Wrecked...

My youngest son... "lover of all things puritan"... introduced us to a hymn at our Sunday Night FamDevo.  It has wrecked me.  I downloaded the words, then I downloaded two versions of the song from the "Indelible Grace" Music Website.  (I like the "hymn sing" one best.)  Rather than talking right now about what portions are wrecking me, I'm just going to share the words of the hymn and let God wreck you.  

And just so you know, when I say "wrecked" - I mean my heart is lovesick-broken over Jesus - no other affection will do.  Here's the hymn:

Jesus, I my cross have taken,

all to leave and follow Thee.

Destitute, despised, forsaken,

Thou from hence my all shall be.

Perish every fond ambition,

all I've sought or hoped or known.

Yet how rich is my condition!

God and heaven are still my own.

Let the world despise and leave me,

they have left my Savior, too.

Human hearts and looks deceive me;

Thou art not, like them, untrue.

O while Thou dost smile upon me,

God of wisdom, love, and might,

foes may hate and friends disown me,

show Thy face and all is bright.

Man may trouble and distress me, 

'Twill but drive me to Thy breast.

Life with trials hard may press me;

heaven will bring me sweeter rest.

Oh, 'tis not in grief to harm me

while Thy love is left to me;

Oh, 'twerp not in joy to charm me,

were that joy unmixed with Thee.

Go, then earthly fame and treasure,

come disaster, scorn and pain.

In Thy service, pain is pleasure,

with Thy favor, loss is gain.

I have called Thee Abba Father.

I have stayed my heart on Thee.

Storms may howl, and clouds may gather, 

all must work for good to me.

Soul, then know thy full salvation

rise o'er sin and fear and care.

Joy to find in every station,

something still to do or bear.

Think what Spirit dwells within thee.

Think what Father's smiles are thine.

Think that Jesus died to win thee.

Child of heaven, canst thou repine.

Haste thee on from grace to glory,

armed by faith, and winged by prayer.

Heaven's eternal days before thee,

God's own hand shall guide us there.

Soon shall close they earthly mission,

soon shall pass thy pilgrim days.

Hope shall change to glad fruition,

faith to sight, and prayer to praise.

Originally by Henry F. Lyte, 1833

Wrecked... absolutely wrecked for any other love but You, Jesus.

Mighty Men...

Sometimes my mom-heart almost can't stand it... I'm overwhelmed by God's goodness.  Today was one of those days.  It was a day of watching my mighty men be mighty.  No - nothing audacious.  Let me show you "might" in action.

Jon quietly got up this morning, got ready, and we went to Church @ Martinsburg.  We hardly spoke.  But read a little deeper.  We didn't have to get up and ask, "Are we going to church today?"  My mighty man leads me quietly every Sunday.

After services, we went to my youngest son's home.  It's a little apartment that sits above a Chinese Restaurant.  Reminds me of "Barefoot In The Park" - I don't know why.  Along with my other son and his wife, we were treated to lunch.  The six of us sat around the table.  Something was said in jest and my son said, "No, because my family is my responsibility."  My mighty men care for their wives.

My other son pitched an idea a few weeks ago that came to fruition tonight.  He wanted our family to start having a devotional time together on Sunday nights.  Both of my sons thought it would be a good idea to have it in place so that when their children come along, it's a discipline we already have in place as a family.  My mighty men are serious about their faith, our faith, and the faith of their wives and children.

So tonight, one son read through some of the questions of John Piper's Baptist Catechism and the rest of us read back the answers.  We meditated on the truths of who God is.  He shared a quick devotional - profound in its simplicity:  The entire Bible can be summed up in this way - "Kill the dragon - Get the girl."  My other son led worship with his guitar.  (And I won't tell you how we ended - I'll leave the laughs for the family.)

Sometimes when I think back on my past, their pasts... I want to put my face on the floor in utter awe.  In spite of the many mistakes I've made as a wife and mom, God has graciously given me His mighty men to inspire and humble me.  My mighty men are proof (along with me) that God is killing the dragon and is constantly getting His "girl".

(See Douglas Wilson for an explanation on the statement "kill the dragon, get the girl.")

The Stuff of Memories...

Jon and I celebrated our 28th wedding anniversary this weekend.  Jon planned this year and it was FABULOUS!  3 days... 3 nights... Annapolis, MD.  Who knew there was so much to see and do?  I photographed the highlights with my handy-dandy iPod.  Though most of the shots would mean little to anyone else... for me, it's the stuff that memories are made of.

Friday we pretty well traveled in silence.  It's amazing how after 28 years, silence can be a memory.  But sometimes we just need to be quiet.  We went to downtown Annapolis and just walked and planned.  We had dinner at Middleton Tavern - wouldn't suggest it - a little pricey for food quality.  But the music was good and the atmosphere was cozy.

Saturday we spent the day shopping and people watching...

 ...these were the most obedient children at the dock.  That's Alex Haley's foot on the left.
Then Jon had booked us a 2-hour tour on a schooner.  Uh... huh... a sailboat.  Yes... still have a fear of water, but this was SOOOOO  FUUNNNNNN!!  In case you don't believe I actually got on the boat...

That's my feet next to Jon's ON THE SAILBOAT.  This is the view below me....

This is the view above me...

                                                                   This is the view around me...  

Told ya I went sailing...

Jon "captained" for a bit...  it was quite impressive... and manly...  that's one good lookin' man...

Yup... fun.  (And yes, for those of you who haven't seen me in awhile... that's me with the short, brown hair.  Tis an experiment...)Sunday, our actual anniversary, we went to an Irish festival.... this is just a taste of the "oh my" moments...

then we had dinner at Pei Wei and went to a local theater to see Moonlight and Magnolias.  It was delightful.  

I topped the night off with a celebratory Ice Wine, Ho Hos, and fortune cookies...

Sometimes the cookies get it right...

Can you believe it?

Looking forward to the next 28 years with this guy God has given me.  What a gift... Jon and the stuff of memories with him.

Dennie Dorminy, Bird Killer

I've been driving a car for 34 years.  I have never in that 34 years hit an animal.  This week I have killed two birds with one car.  No... not on purpose.  And just so you know, both times I've thought to myself "Oh Father, I've added to Your sparrow tally."  (See Matthew 10:29 if you are wondering about that...)  


But I digress again...


Let me make the stipulation that these were "Kamikaze" birds.  They flew straight at my car.  Now I realize that there are very few people that would find anything spiritual in the dive-bombing deaths of two birds, but... you are not me.  When the second bird hit the pavement, I had to ask the question:  Why twice in one week after 34 years of a perfect "no bird kill" record?


There was no way for me to swerve to miss the little missiles.  I was in control of the car (aka "Hershey"), but I wasn't in control of the bird.  I was just staying on the narrow road and, BAMB!, bird carnage.  And BAMB! - Metaphor.


Trials and temptations assail us every day on the narrow road.  I was thankful for Hershey.  I could have been that male supermodel dude who ended up with a bird in his face.  The only difference was there was something between me and the bird.  Glass and metal.  Long-haired supermodel was on the fun road - the roller coaster - no real purpose, just be merry.  I'm sure when the bird found his face, the ride was no longer fun.  As a believer, there is something between me and the "birds" that assail us.  Psalm 3 says that God is a shield AROUND us.  Not just in front of us, but around us.  That doesn't mean we won't get dive-bombed.  It's just proof we are on the narrow road, that God leads us right to the ambush, and yet fortifies us for the moment.  The slings and arrows of the moment are no match for the shield of faith, the breastplate of righteousness, and the helmet of salvation.  


