Shaped and Formed

Do you have any idea how amazing—how wonderful you are?

The Lord God, Himself, shaped you inside and out.

Meme with prayer in all shades of brown of a potter forming a clay piece

He knitted you together, nestling you within the warmth of your mother long before you ever took your first breath.

woman's hands holding pink knitting needles and working with soft pink yarn

You are His unique creation and He filled you with the senses of wonder and awe.

Adorable and very happy toddler on a merry-go-round. green shirt, gold pole

With His excellence, He created you with utmost attention to the tiniest detail of your being.

His work is amazing and He tucked this knowledge deep within your soul.

King David writes in his Psalm:

“For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb. I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well” (Psalm 139:13-14 NKJV).

The Lord God walked down the staircase of heaven with you cradled in His arms.

You—your life—is the story.

“Life is God’s novel. Let him write it.” Isaac Bashevis Singer.

How has God shaped and formed your life?

Love,

Sally

amazon.com/author/sallychambers

The Way It Is

The World

“The world is wet,” said the little frog;

“What isn’t water is mostly bog.”

“Oh, not at all! said the little fly;

“It’s full of spiders, and very dry!”

“The world is dark,” said the moth polite.”

“With ruddy windows and bows of light.”

“My poor young friends, you have much to learn.

“The world is green.” said the swaying fern.

“O listen to me,” sang the little lark:

“It’s wet and dry, and it’s green and dark.

To think that’s all would be very wrong;

It’s arched with blue, and it’s filled with song.”

Author Unknown

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

We look at our world and see many faces

We live in a whirl of various places

No matter how different our worlds may appear

God made us all and holds us all dear

♥ ♥ ♥

The heavens are Yours, the earth also is Yours; the world and all its fullness, You have founded them. Psalm 89:11

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. John 3:16

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. He who does not love does not know God, for God is love. 1 John 4:7-8

♥ ♥ ♥

Their stories. Every one of those little characters up there in that poem sees their world in a different way, believing “this is the way the whole world is.”

What perspective do you hold for “the world” you live in?

Me? I like the idea of hearing the world sing!

And speaking of singing, I’m very happy about the way sales of my new Young Adult novel, The Stonekeepers are going!

Happy and Blessed New Year 2016 to all!

Love,

Sally

 

Running Toward Christmas

This year, I’m running toward Christmas . . .

Running like crazy, with joy, as a child would run toward a father or a beloved big brother. Running headlong, arms open, as fast as my little legs will carry me . . .

Into joy

With my eyes focused on the Christ Child.I run to remember Bethlehem one star-strewn night.

To remember a hillside of quiet sheep, resting after a shining day full of grazing.

I run to remember . . .

I settle back in against the hard wood pew, breathing in the light pine scent from fresh wreaths of pine boughs that grace the church as Christmas nears.

I close my eyes for a few seconds, thankful for a good year, anticipating the final two holidays before a brand new year.

Reverend Hatch rises and walks to the pulpit.

Like a silent snow, holy quiet falls over the sanctuary

My back straightens as the Holy Spirit nudges me into deep listening. I pull in a breath.

I’m about to hear something wonderful.

Hatchie, as we lovingly call him, looks out over us and smiles and begins

“When God walked down the stairway of heaven with a tiny Baby in His arms, He came bearing the greatest gift the world has ever been given.”

The words race like a gentle fire into my mind, body, soul, and spirit—into the realm of wonder. Brushstrokes of color flow across my imagination.

From impossible white clouds in a star-pierced violet blue night sky, a figure of brilliant light descends a wide staircase.

Within God’s arms, a small, moving, living Being nestles in a blanket of light.

Above them hovers a transparent Presence, crystal waves of movement aglow with a palpable sense of power and love.

The Holy enters Creation.

Everything in me wants to kneel before the Holy Triumvirate.

I cannot move, captured in breathless awe.

The Gift.

Delivered as I was and you were.

The Holy into humanity. Born to fill the void we came into the world with.

Born to fill the emptiness that nothing—no one but Jesus—can fill.

God is love, but He is just.

Born to save and free us from sin, He, the Lamb of God, came to sacrifice His humanity in our place . . .

and to prepare a place for us in Eternity.

God’s offered Gift.

Is our choice.

Jesus told us “In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also” (John 14:2-3 NKJV).

An angel spoke to shepherds and to us “. . . and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid. Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord'” (Luke 2:9b-11 NKJV).

