Thursday, August 14, 2014

Blood Brothers

The postcard arrived in a stack of mail and brought immediate smiles to the faces of my husband and I. Pictured on the front were our four sons, the three born to us and one “adopted” into the clan when they all happened to be home together on a recent holiday.

My three birth boys, Brian, Mark, and Kevin, have always been close. While still in the womb I prayed that they'd have a special connection as siblings, and God has answered that prayer through circumstances that left them little choice but to get along. Born roughly two years apart, they were raised in a rural setting where neighbors were few, and none had sons the ages of mine. And so my boys shared everything, from toys to clothes to bedrooms...to the friends they made in our church and the private school they attended. Mostly they shared experiences with these brothers of flesh and friendship, and as they grew, so did the list of escapades they lived through together...shenanigans that were added to the lore of the Bridge Brothers en masse.

Grown now and gone from our home, the bond between them has held tight despite the physical distance that separates them, strengthened by the use of cell phones and social media that has kept them in close contact with each other. Regular visits home and vacations they take with one another have reinforced the ties that bind them together, as well as add to the ever-growing list of adventures survived and shared. New friends each of my sons have made on their own have only been pulled into the group of communal buddies rather than separating them from their friends of the past. A friend of one becomes a friend of the rest, brothers all.

It was Kevin, who met and became friends with Adam while they were in college together in Florida. Soon Adam had met Brian and Mark and the joke began about him joining the clan and becoming an official “Bridge Brother”. It surfaced so many times that it eventually became a reality. The last time my boys were all home together, Adam happened to be at a family reunion in nearby Cleveland and decided to drive down for a day, girlfriend in tow. An induction ceremony of sorts took place, hilarious in all aspects, and recorded for posterity on girlfriend Jenna's cell phone. Since then several “official” family photos have surfaced of the four “brothers” together, one of them on the front of the postcard that was sent by our newest family member as a thank you for the time we spent together. Addressed to “Mom and Dad” and signed Adam Bridge, it now hangs on our fridge, a token of joy remembered and treasured.

Adam's name brings to mind the long string of identically named sons who likewise longed to be adopted into God's family, a desire that was similarly satisfied through a relationship with His Son. Adam was added to our family in a ceremony involving barbecue sauce. root beer, and a whole lot of laughter; Christ added us to His with His blood, sweat and tears, suffering in silence on the cross. Yet with the action He bought for us the right to bear His Name, with all the rights and privileges that accompany it. Having secured for us an open access to Heaven we can communicate regularly now with our Heavenly Father, our prayers the postcards that He receives, treasures, and delights to respond to in His great love for us.

My youngest two sons recently got similar tattoos, the outline of the state of Ohio with the word “home” written inside of it in bold lettering. It has become so popular that many in their group of friends are thinking of getting the exact same one. In fact, Adam had his girlfriend draw it freehand on his arm with a black Sharpie while he was here, a sign that he was now one with the rest. The Bible says that our names are tattooed on the palm of Christ's hands in the nails he took on our behalf...that thoughts of Home may be tattooed not just on our arms, but imprinted forever on our hearts.

For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one source. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers...”
(Hebrews 2:11 ESV)

Friday, August 1, 2014

Burning Bush Theology

Flagmen on road construction crews live a life of danger because of people like me.

It's not that I don't see the orange work zone signs when driving. I even take note of the one informing me of a flagman ahead. But between the time I see the sign and the flagman actually appears, my mind has moved on to a million other things, and I forget to look for a man standing beside a stop sign where one normally doesn't appear.

I sent one such workman flying into a ditch one day as a result. With no line of cars patiently waiting to warn me as the construction zone neared, I simply kept on driving, despite the flagman's increasingly frantic motions on the side of the road. Consumed with my thoughts, I simply didn't see him. The son in the front seat suddenly realized I wasn't slowing and said, “Aren't you going to STOP??!!!!” At the last second I saw the sign and came to a screeching halt. As the flagman emerged from the ditch into which he had jumped, I saw with dismay that he was a county sheriff in full uniform, working the road detail on that particular day. Only then did I notice the patrol car with the flashing lights in the work zone. Surprisingly, I didn't get arrested; the cop was too furious to speak and simply stood glaring at me for what seemed like an eternity, my teenager slumped low in the seat next to me in total mortification, Slowly he retrieved the flag from where he'd thrown it as he jumped, and still scowling, waved me on my way.

Since that day, God has taken a proactive role in my life to prevent a recurrence. When we pass an orange sign while driving now He whispers into my ear, “Oh, look! A work zone.”

“I see it, Lord,” I reply.

“Are we going to kill the flagman today, or let him live?”

“I think we should let him live.”

“Good choice.” On and on He talks to me, making me laugh and keeping my attention focused on the situation at hand until we are safely through the construction area and another life has been spared.

Yesterday, however, I didn't need the Holy Spirit's conversation to get me to notice the flagman; the worker in question simply gave me no choice.

I had only just passed the orange construction signs when I spotted the neon-yellow-clad figure standing next to a stop sign and waving his hands repeatedly over the top of his head. Clearly he was taking his life in his hands by standing in the exact middle of my lane rather than at the side, making it an impossibly long jump to the nearby ditch should I not have stopped. But obediently I slowed, so far in advance of where he stood that he actually motioned me forward and then raised his hand to stop me when I reached the exact spot he had in mind. Intrigued by how precise and intentional he was in all his movements, I watched to see what he would do next. He was all attention, counting the cars as they lined up behind me, looking ahead for the oncoming traffic to arrive, and motioning errant cars over if they strayed a little wide in the lane as they passed. When the one lane open finally cleared, he didn't just wave me casually on, like so many bored construction crew members have done before him. Very carefully he turned the sign, and then pointed to the word “SLOW” that was written on the other side. As if he knew that wasn't enough, he turned his hands over so the palms were facing the asphalt and pushed them repeatedly towards the ground, clearly telling me to take it easy on the gas pedal. Only then did he deliberately point to now-open lane ahead of me and wave me onward.


I've driven through hundreds of construction zones in my lifetime, and, as I've detailed above, I've barely given the flagmen at each end more than a passing glance, despite the fact that their devotion to duty has life and death consequences for me in those moments that I entrust my life to their direction. This man's excellence in even such a simple task caught and held my attention long enough for him to get his point across. I found that I was obeying his instructions and driving much more slowly through the site than I normally would, ignoring the pressure from the line of cars behind me to make up the time we'd lost in waiting.

Heading in to work myself that morning I couldn't help but compare my usual job performance in relation to his. No matter what our line of work, over time it's easy to let the level of performance we strive for slide from the-very-best-we-can-be to just-enough-to-get-by. And yet for us as Christians there is a reason beyond the desire for a great performance review to increase our attention to detail. God likewise has a message of life and death consequence to deliver through us to the people who pass us by each day. Yet it's easy for His voice in us to get lost in the daily barrage of opinions and attitudes our fellow travelers are hit with as they journey through life; we tend to blend in like so much passing scenery. His presence within us, however, should cause to us to approach everything we do with such passion and excellence that we stand out, causing people to pause in their passing and take note of what He wants to say through us that they might otherwise have missed.

God has a passion for saving people; sometimes He just needs a little help in getting their attention. That's where we come in. Simply be at your best and let God do the rest.

