The Word Weaver
Deb Weaver ~ Communicating God's love, grace, & truth
by The Word Weaver, Deb on November 20th, 2015

​One of my deepest, most insidious fears is that I might waste my life. What if I do a lot of good things but fail to accomplish the things God intends for me to do?

To counteract that fear this year, I chose LISTEN for My One Word. Eleven months into the calendar, I can assure you that it sounds easier than it actually is. 

First, it’s time-consuming and requires solitude and silence. Surrounding myself with constant noise is more comfortable than the silence that first assaults me in the void.  Still, it is essential to my soul’s well-being.  

Second, it requires humility. I must bow before the altar and sacrifice my selfish desires, scattered ideas, and prideful opinions in order for God to fill me with the humility necessary to truly hear.  Only then are the whispers of God’s thoughts able to penetrate the clanging of my own. It’s instinctual to go with my gut, relying upon myself, or to float from day to day than to hear and heed God Almighty.  To recognize His authority and to listen to Him first—purposefully, persistently, intently—is a humble act.

Third, in the quiet I must trust in the unseen, sovereign hand of my Savior.  When I don’t see a lit path or hear His clear voice, then I must trust that He is in control.  He will accomplish His purposes AS I seek and trust Him. Instead of letting my dreams and desires twist together with my fear until they rope me into the corner—instead of allowing them to shame me for being unproductive or unresponsive to the needs around me, I can rest in His sufficiency, His plan, His timing.  I do not need to be all things to all people.  That brings tremendous relief.

The most pressing directive I got from the Allume blogging conference was that I need to fall down on my face before the Lord—sometimes literally, but always figuratively.  Life originates on my knees.  I need to invest time loving Him and receiving His love, pressing in to perceive the Divine.

Sara Haggerty, author of Every Bitter Thing Is Sweet, spoke profound truth that underscores what God has been teaching me.  She said:
​“When we bask in God’s pure love, we will see ourselves and other people differently. Don’t take your empty cup to people to have them tell you how valuable you are—who liked this post? Did this go viral?  Is my writing valuable? Am I valued?—Take it to God. He is the Only One who fully loves you. He is the Only One who fully sees your heart  . . . When we’re filled by God’s delight, we don’t need others to fill our cups. . . In private conversations, as you are tucked into His arms, He will whisper His love and His thoughts to you. . . We do horizontal relationships so well when our vertical relationship is rich and deep.”
I don’t know about you, but I can easily spend time in God’s Word with an eye on the clock and a foot out the door.  Checking my most important relationship off my list for the day and barely attending to what He’s said. 

Picture the God of the Universe—the One who created me and knows my every thought, need, and deed—beckoning me closer:
  • inviting me to splash around in the great rushing current of the Living Water
  • urging me to sink down into the soothing depths of His healing love
  • cleansing me with His lavish mercy
  • delighting me with His heavenly thoughts.  
​Amazingly, He does so.  Daily.  But instead of allowing the Spirit to saturate my soul, I ask for a quick sprinkle and lurch into my day

Then, because my soul is in desperate danger of dehydration, I repeatedly siphon encouragement and purpose from any puddles I find regardless of how dusty or muddy they may be. 

This is what that thirsty desert mirage looks like:  clicking and commenting on post after post or mindlessly binge-watching show after show because it’s easier than the tasks at hand. Begging for dribbles of others’ attention and validation. 

Always thirsting, never tasting.  Always pleading, never satisfied What a tragic waste! 

I’m grateful God is patient and loves me so.  He is the answer to my greatest fear.  He is the Source of all life and offers Himself in abundance. He desires to transform my life with His words, His direction, and His presence. 

Writing, influencing, and relationships are not my greatest focuses.  The Lord is my one true priority.  And when I grasp the hem of Jesus’ robe and refuse to let go until I hear His voice: the words will get written, the messages will be spoken, and the relationships will be enriched. God will accomplish His sacred Kingdom purposes from the rich well of His love for me. 

Perhaps you understand and can relate.  Perhaps you'll join me in confession and prayer?

God Immanuel—"God With Us"—You took our sin and reconciled us to the heavenly Father; therefore, we’re not sentenced to live numb, darkened, fearful, or isolated lives.  That is Good News! 

Please forgive me. I have tossed the crumbs of my time and attention heavenward while I’ve been consumed by my desires and captivated by lesser things.  Please spark my calloused heart back to life.

Your Word tells us that perfect love casts out all fear. You are that Perfect Love. And it is when I am completely saturated in Your love, truth, and presence that life overflows. May I listen in gratitude, wonder, and anticipation as You continue to speak.

May I live awash in Your love. Amen.

by The Word Weaver, Deb on August 29th, 2015

​Do you ever spend time with someone whose mannerisms, words, and spirit calm and inspire you?  You breathe easier and more deeply.  And you walk away with hope and a heart for more of the holy in life. 

Emily P. Freeman is one of those kinds of people.  Though I’ve only met and spoken to her briefly—and she’s just as gracious and sweet as I imagined—I’ve spent hours and hours with Emily’s words and with her heart while reading her books over the years.  She's real.  She lives deeply.

In Simply Tuesday, Emily admits, “In many ways, I’m still coming to accept my Emily-ness, my own way of being in the world, my own okay-ness in the presence of God and others.” 

Me too!  See?  She gets me.  And I’m grateful.

When I read Grace for the Good Girl and A Million Little Ways, I gulped down her words as voraciously as I underlined them.  This time, as I read her latest book, Simply Tuesday, I bit off small pieces and chewed them slowly, thoughtfully.  I wanted to taste each concept and allow it to sink deeply into my marrow.  Her thoughts were rich and meaty with wisdom and seasoned with humor and personal anecdotes.  She served them up in a vulnerable, gentle honesty.  

Simply Tuesday ~ Small-Moment Living in a Fast-Moving World beckons us to step off the train of hustle to live in the moment. 

Racing and striving starves the soul.  There’s another choice.  We can learn to sit and be satisfied by God.
​This was harder to digest because it is counter-cultural.  I’m addicted to Do! Do! Do! Go! Go! Go! I’m constantly in motion, failing to stop and savor, celebrate or ponder.  Rarely asking if I’m moving in the right direction.  Bullied and bossed by the to-do list and expectations (of others, but mostly of myself).  "Driven by fear rather than led by love."  Falling into bed exhausted and never feeling like I measure up or accomplish what I should.  Sound familiar?

I’m inviting you to a beautiful banquet.  Let me take you by the hand and sit next to you there. I promise the feast will be satiating and soul-savory. Sometimes it will be difficult to digest, but the time spent chewing and swallowing will be worth it. 

In this book Emily shares of the drama of being nineteen.  I smiled as it reminded me of my own such drama at that age.  I remember crying to my roommate at the time, “Oh, I just want to be deep.  But I’m only a teacup instead of an ocean.” 

Feel free to roll your eyes and giggle a little.  It amuses me, too, but I remember the real angst of that moment. 

Now I’m satisfied being an imperfect, tiny teacup.  Small, yes.  But I’m discovering that that’s just fine.  You see, a teacup is quickly depleted.  It needs frequent refilling.  And my perfect, heavenly Father delights in this task.
​With Emily’s encouragement and the Holy Spirit’s help, I’m grasping that something small in the hands of our big God is beautiful. 

“We don’t have to fear this small way.  We don’t have to worry that embracing smallness will shrink our impact. Small was Jesus’s whole life—how he came, how he lived, how he died, even to whom he revealed himself once he rose again. 

Small is the position of my soul, the posture by which I approach others, God, and myself. When I’m small, I know I can’t control opinions, manipulate outcomes, or force my agenda on others. When I’m small, I can move into the world confident as the person I most deeply am because I know I don’t move into the world alone.

If this is true, then small is my new free . . .

We may make a distinction between the good kind of small and the bad kind of small, but the truth is there is no difference. In all our small ways, it is Christ who makes it possible for us to move through our lives, believing and trusting he is establishing his kingdom-sized purposes within and around us.”

​My dearest friend, Aimee, encouraged me recently in regard to something I’d written.  She said, “Deb, don’t you ever forget what an absolute gift your writing is.”  

When she said that, I kind of shrugged (which she couldn’t have seen since we were speaking on the phone, yet somehow she knew), for then she continued, “I imagine in the world of bloggers, it’s sometimes easier to value others’ words above your own.  You have access to so many writers and you’re regularly reading the cream of the crop.  It would be easy to think ‘why bother?’ ”

That is true.  It is tempting to discount my words because they feel small, insignificant, and seem to drop at my feet rather than reach many open hearts.  Others can and do say similar things better. 

But my small voice and my individual story matter. And God can and does use my small words no matter where they’re spoken.  God can be trusted with the hearts upon which they fall.

Emily concurs, “I have a vision of people who embrace the significance of our small words, knowing that whether they’re spoken into microphones or near microwaves, they are all sacred when said in the power of the Spirit.”  