To the woman at the well “Jesus answered and said to her, ‘Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life’” (John 4:13-14 NKJV).

Will you run in thankfulness toward Christmas? Will you look up in joy and wonder and remember . . . ?

If you have a special Christmas memory I’d love for you to share it in the comments!

And just in case I don’t post again before Christmas, I’ll leave you with this~

A very Merry Christmas full of joy and blessings to you and those you love!

Love,

Sally

Elegant Staircases     #Christmasjoy    #MerryChristmas

Try Again

“I was that far from pitching the whole thing right straight into the fireplace!”

She was that far from tears, too.

My friend was so frustrated after her first book proposal was rejected that she wanted to burn her manuscript and wondered if she really should even be a writer.

And, her passion and determination to make a decision whether to give up or keep writing as she talked to me,

woke up my poetry gene.

I remember those feelings.

Bright leaping flames in the fireplace
A red-yellow study of arson and lace
Beckon me feed it these papers I hold
Truly, I want to, if the truth be told.

The pages engulfed in the frenzied inferno
Would satisfy something so deeply internal
To see them consumed in the hot conflagration
To see them destroyed would soothe agitation.

But what if God asks me to try once again
To review and pursue and pick up my pen
To steel all my shakiness, regroup and pray
It might be for my soul, a much better day.

So, Lord, if I turn my back on the fire
And stare at these pages with fresh new desire
Will you kindle in me your sparks, and renew
The dream you placed in my heart so to do?

Please lead me and guide me—stay by my side
O, Lord, inspire me as you change the tide.

+ + +

My friend and I are both thankful we decided to never, ever give up!

“And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up” (Galatians 6:9 ESV).

“But you, be strong and do not let your hands be weak, for your work shall be rewarded!” (2 Chronicles 15:7 NKJV)

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11 NIV).

“For the vision is yet for an appointed time; but at the end it will speak, and it will not lie. Though it tarries, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry” (Habakkuk 2:3 NKJV)

Have you ever been tempted to give up on a dream of your own?

I’d for you to leave a comment!

Love,

Sally

About the Norman Rockwell painting photo by Cliff via Flickr CC

Jo Seated on the Old Sofa from “The Most Beloved American Writer”, Woman’s Home Companion, December 1937, oil on canvas, 32 x 25 in.

Rockwell traveled to Louisa May Alcott’s home in Concord, Massachusetts, before beginning illustrations for a serialized biography of her life. Alcott’s book, Little Women, became an immediate classic when it was published in 1868, and was a hit again in 1933 when George Cukor’s film adaptation won an Oscar for Best Screenplay. Its message—that family counts more than wealth, and happiness comes to those who help the less fortunate—was an apt revival subject in Depression-era America.

americanart.si.edu/exhibitions/online/tellingstories/

Bowls, Baskets, and Blessings

“Blessed shall be your basket and your kneading bowl.”
Deuteronomy 28:5

Autumn, bowls, baskets and baking just seem to blend.

I close my eyes and I’m swept back into childhood to a cozy warm kitchen.

Come with me!

Smells wonderful in here.

Sunlight makes my mother’s hair glisten. I climb up onto the stool beside her.

I breathe in the scent of a heating oven and fresh dough in Mom’s big wooden kneading bowl.

My gaze roams the kitchen counter laden with a bags of flour and sugar, glass measuring cups, and measuring spoons.

Close by is a bottle of oil, a round blue box of salt and a container of snow-white vegetable fat. Mom lets me stick my fingers into the satiny white stuff so I can help “grease” the metal pans.

Over there is the big silver flour sifter with a screen in the bottom and a handle that makes a funny noise when she lets me squeeze it so the flour sifts through.

I pull the wrapper from the magical little cake of fresh yeast that’s ready to go into the next batch of dough.

Oh, Lord, Bread of Life, thank you for the gift of our wondrous senses.

There’s nothing quite like the sight of my mother’s beautiful hands as she kneads the shapeless dough and gives it form in her big wooden bowl.

Or the puffy soft feel of raised dough against my fist when I help punch it down to rise again.

Or the scent of baked homemade bread filling the house.

Or the sound of the ticking timer that matches the beat of my heart as I wait to taste and feel the blend of soft warm bread and melted butter on my tongue.

Jesus, Bread of Life, thank you for blessing our sturdy kneading bowls and overflowing baskets.

And you’ve probably baked bread with your own little ones by your side as I have and as my daughter and her daughter have.

