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The Beauty of Hope

The beauty of spring is all around us. Sometimes Doug and I are amazed that God has provided such a beautiful place for us to live. While driving into town this week, Doug pointed out two routes that are faster than the one I was taking. I know there are faster routes, but the one I take is so pretty—red buds and dogwoods in full bloom, azaleas, tulips, and cherry tree blossoms swirling in the breeze. The natural beauty is complemented by lovely, restored Pennsylvania farmhouses and barns. This route is definitely worth an extra two minutes.

My favorite spot is a pasture encompassed by a split rail fence. It is home to two caramel-colored horses. And today, the pasture was covered with thousands of little yellow buttercups. Beyond the pasture is a picturesque view of the valley. It’s at an intersection, an easy spot to stop for a few extra seconds, taking in the scene. I was thinking I should write a blog on God’s beauty reflected in his creation.

But then, while at my infusion appointment, the doctor told me he doesn’t recommend doing any more infusions. They don’t seem to be making any difference in how I feel. This is my sixth one, and if I don’t feel any better, they probably aren’t going to work. The hope that I felt six weeks ago was lost as the last infusion dripped through the IV.

On my drive home, the same route I took to get there, I didn’t notice any of the beauty I had earlier. Nothing had changed along the way. The trees, flowers, houses, barns, even the horses were still there. But I had lost hope. We see everything differently when we have hope. But when hope is lost, even the beauty around us fades.

I tried to pull myself out of hopelessness. After all, what had really changed? The treatment didn’t work. So what? It didn’t make my condition worse. It just wasn’t going to bring healing. The only thing lost was some time and a boatload of money—but nothing of eternal value. One more thing can be crossed off my list of possible treatments. But I was struggling with this outcome, dwelling on it to the point of missing the beauty all around me.

Then I got a text from a friend who didn’t know what had happened with me today. She sent me a song by Matthew West called Don’t Stop Praying (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpbZqMJ-B44). She didn’t know where I was in my spirit, but God did. He knew, he cared, and he rescued me—the same things he has done for me over and over again. You might even say, he showed me his beauty, which never changes from season to season, regardless of my circumstances.

 It’s okay (maybe even necessary) to grieve what is lost, whether that is people, finances, health, or anything else. God doesn’t expect us to ignore the difficult things in our lives and just move on. But he does comfort and strengthen us through those things, and then he refocuses us on himself. When we turn our attention to him in prayer, our hope is renewed, and his beauty fills our eyes and permeates our spirits.

This door in having my health restored has closed, but I’m going to take Matthew West’s advice: don’t stop praying! And I’ll get to that blog about God’s beauty another day (or did I do it anyway?).

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer” (Romans 12:12 ESV).

Treasure Hunting

Last week, three of my besties and I spent seven glorious days together in Florida, close to the Treasure Coast. It is aptly named because of the many Spanish galleons that shipwrecked along the coast, spilling their gold and silver into the Atlantic Ocean. Treasure hunters have been finding lost treasures on the beaches of the Treasure Coast for decades. We had the privilege of running into a bona fide treasure hunter during our visit.

He was coming up from the beach, carrying a metal detector and large scooper, so we asked him if he found anything. He said, “I didn’t even start looking—the sand is too packed here.”

We asked, “What’s the best thing you’ve found?”

We were a little surprised when he answered, “A Spanish coin from the 1500’s.” What?! That’s when the conversation really got moving and we learned that he is, indeed, a real treasure hunter (and a retired sheriff). He has authored six books on treasure hunting and is called “The Legend.” He showed us pictures of the many cool treasures he has found. We had a great talk with him and learned all kinds of things, including where to find the beaches with free parking and the best snorkeling. And, of course, we found the real “treasure,” treasure hunter, Terry Shannon.

As I reflected on our week in the Florida sun, and all the experiences we shared, I realized we had found other treasure too. Our treasures weren’t Spanish coins, belt buckles, or silver bracelets. They were meeting people, relaxing in the warm sun, seeing a rocket launch, laughing (a lot), eating great food, and doing it all together. The most precious treasure we found was building the relationships we have with each other. And if you know any of us, you know we formed new relationships with everyone we met.

Life is all about relationships. Just ask my children—they heard that so many times growing up, if you say, “Life is all about…”, they will respond, “relationships.” They may do it with a bit of a groan (I never let an opportunity to say it pass by). The Bible is quite clear on this point. Matthew 6:19-20 (ESV) says, “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasure in heaven, where neither moth or rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.” Treasure in heaven—the things that will last forever.

