I saw some photos today that just blessed my heart. An old friend has been installed as pastor of the church he grew up in…First Baptist Church in Washington, Ga.

What makes it so special for me? Well…I had the honor of being there when that precious young man gave his heart to Jesus.

Oh, how I loved going to Camp Stephens each summer when I was a teenager. It was held at A.H. Stephens State Park in Crawfordville, Ga., about an hour or so from where I grew up. I loved it because for the first time in my young life, I came into contact with like-minded people…people who loved Jesus like I did.

Each year, it seemed that the same people came back as counselors, and we developed some close bonds. We all went to high schools in the same area, and many of our schools were bitter rivals on the football field. But none of that mattered at Camp Stephens. We were all there for the fun, the pranks, the wonderful campfires, the skits, the cold showers, the congealed grits and frisbee toast and, most wonderful of all, the fellowship with each other.

It was at this camp that I learned the importance of really getting on my face before God and praying. We used to meet down at the dock on the lake, after our campers were safely tucked into their beds, and we'd pray. We prayed for each other…we prayed for our leaders that week at camp…we prayed for those kids that we knew were struggling…we prayed for those that we knew needed Jesus. There were some nights we stayed up just about all night praying. It was flippin' awesome!

I also learned how to lead a person to Christ at Camp Stephens. Oh, I knew, in theory, what to do. But I'd never really done it much. But each year, we had to go through a kind of "boot camp" that reminded us of what we needed to do to help someone accept Jesus as their Savior.

The first year I went as a counselor, I had three little girls in my cabin, ages 9 and 10. They were adorable, and imitated everything I did and said. I had to be extra careful. But I had so much fun with them. Toward the end of the week, two of them brought the third one to me, and said, "She wants to be saved." It just curled my toenails to be able to sit down with that sweet little girl and lead her to the throne of grace. She prayed a simple and sweet little prayer, and asked Jesus to come into her heart. I found an adult from her church that was at the camp, and shared her decision with that adult, so someone at home could help her learn the next steps on her journey, after camp.

But back to my friend. It was at Camp Stephens that I met Kevin Madden, a blue-eyed, funny, sweet, white-blonde boy, with a huge smile and a little sunburned, turned-up nose. I was smitten. He was so hysterical, and had a sense of humor every bit as twisted as mine. We became buddies, and hung out a lot. I just enjoyed his company so much.

Behind those blue eyes, though, I sensed there was a longing for something more. I didn't know at the time what it was…I thought maybe it was just that he was seeking acceptance from others. I noticed that instead of hanging around kids his own age, Kevin seemed to want to hang out with the counselors more. Which was okay with us – we all loved him! I knew, somehow, that he needed more than just our acceptance. I began to pray for Kevin. I remember saying, "Lord, I don't even know what to pray. But you know his heart."

Well…long story short, Kevin eventually gave his heart to Jesus that week. And I got to help him do it. I don't share this in any way to point at myself…but instead to point to God. Just look at what He's done…He took a boy who was willing to give his heart to Jesus all the way to another country to serve Him…and now God has brought him full circle…back to where it all started...his home church, to lead others to Jesus and build up those who already know and love Him. How awesome is that!!??

When I look at this picture, I see an awesome man of God. But I also see that young man, with his sunburned nose and that blonde hair, bowing his head and humbly asking Jesus into his heart. I see my friend and my brother in Christ.

Thank you God…for allowing us to see you work in such mighty ways. Thank you for using cracked pots like me as you, the Potter, mold and shape the lives of others.

Confession: I snitched this picture from your Facebook, Kevin…I didn't think you'd mind. You're in my prayers, bro.

There's a dead tree right outside my office window. Well…it's not dead. It's just dormant for the winter. But it's bare, with these strange black berries hanging on it here and there in clumps. I don't even know what kind of tree it is. It's just….there…bare…stark…

But today I noticed something. It's been raining all day, and the rain has brought out new colors and textures on this bare tree. I can now see all the moss on the branches, as well as the gray, brown, black and white tones of the wood and moss. There are water droplets on many of the branches, and even on those black berries. With the droplets, the berries look completely different…candied, almost.

