Michele Huey's Blog: God, Me, and a Cup of Tea, page 16

On and Off My Rocker

All men’s miseries derive from not being able to sit quiet in a room alone. – Blaise Pascal

The rocking chair described in this post is now downstairs in the family room. This one is now used for my quiet time.

In the corner of my dining room is a gray antique rocker. A thick, green-checkered cushion hides the lawn chair webbing that someone weaved in to replace the original cane seat. Over the rocking chair hangs a brown cane swag lamp with its switch a reach away. On the wall behind it, from the wainscoting up to the ceiling and the full length of the wall, a bookcase constructed of thick, rough timber, darkened with age and covered with several layers of clear finish and a thickening gossamer of dust, is crammed with two of my greatest loves: photos of my family and books.

The rocker sits next to a four-feet-by-eight-feet, triple-pane, casement window looking out on the front yard, with flowering bushes blossoming one right after another: azalea, lilac, mountain laurel, and rose. A wooden, six-sided bird feeder dangles from the branch of the maple tree 20 feet from the window, which reflects the tree and the western sky so well it fools the birds, which often fly into it. Here I watch the snow fly, the storm clouds approach, the leaves change, the sun set, the morning stretch over the field from yonder pasture to my front yard, where I saw two bears racing towards the woods behind the house one summer morning. Where I savor the seasons of the year and sense the passing of the seasons of life, uncertain of how I feel about it.

Surrounding my rocker are several baskets of yarn and projects-in-progress, three sewing baskets, a basket of my quiet time materials—devotional books, two or three Bibles (different versions), prayer lists, and my “basket case,” a wicker basket with 365 slips of paper with Bible verses; I take one a day to keep from going nuts.

There’s a coaster for my coffee, tea, or water; a radio so I can listen to the Pirates’ game while crocheting, a book or two for leisure reading, an old hymnal, a box of tissues, and a small basket of pens, pencils, and sticky notes.

Here is where I head in the morning, cup of caffeine in hand. Where I wait in the lulls of life. Where I find peace for my troubled mind, anxious heart, stubborn will, and battered spirit.

Here is where I talk to God, and where, in the absence of the roar of busyness and the static of the world, I hear His still, quiet voice. Where I weep with worry, pour out my problems, complain about life’s unfairness, deal with discouragement and disappointment. Where, impatient, I demand answers—something, anything, to hang my dwindling hopes on. Where I sing with gratitude when I finally see the answers, which are always so much more than I prayed for.

Here is where I finally “get it.”

This is my quiet time place. My little corner of the world, where I hide from the world to find strength to deal with the world.

Where I meet with El Shaddai, Jehovah Jireh, Adonai, my Abba Father.

So that when I’m off my rocker, I’m not, well, off my rocker.

O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. – Psalm 63:1 (NIV)

 Read and meditate on Psalm 63

From God,Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God,

© 2017, Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

What Is Love Made Of?

Dean and me, Spring 1973

And now I will show you the most excellent way. – 1 Corinthians 12:31b (NIV)

DH and I don’t do Valentine’s Day. For some reason, it’s never been an important event on our life calendar. 

Oh, I tried to make it an event a few times. One year I cooked up a special dinner: roast beef heart and pink mashed potatoes, a meal we endured only once. A greeting card never seems to say what I want it to say, even when I make the card myself. 

Perhaps it’s that what I feel for my husband of forty-nine years goes beyond words. 

Me and Dean, December 22, 1973

And I think the forty-nine years has a lot to do with it. 

In the early years, I looked for what I could get in the relationship: companionship, love, support, a listening ear, sympathy. What I got was a man who worked ten- to twelve-hour days five days a week, provided firewood, fixed things (an unending job because something always needs fixed), and built me a house. He’s been a good father to our three children—a softy, I always called him. But his softness balanced my harshness. 

