Getting to The Point

Nov20

I had planned to post another poem this week. Like a lot of you, time is at a premium as the season of holidays approaches. Posting a previously written poem was the answer to my time crunch. No introduction necessary. Just copy, paste and post. Done, until next Friday.

So what changed my mind? Why am I awake, well past my bedtime on a work night, putting thoughts out there into that “cloud” I’ve heard about, but never seen, and certainly don’t understand?

I know I’m not the only one with thoughts of refugees, terrorists, political agendas, ideologies, pain, suffering, death, and grief on my mind. My body can hardly rest on my clean and comfortable bed. My spirit, usually calmed by the regular and easy breathing of my husband as I fall asleep, is restless. But the point is NOT that we’re losing sleep!

I had a point – about 1,500 words worth. Problem was – every keystroke was influenced by what I’ve watched on television or heard on the radio over the past week. My thoughts and opinions were based on incomplete truths, delivered in sound bytes and video clips intended to influence my vote, not provide me with news.

I deleted all 1,500 words. And opened up the Psalms – hoping. Not for a new point, but for some peace and clarity as only one loved woman in a world where hate is in every headline.

I found it in Psalm 116-117.

There’s a way to recover my 1,500 words, but I’ll leave them out there in that “cloud” for the Lord to read. Psalm 116 starts out by telling me He hears my thoughts. You, on the other hand, don’t need another persuasive essay, however skilled the writing or powerful the point. (Trust me it was good!)

Read Psalm 116-117. The Word of the Lord says it better than I ever could.

Thanks for Serving

Nov12

They stood to be acknowledged. The rest of us applaud.
They served through fear and danger. Can’t know just what they saw.
The way one man explained it, made sense enough to me.
“War makes the kind of stories that never were to be.”
He seldom watched war movies, but saved his uniform.
He paid our price for freedom. He’d lived through battle storms.
Some guys had seen Korea. Some served in World War II.
One, whose ponytail was gray, saw Nam for me and you.
A younger looking female, stood straight with humble grace.
Her children prayed not knowing that death was in Mom’s face.
Small numbers in proportion to those who sit in pews.
They more than paid. They sacrificed. We watched the evening news.
Each one had served their nation. The tallest of them all,
Looked up to all the others. He never got “the call.”
No doubt I am indebted to everyone that stood,
And to the countless loved ones whose loss was for my good.
I cry with just the music of military bands.
They’re ready to get dirty. White gloves upon their hands.
Each branch, a noble purpose. The Army and Air Force.
The Coast Guard and the Guardsmen. The strong who won’t change course.
I will add this disclosure: Compelled, I must come clean.
I’m partial to the haircut. My son’s a brave Marine.

by Rita Klundt

Written on the occasion of Veteran’s Day 2014

For Chocolate and Much More

Nov5

I’ve a lot to give thanks for, but I’d rather grumble. Ever feel that way?

It’s been one of those weeks.

I’ve been:

ignored
overworked
forced to do what others ought to do
laughed at
and lied to.

I’ve:

listened to excuses
repeated simple answers
felt guilty for spending five extra minutes in the bathroom
overindulged in chocolate
and tomorrow doesn’t look to be much better.

All that in four days, and I’m not even raising teenagers!

All that in four days, and I still have reason to give thanks.

If you read my last two posts (and I hope you have) you know I’ve been thinking about thankfulness. It’s been on my mind again this week, and marrying my thankfulness to obedience has proven to be a challenge. A verse of scripture came to mind, just when I was about to divorce the two. In John 14:15 Jesus reminded me that if I love Him, I’ll keep His commandments. It’s not a stretch to say that if I am thankful for Him and to Him, I’ll be obedient to what he asks of me. Is it?

If Jesus’ words weren’t enough, my own words from last week scolded: “He made obedience to His commandments simple to understand. First: Love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength, and secondly, love our neighbor as ourselves (Matthew 22:38-40). We have no excuse. No loopholes. Our obedience and thankfulness are inseparably married. We’re getting it wrong if we obey, yet grumble. We are liars when we offer thanksgiving, yet live comfortably in disobedience.”