It made me wonder…do I affect others in that way? When I come in contact with others, do I make them better? Do I shine a light into their lives that allows them to be seen in a different and better way? Do I bring out all the nuances of color in their hearts and lives, spotlighting their "candied" gifts and unique qualities?

I hope so. I've got some chewing to do...

I've been a fan of Steven Curtis Chapman for years. Love his music. His lyrics are so heartfelt and so faithful to God and not only what He's doing in SC-Squared's life, but in the lives of other believers as well.

One of my favorite songs is "Dive" from several years ago. My former youth group used it as our theme for our mission trip to Oregon one summer. The lyrics are:

The long awaited rains

Have fallen hard upon the thirsty ground

And carved their way to where

The wild and rushing river can be found

And like the rains

I have been carried here to where the river flows, yeah

My heart is racing and my knees are weak

As I walk to the edge

I know there is no turning back

Once my feet have left the ledge

And in the rush, I hear a voice

That's telling me it's time to take the leap of faith

So here I go

Chorus:

I'm diving in, I'm going deep, in over my head I want to be

Caught in the rush, lost in the flow, in over my head I want to go

The river's deep, the river's wide, the river's water is alive

So sink or swim, I'm diving in

There is a supernatural power

In this mighty river's flow

It can bring the dead to life

And it can fill an empty soul

And give a heart the only thing

Worth living and worth dying for, yeah

But we will never know the awesome power

Of the grace of God

Until we let ourselves get swept away

Into this holy flood

So if you'll take my hand

We'll close our eyes and count to three

And take the leap of faith

Come on, let's go

I love the urgency in this song – long awaited rains…thirsty ground…it gives the clear image that this isn't something that "just happened"…it was anticipated. And even though it's obviously a much-anticipated event, even so, there's hesitation to jump in. I always wondered why.

Perhaps it is that because for those of us who have been Christians for a while, it becomes easy to think that we've done it all. We've been saved since we were kids, we did the missions trips, we read the Bible through about 100 times, we have taught Sunday School, sung in the choir, heard all the sermons and worship tunes…we've just lived it all. We've exhausted all there is to this Christian life. We get so bogged down in this that we forget to anticipate anything new.

It's kind of like we dip a teaspoon into the ocean, come back with a little bit, and say, "That's the ocean."

"No way. That's not all there is," you say. Of course not. There's so much more to the ocean; more than what we can see, touch, smell, taste and experience. But we know it's there. You can't put it into a teaspoon and call it a day.

But that's what we do with God. We dip a teaspoon into His relationship with us and say, "That's God." Then we pour that teaspoon into our hearts and lives and say that's all there is to being a believer.

But like the song says, you have to anticipate there's more. The ground has to be thirsty. We have to stand on the edge of the known, ready to take that leap of faith, even if we can't see where we're going. We have to be ready to dive in, sink or swim.

But here's the thing. This isn't really diving into the unknown. We have an example set before us. It's found in Matthew 14:22-33.

The story goes like this: Jesus had just fed the 5,000 with five loaves of bread and two fish. He was tired, and wanted to be alone and pray. So He sent the disciples on ahead in a boat while He dismissed the crowds. After they were gone, Jesus went off to pray. The disciples were out in the boat when a storm came up, about 4 a.m., and they were afraid. They saw Jesus walking toward them on the water.

Peter, ever the bold one, said, "If it's really you, call me to come to you." In other words, Peter called Him out, challenging Jesus. He believed that if it was really the Son of God, he would be able to walk on the water, too.

Jesus told Peter to come to Him, and Peter began to walk on the water. Can you imagine? That had to be awesome. But when Peter began to think with his head, and not his heart, he began to sink. He cried out to Jesus to save him.

Jesus didn't hesitate. He reached down and grabbed Peter, and said, "Faint heart, what got into you?" As long as Peter kept his eyes on Jesus, HE WAS WALKING ON WATER.

The song says "we will never know the awesome power of the grace of God, until we let ourselves get swept away into this holy flood..." Hmmm...we'll never walk on water if we don't get out of the boat.

I also notice in the song lyrics that someone takes the jumper's hand before they "count to three" and take the leap of faith. That's key. We never have to jump alone. So...anticipate...focus on Jesus...jump...walk on water. Pretty simple formula but oh, so difficult to do. Because of teaspoon mentality.