I’ve never seen him angry—upset a few times, but never angry. Even when I tried to pick a fight, he never took the bait. And he’s always supported me in my dreams. I dedicated my second book to him with these words: “To the man who fixes dinner, washes the dishes and clothes, dusts and vacuums, shops for groceries and puts them away, does the ‘kid runs’—the myriad of daily tasks considered ‘women’s work’—so that I could have the time to write. To the man who told me that he felt God’s will for his life was to free up my time so I could follow God’s call for my life.”

And whether I decided to go to work outside the home or quit the job I had, he’s always supported my decisions. 

Although he used to “suggest” ways my cooking could be improved, he’s always eaten everything I’ve made, even when I couldn’t. Proving he told the truth when we were dating when he said, “I was in the service. I can eat anything.”

When the nest emptied, he still looked for ways to help the kids out—as a handyman, car repair guy, and consultant. Whenever they called, any time of the day or night, he was available to them. He still is.

But we’ve learned to do things for us too. We’ve set aside Friday night as our date night. Homemade pizza and a movie. Before he retired, he rarely made it through the movie. I heard his soft snores around nine. I didn’t even bother waking him up to go to bed. It never worked and he didn’t even remember. I just kissed him on the forehead and turned off the TV, knowing he’d get to bed eventually.

I used to feel sorry for myself when he neglected to say “I love you” every day. But—don’t tell him this—I’ve come to realize I don’t need to hear it. I see it—in the tired lines around his eyes, in his now white beard, in the increasing stoop of his shoulders, in the slower pace of his steps. I hear “I love you” shouted from the stack of firewood by the wood stove, from the packages of venison and vegetables and berries in the freezer, from countless items that he’s fixed so we wouldn’t have to spend the money for something new. The walls of the house he built are his arms around me day and night. 

“Saturday’s Valentine’s Day,” I said one night a few years ago as we sat at the supper table.

He looked up. “What do you want to do?”

I smiled. “Nothing, really. I’m such a homebody anymore.”

He smiled and nodded. I knew he felt the same way. After a fifty-eight-hour week, all he wanted was a good supper and a soft couch.

“We never did do Valentine’s Day, did we?” I said. “I wonder why.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes. Then it hit me.

“Because with you,” I said, warmth coursing through me, “I have Valentine’s Day every day.”

Dear God, You gave me the perfect life companion. Not a perfect man, but the man perfect for me. Thank you. Amen.

Read and reflect on 1 Corinthians 13.

Dean and me, August 2021

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea for the Seasons, © 2018 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. 

The Rearview Mirror

Remember the wonders He has done, His miracles, and the judgments He pronounced. —1 Chronicles 16:12 NIV

Before the days of digital devotionals, I used the blank backside of the front cover of my printed copy of Our Daily Bread to record prayer requests. This way, my prayer list and my daily readings were all in one place. When the month was up, I often tore off that cover and stuffed it into the new booklet until I had time to copy the prayer list.

One day while cleaning out my devotional basket, I came across those old prayer lists. Reading them over, I was amazed at how many of those requests had been answered. Perhaps not in the time or manner I’d wanted them to be, but, looking back over time, I could definitely see the hand of God. And my flagging faith was fortified.

While it’s important not to dwell on our past mistakes, that doesn’t mean we never look back. We need to.

For it is only when we peer into the rearview mirror of life that we can see the hand of God more clearly than we could at the time, when doubts and despair, like dust swirling through the air, cloud our perspective. 

I look in the rearview mirror and I see ways God provided for my needs—a tank full of heating oil just before winter when we didn’t have the money to buy it, boxes packed with groceries left on our front porch by an anonymous giver at a time we didn’t have two nickels to rub together, money for gas so I could drive to Alabama to see my mother one more time before she died. Oh, I could go on and on and on . . . but you get the idea.

In the rearview mirror I see God’s faithfulness, deliverance, presence, protection, and provision.

