Cinderella and Hope

As the rooster crowed off in the distance, I sleepily woke to this scene from Elf in my thoughts:



...but it wasn't Buddy jumping up and down about Santa coming, it was ME jumping up and down and screaming like Buddy about Jesus.  I KNOW HIM, I KNOW HIM.

Talk about waking with a smile...and there was no Folgers in my cup~

(I don't drink coffee anymore!)

Think about the reality of telling people, "I know Him.  I know Him.  This is what He's like."

This is what I dream of for this year.  This is my passion.  To walk so closely to Jesus that when His name is spoken, something inside of my being leaps with joy and I exclaim, "I know Him!"

My guess is that if Daddy woke me up with this visual, I can bank on it!

I sat up, giggling to myself, pondering the magnitude of that much zeal for Him when I saw myself as Cinderella...missing my shoe.  (Not sure where the movie themes keep coming from and the switch from one movie to another one!) I saw Him draw near.  He had the shoe!

My heart's cries have reached His ears and my Prince of Peace has come with the answer.  He knows where the missing shoe is. 
I don't have to search for it. 
As He bends down to put it on my foot, I am satisfied. 
It fits. 
I fit. 
I would love to write that we danced together, but the reality is the dance hasn't begun yet. 
But there is hope. 
Confidence that the things I've been believing for will come to pass. 

So, this new year, as you awake each morning, listen. 

Just listen for His voice. 

 

He may make you laugh. 

 

He will be near you. 

 

I know Him. 

He delights in singing over each one of us.

 

He promised and if there's one thing I know about my Daddy...

 

He NEVER lies.

 

 



To tickle your funny bone~

Ok, so this morning, I think to myself that if I make the pizza dough early enough, I can have dinner ready and then cook the pizza before the house cooks up like the outdoors.

So, I toss the flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl and set aside. Then, to another bowl, I added warm water, olive oil and mixed in the last of the yeast; and I set aside the cool yeast jar for buttons! (So green minded!)
Then I proceeded to add the liquid to the dry and mix...when it came time to make the ball of dough, I felt lumps...why are there yellow lumps, dear Jesus?...oh, my Word! Please God, I don't want to know what this is...if I just keep kneading, maybe they'll go away...nope...more...what are they????
My first thought, when I actually decided to think about what on earth this could be, was that the experimenters in our home had made silly putty a few weeks ago...NOOOOOO.....I have no more yeast...I am going to pick out these lumps...we are eating this dough!
When the experimenters woke up, one at a time, I asked each...one said he had no idea...the other said, "oh, yeah...I think it's play dough! I told him to taste it!
So he tasted the dough and said, "Yup, it's playdoh...non toxic, mom, but very salty!"
We are eating pizza with residual play doh lumps tonite for dinner...I'll see if my husband notices...
I am sure we won't die, but if you don't hear from me tomorrow, you'll know I spent the day in bed recovering...
(There weren't that many lumps, or I would have chucked the whole thing...but when I told my sister that's moving here next month, she told me not to tell her these kinds of things and that she'd be bringing dinner over when they came! I told her I believe it's time to separate the cooking flour from the experiments! Probably should have already thought of that one long ago...!)

Enjoy your laugh...and if that's not funny enough for you, check out this cool video...

Innocence...

From Drop Box

Isn't life more enjoyable when one can laugh at things that would otherwise bring frustration? That's something I should be comfortable with after all these years...for example, I have grown sons that used to make it their ambition to push all my buttons, (one son in particular) just to upset me. Then we have two more sons...and I sometimes think they believe their job is to always entertain...themselves and me.

I had to laugh when Caleb and I were going over a story he read and I asked him what rashly meant...all of a sudden, he begins to scratch, slowly at first, and then feverishly...I didn't catch it at first, but began to get annoyed at his seemingly ridiculous movements. Then I caught what he was doing...literally defining, in only the way Caleb can, the meaning of rashly...extreme itching from a rash...I just burst out laughing and then we went on.