It’s cool that “The Legend” has scrapbooks filled with gold and silver coins. And I’m sure it’s a thrill to find something like that in the sand. But they won’t last. The time spent together, the encouragement, the shared laughter and a few tears, the talks about spiritual things, the prayers, challenging each other in what is biblical and what is not, even protecting each other from all the creepy crawlies on a jungle hike—these are the things that will last forever, treasure in heaven.

My Real-Life Hallmark Romance

Could one of those predictable Hallmark romances ever happen in real life? After watching about a dozen of them this holiday season, I realized that my love story has all the elements of a typical Hallmark movie, including a cute pickup truck.

My husband, Doug, and I met—well, I’m not sure when we met. We have known each other since we were kids, growing up attending the same church. What I do remember is when I first noticed him, I didn’t like him. I thought he was snobby. He wasn’t just popular, he was THE popular kid. And he always wore very short white tennis shorts. I thought he must really like his legs, which was weird.

Then I reached the pinnacle of church-grown youth: high school. All of us kids dreamed of the summer we would get to participate in the youth group and all the fun, cool things they did. Since Doug was three years older than me, I entered the high school youth group when he was a senior. I learned that year that he wasn’t weird or snobby. He was friendly and kind but a bit shy, especially around girls.

A year later, nine teenagers and two chaperones loaded up a fifteen-passenger van on a summer afternoon and took off for a week in Maine. That week sparked something between us. A rustic cabin on a lake, daily special activities, beautiful sunsets, star-filled night skies—it was the quintessential Hallmark week-long romance.

We swam, walked, sang, prayed, laughed, hiked, and grew close. I slipped climbing a mountain, and Doug caught me, forcing us into each other’s arms. I sheepishly thanked him as he put me back on my feet. The connection we were creating became electric. As we sat together in the van on the way back to the cabin, I fell asleep with my head on Doug’s shoulder. That became routine, as did back rubs in front of the fireplace.

One evening, we went on a moonlit canoe ride. Another, we laid on our backs, stargazing side-by-side. One chilly morning, Doug took off his down vest and wrapped me in it, leaving his arms around me for a long moment. It was obvious there was something special between us.

After returning home, Doug acted strangely. I assumed our connection would only grow after the week we spent together. But something was wrong. I asked Doug one day. “I thought we had something special going on. What happened?”

Doug replied, “Before our trip, I made a commitment to Young Life as a volunteer leader for one year. Because you’re a Young Life kid, we can’t date. But if you’ll wait a year, I would like to date you.”

“I’ll wait,” I affirmed.

Enter the villain. We had a mutual friend who had set her sights on Doug too. As part of her plan to get him and keep us apart, she told Doug I was dating someone else. Then she told me that she and Doug had started dating. I had noticed them together at times, but I didn’t ask him about her. I just took her word for it—a typical Hallmark movie relationship mistake.

It wasn’t too long after that development that Doug’s one-year ministry commitment ended. On the way home from a gathering with friends, I worked up the courage to ask him about his relationship with our mutual friend. “So, Mary told me that the two of you are seeing each other. How is that going?”

“What? I’m not dating Mary.” Doug looked shocked. “She told me you were dating Brad.”

“I’m not dating Brad. I’m not dating anyone.”

Doug pulled his truck into the church parking lot, which we just happened to be driving by at that moment. “We need to talk,” he said.

We spent about an hour walking around the church grounds talking. It didn’t take long to realize we had been duped but also that the feelings we had for each other the year before were still there. He asked me if I would go on a date with him.

Doug picked me up two days later for a picnic. We wandered through the woods and along a stream, where Doug pretended to push me in, which resulted in him holding me in his arms. The electric connection sparked wildly.

Three weeks after our first date, two days before Christmas, Doug and I were listening to the distinctive voice of Gordon Lightfoot singing “Beautiful” in the warm glow of Christmas lights when he kissed me. It was the sweetest kiss ever and still gives me butterflies when I think of it.

Three years later, on a beautiful spring day, I walked down the aisle of the church where we had grown up and vowed to be Doug’s wife with the words “I will, with the help of God.”

