Home » Posts tagged 'self-improvement'

Tag Archives: self-improvement

Real Love

CLICK on this icon to the left of the screen
to access my new short story, “Real Love.”
For adults only.
Please leave comments after you read it.
Thank you all.

Untie the Knots

Dear God:
Please untie the knots
that are in my mind,
my heart and my life.
Remove the have nots,
the can nots and the do nots
that I have in my mind.

Erase the will nots,
may nots,
might nots that may find
a home in my heart.

Release me from the could nots,
would nots and
should nots that obstruct my life.

And most of all,
Dear God,
I ask that you remove from my mind,
my heart and my life all of the ‘am nots’
that I have allowed to hold me back,
especially the thought
that I am not good enough.


A Betrayal of Trust

A Short Story

“Sarah, look at this.”  Linda slowed her vehicle to a crawl and nodded toward a massive house with several neat rows of miniature roses.  The woman kneeling in the garden was so absorbed with pulling weeds that she neither raised her head in acknowledgment of Linda and Sarah nor gave much thought to the wispy winds promising to dislodge her hat.  Sections of her wooden fence leaned outward.  Grass had grown ankle deep.  Pristine acreage owned by neighbors flanking both sides of her property made the woman’s land appear run-down.  Linda imagined the roses were all that remained of the woman’s former life, one once filled with love and happiness, joy and contentment, all ruined by betrayal.

Sarah stopped rummaging through her purse and stared at the figure.  “How does she do it?”

“That’s what I want to know.  If my husband had left me for another woman, especially if she were my best friend, I’d spit fire.”

Sarah unscrewed a pill bottle and popped a capsule in her mouth.  She closed her eyes, exhaled, then sat back.  “Let’s go.  It’s not fair to sit here and pick her life apart.”

“What you taking?”

Tylenol PM.  I have a terrible headache.”

Linda blew at her straggly bangs as she picked up speed and drove away.  “I’m thankful I’ve never been through anything like that.”

“We’ve all gone through something, to one degree or another.”  Sarah snapped her purse shut and struggled to see through a blob of moisture, overcome by the direction her life had taken.  A tear escaped anyway.

“What have you been through?  You have a fine home, a hunk of a husband, and three of the most beautiful children I’ve ever laid eyes on.  You’ve got everything.”  Linda eased on her brakes as she approached a stop sign then flipped her left turn signal.  “You even have a driver.”  Linda bobbed her head, wiggled her shoulders, and sung, “I’m driving Miss Daisy, ya’ll.  I’m driving Miss Daisy.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“You know it’s true.  You do have everything.”

“Not everything,” Sarah mumbled.

“I never hear you complain.  Why would anyone who lives in a six bedroom house that’s perched on forty acres complain anyhow?”

“I have trials.  Who doesn’t?”

“Oh, c’mon.  How would you like to sit in my seat?  I haven’t had much time to myself for a while.  Jake is always out of town, leaving me to care for Charly all by myself.  Sometimes her seizures last off and on for hours.  By the end of the day, I’m worn out.”  Linda stretched her eyes.  “You want to switch places?”

“Humph.  I don’t think you’d like to be in my seat, dear friend.”

“Please don’t go all whiny on me.  It doesn’t become you.  Besides, there’s no one in this entire town who has it as well as you do.  By the way, where do you want to have lunch?  I thought we might stop and eat a hamburger at Freddie’s Hamburger Joint before we go to your shop.”

“A hamburger sounds great.”

During the five mile stretch to Freddie’s, Sarah propped her elbow on the car’s window ledge and gnawed on a fingernail.  She reflected on her disastrous week while Linda hummed one spiritual tune after another to escape to her own corner of the world.

Sarah rubbed the bump in the bend of her arm, angry it had taken phlebotomists more than twice to tap into a vein.  All the advice offered to alleviate the painful sticks never worked.  Someone once told her to drink plenty of water the day before giving blood.  Sarah rolled her eyes as she recalled the episode.  It took almost two hours to retrieve blood because of her many trips to the bathroom.  After an acquaintance urged her to exercise and use a warm compress, she gave up because it sounded outright ridiculous.

“Have you lost your ability to hear?”

Sarah winced in pain.  “Why are you so violent?  That hurts.”  Sarah massaged her arm.  Linda had one powerful backhand.

“I’ve been talking to you for the last five minutes.”

“Guess my mind was somewhere else.”

“I was asking if you want a root beer float with your burger.  And I was hope-hope-hoping you’d have enough pity on me to invite Charly and I to dinner tonight.  It would be payback for driving all the way out here to pick you up.  Hint.  Hint.  Anyway, Jake is out of town and I’m trying to avoid the kitchen.  Charly won’t care what we eat.  And she’d love to see the kids.  I can bring the drinks if that’ll help.”

“I’ll be tuckered out by the time we get the shop cleaned up and the yarn priced and put away.  I’m expecting a large shipment and I don’t think I’ll have any energy once we’re done.  Next week I have two satellite meetings scheduled—one at eight in the morning; another at two o’clock.”  Sarah pushed against the headrest.  “If I don’t get the new girl trained on the register, I’ll be right back where I started . . . my store in a mess and my shipping and billing backed up.”

“This is really sad.  We both live smack dab in the heart of Jacksonville but seems we’re passing each other in the night.”

“Next time we’ll do something fun, okay?”  To appease her friend, Sarah added, “You’ve always wanted to go to the Tea Room in Orlando.  Let’s plan to go in early spring.  Or we can take a family vacation to Miami Beach this summer like we did three years ago.”

“I’d settle for a simple cup of coffee and good conversation, Sarah.  Is it really that hard?  Does everything need to be so detailed and well-planned out?  Coffee and conversation—how hard can it be?”

Linda pulled into the parking lot of Freddie’s Hamburger Joint and parked, but kept the engine running.  “We used to sit and have coffee for an hour every day once we got the kids off to school.  Now I’m lucky to see you once a month.  What’s going on?  And please don’t blame it on the store.  It’s a cover and I know it.”

Geez!  Sarah squeezed the door handle and started to exit the car, hoping for a quick escape, but Linda grabbed her arm.

“Oh, no.  I need you to talk to me.”  Linda folded her arms across her chest.  “I know I talk too much, but I see what’s going on here.  You’re not yourself.  You seem—what’s the word?—evasive.”  Linda gently squeezed Sarah’s forearm.  “Have I done something to offend you?  Have I put my foot in my mouth and you’re afraid to tell me?”

“I’m just tired.  Maybe I’m too preoccupied with the store, the kids, Michael, and the upkeep of the house.”

“You’re overwhelmed?”

Sarah turned away.  “I guess I am.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this?”

“Why would I lie?”

“Remember what happened two years ago?”

“And you said you’d forgiven me for that.  Are you gonna beat me up all over again?”

