Blog – Be YOU tiful

Blind Spots

Mon, 13 Mar 2023 20:01:06 GMT

I walk. They ride. Bicycles that is.

My little neighborhood awakens gently with a few of us forcing our bodies out of our sleep with various forms of outdoor exercise.

The bikers are two men about the same age my dad was when he passed away. They treat me as a daughter or a niece, and I like it. We take note when someone has missed the routine for any extended period of time. Sometimes, as we pass each other, the more outgoing of the two throws out a little playful banter about my Georgia Bulldogs, but always with a kind smile and cheerful greeting.

It’s a community of early risers. It feels safe. Settled. Dependable.

Not long ago, the speedier of the two riders gave me a gentle scold. “You forgot to turn on your blinker.”

His tone said, “Hey crazy lady, better watch where you’re going. Good thing I’m still agile enough to maneuver around you.”

Oops.

While I’m walking, I lose track of what’s around me, and my creature-of-habit self follows the same routine. When I get to the end of the neighborhood, I always turn around about five yards from the end to avoid the busy street ahead. Apparently, today I must have cut smack-dab in front of him. But I never saw the slightest bit of him. I would’ve never known had he not pointed it out to me.

Thank you, blind spot.

I’ve got them in both eyes, but especially on my left side. Forty-two years of diabetes will do that to a person. I’m extremely grateful I can see enough to live independently. To drive. To read. To function well. But sometimes I forget, I can’t see everything…

Hmmm. . . I can’t see everything.

The timing of this near blind spot crash is not accidental. I fear I have more than just a physical problem with my eyes. In the last several days, I discovered a prominent character blind spot. It’s embarrassing to admit this, but I have to fight off the temptation to think my way is right.

Always.

Well, okay, a little grace for me. Almost always.

I’ve gotten rusty with giving others the benefit of the doubt and in acknowledging to myself I may not have all the facts. That was the problem with a recent incident. I was—thankfully only internally—vehemently opposed to a decision made by loved ones. I worked myself into a frustrated tizzy with questions like, “What were they thinking? How are they going to explain this?”

I ended each mental rant convinced I had a better idea for all parties involved.

Come to find out, my way wasn’t as right as I’d imagined.

Here’s the thing. It’s not that my solution was wrong. I still believe it’s a great idea. But eventually I realized I didn’t have all the facts. I came so close to writing off a person’s ability to make good choices, when in fact, they may have made the wisest decision for the scenario.

I know all this. In years past, I’d learned this lesson of releasing others to their decisions, especially after I’ve had to make tough choices that onlookers would not understand. That experience helped shut up my critical voices inside.

But the blind spot had crept back in and shadowed my perception to recognize it.

Since this little incident, I’ve asked God to show me more blind spots in my life. He’s definitely answering that prayer. It’s humbling, and yet I’m so grateful for His kind exposing of them. Truth is, the person with the blind spot is the only one who can’t see it. To those around them, the character flaw is as easy to spot as the distortion in a Picasso painting.

I want to reflect Him in every thought, word and action. I want to love people well and point them to Jesus. I can’t do that best if I have blind spots that offend and distract. So, I thank God for the revealing.

Maybe you would consider asking God to show you a blind spot or two? It’s one prayer I’m most certain He will answer in the affirmative.

“Who can discern his errors? Declare me innocent from hidden faults. Keep back your servant also from presumptuous sins, let them not have dominion over me! Then I shall be blameless, and innocent of the great transgression. Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD my strength and my redeemer.” Psalm 19:12-14

To Bea or Not to Bea

Mon, 13 Mar 2023 19:42:51 GMT

Her name was Beatrix—Bea for short.

Well, not really, but I’m masking her name and you’ll see why by the end.

Beatrix stood about as tall and thin as a yard stick with wispy brunette hair and enough spunk for three kids her size . I don’t remember how I ended up as babysitter that day, but nonetheless, Bea was my responsibility for the afternoon.

Her petite hand rested comfortably inside mine as the two of us truxed down to the corner store chatting away the distance. We discussed important stuff like, what’s your favorite color? What do you want to be when you grow up? Oh, look at that ant hill over there.

The exercise put fresh air in our lungs letting our souls breathe and our minds wander. Best of all, when we arrived at our destination, I crafted a little surprise for her. The little tyke didn’t get many of those, and my heart beat with anticipation to bless her with a little unexpected happy.

I hadn’t been around Bea much, but I knew a bit of her history. She’d seen things a little five-year-old should never have to see, and when dinner time came she often had to fend for herself with a can of cold green beans. People called her “a handful,” but when she got a chance to just be a kid, she seemed quite pleasant.

A welcomed gush of cold air and the dime-store smell rushed to meet us as we opened the door. Time to reveal my plan. I felt like a kid in a candy store. Oh wait. I was. But this time the treat wasn’t for me, and I couldn’t wait to share it.

My teenage self didn’t have much money, but I pulled out some cash and held it out to her. “Here, Bea! You can pick out whatever you’d like as a treat.”

She instantly grabbed the money from my hand. Oh, good! She was eager to receive. Then what happened next will be forever embedded in my mind.

Holding the cash suspended between us, she pushed her weight to one side of her body and thrust out her hip . Her cocoa-colored eyes met mine, and these words spewed from her mouth . “Is that all you’ve got?”

Is that all you’ve got?

Cue the mouth-drop and gasp.

Recently, I told this story to my first-graders at church, and they were aghast at her attitude. Even after all these years, I felt validated that the kids were just as appalled as I was. One little boy tilted his head toward his shoulder , and with knowing nods said, “She didn’t go to church, did she.”

As I relayed the gist of the story to the kids, I asked, “ Was it right for her to act that way?”

They couldn’t wait to right her wrong with their words. “No! She should be grateful f or whatever you gave her.”

“That’s right!” I affirmed their answer. “But you know what?”

My voice turned solemn and my cadence slowed. “Sometimes I’ve acted just like her . . .”

I paused before finishing the sentence. My rambunctious group of mostly boys sat wide-eyed and as still as statues, like they couldn’t remember how to breathe. I could almost see the wheels of their imaginations turning, “How could Ms. Rebecca act like such a brat?”

I finished the grievous sentence, punctuating the last two words. “. . . Towards. God.”

At the word “God” a heaviness swept over our space as little light-bulbs of understanding turned on at various moments around the room. Yes, now the little girl wasn’t such a villain anymore. Their expressions showed that Bea’s story had acted as a mirror of themselves, just as it had to me. I also have treated God with a thrust-out hip and sass in my voice as I exclaimed, “Is that all, God?”

How many times have I been an ungrateful child to His relentless goodness toward me? Way more times than I’d like to admit, but I don’t have to continue in that pattern.

I can choose right now to remember Bea and her little sassafras is-that-all response and ask the Holy Spirit to stab my heart when I head down Brat Lane.

I can acknowledge that—as any adult knows—we give to our kids in a plethora of ways they’ll never even know we did , much less understand. Why would we think the living God offers us anything less?

Everything . Everything good in our lives comes straight from the Father. He doesn’t owe us and He doesn’t charge us. He gives to us freely out of His unquantified love. The least I can do is to acknowledge the multi-faceted ways God provides and protects. With a humbled and grateful heart, I can say, “thank you!”

So here is the decision for you and me. “To Bea?” or “Not To Bea?”

For me? Although Bea had beautiful qualities, when I think of this scenario , I don’t want to be like Bea.

“ Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above and cometh down from the Father of Lights with whom is no variableness neither shadow of turning. ” James 1:17

Hope & Glory to you!

xoxo

Rebecca

I Should've Known

Mon, 13 Mar 2023 19:29:27 GMT

I can laugh about it now—quite hysterically in fact. I should’ve known, but I didn’t.

I’m wondering. Do you?

---------

Reading and writing are my jam. However, I’m wondering if there is an unwritten rule somewhere that demands I know the term red herring before I can profess such a statement. I’ve heard of the author’s technique for years, but never quite grasped its full meaning until about a week ago.

When my writers’ critique group discussed red herrings, I understood just enough to get the gist and nod my head. But that’s it. Conversations would ensue about the “great red herring” or “needing another red herring”.

Red herring. Red herring. Red herring.

Nod. Nod. Nod.

But it gets worse.

I could picture the bird, plain as the tree out my window. It was cardinal-red with a long neck and a bright yellow, skinny beak. It’s little beady eyes scanning the yard for its next meal. I had no clue why the “bird” was associated with writing or even how to spot one in the story.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that a red herring is in fact—wait for it— a fish. The crazy thing is not red but shimmery silver and doesn’t turn a reddish color until after it’s smoked. It also has the reputation of being quite smelly. All of which, you probably already knew, but embarrassingly, I did not.

Apparently, red herrings were used to train dogs to follow a scent. As the story goes, sometimes as a joke, a person would tie a red herring to a horse’s tail then send the steed galloping off into the opposite direction of the actual prey.

At last, no more glossed over eyes for me when the term is discussed. Now I can articulate; A red herring is something or someone used to distract another from the real solution. The real culprit.

In novels, authors invent red herrings to purposely keep the reader confused and intrigued. But here’s a thought. You and I face red herrings every day. Not just in books or movies, but in real life.

Many of the red herrings in our lives come from the ultimate antagonist. His name is Satan, and He is much more authentic than the crazy beady-eyed bird I imagined. In fact, he’s as real as your thumbprint. The Bible says he is a liar and the father of lies. He specializes in flashing red herrings at every turn to draw us down a path away from God’s best.

Case in point. We started January wishing everyone Happy New Year! Perhaps, like me, you made lists of what worked last year and what didn’t. You re-evaluated your schedule and created a better plan to effectively use your time and energy. Your step had pep, and your eyes shone clear.

Now, as we come to the end of the month known for new beginnings, reality may have whacked you in the shins. A few weeks in and you’re already so distracted from what you hoped would be a solid pursuit of priorities, dreams and goals.

Why? Red herring. Red herring. Red herring.

No need to beat yourself up for it. We’ve all fallen victim. Just consider how to move forward from here.

Take a minute and let one preacher’s statement sink in: “ What we’re distracted from is so much more important than what we’re distracted by.”

It’s true, eh?

Here’s a question to explore, what does my ideal God-honoring Monday look like? Tuesday. Wednesday etc. . .

Call it out. It’s much harder to reach a goal if we don’t know what it is.

Next ask, what red herrings are distracting me?

Identify them. Be aware and then shake off the spell. Remember, the thing we’re distracted from—our goal— is so much more important than what we’re distracted by—the red herring.

Nehemiah, the Old Testament governor of Jerusalem, is a fantastic example of not allowing distractions to keep him from the most important tasks. He makes this statement to the people throwing red herrings in his path, “ …I am doing a great work and I cannot come down…” Nehemiah 6:3

Guess what? Whether you realize it or not, you and I have a great work too, and we cannot come down. Let’s keep a lookout for those crazy red herrings. When we recognize them, let’s set our face like a flint and walk on by toward what God really has before us.

Hope & Glory to you!

xoxo

Rebecca

Cue the Confetti

Sat, 31 Dec 2022 20:19:35 GMT

Happy New Year ~ almost! You know what that means…

Of course, for the New Year, but also for r easons you may or may not be thinking of today.

Consider this. . .

One day, my aunt Karen received a text from her sister— a.k.a. my mom. No biggie, right? Well, the weird thing was my mom had been in Heaven for several days.

My aunt sheepishly admitted to me that even after mom died, she still texted her all the time, just as a way to unburden her heart. Not long after my mother passed away, my aunt sent her this text, “Well Jaquita, how is heaven?”

In a few minutes, her phone dinged with a reply. “Better than you can ever imagine.”

Freak. Out.

Every muscle in my body froze. We stared at each other in disbelief. Would God somehow let my mom send my aunt a text? God had done mind-blowing miracles on her behalf before. My thoughts summersaulted, trying to assimilate the possibility, but they kept belly-flopping onto the floor of reality. Still, how did that happen?

Just the idea of my mom being alive sent our imaginations soaring. I pictured her in the center of a group of saints telling a story that had them doubled over roaring with laughter till they couldn’t breathe. Chatting it up with Bible personalities I know she admired, and meeting new ones, less familiar. Playing “Remember when . . .” as she reunited with loved ones. Enjoying life with no more broken heart. All things made new.

