“I set aside one bag for throwaways and one for giveaways and dived in. First, I got rid of items that no one should be wearing anymore.” – Gretchen Rubin, The Happiness Project
I have no plans for any spring cleaning! Who even invented that? The time to be cleaning is January and February – winter cleaning – to free up the time for spring camping when it starts to warm up outdoors.
My recently cleaned closet
My husband had been talking about cleaning out his closet for months, so I suggested we tackle it this past Saturday after I’d finished cleaning mine earlier in the week. It was too cold outside to enjoy a hike, so we were stuck inside anyway, and nothing good was playing at the movies except A Man Called Otto, which we’d already seen.
“Are you ready?” I asked him.
“No,” he said. “I haven’t eaten my snack yet.”
I gave him the stare-down and told him to eat so we could get started. Reluctantly, he opened the foil package of his favorite Nature Valley Cinnamon biscuits with almond butter and took a painfully slow bite, returning the stare-down.
I began to organize the plan of action.
We pulled out all the clothes in the closet and put them on the bed.
We started the process of pulling out everything and putting back the things that sparked joy – – but we also had to be sensible. The man had clothes from the 1980s in there, and let’s face it – – we are the first two people to laugh at the throwback pictures people post on Facebook with the bold vertical burgundy, navy, and hunter green striped shirts and Members Only jackets. We didn’t want to be those people anymore.
We spread out two giant trash bags and created three piles: keep (hang back in the closet), trash (trash bag #1), and donate (trash bag #2). And we set about our task of sorting.
Boo Radley snuggled up next to the first pile of clothes to be donated
Next, we made a list of items that needed replacing. Pants, because his all had outdated cuffs at the hem and when I’d texted my more fashion-savvy brother for confirmation on this, he’d replied, “Toss the cuffs, unless it’s a suit. Pleats are pretty much dead, too.” Dress shirts, because many most had a terminal case of ring around the collar. His leather belt because it was cracking, and a pair of shoes that he could only wear when it wasn’t raining because of a gap in the seam between the sole and the top.
“How can you trust the weather man that much?” I asked when he’d once before tried to lobby for saving the shoes. One little pop-up shower that left a steam puddle meant the difference in dry, comfortable feet and a miserable, wet rest of the day. I had to be more like a mother than a wife when closet cleaning.
His favorite argument about his worn-out t-shirts is that he should save these for wearing on the tractor when he bush hogs and for using them as oil change rags. I gave him the motherly stare again, then grabbed a plastic grocery bag, filled it, and took it to the garage. We discarded the rest.
And the ties – – the TIES! We weeded them by half.
Three filled garbage bags later (2 donates, 1 trash), we celebrated a clean closet with a barbecue dinner and a slice of buttermilk pie. Some accomplishments simply deserve their own special ceremony, and this was one of those occasions.
“Prayer is hunger and thirst. Prayer is our demand on life, elevated, purified, and aware of a Divine Alliance.” ― Harry Emerson Fosdick, The Meaning of Prayer
On this day set aside to remember the contributions of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., I reflect on his prayers for a better world.
May the prayers of Dr. King also be our prayers for our world and all its people. To be used for God’s purposes – purposes greater than ourselves -is the greatest hope of all.
On this day, we are all among King’s children, and we are all children of The King.
Today’s guest writer is my father, Rev. Dr. Felix Haynes, Jr. , who shares his thoughts on the power of books to shape lives.
THE POWER OF BOOKS
In Little Letters to God, Margaret E. Sangster includes the following letter:
Dear God: Three books came to me in this morning’s mail. They were messages from friends who wanted to share with me the pleasure of the printed word. One book was a love story, one was sparkling with inspiration, and one was a travel book that would transport me into far, forgotten places of the earth. As I unwrapped these books, I felt a sudden sense of reverence – reverence for you, God, who has given the authors a great expression. Through their eyes—and your wisdom—I shall be permitted to widen my vision.