Honestly, if he had asked me to marry him at the end of that Hallmark-esque, one-week, barely-know-each-other, romantic trip to Maine, I would have said yes. So, don’t be so quick to write off those sappy, predictable Hallmark stories. Some of us have lived them and lived happily ever after (with the help of God).

“Oh, magnify the Lord with me and let us exalt his name together!” (Psalm 34:3 ESV – the verse we chose for our wedding program and our lives.)

“Read it again!”

“Read it again!” My friend, Susan, was bent over an ironing board trying to make two pieces of fabric come together to create a mitered corner. Somehow, the instructions were clearer when heard out loud, rather than reading them to herself. I read, she manipulated fabric, and finally, everything clicked, and the corner was nicely mitered. Sidebar – I don’t use mitered corners on my quilts, unless it’s absolutely necessary for the design, in which case, I choose a different design.

Last week, my daily reading took me to the portion of Exodus where God is giving Moses instructions on how to build the tabernacle and how to make the clothing for the priests, clothing that was made a certain way “for beauty and glory.” As I read, I couldn’t help but remember that day Susan and I were trying to figure out how to miter our quilt corners. I pictured the Israelites, perplexed, scratching their beards, yelling to Moses, “Read it again!”

Sometimes we don’t trust the instructions we’re given. It happened to me again just this week. Assembling the quilt block in the attached picture, I followed the instructions, but it just didn’t seem like the pieces could possibly come together to make the sailboat. I laid all the pieces out. I even overlapped them to account for the seams. But it just didn’t seem right. A few of the pieces were just too big. They couldn’t possibly fit together to make a 6 ½” block.

Maybe I cut the triangles the wrong size. That would account for the difference. I recut the triangles ¼” smaller and then sewed the pieces together. They didn’t fit. They were too small. Impossible. I went back to the original measurements given in the instructions, sewed all the little pieces together, and voila, a perfect little sailboat block.

How did they all come together correctly when it looked like they would never work? Someone with much greater knowledge than me had created the pattern, so they knew exactly how big each piece needed to be. I should have trusted the pattern maker.

Back in Exodus, God gave very specific instructions for the tabernacle, and then the temple. And his instructions were followed to the letter. They had to be. He would accept nothing less.

Today there is no tabernacle or temple. But we have something better. God sent Jesus in the flesh to tabernacle (live) with us. After his death, he sent the Holy Spirit to live within us, making our bodies his temple. And he gave us his living Word, full of wisdom and instructions, all we need for life and godliness (2 Peter 1:3).

We can trust the instructions he has given us because they are his design. He knows how it will all turn out, even when we don’t see how it could possibly work. As the creator and sustainer of all there is, his instructions are flawless and produce beauty and glory when followed.

And the best part is we can “read it again!” (out loud if necessary).

Momentary Troubles

The ideas for my morning with the littles flowed freely: “Mom-mom, let’s play ring-around-the-rosy. Mom-mom, let’s play duck-duck-goose, Mom-mom, chase me!” I love these kids and their energy and that they want me to play with them. But Mom-mom can’t run or jump anymore. And games that include falling down are definitely out (I do that enough on my own). I was quite content to sing and “march in the infantry” along with them. That’s about my speed. But they wanted more.

We settled on going outside to the playground. Five-year-old-in-two-days Everlee offered to help push the littler kids on the swings. It sounded doable. How was I to know that wet, freshly cut grass would be our undoing?

A few steps from the house, three-year-old Noel fell. The crying was not due to injury but the grass clippings that clung to her now-wet little legs. There was no consoling her. It only got worse when she discovered the teeter-totter swing was wet too. I picked up baby Daniel, told the other kids to stay there while Daniel and I went to get a towel.

That’s when things got treacherous. Wet flipflops, a twenty-pounder on one hip, and a slippery hill proved more grueling than I had anticipated. Upon returning to the swings, Noel was missing. I hoisted baby Daniel back onto my hip and went in search of Noel. At least at this point, Everlee was making good on her promise and pushing two-year-old Isaiah on the swing, who was giggling and yelling, “higher!”

I found Noel coming downstairs in a new outfit: pajamas. She couldn’t bear to keep the wet, grassy clothing on another minute. I warned her it was still wet and grassy outside, but she was sure the new outfit would solve all her problems. The right pajamas can do that, I assure you.

