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Tag: inspiration

New Adventures

Tracey Dyck 18 Comments

It’s a new day, the second in a brand new year. And although some may argue that we’ve merely put a new calendar on the wall, I think that here in the confines of time, as humans we like to mark definite starts and finishes. We like to think that two nights ago at midnight, we closed one book and in the next minute opened a new one rife with possibilities gleaming on blank pages.

And so we did.

And so we do tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. To a smaller degree, perhaps–but each day is fresh. God’s mercies are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness.

Many of us, giddy with the idea of a fresh slate entitled 2016, make resolutions and goals for the year. Stats say only a small percentage actually reach those goals. Don’t get me wrong; I love goals! But let me just encourage you to strive for this delicate balance:

Dream big.

Savor the small moments.

Start each day with thanks.

Forgive. Forgive yourself, forgive the humans in your life. We’re all imperfect. Forgive the world for whatever bad turn it may have given you. Know that your Father is in the business of making beauty out of brokenness.

Divide your lofty goals into chunks, little milestones that you can celebrate along the way. The way to reach them truly is one step at a time.

Go for your goals, yes; but have grace for yourself along the way.

You cannot give what you do not have–ground yourself in God’s love more than ever before, and watch as it overflows into the lives of those around you.

As the quest of 2016 commences, I’m so blessed that our paths intersect here! May the road be straight before your feet. May you happen upon unexpected beauty along the way. May you have the strength to scale the mountains and the perseverance to cross the valleys. Sally forth, warriors! The best is yet to come.

P.S. I like to be a polite little blogger and cite the sources of the pictures I use, but these two I found a long time ago and merely saved to my computer without marking down where I found them.

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Emmanuel

Tracey Dyck 12 Comments

Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us. (Matthew 1:23 KJV)

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Emmanuel.


We sing this name at Christmastime. “O come, O come, Emmanuel; and ransom captive Israel . . .” We read it in the story of Jesus’ birth. It is wound into the fabric of this holiday, and yet we skim over its significance.


God with us.


God. Creator of the universe, the One whose words caused a sun to flame into being and a world to burst forth. The One who hung and named the stars, the One who formed a man from the dust of the earth and breathed life into his lungs. The King of all the kings that have ever been or ever will be; the Lord over every lord. A God so big we can’t even begin to comprehend Him, a God who has no beginning or end because He always is. Just a glimpse of His power and majesty is enough to bring us to our knees. This is God.


With. This God pitched His tent among the sweltering throng of humanity. He entered this world in the weakest form possible, in the humblest place possible. He immersed Himself in our reality, in our lives of depravity. He walked the broken shards of our earth. The Author entered the story. Trading the glory of heaven for the constraints of mortal skin, He lived among us. And more than just being here physically, He was with us. On our side. Taking deep interest in us. Piecing our broken parts back together. Feeling our pain and joy and eventually sacrificing absolutely everything for our sake.


Us. Human beings, each one flawed. Individuals with struggles and cravings and skewed vision and inflated egos and world-trampled hearts. Not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, yet graced with the presence of One who was completely man and yet completely God—the Perfect One. He could have shrunk back from our mess, but instead He waded right into it. And His entry changed everything.


Emmanuel—God with us—is the reason Christmas means so much. With this day we celebrate the beginning of what changed the world two thousand years ago. What changes us.

Rejoice!
Again I say rejoice
For unto us is born
The Savior of the world

Take heart
Oh weary soul, take heart
For help is on its way
And holy is His name

This Christmas, remember the Savior who promises to be with you; who is right beside you now. He was born to die so that we might live. Indeed, the manger in which He was laid, contrary to popular belief, was actually carved not from wood but from stone, symbolizing the rocky tomb not far in His future.

Whatever your holidays look like this year—whether you’re sitting around the glowing tree with your family or grieving a loved one or wishing the rifts in your world would mend—Jesus is with you. Never will He forsake you.

Emmanuel. God with us. God with me. God with you.

Merry Christmas!

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An Unfading Beauty

Tracey Dyck 22 Comments

Ladies, this one’s for you. (To any knights or squires who may be reading: no need to click away just yet. This describes the sort of lady worth pursuing. So read on.)