Glorious!

The reality of her being alive reminded me of an important truth. This world is not my final destination. My real home is being prepared for me in Heaven. When I pass from this life, all that belongs to me on this earth will be sold, given away or thrown in the dump. More than likely, the only thing that will remain of my memory will be a small grave marker somewhere.

It has caused me to ask myself what is really important today? How am I laying up treasures in Heaven? One day that will be all that matters.

Eventually, my husband confessed he’d seen my aunt’s text on my mom’s phone while it was still active and sent the reply. I don’t know why this didn’t occur to me at the moment. I felt pretty stupid for actually considering the possibility of God letting my mom send it.

But on the other hand, perhaps God did send the text —through Ronnie— with the purpose of reminding me of this truth: the beauty and joy that awaits those of us who’ve trusted Jesus as our Savior will be far better than we can ever imagine.

So by all means, cue the confetti!

Who knows what the New Year holds. It may be the best of times. It may be the worst of times, or somewhere in between. But what I do know is that each day has a purpose in God’s big picture, and we have a chance to embrace the moments this year brings. If we’ll focus each day, on eternal purposes, we’ll have forever to reap the benefits.

Until we reach our final home, let’s allow these verses to act as a guardrail for our focus. “ Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal. But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.” Matthew 6:19 & 20

From my family to yours, Happy New Year, my friend. May this year be one full of peace and deep joy for you.

xoxo

Hope & Glory to you!

Rebecca

Today Is...

Mon, 31 Oct 2022 19:50:52 GMT

Do you know what today is?

Well, yes, it’s Halloween and I’m dressing up like a pirate tonight.

But it’s something else. . . Something more.

I said goodbye to Joseph today in my Bible reading.

It was a sad parting. I love his story on fast-forward , not the dank, hard days of him imprisoned and forgotten for a crime he didn’t commit. I like the part where he’s instantly transported from prisoner to prince in charge of the whole crazy kingdom. I love the part where he swaps his prison garb for fancy clothes and a shave.

Best. Clean. Up. Ever.

I can feel the fresh crisp clothes landing on his skin and the refreshment of the clean shave. Kind of how my head feels all tingly and happy sitting in the hair-dresser’s chair after she’s just trimmed up my scraggly doo and given me a fresh color.

The scene of Joseph’s brothers begging for his help without knowing it’s him sends my justice meter soaring through the roof. I want throw my head back, thrust my hands in the air and giggle, “Yes!”

I love how he uses his hidden identity and authority, to tests his siblings’ heart toward his brother, Benjamin, and then lets them sweat it out a little.

Finally, it cracks me up that he sits them in birth order at his palace table, all the while they eye each other, a tad freaked out at the “coincidence.”

I love this guy. ( And doesn’t God have a great sense of humor! )

As the story winds down, Joseph caps it all off with a massive moment . As their father, Jacob, breathes his last, the brothers panic that Joseph will choose this time to seek revenge on them for their wretched betrayal. Instead, he lovingly reassured his brothers that all is forgiven and quotes his famous statement in Genesis 50, “ Do not be afraid, for am I in God’s place? And as for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good...”

Ah! What a great story.

I hate to leave this section of the Bible, but now Joseph is gone. Moses will soon be born and take the leading role in history. I realize something as I reflect on this. As great as Joseph was, he was only here for a short time, then someone else stepped in to take the lead.

So it’s true with us as well. Our time on this mortal coil is like a vapor. Some days feel long and life drags by, but one day our time will be gone. Because of Joseph’s deep love for His God he did what he could in every situation. Not just on the days he was big man on campus, but he also did right on the days he was shackled and unshaven in rags.

Lots of reasons to love and admire this story, but the reality is, it all comes to an end.

It will for you and me, too. Best make the most of it today.

Is today one of the long boring days? Maybe today is a test of character. It could be a day of creating and discovery. Whatever it is, all of these moments will be strung together in the end to make your life . A life that will be acknowledged in eternity. A life that will send ripple effects into future generations. Some of the results will be accredited to you here on earth. Some no one will know except God.

The bottom line is to pay attention to the day. Give what you can. Stay true to the core of who you are and let God take what the enemy may mean for evil and turn it all for good.

As my friend Robin always says, “ Today is a gift.” May we treat it with care and gratefulness.

“ This is the day which the Lord hath made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Psalm 118:24

Hope & Glory to you!

xoxo

Rebecca

Charmed

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Fri, 10 Jun 2022 16:34:14 GMT

Years ago, Ronnie, Chandler and I piled into the car ready for a fun weekend away.

We didn’t make it fifteen minutes out of the driveway before we realized we were all starving . As we pulled into the Wendy’s parking lot, I gave Ronnie my order. The sunshine and cool air beckoned me to wait outside while the boys ordered the food.

Minding my own business, I leaned against the hood of the car and let the sun’s warmth soak into my being. A soft breeze wisped across my face as I imagined standing in a luscious meadow of wildflowers and butterflies, until my nose caught a whiff of sun-soured ketchup and old French fries. Womp. Womp. Womp.

So much for that picturesque scene.

My nose drew my eyes to spot the source of the stench. I happened to be standing near a food-smeared, brown, cafeteria-style garbage can. Hence the putrid smell. I was about to move away, but that’s when I noticed. . .

On top of the can, inched one of the most colorful, eye-catching caterpillars I had ever seen. It so fascinated me that I ignored the disgusting odor and drew my head down close to get a better look. The vibrant colors and the way it slinked along captivated me as if the brown top of the trashcan had become its stage and I, its audience.

The insect’s fuzzy little hairs reminded me of a jolly, little, stuffed animal. I found myself smiling as I observed it. God had outdone Himself on this one. So beautiful and interesting. And to think I didn’t even know a creature like this existed.

Gazing intently at the little thing, I became lost in the moment. When suddenly, out of nowhere, a flip-flop hammered on top of the caterpillar, squishing it to a gooey mess. I was shocked and infuriated . Who would do such a horrible act?

I turned to see the culprit . . . my husband.

We had only been married a short time, but I knew enough about him to know that being mean just for meanness’s sake was not consistent with who he was. In confusion and disgust, I cried out, “Ronnie, why did you do that? That was one of the coolest caterpillars I have ever seen!”

He didn’t even bat an eye. It mattered not to him that I didn’t understand or agree with his actions. As he slapped his flip flop on the side of the can to remove the bug residue, he explained, “Rebecca, don’t let that thing fool you . That is an extremely poisonous caterpillar. ( Ok I didn’t even realize caterpillars could be poisonous ) If it had bitten you, you’d be in serious trouble. I’m sorry to kill it, but those dudes are dangerous.”

He turned and walked back to the car. End of discussion.

I stood there still stunned that something so attractive and eye catching could be so harmful. I had no idea. It was so cute and cuddly looking I’m sure it was just a matter of time before I would have let it wiggle on up my finger. I’m also thankful for a husband who recognized it for what it really represented and took action to remove it from my fascination.

Translate that thought into the spiritual realm. Ever found yourself charmed by something ( or someone ) only to find it ( or them ) abruptly removed from your life?

So many times, we don’t understand why God would do such a thing. We see no sense in the drastic action or loss we’ve experienced and cry out, “God, why did you do that?”

Sometimes God chooses to explain. Sometimes He does not. But here are some truths we can count on . God promised us that,

“No good thing will He withhold from them who walk uprightly." Psalm 84:11.

“The Lord will perfect that which concerneth me.” Psalm 138:8.

“If you then being evil know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father in Heaven give good things to them that ask Him?” Matthew 7:11.

God is not out to get us or make us miserable , but He does love us enough to remove harmful things from our lives; just as Ronnie removed the caterpillar from mine.

Things of this world are deceitfully alluring . Our Enemy designed it that way on purpose. His plan is to steal, kill and destroy. We are at risk. Our kids are at risk. Our neighborhoods are at risk.

Let’s snap out of it! Be aware of subtle influences that can wiggle right into your child’s heart or your loved one’s mind.

If we don’t, we’ll be charmed right into a life of shallow joy and emptiness when God has so much more in mind.

So, get out those flip-flops. And let’s love enough to do the hard thing.

xoxo

Hope and Glory to you my friend,

Remember Your Why

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Fri, 10 Jun 2022 16:34:10 GMT

Life was hard. Money was short. And sleep was shorter still.

Discouragement walked with me like a rock in my shoe. I’d made it to my junior year of college, but it felt like I’d need the effort of swimming the English Channel to earn that cap and gown signaling I was qualified to teach.

Nobody knew, but for the first time in my life, I considered quitting . One day, I’d just walk right out the door and never come back. That was my brilliant plan. And it scared me. . . because I was serious.

Not that I’d never wanted to throw in the towel before, but growing up in the Anderstrom family we weren’t allowed to quit. If we started something, we saw it through to completion. Didn’t mean we had to do it next time around, but we kept at it, best we could, until the last whistle or bell or whatever signaled the end. Actually, I could kiss my parents’ feet for instilling that principle into me, but maybe that’s why the thoughts dominating my waking moments paralyzed me.

Getting to class felt like trudging through quicksand. My desire to earn a teaching degree was thrown out with the cafeteria mystery meat.

Then one day , I entered Dr Schaefer’s Education Seminar class. I forced a pleasant expression and willed my eyelids open as I straightened my books and readied my pencil. How much longer could I keep up this charade? I didn’t know. A pull toward the exit sign grew with every shallow breath.

And that’s when I noticed it.

On the chalkboard Dr. Schaffer had written a quote. “Those with purpose, learn.”

Reading those words, I sat up. My pulse quickened and my eyes opened wider.

I’d always known I wanted to be a teacher. If I wasn’t playing house or writing poems, I’d rope my little bro into playing school with me. Before he ventured off to kindergarten, I accidentally taught him to read. Eventually his young self

wised-up to what playing school meant, and he ditched pretend school for more fun stuff like pretend football championships.

No worries. My dolls and stuffed animals placed in chairs around our basement made excellent students. I loved the click of grown-up high-heels on the basement tile as I passed out my fake lessons and made-up tests to my surprisingly obedient class.

I outgrew the dolls, but I never stopped envisioning grand ideas of my future profession. My class—Lord help me—wouldn’t be the stiff and scary environment my second-grade teacher provided. I’d actually enjoy the kids. Laughing and smiles would be totally acceptable in our time together. We’d learn in creative ways that didn’t fit in a box. But most of all, I wanted to look every student in the eye and embrace them for the way God had wired them. And then do my best to draw out their gifts.

I couldn’t wait.

In those few seconds after reading that quote all of these visions flashed before me. How could I become a teacher if I didn’t finish school? Suddenly my will charged back. Yes! I did have a purpose. Therefore, I must learn.

How does one simple sentence grab someone’s back collar and jerk her from the exit gate to the work entrance?

Simple really.

That day, I remembered my “why.”

Those words worked like shock paddles to my will. I was never the same again.

Please don’t read another word until you watch this short video. Start watching at 1:00 and see if you see what I saw . . . https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZe5y2D60YU

My friend, remembering your “why” makes all the difference.

Jesus remembered His. “ Looking unto Jesus the Author and Finisher of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.” Hebrews 12:2

The other day my friend Robin said, “ We must never forget our why.”

So. In your hard or boring or frustrating task, what is your “why” today ? Why do you do what you do?

Hang in there friend! And remember: when you recall your why , you can face any what.

xoxo

Hope & Glory to you!

Childless Mothering

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Fri, 10 Jun 2022 16:34:06 GMT

Mother or not, this post is for you.

It’s just in me… I don’t know how or why. It just is.

No doubt it drove my little brother crazy. After all, one mother is all a little kid needs, right? I realize that now, but growing up, not so much. I offered my mothering services often ; or should I say I forced them on the poor boy. Most of the time he tolerated me till he could make a run for it.

But then came the day his grade promoted into the same children’s church class as me and my second grade buddies. Rarely did Rodney get out of sorts. That was my job! But the minute he walked in the room, the fear in his big, blue eyes wide without a blink, said it loud and clear, “I WANT MY SISTER!”

He spotted my blonde bouffant hairdo ( Easy to do since I was the only second grader with hair bigger than a extra large cotton candy swirl. What can I say? My mom was a hairdresser ) and made a beeline for my beehive.

My heart skipped a beat. I rarely thought he even liked me, but as he slipped in real close to the empty seat beside me, I felt his shoulders relax. Maybe he did need another mother…not forever, just for a moment. I would gladly be that safe place in his scary new world of children’s church.

I could do that and I would.

With all this mothering inside me, is it any wonder my destiny included teaching? Students entered my room all ages, shapes and sizes, all kinds of God-given gifts and dreams; and yes, mountains of fears and hurts.

Sometimes their lives read like an open book. Sometimes their hearts resembled a guarded safety deposit box. I’d ask God for insight on how to love and guide them to become everything He meant for them to be.

Most of them belonged to a mother, but in those hours away from their homes I could contribute to her mission. I didn’t have all the answers, but I could love and inspire them as His wonderful creation.

I could do that and I would.

My mothering instincts automatically landed my eyes on the disheveled child plopped in the shopping cart in the grocery store line. The mother was clearly living in some form of survival mode.

While she barked out commands to the older children, I made eye contact with the little one coddling a slapped hand for reaching for a cracker. The toddler peered up self-consciously as if to say, “Are you going to slap me too?”

I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head staring deep into her sad eyes. I tossed her a smile hoping it would let her know she is adored and beautiful. I held my breath to see if she’d catch it and send it back. In an instant, she hurled me a wide toothy grin.

She’s got a legal mother, but maybe I could give her a motherly glimpse of mercy. Without a word, perhaps I could hint at grace and love.

I could do that and I would.

Childless mothering has an unlikely hero named Mordecai, the older cousin of Queen Esther. He had to be both father and mother to the girl. The scripture doesn’t tell us if he had a family of his own. We only know that he accepted the role of parent to his orphaned cousin.

No, he wasn’t her biological parent, but he knew that God had put their paths together. He could love her, instruct and protect her to the best of his ability.

He could do that and he did.

I want to be like Mordecai.

Originally, I so hoped to comfort, encourage and demonstrate God’s love to children of my own. I pictured birthdays, and tooth fairies; scrapped knees and bedtime baths and prayers. I imagined the homemade Mother’s Day cards accompanied by tiny arms squeezing the breath out of me, and the vase of dandelions perched on my windowsill. First dates and graduations, status as Mother of the Bride and Grandma…

But for some unknown reason that plan didn’t match God’s. So, what did God expect me to do with this ache embedded deep in my soul: an ache given by the Creator Himself, no less?

Well, it’s not an easy conclusion on which to settle, definitely meriting more than a sentence explanation . However, it is a simple answer. Love the ones God puts in my path. Use the nurturing desire God gave me to love the Esthers of the world in their moments of mother-less-ness. They’re all around us in every church, grocery store, neighborhood and coffee shop. Sometimes even in our own homes.

I can do that. And by God’s grace, I will.

xoxo

Hope and Glory to you my friend,

Worth It? You Decide.

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Fri, 10 Jun 2022 16:33:57 GMT

I didn’t really have time. But this time, it didn’t matter.

My “to-do” list could wait.

My friend had stage 4. . . I don’t even want to say the word.

Her family had gone camping, but her chemo-stricken body couldn’t handle air mattresses and lawn chairs for several days. Thanks to some generous people, a condo on the ocean became hers for the week. She wondered if I could squeeze out a day or two to join her.

Inconvenient. Well. Yes.

Worth it? You decide. . .

For 24 hours we moved at refreshing snail’s pace . Rushed nowhere. Mainly because she couldn’t. The whole focus was on my friend and what worked for her. I haven’t been that gloriously unaware of myself in weeks.

We sat beside the massive ocean. Ate what and when we wanted. Wore comfy clothes, and didn’t give a hoot what anyone thought of us. We smiled and chatted with strangers in elevators, or didn’t—depending on what felt right at the moment. We soaked in the night air on the deck. When the time came to turn in for the night, we laughed and spilled secrets until the wee hours of the morning.

She pointed out a truth I needed to hear. One I had been oblivious to for decades. I listened to her heartaches and she to mine. We reminisced and reflected about college days and seasons of early ministry. Neither of us weighed our words or held back what we wanted to say. The more we l aughed and talked the more we had to say. And the more we swore each other to secrecy.

So, was it worth a little glitch in my precious “to do” list?

Not only worth it, but vital. To be totally unaware or un-self-conscious of oneself. To bear your soul to a trusted, life-long friend, and to sit beside God’s amazing creation for any length of time is absolutely a priceless memory.

We could do that because of precious gift we’d chosen to give and receive from each other.

Time.

Beautiful, purposed time to be in relationship with another.

Is there someone you’d like to know better? Is there a friend who could use a little extra encouragement? Are you weary or lonely? Are you bearing too many burdens alone? Why not slice up that “to-do” list. Not forever, but maybe for just a lunch or a day or weekend. Or longer!

I know. You don’t feel like you can pull away. The responsibilities are barking like a demanding boss, but do it. The depth of a trusted relationship requires time spent. Invest in the people around you. Open yourself up. And find the refreshing that comes from sharing your burdens. You’ll be healthier for it.

This isn’t just my idea . It comes straight from scripture. “ Iron sharpens iron so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend .” Proverbs 27:17

Gosh, I so want this for all of us.

My prayer focus for you this month is that you will choose to spend soul time with Godly friends, that you will sharpen each other and return refreshed, ready for God’s assignment on your life.

Worth it? Give it a try and see!

xoxo

Hope and Glory to you my friend,

Do What?

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Wed, 09 Mar 2022 01:44:04 GMT

The rubber tourniquet squeezed my bicep preparing my vein for the prick.

Nothing new.

After 40 years of diabetes and getting my blood drawn every three months, it’s old hat to me. I think I could draw my own blood if they’d let me . But no. Something about laws and regulations . . . I could make it super simple for them if they’d let me. I’d just slip into the little cubby, put on the rubber gloves, and boom. Done.

Today however, the team of phlebotomists are clipping along and shuffling us in and out like a well-oiled machine. Honestly, not the norm. They rarely engage in chit-chat, just the societal “How are you?” (Which is so not a sincere question. People don’t even pay attention. We just answer like pushing play on an answering machine.) followed by, “Please verify your name and birthday.”

And that’s it. The little system works for me. It’s early in the morning so I’m good with smiling politely and zipping the lip to focus on the task at hand, which happens to be sticking a very sharp object into my tender arm.

But out of the blue, one of the other technicians peaks her head into the cubicle and throws out a statement. It’s so unusual it takes me a minute to realize she’s speaking to me and not her co-worker.

“When you leave here, I’m going to give you my blue coat and you’re going to give me your beautiful top! Oh, my goodness. I love your shirt. It’s so pretty.”

Then the lady drawing my blood snaps out of her machine like job-trance and comes to life. For the first time in months I see them as real people.

She chimes in about what a great color the shirt is and where did I get it and on and on they go.

Not only did they get me out of there in record time, but also with the beautiful gift of connecting to others. Evidently that ignited my robotic heart because after I left the building it dawned on me the manager apparently was a real person too. She had a good team in there today and she deserved to know I appreciated it.

She lit up like a firefly when I acknowledged her good work. I bounced out to my car telling God, “Well. That routine blood work pumped a little life into my veins.”

I don’t know what I expected Him to say, but didn’t expect what He whispered to my soul. “I know she was joking, but I want you to give her your shirt.”

“But that’s just the point”, I tell Him. “She was joking. People say stuff like that all the time.”

“Ahem. You realize I know that right? But I want you to really give it to her. Go home. Change your clothes. And when you’re running Ronnie’s errands, bring it back to her.”

I gently mentioned to Him, “You know I really like this shirt. I get a lot of compliments when I wear it. I don’t really have . . . okay . . . Yes, I do have one exactly like it in another color. But I rarely wear this color and apparently I need to wear it more.

Oh boy. God, You’ve blessed me so much. I have more than enough. If you’re serious, I’d love to give it to her.”

I made it home. Got busy handling issues and daily household chores, but the thought kept coming back. Give her your shirt. I sensed this an assignment from Him.

About 1:00 that afternoon I pulled back up into the parking lot. How would I explain to the front desk that I needed to see the lady whose name I didn’t know to give her the shirt I had on that morning?

Somehow, I squeaked out a weak explanation, and the lady who made the comment appeared a few minutes later. I tried to ignore the–who-is- this-crazy-lady-and-why-is-she-asking-for-me- look on her face and babbled off something like, “I know you were just joking this morning, but God told me to do this. He loves you and wanted you to have this shirt.”

There I said it, and for the first time all day I felt the burden lift.

Her hands flew to her face in surprise. She reached for the bag without a moment’s hesitation almost as if she expected it. Then grabbed me in another bear hug.

As I headed out the door the manager, who I had complimented earlier in the day said, “You have no idea how much she needed that today. I have no idea what’s in that bag, Mrs. Fussell, but it doesn’t even matter. You just have no idea.”

You know what? I didn’t have any idea. But I know Someone who knew exactly what she needed.

When it was all said and done my heart exploded in awe of God. His mercy and care for that dear lady warmed my soul. But the cherry on top allowed me to be part of His plan to bless and encourage her.

I serve an awesome God. Oh yeah!

Hope & Glory to you,

xoxo

Bubblegum Christianity

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Fri, 05 Nov 2021 20:55:14 GMT

I realize I’m a mature adult woman,but I still love a good, juicy piece of bubblegum. Actually, now that I’m a grown-up and can make my own decisions , I may or may not have been known to put three ( or five ) pieces of the chew into my mouth at once.

I start working it hard with my jaws until I get it just right for the perfect bubble. I can feel the saliva dripping out the sides of my mouth and the sour apple puckering my cheeks all at the same time.

Yumm-o.

Yum . . . until. You know the until part —till the juice is gone and the soft resin starts turning hard and clunky in your mouth. Then I find myself rifling through my purse for a scrap of paper to spit out the wad.

All that is perfectly acceptable and pretty darn smart when we’re talking bubblegum. But what about this story. . .

Jesus has just fed enough people to fill an arena with a meager five loaves and two fish. Free food has a way of perking up people’s attention and drawing a crowd. So the next day, the masses track Jesus down on the other side of sea and say something like, “ Hey, that thing you did yesterday with the little kid’s lunch, can you do that again? We’re getting a little hungry here.”

Jesus tries to explain that they’re missing the point. They’re looking for sustenance to sink their teeth into, but He is the true bread. He goes so far as to explain the idea of communion to them, but not like communion in church today. He drops a bomb on their expectations when He mentions eating His flesh. Drinking His blood. Of course, He doesn’t mean this in a physical reality, but a spiritual sense.

That’s not what they heard.

The gross idea repulses them. In fact, the Bible says, “ Many of His disciples turned away from following Him.”

It wasn’t fun anymore. No more free food. Weird ideas they weren’t willing to process out with Him. The bubblegum had lost its juiciness. They were offended and confused. Exit stage left. Or Right. Whichever one was closest. Skedaddle. Bolt. Run like your hair is on fire.

Jesus turns to the twelve disciples He has chosen to mentor. Maybe He whispers this. Maybe He looks into each one’s eyes before He asks them, “Will you also turn away?”

Perhaps they considered it. The scene Jesus described was indeed a crude idea. Regardless of how Jesus meant it, it had all kinds of room to be misconstrued and misunderstood. Even if they grasped that there must be a deeper meaning, did they want to be associated with such a radical thinker?

No doubt those questions ransacked their minds like a Tasmanian devil.

Apparently, they’d discussed as much. Peter speaks up for the group as though they have taken a pow-wow regarding the issue and come to a definite conclusion. He states, “Jesus, where else would we go? You have the words of eternal life.” (John 6:68)

I’ve thought a lot about that story recently. Right now, life as a believer is not uncomfortable for me. In fact, it’s down-right glorious. Most all my friends and acquaintances respect my commitment to follow Christ even if they haven’t chosen it for themselves.

But what if a day comes that I’m alone in that? Or worse. I’m punished for it. Will I become a bubblegum Christian?

