Melissa Runcie | Madabella

Beauty

Gliding fingers along the list of words, Madelyn stopped at "beauty". She sings beauty when princesses grace our television screen. She twirls in delight in imaginary dress. She delights in seeing a sad face come to live with a smile. She loves all things beautiful.

Her challenge for the school year: To encounter beauty. To seek it in the classroom, to find it in the hearts and actions of her friends, to discover it as she creates and to see it in herself.

Sitting at dinner table, I ask, "How did you see beauty today?"

"When I went with you to find Addie."

Little Addie was lost. A kindergartener whose first day of school ended in tears when she missed the bus. I found her sitting on the floor in a corner of Madelyn's first grade classroom crying.

At recess, the teacher invited Madelyn to befriend Addie and to stay with her at all times, only Madelyn was somehow separated from this little kindergartener and now she was lost.

We went to search for her. The playground was completely empty. "The last time I saw her, she was sitting under the shade by hopscotch." I called out before we reached the shade. "Addie!! Addie!!"

"HERE I AM!" We turned around and a huge smile came on her face. Little Madelyn ran to hug her and guide her back to class.

 
At the dinner table, sharing our day, Madelyn said she failed Addie. She left her alone, but finding her again was beauty. I assured her she didn't fail. We all lose our way sometimes.

I'm sure there is One who feels the same. Although He never fails us, we get lost and He joins the chorus of angels rejoicing when He hears us say, "Here I am!"

What could be more beautiful than that?

Melancholy Summer

a crown of beauty instead of ashes, 
the oil of gladness instead of mourning, 
and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. 
Isaiah 61

Early one morning in June, God penned this scripture across my heart. I opened blinded eyes to casted sun beams peeking through shutters and it was the first thought as I awoke. On the clean slate of a new day, God etched His tender mercy within because He knew something I did not. He knew my father would exhale one last time.

In the midst of confusion and grief, God brought about the certainty of His control and comfort. For the first time, I had a deep sense of God as My Shepherd, leading me through this dark valley of solitude. And unlike Paul who boasts of running the race set before him, I simply walked. One step at a time. With darkness hovering around, foot dug deep into dirt and steadied on rocks fallen from mountain tops above.

 
Image Credit: Kristy Prince + Light Textures

In The Treasury of David, Charles Spurgeon wrote:

“To walk indicates the steady advance of a soul which knows its road, knows its end, resolves to follow the path, feels quite safe, and is therefore perfectly calm and composed.”

God promised to bring about gladness instead of mourning. I walk through the valley guided by my Good Shepherd and see a mere shadow of death. Where shadows lurk opaque and obscure, there is lucid Light shown down from above. He is there walking beside me.

This melancholy summer is nearing its end and I reminisce.

Camping with friends triggered memories of summers spent in Yosemite, swimming in Mirror Lake and hiking along steep trails where waterfall mist sprinkles my face. I walked behind Dad who always led the way.

Sending Isabella to Basketball camp triggered sounds of loud claps and cheering while she dribbled by, “You can do it, Bella! Make the shot!” I sat beside Dad who always showed up.

Sitting on patio deck with lifetime friends triggered moments of celebrating new life to come, boasting stories of when babies were little, seeing how far they’ve come. I lived life with Dad whose laughter still lingers when I look at my girls.

Joyous summer moments quietly subdued under the umbrella of melancholy. “Dad should be here.”

Bifurcating the solitude of downcast thoughts, God reminds me after mourning comes dancing, after weeping comes joy, after winter comes spring.

So I walk on.

Find & Seek :: No. 2

“Find & Seek” features beauty captured that inspires me to seek God's Word.

 

I find.

I seek.

I consider...

The work of His hands, His heavenly handiwork canvased in brush stroked clouds. The work of His eyes, His heavenly vision to see beauty in ashes. The work of His voice, His powerful, tender, whispered, written voice speaking grace. The work of His ears, His inclined ear to capture every syllable and sentence, spoken and unspoken. The work of His heart, His bleeding heart of reconciliation that settled it all. 

I consider.

I seek.

I find...

In paused awareness of the senses, He is my delight. My song. My Savior.

Image Credit

I Am (Not) A Quitter

With a brand new, shiny Prince tennis racket, a smooth, black tennis bag with pockets, sleek compartments, and a cute pair of Nike tennis shoes, I was prepared to conquer the world, one serve at a time.

The sophisticated gear ensured the tennis ball spinning 30 miles an hour hit the sweet spot every single time, of course.

