I just couldn’t fit Him in my schedule. The birth of our third child pushed me over the edge – the pages of my carefully crafted day planner fluttering in the breeze. Normally, I spent time in Bible study and prayer in the morning after the kids left for school. But nothing was normal.

I tried getting up earlier for a while, but my sleep deprived body revolted. I tried doing it during naptime, but realized I needed a big dose of Jesus just to get me through the morning.

For two years (Did you read that? TWO YEARS!), I worked to fit my quiet time in whenever I found a moment alone (almost never). But, determined, I began bringing my Bible down in the morning with my toddler and read while she ate breakfast and watched cartoons. I sat at the end of the kitchen table reading God’s Word and praying. She was happy, and I was a better mommy.

My quiet time didn’t exactly fit the title – quiet – but it was time with God nonetheless. Daily, I would pause reading to tickle toes or kiss boo-boos. Sometimes a little girl would crawl into my lap for all of fifteen seconds just to wiggle down again. God didn’t seem to mind the interruptions, and I didn’t either.

Then one day while I read, my daughter Grace climbed into the chair beside me with a hymnal. She flopped it open and slid the pages with her tiny chubby hands. “You reading the hymnal?” I asked as I glanced her way.

“No.” Grace said. “Bible. Bible like Mommy.”

And then I understood. I needed to have my not-so-quiet time in full view of my daughter. She was watching my every move. By choosing to read while my toddler ran in circles around me, I was leaving a lasting effect on my child.

These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads.
~Deuteronomy 6:6-8 NIV

Are you struggling to find time to meet with God? Plop yourself down in the middle of it all. You might be surprised who is watching.

But when I asked the six felons at the table around me what they wanted for Christmas, they responded in unison. “Papers!”

“Papers?” I naively asked.

“Yeah. Parole papers,” the one closest to me explained. “We want to be home for Christmas.”

Half of the men at my table were in the New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary prison ministry degree program. (Yeah, I know. It’s a mouth-full.) I questioned those three again. “But what about your degree? If you got out on parole-” They stopped me before I could continue.

“There’s a N.O.B.T.S. on the outside. We’d be knocking on the door to finish there,” one of them explained. He’d obviously already followed that somewhat unattainable train of thought. I imagine they had each dreamed the what-if-I-wake-up-tomorrow-and-the-warden-tells-me-I’m-free-dream at least once or twice.

I returned home from the prison Christmas party to piles of laundry, but I couldn’t stop thinking about parole papers. Parole, according to Webster’s, is the conditional release of a prisoner serving an indeterminate or unexpired sentence. It’s when a prisoner is released before having paid their “debt to society.”

Although not often found on holiday wish lists, parole papers really are a fitting gift for Christmas. You see, at Christmas we celebrate the birth of our Savior – the one who died for our sins. The one who went to the cross in place of you and I, in exchange for our debt. The debt we didn’t pay. Jesus Christ is the only one who can provide parole papers.

Standing in my laundry room sorting the darks and the lights, I realized I’m just as desperate for “papers” as the men locked in Phillips State Prison tonight. Without those papers, I have no freedom.

True liberation can only come from Christ. Because of Him, I’m no longer bound. So the real great news of Christmas is this. Christ offers free parole papers to each of us.

Will you accept them?

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery. Galatians 5:1 NIV

Though he stumble, he will not fall, for the LORD upholds him with his hand. Psalm 37:24 NIV

“Spencer! Spencer!” Amy called around the house looking for her son. Hearing stumbling from above, she walked to the stairs. On the top stair was Spencer – seizing. In distress, he had been searching for his mother. He knew she would help him through this storm. Like a dance they rehearsed, each knew their parts – neither chose them. His head drawn, voice gone, and arm jerking; he tried to take a step.

And fell – into the arms of his mother. She guided him to a safe spot and sat beside him. Together they waited for it to be over.

I spent the next day in the hospital emergency room with Spencer and Amy. As I listened to my friend recount the story, I was struck by the mental image of the falling and catching. I couldn’t help but notice the similarities to our relationship with Christ. When we are in trouble and stumble, He hears us. Sometimes, like Spencer, our voice is gone; we haven’t the strength to call. But in our hearts we cry out, “Help me.” Hoping, wishing desperately that miraculously He will hear us and will come.