So, here I am before you and the God of all creation asking forgiveness for my disobedience, and hoping you will love me the way Jesus said to love your “neighbor.”

Heavenly Father,

Some days it’s not easy to be me. Remind me tonight as I fall asleep how I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14). Remind me again in the morning when I wake. I have been given the ability to be patient. You help me to listen and understand. You gave me the privilege that comes with my vocation and a voice to speak truth in kindness. Be with me. I am not persecuted. I am barely uncomfortable. Forgive my grumbling attitude. Thank you for payday – the one next Friday, and the forever one. Have I thanked you lately for chocolate? Thanks again for chocolate, and so much more.

Amen.

The Anniversary

Oct30

“Hi. My name is Rita, and I’m a Pepsi-oholic.”

The petite pastor’s wife and about half of the small congregation responded.

“Hi Rita.”

Evidently, they’d been to a meeting, or watched one on television.

There was something cleansing about openly acknowledging my addiction before an audience of persons who smiled and nodded with understanding. My husband knew I was an addict, but it was mid-November 2014, and he had yet to notice my last taste of Pepsi was on October 28, 2014.

Before I share with you what I shared in that church, allow me to make it absolutely clear. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with Pepsi, or any other Pepsi Cola product. I could have become addicted to anything or any brand. My problem was not with the sweet, fizzy, caffeinated, cola. It was a matter of obedience.

When I was a child, I obeyed my parents and a multitude of other authorities, or suffered the consequences. Now that I’m an adult, add some nuance to the concept, and it’s called submission, but it remains a matter of obedience. I have more options as an adult, but it’s still a matter of choosing what God says is best (obedience), or suffering consequences.

I’d known for years that I drank too much of the stuff. The empty calories caused me to gain weight, and the work of filtering ingredients and flushing them out of my body was placing additional burden on my kidneys, one of them already compromised. It wasn’t the Pepsi that made me ill, but it wasn’t helping either.

My husband wanted me to cut back. My doctors told me to avoid it. The nurse in me (I’m an RN) said, “Drink water instead.” Even God was nudging me, asking me why I allowed Pepsi so much space – not just in my shopping cart, but in my daily life. As I continued to enjoy the rush of something with that first gulp that only another addict can understand, I told myself that “lots of people live with only one kidney. I could be addicted to something much worse.”

Nothing seemed to prompt the thought. I was driving down the road, listening to my favorite radio station. I couldn’t tell you what the song was, but the Moody station always plays music between Ravi Zacharias and Chris Fabry. My last discernible thought was how amused I am when Chris spells out F-a-b-r-y for his audience. I get that he wants listeners to call in or find him online, and there is more than one way to misspell his last name.

Ravi, on the other hand, might consider spelling out his name. I searched online for Robbie Zacharias with lots of “results,” but not the result I wanted. I learned how to spell his name only after a friend loaned me one of his books, and I recognized his story. (Disclaimer: This and the previous paragraph will be the first to be cut if/when this post exceeds its word limit. Other than playing music that encouraged my spirit to rest in the middle of a hectic day, Moody Radio is in no way responsible for what is expressed in this post, and no financial arrangement or obligation exists between myself and Moody Radio.)

Forty days of any behavior makes it a habit. I don’t know if I had heard it or read it, but it wasn’t an original thought. I don’t even know if it’s true, so don’t quote me, but the thought came to hijack my attention from the fast food and large Pepsi that was calling from only a few blocks away.

In that moment, I committed myself to forty days without Pepsi. Noah and his family lived, worked, and survived forty days of torrential rain, then waited for dry land. That was in the age of the ark. No video technology and no Moody Radio. I could surely do forty days without Pepsi. Jesus endured forty days fasting in the wilderness to be tempted by Satan. Did I need a better example?

There is nothing mandatory or magical about the number forty, but as not so random thoughts of Pepsi, obedience, Noah, rain, Jesus, Satan, temptation, and forty days blended with the worship music on the radio, I felt challenged to go forty days without Pepsi.

It was one on those sunny, warm October days in Illinois when I can be extra grateful for my life in the Midwest. I opened the sunroof, and turned up the radio, but my heart and brain were having such a great time in fellowship I could barely hear the music. God was in on this.

