Author: Pam Hutson

How I Found Out I was a Big Meanie Pants

/ Pam Hutson / 2 Comments

Each Friday morning I have the pleasure of joining my Texas ladies for a weekly bible study session.  I, along with several other ladies, am affectionately known as a “Zoomie.”  Thanks to modern day technology, we gather together, longtime friends and new acquaintances, from near and far to read the Word of God; to discuss, dissect, and dive deep into daily issues that dampen our spirits or drive us to the path of restoration and redemption.

In the comfort of my PJ’s , I stretch out on my bed, open my laptop, sign in, and anticipate the counting down of the timer that will tell me when my Host is ready to let me in to the meeting. My study tools are all spread out neatly beside my lap desk: bible, study guide, pen, pencil, and highlighter. My cup of Lady Gray tea is on my nightstand. The window shade is open, inviting the peaceful mountain view to permeate my soul. Clyde the dog stretches out beside me; an ever-present face kissing, devoted companion.

I always look forward to my time together with these precious souls. Ninety minutes. That’s all I get. So, I try to stay open minded and tuned in as I listen to how God is working around the circle. However, this week was a bit different. Something was getting me right in my craw. (For anyone reading this who doesn’t speak southern, I was irritated!).  You see, earlier in the week, our email came with the announcement that our lesson was going to be led by someone other than our leader, and we would be jumping all the way to the end of the study guide to discuss the bonus lesson on guarding our heart against criticizing others.

Confession.  I truly believed I did not have a critical spirit.

My usual excitement was replaced with dread; maybe even annoyance. I had already read the next lesson in the study guide. Now I had to not only read another lesson, but one in which I didn’t think I could relate to! (hhmmm. . .critical spirit, anyone?!).

So I began. In my little tiff, I tossed up a quick prayer, and asked the Savior of my Soul to give me a teachable spirit; to open my eyes to see and ears to hear the truth of His word. I began to read, although begrudgingly.  The penned words of the author, the scripture references, and the thought provoking questions slowly began to pierce my heart. The Lord allowed past memories and present messes to flood my mind, and I became increasingly uncomfortable. Something was emerging from the hidden places of my heart – Something faceless, dark, mean, and just downright yucky. Something that might just look a tiny bit like criticism. But it just couldn’t be!  I never, never, never want to hurt someone’s feelings. I couldn’t be a critical person. I was an encourager. God gave me the gift of encouragement!  I needed to get to the bottom of this.

So I sat. I thought. And it didn’t take long before I was face to face with a burden that I have carried for far too many years; a troublesome situation with someone whom I deeply love and have begged for God to “help” countless times. I had recently learned that something had changed for this person. Something good. Something necessary. Something I had asked God to make happen. Every “worst case scenario” played out in my mind. Negative thoughts became spoken words dripping with resentful displeasure. Not gratitude. Not relief. Not praise. Not whispered words of thankfulness or shouts of joy. Criticism.  Only Criticism.  

What leads us to find fault in others? To pick apart? To tear down? To be cruel and critical? The answers are not simple, yet they are surely deeply rooted in every word, action, and deed that has shaped us into the people we are today. Perhaps it’s the echoes of hurtful names we were called on the playground back in grade school. Or could it be the nagging feeling of never being good enough in the eyes of a demanding and demeaning parent? Maybe it’s an unkind word spoken by a well-meaning friend. For some of us, it’s the hidden reminder of the abuse we silently suffered at the hands of a monster. Many of us have dined at the table of criticism for far too long; broken promises and disappointment served to us on a platter of doubt over and over again by someone to whom we are deeply devoted.

 I sat in the middle of my mess, wondering what to do with this troubling and sobering truth I had learned about myself, (I knew it was true, because God said it was . . . not the Internet . . . God. So it had to be true!), I needed a reminder of how to guard my heart, and not be critical of others. I certainly did not want to become a great big meanie pants!!  

