1 Kings 5:3-5 Solomon said to King Hiram of Tyre, “You know that my father, David, was not able to build a Temple to honor the name of God . . . But now the Lord my God has given me peace on every side; I have no enemies and all is well. So I am planning to build a Temple to honor the name of the Lord my God.”

On my early morning walk today in Plano, Texas, I was able to express to the Lord some of my gratitude for what he has done for me and for my family while I was 63—an amazing sense of peace. A lovely way to begin 64!

I know that many beloved ones are in the midst of turmoil and grief today, including the family of friends in Mexico who lost their lives in a car accident this week, and other friends whose home was invaded by robbers. Thus I don’t take these moments of peace in my own life for granted, and can only be grateful. Our times are in God’s hands, and he is faithful through every kind of moment that we experience.

And here’s the birthday song shared with me by my sibs:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8AglUMCKyns

Psalm 139:11-12 I could ask the darkness to hide me and the light around me to become night—but even in the darkness I cannot hide from you. To you the night shines as bright as day. Darkness and light are the same to you.

My dad used to say “You’re not really lost if you can speak the local language.” He wasn’t thinking of being lost in unfamiliar woods on a night with no moon and only the night creatures around you. That was my case when I went hiking in the Bear Run Nature Reserve one autumn afternoon, missed a turn or two where there were no signposts, and couldn’t figure out my way back.

As darkness deepened my anxiety increased, chiefly because Karis and a friend were expecting me to pick them up from their tour of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater when the house closed for the day at 5:00 p.m. We had carefully calculated her IV and medication schedule to accommodate this tour. Her medical supplies were in our car and I had the keys. We were an hour and a half from home, and it was growing very cold.

The bright spot in this scenario (pun intended) was that I had my cell phone. It wasn’t a smart or iphone, and the signal came and went, but as long as I had a charge, I could use its light. I tried several times to call Karis, without success. “Help, Lord!” was my eloquent prayer.

As I crashed along through the leaves, trying to make as much noise as possible to scare off any critters that might be sharing this adventure with me, my phone suddenly rang. It was a park ranger! When I didn’t show up, Karis had alerted a ranger with the help of Fallingwater personnel. Karis was fine, the ranger assured me. Her friend had broken into our car, so she had access to her IVs and medications, and protection from the cold. Relief flooded through me.

There were two rangers in the park looking for me. I was instructed to walk in the direction I was going until I reached an intersection of trails with a signpost, and a cell phone signal. Then I was to call the ranger back and they would know where I was. To conserve the charge on my phone, I shone it briefly to see the next piece of trail and whether there was a sign post, walked the distance I could see, then shone my little light briefly again.

Within a couple of hours, one of the rangers found me, only about half an hour from the entrance to the park, led me out with his powerful flashlight, and drove me “next door” to the Fallingwater parking lot where Karis waited with her friend. Later, I studied a trail map with the indicators I had, and calculated that I had walked close to twenty miles.

“You’re not really lost if you can speak the local language.” God speaks every language, and access to him doesn’t depend on having enough phone charge or a signal. Or eloquence.

2 Kings 13:22-23 King Hazael of Aram had oppressed Israel during the entire reign of King Jehoahaz. But the Lord was gracious and merciful to the people of Israel, and they were not totally destroyed. He pitied them because of his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

I have been “oppressed” all my life by a need or compulsion to do more than I could reasonably handle. I didn’t start learning the word NO until I was in my forties, and it’s been a hard lesson to learn!

This morning I woke up feeling oppressed by this blog, which startled me because it has been my dream child for years. As I thought about it and talked to the Lord, I realized that my instinct is to feel that I MUST carry out what I’ve committed myself to: twice a week postings, even when I’m traveling. Then this verse reminded me that the Lord is gracious and merciful. He knows what I can handle with freedom and joy. That reminded me of 2 Corinthians 9:7, “You must each decide in your heart how much to give. Don’t give reluctantly or in response to pressure. For God loves a person who gives cheerfully.”