No Pepsi for forty days. It was settled. Amen. I offered thanks to God for caring about me and my silly addiction when important world changing events were happening all over the world, even in central Illinois.

I felt, with one deep breath, a familiar, but infrequent feeling of contentment that only washes over me after finally submitting a big deal or a little detail over to God for management. The warm October sun helped.

I wanted to close my eyes, but I was still driving. My tummy growled. No more stop lights between me and lunch. Without moving my lips, “God, are there other things and places where I haven’t been obedient to you? Is there another area of my life that could use thirty – sorry God. I heard you right — forty days of submission?”

I’m amazed by how God can dialogue and settle issues in moments when it takes pages for me to record a brief encounter. If God doesn’t occasionally speak to you that way, it’s not because He isn’t trying.

High school kids were standing on a sidewalk, holding signs. I didn’t notice their school uniforms at first glance, but I read their signs as I drove by, and wondered why they weren’t in school. I had no idea there was an abortion clinic between my place of work and my favorite fast food restaurant.

I wished I had honked to show support. Maybe on my way back – after I drive-thru. How would they be able to discern if my honk was supportive and not communicating, “Get back to school you juvenile delinquents!” Maybe I should forget the honk. A big smile and a wave would be better.

What was I thinking? Another woman, or maybe a young girl, had made a world changing choice and would live with the consequences. Was that her car in the parking lot? Would she be driving home alone?

I would always remember October 28, 2014 as the day I submitted to the tender and loving God who has my best interest at heart. What would she remember about this day? Was she cognizant of who or what she had submitted to?

“That will be $7.03. Please pull around to the window.”

“Could I also have ten $5.00 gift cards?”

The words went into the menu sign/microphone from my mouth, almost without my permission.

“Sure. Pull on around.”

I opened my wallet and saw only one twenty dollar bill. There were some coins in the cup holder.

“That will be $57.03.”

It only took an instant for me to ask the Lord why he would want me to order gift cards when Christmas was still weeks in the future, and He had to know I didn’t have enough cash.

“Lord, I hope you know this can’t happen every day for 40 days, but for today, Lord, I will obey.”

I pulled out my debit card.

Ordinarily, I would dig into the bag and start eating in the car. Not this time. My tummy was strangely patient. Before I pulled out of the fast food parking lot, I knew what I was supposed to do with the gift cards.

Ten teenagers and one adult chaperone were still on the sidewalk, holding signs. They looked my way, but didn’t stare as I parked in the abortion “clinic” parking lot. By the way, as a nurse, I find it offensive that this business can hide behind words like clinic, treatment, prevention, and care.

The adult in the group stepped out, making sure I realized her presence, but it was a boy at the end of the line, and closest to me, as I jogged up a slight hill, car keys and gift cards in hand.

“Please take these. I saw you as I drove by and wanted to do something to let you know I appreciate what you are doing, and your willingness to do it.”

He looked at me in disbelief. When he didn’t hold out his hand to accept the gift cards, I reached out and dropped the cards into his shirt pocket in what could have easily been considered an invasion of his personal space. The other kids and the chaperone didn’t miss a thing.

I turned and jogged back down the hill.

As I started my car, I noticed the group was in a loose huddle. Negative thoughts began to take over my mood before I had the car in gear:

You didn’t mention the name of Jesus. What you did was for nothing.
Those kids think you’re crazy.
Five dollars? That won’t buy much.
Throwing money away won’t bring back one baby or comfort one of those mothers.
Those kids were wearing uniforms. They don’t need your gift cards.
Their parents can afford private school.
Hey church lady! Those kids don’t belong to your kind of church. That money could have gone to the kids you know.
So what if it is Columbus day – a school holiday. They’re probably looking for extra credit in religion class.

Satan can dialogue in our heads and work quickly on our moods and self-worth as a child of God if we let him. I turned up the radio, and told him to leave me alone. If he continued to nag me, I didn’t hear. There was smiling, waving, and yelling coming from the sidewalk:

“Thank you!”

“We love you!”

“Have a great day!”

That was one year ago on October 28^th. My forty days without Pepsi turned to sixty. I made it through the holidays, and through the hot days of summer. Pepsi wasn’t the only thing that had a hold on me, but it was the thing I thought I needed daily. It was the thing I used for soothing, energy, and reward.

I didn’t need it! I don’t need it! But I still find myself hesitating in front of vending machines and when looking over menus.

In last Friday’s post, I invited you to come back today and celebrate an anniversary. I hope you weren’t expecting cake or a party. I won’t be serving Pepsi – that’s for sure! Instead, I’m serving up a challenge.

Let’s take another look at Matthew 25:34-46. Remember how Jesus contrasted those who feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, take in strangers, clothe the naked, visit the sick, and see to the needs of prisoners, with those who do none of those things?

If you’re already involved in a ministry that serves the hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, or imprisoned, I hope you’ll ask God to give you a fresh inspiration for doing it better. If you are not serving in a ministry, pray about who and how you can serve. I’m praying, confident that God has a new challenge for me. Will you pray too?

Lord, direct me to the hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, and imprisoned. They are everywhere – literally and figuratively, but I don’t often notice. Show me where and how I can serve. It scares me a little – this submission thing. Not that You might take me where I prefer not to go, but that I am likely to fail. Forty days, months, or years it doesn’t matter. I want to submit to you – the God who cares enough to help me with my big choices and my ridiculous addictions. Amen.

Try a Little Thankfulness

Oct22

When my children were little I wanted to encourage thankfulness so, like most other parents, I instructed them to say “Thank You” whenever they received anything from a piece of candy, to a compliment, to a pricey toy. They generally complied with my request, but sometimes they complied with more or less enthusiasm, and the degree of their heart felt thankfulness was revealed by their reaction to the gift.

Sometimes their response made me confident of their thankfulness and their appreciation for the sacrifice it took for the giver of the gift (usually me) to give the time, attention, and cash required to offer the gift. But the true degree of their thankfulness might become evident days, or maybe an hour later, when the gift was treated with disrespect or perhaps found abandoned and vulnerable to destruction.

It’s been a long time since my children Trick or Treated, but on October 31st I’ll be reminded of what it is to have a child express genuine thanks, and what it feels like to give to children with an attitude of ingratitude or entitlement.

I try not to judge small children because they are too shy to speak up and say, “Thank you” when you hand over that treat. And news bulletin: Not all children enjoy going door to door asking for candy. For the most part, I’ll see happy children and grateful children, but every year a child or two will respond to my generosity with a grumble of discontentment. It never fails.

The word “entitlement” is more than a buzzword. It’s an epidemic. It’s an epidemic that is infecting my attitude toward giving. Am I the only one who appreciates a bit of appreciation when I give? Am I the only one who sometimes feels used for what I have to give? We hear about the “entitled generation”, but I don’t think the attitude of entitlement is anything new. Even if it were, who raised up this entitled generation?

I want to be a cheerful giver (2 Corinthians 9:7). Over the past year, I’ve experienced how my cheerfulness in giving has little to do with the response of the perceived receiver. Remember how Jesus contrasted those who feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, take in strangers, clothe the naked, visit the sick, and see to the needs of prisoners, with those who do none of those things (Matthew 25:34-46) ?

Jesus taught that to love and share with our neighbors is to love and share with Him. We can say “Thank You” in prayers and songs of praise. We can say “Thank You” to those who give to us, and reciprocate with sincerity, but our thanksgiving to God for what He has done for us is best expressed by obedience – the kind of obedience commanded in what Jesus called the second greatest commandment.

He made obedience to His commandments simple to understand. First: Love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength, and secondly, love our neighbor as ourselves (Matthew 22:38-40). We have no excuse. No loopholes. Our obedience and thankfulness are inseparably married. We’re getting it wrong if we obey, yet grumble. We are liars when we offer thanksgiving, yet live comfortably in disobedience.

I could say, “No one is perfect.” That would be true, but it would also sound like an excuse or like I’m creating an exception. I can’t speak for everyone, but I tire with listening to excuses, and suppose there are those who tire when hearing mine.

Jonah and Daniel are two Old Testament prophets whose commitment to thankfulness was revealed by their response to what God asked. Their stories are good for more than a child’s bedtime. Jonah’s story (Jonah 1-4) is told in four short chapters, and the book of Daniel (Daniel 1-12) is twelve short chapters of good reading.

Jonah obeyed God, only after being in a fish’s belly for three days, then was angry when his reluctant obedience didn’t have the results he wanted. Could Jonah have been feeling a bit “entitled?”

Daniel was consistently obedient, even when God allowed evil people to enslave, threaten, and abuse him. Jonah and Daniel both helped a lot of people find God, but I’d rather live like Daniel lived, and when the final chapter of my life is written, I’d rather not be caught complaining and unthankful.

I mentioned that over the past year, I’ve experienced how my cheerfulness in giving has little to do with the response of the perceived receiver. It has everything to do with obedience – fearless, no excuses obedience. Come back to Wet Feet next Friday. I’ll be celebrating an anniversary of sorts, and it’s always better to celebrate with friends.

Read the stories of Jonah (Jonah 1-4) and Daniel (Daniel 1-12).
No questions or food for thought this week. The books Daniel and Jonah have plenty for you to think about.

Lord, Thank you for the great stories of the Bible. Thank you for this past year’s journey, and proving your promises can be trusted. Help me to try a little more thankfulness over the next few months. Amen

Recipe for Sweet Dreams

Oct9

This is my third blog entry here on Wet Feet. If this is your third time reading, you know all about my daughter’s dream of going to Disney World, and I hope you’ve been able to spend some time reflecting on your own dreams or how you can help someone else experience the blessing of having a dream fulfilled. If this is your first visit to Wet Feet, there are always the archives.

Our dreams are important to God. He authored many of them.

I put my dreams to the test by asking six investigative questions I learned back in high school: Who? What? When? Where? Why? and How? Whether it’s wild and ambitious or practical and common, I find myself using those questions to determine what to do with a dream.

If a politician can’t or won’t answer each and every one of those questions, they might be hiding something. I won’t get started on politics. That’s for another blog, but think about those six questions. Our English teachers were right. Those six are the basic questions we need answered in any situation.

Extra words are merely filler. Answering five of the questions twice or two-thousand times can’t make up for the one left unanswered. Politicians shouldn’t get by without answering all six and neither should we – even in our dreams.

Most of my dreams are like marshmallows. They’re soft, sweet, harmless, and have a limited shelf life. They bounce around in my head, doing little more than take up space. Need an example?

Okay.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about our unfinished basement. I imagine a finished ceiling, walls, flooring, great lighting, and electrical outlets in all the right places. Oh – and a bathroom with an oversized whirlpool tub.

My marshmallow dream is too much for our budget to swallow in one bite. That’s why it remains a dream. As long as we have a higher priority financially, it won’t happen. Do I plan to squelch that dream? No way. Because I dreamed it, and have answers to the six basic questions. I know exactly the best place to start following through on my dream, if and when my financial priorities change.

Other dreams are like peaches. Timing is important. I give them a home in my heart and brain, waiting for them to reach their peak of ripeness. They look appetizing. I’m tempted, but I love a perfect, juicy peach, and most often, that requires restraint.

Several years ago I had a peach of a dream. If I had followed through on a small business idea, it could have made me a millionaire. (Probably not, but as long as we’re dreaming, give me this one.)

I worked on my plan, knew who would be involved, what I would produce, where my customers were, why this product was needed, and how things should to be done. I struggled with only one question. When? My idea, my research, my effort, and my prayers led me to take the first big step into my dream. Then, for lots of reasons, I waited for the right time to take another step.

While I waited, a major organization came out with a similar product, and my peach of an idea got wrinkled and mushy overnight. I didn’t get to taste success, and the remnants of my dream are currently stored in my unfinished basement.

Wealth, fame, and power are often the impetus behind dreams. I call them ground beef dreams. No matter what flavor of sauce we pour over it, it’s still ground beef. If there are 101 recipes for a tasty ground beef meal, there are a million and one dreams of wealth, fame, or power disguised as ministry or not for profit.