Reading good books becomes a tool to widen our horizons and expand the depth of human experience. The poet Frances Thompson said books became to him “trumpet sounds from the hidden battlements of eternity.”
Books are forces to deepen our lives through spiritual and human development. Well-selected books can push us towards a greater grasp of human maturity. Robert Browning wrote, “A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?”
Christian growth is a process, an alluring quest – exciting and fulfilling. Delving into the spirit of reading and study prevents stagnation. Life is an adventure, when we dare to climb, with compelling vistas that beckon us to new heights of understanding. Books are rungs on the ladder.
I have frequently used the metaphor of Oliver Wendell Holmes’s poem The Chambered Nautilus as an example of an ever-maturing growth pattern. This beautiful seashell is gradually enlarging compartments in which the mollusk lives as it grows larger and larger. The snail-like creature that lives inside grows and moves into the next compartment, where further growth and development occurs. This process continues in ever-increasing sized chambers, until finally, in the largest compartment, it moves out. The shell it leaves is a thing of great beauty – a fascinating analogy of the human spirit, continually growing and expanding, building ever more stately mansions.
In life, we travel various avenues in the quest of expanding our fulfillment on the journey. The power of the printed page is one such avenue, and when you combine this tool with dialogue and discussion about a book, it becomes a significant life-shaping kind of experience.
Dr. E. Glenn Hinson was one of the most probing professors of my seminary experience. His book Seekers After a Mature Faith states in the Preface:
“I have written this book with a firm conviction that private devotion is essential to the life of the {Christian} and that devotional classics have much to contribute to that devotion. The Bible holds many expressions about the power of the printed page. In the oldest of all biblical documents, the Book of Job, Job says:
'Oh, that my words were now written! Oh, that they were printed in a book! That they were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock forever. For I know that my redeemer lived, and He shall stand in the latter day upon the earth.” (Job 19:23-25).'
Job’s passion was to remind those who would suffer of the greatness of God. The best of books that convey life-messages are prompted by a deep desire to help others along their journey.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson commented in one of his essays that reading books molds an individual. Any casual reading of biography will confirm this truth of the value of books on one’s life. For example, Charles Colson in his biography Born Again attributes much of his conversion to Christianity to reading C. S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity.
Samuel Miller of Harvard Divinity School has cited three things that a book may do to nurture faith. First, he says that a book can help “name” an experience. A book can help one see the reality of some experience in a manner that helps in some way to better deal with a situation. The “word is made flesh” and we weave the insight into character. A second benefit in the book’s nurturing of faith is that it can “resurrect certain levels or dimensions of our consciousness from a dormant condition.” In other words, self- understanding ~ in this respect, a book becomes the stimulus to an honest appraisal of one’s life. Authenticity emerges in a healthier manner. We can see ourselves in the pilgrimage of others. Another’s experience can bring about an awareness of some repressed areas which we many have neglected. The book leads to an understanding necessary to the revelation of a new vision. A third benefit is that a well selected book encourages productive reflection. We stretch and improve our spiritual posture.
A book that provides a good reading experience baffles and embraces us, inspires and challenges; and it can startle and unsettle. The values are inestimable intellectually and fuels the imagination causing one to reach for new heights. We should expect occasions in the reading of good books which cause us to rethink opinions and face new truths that change our path on the journey.
Charles Kingsley, a revered English writer says, “Except a living man, there is nothing more wonderful than a book.” I would be quick to add this observation, based on my Doctor of Ministry work: The two things that most affect a person’s life are the people we meet and the books we read. I think Thomas a Kempis said the most appropriate word about the power of Books:
"If he should not lose his reward who gives a cup of cold water to his thirsty neighbor, what will not be the reward of those who by putting good books into the hands of those neighbors, open to them the fountains of eternal life?"
