Address change

Hello all,

My blogs have now moved to jessicawhittemore.com.

Please join me there.

Thanks!

Dumpster Diving

He who guards his mouth and his tongue keeps himself from calamity.

Proverbs 21:23

Yesterday  instead of enjoying the day, I was a house cleaning tornado. I blew the place to bits, claiming as victim the relaxing Sunday my family could have enjoyed. 

During my ridiculousness, the kitchen island seemed to be the eye of the storm. Seeing it cluttered, I called my children to the kitchen and began expounding on the evils of disorganization. While lecturing, I began indiscriminately scooping up piles of papers, shoving them into the garbage while saying, "If they were left here, I guess no one needs them!" I covered all the "Moms' Greatest Hits" and I was obnoxious. Yes, the kitchen deserved some attention, but my family didn't deserve my sharp tongue or my angry eyes. 

Fast forward to early this morning when I sat down to finish some very important paperwork. Fast forward to me not being able to find said paperwork. I looked on my desk. Not there. I looked in my filing cabinet, not there.  

Remaining calm, I walked to the kitchen hoping to find it on, yes, you guessed it, the ISLAND! Realization then came, and calm left. The papers had been on the island, the very same island I'd cleared during my shaming rant. Making my stomach sink further, the kitchen garbage had already been emptied into the community dumpster. To make the rest of this disgusting story short, let's just say I spent my morning dumpster diving in a public trash repository. Because of my rashness, because of my annoyance, I spent the morning in putrescence.  

Ironic isn't it? Yesterday I chose gracelessness, today I sorted through a pile of trash. Yesterday I treated my family like garbage, today I was literally knee deep in it. Funny how this always seems to happen, isn't it? So here's a little advice from my morning misadventure, when you're tempted to give free reign to your tongue, picture used coffee filters and half empty cans of cream of chicken soup. Next time you feel the urge to give garbage rather than grace, think of me and my dumpster diving Monday.  

PS. If this doesn't stop you, let me suggest some Vicks under the nose. It masks the smell. If you choose to mess around with garbage you're eventually going to need it.  


   

The Chickens Must Go

 Therefore if any one be in Christ, they are a brand new.  The old things have passed away.   
Behold, all things have become new.

I Corinthians 5:17

I have 15 free range chickens.  For those of you unfamiliar with chicken terms, this means 30 chicken feet roam freely around my house and  property.  Yes, it can get a bit messy, but for the last two years I haven't minded.  However, I've recently had a change of heart and I can explain it quite succinctly.

We just finished our patio and deck, topping them off with new, off-white cushioned furniture and I'm sick of scrubbing off chicken you know what! 

Call me shallow, but I now unashamedly have 15 free range chickens free to a good home.  I simply won't have chicken droppings on my new stuff.  It's yucky. It stinks.  It's sorely out of place, and I came to this conclusion in less time than it would take to poach an egg. It's out with the old and in with the new here at the Whittemore house.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, my visceral reaction to this has created an uncomfortable thought I've been forced to wrestle with.  You see, I've been a new creation for quite some time.    To go with the present theme, my spiritual decks and patios were redone decades ago.  So in light of this, and to keep up the metaphor, I'm left wondering why I haven't gotten rid of my other chickens of sorts? For instance...

Why do I give my sharp tongue free range, when it is completely out of place?
Why do I tolerate my resentment when it leaves a stain?
Why do I bend my ear toward gossip when it just makes a mess?
Why do I harbor my arrogance when it always leaves a giant stink?

Sadly, the list could go on and I'm left wondering why I keep this stuff around when all it does is dirty up what has already been made white. Why do I tolerate it? It stinks and it has no place.

I'm a new creation, the old is gone, the new has come.  It's time to get rid of my chickens.

How about yours?

PS.  And seriously, 15 egg layers free to a good home (or butcher :).

The Man at the Well

Salvation comes no other way, no other name but Jesus has been or will be given to us by which we can be saved.  It is only this one.

Acts 4:12

Last weekend I spent a lovely time with the ladies from Lehman Church.  While with them, we studied the story of the Women at the Well , a familiar story many to many. (John 4).  I've read this story many times but last night my sister turned it upside down by saying, "You know the Women at the Well is the wrong title.  It's the Man at the Well that still makes the difference.

Well, Amen!

It was the Man at the well who transformed the life of the lonely woman, and it's the Man at the well who can transform ours.

It was the Man at the well who quenched the woman's longing. It's the Man at the well who wants to quench ours.

It was the Man who said, "Come unto me all that labor and I will give you rest" and it's the same Man who calls your name today.
 
 It was the man of the well who said, "There is no greater love than to lay your life down for a friend,"  and it's the same Man who then laid down His.

It's the Man who cried out, "It is finished." and then erased my every stain.  

It's the man who IS the well who said, "I am going to prepare a home for you," and it's this Man who's having the tables set and the beds made.

