Guest Post from Happy Girl

Notice

by Hallie Odell (2012)

There’s something better out there.

There are stories of revolution, of revival, of restoring of people’s hearts. They are stories that belong to the God of the universe, mastered and written by him for his glory.

There are also the people in those stories, people that were used and changed and molded and healed in ways they can hardly describe, ways that will alter their lives forever,

Those people and those stories and that God are all part of a giant, beautiful picture that will be on display at the end of time, when everyone who was watching will be able to see it and bask in the painter’s glory. It’s a beautiful thing, that picture—and it’s beautiful without even being finished yet.

Now, there’s that picture, all true and wonderful, and then there’s me.

I’m in some corner of the picture, walking in and out of the main scene enough to leave a few smudges when I exit. The rest of the time I spend in that little corner, existing in what I think is the epicenter of all things.

Materialistic America, that’s what it’s called.

It’s a foul, terrible, empty place. Filled with too many colors and too many things so that you suffocate under the bright lights and reflections. We fill ourselves with all these things, thinking that we’re different: that we’re embracing individuality much better than what we actually are.

But it’s all just stuff, and we’re all just the same.

We live in fear of our future, because we know what we will soon be. In fact, we’ve written book after book about it, and we are distressed by what we see. It’s like us under a magnifying glass, and we are terrible and selfish and shallow and we don’t like what we see.

But we don’t change what we see.

That I realized just today. You’d expect some revolution, some dramatic change or some movement where individuals rise up and show everyone that our corner of the picture is a waste. Where we turn around and run to the main scene, where there is a story and a people and a God over it all.

But there isn’t.

So now I know I’m called. Called to stand for myself and say no to what I’ve allowed all these years. This selfish life and this stuff and these colors that have been plastering me to this corner. I’ve been lazy and self- indulgent and cruel. I’ve been shallow and petty and shabby in character.

That ends now.

Here is the place and now is the time when I make a new resolution, a new war cry for my life, for

my stand, and for my people. This is my migration to the middle of the picture, to my God and to my people and to their story. Their story is now mine.

This is my cry:

That I will reject settling for just existing in the corner, being filled mostly with the stuff and the colors and the shallow meanings of life. Those days for me are done and over.

Now I will plant my foundation in the center, camp under the tent of my God, live with my people, and be a part. Be a part of their story. I will watch God paint his picture and tell his story, and I will make certain that I am one of those people he moves and changes and uses and heals.

And I will be changed forever.

But I will not end there. I will rise up with my people, and I will call back to those in my old life, those still plastered to the walls of color in the corner. I wall call to them to reject their old lives, with their things and their old, petty ways, and I will beg them to join us.

I will beg them to come.

To come and join us, to claim a spot under the tent of their God, with their people and be a part. Be a part of our story. To join us and watch our God paint the picture that changes them and uses them and heals them.

And their lives will be altered forever.

So then, together, we will pray and we will call and we will fight so that every last one moves from the corner of the painting to the tent of our God, where we will stay, alive and full and self-sacrificing, until the end.

Until the end, when we will praise our God.

Forever.

#1041-#1059

1041. Excellent news about the Cowboy's flight hours.  (More than we thought!)

1042. Little (and big) hints at an opportunity that only God can make happen. If He doesn't show up, it's not gonna happen!

1043. Jeri Daniel: friend, inspiration, encourager, truth-teller.

1044. A husband who never gives up hope.

1045. Kids who accept changed circumstances without flinching and remain happy and optimistic.

1046. Universal blood--just as my O- can go to any person, Christ's holy blood can cover any sin.

1047. Isaiah 48:10

1048. Isaiah 49:26

1049. Cats, dogs, and chickens co-existing peacefully in the backyard.

1050. Unreasonable joy.

1051. Red-headed woodpecker on the fence who lets me get so close!

1052. Frank hiding out under the kitchen table, hoping I won't find him. ("If I don't make eye contact, maybe she won't see me.....")

1053. A long-awaited pregnancy for the Cardens.  A "yes" after years of "wait."

1054.  Field trip to a tattoo parlor for a nose piercing.  How's that for a rite of passage ceremony? (groan)

1055. Crane at the fence eating the horses' leftovers.

1056. The grace and encouragement of Sue McIntyre--guidance counselor extraordinaire.

1057. Jim Boin--a life-long, "got-your-back" friend to my Cowboy.

1058. Pilar's excitement over my coupon savings.  What a cheerleader!

1059.  Our five loaves and two fish to give thanks for and watch God provide.

#1021-#1040

1021. A new challenge...and a new opportunity.

1022. Friendships and community worth fighting for.

1023.  Imperfect people finding grace for one another.

1024. Melon seedlings all in the field now.

1025. Rainy morning watching my Songbird coax a stubborn, frisky horse to come work.  So patient!

1026. Driving with Happy Girl.

1027. Seeds to plant to remind me that I must die if I want to produce a harvest.

1028. Honey from our hives.

1029.  Easter eggs and cookies with the big kids.

1030. Growth in the melon field.

1031. Good start painting the barn.

1032. Watching my kids budget and prioritize after receiving their steer checks.

1033.  Good market price for calves.

1034.  Mama bellowing in the pasture.

1035. A heart that is still soft enough to break.

1036.  The thunder of hooves as Shadow and Charlie have their morning romp.

1037.  Headache medicine.

1038. New green leaves on plants I thought were goners.

1039.  A sweet reminder that my life has touched others for Christ.

1040.  People reaching out to remind me how rich I am in friendships.

Dying to Live

On a cool, drizzly morning I feel a bit suffocated by concerns and heartbreak (and, I must confess, probably hormones), so I go out to my rather pathetic garden in hopes that fresh air and physical work will soothe me.

It does.

I decide to plant a row of corn and see what happens; it's really getting too hot to plant, even though it is only April.

As I dig a trench into the sandy soil and then lay the seeds in and bury them, I remember a video we  showed the girls in Sunday School.  It was an interview of a sweet octogenarian farmer--so adorable--explaining about how wheat grows.

I pull roots of weeds from my trench so they won't re-sprout and compete with my corn, and I remember that elderly farmer, describing the seed that fell among the thorns in Jesus's parable.

He goes on in the video to use his life's work of wheat farming to explain the spiritual truths of the Lord from two thousand years ago.

I drop the hard dry kernels of corn into the trench, cover them with soil, and marvel that if all goes well, each one will produce hundreds of kernels in return.

My pastor often reminds us that in God's economy one always reaps what he sows, after he sows and most importantly more than he sows.

At one point in the video, my cute Sunday School farmer holds up a stalk of wheat and demonstrates how in ideal conditions just one tiny grain of wheat can produce a harvest a thousand-fold greater than itself.

I cover my corn kernels and remember that as I watched that video the thought that pressed onto my heart was this:

but first it has to die.


Jesus said:

 "unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds."


I admit, I have days it feels like I'm dying.  But I suspect the fact that it feels that way, shows that I am in fact resisting the death that would bring greater life.

Jesus went willingly to the Cross, because He knew why the dying was necessary--and that death wasn't the final result.  

And He does call some believers to physical death for His glory.  He calls us all to be willing. 

However, before any physical death, Jesus calls us to a kind of spiritual death that results in abundant spiritual life.  For myself and quite possibly for others, too.

What does it look like to die like that?

When Christ breathed His last, the Word says He gave up His Spirit.

Maybe that's it.  I die by giving up my spirit and receiving His Spirit.  I release my hope of glory in order to reflect the Only Glory.

I know this much from experience: Because my flesh has not yet died, the spiritual one is not a death I can die once.  Each day--and sometimes several times a day--I must die to Mary so that I can live for Christ.

Oh, Father, in this season of testing, I want to be a seed that produces a mulititude, not a hard and unproductive seed.   Show me how to die.

Limitless Gifts: #1001 - #1020

1001.  Friends who pray.

1002. Loving and generous family.

1003.  One afternoon to give the spotlight to a young woman who too rarely gets it.

1004. One generation speaking life into another.

1005.  New beginnings.

1006. A chance to heal.

1007. Slithery snake trails through the field, so detailed you can see the ribs.

1008. Scripture to memorize so that it can never be taken away.

1009. Victory that I didn't earn, but I can claim because of Christ.

1010. The written words of saints who have gone before me.

1011. MOLLY--life long friendship.

1012. Godly men who affirm and encourage my husband in a way I can't.

1013.  Peacocks at the post office.

1014. New neighbors--with a BOY!

1015. My new "adult" painting polka dots on her sister's legs.

1016. 40+ year old magazine clipping with my original fudge recipe--re-named "Mary's own fudge" by my sweet mom.

1017. Spinach with parmesan!

1018. Reed's "fashion finds"--a Domo hat.

1019. Cool nights and mornings despite the hot days.

1020. Frank's ongoing mission to come in the house.

Pulling Weeds

Other seeds fell among thorns that grew up and choked out the tender plants.--Matthew 13:7




When we moved onto the farm last summer, I wanted to plant a vegetable garden.  We had the perfect spot, which had been used by my sweet father-in-law for his strawberries.  It was the perfect location, but in much need of work after three years of neglect.


It was fenced in, green and lush--so peaceful looking as I gazed out at it from my little cafe table in the kitchen. However, much of the verdure was actually weeds.  Weeds with flowers, in some cases, but weeds just the same.


Truth be told, the pretty little plot was overgrown.  It looked lovely, but weeds had choked out and prevented the growth of anything that would produce a harvest.


I knew that if I wanted fresh veggies, the weeds had to go.  


I began pulling.  I don't know much about gardening, but I do know that if you want growth the weeds have to go.  


Even the pretty ones.

The Cowboy teased me that I was always pulling weeds.  

That's because the pesky things kept creeping back. 

Any little piece of a weed that didn't get completely tossed out of the garden had a tendency to sink down roots again at an alarming rate.  

Even after we planted, it was an every day task to keep the weeds away.  If I neglected them too long, eventually they would go to seed and proliferate exponentially.

It's true beyond the garden as well. If I allow weeds in my life, they can choke out the harvest God has for me.


Even the pretty ones.


Like busy-ness. Saying "yes" to too much makes me look pretty and productive to the world..but eventually it leads to "no" to what gives life.  


"No" to time alone with my Savior, drawing life and breath that will allow me to bear fruit.  


"No" to nourishing my close relationships--instead the crowding weeds cause me to become rushed, stressed and sharp with those I affect most deeply.


As I approach the end of this school year, I resolve to spend my summer pulling weeds.


Out in the garden, and within my life. Only what will produced a harvest will remain.

Drum Roll, Please--- #1000!!!!!

Nine hundred ninety-nine gifts preceded this one, and I am stunned at God's timing.

God knew when I picked up the book One Thousand Gifts and began the walk of counting graces, that eight months later number One Thousand would be:

1000. A new beginning that I didn't really want.

The gifts that preceded prepared me to face the change with trust, expectation and excitement---a heart of gratitude that expects a miracle to follow.

It's not all easy, but it's all grace, and God is ALL good.