Saying Thank You After 20 Years

The lady's picture of Michelle Ule's new book Mrs. Oswald Chambers caught my attention, and I "liked" it. The book's pages were marked with blue and orange tabs, and a pair of reading glasses sat off to the side.

The following day or so, as I scroll through my Instagram activity, I notice a new follower. Oh ... it's that lady. I click onto her gallery page and sense her familiarity. Yes, that's right. I had seen her picture from Michelle Ule's launch party. Because I had written a blog post on Michelle's book, I was led here, to this place.

As I glance over the lady's bio, words grab my attention--author of The Ache for a Child. My heart flutters. I know God is up to something incredible in my life. Anything God does for me, and I recognize it, is deemed incredible. Because it's usually the small things that bless my heart in the big ways.

I head into my closet and pull out the clothes hamper. And there against the wall is the bookshelf, the old bookshelf. The one that holds old things, heart things, book things that touched my hands and touched my heart. I can't part from them.
My eyes roam over the sections. I shift books around, looking for ... There ... there it is.
As I open the pages, my past reunites with my present. They hug. They cry in each others' arms. And after the weeping comes the rejoicing. What are you doing here, old friend? After this many years. Page after highlighted page explains away. I read over my scribbles in the margins, never doing justice to the words of comfort God scribbled over my heart. But how does a marginal human put into words something so vast, something that can't be contained in the tiny space of her heart?
I sit there on the closet floor, pondering God's goodness.

Because I did this ... because I walked through the door you opened, Lord ... you did this. I bow my head. I thank Him, oh, how I thank Him. I'm no stranger to tear-stained jeans.

I follow my old and new heart-friend back on Instagram and contact her. "Did you write this book?" I attach a picture of the book.

"Yes, a long time ago!" she says. "I'm in the middle of updating it. How did you come across it?"

How did I come across it? What a question. I picked it up from a Christian book store 20 years ago, as I stood there feeling alone in the aisle of  pain and misery. As I stood there wanting a family with all my heart and wondering if God would come through for me. After I took that book into my home and devoured it with my whole being, my pastor at that time, Dr. Robert Jeffress, asked me to start and lead an infertility support group for our church.

Holding that little book in my hands, I remember all the doors that God opened for me through the years.
Page after page turned in my life, and new words were written over my story ... my life came alive. God gave me two girls. God gave me a family. God came through with my heart's desire since childhood.
"I can't tell you what your book meant to me," I write. "Thank you. You were a light in a very scary time."

I bow my head again.

Father, thank you. I follow you, but you followed me first. You loved me first. Your love conquers all fear. You know exactly how to wrap up the chapters in my life. And tie it off with a gold and pink bow. I'm thankful The End of this life hasn't come. I'm thankful you let me say "thank you" after 20 years. I'm thankful that Deb made herself vulnerable and emptied her heart on those pages so that I could find courage. Thank you for leading me to her words that became marked on my heart so long ago.

I like it, God. I so ♥ it.

---

Have you had a chance to say thank you to someone who helped you so long ago? Maybe someone who didn't even know they'd helped you? I'd love to hear your story.

A Lady Still Longs For A Gentleman

"What do you think about a gentleman?" I ask.

Her eyes shine, a smile inching across her face, and she gathers her knees to her chest. "I love when Harry rises when Ginny walks into the room."

---

Dear Daughter ...

When many say that in our day chivalry is no longer demanded, wanting not your heart to believe the lies, I'll be a little more candid.

When searching for the qualities to seek in this modern age, Daughter, let's open wide the Bible and respectfully turn the page.

When you are weak, needing strength, and struggling to see this thing thru, He will take your lifeless body and breathe life back into you.

When you're feeling abandoned, lost, not knowing what to do, He'll offer you his hand, giving counseling and guidance, too.

When past mistakes try to compress the air from the weighted chest, He'll cast them all away, as far as the east is from the west.