We made it back to the swings without any falls. Everlee sat with Daniel in front of her and Noel behind her on the teeter-totter swing. Two swings, side-by-side, one Mom-mom, no problem. Until Everlee decided she didn’t want Daniel to sit in front of her anymore. Mom-mom needs at least three arms—longer ones than the T. Rex version I am sporting. I’ll be paying in pain for this little foray with the kids. They’re worth it.

Two days prior to this, I received my new handicap placard in the mail. It says “permanent” on the bottom. Thanks for the reminder. I forget sometimes, especially since I’ve been doing pretty good this summer. Even my memory has improved—apparently not enough to remember I shouldn’t have four children under five on the playground by myself.

There is a line in the placard instructions that says, “this placard replaces any previous placard immediately. Destroy any previous one.” It reminded me of what I can look forward to. One day I will receive a new, perfect, permanent body that will replace this old, damaged, temporary body. Like my old placard, this body will not just be replaced, but destroyed, cast off forever. And I will walk, run, jump, and go “up and down” (another one of Isaiah’s favorite games) without a single pain. What a day that will be!

16 Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 17 For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 18 So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal (2 Corinthians 4:16-18 NIV)

Crown Me

I received a crown this week. Not because I’m queen of my family (which I am). Not because I won a Mrs. Older America pageant (quilting would be my talent, so maybe I could win). And not because some dignitary of a never-before-heard-of little country arrived at my door, declaring that I am the long-lost royal heir and need to come with him to accept the crown and save my homeland from a unscrupulous neighboring kingdom that wants to turn it into an Amazon distribution center. Nope, none of the above.

The crown I received is on my tooth. After two harrowing experiences in the dental chair to prepare for this crown, this was the week the permanent crown would be fit over my tooth. There was very little pomp associated with this crowning. I expected more. It did coincide with my six-month cleaning, so the other teeth were freshly polished, looking their best. But there was a problem. It didn’t fit right.

Is this like a dress fitting? Do I need to come back two or three times while they take it in here and there to get the fit perfect? Nope. The dentist shaved it down (or whatever he was doing out of my sight). But it still didn’t fit. Then he shaved a little of the lower tooth, which was in my mouth and not anesthetized. It fit better. I left the office.

Now a few days later, it still doesn’t fit right. It feels like there is something in my mouth that doesn’t belong there. My husband says I’ll get used to it. I don’t know. It feels like I’m chewing eggshells, and I hate when even the tiniest bit of eggshell finds its way into my chewing. Maybe it will help me eat less, a silver lining.

Yesterday I read this verse, “Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him” (James 1:12 ESV). I am a baby when it comes to dental work. But one good thing, it boosts my spiritual life. My prayer life and recalling memorized Bible verses occupy every minute I’m in the chair. To me, dental work is a trial. But the crown I received for making it through doesn’t even fit right.

Of course, the kind of trial James is referring to is probably not dental work. There have been and will be more serious trials to endure. And the result of persevering under trials has more benefits besides a crown. James also says that we should count it all joy when we meet trials because trials test our faith which produces perseverance.

The kind of trials that test our faith are very difficult, but the outcome of perseverance and a deeper faith is worth the struggle. And, of course, there’s that crown, which I’m sure will be spectacular…and fit perfectly.

Going Home

I took one last walk around the neighborhood with my granddaughters before heading to the San Diego airport. It was time to go home after a week of fun in the sun.

My arrival in San Diego was a surprise to my granddaughters on their last day of school. The joy on their faces could have been because school was out for the summer, but I’ll go on thinking it was my arrival. We had a week full of fun: games, the county fair, a softball tournament, lunch in Old Town, dinner at the beach, playground time, trampoline time, pool time, ice cream, and playing inside, outside, and bayside. But now it’s time to fly back to Philadelphia, via San Antonio and Nashville (and one more vacation treat – Nashville hot chicken for dinner).

Every day, the girls would ask, “How many more days will you be here?” We counted down to this morning, when it was time to go to the airport.

About halfway through my week, I got a text that a friend of mine will also be going home soon. Cancer has brought her on this journey. Like my trip, it was unplanned until very recently. Just a few weeks ago, she wasn’t thinking about going home, but the message I got was that she will be going within a few days.

I’ve been thinking about her since the text arrived a few days ago, wondering how close she is to her final destination. I’m writing this blog on a plane somewhere between San Antonio and Nashville. I have about an hour and a half until my big blue and red bird lands in Nashville, then an hour’s wait to board another plane, and another two hours until I reach my final destination. And, of course, there’s about an hour’s drive home. Her journey will be different—much smoother and faster with fewer lines.