We all know (or we should) it’s not that wealth, fame, and power are bad. (I Timothy 6:9-10). God provides all three to be used for his purposes. But the scale tips too easily for most of us. It’s hard to keep our dreams focused on God’s original plan when we get close to any of those three things.

Answering the “why” question about a dream can be harder than all the other questions put together. I know. I’m in the process of putting a dream through the six questions, and feel the need to frequently remind myself of the why. I want to make sure no ground beef gets added.

I did a brief search, looking for some biblical teaching about dreams. You know, I couldn’t find one whole chapter devoted to teaching on dreams. Not that dreams aren’t scattered from Genesis, with the mention of Abimelech’s dream, to Revelation, where John records his most important dream.

The sort of dreams I wanted instruction for are not the involuntary kind of dreams, but what we refer to as aspirations, ambitions, desires, or perhaps brainchildren. For those who don’t dare to dream, let’s call them goals, intentions, or objectives.

It wasn’t long before my search brought me to the realization I would not find a simple checklist of do’s and don’ts for dreaming, but I wasn’t ready to end my search. There had to be something in that worn, leather-bound book. There is, and it’s good news.

The passage I found had no “Thou shalt not’s.” Philippians 4:4-9, with little creativity, can be made into a list of ingredients for some pretty sweet dreams. If I were a list maker, I would have fun with this one. (I’m not a list maker, but don’t let that stop you.)

If we don’t honestly assess our dreams we’ll be disappointed, and probably disappoint those around us. At the very least, we will have stolen time away from a better dream. Sometimes I don’t like an answer to one of the six questions. In the past, I’ve settled for a good answer to four or five out of six. Those dreams didn’t turn out so well.

Funny thing. Lately, I still ask my pragmatic questions, but I’ve also been measuring my simple goals and outrageous wants against the instruction from that chapter in Philippians.

Is anyone surprised that God has been offering grace? I can’t always answer my own questions, but God can. He’s been giving me new and sweeter dreams.

Read: Philippians 4:4-9

1. Name one of your dreams, aspirations, ambitions, or desires.
2. Is it a marshmallow, peach, ground beef or some other kind of dream?
3. Do you have answers for: Who? What? When? Where? Why? and How?
4. Start dreaming sweet dreams!

Lord, Thank you for the dreams we hold in our hearts. Help me to align my dreams with your truth. Keep me honest, just, pure, and lovely. Continue to show me value in virtue and sharing of good reports. Remind me of the things I’ve seen in you and learned from you. Amen.

To Fulfill a Dream

Oct2

My daughter Aimee’s dream of riding The Teacups at Disney World was big, especially for a five-year old. All that was needed to fulfill her dream was a mother who was willing to provide her time, use of a credit card, a ride from Central Illinois to Central Florida and, of course, a God who provided for her mother.

Her first teacup ride became all about capturing the perfect photo. Her second teacup ride was to be simply for fun, but as it turned out, her idea of fun was to be in control of the wheel. Aimee was barely tall enough to keep her bottom in the seat and hold the wheel. Her skinny little arms could not cause the teacup to spin. She cried.

“One more ride Aimee. Let me pick the teacup this time. I’ll find one that you can spin.”

Her older brother, Rob, had bigger rides in mind, but whenever one of his sisters cried, he folded. While we waited in line, listening to the maddening music for the third time, Rob gave Paula (the often forgotten middle child) and me a wink and a nod. We knew he had a plan.

Aimee was still wiping tears. It’s a hard thing – finding out your dream was not worth the time spent dreaming.

Rob tested several teapots before deciding.

“This is it. This one has been oiled recently. Give it a try, Aimee. Make sure you can turn the wheel?”

Aimee grabbed the wheel and the teacup turned with little effort on her part. She used the hem of her shirt to wipe away her last tear.

The platform began to turn. Our teacup began to spin. Slowly at first. The obnoxious music seemed to get louder, and our teacup began to spin faster. Our hair blew in our faces. Paula raised her hands and her body swayed with each revolution. Aimee did have biceps and they were bulging.