And then He does.

So when you are falling back reaching anxiously for something, anything, your Heavenly Father is there. He catches us and guides us to a safe spot. Christ lovingly sits beside us and waits for it to be over. He didn’t stop the storm, but like the devoted mother of a child with epilepsy, He sits and waits with us for it to pass.

Are you in distress? Do you have a fear of falling or maybe failing? God will catch you. Just lean into His arms and trust. He will bring you through.

Lord, I pray for each person who reads this post today that is in desperate need of a safe landing. So many are hurting. Father, cover them with Your grace. Help them find shelter under Your wings and let them know You will never leave or forsake them. Amen.

***You can read more about my friend Amy and her courageous son HERE. Please pray for God to be in all of the medical details of Spencer’s life right now. And stop by to give my dear friend Amy a word of encouragement.

Fourteen years earlier we stood on separate aisles of Target – me with crossed arms and him wondering if we would ever make it. With scanner gun in hand, I stared at the rows of salt and pepper shakers. Wooden? How could I possibly season my food with wooden salt and pepper shakers?

As Alan and I registered for our upcoming wedding, we hadn’t anticipated the sometimes-uneven start of zipping two lives together. After dating six years, we were more than ready to marry. I’d dreamed of this very event since our high school trigonometry class where we met and fell in love. We passed notes back and forth with doodles and flirts. But not one of those notes mentioned his family’s preference for wooden salt and pepper shakers. Wood!

While dark brown wood shakers marched across Alan’s family’s table, my family had glass shakers dance from plate to plate. Unable to make compromises, we stood at an impasse.

I couldn’t understand why it was so important to him anyway, and he was sure I was bull-headed. Wasn’t it the girl’s job to pick out all the home goods? Finally, he suggested we move on to a different section of the store to scan in our wish list.

I complied and followed him through the linens and towels stomping my feet inside. He’d point out something, and I’d aim the scanner gun and pull the trigger with as much attitude as I could muster. I would scan the things he selected, but he was going to understand I wasn’t happy. Not. One. Bit.

After meandering through several more aisles, Alan turned to me and said, “Fine. We can have glass shakers if it makes you happy.” My joyous skipping toward the kitchen aisle had him grinning.

It was then we both knew we would make it.

In time, I did learn to compromise, too. For the past fourteen years, we have continued the ebb and flow, give and take that a marriage relationship requires. So, when Alan walked in from the kitchen store fourteen years later with a red wooden pepper mill, I had to laugh.

Now, on our table the red pepper mill and the glass salt shaker have learned to waltz in their own special way. And so have we.

However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband. Ephesians 5:33 NIV

Yep. I watch it all right.

I’ll admit some of the outfits aren’t made with as much material as my great-grandmother’s hankies, but I can’t help but watch Dancing With the Stars. I’m drawn in each week as the ladies spin and twirl and the gentlemen dip and swagger.

With breath held, I lean towards the television set hoping no one falls or worse – has a wardrobe malfunction. Then I wait to see how the judges respond to the footwork, chemistry, and choreography.

More often than not, my take on the dance differs greatly from the judges. They are quite critical, pointing out the tiniest missteps, while I’m on my feet clapping at the beauty of it all. Really. How can they be so disparaging? Perhaps they are “pros,” but I’d like to see the judges put their money where their mouth is.

I walked my smug self to the kitchen one night, yammering to my husband about how the judges spent more time talking about dancing than actually dancing. And then I stopped in my tracks.

I’m just like the judges.

My week is packed with Bible study, prayer time, preparing for Bible study, reading the Bible, reading my books about the Bible, and searching on-line for cute Bible verse décor to hang in my home.

I spend more time talking about the Bible than living out what it teaches. I’m too busy in my holy huddle to actually go out and serve others.

Friends, don’t get the wrong message here. I’m not saying prayer and reading the Bible isn’t a worthwhile activity. God wants us to do those things. Just don’t do them so much, you don’t have time for others. Let’s you and me take a look at our week. Did we spend more time studying and preparing for studying? Or did we actually feed the hungry and fill the thirsty?