What I don’t see in the rearview mirror are my mistakes, my sins. For God has removed them from me “as far as the east is from the west” (Psalm 103:12). If God forgave me and remembers my sin no more (Jeremiah 31:34), why should I remember and beat myself up about it?

I often quote St. Paul, who wrote that he forgets what’s behind and reaches for what’s ahead (Philippians 3:13). He left behind his utter failure to meet up to God’s standards on his own. 

And so we, too, should forget our failures.

But God wants us to remember the good things—His able protection, His abundant provision, His abiding presence. Why else would He command the Israelites to set up a memorial with stones from the Jordan River (Joshua 4), to observe the Passover Feast, to never forget the many ways He delivered them from the time He saved them from the Egyptians to the time they entered the Promised Land, 40 years later?

Why else would Jesus say at the Last Supper over the bread and the wine, “Do this in remembrance of Me” (Luke 22:19)?

What do you see when you look in the rearview mirror of your life? 

Thank you, God, for what I see in the rearview mirror. Amen.

Read and reflect on Joshua 4.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

Image courtesy of Pixabay.

Lips

The lips of the righteous nourish many. —Proverbs 10:21 NIV

 Plump is in; thin is out. Lips, that is.

An ad I saw online touted the look of full lips. The lips on the model in the picture were so full, she looked as though she were having an allergic reaction. 

Now, I’m not one to run out and buy every product that’s supposed to better my appearance and increase my sex appeal. Nearly fifty years of marriage, three kids, five grandkids, and seven decades of life on this planet have pretty well taken care of that. I struggle enough with my appearance—the last thing I need is to look like I’ve just been shot up with Novocain. 

But the ad got me thinking about lips—and their purpose.

Lips reveal our emotions: they kiss, smile, pout, frown, and open to release laughter. The position of our lips affects the expression on our face. I can always tell when my husband is upset about something by the set of his lips—a thin, tightly pressed line. On the other hand, when his lips are smiling, his eyes are twinkling. 

Lips are the gateway for food. Closed lips keep food and liquids in our mouths. “Chew with your mouth closed,” we tell our kids. Closed lips also keep things from going in. Good when you’re trying to lose weight, bad when you’re trying to administer a dose of medicine to a reluctant child. 

Because of their nerve endings, lips stimulate the senses of taste and touch. When I want to check to see if my tea is too hot, I use my lips. When my kids were little, I pressed my lips to their foreheads to see if they had a fever. My lips were more reliable than my work-weathered hands.  

Lips also are vital for speech, enabling us to create sounds and form words. I’ve learned to cope with a lifelong hearing loss by watching people’s lips as they talk. When I can’t see their lips, it’s hard for me to understand what they’re saying. Hence the saying in the Huey household, “I can’t hear you—I don’t have my glasses on.”

Like anything else, we can use our lips for good or for evil. We can kiss someone or spit on them. Our lips can encourage or discourage—and affect our own feelings. A smile will not only brighten someone else’s day, but it will also boost your own spirits. Don’t believe me? Try it. A frown, on the other hand, has the opposite effect. A frown is the thundercloud of the face and the spirit.

The lips that praised Jesus when He rode into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday by the end of the week betrayed Him, denied Him, cursed Him, and condemned Him. A kiss signified He was the one to arrest. Lips that boasted undying loyalty denied even knowing Him. Lips that shouted “Hosanna” on Sunday screamed “Crucify Him” on Friday. 

I can use my lips to complain or praise, demolish or construct, poison or nourish, deny or confess, curse or bless, spit or kiss. 

How do I use my lips? How do you use yours? 

 Dear God, may my lips be plump with praise. Amen.

 Read and reflect on 1 Peter 3:10–11.

NOTE: Look up “lips” in a concordance, then read and reflect on the Bible verses that have to do with lips.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God, © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

Michele Huey, Inspirational Author & Speaker
http://michelehuey.com
Where faith, love, and life collide

The Grocery List

“Lord, teach us to pray.” – Luke 11:1 (NIV)

I grew up at a time when small, family-owned grocery stores perched on just about every corner in every neighborhood. My mother would call in her list, and they’d gather the items, pack them up in boxes, and deliver them by the end of the day. The stores extended credit, so when Dad got paid, they got paid.