When bad choices seem to define you in all the perceived land, He'll push back your attackers, drawing a firm line into the sand.

When your simple, best attempts somehow seem to become divine, it's because he'll turn the humble water into the choicest wine.

When needs are short, supplies are few, and takers come in droves, He'll take the little you possess and multiply the loaves.

When your downcast face reveals the painful details of your day, He'll listen to your earnest heart, hearing every word you say.

When you're dying inside, a harmful action could surely kill, He'll sooth your heart with gentle words; His loving touch will heal.

When you are blinded by the enemy's daily, constant lies, The Gentleman's hand will grace your face and open wide your eyes.

When at the end of all your self, conviction jabbing like a knife, He'll give you hope anew that day by laying down his life.

Oh, Daughter ...

When you feel confused, Dear One, you needn't wonder any more; simply knock, and He will answer, opening every door.

When He treats with favor, rising with your entry to a room, know these are the gracious actions of a gentle, treasured groom.

When you hear the world's many false complaints against the God-made plan, Daughter, fix your eyes and take the strong hand of the Gentle Man.

©shelli littleton

"God created man in his own image ..." --Genesis 1:27

---

I've heard men say that some women won't let them open the door for them. Unreal. I want my daughters to value those kind actions ... to seek that gentleness and respect, because there are ladies who still treasure those actions. What do you want young people to know?

A Thanksgiving Giveaway

Gratefulness swept over my heart as I opened my editor's email, revealing my article contracts for the upcoming year—a blessing and a gift. Another year of writing, of hearing amazing mission stories, of listening to the hearts of people across the globe and to the hearts of people just down the road. 

I don't take the writing opportunity for granted because one, my confidence level doesn't soar, and two, there are boo-koos of writers to fill my disposable shoes.

Every single story touches my heart, changes me, in one way or another. Thankful.

Two missions touched my heart so much that I've written novels about them. And I'm looking for a third idea, so if you know of a heart-touching mission, I'd love to hear about it.

Closing down my email, I realized that it's been 8 years since I've been writing for Woman's Missionary Union. Eight years. Thankful.

When I first received the invitation to write for WMU, it was July 4th weekend of 2008 and family was visiting. Excitement spiraled through me over the opportunity, but fear shook me.

My sister-in-law sat in the rocking chair next to me.

"I got asked to write a missions article. I don't know what to do," I said.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll be calling Africa, and talking to a 19-year-old young woman from Brazil. Her story is too important ... entrusted to me? I'm scared." Tears surfaced. "I'm scared I can't do it or won't do it justice. She deserves better than me."

"Shelli, you can do this." She smiled, rocking in that chair. "You can do this." Thankful.

And I've been doing this for 8 years. I can still hear that sweet girl's Brazilian accent ... and I'm so blessed to keep up with her on Facebook, all the way in Brazil now. Her mother even wrote to thank me for the article. Her letter was written in Portuguese, and I had to ask for an interpreter. Thankful.

When I receive the magazine that one of my articles is in ... my heart swells with gratitude. Seeing my work in print never gets old. But seeing God use the stories to bless people or encourage missions or support missions ... that's the sweetest. Thankful.

I'll tell you that sometimes I feel a tinge of guilt that I write about missions more than I do them. But my editor continually reminds me each year that writers are important ... that they help share what's happening in missions around the world. That it takes everyone doing their part. Thankful.

But I'll let you in on a little secret ... I've been a stay-at-home wife and mom for most of my adult life, and because of that, I've always had to watch each dime. And here's the secret—I look forward to the day that I can take a week or two mission trip overseas. What group will God have prepared for me? What will their sweet faces look like? What will their hugs feel like?

But missions is everywhere and needed everywhere. My latest November 2016 cover story is on missions here at home, in Philadelphia, about being thankful in tough times. There's much need all around us. And I have my sights set on a mission to help here in Texas ... I've just got to get in gear and join in.

