Ever since I memorized it in 7th grade, William Wordsworth’s poem about daffodils has delighted me. Often, I found myself quoting lines from it in March as my yard in France would burst with white and yellow beauty.
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
~William Wordsworth~
And how I loved photographing these beauties “tossing their heads in sprightly dance”, as Wordsworth so eloquently and accurately put it.
In Atlanta, daffodils make their appearance in February. I shared in my remembrance for my father that taking a walk around the block of my parents’ home with my father has always been a simple and profound joy to me.
This February, walking around the block was deeply bittersweet. Until…on one of my walks shortly after Daddy ‘graduated to heaven’, I noticed hundreds of daffodils blooming in the woods. And my heart did fill with pleasure just observing them.
A few days later, as Paul and I were again taking a walk around the block, we stopped to chat with the couple whose woods boast such splendor. They were friends of my dad, loved him, and were sorry that they would be out of town and unable to attend the memorial. When I commented on the joy their daffodils brought me in this otherwise difficult season, they invited me to drop by whenever I wanted and to pick as many daffodils as I wanted to freshen up my father’s house for the guests who would be coming after the service.
Since the memorial was two weeks after my father’s passing, the flowers we’d already received had wilted. I had hoped to get more fresh flowers for the house, and specifically white and yellow ones because these colors are also the colors of my father’s beloved alma mater, Georgia Tech. He supported this great institution with his heart and soul and finances for 60+ years.
So the day before the memorial, Paul and I took a trashcan (for lack of finding a bucket) and gathered daffodils.
In the simple pleasure of gathering daffodils, as with daily arrival of the red cardinal, the Lord reminded me again of His glorious presence in the midst of our dark valley and how all of nature groans with us and yet, at the same time, celebrates life and life everlasting.
Are you familiar with Wordsworth’s poem? Or is there another poem that brings you a particular joy in spring?
ELIZABETH MUSSER writes ‘entertainment with a soul’ from her writing chalet—tool shed—outside Lyon, France. Find more about Elizabeth’s novels at www.elizabethmusser.com and on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and her blog, Letters to the Lord.
This is the remembrance I gave at my father’s memorial last Friday.
When I was very young, I loved hearing stories about a gentleman rabbit called Uncle Wiggily who had many animal friends and several animal enemies. But he had one friend who was with him in almost every episode, his housekeeper, Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy the Muskrat Lady.
To be honest, I don’t remember if my mom or my dad or our beloved housekeeper Husy read those stories to me. But this is what I know. My father started calling me Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy a long time ago. I don’t even remember why. Over the years and decades that infamous title got shortened to simply Nurse Jane. I was Nurse Jane to my Daddy, and I knew that was his highest term of endearment, even though I never had any aspiration to become a real nurse—or a muskrat, for that matter.
That was my father. He made everyone he knew feel special. I imagine many of you here today smile to think of how my father had a nickname or title he called you. Or just a look that said he thought you were tops.
Daddy was a caregiver. Oh, he loved life, he loved attention, he loved fine restaurants, and a good drink, and a fancy trip, and a good party. An over-the-top extrovert, Daddy kept up a social schedule that put the rest of the family’s combined schedules to shame. But all of these revolved around his love of people. He loved people and he believed in them.
And he believed in me, his only daughter. I was my daddy’s girl.
A child of the Depression who had seen his mother pinch pennies all her life, Daddy was determined to make a good living. He believed education was the best gift he could give his children, and he paid for a combined almost 40 years of Westminster, plus Rice, Vanderbilt, Princeton, University of Chicago, Georgia Tech, Covenant, Heritage, and he might even slip in a few coins to his former housemate who’s at Harvard.
And through my education and the security of Daddy’s financial provision for our family, he opened the world for me. Unfortunately, my father’s dream was for all of his family to be well educated and to stay close by. In Atlanta. So when I announced I was leaving for the mission field, flying to France, it was hard on him. But Daddy and Mom gave me a wonderful gift. They gave me their blessing to go. Daddy didn’t necessarily approve, and it was hard for him to let me ‘raise my support’ when he was beginning to be very successful as a stock broker.
But he did it. He and Mom let me fly. I will add that they made the best of it by coming to visit Paul, Andrew, Chris and me at least once a year, often taking us skiing in the French Alps or to a castle in the Beaujolais. And always to a very nice restaurant with at least a few Michelin stars.
Daddy’s wit and humor delighted all, but throughout my life, one of my favorite activities was taking a walk with him. We’ve walked all over the world, but I especially loved our walks around the block on Nancy Creek Road. We discussed life, love, faith, and adventures. We did not discuss Georgia Tech or the stock market, but somehow that was okay with Daddy.
And he was my biggest fan, always carrying a bookmark for my newest novel in his jacket pocket. I apologize to all of you who have been ambushed throughout the years by my father, sporting a smile and a bookmark.
And his faith was as warm and witty as everything else about him. Daddy won people’s hearts as a man of integrity who cared about his family, his friends, his church, his clients at Merrill Lynch, his college. Honestly, as a devout girl growing up in a house with Jesus and mint julips, I sometimes felt a bit confused by my father’s faith.
But you aren’t. You’re here to honor a man who honored God by living a full, robust life of loving others well.