Walking, prancing, into the music store I identified the most beautiful, cobalt blue, Spanish guitar. I’ll take that one on the wall, please! A few weeks later, I got another guitar. And another one.

The sophisticated gear ensured my fingers would dance along steel strings, creating a beautiful acoustic sound of melody every single time, of course.

The day after thanksgiving I very politely enlisted my husband to run-not-walk to the department store with a thousand other eager shoppers to purchase a state-of-the-art, all in one, never have to iron your clothes again, supernaturally powered washer and dryer.

The sophisticated gear ensured my dirty laundry would be made white as snow, folded, and put away every single time, of course.

Nine out of ten tennis balls, though hit with tenacity of John McEnroe and charged grunt of Monica Seles, never make it to the other side of the court.

My guitars stage as home décor accessories rather than instruments made to worship.

Clothes washed and dried rarely make it to my closet with elegance, but rather in clumps and piles spilling onto dresser tops and chairs. Actually, rarely do they make it past the laundry room.

Somewhere along the line, I had a faulty believe that the gear would make the player. The outward tools of the trade would produce extraordinary, life altering results. The exterior would magically transform the interior.

Yet God tells us our character and strength are built from the inside out.

If I want to learn to play the guitar, I need to learn the language of reading music, painfully develop calloused fingertips and practice tedious scales and chords that resemble nothing of a song. And that is only the beginning.

Somewhere along the line, I had a faulty believe that I could simply quit if the goal was too hard to accomplish.

I am no longer a tennis player. I quit playing guitar. And well, I’m getting better at the laundry.

The one thing I cannot quit is being a child of God.

Contrary to what others may believe, I cannot rebuke the Holy Spirit out of me.

I cannot rescind the adoption papers signed by my Heavenly Father.

When the going gets tough, I can’t resign from this life God has appointed before the foundation of the world.

I am powerless to do any of those things.

Like Jacob, I can wrestle it out with God for hours upon hours, days upon days, but eventually I will grow weary of wrestling and the only thing to do is fall back into the arms of the very One I am exchanging blows with.

Yes, He works from the inside out, using trials, struggles, mistakes, tribulations, failures and everything messy in this world to mold me, shape me, grow me, move me and use me. Everything messy to draw me closer to Him.

I am a quitter. But this life, I will run with endurance, even if that run is a very slow waltz past the starting line.

One serve at a time. One strum at a time. One load at a time.

I am moving one step at a time and I will not quit, because He will not let me.

And He will not let you.

Preparing Hearts and Backpacks

"Mommy, today I wore the crown of courage! I did a share in front of my class."

Last year our family began what I hope will be a tradition each school year. We sent the girls off to school with a backpack filled with shiny new school supplies and a heart filled with possibility.

As a family, we engaged in a collective brainstorm of words to benchmark goals, accomplishments and things to overcome in the school year. We spent time in the Word as a family, coming up with ideas and learning from God on these topics and how they related to school. One word designed to both challenge and inspire.

Madelyn was apprehensively starting Kindergarten, so her word became Courage.

Isabella was eagerly beginning second grade, so her word became Wisdom.

Here's last year's artwork that hung in their art center:

While each theme is laced with a spirit of academia, the underlying purpose is to have Courage in the Lord against all the odds of new experiences and to seek Wisdom in making godly choices at the crossroads of higher learning.

While we didn't discuss it as much as I would have liked, one word ushered in paragraphs of conversation about school day struggles and victories throughout the year.

With only 7 more days until school starts, we letting Leadership and Focus simmer for this school year. For now, I'm reflecting on last year for inspiration and a spark of creativity.

Designed using digital elements from Nancy Rowe Janitz

How do you prepare the hearts of your children to begin the school year?

 

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Today's post inspired by:

 

Excerpt from the Pages of Her Life: Joy of Obedience

If Jesus is the Lighthouse illuminating the raging seas for lost ships to find their way, she is my spiritual compass guiding me away from dangerous coastlines.

When I was little, her nighttime prayers sent me peacefully into slumber and as I grew older her stories of faith kept me anchored to Him no matter how close I sailed toward the treacherous rocks. I would ask again and again for her to enliven the night with faith stories as we laid together on my twin bed during my college days. Well into midnight, we would laugh, cry and wrestle out the hard things of life knowing that God is indeed faithful to write a happy ending, even when we haven't turned the last page to read it.

Several years ago, she wrote some of these stories together. This is one of them.

"There are times when the Lord asks us to do something that we just don't want to do. Yet, when we are faithful to that call, we reap a blessing.

One day our church asked us to go to the park to share our faith. If I went, what would people think of me? What would I say? I didn't know the Bible.

