Confident and Connected: How can you be confident you're going in the right direction?

But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,

    whose confidence is in him.

—Jeremiah 17:7

With less than two weeks of summer break remaining, I decided to take a trip to spend the weekend with my Pennsylvania family. Quickly, I packed my suitcase and everything I would need for a few days away. Mentally, I went down the list. Medicine, chargers, laptop, devotionals. At the last minute, I decided not to take my Jesus Calling book. I knew I could use my daughter’s copy instead.

As I drove, I had plenty of time to meditate and pray. I was grateful for the blessings of summer, the freedom to take a trip on a whim, the trips I had already taken during the summer, the time I had spent with each of my grandchildren, making special connections. I would be sad for it to end, but I knew that more blessings awaited with the start of the new school year. I reflected on the previous year and the word I had chosen to keep my focus. At the principal’s direction, I posted my word, encouragement, outside my classroom door. Every day when I walked into my room, I caught sight of the word. It reminded me of my goal. Intentionally, I encouraged my students and later received positive feedback. Encouragement had been a successful theme. Recently I had been thinking about a new word for the upcoming school year: connect.

Is that it, Lord? I prayed. Do You want me to focus on making more connections? Please make it clear to me.

How Long, O Lord?

How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever?

How long will you hide your face from me?

—Psalm 13:1

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” I echoed the psalmist’s cry, as I prayed once again for the same prayer requests I’ve prayed for twenty years.

“Don’t you know how old I am, how long I’ve waited, Lord?” I reminded Him, while I sipped my coffee at the kitchen table, staring at the wall.

I’m talking to a wall.

“Lord, that’s how I feel! I feel like I’m talking to a wall!” I blinked back tears.

I blinked again. What’s that? I wondered, as my eyes focused on a shiny spot on the wall. A handprint.

That must have been left by my one-year-old grandson, Javier. I figured.

But why hadn’t I noticed it before? Javi hadn’t been at my house since Christmas.

Queen Anne

I knock.  No answer.

I knock again. No answer.

Please let me in!

Still no answer.

I turn the knob.  It’s locked.

I bang the door with my fist.

I push.  I lean.

I press into it with my shoulder—hard! 

Finally it flies open!

And I fall

headlong into a sun-splashed foyer,

your strong arms wrapping me in

an embrace, welcoming and soothing

as warm silky bath water.

Somehow I know this is where

I belong, this is where

it all began.

My heart swells, my throat constricts,

I don’t know whether to yell or cry. 

All I know is this is what I’ve been waiting for,

my flesh craving,

my soul longing.

You link my arm and lead me down your hall

lined with long-stemmed Queen Anne’s lace,

while tiny ballerinas in tissue-paper tutus twirl

and flutter about me like attendants to

Queen Anne herself.

Your cushiony carpet squishes between

my tired toes, as you

gently guide me to an open door—

my chamber you’ve adorned with

aromatic red roses, vibrant zinnias, flaming lilies—

a myriad of colors, making my eyes

dart from side to side.

I scarce can take it in!

Red, white, blue—

your glory flag waves from the corner.

I nod back—

it flaps again,

directing my attention.

There it is!

Inviting me to sit and sway

to your music medley,

a familiar orchestra, familiar tunes,

kindred voices,

melodic highs, deep-throated lows.

My soul sings along

and the rocker lulls my spirit like

a mother’s lullaby to her restless infant.

Your breath cools my cheeks and

plays with my hair, swooping it from my face.

You refresh me with your bountiful basket of

harvest—mouth-watering melons,

chin-dripping peaches, and plump blackberries

that explode on my tongue!

Come, you beckon,

pulling me to my feet.

And we parade, arm-in-arm,

breathing in

sweet-smelling hay and

unmistakable honeysuckle—

an ambrosial blend from

your atomizer.

You lead me to the pond,

still and serene, surrounded

by lush green growth and

a single blue heron, standing sentinel.

Suddenly, a turtle pops up his head!

Concentric waves surround, and

I peer down.

There it is!

My face,

peace washing over it,

and there you are,

waves blurring

the lines between you and me,

and I cannot tell where I end

and you begin,

for you are a part of me,

and you always have been,

my dearest, closest, truest friend,

June.

A tribute to my Creator—our Creator—the maker of all things, including the month of June with all its glory and bounty—and me, Desiree Anne St. Clair Glass, who He brought forth on Flag Day, June 14^th many years ago.

Thank You Father for Your countless gifts, including the gift of rest, as is promised in Your Word, for that is most welcome by this teacher now in the month of June. Amen. 

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

—Matthew 11:28