What Are You Driving?

     Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.  

~ Isaiah 43:18-19

     Tears unexpectedly sprung to my eyes as I watched the old, gold Bronco being pulled out of our driveway. Jacob, our 17 year-old son, had just sold his pride and joy so he could buy a more practical vehicle. It was a wise decision, but I know it wrenched his heart as his eyes followed it being hauled behind the truck of its new owner, on its way to Florida.

     

     We’d purchased the 1973 Ford Bronco when Jacob was 15. It wasn’t in great shape, but it ran and that’s what was important at the time. He spent as much time as possible working on that truck, envisioning its potential. My husband, John, worked with him many a Saturday to bring “Bronkie”, as Jacob called it, back to its former glory. And, after three years of pouring his heart and soul (and cash!) into this vehicle, he’d nearly done it.

     

     In case I’ve never mentioned it before, Jacob is a 100% bon-a-fide redneck, rivaling any of the Duck Dynasty guys, and Bronkie helped to cement his image. You couldn’t miss seeing him when he drove around town, sun glinting off of that unusual color of gold. His truck was unique.

     

     But when school rolled around this year, Jacob’s love affair with Bronkie began to fade. Since he’d elected to go to the career center this year, he had an additional seven or eight miles to drive each day, which included a trip down the interstate complete with morning traffic.

     

     Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had the privilege of riding in an old Bronco, but suffice it to say it’s not a luxury ride. The few times he coaxed me into riding with him I found that I could bounce higher than I thought possible, hoping against hope that a case of whiplash wasn’t in my future. And when I mercifully unfolded myself from the backseat, I felt like I was taking my life in my hands when I jumped from the cab.

     

     So, the morning commute wasn’t what it used to be for Jacob and he knew it was time for him and Bronkie to part ways. As much as he loved that old truck, the rough ride, low (7 miles to the gallon!) gas mileage and leaky roof confirmed his decision.

     

     Now Jacob’s driving a used, white Ford F-150 truck with a cab and a half and extremely better gas mileage. I can get in and out much easier and the ride is considerably smoother, which is certainly appreciated by this mother. It may be more difficult to spot him in a crowd, but he’s more comfortable and doesn’t get wet when it rains. Having Bronkie helped Jacob learn a lot about how to rebuild vehicles, and he’s putting that knowledge to good use as he’s pursuing an education in automotive technology. But now it’s time to move on.

    

     I must say, I’m proud of the wisdom Jacob showed when he gave up his beloved Bronco and replaced it with a dependable vehicle. It reveals his maturity, understanding we can’t always keep what we want in order to obtain what we need. Sometimes hard decisions must be made.

    

     So many times in life, change seems too difficult to confront. It’s much easier to sit in our comfort zone surrounded by the things, or people, we’re most familiar with. It’s scary to let go. But, if we’re willing to change and grow, we’ll eventually discover God’s best for us. We may think having a Bronco to drive around for fun is our perfect vehicle. However, God knows we’re going to need an F-150 to get us to the destination of His calling.

Is God calling you to let go of a “good” thing that’s of great importance to you? Ask Him for the courage to make the right decision so you can discover what “best” thing He wants to replace it with. I’m sure it will ultimately allow for a smoother ride.

What's Buried in Your Backyard?

   

You know that the Lord will reward everyone for whatever good He does... 

               ~ Ephesians 6:8

     Hello friends! I know it’s been a while since I’ve last posted. The summer was a busy one for us and now I’m struggling to get back into the rhythm of writing again.

     To be perfectly honest, rhythm isn’t the only thing I’ve been struggling with concerning my writing. Purpose, cause and focus have also thrown a monkey wrench of frustration into my weekly thoughts of inspiration, paralyzing my writing abilities. This past July I attended the Proverbs 31 She Speaks Conference, and, while it was an awesome experience where I learned so much, Satan used one session to make me begin over-thinking my “niche” audience. Since I’ve begun writing, I’ve had difficulty narrowing down my audience, or tribe as some like to call it, knowing only God was leading me to inspire and encourage women, and that was enough. But since that session, I’ve felt I couldn’t go on until I had a targeted tribe mapped out with laser focus. Thus, my lack of posting.

      A few weeks ago I was reading Vonda Skelton’s blog interview (www.vondaskelton.com)  with author Elaine Miller where Vonda asked when she knew she wanted to be a writer. Elaine shared that she’d never planned to be a writer, but felt compelled to record spiritual journals for future generations, hoping one day they’d be read. Then she heard a sermon on the parable of the talents (Matthew 25:14-30) and realized she was just like the lazy servant who took what his master had given him and gave no return of profit. At that moment she was inspired to do more with her writing

.

