Proverbs 31 and a Perpetual Sense of Failure

If you are like me, there are days when you read Proverbs 31 with a sinking

sensation. "I don't do that." "I need to do better at that." "I don't do that." "I've never done that." "Okay ... I try that, but I'm not very good at it." 

Isn't it just like the Enemy of our Souls to take one of the most beautiful tributes ever written and use it to create a perpetual sense of failure?

Some friends and I have been discussing the woman who inspired Proverbs 31 (you can read about her here: http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Proverbs%2031&version=AMP

To be quite honest, there are days when we are tempted not to like her very much. She's just too perfect.

                                                                                                               

The phrase that always gets me first is "rising before dawn." I've never been able to establish that supposedly perfect and ideal routine. I cannot count the number of times I have promised myself that I will get up at 5:00 a.m., read the Bible, pray, work out, and have a piping hot breakfast ready for the family when they awaken.

I fail. Failed. Have failed. Will fail. Failure. That's me. 

It seems to me that the Enemy too often takes my honest belief that the Bible is literal truth and twists it into something that, instead of producing good fruit, produces an unholy sense of abject failure ... a temptation to "just give up, already, you're never going to get a gold star."

I've spent the last few years trying to find a balance in my faith walk that doesn't leave me feeling like a perpetual failure God is about to whack over the head. 

I think this passage provided a lyrical way of saying a good woman works hard. If I don't "rise before dawn," it doesn't necessarily mean I'm doomed to be a failure in God's eyes (and honestly I have felt that way). 

I think it's okay to envision the actual woman who inspired Proverbs 31 being just as amazed as I am when I read about her today. I envision tears rolling down her cheeks as she looks at her son, the author, and says ... "Really? You see me that way?" Sort of the ancient version of me when I read one of "those" Mother's Day cards. You know the ones I mean.

Now ... don't take this too far. I'm NOT saying I give up and I won't even strive for the mark. God's Word is powerful and it accomplishes what it was meant to accomplish. Proverbs 31 is the ideal. I should strive for the mark. But sometimes I should also give myself a break, already. A perpetual sense of failure isn't what it's about. 

When the future looks scary

Some people I love very much are facing some scary health-related times, and this morning I prayed for them and then came in to read my devotional and because it lead me to some other thoughts, I'm posting here instead of on my Facebook page.

What is the hardest thing you've ever had to give up? For me personally, it was the future. Giving up my dreams of life with a guy named Bob, because Bob had non-Hodgkins lymphoma--not the curable kind. Somewhere in my readings about the life of Amy Carmichael, I read about a convert to Christianity from her ministry who shared the mental image of taking whatever we have no words for and envisioning it in the palms of our hands and then holding those hands up to God as a silent offering. 

At some point in the 5 1/2 years of the cancer journey with a man I called my "best-beloved," God enabled me to do that. To hold up the broken pieces of life as I knew it to God and to say "yes." All I could manage at the time was to refuse bitterness about those broken dreams. 

And so, this morning, if you are facing scary times and what feels like a life-shattering reality, my prayer for you is that God will enable you to hold up those broken pieces. 

Here is the excerpt from Streams in the Desert that spoke to me this morning:

 Because thou hast done this thing, and hast not withheld thy son, thine only son... I will multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven; …because thou hast obeyed my voice (Genesis 22:16-18).
And from that day to this, men have been learning that when, at God's voice, they surrender up to Him the one thing above all else that was dearest to their very hearts, that same thing is returned to them by Him a thousand times over. Abraham gives up his one and only son, at God's call, and with this disappear all his hopes for the boy's life and manhood, and for a noble family bearing his name. But the boy is restored, the family becomes as the stars and sands in number, and out of it, in the fullness of time, appears Jesus Christ.
That is just the way God meets every real sacrifice of every child of His. We surrender all and accept poverty; and He sends wealth. We renounce a rich field of service; He sends us a richer one than we had dared to dream of. We give up all our cherished hopes, and die unto self; He sends us the life more abundant, and tingling joy.And the crown of it all is our Jesus Christ …We sometimes seem to forget … that the only way to the resurrection life and the ascension mount is the way of the garden, the cross, and the grave.