“Look, smarty pants, I wouldn’t dare bring it up if I thought you were being straight with me.”

“Oh, c’mon, Linda.”

“You’ve been acting strange and you know it.  You’re not leveling with me and—”

“I’m not keeping anything from you.  Why would I?”

“You had no reason to keep secrets from me the last time.  Why you couldn’t tell me your mother was dying is beyond me.  I’ll never understand it.  And if you’ll recall, Sarah, you never offered an explanation.  I’m supposed to be your best friend, remember?”

“Didn’t I apologize?”

“You did, but only after I confronted you about it when a pharmaceutical tech mentioned your mother’s death to Jake.  Jacksonville isn’t a big city.  People talk.  You have any idea how it felt to find out about your mother from someone else?”

“You’ve made it very clear to me.”

“It’s a sore spot with me and you know it.  I’ve got this nagging feeling you’re doing it again.”

“Linda, can we drop this?”

“So, are you keeping something from me?  Why do you always seem distracted?  It’s like you’re in another world.”  Linda dramatically waved her hands in the air to demonstrate her disgust.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.  Life will return to normal soon.”

“Let me help.  I think I’m a good listener.  If I’m not, teach me.  I’m willing to change.”  Linda stared at the roof of her car and made a face.  “It’ll be hard, but I can change.  And I’m not too proud to help clean your house, if that’s what you need me to do.  I can even be your cashier.  Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“What in the world would I do without you?”  Sarah patted Linda’s knee.  “You’ve got your hands full.  You’re doing enough with Charly.  Matter of fact, being here with me today is exactly what I need.  Now let’s eat.  I’m starved.”

Linda shut off the engine, slid out of her SUV then waited for it to shimmy, pop, and sizzle before she slammed the door and mumbled, “I really need a new car.”  She proceeded to follow Sarah inside the restaurant, but stopped and tilted her head.  “Are you losing weight?”

Sarah faced Linda before pulling at her sweat pants.  “Why do you ask?”

“You’re not as full in the hips as you used to be.”  Linda winked.  “I bet Michael is loving this.”

Sarah rushed toward Linda and looped their arms together.  “What goes on in my bedroom stays in my bedroom.  Now, let’s eat so we can get to the shop and unload the yarn.”

“If you say so, skinny woman.”

*   *   *   *   *

For four hours, the women barely spoke, each working on opposite ends of the boutique, putting away yarn and accessories in Sarah’s knitting store.  In the bottom half of those four hours, Sarah escaped to the bathroom where she turned on her noisy vent and ran water to drown out the retching created each time nausea threatened to overtake her.

Between rubbing watery eyes and blowing her nose from the effects of the dye, Linda was too preoccupied with new skeins of yarn and knitting patterns to notice Sarah’s pale skin or droopy eyes . . .

Until she dropped her home.

*   *   *   *   *

“Let me help you take those things inside,” Linda said as she exited the car.  “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“No, I can manage.”

Before Sarah protested a second time, Linda slid two boxes off the back seat, stumbled on a broken piece of concrete, and spilled the contents of one box on the ground.  Tiny balls of scrap yarn rolled along the grass.  Knitting needles clanged and flipped in the air before spiraling out of sight.  Markers, wig heads, and several old scarves Sarah knitted last year lay strewn on the walkway.

But only one thing grabbed Linda’s attention.

In slow motion, Linda sat the second box on the concrete and in a zombie-like stare removed a blood-soaked towel off the ground.  Tears welled in her eyes.  When she met Sarah’s frightful gaze, pain and hurt, anger and sorrow swelled inside her.  After closing in on her friend of sixteen years, she moved even closer, nose-to-nose, and held the towel inches from Sarah’s face.  Her nostrils flared.  Hot rapid breathing seemed to jeopardize every strand of hair on Sarah’s body.

“You’re sick, aren’t you?” Linda asked.  “And this is how I find out?”

“Linda, let me explain.  I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I just didn’t know how to—”

“You meant to tell me?  You meant to tell me!  It’s a little too late, don’t you think?  How ’bout this.  How ’bout I leave you to deal with this all by your lying self?  How ’bout that?  Huh?  Hello world!  Let me introduce you to Mrs. Sarah Bannister, superwoman of the year.  The town’s hero with the powers to handle any and everything all by her lonesome.”  Linda smirked.  “Hope Hollywood is paying you well for this gig.”  Linda shoved the bloody towel in Sarah’s hand and left in a huff.

“Linda, stop it.”

In a quick about-face, Linda said, “No, you stop it.  Best of luck BEST friend.  Give me a call before you take your last breath, why don’t you!”

“Linda, wait!  Please.  Linda, don’t do this.  I didn’t mean anything by it.  I didn’t think you could handle it.  I couldn’t handle it!”

Linda left Sarah standing in the driveway breathing in fumes of burnt rubber as she violently backed out and went home.

For nearly two weeks, Sarah phoned Linda three times a day, but never received a response.  She saw her friend once in the grocery store and tried to talk to her, but Linda responded only by saying, “You’re done?  Good, cause I’ve got better things to do.”

In the course of three weeks, Sarah’s health worsened.  Though the cancer was curable, it baffled doctors why Sarah wasn’t responding to treatment.  When one of the nurses suggested Sarah might be depressed, the doctor spoke privately with Michael and together they concocted a plan.

*   *   *   *   *

“I know you don’t want to sit outside, honey,” Michael said to Sarah, “but you won’t be out here long.  After I spray the kitchen for ants, it’ll only take an hour for the air to clear.  I’ll bring you iced tea before I get started.”

“Only an hour?” Sarah asked.

“That’s it.  Now, relax.  Soon the kids will be home from soccer practice, so enjoy the peace while you can.”

“Well, alright.”

“Hi, Mrs. Bannister.”

Startled by the interruption, Sarah looked past Michael and saw a young girl drop her scooter to the ground as she tried to balance a large bouquet in her hand.  “Good morning, Helen.  Who are those pretty roses for?”

“They’re for you.”  Helen mounted the steps and placed the roses on a table next to Sarah.

“For me?  Why would you buy me roses?  They look expensive.”

“I didn’t buy them,” Helen said.

“Then where did you get them?  Did your mother buy them?”

“Nope.  Momma didn’t buy them either.  A little birdie told me to deliver them.”  Helen snickered.  It wasn’t often a ten-year-old was privy to a grownup’s secret.

Sarah looked over her shoulder at her husband.  “A little birdie, huh?”

Michael hunched his shoulders and raised his hands.  “Not me.  I had nothing to do with it.  You might take a look at the card.”

“See you, Mrs. Bannister.”

“Bye, Helen.”  Sarah removed the card and flipped it over several times.  It was slightly larger than most and there was writing on every inch of it, in a handwriting Sarah didn’t recognize.  There was no logo; no address or phone number.

Jesus’ greatest gift to us was the forgiveness of sin.  For no man has ever gone a day in his life without sinning against God and mankind.  Isn’t it nice to know he’s forgiven you?

On the opposite side, someone had scribbled:

“Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.”  (John 15:13)

Sarah looked behind her and discovered Michael had gone inside the house.  If he hadn’t sent the flowers, then who had been so bold, so thoughtful?

Once every two weeks thereafter, Michael found an excuse to have Sarah sit on the porch, even on misty days.  And each time he did so, little Helen brought a fresh bouquet of roses, reaffirming in her sweet innocent voice that she had no idea who was sending her this gift.  She did tell Sarah the florist, with her mother’s permission, paid her ten dollars to deliver them.  No doubt whoever was behind this kind gesture wanted to remain anonymous.

The flowers lifted her spirits and gave her something to look forward to.  Over time Sarah’s health improved and she was finally able to drive again.  She attended school activities for her children, cooked, cleaned, and caught up on her reading.  Though she still had difficulty keeping her hands steady enough to begin a new knitting project, she reviewed store orders and paid the bills.  When her days became unbearably lonely, playing the piano brought a small measure of comfort.  And whenever she thought of Linda, she’d grow anxious for the arrival of a new bouquet of roses.

She’d placed the fresh flowers on a table in the hallway, neatly arranging the Bible verses next to them.  God’s word had a way of softening her heart and unveiling her wrong without leaving her with feelings of worthlessness.  Sarah didn’t fully understand how God did this, but she welcomed his intervention.  With each passing day, an increased craving for that kind of love grew inside her.

Then something peculiar happened.

Though she was strong enough to go camping with her family on Labor Day, Michael insisted she stay and enjoy the solitude.  A bit miffed by his over protection, she convinced herself perhaps her family just didn’t want her spoiling their weekend.  Maybe they thought a trek along the beach would tire her.  What they clearly didn’t understand was she hated to be alone.  She enjoyed the noise they made throughout the house—the sibling rivalries, witch hunts for things right under their noses.  All of it invigorated her.

Disappointed, she moped all day Friday—ignored the flowers; took no comfort in the Bible verses; wanted no part of the piano.

But early Saturday morning, the doorbell rang.  The grandfather clock chimed seven times, leaving her to wonder who in their right mind would be out and about at this hour.

In her bathrobe and slippers, Sarah begrudgingly tromped to the door.  She moved the curtains half an inch and discovered an unfamiliar gray SUV parked in the driveway.  It was difficult to see through the peep hole.  Whoever was on the other side had covered it with their finger.

“Who is it?”  Sarah pressed her ear to the door and waited.

No one answered.

She tightened her robe, glancing at the top of the china cabinet where Michael kept the shotgun.  Then she squared her shoulders, put on a brave face, and opened the door.

Stunned, Sarah gasped.  “Linda?”

Linda had two cups from Starbucks in her hands.

“I brought coffee.”

Unable to move, too afraid to say a single word, Sarah was motionless in the doorway.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” Linda asked.

“W-Why of course.”

On Linda’s way to the kitchen, she stopped and gazed at the flowers on the baroque table in the hallway.  Slightly bending at the waist, she read one of the cards.

If you want a friend, show yourself friendly. (Proverbs 18.24 – KJV)

Linda picked up another Bible verse.

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. (John 13:34-35)

Linda handed Sarah one of the coffee cups before carrying the flowers to the kitchen.

“I received flowers just like these,” Linda said as she centered them on the table.  “You sent them, didn’t you?”

“No,” Sarah said as she flopped in a chair, “I didn’t send them.”

“Who did?”

Sarah shrugged her shoulders.  “I have no idea.”

“Did Michael buy them?”

“He swears he didn’t.”

“They come every Thursday?” Linda asked as she arched one eyebrow in curiosity.

“Yes, they do.”  Sarah squinted.  “You don’t suppose Jake had anything to do with this?”

Linda nodded as a smile emerged.  “If you ask me, I think both our husbands had a hand in this.”

“Why are you here, Linda?  This can’t be about flowers.  I thought you were still mad at me and never wanted to see me again.”

“I am and I didn’t.”

“Ooookay.  That’s clear as a bell.”

“It’s those blasted Bible verses.  It’s God’s fault.  He really got to me.”

“I’ve tried to shake them, too, but I can’t.  Sometimes . . .  Sometimes the truth hurts.”

“I thought it was your clever way of saying you were sorry.”

“Afraid I’m not that creative.”

“This is really immature of me, I know, but I don’t want to forgive you.  I want to stay mad at you.”

“I’ve not been a good friend to you.  Linda, I’ve acted like an idiot,” Sarah admitted.  “You didn’t deserve the mean-spirited way I treated you.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“If I had, I wouldn’t have done it.  I don’t think I’ve ever put myself in your shoes.  Never considered how you’d feel.”

“Well, the elephant in the room won’t go away until you put a pin in it.  No matter where this leads, we’ve got to talk it out.”

Sarah bowed her head.  “I can’t begin to tell you how ashamed I am.”

“Save it for later.  Right now, I want to explain something to you.  And you need to listen real good cause I’m only gonna say this once.”

Sarah nodded in humble obedience.

“It was a betrayal of trust . . . what you did.  Here we are the best of friends, two people who have shared everything in the world together.  We’ve been there for each other through thick and thin—at each other’s wedding; at the birth of our kids; consoling each other when our husbands often lost their minds.  But when faced with the one thing that might take you from us, you up and decided to keep it hidden from me.”


“Hush!  I’m not done yet.  Other than God, I thought I knew more about you than anyone else in the world.  So, I find all of this hard to believe.  You stabbed me right here!”  Linda pounded her chest with her fist.  Her face turned beet red.  Tears flowed effortlessly.  “It didn’t cross your mind that I cared?”

“It was too hard.”

Linda held up her hand, motioning for Sarah to stop.  “Don’t you dare lecture me about what’s hard.  After all we’ve been through, did you truly expect me to walk away and pretend nothing was wrong?  So, what was your game plan?  Was I supposed to tell you to take a pill and see you in a year or two?  Or maybe you thought so little of me and concluded I was too weak to handle your illness.

“You know, nothing you’ve done in the last few years has made any sense and it’s time you explain yourself,” Linda continued.  “I’m sick and tired of filling in the blanks, making excuses for your behavior, exerting effort to stay positive about our relationship.  So, here is your opportunity.  Explain away.”

Linda waited.  And waited.

Sarah’s face was as hard as stone, her eyes looking past Linda and deep into places far beyond the kitchen walls.  Impatience got the best of Linda and before she knew it, she snatched up her purse and rushed to the front door, a steep waterfall drenching her face, her loss deeper than the breadth of an ocean.