If you’ve been reading this blog, you know that while I was in Mexico, I lost about fifty “But God” posts I had written in anticipation of the intensity of the fall travel. No one has been able to explain to me how this bizarre event occurred. The loss to me feels irreplaceable. It feels to me like the blog, instead of complimenting the book, is now in direct competition for my already-challenged time and emotional energy. I can’t count on finding time to write new posts twice a week.

What I’m coming to even as I write this is a decision to boldly say “God is gracious and merciful!” and release myself from the twice a week commitment. From now until Thanksgiving, I will with joy post when I can. And I will definitely post YOUR But God stories when you send them to me!!

Meanwhile, I challenge you to think seriously about how and when God has intervened in your life, and whether you send it to me or not, write it down! Re-read the very first post on this blog. Remember, and tell. Tell at least one other person, to the glory of God, the encouragement of that other person, and the strengthening of your own confidence in God’s concern about your wild and precious life (thanks, Mary Oliver).

And if you think of me, please pray for my emotional stamina through these trips and events with so much focus on Karis. It is both joyful and challenging. If you want to follow my travels, I’ll be posting from time to time on the All I See Is Grace Facebook page.

God is gracious and merciful!

Mark 9:26-27 The boy appeared to be dead . . . But Jesus took him by the hand and helped him to his feet, and he stood up.

I re-read this story today because August 6 in the Western tradition of the church is the day we remember Jesus’s transfiguration. Jesus appeared in glory to three of his disciples, who heard the Father’s voice saying “This is my dearly loved Son. Listen to him.” As they came down the mountain, Jesus explained (again) to his disciples that he would die, but he would rise from the dead. Mark says they didn’t understand; they asked each other what he meant by “rising from the dead.”

Jesus gave them an object lesson. When they rejoined the other disciples, they encountered another son, and another father. This only and dearly loved son was tormented by evil (as Jesus would be) to the point that he appeared to be dead. But Jesus healed him and restored him to his father. Imagine the father’s joy! Jesus would shortly be truly dead, but God his Father would restore him to himself. Imagine the celebration in Heaven!

As I write this, two dear friends have just lost a dearly loved and only son. Another friend has lost his mother. Because of losing Karis, I deeply feel my friends’ gut-wrenching pain. And because of losing Karis, I also can imagine the joy in Heaven as each one’s wounds—emotional, spiritual, and physical—are being healed. As each beloved one’s suffering is soothed; as all that went wrong in our broken world is put right. As God’s tender, gentle love is poured into this son, Gabe, and this mother, Irene. As Jesus takes each of them by the hand, and helps them to their feet, and fills them with the Life that here we can only glimpse.

I’m reminded of the “year verse” Karis chose for 2014. It’s from another story in Mark. A little girl has died. “Holding her hand, Jesus said to her, “Little girl, get up!” (Mark 5:41). Karis had been discouraged. She believed that through this verse God was telling her to stop her “pity party,” as she called it, and get back to living. Indeed, over the next few weeks Karis was more animated than she had been for some time. But on February 5, she felt Jesus’ hand and heard his voice in Heaven. Imagine her joy. Imagine seeing Jesus in all his glory, not just for a few minutes as the disciples did on the mountain, but always.

“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face . . .” (1 Corinthians 13:12).

1 Corinthians 3:6 I planted the seed in your hearts, and Apollos watered it, but it was God who made it grow.

One day when Karis was discouraged about her limitations, her “Aunt” Claudia, leader of her high school discipleship group, told her this story:

A gardener carried two clay pots, one whole and one cracked, down a path to water his garden. The cracked pot felt badly that it could not perform as the whole pot, getting all of the water to the garden. The gardener told the cracked pot to look back at the path they walked each day. The cracked pot saw that on the whole pot’s side of the path, everything was dry and barren. But on his side, beautiful flowers grew.

“Beautiful flowers grow all around you, Karis,” Aunt Claudia told her. “That’s what the Master Gardener wants you to see.”