I’m grateful to have finally been able to live up to my nickname of Nurse Jane as I’ve helped care for my father during the last leg of his journey on this side of the veil. As many of you witnessed, he kept his wit and optimism until the very end. He told Dock early on after the cancer diagnosis that he’d checked all the boxes, he’d had a great life, and he knew where he was going. He wasn’t afraid. He also wasn’t quite ready to leave, and I sure hope he can see the party going on for him today.
I miss you already so much, Daddy, but I’ll see you soon on the other side. Much love, your Nurse Jane.
ELIZABETH MUSSER writes ‘entertainment with a soul’ from her writing chalet—tool shed—outside Lyon, France. Find more about Elizabeth’s novels at www.elizabethmusser.com and on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and her blog, Letters to the Lord.
Written in the middle of the night, February 11, 4:30 am.
So many sleepless nights, Lord. So hard and sweet to walk my Daddy to Heaven’s door. So many signs of Your Spirit right here with us.
It started with the red cardinal about a month ago. Or maybe longer. He just kept banging into the picture window in the den in my father’s home. Over and over and over again, throughout each day.
As we were trying to figure out what his problem was, because it was definitely a male, red, red, red, my brother Glenn suggested that maybe he was seeing his reflection in the glass, and thinking it was a competitor, kept banging into his reflection. I deduced that if this was the case, and he hadn’t figured it out after days of head-crashes, then male cardinals are not very smart=).
But in reality, that cardinal is communicating something more mysterious and spiritual. Evidently throughout time, cardinals flying near the windows of the dying has been a ‘thing’. Some say it is a loved one coming back to call the lover home. Or Your Spirit hovering. Here are several interpretations from Google:
The red cardinal is a spiritual messenger from God.
The red cardinal is representative of one of departed loved ones attempting contact.
When a red cardinal hits a window, it is a bad sign representing death.
The red cardinal represents the blood of Christ.
If you are lucky enough to spot a cardinal, you should smile to yourself as cardinals represent deceased loved ones, who are watching over you.
Again seeing a cardinal at your window usually means that someone who has passed on wants you to know that they’re thinking of you and looking out for you.
And surely all of the above are true of the sweet red cardinal who has hit the window multiple times a day and continues to do so. I wonder if he will leave after my father’s memorial service on Friday, February 25th?
Lord, there is no denying he’s a messenger. Your Spirit, Mom coming to tell Daddy she’s waiting for him, a messenger of death? I see all of these and am comforted. Yes, perhaps a sign of death, but not a bad sign of death. To me, that cardinal is a way You are telling Your beloved children, us, who can sometimes be a bit dense, “I’m here and I see and I know and it is hard but it will be okay. I am with you. Always.”
And You keep telling us this, over and over again.
Throughout these past 6 months, ever since my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, we, his loved ones, have seen sign after sign of Your presence with us as we’ve walked through this dark valley. We are deeply grateful for the love expressed to us in hundreds of ways, through family, friends, my dad’s beloved cat, Maggie, and yes, even a red cardinal.
If you would like to read my sweet father’s obituary, you can find it here.
Psalm 23
A Psalm of David.
The Lord is my shepherd,
I will not be in need.
2 He lets me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
3 He restores my soul;
He guides me in the paths of righteousness
For the sake of His name.
4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
6 Certainly goodness and faithfulness will follow me all the days of my life,
And my dwelling will be in the house of the Lord forever.
ELIZABETH MUSSER writes ‘entertainment with a soul’ from her writing chalet—tool shed—outside Lyon, France. Find more about Elizabeth’s novels at www.elizabethmusser.com and on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and her blog, Letters to the Lord.
I welcome back my dear friend, Julia Kramer, with a thought-provoking post.
KING OF THE MOUNTAIN
I think I’ve found my motto psalm for 2022!
Psalm 131 from the Message Bible:
God, I am not trying to rule the roost,
I don’t want to be the king of the mountain.
I haven´t meddled where I have no business
or fantasized grandiose plans.
I´ve kept my feet on the ground,
I´ve cultivated a quiet heart.
Like a baby content in its mother’s arms,
my soul is baby content.
Wait, Julia, for God. Wait with hope.
Hope now; hope always!
Brilliant, isn’t it? This ridiculous and funny view of our attempts to rule and dominate! It´s good to take it with humor. And our behavior often really is childish.
-To rule a roost or a chicken ladder! Picking my way up in the pecking order in the chicken coop, so that everyone dances to my tune, and I have the best place at the top.
-To be king of the mountain, or the person who determines how the others are allowed to get closer and who tries to observe if they are cheating or doing anything wrong.
-Meddling where I have no business. (No comment!)
-Fantasizing grandiose plans on how to become famous and successful.
-Is my head up in the clouds or do I keep my feet on the ground?
I don’t want to do any of that. I don’t want to be proud and bossy.
But that´s what I want to do:
-Cultivate a quiet heart.
I like this expression: to cultivate. According to the dictionary, it means to improve by labor, care or study. It definitely means work and discipline!
You can also cultivate plants by creating optimal growing conditions. And since my heart is like a garden that I am to cultivate so that God’s seed can grow well in it… I want to cultivate a quiet heart.
When is my heart quiet? When it is full and satisfied. (Although then it can also chuckle with joy!)
-The psalmist writes that his soul is as full and content as a baby in its mother’s arms. But that doesn’t mean work, you only need a mother! When I cultivate a quiet heart, I know what fills me up, or rather, who!