Baking bread together is as much a tradition as breaking bread together at the dinner table

or breaking it together at the Lord’s table when we remember Him as He’s asked us to

or sharing bread with others who have little or none.

Bread.

It is so much more.

Do you have a bread story? ☺ I’d love to have you share it in a comment

Love,

Sally

“Then Jesus said to them, ‘Most assuredly, I say to you, Moses did not give you the bread from heaven, but My Father gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is He who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.’” John 6:32 33
Jesus said “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.” John 6:51
Jesus said “I am the bread of life.” John 6:48

All scripture NKJV

Need a Christmas gift for your favorite readers?

Think about giving them a copy of the new novel, The Stonekeepers.

Click on the photo of the book to take you directly to the web page where you can purchase it.

B and F Cover Capture

Back and front cover image of novel The Stonekeepers

 

Are You There?

 

Are you there, God?

Where are you?

You seem to have disappeared like my peace of mind.

My trust is all shaky—wavery.

Maybe I’m the one who’s gone?

I mean, Lord, it’s been like a very bad hair day.

I know in my heart that it isn’t you who moved.

Why can’t I just rise above the things of this world?

Why do I let things get to me so easily?

I know.

I know all the reasons I let them in are real, Lord . . .

. . .  that I live in a fallen world. I’ll always have troubles. Eve and fruit and a garden, all those things and more . . .

But I get so tired.

Sometimes I just feel like running away.

I know it’s just me—how I’m feeling right now—it’ll pass.

Won’t it?

Come here to Me, My child.

“Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light” (Matthew 11:29-30).

And God was the first to ask the question, Where are you? “Then the Lord God called to Adam and said to him, ‘Where are you?'” (Genesis 3:9)

“Oh, sing to the Lord a new song! For He has done marvelous things” (Psalm 98:1a)

“He shall cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you shall take refuge; His truth shall be your shield and buckler” (Psalm 91:4).

Flickr - Image by Lynn ~ Off and On

No,

I don’t feel like that today . . .

but I did a little while back.

Our lives are like that,

Up and down days come and go.

But our God never changes, never stops loving us, is always ready to pick us up, dust us off, and hold us to His heart.

So!

What do you do instead of running away on a bad day?

Or maybe you do run away for an hour or two? ☺

I’d love to have your comments.

Love,

Sally

All scripture is NKJV

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Do you love a good read with a twisty plot and well-drawn characters, a light thread of romance? Something inspirational, contemporary, with suspense that won’t let you sleep or do the laundry? One that insists that you go to the next chapter rather than to stop there to breathe? The Stonekeepers is all that and more.

Here are a couple of snippets from reviews, where to find my Author’s Page. While there, you’re a click away from where to go to get the novel:

5 star review “Mystery, suspense, typical teen angst, romance and world travel, The Stonekeepers has it all.”

5 star review “Mystery and romance. What else could one want in a story? Well, The Stonekeepers definitely fits those categories, but it doesn’t stop there.

Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/author/sallychambers

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Rachel’s Story

I can’t help but follow him this last day before we leave Jerusalem to return to Nazareth. He usually stays with his brothers and friends, but today’s different. I watch him walk away from them and not even one notices that he left.

But I do.

And I follow him.

My palms are damp and my belly is full of butterflies. I should stay with the young women, but I won’t.

“Rachel, you’re as stubborn and curious as old Sol!” my father often tells me, ruffling my hair and giving our donkey a swat on his ornery behind.

My friend knows where he is going. I want to see where.

My mother died when I was born, twelve years ago, the same month Jesus was born. My father and I travel with Jesus and his family every year to celebrate the Passover Feast in Jerusalem.

We live close to each other in Nazareth. My father repairs rooftops here and in nearby cities. I stay with Jesus’ family while my father works.

And today, in Jerusalem, I follow Jesus.

To the temple.

I go where I’m not supposed to go, and my heart thumps hard in my chest, but no one seems to notice me.

I watch my friend walk up to the circle of men—teachers, rabbis—men who stand and sit on worn stone steps in a shaded alcove. Deep in conversation, several have scrolls spread across their laps.

What are you doing, Jesus . . .

I draw in a breath. The scent of burnt offerings rolls past me in puffs of heated dust that makes me rub my eyes. I press the folds of my light robe around me, and lean against a pillar in the shadows.

One of the teachers reads aloud.

Jesus sits on a step, right in the midst of the rabbis.