“Linda, wait!”

With one hand on the doorknob, Linda glanced over her shoulder.  “This is your last chance and I mean it.”

Sarah took Linda by the arm and led her back to the kitchen.  While rubbing her hands together, Sarah paced the kitchen floor, later massaging her temples before taking a seat at the table.  The coffee was cold.  She took long sips of it anyway, circling her index finger along the rim of the cup, forming words without making a sound, doing everything possible to come face-to-face with her past.

“There are things about me that you don’t know.  Deep things,” Sarah said while staring at the cup.  “Please don’t expect me to share them all.  Some things I’m entitled to keep to myself.”

“How deep?”

Sarah rubbed her brow in a nervous gesture as she searched for the right words.  “I ran away from home when I was thirteen and—”

“Noooo kidding.  What happened?”  Linda sat her purse on an empty chair, anchored her forearms on the table, and leaned forward.

“I went missing for two weeks.  The men who forced me into their truck held me captive, promising me day after day to bring me home.  Once the police found me and reunited me with my parents, everyone soon discovered I had trust issues.  Therapists kept telling my parents to give it time.”  Sarah shook her head then stared at the kitchen tile.  “I didn’t get better,” she said, weeping and wiping snot with the back of her hand.  “Over time I developed some pretty good coping skills and I usually do okay in non-life-threatening situations.  But when the doctors told me my mother was dying, I shut down and went into survival mode.  My struggle to get through my mother’s suffering ended up plunging me back in that shack with those men.”

“Is that why you shut me out?”

“I think so.  But it’s not the only reason.”  Sarah rolled the coffee cup in the palms of her hands as though the cold brew would soothe her, protect her in some way.  “I’m afraid I’m just odd when it comes to this kind of pressure.”

Linda didn’t respond, but rather searched Sarah’s eyes with great intensity.

“Needless to say, when the doctors told me I had cancer, the news thrust me back into that shack.  This time I couldn’t crawl out of that dingy place to save my life.  No matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t making any progress.  A part of me gave up and died.  Everything ran together—days, nights, dreams, the stench of that shack haunted me.

“With so much time to think,” Sarah said as she proceeded, “I realized all my coping skills had dwindled down to nothing.  I felt helpless; like a corpse waiting to breathe her last.  There was no one to hold me up.  I couldn’t stop falling.”

“Why didn’t you confide in me?”  Linda reached for Sarah’s hand, but she pulled away, her eyes sad and filled with tears.

Sarah shook her head.  “After the way I treated you, I didn’t deserve your help.  Sometimes I feel as if the scars are so deep that I don’t have the energy it takes to explain any of this.  Until today, I didn’t know how to explain it.  I was scared.  After putting on a front for the children, a positive attitude for Michael, I didn’t have anything left.”  Sarah took in her surroundings—the immaculate light fixtures in the ceiling, the pristine marbled countertops, the expensive curtains.  “Here I am in this big house with all my beautiful things, with four living and breathing family members and I’ve never felt so alone in my life.”

“Prayer didn’t comfort you?”

Sarah bowed.  “I didn’t believe.  Hope had become a distant memory for me.  Odd, though.  I didn’t feel like I was stuck on an island.  It was much worse.  I felt as if I was in the middle of traffic or on a bustling street corner with everyone bumping into me but no one taking the time to talk.”  Sarah hunched her shoulders.  “No one knew I existed.  Or maybe they did and just didn’t care.”

“You have plenty of people who care.”  Linda propped one hand under her chin.  “Tell me, what brought you out of it?”

Sarah lifted a rose and twirled it.  “These little gems.  Not knowing where they came from stirred my curiosity and distracted me from self-pity.  They gave me hope.”  As she returned the rose to the vase, she admitted, “I pretended they were from you.  Good thing, too, because if my health hadn’t improved, I think the doctors would have given up on me.  I don’t think anyone expected me to pull through.  Michael was beyond worried.”  Sarah hitched her chin toward the flowers.  “These beauties reminded me of God’s handiwork.  The Bible verses revived my soul.”

“How is your health now?”

“I’m in remission.”

“Wish you’d allowed me to experience your pain.  Seems like there’s a gigantic wall between us and I can’t move it out of the way.  I’ve been feeling that way for a long time.  It didn’t begin with your mother dying.  It began days before we stopped having our morning coffee.  I’ve spent many nights fretting over this, never fully understanding, but always dying to know what went wrong.  Always, always blaming myself.”

Sarah kept both eyes fixed on her cup as an awkward silence settled in the room.  Anxious, she rubbed her thighs, intimidated to ask the most obvious.  A large lump formed in her throat, as though a million dust mites had clogged her windpipe.  Her shoulders bobbed as she wept.  “What about us?  Will we never have family barbeques anymore?  Will I need to pretend not to see you on the street?  Have I totally ruined our friendship?”

“Yes, you have.”  There was mockery in Linda’s voice, an unapologetic snide which released small snippets of pent-up anger.

With both hands, Sarah covered her face and cried uncontrollably before saying, “So, this is it?  There’s no hope for us.”

“There’s hope.  There’s plenty of hope.”

“Then tell me what to do.  I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” Linda asked in between her own tears.


“I think we should start over.  Pretend we’ve just met.  Plan our wedding.  Predict how many children we’ll have.  I’ll tell you all about me and you’ll tell me all about you; about life, death, prosperity, loneliness, old boyfriends, bullies, every single thing.  But I want to end up marrying Michael.”

Both women laughed.  They reached across the kitchen table, clasped hands and squeezed tight.

“Not possible.  He’s already taken,” Sarah said with the confidence of a woman who had it all.  She felt renewed, reenergized, as if someone had thrown her a lifeline.

“Well, I tried.”  Linda dug in her purse and tossed Sarah a tissue then used another one to clean her own face.  After blowing her nose, she filled the room with laughter.  “Did I ever tell you ’bout the time I got caught kissing Stanley Peterson at lunch when I was in the sixth grade?”

“No, you didn’t.  Did you get expelled?”

“No, but momma grounded me for two weeks.  Now, tell me when the doctors first diagnosed you with cancer.  And don’t leave anything out.  Cause if you do—”

“I won’t.  I can’t afford to lose my friend for a third time.  You mean too much to me.”

“Alright, don’t go all mushy on me.  Can you make a pot of coffee and cook some eggs?  You owe me a meal.  And start talking.”

9Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor.

10For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one

who falls when there is not another to lift him up.”  (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)

Author’s Note:  Loving your friends and neighbors, and your sisters and brothers in Christ is a risky business, but a risk we must take or we’ll find ourselves alone, with no one to lift us up.

by Donna Comeaux

for the Ruby for Women October and November Issues

September 22, 2017


Though the characters and events in this short story are fictional, they resemble my real life experience with a friend who was close to me.  Linda’s feelings of betrayal are undeniably deep and painful.  Although she didn’t completely let go of Sarah’s friendship, without a doubt she understood their relationship couldn’t move forward without putting a pin in the elephant in the room.  Their differences needed a resolution.  Love required they come to an understanding and reach a new level of respect for one another.

