Abba, Father!

It’s official, I just wish I had known sooner, I was adopted in November 1973, I was eleven. I could hardly believe I was adopted, I had parents in 1961, but imagine me being adopted by my Heavenly Father, and He has all the records and everything tucked away in His files.

He has a book and knew every one of my days. I’m complete in Jesus and He made me a masterpiece, no wonder I like art. He has bottles full of tears because I wasted a lot of time in worry, but also in prayer and that was not a waste. How many other children might He have adopted because of prayer?

And I guess you never thought much about being adopted either, I knew I wasn’t like my family in some ways. They never got me and still don’t. I think I’m still a child in their eyes, but it’s okay to be one in God’s eyes. I like having a Father who is doting and affectionate, understanding, and He corrects me firmly but gently, the only thing I have really been scolded about was fear. And even that He understands because Jesus went through it. He just doesn’t want you to give in to it.

I can’t believe so many years after being adopted and having an Abba, that it took so long to sink in, even though I heard it. It is comparable to be in the family treasure chest and finding little feet prints, and a new name. Maybe, some old letters or a birthday card from someone you don’t know, perhaps a picture.

I feel sadness that I didn’t really know my Abba, as such love. I was always sure I was doing something wrong. I have often felt a little cheated in life but I guess I was cheating myself out of of that Father/daughter relationship. Many people do, because they don’t understand Him.

I have spent a lot of time getting to know God, in the person of Jesus and then the Holy Spirit, because of the anointing that break the yokes, and spiritual gifts. He too is a personality. But God the Father, was the last one I began to understand, though He tried to get me to listen long ago.

He has always wanted to tell me I was adopted, that He wanted and chose me. That He called me by name and I was His. That He was holding me in His hand, I was lost, and sometimes even felt lost though born again, and Spirit filled. What took me so long,  I don’t know.  And then again, maybe it wasn’t that long, for He keeps and redeems the time. I just thought I would make it official, that I have been adopted. Have you been? Not all will be but He wanted them.  See why the prodigal’s father never let him ask to be a slave.

God decided in advance to adopt us into His own family by bringing us to Himself through Jesus Christ. This is what He wanted to do, and it gave Him great pleasure. Ephesians 1:5

For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons/daughters of God. So you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves. Instead, you received God’s Spirit when He adopted you as His own children. Now we call Him, “Abba, Father.” Romans 8:14,15

For who among men knows the thoughts of man except his own spirit within him? So too, no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. We have not received the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us. And this is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom, but in words taught by the Spirit, expressing spiritual truths in spiritual words.…1 Corinthians 2:12

A lot of people are upset that their parents gave them up for adoption, but not me, not this way. Being a slave to anything harmful is not worth your soul. I am glad I can cry, Abba, Father.

Devostock / Rebecca Jones

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The Old, Old House

The old house, with its overgrown garden, was secretive and yet stunning. When I was a little girl we read a book called the Old, Old, House, by Rebecca Jones. It turned out that there was an old, old, woman living inside, she had an old, old cat, and wore an old, old hat. She liked to sit and rock, and look at her grandfather clock.

But this abandoned house spoke more poetry to me, than I had ever imagined. The house was like a grand lady, from another time, one who did wear her hair up, who laced a corset, she slipped on a fancy dress and buttoned up her shoes, put on a hat with and ostrich feather and went to meet a gentleman who would take her on a carriage ride. She carried her parasol to shield her fair skin from the summer sun.

I stood looking at it from the street, wondering if I would cut away the ivy and shrubbery that gave in an English manor house look even though we were in Indiana. I was in love with the rounded rooms and knew the top one all mine, perfect for an office with a view. The neighborhood was quiet, not a bicycle or skateboard in sight, though I turned to dream of little girls with and boys in short pants rolling hoops and going to sail boats in the lake across the way.