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might...”
(Ecclesiastes 9:10 NKJV)

Thursday, June 26, 2014

From Grief to Gratitude

Up and down the aisles of the craft store I wandered, looking for the items I needed to make a watering station for my backyard birds, my mind filled with thoughts of a dear friend who excelled in the making of crafts of all kinds. Surely this must be her favorite store, I thought, with the abundance of materials to work with as well as the the spiritual connection that was evident in the music playing softly in the background and the theme of many of the items for sale on the shelves; two passions satisfied in one shopping trip!

With Father's Day approaching, I realized that the day would be a difficult one for her, having just recently lost her dad and with her loss still so fresh. My heart went out to her, knowing how much she must be missing him. But God didn't let a melancholy mood settle down on me, reminding me instead that all of us who have lost our dads and are thinking of them on that summer Sunday can turn our thoughts from grief to gratitude by gaining new purpose in our lives from the loss we've been through.

I never had the privilege of meeting my friend's dad, but I feel like I know him somewhat from what I've seen in the lives of his family members and heard from their lips as they've spoken of him. I know that he was a good, honest man with a passion for God, a zest for living and a joy that spilled out of his heart and overflowed onto all those around him. I can see him in his granddaughter, who is so full of love for her family...in the younger grandson who is actively in pursuit of his dreams, and in the older one who joins his mom in being simply two of the happiest people I've ever known. As a group they refuse to blame God for taking this amazing man away from them but instead thank Him for giving him to them in the first place, and they celebrate his life by the way they live their own.

When Jesus' disciples asked Him to show them the Father, Jesus replied, “...He who has seen Me has seen the Father...” (John 14:9). He had made His Father visible by the things He did and said, and now He passes that purpose on to us. Just as people can catch a glimpse of what our earthly fathers might be like by watching us, even more can they catch a vision of our heavenly Father in their associations with us, in listening to the words we speak and watching the way we live and relate to one another.

Obviously, one way we can make God known is to simply talk Him up. The evening I spent answering my youngest son's questions about my own father brought my dad alive in my heart once more. I was thankful all over again for the time we had together, and found not sadness but incredible joy in sharing details of what he was like and the lessons he had taught me, even in our difficult moments. In the same way, those who have a passion for God find that their thanksgiving for who He is to them overflows in renewed joy that is evident in the testimonies they share. All of us who know Christ have a story to tell that will help some hungry soul understand God's heart toward humanity a little better.

Our actions speak louder than words, however. When people see the characteristics which define God in action in our lives, they get a visible picture of what He must be like. Especially on those days when the death of someone dear to us consumes us, He encourages us to shift our focus from lamenting our loss to giving thanks for all we have gained in the time we were together, and then to take that love we still have to give and spend it lavishly on the lives around us. To the extent that we give love away, He will refill our hearts with more of the same.

We have a good example to follow. When Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus, His first action was to look to Heaven and give thanks. His words and actions that followed brought life, love and joy to all who were near. Ours will do the same.

We are born to one dad, and born again to Another. Look around at your spiritual siblings and realize that you can be your father's son or daughter in more ways than one. You don't have to wait till June to honor your Dad. When you make it your mission to make Him known, every day is Father's Day, and celebration the inevitable end result.

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing, You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness”.
(Psalm 30:11)

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Do Nots and Donuts

It was still early in the day when the elderly man came through my line at the grocery store with a mixed assortment of items he wanted to buy, the last of which was three glazed donuts tucked inside a bakery bag, it's top carefully rolled closed. He was in the process of paying me when his wife suddenly showed up beside him, having stopped at the store unexpectedly and spotted him there. They smiled and chatted briefly...until she caught a glimpse of the bakery bag and rightly discerned its carefully concealed contents. Her demeanor changed instantly.

“You bought donuts?” she asked incredulously. “You knew we were going to have breakfast...”

“I know,” he stammered, “but I just wanted to get these.” It was obvious to me that for some reason, whether for health concerns or because they had made other breakfast plans, donuts were on a forbidden food list, and with the purchase he had clearly crossed an invisible line. Noting the look on her face, he turned back to me and said, “You don't do marriage counseling, do you? I think I'm going to need it...!”

On my next break I told the tale to my husband via text message, and his finger-tapped response to me was, “Wise counseling would have been to confiscate the donuts and bring them home to me for further study.”

I laughed as I read his reply and then shook my head, thinking to myself, “Men and their donuts. What are you going to do?” But the truth of the matter is that both men and women find themselves tempted with forbidden sweet treats, not just inside the grocery store, but within the boundaries of the marriage relationship as well. Taking the person standing beside you as your lawfully wedded spouse also entails promising not to engage in behavior that would in any way damage the relationship you have legally, emotionally and physically given yourself to. With every “I do” spoken at the altar comes an unspoken but equally binding “I do not” list that ensures the sanctity of the verbal commitment.

No two such lists are exactly alike. While there are some basic entries common to all; each couple's list is as unique as the individuals in the union, and it evolves over time. As the years go by, each marriage partner learns what upsets their spouse, and that item is then added to the list of actions and attitudes they have learned to avoid. Common sense counseling advises both couples to stay away from the items on the list if they do not want to upset their beloved.

We feed whatever we give our attention to, however, and if we are constantly focused on what we can't have or shouldn't do, soon that's all we think about. Those thoughts grow until they eventually become actions that can destroy in an instant the trust and compatibility in a marriage that took years of effort to build. A better way to marital happiness is to concentrate on developing the sweetness of the relationship itself so that you are not tempted to look elsewhere for the joys you have at home. Develop an “I do” list of actions that delight your wife or husband, and you will find that as the list grows, your happiness together does as well.

A day or two after the donut episode described above, I saw another man who regularly does the weekly shopping duties for his wife because she doesn't enjoy the trip to the store. Doing the chore for her is a simple way to make her happy. His visits always end the same way. As I slide each item across the scanner he says, “That one's for her...that one's for her...that one's for her...”, until we come to the last item, which is likewise always a couple of donuts in a wax paper bag. As I reach for those he always says, “And those are for me, my treat for doing her shopping!”

As he walked away, I realized that that man has found more than donuts in his bakery bag; he's learned that doing whatever he can to make the one he loves happy brings it's own reward.

It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don't use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love...”
(Galatians 5:13-15 MSG)

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Destiny in the Details

The story began when I was put on firewood detail in the first week of a summer-long forestry camp, an in-the-field training session to back the book learning of the final two years of college classes in my pursuit of a degree in forestry. Somebody put a chainsaw in my hands and the afternoon yielded not only a stack of wood but a nickname that stuck.

“Chainsaw” became my identity, due largely to the efforts of a very determined fellow forester and friend. Because he called me that so persistently, soon everybody else did, too, including classmates, professors, even the dean of the College of Natural Resources who handed out the diplomas on graduation day. For two years I went by little else.

The years passed and we all went our separate ways, to wherever the jobs were available. One by one I lost touch with the people I'd gone to school with. The nickname was packed away in the trunk along with other treasures from those years, followed eventually by my hard hat, cruiser's vest, and corked boots, when I left the field of forestry for the fun of raising a family as a stay-at-home mom.

Decades passed. And then a Sunday morning found me visiting a church in a nearby town with my family. A long relationship with another church body had ended when my husband's office moved to a neighboring town and we began looking for a new place of worship closer to home. Spiritually I was feeling lost and discouraged, cut off from ministry activities of the past and wondering if God still had a use for me in the years ahead.

Everything about the church that morning was great, from the coffee in the foyer to the friendliness of the congregation, and the worship service was alive and vibrant. When it was time for the pastor to speak, he came up to the platform bearing a bulky case of some kind, and as he welcomed the congregation he said that God woke him at four in the morning and told him to illustrate his message with a tool he had in his garage.

He sat on the top step of the platform and began telling a story as he unfastened the locks on the case. He owned a piece of property on which he wished to build a house, but the acreage needed a lot of work in preparation. It was overgrown with trees and shrubs, and he had a long day of cutting and clearing ahead of him.

I didn't think anything of it at first when he then pulled a chainsaw out of the case, held it in his hands, and continued with his tale. It wasn't until he began speaking to it directly that I suddenly didn't hear a man talking to his tool any longer, but God speaking directly to me. Chainsaw, he said, “I know the plans I have for you...plans for good and not for evil...you're going to build me a house. I knew I was going to need you...”

My eyes popped; my heart pounded. I listened carefully to every word He said, scribbling them down in my notebook and later pasting them into my journal where I could find them the next time I was attacked by the demons of doubt and disbelief.

God called me by a name that only He and I remembered, speaking the hope, encouragement and purpose I so desperately needed to hear into my future using an identity from my long-ago past. I left the building excited and encouraged, filled with new hope. Ironically, the message that morning was on the fourth dimension, how even the smallest details of our days are deliberately put in place by God for use in some distant time when He will call them into play. The events of our days are carefully orchestrated by a loving Father who has good plans for us and destinies we have the opportunity to fulfill.

As if to emphasize the point, I happened to read a story about a family that lost a pet tortoise during a renovation of their home. They assumed it got out during the chaos of builders coming and going and leaving doors and gates open in their wake. When the patriarch of the family died some thirty years later, the children gathered to clean out the upper storage room that was packed with old furniture and junk the old man had pulled from the surrounding neighborhood and saved. There they discovered the long lost family pet, still alive and thriving, having survived perhaps on termites found in all the old wood.

We never know what treasure we have deliberately or unconsciously packed away in life experiences we thought were over and done. Every detail of our lives is important to God, and nothing is forgotten. When we least expect it He might pull a long lost pet name or similar detail from our past and use it to direct our future. He has a work yet for each of us to do to help Him build his house; inside of us are the tools He'll use to benefit somebody else. He calls them forth using words our hearts respond to, hoping our feet will likewise move in His direction. A fantastic future can be just a footstep of faith away.

We are assured and know that [God being a partner in their labor] all things work together and are [fitting into a plan] for good to and for those who love God and are called according to [His] design and purpose.”
(Romans 8:28 AMP)

Monday, April 21, 2014

Where the Rubber Meets the...Wrist

Purple ribbons glued onto our name tags, plastic bracelets encircling our arms, bluejeans worn in the workplace on weekends...all evidence of donations made to the American Cancer Society in support of a coworker's wife who is battling the disease. More fundraisers are planned, ideas that flowed out of a think tank of sorts as fellow employees look for concrete ways to help a friend in a time of great need.

It's the donations that are important of course, money to fund the search for a cure. But the emblems that indicate our participation serve a purpose, as well. A lot of us don't have much contact with the coworker in question. As the store manager, he is a man we see from a distance mostly, walking the aisles with his cell phone frequently to his ear, his eyes scanning the store he passes through while his mind concentrates on the voice he hears. But he sees us, and we want him to wade through a sea of purple support everywhere he goes, these images of hope a reminder that he has a team of believers by his side. Trouble is easier to bear when shared.

I look at the bracelet on my arm and turn it around so the white lettering is facing me and read the reminder: Kathy's Believers. If the purple color of the plastic is to catch the manager's eye, this lettering is surely supposed to catch mine and remind me of the third and most important layer of support I can offer...my prayers.

There are many, I suppose, who are acquainted with Kathy personally and believe in her personal strength, courage, and ability to beat this disease. I know nothing about the woman aside from her name. But I know God. And I believe in a God who can heal...a God who can help...a God who can hold us when our hearts are breaking...a God who let His own heart be broken that He might offer us the hope of Heaven when we die. And because I believe, I have the privilege of lifting her name up in prayer, inviting God to intervene in her situation, trusting that whatever the outcome He will work all things out to the good. I look at the bracelet and am reminded that as one of Kathy's believers I can speak to God on her behalf.

Yet there is more expected of us than mere speech. Our actions profess our beliefs more than any words we confess. And we want God to be encouraged as He moves among us, that He might see His Spirit at work within those who call themselves by His Name and witness the love, joy, peace, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness and self control that define Him. Prayer is so much more than mere words spoken to God. It is a hug to a coworker in tears, a nod of understanding and a listening ear to the most difficult customer, a smile at all times. It is showing up on time and obeying direction and giving one's all, all day long.

Make no mistake: God answers prayer because He is good, not because we are. But as His believers we have the privilege of moving His Hand and His heart by laying our requests before Him. Love is simply the language spoken in the Kingdom, and we have a responsibility to the “Kathys” around us to become fluent in it, however foreign and difficult it sometimes seems to be.

Now each time that rubber circle slips over my hand I remember that Jesus took a nail through His so that we might have the right to speak to God on others' behalf. May it be our actions rather than our armbands that attract His attention, and the love we walk in rather than words on a wristband that determine the true believers among us.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails...”
(1 Corinthians 13:4-8 NIV)

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Raynaud's Restrictions

Self diagnosis is said to be dangerous. So for weeks when my fingertips would go white and numb in random combinations and at odd times, I resisted the urge to visit WebMD or consult the book of symptoms sitting on the bookshelf. I would simply shake my hands in the hope of getting the blood flowing through them properly again and likewise shake off the concern that there was something seriously wrong. I prayed that the annoying habit would simply go away, and vowed to consult a doctor if it didn't.

But one morning as I felt the tell-tale tingling start up and watched as the tip of my middle finger turn white, I found I was more curious than worried, and took to the internet to find some answers. I came away with two problems solved, instead of just the one.

I discovered that Raynaud's Phenomenon is a condition in which the digits of the hand and or feet experience a restriction of blood flow due to blood vessel spasms, usually as a result of exposure to heat or cold. A progression of skin color from white to blue to red is characteristic as the blood flow is first restricted, the tissue experiences oxygen deprivation, and then the spasm ends and normal blood flow is once again restored. The most basic treatment is simply to protect the affected area from exposure to the temperatures that triggered it.

I was fascinated by the information, especially as it applied to a similar problem I was having in my spiritual life. I'd likewise experienced a restriction in Blood flow of sorts, especially to my fingertips as they hovered above the computer keyboard, waiting for words to type. No inspiration moved them to connect letters into words that expressed faith, hope, or encouragement of any kind. Pages that once easily filled up with print were left white and waiting for direction from a brain that felt numb and devoid of spiritual direction of any kind. Apparently there was some restriction in my spirit, the evidence of which was my increasingly blue emotional state.