From then on, Karis’s favorite nickname was “Crackpot.” She took a pottery class her freshman year at Notre Dame, and wrote in her journal (January 2002), “A jar of clay. Working the potter’s wheel I come to learn better what this means. I want to make a cracked pot.”

Karis associated the cracked pot with 2 Corinthians 4:7, “We have the light of Christ shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.”

I myself feel a bit cracked and leaky today. Lord, please shine through the cracks, and by your grace leak the living water of your Holy Spirit. Because you can make beautiful things grow.

In Hershey, PA! 1210 Fishburn Rd, 6:30 p.m. Thursday, August 2. RSVP karenelliottjohnson@gmail.com.

Pittsburgh, PA! Church of the Ascension book signing 10:00-1:00, Sunday, August 5 after both morning services. See http://www.ascensionpittsburgh.org/.

In Joshua 4, God told Joshua to use stones to build a memorial to what he had done for the people of Israel. “In the future your children will ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ Then you can tell them . . . These stones will stand as a memorial.” (Joshua 4:6-7) At Stones of Remembrance parties we tell stories about what God did in the life of Karis Joy Kornfield and her family. 

Romans 8:26 And the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don’t know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us, with groanings that cannot be expressed in words.

In several situations right now I don’t understand what God is doing. I am frustrated and hurt by things happening in beloved ones’ lives and don’t know how to pray. It comforts me deeply to know that the Holy Spirit prays for me, with complete knowledge, understanding, and wisdom. And with empathy for the pain and confusion I feel. He groans for us. With us. Our brokenness does not frighten or intimidate him.

Several years ago while working with incest victims I discovered the Japanese art of kintsugi, which repairs broken pottery with gold. What does this photo communicate to you? Please share your thoughts!

1 Kings 19:3-4, 9-13 Elijah was afraid and fled for his life . . . “I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life . . .” But the Lord said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah? . . . Go out and stand before me on the mountain.” As Elijah stood there, the Lord passed by, and a mighty windstorm hit the mountain . . . but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the sound of a gentle whisper . . . and [again] a voice said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

The recent eruption of Volcán Fuego in Guatemala reminded me of the following incident in my life.

When I was fourteen I had the privilege of attending a retreat for English-speaking teens beside Lake Amatitlán in Guatemala, with a guest speaker from the U.S. His theme was Romans 12:1-2, about offering our whole lives to God. The fact that almost fifty years later I can remember the text is testimony to the impact the retreat had on me.

On the last day of the retreat, we climbed a mountain next to Volcán Pacaya, an active volcano that frequently spews fire and ash. Our climb was a dirty, sweaty struggle through ash many feet deep to the designated picnic spot at the top of the mountain. But it was worth the struggle. The view, as we ate our sandwiches with a cool wind refreshing us, was breathtaking.

After lunch, our speaker challenged us to take the step he had been drawing us toward through the whole retreat: Worship God truly by offering him your whole selves as a living and holy sacrifice. He directed us to find a spot by ourselves on the mountain top to consider this decision.

I still remember where I sat, and the vista spread out before me: range after range of mountains, the volcano to my right, and the lake shimmering in the valley. God’s creative majesty gripped me. In the stillness, I heard God’s whisper, “What are you doing here, Debbie?”

Like Elijah, I told the Lord I was at the end of my rope. I had hit a wall. I wanted to be done.

Like Elijah, I felt completely alone. I felt I couldn’t talk to anyone about the things I struggled with, the wounds I had suffered and the burdens I carried. Coming to the end of this retreat, I didn’t think I could handle going back to my real life.

What was I doing there? I was offering God my broken, weary self, and asking him to take me from that mountain top directly to Heaven. But as he did with Elijah, God sent me back. He said, “I will go with you. Listen for my gentle whisper.”

As he did with Elijah, he showed me I was not alone.

2 Samuel 11:27 When the period of mourning was over [for the death of Bathsheba’s husband], David sent for her and brought her to the palace . . . But the Lord was displeased with what David had done.