The bandstand and gazebo, were also shells of themselves but the real estate agent promised me there would be a renovation, as the neighborhood came back to life. It was was being breathed on again and loved again. And I was the proud owner of this piece of history. Roses would liven the garden and the porch would have rockers and ferns again. I would sip lemonade and read after long days of redecorating and writing.

The inside held surprise behind a beautiful, old glass door, that was etched with flowers. There was even an actual doorbell and a door knocker. I was overjoyed that it was a cherubic face. The old mailbox was rusted from wind and rain that had blown it aside, but it was salvageable.

There were chandeliers still hanging and even a couple of old gaslights left in place, though the house had electricity and updated plumbing, the fireplace was empty and the mantle bare but for a few cobwebs over a candlestick. Years of antique shopping and estate sales had prepared me, I had the perfect decor and painting to hang over it.

It was a blessing in disguise to find heaps of drop clothes and beneath years of dust, a grand piano, there had been a music room here. What a lively evening of music and taffy or baked cookies, the church ladies may have had a choir practice here or a soloist graced the parlor with her repertoire.

As I turn to toss away the dropcloth I saw another stack, beneath those was Victorian loveseat, it wasn;t red or purple, but a deep burgundy, a little worn and ripped some horsehair spilling out. There were even books left in the library, and a desk, an old inkwell and pen set, a few old letters were left, mostly from family, and a Christmas postcard dated 1919. What other treasure were in my old, old house?

I was excited to move on to the upstairs and see an old tub and water closet, in one bathroom and a perfectly wonderful bedroom with furniture from the 30’s, a dresser that was heavenly, one like from an old movie. The lady’s name was Claire, from the letter, has she brushed her long hair right here. I actually have a dresser set complete with hair receiver. You just have to empty your brush and Victorians were at times, morbid over keep love ones hair.

I stood in the window waving to my young man, my husband drove up in his carriage. He waved back with a dozen roses and bottle of non alcoholic champagne to celebrate. It was nice to have a dream coming true and someone to share it with. I wa home at last, in my old, old house.

Rebecca Jones / public domain, this house is in Indiana, but I’m in Georgia. I did this for a new link up, I hope everyone enjoys it. And the Old, Old, House is not a real book by me, at least not yet.

A Heart For My Father

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He will restore the hearts of the fathers to their children and the hearts of the children to their fathers… Malachi 4:6.

What a wonderful promise from Malachi, though from another time and place, it is still very relevant today as He calls His children to turn their hearts back to Him. With so much going on in our world, we have to realize that as believers truly walking in His words, we are not of this world.

We have been called out, set aside. We are the ecclesia, the chosen generation, a holy nation. His own special people. We are suppose to proclaim the name of the Lord who has called us into His marvelous light.

If anyone has wandered away or squandered His inheritance, buried His talent, it is time to come home, the Father is forgiving, He is loving, faithful. He is not the harsh and cruel Master.

He gave us good gifts, we didn’t asked for bread and God give us a stone. Where is your heart with God, is it in His peace and presence? If the answer is no, or you are standing afar off and looking up a road that leads to heaven or even at a crossroad. There is your answer. The cross.

There is a decision to be made, to believe in the love of a Father that offered up Jesus to save us, or to refuse. Life can clutter the hearts of those who already believe. He can declutter it.

All the time wasted in fear and worry, He doesn’t consider wasted, He will gather us in His arms and redeem it. While we are suppose to redeem it and be an example to unbelievers there are simply some plans that may have eluded us, and by His good graces, He is able to complete a good work in us.

He is my heartbeat, steady, and strong. He is not anxious nor am I. He is not afraid and neither am I. He is love and so am I. These are the professions of a heart once badly broken and defeated, but on the mend, thanks to His great mercy. And while feelings and thoughts may come on those areas, a heart full of Him is shielded against any foe.

His love has sheltered me and protected me, He graces me with favor, and will provide anything I lack, He holds me in the palm of His hand has kept me from falling into deep despair, renewed my mind and body, held and healed me. Yes, I love Him and I have a heart for my Father.