Lord, help me get rid of my teaspoons and start dippin' with big ol' honkin' serving spoons...

Ever feel like just crawling into a corner with your blankie, sticking your thumb in your mouth, and telling the world to go away...?

Yep. Me too.

Not a wordy post to the ol' blog, but a post with some truth and heart to it, for sure.

Sigh.

Lava Lands...it's a lava flow right outside of Bend. Love to go there and feed the chipmunks. And look at the mountains in the distance. The chipmunks didn't sing, however. They would crawl up your leg to get those peanuts. Cheeky little boogers. Another of my favorite places.

Just felt like posting this...one of my fave places...Tumalo Falls, near Bend, Oregon...I miss living in Oregon this time of year. I love me some snow!

These days...I'm re-evaluating some things that are core beliefs for me. They're not going away. They're just...being reconsidered...viewed in a new light. And I'm working on figuring out why it is that I believe the things I do. It's just not good enough anymore to say, "I was raised that way." I need to know WHY I believe it.

A little experiment I've begun is trying to post only one-word status updates on Facebook. More challenging than I thought it would be. But fun. And it's stretching my vocabulary. Yay.

The sun is shining today for the first time in days, and it's a beautiful day. I wish I wasn't working. I'd go to the park with my camera and see what I can find. I love to explore things through the lens of a camera. It really makes you focus on what's really important.

Perhaps I should look at my beliefs through the lens of a camera...?

I also heard a sermon Sunday about margins. The pastor was saying that sometimes, in order to have margin (room to grow and go) you have to say no to good things in order to say yes to the best things.

So I'm looking at that too...what in my life do I need to say no to, even good things, to be sure there's room for God's best? Still chewin' on that one...

There...not the deepest blog post ever...but it's where I'm at today.

Ramblings.

I haven't listened to any Amy Grant music in a long time – which is weird, because she used to be one of my favorite artists. I guess it's because she hasn't had anything playing on Christian radio in a while.

So yesterday afternoon, I was on my way home, and I heard her distinctive voice sing, "God loves a lullaby, in a mother's tears, in the dead of night..." and that voice grabbed my attention. I turned up the radio, ready for the genius that is Amy Grant...and these are the lyrics I heard:

God loves a lullaby
In a mother's tears in the dead of night
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes.
God loves a drunkard's cry,
The soldier's plea not to let him die
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes.

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah.

The woman holding on for life,
The dying man giving up the fight
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes
The tears of shame for what's been done,
The silence when the words won't come
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes.

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah.

Better than a church bell ringing,
Better than a choir singing out, singing out.

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah.

Wow. Never thought of it that way. All those times I went bellyachin' to God about the messes I've made or the tough times or the day-to-day crap of life...and all He heard was a melody.

Just...wow. Good stuff, Ames.

I read from Isaiah 40 yesterday for my quiet time, and then saw this parable today about the way birds got their wings. According to the parable, birds didn't have wings to start with. Then God made the wings and showed them to the grounded birds, and said, "Come, take up these burdens and bear them."

The birds looked at each other, and were baffled. They had lovely plumage. They had sweet voices. What did they need with burdens? But they decided to obey, and they took the "burdens" in their beaks, and placed them on their shoulders to carry them.

For a while, the burdens seemed heavy and difficult to bear, but as time went on, the wings grew to be a part of each bird that carried them. Each bird learned how to carry his "burden" and were lifted up by them, literally, into the air, as the weights became wings.

We're like that. We are wingless birds, and our burdens are the things God has allowed into our lives that we take on daily. We see them only as burdens, when if we'll only take them on and embrace them, they will become wings to carry us to the Father.

From Isaiah 40 (The Message):

"Have you not been paying attention? Have you not been listening? Haven't you heard these stories all your life? …Look at the night skies. Who do you think made all this? Who marches this army of stars out each night, counts them off, calls each by name and never overlooks a single one? Why would you ever complain, 'God has lost track of me; He doesn't care what happens to me?' Don't you know anything? Haven't you been listening? God doesn't come and go. God lasts…He energizes those who get tired, gives fresh strength to dropouts…but those who wait upon God get fresh strength. They spread their wings and soar like eagles."

