I Found Out

She tried to hide it, her laughter, but it escaped from her elderly lips before she could hold it back. She hadn't meant to burst out like that. She only meant to quietly snicker like she did when she was a girl pressing her ear to the door to hear her parents' conversations. The best conversations were the ones held behind closed doors. Those were the conversations where she sometimes learned about a coming surprise and overheard her name. She loved surprises. She still loved surprises, even at ninety.

"You laughed."

"No I didn't." She was caught and the lie slipped out like the laughter had just moments before. What is wrong with me today! Have I no control over my mouth? She scolded herself.

But it was laughable. It was! She nearly burst out all over again, and might have if she was alone. But, no, this was a serious matter. She was going to have a baby. She, who was ninety and barren.

She delivered Laughter. That's what his name, Isaac, means.

I'm boning an oven roasted chicken and the oldies song, "Walk Hand in Hand with Me" has me humming along. I sing this one in recognition of my heavenly Bridegroom.

Walk hand in hand with the Father and walk trusting Him.

Isn't it an expression of trust to place my hand into another's and go with that one? Well, for me it is.

For the likes of those who have given their hand to another in marriage, to walk hand in hand with another through life, it's a sure expression of trust.

I did that decades ago, gave my hand in marriage just all happy, "Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay." It's wonderful fun when a husband goes where a wife wants to go, and when she gets to go wherever there is, with him. It's not so fun when everything inside wants to pull hand away.

Yet here's something I found out when I really didn't like where we were going--my husband's hand isn't the only one holding mine.

There's another pair of hands holding mine, and those hands belong to God.

Oh, this poor chicken. I'm not good at boning. Never was much for dissecting in science class, and in Home Economics we never boned anything. We baked cake.

This poor trusting chicken with no hands!

Sometimes we are taken where we don't want to go.

But, when there's the kind of hand-in-hand relationship which trusts the Father who holds all things in His hand-and who is good--then don't we go? What I found out is that I go. I do.

I found out that I go, even when laughter, tremendous expression of joy, is at stake.

I found out that I go, remembering others who went before me with their hands firmly in the heavenly Father's hand.

I go, remembering Jesus. The Apostle Paul. The heroes of faith written of in Hebrews 11. And Isaac, the name sake of laughter who, by sovereign design, was the first and only child of Sarah born to Father Abraham, grandfather of Israel.

I'm held in the same hands--the hands of the God of Israel. So, yeah, I found out that I go.

Something happens which seems only to happen in the thin altar places.

A veil opens and a glimpse of holiness so holy that one glimpse brings inexplicable joy and it's the joy of the Lord.

The joy of the Lord! That's some mighty joy!

That's a joy which gives might and returns laughter in fullness.

Maybe Sarah laughed more loudly than she meant to, but I imagine the visiting angels and the Lord meant to bring attention to her laughter because maybe they meant to make a point about the expression of joy.

And about trust.

Joy and trust. It's a delicate relationship.

Ruffle the feathers of trust and joy will become as skeptical as a chicken on the block.

Joy and trust. It's an often abused relationship.

Or it's a beautiful relationship.

I gave my hand in marriage and walk hand in hand with this big Bavarian husband of mine and my small hand disappears in his.

I also take the hand my heavenly Father offers.

He won't always lead me away from places where my heart will tear, but I found out that He holds His own joy and trust in His own hands.

I found out that when He offers His hand to me, He offers everything He holds.

I found out that He proves what He says.

I found out that He proves the exchange of mourning for joy. Of ashes for beauty.

I found out that He proves the return of laughter, and He returns it more full.

Sarah's snicker came from elderly lips, and her belly was filled with laughter.

I can just imagine how full her laughter was when she saw afar off the figure of her son Isaac-the figure of Laughter-walking toward her when maybe she didn't know if she would see him again. I don't know how much Abraham told her when he went out with Isaac and wood for the altar and without the animal to be sacrificed, but I do know that we wives are fairly astute when it comes to the ways of our households, and intuitive when it comes to our husbands. I imagine that if Abraham told her everything, she might have had a bone to pick. I know I would have, and it wouldn't have been pretty. All I have to do is look at what's left on my cutting board to know that.

I won't take a picture of it.

Chicken Tortilla Soup for dinner.


written by: Carolyn-Elizabeth Roehrig
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Poignant Hope in the Laundry Room

Her name was Mother of all Living. That's what the name, Eve, means.

I remember when I folded the tiniest socks. They were blue for the boys and pink for the girls.

The socks grew.

And grew.

