Green Pastures Beside Still Waters...

For all the sunrises and sunsets between August 29th, 1982 and  May 17th, 2013 --------- there's been a place of "green pastures beside still waters" for us in Georgia.

So when God made it clear He was calling us to the other side of the world ---- we had to work our fingers a bit to make them loosen the grip they had on the place we had always called home.
When God said, "lay it all down, walk away, follow me, i'm moving you..." it took our hearts a few months to let go.
We are proof of God's good patience.

Beginning February 3, 2011 my dear Steve and i began praying for two things we'd never prayed for before.
We began praying...
1 - for the family that was going to come live at 6355 Mockingbird Road.
2 - for a place on the other side of the world for us to lay our heads.
Specifically, we prayed for a place of "green pastures beside still waters" chosen by God for us in Kenya.

So we prayed and asked and waited and watched...

Two years later answers came.

On May 1st, God answered the second prayer ---- like this...
In late April we flew to Kitale, Kenya to prepare for our relocation. We needed to get serious about finding a house where we could live.  Shortly after we arrived, Steve became very sick (not something that happens often). There were so many people to meet, things to learn, and places to become acquainted with. We were overwhelmed. Steve was not well enough to house-hunt until several days after we arrived --- time was growing short. Then on May 1st we spoke at a morning devotional time for students and staff at ATS; afterwards we were to go house-hunting. The principal of the seminary had made some phone calls trying to find possible options. We learned that when homes in the Milimani area come available, they are occupied quickly. It's a safe place to live --- it's in high demand. So, at first there did not seem to be many (if any) options. The principal of ATS  called another friend asking if she knew of any possibilities. We held our breath...
She told him she was so surprised he had called her.
She said her husband and she had just talked the night before---- and faced the reality ---- they needed to rent their home for a year or two. A weak economy and disappointing business transactions had put them in a fragile situation. She wondered if we would be willing to consider renting her home? We had not seen her home, but had been told it was a beautiful place on a large plot (we instantly wondered if it would be within our budgeted price range). We had seen a few options --- but nothing that fit us. One place looked like the perfect "out of Africa" setting but inside the floor literally swayed down when we walked across it and bat guano dripped down the walls. Oh Lord, please no... 
So as we drove out to see her place, we prayed. Please Lord, bring us to Your green pastures beside still waters where YOU will restore our souls and let us lie down and rest... whether it's this house or another --- let us be led by You Lord.
We drove through the gate and held our breath. It was lovely.
A two story home sat on a spacious 2 acre plot surrounded by flowers and fruit trees. A smaller home sat behind the main house --- an annex/guest house. Then in the far back corner was a smaller one room "house", where the night guard-gatekeeper-gardener lives.
As we walked through the house --- the fullness of their story slowly came out.
She is a Christian ----- her husband is not (yet).
He has been very successful in business --- but has recently suffered several losses.
He has been diagnosed with diabetes, and is beginning to lose his eyesight.
Steve spoke with their daughter who has just graduated college in the States, is home for just long enough to help her parents transition through their financial challenges and is then moving to the States for work. He expressed our concern over her parents situation. They wanted to rent their beautiful main-house and they would move into the annex house. "Won't it be so hard for your parents to see us in "their" house...???" She reassured Steve explaining it would be a wonderful blessing to them ---- they would not have to lose the house all together. She said they will know you are actually helping them save their house.
Then we wondered what the monthly rent might cost. For a house this size and this lovely, we were preparing ourselves for a price far above our monthly budgeted allotment. We sat and talked as Steve and i silently prayed -- "Lord, please have us be where You want us to be".
When they shared with us the amount needed each month ---- our mouths dropped open. It was less than what we had expected (and budgeted) to have to spend. We asked for clarification -- thinking we must have misunderstood. But we had heard correctly. They were a couple in need, we had been sent to them by a God who cares deeply for them. One of them knows Him ---- the other, is being pursued by Him --- and He is moving us in right beside him.
We walked through the beautiful lawns counting avocado, mango, banana, and macadamia nuts trees and i whispered to Abba, "You've done it Lord --- i'm walking through "green pastures" on the other side of the world... no need to worry over the still waters Lord..." just as we rounded the house i saw in the back yard a tall tower holding two huge black water tanks ------- and surely God smiled as i said aloud ---- "still waters..."
The house is much larger than anything we had hoped for or even imagined ----- and it will cost us less each month than what we expected... God has gone before us... we are amazed.

Green pastures beside still waters in Kitale, Kenya

On May 17th, God answered the first prayer --- get ready, take a breath, you're about to see "the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living"...