God doesn't get tired of me…even when I give Him good reason to. Even when I gripe about the very wings (burdens) that will carry me directly to His arms.

I want to soar…and not be sore…I'm flappin' Lord…flappin' my wings just as hard as I can...

Today, my mind wandered to my biological father. Oh, he's been dead a number of years now, and it's not like I was close to him – I hadn't even seen him, at the time of his death, in more than a decade. But when he died, I was really hurt...and confused. He committed suicide.

I was left with a lot of mixed emotions and a lot of unanswered questions. Nobody in our family talked about him much...I think more out of respect for my mom than anything else. Once in a while, I would work up the nerve to ask a question or two of one of my aunts or my Granny. The answers I got were usually pretty one-sided, tinged with a whole lot of bitter. Not surprising. My dad was an abusive alcoholic.

But he was still my daddy. That's where the mixed emotions come in. I'm even teary-eyed right now, even as I write this. I don't have many happy memories of time spent with him. At least not that I can remember. I do remember one time, he brought me a doll. He got down on the floor and played with me and that doll, and I remember laughing myself and hearing him laugh. That's the only happy memory I have with him, come to think of it. Most of the rest are just, well, not happy.

I know there were more happy memories though. My mom gave me some pictures she found after one of her sisters died a few years ago. They show my dad posing next to me when I was a toddler, and we were both smiling. Too bad I don't remember those. I remember just bursting into tears when my mom gave me those pictures, and I said, "I knew it. I knew he wasn't all bad."

I knew he wasn't all bad when I was a teenager. In my teens, I tracked him down. I found out where he lived, and I wanted to go and see him but never did, mostly because I was scared to death. I was scared a little bit about what he might say or do, but I think I was scared even more by what he might not say or do.

I used to wonder what he'd say, if he could see me now. What he'd think...how he'd feel. If he'd be proud of me. Heck, I still wonder those things today. I'll never know.

When he died, I think I mourned that more than anything. The unanswered questions. The empty space that should have been filled with a happy, healthy daddy/daughter relationship. I cried because I knew any chance to know him and be known by him was gone.

I don't like country music, but last night, I heard a song by Kellie Pickler, and I've posted the lyrics here. The song is about her absent mother, but the lyrics really hit home for me. It made me cry, and I began to think about my dad again. That's what prompted this whole line of thought. I heard the song, and I thought...I have my daddy's eyes, and my lips are shaped like his. I got his red hair. I wonder what else I got. I just...wonder...I always will.

"I Wonder"

Sometimes I think about you

Wonder if you're out there somewhere thinking bout me

And would you even recognize

The woman that your little girl has grown up to be

Cause I look in the mirror and all I see

Are your brown eyes looking back at me

They're the only thing you ever gave to me at all

Oh, I hear the weather's nice in California

There's sunny skies as far I can see

If you ever come back home to Carolina

I wonder what you'd say to me

I think about how it ain't fair

That you weren't there to braid my hair

Like mothers do

You weren't around to cheer me on

Help me dress for my high school prom

Like mothers do

Did you think I didn't need you here

To hold my hand

To dry my tears

Did you even miss me through the years at all

Oh, I hear the weather's nice in California

There's sunny skies as far I can see

If you ever come back home to Carolina

I wonder what you'd say to me

Forgiveness is such a simple word

But it's so hard to do when you've been hurt

Oh, I hear the weather's nice in California

And just in case you're wondering about me

From now on I won't be in Carolina

Your little girl is off

Your little girl is off

Your little girl is off to Tennessee

Note: By the way, I don't mean to sound ungrateful for my Daddy. (I had a dad. I have a Daddy.) When I say Daddy, I'm talking about Billy Morrison. The step part of step-daddy disappeared a long time ago. I am thankful he didn't run when Greg answered the door, the first time he met Greg and me, and Greg said, "Are you gonna marry my mama?"

[Yes…I should be working…but I believe when inspiration happens, you should jump. Because inspiration only happens on occasion. And I might forget…]

Since I write for a living, a lot of times, I have to shut out the rest of the world around me in order to concentrate. Over the years, I've gotten pretty darn good at this. I can be in the room with a group of people and not hear a word they've said if I'm in the zone.

I've been able to do this all my life. When I was a kid, I could sit in the living room with the family and read a book while they talked and watched television and I never heard a word. I just kept reading.

I've often joked with people I've worked with, "Just throw a shoe at me if you need something...'cause I won't hear you if you speak to me when I'm writing."

Sometimes when I'm writing or researching something, I'll plug in some ear phones and listen to Pandora. Then I really don't hear anything going on out side my office door. That's what I'm doing today. I just heard the Steven Curtis Chapman song, "His Eyes" – one of my faves. The lyrics are:

Sometimes His eyes are gentle

And filled with laughter,

And sometimes they cry;

Sometimes there is a fire

Of Holy anger,

In Jesus’ eyes.

But the eyes that saw hope in the hopeless,

That saw through the fault to the need,

Are the same eyes that look down from Heaven

Into the deepest part of you and me.

CHORUS

His eyes are always upon you;

His eyes never close in sleep.

And no matter where you go,

You will always be in His eyes, in His eyes.

Sometimes His voice comes calling

Like rolling thunder,

Or like driving rain;

And sometimes His voice is quiet,

And we start to wonder

If He knows our name.

But He who spoke peace to the water

Cares more for our hearts than the waves,

And the voice that once said "You’re forgiven,"

Still says "You’re forgiven" today.

Sometimes I look above me when stars are shining

And I feel so small;

How could the God of heaven and all creation

Know I’m here at all.

But then in silence He whispers,

"My child, I created you too

And you’re my most precious creation;

I even gave my Son for you."

(chorus)

Sometimes His eyes are gentle, and filled with laughter.

I guess I like that song so much because well, duh, it's SC-squared (Steven Curtis Chapman) ...but mostly because not only does it encourage me as a believer that God is always looking out for me, but it gives me a glimpse of who He is. He looks at me and laughs sometimes...in a good way. Like you look at your child and proudly laugh when she does or says something funny.

But the part that jumped out at me today is the part where the singer says he wonders how the God of creation could even know "I'm here at all…"

I wonder that sometimes myself. Sometimes it feels like He doesn't know I'm here. Like I'm all alone. But I know better. Deep down. But even with that knowledge, I can't help but share the feelings expressed in the song. How can He know I'm here, or care what I think and feel, or care that I had a bad day and I'm tired and lonesome and I have a headache and I miss my family and I'm tired of facing life alone and I have a zit…?

But somehow, amazingly, He does. How could he miss me when I'm screaming at the top of my lungs? Which I often find myself doing….figuratively mostly. It's like, sometimes, I think I have to work hard to get His attention. That if I don't do something bad or crazy or loud or funny or amazing…He won't know I'm "here at all…"

But He somehow, amazingly, does. I don't have to scream. I don't have to do anything bad. Or good. He created me, and He knows how many hairs are on my head, and how many freckles I have (I plan to ask for that number when I get to heaven) and what the future holds for me.

So why is it, that when I'm yelling at Him, trying to get His attention, He chooses to whisper? I think it's because He knows that if He whispers, I'll have to get close to Him to be able to hear what He's saying. And that's just where I should be. I've discovered that it's where I have to be.

And every time I remember that – I need to be reminded on an almost daily basis – He smiles.

"Sometimes His eyes are gentle, and filled with laughter."

I've been thinking a lot the past couple of days about New Year's resolutions. I don't make 'em. Because I don't usually keep 'em. So why set myself up to fail?

But I was thinking about this year and what I'd like to accomplish. See my bucket list. To that, I believe I need to add something very important: weed pulling.

When I was a kid, we had a garden. When other kids got to sleep in late on those fabulous summer mornings, my mother got us up and out in the garden, pulling weeds. I had no problem complaining about it. I figured, I didn't plant this stuff, I didn't ask for a garden, so I shouldn't have to do this. But I had no problem eating those fresh veggies, though. Not logical. But so goes the thinking of a kid.

But as I remembered that, I thought about all the weeds in my life...all the things that need to be removed. All the bad habits, the bad behaviors...just bad stuff in general. All of that needs to be pulled out of me....out of my "garden."