I wish we could know before we make it what our final homegoing will be like. I’ve been with people as they have died. Most were no longer communicating as their breathing slowed and finally stopped. There was no struggle, no indication that anything was happening. But I have also known a few who were conscious and talked about seeing something bright and beautiful. My guess is angels were there to escort them to heaven. I wonder if they are our guardian angels who have been with us all along or if there are special-assignment escort angels. Whichever it may be, one thing I know for sure is that Jesus is waiting to greet us at our final, heavenly destination.

After I struggle to get my larger-than-needed suitcase off the baggage claim conveyer in Philly, I’ll maneuver it out the doors, across the street, and up onto the platform where my husband will meet me. I am looking forward to his embrace. That anticipation helps me push against the tide in a sea of travel issues.

And tomorrow morning, when I go upstairs, I’ll be greeted by three little voices calling, “Mom-mom!” I am confident after a week away, their greeting will be even more enthusiastic than usual, reflecting the joy they will have at my return.

Jesus will greet us that way too at our final destination. He’s been getting ready for it and anticipating it. My friend’s home going is not a surprise to him. And when she arrives, he will be there greeting her with great joy, a warm embrace, and a “welcome home.”

“for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5:7-8 ESV

Adorable!

He’s just adorable! That’s what I say every time I see my youngest grandson, eleven-month-old Daniel. It happened again recently while I was holding him. He was wearing just a diaper, having made a mess of himself at dinner. As he sat on my lap in all his adorableness, I realized that we have a lot in common. Not just from a DNA standpoint—he does look like my son, who looks like me—but from another standpoint.

Looking him over, the similarities are uncanny, with one exception. Our shared features are adorable on him, not so much on me.

The first thing I notice are his chubby, puckery thighs. Adorable. I have them too, not so adorable. He has a protruding, squishy belly—adorable. Mine, not so much. His double chin is adorable. Mine is my least favorite feature. He has thin, wispy hair. On him, adorable. On me, a constant styling problem. He falls down trying to walk across a flat floor. Me too! But when he goes kerplop, everyone thinks it’s adorable. When I do it, they call an ambulance. He needs naps and is a messy eater. Yup, not so adorable when you’re a grown woman. And, although I’m not there yet, he only has four teeth, but his smile is his most adorable feature. I’m sure mine will not be.

As I think over this juxtaposition, it occurs to me that the life cycle is just that. It’s a cycle; we end up the way we started off, helpless with a body whose lack of muscle tone keeps us from running and jumping and even just sitting for an extended time. The good news is that it doesn’t end with thinning hair, missing teeth, and puckering skin.

When our bodies have decayed to the point of no return, the cycle continues, and we will be made new. God has promised he will make all things new—a new heaven, a new earth, a new city, and, yes, we each will receive a new body. Not a body like the one we’ve got, but a glorious new one that will not age or decay or even need a nap to get through the day. It will be a springtime-type body, fresh and bouncy and full of life. One that can walk without falling down and run without fainting. It will work hard and not feel any pain. It won’t have any of the flaws and problems of my current body. It will finally be a true reflection of Jesus. It will be adorable!

“How weary we grow of our present bodies. That is why we look forward eagerly to the day when we shall have heavenly bodies that we shall put on like new clothes” (2 Corinthians 5:2 TLB).

My new book will be published soon! Although this story is not in the book, it gives you a flavor of the ones that are in the book – humorous stories with a spiritual application. I can’t wait to share it with you!

Spring. New life. Resurrection.

Spring. New life. Resurrection. I love this time of year. What I love the most is when the first spring flowers poke through the ground, a sign that winter’s grip is loosening, and new life is coming. A few daffodils popped up in my woods this week. They all heed the call that it’s time for the green shoots to burst from the bulbs and up through the ground. Those delicate, slender green leaves somehow push through the hard ground and the layers of dead debris resting on the forest floor. The first sighting of light green summons hope that spring is near. Soon after, the bright yellow blossoms pose a striking contrast to the greys and browns of the dead leaves and fallen branches all around them. Their sunny trumpets blast that life can come after death. Spring. Life. Renewal. Resurrection.