There’s something beautiful about not having to stay the way we are. We don’t have to allow past offenses to create and command a critical spirit within us. Our walk with Jesus is more important than how others have treated us. Jesus challenges and the Holy Spirit enables us to reflect the heart of God. God does not want us to respond emotionally, but to have the mind of Christ. If we focus on Jesus, and be fully clothed in the Armor of God (Ephesians 6:10-17), then we will be equipped to rid ourselves of all bitterness, anger, harsh words, and slander, as well as all types of evil behavior, and in exchange we will be able to extend kindness, be tender hearted, and forgiving . . . just as God is toward each of us (Ephesians 4:31-32).

Now this sounds so much better than being a big meanie pants!  Don’t you think?!

𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚

/ Pam Hutson / 3 Comments

It’s been a difficult week on the front porch. . .

 . . . notifications from friends that loved ones have passed away

. . . watching my sweet dog suffer through a “hopefully he will heal” process with a stretched ACL

. . . realizing Hank (my Jeep) may need even more repairs after just rebuilding the transmission

. . . praying my sister recovers quickly from Covid, and that my mom doesn’t contract it

. . . getting a phone call from my daughter in Texas letting me know that I am going to be contacted by a local police detective about a development with my sweet, three month old granddaughter

. . . yes, it’s been a difficult week on the front porch.

Of my list of 𝒘𝒐𝒆𝒔, the one that has occupied my thoughts and grabbed hold of the reins of my heart is 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔.

One of my dearest friends’ estranged brother of 15 years passed away.

Another friend and former co-worker’s wife lost her yearlong battle to health complications.

My brother in law’s sudden and unexpected death from four years ago popped up in my memories on social media.

My recent birthday, which has transitioned from the hope of a celebration, to the yearly reminder of my dad’s death and all that was lost and that could have been.

An onslaught of emotions that accompany death invade my mind.

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙.
          𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮.
                    𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙐𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜.
                              𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝘾𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣.
                                        𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙈𝙮𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨.

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙.

It consists of many parts intricately woven together that are difficult to understand, or analyze, or explain. Yet we try. We try to decode it as if it were a math problem, breaking it down into its simplest form, hoping that in its simplicity we will be able to grasp that the underlying meaning is in fact a natural end to something we played no part in.

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮.

The dawn of each day greets us with dreams twisted in reality. Broken memories and missing minutes peek at us through a hole in the cloth of time. Our eyes are rain; stolen memories stream down our cheeks, pooling at our feet.  We wear our pain like a heavy cloak; the pockets weighted down with words left unsaid.

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙐𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜.

It troubles our mind with “what if,” “if only,” and “should have.” We try with everything within us to make sense of something we deem to be senseless, yet we sit in silent sadness, our mind now a desolate land where hopes and dreams once lived.

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝘾𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣.

Everybody dies. Tucked away in the corners of our mind we know one day it will come. Even so, we deny it to be so. We plead.  We barter.  We beg the invisible chains of darkness to keep it hidden away behind the curtain just a little longer. Yet it is inevitable and impossible to avoid.

Or is it?

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙈𝙮𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨.

Indeed it is beyond our power to humanly understand or explain. It is veiled in the unknown of what lies beyond . . . of what is to come in the afterlife. When we are 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚, how we respond is solely dependent on how, or what, we believe. For some, it is truly the end. We hold on tightly to everything that matters in the world, our heart breaking, our body aching, our mind begging for one more minute – for one more phone call, one more hug, one more chance to laugh together.  For others, it is a promise kept. It is hope. It is the transition to the place that has been prepared for them; where death, decay, and destruction have been defeated. It is not the end . . . it is the bridge they cross over to eternal life.  And for those of us left to carry on until we see them again, we learn to live in a new way. We learn to embrace the pain; to keep them alive with our memories; to hold on to the assurance that God has them in His care.

It’s been a difficult week on the front porch . . .

. . . while I don’t know which side of death you believe in, I do want you to know that my wish for you is that you continue; that you know hope, and that it would be a strong and trustworthy anchor for your soul. (Hebrews 6:19)

“For this is how God loved the world: He gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but to save the world through him.”

John 3:16-17 (NLT)

For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 6:23 (NLT)

And because you belong to him, the power of the life-giving Spirit has freed you from the power of sin that leads to death.

