He's the One Parting the Water

Then Moses stretched out his hand over the sea, and all that night the LORD drove the sea back with a strong east wind and turned it into dry land. The waters were divided...

Exodus 14:21

I want to tell you a story. It's about my oldest son, Wyatt, who spits out wisdom from his little seven year old heart faster than I do at thirty-six. This is not one of those precious, precocious stories that I love to share about my boys. This story is so full of good and real and it changed my life a little today.

I hope it will do the same for you.

Three weeks ago Wyatt received his first real Bible. He is quite the pint-sized theologian spouting out intense biblical knowledge like, "The Old Testament just had Numbers. The New Testament has 2 Timothy."

Word, son. Word.

This morning he was sharing his biblical prowess with his little brother, four year old Morgan. 

"Morgy, do you know about Moses parting the Red Sea? Mom, where is the Red Sea?"

"Egypt." (This sounds right. Maybe? Where is the Red Sea? Eh, Egypt sounds good. He's seven. He won't know if I'm wrong. This, folks, is parenting at its finest.)

"Morgy, Moses took his staff and pounded it down and the sea parted right down the middle so the people could walk through."

This is where Morgan, who is surprisingly listening to the story, questions, "Where was Jesus?"

And this is where my Momma heart is so pleased that he asks such a question. I wait for brother's reply, expecting something like: "He's not born yet" or "He's not in this story."

But his answer, friend, makes me want to weep. Not as a proud Mommy, but as a fellow sojourner in this Christian walk. 

My fellow Believer, Wyatt, says, "He's there. Not like really there, but He's the One parting the water."

He's the One parting the water.

Do you hear it? Does it sink into your heart with Holy Spirit power and clarity? 

How many times have I whispered Jesus, I can't see you. Jesus, I can't feel you. Jesus I can't hear you.

And He's there. He's the One parting the water. 

I look ahead, out over the vast sea. Not being able to see a sliver of land on the other side. And I cry out, Oh the enemy is so close behind! He will overtake me. There is no escape. I can't see a way around or through. 

I am hopeless. 

But why don't we see it? Opening up in front of us? The way ahead is as clear as day.

My friend, I want us to understand this truth today.

You can't see Him. But He's there. 

Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy...

I Peter 1:8

Oh, how I promise you. He's there. And your believing in Him, Him who is holy and good will bring you holy and good things.

He turned the sea into dry land, they passed through the waters on foot-- come, 

let us rejoice in him.

Psalm 66:6

Let's listen to our sweet Christian brother, Wyatt (who I just yelled at through gritted teeth for having caused intense amounts of chaos for the entirety of our Sunday afternoon. Perfection will not be obtained on this side of glory, friends...even for master theologian, Wyatt Smith).

When the enemy taunts and the waves seem rough and there is no land in sight, fix your eyes on Him who is unseen, but who is really seen in everything. 

Because He's there-

He's the One parting the water. 

Grace Jelly {An Evergreen Post}

My oldest son, for better or worse, is exactly like me. He is inquisitive, creative, and wholly excited to live life.

But, like his dear mother, he has a one-track mind, a tendency for the dramatics, and a decided opinion on the right way to do things.

We run joyfully through life, Wyatt and I, but sometimes we trip over obstacles in our way - those obstacles usually being our own two feet.

Tuesday was a tough day at the Smith house. Wyatt pulled a red card (RED!) in Kindergarten that day. Once he was home the behavior did not improve. Long story short, he was sent to bed early without his night time snack (a truly horrid punishment to any five year old).

At this point I, being his emotional doppelgänger, was HOT. Done. Yelling, angry, out of patience. My patience wasn't running on fumes - the tank was dry and the car of gentle, kind Mommy was five miles back down the road. I sat down on the couch replaying everything the child had done that day.

But...pitter patter. I heard his feet coming to the bedroom door. Creeeak - the door opens. And there, staring out at me from the darkened bedroom, are two big blue eyes. Just like mine.

My husband (always the voice of reason): "Jennifer, he's scared in there."

Begrudgingly, I walk down the hall. I hear his little feet running back to bed. (The same little feet that had tried to kick me a few minutes before.)

I walk to the bed and lay down, and there he is, weeping tears of repentance onto his pillow. "Mommy, I'm sorry I was bad today. I'm sorry."

I tell him I love him. That it's my job to make him a good person. I reassure him. And then I ask if he's hungry.

The silent nod - yes.

He humbly walks to the living room and sits on the carpet. I walk to the kitchen and fix toast. Dry toast.

He's been bad, right? I mean, I'll feed him, but he doesn't deserve his normal, frosted strawberry Pop-Tart.

"Mom, can I have some grape jelly?"