So with this 8-year-mark, I want to shout out my gratitude—for writing opportunity, for God's undeserved grace and mercy, for so many things, but especially for you. Thank you for always reading my "scribblings" and supporting me. Even a "hello" brings so much encouragement along this journey. Thankful.

And because of that, I'm so excited to do a fun giveaway, offering two one-year subscriptions to Missions Mosaic magazine. If you have a heart for missions or have a family member who loves missions, this giveaway is for you. It's a perfect Christmas gift for yourself or a loved one.

What should you do to enter? 

Be a U.S. or Canadian resident and simply leave a comment in the comment section, stating that you'd like to be entered. Or hop over and leave a comment on my Facebook page or my Instagram @shelli_littleton ...

If you comment in three places, you can be entered up to 3 times, max. 

*2 Winners

And I'm so sorry that I can't offer the giveaway to my dear friends across the water. I so love you.

~~~

"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus" 
1 Thessalonians 5: 16-18

What are you most thankful for? Is there something you hope to do/accomplish one day?

*The giveaway will close November 17th at midnight Central Time and the winners will be announced on Nov 22nd. The subscriptions will be ordered immediately, just in time for Christmas.

The Gentle Nudging for a Thanksgiving Blessing and a Dance

I hadn't been in over a year. Goodness, that's hard to believe. 

My dad goes up there sometimes, and he always assures me that I'm welcome. But I've been so busy--same ol' song and dance, you know. And well, it's just not the same since my grandmother passed away. 

When my grandmother was living, I'd go visit her as often as possible. And well, with my uncle living down the road, he was a package deal. My dad might come up sometimes, and I'd see him, too. 

When my grandmother was ill, we three spent much time together, on her behalf. And well, I just got to missing those two something awful. I'd heard my uncle had been sick with pneumonia recently. 

My uncle on the left, who spent all morning cooking for us,
and my dad on the right who'd spend all morning doing 

Elvis impersonations if a knee weren't bothering him. 
He's good, too. 

I've learned to listen to that gentle nudging. I always know the Lord is speaking to my heart.

My dad tells me a date that's good for him. We'll all go out to eat, we plan. Make a day of it. My heart's already leaping.

The day arrives, and we leave fairly early ... the girls and I venture out to go the distance--2-1/2 hours there. 

I call my dad when I'm an hour away, and he sounds like a little kid. He's so excited to see us. "I can't wait for y'all to get here," he says.

I miss her road. Her Texas county road. I chastise myself for letting a year go by. How could I miss her road? I pull off and turn around, heading the right direction now.

My grandmother's house is near this little city of Antioch, Texas. Antioch ... the first recorded place in the Bible that I've been taught where the word "Christian" was used ... it meant "Little Christs" ... it was often used in a derogatory way. Am I living my life in a way that others would call me "Christian"?

And there's her driveway. The long windy, sandy driveway trimmed with pines. Yeah. I played on that road a ton when I was a kid. My toes burrowed through that sand.

My heart pumps with ingrained excitement, as I turn onto her drive. In my younger days, that's when I'd bring out the hairbrush and dab on a little make-up--prepare to see my family. Like I'd looked that way all along. Just my casual self. 

Before I even get to the house, my dad is outside waiting, pacing. Just like my grandmother used to do. He's holding a camera. The minute we step out, he says, "I want to get a picture of y'all." I've never danced with my dad, but this moment was right up there. O Soul Within, he loves you.

We hug. He says my uncle is making dinner for us. 

"But he's been so sick," I say.

"He really wanted to cook for you," my dad says. O Soul Within, he loves you, too.

Noon finally arrives, and we head over to his Texas country house. I climb the steps and knock.

"Come in."

He's cooking. Doing the shuffle throughout his kitchen, he's made a Thanksgiving feast--a whole turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, some casserole, rolls, cherry pie. Like my grandmother used to do. Evidence covers the front of his shirt--flour, splotches of grease. He looks exhausted. He's sweaty. Clearly, his strength hasn't returned and may never. Other health issues. 

