Robin W. Pearson's Blog

“’Tis alright.”

When I read Lone Ranger’s text, I immediately heard her. Her words brought a smile to my face because at the time, she was away at a summer program, and I hadn’t talked to her in a day or so. She usually says this phrase with a hint of a British accent, and it carries myriad meanings:

Things are “mid.”Things are so-so or okay; it could be better, but no complaints.Everything’s right with her world.

Though I try to keep my ears and heart attuned, I don’t always detect the subtle differences. It was much easier when she was a baby when I could identify her every cry. The Lord knows it has taken more than one teen tutorial to explain “mid”—No, not just okay or middle of the road, but bad; ’tis terrible, in fact. Yet, I know Lone Ranger is the main one in our household who uses this phrase, and she wrote it exactly the way she says it.

“All is well” is my version of Lone Ranger’s “’Tis alright.” Many a person has heard or read this answer of mine, whose meaning varies from

I’m losing body parts or bandaging my broken heart.I’m gritting my teeth, but if I say it often and loud enough, I’ll believe it.I trust God’s got it.

Folks who know me know the difference.

My sisters and I debate everything from politics to pound cake recipes, but our parents’ voices? Those we agree on. We can each mimic Mama’s unique inflection or Daddy’s particular tone and can recognize who we’re talking about without saying a name. My characters in my next release, The Stories We Carry, can both quote their parents verse by verse even if they don’t see eye to eye on much else. Memories of them dog and determine their every step.

Don’t we all have people in our lives who know how we sound, react, or behave? Mine can tell you that on Sundays, I like to slip on a caftan that’s lounge-worthy but too sparkly to be pajamas so I can still greet comp’ny; my policy is “If it crawls across my threshold, it doesn’t get escorted out in a cup”; I prefer to binge an entire series than watch a two-hour movie; and I get quiet when I’m angry and funny when I’m uncomfortable. (Now all y’all know, too.) Our near-and-dear folks know why we laugh, what makes us cry, and that we still love them even if they haven’t heard from us in a minute. And if I said, “’Tis alright,” they’d ask me why I sounded like I belonged on Downton Abby instead of on my back porch. And that I rarely sit on my back porch.

Because they know me. They know my voice—and where my voice usually hails from.

Such mirrors my relationship with the Lord, who hails from on high, yet abides within. As one of His own, I should be able to recognize that it’s God speaking, because “…the one who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for Him, and the sheep recognize his voice and come to him. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. After he has gathered his own flock, he walks ahead of them, and they follow him because they know his voice. They won’t follow a stranger; they will run from him because they don’t know his voice.” (John 10:2-5)

Well, I’m running full out to Jesus, and I’m tripping over His feet in my desperation to draw nearer to Him and away from the world. I’m close enough He can clasp my shoulder and chide, “Robin, Robin…” when I take my eyes off the good part, to hear Him whisper “No,” “Yes,” or “Wait,” and trust that He’s telling me “All is truly well,” not merely ’tis alright. In my desire to know Him and be known by Him and to believe Him—not merely believe in Him—I’m striving to imitate and heed my heavenly Father just as I imitate the parents He gave me. I study His Word, front to back and not only the ones in red, to determine His direction and His answers.

And what is the Lord saying at such a time as this?

He is our comfort. “As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you…” (Isaiah 66:13)

He is our hope. “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God.” (Psalm 42:11)

He is our joy. “…I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you…” “(John 16:22)

He doesn’t fail or falter. “God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” (Psalm 73:26)

He’s in charge and nothing surprises Him. “For by Him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through Him and for him. And He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.” (Colossians 1: 16, 17)

He is our peace. “I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

He’s not done. “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” (Romans 8:18)

I don’t always understand His message, and there’s still so much for this babe in arms to learn…and endure. He’ll probably have to Godsplain this same word to me more than a few times in the hard days to come. Yet I know that in terms of my soul, all is well. ’Tis alright.

The post ‘Tis Alright appeared first on Robin W. Pearson.

Last spring 2023, I was invited to be a keynote speaker at the 2024 Vision Christian Writers Conference. My first thought? She asked the wrong person. How embarrassing to have to explain that I was the Robin with the “W.” between her first and last name, not the “other” Robin she’d obviously intended to ask.

But as it turned out, that Robynne had asked this one on purpose—and four more author-birdies to boot. And so began my year-long stomachache.

Don’t get me wrong. Nearly every day for nigh on thirty years, I’ve whipped out my portable pulpit and preached to these folks I live with—one-on-one or one-and-all. So you could say I’m no stranger to delivering a well-timed word. I’ve spoken to fellow homeschoolers and fellow writers, on podcasts and in interviews, in classrooms and on panels.

But something about stepping onto that Mount Hermon stage and into those workshops…I just felt unworthy and unable and unfit. An impostor. What did I have to offer? What could I teach them? Why would they want to hear from me?

My family spent 365+ days pumping me up. Listening to my speech, tutoring me on PowerPoint, brainstorming workshop ideas, praying for me and with me. They used my own words against me, repeated all my encouragement to believe they were good enough, and more important, to trust Jesus who is more than enough. Over and over, they told me, “You can do it.” “No one knows your story but you.” “They wouldn’t have asked you if…” Basically, go, Mama, go. Yet, all I heard was the little voice urging “Stay, Robin, stay.” “You can’t.” “You shouldn’t.”

But I went anyway.

I would love to say that as soon as I climbed onto the airport shuttle, I felt I was soaring with my own birds of a feather. That seeing those redwoods immediately filled me with a peace and a sense of wonder I’d never known. That there was standing room only in my workshops and I strode around that stage in high heels, totally confident, sharing all my favorite things, shouting, “You get a car!” (Or better yet, “You get a book deal!”)

But I cannot.

I will admit that I became tongue tied when Robin Lee Hatcher boarded the van and told me she loved my debut, A Long Time Comin’. That I slept with the lamp on and cried like a baby after I saw a huge black spider in the bathroom (courtesy of those redwoods). That I clung to the lectern the way Noah must have held onto the Ark, as my shelter in a maelstrom of emotions.

When my sweet and wise literary agent, Cynthia Ruchti, hugged me after my keynote, she tried to assure me that it reflected who I was as a person and as an author. Then she whispered, “How many times do you have to hear it before you believe it?”

The thing is, I did believe it. The problem was I didn’t believe I was enough—that person I reflected—which meant that my words must have fallen short as well.

But God, the most important “but” of all.

He had some personal workshopping to do on my heart and mind, what He started as I prepared for Mount Hermon and what He’s yet teaching me since I’ve wended my way back.

Do any of these lessons apply to you and your calling?

I am but a vessel. The Lord formed me, and it’s this Robin He intended to use—my nerves, my fears, my tears, and yes, my stories, my experiences, and my unique publishing journey. I don’t have to jump into some spiritual phone booth and jump out as some bolder, braver, and bestselling superhero to connect with other writers and glorify Him. Perhaps what I consider a flawed delivery will encourage someone else to step out in faith.

“And yet, O Lord, You are our Father.
    We are the clay, and You are the Potter.
    We all are formed by Your hand.” (Isaiah 64:8)

He would, could, and will still transform and renew my mind, even though I’d hoped His plan was to take me to California and transform me into someone else. Wearing orange doesn’t empower me; God does. The same God I know and love, whether I’m working in my pajamas on my sofa or speaking to a hundred people I barely know 3000 miles away. Why do I need to change anything other than my clothes?

“You go before me and follow me.
    You place your hand of blessing on my head.
 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
    too great for me to understand!” (Psalm 139:5, 6)

I do have something to offer, and it’s God given. How I do it is as unique to me as my Southern accent and my bacon grease-stained thumbprint. I need to stop worrying I’m not good enough or the world won’t accept me because I don’t look, sound, write, share, or teach the same way as others.

“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago.” (Ephesians 2:10)

Always travel with a hat. They cover me during stormy weather or from stormy thoughts, which are both under God’s sovereign control. After my speech and each workshop, I had to fight doubt and thoughts like “you could’ve said this better” and “that didn’t make sense” and “I wasn’t as good as….” Such thoughts pummel me when I read my published work or scan reviews. I need my spiritual helmet to guard my mind and drown out the mocking voice that sounds eerily like my own so I can hear God only. (And I don’t need to tell you what mist and drizzle do to my hair!)

“Be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on all of God’s armor so that you will be able to stand firm against all strategies of the devil. For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places.”

“Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Matthew 22:39) As a homeschooling mama, daughter, sister, and friend, I’m used to coming alongside others, loving, teaching, and helping. But this conference showed me that “being neighborly” also entailed encouraging other authors in their calling when I felt least able or qualified. Giving as I’d been given. Sharing my own hard-earned lessons–successes and shortfalls–showed me we all suffer from imposture syndrome. We all need a hand and a hug and a tissue. And at times, we even need a shoe! I will always love Robin Lee Hatcher for putting hands and feet to this command from the book of Matthew and killing that spider. 

“Don’t be concerned for your own good but for the good of others.” (1 Corinthians 10:24)

These are only a few of my life’s “travel tips.” What has God shown you about your life in Him and His life in you? What personal “buts” and scriptural rebuttals could you add to to this?

“We can make our plans,
    but the Lord determines our steps.” (Proverbs 16:9)

The post When God Took My “But” to California appeared first on Robin W. Pearson.

Welcome to the Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt! If you’ve just discovered the hunt, be sure to start at Stop #1, and collect the clues through all the stops, in order, so you can enter to win one of our top 5 grand prizes!

The hunt BEGINS on 3/14 at noon MST/2 pm EST with Stop #1 at LisaTawnBergren.com.Hunt through our loop using Chrome or Firefox as your browser (not Explorer).There is NO RUSH to complete the hunt—you have all weekend (until Sunday, 3/17 at midnight MST/2 am EST)! So take your time, reading the unique posts along the way; our hope is that you discover new authors/new books and learn new things about them.Submit your entry for the grand prizes by collecting the CLUE on each author’s scavenger hunt post and submitting your answer in the Rafflecopter form at the final stop, back on Lisa’s site. Many authors are offering additional prizes along the way!

Hey there, I’m Robin W. Pearson, and I pour everything I learn about love and family as a wife and homeschooling mama of many into my writing. This includes my novels and my devotionals here and the one on the Life Bible app. My contemporary Christian fiction comes with a Southern drawl—my Christy Award-winning A Long Time Comin’, as well as ’Til I Want No More, Walking in Tall Weeds, and my recent release, Dysfunction Junction. In my latest novel…

Three women receive an unexpected phone call, and it leaves them reeling. It forces them to reckon with a lifetime of memories they’ve long tried to bury and forgive what they’ve refused to face head on. What will they choose at this crucial junction in their lives?

At a Crossroads: In Faith or In Fashion?

Actually, we make all kinds of choices every day, and the smallest may say the most about us. One decision I don’t have to stew over is my jewelry selection.The little people know when I come strolling from my bedroom in my pajamas, wearing my wedding band, a pair of earrings, and my necklace, that their mama is dressed for the day, from my purple head scarf to my Nike slides.

As far as my wedding band, I rarely leave the house without it; I’ve even turned the car around to retrieve it. Since I usually travel with most of, if not all, my peeps, it’s fairly safe to say they’re all I need to exude serious “You can’t handle the truth” vibes. Still, I consider my ring the whipped cream atop a seven-scoops-of-ice cream sundae.

But there’s one article I consider more than jewelry, more than adornment, an announcement, or an accessory; it’s an affirmation. The gold cross pendant on my chest testifies to what Jesus carried for me and the faith I carry daily. It was a precious gift I wore without fail…until it just up and disappeared one day.

I turned this house upside down, looking for it. I called every hotel I’d visited and quizzed nearly everyone from the UPS guy to my dog Oscar, hoping they’d seen it. You could say I ripped a page from Tommy Lee Jones’s handbook from The Fugitive. Nothing. Finally, seeing how distraught I was, Songbird gave me her own necklace to wear, a cross of sterling silver. Sad yet grateful, I thought, “Otherwise, how will people know I’m a believer?”

It’s as if I heard Jesus whisper, “How? By your love.” Well, if that ain’t the truth…and the Way and the Life.

Somehow, someway, those few ounces of gold had weighed me down. Yet, Jesus’ sacrifice was meant to make my load lighter. In John 13:35, the Lord said, “Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples.” (John 13:35) That means folks should see Him in the way I treat the least and the lost, feel Him when I reach out in forgiveness, and hear Him through my characters’ voices in my novels.

As I stood at that spiritual crossroads, I decided that it’s okay to love wearing my bright, shiny pendant—along with my studs and my wedding ring. They all say something about what’s important to me. But that cross can’t compare to the wooden one He bore for me. It says that I was—and am—so very precious to Him. And the proof of that love beats within my chest. Not on it.

“As for me, may I never boast about anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ. Because of that cross, my interest in this world has been crucified, and the world’s interest in me has also died….What counts is whether we have been transformed into a new creation.” (Galatians 6:14, 15)

Here’s the Stop #8 Basics: If you’re interested, you can order Dysfunction Junction on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, ChristianBook or at a local, independent bookstore such as Bookmarks in Winston-Salem, NC.Clue to Write Down: EveryLink to Stop #9, the Next Stop on the Loop: Suzanne Woods Fisher site!

But wait! Before you go, I’m offering three books to three entrants—one signed copy of my first three novels (USA only) or an e-book for international winners, your choice. Here’s the link to enter: Robin’s Extra Giveaway. It runs through March 21 at 12 AM, and I’ll announce the winner March 22. It’s super-duper easy to enter and earn additional points. Plus, you can sign up for my newsletter and learn about other giveaways, books, and information about my family and author life.

 

The post Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt Stop #8 appeared first on Robin W. Pearson.

Part of our renovation included adding an entryway to our home. You can’t imagine how I felt when this antique piece we’ve had for years fit just so with only a whisper to spare. Relieved, excited, grateful…I just had to hug somebody, so I threw my arms around Think Tank (much to our contractor’s relief!).

Why a foyer? For lots of reasons.

With our family Bible sitting on the desk below the framed hydrangeas, visitors know exactly where we Pearsons stand: “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” (Joshua 24:15)To give our house a chance to make a nice “first impression”We have an official spot to meet and greet, right in front of my maple-colored door.Folks get somewhere to doff their coat and hat and get situated before passing through or a place to chat with Hubby and me while they wait for their peeps to finish playing with ours.We can offer the welcome mat but not necessarily the welcome home. People can come inside, but not everybody needs to come all the way inside.

Mmmm…that last part. While I’m not “patching together a family the way [Annabelle] was piecing together a house” in Dysfunction Junction, this new foyer actually says a lot about little old me. The part of me that needs constant updating.

Folks close to me say I struggle with letting them all the way in, and I’m not talking about the brick structure that is my house, but the flesh-and-blood home called my heart. They’ve called me out on how nimbly I dodge questions that take more than a smile or a witticism to respond to, that try to venture further than my protective, self-deprecating barrier. That wariness also goes for change dressed up like “opportunity,” for what makes me feel uncomfortable and nervous and unable. I struggle to open the door to possible missteps or what might take me out my comfort zone. As I sip my coffee dressed in my sweats, peering through the glass in my foyer—figurative and literal—I wonder, Can I trust you? Will I get hurt or fail?

Do you really need to come all the way inside?

And when I do open up, it’s only wide enough for folks or opportunities to squeeeeeze through by the hair of their chinny chin chin. That is, if they make it past the storm door. I tend to take the “Above all else, guard your heart” very seriously. (Proverbs 4:23). At the first sign of smoke on the emotional horizon, I consider battening down the hatches and moving on without waiting to see if it’s friendly or enemy fire. When Mama taught me the benefits of a well-built storm door, I took those lessons and applied them to my heart. Much like my characters, Annabelle and Charlotte, I’ve learned to keep myself to myself.

Am I alone in this? Do you welcome the world with open arms, or do you give it a wary side eye? Do you carefully curate what you share, like the decorations in your home? Most importantly—have you kept the Lord on the outside and gazed at Him through the glass, “safe” on the inside? When you did open the door, did you tell Him, “Wait here. Make yourself comfortable in this small space. There’s stuff everywhere, and we’re unprepared to receive guests.”?

Well, I found that it wasn’t enough that I answered the Lord’s knock and unlocked the door. He wasn’t content with hanging out on my welcome mat, with merely peeking over my shoulder at what was beating deeply inside, beyond the entryway. A first impression is akin to the “appearance” or “physical stature” that the Lord dismissed when it came to Israel’s first king. “For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7) To abide—my word for the past couple of years—entailed flinging wide both doors and allowing Him full access to every room, where He can see all the dishes stacked in the sink, every unmade bed, all the unfinished pages.

Why? Because visiting isn’t enough, not for the God in whom “we live, and move, and have our being” (Acts 17:28). At this point in my faithwalk, He has moved in all the way. There’s no cooling His heels in the foyer, however welcoming and cozy it might be. At one time, He was standing at the door, knocking, but He is Emmanuel, my word not just for 2024, but the Living Word, for always.

When the Lord makes Himself at home, you experience growing pains, much as your house does when you add/remove/remodel a space. (Imagine that scene from the Grinch!) Our own renovation took way longer than we imagined—and honestly, I’m not sure I can use the past tense—and construction dust got e v e r y w h e r e. But maturing in the faith takes even longer; it’s lifelong. And Jesus leaves no person, relationship, habit, plan, dream, or heart untouched, unchanged, unmoved, or unbroken…then transplanted, rebuilt, repaired, rearranged, and redeemed. That’s what He can do for Charlotte, Annabelle, and Frankie should they open the door to Him and each other in Dysfunction Junction. That’s what He does for me, every minute and every hour. My Lord doesn’t always make sure I’m dressed and ready with my lipstick on, so when He provides unexpected opportunities to forgive or heal or love, they catch me unawares. I don’t always extend a warm welcome; I try to show them my family Bible and hope that’s enough. God makes me open it, live it, and then step aside to let these opportunities all the way inside. My home—my heart, my life—is all His and He knows every room like the back of His nail-scarred hand, after all.

Yet and still…I love my foyer and my storm door. More often than not, you’ll find my exterior door thrown wide open to let the sun stream through the glass, even when its rays play tug of war with the clouds on overcast days. Mind you, my storm door stays locked because I am my mama’s daughter, and some habits don’t break; they only bend and stretch. But as soon as Oscar gives the paw’s up, come on in.

The post Opening Up appeared first on Robin W. Pearson.

Three years ago, I got it into my head that what our dining room needed was wallpaper. So I googled orange (I know…right?), and the world opened up to me.

Not so, said Hubby, who closed his eyes and his wallet. “Let’s take some measurements and estimate the cost.” He’s not always a measure twice, cut once type of dude, but when it came to this particular design choice, he had to slow my wallpaper roll. I shifted to neutral though my imagination went into overdrive.

The thing is, when we found our house, I fell in love with it exactly the way it was. It felt like us—the paint colors, the distinct room layout and their number and sizes, the yard blooming with flowers I didn’t have to plant (or kill). But I had to put my own Pearson stamp on it. To make this house truly our house with a renovation, changing some things over time as we lived in it and figured out what worked and what didn’t.

Kinda sounds like our marriage.

I love the way God made Hubby. Tall, with a high-top fade to match. Funny and sweet, but a doer and a go-getter. Very smart and outgoing. In fact, he still is, minus a few inches of hair. He’s the cheddar cheese on my hamburger. Have you ever heard, “Never met a stranger”? That’s Hubby. Totally comfortable in his own skin and able to make you feel at home in yours.

Yet and still, everybody can use a tweak here and there. A prayerful nudge and reshaping, some growth. I certainly do, and more than a tweak. Over time, I’ve stamped Hubby with my own “W” as we’ve adjusted and changed over time, figuring out what works in our relationship and what doesn’t.

See what I did there? And while we’re talking about wallpaper…

I watched and waited for three years, checking out web sites now and then to make sure my precious Schumacher paper remained in stock. I dropped hints when I noticed sales. I ordered samples “just to see.” I sought out Hubby’s opinion on other brands and styles. I researched, researched, researched how-tos and design ideas and accosted experienced friends and Home Depot workers, determined that we could do the work ourselves and save money on installation. After all, didn’t I organize my own wedding for 250 guests? Haven’t we built several houses and (nearly) survived a remodel? Aren’t we the homeschooling parents of seven?

Hubby slowly went from a “no go” to a “not yet” right in time for our infamous renovation, when our careful planning led us to broaden our minds along with a wall or two. And lo and behold, we ordered it. We committed. We said yes to the wallpaper! No, not nearly as meaningful as my wedding ring, but we were nearly as wide-eyed and speechless—and scared out of our wits—when we opened that long rectangular box and gulped, We’re really doing this!

Mmm-hmmm. Very much like marriage.

Twenty-nine years ago, the jury was split: some folks told us we were too young and  inexperienced to turn a college romance into a marriage. That we should wait if we did it at all, save a ton first because love comes at a cost. Others encouraged us to go for it, that it was possible to make a success of the long-term us even though the short-term us didn’t know what we were doing. Then, we disregarded all the helpful do it/don’t do it advice and we said, “I do”—just like we did this time, only to the wallpaper.

“Through wisdom a house is built,
And by understanding it is established;
By knowledge the rooms are filled
With all precious and pleasant riches.” (Proverbs 24:3, 4)

Those four double rolls sat for months as we waited and continued to study…and ignore people who peppered us with comments like “Are you sure?” “I did it once, and that was enough!” Even our contractor who could build furniture with his eyes closed shook his head and pronounced, “I’d never attempt that!” I started to wonder, Could we do this? Did we buy enough? Would we waste hundreds of dollars? Why didn’t we get the plumb line Janet McHenry recommended? What was this novice thinking, buying an unpasted, paisley print? By the time the weekend finally arrived, honestly, this wallpaperer-to-be was about as nervous as any bride-to-be.

Yet, as it turns out, God’s plan and timing and choosing and design was so much better. If we’d bought it years ago, we would’ve spent more covering the walls we opened up. We might have hired an expert back then instead of persevering and working together. We bickered a little because we both know too much, but we laughed a lot more and even sang along to good music. And that feeling you get from a job (mostly/kinda) well done? There’s nothing like it. There’s nothing like us.

Don’t get me wrong. All those naysayers? Totally right. It was a doozy. We used too much paste in some places and not enough in others. There are seams that don’t quiiittte line up, places we had to mix and match. There was patching and more patching and repainting of trim. One roll had a defect skipping through it that still needs to be addressed. . . We’ve gained and lost in our marriage, gone to bed angry, moved one time too many, broken promises and struggled for words. There’s lots of patching up and making up and times we don’t quiiiite line up. Still, this once-and-done, one-wallpaper-project, one-man woman absolutely loves what we’ve done together. What we’ve made together.

Why does it…we…work? Because of God’s plan and timing and choosing and design. Our pattern is forgiving and flexible. Life’s not all paisley and flowers; there are gaps we trust Him to fill and heal. But if you gaze into the large mirror placed just so—God’s Word—you’ll see our happy and grateful faces reflected in it, in Him; you can’t see the rough spots. There we are, the dapper dude in the “Dad to the 7th power” pullover with the silvery five o’clock shadow towering over the woman with the same brown glasses, chin hair, and T-shirt that reads “Castles, Shoes, & Bippidi Boppidi Boos.” It’s only when you get up close or look for them that you focus on our imperfections. Er, the wall’s.

Yet, when you stand back and behold the big picture, you can enjoy the beauty of what the LORD has done, not Hubby or me. And you can guess which one I’m talking about.

“Set me as a seal upon your heart,
    as a seal upon your arm,
for love is strong as death,
    jealousy is fierce as the grave…
If a man offered for love
    all the wealth of his house,
    he would be utterly despised.” (Song of Solomon 8:6, 7)

 

 

The post Wall-to-Wall Love: A Renovation Story appeared first on Robin W. Pearson.

I don’t remember this photo. I believe my daddy took it one Easter Sunday morning nearly my lifetime ago. My sisters seem to be working hard to make sure I sat still long enough for him to capture this moment.

They’re not the only ones who worked hard. My folks made sure we were always well dressed, well fed, well educated, and just plain well loved. No Easter was complete without new dresses, bobby socks or tights, and gloves. Every Sunday dinner plate had to have two meats and plenty of veggies—my cheeks still tell the story! We had to tote all our books home from school every day, whether we had homework or not, and we weren’t supposed to turn on the television after school. Mama would check the back of the TV set to see if it was warm, just to make sure we obeyed. No, my folks didn’t play.

Both my mama and daddy worked full time, but that didn’t keep her from coming home and cooking a full meal every night for her husband and three girls. After dinner, we all congregated in the den because we didn’t have a man cave or a play room to run off to so we could enjoy some “me time.” When J.R. got shot on Dallas, we were all tuning in. Together. No, we didn’t eat promptly at 5 p.m. every day, but then, neither do the Pearsons!

Everybody knew who my daddy was; he’d just show up at school when I least expected it, and that was fine by me—not that it mattered if it wasn’t. And somehow, despite managing all the responsibilities at home and at work, Daddy made it to almost every football game on Friday night to see me march at halftime in the band.

It wasn’t all fun and games and dressing up in our Easter finery. Housework was a real thing. My sisters and I used to tiptoe around the house on Saturday mornings, trying to let Mama sleep in as long as possible. You see, we knew the minute she woke and started playing Shirley Caesar, it was game on! We’d spend the rest of the day cleaning everything from the floorboards to the top of the door frames. She’d pull out every dish in the refrigerator so we could scrub every shelf and empty an entire can of Pledge so we could polish every stitch of furniture. Believe me, we paid the price for the song “No Charge.”

My parents’ work didn’t stop at the front door, and their love for their family didn’t end when they clocked in at the office. If I got sick at school, Mama picked me up early. When we needed extra money, Daddy stayed late to earn it. We girls didn’t have everything, but we lacked nothing.

Yes, they did everything they could to provide for us girls; in fact, they’re still giving and loving and doing. But “if you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!” (Matthew 7:11)

You see, nothing compares to God’s provision, here and now—“in the land of the living”—and forever, which started the moment I believed Christ lived, died, and rose for me. (Psalm 27:13; John 3:36) That’s the reason for all that Easter chocolate, Sunday dresses, and ham with pineapple glaze.

The Lord is ever working on our behalf, seeing to it that we enjoy the love of family and friends; the security of a home; the blessings of ministry and worship; the responsibilities of teaching, giving, and working within our four walls and beyond our front door.

But God’s love doesn’t stop at the door of this life: He goes all the way. When Jesus pronounced, “It is finished” on the cross, that didn’t mean death ended His work. That was just the beginning! Death was no match for Him. Pilate might have thought he had power over who lived and who died, but Jesus gave His all; it wasn’t taken from Him. The cross only pointed the way, and the stone couldn’t contain Him. God’s saving grace covers eternity, and His indwelling Spirit guides my every moment of every day.

So, Charlie Brown, this is what Easter is all about—not rooting for eggs, fancy clothes, family gatherings, and singing “At the Cross.” All wonderful things. It’s about Jesus’ sacrifice at the cross, the power of His Resurrection, and the love of God, the only good and perfect gifts.

My Father’s life-saving work is never done.

He is risen!

“And this is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent.” (John 17:3)

 

 

 

The post Picture Perfect appeared first on Robin W. Pearson.

Our Oscar is one of the most particular dogs I know, especially when it comes to food. He had to try several dog food brands ranging from ridiculous to reasonable before he finally “agreed” to one.

My parents are raising his brother, Michael. He hasn’t met a treat he won’t eat—and if you don’t believe me, his tiny pot belly bears me out. But Oscar? Nope. While he never passes up bacon or a chunk of baked chicken, he turns up his wet little nose at almost everything else. Brown Sugar is sweet enough—translation, crazy patient—to coax him to take a t-bone still covered with bits of steak. She’ll hold it for him until he decides he has juuussst enough dog in him to take it. Don’t even think about giving him a rawhide.

So, trust me. When Maxine accuses Teddy in ’Til I Want No More of acting like a dog with a bone, my four-legged baby is the furthest thing from my mind. My “character” wears satin hair rollers to bed, keeps socks on her cold feet, and has a name that rhymes with Bobbin.

Unlike Oscar, my mind isn’t that picky about what it sinks its teeth into, and it doesn’t let go. Nobody has to convince me to take firm hold of a worrisome thought, a memory, or minutes-old anger. I may forget why I walked into the kitchen, but a snippet of twenty-year-old guilt? Never. It would take the strength of Samson to wrest that from my mental grip. I can chew on regret, a bad decision, or a hurt, savoring their bitter flavor like it was that steak Oscar couldn’t bring himself to eat. Just make mine a ribeye.

My novel’s mini-me is the same way. Maxine condemns herself for her past (and present) failures no matter what anybody else tells her to the contrary. No matter what the Lord tells her in His word, through her dreams, or during premarital counseling. She calls herself every name but a child of God, and she answers to them, too.

Maxine tends to focus on one issue, but I spread my fears thin, the way I butter my toast. Not only do I fret over what did happen, I obsess over what might happen and what could’ve happened (That car almost hit us! See why I don’t want Think Tank driving on this busy road? If that driver had pushed us into the shoulder, we would’ve been smushed by those trucks! Then who would teach English and do hair?). I worry good things (My new book’s coming out!) will turn into bad things (What if no one reads it, and if they do, they don’t like it?). I assume bad things will get worse (I got over the virus, but will it affect my lungs, my hair, our thinking…?). As if I don’t have enough going on over here, I take on your business and make it my business (Why won’t they…? Shouldn’t she be…? They don’t need to…). Then I worry about my worrying (Why isn’t my faith big enough? God must think I’m a hot mess.).

None of it tastes very good.

But Paul in Philippians 4:8 says, “Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.” He doesn’t say “whatever things are possible, likely, practical, heartbreaking, or impossible” but urges us to cling to what is true, good, and honorable.

That’s the food my hungry soul craves, yummy fare prepared with grace and mercy. I need to stop gnawing on any old bone that occupies me for a moment, but ultimately, doesn’t satisfy.

For those bones are lies, scraps the enemy left me. And he didn’t even serve them on a plate; he left them scattered about the floor for me to wander in and happen across them. To sniff at and accept, believing leftovers were good enough.

They’re not. Not for Maxine nor for Oscar. Not for me. My tastes are more refined…more particular.

God has set a place for me, and when He invites me to dine, He calls me by name. Not the name my mama uses, or the one my friends call me or what my enemies whisper behind my back. Not even my married name. The name Father God gave me when I answered His call: Mine, He says. “You are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1) The Lord feeds me all manner of good things—truth, love, light, goodness, fellowship, forgiveness—’til I want no more.

“For He satisfies the longing soul,
And fills the hungry soul with goodness.” (Psalm 107.9)

 

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a long time comin’

 

 

Right before Thanksgiving, Mama told me she had loved my grandmother well. Not merely a lot, but well. “I cried at her funeral, but I didn’t break down,” she said. “I knew I had done everything I could for her while she was alive.”

Now, I know how much she misses my grandma. Barely a day goes by that Mama doesn’t talk about something my grandma did or said, or how Brown Sugar smiles like her, and Lone Ranger “looks like her people.” Mama keeps up my grandparents’ gravesites, much as Elisabeth tended to her husband’s in my novel, A Long Time Comin’. She may not be the kind to weep and wail, but Mama’s love runs deep and wide like the roots of the trees in my backyard.

And like those roots when parts poke from the ground, her words tripped me up. I must confess I didn’t cherish those years with my grandmothers as much as I should have; I took them for granted, the way my little people let lazy summer evenings slip through their fingers. I didn’t hold close my time with them until it was nearly time to let them go. 

As a child, I cried during sleepovers, forcing Mama to drive over at midnight to pick me up, if I made it that long. Sometimes my visits during my college years happened after Daddy prodded, “Did you visit your grandma?” because I fancied myself too busy with friends, days at home too few. I always planned to go by “the next time.” Later, as my grandmothers held Crusader, their great-grandchild, I realized all I had let go by me. So no, my tears didn’t gently roll down my cheeks at their funerals; they were fat, mournful drops that plopped on my chest, heavy with regret for time lost, not invested.

Sometimes, there’s only the last time, not a next time.

Yes, I loved my grandparents. I laughed with my sisters and my cousins while we watched soap operas in front of Grandma Vi’s television. I poked around in Grandma Hallie’s jewelry boxes when she was of the mind to let us. I peeked at the snake in the tank in Grandpa Shaler’s basement and shrugged whenever he told me, “You talk like a little white guhl.” I said my grace over their cake, cabbage, and cornbread unaware that it was Grandma Vi’s prayers and Grandma Hallie’s gospel music that truly fed me. They loved me well.

That love wasn’t just a feeling they had. It was a seed, like the acorns that thunk to the ground. They nurtured that love with what they did, said, and planted, the way those acorns would’ve embedded themselves in the soil if TD hadn’t picked them up. The willing, faithful, and gracious love they passed on to their children and to their children’s children is why my own little people can tell you, “This smells like Grandma’s house!” when a familiar whiff floats up from somewhere or other. Why they can shake their heads and warn, “Watch out for Papa. He’s quiet but he’s deadly at board games.” Why they know they can fly through our house but they’d best creep at Grandpa’s. Why they don’t whistle within a mile of Emmy’s front door and they sit like the dead in her car.

All my grandparents’ seeds are bearing fruit in the stories I tell of the stories they lived. And I hope I do right by them. The right I didn’t have the sense to do when I had the chance. The right I try to do by the people in my life—not solely those who have gone before, but those who yet remain, stubborn and determined to do just as they please. The right Jesus intends us to do when He commands us, “…love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13:34-35)

I pray you do the same, loving the ones you’re with and who are still with you. Sisters and brothers, aunties and uncles, friends, parents, cousins. Share and bless and thank and help and scold and forgive and feed and sow, throwing your whole self into the good work that love calls you to do, even when it’s uncomfortable and inconvenient. Love so well that one day, if and when you weep, it’s not solely for what you miss, but for what you remember, and your tears are preparing your heart for future planting.

“I must work the works of Him who sent Me while it is day; the night is coming when no one can work.” John 9:4

 

 

If you look closely—as in turn the photo upside down and squint for ten minutes—you might detect what it took us eighteen laps to spot: a hill. And of course, the moment we laid eyes on it on our fifth day of walking, we felt it. Immediately. Our thighs started to burn; our calves tightened up. We huffed and puffed, though nary a stick moved, let alone the brick on our house.

The next day, as we rounded the turn, Hubby shook his head and pronounced, “Here comes that hill.” Not that he actually spotted it; he only knew where it was. And just like that, our time together in the sun, talking and laughing away from the little people while picking up the occasional acorn and dodging spiderwebs, transformed from a healthy, brisk walk into…(gulp!) exercise.

Much the same way my writing sometimes seems less like ministry and more like (sigh…) work. When I look at my laptop, I think, “Here comes that hill.”

At those moments, I remind myself that work is a blessing from God, not a curse. Exercise conditions the heart; it doesn’t break it. It’s my perspective of the hills in my life that should change, not their presence.

How do I stop focusing on the hills? By looking to the Word who created them.

They come with the territory. “Beloved, do not think it strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened to you; but rejoice to the extent that you partake of Christ’s sufferings, that when His glory is revealed, you may also be glad with exceeding joy.” (1 Peter 4:12, 13)

Hills are natural landforms, just as work is a part of life. Even when I face unexpected demands on my time, conflicts, and needs, I can trust God knows what’s waiting around the corner. He will carry me up and over. What unexpected hills has God helped you cross in your calling?

Gird your loins. “This Book of the Law shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate in it day and night, that you may observe to do according to all that is written in it. For then you will make your way prosperous, and then you will have good success.” (Joshua 1:8)

Hubby and I are creaky now. Our knees pop when we stand; we grunt when we bend over. With that in mind, we do some serious stretching before we move these bodies that crave the sofa. In the same way, we faithfully prepare our hearts and minds for the walk of faith so we can be “ready to give an answer for the hope that is in us.” (1 Peter 3:15) How have you readied yourself for the unexpected, practically and spiritually?

Climbing builds muscles. “And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope. Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” (Romans 5:3-5)

Platform building ranks right up there with exercise as my “favorite” hill to climb. Yet, both have blessed my heart. I’ve made precious cross-country connections, spread the Gospel, and introduced new readers to my work by stretching myself with social media. What blessings have you experienced by climbing outside your comfort zone?

Your hills ain’t like mine. “There are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are differences of ministries, but the same Lord. And there are diversities of activities, but it is the same God who works all in all.” (1 Corinthians 12:4-6)

Our homeschooling family’s needs are unique, and we have our own way of gettin’ it done and loving on each other. So it is with my writing; my style and manner of loving on my readers are all my own. God also writes my name on my trials, my “hills”—in cursive, in bold, or in all caps—so I need not get confused trying to clamber up someone else’s. And He can always hear me coming. Sometimes I’m running; often, I’m walking; but I’m always on my knees. How have you been gifted by God, in testing and by blessing?

Inclines lead to higher ground. “My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing.” (James 1:2-4)

Sometimes I forget how much I love what I do in the midst of the doing, how blessed I am to write, teach, and live according to His will. It’s during those precious moments at the top of the hill God has taught me to hum, “My soul looks back in wonder, ‘How I got over!” What new songs has your soul learned to sing?

God, creator of a thousand hills and the beasts that roam on them. “But as for you, you meant evil against me; but God meant it for good…” (Genesis 50:20)

Maybe you didn’t see it coming. And it may mean adjusting to new demands on your time or learning a new skill, but this unexpected “hill” was uniquely designed by God and placed just so to help you, not hurt you. There’s beauty in learning to say, “I need help. I can’t do this.” It’s then you lean on the God who can. What has been your most painful—and valuable—lesson?

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

 

 

 

I don’t know about you, but food shortages and rising grocery prices make my heart and pocketbook quake. Oh, the joys of feeding a family of nine plus one! What a blessing that my four-legged baby doesn’t eat much. When loaves of bread started disappearing from shelves, we stored away yeast, boxes of cornmeal, and pounds of King Arthur’s flour. And after our eyes met over the last priceless slice of Oscar Mayer bacon, Hubby and I stocked our refrigerators and freezers.

So, you can imagine my…let’s call it “dismay”…when Hubby walked into the garage and found someone had left the door open to the deep freezer. For about thirty hours, by our calculations. Pounds of raw pizza dough, ground beef, flank steak, chicken wings…all thawed. Once I closed my mouth and put away my pointing finger, we refroze the dough and planned our week’s menu to make use of the meat. Believe me, Alexander wasn’t the only who had a “terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.”

Having “extra.” Keeping our storehouses and medicine cabinets full reassures me that I can provide for my peeps, even if it’s an emergency bag of potato chips, a bowl of ramen, or some pork chops. Even though I know Hubby could make a meal out of mayonnaise, squash, and ice if he was pressed, my worst-case-scenario, be-prepared mindset served us well in July when we were all sick and unable to drive anywhere or see anyone.

But we have concerns beyond the temporary, physical issues (supposedly) within my control. We must answer the calls of the heart and spirit. Eternal matters. I can’t satisfy these needs with a spare peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a Band-Aid. 

What provides me a measure of true peace in these turbulent times? Who provides real answers in the unknown? Where do I go when I’m afraid?

Again, I reach into my storehouse: the Word.

In Genesis 41, the pharaoh recounted his dreams of the seven fat cows and seven lean cows and the seven fat heads of grain and the seven blighted heads. Joseph explained that the healthy cows and the swollen grain represented a season of abundance, seven years when Egypt would experience great prosperity. Following that seven-year period, a famine would besiege Egypt and the surrounding land, and its severity would completely erase even the memory of the plentiful years.

That’s where Joseph came in. He was to lead supervisors and “collect one-fifth of all the crops during the seven good years…[and] gather all the food produced in the good years that are just ahead and bring it to Pharaoh’s storehouses.” (Genesis 41:34-36 NLT)

We, too, have enjoyed good years, times of plenty, moments of rejoicing, seasons of thanksgiving and exuberant praise. Births, fruitfulness, answered prayer, prosperity, days when I could run and jump without wincing or limping, lots of laughter and singing. I could fry bacon to my heart’s content.

And we’ve also had seasons of skinny cows and blighted wheat.

[image error]

 

Rejection, loneliness, betrayal. A fire. Dire diagnoses. The two-year relocation-that-wouldn’t-quit. Flooding and storms. Lawsuits. Quarantine and COVID-19. Our parents’ surgeries and setbacks. Writing frustrations, career changes. Fear and anxiety. Miscarriages. Financial loss. The unknown, the unexpected, the unanticipated…the “still to come.”

In these times of famine, I’ve felt like the widow of Zarephath in 1 King 17:12 when she told the prophet Elijah, “As surely as the Lord your God lives…I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die.”

Yet, we haven’t died.

Joseph was told to “Store [the food] away, and guard it so there will be enough food in the cities. That way there will be enough to eat when the seven years of famine come to the land of Egypt. Otherwise this famine will destroy the land.” And so he did. When the land suffered, people came to Egypt for food, for life.

During my lean, dry seasons, I hunger for true nourishment. Not for devotionals, sermons, or podcasts. For God. When I face the unknown, my faith in the God I know forces me to take one shuddering breath at a time. To walk in trust and obedience. I reach into my storehouse and withdraw a measure of joy and hope—what I built up during the fat years—to carry me. To remind me of God’s steadfast goodness and love when I’m in danger of losing the “memory of the plentiful years.”

Yet a spiritual drought also occurs in times of fatness, or abundance. When all my physical needs are met, and I have a smile on my face. On date nights, while eating pizza with the family, or surfing social media. Even then, my spirit-woman thirsts for His wisdom, mercy, and grace. And it’s especially then I can build up reserves to use in my time of need.   

At times, I don’t have “extra.” I have just enough faith to keep my own peeps and me on our feet—or to cover us, huddled together on the sofa. Other days, I’m Joseph, reaching into my supply to provide encouragement and support for myself and others.

Right now, are you thriving in Egypt or suffering in Zarephath? Giving or in need? It’s time to reach into your storehouse for the life-giving Word. [image error]

“And Elijah said to her, ‘Do not fear; go and do as you have said, but make me a small cake from it first, and bring it to me; and afterward make some for yourself and your son. For thus says the Lord God of Israel: ‘The bin of flour shall not be used up, nor shall the jar of oil run dry, until the day the Lord sends rain on the earth.’ 

“So she went away and did according to the word of Elijah; and she and he and her household ate for many days. The bin of flour was not used up, nor did the jar of oil run dry, according to the word of the Lord which He spoke by Elijah.” (1 Kings 17:13-16)

Photo by David von Diemar on Unsplash, Photo by Boris Dunand on Unsplash,