They outgrew their colors and favored white which quickly turned grass green or grey; and they grew holes, too.

There were other socks which were all grown up. They were black and brown with very important business patterns on them. I paired up and folded these socks a good solid year before there were tiny socks in my laundry room. The big business socks didn't grow holes very often and, oh my, I felt important just folding them.

I was a young bride in the laundry room where God first began to instruct me in matters of socks and life. Ask Him to tell you about it, if He hasn't already, and I'm sure He will.

She wasn't always called Eve.

Eve wasn't Adams first name for her. His first name for her was Woman.

Then Woman, well, she did what God forbid. The whole story is an open book to for all to read in Genesis.

Blame was cast, and she wasn't the only one at fault. Yeah, she did what she wasn't supposed to do, but Adam really didn't do what he was supposed to do. Seems he stood by as Woman conversed with the serpent. At least, he wasn't too far away to know that she was naked. The only one who did exactly as was to be expected was the serpent, Satan.

And he was the one who was cursed.

Adam wasn't cursed. The ground was, and I wonder what was God thinking when He didn't put a period after, "Cursed is the ground." He didn't. He couldn't. Something in His character is displayed by the absence of a period and the presence of three more words--"for your sake."

Eve wasn't cursed. She would desire her husband and her pain in childbirth would be greatly multiplied. Kind of a catch 22, but not a curse.

Woman was then named Eve.

I don't know about her, but I'm not sure I'd have liked that name, given what it means and given on the heels of what God just said about desiring her husband and bearing children in increased pain. Did she cringe just a little when she heard her name? Was her name a continual reminder of what had happened in the garden, as the weeds taking over the ground might have been a reminder to Adam? Maybe.

I relate to Eve.

May I say that she's the mother of my flesh nature?

And may I say that though this I be, Eve's daughter after the flesh, I am after the Spirit Sarah's daughter?

I do say these things, and then I add them together and isn't it remarkable that Sarah was, after the flesh, also Eve's daughter? Call me simple as socks turned right side out, but turned right side out and paired with these two there is for me what I call poignant hope.

Poignant hope. Though there is within me the old nature, daughter after the flesh of Eve, I may be called a daughter of Sarah.

Poignant hope. Though my old nature contends for what is not hers to have, and sometimes wins, I am a new woman in Christ and He contended for me, and won.

Poignant hope. Though she would deny me the richness of the poverty which is rightfully mine by blessing, she snags her socks on a cursed ground and mine are blown off by what is written, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 5:3).

It's poignant to me that there's a reason of redemption that God cursed the ground for Adam's sake. 

Poignant that there's a reason of redemption which comes from God's sentence that Eve's desire would be for her husband and that she would be "saved in childbearing if they continue in faith..." (1 Timothy 2:15).

Pain with a point to it, rather than pointless pain, brings a reality to hope. And isn't that reality what we call faith? It must be, because faith is the substance and evidence--the reality--of things not yet seen but hoped for.

I pair up socks. Mine. They are the no-show type with "No Nonsense" stamped on the toes. It fits.

No nonsense faith is a hope-bound faith, no matter what thorns, thistles, weeds, sweat of brow or multiplied pain.

I reach for more socks and turn them right side out. I find a where a sole has worn a hole in the heel and nod. Yep, I get it.

So, this is my laundry room. This is where I pair up no nonsense faith with poignant hope.

Poignant hope.

Isn't poignant hope the kind which hopes all the more when the soul has worn a hole where faith's gotten real?

Isn't poignant hope often the strongest hope there is?

I think so.

Should I enter heaven with a well worn but no worse for the wear soul, it'll all have been worth it.


written by: Carolyn-Elizabeth Roehrig
http://www.etsy.com/shop/LilBitBooksnBoutique

Seems To Me...

Seems to me-

Faith wakes up,

It don't slumber asleep;

Faith grows strong, 

It don't grow weak.

Faith matures, 

It don't have no crib,

Faith sups with kings, 

Don't wear no bib.

Faith don't roll dice,

It don't shoot blind;

Faith don't run 

Scared out'a it's mind. 

Faith subdues, 

Chores long and gains,

Faith don't ever

Give over the reins.

My old man,

It don't please God, 

But faith, my friend,

Oh, sweet faith! It does.

written by: Carolyn-Elizabeth Roehrig

*find your LilBit journal at my shop. Write in it. Don't be afraid to mess the page.  

