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Did you know there’s a company called Pop in NYC that guarantees to deliver your food order in 15 minutes or less? Uber-Eats used to make an even bolder promise—no more than a 10 minute wait. Think about it; at a dine-in restaurant, it sometimes takes longer than that to get the waiter to come to your table to give you a menu or take your order, much less bring your food.

I know because I’m kind of an fussy diner. Slow customer service happens to be my biggest pet peeve—aside from insanely impatient South Florida drivers and people in a hurry, who cut me in line, and well, a few other things that involve time.

Yeah, I see the hypocrisy; I’m in a hurry, but I can’t stand for anyone else to be.

Well, sometimes I can.

Last week, my mom-of-four-kids daughter was under the weather, so I made a big pot of soup for her family and made the drive to her house at a snail’s pace to keep the soup in the backseat from sloshing all over the place.

The drive to her house can be frustrating because part of it is through an area heavily populated with illegal immigrants, who I am pretty sure have cars but no drivers’ licenses. In an effort to stay under the radar, they drive at least 35 miles an hour under the speed limit in a 25 mph zone.

I know—I shouldn’t judge—maybe they’re delivering soup to their sick relatives too!

And now that I’ve told you all that, here’s what I really want to confess: most of the time I want an Uber delivery experience with God. I want Him to deliver what I order, and I want it now!

I somehow think I should be able to circumnavigate the process of becoming a daughter of glory. I want the fifteen-minute-I-choose-you-deliver-no-responsibility-on-my-part delivery.

But God is not an Uber God; He just isn’t.

He wants to teach me the art of fine dining: to slow down, enter the eternal time-zone and savor the experience—to trust Him to order for me—to learn to swallow and enjoy delicacies that may at first seem unpalatable—to be nourished with kingdom-made food.

He doesn’t want me to know Him as Uber God; He wants me to DINE with Him: break bread, partake of the wine—to taste and see that He is always always always good.

His timing is perfect; He is always on time, and as I heard someone quip one time, rarely a minute early!

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I know this looks like a lengthy post, but if you are looking for life-changing truth, read on.

I read somewhere this year that we can choose to toss a stone into a body of water, but once it’s thrown, we have no power over the ripple effect it will have. The author was comparing the stone to sin, but, you know, that works both ways.

Thirty-something years ago Nancy Leigh DeMoss Wolgemuth threw a stone of truth into the lives of my parents, and I am forever grateful she did.  The ripple effect of her friendship and ministry in their lives changed the whole course of ALL our lives: my parents, we three girls, our families, and our families’ families, and, now, maybe even you.

Her inspired thoughts about proud people vs broken people are something the Lord has used to speak to my heart over and over again. The first time I asked God to take inventory of my heart with what you are about to read below was quite a shock to my subtle, heretical I’m-a-pretty-good-person mentality.

With so many checks in the PROUD column, I had to remind myself of what John Lynch in his excellent Two Rooms message [definitely worth checking out] muses about what God might say to us when we begin to get honest and come and lay our sin before Him: “That is a lot of sin—my, my, my—and we’ll work on it when you are ready… I’ve got y0u covered. I’ve known all about it from before the world began. My shed blood…is powerful. I’m crazy about you…”

And then there’s the story my dad always liked to tell about the guy who was so humble that his community awarded him a badge in honor of his humility but took it away from him for wearing it….gee, I miss my dad’s jokes…

okay, okay, here’s the meat…



PROUD PEOPLE vs BROKEN PEOPLE
by
Nancy Leigh DeMoss Wolgemuth

—for a summarized printable PDF click here


Proud people
focus on the failures of others, but broken people are overwhelmed with a sense of their own spiritual need. Proud people are self-righteous. They have a critical, fault-finding spirit. They look at everyone else’s faults with a microscope but their own with a telescope, and they look down on others. But broken people are compassionate. They can forgive much because they know how much they have been forgiven. They think the best of others, and they esteem all others better than themselves.

Proud people have an independent, self-sufficient spirit, but broken people have a dependent spirit and recognize their need for others. Proud people have to prove that they’re right, but broken people are willing to yield the right to be right. Proud people claim rights and have a demanding spirit, but broken people yield their rights and have a meek spirit. Proud people are self-protective of their time, their rights, and their reputation, but broken people are self-denying.

Proud people desire to be served, but broken people are motivated to serve others. Proud people desire to be a success, but broken people are motivated to be faithful and to make others a success.

Proud people desire for self-advancement, but broken people desire to promote others. Proud people have a drive to be recognized, to be appreciated. They’re wounded when others are promoted and they are overlooked. Broken people have a sense of their own unworthiness. They’re thrilled that God would use them at all in any ministry. They’re eager for others to get the credit, and they rejoice when others are lifted up.