"No. This isn't a fun snack. This is just to fill your belly and then back to bed."

Another nod from my boy, accepting his punishment.

But then...my heart. My repentant child. Who, in earnest came to me. Admitting sin, accepting responsibility. Accepting his dry, tasteless toast.

I take his toast and walk back to the kitchen, open the refrigerator door, take out the jelly. And I slather it on.

And, in that moment, that jelly becomes something altogether different.

It became Grace Jelly.

Because, you know what? I too have been the weeping child, admitting guilt. Accepting the condemnation. But, my Father? He forgives freely, with joy, and offers me grace in abundance. I serve a God who walks my weeping, guilty self into the kitchen and offers me food.

And do I even need to ask?

He gives me toast, cut into triangles, no crust, and spread corner to corner with sweet, filling Grace Jelly.

Hosea chapters 5 and 6 tell us that when we come to the Lord in earnest repentance He will "heal us (6:1)."  As big as my sin is, His grace is still bigger (Romans 5:20).

My Father is the best and most perfect example of parenting. What is good for Him is most certainly right for me.

So my sweet son ate his toast and grape jelly.

Because, his mommy, who he is so much like, has been given Grace Jelly many, many times before.

And I will certainly eat it again.

Grace, grace, God's grace

Grace that will pardon and cleanse within

Grace, grace, God's grace

Grace that is greater than all our sin.

~Julia H. Johnston

What's in a Name? ( An Open Letter to My Sons )

A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches.

Proverbs 22:1

Dear Wyatt Edward and Morgan Bascombe,

Naming the two of you, being the writer of your names, is my favorite piece of work I've ever committed to paper. That paper being your birth certificates. Your Daddy and I prayed over your names and knew we wanted more for you than to have the cool, trendy "Baby Name of the Year" with the perfect amount of syllables. We wanted your names to reflect your family, your God, and your future.

It's been snowing these past two days. I've had time to sit in front of a fire place with a cozy blanket, wearing my favorite purple knit beret and write to you about your names. Because names are important. They don't make us into who we are automatically, but they give us something in which to aspire. My precious sons, these are my aspirations for you.

Wyatt Edward:

You are unlike any person I know. Your incredible wisdom sometimes causes you great sensitivity and even anger. I'm sure it's confusing to have such insight about such a world at such a young age. (This I write as you are telling fart jokes to your little brother.)

Wyatt means "brave in battle" or "warrior." We chose this name for you because your dad's name means "warrior," too. And this is my hope for you. That you will fight and be brave, carrying the banner of the LORD wherever you go, knowing he is a Rock and a Fortress and a very present Help in times of trouble. Hope and faith in a living God will make you brave. Use these gifts of courage to change the world. You are so capable of it.

Edward comes from your dad's grandfather, Ralph Edward Smith. His middle name was actually Edmund at birth, but he hated it so much he told everyone it was Edward. And I'm glad he did. Edward: "wealthy guardian." Because you are. No wealth in terms of earthly riches...sorry. Your parents are a pastor and a teacher. But in terms of the great love and knowledge of Jesus, you are the Bill Gates of heavenly riches. Billions on this planet yearn for the knowledge you've gained already - that the whole point of this life is to glorify a good and saving God. Guard this wealth with your whole heart. Let it be your treasure. Guard this wealth against impurity, cowardice, and superiority. A guardian knows what his treasure is worth. "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." (Matthew 6:21) And how I pray for your heart to be His.

Morgan Bascombe:

You are joy and fun. You are happiness. You are the twinkle in an eye. You are a giggle and a shout all in one. You are a Momma's Boy in the best sense of the term.

Morgan Earp was a younger brother whom Wyatt Earp loved dearly. We wanted you, too, to be a dearly loved brother of a Wyatt. (And you are.) Morgan comes from the Welsh "Morcant," Mor meaning "sea" and cant meaning "circle." A sea-circle. Both endless. When you think of your name, think of how beloved you are to your Mother and Father, how our love for you is as "boundless as the sea." But even more so, remember God, the Creator of the sea who loves you. He considers you a far loftier and beloved creation than any of the waters on earth.

Bascombe is the middle name of my grandfather, Posey Bascombe Glenn. It was also the middle name of his father. Your great Uncle David's middle name is Bascombe, as well. No one else in the family carried it, so we can only assume it came from a family friend or a notable figure of the day. Bascombe is a very old surname. It came with the Normans to England when they conquered it in 1066. Their coat of arms states, "Nothing is too difficult for the Faithful and Brave." And your faith in God's goodness, mercy, salvation, and the hope He brings to all people will provide all the bravery you'll ever need. Fear is not an option to those whose faith is placed in the Lord. "But now, this is what the LORD says-- he who created you, Jacob, he who formed you, Israel: "Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine." (Isaiah 43:1) You are called of God and have been redeemed by Him. My prayer is that you feel His call all throughout your life and own your rights as a fellow heir of Jesus Christ.