It is important to address issues which hinder your relationships.  False pretenses are merely lies wedged between friends that end up rotting the marrow of your bones.  If these lies go unattended, they will plunge you into a lifetime of misery and heartache and spoil your walk with Jesus Christ.

Free yourself by first preparing your heart to forgive.  This comes through the reading of God’s word and your humble surrender to the Holy One.  Once you surrender, it’s then and only then that you’ll be able to offer opportunities to those who have wronged you to repent.  Either go to them, or clothe your heart and mind and countenance with godliness so they can approach you.

This is hard.

I’m still a work in progress.

What’s Up Ahead?

There are two things I love outside of my family: writing and knitting. Oh, and the color blue. Give me anything blue and I’m the happiest woman in the world! Yet, if I had to choose, I’d write until I had no life left. Unfortunately, Ninja Turtles barge in with swords and masked faces to interrupt all that I hold dear, if for no other reason than to keep my attitude in check so I’m reminded of what’s really important.

Knitting is a lot like writing. It has a tendency to keep you isolated. I could visit my favorite shop and sit with other ladies and knit until my heart is content. But at some point, I always find myself in my favorite chair knitting alone. Writers are also loners. It doesn’t bother them to sit for hours at a time to create a story. I, for one, don’t need anyone to keep me company; and I don’t need to be inside a knitting store to get excited over a new project or new skeins of yarn.

Because I’m wearing a lot of the scarves I’ve made, my knitting projects have come to the attention of many at my congregation. Unexpectedly, knitting is doing something out of the ordinary. It’s drawing people into my inner circle. And this unexpected gift is what has inspired this article.

Weeks ago I had a new knitter come visit me and we sat and knitted while we talked. Since she’s been knitting for a little over a year now, I challenged her to spread her wings and tap into new knitting techniques; to try SSK (slip, slip, knit), simple basket weave patterns, and new ways to cast on. As I tried to demonstrate the Provisional Cast On method, I noticed she continuously asked if this was the only technique used to perform a Provisional Cast On. I said yes, then hesitated, realizing rather quickly there are several ways to perform a Provisional Cast On—with a crochet hook, or with a knitting needle and two different colored yarns.

I wondered:  Why does she need a road map for each new technique?

Then something occurred to me. More often than not we all want to know what’s ahead of us. Where is the next turn? How far do we need to go? Will we make it by dark? Is there enough food? Will the pain be bearable or longsuffering? Just how long are patients on a waiting list for a transplant? Will mine occur soon enough? Is there a cure? Will it hurt to die?

I grew impatient with this probe into the unknown. I wanted to get on with knitting. I had a learn-as-you-go attitude. I have no fear of this adventure because I’m accustomed to it. My new knitting partner, however, had no idea where she was headed. She was afraid. Reluctant. And it didn’t take long for her anxieties to transform her lazy way of talking into a rapid, almost breathless screech of despair. Her hands shook. Her voice raised a decibel or two. Without warning, she declared rather loudly that all she wanted to do was knit and purl as before, not be thrown into an abyss.

Can you imagine laboring over half-filled fishing nets, dragging them to shore as you weigh your debts against your menial profit? Then from out of nowhere, a fisherman calls out to you, “Come, follow me!”

I’m certain my initial response would not be: Drop the net and follow the stranger. I don’t care how peaceful or loving he appears, I’m not following anyone I don’t know. My deep, furrowed brow would convey my reluctance and my thoughts would be: Has this guy lost his mind? I’ve got a family to feed.

Dread would surely consume me if an angel entered my dreams and said, “Behold, Donna, the Son of God is growing inside your womb.” No way I’d hear the announcement that I should name the child Emanuel, the Prince of Peace. Not me. This angel chose the wrong woman. Sorry, Gabriel, but you got the wrong house. I think you meant Mary across the street. I’m telling you, I’d leave my bed and take out in a dead run, stopping only when I felt safe and out of harm’s way.

For God to stop me on any road to confront me and redirect my path to Damascus would have scared me so bad that my heart would probably burst open. And not being able to see would have caused sheer panic and soiled garments.

And yet . . .

I can’t find a place in the New Testament where one of the disciples ever asked, Why? Where are we going? How long is the journey? I’ll be right back. Let me call my wife.

Who are these men? What’s driving their faith? Aren’t they worried about the unknown?

To answer these questions, I had to get real and dig deep into my journey as a knitter.

There was always something intriguing about using a single strand of thread (yarn) to create a garment. I desperately needed to know how to manipulate this strand . . . how to twist and stretch and whirl it around so it would lay neat and flat in all its splendor. My curiosity intensified to the point that I ignored fears of entering a store to inquire how to knit. That visit led to another, and before I knew it I was knitting a child’s sweater.

I think that’s the way it happened with the disciples. Jesus didn’t just hastily spring upon them. I tend to believe the coming Messiah was so much on their hearts and minds that they spent hours upon hours hashing and rehashing how he’d appear . . . when he’d appear . . . imagining how much raucous he’d cause once he showed up. John the Baptist’s preaching of the Messiah fed their anticipation, their desire for him reaching unimaginable proportions. By the time Jesus stood along the shore and beckoned them to, “Come, follow me,” they were eager to obey.

See, they didn’t need to ask, Why? They understood why. Of course, their reasons for his coming and what he’d do once he came were misconstrued. But their hearts never waivered at his appearing. Their soul and spirit knew.

We also know.

Amid all the noise, turbulent storms, strife and heartaches, sickness and despair, we know.

We just need reminders. Encouragement. Refreshed hope. (“I take great joy and encouragement in your love, because you, brother, have refreshed the hearts of the saints.” Philemon 1:7)

Every last one of us wants a bright and prosperous future. And we don’t want anything to impede our hopes for it. But that’s unrealistic. Broken hearts need mending. Those who promote social injustice need repentant hearts and forgiveness. Truth needs to replace lies. Diseases need to be cured. And the dead, spiritual and physical, need raising.

When prayers for such things go unanswered and the road map leads in another direction, we proclaim God isn’t listening. Surely, if he loved me . . .

Consider this:

“Indeed, all who desire to live godly lives in Christ Jesus will be persecuted . . .” (2 Timothy 3:12)


What if God gave you this warning:

Do not fear what you are about to suffer. Look, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison to test you, and you will suffer tribulation for ten days. Be faithful even unto death, and I will give you the crown of life. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. The one who is victorious will not be harmed by the second death.” (Revelation 2:10-11)

Why is any of this significant?

