White

The sound of footsteps echo in my head. Frantically I look for the source of the sound, for they can be an enemy as much as my friend. But I’m confused. Its white all around me. A blaring, solid, white. Last I remember, the world was black. There were shapes and colors, things, people. But now everything is white. Why is this? The footsteps had ceased. I mentally hit myself. I got distracted again! I crouched low to the ground, not knowing what could happen, nor caring in particular. If I was in danger, and attacked, I could hold my own. I waited and listened in the whiteness. There was absolutely no sound in this place any more. The sound of my own heartbeat was driving me crazy. About to give up on my defensive posture I leaned forward, and deftly hit my head. I feel back with a little cry, rubbing my forehead. I could see nothing in front of me, but the pain was definitely real. I crept forward on my hands and knees, with one arm outstretched, testing the space in front of me. There! My hand flattened against a wall. I slid my hand up as far as I could reach and then down to the floor. This was definitely a wall.  Keeping my hand pressed against this wall, I walked to my right. This wall had to start somewhere, right?

I kept walking. It seemed to go for a while when suddenly I find a corner. Elated I continued until I discovered the full extent of my box. When I reached the fourth corner, my elation abated. Why was I so excited? I’m in a white box. Nothing to do, no where to go. I’m just, well, here. I sat cross-legged on the ground and pretended to be etching a drawing into the floor below me, pondering my predicament. Suddenly a loud clap sounded behind me. It was so quiet before, that this clap sounded like thunder to me. I jumped and whirled, but as I half expected there was nothing but white. The clap sounded again. And again. And again. Someone, or something, was applauding me. A low chuckle now reaches my ears. The sound was like having knives driven into my skull. I cried in pain and try to cover them, but I still heard it.

“So you've found out, haven’t you? Found your little, playground”. He said the last word with a sneer.  His voice made chills run down my spine. Who was he? This voice in the whiteness? He sounded unearthly. It frightened me, this voice of his. Thick like a smothering blanket.”You know now where you've been living. He keeps you here on purpose, you know. Keeps you locked up. Toying with you.”

My eyes widened with realization. Is that what this was?!

“Ah…” Said the voice in a dragged out tone. “I see you're not as quick as I originally thought.” He sighed heavily and continued with a note of disappointment. “And here I was excited to find someone who wants out as much as I do.” He paused for a second, as if pondering. I found myself shaking uncontrollably, still on my knees with my hands pressed to my head. I finally started to relax, thinking the voice had ended his one-sided conversation. But once again, his voice reached my hears, harsh and grinding into my head. “I was his favorite you know. Before you came along. What are you? A pitiful thing. Weak. Small. Not even pretty looking. Ha. I’m brilliant! I’m mighty! He can’t do anything without me! And what does he do? He coddles you like a piece of your precious diamonds. Bah. Foolish. Worthless.” It sounded like he hit the wall, for a mighty bang rang through the white world. All was still and silent now, but I hardly noticed. I was shaking. And crying. Was it true? Was any of this true? I started to sob, burying my face into the ground. I cried and cried. It was true. All of it was true. I’m worthless. Foolish. Pitiful. Fresh sobs racked my body as I laid there with nothing around me. With the voice haunting me. Suddenly I feel myself being lifted off the ground. The shock woke me from my darkness as I stared at the hand covering mine. A gentle breeze blew through my hair, like the air was sighing. Wait. A breeze! Something other than the voice and I exist in this box. The giant holding me, I instinctively knew, did not belong here in my box, unlike this soft breeze. A seed of hope was sewn. I felt it warming me. Slowly growing, tentative and weak, but spreading throughout my once-dark thoughts. The hand suddenly lets go of mine, and I drop softly to the ground with a small cry. The little bit of hope started to die. He was going to leave me again. He didn’t want me. I was worthless. I started to walk, dragging my feet. I was a fool. I am a fool. Everything then suddenly grew dark around me. I looked around, surprised. Up until now everything was a brilliant white. Then I see the source of the dark. I was in the shade of a tall pine tree. Taller than I could have ever imagined, with a trunk as wide as a small house. Beyond it were more trees, but some looked like they were burned to the ground. Others haphazardly chopped to pieces. There was a bag at the foot of the pine tree that read “Seed”. The breeze came again, but this time carried a whisper saying “heal my trees.” I smiled, and joyfully picked up the bag. He did want me after all! The eerie voice came back to me, but sounded miles away and I didn't bend over in pain. “It won’t last….”  

But before he could say another word, I passed into the forest without looking back.

Captive Wildflowers

I see a large field of wildflowers covering a green plain. They dance recklessly in the wind, alive and free. In one corner of the plain are uniform flowers in a bed. Roses and violets dance as the wildflowers do, but within their confinement. There's something different about these flowers though. They dance without worry - fear of the choking weeds, lack of water, lack of soil - for they have a Gardner who cares for them. Even in the middle of winter they can dance under His protection. The wildflowers see those in the bed and sneer. Who would give up such freedom and joy to live confined in a box? Giving up freedom to be pampered and babied? That's a cowardly way to live. Yet in the midst of winter and storms, they wither and die while those in the bed live on. 

What does this mean to you? I would love to hear your feedback :) 

From Fields to Concrete

Photo taken in Crawford, GA

I used to live in these fields - among the wildflowers and butterflies. Everything is so beautiful; the sun, the river, the sun kissed stones. I’m a young, innocent girl when I’m here. Dancing in my bare feet, spinning to my own music, I am the happiest person alive.
But I cannot stay like before. I can’t spend my hours singing with the birds and swimming in the river. I’ve been sent to the city. Buildings block the sky and the sound of birdsong is suppressed by wailing and noise. But I remember. I remember the feeling of the sun on my back, the brook racing over my feet. I may have been sent to this noisy, suffocating place, but I will forever long for my fields.