_________________________________________

We don't often get to "see" the results of our fearful offering up of lost things, but in the case of my greatest fear, God did allow me to receive a very specific blessing. Apparently I shared the "broken pieces" analogy with one of my children, and about four years ago it came back to me in a song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3LkrlFdY85k

Humbling. Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow.

And now ... now I have new things to place in the palms of my hands and lift up to the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. 

Life. It never gets easier, does it.

Spool Furniture

Have you seen the vintage shelving & etc. that's made of wooden spools? I tend to think it must be from the depression era (use it up, make it last, make it do, do without), although I don't really know, and looking around a bit on the internet I've seen some pieces that are called "nineteenth century," so perhaps my recently acquired treasure is older than I thought it was.

I have yearned from some little something made from spools over the years ... probably because I love old sewing stuff in general. Mostly I love the tactile connection to the woman who used the stuff. Which is why I litter my office with things like tatting shuttles (don't tat), needles for filet crochet (don't crochet), pin cushions (how many does one woman really need), and assorted other sewing gadgetry that is easy to store but still evocative of another time. I even have a metal box of attachments for a New Home sewing machine. But I don't have a New Home sewing machine. Go figure.

At any rate, this past month I took my annual pilgrimage to Nashville with my best road-dog friend. We made all the usual stops at this quilt shop and that flea market, and the corner shelf/what-not joined the other treasures in our over-full rented SUV. Now it sits right here to the left of my desk. And it makes me smile. Over 100 wooden sewing spools ... put to very good use ... at least I think so. Recyling isn't new!

Here's a spool lamp: http://www.laurelleaffarm.com/viewitem.htm?itemNumber=u2825#.Ud3URPm7KAg

and a table:

http://branfordhouseantiques.com/cgi-bin/p/awtp-product.cgi?d=branford-house-antiques&item=53839

and a chair that looks more like a throne:

http://www2.ljworld.com/photos/2009/sep/27/178088/



I remember using very large spools as step-stools when my children were little ... but I don't know what they were orignally used for (wire of some kind, I suppose) or where they went. Now that I have grandchildren, a little step-up would come in handy, and those things were untippable!

What example of recycling do you treasure?

Name This Character

Names are my nemesis.

I can find faces. I spent a lovely couple of hours yesterday finding faces and "auditioning" them on the toile-covered board in my office.

 ... but names. ARRRGHHH. 

The fact that I've already used so many names in past books complicates things immensely. 

So many of the women's names I like have already been "taken." 

So here's "her" photo. The clothing is wrong, by the way. It's only 1861 in the book and this is probably more 1890s, but that face---perfect. 

This is my leading lady. 

Do you see Jenny, Lydia, Madaline (I suppose she would be called Maddie?), Rosalie,or some other name I haven't considered?

By the way, I collect names from historical documents and tombstones, just to make sure it's a name that was in use. 

In this case it would have to have been in use in 1843 when my leading lady was born. 

It isn't a contest, but I'd appreciate your input. And if I choose the name you suggested, I promise to thank you when I write the acknowledgements ... and I'll send you a free book when it's available next spring (this book doesn't release until spring of 2014). Well, there you go ... maybe it is a contest, after all.

Blessings!

Ta dah

Hope you had fun hunting and found lots of new authors you want to try out. 

While you were hunting, I was working toward the final page of the final edit of next spring's book, with short breaks to have the car towed to the repair shop, to motorcycle my way to our son's for a cook-out, and to pull what seemed like three million dandelions. That's probably an exaggeration, but I do have some fairly impressive blisters ... and yes, I wore gloves!

