by Roseanna White | Nov 2, 2017 | Thoughtful Thursdays
There’s an old-world definition of “living water”–it means water that moves. Dead waters are stagnant–you don’t want to drink from them, and sometimes things can’t even live in them.
For instance, the Dead Sea. Now, this place is pretty amazing in a lot of ways. The salt content in so high that nothing can live in the waters. So high that you get salt cubes littering the shore and chunks of it floating in the water like icebergs. We’ve all probably heard the stories about how easy it is to float, and how quickly the water heals cuts or scrapes on your skin.
Why is the Dead Sea so salty? Because the Jordan river flows in, but then it stops. There’s no outlet. The water simply evaporates in the heat. It’s dead, not just because the salinity is so high that nothing can live there, but because the water doesn’t move.
In contrast is the Sea of Galilee, which is fresh water. The same Jordan river flows in, flows out. Plus, it’s fed from underground springs. This is living water. Fresh and clean and teeming with life.
That’s what our faith is supposed to be.
My dad preached on this last weekend, and it really spoke to me. He started with John 7:37-38:
37 On the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink. 38 He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.” (Emphasis mine. NKJV)
Somehow, through all the times I’ve read John, I’d never caught that before. Whenever I think of living water, I think of it being Jesus–I remember the woman at the well, and how our Lord promises that He can give a living water that will make us thirst no more. Jesus is the living water.
But then there’s that part in bold above. He comes into the hearts of those believe in Him–and then what?
Out of [our] hearts will flow rivers of living water.
Living water–moving water. Fresh water. He comes in . . . and He needs to flow out. We need to be fed with His words, with His truth, with His salvation, yes–but that can’t be the end of it. We can’t just hold it all in and think we’re good. That we’re saved, so that’s all that matters.
We can’t stagnate. We have to move. Our faith has to move. It has to flow back out to the rest of the dry and thirsty world.
In our Bible study on Wednesday nights, we’ve been reading Romans. In 2:16, Paul is talking about about how the law is written on the hearts of men and that God will judge them, through Jesus, according to “my gospel.” My husband, ever amazing at digging deep into the wording, asked “Why does Paul call it his Gospel here? Isn’t it usually called Christ’s gospel?”
We went back and forth with it for a while, and eventually I said something I thought was kinda simplistic, but which everyone loved: that Paul is owning it. He’s taking the Gospel inside him and then sharing it, so fully unashamed, so fully committed to it that he’s willing to call it his own.
That’s the living water faith we all need to have. The kind that takes it in. That lives through it and by it. And that sends it out again to nourish others.
Father, let your Living Water spring up within us. Let it fill all the parches and empty places in our souls. And let our spirits’ cups then so overflow with you that we have no choice but to spill out your goodness for those around us. Let us be the fresh spring in a bitter world. The life among the dead. Let us be a fountain of your glory.
by Roseanna White | Sep 28, 2017 | Thoughtful Thursdays
Over the last few months, a landmark change has come upon me. It started gradually–now and then, out in public. And then it became more common even at home. And now I know it’s here to stay.
My daughter has stopped calling me Mommy and now calls me Mom.
It’s a strange thing in a way, isn’t it? I mean, we all know our grown-up kids aren’t going to keep calling us Mommy. (Though I know plenty of girls who keep calling their father Daddy, the Mommy thing inevitably goes away. Hmmm.) So obviously there will be a transition. But as we change diapers and navigate toddlerhood, as we prepare them for their first days of school, this isn’t really a question any of us ponder too much, right?
But my daughter, being a mini-me in some ways, actually seems to have put some thought into it. I’d noticed quite a while ago that when she was talking to her friends–especially her older friends–she’d refer to me as “her mom.” Which was obviously fine. But then a few months ago she said something to me…I don’t even remember the conversation. But it was something that, in retrospect, felt as though she was asking permission to change what she called me. I honestly don’t recall the words. Maybe she had asked me if I used to call my mother Mommy, and that led to when I stopped? I don’t know. I guess at the time, it didn’t seem important to remember the exact conversation. But I recall kinda smiling as she walked away. Realizing that my girl is growing up. And loving that she was taking care with this.
And so, Mommy has vanished. And quite often, when I hear her call out, “Mom!” it feels so…deliberate. Almost proud. As though she realizes she’d taken a step toward adulthood, one that she could choose when to take.
There are moments when I feel as though it should make me sad, or at least emotional–a chapter is over, finished. But instead, I feel proud too. I’m not sure I can explain why. Perhaps because in Mom, for us, there’s a new depth to our relationship that couldn’t quite be when she was younger. I love that she sits down and just chats with me. That we rejoice together over stupid things like pumpkin spice coffee creamer and cream cheese. I love that we talk about stories and that as soon as she finishes a book she loved, she shoves it at me and tells me I have to read it too, so we can talk about it and rent the movie.
I love that though there are mom-moments aplenty–the ones where I’m saying, “Go take a shower. Do your math. No, I mean it, do your math. Stop yelling at your brother. Just dry the dishes and stop moaning about it!” there are other moments too. Friend moments. Moments when we laugh together, when we talk about honest-to-goodness things that matter, when I realize that my little girl is growing up into a young woman that I love getting to know.
I guess part of me always wondered, as I wrangled these kids of mine through screaming fits and sleepless nights, what kind of relationship we’d have as they grew up. Well, we’re discovering that now. And though she’s only almost-12 and we’ve still got those teen years ahead of us, I pray that what we’re building now will only get stronger. That these little people I love so much will become big people I respect. That each year, though it brings changes and challenges, will bring a new layer of depth too. Beautiful depth.
Now, interesting will be to see if/when my son makes this change, given that he rarely ever calls me Mommy anyway–he calls me Mama. Will that stick around? Who knows. But I’m sure loving the discovery with these two silly kiddos of mine.
It’s a journey, always, this parenting thing. Nothing ever stays the same for long. But it’s one that I love more, the longer we travel it together.
Here’s to the road. And to the people who travel it with me.
by Roseanna White | Sep 21, 2017 | Thoughtful Thursdays
As so typically happens, I’ve been letting ideas simmer in the back of my mind that combine my current Bible reading, things I’ve been reading to my kids, and conversations and sermons from church. I love when all these lines cross and combine to lead me to a knew understanding of our Lord.
So at the beginning of summer, I decided I’d break out a new Bible I’ve had sitting there for a couple years–one I requested for my birthday along with another. And I’ve requested another since. (What, some people only have one??) This one is called the So That’s Why! Bible, and it’s a chronological (which is how I found it, when searching for those) Bible that is full of cultural and historical notes–my kind of footnote!
I’m nearly finished Exodus in this Bible now, and going through those early history sections has been so educational, with all the cross-cultural highlights and notes the book provides. Genesis especially is rich in stories from other cultures that bear a resemblance to the ones shared in that first book of the Bible, and it’s hammered home something so important to me.
In all these other stories, you have the same basic kernels–the ones that long ago convinced me they’re telling the same stories, just that they’d been twisted over the centuries. That they took that basic understanding of what happened and then changed things here and there. But no matter how similar some of these stories–the many flood tales, Gilgamesh, etc.–are on the surface, there’s one very key difference between how others cultures told the tales and how the Bible does. And the difference is this:
God loves us.
In all the other ancient societies, the gods are to be feared. They are to be placated. They are not understood. They crave human blood and sacrifice, and they delight in tormenting mere mortals, or playing with them for their own entertainment.
Our God is so very different. Our God shows his love to humanity. He seeks to show us the pure way, the righteous way, the best way. Our God demonstrates mercy, and even punishment is handed down not because He takes Joy in our suffering, but because discipline is a necessary part of discipleship–a part of teaching and learning.
As I read through Genesis this time, I had just recently read some arguments by Christians who are of the mind that this book of the Bible isn’t supposed to be treated as fact, necessarily, but rather as a redefinition for the ancient world of how God really worked through these well-known tales. Now, I’m not making the above argument. I’m merely saying that as I went through Genesis this time, it was with the question of, “How is God teaching His people about Himself through these stories?”
And the answer is what I said above: God loves us.
In church, we’ve been reading Matthew, and my husband asked the question last weekend of “What ‘gospel’ was Jesus preaching? Today, our ‘gospel’ includes the news of His death and resurrection, but that wasn’t a part of his actual teachings to the masses yet, right? So what was this good news? And why was it always accompanied by healing and miracles?”
My answer: God loves us.
This was the awe-inspiring, amazing, unheard-of message that Jesus was preaching. That He was inviting everyone to see anew in the Scriptures of old. This is the whole reason He came, and the reason He spent so much of his time demonstrating God’s love rather than His authority or dominion. Our Messiah didn’t come to conquer nations–He came to show the heart of the Father to the people.
In our homeschool, I’ve been reading a little book to the kids called But Don’t All Religions Lead to God? by Dr. Michael Green. It’s a short book, but it’s packed full with wonderful information on what sets Christianity apart from all the other religions in the world. And the main thing?
God loves us.
No other religion, no other faith, seeks to demonstrate this. None other offers a means for closing the gap between man and God. No other says, “It’s not what you do–it’s what God’s done.”
God loves us.
We know it, and we say it so many times. But how often do we really pause to examine the miracle in the statement? That unlike every other god worshiped in ancient days, unlike every other lifestyle or religion prevalent today, ours has not only a Creator, but a Father.
Thank you, Lord, for loving us so much. It makes all the difference.
by Roseanna White | Sep 14, 2017 | Thoughtful Thursdays
Last week we passed an idyllic seven days at the beach in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. I expected to have a great time–and I did. I had a fabulous time. We generally do. But as a mama, I’ve also known my fair share of vacation frustrations.
Because you don’t get a break from mommy responsibilities, right? Even now, when my kids are older, it isn’t as though they’re adults, out doing their own thing. They want me to build a sandcastle. And dig a moat. And dig a hole. And build a wall. Swim again, whether I’m ready to move or not. They still need to eat (the nerve!) and have someone to remind them to do those oh-so-crazy things like shower and brush their teeth.
I admit it. There have been times–many of them–on vacation or holidays when I had in mind what I wanted to do, and I got a bit frustrated when that went by the wayside in favor of what they wanted me to do.
I was determined to do it differently this time. And so I told myself from the start that if the kids wanted to build, we’d build. If they wanted to hunt for shells, off we’d go. I’d set aside my desires for this vacation and instead focus on theirs.
Crazy thing. Wanna take a guess how that went?
I had an absolute blast. And–and–I ended up with more time to do what I wanted (which is to say, read, LOL) than I ever have before on a vacation since those kiddos came along.
As I was contemplating this toward the end of the week, I realized it was a surrender, that decision. Not a surrender to them, but a surrender of me. I was still Mama, still the one with veto power, and yes, I still said things like, “Sure, sweetie, but can you give five minutes to warm up first?” But I’d already put that I-want on hold in my mind. It wasn’t there, it wasn’t allowed. And because I’d already dealt with it, it left me with this beautiful, sweet thing: peace.
I rather wish it hadn’t taken me so many years to figure this out–but isn’t that just like us, in life and in faith? How often do we cling to what we want to do, what we want to accomplish, what we want to be, when the treasure lies in letting it go? Giving it up and instead listening for what God will whisper?
Because when the Lord holds out His hand to me and says, “Let’s build something,” I don’t want to sigh and scowl at Him. I don’t want to be thinking, Really? Now? Don’t you know I’m busy with this other work?
I want to put my hand in His and see what we can create together. I want to let go of all the frustrations from interruptions and disappointments and give myself over to the Joy He prepares in every moment. I want to find that treasure hidden under the sand.
I want to store away hours of laughter with my family. I want to build memories for them like I have of my own childhood. I want to follow the Lord wherever He leads me. I want to stop and look at seashells, so carefully fashioned by His hand. I want to hear His whisper in the rush of the surf, or the breath of the wind, or in the silence of the night. And I want to remember that when I put aside me, I gain something oh-so-much better.
Us.
by Roseanna White | Aug 31, 2017 | Thoughtful Thursdays
In recent weeks, there’s been quite a hullabaloo over statues. It’s
started in the US and has even spread to the UK. Voices are raised.
Blood pressure is up. People are shouting at each other from both sides.
On
the news the other evening, I heard someone call for the removal of all
statues of the founding fathers who were slave holders. And something
inside me ached.
First let me say, I detest slavery. I hate that it was ever a part of our nation. I love the differences God put into His human creation, and I think they should be celebrated–not feared or hated or labeled. I was always quite proud to be a West Virginian–the state that formed in order to stay a part of the Union rather than the Confederacy (at least until I learned it was a political stance, in order to gain that statehood, and that the majority of my state’s citizens in fact supported the Confederacy…). I don’t think slavery should ever be glorified.
But…
(Bracing myself)
But…I think it’s wrong to boil people down to ONE stance. ONE opinion. ONE part of their lives and dismiss everything else they did because of it.
Many of our founding fathers were slaveholders. And many of the same recognized that it was an evil. They wanted the country to be rid of the institution. They knew it was wrong. But they didn’t know how to expunge it from their society without ripping said society apart. And so, they left it for another generation to deal with, trusting that something so obviously wrong would die a natural death.
“I wish from my soul that the legislature of this State
could see the policy of a gradual Abolition of Slavery …
“Not only do
I pray for it, on the score of human dignity,
but I can clearly foresee
that nothing but the rooting out of slavery
can perpetuate the existence
of our union,
by consolidating it in a common bond of principle.”
~ George Washington
It didn’t die a natural death. Instead, people began to justify it. To say it wasn’t evil at all. And finally to embrace it. To be willing to fight for it.
Does that make those founding fathers evil? Because of one stance they didn’t take? Do we judge them according to their failures…or their successes?
Which would WE like to be judged by?
All these people calling for statues to be taken down, for these men to be erased from displays of history…should we judge THEM by their sins…or by their graces? For what they’ve done wrong, or for what they’re doing right?
How can we in good conscience judge our forebears by a standard we ourselves would never want to be judged by?
Don’t we frequently do things we know are wrong? Do we ever participate in
something socially that we know isn’t good for society? Do we take
advantage of the tax system we think is warped? Do we use the insurance
we didn’t think should be passed into legislation? Do we laugh at the
crude jokes that belittle others? Perhaps it’s not on the same scale,
but it’s the same idea of rebelling against a culture.
Does
it ever make you stop and wonder if all the good we work for, all the
love we live out, all the victories we think we’ve managed will someday
turn to dust because of those things we don’t do right? The things we
fail at? The places our love is weak?
That’s what we’re doing when we try to erase people from our own past. We’re saying we don’t care what they built, what good they did, what they had right–that it’s all nothing compared to what they did wrong.
I’m especially saddened by the outrage focused on Robert E. Lee. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he also wasn’t a villain, as people today seem to want to paint him. He was never in favor of slavery–his wife and daughter even founded an illegal school to educate slaves in their area, and helped some gain their freedom. He wrote in a letter to his wife that “slavery as an institution, is a moral and political evil in any Country.” He also wasn’t in favor of Virginia seceding. So why did he fight for them? You might as well ask why a general in England who voted against Brexit doesn’t move to Europe and join one of their militaries–Lee was a Virginian first, an American second. A position very typical of the time, though foreign to us today.
I could go on and on about what made Lee a great man, a great Christian, and one of the most vocal in the South after the war to encourage healing and love, to accept the freedom of former slaves as God-ordained and good, and to come alongside them as friends.
This is the man people today want to hate. Because they see only that he was a Confederate General, and they never ask why. They never ask what he actually believed.
Do we want to be judged as nothing but our jobs? One thing? One stance? One position?
I don’t know about you, but I’m not so simple.
Why, then, do we expect our forefathers to have been?
Please, America. Please don’t brand each other–those who live down the street or those who lived centuries before–as evil based on our failures, or on our perceived opinions of each other. Because if we are so quick to judge, to erase, to willingly forget…then what will we be remembered for?
by Roseanna White | Jun 29, 2017 | Thoughtful Thursdays
Last weekend I had the honor of filling in in our church’s pulpit. I sat down to write my sermon thinking I’d base it on a blog post from last August . . . but was in for a surprise as I did some more research.
Did you know that the English definition of blessing carries a physical meaning that no other language reflects? I didn’t either! And the reasons are quite interesting. You can watch to find out what the historical meaning is, how English has changed it over time, and what God really promises us.
Sermon – The Gift of a Blessing from WhiteFire TV on Vimeo.
Roseanna M. White is a bestselling, Christy Award winning author who has long claimed that words are the air she breathes. When not writing fiction, she’s homeschooling her two kids, editing, designing book covers, and pretending her house will clean itself. Roseanna is the author of a slew of historical novels that span several continents and thousands of years. Spies and war and mayhem always seem to find their way into her books…to offset her real life, which is blessedly ordinary.