Restrictions in our ability to see and hear from God on a regular basis can have many causes. Sin can sometimes separate us from our Source as we pull back from God out of guilt and a reluctance to submit to His authority. Sometimes God goes quiet to cause us to pursue Him more passionately, as once having had a taste of His Presence in our lives, we become hungry for more. And sometimes He is simply waiting for us to complete His last direction before He's ready to move on with the next step of our spiritual journey.

The latter was the case in my situation. God had been speaking to me about returning to an area of ministry that once filled my thought life as well as my days, but in recent years had been moved to the sidelines as I pursued other spiritual interests. He wanted me to become active in that initial activity once more, and gave me guidelines as to how to go about it. I accepted His direction and dabbled in doing as He asked, but clearly didn't jump into it as wholeheartedly as He desired.

He got my attention by seemingly withholding His; He simply went silent. And suddenly, so did my keyboard. I had nothing to say if I couldn't hear His voice. I tried to shake things loose on my own, and when those attempts were unsuccessful, I got serious in looking to Him for answers. He simply told me there was something He had asked of me that had been left undone.

It didn't take me long to figure out what it was. I took up His request with new resolve, and amazingly, experienced relief on two levels. Just as my fingertips experienced a “flushing” of blood once the blood vessel spasms ceased, so my spirit experienced the same, and ideas and words rushed to fill the void. God's message to me was clear: Remove the restriction and the Blood flows freely once more.

I've likewise learned from my web search that I can prevent future occurrences of Raynaud's Phenomena by protecting vulnerable areas from exposure to the cold. And surely I can do the same with my spirit. I cover my hands now when filling my birdfeeders on chilly mornings, perhaps for more reasons than one. I need the reminder to handle God's directions with kid gloves, making sure I follow them explicitly and finish them completely, so that His Blood can flow to the farthest reaches of my soul.

And Samuel said, 'Has the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to listen than the fat of rams.'”
(1 Samuel 15:22 ESV)

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Mealtime Majesty

We met at a fast food restaurant for a quick meal before heading to a meeting. Dinner in hand, we found an empty booth and slid into the high backed seats on either side of the freshly wiped table. Engrossed in my meal, I took no notice of the people coming and going around me. But suddenly a little girl's voice from the table just behind me pierced my consciousness.

“Mommy, we forgot to pray.”

I smiled at the preciousness of the comment expressed in such little-girl innocence. Quickly the mother had her correct their mistake, and they went on with their meal. But her words come back to me often now, usually midway through the first bite of any food set before me. Sadly, sometimes it's not till I'm sitting back in my chair, hunger satisfied, that I realize that once again I've left something undone. I hang my head in shame and whisper what He already knows too well, “God, I forgot to pray.”

Fast-food restaurants require that a meal be paid for before it is handed over the counter or through the window to the customer. God doesn't require payment (everything we have has been bought by His Son). Prayer then is a gift made by choice, an offering of thanksgiving, a remembrance that every good and perfect gift – including the food on my plate – comes from above (James 1:17).

Perhaps the practice was established at the Last Supper, when in His last meal with His disciples, Jesus took the bread, gave thanks, broke it and then talked to them about it's importance. Identifying the bread as His Body and the cup of wine as His Blood, His followers were to think about His death every time they partook of the same.

Some think the verses above apply just when “taking communion” as a part of a church gathering or individually, a time set aside in a service or in a personal devotional time to deliberately think about Jesus' death on the cross and partake of emblems of bread and wine in remembrance of His sacrifice. And yet He desires so much more than that. He wants to be part of our every thought and action, at any and every moment of the day. At the very least, then, our mealtimes should begin with thanksgiving. The gifts that fall from His hands to us, however, cover so much more than just the food we eat. Surely the physical evidence of answered prayer that fills our days should provoke the same response; the husband healed of cancer, the relationships restored, the broken things in me made whole. Our days are so filled with His goodness that our thanksgiving should be as regular as breathing His love and faithfulness in and voicing our gratitude out, all day long. Quite simply, that is what prayer becomes.

I catch myself more often now when I'm about to sneak a bite of a meal or taste a spilled portion before I've given thanks for the whole...not because I am bound by rules, but rather because I have been set free of them to serve a bigger purpose than merely satisfying my fleshly desires. Because of the sacrifice on the cross, I have the privilege of bringing the Bread of Life into every situation I face each day, and I pray before I eat simply because I need the reminder to thank Him for being the Answer I seek before I lay my questions at His feet.

We don't know what we'll find on our plate as we head into each day, but before we dive into it we can be sure we approach it the proper way. Even the hard things are easier to swallow if we trust God enough to thank Him in advance for working all things out for our good. Similarly the words that fall from His lips in response to our requests are not always the ones we want to hear. But they are easier to bear when we know that He hears our prayers, cares about our heartaches, and will make all things right in the end.
-

May I never again come to the end of the day and hear God say, “Daughter, you forgot to pray.”

I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”
(Luke 18:17 NIV)

Friday, March 7, 2014

Coloring Within the (Written) Lines

The phone buzzed on the table beside me. A quick glance told me my employer was trying to get in touch with me.

“Hello?”

“What are you doing?” asked the voice on the other end of the line.

“Writing a letter. Why?”

There was a moment of silence before she continued on. “We were wondering if you could come in early today...”

The grilling started at the time clock. “Who were you writing to?” “Why don't you send emails like the rest of the world?”

Truly there are any number of ways to stay in touch electronically with those we love these days, and I'm grateful for the ease and speed of all the messaging options available to us. But there is something to be said about a letter you hold in your hand that sets it in a category of communication by itself.

For a good portion of my life I was on the receiving end of such a blessing, my father having used the only form of communication available to him in his day and age to stay in touch with his children who had left home for any length of time. From daily encouragement to homesick kids at summer camp, to weekly submissions to college mailboxes, to family newsletters sent to our own eventual roadside mailboxes, he was the epitome of faithfulness in that regard. By rough calculation, my dad wrote me between 600 and 700 letters in my lifetime, culminating in the one left in a strongbox, written in the days before his death, which he knew to be imminent. I gathered together the ones I still had on hand after he died and put them in a binder to be kept with my most treasured possessions.

Years later, his youngest grandson started asking questions about this grandfather who had died long before he was born. Naturally the subject of his letter writing habit came up in the ensuing discussion, and I mentioned my amazement at the sheer quantity of mail I had received from my home address.

“It is evidence of how much he loved you,” my son replied, words that prompted me to take pen in hand and start writing letters to my own boys who had moved out on their own. In one of the first missives I sent to this son in particular I included a couple of letters I had kept from my dad, hoping that he would catch a glimpse of the man he was, from the words he wrote, to the way he phrased his thoughts, to the ideas that intrigued his curious mind. How gratifying it was to hear my boy later voice his reluctance to return them, saying he felt in doing so he was saying goodbye to a man he was just barely getting to know.

I used to be an avid letter writer. Somewhere deep down I still am. I felt the stirring inside when I came across a couple of websites last year, one of which belonged to a man who planned to write a letter a day for a year, mailing them off to people who signed up to receive them. A similar one dedicated just the month of February to putting snail mail in any form in mailboxes around the country, I suppose as a means of spreading love in the month dedicated to the same. Intrigued, I knew that when the second month of the new year rolled around, I'd be similarly engaged in some way.

