Tag Archive for Jesus

It is Finished

October 24, 2012 Janet Morris Grimes pulse No comments

Published on The Christian Pulse October 24, 2012

 

“To-Do List”

Go to grocery
Get hair cut
Get dog’s hair cut
Orthodontist
Get oil changed
Clean out car
Clean house from where I cleaned out car
Buy stamps
Mail rent check, but not too early
Pay bills online
Document that I paid bills online
Buy wedding gifts
Get estimates on roof replacement
He

There aren’t many days I can completely cross anything off my list. Done. Finished in a way that I never have to give it any further thought.

http://thechristianpulse.com/2012/10/24/%E2%80%9Cit-is-finished-%E2%80%9D/

 

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Too Busy to Open Our Bibles?

December 19, 2011 Janet Morris Grimes devotionals No comments

The Christian Pulse devotional, published December 19, 2011.

 

How old were you when you first realized that Christmas was about Jesus, and not Santa Claus?

As a child, it was difficult to focus on anything other than Santa, and how could I possibly understand the correlation between the two. As an adult, I still struggle at times to focus on Jesus. From the twinkling lights, the television commercials that tease of all things extravagant, my internal ‘to-do’ list that constantly reminds me of what is left to be done, I fail to remember why I am doing it to start with.

(to read more, click link)

http://thechristianpulse.com/2011/12/19/too-busy-to-open-our-bibles/

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My Time Has Not Yet Come

April 20, 2011 Janet Morris Grimes pulse No comments

published in The Christian Pulse April 8, 2011.

 

http://www.thechristianpulse.com/2011/04/08/time-has-not-come/

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Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall….

March 16, 2010 Janet Morris Grimes Essay 15 comments

Photobucket

As part of a Blog Chain Project, this post will be on the topic of beauty, and more importantly, how it affects my life.

Beauty. Magazine covers scream its requirements from shallow pages, taunting us with the latest version of retouched perfection. The images offer a million different ways to chase the unattainable, oversimplifying the five simple steps to longer, fuller, lighter, whiter, and smoother.

Thankfully, I never belonged in that world. Disappointed with the lack of any true freckle remover as I grew up, my naked face and overweight eyebrows approached life as-is, with occasional tweaking for special occasions. If true beauty required hours of prep work, we were less than interested.

For this reason, I doubt I will ever be what the world considers “beautiful.”

Sigh.

I gladly relinquish that title, and the responsibility that goes with it.

For what I do know is that the moments I have felt the most beautiful are those where mirrors do not exist.

Sitting in silence on a beach as the sun whispers “good night,” offering one last wink and a kiss before bedtime, I feel beautiful.

Sleeping upright on the couch with my infant son asleep on my chest and running my fingers through his curly hair, I feel beautiful. To him at least.

Covered in a moving cloud of flour from head to toe while preparing a meal for those I love the most, I feel beautiful.

Taking communion while kneeling at the cross, as if Jesus and I are the only ones in the room, I feel beautiful.

Walking hand in hand with my daughters as they reveal their concerns about life in a maddening pace of words, I feel beautiful, and pray that they do the same.

Hearing my sister’s far away voice say before she hangs up the phone, “Hurry home. I’m not me without you.” I feel beautiful.

Finding a way to give a surprise gift to others, especially when they do not realize it is from me, I feel beautiful.

Splashing and dancing in the rain with my husband, I feel beautiful.

Digging deep enough to write words that make others cry, I feel beautiful.

I guess true beauty, for me, has much more to do with what boils over on the inside than what you see on the outside.

And if I had to choose between the two?

Feeling beautiful is much more rewarding than chasing down fleeting images through a distorted hall of mirrors, for mirrors never reveal what truly matters most.

Mirror, Mirror, on the wall?

Stay right where you are. My search for beauty leads elsewhere.

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Guest post on Texas Housewife Blog.

December 22, 2009 Janet Morris Grimes published No comments

Special thanks to Nessa Mathison for the invitation.

http://www.texashousewife.com/2009/12/little-drummer-boy.html

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The Little Drummer Boy

December 3, 2009 Janet Morris Grimes Essay 2 comments

I have this odd little quirk.  Call it crazy. Call it focused. Call it annoying. Call it sanity. Call it my attempt to slow down enough to absorb the message of something that matters in a world where we are bombarded with millions of fake and persuasive images daily.

I leave the TV off, and pick one song to listen to on repeat.  All. Day. Long.

It’s whatever I need to hear on that particular day, and it works for me. The music lays the foundation while the lyrics pierce my soul. I find it comforting; freeing for some reason. 