During the many months of trying to sell our house on Mockingbird Road there have been deep running, mixed emotions. Excited over all that God has been doing, but also very tearful over leaving a place we had loved. Still we knew, God was serious about His call to us; we went through all the necessary motions --- and prayed.
We prayed daily for the family who were being moved to Mockingbird Road as we were being moved away. Not knowing their names, not knowing where they were coming from or what they were experiencing --- we prayed diligently for them. God urged us to pray fervently for them. Surely something was happening in their world that would propel them to move from wherever they were to this peaceful place. We knew ---- God loved them ---- and He was moving them to one of His sanctuaries.
As the months passed by with no buyers ---- we pressed ahead and prayed. What was going on in their lives?  We were ready to go (we thought), What was taking them so long...? no answers, and so we prayed.
Several offers were made, none that we felt were right. We waited and prayed.
We missed the "personal" element we had wanted to have with buyers ---we wanted to know them and bless them. We had asked God to give us a God-story in the selling of the house. I had often said, "When we are in Kenya and those tough days come along, i want to be able to stand firm on the fact that God had moved us". I wanted to have a beautiful story to lean into on those hard days. Please Lord, show us Your hand in the selling of our house.
Our real estate agent was distant, there was no relational, warm story, it all seemed so business like and cold.
Then an offer came.
We countered.
They accepted.
The appraisal came in at the exact amount we were asking.
Inspection passed.
The house sold.
But ---- no story.
Then 3 days before the closing, we received a message asking if we would be willing to let the couple come meet us at the house on the morning of the closing. We agreed. They were coming at 10AM.

We were weary from packing and sad that it was all so "professional" and lacked any personal touch. But when they arrived ---- their faces glowed, their smiles warmed, their joy was contagious, we melted.
Shortly after the initial greetings, we told them we had been praying for them. Steve and the gentleman went one way; the lady and i went another. As stories were shared God's gift wrapped "story" came clear.
She asked, "When did you begin praying for us?"
I said, "The day after we knew we were called to move to Kenya, on February 3, 2011..."
She smiled so sweetly and said ------ "you were praying for us before we even knew Christ"... (what? what did you just say...?) she repeated, "neither my husband nor myself were believers when you began praying for us... we accepted Jesus as our Savior on Mother's Day of 2011... and while our son had been born several years before, we had not met our beautiful foster daughters when you began praying for us. Six months after we accepted Christ as our Savior, we got the call that two little girls needed a safe haven. We went from a family of 3 to a family of 5 overnight." Her parents live just 7 miles from Mockingbird Road --- but they lived a long 2 hour drive from their other home. So after the little girls came, they wanted more than ever to be nearer Grandparents.

Oh Lord... You were hearing our prayers... You were moving in mighty ways... You saved them and increased their home and are moving them now to be closer to family. Oh Lord... what a lovely story of your goodness and faithfulness.

I've wept over the fullness of the story.
The very thing God is asking us to give up ---- He is multiplying in this dear families world.
He has given us a Sanctuary on Mockingbird Road all these years. Now, He is moving a family with two little girls into His Sanctuary --- a place where the girls and their older brother can grow surrounded by peace and family and love. 

As we stood in the front yard talking, and wiping our eyes, Maggie arrived back home from classes that day. She walked out to greet the lady and welcome her to her new home. And when i shared with Maggie their story, i said, "So Maggie, that means the youngest little daughter will be living in your room, all safe and secure within the walls that have held you so safe and secure all these years." Maggie reached for the lady, they cried together, big tears.
Maggie's heart had been hurting over leaving her sanctuary.
Her heart could now joyfully give it up at the thoughts of a little girl moving in who needed the beauty of those walls around her.

Later that same day, the closing went smoothly --- smiles all around.
Afterwards we prayed with the new owners of 6355 Mockingbird Road.
They asked us to come by the house one more time that evening to meet their children and her parents.

That evening as we walked through the empty, echoing rooms ---- little children ran 'round us, playing hide-n-seek in closets and corners. The house was filled with so much joy ---- just as she had been so many times before with our squealing little ones. I stepped into the kitchen one last time to be sure i had gotten everything out ------ and paused.
I thanked the wooden shell for being such a good place, such a safe haven, such a place of peace in a noisy world. Without words but in my heart i felt her response ---- "it's been wonderful, thank you for sharing your children and your life inside my walls, i've loved every minute... but now... do you see these sweet little ones?... i've got so much to do again. i'll never forget... but i really must be attentive to them now... thank you for obeying God and moving aside so i could hold little, laughing children again -- they need me now ......... goodbye dear donna..." (peace)

Green pastures on Mockingbird Road... ready for another family

And so --- the Lord gives, the Lord takes away, and He gives again... Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

Two prayers -----
both answered-----
Men can not do things like that, not even on their best days.
God can.
He did.
Amen.


©2013 Donna Taylor/Reaching for the Robe

Focus, Ascend, Take Courage ---- Dive... and loop...

Rusty wire with barbs every 6 inches, the blue jay sat precariously there.

The wire was nailed to the old fence post that held a weathered birdhouse, a wooden, hinged roof, 4x4 box that had given safe haven to new bluebirds for over a decade of Springs. A place my eyes had been drawn to for just as many years.

Blue-jays are pretty birds. Colorful and almost majestic looking in the way they hold their heads so high and move with such confidence. But my Papa James taught me years ago ----- they are bully-birds. They steal and kill, not because they need to, but just because they're mean. Once in my childhood i watched a blue-jay snag a tiny wren baby from its nest. No feathers on its pink fragile skin. The old blue-jay picked it up in its merciless beak, flew away ---- and dropped the babe. I ran trying to catch it, cringing when the tiny ounce of flesh crashed onto the road. Death was the mean birds only objective. There is meanness in this fallen world.