Suddenly that very month was upon me, and I found myself with no time to prepare for the event, no time in my schedule to devote to it...and very close to discarding the idea altogether. But something happened that changed my mind. I was plugging in my electric rollers one morning, and noted that because the set had turned upside down in the cabinet, the rollers inside were a jumbled mess. I opened the lid and went about the task of setting each one back on its heat conduit, muttering “Get back to your post!” as I did so. Strange that I would speak to my curlers in such a way, and stranger still that God would speak to me through them! Suddenly those five words were a directive from the Lord to get back to a task I had fallen away from some years ago.

I've written letters all my life, but once I came to know the Lord, He put purpose in my passion. The letters I sent were no longer just a written chat, but a chance to share my Father's love along with my own, in the hope that those on the receiving end would get to know Him a little better, much as I hoped the snippets from my dad's letters that I sent to my son would introduce him to to the grandfather he never knew.

Individual as we are in our pursuits and giftings, we each have our own way of making the Father known. Christian author Max Lucado describes it as coloring a picture of God using whatever crayons we've been given.

Perhaps you've had your life turned upside down by events beyond your control, and now find your priorities to be a jumbled mess. It's not too late to reconnect with your lfe source and reignite the fire within. Others of us simply set our tools aside for a time and they got lost in the clutter of our everyday lives. Now is the time to dig them out and put them to work once more...to get back to our posts. As the times get more difficult, the world needs to be able to see the image of our Father more clearly than ever before. May He simply inspire the artist inside each of us to new effort...and may our work become evidence of how much we love Him, indeed.

Do not neglect the gift which is in you, [that special inward endowment]... Practice and cultivate and meditate upon these duties; throw yourself wholly into them [as your ministry]...”
(1 Timothy 4:14-15 AMP)

Friday, February 21, 2014

Holy Guacamole

It's said that Super Bowl Sunday is second only to Thanksgiving in food consumption on a single day of the year. Forget the turkey this go around; the most popular menu items are pizza, wings, and chips and dip. It's the dip that caught my attention this year when I was asked to help promote my store's sales of a popular brand of guacamole and salsa.

For two days I found myself standing beside the display, catching the eye of shoppers nearby, and offering them a taste of guacamole on a tortilla chip or two. I found it to be delightful duty – paid to purposely chat with the many customers I've become friends with over the years, make a few new ones, and offer everybody who happened by a chance to fall in love with my favorite dip.

People are passionate about guacamole – they either love it or hate it, there's no middle ground. Having grown up in California, which produces 90 percent of the fresh avocados consumed in the United States, I've been eating the fruit almost since birth. Guacamole is simply avocado in another form, and makes everything I put it on taste even better. I've been a huge fan for years.

Other people, not so much. I giggled repeatedly at the ones who took one look and shuddered as they hurried by; those who simply couldn't imagine putting something that green and squishy in their mouths, let alone swallowing it down and enjoying the experience! Others told me they had always wanted to try it and never had an opportunity. I quickly handed them a sample in a cup and then watched their faces eagerly, trying to gauge their reaction. Some just shook their heads, dropped the cup in the wastebasket and moved on. But the eyes of many others widened in surprise at how good it was, their hands quickly reaching for the guacamole in the display case...and the chips and salsa offered beside it, as well!

The promotion was a success for a couple of reasons. The place was packed with people shopping for food to eat at their football parties, many of whom weren't necessarily looking for guacamole. But the display was placed right in their path as they entered the produce department at the front of the store. They had no choice but to pass by. I merely took advantage of the opportunity to speak to them and offer them a taste of something good.

God simply asks us to do the same. Of the many people we meet in our comings and goings each day, very few of them may be thinking about a relationship with their Creator as they're headed our way. But God has us strategically placed so that our lives intersect with a purpose; so-called “chance” meetings simply do not exist. And all He asks is that we give them the opportunity to sample something they may never have tried before. So much more than mere party food that is enjoyed for a time and then forgotten, a relationship with God has the potential to change their lives for the better forever.

Many of the people who tried the guacamole for the first time did so on the basis of their relationship with me. I've talked and laughed with them for years as they've come through my checkout line; if now I was promoting guacamole, they'd stop and at least listen to what I had to say. We gain people's ears for God the same way, often based on a relationship that's been built over time.

Some noted my passion for the product I was offering; because I love and eat it myself, it was easy for me to talk favorably about it from my own experience. Likewise my own relationship with God is its best selling point – if I am excited about His presence in my life and the positive changes that have come as a result, I am able to talk about it in a way that leads others to want some of the same.

I met a lot of people who looked at the product I stood beside with disdain, telling me that they made their own guacamole and believed it to be the best. Others had sampled some once and didn't like it. Yet they were willing to give my product a taste, just to see how it compared. Likewise many people are satisfied with their own vision of God, or use a past church experience of their own to judge what a relationship with Him is all about. Many want nothing to do with anything more. And yet if God can just catch their eye somehow through something I say or do, they might be willing to open the door to their hearts and explore a little more.

Many people thought I was offering a mix rather than a ready-to-serve product, and likewise an amazing number of people believe that getting to God is a long and arduous process that takes more time and effort than they're willing to devote to it. They are pleasantly surprised to find that beginning a relationship with Him is as easy as peeling the top off a package and simply digging in to the good stuff inside.

Midway through the two-day event a supervisor happened to mention to me that there was a contest between the stores in our district involving sales of this particular product, encouraging me to do all I could to add to our store's total. It was worth the extra effort I subsequently put forth to later hear my store manager thank me for doing a great job. How much greater is the incentive to work hard for the Kingdom in the days we have left than to hear our Master say at the end of our days, “Well done!”

Taste and see that the Lord is good...”
(Psalm 34:8 NIV)

Monday, February 3, 2014

Surprise in the Skies

Photo courtesy of Kevin Bridge
“I told you I'd be back,” the customer said to me, now ready to come through my line at the grocery store.

With business a little slow at that hour on a Sunday morning I'd been standing at the end of my lane, looking for people who might be ready to check out. I had spotted the man earlier, and had tried to wave him in as he passed by, but apparently he wasn't finished shopping yet. With one more item yet to pick up in the far end of the store, he pointed in that direction as he pushed on, saying, “I'll be back!”

True to his word, there he was. His order was quickly processed and he went on his way, but the words he said echoed loudly in my mind, to the point that I grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote them down.

“I told you I'd be back.”

Maybe because it was a Sunday morning and I was sensitive to missing church, his words to me were more than just a casual comment after crossing the last item off his shopping list. They were a reminder of a spiritual scenario in which we are all participants, whether we're aware of it or not.

When Jesus was gathered with His disciples the last time before His crucifixion, He tried to explain to them that He was leaving for a time, but would return. They didn't understand. He said that He was going away to prepare a place for them, and that He would come back for them, so that they would be together once more.

Since that day, Christians everywhere have been awaiting the fulfillment of that promise. I've noticed, however, that we wait in different ways. Truly, some of us have quit looking for His return altogether, much as I did the customer who walked away from me to get the last item on his list. Out of sight, out of mind, and I quickly forgot about him, until there he stood some time later at the end of my lane once more. And so do we simply carry on with the duties of our days, loving God and living out our days to the best of our abilities, but no longer really expecting Him to return to our world before we leave it and join Him in His.