Yes, please!
​Oh, her words speak sacred truth into my life.  I could include many more of them here, but if I shared every part that touched me or that I underlined, this post would be a book. Namely, a book called Simply Tuesday.  (And, I think that’s considered plagiarism!)  Instead, let me entice you to pick up Emily P. Freeman's Simply Tuesday ~ Small-Moment Living in a Fast-Moving World and savor it yourself.    

Emily would never consider herself this, but I see her as a modern-day prophet.  God speaks truth through her.  That rare voice in the wilderness pointing the way to the Savior.  That single sign pointing us in the opposite direction we’re traveling.  A quiet, insistent truth-teller inviting us closer to Christ.  Expressing complex truths in winsome, simple ways. 

No, Emily wouldn’t call herself a prophet.  She’d describe herself more of a fellow journeyer who invites others to sit on the bench and share life.  I like that better anyway.  As we experience life together, I’m leaning in, listening softly.  Join us?
Copyright 2015 Deb Weaver, The Word Weaver

by The Word Weaver, Deb on June 12th, 2015

​Our older, beautiful home is a precious gift from God.  It even came wrapped in paper.

Busy, busy, floral wallpaper. 

And lots of it.  

Needless to say, painting has been a significant priority since we moved in last November.  This past week I decided to finally tackle the guest room.

My courage failed me as I brushed the odorous oil-based primer over the patterned walls.  It didn’t seem to make much of a difference.  I could still clearly see the dark green leaves.  Plagued by fumes and doubts, I continued to prime. 

Would this work?  Would it be enough?  Would the pattern still be visible once I added the color?  Should I roll another coat of primer?  
​Hubby assured me that it would be fine.  One primer coat would cover it sufficiently.  I needed to trust the process. 

I could have worried.  I could’ve given it another coat, but I didn’t.  I waited and let it dry overnight. 

Then I added the coat of color.  And guess what? 

Hubby was right.  (Shhh.  Don’t repeat that too loudly.) 

It turned out beautifully.
*****Side-note to painting purists (niece Staci included):
I know it’s not “right” to paint over wallpaper. 

We did it anyway.  It might not be perfect, but it’s definitely faster, and it looks pretty darn good. 

Besides, according to decorating guru and author of The Nesting Place, Myquillin Smith, “It doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful.”

I realize that you may be hyperventilating by now. 

Let me encourage you to relax.  Would it help if I got you a glass of water? 

Breathe.  I promise that it’s going to be okay****

​Painting is a procedure that leaves you a lot of time to think and pray.  Here’s what I’ve been pondering:

This old house and I have a couple things in common besides advancing age and creaking steps.  I, too, am wrapped in patterns.  Patterns, old and busy. 

Three particular patterns—guilt, regret, and shame—have dominated my thoughts and beliefs.  They’ve held me in bondage—nearly smothering and paralyzing me—even as I’ve struggled against them. 

Choices made long ago have haunted me.  I’ve pummeled myself over sins—especially ones I’ve made as a Mama—long after I’d asked for and received forgiveness from the Lord and from those affected by my actions.  

It’s no way to live, but I wanted to punish myself.  I believed I deserved the beating. 

My friend, Christin Ditchfield, understands.  In her excellent book, Letting It Go ~Breaking Free from the Power of Guilt, Discouragement, & Defeat, she relates,  “. . . I’ve experienced the kind of guilt and shame and regret that sticks with me.  Shadows me.  Haunts me.  Hinders me.  I’m so preoccupied with it, so paralyzed by it.  I just can’t get past it, can’t get free of it . . . For some reason, we keep replaying the fateful scene over and over—that humiliating mistake, that terrible decision, those awful words, that grievous sin.  Wincing, cringing, sometimes even weeping over the things we said or did long before we knew better—before we knew Jesus—as well as things we’ve said or done since, when we absolutely did know.  If only we could click ‘undo’ or ‘delete’ in real life.  But we can’t.  So, instead, we verbally flog ourselves . . .”  (pp. 28)

See why I love this gal?!  She gets me! 

And she also understands how this bondage holds me back: “As long as we continue to carry the weight of it on your own shoulders, we will stagger and stumble through life—rather than running free.  Dancing with grace and courage and strength.  Becoming the women we were created to be.”   (pp. 29)

Trying to carry the weight of my sin has nearly killed me (not an exaggeration, not just figuratively).  This self-abuse is unnecessary.  It’s not how grace works.

Yes, I’ve sinned—sometimes gravely.  Made mistakes.  Hurt people I love. 

And though I may experience natural consequences for my sin, I do not have to beat myself black and blue over it.  Jesus already paid for it.  He has forgiven me completely.  
​I know—I absolutely do not deserve such grace.  That’s what makes it amazing. 

Letting go is less about emptying my hands of regret, guilt, and shame, and more—much more—about grasping hold of this gift God offers.