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My Soul Wears Sandals

Coffee maker puffs hot steam,

Kitchen sink is scrubbed and clean,

Apron's on, its strings are tied,

And here I yawn at faucet side--

What morning bliss! I've time to spare

For me and Jesus, closet prayer!

Then one whose soul has buckled down,

Calls on my phone, "Pray for me now.

I'm overwhelmed, can hardly breathe,

My soul wears sandals on its feet"--

Unstrap the feet which have been bound,

Wipe them clean of dust and ground.

Gently wash, and listen close,

Even to the most verbose,

They aren't crazy, they aren't mad,

They just haven't had the chance--

To speak, and really who would dare,

When ridiculed for what they share?

A troubled soul's a thirsty land,

Its toes and heels as dry as sand,

It's tried the balms and the creams,

Yet thirsts the more for desert streams--

Desert streams? That makes no sense,

Till soul is wrapped in towel that's drenched.

Bathe the grime from sandaled feet,

Of those whom Christ came to meet,

And if one soul asks for your towel,

Let it go, and then sit down--

Let a fellow servant wash,

Your feet too, as Jesus taught.

When dinner's made and evening comes,

When dishes clink to washer's hum,

My apron hangs, its strings untied,

My rubber gloves at faucet side--

Then? What bliss is mine to say,

"Washing, I've been washed today!"

written by: Carolyn-Elizabeth Roehrig

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Puddle Fish

She's like a child who stirs a puddle of rain water and then wonders why it's not clear anymore. 

"Well, that's just what happens when stuff of the earth," I grab a handful damp earth, "is stirred into pure rain water."

Child eyes. They look straight into mine. 

"I lean toward her till our noses touch and laugh, "Do you see your reflection in my eyes?"

She presses her nose to mine, giggles all little girl, and that's the answer I get. "Throw it!"

"I don't throw dirt," I act very grown up.

We turn our attention back to the puddle and I wonder if she saw her reflection in it before she stirred it. "Let's watch the water."

She picks up her stirring stick, but I say, "Wait. Look closely."

I have no idea what she thinks she's looking for. Maybe puddle fish. 

This child, she's hopeful. Curious what she might see in the water. She thinks that she'll see what's there if she stirs it up a little. 

I've thought the same thing before. Many times. 

Not while looking into rain puddles. 

I'm very grown up. 

I know there's no such thing as puddle fish.

I don't spend afternoons stirring up the earth at the bottom of rain puddles.

Or do I? Oh, not like that. Not damp earthen matter in rain puddles. But other matters in other places. 

We all do it. We dabble here, dip there, stir up some ripples, make a splash, until we hear something that sounds like, "Wait. Look closely." This is when we get to see what happens when we stop stirring things up. We get to see matters settle. And more, we get to see reflection if we wait long enough.

This is when matters of mind and emotion-soul matters as we know them in a murky world-settle till the things of earth grow strangely dim. This is also when best intentions and goals we have for ourselves and loved ones, settle down and wait. 

It's uncomfortable, isn't it? Sometimes? Uncomfortable to wait while matters settle? It's okay to feel it and not fix it.

Wait. Look closely here in the presence of Jesus. Look for your reflection as one pursuing the face of God to find yourself. 

Somehow matters settle when we hand over our spoons, sticks, fingers, words, thoughts-souls. 

Sometimes I stop stirring because I get tired and, beside that, whether it's a puddle a pan or a pothole, too much stirring makes mud, gloppy gravy, or skid marks.

But wait while it settles and you might have a perfect cobbler.

As far as I know, the only reason for us to stir at all is given in Hebrews 10:24, "And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works." 

How? 

The previous verses tell us how, and it's not by looking closely at others while we consider. Do this and, for all the issues with terms known by the nearest behavioral therapist, you might as well be looking for puddle fish. 

But "enter the Holiest by the blood of Jesus," and "draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkles from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water" (Hebrews 10:19-24).

We may look closely and begin to see the reflection of who we are in the cleansing blood of Jesus-the pure water as we know Him in the Holiest. 

Well, I don't pack a purse of stirring spoons. Can't say I know anyone who does, but who needs that when we have one or all of our fingers? Or voice? Or thoughts and feelings-heart and soul? 

What do I pack in my heart and soul? 

What ingredients do I stir? 

The makings for mud cakes? Gluey gravy? Pothole pies?

What am I waiting for? 

Puddle fish or a gorgeous fruit cobble? You know, a jigger of joy and gentleness, liters of love and longsuffering, kilos of kindness stirred together in a pan full of peace, and topped with a generous serving of self-control? 