What I need and really want, I get from God. Not by taking care of it myself, not by fighting my way up. But by letting myself be taken up.
If childish, then right!
-Wait for God, my soul! He gives you what you need. He doesn’t forget you. He doesn’t overlook or overhear you. He loves you like a mother. He’s there.
Don’t despair if you can’t make it and your heart is restless. Don’t lose hope!
Wait with hope! Look forward to what he will give.
And it is so much more comfortable to be in his arms than on a chicken ladder or on a lonely mountain.
Hello, my name is Julia Kramer-Wiesgrill, and I am Austrian. I live in Hall in Tirol, in an ancient little town in the alps, but I was born near Vienna.
My husband and I came here to work at a small church and help in different tasks. We have three teenagers (15,17,19) and are very proud of them! I love reading and writing, going for a walk in the woods by my own, and I love water (creeks, lakes, the sea). I also love cats, Earl Grey tea and chocolate. I really like to learn and it´s the same with my spiritual journey, where I´m not even close to the finish line yet. God is so much bigger than I know and his love for me so much deeper and profound than I can imagine. He is the one who gave a new identity to me. I am his beloved child, no matter what! In knowing this I become free and courageous, because he is the one standing behind me, covering my back.
Elizabeth encouraged me to follow my dream of writing and gave me some really helpful tips to actually get started some years ago! Now my first book (a children´s novel about friendship) will be published next year (in German)! I´m very excited about it! Elizabeth pushed me to start my own blog, which I did during the pandemic. You are welcome to visit my blog! https://juliakramer-english.jimdofree.com/
Dear Friends, Chers Amis,
I had planned to send this out earlier, but the month of January 2022 has been one of the hardest in our lives. My father, who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in July, 2021, took a turn for the worse a few weeks ago. At the same time, our 5th grandchild, Cori Lucille Musser, was born. She is perfect but Lacy, her mother, suffered a pelvic misalignment during delivery and is unable to walk. Paul and I have been going back and forth from our home near where Andrew and Lacy live to the Atlanta area (two hours south) to help care for my father in his last days. We value your prayers in both of these situations.
J’avais prévu de l’envoyer plus tôt, mais le mois de janvier 2022 a été l’un des plus difficiles de notre vie. Mon père, qui a reçu un diagnostic de cancer du pancréas en juillet 2021, a empiré il y a quelques semaines. Au même moment, notre 5ème petite-fille, Cori Lucille Musser, est née. Elle est parfaite mais Lacy, sa mère, a subi un désalignement pelvien lors de l’accouchement et est incapable de marcher depuis deux semaines. Paul et moi avons fait des allers-retours depuis notre maison près de l’endroit où vivent Andrew et Lacy jusqu’à la région d’Atlanta (à deux heures au sud) pour aider à prendre soin de mon père dans ses derniers jours. Nous apprécions vos prières dans ces deux situations.
2021 in review; un vol d’oiseau sur 2021:
avril: La famille à Atlanta chez le papa d’Elizabeth pour Pâques.
enfin une dédicace de livre au Swan Coach House avec ma chère amie et artiste Jill Steenhuis;
juin: Vacances sur l’île de Hilton Head en Caroline du Sud
avec la maman de Paul, notre chere ‘Mamaw’, sa soeur, et sa niece a Kentucky
Août: enfin chez nous à après un an aux Etats-Unis
le nouveau bâtiment de notre église au nord de Lyon, France
Nous avons la joie de de célébrer le premier culte avec nos frères et sœurs en Christ dans le nouveau bâtiment
novembre: de retour aux USA pour une conférence avec notre mission en Californie
L’équipe pastorale pour notre mission se retrouve pour la première fois en personne en l’état de Washington
Le jour de l’action de grâce à Atlanta chez le papa d’Elizabeth
Mamaw a créé une fête de noël pour les résidents de sa maison de retraite
décembre: une ange, un berger, et le narrateur pour le sketch de noël à l’église
Cori Lucille Musser, née le 16 janvier, 2022
Jésus dit : “Je suis avec vous pour toujours, jusqu’à la fin des temps.” Evangile de Matthieu
With much love, Elizabeth and Paul
Avec toute notre affection, Elizabeth et Paul
These last weeks have been tumultuous. We are in the final stages of my dad’s journey on earth. His graduation approaches soon. We continue to covet your prayers and you can find out more here.
At the same time, our son, Andrew, and his wife, Lacy, are on a journey of their own. On Sunday January 23, Lacy gave birth to beautiful and healthy Cori Lucille Musser, or ‘Cinco’ as they call her, #5 in their tribe of children. Lacy suffered a pelvic misalignment and has been bedridden and in great pain. She cannot walk. Please intercede for her healing and pray for Andrew and family.
Paul and I are going back and forth from Chattanooga area where we and Andrew’s family live and Atlanta to be with my father. We’re in Atlanta now. I’m beyond exhausted, but feel God’s loving presence around us all.
Thank you, merci, for your love and prayers.
I very much appreciate Frederick Buechner’s writing. I’m reading through his book Beyond Words: Daily Readings in the ABCs of Faith, a collection of definitions. Buechner’s unique prose makes you laugh and cry in the same paragraph and then makes you wince and nod. His definition of neurotic really resonated with me. Perhaps it will resonate with you too.
