Hide

When I was a little girl, I had a little corner in my room, between my bed and the wall, where I would go when I was upset.  There, I couldn't be seen unless someone took the time to come all the way into my room.

We moved when I was twelve and I'm pretty sure I had abandoned the corner by that time, but lately I find myself longing for it.  I just want a little space that's all my own, where I can go, curl up with my blanket and hide.

Life just keeps coming from every direction.  Nothing horrible, but when you add it all up, it can be a lot.  I know that it's not outside of the hand of God, that He's here with me and that He is using the things in my life to make me more like Him.  But, knowing all of that doesn't mean that I still don't want a little corner to retreat to from time to time.

Alice

She died alone in the summer of 1973.  No one knew for several days.  Her body couldn't even be donated to science (as she had instructed) because of the summer heat and the length of time it took to discover that she'd passed away.  The few things in her small one bedroom apartment were dispersed and her money divided among the charities and ministries she held dear.

I used to fear ending up like Alice, dying alone, unmarried and childless.  I pitied what I perceived to be the end of her story.  I hoped that I wouldn't end up like her.

Then, in the summer of 2010, one of her letters, penned in 1924, made its way to me.  Since then, she's become almost a dear friend, a mentor, a co-laborer for the Gospel.  I thank God for Alice, for her faithfulness to the Word of God and her relentless passion for the Gospel.  I've been blessed by her words and challenged by them more times than I can say.

Her story isn't over, though her earthly life is.  Her story isn't over because God is still answering her prayers for missions and for ministries, because God is still using her words and because her story is a thread in God's tapestry.

Alice didn't die alone.  She died in the arms of her true love, Jesus.  On the day when His tapestry is complete, I'll rejoice with her as we celebrate His works.

Nagging

I hate my mom's nagging.  She gets things in her head and wants them done immediately.  If they aren't done on her time table or to her liking, she won't let up until things change.  I determined as a kid that I would be nothing like her.

Oh, how I wish I could say that I'm not.

You see, marriage has brought out a nagging streak in me.  A nagging streak that I detest, but one that lurks in the depths of my sinful nature nonetheless.

I nag my husband to help around the house, but even worse, I nag him about his food choices or even to be more romantic (in the ways that I want of course) and in the process, I forget to let him do things on his timetable.  

I neglect to respect him and fail to give him the credit for the things that he does do.  I only see his faults and his flaws in accordance with my standards and I forget that I am not the one who should be judging him in the first place.