Take the Picture

 

Take the picture.

This clearly isn't one of my best pictures. I am wearing my glasses as I have been forced to for the past year because my eyes are not reacting well to contacts anymore. 0 makeup, hair in a bun(as usual) just not something I would want to advertise.

But do you know who that is in front of me? My mom. This picture was taken at camp and she looks gorgeous and stunning as always. Hair always done makeup always perfect always looking beautiful. And behind me is my baby girl who also not a huge fan of pictures but let me take one because Grammy was in it.

Today this picture is no big deal. I mean I appreciate it and I like it but someday this picture will be everything to me. In a couple of decades when my mom is gone and my daughter is grown I look back on this picture and smile and be thankful and remember the three of us. And it will be a beautiful memory.

Because we don't take enough everyday pictures we don't take enough pictures of ourselves and our loved ones and we never know when that last picture is going to be taken. So I stopped caring as much about the less important things like hair and makeup and start focusing on the more important things like me my mom and my daughter all smiling together at camp.

So take the picture. Hair up in a bun and all take the picture. Because someday we're going to need memories to cherish and pictures help bring those to the surface. And we're going to laugh and we're going to smile and we're going to talk about that time at camp and life was good. And I am so abundantly blessed with too many amazing people in my life. So I want to try and hold on to them forever. So...

Take the picture.

“Simply spray on damp hair and go”

I got a “blowout” done on my hair because it is too stinkin’ thick, and I don't want to mess with it. It is a pricey pleasure, so I asked my fantastic hairdresser (also conveniently named Theresa) what I should do to help take care of it. She told me (again) that I should make sure that I put a heat protectant on it before I straighten it. BTW, I always forget that part. But not today! I am going to do what Theresa (K) says! 

“Simply spray on damp hair and go”

These are the instructions on the bottle. What?? How much spray?

All over hair? More on ends or top? How many pumps? And go? Go WHERE? This overt lack of information started to raise my blood pressure. 

I am a person who likes very specific instructions. This is where

my faith began. I had a set of instructions on what to do and

what not to do. Even, as my faith grew, I leaned heavy on the

classics like “pray,” “read your bible,” “go to church,” and “love

thy neighbor.”  As I was talking to a friend this week, I said there

was NO JOKE a time in my life where I thought (early 20’s)

that I knew my faith in and out, and where would I go now?

If only I was as smart now as then. 

How the much older and grayer Theresa of now would like to pull

her aside and say, “You have not seen anything yet….also  don’t

try to dye your natural red hair on your own. Your bright

orange-ness

will be regretful.” 

Now, there is nothing wrong with following those instructions.

In fact, as a Christian, you should be following them. I just

learned that there is so very much more to be had. 

Instructions are good. They guide us and help us form the path.

The problem began when I was on the path just for being on the

path's sake. Because instructions say I am supposed to be on the

path. I simply walked with no passion or purpose. I just meandered

around. 

Then I started to really take extra time to study the word and the

character of Jesus. I read Bible studies that began to challenge

and stretch me. I started to follow Col. 3:23 “Whatever you do,

work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men.” 

Finally, I fell in love. I started a real honest to goodness

relationship with the God of Heaven and Earth. Some

people may flinch away from the wording, but unfortunately

the English language really doesn’t explain it when you find

the “reason for being.”  The depth of commitment and passion

the Father has as He chased after us. What He sacrificed so

that us, His children, would not come to ruin.

Yeah, words can’t bring it to me. 

My passion is now fueling my instructions. In fact, instructions

sound so “blah” now, and I consider it such a joy that I don’t

even think of it the same. 

My desire to go after God is what is

fueling my passion to pursue. 

Pursue daily and  differently. I may be asked to help another

on their walk. I may give. I may study. I may read or write. I

am following my desire, the Highest God. 

I offer no resolution or goal to myself other than to keep my

eyes on the prize. Some days will be really good (I picture

the beach in these ones), and others not so good. (insert

snow here.) 

I will be moving forward.  

For Matt 6: 19-21 tells us “don’t store up treasures here on

Earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them and

where thieves break in and steal. Store your treasures in

Heaven where moths and rust can’t destroy and thieves

so not break in and steal. Wherever your treasure is,

there the desires of your heart will be.” 