And I really didn't have to DO anything.  Just stay the course.  Just abide in my little car.  Hmmm.  Just stay the course - stay on the narrow road of the will of God.  Just abide.  Abide in the faith and love and righteousness of Christ.  When the temptation assails you, when the trial dive-bombs you (and both will), when the enemy sends the "Kamikazes" your  way, we can keep moving faithfully forward on the narrow road knowing that we are secure in Him.  There may be a few dings in our shield, but nothing hits us that hasn't already hit Him first.  The damage assessment is done by Him, and He will repair and restore when needed.  We can leave the kamikaze casualties behind us.  


Interestingly, "kamikaze" means "divine wind or God-wind".   Helps me to see that even suicidal winged-missiles can be ordained by God's purposes.  Every time I hear about "killing two birds with one stone" - I'm going to think about 2 Kamikaze birds that lost their lives to remind me that one stone was rolled away so God's glory could be manifested in the midst of my struggles on the narrow road of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Fighting to Die

I was driving home today from some must-do shopping (not the fun kind), but my mind wasn't on the groceries or the car.  Mom had called and left a message that my dad's headstone was finally set on the grave.  Not exactly uplifting, but God uses even the grim.

By no coincidence, God has been speaking to my heart about duplicity (the last blog) and that wholehearted commitment means death to self.  And then the image of my father came back to me.  I have no idea what was going through my dad's mind that last week of his life; most of his life I didn't really know what he was thinking.  But I saw him fighting against death.  In the last 3 days, we were certain that God was taking him.  But I'm not sure that my dad wanted to go.  He fought death with every ounce of energy he had left.  Why? Not because he wasn't a christian.  He was.  I think it's because he felt closer to his family in those last few days than he had in his entire life - and he didn't want to lose that.  His wife and children urged him to rest and let go with joy, reminding him of what was ahead.  I think the present overwhelmed him.  He was being loved and loving us and, yes, probably afraid.  God's will is daunting sometimes.

And so here I sit, thinking this through, praying this through.  God brought that image to my mind and then said, "Daughter, you are doing the same thing.  You fight against dying to self.  You love yourself.  You love the status quo.  You fear what you don't know.  Your death is gain so stop fighting it."

Not surprisingly, when I came home, Thomas Chalmers in his paper "The Expulsive Power of a New Affection"wrote this directly to me:  "To estimate the magnitude and the difficulty of such a surrender, let us only think that it were just as arduous to prevail on him not to love wealth, which is but one of the things in the world, as to prevail on him to set willful fire to his own property.  This he might do with sore and painful reluctance, if he saw that the salvation of his life hung upon it.  But this he would do willingly if he saw that a new property of tenfold value was instantly to emerge from the wreck of the old one.  In this case there is something more than the mere displacement of an affection.  There is the overbearing of one affection by another.  But to desolate his heart of all love for the things of the world without the substitution of any love in its place, were to him a process of as unnatural violence as to destroy all the things he has in the world, and give him nothing in their room.  So if to love not the world be indispensable to one's Christianity, then the crucifixion of the old man is not too strong a term to mark that transition in his history, when all old things are done away, and all things are become new."  In other words - I need a vision of Christ's worth over what I have now.  It's the great exchange.  My death to self for His life in me.  God's getting the short end of the stick on this one.

When is the gravestone going to finally be set?

Barefoot and Cross-Eyed: Insanity of Duplicity

Insanity of Duplicity

Duplicity.  If it wasn't so much fun to say, I would put it in my "dirty word" list.  "But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind.  For that person must not suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways."  I looked up the word - check out and pop back in next paragraph if you have an aversion to Greek words and definitions.  (Yes, you, K.)  It's the word dipsuchos (dipsyche).  It means literally "twice or two souled".  From my old Baptist background, we called it "straddling the fence" - one foot in the world, one foot in the Kingdom.  Zodhiates says "On the one hand, he wishes to maintain a religious confession and desires the presence of God in his life; on the other hand, he loves the ways of the world and prefers to live according to its mores and ethics."

In other words:  I want it my way... and... I want it God's way.  Sometimes that's true.  Or I want God's will, but I want to do it my way which really isn't God's will at all.  James definition for duplicity seems to be "you believe God but you don't".  Or more simply... we doubt.  I like the way John Bunyan put it in "Pilgrims Progress":  Mr. FacingBothWays.  What does MY duplicity look like?  In my case, it's Mrs. FacingAllDirections.  I don't seem to be getting my footing as of late.  As James says, we become unstable in all our ways.  I'm not talking about the extreme of being an unbeliever who pretends to be a believer.  I'm talking about the times that I vacillate between His will and my own, the times that I blow both hot and cold.

(Insert internal growl here.)

I think it looks very much like the same 'ole power struggle between my flesh and the Spirit in me.
Here's an example:
God wants me to _____________.
I zealously head that direction.
I start making a plan.
Then I start planning to make a more complex plan.
And in the midst of the more complex plan, I find another path to the same goal.
I head that direction. (I don't know why...)
I repeat this process several times.
Then wake up and realize that I have done nothing but plan with plans that lead to other plans.
When I step back and look at the mess:  I've lost God's plan in the midst of 50 of my own.

This is insane!!

In case you think I'm exaggerating... today, I attempted to reel in all of my insanity.  I have a stack of 16 books that all have bookmarks that read "Yes, I'm Actually Reading This".  A stack - rather a monument - to my duplicity.  16... and that's not including the books I started on my Kindle.  AND they all seem purposeful to me.  Yeah.  I know.  That's because they each lead in one of the many directions I was trying to head to all at once.

I recently attended a "Gospel Coaching" seminar with some precious people from my church.  I will spare you the details (though it was A. BLAST.), but I came away with a few very important things.

1.  I need to stop having good intentions and get intentional.  And by that, I mean, I need to repent of my self-trust and submit to God's direction alone.

2.  I need to get a vision of God's plan for me that recognizes His value and thus the value of His plan   for me.  (For some reason, I let the plans of others derail the thing God is leading me to do.  Somehow I determine that what people want (or even need) is more important than what God wants.)  [Can you say IDOLATRY?!!!!]  I place little value on the things that God calls me to, thinking them to be of less value and importance than what God is doing in others.  Yes, I'm repenting.

3.  I need strategic, intentional, obedient steps to the goal of glorifying Christ by faith.

The 16 books... ok... so I need a system.  :)

From duplicitous to wholehearted... heading there...

My Spiritual Birthday Card (and yours if you want it)

I've been spending some time with the Lord today.  It's a special day for the two of us.  Today is my spiritual birthday - the day I was born again - the day God changed my heart from stone to flesh.  It happened November 8, 1988.  The scripture He used was Romans 10:9-11.  "because if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.  For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one concusses and is saved."     I usually just say Romans 10:9-10, but verse 11 was a huge help to me.  It adds "For the Scripture says, 'Everyone who believes in Him will not be put to shame.'"  And shame... well, that was my calling card.

Today though... I'm 23 years old in the Lord.  So is my mom... HAPPY BORN-AGAIN DAY, MOM!