And Mark Twain, who always has a bold word, appropriately reminds us that “the man who does not read has no advantage over the man who cannot read.“
Anytime I see a new way of telling stories or writing, I get excited and buy stuff. That’s what happened when I was in Barnes and Noble in Atlanta recently and picked up a copy of Gathered Around the Campfire by Melody Carson and read a few pages of her real life stories about her experiences under the stars. That’s also what happened when I was walking through the Betty Dunn Nature Center at Fall Creek Falls State Park in Tennessee and saw a deck of cards called Campfire Stories: Prompts for Igniting Stories by the Fire, published by Mountaineers Books (Ilyssa Kyu & Dave Kyu). There are 50 cards in the deck, complete with instructions and variations for storytelling.
As one who loves to camp, I look forward to using these to generate new conversations as I relax and spend time with others as we make s’mores and stargaze. That’s enough of a reason to love these prompts. My role as a Literacy Specialist and leader of small writing groups is a bonus reason. Cards like these help in getting to know students and inspiring them with new ideas for their writing. The game element adds to the thrill!
Immediately, I was transported to White Wharf at Bear Skin Neck in Rockport, Massachussetts when I selected the card that asked me to share an object I found and kept from my travels. I can still see clearly the tiny pair of angel wings resting along the shore as I ambled around near the water’s edge searching for sea glass. My mother, who often took me shell hunting on Sea Island, Georgia when I was a child, found several pairs of intact angel wings over the years and celebrated each rare discovery. Her sweet hello from Heaven was a reminder that no matter where I am on the face of this planet, she is right there with me. I wrote a poem about my experience here.
A Hello from Heaven….Mom sent a pair of angel wings to White Wharf for me to find!
Another time, I took a walk with my daughter while visiting her for the weekend and picked up a rock at the edge of the path. I brought it home to put on my computer at work so that whenever I see it, I think back to that afternoon I spent with her and know that a piece of our journey is still tangible. These objects inspire the memories, and the memories keep those we love close to us.
“I realize their trailer was pretty tiny, but it didn’t feel overly small back then….In fact, it felt perfect. And I know (my grandparents’) little trailer planted seeds in me…making me look forward to the day when I would get my own trailer. Even now, five trailers and one motor home later, I can still feel my grandparents’ influence.” -Melody Carson
….and to echo, with my own words that are not published in this book but are forever in my heart and on my blog…..
“As a child, I camped with my grandparents on Fernandina Beach in Florida. I can still smell the sulfur in the water and see the table that magically became my bed in their truck camper. When my grandparents left each of their grandchildren a small inheritance, I knew what I would do with part of their gift after camping for years with my own children. I bought a camper so we can honor their legacy and continue making memories with their great, great grandchildren.” -Kim Johnson
My journey all started with high blood pressure and “not feeling my best, ” but it had been building since late 2019. It was hard to get comfortable enough to go to sleep in bed, and I couldn’t cross my legs anymore. My thyroid medication couldn’t keep up – but it was a handy excuse. I wore the same pair of black pants at least three times a week because I refused to buy the next size up and didn’t want to commit to the longevity of an additional pair at the same size ~ because that would be admitting complacency, right? And my shirts had to be long enough to cover my back end, like a Band-Aid “hides” a wound. When we went kayaking, I had to wiggle myself down into the seat of my boat. Then I prayed as I paddled that The Gypsy Soul wouldn’t take on water and sink me somewhere out in the middle of a lake. I was in a stuck spot, and I wasn’t liking the out-of-breath adventurer I had become.
Those were hard realities for a former distance runner. In 2019, I was at the bottom of my goal weight range, running competitively and occasionally placing in my master’s women age category in 5Ks. I endured a knee injury that stalled my running, and then Covid hit. My weight went mountain climbing and enjoyed all the scenery along the way. Straight to the 206# summit.
That’s where I drew the line.
I’d always cried out to Weight Watchers whenever I needed to drop some pounds. As a Lifetime Member, I counted points and made goals and set rewards along the way when I’d stepped out of bounds by ten or twenty pounds. But this time was different. I was so far out of bounds that I needed a personal coach.