Boys, we do not immediately become the meaning of our names. Some people never know the meanings of their names. But you do. They were carefully crafted while you were being carefully crafted in the womb. Your names call you to great things in the Lord, to forget yourselves and to fight for a Savior who gave His life for you. Time in this world is dwindling away and there are so many who do not know the riches and fullness of a life lived in Jesus. So you, my boys, go and live out your names. You faithful warriors, you guardians, you who are dearly loved.

xxoo
Mommy
January 2016

Picture (Im)Perfect

I have the privilege of living in a charming craftsman home on a lush five acre lot. This home has been handed down for four generations in my husband's family. It was a treasure generously given to my little family and every day I am thankful.

Our home is easy to spot. Actually most people in my town know exactly where I live because my house has existed longer than any living person in our town. And most likely, God willing and the creek don't rise (Yes, literally the beautiful creek nearby.), it will exist long after we're all gone.

The house stands on the corner of a popular cut-through between two well-traveled highways, so in addition to its history, it is also a landmark to travelers in this area of the county.

Because of this renown I'm a complete perfectionist as to what the outside of our house looks like. 

Which is a major problem.

Because the outside of my house usually looks like a wreck. 

In the years since we've lived here we've seen a tornado and a hurricane.

Tornado is almost six and loves baseball and sidewalk chalk. Hurricane is two and likes to pee in the grass and break all potted plants.

Therein lies my problem: a picturesque yard ain't happenin'. At least not for approximately 15 more years when Tornado is paying rent in his own place and Hurricane is enjoying his full ride to Duke. (Let's hope he stops relieving himself in the yard by then.)

Here's the thing: I don't care that my yard is not always mowed. Or that it has an obnoxiously large trampoline in it. Or that it currently looks like a Wet n' Wild water park complete with sprinkler, Slip n' Slide, and baby pool. I love it. My boys love it. They play. We laugh.

But I do care what others think of my yard. I cringe when I create in my mind what others are saying as they drive by.

What a gorgeous home - too bad it looks like a Toys R Us blew up in their grass.

That house has such history - I hate that they let those chickens walk around everywhere. 

(Did I forget to mention the chickens? Their names are John Adams, Darth Chicken, and the red one.)

I'm happy with my home, but I'm not happy with what others think about my home.

And friends, this attitude is not okay. I should not feel the need to apologize for the evidence of healthy, active children and chickens. 

Proverbs 29:25 says this:

It is dangerous to be concerned with what others think of you, 

but if you trust the Lord, you are safe. 

Truth be told I live in a sweet little town. And most likely when people drive by they say, "Look at those precious boys playing in their yard."

But I shouldn't care either way. The only judgement that should matter to me concerning my yard, my decisions, or my life is God's. I cannot concern myself with pleasing others. I must concern myself only with pleasing God.

If the clutter in my yard is evidence of a life lived with joy and love then I am guilty. I need to release myself from the guilt of a home that is not picture perfect. And I need to start taking pride in a life that is picture perfect.

I am so tired of looking at myself through the lens of other people and even the lens of my own, narrow vision. My life is best viewed through the lens of my Creator's eyes. And if I'm in Jesus then when He looks at me all He sees is perfection: the perfection of Jesus. 

One day, in years that will go by too quickly, my yard will be well-manicured and not a baseball field. Toy-free, but childhood free. Full of bright blossoms, but not one broken pot. Not one single kid peeing in the bushes as you drive by. 

So today I will appreciate the clutter and know that God, the only One whose opinion matters, thinks my yard looks pretty fantastic.

Lord, may it be so.

What's My Motivation?

Back in the day (those being the late 90s) I considered myself quite the performer. Shows, school plays, choral performances. You name it, I was in it. Theater. Geek. A, ahem, highlight of my high school career was being voted Most Talented by my senior class.

I know, I know. Be impressed.

Flash forward 16 years and I will tell you that I have not stepped foot to perform onstage in...16 years. Many of my peers have far eclipsed my talent and success in the performing arts.

But, oh, I loved those days. I learned much from them. Things like character development, being in-the-moment, timing, connecting with an audience. And about asking that question we always snicker at when an actor asks it: What's my motivation? Or why is my character doing this? (This was of special importance when I would play the role of "Townsperson" or "Reporter #3" or "Random-Person-in-the-Background.")

We may make fun of this stereotypical question, but it's actually a really great question.

What's my motivation? Or, let's rephrase it for our real life and ask: What's the motive of my heart? Why am I doing this?