Rob pressed one hand to his abdomen and moaned – loud enough that neighboring teacups could hear. His other hand remained hidden on the bottom side of the wheel.

“You can slow down now, Aimee. My stomach is feeling funny.”

“Noooo! This is too much fun!”

Paula, now with only one hand in the air, called out, “Faster!”

Aimee was working every muscle in her body, laughing and giving us the ride of her life. None of us wanted it to stop. The music, maybe. The spinning and Aimee’s thrill, no.

“We went faster than any of the other teacups, didn’t we Mom?”

Aimee’s feet couldn’t take her in a straight line, but she was smiling.

“Yes we did. We sure did.”

I decided Rob would be the one to choose our next ride, and promised we would return, at the end of the day, for one more exciting ride on The Teacups.

Read: 1 Corinthians 13:8-11
Reflection:
1. Have you ever dreamed a dream that turned out not to be worth dreaming?
2. Is there someone you can thank for giving one of your dreams a helping hand?
3. Have you set a new goal or dreamed a new dream lately?

Lord, I want to be obedient, even in my dreams and aspirations. Show me where my dreams are childish or selfish. Point me in the direction where I can show charity and be part of fulfilling another person’s dream today. Amen.

Just the Teacups

Sep22

Aimee talked mostly of the Teacups during our two day drive. She had seen, from a photo, something in the faces of her older brother and sister that made going to Disney World a goal since she was two years old. What was it about sitting in oversized buckets painted like fancy teacups that kept her dream alive for a lifetime? I still don’t know, but three years is a lifetime of anticipation according to any five year old.

It’s a mild ride. No seat belts. No fear. Only music and smiles. Aimee had been promised the wheel. She would be allowed to control how fast we would spin, or if we would spin at all.

“I can’t wait to ride the Teacups.”

“No. No. You’ve got to go on Magic Mountain!”

She wasn’t the least bit excited about roller coastering in the dark. She cupped her hands over her ears, refusing to listen to her brother’s advice.

“I just want to ride the Teacups.”

“I’ll take you to Typhoon Lagoon. It will be a blast!” Her sister’s promise of protection was ineffective.

“I just want to ride the Teacups.”

The previous two days had been spent in my compact car, with three kids continuously requesting salty food, sweet drinks, and bathroom stops. How many tanks of gas? Eight days of hotel room stays had been reserved on my credit card. Two weeks of grocery money was handed over to a teenager in a booth so we could walk through a gate. I was already perspiring, and the sun had barely climbed over the trees on the horizon.

Then I got it. With acres of theme park attractions and rides promising take her to the edge of the earth, Aimee wanted nothing more than a three minute ride in the slow moving teacups she’d seen in a photo.

What had I sacrificed to give my precious daughter the thrill of her short little lifetime?

She took my hand and pulled me through the turnstile. The four of us stood, amazed by our options, but the decision was easy. We followed our map to The Teacups.

That was in 1989. Aimee ended up riding not only the Teacups, but every other ride in the park where she met the height requirements. Some of the rides required her to stand extra tall or add some tip to her toes, but it was worth it. We had a fantastic vacation.

Over the past few years, a desire to write words that inspire and tell stories to encourage has become a simple pleasure and a hobby. No other hobby has caused me to save, plan, or sacrifice like my newfound adventure into writing. More importantly, everything involved in the process of writing, reminds me of all the riches provided to me from a most-loving, heavenly Father.

Preparing this, my first post for Wet Feet, caused me to feel some of what Aimee must have felt when she heard the music and gazed at the substance of her dream for the first time. Kathy Stanford, my friend and partner in this adventure, has pulled me through the turnstile where I stand amazed.

Read: Psalm 104:24

Until next time:
1. Can you name two things Jesus sacrificed to give you good things?
2. Do you prefer to ride slow and be in control, or do you tend to look for the thrill rides?
3. Can you recall a time where God clearly provided a way for you to reach a goal, fulfill a desire, or be thrilled by an experience?

Lord, I want to experience all of your riches. Remind me to look beyond my simple desires at your many amazing works. Help me to keep my eyes and my dreams focused on You. Amen.