Or let’s go a step deeper. Am I a bubblegum Christian now ? Do I get offended at God when I toil without much reward, and I don’t get the feel-goods I expected? What about when my prayers don’t turn out the way I’d hoped, or I don’t understand what God is doing in my life? Do I just forget all the holy stuff? Spit the gum out. Choose self-satisfying over obedience. I mean, come on. I’m not evil or anything. Just minding my own business.

Ah! And that’s the problem.

I’ve forgotten that my body is not my own. I’ve been bought with a price. (I Corinthians 6:19-20)

As one preacher put it, I’ve also ignored a key point in the situation, one the disciples apparently understood. It’s this: You cannot turn away from something without turning towards something else. And what—pray tell—would I be turning to if I decided to stop following Jesus? I’ll tell you what. Nothing but a fleeting pleasure. I’m reminded to ask, “ What will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul? ” (Mark 8:36)

Hmmm. . .

So which will it be? Seek the easiest way? Take all I can consume now?

Or will I choose to Buck Up when the road turns rocky? Stay true even when it’s not fun anymore? Follow Jesus’ path regardless of the perceived outcome?

I remember a line in CS Lewis’ book The Magician’s Nephew. In this allegory, Cabby had just crossed over to another world. “Gwad!” said the Cabby. “Ain’t it lovely?”

In a few moments after absorbing the magnificent scene, he adds, “Glory be!” said the Cabby. “I’d ha’ been a better man all my life if I’d known there were things like this.” ( The Magician’s Nephew p.116-117)

But there are things like this . . .

Be encouraged, friend. When the bubblegum gets stale, we mustn’t forget this world is not our home. Heaven is real, and one day God will reveal all His glory. For those of us who’ve trusted Him, when we’ve finished our earthly life and find ourselves enveloped in all He has prepared, we’ll be so relieved we chose to buck up when life got uncomfortable.

At the end of your life, instead of the Cabby’s statement, may this be your testimony: “Glory be!” said you. “I’m so glad I lived my life different. I knew there were things like this!”

Hope & Glory to you,

xoxo

What To Do in the Mundane and Irritating

Wed, 08 Sep 2021 17:22:42 GMT

What to do in the mundane & irritating. . .

My eyelids fluttered open. As I hugged my pillow and squirmed beneath the weighted blanket, relief and dread competed for my attention.

Relief that my early-dawn com mitment had been cancelled. Dread over the handful of irritating tasks that I still needed to face.

The duties ahead weren’t that butterflies-in-the-stomach kind like I’d have if I needed to take care of an ailing parent, or seek forgiveness from a friend I’d done wrong.

And for that I was grateful.

But still, a sinking feeling hovered around me like an angry yellow fly as I accepted the fact that my day would be littered with frustrating tasks.

I hauled myself out of bed and slid into my exercise clothes. I didn’t want to work-out either. I hoped one day my body would crave training like the “fit” people’s do. But so far, dragging myself into my spanks and tennies still required a strength of will that preferred snuggling under the covers.

As I started down the street for my walk/run, it hit me. Wait, I have an answer for all of this dread!

Crazy as it sounds, my relief came from the simple word is, as in, “The Lord is my Shepherd. . .”

He is. Right here. Right now

Every step I move toward my exercise goal my Shepherd is beside me. Whatever time I spend on hold—for the third time—with the dishwasher warranty people, or the tedious effort required to extract candle wax out of my barely used tablecloth, the LORD is.

Is.

Not just was.

Which yes, He was when I ate my meals alone wondering if my first husband was coming home at night. Or when I confessed to my widowed mother that her Yorkie—her favorite companion—slipped out the door on my watch, and I couldn’t find him anywhere. Oh, most definitely the Lord was my Shepherd during those times. He saw me through and held my hand every step.

And not just will be. . . some day.

You know, when He comes to take us home. When Heaven isn’t just a hope, but a present reality. When He wipes all tears from our eyes and all things are made new. Oh, yes. I look forward to that day when He most certainly will be my Shepherd.

But I can do more than just look back or look ahead. Today, He is!

He is beside me in the mundane and the frantic. He is my constant friend when I’m wondering if my effort matters. My confidant when I feel my heart will burst with confusion. My comfort when I realize my favorite outfit is ruined. My conscience when I want to pull my hair out after the repair company has given me yet another phone number to call.

Wow, that helps me. Even as I peck away at these computer keys, I bask in the knowledge that even in the irritating or dull duties of life, He is.

He is for you too, my friend. Right this minute. In the passenger seat beside you in traffic. Looking over your shoulder as you struggle to learn the new computer system. Sitting on the countertop as you make the dinner or listening in while you have that tough conversation with your sibling.

My problem is I don’t acknowledge that truth enough.

But not today.

Today, maybe you’d join me in acknowledging our Shepherd is the Good Shepherd. Always.

He is protecting us.

Guiding us.

Providing for us.

Loving us.

Enjoy Him and live, yes, even in the mundane and irritating.

xoxo ~ Hope & Glory to you today!

When You Feel Invisible... In Plain Sight

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Fri, 09 Jul 2021 16:01:08 GMT

Invisible. That’s how I felt.

No matter what I said to join into the conversation, it was like someone had hit the mute button on my voice or slipped a make-her-invisible suit over my head. I heard myself loud and clear, but no one else in the group seemed to notice.

Weird . . .

Granted this was a highly intellectual and talented group of people, each with a booming personality and an ambitious drive to match. Me, not so much. Their tasks and successes ran circles around my meager accomplishments.

Needless to say, I left the gathering wondering what I was doing taking up space on the planet. Well that may be a little dramatic, but you get the point. I didn’t just feel like a zero, but more like a minus thirty-seven.

That’s when God showed up.

I’m studying the prayers of the Bible and after about 2 years I made it all the way to the book of Job.

Oh. Yippee . . . Job.

But yes, yippee! In chapter 12, Job has had enough of the accusations and advice from his so-called “friends.” He whips out his wit and announces for all the world, “S urely, wisdom will die with you! ”

Haha! Good one, Job.

He’s on a roll now, and in the next verse he spits out his point as plain as the sun in the sky, “I AM NOT INFERIOR!"

I can almost hear it echo into my lifetime.

In God’s mercy, He sent me to this particular story and I knew He saw me! The more I reflected, the more I realized that I could say along with Job. Wisdom will not indeed die with my friends and “I am not inferior.”

No, I will never be as clever, articulate, or driven as some of those in the room that day. Their bright minds have considered an idea and moved on it ten times before I've finished deciphering the first one, but that doesn’t make me inferior. They didn’t do anything to gain those natural tendencies. Neither did I do anything to gain a deep-thinking spirit and wit that finally thinks of something to say an hour after the fact. ( Anyone else? )

God created each of us equal, just different.

God adores those amazing people, and so do I. They’ve accomplished much for His Kingdom, and sharpened and challenged me in big ways. But He also assured me He doesn’t view me as less than. He'll never disregard me or ignore me to be near someone who appears more interesting. My purpose requires a different set of skills and personality type, and I too can say with Job, “I am not inferior!”

Whew. God's gracious validation of my worth comforted me.

But the minute relief flooded my heart, conviction rushed in right behind it. I’m not inferior, but I’m also not superior.

Yikes.

I hate to admit it, but there are times I’ve subconsciously placed myself in a rank above others. Despicable I know. I’ve asked God to forgive me and also to prick my conscience anytime I begin thinking down that path.

So my friend, I'm wondering, how have you ranked yourself today? Maybe you are feeling invisible. Used. Disregarded. Or perhaps you’re feeling superior, a little higher quality than the person next to you. Both are off. There is a better way.

How about we all re-evaluate? Let’s chunk the rating system and level the field. You and I are not inferior. Neither are we superior. We are each loved by God and created in His image, every last one of us.

One thing’s for sure, as Jobe Martin says, “In Heaven, no one walks with a limp, and no one walks with a strut.” So, let’s start today!

What To Do When You Don't Have Anything To Say

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Wed, 03 Mar 2021 12:12:15 GMT

Writers should have something to say, right?

Right.

But here’s the thing. I don’t. Not today.

It’s so noisy out there right now I can barely hear the clicking of the computer keys. In fact, this is actually the first time I’ve heard them in days. Mainly because I’ve been avoiding it. Why? Like I said, I don’t know what to say. . .

Life has changed. Quick.

The world these days is like watching a time lapse video. What seems like should have taken years to evolve has happened faster than the melting of an ice cream cone in a Florida summer.

I don’t want to get into all the changes. You’ve already heard a ton of voices about all that. What I wonder is, now what?

To find the answer to that question I’ve got to remind myself of what I know is still true.

First of all, Jesus never changes. Neither does His word. “Thy word O Lord is settled in heaven.”

Settled. Done. Complete.

That’s a big one for me. That means the answers in the Bible still apply today. So do the promises.

He has a plan.

He will never leave me nor forsake me.

He makes a way in the wilderness.

He is the God of all comfort.

He will be my Guide even unto death.

We don’t wrestle flesh and blood.

Vengeance belongs to the Lord.

Forgiveness is still a command.

He wins.

He loves with an everlasting love.

He’s not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.

A fool says in his heart there is no God.

I’m still to cast all my cares on Him and

I’m to take captive every thought to the obedience of Christ.

He has a work for me to do.

All that and MORE is still true. . .

With that in mind, here’s the second thing. It’s not an accident that He created you and me to be alive at this very moment in history. That’s exciting.

AND God’s not wringing His hands wondering how did we get here? He’s not concerned. We might feel unsettled, but not Him. He’s not surprised or shocked or at a loss for what to do next. That comforts me.

So, with those two things as my base, how do I live today?

Disappointed? Grieved? Some moments, yes. There are a ton of sad things out there right now. But do I need to stay bound in it? God hasn’t given us the spirit of fear, but of power of love and of a sound mind.

Pretty good marching orders right there.

Live in the spirit of power. Not my power, but God’s.

Resist the enemy at every turn. Difficult times tend to make us feel like we can relax on things we know are wrong for us. We’re more liberal with how much we eat or what we watch on TV, or we fall back into that addiction because well, life is stressful! But we still have God’s power and promise that He will make a way of escape for us.

Live in the spirit of love. Whoa. Just that alone . . . Pay attention and watch for each encounter He has for me today. How can I walk in the spirit of love towards the grocery store attendant, the people sitting at my kitchen table for dinner each night, the neighbor down the street? Letting His love work in my life to accomplish the little things He has ordained for me.

Live in a sound mind. Hmmm. . . doesn’t seem to be very prevalent these days. Satan is the author of confusion. God is not. Listen, and then know your Bible. Don’t accept anything just because so and so said such and such about this and that. And at the end of the day, does it line up with God’s Truth? If it doesn’t, then it’s not from God.

I’ll close with this one: Turn off the noise. Yep. Turn it off, at least some of the time. I’m not suggesting we bury our heads in the sand, but I do advocate for Phillipians 4:8 “Whatsoever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely, of good report, think on these things.” I’ve stepped away from almost all social media and news. You know what I’ve discovered? There is a ton of great people all around me if I’ll look up from my phone for a few minutes. I feel more substance these days, more genuine relationship. It’s nice.

Okay, guess I had more to say than I realized! HA!

I appreciate each of you. And today I’m going to set aside some time to lift you up to the Lor d. May revival spirit stir in our hearts. May God be your all. May He be mine as well.

Hope & Glory to you my friends,

xoxo
Rebecca
P.S. If I can pray for you specifically about anything or you have any thoughts to share with me, please drop me a line!

Hold on! God knows.

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Wed, 30 Dec 2020 19:50:22 GMT

Not really sure how I came across this job, but during college I had the privilege of nannying three young children. Silly as it sounds, even after all these years I still think of those kiddos, especially the oldest and the only girl, Megan.

We looked nothing alike and yet I'd swear we were cut out of the same fabric, if God operates that way. She ordered her little brother around— ahem —much as I ordered my little brother around at her age. And she could tend to be a bit on the dramatic side. One day she dashed into the room, eyes sparkling with a grin as large as Rhode Island and squealed, "I'm so exciting!” I'm sure she meant to say "excited", but in reality, both were true in my eyes.