Others of us, however, are in a hurry to get out of here, to leave the trials and troubles of our earthly existence behind, to check out of this life and get on with the better life promised in the next one – no sorrow, no pain...just joy unspeakable and full of glory. We look for God to come back as impatiently as do the customers in line behind someone who forgot that one item he absolutely has to have! Off he dashes to get it while everybody behind him groans in unison at the delay. They busy themselves for a minute or two looking about them and checking their phones, but after a while every head is turned in the direction the errant customer went, muttering, “Where is he?”, their eyes searching the aisle for the first sight of his bobbing head, hurrying in return.

The truth is that God is busy crossing items off a list, as well...not food items, but the names of our friends and neighbors. He is busy looking for the last of the lost souls that were invited to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb but have yet to make their commitment to attend. If your loved one's name is on that list, then you are grateful for the patience of the Father Who longs with all His heart for every one of His children to make it Home for the feast.

That doesn't mean we just stand idly by in the meantime. Unlike the other customers in my line, we, too, have work to do to hasten the process along. We should be about the Father's business, but with an open eye and an ear cocked to hear the trumpet's call when the guest list is complete and the Hall is filled. He expects us to be watchfully waiting, as He told His disciples when they pressed Him for details about the timing of His return. He told them to look for the signs of His coming in the world around them.

There are a multitude of strange and unusual phenomena happening around us these days. Arctic snowy owls are spotted in Florida, of all places, while bears not yet in hibernation because of the warm weather wander on ski slopes empty of people because there has been no snow. Devastating extremes in weather conditions bake our hometowns in heat and drought, wash them away in record-breaking floods or bury them in overwhelming snow. Are these simply the result of cyclic changes in weather and animal population patterns, or are they something more? At the very least they should remind us to be looking for the signs of the end of the age that Jesus said would signal His soon return, that we might not be caught unawares.

My Sunday morning customer's sudden reappearance startled me, I admit. He looked at me with a question in his eyes, a tilt to his head and a slight smile on his lips, as if perplexed at my reaction.
“I told you I'd be back.”

Jesus said “...raise your eyes and observe the fields and see how they are already white for harvesting” (John 4:35, emphasis mine)...words to live by, that His return doesn't likewise take me by surprise.

Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come...So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.”
(Matthew 24:42,44 NIV)

Friday, January 24, 2014

Diamond Disaster

I used to spend a lot of time polishing my wedding rings. I liked looking down and seeing the shiny stone on my finger in a setting of gold that reminded me of the love of my husband and the joy of our marriage. Somewhere in the ensuing years I lost some of that cleaning zeal, although I would still polish them up on special occasions. The morning of our 33rd anniversary was one such day, and I decided as well to don the necklace that now bears the initial diamond from my engagement ring.

Early on in our marriage when my husband had a new stone put in the ring, the jeweler wisely advised him to have that first gem placed in a necklace setting, knowing that any wife would want to keep that first token of love from her prospective husband. He was so right. And so now even when not worn around my neck, it lies treasured in a little silver box with an abalone shell lid, hidden in a corner of my jewelry box.

On this particular morning I went to get the necklace, only to find it gone! The little silver box stood empty among the other earrings and necklaces surrounding it. Initially not too alarmed, I reminded myself that I sometimes remove my jewelry in a hurry at night and put it in a little cup on the bathroom shelf before heading to bed. But a quick check of the bathroom cabinet didn't produce it, either. Now seriously worried, I looked in all the likely places once more, as well as every corner of my dresser and even the floor in front of it in case I had somehow laid it there and then later carelessly brushed it off. In a panic I cleared off the bathroom shelves, hoping to find it pushed in a corner somewhere. No luck. Disgusted that I had been so careless with my treasure, all I could do was hope that it would turn up somewhere when I did a more thorough cleaning of the entire house.

Sadly, the scenario above too often describes our marriages themselves even more than the rings and gems that represent them. In the early days of our married lives we are focused on the relationship with our spouse and do all we can to keep it alive and thriving. We willingly adjust our attitudes and actions for the good of our life with our wife or husband, and the state of the marital union is given top priority in our thinking and activities. But as the years pile up, so do the distractions. Soon there are kids and cars and jobs and money issues that always seem to demand our immediate attention, and tending to the spousal relationship sometimes gets pushed to the back burner of our busy schedules, if it is not lost altogether.

Eventually something happens that triggers the memory of how life used to be. With regret we realize that the spark that initially marked our relationship has grown dim, and we go looking for that which we once had, to restore it to its former glory. Lost somewhere in the clutter of our lives, it can be hard to find. While some couples successfully fan the flames of love again, others just hope the passion they once felt for each other will turn up again somewhere along the way, perhaps when life gets less busy. Others decide that it is simply gone, and give up hope of every experiencing it again. They regret that they didn't treat their relationship with the care such a treasure deserves.

If this can happen so easily with the people we bump into on the way to the bathroom in the mornings, how much more can it happen to our relationship with God? The early days of our relationship with Him were so filled with excitement and enthusiasm that He was foremost in our thoughts, conversation, and activities each day. We grew ever closer as we read His Word, talked to Him in prayer, worshiped Him in song, and spent time with other people who knew Him. But as the years pass by it is easy to let time pressures and life issues slip in and steal our attention and focus away from Him, until one day we likewise wake up spiritually and realize that our relationship is not at all what it used to be.

Thankfully God's love for us does not disappear nor diminish over time, despite our neglect of the relationship between us. He is ever ready to take us back and begin again, pulling us to His heart once more with His ongoing care and affection, teaching, guiding, and talking to us to the extent that we make ourselves available to Him. Past experience reminds us us to treasure the opportunity we have to spend time with Him, and we take care not to let this most treasured possession slip from our grasp again.

It is with similar joy that I report that my diamond is back in my possession once more! How fitting that I eventually found it on another necklace, hanging alongside a charm of two interlocking gold hearts. At some point I had put the two together, as God did just now in illustrating His point: when we polish our love relationships daily with our actions, attention, persistence and prayer, they will never lose their shine.

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”
(Matthew 6:21 KJV)

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Baggage Claim Blessings

My best Christmas moment of the season just past occurred when I watched an online video of an elaborate surprise one Canadian airline planned for the passengers on a particular flight. WestJet Airlines set up a large video booth at the flight gate, and while travelers waited to board the plane, they were invited to scan their boarding passes at the machine. Suddenly Santa would appear on the monitor, address the person by name, and ask what they wanted for Christmas.

While the travelers chatted to Santa, a whole army of people was standing by behind the scenes to make their dreams come true. Santa's helpers were listening in and taking notes on each conversation. Then, while the flight was in the air, these troops went to work, madly shopping, wrapping and delivering gifts to the destination airport. The flight landed and the passengers gathered at the baggage claim area. But when the bell sounded, the lights flashed and the conveyor belt began to move, rather than the suitcases they were expecting to come out of the carousel came gift after perfectly wrapped gift, each bearing the name of a person aboard the flight.

Looks of bewildered surprise turned into expressions of incredible delight as the people began reaching for the gifts bearing their names and tearing them open on the spot. “Santa” and his “elves” were present, enjoying the moment every bit as much as the passengers themselves. Some of the travelers cried, they were so touched, while others just stood open-mouthed in disbelief.