During our last week on Mockingbird Road, Steve and i sat on our front porch drinking in the view and soaking in the feel of this white-post-framed sanctuary ----- and on this particular morning we watched the blue-jay on the wire.
We knew there were babies inside that wooden box beside him, but we also felt confident he could not reach his big head in the tiny hole fitted perfectly for petite little Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird. Still we watched closely and Steve sat ready to frighten him away if needed.
Then the lesson came ---- from Abba.

Two tiny bluebirds began swooping and diving, attacking without a touch, speed and teamwork on their side as they focused all their energy on the intruder; their sole purpose was to protect what had been given to them. Their little ones huddled inside the wooden box just inches away from the cruel beak of the blue-jay, the mom and dad bluebirds were fierce. The blue-jay was three times the size of either of the blue-birds. He was bigger, meaner, and cared nothing for the ones they were willing to give their lives to save. We were mesmerized as we silently watched the battle between good and evil happening in front of our eyes.
The bluebirds seemed to almost be dancing with each other as they worked together, each responding with perfect timing to the movements of the other. When one dove to swoop close to the intruder, the other was high and turning to begin its dive. The old jay had little time to regroup himself after one fly-by before the next was upon him. It was intense ---- in the world of birds.
i thought of soldiers all over the world --- the battles they face, never seen by those of us tucked away in our safe houses --- rarely aware of the danger others have worked so hard to save us from. I'm so thankful for the many good, upright soldiers i know. Warriors without wings.

I remembered a Family Circus comic strip i had saved years ago when our children were little. I had clipped it from the paper, laminated it, and taped it on our kitchen cabinets ---- it was a reminder, that i should never forget or take for granted... In the first frame, the mother knelt beside her child's bed for bedtime prayers. The view was from the outside of the house, looking through the window at the touching scene. Next frame, the child asked the mother, "Do you really think our prayers make a difference mom?". Next frame, a masked man is lurking outside the same child's window, in the darkness. Last frame, the police are cuffing the would-be burglar carting him away-- the little child sleeping peacefully. 

Rarely do we see the many times we are being saved.

The little baby birds inside their wooden world had no knowledge of the masked burglar clinging with long claws to wire just inches from them.
But mom and dad bird knew ----- and they were brave.

It did not matter to them that the enemy before them was triple their size. It did not matter that he was stronger or meaner. They knew he could snap them with his long jay claws ---- but their focus and passion and teamwork were steadily smothering his schemes.

And their battle tactics were so effective. They worked together, each held their position, the enemy was being thrown off balance by their perseverance and diligence. They worked in perfect timing and with mirror like movements. Their assault to the intruder came constantly from above ---- that was important. They did not swoop to the side --- the jay could have seen them coming then and prepared a claw to receive them in the seconds before they arrived. Wisely, the tiny troopers attacked from above. They found courage from heights far above the invader below.

Steve noted ---- their willingness to fly high above the jay and attack from over his head was what gave them the greatest advantage. But this meant that after each wave they made, they had to be willing to work their wings to ascend again. Nothing about what they did was easy or simple --- but it was completely beautiful and effective. Two ounces of tiny, sky-blue feather covered warriors had us transfixed.

And tears came again as i realized we were spending out last Tuesday morning watching blue-birds care for babies on the fence post across from the "nest" we'd cared for and guarded for 31 years.

There's rusty barbed wire all around us isn't there Lord. We live in this fallen world don't we --- for now. But, there are mighty, tiny battalion commanders right in front of us. They battle for all that is innocent and pure and weak and in need. They work together --- they fight fearlessly --- they have their minds set on what is right and good and noble and excellent --- what is beautiful and lovely and admirable and praiseworthy. You made the little fragile baby birds and You made the ones who fight to defend them. You are over it all. And when we keep our focus and ascend regularly to take in what only You can give us, we will take courage for the next dive, the next battle, the next move you call us to. 

You give us "wings" -- 

so we can fly daily, 

swoop when needed, 

and work together with the winged ones around us.

And You promise us we will always be able to find shelter under Your wings. (Psalm 91: 4)

Lessons from little ones --- You use the simple... --- how is it Lord that You can be so completely Holy, Majestic, Perfect, and Powerful and yet You will still pause to teach us so patiently.

Last week we left Mockingbird Road.
I thought it would likely crush me somewhere deep inside.
But --- there are singing birds everywhere --- there are warriors of Light all around --- i can ascend to You from every address found on earth ---- You, great God, are not limited by our location --- You are over it all, accomplishing Your goodness in all places --- watching for Your children to spread their wings, ascend high towards You to gather more strength for the day, and keep steady at the work You have called us to.

If the fragile blue-birds can battle so valiantly on Mockingbird Road ----- then may your children walk with a confidence that has the aroma of YOU at every address, on every street, in every "nest" you carry them to.

