When my grandchildren were little, there was nothing as sweet as seeing their little fingerprints all over the glass of my windows. It reminded me that they had been there, leaving their precious mark on my windows and my heart. In the same way, God has left His fingerprints on my life. The Bible tells me that He knit me together in my mother’s womb. His handiwork—His fingerprints—are part of the very fiber of our lives.
I’ve long believed that God sends people into our lives. Sometimes I don’t recognize them as quickly as I should; at other times it’s so obvious I can’t ignore it. This past year I had the privilege of meeting Kent Annan, a missionary to Haiti.
I first heard about Kent from a friend, an avowed agnostic who’d read Kent’s book Following Jesus through the Eye of the Needle and knew I’d enjoy the story. I ordered the book and started to read it in fits and starts.
Then a month later someone else mentioned Kent’s name and mailed me a second copy of the book. By this point I’d gotten the message: God wanted me to read the book. I did and was deeply touched by the powerful message. Then to my surprise I discovered that Kent Annan lived just a few miles from me. I got in touch with him, and the two of us met for lunch.
As we shared the meal, Kent told me that his father was a pastor. Kent had lived a pretty normal life before his call to the mission field. He’d never rebelled against his family or his God. His spiritual life, Kent said, had been filled with “little conversions,” small steps of faith that drew him closer to God and lit his own life path.
I thought about what Kent shared that day and realized I’ve had little conversions too. They were the quiet mornings when I prayed and felt His presence and His love, guiding me, urging me to step forward in faith and assuring me He would always be at my side.
Thank You, Father, for Your presence and peace, and for the confidence in knowing that You are always with me.
One of my favorite verses
God’s Word is alive and is sharper than a double-edged sword. It cuts all the way into us, where the soul and the spirit are joined, to the center of our joints and bones. And it judges the thoughts and feelings in our hearts.
HEBREWS 4:12 (NCV)
A few years back I was seated on a plane next to a teenage boy who was the talkative sort. We struck up a conversation and chatted for a good portion of the flight. I talked to him about my work and then showed him my current knitting project. Both are passions of mine, along with my family.
Although we’d been talking the entire flight, I didn’t really know what his passions were. He was a rather cheerful young man and, like our younger son, he was a runner, and was active in his school and church, but little else. So I asked him what his passion was.
He turned and looked at me and didn’t answer for several moments. “I only have one real passion,” he told me.
I sat up to take notice.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “I want to share what Christ did for me with everyone I meet.”
I learned a valuable lesson from that young man: My life may be filled with passions, but none are as important as my relationship with my Savior.
Lord, thank You for the passions in my life, but don’t ever let me forget that You are first and foremost.
Work on me, dear Father! I feel as though I am under construction, made with the most perfect supplies, crafted in the image of the Almighty God Himself—built up with all the saints, fitted for Your honor and glory. Make me worthy to serve You!
There are no two ways about it: My husband Wayne and I are about as different as any two people can be. He’s introspective and quiet; I thrive on being around people. When we met, it was just he and his mother, whereas I came from a large extended family with lots of cousins. He’s a night owl, and I’m a morning person.
For the last thirty-seven years, for the most part, we’ve managed to love and accept each other’s strengths and weaknesses. There are times, however, when I can’t help being frustrated with him.
Last week, I wanted to go to a movie, but he didn’t. We stayed home. I wanted to invite friends over for dinner; the two of us ended up watching television. An exhibit on 9/11 had come to Tacoma: I wanted to go; Wayne didn’t. Frustrated, I went without him, grumbling the entire way.
I wasn’t quite done being upset when I was dressing for church the following morning. After the singing—I sang, Wayne didn’t—the pastor began his sermon.
I don’t remember the topic; in fact, I don’t think I can even tell you which Bible passage he was preaching on. But at one point he said, “The grass isn’t greener on the other side of the fence. It’s greener where it’s watered.”
Wayne looked at me and I looked at him. He smiled and so did I. I offered my husband my hand, and we scooted just a bit closer to each other. We’d both heard something we needed to hear.
Lord, thank You for my husband, for his quiet strength and his love.
One of my favorite verses
The LORD is good. When trouble comes he is a strong refuge. And he knows everyone who trusts in him.
NAHUM 1:7 (NLT)
I have a keen interest in unusual street names. In fact, I’m on the lookout for street signs whenever my husband Wayne and I get in the car.
One of my favorites is Baby Doll Road, which isn’t far from where we live. There’s a road called Noisy Hole in Mashpee, Massachusetts, and another named Succabone in Bedford Hills, New York. One that made me sit up and take notice was Hell for Certain Road in Hyden, Kentucky. I can’t say what kind of people live there, but the name certainly got my attention.
Just recently in our own hometown of Port Orchard, Washington, Wayne and I drove past a street sign that I’d never noticed before. It was on a road I normally travel two or three times a week, and not once had this sign caught my attention: EASY STREET.
“Quick,” I told Wayne, pointing to the sign, “take a right.”
He cast me a befuddled look. “Whatever for?”
“I want to see the houses of the people who live on Easy Street.” I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a look. I wasn’t really surprised to find that the homes looked very much like those in other neighborhoods close by. But as we wound our way down Easy Street, Wayne and I made a startling discovery: It was a dead end.
Lord, sometimes I’m guilty of wanting to live on Easy Street. Thank You for leading me down the path that leads to You.
Dearest Father, I long to leap with sure feet from one mountain of faith experience to another. Let me always start and end with You. Guide me through this day, Father. Walk with me, teach me to leap, help me to grow. Encourage and fortify me forever as Your child.
One of my favorite verses
But as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives and he will stand upon the earth at last.
JOB 19:25 (NLT)
I’d always been a stay-at-home mom, working as time allowed, but when my children were grown, my goal was to get out of the house and become part of the business community. After ten years of working hard from home, I proudly signed my name to a lease for my own office and found myself facing hard decisions in a world completely foreign to me.
I knew I needed help, but where was I going to get it? As a first step, I contacted some successful businesswomen in our town—Lillian, a lawyer; Betty, a bank vice president; Diana, a social worker; Stephanie, a business owner; and Janelle, a real estate broker. I invited them to tea and asked their advice. We had such a good time together that we decided to meet every Thursday for breakfast.
That was eight years ago, and we still meet every Thursday to encourage and support one another. We bring our pains and our triumphs to breakfast; seek advice and share our troubles freely. We wept together when Stephanie developed cancer and died within five short months, and celebrated when Betty, a widow, met a wonderful man and remarried. We laugh together and cry together—often at the same time.
The years have seen many changes in our lives, but what started out as an easy way for me to learn more about being a good businesswoman has evolved into something far more powerful: friendship, and a blessing from God.
Thank You, Lord, for the special friends You’ve brought into my life. May we always continue to be close to You and to one another.
One of my favorite verses
For God has not given us a spirit of timidity but of love, power and self-discipline.
2 TIMOTHY 1:7 (NLT)
As I grow older, I’ve come to recognize God’s hand in my life more and more. For instance, the night I met Wayne, I had a date who canceled at the last moment. I was dressed and ready to go, only to have my plans dashed. No more than a half hour later the phone rang again; it was a friend of my roommate’s who was looking for a date to take to a movie. That was how I met my husband.
This last summer something occurred that had God’s fingerprints all over it. I was in Phoenix on tour with a number of events scheduled. My travel plans are arranged a year in advance and my schedule on the road is usually jampacked, but for some inexplicable reason, that particular morning was open.
As it happened, the son of one of our dearest friends was to be buried that day in Phoenix and his funeral was that morning. I’m convinced that God knew and prepared the way for me to attend Michael’s funeral. I was able to be in church to love, support and comfort our friends.
God’s intervention is evident in every corner of my life; I call these “divine appointments.” Often, I don’t recognize these intersections of time and eternity until much later. It takes what seems to be happenstance to show me once again that He is in control of every detail.
Open my eyes, Lord Jesus, to Your divine appointments.
Dear Lord, plant me in solid ground. Sink the roots of my faith in the vitamin-rich soil of Your love. Water my faith with Your Word; cultivate and weed me with Your call to divine obedience. When the produce comes, Lord, may it be abundant and full.
Something strange has been happening to me in the last few years: I cry in church. For no reason that I can understand or explain, right in the middle of worship my eyes will cloud with tears. I blink furiously and take deep, even breaths to keep them at bay, but it rarely helps. My husband Wayne has gotten into the habit of carrying a handkerchief with him on Sunday morning. Apparently, he recognizes the signs now, because halfway through the service he tucks the hankie into my hand and gives my fingers a gentle squeeze.
If those tears in church weren’t embarrassing enough, the same thing started happening during my morning prayer time. I’m most comfortable communicating with God in writing, but these days many of my prayers are smudged with tears. I was convinced that this was a side effect of menopause, but that didn’t seem to affect anything other than my worship and prayer time.
My friend Wendy came to visit recently. I casually mentioned how easily the tears flowed when I communicated with God. She smiled knowingly. “That happens to me too.”
“It does?”
She nodded. “Those tears are an indication that the Holy Spirit has touched me in some way.”
I pondered her words for a long time and recognized the truth in them. My tears in church don’t embarrass me any longer; they’re my emotional response to the overwhelming love of God as He touches my heart with His Spirit.
Holy Spirit, sweep down over Your people and touch our hearts that we might serve God. Amen.
My heart seeks You for comfort, guidance, assurance and love, dear Lord. As I walk through this desert of testing, I ask that not only will You guide me with a pillar of fire but that You will walk at my side and whisper encouragement in my ear.
One of my favorite verses
And this is the will of God, that I should not lose even one of all those he has given me, but that I should raise them up at the last day.
JOHN 6:39 (NLT)
I’ve heard it said that after many years of married life, couples start to look like each other. I don’t know if that’s true in Wayne’s and my case. However, I can state that an amazing transformation has taken place in the two of us.
When we first married, we were as different as any two people could be. Wayne was a night owl and I was a morning person. Not only did I wake at the crack of dawn (much to Wayne’s annoyance), but I woke up happy. I liked being around people, while he preferred solitude. And yet, after all the years we’ve been together, our likes and dislikes have blended together. These days it isn’t uncommon for us to order the same meal at a restaurant or choose to watch the same movie. Even our political views are the same. And though I’m still a morning person, Wayne seems to take it in stride.
In many ways, I’ve experienced the same kind of transformation in my walk with Jesus. As I’ve read my Bible and spent time in prayer, a subtle change has taken place within me: I want to be more like Him; I long for His power in my life.
Lord, may I grow more like You each and every day.
Today, Lord, I read Habakkuk 3:17–19. Endurance. The delays we endure are not an accident. They are part of Your plan and purpose for us. These words were written just for me today. How patient You are with me, Father. How loving and encouraging. This time of testing is only a delay to be used for Your purposes.
One of my favorite verses
I will be your God throughout your lifetime–until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you.
ISAIAH 46:4 (NLT)
Because of my heavy travel schedule, routinely attending a Bible study is difficult for me. What I needed, I decided some years ago, was a spiritual mentor, someone who would guide me and be a sounding board for me, someone with a lot of spiritual maturity. I asked a godly woman in our church if she would be willing to meet and pray with me on a regular basis. That was how my friendship with Barb Dooley started. Even now, all these years later, we get together regularly to pray.
Recently I told Barb about a problem I’d been experiencing and the frustration I felt. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” I said. “I’ve filled up pages and pages in my prayer journal, pouring out my problem to God. I’ve brought the matter up daily, waiting for Him to move in my life. I don’t think He hears my prayers any longer.”
Barb didn’t say anything for a long time. Then she smiled and said, “Maybe you should try a different tactic.”
“How do you mean?” I said. I was open to anything.
Barb smiled and said softly, “Maybe this isn’t a case of God not hearing your prayers, Debbie. I believe He’s always available to His children. Perhaps He’s just waiting for you to listen.”
Father, open my heart so that I can hear what You have to say to me.
Good morning, Lord. May I choose a quiet heart, Father. May I rest completely in You. No matter what circumstances, what befalls my life, may I see and accept Your hand in it. May I accept it with gratitude. While the storms may rage and the seas may churn, let me sleep contentedly at Your side.
Like most couples, Wayne and I have not had the perfect marriage. At one point we separated for nearly eighteen months before deciding that just wasn’t the solution. Once we reunited, though, it wasn’t smooth sailing. Old resentments surfaced, and I struggled with letting go of the pain from the past. One weekend I felt I needed to get away, and visiting my parents was the perfect excuse.
When I arrived, my mother insisted on picking up a bucket of her favorite chicken for dinner. For some reason she decided to drive. I climbed in the car with her, and she said, “Look behind me. Is anyone coming?”
I twisted around and checked. “You’re clear.”
“Great.” She revved up the engine, and we shot out of the driveway and onto the street.
“Mom,” I asked, suddenly suspicious, “can’t you look behind you?”
“Good grief, no. I’ve had a crick in my neck for nearly twenty years.” She proceeded to show me the elaborate way she twisted the rearview mirror to check for traffic behind her. I couldn’t keep from smiling and joked with her about it.
The next day, as I was heading home, it struck me that God was speaking to me through my mother. She looked forward, not back. God seemed to be asking me to do the same: Concentrate on the present, look with faith toward the future and release the pain of the past.
Lord, I’m grateful for the miracles You’ve worked in my marriage, for the husband You gave me and for all the years we’ve shared together—the good with the bad. May we both look to You as we step toward the future.
One of my favorite verses
Oh, what joy for those whose disobedience is forgiven, whose sins are put out of sight. Yes, what joy for those whose record the Lord has cleared of sin.
ROMANS 4:7–8 (NLT)
I was only twelve years old when I decided that I wanted to knit. I pestered my mother until she took me to the local yarn store, and there I bought several skeins of yarn. Following the good advice of the ladies at the store, I knit my first garment—a purple vest of worsted wool—which I gave to my mother. I was so pleased with my work, and proud. Since then I have made sweaters, scarves, afghans, blankets, caps, Christmas stockings and maybe best of all, a sweater for the Guideposts Knit for Kids project. For years I knit only about one garment a year. But when the grandchildren started arriving, well, my knitting really took off.
Knitting is relaxing, even meditative, for me. I work hard as a novelist, holed up most of the day in my office, sitting at the keyboard, then making calls, e-mailing my editor and keeping up with my blog.
Then after dinner I take out my knitting and use it to relax and unwind while my husband Wayne and I talk or watch TV together. I’ll knit just about anywhere—at home, during flights or in the car. It should be no surprise then that knitting has also taken a central spot in some of my fiction, with a passion for knitting bringing my characters together.
Recently I was reading from the Psalms, and the phrase that leaped out at me proclaimed how God “knit me together in my mother’s womb.” That image filled me with wonder at the care our Creator takes in shaping each one of us—no lost stitches anywhere! It made me see how the things I find most important in life are also reflected in my knitting.
Recently I was reading from the Psalms, and the phrase that leaped out at me proclaimed how God “knit me together in my mother’s womb.”
So along with the sweaters and caps and scarves I knit for the grandchildren comes this advice: What’s good for knitting is good for living.
When I’m writing one of my books, I get so excited I can barely wait to get to work. Same thing for my knitting from the moment I envision a project until the very last stitch. Every time I start a sweater for one of the grandkids, I can’t wait to pick up those needles. They call me Grandma Pickle (since Macomber sounds like Cucumber). When I’m finished I add little tags to the sweaters I knit that read, KNIT WITH LOVE BY GRANDMA PICKLE. They know who made that sweater for them and they know how much they’re loved.
So do what you love and love what you do. It deserves your name on it.
There are knitters who can sit down without a pattern and create beautiful things. Not me. I need to start out with some kind of plan. God can add all sorts of creative enhancements to make those plans better, but I have to begin with something. Give me a target, a goal to shoot for. If I know what I want, then I can figure out how to get there.
In my career and family life I have weekly goals—and daily ones too. Once a year, usually in January, I take one day and, together with Wayne, we set goals for the year. Sometimes they’re such big goals they seem impossible to reach—but I’ll put them down. Maybe not for the end of the year, but in five years or ten. And we pray over our list.
Not long ago I was clearing out a drawer and I found a tablet that I had written on back in 1992. I had placed five impossible goals on that list. When I saw that list so many years later, I was stunned. Every single goal on that piece of paper had come to pass!
I’m always amazed at the people I meet who have been knitting for years, yet they only knit scarves. They don’t have the self-confidence to knit anything more complicated. What they don’t realize is that every knitting project builds on the same basic stitches.
Most knitting is done in pieces. The project is created in stages, like building a house or writing a book. You don’t have to do it all at once, but if you do a little bit every day, piece by piece, you’ll be surprised at how much you can accomplish. I’m sure I don’t need to point out that that’s also true in many other aspects of our lives, faith especially. We get there, one stitch at a time.
Don’t worry over every loose thread.
Neat, even stitches make for a well-crafted garment; stitches that are too tight look bunched up and stitches that are too loose...well, we’ve all seen those afghans with big holes in them where there shouldn’t be any! We all make mistakes, but it’s just as important to remember to continue and try again.
I remember when my daughter Jody was twelve years old and performing in a piano recital. She was shy around strangers, so recitals were torturous for her. This year she was forced to go first. I watched her go up onstage and sit down at the piano. She started her song tentatively and only a few measures into it, she made a mistake. A real clunker. She stopped. And she couldn’t start again.
But at the end of the recital, when everybody had left the hall, I asked her gently if she would try again. She nodded, wiped her tears and went back onstage. She played the song perfectly! By the time she’d finished, everyone had come back into the hall, and gave her a big ovation. Making mistakes is part of getting it right.
I was in an airport once, waiting to change planes, when I saw another woman at the gate, knitting. We immediately started talking and showing each other our projects. I discovered that the pattern she was knitting was the very pattern I had lost a few weeks before. When you spend time with people, you discover just how much you need their help.
Every winter Wayne and I drive from our home in Washington state down to our winter home in Florida. If you’re wondering, that’s 3,323 miles. We’ve endured a blizzard, breakdowns and have slept in towns where the biggest thing on Main Street was the car wash.
When you spend time with people, you discover just how much you need their help.
People often ask us why we would choose to drive that far. The answer is simple: It’s our one chance to be together for a whole week without any interruptions. It’s amazing how much we have to discuss. Each year on that long drive from home to home we fall in love with each other all over again. It knits us together and, needless to say, gives me time to catch up on my many yarn projects!
One of the joys of knitting is giving to others. What am I going to do with a hundred sweaters? I certainly don’t want to make them all for myself. I want to give them away to the people I love, or to a needy child in a cold corner of the world where a simple sweater is both a treasure and a necessity. To be sure, the best giving comes from the heart.
I think about that first purple vest I made for my mother all those years ago when I was twelve. I saw it a few times, but then it just went into a drawer. Well, she just died two years ago. Guess what? She still had that handmade, not-so-perfect but made-with-love worsted wool vest.
To be sure, the best giving comes from the heart.
my soul sings with Your praises this morning.
I sit where I can watch the sun rise
and hear the multitude of birds chirp,
welcoming each glorious day.
How I thank You for Your handiwork,
for new beginnings every twenty-four hours.
I thank You for the peace and assurance
that comes with the years of walking with my Savior.
My soul sings Your praises and rejoices
in the beauty of Your world.
Thank You for blessing my life
and for gently correcting and leading me.
May we always rejoice in Your handiwork.