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More Than A Name

Welcome to the Overflow! Whether you’re an old friend or a new one, I’m glad you’re here.  This is a place where faith is spilled and souls are filled. I hope you’ll pull up a chair and stay awhile. If you like what you find, I hope you’ll sign up on the side bar to receive a little trickle of inspiration in your in-box now and then.  Or, if you’d rather, we can stay connected on Facebook or Twitter.

Today I’m over at Proverbs 31 talking about how Jesus has a name to meet our every need.  If you haven’t had a chance to read it, you can find it here. But before you go, I’d love to tell you a story about a little girl who insisted she was more than her name and a mommy who is learning the same lesson about her Savior…

When my youngest daughter stormed into the world nine years ago, we named her Magdalene Hope.

It was a name that we had prayed over, dreamed over, and declared over her precious life long before we’d gazed into her deep blue eyes.

But in those precarious preschool years, Maggie Hope changed her name as often as she changed her underwear (which was quite often, since my daughter’s goal was to wear ALL the princesses panties in her drawer in one day).

My littlest girl’s obsession with names kept life interesting, indeed.  When I  tucked our Maggie Hope into bed each night, I never knew who would wake beneath those soft pink covers in the morning.

Some mornings it was Emma Rose who pattered down the hallway with Maggie’s floral fleece blankie in hand. Emma Rose looked just like my baby girl with bed head, but I didn’t tell her that. Instead, I kissed her tousled hair and ushered her to the breakfast table where my school-agers were filling their tummies before the school bus arrived.

Lucky for us, Emma Rose liked to eat Lucky Charms without milk for breakfast like Maggie Hope often did. And when she’d eaten all the marshmallow moons out of the cereal bowl, Emma Rose offered to stand by the window and keep watch for the big yellow bus. (Which was a good thing since our normal “look-out-lady” had gone missing during the night).

Emma Rose fit right into our morning chaos. She sang silly songs and pressed her nose to the window and made “fog prints” with her breath on the pane as we hurried around the house gathering snow boots and lunch boxes, permission slips and library books. She only yelled at me once when I mistakenly called her Maggie as I raced by her window perch in search of a misplaced homework folder.

However, Emma Rose must have had other things to do that day, because as soon as our big kids hopped on the bus, Emma Rose disappeared and left Annelise in her place. Annelise reminded me a bit of my fifth-born, too. She wore a pink tutu with bright red sparkle shoes and kindly invited me to a tea party spread out on the coffee table in my honor. She served me lukewarm tap water from a pink plastic teapot and called me darling a time or two. But I must have been boring company for such an elegant girl, because when Annelise went to the bathroom, she never returned, and I was left to finish my tap-water-tea alone.

I didn’t have to be lonely for long, though, because Emily showed up next in a shimmering green leotard and a bright-pink-lipstick smile. Emily greeted me with a warm hug and announced that it was my lucky day! She told me she was performing a dance show, and I could be her royal guest.  She quickly built me a “throne” of pillows and insisted that I relax and enjoy the show from my regal seat. Her performance was a blend of Disney musical moves and original three-year-old grooves. Her dramatic spins and twirls reminded me of another dancer called Magdalene Hope, but Emily insisted that she’d never heard of a girl by that name.

Bethany and Maryann stopped by later. And Daffodil and Bluebell made an appearance around snack time. But before the day was done, Magdalene Hope returned donning her last pair of princess underwear and a battered old cowboy hat.

While we loved Magdalene Hope most, we didn’t complain about the princesses and rock stars who appeared in her absence. We simply welcomed them into our chaos and marveled at the precious and peculiar ways they resembled our littlest girl.

While we expected Maggie’s grand imagination to wane over time, we secretly hoped that our lively guests wouldn’t disappear completely. After all, each four-foot “visitor”  gave us an endearing glimpse into our youngest daughter’s vibrant personality.

However, a few months after Maggie began attending preschool, her dramatic antics gave way to a subtle sullenness.

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Walk in Victory: A Guest Post and a Give-Away

When I first met my friend and Proverbs 31 teammate, Wendy Blight, I remember thinking, “I want to know my Savior like she does!” Wendy is a passionate pursuer of Jesus. An inspiring lover of His Word and a beautiful teacher of His truth. And the more I’ve gotten to know Wendy, the more I’ve realized that Wendy doesn’t just know Jesus; she loves Him with her whole heart. And she makes me want to love Him more, too.

Today it’s my great privilege to welcome Wendy to the Overflow to share from her new Bible study on 1 John, I Am Loved: Walking in the Fullness of God’s Love.  Plus she’s giving away a copy to one of my readers below! So, keep reading and be sure to enter for a chance to win before you go.

My husband and I began our marriage in a difficult place. Eleven months before we walked down the aisle, I was the victim of a horrific crime. For years, I lived in a prison of fear. It consumed my every waking moment. I avoided being alone at all costs.