Sadly, someone put a damper on the good feelings in a comment posted under the video, saying the money spent on the project should have been given to the poor and needy – that that is what Jesus would have done. The statement echoes one found in the Bible after a woman opened a jar of expensive perfume and poured the contents on Jesus' head. The disciples were incensed at the seeming waste of money. Yet Jesus described her actions as beautiful (Matthew 26:10).

Surely the poor shouldn't be forgotten. It should be noted that when WestJet Airlines posted the video of the event online, they then donated free flights to needy people based on the number of views the video received. But God is present in every expression of love, and we can worship Him by loving on His people, whether they are in need or not.

Afterall, isn't that what God does? He promises that He will supply our needs. Yet He goes beyond that, blessing us simply for the joy He receives in doing so. He reminds us in His Word, “If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” (Matthew 7:11 NIV)

The key word in that sentence is found near its end. God simply wants us to ask. Surely there were those on the flight who didn't bother to spend time in front of the video booth, and thus missed the opportunity to receive a specifically-selected present when the gifts started rolling out at the end.

I noted while watching the video that every person got exactly what they asked for. The boy that asked for the android tablet got an android tablet. The man who asked for nothing but socks and underwear...got nothing but socks and underwear. Yet the couple that honestly stated they wanted a big-screen TV for Christmas – never dreaming it would come to them in such a way – got exactly that, to the cheers of everybody in the area!

Far from suggesting that God endorses greed on our parts, it's the principle in the story above that He wants us to grasp. He wants us to dream big dreams and then ask Him to bring them to pass. As we grow in our relationship with Him, our wish lists change from simply material desires to spiritual ones. The longing of our hearts becomes for things that money can't buy and for God to move in situations in ways that we simply can't. It is these requests that He wants us to put before Him, believing that He is able to do the impossible. Yet we are sometimes hesitant to do so, mistakenly believing that His generosity is limited by our unworthiness rather than loosed by His inherent goodness. And so we ask for socks and underwear spiritually speaking, when God is longing and able to move in big-screen TV ways.

Surely there is a reason during His time on the earth that He asked people so often, “What is it that you would like me to do for you?” Perhaps God's hands of blessing are tied to the size of faith of the believer, as expressed in the framing of the request. The Word says, “As you have believed, so shall it be to you.” What we ask for is a reflection of what we believe about God and who we are in Him. The truth is that we get little because we ask for little. God is daring us to expand our faith, to dream and ask as sons and daughters of an all-powerful King and beloved children of a benevolent Father, that He might pop our eyes and wow our hearts with what He is able and longing to do for us...not just for our delight, but also for His.
  
Ask, and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.”
(Matthew 7:7-8 NIV)

Thursday, December 19, 2013

A Savior, Not a Souvenir

Photo courtesy of Leah Wolf
Christmas began for me back in August this year. It had nothing to do with the onslaught of summertime Christmas in July sales or a desire to join the ranks of those who were finished with their holiday shopping before Halloween had even come and gone. What brought it on was a passage of Scripture that presented itself as an unexpected gift.

The Bible tells us that when Jesus was born in Bethlehem, a star appeared in the sky over the place of His birth. Wise men traveled from a distant land in search of the Babe, following the star. Their arrival in Jerusalem and subsequent questions about the location of this newborn King of the Jews disturbed the reigning king, Herod. So he arranged a meeting with them, and “then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, Go and search for the Child carefully, and diligently, and when you have found Him, bring me word, that I too may come and worship Him” (Matthew 2:8 AMP).

There were the three words that struck me: Bring me word.

None of the family and friends who have sent me off on various trips has ever asked me to bring back word. Other things, yes; a rock was one rather unusual request, and I've bought lots of shot glasses to bring home to collectors, as well as other souvenirs to give as gifts for those waiting on my return. But word? Not so much. Intelligence gathering has rarely been a priority in my personal travel agenda. Perhaps the difference is that Herod was not a well-wisher wanting to enter into the joy of the event as he claimed, but rather an insecure monarch wanting to retain his reign by killing off any threat to his throne before it had a chance to gain ground. The Magi received direction in a dream to ignore the order they'd been given, and went home by a different route.

Most recently before a trip to visit one of my sons, a friend made a light-hearted request that I bring her back a keychain bearing the name of the place that I'd been. After it was delivered to her she later showed me where it hung on her purse, along with others she had received from travelers to different states and countries. A unique display idea, it intrigued me. So I was surprised when the Holy Spirit nudged me one morning and said I had one, as well. Quickly He reminded me that daily I travel to a different realm to visit with my Father, and I bring back memories from those moments with His Son that I write excitedly about in my journal, sometimes illustrating the same with pictures that remind me later of what we talked about while there. Each entry is a link in the chain that hangs about my life, bearing the Name, not of a place, but of the Person I've been with that day and holding the keys to an existence of joy and wonder and gained wisdom that I then apply to my earthly existence. When I bring Jesus back into my daily life, I've truly brought back Word.

The wonder of this is that it is not just a seasonal experience, but one that can take place every single day of the year. The Bible tells us that as we abide in Him, He abides in us, and thus what began as journal entries eventually become living messages to other people that they read in our daily interactions with them. Oh, to be so full of God that we bring Word of His love and passion for people simply by standing beside them in a line somewhere, bumping into them in the grocery store or working side-by-side with them on an assigned project at work.

My friend told me later that most people don't take her seriously when she makes her souvenir request. They take it as just a form of well-wishing before they leave on their trips. And to my shame I've done the same. Coworkers and complete strangers alike have asked me about the joy I have inside of me, intrigued by a smile in difficult situations or a laugh despite my circumstances. And I've shrugged it off as just a form of small talk or a compliment of sorts. Yet the truth is that people all around us are desperate for the hope and help and truth we carry inside.

Perhaps there is no better illustration of such hunger than in the story of Simeon, a devout man who was desperate to see the promised Savior before he died and had received a supernatural promise that this would happen. Prompted by the Holy Spirit to go to the Temple one day, he was there when Mary and Joseph arrived to present their newborn to the Lord. The young parents literally brought the Word of God made flesh and placed Him in Simeon's arms.

God simply asks us to do the same. As our mailboxes and newspapers overflow this time of year with ads and sale fliers may we remember that people around us are not searching for a good deal so much as the real deal...and what a deal it is! Christ was born in a manger that He might be reborn in our hearts, and then born anew in every moment and experience in which we behold Him. Talk about a gift exchange...our captivity for His freedom, our shame for His honor...our end for a new beginning in Him.
       
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
(John 1:1 NIV)

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Sign Language

(Photo courtesy of Kevin Bridge)
I doubt if I would have noticed it if he hadn't pointed it out. But there it was, an orange sign mounted on one of the highway exit sign poles, with the words “22 Jump” in black print above an arrow pointing to the right. Indeed, I had been on that road and passed that very sign multiple times already in our initial wanderings through the city, but since the words didn't mean anything to me, my eyes had skipped over it like just so much passing scenery. What made it different this time was that my son was driving the car, and he deliberately pointed it out to my husband and me. Working in the film industry as he does, he knew it to be a directional posting for the film crew working on the upcoming movie “22 Jump Street”, to get them where they needed to be.