Here's the prettiest part of the gardening saga ... a fairy garden created by my four-year-old grand-daughter, in the top of my Mother's cherished bird bath. I think Mother would approve.

Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt Stop #3

 THE HUNT CONCLUDES AT MIDNIGHT TONIGHT  (SUNDAY, MAY 19) MOUNTAIN TIME. TO BE ELIGIBLE FOR ANY OF THE 3 GRAND PRIZES, YOU MUST ENTER BEFORE THEN. IF YOU ARE JUST JOINING US, DON'T WORRY. IT DOESN'T TAKE ALL THAT LONG TO GATHER ALL THE CLUES. 

MAY YOUR LORD'S DAY BE BLESSED.

Welcome to the 2013 Summer Scavenger Hunt! This hunt has 32 stops and runs from May 17 through May 19. Making the loop will take you through unique content from 31 different authors. If you complete the loop, and fill out the Rafflecopter form at Stop #32, you'll be in the running for an iPad Mini (loaded with all our books), or one of two runner-up prizes---all 31 of our new releases in paperback. Some authors are also offering additional prizes as part of their posts, so be sure to read each post thoroughly to be in the running for all that are available. The contest is open internationally.

If you've JUST discovered the hunt, I recommend you begin at the beginning, Stop #1, found at LisaBergren.com. But you can also begin here, and keep on rolling. Just be aware that you have to have the COMPLETED phrase in order. One word is part of each stop’s post, so if you do the stops in order, you’ll have the phrase just right. You’ll need that if you receive an e-mail notification from Lisa Bergren that says that you won. If Lisa doesn't hear back from you with the correct phrase within the time limit, she’ll move on to the next winner Rafflecopter draws. Ready? Here we go...

Whispers on the Prairie by Vickie McDonough

I was on deadline for a new book and wrote the following scene before doing the research. My heroine has asthma, so I needed to check with several people who have asthma and a doctor to see if what happens in this scene is plausible. After talking with them, I realize my scene wouldn’t work and deleted it. You’re the first people to see this scene from Call of the Prairie, which is a Christian fiction historical romance, and the second book in my Pioneer Promises series. The first book, Whispers on the Prairie, releases July 1st. My heroine, Sophie, has received some disturbing news, which resulted in her having a severe asthma attack, but back in 1873, there were no inhalers or known treatments for the ailment.

            Josh tilted Miss Davenport’s head back, hoping the action would allow more air into her lungs. He lifted her fully into his arms, amazed at how light she was. Though he had no trouble holding her, he eased down onto the corner of his desk. Sophie’s body jerked as she fought for each wheezy breath. This was his fault. He should have waited a day or two or a week. Shouldn’t have put such pressure on her so soon after the funeral.

            Josh cradled Sophie against his chest, despising himself for causing her distress. “Show me how to help her, Lord. What can I do?”

            Her chest shook with each ragged breath. She needed more air. Josh could only think of one way to accomplish such a fete. Dare he? Could it make things any worse?

            His idea was absurd—certainly not the act of a gentleman—and yet he felt God prompting him. He inhaled a large breath, and before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned down and blew into Sophie’s mouth. The warm, softness of her lips sent waves of awareness charging through him, but the rise of her chest told him his idea had worked. He glanced out his office door, making sure no one would witness his scandalous actions, then took another deep breath, and blew in, this time covering her whole mouth with his. Again, her chest rose, and if he wasn’t mistaken, her wheezing had decreased slightly.

            Joy mingled with a new sensation—the realization that he’d grown to care for this prickly woman. He wasn’t in love with her, but he certainly didn’t want anything to happen to her. He’d never met a woman like her. It was as if she had no awareness of her limitations. He brushed her soft hair away from her eyes and gave her a gentle shake. “Sophie, wake up.”

            Quick footsteps rushed down the boardwalk and past his window. He bent down, giving her one last breath, ending with the briefest of kisses. Straightening quickly, lest he be caught, he watched for Doctor Walton. Seconds later, the man hurried through the door, medical bag in hand.