Optavia answered. I knew Jennifer Carden was an Optavia health coach, and she lives within two miles of my house. I called her, and we began my journey – we talked through initial interviews about the type of eater I am, my habits and lifestyle, and my food preferences. I placed the order for the box of fuelings that would begin my “five fuelings and one lean and green meal” per day. I would eat every two or three hours, and I could choose whether I needed to satisfy my salty tooth or my sweet tooth. My sweet tooth has forever been the screaming baby in my life.
When the box arrived on a Tuesday, I didn’t want to “wait until Sunday” to get started. I did the gut-wrenching work of owning my weight and measurements and took my “before” pictures on Wednesday, August 10, 2022 – much like confessing to a crime and taking those convicted criminal mug shots. I did a lot of this without thinking or allowing emotional involvement. I willed myself to go on autopilot. One mission: lose weight. Just do it.
I’m posting these pictures, but it really, really hurts to do this. Here goes:
My body specs and interview questionsMy WhysMe at 206.5 pounds on August 10, 2022Me at 206.5 pounds on August 10, 2022
And then I went to the kitchen and made my first fueling. A chocolate shake.
Optavia Creamy Chocolate Shake, blended with light almond milk
At work, I said NO every time the office food gifts made an appearance in our work kitchen. We’d get an email: “(Local business) brought doughnuts by this morning. Help yourself!” or “We’re celebrating (occasion) – – cupcakes for everyone!” And let me point out: they were good – these are regular offerings by those in our community. It took everything in me to turn down the white fluffy cream-filled doughnuts and the red velvet cupcakes with the cream cheese frosting. I had to remember: auto-pilot. Don’t think about it.
By August 17, I was down ten pounds, to 196. On August 22, I was at 193.9, and on September 6 I was at 188.3. I’d lost almost 20 pounds in one month. I was already able to tell a difference in my black pants, and I considered getting some new ones. But I made an agreement with myself: whenever I bought a new size, I made myself get rid of garments in the old size. I didn’t want to keep the space in the old clothes available for regrowth. So I donated the 20s when I bought 18s, 18s when I bought 16s, 16s when I bought 14s.
By September 19, I was down to 184.6 and looking forward to entering the 170s on the scale. Every time I passed a tens digit, I bought shoes as a reward; I can keep them across the pounds, and they may be my biggest reward motivator other than traveling. By the last week of September, I was down to 182.1 and looking forward to a Fall Break hiking trip to Fort Mountain State Park in Chatsworth, Georgia (with a new pair of hiking boots)!
Instead, I gave a whole new meaning to Fall Break when I missed the last step at work and broke my ankle. Hiking wasn’t to be, but I continued steadfast along my journey and on October 2 weighed in at 180.9. I was 30 pounds from my goal. I was also convinced that if I had fallen at my former weight, my break would have been far worse. Somehow, I had avoided the need for surgery. I give the weight loss full credit for that!
Through the fall, I stayed the course – five fuelings, a lean and green meal, and plenty of water. By October 24, I was at 174.2. Though I was hoping to cross the next tens digit on Halloween (171.6), I wouldn’t get there until November.
Twenty more!
During this month, I knew that Thanksgiving would hold its challenges with food temptations. I flew to California to give a presentation at the NCTE Convention with my writing group, and I flew home to enjoy time with my family at Thanksgiving. My daughter in law cooks an amazing turkey, so I focused on that delightful plate of dinner with a side salad. I kept trucking, setting my sights on new successes.
And then I got Covid. I didn’t feel like eating, so while I wouldn’t have chosen to be sick, the silver lining in the cloud was that I wasn’t craving anything. I doubled down on my water, and by November 28th I weighed 165.0.
December was quickly approaching, and I knew the main thing that would give me trouble: eggnog. I like both the mild grocery store brands and the loaded liquor store brands, so I figured out that I’d need to identify a “substitute.” I took the Golden Blonde Brownie mix and blended it as a shake with almond milk, and then sprinkled it with nutmeg. It did the trick! I knew that once I figured out a way to avoid the feelings of deprivation, I could be successful through the holidays. So I looked for my weakest link and set about problem-solving.