I don't usually share this day with anyone.  It belongs to God.  I try to spend my day in prayer and in the word, but mostly just waiting for God to speak to me.  But today was especially lonely for me.  Not sure if it's just grief hanging on or what.  So I "made my requests known to God" and told him I could at least use a birthday card.  He agreed... so He sent me one.  I thought I would share it with my friends... maybe you could use a birthday card too.


Dennie (You may insert your own name...) my daughter (or son)...

     I remember your birthday well... I chose you and adopted you as my child through Jesus Christ, according to My own perfect will, to the praise of My glorious grace that I've blessed you with in Myself.  I redeemed you through My blood, forgave your sins according to the riches of My grace which I lavished on you.  As your first birthday gift, I've given you an inheritance (Myself and eternal life) and sealed you with the promised Holy Spirit.  Because of My great love for you I made you alive together with Me and raised you up and seated you in the heavenlies with Myself.  Why?  So I could show the immeasurable riches of My grace in kindness toward you - your salvation is ALL of Me and you are My workmanship created for good works which I prepared in advance for you to walk in.  No pining, daughter, over all that could have been.  I called you and justified you at just the right time, when I was pleased to reveal Myself to you.
     I am your light and your salvation, the stronghold of your life.  I am your confidence in times of fear.  Come, dwell in the house of the Lord and gaze upon My beauty and inquire of Me.  I hide you in My shelter, conceal you under the cover of My tent and lift you high upon a rock.  I lift up your head and fill you with joy.  I am gracious to you and answer you.  I'm found when You seek me.  I am Your help and I never forsake you - though others have forsaken you, I have taken you in.  I'm teaching you and leading you on a level path.  Look upon My goodness, child, and take courage.  I'm not done with you.  What I have begun I will complete.  I will cause your love to abound more and more with knowledge and all discernment so that you may approve what is excellent, and so that you will be pure and blameless, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes straight from Me.  I have not stopped setting you free and transforming you into My image.  More and more you will know that I'm not limited by any of your frailties - in fact, I bring Myself glory through them.  So boast in your weaknesses so that my power will rest on you.  My grace toward you will not prove vain.  Open your hands, lift up your face and seek Mine.  We have only just begun the journey.  Happy birthday.  Abba Father.
(Loosely based on these verses:  Eph. 1:5-14 & 2:4-10; Psalm 27; Php. 1:6-11; 2 Cor 3:17-18 & 12:9)

3 Days A Daughter

This last month has felt like one very long day... with little sleep breaks in between.  My daddy died on Labor Day (Sept. 5).  I'm finally back home.  I've heard death-bed stories... none of them were like what I witnessed.  And I don't feel up to sharing the specifics - nor does anyone really need to hear the specifics, I guess.  Yesterday I ran across a card that my dad sent to me from Korea - 1965 or 66.  I was 4 or 5.  It said, "To the sweetest little girl of them all  = from the proudest dad."  I fell in a heap crying.  The thing is... those were words I never actually heard when I needed them.  I went through our childhood slides the other day.  I can't locate any pictures of me doing "dad and daughter" things.  I can't locate any memories either - at least not the good ones.  My childhood memories of my dad consist of his shined, black shoes and his hands.  This tells me that I didn't look at his face much until my adulthood.  Mostly, in my dad's presence as a child and as a teen, I felt shame.  And I've never really figured that one out.  I have some hints... high demands for perfection... little room for childishness... alcoholism... no option to fail... affection/esteem by alcohol (which equaled lies)... I don't say these things to defame my dad - it was what it was.
And I do have a point.

In 1988 God radically changed my heart.  And He continued to radically change my heart toward my dad.  I don't remember the year it happened, but I remember the day that things actually changed in my relationship with him.  He actually said the words "I love you gal" as I was heading out the door of his house.  It was revolutionary.  That was several years after my regeneration - and I believe it was a response to my intentional offerings of forgiveness to him combined with God's gracious work in his heart.  I didn't do anything of huge significance when I was with him.  Just being willing to talk to him, to ask advice, to look him in the face, to be with him and treat him kindly.  He came around.

In the last 10 years or so... especially in times when I returned to OK to spend time with my parents... I noted an even easier connection with him.  We laughed a little.  I was able to joke a little with him.  We shared books with one another.  We shared crosswords with one another.  We shared meals.  It was more like getting together with an old friend.  I was enjoying him without all that old stuff attached to it.  Free from the old pain... free to love him as someone dear to me.

Then the three days before he died...

I'm not sure what happened.  It was apparent that I didn't have much time left with him.  Though I prayed the Hezekiah prayer, God answered "no."  Something had morphed in my heart.  I could only call him "daddy" - a name, frankly, I had reserved for my heavenly Daddy.  It never seemed to fit my dad.  But in those 3 days, it rolled off my lips with ease.  I held his hand.  I can't remember ever doing that - though I'm sure in my early years that probably happened.  I kissed his head.  We waved at one another as I left and entered the hospital room.  I looked at his eyes constantly.  I helped him drink.  I helped him with his oxygen mask.  I worried over his feet - trying to keep them covered and warm.  I worried over his pillow, wanting it to be dry and comfortable.  I prayed over him.  I sang over him.  On the last day, I climbed into the bed and put my head on his chest.  In those three days I loved him unashamedly and spoke aloud words to him that only my own heart (and God) knew existed.  And I said I love you frequently.  And I said goodbye.

For 3 days I was a daughter.

I know that there really isn't any room for wishes and regrets in a child of God.  I say that because no matter our sin, our failures... God redeems and uses.  Regrets are a waste of time because in God's economy, mistakes and failures and the worst of sins are the minor chords in the worship song God is composing of our lives.  Nothing is wasted on Him.  But as God redeems, He teaches.  I think if I had a do-over here, I would have risked being a daughter to my dad even when he wasn't a daddy to me.  Maybe if I had loved him rightly in those earlier days of my salvation, instead of withholding my heart in fear, I might have known the man I knew for those three days.  He might have felt the freedom to love me well.  But... that's still not the main point... redemption is the point...

For 3 days I was a daughter.  A real, honest-to-goodness daughter.

God is redeeming all the pain my dad and I invested.  I'm about to be a real, honest-to-goodness daughter to Daddy God.  When I think about how I loved my dad those three days... I recognize that the love I offer to my heavenly Father is sometimes stilted and labored.  Am I memorizing His face... His eyes?  Am I holding His hand?  Am I kissing His head in worship?  Am I purely serving Him and not just serving for service sake?  Am I sitting at His feet?  Am I curling up next to Him, breathing with Him, setting my life to His heartbeat?  Am I speaking boldly what's in my heart?  Am I listening quietly for each word from His lips?  Am I longing for Him to remain with me?  Am I cherishing THIS moment with Him? 