I’m reminiscing those old grocery store days because I’ve been pondering prayer and our perspective of it. 

Too often we approach prayer like writing up a grocery list and phoning it in to God, expecting Him to box up what we need and deliver it pronto. 

It doesn’t work that way.

Like the disciples, we need to ask the Lord to teach us to pray. 

So let’s look at Jesus’ response. “The Lord’s Prayer” is simple, but it contains all we need on our grocery list to the Heavenly storehouse.

First on the list is HONOR. “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name.” Sometimes we’re so focused on the family relationship that we forget our Father’s holiness. We’re so busy crawling into Daddy’s lap that we neglect to bow down in worship to El Shaddai. Honor Him as your heavenly Father and honor Him as your God. 

Second on the list is SUBMISSION. “Your kingdom come, Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Submit to His will for you and surrender what you think you want. Father does know best. Too often we want what we want and nothing else, and get mad at God when we don’t get it.  “This wasn’t on my list,” we complain. “This isn’t the brand I ordered.” Submit to His best for you. 

Third on the list is TRUST. “Give us this day our daily bread.” This isn’t a request only for food to sustain us physically. We also need bread for our minds, hearts, and spirits. And notice the words “this day.” Too often our lists contain more than what we need for one day. We feel better when we see caches stashed away for tomorrow (and tomorrow and tomorrow)—it’s much easier than trusting God, whom we can’t see, for today’s needs. 

Fourth on the list is FORGIVENESS. “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” I prefer the word “trespasses” rather than “debts,” but both convey the same meaning: If you want to be forgiven, you’ve got to forgive others who have hurt you. And we all need to forgive and be forgiven.

The final item on the list is DELIVERANCE. “And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.” God, being holy, will never lead us to do wrong. That’s our choice. I like the way the NIV Study Bible explains this verse: “Do not lead us into trials so deep that they would tempt us to be unfaithful to you. God does not tempt (in the sense of enticing us to sin).” Rather, we ask God to deliver us from the evil that surrounds us, so it won’t it affect us, inside or out. 

Honor. Submission. Trust. Forgiveness. Deliverance.

And, remember, you have all the credit you need—just write the check in the name of Jesus, who already paid. 

What’s on your grocery list?

Father, remind me to keep my prayers simple.  Amen.

Read and reflect on Matthew 6:5–13.

 From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

Use Your Binoculars – The RIGHT Way

Oh, magnify the LORD with me.  —Psalm 34:3 NKJV

Except for a few last-minute items, the camper was packed for our final camping trip of the year. Although rain was in the forecast, we hoped it would hold off long enough for us to hike one of the trails we hiked the previous spring—the Buzzard Swamp Trail in the Allegheny National Forest.

Experiencing nature, to me, is experiencing God. On our hikes, I stop frequently to enjoy the scenic view, listen to the calls of wildlife or the ripple of a brook, or inhale the scent of pine and humus—and thank the Creator for His awesome work. 

Before we set out, we stuff a backpack with our lunch, water bottles, protein snacks, and raingear. We take my walking stick, the camera—and the binoculars. 

We don’t want to forget the binoculars, like we did on one hiking trip. Without them, we miss so much. With them, we can see things in the distance closer, clearer and bigger—that is, if we use them the right way. 

Now, who in their right mind would use binoculars the wrong way? While it does take some fiddling with the dial to adjust the view, it doesn’t take a member of Mensa to know how to use field glasses. It’s pretty obvious which part you hold up to your eyes. If you hold the wider end to your eyes, though, the view becomes smaller, more distant.

We have “binoculars” to help us to see God better, too—nearer, clearer, and bigger. But I fear sometimes we use them the wrong way and thus perceive God as distant, fuzzy, and little. 

One type of spiritual binocular is prayer. Talking to God doesn’t actually bring Him closer, just like binoculars don’t bring what you’re looking at through them physically closer. But they do help you to see distant things as though they were nearer. Remember, God is always with you (Hebrews 13:5; Psalm 139), whether or not you feel His presence. The binoculars of prayer, though, bring you closer to God. “Draw near to God and He will draw near to you” (James 4:8).

Another type of spiritual binocular is Scripture. As I spend more time in God’s Word, my perception of Him becomes clearer. 

Another type of spiritual binocular is nature itself. I see God in the sky, the trees, the wind, the rain, the rainbow—everything in nature reflects the Creator, who is much, much bigger than the God I can only imagine. The universe—the heavens, the earth, and all of space and what it contains—cannot contain Him. He is infinite, not limited by space or time.

The problem is sometimes we use the binoculars the wrong way. We hold the wider end to our eyes—and get a much smaller view. 

Maybe some folks are content with a small view of God. It makes them more comfortable, feeling more in control.

But remember, the binoculars are simply a device to improve our perception—it doesn’t change what we’re viewing. No device will make God any smaller or bigger. 

“I AM WHO I AM,” God told Moses when he asked God His name (Exodus 3:14). 

God is who He is—unchanging, eternal, holy, omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent, all-wise, infinite, good, faithful, merciful, loving, just, true, majestic, and sovereign.

Wow, that’s huge.

Are you using your spiritual binoculars the right way?

Open the eyes of my heart, Lord. I want to see You in all Your glory. Amen.

Read and reflect on Psalm 34.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. 

Image from Pixabay.

R & R

The LORD is my shepherd . . . He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. —— Psalm 23:1,2 NIV 

When the kids were little and I was a stay-at-home mom, January was my R & R month. Just as the military gives its troops time for rest and relaxation to refresh them for the battles to come, I, too, found fighting life’s day-to-day battles left me with an I’m-so-tired-I-can’t-go-on feeling. Especially after the hectic holidays.

So after the decorations were put away, and the house returned somewhat back to normal, I decided I needed a vacation of sorts. I couldn’t afford to fly off to a warmer climate, and the frigid temperatures, blowing snow, and howling winds of a typical Northeast January made traveling anywhere but to town for groceries a battle in itself. So why not hole up and take the first month of the year to refresh my spirits and rejuvenate my energy?

I spent the time reading and working on a sewing or crocheting project. My family enjoyed homemade bread, cinnamon rolls made from scratch, and other goodies I usually didn’t have the time to make. When the kids had a snow day, we played board games and sipped hot chocolate topped with a healthy dollop of extra creamy whipped topping.

When February rolled around, I was ready to come out of my self-imposed hibernation and face the world.

Rest is important to body, mind, and spirit. That’s why God commands us “to remember the Sabbath day.” The Hebrew words for “Sabbath” means “cessation.” One day in seven was set aside for rest and worship. God Himself set the precedent when He ceased from His work of creating the universe and everything in it.

Nowadays it seems the world spins faster. Technology has increased the pace of life. We’re slaves to overcrowded schedules. We over-commit our time and overdo ourselves, but for what purpose?

More than ever, we need a Sabbath day, and, yes, even a Sabbath month or year, to recharge our spent energy, refocus our goals, redirect our steps, and renew stalled-out dreams. 

Thank You, God, for the renewal a Sabbath brings. Amen.   

Read and reflect on Psalm 23.

From God, Me, and a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God, © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

Image courtesy of Pixabay

Selah!

Read and reflect on Psalm 46.

Selah!  – Psalm 46: 3, 7, 11 NIV

If I were to choose a Scripture for the New Year—as a theme verse to reflect on throughout the year—I’d select a word used 74 times in the Bible, mostly in Psalms (71 times—the other three can be found in Habakkuk) and often overlooked. Perhaps we ignore it because it’s only one little word of five letters standing all by itself at the end of a verse. Perhaps we pay little attention to it because no one knows with certainty its meaning, not even biblical scholars. So we skip right over it and keep on reading.