Ascending again today --- with wings spread wide ---- thankful.

Steve and i on the shores of Lake Turkana --- such a long way from... Mockingbird Road...

©2013 Donna Taylor/Reaching for the Robe

Neither gripping nor griping...not clinging or complaining...

Windows in a church in Kitale, Kenya

I sit here tonight --- in silence.

Except for Steve's soft snores – and the cricket sounds outside. Occasionally a motor runs in the distance, likely a generator. Power is out, again.

The only light in our room is this computer screen.

The time on it shows 1:42PM --- but that's Mockingbird Road time --- as I have not been able to access internet since we arrived. Here, it's 8:42PM --- and all is dark and quiet and I am “alone”.

Alone with this computer and this sleeping man ---- and Abba.

I've been sitting here reciting scripture from memory --- no power needed to do that. Then a song rolls through my thoughts --- “All the way my Savior leads me... who have I to ask beside --- how could I doubt His tender mercies... who through life had been my guide? All the way my Savior leads me....... cheers each winding path I trod--- gives me grace for every trial – fills me with the Living bread. … (my heart presses in to sing loudly in my silence)...You lead me, and keep me from falling, You carry – me close to your heart --- and surely your goodness and mercy will follllll-owwwww me.”...

On this computer are thousands of pictures of precious moments --- past. Proof of all the times He has led me --- and carried me --- and poured out His tender mercies on me.

Sitting here in this dark place ---- I cling to what He has done, and require myself to look ahead to what He will surely continue to do. For He has brought me to the place of this complete knowing --- I – can – not – do it without Him. I won't try. I can not do “it” except for Him.

“I will remember the deeds of the Lord; I will remember your miracles of long ago.

I will meditate on all your works, and consider all your mighty deeds...” Psalm 77:11-12(NIV)

If i'm honest, I want to run as fast as I can back to 6355 Mockingbird Road, and huddle there with the dream I held for many years. Children and grandchildren in and out of my doors with cookies always in the oven and flowers always abloom.

But if I get deep-down-real with myself ---- what I want most of all ---- is for my first moments in front of Him at the end of this life – to bring rejoicing over what He allowed me to learn and do and give. Joy over completion of the transformation, not regret over atrophied flesh-self. No whimper over disobedience or stubbornness or distrust. And so --- living now for what will be ---- requires surrender and trust and a brokenness that craves His paths.

I remind myself, often. I say it to myself over and over again.

I must...

for the deceiver works to deceive me.

We must be diligent to stay on the wall. I remember the words that came from Christ's lips, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must turn from your selfish ways, take up your cross, and follow me. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it.” Matthew 16:24-25 (NLT)

I want to look back and remember sweet moments with our little ones (now big ones). And I will. Our life together – it has been and still is beautiful.

It will be different in the days ahead.

Different can still be sweet.

I want to draw them near to me, and cling to what He has given me --- it has surely been more than enough Lord.

But...

--- to stay there (in body or mind) would be dishonoring and self-centered and frightening.

For just as easily as you gave ---- you can take away.

Much easier it will be to let it go, lay it down, and honor You through the surrender for the goodness you have shown me...

---- than it would be to try and cling to what is familiar and comfortable to me, and feel it slowly but surely slide from my grip.

Nothing living likes to be gripped. (When we are gripped, we tend to gripe.)

...your grace has soaked me through...

And so, I commit Lord, I have, I will, I do, I choose to ---- let go of what I treasure, to daily lay them in your lap.

No gripping or griping allowed.

No gripping my hands around my wants – and no griping over what you have placed my hands upon.

I trust you.

I want more of you.

I want them to see more of you in my life.

I want them to see more of you in their lives.

I want to see more of you than of me ----- in their lives Abba.

I want to bless and give and serve and help and love and ---- for now --- that means “go”.

I trust you much more than myself.

I know the frailty of me.

I know the greatness of you.

I will remember...

Please multiply Your goodness in their lives ---- it will go far beyond any cookie filled, flower adorned, peace-soaked place I dreamed of. Instead may their days ahead be blessed more proportionately to who You are... human dreams seem so tiny when eyes are set firmly on Your greatness. Oh yes... “I will remember the deeds of the Lord; I will remember your miracles of long ago. I will meditate on all your works, and consider all your mighty deeds...”

Psalm 77:11-12(NIV)

(written our second night in Kitale)


©2013 Donna Taylor/Reaching for the Robe

Abba never wastes a thing...

India is her name, but we call her Indigo or Indie or sometimes even Indiglo.

A pretty calico cat with vivid black, white, and orange striped patches; she's striking in appearance.

Sweet beyond words. Not the typical “catty” personality, she always comes when called, talks (meows) constantly as if she understands us and we understand her. She's a dear. She overflows with gentle-kindness everyday. When days are hard, Indiglo is a great furry-friend to talk it over with.

But last October Indigo was wounded. Perhaps it's more fair to say she was likely attacked. No one saw it. Steve, Peter, and I were away at missionary training in Colorado when it happened. Maggie found her on our back lawn lethargic, and bleeding from one ear. She would open her mouth to meow her precious greeting, but nothing would come out. She lay for several days. Maggie and Mike loved on her, doctored her up as best they could, and from Colorado Springs I fervently asked God if i could please still keep her.