Because God does not promise we won’t encounter hardship. One of you may be overtaken by a deadly disease. Another, by injustice. Yet another, by poverty. And then another, by famine.

If the ire of those who suffer go against God, who will be left to serve and praise him? Are there any righteous among you?

I declare to you: God is alive and hears every plea placed before his throne.

“When He had taken the scroll, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb. Each one had a harp, and they held the golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints.” (Revelation 5:8)

God is a fine architect. The finest of all. He has designed a segue of pillars and floors and walls and roofs to protect and keep you safe.

He knows the number of hairs on your head; knows everything about you; and can read the heart of man and discern his intent. (1 Chronicles 28:9)

For us to declare that we know what and how God will do what he sets out to do is foolishness. No matter how we spin it, we will never know the fullness of God until we meet him face to face. My knees shake as I think of what it will be like to see him, to bow in his presence, to feel him, to encounter his endless love.

It is absolutely useless for us to fret over what’s around the corner. We are like children, holding daddy’s hand as he leads us through life’s supermarket of twists and turns. We can no more guess what’s ahead of us than we can predict the return of the risen Savior.

Our time is better spent reflecting and praising God for all that he’s brought us through. It’s time for us to go down Memory Lane and smile at all the times he rescued us from the perils of our own misdeeds. It’s time to sing songs of praise and thanksgiving for his endless mercy. To remind ourselves of the grace we’ve been given and don’t deserve.

Life is indeed a supermarket with gnarled speed bumps in the aisles. Some of those bumps slow us down and hamper our goals toward success. Often those speed bumps are so dangerous that we must choose another route. We often become disappointed and discouraged by these detours, only to find out much later that God had something better in mind for us.

We cannot second guess God. We need to stop trying to do so.

There is, however, one thing certain.

He loves me! He truly loves me!! And he wishes no harm come to me.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

God will never lead you astray, leave you alone, or allow you to fall farther than he can reach. He doesn’t know how to fail. And he surely didn’t fail when he created you. He designed every fiber of your being with his masterful hand. No mistakes made. Everything is set in its proper place. And you, dear friend, are a masterpiece. Unique. One of a kind. Special. Kept completely whole and continuously cleaned by the blood of Jesus Christ.

You are a living and breathing child of God. Only he knows what’s best for you. He’s created a road map specifically for YOUR life. Your destination: heaven. At a long, splendid and elaborately set table is a seat for you and in the next room is a place to lay your head. You know your starting point. You know your end. Everything in between is a marvelous, adventurous journey with testy steep hills, high winds, rainy Sundays, and at last, brilliant Son-Rises. We must find joy while on our journey and not get distracted and sidetracked along the way.

Trust and be obedient to God and he will save you.

“Behold, God is my salvation, I will trust and not be afraid; For the LORD GOD is my strength and song, and He has become my salvation.” (Isaiah 12:2)

The next time you set out on your spiritual journey, pack the sword of truth. Set aside your anguish. Gird yourself with joy, peace, love, and hope. Because just over the hill, to the right, in that bend in the road is a shining light waiting for your arrival. Prepare yourself. Strap in tight. For God Almighty is about to reveal himself in all his glory. And with outstretched arms, he’s soothing all that aches inside you.

Take a deep breath and feel his presence.


Donna B. Comeaux

Change YOUR World. Be Motivated.

After hearing this speech, ask yourself this:  How will you change the world? After all, that’s what motivated people do, right?

Donna B. Comeaux
August 30, 2017

A Sacrifice With A Purpose

At the beginning of each year, we have the good intention to achieve new and important goals.  But I can’t recall a time when I’ve intentionally given up anything to the point of death.  I’m not referring to the giving of my time, or putting extra money in a collection plate, or filling someone’s gas tank.  All of those things are within my power.  The type of sacrifice I’m speaking of is one that hurts through the marrow of your bones; a sacrifice you’ve chosen to perform that causes great spiritual and emotional anguish.

The one real life example that comes to mind is a situation one of our brothers is in today.  He’s been accused of stealing money from the church, but unbeknown to his accusers he and another brother are the ones who donated money to make needed repairs to the church building when the church didn’t have enough funds to pay for the repairs.  The accuser is threatening to take one of the brothers to court, claiming he’s been threatened with bodily harm.  Of course, there’s no basis for this accusation, but the accusation embellishes the accuser’s point so he can acquire sympathy and support from others.


The question is this:  Who will back down?  Who will deny themselves?  And how did things escalate to this point?


Testosterone is high and each man’s pride is at stake.  One saying:  “You better pray because I’m not backing down for anybody.”  The other saying:  “I’ve been at this church forever and there’s no way an outsider is gonna come in here and take over my church.”


Is it possible to clamp down on your pride and fall to your knees before the Lord and give him your burden?  What happens to us when we face encounters like this?  Are we so bent on getting our way that we lose focus on the Word of God?  Does it no longer matter what we’ve been taught by the scriptures?  As I await your comments to these questions, and perhaps the sharing of your own stories in similar situations in the church, read about another sacrifice that was made, one that, despite all the noise, was given out of a unimpeded freewill to save others.


John Griffith, the Bridge Operator

(Originally posted on CRI at http://www.equip.org/hank_speaks_out/john-griffith-the-bridge-operator/ )

This is a story that takes place in the roaring 20’s in Oklahoma:


John Griffith was in his early twenties. He was newly married and full of optimism. Along with his lovely wife, he had been blessed with a beautiful baby. He was living the American dream. But then came 1929—the Great Stock Market Crash—the shattering of the American economy that devastated John’s dreams. The winds that howled through Oklahoma were strangely symbolic of the gale force that was sweeping away his hopes and his dreams. And so, brokenhearted, John packed up his few possessions, and with his wife and his little son, headed East in an old Ford Model A. They made their way to the edge of the mighty Mississippi River and found a job tending one of the great railroad bridges there.


Day after day, John would sit in the control room and direct the enormous gears of the immense bridge over the mighty river. He would look out wistfully as bulky barges and splendid ships glided gracefully under his elevated bridge. Each day, he looked on sadly as those ships carried with them his shattered dreams and his visions of far-off places and exotic destinations.


It wasn’t until 1937 that a new dream began to be birthed in John’s heart. His young son was now eight years old and John had begun to catch a vision for a new life, a life in which Greg, his little son, would work shoulder to shoulder with him. The first day of this new life dawned and brought with it new hope and fresh purpose. Excitedly, they packed their lunches and headed off towards the immense bridge.


Greg looked on in wide-eyed amazement as his Dad pressed down the huge lever that raised and lowered the vast bridge. As he watched, he thought that his father must surely be the greatest man alive. He marveled that his Dad could singlehandedly control the movements of such a stupendous structure.