Monty became my safe place. Being home alone terrified me. So, I never wanted him to leave me. When he chose to play basketball, or go to dinner with friends, I pouted, whining and complaining that he wasn’t putting me first.

This fractured our marriage. Days were hard and nights were long. Soon I began to imagine Monty looking elsewhere for the companionship he lacked with me. I demanded to know when and where he was at all times. When I couldn’t get a hold of him, I panicked.

Jealousy infiltrated my heart.

I knew these feelings were wrong. Even destructive.

 But I didn’t know how to overcome them.

As jealous thoughts took root, they became a mental obsession that fed me lies.

I felt my marriage, and my husband, slipping away. Completely at a loss to know what to do, I dropped to my knees and begged God to help me.

Thankfully, God made a way to release jealousy’s grip on me – and it was through loving Him. As I came to know God more intimately, my jealousy subsided.

God opened my eyes to see Christ in a new way … as my Savior and my “first love.” Until that time, I had found that love and security in my husband. I had confused love and need. I needed Monty so desperately that he became my savior. He was my defender and my protector from the evil in the world. I needed him more than anything else. If I was with him, I felt safe.

Monty sat on the throne of my heart; not God.

This, sister, is the perfect recipe for an unhealthy, destructive relationship. We should never “need” our husbands, our children, or anyone else more than Christ.

We should have only one Savior, and His name is Jesus.

We should have only one first love, and His name is Jesus.

This knowledge put my marriage in perspective. Jesus replaced Monty as my “first love.” Jesus is now my Defender, my Refuge and my Strong Tower. It was in Him and Him alone that I overcame all my fears.

And, Monty became the gift God had given me on this earth to reveal His perfect love to me. As God took His rightful place on the throne of my heart, Monty took his rightful place too.

God’s love left an indelible mark on my heart. His is a distinctive love that, when allowed to blossom and mature, becomes a driving force that nothing can contain.

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When Your Buddy Bench Sits Empty (The Surprising Gift of Loneliness)

Welcome to the Overflow! Whether you’re an old friend or a new one, I’m glad you’re here.  This is a place where faith is spilled and souls are filled. I hope you’ll pull up a chair and stay awhile.

Today I’m over at Proverbs 31 talking about a little wooden bench called the “buddy bench” that’s helping to mend hurting hearts on my daughter’s elementary school playground.  If you haven’t had a chance to read it, you can find it here. But before you go, I’d love to tell you one more thing we’ve been learning from that little wooden bench…

She’s unusually quiet in the back seat as we drive home from school– no tales of recess adventures or girl friend giggles today. No laugh-laced echoes of lunchtime jokes or uproarious reports of rowdy boy pranks.

I glance in the rearview mirror and study her slouched shoulders, her downcast eyes. And I know there’s a story tucked beneath the hush.

But  her big brother is giving a play-by-play of the football game he won with a hail Mary on the playground, and her big sister is telling me about the paper she’s writing in lit class, and the road that winds home is slippery with fresh snow. So I fix my eyes on the road and listen to her siblings’ chatter, and I pray that as the afternoon unfolds, God will help me hear what’s NOT being said by the sullen eight-year-old in my mini-van.

When we get home, the silence gives way to surly quibbles. She argues with her brother, grumbles at her sister and yells at the dog. I give her space and grace and count down the hours til bedtime.

Then, finally, when the moon spills through her window, the sadness seeps from her sleepy eyes. As I pull the covers to her chin, she puts words to the churn inside. “It wasn’t my very best day today.”

I stroke her hair and wait.

“I felt sad at recess today…” she admits with a breathy groan.

“I couldn’t find my friends by the purple slide where we usually meet and the monkey bars were busy and the swings were all full.” Her lips quiver as she remembers. “And the boys were playing a really fast game of tag and I didn’t want to be it so they said I couldn’t play and my kindergarten friends were playing baby games and my thinking spot by the tree was muddy…”

Her eight-year-old playground woes dribble out between sniffles and whimpers. I listen with empathy, but when the ramblings cease, I gently remind my daughter that one imperfect recess need not ruin a perfectly good day.

“I know, Mom,” she agrees. Then she names the real source of her sadness.”But I sat on the buddy bench and nobody came…”

Her slender shoulders tremble beneath the blankets. “And that’s when I felt sooooo lonely.”

I feel her honest words in the pit of my stomach and pull her a little closer in the dark.

And I think about my own lonely seasons–

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When Your Faith Falls Short on a Long Silent Night

Welcome to the Overflow!  Whether you’re an old friend or a new one, I’m glad you’re here.  This is a place where faith is spilled and souls are filled. I hope you’ll pull up a chair and stay awhile.

I’m over at Proverbs 31 today talking about how to survive those long nights of the soul. If you haven’t had a chance to read it, you can find it here. But before you go, I’d love to tell you what the Christmas story has been teaching me about holding on to hope when my faith falls short on a long silent night…

I sit alone at the end of a long day, my weary frame wrapped in a wordless sigh and a plush red blanket.