Neurotic: A minister began to preach by saying, “To start with, I’m just as neurotic as everybody else,” and there was an audible sigh of relief from the entire congregation. Anxiety, depression, hypochondria, psychosomatic aches and pains, fear of things like heights and crowds-there’s almost nobody who can’t lay claim to at least a few of them. They involve an utterly fruitless expenditure of energy. They result in an appalling waste of time. Yet maybe there’s something to be said for them anyhow.
Neurotics don’t lose their sense of reality like people who think they’re a poached egg or that somebody’s going to blow poison gas under the door while they’re asleep. You might even say that they have a heightened sense of reality. They sense everything that’s really there and then some. They don’t understand why the peculiar things that are going on inside their heads are going on, but at least they’re more or less in touch with what’s going on inside their heads and realize not only that they’re peculiar themselves, but that so are lots of other people. That’s probably why neurotics are apt to be more sympathetic than most and, unless their particular neurosis happens to be nonstop talking or antisocial behavior, why they make such good listeners.
You wouldn’t want one of them operating on your brain or flying you across the Andes in a jet or in charge of things when there’s a red alert, but when it comes to writing poems and novels or painting pictures or even preaching sermons, it’s hard to beat them. Their overactive imaginations, which are a curse elsewhere, are a blessing there. Personally speaking, their oversensitivity may be their undoing, but professionally it’s one of their strongest cards. They may see and hear and feel more than is good for them, but there’s no question that, with the exception of their immediate families, it’s good for everybody else.
“A thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan, to harass me, to keep me from being too elated,” Saint Paul wrote to his friends (2 Corinthians 12:7). Nobody knows just what the problem was that he was referring to, but you don’t have to read many of his Letters to suspect that he would have been among those who sighed with relief at the minister’s opening confession. His violent swings of mood from deep depression to exaltation. His passionate likes and dislikes. His boasting. His dark sense of guilt. Almost certainly it was some sort of neurosis that was bugging him. Three times he prayed to God to get rid of it for him, he said, but God never did. Maybe it’s not so hard to guess why.
A psychological cure would no doubt have greatly enriched Paul’s own life at the time but would have greatly impoverished generations of his readers’ lives ever since. “Through his wounds we are healed” are words to be reserved only for the most grievous Wound, the holiest Healing (Isaiah 53:5). But maybe in some small measure they can be applied to people like Paul too. Their very hang-ups and crotchets and phobias and general quirkiness give their kind-and, through them, give us-insights into the human heart that few can match. It’s a high price for them to pay for our comfort and edification, but where they come closest to a kind of oddball holiness of their own is the feeling they give you sometimes that even if they could get out of paying it, they wouldn’t.
~Frederick Buechner, originally published in Whistling in the Dark and later in Beyond Words
At the beginning of each new year, I have done a yearly Examen (links at the end of this post)–it’s an ancient practice that involves looking back and looking forward, asking myself questions like: where have I seen God at work in my life? When did I feel his absence? What were the highs of last year? What were the lows? What can I change in the coming year to align myself more closely with Christ?
I’ve been reflecting this new year on something that happened exactly 40 years ago, on New Year’s Eve. I call it the night when God intercepted my life.
This is a short article I wrote sometime in the 1990s, remembering that night:
I sat in a crowded auditorium with 17,000 other students in December 1981. In my hand I held a pledge card. I seemed to be watching myself from a distance as I placed a check in the box marked, I believe God is calling me into short-term missions.
Surely this wasn’t really me writing that. I was about to graduate from a prestigious university. I came from a wealthy background. There were many things ahead for me but surely not missions. I had come to Urbana ’81 kicking and screaming. But God had gotten my attention when a staff member with International Teams had spoken on France’s need for missionaries.
As a French major who had spent a semester in France, I knew of the country’s spiritual apathy. This mission offered eight months of training with teammates in Chicago before going to the field for two years. Two years, training and team. Maybe that was a commitment I could make.
I ended up training in Chicago and then flying to France with my four teammates. My friends were all marrying. I was very single, living on a meager salary that I had to raise myself. I left the comfort of being “somebody” in America to becoming “nobody” in France. And I left dear family and friends.
Suddenly I was back in school. Humility 101. No one cared about my posh upbringing or spiritual and academic accolades in the dried up mining town of Firminy, France where I worked. My quick wit was reduced to baby’s babble as I led Bible studies in my floundering French.
But I saw God provide in miraculous ways for my physical, financial and spiritual needs as I trusted Him. I learned how to truly confess sins and confront in love with my team members. I watched the power of prayer overturn Satan’s plans as we cried out to God in many traumatic situations. I saw God use me, with my talents and gifts, to change lives for Him. I felt very rich indeed.
I am now back in France with International Teams as a church-planting missionary. But I am not alone. There was even a marvelous fringe benefit to my short-term experience. I married my handsome, servant-hearted teammate, Paul. Not such a bad deal after all.
Fast forward to December 28, 2021. I was taking a day with the Lord to once again examine these past forty years. And ask the Lord this question: Now what?
Life has surprised us all in 2020 and 2021. The seasons have changed in unpredictable ways globally and individually. As I sat with the ‘Now What’ question, I was pondering the Biola Advent devotional for December 22 (because life happens and I fall behind). Sometimes I like to read the ‘About’ section in the devotions, which gives a brief bio of the poet and artists highlighted for that day. As I read about Antonio Lucio Vivaldi and Gerald Manly Hopkins, here’s what I wrote:
Vivaldi in Vienna, died in poverty
Gerald Manly Hopkins never published a single poem. His friend did that, after Hopkins’ death.