My friend Mary was my encourager. "You can do it. Don't be ashamed of what you believe."

Nervous with hesitancy, I went to the park. We arrived at families relaxing, children playing, people walking along the path. I don't know anything. I can't do this.

Again, Mary firmly encouraged. "You know your story."

Yes, my testimony was all I had to offer.

I walked in circles at the park for what seemed like hours. In the distance I saw a man swinging his little girl. I stood there, hypnotized by the girl swinging back and forth, back and forth. Frozen with trembled fear, the man starred back with a suspicious look and somehow I dug deep to collect a mustard seed of courage inside me and walked toward him.

"Do you know Jesus?"

Strange, puzzled look came across on his face and he grabbed his daugther and left without saying a word.

I wanted to run and hide. I was nervous, intimidated and uncomfortable. This is what God wants me to do for Him?

Don't be ashamed of what you believe.

I found my friend Mary who was sitting beside a young couple. She invited me to share my testimony and with more ease, I spoke as they listened with enthusiasm. The day's nerves were long forgotten.

The next morning I went back to my routine, starting off the day like any other. However, there was one difference. I couldn't stop smiling, even when I tried not to.

I walked into work, unbeknownst to the radiance on my face. One by one, coworkers said, "Why are you smiling? You are glowing."

I felt something inside. From the deep parts of my soul to the surface of my skin. My soul magnified the Lord and a joy unspeakable ran through my veins. If I had one more ounce of joy, my body would literally burst. This earthenware vessel simply could not contain it. It was unexplainable.

Never again did I have an encounter with Joy as on that day. I knew God chose to bless me that day for being faithful. I had a small taste of heaven, knowing what we have to look forward to. And more importantly, I learned the joy found in obedience. "

- Mom

Detour Revival

This detoured journey into unknown crevices of earth captivated us along the empty highway.  

Among the rocks desert life interspersed with arid, natural hardscape. With noses pressed against the glass and exhilaration filled lungs, we boldly marveled at the mystery framed in the window. Mountains of rocks, heaps of cactus, entangled branches reaching out in every direction blurred as we drove on.

  
  
It was a sight to behold.

Rocks sculpted into the sky, placed by the winds of time. Formations held stories of intrigue never to be known by us travelers. Awestruck curiosity at God’s unlikely beauty kept us forging ahead.

Every turn and bend of the road unveiled collective rock majesty, each matchless and beyond compare. Unable to keep our eyes off all the lay ahead, we had to voyage beyond the steel and glass that kept us at bay. Pulling over, we trekked along rocks of ages, climbing over and under and in between.

We didn’t want to leave this natural playground hidden among the stones. We felt enamored here, it was beautiful and mystic.

 
 
 

God summoned the moon to begin its course as we neared the end of the road. We knew it was time to turn around, setting to journey the same path that enveloped us with intensified heart beats and awe.

I found dog eared pages and voyaged into another adventure.

Faint music leaked from headphones.

Light bounced against the rear window from the small movie screen.

Heavy eyelids dared to close.

I looked up, hoping to steal another glance at miracle rocks, and found weathered rooftops, gated fences, weeds and parked cars.

We passed all the way through, exiting the park. In an instant creation beauty was exchanged with a scene far less enchanting.

God’s glory was altogether forgotten when we set back down the road.

How could we happen upon such scenery and instantly forget how glorious it all was? Instantly forsake the excitement of its presence?

The mystery of life, jagged rocks protruding into blue, unexpected bursts of color among the cactus thorns no longer held our gaze. We had seen God’s glory once, we already knew what it looked like, why look again?

I felt the sharp, sting of a dagger inward and I knew this moment of understanding hovered over generation upon generation before me.

“You were unmindful of the Rock that bore you, and you forgot the God who gave you birth.” Deuteronomy 32:18.

Another people had forsaken God’s impeccable glory and grace. They had once seen water flow from rocks abundant as the seas and food of angels fall from the sky. In a desert, now familiar to my eyes.

“They forgot what he had done, the wonders he had shown them…But they continued to sin against him, rebelling in the desert against the Most High.” Psalm 78:11, 17

As the sun goes down, realization springs us. I am no different.

Flashes of life came in and out of focus. Moments of forgotten grace. Forgotten mercy. Forgotten love.

City lights flickered in the distance. The words highlighted in my Bible shown in the viewfinder of my mind.

"'I remember the devotion of your youth, how as a bride you loved me and followed me through the desert, through a land not sown…What fault did your fathers find in me, that they strayed so far from me? They followed worthless idols...” Jeremiah 2:2

Gently the dagger released without puncturing the soul.

