Do you know your father’s voice?

Dear Readers:

Do you have that one friend that you may not hear from for a year, but you know their voice instantly when you pick up the phone? It has a familiar timbre-that familiar pitch-and you are back in conversation as if no time has passed at all.

I feel that way each time a storm rolls in. Growing up in Kansas, thunderstorms came with a fury and intensity I have yet to see in Oklahoma. Within a moments notice, the blue sky would turn a sickly green and then a deep black. It would rip open as lightening splintered across the sky, and a piercing crack would echo throughout the plains.

Thunder would fester from within the earth, grumbling all the way to the surface until it finally would scream into the atmosphere, shaking the paintings on our walls.

As a child, the storms fascinated me, scared me, humbled me and intoxicated me.

The older I got, my love affair with storms grew. I found covering outside to watch as the storm brewed over the field in my backyard. I loved the stillness right before the storm. The birds became silent and found shelter. The hay stopped swaying and the earth grew quiet for a moment. Suddenly, a loud clap would wake everything up and rain would pour down on me.

I heard the voice of my Father calling to me through those storms, reminding me of who He is. And as the hot rain fell on my skin, I would feel the cleansing power of water-of baptism.

My Father speaks to me in many ways-but my favorite is through a storm. A storm is unpredictable, beautifully dangerous, radically different and fiercely chaotic. But in the end, the earth has been cleansed and a sweet peace falls as the storm moves on.

It reminds me of my God. He will shake me to the core, He will cleanse me and He will bring me peace. I know the Father’s voice so intimately that I not only hear it in every storm, but throughout every day as I keep in constant communication with Him.

Do you know your Father’s voice?

We aren’t fancy enough. Hail, go away.

We aren’t fancy enough to own a garage. Midtown is full of older homes with either converted garages, or houses that just simply never had a garage. Ours is the former.

When we first bought our home, the “garage” looked like this.

Yep. Toilet, shower, awesome paneling and fake brick linoleum flooring. (Mind you, we had already removed the wooden swedish sauna.)

So, although our house is a nice size-with four bedrooms and three bathrooms-we have no garage.

Meaning, no protection from snow, falling debris, rain…

…or hail.

This morning, about 5 am, I heard the faint sound of ice pinging off the back porch’s metal awning.

During the torrential downpour, the hail continued to bounce off of our unprotected and garage-free sweet ride.

This made me think about how unimportant my possessions were and how quickly they can be destroyed.

(Thankfully, Biceps and I don’t put much stock in fancy possessions-we want to be debt free rather than own an impressive vehicle.)

But, our slightly dinged, slightly used, 15 passenger van is still a possession that I worked hard for and paid for with real, green cash.

And, I was reminded of this scripture: “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Luke 12:34 (NIV)

It made me think if I was storing up treasures here on earth or focusing on the treasures in heaven? After all, I can’t take my possessions with me.

The only thing that I will leave this earth with is what I did while I was here. I hope what I do today for others creates a treasure for me in heaven.

Now, that’s something fancy to possess.

Well played, God. Well played.

I’ve been praying for rain for weeks. Correction-for months. We’ve been in the worst drought Oklahoma has seen since the dust bowl. My crispy garden limps along with wilted leaves during the day, only popping to life at night or in the cool of morning.

This Saturday, I planned a garage sale without regards to the weather. I’ve taken for granted the blue sky, the shining sun, the brown pokey grass and my sweaty pits. So, I set up for the sale, advertised, priced, organized and didn’t look back.

 

That’s when God answered my prayers. At the exact moment that I didn’t want them answered.

He didn’t consider my garage sale when he planned his weather. He didn’t consider that I had been praying for rain for weeks and didn’t answer me. And after all, I just didn’t want it to rain for this one Saturday. He didn’t consider me whining as the first drops fell and he didn’t stop the rain when I begged him to do so.

He just let loose and let the rain fall. All over me and my garage sale, all over my huge stack of Dwell magazines, my perfectly organized display of clothing, my pink gigantic cardboard flowers, my carefully priced tools and my fancy picnic basket.

God didn’t do what I wanted. I closed up shop after complaining quite a bit to Biceps and to my friends that stopped by. I grumbled as I pulled out the whole wheat flour and buttermilk to make pancakes for all of us. I whined as we sat down to our impromptu breakfast.

We bowed our heads as Biceps prayed, thanking God for the blessing of the rain, for the break in the garage sale action which provided the opportunity to spend time with some of our closest friends and for the financial blessing we had already experienced that morning.

Ouch. God did what he wanted to do in his timing, not in my timing.

Well played, God. Well played.

It’s a Rainy Day-Garden Prep

Today was the day for planting my garden. But, mother nature has been in a bad mood-crying all over the place. It has rained for the last three days-with tiny spurts of dryness in between monsoons.

So instead of donning mud boots yesterday, the best friend and I had a day trip planned for Arkansas. But, I’ll tell you more about that soon.

In the meantime, I know that my two DIY Rain Barrels are filling to capacity.

And my empty DIY Composter is getting a good cleansing.

But, I am ready to attack my garden with shovels, seeds and stakes. So mother nature-you’d better dry those tears up soon. No one likes a cry baby.