But the word selah (pronounced SEE-lah) is not to be ignored, even if we don’t know what it means.

Strong’s Concordance defines selah as “to lift up, to exalt.” 

So the first word I want to focus on is praise.

Sometimes the phrase “Praise God!” slips through our lips almost meaninglessly and is soon forgotten. How often do we truly praise God—from the heart, not just the mouth?

On a drive to my doctor’s appointment one time, I spent nearly the entire 45 minutes praising God—aloud. It all started when I thanked Him for dry roads and good weather. One praise flowed after another. Once the pump was primed, the water of praise just gushed out. 

Too often I focus on my problems, not on praise. Can it really be that much easier to list a litany of laments than all the ways God has lavished us with His love?

Another definition for selah is “the writer’s instruction to the reader to pause and exalt the Lord,” or “pause and calmly think of that!” 

The focus here is on the word pause.

How often do we intentionally pause and think about the blessings God has poured into our lives? Or to take time to know Him better? I’m ashamed to admit it, but I don’t give God the time He is due. Too often my prayer and Bible reading time is like rushing through the drive-through, gobbling junk to appease my hunger, rather than take the time to savor the banquet and sip from the overflowing cup of blessings my Lord places before me (Psalm 23:5). 

Try it. Put your day on pause and sit down and focus on your blessings. Little things. Big things. Speak them aloud—there’s power in the spoken word—or write them down. It won’t be long before the clouds of hopelessness and despair part, and you feel the warmth of His sunshine in your soul.

Pause and praise—and one more thing—Presence.

Just as the meaning of selah is uncertain, so are the days that will comprise 2022. 

But of one thing I am certain: That His Presence will go with me (Exodus 33:14). For He has promised, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5; Deuteronomy 31:6).

What is your focus verse for 2022?

Thank You, Lord, for being with me every moment of every day. Remind me to pause and praise You often throughout the New Year. Amen.

TO MY READERS: Happy New Year! May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you. May the Lord lift up His countenance on you and give you peace throughout the New Year. (Numbers 6:24–26)

From God, Me, and a Cup of Tea for the Seasons, © 2018 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

The Last Candle

She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins. . . . and they will call him Immanuel—which means, “God with us.” – Matthew 1:21, 23 (NIV)

For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given . . . And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. – Isaiah 9:6 (NIV)

 It wasn’t a good Christmas for Henry. His oldest son had been badly wounded in the war. And it was another Christmas without his beloved wife Fanny, who died three and a half years earlier as a result of burns suffered in a fire that Henry himself tried to extinguish. The scars from the burns he received while trying to save her made shaving too painful, so he grew a beard—a constant reminder of his tragic loss.

Henry was all too familiar with grief. His first wife died at the age of 22, days after a miscarriage while they were traveling abroad. He’d buried a year-old daughter and a 20-year-old sister. His grief that Christmas after his son was wounded drove him to pen the following words: “And in despair I bowed my head, ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said, ‘For hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, good will to men.’”

The year was 1864. The war was the Civil War. The poet was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Times haven’t changed much, have they? The country is still at war. Our young men and women are still being wounded. And people still carry burdens of unbearable grief, especially at Christmastime. A season that should be joyful is, for many folks, a reminder of what they have lost. 

I didn’t set out to write a column that would depress you, especially on Christmas Eve.  But I know many of you are coping with grief. Perhaps this is the first year without your husband or wife or son or daughter or mother or father. Perhaps you lost your job this year. Or you’ve received a diagnosis that has left you staggering. Perhaps in your pain you’re wondering where God is. Peace is absent from your life.