Yet these two men are widely regarded now as the some of the best in their genre.
They did what they were created to do. They composed, they wrote, because they could not not do it. Even if it meant poverty or denying priestly promises.
And today, dear Lord, almost 40 years to the day from when You intercepted my life and called me to another way, I come before You and ask:
Should I keep doing what I’ve been doing for all these years?
I know the answer, at least I think I do.
How can I stop? It is the air I breath to serve You through loving others and to write stories to inspire. Lord, I was doing these two things as a child. My first thought whenever I met another human was of the soul. Did this child know You?
And my first inclination as a child when moved by life or when I wanted to express love to another was through poetry.
So how can I stop what is my very lifeblood and heartbeat?
But still there begs another question, Lord. How?
How do I live in this new now? 40 years later?
Today I am asking, Lord, as I sit out on the new little porch beside the new sunroom with the spring water trickling over the stones, the squirrels scampering through the leaves, and the first cardinal flitting far off on the limbs of an oak tree, shocking red in the midst of all the brown.
Today in that parenthesis of time between Your coming and the New Year, I am also making a parenthesis in my life and seeking to hear You once again. Not that You are ever silent, but lately, Lord, lately life has kept me moving forward, my devotions simply a 10-minute meditation from Lectio 365 and Biola’s Advent Project. Both rich and short, keeping me on track.
But today, I consecrate time to You. Time to sit, like Mary, to treasure up the past, and ponder what the future might be.
I think it not a coincidence that on this day set aside, I listened to these words from Lectio 365:
Again, just like Simeon, Anna shows up just at the right place at the right time! In Alcoholics Anonymous, they say that ‘coincidences are God’s way of being anonymous.’
Jean-Pierre de Caussade says it this way:
‘Those who have abandoned themselves to God always lead mysterious lives and receive from him exceptional and miraculous gifts by means of the most ordinary, natural and chance experiences in which there appears to be nothing unusual.’*
This, Lord, is the testimony of my life, my ‘Yes! Exactly!’ This!
For all my life You have come in the coincidence, the mystery of You loving me in the midst of a normal day when I needed once again to be surprised by Your presence. When a quote from a French theologian interrupts my thoughts and resonates so strongly as I remember that night, forty years ago, when Your Spirit blew across the stadium filled with 17,000 students, and I, manila cardstock in my hands, looked down and checked the box that said Yes.
May you find your ‘Yes’ to the Lord in 2022. Happy New Year!
***If you are interested in prayerfully taking time to look back at 2021 and look forward to 2022 with an Annual Examen, here are a few resources.
The Great Annual Examen by Potter’s Inn
Becky Eldredge’s Annual Examen
Sacred Ordinary Days’ Yearly Examen
ELIZABETH MUSSER writes ‘entertainment with a soul’ from her writing chalet—tool shed—outside Lyon, France. Find more about Elizabeth’s novels at www.elizabethmusser.com and on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and her blog, Letters to the Lord.
Dear Friends,
It is such a gift and a privilege to share with you all today. I am so grateful to my dear friend, Elizabeth Musser, for her kindness in giving me the opportunity to share once again what’s on my heart right now.
In this Christmas season, I am reflecting on the beauty of the seaside and the ocean, as I recently began a series of paintings depicting the seaside scenes in Florida. Like many of you, I love a long walk on the beach, early in the morning, with only a few other travelers, who all want to enjoy the sounds, sights and smells of the ocean tranquility. As I walk, I pray and listen to hear the sounds around me, reflecting on the goodness of God, even as the difficulties of life come and go.
“For the LORD is the great God, the great King above all gods. In his hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to him. The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land.” Psalm 95:5
Just like the ocean’s tide, the trials of life flow in and then flow back out like the tide returns to the open ocean once again. The easy times of life come in and then leave again, the hard times of life come in and then they also leave again. It is fleeting, trying to chase happiness or capture a feeling of joy in a bottle. As a painter, I try to find that moment and tell that story. Hopefully, it transports the viewer to another place where they also can draw near to the goodness of God and his faithfulness. That is my sincere prayer and dearest wish as I create a painting.
Every storm looks so overwhelming when it comes, but we serve the God who parted the Red Sea for the people of Israel, walked on water on the Sea of Galilee and with a commanding word, and He calmed the storm for his disciples.
“O LORD God of Hosts, who is like You? O mighty LORD, Your faithfulness surrounds You. You rule the raging sea; when its waves mount up, You still them.” Psalm 89:8-9
It is quite remarkable that inside the powerful hurricane, there is a calm and quiet eye of the storm, where all is still and nothing is dangerous. I have been in the eye of the storm before, many times, yet I have also been in the outer bands of the storm as well, feeling the full effect of the wind and rain.
I love the story of how Jesus calmed the waves of the sea, while his disciples were fearful for their lives during the storm. He was sleeping during a dangerous storm while they were in their fishing boat – I don’t know about you, but I rarely have ever been able to sleep during a violent storm. His disciples had to wake him up just so that He could save them from the storm. Below is the account of the story in the book of Matthew telling how it happened.
“Then he got into the boat and his disciples followed him. Suddenly a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!”