     When I read this it hit me right between the eyeballs. Even though I didn’t have a laser-focused niche, it didn’t give me an excuse to stop writing. The wicked servant didn’t know what to do with his talents, so he buried them in the backyard, much like I’d been doing. I began to realize that, if I keep asking God for a core audience, He’ll give it to me when He knows I’m ready. And if that doesn’t happen, I’ll assume He wants me to continue inspiring and encouraging women in general.

     When the master in the parable saw that the other two servants took what he’d given them and doubled it, he put them in charge of many things and said, “Come and share in your master’s happiness.”

     We, too, can enjoy happiness with our Master when we are faithful and fruitful with what He’s given us to steward. Obedience and faithfulness lead to joy. I don’t know about you, but I’ll take all the joy I can get in this hard world.

     God gives each of us unique talents, stories and perspectives so we may reach people for Him. Have you been like me, confused and afraid to proceed with what God has given you to do? Let’s not be like the wicked and lazy servant, whose master called him worthless. Instead, let’s look forward to one day hearing our Master say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”

Happy Anniversary!

   "The two will become one flesh." So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together 

let man not separate. ~ Mark 10:8-91

     June 22^nd is a very special day in the Roper household. That’s the day my husband, John, and I said “I do” before God, family and a church full of witnesses committing to love, honor and cherish each other until death do us part. That was 28 years ago and, by the grace of God, we’re still together.

     But we won’t be sharing a celebratory anniversary dinner this year as we have in years past. John is headed back from Utah on business and we won’t see each other until June 23^rd. I know it seems silly, but I’ve never spent an anniversary without him and am just a little melancholy about it.

    As I ponder this thought, I’m reminded of all the spouses who’ve missed anniversaries, birthdays and numerous other special events because of their willingness to serve our nation far away from loved ones and feel blessed to have been able to spend 27 anniversaries with my hubby, appreciating all the more the sacrifices made of our military families. Since June is considered the most popular wedding month in our country, I would like to wish all of the husbands and wives who are apart and cannot celebrate this important occasion together a blessed day, experiencing the comfort of our Savior’s loving arms while missing your loved one’s touch. Your sacrifice has not gone unnoticed and you are appreciated for your dedication to protecting the freedoms of this great nation, whether you’re on the field or holding down the home front. I pray you’ll be able to spend your next anniversary together, rejoicing in your love for one another and the goodness of God to bring you back together. So, Happy Anniversary and thank you for stepping up when duty calls.

     And Happy Anniversary to my sweet husband. Thank you, John, for loving and supporting me through good times and bad over the last 28 years. Your commitment to me and our family has never wavered and I love you even more because of it. This June 22^nd I’ll be missing you, but I’ll also be looking forward to spending at least the next 28 more together. I love you!!

Daddy's Hands

For I have chosen him, so that he will direct his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing what is right and just. ~ Genesis 18:19

      I smell the sweet aroma of sawdust wafting through the air as my dad works on our playhouse in the backyard. I can’t help but walk further back in the yard to join him as he saws and hammers. I sit and watch, amazed that he can take random pieces of lumber and put them together in such a way as to build something my brother, sister and I will eventually spend much time enjoying. Although Daddy loved working with wood, his profession was entirely different, never letting him stay in one place at a time like carpentry did.

     Daddy was a truck driver, gone much of my childhood delivering for Woolworth stores. When he occasionally drove that big rig home and parked it in our driveway, my siblings and I couldn’t wait to get out there and crawl over and under the cab and trailer. Sometimes we pretended to play house under the wheels of the trailer or dream of driving the enormous vehicle as we sat behind the wheel, churning it back and forth with excitement.

     I enjoyed telling my classmates my dad was a truck driver. Their eyes would widen, impressed by his obvious driving skills because they had seen the movie Smoky and the Bandit and knew anyone who drove an 18 wheeler and talked on the CB radio was super-cool.

     I loved listening to Daddy talk on the CB. “Breaker, breaker, one-nine,” he would say on many of our long road trips to see his family,” anybody out there got your ears on? This is Yankee-Mo looking to see if there are any bears out there tonight.”

      Then we might hear someone respond with their handle saying, “Hey there Yankee-Mo. Just saw a bear in the woods taking pictures at mile marker 117.” That let my dad know to slow down because police were shooting radar ahead.