December 12 gave me the momentum I needed: 159.9. I’d crossed another tens digit, and the timing to celebrate success was just the motivation I needed to get through the Christmas holidays.
On January 1, I weighed 160.0, and I rejoiced – not only because I was ten pounds from my goal weight, but also because I’d minimized damages over Christmas. Even though I was up by a half a pound or so, I’d somehow gained only a little, and I suspected that some of it could be salt intake. Plus, my tens digit re-crossing was a breath away. I spent the day doubling down on water and choosing shakes, and by the next morning I was at 158.2. Salt.
This year, I have two weight goals: reach my goal of 150 and maintain it.
With careful planning and a mindset that doesn’t tolerate emotional eating, I’m confident that 2023 will be the year of getting back to the adventurer I was meant to be! I’ll be tracking my goals the last day of every month on my blog. There’s no better time than today to set new goals and start a new journey! Many thanks to Jennifer Carden for always being there and talking me through the struggles.
January 13, 6:15 a.m at 156 pounds – 50 pounds less than the day I started, and 6 pounds to go!
Daughter clicking her heels in the snows of Kentucky on Christmas Day
One of my creativity goals this year is taking more photographs. I’m not a talented artist who paints and draws, but I enjoy images and words. My daughters have always kept sketch pads and art projects going ~ they appreciate the spontaneity of lettering a Bible verse or sketching a face or landscape. I think “capturing the moment” is the artistic approach that appeals to me most. Life sometimes begs to be captured.
My daughters sometimes just doodle. They fill entire sketchbooks this way, savoring spontaneous bursts of creativity.
On a recent visit, my daughter asked me to share the photos we’d taken while we were out exploring in the snow. We’d worn our pajamas and snow shoes and had taken pictures of sunsets, snowdrifts, and squirrel statues. It’s the ultimate happiness for a mother, really, because pictures aren’t just pictures. They’re memories. That’s what she was really asking for ~ a jar of snow memory preserves. She wants to come back to our moments, just as I do. Score!
I’d given my daughter the camera and later looked back at all she had captured, like this birdhouse.
Something I hadn’t expected was the surprise of discovering photographs she had taken after I’d handed the camera over to her when I’d gone inside to thaw my toes. Scrolling back through these images, I found pictures I didn’t recognize. And then it hit me: these were images I was seeing through her eyes – the gift of glimpses that weren’t mine in the moment, but shared even now.
A favorite photo taken that day – sunset over the snow, and I think we photographed it at least three dozen times as it tucked itself into bed in the rolling hills.
And so I logged in to my photo processing account and ordered some snapshots on real photo paper. Over the next week, I plan to send her three or four each day to bring smiles and memories. She’ll make a photo collage that will keep this day, these special shared moments, forever etched in her heart.
I will, too.
Sunset over Burdoc Farms in Crofton, KY – White Christmas EveningAssortment of photographs I’ll send this week – making my creativity goals happen through smiles!
The start of a snowball fight……..I passed the camera off to Briar and launched an invitation to fun….
A springtime stay at the Grove Park Inn in Asheville, North Carolina convinced me that I needed a writer’s desk like F. Scott Fitzgerald had. I’d slept right across the hall from the two rooms he’d regularly occupied there, positioned strategically over the front doors so he could keep an eye on the comings and goings of folks. Downstairs, where his desk is on display, I’d taken pictures from every angle.
Oh, to have a writer’s desk like that, I thought, admiring the heaviness of the oak and its ample surface space.
I priced desks online. I looked in stores. I came home and made a makeshift writer’s desk from an antique dresser in our guest room, even buying a comfortable chair for my newly-crowned space until I found just the right big oak desk.