There’s something very satisfying about pulling crab grass out of my garden.  Especially since I’ve been away from weeding for three weeks and there’s been plenty of rain, so the unsightly things have had the chance to stretch their ugly tendrils in all directions. Find the root and with one good yank the whole thing comes free.  I can almost feel the flowers taking a deep breath of relief.

As I was weeding early this morning before my grandson Caleb arrived to play while his mommy and daddy work, I wondered whether the Master Gardener has the same sense of satisfaction when I let him pull weeds out of my heart-garden. Then over breakfast I came to this verse in my daily reading.

Adultery. Lying. Murder. It sounds like a soap opera. How did David, the man after God’s own heart, get to this place? I am SO GLAD that the Lord was displeased. What if he hadn’t cared? Out of his displeasure, God took action to confront David with what he had done. And to give David a path forward, out of that dark, awful place he was trapped in. A way to pull the weeds that were flourishing in his soul.

When I was little, maybe seven years old, I lied to my father. I did it to escape punishment for something I had done wrong. I don’t remember now what that wrong thing was—perhaps it was just a childish mistake, not an intentional wrongdoing. But I remember clearly the torment I experienced as I tried to go to sleep that night, the lie I had told burning into my conscience. It’s my most vivid early memory of recognizing myself as a sinner, capable of deliberately choosing to do wrong. I tossed and turned in my bed for hours.

Finally, when I could no longer bear it, I eased myself from the covers, tiptoed through my sleeping brother and sisters (four others of us in that bedroom), out into the darkness of the corridor, across our little patio to my parents’ room. Shaking so much I could hardly manage the few steps to my father’s bedside, I touched his shoulder. He didn’t wake up right away and I almost bolted. But finally he did rouse, and saw me, and quietly got up and out to the patio to find out what was wrong without waking my mother.

Making my confession was possibly the hardest, most liberating thing I had ever done. Dad listened attentively, acknowledged my sin, and granted me absolution. Hearing the words “I forgive you” has never since been as sweet as it was for me that night. It was the yank of the weed from my heart.

I went back to bed and slept soundly, with relief, peace, and joy sprouting. Dad never mentioned the incident again, and neither have I, until writing these words!

You may be thinking that my “little” lie doesn’t even fit into the same space as King David’s wrongdoing. But I don’t think God sees things like that, because every sin hurts not only us but others as well. And little ones, if not pulled out, soon send out tendrils in many other directions.

From Psalm 146 Let all that I am praise the Lord . . . Joyful are those who have God as their helper . . . He keeps every promise forever. He gives justice, frees, opens the eyes of the blind, lifts up those who are weighed down, loves, protects, and cares. But he frustrates the plans of the wicked. The Lord will reign forever. Praise the Lord!

I just got back from a lovely fast walk through a small piece of bustling Cuernavaca, Mexico, a route that has become familiar to me over the last two and a half weeks. These walks have served not just for exercise but for praise and prayer, lifting many concerns, friends, and family members to the Lord.

This morning my sister Jan listed seven odd things that have happened since I came to visit them. We wonder whether there is spiritual warfare involved because they are so unexpected and bizarre. So I want to ask for your prayers that any plans the enemy may have would be frustrated and blocked. And while you’re at it, praise God with me for all of the wonderful things this psalm tells us about our Lord.

Steve and Jan just left for the hospital, where Steve will have surgery this afternoon.  I had hoped it could be done sooner so I could help more with his recuperation, but at 5:00 Saturday morning I’ll take the bus to Mexico City for my flights home. So if you can, add to your prayers God’s provision of the right friends at the right moments to help with what Jan, who battles severe rheumatoid arthritis, can’t do. Thanks.

I am so encouraged that one day the Lord will reign, forever. Then there will be no more need for surgeries or for medications with terrible side effects. There will be no more death, despair, loneliness, mourning, or sadness. No more scams or fraud or lost computer work; no more hunger, tyranny, betrayal, deceit, or oppression.

One day . . .