Category: obedience

Creekmont Visit

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This morning I stepped into Creekmont Baptist Church for the very first time. My former long term hairdresser, Becky, invited us to join them for worship when I got my hair cut on Tuesday. For a few years, I went elsewhere. I see His Hand in that timing, too. We first met before Mark and I were married!

Her husband, Shad, was asked to fill in as pastor a little over a year ago, and now he serves there permanently. We just learned today it was a customer of hers that asked him to step in, temporarily.

Wowza. Five days.

Today has been a day of many fives.

We pulled in the parking lot and we both voiced prayers before going inside. From the moment we walked through the doors, we were greeted by multiple smiling faces. The warmth could be compared to walking into a loving family gathering. The building itself carried a simplicity that reminded me of churches from the 1970s — plain, clean, without distraction — but alive with heart and spirit.

The music was from an electronic piano and carried a sincere vibe of the late 70’s or early 80’s, a style my husband grew up loving. They opened with Everlasting God, and by the closing stanza, liquid was traveling from my eyes, down my cheeks. The words settled into me deeply, “strength will rise as we wait upon The Lord…you do not faint, You won’t grow weary.”

No, sir, you do not grow weary. #ISWYDT

During the offering, the children collected the coins as they played an old tune through the speakers. “I may never march in the infantry, ride in the cavalry, shoot the artillery. I may never fly o’er the enemy. But, I’m in the Lords Army! Yes, Sir!”

What a joyful moment — innocence and faith braided together. For “YESSIR” to be a lyric was extra special for me.

Godwink moment- Mark thought Holy, Holy, Holy would be the first hymn in the hymnal. It was number 55. He said something about 5 by 5 being “loud and clear”. Yes. To the right was “Love Divine”. The most powerful lessons to be were in Matt 5, Mark 5 and Thess 5.

An older gentleman gave the welcome, opening with 1 Peter 5:7 — “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” His words were clear testimony and biblical truth.

I typically would not be aware during worship, but I saw tears in my husband’s eyes as we sang Amazing Grace. He said it felt like a church from his youth. To me, this was confirmation we were in the right place.

Pastor Shad preached from Matthew 5 while weaving in John 7, Mark 5, 1 Thessalonians 5, and even 2 Thess.

Shad is a gifted teacher. Notably, he began by reading most of Matthew 5. The message itself was rich: he spoke about the Beatitudes as a kind of moral inventory — behavior as it should be for those who belong to Christ. You must live out Matthew 5:1–12 before you can truly be salty and filled with light.

Then he asked: What would you give up for two weeks — salt or light? Most of us would struggle either way. His point was clear: both are essential.

What struck me the deepest was how the Holy Spirit used Shad’s extended reading of Mark 5 to deepen my understanding. We are now home and I am heartbroken how Mark five concludes with Jesus being asked to leave. Treasuring pigs over people, I pray His Children came home. The point is the Holy Spirit used Shad to bring the demon-possessed man into vivid focus for me

I digress. I must document the heart of this first visit for reasons I don’t fully understand.

There was something pure in the feeling of the church today — no flash, no pretense, just warmth, worship, and the Word. It is a place where you sense that light still shines, that salt still preserves, and that children of God are called to live as children of the light.

We will definitely be going back. Today marks the beginning of our Creekmont story.

After the service, we attempted and failed to eat at GG’s and Metro Diner. We quickly succeeded at the new Italian place , Penne Pazze. We shared a pizza, gnocchi and a salad. It is most authentic food we have enjoyed since being in Italy two years ago! I am already looking forward to the leftovers.

No shocker the table number we were guided to for seating. Thank you, Lord! 💜✝️💜

Knowing, Guarding & Forgiving

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Last night I was compelled to post John 17:17 — “Sanctify them by the truth; Your word is truth.”

This morning I opened my Bible and landed on Matthew 18, and immediately my mind went back to my friend Julie’s post and the comment section.

God is weaving things together for me in a new way. The ultimate and absolute Dream Weaver is Father God. I am convinced Gary Wright knows how God directs our dreams based on the stories behind his song.

My Matthew 18 pages are filled with tons of notes and notations. Today, I was nudged to write “Julie Mauck 9/20/25” . I was not nudged to put “Luke 17:2”, likely because there is a printed corresponding scripture beginning Luke 17:1.

Dated notes from October 2017, January and February 2023, May 8, 2024, July 13, 2025 and today. Three key notes struck me hard. The notes about being His Child, honoring is greater than wallowing and “confirmation is Biblical (Matt 18:16) stood out to me.

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As I sat with it, I realized how John 17 and Matthew 18 fit together. Well, my John 17 pages are all kinds of noted, as well, with a big YADA YADA. Divine Humor, once again! 💜✝️💜

In Matthew 18, Jesus calls us to humility like children and warns us not to cause “little ones” to stumble. Jesus says it would be better to wear a millstone around our necks than to mislead them and the millstone takes me back to Hebrew dreams last winter. He goes on to show that forgiveness must flow endlessly — seventy times seven.

In John 17, Jesus defines eternal life: “that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent” (v.3). The Hebrew word yada — to know — means deep, intimate relationship, not casual acquaintance. I had even scribbled in my margin a reminder that yada yada (so often a throwaway phrase in our culture) actually calls me back to the seriousness of truly knowing God and His Son.

No big shocker. I just wrote about Daniel 9 and seventies and sevens the other day. Every single detail is intricately woven to another.

Put side by side, the message is clear:

To truly know God and Jesus (John 17) is to live in humility, to guard the vulnerable, and to walk in radical forgiveness (Matthew 18). His prayer for unity in John 17 comes alive only when we practice the hard, daily work of forgiveness in Matthew 18.

And I’m reminded — unity in the Body isn’t a theory; it’s built every time I choose to forgive, every time I guard someone’s faith instead of wounding it, every time I walk humbly like a child

So today, I’m holding these together:

Intimacy with God (John 17)

Protection of the vulnerable (Matthew 18:6)

Unity through forgiveness (Matthew 18:21–35)

That’s the kind of community Jesus prayed for. That’s the kind of life I want to live.

Oh, and I used technology to make Julie and all Biblical Warriors an accurate hoodie. Thank you, Jesus, for all good inspiration ! 😇

Cyrus’ Miles

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Odd to have Miley Cyrus thoughts as I began to post. At first thought—an instant prayer- it seems it is tied to a theme of a wrecking ball. Yet, as I have learned today, the Persian King Cyrus had a history of building up, too.

Did King Cyrus of Persia really decree the rebuilding of God’s house in Jerusalem? Yes, yes, he did. More importantly, God used a non-believer to accomplish His goals.

The Bible records it in 2 Chronicles 36 and Ezra 1 — but what evidence do we have outside of Scripture?

The Cyrus Cylinder (539–530 BC) was discovered in Babylon in 1879. This artifact is now in the British Museum. It is a clay cylinder inscribed in Akkadian cuneiform, commissioned by Cyrus after his conquest of Babylon. It describes how Cyrus restored temples and returned displaced peoples to their homelands with their gods and religious items.

One example, “I returned to [these] sacred cities… the sanctuaries of which had been in ruins for a long time, the images which used to live therein, and I established for them permanent sanctuaries.”

While it doesn’t name Jerusalem, it perfectly matches what Ezra records — the Jews were one of many groups restored.

I love how archeology supports the Bible, hundreds and thousands of years later. I love how God used a Persian King to fulfill His purposes.

In addition to physical artifacts, there are the writings of Jewish historian Josephus that Cyrus read Isaiah’s prophecy about himself (Isaiah 44–45) and was inspired to fulfill it, issuing the decree for the Temple.

Persian history shows Cyrus was unique among conquerors: instead of suppressing religions, he restored them. Ezra’s account fits right in with what we know of his empire.

