” squeak guinea pigs make.) The landlord was amazed: I could interpret for and communicate with a two pound ball of fur! I smiled. “Oh, yes. He’s clever and always lets me know what he needs and what he doesn’t like.”

Caring for Mr. Whiskers brings me a great deal of joy, and I firmly believed he feels safe in my care. How do I know? Guinea pigs do not fully relax and rest or sleep deeply unless they really feel like nothing or no one is going to hurt them. These days, Whiskers has been progressively more at ease, fully resting during times when I am home and sitting nearby.

Here are a few things I’ve learned (or relearned) from having a piggy to love.

First, he craves the good stuff. No unhealthy choices for Whiskers. When I tried to give him sugary pet snacks that were supposed to be good for him, he refused to eat them. Only the fresh stuff will satisfy him: timothy hay from the bail, cilantro, parsley, cucumber, watermelon, tomato, celery, carrot, lettuce, kale, and spinach. When he eats any of those things, he goes after them with gusto. I need to crave and be satisfied with the good stuff.

Second, he tells me its okay to have fun. Every now and then, Whiskers will display his zany side. He will grin at me while stretching high in his cage and make a certain grunt to show the food is outstanding, popcorn (jump straight up in the air) to show happiness and excitement, hide in his hut and then stick his nose out when I ask where he is, or play peek-a-boo with me around his water bottle. Interestingly enough, he usually does these things on days when I especially need a laugh, a smile, or a heart lift. It is great to be grateful for everyday things and stop to relax or play.

Third, he knows when it’s time to rest. About the time I should be heading to bed at night, Whiskers finishes up his late evening snack and lays down contentedly in his preferred sleeping corner. If I stay up much later, it upsets him and he wants to know what the problem is, getting worked up and making a ruckus. I am learning to wind down earlier. 🙂

Thank God for the gifts of goodness and love in every package – no matter how big or how small.

In the comments, please share about a favorite pet or what you have learned from an animal.

A dear friend named Nyla came to visit my family this past week. While shopping together one delightful afternoon, we came across a unique floor rug from India, a long one in which the weaver connected many pieces of brightly died and tightly woven silken rope.

Later, Nyla presented me with the rug. She had purchased it when I stepped out of the store temporarily, and it was her housewarming gift for me and a home I will be purchasing in the months ahead.

I took the rug home and studied it. Many thoughts flew through my mind, about how this rug represents my life. Here are a few of them…

• It is brightly colored and beautiful, despite (and perhaps because of) the irregular pattern.
• Someone certainly worked for hours to make it, probably sweating and perhaps bleeding in the process. The only way my life has become what it is now and the only way I’ve been renewed is because of the blood and sweat of the One who loved me most.
• One color runs into the next in a clear-cut way. Recalling plans, dreams, and intentions, my life is so different now that I imagined it would be as a child, teen, and young adult – often because of 90 degree turns in the road of life that I had little or no control over.
• What looks like old rags and scraps of cloth has been made into something that the product tag says was used in the palaces of past Indian leaders and kings. In the right hands, with the true value known, what was before called worthless, ordinary, or disposable now becomes treasured, extraordinary, and glorious.

These thoughts inspired me to write a short poem.

from rags to glory

my eyes absorb

for one spun moment

the whole of life

in love’s outpouring

my days restored

through threads close-woven

a plan packed tight

a life: rich, colorful, useful, reclaimed

a plan: unforeseen, hope outshining shame

Today I invite you to ponder the tapestry of your own life, consider all the wonderful and hard things you’ve lived through, and think about how beautiful you must appear to the One who made you – the same one who can and does remake us, when we allow Him to.