In a few days, we will celebrate Jesus’s resurrection from the dead. Unlike the daffodil bulbs, that are simply dormant through the winter, Jesus was actually dead. But on the appointed day, life flowed back into his body. His heart beat again, blood coursed through his veins, and breath filled his lungs. His winter-cold corpse was restored to life. In newness of life, he rose and walked out of the grave.

I wish I could have been there to see that moment when life returned. Did he suck in air and jump to his feet? Or was it a gradual awakening as his body systems came back online? We do know, before leaving the tomb, he took the time to fold the cloth that had been wrapped around his head. And the other graveclothes were left behind. What was he wearing? Bright, shiny, new clothes? What do resurrection clothes look like? For someone like me, who loves to shop for new clothes, I’m very curious. Maybe as the graveclothes unraveled another garment was revealed, like a superhero. He wasn’t in a hurry. He waited around for the women to come (probably why he folded the face cloth—just good manners).

I do remember the day new life came to me. I was sixteen, angry and broken. It happened following a friend’s funeral. Why weren’t those closest to him also angry and broken? That’s when his love and grace breached my anger. They knew because of Jesus’s resurrection, their loved one was with him. He had lived his life for Jesus, and now he was with Jesus. I wanted that and knelt down asked Jesus to forgive my sin and show me how to live for him.  As his forgiveness washed over me, I felt new life fill my heart. The joy and peace that filled me were undeniable. Springtime. New life. Resurrection.

His resurrection did cause something to die. Death. He conquered death and, along with it, the power of sin. Satan was defeated. His head was crushed, his power vanquished, and his doom sealed, fulfilling the Genesis 3 promise. There is no point to Christianity without the resurrection. It would not make any difference if Jesus was just an historic figure or a good teacher. He had to be God incarnate. He had to die and be resurrected or nothing else mattered. Paul put it this way in 1 Corinthians 15:19-20 (ESV) “If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied. But in fact, Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep (died).”

Resurrection. All things become new. And one day spring will come and last forever. No more death. No more suffering. Forever alive with Jesus. Winter is losing its grip, and spring is coming. I await it with anticipation and great joy! He is risen! He is risen indeed.

Quality of Life

“So, what you’re looking for is quality of life.” That was the response I got last week from a doctor. I had just explained my current physical condition—that the pain in my damaged tendons was making daily tasks difficult, sometimes impossible. This doctor was someone I thought may have some ideas previous doctors did not. He did have some suggestions, but that phrase, ‘quality of life,’ jarred me.

Quality of life is something you’re supposed to talk about with super-elderly people or someone with late-stage cancer, not a fifty-eight-year-old with no disease. Yet, here we were, talking quality of life.

What did it mean? It meant, what can I do to make my daily life a little easier, a bit less painful, and maybe even slightly more enjoyable? What it doesn’t mean is that I am at the end of my life. Of course, with my condition, I could be nearing the end of my earthly life, but we don’t know that. So, we will focus on quality of life—getting the most out of the life I have been given for as long as it lasts.

The phrase kept circulating through my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I thought, isn’t quality of life something we should always be striving for, not just at the end of our lives? Shouldn’t I make every day the very best quality I possibly can, regardless of my medical condition? Then my devotional reading from In All Things: a nine-week study on Unshakeable Joy by Melissa Kruger had this quote from Martyn Lloyd-Jones:

If ever the world needed the witness and testimony of Christian people, it is at this present time. The world is unhappy, it is distracted and frightened, and what it needs is to see stars shining out of the heavens in the midst of the darkness, attracting the world by rebuking that darkness, and by giving it light, showing how it too can live that quality of life.

I don’t know when Martyn Lloyd-Jones wrote that, but it couldn’t be more timely. Our world is definitely unhappy, distracted, frightened, and overcome by darkness. But we have the light of Christ within us, shining through us as we live life abundantly (John 10:10). The darkness doesn’t have a chance because to God even darkness is as light, the night as bright as the day (Psalm 139) That quality of life – the kind of life that resembles starlight rebuking darkness – that’s the kind of quality of life I want and one I will strive for.

Where do you rate your quality of life? Does it depend on your circumstances or physical condition or job or the outcome of your favorite team (mine won this week, just sayin)? If it does, you’ll never experience the highest quality of life available to you, the kind that shines out of the heavens, rebuking the darkness.

This is the message which we have heard from Him and declare to you, that God is light and in Him there is no darkness at all. 1 John 1:5 NKJV