It's all about the Man who met a woman at her lonely well.  It's all about this Man who will meet you at yours.

It's the story of the Man at the Well.

Now grab your buckets and let's meet him there!


 

No explanation needed

 But you, children of God, flee from all skunks. 

Pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness. 

(I Timothy 6:11)

emphasis, of course, mine

Some analogies just write themselves.  

This weekend my big, dumb dog Truman decided to play with a skunk.  This is the fourth time in just as many months.  Sometimes I think our cat is egging him on, saying, "Oh, look.  Why don't you go play with that black and white one?"

This time it happened late Saturday night.  I was working at the computer when I hear a frantic banging sound at our sliding glass door, and look up to see poor Truman plastered to the glass.

I open the door and my big boy slinks inside, immediately trying to hide in our living room.  He's 170lbs of stink and shame; hiding isn't an option.  With the hour being late, and my humor being poor, I quickly rinse of his puffy eyes, then banish him to the laundry room.  This produces all sorts of whining and puling as he usually sleeps all snuggled under the covers of my daughter's bed.

The next day, things get even worse.  It's bath time. He doesn't usually mind his bath, but when he's covered in skunk he knows it's going to be rough.  His eyes are going to be thoroughly rinsed, his ears are going to be scrubbed.  There's going to be lots of shampoo, baking soda, and Dawn.  Buckets will be dumped,  and tomato juice will be flowing.  The whole time words like, "Why do you play with skunks?" and "Won't you ever learn?"  will be whispered and not so whispered in his ears.

Eventually he's all clean and snuggled up in my arms.  I'll remind him that skunks are never his friends, but I have a feeling we'll be back here again.

Like I said, some analogies just write themselves. 

Enough Meddling

The ladies running our Sunday School class have been doing way too much praying.  They keep picking these books which are downright convicting, forcing me to take a look at myself, my thoughts, and my actions.   Frankly, I find it meddlesome, and I'd really rather they just stop. 

For instance, they chose Priscilla Shirer's, Discerning the Voice of God.  Let me just say, I wouldn't recommend it.  She keeps harping on the John 14:21, which basically says, "Those who love Me, are the ones who keep my commandments."  She pushes it even further by telling me I not only need to listen to my God, I need to respond to Him with costly obedience.  Do you know how hard it is to enjoy the late night reruns of one of my favorite sit-coms after reading those words?  All that keeps running through my mind is 'Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things. 

Well, great.....off goes the TV and all I'm left with are profitable things like talking to my husband, writing, and making my way through these studies which are causing all the problems in the first place.  Down right inconvenient I tell you.

To make matters worse, we are now on Leslie Vernick's book, How to act Right when your Life goes wrong.  Listen to this excerpt.

                 What we love the most will rule us.  Or to put it another way, what we most fear losing will control us.   God says He is a jealous God and He wants to be first in our hearts.  Many of us repent of wrong behaviors, even wrong thoughts, but we don't understand that we can't grow to be more like Christ unless our heart loves something (Him) more passionately than we love ourselves or our own desires.

Ouch!  How I am supposed to keep putting my desire to be right, admired, and respected above being loving, humble, and gracious after reading those words?  How am I supposed to keep nurturing my anger and bitterness over past wrongs?  Goodness, if I start giving these things up, all I'll be left with is a life free from self and fear of man's disapproval.  Where's the drama in that?

Like I said, the Sunday School ladies need to stop praying and meddling.  If they have it their way, I'll be experiencing the goodness of the Lord right here in the land of the living! 

Scraping the Windshield

There are few things in life I despise more than scraping windshields.  My hands get cold, and chips of ice make it into my coat and down my shirt as my children sit waving to me from the warm car interior.

Due to this abhorrence of  the whole process, I usually cheat by scraping as little of the windshield as possible; doing just enough to give me a hint of visibility.  Without fail, this shortcut leads to me crouching down, peeking  through the tiny hole the defrost has begun to make.  Admittedly, there have been several times I have actually had to stick my head out the window in order to see. 

Another one of my tricks is to spray copious amounts of washer fluid all over the glass with the wipers on full blast.  This, however, just causes the liquid to freeze, making a pretty crystal collage my children ooh and ahhh over, while I again roll down the window to stick out my head.

Honestly, the whole thing is ludicrous, but I do it almost every time!

A Group Project

A dear friend and I have begun a project of sorts. We are going to purposefully encourage one another to know God more, to focus on who He is and not what we do for Him, to invite Him into our everyday, to look for Him in the simple, the mundane, and the ordinary.

My friend is an ultra-planner.  For our project, she probably already has a calendar written up, some spreadsheets with verses cross referenced, and some sort of color coded something all neatly tucked into a shiny three ring binder.

Me, not so much....but I am happy to report I do have a step one, and I am inviting you to join me.