January 14th will mark my "Jubilee" year.  I'll be 50.  There's a deep, compelling urgency in me (I believe by the Holy Spirit) to live out the rest of my days, however many I have left, as an unashamed, unafraid daughter of the Most High God.  Fear and self-justification stole my love for dad and his love from me. For 3 days I was a daughter. Yeah, I wish it had been more and in some moments I'm crushed under the weight of the loss of 49 years. And in other moments I'm overwhelmed by waves of gratitude for those 3 days. 3 days that my daddy and my Daddy taught me to be a daughter for the rest of my life. One moment in those three days continues to barge into my thoughts. It was a moment when I knew that I couldn't contain my emotions enough to stay in the room with him. I ran to the bathroom to cry. I cried for a little while and then washed my face. When I lifted my face to the mirror I was shocked to see my dad's eyes. No one ever mentioned the similarity to me, but I had been looking into his eyes for two days at that point. I have my father's eyes. It's an ever-present reminder to me that I belonged to him. I hope as I am transformed into the daughter God wants me to be, when I look into the mirror of His word, that it's an ever-present reminder to me that I belong to Him

All of this (including my grief) compels me to love more fully in all of my relationships.  I'm understanding what it means to love God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength.  But those three days have given me a template for loving Jon and my children more fully.  They have deepened my love for my brothers and sisters in Christ.  They have widened my heart for strangers and for enemies.  My grief holds both loss and gain - my emotions are getting mostly loss, my head is processing the gain.  Maybe they'll balance out eventually. (It's a comfort to me that my dad is at this moment experiencing all gain.)   Maybe I'm not "the sweetest little girl of them all", but "He rescued me because He delighted in me." He chose me. He adopted me. I'm His daughter. And maybe more often than not He says "I have no greater joy than to hear that my little girl is walking in the truth."  All I know is that for 3 days I was a daughter.  I want it to be 3+1+1+1+1.... and for the rest of my days.  Jesus, help me.  Amen.

Tribute to my Dads (Shared at my dad's Homegoing)

There’s a command in Scripture that has a promise attached to it.  It says this:  “Honor your father and mother…that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land.”  It’s my desire that what is said here today about my dad will be honoring to him.  I also want what I say about him to be honest.

            At age 33, I sat down with my Bible and wrote my dad’s name in one column on a piece of paper.  In the other, I wrote God’s name.  I listed their characteristics and compared them.  Through my tears I saw the vast disparity between the kind of father my dad was and the kind of Father God is.  I had to make a heart shift to believe that my Heavenly Father was all that He claimed to be because my dad’s reflection of Him was so distorted.  Of course that’s true of all of us.  None of us are sinless… none of us are perfect.  I wasn’t the ideal daughter either.

            Many of you know my dad from work.  You know him to be a man of integrity, a hard worker, one who demanded perfection, skilled, talented, a man with a strong handshake and an unshakeable countenance.  Others of you know him from his leisure time.  If you’ve golfed with him, you know his love for the game, his determination and his joy.  Maybe you even know about his ability to watch the PGA and sleep at the same time.

            But as his daughter, I have the ability to fill in some blanks.  For instance, dad could be a hard man.  He had high standards and the same perfection he demanded in the workplace, he demanded in his home.  As a child, if I’m honest, I feared him more than I enjoyed him.  He was not an affectionate man.  He had some vices that brought turmoil to our home.  The fact of the matter is:  he was an imperfect man who fought hard to be perfect.  And fell far short of the goal – just like the rest of us.

            Dad’s faith in Christ was a private matter.  He told me that he received Jesus as his Savior in his teens at a church camp.  He wasn’t one to elaborate… and he didn’t.  I had my doubts about his commitment to Christ back then.  We didn’t have the typical father-daughter relationship.  It was missing the key ingredients of daily “I love you’s” and trust and hugs and tender moments.  That just wasn’t dad’s way.    Sadly, I figured he loved me only because he had to.  But something happened later.  I can pinpoint the day I noticed the difference.  I was in my late 30’s.  I had gone to my parents for a visit and before I left, dad hugged me and said, “I love you gal.”  That was new… and profound… and life-changing.  He was different.  Because he was so private, he never said what turned him around.  But I know.  I know that God removed my dad’s heart of stone and gave him a soft heart, one that wanted to believe God and follow Him, and a heart that wanted to make right the mistakes he made.  And he made them right.

            He attended all of his grandkids graduations and delighted in them.  In these last 3 years, my father travelled even with his ill health to all 3 of my kid’s weddings – a sacrifice on his part that I am deeply grateful for.  There were countless ways that my dad’s life changed.  He was kinder and more patient.  His temper was less noticeable.  He served people whole- heartedly.  He read his Bible faithfully.  He gave more.  He laughed more.  He loved my mom more.  He loved us children more. But the greatest gift to me has actually been just recently.

            My parents have been married for 55 years.  I watched them dance at my son, Luke’s, wedding.  It was an anniversary dance.  Jon and I, Bryan and Janet, Steven and Christine were the last couples standing with them until they were left on the floor alone.  Dad had saved his strength all evening for that one dance with his bride.  There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.  But the tears that Bryan, Steven, and I shared were the most telling.  You see, WE know the commitment of those 55 years.  We know what God did to keep our parents marriage together.  And we know what God has done to keep our own marriages together.  My parents’ example is one of perseverance and love that has been through the toughest of the toughest trials and won.  This last week I watched my parents love one another.  It was supernatural.  God’s grace sustained them and I saw the love of God moving in my dad in every coy wave of the hand, in every wrinkle of his nose, in every eyebrow that was lifted, in every raspy word he mouthed.  His eyes delighted in my mom and in me and in my brothers.  He hugged me with the last of his strength, refusing to let me go.  He mouthed “I love yous” without a sound, but I heard them loud and clear.  I remembered the comparison between my dad and my Heavenly Father many years ago – those ridiculous columns that I made - and a scripture came to me.  It says “And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” (Philippians 1:6)  If I were to make those two columns again, there would be a lot more similarities than disparities.  My dad’s life proves the faithfulness of God to conform us to His own image in whatever way He sees fit.  Dad is finally perfect and is now, right this moment, looking in the face of the fulfillment of his deepest longing and his highest treasure: Jesus Christ.  I will be eternally grateful that D.C. Taff is my dad and that I can still feel his arms around me.  But I’m even more grateful that my dad is in the arms of my Heavenly Father, experiencing joy unspeakable and glory beyond comprehension.  My eternal hope is affirmed in his eternal hope being fulfilled.  Thank you, Daddy.  Both of you.
(In memory of my dad - D. C. Taff who went home to be with Jesus on September 5, 2011.)


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Daughters of the King

I was sitting here thinking about some of the talk shows on tv that showcase diversity in women... you probably know which ones I'm hinting at.  They all have a different VIEWpoint and they all TALK as thought the world would perish without their opinions.  I struggle with them because the claim is that, because they are women in different seasons and professions, at least one opinion at the table will be one that you can agree with.  Their mouths never seem to parrott any of my thoughts.  You are free to disagree, but that's how it is for me.  I almost always have a different view... and maybe it's because I'm seated in a completely different place.

Tonight I sat with 4 amazing young women.  We discussed the biblical roles of men and women in marriage and in ministry.  Well, I'm afraid I pontificated more than discussed... but I'm the elder in the group.  Oops... sorry men... probably should have used a different term.  [grin]  I'm older.  I probably graduated several years before these women were even born. 

