Joanne
Reese

Contributing Writer

Joanne Reese discovered her love for writing in the pages of her journal. Venturing beyond personal muse, Joanne was published with a local online magazine,  composed several articles for her church's newsletter, and has created Bible study curriculum for home groups. She has also contributed to www.avirtuouswoman.org.

More from Joanne Reese

More from Joanne Reese

Watchful

The noise of the freeway is but a whisper compared to the clamor inside. I make a sharp left into the cemetery. Trees line the winding road that lead to our secret spot. Finding shade underneath the giant evergreen promises perspective.

I nestle in. The air is cool and clean. Silence works like a salve and worries begin to flake away. One dissolves, then another, as I pour my heart on to the pages of my journal. The complicated knot I’ve been wrestling with begins to untangle as I open God’s Word.

I am surrounded by death, yet couldn’t feel more alive. Content with a reminder that I am in season of waiting as far as ministry goes, I realign my own ideas and plans with my Creator.

I’m startled by the slam of a car door. A woman approaches, dressed for the office. Keeping my eyes down, I choose to give her privacy. I feel her heaviness, the weight of what it really means to wait. She brushes the dirt from the headstone, using swift and steady strokes, as if to clear away the horrifying reality.

Waiting hurts.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

OPEN VERSE IN BIBLE (nlt)

I focus back on my own grief. So what can I do with the death of a dream? Being a busy wife and mother sometimes makes me feel like my writing has been placed ten feet under. I’ve been asked to wait – ten years. But what if waiting hurts too much?

Her heals hit the pavement, creating a startling rhythm. She steps with determination making her way back to the car, and my guess back to the office. I wonder who has been ripped out of her life. How does she cope with the pain?

As she drives away, I can identify with her coping mechanisms. She goes on. She gets up every morning, and she faces another day. She trudges through the ordinary, and waits to be reunited with her sanity and her heart. All the while, she wonders if she will ever be okay again.

Waiting on God can sometimes feel unbearable. Nevertheless, like the cry of a bird perched on an evergreen in the middle of a cemetery, hope truly can rise above confusion and pain.

God dwells in the chaos of life and in the silence of death, but can only be heard when our hearts are still. Finding peace amidst the pain sometimes means facing all of the things we are terrified of. We go on, muddling through commonplace, trusting that each attempt at swiping away the darkness will carry us unharmed, to the place where real dreams are made.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

OPEN VERSE IN BIBLE (nlt)

 

The Lunch Encounter

At half past noon, I stand in line, looking forward to enjoying lunch with my laptop in a quiet corner. Instead, the customer behind me breaks the silence.

“You really shouldn’t park so close to somebody who just had surgery. I couldn’t even get out of my car.”

My face flushes. “I am so sorry.”

Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head and turns away.

I give the young man behind the counter a five dollar bill, wishing I could somehow re-pay the bottomless debt. But in the clamor of a lunch rush, forgiveness is more than this woman seems able to give.

I find my seat and spread cream cheese over my untoasted bagel. Her tired eyes trouble me. I wrestle with thoughts of how I could have been more cautious and wonder if she could have been more careful with her words.

Tears trickle down my face. Keeping my eyes on my laptop screen, I hope nobody will notice. Surgery is devastating – I’ve been through it myself. The pain, the fatigue, the feelings of hopelessness can make even getting out of a car overwhelming. She must have felt trapped and maybe even forgotten. How could I have hurt her this way?

The restaurant continues to fill with casual conversation. I try to focus on my writing project, but don’t have much luck. More than my apology, this angry woman needs my prayer. Beyond the obvious discomfort of stitches and fatigue lived a deeper wound. It seemed she was unacquainted with forgiveness. Was that why she could not offer it to me?

“You have heard that it was said, Love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. For He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward will you have? Don’t even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing out of the ordinary? Don’t even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect."

OPEN VERSE IN BIBLE (nlt)
(HCSB)

As I finish my bagel, my heart swells with a new appreciation for where this woman was coming from. I too, lived years without knowing the forgiveness of a Savior. Life without the comfort and peace of Christ is miserable, causing a person to take it out on whoever happens to be in the way.

Tables empty as I turn off my computer and gather my things. I toss my tear-soaked napkin into the nearest trash can, and face the torrent of the parking lot. This was definitely not what I had planned for my lunch today. Humiliation ends up being my lunch date, all for the sake of intercession. But submitting myself to God’s plan by praying for this dear woman, I am given the choice to trust that my own tears were collected in the most amazing little bottle.

You number and record my wanderings; put my tears into Your bottle - are they not in Your book?

 (AMPC)

 

Meltdown

The Stanislaus County Fair provided me with wonder. Attractions included farm life, blinking lights, people watching opportunities, the glory of an evening concert, and one unforgettable hot fudge sundae.

Fifteen minutes before the concert started, I darted toward the ice cream stand. A blinking neon cone made it easy to find through swarms of people. My insides twisted with the decision before me. A frozen banana, a cheesecake dipped in chocolate sprinkled with nuts, a plain vanilla cone, or a hot fudge sundae. What to do?

Like a little girl in a candy store (or a big girl at an ice cream stand) I placed my order and stepped to the side while it was being processed. Folks of all shapes and sizes huddled in. Vanilla cones filled the hands of toddlers and retired couples shared towering banana splits as the forming line held anxious stares.

What happened next sent me on an unforgettable ride. As soon as the dessert was handed to me, it began to melt. My masterpiece could not survive triple-digit weather. The two vanilla cones I held in my right hand, one for my daughter and the other for my niece, kept me from devouring the sundae I held in my left. But with eyes as big as saucers, I was not about to give up on my new cherry-topped friend.

A couple of steps through the crowd, and I knew I was in a world of trouble. The three napkins provided couldn't even keep the sticky mess from running down my hand. Too much ice cream, fudge, whipped cream and nuts were crammed into a small Styrofoam cup. Long and careful strides back to my seat would not reverse this madness.

By the time I arrived, my entire hand was covered in glop. Streams of mess ran continuously down my arm, catching the attention of everybody around me. I was stunned — I did not know what to do. After a feeble attempt at tidying things up, I did what anybody else would have done. I dug in.

As I joined the giggles behind me, I reflected on times in my life when I think I am making a good choice about something. All of the warning signs are there and my conscience begins melting, leaving an undeniable mess. But do I throw the idea out? Not always. There are times when I am bent and determined on making it work — even after God has encouraged me to start cleaning up the mess.

"... Woe to you, O Jerusalem! How long will you remain unclean?""

OPEN VERSE IN BIBLE (nlt)
(NASB)

Later on that night, I thought about the messes I’ve made along my Christian walk. An old pattern of thinking leaves a trail of brokenness; a habit wreaks havoc in places that once held compassion. And then, of course, there is the dangerous relationship, where compromise regrettably becomes my idol.

Sin can look pretty desirable on the outside, promising loads of sweet tantalizing enjoyment. But at the end of the day, if I have not made my heart right with God, only a sticky residue of guilt remains. In order to repent, I must let go of what the gloppy mess promised in the first place.

It was a lie.

God is in the business of making all things clean and new. Sin is not fun. Sin separates us from God. Be careful about what you pour your thoughts and energy into. Commit to tossing that sticky mirage — and settle in on God's best.

"... let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water."

(NIV)

Copyright © Joanne Reese, used with permission.