“You have forsaken your first love. Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first…” Revelation 2:4-5

Flashes of Life come into focus. Moments of redeeming grace. Undeserved mercy. Unfailing love.

Idols of the heart forsaken on this detoured journey in desert wasteland pave way for revival within. In this dry and weary land, I remember, I look up and I bow down.

Have you ever forgotten the taste and beauty of God’s grace? Are you enamored by His love for you? What of God's work and wonder needs to be remembered today?

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Today's post inspired by Imperfect Prose, a collective of stories written on redemption and grace.

She Sees Me

I hear footsteps running up the stairs, knowing squeals of pride and excitement follow closely behind. Throughout the day, my daughters joyfully ignite me with sparks of their own creative moments or challenge me with questions that need to be answered.

Madelyn begs help spelling a word or recites a not-so-funny movie line that has her giggling uncontrollably. Isabella wants to reveal a feat of engineering mastered with paper, rubber bands and soda cans. The girls unveil plots of stories read, showcase artwork created with water color paints, or rejoice in the pleasure of a crawling creature found.

With the exception of showing off creepy caterpillars and rolly pollies, my girls know the excitement that runs in my veins when their creativity is in full effect. They risk sharing their own creations, knowing they will be noticed, encouraged and empowered to create more.

I am aware of the words that make them stand a little taller and raise their heads a little higher.

"That's beautiful. Look at all the colors in that drawing! You are such an artist!"

"Wow? How did you put that catapult together with cardboard and rubber bands? You have such an imagination."

Today, however was different. My daughter wanted to show me something or maybe she needed help. I really don't remember.

With a defeated sigh, she boldly replied back to me, "Mommy. Stop saying that. You only say that when you don't want to stop what you are doing to help me."

Words.

Caught.

In.

Throat.

I glance at my husband. Not because I'm caught. But because she sees. I am amazed that this newly minted six year old sees me. She sees past the facade of empty compliments and broken record responses. She perceives my closed body language and recognizes when I am looking right past her.

Admittedly, I am not always fully engaged. Only on occasion does time stands still for a moment as I observe, listen or read. All too often I have glanced at their prized possession and looked the other way, going about my business.

If I fail to notice my children, eventually they will no longer risk sharing with me.

Today, they share imaginative stories and silly contraptions. Tomorrow, they could be sharing something of far greater significance.

If I become blind to their circumstances, their mouths will become mute to share their story and their ears will become dull to the words of my heart.

I have a Heavenly Father who sees, El Roi. A God who searches us for the purpose of strengthening, encouraging, comforting, reviving and restoring. He has given me an example to follow, and now, so has Madelyn.

Who do you need to notice today?

El Roi is one of the names of God we'll review in the October RENOWN Online Bible Study Series. More details on the study can be viewed here. To subscribe, click here.

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Today's post inspired by:

 

DIY: Prayer Journal

"The tablets were God's work, and the writing was God's writing engraved on the tablets." Exodus 32:16

By the finger of God.

The silence of this moment, with Moses on the mount stills me.

Written by the finger of God.

Too robust of a thought to use finite words to describe this infinite work.

The wind of His breath resuscitated life into my bones. His finger pressed into my heart words strung together in the beat of prose. He wrote. Not on stone. On flesh. He filled up the pages within and wrote.

And I am reading that story.

Written by the finger of God.

And in adorned response, I write a letter to Him.

Art prayer journal made here with vintage wallpaper, art paper, string and love. Lots of love.

Last photo taken by Brian Prince, owner, Project Art School.

My Praying, Traveling Heart

But Ruth replied, "Don't urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God." (Ruth 1:16)

 

How powerful Naomi's testimony of faith must have been for Ruth to see the true living God dwell in her midst.

 

Ruth surrendered the comfort of all she knew. Her home, her family, her bleeding heart over a husband who was no more, to travel in the footsteps of Naomi, seeking refuge of the Almighty God.

 

Do I live in such a way that my own daughters will one day rise up and say with all the conviction in their heart, they want to serve my God?

 

Is my own testimony real in their lives so that they would see Jesus?

 

 
In my quiet hour of contemplation, I hear the still small voice of the One who walked this road less traveled. "Will you go where I will go? Will you stay where I am? Will My people be your people? Will I be your God?"

 

Those whispered words by my Kinsman Redeemer have compelled my life's prayer.

 

Yes, Lord. I will go.

 

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Today's post inspired by Imperfect Prose, a collective of stories written on redemption and grace.