This has been an exceptionally emotional week.  I started my week with a chat with my mom.  My dad is in the hospital.  I won't share details, but I will say this:  my mom is in an exceptionally difficult place right now.  I bumped into another woman that is visiting for a couple weeks.  She and I used to attend the same church.  She's this vibrant, sometimes quirky, Spirit-filled-beauty of a woman that absolutely delights my heart.  She rides motorcycles and makes me smile and has a heart for broken women.  I met with two women over coffee and cookies, two of my closest confidants.  Both of them ticked off a list of trials that would make anyone throw up a white flag in surrender.  Our conversation spanned the gap of tomatoes to kids leaving to heartbreaks to pony haircuts to sex.  Yes... I said the "S" word.  I had breakfast with a woman that I meet with weekly.  I love her.  We catch up on the week's dramas.  We try to encourage one another to take the next step... whatever that might be.  Just before I left the restaurant to go home, another woman I know popped in.  She wears a bandana and cap on her head.  I've known alot of women, but I've never characterized too many of them as brave.  But she is.  Smiling she told me about how blown away she has been by the outpouring of love in our community and from her friends as she faces one of the toughest challenges anyone can face.  I came home to find a plea for prayer and advice from my sweet daughter... we won't go into that... but I spent time today weeping and praying over her and then feebly attempted to counsel her.  She is beyond precious to me.  Moments later a friend of mine called in distress not knowing what to say to another woman that she loves so dearly... a life and death situation.  My heart was broken again in prayer and tears for her.  Later, I received an email from a woman that was precious to me, but whom I had hurt in some way.  She missed me and wants to see me.  Forgiveness happens.  And then these 4.... it's usually five but one was missing from the fold.  Turns out she spent the evening in the ER but didn't want to worry her friends.  (She's going to be fine, by the way.)  Back to the four...Tonight we talked about the other "S" word: submission.  And relationships.  And God's desire to see women flourish in ministry.  And God's design for order and security and love in marriage. 

If I took all these women and put them at one table, their ages would range from 22 to 83.  Their spiritual backgrounds vary.  They are from all kinds of denominations of faith.  They are from all kinds of homes... some dysfunctional, some godly, some somewhere in between.  They are from all sorts of vocations.  Some are married, some are planning to marry, some wish they could marry, some wouldn't marry again if you paid them, some are trying to hang on to their marriages, some are trying to let go of them.  But I think I could sit them all down at one table and ask two questions and get the same answer from all of them.

Ladies... what is your greatest need and what is your treasure?  And they would answer in unison: 
Jesus.

In engaging these women, I was reminded of my greatest need.  How can I answer, counsel, teach, be kind,  motivate, encourage, rebuke, rejoice with, weep with, be a friend to, serve or love any of these without Jesus?  There is no true word, no comfort, no answer, no action, no joy, no love, nothing of any worth that I can offer apart from Him.  Not of any worth anyway.  And it is because of Him that I know them.  Every perfect gift, including each of these women, comes from Him.  They remind me that He is my greatest treasure.

My heart melts when I think of these women and all that they face and the way that they face it.  Chins lifted up, faces to the Son... all of them.  Gifts from the Father... all of them.  Wonders to behold... all of them.  I love them so.  And oh, how Jesus must also.  The daughters of the King are altogether beautiful.


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Gospel University

Last week was apparently the first day of school for many.  How do I know this?  Not because I still have small people at home... nope... I took a walk through my neighborhood one morning and there they all stood... small people with their big people... waiting... on at least every 3rd block or so.  Then in the afternoon, Jon and I took a ride on the "mo-bike"... at first we thought, "wow, we must look like quite a spectacle for all these people to be sitting out on their porches waiting for us to drive by."  [grin]  Waiting for the exciting return home, moms were perched on porches and curbs and sitting in their cars in strategic spots... and then we got behind a bus dropping kids off with moms greeting them at the door with the "how'd it go?" I remember well.

This got me musing... what if today was my first day of school?   Now, in my own mind, this is not a pretty picture. School "day ones" for me were frought with anxiety. 

During my walk last week, I saw this one precious teenager.  She was waiting for the bus... probably last year of middle school or first year of high school.  Gorgeous young lady standing there in her jeans and fashion tees.  Perfect hair and makeup.  Just standing, relaxed, confident.  Not a pen, pencil, notebook, backpack in sight.  If I had it to do all over again... I would want to be like that.  First day of high school... no biggie.  But can I just say... that wasn't me... EVER. 

No.  Picture "Harry Potter's" Hermione on  a severe caffeine and sugar high.  That was me.  I was the girl with a minimum of four pens (2 black, 2 blue) and 2 #2 pencils + 1 mechanical pencil, a highlighter, a bottle of "white out", a 3-ring notebook divided into 7-8 subject sections with extra loose-leaf paper, a journal, a pack of 3x5 cards, an extra book to read (in case there was "social time"), and my class schedule attached in plain view on the front of the notebook with a copy of the class schedule hidden away in my jeans pocket (right next to the locker combination) in case I lost the first one.  My inner motto was "don't stand out, don't embarrass yourself, and don't fail."  I was plain.  In my own way, camouflaged.  I didn't know how to dress cool or act cool.  I just knew how to study.  So, yes, I was the girl that came home with every book assigned in every class in my hands on the first day of school.

As for the "day one" experience... straight to my first class with my map of the school in hand, pre-marked and color-coded with the fastest routes to each classroom and alternate routes in case the first was too hard to  navigate.  In every class I took copious notes and made sure the syllabus was safely put away so I would never forget an assignment or a rule.  All this came from too many times in elementary school when I forgot the rules or made mistakes and drew attention to myself.  If at all possible, I hid at lunch and stayed away from any table that looked "fun" because fun could lead to embarrassment.  If I made friends, it was because some wonderful parent taught their child to be kind. Some kind soul inevitably took pity on me and reached out. 

So for me, in context, another first day of school is a nightmare.

But let's pretend I'm an enlightened adult... I know it's a leap... okay, so let's say I'm a Spirit-filled, saved by grace adult.  Not such a leap.  And today is the first day of school... I wonder would a fearless first day look any different?  Would I be the girl that didn't see the need for a pencil?  Would I throw caution to the wind and forget the copious notes?  Would I smile more, look people in the eye more?  Would I worry more about relationships and less about A's?  Would I still be hyper-punctual or would I slide in at the bell?  Would I learn just for the test or would I really learn?  Would I seek out the fun table?  Would I be the kind soul?  Would I stuff my books in the locker at the end of the day and only do what was assigned?  Would I be my normal uber-studious self or would I skip class now and then? 

I think I know how I would be... because lately every day with God has felt like the first day of school.  I'm in Gospel University.  I'm taking a few remedial classes.  Several subjects are just way over my head.  I'm taking some level 4's.  The syllabus is a sparse one.  It simply says:  Be conformed to the image of His Son.  Pop quizes and labs abound every day.  The dust from Jesus' feet flies up in front of me... sometimes I can barely keep up.  Sometimes I just sit at His feet and learn.  Sometimes we just walk from class to class together.  I'm not learning for the sake of the test anymore... I'm learning for the joy of His company and to glorify His name.  It's a stringent pass or fail system... with the exception of endless do-overs. His table is sometimes the fun table, and sometimes set in difficult places, but there's no one I'd rather lunch with.  I'm never without pen and paper, always prepared to take copious notes... never without my journal because I don't want to forget one word, one truth, one glance from Him.  I'm still not a social butterfly, but those He knows are becoming my friends too.  And He doesn't seem to know a stranger.  He's showing me how to engage people, to share with others, to be kind, to love.  He's encouraging me to live boldly, to learn fearlessly, to teach freely, to fail honestly, to recover gracefully, to preach truthfully. 

You know, I had some great teachers back then... but this... this is wholly (and holy) other.  And I'm loving my schedule, and my subject, and my Teacher.  And I'm looking forward to tomorrow - my first day of school. 

Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

No More Empty Nest...

Today I saw a little boy sitting with his mom having lunch.  His mom was easily delighted with his non-stop chatter about their day.  He was waiting as patiently as a 5-year old can wait while mom finished her salad.  Apparently salad takes longer than nuggets.  What intrigued me was this mom's steady reveling in the moment, nodding and "yesing" and smiling and laughing.  I'm sure she had somewhere else to be, something else to do... but it would wait.  Her nest is considered full and she is loving it.

It made me think about my "empty" nest.  Everyone says it's empty when the kids leave.  To some degree, it has felt that way for me and my husband.  But today... because I was eyewitness to a memory in the making, I've decided that empty nests aren't really empty.  Many reasons come to mind, but I have three on my heart.

First, inside of me are 20+years of days that are filled with the faces of my family.  I thanked God today for the ability to remember.  Tapes of my 3 five-year-olds started to replay.  Shanna and I making playdough cookies, reading together, eating McDonald's french fries... listening to her talk about "the yellow birds" at school, the bus ride, the I-can-do-it-myself's... Jonathon and I helping Mario rescue the princess from Bowser, jumping on the trampoline, talking about Mrs. Cathey's eyelashes and how his favorite subject at school was recess... Lucas charging me to walk the plank but watch out for sharks, promoting me to "mate" to his captain on the front porch ship... talking to and feeding "Bryan", watching movies together, and going for a snow-ice after school. 

Tapes of driving them back and forth to school so that I could hear the laughter and excitement, the anger and frustration, getting a pulse on their friendships and their homework schedules.  Dropping them off in my pajamas... yup... honking jingle bells with the horn and turning up Pavoratti on the stereo with the roof back on the car... starting 30 seconds before I stopped the car in the morning with a loud blessing ["The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; The Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace.] - watching the eyes roll as they exited the vehicle as quickly as possible.  Kneeling at their bedsides after they fell asleep and praying over them... sitting outside their bedroom doors and weeping over them as I prayed for them in their teens.  Basketball and hockey, prom dresses and dates, suits and dates, watching courtships, healing break-ups, fighting rebellions, celebrating successes, applauding great friendships, overhearing my mistakes and rehearsing my apologies.  Making room on my full-size bed for 3 lanky teenagers to one-by-one come in and just hang out and talk and laugh.  Rooms full of sharp-minded debaters with strong opinions and well-constructed arguments... conversions, spiritual growth spurts and spiritual growing pains, God-moments... lots of God-moments.

My nest isn't empty because my children's lives have so fully touched mine - they never really leave.

Secondly, Jon is still here.  Can I get a hearty "PRAISE GOD!!"  Had the enemy had his way, he would have stolen our hope, killed our commitment, and destroyed our marriage.  But God... I think those are two of my favorite words in Scripture.  But God stepped in and started tearing down and building... and He's never stopped tearing down and building.  Jon is the only person with skin on that has the same context of family rituals, vacations, memories, dreams, struggles, relationships, churches.  We've walked together, taught together, learned together, raised kids together, hiked together, fought together, travelled together, prayed together, worshipped together, loved together, built this nest together. 

My nest isn't empty because I share it with my best friend.

And finally, I'm never alone.  I sat at lunch today (seemingly by myself), but like the little 5-year-old, incessantly chatting about the state of my day and the state of my heart.  Father sat with easy delight, listening to me, "yesing" me, and loving me.  For a few moments, I switched places with my children.  Lord, thank you for blessing and keeping us.  Thank you for making Your face to shine upon us and for being so incredibly gracious to us.  Thank you for turning Your face toward us. Thank you for Your peace.  I thanked Him for filling my nest with His presence, and then I once again committed my "nest" back to Him for His use and for His glory.  Frankly, I've been a steward of the nest... so really it's not up to me whether it is full or empty.  It is full because God doesn't really do empty.  In His presence is fullness of joy... for of His fullness we have all received and grace upon grace... His right hand is full of righteousness...He is full of grace and truth... He is full of compassion... He is full of glory... and out of His fullness, He fills us with His presence, with joy, with wisdom, with knowledge, with faith, with power, with assurance, with grace, with love... His fullness is the fullest and we are abundantly filled.  No empty nest here...

My nest isn't empty because He has filled it with Himself.


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

A Burning Day

     There’s a scene in one of the J. K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" books where Harry is alone in Professor Dumbledore’s office.  He meets Fawkes, a Phoenix, for the first time.  While he is admiring him, Fawkes bursts into flame and becomes an ash heap.  Harry freaks a bit, and Dumbledore comes in.  Dumbledore tells Harry that Phoenix’s go through seasons… they burst into flames and then they are reborn from the ashes.  He says to Harry, “Pity you had to see him on a burning day.”

     A burning day.  I've been thinking Christian's are Phoenix-like.  The first "burning day" is our salvation.  By God's magnificent grace we are moved to the place of faith.  In a moment, we die and are regenerated, a new creation from the ashes of sin and death.  Witnesses of such a transformation are dumbfounded.  Some appalled.  But we rise.  And we begin again.

     But I think I continually experience "burning days".  And I often want to say to those around me - "Pity you had to see me on a burning day."  I don't appear to be at my best.  So, for the most part... I withhold my burning experiences.  I dodge witnesses.  This has been my recent modus operandi.  I actually set apart today as a "burning day."  In my mind, it's a needful, yet painful thing.  The meter on my heart and head registers full.  There's no space left for another emotion, another "to do", another should, must, want, or would.  It's almost paradoxical for it's not the right kind of fullness.  It's a fullness that is empty.  Just stuff.  A hodgepodge of pent up emotions unprocessed, of to-do lists left undone, of duty piled upon grief.  It requires a good emptying.  Or a burning.

     Romans 12:1 says, "I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship."  Recently I've had my attention drawn to the command to keep the Sabbath holy.  My pastor has earnestly taught on what he has termed "Gospel Rest" - sabbathing. 

     I think my Sabbaths are burning days.  For me, a burning day is Gospel rest.  It is my spiritual act of worship.  It's a burning sacrifice followed by a resurrection.  It means throwing my hands up in repentance and surrender, wetting the wood of the cross with my tears, falling on the altar of God's grace, and trusting as God burns up my "flesh" in the truth of the Gospel... the truth that says "Come to Me... and I will give you rest.  Take My yoke upon you - not the world's yoke, not your own, but Mine - and learn from Me."  It's the truth that bears a cross and births a disciple; the truth that His grace is sufficient; the truth that Jesus is My highest joy and my deepest satisfaction; the truth that there is no rest for My soul apart from Him and that apart from Him I can do absolutely nothing of eternal significance.

     Like Fawkes on his burning day, rising from the ashes follows.  In wonder I will be able to get to my feet... smaller... more clumsy... more fragile... and more dependent.  But I will be at rest in Him, having "calmed and quieted my soul" (Psalm 131:2a) in the certainty of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and growing toward the next burning day.


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Happy Anniversary... More Than Happy!

27 years today. I've been thinking about marriage all week. And if there is anything I'm more and more sure of, it is marriage really is about sanctification. Jon and I weren't Christians when we first married. We're the first to admit we got off to a rocky start. But here's the thing... every year that passes is one more reminder that we aren't the same people who got married in 1984. God has used countless circumstances ranging from the births of our children to job moves and job losses to friendships to the baggage we each brought to our relationship - all used to conform us to the image of His Son.