Oh, how we’d love to capture the wonder and joy and magic of that first Christmas and carry it around with us all the time! But the angels returned to heaven, the shepherds went back to work, the wise men returned to their country, the blazing star disappeared, and a jealous, insane king ordered the slaughter of all male children two and under. 

In 1872 Longfellow’s poem was set to music. Today we know it as “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” The last stanza reads: “Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; The wrong shall fail, the right prevail With peace on earth, good will to men.’” 

What a message of hope! Even in our deepest pain and grief and despair, the last candle burns: Immanuel. God is with us. Yesterday, today, and always.

 As I light the center candle on my Advent wreath—the white candle—I am reminded that it symbolizes Jesus, your Son, who came to give us hope, love, joy, and peace. Thank you, God, for the best Christmas present of all. Amen.         

Read and reflect on: Luke 2:1–20.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea for the Seasons © 2018 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

Angels from the Realms of Glory

Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation? – Hebrews 1:14 (NIV)

My angel shelf

For He will command His angels in regard to you,  To protect and defend and guard you in all your ways. – Psalm 91:11 (AMP)

I don’t collect angels. They come to me.

My Satterlee angel

One of the first angels I received was a gift from my husband’s employer at a company Christmas party over 25 years ago. The “Satterlee angel,” as I came to call her, is a clear, lighted angel about 8 inches high, holding a golden banner reading “Merry Christmas.” A golden halo once perched above her head. I placed her where she could light up a dark section of the house.

Winter days are often sunless and dreary. Nights are long and darker than any other time of the year. But my Satterlee angel reminds me that even in the longest, darkest, and coldest times of our lives, God sends us hope in the rays of His Son, which wrap themselves around us, warming the cold places in our hearts and spirits, lighting the darkest paths that stretch before us.

My Satterlee angel represents HOPE.

Then there’s my “Donora” angel. 

This angel is one of a pair that my late sister, Judi, had (Judi was the one who gave her the name “Donora angel.”) We grew up in that steel mill town in the heart of the Mon Valley. My niece sent her to me the Christmas following my sister’s sudden death in August 2003.

My Donora angel is a little over 12 inches high, dressed warmly in a burgundy winter gown with a Christmas-colored plaid apron, red cord belt, and a dark blue shawl. Her beige linen wings fan out behind her tranquil face. Over one arm is draped a Christmas wreath. In her hand she holds an empty birdcage, with a bird perched on top.

My Donora angel reminds me of a past rich with family and traditions and people who helped to mold me into what I am today. People who knew me raw and still believed in me.

My Donora angel represents LOVE.

Another of my 11 angels perched on a shelf on the stairway landing is my “Birthday” angel. She was a gift from my little flock at St. Peter’s United Church of Christ after my first tenure of filling the pulpit of that little church in Punxsutawney. A delicate ceramic angel, she wears a necklace with my birthstone, topaz, on a chain around her neck. “November”—my birth month—borders the hem of her gown in raised letters across the bottom. And her halo—oh, my, one little bump and it’s askew.

My birthday angel

She reminds me of the happiness I get from serving my little flock and serving God in whatever way I can.

My Birthday angel represents JOY.

The most recent angel came to me as a birthday gift from my closest friend, Sharon. Butterflies and flower petals cover her dress. Her wings are framed in gold. The letters across the front of her gown read, “It is such a blessing to have a friend like you.”

My friendship angel

She is my “Friendship” angel, reminding me that friends are gifts from God. They remind us that we are never alone. Our Abba Father sends them to minster to us in times of need, to lend an ear and a helping hand, to give us hugs. Friends stand in the gap for us. A true friend brings a sense of stability and security to our hearts and lives.

My Friendship angel represents PEACE.

Look around. I’ll bet you have a few angels watching over you, too.

Thank you, Father, for sending Your angels to minister to and watch over me and those I love. Amen.

Read and meditate on Matthew 1:18–2:23; Luke 1:5–2:20

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea for the Seasons (c) 2018 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.