Hosea 8:11 says, "Israel has built many altars to take away sin, but these altars became places for sinning." And verse 13 says, "The people love to offer sacrifices to me,  but I do not accept their sacrifices."

I build altars with my life to God, too. Altars of good works and pretty things I've written. Altars of "Look how good Wyatt is at praying!" And "I'm a pastor's wife."

But none of it is good enough to give God. Those altars are faulty and will surely crumble if I don't lay something else on them: my heart.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 And if I have aprophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, bso as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3 cIf I give away all I have, and dif I deliver up my body to be burned,1 but have not love, I gain nothing.

1 Corinthians 13:1-3

My altars, my sacrifices are no good without proper motivation. I do good things for Him with my life. This is important, yes. But these sacrifices mean nothing without my heart being given, too.

God doesn't want my good works. God wants me. And if He has me then He will, in turn, be pleased with what I've done in His name.

I was thinking this week of the difference between the words 'nice' and 'kind.' If someone were to describe me I would much rather they use the word kind.

Nice is good, but it's just an action: a smile or holding a door open or letting someone with fewer groceries cut in front of you in line.

But kind shows all that plus more. Kind shows the motive of the heart. It shows that the action was given from my heart. That I smiled or held a door or showed courteousness to a stranger because of love in my heart.

I want all things I do for God to be done from my love for Him. Not for recognition. Not for what it looks like to others. Not for the good things it may bring me.

So today I'll ask myself, what's my motivation? And I pray that my answer will be: my heart.

Lord, may it be so.

Grace Jelly

My oldest son, for better or worse, is exactly like me. He is inquisitive, creative, and wholly excited to live life.

But, like his dear mother, he has a one-track mind, a tendency for the dramatics, and a decided opinion on the right way to do things.

We run joyfully through life, Wyatt and I, but sometimes we trip over obstacles in our way - those obstacles usually being our own two feet.

Tuesday was a tough day at the Smith house. Wyatt pulled a red card (RED!) in Kindergarten that day. Once he was home the behavior did not improve. Long story short, he was sent to bed early without his night time snack (a truly horrid punishment to any five year old).

At this point I, being his emotional doppelgänger, was HOT. Done. Yelling, angry, out of patience. My patience wasn't running on fumes - the tank was dry and the car of gentle, kind Mommy was five miles back down the road. I sat down on the couch replaying everything the child had done that day.

But...pitter patter. I heard his feet coming to the bedroom door. Creeeak - the door opens. And there, staring out at me from the darkened bedroom, are two big blue eyes. Just like mine.

My husband (always the voice of reason): "Jennifer, he's scared in there."

Begrudgingly, I walk down the hall. I hear his little feet running back to bed. (The same little feet that had tried to kick me a few minutes before.)

I walk to the bed and lay down, and there he is, weeping tears of repentance onto his pillow. "Mommy, I'm sorry I was bad today. I'm sorry."

I tell him I love him. That it's my job to make him a good person. I reassure him. And then I ask if he's hungry.

The silent nod - yes.

He humbly walks to the living room and sits on the carpet. I walk to the kitchen and fix toast. Dry toast.

He's been bad, right? I mean, I'll feed him, but he doesn't deserve his normal, frosted strawberry Pop-Tart.

"Mom, can I have some grape jelly?"

"No. This isn't a fun snack. This is just to fill your belly and then back to bed."

Another nod from my boy, accepting his punishment.

But then...my heart. My repentant child. Who, in earnest came to me. Admitting sin, accepting responsibility. Accepting his dry, tasteless toast.

I take his toast and walk back to the kitchen, open the refrigerator door, take out the jelly. And I slather it on.

And, in that moment, that jelly becomes something altogether different.

It became Grace Jelly.

Because, you know what? I too have been the weeping child, admitting guilt. Accepting the condemnation. But, my Father? He forgives freely, with joy, and offers me grace in abundance. I serve a God who walks my weeping, guilty self into the kitchen and offers me food.

And do I even need to ask?

He gives me toast, cut into triangles, no crust, and spread corner to corner with sweet, filling Grace Jelly.

Hosea chapters 5 and 6 tell us that when we come to the Lord in earnest repentance He will "heal us (6:1)."  As big as my sin is, His grace is still bigger (Romans 5:20).

My Father is the best and most perfect example of parenting. What is good for Him is most certainly right for me.

So my sweet son ate his toast and grape jelly.

Because, his mommy, who he is so much like, has been given Grace Jelly many, many times before.

And I will certainly eat it again.

Grace, grace, God's grace

Grace that will pardon and cleanse within

Grace, grace, God's grace

Grace that is greater than all our sin.

~Julia H. Johnston