But this morning I'm thinking that of all the tools the Holy Spirit has wielded in my life for my good... Jon has been the most effective one. Every good and perfect gift comes from the Father and he is certainly the perfect choice for me. Because of our vast differences, we both have been forced to change... to move toward one another on things that we would otherwise handle in completely different ways. Our love for Christ and our love for one another has demanded that we relinquish our own "rights".

I recently had an epiphany. I've not been able to articulate it in a way that means anything to anyone but me. I only share it here because it becomes part of my (our) story and I think it's an example of the way God works in marriage. He uses time to blow us away. Our family was faced with some major changes a couple years ago. Without going into details, one of the events shut me down emotionally. And then, like life often does, events piled up on one another and I read my life through the lens of self-loathing. Because of that, I started frantically looking for things to prove I wasn't as worthless as I felt. I was writing - my manuscript mysteriously disappeared from the planet. Jon suggested that I get a job. At one point, I had 15 resumes out and not one bite. Ministry had been completely haulted. I could go on... In the middle of it, I had determined that God had given me "one talent" and had taken it away because I messed up somewhere. The elusive mistake was the problem - the whole mess had started because I did something that I truly believed God had asked me to do - it just didn't turn out the way I expected it to turn out. In the end, I found myself with LOTS of solitude and LOTS of anonymity - which I interpreted this way: God has rightfully shelved a useless tool.

And then there is this epiphany...

I recently read an excerpt from a puritan dude named William Law. It's flowery and lengthy, but the paraphrase is something like this: "Those who have no particular employment, that have time on their hands and greater liberty to live for themselves are under a greater obligation to live wholly unto God in all things. Their freedom lays them under a greater necessity to choose and do the best things. They are the ones of whom much will be required because much is given to them. Their duty is to make wise use of their liberty, to devote themselves to God, aspire to holiness, endeavor to do good works, and to please God. God has given them the "5 talents" since He has given them time and freedom, has enriched them with financial stability, leaving them with seemingly "nothing to do" but to make the best use of their giftings, blessings, and their short lives. He has given them liberty to serve Him and their neighbors, to imitate the great servants of God, to study, to be sanctified, and to set no bounds on their love and gratitude to the bountiful Author of all these blessings."

My husband's care of me has become to me the sweetest gift of sanctification. God has used Jon\'s faithful stewardship of his own gifts and callings, to put me in a position of "no particular employment" - to now have the liberty to follow hard after the God who created me and serve Him with a fuller obligation, a 5-talent responsibility. Because Jon loves me and has taken our roles seriously these 27 years, because he has granted me the gift of staying home with my children, because he has faithfully loved me in my feeble attempts of submission, God has led us to this place, this time. He has moved me from "worthless servant with no talent" to a servant at liberty to serve her God, her husband, her family, and her church/community with 5 talents. He has set in my heart an urgency as I approach my "Jubilee" birthday - to make use of the time left to glorify God and to submit my "talents" for the gospel. All good gifts come from God, but God has soveriegnly ordained for me that many of them were to come through my husband. I recognize that more today than ever.

When I look back on the last 27 years, Jon's constant care of me is God's grace to me. If my life were a movie, it would be titled, "The Many Faces of Denise". Every five years my husband wakes up to a new woman. And not always a well-adjusted one. :) And there are times that he has been downright infuriating, but I've always trusted Christ in him. Though I've experienced waves of insecurity, Jon is a covenant keeper. Though we've faced financial uncertainty, Jon is a trustworthy, faithful provider. Though I physically have morphed to something other than what he married, he still wants me. When I've been emotionally crippled, he has not run out on me in frustration or confusion. When I've been judgmental and self-righteous, he has forgiven me and received me back. When I've been too afraid to choose, he has chosen with me. When I've finally found courage, he has stood with me.

Today, if someone were to ask me, "What is the greatest gift God has ever given you?" I would first say "He rescued me at the cross because He delighted in me." And I would add, "And then He gave me Jon Dorminy." I'm a better lover of God because God loves me. And because Jon loves me. 27 years of sanctifying love. God-ordained, grace-filled, incomprehensible saving, sanctifying love.


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

When Theology Becomes Doxology

I love musicals. I recently savored “Les Miserables” via DVR. The music builds along with the plot. At one point, the lives of all the characters collide and the music seems to do the same. Part after part is added until there is this culmination of voices and music, crescendos and cymbals… if you’re like me… it’s the moment you anticipate and your inner core resonates and exults in the moment. It’s the portion of the musical where you join in, where your own heart has met with the story and the story becomes real. I love that!

Our church has been studying through the book of Romans together for about a year. After 11 chapters of Paul building doctrine on doctrine, truth on truth, we reached 11:33-36. Those four little verses burst off the page – the culminating musical moment, crescendos and cymbals – the point where truth breaks into praise, the point where theology becomes doxology. One verse away from the “therefore” that takes us from precept to praise to practicum.

And really, that’s the way discipleship probably ought to work. We discover what God wants us to know and believe and at some point we have a Luke 10:21 moment. The point where Jesus says [and this is a very loose paraphrase] “YES! She gets it!” My “aha” moments when the Spirit blows away the dark clouds of ignorance and my eyes see truth as something I really can lay hold of. But I think I’ve been skipping a step. Jesus rejoiced when the disciples “got it.” I tend to want to get truth and run straight to the doing. But Paul doesn’t do that. He expounds and then is overwhelmed by the person of God, the heights and depths of His wisdom and grace and mercy and power. He breathes in the wonder of it and exhales compulsory praise. Where is THAT moment in our discipleship? The moment right before we obey. The “aha” moments where Jesus says to us (like he did to Peter) over and over again: “Blessed are you… for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but My Father who is in heaven.” Ever had one of those times where you thought, “You MUST be the Christ, the Son of the Living God… because I’m way to thick skulled to have come to this on my own.” Well… maybe I’m alone in that. But when I do have those moments… I shouldn’t just rush to the practicum. I should take some time to wonder at Him, to be blown away by His willingness to condescend to speak to me, to explain to me, to have mercy on me; to behold God who alone knows and understands, creates and works through all things.

Yes, the practicum must come. But obedience isn’t obedience if it isn’t based upon truth. And truth is best obeyed when our heart is in an attitude of awe and dependence upon the One who revealed it to us in the first place. If I skip the doxology, the practicum might be more performance/works based than true theology lived out by the Spirit. When God reveals Himself and His salvation and His ways to our finite little hearts, it is a mercy to us. And sometimes He does that precept upon precept, her e a little, there a little. And each truth builds on another and then one day the AHA comes, the culminating musical moment of the crescendos of truth and cymbals of Spirit-power pound within us. Inner applause should erupt and melt into awe inspired obedience. I’m thinking to be a faithful disciple… I really shouldn’t skip the beat of praise.