You should clothe yourself instead with the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God. (1 Peter 3:4)

This verse used to bother me. A gentle and quiet spirit? Oh dear. I am sometimes harsh and judgmental, abrasive rather than gentle. I am sometimes loud, more often in my thoughts than verbally, but still not exactly quiet all the time. Nor do I always want to be gentle and quiet. Such a woman sounds meek in the negative sense of the word. She sounds like a doormat. A woman of pastel watercolors and soft speech. A woman who bows her head and silently allows others to direct and correct and stomp all over her. (Please keep in mind that some of the aforementioned qualities, in proper quantities, are positive. Accepting direction is a good thing!)

But you understand what I mean, right? This verse seems to set an impossible standard. Even the most introverted among us would struggle with it.

Then I discovered the real meaning behind it.

A woman with a gentle and quiet spirit is strong. She is confident. She is secure in her identity, in a Love eternal that defines her value. It is this peaceful strength glowing in the heart of a woman of God that overflows in gentleness. This woman radiates beauty.

She does not have to brashly force her way into the limelight. She does not have to spurn men to feel valued as a woman. She does not have to use hurtful sarcasm to feel important or accepted. She is not searching desperately for love. She already has it. She is secure and steadfast. She knows exactly who she is.

She is precious to the Lord.

A woman who knows that, truly knows in her heart–a woman who lays every insecurity down at the foot of the throne–has so much more room to extend that love toward others. She is gentle with them. She extends grace for their failings because she has accepted grace for hers.

And that part about being quiet? All you bubbly, talkative personalities can breathe easy. A quiet spirit is simply one at peace with herself and with God, not tormented by worry or fear or self-condemnation. Picture it like a glassy sea undisturbed by wind. Nothing fazes this spirit; it is one that laughs without fear of the future.

This peaceful confidence, this strength, is so incredibly beautiful. And I can’t say I’m there yet. But I am on the journey. Will you join me?

To close, I’m taking a brief detour into country music, which my workplace subjects me to on a daily basis. (Somebody save me!) One of the few songs I actually like has some lyrics that fit today.

So your confidence is quiet
To them quiet looks like weakness
But you don’t have to fight it
‘Cause you’re strong enough to win without a war
-Hunter Hayes, Invisible
There will be times when your gentle and quiet spirit may be perceived negatively. When you refuse to engage in an acidic conversation, or don’t get riled up over an issue like everyone else is doing, they may think you don’t care. They may think you are weak. But time will reveal the truth. Besides, what they think doesn’t matter. Only what God thinks.
He says you are beloved.
And you are beautiful.
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Sandpaper Days

Tracey Dyck 18 Comments
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The days when you are not where you want to be.

The days of monotony, of the same routine over and over and over again.

The days of chaos, where nothing is tied down and everything whips in a whirlwind around you.

The long days full of long hours, but never enough time.

The days of hard work, of aching muscles and aching mind and aching heart.

The days of bleary eyes blinking at too many pages, of weary hands wiping down too many tables, of crammed brains stuffing too many things inside.

The days that grate, rubbing you all the wrong ways until your fur stands on end and you know that one more scrape will set you off hissing at the world. Slowly wound tighter and tighter, the pressure builds by slight degrees and if today could be that exhale you’re desperate for, it would be just in time.

These are the sandpaper days.

They are hard. Not in a fiery trial kind of way, when the world crashes down around your ears and you scream for help. No. These days, if doled out one at a time, would be quite bearable. But there are just so many of them, and in numbers they are strong. They stretch and pull and drain, and if you would be honest with yourself, you might admit to being weary in well doing.

I’m here to tell you “press on.” I’m here to say that these days are shaping you, refining you, smoothing your rough grain. And they do not last forever. This is a season, and as all seasons do, it will pass.

I’m here to challenge you to embrace it. It may feel like hugging a cactus, but these days are meant to be utilized. If you give in to the weariness, you only lengthen the season. Decide. Decide you are going to learn what you can here, do the best that you can, and keep putting one foot in front of the other. If you don’t, you may walk around and around this mountain countless times throughout your life and never get over it.

I know. Oh, I know you want nothing more than to collapse and not move for a week, but press on, dear heart.

When your strength fails, there is a Strong One from which to draw. A Steady One on which to lean. He is with you in the midst of your sandpaper days.

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