We never knew for sure what happened to Indiglo, but we had a pretty good idea. From the marks left on her, we were certain another cat had been cruel to her.

She has fully recovered now – we are a family most grateful. She is loved by us all --- even the non-cat-loving head of our house. But now, as a result of the serious injury, Indie holds her head sideways, always. She hears fine, and talks constantly again, but when she looks at us, her sweet head is always crooked, cocked as if she is continually saying “hmmm??”.

The lady sat across from us on the rail car traveling from Amsterdam to the airport. She was a sharp, European type lady, we could tell she was an impressive person. She folded up her nifty bike (full size bike folded 4 ways into something small enough to carry in her arms), and sat quietly. We talked lightly. We chatted about her life in Amsterdam and Rome. She owns two homes. One near the Hague and one with her children in Rome. She never mentioned a “mister”. When we had exhausted conversation about her, she asked about us. We shared that we were headed to Kenya to look for a house to rent and meet people we would be serving and working with. She looked intrigued and inquired if we worked with an NGO. We answered her question and lightly explained we felt called to serve the people of Kenya by helping them understand God's plan for marriage and how blessed a home can be if husband and wife follow God's instructions found in His Word.

She paused ------

---- and cocked her head.

We paused -----

---- and I hoped the spark in her eye was friendly “fire”.

She looked ready...

Intimidated, I held my smile. And then God amazed me once again.

Right in front of my eyes, He brought sweet Indigo's face, cocked to the side --------because something had injured her --- almost killed her.

And as if a whisper came down from Heaven I knew.

---- “Be gentle here daughter, even if she is not. Remember dear Indie, i've taught you something important through her. Indigo suffered, she was attacked and brutalized, by something no one else even saw (much less understood). You will meet many people who have been injured; sometimes wounded so deeply a part of their heart may have died. They will look at you with confused, almost addled eyes, because they can not mesh together their pain with Truth. And if you try and force them --- they might push back hard with a fury compatible to what they endured. So be gentle always. Always. Be patient and kind and willing to be rejected. It will be unresolved pain and deep scars that will be used against them, to try and hold them in dark places rather than step into the Light. But remember you are a carrier of My Light. And I have chosen to send you to some dark places. So rejection or rage ----- they are Mine to address, you my daughter are called simply to carry my Truth and walk in the Light.”

And as the tender message rolled through my mind clear to my heart, I thanked God for the picture of my sweet Indigo.

Sometimes people will make light-hearted jokes about her cocked head and her confused look. But I, I love her because I know the only reason she looks that way is because she was wounded and survived. And even though she suffered, she chooses to remain gentle and kind, she does not deliver sufferable things to others. She teaches me.

Today on the train passing through Amsterdam, God used Indigo --- my cat. And I went deeper into the learning.

Abba never wastes a thing.


©2013 Donna Taylor/Reaching for the Robe

They were in a boat --- with their father... and then...

His days had been beside his boys. Strong sons, what every man hoped for; sons that would be called Boanerges, meaning Sons of Thunder (Mark 3:17). As these two had grown from boys into men, he had come to know them as working companions and possibly even friends. They could haul in the catch, dry the nets, and prepare the boat for the next day's work; they understood working with their hands and providing for their family.  Zebedee had seen many days on the water with them.
The dry salty smell of the wooden fisherman's rig smelled like home to the father and
sons. They knew how to read the water, the breeze, the weather, and each other. His
sons had grown up watching him, learning. They knew what their father wanted
before words were spoken. Years of silent work does that.  He'd trained them since they could walk ---- fishermen know how to raise fishermen --- it puts food on the table, coin in the purse,
and companionship in the boat.

Today, the fishing had been just like every other day. Nets hauled in the needed
amount, his sons' laughter in the air, winds blew in expected ways, the sun
followed its familiar path. But as their boat touched shore, familiar faded.
Did Zebedee know the Nazarene who called out to his sons?

The stranger, the one who had been teaching nearby called out to James and John.
Was he looking to buy fresh fish? Was this wandering teacher hungry?
Then the words came clear to his old ears.
"Follow me..."

What?

..."Following him means leaving me..." --- the thought must have surely rolled through the old fisherman's mind.
And just as the understanding fell on his heart ---  James and John immediately went.
They left.
They stepped away from the world they had always known, from what they were
comfortable doing, from the place of nets and fish and family and father ----- and they
followed the one who called them.

"and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men and followed him..."

Did the hearts of sons and father and mother and others feel as if a cyclone had blown
in from the sea that day?
In moments ---- everything changed.