- the fields represent the closeness and peace Christians have with God. But He sends us into the world to serve and bring Him glory. The world leaves much to be desired when compared to those original ‘fields’, but sometimes we can forget. We can forget the peace, love and joy we feel with Him....

ALIVE Angels

I recently attended a youth camp for the Sovereign Grace Teens. It was an amazing time. Not only was I able to form new friendships, strengthen old friendships and play some awesome games, but I was also able to witness the amazing works of my God. This came to me on our last night of worship.....

Surrounding this place are angels - each unique, and each steadily watching their own charge. They’re silent and unmoving, But as their ‘charge’ lets go of themselves and reaches for God, I see them raise their hands with fervor and sing along in praise to The King. Our voices meld to one song -  one of love, faith and awe. We sing with the Angels, for the purest praise comes not from the songs, or our voices - but from the heart.
GOD IS IN THIS PLACE AND IS LISTENING WITH JOY 
 ♪♫“My heart will sing
No other Name
JESUS”  ♪♫

Good Friday

Whats so good about Good Friday? This was the day my savior died - brutally and unjustly. Spotless and perfect, He died to save the world. For me...For you - when we most certainly don't deserve it. Last year I remember being struck by the unbelievable fact that I was once God's enemy - a rebel - and yet he still saved me. But tonight, sitting in the church service, another thought stood out. God must have been thinking of all of his lost children, present and future, as He watched his beloved son die - He was thinking of me.
I guess that's what makes it Good Friday - because Jesus died, we can live.

Compassion

some thoughts from my precious little sister :)

WE HAVE A COMPASSIONATE GOD

By: Megan Rumberger

I am only a small drop of water in a very big ocean.

I am only a fragile leaf, on a very large tree.

I am only a single screw that helps hold a railroad track.

I am only one grain of sand in a large beach.

I am only one feather on a majestic bird.

So why does God care about a drop of water, or a fragile leaf?

Why does he care about a single screw, a grain of sand, or feather?

Why would He show compassion, grace, and mercy toward me?

Because He is a compassionate God.

And He loves us.

He sent His son for us to die.

Does that not tell you something?

Even when we mess up some times,

God still loves us.

So comfort yourself in this.

You’re always loved.

Exodus 34:7 ”The LORD, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.

The Man and The Flowers

A child sits alone in a garden. Her flawless face showed the trails of scalding tears and her eyes held a look of utter sorrow. In her hand she tenderly holds a dieing flower. Her body shakes in anguish, bathing the flower’s colorless petals in fresh tears. So absorbed was she in her sorrow, she did not notice the figure making his way towards her shaking form. His bare feet made no sound as he walked through the beds of wildflowers, but as he stood before the tiny form, the little child peeked up through her tangled hair. With tears flowing from her pure eyes, she extends the flower towards the stranger, her entire being pleading for the flower’s life. Smiling, the man tenderly held the flower, caressing the petals with his calloused hands. He then gently placed it on the bench. As the girl reached for it once more, the man shook his head. Taking the child by her hand, he lead her away from the resting place. When the girl stopped and glanced wistfully back at the flower, the tenderhearted stranger gathered the lass into his arms. He whispered through her flowing hair, soothing the child’s heart. He held her then, looking intently into her eyes. The couple standing among the flowers. After a few moments of quiet silence, the child slowly nodded, then laid her precious head upon his strong shoulder. As such, they walked deeper into the garden. Every so often the man would stop, and admire one of the regal violets or rejoice in a new rose bud. Everything was so wonderful and special to the man. Every petal, every root, every stem was a precious gift, one to be awed and revered. As the little girl watched from her perch, her depressed countenance changed. A smile formed on her lips and her eyes shone with glee and wonder. She suddenly lept from his arms and disappeared between two trees. Following the young child, the man discovered her standing in wide-eyed amazement. Before her stood a small but proud tree. It’s trunk was twisted and strong, and its leaves were as delicate as lace. Decorating the tree was an emporium of flowers that out shone the brightest colors. The man once again approached the girl. Kneeling before her he whispered, “Dear one. One thing may be destroyed, but look around. How many more things are there to rejoice in? Your little flower is gone, but before you stands a new beginning. Never forget this.” He whispered a few more words of love then retreated into the trees and shadows beyond. The little girl stood a moment gazing after the stranger, but then turned to the tree and smiled. Skipping back through the garden, the child stooped to smell the gardenias or caress the saplings, rejoicing in the gifts. She soon found herself at the beginning of her journey, the very bench where she left with the Man. But she found the bench surprisingly occupied. A little boy sat trembling, holding a dieing flower. She approached the child and lovingly took his hand. She then lead him through the garden, telling him all she learned from the man and the flowers.

1 Chronicles 22:19
1 Chronicles 16:10

.... Like footprints in the sand

A beach is a beautiful place. To walk along the empty shores with nothing but sea, sand and sky - a person could get lost in that kind of splendor... just as I did. I walked this shoreline for about a half an hour, just enjoying my surroundings, before I realized how far I actually went. And when I turned around and noticed the trail I had made, a thought struck me. Our lives are very much like the beach. God’s everlasting love and mercy continue to flow over us, re-sculpting and cleaning. But there are some things that remain forever etched in our hearts … like footprints in the sand.

But beach never stays the same for long, and eventually the ocean reclaims the sediments – like He will one day reclaim His children. I just pray that before all of my sand is swept away someone will walk along my beach – and stand in utter amazement of my Creator.