He’s listening.

I listen too.

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me, because the Lord has anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.”

The rich voice hesitates, then ceases. A collective intake of breath rustles through the men, as if a freshening wind has sighed through trees, then silence.

The teacher’s eyes narrow and his fingers tighten around the handles of the Isaiah Scroll. He glares at my friend.

Jesus stands, his dark eyes touch on the teacher then move to rest gently on each of the rabbis, one-by-one. His voice, firm and strong, he repeats the scripture, every word.

Adonai Hashem, protect Jesus from punishment.

My hands fly to my face. I want to fall on my knees, but I must not be discovered. The solid pillar seems to hold me.

Jesus gives them no time to reprimand him. He nods toward the white-bearded rabbi who sits, unmoving, against the rough beige stone of  the temple wall.

And as if answering the old teacher’s unspoken question, Jesus speaks of the Coming One, repeating words of the prophets. Words I’ve heard my father speak.

What are you saying, Jesus . . . 

I watch stern expressions change from anger to awe as my friend, answers questions no man could know.

And my ears burn with what I hear my friend saying to the teachers.

I stay, listen, and watch until the sun grazes the rooftops with heated bronze rays . . .

Until I give up and will my feet to run.

I’m to leave early with my father. He has promised a side trip to see cousins. I’m suddenly anxious to return in time to pack my things.

Only when I return to Nazareth do I learn what happened. His mother and father had traveled a day before they knew he was not with the company returning to Nazareth. It took them three days before they finally found him in the temple sitting with the teachers.

No one but his mother understood when Jesus explained.  But she listened with a knowing smile as I confessed to her what I’d done, what I’d heard.

And I was to hear it once again.

This time, in Nazareth.

We’re much older now. Jesus’ father died four years ago. Like Jesus’ mother, I am widowed, but with no children. Jesus is no longer the sun-browned, rough-robed, boy I knew.

Yesterday, along with His family, I’ve welcomed Him home. Like quicksilver Jesus has slipped in and out of our lives since the signs began in Cana. He’s been away for over a month this time.

Today, with His mother, I stand near the door of the synagogue and listen. Together, we hear Jesus read from the Isaiah Scroll, hear Him say the words of the prophet, His voice even and authoritative.Mary grasps my hand.

I close my eyes. I’m twelve again, listening to a rabbi’s reading of the same prophecy my Friend speaks into the tense air of the synagogue in this moment.

But it’s not the same. Three times, Jesus emphasizes a single word, Me.

“. . . upon Me . . . anointed Me . . . sent Me

With all the humility I remember, He hands the scroll to the attendant, sits down, and continues to speak

“Today this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

Mary’s hand trembles. There is more as He speaks to them in a proverb . . .

It begins with a ripple, and rushes like a flood through the crowd.

Sudden anger from the men inside, an instant change from their approval of His earlier gracious words. Jesus is silent now as they rise to their feet. He allows them to lay hands on Him, permits them to take Him outside and to the cliff edge.

Will they throw Him over the edge? Kill Him? My heart clenches with dread.

We follow.

Maybe tears cause the blur, the smear of color and movement as if time melts the scene with the heat of its passage.

I don’t know how . . .

But in the midst of the blur, the figure of Jesus, the clarity of His body encased in golden light, moves through the crowd untouched.

His mother knows His Truth. As she ministered to me when my firstborn died in my arms, Mary began to share her many stories. They came from her heart along with the balm of her comfort in the years since. She knows it will not be for long, but she will follow Him, her firstborn Son.

I will too.

Maybe it will be at a distance, perhaps unseen. But Adonai has graced me with the means to follow. I will stay near her, and follow Him.

Jesus was my friend when He needed to be “about His Father’s business”. Now, He is still my friend and more. He is my Lord.

♥ ♥ ♥

No one knows what Jesus listened to the teachers say or what words he spoke to them. We are only told that those who heard and spoke with Him in the temple were astonished at His understanding and His answers to their questions. And like the three days before His resurrection, no one knows what happened during those three days before Jesus was found by his parents, with the teachers.

God knows. And I’m curious enough to let my imagination have free rein with a story based on the scriptures from Luke 2:39-52, Isaiah 61:1-2a, and Luke 4:22a

The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity.

Albert Einstein

God gifted each of us with a lively imagination. How does using yours enrich your walk with Him?

I’d love for you to share with me in a comment!

Love,

Sally