     My dad’s handle, or CB name, was Yankee-Mo because he is originally from upstate New York and his last name is Limoges, which most people have trouble pronouncing correctly. The other drivers tagged him with it and it stuck.

     Although I thought it was cool having a truck driver for a dad, it wasn’t cool having to tiptoe around the house during the day while he slept, afraid of waking daddy in the next room. Even though we tried so hard to keep quiet, sometimes it was impossible for us kids to remember or even realize we were making too much noise. On those numerous occasions when we forgot, we were quickly reminded when he came barreling out of the bedroom, disheveled and angry.

     But when Daddy worked with wood in the garage or on something out in the yard, it seemed to give him a real sense of enjoyment. Maybe that’s why I liked being around him during those times. I might hand him some nails or his hammer or even hold something while he nailed it together. We never really talked much, me watching and him working. But there was sort of a bond there during those times.

     After he finished building the big barn playhouse, my brother, sister and I had a great time pretending to live in the loft and driving the go cart around our yard like it was our car, parking it out front in case we needed to “run to the store”. I never really thought about how much Daddy must have enjoyed seeing us having so much fun out there until many years later. Using his hands to bring us pleasure must have made him proud.

     Sometimes I’ll ride by our old house in the country and painstakingly look over the property, seeing how much has changed since we moved away all those years ago. But the big barn playhouse in the backyard has long been torn down.

     The first time I rode by and realized it was gone I was appalled. I couldn’t understand how anyone could not want such an awesome structure in their backyard. Obviously, it didn’t have the same significance to them as it did to us kids and our dad. But we still have those special memories just the same. And I‘m sure there must be some pictures of it stashed away in one of my mom’s old photo boxes.

     It’s funny how you don’t realize at the time how much something impacts you. As I think back on those times sitting with Daddy while he hammered and sawed, I realize that’s where I began to sketch out house plans. In my fourth grade mind, I saw them as a puzzle, trying to figure out how the rooms fit together. Years later I became an architect and still enjoy putting together the puzzle pieces of house plans.

      After following in my dad’s footsteps and joining the Army, my younger brother eventually came back home and went into the carpentry profession. He mostly builds custom cabinets and some furniture. I think my dad secretly would have loved such a profession, something that was more tangible than putting thousands of miles of road behind him each week. But it certainly paid the bills and we never lacked for anything we needed.

     My baby sister became a jack-of-all trades, working in everything from fine china in Rich’s department store to the office of a trucking company before finally deciding to open her own embroidery and gift shop. She keeps my dad, who’s now retired, very busy with small construction projects for her store. I can see the enthusiasm in his eyes when he is given the opportunity to create something to display her wares.

 

     Reflecting on all of this today, I recognize the impact Daddy had on me and my siblings and appreciate the many sweet experiences we had growing up, even to the point of influencing our careers. So today, I would like to recognize my Daddy, Don Limoges, and say thank you for influencing me for good. I love you and wish you a blessed Father’s Day!

I can’t let this special day pass without saying what wonderful fathers my husband, John, and father-in-law, Bob Roper, are as well. All three of you have been a special blessing to me and our children. Happy Father’s Day!

In what good ways has your father influenced you?

 Be sure to let him know this Father’s Day!

The Courage to Believe

This past week I was blessed to be able to attend the Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writer's Conference in North Carolina where I enjoyed seeing old friends and meeting new ones. I'm also thrilled to be able to announce that I won third place in the devotion category of their unpublished writers contest! God is so good to give me the encouragement I need as I pursue this unfamiliar territory of the writers world. So, this week I would like to share my winning entry. I hope you are as blessed by it as I am to share it.

 Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy. ~ 1 Peter 1:8

Violet 

     She anxiously peered out the window, dark eyes dancing with anticipation. As the postman made his way up the sidewalk, he quickly lowered his gaze, pretending to be preoccupied with the letters in his bag. He hated to disappoint her again, not wanting her to give up hope; but to be honest, he was losing hope himself.

     It had been six weeks since Violet’s husband, Joe, was shipped back home to the United States, promising he’d write soon and send for her and their baby daughter, Christine. They’d met while he was stationed in Blackpool, England. She was a carefree, beautiful young woman whose long, wavy hair danced wildly in the wind when she met him on the beach. He was a flaming red-headed American in uniform who swept her off her feet and put a ring on her finger.