My fellow Christians, it’s time we stepped out from behind our judges box and started dancing with the poor and starving. I don’t know about you, but tomorrow I’m quick stepping it into my closet to strap on my dancing shoes.

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me… Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ Matthew 25:35-36, 40 NIV

Love is patient, love is kind. 1 Corinthians 13:4

“Lord, please strike him with a holy bolt of lightning,” I prayed. “No real damage. Just enough to scorch him a little.”

Okay, so I don’t normally pray for my husband’s ruin, but let me explain what happened.

It was a Friday night when Grace was still four months old. I heard her in the monitor and tapped my husband, mumbling something like, “Grshisup.” He stumbled from the bed and down the hall. I followed to make him a bottle and then flopped back in bed. Minutes later, my sleep bubble burst when Alan stomped in our room. “You’re going to have to take her. She won’t go back to sleep.”

We had a deal. I would feed Grace on weeknights, and he would take weekends to give me a break.

“Did you rock her?” I muttered.

“Yes.”

For at least five minutes?”

“Yeessss.” His patience thin.

I took the baby from him and returned to her room to rock and pray for patience. And that’s when it happened. It’s possible I could have prayed for a small Holy bolt of lightning to strike my hubby. In my sleep-deprived state, anything was possible.

The next morning wasn’t pretty. There were bags under my eyes and darts in them. I readily flung them at Alan. This same scenario repeated itself the next weekend and the next. By this time, Alan and I could hardly stand to look at each other, let alone sleep in the same bed.

Both of us were getting up every night, one to fix a bottle and the other to feed. No one was rested. Alan was a zombie going to work, and I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t handle the weekend feedings.

Finally, we agreed to each handle all the baby responsibilities on our given night, so the other could rest. Did we kiss and make up? Yes, but more importantly I stopped the midnight prayers for lightning. ‘Cause you know – love is patient and all that.

Lord, help me to recognize my husband as a gift and treat him that way. Let me realize that lack of sleep can cause unnecessary arguments. Help me to love my spouse in a way that illustrates patience and kindness. And thank you for not striking me with the bolt, instead. Amen.

My husband drove a burgundy Saturn in the early days of our marriage. And it stunk. For a male, a little stink in a car is like a trophy. What guy wants his wheels to smell of strawberries and roses?

But over time, the smell was more than he could bear. He tried scented pine trees fresheners. When that didn’t work, he put oil of wintergreen on cotton balls under the seats.

No matter how he tried to mask the terrible odor, it remained. When co-workers suggested lunch outings, Alan cringed at the thought of shuttling friends in the stink-mobile, and rolled down the windows to blow the stench away.

One afternoon, my husband stopped to pick up some groceries. When he opened the trunk, he found the source of the offensive aroma – the trash.

As newlyweds, Alan and I lived in an apartment. We had to drive our trash to the receptacles in the front of the complex. Most of the time, my hubby would balance the garbage on the back of the car on the way to the dumpsters. But one day, for whatever reason, he put the trash in the trunk and left it there – for almost three weeks.

When we hide grievances in our marriage, it has the same effect. Out of sight, out of mind may apply at first, but eventually hidden trash will create a rotten attitude. The longer it festers, the worse the smell.

When your husband spoke harshly to you in front of the kids or your wife brushed you off when you shared your needs with her, your feelings were trampled. It’s okay to overlook small misdeeds, but when dealing with an item you can’t resolve, speak up. Your relationship will be better for it.

Don’t allow lingering garbage to create a state of perpetual stink in your marriage. Air out your differences. Get rid of your sour thoughts. It’s as easy as taking out the trash.

We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. 2 Cor. 10:5 NIV

With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible. Matthew 19:26 NIV

photo © 2005 Luca Masters | more info (via: Wylio)

Have you ever thought about the power of the conjunction? A conjunction connects words, phrases, or clauses. It builds bridges between words, pathways linking words that may have otherwise never been united. One of my favorite popular and powerful conjunctions is but. A sentence can skip along in one direction, then with the addition of one little conjunction, the meaning can stop and march the other way.

Really. It’s that powerful. Here is an example. I want to give you half of the million dollars I just won in a contest, but I already spent it all. See? You were already planning a dinner of filet mignon until you got to that but, now you’re thinking grilled cheese.