Yes, please!

written by: Carolyn-Elizabeth Roehrig

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His Sweetest Best

The Father, from the very start,
Gave freedom to the willful heart,
To value every word that rose,
From deepest spring, profoundest prose;
Or to change His meaning slight,
To shade, with shadows, perfect light-
The Father of the universe,
Knows sweetest best and bitterest worst.

The Father of the greatest love,
Told Adam it would be enough,
To touch every kind of leaf,
And eat the good from every tree-
But then He told him one more thing,
There is a tree with deadly sting,
Eat from it and you will know,
It is poison to the soul.

The Father who has made it all,

Gave the freedom not to fall,
And though, in Eden, serpent hissed,
And shameless freedom would be missed,
The Father spoke and His words stand,
Two things cannot walk hand in hand-
Knowing good and evil ways,
A life of light lived in the shade.

The choice is mine, where I reach,

What I touch and what I eat,
Yet, I can't live both of and in,
God's righteousness and my own sin-
God's heaven and the world of me,
Cannot shake hands and live in peace,
This has not changed from Eden's glen,
What is true now, was true then.

So when I hear the Father say,
Don't eat from this tree today;
Might I respond with gratitude,
You've given me great latitude!
For hidden in this one command,
Is all His good placed in my hand,
Amid the toil and worldly strife,
His sweetest best is sweetest life.

written by: Carolyn-Elizabeth Roehrig

Just A Rock

He didn't choose Mars, named after the Roman god of war and ruddy in complexion.
He didn't choose Mercury, named "the messenger to the gods," and small enough to speed around the solar system earning that name.
He didn't choose Venus, though her name means "goddess of love and beauty."

He chose Moon.
Just Moon.
She has no proper name.  

She's just a rock, Moon is, with no stunning beauty except the beauty given her. She's just a rock, sometimes so dark in the night sky that her form isn't visible. But she's just a rock, and her only reputation hasn't been won by anything she's done on her own. Yet she's just a rock, chosen as the rock by the One God who makes such decisions.

Moon, she's as the bondservant of the sun. She's bound by the sun's gravitational pull and she serves his glory in his domain which includes all the planets in the solar system whether rocks Mars, Mercury, Venus, and even Pluto or not rocks. All are bound by his gravitational pull, but Moon is also bound by his beauty and by the good word of God Himself who refers to her as one of the "two great lights." He calls her "the lesser light," and He gave her rulership over the night.

Rulership. And she has no strength of her own. No pull.

Over unruly night. And billions of stars blaze and riot and fall from the sky, and  as many people do the same, when the sun tamely goes down.

I woke early this morning, went out back, watched the full moon go down and thought about these things. I thought how wonderful to see the moon full with sunlight, and to know that tonight he will pull her closer and closer to himself, by his strength, till she's not seen in the sky, yet she will be felt from one end of the oceans to the other just as strongly as when she is as she is now.

Marvelous that her effect on the tides on earth have nothing to do with her visibility, but everything to do with the sun's effect on her.

Maybe the relationship between the sun, the moon, and the tides on earth is enacted again and again, month by month, and year by year every night in the sky above to give those who look up the very evidence which assures them it's not foolish to hope for a place far and away better than this world which does riot in the dark. It's a heavenly hope, but there's reason of weighty substance given every night to hope for a heavenly shore where God's light will be the one light needed there and there will be no need for a lesser light.

Maybe this hope is also for those who look up into the night sky and believe the same one light-Light of the heavenly country-can so shine in the soul as the soul waits for what it cannot yet see.

I watch Moon this morning and think these thoughts.

The old hymn comes to mind-
Perfect submission, all is at rest,
I in my Savior am happy and blest,
Watching and waiting, looking above,
Filled with His goodness, lost in His love.

This is what I understand while watching the sun's effect on Moon.

Moon, she's just a rock without a real name. She's meek, and the meek inherit the earth.

Me? I'm just me.

Jesus? He's Rock, too. He made Himself of no reputation,, took on the form of a bondservant, and was right to say, "If you have seen Me, you have seen the Father."

Just so. Seeing the moon, I see the glory of the sun in a measure which allows me to look at it full on and not go blind. Isn't this the manner of how I might look at the glory of God and live-to look fully on Jesus?

May I make myself of no reputation.
May I take on the form of a bondservant.
May I be bound by the pull of God's Spirit on my spirit.

I have no light of my own, and whatever pull I have on the tides on earth-waves of people on every shore-must belong to the pull of God.

He is the great Light.

His pull is strong.


written by: Carolyn-Elizabeth Roehrig