As if a visit to New Orleans wasn't exciting enough with all the dining, shopping, and sightseeing opportunities available, the city is a hub of the motion picture industry, and at any time all manner of movies, commercials and music videos are in the process of being filmed. Traffic already congested by the crowds of tourists as well as just the city dwellers who are trying to get to home, work, or social activities, driving is made more difficult by roads blocked off temporarily to accommodate movie sets in the making and multiple trucks carrying all the necessary gear and supplies. Highly prized parking spots in front of local eateries are sometimes lost as a result, but the necessary hike to these culinary destinations from more distant sites affords the tourist time to gawk at the lights, cameras, and action going on behind the yellow taped areas, hoping for a glimpse of somebody famous as they briefly pass by.

What a difference it made to be alongside somebody who knew what was going on and could tell a “grip” or a “gaffer” by the tools clipped to his belt from a mere production assistant picking up coffee for the director...one who could detail the function of the various trucks parked on the street by a passing glance inside their open rear doors... a guide who could identify where the shooting might move to next by spotting generators and other equipment delivered in advance and waiting on site to be put to work... an interpreter who translated the seemingly random jumble of letters on brightly colored placards plastered all over the city into names of films that were currently being shot in that locale. His practiced eye saw a whole other world at work and in motion, interacting with the one in which the majority of the people walked, oblivious to much of what was going on around them.

And so it was for us at one time, when as unbelievers we didn't understand the operations of the spiritual realm, had no knowledge of the forces invisibly at work around us, and didn't understand the many signs posted at the turning points in our lives to give us direction and assistance. How badly we needed somebody to come alongside as Phillip so long ago did with the Ethiopian eunuch, who when asked if he understood what he was reading in the Scriptures responded with, “How can I... unless somebody explains it to me?” (Acts 8:31 NIV)

Many of us can recall the day when we did the same, struggling to make sense of what we simply couldn't understand on our own. Thankfully God intervened, as He did initially by sending us Jesus, Who on His way to restoring our relationship with the Father spent countless hours teaching the disciples, explaining the Scriptures to disheartened believers, encouraging those struggling with fear and lack of faith, and helping all who came to Him seeking assistance. As He prepared His followers for His departure, He promised the disciples to send a Comforter, Teacher, Counselor, Helper... in the form of the Holy Spirit who would reside inside each of them. Repeatedly in the Bible pages that follow His coming we see the Spirit of Truth in action in bodily form, operating through Phillip with the Ethiopian, Ananias with Saul, and Peter with the Roman centurion, Cornelius. Likewise today when we reach the point spiritually that the eunuch did, asking for help and inviting God into our lives, suddenly what was invisible to us before we now clearly see, and we not only notice but understand the signs He leaves around us to direct and guide us as we accomplish that which we were sent here to do.

As if to bring the message a little closer to home, yesterday morning I got up and started in on my morning routine. Ready to start my devotional time, I suddenly realized I didn't have my glasses. Since I can't read a word without their assistance, I looked everywhere for them, on the windowsill where I often leave them, on the bathroom sink, the kitchen counter, the laundry room...I even tip-toed soundlessly through the bedroom where my husband still slept, searching everywhere for my specs by the light of my cell phone. Frustrated that I couldn't read my Bible without them but determined to meet with God anyway, I told myself that at least I didn't need the glasses to pray, and began to do so. And suddenly I spied my glasses on the table, not three feet away. Gratefully I put them on, opened my Bible, and instantly the words which were blurry before came into focus and became messages that I could apply to my life in the day ahead of me...a simple illustration of how God works when we turn our thoughts and attention towards Him. Having spoken a language that our hearts can understand, He now uses whatever tools He has at hand to bring our minds in line, as well,, whether they be a pair of lenses in plastic frames, a face behind a pulpit, or a friend who walks beside us along the way.

Our trip to New Orleans changed from memorable to mesmerizing when we asked my my son to take the wheel. All the more do our life experiences improve dramatically when we simply ask God's Son to do the same.

The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually discerned.”
(1 Corinthians 2:14 NIV)

Friday, October 25, 2013

Shout-out to Sisterhood

How funny that we met at Applebee's for lunch on this day in September, a month I'd devoted to eating an apple a day to celebrate the onset of fall as well as dabble in apple-based food choices for the nutritional benefit they contain. Little did I realize that our noon-time meal was destined to be a food date for my soul that contained nourishment beyond anything set before me on a plate.

My friend and I met several years ago in the bleachers of a basketball court, the sport itself relatively unimportant; we were simply moms sitting on the sidelines of our children's lives, supporting our kids in their current field of play. As such we had much to talk about, and I soon found that I was attending games for conversational reasons as much as to watch boys bouncing balls on wooden boards for an hour or so.

We're still at it. Five boys between us, and none of them living at home anymore, yet we meet regularly to catch up with each other as much as to discuss what our kids are doing. This last time our talk turned to the subject of siblings. Her mother and aunts she affectionately refers to in combination as “The Sisters”, their antics and attitudes a constant source of love and entertainment to the rest of the family, but a form of relationship that she has not experienced herself.

“You've never had a sister,” her mother lamented to her recently. To be honest, I don't think she's ever felt the loss, as she keeps busy being a sister to the brother she was born to and the many friends she was born again to minister to along the way.

The conversation, however, remained on my mind. Evidence of the love of my own younger sister fill my life and my home, from messages I find in my email in-box to postcards stuck on my fridge, to framed pictures on my windowsills and gifts stitched by her hand mounted on my walls. From our infancy on we've shared everything, from clothes to baths to bedrooms to toys. A built-in best friend, I didn't have to wait for her to come knocking on my door to see if I wanted to play. We grew up surrounded by the same relatives, neighbors and family friends. As such we speak a common language; there are memories we share, jokes we laugh at and heartbreaks we cry over together that nobody else on the planet can relate to with me the way she can.

That doesn't mean we were always close. After drifting apart somewhat in our high-school years we were simply distant daughters of the same father and mother for a number of years that followed. As the years passed away, however, we came together emotionally if not in physical distance, as the life experiences we shared with one another forged us once more into the best of friends that we remain today. Yet at any point in our relationship, regardless of how we were getting along, we were still sisters linked by blood, if not by choice.

Yet the opposite is true in the spiritual realm. It's by choice that we are born again into the kingdom of God and then allow Him to put us into sibling relationships with people of His choosing and linked by His Blood, friendships that perhaps lack the limited view of a shared past yet stretch beyond the boundaries of this earthly existence into the joyful expectation of an eternal future.

They are not without purpose, however, on this side of eternity, as to a large extent they are instrumental in getting us to the finish line with soul intact. There are simply some risks you are only willing to take with your sister by your side. In the earthly realm I laughingly submit coloring one's hair and taking a first bite of sushi as members of that group. Spiritually speaking, however, a walk of faith is easier when there's a hand around to pull you back up when you've fallen down, a smiling face in a world of frowns, a fellow traveler who speaks the same language of grace.

My friend and I finally finished our lunches, paid our bills and went on with days that went better because we had spent that time together in love and laughter. While our mealtime meetings always eventually come to an end, it's wonderful that the friendship between us does not.

Perhaps the “friend that sticks closer than a brother” mentioned in Proverbs is Jesus in the heart of a godly sister.

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!
(Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 NIV)
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