He replied, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.
The men were amazed and asked, “What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!”
Matthew 8:23-27
The words of Jesus are so surprising, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” –
In a moment, He “rebuked the winds and the waves” and it “was completely calm”.
And the fact that it required faith in Christ, trusting that God would protect his people, and that with a word, He calmed the seas, is so comforting to me.
If God does not calm the seas in our lives, it is not because he can’t.
If we don’t have enough faith, He doesn’t stop loving us, and He will still take care of us.
I know all of these things, and yet I still doubt God’s power sometimes.
But when I think about this, walking by the ocean, listening to the sounds of life around me, I am comforted by the power in the goodness of God.
I pray that I will continue to find the beauty in the midst of the storms of life, enjoy each moment of peace that the passing storm brings and try to look for the silver lining of every cloud. Most of all, in the new year, I pray that I will draw nearer to the Lord, trusting with the faith of a child, able to remember how many times He has pulled me out of the storm or calmed the seas in my life.
“Lord, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory
in the heavens.
Through the praise of children and infants
you have established a stronghold against your enemies,
to silence the foe and the avenger.
When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?
You have made them a little lower than the angels
and crowned them with glory and honor.
You made them rulers over the works of your hands;
you put everything under their feet:
all flocks and herds,
and the animals of the wild,
the birds in the sky,
and the fish in the sea,
all that swim the paths of the seas.
Lord, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!”
Psalm 8:1-9
During this blessed holiday season, as we remember the birth of Christ and look forward to the new year, I pray that these words encourage you today. Though the storms of life come and go, the Lord’s goodness never fails and I am celebrating that with all my heart today!
Blessings to you,
Meghan Lacey
Meghan Lacey was raised in sunny and warm climate of Central Florida and has spent the last ten years living in the beautiful foothills of Georgia. She credits her mother, Lyn Lacey, as her inspiration for her artistic endeavors. While still in high school, Meghan received classical drawing and oil painting instruction from Chris DiDomizio from 2008-2012 and watercolor painting instruction from Dylan Scott Pierce from 2009 until 2012. From 2014 to 2015, Meghan took private lessons from portrait artist Leah Burchfield Mantini. She has taken workshops from renowned artists such as Don Sondag, Jordan Sokol, Amaya Gurpide, Mia Bergeron, Anne Blair Brown, Dylan Scott Pierce, Brett Weaver, and Suzy Schultz. During the fall semester of 2016, she studied abroad at Oxford University through the Scholars’ Semester at Oxford, where she studied History of Art as a registered visiting student. Meghan graduated with her B.A. in Art and Design, with a Concentration in Painting and a Minor in Art History at LaGrange College in May of 2017. During the growing season of 2020, she learned the art of organic farming at Serenbe Farms, GA. As of Fall 2021, Meghan is currently pursuing her M.F.A. in Painting, through the Academy of Art University, in San Francisco, CA. She recently was privileged to have her artwork featured in British Vogue’s April, May and June 2021 print and online issues.
Website: www.meghanlacey.com
Instagram: @meghanlaceyartist
Email: meghanlaceyartist@gmail.com
Lord, I asked for a party that I don’t have to give, a party at Christmas, an age-old wish that I used to pronounce in France when I was young and missing Christmas in America. And now I’m older, much older, and living this Christmas season in America and once again asking.
And You gave it, just like that, unexpectedly: Our Sunday School had a Christmas party, and we were invited, even though we hadn’t been able to attend our church in months, because of travels.
I asked for the grandkids to be calm on Sunday when I would have all four with me, alone. When Lena would be toddling all around, and I wanted to let the older kids decorate their little Christmas tree, the one I bought for them because they won’t have one this year, their house being under construction.
And they were calm and fun and good and it was a delight.
I asked for cookies, Lord, or rather, I had a whim yesterday to bake cookies because I didn’t get to bake with the grandkids, as is our tradition. When I got home from getting my hair cut, lo and behold, we’d received a gift box of homemade Snickerdoodles from a precious young couple, our workers in a far off land, along with a note thanking us for all our care for them. That gift and note went above and beyond anything I had asked for.
Years ago, in France, I dreamed of getting to see the grandkids perform in a Christmas play. And this is the fourth year in a row that we’ve gotten to attend their church’s Christmas program.
changed out of his costume when this photo was taken!
And I’ve asked for much more important things, too, Lord. I asked that my father would be healthy enough for us to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas with him, truly delighting in the presence of family. And just last week, my father’s CT scan revealed that the tumor has not spread and in fact looks a little better. And my dad is feeling well and attending many holiday functions! We’ll all be celebrating together for Christmas!
I ask and You give. Sometimes I don’t even really ask, Lord. Sometimes it’s a desire, a whim, that perhaps You planted in my heart so You could simply surprise me with an unexpected joy.
I ask and You give, You surprise, You delight.
But not always, Lord.
Sometimes I spend days and weeks and months and years asking You for something that seems oh, so important. And I don’t get it. And it hurts. Deep down You know that I really don’t want You to answer my prayers my way. What I want is not to want those things anymore, not if they would take my eyes off of You. I want selfish desires to die once and for all. And I want to wait patiently for Your timing to answer the good, hope-filled prayers for my family, my friends, our workers, our world.
There are so many things I asked for that I don’t need. I already have it all. I am blessed among women in my own rite and boy, do I know it. So please let me die to the wanting of what I can’t have. At least not yet. Or maybe help me see that I got it long ago, and it was enough. Let it all be enough.
Because it is, Lord. You are so much more than enough. Please let me concentrate on Your miraculous birth, Your mystery, Your love, Your grace, Your goodness.
You not me.
Advent is all about You coming in the most surprising, confounding way.
God with us.
Please remind me to trust You and believe for all the things I want for others. And for myself. To believe that when I ask, You give. In Your way and Your time.
And that is always better.
Is there something you are asking for that God hasn’t given yet? How would the Lord have you trust Him today?
ELIZABETH MUSSER writes ‘entertainment with a soul’ from her writing chalet—tool shed—outside Lyon, France. Find more about Elizabeth’s novels at www.elizabethmusser.com and on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and her blog, Letters to the Lord.
It’s my husband’s birthday today and I’m celebrating him even as we prepare to celebrate the Birthday Boy, Lord Jesus. Paul’s birthday often gets shuffled among a lot of other things in December. He doesn’t mind. He’s my laid-back love, my patient pastor, my servant-leader, the one whose greatest joy is watching others flourish. He will not be pleased that I chose to post about him today.
I don’t often share how amazing he is and what a gift it is to be married to him. He’s put up with me for almost 40 years. We met in August of 1982 on the campus of International Crusades, our mission agency now called One Collective. We were to be teammates, serving together in short-term missions for three years. For me, it was love at first sight. For him, well, as I often say, it took me three years to convince Paul that we should stay on the same team for the rest of our lives. We married in the summer of 1985. Bits and pieces of our love story are sprinkled throughout my novels, but someday maybe I’ll tell you the real story. It is filled with plot twists and God’s surprises!
I think the best way to honor Paul today is to share a few poems I have written about and for him through the years.
Along with a few photos. Because, as you have doubtless realized, I really enjoy photos.
Joyeux Anniversaire, my precious Paul!
I wrote this poem in 1984 while we were serving as teammates in a dried-up mining town in Eastern France and were suddenly finding ourselves moving toward marriage. It is actually a song, and Paul and I sang it together at our rehearsal dinner. Paul has a gorgeous voice. I do not. He puts up with a lot, as I’ve said.
Tu M’As Offert Un Tres Joli Cadeau
(You Gave Me a Beautiful Gift)
Tu m’as offert un tres joli cadeau.
Oh, Lord, how did you know
The deep desires within my heart?
I’m in awe of Your gentle, gracious Hand
Tearing down the things I’d planned
So You could set me worlds apart.
I was hopeless imagination
With dreams of glory and fame.
I wanted a guy
Who was spiritually “high”
With a list of credits after his name.
I was searching for adventure.
I had carefully imagined the man.
We’d be serving our Lord,
But surely we could afford
To buy some treasures from this land.
Tu m’as offert un tres joli cadeau.
Oh, Lord, I hope You know,
We’re so different, and yet
Where I’m weak, I find that he is strong.
We’re a harmonizing song,
A guitar and flute duet.
‘Cause I like fancy restaurants and dances,
Riding bareback on a horse.
Well dressed men
And art museums,
A French impressionist course.
But he likes peanut butter and chocolate
With a soccer ball at his feet.
A child on his lap,
And an afternoon nap
With Reader’s Digest or Time magazine.
And he likes wearing tee-shirts in winter.
He likes Dempsey Dumpsters in Spring.
A bottle of Coke
And a light-hearted joke
When he smiles, it makes my heart sing.
Tu m’as offert un tres joli cadeau
An eternity ago,
When I took Jesus as my Guide.
Now You’ve given me this very special boy,
And like a child with his new toy,
Let me cling to him with pride.
No, he doesn’t dress real fancy,
But he’s a precious jewel to behold.
‘Cause I looked in his eyes,
And to my surprise,
I found gold.
He’s a treasure from my Jesus
According to His riches above.
He’s abundantly beyond
All that I’d counted on.
He’s my Father’s perfect gift to me of love.
Tu m’as offert un très jolie cadeau.
Summer, 1984
This one was written (another song, ah-hem, that I will not sing for you) the summer before we got married in 1985, fresh home from the mission field, Paul was working at a furniture store, delivering furniture while I planned the wedding in Atlanta.
The Chattanooga Song
Chorus: See Rock City and Ruby Falls
From the highway the billboard calls
But I’m not heading to Chattanooga for sightseeing tours,
I’m bound for Chattanooga ‘cause I am yours
And those signs that I once thought were tacky,
Now they make my heart beat faster
For they lead the way to my fiancé
And our life happily ever after
Chorus
And the sun shines bright on Lookout Mountain
You can see seven states from the top if you want
You can ride the incline and the food’s real fine
At the Chattanooga Choo-Choo Restaurant
Chorus
We’ll build a life in Hixson, Tennessee
Inside our little love nest
And if you’re looking for action we’re the main attraction
‘Cause with you and me together, love’s the best
So come on Rock City, hurry up Ruby Falls
From the highway my heartstrings call
I’m bound for Chattanooga just as fast as I can
‘Cause I’m gonna be the wife of my once-in-a-lifetime man
I can’t wait to be the wife of my once-in-a-lifetime man!
See Rock City and Ruby Falls….
(written while driving back and forth from Atlanta to Chattanooga, summer, 1985)
Years went by and we were missionaries struggling to help start a little church in France.
Song for Paul
–written for his 40th birthday
Strong like the wind in the winter
Gentle like a warm breeze in spring
Kind like the kiss of a kindred heart
Passionate for action and dreams
Light like the laughter of children
Deep when I peer in your soul
Hopeful and happy and humble of heart
The much better half of our whole
Soft is your voice as you sing to me
Wise are your words when you pray
Fun and affection you give to our sons
As your life leads these boys on their way
Time is a test of our promise
And time and again you’ve proved true
Simple and sweet, thoughtful and deep
All of it wrapped up in you
Why you would choose me forever
Is one of the mysteries of love
You are the best gift I ever received
From our most gracious Father above
You are the best gift I ever received
From our most gracious Father above
Elizabeth Musser, December, 1998
I’ve written many other poems for my precious partner and lover Paul, but the last lines of the above poem sum it up best. Apart from my salvation in Christ, he is the best gift I’ve ever received.
What is the best gift you’ve ever received? Take time and thank the Lord for this today!
ELIZABETH MUSSER writes ‘entertainment with a soul’ from her writing chalet—tool shed—outside Lyon, France. Find more about Elizabeth’s novels at www.elizabethmusser.com and on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and her blog, Letters to the Lord.
I welcome again my dear friend and colleague, Kim Platt, with words of wisdom.
Lockdown Notes, April 2021: Roots
I talked to Susan today. I told her about all the things happening in my lockdown life. I told her about it being warmer today when I went for a walk. I told her about the zoom prayer meeting I went to where I was distracted by being the youngest person at 56. I told her about our hearing the squirting noise and discovering our broken shower. I told her about figuring out how my parents can get vaccinated and explaining it to them over WhatsApp. I told her about the suspicious package at the vaccine plant in Wrexham today. I told her that I have very little motivation and how my days seem empty—even though today seemed full.
And she told me about her ageing mother. And about going to a restaurant. She told me about sitting on a porch with friends. She told me about plans to read this year as part of a book club. She told me about her sore arm and headache after getting the vaccine on Sunday. She told me about deadlines. She told me about pressures. She told me about dilemmas and frustrations. She told me how to cut my own hair.
And I seemed to perk up. Because I’ve been through some of those dilemmas and pressures. I haven’t known Susan for very long. In fact I’ve only met her online. But she is sensible and perceptive. She is wise and loyal. She’s my teammate. We have the same vision for pastoral care: workers joyfully thriving in their life and ministry.
I was able to say, ‘yes, that’s a dilemma’ and ‘hey, just get that done’. I was able to laugh. I was able to listen. I was able to encourage, ‘that will come with time.’. I was able to give the time, 2 hours, just because. Because that’s what friends do. That’s what a team does to connect and learn and intentionally support each other.
Teams have to grow the roots in their relationships so that when the wind blows and the tree starts to bend the roots hold fast. It’s seems like the wind blew most of 2020 away in terms of opportunities for teams to meet up, eat together, stay up late together and tell life stories, hold each others babies and worship together. So many team events cancelled. Team retreats postponed, then cancelled. Field conferences have also been rescheduled now, some multiple times.
Maybe you don’t have a defined work team like we do. But you probably have a team even if it isn’t defined by an employers structure. And I’m sure the pandemic has disrupted your team’s connection culture. What can you do to improvise a substitute? This wasn’t my first call with Susan, we’ve had several. But today I picked some fruit. I was listened to. I received the unhurried blessing of time. I basked in the warmth of authentic sharing and I felt lighter afterwards.
Thank you Lord, for friendship in the midst of isolation. Thank you for connection in the midst of barriers. Lord, thank you for places to talk in these days of limitations. Thank you for Susan.
***********
Finally in November 2021 we had a team retreat and I met Susan. But that’s not an accurate phrase anymore. Of course I’d already ‘met’ Susan, already forged a deep relationship and already been blessed by her presence on our team.
We’ve recently had a powerful storm blow through our area and many trees were lost. The assessment is that this happened because the winds were from a different direction and the trees weren’t accustomed to strong winds from the North. Perhaps this is a way of describing our pandemic experiences. A fierce wind came from an unexpected direction. Some of us were just putting down roots—searching for nourishment and stability. We had to search hard and hang on tight. Jeremiah describes it like this.
“But blessed are those who trust in the Lord and have made the Lord their hope and confidence.They are like trees planted along a riverbank, with roots that reach deep into the water. Such trees are not bothered by the heat or worried by long months of drought. Their leaves stay green, and they never stop producing fruit.” Jeremiah 17:7,8
Yes, Lord Jesus, you are our hope and our confidence. Even in times of isolation and limitations.
Whatever storm you are facing, keep working on roots. Be intentional about friendships—even on days that feel like the wind might topple you over.
I’ve been living cross-culturally since 1988. I love listening to people and helping them hear themselves and hopefully hear God. I love speaking and teaching. I’m recovering from breast cancer that shook me to the foundations in 2017. I live by the seaside in Wales and work from home with my husband. I’ve raised 4 children in countries ‘foreign’ to me and am now enjoying 2 grandchildren. I’m a member care specialist with One Collective. You can read more of my devotional thoughts on my blog: https://plattmom.blogspot.com
Elizabeth Musser 