To be like Kathy

As most of you know, we have chickens. Yes, they were my son's idea and his project, but the silly birds have wormed their way into my heart and I enjoy feeding them.  

For those of you who don't have chickens I'll explain what a morning feeding looks like. I walk into the pen, open up the hatch and out struts the rooster. He gives an indignant crow which seems to insinuate that I am late and then, as if on cue, the hens come spilling down the ramp like marbles from a jar. Ignoring the rooster, and working to not step on any hens, I walk into the coop, open up the food bin, and throw a few cupfuls to the waiting hoard below.

After this, I return to the bin and say good morning to Kathy, our one hen who does not follow the routine of the others, but instead waits inside. Kathy, who the second I turn my back, jumps inside the bin and begins helping herself to breakfast. Kathy, our one and only bird who isn't satisfied by having her food thrown at her but instead goes right to the source.

This morning (despite what the rooster thought) I was ahead of schedule and with the morning bright and the temps pleasant, I spent a bit more time with my little flock, watching some peck at the ground while Kathy yummed it up in the bin. As I watched their antics, I began thinking about the spiritual Jessica, contemplating if she is a Kathy or an outside waiting hen. Is she continually content to listen as the Word of God is thrown out to her, or does she dive right into the source, looking for the very best of truths. Is she satisfied by listening to others' words about her God, or does she seek Him, dive into Him on her own knowing that He alone is where the best is found.

In honesty, it's a question I haven't asked myself in some time. It's a question that gets muffled out by the busyness of life, brushed over as I go pecking about the ground. But it is a question worth questioning...then answering.

So there it is, and now how about you?


   

Uphill Friends

I have started running.  I'm pretty sure the reason for this has something to do with turning 40, so let me just state, I despise running.  Making matters worse, I live on a mountain so running consists of me dying most the time, with one particular hill I just can't conquer.

Enter my dog Truman, my loyal, Clifford of a dog who outweighs me by about 60 lbs and makes up for in strength what he lacks in intelligence.  He's the perfect uphill friend as holding onto his leash makes the incline so much easier.

Last week, with Truman at my side, I took on the hill.  About half way up I started to slow, ten more steps and I was about ready to keel over when all of a sudden Truman started motoring up the grade.  It was as if he said, "Oh, no, we're beating this one.  Just put one foot in front of the other, friend, and I'll pull.  I'll pull you up."  

A God who Rises

Yesterday while in church, I watched a mini-sermon unfold a few rows in front of me.

The sermon began when I heard a child's cry from the nursery and watched as a young mom instantly changed her posture from relaxed to alert. Her neck seemed to get a bit longer, her head tilted ever so slightly bringing her ear closer to the noise. It was her baby, and she was ready to rise.   

It was a living picture of one of my favorite verses, Isaiah 30:18, The Lord longs to be gracious to you,  therefore He will rise up to show you compassion. Each time I hear this verse, I picture God being like me and my friends as young moms at McDonald's Playland. We'd hear a child cry and all of us would come to alert. Just like the mom in church, we'd begin to rise. Following this metaphor, I am in awe to again write, The Lord longs to be gracious to you,  therefore He will rise up to show you compassion.

The God of creation rises for me.  As if being raised for me wasn't enough, He now rises.  He hears my cry, He rises (Psalm 34:18). He sees me fall, He rises (Deut 33:27).  I'm not sure what the rest of my day holds, but my God will rise. 

I don't know what you are facing today, but I pray for you all the same. I pray that whether you are playing happily or hurting with deeply scraped knees, you will claim and rest in the truth that Our God Rises. No matter how loud or soft our cry, no matter if we have caused our pain or are merely a victim of it,  our God rises.

So there you have it, my Sunday morning sermon brought to me by a tender mom and her not so happy little one.

PS.  And please don't tell my pastor he was upstaged by a one-year-old!



 

Equal Oppurtunity Employment

This fall has brought a new season for me. My children are now all in school, our home remodeling venture is nearly complete, and I am no longer managing our family business. With this, I should be exhaling a sigh of relief. Sadly, not so much. I have been fretting, not relaxing.

With anxiety I have been asking 'What SHOULD I do with my days?" not excitedly wondering, "What WILL  I do with my days?' Not "Thank you, Lord, for blessing  me with this time," but "Oh no, I am wasting my time!"

Of Field Trips and Singing

Yesterday I witnessed a tangible example of how we can change and affect our little worlds. It happened on a simple bus ride during my daughter's field trip.

To begin, it was the bus ride home.  It was hot and everyone was tired. Gone was the excitement of what the day would hold, and now the idea of sitting three to a seat just didn't seem as tolerable as it had hours earlier. Unfortunately, about twenty-five minutes into the drive the bus hit construction, coming to a complete stand still.