He backed his shiny black truck into our drive. Positioning the trailer outside the garage doors. Is it possible he is a living example today of how Zebedee himself reacted when the Nazarene called out to his sons.
He helped as we filled his truck and trailer with the few treasures we hold dear to our
hearts but can no longer  be kept close. We talked lightly as we strapped in tubs filled with
age old quilts stitched by great-grandmothers hands, and baby shoes worn by our little ones, and wedding pictures tucked in beside grandfather's glasses, and the baby bed that held each of our babies each night as they slept -- (what a blessed piece of furniture indeed). Then we headed to his house, where mom waited for our arrival. We did not let ourselves melt --- on the outside.
Mom worked at it, she didn't want to make it harder.
And just that same morning Steve's father had walked through our home -- we had asked all the family to come to choose something for themselves --- from all the things we can no longer keep, we wanted to share with family first. He too had held back tears. Zebedee would understand.
Did Zebedee's wife feel the same when her net bearing husband arrived back home
that day, without sons beside him?
Mom had prepared a wide open space in their home for the stored wedding dress and baby bed
and dearly loved quilts. The men worked unloading, we ladies talked...
There's a great joy and deep sadness ---- He has called, we will leave...

What did Zebedee say when he walked in the house that evening?

Hearts mattered then too.
But what mattered most of all???
This -----

it mattered that Zebedee and his wife had sons...
it mattered that the men-sized-sons were willing to obey...
it mattered that Zebedee held his heart, trusted God...
it mattered that the sons did not hesitate -- they did not cling
--------- they had been raised with a level of courage that helped lift them out of the boat...

Obedience can cost much ----- valuable things always do.

Obedience requires something of everyone near ----and God sees it all.


We are watching our parents surrender and obey and bless and trust ----- and we pause much longer now when we read "They were in a boat with their father Zebedee, preparing their nets.
Jesus
called them,
and immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him."

We know Zebedees today...

My mom and dad, Donald and Kathryn Glover, picture taken in Dahlonega, GA on a fun family outing this past Christmas

Steve's dad, Richard Taylor, picture taken at his birthday dinner last year, with our sons Michael and Peter

"As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called
Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were
fishermen. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” At once they left their nets and followed him.
Going on from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his
brother John. They were in a boat with their father Zebedee, preparing their nets. Jesus
called them, and immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him."
Matthew 4:18-22

"When he had gone a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother
John in a boat, preparing their nets. 20 Without delay he called them, and they left their
father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men and followed him."
Mark 1:19-20 


©2013 Donna Taylor/Reaching for the Robe

This do... in remembrance of Me...

Sitting on the front porch of this sweet place we have called “home” ---- we talked.

Talked of the years.

Talked of the real pain of stepping away.

Talked of the need to be honest with ourselves and each other.

Talked of the value in acknowledging loss but focusing on what can be received into hands that have been emptied.

He has been tooooo silent for too long.

He holds his angst like a horseman holds reins. Not letting go, not looking to another. Just holding on and riding, hoping the horse has strength to carry on.

This oldest son of ours is a man full now --- he knows what wounds from the world feel like. But much more important, he knows his Father, his Savior, he knows whose he is.

I see his broad shoulders and scruffy beard. I know he has his father's strength in his man sized arms --- but I remember when...

… chubby, sticky hands refused to hold mine crossing the street.

… small, dirty hands held flowers up to me, smiling with pink cheeks.

… growing hands held handle bars, basketballs, shoestrings, birthday gifts.

… steady hands held steering wheels, girlfriends hands, shaving cream.

… muscled hands learned to swing axes at logs and stacked firewood on this same porch.

Steady.

I will not impose his childhood days on this man breathing beside me. He is no longer a child. I will not insult his years of growing or grieve my empty womb --- there is no “good fruit that will last” in that sort of living.

Instead, I will choose to see the one beside me who now walks with God much more often than he ever walked with me. And I will embrace gratitude to Abba --- who will walk with this dear one who came from inside, beside my heart. Abba will walk with him all the days of his life and beyond.

We mothers are there when they “begin”. The Father will be present at the beginning and the end. Alpha and Omega for us all.

This dark haired, warrior poet will never walk apart from the One who chose to place him in my arms ----- oh what a joy, the day he was laid in my empty arms. My cup overflows.

She stares at herself in the triple mirror. Raised platform under her dainty wedding shoes, she gleams of goodness and purity and joy and Light. I hope she sees it too ---- she is surely most pleasing in the eyes of the One she does love most. She has never been a mirror monger, what she looked like mattered little compared to what she carried inside. But oh she is a beauty. 

Her beauty reflects the realness of Your touch, Your gentleness in her heart --- perhaps that is why she has always shined more brightly than the painted maidens. During her pony-tail-tom-boy days another mother expressed concerns to me, saying “she doesn't seem to try and 'look pretty', i'm worried she doesn't think she's beautiful...”? I prayed, and asked God – “am I called to teach her to focus on the outside first and the inside second”? His soul-whisper came through intense... “you teach My girl to focus on the beauty of ME within her, help her to grow in My ways, with My eyes. Help her see the world around her and love others... then, her beauty will be a product of Me overflowing... do not listen to the empty words of another.”