The woods beyond the window are wrapped in velvet darkness; bare branches strung with shimmers of starlight and swaddles of snow.

And though I can’t see the moon from where I sit, I know it hovers high in the midnight sky because moonbeams mingle with the twinkling lights of our Christmas tree in the corner.

I want to sink into the peace of this silent night. But my heart refuses to take its cues from the hallowed hush.

For years–when wee ones wailed and the midnight hours dangled long – I dreamed of quiet like this.

But what I didn’t know when I rocked babies in the starlight and held toddlers in the dark; when I walked the hallways with sleepless sons and soothed the tears of anxious daughters; is that children aren’t the only ones who fill the night with noise.

Sometimes the quiet quakes noisy, too.

Questions that are drowned out by the roar of the day can resurrect with a ruckus in the lull of night.

Doubts can clamor loud when the hours grow hush.

Maybe you know this clank and clamor.

Maybe you know just how long a silent night can feel.

There is a prayer that spills from my lips in these midnight hours, an impossible and beautiful plea that only Jesus can answer. My prayer is steeped in His promises and rooted in His faithfulness.

And on most days, I can honestly say that I trust He is answering my cry even though I can’t see what He is doing.On most days, I will tell you that I believe in a Savior who does the impossible; a Father who makes a way where the road appears impassible.

But sometimes my reckless hope grows wary.

It’s in the long dark hours between God’s promises today and His new mercies tomorrow that our trust can tremor and our doubts can swell.

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How The Habit of Gratitude Opens Our Eyes

Over at Proverbs 31 today, I’m sharing about that day I hid 1000 pennies in our house in a crazy attempt to squash some grumbles and grow some gratitude. Of course, I had no idea when I scattered those copper coins–in underwear drawers and on bookshelves, in closets and in cupboards–that those small pennies would give birth to giant joy. And I certainly never imagined that my unconventional quest for contentment would launch our family into a lifelong adventure that we’ve lovingly dubbed “Penny Praise.” If you stepped into our home today, you’d see a humble glass jar of copper coins sitting on a bookshelf in plain sight. It’s our daily reminder that thanksgiving isn’t just an American holiday, but a wonder-filled way to live.

If you haven’t read my “penny tale” over at Encouragement for Today, you can find it here. But before you go, I’d love to share how hunting for pennies had taught me some priceless lessons about gratitude. And I’d be delighted if you’d linger long enough to chime in on our Praise Party and enter to to win your very own penny praise package.It’s been many years since I first hid 1000 copper coins all through our our home and challenged my family to give thanks each time they found a penny. Those were the days when constant discontent rumbled in my heart and the ache of joylessness sapped my strength. Those were the days when I lived half-blind, stumbling through my hours without noticing the hand of God all around me. Little did I know that our silly little game called “Penny Praise” wouldn’t just change my cheer-less attitude; it would alter my visual aptitude.

These days, our home is no longer teeming with copper coins. Little ones don’t waddle around in diapers or sap my strength with midnight feedings. But after years of prowling for pennies, we still find ourselves spotting those little treasures wherever we go. We spy pennies lingering in parking lots and tucked under other people’s couch’s. We spot pennies mingling with dust bunnies and hiding in the crevices of car seats. We notice pennies planted on top of sand dunes and parked beneath playground benches. We find pennies on bleachers, in ice cream stores and on grocery store floors.

In fact, sometimes, this habit of penny praise can lead to embarrassing moments. I mean, there was that day when my son crawled under a friend’s dinner table (right in the middle of a meal) and offered up a loud and definitive shout of thanks as he plucked a rusted penny off of her dirty floor.

And then there was that moment in our small town bakery when my toddler found a penny and let out a whoop of pastry-praise: “Thank you Gawd for donuts!”

Of course that same toddler grew into the little girl who once payed for a piece of candy with a palm-full of pennies. And as she handed her copper coins to the unsuspecting cashier, she declared with a smile, “Now you have tell me twenty things you’re thankful for!”

Our penchant for penny hunting may lend to awkwardness now and then, but it’s also grown awareness. Thanks to our well-trained eyes, we see copper gleams that we once would have missed. And in the same way, giving thanks has opened the eyes of our hearts to see glimmers of God’s goodness and shimmers of His grace.

Perhaps that’s the most amazing thing about gratitude! It doesn’t just change our mood; it changes our vision as well.

In His powerful book, The Rest of God, Author and pastor Mark Buchanan writes: “You cannot practice thankfulness on a biblical scale without its altering the way you see.”

Perhaps that’s because when recognize a gift, we’re reminded of the giver.

When I look at the wedding ring on my finger, I think of my husband who gave it to me.

When I see the brightly colored picture hanging on my fridge, I think of my daughter who drew it for me.

When I slip into my fuzzy wool socks, I think of the friend who made them for me.

James 1:17 reminds us:“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights…”

The sustaining power of gratitude is this– Giving thanks doesn’t merely give light to our eyes; it shifts our eyes to the Father of lights.

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