Moved by Disney

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the

  Father of heavenly lights,

 who does not change like shifting shadows

but who  

came to seek and save what was lost 

James 1:17, Luke 19:10 combined

My sister-in-law recently shared how moved she was by Disney's newest movie, Tangled. When she used the word, "moved," I thought it a bit odd.  However, when she explained herself, the verb she chose fit just perfectly.

To begin, Tangled is the retelling of the classic tale, Rapunzel, the story of a young princess abducted at birth and forced to live secluded in a  tower, never knowing her true identity. With each passing year, the young girl becomes more and more discontent, wanting to know who she really is and what the outside world is like. Meanwhile, her true parents, the King and Queen, never give up hope that their daughter will one day be found. In the movie, their devotion to finding their daughter is symbolized by thousands of lights they send into the air every year on her birthday. In essence, they fill the skies with light hoping Rapunzel will see the lights and return to them. Their hearts refuse to give up. They continue to beckon for their child.

It's already in your hand

Faith is the channel by which all grace and blessings are received, and that which is accepted by faith God bestows in fact.  Being filled does not always lead to exalted feelings, but God always keeps His word.  We have to just look to His promises and rest in them, expecting their literal fulfillment.  Some put asking in the place of accepting.  Many wish it were so, instead of believing  it is so.

We have never to wait for God to give, for He has already given us His all.

James Hudson Taylor

We have a bunch of changes going on in our personal life right now, and I must admit, I have been distracted and anxious. For example, the other day I was on my cell phone talking to a friend, when I realized there was another call I needed to make. While still speaking to my friend, I began searching through my purse, trying to find my phone. As my phone wasn't in my purse, I began nervously searching through my car. Pathetically, this little scene went on for a good 30 seconds. Not until I was about to tell my friend I had to get off the phone because I couldn't find my phone, did I realize my own craziness. ..

MY PHONE WAS ALREADY IN MY HAND!

The thing I was looking for, the thing I was becoming frantic over was in my hand. My busyness and near panic were just hiding it from view. And so I sat there, nervously searching for something I already had.

Be Still

Be still and know that I am God - Psalm 46:10

To be still (Hebrew raphah) meaning:

to go limp, to allow to slack, to drop ones hands from work.

In my last post, I mentioned  my daughter had her tonsils removed. Although her surgery went very well, she unexpectedly hemorrhaged a few days following the procedure. This required emergency surgery which was very frightening.

As they prepped her for surgery, things moved at a hectic pace. Unlike the first surgery, nurses weren't explaining what would come next. In fact, the OR Nurse began the IV process without saying a word. Unfortunately, since my daughter was already losing a good deal of blood and was dehydrated, the process proved difficult.

Back away from the shears

1 Thessalonians 5:23-24 

 May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. 

 The One who calls you is faithful, and He will do it.

I recently shaved my dog.  It wasn't a pleasant experience for either of us... for me, because it took over three hours... for him, well, because I don't know what I am doing and I ended up nicking him several times.

When one of my friends saw my dog, she looked at me and slightly chided, "You know, there are professionals for this."   Point taken.  I have no business shaving my dog, but as I explained to her, his shedding hair really annoys me and when push comes to shove, I  just want to be rid of it.

Of God and stink bugs

Isaiah 45:9

What sorrow awaits those who argue with their Creator.

Does a clay pot argue with its maker?

Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying

'Stop, you're doing it wrong!'

Does the pot exclaim,

'How clumsy can you be?'

My youngest daughter despises stink bugs.  If one is spotted in the living room, she leaves screaming, refusing to return until you produce proof the thing is dead.  This becomes difficult as she actually wants to see the corpse, but will not get close enough for fear she might smell it.   Saying she is afraid of them is a bit of a euphemism; petrified fits better.

Although she is little, and they are little, to her, the fear is very, very real.  Hence the reason the following was so very, very neat!

How do you smell?

For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ, among those who are being saved and those who are perishing.

2 Corinthians 2:15

This morning I was able to relax in a bath, spending a nice long time reading through the scriptures. It was a great time of worship and study. Unfortunately, as I ascended from the water, I realized my dog was very inconveniently lying on my towel. Sadly, it was the only towel left in the bathroom. Now, yes, I could have scurried down to the laundry room to get another towel, but frankly, I like my dog way more than I like being wet and cold.--- I used the towel.

Brain Worms

Last night my son asked if brain worms were real. As he asked, he was squeezing the bridge of his nose.  When I answered no, he exhaled and said, "Oh, good, 'cause Teddy and Ty (his cousins) told me you get brain worms from playing the computer too much.  My nose was starting to hurt, and I was worried I had one."

I supressed my giggle,but soon started thinking of  my own brain worms; the things I believe, or have been told, that just aren't true.   They range from little lies about myself, or the way others view me, all the way up to how I view my God.  They're insipid little buggers that wiggle there way in and, well, just plain make my nose hurt.