Joe and Christine

     It was heart-wrenching for him to leave without her, but the war was over and he had to go. He assured her she’d be stateside soon and they could build a beautiful life together. Then he left. And she didn’t hear back. She knew he loved her and would never desert her. Friends and neighbors whispered secretly in thick British accents. “Bet he won’t be calling for her. He’s left never to be heard from again, poor soul, leaving her alone with that little baby.”

     After weeks of waiting, the rumblings of gossip eventually reached her ears. She ignored their insensitive remarks, waiting every day for the postman to deliver letters from her love. But she hadn’t yet received even one. Not. One. Single. Letter. Her faith never wavered because she believed in him and that’s what she hung on to.

     She knew the day had finally arrived when the postman didn’t glance away as she ran to meet him. Noticing the wide grin plastered across his face while he quickened his step, her heart skipped a beat. “Here you go, lassie,” he said as he hoisted the letters from his bag, “just what you’ve been waiting for.”

     Her eyes widened with awe as he proceeded to hand her a stack of over 30 letters from her love. As she eagerly devoured them, she learned he’d been on a ship for over a month with no way of getting the letters out to her. He wrote a letter every day. Every. Single. Day.

     Her faith in her man had paid off. There would be no more whispers of abandonment now. He loved her and she had the words to prove it. Soon, she and her baby daughter would be joining her husband in his homeland.

Grandma and Grandpa as newlyweds

     That young English woman was my grandmother and the baby, my mother. Her husband was, of course, my grandfather; a loyal man who dearly loved my grandmother until the day he died. Grandma never gave up on Grandpa. She knew his character and believed him to be faithful and true; he proved her right by bringing her to live with him in a new land.

     Isn’t that a beautiful picture of what God does for us? We may be in a place of waiting, responding in faith while enduring His silence; telling others He hasn’t forgotten about us, while deep inside wondering if it’s true. Keep the faith. Others are watching to see how we respond. Unlike Grandma, we don’t have to go to the mailbox every day looking for our love letter from God. He’s already delivered it in His Word which reveals His promises to us. Once we understand the depth of God’s love through our study of the scriptures, it’s easier to hang on to hope. If we’re obedient to His leading, His delay doesn’t necessarily mean denial; but it does mean He’s working to perfect us. As hard as it is sometimes, our assignment is to glorify God in the waiting. It will all be worth it when He calls us home.

One Word

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. ~ Lamentations 3:22-23

Last Tuesday, when I turned on the TV, there was breaking news of a horrific tragedy. A 35 year old mother had killed her seven year old daughter and five year old son, and then shot her husband in the head, leaving him in critical condition. She then tried to kill herself, but couldn’t do it.

I know mothers everywhere, including me, are asking how she could do that to her own husband and children. Our instinct as mothers is to protect our children at all cost, even if it means sacrificing ourselves. Many, I’m sure, would agree that losing a child would be their worst nightmare.

Today, my husband and I put our 19 year old daughter on a plane for the first time ever-to California of all places-to meet her boyfriend’s family. Now, flying isn’t one of my favorite pastimes. I just can’t get over the fact that you are 35,000 feet in the air with nothing underneath. So sending our daughter off into the wild blue yonder to the opposite side of the country was not a comforting thought. When her plane lifted off the runway my stomach lurched forward. What if… scenarios kept creeping into my mind. I prayed the entire time she was in the air, asking God to keep her safe in the palm of His hand. I know some of you must think I’m crazy by this point. It’s just an airplane! But no matter, fears assuaged me just the same. Everything within me wants to protect my children.

And so, as I was praising God for our daughter’s safe landing this afternoon, thoughts of this young mother swirled in my mind. Why on earth would someone kill their children? Did she think in some warped way she was protecting them from something? Or did she just snap after a period of trying to deal with the worries of life? We may never know. I can’t help but wonder, though, if there was someone she could talk to before she lost control; a church family who could pray for her; or if anyone had ever introduced her to Jesus Christ and the hope He brings. Would any of this have happened? Again, we don’t know what resources were available to her. All we are left with are the questions why and how could she?

Someone posted a picture on facebook of this mother happily hugging her two beautiful children. Several people who knew her said she was a good parent who was active in her children’s lives and was even a room mom at school. Sounds like she was much like many of us . On the outside looking in, no one suspected the danger lurking beneath.

Never judge a book by its cover.