I know where my desires lie.

That is not my name!

 

"That's not my name!" my 6 year old bright blue eyes Bella stomped. "My name is a B! and I don't know that that is but it is not a B!" "It us an "I" and and tyes that is your name. Your real name is Isabella Noel Demi, and your kindergarten teacher would like you to write Isabella on your work."  "What's your real name?" the flaming hair little girl asked. "Theresa." "So how come you get to write the name people call you, but I have to to write a name I never even heard before and pretend it is me?" "Becuase sometimes people have nicknames. Like Will is really William and Luke is really Lucas." "Well, I am really Bella and you can tell my teacher that."

My girls were born firecrackers. The true problem she had with the whole thing is that Isabella is longer than Bella. However, now she is 11 and writes Bella anyway so what did it matter?

I have been thinking about a lot of BIG questions lately. Reading some big books and pondering if what I believe it lining up with who I portray myself to be. When teaching my 2nd graders about different ways to write numbers I give them teh eample of my name. I am Theresa, mom, wife, sister, teacher, friend...and the list goes on. But it is still me. Just like 673 is 5 hundreds 7 tens and 3 ones.

But that isn't exactly the whole truth. Because all of those names are in a sense different people. I am who I need to be in that moment in time. At one time or another (or every flipping moment in my case) you wondering if you are enough. Am I enough? 

Can I ever be enough? No. I am just going to tell you. No. You will never be enough. You can read wvwey self help book, listening to relaxing music, chant mantras about being a warrior. You will be never be enough on your own because you were never created to be enough.

From Knight's Tale. Excellent movie by the way. You will never be enough because you were never created to stand alone. The empty feeling. Yeah. The feeling of "I am tryign and it is never enough?" Yep. 

Colossians 1:16 

For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him.

You were created by God and FOR God. And He has some awesome plans for you!

My sister Patty is leading a Book Club on Allie Beth Stuchey called "You're not enough (and that's ok). Not all the details are worked out but if you would like to join in shoot me a message and I can can give you her info. Or message her- Pattty Sponsy Miller. 

You were created for more. 

ch 13 preview

 preview ch 13 Z

The mob of people almost looked like a dance or at least a parade. Everyone laughed and some even sang. The children run up and down the trail of people. It had to be the slowest parade ever. Everyone who came up to him, he would stop and laugh with. Place his hand on top of their head. I looked from face to face. Most of these people I have cheated in more ways than one. They certainly would throw things at me if they know I was up here, and it would be well deserved. As He approached there was a shimmer that moved with him, my hand started to shake, and my mind started racing. What if I dropped out of the tree and invited him to dinner? Maybe he could help me fix me the mess. Then the shimmer seemed to disappear and a shadow surrounded me. I heard a voice that felt like claws going down my spine. “You are worthless. You made your choices. Do you think this man is able to erase a life of disgusting bile? “I don't know,” I choked out. A tear slipped from my cheek and disappeared into the dust on the road. Then He looked up.

Jesus, the man rumored to be the Messiah, looked up. His face was hard as granite, and I swear I saw his eyes sparked. But somehow, I know it wasn’t for me. The shadow immediately dissipated, and I looked down into the brightest smile I had ever seen. Had there been a shadow? Was I hallucinating? His voice broke through my thoughts. “Zacchaeus! Quick! Come down. I must be a guest in your home today!” I saw the shocked faces and sneers. I heard nasty comments. But as quickly as I could, I got out of the tree, bum hip and all! On the short walk to my house Jesus asked me how I was doing. He asked how business was and how my hip was. Then the voice was back in my head. “Teacher, I understand that since now you know who I am, if you would rather have other accommodations,” as I hung my head. “Who told you that I didn’t want to spend time with you Zacchaeus?” When he said my name, I had never heard it spoken like that. Not in fury and disappointment like my parents use to, or in mockery with the other boys who were all so much better than me due to my short stature. I had heard my name mentioned thousands perhaps millions of times, but never had it sounded like that.

