Do You Have Joy in Winter?

This morning I heard new songs at the Riverwalk. Not the stalwart red-winged blackbird that faithfully sings through the winter, but a new lilting refrain, fresh and clear.

The river sang a different tune as well, popping and creaking at its ice-rimmed edges.

In chorus, they sounded jubilant.

“Sing to the Lord, all the earth,” the psalmist wrote.

He continues: “Let the field be joyful and all that is in it. Then all the trees of the woods will rejoice before the Lord, for He is coming” (Psalm 96:1, 12-13 NKJV).

Even in winter’s frigid grasp, creation sings the Lord’s praises. There is a lesson for me here. In tight frozen places or from yet unfruitful, dormant endeavors, I can praise Him. By simply acknowledging His faithfulness, I loosen the ice and stretch my limbs and find again that His joy is my strength.

May you find the same during these crispy winter days.

Do not sorrow, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.

                                            –Nehemiah 8:10

Who's at the end of your rope?

Praise is the rope by which
the Lord lifts me from the
dark pit.

His hands grip one end,
strong to pull me up
as I cling to the other.
His face grows closer
as I rise
and I see his smile.

Clean me off, Lord.
Set me on a sure and solid place.
Show me which way to go.

And Lord,
may I sing for you
this new song in my heart?


Psalm 40:1-3

Mom Arms

I have Mom Arms. You know – those upper limbs that come complete with built-in bat wings. I’m beginning to understand why my mother never wore sleeveless shirts in public.

As a writer, I do more heavy sitting than heavy lifting and my biceps and triceps have atrophied. Not the skin surrounding them, however.

I know exercise is important for a balanced life, but I detest going to the gym. I just can’t bring myself to drive 17 miles to town so I can work up a sweat in a big former Safeway supermarket with people I don’t know, slinging dead weight around and trying to hold my stomach in at the same time.

So I walk. Most mornings before sunrise, I tramp out a two-mile hike down the road and back again. But that doesn’t help my arms.

This morning My Son The Body-Builder put together a home-front workout regimen for me based on his own weight-lifting exercises. Since I don’t have to attach 100-pound weights to my lifting, a gallon of water or a loaded laundry basket will do just fine, he said.

“Resistance is what you want,” he explained. Demonstrating with a long rubber jump rope I bought years ago from Avon, he stood on the band, a handle from each end in each hand, and effortlessly stretched his arms above his head.

“Keep your elbows close to your head, and push slowly upward.”

I‘m good at slowly. I barely moved, so he showed me how to reduce the resistance for now and how to increase it later as my strength grows.

I don’t enjoy this resistance-pressure thing, but I know what little strength I have left will fade even more if I don’t do it. God knows it too, and He uses the human body as a great object lesson for the human spirit.

“You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors,” says The Message. “Don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way” (James 1:2-4)

Well-developed: that’s how I want my Mom Arms to look. I guess it’s going to take a little workout.

R.O.D.E.O.

What’s RODEO got to do with the Faith Walk?

Plenty.

When my husband was a rodeo clown and bullfighter, faith was the main course for every meal. Along with extra helpings of prayer and trust.

During those exciting years of crisscrossing the country from one rodeo arena to the next, we had faith that God was taking care of us as we traveled and worked. We prayed for His protection over our children, our vehicle, our animals and ourselves. And we trusted that He would lead us in the direction of His choosing.

A rodeo bullfighter is a great metaphor for Christ: he puts his life on the line to rescue the bull rider from certain injury or death. He is the “savior” who pulls the rider’s hand free from a twisted rope, or throws himself between a fallen cowboy and a charging bull.

“It’s my job,” my husband Mike once told a grateful rider who nearly had his bell rung.

“But there’s someone else who’s done a whole lot more for you,” Mike continued. “Jesus died to save you and give you eternal life.”

Today we no longer rodeo, so what could it possibly have to do with our life when there’s no more bullfighting, no more arenas, no more all-night, red-eye drives from one state to another?

Everything.

Rodeo reminds me how to face the bucking, twisting circumstances that often charge into my otherwise orderly life. Rodeo reminds me that I’m not in control, but God is. And rodeo helps me keep my concentration where it needs to be:

Rely
On
Divine
Energy
Only

Putting my faith in God means trusting Him to give me the strength I need.

So, saddle up!

II Corin. 4:8,9

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