Christin agrees that this is key:  “It’s not just about letting it go; it’s about what we choose to hold on to.  First and foremost, we need to hold on to grace.”   (pp. 47)
Life is messy, but God’s sovereign grace is beautiful. 

It’s stronger, farther-reaching, and deeper than I’ve ever believed.  It covers every inch, every moment of my life. 

I’m learning to more profoundly trust the God of the process.  He is faithful from before the beginning, through the middle, and beyond the ending.  The Alpha and the Omega has got this.  He’s got me.

Through the blood of Jesus Christ, the coverage of His grace—over my sins, failures, errors, dreams, hopes, happiness, detours, over my everyday life—is more than sufficient.  It is complete.  As He proclaimed on the cross, "It is finished!"  (John 19:30, NIV)

It frees me to live abundantly. 


Beloved.  Not broken.


Righteous by faith.

Passionately.  Playfully.  Prayerfully.  Powerfully.

Full of joy.


Indeed, it is beautiful. 
****BOOK GIVEAWAY:  Submit a comment on this blog post and be entered into a drawing for one of two books:  Christin Ditchfield’s Letting It Go or Myquillin Smith’s The Nesting PlaceEntries close and winners will be chosen at noon (Central), Friday, June 19, 2015. 

For more affirmation, hope, and help, please check out Christin’s website or Facebook page.

For encouragement to decorate your own nest beautifully, be sure to stop by Myquillin's website.
Copyright 2015, The Word Weaver, Deb Weaver

by The Word Weaver, Deb on June 5th, 2015

"Letting Go: My Endless Expectations"

​I recently read an article about setting realistic goals for your day--listing three projects and being happy when you accomplish them. 

Yeah, yeah, it was a good article.  I’ve heard it before.  Hubby has harped on the subject a few times in our nearly thirty years of marriage. 

I’m used to pushing myself over my limit until an event is over and then crashing, completely out of gas.  It takes a lot more fuel and several more weeks to recover from this technique.  At different times, I’ve cursed, excused, or embraced my racing ways.

I’m beginning to see an unhealthy pattern about it.  Occasional huge projects are one thing.  Daily approaching life this way is quite another.

And I’ve discovered that I ALWAYS want to accomplish a lot more than three! Way more than six or seven or even ten.  Try fifteen!  Oh, and twenty-five would be downright amazing!

Obviously on the To-Do-List Meter, more is better!  And when you secretly believe that you are Wonder Woman, more is not just better; it’s essential.  

But, as Hubby and I were re-re-re-discussing recently, these extreme expectations also lead to extreme exhaustion.  Like the flat-out-ready-for-bed-at-6:30 p.m.-but-trying-to-hold-off-till-a-slightly-more-respectable-7:30 p.m.-and-still-barely-making-it kind of exhaustion. 

Debilitating. Consuming.  Nearing age fifty-two, and dead night after night.  Not good, I admit.

So I made a new list for today.  It had three things written on it. 

At first. 

But, at breakfast, I added another three.   Hey, stop glaring!  Baby steps!  Baby steps!

Besides, I really want to get stuff done!  And I did promise Hubby that if I got the first three done in the afternoon, I would call it a day. 

(In the interest of full disclosure, I have to confess that I may or, ahem, may not have crossed my fingers behind my back during this promise.

Stay with me . . .I am getting to a point, I promise.)

By four o'clock this afternoon, I'd accomplished the three most pressing and time-consuming items on my list.  And I was tired.




So I did something radical.  I mean, really amazing.  Something practically earth-shattering.

I gave myself a break. 

Now, I know it doesn’t sound incredible, but it truly was.  Normally, I’d just keep plowing through the lengthy list.  And if I had miraculously finished it, I’d think, “Poor planning” and then add two more

(Okay, okay, you’re right—six more)

things to it.  After all, if I’d completed the list, I couldand SHOULD—do more.  Crack that whip!

I’d put off simple pleasures, offering myself empty—and inevitably broken—promises:  “When you finish, you can sit and start that book.”   “Oh, a bike ride sounds wonderful!  Maybe later if you have time!”  “If you finish this task, you can do whatever you want.”

In actuality, “finishing” is a dangerous mirage because there’s always something, be it big or little, to be added.  And I wouldn’t celebrate because the job wasn’t complete. 

Nothing like sucking all the fun out of life!  Perhaps I’m a combination superhero/slave-driver/evil stepmother with a Cinderella complex.  Whatever it is, it’s unhealthy and has to change!

So, slowly, I am learning to let go of my unrealistic, unhealthy expectations of myself. 