I am praying He restores the hearts of children to their fathers and vice versa, there is such a need for fathers or even mentors as we draw ever closer to His return. I pray He makes you a way when there is not one and sends you someone whose love will make a difference to you, and give you a heart for your Heavenly Father.

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Devostock

 

 

Legacy Linkup

Mandy invited me to link up. Father posts all June 2019 on my blog.

Help, Father! I’m a Hoarder!

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After doing some spring cleaning and even soul cleaning myself, believe me, that is not meant to be funny or flippant. That can be work, a lot harder than typing out how much Jesus loves us, I can tell you.

I would do some stuff on and on a day off a day basis, clothes tend to hang there, get new ones, push old ones back. Don’t wear them, get the same few that look the best. Matching shoes and purses, dust magnets without boxes, and then you have to look for them. It makes you a hoarder.

Now, I’m not condemning, not at all. It’s just we all need a little reorganizing now and again. We should shred some stuff. Junk mail, we still get that. Kitchen gadgets, I have developed an attachment for baking pans, and don’t we all have too many coffee mugs?

I have seen how collecting can become clutter. True, I wanted a library but I don’t have to be the library. I’ll still be doing spring cleaning into summer, no doubt. And if I don’t need or use it I can donate it or throw it out. I have not lost my poetic timing. And while I like decorating and putting out angels, I have to keep some boxed or in the glass cabinet.

Still, hoarding is a problem. It is trying to hang onto memories. It replaces people with objects, perhaps people have not been very nice. It appears to me to accompany depression. Though severe hoarding should have professional help, as it deteriorates into mental illness. It happens when we are ill and stuff piles up. It comes with age and loneliness, it is a heart scar, but God will mend it.

While you don’t have to climb over garbage to get in my front door, my closets are too full, and that brings me here. My prayer closet is full and overflowing, and is that a problem? Yes, when I get ahead of my Father. I can get busy, still working my way through the clutter of life and not rest in His love, while He unclutters me. And my heart, It is peaceful.

He is patient, so am I. But I’ve been patient a long time, and I don’t want anything He’s worked on in me, wasted. He completes us and the work He began in us. But it takes time. It piles up. I’m a little less patient though when He works on others, I am trying to gather grace like manna from heaven, and it spoils. The manna, not the grace.

Yet, the grace is sufficient, and Jesus said so was the evil of each day, while there is plenty of Jesus to go around, I can’t hoard the bread from heaven. I can’t do it all in one day, but one day at a time.

You can’t hoard Jesus on Sunday and never mention Him during the week and expect to get anywhere. You can’t read the Bible through once and that’s it, you know it all. It doesn’t work that way.

He gives you bits and pieces to your puzzle called life. And sometimes they are scattered, the edges don’t always fit, they fall under the table, but God forbid you lose the piece/ peace called Jesus.

While I have put together a puzzle in a matter of hours or days, it doesn’t happen like that all the time. Life is not a puzzle or a game but should be full of His joy, and you can’t hoard up Jesus in any way, but rest in Him everyday, taste and see the goodness of the bread of heaven. A little at a time, a little everyday. I think that is a problem with people, they take joy or peace wherever they find it, not expecting more. Like an unfed child who will hoard food. Jesus is the same everyday, we don’t need to hoard His grace.

Remember, He is our manna, and we pray the Lord’s Prayer everyday to get most out of our blessing of grace. We can’t fill our prayer closets with enough, joy or praise or anything, we just need our Father, everyday.

And we want His will to be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

photo / Katerina

He Loves Me

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I used to tie those little yellow flowers together as a girl and make bracelets and necklaces and even a ring. I picked the dandelions and blew away those little strands and watched them soar. I’m not sure I ever picked a flower and did the he loves me, he loves me not sort of guessing game though.

I wasn’t interested in boys then, but I knew God loved me. He sent His Son. I never have stopped knowing it. I knew Jesus was the savior. And I needed Him to be the healer. I knew He was working on me and in me and even through me.