The thing that made me look forward to our time together was the simple fact that the stage beckoned Megan at least once a week. She loved to put on a show for her beloved audience, which consisted of me, the baby, her middle brother (for at least the first ten seconds before he started his self-proclaimed intermission) and maybe the cat.

The fireplace mantel transformed into the stage, and Megan would belt out at the top of her lungs, the blood vessels around her neck about to explode, "Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love yaaaa, tomorrow . . .” Her vibrato echoed through the living room like a tiny earthquake, making ringlets that covered her head dance in perfect timing.

I loved that girl.

On Megan's birthday her parents were both working, so I had “celebrate Meagan” duty. I could hardly wait.

When I walked in the door, I played it cool. I wished Megan happy birthday and told her I had a present for her.

Her mouth gaped open as wide as her eyes. She held little fists to her chin and shook as she said, "I'm so exciting!”

I explained that she’d need to wait , which of course she explained that now would be a great time to have her gift. With all my heart I wanted to give her the package and see her face light up at the sight of the surprise.

Her big blue eyes almost wore me down. But I knew if she’d hold on just one hour, her level of enjoyment would multiply ten-fold. I bent down to look her square in the eyes and clasped her tiny hands into mine. “Megan, trust me. If you’ll wait, you won’t be disappointed. Promise.” By this time, I had a twinkle in my eyes.

Reluctantly, she crawled into bed for her nap, and I shut the door.

When Megan and Dillion woke up they peeked around the corner, eyes growing wider every second as they absorbed the scene before them. Dollar tree crape paper and balloons never looked so fun. The cake and present display topped off the dining table like the perfect lipstick on a beautiful face. Soon squeals and laughs filled that small house with the pure joy of someone who trusted and waited.

We had a smashing, good time! I'm so glad I didn't give in, and I'm so glad that Megan trusted my judgment and waited.

I think of that story often because so many times I don't understand what God is doing. I can see things that should be or that He promised would be, but yet, are not.

I believe He loves me. Shoot, if I could love Megan and her brothers enough to die for them—I would’ve covered their tiny bodies with mine to protect them— how much more must God love me? And you too, by the way.

So often, I'm just like Megan. I do not understand why I can't have it now. Didn’t God promise?

I find comfort in reflecting on this birthday scene. I wanted nothing more for Megan and Dillion than the highest enjoyment I could muster. How could God desire any less for us? God knows, if we'll just trust Him it will be worth the wait.

So, hold on my friend. God can see much further down the line than we can. His plan is good and somehow everything does work together for the good. Don't know how, but He promised.

" As for God His way is perfect. The word of the LORD is tried. He is a buckler to those who trust in Him. ” Ps. 18:30.

“ For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. ” Isaiah 55: 8&9.

Jesus never changes and His mercies are new every morning.

Hope & Glory to you my friend!

Trick or Treat? You Decide . . .

Fri, 06 Nov 2020 18:30:58 GMT

Trick or Treat? You decide . . .

The missionary husband couldn’t wait to get home. Well, not home-home as in America, but to the little hut where his bride would be waiting.

He’d been out in the jungle for three months sharing Jesus with the natives. Without much to show for his effort but a bajillion mosquito bites and a crick in his neck , his weary heart ached to be reunited with his wife.

His darling was the strongest, most selfless woman he’d ever known. Her overworked body paid dearly for serving God, but somehow her sweet spirit and gentle eyes brought sunshine to every person she knew, especially to him.

As he reached the edge of the village, everything looked normal on the outside, but something was terribly amiss. He could feel it . Like its soul had been stolen and the hollow shell left to rot.

He quickened his pace towards the hut until he found himself in an all-out sprint . He yearned to look into his wife’s eyes and smother her in his arms.

Winded, he hung on the doorframe, unlatched the handle and flung the door open. He huffed out, “Babe?”

His heart fell. It was dark. Stale. Empty. Like his insides.

Where was she?

Villagers peeked their heads out of their huts. Scores of eyes pierced his back. He whirled around and stared into silent faces. Each dropped their gaze as if making eye contact with him would give them the plague.

The blood rushed out of the young man’s face. He ran his fingers through his hair as he paced in a small semi-circle. He bent at the waist and dropped his face into cupped hands.

In an instant, he shot upright, the panic erupting in his voice as he shouted a guttural command. “Someone tell me. Where is my wife?”

One brave man moved forward. “Sir, she not here.”

The missionary didn’t even try to calm his voice. “I can see that. Where is she?”

The villager swallowed. “She die a month ago. We no way tell you. She say tell you she love you very much.”

The world stopped spinning.

The sun bleached out every color and his groan blocked out every other sound. The husband dropped to his knees and pounded his fist in the earth. He looked up to the sky and cursed the God who’d made it. “How could You? After everything she’s sacrificed for you.”

He spit out the next accusation. “And then you let her die. Here, in this God-forsaken land? Alone?”

He clawed at the dusty road. Then as if shot from a cannon he flung a fistful of dirt toward the sky and blurted at the top of his lungs, “So help me, I’ll never speak to you again.”

In a grief-stupor he managed to get himself back to America, and for two years he suffered in deep lament. True to his threat, he acted like he’d never heard of God before in his life.

One day, his mother-in-law, concerned for her daughter’s love, came to see him.

He bellowed out once again, “How could God . . .”

She listened for the umpteenth time until he’d exhausted his words. Then in a voice coated in love she said, “Son, I know it hurts. But let me ask you, which reward would you take away from her in Heaven today?”

For the first time in his mind’s eye, the man saw his beloved not as a feverish mess on a dirty cot or cooking for the villagers while her own stomach growled or crying herself to sleep for want of a friend.

No. He saw her blue eyes sparkle like diamonds in the sunlight. Her face fresh and glowing with joy. His ears rang from all of Heaven applauding her faithfulness and complete surrender. There, arms full of treasures, she stood before her Lord in the glory and delight of hearing, “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of the Lord.”

He thought he could hear her giggle and sigh in relief that she had never given up on Jesus.

Yes, which crown would he wish away from her? Not a single one.

Not. One.

I’ve thought a lot about that story this week and wondered if God allows our heartaches, not as a trick done to us, but as a treat for us, for opportunities to lay up treasures in Heaven?

The chronic illness. The mistreatment at work for believing the Bible. The sacrifice so your neighbor will see Christ. Hours on your knees in intercession. Another receiving credit for work you’ve done.

Yes, it hurts. It’s exhausting and painful.

But when you stand before God decked out in your new robe and the great cloud of witnesses cheering you, which crown will you want to forfeit?

I’m guessing your answers will match the missionary’s answer.

Not a single one.

Psalm 57:1 & 2 “ Be merciful unto me o God, be merciful unto me: for my soul trusteth in thee: yea, in the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge until these calamities be overpast. I will cry unto God most high; unto God that performeth all things for me. ” (Emphasis mine.)

Grief, You Stink!

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Sat, 26 Sep 2020 15:01:36 GMT

You never know when it will hit you.

Grief is like that.

Sneaks up on you in the middle of a sunny day, walking down the baking aisle in grocery store or in the smell of a loved one’s perfume. Catches you off guard and sends you head first into the sadness.

Today it was the JEA bill.

I opened it quick in hopes maybe we’d saved money this month. What I found instead was, “This is the last statement for Jaquita Anderstrom. $00.00 owed.”

Period.

Normally, I’d be excited to pay nothing. But the finality of those zeros meant . . . well, you know.

My heart writhed. Puddles formed in my eyes. Drips of water ran down my squished-up face.

Most days I’m fine. Really. But then there are moments like this, and I still can’t believe she’s not here. She left this earth almost a year ago. On her birthday. . . This year she would have been eighty years old.

So now what? I cried for a bit and that’s okay. Tears are healing and healthy. Cleansing even. Like a car wash for our souls. We don’t need to stuff them, ignore the pain and pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Yes, some “car washes” take more time than others, and that’s okay too. But eventually, in the midst of grief, we all need to stop thinking about what we lack and refocus on what is right and good in our lives.

As the tears dried, my grief reminded me of a few things and my heart is grateful.

I know God and so did she. It literally changes everything. Sometimes when someone dies people say, “We lost her.” I know what the expression means, but in the truest sense of the word I haven’t lost my mom. I know exactly where she is, and I couldn’t be more at peace about it. The Bible promises for those who’ve acknowledged they're sinners, believed that Jesus paid for their sin when He died on the cross and invited Him into their hearts as their Savior, they have eternal life! The Bible also says to be absent from the body is to present with the Lord.

So as you’re reading this, my mother is hoop-hollering it up with the Lord. There is no greater comfort than that.

We were at peace with each other. I could never thank God enough for that. My mom and I were close. Sometimes too close. We had our moments of turmoil, as I’m guessing many mothers and daughters have had. But with much prayer and pride-swallowing our relationship always mended.

The night before she died, God afforded me a couple of hours with her, shooting the breeze about everything and nothing all at the same time. Just small talk. It wasn’t the subject that was important. Just being present with each other was the goal.

When I left that night, she knew I loved her. She knew I cared. And I knew the same of her. That helps me sleep at night.

Both of my parents died unexpectedly. When I said good-bye to them, I had no idea it was for the last time. Yes, I’ll take that as a mercy of God. It reminds me to embrace each moment with those around me. And I pray I’ve learned to keep short accounts with people.

Hopefully, you can learn from my grief experience. Don’t hold that grudge just for the fun of it. Yes, I said fun. Maybe enjoyment is a better word. Isn’t it true it feels kind of good to nurse a grudge now and then, make the other guy suffer by giving them an emotional stiff arm?

But life is too short. You never know when it will be your last good-bye. Hold on too long and the bad joke will be on you. Someone’s funeral flowers are in bloom right now. And besides, people aren’t the enemy anyway.

So Grief, you stink. But I must admit, sometimes you’re good and I’m thankful for all the life-giving reminders you give. May I learn from you and treat each day as a gift.

Beautiful Warrior

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Mon, 03 Aug 2020 18:57:23 GMT

Enter the scene of life’s battlefield . . .

The scorched ground beneath me b egs f or relief. And the earth is not the only one longing for a respite. All of those around me are beaten down by the intensity of the day.

The brilliant sun rests directly above us for what feels like hours. My shield, soaking up its rays like a horseshoe in the furnace, burns me. But I don’t dare let go . That trusty shield is my greatest recourse against the Enemy’s fiery darts whizzing past me in every direction.

In such a fierce battle, you expect to ward off darts from the Enemy before you. Not from the side. . . from your own.

I hate to say it, but some of the darts originate from behind and to the sides of me where fellow comrades take aim.

The latest victim drops her shield and gasps in disbelief at her wound. Her knees buckle in agony, not only from the arrow’s penetration, but also from the sting to her heart as it dawns on her that this gash came from within the camp. On purpose.

Once her shield drops, then the wounded one is open game.

Vulnerable. Susceptible to the wiles and whimsy of the evil schemes. The Enemy doesn’t care who initiated the blow. The minute a shield lowers he smells weakness, and the arrows come like hounds after blood.

I know. It’s happened to me.

If it hadn’t been for members of my squadron coming to my aid, who knows what would have happened. I guess that explains my passion, not only to fight the fight, but to look out for the fellow soldiers around me.

The battle has escalated in recent days. Lately, I look around at those I love. Those faithful to the cause. Those determined to endure to the end. Many are being hit from every direction.

All I know to do is hold tight to my shield as I run to their aid. I slam our shields upright in the dirt to form a tiny garrison as I assess the damage. I wipe the brow and offer a drink from my canteen. Then I do my best to stabilize the wound.

Then suddenly, all around me others loyal to the Cause are shouting out warnings, “Soldier, duck! Incoming!” Once team members have spotted us, they rush to our side and stand guard to protect us. My heart beats with pride to be part of this brave group.

As more help arrives, I grab my shield and scurry across the field to offer the same comfort to another, ever mindful of those beautiful, courageous warriors who did the same for me.

Sometimes though, the weight of the day makes it hard to breathe. I find a big rock, and slide down its side to the dirt below. With darts flying in every direction, I hide behind my own shield. Tears bubble up from the pit of my soul.

I am weary and overwhelmed at the pain of my friends. My water bottle is empty. I’ve given all its contents away to those who needed it more. And then I ask myself, "Is this worth it?"

But the question doesn’t linger long.

My teeth grit. My lips press together. My fist bangs into the ground. Through the swirling dust around me, I breathe these words of resolve to my Commander in Heaven, “By your grace, I will not give up! I will not quit! The cargo is too precious. The price too costly. I will pick up the sword of Your Word and my shield of faith. I don’t know how, but I will fight on!”

About that time, my good friend notices me huddled to the side.

She dashes to my aid, forces her shield upright into the ground close to mine, then rests herself against the rock, too. Blowing out a weary breath, her dusty face turns towards mine. “Are you alright?”

Without waiting for my response—she already knows the answer—she says, “Here, I thought you could use a little of this.”

From her side, she pulls out her own precious canteen, and to my lips flows the ice-cold drink my dry soul so desperately needs.

My strength begins to renew, but not just because of the water.

No. It’s much more than that.

Someone saw me, exhausted and spent. Someone willing to bear the burden of the wounded along-side me. Someone to help me lift mine. We’re in this together.

And so it is on life’s battlefield. We get weary, yes, but we will dig deep into God’s word. We will look up. We will pray. We will encourage. We will not quit.

I will accept your help, and I will offer mine to you.

Together we will fight the good fight.

We will endure hardness as the beautiful, courageous warriors of Jesus Christ. (II Timothy 2:1-4).

P.S. You know we win, right?

Life is Weird. Now What?

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Sun, 28 Jun 2020 16:31:36 GMT

Hello Friend,

I don’t know how to start this conversation.

Let me just get to the point.

Life is weird right now. I don’t have a clue if it will be crazy forevermore, go back to the way things used to be or — hold on to your hairbow — get cra aazzierrrr than it is now.

Don’t know.

I wonder what you’re thinking and feeling these days. Yes, we’ve settled down some in the last few months. But do you find yourself asking, “ Now what?” Or “What next?”

I do.

I tend to be dream and goal oriented. Who doesn’t want to believe that what we’re doing matters in some way? It doesn’t need to be world-altering. (Although, wouldn’t that be cool.) We just want it to be something . . .

Here’s my dilemma. My goals and dreams don’t fit with this crazy new world we woke up to one day— without much warning I might add.

But even my goals have one main goal.

Above all else, when I meet my Maker face to face, I want to hear Him say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

I don’t want to leave anything left undone that I’m supposed to do on this earth. But the current climate has led me to more dead ends than open doors. So I don’t know how to do what God has given me to do . . .

Anyone else frustrated that your good plans have been hijacked? Maybe you’re just trying to get your kids through school with a decent education, or be money smart so you don’t need to depend on family or worse, the government.

Me too.

Sometimes I get wacked out about this, maybe even to the point of making these desires an idol of sorts. Maybe that’s the wrong term, but I live out of stress and frustration. Not out of rest and trust. So whatever you call it, that’s not right.

But if you look at that phrase, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” notice something. Anyone, regardless of their ability or station in life can receive that commendation.

Anyone. Everyone.

The phrase actually comes from Matthew 25 where Jesus tells the parable of the talents. Three servants received various amounts of “talents”, units of monetary sums.

All of the servants had different quantities, but all had the same criteria to be praised by the master. The goal wasn’t to accomplish this or that. It didn’t require a certain anything. Just solid, steadfast focus to whatever was before them.

The goal? Good and Faithful. It wasn’t the amount or ability or opportunity that mattered. It was what they did with what they had that the master recognized.

I could choose to be like the wicked, lazy servant. Go bury my “talent” in the dirt and when I stand before Him, come up with some blame-shifting excuse, like, “Well, if You hadn’t allowed Covid-19, or if there wasn’t so much racial unrest then I would’ve . . .”

Or , I could do what the other two servants did. Accept the responsibility with whatever God puts in my hand, and determine to be good and faithful.

The master didn’t say , “Well done, good and spectacular, speaker servant.” Or “Well done, good and famous, author servant.”

Nope.

Just faithful.

I don’t know about you, but that inspires me . So, my goal today is simple. Be good. Be faithful.

That I can do. So can you, my friend.

I’m rooting for you.

I’m cheering you on, day in and day out at your new routine, your new challenges to fulfill God’s plan for your life.

Whatever God lays in your path today, be encouraged by one person’s wise words, “ Don’t worry about being great. Just be solid.”

Hope & Glory to You

Rebecca

If Only . . .

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Thu, 04 Jun 2020 15:44:53 GMT

If only . . .
That's a loaded statement.

If only I hadn’t eaten all those M&M’s, I’d be 20 pounds lighter.

If only I’d paid more attention when my kids were small, we’d all have sweeter memories.

If only I hadn’t bought that or spouted off or . . .

You fill in the blank.

But what about this one: If only God would . . .

How many times have I said that?

I’m praying for things today that feel close to impossible. I’ve run out of words or even ideas of how else to pray. (Like God needs my ideas. Ha!)

I keep thinking if only God would do a miraculous, showy act. You know, some kind of lightning strike to cause people to look up and surrender to Him.

Not a strike on anyone, just near them to get their attention. Then they’ll know He’s real and He alone is the answer.

But I was reminded of a great truth, recently.

Remember God’s prophet Elijah on Mount Carmel? The Bible tells us two altars were built, one to the god of Baal and the other to the God of Heaven.

The prophets of Baal danced around and begged their god to do something amazing to light his altar with fire, but to no avail.

Elijah’s turn. He prayed to the true God.

Guess what happened? Here's a quick reminder. A lightning strike fireball fell from Heaven and consumed God’s altar in a flash.

But how about this for a surprise. Even after all that, none of those prophets turned to God. Not one.

Elijah eventually ends up in a cave somewhere.

Alone.

Hiding.

In this hideout, he literally wants to die.

The fire from Heaven thing wasn’t the only big event God had asked him to be a part of, and yet none of those things seemed to have any lasting impact on the people he’d been asked to reach.

Oh sure, in the moment, the by-standers bowed down proclaiming, “the Lord is God”, but it didn’t last into their everyday lives.

I imagine Elijah doesn’t know what to do. He’s like, “God. I’ve done what You’ve asked me, and still I’m the only one who truly believes in you. I mean, if the people won’t listen after the fireball… golly gee, its hopeless.

And where are you by the way?”

I see his point, right?

But listen to what happens next.

God tells him to go stand on the mountain so he could see the Lord pass by. First came a terrible wind that broke the rocks.

Being a Floridian, I’ve been through a few hurricanes. They’re frightening. And never have I been so aware of my lack of control.

But as Elijah ducked for cover, God was not in the wind.

Next came an earthquake. I don’t have any experience with those, but I can only imagine how threatening it must be.

Still, no God.

After the earthquake, a fire. Except the Lord wasn’t in the fire either.

But get ready for this line: “And after the fire, a still small voice.”

A still small voice? Yep. That’s where God was.

Apparently, the big brouhaha is not enough.

Nope. We also need the quiet whispers of the Almighty God.

So, I’ve changed my prayer these days.

If I desire true lasting life change, I’m asking for God’s still small voice to ring out loud and clear to those I love, to my beloved country, for God’s Kingdom and for my own fragile heart.

I know it’s crazy out there right now. Maybe you’d join me first in just listening for His voice ourselves. I want His presence to be near in our hearts.

Then let’s pray for God to whisper deep into the souls of those we love and those who do not yet know Him.

Ask Him to wake people up at night, ride in the car with them, or whisper to them while they’re going for a run.

I don’t understand how He draws people and changes hearts. I only know He does, and He uses His still small voice to do it.

Dear Jesus, we need you. Change us. Teach us. Guide us. In these wacked out times, let us rest in knowing this: You, my Father, are near.

Let us listen for You not just in the miraculous but in quiet moments too. In the middle of the night when we jolt awake with an onslaught of fear or when we hear the news or walk out to the mailbox, may we remember You’re speaking, still and small.

If only . . . I will stop long enough to listen.

Hope & Glory to You

Love,

Rebecca

When Nightmares Come True

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Fri, 24 Apr 2020 22:44:52 GMT

I feel like one of my regular nightmares is coming true.

I’m headed down the tunnel of an ice arena about to skate in front of a roaring crowd. My clammy hand scoots along the cold concrete wall as I tiptoe down the rubber walkway in my shiny new skates. The energy pinging around the auditorium feels like a wild laser show. The anticipation is high. But no higher than the anxiety in my heart.

See, there’s a problem. I can barely skate backwards, let alone land a triple lutz.

But they don’t know that.

So, I rush out of the tunnel and onto the ice. Chin up. Shoulders forward. Arms behind me like a bird in flight and a grin as wide as a hockey net. As I pick up speed, I rack my brain trying to think of any swanky move I can pull off that doesn’t require changing direction or my skates leaving the ice.

Uh. That limits things.

As fast as I dare, I fly around the rink. The music blares, my arms flutter with fake fancy motions, and I try to engage the crowd with a clap. You know the ole, fake-it-till-you-make-it routine.

But even through the bright lights, I can see spectators whispering something to their friends. They’re not buying it. Oh, they’re polite. No outright “boos”, yet all over the arena, people are deciding this is the perfect time to slip out to the concession stand.

My heart freezes. Fear rushes in as the crowd rushes out.

Funny. As much as I’ve dreamed that disturbing scene, I have no idea how it ends.

All I know is I wake up feeling like a failure. I didn’t belong there, and I tried to pull a fast one over the crowd, but not because I desired to manipulate them. Goodness, no. I have no clue how I ended up in that tunnel, and Lord only knows where I got the powder-blue tutu.

Regardless, I start my real day battling feelings of fear and failure.

But who bases their life on a crazy nightmare? That’s ridiculous. Instead, I’m chatting with God about it, and as He graciously does, He’s exposing a few flaws in my thinking.

I’m in the midst of new things and I’m not very good at them. In fact, I’m failing, I think.

Yet somehow, here I am.

It appears that God has directed my path towards this “arena”. But much like my dream, I don’t exactly know how I got here. Or maybe more importantly, how to get out.

I notice old patterns of “good days and bad days” creeping into my rational. If the audience stays, then I’m loved, valued. I’m okay. That’s a good day.

If the audience peeks their head in the door, sees it’s me, then snaps it shut hoping I didn’t notice them, then I’m failing. Wasting my time. I need to skate to the nearest exit and head for the locker room.

Most days I’d love to chunk the rink. But when I picture myself inside that locker room, there’s this burning in my heart. I can’t deny it, no matter how hard I try . Even if I am a flop, I don’t think I can stop trying.

But then there’s the failing…

I’m so frustrated I look for the nearest garbage can to kick. I could spit . . . like a boy. What? Yuck. This isn’t me! So, I resort to a guttural “ughhhhh” and pull at my hair instead.

That’s when God whispers to me, “Rebecca, can you just serve Me today? Don’t you worry about how it all turns out. That’s my job anyway. You just do your part and I"ll do mine.”

“But God, failing hurts, and I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m doing! I don’t know…”

He stops me.

“How ‘bout let’s focus on what you do know.”

My mind reflects on Isaiah 41:10. “You mean like, ‘ Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand’.”

“Sure, my darling. Let’s start there. . .”

Yes. Let me start right there. I will strengthen and help you.

My life is NOT that nightmare, and neither is yours. Our success is not based on the approval or disapproval of the crowd, and not your kid’s, husband’s, co-worker’s or boss’ either.

Just God’s.

Next time that nightmare shows up, instead of looking at who is exiting the stands, I will look past the others to my Father. I don’t need to worry about fancy words or a long twisting sequence of sentences.

Just two words. “Help me.”

And then . . . I’ll tighten up my skates.

Red-lights or Road Blocks

Mon, 06 Apr 2020 17:57:53 GMT

Don't give up my friend.

I know it's hard some days. Or should I say some weeks or seasons . . . or years?

I’m not sure where I ever got the idea that life would be easy. I want to be strong, but I don’t want to have to lift the weight or push my comfort zone.

Obviously, it doesn’t work that way . . . obviously.

Driving to an appointment a while ago, I managed to hit almost every green light . In rare form, I sailed through intersections without hindrance. Traffic flowed at the perfect pace, and all was well with the world!

I made the mistake of equating my driving ease with confirmation of God’s will for my life. Crazy I know . . .

I said, “God, this must be your will for my life! You have blown open every door and made it simple for me today.”

As soon as the words formulated in my thoughts it dawned on me the error of my assumption. So began the dialogue with me, myself and I.

Me started it off with a chuckle. “Wait a minute, Rebecca. Are you saying if you hit a red-light, you’d just turn around and go home?”

I responded, “Well, no. Duh. I don't like red-lights, but I know if I will just be patient it will turn green, and I’ll move forward towards my destination.”

Myself chimed in, “You do realize that if you turned around every time you hit a stop-light, you’d probably never get home anyway. Chances are, the other lights on the pathway home would not all be green, and you’d be caught in no man’s land.”

True dat.

Same is true along the path of life. Just because I hit a red-light doesn’t mean it’s time to turn around and head back . I need the discipline and focus to push through those paused times, or I’ll never reach the destination God has prepared for me.

One huge point my husband Ronnie reminded me of is the fact that red-lights often protect us from disaster. My cousin Daniel joined in by asking me to name one hero in history or the Bible that turned around or quit when the going got tough.

I couldn’t.

. . . because heroes don't quit. For me to achieve God’s plan for my life it will require a sense of determination not to give up just because it gets uncomfortable.

Some days, I face problems and situations that I’d like to chunk into the St Johns River. Anyone else?! I’d rather just turn around and escape the situation.

Sure. At times, God does place road blocks in our life, and we must turn back. But there is a huge difference between a red-light and a road block.

I don’t want to throw in the towel everytime the going gets tough or things don’t move as quickly as I’d like. I want to do as Paul encouraged Timothy in II Timothy 2:3, “Thou therefore endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.”

I can endure because He’s not sending me out on life’s journey solo! He’s always with me, and I rest in that fact.

So today, I’ll endure patiently through the red-lights in my life. I’ll push forward knowing that God’s got this. He is with me and will get me to the place He wants me, right on time.

What to Do When the Other Guy Gets the Credit

Thu, 05 Mar 2020 21:13:20 GMT

“Just think how much could get done in this world if no one cared who got the credit.”

We all clap, nod our heads and say, “Boy, isn’t that the truth! Who cares who gets the credit?”

Usually, we say that when we just got the credit . . .

You’ve been there before haven’t you? ( Please tell me you know the feeling so I’m not hanging out on a limb here. ) You invest a ton of blood, sweat and tears. You determine not to give up regardless of the numerous times you discover one more way not to do it.

Finally, a solid foundation begins to gel and things start clicking . Then out of no where, someone else swoops in, takes the ball and runs it into the end zone.

The crowd cheers wildly— or barks if you’re a Georgia fan —chanting the ball carrier’s praise. Meanwhile, you stand at the forty-yard line trying to grasp what just happened. You realize no one cares that he’s in the end zone because of your hard work and sacrifice.

I know it absolutely shouldn’t matter. We’re all on the same team for goodness’ sake. So why do I feel a tinge of something yuck in my stomach when the crowd chants the other guy’s name?

One day I decided instead of walking around with this weird unsettled feeling, I’d hit it head on. So, I asked God to help me be honest with Him and understand why I felt such angst about this.

To my surprise, the answer came bursting forth from my heart before I had time to make it pass the a-good-Christian-wouldn’t-think-this checkpoint. I spit out, “Well… I’m sad because I know I’ll never get the credit for the work I’ve done.”

Hearing my voice say it shocked my ears.

Oh, how I hated to admit it. I sounded like an ungrateful child with arms crossed and a hanging lower lip. All for something silly like not being picked for line-leader that day.

I needed to scrape this gunk out of the bottom of my heart , so I kept pressing in. I said it again a little slower, “I’ll never get the credit . . .”

The Holy Spirit whispered to my heart, “Did you hear what you just said? You want credit.”

“Yes, I know. It sounds funny,” I replied to Him.

“ Rebecca, what exactly do you want credit for?

Uh, silence on my end.

“You do realize that credit is only needed for a debt you owe.”

“Or a rainy-day fund.” I added quickly with a finger in the air to punctuate my point.

“Yes, that’s true,” He said. “ But you owe no debt, and you definitely don’t need an emergency fund. (I thought I heard Him squelch a chuckle. Then His tone got real serious and tender-like.) “I paid for every bit of your debt Myself on the cross. I made you accepted and right the moment you trusted Me as Savior.”

“And just to be clear,” He continued, “ You can’t stock-up on any amount of ‘credit’ that will make me love you any more or less. You are debt free, My love. The only debt you owe is love. That’s all I ask of you. Just love.”

Ah! Suddenly, the light of God's truth pierced through the fog and the lie had no place to hide. How freeing! I don’t need to stockpile brownie-points or prove anything to anyone. I don’t need credit to establish my worth or value. I am debt free.

What moments before seemed so valuable, now felt more like worthless Monopoly money. It doesn’t really matter who gets the “credit”. My debt is extinguished.

But God wasn’t finished…

“Besides My child, where do you think you got all of those creative ideas and problem-solving solutions? What, like, you just thought of them one day and I said, ‘Ah, gee Rebecca, why didn’t I think of that’?”

How silly of me.

Even if I did get “credit”, it’s not really mine to receive.

That breath I just took and the next one . . . yep from God. More fog lifted, and I began to see clearer from His perspective. Ministry didn’t start with me, nor end with me. By some bizarre privilege, we’re allowed to be part of God’s work. What an unbelievable pleasure and treat!

He continued, “ Honey, relax. I love you. And My love is not based on what you do. So instead of worrying about credit that doesn’t apply, go out with joy. Live free and light. Love people like I love you. Let them know if they’ll trust Me, they can be free too. Just love the people, Rebecca. You already have all the credit you’ll ever need!”

Read Ephesians 1 and be blessed.

Hope & Glory To You!

Love,

Rebecca

Confession

Thu, 30 Jan 2020 21:26:28 GMT

Confession.
I begged. Cried. Prayed. Wept. Fasted. Choked down the tears in public all brave like. I even gave up caffeine . . . He didn’t budge an inch.

And growing up, all I ever wanted to be was a wife and a mother. Was that so hard for Him? He made a virgin girl a mother. Life grew inside of withered dead wombs when Elizabeth and Sarah gave birth—past the flower of their youth—as people say.

And how about the tons of women who don’t even want kids who find tiny little fingers curled around their own. Lots of people have prayed for children and got them.

So, what’s the big deal about granting me that request? Wasn’t He the One responsible for giving me this desire in the first place? If He could just let me have a miscarriage, so at least I’d have children waiting for me in Heaven.

But He never did . . .

Confession. It’s not the first time I’ve ever begged. It’s happened before. I fell right down on my knees, clutched that pink and white checkered bedspread, desperate.

Not desperate in Him. I knew He could do it. He could part the sea, spare people from burning fiery furnaces, raise the dead . . . ridding me of type-one diabetes? That’s a drop in the bucket. There is no known cure, only maintenance, true.

But I didn’t want to maintain this for the rest of my life! Too many struggles. Too many complications. Too many days of feeling just plain crummy.

I’d never heard of anyone being healed of this pancreatic disease. But God has done lots of firsts. Imagine the glory that would come to His name!

But He never did . . .

Confession. There is more begging . . . Years of fasting over the issue made no difference. Marrying him coincided with God’s plan for my life, or at least that’s the impression He gave me.

“Oh!” I figured it out. God wanted me to be an object lesson on forgiveness and perseverance in prayer and faith. A testimony of unconditional love! God wanted to restore our home. Show the world He can take broken destroyed lives and put them back together.

“Ok, I can do that,” I thought. So, I kept begging. Kept praying. Kept holding out for a better tomorrow. Kept waiting for God to shake him up real good and bring him back home to me.

But He never did . . .

Confession. The day of the accident. A lot of begging that day. Or did I even beg because surely God wouldn’t even think of taking my dad at this time in my life? He knew I needed him now more than ever.

I begged Him, “Please don’t do this. Not now.” Yes, the doctors said it didn’t look good, but that’s no problem for God. So I appealed, “Do your thing, God. Bring him back to life!” I knew He could do it!

But He never did . . .

Confession. More begging . . . but this time I can’t share it. It’s still too tender to the touch. But I’m guessing you know the outcome.

Yep. He never did . . . yet again.

I never got those things I begged for . . . I got something else instead.

I got an elevator ride into the pit of my soul and found some pretty yucky stuff down there. My gracious Father waited for the go-ahead from me to scrape it out and clean it up.

With each new begging episode, the clearer things became. Weights I didn’t even know I had, exposed and dealt with; or at least on the radar now!

Words about sufficient grace morphed from one-dimensional platitudes on a page into lifelong, daily friends.

The loss that cries me to sleep at night has become my magic carpet transporting me to more eternal perspectives. And I remember, this world is not my home, and something greater than tomorrow awaits me. One day He’ll wipe away every tear and make all things new! Heaven has become more than just a figment of the imagination. It’s where I long to live and where I want my treasures stored.

And like a camera, the world, others and myself zoom into more crystal crisp focus. Fret and worry don’t have as much influence over me. That horrid list of “dos” and “don’ts” no longer guilts me to death . . . as often. Who knew one could live so free and light!

And working for Him? Been replaced! Now I’m walking and working with Him.

I found a God who is also a Husband and a Provider and a Lover of my soul.

I resolved, just recently I might add, that some heartaches will never be explained on this mortal coil . . . and that’s ok because God always knows and will not withhold any good thing from those who walk uprightly.

I met a Friend that never leaves even when the lights go out, and the house is still and empty.

Nope. I never got those things I begged for . . . I got Him instead.

Hope & Glory To You!

Love,

Rebecca

P.S. Here's a bit of info you may be interested in:

The Companion Guide to Benched What I Gained When I Lost It All is coming soon!
If you would be interested in being in a #GetBenched discussion group LET ME HEAR FROM YOU! There are a few opportunities ahead for those in Northeast Florida and possibly some in other parts of the country. Just drop me a line and I'll get you connected with the group in your area.
If you're in the Amelia Island area on Saturday, Feb 15th stop by the Amelia Island Book Festiva l and say hello! Our First Coast Writers Critique Group will be featuring Benched. Yay!
Coming this Spring: Book signing for Benched will be at Books and More in San Marco.

I love hearing from you! Feel free to drop me a lin e through email or on the blog.

If you haven't gotten a copy of Benched: What I Gained When I Lost It All you can find a link to order it on the Book tab on this site.

If you have read it and would leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads that would be awesome!

Just scroll to the bottom of the Amazon or Goodreads page and you'll find it.

Thanks in advance!

Leaving a review is one of the best ways to help an author share the message.

I wish...

rebecca@rebeccafussell.com — Sat, 21 Dec 2019 22:16:28 GMT

Although it happened several years ago, this scene is seared into my memory . . .

I found myself, along with half the population of Florida, converging onto the Orlando scene this week for some Christmas fun at the Ice Exhibit.

Actually, it had nothing to do with fun and everything to do with spending the day with my mom, my sister-in-law and my niece, Brooklyn. The day didn’t go as we had planned, but to me the real treat was hanging with the fam . . .

The exhibit’s marketing scheme was classic amusement park. As we walked out of the display ( once we made it past the gift shop ) we had the option of getting a picture with Santa, for a small fee of course!

My goal was to get to the free hot chocolate line as quick as possible with hopes that some feeling would return to my fingers and toes. But heading out the door, I noticed no one following me.

My mom and I had gotten separated from my sister-in-law and Brooklyn. After a few minutes of searching, my mom found them.

Brooklyn had gotten permission from Santa’s elf to stand in the Santa line for free . She didn’t care a hoot about getting her picture with him. She just wanted to talk to him for a minute!

I stood off to the side watching my little niece, hands in pockets, her caramel-colored hair spilling out of her multicolored stocking cap, waiting patiently at the bottom of the steps for Santa to invite her on stage with him.

I wondered what she would say . She too had been asking about the hot chocolate, so I knew whatever she wanted to tell him ranked higher on her list than warming her tootsies.

Finally, Santa turned Brooklyn’s way and waved her on up.

I held my breath as she walked alone up the steps and across the stage. It felt so ceremonial , so special .

As she approached, Santa leaned over to look her square in the eyes and she proceeded to tell him— she never would tell us what she told him —whatever her heart desired. His eyes never wandered from her face. She had his undivided attention.

I caught myself wishing that were me up there talking to someone who wanted to know my deepest desires . And someone who would have the wisdom to tell me what to do with them; someone who could look deep within my soul and know the ideas and questions I struggle to articulate.

The truth is I do have Someone like that! He happens to be the Creator of the universe, not someone earning a little Christmas money with a part-time Santa job.

My Heavenly Father cares deeply about what concerns me. I don’t have to wait in line, or pay to spend time with Him. He’s never too busy. ( It’s usually the other way around .) He listens intently and encourages me to pour out my soul to Him. Psalm 62:8

All of this . . . because Christ came down!

I love that mental picture I have now of Brook and Santa.

Sometimes, if you’re like me, because we can’t see God, we forget that He is much more interested in you and me than “Santa” ever was in Brooklyn.

I want to be like a little child and pour out my heart to Him; like Brooklyn did to that strange man dressed in a big red suit with a fuzzy beard.

I pray that soon Brooklyn will understand there is no one who loves her more than Jesus.

Its true for you and me too, my friend. So go ahead. Let Him look deep in your soul and tell Him all your hearts desires!

Merry Christmas Everyone ~

Hope & Glory To You!

Love,

Rebecca

P.S. I love hearing from you ! Feel free to drop me a line on the contact page or at rebecca@rebeccafussell.com.

“Woman . . . believe Me”

Fri, 21 Jun 2019 12:14:00 GMT

I’m pleased to welcome my lifelong friend, Heather Dismuke, to the bench today. I love Heather’s perspective on life. She calls things the way she sees them and rarely gets her feathers in a ruffle—which is a good thing for a pastor’s wife and mother of three! Her boldness and pure desire for Truth inspire and encourage woman all around her to do the same.

Enjoy!

Have you ever had anyone ask you to believe them?

Without proof. Just their word. Especially, if it’s a he said/she said , or a she said/she said.

Those are the worst.

Or, if your kid is looking at you and saying, “Mom, you’ve got to believe me! I’m telling you the truth!”

Well, are they? Being a mom of three for the past twenty-two years, I have needed the wisdom of Solomon, at times, to discern when those three go at it.

Who’s asking you to believe them?

Well, let’s name a few things . The media, social media, television, radio and the internet. Did I get them all? Every day, we are bombarded by voices that are screaming for us to believe them on every subject imaginable. When I take a moment to step back, turn off every device, and spend a minute in quiet, it is shocking at the amount of things we are being asked to believe .

If I have any discernment about me, just seeing the source of where all this is coming from, should be enough for me to say, no thanks.

Sometimes, my own mind and heart will lie to me — tell me negative things about myself, and I just eat it up.

I’m amazed at how encouraging and positive I can be toward someone else. I can see the good in them, their potential, and how beautiful they are, but when it comes to me, it’s nothing but criticism all day long.

If I don’t catch it and turn it around, it will be a never-ending stream of criticism in my mind towards myself. And I believe every word of it. And, why wouldn’t I? It’s usually 100% true, with just a little exaggeration thrown in for good measure!

It is just recently, that I finally had a talk with myself. (By the way, I love talking to myself. Do you know why? Because, I don’t have to explain anything.)

And I gave myself a good talking to, and told myself to start talking to myself the way I would a friend. Nothing but encouraging and positive statements from now on! That is definitely a work in progress for me.

People can tell you things about yourself that aren’t true, and if you hear them long enough and loud enough, you will believe them as truth .

That is a difficult battle to wage. That takes a strong individual who knows who they are, and who can combat the voices that this person is filling their mind with. That is something to battle with in prayer definitely. And having a true friend who can counteract those negative statements with loving statements will be a balm to your soul. I pray you have a friend like that!

So, who or what is left to believe?

This past Sunday morning, I was sitting in church listening to what I thought was a Father’s Day sermon, and when the pastor read this verse in John 4:21, “Jesus saith unto her, Woman, believe me . . .”

Well, that was it for me.

The whole world stopped , and I didn’t hear anything else, because the Lord was speaking to my heart. Jesus said to me, believe Me.

That’s it. That’s everything. That’s enough.

What have I believed the Lord about?

First of all, I believe He saved me. I spent the first twenty-two years of my life not knowing that , and what a difference the peace and joy that have come after knowing this truth.

Amazing!

Secondly, I have believed the Lord about where I’m supposed to be and what I’m supposed to be doing. I believe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. There is great comfort in knowing that when things get rough, and when you want to cut and run.

It helps to stay and learn to conquer battles when they rise up, instead of running to the next greener pasture, because you know, without a doubt, you are where you should be blooming! And, if you don’t know where you need to be, ask the Lord.

He will tell you. I promise.

Lastly, I believe what the Lord is telling me about my life. I’m going to leave this ambiguous , because I’m going through some personal battles in my life that no one knows about .

I’m sure you’re going through things in your mind, heart and life that no one knows about either , or very few people know about, or it’s very hard for you to talk about.

What is everyone else telling you to believe, and what is the Lord telling you?

Jesus made one very simple statement to a woman who was at a well, and who was thirsty in every way possible.

He said, “Believe Me.”

That’s it. That’s all we have to do.

What is it that the Lord has told you about yourself, or that you need to do, that you haven’t believed Him for? What is it? The turmoil and the storm that you find yourself in, may very well be made calm, if we just choose to believe Him.

I Hate To Do This…

Fri, 29 Mar 2019 14:31:00 GMT

Ephesians 5:21 & 22

Aloha,

I’d rather you not see when I mess up, but who needs more perfect Facebook and Instagram posts?

Well, I hate to do this, but according to James 5 c onfessing our faults to one another somehow heals us.

So here it goes . . .

Ronnie and I got in a fight . Honestly, that doesn’t happen all that much. We have disagreements and feisty discussions, but not many “fights.” I won’t go into the details. Just suffice it to say that it wasn’t a big deal, but it mattered a great deal to me!

At first I thought he simply didn’t understand my psyche. But after a few exchanges, it dawned on me. We had entered into a full-blown power struggle. Shocked at my passion, the more we debated the angrier my heart grew and the more intensely I argued my opinion.

The whole time my mouth defended my case, my brain persuaded my heart I had every right to have my way in this situation. After all, I didn’t behave or demand like some wives. ( Big mistake . Remember the verse in II Corinthians about comparing yourself to others? )

I easily justified my behavior because it wasn’t a major issue, and I refused to let up. My tenacity surprised me. I fought to get my way until eventually he conceded in a whispered voice. “Just do whatever you want”.

Those words left his lips, and like a heat-seeking missile targeted my heart. And it sunk.

I knew I had done wrong.

In a flash, my victory took off its mask to reveal a laughing curse and a gulf between my two most precious relationships.

Yes, two — my husband and my God. Disobeying my husband meant disobeying God. Technically he gave me permission, but not because he agreed.

If I chose to leave it alone I would’ve gotten what I thought I wanted, but I wouldn’t have been keeping my vow – to love, cherish, honor and obey .

And the funny thing about it? Now that I’d won, I wanted nothing to do with it! I begged God to please help me make this right.

What I learned that day is that submission isn’t based on the issues . I don’t get to choose which situations I feel most relevant. In fact, the Bible talks about being faithful in the little things.

No. Submission is about who you’re submitting to .

In the end, we worked out a compromise. One he honestly believed accomplished the goal, and one I could live with. But at that point, I would have gone without makeup for a month just to be right with God and him.

Ultimately, I received a fresh reminder of how awful it is to be separated from God and His protection.

When Ronnie came home last night I could sense his curiosity as to whether I had followed his requests. I had. It felt nice.

Amazingly, the thing I once resented, I actually enjoyed! Why? Because obedience is its own reward. I knew I’d done right and placed myself back under God’s protection.

With our hearts realigned, my husband could rest knowing he could trust his wife.

Ahh. . . No money in the world can buy that kind of peace and joy!

Hope & Glory! to You ~ Love Rebecca

Ugly is easy to get…

Fri, 15 Mar 2019 13:51:00 GMT

“Ugly is easy to get, but hard to get rid of.”

‘Tis true in tons of scenarios, but the statement originated in an effort to warn young couples to be careful what furniture you buy.

My green couch thankfully doesn’t fit that category .

It cost more than I wanted to pay at the time- even with the discount- but in 25 years I’ve never regretted it.

Its cushions, tired as they may be, continue to beckon and enrapture me as if I’d plopped down on them for the first time. In fact, it’s right here where I type this to you. We’ve been through a lot together.

I love me green couch ( oops, typo there…meant to say “my” green couch, but tickled me funny bone, so I left it…a little pirate action for you today as you read!) It’s decades old but looks as if it joined me only a few months ago.

I think I’ve experienced every emotion known to man on its pillows. It’s welcomed me through all of my personal storms and sunny days over the last few decades, and it’s come to be like a safety raft where I go to talk to God.

Some days I leave my comfy space with questions answered, problems solved. Great understanding and peace lift me off the cushions and out to face the world.

Other times I leave just as bewildered, yet somehow relieved to be able share it with Him, knowing I’ll be back to search His heart again.

This green couch has held my friends and me as we’ve solved all the world’s problems! We’ve laughed and cried and talked ourselves silly.

And we’ve knelt beside it more times than I can count to pour out questions and joys before God.

No matter what life throws my way, its there waiting for me , ready to hide me from the fray, ready to let me unleash my heart.

I wonder if you have a special place where you go to meet with God.

There isn’t anything in the Bible that says you HAVE to have a particular place.

More important than having a “spot” is just pouring out your heart to the Lord like it says in Psalm 62:8. But from personal experience, having a certain place becomes an altar of sorts.

As you enter that place your mind races back to all the things God has brought you through. Your faith is strengthened to face your current storm as you reflect on the ways God has come through on your behalf.

And just so you know, no matter how early you try to be to your spot, He’s already there waiting for you!

Hope & Glory to you!

Love,

Rebecca

Blog – Be YOU tiful

Blind Spots

I walk. They ride. Bicycles that is.

To Bea or Not to Bea

Her name was Beatrix—Bea for short.

I Should've Known

I can laugh about it now—quite hysterically in fact. I should’ve known, but I didn’t.

Cue the Confetti

Happy New Year ~ almost! You know what that means…

Today Is...

Do you know what today is?

Charmed

Years ago, Ronnie, Chandler and I piled into the car ready for a fun weekend away.

Remember Your Why

Life was hard. Money was short. And sleep was shorter still.

Childless Mothering

Mother or not, this post is for you.

Worth It? You Decide.

I didn’t really have time. But this time, it didn’t matter.

Do What?

The rubber tourniquet squeezed my bicep preparing my vein for the prick.

Bubblegum Christianity

What To Do in the Mundane and Irritating

What to do in the mundane & irritating. . .

When You Feel Invisible... In Plain Sight

What To Do When You Don't Have Anything To Say

Hold on! God knows.

Trick or Treat? You Decide . . .

Trick or Treat? You decide . . .

Grief, You Stink!

You never know when it will hit you.

Beautiful Warrior

Enter the scene of life’s battlefield . . .

Life is Weird. Now What?

Hello Friend,

If Only . . .

If only . . . That's a loaded statement.

When Nightmares Come True

I feel like one of my regular nightmares is coming true.

Red-lights or Road Blocks

Don't give up my friend.

What to Do When the Other Guy Gets the Credit

“Just think how much could get done in this world if no one cared who got the credit.”

Confession

Confession. I begged. Cried. Prayed. Wept. Fasted. Choked down the tears in public all brave like. I even gave up caffeine . . . He didn’t budge an inch.

I wish...

Although it happened several years ago, this scene is seared into my memory . . .

“Woman . . . believe Me”

I Hate To Do This…

Ephesians 5:21 & 22

Ugly is easy to get…

If only . . .
That's a loaded statement.

Confession.
I begged. Cried. Prayed. Wept. Fasted. Choked down the tears in public all brave like. I even gave up caffeine . . . He didn’t budge an inch.