I invited him in. In a whirl, I order the preparation to be made for dinner. But Jesus beckoned me over to him. “Those voices are from the pit. They lie and taunt and bring pain.” “Master, what am I to believe? What am I to do?” “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and love your neighbor as yourself.”

ch 11 preview

 Preview on ch 11...the bleeding woman

“Oh Jesus, if I could just have a minute?” or “Jesus I know that you are so busy but if you could just lay your lands on….” It came to me. No one had to know that this unclean woman had touched this clean man. I could get close enough and touch his prayer shawl. That’s it! I know if I could just touch this man I would be healed. I got close. I could see his prayer tassel flow this way and that way in the wind. If I could just …. reach….out….and touch. As soon as my hand came in contact with him, I knew I was healed. It was a warmness that flowed from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet. I felt strong. I felt new.

I was HEALED. After so many failures it felt odd to say this, but I know without a shadow or a doubt, my bleeding had stopped. I even felt stronger in my legs and clearer in my head. Where man after man had failed, Christ with one touch healed. Then I felt as if my heart stopped when the Master said “Who touched me?” I knew it was over. An unclean woman touched the cleanest of the clean men. I was dead. Death by stoning. Peter tried to convince him that everyone was pushing on him. How can we find just one? My heart almost settles. But Jesus said, “Someone deliberately touched me, for I felt healing power go out from me.”

No going back now. I deserved whatever consequences I received. I tried to stand but my legs were so shaky I actually collapsed in front of the Savior.

ch 9 preview

 preview ch 9....getting excited?

The blind begger

“Where is he?” angry, deep voices yelled at me. That is when I noticed the shadows, and the smell of sulfur. The blackness pooling at the feet of these men were puddles of darkness. I almost reached out to grab them, but the men didn't seem to notice the shadows twisting around them. I stepped back because I knew almost intrinsically that if I touched the blackness, there would be no end to my fall. They dragged me to the Pharisees, staying clear of more black puddles here, and I was asked the same questions. They even asked my parents for testimony that I had been born blind. Finally, they called me in to speak with the religious folk. They said to me “God should get the Glory for this. Because we know that this Jesus is a sinner.”

A sinner? Like the label they had branded me for life. Sinner? Like someone less than them? Sinner? Like someone God has shunned and must walk this barren wasteland alone? I am not an educated man since my condition set me up for a lifetime of begging regardless, but Jesus a sinner? “I don’t know whether he is a sinner. But I know that I was blind and now I see

preview ch 7

 preview ch 7- the demon posessed man

Crying. Screeching. Howling. Shrieking. Wailing. And I was buried under it all. This is all my fault, and I deserve it. The more pain I endure, the closer to utter madness I come. I welcome the breaking of my mind finally. I am deep in my tomb when I smell them first. A storm is raging, but humans are coming. Something seems odd. Normally, I drag the shipwrecked sailors to my lair and eat them alive, but an odd thumping was coming over the roaring wave. I got into my hunched position. My knuckles were covered in blood always as I mostly drug them. My body was covered in hair except for my head. When there was no one else to inflict pain on, the demons inside would turn on tormenting me. Yanking my hair out by the handfuls. Making me throw myself on the fire until all skin gave away to blood. Their favorite and my least by far was the whispering. It was never quiet in my head. In those moments of pause, the whispering of the evil spirits would begin. You are useless. No one cares for you. Throw yourself off the cliff and save everyone the trouble. You are a murderer. You deserve damnation. Truly I was only present when they were inflicting grievous pain on me or others.

My fur soaked and matted to my body, I watched from the top of the nearest rock. The minute I felt that foot hit the Earth I knew it was over. This was him. Jesus the Christ. Jesus the Savior. Jesus the true King of everything ever created. I began to howl and scream. I grabbed the sharpest rock I could find and began to cut myself. Did he want my blood? I pulled out my hair in clumps. Did he want that? It's His. Despite the rain, the fog, the darkness His eyes met mine. At first something in me started to reach out. Then The ring burned until I screamed. “How many times must I tell you how worthless you are? You are nothing,” a slithering serpent hissed. Either way I knew I was in trouble.