Today, my song of choice was The Little Drummer Boy, by Jars of Clay. 

I adored the TV special as a child, until the part where the little lamb was run over by the ox cart. But later, as he is healed and dances to the music of the drummer boy, it caused me to melt, every time.

Even back then, I recognized it as the one true Christmas special that had nothing to do with Santa Claus, reindeer, or misfit toys, and found it refreshing. This Christmas special is the only one I remember that focused on giving instead of getting, on Jesus instead of Santa, and on people instead of things.

Today, as I listened to the lyrics, minus the pa rum pa pa pums, I was struck once again by the simpleness of the message of this story.

Come, they told me
A new born King to see
Our finest gifts we bring

To lay before the King

So to honor Him
When we come. 

Little Baby
I am a poor boy too
I have no gift to bring 
That’s fit to give the King 
Shall I play for you, 
On my drum? 

Mary nodded
The ox and lamb kept time 
I played my drum for Him

I played my best for Him 
Then He smiled at me 
Me and my drum. 

 The Little Drummer Boy is a fictional story, but still so very true.

 All Jesus asks from us is whatever we have to offer. For this boy who was hurting, it was a song on a drum. Nothing more. Nothing less.

For me, it is my writing. It is all I have to offer; the only way I know to give back in return.

The song says “so, to honor him, we come.”

So, after listening all day, I get it now.

I will show up, bringing all that I have to offer.

And if he smiles at me? I can think of nothing better than this.

Me and my drum.

Pa rum pa pa pum.

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The Storm . . .

May 15, 2009 Janet Morris Grimes Essay 8 comments

Another one from the archives, rediscovered during our move.  I’m so glad I found it – like a long lost friend. . .

 

It is a beautiful, cool, autumn day. The sun is shining.  The sky is blue, and the breeze is blowing gently.

But I find myself in the midst of a terrible storm.

There is thunder and lightning all around me.  The rain is falling in turrents.  Ferocious winds have blown through the doors and windows of my house and are now tossing me about.  I used to feel so safe here, but now it seems that this is where the storm is strongest.  The very foundation of my house  is being tested for its strength.

The rain has soaked through my clothes and continues beating hard against my back.  I hold my head down because it is too painful for me to look up.  The water hurts my eyes and I am unable to see clearly.

The storm has altered everything in my life.  Everything that once had a place no longer fits there.  Everything that has happened to me before is now insignificant, because this is a new storm and it is stronger than any of the others.

It is totally out of my control.  Just when I think the winds are finally subsiding, I get knocked down once again by the fierce crosswinds.  I feel so helpless.  I silently wonder if I will survive.

There was no warning for this storm.  Even if there had been some sort of signal, there would have been no way to prepare for the magnitude of it.  There was no emergency newsflash.  No one told me I should evacuate.  No one can even tell me now what to do in order to survive.  And I’m not even sure how long this will last.  Will it ever blow over?  And if it does, will there be anything left?

The only thing I know for sure is that my life after this storm will never be the same. I will be changed forever, and so will my surroundings.

When I turn on the radio to see how others are dealing with it, I realize that this storm is not affecting their lives.  For some reason, this one has only hit my family, my house, and my life.

I have fought to survive for as long as I possibly can.  There is no shelter; no safe place for me to go.  I am exhausted from the fight.  My eyes are weary.  I realize that the only thing I can do is to give in to the power of this storm.  It is so much stronger than me, and it has lasted so long that I don’t think it will ever end. 

Just when the storm has reached it’s strongest point, I am at my weakest.  I have nothing left within me to get through.  I can go no further.  I am ready to admit defeat.

I gently lay on the foor and drop my head.  With what little strength I have left, I faintly mumble these three words.

“Hold me, Jesus.”

From deep inside of me, I recall His words.  “Never will I leave or forsake you. ”

I look up to see his shadow walking towards me.  The thunder and lightning are still crashing about us.  He kneels beside me and reaches for my hand.

Through my tears, and squinting against the rain, I tell him I don’t know what to do.

He answers, “Don’t do anything.  Let me do it.” 

He tells me that he had been with me all along, but was waiting for me to admit that I couldn’t face it alone.

I tell him how scared I am.

He sighs.  “I know.  I’ve been afraid for my life before too.”

I had planned on asking him why this was happening to me, but suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter anymore.  All that was important was that I was no longer alone. 

He pulls me closer to him and turns my face toward his.  Gazing into my eyes, and waiting for my soul to answer his gaze, he says the two most powerful words I have ever heard.