You've done it Lord. Just look at her now. She radiates You as she stands before me in her chosen wedding dress. She is a bride to be --- adorned in white --- preparing to love in Your ways. Thank you for allowing me to witness this lovely one transform from girl to woman --- wearing white. She chose to step away from the ways of this world. She sat with YOU for an entire year, reading Your Word. She wanted more of You than anything else she saw or heard or felt or held. 

And during that year you brought to her ---- the one you chose to care for her. Thank you for this. I feel your smile in the marrow of my bones.

These bones that ache a bit --- wishing for one more day of little chubby hands delivering wildflowers picked for “momma”. Those same wildflowers still grow just there – by the road in front of our age-old cedar tree.

These bones that can hardly imagine they will be able to hold themselves together when the moment comes to step away.

But they will...

My bones will release her into the Hands that made her and have a most lovely path ahead of her --- the mirror before me reflects your joy, her joy --- you are with her --- always.

He sits perfectly still, he must.

The Words he has chosen to rest on his shoulders for the rest of his days, he wants them to be right, straight, clear. So he must … hold.

As the man behind him works steadily, permanently writing Your Word on his broad shoulders, I look at this one who has grown tallest of all in our home.

He sits, arms crossed, head down, breathing slow and deep, only one foot moves – releasing the flow of pain he feels as the needle places color. This mother's heart knows, some will judge him for inking his skin, others will applaud him. But I, I adore him --- You do too. And Father, the words that he will now bear on his shoulders will be the last thing others see when he walks away from them. --- TRUTH will follow behind him. 

Weeks ago...

Sitting at our table, leaning over Your Word, he pointed, and what he said went deeper than he realized, “Hey mom, I know what I want my next tattoo to be.” “What's that son?” “It's right here, right here in Matthew, it says, 'I am with you always, even to the end of the age...' What do you think about that?” “Oh son, are you sure you want another tattoo, they hurt, it'll be there always, are you sure, some people won't like it son, are you sure...?”

He smiled --- that kind smile he has that many don't so easily hand to their “moms”.

“Mom, it hurts for a little while, and then it's gone ---- but what i'll carry with me, that will matter forever, wherever I am.”

Oh my weeping soul.

Those words. They minister to me, his mom, even now --- weeks later. As i sit and watch those Holy Words etched into his broad shoulders. The muscles of his shoulders will forever be able to bear more upon them ---- if he will always remember --- You are with him, even to the end of the age...

Father – God, when I step away from this great gentle giant in my home, when the air I breathe is far from the air he is breathing, when his smile won't be before me every morning, when his tall-self won't walk into my kitchen looking to fill up again --- roll his words through my soul again please Lord --- “it hurts for a while, and then it's gone ... but what i'll carry with me, that will matter forever, wherever I am.”

I'll carry You with me Lord --- and the remembrance of his tiny newborn warmth lying in my arms --- because You, in your goodness, chose to share him with me. Thank you for being such a good, good God.

Yesterday, tears gushed again.

I try and be strong, I try and be the picture of confidence and courage. I'd rather they see me as eager to obey You... not weak.

But may they see obedience laced with great love ---- and be inspired to love greatly in their own obedience to You.

After more tears early this morning --- I sat with You and held Your Word --- and reading through Zechariah --- you handed me this...

“I am their very own God, I'll do what needs to be done for them.

...their lives brimming with joy.

Their children will get in on it, too ---

oh, let them feel blessed by God!

I'll whistle and they'll all come running.

I've set them free ---

oh, how they'll flourish!

Even though I scattered them to the far corners of the earth,

they'll remember me in the faraway places.

They'll keep the story alive in their children,

and they will come back...”

Zechariah 10: portions from 6-12 (The Message)

Oh my soul ---- what a beautiful Father You are.

I trust YOU.

I choose YOU.

Thank you for sharing them with me.

Thank you for the promise that “You will be with them (and me) --- even to the end of the age”.

I'm reminded every time I look at his shoulders.

You are with me...

... and you are beautiful Abba.


©2014 Donna Taylor/Reaching for the Robe

God has His hand on the skein of me...

We'd sit quietly in her small, poorly lit receiving room. But for this little girl, there was "light a-plenty" --- it sort of spilled out of her. Colorful skeins of yarn resting in a basket nearby, she had chosen the one she wanted to transform, the one that would soon become a blanket wrapped around a baby not yet born. Her hand would reach and choose, my child-heart would always feel a bit sad for those left in the basket. They were destined to remain skeins in a basket. At least for a few more days.

Perhaps it's just the way i remember it, perhaps it wasn't this way at all. But God in His goodness allows me to remember in ways that let Him teach me today through moments long gone by.

My mind's eye remembers how she was always busy, always working away at a long daily list of tasks, but with no written checklist in front of her. Biscuits and cornbread in the oven before sunrise. Chickens to "tend", gardening to do, clothes to wash, floors to sweep. Meals to prepare, clothes to take in off the line and fold, beets to boil or peanuts to pick or corn to shuck, on and on and on. But on wintry days, when we'd find more to do "indoors", those were the days she was most likely to choose a pretty skein of yarn and scoot my chair up close to hers.