I must say that, before learning all of this, I was thinking she must have been an unfit mother whose actions didn’t surprise those who knew her. But when I saw her photo as I was scrolling through facebook, I stopped cold. She looked so… normal. Unless I’d seen the words killing and children, I probably wouldn’t have noticed the pertinence of the photo. As I stared at her seemingly cheerful countenance, one word came to mind. Grace. Give her grace.

That’s what Jesus would do. He proved it over and over again as He walked through the New Testament; forgiving the adulterous woman as well as the tax collectors, sharing the gospel with the Samaritan woman who’d had five husbands, even allowing the criminal who hung beside him on a cross to enter Paradise with Him that very day. What this woman did was wrong in every way, but it’s not unforgivable with God. Although my heart aches for this family and their tragic loss, I know God loves this mother as much as anyone else. Their pain is His pain. Her pain is His pain.

I’m not saying she shouldn’t suffer the consequences of this heinous crime. But we need to remember that Satan prowls around like a roaring lion, ready to steal, kill and destroy, and the family is his primary target. Yes, Satan won this battle, but he hasn’t won the war. Instead of condemning, let’s pray for her and her family. We don’t know the circumstances that led to her unthinkable actions, but God does. We are called to be ambassadors of God’s love and, if we can live in obedience to that, we may never know this side of heaven how God will use us to avert evil and destruction in this world.

Have you been able to make an impact for God’s kingdom by showing someone His unconditional love? Why don’t we commit daily to asking God to reveal those who may need a

kind word or gesture shown to them?

My Journey to Motherhood

He settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children. Praise the Lord. ~
Psalm 113:9

The joy of motherhood!

Two years. That’s how long it took me to get pregnant with my first child. I remember many nights spent crying, wondering if God would ever allow me to become a mother. I bit my lip when others around me celebrated their pregnancies, trying not to give way to hopelessness. I didn’t understand why so many women seemed to just think about having a baby and viola! they were pregnant. Meanwhile, I dealt with the pain of disappointment each month.

Until that point, my life had gone perfectly according to plan:

Get my associates degree in architecture within two years of graduating high school. Check.

Marry my high-school sweetheart right out of college. Check

Work for an architectural firm right out of school. Check.

Buy our first house within the first five years of marriage. Check.

Open a dream business with my sister-in-law when I was twenty-five. Check

Start having children after my husband and I had been married five years. Umm… well, that one wasn’t working out according to plan.

My type A, perfectionist personality didn’t know how to deal with this detour. I thought I was capable of making all of my dreams and goals come true as long as I was a good girl, followed the rules and worked hard. Looking back, I know that was when God really began dealing with my pride, using that time of waiting to draw me closer to Him.

Our Firstborn, Elise

Almost three years after starting our journey to become parents, Lauren Elise Roper was born. (Ten days late, I might add.) I couldn’t help but cry tears of joy over this beautiful gift from God.

A little over a year later, my husband and I started trying for our second child. Once again, the disappointment came each month. But this time I had hope and, after struggling fourteen months with infertility, became pregnant. Three years and three days after Elise was born, another beautiful gift from God, little Jacob Owen Roper, arrived. Our family was now complete.

Our newest addition, Jacob

I realize not everyone’s story has a happy ending, leaving them with unanswered prayers and questions. Many couples struggle for years trying to have a child of their own to no avail. I don’t understand why God answers some prayers for children and not others. All I can say is He is sovereign and His purposes will prevail.

I know a couple who, after discovering they couldn’t have children, decided to adopt and eventually welcomed a beautiful baby girl into their family. Eventually, they added two more adopted children, another girl and a boy, making their family complete. I’m sure when their journey of infertility began they wondered if they’d ever have the privilege of becoming parents. But God has blessed them abundantly beyond all they could have imagined. Isn’t it amazing how God takes our hopelessness and turns it into joy if we’ll allow it?

This Mothers Day and every day, I thank God for allowing me the joy and honor of becoming Elise and Jacob’s mother. In spite of there being many ups and downs along the way, my husband and I have been blessed beyond measure. God has humbled me greatly over the last twenty years as I’ve learned to let go of my perfect plan and trust Him with my future. I still have moments where I want to cling desperately to my way of doing things, but God isn’t finished with me yet...

Elise and Jacob- the joy of having teenagers!

Do you have a special story about your journey to parenthood you’d like to share?

 I’d love to hear it!

Happy Mothers Day to my mom, Christine Limoges, and my mother-in-love, June Roper. You are both very special women who have trained me up in the ways of the Lord.

I love you!