I start sweating too because his blood is thinner now, and he keeps his house warm. And I'm having power-surges (ABS!). And I'm imagining cracking open a window for fresh air. 

My mouth gapes open, with a smile. He's twirled my heart right in. I know my eyes are glowing with a slight hint of confusion. "What have you done?" I ask. "You've been sick."

"I wanted to do this for my baby."

My uncle put me first, grateful that I'd come the distance. For him. For my dad. Regardless of how he felt.

***

O Soul Within, it's not easy to honor the One who went the distance for us when you are sick, hurting, struggling ... 

To put Him first ... to treat Him like the love of your life ...

It's tempting to settle for Kentucky Fried Chicken, the quick and easy.

But you'll always be blessed for the effort. Allow the evidence to cover you and others. Don't let too much time go by. Don't miss the road. Take His hand and do the dance ... waltz the floor ...

one, two, three, one two, three ...

Because He loves you.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

When you're tired and struggling, is it tempting to push the very One Who can strengthen you to the back burner? How do you ensure God comes first?

Straightening

I tighten her expander for the very last time. "You ready to get this enforcer ... enhancer ... expander off?" I chuckle through a grin.

"You finally got it right, Mom. After all these weeks, you finally said it right." She laughs with the tool still in her mouth.

For the last month, I've been teasing the precious thing about the horrible expander in her mouth. I never call it the right thing. Exterminator. Ex-anything. Whatever I can come up with on the spur of the moment. It's all part of her braces plan, but I feel like I'm torturing her each time I make an adjustment. It breaks my heart to adjust it.

And it actually broke part of her mouth ... in order to allow more space for her teeth. I don't understand it all, I just know it was like a wishing bone ... more force placed on it a little each day until it breaks. And when it broke, her face flushed, she could barely swallow, and her mouth went numb.

This morning ...

"Mom, what time is it?" She reads to pass the time.

"9:07."
"What time do we leave?"
"9:20." She's ready to go. She's ready to be relieved.
"Are you ready to go?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Are you ready to get that thing off?"
"Yes, Ma'am."

We arrive at the orthodontist. They take a good look at it.

"We are getting it off today, right?" I ask. So sure.

"No."

I sit stunned. "I'm sorry, Katelyn," I blurt out. "I told her it would come off today," I say to the technician.

"No, it needs to remain longer. If we took it off now, the teeth would revert back to their original locations, and all that movement, all that pain, would have been for nothing." She pauses. "Don't listen to Mom," she teases.

After the technician walks out, I look at my oldest daughter—"Why did I think we were getting it off today?"

"When they said it wouldn't need more adjusting, we just assumed ..." We assumed.

**

 

On the way home, I couldn't help but think how this applies to life. God allows that little strain, that little pain in our lives to mold and shape us. To press us. Until we break.

 

Until our faces flush, until we can barely swallow, until we feel numb.

It'll feel like torture.

We assume that life will go right back to normal. We'll get that expander off, and we'll go right back to normal. Come on, normal.

 

But if we went right back to normal, there would be no lasting change. We don't need that kind of normal.

 

And it's often a shocking realization to have a new normal.

 

We don't understand it all. We won't understand it all. But we must trust our Father. Trust that He knows best. How could we possibly know best?

 

We need change. Friend, we need change. O Soul within, you need change.

 

And everyone experiences it, in one way or another. We may assume others are pain-free, but they aren't. No one is exempt. If we don't have physical pain, we surely have heart pain. A broken, bleeding heart doesn't always show through a crisp, starched white shirt.

The pain reforms and reshapes ... until we break.

Why?

Because we need more room for growth. New growth.

Because we need to be formed and shaped like Jesus.

Because we won't love Him like we should, like we could, until we need His healing, His revealing, His concealing tenderness for the broken. Thank you, Father, that my broken heart is all your own.

Because we need to beautifully get it straight.

Because it's in the straightening that we ...

"enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise."—Psalm 100