So while archaeology hasn’t yet given us a tablet that says, “Cyrus told the Jews to rebuild in Jerusalem,” all the evidence points to it:

His general decree (Cyrus Cylinder) The biblical record (Ezra & Chronicles) And later Jewish history (Josephus)

Together they confirm the faithfulness of God’s Word. The prophecy of Jeremiah was fulfilled, Daniel’s prayer was answered, and God used a Persian king to bring His people home.

Thank you, Lord, for all you teach me.

Struggling

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I’ve been struggling to find clarity. My to-do list is long, full of things that need my attention, yet I find myself paralyzed, unable to move forward. Grief has a way of fogging the mind and weighing down the heart.

I just felt compelled to pour out love today. To friends on the phone and to my children via texts.

In the middle of it all, I’ve been following the situation with Charlie Kirk, and what breaks me most is not just the tragedy itself, but the flood of hatred in the aftermath. Christians and non-Christians alike are commenting with such cruelty, quick to assume, quick to judge, quick to fuel division without checking facts.

I think that’s what overwhelms me the most. Not just the grief, but the noise. The lack of compassion. The way we tear each other down instead of seeking truth or offering grace.

I don’t have answers today. Only a prayer that I can keep my heart soft, that I won’t join in the shouting, and that somehow I’ll find the clarity I’ve been missing.

Thank you, Father God. For all you have done, all you are doing and all you will surely do. Soon can not come soon enough in many ways. Please keep me in the palm of your hand. Thank you for knowing the source of my tears. I love you and ask everything (all the unspoken, too) in the precious and powerful name of your son, Jesus. Amen.

Do Not Grow Weary

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While not exclusive to the murder of Charlie Kirk yesterday, my heart has been heavy. The world can feel violent, chaotic, and exhausting. Sometimes it is tempting to look away completely, or to let weariness settle in like a fog. But Scripture reminds us again and again that even in the darkest times, we are called to keep pressing forward in goodness.

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” (Galatians 6:9). This verse has been mine for decades after being dubbed a Blonde Polish Chick by an NFL Coach in Chicago.

I hear that and think — it isn’t a call to ignore the pain. It’s an invitation to remember that our labor, our small daily choices to love and to serve, are never wasted. The harvest may not come today, but it will come.

Paul echoed this in his letter to the Thessalonians: “Never tire of doing what is good.” (2 Thessalonians 3:13) And Hebrews reminds us to look to Jesus: “Consider Him who endured such opposition, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.” (Hebrews 12:3).

And here’s the hope that carries me: we are not meant to do this in our own strength. “The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and He helps me.” (Psalm 28:7) “The Lord is my strength and my song; He has given me victory.” (Exodus 15:2) “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” (Psalm 46:1).

The truth is, God knows we get tired. He promises to renew us: “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength; they will soar on wings like eagles… they will run and not grow weary.” (Isaiah 40:31).

So today, instead of letting my heart sink, I choose to lift my eyes. I choose to trust that love still matters, kindness still heals, and faith still carries us through. We may grow tired, but with Him we do not grow weary. In due season, in His Timing, there will be a harvest. 💜✝️💜

Polish Ruins

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When I dig into history, it often feels like I’m walking among ruins. Not just the crumbled stones of ancient walls, but the broken stories of families and communities who lived, loved, and lost.

Nearly three years ago, I solidified our Mull Family branches on my mother’s side of the family. Today, I am wearing a Polish pride t-shirt and pondering how 3 million Polish Jews were eradicated from the earth.

I am imagining the stories of my Polish brothers and sisters — the Jewish communities of Poland, who once numbered in the millions. Before World War II, Poland was the beating heart of Jewish life, filled with prayer, scholarship, and song. By the end of the Holocaust, ninety percent of them were gone. Entire towns, entire families, erased. Historical data says 3.3 million Jews were in Poland and then only 300 K survived.

It was intentional to place all the gas chambers in Poland. It breaks my heart as if it were yesterday.

As I think of my own great-grandmother, who left Poland before the war, I can’t help but wonder. Did she leave behind cousins, neighbors, friends who never made it out? Were some of the voices that vanished ones she once knew?

History books can give us numbers, but ruins whisper questions. And as I search, I feel a kind of responsibility — to remember those lives, to hold space for the silenced, and to remind myself that every statistic was once a story.

The Bible says, “Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations” (Isaiah 58:12). When I read those words, I think of how even out of destruction, memory itself can be a kind of rebuilding.

Today, when I look at the ruins of history, I see more than tragedy. I see an invitation to honor, to remember, and to keep alive the stories that were almost lost — stories that might be woven into my own family’s journey.

Living Sea Scrolls

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For generations, people have searched for proof that the Bible can be trusted. Archaeologists, scholars, and skeptics alike have dug through history, looking for something solid. There is zero proof the Bible is wrong about any historical fact.

Granted, there is a copious amount of evidence which supports The Bible. What fascinates me are the later findings, in particular the 1800-1900’s. The Dead Sea Scrolls were found in late 1946-early 1947. I considered the world coming out of a world War, only for the Israel-Arab wars to begin shortly after Israel became a state in 1948. The first scroll was Isaiah and for me, it seems appropriate to title this the Living Sea Scrolls.

God’s word never returns void and I have been in awe all day of the power contained in Him.

Bedouin shepherd(s) stumbled into a cave near Qumran, and the Dead Sea Scrolls — the oldest biblical manuscripts ever discovered — came to light. These fragile scrolls carried the power of God’s Word, preserved for over two thousand years. At nearly the same moment in history, the world was shifting dramatically. In 1947 the United Nations voted to partition Palestine, and by May 1948 the modern State of Israel was declared. Globally, the Cold War tensions escalated, Gandhi was assassinated, and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was signed.

I can’t help but see God’s hand in the timing. As the world reeled from war and nations were reborn, His Word emerged in power. The Bible says in Hebrews 4:12, “For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword.” That verse comes alive when I look at Qumran. It wasn’t just scrolls being pulled from clay jars — it was a reminder that His Word will never fade, no matter how many centuries pass.

One early scholar, Millar Burrows of Yale, said of the scrolls: “The discovery of the scrolls … was the greatest manuscript discovery of modern times.” And to me, that discovery wasn’t just history. It was God showing the world that His Word endures forever.

Praise God, for all He has done, is doing and will ever do. He is merciful and just and forever extending His Lovingkindness. Oh, I know I did not deserve His love…so grateful He gave it so freely. Thank you for Jesus and the Holy Spirit. I am overwhelmed with your goodness and light. Cleanse me, oh Lord. Circumcise whatever flesh must be removed. In Jesus name, Amen.

Pair of Cleats

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This morning, my husband flipped open my Bible, and of all places, it landed in 3 John. It’s such a short letter, but packed with encouragement. John writes to Gaius and you can almost hear the joy in his words: “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.” That resonates deeply with me today.

Just last week, we said goodbye to a houseguest who left under stressful and somewhat dubious circumstances. Hospitality felt heavy, not joyful, and I found myself wrestling with disappointment. The study notes talk about hospitality. However, it is more than inviting someone into your home. Being hospitable is not just in deed, but in heart. What a gentle reminder that the posture of hospitality is as important as the act itself.

Jesus calls The Holy Spirit is the Paraclete—the One who comes alongside, the constant companion, guiding and speaking into every moment. I couldn’t help but smile at the similarity: Paraclete, pair of cleats. Thank you, Jesus, for the best shoes of peace. 💜✝️💜

Life gives us different climates for different seasons. Sometimes I feel like I’m running in cleats on a hard, uneven field. Other days it’s sandals or flip-flops, when the pace is slower and the terrain feels easy. But no matter the shoes I wear, I am never walking alone. The Holy Spirit is right beside me, steadying my steps, nudging me back onto the path, reminding me of truth when circumstances feel confusing.

So today, I choose to lace up with gratitude. Whether the ground is rough or smooth, I have a Paraclete—a pair of cleats—that will carry me faithfully wherever God leads. I am lacing up with perfect peace in my heart.

Shalom. Shalom.

The Cost of Our Silence

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God has a way of weaving old things—books, music, moments—into the tapestry of our present, speaking to us in seasons we least expect. A few days ago, I shared how The LORD paired two books, published 17 years apart, to stir my heart anew. Tonight, it was an old Jason Crabb Song from 2009 called “Sometimes I Cry”, which serenaded me on my drive. When I arrived home to an opportunity to write, the book at my bedside screamed the title of this post.

It made perfect sense. The latest thread in this divine weave is The Cost of Our Silence by David Fiorazo. Just the other day, I shared the book with a group of people.

I was nudged to check my purchases and confirmed I purchased this book on March 3, 2020. COVID times immediately came to mind. Then I recalled the season of change as my family transitioned churches. I recalled the questions the Holy Spirit placed in my heart and can see how certain specific prayers have undoubtedly been answered. Praise God!

It is the second “old” book in as many weeks that God has used to guide me—each over a decade old, yet piercingly relevant. In this moment, there is some Divine Humor at play from a text I sent my husband, reminding me my favorite book is a REALLY OLD and utterly timeless.

Merely four chapters (less than 60 pages) into The Cost of Our Silence, Fiorazo’s direct, compassionate voice makes complex issues accessible. He urges Christians to speak truth boldly. I’ve caught several things already which felt like personal hugs to me. Conversely, I have also been gently kicked in the butt. I have much to learn and am looking forward to what the Holy Spirit teaches me through this book.

What makes this book’s discovery profound to me is how MORE timely the content is,”ten years later”. Further compounding the timing is the fact I somehow joined a Facebook Group for the author and his wife, Rosanna, at some point in the past year. The group is to support them with prayer and for David to update their long term circle. I honestly don’t know how I was added. That said, learning of her health struggles, we were nudged to send what we could for financial support last month. Again, a nod to divine timing based on my experience.

Only this week have I opened the book. Holding this book, I’m in awe of God’s timing. It’s as if He placed The Cost of Our Silence in my hands to deepen my prayers for Rosanna’s joy, healing, and understanding, and for David’s strength, peace, and provision.

This book feels like a divine appointment to this Blonde, Polish Chick. Oh, how I love His Timing! God is using it to intensify my prayer for David and Rosanna and extend sister-ship to someone in the group who lives close to us. . So, I am going to continue to stand in the gap, pray fervently, and to trust His orchestration.

Oh my heavens, the orchestra is magnificent! 💜✝️💜

Holy Grief?

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For more than two months, we offered our home, food and other resources to a divorced mom and her child. While challenging to share a home with anyone else, we thought we made it easy with simple rules about keeping dangerous things off the floor for our dog, not eating meals in the guest room and keeping certain doors closed.

Repeatedly, simple requests were met with backlash and gaslighting. I was called “militant” in our home care the second week she lived here. I rebuked it, of course. We simply respect nature and ants will invade if crumbs are left on the counter. We clean things when dirty and do our best to be good stewards with what we have been given. Over the next month, that seemed to be accepted and peace had seemingly been restored long before we left for our vacation.

We returned from our vacation to chaos and destruction in our home. Our sweet Stormy was vomiting up chocolates and things obtained from the guest suite. I won’t share all the photos of chaos, but this one reflects what caused our dog’s distress. The top photo was Sunday, 8/24/25: Stormy vomited the white truffles and we continue to find little pieces of tinfoil and other garbage in his hiding places.

The bottom photo shows the floor Monday morning. Clearly, a handful of trash was removed. That was the only thing cleaned up before she left Monday for work.

While at work on Monday, I prayed for more wisdom to proceed. The details are irrelevant, as the Good Lord gave US a plan together, as we discussed the situation in our master bedroom the evening prior. I knew whatever I did needed to meet with God’s Approval and my husband’s understanding. I was praying for help with MY PART of the plan God gave US.

Yessir!!! God will change a plan in the blink of an eye.

1 Corinthians 15:52. Yes and Amen!!!

Roughly two hours before closing, I was nudged to call our “tenant” and request the two bags worth of food garbage be removed from our guest suite. I asked for the filthy stained sheets from the guest suite and for them to be left in our laundry room for my attention. I reminded her of the three basic conditions for living under our roof and how she had broken all three in dramatic fashion. The call turned ugly.

I confess, the wrath which poured out of me Monday night did not make me feel sick. In fact, I felt “clean” the minute the call ended. It felt as if I had removed my body from a toxic chemical spill and just showered in those “clean rooms”. I know all too well how human anger has made me sick in the past. All that being said, my son’s perception of that wrath in the moment and how it impacted him broke my heart a wee little bit.

Praise God, we have since discussed since Rachel moved out on Tuesday afternoon. Originally, she was planning to be here another two months. Extra praise for cutting the exposure to chaos in half! Somewhat poetically, I was removing weeds in the front yard when they drove away. The minute her U-HAUL pulled away, the entry code was changed for our home. The house had been cleaned and restored to proper order. My son understood that sometimes, it takes dramatic tone to be a catalyst for change.

Ultimately, it was in her best interest to leave and we want the best for them. Still, we are not called to enable bad behavior, either. We are called to earn our way, period. 💜✝️💜

I have shared with both of my kids various things they have taught me in the past month. I probably need to make a list for the big lessons they have taught me. That’s for another day.

Simply put, returning home to so much chaos with so much peace and joy in my heart broke me wide open. To the world, it may have looked like I lost my temper. But in truth, what poured out of me that Monday night was not mine — it was His.

It has taken several days to sift through the debris and allow Him to direct my thoughts. How sweet it is to KNOW the peace I felt Monday night after raising my voice is so integrated to the peace I feel in this moment. Both come from Him. After such an intense lesson at his footstool, it’s rather glorious to literally have perfect peace on Shabbat. Shalom Shalom! 💜✝️💜

Thank you, Father God, for teaching me so much about Holy Grief this past week. It was holy anger, born of holy grief. I carried the weight of their disorder, neglect, and felt tormented by my responsibility to ensure safety for all under our roof. My heart was to protect YOUR CHILDREN and to be a good steward of what you have given our family. But, my heart can also get me into trouble and we both know it. It’s been a hard heart lesson, indeed.

The depth of that grief had been settling deep in my body for weeks. You clearly allowed it to manifest in my throat, in my voice, on my body and allowed me feel “sick with YOU”. May I always remember these “three sick days” as an honor and a blessing. Please keep breaking my heart for the things which break yours. Those tears are cleansing and good, as they come from you.

I was grieving the things that break your heart, and I could not carry it silently anymore. It is easy to see that simple truth today. I could never carry it alone. So, thank you for carrying me through this lesson so gently.

And when “all of it “ came out, it came out as wrath. Not petty frustration. Not selfish irritation. But the cleansing kind of wrath that overturns tables. The kind of wrath that clears out what doesn’t belong so YOUR SPIRIT can dwell in peace. Thank you for revealing the necessity, at times, for dramatic cleansing.

In the moment, it looked dramatic. It looked messy. But afterward, the air was clear. Peace returned. Only YOUR ANGER can deliver so much MERCY. Thank you for removing obstacles in any form. Thank you for teaching me that holy anger and holy grief aren’t things to be ashamed of — they are part of YOUR “Holy ToolKit” in restoring what is broken. Your wrath is restoring me.

As I inhale this fresh breath, I feel like there is a double rainbow above our home.

As I exhale, the promises held in our covenant are all that mater. Thank you a bajillion times over for all you have given us. I love, love, LOVE you.