God really makes great use of that crazy little conjunction. Just when we think things aren’t looking good, God throws in a but.

I was pushed back and about to fall, but the Lord helped me. Psalms 118:13 NIV

For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it. Matthew 16:25 NIV

I am a sinner. The debt I owe is great, but Jesus paid it all. I like the sound of that. My life is the sentence. I was skipping off one way. Asking Jesus in my life threw a but into my life, and now I’m marching in a whole new direction. That seemingly insignificant conjunction made a bridge between the path I was traveling and the true path God created for me.

Do you have a run-on sentence trailing off in the wrong direction? Just ask God for his merciful conjunction, and turn yourself around.

Yeah, before you say it, I know. I’m a walking dichotomy.

In college, a clean dorm room was a must. Curling iron and hair dryer cords were wrapped and put away. Makeup brushes nestled inside my Caboodle, and dresser drawers were always pushed shut.

Down the hall, I had two friends who were just the opposite. Their dresser was covered with hair rollers and lip-gloss tubes. On the mirror, they wrote with eye pencils. Books and papers were sprinkled on their desks, and yesterday’s clothes could probably be spotted somewhere on the floor.

But something about their room drew me.

Now that I have a home of my own, it’s the same. I strive to keep an organized abode. When people enter, I want to hear the flutter of pages as they step into my Better Homes and Garden house. I want them to rest on my toile covered couch while I serve them homemade jam and biscuits. But with three kids, I might as well serve popcorn and peanuts and welcome them to the circus.

The days when my home is the messiest, others invariably tell me, “Your house is so homey and inviting.” What is it that makes the messy so appealing?

I have discovered when I see disarray in others, it makes me not so nervous about my own appearance. There is comfort in walking into a situation and noticing immediately that imperfection is welcome. No one is going to toss me out for not fitting the mold.

Unfortunately, I’ve tried so long to make others believe I’m the walking representation of the magazine pages, that I’ve turned people away. Those who don’t know Christ are afraid to approach, and those who do are afraid they don’t measure up.

So, I’ve made a choice to take off the mask.

I am imperfect.

I’m not proud. Just honest. You may notice my toenails need a new coat of paint, or I’m wearing mismatched earrings. Perhaps when you visit my home, I’ll invite you to sit on my stained couch where you can put your iced tea on my dusty end table. I don’t create a home cooked meal every night, and there are piles of unfolded laundry in most every bedroom.

What is most important is that you understand I welcome imperfect people into my life and home.

Why?

Because I’m not perfect, but I know One who is.

“As for God, his way is perfect: The LORD’s word is flawless; he shields all who take refuge in him. 2 Samuel 22:31 NIV

Lord, please help me to be transparent to those around me. Allow me to let down my guard enough to let others see I struggle with the same things they do. Help me to never put myself on display. God, You are the only one worthy of such honor. May Your strength be made perfect in my weakness. Amen.

I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety. Psalm 4:8

Lack of sleep can endanger lives. I listened to the news report and let out a laugh. The story was about new attempts to shorten the hours doctors work in their first year of residency. Instead of twenty-four hour shifts, it was suggested that newbies should only have to work sixteen. I tried to count the hours of sleep I’d had the night before, but didn’t have the mental capacity.

Grace is my third child, but I still struggle with lack of sleep. Everyone else — doctors, pilots, and truck drivers – seems to have rules about how long they can work, but there are no regulations on mamas. We can put the keys in the fridge, wash our hands with lotion, forget to shampoo in the shower, and draw a blank on when the baby ate without getting fines or pink slips.

There is compensation, though: we learn to send up countless pillow prayers. Lord, thank you for this fluffy pillow. Thank You that I’m lying down. Thank You for this break. And then there’s the most important pillow prayer of all:

Lord, please let the baby sleep. Please let the baby sleep. Please let the baby sleep.

Carol Hatcher

This devotional by Carol Hatcher originally appeared in Daily Guideposts: Your First Year of Motherhood and is reprinted with permission from Guideposts Books and Inspirational Media, Guideposts.org. Copyright © 2011 by Guideposts. All rights reserved.

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