Permalink 06:39:00 am, by Mary Email , 693 words
Categories: Everyday Life, Ivan, Family, Friends

A Lamp Unto My Feet

With a dozen fresh cinnamon rolls in hand, we piled out of the car to deliver them to expecting friends. The lights on their house made it very clear how to get to their front door and the side walk stretched welcoming from the driveway where each of my boys were gearing up to run to the destination. Boys are not known for careful steps, and Ivan was first one out. I was still closing my car door when I heard him scream. Aron was first to his side and even our friends heard his cries and came out to comfort. A small step hidden by the shadow of well trimmed greenery in the front of the house had caught his foot and his knee took the brunt of all of Ivan. Scraped and bleeding he was slow to comfort and as I handed the rolls off and leaned down to kiss his tears, daddy came from the other side, scooped up the whole boy, and carried him inside.

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Permalink 12:04:00 am, by Mary Email , 296 words
Categories: Writing

Midnight Ramblings

If you want purpose, you must leave behind the idea that any other person can give it to you. True, fulfilling, purpose only comes from the Creator. He alone knows the fullness of possibility within you.

The world would start the statement above the same as I did, but would insist that "the Creator" should be replaced with "yourself."

How small would our world be if we depended solely on the knowledge we have of ourselves to inspire us? God, who made us, holds the key to greater depths of ability, energy, creativity and knowledge that He's already placed within us. No matter how enlightened we become, we cannot unlock this vast beauty without the Holy Spirit's active participation in the shaping of raw nature God began at our unfolding.

He is not simply an Author, the creative source of our story, He is also a Finisher. He smooths us to perfection and works over us and in us until we are gloriously refined.

No one, not even our dearest and deepest of friends can measure that depth within us, scale the steeps of our souls in darkness and bring out the gems that are within. No one. Christ alone has proven Himself able to withstand the oppressive chasm of death and hell, and knows what it means to break open the door between life and death. He offers us this power, with the promise of the Father, that no man shall be without hope of fullness. Making alive what was dead, the Holy Spirit within lightens the darkness and gives shape to our void in ways we never imagined.

I am so glad to be His. I am in constant expectation of what great thing He can become in the small vessel that is me.


Permalink 09:45:00 am, by Mary Email , 727 words
Categories: America

I Believe in Prayer

I believe in prayer.

I believe it can give you influence where you don't have relationship.

I believe it can give you opportunities where you have not been established.

I believe it can give you favor where you have not invested.

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Permalink 10:09:00 am, by Mary Email , 761 words
Categories: Everyday Life, Owen, Writing


"I can see the sun moving!" Owen caught the yellow glare of it in streaks climbing the porch rail surrounded by early morning shadow. "It started here and has moved all the way up here already."

"Wouldn't it be neat if we had a camera that would capture it all day and then we could watch it fast to see the change?" I reflected.

And I wished it for much more than the sunshine on the porch. I began to wish I could show the steady hand of God that way too. What if people saw more clearly the path of the Son of God over their lives? What if time lapse were able to remove our absent minded moments and showed us the clear result of our worship? What if I could see my giving change a life? What if I could see my prayer startle awake the driver? What if I could see my obedience result in favor? What if I could see the hand of God?

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Permalink 04:10:00 pm, by Mary Email , 683 words
Categories: Church, Writing, America

To Wet a Match

Like so many of you, I've been reeling from the horrifying ISIS stories coming through my news feed. I look at the photos and weep, because these are my brothers and sisters and they are no less worthy of protection, of freedom or of comfort than I am, they are no more deserving of pain than I am and yet they are experiencing the unthinkable. They are being tortured, physically and emotionally, and I can't reach them with my hands to change anything.

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