Proud people have a subconscious feeling, “This ministry is privileged to have me and my gifts.” They think of what they can do for God, but broken people have that heart attitude that says, “I don’t deserve to have any part in this ministry.” They know that they have nothing to offer God except the life of Jesus flowing through their broken lives.
Proud people feel confident in how much they know, but broken people are humbled by how very much they have to learn. Proud people are self-conscious, but broken people are not concerned with self at all.

Proud people keep others at arm’s length, but broken people are willing to risk getting close to others and to take the risks of loving intimately. Proud people are quick to blame others, but broken people accept personal responsibility and can see where they were wrong in the situation.

Proud people are unapproachable, but broken people are easy to be entreated. Proud people are defensive when criticized, but broken people receive criticism with a humble, open spirit. Proud people are concerned with being respectable. They’re concerned with what others think, and they’re working to protect their own image and reputation. But broken people are concerned with being real. What they care about and what matters to them is not what others think but what God knows, and they’re willing to die to their own reputation.

Proud people find it difficult to share their spiritual needs with others, but broken people are willing to be open and transparent with others as God directs. Proud people, when they have sinned, want to be sure that no one finds out. Their instinct is to cover up, but broken people, once they’ve been broken, they don’t care who knows or who finds out. They are willing to be exposed because they have nothing to lose.

Proud people have a hard time saying, “I was wrong. Will you please forgive me?” But broken people are quick to admit their failure and to seek forgiveness when necessary. When confessing their sin, proud people tend to deal in generalities, but broken people are able to deal under the conviction of God’s Spirit to acknowledge specifics.

Proud people are concerned about the consequences of their sin, but broken people are grieved over the cause, the root of their sin. Proud people are remorseful over their sin, sorry that they got found out or caught. But broken people are truly, genuinely repentant over their sin, which is evidenced in the fact that they forsake that sin.

When there’s a misunderstanding or conflict in relationships, proud people wait for the other to come and ask forgiveness, but broken people take the initiative to be reconciled. They race to the cross. They see if they can get there first, no matter how wrong the other may have been.

Proud people compare themselves with others and feel worthy of honor, but broken people compare themselves to the holiness of God and feel a desperate need for His mercy. Proud people are blind to their real heart condition, but broken people walk in the light. Proud people don’t think they have anything to repent of, but broken people realize that they have need of a continual heart attitude of repentance.

Proud, unbroken people don’t think they need revival, but they’re sure that everyone else does. Whereas humble, broken people continually sense their need for a fresh encounter with God, for a fresh filling of His Holy Spirit.”


Nancy Leigh DeMoss Wolgemuth

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“A room evolves,” my sister said as we were having a—well, really having another—conversation about what to do with my living room. This time I had decided to paint everything white: white ceiling, white walls, white trim. And as you can see in the photo above, I really did it. I’m not much of a decorator, not at all a fashion or decor visionary and don’t know any of the rules, but when I found myself pinning rooms I liked over and over again on my “Living Room” Pinterest board, I noticed that one thing they all had in common was white walls. And while I can’t really call myself a mid-century modern gal, my “pins” were also telling me I like the other kind of white space—the kind that minimalism affords —uncluttered, no more furniture than is needed, no ruffles or frills…no heavy, ornate furniture just the facts, ma’am…plain and simple. Of course the plain and simple includes fresh cut flowers!

My sister was right about the room evolving; it kind of just has. In fact, it seems to be evolving into a mix between modern and traditional with even maybe even a tiny hint of boho—oh yeah—they call that eclectic, don’t they?

I remember many years ago making an intentional effort to define the kind of home I wanted to have. It wasn’t really so much about buying expensive furniture and art. And after years of wanting more space, I realized at some point it’s not really about “big” either. In fact, the secret, well, you’ve heard it a million times, but its true so I’m going to say it again: It’s the little things that bring us the most pleasure.

I hope you enjoy your little things today…
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every little one…
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Sharing a bit of what the Lord is speaking into my heart concerning my cross….

Thought #1

My cross is His chosen instrument to effect the cure, and if I don’t get that, receive it, embrace it, I will forever have the ultimate spiritual chip on my shoulder! I will view God’s dealings with me—my afflictions—as punitive, meted out of a heart of disgust for me.

When the pain and sorrow of the cross engulfs me, I will shake my fist at God or grovel in self-pity and wonder why he so hates me at the same time I am asking myself why He could ever love me.

I will, at all cost, avoid the cross, instead of recognizing it as God’s perfect gift to me—his greatest expression of love—the cut of the scalpel that my spirit knows I must receive in order to have the deadly sin of self-love rooted out, supplanted by His perfect love!

Have I forgotten why I came to Him in the first place, or in my coming, did I miss the mark and come for all the wrong reasons?

Note—after receiving this FB  comment:  “…incomprehensible drivel…In an historic Christian context, the cross is a symbol to remind the faithful of God’s ultimate sacrifice for our eternal salvation. It is not an element of love or veneration in and of itself.”