Every morning at my same pre-civilization hour, though, I returned to my favorite living room chair and perched up with my lap desk and Chromebook to write. I still do, 8 months after falling in love with Fitzgerald’s desk. I used the makeshift desk only once, and it was not my wave to ride. So instead, I ordered a bigger lap desk with more surface space – and after that fine-tuning step, my chair is my spot!
All this got me thinking: what were the habits of writing among the classical writers? Where do my contemporary writing friends and authors I follow write today? Learning about the writing habits of others is fascinating. I’ve included some links below for exploring. Happy writing!
My husband spent his 50th birthday sleeping in the cab of a truck in an unheated warehouse a couple of miles from the Atlanta Airport after being stuck there during Snowmageddon of 2011. The entire city was paralyzed. Children spent the night in schools, and motorists trying to get home were stranded on interstates. He ate a survival dinner from the vending machine, grateful for the coins in his pockets when exact change was required for a package of miniature donuts and a can of Coca Cola.
Even in challenging times, blessings of gratitude abound. Warmth. Food. Shelter from the storm. Caring people who restore our faith in humanity. Life.
We celebrate his 62nd birthday today. I’ll celebrate with him tonight in the warmth of our home with our 3 Schnoodles, dinner, and cake. We’ll celebrate again with other family members during our regular gathering night later this week.
Most every Thursday night, we have dinner with his father, his brother and sister-in-law, and one son who lives nearby. Sometimes we eat at Barnstormer’s, an airport restaurant near our home in Williamson, Georgia, where I recently ordered coffee to stave off the shivers – and smiled when the steaming cup arrived. Here’s the cup:
I’m grateful today and every day for my husband, who shares life and adventures with me. He loves the simple things – the beauty of nature, sitting around the campfire, chatting over spiced orange tea, listening to the rain, walking the dogs, taking spontaneous drives down country roads listening to John Denver sing about them. He is rarely angry over anything but is a gentle peacemaker and a solution-finder to problems – – especially wonderful dispositions not only as a husband but also as the Chairman of County Commissioners for our rural county where few people ever agree on anything.
In The Power of a Praying Wife, Stormie O’Martian writes beautiful prayers that wives can offer for their husbands. Here is one for today, for Briar, for whom I am eternally grateful:
Lord, teach me how to pray for my husband and make my prayers a true language of love...help us to pursue the things which make for peace....I pray that our commitment to You and to one another will continue to grow stronger and more passionate every day.
- excerpts from The Power of a Praying Wife by Stormie O'Martian
Happy Birthday, Briar Johnson! Thank you for being you.
Briar, June 2022, in Tracy Arm Fjord near Juneau, Alaska
“Slow travel rejects speed, emphasizes soaking in the local culture, and encourages us to savor the journey, not rush it.” –The Art of Slow Travel, by Bhavana Gesota
Most everyone we told of our Christmas travel plans tried to convince us to rethink our winter camping journey in subzero temperatures.
"You might want to reconsider," they'd urged, each in their own way.
"It's going to be dangerously cold. How will you stay warm in a camper?"
We'd recently downsized from a 30-foot 4-season Keystone Outback to a 21-foot non-insulated 2022 Little Guy Max Rough Rider. We were looking forward to seeing what it was made of.....and, perhaps more importantly, what we were made of.
We weren't wavering on our decision. The plans were made, and we would set out with two full propane tanks, an indoor-safe propane heater, an indoor electric heater, a supply of firewood, and an electric blanket. We'd monitored the weather and were keeping close tabs on the conditions of the roads.
We weren't worried about the extreme temperatures, either. With three radiant-heater dogs (who sleep at our head, hips, and feet) and each other, we were looking forward to all the cozy snuggling and excuses to linger in bed with coffee and read or write or watch Netflix or listen to our favorite seventies bands until the sun came up and warmed the walking trails a half a degree or more.