Letting go of anything is a process that takes lots of time and lots of steps.  My friend, author and speaker Christin Ditchfield, gets that.  In her excellent book, What Women Should Know about Letting It Go, she shares encouraging, life-tested strategies for helping us navigate this process.  Having struggled with some of the same issues, she is an understanding, wise, supportive cheerleader.  In fact, I can picture the celebratory smile on her face as she reads about my baby steps of freedom.  
​This is what “giving myself a break” looked like yesterday:
  • I acknowledged what I had completed.  Despite the fact that I could have done more, I relished the feeling of accomplishment.
  • I climbed on my bike and spun around the neighborhood with my hair blowing every which way in the breeze and my smile competing with the bright sunshine.  Oh, the joy!  I was eight years old again and experiencing the sheer exhilaration of riding freely once school dismissed.   
  • Then I scooped a bowl of chocolate ice cream and sunk with it into a hot bubble bath—guilt-free and in the middle of the day!  The steam mingled with my sighs of contentment.
  • Afterward, I snuggled up with a delightful, charming book entitled The Tale of Despereaux.  My soul stretched out and wiggled its toes as I breathed satisfaction.  

I’m learning:  I am beloved and valuable.  It’s crucial to refuel frequently and savor moments.  I am more than what I do or don’t get done. 

Giving myself a break looks a lot like God’s grace.  It is beautiful and filling. Sometimes I just need the reminder. 

Perhaps you do, too?

​BOOK GIVEAWAY:  Submit a comment on this blog post and be entered into a drawing for one of two books:  Christin Ditchfield’s Letting It Go or Kate DiCamillo’s The Tale of DespereauxEntries close and a winner will be chosen at noon (CDT), Friday, June 12, 2015

Join me next week for another look at Letting It Go--Shame and another book giveaway!

For a challenge to a deeper life, please also check out Christin’s website or Facebook page 
Copyright 2015 The Word Weaver, Deb Weaver

by The Word Weaver, Deb on February 9th, 2015

​Hubby and I moved across the nation from South Carolina to Wisconsin in November.  We now live in Green Bay—yes, that Green Bay

I love living in a town that pulls together behind one big thing.  It gives you an automatic sense of camaraderie and community.  You see someone wearing a Packer coat or shirt (just about every person you meet), and you smile thinking, “Hey!  New friend!  We both love the Packers!” 

(Hubby, a die-hard Lions’ fan—in truth, you have to be die-hard when you follow them—could probably do with less of the green and gold ferver; but I’ve been a Packer Backer for years, so we manage to cross this monumental marital divide!)  

It’s wonderful to live closer to extended family—frequent dinners together, shopping with my sister, playing with my great-niece and great-nephews, seeing their grins when I walk in the door—oh, all so wonderful!  We're discovering that life from an empty nest has its benefits.  Our neighborhood is lovely and chocked full of friendly dogs and their walkers.  Our house felt like home from the moment we moved in, and we love it here.

In case you’re wondering about the whole “Frozen Tundra” rumor, let me tell you that, yes, it’s truly cold.  However, I’ve learned that temperature is mostly relative.  You just adjust your attitude and outer gear.  In SC, if it was 50, I was cold.  Here, after being in the teens for several days, 30 degrees feels warm. 

Also on that note, if you’re going to move north in the midst of winter after being in the south for nearly 20 years, it’s good to do it when you start having hot flashes.  Hubby and I still fight over the thermostat, but we’ve reversed our positions on the dial.

Despite a good attitude and wonky hormones, cold can still be cold.  I’ve made a discovery today that I’d like to share.  May I be frank?
Sunshine lies. 

Through her teeth.

She appears bright, beautiful, warm, inviting. 

She grins and calls to me, “C’mon out to play!”

Hesitantly I peer outside.  “Are you sure?  I mean, it is February, and it has been pretty cold.”

“Absolutely!  Blue Sky and I are just hanging out.”  

She neglects to mention the menacing presence of another playmate. 

I step out of the shelter of home.  Wind barrels around the corner and stretches out to tag me, slicing through bone and marrow.  He is sharp and serrated.

My face instantly registers unbelief, then shock and awe.  My boots are frozen to the spot.  Blue Sky just shakes his cloudless head.

I recover from the momentary paralysis (which I assume resulted from the ice that had formed in my veins!) and dash back inside.

I can almost hear Sunshine’s chuckle as I glower at her from the window panes.

Defrosting my fingertips by the heater, I wonder anew if Sunshine and Lucy (of Peanuts’ fame) are somehow related.  Fooled again!  Aaughh!

I have got to remember that Sunshine lies.