I didn’t have to destroy a rose’s petals to know He loved me, even though I found myself among the thorns, like the baby cardinals that recently were nested and hatched in the rose out back. I was cared for and fed, and one day I flew.

I didn’t have to toss a pebble into a lake to see the ripple effect of His love. Or try and find the end of the rainbow, it is around His throne. I didn’t need to play guessing games, though there were times I could not understand how He was working all these things that were not good for my good. Romans 8:28.

I wasn’t expecting for God to be a Rumplestiltskin who would show up and spin straw into gold. I was expecting the knight in shining armor though, and He showed up, and clothes me with the armor of God, His Spirit. His white horse could arrive any day as we see so much going on in the world.

But we are to be cheerful because He overcame it and will let His peace hover over us if we can receive it. I don’t have to chase Him because He already chose me, clothed me with strength and let His beauty shine through me.

I wasn’t expecting so much love. No reason for games no matter your circumstances, do lie down in green pastures or grass, don’t pluck the flowers. Why in the world would a random petal determine love anyway.

He loves me, he love me not. Again and again. No, I never really understood how much, I’m not sure any of us do, but our Father, our Heavenly Father, the same Father that sent Jesus, loves me. And while He may be working in me, or corrects me with His words, there is never a He loves me not.

With God all things are possible, and with God all things can work for good, all He asks is love and trust. He loves me, He loves me. He loves me.

M lynne Snyder

M’Lynne Snyder / Reshot

If The World Held His Hand / Father’s Day Bonus

If the world held His hand,

They would learn to never let go.

Even the older we get,

And the more we grow.

for if we hold our Father’s hand,

We learn pick ourselves up,

We learn to walk in faith, and victory.

We learn to stand.

We learn to talk,

To call His name.

To run to Him,

With every care and shame.

If we held His hand,

We would rid our hearts,

Of every worry, every fear.

Father reaches down,

To wipe away each tear.

And should we slip,

His grip is never far.

He know every name .

Just like every star.

If the world held His hand,

What a wonderful world it would be.

No more care and not more strife.

What a wonderful and a wonderful life.

Rebecca Jones

My Father Thinks A Lot Of Me

 

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You know I knew these verses but never like I do now. I like the verse from Psalm 139:17, How precious to me are your thoughts, God. How vast is the sum of them.  I like the New Heart translation, it was surprising to see the Aramaic translating thoughts to friends. Jesus spoke Hebrew and Aramaic.

Thoughts are our friends or enemies aren’t they? They mess up our day or bless it. God is always thinking about us, and has good plans and not harm. He wants and longs to bring these things to pass, but His ways are not ours and not His thoughts. Isaiah 55:8:9. So  how do we change that?

Philippians 4:8 is a good place to start, it tells what to think about. And Hebrews explains the rest of faith that God longed  for the children of Israel to enter, when they didn’t,  He was angry, but later He gave us the chance to enter because of Jesus, and we need to.

You know when you love someone, you think about them, a lot. And parents who love their children are always thinking of how to make their lives better. And while working is good and a necessary means of providing for them, don’t let it take away that quality time, that is even more important.

Having a nice home and clothes, food, and education are all important. But Jesus even warned about taking the thought of what will eat or wear. Our Heavenly Father is Jehovah Jireh, the provider. And He wants us to believe He will provide, and supply our needs. Phillipians 4:19. We all want to be independent and want our freedom just like children do from parents, we are the same by God. But we are not as free as we think   until we depend on Him, He’s always thinking about us, always. We can’t count the thoughts or the stars.

We can choose what we think about, and I know it is hard not to worry or be upset at times but when you know how much you are loved by your Father it is a lot easier. We are we made righteous by the sacrifice of Jesus and only that, now we can  think His thoughts or at least more of them.

I am so happy to know He thought so much of me as to give His only Son, though I hate that He had to go through it for me. That thought alone should make us believers but sadly in this world we have trouble and it causes us to focus on other things rather than Jesus, but He overcame and left His peace, let’s get back into focus, and think good thoughts. I am thankful my Father thinks a lot of me. And I’m thinking a lot about Him.

Happy Father’s Day, but I have a few more post before we go to angels.

Mehrdad Haghighi / Unsplash

https://adaughtersgiftoflove.wordpress.com/2019/06/16/if-the-world-held-his-hand-fathers-day-bonus/

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My Father’s Hands

He holds me there,

I am safe with Him.

My Father’s hands.

Both of them.

He sent Jesus for me,

And His are scarred,

His beautiful face,

Slapped and marred.

So His Father would be mine.

He suffered there.

Love, eternal. the thought of it all,

So hard to bear.

But that is love,

It made me His friend.

One never leaves,

Love with no end.

He is deep, calling deeper still.

As I embrace His will.

I can taste that He is good, I can see.

All my Father’s love for me.

He fills me with good things,

His desires for my heart are from His.

He wakes me with  love,

Let’s me sleep and dream, with a peaceful kiss.

I never knew any love,

Could be like this.

I can’t count stars or grains of sand,

Still I am safe in my Father’s hand.

His little sparrow,

Safe from storm and arrow.

I can’t count raindrops,

Nor guess the weight of the sea,

Jesus is how I measured,

His treasured love for me.

Sacrifice and salvation,

He give angels commands.

Loved and safe in my Father’s hands.

Whatever, I say or pray,

Or even keep  in my heart.

He understands, never apart.

Yes, His love is eternal

Gentle and loving, tenderly He has smiled,

Upon a little girl, always His child.

He understands, and so I am…..

Loved and safe in my Father’s hands.

I’ve Always Had My Father

 

I am forever amazed at the Father’s love in giving Jesus for us. No verse explains it better, than the prodigal’s return and his father’s response that his son who was dead is now alive. While we were sinners, before we had heard of Him, Jesus does for us. though we had to believe and receive it, he had already made the provision for salvation.

While the prodigal demanded an inheritance and squandered it, the brother worked alongside his father and was faithful to work the land, gathering crops or tending vineyards. And his loyalty was recognized, yet he was angry and rightly so when his wandering brother returned and was welcomed royally.

I have often felt for the brother because I was never the prodigal. I wonder if they had a sister? There is a tendency to feel left out, overlooked, and that is very human and understandable, but the father quells that concern with a simple reply, more or less, ” You’ve always had me. ”

The brother enjoyed dinners, could have asked for a party. He had a place to sleep and enough food, water or wine. He did not live in filth or squallow, he had the choice of maidens from the villages or neighbors, he did not have to seek after prostitutes or he may have been married already. Still, human nature was to let bitterness in, after all he had worked hard. I know I had when I see bad people appear to get away with something or get something that I might want or could do but they don’t really get away with it do they? And it’s not that I don’t want people to be happy or have things, just that spitefully and wicked way they go about it.

This is an attitude I have recognized, it falls under the ” Why me? ” category, it is why the lady who plays piano in church for thirty years, has cancer. But a sinner walks in with it and is saved and healed while she passes away. Now, this is hypothetical of course, but she could have been bitter, he knew nothing but believed and yet, she took it for granted but she had always had the Father. Of course, I know there are lots of reasons people don’t receive, a lot of it still lies in their hearts, old soul wounds and heartaches that never healed are not fertile ground for the miraculous.

I recognized this at seventeen, or the Lord set me straight on it regarding a family member’s salvation. I was wondering how a life with no real interest in Christ could be so easily accepted by Him, and the Holy Spirit quickly reminded me of the alternative. He was not letting someone who asked Him die and go to hell, even though he died. Still bitter most likely, of mistakes and the life he led. Perhaps, he remembered a friend of his, and the story goes that the man, a lifelong alcoholic and sinful man, lay dying. With his cronies around him, he starts to tell them the devil was sitting in the window laughing at him, and finally screaming out that his feet are in the flames and everyone runs.  I know there are those who will dismiss it as alcohol, medication or hallucination, read the story of the rich man and Lazarus.

I think that is the saddest story ever, that no one would think to call on Jesus, they had heard of Him. But fear won out and a soul was lost but not this one, though I don’t know about the friends, I heard that story later on, but a seventeen year old girl was on the right side of this, and she had always had her Father.

Many of us grow up fatherless or with and estranged relationship if any, and so many children are from dysfunctional or broken families, it is a wonder we can function at all. But Jesus promised we would not be orphans, he made sure on the cross that we would have a Father.

Are we, like Peter was, so concerned about others that we are being sifted? We may not be going to hell but the devil is still laughing at us, let’s run him off, silence the accuser. We can rest in faith and let God shield us in the battle for our minds, we have His peace, our hearts are heavy sometimes with burdens for lost souls, but His yoke is easy so our burdens are light.

We can welcome the sinful like the father and our Father and His holy angels rejoice. But he is not deceived or mocked, he understands and knows how to deal with prodigals and their brothers or sisters as the case may be. what are we worried about? What someone has or what we don’t? I used to not understand that and fall into that trap, but now I know I have always had my Father.

Devostock

 

Wishing On My Father’s Stars

I love stars. I always have, I never really knew much about them. I doubt if I recall much astronomy. I just know in the winter when the house is heated and I could use a breath of cool air, I step out into the driveway and see the moon, sometimes, only a pale slice and others close enough touch, like a giant hoop of cheese, it is that color, but around it and all over the dark, blanketed, night sky is a dazzling display of stars, who needs fireworks? God’s show is on every night. And it is spectacular.

I have heard people ask why wish on a star when you know the one who made them? I don’t think He minds wish, He knows who has faith, He knows hearts and He knows stars. He knows the very number and the, they like angels, who are sometimes referred to as stars,they are innumerable.

When He promised Abraham that his descendants would be as the number of stars, it must have been a difficult thing for a childless couple to believe. A star that was the very glory of God guided wise men to Jesus. It still does guide the wise. The stars are out there, angels are out there.

In a world of darkness that is both good and evil, because God blessed the night and called it good. The LORD decrees His loving devotion by day; and at night His song is with me— a prayer to the God of my life. Psalm 42:8. evil can only do so much, the stars are watching both real and angelic, and even more so the Lord who will judge.

God knows every name, and knows the names of the stars. He never forgets a promise. He never will not answer a prayer because of the sacrifice of His Son. And in the summer when it is hot, and the house is cool. I still still brave the steamy heat of the late evening to stroll outside a moment or two.

I can relax and breath a prayer, looking into the blessed and sacred night sky. And I know my Father hears me, both prayers and thanks, and lets the angels cause a star or two to twinkle, as if it were my Father’s eye. He counts the moments and weighs my heart against the troubles that would beset it. I unburden my soul in His love. A gentle wind envelopes me.

I am both cooled and calmed in His Spirit and His rest. I can be amazed at the seasons, the patterns, the cycles and times He has created and watched come to pass, what is like a forever to me is but a moment to Him. And all I needed was moment in His presence to be awestruck and star struck.

Like grand old movies, the stars are on screen each night, a parade of His power and love, For He doesn’t mind wishing on a star. He gave us our hearts desire, whatever we are thinking, wishing or praying He has already seen, heard and answered, yes and amen in Jesus. Believers have to believe. Dreamers dream, and wishers, well, they may do both.

They just bother to look up, for the redemption is near, to everything there is a season and God has His time, He holds eternity in His hands and calls our wish and stars by name. One day they will fall right to us like a blessing, thanks to our daystar, Jesus, He is the bright and morning star, but shines into the night. So I can wish on my Father’s star.

Rebecca Jones / Tu Nguyen