I want to make it clear that I am not speaking of an historic cross, but the cross(s) that we encounter in our dying to the flesh through the circumcision of our hearts. This post has been edited with the words “my cross” to, hopefully, clarify that.

kindergartenKindergarten.

I have two memories of kindergarten.

I remember having an aquarium in my classroom.

Apparently, over a school break, my teacher, Mrs. L, visited Florida or some other tropical paradise or maybe just a local pet store because she brought a seahorse to school one day and gathered the whole class around the aquarium to watch as she released it into it’s new world among the other fish.

She must not have know this: “Seahorses are not like most other fish; their care is more labor-intense and requires more sacrifice from their owners.”

I was fascinated by the seahorse but could never decide if it was dead or alive; it looked like a lifeless, bony skeleton to me.

It’s drab color blended with the aquarium rocks and plants, making it hard to see.

Once in awhile, I caught a glimpse of it slowly floating in suspension as the showier fish darted all around it.

The most vivid memory I have of that year, though, was when Mrs. L announced that she was going to move everyone to a new place in the room.

I’m not sure why teachers did this or if they still do, but when I was growing up, it was common to do so at least once during the school year.

Maybe it was because they thought the students needed a change.

Maybe it was because they knew them better after a few months of seeing them everyday and wanted to place those who exhibited overt leadership skills beside people who were more introverted.

Maybe it was just because they read somewhere in a book that it was what all good teachers do.

I remember, we sat at long, low tables—6 students at a table.

It was exciting to get to move, especially as a kindergartener, because there is only so much a 5 year old has in her classroom repertoire, you know.

With great anticipation, I patiently waited for her to call out my name.

She never did.

I was the only person she didn’t call.

As everyone excitedly took their new seat assignments, I incredulously sat in my old seat and watched.

I was crushed.

I remember feeling lonely, left out, forgotten—almost chastised—

Obscure

I’m not sure if she overlooked me when she was making her new seating chart or if she thought I was so affable that it didn’t really matter who I sat next to or who sat next to me—the 5 year old everygirl.

Even after all these years, I feel a bit sad when I think about that winsome little girl who just wanted to fit in, to be known—to be seen.

But God saw.

He had a greater plan.

Although I didn’t know or understand it, a tiny part of my flesh died that day—was replaced with a tiny seed of sensitivity and compassion for the overlooked and outcasts of this world.

And I think the seahorse died sometime during that year too.

 

“Thereafter, Hagar used another name to refer to the Lord, who had spoken to her. She said, ‘You are the God who sees me.'” Genesis 16:13
“The bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”  John 6:51

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I’m smitten with the color indigo these days, so when I saw something like this on Pinterest, I was inspired to try my hand at making my own. I simply followed this tutorial, and voilá….look what happened!

I know not everyone likes modern “art,” but I’m pretty happy with the way it turned out and have it hanging in my dining area. I think I could really enjoy doing more of this mixing colors and playing with paint! Oh yes, I think I will be doing more of this. Making it was a fraction of the cost I would have paid to buy a 24 x 36 original..haha.. and it’s just so much fun!

Ribba Frame | Paper | Paint

8C1A0169I know in my last post I said I was 99.999% sure I wasn’t going to keep this blog. But a close friend and mentor advised me to keep writing [in this space in this season], so that is what I am going to do, for now.

I’m not totally sure why or how often or what in the world I will write about, but for now, I’m going to follow her advice and stay the course and just write.

Just because…she said to…

Pictured: The Inspired Room by Melissa Michaels

….must come to an end! I started blogging at my original blog home in 2005…wow…10 years ago.

When I started writing the blogging world was very different than it is today.

It wasn’t about making money or people pushing an agenda.

Facebook had not made its official debut.

Twitter…what was that?

Blogging was about building relationships…Ann and Tonia and Deb , Amanda and Dawn and several others of us just sharing our hearts and lives with one another.

I moved my blog to this space mostly because I wanted more control over my design.

I wanted to write a blog that would give others a candid glimpse into the heart of one who was learning to live in Christ alone.

My host subscription is up for renewal in April.

I’ve been asking God if I should continue to write here.

Maybe He is calling me to other things like “living a quiet life” and “working with my hands.”

I’ve tried to hang on here….because I love to take photographs and write and express what my heart knows.

But it seems maybe, all long, that was my plan and not His!

So, if by chance, someone does happen to stop by, thank you for being a part of my life here….adieu and happy trails!


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  • Dawn

    Many sighs. I am sad because I so miss those days in the beginning. My blog started in 2005. Such a sweet time it was.
    Blessings on you, friend.
    Dawn xoxoxReplyCancel

    • Debi

      I am sad too,Dawn. I’m sure you, of all people, know how difficult this is for me, but…
      Blessings,
      DebiReplyCancel