Romans 8:2 (NLT)

Our God is a God who saves! The Sovereign Lord rescues us from death.

Psalm 68:20 (NLT)

He redeems me from death and crowns me with love and tender mercies.

Psalm 103:4 (NLT)

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

John 14: 1-3 (NIV)

𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒃 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕’𝒔 𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉!

/ Pam Hutson / 3 Comments

I have heard those words countless times throughout my life, and said them even more.

Just what is it about sitting on the front porch?

For me, it’s the place where life really happens. It’s everything, and nothing at all.

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝑳𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 . . .

. . . reminiscing. Recalling my favorite childhood memory of long ago days when my sister, brother, and I would spend summers on my grandparents’ farm in Michigan. Carefree days began with a cacophony of sounds: roosters crowing, chickens cackling, cows mooing, horses neighing, geese hissing,  grandpa’s old, rusted red tractor spittin’ and sputterin’ to life, and the clanging of the machinery at the sawmill all swirling around in the cool morning air. Each day the same as the next – help Grandma set the breakfast table, clean the kitchen after breakfast, and do your assigned chore (mine was usually slopping the pigs). Lazy afternoons were made up of clambering around in the corn bin, swinging on the rope from the loft in the hay barn, or horseback riding in the endless, wide open field with the cousins. Evening time found us relaxing on the glider, waiting for the ringing of the dinner bell – our signal that we “bess come and get it, or we’ll go to bed with our tummies growlin’.”

But the best part of the day could only be found on the weekend. You see, on the weekend, grandma seemed to slow down just a bit. The day began slower, simpler. She made us all finger toast – a slice of buttered toast loaded up with her homemade jam, cut into three slices – along with a cup of black coffee (that’s a story for another day!).  She would holler out, “grab your coffee and toast, and let’s go sit on the front porch.”  We would sit there, on that front porch; a subtle aahhh would slip from her mouth as she savored each sip.  We would chat and chuckle about silly things, and in those moments we would be carefree, but mostly, we would be together. 

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝑳𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 . . .

. . . where I talk to Jesus, and tell him about the people in my life that own a piece of my heart. Where I offer up a prayer of desperation; where the cries of my heart compose a broken hallelujah. It’s where I get “taken to the wood shed,” and learn how to be the best version of me. It’s where I’m reminded of the deeper meaning of forgiveness, and that love covers a multitude of sins. It’s the place where mercy and grace are new every morning.

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝑳𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 . . .

. . . where I go to escape this world and get lost in a good book. It’s where I record my thoughts in a journal, and list my blessings and all that I have to be thankful for. It’s the place where I spend time with the experts who share nuggets of wisdom on personal development. Where my beliefs are challenged and my fears are turned into faith. It’s the place where I ponder ways to make a difference in this world.

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝑳𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 . . .

. . . sharing deep conversation and unbelievable stories with family and friends. It’s where long phone conversations with far away friends take place; where big squeezy hugs miraculously travel through the air ways, spreading warmth and peace all the way through to the marrow of my bones. It’s the place where I am reminded that I am someone’s friend, Momma, MiMi, sister and daughter. Where I am reminded that I am worthy, and I matter.

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝑳𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 . . .

. . . the place where I gently rock to and fro, sip on my Lady Grey tea, and simply be. It’s where I watch the tree tops sway in the gentle breeze. Where I listen to the sing-song call of the birds, announcing to nature, “we’re here, we’re here.” It’s the place where I watch the sun slip into the night sky, as slumber settles in among the majestic mountain ranges. It is a cool refreshing drink of peaceful tranquility that quenches my dry, thirsty soul. It is my self-care. It is my peace.

So you see, my friends, the 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉 can be a place, or it can be more of a feeling. It can be whatever you need it to be, wherever you need it to be. Whether your 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉 is a literal front porch, a back porch, a balcony or lanai, a mountaintop or stretch of beach, a nature walk or bicycle ride – wherever you are, whatever you are doing, you can surely be 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝑳𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈.

So, g𝒓𝒂𝒃 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕’𝒔 𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉! ☕