I’m Riddled with Desire & Tellin’ God All About It

Father God, I’ve got some questions. And just so You know, things are rather foggy down here at the ole ranchola.

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Oh, Lord, what is it? What is this inside of me?

So much, I dare say. There is so much that I want to say (& do) that I feel if I write all day long, I’ll not even scratch the tip of it all.

 

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Is that part of the yearning?

The yearning we have when we want something more, because there is always something more. I reckon it has something to do with the void that we will always have this side of heavens door.

Some want more money, a bigger house, a shiny car, or an updated kitchen; some want a new job, a promotion, a raise; some want recognition, applause, accolades; some want excitement, more fun, a challenge; some want leaner legs, a ripped abdominal wall, less wrinkles, no gray.

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Me? What’s rollicking just beneath my surface?

God, since You already know, why do You want me to figure it out too? Oh, I know, because a traveler without a destination is a rambler, a gypsy, a mere wanderer. You want me to know where I am going. You want me to be certain from where I came. And You want me to tap into my heart’s desires.

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Why?

Oh, because You knit me together before anyone down here on earth even knew what was happening. Before my momma’s belly rounded outward and before anyone laid a gentle hand to feel my kicks; You already knew me as Your daughter. You knew my days, my ways, my wants, my needs, and my desires – before I even gulped my first breath of air.

Okay, I’ve got that part. I know the lineage from where I came: I am a daughter of the King of kings. I am a child of the Creator of the universe. I am an heir to the throne of heaven. I am a descendent of the Almighty. I am precious and beautiful and worthy and forgiven and redeemed and sanctified. I am set aside as a princess of the Most High.

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But what of these desires?

I don’t float with the name-it-n-claim-it crowd. Oh, okay, I’ll tell You, but it is kinda embarrassing because I don’t rightly know how these things fit into Your plan for me.

Why yes, I often wonder what Your plan is for me. And I admit it, I worry too, I worry that I don’t know it, see it, understand it, do it… I know, I know, worry is a sin.

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Sorry. Forgive me?

Well, of course you do. Jesus died to make it so. And yes, I reckon I am doing the best I can with what I have and what I know and who I am. And yes, I think there’s always room for improvement, for refining, for sharpening.

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Okay, let’s get back to the whole plan issue, shall we?

Oh, I see. I oftentimes distract myself with wondering about Your plan and I let my heart’s desires slip away, almost undetected. You are right, I felt the fluttering and instead of gently grasping it beneath the wings, I pushed it out the window.

No, I don’t know what happens to it once I give it the ole heave-ho. Oh, okay, I do know. I admit it. I merely shut the window and tried to forget about it. All right, I didn’t forget, but I tried to.

Yes, I know I am talking circles here.

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You wanna read my list?

Alrighty then, here are my wants; I’ll just do a list without explanations (okay, okay, it’s without condemnations too):

  • I want to finish one of these multiple books I’ve started. Yes, and get it published.
  • I want to know if I can connect with anyone’s heart strings, I want to know if tap anyone’s funny bone, I want to know if anyone agrees or disagrees or feels the same way as me.
  • I want to pick a few images that I have captured with my camera and enlarge them to poster size. And hang them on my wall.
  • I want others to see Your amazing beauty, both on their own and through pictures I take.
  • I want others to know of Your forevermore, better-than-fairytale sorta love.
  • I want to sew aprons out of bandanas.
  • I want to trade our clothes drier in on fridge – cause You know, we only have a dorm sized fridge and I really have no need for a drier, what with the racks & wood cookstove in the winter and outdoor lines in the summer.
  • I want to percolate coffee every day on the wood cookstove.
  • I want to make yogurt and sourdough bread every day too.
  • I want to let go of the tension I’ve held in my shoulders ever since high school.
  • I want to slip back in time and live at the turn of the century, where the lifestyle I love is the norm.
  • I want to hold a baby and fall asleep after he has.
  • I want to dance with my husband, a two-step ‘round the dance floor, or the living room floor.
  • I want to read funny books with my son as we cuddle on the couch and drink cocoa.
  • I want to teeter and splash on a hot inner tube in the middle of a lake.
  • I want to swim underwater with my eyes open.
  • I want to encourage others to be all that God created them to be.
  • I want to live in seclusion, but I want to be around people too; I want to love with an all-encompassing inclusion.
  • I want to laugh till I dang near wet my pants.
  • And I want to have no fear… of failing, of falling, of bawling, of breaking, of shaking, of cracking, of splashing, of flying, of ripping, of crying, of trying.

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So, there You have it. Now that You know (well, You already knew, but now that You know that I know), whatcha gonna do about it?

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Me? What am I gonna do about it?  Are You kidding me?

Oh, that last line in my list, the one about fear. Yeah, You are not the author of fear. Where You exist, there is only love. Love conquers fear. Love is way bigger than fear. You are way bigger than fear.

Really, it’s okay if I fail, fall, or bawl?

If I break, shake, crack or splash, You’ll help me mend?

And if I fly or rip or cry, You’ll be there, right by my side?

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But what about… ?

 Oh, I see. Yep, yes Sir, I’ve just gotta trust, try, and do. And recognize that the results are up to You.

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What’s that? You can see right through my desire-riddled heart and grant me all that I need. 

 

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Monday Muse-ic (Called Out Your Name)

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If the first hours of your Monday started out as mine did, you can bet your britches that you are gonna need some reminding about the joy that is yours. Despite the realities of the week that may have smacked ya upside the head when your warm feet hit the cold floor, God is still asking for you.

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Oh, Lord, help me to be the person You created me to be. This moment, this hour, this day, this week. Let no man, not even my selfish, prideful self, put asunder all that I find in You & all that You find in me. Please keep calling out to me. And let me have the ears to hear. In Jesus’ name, amen.

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Called Out Your Name from Live JUBILEE on Vimeo.

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But now, thus says the Lord, who created you, O Jacob,
And He who formed you, O Israel:
“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by your name;
You are Mine.

Everyone who is called by My name,
Whom I have created for My glory;
I have formed him, yes, I have made him.”

                                                                                                     ~ Isaiah 43:1,7

How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God!
How great is the sum of them!
If I should count them, they would be more in number than the sand;
When I awake, I am still with You.

                                                                                                      ~ Psalm 139:17-18

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* That beauty-full video is a blessing indeed, is it not? Miss Jeanne Damoff introduced it to me last year. I can’t remember just where, perhaps at All The Church Ladies or maybe on her blog. Anyway, her daughter, granddaughter, and son-by-God’s grace (sounds way better than son-in-law) are joying-out to God on the hardwood floor.

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I most often start my days with this song-n-video combo unit. 

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What is MONDAY MUSE-IC? Oh, I’m glad you asked. Mondays need muse. And music. So, I’m gonna provide both… and invite God to the party. 

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Muse: to think or say reflectively; to reflect; to study; reflect deeply; meditate; wonder (according to assorted online definitions).

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Professors, Pups & Pedigrees

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A simple country girl and a simple country boy left their homes and went to town for college. After we cut the apron stings, moved, unpacked, and mastered our culinary Top Ramen skills, we united in the mayhem of marriage, err, I mean holy matrimony. In our newfound collegiate adulthood, we gained higher levels of knowledge, but occasionally we came across an educational opportunity outside the brick and mortar school walls.

 

And in at least one such case we were the professors…

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One laundry day we left our clothes swirling in soap and water, and instead of reading textbooks during the wash-n-spin cycles, we wandered around the mall. We always found ourselves in the same place and that day was no different; our collective drool dripped down the pet store display case. As we stared at a litter of black lab mutt pups, an pet store employee wrangled another box of puppies and dumped a heap of Rottweilers in with the cute Labradors.

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Immediately, a small lab pup raised up, crawled over the others, and stood before the newcomers, as if she was the self-appointed guard dog for her baby brothers and sisters. She growled, a little, yet effective, guttural threat at the obnoxious Rott-tots. They backed up in wide-eyed dismay at her daring ferocity.

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“Why look at that!” I exclaimed.

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“Yeah. That one black mutt is protecting all her kin,” my husband said.

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“She’s little, but she’s fierce.”

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“And she’s dang cute.”

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I sighed and fixed my eyes on my man. “Hey, she reminds me of me. Does she remind you of me?”

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“Yeah, whatever.”

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“We gotta have her,” we said in unison.

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We looked at one another, I smiled lovingly, and then we began a frantic search for money. We emptied our pockets, we pawned our car’s spare tire and my husband’s belt buckle, and instead of using the quarter-hungry machines to dry our wet clothes back at the laundry mat, my husband dragged three sacks of soggy laundry to our rig. And I grasped one bundle of store-bought, wriggling puppy mutt. The three of us wagged and gave out sloppy kisses whilst my husband drove us home.

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Because I always wanted a dog named Elvis or Earl we had a couple days of heavy debate before we agreed upon a name. Since the pup turned out to be a she instead of a he, my favorite names were nixed until I had the bright idea to insert various letters in front of both names to come up with a gender-friendly girl name.

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We test-drove our alphabetical options: “Here Pelvis! Here Pelvis!” didn’t sound so good but we tried again; P + Earl = Pearl. Bingo! Our first dog was a precious black Pearl.

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Fast-forward a few months. Autumn had sprung. It’s always my favorite time of year, but the serenity of bright blue skies and crisp leaves was shattered by the couple who lived below us as they intensified the training of their mighty, papered, and registered hunting dog, aptly named “Hound.” Secretly though, we were privy to his lack of know-how so we secretly called him “Blockhead.”

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The dog. Not the man.

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Anyway, one afternoon my husband and Pearl snored in our makeshift sleeping bag bed on the floor as I prepped potatoes for the oven. I heard the neighbor man’s wife leave and five minutes later he knocked on our door. Pearl rushed toward the rude awakening with a menacing growl, but stopped short once I opened the door and she saw her wagging canine buddy on the porch with his master.

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Our neighbor convinced my husband to take the dogs for “a mock grouse hunt” in the nearby field. Basically the man wanted to show-off his dog’s dummy retrieving skills and his response to both voice and hand signal commands.

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So my husband followed the man and his pedigreed dog with our eager mutt, who sleeps on our bed, lounges across the backrest of the couch, routinely eats wicker baskets, and who sometimes walks around in t-shirts (cause I think a dog in clothes is funnier than without).

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Because  it’s been said that these here blog posts should be around 1000 words,

you will need to stay tuned for the continuation of this saga on another day.

You’ll come back ’cause you don’t wanna miss the primary lesson do ya?

 Oh forget it! This is my place and I’ll ramble on and on if’n I see fit.

And if’n you see fit to keep reading, look below.

If not, come back another day.

And look below. 

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Within an hour I heard the man put his barking dog into the condo unit below. Our door flew open, Pearl wagged in, followed by my husband, and before I shut the door, the neighbor man squeezed through. He stood stoic and white-faced as he leaned against the entryway wall. From behind his back, my husband then produced a dead grouse and a poorly stifled grin.

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“Hey, honey, look what we got!”

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“Uh, I thought he was only practicing with Hound today,” I said as I nodded at the man.

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My husband said, “Oh, they practiced all right and Hound did a pretty good job until the last dummy toss and retrieval. Hound landed on top of an unsuspecting grouse. The grouse finally freed itself from beneath the dog’s belly and took off.”

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“What did Hound do next? And where was Pearl through all this?” I asked.

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“Oh, Hound barked, chased his tail, and drooled a lot,” my husband said. Near giddy with excitement, my man continued with his story. “And the last time I had seen Pearl she was somewhere across the field following her nose. Anyway, when that grouse took flight, she ripped across the hillside at full tilt, jumped six feet off the ground, and caught that dang bird by the tail feathers.”

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“Yeah, well, she doesn’t have a soft mouth like my dog. She broke its leg,” said our neighbor man in a huff.

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“Well, there’s that. But dude, did you see her run? And what about that jump?!”

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“I did. I did. And you are right, it was spectacular,” said the man as he focused on the floor.

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“So, I’m assuming you have your bird hunting license, right?” I said to the man, who by the way, was enrolled as a second year law student.

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“Uh, not exactly.”

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“Counselor, did you go grousing without a license? Well, at least you had permission from the landowner, right? I reckon you could get kicked out of law school over something like this.”

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The man shook, his knees buckled, and his lower lip quivered just a bit.

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This moment proved to be our first lesson in the School of Country Folk Common Sense. Well, actually it was the second lesson because as I later found out, my husband had already taken to the lectern with instructions on how to put the injured grouse out of its misery.

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Although neither of us had time to make a syllabus, draft an outline, or prepare a handout, we effortlessly continued with our country-tainted, real world instruction.

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“Oh, for Pete’s sake, just leave the evidence here. The oven is still hot from some potatoes I baked. My husband will dress it out, I’ll cook it, and you two can eat the proof. And if we play our cards right, no one will ever know what dastardly dog deeds went on in that field.”

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My husband walked the pale man outside and returned to make the dead bird edible.

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I baked a foul fowl and later that night as the two men ate grouse and ‘taters, they discussed the varied nuances and diverse methodologies of basic dog rearing and birddog training.

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Soon thereafter, I took the feathery trash out to the curb and a saw movement in the downstairs window. The great and mighty hunting dog stared at me with frightened eyes from the cushions of the once-forbidden couch. He wore a white t-shirt and had a party hat strapped to his big, brown blockhead.

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Simply Darlene, is there a moral to this story? I don’t know for sure, but I squeezed out two for ya.

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One:  not all schooling needs books, but all learning needs some sense.

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Two:  it doesn’t matter if your pooch is pampered, papered, pedigreed, or pinstriped, he’s only going to catch what he’s got a mind to bite. Just like us, aye? Whether we comfortably fall in with simple folks, country bumpkins, city slickers, saucy suburbanites, or worldwide wanderers, we’ve got to exercise some mental acuity in our choices to follow God.

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Otherwise, all we are collectively gonna do, is wear dorky t-shirts and chase our little waggy tails.

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* PLEASE HELP!!

Kind folks, please take the time to go here and sign this petition in an effort to save pastor Youcef Nadakhani from a recently issued death sentence in Iran. His crime for imprisonment & perhaps death? Christianity.
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Here I just wrote a funnish story about a goofy set of dogs, some people, and I managed to wrap it up all neat and tidy with a Christian-esque bow. What good did that do? I mean really? Here is a brother in Christ who has been ripped from his family and his pulpit, yet he refuses to be stripped of his faith in God. He won’t recant. I’m glad GOD created such a man that I can call “brother.” 
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Will you add your name to the petition at ACLJ (Americans Center for Law & Justice)? And will you add your voices with mine in prayer?
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Please.
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Did

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do you know?

can you say

the exact time

and place and day

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that God bent your knees

broke your heart

and

gave you a big, big chance

at a fresh

born again

start?

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did it fizzle?

whiz

or bang

you down?

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did it drizzle?

drip

or spin

you around?

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did you land

on your belly,

face down in the dirt?

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did you lift

up your eyes

and admit

all your hurts?

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did you take

to give?

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did you die

to live?

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like Jesus

did

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~ Photo & Poem: by Simply Darlene
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