I would hold the skein in my tiny hands, feeling as if my job was of greatest value to her. She would methodically pull the yarn from the center of the skein and gently roll it round and round into a ball. Only when she was about to transform the yarn would she reform the skein into a neat, tidy ball. I thought nothing of the simple, peaceful task during those childhood days. But now full grown and listening more closely ---- i see the lesson God had for me in the workings of her hands.

We'd sit there quietly. I liked it best when no television or radio played. Just the sound of our breathing and the feel of belonging. For those moments always, i felt needed, wanted. She surely could have done it without me. Her many knittings proved she had succeeded often on her own. But she made me feel like it mattered that i was with her; as if her work was made easier by my busy little hands. I remember well.

The moments i remember hold visual lessons for today ----- as God has His hand on the skein of me.

Pulling the yarn from the center of the skein went smoothly and easily as long as no knot formed inside the roll. But from time to time, it would feel to my hands as if the skein almost belched when a wad of yarn would come from its center. Her hands would take hold of the knotted section and work it carefully until it lay unsnarled in her lap. Quickly she would roll it all into the neat ball forming in her hands. The knot straightened, peaceful work could continue.
But ---- if she had not paused to straighten the kink, what would have happened?
She would have had a mangled mess rolled tightly within her yarn ball --- which would have altered the shape of the sphere in her hand, it would have bulged.
And perhaps even more important, she would have to face the knotted wad of yarn again when her tedious knitting inevitably brought her once again to the snag. Hiding the mess would not make it go away. Out of sight might allow out of mind ---- until she came to that knot again --- and she would if she ever wanted to make something useful with the yarn.

Another option, she could have laid the warped ball of yarn, distended by its unattended, mangled sections in her "someday" basket. She could have left it for someone else to deal with, while she chose another less tedious and tangled skein for her next knitting endeavor. She could have avoided the "mess" and moved on. But --- she didn't. I watched.

Sad it is when we toss to the side, the knotted messes that could be straightened if we were willing to pause long enough to gently untangle them. Sadder still, is when we leave it to others to try and deal with the mess left behind us. It should never be.

How do you do it Lord? How do you bring to mind memories long past, and use them to teach me today what i did not fully see then?
I hear your whispers Lord in my soul --- i see what i could not have seen on my own.
Her hands represented You Lord, and the steady, methodical, peaceful work you do on me, on us.
My tiny little girl hands represented the hands of the many You send into our lives to "help" us, to hold us, to assist YOU while You transform us from what we were in the "basket" to what You have seen us as all along. We see ourselves as just another "skein of yarn" in a basket beside many others. Sometimes we find ourselves at the top of the heap, and then everything shifts and we feel as if we've been moved to the bottom most corner of the basket. We are the yarn --- in Your hands. You choose when we are lifted up, and pulled apart, and reformed, and made knew. You know when and how and why and for what purposes. You know, You can...

You pull us gently from where we were. You reform us initially into something You can more easily work with. You form us into a ball that will easily roll and glide ---- wherever Your working hands need us to go. Skeins only roll in one direction --- not so with a nice round ball.
And as You pull us from the very center of ourselves, sometimes knots emerge.
Tangled messes sometimes resulting from careless handling of others.
Sometimes knots form when pressure is applied.
But sometimes knots were there all along, and if the skein had never been touched by Your hand, they might not have shown up. But You knew they were there, You knew they needed to be untangled.

And You Lord, like her with her yarn, would never ignore a tangle emerging from us.
You would never choose to conceal it quickly in the newly formed ball.
You know the bulge will deform us from what we could be.
You know the knot will have to be dealt with for Your transformation to carry us fully from what we were to what You see us becoming in Your hands.

You choose us. You will untangle us. You lovingly touch every inch of us ---- with hands of One who knows the potential in a willing skein of mess.

She never became angry with the knots that emerged.
Neither do you Lord.
You never become angry with all that needs to be cared for in us.
Attention is given --- grace --- gentleness.

We may become frustrated with ourselves.
We may want desperately to hide the snarled tangles.
We may think the bottom of the basket was a more comfortable place to be.

But when we begin to get a glimpse of what You can transform us into ---- we long for Your hands to find all the knots. Your hands. And we realize we are just as incapable of "fixing" ourselves as the strand of yarn. We need Your hands to touch us, help us, and make us knew.

The skein became a ball with time and patience.
The ball became a blanket with skill and vision.

Thank you Abba ---
You are the King of Kings, God of the Angel Armies ------
... and yet You are willing to lift us and transform us.
We are amazed ...

... and for the knot(s) you straightened in me this last week, and the week before, and the week before that --- oh how i do thank you...
i would have huddled in the bottom corner of the basket surrounded by other skeins. i would have worked to keep my wadded messes concealed. But then Your hand came near the skein of me, and Your work began...
Untangling knots hurts. Ignoring them hurts worse. But in Your hands, suffering produces perseverance, perseverance brings about character, and character gives birth to Hope.

All from unspoken lessons sitting beside her in a dimly lit room... and a quiet reminder in my soul...

"...we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5 

 ©2013 Donna Taylor/Reaching for the Robe