“Trust me.”

I lean my head against his shoulder, and let the tears roll down my face.  Tears of relief. Tears of exhaustion. Tears of letting go. Tears of fear. Tears of anger. Tears of surrender. And finally, tears of faith.  One at a time, I released all of them.  I feel  a calm inside of me that I had never noticed before.

 

The winds are still blowing fiercely, and the rain is falling stronger than ever. The walls are beginning to crumble around me.  My house is in ruins.

I still don’t know what to do, nor when it will end.  I still wonder what the future holds.

But I rest, and know that with Jesus holding my hand, we will overcome this storm, and any others that may be waiting for me down the road.

Its true.  I will never be the same.  Maybe, because of the storm, I will be stronger.

I squeeze his hand tightly.  “I love you,” I whisper.

“I know,” he answers.

“What would I ever do without you?”

By now, his eyes were twinkling. “That is something you will never have to find out.”

I smile, take a deep breath, and wait out the rest of the storm.

Janet Morris Grimes

September 11, 1992

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Identifying my chains. . .

September 27, 2008 Janet Morris Grimes Essay One comment

Chris Tomlin has a wonderful song called “Amazing Grace.”  I listen to it on repeat often, and I think that I’m finally getting the point.

“My chains are gone.

I’ve been set free.

My God, my Savior,

has ransomed me. 

And like a flood,

his mercy reigns. 

Unending love.

Amazing grace.”

I sing this to myself all throughout my daily routine, which is anything but routine, and realized that in order to feel free from my chains, I had to identify just what it was that was keeping me imprisoned.  What is holding me back?  What have I allowed to be a chain in my life for so long now that I barely even recognize it?

So, this is my attempt to identify my chains, and finally leave them at the altar.  It’s odd, actually, because I think we get so used to the way we are, that we cling to the things that are holding us back from experiencing all that God truly wants to give us.

“You know how I am – I just have a bad temper,” or “I’m just depressed” or “I lack self confidence” or “I’m too shy.”  All of these things can be true about us, but using them as an excuse to keep from trying something new seems that we are embracing the very chain that is holding us back. 

Or maybe that’s just me.

I’ve done a lot of soul searching about this, and it’s not easy to admit my weaknesses.  But I’ve learned through the years that if I honestly lay these things out on the table for everyone to see, then Satan has one less weapon to use on me.  He can’t handle the truth, and can’t make me feel guilty for something I’ve chosen to let go of, right?

So, here you go.

I feel things very deeply, so I tend to get my feelings hurt.  And then, I never confront the person who did this, choosing to withdraw from them instead.  On the surface, I wouldn’t admit to holding grudges toward these people.  But over time, hurt feelings lead to bitterness, and bitterness leads to a hardened heart, and God has no use for a hardened heart.  As a matter of fact, he even tells us that he won’t forgive us unless we have forgiven others. Really.  That’s what it says, and it doesn’t sound very optional.  (Matthew 6:15 But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.) Ouch!

I care too much about what people think, which makes me non-confrontational and somewhat spineless.  I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news. I don’t want to deliver a message you don’t want to hear.  I don’t want to be identified as hard to deal with, and I generally want to be liked by everyone.  Where would be we if Jesus approached things in this way?

I am somewhat of a workaholic.  I never meant to be, but the jobs that I’ve had along the way involved working all hours of the day and night, and I have allowed that to isolate me.  It has interfered with me attending church at times, but it could be that God needs me at church for a reason, but I’m too tired, or too preoccupied, or too busy to attend.  Likewise, I don’t spend enough time at home for this same reason, and I’m quite sure that God didn’t create me to be a machine.

I’m a messy person. If not for the fact that our house has been on the market for over a year, my shoes would be in the floor and my bed would most likely not be made up.  There is clutter on my desk, and I could spend hours here on the computer and not even care.   I can see through the mess in my life to the things that really matter, and I hope that never changes.  But on the flip side of that, if there is too much clutter and no order, it’s like extra baggage that I carry around with me, and probably limits my ability to see the opportunities God tries to set before me.

There is so much more I could mention, but I think this is a good start.  I’m tired of the bitterness and extra baggage.  I want to be free to serve, to follow, to dream, to overcome, and to conquer.  I don’t want to look back with regrets.  More than anything, I don’t want to get to heaven one day and see all the things that God could have used me to accomplish, if only I had been willing.

I trust that my God is doing something with my life that is much bigger than I am, so it’s really not about me after all.  And with that, my chains are gone, and I’ve been set free!

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