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Questioning Your Place of Effectiveness

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2012-02-04T04:58:09Z

Like Paul, those called to ministry have but one task before them: to testify to the grace of God. Whatever medium this effort affords is unique to the gifts bequeathed by God, one’s willingness to abide in His truth, and the course of free will.

There is a difference between being stagnant and being still. The first is a tactic of Satan; the latter a tactic of Christ. Satan delights in stunting growth with busyness while we remain spiritually idle. Christ delights in watching His family grow through His grace, stillness in prayer and studying of His word, faithfulness in purpose and worship, and abiding in Him. Yet, both individually and as collective believers we can confuse stagnation with being still. If there is division stirring in your life, relationships, or church family, more than likely stagnation is present.

Picture yourself as a lighted, cascading water fountain. You are the welcoming fixture in front of your home (or heart, office, church). Hundreds drive past you every day and evening. To countless souls you ignite an attraction, a memory, a cause, a tug, a feeling. To some you bring a level of comfort and peace to their day even though you will never fully know to what extent. Children point you out to their busy parents, joggers slow their pace when they are near to you, and lovers toss their coins to you like prayers in need of an answer.

The day comes when you are in need of repair. Meetings occur. Goals are set. Line items are dissected. Teams within teams are formed. Divisions ensue. The courage to see reality becomes the real problem: lack of accountability, leadership skills, and recognizing patterns within circumstances are often the obstacles. And many times we feel powerless to make the necessary repairs. So we don’t do what is necessary, we do what is enough.

We choose to live satisfactorily instead of radically effectively. That is why the fountain is such a draw. It IS radically different. It is unique, powerful, a message in and of itself. The surging of water represents a baptism of NEW LIFE washing over every soul who yearns to be cleansed. The droplets REACH beyond the pool and tickle the palms of those whom receive His grace. With new life and grace comes the EMPOWERING deposit of the Holy Spirit. This brings us full circle to the radical effectiveness of a wholly functioning fountain: His MISSION through us of testifying to the grace of God.

You cannot fix a cascading fountain by pouring water on top of it. Yet, many times this is exactly what we end up doing. This is an egocentric approach which will lead to short-lived results. We become less powerful in our insecurities because we rely on our pitchers instead of His eternal reservoir. Eventually, children don’t encourage their parents to look your way, joggers adjust their iPod as they pass, and lovers lose faith that their prayers will be answered in your fountain. You have lost your internal and eternal message in the busyness of being stagnant.

Are we doing what is necessary, or what is simply enough?

Moving On & Letting Go....

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2012-01-13T06:38:22Z

There is something to be said for moving on. But there is more to be said for letting go. We can reminisce, pack up, move and still take everything with us. Some even hire movers and mental handlers to help compartmentalize and prioritize. We label certain stages or phases “Fragile” or “Handle with Care” before we gingerly wrap and load up to be sure it goes safely with us. Even if the box never gets unpack for public display, the heart adorns what the eyes don’t see.

I was sitting in my vehicle at the parking lot of the gym this afternoon when I noticed a large, tattered moving box tossed into the field across the road by the burly wind. The edges were being powerfully pulled, picked up and shaken by what appeared to be an invisible hand. With a strong gust the entire box flipped from the field onto the street. The front fender of a compact car bumped the box into the bushes near to me. The top side faced me square on and I could make out perfectly, “KEEP” with a prohibition symbol crudely marked over it.

For many reasons this image resonated with me. Someone took the time to pack a large box of items, probably in touching them also giving them thought and provoking a memory. In giving them memory, allowing each item to evoke a certain emotion and feeling. Maybe a song came to mind, an embrace, a twinkle of an eye, the sweet smell of a beautiful day mixed with a favorite perfume. Expired tickets, trinkets, love mementos, certificates, or perhaps worn out but comfortably familiar clothes once filled this box. I couldn’t help but wonder.

“KEEP” was boldly written first. The prohibition symbol seemed to be less intended, less carefully written. I wonder if they packed these items thinking to keep them and then changed their mind? Or did they actually move them and then realize in order to make a fresh start they really didn’t need to unpack them and decided to let them go?

We can get rid of a lot of things but still keep way too much. And we can also move much and rid ourselves of nothing. What do we need to not only move on from but maybe let go of in our lives? What is claiming us from being fully free?

Are we entering this New Year willing to detach ourselves from everything that would entangle our progress toward God, or do we simply move on and many times move with what we instead should be letting go of?

Pretend you have three boxes in front of you right now and one permanent Sharpie marker. Label each box what thought/subject/feeling you honestly carry around most in your mind on a daily basis. Now ask yourself these questions of each box:

(1) Does this build me up spiritually?

(2) Does it control me?

(3) Do you have an uneasy feeling about it?

(4) Is it something you can praise God for without compromise?

If you don’t like your answers, maybe it is time to let go.

God is jealous for you. He is like the muscular wind to the box and wants to rid you of what distracts you from Him. Letting go is costly and at times more painful than just moving on. We are a society fairly good at moving on until we can no longer fake the effects of carrying around loads we have grown accustomed to living with despite their distraction. But God is faithful. And what is costly to us now is a small price compared to the rewards stored in His eternal KEEP box labeled specifically with YOUR name upon it.

I can feel the edges being pulled….

The Art of Missing

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2011-07-11T02:20:24Z

If yesterday were tomorrow would I love you differently today? For today’s emptiness would not be known to me. I would be as I have been…a sensory driven soul dizzy with the noise of this world; a passionate muse at times too busy to hear her own music. But you heard: You took captive each verse. Oh how I wish I could remember the exact exchange that we didn’t realize was our goodbye. Did my thoughts take flight into words or did they remain unhatched? I count all goodbyes as small compared to what lives beyond hello. I know you loved me all the way to goodbye. And I will love you within this noise until I tell you hello once more.

If yesterday were tomorrow would I love you differently today? I would thank you for being in my pattern. When someone becomes a thread in your life, how do you take them out without unraveling the tapestry? How do you create with colors no longer seen? How do you not panic at losing the sharpness of aging memories? And how do you stop wanting to share?

Sweet friend, today I miss sharing with you. I have nothing of importance which needs telling; no action is required for receiving ears. I just wanted to tell you I thought of you today many times: when I stepped into the church, when the smells of Starbucks took me in as two strangers walked by, and when I picked up a zebra patterned necklace at the antique shoppe that I just knew would make you smile. For some reason I carried with me down several aisles….Was I going to buy it for you?

My thoughts echo back to me in the empty spaces you once filled. No one rehearses “missing” – it just comes, stealing the ink from the pen we hold. Inside jokes, knowing glances, and plans once spoken become a foreign language no one else can read. What does this do but add to isolation?

Or maybe, just maybe, the art of missing and yearning adds to the decoration of our soul, slowly absorbing the echo. Symbols and signs pop up around me, and I can either suppress them or allow them to tickle a memory and awaken my smile. Each day a smile brings familiarity a new song. In truth, love is truth. In love, pain and joy share an ultimate purpose. In this purpose, we learn the importance of a single day.

If yesterday were tomorrow would I love you differently today? No. No regrets. My only sadness would be greeting tomorrow without having fully lived today. For one day someone will miss me too, and my color in the world will absorb their loneliness as yours does mine. Yes, I will love you with all of me so in my moments of “missing” I will not have missed love itself.

Faith

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2011-03-17T00:38:00Z

My power is limited, if I have any at all. But my actions are powerful, for good or bad depending upon both intent and the experiences of the receiver. My strength is in knowing I control only my intent, not the receiver. And my greatest weakness is acting as if I have more control than I do.

The bird doesn’t grab hold of the wind to fly, nor does the fish order the direction of the sea to swim. Both know what they can control and, therefore, are free to live fully in their powerlessness. Such are we to the world; to the ignorant, to our loves, to our lovers, and those who choose to know us only through assumptions. And can you blame them for assuming that they too are in control, thus, know you?

Indeed, we can each learn from the bird and fish. Both carry on knowing without question there is a power which exists greater than their own: Their life depends upon it. Why do we not think the same?

In truth, this “power” greater than our personal best is the purity of God. God is not a religion, a checklist, a goal to obtain, a church to attend, or a tattooed mantra. And God is certainly not the bird or fish, even though we act as if we are the wind and sea.

We must learn how to fly and swim in the moment. Yesterday’s patterns afford us the security of repetition but not the presence to know how to adjust to today’s climate. We must be fully responsive in the moment to wholly surrender to God and be free from our desire to control.

Admitting to the truth of our powerlessness allows God to work through us. In this effort, His purity is allowed to breathe in us and from us. The result is better intentions, more productive actions, greater grace, and the gift of something higher and deeper than control….Faith.

God’s Love Apprentice

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2011-01-21T02:17:00Z

Love is a remedy for boredom, a treatment for selfishness, a tonic to heighten the senses, a therapy for past hurts, and an addiction if not careful. Love is also an act of service, a soul tune-up, an enhancement to your best self, and the mask to reality at times. Love is plain like breathing, but equally important for survival.

Yet, it is the one emotion we obscure more than any other: Love is the driver which turns blindly, speeds like a reckless teen, or never ventures beyond the comfort of well-traveled roads. Love crashes into others, sometimes like a hot wave and sometimes like a brick wall. We have each been a victim and a pursuer of love. We have each been craved and have craved. We have each wanted more and wished for less power that this thing called Love has upon us. Because, indeed, love can cloak us with bravery or secrecy; it can make us feel like a king or a peasant. Yes, love is the wand which can turn us each into Cinderella at the ball and then be the stroke of midnight all in one swoop.

Yet, we love. We love in spite of known patterns which read of unfortunate outcomes. We love in spite of the intensity of newness, the negligence we try to see differently in the face of our own complacency, and in the realization that love has less to do with ceaseless hot fudge, but more to do with keeping the ice cream from melting. Love is an appetite by which we hope to wisely satisfy. But the key may be to find the companion who sustains and satisfies. For what satisfies us today may not keep us well tomorrow. But sustaining love wraps us in protection as bones do the heart: it shields us from the terminal disease of instant love gratification.

So then what is really the complexity of this whole love thing? I recently read that if Ford and Chevy cars had the same failure rate as marriages they would certainly be put out of business. So why do we keep doing this thing called Love? Why would two imperfect beings make promises till death? That seems absurd considering the increased life expectancy, easy accessibility to the world through the Internet and travel, and the endless gamut of opportunity to rediscover life each day with new characters…even you being one of them. Yet, we do it. We want it. We dream of it as young girls and boys, search for it as teens, and commit to it as adults. We make those promises and we pray.

Let me say this, I love Love. I am a passionate lover of life, of soul, and of God. Yet, I also believe we are Love’s contradiction in many ways as the flesh is not capable of the total, unabated selfless love which only Christ can give. We know this because we have each felt the pang of disappointment, either by what we have induced in our own veins or injected in others.

Yet, here we are approaching the month of love and we will once again be reminded how we are unconditional in our ATTEMPTS to fully love, despite our failure rate. We don the hat of vulnerability to encourage and support another imperfect being which sees us as someone greater than we see ourselves.

In essence, we are God’s Love Apprentice. And we are born ready to learn how to love and be loved.

Before you sink your toes into month of February, I challenge you to see how truly loved you are by those imperfect souls who are lovers in training. And I challenge you to continue on this journey of learning and loving. I believe the fashionable statement shouldn’t be “Live, Laugh, Love” as much as it should be “Live, Love, Learn.”

Love is a divine privilege and joy if it is well received, but is still an honor to be able to bestow it upon others regardless of how the intended responds. God feels the same way when He loves us. Be LOVING. Be someone YOU love. Be HOPEFUL in love, DESIRE no matter how many anniversary cards you have accumulated, and LEARN how to truly love not from self, Hallmark, or Cupid, but from our TRUE first and last love…love Him “with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind.”

Be One of the Kind

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2010-11-01T20:08:00Z

My daughter, Izzy, some time ago gave me a pencil drawing she made at school as a gift. The daisy was wispy, but confident. The blurred edges of the graphite petals made the appearance of wind, and I couldn’t help but think of how her mind was creating movement within this still image. Her sketch remained behind her back while she waited for my full attention.

“There is one thing I have to tell you first,” she began, eyes fully locked on my own. “The teacher said I messed up on the words, so just look at the picture NOT the words, okay?”

“No problem,” I replied matching her serious tone.

I smiled deeply…the kind where your heart soaks up the sadness of the day and releases it in the warm breath solely reserved for humble gratitude. Yeah, you know the kind: the smile which cleanses your whole being and opens your eyes to the world just beyond self-absorption.

Of course I read the words which were printed in varying sizes of lettering in the dirt of the flower. I tend not to cry much as I have always found tears are often either misunderstood or give attention I would rather not receive. However, there are those moments in which I do allow tears to flow without regard to perception: baptisms, celebrating one’s arrival into God’s arms, hugging someone of whom you feel the exchange of unspoken friendship, watching old lovers embrace like teenagers, hearing God through music, slow dances, and those moments which take my heart before I have the chance to reign it back in. Izzy’s sketch did the latter.

Her drawing captured my full attention; however, her words captured my heart.

I knew what the teacher was thinking the words should be; however, to me they were perfectly written in the imperfect penmanship of a seven-year-old, freckled-face girl looking at me now with anxious anticipation.

“Mom, you read the words! I can tell!” she yelled as she stomped her foot. “I didn’t mean to mess up. I was just trying to make it pretty for you.”

Yep, that was when the tears came. My weak eye always starts first. This is ironic as I think in my weakness I am strongest in God. I am less moved in the stubborn empire of survival; and more powerful in the submission of His will. He uses my tears to wash my eyes of my own world so that I can see more clearly into the lives of others.

Izzy took the paper from my hands. A tear had fallen on her picture. “Why are you crying?”

“I am crying because your picture is so beautiful that it made my heart swell. I am crying love.”

“Even though I messed up?” she asked as she wiped a falling tear from my cheek.

I couldn’t help but think this is how God is to us. He waits patiently for our full attention, takes all the mess we hide from others and asks to see it. He takes it in His hands and washes it clean by crying love over it. Blurred pasts, windblown memories, fragile growth, and confident hopes make up the image He sees within picture in our eyes. And the words upon our heart may not always be what they should, but if we give ALL of us…our imperfections, our mistakes, our fears, our insecurities, our dreams, our weaknesses, our talents, and our joys to Him, HE will deposit new hope and refine our soul. And our mistakes will be the very thing which will set us free to fully bloom in the land of grace.

For He wants NOTHING more than to use our lives to glorify Him. When all you see are the mistakes and the fear, then you miss the daisies. You miss a new chance to grow closer to Him each day. And you miss the beautiful way God holds us in His hands and sees not our mistakes, but what we are to Him and what we will become once we fully trust in Him.

“It was supposed to say, ‘BE ONE OF A KIND’” Izzy said softly as she searched my eyes for approval.

It read, “BE ONE OF THE KIND.”

“It is exactly as it should be, my love. Exactly as it should be.”

Be one of the kind today. And start with yourself. Take whatever it is you are most afraid of, what you hide behind in the painful memories, what you fear for your future, and what keeps you from giving yourself FULLY to God. Allow Him to take a look at all of you. Allow Him to see you, hold you, and set your life on the journey of creating new views, new blooms, and new stories. He is waiting.

The Beauty of Life and Living

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2010-10-25T05:06:00Z

It’s simple: Life is complicated. As you walk out one door you find yourself entering it again with new experiences years later. Two worlds collide, one of yesterday and one of today. In this collision, the only world which seems real is that of transcendent reality: the moments which go beyond breath and seeing and float within a realm greater than the mind and heart, slipping deep into the spiritual. These moments cannot be maintained for long as we are creatures of this world. However, if we find ourselves here we acknowledge we are briefly on a soul-driven walkway…mentally surveying the current truth and lining it up against what we have already lived; yet, still physically moving. We walk through life alongside our memories and the world around us does the same.

It is as if we are taking an old photograph of the roses we received from a past lover on Christmas, holding it up to the sunlight against a picture of the roses you purchased for yourself this Christmas. They are both pictures of flowers which celebrate the love of the season and the soul; however, the images don’t match…the lines within the sunlight don’t capture identical blooms or identical worlds. Indeed, one is much different than the other. One is a memory and the other you can take your eyes off the picture, walk inside, and smell the perfumed flowers which are beautifully arranged on the kitchen table. Yet, for a brief moment when you smell the roses on the table, you find your spirit has taken the journey back to the fresh fragrance called Remembrance. And for this brief second, you find yourself fully alive within two worlds.

These are powerful moments. I recently ate dinner at a new restaurant which used to be the coffee shop I loved. Before even opening the doors I knew each crevice, where dust settles from the air conditioner, what the walls feel like after a rain, and which pictures would tilt first from the front door shutting. I could visualize people gathering in the corners on comfy chairs sipping lattes and soup. I could hear kids giggling in the playroom, anxious parents trying to settle them down, and rushed guests attempting to eat before their lunch hour expired. I could hear familiar voices, and I expected to see faces of whom I knew when I walked through the door.

But none of that was there. Everything had been remodeled. Every smile was from a stranger. Each voice blended with a radio station I didn’t recognize and the sound of plates I had never seen. In walking through the door two worlds collided: that of my love and that of someone else’s love. They were both restaurants, but the current picture was stripped of my work, my laugh, my dreams, my love, and my plans. In holding up my memories to that of the current picture, the only thing that was the same was my tears.

I excused myself and headed to the bathroom. I knew what direction to turn and where the light switch was located. It was a familiar comfort to know such things until the light came on and I saw how much even the décor in the ladies room had changed. My reflection in the mirror was still me, the building was still a building, but everything around me was different. Circumstances were different, the year was different. I felt like a grownup returning to her childhood home now occupied with new tenants. All the marks of my growth had been painted over, and my heart cried under the suffocating knowledge that time changes worlds even when our mind keeps memories as still and as real as the smell of fresh cut roses.

I washed my hands and felt the cold water from the same sink I had felt many, many times. I wiped my tears in the midst of two worlds, and I realized just how deeply I had loved and that my memories had created a world which would forever exist outside of photographs and feelings. A world which would go beyond breath and seeing and float within a realm greater than the mind and heart, slipping deep into the spiritual. This world is the one which walks beside me and helps shape the images for future memories. In this world I escape into myself and remember not days of old, but instead, relive within new experiences small segments of yesterday in the engagement of transcendent reality. Indeed, some memories are just that…a retained impression; whereas, others are truly lived in the blossoms of today. Some smiles, voices, and heartbeats within the air which carries our breath never grow into dusty memories despite the changing of time: they are our reality and our past.

I am thankful to realize alongside me are the moments which have created the twinkle in my eye, the freedom to find myself, the faith to persevere, the discernment to open my eyes, and the hopeful expectation of joy to truly embrace the present.

As I held hands with this notion and exited the restaurant, I realized "goodbye" was not the word left on my tongue; rather, "thank you" was my salutation. Thank you for always being with me, even still when life changes the year and the old roses are only in a photograph. I still smell them freshly every day with each bouquet I see.

This is the beauty of life and living.

The Art of Life

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2010-09-27T14:25:00Z

Sometimes you set out to paint a beautiful blue sky and when you get your brushes cleaned, paints out, and easel placed perfectly in the middle of the field clouds come and thunder begins to boom. Heavy drops fall, and you look around only to notice your paints are getting wet and the once warm air has chilled.

You thought you were going to paint blue with acrylic, and you end up with gray and watercolor. You thought you were going to smile today, but instead you ended up crying. You thought you were going into safety only to discover you were betrayed by the gray you missed hiding behind the blue. And when the skies part you become exposed to truth. And every word, every fear, jealous and insecure thought and action of the storm you didn’t see coming now showers you with an unfamiliar harshness.

No one is around you in this field. You fall on your knees, cover you head from the storm, and begin to cry to God. The wind picks up, and you can hear the nails of the easel squeak and your palette of paint being moved by the force of the wind. You keep your head down and just pray. You pray for clarity, peace, safety, and grace. The storm gets worse. The easel crashes to the wet ground, and the table your paints were so carefully laid out upon now has been picked up by the wind and tossed across the field. The tempest is violent, and it takes everything you have to concentrate on your prayer and not the storm. “Now, God, Now! Save me now!” you shout.

Slowly, the wind becomes gentle. Still unsure, you keep your head down. The air turns slightly sweeter, and you notice your clothes, hair, and skin are drying. Then you feel your face and realize your tears have also dried. Your body is sore from being down so long, but the breaking sun soothes you and caresses your body as you stretch to the sky. You survey the damage and ask yourself, “How do I begin to clean all this up? Where do I even begin?”

And then you see it. You walk over to the canvas which had been blown far from you. Standing right in front of it you see the most beautiful rainbow painted upon the muddied and beaten canvas. Remnants of paint glisten from the tips of the grass all over the field. You stand in awe and look up and see the canvas was reflecting the glorious rainbow in the sky.

Sometimes you set out to paint a blue sky and end up with a rainbow. In these moments you realize even if you don’t get what you set out to enjoy, and you feel beaten and cursed, that what you learn from the experience can be exactly the reason God had you in the field in the first place. Your reason for being there might not have been His reason. And if we trust, especially in the storms, we will come to understand that His understanding is greater than our own, His expectations are mightier than what we could ever fathom, and His plan and promises will be revealed to us exactly when He deems we are ready.

“ Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth." Genesis 9:16

JUMP!

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2010-07-04T23:50:00Z

I crave the very thing I fear most, like a prisoner who longs for the day of his release but fears he will not be able to make it in the real world. Tools: It all boils down to tools. If he had a mere spoon he would attempt to dig his way out of the cell. Once out, he could feed himself with the same spoon. But how does he get the food? How does he survive? Imprisoned, he would dig till his fingertips bled because he wanted out that desperately. But at least he knew where his next meal was coming from. At least he knew what to expect, what to fear, and when to keep quiet. Would he commit another mistake just to go back? And if he did return, would he in a few months’ time be stealing another spoon?

Van Halen had a popular song called JUMP. One line goes, “You say you don't know, you won't know until you begin.” Followed by the chorus, “Might as well jump. Jump!”

When I was younger I jumped more. I purposefully aimed and jumped in the muddy waters. Maybe I was naive in not thinking about how soiled my sandals could get, how many germs from the stagnant puddle would cascade onto my legs, or how much trouble I would get in when Mom saw my mucky white lace skirt. In truth, at that moment, I choose to jump because I knew no matter how disappointed Mom became she would still love me, clean me, and set me out again to make new choices. Indeed, I had little to fear and little to escape from other than trading one adventure for another.

Now, most of the time I jump so I land in the same spot I began; slight risk, but nothing I can’t quickly recover from if need be. Several times stand out where I jumped as an adult knowing I would never land in the comfort and familiarity of old footprints. Fewer times hold a memory when I jumped knowing what lay before me was so muddy that I didn’t fully know what I was getting into, what residue would potentially stain not only me but those around me, and how I would be received and perceived by my loved ones after I landed. In those moments, I remember holding my breath and praying God would be my bungee cord…the One who would dictate the force of my ripple effect based on the goodness or the foulness of the outcome. I never prayed for a smooth landing, but I always prayed for a blessed outcome. After all, it was always the thrill of the landing that made me jump as a child into the puddle, into the leaves, and into His arms during my bedtime prayer.

As we get older we don’t necessarily get wiser. Some lessons I have had to retake the test many, many times. This time is no different. I want new choices, new opportunities, and new beginnings. I feel the excitement of a child, the yearning of a prisoner, and the apprehension of an adult wrestling inside of me. I see the puddle, but it is not clear enough to understand and calculate the total risk.

I pray and I JUMP because I know that life isn’t meant to be a heavy burden; rather, we are meant to be free. FREEDOM…a word that makes you want to grab the spoon. FREEDOM…a word that also can scare you back into the same ole same ole if you are not willing to grab new tools and find new puddles.

Tools change with time, circumstance, and responsibility. This time my tools are independence, talents, love, white canes, belief in “I can” instead of “I can’t,” Braille makers, dreams dreamt so hard that they are already sprouting into reality, and the childlike understanding that no matter how disappointed God may become He will still love me, clean me, and set me out again to make new choices. Indeed, I have little to fear and little to escape from other than trading one adventure for another.

PRICELESS

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2010-04-26T09:11:00Z

This afternoon I saw a boy my daughter’s age almost get hit by a white construction truck driven by a man who wore the look of unexpected terror upon his face. The boy’s mother wore the same expression as she screamed out her son’s name in an effort to will what she already knew was out of her control.

I had taken the boy’s picture just moments before. He told me he was praying this bee wouldn’t sting him as he hesitantly turned to give me a smile in the bluebonnets…eyes briefly off the bee; I was impressed by his valiant effort to replace his fear with his faith. I also couldn’t help but be grateful he was talking with God seconds before his fears became much greater than the bee.

As a photographer, I have unknowingly taken the last picture for a few people. It is a very strange feeling being told that this image was the last photograph: a realization of a thirteen-cent print becoming truly priceless.

If my image was taken today and it was my last picture, would I be pleased with the girl in the photograph? Would I look at her and wish she dared more? Would I wish she cared less about making sure everyone else was okay and took better care of herself? Would I wish she wrote that book, took that trip, or painted with more color? Or would I look at her and say, “You did well, my friend. I love you. God’s gotcha now and I am so pleased and thankful for who you were then and who you are now.” In honesty, it would be a mix of all the above.

Maybe this is a good exercise for us all. Looking at a picture of ourselves is different than just looking in the mirror. In a mirror we can see ourselves blink…we know we still have opportunity. Pictures don’t blink, and they are incapable of illustrating a different story than the one they are showing at that very moment in their autobiography. And I write “showing” because we are each layers of stories, overlapping dreams of the ages we have lived, a mix of responsibility and giddiness, contentment and anxiety, hope and joy, wisdom and doubt, searching and finding…we show but a brief summary of the journey we live. And a picture proves we were here in that moment: our footprints made a mark in time.

Take your most recent picture you have of yourself. Give yourself a good stare. What if that image becomes the priceless thirteen-cent print? What advice would you give that person in the picture? What words of encouragement would you share with yourself? Because what is truly priceless is knowing right this very second you can change your life. You can put down the picture and change your life.

Say a prayer of thanks. Listen to your breath, give yourself a hug, and hear yourself say affirming words. And most importantly, see the possibility of today. Go show the world the beauty of you...a living reflection of His love...His image.

God spoke: "Let us make human beings in our image, make them reflecting our nature…."

Genesis 1:26

The Splash of Heaven

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2010-03-22T03:47:00Z

When he looked at me I knew exactly what he was seeing; rather, I knew exactly what he was feeling. His eyes were filled with anticipation, like a man who was ready to jump off a Hawaiian cliff into the clear waters. Before he spoke a word, I came to him…reached for his hand because I knew he was about to reach for mine.

“Yes,” I whispered knowingly. He had just told me he loved me just with his eyes. But there was more he needed to say. He had my attention.

“You pray, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

I felt his hand wrap tighter around mine. “You tell God I am ready to go. I am ready. I am ready now. You tell Him,” he said without faltering his stare. A lifetime pooled in his eyes, and I felt his plea stun me with a responsibility I was not sure I was capable of receiving.

He is in the final stages of life. His once strong and masculine body had been transformed by cancer into a pale and weak shell. Yet, those eyes…those eyes spoke to me like a twenty-year old man who had waited a lifetime just to say those words. His eyes carried the passionate message his body was too weak to deliver.

To an observer this would be an odd exchange, but to me it was an honor to feel his life pulse from his feeble hand to mine. We were of different times. He already had his eye on heaven, and I was still in this world. Yet, he trusted me to carry a message. He wanted my help if only to be another voice besides his own to reach Jesus. It was moment before I could collect myself because I could see him jump off the cliff, and I could feel the waves splash upon my soul. His plea freed him. His question allowed him to stop carrying all weight of this world. “I will tell Him,” I said. “I will.”

I couldn’t help but understand in that moment we are of this world and of His world. Sometimes our final days are slow coming, yet obvious, and we have a chance to prepare and see the view we are leaving and gaze upon the view we are about to receive. Other times death comes upon us without warning. No matter the timing, heaven comes upon us now. Whether we are standing with anticipation at the cliff or being splashed by the wave….each of us is of this world and the spiritual world. We are only separated by our days left, and since we don’t know the exact number…then in a way we are all united in the understanding that some of us are closer to God by birth or by death, and some of us are closer to God by our living.

Life is a journey of purposeful timing, purposeful prayer, and purposeful action. When we are reaching out, we oftentimes recognize one another not by appearances but by feelings. We can sense His love, His acceptance, and His grace in others. Sometimes even before a word is spoken, we feel the desire to reach out for their hand because you know if self-awareness were pushed aside they would already be reaching out for yours.

As Christians, we are challenged to tune into one another at a level beyond base connections. We are called to be connected, accountable, and deliver the message of His grace and love for we will all be in every stage before our time is finished. May heaven splash upon your soul today and may we find freedom in the assurance that we are not alone.

3-Feet Deep

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2010-02-06T06:22:00Z

A man told me he panics in water. Recently, he vacationed with his wife to the beach. He went out into the waters further than he felt secure, and a wave took his feet out from under him. He banged and bashed all sides of his body against the ocean floor. He became completely disoriented – not knowing which direction would take him to air or to hell.

His wife pulled him out of the water as he gasped the breath he resided seconds prior would never be afforded to him. “You idiot!” she screamed. “It is only three feet deep here - all you had to do was stand up!”

“To think,” he told me dryly, “I nearly died in shallow waters because I was too scared to realize all I had to do was stand up.” The man took a sip of his beer and looked down at the table.

I could tell the reality of his fear scared him more than the ocean. Maybe what we fear is nothing compared to what we miss by fearing so much.

Would You Waltz with Me if I Asked You To?

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2010-01-20T04:27:00Z

My teenage son is very protective of me. Always has been. His protection can be overbearing at times, and I recently had a candid conversation with him about how overbearing love can destroy the very thing you wish to cherish and enjoy....much like overwatering a flower will eventually kill the flower.

I sat him down and told him that he will have serious trouble with his girlfriends and one-day wife if he does not understand this simple, yet powerful responsibility that loving someone means giving them their own space so you are not shadowing the sunshine that makes the other person bloom.

I said to him, “Pretend I am the love of your life...your wife...your everything. Would you waltz with me in a crowded restaurant if I asked you to?”

“I wouldn’t really want to, but I guess I would if you really wanted me to,” he shrugged.

“Would you run through a field of wildflowers with me if I grabbed your hand and started one step before you?”

“Yes, Mom, I mean, wife,” he chuckled.

“Would you let me grow old alongside you?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Would you give your life for me if only one of us could make it out of a burning house alive?”

“Gosh...yes. Yes, I would do that for her...for you too,” he said in a soft tone.

“And would kindly respect my space and allow me to soar in my own sky, fly and falter in my own way in order for me to be the person God intended me to be?”

“Of course!”

I looked him squarely in the eye and said, “The question you most readily responded to is the very one you will have the most difficult with.”

This is rather odd and telling all at the same time: we have an easier time dying for someone than we do allowing them to truly live. How many times have we overstepped our boundary, put our foot down, and left our mark of insecurity on our lover’s heart? We may say we are sorry, we may say we are simply being protective, and we may say that our actions are out of love, but our efforts slowly suffocate the very one we would so willingly give our life for to sustain theirs. I believe you can love someone to death...death of the love they feel in return for you.

You may disagree, and that is okay...but I believe that we each have a purpose given to us by God. And our ability to fulfill this purpose at the highest level is based upon our willingness to know Him, trust Him before self, and to persevere until all you have left in you is the assurance that His mercy and grace will use your failures as stepping stones to the next level. This is an individual journey full of unique valleys and mountains. You can’t take someone with you...you are alone.

Don’t get me wrong, you can share your life with many, and maybe love madly a few, but your ultimate purpose is not to fulfill a role...your children will one day leave you, death will kiss us all, and even your best friend and soul mate will disappoint you because they are on their own journey and using their own failures as stepping stones.

Take your insecurities and trade them in for the assurance that there are no assurances other than God promises us the ultimate happily-ever-after through eternal life. If you are controlling by nature, jealous, insecure, or feel the need to put your fears into another’s sail in hopes that they will remain closer to you, know this: I hope that person will get out of the stagnant boat and walk on water by faith before they remain living with only their imagination turning the helm. Life isn’t meant to be lived part-way or almost or compromised to the point of never tasting His full blessing...the FULL blessing waiting on the next shore.

So I am reaching out to those who find themselves dropping the overly protective anchor on your lover’s journey and to those who find themselves not getting out of boat. Communicate. Remember, if we were truly meant to take this journey together we would be able to read one another’s mind. Interestingly enough, only God can read your mind.

What does that tell you? He is who we were meant to take this journey with. Consider it a privilege to share your story along the way with someone you love and who loves you. There are no guarantees in another person except that we all desire to share our love with another. Remember sharing means to take responsibility together, to let someone else use something....may we allow each of us to fully understand the responsibility we have to love, live, trust and sometimes watch the love of our life reach the shore of their dreams.

Do I think my son heard me? I hope so. He hugged me and said, “I want you to always be in bloom, Mom. I am sorry.”

Shackled Words

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2010-01-08T23:52:00Z

Words sometimes tell the entire story, but more often than not they are simply articulated soldiers guarding the thoughts that edge out onto our tongues like renegade warriors. We hold back and say nothing at times when what is needed most is a voice to the thoughts that build in our mind.

How many times have I wanted just to blurt out, “I love you,” “I forgive you,” “I was wrong,” “I really need to tell you something…?”

I am not referring to general folks and common talk where niceties are the social norm and are not only polite, but expected. I am referring to the folks who make up the intimate world inside our heart and mind. When we avoid what needs to be said we become creative distracters of our own reality. We also become guarded and trust less because we question our own thoughts...a children’s game of Memory where the words we turn over don’t match the picture of our true feelings. No one wins, and it becomes a tireless game of doubt.

Maybe it is your teenager who desperately needs to hear you say, “I love you,” even when you hear the bedroom door slam for the fiftieth time. Maybe it is your co-worker who needs to know despite the problems, you recognize the effort being put forth. Maybe it is you needing to dare to say you were wrong to someone who is hurting because of your actions. And just maybe it is God who needs to hear your thoughts put into voice.

In truth, He knows your entire story already. But when we purposefully direct our thoughts to Him we allow His warriors, His angels, and His army to step in on the frontline and become our life filter.

We are all rough drafts, and we edit our chapters before we allow others to read into our lives. Life marks us up; we get red-lined by insecurities, guilt, and fear. We put a cover on our tattered story and show the world we have it together.

We all do this, and there is no shame in not bearing it all to the world. But in our soulful nakedness God’s army builds us up and gives us training, allowing our spiritual muscles to burn. And when our thoughts creep onto the most powerful muscle in our body, the tongue, we know we can step out on faith and speak truthful words which have been waiting to be spoken through His filters. The tough words, the hidden words, the forgiving words, the healing words, the loving words, the joyful words, the tearful words, the laughing words…the authentic words which make up our genuine story…the story of His amazing grace living in each one of us.

What is it that you have needed to say to that someone in your life?

Ask God to replace your hesitation with His mercy and courage. And when you feel your thoughts bubbling up and you are about to speak, ask God for His guidance to be real, be yourself, and keep moving forward in His love.

Fear-shackled words prevent us from moving beyond ourselves and into the greatest love story ever told…His love for us. Allow Christ to cover your sins and showcase your story. Be authentic in and with Christ, and He will give you discernment and courage to speak truthfully with others.

“And the Lord, He is the One who goes before you. He will be with you, He will not leave you nor forsake you; do not fear nor be dismayed.” (Deuteronomy 31:8)

Making Cupcakes with Santa, the Grinch, and Jesus

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-12-16T03:42:00Z

I was recently assigned by my daughter’s Room Representative to provide a ½ dozen cupcakes for their upcoming Christmas party. Needless to say, yesterday (the afternoon before they were due), in a frantic rush Izzy and I weaved our way through the holiday crowds and grocery carts and gathered up cake mix, green icing, milk, and eggs. By the time I pulled my car out of the parking lot I was as flushed as Santa and as grumpy as the Grinch.

Almost home, my daughter exclaimed, “WE FORGOT THE SPRINKLES!”

Running through my mind what I knew was in the bag and what was not, I realized she was right. I have learned to pick my battles, and leaving sprinkles off holiday cupcakes was one I was certain was not worth the war. We made a special trip back to the store.

Finally at home with red and green sprinkles, we finished up dinner and homework, put on pj’s, and took out the ingredients to whip up the cupcakes. I had everything I needed…well, almost. Cupcake liners….nope, didn’t get those. Completely slipped my mind.

I looked at Izzy and could tell by her expression she was about to panic. It was too dark for me to drive back to the store…we had to figure it out on our own. Rummaging through old tubs of cookie cutters and food coloring, I came across an old package of cupcake liners. Bingo!!

“Woo-whoo!” I yelled.

Izzy looked bewildered and doubtful, “Mom, those have Easter bunnies on them!”

“Yes they do,” I said laughing with relief. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” I tried to cajole her. Truthfully, I didn’t care if they had pumpkins on them. I was just thankful to find something that would suffice.

And then I had an epiphany…what better cupcake combination than Christmas and Easter? In this moment, both Santa and the Grinch were overpowered by the true Host of this celebration…Jesus Christ.

Both Christmas and Easter celebrate LOVE. Both are necessary in fulfilling God’s promise to us. Christmas provides us the savior we need. Easter provides us victory over sin. Together, they tell the whole story of just how important we are to God.

“God demonstrated His own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).

Through the birth of Jesus we became reconciled to God. His son freed us from condemnation. God gave us the greatest gift, LOVE, through the birth of His son. And then, we were given life eternal through the renewal and rebirth of our souls in Jesus’ victory over death. Through both these celebrations we become renewed each and every morning. Each and every day becomes a celebration of love, freedom, life eternal, and the removal of the stains in our life. Each and every day becomes a SWEET BEGINNING.

“God's loyal love couldn't have run out, his merciful love couldn't have dried up. They're created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over). He's all I've got left” (Lamentations 3:22-24).

Izzy bounded off this morning with a ½ dozen cupcakes covered with red and green sprinkles wrapped in Easter bunny liners…she stepped up into the bus holding the entire story…the SAVIOR’S STORY and HER PERSONAL LOVE STORY of life eternal. What a delicious reminder of the hope we take with us each and every day and the sacrifice which was made for us to enjoy such freedoms. Indeed, these are the gifts which define and create our own chapters and our own endings.

May each of you be especially blessed this holiday season and New Year. May you use your gifts to create sweet beginnings each and every morning! Love & Joy to You….

Attic Dreams

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-11-29T07:09:00Z

I lost the venture but won the risk in searching for the possible. I always wanted to open up a coffee shop. I still have scribble notes from junior high when I daydreamed of combining my one-day criminology degree with my passion for cherished conversation. At twelve I promised myself when I became an adult I would open a coffeehouse called the Prison Break Café. Partitioned comfy “cells” would represent havens where one could escape from the confines of any given day. Manager specials like the “Escape from Alcatraz” would be a regular weekend kickoff drink and Saturday’s drink would be “Espresso Yourself.” Patrons would have the opportunity to have their very own “mug shot” made – a picture of them on a coffee mug….a special treat for the regulars to use on their daily café escapes. That was about as far as my notes recorded the thoughts of this young girl’s dream.

I received the degree and recently a serendipitous prospect presented itself for me to own a coffee shop I love dearly. This shop and this one alone was the one when I walked through the door for the VERY FIRST TIME almost a year ago I said aloud, “I will own this one day.” Indeed, this was the shop which awoke the girl of endless possibilities and the woman who recognized years of experiences led her to this very doorstep.

Dreaming never seemed like a risk as a child. Rather, dreaming was a pastime as acceptable as lemonade stands and tree climbing. As an adult dreaming is a risk much like we think twice now about bungee jumping after we have children who are dependent upon us. Still, I didn’t hesitate to rummage through attic papers to find the faded doodles of design and intention validating the conception of this dream. I allowed my fingertips to trace the visions of a youth with bold freckles and even bolder plans. This was a plan born whilst I was still wondering who I would be when I grew up. This was an idea I played like an Academy Award winning film long before marriage and having children crossed my mind - this dream I owned with no co-signer, and now I was opening it up again like an old love letter found unexpectedly while cleaning.

Did I let down the twelve-year-old girl in me when I said no to the coffee shop? Yes and no. The plans of a child didn’t fit within the responsibilities I had found myself in twenty five years later. I wanted desperately something that was not received with the same vigor as my husband. His reasons were logical, created in the present. My reasons were emotional, aged and tended to by seasons and stages. He saw black and white. I saw me and the last twenty five years in full color. He was right, but so was I. I have to be honest…the girl in me cried, but the woman in me wiped her tears. At times only my reflection told of my age as I nursed my hurt.

I lost the venture but won the risk in searching for the possible. I still enjoy helping with the coffee shop even though my dream has been altered. Would I have dreamed differently had I known the answer? A subjective answer, my answer, is life is simply complicated. I am still the kid who actively pursues her passions and isn’t afraid to risk. God has consistently shown me that my path may alter, my dreams may take the form of reality in a slightly different mold, but where I am going remains constant. But I must keep going. My experiences today will be a stage I reflect upon and draw strength from in another season.

Maybe the dream is to risk.

Maybe we nudge ourselves in persistent progress of moving from comfortable imperfection to risk-taking believers of our purpose and new horizons. In this effort we carry each of our self’s along in this journey…the child, the youth, the adult….we are both old and young with each dawn. We are achieving and dreaming, adapting and creating, compromising and risking.

I have my scribble pad out…time to sketch out the possible.

Until Today Came...

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-10-17T06:55:00Z

A friend recently asked my six-year-old daughter a widely used question adults inquire of children: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

The answer made both me and the asker smile in stunned appreciation…

“I am already what I am going to be when I grow up,” she replied confidently. “I am an illustrator. I draw pictures for books.”

A few hours later I asked my daughter a few more questions relating to her earlier statement. She further answered, “I will only get better with practice, but I will always be an illustrator.”

If all of us only had that level of confidence in knowing what we are to be when we grow up and what we are to be until we grow up. Maybe the real answer is revealed in a six-year-old’s simplicity. Maybe we complicate the answer because we rarely settle down enough to grasp, embrace, and practice the basics of what makes us unique, what values we hold dear, and what stirs our passions. Indeed, we have the ability to be who we are meant to be in the moment God has given us. And with persistence, discernment, and wisdom we have the ability to practice and get better at fulfilling His purpose through our lives.

Maybe who we are meant to be is truly a moment-by-moment experience…never meant to begin at a certain age or milestone (such as graduating college, receiving your first paycheck from the job of your dreams, getting married, having kids, etc.). Maybe we reinvent ourselves with each dawn and glean the wisdom of the day to plant our dreams for the night. And with each new sunrise we birth and bloom one step stronger to being who God intends for us to be in the moments He has blessed us with.

“What do you want to be when you grow up, Mommy?” my daughter returns the question.

Smiling, I bend down to her freckled nose and reply, “I too am already what I am going to be when I grow up. I am peaceful, content, very much in love you with, and very happy!”

“Oh, Mom” she rolls her eyes, “you will always be those things!”

“Yes, but with a little practice I will only get better at all those things,” I laugh.

“It would be impossible for you to love me more!” she yells as she takes her nose and rubs it up against mine.

“I thought so too until today came….” I replied.

In the moments that make up the minutes we become who we are meant to be for the day Jesus has given us.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Skinny White Bitch

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-08-21T16:25:00Z

Skinny White Bitch, the tongue- in-cheek name I have given the white cane provided to me less than two weeks ago by my mobility instructor. An accessory which once embraced will afford me more freedom and confidence. Part of the training consists of being blindfolded while I attempt to navigate dependent solely upon the feedback received from the cane.

Tonight I found myself resisting the cane as if I was being forced into a relationship with a stranger. My personal space violated by the very object trying to liberate me; a tug-of-war between obstinate pride and the knowing discernment of how different things could be if I would only submit.

I have felt this feeling before: As a child, I feared the water before I learned how to swim.

One of my greatest fears in the last several years has been navigating stairs unaccompanied. Tonight my mobility instructor encouraged me to face this fear…BLINDFOLDED. I was alone except for the cane which she placed in my hand: I wanted to both curse it and hang on to it with all my strength. In all honesty, I did both. I knew I couldn’t make it down the stairs successfully without it, and that was truly the hardest reality to accept.

Blindfolded, I felt my toes rigidly curl on the edge of the top stairstep. As instructed, I moved the cane ahead of me and slowly bridged the gap between my feet and the cane. At a snail's pace, I continued down the carpeted stairs in this fashion until I heard the cane tap loudly onto the tile floor.

I hadn’t realized during the journey that sweat had saturated the back of my neck and tears were pooled inside the edge of my blindfold. Mentally and emotionally, it truly was the longest flight of stairs I have ever traveled. BUT I MADE IT. I made it fully dependent upon something I couldn’t see nevertheless I knew was there to guide me if I only submitted, trusted, and practiced the right ways.

I have felt this feeling before: I doubted myself before I allowed Christ to be my sole guide.

I still sometimes fight God and stubbornly try to will my own freedom, my own ways, my own direction. This is certainly doable, but the level of freedom and victory pales in comparison to the places God will take me if I only submit, trust, learn and follow His ways. As daunting as the road is sometimes, and as frightful the feeling of having my toes curl on the edge of the unknown, I love you, God, and commit to you with all my heart, mind, and soul.

Thank you for being my savior: the true One that always goes before me. Your vision for me will forever be greater than my own.

Divine Decoupage

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-07-13T16:44:00Z

I am both ailing and recovering at the same time. Patience helps me to monitor both my weaknesses and His handiwork. Peace and justice comes in a pill that is oftentimes hard to swallow. My body is simply an envelope which carries a world within itself…a world of mine and His mixed together in an ever-changing story. Everyone has an evolving story. Fear and disappointment can morph into a debilitating disease if we are not properly sealed by His righteousness, truth, peace, word, and blessings. In this regard, God is the glue which seals our envelope; seals the frailty which exists between my body and my mind, what is obvious to all and what is yet to become.

We are all more alike than different. Some questions have a life of their own. Some disappointments will never be understood. And some hurts will always hurt. Likewise, some joys are completely unexpected. Some sights will always warm the heart. And some smiles will forever be remembered.

Our imaginations fill in the void when we begin to compare ourselves to others. We are usually wrong in assuming someone else has more or less because satisfaction is a personally defined word. I am content knowing that my recovery process in this world will leave me fully restored in the next. He will take my earthly hardships and use them as decoupage to seal and strengthen the armor He gave me. With every challenge and lesson learned I become a greater warrior for Christ. My envelope might have fresh glue on it from a recent disappointment, have designs on it that you may or may not relate to, but the story inside is everyone’s story who is trying their best to adapt to imperfections and rely on His mercies and grace for the happily-ever-after ending He promises.

If you come across someone who is a little messy, sticky, or smells of fresh glue…know that God is working in their life and making them stronger for His purpose and will. Breathe an encouraging word in their direction, help smooth out some of the pain when possible, and help them recognize the unique beauty in the process of growing stronger, reaching closer to Him. For we are all ailing and recovering at the same time.

Our Stare

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-05-21T13:37:00Z

Our stare became the bridge which took us into one another’s soul; a journey not of flesh, but of spirit and love. In this moment we were artists creating our tomorrows, smiling upon our yesterdays, and capturing the today in the blink between the stare. Reality became our most treasured memory as we left behind what was to travel toward what will be.

As I looked at you, you steadily held my thoughts with your stare. Strong and brave, you balanced my desires with your dreams. Your protective nature quieted fear, so much that my heart heard yours and simply floated to your soul like a ballerina following the one song she lived to dance to. We are born with a rhythm that can make a serendipitous chord with another just in passing…just in a simple stare…the moment of knowing that our life song has been forever changed.

I see eternity singing in the back of your eyes. Is it a reflection of my love for you or is it your love that I see? If I am wrong, then I will at least not be convicted for not trying; if I am right, then I have solved the world and beyond for love is the greatest of all mysteries. Love is decided death of self…it is crossing the bridge between your soul and mine.

Love is entrenched in the greatest sacrifices of history…His son upon the cross, a woman’s body to give life, a father’s choice to work harder for his family, and young lovers who love because they have realized what we all know: the need for acceptance is the most addicting drug known to man. In these examples, the spectrum of love exceeds the realm of comprehension as we can only hope to hear the wings of angels dust the floors of earth. And we can only pray that love leads us to happiness instead of sadness. Yet, we already know what some will find out: love is furtively heaven and hell.

We are all imperfect souls creating imperfect love. Human love is a fireball of tears, laughs, fears, joys, failures, hopes, dreams, and faith which builds both strength and power as it traverses a path through our lives…intersecting yours with mine. And yet, we still welcome it as much as we fear it. We still risk, forgive, and begin again. We still wake up expecting to love someone and hoping to be loved in return.

Our stare became the bridge which took us into one another’s soul. In this journey we traveled beyond our imperfections and deeper into our spirits. On this path I heard angel’s wings sweeping the bloodstained wood. It wasn’t until I reached into the deepest part of your soul…the part where the Holy Spirit in you met the Holy Spirit in me that I realized this bridge, this path, this journey…everything before me and behind me which I travel upon is built upon the cross He bore for me. I found God searching for you. I found ultimate love crossing the bridge of our humanness into eternity.

Vending Machine

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-03-31T21:08:00Z

Six rows high, five rows wide. “ENTER EXACT CHANGE” scrolled in red block lettering; a pad of white numbers, 0-9, squarely centered on top of black plastic buttons, and a slot for coins, a slit for bills, and to the left a return handle. At the bottom, a change dispenser. This is what stood before me…wider and taller than my grasp. I reached into my pocket...nothing.

I had spent it all along the way just to get to this point.

Ever been in a moment in your life, maybe even a season in your life, where you feel absolutely spent? Both your body and common sense confirm you are cent-less in your emotional bank? Maybe you have waited patiently for an answer, kept the dream alive as long as you could, tried fixing the same problem a million different ways, or you have traveled the road less traveled and just when you thought your feet were healing you step on a sticker burr?

You know you are moving in the right direction, but at the end of the road you find yourself emotionally broke standing before an enormous vending machine without a coin in your pocket.

The machine is laden with rows of “what if’s”, fears, hopes, joys, dreams, risks, unexpected outcomes, and both answered and unanswered prayers. This looming machine is LIFE. You are so tired of waiting and making decisions…choosing the number code and hoping the outcome brings you something sweet instead of something bitter.

I stood penniless in front of life this week. Searching for answers by myself became too exhausting and left me bankrupt in mind, body, and spirit. In that moment of “brokenness” I gave what I had left to God…my heart. I gave Him my praise that no matter the outcome, NO MATTER what fell from the machine and into my hands I would still remain faithful in His grace and mercy. I no longer focused on searching for the right code…the right answer. Instead, I searched only for Him knowing He would deliver the right answer to me.

The red block lettering changed from “ENTER EXACT CHANGE” to “PAID IN FULL.”

Thank you, Jesus. I praise you in the storms and praise you in the sunshine.

A Story by Candlelight

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-03-09T03:46:00Z

You never know who is sitting next to you.

We noticed their attire, guessed the occasion of their holiday in Mexico, and even commented that we had seen them in the buffet line at breakfast two days prior. We sat so close that the only thing to compete with overhearing their conversation was the flutist making her rounds guided by the light applause which followed her from one candlelit table to the next.

“It never fails,” the lady says to me as she stands up. “He always has to go to the restroom right before dessert.”

I laugh with her and we exchange smiles like business cards. I knew when they returned we would continue talking. Indeed, we did.

I noticed she told him that he needed to cut his steak. I noticed she stared at our hands as Todd and I folded them upon one another bridging the gap between our dinner plates. She looked at our interlaced fingers and remembered. I wanted to know her story and thankfully she wanted to tell me.

“Newly weds?” she guessed.

“Actually, we have been together ten years.”

“Forty years.” She smiled at her husband, “We are celebrating our 40th anniversary. This will be our last trip.”

My smile yielded to the soft sadness which outlined her lips. “Last trip?”

“Yes, my husband has Alzheimer's. Our daughters tried to talk me out of taking this trip – said it would be too hard on me. But I wanted one last celebration for our album.”

“And has it been hard…hard on you?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” she replied as she reached her hand across the table hoping he would return the sentiment and hold his lover’s hand. He didn’t. She quickly withdrew and adjusted the napkin on her lap.

No brilliant words came to mind. In fact, as the veil of her reality was lifted I could only respond, “I am so sorry.” I reached out for her hand and she took it. I wondered briefly when the last time someone held her hand.

They left soon after. I knew I would never see them again – this couple from Michigan. I didn’t even know their names. I looked to Todd not ashamed of the tears which came to my eyes. I reached my hand across the table hoping he would return the sentiment and hold his lover’s hand. He did.

You never know the story which has brought someone to the table next to you or what chapter in their life they are living. Oh, gentle lovers, may we appreciate and respect one another’s story. And if given the opportunity may we be so fortunate to learn from one another.

Imagination Theatre

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-02-18T03:21:00Z

Seven days…that’s how long I have left to wait. What I am waiting for is irrelevant except for the fact that when the answer comes it could change the course of my lifetime. Each day I play in the sandbox of normalcy; yet, my mind and eyes wander outside the box and delve into my vivid imagination.

My imagination: a living theatre which shows me pictures of events yet to happen as if I were a mesmerized child watching an entertaining movie. Yet, my imagination is both wicked and wonderful… full of the carnal and spiritual…my realized failures and my anticipated hopes. The moments I trust in myself and the moments I trust in God each battle for a starring role. These seven days have played out like a horror picture in my mind. All the while, I continue on the physical path of normalcy.

Have you ever waited for something that during the interim brought fear into your imagination? Maybe it was the result of a medical test, a desire to hear a voice of someone you miss, nervous anticipation about an upcoming meeting, a decision to be made, a tug to move beyond, the feeling of waiting to fail, or simply the prayer that things will change financially, spiritually, emotionally or physically.

I consumed fear like popcorn, numbly putting thoughts of heartache, pain, and despair into my soul. The devil became satisfied with my appetite. As the movie of my doubts and possible failures finally ends, the credits appear upon the screen of my imagination:

PRODUCED and DIRECTED BY: THE DEVIL

The stark white lettering upon the black screen burned my eyes as the words slowly scrolled up only to be replaced by a second line:

LEAD ACTOR: YOU

I cannot move. The seventh day moves past me and I still remain as I was…under the direction of the devil. His ability to put fear into my soul disables my desire to get the awaited answer, to move forward with my plan, to progress beyond the mundane and into my passions, to move beyond my struggles and get busy being the person I know God meant for me to be. I have no idea what day it is now. I become lethargic as fear gradually is replaced by apathy. I no longer care as I should. Time passes like a slow, black river and I drift further into darkness.

Just when I feel my soul slipping into the devil’s laugh, whiteness bursts forth as these words alone appear on the screen: “Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8).

I hear the devil scream as more words flash before my eyes: “The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet. The grace of our Lord Jesus be with you” (Romans 16:20).

I stand and turn around to face the projector. Words intended for the screen now wrap around upon my body: "Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light" (Matthew 11:28-30).

PROMISE: God will give me rest.

MY PART: Come, Take, Learn, and Find.

I exit the theater of my imagination, toss my remaining fear-laden popcorn into the trashcan, and head out to take, learn, and find a new opportunity to have my physical actions coincide with my mental and spiritual thinking. As the brightness of the day pours upon my face I feel reborn and rested from the inside out. The waiting is over…my answer is alone in CHRIST JESUS.

No more anxious waiting.

Suum cuique

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-01-31T12:39:00Z

In the 1840s, Esther A. Howland began to sell the first mass-produced Valentines in America. There is just something sterile in the words “mass-produced.” Thoughts of researchers, marketers, creative teams, prototypes, graphic artists, printers, digital cutters, and folding machines do little to evoke romance….at least for me, even if the sentiments are beautifully scripted. Yet, according to the Greeting Card Association, an estimated one billion Valentine cards are sent each year, making Valentine's Day the second largest card-sending holiday of the year (an estimated 2.6 billion cards are sent during the Christmas holidays).

Now, I know some of you are going to fuss and disagree with me, but that is what makes this world so fantastic!! Wouldn’t it be a bore to all like chocolate ice-cream? So, here is my flavor of choice for February 14th: I have never celebrated Valentine’s Day. My husband knows to forgo getting me a card, flowers, chocolate, etc. on this day. To me it is like setting an alarm clock to remind yourself to tell your significant other that you love him/her. Even still, some forget and don’t hear the blaring bullhorn of conformity, leaving their lovers wallowing in disappointment. Indeed, each year crazy expectations are put on this money-making machine of an occasion.

My favorite flavor is “Just Because.” I love the simple gifts of a hug, a handwritten note, a flower plucked from a field off the side of the road…intimate things that show me that you really took the time to know me and then love me. A card with a UPC code on the back just doesn’t come close. Rather, "just because" expressions become moments that make everyday a special occasion.

“Suum cuique” translated into English means “to each his own.” We each have unique tastes, styles, and things we savor. Each one of these distinctions are gifts. Hence, just being yourself is a beautiful love gift you give yourself each sunrise. The fun is when you wake up and savor someone else’s uniqueness. By sundown you have mixed flavors and discovered a brand new taste for life.

What if we moved beyond the mass-produced occasions and into the flavor-making occasion of “Just Because”?

Mix it up, get to thinking, and churn up a special gift for your special someone. Maybe she likes dresses wrapped in brown paper and string, maybe he likes homemade bread. How about a handmade card, a song (better yet, a serenade), an empty photo album that you agree to fill together by the following year, a pocket full of guitar picks with the promise that you will teach her how to play, a canvas that you paint together while sipping wine? Whatever it is…make it “suum cuique.”

Happy Just Because

SGLY

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-01-12T17:26:00Z

I tossed my straw hat high into the air. Looking at it disappear into the sunlight, the hat seemed to linger into a world just beyond what I could see. I wondered if God didn’t hold onto it for a second longer before He allowed it to return.

When I picked my hat off the ground, I noticed it was missing the SGLY pin that was on in it just moments before. To no avail, I searched all around: through the prickly dry grass, on top of the nearby ant pile, and even in my shadow. The pin had dislodged itself somewhere between the toss of my wrist and the grip of the sun’s rays. I fancied where it might have gone, and I smiled thinking about the possibility of someone else finding it one day.

SGLY stands for Smile, God Loves You. Just writing the words puts a smile upon my face. These simple words hold significant meaning to me: God’s joy resides in His decision to love without reservation, condition, or restriction. He EXPECTS me to live with and in joy.

SGLY frees me to be the servant God intended. SGLY frees me to break the boundaries set by fear and allows me to risk more. And SGLY frees me to love with such hopeful expectation that I want nothing more than to please and praise God.

At times I complicate life more than what is necessary: I over think, over analyze, second guess, and react according to my gut instead of His purpose. I put all my concerns in a magic hat and expect to pull out the white bunny which signifies to the world that I am the master of my mess.

Yet, in truth, the magic resides between my flesh and God….that space which I lean on to glean discernment. That space I rest upon and wait to listen to His will and His plan; that exact portion of faith given to me by the Holy Spirit which resides in each of us.

I smiled as I brushed the grass off my straw hat. The pin was lost somewhere on ground, on a bird’s wing, or resting upon a cloud. But the message was to continue….

As I walked out of the park, I passed an elderly man. “Smile, God Loves You,” I whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“I know,” he replied. “He loves you too,” he said with a soft smile upon his face. His smile seemed to linger into a world just beyond what I could see; yet, for a moment I saw the love of Christ in his eyes.

As I headed to the car I felt my heart soar into the air with simple, yet, amazing love. I knew in that moment God was holding me for a second longer before He allowed me to return.

SGLY

Trespassing

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2009-01-03T06:03:00Z

Ever had an encounter with someone that you thought later, “Wow, maybe they shouldn’t have been allowed to get so far on my grounds? They were just a little too close to my front porch. They were trespassing.”

This encroachment to your time or to your privacy oftentimes is allowed by us. Oddly, it doesn’t feel like an unsettling relationship, morally or socially, until the muddy footprints of consequence harden or the exit crumbs of Hansel and Gretel are devoured by our convictions.

My great grandmother lived in the country until the day she died. She had a red rifle next to her nightstand, and she was not afraid to use it, especially during the last many years when she was alone. She was a fiery lady, and didn’t invite trouble. Yet, I heard of more than one story of a stranger sprinting through the fields to get out from under her aim. She protected her land, but more than anything she protected her home. Her home housed her memories, her beliefs, and her dreams. Her home was her mind, body, and soul. Her God and her rifle protected her soul.

Now, most of us don’t carry a red rifle with us every time we open the front door, but we could learn a thing or two about being a little more careful with those we open up our hearts to. In 2008, I met a lot of wonderful people, many of whom I hope will be my friends for the rest of my life. I also met a few crows in the field that I allowed to enter my garden. As usual, the armor of God proved to be the best scarecrow. However, interestingly enough, because I was not wearing the armor the most conniving crow was only mildly deterred. He played with the armor and eventually flew beyond and settled onto my front porch.

I finally recognized the destructive nature of this creature, and understood why I had not seen it for what it was. I immediately ran into the muddy garden and began taking God’s armor off the stick which made up the scarecrow: breastplate of righteousness, belt of truth, shoes of peace, shield of faith, helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit.

On the way back to the porch I passed by my muddy footprints. They hardened; the consequences of my relationship had already begun to show. My convictions fed upon the fruits of my labor. My only exit of salvation was to put on the armor and get rid of the nasty crow which had nested upon my porch.

We all have crows attempt to fly into our life from time to time. They can be returning temptations, people, fears, etc. The name really doesn’t matter. What does matter is our readiness. In 2009 I have decided to wear the armor of God each day, not just let it hang outside on a stick to scare off Satan’s weakest helpers. Nope, I have to be ready to fight the bigger guns, and my weapon of choice is His armor which translates into His strength, His will, and His almighty love.

Here is to a terrific 2009. May we have more friends than crows come our way. And when the crows come, may we find comfort in knowing His armor is the greatest offense and defense against all trespasses and trespassers.

The Unexpected Gift of an Acquaintance

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2008-12-20T23:37:00Z

Nine years ago I attended a different church, lived in different town, and had a different set of friends. Everything was moving along smoothly until my eyes started giving out on me to the point where I couldn’t “fake” being normal as well as I had just months prior. Although my Sunday School class was a remarkable group, I had never shared with them that I had a degenerative eye disease. I kept that to myself.

That same year we lost a Sunday School member to cancer. She specifically asked me to visit her daily during her final weeks. I certainly wasn’t her closest friend; in fact, I was more of an acquaintance. I may never know why she kept asking me to return day after day. She wanted me to sing old hymns and read scripture to her. I gladly obliged, never feeling more humble than when I softly sang, “You are My Sunshine” to her days before she was received by God.

During the time after our class celebrated her life we grew closer than ever. Stories were told, pains revealed, and healing emerged. In this safe haven of His servants, I briefly mentioned my eye condition, but kindly asked my class to refrain from discussing the topic further.

A few weeks later I was invited to a pampering party. We were sipping punch, eating petits fours, and enjoying looking over the makeup, polish, and bath samples. Everyone gradually settled into the hostess’s living room with a shade of nail polish and a full tummy. It was time for the pedicures.

I had stopped painting my toes several months before. I hated to admit it but my recent attempts looked like a three-year-old trying miserably to color within the lines. My cheeks flushed, and I felt the back of my neck heat up with embarrassment. I didn’t know what to do as I looked around the room at all the ladies painting their toes pink, purple, and champagne pearl. Just then something spectacularly unexpected happened…

She certainly wasn’t my closest friend; in fact, she was more of an acquaintance. I may never know what prompted her to come over to me. Without uttering a single word she slipped off my flip-flops and began PAINTING MY TOES PINK! I never felt more humbled and thankful. Her action went well beyond giving me a pedicure. She painted my soul with His love. I quietly thanked her for her simple, selfless act of kindness. I cried that evening looking at my pretty toes.

These experiences remind me of the old quote that goes something like, “there is a time to sit by the fire, and there is a time to chop wood.” She chose to act…she chose to chop wood so I could enjoy the fire.

Indeed there is a time and place for everything, and during this holiday season may we challenge ourselves to reach out beyond “I’ll pray for you” and into the sometimes more dirty work of picking up an axe and chopping wood. We can each be the unexpected gift of an acquaintance.

Thank you, dear friends, family, and acquaintances for all the many times you have chopped wood for me. I am ever so thankful for your warmth and love.

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas!

Kleenex

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2008-12-09T19:47:00Z

Soft, sturdy, strong, flexible…Kleenex: poking out of the box; just waiting attentively like a child holding up his hand to be received and taken. I have taken hold of hundreds of dollars worth of tissues in my lifetime. Some of these small squares of comfort have been given to me by strangers, friends, and relatives. Most I have taken hold of myself, purchased through my own investment. They come in all sizes, patterns, and even softness.

I have used them at every age. For when my block tower fell, when I scraped my knee, and when I learned about the subjectivity of fairness. All these experiences are timeless and follow me into each birthday. As I age the block tower represents different expectations, the stumbles represent different pains and the struggle with fairness represents different points of view; however, the tissues continue to comfort me. They help me wipe away tears of anger, sadness, thankfulness, and joy. And let’s not forget those times I laugh so hard my side hurts and tears tickle my dimples (thanks, Mom).

I have several boxes positioned throughout the house. One box is in the kitchen where I cut onions, have family share time, and read stories from the morning paper. One box is in my bedroom where I study His word and toss around a day’s worth of thoughts. And another box is in the computer room where I write and pay the bills. All of which can bring the need for tissues!!

Funny thing about Kleenex is that they can’t do their job unless you grab one. I can walk by a box a million times over with tears streaming down my face, but the tissue will never be able to wipe my tears away until I receive it and take it to my source of need.

How many times, I wonder, have I walked right past Christ when He is patiently waiting for me to take hold of Him for refuge, strength, and renewal? He wants to share in both my joys and my sorrows. He desires to comfort me. At times, He uses other people in all sizes, patterns, and even varying levels of softness to reach out to me. Other times, He simply waits attentively like a child holding up His hand to be received and taken. What a humbling thought to know Christ patiently waits for each of us.

No sniffle is too small. No joy is insignificant. Best part…the tissues never run out, and they are paid for by His grace and His son. He is, indeed, the world’s Kleenex.

God's Campfire

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2008-12-03T06:43:00Z

Twenty of us gathered around. Some of the folks I knew better than others; some I had never met before. Yet, we all pulled up a chair as we tucked our blankets in tightly around our knees. The warmth of the campfire drew the campers in close. We pushed our puffy-stiff marshmallows onto the ends of makeshift clothes hanger poles and dangled our sweets nearer to the flame. Marshmallows lightly browned and softened, they now provided the perfect sticky warmth necessary to frost the chocolate sandwiched in-between two graham cracker squares.

Scrumptious s’mores weren’t the only thing the fire helped create. On the faces reflecting the fire’s glow I could see the expression of the external mixing with the internal. Outwardly, we felt the warmth. Inwardly, we felt anticipation, joy, and satisfaction.

But I also saw the eternal. God takes care of our physical needs as well as our emotional and spiritual needs. Even in the s’mores themselves I saw God as the refiner, definer, and creator. Let me explain…

I was holding my thoughts and actions over the fire. I stuffed my puffy-stiff self onto the end of a prayer and lifted myself to God. He gently made me a new person, capable of being molded and reshaped according to His design. Although Satan tries to keep me stiff and unchanged, God grabs hold of me and binds me in…front and back, like the graham cracker. But before He fastens me in His protection, He gives me something sweeter than Hershey’s chocolate. God gives me the deposit of the Holy Spirit to rest upon, depend up, and pray for courage and discernment.

After I put this God-given s’more into my soul, I cannot help but be changed. I am made anew: a stronger servant who continues to be humbly in awe of God. I feel anticipation, joy, and satisfaction.

The warmth of His spirit-fire drew the seekers in close. I pulled up a chair, ready to take in a God-given s’more.

Grab Your Fork!

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2008-11-17T15:56:00Z

I wished for a red velvet cake for my tenth birthday and got a vanilla one instead. Sure it was delicious, but it is not what I expected. Consequently, the sweetness wasn’t truly enjoyed due to my misplaced hope.

Recently, I have been guilty of being disappointed in people. My disappointments have left me edgy and borderline bratty…okay, bratty. I feel like I have been given a kitchen full of vanilla cakes from people who should know me better! Did I mention I was acting like a brat?

Okay, so I was given something I didn’t expect from a few friends this week: a reaction, a lack of action, a misperception…. Basically, I was left with a countertop full of vanilla cakes, holding a fork, disappointed, and with a ZERO appetite. I have no control over the fact that they took their time to bake a vanilla cake (or act a certain way, or not act certain way). And I have no control that they choose to give me the cake (that their actions were put into my personal space).

What to do at this point? Well, the ten-year-old in me visualizes a cake destroying party. But that would no doubt leave me with a messy kitchen and a very hyper dog.

I decided to do two things: love the vanilla cakes anyway, and make myself a red velvet cake. First, I whipped up some homemade frosting in the favorite color of each of my pals who brought me a cake. I made the cakes look lovely, and I gave it back to them better than what it was given to me. Basically, I loved them through my disappointment and I shared sweetness instead of bitterness. In return, I freed up my energy and appetite to work on whipping up an outstanding red velvet cake for myself! Not left to depend on others for my happiness, I was able to be content, share, and clear off my counters (get their stuff off my emotional plate).

The entire kitchen smelled wonderful. The cake tasted amazing. Sometimes it is simply too much to expect someone to know you well enough not to disappoint you. It happens; and oftentimes, they don’t even realize they hurt you. It is also good to remember it goes both ways. I am guilty of giving out red velvet cakes to friends who would rather have chocolate chip cookies.

We all disappoint. Thankfully, Christ has given us a kitchen full of bakeware to try again, measure more carefully, not get cooked up for too long, and to enjoy sharing when we get it right. He knows our quirky tastes, our hot buttons, and even our misplaced hopes. His grace is the eternal recipe, and through His sifting we are refined and made into pure ingredients for His purpose.

Although we try our best not to disappoint in this world, we can look forward to one day sitting in God’s kitchen sharing angel food cake together. Yum! Love you, dear friends!

Grab Your Fork!

Yesterday I Became a Runner

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2008-11-06T16:49:00Z

I have always considered myself a sprinter not a runner. Long distance runs were never my thing. I was the anchor gal on the sprint relay team…the final leg runner who took the baton across the finish line. Even then, I was good for a short, intense burst of energy; never anything more. But that changed yesterday. Yesterday I became a runner.

In the last seven days I have attended two funerals and one wedding. The first funeral was for my grandfather. He was 84 years old. The second funeral was for a dear friend’s two-month-old grandbaby. The wedding fell in between and was for my husband’s cousin. The range of emotion of each event rattled my nerves beyond description. I cried for various reasons. But what I did more than anything was something I started about six months ago…I got on the treadmill and pressed the green button.

On the treadmill you are forced to look forward. If you look back you will slip and fall. I didn’t need to look behind me as I knew my competing thoughts were closing in. They knocked on my back like angry beggars. Emotions forced themselves in and snapped at my heels. They each had a name: Loss, Grief, Pain, Sadness, Exhaustion, Numbness. I pressed forward, increasing the speed of the treadmill. I did not realize my jog had turned into a run. I only knew that my competitors were not nor would not ever be allowed a spot on my team. I pushed myself into a new realm. I ran and I ran.

I eventually felt God giving me the “handoff” of His peace. Oddly, I realized He was both behind me and in front of me. He surrounded me in righteousness. His protection was all encompassing; my competitors had dissipated.

I was left gripping the baton of peace. I relinquished my position: I am no longer the anchor gal in the sprint relay. No, life is more than reactions. I am now a purposeful runner for Christ, in this race for the long haul and holding onto His promises. And I will pass this off to Him one day in exchange for a crown.

I run in victory. Thank you, Jesus, thank you.

Ecclesiastes 9:11

A Perfect Fit

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2008-10-27T13:06:00Z

I enjoyed an art festival this weekend. Loads of cotton candy (of which I am pleased to report I refrained from; however, I did inhale), kettle corn, and kids running around with their faces painted. I spent the weekend with my mom, and we had a wonderful time browsing and buying at different booths along the way.

One booth exhibitor in particular caught my eye, not because of what she was selling but because of what she was wearing. She wore a t-shirt which read: I Love My Husband. The jeweled lettering made her look like a walking billboard. We had a light conversation about her t-shirt, and I ended up giving her my name and number to contact me if she ever found another like it in my size. I left her with a smile upon my face and the hope that one day she will call.

I started thinking about how we are each billboards displaying a message for others to see. Some read our shirts, some listen to our words, others watch our actions. Most never say one word to us; yet, we will never know just how many folks actually see us in a given day.

The jewels which made up, “I Love My Husband” shined like Christmas lights when she moved. It looked as if the words themselves were plugged into her heart; an electric source of hope, love, and energy. I wondered if God were to insert a plug into our spirit and soul, what would our billboard read? Would it shine at all or would our message slowly fade, barely twinkling except for on church days?

Our testimony, our relationship with God, and even our relationship with our family and others has to be a personal fit. Uniquely measured, we are challenged each day to be the person God intends for us to be.

God is one size fits all; however, we each have a unique purpose and design. And because of our humanness, the size of our faith changes at times despite His unconditional grace. This is okay too because God is patient and wants us to grow with Him and in Him. The important thing is to keep pressing forward in His love, keep plugging yourself into the Holy Spirit, His word, His peace, and His everlasting power.

What size is your faith today?

What is your living testimony that others see?

The Painter's Brush

sunnyfootprints@yahoo.com (Tiffany Chartier) — 2008-10-22T13:56:00Z

Yesterday I experienced something very cool. I meet a new friend in the morning and shared time with an old friend in the afternoon. The morning was filled with "getting-to-knows" and the afternoon was filled with "remember-whens."

Both were beautiful experiences. I have often related my connections to an artist’s room. I pick up certain pieces of art here and there because I can relate to the story, the image, or the uniqueness of either the location where I found it or the unexplained tug it has upon me. I take the artwork home, invest in the perfect spot, and enjoy the excitement of intertwining another’s world with my own.

Through time I understand not only the painting but the artist better. Through our moments, our glances, our thoughts, our experiences, I cannot help but put some of my soul color onto their canvas. Likewise, their journey intersects with mine for a time and I too am changed by the painter’s touch.

What is left is something different, an enhancement of sorts; a new connection to a story, a more brilliant image, and a deeper tug that can now be explained by intimacy and friendship. Through this sharing we become priceless masterpieces.

The best of it all is simply this: God’s signature is on each canvas. He is the ultimate artist helping us become eternal masterpieces. When I choose to follow His will, I become His brush and my actions, dreams, and experiences are the paints.

Thank you, friends of old and new. Thank you, beautiful masterpieces. Let us never stop creating, reaching out, and coloring our world.