Change, the unfortunate inevitable

Well, I have never liked change. Yet, it always seems to be close by. Just as we settle into the routine of something, change becomes a necessary force to be dealt with.

We have decided to move our blog from one platform to another, and in the process we are losing all of our comments from the past. I will be adding the old posts, but since the import function doesn't seem to be working correctly, it will be something I have to so manually, and it will take me a little bit of time to accomplish. Please have patience with me until that process is finished.

About the Cafe Powder Room

This is the Powder Room, a journal page of the Orange Moon Cafe, dedicated specifically for women and written by women. The purpose of these pages are for us to encourage each other in our walk with the Lord.

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The Little Books

I have on the headboard of my bed, two little books. There are very special to me for several reasons. First, they were given to me by some dear friends of ours, Larry and Jane, whose kindness, thoughtfulness and graciousness are always an example to me. They are testimonies that though the storms may destroy all, one can still rise up with a song in the heart and praise the Lord, even while the tears are freshly streaming down your cheeks.

The little books are special to me because of their colors. One is green, which is my husband's favorite color and one is red, which is my favorite color. Stacked together, they have quite a Christmas look to them, which is just fine with me. We were married a few days after Christmas, so it has always been our favorite time of year, and we love to see red and green together.

I love the books because they are old. I just love old things. I love the thought that they have been read and touched by many, many people. I love that others have turned the pages just as I have, that the edges of the spine are worn with use. Now, let me say here that new books can be nice, too. There is something special about being the first person to bend the spine of a book, or to separate the pages and delve into the secrets the pages hold, but an old book not only holds the secrets of the book itself but also of all the people who have held the book in the past.

The little books are special to me also just because they are little. Only slightly bigger than a deck of cards, the tiny books don't depict the incredible truths they contain. You see, both these books were written by Frances Havergal. Now, if you love hymns, that name may be familiar to you, because she wrote a great many hymns. These two little books each have thirty-one entries. The first book, entitled "Little Pillows", contains sweet little "pillows" of truths for us to rest our minds upon as we are going to sleep each night. They all are truths regarding the Lord Jesus and His relationship to us. The second book, "Morning Stars", to be read upon rising each morning, contains short essays about the different names of the Lord Jesus.

Tonight I was reading in the little book and the essay was about the Lord Jesus being our Head, and it mentioned that the Head always knows everything about the rest of the members of the body, especially pain. "For if your finger is hurt, your head does not have to be told! you know about it, and feel it, and cry out, in an instant." the book states. This is such an obvious statement, but it struck me as if I had never even encountered the notion of it before. The Lord Jesus knows my pain instantaneously of me feeling it! I don't need to cry to Him that I hurt, although I can't help but to do so, but I don't need to...He knows, He knows because He feels it. In a physiological sense, the brain knows the pain before the body part feels the pain. He knows my pain before I do. He knows and He cares. If He didn't care, He wouldn't have made Himself to be my Head in the first place.

I read from the other little book too, and it was about the suffering of the Lord Jesus for us and how great it was, greater than we can imagine, and how He didn't shirk from it, He didn't try to diminish it, but He willingly took that upon Himself because of His great love for us. Like the two little books tied with the black ribbon I use to bind them together, I put these two truths together in my mind. He knows my pain even before I do, and He can understand and care because He suffered for me more than anyone can ever imagine another person suffering. Whatever the source of my pain...is it physicial? He knows that pain. He was a perfect human enduring horrific torture. Is it mental? He knows that pain. He was the Creator of the Universe, humbling Himself to be misunderstood, lied about and betrayed. Is it emotional? He said in Gethesemane that He was "sorrowful even unto death" and yet He continued on because He knew He must die on the cross to secure our eternal salvation. There He suffered separation from His Father,whom He loved and from whom He had never been separated from all eternity. Whatever our pain, whatever our hurt...He knows, He cares, He has carried our burdens and born our griefs and He longs to do so again. Let us cast our cares on Him, for He cares for us!

A Walk Through My Garden

I sat last night listening to the sounds of my oldest daughter playing the piano and thinking of how much joy that activity in her life has added to mine. As I sat on my bed with my eyes closed, her music filling my ears, I imagined that the sounds were notes floating around my head. Then it occurred to me that in my life, my oldest daughter is like the song of birds and the chirping of crickets. I hear the magic of the music lifting my soul and providing for my heart that which I cannot provide for myself.

Then I began to think of my youngest daughter. Her incredible creativity bursts forth in so many different ways, like wildflowers growing in a field, each a different color and shape and each bringing their own special type of smile. Whether the object of her creativity is a work of art, an item she has designed and made, or a masterpiece created in the kitchen, she never fails to surprise me and to brighten my heart.

Next I thought of my son with his sly wit and core of strength. He is like the spring breeze; it can be gentle, soft and refreshing, or it can be forceful and strong. But if it is missing, the absence of it is incredibly stifling.

My son's wife, is like the rose bush planted on the side of our house. It wasn't here when we moved in, we planted it later, but now it is to us as if it had been there all along. It survives the brutal summers by producing beautiful roses with a wonderful fragrance. She is an addition to our lives which has brought to us a wonderful harvest of blossoms and beauty.

My husband... my husband is the ground, the grass, that which holds me up in all I do and gives me the sure footing upon which to walk. He is the backdrop for everything else in my life.

My two precious grandchildren are raindrops and snowflakes, sunsets and sunrises...magical and mysterious, beautiful and breathtaking, completely gifts from the Lord.

As i walk through my life, my sweet beagle at my feet, I am surrounded with beauty of sight and sound and touch from the lives of those with whom I live each day. The garden of my life is full of wonderful gifts, wonderfully gifted people, all good and perfect gifts from a Good and Perfect Father above, whose pleasure it is to give us, to give ME, His kingdom. (Luke 12:32)

"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning. " James 1:17