Before they knew it, Noon time had arrived. John had just elevated the bridge and allowed some scheduled ships to pass through. And then taking his son by the hand, they headed off towards lunch.


As they ate, John told his son in vivid detail stories about the marvelous destinations of the ships that glided below them. Enveloped in a world of thought, he related story after story, his son hanging on his every word.


Then, suddenly, in the midst of telling a tale about the time that the river had overflowed its banks, he and his son were startled back to reality by the shrieking whistle of a distant train. Looking at his watch in disbelief, John saw that it was already 1:07. Immediately he remembered that the bridge was still raised and that the Memphis Express would be by in just minutes.


In the calmest tone he could muster he instructed his son “Stay put.” Quickly, he leaped to his feet, he jumped onto the catwalk. As the precious seconds flew by, he ran at full-tilt to the steer ladder leading into the control house.


Once in, he searched the river to make sure that no ships were in sight. And then, as he had been trained to do, he looked straight down beneath the bridge to make certain nothing was below. As his eyes moved downward, he saw something so horrifying that his heart froze in his chest. For there, below him in the massive gearbox that housed the colossal gears that moved the gigantic bridge, was his beloved son.


Apparently Greg had tried to follow his dad but had fallen off the catwalk. Even now he was wedged between the teeth of two main cogs in the gear box. Although he appeared to be conscious, John could see that his son’s leg had already begun to bleed. Then an even more horrifying thought flashed through his mind. Lowering the bridge would mean killing the apple of his eye.


Panicked, his mind probed in every direction, frantically searching for solutions. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself grabbing a coiled rope, climbing down the ladder, running down the catwalk, securing the rope, sliding down towards his son, pulling him back to safety. Then in an instant, he would move back down towards the control lever and thrust it down just in time for the oncoming train.


As soon as these thoughts appeared, he realized the futility of his plan. Instantly he knew there just wouldn’t be enough time. Frustration began to beat on John’s brow, terror written over every inch of his face. His mind darted here and there, vainly searching for yet another solution.


His agonized mind considered the four hundred people that were moving inextricably closer and closer to the bridge. Soon the train would come roaring out of the trees with tremendous speed, but this was his son…his only son…his pride…his joy.


He knew in a moment there was only one thing he could do. He knew he would have to do it. And so, burying his face under his left arm, he plunged down the lever. The cries of his son were quickly drowned out by the relentless sound of the bridge as it ground slowly into position. With only seconds to spare, the Memphis Express—with its 400 passengers—roared out of the trees and across the mighty bridge.


John Griffith lifted his tear-stained face and looked into the windows of the passing train. A businessman was reading the morning newspaper. A uniformed conductor was glancing nonchalantly as his large vest pocket watch. Ladies were already sipping their afternoon tea in the dining cars. A small boy, looking strangely like his own son, pushed a long thin spoon into a large dish of ice cream. Many of the passengers seemed to be engaged in idle conversation or careless laughter.


No one even looked his way. No one even cast a glance at the giant gear box that housed the mangled remains of his hopes and his dreams.


In anguish he pounded the glass in the control room. He cried out “What’s the matter with you people? Don’t you know? Don’t you care? Don’t you know I’ve sacrificed my son for you? What’s wrong with you?”


No one answered. No one heard. No one even looked. Not one of them seemed to care. And then, as suddenly as it had happened, it was over. The train disappeared moving rapidly across the bridge and out over the horizon.


Even now as I retell this story, I’m moved by emotion. For this is but a faint glimpse of what the Father did in sacrificing his Son to atone for the sins of the world. Unlike the Memphis Express, however, an express that caught John Griffith by surprise, God in His great love and according to His sovereign will and purpose, determined to sacrifice his Son so that we might live. Not only so, but the consummate love of Christ is demonstrated in that He was not accidentally caught as was John’s son. Rather, He willingly sacrificed his life for the sins of mankind.


Well, the story of course doesn’t end there. Three days later, Jesus arose from the grave. For this reason, we celebrate throughout the year and particularly during Easter, the broken body, the shed blood, the mangled remains of our Savior with joy, because Jesus overcame death and the grave through His resurrection. Moreover, like Jesus, we too shall rise. You, I, John Griffith, his son, and those who believe, we will live forever with our resurrected Lord in Paradise Restored.


This story was taken from The Christian Research Institute and can be found at:  http://www.equip.org/hank_speaks_out/john-griffith-the-bridge-operator/


Keeping in mind God’s sacrifice for us, is it really so hard to give of yourself in order to serve or save others?  Is it not godly for us to suffer for what is right rather than escalating a situation and making it worse?  (I Peter 3:8-22)  And isn’t it moments like these that reveal who we really are in Christ Jesus?


What’s your agenda?  Are you willing to deny yourself for the cause of Christ Jesus?


by Donna B. Comeaux


Need another nudge toward forgiveness?






Let’s face it.  Parenting is hard work.  Discipline is a constant challenge.  Decision-making causes sleepless nights.  Babysitters and daycares go awry.  And before you know it, you wake up every morning too tired to brush your teeth because you’re worried about it all.

Is this what being a good parent is all about?

Years ago when my children were approximately 10 and 7 I was tested over and over again by these little ones.  They had antennas inside them which they were dying to stretch in all directions to see which bad behavior would invoke a clear and audible response.  I dare not forget their conniving tactics to pin one parent against the other, proving once again how they could not only raise my blood pressure, but also outwit me.

Since we’ve all started off as children, it baffled me why I couldn’t tune into their behavior and get parenting right.  Why didn’t I recognize the many tactics children used?  And why couldn’t I predict what comes next?

Ever felt that way?

Though I never had a problem with terribly unruly children, many exist.  Spend time in a restaurant or go to a movie theater and you’ll see and hear them within two minutes.  I’m not referring to fussy, hungry children.  I’m referring to children who will not listen no matter how much their parents threaten or plead with them to behave.

Even more troubling is the generational disconnect between older and younger parents.  I have no doubt my mother probably had misgivings about my parenting skills thirty-plus years ago.  The most important and common element lost between the generations is our unwillingness to listen to older men and women.  It has become the norm to give credence to those with Ph.Ds.  What’s interesting about this belief is most of those who’ve earned Ph.Ds are ruled by the governing entities that issued their certificates.  Let’s not forget that most also don’t have God as their foundation.  (Remember that “it’s your thang, do what you wanna do” era?)

I’m assuming that your willingness to read this means you are also eager to listen to the words of an older woman.

Here is my disclaimer:  I don’t know everything.  And not everyone will agree with what I have to say.  And I’m not about to give you a list of do’s and don’ts, because my methods may not work for you.

However, I do hope I will at least stir your thinking and convince you to do something different so that you and your family can sit at a dinner table and not only enjoy the meal but also enjoy each other’s company.  I also hope I’ll say something that helps get your home under control and convince you to allow God to bring you to a place of peace.

Please use this commentary as a platform for discussions on the topic of parenting with older men and women, and from those discussions learn from each other.

Remember, I’m not looking for you to agree with me in everything written here.  I’m more concerned about you seriously considering making whatever adjustments God places in front of you and your spouse.  (I’m hoping women reading this commentary will also share this with their husbands, and vice versa.)

* * * * *

At the end of each day or each week, you are so tired that you can’t lift your legs to get into the shower.  You might feel as though you have to crawl to the bedroom.  It may have crossed your mind that parenting isn’t fun anymore.  Perhaps fatigue has interfered with your love life and eating habits.  Or maybe your home and work schedules have become so disruptive that you’ve contemplated not having another child.  If those thoughts ever crossed your mind, you are burned out, fed up, and at your wit’s end as to what to do next to fix your chaotic household.

I remember feeling overwhelmed and as though I was the one doing most of the work.

Doesn’t matter whose fault it is; we’re not here to play the “blame game.”  Let’s sit back and look at the main issue.

To illustrate my point, please make a list of all the things that go wrong in your home.  It would be especially nice if you can get your spouse to participate in this exercise.  But keep in mind that your list is your list.  Here’s an example:

  1. The kids get up grumpy every morning.
  2. You’ve prepared three different breakfasts and the kids won’t eat any of them.
  3. One child is slow; the other is fussy; another is bullying.
  4. Your spouse forgot to take out the trash and it’s the first thing you smell when you move about the house.
  5. There’s no milk.
  6. The cable has been disrupted and the kids can’t watch their morning show. Everyone is whining and demanding time you normally use for doing the dishes and sorting the laundry.
  7. Little Johnny conveniently forgot that he has a project due; and off you go to the nearest store to pick up much needed school supplies. Looks like you won’t meet the girls for lunch today.
  8. Susie forgot that she needed money for a field trip. You must double back to the house because you forgot your wallet.

This list can go on and on.  You can’t list a thing that isn’t valid.  Go crazy with this list.

Now that you’ve made this list, think about how your home could be different.  What would be a perfect day for you?  What does your perfect home look and sound like?

On a separate sheet of paper, make a list of your ideal home life.  Go nuts with this list.  Be as unrealistic as you dare to be.

Now, you have in front of you two lists.  They are as far apart as the sun and moon.  It doesn’t seem doable to turn your chaotic home into one that you’ve daydreamed about, does it?

That’s the very problem we should tackle—your belief system.

God never intended for us to live chaotic lives.

  1. 10This is why I write these things while absent, so that when I am present I will not need to be severe in my use of the authority that the Lord gave me for building you up, not for tearing you down. 11Finally, brothers, rejoice! Aim for perfect harmony, encourage one another, be of one mind, live in peace. And the God of love and peace will be with you. (II Corinthians 13:10-11)
  2. 14And over all these virtues put on love, which is the bond of perfect unity. 15Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, for to this you were called as members of one body. And be thankful. 16Let the word of Christ richly dwell within you as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.… (Colossians 3:14-16)

Today’s social networks foster the idea that busyness is a status symbol.  If you have enough chaos in your life with no time to sit and sip coffee with a friend, read a good book, study the bible at least an hour each day, and converse in good wholesome uninterrupted conversation with your spouse, then you’re a part of the “in crowd.”  Doesn’t it make you cringe inside when someone tells you, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back.  It’s been so busy.  Let’s catch up next week.  I’ll call you.”  They never do.  Anger festers and it’s not long before you develop a hands-off approach to relationships.

Our society is so disengaged that we spill out rehearsed greetings when we bump into one another, never looking into one another’s eyes, never fully understanding what’s been said.  Then we have the audacity to express inappropriate last words (i.e., telling someone to have a nice day after they’ve expressed remorse over the passing of their grandmother).  It’s time we begin again to make meaningful relationships.  I know how hard this is (and my children are grown).  I’m an introvert at heart, so I know the difficulty you face.  Still, we need to put more effort into being more engaged with one another and paying attention.  To do that, we must first begin at home.

Just how do you go about loving your family when your home is in such chaos?  Half the time you’re not sure you even like the people you live with.  Right?

You must change your belief system.  Your home does “not” need to be chaotic.  It doesn’t matter how many kids you have, or if your mother or ailing father lives with you, or your spouse is constantly on the road, or you work nights.  If you believe God can get you and your family under control, it will be so.

To change your belief system, you must be willing to be submissive to God’s will.  This submissive relationship requires that you must first admit that all you’ve done has not worked.  It seems like no matter what methods you’ve come up with none of them have worked for you.  My personal philosophy is this:  “After all this time, if it hasn’t worked, try something different.”  God’s intent is for you to come to him and ask for deliverance.  He’s the change you need . . . the change you crave.

The change you seek in your home comes about through prayer and action, not reaction to your circumstances.  I can bore you with all the methods I’ve used, but all that would prove is what worked for me.  What works for you may be a totally different animal.  God gets to decide what works for you.

So, this week your assignment is to go before the Father every day and pray for a change.  Keep this one thing in mind—if you cannot commit to talk to God about everything that ails you, things won’t change for you.  Change comes about through our submission to God.  (Simply put, that means after you pray, you must wait on him.)  It doesn’t come from a counselor (though they have a place in our lives from time to time).  It doesn’t come from preachers.  These people are used as tools to get you to go to God.  No one knows what you need except the Father.

Kick start your week by devoting time to God in prayer about your home life.

Preparation is key!

Prepare for this time by hiring a babysitter to take the kids to the zoo.  Or team up with another parent and share your concerns and objectives then the two of you agree to keep each other’s children for a couple of hours so you can spend uninterrupted time in prayer.  Maybe your church has a mother’s day out program.  If so, drop the kids off and use that opportunity to get away from the chaos and spend time with God . . . not with a friend . . . time with God.

Please realize that too much shopping and running errands will breed discontent, leaving you tired and unfulfilled.  If you say that you will commit this time to prayer and you do something else instead, you will become unfulfilled, guilty, and angry.  And you’ll have no one to blame for this but yourself.  Don’t commit this infraction.  Don’t increase your burden.  Instead, stay committed to using those hours away from your family to commune with God.  If you can’t see yourself spending a few hours in prayer, look at your list again so you’re reminded how much you need to seek God’s counsel.

Once you begin your heartfelt confessions before God, you’ll soon realize a few hours aren’t enough.  When it’s time to reunite with your family, you’ll probably become anxious for the next week so you can pour more on the Father.  Seeking him first is precisely the point.

God wants you and I to look to him for the answers.

I pray God will transform your chaos to peace.

by Donna B. Comeaux
Tulsa, Oklahoma
January 21, 2017
%d bloggers like this: