Meditations of my Heart

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

New Life

Romans 6:4
We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.

Allie was our beloved cat whom my husband, Danny, adopted when his sons, Giovanni and Nicco, were small boys.  They grew up with her as a constant companion, and both had a strong bond of love with this special kitty.

Sadly, we have to put the aging Allie down last year.  Both boys are understandably grieved by this loss.  Giovanni insists that Danny bring her body home from the vet.  The thought of not giving her a decent burial is intolerable for him.

Giovanni calls Nicco, who lives with their mother, and they make plans to get together that evening to build a proper casket for Allie.  They even bring its lid to us so we can write a special farewell and God bless to her before fastening it down for good.

It is pitch dark outside when the boys finish the casket.  Taking the brightest flashlights they can find, they head to the yard to start digging her grave.  The spot they choose is near the place where they had a sandbox when they were little.  The sand is mostly gone, but the ground is soft and easy to work.

As Danny and I join them outside to say good-bye, I realize that the hole Giovanni and Nicco have dug is close to, if not spot on, the area where I planted a few tulips years ago.  It doesn't matter.  They never did well here.  Sprouted, but never bloomed.

The casket is placed into the grave.  The dirt is shoveled on top of it and lovingly patted down.

"I've got to mark it," says Giovanni.  "I know what I'm going to make tonight."

Imagine our surprise and delight when Danny and I look out the window the next morning to find a simple wooden cross commemorating Allie's resting place.  Whether appropriate in the strictest sense of Christian faith, this is what Giovanni's heart told him to do.

A beautiful heart which so adored this beautiful cat . . .


Several weeks ago, my granddaughter, Virginia Rose, and I are playing "soccer" out in our back yard.  She is kicking her "Toy Story" ball in every direction imaginable, squealing and laughing when it rolls off the moss and into the leaf mounds which border it.  Of course, I have to retrieve the ball from any number of precarious landings it chooses to take.

Virginia suddenly kicks the ball in the direction of Allie's cross.  Down, down it rolls and tumbles until it bumps up against it.

"Great kick, Virginia!"  I call as I run to get the ball once again.  That's when I see them . . .

Tulips!  Tulips growing on top of Allie's grave!  When the boys dug it, the shovels must have freed the bulbs temporarily, but returned them to the ground when the dirt was put back in place.

New life springing where there was thought to be none.

And, maybe.  Just maybe.  The tulips will bloom this year . . .


How has God, through Christ Jesus, made your life new?

Prayer:  Thank You, Father, for the new life springing up everywhere this time of year, reminding us that we, too, are new creatures in Jesus, our Lord.  As we prepare to celebrate Easter, let us ponder the miracle of the resurrection and be comforted knowing that we will one day be raised to eternal life in heaven with You.  Amen.

Friday, April 11, 2014

The Only Jesus

Matthew 25:40
"The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'"

Pastor Wallace tells us the story of two death-row prisoners.  One is a black man jailed for killing a white man.  He despises all whites with a passion.  The other is a white man imprisoned for killing a black man.  He harbors a vehement hatred toward black people.

During his trial, the white man miraculously comes into a relationship with Jesus Christ.  He is transformed.  Changed forever.  When he is placed back in prison, he finds that his cell is now right beside that black man who hates whites.

Every evening, a courtesy cart is wheeled through the prison.  Inmates are allowed to choose one item from the cart.  The first evening the white man is there, he selects an apple and hands it promptly to the black man.  The latter accepts it, takes a huge bite, chews it up, and throws the pulp into the white man's cell.

The next night, the white man offers the black man a pack of chewing gum.  The black man puts a piece into his mouth, chews it noisily, then spits it into the white man's cell.

This routine goes on day after day after day.  Until, of course, the morning dawns upon the white man's scheduled execution.  No family comes forward to claim the body.  He is placed in a cheap pine box and buried on the prison grounds.

The only people in attendance at his funeral are the chaplain, two prison trustees, and the black man to whom he had shown kindness.

When the short, yet solemn, service concludes, the chaplain turns to go.  The black inmate taps his shoulder.  When the chaplain turns around, he sees tears streaming down the black man's cheeks as he points to the grave site.

"That was the only Jesus I ever knew."


We run into people from all walks of life as we commute to our jobs, shop for groceries, go to the gym, or engage in any number of public activities.  Any one of these strangers may never have read the Bible not set foot in church.  For us as Christians, each encounter with another person is an opportunity to witness to our faith.  Are we being polite?  Courteous?  Kind?  Are we lending a helping hand in time of need?  Are we radiating the light of Christ?  Shining His infinite generosity and goodness toward others?

Think about it . . .

You might be the only Jesus someone ever knows.

Prayer:  We pray, Father, that we can shine the light of Jesus into this dark world through what we say and do, and in the kindness we show to others.  Remind us as we go through our days that we might be the on Jesus someone will ever know.  Amen.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Bless the Lord, O My Soul

Four generations celebrating the love.

Psalm 104:1-2
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
O Lord my God, you are very great.
You are clothed with honor and majesty,
Wrapped in light as in a garment.

While my father is still somewhat aware and can recognize us by looks and names despite his Alzheimer's, my husband, Danny, and I decide to bring the guitar and music selections to entertain him during our visit.  Dad used to play guitar and always loved music, from classical to hymns, from country to folk, all his life.  How could this not cheer him up?  At the very least, stimulate his brain synapses so frail and in decline?  We have every hope . . .

We perform several Christian praise songs for him and are gratified to witness the joy in his eyes and the smile on his face.  Then, we turn to one most recently learned, 10,000 Reasons, by Matt Redmon:

Bless the Lord, O my soul, O my soul.  Worship your holy name.  Sing like never before, O my soul.  Worship His holy name . . .

By the time we reach the second chorus of "Bless the Lord," my father's countenance radically transforms.  Without warning and with breathing labored, tears stream uncontrollably down his cheeks.  We are, understandably, taken aback and cease our song.  Mom comes in to comfort him as we, too, hold his hands and reassure him that this might be enough for him at the moment.  

All we want is to provide joy and comfort to my Dad.  Nothing less.  Yet, we could not control this unexpected outcome.

When my father realized he was developing Alzheimer's and knew how this hideous ailment had already affected his mother, sister, and brother, he chose, in love and leadership, to write his own obituary and the order of service for his memorial.  His intention was not to leave the ones he loved scrambling and guessing as to what his final wishes would be.  What an incredible gift that was to wife, Nancy, and to us all as the end drew near.  We could, without undue anxiety, submit an appropriate obituary to the paper, and the requested ministers and hymn leader could organize a service without undue stress or perplexity.

The date and time is set for the memorial.  The Old Church adjacent to the Oxford College campus, where Dad served 12 years as dean, is filled to capacity.  Old friends, neighbors, co-workers, and former students are lovingly greeted.  Seats are taken as the service is due to begin.

The first scripture read is Psalm 104.  As the minister begins, my husband, Danny, whispers to me, "That's why!  That's why your Dad was so moved by that song.  He remembered!"


That psalm was so engraved in my father's heart and soul, that no matter in what context he heard it, he knew.  And, miraculously, it brought back memories of the times when he could think and reason with the incredible gifts God gave to him.

Dad remembered . . .

And, we will always remember him.


Have you lost a loved one to Alzheimer's? 

Prayer:  Dear Heavenly Father, you gave me on earth a model of the father you are.  I miss him so much, but I know he is in Your loving arms, resting in the comfort of Your presence.  I pray for all those who have suffered the loss of a parent, and I pray they find Your peace which passes all understanding.  Amen.

Friday, April 4, 2014


Acts 14:17
Yet he has not left himself without testimony:  He has shown kindness by giving you rain from heaven and crops in their season; he provides you with plenty of food and fills your hearts with joy.

Spring officially arrived two weeks ago.  Those of us living in the South enjoyed warmer weather for several weeks prior to the change of seasons.  It's a much deserved and welcome break after the frigid pounding we endure this past winter.

Don't get me wrong.  I love winter with its invigorating chill and gorgeous, if intermittent, snow falls.  But, this winter sees record lows, tons of rain, and two paralyzing snow storms which I'm glad to put behind me.  I'm so ready for temps in the 70s!

However brutal the winter, though, it has a most wondrous effect upon our daffodils.  I plant these in our woods several years ago.  They emerge and bloom plentifully the following spring, bringing such color and joy to the brown, drab forest floor.  But, every spring after that?  Only a few brave souls bud and blossom.  The rest send up green, supple shoots and leave it at that.

What a disappointment!  I think, perhaps, I should fertilize them?  Dig them up and plant them elsewhere?  But, no.  I decide to be passive and allow nature to take its course.  What's meant to be, I reason, is meant to be.

So, honestly, as this spring encroaches and the daffodils sprout, I don't hold out much hope for a bumper crop.  I'm resigned to whatever it is these plants will do.  And, I decide to savor any blooms with which we are graced.

One afternoon in late February, my husband, Danny, and I are sitting on our deck basking in the sunshine we've seen so little of this winter.  Something catches Danny's eye and he stands on the lower seat of our double bench to scan the yard below.

"Martha, look!  You've got to see this!"

Immediately, I'm right beside him.

"Down there," he points.  "I've never seen so many daffodils!"

I can't believe my eyes.  The plants are absolutely bursting with buds!  Not only these in the back yard, but also the army I planted in our front yard forest is swelling with promise!

"It has to be because of the unusually cold and wet winter we had," Danny surmises.

It must be.  Our previous winters have been milder and drier.  Too mild and too dry for the bulbs to be adequately nourished.

And, isn't it like that at times in our lives?  We go through the storms and the torrents of suffering, loss, and hardships and are left wondering, Where is God in all this?  Why am I going through such troubling times?  Lord, I don't understand . . .

But, it is precisely in these times of trial when God is honing us for something better.  Helping us to see how we must depend on Him, lean on Him, with every fiber of our being.  For sometimes, it's when our souls are damp and shivering with fear or worry or hopelessness, that the Lord's light shines the brightest.

He leads us out of winter's shadow into the gloriously shining spring.

Fills our hearts with unspeakable joy.

And, in His love, we bloom!

Do you have a favorite flower you look forward to seeing every spring?

Prayer:  Thank You, Father, for sending us the rain, the flowers, and the crops in their season.  Help us to remember that no matter what storms may come, You are always there with us.  Let us ever depend upon and lean on You for everything in our lives.  Amen.

Friday, March 28, 2014

I Will Give You Rest

Matthew 11:28
Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

Dear Friends, Followers, and Fellow Bloggers,

Beginning this Sunday, I'm taking a break from all things internet until Friday, April 4th.  That is when this blog will resume its usual schedule of Friday and Tuesday posting.  I hope each and every one of you will tune back in at that time.

There are many bloggers whom I love to read and religiously leave comments on their posts.  Please understand my temporary absence in the week to come.  Know I will do my best to catch up with your wonderful inspirations when my sabbatical is over.

Simply stated, I need time.  Time to mourn, to rest, to relive memories, and to rejoice in the healing power of the Lord.  Losing my father has been tough on my entire family.  Your continued prayers and positive thoughts are treasured more than you could ever know.

So, until next Friday, may God bless you all and hold you close in His loving hands.

Love and blessings,


Friday, March 21, 2014

Eternal Life

William Henry Murdy
December 25, 1928 - March 19, 2014

John 3:16
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

Dear Faithful Friends and Followers,

This past Wednesday, my father, Bill Murdy, lost his battle with Alzheimer's but won the victory of eternal life.  While we are deeply saddened by his loss, we rejoice in knowing that his soul is at peace, resting in the arms of the Lord.

In light of this, as I know all of you will understand, Meditations of My Heart will be on hiatus for a time.  Your prayers for my mother, Nancy, and for our family are greatly appreciated.

May our loving Father bless and keep you all.

Love and blessings always,


Dad's memorial service is scheduled for Wednesday, March 26th, at 11:00 at the Old Church, Oxford, Georgia.    In lieu of flowers, memorial gifts may be made to the Bill and Nancy Murdy Scholarship Fund, Oxford College, Oxford Georgia, 30054 or the Nature Conservancy of Georgia, 1330 West Peachtree Street, Suite 410, Atlanta, Georgia 30309.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014


Romans 12:2
Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.  Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is - his good, pleasing and perfect will.

Sweetened iced tea is a staple beverage here in the South.  Even though I've lived in Georgia most of my life, however, I've never developed a taste for it.  When I tell friends I don't drink sweet tea, they look at me as if I've grown a third eye.  Until, that is, I explain that any tea, unless it's herbal, doesn't agree with my stomach.  Which, truth be told, keeps me from drinking any teas, herbal or otherwise.  Just not one of my favorite things to imbibe.

Another savory taste in the South is honey.  Yes, I've tried it.  Ugh!  Too icky sweet for my palate!  I'll pass, thank you very much.  Honey resides in the category of "Evil Foods I'll Never Eat," where it enjoys the company of beets and radishes.

But, this past February when my husband, Danny, and I both fall prey to a vicious bug, all of that changes.  We need to keep hydrated, but it's too cold to just drink water.  Danny drags himself to the store to buy some Sleepytime Peach Tea so we can have something warm and soothing to sip on.  Though, even now, it takes some convincing before I acquiesce.

"Here," Danny says, handing me a steaming mug.  "Just try it.  I guarantee you'll feel better for drinking it."

I'm too miserable to argue.  I take a sip.  Then, two.  Then, three.

"This is delicious!"  I declare.  "What did you put in here besides the tea itself?"

"Lemon and honey."

What???  I'm drinking tea sweetened with honey?  And, liking it?  Must be the illness messing with my taste buds.

But, I can't deny that this is one delectable drink.  So, I continue to consume it in great quantities.  Does it make me feel better?  In the sense of comfort and warmth and taste, yes.

The most amazing transformation, however, happens when my sickness abates and I begin to feel human again.  I still crave the tea!  So much so that I now drink two cups a day, late morning and mid-afternoon, instead of that third cup of coffee I used to relish.  In fact, as I write this post, I'm sipping on a delightful cup of the Sleepytime adorned with lemon and honey.  Heavenly!

And, it is in this simple change of heart and palate, I am reminded of how God transforms us into His children when we accept Jesus as our Lord and Savior.  We may be, as I was so many years ago, caught up by and conforming to the patterns of this world, but God wants to change all that.  He wants us to follow His will, and when we do, He will help us to discern what His good, pleasing and perfect will is for our lives.

What could be more comforting, warming and tasty than that?


Are you allowing God to transform your life?

Prayer:  Father, may our prayer ever be that Your will, not ours, be done.  Let us be transformed by Your incomparable love and grace, and renewed each day by Your Holy Spirit.  In the precious name of Christ Jesus, we pray.  Amen.