            “What happened?”

            “She couldn’t catch her breath. Started wheezing and holding her throat then passed out. I managed to catch her.”

            “You did, huh?” Though Doc Walton’s eyes held concern, the corner’s of his lifted. “Let’s get her home. I can’t examine her here.”

            Josh followed him out the door, carrying Sophie. She had to be all right. He couldn’t stand the thought that he’d brought on this fit. He glanced at Franklin and Samuels. “Hold down the fort. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

            He wasn’t leaving her until he knew she’d be all right. Her breathing was still labored but not as badly as before, and she was starting to rouse. Perhaps his breathing for her had helped. The doc opened the door to Maude’s house and stepped back. “Put her on the sofa.”

            Josh did as ordered, although his arms felt empty at her loss. He crossed them and moved out of the way. Doc Walton pulled out his stethoscope and listened to Sophie’s chest.

            She moaned, lifting a hand halfway to her face, then dropping it to her side. Josh brushed his hand across his mouth, remembering the incredible softness of her lips. She’d be furious if she knew what he’d done.

Find Whispers on the Prairie at your favorite local bookstores or online. Online sellers include: 

Amazon 

http://www.amazon.com/Whispers-Prairie-Pioneer-Promises-1/dp/1603748415/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1366069680&sr=1-1&keywords=whispers+on+the+prairie) 

Barnes and Noble 

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/whispers-on-the-prairie-vickie-mcdonough/1114863036?ean=9781603748414

AND NOW, YOUR NEXT STEPS 

Write down this clue: one’s 

Have it written down? Great! 

Now head on over to www.vickiemcdonough.com, which is Stop #4 for the next clue! 

Thanks for stopping by!

Bess Streeter Aldrich

The story starts like most stories about discovering a favorite storyteller. I'd never heard of her.

It was the 1970s, and as a new member of an intimidatingly large (to me) church in a new town, I was doing what new church people do when
they want to make friends. Volunteering for everything.

On this particular occasion, I was in the church kitchen helping with a chili supper, and expressing amazement at the unlikely (to me) pairing of chili and cinnamon rolls. Whoever heard of such a thing? I'm from Southern Illinois, where cornbread is what goes with chili. Well, the cinnamon roll thing was the first in a very long line of lessons about what it means to be a Nebraskan. Ha.

As the women in the kitchen chatted, I mentioned that I love to read. A little white-haired lady looked over and said, "Well, then. You should read my neighbor's books."


"What's your neighbor's name?"

"Bess Streeter Aldrich."


Ahem. You can imagine what I thought. A prophet is never thought much of in his own country, and a neighbor isn't exactly the writer we all long to meet ... right?

Wrong.

I began with A Lantern in Her Hand and went on to all the others I could find. I smiled and laughed and wept and loved them all, mostly because Mrs. Aldrich had a way of infusing her stories with hope and faith, and that spoke to me.

In the 1990s, when my husband was diagnosed with a terminal form of non-Hodgkins' lymphoma, I was encouraged by Mrs. Aldrich's personal story. It included losing her husband (heart attack) and raising her children on her writing income.

It was the next century before I finally visited the Aldrich home in Elmwood, Nebraska, saw the desk where she wrote, the wicker furniture in the entryway (made at the wicker furniture factory at the Nebraska State Penitentiary back in the day). Ate cookies in her kitchen. Walked the stairs she trod.

The story goes that Mrs. Aldrich was walking toward the main street of town one day when a strange car pulled over and asked if the pedestrian happened to know where "that writer" lived. Mrs. Aldrich said something to the effect of "that writer is no one special."

I disagree. Hope resonates in her books. And doesn't the world need more of that

Here's a fun place to find Aldrich titles: www.abebooks.com
And if you're ever in Nebraska ... http://www.bessstreeteraldrich.org/house_tour.html