Adieu to WordPress

20 01 2012

I tried out wordpress for a while, but now I’ve decided I once again lik Blogspot better. So I’ve migrated there now and started a new blog. (If you couldn’t guess, I enjoy a bit of change now and again).

So, hop along this link path to my new blog, still titled “Heartlight”.

It’s pretty, it’s pink, and it’s got butterflies! what could be better, I ask? Ok, ok, maybe a lot of things. 😉

Bye, bye,



Saline the Flu Sea

10 01 2012

Tis the season for colds and flus, but you don’t have to spend it incessantly sniffing into a tissue. I’d like to share a really helpful health recipe that’s very simple, yet proven effective. My family received it from an MD as a treatment for the respiratory infections that used to plague as and we use it all the time, usually with great success. Most years, we only get sick once, and not very severely even then.

What you’ll need:

  • An empty saline bottle (you can find them at most drug stores)
  • 1 cup of filtered water
  • 1/2 tsp. uniodized salt
  • Scant pinch of baking soda

Wedge open the bottle cap with a sharp knife and verify that the bottle is free of all yuckies. Mix the salt and soda thoroughly into the water and decant into the bottles, replace the cap and squirt through your sinuses twice daily at least. Hope it helps to ward off the winter sicknesses. 🙂




5 01 2012

Love is patient

Love is kind

Does not envy

Does not boast

Is not arrogant

Does not behave itself unseemly

Seeketh not her own

Rejoiceth in the truth

Bears all things

Hopes all things

Believes all things

Endures all things

Love—the greatest of all

May we all have such a love…

Grace to Grace

26 12 2011

(I started to write a blog post this morning, but upon returning to reread it somewhat later, I was rather…ahem…dumbfounded by my unedited garble. When sick in bed, tapping away at my laptop between sneezes and hot spilt tea, my brain excursions are rather like a wild, Madagascarian safari, only understandable to readers similarly delirious.

All you need to know is that my article began by discussing a book I am currently enjoying. It shortly digressed to odd metaphors in which I likened myself to a koala and the book to the eucalyptus leaves said koala was snacking upon. Hey! You said you wouldn’t laugh; scout’s honor.)

Anyway, back to serious, grownup matters. I’ve been reading a really good book called Grace for Grace by Watchman Nee. He’s a Chinese Christian who speaks with simplicity and undiluted truth. This book reminds me that in my inherent evil, I cannot choose good, and am unable to will myself to become like Christ. It’s easy to think that I can strive to eliminate sin and promote the good things in my life, but the fact is, even the behaviors I consider good are themselves ‘like filthy rags’—Isaiah 64:6. The only way to salvation and regeneration, Mr. Nee gently reminds, is by admitting my incapability and taking on Christ as a completely new garment.


“No man putteth a piece of undressed cloth upon an old garment; for that which should fill it up taketh it from the garment, and a worse rent is made.” (Matt 9:16)

Here our Lord shows us the parable of using a piece of undressed cloth to mend an old garment. Such a thing is commonly done, yet the Lord points out its incompatibility,. If a piece of undressed cloth is put on an old garment, this new cloth will make a worse rent in the garment,. In the Bible, the word garment stands for our righteousness stands for our righteousness before God. When the garment is torn, the shame of the flesh is exposed. We may think we are well dressed, but there is One who sees us however we are, whether in the dark or in the light. God declares that our garment is torn; that there is no way to cover up our sins and shame. Our past history is so full of uncleanness and sins that we cannot share these things with others. We may keep such matters hidden in our heart, but we cannot hide them from God. And thus the immediate problem is not in proving whether or not this garment is torn, rather it is in proposing what to do to this old and torn garment. Naturally, our own way would be to mend it.

Undressed cloth does not refer to new as opposed to old cloth. It has reference to unshrunken cloth, for the process of manufacturing has not yet been finished. To patch an old garment with such cloth will tear the old garment even more. Spiritually speaking, let it be understood that what many people receive is not the finished work of Christ. They accept the outward work of Christ on the cross. If they are asked who Jesus Christ is, they will say He is a great moralist, a great religious leader, or a perfect model for us to imitate. Such words are spoken by people who do not believe in the precious blood of our Lord. This is exactly what undressed cloth signifies.

Some people say that Jesus was not born of the virgin Mary, that He is not the Son of God, that His shedding of blood is not for the atoning of sin, that He has not risen from the dead, that His words and deeds before His death serve only as examples to us, and that His death has not too much relationship to us. They consider the works of the Lord Jesus during His thirty-three years of living on earth as enough for them; they have not seen the necessity for the Son of man to be lifted up in death. (see John 3:14) They take the death of the Lord Jesus as simply the murder of an ordinary person. They do not see His death as God having died for us. They have never perceived that if the Lord had not died, we must all die. In short, they accept the teaching of the Lord Jesus as ‘undressed’ cloth. By cutting a piece out of it, they use it to patch their old and torn garment of unrighteousness.

The Real Me

27 11 2011

Oh Lord, may I be seen for who I am. No more, no less. May my heart turn in your hand like an unfolding pearl, calm and brave, like Hadassah of old…


24 11 2011

All day, amid the smells of Thanksgiving turkey and pecan pie, I’ve been thinking of how much I have for which to be grateful.

Last year, we were living in our RV in the dead of a frigid Grand Junction winter. Not far from homeless ourselves, we decided to go serve at the local Salvation Army. (Now, I want you to know that we are not do-gooders who visit a homeless shelter on holidays and never think about the lonely people again. We often visit shelters to sing, serve food, or just to chat the whole year round.)

Before long, hundreds on hundreds of people began to pour in. They were typically dressed in old army issue coats if they were fortunate or tattered sweaters if they were not. They smelled bad and there were plenty of folks that you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. Funny how that just doesn’t matter.

Looking into their eyes, I saw people just like me, seeking a reason, just one little warm place for them in the wide world. There were angry eyes, sad eyes, diverted glances, and defiant stares, but, oh! How wonderful when I came across hope filled eyes that glowed like shining jewels. And behind those eyes were the kindest spirits. There was the good man, a king in tattered clothing, who jumped up to carry my armload of plates. There was the lady who looked so tired, but who laid her chapped hand on mine and said, ‘dear, you must be worn out!”

There were two last pairs of eyes; bright but wary, sharp with hunger. And they belonged to two tiny white-faced babies, five and seven years old. The mother’s face had the regal dignity of a princess, though her clothes were dirty and ill-fitting. The father looked like a lumberjack, his eyes creased with sadness. They lived under an overpass in the city.

When at last the crowd had thinned and my family and I sat down with our own plates, I was almost too tired to eat, and when I tasted the food, my appetite fled altogether. Never have I tasted worse food. All I could think about was how shameful it was that all these people would be fed food that I wouldn’t even hand to my dog.

That night, after serving several thousand people, we returned to the cold RV, our hearts and minds full of what we had seen that day.

That was our Thanksgiving last year. This year, we live in a trailer, on our own land and cooked up a tasty and wholesome dinner. You know what, though? The trappings didn’t make it more Thanksgiving than when none of those pleasant things come to us. I wouldn’t trade days like last year’s for the world. To me, every day that passes has something to live for, something even to die for. When you can get as low as some of those people I saw at the homeless shelter and still carry a smile in your heart, Thanksgiving no longer comes once a year. It’s an active element of each day.


19 11 2011

Silence. Have you ever sat beside someone wordless, the quietness drifting like a warm blanket over you both? I crave people who are comfortable with quiet, unafraid of their thoughts or yours. With them, silence is a sort of worshipful music. Hmmm. A silvery, starry faraway kind of melody, I think… Perhaps this post seems very random, but my kindred spirits will understand.