Hey, You Darlin’ Siestas! I am buried under Esther research but just felt the need to stretch my aching back and say hi to you. I love AJ’s last post about our LPM Bible study starting on Tuesday and how she made it “Pray for your Bible study leader day”! What a cool thing! (Incidentally, she could be considered one of them. She facilitates a group of college girls who land on her house every Wednesday night to take part in video-driven Bible study and discussion.) I also absolutely loved how AJ put the emphasis on Bible study leaders of all sorts of curriculum. Around here, we just want women in the Word of God! We love Precept, BSF, CBS, and every other solid approach to the study of God’s Word. I’ve taken my staff through a number of other teachers’ Bible studies through the years. As my mentor taught me so many years ago, all of us must be students of many teachers so that we aren’t accidentally led astray with no other voice to call our doctrine into check.

I wanted to give you a quick report on Tuesday night. God granted us a full house with a number of women in our overflow room. We were astounded with the numbers and the participants were no doubt astounded with the parking. (By the time we have that kind of full house, people are parked all over the place both legally and, unfortunately, illegally. Half the orange cones are stuck under cars and most of the policemen have rededicated their lives to the saving Name of Jesus. Still, it’s the ladies who have been through the brunt of it when all is said and done. By the time they make it into the church through all manner of rush hour traffic and explain to their seventeen family members why they’ll be okay without them for one evening, they need counseling for Post Traumatic Stress.) By the second Tuesday night of any series, however, things calm down a bit. We’re invariably able to get everybody in the sanctuary because a number of people just can’t bear the thought of going through the trauma again. And I don’t blame them. Still, I’m so proud of those who persevere and I know God is after something specific with them. The most profound things God ever does in our lives are never convenient. Sometimes God wants us to fight for what He has a mind to give us. Remember, He gave Joshua and the Israelites the Promised Land then told them to go in there and fight for their place in it. Sometimes we have to fight traffic and drive around the church seven times to get to some Promise Land.

I trust God to sovereignly handpick the group that will become completely engaged in the journey and see it to completion. I fall head over heels in love with them every time. I’ll know by about the third Tuesday night who that group will be this go-round. In the meantime, I don’t believe God wastes even the one time somebody decides to drop in on any Bible study. He still plants a seed even if it’s not watered until later. This is the part I’m most excited about telling you. I asked the women to raise their hands if they’d never been to Bible study with us before. Hundreds, Siestas! Hundreds all over the room! I really felt like a number of them had literally never been to a study of any kind before. I believe the title, “It’s Tough Being a Woman” in the ads we placed in the Houston Chronicle caught a few eyes that otherwise might not have come. Because, after all, it IS tough being a woman. AND, the man who loves her.

Man, do I ever love me some Newbies! I love having women come to Bible study who have never darkened the door of a church before. I love hearing the sound of one of the brand new hard-back Bibles we give away cracking open. Seeing the light suddenly come on for a precious, unsuspecting woman in that pew is one of the greatest joys of my entire life. To watch her suddenly get the fact that the Bible is not just some archaic, out-of-touch religious guide for freaks but the living, powerful Word of Truth that will speak right into her home, workplace, and romance is what I live to see. So, here’s my challenge to you today: We’ve got to give those newbies a safe place to come and to learn. We’ve got to throw our arms open and embrace them or maybe, if they need a little space instead, let ’em be just a bit. Then when they’re ready, hug them to no end. As much as we love one another in our Bible study groups and enjoy things just like they are, we never want to have a “ticktock the game’s locked and nobody else can play.” Nothing says something is working like somebody new coming. Let’s go out of our way to welcome every new face and make sure they know we’re glad they’re there…because are we ever!

September is a wonderful time for a new Bible study journey, isn’t it, Siestas? And a wonderful time to welcome somebody new to something that means the world to us. Just think, in a year every single one of us who is willing will be able to say to someone we met this Fall, “I can’t believe I haven’t loved you forever.” That’s one of the things I love most about Jesus. Life with Him doesn’t have to be long to be deep.

I so hope every one of you is engaged in some kind of small group Bible study this Fall! It’s a tremendously important part of our walk with Christ. He did not call us to go this thing alone, praise His Name. We NEED one another.

“And let us consider how we may spur one another one toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another – and all the more as you see the Day approaching.” Hebrews 10:24,25

I love you, Siestas! Be back in touch soon.

PS. Amanda, Curt, and my little Dude are on their way to Houston right now. Yahoo-Jah!!!! Somebody grab a banner and a boom box!

Sharon and Stacy. They’re who I met this morning at Starbucks on my way to work. Sharon, about my height with beautiful brown skin, was standing at the counter getting her man and her two tall drips of the day (House Blend I think) with two pastries. Didn’t see what kind. Already in the bag. Would like to have known but I felt a little funny asking. Sharon watches Wednesdays on Life Today and is going to try to come to the kick off of the Esther Bible study tomorrow night. We hugged like crazy. Then, while the barista was brewing up my Grande Nonfat Cappuccino, I met Stacy, a tiny little light-skinned blond who just finished “Get Out of That Pit” and felt like God had really spoken to her. She’s a missionary with YWAM and will head to Amsterdam in January. And, yes, missionaries can feel like they’re in a pit, too. And so can Bible teachers. And pastor’s wives. And pastors. Praise God, His arm is long enough and His hand is strong enough to rescue us all, no matter how deep we’ve gone or how long we’ve been.

I like to know names and see faces. And hug necks. A big crowd is overwhelming and so, somehow, is something contrived (like someone who doesn’t have enough to do trying to figure out which Starbucks – she’d be so disappointed with the let-down anyway) but when God alone appoints these momentary one-on-one encounters, something profound happens to me every time. Not to them. To ME. My worst nightmare in ministry – besides letting ministry steal my intimacy with Jesus – is losing touch with real, live people. Loving God and loving people. Serving God and serving people. That’s what it’s all about or it’s about nothing at all. Although I can’t see your faces, you have become a very real community to me. I know many of your “names” by this time. Like Boomama and Patty and The Preacher’s Wife and Ocean Mommy and so many others beside them and have come to appreciate you so and laugh with you and love Jesus with you. I often stop and pray for you as I read. I don’t even have to know a name, my beloved “Anonymous,” if I can occasionally read through your words and see your heart because, in seeing your heart with my wild imagination, my mind’s eye conjures up a face. And it’s so darlin’. Every last one of you are to me. All shapes and sizes and ages and do’s. Make-up or not. Highlights or not.

As we launch another Bible study tomorrow night and I labor again at the computer today in the solitary confinement of what God has most called me to do, He has added two names to my life and two loves to my heart. Sharon and Stacy. And I am grateful.

My Beloved New England girls who attended the Rhode Island Living Proof Live event this weekend,

I have cried with the Lord in gratitude and great joy for you several times this morning (i.e. every time I really think about you again or picture your darling faces). I’m not even kidding. Even now I have such a lump in my throat, but all the while I’m grinning with a deep sense of gladness. A few of many highlights: I will never forget the sounds of your voices when Travis had you sing without the team or the instruments. It was breathtaking. I’ll never forget all those teenage girls who came forward to receive Jesus then, to top it off, at least a half a dozen senior adult women came, too. And will any of us EVER forget (I’m not sure how to spell her name) “Shana” with those darling pigtail braids, matching scarf and dress? She knew how beautiful she was to Jesus. Oh, that the rest of us would be so smart.

I loved every single one of you. It was literally the worst room ever (the arena in the area was under reconstruction. It was all we had) with all those terrible columns but you were patient, gracious and completely plugged in. In fact, you were down-right rowdy. (Hmmmmm. Is that what we can expect out of New England next fall?) I will keep you on my heart forever. Thank you for one of the best times I’ve ever had and for getting the message amid my scatter-brain, all over the place, throw-up “style” that drives even me crazy. God’s power and Presence show all the stronger in weak environments, thank goodness.

New England girls, let’s never forget our theme from 2 Peter 1. Here is the commissioning we did at the end to keep you reminded. For the many of you who were not there, take a moment to first read 2 Peter 1:1-11 and meditate on it and I believe you will still be blessed and challenged.

Rhode Island Commissioning

My Dear Sister
God’s Divine Power
Has given you everything you need
To do life and to do it His way
God has given you
Great and precious promises
Start believing them
And acting on them
When circumstances overwhelm you
Or people annoy you
Turn your faith into action
Dispatch what you need
From the holding tank of the Holy Spirit
And God will blow your mind
With what He can do through you
Never ever forget
You have been cleansed from past sins
Go FREE from this place
And live on purpose
Pour out your life for others
Then one day
When you close your eyes on earth
You will open them and see Jesus
And with arms full of riches
He’ll say, “Welcome Home!”
“Aren’t you beautiful!”
Now, go out into this world
And live like crazy!
Because your God
Is everything you need!

Good Morning, My Cherished Siestas! The sun is barely coming up and I am just ending my quiet time but I felt a strong compelling of the Holy Spirit to share something with you out of my time with God. I don’t have long because Keith and Beanie are waiting on me to walk but, at the risk of sounding mystical which I don’t mean to do, I think I’m supposed to say it succinctly then leave it between you and God. (He and I have talked about it between ourselves as well.)

“Because of this I remind you to rekindle God’s gift that you possess…For God did not give us a Spirit of fear but of power and love and self-control…PROTECT THAT GOOD THING entrusted to you, through the Holy Spirit who lives within us.” 2 Timothy 1:6,7,14 New English Translation

Two things:
1. Don’t let that precious gift God has given you lay dormant. Rekindle it in the power and passion of Christ Jesus! Use it at every God-given (as opposed to man-driven) opportunity. Gifts mature and increase with time and practice if we have a healthy, lively relationship with Christ through His Word.

2. Protect that gift (or those gifts) ferociously from shifting from the power and anointing of the Holy Spirit to the determination and grit or rote action of the flesh. (Galatians 3:3) I implore us all in the great and saving Name of Jesus to resist spiritual laziness and keep in step with the Spirit. It’s easier to obey laws and keep our rituals than to be led of the Spirit. Galatians 5:25 Fiery fresh relationships with Jesus and boldness to ask Him to make Himself conspicuous through the gifts He has entrusted to us!

Rekindle and protect that gift, Darling One!!

A terrible thing happened last night on Keith’s and my Texas weekend road trip with Sunny and Beanie. We stopped in a well-known hill country town long-since frequented by hunters and ranchers whose idea of a menu special is a half-pound of deer sausage with their 24-ounce ribeye for a buck ninety-nine extra. We’ve been to this particular hotel a number of times in the past but the moment we walked in the door, it was clear that unwelcome change had occurred in the form of a fancy, remodeled dining room. I smelled trouble the moment I saw a well-coiffed waiter offer patrons at one table a sample of the house Chablis. Where in the world was the sweet tea?

Keith was hungry enough to be in denial so I kept my thoughts to myself. We were seated at a table (what, no booth?) with a white table cloth (not even red and white checkered) which Keith nearly pulled off the table when he somehow got it caught between his knees. The handsome young waiter then asked for our drink orders with an exotic accent, a fact that blessed my melting-pot heart but raised Keith’s eyebrow considerably. Don’t get me wrong. Keith just likes consistency. He would have welcomed this waiter at our favorite French restaurant back home but there in a dining room once decorated in deer trophies, it was his first dead giveaway that something was awry. “Waters. We’ll have 2 waters.” I might’ve wanted a Diet Coke, but I think Keith felt the need to reintroduce the waiter to the whole idea of a watering hole. “With lemon, please?” I asked sweetly but from the look on Keith’s face, I may as well have asked for a pineapple wedge, a cherry and a tiny umbrella.

Our gracious waiter returned with our two glasses of water and a little bowl of limes (that was okay. I like them just as well) then, the best we could make out what he was saying, asked for our orders. Keith requested the chicken fried steak, of course, because the restaurant has long-since been famous for it, and (it goes without saying) a side of mashed potatoes. “We don’t have mashed potatoes.” Oh, Lord have mercy. Say it isn’t so. Keith looked like the man had just slapped him with a white folded napkin. Then, the best the waiter could make out what Keith was saying, my man asked with a huff, “What on earth does it come with?” Then, it happened. The ruination of the evening. The culmination of Keith’s worst fears. Right there in Texas hill country surrounded by 25 square miles of some of the biggest deer in the Lone Star State.

“Rice pilaf.”

The next moments were almost too personal to describe. Words tried but failed my husband. Sounds came from deep within him that I’ve never heard. He was so vulnerable, I tried to look away. But so needy, I couldn’t. I looked around to see if people were staring. They must have been in a hypnotic trance because they seemed strangely unmoved by the trauma taking place at our table. Keith looked so shamed for Texas that I wanted to reach over and pull the bill of his Tri-State Taxidermy cap down over his face. I couldn’t. I was frozen. Guilt overwhelmed me. I knew I should have told him that I’d seen baked brie with raspberry sauce on the menu. It might have prepared him for the worst. We don’t always do our loved ones a favor when we try to protect them from the facts.

The only good news is that my man was too demoralized and weakened to hit anyone. He was a Samson shorn. He also didn’t curse, which I found greatly comforting, unless he sputtered something in an exotic language I couldn’t understand. Amid the deep gutturals, the only word I could occasionally make out was “nut.” For a moment there, I feared the waiter would misunderstand Keith to be asking what kind of nut was in the rice pilaf. I knew if he said “almonds” it was all over. Thankfully, we were spared.

After what seemed forty days and forty nights of awkward grunting, Keith finally made out some intelligible words, “Well, do you have any fries?” They did. “Do you think I could have a side order of them?” The waiter nodded cheerily. Keith’s rudeness had escaped him entirely. And he’d escaped Keith. God loves that waiter so. I wanted to ask him if he knew Jesus. After all, he’d nearly seen Him. Somehow we got through dinner and made it to our room. It’s all such a blur. Then, the sun came up again this morning and we got to start a new day. We didn’t even feel like lamenting our McDonald’s coffee. It’s at least fresh and that new “premium” brand really does have a hint of flavor if you close your eyes and concentrate.

A little later we stopped for a fulfilling breakfast in a tiny Texas town. Eggs, biscuits, and bacon, thank You, Jesus. A darling woman walked up to me in the parking lot and said, “My husband says it’s you and I just want you to know that I love you and in your Bible studies, you say you love me.”

Oh, man, I do. I so stinkin’ do.

Hey, my darling Siestas!
I got back from the Atlanta Women of Faith conference a few hours ago (I’ll tell you about that in a minute), smooched my man hello, then was inspired by the PGA tournament Keith was watching to take a little nap on the couch. After making me a wonderful cup of John Martinez Breakfast Blend, I decided to jump on line and check on you guys. I knew I’d see the pictures of Matthew because I’d asked AJ to post them but they caught me off guard anyway and I’m just about to bawl.

Girls, it was a true miracle. God has allowed me to see a number of them but none any more staggering than that one. If you’ve missed the story, my induction to ministry in Angola several years ago was a trip to a malnutrition clinic where I saw some of the most horrifying sights of my life. If it wasn’t vitally important that we open our eyes to the suffering of children, it would be too much for the soul to bear. If you can imagine this, Matthew looked worse in person than he does in the “before” pictures and his breathing was already like a death rattle. The purple treatment came out dark enough in the picture to hide what was happening to his skin. I was told that, bar a miracle, he would most likely die within forty-eight hours. He was too far gone to tolerate any food and they just don’t have the facilities for IV’s, etc. I could not fathom the hopelessness of the sight in front of me. I did what any of you would do. I prayed. And the thing is, I didn’t even pray with faith. I felt total despair. I prayed out of nothing but desperation. Then, I stood up and walked straight to the vehicle, got in it and shut the door (passionately), feeling mad at someone but not knowing who.

We had no more than gotten home to Houston when we received a picture of him standing straight up (utterly unfathomable) and on the mend. It was impossible. There was no doubt it was the same child because he still had the exact same markings of skin disintegration on his body. Jesus performed an outright miracle. I know that He did it for a host of reasons, the chiefest of which was most certainly His great compassion and love for Matthew. I am convinced that, way down on His list of reasons, however, was God’s desire to affirm to Keith and I that we were doing something He very much wanted us to do. I think it was an authentication of sorts that He was in it. Two years later the little guy looks as robust and healthy as any child you’ve ever seen, running and chasing a soccer ball he’d just been given. Flooring. Just flooring. His mom and I had the sweetest encounter. She knows perhaps even better than I do that God raised that child from the grave that day. Matthew’s grandmother had even come with her to express to us the miracle they knew they’d experienced. I wanted to try to convey to them that Jesus had shocked me as much as He shocked them. May His Name be highly exalted. He is a wonder.

Thank you for caring so much about Matthew’s story and all the children he represents. On another note, God gave us such a fabulous group in Atlanta on Friday at the WOF preconference. We studied “the God of all comfort” from 2 Corinthians 1:3-11, something new the Lord had engaged me in. At first count, well over 500 women received Christ that day and many of the rest of us made a commitment to be compelled by the love of Christ rather than the comforts of this world then count on God to comfort us when we’re called to do something very uncomfortable. I know that I have made a fresh commitment. I just loved the group. I love ministering to women so much. I love ministering to YOU so much.

My staff and I stayed over Friday night to participate in the real, live WOF experience because my buddy and worship team leader, Travis Cottrell, was slated to sing at the big event. I was so proud of him that I had to stay and watch. He sang one of my very favorites among his songs (“His Word is Life,” which conveys everything the Moore/Cottrell ministry partnership is about and became the theme song for the Daniel study). It was breathtaking. He then sang “It is Well” with none other than Sandy Patty. What an evening! I took Melissa with me because I knew she had never in her life experienced anything quite like a Women of Faith event. It is such a blast. I got so tickled at Melissa getting tickled (the speakers are so great and so funny) that my side split. (Anita Renfroe did a thing on “Purse-anality Types” that was stinking hilarious) I also got to hear my good friend, Patsy Clairmont, speak and she was, as always, absolutely tremendous. That tiny thing is a lover of God and His Word if you’ll ever find one.

One of the all time highlights was a mini-concert by Nicole C. Mullen. SIESTAS, you cannot BELIEVE how fabulous it was. She is one of the most gifted people I’ve ever seen. She not only expresses the deep things of God (proclaims Scripture from memory and sings songs she’s written like “I Know My Redeemer Lives,” “When I Call On Jesus, All Things Are Possible…”), she is also one of the greatest Christian entertainers I’ve ever seen. (And I’m a big proponent of good, wholesome, stomp your feet, shake-a-leg, Christian entertainment. A huge believer that it has its place.) Nicole has a fabulous group of talented kids (some hers) that join her on stage, singing and dancing like nobody’s business. I was mesmerized (and also once again convinced that somewhere deep inside of me, there is a black woman screaming to sing and dance her way out). I have new inspiration for Jackson’s and my “Praise Dancing With Granny” sessions. Yes, they used some banners. I have been a fan of Nicole’s music for years, belting out praise with her from the front seat of my car, but I’d never seen her in person. Incredible. If you get a chance some time to praise God with her, don’t miss it. Even my staff-buddy’s that don’t play CeCe Winans and Kirk Franklin constantly like I do had a fit over the concert.

Well, my man has a divine smelling concoction ready in the kitchen and I want to keep him encouraged (heehee) so I’d better go. I’ve had fun visiting with you today! Have a wonderful Lord’s Day tomorrow. Take a moment to look around you at church and think how blessed you are to know and love so many of those people. Then go and tell a few of them so. I love you, Siestas.

My Dearest Siestas! I am so glad to be back with you once again and so thankful for prayers only God can count that rose to His Throne through many of you on our behalf. Over and over God did things that I knew deep in my spirit were in answer to prayer. Many of them had to do with my dear man. Keith never intended to sign up for ANY of this ministry stuff and certainly had no intention of taking arduous and sometimes just purely dangerous trips to third world countries. That’s my deal and my passion in Jesus. Not Keith’s. But I am his and the man is determined that – at least for the time being – I am not doing this kind of thing without him.

Back to answered prayer, a dozen different things happened that could have nearly put Keith over the edge (like flying with his claustrophobic self all over South-Eastern Africa in a five-seat prop-plane – one seat of which is a potty in such plain view that no one would dare use it – and sitting so close together that our knees all touched). And yet the Spirit of God was on him so strongly that he hardly flinched. He could probably tell you just as many ways God’s answers to prayer were obvious with me because our primary concerns at times like those are each other instead of ourselves. Thirty years gets a person under your skin. I am amazed at Keith and so impressed with his God for all the things He’s made him willing to do in order to minister with me. I am believing God to heap up Keith’s rewards because the guy has done so many things that he wouldn’t have simply chosen to do or even felt called to do. He is truly a case of, “Man oh man, what I’d do for love.”

I have so many stories to tell and plan to tell them over the weeks to come in this fashion or that, whether blogging, speaking or writing, but I primarily wanted to pour out my gratitude to you for interceding and tell you just a little bit of what you’ve been interceding for. When I make a trip to a nation like Angola, the team and I are also actively and equally raising awareness and funds for the titanic needs of several other nations where we (in partnership with LOI and South Africa’s Joint Aid Management) have school-feeling programs like Sudan and Mozambique. Mission Feeding (the name of the program) takes place through village schools (that sometimes gather under shade trees) so that the communities can understand the crucial tie between education and provision. They are making as serious an attempt to break the cycle of poverty and not just form dependency as any organization I’ve ever seen. I’ve primarily gone to Angola because the nation is still suffering the terrible ramifications of a civil war that only ended five years ago and many of the rural villages are still in stunning need of food and water. I’ve seen these realities, not just on paper and through statistics, but with my own eyes.

It’s tempting to become desensitized toward the suffering in Africa because we’ve heard the cries and seen the images so many times through media. Tragically, however, the suffering persists in such mammoth numbers that God’s people, called by the mandate of Matthew 25:45, cannot with clear conscience look the other way. We also can’t wait on political chaos to clear up while children starve themselves to either mental incapacity or death. On the airplane home yesterday I read an article out of Christianity Today that affirmed figures I’d already learned. The average life expectancy throughout the continent is about 41 years of age (you can’t believe how few gray-headed people you see in Angola) and a flabbergasting one in three Africans suffer malnutrition. That’s what we’re trying to help affect – even if in comparatively small steps – when we make these trips. Right now the program I have the privileging of working with is able to feed one nutritious meal a day (very often all they get that day) to 470,000 children. (There is not enough to go around to the adults. Only nursing mothers are able to get in the line. I cannot even describe how the sight of all those adults standing by, watching the children eat, effects me.) The percentage we’re able to feed through the program may seem low in the face of hundreds of millions malnourished on the continent but when you see individual children’s faces and learn their names, you begin to grasp the importance of reaching even those few.

That’s where the good news comes in. Small changes really are happening in handfuls of areas in Africa where people who care and can help have mobilized. My last stop was a huge cemetery for children where, even six years ago, mothers lined up to bury children who died of starvation. With the war ended and food making it slowly but surely to some of the poorest villages, the statistics have dropped, praise Jesus. There is much hope that the nation will increasingly get on its feet over the coming decade and, until then, they need extra help. I really do believe the second reason we sometimes draw back from doing what we can to help in situations of such proportions is because we don’t think we can do any real good. Thankfully, that’s not true. One child at a time.

No doubt like many of you, I have had a heart for relief work since I was a child. I’ve joined in relief efforts here and there along the way but nothing on a consistent basis. Then, about five years ago God called me with unmistakable volume to start ministering to the poor both publicly and privately. That’s why we began partnering with Samaritan’s Purse at our Living Proof Live events then LOI and JAM through Life Today. When I was a teenager, I thought about one day serving an organization like the Peace Corps because, like so many of you, I wanted to help people in crisis. Instead of serving through a secular organization, I get to serve blatantly in the Name of the Risen Lord Jesus Christ. And your prayers are an enormous part of that process. I was overcome by the whole thing yesterday: how the Body of Christ works and how many forms mission work takes whether it’s praying, going (short-term or long), giving, or testifying. I have asked God to pour life and joy and JESUS into one African child for every single one of you who prayed. I so hope He Himself placed that prayer upon my heart so that it will be answered as one offered according to His gracious will.

My primary calling is to share the Word of God with anyone who will listen but, somewhere in the midst of it, I also get to occasionally crawl down on my knees and hand a little wide-eyed girl a bowl of thick soup. Some people can’t hear the Word for their stomachs. May my heart be torn beyond recovery by all I have seen. I don’t ever want to get over it.

Well, shoot-fire, my staff just told me that lunch is here and I already have to sign off. I’m having Mexican food for the second time in 24 hours. Of course I am. That’s how we do things here in South Texas. Oh, to one day share a big plate of enchiladas and re-frieds with all of you and all those precious African children on the green grass of Heaven!

I love you, Siestas. I’ll be back in touch soon!

Hey, my Darling Siestas! I just have to share some news before I head out of the country. It has to do with an accidental prophecy that came out of my mouth about six years ago. Some of you may know that I started obsessing about a future “Baby Curtis” way back when Amanda and Curt were engaged. It all started when I asked his sweet mom to send me some baby pictures so that I could prepare a slide show of them both for their wedding. I opened that envelope full of snapshots and nearly died. He was the cutest baby boy I’d ever seen. I promptly stuck the picture in Amanda’s face and announced, “I want me one of THOSE. Right there. Have me a grandbaby that looks like that.” At that time, Amanda was convinced that she could only handle baby girls so I was scoffed and, in fact, told not to speak a thing like that over her again. Of course, in our family that means nothing. We tease each other to no end. When the night for the rehearsal dinner finally came, after the groomsmen and bridesmaids had lifted their Cherry Cokes and given their toasts, Keith stood to give his: “Be fruitful and multiply.” That’s my man.

A while passed after the wedding and I was sprawled out on the couch day dreaming while my beloved son-in-law was sitting on a chair at my house watching television. “You know what I can’t wait to do, Curtis?”

“What, Ma’am?”

“I can’t wait to praise dance with my grandson.”

He looked a little stunned as if I’d just said something random. “I’ve been thinking about it,” I said. “I think I’d like to have weekly ‘Praise Dancing with Granny’ sessions where we can turn the worship music on and dance all over the house. I want him to know how much fun God is. When the little guy gets a little older, he and I will make us some banners. He’ll have a miniature one and I’ll have a regular one and then we’ll run through the house waving them to some really great praise songs. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Silence.

I was messin’ with him just a tad but he knew it sounded just like something I was capable of doing. Then, like I’d received a sudden jolt of revelation, I blurted out, “And he can even bring his friends!”

Finally, the silence broke. “Ma’am, he won’t have any friends.”

A few years later I was sitting on the kitchen counter eating Fritos after work while Keith conjured up some masterpiece for us to eat. (It’s his fault I’m a terrible cook.) The door bell rang and I finished my sentence, hopped off the counter and went to see who it was. No one was there. Only a package. A tall, skinny package. I glanced up and down the street and didn’t see anybody. (Keith was already onto a prank and was making a far more thorough search which ultimately proved fruitful.) I tore into the odd package curiously and, after tugging and pulling, lo and behold I pulled out a long banner. Don’t think it was a dead give-away because I get all manner of creative praise aids since I’m in such interdenominational ministry. The shoo-in came when I pulled out the second one. A miniature. And burst into tears and screams. The card inside said, “You better get ready for Praise Dancing With Granny!” Oh, my word. To this day I could cry and squeal about it. And if I’d truly known how in love with the little dude I’d fall, I would have fainted flat on the floor from an overdose of joy.

I’m taking the time to write when I should be packing because you need to know that the praise dancing prophecy is under fulfillment. As God would have it, Jackson Curtis Jones would rather dance his legs off than anything on earth. Even if he hears music from a TV commercial, he’ll stop what he’s doing, get a certain mesmerized look on his face and get down with his darlin’ self. And if a commercial will bring it on, you ought to see the man-child do what he was born to do! That boy can get his praise groove on to the Glory! Last week when he and his mommy were here, we turned on the music every single day and all of us danced to beat the band. He has more moves than a locomotive! Needless to say, he takes up a lot of dance floor by making some wide running circles, but the best part is when he stands in place and lets it happen. He does a lot of side-to-side lunges kind of like an 80’s aerobic move then shifts his vibe to the front, alternating his arms up and down like he’s almost in a trance. It looks like a slow-mo throw back to the “Jerk” my oldest sister and brother used to do in the den when they were playing their Beatles 45’s. Only, me and my grandboy were spending our time doing something a whole lot better than that. We’ve got us some praise going. My favorite part is when he does the Stomp. Kirk Franklin would be so proud. The boy picks up his right foot and stomps it on the dance floor over and over with his feet so wide apart, I think he’s going to do the Chinese splits. I’m not telling you the little dude does it every once in a while. I’m telling you the little dude is a dancing machine. I’m telling you he can point to the CD player, tell me to turn it on, then break it down.

Sigh. This, Girlfriends, is what makes getting older worth it. You live long enough to see some prophecies fulfilled. Even a few you didn’t know were prophecies until they came to pass right before your very eyes. Yep, God sure is good. You want to hear just how good? Almost every night before his parents put him to bed, Curt grabs his guitar and plays while Jackson and his mommy give God some praise with the dance. One of these days my darling Curt may just put down that guitar and shake a leg. And I’ll invite some of his friends.

Have a great week and a half, Siestas! I’ll have so much to tell you when I get home. Thank you for your prayers! Our Angola trips involve some of the most difficult ministries we ever have the privilege to do. The suffering is unimaginable but God has called us to open our eyes and our hearts to it and do what we can to help. There will also undoubtedly be moments so tender, we’ll remember them forever. I will get to see darling Matthew, the tiny child that God raised from the death bed after we were there last. A miracle if I’ve ever seen one in my life.

I will keep you on my heart and freeze some frames in my mind and describe them to you when I get home. I love you so dearly and I’m so honored to be your servant. Your siesta!

Hey My Darling Siestas!
I’ve been so anxious to catch up with you but in too fast a tail spin to do it! I have such a full plate today that I can’t say as much as I’d like but I at least wanted to greet you in Jesus’ great and powerful Name this morning and thank you a gillion for your incredible responses to the “tough being a woman” survey. Your answers were TERRIFIC and have already given me insight for the Esther study. After about four months of research, I’ve only just begun to write it and the process will take at least the next nine months. I am going to put your responses in a notebook and I will look at them MANY, MANY times in my writing journey. You are so precious to me. Sharing this community with you has already been used by God to add so many rich perspectives to this ministry. You were a missing link I needed, especially after having to retire from my beloved Sunday School class a year ago. I love you and I’m honored to serve you.

One more quick thing I hope you’ll enjoy! One of the greatest treats of doing what God has called me to do is getting to be with other sisters who have been called to something similar. It’s such a weird (and challenging) life that it helps tremendously to cross paths, laugh, and share the ups and downs of a public women’s ministry. Between the Women of Faith and Deeper Still events, God is allowing me in this season to be with other speaker friends that I totally dig in the Lord Jesus. This weekend when I returned from D.C., my good buddy Priscilla Shirer (one of THE most gifted Bible teachers I’ve ever heard) was in Houston doing one of her brand new Going Beyond revival events (get one on your calendar). Our other good buddy, Lisa Whelchel, was there lending support and receiving a word so how could I resist? I threw on my jeans and headed to the church with a heart blazing with anticipation. Lisa and I sat on the front row and “Amened” and “Hallelujah’d” while Priscilla tore it up in the power of the Holy Spirit. We, then, got to grab time together after the event and talk a thousand miles an hour. I’m crazy about both of them and they are head over heels in love with the Lord Jesus. I thought you might be relieved to know that, in a world (even a religious world) replete with territorialism and competition and ghastly egotism, there are a whole bunch of us girls (still weak in our natural man and an inch from the next pit, if we’re willing) who want desperately to be dead to the stinking flesh and alive to the Spirit, and able – despite pressure to the contrary – to cheer one another on in this difficult race on Planet Earth. Turf wars originated and persist in the devil himself and can erupt anywhere he is offered – however accidentally – an inch to work: churches, ministries, worship teams, mission fields. You name it. Be onto him when he rears his ugly head and refuse him the right to EVER talk you into a turf war with a brother or sister in Christ. U-N-I-T-Y!