With any trip, things happen that we don't anticipate - - like when the bananas freeze and all turn dark brown and ooze goo, and the jar of olive oil freezes solid when we'd planned on searing steaks. Or when the propane, which converts from a liquid to a gas in the pipelines, freezes and renders that first heating plan completely ineffective, taking us straight to our backup heat. Those kinds of things. A few minor setbacks mixed in with some more serious ones.
So it is in life. Determination, a plan, a road map, forecasts, obstacles, challenges, a burning desire to experience life ~ even in extreme elements. It's all part of the journey.
I'm so glad we stayed the course and savored the moments. It was worth it to experience "slow travel," without a novel-thick itinerary, to "camp our way across states," breaking down the drive into short segments.
Here are the “Slow Travel” savored moments from our week away over the holidays.
First Stop: Burdoc Farms, Crofton, Kentucky. Most memorable moment: goofing off in the snow in our pajamas, taking pictures of the White Christmas winter wonderland as one of our daughters clicked her heels in sunset snow.
Second Stop: Rock Island State Park, Tennessee. Most memorable moment: enjoying the peaceful sounds of the waterfall at the dam.
Third Stop: Fall Creek Falls State Park, Tennessee. Most memorable moment: taking in the beauty and sounds of the frozen waterfalls and cascades.
Waterfall at Fall Creek Falls State Park, Tennessee
Fourth Stop: Harrison Bay State Park, Tennessee. Most Memorable moment: sunrise on the bay.
Fifth Stop: Red Top Mountain State Park, Georgia. Most memorable moment: writing all day on a rainy New Year’s Eve Eve.
Sixth Stop: Lunch with my aunt and uncle at OK Cafe in Atlanta, Georgia. Most memorable moment: sipping coffee at the retro dinette table, celebrating their December birthdays.
Seventh Stop: Home for New Year’s Eve with one of our sons. Most memorable moment: eating collard greens, black eyed peas, and ribs as we watched the Peach Bowl.
Experiencing places + savoring the journey through slow travel = just the right pace!
When I took listen as my OLW of 2022, I ordered a bracelet with my word on it to remind me to listen when I was tempted to forget. I also ordered a wooden word cutout to go in my kitchen windowsill to keep listen at the forefront of my mind.
I ordered a bracelet for 2023 also, but I got one with a whole verse instead of a lone word. Pray without ceasing it says on the outside, and on the inside it has the scripture: 1 Thessalonians 5:17. It’s one of those verses that could stand in line with the shortest verse in the Bible: Jesus wept (John 11:35).Pray ceaselessly, it might have been written, if Paul and John had been in a two-word verse challenge like on Name That Tune….”Lord, I can write that verse in two words….”. As it stands, John won the shortest verse challenge. Even though it’s not ONE little word on the bracelet, those two extra words make all the difference.
My One Little Word holds within it divine power to achieve (or not) every goal I set for myself this year, especially in the area of spirituality and inspiration. My spirituality goals for 2023 include continuing to tune in to my childhood church service on Sunday mornings (First Baptist Church, St. Simons Island, Georgia) and any churches where Dad may be preaching. I also like to “attend” where my children go to church sometimes so that I can hear the same messages that they are hearing. No matter where I “attend” in the wide world, I continue to grow spiritually from Sunday services – – the only way I am able to start each week ready to face the world.
My guidebook for this area of prayer and spirituality will be The Meaning of Prayer by Harry Emerson Fosdick. I’ll read this book from cover to cover this year and reference the quotes as I apply them to my own prayer life. I’m a fan of the Women of Faith, so I’ll also be rereading their daily devotional book as well. It’s a well-worn favorite! Today’s devotional, in fact, is by Patsy Clairmont, titled “Slathered in the Spirit,” and based on Proverbs 31:30. That’s how I want to be: Slathered in the Spirit. The devotional for January 7 ends with this prayer:
Lord, I want to be beautiful in your sight.
Slather me in your Spirit, soften my heart, and firm up my faith.
May I be taut in my resolve to please you alone.
Amen.
-Patsy Clairmont
Common Threads 