And here's the kicker: I can't do it. At least, not on my own. I need some help. And who do I cry out to? My Father. I ask for His help. I wake Him up on a summer morning, and I ask Him to pull weeds in the garden I've planted.

It would certainly be easy for God to say, "I didn't plant this stuff. I didn't ask for this garden. So I shouldn't have to pull YOUR weeds."

But God doesn't work that way. He pulls the weeds. No complaints. He pulls the ones that tickle. He pulls the ones that make me say, "I didn't even feel that." He pulls the ones I point out. He pulls the ones I can't see. He even pulls up the ones that go so deep that it hurts me to pull them up. Even when I scream in pain, He keeps pulling.

But here's the thing – He doesn't pull those weeds unless I ask Him to. I have to invite Him into the garden. There's no doorknob on the outside of my garden gate, so I have to let Him in.

So this year, in 2011, I have opened wide the gate, and I'm asking Him to weed my garden. Each and every row. No matter what it costs me...no matter how it hurts. Even if, when He's done, there's nothing left. Just pull the weeds, Lord...

After all, you can't plant new stuff...good stuff...fruit-producing stuff...if there are weeds in the way.

While celebrating Christmas at my brother's house in Tampa, I got to spend a lot of time with my niece, Amanda. Sometimes she's attached to Memo (my mom) and other times, she's Gigi's (me) girl. It was my turn.

Amanda said lots of funny stuff during our visit. She was sitting with me while I put on my makeup one morning, and she asked my why I put on makeup. I said, "I have to put on makeup or I'll scare small children." Amanda thought for a second and said, "Gigi, you won't scare small children. I'm not sure about adults."

On Christmas morning, after all the gifts had been passed out, Amanda looked at her pile and said, "Well, I guess I wasn't so bad after all."

What a kid.

But she also makes me think. She asked me if I was ever going to get married. I told her, "I hope so. Someday."

Amanda was smart enough to not say, "Well, Gigi, you ain't gettin' any younger." I've mentioned before how smart she is.

But the question got me to thinking...will I ever get married? My answer for myself is the same answer I gave Amanda: I hope so. Someday.

I've had some people tell me that I'm too picky. But isn't that my right? I mean, I don't want to marry some guy just because he asked, and then be miserable. I've seen people in my lifetime who were married and miserable. That's not for me.

Besides, I don't really think I'm that picky. I mean, I do have standards. But it's fairly simple, what I'm looking for. I want a man who's completely in love with Jesus, makes me laugh, appreciates and loves me exactly as I am, and is intelligent. And he must at least tolerate the Georgia Bulldogs. He doesn't have to love them like I do. That is, after all, impossible. But as long as he gives up a "Woof Woof!" every now and then when they're playing, it will suffice. As for looks, I don't really have a "type"...as long as he bathes regularly, I don't care what color his hair or eyes are. And...oh yeah...I do like facial hair. On him. Not me.

I don't think that's being picky.

Someone once told me that I should just go with Mr. Right Now...that one of these days, I'd be with a Mr. Right Now, and the "now" part would just fade away, and he'd be Mr. Right. I discounted that advice right then and there. Why would I settle for less than God's best for me? Mr. Right Now? Are you kidding me?

I also don't care for the whole knight in shining armor thing. Shining armor implies that the guy hasn't lived...no dents, no scuffs, no dings...I think I'd rather have a guy in dented armor. At least dented armor shows he's been through some stuff and has come out on the other side a better and stronger man. My armor's dented too.

I recently saw a friend's post on Facebook, via her daughter. I thought it summed it all up pretty darn well: "Run...just run...run towards Christ and live for Him. Don't look in any other direction, and when the time is right, and you feel strong and whole, glance to the side and see who is running next to you." Those are the words of Sarah Swafford. I don't know who she is, but she's pretty darn smart. That's what I strive to do. Just keep running. And one day, I'll realize there's someone running along side me, and he'll be the one.

So to those of you thinking, "Dang Angye! Ain't you ever gonna get hitched? What are you waiting for?"

What am I waiting for? A good running partner. And I'll keep waiting for him...even if I don't find him until the day before I die. As Julia Roberts said in "Steel Magnolias"...."I'd rather have 30 minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special."

That's what I'm trusting God for. I believe so. Someday.