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Spurgeon and Nic

C. H. Spurgeon: “I have to wonder that I do not believe Christ more and equally wonder that I am privileged to believe in Him at all – to wonder that I do not love Him more, and equally to wonder that I love Him at all – to wonder that I am not holier and equally to wonder that I have any desire to be holy at all considering what a polluted, debased, depraved nature I find still within my soul notwithstanding all that Divine Grace has done in me! If God were ever to allow the fountains of the great deeps of depravity to break up in the best man that lives, he would make as bad a devil as Satan himself is. I care nothing for what these boasters say concerning their own perfections – I feel sure that they do not know themselves, or they could not talk as they often do! There is tinder enough in the saint who is nearest to heaven to kindle another Hell if God should but permit a spark to fall upon it. In the very best of men, there is an infernal and well-near infinite depth of depravity! Some Christians never seem to find this out. I almost wish that they might not do so, for it is a painful discovery for anyone to make – but it has the beneficial effect of making us cease from trusting in ourselves and causing us to glory only in the Lord.

“Why should Christ ever have loved us… when at His table, we often have wandering thoughts. Even in our faith, we often find a mixture of unbelief. Even when we love Him, we grieve that we do not love Him more. Even when we are closest to Him in communion, we have to smite our breast and mourn that we do not enjoy the nearness we might have, and ought to have for, after being so greatly loved by Christ, we ought to be sinless! Under such obligations to Christ as we have, we ought to be wholly sanctified – spirit, soul, and body – and never have a wandering thought or an unholy desire. But that we are not what we ought to be is clear. And the wonder is that Jesus Christ should ever have laid down His life for such miserable ‘friends’ as we have proven ourselves to be!

…I do not know what you, beloved, say concerning this theme upon which I have been speaking, but I think you will agree with me when I say that, to me, the superlative point of the love of Christ is that He laid down His life for me, unworthy as I have been since I have been His friend.”

Spurgeon’s words so resonate in me today. I have surely proven myself to be a “miserable friend” of Jesus. I have been offended by my own internal state as of late. When I lay my paper-doll self next to the prototype of all I long to be in Him – frankly I want to tear her apart. Why? Because what I know is way more than I practice and what I don’t know is way more that I long to know. Before I get a bunch of emails and Facebook messages about how I’m too hard on myself or how I need to live under grace and that the Christian life isn’t a “list of do’s”… let me make this point. It is the grace of God that has so brilliantly exposed my sin and my lack and has reminded me what a miserable friend I am. It’s the loving thing for Jesus to show me. I’ve had more examples than I have the space to name here (just this week) of what I’m not and yet what Christ has paid for me to be.

I’ve been studying John 3… “You must be born again.” In one of Paul’s letters, he urges us to examine ourselves to make certain that we are in the faith. I’ve been pushed into self-examination by Jesus’ words to Nicodemus. (Maybe he wouldn’t mind if I call him Nic.) I don’t think a believer can read those words without becoming her own fruit inspector. There are a few living, breathing on-fire-for-the-gospel believers around me who don’t put limits on God. In fact, I don’t think they even see any limits. They seem to live habitually outside of their own imperfections. They have learned that it’s not about them, but about Christ. And they have learned that in Him all things are possible. It frees them up to walk courageously, to share boldly, to pray graciously and powerfully, to stand fearlessly.

Nic at Night. He’s got some questions. The first question is one that Jesus’ reads in his heart – he doesn’t even voice it. It is “how can I get into the Kingdom of God?” Nic has limits. And I’m not sure he knew it. I’ve been a Pharisee of Pharisees. I remember what it’s like to take my piddly righteousness to God and expect the Holy Spirit seal of approval – the stamp in my spiritual passport. Nic probably came with a mental list detailing his goodness, his hard work – and hoped for an answer like “great job, Nic – keep doing what you’re doing – you’re on the right track. Work hard, pray hard, minister hard and you’ll make it in.” Deep down my hard-working pharisaical self knew it was never enough – but truthfully, my pride wanted it to be. I think that’s why Nic was struggling with the question. What the heck?! Why do we continue to think – even once we have entered the kingdom of God – that our piddly righteousness will get us by… that God is pleased with whatever He gets from us? Our presumptions upon His grace are scandalous at best and blasphemous at worst. But let’s flip the coin – go from Pharisee to Pauper – where our weaknesses and “I can’ts” become our limits. Talk about prideful presumption! To go from “hey, God, look at all I can do for You!” to “sorry, God, I’m incapable of being used by You…” - both presume the same thing. Both start from the foundation that I have something to do with it at all. The gospel starts with the truth that I have nothing to contribute in the first place – that I am in desperate need.
The truth of the matter is… I’m still in desperate need. I can’t and I shouldn’t bring anything to the table but my yieldedness and the spiritual blessings in Christ that He has installed in this new creation of His. In Him and Him alone we have everything we need for life and godliness in the true knowledge of Him who called us by His OWN glory and excellence. In Him we are more than conquerors. In Him we have overcome the world. In Him we are slaves of righteousness and not to sin. Oh to trust the fullness of the gospel every moment for my own sanctification and for His empowerment in the spreading of His gospel and glory in the world around me! Oh to trust the fullness of the gospel of His grace in destroying all fear and every self-imposed limit for the furtherance of His will! Even as my fingers are typing, there is a fountain welling up in me that says “YES! Now! Go! Be who I say you are – do what I tell you to do – trust in My Presence and Power – I will not fail you.”
God spoke a word to me a couple years ago through someone at a writer’s conference. The man said, “If you don’t do you, Denise, “you” doesn’t get done and God’s creation is incomplete. What are you waiting for?” I wonder if I have been systematically attempting to tear down barriers that aren’t really there. Spiritually tilting at windmills and fabricating excuses. In trying to tear them down, I’ve built them. It’s a bit like wading through rubble only to find that the rubble you moved has walled you in. The last trumpet blew, the wall fell and instead of charging in and taking the territory, I used the rubble to wall myself in proclaiming “what a mess – I can’t move through that… I’ve just got a measly little sword… I have no credentials… I’m the spiritual runt.” Wow. Oughta be thoroughly ashamed of myself for even entertaining the idea that God wouldn’t put the resources in me to fully meet whatever He’s called me to. Watchman Nee said, “The greatest of His demands upon us only shows how confident He is that the resources He has put within us are fully enough to meet them. God does not command what He will not perform; but we must throw ourselves back on Him for the performance.”

On my trip to OK I had dinner with a friend I’ve not seen in many years. We used to minister together. He recalled some of the things I did during that time. When I left, I found myself wondering “What happened to her? Where did the bold, dare-for-Christ, thump-a-prisoner for Jesus (that’s another story), love-the-lost, stop-drop-pray-n-preach girl go?” I taught and ministered myself right into complacency. I forgot that it’s God’s reputation, not our own, that makes us outrageously brave. I guess I got caught up in fruit polishing rather than fruit bearing.

This past weekend, I was working at an event our church sponsored. I chose registration so I would purposefully have contact with people. I prayed that God would allow me to taste a little of the freedom in ministry that I buried back there; that I would have a little daring if given the opportunity. I saw a spark. A lady came through my line with her little nephew. She had that “I’m about to burst into tears look” on her face. I registered her son, but something just really bothered me. I asked her if there was something she needed. She said, “Would you pray for me? My brother died last night and I just didn’t know what to do except to take his son to this today… he was looking forward to it.” Seemed such a small thing for such a big need, but I stopped – got out from behind my table, put my arms around her neck, and prayed for her right there. And when she headed off with her nephew, I think I heard God say “there she is!” There was the part of myself that’s been dormant. Not dead and gone. Just hidden in fear somewhere. It was nice to see her again. I hope she’ll show up more often.



Copyright 2010 Sharon Denise Dorminy