Beverly Joy Roberts

Scars, I’m loaded with them.  I can tell you the story of each one.  One that is especially memorable is on my left forearm.  I was installing vinyl tiles at our cabin.  (…and Praise God we sold that money pit.)   I was on the last tile and sliced into my arm with the box cutter.  A few hours later I had four stitches and a scar.  In 2nd grade I skipped school—Yes, I skipped school in the second grade.  I was a bit of a handful.  When I opened the storm door a gust of wind caught it.  I put my left hand up to stop the door.  My arm broke through the glass up to my elbow.  There was blood, lots of blood.  Lesson learned:  Don’t use your hand to stop fast moving glass.   Remember I was in the 2nd grade and cleaver enough to cut classes.  Most of us carry scars on our body and like me you can recall all the details.  You see the scars and think, oh yeah, that was when—blah, blah, blah happened.  Some scars are visible, but others are hidden deep within, too painful to share.  So,

I finished my leaf raking about a week ago.  Well, actually it’s not finished, but I’m done.  The next day I looked out the window at the nearly leafless backyard and a sigh of satisfaction escaped my lips.  That feeling was relatively short lived when reality set in—it’s all com’n back. But first spring will come and along with that my other yard enemy—weeds in the flowerbed.  How I detest them!  I’m ashamed to admit some weeds have actually grown up to 3 feet tall.  I was under the allusion that they were blending in—almost unnoticeable.  For years, I weeded the garden pulling up the weeds the best I could and if the root would snap off so be it.  The ugly part was gone and everything was lookn’ good.  The weeds were out of sight, mulch down and the perennials were coming up.   I figured, why deal with what was beneath the soil.  Right!   (I apply this principle to house cleaning as well; don’t look in the drawers, closets, or under the beds.) The truth is I’ve been working

In the 10th grade I had a friend that was such an encourager.  I remember the first day we meet she came from across the school lobby towards me with a huge smile on her face.  She pointed at the pin on my coat and said, “Me too!”  I looked down and remembered the button on my lapel that was a heart with the words “Jesus Lives Here!”  Excitedly she repeated… “Me too!”  Then she asked me if I was a Christian.  This was the beginning of a two year friendship that was richly rewarding to me.  God had gifted this young lady with a joyful personality and an overflowing love for the Lord and people.  She spoke with such a contagious enthusiasm about the Lord and how it was a privilege to serve him—in high school.  She loved the Lord and wasn’t ashamed who knew.   The Lord had changed her life and she freely and passionately wanted others to know the secret to eternal life.  I was a better person for having her in my life for those two years.     I Thessalonians 5:11 (The Message) “…